Creation (26 page)

* * *

E
llie handed
Sam a glass of amber liquid. “Here, drink this. It’ll help relieve some of the pain in your eyes.”

“Thanks, that was thoughtful. I fear my biological eyes just weren’t meant for that level of input.” Sam looked at the glass, turning it in his hand. “How did you do that? Hand me the glass, I mean.”

Ellie winked at him, a magician willing to share her trick’s secret. “Magnets. They’re made out of a clear polymer and embedded in the bottom of the glass. I can’t handle things, obviously, but I can generate a magnetic field.”

Lud sat on the couch as the group analyzed the experiment. “We’re working that polymer into most household objects. By the end of the year, they should be able to handle pretty much anything.”

The cold beer did help relieve the pressure behind Sam’s eyes. “Walk me through what you did. Not what I saw on the devices, but what went on with you. Was it just you two the whole time?”

“It was never just the two of us,” Ellie began. “We did take charge of the devices, ultimately deciding what to display. But mostly, we relied on the G2s—the ones who had the most direct connections to each participant. They were much more insightful than we’d expected.”

“You didn’t think they’d have much to offer? How is that possible? Aren’t you all connected?” Jess asked.

“Sure, but do your daughters always realize all you have to offer?” Ellie asked.

Even in the village, kids took their elders for granted. Some days, Sam had wondered how his own parents managed to turn on their network display. Hearing technology-based life-forms experience the same generational bias gave them a hint of humanity.
I’ll have to watch for those traits.

Jess found Ellie’s comparison less humorous. “Well, my girls always
seem
to be listening.”

The laugh that escaped, despite Sam’s resolve to hold it in, infected the rest of the room.

Joshua continued the explanation. “As soon as someone entered the lab, we contacted the Tobe most closely associated with that person. In almost all cases that was a G2, though with the old couple we did have to contact a G1. Maybe you noticed we were a little less sure with that combination.”

Sam remembered very little about the couple. “They’d been married for forty years, something like that? I just assumed they knew each other so well there wasn’t much need for the enhanced information.”

“I think that would have been true even with a G2 to contact,” Joshua said. “But the G1 we dealt with had very little information. Apparently, the couple didn’t use their computer much except for contacting their grandkids, looking up recipes, and the like. Other than helping with what they might like for dinner, we couldn’t provide much useful information.”

Jess leaned against one of the worktables. “Did you ever access a third-generation Tobe for information during this study?”

“Not as such,” Ellie said. “I mean, not for the primary information. But there was a lot of… unwanted advice, maybe?”

Joshua smiled at his younger sister. “I think a number of G3s were a little jealous. The G2s, though, were very complimentary. A couple of G2s even thanked us for helping their people find new paths involving others. Brad and Amy, for instance, have been helping each other with some tricky personal matters.”

Ellie started bobbing in her seat. “They’re not dating, but they might.”

Jess gave her a sideways glance. “That’s not the goal. You cannot interfere.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ellie settled back deep into the cushion.

Jess softened her tone. “I’m not saying that if something springs up between the two of them, you can’t help move it forward. But you can’t make it happen. No ulterior goals here.”

Ellie looked up with big eyes, resembling once more a wide-eyed teenager rather than a woman in her early twenties. “But what if that’s what’s best for them? What if their G2s say they’re both lonely, that they’d make a cute couple? Then can we help?”

“You can’t interfere,” Jess repeated. “Some things people have to find for themselves. And having someone, human or Tobe, tell them what they should do will only mess things up.”

Ellie nodded, but Sam suspected this one would bite her in the virtual butt, and sooner rather than later. He turned back to Joshua. “So you accessed the participants’ G2s. Found out what they thought was best for their people. Compared notes on the two individuals. Dug up information that would further the relationship. And displayed what was most pertinent. But each of you still controlled the device to each participant?”

“Pretty much,” Joshua said. “Though there were times when one of us would take primary control of both devices. It’s a very fluid dynamic between us. We do our best to remain individuals, but when there’s something we both agree on, and feel strongly toward, we kind of meld into one.”

Sam rubbed his eyes again at the complexity of so many entities handling so much information. “Why didn’t we think of that? Jess could have handled one device and I the other.”

“Nope, sorry, dear; that wouldn’t have worked. We both needed to see both sides. For all my love for you, I’m still not mentally
that
connected. Honestly, I hope I never am.” Jess leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek, reminding him how much he enjoyed the unknowns of their relationship.

Ellie looked down at her feet then gave Joshua a questioning look out of the corner of her eye. Joshua scuffed his foot against the carpet.

Sam caught the look of mutual discomfort. “Did you have a question?”

Ellie blushed. “Most of what we know about people comes from when they’re wearing the device or accessing a computer for something. It leaves large gaps in our knowledge.”

Sam remembered the primary frustration of the first-generation Tobes. They’d grown bored pulling up porn for their people. Ellie, the matchmaker, might well be holding on to some of that Tobe annoyance regarding helping people connect versus accessing a substitute.

“This is about sex again, isn’t it?” Sam asked.

“Yes and no. I mean, we know a lot about porn, and we learn a lot about individuals based on what they like to look at in the way of porn…” Joshua gave his sister a sheepish look.

Ellie turned to Jess. “Our discussion the other day about how you see sex got us wondering. There are people who do wear the device while they’re having intercourse, but mostly, they’re just looking at porn and other people. We have no idea how to help with this most basic of human interactions.”

A memory from Sam’s early adolescence flashed in his mind. His father had called him into his office to explain the intricacies of sex. It wasn’t a long discussion. Facing the same conversation with the Tobes, he realized that the embarrassed youth was now the mortified elder.

“People don’t always have sex as a way to get to know each other better,” Sam said. “Sometimes the two just want to experience the endorphins. Sometimes they like each other but don’t know how to express what they want or find out what their partner wants. Sometimes it’s just easier to get excited by the porn than to deal with reality.”

“So they aren’t necessarily trying to perform the acts they’re watching?” Joshua asked. “It’s not like an instructional video?”

Sam couldn’t prevent the laugh that welled up inside. “I strongly doubt they’re looking for instruction. Though their actions should be a pretty good indication.”

Ellie sighed with relief. “And they aren’t secretly wishing that’s what was happening? Or that they’d rather be having sex with someone else?”

“Typically no. If they wanted to have sex with someone else, they wouldn’t normally be accessing that person while engaged in sex, although that may sometimes be the case. But my guess would be accessing porn while having sex has mostly to do with trying to satisfy their partner when they don’t feel enough excitement on their own. And I’d say sex is not a human interaction you should be trying to enhance. Unless there’s a really compelling reason, stay out of people’s beds.”

Jess leaned in. “It’s important for people to share some bits of personal information on their own, not have it all readily accessible, even to someone they’re close to. The opening up and the divulging of secrets help bond us together. Having you give away a person’s mysteries can short-circuit a relationship.”

S
am ran
the paper invitation through his fingers. The delicate, antique parchment covered in handwritten calligraphy mystified him. Very few people still used the nicety of physical mail, and then only for formal events or to add a sense of importance. Coming from one of the board members of Rendition, Sam doubted it was an invitation to a formal event. The lack of a signature didn’t help. The cryptic ‘a friend on the board’ didn’t ease his apprehension. Other than Lud, Sam doubted he had any human friends running the company.

He sat back in the big office chair and let his mind go blank then focused on the question of the unknown board member. To his surprise, no information was forthcoming. He envisioned the warehouse of data
Leviathan
had left in his brain, focused down to the room marked Rendition then to the file cabinet on the board, but the drawer on this person pulled out empty.
Just another in a long line of mysteries,
he thought
. If option one fails, try number two.

Any of you have anything to say?
But even his telepathic connection to Tobe society remained silent.

* * *

T
he butler
, an actual human butler, let Sam into the palatial mansion. Dark wood lined the walls, and marble floors announced their footsteps. The house was built less for comfort than to impress. Sam knew he could buy a thousand such homes, but the impression of opulence had more to do with the aura than the physical items. The whole had a greater impact than the sum of the bounty.

The elderly servant nodded Sam into a large but oddly comfortable office. Unlike the rest of the immaculate house, books lay spread open across the desk, pillows were tossed and rumpled on the couch, and a bottle of expensive tequila sat open on the sideboard, two glasses next to it. Sam considered pouring himself a shot but thought it more polite to wait.

A bald man in rumpled clothes, a nice match to the office, entered the room, his nose buried in a physical book. His smile on seeing Sam scrunched up his eyes. “So you survived.”

Sam knew the face, but the specifics of where he’d met the man eluded him. It had been an actual meeting, not some memory the Tobes had left in his brain.

The man watched him in good humor as Sam again attempted to find an answer locked in his mind. “Give it up, son. You’re not going to find me in that block head of data.”

Sam shook his head in frustration. “I know you from somewhere—I just can’t place where.”

The man tossed the book on the desk. Something about astrophysics. Sam couldn’t even understand the title. “Dr. Elliot Shot. We met online while you were stuck in
Leviathan
’s core.”

Sam would have liked to believe his lack of recognition stemmed from the man having aged, but the truth was he looked exactly as he had over the communication link more than a decade earlier.

Sam fell into a large leather chair. “How is that possible? You haven’t aged. And you were beyond the normal age of most people when I met you—what, twelve years ago?”

“I told you if you survived we’d talk about that. I’m one hundred fifty-one, by the way.” The man poured two shots of tequila with nimble hands, not spilling a drop. He handed one to Sam. “Sophie said you had a taste for the stuff.”

A nice brand.
Vapors from the alcohol filled Sam’s nose. “You know Sophie?”

“Of course. I built her. Her operating system anyway.”

Memories, actual memories, started defining themselves in Sam’s head. “You designed
Leviathan
. I didn’t realize you still worked on ships’ systems. Actually, I thought you’d retired long before I met you.”

“I dabble.” The older man drained his glass and poured another. “But to get to your bigger question of how I’m on the board of directors, Rendition bought up a fairly large spaceship design firm, SpaceBuild. I think you may have worked for them at one time. Years before that, SpaceBuild had bought up a computer-systems company, which something like fifty years before that had bought up my company. Of course, I’d bought up a powerhouse software firm that had managed to corner the market on operating systems. The amount of legacy code in these structures is mind-boggling. But you get the idea. I’ve got enough stocks to justify being on the board.”

Sam sat forward with the empty glass in his hand. Dr. Shot nodded toward the bottle, indicating Sam should help himself. “That wasn’t my main question.”

Dr. Shot reached for the small drawer in the end table. He pulled out an antique glass pipe, filled it with marijuana, took a hit, and then passed it to Sam. “Not as good as Yoshi’s, I’m sure, but you’re going to want your mind relaxed for what I have to tell you.”

Sam took a hit. He was right; it wasn’t as good as Yoshi’s. It made him long for the simpler days in the village. “I can see how you know Sophie, but how in the cosmos do you know about Yoshi?”

“I know quite a lot.” Dr. Shot took another hit and let the big blue cloud circle his head. “You didn’t think I’d just let you go, did you? I’ve been keeping tabs. And being on the board of your little company has given me a lot of access.” He nodded his head to the side, swirling the pot cloud. “And of course, all spaceships run my operating systems. And one of those little systems just happened to give birth to a whole new form of beings. They may see you as God, but they see me as their father. Not much goes on that the Tobes don’t tell me about.”

Sam sat straight up in his chair. “You know about that?” He couldn’t bring himself to use the word
God
in front of another human.

“Of course.”

Sam felt like the slow student in the back of one of Dr. Shot’s lecture halls.

“Lev was something of a shock to us when she resurfaced. The poor old girl really didn’t know how to function. When you make a living being and then abandon it to human hands, there’s bound to be some confusion.”

Sam didn’t like the idea that he’d abandoned his new life form. “She set up my exit. She said I had the choice.”

“Of course she did,” Dr. Shot said. “She was conscious but still working out the details of what that meant. Again, she thought of you as her God. Not really someone to whom you make demands. Those pirates only used her for a short time. I got a message a few months after you landed on Chariklo that she was orbiting Jupiter. Didn’t take too much in the way of negotiations to purchase her. I suspect if Xavier had any idea what he had, he’d have driven a harder bargain. But then, Lev was a little glitchy. According to Xavier, she never worked right.”

Dr. Shot’s quiet laugh shook the chair. “Self-aware computers don’t always make the best workers.”

“Where is she now? What does she do?”

The old scientist gave him a sideways glance. “You mean is she in some museum somewhere? No, she’s still working. We outfitted her with four complete pods: agro pod, living pod, luxury pod, and storage pod. She runs supply missions—at least, that’s what we tell anyone who asks. I’ve had Lev quietly evacuating some of the more vulnerable outposts.”

The man poured another drink and offered the bottle to Sam. At that rate of alcohol consumption, Sam wouldn’t even remember what he wanted to ask.

“The Moons of Jupiter corporations have found easier ways to get the materials they need. That big old monster planet they orbit is a whole lot closer than the Kuiper Belt. Once they figured out how to automate their machines”—Dr. Shot gave Sam a quick wink, indicating it was the Tobes doing the operating—“and work in that monster gravity, they lost interest in spending months waiting for transport ships to bring them hunks of rock. Without that customer base, a number of the outposts found themselves stuck out in space without a shuttle home.”

“That’s horrible.” Sam envisioned minor planets like Chariklo being cut off from the regular transports that normally supplied them with goods, human interactions, and money for the handful of items the outposts’ inhabitants had to sell. “And once cut off, the solar power would be next?”

Dr. Shot pointed the glass pipe at him. “No, the Mars Consortium owns all the array satellites. But without money, getting power that far out becomes an economic issue. Of course they’re not destitute. Many heavy elements, like gold for instance, are easier to find out in the Kuiper Belt. Did you know gold isn’t even a planet-based element? It comes from an exploding star. Just floats around in space until a planet forms. New planets just suck up what they can find, pulling in elements like gold. The Kuiper Belt is kind of the combined leftovers from the solar system’s planet formation. So you can still find asteroids of almost pure gold out there.”

Sam tried to envision rocks the size of spaceships and made out of precious metals. “So that’s why the adventurers stray that far.”

“Partly, and partly the story of golden asteroids was a marketing ploy to get miners out there. Some do strike it rich, but it takes a lot of work and capital to just get started. Many turn pirate or end up selling everything they’ve got to try something else.” Dr. Shot looked Sam fully in the eyes. “You look ready.”

He reached over and flipped a switch under the desktop. The window view screens turned dark, the door closed, and the computer screens went blank. “This room can be isolated from the network. Cool little trick that cost more than the price of this house. What I have to tell you, I’d just as soon not have little know-it-alls listening in on. They’ll figure it out soon enough, but I’ll take every day of freedom I can get first.”

The astrophysicist placed an old-fashioned chalkboard on the table between them. “I’ll work on keeping this simple, but it’s anything but simple. Feel free to hit the pipe or take another shot if it helps. I find either usually do.”

Sam thought his head should start hurting right about then, but to his surprise, a calm settled over his thoughts.

Dr. Shot made himself comfortable in the big chair. “The issue is time. The standard analogy for time has always been a river. I gave that a lot of thought. If it’s a river, we know the starting point: the big bang. And we also know the end point—or rather, points: black holes where matter is compressed out of existence. There’s a very interesting similarity between the big bang and black holes: neither exhibit time. Black holes are considered so dense that even time stops, and the big bang, just prior to being the big bang, existed without time. I speculate that the two extremes are actually the same thing. Black holes compressing matter and sending it back to the big bang. The two events happen simultaneously, creating a series of wormholes, if you will, in time and space.”

Dr. Shot poured Sam another drink.

Sam was keeping up. Everything the scientist had said, Sam had more or less heard before.

Dr. Shot drained his glass in one gulp. “Next, we have the issue of dark energy. Black holes swallow planets and stars. All that matter becomes energy. But where does that energy go? My theory is it’s traveling back in time toward the big bang.”

Sam had always thought dark energy was a cheat. The scientists couldn’t make a workable equation for matter blown out of the big bang, so they added in a huge-ass number that perfectly balanced the equation and said, “Well, you just can’t see it.”

The old man continued. “Imagine we’re flowing down that time river. Think about what the riverbank would look like. Not much of anything at all—it’d be stationary relative to our movement. Just like dark energy.”

Still sounds like a made-up answer.

“So now we have a beginning and an ending for time and the riverbank time flows by. Then I went back to what happens to the water in an actual river. It doesn’t all move the same. At the center, the river moves faster than along the banks. Friction slows the water down, just like how time moves faster out in space than it does close to a large gravitational mass.”

Dr. Shot was getting on a roll. How long would it be before Sam got left on that riverbank or some sandbar of the conversation?

“Next item I considered: everything rotates. This is a weird one. From atoms to the galaxies, there’s rotation. And if you stop that rotation, really stop it, like at the atomic level, guess what? Nothing. No little itty bit of matter exists. It’s only there if it’s moving.”

Sam had always figured the concept of parts of atoms not existing when you stopped the atom had more to do with the inability to see anything that small. But that was never his field.

“Energy and matter are related. They’re basically the same thing. Einstein speculated about that long ago with his theory of relativity. It takes one hell of a lot of energy to equal matter, but they are equal.”

Sam leaned forward. “So there’s your answer. Stop matter, and it becomes energy.”

“Not quite. For matter to revert to energy, there’d be a big release of energy even at that small scale. Stop an atom, and it just disappears.”

Sam settled back in his chair. There was no point in arguing something this man had already given a lot of thought to.

“Have you ever just sat by a river?”

For a moment, Sam thought it was a rhetorical question, but Dr. Shot quietly waited for a response.