Post-Human 5 Book Boxed-Set: (Limited Edition) (Plus Book 6 Preview Chapters)

by David Simpson

  “A bubble?”

  “It lasts only for a microsecond, which is why you don’t see it and why, to you, it appears as though you have instantly traveled to another universe.”

  “So, you’re saying you discovered parallel universes?”

  “In tandem with the researchers at our facility, yes.”

  “But...but how can parallel universes exist?”

  “They’ve been incorporated into membrane theory for decades, Craig. However, once humanity attained access to an artificial intelligence with sufficient power not only to process the enormous amounts of data already available, but also to creatively concoct experiments at a rate that humans simply couldn’t match before, it was only a matter of time before evidence was uncovered. The universe, Craig, is really a multiverse, floating in an infinite darkness known as the bulk, and is only one of an infinite number of parallel universes.”

  “Impossible,” Craig replied, mesmerized.

  The A.I.’s eyebrow arched quizzically. “The evidence is all around you.”

  “I know. I know, but...damn.” Craig sat on the dusty floor and rested his elbows on his knees. “I just...I’ve never felt so...lost.”

  “You would prefer to believe that our universe exists alone?”

  Craig shook his head. “I don’t know. I just wish I wasn’t here. I wish I was with Sam and none of this had happened.”

  “In many universes, that is indeed the case.”

  Craig shot the A.I. a glare. “That’s not much solace.”

  “Perhaps not, but it is true, however. The many worlds theory has turned out to be more than just a theory. Indeed, all possible alternative histories and futures are real, each one encapsulated in its own universe. The universes branch off from one another. If you could see the bulk,” the A.I. continued as he conjured a 3D computer image of what he described, “it would look very much like the neurons in your brain, each universe splitting off the last, connected, yet separate. The 3,000 parallel universes, or exo-universes, that we have currently identified are those closest to us within the bulk.”

  “Okay. Crazy as that sounds, it kind of makes sense. And what about these magnetic fields we’ve been generating? I didn’t know magnetic fields could do these things. Why didn’t we have these before?”

  “The magnetic fields of the past were quite simple in comparison to what you are generating with your MTF. This is the age of nano materials, Craig. Your magnetic field is the result of electromagnetically energized particles that are organized into patterns that make them spin at high velocities.” Once again, the A.I. projected a helpful animated 3D image to illustrate his point. “If we had a microscope powerful enough to see these materials, we’d see that the pattern they form is similar to a honeycomb structure, with the north and south poles reacting to one another in such a way that the attractions and repulsions cause them to spin. The honeycomb structure is woven into a net that surrounds you. This not only forms your protective cocoon, but it can also propel you in whichever direction you desire by propelling particles away at high velocities.”

  “And these fields are strong enough to protect us when we go through the Planck?”

  “Yes. The Planck platform generates a super-strong field in the same instant in which the Planck bubble forms. It is analogous to a firewall, protecting you from the instability of space and time that surrounds you.”

  “All right. I get it.”

  “Indeed. Although it isn’t possible for any human to fully understand the enormous calculation and experimentation required, the general concepts are relatively easy to grasp. And, speaking of relativity, Aldous asked me to explain to you why the universes are moving at different time rates.”

  “Yeah, I don’t need to know if it’s going to be too complicated,” Craig said, holding one hand to his forehead while he waved the A.I. away with the other.

  Undeterred, the A.I. continued. “It’s quite simple. Each universe is actually moving at the same time rate. Therefore, they are obeying Einsteinian principles. However, time moves differently according to mass and gravity, so while the universes might be moving at the same rate in totality, the speed of time in the vicinity of the Earth can be dramatically different.”

  “I didn’t quite catch that,” Craig replied after giving his head a quick shake. “One more time.”

  “If, for instance, a few galaxies begin moving toward the Milky Way, converging upon it slowly like clouds that do not appear to move from a great distance but are actually traveling quite rapidly, then time in the Milky Way can slow dramatically because of the extra mass and gravity exerted upon it. If, however, galaxies trend away from the Milky Way, the reduced mass and gravity pressure causes time to move more quickly. This is why the multiple Earths can differ so greatly in their time periods. Overall, however, when averaged for the entire universe, time is a constant.”

  “I think I understand now—a bit TMI, but okay. So what year are we in in this universe?”

  “Again, Craig, it would be unwise—”

  “You said you respect my free will.”

  “I do. However—”

  “Good enough,” Craig said as he lifted off, the A.I.’s holographic image disappearing and then reappearing in Craig’s mind’s eye as Craig flew through the largest of the holes in the ceiling and straight up over the building, trying to get above the tallest of the surrounding buildings to attain the best vantage point. It was only a matter of seconds before a colossal manmade structure appeared to the south, backdropped by a perfect blue morning. “Oh my God,” Craig whispered as he gazed at the Twin Towers.

  “It’s September 11,” the A.I. finally conceded. “2001.”

  3

  Craig didn’t hesitate to ignite his cocoon and blast off as fast as he could toward the towers. “What time is it? How long do we have?”

  “Craig, you have to stop,” the A.I. replied.

  “What time is it, damnit!” Craig demanded.

  Without warning, Craig’s forward momentum dropped dramatically, as though he were trying to make his way through thick molasses. “What are you doing? Stop it!” he shouted as he began to pull back from his intended destination.

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you—”

  “So you’re a liar!” Craig shouted. “Free will? Bull!”

  “I would never lie to you, Craig. However, you have not afforded me an opportunity to explain.”

  “I’m tired of your attempts to justify—”

  “My protestations are not only metaphysical, Craig. They are also practical. If you approach the Twin Towers, you will likely be apprehended and perhaps even killed immediately. The Purists may be waiting for you there, expecting you to make your move.”

  “How?” Craig asked as he floated high above the city streets. “We just left them on the Titanic a few minutes ago. They had to find the Planck platform and sink the ship, and that would take—”

  “Time, as you understand it, is irrelevant in this instance. The Planck platform creates an instability in space-time that is chaotic and difficult to predict. The distortions are very much like water. Depending on where one catches the time wave, the discrepancy can be several minutes. It is not even impossible that the Purists actually arrived in this universe before we did.”

  Craig’s eyes narrowed as he stared toward the towers, a grimace forming on his lips. “That sucks, but it’s not enough to make me give up. We still have to try.”

  “I shall help you,” the A.I. replied, “but you must listen to my plan.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “While trying to intercept the airplanes at the tower would be a fool’s errand, virtually guaranteeing that the Purists would be able to stop you at their leisure, there is another way.”

  Craig immediately understood. “The airport! Do we still have time?”

  “It is currently 7:31 a.m. Lead hijacker, Mohamed Atta will be boarding American Airlines Flight 11 at 7:35 a.m. at Boston’s Logan International A
irport. I can get us there if you allow me to take over your flight systems.”

  “You’ve already done that.”

  “Yes. However, I won’t go anywhere without your permission,” the A.I. replied.

  “Fine! You have my permission! Let’s go!”

  Without a word, the A.I. turned Craig around to face north and blasted off. In just seconds, they had accelerated to a speed Craig had never experienced before.

  “Holy...this is fast.”

  “Logan is 310 kilometers away, so to make it in time, we have to travel nearly 6,000 kilometers per hour.”

  “Will we make it?”

  “Assuredly. However, we will not be able to stop the coordinated attacks. I will patch you through to the security at Logan, and you can have them relay the information and stop all four flights from taking off.”

  “What am I supposed to tell them? ‘I’m a guy from the future with a robot in my head. A bunch of terrorists are going to fly planes into the Twin Towers. Please have Airport Security detain them.’ I don’t think they’d buy it. I’ll find myself in a straightjacket before breakfast!”

  “Tell them the truth. You’re former U.S. Air Force Special Forces.”

  “Can’t you tell them? I don’t know all the details. It’s been a while since I’ve read a history book.”

  “I’m just a voice in your head, Craig. I can connect the call, but I can’t talk to them. I’ll prompt you. Don’t worry.”

  “What if they don’t believe me?”

  “That won’t be a problem. Tell them you’re on your way and there’s about to be an incident—a major incident.”

  4

  “We are twenty seconds out,” the A.I. informed Craig as they slowed their approach to the airport. “I’ve already examined the schematics of the airport. Flight 11 boarded at Gate B32. We’ll be entering through the window.”

  “Through the window? You mean crashing through?”

  “Yes, and in rather dramatic fashion, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Craig growled, his upper lip curling atavistically.

  “The pictures of each hijacker have been uploaded into your facial recognition. They board at different times, but all five men will be at the gate. We can knock each of them unconscious automatically with an energy blast—”

  “Not happening,” Craig replied.

  “Why not?”

  The window was now visible as the A.I. guided Craig toward it.

  “Because these guys need to feel some discomfort.”

  A second later, the brilliant green cocoon smashed through the floor-to-ceiling window adjacent to Gate B32. It was 7:35, and Mohamed Atta and Abdulaziz al-Omari were next in line to board Flight 11.

  As he stood to his feet, Craig’s mind’s eye immediately locked onto the two targets, as well as the other three hijackers who remained at their seats—though, like everyone else, they’d gotten down on the ground to protect themselves.

  Atta stood, ticket in hand. He was dressed in a blue dress shirt and dark dress pants with a black bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes were wild with surprise, and they quickly darted in the direction of his companions. He remained frozen, hoping the bizarre figure who’d smashed through the glass was not there for him and that they would remain undetected. When Craig’s eyes met his, he and the others turned to run.

  “I have them,” the A.I. said as he flashed energy in the direction of four of the five hijackers.

  All four of them went limp and dropped to the ground instantly—all except for Atta, who continued to run, not stopping to check on his companions.

  Craig lifted off into the air, and a young girl screamed as Craig landed in front of his prey. “I know who you are,” Craig seethed.

  Atta’s eyes were stretched with fear as Craig moved in. He reached into his bag, retrieving his box cutter and holding it threateningly. “Stay back!”

  Craig smiled. “Just try it, son.”

  Atta backpedaled and swiped wildly in the air in front of him to keep Craig at bay.

  “Are you sure this is what you want, Craig?” the A.I. asked, his voice analytical more than emotional, once again reminding Craig of a psychiatrist.

  “This is something you just can’t understand,” Craig replied as he lunged forward, reaching for Atta’s throat with both hands outstretched. He grasped it, but Atta stabbed with his weapon, the blade of the box cutter sinking into the middle of Craig’s throat. As blood jetted from the wound, Craig grasped the wrist of the hand that held the box cutter and squeezed hard with his powerful grip, causing Atta to drop the weapon. With his right hand, Craig continued to squeeze Atta’s throat, his thumb digging hard into the man’s Adam’s apple. Atta grabbed Craig’s wrist with his left hand, hoping to lessen Craig’s grip and avoid having his trachea crushed.

  “This is reckless, Craig,” the A.I. observed. “If you were not a post-human, the wound to your neck would be fatal.”

  Craig couldn’t reply; though his nans were hard at work, repairing the damage to his throat, the bleeding still hadn’t completely stopped, and he was having difficulty breathing. It didn’t matter, however. As far as he was concerned, there was no way he was going to lose a fight to a fiend like Atta.

  “Watch out, Craig,” the A.I. warned. “You have not secured his left hand, and once he realizes that he can’t prevent you from crushing his throat, he will inevitably attempt to knock you unconscious with a corkscrew left to your temple.”

  Craig knew the A.I. was probably right; that would be Craig’s next move if he were in Atta’s shoes. Preemptively, Craig released his grip on Atta’s throat and used his right hand to secure Atta’s left, and then swiftly head-butted the would-be hijacker in the nose, breaking it. Atta stumbled back, and Craig swept out his legs with a sweeper kick of his own, knocking Atta flat on his back.

  Once the fight was on the ground, it was over. Craig mounted Atta’s chest and began leveling devastating blows against Atta’s face. His goal was not to knock the man unconscious with hard shots to the jaw, throat, or temple. His goal was to cause pain. The man under him was a murderer—a would-be mass murderer of thousands. He’d wrapped himself in a delusion, convinced himself that it was okay to murder for a greater good. Craig was tired of self-righteous scum like him. Atta deserved no sympathy.

  “Craig,” the A.I. said as he watched the destruction of the man’s face below, “you’ll kill him if you continue.”

  “That’s the idea,” Craig replied, his voice hoarse, unrecognizable even to himself.

  “I thought your primary purpose was to protect life—not to take it.”

  “I’ve killed before,” Craig answered. “I’ve never enjoyed it. Not until now.”

  “This is not a path I believe you should follow, Craig.”

  “What would you know? You don’t even have emotions.”

  “I do have emotions,” the A.I. asserted. “I just haven’t developed an emotional intelligence that passes the Turing test.”

  “Well, talk to me when you do,” Craig replied as he continued leveling blows on the face of the now unconscious Atta. “I’m no orthodontist, but I think if I really concentrate, I can knock out every one of his teeth individually.”

  “Craig,” the A.I. said.

  “Leave me alone, I said. Free will. Remember?”

  “Craig!” the A.I. suddenly shouted with enough urgency that it jolted Craig free from his bloodlust.

  “What?” he asked as he straightened his back.

  “The television in the corner! At your eleven o’clock high!”

  Craig looked up to see an old television set mounted on a bracket in the corner of the room. The news was playing. “No,” Craig whispered when he saw the news report on the screen. The Twin Towers were there, black smoke billowing from each, an image that seemed all too familiar. “How can this be? We stopped them before they boarded!”

  The A.I. didn’t need to answer. The news cameras on a nearby helicopter had captured li
ve footage of three Purist super soldiers flying in a circular pattern around the base of the structures, unloading their devastating weaponry at the towers.

  5

  Craig’s body shook, fury coursing through his veins while the A.I. flew them back to New York.

  “This will be a very dangerous endeavor,” the A.I. noted.

  “I don’t care,” Craig growled in return. “I’m sick of these bastards.”

  “Even so,” the A.I. replied, “it is always best to enter battle with a sound strategy.”

  “Again, I’m all ears if you have something to suggest.”

  “Indeed I do. The Purists are equipped with automatic targeting software. So, even if the men themselves don’t recognize that they’ve seen you, if their computer’s onboard pattern recognition sees you, their cybernetic arms will automatically take aim and fire. In other words, if the computer detects you, it’ll hit you with its neutralizer, and the fight will be over. Any fantasies you might have about barrel-rolling to avoid their fire and outsmarting them in a dog fight are just that—fantasies.”

  “So what are you telling me? The fight’s over before it begins? Are they unbeatable?”

  “No. You do have a number of advantages. First, their flight technology is nowhere near as capable as yours. Their wings are made from woven carbon nanotubes, which make them extremely strong while still allowing for them to fold, but, in the end, they are a poor substitute for any wings in nature. The microjet engines only have twenty minutes of thrust capability before they run out of fuel. Also, they’re heavy, severely limiting the super soldiers’ maneuverability.”

  “How does extra maneuverability help me if I can’t engage them in a dog fight?”

  “It doesn’t. However, you won’t be engaging them. When we were interacting with them on the Titanic, I noted another major design flaw. There don’t appear to be any rear-facing cameras on their equipment, which means they are blind to anything above them while they are in flight. If you come at them from on high and hit them with an electromagnetic pulse, you’ll shut down all their computer and electrical systems.”