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400 pages, Paperback
First published June 10, 2021
She looked again at the old compressed-air plant. It seemed to her brighter, more electric, than the modern buildings around it, even though it was dark and their windows shone with light. It looked as if it would dissolve into sparkles if you touched it, revealing its secret, a shortcut to the next level of this game, some other Eden in some other multiverse. Maybe Towse was right to worry about the simulation hypothesis. Maybe nothing she could see was real. Was someone, or something, reeling her in? Was it Towse?
There ’s an old rule of thumb in intelligence: once is happenstance; twice is coincidence; three times or more, it’s enemy action.
Maybe he didn’t understand, as Aoife did, that fictions are also a kind of war game, models that run in the mind of the reader, designed to compute not so much what might happen as how it might feel.
• I just wanted to see what would happen next. You have to dabble in empiricism, every now and then, if you want to stay in touch with reality. I still believe there's a reality, by the way. I’m very old-fashioned like that.
• Some day – not, from the look of it, very far in the future – when the American empire is also a legend of decline, like King Solomon’s Mines, or the lost Christian kingdom of the great Prester John, archaeologists will trace its ruin in aerial photos of its overgrown airstrips, buried concrete floor slabs, and the acacias that grow greener over former pit latrines. But for now, burly white men still do weights in moon bases deep in the bush, and Galaxy C-5s thunder skywards from domestic airfields – in this case, Westover Air Reserve Base, near Springfield, Massachusetts – on unlisted flights to Manda Bay in Kenya, Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti, or – in this case, again – to Africa Command’s main dark site in Uganda, a fortified compound in Entebbe Airport, on the northern shore of Lake Victoria.
• He believes that some day soon, in a decade or two at most, the surging power of artificial intelligence, combined with the processing heft of quantum computing, will make it possible for those who control the technology to encode their own souls and become immortal, to live on as charges in silicon synapses. He believes you can cast a soap bubble in glass.
• Cash is our last freedom. Without it, whoever controls the machines controls all the money, and controls all of us. In The Handmaid’s Tale, they turned women into serfs overnight by transferring all their money into accounts owned by their men. Soon, that won’t be fiction: they could switch off anyone they don’t like. But as long as there ’s cash, we still have some wriggle room.