Logs:Of Concerns and Consciousness (Or, By the Light of a Dying Star)
| Of Concerns and Consciousness (Or, By the Light of a Dying Star) | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2023-07-04 HERE. |
| Location
<???> somewhere in a very large hive | |
The country is wide and all across it, there have been Kids In Trouble. From New York to Florida to California, DJive's network has come across them daily, and at first, this one skates well below notice, just a vague and unlocatable ripple of fear and hurt sending tiny spiderweb-tremors into the conjoined network of minds. ANd then, all at once and with a concerted force of will, the presence flares brighter, powerful and impossible to ignore. Somewhere, hurt and frightened along the side of I-78, one mind -- not currently part of the network but drawing sharp and strong focus from everyone who passes by. It's a patchy blip of thoughts -- Gaétan's face, and Kelawini's, Spencer's and Harm's, prominently tangled in with thoughts of skittering Sentinels and blaring alarms and a helpless sense of failure. One bright flare -- that then dims itself soon enough with the terrified << oops >> mental image of an SUV swerving out of its lane to veer straight towards them. Somewhere -- many, many somewheres, in fact -- there are fireworks brilliantly lighting up DJ's mindscape, a thousand different displays in a thousand different cities, elaborate professional arrangements and kids ill-advisedly shooting off rockets in their yards. One of these, DJ is watching with his own two eyes, leaning up against a jacaranda tree and watching the glimmering lights shiver back down filtered through its out-of-season blossoms as he sips some fresh jamaica. The tug at his awareness sends his thoughts skittering out bright -- but, like the fireworks, the impulse to investigate dissipates. For just a second he feels a vague worry about this, but then returns to watching the bright lights above. Many such shows are visible through the tiny minds dotting the mindscape, like far away stars overpowered by those brighter, but nonetheless visible and spectacular in the black of night's sky. The tug at DJ's awareness creates a twinkle, which ripples through the simple thoughts and senses of those dots. And then, constellations begin to form, bringing sense and form where there was none previous. Is this an enemy? asks the Warrior. Is this food? asks the Forager. Is this shelter? asks the Sage. But these constellations fall silent, fade to darkness, attention better spent elsewhere; the man's concern is no concern of theirs. One does not fade back to the previous task of merely watching lights of celebration in the sky. The Scout desires attention, a desire tinged with curiosity and anxiety. It pulls back to the sight already passed over. That hurt and fear has receded into near-nothingness -- for a short while. And then, like those so-many-fireworks: a commanding boom, a brilliant scintillation, a brightflash flare across the distributed awareness again. The SUV's headlights swerve last minute, do not collide. Other headlights are passing in intermittent stream, some with a characteristic weave that indicates their driver should Really Have Stayed Home a while longer, but it is a holiday, and so go the roads. The hazard lights flashing on this giant truck do little to warn people consistently away from it where it is pulled over. Briefly, Kavalam debates the merits of trying to flag down help, find someone else to make a phone call for him, but then sets that aside as the world goes kind of blurry. His brief spike of attention-grabbing subsides again. In the ocean of thousands-upon-thousands of thoughts, possibly -- probably -- this one would yet again have been forgotten once the sparks fade, DJ's worry flaring and ebbing in time with Kavalam's pull. But there's a part of his minds that turns -- wordless, questioning? -- towards the Scout's insistent inquisitive pulling. << ? >> rises silent between them, curiosity spilling over to DJ as he prompts the Scout for further information. The Scout's attention becomes more focused each time Kavalam's pull begins, and then does not recede with the rest. The stalwart constellation pulls harder when met with curiosity, now flashing to the images of missing children, faces familiar, and one less so, perhaps not even present among the images. A single point in the Scout begins to flicker more intensely. It tries to make sense of the image, a tree, the beak of a bird, a pair of eyes? The symbols of I-78 mean nothing, but the image is recalled. It's near; its wings are beating. The journey has been long, food has been scarce, but the image is clear. The pinprick of light in the mindscape brightens more, its purpose is clear. This is duty. The path it took to get to the sweet smelling raspberry bushes of its hive, where days were spent lazily gathering up the pollen in such ample supply. The pickup truck, window down just a crack, sneaking in to hide. The stench of gasoline as it dodges a folded magazine and swirls away. And then, like a supernova, an alarm that will not be silenced, it creates an impression of its final location in space. And then-- An insect baps against Kavalam and then spirals down to the ground on its side. It pushes itself around in circles on the ground for a moment, wings flap uselessly, and then legs curl inwards against its fuzzy abdomen. The supernova fades away, as they are wont to do, and then so too does the Scout dissipate. But not before expending everything it has to make a wordless plea: HERE. Kavalam, unthinking and unaware, just bats reflexively at the bug that baps against him, a vague irritation flickering across the surface of his mind. << ghhh >> is his wordless annoyance, joining exhaustion and passion and regret in the swirl of goddammit, the messy general upset of being Sick And Tired Of Tonight. This supernova has flared bright and flared out; the final desperate message it sends has not. Kavalam himself might not be in a position to appreciate the Scout's sacrifice, but its light is captured, reflected along the myriad nodes of DJ's distributed selves, the sense of urgency impressed again and again across a thousand minds even before DJ himself has had a chance to consciously deliberate. A moment later, his thoughts are catching up with the rest of his rapid mental prioritization. The next time that panic flares, a tendril is reaching out, rooting into it. Only then, a quiet urgency of his own, already feeling his way across the distance in an uncertain mental map that grows more certain as he leans into the bugs' awareness of the world. The relief that unfurls across the network is tentative and worried and hopeful all at once: << (found you.) >> | |
