by Paul Anlee
Darak hadn’t seen a pill in over a hundred million years and he wasn’t about to take one now.
What effect would it have on the real me, on the mind that thinks it’s inside this young body? Could just being here affect me? The real me? Better not linger here too long. He shifted again.
* * *
The bubble was shrinking, closing in around him. He was trapped! Larry laughed. It was a mean laugh.
Larry? Darak hadn’t thought of his old friend and lab mate this much in over a hundred million years, but he recognized the young scientist immediately.
Larry looked bigger than normal. In fact, everything outside the bubble looked larger than normal.
“Nothing more to say, Professor?” Larry asked.
Professor? He’d never been Larry’s teacher.
Darak recalled a different time, when he’d had a different name, a different life.
“Larry! It’s me, Greg. Get me out of here!” His voice sounded odd, not like his own at all. Was he becoming disconnected from himself? But which self? Darak? Or Greg? Or Darian?
The young man who’d been his best friend during their early postdoc years stopped laughing. He tilted his head, drew closer, and peered into the bubble. Then he threw back his head and roared.
“Ahhh! You got me! That was hilarious. You, Greg? You think I’m stupid, or blind?”
Annoyed, Larry returned to the ancient RAF generator on the desktop and played with a few buttons.
“It won’t be long now and you’ll be gone from this universe forever, and humanity will be safe from your brand of hubris once again.”
“Larry, wait!” Darak/Greg/Darian cried. “Don’t do it. This microverse isn’t what you think. It doesn’t go away. It starts to grow and grow, until it consumes the entire Earth.”
Larry glared at him. “Your lies won’t save you. You and the other geniuses are all the same. You think I’m stupid because I didn’t take your pill.” He checked his computer screen, made a few adjustments, and pushed a button.
The bubble prison pressed inward a little faster. Darak/Greg/Darian pushed back against it, both physically and with his RAF generator.
Nothing! No change! Darak felt his/Darian’s growing desperation as he generated and projected all manner of fields at the shrinking shell.
Wait. Why am I caught up in this?—he wondered. He stepped back mentally and let the scene play out.
On one level, he could sense Darian’s panic and his equally fierce determination to survive. He recognized the moment when Darian, in a frantic attempt to have something of himself carry on, transmitted all of his knowledge, memories, and personality to his assistants’ lattices.
Even now, millions of years after the event, Darak remembered the utterly overwhelming flow of data that had blasted him and Kathy without warning or explanation. Somehow, the bubble had allowed the electromagnetic transmissions to escape but had kept Darian inside.
As Darian’s constituent atoms collapsed, their electrons spiraled inward toward their nuclei. His desperate transmissions fell into a frequency range that could no longer penetrate the bubble; they reflected off the barrier and ricocheted within the collapsing microverse.
The sphere’s boundary delineated a region of incompatible natural laws; the entire external universe rejected interactions with the matter inside the bubble. Slowly, the differences between them grew.
Darak watched helplessly as Darian’s universe became smaller and smaller. Though he was dragged along with his former mentor, he realized his perspective was not a physical one, but a psychological one.
Darak regained control of his mind and perspective.
He finally understood what was happening. Not that long ago, he’d traveled outside the universe he once shared with Darian, Kathy, and Larry. The journey made him realize that the concept of “outside” had no real spatial significance. Outside just meant different.
If there was no way for the particles of one universe to interact with those of another, the two could occupy the exact same space and it would be the same as if they were separated by infinite distance.
Space, like time, was relative to the matter of the universe. Any universe. If you didn’t interact with any matter in one universe, you had no way to tell how near or far you were, relative to any matter in that universe. If there were no particle interactions, there was no way to talk about occupying the same space.
He watched the disturbing scene play out as Darian struggled to understand the nature of the Reality Assertion Field that Larry had cast to create this isolated domain. Darian had been new to the practical applications of the theory he’d developed. He kept trying to modify the RAF that contained him, and it had spelled his doom.
That was so sad. Larry’s and Darian’s careers were, at the heart of it, destroyed by religious belief. Larry couldn’t accept that God wasn’t needed to explain the existence of natural laws in the universe. He couldn’t accept enhanced intelligence. He couldn’t accept that we could alter the laws of nature without God’s blessing. He felt threatened, and his refusal to step outside the rigid constraints of his beliefs led him to murder Darian. Which led to the destruction of Earth.
So what happened to Larry? Where did he go between killing Darian and the Earth being destroyed? The scene shed no light on that, but Darak was pretty sure Reverend LaMontagne was somehow involved. It was the easiest way to explain the Reverend’s own enhanced-IQ lattice and his familiarity with RAF theory. Did he take it by force, or did Larry willingly hand it over?
Darian’s transmissions must still be echoing around inside this microverse. That would explain how I’ve been “remembering” his experiences as if I were him. When I incorporated his persona to save my sanity, it changed me. It must be making me supersensitive to the transmissions inside the Eater. They’re resonating too easily with my lattice and bypassing my security because they’re as much mine as his.
Darak blocked all external transmissions into his lattice. The previously vivid images became ghost-like and easily distinguished from the homogeneous dense grayish “matter” of this microverse.
In Darian’s last attempts to survive, he’d built an entire universe, albeit a tiny one, with one purpose: to preserve whatever he considered essential. Not his body. He knew that couldn’t be preserved and, besides, the corporeal was irrelevant to anything Darian thought important. He sought only to preserve his mind.
The poor guy just wanted to find some way to live. Darak listened to the memory of Darian’s internal voice. He heard the moment when his terrified mentor realized the only possible way to survive was to stop fighting the field and to accept his fate.
Darak stayed with Darian’s memory as he neared the limits of life-supporting chemistry. At the end, Darian’s new understanding led him to try compensating for this strangely compressed matter comprising his new universe. He’d hoped to place a limit on how small he would get, by allowing new matter from the outside universe to enter and add to his own. If only he’d had a little more time, or a little more understanding, he might have been able to save himself.
Darian never realized how little Larry understood what he was playing with, and he had no idea that his final modifications would create the Eater—Darak realized.
He ran the equations in his mind. He could see how Darian’s best guesses kept running up against Larry’s ignorance, creating something that incorporated itself into whatever it touched. The fields reinforced each other; they led to a stable and growing universe of its own.
Darak had a lot more experience with artificial universes. He could see the solution that had eluded Darian ages ago. The fields are easy enough to turn off, but if I do that, the absorbed matter will suddenly appear in the external universe. All that mass travelling at near light speed would instantly be subject to the natural laws of real space.
He did a quick calculation. The energy release would be equivalent to a supernova. Everything in the ESO 461-36 system would get hit with a let
hal dose of radiation. And not just Eso-La; they’d be first, but others as well. How can I diffuse this bomb safely?
As Darak considered his options, another question pushed its way into his consciousness. Could he save Darian?
His memories are here, his mind, his thoughts and ideas. Everything that was important to him. Could I reconstruct him from all this? Should I? Would he want me to?
He felt partially responsible for Larry’s state at the time. He and Kathy had prodded Larry which, no doubt, had contributed to their colleague’s sense of resentment and led him directly, almost inevitably, to taking Darian’s life. We should have been more sensitive or, at least, more aware.
He could feel the part of him that was Darian, yearning for life. It didn’t help being inside the Eater. The reflections of Darian’s life and innermost thoughts tugged at Darak. He wasn’t sure if anyone else, besides him and possibly Alum, could contemplate pulling off such a resurrection.
The echoing transmissions clouded Darak’s mind. He couldn’t think straight.
Now that I know the Eater’s true nature, I can figure out how to deactivate it. I just need a few minutes of clear thought.
He shifted back outside to his own universe.
* * *
“So…what’ll it be, son? Eggs or pancakes?”
“Wha…?” Darak/Darian was back in his father’s kitchen.
“What’ll it be? Eggs or pancakes?”
Without answering, he again tried to shift outside again.
Still here! How’s that possible? I’ve been outside the known universe, in the Chaos, and made my way back. No place has ever been able to hold me if I wanted to leave.
He needed some perspective, perspective that was difficult to get while he was immersed in the matter and memories of this place.
He altered his own structure, so it barely overlapped with the odd stuff of this microverse inside the Eater. The demands of Darian’s memories diminished.
That’s better. Now, I can take a closer look at the nature of this place.
Using his own RAF generator, he sent a few probing fields into the Eater microverse. The answer came back in seconds.
It’s a hologram! An actual holographic universe. Have I been wrong all along?
Eons ago, when Darak was still the young Greg Mahajani, he’d argued with a handful of physicists who’d hypothesized the universe was nothing more than a holographic projection of all matter onto the inside surface of a black hole. Furthermore, reflecting such a projection back into space reconstructed the entirety of the three-dimensional matter of the universe.
He’d scoffed at their ideas, told them their hypothesis amounted to a simplistic mind game. It couldn’t be correct because, in the first place, holographs only portrayed the surface features of matter; they captured nothing of the insides of objects.
And yet, here I am, definitely in a holographic microverse.
Also like a hologram, any part of the Eater contained the entirety. But the bigger the part that was accessed, the more detailed the final resolution. This hologram was so big that it reflected Darian’s mind in stunning detail. Each concept, memory, and thought was represented in a hugely redundant way and extensively cross-linked to every other fragment of Darian’s persona.
Now he understood what held him so strongly. Darian was everywhere inside the Eater. His thoughts and memories were the basic components of this microverse. The man’s will to survive had made this place, and whatever little of his will remained wasn’t about to give up a moment of his existence so easily.
Deactivating the fields that sustained the Eater would bring Darian’s final death. It didn’t seem fair.
Darak moved through the universe, delicately sampling the other man’s memories the way a textile shopper might walk through a marketplace running his hands gently over bolts of cloth.
Practically everything’s here—he thought. Everything that made Darian who he was. Far more than Kathy or I ever received in his final transmission, but it’s all fragmented and jumbled, not assembled into a working concepta and persona.
An idea swelled within him. I can save Darian. He contributed so much to humanity, and his extraordinary mind still has lots more to offer. Imagine! After so much time, after being trapped in this eternal purgatory for ages, Darian could live again!
He could do it. He would. He’d save Darian and stop the Eater.
Darak bowed his head and transmitted wave after wave of his promise into the Eater microverse. Darian, I vow to bring you back into the real universe again. You’ll be able to see where your ideas and inventions led. You’ll know the future. You’ll be with us again.
He opened his eyes and repeated the promise, once, to himself. Then he shifted outside.
39
“didn’t Alum cancel the Securitor program?” Greg/Darak pushed back from his keyboard and swiveled his chair around to face John Trillian.
While he was programming inworlds for Alum, it was best to appear to need the standard interface rather than using his lattice. Especially when Trillian might be watching over his shoulder.
“Yes, he did.”
“Then why are we continuing to develop this battle simulation inworld?”
“We may have other uses for it.”
Greg sighed. “Is that the best answer I can expect? No answer at all?”
Trillian walked over to a lab bench and picked up a crystalline Cybrid brain from among the dozen sitting there. He turned it over in his hands, letting the light reflect off its polished surfaces.
“What do you think it’s like, living inside one of these things?” he asked.
Greg stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back. “I’ve always assumed it was the same as living inside our brain. At least, that’s how I program the sensory input.”
Sitting for hours at a desk and pretending to work like an unenhanced human had been taking a toll on him, mentally and physically. I need to make more of an effort to get out into the tunnel park and walk around.
He meandered over to the door and peered outside. A pair of scientists were engaged in deep discussion on a bench by the river. Rare to see people around here.
Behind him, Trillian grunted. “This one, though, it’s special. Isn’t it?”
“It is,” Greg answered. “It contains a partial copy, a pared-down concepta of Sgt. Alden St. Michael, retired. I’ve kept everything I could find pertaining to battle strategy and tactics, plus loyalty, duty, and honor. Everything unrelated was left out of the copy. Should be ideal for testing the inworld battle simulator.”
“Yes, ideal.” Trillian set the Cybrid lattice back on the bench. He joined Greg and looked out at the park. His eyes wandered left and right, following the science service tunnel off to infinity in either direction.
Greg followed Trillian’s gaze. “It’s quiet around here. I thought this place was supposed to be a beehive of activity.”
Trillian snapped around and focused on his co-worker, searching his face for signs of criticism. “Be glad you’re among the few with access.”
Greg held up his hands, deflecting Trillian’s suspicions. “Don’t think that I don’t appreciate being able to work for Alum and the Administration. I mean, this is a dream job right? I get to play and create all I could possibly want.”
“It is a dream job to be doing Alum’s work. The Lord’s work.”
“I guess I wouldn’t mind knowing the work is appreciated and enjoyed, is all.”
“You have inSense. Don’t you visit your inworlds while you develop them?”
“Sure, and I like them. It would just be nice to know that my intended audience appreciates them, too. You know? To talk to some of the Cybrids and get their feedback.”
“That kind of conversation is prohibited except for Cybrid supervisors,” Trillian replied.
“Of course. I used to be a Supervisor, you know, when I first got here. Not that the Cybrids and I ever actually talked. Apart from you and Alum, I’ve re
ceived no feedback on Vacationland. And I have no idea if this current project is at all useful.”
“The battle simulations?”
“Well, if the Securitor program isn’t going to use them, who will?” Greg kept his face as open and innocent as possible. He was broaching dangerous ground.
“Video games, especially military ones, have always been popular,” Trillian replied casually.
Greg nodded, as if he took the answer seriously. “True. Well, among kids—teenage boys, particularly—for sure. That hardly describes the Cybrids, though, does it? Or are we going to release it on one of the inSense channels? It’s a little too destructive for most players, don’t you think?”
“You could say that, yes.” Trillian snorted. “No, we won’t put this out for public consumption. Let’s just say that every civilization needs to prepare contingencies.”
“Contingencies? Against what?”
“One never knows. That’s why they’re called contingencies.”
“So, on the remote possibility there may someday be some nebulous future need for a Cybrid military—“
“Or a human one,” Trillian added.
“—for a Cybrid or human military training program, I should continue development?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay. It’s your dime, boss.” Greg went back to his station.
Trillian stood in the doorway a while longer, staring at the outdoor part of the tunnel. “That’s all the time I have today,” he announced abruptly. “I’ll check on your progress again next week.”
“Same time, same place,” Greg replied. “I’m here every workday.” Trillian was already striding away to his next meeting.
Greg stared at his screen, contemplating for a minute. That was an odd exchange. Evasive, even for Trillian.
He copied a chunk of code he’d written weeks ago onto his computer. The program had been completed within minutes of starting on it, but he had to make it look like it was coming along with great difficulty over a period of weeks or months.