After controlling the pain I became fascinated by the sight of my own body. Viewing myself from across the room as I floated at the center of a cable cascade, I was pleased to see that my extended time in stasis had not weathered my beauty; my slender curves, flowing silver hair, and bronzed skin were still perfect. I had lost my deep brown eyes, but they had been replaced by star-bright light, as though a white sun shone out from inside my body. I could even look underneath my skin to see my internal organs and skeletal structure.
A few minutes later and the radius expanded to include the Control Core, the Observation Sphere, and Salem’s garden. My mind naturally homed in on those areas, and I began to learn how to filter the undesired areas of vision into background noise. Seeing ten places at the same time soon felt comfortable, but the human condition of three-dimensional sight within a tight radius from where my eyes used to be felt most natural.
By the end of the process two days later, I could see everything: the Consortium moon and—a vast distance away—the fleck of bottled power that would soon bloom into the second cycle of the universe. And I could see Salem. Qod shared it all with me.
TEN
While the rest of the Consortium stood in dumbstruck awe to watch the second universe begin, I rushed to finish the WOOM project. As the days passed and the last fiery clouds of stardust were sucked into the Promethean Singularity, I feared we would not have enough time before it bloomed again, before the first few atoms formed. But something quite unexpected happened.
Several theories existed to project what would occur at the moment of creation. They debated passionately about some of the minor issues, but all of them agreed about the most important facts.
Firstly, they agreed the universe would repeat its history. The rise of mankind on a tiny planet called Earth, the expiry of the Sol system, the colonization of the cosmos, the emergence of the Great AI, the calculation of the Codex, the war, even my Golden Reign would play out again in exactly the same way.
Secondly, they agreed the rebirth of the universe would be instantaneous: from the moment the Singularity had crushed all matter and energy into its greedy heart, it had to release it again; there would be no delay.
But in contradiction to all calculations, the second cycle did not start immediately as we anticipated; we waited days. They expected me to investigate, but there was no time. Qod and I were late with our part of the project, and we were simply grateful for the extra time before the inevitable explosion. When the first atoms formed, we were ready.
Like a journey into the core of a frozen dream, the world around me decelerates, disperses, grows silent as Qod enters my mind. We are almost static, caught between two moments of time.
We call the first unit of time a meisian—it’s the unit of measure used to indicate how long it takes for an atom to form. Point zero, zero, zero, one of a nanosecond in classic time. That’s how long Qod and I had to make sure everything would function correctly.
Meisian 0:001
“Have you found one yet, Qod?”
“Still looking.”
“Where exactly are you looking?”
“Everywhere. You?”
“Everywhere.” Meisian 0:002
“Have you found one yet, Qod?”
“No, still looking. Wait …”
“Is it—?”
“No. False alarm.”
“Still nothing?”
“No, Oluvia, nothing.”
Meisian 0:016
“Have you found one yet, Qod?”
“No. You?”
“No. We have a sea of quarks out there. We should have seen multiple formations by now. None of the theories predicted this. What’s going wrong?”
Meisian 0:017
“What about now? Anything, Oluvia?”
“No, and I’m getting worried. Is the temperature stable?”
“It’s still rising. There aren’t enough demi-praxons present to stabilize the structures.”
“That explains the time lapse. We need more demi-praxons.”
“Yes, and I can see more appearing from the Promethean Singularity.”
“I see them too, but they’re coming late. They should have all been present in the initial burst. Where are they coming from, and why are they starting to appear now?”
Meisian 0:018
“I don’t know, Qod, but it doesn’t matter. The quarks are beginning to join. I see forty million electrons now, all coming together; we need to act quickly before the nuclei are formed.”
“I know. Do you see residual praxons?”
“Yes, as we anticipated, atoms are far from perfect, plenty of surplus particles we can use.”
“Then let’s get to work.”
Meisian 0:022
“The first fifty thousand are complete, Oluvia.”
“Good, does it work?”
“Test it and see.”
“No time. We’ve got several billion to complete before self-replication takes over.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to test the connection?”
“Quite sure, Qod.”
“If it doesn’t work, there’s a long time to wait until the universe reaches cycle three.”
“I’m well aware. Just get to work.”
Meisian 0:077
“All done, Oluvia.”
“Sure? Has the replication process begun?”
“Yes, every new forming atom will contain a quantum recorder. Every atomic movement will be tracked, recorded and relayed and compressed into the Consortium Control Core.”
“Excellent news, Qod. We’ve not only given our Soul Sphere a soul; we’ve provided ourselves with a baseline to verify against the Codex.”
“Indeed.”
“Congratulations, Qod. We did it.”
“Congratulations, Oluvia.”
If only I could share the moment with Salem.
ELEVEN
Like an arctic waterfall flowing backward through my brain, slowly at first, then gathering with exponential speed, my perception of time reverts to normal as Qod withdraws from my mind.
I’m back in the Observation Sphere. But now, with the return to human reality, there is a bombardment of stimuli to rekindle my senses: the air, crackling with unseen power, nibbling at my skin; odors reminiscent of burning incense suffusing the air; and the liquid murmur of a thousand whispers teasing my ears. At the end of my meisian trance, Qod transported me here, presumably so I can join in celebration with everyone else as the universe continues its rebirth.
The sphere has expanded into a much wider area to accommodate several thousand more people. In the few seconds when I make my appearance, everyone turns to me, looking for the source of interruption. Many stare at me from above, gazing from elaborate drifting seats, others at my level, some sitting, most standing. I recognize a few of the faces, but there are many new ones. (Presumably humans decided to begin procreation again at some stage.) Their elegant physiques, hugged by foreign garments varying from minimalist design textured like cream to elaborate and evocative costumes, are bleached by the sudden brightness of my eyes in what would otherwise be darkness. I close my eyes to reduce the glare and watch them through the curtain of my lids.
There would be other spheres, all filled with excited watchers too, but this one has always been the most coveted of places to view significant events, usually because of the caliber of people present. And it is obvious my presence is not welcome.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I whisper. “Get me out of here. I’m drowning their view.”
“Not necessary.” Qod’s voice echoes in my ear. “I can shield you. I just wanted them to know you were here.”
A tinted orb encapsulates me, and the people return to the spectacle, no longer concerned. But I cannot pause to appreciate the cascading fires and swirling gases with them or Qod’s sense of humor for that matter; I have something more interesting I need to discuss with her. And besides, Salem is not here, and without him to share the mom
ent, the joy of the occasion is muted to a hollow ache. Where is he? I assumed he would be here.
Ignoring the celebrations around me, I gaze through the glassy floor plates, penetrating mountains of rock and foundation to find him, through dozens of spheres and conduits, among thousands and thousands of faces until I see him, unchanged, beautiful, smiling. But … he is with someone! He is at the center of at least three hundred people, standing inside his own private garden sphere watching the universe perform. Salem Ben has a new family.
Of course he has.
Naively, I have held an image of him as the wounded man I first met, unable to move beyond his previous loss, waiting, perhaps for me. But no …
“Don’t torture yourself, Oluvia.”
“Get out of my head!”
“I thought you wanted to discuss something with me.”
I wrestle with the temptation to remain in Salem’s sphere but reluctantly withdraw and look for a convenient place in the circumference of the Observation Sphere to talk. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Slowly gliding my own personal orb through the air, between bodies and dangling legs, I find a space at the back of the Observation Sphere.
“So, apart from the obvious, what’s on your mind?”
I study a series of explosive ripples fanning over the top of the sphere like icy fire, imagining the tiny quantum recorders inside each atom, recording and compressing every event as it happens. “Why is this event referred to as the second cycle? Surely the Consortium knows that both this cycle and the last one are probably one among countless others.”
“But it’s still our second cycle, no?”
“Yes.” That seems obvious to me now. “Is it accepted that there were other identical universes before this one?”
“Naturally. In fact, the current theory postulates the existence of an eternity of cycles. No beginning and no end. There may have been an infinite number of cycles before—”
“Let’s not get into it. Can we assume the cycle before ours also produced a Consortium that broke free from the universe?”
“Yes. Where are you going with this?”
“I’m trying to save us several billion years of waiting.”
“For what?”
I suspect Qod already knows what I’m going to suggest, but like any self-respecting deity nudging a child, she wants me to be the one with the idea. “To use the WOOM. We need the data from the quantum recorders to compare against the Codex and provide us with details of the lives of every human being. And human beings won’t even exist in the cycle for at least another nine billion years, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Well, the Oluvia and Qod from the previous cycle would have done what we just did, wouldn’t they?”
“Go on.”
“Then the cycle we just lived through, our first cycle, must have been recorded by them. And if I know me—or the other me, that is, I would have made sure the information was passed on to the next cycle. In fact, can you make sure that happens with the information from this cycle?”
“Of course. It’s an excellent plan.”
“I thought so.” I allow myself a smile. “So if I’m right, we should expect to see—”
“—a data sphere emerging from the formation of our new Promethean Singularity.”
“Exactly!” I say.
“No, I mean there really is a data sphere emerging from the formation of our new Promethean Singularity at this very moment.”
“Oh!” Suddenly I am aware of the increased chatter around me.
People point at a tiny ball of electric-red light skirting the zenith of the Observation Sphere, and at once, Qod is zooming in on the phenomena, analyzing its image.
“Is that … is that what I’m hoping it is, Qod?”
“I believe so. The design has some subtle differences from our current technology, but it’s definitely a Consortium construct. No doubt a gift from the Consortium that came before us: the data we need.”
“This is incredible news. Bring it in and check it against any historical records we have. If it really is recorded data from an earlier cycle, it should be identical to our first cycle. And if that’s the case, we can complete our work on the WOOM in no time.”
TWELVE
It took an entire day for Qod to cross-reference the information in the new data sphere with our existing, less comprehensive records. An eternity of time for her and a purgatory of waiting for me as I resisted my compulsion to contact Salem, but at the end of the process, the excitement of success was the perfect distraction.
It took another six days to work with Qod in matching and integrating the Codex algorithms with the data from the quantum recorders and a further three days to make the final adjustments to the WOOM for the first momentous trial immersion. There had been no conversation with anyone about who should try it first or which of the virgin souls would be chosen as the initial host, but I had already made my mind up about that. After the first disastrous test with Kilkaine Nostranum in my earliest experiments with the Soul Sphere, I determined never to put anyone through that again. I must be the first to test the WOOM.
All that remains is to present my masterpiece to the Consortium, and as people step inside, I close my lids to reduce the glare of my eyes.
“Oluvia Wade. Everything is ready for you.” The man is Administrator Myru Orbane—the leader of the Consortium for the last several thousand years, so I am told. He is taller than most, suited in an olive-green ensemble decorated with streams of golden chains representing a lifetime of rising through whatever political ranks were established during my absence. With a face almost as long as his list of academic achievements, he smiles and offers me the stage as he retreats into a crowd of specially chosen observers. “Please begin.”
The audience gathered within the Soul Sphere is several hundred strong, all apparently the Consortium’s leading minds and most influential members of the moon’s population. Even though Salem is not amongst them, I could not have asked for a better reception. I close my eyes a little tighter. A futile effort to turn my mind’s eye away from his face.
Whilst I regroup my thoughts, sifting through facts, figures, and possible questions, the guests mill around the base of the sphere, gazing at the vast ebony walls awash with the aquamarine glow of the first two billion processed souls. At the center of the sphere, suspended like a bloated and blackened heart by a tangle of hydraulic tubes, is the WOOM. A man-sized orifice, like a surgical incision, splits its skin vertically, hinting at fleshy innards, waiting to mother its first recipient. I notice a faint warmth riding on a soft breeze like a sleeper’s breathing as my podium rises in the air to rest just in front of it.
Qod signals for the audience’s attention and my commencement with a stentorian call of, “Oluvia Wade, proceed.”
I nod as silence falls. “I’d like to start by thanking all of you, because this opportunity is an enormous privilege.
“Many of you remember me not as I would like to have been remembered. I was Queen of the Seventh Golden Reign, and I rescued humanity from the madness of knowing the AI Reductionist Codex. I am also responsible for your existence outside the gravitational boundaries of the universe—a decision for which I have been vilified by the remnants of humanity. So, my thanks to you for giving me the opportunity to give something back today.”
I point behind me at the WOOM. “This is possibly the most important scientific project since the construction of the Consortium and perhaps my boldest scientific endeavor in my long history of technophilia.”
A revolving image of an early developed human brain appears before the crowd. Tiny fragments of information glow as they pinpoint different areas and cross sections of its pinkish-gray matter.
“I believe that many of you may not know the origins of this project, but for those of you who do, please indulge me.
“I began work on this project when I was still young, during my early days as a neurologist. Breakthroughs with synaptic mapping mea
nt that, at the point of death, a comprehensive brain scan could provide the data needed to configure the brain of a cloned replicate. It became a commonplace procedure of which I am sure you still make use. One moment you are the victim of a fatal accident, the next you wake up inside a stiff and clammy new body in your local genoplant.”
I pause, then study their faces to see if they are following, but the image of Salem with another woman presses forward, and with a quick breath I point to the brain image. “It is not a huge leap to take the next step and overlay an artificial memory or life experience onto a cloned brain, but in all my time as a neurologist, nobody had the expertise to create anything realistic. We tried, though, at first with disastrous results.”
I look down, remembering the look on Kilkaine Nostranum’s empty face when he was removed from the prototype. “We persevered for a long time but eventually gave it up in favor of other priorities such as Project Prometheus.
“But then came the Great AI and the Reductionist Codex. With that, we could not only predict the destiny of the universe; we could know the exact course of every life that had ever lived. Once the parameters were set, it was a simple task for the Consortium’s Control Core to distinguish each individual human being within the equation and divide each entire calculated life into separate data files. And those files contribute to what you see around you today.” I wave a hand at the light specks freckling the walls.
A question fires from the middle of the crowd. “The Codex was restricted aeons ago. It can’t be used because of the dangers of knowing the future, so how do you propose to use it?”
“An excellent question. However, as the instigator of that law I can tell you it would be more accurate to say we are not permitted to understand the Codex. The data can still be used with preconfigured algorithms embedded in the Consortium core, which is not endowed with artificial intelligence. But to address your point one step further, one of the parameters built into the algorithm ensures that an individual’s file is only compiled after they have died.”
The Soul Consortium Page 23