TWO HOPS TO INFINITY
A ten-minute play

C. Scott Ananian

November 19, 1996

Characters

JAY -- a hacker in his twenties

JINN -- a mystic

ASH -- a college kid; she's younger than JAY

Setting

A tri-partite stage. Center is JAY's apartment, a technophile hide-away in the middle of a Minnesota cornfield. There is a desk, a wall full of computer equipment, all of which hums and whirrs softly, and the usual paper clutter. Above him is a large skylight, through which he can see the aurora borealis. Right and on a higher level is JINN's information feed; a pay-phone on the wall of a grime-speckled service station. JINN's laptop is hooked up to the pay phone. Left and clearly separate from center sits ASH, whose dorm-room environs blend the pink and lacy with the techno-grunge of a computer science major.

Note

This play utilizes all the communication tools available to the information junkie. Conversation is via e-mail, typed (actors will read as they type; requires a fast typist to be effective); via voice linkup between their computers (something like PGP-phone); or, occasionally, by old-fashioned fax-phones.

[As the play begins, the electronic ether holds a conversation between Jinn and Jay. Ashley is not seen.]

JINN:

[typed] So what's your location IRL?

JAY:

[typed] Technological anonymity depressing? [He depresses a button on the microphone, speaks into it:] Check it out.

[His voice emerges from Jinn's computer a second later, garbled and static-y, but clearly recognizable: `Check it out']

[Jay uses his digital camera (tethered on a long cord to his PC) to snap a few shots of his surroundings]

JAY:

[typed] Give them a sec to trip the light fantastic.

JINN:

[as the images slowly appear] Image maps for spiritual correlation of potassium metabolism?

JAY:

[typed] My room.

JINN:

[typed] Ah.

JAY:

[typed] The far, cold north. Cornfield out the window; aurora through the skylight.

JINN:

[typed] In touch with the harvest god?

JAY:

[typed] Electrons transcend locality. Wired spatial constructs decompose. I type a jump from infinity.

JINN:

[typed] Five bounces from Graceland?

JAY:

[typed] Less. traceroute elvistheking.com only hits the usual collection of CIA spies, industrial competitors and jello freaks before... Odd.

JINN:

[typed] Elvis far?

JAY:

[typed] Server's down. Can't pass the conspiracy groups today.

JINN:

[typed] The universe near as light velocity, eh?

JAY:

[typed] When the net's up.

JINN:

[typed] Death by fly-by-night ISPs and the year 2000.

JAY:

[typed] Database roll-over tonight as 2-digit year codes exhaust.

JINN:

[typed] Not only. The Aztec Sun God angers.

JAY:

[typed] Solar maximum?

JINN:

[typed] The metal grids of telephone wire become solar particle antennas.

JAY:

[typed] Global core dump at midnight. [looking out the window] The aurora's bright.

JINN:

[typed] The threat stands. Murphy-slaw.

JAY:

[typed] Fubar. May the hack of one-byte year fields bring disaster to all who invoked it.

JINN:

[typed] Amen. Curse the sun for its tantrum?

JAY:

[typed] Curse technology for its ignorance. What says the mystic?

JINN:

[typed] Gleaming comm satellites displease the sun, vain in their defiance of the atmosphere.

JAY:

[typed] Vulnerable, certainly. [beat] gzip this for me: what's the wc of this synaptic stochasm?

JINN:

[typed] You must talk to Ash.

JAY:

[typed] Why?

JINN:

[typed] Mystic urgency, Jay. Discontinuities in the normal field; spiritual disharmonies. The occupation of disparate existence planes.

JAY:

[typed] So?

JINN:

[typed] Talk to her.

JAY:

[typed] Just talk?

JINN:

[typed] Sound the ring of truth. Rectify the non-linearity; show her the hippopotami harbingers of world's end.

JAY:

[typed] You're the preacher, not me.

JINN:

[typed] Your voice is neccesary. Proximity's key.

JAY:

[typed] Light speed to anywhere. Short hops on the ether.

JINN:

[typed] No, psychically. Spiritually. You're me incarnate. I can't connect; I've tried pinging her. She's got a firewall filtering me out. [a pause] Talk her, Jay. That's all.

JAY:

[typed] She won't listen.

[Jinn grabs the phone from the acoustic modem's handset cradle. The sharp whir of a modem blares from both Jinn and Jay's computers. Jinn pecks at a few keys and the whir stops.]

JINN:

[He speaks into the handset with surprising vehemence and certainty. The voice emerges from the bowels of Jay's computer] She'll listen, Jay. Trust. All you need to do is speak.

JAY:

[spoken] How am I supposed to respond to that, Jinn? You've gone out-of-band.

[He tries typing, but the key-strokes come out as unintelligible beeps on Jinn's end. He fumbles for a handset, but his machine is connected directly to the wall; there's no handset available anywhere - except on the fax-phone, which is at the other end of the room, buried under papers. While he's flailing to find it, the voice of a bus driver is heard off-stage (in Jinn's space) and the sharp hiss of air-brakes.]

JINN:

[Into the phone, still] Jay: I've got to go, they're leaving. I e-mailed Ash; you will hear from her soon. Speak the truth.

[Jay finds the phone just as Jinn hangs up; the reward for his search is a dial-tone from the new-found phone. Jinn's space is dark and empty now. Jay hangs up the handset, rights a chair toppled in his mad search.]

JAY:

[Spoken] Snark. I can't tell her that.

[He collapses in his desk chair, and sighs. A lull. His computer beeps: a piece of new e-mail has arrived. Only, it doesn't generically beep, like the metal monoliths of 50's sci-fi: a pleasant female voice speaks, ``You have new mail.'']

JAY:

[Imitating the computer] You have new mail.

[He rolls his chair over to the machine, and pops open the window with the new mail. He reads it aloud.]

From: root@architect.org
To: jnh@jnh.cornfield.net
Subject: 'puter chat.

don't forget to use the text.
e-mail me when she calls.
i'm only a few hops away.
- Jinn

JAY:

What's he got, a cell-phone hookup on that crazy bus?

[He composes a quick reply: ``don't worry'' and sends it off into the electronic void.]

JAY:

So what do I do now, wait?

[He waits, fidgets, grows impatient.]

[An e-mail arrives: ``You've got new mail'']

From: ash@cs.uni.edu
To: jnh@jnh.cornfield.net
Subject: Can I call?

Are you home? Can I call? - Ash

[Jay begins to reply; the telephone ringing interrupts him. He picks it up, is answered by the shrill hiss of Ash's modem. He hang up.]

[The phone rings again. This time he lets the computer answer. We hear Ash's voice through Jay's computer: ``Hello?'' Jay punches buttons, grabs the headset. Lights up on Ash]

JAY:

Hello, Minnesota cornfield-dot-net.

ASH:

Hey. How's the silo?

JAY:

Buried peacefully in the yard. Are military systems year-2k sensitive?

ASH:

Murphy-slaw. Don't worry, green glow is charming.

JAY:

Less than an hour before roll-over here.

ASH:

Same where I sit. What's the deal with Jinn?

JAY:

I'll, uh, send you an e-mail about all that. Take a look at this aurora. [He snaps a picture of the view out the skylight with the digital camera.]

ASH:

Are you changing the subject?

JAY:

No. I'll send you an e-mail that deals with the whole thing, and then we can talk about it from there. I just can't get the ball rolling otherwise. [his computer beeps: new mail] Foo!

ASH:

What?

JAY:

Nothing. New mail. Gimme a sec.

[he pops under the window, grumbles under his breath]

JAY:

It's Jinn.

ASH:

Little courage call?

JAY:

Just wants to know if you've called yet.

ASH:

Say yes.

[Jay bangs out his one-word reply]

JAY:

Done.

ASH:

What is it we need to discuss, Jay?

JAY:

Maybe year 2K will roll around before we get around to it, eh?

ASH:

Sure. That missile behind you will launch, phone lines will fry, and we'll be back in the stone age. We'll never find each other again. You'll be trapped in your exhaust-blackened cornfield.

JAY:

Don't worry. I'll have a good sixty-seconds between the opening of the silo and the actual launch. It's the silence that's deadly. [a pause. Ash is obviously waiting for Jay to screw up his courage to attack the issue. Jay's computer beeps. He goes to check the message.]

ASH:

I'm hanging up now. Send me the e-mail. I'll be waiting. [Jay's computer beeps. Ash hangs up]

JAY:

[he hasn't heard. He's eerily fascinated by what he sees on his screen.] Uh, Ash? [He frowns.]

JAY:

A mail loop going to the architect.org domain.[His computer beeps] Not just. Murphy-slaw; the mail loop isn't caught because of year 2K.[beep] A mailstorm.

[he begins to type furiously to attempt to stop the impending net disaster, muttering to himself as he types. The computer beeps with more frequency, the sounds merging into a single stream of noise. The other hardware lining his walls begins to join in to cacophony. A ghastly light builds in the sky above.]

JAY:

Nonlinearities propagating through an infinite mesh create a ripple disturbance effect that cascades as bandwidth is exhausted. Beijing butterflies bringing down the pentagon. Systems over-stressed react in unforeseen ways: it's passed my domain. The router can't cope with attacks exploiting normal usage patterns. It's spread past the firewall and onto the net. mcilink is down. [he notices the aurora] Holy God. Murphy-slaw. The aurora. [sudden outburst of primal instinct] Stop it! Stop it! Take my node off the net! Take me off! I'm taking down the net!

[He begins to tear at his machinery, tearing at wall plugs to disconnect his boxes from the net; they continue to beep and whir. He attacks the hardware, plugging power cords and over-turning monitors to stop the onslaught. A subterranean rumble builds as the machines are reduced to piping whistles complaining of the assault of new mail. A phone off the hook begins to beep loudly. The aurora continues. Suddenly the phone goes dead. Moments later, the rumbling stops.]

JAY:

It's the silence that's deadly. Sixty seconds from initiation to ignition. [the lights go out.] Foo.

[10 seconds of silence and darkness]

JAY:

Cycles create oscillations that continue after the original stimulus is removed. How many hops to graceland?

[The aurora grows]

JAY:

A blackened spot of cornfield and a low green glow.

[5 seconds of silence. A feeble emergency light flickers and goes on. 5 seconds of silence. The phone rings]

JAY:

Hello? [The line is dead.]

[10 seconds of silence. A knock at the door. Jay turns; a figure opens the door and stands in the doorway. In the darkness we can't tell who it is.]

[A beat.]

JAY:

[whispered] Ash.

[They run out together.]

[BLACKOUT]