Manifold: Origin

by Stephen Baxter

  "And when those barriers to isolation are removed, the new species finds itself in competition with its predecessors. If it is better adapted to the prevailing conditions, it will survive by out-competing the parent stock. If not, it declines.

  "When our scientists believed there was only one Earth, they suspected the evolution of humanity had been the consequence of a number of speciation steps. The ape-like bipedal Australopithecines gave rise to tool users, who in turn produced erect hairless creatures capable of walking on the open plain, who in turn gave rise to various species of Homo sapiens – the family that includes myself. It is believed that at some points in history there were many hominid species, all derived from the base Australopithecine stock, living together on the Earth. But my kind – Homo sapiens sapiens – proved the fittest of them all. By out-competition, the variant species were removed.

  "Presumably, each speciation episode was instigated by the isolation of a group of the parent stock. We had generally assumed that the key isolating events were caused by climate changes: rising or falling sea levels, the birth or death of forests, the coming and going of glaciation. It was a plausible picture. Before we knew of the Red Moon."

  "And now your radical hypothesis – "

  Nemoto tapped her papers. "What if the vagaries of the Red Moon were involved, in all this? Look here. This central column sketches the history of the Earth."

  "Your Earth."

  Nemoto smiled, her small naked face pinched. "Assume that the base Australopithecine stock evolved on Earth. Imagine that the Red Moon with its blue Wheel portals scooped up handfuls of undifferentiated Australopithecines and, perhaps some generations later, deposited them on a variety of subtly different Earths."

  "It is hard to imagine a more complete isolation."

  "Yes. And the environments in which they were placed might have had no resemblance to those from which they were taken. In that case our Australopithecines would have had to adapt or die. Perhaps one group was stranded on a world of savannah and open desert –"

  "Ah. You are suggesting that the hairless, long-legged Runners might have evolved on such a world."

  "Homo erectus – yes. Other worlds produced different results. And later, the Red Moon returned and swept up samples of those new populations, and handed them on to other Earths – or perhaps returned them where they had come from, to compete with the parent stock, successfully or otherwise.

  "My species shares a comparatively recent common ancestor with creatures like the Hams – which are of the type we call Neandertals, I think. Perhaps a group of that ancestral stock was taken to the world the Hams call the Gray World, where they evolved the robust form we see now. And, later, a sample of Hams was returned to the Earth. Later still, groups of Homo sapiens sapiens – that is, my kind – were swept here from the Earths of the groups called the English and the Zealots, and no doubt others." She gazed at her diagrams. "Perhaps even my own kind evolved on some other Earth, and were brought back by the Moon in some ancient accident."

  Manekato picked her nose thoughtfully. "Very well. And my Earth – which you have labeled 'Banded Earth'?"

  Somewhat hesitantly, Nemoto said, "It seems that your Earth may have been seeded by Australopithecine stock from my Earth. You seem to have much in common, morphologically, with the robust variant of Australopithecines to be seen in the forests here, called Nutcrackers."

  Manekato lay back and sighed, her mind racing pleasurably. "You fear you have offended me by delegating my world to a mere off-shoot. You have not. And your scheme is consistent with the somewhat mysterious appearance of my forebears on Earth – my Earth." She glanced at Nemoto's sketches. "It is a promising suggestion. This strange Moon might prove to be the crucible of our evolution; certainly it is unlikely that hominid forms could not have evolved independently on so many diverse Earths. But such is the depth of time involved, and such is the complexity of the mixing achieved by our wandering Moon, the full picture is surely more complicated than your sketch – and it is hard to believe that your Earth just happens to be the primary home of the lineage... And how is it that so many of these other Earths share, not just hominid cousins, but a shared history, even shared languages? Your own divergence from the Zealot type must be quite ancient – their peculiar tails attest to that – and yet your history evidently shares much in common with them."

  Nemoto frowned, her small face comically serious. "That is a difficulty. Perhaps there is such a thing as historical convergence. Or perhaps the wandering of the Moon has induced mixing even in historical times. Cultural, linguistic transmission – "

  It was a simplistic suggestion, but Manekato did not want to discourage her. "Perhaps. But the truth may be more subtle. Perhaps the manifold of universes is larger than you suppose. If it were arbitrarily large, then there would be an arbitrarily close match to any given universe."

  Nemoto puzzled through that. "Just as I would find my identical twin, in a large enough population of people."

  "That's the idea. The closer the match you seek, the more unlikely it would be, and the larger the population of, umm, candidate twins you would need to search."

  "But the degree of convergence between, say, the Zealot universe and my own language, culture, even historical figures – is so unlikely that the manifold of possibilities would have to be very large indeed."

  "Infinite," said Mane gently. "We must consider the possibility that the manifold of universes through which we wander is in fact infinite."

  Nemoto considered that for a while. Then she said, "But no matter how large the manifold, I still have to understand why this apparatus of a reality-wandering Moon should have been devised in the first place – and who by."

  Manekato studied Nemoto, wishing she could read the hominid's small face better. "Why show me your schema now?"

  "Because," Nemoto said, "I believe all of this, this grand evolutionary saga, is now under threat."

  Manekato frowned. "Because of the failure of the world engines?"

  "No," Nemoto said. "Because of you. And Renemenagota of Rano."

  A shadow fell over Manekato's face. "Your ape may be right, Mane. You should listen to it."

  It was Without-Name. She stepped forward, carelessly scattering Nemoto's spidery diagrams.

  Emma Stoney

  Emma lifted her head. "Hall-oo! Hall-oo!" Her call, though pitched higher than that of the men who mostly ventured outside the stockade, was, she was sure, a pretty accurate imitation of the soft cries of returning hunters.

  Within a couple of minutes she heard an answering grunt, and the rattle of heavy wooden bolts being slid back.

  All or nothing, she thought. Malenfant – or death.

  When the heavy gate started to creak open, she yelled and threw herself at it. Her flimsy mass made no difference. But the Hams immediately copied her, making a sound like a car ramming a tree. The splintering gate was smashed back, and she heard a howl of pain.

  The Hams surged forward. There were people in the compound, women and children. As three immense Hams came roaring in amongst them, they ran screaming.

  Emma glanced around quickly. She saw a litter of crude adobe huts, that one substantial chapel-like building at the center, a floor of dust stamped flat by feet and stained with dung and waste. She smelled shit, stale piss.

  Now the door to one of the buildings flew open. Men boiled out, pulling on clothing. Inside the building's smoky darkness Emma glimpsed naked Runner women, some of them wearing mockeries of dresses, others on beds and tables, on their backs or their bellies, legs splayed, scarred ankles strapped down.

  Grabbing pikes and clubs and bows, the men ran at Abel, howling. With a cry of pleasure Abel joined with them. He brushed aside their clubs as if they were twigs wielded by children. He got two of the Zealots by the neck, lifted them clean off the ground, and slammed their heads together, making a sound like eggs cracking.

  But now the bowmen had raised their weapons and let fly. Emma, despising herself, hu
ddled behind Abel's broad back. She heard the grisly impact of arrows in Abel's chest. He fell to his knees, and blood spewed from his mouth.

  The archers were struggling to reload. Mary hurled herself at them, fists flailing.

  Emma grabbed Joshua's arm. "Malenfant! Quickly, Joshua. Malenfant – where?"

  For answer he ran towards the chapel-like central building. Emma touched Abel's back apologetically, and ran after Joshua towards the chapel. She seethed with rage and adrenaline and fear. This had better be worth the price we're paying, Malenfant.

  Manekatopokanemahedo

  Manekato stood quickly. Nemoto hurried behind her, sheltering behind her bulk. Babo came running to join them, his legs and arms levering him rapidly over the floor of Adjusted Space. Other people gathered in a loose circle around this central confrontation, watching nervously. Workers scuttled back and forth, seeking tasks, trying to discern the needs of the people, ignored.

  For the first time it struck Manekato just how physically big Without-Name was towering over a lesser hominid like Nemoto, but larger than Manekato too, larger than any of the other people on this expedition. Physical size did not matter at home, on civilized Earth. But on this savage Moon, strength and brute cunning were key survival factors; and Without-Name seemed to relish her unrestrained power.

  And now Manekato noticed a new hominid following in Without-Name's wake. It was a male, taller than Nemoto, rake-thin, and he was dressed in a tight robe of animal skin stained black, perhaps by charcoal. He drew a Ham boy after him. The boy was dressed in elaborate clothing, and he had a collar around his neck, connected to a lead in the tall hominid's hand.

  Babo said tightly, "And is this your Praisegod Michael, Renemenagota of Rano?"

  Without-Name raised one hand.

  Crossbow bolts thudded into Babo's belly and chest and upper arms. He cried out softly, dull surprise on his face. He crumpled forward and fell on the bolts, making them twist, and his cries deepened. A Worker rushed to tend Babo's wounds, but Without-Name kicked it away.

  Manekato, stunned, saw that the circular platform was surrounded by hominids – Zealots, in their sewn skins. Some of them, bizarrely, were riding on the shoulders of Running-folk. They seemed afraid, but they held up their crossbows and spears with defiance.

  Praisegod Michael passed his hands over Babo's shuddering form, making a cross in the air. "Behold, Esau my brother is a hairy man, and I am a smooth man..."

  Manekato found words. "Renemenagota – what are you doing?"

  "Providing you with a purpose."

  "Your army of hominids would be no match for the power we could deploy," Manekato whispered.

  "Of course not – if you choose to deploy it," Without-Name said mockingly. "But you won't, will you? Meanwhile these hominids believe they are soldiers of God. They have only their simple handmade weapons, but their heads are on fire. And so their crossbow bolts will best all your learning and technology. And under my guidance, they will sweep the world."

  Now Nemoto stepped out from behind Manekato. Without-Name eyed the little hominid with undisguised loathing.

  But Praisegod Michael faced her, apparently unsurprised to find her here. "You are the one called Nemoto. Malenfant told me I would find you here."

  "I know your kind," Nemoto said. She turned to Manekato. "You must stop this, here and now. You have not seen such things before, Manekato. With Renemenagota's organizational skill, Michael and his fellows will march on, overwhelming others with their savagery and determination, armed with an unwavering faith that will lead them to their deaths if necessary. Those they do not destroy will be forcibly converted to the creed. By the second generation the conquered will regard themselves as soldiers of the conquering army. We are limited creatures, Manekato, and we do not have the strength of mind to fight off a contagion of seductive but lethal ideas. You must stop this for the slaughter that will follow if you don't."

  Babo twisted on the ground, his hands clamped to his stomach, his face a rictus of pain. "Yes," he hissed. "Exponential growth, Mane. They will conquer, acquire resources to fuel further expansion, thus acquiring still more, and all driven by a dazzling-virus of the mind."

  Manekato said, "It is – unbelievable."

  Nemoto faced her. "Manekato, you must save us from ourselves – and save this machine-world from the deadly manipulation of Renemenagota."

  Without-Name stood before her, her immense biceps bunched, gazing into her eyes, so close Manekato could smell blood on her breath. "Perhaps this ape-thing is right, Manekato. Will you take its advice? – Ah, but then you would have to become like me, wouldn't you, and how you dread that! You must destroy me – but you cannot, can you, Mane?"

  Babo, on the floor, groaned and raised one bloody arm. "But I can, Renemenagota of Rano."

  A sudden wind, hot and dense, billowed before Manekato's face.

  People staggered back, crying out. Nemoto took hold of Babo's arm, anchoring herself against the gusts.

  A tube of whirling air formed over the platform. It was the end of a winding column that stretched down from the sky, silvery-gray, suddenly tightly defined. It was a controlled whirlwind, like that which had stormed around the Market for two hundred thousand years.

  And in the heart of the column of tortured air was Renemenagota. She raised her fists, briefly bipedal like those whom she had sought to lead. But she could land no blows on the twisting air, and it paid no heed to her screamed defiance.

  In a brief blur of brown and black, she was gone.

  The whirlwind shrivelled, shrinking back up into the lid of cloud that had covered the sky. A cloud of crimson dust came drifting down on the platform.

  Mane, stunned, bewildered, looked around. Nemoto still clung to the fallen Babo. Of the ring of armed Zealots there was no sign.

  Praisegod had been bowled over. He lay on his back on the platform, his black clothing scattered around him. His eyes flickered, cunning, calculating, the eyes of a trapped animal seeking a way out.

  But his pet Ham boy stood over him.

  Praisegod lifted his hand to the boy, asking for help, forcing a smile.

  The boy bunched his fist and rammed it into Praisegod's chest, through clothing, skin, an arch of ribs.

  Praisegod shuddered and flopped like a landed fish. The Ham's squat face was expressionless as he rummaged in that bloody cavern. Then the Ham boy grimaced, and the muscles of his arms contracted.

  Praisegod's head arched back, and his voice was a rasp. "Why have you forsaken me?..."

  Then, his heart crushed, he was still.

  Emma Stoney

  There was a lot of shouting going on. Mary was running around the compound, busily engaging her foe. Though Abel had fallen, Mary was moving too quickly for the archers to get an accurate sight on her, and every time she got close enough she was slamming heads, breaking arms and generally kicking ass with a joyous vigor.

  The chapel, built of mud brick around a sturdy wooden frame, was as substantial as it looked. Emma ducked into the building and slammed the door, and ran a heavy wooden bolt into a notch.

  Within seconds fists were hammering on the door.

  "Quickly," she said to Joshua. "Malenfant. Where?"

  But Joshua did not reply, and when she turned, she saw that he was facing a crucifix, gazing at the gentle, anguished face of a Messiah. Joshua cringed, but was unable to look away.

  The yelling at the door was growing intense, and the first hints of organized battering were detectable. Emma couldn't wait any longer. She cast around the little chapel, shoving aside furniture and a small, ornately carved wooden altar.

  And she found a hatchway.

  The hatch opened on a small, dark shaft, fitted with stubby wooden rungs. Emma clambered down hastily, to find herself in a short corridor. A single wicker torch burned fitfully in a holder. She grabbed it and hurried along the corridor.

  The corridor led to two wooden doors. One door was swinging open, and Emma recoiled. The cell within w
as just a pit, with a filth-crusted floor and blackened, scratched walls; it stank of blood and vomit and urine.

  The other door was shut. Emma hammered on it. "Malenfant! Are you there?" The wood was so filthy her hands came away smeared with deep black.

  No reply.

  Struggling to hold up the torch, she made out a thick bolt, just wood, a smaller copy of the one on the compound gate. She hesitated for a heartbeat, her hand on the bolt.

  She reminded herself that she actually had no idea what lay on the other side of this door. But you've come this far, Emma.

  She pulled back the bolt, dragged open the door. She held the torch in front of her protectively.

  There were two people here. One was sitting on the floor, hands crossed over her chest for protection – her, for it was a woman, in a long dress that looked finely made. But despite the dress and the tied-back hair, that protruding face and the ridged eyes marked her out as a Ham.

  The other was a man. He was wearing a blue coverall, and he was curled up in the dirt, folded on himself.

  Emma hurried to him. Gently she lifted aside his arm, to reveal his face. "Do you know me? Do you know where you are? Oh, Malenfant..."

  He opened his eyes, and his face worked. "Welcome to hell," he whispered.

  The Ham woman slipped her arms under Malenfant and cradled him, with remarkable tenderness. She said her name was Julia; her English, though slurred by the deficiencies of the Ham palate, was well-modulated and clear.

  With Malenfant limp but seemingly light as a baby in Julia's arms, they clambered out of the pit and back into the chapel.

  Still the Zealots battered at the door. Joshua remained in his apelike crouch, his head buried in his big arms. He was whimpering, as if horrified by what he had done.