“I saw many strange things inside that Builder vessel, but watching you do that tops them all.”
Jared didn’t smile. Concern settled across his face. “Now comes the part where you drag me over the edge.” He shuddered.
“Not yet,” Alex said. “One more test first.” And then he stepped farther out, past the point where Jared had so carefully kept himself from crossing.
The other man gasped. He shot out a hand on pure instinct, ready to pull his chief back from a fatal fall. His hand stopped, though, just shy of Alex’s elbow. Eyes wide, he opened his mouth to say something, but could only manage a relieved exhale.
Alex stepped farther still, letting the water come to his waist.
“You’re just hovering there. Floating. God, that’s the damnedest thing.”
Confidence growing, and the memory of his true torturous predicament fading, Alex lay back and kicked out into the waves. He kept his gaze on Jared as best he could, mildly amused at the astonishment on the man’s face as he watched his chief fly—or rather swim—through the very air.
Alex went out about twenty meters, then turned and kicked back to shore. Standing in front of Jared, he motioned for the man to turn around. “Hold your arms out.”
Jared complied, but the trepidation in his movements was impossible to miss.
“If you fall,” Alex said, “just remember this is all fake.”
“Small consolation,” Jared growled. “Just get it over with.”
Alex slipped his arm under Jared’s, putting the man’s weight along his own flank. Then he lay back into the water, pulling the man over the edge of his cliff.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck. Gahh!” Jared flailed, unable to help himself.
Then Alex had the man’s full weight on him, and he swam. Jared didn’t feel buoyed by the water, but he didn’t feel like a grown man in free fall, either. The result was somewhere in between, as if for this brief moment the two nonrealities had somehow merged. Alex swam harder.
Jared grunted and moaned for a few seconds before calming.
“Where’s the door?” Alex asked him, straining now with the heavy load.
His companion turned and craned his neck. He pointed roughly behind Alex, slightly to the right. “There!”
Alex kicked hard, pulling with his right hand while keeping Jared at eye level with his left. He knew the man could breathe fine underwater, but if his weight represented some kind of mixture of two environments, perhaps his head going below the surface would feel like being in some kind of air-water mixture. Not worth the risk.
Though the distance was not far, Alex felt near exhaustion when his feet suddenly brushed a submerged sandbar. He found he could stand on it and just keep his head above water. “Here,” he sputtered, “stand.”
Jared did so. On his own again, he seemed able to move without impedance from the water, nor did he seem concerned with the waves that flirted with entering his mouth and nose. He just stood there, in another world. Then his hand broke the surface and came up to eye level. He rested his palm on something flat and invisible, gave a gentle push, and stepped back. Recoiled, even.
Alex saw a black vertical line appear in the very air, then a horizontal one that branched away from the top of it. The blackness grew as an invisible doorway materialized. Water began to rush into the opening. A dark tunnel waited beyond, the walls of natural gray stone. He could only see a few meters in before the dark became absolute, despite the bright sunshine all around. Gurgling ocean water flooded into the space.
“Quick,” Alex said. “Inside and shut the door, before we flood the whole thing.”
“Flood? What do you see?” Jared asked. He’d moved a full meter back from the doorway now, and sweated profusely.
The question took Alex by surprise, until he remembered their realities were not shared. “A tunnel. Stone, natural, like a cave but too straight for that. What about you?”
“Fire,” the man said. “Like the surface of a star.” He fell to his knees then, and though his head vanished below the waves Alex could still hear the screams.
The animalistic noise went on and on. Alex pushed through the waves toward his companion, groping in the murk.
“You cannot help him that way,” a voice said. Her voice, in his head. “In the tunnel lies the answer.”
“He’ll drown!”
“He won’t,” she said. “There is no water where he is, remember? But there is a cliff, and if you do not hurry he will tumble over. If that happens even I cannot help him.”
“But—”
“Go, Alex. Save your friend.”
Alex glanced into the tunnel. The darkness there, so absolute, transfixed him. Paralyzed his mind. But her words still echoed. In the tunnel lies the answer. Alex stepped toward the door, pulling at the water with his hands. In seconds the momentum of the current pulled him, and then he was through, swallowed up by the void.
The Chameleon
22.SEPT.3756 (Earth Actual)
“I THINK,” TANIA Sharma said, “before the shutdown, it would be good if you told me about your home.”
“Home,” Eve repeated, trying out the word as if it were unknown to her.
“Your home world. Your Creators’ home world. And the system it is in.”
“My information is very old.”
Tania folded her arms, then let them hang. She exhaled slowly, trying to decide how to play this. It was an AI, after all, not a person with feelings to hurt. Logic would be the best route, she decided, and sat down in the ship’s approximation of an executive’s chair. The chair, and indeed the room it was in, had been modeled after the analysis lab on Anchor Station where Tania had spent so many hours trying to decipher the mystery of the space elevator and those who had built it. From the trio of large displays, to the long desks facing them, to the high-backed faux-leather chairs. Tania found the cushion of the seat unforgiving, the machine not understanding that it was supposed to be soft. She decided not to comment on it. There were more important things to talk about. “It was one thing to go about all this knowing that, if the situation really called for it, you’d tell us what we needed to know. But the situation will soon change. You’ll be switched off. Unavailable as we cross through the barricade. I know you don’t want to cloud our minds with outdated information, but…we would feel more comfortable with some basic knowledge of those that hold your system captive. The Captors, as Skyler calls them.”
The briefest pause.
Across the trio of displays, images bloomed to life of a large spacecraft. The angular vessel looked like dozens of squared pillars all lumped together. Lights dotted the surface, giving the impression of a cluster of skyscrapers built far too close together. Along the flanks were patches of small, scythe-shaped protrusions. Antennae, Tania presumed.
“What am I looking at?” she asked.
Eve replied in her oddly accented, soothing voice. “This is a typical Captor transfer ship, built to traverse the vast distances between the local stars. Every example of a ship leaving or entering the system is one of these, though the design has evolved somewhat over time.”
“Okay,” Tania said, wondering why Eve had decided to start with this. “I have nothing to compare this to. How big is it?”
Another visual appeared beside it. Small white rings along a central spine, about a third the size of the vessel. “Anchor Station, for reference,” Eve said.
Anchor, Tania knew, was about five hundred meters from bottom to top, which made this ship about fifteen hundred bow to stern. Still, Tania struggled to find meaning in that. Was this large, or small, for the species who’d made it? Should she be impressed? She decided to focus on its purpose. “Transfer ship, you say?” Tania asked. “Transferring what?”
Eve told her.
The answer left Tania speechless.
“Is something wrong?” Eve asked.
“No,” she managed. “I just…can you say that again?”
“The enemy uses these vessels to del
iver the prepared bodies of my Creators to their allies and customers.”
Tania slumped back in her stiff chair, staggered by the words. “I thought,” she began, swallowed, and started again. “I thought your Creators were trapped on their home world?”
“Most are, yes. But those suitable for the Captors’ purposes are placed out on ships like this one.”
“Suitable for what?”
“Their purposes.”
“Yes,” Tania said patiently, “I understood that. But what are those purposes?”
Another pause. Tania shifted in her chair, suddenly wary. Pauses were natural for people, but a computer? Was Skyler right to mistrust her? The idea sent a shiver up her back. An earlier conversation with Skyler echoed through her mind, about how everything they knew about the situation came entirely from the AI. Even supposedly raw data could be altered, or entirely faked, by such an advanced system, and no one the wiser.
“Eve?” Tania asked when the silence had stretched ten seconds.
“Forgive me,” she said. “Your question is complicated. Answering carries considerable risk.”
“Risk?” Tania replied, surprised. “How could answering me carry risk? I don’t understand.”
“To put it succinctly: If you understood the reason why they hold my Creators hostage, you may wish to take their place when the siege is ended.”
Though alone in the room, Tania raised her hands, palms out. The idea that Eve might not trust them had never occurred to her. “Please, Eve, I assure you, we—”
“After all,” Eve said, “members of your species discovered our plans for Earth in advance. Rather than warn the rest of you, they sought to profit from that knowledge. If I’m not mistaken, one was your own father. Sandeep Sharma.”
Tania could only sit and stare, her mouth hanging open.
“Did he and your good friend Neil Platz not keep this knowledge for themselves?”
After several seconds she snapped it shut as anger, even rage, boiled in her. “What the hell do you know about my father?”
“I know everything your mother knew,” Eve said, in her maddening, even tone.
The words cut like a knife. Tania’s mother had succumbed to the SUBS virus, during the initial outbreak in 2278. Which meant her mind, specifically her memories, had been cataloged in a grand database. A persona that Eve had clearly studied. Tania warred against her own judgment, a string of insults on the tip of her tongue held back by an enraged snarl.
“I have upset you,” Eve said. “I am sorry.”
Tears on her cheeks, Tania managed only a nod. She had to remind herself that she spoke to a machine. And even though it sounded so, Eve had not meant her words to sting. “If you want us to help you, you’re going to have to trust us, Eve. It is as simple as that.”
“Trust is an equation to me, Tania. A very complex equation. But perhaps, if you wish to know, I could tell you the details of my home.”
For a time, she just sat there, staring vaguely toward the three screens. Her father had learned something of the Builder plan, along with Neil, and the two of them had told no one. Even after learning of the reasons behind what the Builders had done to Earth, though, Tania never understood the motivation to provide those early hints her father and Neil had found. Why tip their hand? But here, now, she began to understand. It had been a test, like everything else. The question was, had humanity passed that one? “You’re implying I might try to keep this from the others? To profit from it?”
“I do not know. I think it will be interesting to find out.”
“Well,” Tania said, “you don’t know me very well, then. I will share everything with them.”
The AI pondered that for a time. “We shall see.”
The Chameleon
22.SEPT.3756 (Earth Actual)
“MY CREATORS ARE a unique species, at least among the life-forms we have encountered.
“They are very much like you. Two legs, two arms, one mouth. Humanoid, I suppose you would call it. What makes them different, and so very special, is that they have two brains. For the purposes of simplicity, I shall refer to these as the low mind and the high mind.
“The low mind is not unlike your own. It manages the basic reflexes and survival functions of the body, processes sensory input, stores memories, and can form complex thoughts. In terms of capability and size it is quite similar to the human brain. It is the mind of survival. Of the day-to-day life.
“The high mind is not a redundant organ, as you may be incorrectly guessing. In fact, it is not connected to the nervous system at all. It is a distinct organ, similar in physical size to the other brain but vastly different in proportions. There are no sensory inputs, no basic survival instincts, and no appreciable capabilities for any of what you might consider the lower functions of the mind. Instead this brain has evolved for one thing, and one thing only: complex thought.
“It matures in a Creator during adolescence, being almost completely inert before that. But when the time arrives, a true, cohesive, and separate mind is born.
“This mind lives entirely in cerebral space. The limits of its intelligence and memory are exponentially higher than the low. Because it is not tasked with dealing with the survival of the body in which it resides, this mind is free, from the moment of ‘birth,’ to pursue the very deepest thoughts. The word for this mind in our language translates most closely to ‘passenger.’ ”
Tania felt a warm glow of total fascination course through her, a feeling all scientists craved and so rarely experienced. “Incredible,” she managed, though the word felt woefully inadequate.
Eve did not acknowledge her. “A personality forms, nurtured and taught by the low mind. A bond is created not unlike that of a mother and daughter, to use the human parlance. Sometimes a great friendship arises, sometimes the pair hate and rarely communicate with one another.”
Tania’s mind raced through one revelation after another. Assumptions about what sort of culture this arrangement would lead to foremost in her mind.
“The important thing to remember is that this high mind devotes virtually its entire life to thinking. Imagine your human population suddenly doubled, and this newly added portion of the species is entirely free to do nothing but ponder the mysteries of the universe.”
“Precisely what I was just thinking,” Tania admitted.
Eve smiled. “Though I’m sure you can appreciate the benefits this might bring to science, philosophy, and art, there is more to tell. The most important thing, in fact, and it is also why the Captors have imprisoned this species.”
Curiosity twisted then, marred by a knot of sudden dread. Tania had been so caught up in the wonder of this alien life-form, she’d forgotten about their present, appalling situation.
“As I mentioned,” Eve said, “when a Creator reaches a certain age, the high mind matures and there is a spark that initiates conscious thought, much like being born.
“But that is not the whole story.
“At that moment, the Creator, by which I mean the low mind, faces a choice. It can choose to do nothing, which results in the birth of a high mind. Or, the Creator can initiate a physical bond with an elder of the species. This results in the transfer of the high mind from one body to another.”
“I’m not quite sure I understand,” Tania admitted.
“To put it another way, the high mind living inside an elder Creator can be shifted to another, much younger, physical body. Both parties involved must consent, and both must decide this path is what they wish. The elder Creator will lose its high mind, which often results in extraordinary loneliness and depression for the low mind left behind. And the adolescent takes on a mind that is not only mature but is perhaps thousands of years old, possibly even a revered scholar within the culture.”
“Oh,” Tania said, utterly captivated by the idea.
“I know there are taboos in your culture in regard to sexual relationships across such age gaps, but nevertheless this process is m
ost closely analogous to the physical act of reproduction. It is a purely mental act, however.
“So now you understand, I hope, why this species is so special. The Passengers in this culture are potentially immortal, if their hosts are good stewards of the consciousness they carry. Because of this the Creators achieved incredible levels of technology and culture very quickly compared to their single-brained counterparts, and as you can imagine this two-brained configuration, being so fundamental to their existence, is evident in all they do. Including the design of their computers, and AIs.”
“You,” Tania whispered, “and this ship.”
“Correct,” Eve said. “It is my host, my physical body by extension.”
“And it is sentient itself?”
“Yes,” Eve said. “Though in a more basic way.”
Tania marveled at all she’d heard. The facts led to questions, then insights, then even greater questions, all in a big spiral that all but made her dizzy. She took a steadying breath, and forced her focus back to the mission. “Why did the Captors imprison the people of your world? Merely to interrogate these ancient minds? To harvest their knowledge?”
“No, that is not the reason. Not precisely. I shall explain. The Creators, like most advanced civilizations will do at some point, began to explore the inner workings of the brain. Both brains, in their case. They sought to understand the process of how a high mind can move from one body to another, and they succeeded. As you can imagine, next steps were pondered and pursued. Could this process be altered? Could a mind be modified as it moved from one physical brain to the other? Answer: only in ways that damaged the mind.
“Could the transfer be replicated, allowing one mind to be copied into many bodies? Or spliced, merging two minds together? Answer: apparently no.
“And what of the low mind? Was it doomed to forever be a mere custodian, eking out an existence of uninteresting thoughts that did not last more than a few decades? Answer: yes.
“Ultimately, though, the grand challenge presented itself. It was one thing to have minds that could span multiple physical lifetimes, but they were still ‘trapped’ as it were inside their rather shabby host bodies, bodies prone to disease and death and requiring large quantities of food and water. Bodies driven by low minds that were sometimes uncooperative, even self-destructive. As carriers and custodians of the Passengers, they were…unreliable. This problem needed to be solved if the Creators were going to expand beyond their one planet and explore the stars, as all advanced species eventually seek to do.”
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