Descending Road - THE SINGULARITY by Dana W. Paxson

THE SINGULARITY

1563 4D

Here all the threads draw together, and their living ends flash and sparkle, strands of DNA transcribing into existence from the inner mind. This is writing, filling the walls and floors of the City, and all the Cities, with untranslated narrative in stone and steel and fleeting patterns in the eye and ear.

Here the threads are growing at their ends, some quickly, some slowly, some barely at all, and Ferdinand draws his attention up and out of the depths of the book. He looks up.

“Do you want to stop?” The blue-eyed man in the chair nearby leans forward.

“Yes. No. Where – Am I – is this all?”

“For now. But you can go back in again. The next time you come here, it will be changed. Turn back the pages.”

Ferdinand obeys, and the book swells and shrinks for a moment, breathing or stretching, he can’t tell which. The page before Ferdinand now reads:

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	THE SINGULARITY 1563 4D Here all the threads draw together, and their living ends flash and sparkle, strands of DNA transcribing into existence from the inner mind. This is writing, filling the walls and floors of the City, and all the Cities, with untranslated narrative in stone and steel and fleeting patterns in the eye and ear. Here the threads are growing at their ends, some quickly, some slowly, some barely at all, and Ferdinand draws his attention up and out of the depths of the book. He looks up. “Do you want to stop?” The blue-eyed man in the chair nearby leans forward. “Yes. No. Where – Am I – is this all?” “For now. But you can go back in again. The next time you come here, it will be changed. Turn back the pages.” Ferdinand obeys, and the book swells and shrinks for a moment, breathing or stretching, he can’t tell which. The page before Ferdinand now reads: