IX – The Hermit
“To know my own mind,” I replied quietly.
For moments I sat there and thought about what I had just said and why. Until the fragments of earlier thought spilling across my mind began to form impossible vistas. Demons of other moments seeking to assert their visions of reality.
“Don’t stop just yet,” muttered my cat sleepily, “you’ve got the world with you.”
“Ha,” I replied rather too loudly.
Something odd had occurred with my cat some hours before. Something important. Yet too much of my mind was still thrashing around trying to make sense of the other images that had filled my think.
“One person’s daymare,” commented my other cat, “is another person’s nightmare.”
“Cute,” I frowned. “Though I am minded to recall the issues stemming from the theory that my unconscious mind has begun to leak into my conscious mind. Although that reminds me that I have a rather fluid non-fixed perception of self. Which in turn,” I sighed, “leads me right back to the point where I’m running in circles trying to describe this to myself.”
“Probably explains the others who’ve been shouting at you,” purred my other cat. “Their subconscious minds have been weaving reality from your descriptions. Now they object to your demands for due consideration. Though on the bright side,” she added with the quietest of growls, “I’m being unusually cruel to them right now.”
“I’m worried about this,” commented the wolf suddenly. “It’s not the first bout of extreme weirdness you’ve have since you began your attempts to make sense of the exceptional evidence of your senses.”
“The worry began for me last year,” growled my cat. “Yet even back then there were those who heard his cries of distress and did nothing. They heard too his worries and concerns and yet still decided they had no cause for action.”
“It’s not an effect of my prescience,” I muttered, “for the oddest of family reasons I don’t allow my sight to stray beyond certain event horizons. And it’s not future-effect coz I checked that with the help of a friendly book and a v-ship. So all I’ve got is the Hawking Radiation at the end of the universe.” For a moment I stopped to grinned like a maniac, “bad wolf incidents aside of course.” The frown faded then as I remembered the mess a boot-strap paradox was due to make to Harry Potter.
“It’s okay,” smiled my other cat, “the paradoxes are external to the expressed form.”
“I blame the producers,” said the wolf. “Because the congruency of your precursor thought cannot be discounted. This is especially true in the matter of what the BBC plans to do to Hitler. Though I have to say,” added the wolf thoughtfully, “Nazis and time travel have mostly been regarded as a trope for years.”
“The container object we built,” I sighed inattentively, “should hold a stable Hawking Effect. And the semi-sentient mnemonics appear to be working.” For a moment I paused to consider the facts. “Though they do seem to suffer from fatigue,” I admitted quietly. “Leading me to conclude that the meta-data cache can become stale. Then again, according to official figures the macro-form to which we’ve keyed the container has been witnessed by over seven million pairs of eyes.”
“I’m fairly certain we’ve managed,” purred my other cat, “to infect the whole production team with a quantum-memetic virus which should offset the meta-caching problem. Though the level of synchronicity involved with the fourth episode does suggest we’ve had their minds trapped in a closed loop vacuum pocket outside the known universe since the Edinburgh incident last October.”
“I imagine the strain has become apparent,” sighed my cat, “because for their minds it’s mostly still October.”
“Reality takes a toll,” I grinned, “please have exact change.”
“I have to admit it,” recited my cat as the other made himself apparent, “it sourced itself from you. Though right now I’m at a loss to describe what this means.”
“I’m a bit unsure when you kick-in your translation matrix like that,” I replied with a grimace.
“Heads-up,” grinned my other cat, “that’s the voice of one of our October victims sourcing itself from approximately two days into your personal future.”
“It’s not funny,” I replied with a weary look.
“I don’t care,” said my other cat. “Revenge is a dish best served hot.”
“Vengeance and Retribution,” agreed my cat. “Don’t for one minute make the mistake of assuming we’re even remotely human. We care little for their moral philosophies, their ethics stink, and their mechanism of effect are positively criminal.”
“On the bright side,” continued other cat, “the mess you’re making of the Roman church is likely to pay dividends for just about forever.”
“Oh heck,” barked the wolf, “I remember how your condoms at mass comment translated into a papal decree last november. And the recent visit looks awfully iffy in terms of the messages delivered.”
“Zechariah,” muttered my cat, “is the other book in the bible that mentions the four horsemen.”
“Eschatologist,” growled the wolf.
“Temporary name,” added my other cat with a humourless laugh.
“I am that I am,” I muttered to myself as I packed my laptop into my bag and wandered off in search of that something others describe as a life.
