The Sky Woman

by JD Moyer

  “Very well, Vanderplotz,” Kardosh said, “insert away.”

  With a single command he’d prepared ahead of time, Adrian modified the agenda and forwarded the lengthy document. He took a minute to savor their reactions as they reviewed the outlines of the project in their m’eyes. Kardosh was scowling (not necessarily a bad sign). Troy’s mouth hung open slightly. Polanski knitted up her brow in worry. Townes clenched her jaw. The others looked confused, shocked, or dumbfounded. All in all, exactly what he had expected.

  The document was entitled simply Advance Field Station, Western Eurasia. It outlined plans for a full life-support research camp (including energy generation and food production) at the base of the Italian Alps. The suggested location was approximately equidistant from the kibbutz settlement and the Harz villages. “Our field research program, as I’m sure you would all agree, has been a resounding success. This is the next logical step – ground support for the next wave of field researchers.”

  Kardosh spoke first. “This is a settlement. Repop, plain and simple. We’re not there yet, Vanderplotz, and you know it.”

  Adrian was ready for this. “The research base is temporary, in no way a permanent settlement. You know my views on Repop. Slow, steady, and non-invasive. We’re still in Research-1, this is part of that. Please review Section 12: ‘Consolidation and Extraction.’ The mission is clearly defined in Section 1. When the project achieves success according to the mission, there will no longer be any reason for the research station to exist.” This, of course, was a lie. Once a human community had established itself on Earth, it would be inextricable. Adrian already had a nickname for the research station: Vander Camp. Which, over the years, might morph into Vandertown, or Vanderton.

  “Adrian,” said Townes, “we covered this option in Planning, and decided against it.” Her eyes flicked as she checked something in her m’eye. “Unanimously decided, it says in the minutes. The field researchers already have all the support they need. They’re in constant communication; they have bioskins; they have drone swarms. A great deal of effort went into making sure they were fully equipped, both in terms of safety and mission capability.”

  “Safety is relative,” he answered. “Car-En has already had some close calls.”

  “We knew that going in, that there would be risks associated with each field position,” said Townes. “Dangers specific to the particular location or community being observed. All the researchers were briefed and trained. We concluded, unanimously, that these risks were preferable to the risk of cultural contamination from a base camp.”

  “True,” said Adrian, “for any research station within the proximity of the subject populations. But…the field station” – he’d almost slipped and called it Vander Camp – “is nowhere near any of the settlements. There is zero chance of accidental discovery.”

  “By the groups we’re aware of,” interjected Kardosh.

  “We’ve been scouring Eurasia and Africa for settlement signs for the last five years. The Harz mountain villages, the kibbutzniks, and the Sardinians are the only ones we’ve turned up.”

  “Absence of evidence…” Kardosh started.

  “Is not evidence of absence,” finished Townes.

  “Of course not,” said Adrian, “but we’re in the realm of diminishing probability. And location is only the first countermeasure against discovery. Please refer to Section 9….”

  “Hold on a second,” Xenus Troy said. “How do you envision this research station providing support, exactly, if it’s hundreds of kilometers away from any of the researchers?”

  And here it was, the moment he’d been waiting for. The argument had shifted from justifiability to viability, from credibility to logistics. And Xenus Troy, less timid than he had initially seemed, had provided the opening. Troy might be an ally of Townes, but he was unreliable in that respect. Adrian knew his type: above any political ties, Troy’s loyalty was to science and discovery, to knowledge itself.

  “Excellent question. Please see Section 2, Diagram 2.14. The schema describes a device I have co-designed specifically for this project. There is already a prototype. If you’d like a hands-on demonstration, just ask.”

  The room was silent while they looked.

  “Hmph,” Kardosh grunted, twitching his bushy eyebrows, one corner of his mouth turned slightly up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Katja found Henning bathing in one of the sulfurous pools. He beckoned for her to join him. “Come, the water is good even if you have no aches and pains to soothe.” He sounded relaxed, with no trace of the fear she had heard in his voice in the library, near Raekae.

  “Where is the hermit?” she asked. She had no intention of disrobing.

  Henning stared pensively at the water. A minute later, he climbed out of the pool and stood before her, dripping and naked. “What do you want with her?” he asked, utterly unselfconscious. “Do you think she will show you a way out? If she knew one, I doubt she would still be here.”

  “Do you know for a fact that she is still here? How would you know if she left?” asked Katja, keeping her eyes fixed on his face.

  “My apologies. One second.” Henning took a robe from a nearby hook and donned it. “The modesty of youth left me long ago. I forget how young you are. You are not yet twenty?”

  “Seventeen,” Katja admitted.

  Henning nodded. It was strange to think that he could be her ancestor.

  “No dirk,” he observed. “Did you attack Raekae? Ha! You do take after Mette. Did you draw blood?”

  “A killing blow,” she said, feeling proud even though she doubted Raekae was truly dead.

  “Good for you. And yet, he lives. A few years ago I tried the same. Like you, I thought I had succeeded. That was the last time I saw my swords.”

  “Biter and Taker? I carry them now. With my true body. Raekae said that I fought with them, and killed.”

  “Ah…good. They are fine swords. Biter has the soul of a wolf, Taker the soul of a cruel man. Stian forged them, you know. Maybe one day he will tell you the story. The man was—”

  “Where is the hermit?” she interrupted.

  Henning smiled. “Go to the hut with the green door. But that will only be the beginning of finding her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She is a world-builder. Raekae taught her. I have only spoken with her a few times, but I think she understands this place as well as he does. Maybe better.”

  “What is her name?”

  “The crone’s name is Zoë.”

  She stared at the man who purported to be her great-grandfather. His face did bear a resemblance to Esper’s. “Well, goodbye,” she said. “Thank you for helping me. I will not see you again.” She was ready to forgive him for cutting her, and for his cowardice near Raekae. She sensed it was true that the terror was beyond his control.

  He grinned. “You will see me again. So much that you will sicken of my face. Except that you will not, because life never gets tiring in this place. It is a great blessing.”

  * * *

  The hut with the green door was easy to find; she had passed it before. There was no answer when she knocked. Her hand went to her hip but found only empty space where the pommel of her dirk should have been. It did not matter – she was not here to fight. Slowly, she turned the latch and pushed the door open.

  She stood in the midst of a dense green rainforest. A cacophony of strange noises assaulted her ears. In the distance, rushing water, perhaps a large waterfall. Closer, a medley of birdcalls, all of them unfamiliar. Something howled exuberantly from a high treetop, answered by a more distant howl. The hair on Katja’s neck stiffened. She recognized none of the sounds, none of the plants or trees. Even the air was hotter and thicker than she was used to. A huge bright, yellow beetle landed on her arm. She brushed it off quickly, barely suppressing a scream.
/>   “I want to go home,” she said under her breath, to no one but herself.

  She glanced behind her. The green door was there, and the hut, but once again she was on the outside.

  She ignored the illusion. Nothing here was real. She followed a narrow path forward, weaving between thick fronds, passing beneath flowering vines. High above she glimpsed a sliver of bright blue sky through a narrow gap in the canopy.

  “Zoë!” she called out. “My name is Katja – I need to speak with you! If you are an enemy of Raekae then I am your friend!” Her voice was quickly absorbed by the dense foliage. It was like yelling into an unshorn sheep.

  She continued on. Something landed in her hair. Whatever it was flew off with a chattering sound when she batted it away. A sheen of sweat formed on her skin.

  “Zoë,” she said in a normal speaking voice. Yelling would not help – the hermit would show herself if and when she was ready. “Henning said you made this place. What do you call it? Why is the air so thick?” She did not trust the sensation. Air should not have a feel to it.

  The path led to a clearing. In the center was a square pool lined with flat, polished stones. A woman with pale skin and shoulder-length black hair sat on a stone bench at the edge of the pool, watching Katja. She was older than Katja but still young, much younger than Elke. Except for her eyes, which were small and squinty, she was pretty. “What do you think?” the woman asked. “Costa Rica, Caribbean side, circa twenty-first century. I’m sure it looks much different now, but those are the databases I have to work with. It’s all real, you know – everything is alive! This is a real ecosystem, complete with natural selection and evolutionary change. I’ve modeled over two million organisms. Not just flora and fauna, but bacteria and viruses, amoeba – the whole deal. The geology is accurate down to the mantle. Not just terrestrial, but also aquatic – if you hike a few miles in that direction you’ll find a beach and an ocean. Fish, coral, squid, sea turtles….”

  Something bit the back of Katja’s neck. She slapped it, leaving a bloody smear on her hand.

  “Sorry about that,” said Zoë. “Like I said, accurate. Don’t worry – you can’t get sick here. You won’t even have an immune response or allergic reaction. I’m working on a tropical paradise here, not a jungle torture chamber!” She laughed airily. “Oh, you must be so confused. Here, sit down.” She patted the bench next to her. “Ask me some questions.”

  Katja warily took a few steps forward. Zoë did not seem dangerous, but neither had Henning, and he had sliced open her hand. Everyone in this place was insane and unpredictable.

  “Where are we?” asked Katja, still standing.

  “Costa Rica – I already told you. Oh…you mean where are we. We’re in the Crucible. Or, more accurately, we’re of the Crucible. And not the Crucible but rather a Crucible. Raekae’s, one of eleven.”

  “And what—”

  “What’s the Crucible? Of course, how would you know? The Crucible has two parts. The quantum core – the egg – runs BioSim and GeoSim in a physics framework, using several billion qubits. The threading system is self-generating carbonwire that follows and mimics the host’s nervous system, scanning and virtualizing until emulation is complete.”

  It was nonsense to Katja, even though the woman was speaking perfect Norse. (And how was that possible?) But Katja knew what a crucible was. She did not understand this woman’s magic, but she would not be intimidated.

  “The Crucible is the first secret of godsteel,” she said loudly, as if giving a speech. “A container made from river clay, hardened by fire. The crucible is filled with iron ore, and also a handful of sand and a shard of broken glass to draw out the impurities.”

  The woman looked at her thoughtfully. “I didn’t know about the sand and the glass,” she said. “But yes, a crucible is a container in which you melt and meld metals. And in our case, a container in which you melt and meld minds.”

  “How do I get out?” Katja asked. There was no reason not be blunt.

  “Please, sit,” said the woman. “My name is Zoë, but I’m guessing you already knew that.”

  “Katja,” said Katja, finally sitting down. If this woman attacked her, she guessed it would do no permanent damage. That seemed to be the way of this place. “They said you were an old crone.”

  “Ha!” Zoë exclaimed. “To them I am. To them, I look like this.” Katja looked over to see a brown-skinned, hunched old woman, with a wide face, a broad, flat nose, and narrow black eyes. The crone wore a colorful woven garment that was half dress, half blanket. She smiled at Katja and spoke in a different voice, rougher and lower. “Or I could look like this.” Suddenly Katja was sitting next to herself, and she was shocked to see how young she looked. She was still a girl. It was strange to see her own face so clearly, and also from a slightly different angle. Undoubtedly it was her, but was her nose really shaped that way? Not unattractive, but unfamiliar when viewed from the side.

  Zoë changed back into her original form. “This is how I looked, more or less, the day I volunteered. That’s what the Crucible was supposed to be: a volunteer program. It was never meant to be the prison that Raekae turned it into. And he’s not the only Original to become a jailor.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder what the others are doing – the ones who didn’t choose to be wardens. Even without hosts, the worlds continue on within the Crucibles. The threads can take energy from many sources: glucose, sunlight, decaying matter, almost anything.”

  “I need to go home,” Katja said. “Is there a way to leave?”

  “The original intent was to solve the Smooth Transition problem,” said Zoë, ignoring Katja’s question. “Create not only a brain-body backup, but also maintain the continuity of experience…prevent identity divergence.”

  Something enormous howled from the treetops, incredibly loud and much closer than before. Katja’s shoulders tensed and she looked up, searching for the source of the racket.

  “Howler monkey,” said Zoë. “They’re actually quite small, and harmless.” She cupped her hands to her mouth and skillfully answered the call. A few more responses echoed above. “You recognized yourself a moment ago. But did you think of that person as you, or as someone else?”

  “As someone else,” answered Katja truthfully. “Though it looked exactly like me. A twin.”

  “That’s identity divergence. Or it would be, if I had made a complete copy of you instead of just mimicking your appearance. But that’s not possible yet. You’re not all-the-way mapped.”

  “Raekae said I was still using my own brain.” Katja was not sure what that meant, but it seemed relevant.

  “Yes,” Zoë confirmed, as if she had said something that made sense. “That’s right. And as long as that’s true, there’s a slim chance that you can get what you want.”

  “You mean I can leave?”

  “Maybe. A very small chance. I’ve been working on something for a long time…. A project. Something wondrous and powerful and very dangerous. It’s almost ready. If it works, there’s a very good chance you’ll die. But if you live, you can go home.”

  “I would rather die than live forever in this place,” said Katja, feeling entirely sure of the words as they left her mouth.

  Zoë stared at her, her eyes welling up with moisture. But the strange woman blinked back her tears and smiled.

  “Me too, when it comes down to it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Excerpt from ‘The Four Phases of Earth Depopulation’ by Lydia Heliosmith, age 17, written for Terrestrial Anthropology 1, 22.01.02719:

  Phase 2: The Revival (Part I – Messy Utopias)

  Phase 2 depopulation, a gradual descent from seven billion down to five billion, was a brighter time for humanity. The Hundred-Year Recession came to an end (along with the Corporate Age itself) in the decades following Unified Europe’s ‘Second Reformation’ of 2211 (
not, this time, a schism within Christianity, but rather a massive do-over of the continental corporate charter). The key to sustainable shrinkage, it turned out, was to nurture and protect local markets. This necessitated a great clawing back of power from the massive blobs of private capital roving the globe willy-nilly, devouring and digesting local markets to feed their purposeless growth. The combination of capital controls and corporate charter reform finally tamed the persistent bubble-and-bust cycles of the Corporate Age, allowing regional governments to manage their economies with more foresight and less calamity.

  Not every superpower transformed itself as effectively as Europe. Some disintegrated altogether (in the case of the American secessions) or awkwardly reorganized (China’s slow, decidedly non-revolutionary Gõngpíng movement). Other nations merged to create heftier, more resource-diverse economies (the African Equatorial Alliance, the Arabian Emirates). The tipping of the global power scales from corporate to civic scrambled many borders, governing institutions, and international alliances. The world map, both literally and figuratively, was redrawn on a scale not seen since the end of the Second World War.

  Shrinking economies could still be highly functional. Part of the solution was protecting local markets from predatory speculators. Another factor turned out to be keeping old people healthy. Seniors who could still work and contribute, and who didn’t overburden the healthcare system or their (generally fewer) descendants – these older citizens provided an economic buffer that saved nations from destitution. The Late Corporate Age, for all its excesses, did provide a number of medical gifts: vaccines that prevented heart attacks, most cancers, and dementia; bloodstream nanodrones to break up clots and destroy pathogens; pharma implants to enhance homeostasis on every level.

  Many nation states followed Unified Europe’s local wealth, local power mantra, and succeeded in maintaining quality of life in population-dense areas. Other territories were abandoned to the wild. Abandoned cities crumbled and yielded to grassland, forest, or jungle, while those that survived doubled down on infrastructure upgrades and beautification.