Through The Wormhole, Literally

by David Winship

  What met their eyes gave all three of them a jolt. Polkingbeal67, whose condition had deteriorated alarmingly, was sprawled face down on the bed and his appearance betrayed the failure of his earthling mutation to retain its authenticity. His skin looked shiny and anaemic. Clumps of hair were strewn on the pillow. If his body had not been trembling and his breathing ragged and uneven, they might have concluded that he was dead. It was apparent to yukawa3 that physiological processes had been set in train and polkingbeal67 was gradually and unwittingly reverting to his native Mortian form.

  Alarmed, not just by his mentor's plight, but also by the prospect of having their true identities discovered, yukawa3 clapped his hands for no particular reason and yelled, "You are Chalky White and I claim my five pounds!" The two evangelists gawped at the scene and backed away towards the door. Yukawa3 turned to them. "It's the blood sugar!" he explained. "I told you we should have brought some food! Well, I'd better rustle something up for him. Maybe the end of the world can wait for now?"

  At that moment, the phone rang (the landlord had equipped the room with a phone for incoming calls). Polkingbeal67 stirred, propped himself up on his elbows and croaked, "You'd better answer it."

  Easily flustered by primitive earthling technology, yukawa3 picked up the handset gingerly, rather like a duchess fishing an insect out of the salad on the end of a fork, and put it to his ear. "I'm not here right now so can you just deal with it, okay?" he blathered.

  The cold caller at the other end of the line was unruffled and cordial. "Good morning. How are you today? Are you looking for peace of mind in the event that you get hit by a truck? Let me assure you, we're well known for always telling the absolute truth..."

  Without looking, yukawa3 turned to the earnest young men, held out the phone and said, "I think it's one of your people." They had already gone. This had already strayed way beyond their comfort zone and, anyway, they had better things to do.

  It only remains to say that yukawa3 wasted no time hurrying to the masked spacecraft in order to issue the distress call that was intercepted on Morys Minor.

  . . .

  Dear readers, if you will allow, we must pause the narrative here and take a long hard look at the wonderful Mortian innovation known as the biomimetic mutator, not just because it is a fascinating subject in its own right, but also because it is central to understanding how events unravel from this point on.

  This ground-breaking shape-shifting device allowed Mortians to assume the forms of other cellular beings and had been developed on Morys Minor relatively recently, certainly within living memory of smolin9's generation. Basically, it was a sophisticated technological innovation that utilised neutrino oscillation and chimera mutation to transform the appearance of the operator at the flick of a switch. It may sound simple, but it was not. Cellular metamorphosis required extensive training and specialised skills owing to the risk of potentially catastrophic mistakes. The early days of mutator technology were littered with calamitous blunders, some of them irreversible. On one occasion, at a high-profile intergalactic scientific conference, a prominent Mortian senator demonstrated his ability to turn himself into a tiny chillok, complete with a segmented exoskeleton and fully-functioning antennae, only to be snaffled up by a hungry pinicola bird before anyone had had time to reverse the transfiguration. In consequence of such disasters, subsequent models had been restricted to humanoid mutations, although rumours abounded of a few mavericks who had managed to bypass that constraint. Other restrictions were also introduced - the deployment of same species (Mortian) disguises was outlawed and no one was permitted to duplicate the appearance of any actual person, living or dead. Again, it was widely suspected that such measures had been, or could be, breached.

  Each device was uniquely adapted to its owner (or master). Once the desired disguise (or slave, as it was popularly known) had been configured using the three-dimensional blueprint software on the device, usually by means of pre-configured templates, it might be activated at any time. Given that the Mortian bodily configuration, DNA and body chemistry were far more robust than those of other humanoid species, the risks presented by the slave suffering injury or sickness were not usually significant. In any event, a degree of protection was afforded by the complete separation of master and slave DNA sequences and other genomic characteristics during the mutation process. Damage to the slave might be remedied by simply reactivating the configuration.

  However, just to complicate things a little, you will recall that polkingbeal67's master configuration had been jeopardised by the implant of Melinda's earthling heart, creating problems with the separation of genetic material. The infection caused by the insect bite had effectively crossed the barrier between master and slave, rendering both seriously compromised. All bets were now off. Not only could he not reactivate the slave, but also he lacked the strength to revert to the master configuration. That is to say, he could no longer become his native Mortian self. Worse, his physical appearance was now uncontrolled and subject to anomalous variations at any time.

  I trust that clarifies things a little. The important thing to bear in mind is that polkingbeal67's affliction impacted his real self, not just his earthling disguise. I will refer to a further complication later.

  Smolin9, meanwhile, had diverted the 'Crusader' to Earth as soon as he had received yukawa3's distress signal. Having landed on the moon and arranged wormhole transport to England, he had hastily assumed an earthling identity and was fretting over the prone form of his hapless friend as yukawa3 attempted to explain what had happened.

  "Why did you come to Earth in the first place?" smolin9 asked, dismayed.

  "Earth?"

  "Here! The Pale Blue Dot!" smolin9 clarified impatiently. "Why did he decide to come here? He knew his heart wouldn't take it."

  "He obviously forgot," said yukawa3, looking forlorn and bewildered. "I forgot too. We were a bit, uh, stressed. As I said, I found him like this earlier today and sent the signal straight away."

  Smolin9 took a breath and cleared his throat. The effects of the homeodynamic disruption antidote had not yet worn off and he was struggling to maintain his physical and mental equilibrium. As for his emotional equilibrium - it was shot to pieces. He and polkingbeal67 went back a long way and although they seemed to be about as compatible as a balloon and a porcupine, they shared an affinity with one another that defied reason and they were fused together in an extraordinary and irrational way with bonds that neither of them understood. Smolin9 knew intuitively that he was going to be traumatised by this dreadful experience for the rest of his life. If bonds like that get torn, the rips leave open scars where the glue once was. Sighing lugubriously, he looked at his dying friend and then at the fidgeting cadet. "You know your signal will have been picked up on Morys?"

  Yukawa3 nodded. "I know," he said. "What else could I do? At first, I was going to give myself up and request wormhole transport home, but polkingbeal67 told me he wouldn't be able to travel."

  "He was right. The HDA antidote alone would've killed him." Homeodynamic disruption antidote, or HDA, was unfailingly taken to offset the adverse effects of time travel, but a sound constitution was a prerequisite.

  Yukawa3 was becoming distraught. His hands were shaking like someone mixing a cocktail. "What are we going to do if we can't move him? What are we going to do? Okay now, don't tell me to calm down! Don't tell me to calm down!"

  "I didn't," said smolin9.

  "Well, everyone should just try to calm down! CALM DOWN! CALM DOWN! I hope that answers your question!"

  While yukawa3 tried to make sense of the noise in his head, smolin9 worked out the only possible solution. It involved the use of an undocumented feature of the biomimetic mutator (I warned you there was a further complicating factor and this is it):

  Besides having its owner's master configuration wired into its circuits, the biomimetic mutator also stored the quintessence or soul of its owner in automatically updateable codified form. To be clear,
this was not confined to the neural circuitry functions of the mammalian brain. It was much more than that. It included intangible aspects of humanoid existence such as the soul, spirit, intellect, character, conscience, emotions and personality - all the non-physical attributes that define a person. The Mortians referred to this as Karma 5. Because a person's Karma 5 was stored together with but also in isolation from the master configuration, it was, theoretically at least, a transferable entity. Switching Karma 5 from one person to another was strictly proscribed by the Mortian authorities, but, at the behest of the planet's leader, a special panel had been set up to consider the ramifications. Unfortunately, the Multi-Agency Co-ordination Group for Mortian Mutator Management and Karma 5 Transferability had one of the least friendly acronyms ever generated by any bureaucrats anywhere in the universe, so everyone soon forgot about the MCCGMMK5T and it went underground. Smolin9 was a member of that panel.

  If you're still following all this, you are certainly coping better than yukawa3, whose attempts to get his head round the concept caused him to shift from foot to foot like a dancing bear on hot coals. "So, what you're proposing," he said, eyes screwed tight as if in pain, "is to send polkingbeal67's Karma 5 back home in your body?"

  "That's right."

  "So, let me think about this," said yukawa3, whose cogitative powers were now about as impressive as a drawing pin in a sword fight. "So your Karma 5 will transfer to Sophia?"

  "No," smolin9 explained. "Sophia is just a slave configuration. My Karma 5 will transfer to polkingbeal67's body."

  "And where's his body going?"

  "Nowhere. It can't go anywhere because it's irreparably damaged. It's staying here."

  "With Sophia?"

  "With Sophia."

  A summer storm was brewing somewhere off in the distance. Occasional flashes of lightning cast a ghastly aspect over the room, lending the scene a surreal and disturbing edge, particularly now that polkingbeal67's body seemed devoid of life. Through the window, smolin9 could see the dark clouds billowing up from the west. He was well aware that what he was proposing to do violated every law, edict, regulation, code, statute and convention in every book that was ever compiled for the guidance of Mortian officialdom. But sometimes risk aversion is the biggest risk of all and smolin9 knew the chance simply had to be taken. He also knew he had to counsel yukawa3 well, since the whole scheme would collapse if the nervous cadet failed to administer the HDA to polkingbeal67 directly after the Karma 5 switch and if he failed to dispatch him to Morys via wormhole without any delay whatsoever.

  "You do understand exactly who is going back to Morys with you and who is staying here?" he asked yukawa3, as the latter pondered the logistics. "Let me test you: who's going back to Morys with you?"

  Yukawa3 scratched his head. "Um, you are?"

  "No," said smolin9.

  "What's happening to my Karma 5?"

  Smolin9 pursed his lips. "This isn't going to work, is it?" He wondered how many times he would have to go over it before yukawa3 could be relied upon to do the necessary. The thunder muttering and mumbling in the distance seemed to add to the sense of urgency. "Listen," he went on. "Nothing's going to happen to you. When I tell you, all you've got to do is operate polkingbeal67's mutator and follow my instructions so that he and I perform a Karma 5 transfer. Remember, polkingbeal67 is going home with you inside my body. I'm staying behind inside his body."

  "Yeh, I get that. That's what I meant," yukawa3 lied. "So what do I tell polkingbeal67 when you’ve been switched over and we're ready to go back to Morys?"

  There was a deafening clap of thunder. "That's the really important bit," smolin9 said, crossing the room and clasping yukawa3's shoulders. "He may refuse to leave, so you've got to make sure you get him away as soon as possible. D'you understand?" After waiting for a spark of comprehension in the young cadet's eyes, he continued, "Give Melinda all my love when you get back home. And tell polkingbeal67 exactly what's happened, okay?"

  Yukawa3's eyes opened wide and he let out a gasp of shock. "Nah!" he said. "He'd never believe that!"

  . . .

  Melinda's tenure as acting leader had already sent a few shock waves through Mortian society. Far from confining her executive activities to finding a new name for the planet, she had embarked on a campaign of proactive marketing to cement her dominion over the realm (although, to be fair, she would have preferred to be a sovereign who reigned but did not rule). Presenting herself as the true promoter and custodian of Mortian-ness, she had commissioned new coins and flags and, yes, T-shirts, as a declaration of, well, what it really meant to be a Mortian. Morys Minor, like most inhabited planets, was torn asunder by bitterness, hatred, conflict and strife (well, perhaps not torn asunder, but certainly more than frayed). Disparate factions pulled and tugged in various directions, straining to establish and protect their own special interests. It was clear to Melinda that she should find the common thread and bring everyone together in a meaningful, coherent, consolidated whole. To that end, she had set up a committee to define exactly 'what it meant to be a Mortian' in the confident expectation that they would plump for something like peace, love and understanding.

  The inaugural meeting of the Committee on Mortian Allegiance and Non-negotiable Key Identity Nitty-gritty Definition (MANKIND) was now in session. Would it surprise you to know that Melinda thought up the name all by herself?

  "So what makes Morys Minor special?" Melinda asked. "What are the things that make you proud to be a Mortian? We need to put together a Declaration of Independence or a Constitution or some other sort of planetary handbook. What ideals would you like to have enshrined into a book of rules? Come on, let's have a free exchange of views!" A wall of silence greeted her, so she made a fresh appeal, "If nothing else, you must have some sights and sounds that bind you all together and distinguish Morys from the other planets you visit and trade with?"

  The assembled representatives of the most prestigious Mortian institutions, communities and organisations looked at each other in quizzical reticence.

  Melinda persisted, beseechingly, "Tastes? Smells? Anything?"

  Although nipkow4 was attending the meeting by means of a remote holographic feed, his sarcasm was unmistakable. "You mean like the thwack of the orbis bird on a pod roof, your reverence? The scent of methane drifting from a nearby fermentation vat? The ..."

  "Okay, okay," Melinda interrupted. She did not want to be seen as peddling her own brand of planetary identity or imposing values and attitudes that were anathema to the native population. She was, however, keen to capture and promote the essential aspects of the planet's life and culture and historical institutions, so that a new shiny Morys Minor, proud of its heritage and ambitious for its future, might flourish, as she was wont to say, 'like the great fruit tree of the galaxy'. What she was after was 'the scaffolding and the bricks to make that literally possible'. When she said this, there were a few mutterings of dissent and sarcastic comments about what such a tree might look like. She surveyed the chamber with a steady, but stern aspect. "What about your beliefs and stuff?" she prompted.

  "Why?" a voice finally asked.

  "Why?" Melinda repeated, trying to locate who had spoken.

  "Yes, why?" It was the rasping voice of Joseph West, self-appointed leader of the earthling community abducted from Earth shortly after Melinda's arrival on the planet. Trapped on Morys Minor as a result of the requisite modifications to their circulatory systems, the six men and six women (and subsequently, three babies) had been incarcerated in a prison camp close to the vast methane lake known as nefeshchaya, but Melinda had been attempting to use her influence to get them released and integrated into Mortian society. West's appointment on the committee had been the latest attempt to salvage something positive from the ill-conceived abduction. (To spare your sensibilities, dear reader, I have bowdlerised his remarks.) "These (unpleasant people) have mutilated us and imprisoned us on this (unpleasant) planet and you want me to co-operate wiv 'em and help 'e
m? I don't (displeasingly) well fink so!" he snapped with as much venom as he could muster. "And you are a (very unpleasant person) for co-operatin' wiv 'em! Tell me why you're (displeasingly) doin' it!"

  Melinda struck a conciliatory tone as she addressed him. "Because, Joseph, we're here and this is our world now. Literally. And whatever world we happen to be part of, it makes sense to engage with it. I just want to make the world a better place. This world. Our world. Here and now."

  A Mortian senator, identifiable by his oddly-shaped head, was appalled at the lack of respect shown to the interim leader. He stood up and demanded that West be removed from the chamber.

  "Sit down, you (unpleasant person)!" West hissed. "You lot are in no position to act all (displeasingly) superior to us! If you're such an advanced (unpleasant) civilisation, how come you go flyin' around snatchin' people and treatin' 'em like (unpleasantness)?"

  The senator bristled. "I will not be spoken to in this manner! We are a far superior race and you know it! Why, you're not fit to sleep with goopmutts! You earthlings are a backward race of beings, barely sophisticated enough to survive together on your own unstable planet! You cannot even..." He broke off, vaguely conscious of going further than he should have (but without at first realising why). Then he felt the heat of Melinda's withering look and sat down, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

  Nipkow4's projected image, shielded from the tension that permeated the room, coughed and spoke in a slow, methodical voice. "The thing is, your reverence, all our institutions have developed by means of conflicting accretions and compromises," he said. "But I suppose we can all agree on a few common principles," he said, "like freedom and government by consent under the rule of one law or another."

  West spluttered. "Not you lot! You don't know nuffin' 'bout freedom! That's (displeasingly) obvious!" He took great delight in throwing punches, slaps and kicks at nipkow4's 3D holographic image.

  Melinda turned to him, fixed him with a steely glare and asked, "Do you believe in freedom, Joseph?"