Editing Malady (section)

==Revolution==
What sweet dreams of grandeur come to those who stay
unsleeping. The night folds - the morning light sings of revolution. The
time has come.


Aristotle's time had come. In a moment he had risen. Now he was
the leader of a new revolution. He had a plan. With a single spark of
pulse, he would ignite a fire - a fire to consume the diseased flesh of
the infected, to light the way into a new era - the transhuman age.


He had a plan. With the fortune from Halcyon, he would launch a
network of satellites beaming unfettered freedom of information to
nodes in every organ of the evolved, singular being of humanity.


It was elegant. He did not have to raise an army, he only had to
connect the people - to give them a reason to rise. That would be
enough. He would oversee the design and installation of the system
components in two separate phases. It was a gargantuan task, to be
met with the fiercest sort of resistance. A time would surely come
when violence had the final say - but he was ready to fight.


He would connect the people, and after that he did not know, but
he was certain that it would be enough. It had been enough for Lucy,
hadn't it? Just showing up, not knowing what was next. It would take
money, and bodies, and science and time. But he had those things, or
he knew where he could get them, and he was ready to use it all. The
cancerous cells of the organism would fight with all of their impulse to
maintain the paralytic grip of the malady. But their impulse would be
small compared to the organism awakened, unbounded, united, in
motion as one.


Aristotle had a plan, and the time had come to set the plan into
unstoppable, perpetual motion. He and Lucy boxed the books, and
sent them on ahead. They said goodbye to the apartment where they
had once again found love, and they flew from Paris.


Lucy thought that the house was a thing of utmost beauty. Looking
at the hearth, and the sturdy wooden frame, she finally understood
how Ari's hands had gotten so rough. She loved the house as if it were
a part of Aristotle. But it would be a place for work, a place full of
frenetic, kinetic myth. Lucy shared the vision of a day when all of this
would be over, and serenity would flood back to the land.


Now it was filled with a nervous buzz, as Aristotle called on the
people he trusted most, and they gathered not knowing what to
expect. There were only five then, whose names by now you surely
know. Aristotle the cynosure and Lucy, his beloved. There was Thomas
who had shown him how to work the land, who owned the land, and
Curtis, who knew the bitter price of resistance. Then there was Iggy,
who had also seen the disease in the early days, and provided insight
into the malady. Five, they sat, around a long wooden table in a
farmhouse. There was a certain shock in seeing Ari like that, his hair
shorn away, and his body adorned in the flowing black robes. There
was a shock, and then no shock at all. He looked the part. He was
powerful, sleek, and elusive - the softness of his words gave them their
strength. He did not struggle to command the room. It seemed to the
four others that he could have commanded the attention of many
millions with but a whisper.


He opened with a warning. They were about to embark upon a
sojourn from which there was no return. He would understand if they
chose to leave now, but if they stayed tonight, they stayed until victory
of death. They would work in secrecy for as long as they could, but a
day would come when their faces would be flashed to the world -
enemies of the peace, traitor to the order of things. When that day
came, they would be hunted and hounded, chased and surveilled. They
would be targets. It was doubtful that they would all survive. Aristotle
a sked if he wa s wel l understood. One by one they a ssented,
committing their lives to the cause.


With that, Aristotle laid plain the plan - satellites, nodes, and a
fierce battle over the impulse of humanity. Their job was not to fight -
it was to awaken a more self aware consciousness for the organism of
us all. Then, if they succeeded, they would watch the fury unfold as the
healthy body went about ridding itself of disease. Satellites and nodes -
that was all. It would be no small feat, but then, neither is the fusion of
an atom.


Aristotle, who had stood as he explained the plan, fell silent and
joined the others, who were seated. He asked them what they thought,
wondered what they would do to bring all this about. Perhaps they had
expected him to tell them each their duties, but that was not his way.
He had learned from his time at the head of Halcyon that people do
their best work when the take the work upon themselves. For a long
moment there was silence. Nobody know what to say. Aristotle had
asked a question, and he waited patiently for an answer.


Lucy raised her voice. She would distribute the pathology across
continents. She would spread the ungerminated seed of ideology. If
people were going to rise up, then they needed a reason. She would
give them a reason one crate at a time, one crate of little black books
at a time. She would give them away. She would paste them inside
telephone booths, and put them in the stead of hotel room bibles.
Lucy would spread the word.


Curtis spoke next. He would stay with Aristotle. Anyone who
wanted to speak to Ari would have to speak first to him. He could keep
the leader safe, and a safe leader meant a safer team. He would keep
the numbers and addresses and names in his head, so that Ari could
focus on the design. No paper trail, no evidence, no compromised
agenda. Curtis would protect them.


Thomas said he would find them friends. Five people were not
enough. They would need hundreds and then thousands of friends -
ultimately they would need a billion. You have to start somewhere,
though, and in his short lifetime, he had met many people who he was
sure would come to their aid. He would talk to students and farmers
and recluses in the their caves. He what an idealist looked like - the
gleam and glitter of their eye. He would find them, and he would bring
them there, to his farm. Thomas would make them grow.


Iggy would continue to investigate the disease, and track the
progress of their treatment. He would have conversations with
Aristotle regarding strategy and policy and logistics. He would argue.
He would manage the operations, and he would keep a watchful eye.
Iggy would guide them.


Aristotle would design, specify, tool, machine and distribute the
components of the remedy, the network, the evolution of revolution.
Aristotle would lead a team of his systems engineers to design the
satellites and then the nodes. He would take his fortune and drive the
satellites into orbit, and pump out millions of network nodes with a
simple, inexpensive design. Aristotle would talk to the machines.
Aristotle would lead them.


Of course, everybody had to do everything. With the exception of
Aristotle, the responsibilities of disseminating the pathology, ensuring
each others' safety, finding likeminded folk, and contributing their
input fell to ever ybody. And then ever ything was Aristotle's
responsibility, more than it was anyone else's, it was Aristotle's.


The two houses would be the headquarters, the failsafe, the
laboratory. They would be a printing press and a staging ground, a hive
and a colony. They had gathered there to start a revolution, but it was
unlike any that had come before it. It was a leap in complexity, a new
way of being. The sense that they were on the cusp of a great
transformation consumed them, and sat unspoken in the minds of a
great many. At first it was only Aristotle who seemed more figure than
man, but soon it was all of them. They spoke for hours about strategies
and logistics and budgets and agendas. When they were finished, they
found that they had each become something more than themselves.
They were the five.


No one had the urge to celebrate that night. There was too much
to be done. Yet there was an air of pristine joy there - that they had
come this far, that they were in motion. In the morning they set out,
each on the lonely path of the revolutionary way. They did not know
when they would see each other again, or if they would ever again
gather as a group. That was part of it, though, and they took it as it
came.


In the months that followed, a slow trickle of bodies and buildings
began to fill the farm. Thomas was in Northern California, Lucy was in
New York, and Iggy was in Atlanta. They were meeting people, and
talking quietly, and slipping little black books into upturned palms. It
seemed to them that the world was waiting for this to happen. All they
had to do was whisper the word, and ears turned upwards, awaiting,
willing. It was clear from the beginning that they had struck a chord.
The pathology of the malady rang true to so many who had looked on
for long with the deepest dismay.


It started with friends. For months, in fact, the only real addition
were folks that they had known from before. Thomas had the most
success. He belonged to a robust network of leftists, and they knew
quite well that he was a serious man. When he told them something
was brewing, they listened, and when he said that it was something
serious, a few were ready to join the fight. So to the farm they came,
and they sat with Aristotle. Mostly they discussed the pathology, but
occasionally Aristotle would take one into his confidence, and divulge
the details of the plan. They came and they went, and when they had
gone it was to spread the word.


Lucy made great strides. Her intelligence and her beauty unlocked
doors. Soon the pathology was being read by artists and intellectuals,
editors and publishers and thinkers and activists. It started to appear
in bookshops and coffeehouses. The halls of the colleges and the
universities and the high schools were sure to contain a few black
books. Soon it was being printed in basements and back rooms, being
read and released, and read and released - annotated and given to the
next of the infected. To some it was a death rattle, and to some it was
a call to arms. It was only what it had to be.


People began to mutter the name - 'Aristotle.' Who is he? Who
was he? Was he a scientist or a philosopher? Few knew for sure, except
for the few that had travelled down that long dirt road to the place
where two cabins stood atop the dusty dirt.


The balance was shifting, and now the agents of the new revolution
didn't have to convince people, but only had to say that they knew the
author of that little black book. In the places where you might recruit
a revolutionary 'Aristotle' was a common sound. Now they had to be
more than cautious with who they chose to send to the farm. Aristotle
had confidence in their judgement, and he was not disappointed.


Of course, it helped that Curtis controlled the comings and goings.
Potential agents were told to go to Joshua Tree and wait. Curtis picked
them up and searched their bodies, blindfolded them and sized them
up. More than once he refused entry to people who looked at him
wrong, or hadn't read the book right, or had brought a guest.


Then it started to snowball, as revolutions tend to do. A year after
they had first gathered, more than two-hundred and fifty people had
come and gone from the farm. Aristotle spent the majority of his time
tinkering and drawing schematics, but we'll get to that in a bit. Lucy
would visit for weeks at a time, to print more books and to be with
Aristotle. They wished that they never had to part, but when the run
was done, and the pages were bound, again she would go off. Their love
flourished and endured.


Lucy planted quite fertile seeds in europe. Thomas went to Latin
America. The message spanned idioms, was fresh and vibrant even in
translation. The movement was becoming global. From China and
India and Russia they came, from Algeria and Israel and Somalia and
Peru. Each time, they came and went, and the going had a clear
purpose and a new pulse.


It grew and it grew, and eventually average people started to take
note. What was that book, and who had penned it? The made for good
TV, and demand for the text began to take off. It was being printed on
presses in Africa and Asia, and America, too. They printed it in Europe
and in Australia. Everywhere they were printing it. They could not be
printed with enough haste. It spread on the internet, too. The
movement had reached a critical mass, and then in earnest the
backlash began. The Senators and businesspeople did not know where
the explosive little treatise had come from, but they tore it to dust just
the same. They dared the author to come forth, but Aristotle knew
that it was not yet time. He let imitators play at being him, because all
of them were exposed in time. He was patient, and he knew that it was
good let the chaos build. Certainly the chaos grew, until there was a
palpable nervousness in the halls of power. The atmosphere was
becoming combustible, and they feared a spark of pulse would set
ablaze their mechanism of oppression and violence. Their fear was not
unfounded. But it was good to let the chaos build.


That's what Iggy said, and Aristotle trusted Ignatius. While Ari
worked with his engineers, Iggy took care of running everything else.
He slowly drew the Halcyon billions into secure positions. From time
to time he thought that the money should have gone to feed people, or
to give them shelter, but then he realized that it ultimately was.


The movement was strong, and it seemed that Aristotle could have
started a violent uprising at his command. But that would not work -
their numbers would be crushed and their revolution would be
eliminated. They had to wait, and someday it would be not a few
thousand that were willing to work for the cause, but a few billion.
Someday soon, their moment would come. It is not an easy thing, to
wait and grow, when every impulse says to fling yourself foreword into
the future. It is not an easy thing at all, but great strength and
undiminished resolve, they waited and they grew. They became strong.
The worked in shadows, in the dark and the dust. They cast ripples,
out and out into the sea of our consciousness. They were fearless, and
Aristotle's brilliance gave them strength. He was soft and strong as a
leader. He knew when to speak and when to listen - mostly he listened.
He knew the day would come to speak.


He listened most of all to the team of expert technicians who aided
him in the essential work. The first day after the meeting of the
original five, Aristotle had set to work designing the satellites that
would that would sing the song of an impulse jump. He called on the
four of his employees that had been receptive to the idea of the malady
before such a thing was known to exist. They came, and they did not
leave.


It wasn't the physical design of the satellites which posed the
greatest challenge. Orbital mechanics, telemetry and data relay were
actually relatively basic compared to the essential question. Aristotle
wondered how he might design a network with so few satellites and so
many nodes. The imbalance in numbers created an incredible need to
handle each node with a light touch. Aristotle had designed large
networks before, but never anything as large as this. There had never
been anything as large as this. To most, the idea seemed impossible,
but to Aristotle it was certainly possible. He only had to find a way.


While the others travelled the globe, created an ever growing din
of discontent among the masses, Aristotle only wracked his brain. He
ran simulation after simulation, computing bandwidths and
throughputs and bit rates and speed. At first they failed miserably.
They were orders of magnitude below the efficiencies they would need.
But one radical innovation followed another, and soon they were
envisioning an architecture that was radically new. It was more elegant
and less expensive than anything that had come before. The numbers
improved. Aristotle did not become frustrated, when after a year of
nonstop work, they were less than halfway there. He not become
frustrated at all, only returned to his work, and wondered what he
could ask the others to give. His engineers were as indispensable limbs,
executing ideas flawlessly, allowing Ari to focus on the task of coming
up with solutions. Everyday he thought of something, a way to reduce
the satellite's load. At night he dreamed only of the machines,
pulsating, vibrating, alive and awake. He felt that he did more work
while sleeping than when awake. Often he sprang from bed with a new
idea for the others to implement. Aristotle did not become frustrated,
he only became urgently brilliant. None of his team had seen a mind
like that.


Ari was satisfied with the specifications, and the construction
began in May. Under the cover of the Halcyon name they purchased
the parts and materials. After that, the fabrication was under Iggy's
direction. It would take roughly twelves months to prepare them for
launch. Aristotle hoped that it would be enough time to finish the
code.


It had been almost a year and half since they had set in motion.
Aristotle was pleased with how far they had come. They were a
movement now - global and growing in the light of new ideas. They
were well on their way, and Aristotle was pleased that there was so
much work to do. Many times they had broken through the barrier of
diminishing returns, but always it came back. The work went on like
that - in fits and starts, followed by days of slow decay. When Aristotle
figured that they were ninety percent of the way there, he made a
decision that shocked the team. He wanted to begin again, from
scratch, build the whole skyscraper of code from the ground up. He
said they would build it better this time, and faster, with all the insight
and knowledge they had gained.


Starting out again from the top was daunting, but it proved to be
exactly what they had to do. Rebuilding each module of the code, they
found that the second version was consistently quicker, shorter, more
efficient, and altogether a more elegant expression of the idea. The
fundamental technique was to use the abundance of users as source of
robustness, sharing with each other outside of the uplink. They had
designed a network which got quicker with every added node. It had
taken them eighteen months to design the architecture of the network
that would come to be called 'MIND.' They were ready for launch. All
that remained was to prepare the satellites for their wild ride. It was
the finest system that Aristotle had ever designed, and though he was
sanguine, there was a measure of sadness in him when it was done. The
plan would move ahead with a midsummer launch, and Ari knew that
he would finally have to show himself. You can't just launch a satellite
into space and not tell anybody about it. It was fortunate that he had
remained anonymous as long as he had, but now that would end.


The day arrived. The summer heat was at the height of its simmer.
The occasion was momentous, and much of the movement was invited
to gather in the salt flats of Utah. They would watch the payload of
their resistance take flight. The original five were there, and thousands
of those that had come to meet Aristotle on the farm.


A spotless, sparkling sky of grey-white haze hung over them as they
counted down the minutes to ignition. It was the first time they had
gathered in number. One could not help but feel the power of the
pulse, out there in the desert. There were too many of them, and they
were too smart, and too willing to give everything. Ten minutes to
launch - Aristotle went amongst the crowd. He was not hot in his
black kurta. It flowed and breathed and seemed to generate the wind.
He was beautiful that day, and Lucy held his hand. Five minutes -
Aristotle beamed and shook the hands of many. He remembered
almost all of their names. Three minutes - vapor started slowly to flow
from beneath the bodies of the rockets. Two - Aristotle kissed Lucy on
the forehead. She kissed him on the chin. One - the nervous energy
had a scent. It was the smell of electricity. It was the smell of an
actualized dream. Launch.


The heat scorched the air as the rockets took to flight, and a
tremendous roar shook the endless earth. They cheered and whooped
as they rose, ever higher, essentially ascendant. Borne atop balls of
flame, the satellites took to that space beyond the sky. Aristotle wept,
and the sight of his joyous weeping caused others to weep as well. He
wept for the beauty of it all. He wept and leapt and whooped for the
remedy. It was up there now, carrying the code that would connect the
earth. The light of the sun seemed to bounce and pulse. Aristotle knew
what it felt like to live inside a dream. Aristotle felt the sickness
weakening inside him. The impulse of the MIND was strong. Others
felt it, too.


When the trail of vapor had gone from the sky, Aristotle stood to
speak. It was time to claim the pathology of the malady, and to show
the world the person that he had developed a remedy. Lucy, Curtis,
Thomas and Iggy stood behind him, and the cameras could see the
crowd of rebels expanding into the desert beyond. It was time to come
into the open. Aristotle raised his voice.


First he explained the purpose of the satellites, which were finding
their orbits that very moment. They would provide a signal to facilitate
the interconnection and free communication of all humans. Soon, he
said, his organization would begin to distribute nodes free of charge.
Existing computers could log on as long as they had some kind of
radio. For too long the people of the planet had been bound by
ignorance, and forced by isolation to obey the destructive impulse of
the diseased. Now it was time to unify, to show that they would begin
to embrace the higher consciousness of a planetary MIND. This
message went out and out across the globe, dubbed and subtitles and
translated so that all could hear.


The reaction was immediate, and Aristotle knew that he had struck
fear into the hearts of those who rejected the idea of a common
humanity and a common good. They took to the airwaves armed only
with falsehood. The couldn't condemn the MIND project - it was too
popular, and anyways beyond control. They made empty pledges of
support for the idea, while at once setting about the task of tearing
down those that had brought it to bloom. They called it a desperate
power grab by a group of armed extremists. The called for the
immediate handover of control, or for the arrest of Aristotle and his
movement. Still, when the malady struck at him, Aristotle struck back.
He that it was not his power that he fought for, but the abdication of
theirs. He sounded a warning that the people would no longer tolerate
their misfeasance, nonfeasance and malfeasance. The people would not
suffer their disdain for the life of the planet - tolerate their destructive
impulse. He said that the time had come for them to cede control to
the people.


People heard Aristotle's words, and a great many agreed. If they
had not read his book already, surely they did after the birth of MIND.
This was no time to sit back and watch. It seemed certain now that the
soul of the planet was at stake. The clatter was constant. People spoke
openly about the growing discord of a fractured civilization. From the
time that MIND first blinked on, it was clear that there had been a
shift.


The members of the moment fanned out, and waged a battle for
minds and bodies and souls. They risked arrest, detention, and torture
at the hands of any government. They went with joy.


Aristotle became as famous as those against whom he struggled. It
didn't take long for them to link Halcyon to the revolution, but they
were too late. Iggy had taken practically every cent of Halcyon and
purchased quantities of certain elements - gold and silicone and
tungsten and others. The funds were secure. The Halcyon link served
to reassure people that the network was trustworthy.


Aristotle published open specifications to help people connect
their machines to the network. Slowly it began to grow. But MIND
wasn't just for people who already had machines. It was for those who
had nothing, for those who had no access to information at all. It was
to them that he needed to deliver, and he knew he had not yet
achieved that goal. He would carry on the fight until anyone in the
world could free share their ideas - then the fight would in earnest
begin.


When the violent reaction of the malady to the remedy increased
its pitch, Aristotle only referenced the small black book that he carried
all the time. He said that resistance to MIND was only the disease
fighting back against its cure. He only said that they would prevail. He
only said, only softly, that soon the nature of humanity would come to
bear. Either people would united under the flag of universal equality
and mutual freedom, or the planet would perish. It would be choked to
death by those that had raped it - leaving the thrashing masses to fend
for themselves in a cold void.


Aristotle had to return to work, but he knew he could not return to
the farm. It was essential that he complete the second phase of the
plan before the authorities had time to convince the people that
Aristotle was not worthy of their trust. Iggy and Ari and Curtus found
a property in Idaho to use as a research facility. The task was to design
a network node that could be produced as cheaply as possible. He had
to make the machine that would carry his message to the masses.


He figured they would need to produce one billion machines. That
would be more than one for every ten people, even if you account for
the mil lions of units that would be lost in the str ug gle over
distribution. One billion machines for one billion dollars. No matter
how you sliced it, it was going to be a squeeze. Aristotle had the same
certainty that he had brought to the satellite job. He knew he could
not fail.


The basic premise of the design was to create a computer that
could send, receive, and display information. It didn't have to be
powerful, but it did have to be strong. It would have to withstand the
heat of the desert, the cold of the tundra, the dry mountain air and the
damp grove. Above all else, Aristotle valued elegance in design, and he
wanted to make sure that whatever the produced could be reproduced
by others from the schematics. That way the responsibility of
production would not fall solely on him.


For months he and his team were cooped up in their mountain hole
- the battle for allegiance raged outside. The device had to be able to
gather energy from the bountiful fusion of the sun. It had to be small
and light and portable. It needed to be intuitive. Aristotle had been
designing computers since his second year of college, but this was
something else. This was art. In the patterns and the circuits, Aristotle
felt himself growing closer to a solution. It wasn't entirely empirical -
at times his hand moved on the page in ways that his mind did not
understand. It was a trance-like state that overtook him as he
produced design after design, a zen state, similar to way he felt when
he made love. They pumped out prototype after prototype, page after
page, one foot in front of the other, until Aristotle thought the design
was good. It was a piece of flexible, electrosensitive plastic with
circuits printed on to the back. On the front there was a photovoltaic
cell, an array of light emitting diodes, and a space for input. The design
was done.


The next morning, Aristotle was awakened by a commotion in the
yard. It was too early. Then there was a rapping at the door. He had
taken to sleeping in the lab. Before he had risen from his cot, the door
flew open, and he saw the badge. Finally, they had come. The timing
was suspect - perhaps they had been watching the entire time, waiting
for the right moment to barge in. Perhaps they had only found him just
now.
"We have a warrant for your arrest and for the confiscation of
everything in this laboratory."


Aristotle had no idea how many agents had come, but he was sure
that there was no other choice. If they took the prototype the would
destroy it, and he might never get the chance to recreate it. He had to
fight. Curtis was screaming in the hallway. The battle was about to
begin. Aristotle took the pistol from beneath his bed, and shot with a
steady flick at the agent in the doorway. He fell. Seconds later the
percussive clack of gunfire could be heard across the grounds. Curtis
dispatched three agents quickly, and rushed into the room where
Aristotle was gathering his things. They knew that other agents of the
malady would not be far behind. The had time only to gather the
research and flee. Six revolutionaries were killed in the shootout, and
all twelve agents who arrived had been slain. The agents had foolishly
not expected such resistance. It was their way to believe that anyone
would fold at the sight of a loaded gun. They were wrong. The
revolution had been prepared, had always been prepared. Ari knew
that the luxury of being underestimated would not come again. He was
only thankful that they had gotten away with their prototype and their
lives.


They went to the north, and travelled with all haste. Under Curtis'
guidance, they made their way to safety. They warned their allies that
the crackdown was about to begin. Up they went, north, to Alaska.
The traversed the vast wilderness of the northwest. Always they
looked behind them, as Aristotle had done in the chaos of the deep
woods. They wondered when death would appear, but it was only
shadow and fear that tracked them, only the phantoms inside the
mind.


There was fluxion in humanity's impulse - the work of the
revolution had to go on. In the harshness of the Alaskan tundra, they
set about producing copies of the machines for which they'd killed. In
mere months units were rolling down the line - thousands every day.
But that wouldn't be nearly enough. Aristotle sent specifications and
resources to agents stationed in ever y organ of humanity. The
movement was millions strong now, counting only those who were
willing to pay the ultimate price. The machine of Aristotle's grand
design was called 'node.' It was soon being produced at an astounding
rate. Every day, a million new machines poured out of basements in
bangladesh and dorm rooms and mud huts and even a few mansions.
The only order was to get them to the people that could use them
most. Every day, Aristotle waited the number of nodes grow. MIND
became faster, as it had been designed to do - it became faster and
more robust. Aristotle could feel the whole planet pulse.


Every time a new node was brought to life, it routed the user to the
text of the pathology. It was in a thousand languages now, translated
into any intelligible idiom. People knew who had given them the
greatest of gifts - it was Aristotle and his army. In return, Aristotle
asked only that people share, communicate, learn, unite.


Authorities the world over said that anyone who had a node was
part of some monstrous plot. It was too late for that - there were too
many nodes. Even the people who were supposed to carry out the
malady's violent resistance to the remedy were connecting to MIND.
They were reading about the purpose of the machines for themselves.
The bureaucrats and demagogues had lost control of their well-trained
dogs, and we're losing more control every day. It would not be long
until the edifice came crashing down a round them, becoming nothing
more than a smoldering pile of hateful rubble. Every day a million new
nodes were born, and the rate was only increasing. It was on every
tongue - the times were changing, the impulse jump was near. Soon
they would rid themselves of the malady.


World leaders met in scared little summits, and asked themselves
what they could possibly do - to stop the onslaught, to staunch the
bleeding. Even if they found Aristotle again, what then? It was more
than one man - so much more. Their violent rhetoric grew, becoming
increasingly savage. To those that remained convinced of their
authority, they urged calm. They said that the situation was under
control, but the panic behind their eyes and underneath their voices
was plain. They were powerless in the face of a force so much greater
than guns. Never before had they imagined such a thing - a rebellion
which could not be put down with brute force. The had not realized
that the unity of the people thye oppressed would be their downfall.


Aristotle had been on the lam for more than a year. He and the
others had hidden themselves away along the northern frontier. Their
work was done for a moment. They had established an apparatus that
could run in their absence, continue to pump out those nodes. To a
few they were fugitives, but to many the were the future. It had been
their impossible dream that was changing the world. The were simply
the five. More than human, to most they were myth. After one year of
production, MIND had a billion nodes. The number would only
continue to grow.


The world was ready for the final thrust, to buck their oppressors
in a tumultuous day of upheaval. They could bear the malady no more.
It was time. Aristotle had only to say the word.


So now you've seen the revolution. I wonder if it was what you
expected. People tend to think of revolutions as violent affairs, but not
this one. I mean, sure, there was some violence in there. Aristotle
wasn't willing to just go down like that. But they eschewed violence
when they could, and it certainly wasn't part of their plan. It was only
unity, only bringing people together, so that they could see how strong
they really were. Sometimes that's all it takes. Not that it was easy,
because it certainly was not that - only that it was elegant, simple,
something anyone could understand. Elegance is so often the key to
solving a complex problem - that's what I think, at least.


Now, I apologize if that was a little too much of a hurried
description of events, and less about the characters. There was just a
lot to describe. Perhaps I shouldn't have tried to fit five very active
years into a single chapter, but the last thing I want is for this book to
drag on. Really - if you feel that this is all played out, you can stop now.
I only ask, as usual, that you let me know. I mean, I can tell you how
this is going to go. The good guys are going to win. In most ways that
already have. All that remains now is for the people to rise up. Our
friends can sort of just sit back and watch - sort of.


I'm going to write the rising tonight. It's early yet, and I just sort of
feel that it's time. I'm going to save the last chapter, though. Maybe for
tomorrow. You know, it doesn't take very long to write a book if you're
not doing much of anything else. It's been two weeks to the day since I
started out. Perhaps it's supposed to take longer - I don't know.
Perhaps it shows. It's just that once it starts coming, it really doesn't
stop. The story writes itself - your only job is to put it into words. Who
knew?


Marcus and I are going to take a break soon, to eat a mango. It is
good to eat mangoes while you write, but you have to be careful not to
drip the juice on the page. That would be no good at all.


Speaking of things that are no good at all, my pencil ran out of lead
in the middle of this chapter. You remember - the P205 that I told you
about. I'm using a Sharplet 2 now, but it's not the same. I think that
pencil has become one of my favorite objects. Not to worry, though -
I'll fill it back up with graphite when I return to the states. We'll be
together for a long time, if I can keep from losing it. That would be
nice.


Okay, it's mango time, and I've got to do all the cutting. I know
that it's hard to part, but I'll be back soon. Just you wait - or don't -
doesn't matter to me. You go on ahead, and I swear I'll catch up, or you
can just chill.


Seriously, though, it's mango time.