Peter Watts - Fractals

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FRACTALS

(or: Reagan Assured Gorbachev of Help Against Space

Aliens)1

Trespassing? Trespassing? You arrogant slant-eyed alien

motherfucker, I used to live here!

* * *

How long have I wanted to do that? How many years have I

hated them, dreamt that my fists were smashing those faces into

shapes even less human? I can't remember. The anger is

chronic. The anger has always been chronic. And impotent,

until now. The pain in my knuckles throbs like a distant badge

of honour.

It's cold.

The rage is gone, absorbed somehow by the mud and the unlit

piles of lumber and masonry scattered around me. I can barely

focus on my surroundings. The shapes keep changing, hulking

angular monstrosities shifting on all sides. Only the sign at the

front of the lot, the sign he kept pointing at, refuses to move.

I can barely see him in the dark. He's just a few meters away,

but the shadows are so black and he doesn't move at all. What if

I killed him? What if I—

There. He moved a bit. It's okay, I didn't kill him, he's not

dead—

Yet. What if he dies here in the mud?

(So what if he does? Lots more where he came from.)

No. I don't mean that. I can't believe I ever did, I mean, what

if I, what if he dies here, what if—

What if he lives, and identifies me?

1 First published in On Spec 7(1), 1995: 31-41.

2 Nimbus

A couple of steps forward. A couple more. Okay, he was

about here when he saw me, and then he moved over there and

started shouting—

He couldn't have seen my face. Even when he came closer,

it's so dark he'd only have seen a silhouette, and then he was

right in front of me and—

I can get away. I can get away. Oh Jesus God I can't believe I

did this—

Okay. This is a construction site, after all; my car will only

leave one set of tracks in a muddle of hundreds. And the nearest

house is over a block away, this whole end of the road is unlit.

Lucky me: no witnesses.

The car starts smoothly, without a moment's hesitation. I

descend toward the city.

It was as though I had planned it all, somehow. In a way I feel

as though I've been rehearsing this forever. I have been purged.

It's such a relief not to burn, to unclench my teeth, to feel the

hard knot of tension in my stomach easing away. Somehow, I'm

free. Not happy, perhaps. But I have acted, at last, from the

heart, and in some strange way I'm finally at peace.

(What if he dies up there?)

I'll stop at the next phone booth. Ambulances respond to

anonymous tips, don't they? In the meantime, I've got to be

careful to keep my shoes on the mudmat. Just in case. Joanne

might still be awake when I get home. I'll stop off at a gas

station and rinse everything clean on the way.

* * *

It's a nice window; nice scenery. I've always liked forests,

though I've never seen so many squirrels and deer and birds

crammed into such a small area before. But hey, who am I to

complain about realism, I'm twenty floors over Robson Street

looking out at a rainforest so why worry about details? Besides,

Watts 3

it's not a rainforest any more. It's an alpine meadow. She

touches a button on the windowsill and the whole world

changes.

I walk across the room; rocks and heather come into view,

cross the window, fall into eclipse at the other side. I move

closer and the field of view expands. Nose against glass I can

see one hundred and eighty, three-dimensional degrees along all

axes. Just outside, an explosion of flowers stirs in a sudden

breeze.

But now she fingers a switch and the world stops, there's no

window at all any more, just a flat grey screen and a fake

window sill.

"That's incredible," I say, distantly amazed.

She can't quite keep the pride out of her voice. "It's a

breakthrough all right. There are other flat monitors around, but

you can see the difference."

"How do you do it? Is this some sort of 3-d videotape or

something?"

Her smile widens. "Not even close. We use fractals."

"Fractals."

"You know, those psychedelic patterns you see on calendars

and computer posters."

Right. Something to do with chaos theory. "But what exactly

are—"

She laughs. "Actually, I just demonstrate the stuff. We got a

guy at the university to hack the software for us, he'd be able to

tell you the details. If you think your readers would be

interested."

"I'm interested. If I can't get them interested too I'm not much

of a journalist, am I?"

"Well then, let me give you his name," she says. "I'll tell him

to expect you. He should be able to set something up within the

next week or so."

4 Nimbus

She jots a name on the back of her card and hands it to me.

Roy Cheung, it says. I feel a sudden brief constriction in my

throat.

"One last question," I say to her. "Who's going to be able to

afford something like this?"

"Bottom-line models will retail at around thirty thousand," she

tells me. "A lot of businesses want to hang one in their lobbies

and so forth. And we also hope to sell to upper income

individuals."

"If you can find any nowadays."

"You'd be surprised, actually. Since the Hong Kong influx

started there's been a real surge in the number of people who can

afford this sort of product."

You poor dear. You haven't done your market research, have

you? Or you'd know exactly what your wealthy clientele think

of nature. It's abstract art to them. There probably isn't a blade

of grass left in all of Hong Kong. Most of those people wouldn't

know what a tree was if one grew through their penthouse

windows and spat oxygen all over the walls.

No matter. In another few years, neither will we.

* * *

"Emergency Admissions."

"Uh, yes. I was wondering if you've had—if there was an

assault victim admitted over the past day or so."

"I'm sorry sir, you'll have to be more specific. Assault

victim?"

"Yes, um, has someone been admitted suffering head injuries,

an oriental—"

"Why?" The voice acquires a sudden sharp edge. "Do you

know something about an unreported assault?"

"Uh—" Hang up, you idiot! This isn't getting you anywhere!

"Actually, it must have been reported, they were loading him

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摘要：

FRACTALS(or:ReaganAssuredGorbachevofHelpAgainstSpaceAliens)1Trespassing?Trespassing?Youarrogantslant-eyedalienmotherfucker,Iusedtolivehere!***HowlonghaveIwantedtodothat?HowmanyyearshaveIhatedthem,dreamtthatmyfistsweresmashingthosefacesintoshapesevenlesshuman?Ican'tremember.Theangerischronic.Theanger...

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Peter Watts - Fractals

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