Through the Singularity

by L. Frank Wadsworth

  Getting angry, Clive retorts, “You know, you can be a real bastard sometimes!”

  “And that is what makes me who I am. I didn't ask to be stuck in the middle of this family drama, but here we are. Even without a conscious thought, our adversary can sow dissension through our ranks. I wonder what it is doing to the galanen? How the hell are we going to maintain cohesion when he tries his best to screw with us?”

  Clive shakes his head, unwilling to let go of his anger, not really knowing why. He heads over to the small bar he keeps between his kitchen and living room and grabs a half-empty bottle of rye. He doesn't bother with glasses. He pulls the cork with his teeth and spits it into the trash, taking a swig. He passes it over to Achi. “Here, have a toast from one bastard to another.” Achi takes a pull from the bottle. “Goddammit,” Clive explodes, “Don't keep things like this from me! Stop trying to protect me, stop worrying about 'unloading' your burdens. This is my fight as much as yours, and I don't have the luxury of eons of time to wage it that you do. Let me make my contributions while I can!”

  Achi passes the bottle back. “I'm just trying to do the best I can. I didn't get an owner’s manual with these symbiots, you know. And don't be surprised if the galanen don't know what to do about this either, or you. Despite their longer life spans and collective sharing, they seem remarkably innocent about their true nature.”

  “Humph, yeah, I hear you. Stop treating me like a little snot-nosed kid, even though compared to the rest of you, that's pretty much all I am.”

  “Don't sell yourself short; I think you'll find you know a lot they don't, information they'll need to learn.” Achi says, growing serious—already thinking ahead.

  They spend the rest of the night killing the remainder of the bottle, blowing off some steam, and reaffirming their bond. They decide to reconvene early the next morning after a good night’s sleep. After a breakfast of fried eggs, sausage, and orange juice, Achi breaks the silence.

  “So, how does she want me to contact her?”

  “She provided an encoded message that she said you could decipher.”

  He passes Achi his phone, who connects with it via his symbiots to download her message. It has multiple encryption phrases. Zaleria's DNA gets him past the outer layer, but then he's a bit stuck. He tries both Clive's and Cheryn's DNA, thinking they might have used that in response to his message, but neither works. He uses his own DNA, and it unlocks. He smiles—she must've found a long-forgotten record of it.

  “Achi, I thank you for your message. Mother was touched; we all were. As I'm sure you know, I don't recall our time together on Earth; that is a gap I want to fill in, but fear to do so.”

  “The galanen have been studying this problem, but your research has identified an even graver threat than we suspected. A group of us are gathered on Juruele, mostly elders, who will act on the information you have provided.” The recording pauses a moment.

  “I will be honest. I am afraid to meet with you again. I know what happened last time, and I'm not sure I want to go through that again. But we are in some sense linked, and humanity's future is more important than either one of us. Our best bet is to work together. I know that you have reason to not trust us, and there are galan who caution we cannot trust you. But I do not believe we can prevail if we are divided before our adversary. Contact me via the following means and let us discuss options.”

  The message provides pointing angles and protocols to reach an unknown satellite. Probably one placed by the galanen, as it appears to be in a non-Keplerian orbit relative to Earth and its moon. And since mankind hasn't learned how to defy gravity yet…

  He looks over at Clive. “We're going to need a Ka-band transmitter and a one-meter satellite dish. We're also going to need some place safe and secure to set up and send a message. I really wish I still had Rolle's house.”

  Clive snorts. “Don't we all? But we're living a lot thinner. You should probably concentrate on making money instead of running around doing all this crap, if that's the kind of lifestyle you want to maintain.”

  “Or, I could just go live off the land and devote all my resources into stalking my quarry. You with me? It'd be like when we camped out when you were a boy…”

  “Humph, it may come to that at some point. I'll get the comm gear. You want to use the gas station? If you expose it, it's value will be diminished.”

  “No, let's go with a mobile solution. Find a remote, hard-to-access spot, set up, and make contact. We'll start there and see what develops. Every time we plan something, enemies show up. Perhaps we need to be quick, so they can't prepare.”

  “Well, since you mentioned camping, I've done a bit of that over the last few years, and I happen to know of a nice place out in the Nantahala National Forest. It's remote.”

  Achi nods his head. “Okay, sounds like a plan. Grab the comm gear, and I'll pack. Or did you want to really rough it?”

  Clive shakes his head. “You're too rusty to be relied on to provide a good meal. So why don't you pack some appropriate campfire fare, and I'll cook it up while you have your little chat. We'll also need protection. Let's plan on leaving about 5 am tomorrow morning. Can you be ready then?”

  Achi raises an eyebrow, as if to say 'Really?' “I'll be here. See you.”

  Achi rolls up the next morning, two backpacks fully loaded, a couple gun cases, and a large cooler filled with food, drinks, and ice. He figures they'll at least spend the night. They finish loading the SUV in the garage, packing crates with the comm gear and a portable satellite dish.

  It's a long drive. They head west on I-40 and then south on Hwy 23 until just before the Georgia border. They go off road then, heading generally west on twisting mountain roads until they end up near the top of a ridge overlooking the Nantahala Wilderness Area—an area of rugged mountains covered in thick southern pine forests. Achi looks over at Clive. “You weren't kidding about this being remote. Only one primitive road in that we can easily keep an eye on.”

  “Hey, you're the one who taught me the value of always having a few remote spots up your sleeve. Let's get the gear set up before it gets dark. You think you remember how to make a fire?”

  Achi pulls out a bottle of lighter fluid and a lighter. “Yep, I think I recall.” Clive laughs.

  It only takes about an hour before the fire has reduced to coals, just about to the point where it'll be perfect for cooking. Clive has the comm gear set up and the antenna aligned. Achi fires up a small generator and sighs. “Well, here goes. You really gonna cook while I just sit over here and have a chat?”

  “No. I might think about it after you're done.”

  “Yeah, that's what I figured.” Achi adjusts the transmitter and receiver to the proscribed channels and tries to acquire the transponder as Clive tosses another couple logs on the fire. It takes only a couple of minutes. He switches to voice transmission. “Zaleria, are you there?” He waits for a response; it doesn't take long.

  “This is Beltare. Zaleria is by the pond. She'll be here in a moment.” Achi can almost feel the ice in her voice.

  Great, the last person he wants to speak with. Figures. There is an awkward silence. Achi should say something, but despite all his years, he still hasn't quite figured out how to make casual conversation with someone he felt compelled to shoot in the head.

  Clive comes over and takes the mic. “Beltare, this is Clive. The real one. I just wanted to make sure you were aware, in the event we're going to be working together, that I'm not the one that shot you in the head.” Achi's jaw drops. What the hell is he doing?!

  Beltare laughs. “Don't worry, I caught on pretty quickly. But thank you for clarifying.”

  Achi takes the mic back and glares at Clive.

  “Don't look at me like that. Did you ever make her laugh?” They wait a couple minutes.

  “Achi? This is Zaleria. Send part one.”

  Achi switches to data and sends Zaleria's DNA sequence, skipping every fifth base pair. She replies by sending
his DNA, skipping every third base pair. The agreed upon coding to secure this communication. Clive watches the interaction on a small monitor.

  “What is your plan?” Achi asks, his symbiots translating his thoughts into encoded text.

  “There are several of us that would like to meet with you. But there is a complication. We are concerned our adversary has compromised someone on Luna. We don’t’ know if they are willing, or otherwise, as you did with Beltare. The most secure place to meet would be in my home, on Juruele. But we would understand if you are unwilling to leave Earth. Whatever we do, I'd prefer to not be reduced to ash this time.”

  “That vivid memory has been on my mind.” He looks at Clive. “I'm not willing to leave Earth. I will only meet with two of you, to reduce the chance of collateral damage. Beltare and one other, but not you. You, I trust; but, if we're going to work together, then I have to trust all of you. Beltare I trust the least, and I expect that feeling is mutual. If this meeting goes well, then perhaps I'd be willing to travel. How long will it take you to get to my current position from Juruele?”

  There is a pause. “We'd like to discuss this over here. Please wait a minute.”

  Clive moves over to the grill. “So you really want to face off with Beltare again? Did you bring the medical kit?”

  Achi shakes his head. “We need to figure out if we can trust these people.”

  “Then I hope you brought more food.”

  “I expect it'll take them some time. And I'm pretty sure they aren't going to want to share grilled food with us,” Achi says.

  “They all vegetarians?”

  “Yeah, but at least it reminds me I'm definitely human.”

  “You worry about that much, do you?” Clive looks at him over the fire, perhaps suspecting some of his inner turmoil.

  “Yeah, sometimes I do. Like when I dress up like my son to confuse someone that should be a friend.”

  “That was creepy. Don't do it again, okay?” Clive says, laughing. “Look, you are who you are. But you don't need me to tell you that. If things work out, go visit the girl, my sister. You haven't been right since she left.”

  “Achi, we can be there in about two Earth hours. Is that sufficient?”

  “Who will come here?”

  “Elder Fandtha will accompany Beltare.”

  “Thank you, Zaleria. It has been good communicating with you again, although it saddens me that you no longer know why. It is probably best that we not repeat what happened before and leave it at that. I'm sure your mother has by now shared what she knows. We can speak of it if you want, so I can at least fill in the gaps in your memories. I do not want to contaminate you again.”

  “Speaking of that, I'm sorry that…”

  “Zaleria, stop. We've been through all this before. I know what happened was an accident. I know you don't remember, but I do, and that is enough. We've more important things to discuss than shared guilt. Clive and I will receive your delegation in two hours. Perhaps we can catch up after. Until then, keep well.” Achi turns off the transmitter and turns to Clive.

  “See, they will be good guests, and not show up at dinner time, compelling us to feed them.”

  “Well, at least we brought the beer,” Clive remarks. “Who doesn't like an ice-cold beer at night sitting around a blazing fire. Though they seem very formal at times,” Clive says.

  Achi knows how complex their society really is; he has those memories. They can be both formal and informal. Given this insight, he wonders if he should welcome them formally, as a galan? No; he is human, they need to accept him as he is.

  Achi and Clive stuff themselves on chicken wings, good and hot, after which they scout around their perimeter. It is getting dark, and no one else should be heading up this narrow, twisting, dead end trail at this point in the late evening. But they arm themselves, just in case. Achi now has two galanen side arms, and Clive has a suppressed M4 with a night sight and .45 caliber semi-auto pistol as back-up. Just in case they get uninvited visitors.

  It has been a little more than two hours when Achi notices a ripple across the clear night sky. Again, if he wasn't looking for it, he would never have noticed it. A waverider descends in the clearing near where they are parked. It pauses long enough for two galan to exit, then departs as silently as it came. He notices Beltare, who looks at them both with a cool eye, particularly when regarding Achi who has reverted to his Nils visage since their last meeting. He can feel her trying to establish a local connection without success. A brief look of frustration and puzzlement crosses her face. The other visitor is a burly galan, who must be Fandtha. Achi greets him first as the elder of the two. “Hello, you must be Fandtha. I am Achi. This is my son and associate, Clive. Beltare, welcome. We…got off on the wrong foot, and I am encouraged you are willing to speak with me again. Would you both like to join me around our camp fire?”

  Beltare waits for Fandtha to speak first, as is appropriate. Fandtha replies, “It is nice to meet you. I look forward to our sharing.” Achi recognizes the formal greeting but also suspects Fandtha is saying it more for appearances—seemingly bothered by the waste of words. “Please, lead the way.”

  Achi leads them over to the fire, where he's set up a couple extra web chairs for them to sit in. “Welcome to my humble camp. It's been 10,000 years, but I still like sitting around a warm fire on nights like this. It is a human tradition to share beverages around the campfire, something that has not changed in my entire life. Would you like a beer?”

  He sees Fandtha crack a smile. “Sure, I'll try one. Haven't had much, er, opportunity to sample Earth fare yet.” Achi pops the cap off and hands him an ice-cold bottle. “Beltare?”

  She looks a lot less sure and peers over at Fandtha, who has already taken a long sip. He ignores her. “I normally prefer water, but sure. I'll try one,” she says. Achi passes a bottle around to Clive to hand to her. He opens one for both him and Clive and takes a sip, sitting back in his chair and sighing contentedly.

  “This is an interesting drink,” Fandtha observes. “A small amount of alcohol in an organic matrix of grain proteins, with dissolved carbon dioxide adding a bit of body and spice. Many races create such beverages or drugs to relax or create an altered state of mind. There is a theory that this is an early civilizing force, as mass production requires division of labor to harvest the raw ingredients, manufacture, put into containers, and distribute. It may have manifested that way early in Earth's history.”

  Achi immediately decides he likes Fandtha. “Well, from what I recall, it certainly seemed that way. It also aids socializing, as we still demonstrate today,” he says as he takes another drink. “Something I think also served as a strong civilizing force. Crafting beer created a common sense of purpose, followed by a good party. Compared to how rough life was back then, it’s amazing how much a little bit of pleasure meant to folks. We'd look forward to the festival for the whole year.”

  Beltare takes a sip and makes a bit of a face, wrinkling her nose. Clive spots it and chuckles a bit before saying, “It's an acquired taste. Some might say the more you acquire, the less taste you have.” She flushes a bit, but smiles, embarrassed perhaps that she isn't fitting in.

  Achi looks over at Fandtha. “But I suppose we have more important things to discuss, so let's begin. For a couple thousand years, I have suspected that alien influences have been guiding humanity's development—one benevolent,” he gestures to his guests, “The other disruptive. The patterns were there for anyone to see. We now know the 'alien' influences are one and the same; no offense. And given our genetic similarities, it is a family problem. For some of us quite literally.”

  “Yeah, who knew?” Clive says.

  “So what are we going to do about it?” Achi asks. “Your poor human cousins are ill-equipped to take on a rogue galan, but Gravis—if that is who it truly is—needs to go.”

  “In that we agree,” Fandtha says. “And I wouldn't sell your capabilities short. Beltare has been trying to break
into your symbiots since we got here, and, eh, you've kept her out with no problem. You've had many different experiences in your life, more than any galan, even an elder like me, or, er, even Traemuña—she sends her regards by the way. I was supposed to tell you that. Where was I, yes, you are crafty and attack problems applying different perspectives than the galanen. You gave a very, er, pointed warning to Beltare during your last, eh, meeting. I agree with your assessments. We're ill prepared to meet the threat posed by this shell right now.”

  “You said shell. So what is the nature of this threat?” Achi asks. “As I'm sure you've figured out by now, I have all of Zaleria's memories, so I have no doubt Gravis would not do what this 'rogue' galan has done. Also, I think this thing has been here for a very long time. Well before I came on the scene, and long before Gravis crossed over. So how could he be in two places at once?”

  Beltare stares at him with a small measure of respect. “Traemuña was right about you, though I am not surprised. Her intuition is legendary. Yes, you have deduced correctly. Well, at least the same as we have when reviewing the same information. This rogue galan is Gravis, but it is not Gravis. We think it is an unintentional clone, one that awoke after Gravis had been regenerated into a new unitary a half-million light years from Earth. A construct we call a shell.”

  “So why would that cause him to act so depraved?” Achi asks. “I haven't been able to find anything that helps me understand this aspect from Zaleria's memories—lacking access to the collective.”

  Fandtha laughs and takes another swig of his beer. “This is actually quite good. I hope you, uh, have others?” He smiles after Achi nods. “Good. But to answer your question, it isn't supposed to happen. There are protocols embedded at the symbiot level to prevent this, etc., etc. But, as you are living proof, eh, it is clear our protocols can't foresee every eventuality. To be honest, we don't know how it happened, but it must have. The are many reasons we don't create multiple unitaries for ourselves, but the most compelling is that our essence, our soul if you will, can't inhabit more than one at a time. If there are multiple copies, only one will be the, er, true 'galan.' The others will be essentially machine intelligences.”