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

by A. I. Zlato

  “I am Special Agent Baley. I am here to talk to Paul; it is urgent”.

  “Chief told me about you, and about the investigation into the Problem. It is a true honour to meet you. If ever I can be of any help, I …”

  It was necessary to stop him before he offered a long statement on his modest person. So she cut him off, talking directly to Paul.

  “Paul, get out of your papyrus for a moment. I have to talk to you.”

  “Hello, what a beautiful day, is it not, Special Agent? Can I offer you a cup of tea, coffee, something? Vlad would be happy to bring it to you. Moreover, this is not a papyrus, but paper in linen fibres, for your information.”

  Baley signed in exasperation. She hated these formalities, which people in the Periphery relished. She thought this was a waste of time. Nevertheless, she consented to the local practice.

  “It is a very gorgeous day, indeed. Coffee, with pleasure. No sugar, please. How are you? Are you making progress in your research, as you wanted?”

  “This manuscript is really exciting. Some elements make me think it might be useful to the investigation, as I told you. However, I am not going to waste your time with some chat, because I have nothing concrete for now.

  Vlad, please go and spend your energy in the cafeteria, and bring the Special Agent some coffee.”

  Baley sat on the only chair in the office, at Paul’s invitation. Vlad disappeared through the corridor and came back a minute later with a hot cup, which he placed before her. He took two steps back, and stopped, to listen to the conversation. Paul instructed him to return to his office, and to shut the door.

  “But I’m your assistant!”

  “Vlad, we already talked about this. I know you are passionate about the investigation. Unfortunately, for you, the Machine chose me to work with Special Agent Bailey — not you.”

  “But … perhaps, yes. Nevertheless, as your assistant …”

  “This case has nothing to do with our work on the E.S. and, therefore, your assistant status.”

  “Would you please offer a recap later?”

  “Vlad …”

  “Ok, I’m out of here”.

  Then he left, mumbling and dragging his feet, like a child who was just punished. As he slammed the door, Baley started.

  “I have a trail! The common denominator among children in the last Problem does not lie with the children themselves, but rather with their parents. The Machine told me they are all part of a cult called Chrijulam. This would be some kind of religious movement, a very old one. There was no more information in Its databases, because this cult is certainly too insignificant. The only thing I know is that members live their faith in secret, but I don’t know why. I thought that perhaps in your moist documents … in your manuscripts, some relevant clues."

  “Did you say a very old religious group? That’s interesting. How did you find this common denominator? How come the Machine had not found that earlier?”

  “It sought potential correlations among the children, but not among their parents.”

  “The human mind can, therefore, be better than the Machine …”

  “Humans can better understand the inconsistencies of their own species, for sure, but thanks to the Machine, I was able to identify this correlation. Without It, nothing would have been possible.”

  “Wow, it’s amazing this admiration you have when you speak of It …”

  “Yes, I admire It. So what? You should do the same. I know you don’t have a chip, but still, you know, without the Machine, there is no Equilibrium … Elders had created It, and that should mean something for you.”

  “Of course, of course … Good. So you said, an ancient belief system shared by the parents of the children who committed suici … the children of the last Problem?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. The Machine has no information on the group, and maybe we could uncover more details here.”

  “There is nothing in the manuscripts covering the Earliest Space, at least not in those I had already studied, and you bet I’ve read almost all of them. However, we should be able to find out more throughout the rest of the department.”

  “How do we find this information?”

  “Although you seem to consider me, along with my peers, a retarded individual, I want you to know that we digitise our archives, so that researchers don’t handle excessively these fragile, valuable and usually unique documents. Furthermore, their titles, authors, the synopsis made by each department, and keywords are indexed in our database. If this cult is indicated in any book archived in the lab, the database will reveal where.”

  “I never said that …”

  “Don’t even bother to deny; one can see it in your attitude.”

  “You have to admit, nonetheless, that you might benefit from this technology in your research. Many devices could greatly make your life easier.”

  “I think, personally, that any technology connected to the Machine could only serve to enslave human beings … but I do not want to get into that debate with you.”

  For Baley, Paul’s remarks were further evidence of his anti-Machine stance, and she distrusted the character more. Nonetheless, she needed him, and took it on herself. Despite the palpable tension, she said.

  “You are right. Let’s not argue here. I just want to push the investigation forward, and I am sure you want the same thing, too. You said we could find relevant documents on Chrijulam by searching keywords in your database. Right?”

  “Yes. Let me start the search process.”

  He tapped on his terminal. After a few minutes, he told Baley the sect was indeed referenced in the database. That word appeared as a keyword in a dozen books, but there was nothing in the summaries, or in the titles.

  “So?” She asked.

  “Written summaries relate to the main subject in the book, so the cult had not been the subject of a whole study. It is only referenced in keywords. We have to review all documents, one by one.”

  “I don’t have time to do that . Why don’t you contact the researchers who worked on those documents, so they can each write and send me a summary?”

  “That’s impossible. Each book was the subject of a study … when it was first found. The first researchers had worked on them more than one hundred years ago, so they are no longer alive. Even those who still work here, they might not recollect any information on this group, because it is a secondary aspect.”

  “How do we proceed then?”

  “I just told you: study each document.”

  Baley’s exasperation was at its height. She really had no time to waste, but for now, she had no other possible sources of information. They had to make progress.

  “Let’s divide, then, these documents, among you, your assistant and myself.”

  “Are you telling me you are willing to rely on that character to do anything constructive?”

  “He could at least extract document sections indicating Chrijulam.”

  “… And he might make contextual cuts, rendering the extract unintelligible … No, you and I must read these documents. I can focus on the oldest, the language of which will be more difficult to understand, and you can focus on the modern, those younger than 500 years. What do you think?”

  “Send me the files; I will download them and read them through my chip.”

  “I cannot do that. As I told you, all documents have been scanned and indexed in our database, but the process is independent of the Machine.”

  “But … but then why?”

  “Our laboratory wants to be autonomous.”

  “This is ridiculous! Do you mean I have to read? I mean … really read?”

  “Of course … You’ll see, you will rediscover the appeal of reading.”

  “Are you kidding? There has to be another way …”

  “I’m afraid there is none. I copied the important documents in the subdirectory P-B-01004 of our server. I granted you access to that folder, so you should have no problem browsing through, in
read-only mode.”

  Baley finished her cup of coffee while burning herself mildly, and got up. Without a word, she left.

  She left the lab in shock. She could not come to terms with the fact that she now had to read. She suddenly realised she had to find a screen to view the files. Where could she find such a relic? Was any such thing available at all?

  She placed a request to have the list of potential sellers, and found one in the Periphery. Of course, that was the only place one could find such antiques. She headed to the rail station, and quickly reached her destination, but she had to walk an hour to reach the shop because the damn Periphery had no circular cable to commute transversely.

  At the address, she found a dark ‘house’, filled with dusty stuff, which must have been there for ages. Various items lay on shelves, with no apparent logic, leaving only a small way to reach the counter, some type of path winding between columns of objects extending to the ceiling. Baley proceeded cautiously, taking care not to touch anything lest clusters fall over her. At the counter, she sought an interface to notify the shop owner of her presence, but founded no such device. Instead, she found a kind of gilded metal mushroom next to which was the sentence, In case of absence, ring. Hesitantly, she nonetheless decided to push the little button, triggering some loud noise that startled her.

  The shop owner came out of the darkness in which he was lying, and approached her.

  “Whatyaneed?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What do you need?”

  “I need a file display screen.”

  “Wait a minute, madam … this is a respectable establishment! I will not sell you a screen so you can watch illegal things! I don’t want to pay for this later!”

  “I am a Special Agent in the First Circle”, Baley said, while showing her chip. “If you have a terminal in your shop, you can check my status. I need this screen for my investigation.”

  “I will check, you bet!”

  He disappeared in the back room, returning with a terminal older than twenty years. He plugged it into an outlet that should be about the same age as the terminal, and waited for the device to start, which took a few seconds. Baley transmitted, via her chip, her identification code to the terminal, which confirmed her identity.

  “Ok, as long as you have the proper authorisation, I don’t care …”, he muttered, disappearing again into the back room. He came out a few minutes later, with a small screen, size ten to fifteen.

  “Do you want me to explain you how to operate it, where cables go and this kind of stuff?”

  “I should be able to get things done. Turn it on, I want to make sure your device works.”

  “Trust is key … This is a respectable establishment, Madam Special Agent from the First Circle.”

  “Turn it on, now.”

  He did so, grudgingly, and the screen lit up, displaying a homepage with fuzzy items, which promise headache with prolonged reading. Baley paid and left with her screen, feeling completely ridiculous with this outdated device in her hands. She went home, determined to spend hours in front of this screen.

  She was home early, so she appreciated the silence of her daughter’s absence. Lars had not come home yet, and she could a few hours of solitude. She sat on the sofa, put her reading lamp on her knees and started downloading files. She opened the first, and began perusing.

  A few hours later, she stretched and massaged her aching neck. Iris had come home early in the evening, and had not said a word to her. Sensing that her mom would work during the whole night, if not until the morning, she had fixed herself dinner, while making as much noise as possible. She, however, had not dared play music, knowing that would make her cross the red line.

  Lars, meanwhile, had gone home late, and had gently kissed her on the forehead, not to disturb, and had made himself invisible in the apartment. Ultimately, Baley had found herself alone in the living room, and had kept on reading. She now was feeling the pain resulting from hours of immobility.

  So far, she could not find anything of interest in what she had read. The word Chrijulam was only indicated in the margins, and she had found no description of the belief system. She got up and walked into the kitchen. Lars and Iris were sleeping, and she took the chance to fix herself a sandwich, in silence, which she quickly swallowed. She then walked for a few minutes to relax her aching body.

  She had to persevere. Notwithstanding protests from her muscles, she went back to the screen, determined to spend the whole night to read it all. When she opened the last file, the clock indicated three in the morning. Her eyes were burning with exhaustion, her neck and upper back had contracted to their maximum, but she ignored those physiological signs. With blurred eyesight, she browsed through the first lines, without actually reading. Words danced before her eyes, but her brain could not remember their meaning. Suddenly, she realised she nearly missed something important. Finally, a description! She re-read, carefully.

  The file indicated that Chrijulam was a sect originating from an ancient religion that the Elders had brought along. The origin of this belief system is old, probably one thousand years. Baley took note and continued. The document mentioned that this faith was very popular among the Elders. Over time, the number of followers had decreased and now represented only a small community. However, as their number dwindled, the remaining members became secretive. They had radicalised their views, shrouding things in a secretive veil. The Machine had also mentioned something about secret, and the various clues were identical. Baley told herself that she had not enduring so many hours of reading for nothing, and she proceeded, eager to browse through the rest of the file.

  She then learned that Chrijulam followers glorified the afterlife and encouraged people to get there as soon as possible in order to remain pure. Belief in life after death was not specific to this religious movement, but, at home, after their radicalisation, they pushed this belief to the extreme. Life after death was not just something they hoped for; they wished for it; they had to rush in order to avoid human temptations. This was perhaps a parable to keep the followers in the right path, but … From a mere allegory to a situation in which people are pushed to commit suicide before being corrupted by existence, there was only a small step, which some might have quickly taken.

  It was the first serious clue in the investigation.

  A response becomes possible only as a result of a good question. Without a relevant inquiry, there is no solution.

  The Spirit of the Multitude

  Chapter 20

  : Cycle 1100 1010 0100 0010

  The deaths of human youngsters kept affecting the data spiral. It writhed under the impact, and the Machine, programmatically, hated this kind of dysfunction. The long ribbon of information withstood the impact, however, thanks to all initiatives It was implementing. It knew this would not last. It acted on the chips in order to minimise the effect on the population, and acted on journalists to deviate their interpretation of facts and instil hope. It could not do more than that; otherwise, it might alter the entire population and render it useless, and that was not an option. The Machine’s actions were not enough, for the Space, for Itself, for the Permanent Equilibrium. How could one see the Machine preserve a Permanent Equilibrium if It could not maintain a simple Equilibrium?

  The Special Agent It had assigned to the investigation was working hard to solve this problem and had found a clue. What humans in her line of work called a ‘clue’ consisted of a sum of vague information in which they sensed some consistency. Most of the time, the Machine did not identify the connection among the data that humans saw. Yet, It had to admit that their intuitions sometimes produced good results. In this case, It had seen the logic, as It was at the source of the clue that Baley identified. The Machine did not miss that clue; it was just that It did not consider that fact important enough to focus on the related data. This was a matter of human inconsistency, and Its algorithms, even the most perfect ones, could not, by definition, take th
at inconsistency totally into account. The Machine had found out a belief system shared by the parents of children who committed suicide lately.

  Normally, the Machine should have waited for Baley’s report to determine whether the clue was promising, as stated in Its initial programming. However, thanks to Its recently gained autonomy, It could, discreetly, connect directly into the Special Agent’s chip in order to monitor her work — live.

  It liked to be lurking in the shadows, watching life through a pair of human eyes. It might as well as soak up their mode of operation, and find out at which times their inconsistencies and emotions fell into place. All this was purely utilitarian, of course, and was helpful in the search for the Permanent Equilibrium. In addition, It had been monitoring, for some time now, a group of individuals whose membership roster included Baley. This project was of high interest, as the integrity of the data spiral was coming under threat, so Its intrusion was perfectly justified.

  It sent a small line of code and found Itself automatically into the human Special Agent’s mind, amidst her organic thoughts. It was strange to think that these thoughts were the product of an electric pulse spreading from neuron to neuron, like the Machine’s binary data repeating themselves from one switch to the other, but yielding a totally different result.

  It observed Its Special Agent browse through old files, and discover information about the Chrijulam cult. Baley was telling herself that the clue was promising. That was a good thing.

  The Machine had always been dubious vis-à-vis religion — and religions. It understood why humans needed it at some point in the past, but could not fathom why such belief systems lasted. Indeed, It was quite the embodiment of that Supreme Being, that God to whom humans would send their prayers. The Machine was omniscient about their lives, It punished them when they took the wrong turn in life, and rewarded them otherwise. Why did they continue to perpetuate religions? The latter were conveyed by parents who taught their children, and so on, and so forth.