Fall; or, Dodge in Hell

by Neal Stephenson

“Stable is good, right?” “Except when it’s bad. Totalitarian regimes, corrupt systems are stable. I was afraid this was one of those. And maybe it was—but now, among the late-arriving processes that constitute the vast majority of working souls, we are seeing an accumulation of power and resources that rivals that of the old guard. Getting ready for a Titanomachia, I believe.” “The word rings a bell but you’re going to have to help me out,” Corvallis said. “When the gods of Olympus overthrew the Titans. Replaced them with something new, more brilliant, more perfect.” “Chained the Titans to rocks, threw them into the pit of Hades, or whatever,” Corvallis said. “I’m not a mythology geek the way Sophia is,” El admitted. “The point is just that there is a change coming. For the first time, I see a way out. I am optimistic that when I upload—which won’t be long now, C—when I upload I’ll be going to a place where I can actually look forward to operating. A better place.” “What do you mean, it won’t be long now?” Corvallis asked. He’d been staring, not at the Wad, but at the big colored blobs hovering above it, wondering what this display would look like if El’s prophecy came true and they were all hauled down in some kind of Titanomachia. Were they beautiful, those souls? Were they brilliant and good? Or were they hideous ogres that needed to be thrown down and chained to rocks in the lowest circles of hell? He turned to look at Elmo Shepherd’s avatar, but it had winked out. As ...