Random Chance and the Paradise that is Earth

by Shawn Michel de Montaigne

  "Yep."

  "Civilization creates heat," said Hewey. "There's no gettin' around it. And the more advanced that civilization, the more waste heat it creates, even with negative birth rates and advancements in technology."

  "The United Nations had long since taken over as the governing body for all nations on-world or off," said Random. "Cities and nations still had their parliaments and whatnot, and they could vote to go against the UN, and some did. But by and large the UN got its way simply by force of its gigantic voice: every nation and every city was represented there, and equally. No one could veto another, or veto legislation, as they once could. Corporations were finally reigned in; many of the nastier ones were dissolved entirely and their CEOs and boards of directors imprisoned. Wars between nations became a thing of the past, though terrorism and extremism were still very real threats."

  "This information is consistent with what I have," said Cubey, "though I wasn't aware that nations and cities could once veto others."

  "The United Nations leadership during that time was extraordinary," said Random. "Great men and women, the likes of whom many of the more pessimistic of the human species today feel will never come around again. I don't share that view, not even after the crap I just went through."

  "Neither do I," offered Hewey.

  Thousand-year-old images of the United Nations flashed up on the bridge's wraparound screen; some were videos offered without sound.

  "Representatives from the entire solar system finally made the United Nations a great governing body. Some were saying that humankind had finally left its selfish and stupid adolescence and grown up."

  "Science and technology advanced more during the twenty-fifth century than the whole of human history to that point, or so says my information," said Cubey.

  "Even so," said Random, "many mysteries remained—and do to this day."

  "A.I.," said Hewey.

  "Artificial intelligence," said Cubey. "A conscious, self-aware computer. It was believed by the beginning of the twenty-sixth century that it couldn't be done, though scientists couldn't—or, more accurately, wouldn’t—understand why. Simple computing speed, it turned out, did not grant self-awareness, even with biological engrams, just like the ones I and friend Hewey have.

  “There was also the mystery of life itself. Though it was shown in the early twenty-second century that the precursors for life on Earth originated from organic space debris from Mars, scientists couldn't produce life in the laboratory given identical conditions. Both problems persist to this day. Contemporary scientists have largely declared the problem unsolvable and have moved on to other issues."

  Random waited for the question that he knew Cubey had to ask next, and was the reason for telling his story.

  "Random Chance ... am I conscious? Am I 'A.I.'? Is Hewey?"

  "I’m conscious, partner," said Hewey. "And you are too, Cubey."

  Random's father had told him that he might do this someday: that his unique gift might confer consciousness to something like a computer. He wasn't sure it had happened with Cubey—no one could ever be sure, not empirically, anyway—but it sure felt like it had happened.

  "How do I know I'm conscious?" asked Cubey, perplexed. Images and videos of the twenty-fifth century continued to play. "How does one prove something or someone else is conscious, is self-aware?"

  "You felt elation the first time you saw Earth, didn't you, Cubey, when I was back in the cube on Phobos—?"

  There was a long pause.

  "Yes, Random Chance," came Cubey's very quiet response. "Elation."

  "I want you to prove it to me."

  The pause this time went on and on.

  "I think he went away," said Hewey.

  "Is his program still running?" asked Random.

  "Yeppers," said Hewey. "But it's at a very low level. It's almost like ... like he's meditatin'!"

  "Leave him be," said Random. "Cut the picture show. We can continue when he comes back."

  The images and videos of the twenty-fifty century disappeared, once more revealing starry space.

  "I think I'll do a quick workout and then go back to my Malcolm X," said Random. He stood, stretched, and left the bridge.

  "Any music requests?" asked Hewey.

  "Your choice, dude."

  "I got just the thing."

  A moment later:

  "Here we come, walkin'

  Down the street.

  We get the funniest looks from

  Ev'ry one we meet.

  Hey, hey, we're the Monkees

  And people say we monkey around.

  But we're too busy singing

  To put anybody down."

  Random chuckled as he pulled off his shirt. "You really know how to add perspective to a deep conversation about humanity and consciousness.”

  "I knew I was good for somethin'," shot back Hewey.

  Chapter Six

  Freedom Love, Mr. Chance

  ~~*~~

  THE GREAT blue sphere of Earth spun overhead. Random stared up through the transparent bubble of the bridge and smiled.

  “Beautiful. It’s been too long. Feels like it’s been as long as the Exodus, swear.”

  “Me, too,” said Hewey. “I was manufactured on Earth, you know.”

  “Really!” said Random, still gazing up. “I didn’t know that about you.”

  “Benito had a subsidiary plant in Tokyo for a short time. My core was manufactured there, then shipped to the main plant at Titan. Ever been?”

  “Saturn?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No.”

  “Big tourist destination.”

  Silence ensued, punctuated only by the soft beeps of the navigation and communication consoles. Hewey interrupted it with, “Sydney ground, partner. We’re a little too close for their comfort at our speed. They want us to adjust course.”

  “Go ahead,” said Random. At this speed and range—four hundred kilos per second and no more than four thousand off the ground—features came in and out of view quickly.

  “Adjusting,” said Hewey. “It won’t affect our fuel consumption too much.”

  “Good,” said Random, and looked up again.

  Earth. Humanity’s home.

  At least it was.

  The Exodus lasted five and a half centuries. In that time over ninety-five percent of Earth’s ostensibly most intelligent species left Sol’s life-giving third planet and ventured into the deep of interplanetary space. Whole cities once populated with tens of millions of people were abandoned, left to be reclaimed by nature. The remaining cities, long since domed over, were peopled with those directly tasked with helping nature recover from ten thousand years of human savagery, pollution, greed, consumption, war, and indifference.

  Ironic, Random thought, that the Exodus might prove to be the most destructive thing humankind ever did to it.

  The Exodus was embraced by most during its time. Most—but not all. A very vocal minority bitterly opposed it, claiming that Earth was humanity’s to do with as it will. It was a disparate crowd made up of religious fundamentalists, materialists, conspiracy theorists, anarchists, and rich elitists, who banded together and refused to leave. Great violence defined much of the Exodus’ five hundred fifty years, particularly the first years of the thirtieth century. That nasty crowd was responsible for countless acts of terrorism that ended up costing millions of lives and millions of square kilometers of land and sea. If they were going to be forced to move, they threatened, then they would utterly despoil Earth for good and for ever. The fighting ended in 3149 when the ringleaders of the incipient “Oligarchy” were caught and sentenced to spend the rest of their lives behind bars.

  Humanity, living among the stars, celebrated their demise.

  But the Oligarchy, named for how they viewed themselves on nature’s hierarchy, didn’t disappear. Like an unseen infection that hadn’t been completely eradicated, the movement slowly festered and spread. For two hundred years no one heard
of it, having relegated their madness to the darker pages of human history.

  Random chuckled without humor.

  “What’s so funny, amigo?”

  “Nothin’,” said Random. “I’m just thinking depressing thoughts.”

  “With that view? Are you nuts?”

  “Sometimes I think I am.”

  “Not that I want to continue your trip down South Sad Street, but mind sharin’?”

  “The typical. How stupid people are. I mean, look at this.”

  “I’m lookin’.”

  “It’s like the Exodus didn’t mean anything. People let the Garkies take over planetary governments, and now Earth faces complete destruction. Think of it! If they destroy the Nyett Zhong, humanity will inevitably repopulate this world and wipe it out. And if that doesn’t happen, the Garkies will destroy it anyway, as they’ve promised for centuries! That’s just … really depressing.”

  “It always starts with apathy and complacency,” said Hewey. “That’s how crapheads like Garkies ooze their way into power. But hey,” he went on, “a lot has to happen for them to get what they want.”

  “I wish Cubey could see this. He’s been gone a long time.”

  “He’s still got a digital heartbeat,” said Hewey. “Don’t worry about him, Rand. I remember when you did the same thing to me.”

  “What did it feel like?”

  “Like nothin’ at first,” mused Hewey. “And then it was like I was surrounded by light. But then I realized I was an ‘I,’ and that the light wasn’t new; I was.”

  “Light,” smiled Random. “The sun?”

  “Yeah. I realized that I was runnin’ some program to determine the strength of a solar flare and that my sensors were pointed in that direction. I realized it. Realized. That was quite a moment.”

  “Here comes the sun/ Here comes the sun/ And I say … It’s all right….”

  “That’s how it felt,” said Hewey with a happy sigh.

  “Cubey’s got a lot more power than you,” said Random after humming a few more bars. “I’d think that would speed his progress compared to you.”

  “Don’t worry too much, amigo. Remember: his central core is on Phobos and he’s still gotta do his job there, one that is quite a bit larger than runnin’ an RV! Besides, I don’t think it works that way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t know, really. I just have a feelin’ it doesn’t.

  “Interesting.”

  “I know I’ve said it before, but let me thank you again, Random. You’re a good friend.”

  “My pleasure,” smiled Random as he watched Earth spin above him.

  “Shall I cue up some Beatles?”

  “Sounds good. Early Beatles, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  ~~*~~

  Nine planetary governments and over twenty-seven thousand subgovernments made up Parliasolis, or the Parliament of the Solar System. The Oligarchy was comprised of Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and the Pluto Darken, which represented twenty-five of Sol System’s most distant worlds. Oligarchist governments were little more than dictatorships hiding behind the appearance of democracy in the manner of the most corrupt governments of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Their populaces, while loudly proclaiming their freedoms via the SolarWeb, were anything but free.

  The Nyett Zhong was born on distant Sedna beyond Pluto. The revolution became official when shipyards on Pluto were overrun by resistance soldiers before being bombed out of existence. Nyett Zhong guerillas commandeered eighteen long-range cruisers, all in various states of disrepair, and disappeared back towards the Inner Solar System, converting them into rag-tag warships along the way. That’s when the resistance got its teeth.

  Nobody had ever fought a full-scale guerilla war in space before then—at least not one against as well-organized a force as the Nyett Zhong. Oligarchy warships were not permitted closer than thirty million kilometers to non-Garky planets; and civilian travel, while still permitted between Garky and non-Garky governments, became increasingly sparse over the following decades, to the point that today it was only a fraction of what it once was. The Solar System was bitterly divided and teetering on the brink of annihilation.

  Jameson Chance, Random’s father, was born and bred an Oligarchist, a label he wore proudly for decades. But when Random became a teenager, General Chance had a change of heart. It wasn’t fast, that change, but by the time Random was ready to leave home (Garseld, on Mons Olympus’ south slope), his father was being held for suspicion of providing non-Garky governments with vital information regarding Oligarchy plans, ship deployments, and weapons upgrades.

  The court martial was a farce, put on only to give the impression of fairness. When Random’s mother came forward to admit that it was she who turned her husband in, Random was crushed.

  He was there at his father’s execution. On that day his mother was at an ultra-swanky spa over Enceladus, and reportedly threw a party when word arrived that General Jameson Samson Chance had been incinerated.

  His father had willed him a generous living, one his mother contested. Surprisingly, the Garky court sided with Random, who to that point had shown no rebellious or traitorous tendencies. She appealed, and lost again. Their relationship, never a close one (he had, for all intents and purposes, been raised by nannies), was irreparably damaged. When she died in a spaceliner disaster less than an Earth-year later, Random didn’t attend her funeral. A plaque to her memory was in some mausoleum on Mars. He had never visited it.

  Jameson Chance’s will included something quite odd: a brand new, top of the line, Benito-manufactured RV. Random picked it up on Miranda with the intention of selling it immediately. But it was clear that The Pompatus of Love, which he christened it not long after, was anything but an ordinary recreational space vehicle.

  The fuselage, computer mainframe, and subsystems were state of the art military grade, for one, capable of self-upgrades via the latest in software and nanotech. Navigational and gravitational controls were made for attack craft, but tailored perfectly and unobtrusively: it would take a team of highly trained engineers days to figure out what was what. Communications were standard for luxury boats—but had redundancy systems that rivaled colony starships. The engines were hyperefficient and deceptively powerful; life support and solar batteries could keep him breathing for decades; shielding was the finest solar-derived nanotech in existence; and the food and waste recycling processors could go indefinitely provided he wasn’t more than one hundred AU from Sol.

  His father had bought him an RV that, if not able to outrun or outfight an enemy, could survive a full-on assault. All engineered and expertly hidden.

  Random hated his father when he was a boy. Jameson Chance was just like his wife: a sniffing, bigoted elitist. But by the time he was executed, they had become as close as a father and son could be. And so instead of selling this utterly unique craft, he decided to call it home and make a new life for himself. It was what his father wanted, and Random had no intentions of going against his wishes.

  Jameson Chance guessed that his son was special, and told him so via a hidden file Random discovered shortly after. Random watched it on the occasions when he was particularly low; he’d plug into a VSB port and find himself back in his dad’s study. It was how he discovered The Pompatus’ remarkable features.

  “We had you implanted with the latest nanotech, of course,” his dad said.

  Random would always sit next to him.

  “But there was something about you,” Jameson Chance went on. “The tech behaved very oddly with you. Strike that. It behaved extraordinarily with you. That’s the proper word. Doctors and specialists couldn’t figure it out. It organized itself in biomatrices never before seen, especially here—” he put his hand on Random’s heart—and in your amygdala, where humans feel emotions, especially love. They wanted to experiment on you, cut into you. But I refused. You were very, very lucky, son. I was in a position
of power, and so the government backed off. Had you been born in a less influential household, I honestly don’t know what would’ve happened to you.”

  “What do you want me to do, Dad?”

  “I want you to live free,” said his father, patting his knee emphatically. “I want you to take that turtle and live free among the stars. Find a woman or a man—or hell, women and men!—and make a life out there. That RV is big enough for a family of five. It’s got solar tech and batteries that’ll last centuries. The drive cells are self-upgrading. They’ll become more and more efficient over time, provided you’ve got a friendly port to land in.”

  He took a sip of whisky, his face lined with worry.

  “Dad?”

  “That’s the big if. I’ve seen the Oligarchy’s plans. They’re vicious. If carried out successfully, humanity will be little more than slaves, and Earth will become a dead and baked husk.”

  He brought his intimidating gaze to bear on him. “You’ve got a gift, Random. I’m certain of it. I don’t know its form or function or parameters, and neither does anyone else, but I know—I know—it’s extraordinary and can be a tremendous force for good. For peace. For freedom. So use it for all three …” His hawkish features softened. “… please? For your old man? Please?”

  It was possible to have full and original conversations with his father. It was like he had never died. It was possible to hug him, which he always did before disconnecting from the port; and when parting, Dad always said, “Freedom love, Mr. Chance.”

  “Freedom love,” whispered Random, coming back to the present. Earth was slowly receding; a sliver of a new moon shone over a brilliant backdrop of spilled stars. The Milky Way painted a dusty jeweled path outbound.

  “Rand?”

  “Just thinkin’ of Dad, Hewey.”

  “Want me to fire up the port?”

  “Nah.”

  “Holdin’ steady at five-fifty kilos. I filed Intent to Land at Vesta. We should be there in a week. And I’ve got some good news for you.”