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But consciousness is also a computational process. Human minds are conscious, there are too damn many of us in too small a volume of space on this planet right now, and we’re damaging the computational ultrastructure of reality.
too damn many
The sleepers are quantum observers, eyeless and dead but still alive, condemned to collapse the wave function of the thing in the mile-high tomb so that it is forever asleep— (Because if the Watch on the Pyramid fails the Black Bird of Hangar 12B will fly its one-way mission, the last forlorn hope of the British strategic nuclear deterrent, and then all hell will literally break loose.)
quantum observers
gunliness is clearly next to godliness for these folks.
The situation was already non-survivable by the time Patrick became aware of it.
and all convinced that their interpretation overrides such minor obstacles as observable reality.
the bloody thing doesn’t have eyes, and it focusses the full strength of its moronic worship on me. It wants me to kiss it. Which is okay, because it loves me like I’ve never been loved before: it feels utter adoration and delight at my presence.
I trail behind her—and so it is that I’m close enough that when she says “shit” very quietly it’s too late for me to back out.
