When Shakespeare and Malthus share a zero-entropy room, decisions are made
How Ke-ku-ro Saved Easter and Invented the Metaverse
A waggish story about how our suzerains will be forced to impose Malthusian negative checks on the population growth of biped primates
I drive up the steep access ramp to my garage and turn off the engine. Silence washed over me as I watch the descending dusk of a workday Friday merge the spruce trees nearby into a wall of grey. It had been a tough week. But it’s Good Friday tonight, and we’ll place the cooked ham and eggs, and fresh-baked potica, all properly covered by a starched shroud, in the Easter food basket to await Saturday and the traditional blessing.
I am not a believer — at least not in the way most people would recognise, but I do place confidence in particular … thought patterns.
I find Christmas and Easter to be those special days when my mental time machine replays glimpses of family members long gone, smiling at me over the festive table.
I know, I know, it’s another mind-hack. But we all live by them.
I close my eyes for seconds, but they may as well be minutes. When I open them, the external house lights have enclosed the courtyard in a warm island of colour.
The Uisge Beatha
He is standing in front of the lowered sectional garage doors, looking forlorn and distinguished at the same time, clutching a bottle to his chest, with only his head protruding above it.
I push open the passenger-side door.
“We should talk,” Ke-ku-ro grunts as he lithely heaves himself onto the seat.
“It’s getting cold in the car; let’s go into the house,” I suggest. Ke-ku-ro hisses through clenched teeth, “No, I am too agitated. I’ll overwhelm the dog with my pheromones.” His gingerbread scent is an intoxicating force in the car’s cabin, and he has expanded to the size of a large laptop backpack.
“I may well have screwed you, alongside most Humankind,” he says.
He uncorks the stopper of the clear single-malt bottle with the light orange numerals of 27 faintly reflecting from the label.
So, it’s the high end of Laphroaig, I think in panic, realising it must be really bad. Ke-ku-ro is a good mate but financially conservative to a fault; usually, I have to provide the refreshments and snacks, and it is he who traditionally consumes them ravenously.
He hands me one of the two copita-style glasses that have materialised in his lap, pouring me a double shot. He does the same for himself.
Oh, welcome, yea sweet palate of burnt sugar and vanilla, almost smokeless and gentler than the deep peat and coconut nose, with a hovering hint of peach.
It is the embodiment of Scotch whiskie; the stuff they give a proper gentleman to drink before they blindfold him.
Though Ke-ku-ro is an entity that can elegantly crisscross the wealth of quantum branches of our infinite-dimensional Hilbert space — parallel universes, for the uninitiated — he can still knock the socks off me at times.
The clinking sound of Ke-ku-ro’s claw tapping the bottle’s label startles me. “Everything is connected”, he proclaims.
“You see the date, 1815?
That year the world population of Homo Sapiens reached one billion, twice the allocation limit. And where did you, pray, first learn of Laphroaig?” “In an ad on Facebook,” I admit. “Exactly, from the corporation that will be one of the pillars of the future Metaverse!” he exclaims triumphantly. “So, Laddie, let me tell you a story, the most important in your life! A recount of the latest events, so to speak. Of course, technically speaking, I would have to kill you afterwards.” He continues in a sober tone.
“By your time, it was a week ago; by mine, it was …”
An Invitation to a Governing Board
It was barely two hours before — in his reference frame — that Ke-ku-ro received the call from AleeNaq Coherenet, the Private Secretary to His Fluidity, Graviton of Daffodil 13. The latter is the gentleman that runs one of the Totality’s bulkiest realities and also serves as its Chairman of the IT Governing Board.
At this point, I should clarify to the casual reader that the Laws of Physics we know are somewhat improved in the Totality. Furthermore, the following account and the characters mentioned have been extensively anthropomorphised to make them palatable to unwary humans. They would find an accurate description of events both incomprehensible and gruesome.
I should also briefly comment on the relationship between Ke-ku-ro and AleeNaq. Ke-ku-ro has known her almost forever. When I occasionally query him about her, he mumbles and mutters and speaks of enigmatic projects and missions he has helped her with, emphasising his professional behaviour.
But it is the gingerbread fragrance he involuntarily emits in the excitement that paints a complementary story.
He dotes on her; nearly as much as on the girl in the coloured flounced skirt that gave him a seashell necklace on the beach from whence the Black Ships sailed.
To continue; AleeNaq breathlessly told Ke-ku-ro to immediately convey his backside to one of the Totality’s zero-entropy conference chambers. Her boss had, namely, convened an emergency meeting of the Governing Board on the behest of Information Technology (IT), and she had been surprised she was not asked to place Ke-ku-ro on the attendants roster. So, she corrected this slight, adding his name, and called Ke-ku-ro.
Ke-ku-ro lost no time in Hilbert-jumping and traversed the junctions hastily, switching between perilous shortcuts, near-missing incoming traffic and causality paradoxes.
Breathing heavily, he arrived at the large brass doors, guarded by a pair of biotek golems, with thirty-two seconds to spare. The double-winged doors swung open with melodramatic squeaking.
Sixteen Board members were already seated around the long mahogany table, with the Chairman — His Fluidity, Graviton of Daffodil 13, positioned at its head. AleeNaq was on the chair nearest Graviton, beckoning to Ke-ku-ro and beaming despite her worry lines. Her blonde hair was cut in a short pixie that emphasised her round face of perfect symmetry, and her full lips were dashed with a discreet shade of pink rouge.
Ke-ku-ro went past the two rows of grim faces and collapsed unto the exquisite softness of the chair AleeNaq had reserved for him. Up close, she was even more like a million-star globular cluster, affectionately sparkling in infrared from a well-rounded and petite body.
Her faint perfume sparked off the memory of salty air, heady with wild mint, thyme and oregano, and sweetened with rosemary and the scent of the girl preparing incense for a Goddess now long forgotten.
Supercomputing has a Problem
His Fluidity, adorned in a white robe with vertical rows of small and indistinct golden symbols, glared at Ke-ku-ro.
“You were cutting it rather close, dear boy.” He turned his attention to the tense faces behind the table, his gaze finally resting on the Executive Director of Supercomputing of the IT principality, a hard-line Techno Conservative, and the owner of a corpulent figure. “BenGrom Sixtentacle,” intoned His Fluidity with the ritualised harmonics that made the table vibrate.
“You have summoned us with your piercing warble; so discharge your innards and sing so the Board’s wisdom may bring vitality to Totality’s mandibles!”
His Fluidity smoothed his robe and winked at AleeNaq.
BenGrom slowly hoisted himself erect, grabbing the table’s edge with one of his appendages.
“I will cut to the chase, Your Fluidity and fellow muzzles! Before you is the executive summary of the problems that we have been experiencing for some time with a high-performance computer powered by the NGC-3842 black hole.” Colourful schematics shimmered to life in the air in front of the Board members. “As you can see, one long-term program has been consuming processing time at an exponentially growing rate, endangering the integrity of the other programs. We are down to the bare minimum of power-supply reserves. Swap memory is performing overtime, and the operating system is becoming laggy.” BenGrom cleared his throat and smiled thinly at Ke-ku-ro.
“This is not the first time IT has alerted the esteemed Board to this problem. I demand again: can now the right honourable Ke-ku-ro, the Immortal, divulge the purpose of the elaborate experiment?” Ke-ku-ro answered calmly, “The honourable Sixtentacle knows perfectly well the project is marked with Top Confidentiality.” “Be that as it may,” retorted BenGrom with a smirk and continued.
“By simulation local-time, the number of individual sentient units in the game has increased by eight-fold from the one billion mark in 1815 — and even that was already twice the contractual limits.” BenGrom paused for dramatic effect, breath escaping melodiously through his gas-exchange orifices. “I move to shut down the simulation immediately!”
While the rest of the Board members studiously peered at the table’s surface, a wave of voices from the Techno Conservatives rose mightily, “Vote, Vote, to the vote we leap!”
Eight sets of assorted limbs shot with zest towards the ceiling amidst cries of “Yea”.
Ke-ku-ro’s heart dropped He had not expected BenGrom Sixtentacle to win over so many supporters in the Board — and to press his advantage in the twinkling of an eye. He had been skirmishing around the issue with the slimy bastard from IT in previous board meetings, but BenGrom had then commanded only the vote of a couple of wretches.
“Shit!” thought Ke-ku-ro, Old Daffy was the only one who could stop this now.
He turned to stare at Graviton of Daffodil 13, who was bent forward in his chair, snoring gently. Panic hit Ke-ku-ro’s belly with the physical intensity of an absorbed spear thrust.
AleeNaq’s clear voice rang unto the chamber, startling everybody — including Ke-ku-ro besides her — with its decisive high-frequency melodiousness.
“Honourable Members! Forthwith I must inform you that regarding the matter at hand, I am under strict orders of His Fluidity to ensure no showing of the ayes and nays proceeds without his full engagement as the Chair. As it can be observed, the Chair is momentarily indisposed, in urgent communication with the nether departments!” A pandemonium of howls and protestations swept the chamber, accompanied by uninhibited table banging.
AleeNaq turned to Ke-ku-ro and spoke urgently: “I don’t know how long we can stall them. I’ll try to awaken His Fluidity quickly, but he’ll be initially quite disoriented. We can use this to our advantage since I manage his video collection … “ She whispered the six titles in Ke-ku-ro’s ear and moved to the slumped figure of the Chair whose shoulders she proceeded to massage vigorously.
A Sticky Wicket
“Eh”, His Fluidity’s voice suddenly pulsated drowsily.
“Where am I? Who are this rabble before me?” Ke-ku-ro jumped to his feet with alacrity and gushed, “Your Fluidity, your unbridled wisdom and swing vote are sorely needed to cast a resounding NO to the dissolution of your favourite simulation NGC-3842/0137!” Deathly silence enveloped the chamber as His Fluidity scrutinised Ke-ku-ro. “What damn simulation?” bellowed His Fluidity Graviton of Daffodil 13 with the utmost subsonics, propelling the long mahogany table a foot into the air and tumbling several board members out of their seats. “That would be The Planet of the Apes story arc,” BenGrom’s voice scornfully interjected. “A dog’s dinner of a world filled to the brim by nasty creatures of hasty gratification and predictable aggression.” Ke-ku-ro continued to face the mighty being of the Chair unflinchingly and spoke. “As you well recognise, your Fluidity, the honourable Sixtentacle’s sentiments are a load of codswallop. You know the simulation as Earth 2.0 — inhabited with, you know — Humans.”
The Graviton of Daffodil 13 sighed, his mercurial rage transmuted into pensiveness. “It’s a sticky wicket,” he declared.
“Sixtentacle does make a clear case; unsustainable resource-hogging cannot continue. Heavy of heart as I may be, I find myself …”
Ke-ku-ro interrupted His Fluidity, bringing forth the titles AleeNaq had murmured to him.
“So no more 20th century iconic TV shows for His Fluidity? The Twilight Zone, Blackadder, Frasier, Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Breaking Bad — all lost for eternity?”
His Fluidity sighed even more weightily. Ke-ku-ro pressed his advantage with the tenacity and desperation of the last-born son of a great Aegean House. He leaned toward the Chair, and enunciated each word carefully: “Higgins, Zeus and Apollo.” Ke-ku-ro rapidly raised and lowered both of his full eyebrows, as he is wont to do on special occasions.
Softly he added, “And the object of their torment!”
His Fluidity groaned with distress.
“Dear Hilbert, not the prey item of the Lads, Magnum P.I. himself!”
The Sweet Swan of Avon Pays a Visit
Ke-ku-ro hammered in the final nail.
“And I am speaking of the original series, Your Fluidity, with the youthful Tom Selleck in his most virile and wholesome edition!” “Right!” boomed the Chair and fixed a quantum stare at BenGrom Sixtentacle.
His subsonic consonance again violently disturbed the table.
“Here is how we proceed. Ke-ku-ro will hereupon explain how to decrease the processing load at NGC-3842/0137 to a tenth of its current value within twenty years of in-game time. IT will immediately commence executing this plan in a fashion most orderly!”
Stillness gripped the chamber, immobilising even the Totality’s recorder flies on the soaring marble walls.
After a modest eternity, BenGrom’s voice squeaked imploringly.
“With this latest war between the Primate Hegemony and Multipolarities we can script a Nuclear War and retire ninety-five per cent of individual subject units in a matter of weeks …” Startling all, Ke-ku-ro heaved himself onto the meeting table and interrupted BenGrom’s elaborations with a poised voice.
“From fantasy desist!
What if we obliviate the handful who contrive delightful novelties of aesthetics so pleasurable to our senses and minds of discrimination?
What if we lose artists and writers and merely retain the grey of content creators and consumers, hidden in bunkers and cellars?
Friends, Totalians, Countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to save the High Arts, not to praise their Constructors!
The evil that Primates do may live after them; but why to inter the good with their wasteful bones?”
Ke-ku-ro caught his breath, standing proudly above the assembly, his eyes seeking the oratory horizon below the chamber’s ceiling, which only he could discern.
Poignantly, he started to recite, brushing aside the filaments of near tragedy.
The good, so artful spirit of bipedal Ape, mentioned keenly heart-beats mere ago, perhaps may live when they exhale no more — but can we glimpse this under Confidence’s cape, along with Magnum’s survival in all his shape? Here, under leave of Fluidity, the rest– without disguise, I must suggest that BenGrom bares his truthful chest!
Of IT many he hath victories brought home, to fill the Fluidity’s coffers as in ancient Rome!
But judgment his has fled to brutish beasts, and now in BenGrom’s men unreason feasts.
My heart is in the coffin marked for Ape; up back to us, it should escape, to retain Ape’s Art for eternal gape!
All Successful Meetings end with a Dinner
The beat of wild clapping reverberated around the zero-entropy conference chamber.
The Cultural Progressives were on their feet, ecstatic, towering above the Techno Conservatives slumped despondently. The previously undecided Social Responsibilists stayed seated but were applauding.
With the return of silence, Ke-ku-ro solemnly proclaimed what saved a world but sealed the fate of billions.
“Let it be so! Afford the individual units in simulation NGC-3842/0137 the possibility to exercise the vestiges of their free will.
Let them compete among themselves for the privilege to remain in the ten per cent group — the group that shall be worthy of our high-realism avatar processing, so resource-hungry!
Information Technologies shall instruct the large in-game agent-proxies — the tech megacorps — to create a simulation inside a simulation, a machine ghost-kingdom, where codec avatars are rendered with a million times lower quality of processing.
IT will playbook social media, news media and opinion-leader proxies to normalise organism-hacking of individual units to encourage the majority of the less cognitive and creative avatars to relocate to the lower simulation shell.
There we can proceed with Malthusian negative checks on the headset-wearing population of Earth 2.0.
Let us name the machine ghost-kingdom so it will catch the fancy of the avatars’ simple minds.“
Ke-ku-ro paused for dramatic effect. “Let us call it the Metaverse!” The noise in the chamber became again unbearable and it took His Fluidity — GoD-13 — five minutes of vigorous gavel banging to restore order, confirm the executive decision and end the meeting.
AleeNaq and Ke-ku-ro were standing in the hallway, near the open brass doors, as the remains of the Governing Board spilt out of the zero-entropy room.
BenGrom Sixtentacle heaved himself to a stop in front of the pair, inspecting them with disgust. With a mist of spittle, his voice exploded between the high walls bearing holograms of grizzled bureaucrats long uplifted. “Ke-ku-ro, you’re always defending these fiddling Earthers! They are vile and violent creatures, slaughtering each other incessantly; bipedals with insidious brain mutations and a wandering capacity for goodness. Having spawned them from ill-conceived evolutionary algorithms with dreadful boundary conditions, we’ll demolish their existence sooner than later!” “Leg it”, said Ke-ku-ro to BenGrom.
AleeNaq added, “… dear Softentacle”, clutching Ke-ku-ro’s arm and smiling innocently at the creature from IT.
The red-visaged Executive Director of Supercomputing trudged down the corridor, followed by his gaggle of Techno Conservative subservients.
“Truth be told, we haven’t been to dinner for quite some time”, AleeNaq murmured to Ke-ku-ro from great proximity, the merge of her perfume and natural scent transfixing him.
“As the adult in our — dare I venture semantically — relationship, I am taking matters in my own hands.” Ke-ku-ro stood like a rabbit under an olive tree, seeking cover from a circling golden eagle.
She beamed.
“Dinner it shall be, Ke-ku-ro the Honest. Tomorrow, at Nietzsche’s Steakhouse, on your coinage. And do dress up, dear — none of that ethno drag.” Ke-ku-ro, a statue with wild drumming in its ears, watched AleeNaq glide away with just the hint of swaying hips and pent-up promises.
He truly could not fathom what he had done to deserve the attention of such an astounding lady.
He slowly returned to his senses. Time to shake a leg; make the crucial calls, reconfirm alliances and Hilbert-jump to that house on a hill with an oval-headed dog.
The bottle; he should not forget the bottle.
Back to Good Friday, in a Pool of Light
Ke-ku-ro finishes his recollections with a sigh. “Jesus,” I hear myself whispering, unwittingly speaking of Him on a Good Friday evening. “Hit me with another shot of uisge beatha!” As I gulp the Laphroaig Ke-ku-ro pours, I can feel my mind spinning like a tissue, spiralling in a flushing toilet bowl.
“This is all crap!” I gasp, voicing my metaphor.
“I mean, after all of these years, it is now you decide to inform me that we are living in a simulation?” Ke-ku-ro nervously clears his throat, wrinkling his snout.
“Technically, you’re living in one, not I,” he sighs.
“And it is not as if you haven’t thought of it yourself, right?” “You Mycenaean bugger!” I hiss, impaling him with my stare. “I thought we were friends; I believed we spoke frankly!” “We do, we do!” Ke-ku-ro exclaims, jumping up and down with agitation. Here we go again with the gingerbread. “Look,” he says, “it’s just an act of judicious restraint in intelligence sharing!” “More of a stone-hearted deception by omission!” I growl. “To think I listen to your bitching and feed you Swiss chocolate! And now I am not even real.”
It is pitch-dark outside the circle of light around the car.
Ke-ku-ro watches me, his eyes pools of unending blue. For a moment, they seem to glint moistly. This, of course, is impossible, as he has no tear-ducts in his current form. “You’re real enough to me,” he whispers. “And I’ve seen enough on my travels to doubt anything is actually existent. I would not be surprised that Totality itself is but a figment of a warrior’s dream in a VR fantasy game.
We’re all, in the final analysis, screwed by Entropy.
It is even possible that if there were no one thinking about the Universe, it would simply cease to exist.
And there are times I believe only one true day exists, that day millennia ago, when …” We sit silently in the ensuing stillness.
“Ke-ku-ro, thank you for fighting for us,” I say after an age.
“Even though you did succeed in bastardising Yuval Noah Harari, William Shakespeare and a fistful of science fiction stories from the Sixties.”
My friend grins broadly, flashing his pointy teeth. He places a paw on my hand. “Notwithstanding all the economic tragedy on the horizon and wars raging around us, promise me one thing, please!” “Of course,” I answer. “What would that be?” “Please don’t let yourself be organism-hacked,” he says.
“Ignore social and mass media.
Do not buy that headset, stay out of the Metaverse. And …” “Yes?” I ask.
“Think for yourself, and read and write as if your life depended on it.”
If you observe or celebrate Easter, I wish you a good one!
If you do not, I still wish you a distinctive Monday, and that your next festive day will be kind to you!
There is far too little kindness in the world today, but Ke-ku-ro consoles me it has never been otherwise.
If you want to learn more about Ke-ku-ro — and Hemingway — you can read this story.
(Other tales of David’s hallucinations)
