Marie moved closer still to Daniel. She spoke in a whisper. “I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.”
“A fixed framework with a moldable interior,” Daniel said. “We’re literally deep inside Core.” There were many photographs of Core’s exterior, an enormous sphere capped by a smaller hemisphere. It was essentially a lumpy moon that hovered in 4-D space surrounded by more than fifty orbiting devices that functioned as communication relays. The hand grenade, as Nala had christened it.
NASA engineers had calculated its diameter at just under a hundred kilometers. If you dropped Core into Lake Erie, you could step on in Ohio and step off in Ontario without getting wet. No one knew why a single cyborg entity required so much volume, and no one had yet asked.
“The white stuff looks alive.”
“It may very well be. Core is cybernetic—part machine, part organic.” Daniel began to calm now that Core had acknowledged the deception. He still wasn’t happy with the emotional manipulation or the intrusion into his mind.
Jan, still sitting on the transfer chair, spoke up from behind. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with as quickly as we can.” He looked pale.
Daniel wasn’t ready to let the opportunity pass just because Jan wanted to make a quick retreat now that he was staring into the throat of the beast.
“Core,” he shouted. “Show yourself. We didn’t come here to speak to a disembodied voice. We could do that by radio.”
There was a delay, but the deep vibrating voice eventually responded. “Your eyes are not capable.”
Daniel stood firm. “The unshaded truth. Remember? Do it. Show yourself.”
A large glob of the plastic goo invaded the space and sealed off the view of the framework of beams. They were surrounded now by pure white.
“Could we suffocate in here?” Jan asked.
“Doubtful,” Marie answered. “We’re clearly in a climate-controlled space with pressure and oxygen set for humans. I can’t imagine Zin sending us to our deaths.”
Jan eyed the reset button on the seat handle. Daniel couldn’t blame him. Having a backup plan was always a good idea. Marie seemed to agree as she repositioned herself closer to the transfer chair.
“Core?” Daniel yelled once more. “We’re not simpletons and we’re not afraid. Show yourself.”
Motion appeared, hovering in midair in front of them. Dark curving lines appeared that stood out against the white background. More lines materialized, hundreds… thousands. They began to twist into geometric shapes of astonishing complexity.
The voice was the same, but it now emanated from the emerging shape that hovered in the air. “Expect no face, no body.” The curving lines formed a sphere with a smaller hemisphere on top, but the shape continued to morph into greater complexity, like zooming in on a fractal. “No form that you could perceive.” The lines twisted back on themselves, crossing into a mesh and turning inside out. A glow shone from the interior. “But I will project my essence into your space.”
The view changed further, the glow breaking apart and forming an array of particles orbiting around a central point. The glow pulsated in a rhythm that cascaded down a line of individual particles like perfectly timed Christmas lights. “You would call me a quantum computer, and that would be partly correct.”
The moving particles multiplied in number. Their orbital paths increased in complexity. The hovering mass expanded, stretching closer to the platform where they stood. Daniel backed up a few steps as the three-dimensional image engulfed the platform and surrounded them. They were inside, with tiny particles zooming in all directions.
“I am more than you see. I am entangled beyond this single entity. Human limits cannot comprehend all that I am.”
The shapes and motion were indescribably complex. Yet the voice had stated there was more, and Daniel believed it. This was an entirely different lesson, unlike any session that had come before. This time, Core wasn’t saying you will learn. Quite the opposite. You cannot learn, you are incapable.
“Don’t underestimate us,” Daniel said, his emotions now under control. “Our species may be highly dependent upon our eyes, but that single organ produces a visual reality within our brain—a representation of truth like no other.”
“I understand.” Some of the flying particles sparked in synchronization with the spoken words.
“We have questions,” Jan said, several steps behind Daniel as they faced what seemed like the center of particle activity.
“Jan Spiegel.” Core’s voice reverberated throughout the platform beneath their feet, and Jan jumped at the sound of his name. “Your questions?”
Jan looked desperate now that he’d put himself front and center. The Cowardly Lion in front of the Great and Powerful Oz came to mind. Jan swallowed hard. “We have lost two good people… our colleagues. A dimensional mishap. We believe it was due to instabilities from the collapse of quantum space.”
Daniel gave a nod of encouragement to Jan. Even though Daniel had taken the lead in past conversations, this time it would be best to have a physicist explain.
Jan continued. “We have measured these instabilities, but we can’t control them.”
“Your question?” Core’s voice was sharp.
Jan seemed shaken by the interruption but regained his composure. “Why didn’t you warn us? Why not explain the dangers inherent in this technology? Your own agent, Aastazin, used a device to send us here by way of dimensional compression. Your scientists must have faced the same issue and solved it. Why not share this information?”
If Core felt any challenge from Jan’s accusation, its tone didn’t change. “Dimensional instabilities are common. You will learn.”
“But two people have died!”
“Over time, you will learn.”
They were back to that tired phrase, and Daniel was having none of it. “If you’d warned us, our best scientists might still be alive, and we’d be in a better position to learn.” They’d never confronted Core before, but the rules were different this time.
“Daniel Rice. Jan Spiegel. Am I the instructor for your scientists?”
“You could be,” Daniel answered. “When lives depend on it.”
“Share with others. They will share with you. There are many.”
It was a reference to the Dancers, no doubt. But if Marie’s experience on their planet was any indication, the relationship was a long way from discussing advanced physics. They’d barely gotten past identifying the difference between sexes.
Jan followed the motion of the flying particles, as if searching for the specific instance of the intelligence they were speaking to. “Explain just one simple concept. Would that break any of your precious rules?”
“Your question?”
“We may have created a singularity, a zero-dimensional point. If I knew how to avoid it, we could protect ourselves but continue to experiment.”
“You believe a singularity is simple?”
Jan shrugged. “It’s a well-understood concept, mathematically at least. We just don’t know how it derives from the collapse of quantum space.”
“Is a multivariate universe simple?”
“Hardly.”
“Then why should its opposite be simple?”
Jan shook his head. “I… I don’t follow…”
“To understand the universe, you must first understand a single point. To understand the point, you must understand both the infinite and the nothing.”
Jan seemed to be thinking, but Core’s obscurity was on full display once again. “Still not sure I follow.”
“Humans still have much to learn. Begin with the density of matter.”
“You mean, the ratio of baryonic matter to bosons?”
“Yes.”
Jan turned to Daniel. “Well, at least it’s confirmation that Nala and I were on the right track. I can work with that.”
Jan’s work might lead to future insight, but it didn’t clear any o
f the inherent dangers from his path. Daniel jumped in. “We’ll do our homework. We’ll study these concepts. But lives are at stake. Give us some guidance on how to proceed safely.”
“You already have such guidance. Provided by new associates.”
New associates? There was only one possible explanation for that bit of obscurity. “Who… the Dancers?”
“As you call them.” Core’s voice shifted, the source of the vibration moving under the platform toward Marie. The particles flying through the air also shifted, hovering directly over Marie’s head. She looked up, mortified. “Marie Kendrick represented your species and was gifted. Through this gift, she comprehends.”
Marie looked like she’d just been caught sipping a margarita at a business meeting. She shrugged, “Yeah, well…it’s kind of a long story.”
“Apparently, she does comprehend,” Daniel said. “We’ll need to discuss this with her when we get back.” He sent a piercing stare through Marie.
“Others have learned. Humans have not yet. Nothing is certain. Outcomes follow probabilities. My emissary, Aastazin, selected Marie Kendrick. She is the highest probability for your guidance.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marie slipped off the transfer chair, happy to be grounded to her home planet once again but still feeling unsettled. The nearly instantaneous transfer across a vast distance of space had no impact physically, but the interruption of consciousness was disorienting. The message from Core made the confusion worse.
I’m a probability.
Core had revealed more than she’d expected. Zin had selected her to join the Ixtlub mission, but not for the reasons she’d thought. It wasn’t her qualifications or cheery disposition. We all want to think that good fortune comes our way because of who we are. But there was something else—a calculation of some kind.
She recalled what Ibarra had told her when he assigned her to the team. Zin says you increase the probabilities of success. At the time, she had thought he meant the success of the mission. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Core had talked about outcomes. A probability for an outcome. Of whose choosing? Zin? Or was it Core? The outcome could mean anything, and Core hadn’t elaborated.
The headband? Did they want me to have it?
Daniel looked rankled. She could understand why. Core had implied that she knew something, so Daniel naturally assumed she was holding out. Maybe she was. She hadn’t even mentioned the headband to him, but it hadn’t seemed relevant until now.
Zin approached. “Everyone alright?” He examined Daniel and Jan for any obvious signs of distress. He’d done the same to the four katanauts when they’d returned from Ixtlub.
“A bit woozy,” Daniel said, rubbing his head. “A very strange experience.” He looked over to Marie, already standing. “Does it get any better the second time?”
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Marie answered. “Like part of your existence disappeared en route and you can’t seem to get it back.”
“Humans seem to take the transfer somewhat harder than other species,” Zin said.
“Maybe we’re just natural whiners,” Daniel said. “Give us time, we’ll get used to it.”
“I hope you will. Others have. The Zheraks, an industrious people in the Sigma Aquilae system, reside on one planet and carry out mining operations on another. They travel to work daily, much like humans do, through more than ten million kilometers of compressed space.”
“And I thought my commute was bad,” Daniel said.
Marie wrapped a hand around Zin’s metallic arm. “You’ve seen a lot of species, Zin. Do we complain too much?”
Zin patted her hand. “I would never say that. I’ve grown quite fond of humans. I shall miss you desperately when I leave.”
“Me too,” Marie said. “But let’s not say our goodbyes just yet, my shiny copper friend. I might need your help.” She looked up at Daniel and winced as if he was going to throw a punch her way. “I think I owe these guys an explanation.”
23 Eigenstates
Nala inhaled, let the breath out, and inhaled again. Air. Oxygen. Life.
She lifted her head from the hard surface. The surrounding air was cold with a stale smell. She lifted to her knees and sniffed. Stale, lifeless. The dizziness returned.
She dropped to the floor and pushed her nose against it, filling her lungs with fresh air.
Oxygen. In the floor?
It wasn’t really a floor, she knew that much. Down was not at her feet, but at some other angle that her inner ear could not quite process. Regardless of direction, the floor was a source of fresh air.
She lay on her stomach and pondered this fact, keeping her face close to the glowing surface. Fresh air could mean only that the floor was a flattened version of three-dimensional space. Home, but strangely out of reach.
“Now what?” she said aloud. “I can stay alive as long as I lie here?”
She lay motionless for several minutes, consuming the life-giving air.
Get to Thomas.
She took one last draw into her lungs, pushed up and ran to where Thomas lay. Letting the air out, she pushed her face close to the floor and inhaled.
Fresh air here too. Lying next to Thomas with her stomach on the floor, she remained still and listened. There was no sound of breathing from her friend. Not good. She reached a hand to his face, nothing coming from his nose or mouth. She laid two fingers across his neck but could find no pulse. Concern turned to panic as she repositioned her fingers but still felt nothing.
She slammed a fist to the floor. “Damn it! Fuck this shit!” Her throat constricted and tears came once more. Soon her whole body shook with sobs.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Thomas, I’m so sorry.”
She cried for her friend and for herself. “Damn, damn, damn!” She pounded the floor with each word. “Why didn’t I think? Just use your fucking brain.”
The anger couldn’t be kept inside, but it led to no solutions. She’d need to find another path, a more intellectual route to find a way out of her situation. Thomas would have been the first person to point this out.
I can’t just lie here.
Nala lifted herself to her knees and took a breath. Bad air, probably low on oxygen. If this was a 4-D bubble, it was sealed from three-dimensional space—like living inside a balloon. The pangs of hunger in her stomach told her she’d been trapped for at least twenty-four hours, enough time to use up the oxygen. At this point, just standing up required survival skills.
She dropped to the floor and sucked good air through the porous boundary once more.
Improvise. Find something.
Flex-tubing. Where had she seen it? Somewhere on one of the debris piles. It was the kind of tube they used to route Ethernet cables in the ceiling. If the tubing was still intact, it could be useful.
She lifted her head and looked around. Piles of debris were everywhere. Lowering herself again, she took a deep breath, then jumped up and began pushing aside debris and turning over planks of wood. Where was it? She swiveled and saw the end of a tube protruding from another pile. Grabbing it, she dropped back to the floor.
Breathe. She examined her find. A corrugated plastic tube, an inch in diameter and six or seven feet long. Dusty, but intact. She held one end up to her lips and blew. Dust came out the other end.
This could work.
She blew a few more times and then held one end to the floor. Lifting to her knees, she twisted the other end around to her mouth and inhaled. Air flowed through the tube; good, clean air. She stood up, keeping one end against the floor. She sucked again and exhaled to the cold surroundings. Workable.
The makeshift device could be improved if she could find the right parts. She wandered through the piles of debris, biting on the tube like a snorkel and pushing the end of the tube on the floor for each breath. Her foot kicked a rectangular piece of plastic, thick and heavy, with a hole in the center; perfect. She slipped the bottom end of the tube through the hole
and continued walking, dragging the plastic weight across the floor. Better for the floor end, but her jaw was already aching from biting on the tube, and the additional weight made it worse. A mask would help.
The light hanging in the sky flickered. She swiveled her head just as the light flashed off and then back on again. A chill ran through her body. The plunge into darkness, even for an instant, was disturbing. Up to now, the light had been so steady; why the sudden variation? She waited, but the light continued to shine as if nothing had happened.
“Don’t mess with me,” she yelled at the light. Trying to find her way around a space with edges capable of slicing off your limbs wouldn’t be much fun in the dark. That light had better hold.
Nala returned to Thomas and kneeled. “Good friend. Can I borrow your hat?” The leather Viking hat was crumpled but would make a good mask to complete her air supply system. She picked up a sharp piece of glass and punctured the hat at its top, pushed the flex-tube through and secured it with tape from the first-aid kit. Snug. With a bit more tape, she fashioned a head strap and positioned the mask over her nose and mouth.
She inhaled. Good air with a secure breathing apparatus. Not bad. At least, I’m mobile again.
The horns of the Viking hat flared out to each side, looking like tusks coming from her face. “Fucking perfect.” Her voice was muffled inside the hat. “Thomas would have loved the warthog look.”
The inert body of her friend lay at her feet. “I owe you one, buddy.” Of course, there would be no way to repay the debt. Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away. No more, it’s time to survive. She picked up the sweater she’d draped across Thomas and put it on, feeling warmer immediately. She scanned for the water bottles but didn’t immediately locate them.
Water was a key requirement for survival, and she’d pulled three bottles from the mini-fridge. They should be right next to Thomas, but they weren’t. Perhaps he had moved while she was unconscious, knocking the bottles away. She searched the area, but with so much debris, they couldn’t have rolled far. When she came up empty-handed, a feeling of panic arose inside. No one lasts long without water.
The Quantum Series Box Set Page 46