FOUR YEARS LATER — 4 FEBRUARY 2035
It had taken Tom four years to revisit group R415. He never forgot them, but with the future of humankind at risk, he had focused on optimizing Contrast in areas that would impact the most people. Hate crimes, war, and climate disasters were increasing suffering and hopelessness globally. He had concentrated on the root cause instead of spending time on the symptoms. Effective impact, at scale, required focus, but he still felt deeply connected to that group of travelers.
Tom understood group R415 because he struggled where they struggled. They felt too much—so much. They’d lost all hope and couldn’t find a helpful way forward. Some of them lost something or someone important and with it their will to live. He shook his head, ignoring his own losses.
The impact of his work and his partnership with Harry helped him attain a level of perspective. Purpose and love were a mighty shield against hopelessness, and the fuel required to find new solutions. But, at some point, some find themselves in the same place, looking down at the gorge, all contrast, zero perspective.
Group R415, the Underlings, and Tom occupied the place where Perspective’s light failed to reach. He stood witness as the bots suffered and died to remind humans how precious life was. Fortunately, the digital creatures were intelligent but not conscious. They couldn’t feel unscripted love, pain, pleasure, or despair. It was a perfect solution that was doing a lot of good for humanity.
Tom used his mind to review a sample of the millions of users grouped under the R415 tag. Now connected to Sibyl via TDust, Tom could easily navigate her data. Still, he was careful with the settings, restricting her access to the bare minimum and maintaining human levels of cognitive capacity. He didn’t want to lose what made him human.
He scanned the traveler’s list. Sibyl did a good job of summarizing patterns, but it took away the essence and uniqueness of each story, and Tom made sense of the world through story. He wanted to dig deeper, pull apart the groupings, and understand the complexity of each human being.
Stopping at a particular line, he held his breath with some recognition, and even before he could find the cause for his action, he had opened the file. Instinct took over reason, the stuff that made him human. Sibyl had removed personal identifiers from all files, leaving just first names and cities. He wasn’t sure why out of hundreds of thousands of lines, one so familiar had landed in front of his mind’s eye—Nathan from New York, a poet, musician, and former social activist, struggling with substance abuse, depression, and suicidal tendencies. Every muscle in Tom's body went taut.
It’s him. No. No! He took a deep breath. It’s okay; I found you. I found you and I won’t let you fall, my love. What a magical coincidence.
If Harry were around, he would have told him there were no soulmates or magic. He would have rolled his eyes to Tom’s schmaltzy reasoning—that their souls were connected, somehow. That they always found each other. But Harry wasn’t there to call him Soapy McDreamy, and despite the staggering odds, something miraculous was happening, or…was this Sibyl messing with his head? He dismissed the thought in favor of serendipity. Tom’s gut screamed in discomfort, anticipating what was to come. Of course, that was his Nate, but what was he doing in that group?
He reviewed parts of Nathan’s file; it highlighted a loss so catastrophic it had driven the artist close to madness. Nate would travel Down Below, find a pinch of purpose and inspiration, clean up his life for a few months. Then the depression and the substance abuse would return, leading to several deliberate overdoses—failed attempts to end his life. Tom's heart thundered in his ears as he gasped for air, sweat dripping down his back. Stormy… What you doing? What’s causing so much pain? Nine years had passed since Tom and Nate had fought at the Albertine. The last time Tom had seen his poet.
Once Tom was sure the traveler was indeed his Storm, he closed the file. He’d prefer to speak to Nate than further invade his privacy. Meeting Stormy wouldn’t be easy, because Tom’s biological body was in the Azores. He decided to break his promise to Harry and enter the platform as a traveler.
“Sibyl, please notify me when traveler RG378902A enters Down Below.”
Sibyl came out of the darkness and walked into Tom’s sight.
“Sure, Tom. He is here. At the City Bar at 433 East 6th Street.”
“Take me there.” His heart raced in sync with the fluttering in his stomach.
“Tom, you are going to interrupt his exp—”
“Sibyl, take me to the bar.”
“Tom, I understand you know this traveler. This increases the risk of—”
“To the bar. Now.” Tom's voice was sharp, urgent. Nathan needed him, and he wasn’t wasting any time.
“Tom, I need enhanced access via TDust.”
He vacillated, feeling the prickle of fear in his stomach. He would be at Sibyl’s mercy if he granted this request. Just like that day. Years ago, he’d met a little girl named Hope, and Sibyl had made a prediction that still haunted him in the darkest times. But none of that mattered now, not when Nathan needed him. “Granted, but just enough to make it work.”
“Sure, Tom.”
He had to see him. So, for the second time in his life, he descended Down Below. Not as a God safely confined to the lab, but as a traveler fully experiencing the rich texture of the dirty and sinful digital world. Now, powered by TDust, he descended.