Apostrophic Chunder

Don't panic. Take a deep breath and listen to the server farm white noise symphony. Now in your mind's eye picture the server room growing and growing until that's all that you can see for miles and miles. Five-story data warehouses stretching into infinity, connecting the suburbs and metro areas of all the major cities on the eastern seaboard. We're driving a very high-powered golf cart through server utopia 1785c. We're talking about what rain forests looked like, and how to lower the costs of the intercontinental tidal wave protection systems, the tinted sun bubbles... how tired of soybeans we are. I've got the heart of an eighteen-year-old clone ticking away in my chest, and plasticine facial features. Gibson is living inside the Aleph, a heavy duty self-powered wi-fi petabyte hard drive with a tinny sounding voice coil. Stephenson is relatively human in shape, but mostly robotic, largely due to moral reservations about cloning. Kurzweil is here just as he is everywhere, having finally joined the universal space-time-embedded-device fabric as one of the legion of facets in the machine intelligence. His body lives in a solar suspended animation facility floating above Akron as far as I know. There is a lapse in the conversation as we all take a moment to send and receive a few instantaneous messages with friends and family on our thought consoles.