Physical Thoughts of Digital Thots (Part One)

The darkest futurescape one could ever imagine doesn’t even come close to the hellhole I was destined to be born in. What remains of the physical realm could easily be defined by the conflicting dichotomy of nature and death. Where there was light, there is now darkness; where there was abundance, there is now scarcity; and where there was life, there is now only the silence of mortality’s indefinite end.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise, however, seeing as how this was inevitably going to occur once our species transcended into the digital realm. We tried veiling the physical degradation of our planet with augmented reality, but the remnants of our dying ecosystem couldn’t help but pierce through the holographic fabric of our imagination.

Instead, the planet we’ve known as Earth merely became a host of memories of what once was, and equally reminded us of what it became. Thankfully none of us have to bear witness any longer to the abhorrent project of which we failed. Rather, Earth has become a pale red dot in the distance of our intergalactic gaze.

Most of us don’t even bother looking out the windows of our new home anymore – a ship to some; though more like a computer, drifting gracefully into the dark expanse. This computer became our salvation – a digital heaven in which we’ve willfully succumbed to, uploading our consciousness into the virtual world of our choosing.

On the side of the ship there are a set of binary digits, which read:

010001000110010101101001
011100110110010101100001
011011100110111001100001

Given the ship’s computer-based identity, it seemed preferable to name it via binary, though its translation was just as important to us: Deiseanna. It’s a Gaeilge term for “opportunities,” which seems fitting if you think about it.

Not too long ago, what remained of our species, after finally reaching the decision of leaving the very rock at which was destroyed by a combination of climate change and an asteroid impact that took us by surprise, we made the decision to remain physical with our own biological substrate. It wasn’t out of pride, nor of any archaic belief system that our biology shouldn’t be tampered with using technology; rather to ensure that we have a backup copy in case our new home – this ship filled with circuitry beyond comprehension – dies on us, just as our previous home died as well.

We have no programmed destination to reach. There are some who consider us as explorers – wanderers into the cosmic void. The rest of us, however, consider ourselves nothing but lost. Not just lost in the sense that we have no idea where to go, but equally lost insofar that our species no longer have an idea of their purpose.

Biologically-based sexual intercourse is prohibited on Deiseanna, given the fact that, despite our digital transformation, the carrying capacity of the physical ship can only accommodate the number of people presently onboard. Any and all sexual intercourse is instead acquired via virtual reality. Not like it matters, seeing as how virtual sex is practically just as real as physical sex – well…that’s what I’m told at least. The haptic suits worn by every passenger allows for virtual simulations of the physical touch, including sexual arousal.

There are some people on the ship who’ve taken an asexual commitment, believing that virtual sex is not only second-rate compared to the real thing, but equally demeaning towards “virtual beings.” These “virtual beings” – or as many on this ship refer to as “thots” (yes, early 21st century slang remains to some extent) – attain no sense of self-awareness as far as we can tell, but that doesn’t stop some people to philosophically argue the contrary. No matter what each individual’s preference in terms of virtual sex is, however, one cannot deny that its existence is predicated on the mutual understanding of the carrying capacity of Deiseanna.

***

My name is Darian. I was born in one of the remaining techno-colonies of New Orleans, Louisiana. I don’t remember too much about Earth, other than the dense fog which surrounded the colony. To protect ourselves from the mass accumulation of greenhouse gases, the colony was contained within a force field using graphene-based phonon dispersion.

The construction of Deiseanna was near completion thanks to the collaborative efforts of advanced robotics, known as Automates, and Bio-Cyb volunteers. Bio-Cybs, also known as biological cyborgs, are by all accounts human who’ve been genetically modified to accommodate long-period exposure of micro-gravity conditions in space, not to mention high doses of radiation from the Van Allen radiation belt. Working on the ship while on Earth was simply impossible, given its increasing degradation.

Earth was a home to so many of us. At least that’s what my parents had told me. It wasn’t until our space agency detected a near-Earth-asteroid heading for direct impact of the planet that the remaining colonies of Earth finally started preparing for launch. By the time we left the planet, I was only 10-years-old. I’ve no clue what kind of damage the asteroid caused for the planet we once considered home, other than the damage already known thanks to our own ineptitude of protecting Earth. All we knew was that we survived and that our new home was Deiseanna, whether we liked it or not.

***

In comparison to the virtual worlds each crew member spends most of their time in, there isn’t really much to do on Deiseanna. To ensure our physical, biological bodies are kept healthy, the engineers of the ship made sure that a large garden of genetically modified vegetables was maintained, alongside a lab that develops in-vitro meat using the nonhuman animal stem cell database. We don’t even need to wander off and pick out our own food; the limited supply of Automates that we kept with us on Deiseanna ensures an adequate delivery rate on a day-to-day basis.

In terms of power structures, like the techno-colonies on Earth, Deiseanna adheres to what is known as a Holacracy. There is no hierarchy, only a pre-determined set of roles to each individual on the ship. Most of the management, however, is done by the ship’s A.I. interface, of which we aptly named H.O.L.I. (holographic organizational living interface). Yes, H.O.L.I. is an A.G.I. – an artificial general intelligence that we treat as “one of the crew”; someone who plays just as crucial a role as anyone else on the ship.

In case you’re wondering, my role on the ship is Virtual Simulation Management (VSM). In other words, I’m that creeper who pokes into everyone’s private business from afar to make sure everything is running smoothly. Each individual has their own anonymous virtual avatar, so knowing who I’m looking at is practically impossible.

There are no rules inside a virtual simulation. Whatever fantasy an individual has is their own business, but lucky me, I get front row seats to each show – well, most of them at least. Thankfully the majority of people on the ship aren’t a bunch of perverts. Yes, most people go through sexual virtual simulations on a daily basis, but for some there are no boundaries in their means of acquiring sexual satisfaction. Ageplay is one of the strangest fetishes adhered to by a strong minority.

Just the other night, thanks to the glorious work of being a VSM, I ran into a sexual fantasyscape programmed by two of the ship’s members. Normally I wouldn’t mind and would only have my presence briefly known, but it isn’t everyday where you run into a Kermit the Frog avatar porking Miss Piggy from behind as Statler and Waldorf make sexual innuendo jokes from the top balcony. Childhood. Officially. Ruined. Now I know why H.O.L.I. opted out of VSM work. I should’ve taken that as a warning.