Dissapointments

Disappointments.

The first was time. The second was space. Or at least half of space.

We couldn’t go faster than light, so we didn’t technically master space. But on the way to our disappointment we made some interesting discoveries. We couldn’t go forward, back, left or right. So what do we do? We go up.

Shifting dimension is an incredibly apt metaphor seeing as that’s essentially what was done. We delved downwards into two and one dimension universes. We waved dark matter around until we got a very basic response. They’re still working on getting a reply which isn’t seemingly random to the point of meaningless. They’re also working on breaching a zero dimension universe but those departments don’t get any funding anymore. Or more accurately power, as its computers which run the entire show.

Upwards was more promising. We got basic mimicry from five through to seven, then more interesting responses. We got a number system going with positive and negative interactions in a nine dimension universe. That was big news for a while and the genius which coded the genius which figured that out both got very famous, but only the first genius made any money. Some were happy with a plateau there, but eff that.

Finally after a generation and a social trend towards transhuman biotech and videogames, the public’s eye was drawn again to a sudden bout of interesting results from a 17D universe. Yes? No? Prime numbers? Headlines for once lived up to the research. A civilisation sick of Fermi’s bloody paradox was eager for some aliens not of our design, or the design of our aliens. Translation was difficult, and we assume they overloaded their systems several times throughout the process given long stretches of time without a response. But the language progressed. Eventually we said “Hello”. Then they did too.

And it was all very enlightening until they asked if they could speak to the water.

We re-translated. Many, many times. But they were infatuated with water. They almost refused to speak to us, at one point referring to us as (And this is an extremely rough translation) “Nitrogen-heavy fat confusion makers”. Nobody around the sun took that well.

We explained that the water couldn’t exactly speak back, but they insisted. We tried hooking all manner of dihydrogen monoxide systems up to our communique, but to no avail. They asked us to leave, and let them speak to the water, citing important philosophical arguments they had to share.

Aliens from another dimension. And they were completely effing insane. Or maybe we were the insane ones, seeing as we apparently couldn’t speak to water.

Needless to say we all went back to videogames.

Of Procul Preview - Chapter Three

3201

Earth

An explosion reverberated through the valley.

The figure lying under the thick thermal rug jerked suddenly awake, scouring the hillside around him. Darting upwards, his eyes followed the path of a beige lighter craft as it descended behind a low hill in the distance. The ships tracer trails lingered behind it for a few seconds, before slowing fading out of existence. Its rapid rise from stratospheric to normal jetting speeds had created the sonic boom which had awoken the man. He hadn’t spied any markings from this distance, but Earth saw little to no interplanetary activity outside the E.R.C.O, so he sized the craft was there’s. Pulling the blanket off himself, he stood. Having slept fully clothed, he proceeded to unfurl the thick poncho he had wrapped around himself in his sleep. Stepping into his boots, he bent to tighten their elastics, and picking up a cowl draped over the weighty rucksack he had used as a pillow, he covered his shaven head from the sun above.

As he busied himself with breakfast and preparations for the day, the poncho rattled and clattered as he moved around his makeshift camp. To a spectator from afar, the garment resembled a greyed urban camouflage, or a tessellating piece of tactile electronic art. Drawing closer, the patterns discerned themselves into a collection of tiny rectangles of varying sizes. Some hung as large as a palm, others smaller than a fingernail. The plates overlapped seamlessly, to such an extent than the material beneath was invisible. It resembled a haphazard chainmail, steel of antiquity or carbonfibre of today.

The camp reorganised and stowed in his pack, the man hoisted it upon his shoulders and grasped a staff he had laid carefully by his bed the night before. The staff mimicked his poncho, a long train of cubes of differing sizes, but all connected into one another. Near the staffs head, thick and thin wires wove together into a hairball mess. Using the staff to steady himself, the man slowly descended from the ridge where he had slept. He stumbled only once, but caught himself on a rocky outcrop behind him. Eventually reaching the scarcely visible road beneath him, he continued his journey southward. The old tarmac creaked and groaned underfoot, complaining against the careful steps. Several times the whine rose to a roar as large chunks were dislodged and threw themselves into the valley below. It didn’t faze the walker though. He had made this journey countless times before, and the road begrudged him passage every time. With his spare hand, he fidgeted with one of the smaller plates adorning his garment. Twisting it between fingers, gentle not to pull it from its clasp. His mind wandered. Six hundred years. Over six hundred years it had been kept a secret. For a hundred years after the war, searches were made with effort. Teams and drones ransacked the still breathing cities and buried the dead ones. After then, their enemies relaxed the hunt, realizing their wartime allies were peacetime foes. Foreign eyes left the Earth to be left in peace and pieces.

2894. It was a Martian astrobattleship which launched the spear that struck the Gutenberg-Alexandrite Library City of Europa. No other datastore was left untouched, as drone and zealot alike rushed over the crippled Earth. Fragile intelligence was overrun by violent ignorance. In a matter of hours, every city felt the blow of the astrospears, while the slaved Ceresian AIs wrought destruction on the intranets webwide. The last bear was crushed under a Martian landing craft in Brazil. The last fern was vaporized and smoked by a Titaness mercenary as she triumphantly waved at a cameradrone. But one does not extinguish a flame so easily. Mere minutes after the munity of the moon disabled Earths defensive satellite network, the EarthGov met for one final time. As the combined ships of the Defiant Movement slowed into Earthen near space, rushed decisions were made. As the meeting drew to a close, almost half the data on the planet had already been copied. By the time the Unpronounceable General and his Ceresian court entered the atmosphere, the entirety of the planets data was safely copied and being printed onto memdrives. Flashcards were hurriedly inserted into ports, while memory sticks were brandished ecstatically at image banks. It’s rumoured even a hard copy disk was taken out of storage and re-digitized. As the Unpronounceable General and a Martian Leejun entered the Office City of Brussels, wading through the ice water which writhed in the streets, the EarthGov was quite calm. Peace was signed within the hour, over the tumultuous clamour the crowds outside. As the fire of the astrospears peaked the horizon apocalyptically and intranet implants were torn out to screams and nosebleeds, the last EarthGov president felt warmth in his heart. But not for long.

The slaved AIs picked up the intranet ping trail within minutes, and messages ordering the mass data reproduction were decoded in the fleet command centres above. The Unpronounceable General’s rage saw the last president and his congress die feeling their throats boil. But with their last petaflops the loyal Earthen AIs managed to mask the location of the transcription from the invaders, before succumbing to cessation themselves. So when the first nomad left his burning city and strode out into the wilderness, he knew that the knowledge he carried in his garment was safe from the barbarians above. Weaved into the poncho he wore under thin rags and plasfilms, was all the knowledge left of the planet. The EarthGov knew they had lost the war. A century of hubris had seen to that. Cities and fortresses fell, their allies too far and weak to help. The last remaining super-AIs were bargaining with the enemy for exile beyond the wormhole. There were no option left but to hide. It was the idea of one official who lay now clutching their microwaved jugular in the Brusselèèr Office City, to hide in the people themselves.

And it worked. The septillions upon septillions of bytes of data were woven into inconspicuousness. As the first wearer of the poncho settled down in a newborn shantytown on the southern coast of a forgotten coast, the knowledge was hidden from prying eyes. They were visited thrice by search parties in the first year. But nothing was found. When the first nomad’s third grandchild saw the occupation end nearly ninety years later, the treasures remained safe. The Castillo cave paintings. The works of Mozart, Boucher and Unchu. The social media trends from the three hundred major neural forum sites from 2200 until 2894. The full 3D scans of Prague, Tasmania and Beijing. Photos of every human who had ever lived since 2078, and genome sequences from 2162, both excluding deliberate outliers. The all-powerful entanglement “frequency” of the induced wormhole, which had sealed itself shut after the last AI carrier craft passed through. All this information, culture, wisdom and history was safe. Hidden and forgotten.

The man who walked the road along the mountainside stopped fidgeting with the memdrive between his fingers and brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the shimmering sun. These thoughts of history were racing through his mind, but these emotions of loss drifted from one subject to another. The words his mother had spoken to him when his father grew bleeding were harsh but true. The weight and burden was forced onto his shoulders but he carried it dutifully. He scarcely remembered his mother’s face, yet he remembered events from six hundred and fifty years ago which he’d never lived. But the present was pressing. Squinting, he could make out the shattered shafts of Santiago touching the heavens in the distance. The Orosh had passed, but the dust storms still whipped up the air around the city into a thin fog visible kilometres away. Closer to him, alongside the young river birthed last year by an earthquake, lay a Neuvo Santiago. Smoke rose from a few houses, and a smile broke the man’s face.

“She still lives then.” He murmured quietly for nobody to hear.

 Tightening his packs claps with a yank, and continued down the road towards the fresh settlement. He was the twenty sixth wearer of knowledge. His name was John Nino.

Angels and Devils

“So you’re telling me you’re from another dimension?”

The Under-Secretary paced around his superiors office, before finally throwing his suit jacket onto a chair facing the desk and sat down. Sweat dripped from his forehead and pattered quietly onto the papers thrown out before him. He picked one up, realised he couldn’t read it in the darkened office, and threw that down too.

“I apologise again for our poor excuse of a diplomat.”

The being seated opposite him was normal in most respects. It resembled a young man, possibly Asian in face, wearing a casual suit with no tie. Other than the fact the figure was completely made of a slightly chromed metal from head to toe, it was a perfect human specimen.

“We don’t have any staff on board our vessel which communicate via particle vibration, or else we would have sent one down with a translator.”

Turning away from the light smile the metal man now wore, the under-secretary peered out the window at the immense sphere hanging over the Geneva office, and suddenly realised it was made of the same metal as his guest. Turning back to them, the undersecretary stood again.

“Could you just, please.” He stopped, and mopped his still sweating brow with the tissue he had grabbed from the tea tray on his way in. “Just explain it for me again, please. Slowly. And go easy on the vocabulary.”

The worried look on his face didn’t faze the metal being seated in front of him. Instead, they exhaled slowly, closed and opened their mouth a few times, and begun speaking.

“To answer your previous question, yes. We represent an organisation of life forms, consciousnesses and stars which exist outside of your immediate universe. We respect that at your point of civilizationary development, recognising life outside your stellar system is impressive. We also respect that you are eager for knowledge but I’m afraid it goes against our mantra to instruct or teach you.”

At this point the secretary sat down again, and rubbed his nose the way he always did when he was nervous. He glanced at the door where the huge gaggle of people waited outside. He wondered if the director of Outer Space Affairs would be more suited to this lecture. He also wasn’t able to mask a horrifying sense of fear he was feeling about this entire situation. He had been yanked from a rather neat speech he was halfway through giving to the general assembly then forced to sit through all manner of military officials warning him about an incoming extrastellar object. When, merely minutes later the sky above had darkened as the craft stopped, he had wanted to run home and lock himself in his greenhouse away from all the panic. Then, after the chromed figure had spoken to several lower officials, he was instead shoved into the Secretary General’s office with the alien creature and forced to talk to it. He was thoroughly not enjoying the experience.

“Mister Under-Secretary? If you could attend me fully, this next part is rather important.”

The secretary jerked back to the silver face, and cleared his head of all thoughts but its speech. The Secretary General arrived in two hours. He only had to wait until then.

“Yes, yes sorry go on.”

In the report he would file later that day, the undersecretary found the next few minutes incredibly difficult to describe. After ten unsuccessful minutes he forgot writing entirely and spent another ten attempting to sketch what he had seen. What he barely managed to capture in writing was essentially a presentation the visitor had given to convey the scales and sizes they described, as well as some colourful flourishes to give what he perceived as emotional context. What only the sketch captured was how the miniscule beads of light that were somehow projected from the figure danced and wove their tiny ways into shapes and symbols without ever touching. Upon recollection the next day the Secretary concluded it was almost like the white glow left on your eyes after peering at an extremely bright light. He could not truly focus and look at the shapes before him, but he unmistakably knew they were there. But they were only the supporting act to the monologue the alien had given him.

“Our group, or organisation, is similar to your own. While you collect the voices of countries to one, we collect the voices of universes. When a galactic or inter-galactic civilisation breaks the barrier into the interdimensional plane between the universes, we invite them into our group. From there, they are able to act much as a member country does in your group. Commune and communicate about international or interdimensional matters.”

From this point on, the secretary wrote, the colourful illusions become much more vivid, and brighter and dark hues became more polarised. Certain parts of his report were almost beautifully poetic, and gave historians years later light chuckles, especially given the Under-Secretaries past.

“However there is one core rule by which our group abides. Unless in the direst circumstance, we do not interfere with civilisations that have yet to break the interdimensional barrier. We do not uplift, advise, guide, or in any way influence these civilisations until they break the barrier by their own fruition. This is why we were so reluctant to interact with your society, and enter your universe such as we have.”

At this point the Secretary noticed that he actually had a question he personally wanted answering, instead of a question he was sure someone else would much rather ask.

“What direst circumstance do you refer too?”

The metal man did not reply for a second. When he did, the optical show only intensified.

“There exists another group. Very, very similar to ours. They are much younger, but have grown in strength worryingly quickly. They follow a different path than ours. They believe that is their group’s duty to enter universes, seek out intelligent life, enrich them technologically, and then bring them into their organisation. It is an unstable and violent path, and while we race to stop their incursions, ultimately they are succeeding. They have trivialised the art of interdimensional travel. They throw around tools and weapons they barely understand and hardly respect, in a vain attempt to overshadow us. We have fought them in interdimensional space, and across thousands of galaxies in hundreds of universes. And that is what brings us here.”

In an alarming move, the figure stood and begun to walk out of the room, the light show twinkling out of existence. The rest of the monologue was made exclusively to the Secretary as the alien ignored the hordes of people and questions it passed as it walked through the set of offices and finally out of the front door. The Secretary was forced to sprint out of his office, and dart through the crowd of cameras and experts that followed the being. He missed half of what was said, only catching odd phrases like “short of time” and “due in Andromeda”. Pushing the throng aside, he jogged after the brisk walk of the metal man. It was only when they had rushed out of the building with the immense crowd in pursuit that the figure stopped. Overhead, the chrome sphere manoeuvred. As it found itself directly above the visitor, the surface dilated and melted, thrusting a thin cord downwards.

As if pushed by a great gust of wind, the crowd that echoed around the secretary was driven backwards. A circle of force kept the mob at bay, as the Secretary became aware it was just him and the alien again. His sense of panic reached its peak.

“Must you go?” He said with a hint of mania in his voice. “My superior will arrive in a matter of hours, and I’m sure he can handle-“

“Yes I must.” Cut in the foreigner. “Our transportation path must be masked.” The chrome cord that extended downward reached the figure, and he grasped it firmly. The two materials fused together, and slowly the entire arm became one with the cord. But it didn’t stop the speech.

“In a matter of days the rival organisation I described will arrive on your planet. They will entice you into their group. They will not cease to flatter and impress you, promising you and your species all manner of wonders. They shall do a much better job of convincing you to join them then I will convincing you not too. In fact, we welcome you to make your own decision. As I said, we are founded on the idea that younger civilisations make their own decisions, and not bend to the will of us older ones.”

The Secretary became aware that more and more of the humanoid shape was fusing with the extended cord. Within seconds he would be left talking to nothing, as the lower sections begun to retreat upwards. Terrifyingly aware of time slipping through his fingers, he blurted out one final question.

“Then why? Why did you come visit us, why warn us? If you want us to make our own decision, then why talk to us at all?”

The humanoid figure was gone now, only a large chrome droplet stood in front of him. As it accelerated upwards towards the greater sphere, one final sentence was heard not just by the Secretary, but everyone present, as the visitor’s voice suddenly boomed across the courtyard.

“We come with a warning because unlike your impending guests, we have not employed our full might. We intend to win this petty conflict and returned existence to a peaceful state. If you choose to side with the upstart barbarians, we will be forced to do nothing short of utterly annihilate you. So please, side with caution.”

And with that, the sphere was perfect again. Then a loud crack, and it was gone.

The crowd rushed in towards the Secretary, each question drowning out another. But the Secretary didn’t head a single word. His eyes were locked on the sky, where the ship had been. He had a lot to think about.

Of Procul Preview - Chapter Two

3201

Venus

“Good morning Princess.”

The sun streamed through the immense stained glass window, and onto the equally immense quilted blanket covering the princess’s bed.

“Good morning, child.” She replied, airily.

She stood, and the servant approached her. His tiny hands undid the claps of her peignoir, and slid the covering off. The princess approached the window nude, and stared out over the domed capital of Venus. The cream minarets and arches of the city reflected the suns warm glow effortlessly, as the gilded screens atop the cities dome opened slowly.

“Pleasure to you, this morning.” The child’s voice was quiet, barely louder than the sounds of the princess’s feet as she glided towards her mirror, slender, and pale skinned. She wound a lock of her perfect white hair around her finger, and sighed.

“Would the Princess like to wear a darker shade today?” The youth opened a draw, and with difficulty pulled out a long robe, and offered it to the princess. She waved a hand approvingly, and the child begun to dress her, occasionally asking her to move an arm or a leg.

“Is the Logistician from Revere in the city?” The princess asked suddenly, as she fixed her hair with a collection of black beads. The boy did not reply. The Princess sighed again.

“Pleasure being to you, Princess.” The child begun, worryingly “But your father has expressed his wishes to the entire servitude, that the Revere Palace Logistician is not to see you again.”

The princes, now clothed, walked away from the mirror and back towards the window. She kneeled, as the servant attached her mantle, fastening the billowing epaulettes with special care. He walked to a counter, and picked up the royal pendant. It was entirely silver, a perfectly moulded star of innumerable points, attached to a minute thin silver chain of tiny links. The child clasped the pendent behind her neck, treating the ornament as tenderly as a new born.  

When she stood, the princess was even more beautiful than when she was nude. She was the very image of spiritual and bodily exquisiteness, the wishful thoughts of a benevolent god made reality.

“When did my father tell you this?” The princess turned back to the child, and her face took on an expression of sad disappointment. “I had quite longed for the Logistician’s return.”

The youth squirmed. “The morning, when I rose princess. My teacher told me not to tell you, but-” His voice faded away, and the princess smiled. 

“Child, it is no fault of yours. My father’s wishes are as important as mine after all. I will not tell your teacher what you have said, let us simply assume I never mentioned the Logistician.” She checked her mantle once more, and floated towards the door.

“Yes princess, pleasure to you. Thank you, princess.” The child said hurriedly, as he opened the door for her, bowing deeply as she moved past him into the corridor.

“I will see you this evening.” She said to him absentmindedly as she descended down the polished marble stairs. He muttered a respectful farewell, and shut the doors behind her.

As she finished the last step, a low hum begun to fill the corridor. A panel bearing the mural of a vortex moved aside, and a tall man stepped out. The princess did not respond to his appearance, as he bowed deeply and saluted as he stood up again.

“Pleasure to you this morning, princess.” She nodded curtly at him, as he fell in behind her down the corridor to the courtyard. The guard was dressed appropriately, the ceremonial curved club fastened to his hip swayed with his steps, but the small pistol clipped to his thigh did not. The buttons flowing down his breast jangled slightly as he walked, harmonising with the gentle swish of the princesses gown as she emerged into the courtyard.

Molten silver flowed hot from the top of an elegant fountain, and as it flowed downwards, it hugged the shapes and curves of a great hand pointed upwards. The princess deliberately moved around the heat of the fountain, passing a row of sharp dark bushes which followed the path out of the courtyard. She entered a lift adjacent to the path, and the guard followed her in.

“Where to princess?” He asked, his hand hovering over the tablet on his forearm.

“I would quite like to visit the libraries today. But first I would like to take a walk along the docks before my breakfast I think.” The guard frowned, and looked down at his tablet.

“Princess, your wish is mine, but why the docks?” He had obeyed the order, as the lift descended to the level of the palace where it joined the royal dockyard.

“I would like to see if the Logistician from Revere is docked.” She turned to the guardsman, whose apprehensive eyes flew away from hers as she sought eye contact with him. He stared nervously at the line where the wall of the lift joined the ceiling. “Princess” He said “I have had orders from my superior, your father has-”.

“No, sir.” The princess cut in sharply, as she continued to try and draw the man’s eye. “My father has merely advised me against meeting with the Logistician.” The lie came quick and easily for one so used to them. “We spoke yesterday over our supper. His advice has been received and I wish to continue to meet the dear Revere minister.

The guard squirmed. He was new, and his this was the first shift he’d drawn to guard the princess. She knew this well, but didn’t let on. He lowered his eyes to hers, and the warmness and sincerity that met him couldn’t not convince him. “As you wish then, princess. Pleasure to you.”

The lifts doors swung open, revealing the docks of the palace. It bottomed out onto the immeasurable airship the Venusian capital floated upon. The balloon was huge, larger than most meteoroids. It was not the first airship to float in the Venusian atmosphere, but it was undoubtedly the greatest. They were made of a material unlike any found in the Solsystem, and it was a miracle of engineering. It was the most advanced technological feat on Venus, and conveniently left out of the sermons and speeches about the dangers of technological advancement. A living fibrous sheet of bacteria and nanoparticles, engineered to respire and reduce the harsh atmosphere of Venus into breathable gases for the inhabitants of Venusian cities, while maintaining a low internal pressure to keep them floating. The balloon could also bud and yield mitosis, like a vast cells creating smaller airships for transport around Venus. These smaller daughter balloons could not last long without their parents, but were enough for most journeys.

As the princess began her walk along the wide gangway overlooking the docks themselves, she could see through the window beneath her several small airships coming and going. One that had just returned was fusing its balloon with the capitals, and masked men hurried to pull the raft they had been standing on back onto solid ground. The princess stopped at a lookout, and surveyed the docks. A majority of rafts were tiny vessels, mainly used for maintenance and repair work, but a few large ships were present. The princess smiled as she saw the curved spine of the Logisticians barge poke out from behind a battery craft.

“Princess, I must urge you to hurry” said the guard anxiously, “If my captain or any of my more zealous brothers see us, I would be in terrible trouble.” The princess turned, and without comment quickly made her way back to the lift.

“Of course sir. I would hate for you to become inconvenienced” she announced, as she stopped in front of the lift. “And likewise I assume you will not mention this?” He agreed submissively, resting his shoulder against a rack of dark red dockhand robes by the lift. He stood back to attention immediately however, as the lift pinged its arrival. Following the princess in, he directed the elevator to the palace hall. A minute later, the lift slower, and the doors slid open.

“Goodbye, loyal guardsman” the princess murmured, as she stepped out into the hall, and walked towards her family.

Of Procul Preview - Chapter One

3201

Mercury

“Wake up Fed.”

The voice wasn’t robotic, it had human emotion behind it. Like a voice you hear through an intranet channel with a poor connection. The figure which the voice originated from didn’t even look remotely robotic. The avatar was roughly human shape and size, with arms and legs in the right place and quantity. Only the upper torso gave the machine away, with burnished spherical shoulders. And while the head gave a very flattering impression of a man, it wasn’t quite perfect.

“Happy birthday.”  He spoke again, droll traces intoning false enthusiasm in the anniversary. The automaton was sitting with one leg crossed over the other in a thin metal chair near the window. The view was stunning, but the two inhabitants of the apartment were used to it by now. It overlooked the entire Caloris shaft, with the other side of the residential ring visible a kilometre across the curve. Squinting up, you could even make out the Capital Room and Caloris dockyards at the top of the vast cylinder.

“Thanks Parvus.” A different voice, unmistakably human this time. The accompanying man sat upwards in bed, and cracked his neck. He stood, and leaning to crick his back, he advanced towards the shower cubicle of the apartment. Warmth, steam and artificial scents filled the. The robot, Parvus, stood and moved into the kitchenette. Parvus has two hands, one humanoid, and the other multipurpose. Imagine a fine point paintbrush, but each hair is an independent appendage, capable of infinite movement.  While the human hand pulls a knife off a magnetic rack and begins slicing meats, the multipurpose adjusts itself into the shape of a shovel, and moves freshly cooked cottony rice into a small bowl.

“Is that my special double birthday breakfast I smell? Parv you shouldn’t have!” The human voice is at it again, full of the sincere enthusiasm that only a double birthday can bring. Only Mercurials celebrate double birthdays, because they’re the only planet in the Solystem which follows both the archaic Gregorian calendar and their local planetary calendar.

“You’re not one hundred mercyears every day.” Replies Parvus, as he coats the sliced meats in seasoned oils and complements the rice with small green shoots. “And besides, it’s not like I did anything for your twenty-third eyear.” The meal complete, the multipurpose wraps itself perfectly around the rim of the bowl and carries it to the small one man table, where chopsticks and rum await.

A sudden roar flows from the shower cubicle, as the drier activates. The man emerges from the shower, brazen and clean. Snatching underwear and donning them, the dresser automatically opens at his approach, offering a pair of fibres and jacket, which are hurriedly pulled on. Rubbing his hands, the 24 eyear old Mercurial sits and raises his chopsticks.

“Thi-th is delicoush” Is forced out between a huge bite of fatty meat, dripping with oil. A gulping noise. “Where did you get it? The Mavans manage to save some of their livestock from that virus?”

“No, I went further up.” The higher up you shopped on Mercury, the closer you got to the interplanetary flights, and hence the better produce. Everything grown or raised on Mercury tastes of metal. “I’ll give you a Verne if you can guess which planet.”

Eyebrows raised, Fed swallowed another mouthful of rice. “You went for the offworld proddie? Effe me Parv you didn’t need to spoil me that much.” The shock and gratitude was overcome fairly quickly, as he took a sip of the oily rum and dived back to his bowl.

“You haven’t guessed yet a planet yet, Fedlimid my friend.” Parvus crossed his arms, laid back, and enjoyed watching the gears turn in his friends head. It was a difficult question. There was livestock on the Solar Bases, and Earth and Mars farmed. Venus followed their bizarre religious veganism so they could be crossed off the list. Anything past Mars was too much of a trek, and it’s not like the Coalition would sell anyone else anything.

“Mars or Earth.” Fedlimid replied confidently. “They only keep avian meat on the Bases, at least Apex does. That’s the only station near us at the moment.” He leaned forward, and brandished a chopstick towards his robotic opposite. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the total alignment!” Pointing his other arm towards the screen on the wall facing the window, Fedlimid pushes his wrist forward and clenches a fist. The personal implant fitted just above the wrist flashes a tiny red LED, as Fedlimid announces clearly. “Planmap!”

The black screen spurts into life, and shimmers into a shape of a 2D map of the solar system viewed from above. Fedlimid leans forward and by relaxing his index finger slightly, causes a thin red laser to shoot out of his wrist implant. He drags the line along the nearly aligned planets, resembling a chain of different coloured beads. It wasn't perfect, that would be impossible. The planets didn't occupy the same plane, but were undeniably closer to each other than they had been for millennia. The laser point settled comfortably on Mars.

“Given how up in the office we only order the inferior proddie from Earth when it’s closer to us than Mars, I’m going to say its Martian meat. And I’ll take that Verne now please, I fancy I’ll buy myself some chew tobacco as a reward.” Dropping his chopstick into the now empty bowl, he scratched his chin triumphantly.

Parvus also leaned forward, and rested his elbows on the table. In his human hand, the twirled and twisted the thick metal coin between his fingers. He flipped it into his multipurpose, which swallowed the Verne whole. “Your logic is irrefutable as usual Fed. But I’m afraid I went with the more classical option.” The receipt was nudged across the table into Fed’s waiting grasp, as Parvus stood and walked towards the door. Fedlimid pulled the docket up to his eyes, and squinted. It was Earthen alright, it was actually signed in Old English. The Latin letters were rare enough outside of Mercury and Earth itself, so Fed recognised them instantly. And the E.R.C.O symbol was faded, but still apparent behind the writing.

“Thirty Vernes!” Fedlimid suddenly exclaimed as his eyes reached the bottom of the paper. “Christ Parv where did you pull that from? Kept quiet about that last emonth when we needed the lights rewiring.” Fedlimid also stood, and followed Parvus to the door, picking up his binder off the bedside cabinet. Checking to make sure nothing was missing, he resealed the binder and tucked it under his arm.

“Come on boyo, you’ll be late. And as I said.” Replied Parvus, turning to open the door out to the hall. “You’re not 100 every day.” The robot chuckled smugly and left the apartment. Fedlimid cursed quietly as he forced his way into his slip-ons, and yanking the heel of one over his foot also left the room, shutting the door behind him with a flick of his wrist. Patting the jacket, he confirmed the presence of his tablet, wallet, and a small bag of Vernes and Heins. Parvus was waiting patiently in the lift now, extending and retracting his multipurpose impatiently. Fedlimid jumped in just as the robot pinged the lift to close.

“In a hurry?” Fed asked, as he zipped up his jacket. “Didn’t realise AI liaisons was in such a hubbub on Fritags.”

“Fridays. And no hurry.” Parvus replied lightly. “Although we are a lot busier than usual. The alignment’s dragging a lot of satellites into our orbit, and Capitol’s eager to make good first impressions.”

As the lift hummed, Fedlimid turned curiously. “Venusian satellites? What the hell are isolated AIs doing orbiting Venus? Didn’t they shoot that weird Buddha statue down recently?”

“No, no. It’s mainly bodies from Earth which we’re picking up. I didn’t really imply the actual scale of these orbits.” Parvus pulled his tablet out from its sheath on his torso, the screen already showing the picture he offered Fedlimid. “Maybe I didn’t express the scale, we’re talking extremely wide ellipses. Like our Perigee station, but wider.”

As Parvus descended into technobabble, his beady black eyes stopping their incessant darting around as he described a particularly interesting Neuvobrazza satellite consciousness, Fedlimid phased out. He was used to ignoring Parv’s bouts of passion about his job, and took the opportunity to think about his birthday. He and Saruit had been planning it all week. Saruit was Fedlimid’s best human friend who worked in Apollodorus, roughly three hours away by magtrain. He’d be riding over for the big celebration, as the nightlife in Caloris was the best in Mercury. They’d not decided on a venue yet, but Fed’s work mate Conair knew the entire shop a lot better than the both of them and Parvus combined, so he’d find something for them to do. They’d also need to visit Harrier for their drugs and drink. Harrier was normally out of Fed’s price range, for but his birthday he thought he’d splash out. His father would probably transfer some funds for the occasion, if he sat through an intranet call with him from Mava. Fedlimid’s mother lived on Titan so he doubted she would be making an appearance, aside from a longwave message wishing him the best from her and her wife.

The powerful shunt of the elevator hitting the roof of the shaft in the managerial district woke both Fedlimid and Parvus from their respective stupors. The two waved goodbye to one another, then quickly turned back to confirm a meeting place for this evening. Agreeing on outside Harriers, a bit later than Parvus would have liked so Fedlimid could talk to his father. Parvus patted his human friend on the shoulder, wished him a happy birthday one more time, before waving goodbye. Fed stood outside the lift for a moment thinking. Then he walked down the corridor to his office. 

Of Procul Preview - Prologue

3201

The Procul Station

It began with a very low hum.

The room which the hum filled was tiny, a glorified cupboard. Even in zero-g, where every wall was a workspace, the room was small. The ceiling was punctured by a perfectly circular window, from which the minute glow of one distant star signified the station was facing towards Sol. A single figure floated from wall to wall, adjusting machinery, and making rapid calculations on her forearm mounted tablet. Sweat dripped from her forehead and floated off towards the centre of the room.

Pushing off, the woman glided from one corner to its opposite a few metres away. Her rate of movement was steadily increasing. More buttons were pressed. More wires plugged or unplugged. Dials and screens tapped to make sure they were working. Numbers flew from a hundred screens, through the brain of the young scientist, out through her fingers and onto the tablet. More calculations were made. She darted to another wall, then another. Eyes never leaving the numbers, fingers never leaving the tablet.

Her bead of sweat that had migrated from her brow hung emotionless in the centre of the room. It saw her expressions of confusion, fear and excitement all pass by in instants. It saw her thinly muscled arms, weak from lack of specialised zero-g exercise, grasp tiny handholds as she pulled herself up to one final machine by the window on the ceiling. Fingers danced across a keyboard to the beat of an allegro tune. One final number was shown on an ancient screen, coated with dust and oil. The number was fifty seven digits long, but only the first mattered. It was above zero.

The scientist relaxed. Her thin arms let go of the handholds, and she drifted slowly down from the window towards the door. Her lone bead of sweat found a home in her hair, where it nestled among the short brown curls. Her face was one of serenity. A calm she hadn’t felt for nearly a decade. But one she would not last. A toothy grin exploded on her face.

Corkscrewing, she pushed the door to the laboratory open. The dark corridor it led into wasn’t much larger, but it would take her where she needed to go. Like a worm she wriggled around and between the various operating machinery protruding from the three walls of the triangular prismic corridor. As she moved, fans begun to purr, lights begun to flicker, and alarms to sing. Computers which hadn’t stirred for hundreds of years were waking up, groaning and roaring into life. As she pulled herself from handrail to handrails, she passed alert after alert, in every language the modern solar system knew, and a few it had forgotten. It was as if she herself was causing the excitement, like it was her arrival which was causing the hubbub.

As she emerged from the corridor into the command room, she felt like an angel. The corridor was alive, like a cityscape of a thousand lights and sounds. The space echoed with her laugher now. She was happier than she had ever been in all her life. Happier then when her mother returned alive from the hospital. Happier than when she was accepted into the university. Happier even than when she was commissioned to the Procul Station all those years ago.

Rising from the tunnel like a prophet, she saw the rest of the crew of the station waiting for her. The grizzled captain from Triton, his normally haggard face aglow with the joy of a new grandfather. The two sisters from Mars, their dark faces both beaming out the wide bridge window. The three maintenance staff, who she rarely saw outside of their quarters had made an appearance, and the two which had been lovers for the past few months were mid embrace. All six turned at her appearance, and she almost didn’t need to say anything. Behind the silhouettes of her crewmates, through the window, and over the scattered communications equipment jutting from the rear of the station she saw it.

The wormhole.

The induced portal. The subject of a million research papers. A million documentaries. A million cinemas. The subject of paintings, novels, poems. Of songs, of hopes, of dreams. Of her life.

The wormhole, which was sealed shut nearly a thousand years ago, had opened. It looked exactly how she expected it too, a two dimensional disk, through which an unparalleled blackness was visible. The ring of the disk seemed to melt the space around it, as tart pink and turquois fibres flowed and retracted into the nearby space. It was beautiful, and she could stare at it for days. But she couldn’t.

“Well? Miri?” The captain’s twanged voice cut through the scientist’s stupor. Hearing her name, she blinked and turned to him but couldn’t answer. “It’s the wormhole isn’t it?” He asked, cocking his head in that way he did when he wanted something.

All eyes were on her. She removed her forearm tablet, and pushed towards the captain to hand it to him but stopped. She let go of the tablet, and it drifted towards the floor. She was laughing again, and felt tears flow down her face. Her friends were suddenly upon her, hugging each other like children and laughing with her. Their voices ebbed and flowed from joy, to excitement, to elation. She felt like a little girl again, when her mother would hold her tight and sing her the songs of Procul, their new home across the stars.

She managed to push aside one of the Martian sisters, and met the captains eye. He remained by the console, his finger hovering over the button which would activate the beacon. She held his gaze for a few happy seconds then shouted as loud as she could over the uproar of the crew.

“Yes! Yes the portal is open! The way is open!” She threw back her head and laughed, sending her tears flying towards the ceiling. “Procul is open! We’re saved! We’re all saved!”

The captain wiped away what few tears adorned his bearded face, and he pressed the button. As he stomped towards his crew, roaring with laugher and calling for brandy and crackers, the computer begun calculating. An aerial almost thrice the length of the station from tip to tail, extended itself from the laboratory with the small circular window. Cylinders emerged from cylinders, lengthening and stretching outwards into the void, pointed back towards the home star. As it grew, the great lance begun to vibrate and quiver with energy.

As Miri and her friends supped and dined happily, listening to upmarket Martian pop music from centuries ago, the beacon activated. The surge of electricity was immense, it dimmed the lights on the station and caused their music to cut out, swallowing almost all the reserve power of the stations reactor. But it couldn’t damped the crew’s spirits. Their raucous laugher would have been heard from a listener even outside the stations walls, if not for the perfect vacuum. But instead they would hear the low hum of the beacon, broadcasting for the entire solar system to hear. It was a message in Old English, the language of the archaic rulers of Earth, the openers of the original wormhole all those centuries ago. Before the wars. Before the secession.

The message proclaimed brazenly that the wormhole was open, that Procul was within the grasp of man yet again! The message was eloquent, polite and inviting. From a warmer and softer time. It spoke of mutual benefits, of cooperation and alliances. Free of modern applications of propaganda and advertising. But the Solystem was different now. It was a savage and divided place. None of the old bitter enemies would suffer to see their opponents make it to the wormhole, and even the most weathered alliances would be tested.

But from inside the station, where Miri and the captain kissed each other’s cheeks while proclaiming the thousand years of peace, joy and love which would follow, the message was inaudible. It was nothing but a low hum from the command console. That’s how it all began, a low hum.

Written by me, more shall follow.

Stay on Your World //or// Five Monkeys on 791 Worlds

The entire thing was quite remarkable.

A great metal sphere, struck the Earth at the dead centre of latitude, at about half 5 on the 24^th May.  Far off the south-west coast of Nigeria, in the Gulf of Guinea. We’d all been told the object had been coming for months, and a lot of fairly unimportant people were very alarmed, so of course nothing was done. A fishing vessel requisitioned by the Nigerian Navy found it floating, if you can belief metal doing such a thing, quite peacefully in the ocean. It was a sunny day I was told.

Its diameter was about 6 metres, and despite its miraculous floating act, it was reportedly hard to the touch. Now, an object falling to earth without becoming superheated dust is odd enough. For it to be perfectly spherical is beyond comprehension. For the object to strike Earth, our Earth, at the dead centre of latitude laid out by London, is an act of god. But here words fail me. For words were the nature of the sphere. As the Nigerian seaman pulled the net off the great shape they had fished from the sea, their jaws and arms dropped. They had seen this thing fall, strike the ocean with a great splash. There was so doubt as too its origin beyond the heavens. So how, how in the name of any god imaginable, did the device have English carved onto its shell? Or French? Or Russian, Mandarin, Dutch, and any language you wish to name. They were all there. Latin, Ancient Greek, the strange symbols of Hieroglyphics. Every human language the anthropologists declared had ever existed, was etched onto the spheres surface.  Now you see why words failed me. Words failed everyone else as well. The sphere was taken to a facility outside of Lagos, where it rested for a few days. Teams flew in from across the globe, and the analysis began. But the farmers who saw it on the back of the truck as it was driven from the coast made the most obvious analysis. You didn’t need to speak the English the articles published were written in, because by design the sphere would have your language on it. The absence of any written tongue was an impossibility. If you could read, you knew what it said. And here it was it said.

“Stay on your world, and good will come.”

It said this in English, but the translators told us variations were all the same. A warning, a recommendation, or a threat. Whatever it was, it was only the beginning of the shocks this strange metal circle would bring. Exactly 30 days after its arrival, the sphere broke apart. The Peruvian engineer trying to remove a sample of metal from one of the more ornate letterings staggered back in shock. His was the fourth team to try and break off part of the device for some kind of metallurgic examination, and his was the fourth team to fail. Yet the great sphere collapsed into 11 equally great segments, like a tall metal orange. Within the interior walls of each segment, were innumerable objects, of intense complexity, embedded into the walls. Things that resembled the bows of violins, but with a thin black laser as the string. A huge collection of tiny headphone-like devices that fit snugly over the forefinger. A an almost exact replica of an octopuses tentacle, but ending in a sharp blade. The descriptions could go on for hours. The Peruvian was aghast, but not aghast enough to reach down and pick one of the more medium sized objects up. It was a sphere, enclosed in a wire mesh which covered half of it. As soon as he picked it up, the tiny sphere began whizzing and twirling. Although he didn't know it, the engineer held a perpetual motion device.

The U.N. had to intervene very quickly. But this didn't stop an estimated 30 devices going missing, or judged missing from their empty holes in the original sphere’s segment. But the devices that remained were quite enough. The more interesting devices were wrapped up in legislation and flown off around the world. It was fairly explanatory what each thing did. Infinite energy. Faster than light projection. Localised biological dilation. Even, what appeared to a real time map of the nearby universe, one not hampered by the limitations of light reaching out planet.  But more of that later. Tradition would dictate that this technology was passed only to the elite, maintain their grip on power.

But the entire thing was rather a pleasant surprise to the sceptics. The useful devices were readily duplicated using technology from the sphere, and the free energy and productivity spread across the world. The poorest nations were lifted to the status of a superpower 10 years ago. AIDS orphans were projected to live 200 years old. Those born blind saw colours they never thought possible. Mankind became a godlike race, in the almost unbelievable space of 20 years. It was a new renaissance. But through this period of joy, excellence, and happiness, never once did the more intelligent stop thinking about the warning etched onto the surface of the sphere.

“Stay on your world, and good will come.”

The good had come, so now they had to stay on their world. Some more religious groups tried to outright ban spaceflight, and their lobbying was somewhat effective. It took about 3 years for the next spacecraft to leave earth, carrying a satellite was promised to revolutionise about 4 schools of science. But we never knew, because the rocket didn't leave.

At the outer edges of the atmosphere, it was struck simultaneously by 791 different microscopic lasers, from 791 sources in the void. All rocket launches were suspended, indefinitely. While we saw nothing but darkness in our telescopes, the real life map of the universe differed. 791 planets fit the exact position of the laser origins. The world was a frenzy. Had these planets sent the sphere? Was this a declaration of interstellar war? Could we talk to them? When would we talk to then? What did they say? These last 3 questions were answered in the impressive timespan of about 8 weeks, and suddenly we had friendly conversational assurance that we were not the only intelligent life in the universe. By launching what we were told were microscopic lasers through microscopic wormholes, we progressed from binary, through to maths, through to words. We spoke with 791 races from 791 worlds, and they spoke to us. In our new age of prosperity, where every man was fed and lived happily, everyone was able to buy devices to talk to the aliens. And while what we talked about varied, we were able to draw conclusions.

Firstly, they had fired the lasers which destroyed our rocket. Secondly, had we not heeded the words of our sphere? Every one of the 791 worlds had the same history, of moderate success in civilization and science, then a great sphere of scientific power falling from the sky, followed by a great age of prosperity. They all followed this pattern, and all seemed ready to cede their right to spacefaring for the simple cost of joy.

But not all agreed. A reformed Eastern USSR, fuelled by introversion, kept launching rockets. And each was shot down. After 3 cosmonauts were killed, the world stepped in. We had to stay on our world! We could not leave it, less we face the loss of our great new wondrous civilization! The others across the cosmos warned us, they fired their lasers to keep us here, for our own good! But the rockets continued, and so did the lasers. The 791 voices apologised profusely, but it was what happened! The sphere had given us its good, so now we must stay on our world!

But this did little to dissuade the Soviets. Despite the new age of chemical synthesis and matter transformation making the creation of rockets a simple affair, they nearly destroyed themselves sending the rockets up. NASA and the ESA were already dismantled. We tried to convince our 791 friends that the Russians were a rogue group, and didn't represent us all. They were incredibly understanding, but didn't stop their bombardment of their spacecraft.

Years passed. The deaths of people of anything other than natural causes fell to the thousands globally. The golden age became more golden. Things progressed.

Then the game changer. After intensive research, using what little resources we still allowed them, the Eastern USSR managed to shield their rocket from above. They managed to get further and further out of the atmosphere into space before the bombardment had any effect. Our 791 friends were incredibly worried. Imagine 791 planets, literally billions of lifeforms, all crying the same thing.

“Stop! Stay on your world! You’ll destroy yourselves! This has never happened before! Let the good continue!”

Finally, enough was had. The Soviets launched their most promising rocket yet. It was impervious to assault, invincible, a modern titanic. But ironically, it was the rocket that made it the least way into the void. For a great laser of our own struck the rockets undefended underbelly, destroying it completely. 3 hours later, the Eastern USSR was removed from the globe, with peaceful, calm and cool methods. No more lasers would need to be launched Earth, we promised our 791 friends. They were overjoyed. They loved us, and we loved them. The happiness was exponential.



So when they started sending us reports of rogue groups on their planets launching rockets, against the explicit orders of their spheres, we were horrified. We didn't want their joy to end, so when we were asked to destroy them with the laser of our own, we gladly agreed. Eventually we weren't even asked to destroy their launches, we simply detected them, and fired. It was the done thing, no comment was made of it. And when we detected a specific radiation on a specific planet that indicated intelligent life on, we were happy for them. Soon they would enter our joyous fold of existence. But first they had to stay on their world. So 6 months after their sphere landed, when they launched a satellite, we joined the 791 lasers fired by our 791 friends, and destroyed the new launch with 792 microscopic lasers launched through 792 microscopic wormholes. The new race soon developed a communication method, and were curious and furious as to why we had shot down their precious rocket. And 792 voices answered, with 792 identical statements, the same as those found on the now 793 spheres that had fallen now to 793 worlds.

“Stay on your world, and good will come.”


Written by me.