3G: the Glowing Green Goo

Their host had called the mushroom paint a new development, but it was by no means a rarity. Considering the importance of its function, Zax expected the production to be tightly controlled, and the product costly and hard to obtain, regardless of the actual difficulty of production. While it was certainly costly, they couldn’t pass a street without at least one shop loudly proclaiming a “limited stock in their catalogue”.

He might have overstated how much the Circle cared about protecting their machines. Or maybe the Great Families made sure none of them gained a decisive advantage over themselves? Or maybe they had other ways to manage the disruptive field issue, so this one didn’t seem that important?

Convenient.

The three dotters went to the advertising shops, one after the other, taking in the sights and trying other interesting shops along way. The streets, the buildings, the noise, the smells, the people, the space… The mix of familiarity and novelty was thrilling.

“It’s like exploring an old map with new mods.” Aran described the experience in her unique way, smiling from ear to ear.

Zax and SG found themselves mirroring her reaction.

The first shops they went to couldn’t answer questions about the specifics of the shroom-paint, but they eventually found one who did. A smaller home appliance store, with a single employee – slightly too long fingers, no obvious mutated traits – and an old owner-manager – short, full body frizzy fur and a proto-muzzle – who was more organised than their previous stops.

The paint didn’t have an official name, which was common for new products in the Circle. Every seller had their own, and the catchiest of the dominating ones would become the official label. They had yet to reach that point.

“Doesn’t seem good for customer recognition.” Zax noted.

“It’s just how it is.” The owner shrugged.

Doesn’t feel natural, but nevermind.

Anyway, the dried paint was as expected; too porous to the disruptive field for his needs. To the naked eye, a layer of paint appeared uniform, but it was merely the actual paint filling the space between the mycelium network. The mycelium itself was blue, so the pain had a matching hue; no other colour was available yet. The network itself was irregular, so adding layers didn’t make a significant difference unless it was ludicrously thick, but it would collapse under its own weight before reaching that point.

On the other hand, the mushrooms could include several macrites per unit, they were easy to assemble and disassemble mechanically with any painting gear, and the chemically inert solvent shouldn’t damage his additions. Hiding in the mushrooms, or in-between, forcefully assembling a more complete layer; Zax could see a few viable options to work with.

“Worth a shot.” He decided.

He took a normal pot of paint, enough to cover a small room, plus a few brushes and a paint roller. They were not made like the dot’s, so they might not interact the same way.

Everything with a common counterpart in the dot was more expensive, but everything else cost variably less than expected. Unfortunately, it was only articles they wouldn’t need or be able to use, like paper books, leather gloves or plastic utensils.

“Why not?” SG queried when the others refused to consider taking some interesting trinkets for themselves. “This ‘plastic’ thing is awesome. I didn’t know it was everywhere, I don’t remember seeing it in the dot…”

That was when it downed on her she was missing something. She cast a wordless question at her friends.

“It’s organic.” Aran explained, matter-of-fact.

When the interrogative eye didn’t go away, Zax went deeper in the explanation:

“You know how organic materials absorb 3G, and just touching it let you absorb it yourself?”

The winged girl nodded. They avoided thinking about it, but they hadn’t forgotten what was hidden under their couch.

“That’s why they are so rare – and expensive – in the dot. Two main reasons: one, they make it really easy to steal or simply lose 3G. A well-placed cotton thread, a lucky timing, and your whole stash is suddenly in a small cotton piece you blew away in the wind. In the dot, each physical unit is too important to risk it. ‘Who would keep a physical stash in the dot?’ you ask? Excellent question. People can have reasons, but it’s mostly to protect the distributions points. ‘Just pay attention, it’s not that hard’ you say? My dear apprentice, you underestimate how dumb people can be, and how good they are at making it everyone else’s problem. Also, don’t forget about children and pranks.”

SG leaned her head to the side in confusion; she hadn’t asked anything.

“Two, it makes activation even more unpredictable. Distributions points are placed far from sensitive machines, because activations are more likely to happen there. Any organic material, especially used in construction, could become a surprise distribution point. Free 3G, spontaneous mutation, huzza, but everything around is destroyed. Video games. Classrooms. Communications. Healing centre. Atmospheric control.”

Following the list, SG could picture the consequences. The dot could handle occasional sporadic disfunctions even of essential structures, but if they were frequent and sporadic? She hadn’t seen many movies with that premise, but it was enough to send shivers down her spine.

“And good luck proving you didn’t do it on purpose. So, yeah. Nowadays, most plastics are either synthetic or highly processed, so not that good at absorbing 3G, especially compared to wood, leather, cotton or silk, but not something to normalise. Ever.”

“You can still bring some.” Aran tempered the warning, nodding to the items between her wings. “Just don’t spread it around, mind what you’re doing with it and where you’re doing it.”

SG put the handbag back where it came from, but kept the feather-body paint kit. It wasn’t something they would find in the dot; not enough potential buyers.

Aran took a peculiar toy called Cat’s Cradle; a colourful but otherwise ordinary thread, used to make increasingly complex shapes and figures. Materially speaking, the instruction packet was probably worth more than the toy itself. Zax was surprised he had never seen a game like that; it seemed common and easy to make.

Among their stops were a few clothing stores and even a pet shop.

The former were, frankly, disappointing. Sure, the variety was beyond what the dot could offer, but it was mostly due to the variety of body types, and creativity had left the buildings. The key point of the Circle’s fashion, adaptability, was nowhere to be seen. Rows of identical pieces, down to the same cuts along the sleeves, were the staple of the businesses they visited. No way to adapt them to a new mutation, the Residents would have to buy a new wardrobe every time.

Conformist diversity. Never saw that coming.

Not to say the professional clothes adjuster had wasted his time: the techniques some of the popular pieces displayed was something he had never observed before. SG also bought a lot. Physically shopping for clothes with her friends, actually trying them to see how they fit instead of VR; it was a new experience for them all, but she was particularly receptive, all giddy and flustered.

The pet shop, on the other hand, was a more engaging experience. The building was not particularly large for the Circle, but still a lot larger than the dot’s average. The layout was as one would expect, different sections for different environments fitting different types of creatures, with subsections for more specific distinctions. Cats and Dogs separated in the unclimatised “mammals” section, with monkeys in communicating, suspended cages above them; a warmed “Reptiles” section with snakes in individual vivarium covering a whole wall, tortoises in a single walk-in pen. There was also an area for aquatic pets and one for various accessories. Funnily enough, those were not separated by type of animal. Every beastie could enjoy the same toys and decorations, it seemed.

The main novelty was the ambience. In the Circle, the streets and other buildings were larger and more bustling than the dot, but all the smells, noises and movements were undoubtedly from humans or human activity. The dot’s parks had a more natural atmosphere, but nature stayed quiet and peaceful. Not here. Growls and grunts, tweets and chirps, meowls, hisses… No animal was above middle size and weight, but they sure didn’t sound like it. The change was jarring, but not unpleasant. Just… different.

It was like a new world.

Within the current new world.

Less noisy but as unsettling was the “Insects and Arachnids” section. Unsettling not only from the products, but because its existence implied an actual market. Enough people were willing to pay for creepy crawlies, dangerous for even the most advanced machine even without 3G, that other people bred them for sale. Even for a Circle, it seemed alarmingly reckless. It was not a small scale either, this section was barely smaller than the others. An employee reassured Zax the smaller ones were mostly used as food for the larger creatures, “the same way live mice are sold as snake snacks”. Still creepy, but less dreadful. The employee also pointed that they didn’t sell flying ones – special licences and equipment were required – so the risk was actually manageable.

After some observation, Zax briefly considered using a few for his job. Anthills and spider colonies had a natural hierarchy, it could be used to store and sort memory and tasks; some even built complex structures with their own bodies. Spiders also produced silk; nanites could be mixed in from the source. Worms cleaned and recycled the materials they lived and dug in; they could be used to sort and maybe even fix nanites. Those were merely the first ideas popping up in his head, but while academically interesting, he had no intention of following through. Too disgusting, and he didn’t expect much yield without serious investments.

Aran and SG considered giving new friends to their own companions, but the price tag discouraged them. It was a lot more than in the dot; perhaps an effect of the Circle’s view on the worth of living organisms. To be fair, the dot’s seller was a hobbyist, money wasn’t as important to him.

They eventually settled for toys and special treats for the mice they already had. Zax took treats too; giving appropriate rewards was a given for any experiment.

By then the excitement and novelty had abated, so there were less stops until their final destination: the Disfavoured’s block.

That name made them cringe every time they thought about it.

It was fortunate they had instructions to reach the place; besides the occasional glare, the neighbouring Residents ignored it and avoided talking about it with nearly religious zeal. It would be hard to not notice when they had arrived however. Besides the street suddenly being less busy, the plants were overgrown, the shops didn’t vie for attention, façades were dulled by age, and whatever luminescent signs there had been had lost any radiance. The buildings themselves didn’t change; nothing appeared particularly dirty or ill-maintained. The few people around looked and behaved like regular Residents, down to the disapproving frown when looking at the visitors.

If the rest of the bubble was a frantic competition between everyone about everything, this part was a more measured, balanced rivalry. A breather in the endless race.

“We’re here. What now?” Aran asked.

“Hm, door-to-door, I guess?” Zax proposed.

He hadn’t thought that far.

They looked around, seeing only shops and a bus stop. A closer look confirmed there was no map.

“Let’s start with that shop over there. We can also ask if there’s a residential area or a social gathering point nearby.”

The local owners didn’t mind giving directions to the social centre, but they were less open to discussions about their own bodies. When the topic was broached, they clammed up before nanites could even be mentioned.

In hindsight, it wasn’t surprising. As Disfavoured, any comment they ever received was probably a slight. Being defensive was a natural reaction. It would make things more difficult, but they had no better option than trying again. Which they did, on the way to their new sub-objective.

Aran might have too much influence on her friend’s thought process.

It didn’t take long to realise that despite its apparent state, this block had everything it needed to exist on its own; food, clothing, entertainment, even things they hadn’t seen yet, like a school and a children park.

The quality and prices of fares were lower, but still more than the dot would propose. The mutations were as varied, but both the top and bottom ends of the spectrum had been greatly lowered. Especially the top end, although they could just be less obvious or internal.

The social centre was an ordinary building, close to the centre of the block, with a large playground. Games were painted on the tarred surface, some were unknown, but most were familiar. Nostalgy put a brief smile on Zax’s lips.

It was open, so the trio let themselves in.

“Hello and welcome to-”

“You!?”

The shocked voice came from an advanced mutant looking wide-eyed at Zax from behind a group of sitting unmutated children.

It took him a few seconds to get over his own surprise:

“Hello. Vester.”