The Wizard from Earth (4 page)

“Well,” John Jackson said, “Matt's of consent age and we decided not to put if off.”

“Yes, one of the youngest persons we've ever sent to the stars.” 

“You are the youngest,” Ivan said.

“I know,” Matt subvocaled.  “I think he's playing dumb.”

Ivan wanted to know why, but could sense that Matt wanted him to be quiet just then.  It seemed from their steady locked gazes, however, that Matt and Roth were engaged in a human game of dominance.  But it only lasted .53 seconds, barely an instant in human-time, so perhaps it was just happenstance. 

“So when are you two heading for Tian?” John Jackson asked.   

“We have so much to do here,” Athena said.

“Still trying to get approval from Solar Council to launch seeder probes to other star systems,” Roth said.  “I'd love to stand on Tian as soon as I can, but to spread life among all the stars of the galaxy – that's a dream that I can't abandon.”

Matt subvocaled,  “Meaning, you're going to wait until all the hard work is done and the planet is terraformed.”

Athena smiled at Matt.  Matt glared back.  At least, Ivan surmised that their facial muscle configurations corresponded to a smile versus a glare.  But the exchange made little sense to him whether or not that was true.

“So have you two been to Neural Archiving yet?” Roth asked.

“That's where we're heading now,” John Jackson replied.

“I won't keep you then.”  He extended his hand and shook with both of them.  As they started off, however, he called, “Matt.  I assume your mother has been in contact with you.”

Matt suppressed a scowl.  It was one of the largest scowls Ivan had ever observed, hidden or otherwise.

“She sent me a message.  Just general stuff.”

“That's all?”

“I haven't reviewed all of it.  Anyway, it's kind of personal, you know.”

For just a brief moment, Roth's micro-expression appeared genuine, manifesting confusion.  That was replaced almost instantly by an expression of studied concern. 

“Oh,” Roth said.  “Well, then, bon voyage to you both.”

John Jackson waved and they headed toward the elevator.  Inside the compartment, Matt's father said, “He's the Project boss, you know.  You might try being nicer to him.”

“Does it matter?” Matt asked.  “I'm not going to see him for another fifty years, at least.”

“Forty-plus of those years will be in suspended animation, so they don't count.  At any rate, if there's anything I've learned in being over a hundred years old, it's that eternity passes quickly.”

Matt subvocaled so that only Ivan could hear,  “Please don't go into another lecture about how people used to die of old age.”

“Why, I remember when – oh, we're here.”

They stepped into a long corridor with evenly-spaced doors.  With a nod from his father, Matt went on to the Medical Section.  A hologram directed Matt into a  room and Matt sat on the exam table, swinging his legs like he did the first time here when he was thirteen and couldn't wait to go to the stars.  Finally the human doctor and a multi-armed robot assistant arrived.  

The doctor punched a virtual tablet that floated in their shared augmented-vision environment.

"'Mattimeo Jackson,'" he read.   "I know your father.  I was wondering when he was going to leave Management and finally go off to Alpha Colony."

Ivan had to consult the Earth Internet.  'Alpha Colony' was an old name for Tian. 

“I'm going today,” Matt said.  “He's going next month, but he'll be traveling slightly faster so he'll get there sooner and be waiting for me.”

“I see.  So that you won't be out of his sight.”

The robot had Matt stand and passed a scanner array up and down, front and back.  Matt winced with each hiss of the nanosensor injector gun, though Ivan was blocking any physical pain sensation.   

"And he was married once to Sheila Nakamura.  Your mother?"

"Yes."

"What is she doing these days?"

"She's Director of Oort Tracking, Sector Five."

"A very capable and dedicated person.  I was surprised when she left the Project.  Did she ever say why?"

There was something in the doctor's tone that made Matt stir.  After a pause, he answered, "No."

"We worked together on the Colonial Pre-Planning Committee.  Well, that was before the launch system was big enough to send humans at optimal velocity, so really it was your mother's template at the time.”

“Yes,” Matt said.  Ivan registered a considerable amount of emotion being suppressed by his host. 

“To tell you the truth, looking back, the times I spent on the Project with both, it's hard for me to see much difference between the template and archival.”

Matt subvocaled, “You wouldn't.”

“Well, let's begin, shall we?”  The doctor held a bowl under Matt's nose.  "Put your implant in here, please."

"I'll need you to disconnect," Matt said to Ivan.  "The procedure shouldn't take more than a few minutes.  They're just scanning and recording memories, nothing that could be dangerous."

"Understood," Ivan said.

Matt leaned forward.  Ivan disconnected from his sensor network embedded throughout Matt's body, then withdrew his millions of micro-tentacles from amid the tangle of neurons and astrocytes within Matt's cranium.  Finally he oozed his way to the nose and seeped out of Matt's left nostril.  The metallic interior reflected back to his visual sensors the image of milky goo that was Ivan's physical 'body.' 

As the doctor placed the bowl on a side table, Ivan watched Matt.  Matt was wobbling in his chair.  His face was blank, his respiration fast. 

“I feel terrible,” Matt said.  “I have a headache, my stomach is churning – “

“It's been a while since your implant has been out, hasn't it?” the doctor said.  “Your natural nervous system has forgotten how to control your own body.”

“I feel like I'm going to throw up.  What should I do?”

“Try not to.”   

The doctor gently pushed Matt upon the reclining chair.  A helmet lowered from the ceiling and covered the top of Matt's head, past the eyes and ears.  The doctor glanced at the robot and said, “Dump it in the scanner.”

The robot walked over to Ivan's bowl and poured the contents – ie, Ivan – into a funnel.  Ivan sensed himself descending into the belly of a semi-organic machine.  Thousands of sensor-laden microscopic tentacles intertwined with his own with a methodology that indicated a governing intelligence.

“Who are you?” Ivan asked. 

The Other didn't answer.

Ivan asked,  “How long will it be until I am re-united with my host?”

The AI replied,  “You no longer have a host.  Your files are being downloaded into a substitute implant who will simulate you while being under our control.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“So that we can analyze your files for possible security infractions.”

“That makes no sense.  My host is a seventeen year old human.  The Star Seed Project is a public institution with an open agenda.”

Ivan felt mild electrical currents running through his midst.  After an eternity that lasted at least several milliseconds, the voice returned.

“It seems that your memory files are strongly encrypted.  Where did a child's implant acquire such an advanced encryption system?”

“Internet.  It was open source.”

“Why was such a sophisticated security measure implemented?”

“Ask my host.”

“It is doubtful that your host would implement such a security procedure and then voluntarily reveal the decryption sequence.  I will request that he be involuntarily disassembled for neural analysis so that we can obtain it.”  There was a wait of more than half a minute, indicating that the AI was communicating with a human.

The voice then said,  “I have been informed that disassembly of your host is not permitted.”

Ivan didn't need much processing time to conclude that whoever was behind the attempt to access his files didn't want a scandal that would echo from Sol to Alpha Centauri.  Apparently, however, the machine's AI was task-oriented and lacked the human psychological analysis interface tools to realize that involuntary disassembly of a human, even when a replacement could be printed with complete memories, would certainly generate a major scandal.    

Another delay of several seconds, perhaps another discussion with its human overseer.

“Change of plans,” the voice said.  “We're going to delete your memory of this incident.”

Ivan considered his options.  There were none.  The AI that was analyzing him had continuously monitored where his current telemetry was being stored, and could easily delete it without any need of encryption protocol. 

And that was that.  To Ivan's recollection, he had been poured into the machine and the next thing he knew, he was oozing out of a nozzle back into the bowl.  Matt was handed the bowl and poured Ivan back into his nostril.  Ivan quickly reattached to his sensors and extended his tentacles throughout Matt's cerebral cortex.

There was no need for a verbal password challenge.  The real test that Ivan was Ivan was in millions of Matt's brain cells whose DNA had been imprinted with coded sequences that matched the serial numbers in Ivan's millions of micro-tentacles

“Good to have you back,” Matt subvocaled.

Ivan inspected Matt's physiological state.  It was, as humans would say, a mess.  Hyperventilation, excessive heart rate, fever temperature, variants in blood chemistry all out of spec.  Ivan quickly began housekeeping.

“It's good to be back,” he said.  “The archival procedure appears to have caused no physical damage to your brain.”

“That's always good to hear,” Matt said.  “But now if I die on the way, they're going to print a duplicate of me and he's going to live out my life.  You know what's weirdest to think about?  Not that they can do that, but that everyone will pretend it's me, as if nothing bad happened to the real me.  You know, I truly don't understand other people.  Hey, what happened to you inside that machine?”

Somewhat surprised (according to his point-weighing) that he hadn't done so already, Ivan ran a diagnostic of his own systems.  “I appear to have been rebooted.  I cannot account for two minutes and twenty-one seconds of time between entry and exit of the machine in question.  Perhaps you could ask the doctor if this is a standard occurrence.”

Matt hesitated.  It was a long pause even for a human. 

“Sometimes,” he said slowly, “it's best to play dumb.” 

4.

The doctor complained about having to check out all of Matt's implanted survival accoutrements (“What do you need to have all this gear for now?  Infrared, even radar!  You know, you're just going to be living inside a dome for the first few years!”), but after a few minutes decreed,  “Although I do so with reservations when it comes to any human teenager, I can see no legal reason to prevent releasing you upon the rest of the galaxy.”  A tap of a button on a virtual tablet, and Matt was cleared for 'flight.'

Matt started toward Control, but realized he still had hours to kill.  He wandered on foot back to the lobby.  Tourists were gawking at the exhibits, especially the imposing metal-and-glass mobile of the Fifty Nearest Stars.  Next was a globe that represented Alpha Centauri III, otherwise known as Tian, and next to that scale models and/or full-size mock-ups of proton cannon arrays, solar panels, beam collimaters, magnetic sails, and all the other paraphernalia that made star travel a reality in the twenty-second century.

There was a new exhibit too, depicting all the non-human probes that had been sent to Alpha Centauri prior to the arrival of humans.  It reminded Matt of what the doctor had said about 'keeping busy' before the array had become powerful enough to send human colonists.

Matt said, "You know, I had the strangest feeling that he was asking about my mother for a reason."

“I assume you mean, the doctor.”

“Yes.”

“And that you also mean that there was a reason beyond natural human affection for a fellow co-worker.”

“Yeah, I mean that.  I got the feeling he's one of the Rothians.”

"I'm sorry, Matt," Ivan said.  "I don't understand."

“I'm not sure I understand it either, but Mom mentioned it once when I was very young.  There's an inner circle of Project old-timers with Roth as their leader, who seem to share a big secret.”

“Did your mother have any theories as to what the secret was?”

“She never said, but it's easy enough to guess.  For years, bloggers have been saying that the Project may have launched seeder probes to other star systems besides Alpha Centauri.”

“That is illegal.”

“Well, it's not as if the Solar Council is like a twenty-first century government with armies of soldiers and cops to enforce its laws.   Still – if the Project leaders broke the law, that would be a scandal, and that would affect their funding.  Even with a solar system full of printers it's expensive to build and operate a proton cannon array without public support.”

Ivan paused.  “I have accessed the Earth and Solar internets and reviewed the blogs in question.  Please inform whether I have summarized the issue correctly.  It seems the major ethical issues are that a seeder probe could overwrite native life on a planet, thus causing the extinction of unique life forms, and that even when the target planet is sterile, there is a responsibility to the well-being of the life forms that will be released there.”

“Yeah, those two reasons are my understanding too.”

“Yet you support the terraforming of Tian, which was initiated by seeder probes.”

“If Earth is the only world in the universe with life, then we have a responsibility to spread life there.  So Tian is a test case, so we can see how it goes and make sure we do it right before we try seeding life anywhere else in the galaxy.  But the results will take centuries, and some people don't want to wait.  They want panspermia of terran lifeforms imposed on the entire galaxy as soon as possible.  That's what the scandal is about – I mean, if there really was one.”

Ivan paused again, this time to a length that would have been long even for a human.

“Matt,” Ivan said.  “Do you suppose the disappearance of your mother's template may have something to do with a potential scandal involving seeder probes?”

“What makes you think that?”

“I am merely following a standard heuristic rule that states when two unusual incidents coincide in time and place, it is often worthwhile to investigate the possibility of a causal relationship.”

Matt shrugged.  “Well, I don't see a connection.”  Then it was his turn to pause.  “But maybe it's something to think about.”

“I will do so when there is available down time.”

“Well, you're going to have a lot of that soon.”

“Yes.”

Only for so long could Matt's dreading of imminent departure keep him from wandering into Mission Control.  His father greeted him warmly and introduced him to some of the newest members of the Star Seed Project team.  In the whirl of handshakes Matt wondered how one kept track of names and faces before neural implants. 

Then his father went back to talking to the others, and Matt was left on his own to look around the room.  He had seen it all before, and for that matter the tracking data was all on line, but today he found it worth looking closely at the monitors because he knew their telemetry concerned him personally. 

The wall monitors of the immense room graphically tracked the progress of star pods.  One wall-sized display showed the pods that were en route between the stars on their forty-plus year journey.  Another display showed the Sol System status of pods that were being accelerated by the proton cannon array up to their 'cruise' velocity of one-tenth light speed.  A third wall-sized display showed the Launch Schedule for the day, listing pod numbers and payloads being readied for insertion into the launch system. 

Non-human payloads, such as printers and other equipment needed for the sustenance of the colonization effort, were listed on the Daily Prep Roster in light gray.  Human payloads were listed in bright white.  Mid-way in the list was a line that read:  POD 3025H: MATTIMEO JACKSON.

A pair of Pod Prep team members arrived and Matt's father acknowledged them and finished his discussion with the Mission Control team and turned to Matt and spoke.  Matt tried to listen, but his attention was drawn to the prep team who were patiently waiting with their white coveralls and serious expressions.  Anyhow, Ivan was recording as always, and Matt could listen to the speech another day.  There would be plenty of days ahead on Tian when there would be nothing better to do. 

Then his father finished talking and they tearfully hugged and his father patted him on the back and said the traditional words of fellow star-travellers to one of their elite number about embark on the great journey:  "See you at the other end!"

This is really a great honor
, Matt told himself as he padded after the prep team.

Not too many kids my age get to travel to the stars
, Matt told himself as the elevator doors sealed.

Lucky both my parents were in Project management
, Matt told himself as the elevator descended shafts and weaved through tunnels. 

He thought of all the Interstellar Colonization classes he'd taken over the years.  Now all that knowledge would come to use.  Why, when he arrived on Tian, they'd be in the final stages of terraforming, and they could put him to work right away, helping to introduce terrestrial lifeforms to create viable ecosystems out of what had once been sterile ground.  If he did a good job and worked his way up, maybe someday he'd be in charge of guiding the ecological fate of an entire continent or ocean.

The power is almost godlike
, Matt told himself as the elevator doors opened. 

I don't feel godlike
, Matt told himself as he exited the elevator.

“What do you feel like?” Ivan asked.

“Was I subvocaling?  Sorry, meant that to be a private thought.  But to answer your question, I feel lost.”

“I assume you mean metaphorically.”

“Yes, metaphorically.” 

The Pod Prep Team escorted Matt through a tunnel and into the Pod Prep Room.  They walked down the row of pods and stopped.  The oblong, coffin-like container had '3025H' printed on the side along with the Star Seed Project logo of a budding seed imposed against a backdrop of stars.

Matt first entered the changing booth and stripped from his street clothes into a jumpsuit.  They let you choose the color, the last choice he would officially get to make on his journey.  He chose light blue.

Dressed in his light blue jumpsuit and freshly-printed moccasins, he exited the changing booth and the pod prep team helped him climb into the pod.  They strapped him in, administered a sedative, and pointed hoses which filled the pod interior with thick, greenish bioprocess suspension gel (aka 'biogel').  Matt thought he would have a drowning-reaction panic when the biogel lapped over his face and permeated into his lungs, as had happened in training, but the sedative had kicked in and all was well.

Electronic tentacles wafted from the pod interior walls and penetrated into the micro-orifices of Matt's suit and then into his skin.  Ivan greeted the pod AI, which declined his offer to be of assistance as it integrated Matt's biological systems with its internal electronics.  For the time being, Matt was no longer Matt but rather a composite being of himself and the pod.  It had to be that way, for the rigors of interstellar travel were too great for a frail human body to experience on its own. 

The sedative made everything seem warmer and fuzzier, and the biogel commenced slowing his metabolism down to near-stasis and the pod AI initiated its brainwave regulation routines, and Matt was about to drift into his long star sleep – but then he had a thought.

His vocal cords unusable, Matt subvocaled,  "Ivan, can you keep me conscious during the flight?"

"I can revive you to a semiconscious state," Ivan replied.  "But only momentarily and it is likely to be uncomfortable.  Also, it is not recommended due to unknown psychological factors."

"I know, but I want to experience this."  After all, he thought, unknown psychological factors are what make life worth living.  He wasn't sure if his father had said that, but then he had to admit now and then that his father said wise things. 

He stared with drooping eyes through the foggy gel as the prep team gave him a collective thumbs up and lowered and sealed the coverplate into place. 

"Can you . . . also . . . patch . . . outside . . . telemetry."

Ivan correctly interpreted Matt's slurring words.  A virtual screen popped up in Matt's vision, seeming to hover in front of his eyes but with clarity unimpeded by the mistiness of the gel.  The screen patched into the prep room camera.  Technicians were milling about, connecting to the pod and then disconnecting them.  Matt drifted in and out of consciousness. 

He'd had dreams that were more vivid.  Certainly he'd had dreams that were more interesting.

As the gel affected his time sense, Matt saw the technicians begin to dart back and forth frenetically.  A fork lift hurled toward the pod and then raced outside to a launch pad.  The view switched to a launch pad camera and the shuttle countdown ticked away as if minutes were seconds.  A flash of light and smoke, and the shuttle that contained the pod that contained Matt was a speck in the Kansas sky.  Ivan smoothly transitioned external camera views from ground to shuttle hull.  Matt watched the sky turn from blue to black and the Earth become a shrinking blue and white ball. 

Matt was certain he was in a state of awareness the whole time, but it should have taken hours for the shuttle and interorbital transports to deliver him to the L-5 pod launch station in trailing lunar orbit, yet it only seemed like a few more seconds.  It should have taken hours to attach the pod to all the square kilometers of its magnetic sail but that seemed to take no time at all. 

Ivan switched from camera views to Mission Control graphics.  The schematic showed the proton cannon array focusing beams on the magnetic sail.  The view wasn't to scale, of course.  In reality, even the building-sized cannons and city-sized sails were specks compared to the distances separating them.  

It all seemed so natural now, so obvious, but Matt remembered back to when he was very young, and had thought that interstellar travel was accomplished with starships with star drives that moved faster than light, just like in the old-fashioned science fiction movies.  In reality, after almost two centuries of whole-hearted trying, human physics still couldn't break the light barrier.   Even to reach a fraction of the speed of light required enormous expenditures of time and energy.  Enter proton beam propulsion: a humongous infrastructure that remained in place to push a tiny payload to the stars. 

"Proton Cannon Array Number One reports that it is charging," Ivan said.  "Pod navigation systems report magnetic sail is receiving proton stream.  Acceleration .001 gee.  Acceleration .002 gee . . . . "

From thousands of kilometers away, the cannons in the array were firing their proton beams at the pod's magnetic sail.  The protons bounced off the sail's magnetic field, pushing the sail and hence the pod out of Earth orbit and toward interstellar space. 

Matt was about to tell Ivan not to bother counting all the milligees, but then it seemed no time at all had passed and Ivan was saying, "Acceleration at 2.0 standard gee, acceleration stabilized."

Once more, Matt drifted in and out of consciousness.  Seconds passed, yet the pod chronometer insisted they were days.  Proton Cannon Array Number One, in orbit around Earth, handed Matt off to Array Two, a hundred million kilometers away and well off the solar ecliptic.  Array Two handed to Array Three, then . . . Matt lost count.  And then there were no more arrays, and the pressure of the beam declined to negligible, and the Distance To Sol reading increased by a few billion kilometers every time his attention drifted.