Through the Singularity

by L. Frank Wadsworth

  Clive enters the dining room. He doesn't remember anything about his parents. His earliest memories are from foster care, and no records appear to exist of his birth. He was found at about the age of two, wandering the streets; that is all anyone knows, and a mystery Clive doesn't care to solve. Achi examined his DNA once, but that only highlighted that his ancestry was complex—about half from central Africa, with the rest a wide, somewhat indeterminant mix of European, north African, and other unspecified ancestry—a typical American mongrel.

  Clive made it clear early on that he didn't want a father, having nothing but contempt for absent parental figures who had decided to abandon him so early in his life. So Achi assumed the role of benefactor and mentor, maintaining a fairly formal relationship. The unstated agreement was that Clive, in exchange for Rolle's aid, would endeavor to make something of himself. And Clive responded to that. The events of the last few years have only strengthened their bond, despite how weird it must all seem to Clive at times. They trust each other implicitly and harbor no secrets. They know what is at stake and what the enemies of mankind are willing to do.

  Clive looks at Achi. “What are you thinking about? You're more distant than usual.”

  Achi smiles. “Just reminiscing a bit. I've too much history to reflect on sometimes.”

  Clive just nods. He's used to his moods by now. “Well, let’s focus on some breakfast, after which I can fill you in on the latest.” They sit down at the table, and the cook brings western omelets and sausage links, along with orange juice and freshly brewed coffee.

  Achi had created Nils Hagen several years before events overcame the Rolle Andersson persona. Nils was the “son” of one of DIS's software engineers who'd died several years ago from cancer, but who had held a few key patents that ensured a significant income from royalties. Nils was a long-time supporter of the Andersson Foundation and had decided to take a more active role after graduating from college. He was quickly rising up that corporate ladder, but he had access to only a fraction of the wealth that Rolle had. In addition, Nils also had his own start-up technology business and was beginning to create a name for himself with innovative products—furthering man-machine interfaces. DIS was beginning to suffer from flagging sales as it tried to cater to fashion instead of setting trends. Achi suspected at some level it was deliberate. Some of the people who had taken over the company following Rolle's death, he suspects, are in league—albeit probably unwittingly—with Sklávoi Ashtoreth. Ironically, that helps him now as he can siphon off some of their frustrated talent for his new company.

  Clive, having finished his meal, is now sipping his coffee. He clears his throat “Cheryn sent you an e-mail. She'd like to discuss opportunities. Are you taking on another project, or are we just using her?”

  Achi looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “I don't believe I am in the habit of using people, at least not in that way. True, the Sklávoi Ashtoreth used her once as a weapon against us, and I'd like to see if I can turn that against them. But I feel that will be better if she wants to help. It'll likely take a while to convince her of that; we'll have to see. She is not the same person she was. Regardless, Zaleria was of the mind that she deserved a second chance, and I intend to give it to her.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes,” Achi says firmly. He still has Zaleria's perfect memories of their encounter, the love she showed her would-be assassin. Cheryn had been terrified, horrified by what was happening to her. She'd felt betrayed, perhaps. There is material to work with. He just has to help her connect the dots. “We'll need to keep her away from any of the foundation work that is most likely to provoke the Sklávoi Ashtoreth. I was thinking of something within the community partnerships department. I think helping others achieve self-reliance and independence could appeal to her, as well as help her grow. Let’s see if we can set up a meeting at the foundation. I'll feel better chatting with her inside its security perimeter. I still have a hard time believing they would just let her go. They've got to be keeping an eye on her.”

  Clive harrumphs a bit, “I doubt it’s out of loyalty or kindness. She can't say anything about them without implicating herself in a terrorist attack. It's unlikely she has anything resembling solid evidence that would stand up in a court of law. They probably figure it’s best to just let her be. What can she do to them, really? She knows what they're likely to do if she tries. But if they do try to take out the sole survivor, it'll only raise their own profile. So Sklávoi Ashtoreth has nothing to gain but something to lose. It only makes sense they've ignored her for now.”

  “True,” Achi agrees. “Still, we will need to be vigilant. As long as they don't see a threat, we stand a chance. We want to keep it that way.”

  ∞∞∞

  Zaleria finds herself on Earth again. She is in a mansion, it belongs to him. Rolle Andersson. Only that isn't really his name. It's, it's…something she can't remember. It seems important, but it is out of reach. They are having dinner. She can almost taste the food, though a part of her knows it is only a dream. But it feels so real. She feels like she has known him all her life, but that can't be right. They've only just met.

  It gets late, and they go upstairs to go to bed. But she follows him into his room. They get into bed together, and soon they become intimate. It is the most intense feeling she's ever had; she feels like they have become the same person. She can feel what he feels, think what he thinks, see the world as he sees it. She knows how he sees her, and what he feels for her.

  She starts to find it difficult to tell her own thoughts from his. They have become a single person, a new creature entirely. And they have a grave purpose. An immense task they must complete. Only she can't recall what it is. It is slipping away. All of it. She feels herself separate from him and start falling. Into a black tunnel that leads ever downward.

  It makes no sense, no sense at all.

  Zaleria jerks awake, covered in sweat, heart pounding. She is in her bed at home. She is finding it harder and harder to deal with the aftermath of her failed mission on Earth. She is having difficulty sleeping and keeps dreaming of someone she doesn't remember knowing—Rolle Andersson. She's sure it is him but can't figure out why he feels so familiar. How could she have any sense of him after all that has happened. Yet she feels…connected to him. Like some bond exists between them. How is that even possible? She has no memories of him, but she can feel his presence somehow. And she doesn't know why she knows. She has researched this topic as discreetly as possible, but it remains a mystery. Worse, she is withdrawing from the collective, from her friends, from everyone. She hardly shares with anyone lately unless it is in response to someone contacting her. Often, it is Beltare who reaches out, probably because she is growing concerned about Zaleria’s isolation. Zaleria feels she is losing her mind; she needs to do something. She can't just sit here and reflect. It is so frustrating not knowing and not being allowed anywhere near Earth.

  “Zaleria.” Traemuña is trying to connect with her. “Zaleria…Are you still not speaking with me?”

  Speaking with me. She's at it again, Zaleria thinks to herself. Her mother is worried about her, and she has every right, but Zaleria isn't sure she wants to deal with her right now—unless she is willing to finally let her know what happened. “What do you want, mother? Are you ready to tell me what I shared with you on Earth?” That probably sounded harsher than she wanted, but her mother can be very frustrating.

  “Zaleria, I know you are frustrated, but I'm not sure what you want me to do about it. I'm worried about you. You're becoming isolated.”

  Really? Zaleria has made it quite clear what she wanted from her mother. “Then perhaps we should 'discuss it.' Feel free to come over.”

  Traemuña's visage appears on Zaleria's living room couch next to her unitary. While her body is here, she is in constant contact with her essence; therefore, it does not generate a visage; there is no need. “Welcome mother.” she says in the Earth English dialect. “I app
reciate you are concerned about me. But I meant what I said. I want you to tell me what I shared with you on Earth.”

  “Zaleria, I love you and would like nothing more than to ease your mind. But you don't know what you are asking me to do. Stop; I know what you are going to say, and it is pointless. Let me see if I can explain it to you in a different way. If I don't tell you what I know, you sit here frustrated because there is nothing you can do about that lack of knowledge. If I tell you what I know, you will sit here even more frustrated because you cannot act on what you know. And there is more… What happened changed you so profoundly the first time that you could not connect with your essence.”

  Zaleria is exasperated. “Then tell me what happened.”

  Traemuña lets out a small sigh of helplessness. “No matter what I do, you will be in profound pain. This is the same dilemma you put me in when I visited you on Earth. I chose to provide you then with the same advice I will provide you now. I cannot solve this for you. You will have to find your own solution. For what it is worth, I believe you will return to Earth, and this mystery will resolve itself.”

  “I wish I had your faith…,” Zaleria sighs, “But I don't see that happening now. I've really messed things up.”

  “Have you? That is not how I see it, and I don't believe that is how others see it.”

  Zaleria isn't buying it. “Beltare told me I must be prepared to accept that I will never go back to Earth. She doesn't trust me anymore. I think that was pretty clear.”

  “I've known Beltare for over 50,000 years, and I've never known her to be unjust. What did she say to you, exactly?”

  “She told me it was too great a risk to let me return to Earth.”

  Traemuña looks at her closely. “And did she say why it was too great a risk?”

  Zaleria sighs, closes her eyes, and recalls the exact words, “The Sklávoi Ashtoreth know who you are. They may have a way of detecting or tracking our activities. It is too great a risk to let you come here until we know that it is safe.” Hmm, that doesn't sound as bad as she felt at the time. Perhaps she is being too emotional about this.

  “Sounds different to you now, doesn't it?” Traemuña says to her firmly. “Zaleria, you need to focus on what you can affect and not what your heart desires. Everyone knows you want to go back to Earth and set matters right. And despite everything you did to Beltare, she is willing to have you come back, when it is safe to do so. So why don't you stop pitying your plight and start working the problem?”

  Zaleria glares at her, and Traemuña glares right back. Her mother is so frustrating. But she is not toying with her now; nor is she being playful. She is deadly serious. And this, more than anything else she could have done, gets to Zaleria. She looks away, takes a deep breath, and thinks about what her mother is telling her. She realizes she has a guilt complex.

  “Mom, I feel guilty, and I don't know why. And that's not all. I feel…I don't know how to describe it.”

  Traemuña's face softens a little. “Try me. You might find I'm more understanding than you think.”

  “Something happened to me on Earth; I can still feel it. A…connection was made. I made it. Well, at least my unitary did. And though it makes no sense at all, I still feel it. There's something important, something I should remember, that I need to remember, but it's just beyond what I can recall. I've been dreaming of Rolle Andersson, and I feel like I've known him my entire life. I can pull up what is known about him from the collective, but I know there is so much more to him. But logically, there is no way I can, is there?” Zaleria feels tears welling up in the corner of her eyes, and she wipes them away viciously. Damn it, she needs to control her emotions.

  Zaleria looks at Traemuña, but her face is impassive—a mask. She does this deliberately when she doesn't want to reveal anything. But Zaleria notices a slight tweak at the corner of her mouth. A tell. A…what? What was that? She doesn't know anything about…poker. The reference comes from a human game called poker. How could she know that?

  Traemuña sees her expression change and realizes what it signifies. “Zaleria, tell me about what you remember after you, after your unitary, was destroyed.”

  Zaleria is taken off guard a bit. “I don't recall anything.” She says matter-of-factly. “Why?”

  “As you know, when we are regenerated, our memories are restored from our essence. But there is more to galanen than memories. When we die, we usually go to a place outside of time and review all that we have done, and how it affected others. We don't normally recall everything, but usually we do recall the experience. There is something about us that encompasses more than just our essence. An echo, perhaps, within the very fabric of creation, perhaps a memory in the mind of the Creator. Strange, if you truly don't recall anything…”

  Something about what she says rings true. A truth recognized at some fundamental level within herself that she was unaware existed up until this moment. “I think there is something to what you say. It is unsettling.”

  “It need not be. Perhaps you'll recall more later. I can only advise you to trust your instincts. This is why I have faith. There is more to the universe than the hand of galanen, and adversity often leads to opportunity. But faith can also be aided, assisted if you will. There are things you could be doing to help with what is going on with Earth. It doesn't need your physical presence there, does it?”

  Zaleria is only half listening to her mother. She has so much to think about. But she eventually nods her head. “I can start investigating Sklávoi Ashtoreth and try and figure out how they track us, or know me, or both.”

  Her mother nods her head. “But you don't have to do it alone, do you? This is something I would like to help you with.”

  Zaleria looks at her again, trying to fathom what would motivate her to do that. She has not been active in tending a garden world since before she bore Zaleria. There is that twitch again; she is hiding something. “I'd love any help you can provide. Do you have any recommendation on where we should start?”

  ∞∞∞

  From the other side of the large, well-lighted office space, Achi watches Cheryn working at her desk in the community partnerships department of the Andersson Foundation. If she harbors any lingering feelings about working for an organization named after a man she'd once sworn to destroy, she hides it well. She has changed much, Achi thinks as he recalls how tentative she acted when she joined them a year ago. He'd thought it best to start her on simple clerical tasks, mainly transactional work that would give her an opportunity to see the range of activities the foundation engaged in. When she began to grow restless with this admittedly simplistic work, he encouraged her to seek positions with more impact. She tried a couple jobs more directly tied to community grants and financing, before finally settling on a community liaison role. He was frankly surprised that she preferred a job working directly with people, but she seems to have a knack for it. She is sympathetic but also very good at seeing past various ruses or psychological defenses to get at the heart of a matter. He supposes she had to have learned these skills in her previous line of work, which she never talks about. She seems content to look forward and not dwell on the past. Which makes what he must do unfortunate.

  Achi needs to start guiding Cheryn to the point where she is willing to divulge what she knows of the Sklávoi Ashtoreth. He and Clive have been digging into the organization for the last three years and have made some headway. They know it is headquartered in the Middle East, probably Turkey but maybe in Syria or northern Iraq or Iran. They have the names of several businessmen and at least one royal who appear to fund the organization, but they have not been able to fully define the scope of their activities or networks. They seem to focus on funding, through multiple intermediaries, various agitprop groups that oppose multinational businesses and democratic government and generally espouse social justice movements that pit race versus race, or class against class. But they need to know how it is organized at the highest levels, to identify who are
truly making the decisions.

  Cheryn was a true believer, once. She was a field operative, someone they trusted to kill for their cause. She must know something. Most of the other agents he and Clive have run into were nothing more than hired guns. She'd been indoctrinated. But getting that out of her will be delicate. She is only just, just beginning to have a little faith that what she is doing now is better than what she was doing. That she isn't a sellout, co-opted into being nothing more than a pawn for yet another cause. If he pushes too hard, it might cause her to recoil, retreat into her shell and never come out again.

  That would have consequences for her rehabilitation as well. If she loses faith, loses her way, she may never find it again. Achi was serious when he told Clive that he isn't helping her just to use her. He is honoring Zaleria's wish and, perhaps in some small way, atoning for his own past. He'd been just like her, once. He had a second chance and many more past that. Does Cheryn deserve any less?

  But right now, he has a lead, and a plan that might help her confront her past, and hopefully provide an opening for Nils to pull a thread that could unravel more of the tapestry that Sklávoi Ashtoreth hides behind. He walks over to her, “Cheryn, we have a new case, one that I'm not too sure of. Would you mind checking it out?”

  She turns and smiles at him. She has warmed up a lot over the last year. While she still won't talk about her past, she is willing to share more about what she hopes for in the future. She is beginning to make plans and seems happy with what she is doing. “Sure Nils, what have you got?”

  “There is a group in Seattle looking for some funding, but I'm not sure their values align well with the Foundation's. They appear to be focused on social equality, which is good, but their methods to date have been divisive. Perhaps you can help them refocus their efforts in more positive directions? If so, we may be able to help them.”