The Last Crucible

by J. D. Moyer

  “My esteemed senators, I begin assuming that you have read and comprehended the essence of our report –” Maro hadn’t, and didn’t, “– and will not waste your time with the technicalities. Suffice to say that the gamma-ray signature is consistent with the deinstantiation of a spacetime warp bubble. One possible explanation, and perhaps the most likely, is that a starship has just entered our solar system. While such a craft may be of alien origin, a more likely explanation relates to the development of a Natario-White warp drive by researchers on the Liu Hui, twenty years ago.”

  “I remember,” interrupted Traian. “They built an experimental starship, the Iarudi. Wasn’t it stolen by a rogue officer?”

  “There was a scandal within their military around that time,” Lucretius concurred, “and yes, the Iarudi disappeared, thought to be lost forever. Our spies on the Stanford informed us that a man believed to be onboard, Shane Jaecks, was declared dead. His family conducted memorial services.”

  “And you believe this gamma-ray burst is the Iarudi returning?” Maro asked.

  “It is a likely explanation. In theoretical models, a Natario-White drive allows travel at superluminal speeds by creating a negative mass bubble in front of a starship, thus contracting space in front of the craft and expanding space behind it. The problem is that a number of particles get caught up in the warp bubble, even in deep space. Some of those particles have mass, and when the warp bubble stops moving, that particle energy is released. Potentially a huge amount of energy, depending on how long the ship has been traveling superluminally. One of Chariklo’s ice rings has been partially vaporized.”

  “To be clear,” Maro asked, “you’re talking about faster-than-light travel?”

  “Yes.”

  “So if someone is onboard the Iarudi, and they’ve been traveling for a long time, then very little time has passed for them, correct? Essentially, they’re from the past?” The thought intrigued him.

  Lucretius furrowed her brow and bit her lip before answering. “Not in this case – time dilation doesn’t apply. The Natario-White drive literally warps space toward its destination, like a funnel. Inside of the funnel is normal spacetime.”

  “A shortcut,” Maro said, realizing his mistake. He noticed Cassia was smiling, gloating at his error, though he doubted she knew any better. He was not ashamed; it was the job of Engineers to know such things, not Artists. His job was to create a vision of the future and manifest it. “I move that we intercept this ship immediately. Send a Falcon to retrieve it.”

  “If it is the Iarudi, it belongs to the Liu Hui,” Traian pointed out. “It’s a military ship with proprietary technology. Seizing it could be considered an act of war.”

  “They’d be fools to do anything about it,” Maro scoffed.

  “Do we have a visual?” Cassia asked.

  “From our current location, everything is obscured by vast clouds of vaporized ice and dust particles,” Lucretius explained. “Everyone near Earth has the same view.”

  “What about our Saturn satellites left over from the helium mining operations?” Cassia asked. “Can’t they tell us something?”

  “We have dispatched probes from Saturn, but they’re slow-moving. They’ll take weeks to get there.”

  “And how long for a Falcon?” Maro asked. It had taken the Michelangelo two years to return from the outer solar system to Earth, but the fusion-drive Falcon cruisers could accelerate and decelerate much more quickly.

  “About six weeks, with an average speed of four hundred kilometers per second. But the acceleration required to reach such speeds would only be achievable with remote operation or a cybrid crew. Human bodies – even enhanced ones – can’t withstand the G-force from pulsed fusion acceleration.”

  “Cybrids can operate Falcons?” Maro asked. That was news to him.

  “With the Bohm upgrade, yes. Which has had a very limited rollout, given the ethical considerations—”

  Nodding knowingly, Maro raised his hand to cut Lucretius off, despite the fact that he’d never heard of the Bohm upgrade. He would send a task to Aina to research the details and provide him with a summary. Risking a glance at Cassia, he was mortified to see her staring at him with smug satisfaction.

  Maro stood. “I would like to hear from the Defenders, but it is my belief that if the Iarudi has indeed returned, we must retrieve it, regardless of whose feelings we might hurt. We have taken on the highest mission in the solar system, and we must do whatever is necessary to honor that commitment. Technological superiority is not just nice to have, it is a strategic imperative.”

  His voice was not as loud or resonant as Cassia’s, but Maro knew how to play a crowd. Appeals to power and dominance almost always worked, and this case was no exception. Murmurs of assent rippled throughout the Curia.

  In truth he would welcome a military skirmish with the Liu Hui. It was time for everyone to see what the Michelangelo was capable of.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Are they ready?” Maro asked Livia. They were at a reserved domus furnished with several triclinia and other simple furnishings, as well as two isolation tanks. The ‘action’ would all take place in the minds of the subjects; all that was needed for the project was privacy, sensory isolation, and physiological monitoring.

  “Ready and eager,” said Livia. “They both slept restlessly, but that’s to be expected. Everything here is new to them.”

  “But you’ve confined them to quarters, no?” Maro asked. Faustus nuzzled against his neck, sensing his anxiety. Maro scratched behind the ferret’s ears.

  “Of course. But even within their domus, there are new technologies, materials, novel sensations of all kinds.”

  Maro frowned. “We should begin as soon as possible. We can’t give them time to adjust.”

  Livia looked away, checking her retinal feed. “The Engineers are running some final tests – they’ll be ready for the surgeries within hours. But we can escort the subjects to Medical now.”

  “I’ll do it myself,” Maro said. Besides Livia, he didn’t trust anyone to interact with the subjects. Cassia wasn’t above bribes and threats to exert her influence.

  He found Cristo naked, bathing in a tiled pool with Aina. Each tile of the underwater mosaic had been fired in a unique shade of blue, green, or aquamarine. The Bosa man quickly stood, grabbing a towel to cover himself.

  “Don’t you knock?” Cristo snapped.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. You have a beautiful body.”

  Cristo frowned, upset but clearly enjoying the compliment. Maro didn’t know what homophobia, if any, lingered among the Bosa folk, but the experiment would tell him soon enough. It would reveal Cristo’s mind more clearly than any electron scan or robotic dissection ever could.

  “Give me a minute to dress.”

  “Of course.”

  Maro gave Cristo his requested privacy. A tiny worry itched his mind, that the subject would flee. But where would he go? It was a natural fear; Maro had gone through so much work to acquire the pair. But he reassured himself that there was no need to worry. It was true what he had told the Senate; Cristo and Filumena were here by choice.

  “I’ll be right back,” Maro called from the adjoining room. “I’ll retrieve Filumena.”

  “I invited her to join us,” Cristo yelled back playfully, “but she said she was already clean.”

  Maro had guessed as much. Cristo desired Filumena, perhaps even loved her. And the experiment would capture the exact qualities of that primal, unrequited love, along with everything else. Many of the scenarios involved the participants interacting under intense pressure, in extreme circumstances. Everything would be revealed.

  The purpose of Ancestral Realism was to capture the consciousness of a different era in such a way that it could be worn like a cloak. The experiments would map a complete cognitive and emotional hologram of the subject
s, recording their interpretations and reactions to a huge variety of situations, from the mundane and pleasant to the horrific and ecstatic. From that repository of data, the Engineers would create a template, a pattern that could be worn by a modern user’s mind. The template would modulate hormonal, neurotransmitter, and other neurophysiological parameters via the user’s implants in such a way that the consciousness of the original subject could be subjectively experienced. Not precisely – each mind was unique – but in flavor and tenor. Every era had its own mindset, zeitgeist, and cognitive-emotional tone. Ancestral Realism would provide the missing link in the study of history: the ability to subjectively experience the minds of its subjects.

  The citizens of the Michelangelo played at being Romans. Decades earlier, feudal Japan had been in style, and before that, a hundred years ago, they had lived as Mayans. Maro fondly remembered playing ulama as a youngster, and his bones still bore the scars of many fractures from the heavy rubber ball.

  Maro took pride in the worldship’s rich tradition of historical immersion. Citizens went beyond emulating the food, dress, architecture, and lifestyles of whatever historical civilization was in fashion. They modified their bodies as well, both genetically and surgically. Not only skin color, facial features, and physical proportions, but also physiological factors and even brain chemistry. Some, like Cassia, used such capabilities to create a unique somatic form. And Maro had no problem with that. But most, including himself, preferred to emulate historical norms as accurately as possible, both physically and mentally.

  But even with such meticulous attention to detail, something was missing. Human consciousness was an ephemeral quality, and modifying genetic traits – even those related to cognition, emotion, and sensory processing – could not begin to capture the subjective reality of a historical civilization.

  Until Ancestral Realism, that had not been possible.

  It was just a start. The minds of the Bosa townsfolk were nothing like the people of ancient Rome. But they were closer, more primitive and perhaps more savage than the minds of Maro and his peers. Or perhaps not! The experiment would find out. Maro could not wait to wear a template himself, to begin to experience the subjective flavor of another era. Certainly it would take more than two subjects to form a reliable template, but he had to start somewhere.

  And there were other communities on Earth to be captured. Mountain people living in central Europe, who appeared to live something like Vikings (but without boats). What were their minds like? How would it feel to walk in their bodies, with their feelings and impulses, their rages and their passions, their insights and imaginations?

  Maro was personally interested in experiencing such things, but Ancestral Realism had a higher purpose as well, one that dovetailed with the Michelangelo’s ultimate goal.

  Preservation.

  Mind states were precious but ephemeral. Like languages, a culture’s collective consciousness constantly morphed and mutated, eventually dying and disappearing like any life form. Until now, there had been no way to record, capture, and preserve such phenomena. But Ancestral Realism could do so, at least in theory. Ultimately, Maro would create a vast library of human cultural consciousness. Not only to be analyzed and discussed, but to be experienced directly.

  “Filumena? Are you ready?” Filumena’s domus was next to Cristo’s, with a connecting arched marble walkway.

  He found her crying in her bedroom, her face pressed into a silken pillow.

  “What is it, my dear? Are you feeling homesick?”

  She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “What’s that on your shoulder?”

  “It’s just Faustus. Don’t mind him.”

  Filumena pressed her face back into the pillow. “I’ve abandoned my mother, who needed me. I’ve abandoned my friends, who relied on me.”

  “It’s difficult to hear you.”

  Filumena put the pillow down. “It was pure selfishness that brought me here. I was wrong to listen to Cristo. He caught me at a weak moment.”

  Maro sat on the bed, taking both her hands in his own. The skin on the back of her hands was smooth and soft, her palms as calloused and textured as rough stone. “They’ll be fine. Don’t worry. The people of Bosa are kind and generous. They’ll care for your mother. And if the friend you speak of is Jana, she’s strong enough to endure your short absence.”

  Filumena sobbed. “You’re wrong! As wrong as I was to come here. I have to return immediately. Jana needs me right now, my mother too. Will you take me home?”

  Maro furrowed his brow. This was not part of the plan. He awkwardly squeezed Filumena’s hands, trying to convey reassurance, but this elicited a jealous hiss from Faustus.

  Filumena’s eyes widened. “Is he dangerous?”

  “Only if he bites you. But he won’t, I promise. He’s very well-trained. To answer your questions, of course I will take you home. At the very first opportunity. But the next ship does not leave for weeks.”

  “None sooner?”

  Maro slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, dear child. None sooner.” He could have her home in Bosa within a day if he chose, but that was unacceptable. “I will remind you that you are under no obligation to do anything you don’t want to do. You may spend your time on the Michelangelo any way that you wish. Visit our museums, see our plays, or just lie between these silken sheets and rest. You are our honored guest.”

  “But…your project. You said that you needed us.”

  Maro shrugged. “It’s not important. After you rest, perhaps you will change your mind. These emotional swings are natural when adjusting to a new place. You miss your loved ones. Have you eaten?” He gestured to a nearby platter of fresh figs, grapes, and soft cheese. “Nourish yourself, then sleep. We’ll talk of this later.”

  Filumena plucked a grape and popped it in her mouth. “Thank you.”

  “Of course, if you do decide to participate, you will return home with riches that will make your mother’s life easy and comfortable. And perhaps we can take a closer look at what ails her. There might be a cure.”

  “Really?”

  Maro smiled. “If you knew how old I was, you would be amazed. The human body contains miraculous capabilities to heal itself, powers that can be unlocked with the right keys. And we have discovered those keys.”

  Maro stayed with her a while longer, answering her questions. One way or another Filumena would participate in the experiment, but the voluntary route was vastly preferable. He suspected she just needed a little more time and reassurance.

  In the meantime, there was no reason they couldn’t start with Cristo. Many of the scenarios required only a single participant. Cristo, though distressed that Filumena was not yet joining him, submitted eagerly to the required medical procedures: optic and cochlear nerve implants for both projection and recording; neurohormonal monitors; parietal stimulators to simulate touch, pain, force, and motion. Maro sat with Cristo during surgery, holding his hand and asking him questions about Bosa. Cristo, skull open but feeling no pain, chatted amicably as the spiderlike bot-surgeons gently wove the tiny implants into place.

  “I’m so glad I’m here,” Cristo said. “You can’t believe how boring Bosa gets sometimes. I know everything about everyone. Much more than I should, or want to.”

  Maro chuckled at that. Even on a worldship with thousands of people, he sometimes felt the same.

  “When does the fun begin?” Cristo asked. “I can’t wait.”

  “Very soon. You’ll be fully healed within a few days, but the implants will take a bit longer to fully integrate. You’ll experience some unusual sensations in the interim. Don’t be alarmed.”

  “What kind of sensations?”

  “Visions of places you’ve never been. Music and voices in your head. The Engineers will debrief you periodically. It’s just testing to make sure everything is working properly.”

>   “How will I know what’s real?”

  “You won’t, at first. But you’ll figure it out.”

  This was a lie. Cristo would have no way of knowing what was real and what was being projected into his mind. If it were so easy to distinguish, the point of the experiment would be defeated.

  “The important thing is that you’ll always be safe,” Maro said. “We won’t do anything to put you in harm’s way.”

  It was true that Cristo would emerge whole and unscathed, at least physically. Mentally and emotionally, Maro had no way of knowing. But if the boy experienced any trauma, that could be addressed later with desensitization and reprocessing therapy, and with neuroremodulatory drugs if necessary.

  Anything that was doable to the brain was undoable.

  While Cristo was recovering, Maro returned his attentions to Filumena. The Bosa woman’s spirits had recovered considerably with food, rest, and small, surreptitious doses of euphorics. He escorted her to the Library of Alexandria and showed her relics originating not far from her home: manuscripts transcribed by Italian monks, an ancient Greek excerpt of Homer’s Odyssey transcribed onto clay tablets, cave paintings excavated from the French Mediterranean coast. He wanted to give her a tangible sense of history without overstimulating her. Viewing work by the masters would be too much, so early.

  “Seeing these paintings fills me with an indescribable feeling, Maro,” Filumena said, viewing a detailed Gravettian portrait of a mammoth. “Were these really made by the first human beings?”

  “Early humans, but far from the first. The Upper Paleolithic peoples were quite late in the modern human timeline. The first humans capable of using language and creating art evolved about seventy thousand years ago in eastern Africa, almost directly below us.”

  “Below us?”

  “Here, look.” He initiated a floor projection simulating a crystal-clear window beneath their feet, a live image of Lake Victoria, zoomed in to within a few kilometers of Earth’s surface. Filumena gasped, then got down on her hands and knees to touch the ‘window’, confirming its solidity. “Right there, see? That’s where the first humans woke up. And then left Africa, shortly after, in many waves.”