'But ... if the pattern that is me could pick itself out from all the other events taking place on this planet ... why shouldn't the pattern we think of as "the universe" assemble itself, in exactly the same way? If I can piece together my own coherent space and time from data scattered so widely that it might as well be part of some giant cloud of random numbers ... then what makes you think that you're not doing the very same thing?'
The djinn's expression hovered between alarm and irritation.
Squeek. 'Paul ... what's the point of all this "Space-time is a construct; the universe is really nothing but a sea of disconnected events ..." Assertions like that are meaningless. You can believe it if you want to ... but what difference would it make?'
'What difference? We perceive - we inhabit - one arrangement of the set of events. But why should that arrangement be unique? There's no reason to believe that the pattern we've found is the only coherent way of ordering the dust. There must be billions of other universes coexisting with us, made of the very same stuff - just differently arranged. If I can perceive events thousands of kilometres and hundreds of seconds apart to be side by side and simultaneous, there could be worlds, and creatures, built up from twhat we'd think of as points in space-time scattered all over the galaxy, all over the universe. We're one possible solution to a giant cosmic anagram ... but it would be ludicrous to believe that we're the only one.'
'We haven't structured the whole thing. The universe is random, at the quantum level. Macroscopically, the pattern seems to be perfect; microscopically, it decays into uncertainty. We've swept the residue of randomness down to the lowest level.'
The most that could be said, at anymoment, was that someone existed who knew - or believed - that they'd once been David Hawthorne.
Peer seemed to be making love ith Kate, but he had his doubts.
'A universe with conscious beings either finds itself in the dust ... or it doesn't. It either makes sense of itself on its own terms, as a self-contained whole ... or not at all. There never can, and never will be, Gods.'
Intriguing philosophical ideas about id and personality, spreading scans of people's minds over thousands of processors (where is the person), slowing them down (where are they in between thoughts).
As a story, not the best. No characters you truly care a lot about. Perhaps I read it too fast. I never got the part of the dust and its patterns well enough to appreciate it enough.
