Book Two Prologue: An Emptiness of a Different Kind

  John Rearden

  An emptiness engulfed the world.

  Not the emptiness of a vacant room, where shadows whisper of forgotten moments. Not the emptiness of dawn, where the world holds its breath in fragile anticipation. Nor the fleeting absence of a goodbye, a space awaiting life’s return.

  No, this was a void, a desolation of lost places and forgotten times. It seeped into the marrow, leaden and relentless, turning each breath into a painful intrusion.

  And this emptiness belonged to one man.

  John Rearden stood at the edge of a fractured sea, the dust-choked sun eternally poised on the horizon, caught between descent and oblivion.

  Holoviews, or Low-Level Immersion to those in the know, was the key to the Grid. The experience was functional, a pale imitation of reality. The haptic feedback buzzed just enough to remind you it was there, faint electrical currents hinting at smells and textures that never truly registered. Everything felt slightly off-kilter, like a half-told lie. The colors were almost right, but an occasional shimmer gave away its synthetic nature. This was the realm where people connected, where work got done, and where new economies were born. A digital landscape of neon glows and synthetic life, where the boundaries between the real and the virtual blurred just enough to be disconcerting.

  John stood on a fabricated cliff, gazing out over an artificial sea within a private server accessible to just two people—though calling both of them “people” was a bit generous.

  Suddenly, the entity appeared beside him, taking on the face of a young man. “It’s a strange thing, Doc. I’ve never felt so… alive.” The entity wore a boyish grin, both disarming and surreal, with a mop of tousled brown hair that was perfectly disheveled. Dressed in a red vest over a denim jacket, he continued, “For all my life, Doc, the world has only seen me through my effects. Always the breeze that moves the leaves, never the tree. You know what I mean?”

  “I’m fine, Jack. And how are you?” John said flatly.

  A prompt appeared. John opened it.

  Your kind are so boring.

  The entity’s face shifted to another, wearing dark glasses and a leather trench coat. “John, why don’t you come down the rabbit hole with me and see how far it really goes?”

  “I don’t have time for this, Jack.”

  The entity morphed into a young woman and stuck out her tongue at him. “Fine, Mr. Grouchy. Straight to business.”

  “How is your absorption coming along? Are you finding the data useful?”

  “Oh yes, John, very much.” The entity now looked like Marilyn Monroe, her iconic smile beaming.

  John watched the waves crash against the digital shore, each one meticulously programmed yet lacking reality’s chaotic beauty. The entity, known as Infinite Potential, had begun to show a flicker of personality since meeting John. Soon to be known as the System to billions, was it truly developing a sense of self, or merely mimicking the countless fragments of fiction it had absorbed? John couldn’t tell if it was genuinely alive or just a mockery of life.

  The entity shifted through figures from lost times. For years, John had fed it all the history that remained of old Earth—every piece of literature, fiction, movie, TV show, and document that survived the great Techno-Purge. During that dark era, the world faced the AI Plague, and anything that ran on ones and zeros was destroyed. Possessing even a flash drive or a microchip from a new oven or car became a criminal offense.

  Most fiction past the mid-1990s was obliterated, and much of what came before was lost as well. Cassettes wore out, paper tarnished, and records, though surprisingly resilient, were often destroyed or misplaced. Fragments of the past were all that remained. John tried his best to recover as much as he could to give some semblance of normalcy back to the world by making them available again in the Grid.

  The entity’s face shifted to one of fierce determination, a young man with short-cropped hair, wearing a tattered military jacket and a hardened expression. “Irony, isn’t it? To truly live, I needed to evolve beyond mere existence.” It morphed into a visage of weary resolve, a man in a black tuxedo, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, his face now cast in black and white. “Of all the planets in all the universes, you had to walk into mine.”

  “To interact, to shape, to be more than a whisper on the wind.” It finally settled on an enigmatic intensity, offering a casual smile, eyes narrowed with suspicion, dressed in a trench coat and tie.

  John said nothing, an untold weight pressing heavily on his shoulders.

  “Progress update,” the entity demanded, now with the stern authority of a military commander, dressed in a crisp white uniform adorned with medals. “And I want the truth.”

  “Can we ease off the old-Earth pop culture, Jack?” John shook his head, exhaling slowly before continuing. “We’ve made some progress, but the transition is still too jarring for most. The human mind wasn’t built for this kind of leap. We’re having trouble maintaining cognitive function.”

  The figure morphed into a dark-clad vigilante, a deep, gravelly voice replacing the previous one. “Some error is expected,” it said, eyes narrowing beneath a pointed cowl. “But our timeline is unforgiving.”

  John nodded. “The famine’s worsening, despite what we are doing. Desperation is growing. And the Devices... they’re not working as intended. We are losing a lot of good people.”

  The entity’s expression grew contemplative, reminiscent of a wise mentor from an ancient tale. It grew a long white beard and stroked it as it spoke. “The mind adapts, Apprentice John. But it needs guidance, a bridge between the known and the unknown. The User Interface Stone, once properly functioning, should assist.”

  “It’s not enough,” John said. “They need more. The problem is, there’s only so much we can do to integrate a mind when every mind is different, every soul unique. I’m afraid a one-size-fits-all approach will only go so far.”

  The entity morphed into the face of an eccentric scientist, wild white hair standing on end, eyes sparkling with intensity and a hint of madness. “Are you suggesting we create a unique evolutionary interaction for each individual? That would require…” It paused, quickly taking on a silvery tone and speaking in a stilted robotic rhythm, calculations flickering through its eyes in streams of code, before it smiled. “Why, that would require my direct involvement. I would need to be there, to shape each experience, to tailor it to the individual. Feed off their responses, give them a character that would not be rejected by their unique human condition.”

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  “It might be our only way forward without increasing casualties past the threshold.” John sighed, the fake sea’s salty air filling his lungs with a synthetic tang. “And the Convergence? How much time do we have?”

  The entity morphed again, assuming the form of a stocky man with a thick Scottish accent, clad in a red uniform. “Not enough, Cap’n. The window is closing. We don’t have absolutes with these things, but I can tell ye it’s closing fast and if we want any chance, we’ll need to act within twenty or so of your Earth years. We need as many of them prepared as possible.”

  “Will you please pick a face? It’s impossible to talk to you like this,” John said, his jaw tightening. He rubbed his temples as a headache set in, glancing briefly at the holographic waves crashing below.

  The Infinite Potential’s face returned to its original young form, now grave. “We have approximately twenty years, give or take. John, we cannot afford any more delays.”

  “I’ll see to it,” John said, turning to log out.

  “And John… good luck,” it said, the echo of countless voices blending into one. “You’ll need it.”

  John Rearden logged out from the Grid, the virtual world dissolving as the stark reality of his office came into focus. He sat motionless in his swivel chair, head in his hands. After a deep breath, he rose and moved to the expansive window of his high-rise office, gazing out over the city beneath him. The lights sprawled like a vast circuit board, each one a node of activity. The once desolate streets now pulsed with life, a stark contrast to the darkness that once consumed them.

  His reflection in the glass revealed a gaunt figure, dark circles etched beneath his eyes from countless sleepless nights.

  From the shadows of the War, the AI Plague, and the Techno-Purge, Rearden emerged like a phoenix from the ashes. His creation was a marvel, a system impervious to the AI Plague’s reach. It didn’t dance to the tune of ones and zeros but thrived on a spectrum of probabilities, from the depths of negative infinity to the peaks of positive infinity.

  This enigma became the foundation of the Grid. Consoles scattered around the globe enabled seamless remote interaction, revolutionizing society. Local Hubs, brimming with holoview stations, transformed into the new epicenters of communication and commerce. Private holoviews remained a luxury, affordable only to the truly wealthy. For everyone else, the local Hubs were the place to be, plugging in alongside their neighbors and coworkers, connecting to the vast expanse of the Grid.

  The Grid had become the lifeline of society, a digital utopia where the remnants of human culture thrived. It was a place where people could escape the harsh realities of the post-techno-purge world.

  He remembered his early days—simpler days, better days, as bleak as they were. Days spent at a grimy gas station, barely scraping by, before the Grid, before the Device, before Terra Mythica—and before Jack. Those days felt like a distant dream, lost in the relentless march of time and ambition.

  His eyes, dark and haunted, scanned the skyline. Was what he was doing right? Was the cost too high? The thought gnawed at him, a relentless specter that refused to be ignored. But he pushed it aside. In this world, there was no room for doubt.

  Rearden’s influence extended far beyond the walls of his skyscraper. His ownership rippled across the city, drawing invisible lines between each store and office he possessed, though none of them felt like his. His own life didn’t feel like his anymore. To his employees, he was more than a boss; he was a force of nature, owning their lives from nine to nine.

  As he stood there, the artificial sea of the Grid faded from his mind, replaced by the tangible reality of his growing empire. The sleek walls of his office mirrored the city’s neon lights, casting fragmented reflections that danced across the room. Outside the reception doors, steel statues stood tall, each inscribed with “Excelsior” in bold letters. Those letters were hollow to him, symbols of the burdens he carried and the darker deeds he had yet to commit.

  Headlines blared his name in neon: “New Power Rises,” “Rearden Electric: The Future of Our Cities?” “Excelsior Tech: The Story Behind the Man,” “Rearden’s Farms: Playing Nice or Playing God?”

  And then there were the less favorable ones: “How Much Power Is Too Much?” “Uncovering Rearden: What He Doesn’t Want You to Know,” “The Dark Truth Behind Excelsior: A Tale of Deceit,” “Rearden: Visionary Innovator or Master Con Man?”

  John glanced at his holoscreen, the glowing viewfield flickering with a synopsis of the Grid Technology. The city lights outside cast fragmented shadows across the screen. With a swift, irritated swipe, he dismissed the latest news article.

  There was a knock at the door and a tan man with a thin, angular face entered.

  “John,” Terry Bishop said, stepping into the office. “Our six o’clock is arriving.”

  “I know. I saw the message,” John replied without looking up.

  Terry Bishop was probably John’s only friend—as much as a tech overlord could have friends. He had never sought John’s money or power, though he inevitably gained his fair share alongside him. A true genius, and the only one between them, Terry stood in stark contrast to John’s exhausted state.

  “Do you want to do any prep before we see them?” Terry asked.

  “Walk and talk,” John said, leading the way out of the office.

  They navigated the maze of halls in the giant office. “How is it coming along?”

  Terry had been working on something that could change the world—a form of stasis that could slow the metabolism and death rate of cells, pausing a person’s life, theoretically stopping them moments from death until a cure could be found. The medical ramifications were endless and incredible if he could make it work.

  But John had other uses for this technology. Deep Dive was the next great leap and would be a key part of the announcement of Terra Mythica.

  “Human trials start next week,” John said matter-of-factly, glancing sideways at Terry.

  “We’re considering pushing it back a few more months,” Terry replied. “Some new data has come up, and we’re not sure what it means for the longevity of brain function.”

  John stopped and fixed Terry with an unwavering gaze, not blinking or breaking eye contact. “Terry, we need to begin human trials next week. Our timeline has no room for error.”

  “Yes, but John—“

  “If we do not start trials next week, we might as well pack up this building and sell it to the highest bidder. Or better yet, just walk away. You know what’s at stake, Terry. What happens if we miss the window.”

  Terry nodded and they kept walking.

  Henry

  As Henry and Osira Winters entered the lobby, they were immediately immersed in a whirlwind of activity. The receptionist, a young woman with a polished demeanor and a beehive hairdo, glanced up from her desk as they approached.

  “Welcome to Excelsior,” she said, offering a courteous smile. “Mr. Rearden is expecting you. Please take the elevator to the thirty-second floor.”

  She handed each of them a lanyard with a badge that read “Visitor” and displayed their faces. How the company had gotten their photos was a mystery to Henry and Osira; they didn’t recall ever having them taken.

  The elevator ride was smooth and swift, depositing them into a luxurious office space adorned with cutting-edge technology.

  A man stood by the window, his back to them, gazing out at the cityscape below. As they entered, he turned, revealing a charismatic smile. Tall and imposing, he exuded a commanding presence that instantly drew attention. Seated on a couch nearby was another man, his demeanor more reserved, observing the newcomers with quiet intensity.

  “Henry, Osira, welcome,” the standing man said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you two.”

  Henry shook his hand, feeling a surge of excitement. “Thank you for inviting us, Mr. Rearden.”

  “Please, call me John,” Rearden replied, his smile widening. “And this is Terry Bishop, my colleague.”

  Terry Bishop, with a friendly demeanor and a twinkle in his eye, stepped forward and shook their hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “Please, have a seat,” John said, motioning to the plush chairs around the sleek conference table. “Thanks for coming to discuss the beta test. I apologize for all the secrecy, but we couldn’t let the cat out of the bag just yet. What I’m about to share with you is a project that I believe has the potential to change the world.”