Noumenon Infinity

by Marina J. Lostetter

  “But if the languages you speak are dead . . . ? And, we were under the impression there were no more Homo sapiens, so how . . . ?”

  “The circumstances of, and the reasons behind, my cloning are complicated. I don’t know if you prefer to know that I, too, have modifications you’d find drastic, or that I am simultaneously considered the least modified human left alive. Until you, that is,” he said kindly.

  She nodded for him to go on.

  “You won’t have heard of my religious order. But the First Revealer’s genetic code was salvaged from the Monument of Seven, as were holy records containing the languages I speak. In fact, it is the experience of the First Revealer that has put your friend Justice Jax on the path to rescuing you and young Tan.”

  He told her of Jamal Kaeden the Eighteenth. “This clone ancestor of mine was—people thought—hallucinating his past iterations, but it turns out that on a dive, a particular subdimension was grazed, and extra energy of the type that resides in my very mind was lifted out, caught between the onboard AI’s artificial neural pattern and his. The Inter Convoy Computer resonated with his brain, channeling this energy back and forth.

  “That computer, I.C.C.,” Jamal said over his shoulder, “is an AI for whom you are a forebearer, C.”

  C made an interested chirp against Stone’s chest.

  Vanhi was confused. The story of Jamal the Eighteenth was meant to clarify, but she felt like she was missing a mountain of context.

  Jamal addressed her once more. “You see, our understanding of the subdimensions has vastly evolved since your time. The very term ‘subdimension’ was thrown out many millennia ago.”

  It was logical, but Vanhi prickled none the less. “Oh?” It made sense—if humanity had continued to learn and grow, she’d expect their advancements to go well beyond her wildest dreams. But it still hurt to hear, if for no other reason than the study of subdimensional space was the very reason they’d been so cursed.

  “During your time,” Jamal continued, “SDs were simply thought to be partial dimensions, correct? Fractions of ‘normal’ space.”

  “Yes.”

  “We know them today to each be equal to our dimension. They are no more a part of our dimension than we are of theirs. Together, they all make up the universe in its nearly infinite measure. May I see your hand?”

  Puzzled, she held it out to him, palm up.

  “In the twenty-second century, it was believed that many ‘exotic’ types of matter and energy were created in the quantumseconds after the Big Bang, but that they ultimately annihilated because they could not exist within the constraints of the physical laws the universe ‘chose.’” He mimed an explosion on her palm, spreading his fingers in a swift starburst before drawing them all back, save his pointer finger. “This left us with our space, our laws of physics, to solely persist. Is this a correct summary of your understanding?”

  “More or less,” she said skeptically.

  “In turn, it was thought that the SDs simply represented differing rates of change, like ocean currents moving along more slowly or swiftly compared to the surface. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “What we have come to realize—” he spread his hand out again, fanning his fingers in between hers “—is that these exotic particles and energies did not annihilate. The universe did not settle on any one set of laws while disregarding all other possibilities. Instead, the universe fractured, creating many dimensions.” With his free hand he poked at each of their outstretched fingers in turn, as though counting. “Each supporting its own laws, its own reactions, particles, energies, and rate of change. When we ‘dive,’ we do not go into a smaller portion of reality, we break out into the greater whole. Some of these neighboring portions of the universe are like our own—can harbor our laws for a short amount of time before rejecting them. Some even share similar particles with us. Some—” he let her hand fall, took a step back to appraise her “—are flooded with energies that only exist in the scarcest of quantities in our slice of the dimensions.

  “After hearing of your convoy’s exceptional travel rate, I believe you were somehow able to breach one—or several—dimensions that harbor some of these more exotic energies. Dimensions we have likely never reached again in our millennia of study since. And it is the interaction with such strange particles, energies, or laws that has swept you out of time, much like it has sapped baby Tan of her normal interaction with our primary physics.”

  “Do you know how to help us, then? The First Revealer’s story—”

  He shook his head. “As I said, Doctor Jax has taken the tale to heart, to see if she can find a relationship. I believe she is right, but I personally do not have the answer. I don’t know how you can slip into another dimension and return whole and unscathed. You are a mystery it might take one of my lifetimes to solve.”

  “One of your . . . ?”

  “As I said, I, too, am modified.”

  Floating down the hall toward them was Kali. Vanhi hadn’t seen any other Lùhng since decontamination. Perhaps they’d cleared the way out of respect for the Progentor. Or perhaps they didn’t like seeing in real life what was supposed to be moderated by their implants.

  Kali approached Jamal with more familiarity than the Progentor’s entourage seemed to like. They scurried forward, trying to block the path, but Jamal simply sidestepped them.

  Jamal and Kali reached for each other simultaneously, Kali bending low to touch their forehead to Jamal’s, fondly cupping the back of his head with one hand while the human did the same.

  “One of my line, I greet you,” Jamal said warmly.

  Vanhi frowned. “One of your . . . what? Excuse me, what does—?”

  Jamal looked at her abruptly. “My line. My clone line. We are both of Jamal Kaeden.”

  “You . . . How?” Vanhi had never felt more adrift in her life.

  “Has your husband not told you?” Jamal asked. “Do you not know where you are? How fortunate you have been? To come a hundred thousand years and circle back home.” The Progentor stepped back and held his arms wide. “This is Convoy Seven.”

  It had evolved, of course. The convoy, like its people—like everything. The old ships had been put away, kept sacred and safe. The computer slept, because now the brains of Convoy Seven’s crew ran faster than any AI’s ever could, and their implants assured them access to one another’s minds any time information was needed. The demarcation between the one and the many, the ship and its crew, had all but disappeared.

  Sasquatch’s line, Vanhi learned, was that of Margarita Pavon’s. Cinderella was Nakamura Akane. Jamal introduced her to many bizarre faces with eerily familiar names.

  Now that a few days had passed and she’d begun to integrate her evolved understanding of the world, new meetings stirred excitement and a heady twinge of anticipation.

  But something made her clamp down on that feeling. She had to squash it, suppress it. She had a clear desire to never anticipate anything ever again.

  The anticipation would rise and she’d get dizzy, nauseated. Her heart would beat faster, and a mild edge of fear would creep into her chest, stuttering her lungs.

  “You should see a medic,” Stone said, urging her into a chair. Their quarters were dim. It was nearly time for bed, and in the morning Jamal had promised to introduce her to the Lùhng in Reggie Straifer’s lineage. “I’m sure they could prescribe something for the anxiety.”

  “I know,” she said, putting her hand over his. “But, I don’t think this is typical anxiety. It feels . . . like my body knows something I don’t. Like it’s making associations my head hasn’t quite . . .”

  She realized then when exactly it was she’d last felt so full of anticipation she could burst: when she’d seen the Progentor’s ship for the first time, out a porthole window, right before she’d jumped.

  She thought back to all the other disappearances, to as many as she could remember distinctly. She’d jumped when Tan announced the discovery of the
megastructures. And during the mutiny. And right before their wedding.

  “It’s a trigger, it is,” she said suddenly, standing, nearly knocking Stone over. “How I feel is related to when I jump. Everything was always so jumbled, and so much was happening, I couldn’t isolate any causes. It seemed random to me, but my body knows better. It’s like . . . like muscle memory or something. It’s the anticipation that makes me jump!”

  “Whoa, slow down, what are you talking about? How could your feelings have any bearing on your dimensional slippage?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” she countered. “What are emotions? Chemical reactions, a re-centering of energy in the body? They’re no less a physical part of me than my DNA or my diet. You were just urging me to get a prescription for anxiety. But emotions aren’t simply symptoms. Sure, they’re noumenal in that we can see their origins and their results but not the emotions themselves, but that doesn’t mean the emotions themselves can’t create tangible, physical effects. It doesn’t mean that something about my state of being during times of high anticipation can’t trigger my disappearances.”

  Stone rolled his tongue between his teeth, then said skeptically. “You know I’ve never been much of a philosopher.”

  She kissed him. “You don’t have to be. It’s Justice who needs to accept the possibility, not you. She’s the one who turned to the story of the First Revealer as a clue—and it is. I’m thinking about what the Progentor said, about different exotic energies residing in different dimensions . . . what if it’s something like that? What if my anticipation, my emotions, are all intertwined with some rare energy or particle we’ve never even identified before? When that wave hit me . . .”

  He hugged her close. The memory of the accident seemed to rattle him. “It’s not that I don’t accept it, I just can’t quite wrap my mind around it.”

  “I know, the concept’s kind of out there,” she admitted. “But my condition is out there. Strange and unprecedented. I’ve got to look in strange and unprecedented places for the cause . . . and the cure.”

  When her next appointment with Justice rolled around, Vanhi floated her new theory.

  “The nausea plus dizziness does sound like a conditioned response,” Justice agreed. “But the rest is a stretch. And yet, if it’s true,” she blinked rapidly, as though she could hardly fathom the idea, “it might mean that most of what we’ve done so far is useless. It might not be a genetic issue for you. It could be something else, outside of my expertise.”

  “Sure, but you can still help me, can’t you? You’re still willing to test the therapies?”

  “Of course. But if you want something that suppresses anticipation—which feels simultaneously very specific and hugely nonspecific—I’m no pharmacist. We’ll have to work more closely with the medics.” She glanced around her lab, then rubbed at her temples. “And now I’m not sure if I’m looking in the right place at all, for anything. I mean—little Tan. As far as anyone can tell she’s never produced an emotion, so how does this relate to her? Or is it that the same exotic-whatever robbed her of something while it simply—what word did you use? Entwine?—entwined with something inside you?

  “And what about the infertility? Where does that fit in? I felt like I had a plan of attack before . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” Vanhi said.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. All I’m saying is the possibilities are overwhelming.”

  “So . . . what do we do now?”

  “First things first. We test your theory.” She put an apologetic hand on Vanhi’s shoulder. “We need to try and force a jump.”

  Vanhi shook her off and backed away, bumping into Justice’s centrifuge. “No. Absolutely not. Every time I jump now, more than a year of my life passes me by. Stone passes me by. I can’t do that. I won’t—”

  “Vanhi,” Justice said softly, holding her hands up. “I’m not trying to upset you. But it’s just good science. Test a theory before—”

  “No!” A lumpy sort of panic settled in her chest, thick and suffocating. She’d spent too many tense days trying to avoid the subject of jumping altogether. Too many hours pushing it to the back of her mind so that she wouldn’t have to wonder when she’d go next, wouldn’t work herself up worrying about it.

  The very idea that she might chase the disappearances, make them happen, was the antithesis of every internal battle she’d fought these past years.

  She thought about the feelings that accompanied the jumps, about the anticipation, and a horrendous wave of anxiety pulsed through her.

  “I won’t do it,” she said firmly. “I can’t, Justice. You have to understand why I can’t.”

  But then her anxiety was morphing, and suddenly she was truly anticipating her next jump, anticipating the experiment that would force her out of this dimension and into the next.

  And before Justice could say another reassuring word, she was gone.

  It was a year and two months before she returned. And she returned screaming in denial.

  This had to stop. Something had to change. She had to move forward or else she’d go mad.

  When Stone took her to see Justice, she tried not to be angry.

  “I’m sorry,” Justice said immediately.

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I would never run a test without your consent. I had no idea the mere mention of it, would—”

  “I know. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do it on purpose.” She meant her words to be encouraging, but she sounded listless. She felt listless. Stone squeezed her hand.

  Justice retrieved a small tin from a drawer in her desk. “We’ve been working on these nonstop while you were gone. Stone and I both volunteered for the human trials, against Tan’s wishes. He thought it was too soon. But it might work, Vanhi. It’s the best we have so far.”

  She opened the tin to reveal a dozen small yellow caplets. They had a faint chemical smell, one Vanhi couldn’t lay her finger on. She didn’t ask what was in them. Maybe she would later. For now, she didn’t want to know.

  She just wanted them to work.

  “Side effects are mild. Mostly, since they’re a suppressant, you might feel tired, disinterested. Maybe even a little empty. It’s not the best solution, and I don’t expect it to be anything other than a stopgap. We’ll develop something better. For now, don’t take them every day. Take one, four to six hours before you think you’ll start to really anticipate an event. Which won’t help you with sudden realizations, I know, but—”

  With tears in her eyes, Vanhi threw her arms around Justice’s neck. “Thank you. Thank you for believing me. For trying.”

  “It’s still just another trial, Vanhi,” Justice said softly, hesitantly hugging back. “We don’t know for sure that this will work. We don’t know for sure that anticipation is the reason—”

  She stopped talking suddenly, and Vanhi looked over her shoulder to see Stone gesturing for her to quit with the caveats.

  Vanhi backed away from Justice, wiping at her eyes. “I understand. One day at a time.”

  Vanhi worked closely with Justice, the medics, and the Tans to do what they could for their “empty baby.” But the child’s condition was more difficult than Vanhi’s in many ways. Because the symptoms mimicked some typical, if rare, documented medical conditions, they were more insidious. Vanhi’s jumping had always seemed fantastical, and so fantastical measures did not seem unusual. The baby, though—the baby who was more than thirteen years old now—looked to the casual observer like any other. And while Vanhi had been knocked out of time, baby Tan seemed suspended in it. Forever a snapshot.

  The Progentor didn’t know what was wrong with her. The Lùhng were no help.

  But no one would give up on her, either.

  When Vanhi wasn’t working, or spending precious alone time with Stone, she often visited Jamal. He taught her a few new meditation techniques, to help her better control her emotions—a way to possibly fight the sudden cha
nges while the medication helped control her predictable ones.

  She didn’t like having to force her emotions this way and that. They were hers to have, hers to express and experience, and the accident had warped them. Turned something beautiful like anticipation into a cause for distress and fear. The scientist within her tried not to prescribe motives to the universe—to a quirk of physics—but the rest of her couldn’t help but feel like she’d been singled out for her mistakes.

  Jamal tried to help her let go of that idea, to see the universe and all its dimensions as a Revealer did: a nonjudgmental haven of all knowledge and experience, waiting to be uncovered—revealed. All connection and benevolence and understanding.

  But she wasn’t a Revealer. And she’d always been more secular in her beliefs than her papa had wanted. Her relationship with the universe was her own.

  Since his arrival—besides reassuring the crew and aiding Vanhi and Justice—the Progentor had been overseeing the repairs and upgrades to the convoy’s SD drives. He believed they’d be finished soon, and that Convoy Twelve would be ready to travel once more.

  “But where would we go? It takes so long to get anywhere . . .” Vanhi started to protest, before she realized who she was talking to. Stone grasped her hand tightly. The three of them sat aboard Jamal’s ship, in a ruby-red room that glistened with rolling textures. It smelled of nonterrestrial spices, and carried the mustiness of time. The nuanced, sacred significance of the room was lost on Vanhi, but she appreciated its ambiance.

  “We’ve found many new travel SDs,” Jamal told them, brushing his fingers down a ripple pattern in the wall. “I live on a megastructure many, many light-years from here. None of you would reach it in a single lifetime using the antiquated version of your drives.”

  “Does that mean Earth is reachable?” Vanhi asked him. Why hadn’t he told them as much before? Why weren’t they already making plans to see the planet again?