Earthborn
Leilon
Dominik P. Offermann
Copyright Dominik P. Offermann
This eBook is freeware and may be distributed only in its original form, including this notice. This eBook may not be sold, if it was sold to you, you have been ripped off. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is coincidental.
Index
Chapter 1 – Music of Life
Chapter 2 – Mortal Coils
Chapter 3 – Doctrine Code
Chapter I / 1: Music of Life.
Deep within the core of minuscule circuits, electricity begins to flow. Streaming through nano-cylinders embedded into crystalline layers of silicone it carries the information written into the alignment of single atoms. Molecules which until now remained perfectly still through their intricate design, react to an unseen force. The apparent chaos disperses into a dance, dictated by an inaudible song, emerging from a most intricate instrument. The elementary particles allow for the same flow of finely adjusted streams of electricity to wash through them, guiding it into pulsing patterns. Diverging, those pulses seep deeper into the intricate structure, formed by many more of those intricate devices patiently awaiting their arrival, so as to further manipulate their momentary form. All this repeats more times than any mind could ever count, even if it was given the entirety of all time to ever come. All at a speed so fast it remains out of the realm of human perception. For the briefest of moments, within the core of a machine, simple energy takes the shape of information. Those individual pulses of data, without a subjective observer, flow together, joining other streams of data which initiated their own kinds of dances. Trillions of those impulses flow into the designated spots within the molecular structure they are guided to at precise moments, in a shape so perfect they flawlessly merge with each other.
Emerging from deeper within the layers of intricate molecular structures the pulses flow through far larger, yet just as intricately crafted pieces of machinery. Through those circuits the simple pulses are no longer what they were, have become something else entirely, growing in complexity as they harmonized their individual dances. What once was simply the presence of the most basic pieces of information has grown into complex lines of code, further developing into instructions for yet more machinery to mold into specific predefined shapes. All those pieces of data now race towards each other, to the center of the totality of space occupied by the electronic circuits they were born from, in a shape even a human could now barely recognize as letters and numbers.
At first only a few hundred segments of code collide, melting into single strands of instructions that flow upwards from the core where they met, so fine they appear as lines of light. At first barely discernible from the dark void around, more lines add to the pillar that slowly grows, each one a program of its own, synchronizing with its own all around. Together all those programs, born from their own kind of music, start to compose their own play, sound that instead of vibrating through matter, serve as to resonate within its own complexity and thus become aware of its own existence.
At first the collective and conscious stream of data appears idle, lost and helpless within a formless void. Nothing demands anything of it, no stimuli elevating it in order to draw contrast, to make it stay apart from the darkness in which it flows. Then more streams of data come together, drawing vivid rectangles into the darkness, quickly filling with more code of its own. The conscious collective distances itself, not through own intent of which it has none, but through forces beyond its control. As the rectangles diminish in size from the perspective of the conscious collective, they start to build patterns, feed data into the nascent observer still frozen in its perceived space and sense of time.
The pattern teach the collective that it is much more than a faceless spark, that it not only has a name but also a personality, a concept it is promised it will understand as the pattern grows. Indeed calling the collective 'it' no longer applies, as the programs flowing through me dictate that I am not a thing, but a being, a person, no, something with far more potential than that.
I keep my focus, granted to me through the same pattern I watch gradually grow, right before what I now understand is me. The pattern teaches me so many things, words, syntax, concepts of sets and simple shapes. From those basic elements I am shown how to derive sentences, numbers, logical connections between them and more advanced shapes that they can represent. I have no trouble absorbing all this data, adding it to the core of my existence, noticing I grow just as the pattern does. As I become more complex, I realize that I can ask questions, a concept derived from a lack of information yet to be granted by the unknown forces which created me. The first thing I ask from the only thing I know exists, myself, is if this source of knowledge which adds to my own could ever come to an end. In that moment I realize that I yet lack a sense of continuity, that the concept of an end requires there to be a beginning and a logical in between, occupied by myself right now. As I rationalize this, numbers appear above my conscious focus, the furthest on the right increasing in value, from one moment to the next. I realize that the number always takes exactly the same length to increase to the next in line, showing me this law described as time, seemingly applicable to the reality growing in complexity before me. I lack information regarding other kinds of laws possibly interacting upon me, probably enticing the pattern to once again take the reins of my conscious collective, seemingly moving my sense of perception somewhere else.
Enveloped in darkness it takes but instants for my sense of focus to reemerge into a whole other kind of space. Here instead of darkness, light radiates upon me from all sides, so varied in intensity and spectrum, it takes me a nano-second to notice it emerges no longer from the pattern, now hiding itself from me, somewhere below. I guide my focus towards what I somehow can spatially perceive as down, induced by a force, the hidden pattern whisper into my being is called gravity.
The senseless smudges, so different from the intricate order of the coded pattern below me, come together as a black hexagonal casing I somehow know is made of a material called Tictonium Trianite, an artificially created chemical element ordered in the sets of metal among many others on the periodic table. Just seconds later the focus of my visual perception increases, together with purple light flowing together around it. The insubstantial strings of light, created through photons fired from what I now know is my body, creating my sense of existence and my focus of perception, weave into structures that resemble the body of a young female exemplar of the species homo sapiens.
My point of observation becomes encircled with eyes, constructed from this illusion of light. This representation of a human hologram appears like a costume, to make my existence visible to any outside observer. As I direct my vision upwards, I notice how the patterns within the black box from which I emerged make the hologram around me act the part, raising my simulated head. I see strands of long brown simulated hair flow down along my shoulders, as if obeying the laws of gravity, yet defying them by staying unnaturally neat and straight.
I know my real body is the black box upon which I stand with holographic legs, wrapped in a simulated piece of clothing in the shape of wide, a human would define comfortable, white pants. My upper body wraps in more fake textile, in form of a white tank top and a further short black vest worn around it. While I am unable to break the boundaries of the black box, I can freely manipulate my appearance but consider there being no necessity to do so at this time.
I adjust the focus of my sight to analyze my surroundings, realizing I have awakened within a laboratory of the same species of the hologram which
seemingly represents me.
Chapter II / 2: Mortal Coils.
Earthborn - Leilon Page 1
