Convergence

by David M Henley

  DEDICATION

  For Alice, Alpha of my house

  CONTENTS

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  PREFACE

  PIERRE JNR WILL CHANGE US

  PIERRE JNR BRINGS PEACE

  PIERRE JNR WILL SHOW US THE WAY

  PIERRE JNR IS TRUTH

  PIERRE JNR BRINGS PEACE

  THE ERA OF PIERRE JNR HAS BEGUN

  WE ARE ONE

  PIERRE JNR IS A MYTH

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY DAVID M HENLEY

  COPYRIGHT

  PREFACE

  Ninã Tesla heard a synthetic chime and awoke.

  Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep and her eyes were open. The light was dim, coming only from the tepid yellow outline of a doorway. The weak spill greased the edges of the room’s furniture. She stared at it, wondering if she was dead.

  She felt hollow all the way into her fingertips and toenails. Her blood more like a cold wind passing through tunnels than warm liquid in veins. The harder it blew, the more her skin felt like she was being rolled in needles and thorns.

  The feeling passed quickly and the light in the chamber increased mildly until she could see she was floating in mid-air.

  Before her, a line began to glow on one of the walls. It dashed its way to a soft chair with a table. ‘Please, take your time,’ a gentle voice said into the room.

  When she stepped forward, she felt no weight and immediately began to spin upside down and over again until she hit the ceiling and floundered for something to hold onto. Her hands quickly found one of the many indented holds and she steadied herself. With a deep breath she aimed at the ground and pushed gently off the ceiling. She had practised this, she could do this. She had her eyes trained on the floor grip, and from there she should just about be able to reach the chair …

  She made her way unsteadily to the seat and towed all her limbs into line. The chair was more of a big pillow, soft all the way through. On a small pedestal sat a glass flagon of water with a straw. She lifted it easily and drank in deep gulps. The water was room temperature and either it was tasteless, or she couldn’t taste. She couldn’t smell either, not even her armpits.

  When she had lowered the level of the bottle by a half, the doorway hummed. Ninã looked up as it softened for someone to come through; she had read about ‘spaghetti’ doors that, when rigid, were vacuum tight, but when relaxed allowed people to pass through, like a bead curtain.

  A man in a grey uniform with a head cap floated in horizontally towards her. Three metal bars were aligned on the left side of his collar. It looked to Ninã like a kind of rank. For some reason she thought three might be a lot of rank.

  With a practised gesture he took a sticky pad from his belt and attached it to the wall before drawing out enough cable for him to land in front of her and approximate a position that looked like sitting.

  ‘Hello there, Ninã. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Ill,’ she said.

  ‘That should pass. Let someone know if it hasn’t in an hour. We can give you something for it.’

  ‘Okay. I’m sorry, but who are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I am Vice Chancellor Nimbus. I manage receiving station seven — which is where you are now.’

  Something wasn’t right here. Ninã wasn’t important enough for the royal treatment. She didn’t expect a bot, let alone a human administrator.

  ‘Where is Agnes?’ she asked. ‘Shouldn’t she be here? Has something happened to her?’

  ‘She is fine. She is outside. We will bring her in in just a moment. But first I need to explain something to you.’

  ‘What is it?’ She was really starting to worry.

  ‘Firstly, as you are aware, when you decided to migrate to Greater Earth you knew that there could be a delay between your sleep launch and your admittance into the system.’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ She remembered. Due to strict energy policies, the population of Greater Earth was carefully balanced for sustainable growth. They couldn’t afford to sustain more life forms than the infrastructure could support. Thus, those migrating from Earth voluntarily joined a queue of people who existed in suspended animation until a slot opened up. To get off the waiting list, ‘out of the fridge’, somebody else had to die or migrate back to Earth. ‘How long was I asleep?’ she asked.

  ‘Seven months,’ Nimbus said.

  ‘Seven? How long has Agnes been awake?’

  ‘Two months,’ he answered simply.

  ‘Why did it take so long?’

  ‘There was a disruption on Earth.’

  ‘What does that mean? What happened?’ she asked.

  Vice Chancellor Nimbus turned away from her. ‘I think now is a good time to bring your friend. I warn you there is much to take in.’

  After a moment of neither of them moving or saying anything, the door parted for Agnes and she sailed inside, redirecting her movement off the doorway to float straight to her partner. They called out each other’s names and hugged.

  The Vice Chancellor politely coughed. ‘Please. I am sorry to rush you, but we must hurry in order to maintain the schedule.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ Agnes said. ‘I’m just — I’m so happy to see you, Nin.’ She rolled over to balance on the arm of the chair, but kept hold of both of Ninã’s hands.

  She looked back and forth between her lover and Vice Chancellor Nimbus.

  ‘Firstly,’ he began, ‘the area you know as Greater Earth has declared independence from Earth and has ceased all communications with the surface population.’

  This took Ninã a moment to process. At first the sentence meant nothing to her, just big words. Space wasn’t talking to Earth? She looked up at Agnes, who was looking very seriously at her to gauge her reaction.

  ‘I don’t understand. What are you talking about?’

  ‘There’s more,’ Nimbus said. ‘After a series of disturbing events on the surface, Admiral Shreet suspects the Will of being telepathically manipulated.’

  Again Ninã couldn’t absorb the information. It was like she had woken up and been told everything she had ever known was a dream. She couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Agnes asked.

  ‘Is this true? What has happened to Earth?’

  ‘It’s all true,’ Agnes said.

  ‘How could this have happened?’

  ‘I think it might be best if we let you watch it,’ the Vice Chancellor said and handed her a visor. ‘We have compiled a set of relevant clips for you.’

  Agnes patted her shoulder and Ninã compliantly put the glasses over her eyes for a shallow immerse. She must have reacted outwardly to what she saw, as she could feel Agnes giving her supportive squeezes.

  It was a collection of news reports beginning with an unexplained explosion in the Dome and then a psi rebellion being declared. This was then followed by images of the thing called Kronos that swallowed the cities of Busan and Mexica … the world she had left behind had changed. She didn’t recognise what was taking place.

  When it ended, she pulled off the visor and looked at the two people looking at her. They waited without speaking.

  ‘And now Greater Earth is independent?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Nimbus nodded. ‘I hope you understand our reasons.’

  ‘Couldn’t we help them?’ she asked and waited for an answer. The Vice Chancellor said nothing.

  ‘There is nothing we can do, Ninã. We can only hope for them,’ Agnes said. She pulled Ninã’s forehead to her own. ‘We have to think about ourselves now.’

  ‘And the species,’ Nimbus added. The two women turned to him without drawing apart. ‘If the worst should happen, Greater Earth
may be all that remains of the human race.’

  Ninã realised he was serious. He actually thought the situation was that bad. The Vice Chancellor twisted uncomfortably under her gaze.

  ‘I will leave you now. The two of you must decide whether to complete your immigration, as previously arranged, or you may return to Earth, knowing that for the foreseeable future, we anticipate no contact with the World Union … or what becomes of it.’

  Nimbus retracted along his line and peeled off the sticky anchor. With a dip of his head, he left through the spaghetti door.

  Admiral Shreet’s role had never been to solve the planet’s problems. He was only here to facilitate the relationship between Greater Earth and the World Union, managing the distribution of resources and keeping the supplies to the surface constant. But now, Earth was no longer the centre of their system. It must be quarantined to protect the rest of … well, he would have to decide on a name at some point. But to define something is to confine it. That locks it into a concept.

  Concepts are dangerous. That’s what he’d learnt from the wars. It made him bitter to think about it. He’d been born late, thankfully, but he had seen enough to learn that every idea came furnished with its own equal and opposite reactions. Definition creates exclusion. Exclusion creates conflict.

  ‘Space is the only master’ was the saying up here. It was nearly a religion in Greater Earth. Its power ruled over them, and they obeyed. The vacuum void that surrounded them and would take their air at the smallest breach. The vastness in which a minor miscalculation could leave you stranded. Space was just a black silence with a dusting of humanity. The great emptiness calls to me …

  He added a word to the phrase in his mind. Space is the only master, now. We aren’t Greater Earth any longer … we are separate. Oh, great void, what have I done?

  It wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened. History was littered with colonisations and eventual separation. Countries either isolated themselves or had been isolated by others, as was happening now in the Cape region. But he felt there had never been a time when one part of Homo sapiens had so fully and deliberately cut themselves off from another part.

  Ever since humankind’s first slow steps beyond the atmosphere, every ship, outpost, research station, farm, energy generator and mining rig had existed to serve the home planet. For two hundred years space had belonged to Earth and the latter was, in many ways, Greater Earth’s raison d’être. Now, almost without warning, they needed to become something else.

  Today was the third day of defrostings. Shreet had both of the receiving stations operating around the cycle. The ‘cycle’. That was something tied to Earth. How long should a day be in this new world? Each new spacebaby met the news in their own way and were then taken through the basics of living in their new environment.

  In space, a ship or station could be rotated to any angle or axis, thus making traditional notions for direction meaningless. East, west, north and south were redundant. There was no sun passing consistently across the sky and there were no landmarks to navigate by. The only positioning important to an individual — other than the pilot on duty — was their location on the ship, station or other space habitat they were in, and where they wanted to go.

  As it was easy to become disoriented in the functionally engineered designs of space habitats, especially for newcomers or visitors, walls and floors were tinted in different colours to indicate the bearing on which one was travelling in relationship to the habitat.

  In most places this was blue for starboard, green for port, yellow for prow, red for stern. Dark grey indicated the floor, or what would feel like down if they were accelerating, and white for the ceiling. It was a simple system that saved many getting lost or frustrated with the otherwise featureless insides.

  They all got the hang of it quickly and were soon assigned their new tasks and any associated education they required.

  The Admiral saw that one of his station commanders had finished his rotation and he pinged him for an update. ‘Vice Chancellor Nimbus. How is your busy day going?’

  In Shreet’s room, the figure of the Vice Chancellor appeared as a miniature avatar on his desk — just as he must be appearing for the VC in his own office — a hologram at one-fifteenth scale that stood and spoke. He had never met Nimbus in person. He hadn’t met anyone in person in two decades. Shreet remained isolated in his own command nodule, far away from the rest of them and their potential security threats.

  ‘We remain on schedule,’ the VC answered.

  ‘Good, good. How are they taking the news? Overall.’

  ‘It is in my reports, sir.’

  ‘Of course. I was asking for your personal impression. I want to know how people accept the new situation.’

  ‘That’s hard for me to say. Most go into some sort of shock and don’t speak. A few aren’t surprised at all.’

  ‘How long do you think we should give them?’

  ‘To decide? I don’t know, Admiral. I expect it will be a couple more days before they can make a decision whether they will stay or not.’

  ‘If anyone takes longer, you must reject them. I will administer their transit back to the planet.’

  ‘But Admiral …’ Nimbus began. Shreet raised his hand over the miniature figure to pause his protest.

  ‘We need the population, Vice Chancellor, but they must choose to stay. If they aren’t with us, they are of no use. Send them back to Earth and free up a slot.’

  ‘Sir, with respect, this can’t be an easy choice for them.’

  ‘They chose to come to space.’

  ‘Yes, but nobody knew we would become separated from Earth. And who knows how long it will last.’

  ‘Indefinitely.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Shreet paused and looked up from the figure. His wife had woken and was stirring the sheets with her legs.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘How long will this quarantine go on for?’

  ‘As it stands, the quarantine is permanent.’

  ‘Mein Gott, are you planning to never have contact with Earth again?’

  ‘I am preparing for the possibility.’ The hologram looked up at him and he looked down at it. ‘We must all prepare ourselves for what might happen next.’

  ‘Why? What happens next?’ Nimbus asked, and when no answer was immediately forthcoming, he added, ‘Sir.’

  Shreet took his time to find an answer. His eyes trailed around his rooms, and out the windows to Earth. Silent Earth, full of secrets.

  ‘To be honest, I have been asking myself the same question.’

  PIERRE JNR WILL CHANGE US

  For those under the age of forty-five, the Weave was the only way of life they had ever known. Through the Weave they communicated, shared and participated in the world around them. Their history was recorded on it. Every connection and contribution they had ever made was stored on it and factored into the Will.

  Collapse had always been the great threat, the spectre the World Union was designed to protect against. The dissolution of the Union would mean the end of civilisation and the peace they had enjoyed for so long. The day the Weave went silent would be the day the fabric of society disappeared and they would be naked.

  For Humbolt Schaff this happened just after landing at Magnus Towers, in West. Social engineering regularly redistributed people according to their skills and knowledge, to protect the technological pyramid in case of collapse, and Humbolt did not resent being transferred to West. He was an industrial systems engineer and ever since he had been a pre-Citizen he had been repairing replicators and minifacs. Now he was beginning to manage his own team of operators. His star was rising.

  His flight from the Texas zone was spent cleaning up his queue. There was a pile of messages from his family, and small favours people had been wanting from him for a long time. He set up new filters and protocols in preparation for his new role, cataloguing the skills of the peop
le he would be working with into the formats he found most useful. It was dry work and he was thankful when they touched down and he could put it aside.

  When the Weave went down, nobody was really sure what to do. There were no pings of new messages, the flow of data through their stream ran dry, overlays disappeared and those actively skimming the Weave were ejected into the null space and left listening to the deafening silence around them.

  Humbolt pulled his sleeve back to see if his symbiot was working. It was warm to his touch and he could access the data it stored — but there was simply no connection to the Weave.

  ‘Excuse me.’ He stepped closer to a woman who had been on his flight. ‘I’ve just lost Weave access, have you —’

  ‘Oh, you too? I was wondering if it was just me.’

  A man close by turned to them. ‘You two don’t have access either?’ he asked. They shook their heads and began looking around. It seemed everyone at Magnus Towers had lost connection.

  At first, people were relieved to know it wasn’t just them, but after a few minutes of such interactions they began realising that this might indicate a worse scenario.

  ‘Do either of you know the way out of here?’ Humbolt asked. He had assumed he would just use the guide overlay to find his way around, the way one always did in the megapolises, but there wasn’t even a subnet to draw a map from. He cursed himself for not thinking ahead and pre-loading. ‘I have a rather urgent appointment to get to.’

  ‘I know the way,’ the woman said. Humbolt and the other man followed her around the concourse. ‘I’ll show you to the nearest squib rank.’

  ‘There hasn’t been an announcement,’ the other man said. ‘Shouldn’t someone have told us what is happening by now?’

  Humbolt looked at him, but was concentrating on keeping up with the woman in front. ‘It’s probably just a network fault. I’m sure it won’t last long.’

  Steps led to a concourse and a row of elevators. They joined the crowd of people waiting to get to the ground floor. Humbolt looked at his wrist for the time and it glowed up. He only had an hour to get to his new office for the greetings. ‘Is there another way?’ he asked the woman. ‘I really am in a rush.’