Through the Singularity
L. Frank Wadsworth
ISBN: 9781097236305
Through the Singularity
Copyright © 2019 by L. Frank Wadsworth
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2019 by Matheus T. Graef - matheusgraef.com
Cover Design and Character Concept by ValkyrieSTUDIOS – [email protected]
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
For AJ
You show love in all that you do.
Prologue
Aglistening sapphire on black velvet surrounded by multi-hued diamonds, a natural wonder well-hidden amid the vastness of space, yet now revealed. Admired for a moment in its natural state—unrefined—but only for a moment before the jeweler's hand begins to shape and work the stone. The result undoubtedly more precious, but the purity of its original form lost forever. Still, it is what must be, for what is the worth of anything if it isn't developed to its fullest potential? Half-baked, ill-defined, partially formed? But for now, it is enough for one to drink in every detail as it is, lost in the moment of discovery. Another world, another random variation, another metamorphosis—just as has happened countless times before; for this is their purpose.
The waverider glows softly as it approaches the garden world, sailing past its abnormally large moon. How unique this world, where the two most prominent celestial bodies will appear to be the same size. Such a moon will have a profound affect upon the seas that form the majority of this planet's surface. Indeed, creation's unfathomable touch is apparent in everything about this place. But all gardens need to be tended, and for this reason are they brought forth. Much work and time will be required before this world will yield its harvest. What will it be? Time will tell…
Chapter One
The Hunter
By the gods, it is cold. Achi's breath steams from his nostrils as he consciously struggles to maintain slow, deep breaths to avoid losing what remaining heat he has by gulping air through his mouth. It is difficult; he's been pursuing his prey for the better part of the morning, covering the entire valley and half the ridge to close within range. This last stalk was uphill in a half crouch to keep below the brush. They need meat. This winter has been harsh, and it gives little sign of ending, stressing their scarce remaining resources even more. He can't come home empty-handed. Again.
The reindeer haven't been faring well either, judging by the look of them. Most are malnourished and breathing hard from being slowly, but steadily pushed all day. He watches from the thicket he's hiding behind, downwind from an edge of the herd that holds several particularly hard-laboring animals. He nocks an arrow, eyes his target, and smoothly rises and shoots.
A hit! Right behind the left shoulder and into the chest vitals. The reindeer struggles to flee but only manages to take a few steps before teetering over on its left side. It flails its legs and head in an attempt to right itself a few times, but only succeeds in snapping the arrow and driving the head in deeper. It slowly winds down and lies still, its eyes losing focus and glazing over as it succumbs to shock and blood loss. Achi moves forward with his obsidian knife and slits the animal's throat to end its suffering, although it was surely unconscious by now anyhow. He was taught to be as merciful as possible when hunting.
It is a good kill, although unfortunate that the arrow was broken. Still, it can be easily replaced, and that task will be much easier with a full stomach. He starts dressing the carcass with the speed and precision that only great experience can provide. Hunting is his life, his passion, and his gift to the tribe. All will eat well tonight, as long as he can quickly process the kill and get back to the camp before he loses the light. While the days have been growing longer, they are still incredibly short.
It takes no more than a hand-span of the sun's travel before he is ready to start his return journey, the kill gutted and fastened to a makeshift travois. He keeps the offal separated, but returns with it too; nothing will be wasted. Exhilarated by his success, he starts for home with a fast pace. But before long, the cold, the dirty snow covering the ground, and the distance he knows he must cover before nightfall remind him of just how exhausted he really is. The reindeer aren't the only ones malnourished, as his clothes are definitely a lot looser fitting than they were in the fall. He sets his jaw and marches on—at least the weight is a constant reminder of the size of the prize he is returning with.
Home. The tribe grows very excited when they see him returning with a large kill. Some of the other luckless hunters who had already returned rush out to great him, relieving him of his load and slapping him on the back. The elders come out of their shelters with great smiles, praising him for a successful hunt and thanking the gods for seeing to their needs. He enjoys the attention, and the immense satisfaction of providing much-needed nourishment for the camp. The women tasked with cooking this day descend upon his kill, picking the choicest cuts for tonight, while another two begin processing the rest into portions for meals later in the week as well as strips for drying. They'll take care of the remainder of the carcass in the morning—hides, intestines, antlers—everything has its uses.
He settles down by the fire and starts the long process of regaining warmth in his feet and other extremities. He drinks some water and starts to relax for the first time today. He notices Lyrnia staring at him from the other side of the clearing where she's slicing strips of meat for drying. When did she grow up? He doesn't mind her looking at him and is intrigued by the way she doesn't look away after being gently teased by two elderly women who also noticed her brazenness. He could do worse. It's been two years since Chare died, and he really should let her go and get on with his life. Lyrnia seems strong and is certainly no longer a child. He doubts she will remain alone for long now that she is of age. Still, Chare's loss was such a blow, and life is so uncertain; he isn't sure he is ready to go through that again. The excitement, the long months waiting, hope growing, just to see all his dreams die in the end.
Yet, he could do worse…
He sighs and turns his head to look toward the woods. The last of the daylight is nearly gone. The water, on top of his finally warm feet, at least gives him a good excuse to get up and find a little privacy and some time to think. When he's done relieving his bladder, he starts looking about for a good birch shoot to replace the arrow he'd lost. Mostly busy work, but a hunter is only as good as his tools. He managed to salvage the chert point, so he only needs to make a shaft. He finds a few promising candidates and quickly snaps them off before returning to camp.
Achi gets the first portion of the meat, slightly seasoned and roasted, and begins picking at it, savoring its juicy warmth. There isn't much else to go with it—some dried berries and some starchy roots—but it is one of the best meals he's had in a while.
Afterwards, he starts roughing out the birch shoots into arrow shapes, heating them over the fire where necessary to help bend and straighten them. The familiar mechanics of his craft give him time to think—about his past and what steps he should take for his future. Day-to-day survival doesn't normally leave much time f
or such thoughts, but when the sun goes down and your belly is full, and a healthy young…woman…is still looking at you across the fire, it's as good a time as any. He takes a deep breath and looks at the sky. It is clear and cold with the moon yet to rise and an uncountable number of stars twinkling in the night. And those cloudy streaks that don't move like the clouds… so beautiful, so mysterious. Looking back at the fire, he sees the shine of keen eyes peering at him, questioning. Perhaps it is time to talk with Lyrnia and see what's on her mind.
Suddenly, the night sky lights up with a flickering brightness similar to lightning flashes, but there’s not a cloud in the sky. Everyone looks up to see a bright star-like ember, burning and falling to the ground. It appears to fall from a great height, sailing just south of the camp and over the ridge line before it goes out of view. There is one last flash, then all is still. Did it fall into the next valley? Everyone looks around at each other and starts talking in hushed tones. They've all seen shooting stars before, nearly every clear night, but no one remembers anything like this. The elders tell everyone it must be an omen, but no one knows whether it is good, or evil. They then hear a sharp, powerful rumble, like distant thunder; only, it echoes over and over. Achi notes the object's last trajectory and estimates where it may have landed. Perhaps he should take a look… With the festive mood of the night shattered, most start shuffling over to their shelters. Omen or other, good or ill, there is nothing to be done about it tonight.
∞∞∞
What happened? She's never heard of a waverider suffering such a failure. And where is the collective? She can't hear anyone, can't reach anyone, can't access the collective, can't sense anything other than herself. How is that even possible? Everything is always there, everyone. She is… alone? There isn't even a thought for the concept among her people, but it must have existed once, perhaps eons ago, because the ancient word comes into her mind, dredged up from the depths of her language center. Well, at least her unitary systems are working. She's never heard of galanen being… cut off?… from the collective before. It shouldn't be possible, and it is deeply concerning.
Zaleria exits her craft, which is nestled at the bottom of a shallow crater, still steaming, and looks around at her surroundings. It must have hit with a substantial impact, but the waverider appears to be intact at least. How could this have happened? There was no hint or warning of malfunction; it just suddenly appeared that her craft's graviton fields ceased working. It was as if they no longer had an effect. Yet they must have been working, or her body—along with the craft—would have been nearly atomized after such an impact. That might have been easier to bear than this… silence. But that meant the graviton fields at least dampened the inertial forces within the craft, even though they appear to have had no effect outside its shell. How is that even physically possible?
Silence! If she was still connected to the collective, they would already be investigating the different ways it might happen, had perhaps happened in the past, and which was the most likely cause given the situation. But that knowledge doesn't reside in her unitary, and while she has a general understanding of how her craft works, she is not an engineer.
She sighs and thinks about her options. Lacking insight about how she has become severed from the collective, she has no idea how to reintegrate, but she is sure they will eventually notice her sudden absence and come looking for her—if nothing else to determine whether they need to craft and reload her essence into another unitary. But they'd want to make sure the previous unitary was destroyed before undertaking such an endeavor. There are few supplies in the waverider as this was just supposed to be a quick survey mission on a bio-friendly planet, but it will at least offer shelter for a time. Otherwise, it doesn't appear to be much good for anything else; it was only designed to act as a short-range shuttle. She has her survey instruments and remotes, although the latter, which use a similar technology as the waverider, appear to be just as non-functional. That leaves her with a wide-band analyzer to augment her corporeal systems. Still, this is a virgin world, and despite how crippled she currently feels, there shouldn't be anything that will pose a real threat to her. She will probably only be here, alone, until her cohort arrives to seek her out and collect her.
But when they do show up, will they suffer the same fate? Is there some sort of anomaly in this region of space, or related to this planet, that has caused all this? She has no memory of such a thing, and nothing but deafening silence in answer to all the questions she poses. It is so hard without access to the collective! She has never experienced this feeling of utter solitude. She feels isolated in a way she is certain none of her race has endured since they evolved. She feels herself starting to panic but shakes her head to clear it and sets her jaw. This is a mystery to solve, nothing more. She decides to wait in the waverider until dawn, and then try to accomplish as much of her mission as she can until they find her.
∞∞∞
The weather seems a bit warmer today and less dry, Achi muses. Probably still too early to hope for the coming of spring, but there is promise in the air. Or perhaps that is just wishful thinking—lingering optimism following a good meal. Still, even a large reindeer is not going to last long in the camp, so it is time to search for more game. That is about all there is to life: hunt, kill, eat, craft, and then do it again. Love? Yeah, there's time for that too, once in a while. Doesn't last. How many children die before they reach Achi's age. He thinks back on at least a dozen friends he played with that have long since been felled—most by sickness, some by accidents, a couple by bears or other predators. And of those who become adults, how many died long before they could be considered an elder? Most succumb to sickness or childbirth, just like Chare. Maybe he's being selfish. There's nothing he can do to change the world, so perhaps he should make the most of what it has to offer and give back what he can for whatever time he lasts.
He is unable to find the herd he pushed yesterday, unsurprisingly, as he was fairly certain they would have kept heading north up the valley after his kill. There aren't that many bands of hunters in these parts, and although reindeer aren't exactly clever, they know enough to keep moving and put distance between themselves and known threats. He really headed this way because he wants to explore what might have happened last night. He'd gotten the distinct impression something had fallen from the sky, including a sound that came long after that last flash that he is sure resulted from it hitting the ground. If there is anything remaining, he wants to see it—if nothing else to see what this “omen” looks like. At least that's what he'll say if anyone asks, but that is unlikely. The best part of being a hunter is that you can be gone for a few days, and nobody will get worried. Well, except maybe Lyrnia, but if she wants to be with him, she'll have to learn to accept these brief separations.
Now that he's sighted the notch on the ridge where whatever it was appeared to disappear, he picks up his pace. He'd gotten an early start this morning and is making good time. He expects to crest the ridge before mid-day, which should allow him a little time to explore if there is anything worth seeing and still get back to camp by nightfall. It is definitely warmer than the previous day, and some of the snow on the ridge line is getting slushy. This only results in making things muddy and wet. He'll have to spend a little extra time warming his boots by the fire tonight. That can have added benefits…
As he crests the ridge, he immediately sees what he is looking for. Near the middle of the valley is a feature he'd never seen before. A large depression, devoid of all life, exists where once there was only forest. It looks like some giant had dug a huge hole in the ground. What could do that? He remembers stories told around the campfire about gods that came down from on high to do battle with giants on the Earth. He'd always thought they were just stories the old ones told to scare the children into behaving. “Beware the trickster, lest he draw you off and you get lost in the wilderness and never come home.” Maybe there is some truth to them after all. He watches for a good lon
g time, eyeing the anomaly carefully and peering around its edges. He then uses an old hunters' trick for finding elusive game, letting his eyes slightly lose focus so he can use his more sensitive peripheral vision to detect any sign of motion. It is eerily quiet, as if the animals don't know what to make of this new thing either. He'll have to be very careful.
He picks a good route to take, spotting a few landmarks to aid his navigation. There is a tiny drainage creek that angles down to his right, leading to a small stream he can take to the south. It'll probably be early afternoon before he reaches a small ridge heading off in the direction he wants to go. Looks like Lyrnia will have to wait one more night. He can explore this new feature and probably make it back to his current position before nightfall, but then he'll need to make camp. His mind made up, he sets upon his route, moving quickly. He will have to slow down as he nears his destination to better avoid detection, just in case. He intends to be wary.
The terrain isn't particularly difficult, and he's been this way before. They move their camp fairly regularly, following the game as they migrate between seasonal feeding grounds, so he is familiar with the land for many days’ walk in any direction. When he reaches the stream, he pauses to listen to his surroundings and take a careful look around. Nothing appears to be moving. It is too quiet; he doesn't like it. He is used to every sound in the forest, but silence is the most alerting of them all. On the bright side, it will make it easier to tell if anything is approaching him.
He follows the stream until it jogs around the small ridge he noted earlier, then he carefully picks a trail up its spine. Sometimes it is best to get a good vantage point, even if it might leave you a bit exposed. As he crests onto more level ground nearing the edge of the feature, he stops again to look, and carefully listen. Dead silence. He finds a small jumble of rocks off to the side, and climbs up the backside, using them to shield himself from the hole. If anything is down there, it could only see the top of his head peering over the side. It is the best vantage point he can find.
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