Chaacetime: The Origins: A Hard SF Metaphysical and visionary fiction (The Space Cycle - A Metaphysical & Hard Science Fiction Saga)

by A. I. Zlato

  Beor was a Mempheragog. It moved in its marine bubble, which surrounded it like a crystalline aura; it was the abstraction to Space O. Aenea saw it as a translucent ball, studded with silver threads ending on the watery sphere that protected it. One-half of it remained with the Gateway, while the other half was in Space O. Humans called the Mempheragog Unique Ocean.

  Beor was its organic link to the O. Through it, the Gateway could see sections of this Space that was inaccessible to the Machine. The Gateway flowed mentally in dark waters, moving in sync with the waves, as if she were projected there.

  Cae, the Calorn, neither real nor imaginary, was the node’s very existence. It generated in the node the necessary space Aenea needed to materialise. Cae was a presence with no permanent physical appearance. It could materialise as a topaz octagon, when it wanted to draw attention. Most of the time, it moved, invisible, within currents, now a barrier between Spaces. Aenea had an intrinsic connection to Cae, through a very deep relationship. The Gateway often found it hard to know where her mind stopped and where Cae’s began. Neither real nor imaginary … such was the Calorn.

  Deo, the Phalomera, had its roots in Space H. and its conscience with Aenea. Humans called it the Unique Forest. It had multiple components; it was one and all, at once. Its being plunged into the earth and flowed through trees, following the sap. In Aenea’s mind, Deo represented green foliage, sparkling with plant energy.

  These three elements were part of her. Without them, she could not exist as a Gateway. Deo and Beor were the two Spaces; Cae was the node. Aenea was the Gateway. Together, the beginning and the end were the same place, and the Space was a different time.

  Suddenly, brutal waves swept in, shaking their world. Aenea stretched her mind along with her body, to find balance in the tumult. Once stable, she sought the cause of the disorder.

  The node echoed disturbances recorded in Deo and Cae, which then reverberated into the general flow. The Gateway felt a pervading anguish with Deo, unable to specify it. She then immersed herself, through Deo, in the Forest all the way to tree roots. She found nothing abnormal while navigating through that thread connecting her to Space H. She then interrogated the Phalomera, which could not respond. The latter failed to convey its anxiety, albeit real. It projected in Aenea’s mind the feelings it had, the way the Forest perceived its environment. It felt that the Space was shrinking, becoming static. While Aenea assured it to the contrary, the Phalomera could not let go of these feelings, in addition to a sense of imminent danger. Deo stretched, through its roots, to the City’s Periphery and conveyed the collective anxiety of human residents. Something dark was at work there, a powerful, destructive force.

  Aenea observed, through Deo, via the Machine’s frame, without fully understanding what it was exactly. Humans … how could one know what they were suffering from? The Gateway perceived pain. But what caused it? Aenea could see nothing. Deo spread its emotion in the node. The suffering of humans was only part of the problem … a consequence. There was something larger going on, but neither Deo nor Aenea could clarify things.

  Cae was also disrupted, and it had nothing to do with what Deo had to share. It shared with Aenea the source of its concern. The Gateway, through the unwavering connection that united them, felt what the Calorn had seen. In the space-time frame, the unthinkable occurred. A node self-generated in a very erratic manner before disappearing almost instantly. A temporary node. The very idea was unthinkable. By their very nature, Inter-Spaces were a constant number. An ephemeral node … Aenea, who had not seen it, observed it through Cae. It was absurd. Such a phenomenon, if it occurred again, would mean the destruction of everything and the advent of nothingness.

  Stunned, Aenea paused and reflected.

  Very few living beings would rather die than become their opposite. Some humans are part of that group. Others call them heroes or fools.

  Recollections from Chaacetime

  Chapter 11

  : Space H. (1st Circle)

  Now that she got rid of Paul, Baley rushed to the nearest rail station to commute to the Tower. Without wasting a second, she reached the first floor. It seemed to her like a huge room, the walls of which were littered with blinking LEDs and electrical cords. The intermittent red lights faintly illuminated the dense mass of electronic components filled with cables. Metal racks delineated blocks of the same size, piling one on top of the other, in a perfect order.

  She lifted an aggregate of cables, to reach the membrane, and then put her palm on it. Normally, the access terminal to the Machine lay in the middle of the room, obviously. However, today the access was hidden. Even though she had known exactly where to find it, she wondered what the meaning of this configuration was, pondering whether the Machine was trying to convey a message. The flow of data swept all her parasitic thoughts away, and she regained a clear and peaceful mind. Electrical pulses pervaded her brain, reorganising her thoughts logically and harmoniously.

  The Machine would improve her with every touch, pushing her to excel. She would have so wanted to stay connected forever, to stay in this digital, beautiful world. The euphoria of the connection faded, when a sequence of data brought her back to the purpose of her visit. She transmitted the information she had collected at the scene of the last Problem, and waited. Absorbing instantly what Baley had just transmitted, the Machine authorised her to continue.

  “Conversation mode requested. Is the fact that the children had the same size relevant information?”

  “Conversation mode activated.

  Response: The information has been verified.”

  “Should I pay attention to it?”

  “No connection to the ongoing investigation.”

  “Why?”

  “Instruction loop= While the disruption of the Equilibrium triggered by the deaths of some human youngsters has not ended, act.

  Identical size, young humans = normal growth.”

  “Children of the same age, with a similar height, OK, but identical? This cannot be a coincidence.”

  “To the first question: Normal growth.

  To the second question: valid data. Non-random growth.”

  Baley, confused, continued for confirmation.

  “Should I continue on that lead?”

  “Invalid data.”

  Immersed in the digital pulses, she accepted that answer without any problem. Yet, back in the hall, she was a little puzzled. How could one be sure that this physical characteristic had no connection with the Problem? How could one consider it normal growth? What was obvious a few moments ago no longer was so, and many similar questions sprang from her mind.

  Her chip spread mild pain. Putting instinctively her hand on the temple, she knew instantly that was a warning. Her thoughts were not consistent. Obviously … that was nothing but her irrational side. She sought at all costs to hold on to the only trail she had, nothing more. If the Machine has calculated that there was no correlation, there certainly was none. Thanks to It, Baley would waste no more seconds on this unimportant detail. The pain ebbed. She had kicked the invalid thoughts out of her brain.

  Tomorrow, she would go back to the field, make new observations, and collect data. She would find the common denominator between these children, what coalesced them so much that they decided to die collectively and simultaneously. There had to be an extremely powerful motivation, more than just a physical trait. Meanwhile, she would do other calculations, other projections, and, through that information, she would find the solution.

  Baley crossed the Square to go home. Her first day had been nerve-wracking, and she needed to rest to be effective. With her brain boiling, she went over the events of the last few fours. From her assignment to the Problem to Paul and the trip on the Kandron’s back, to end on a wrong lead … many actions for few results. Like any investigation start. That Paul was definitely a destabilising individual. He was intelligent, she could not deny it, but her universe was so far from his that communication between them was diffi
cult. In addition, he had something against the Machine. Fully integrating him into this investigation would not be simple.

  To these inconveniences, albeit minor, one had to add the Problem. Seeing these young, lifeless bodies on the floor was very difficult. She had seen and studied many crime scenes, but that sight had shocked her. The 3D images she had observed had not been enough to alleviate and anticipate the shock. She felt that her emotions interfered in her judgments, and that she should have chased them out. Today, that had not been possible. Children committing suicide, that was too horrible, and that was beyond her comprehension.

  She entered the apartment, and, judging by the loud music, she knew her daughter was home. She went into her room and asked her to turn the volume down, only to hear a long tirade of protests. Baley suddenly felt tired, unable to have another standoff with her daughter, to hear her rebel against everything and anything, to criticise the City, the Machine, the whole world.

  She unmuted the speakers and left immediately, thus shunning Iris’ reaction, which would have certainly been violent. While slamming the door, she nonetheless heard her rail against the whole world, her mom in particular. Bailey left the apartment and headed towards her favorite bar.

  She opened the door and entered the subdued ambiance. Glass columns unfolded from ceiling to floor, replete with colourful liquor, full of promises. Amber yellow, lime green, cherry red and slate blue shared space in their glass prison, drawing clients’ attention. Amid columns arranged in a circle was the neuro-order, a small, rudimentary robot. Like an octopus, its sphere-shaped control centre stretched through its arms, stuck to each column, supporting the glasses. Enthroned among all kinds of liquor, she thought that the neuro-order was some type of jealous guardian, clasping liquors with its metal tentacles to dissuade anyone from getting too close.

  Every order was registered in the chip of servers and then fed into the small guardian robot. When it received an instruction, the neuro-order would slide a glass along one of its arms, in the direction of the column containing the selected beverage. The glass would then move to the plastic section of the column, and sink in it slightly. This contact triggered the extraction of the precious fluid, which flowed lazily.

  At most bars, the automatic process was far more advanced. The neuro-order would receive instructions directly via the customer’s chip, and would bring them their glasses through its hydraulic extensions. Although she was familiar with technology, Baley liked the old-school, open ambience in this bar, with its waiters and waitresses and this little, rudimentary device.

  The waiter had recognised her and conveyed the order of her favourite drink, before she even said a word. She sat at the circular table that surrounded the columns, to observe the Overseer of Liquors. She saw her glass slide towards the hazelnut brown column. The edges of the glass slid into the plastic wall, which then let the beverage come out. The waiter took the glass and put it in front of her, with a smile. She thanked him and enjoyed her cocktail.

  Whenever she went to a pub, she loved the fact that she could chat with strangers she certainly would not meet again, talking about topics in which she would not immerse herself emotionally. It was both relaxing and entertaining. As she was not authorised to talk about an ongoing investigation, she had to try not to think of it while talking, which was a welcome reprieve for her. Like her, the other customers could not discuss the details of their work, and conversations were a masterpiece of platitudes.

  She started a chat with her neighbour, who replied, with a voice already slurred by alcohol. He was the kind of person to whom you say hello and he or she starts talking without interruption. She vaguely heard the monologue, chasing it of her mind the main events of the day.

  The main door opened up, and, reflexively, Baley turned to see who was coming … and saw Lars. His 1.95 meters and broad shoulders occupied the doorway. His hair, cut very short, accentuated the depth of his eyes. His golden eyes, ringed with dark green, browsed through the bar quickly. He had taken off his anti-static mechanic gear and was wearing a long plaid shirt, over worn trousers.

  She knew he had not come here by chance. He had gone, and, not seeing her, had taken care of changing his outfit before going to find her. They established a sort of game between them a few years earlier, and she rejoiced about it beforehand. If they ever found each other at a bar, she was not his wife, he was not her husband; they were just old friends who met for a drink. The first time they had played that ‘game,’ they both had been destabilised, and even a little embarrassed, to behave towards each other only as friends. Then, they became hooked to the play, and had participated ever since.

  That allowed them to tell things differently, to summarise the weeks or months that had passed since their last meeting as friends. Baley loved these ‘offline’ moments, when they changed perspective. He ordered a drink, and they both sat at a table. She abandoned her neighbour, who did not right away her disappearance. He kept on talking to the chair next to him, which was now empty.

  “Hello! It’s been a while since we met”, Lars said.

  Baley replied in the same tone.

  “It is true; it has been a while. How are things?”

  “Well, the routine … I worked all day on circuits and electronic cards. I went home and saw my daughter, who was railing against everything, as usual. To tell you the truth, I don’t remember the last time I saw her smiling.”

  “Don’t tell me about teens. I have one at home. Any discussion turns into a fight. For her, everything is crappy. School, life, the City, her parents … a real bundle of mobile happiness.”

  “Yes, that’s it. I avoid these conversations as much as possible, because I get easily angry. When she starts criticising the Machine, I really want to scream.”

  “They seek provocation … nothing else. I try to tell myself that this is just a momentary thing.”

  “Yeah! It would be nice if this temporary fad flies fast. When I think of those poor kids … well … the Problem … This kills me! My daughter has everything, a beautiful future, friends...yet, she wants to see everything with a dark perspective. Whereas these children, so young, had not told anyone, had not shared their pain with anyone, and chose instead to … we must hope that the Machine find the solution quickly.”

  “Nothing can match the Machine...”

  “… thanks to It, the Equilibrium will be maintained.”

  They both just recited one of the many precepts they had learned and repeated endlessly during their school years, a part of the Invocation to the Machine. Yes, It was above the human condition. It preserved the Equilibrium, a guarantee of prosperity for the City residents. Nothing could match Its power … The Machine was their value system, their belief, their faith.

  “It will manage to find a solution to the Problem, for sure. Meanwhile, these bereaved families … can you imagine losing your daughter? Of course, we complain about her, but to imagine life without...”

  “No”, Baley muttered. “I cannot imagine.”

  They drank their beverage, in silence. Spoken words echoed in their heads and in the air around them. Losing a child … no, that was not imaginable.

  “What else is going on in your life?” Lars said.

  “Well, I am on a new investigation. Well, I cannot tell you more, the subject of this assignment will remain a mystery for you … but I can still tell you the context, which is not trivial. The Machine had me stuck to a teammate.”

  “Another Special Agent on the same case? This is not common, is it?”

  “Believe me if you want, but it is not that. My teammate is a guy from the Periphery, a lab worm, who studies history. And you cannot imagine how difficult it is to talk to him.”

  “I want to believe you … And do you know why It chose that guy?”

  “I only I knew … It has Its reasons, and he will necessarily end up making me move forward in the investigation … but for now, I do not see that. In addition, he is not too loyal towards the Machine.”
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br />   “That must make you mad, knowing you. That is maybe the reason for his presence on the team.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Anger is a good stimulus.”

  “If that’s the goal, then the Machine succeeded!”

  They burst out laughing. Lars had this extraordinary ability to play down the importance of anything. Thanks to him, she could release the stress of an entire day in just a few minutes. He really had a gift for that.

  “Come on, Lars. What about you? What is going on in your life?”

  “I have a somewhat similar story, with respect to your teammate. I hope you will not think I am crazy… There is something strange in the circuits, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some days, there is not much to do. When that happens, the mechanics just lie in the rest room and play cards. That is what I usually do. There, I wanted to be alone, and not hear the bad jokes of my colleagues. So I went poking around the hard drives of the archives, and I looked at some old diagrams.”

  “Wait … do you keep track of all design modifications?”

  “Of course! We record each change. We note the component, the reasons for the alteration, everything. This results in the issuance of a new computer file for the section where the component is located.”

  “I see. So one can observe the Machine’s diagram, as It was at Its inception?”

  “In theory, yes. In practice, most of the files were damaged, because earlier storage media were not as good as they are now. Furthermore, it would not be of any interest. We look into files containing the latest modifications; we go back as late as one year, rarely earlier.”

  “So why do you keep files that are useless?”

  “In principle, they can always be useful, and as long as we have no problem of storage capacity, no one wants to spend a whole day manually crushing old files.”