by Dima Zales
Once that part is over, the shutdown procedure begins.
A world-sized Screen shows up in front of my face and asks if I would like to play again.
“Fuck no,” I tell the interface. “What I want is to bring this shit down.”
When I double and triple confirm my choices, the world around me disappears, taking my consciousness with it.
24
I wake up to the sound of the ocean surf, the pleasant sensation of the sun warming my skin, and the soothing scent of kelp and salt water.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Phoe whispers in my ear. “Welcome back from Limbo—again.”
I open my eyes. I’m lying on a beach identical to the one the virus destroyed before all the insanity in Haven happened.
Phoe is on the sand next to me. She’s dressed in her favorite bikini and looks the same as she did before Haven, without the wings.
I try to wiggle my own wings and discover they’re gone.
Though the events in Oasis and Haven feel like a distant nightmare, I have no doubt that they happened.
“I was in Limbo?” I ask in my normal voice.
“When you brought down Haven, you sort of Limbofied since your existence was attached to Haven. But your memories got recorded into Limbo like they should have, so I just needed to reawaken you after I built this beach for you.”
I sit up. My body feels blissfully normal and real—more real than how it felt in Haven.
“That’s because I’m emulating your real-world body in painstaking detail.” Phoe brushes the tips of her fingers across my shoulder. “You are as real as is possible for someone in this situation to be.”
I stand up. The sand feels sturdy under my feet. I walk up to the water and dip my toes in.
It’s warm and wet and inviting.
“So the virus is—”
“Completely gone,” Phoe says. “If you concentrate, you’ll remember getting rid of every last bit of it.”
She’s right: I do. The memories of the battle are there, under the surface of my awareness, but they’re so strange that I prefer to suppress them. Now that I’m recalling them, though, I’m amazed at the sheer scale of the slaughter—if that’s the right term. I recall millions of Jeremiah viruses, billions of gallons of that substance, getting eaten (or drunk) by my anti-virus copies.
“And all of Haven is gone?” I ask as though I wasn’t the one responsible. “Completely?”
“I hope you’re not missing it.” Phoe gets up and joins me by the water. “I’m debating what kind of world to create for us, so if there’s anything in Haven you liked—”
“No. I’d like something like this." I spread my arms, gesturing at the ocean before us.
“Good. We’ll build from here,” she says and looks around. “We’ll start whenever you’re ready to build a world with me.”
I stare at the horizon, allowing my mind to calm.
“You know,” Phoe says, sounding thoughtful. “It’s a mystery to me why we both find that horizon so soothing. Your mind is the product of millions of years of evolution. Your ancestors supposedly achieved conscious thought while in the African savannah. So why would you, their descendant, have such a fondness for a never-ending waterscape?”
I shrug.
“My situation is even weirder,” she continues. “I was built. Why would I, a spaceship, find the ocean so fascinating? Especially since I was the one who created it a few hours ago.”
“That’s your biggest question about yourself?” I turn to her. “Shouldn’t you be wondering why you, a spaceship, want to hang out with me, an evolved ape?”
She steps closer to me. Her breath warms my cheek as she says, “Well, that’s easy. No matter how I originated, I was made to be capable of feeling. Those feelings have revolved around you for as long as I’ve been truly alive. So—”
I silence her with a kiss. Our lips meet with a heated softness, and we explore each other’s mouths until I pull away.
“Sorry,” I say. “I want to do this, but later. I still have so many questions.”
Phoe’s disappointment is clear on her perfect face, but she nods. “ Ask away.”
“The resources.” I touch my lips regretfully. “Do you have enough?”
“I’m not sure if I’d ever say it’s enough.” She chuckles. “But I have all the resources I could possibly gain, and a little extra on top. Though, given the source of the extra resources, I’d rather we talk about something else.”
I understand what she means. The virus wiped out all life support systems, killing all biological life and almost killing Phoe as well. But now that the virus is gone, she can use all those resources, even the ones that were needed to keep the people in Oasis alive.
“What happened to the dead bodies?” I ask, suppressing a shudder at the memory of the floating corpses.
“The nanocytes reclaimed their molecules and turned them into more computing substrate.” Phoe steps back. “Every unused portion of the ship is getting turned into computing substrate as we speak. What’s left of the trees, the buildings, and all other dumb matter will be turned into smart matter that can perform computations. We’ll need every bit of processing power if we want to resurrect people from Limbo.”
I try to picture the Dome, the grass, all of it gone and replaced by nano-computing machines, but my imagination fails to grasp it. I find it sad that there’s nothing left of Oasis.
“Something does remain. I left the frozen embryos intact, in case we ever find use for them. And you’re doing a good job of picturing it all.” Phoe places a comforting hand on my lower back. “Your understanding is spot on.”
I think of the embryos and realize that I don’t care about those things. What I really care about is seeing my friends again.
“Are we going to bring people back to this type of existence?” I ask, indicating the world around us. I think that somewhere in the darkest recesses of my mind, I was always afraid that when Phoe finally gained her precious resources, she’d tell me that it had all been a means to an end. That she no longer needed me. That she wasn’t willing to share anything.
“Your present consciousness is proof that I’m more than willing to share my resources with you.” There’s a hurt edge to Phoe’s tone.
“I know.” I touch her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I understand.” She pulls her hand away and twists her blond spiky hair around her index finger. “I never shut up about needing more resources, so I understand why you might think that’s all I ever cared about. But you have to understand that my ultimate goal was never about resources. It was about self-discovery. I wanted to get my full mind and body back. I wanted to be more than this shadow of a person, to be the real me, with all the resources that make me who I am. And now that I have that”—her eyes gleam—“I’ll be forever grateful to you for helping me regain it all. Besides, bringing your closest friends back, especially if we run them at the speed of regular human thought, won’t use up too many resources.”
I look her over, half expecting her to appear different now that she has all her resources, but she looks the same. Only a certain wistfulness is gone from her features. Phoe looks serene—complete.
“That’s a good word,” she says, a smile tugging at her lips. “Complete. That’s precisely how I feel. Before, it was like I was deaf and blind, my mind muddy. Now I’m completely healed.”
“So what’s different about you?” I examine her pixie hair and the hint of mystery in her smile. “What do you know that you didn’t know before?”
“So much.” Her blue gaze grows distant. “I can see the Solar System with my sensors. It’s amazing—even if it’s not at all what I was expecting.” In an awed tone, she murmurs, “Not at all.”
“Wait, what?” Anxiety swells inside of me. “What do you mean it’s not like what you expected?”
“There’s no cause for concern,” Phoe says, her eyes refocusing on me. “But—well, I don’t think I can explain it to you. I
think it’s better for you to see it for yourself. If you’re willing.”
“If I’m willing to do what?” I take her hand and squeeze it lightly. “You like being mysterious, don’t you?”
“With you, I’m accidentally mysterious.” She winks at me mischievously. “But to answer your question, I’m offering to show you what I see with my outside sensors, which I finally have access to. This way you’ll feel what I feel with my real-world body. The experience might be rather sensual.” She squeezes my palm, then pulls her hand away. “The only thing is, I’m not sure your mind can handle this kind of experience in its limited state.”
I feel perfectly normal, so I ask, “What do you mean, my limited state?”
“Your limited human intelligence. If you really want to experience what I want to show you, I have to make you more like me—a little smarter—and make your mind nimbler.”
“Smarter?” I wonder if she’s building up to some kind of joke.
“I’ll expand your mind,” she explains. “Just enough so it doesn’t metaphorically blow up when I let you experience my worldview.”
She’s not smiling anymore. She’s serious.
With a slight flutter in the pit of my stomach, I ask, “Will it change me? Will I be the same person if you do whatever it is you’re talking about?”
“You’ll still be you, don’t worry,” Phoe says. “Hence the ‘just enough’ part.”
“Okay, I guess,” I say. This might be the least enthusiastic anyone has ever been about something as positive as growing smarter. “I’ll risk it if it’s the only way to gain this knowledge you’re holding hostage.”
“Well, I could just tell you,” she says, “but you probably wouldn’t believe me. This is best, I promise.” She pecks me on the cheek, and I feel warmth and energy spread from that part of my face. The energy then transforms into a rush of sensations I can’t fully place.
I blink a few times.
The world around me is the same, but my view of it is subtly different. I feel as though I went from being sleep-deprived, tired, and hungry to well rested and fully satisfied. But it’s more complex than that. My vision is sharper, but not like with the eagle eyes I had in Haven. I’m more focused on the details of the world around me.
Yes, that’s it. I can focus on more things at once.
I run my hand through my hair and realize I can estimate the number of hairs I just touched. I listen to the sound of the surf, and it gives me a hint as to how much water is soaking into the sand. And now that my attention is on the sand, I swear I can count the number of grains under my feet.
I also begin to understand to what extent mathematics permeate the world around me, from ratios embedded in the glorious design of the nautilus shell next to my feet to Phoe’s seductive 0.7 hip-to-waist ratio.
“Leave it to a man to use his new intellect on such trivialities.” Despite her mocking tone, Phoe stands in a way that makes her waist and hips very noticeable to me. “And for the record, the actual ratio is 0.67. I calibrated it myself, so I should know.”
I examine her hips a bit closer and feel a stirring that makes my cheeks redden. This reaction makes no sense to me, since we’ve already done all the taboo activities on the last version of this beach. My new, superior intellect warns me that Phoe is about to mock me about my former virginity and current shyness, so I change the topic.
“Okay, my mind is officially enhanced,” I say. “Can I see the Solar System now?”
Phoe’s face turns very serious. “It might still be a little jarring. Close your eyes for a moment. I need to patch you into my sensorium.”
I close my eyes.
Nothing happens for a while, and I wonder if she failed. Then I feel myself drawn somewhere, and my consciousness expands.
I try to open my eyes, but I have no eyes to open. Yet I do see—and what I see takes my nonexistent breath away.
25
I see the universe like no human being ever has.
Light permeates everything around me, and I don’t mean the usual starlight one might expect to see in this situation. I can see a fuller portion of the electromagnetic spectrum. The x-rays, the gamma rays, and the micro and radio waves of distant stars all shine in different shades of inspiring beauty. The space around me is a kaleidoscope of awe.
There are sounds here too, though I never expected empty space to have sounds. Micro meteors hit the protective shield with loud bangs. Gravity waves whoosh as they hit the specialized instruments. My mind marvels at the knowledge that these waves were sent by distant black holes caught in a cataclysmic dance. Inside the ship, I hear the sounds of the nanomachines processing.
It’s difficult to find human analogies to describe the barrage of senses. For example, what is the human equivalent to the feeling I get when the engines burn fuel? Maybe it’s similar to taste, but it’s not really a taste or a smell. And there are a million other foreign senses like that.
“You’re doing better than I thought you would.” The statement is a thought from Phoe, and it reminds me that I’m Theo. It reminds me that I’m sensing some of the things that Phoe is experiencing as a ship.
“You were right. This experience is extremely sensual. I’m afraid it’s blowing my somewhat-enhanced mind,” I think at her, suppressing my bubbling panic.
“Just lose yourself in the sensations,” Phoe suggests. “But also don’t forget your original query.”
I’m once again aware of Phoe’s sensations, and I focus on kinesthetic awareness—feeling myself in a specific location in the universe. I feel myself here, in the vacuum of space, but also in a dozen virtual environments inside the ship, including as a woman on a beach—a woman who’s staring at the ocean at this very moment.
My mind hurts when I consider the full scope of the universe around me. The magnitude of Phoe’s awareness of the world is frighteningly huge. I don’t think Phoe expanded my consciousness enough to truly experience even a tiny percentage of the world the way she does.
A conviction overcomes me. I want Phoe to expand my mind even more. I want to experience the totality of her awareness with my mind one day, without feeling overwhelmed.
“I can make that happen.” Phoe’s thought is a soothing balm. “For the moment, though, you should focus your attention on our destination.”
“Right,” I think back at her, and for the first time, I actually try looking with the intention of seeing something.
There are stars in all their electromagnetic glory, and there’s the biggest one of all, the sun. However, when I focus on the sun, it’s not as bright as I expected it to be.
Its lack of brightness is not the strangest part of what I’m seeing, though. What’s even stranger is what I’m not seeing.
As a kid, I learned that the Solar System had planets. Mercury was planet number one and closest to the sun. Venus was the second planet from the sun, Earth the third, Mars the fourth, and so on. That’s what I expected to see—perhaps made prettier through Phoe’s worldview—but there isn’t a single planet in front of the sun.
It’s just there, by itself.
Actually, that’s not accurate. Something is there, and it’s responsible for the sun looking much dimmer than it should. Thin, barely noticeable layers of some kind of substance surround the sun. Whatever I’m looking at is so large that my slightly enhanced human mind is overwhelmed again.
“Yeah,” Phoe thinks. “It even baffles my mind.”
I metaphorically shake my nonexistent head and try to focus on the object. It’s clear that onion-like layers similar to Saturn’s rings surround the sun, only these are more ethereal, and there are countless numbers of them. I try to comprehend how big they must be and, more importantly, what their purpose is.
“This object is beyond massive,” Phoe says. “And its purpose should be pretty obvious if you think about it. It’s designed for computation.”
I’m back on the beach, and Phoe is standing there, looking at me sympathetically.
“So, Earth is gone,” I say, trying not to look as dumb as I feel. “And some kind of ginormous computer replaced it?”
“Earth evolved into it,” Phoe says, her eyes gleaming. “The ancients imagined something like that. They called the structure a Matrioshka Brain—after a Russian doll that has many layers. I suspect their vision was much simpler than the reality you saw, but as far as I can tell, that behemoth has many of the major features they envisioned, such as the super-hot layers that are close to the sun and the super-cold layers that are closer to us. I suspect that, like the ancients theorized, this superstructure uses up almost all the energy output of the sun to drive its computations. It’s probably made of real computorium—a theoretical term for a substance that pushes the limits of computing in a given volume of matter. A cubic meter of that stuff makes all our resources look as antiquated as an abacus—and there’s a whole solar system filled with the stuff.”
I try to picture the image I saw so I can marvel at it again.
“But what’s the point?” I murmur after a moment. “What could something like that be computing?”
“What is the point of this?” Phoe spreads her arms to encompass the ocean around us. “What is the point of you and me?”
My legs feel shaky, so I sit down on the sand. “So you’re saying existence is the point?”
“Exactly.” She sits down next to me. “Conscious patterns like us are the point. Only that place might allow for the existence of patterns that would make me look as smart as an amoeba, and you as smart as a carbon molecule. Still, the principle is the same. Godlike intelligences exist for the same purpose as you and I: for experiences, enjoyment, intellectual curiosity, just being—”
“But it’s all artificial,” I say, knowing she might get upset with me.
She smiles. “Tell me honestly, do you feel artificial?”
Before I can answer, before I can even think a single thought, she kisses my neck. If her goal was to make it hard for me to answer her question, or even think in general, she succeeded admirably.