Portals

by Ann Christy

  The change in my mood must be evident, because Jack and Rosa are far more subdued when I’m done talking to Hub. She hugs me more gently, with a compassion I can feel through her touch. I think my grandmother would have liked Rosa a great deal. My mom too. My mom would be grateful that she’s been so kind to me.

  That thought almost undoes me. I blink back tears with only a modicum of success.

  Jack leads me back to my room, letting me wallow in my sadness without asking any questions. He seems to know that I need space and simply hugs me, his warm lips at my temple when he whispers, “I’m here if you need me.”

  It takes me a moment to answer, because I feel so incredibly useless, so unable to help. I’m out here laughing and having fun and finding a boyfriend, while millions of people live in fear, or lose their chance at life on a new world made especially for them. Eventually, I get words past the lump in my throat and say, “I know you are. I just wish I could be there for them.”

  He knows who I mean. I mean Earth and all the humans left there with a timer ticking down to their doom.

  Twenty-Eight

  I’m not sure how the idea comes to me or what bits of information come together to make me think it. The idea comes to me as I’m painting the Bluriani people as I saw them in that short series of images.

  Maybe it was the Hub’s emphasis on free will. Maybe it was the way Hub conveyed sadness when it communicated about them. Or perhaps it was the sense of loss and longing I felt emanating from Hub. Whatever it was, the notion hits me like a ton of bricks and I drop my paintbrush, leaving a splatter of color on my jeans.

  Hub couldn’t save the Bluriani, or maybe it couldn’t save all of them.

  It said that portal technology came after the Bluriani, which means Hub would have had to help them by physically moving them. The ships. Is that why there are so many now? Just in case?

  Before I can think the better of it, I turn on my implant. Hub, I have some questions and I need to talk to you about something. It’s really important to me.

  Of course, Lysa. You can talk to me whenever you like.

  I’m not sure how to approach this topic. I mean, Hub is a machine, but it also clearly has feelings. I don’t want to make it sad or depressed or remind it of failure. I also want to know. I think I might even need to know.

  Hub, I don’t want to be rude and I don’t want to upset you, but this is really bugging me. And I think I understand a little bit better why you’re like you are if I’m right. It’s about the Bluriani.

  Again, I feel a hint of something, a faint echo of melancholy. Go ahead, Lysa. If I can answer you, I will.

  With a deep breath, I decide the only thing to do is jump in with both of my big, awkward, left feet.

  You couldn’t save the Bluriani, could you? Or not all of them. Did something happen with them that made you have this rule that you wouldn’t interfere? Did something bad happen?

  The wash of sadness is stronger, much stronger than I’ve ever felt from Hub. This isn’t my sadness, but I can sense it. It’s like seeing someone else cry, except far more intimate.

  That is essentially correct, Lysa.

  What an unsatisfactory answer that is. I hold that feeling in as best I can, because it’s not nice considering what the Hub is feeling. Can you tell me more, Hub?

  Instead of words, I see another planet. This is like seeing the dinosaur planet, except not. This is a replay and it’s happening in my head, transporting me there as completely as if I had stepped through a portal. The image reminds me of what it was like to see the snippet of the Bluriani family. The sensation is intense.

  There is wind, the dust blown by that wind stinging my skin and rippling my clothes. I can feel it. There are tall buildings in the distance that look like they’re made of glass. Where I’m standing, plants bend and fray under the power of that harsh, destructive wind. They don’t look like any plants on Earth, but I know that’s what they are.

  The Bluriani were space-faring, but also very tied to their planet. Successful alteration of another planet for their use was not yet within their reach. They were explorers in space, but tentative ones. They had harnessed the ability to mine another planet for materials, but did not yet have the capability to live beyond their world in large numbers.

  Hub’s mental voice is calm and carries hints of sadness, but it’s not overwhelmingly emotional either. It’s a strange juxtaposition and it makes me feel strange. My view begins to shift. It feels like I’m skimming the surface toward the city, which grows in size and height with each passing moment.

  They were advanced in many ways, but not enough to save themselves. They were aware that calamity was approaching, yet they could not stop it, nor could they evacuate all their people. For many years they worked to save themselves. In the end, they were left with few options.

  Their best hope was the most difficult option for them to accept. They could change a living being into information, but they did not have the ability to return that being to a physical form. Time was running out, but many remained in denial, not believing that their planet could meet its end in such a pointless way.

  We pass through the city with startling speed, the beings like those Hub showed me before passing in flashes almost too fast to register. The taller buildings are coming to an end, and in the distance, I see a complex larger than anything else. The building is vast, so wide and big that it seems short in comparison, though it isn’t.

  Around that complex are Bluriani, long lines of them outside openings all around the central building. There must be thousands of them, tens of thousands.

  Many chose to take the chance that they would find the solution to re-animation in the future. With so many minds to work on the solution, they reasoned that they must find an answer. And time would not matter once they were uploaded. Only existence mattered.

  With a sudden jolt of motion, we pass through the walls of the giant complex and hover over the thousands of people that fill the spaces. An enclosure inside the building looms before us, light glowing through the glass-domed roof into the cavernous space.

  We dip through that roof and what I see is terrible. I may be here in my mind with Hub, but with my real ears, I hear the sound I make. Shock, horror, fear.

  The process of imaging each being destroyed that being’s physical form. They did not limit their attempts to save their planet only to themselves. All life that that could be imaged was imaged. They understood that when the day came that they learned how to re-animate, they would need all that lived on their planet once again.

  The process Hub is describing is going on beneath my feet in at least a thousand rooms inside that enclosure. I’m glad we’re above it, because I don’t think I could bear being closer. In one of the rooms, a Bluriani hurries to a table, lies down, and then dozens of instruments plunge into its body with no delay. I don’t need to understand their physiology or their expressions to understand the pain. The body clenches, limbs going rigid in agony. Then the figure simply disintegrates and is gone.

  Before I can do more than blink, the next Bluriani hurries in to take its place on the table.

  And this procedure isn’t limited to the Bluriani. There are creatures I can barely describe being herded into rooms, carried in, forced in. I’m glad I can’t hear them.

  And there are children too. I wish I could close my eyes.

  But you said not all of them went, Hub. What happened to those that didn’t upload?

  Our perspective shifts and instead of the facility, we’re in that field again. Only now this isn’t a field. It has become a dusty plain with the skeletal remains of plants hanging on in a few spots. And there is that same couple with the child.

  Only this time, I see the brightness with them. At the last moment, the one that wasn’t crouched does so. They lean their heads together and I know that they know their end is at hand.

  And then they are gone. A wall of dust so thick it’s almost so
lid hits them, and they disappear into that devastating wind. For a flash I see the darker shadows of their forms taking flight in the dust, then they’re hidden from my view. Hub takes pity on me and we rise over the landscape until I see the curve of the planet. Fire and dust cover it in a crawling wave of destruction.

  Why did they stay? They had to know.

  Free will, Lysa. Always there is free will. It was their choice to make.

  What happened to the Bluriani that uploaded, Hub? I’m asking, but deep in my heart, I think I already know that answer. The possibility that what I think is true shreds my heart into tatters.

  They worked to find their solution from the safety of a space station, their minds mingling in the confines of a vast computer. But time did not leave them untouched. As they grew and orbited their destroyed planet in that station, individual minds began to dissipate into the whole. Eventually, there were no more single minds. They became one. Their solutions came too late for them to return to a physical form. Their individuality was lost.

  The image disappears and I’m back in my room and in my body. I can feel my chest shaking and hot tears on my cold cheeks. I understand now. I understand why. The sheer magnitude of what must have happened is like an earthquake in my soul. And I understand one more thing, one more terrible and wonderful thing.

  Hub, you are the Bluriani, aren’t you? You’re all of them, combined together into one being.

  Yes, Lysa. I am the Bluriani and all that lived on our planet. I am one, but also all. And it is my purpose to ensure this never happens to another planet if I can stop it. Life, above all, is my purpose.

  Twenty-Nine

  That’s the key to all of this. Free will. The ability to choose and Hub’s inability to influence any choice we make.

  That’s my out, my path, the way I’m going to find my way home and help my planet. Hub can’t, but Hub can’t choose for me. It can only interfere with my choices when those choices require it to make a choice that conflicts with its directives. That’s complex and convoluted to say, but incredibly straight-forward in practice.

  This is exactly like my request to hang a sign on a new replacement for my mother. Hub wouldn’t stop me from hanging the sign, because to do so would be my free will and I can do that if I like. But once I do, Hub will be faced with choosing whether or not to send the replacement. Since I would have altered the replacement, it wouldn’t, because that would break the rules it imposes on itself. I will have triggered Hub’s need to choose.

  I must simply do what I choose to do without requiring Hub to engage in any part of that process.

  And I know how I might do that now. But I must proceed carefully. Very carefully. If I slip up, or in any way relay to Hub any part of what I intend to do, I will automatically trigger Hub’s requirement to choose.

  My first action is to entirely shut down my implant. Jack is surprised, then irritated, when he can’t reach me that way anymore, but I can’t take any risks. I tell him it’s too disorienting for me and that concerns him, but he tries to be understanding. He does tell me that it will make work impossible for me, so I should at least try to get used to it.

  While I do promise him that I’ll try, I don’t dare do more than use the control interfaces. I can’t risk communicating the wrong thing. I wish I could tell Jack, but I can’t. He shares so much that he would let Hub know, even if he didn’t want to. I don’t even know if he can lie.

  Rather than hurry, I make my plans with caution and much thought. I need to have a plan, a backup plan, and backups around any part of those plans that might go haywire.

  I will get exactly one shot at this.

  After another ten days of normal behavior, which I can only hope appear normal, I decide enough time has passed to risk moving on the next part of my plan.

  “Hub, I’m really thinking of the Ranger job,” I say. I’m in my room after another day of orientation is over. I’ve carefully created a partial painting that I’ll use for this part of my plan.

  “You mean the Monitor job?” Hub asks. I can definitely hear the tease in the words. Since I won’t use the implant to communicate, I’m left with good old-fashioned vibrations traveling through air to my ears.

  “If you insist on calling it that, then yes. Anyway, I’m doing a painting and I really want to put more detail in. When I replay what I saw, I only have the back half of the ship, and not even all of that. Can I get an image of the whole ship?”

  “Of course, Lysa.”

  Since I don’t have my implant on, I get a projection in the center of the room. Now that I have this, it will be accessible via implant or on my tablet screen. Implants are so handy. They have amazing file sharing systems here.

  “Great, thank you. Any chance I can get views of the inside? I’m very curious where I might be spending my time.”

  Was that subtle enough?

  “Yes, Lysa. It’s been added. Just steer through as usual.”

  That was too easy. Way too easy.

  “Thank you again. This will be fun. I’ll paint it!”

  “I look forward to seeing your work, Lysa. Is there anything else?”

  “Not right now,” I say, eager to start looking at the ship. Then I remember the missing appointments on my calendar. “Wait, yes. I noticed that my Facilitator appointment for tomorrow morning disappeared a little while ago. Is everything okay?”

  “I believe Jack intends to contact you about it, but he will be otherwise occupied tomorrow.”

  That sounds bad. He’s never been otherwise occupied. Something itches up the back of my neck. “What’s going on, Hub?”

  “I’ve ceased human transfers from Earth for the time being. Jack would like to visit some friends before they change form. It’s easier to socialize when they’re in the same biological form, as you know.”

  My stomach drops down to my toes at that news. Stopped transfers. After what, five months? That means billions of people are now stranded. That means humans will go on with only a small number of transfers compared to what was planned. This is bad. Digging my fingernails into my other hand to keep myself from losing it, I ask, “Is this permanent?”

  “I’ll have to reassess. I’ve breached the limits for change and will have to re-calculate based on new planetary modeling. That will take time. It’s not an easy process.”

  So, all is not lost yet. Not letting out a huge, relieved breath is difficult. Instead, I try to keep my breathing slow and my voice calm. “Will you let me know when you do?”

  “Of course, Lysa.”

  Once Hub and I are done, I let my nerves get the better of me for just a minute or two. The stomping and screaming into a pillow help a great deal. Basically, that’s all I have time for. I must get to work. Slow and under the radar is good, but fast and under the radar is better.

  Turning on my implant only for data display, I bring up the ship again. It floats in the middle of my room, because that’s what I’m comfortable with. The complete immersion like I had on the Bluriani planet is too much for me as of yet.

  First, I try to get a really good view of the outside, all the way around. The ship is beautiful, sure, but I can’t tell much about function other than the engines. There are no windows. Not one. I can see hatches though, and when I focus on one, the others light up.

  Okay, that’s good. Plenty of entrances.

  Nudging inward through the hatch I saw in real life, there’s a sort of chamber, then a larger one with curved recesses in the walls. Next are passageways in three directions. I follow the one forward in the vessel and abruptly pop out into a blank area. It’s just gray, like the simulation ends or something. Pulling back returns me to the passageway, but going forward again loses the image.

  So, this is off limits, I’m guessing.

  That’s discouraging, but I’ve got two more passageways. Unfortunately, following those doesn’t get me much further. The one leading toward the interior goes blank almost immediately,
while the one leading toward the back shifts perspective until the image is of a huge open area with lots of dividers. I’m guessing this must be a cargo bay of some sort. There are gray spots inside where things I can’t see must be located.

  My frustration only grows as I try to poke and prod, blindly following gray areas to reach something I’m allowed to see. Aside from random passageways, I get only more gray. Pulling away, I consider the exterior again, trying to read purpose in the various parts of it, but there’s none to read. It’s only when I look at the hatch again that I see what I missed the first time: a silver square.

  An interface.

  That makes me grin in victory, because really, that’s what I need. After all, Hub confirmed that it doesn’t control the ships, but that the ships are configured much like this station. That means if I can open the door, I should be able to communicate with it. All I have to do is get past Hub to the door of that ship. Once I get that far, the ship is independently operated by whoever is onboard.

  And that would be good, because I intend to steal it.

  After all, if the only way Hub can communicate with Earth and tell them what’s happening is if they already know there is life elsewhere, then what better way to make that happen than by flying a giant spaceship right to the planet?

  So, that’s what I’m going to do. Somehow, some way, I’m bringing that big-ass alien ship to Earth and settling the issue once and for all.

  Free will, baby.

  Thirty

  Playing it cool over the next week is hard, but it gets easier with each passing day. I feel bad about the duplicity, but I feel worse about the situation on Earth. That makes this level of deceit possible, even desirable.

  Priorities, priorities.

  Hub told me when I first got here that humans were very unpredictable, which made assessments about our progress and what we might do difficult. Instead of high confidence results about our future, it had to create complex arrays of possibilities. Apparently, that’s not common on worlds with sentient and intelligent creatures. Reason usually brings with it a certain amount of predictability.