Galactic Arena Box Set

by Dan Davis

  “Yeah, I’m definitely not smart enough to understand what you’re saying. Geniuses have faster reaction times?”

  “Increased myelination in the brain increases brain size, caudal nerve conduction velocity, and problem-solving performance.”

  Ram smiled. “That’s not true. Otherwise all professional athletes would be, you know, mathematicians and chess masters in their spare time. That’s not what they’re like at all.”

  “You are partly correct, and yet your personal experiences are at odds with the data on elite athletes. They often have an IQ greater than the average for their population. But they are also highly specialized, and after an early age they don’t invest time in learning mathematics or playing music or anything else. Hence, they may well be remarkably ignorant, generally speaking, and yet be highly intelligent. Reaction time is correlated with intelligence but not very strongly at the individual level. And reaction time is important for athletes but not equally so in all disciplines. There are many other factors at work, just like making a genius.”

  “You’re the expert. So, can we just do that to Henry? Increase his myelination?”

  “Myelination also partially explains the high glial to neuron ratio in genius brains and the fact that there is less glucose utilization per unit volume in large brains. Henry has all this already, genetically speaking. He is intelligent. He is astonishingly fast. His brain uses fuel efficiently. But it’s not just these hardware specifications that make a genius. Like you said, if that were all, we would be swimming in geniuses.”

  “So what does make a genius?”

  “There are both fast and slow life history geniuses. Fast life history strategists are people who, through combinations of personality and biology, tend to be the live fast, die young, have lots of sex and lots of conflict types who tend to be creative generalists. Slow life history strategists tend to have few or no children, avoid conflict, and tend to be specialists. Scientists tend to be the latter kind. So which kind of genius do you think Doctor Monash is?”

  “Slow life history strategist?”

  She smiled. “Of course, yes. Investing decades into ever smaller specializations, digging down ever deeper into niche areas to the extent that it is difficult for anyone else to understand their work but it allows the genius to see things others can’t because of the depth of their understanding. It is creative work but the mode of production is very different, tending to be low risk and high fidelity. And his co-lead on the project, Professor Marit Olsen, was a fast life history strategist type. Generally speaking, rather rarer for this type of genius to be a scientist but they are syncretic and eclectic, pulling disparate ideas together in a high risk, low fidelity fashion in a kind of combinatorial novelty generation. They tend to be musicians, philosophers, artists, writers, that kind of thing. Unstable types who cut off their ears or die in duels in their mid-thirties.”

  “Like Van Gough.”

  “Yes, and scientists like Isaac Newton. And examples of slow life history strategy geniuses would be Francis Galton, Charles Darwin, Charles Babbage, Lord Elgin, James Clarke Maxwell, Albert Einstein, people like that.”

  “Einstein, sure.”

  “And what sort do you think you are, Ram?”

  “I’m hardly in the same league.”

  “No, you’re not at all but you need not pretend modesty with me. I have seen your personality profile. I know you will be feeling delighted to be called a genius. And the fact is, it’s true. We most often hear of military geniuses at the level of very high ranking field commanders but of course there has always been genius military tacticians at every level. Mortality is far higher below a certain level, sadly, and their fame far lesser, but in genetic and performance terms, they are there all the same. You may find slow life history strategy military geniuses but the need to think quickly and widely means you tend to be fast life history strategists and in fact these kinds of people usually have higher than average levels of testosterone.”

  Ram sighed, close to laughing. “Alright, so I’m a high testosterone fast life history strategy small unit commander military genius?”

  “That’s right.”

  He laughed. “And Henry is the slow life history strategy genius?”

  “No, Henry is not a genius at all. He doesn’t have either the creativity or the pathological drive to succeed to be considered so.”

  “Oh,” Ram said, his smile dying. “But we increased his testosterone and now he’s super competitive.”

  “Now he has high testosterone levels and he has powerful urges to fight, to do violence, and to win.”

  “So, where does the rest of it come from?”

  “Ah, now. That’s the question isn’t it. Early life experiences, environmental conditions. Everything has to line up just right. Biological potential in all the right combinations, plus the perfect environmental conditions, acting on a single individual to create these outliers. In Outpost Omega, we did our best to create both but we failed.”

  “So, it’s too late for Henry?”

  “Too late for him to ever be considered a genius? I would say so, certainly. Can he still win in the arena despite not being a genius? I don’t know, that’s your area.”

  “I don’t need him to be a genius. Just to be more creative. Didn’t you guys develop that side?”

  “Of course we did. We had other subjects who were more creatively inclined but sadly they died.”

  “Accidents and illnesses, right? How did that affect Henry?”

  R1 wiped the corner of her eye. “He was largely unaffected, as far as we could tell. They all knew each other as rivals and while there was a certain camaraderie there was intense competition. Henry is a dutiful soul and conscientious but he is not overly kind. He is not overburdened with empathy.”

  “Maybe that’s it, then. Or part of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The ability to empathize doesn’t just mean you can understand the emotions of people you care about, it’s also a means to better understand your enemy. Could it be that he’s not understanding the Hex enough to predict its behavior.”

  “Possibly but which of us really understands the Hex? Our simulations are based on observed behaviors and biomechanics only, not their deeper motives.”

  “You never looked into that.”

  “We had the data we had and no more. Speculation hardly seems like an efficient use of resources.”

  “Maybe for you back then. But I have someone to ask now. Maybe you can help me to prepare?”

  “The prisoner you brought back from Earth? I thought he had already been questioned.”

  “He has, at length. A waste of time, I’m told and they’re going to hand him over to UNOP Intelligence first chance they get. But you and me, R1, we’ll try to crack him.”

  22.

  Ram stood in center of the meeting room as the XO, Lieutenant Blackman, and an ensign, both armed, escorted the prisoner in.

  “Oh, it’s you,” the Wayfinder said when he saw who awaited him.

  Ram said nothing as the prisoner was shoved into the chair and his restraints secured to the table with brutal swiftness. Lieutenant Blackman was an active and capable XO but the crew respected rather than liked him, for good reason.

  “You cannot keep me in these conditions,” the Wayfinder said, looking between the XO and Ram. “It has been months, I believe, in solitary confinement. I have not been permitted to exercise properly. And the diet is appalling. Believe me, I will be making a complaint regarding my treatment.”

  “Oh yeah?” Lieutenant Blackman said, sneering. “Who you going to complain to, traitor?” With that, he slapped the man across the back of his head.

  The ensign and XO stood back. Lieutenant Blackman glanced at Ram and it was clear he wanted to stay. Ram shook his head and the XO scowled.

  “I’ll be seeing you soon,” Blackman said to the prisoner. “And then the gloves will come off.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Ram sai
d.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the XO and the ensign left the room, closing the door behind them.

  Ram looked down at the prisoner. “What can you tell me about the hex?”

  The prisoner sniffed. “The who?”

  “Don’t be coy. You know I mean the hexadecapodiformes.”

  He lifted his nose in the air. “I refuse to refer to them by that ridiculous label that you have assigned to them.”

  “I didn’t assign it.”

  “By you, I of course mean you. You unenlightened humans.”

  Ram nodded. “That’s us is it? Unenlightened.” He pointed at the prisoner. “And that would make you enlightened, is that right?”

  The man smiled. “Certainly it is.”

  “So, would you enlighten me?”

  He scoffed. “If you truly wished to be enlightened, I would help to lead you on that journey. And yet you are obviously utterly insincere. You are attempting to make a connection with me so that I will tell you something that you need to know. Well, it will not work. Not at all.”

  “I swear that I really do want to understand.”

  He looked at Ram, tilting his head. “Understanding is not enough.”

  “What else do I need to do?”

  He smiled. “You don’t need to do anything.”

  Ram scratched the corner of his eye. “So, how can I become enlightened, like you?”

  The man leaned forward and looked up at Ram through his black eyebrows. “First of all, you need to be honest.”

  “I am being honest with you. I really do want to see things like you see them.”

  He licked his lips and smiled slightly. “Not be honest with me. Be honest with yourself.”

  “What am I lying to myself about?”

  “The fact that you are in awe.”

  Ram could not suppress his smile. “I am?”

  “You are. We all are. Every one of us.”

  “Us? So you’re one of us now?”

  He sighed. “Us meaning every sentient creature in this galaxy. We are all stricken by the majesty of it.”

  “Of the orb stations?”

  He smiled as if genuinely amused. “Such a pedestrian term, isn’t it? I wonder if that was a form of defense mechanism on the part of the bureaucrats who named it in order to control the awe that they felt upon discovering the sheer power of these magisterial wonders.”

  “What a fascinating insight. Can you tell me, what did you do for a living before the hex showed up?”

  The prisoner shifted in his seat. “I was unenlightened.”

  “Oh?” Ram said. “What was it that you did for work?”

  “It is utterly irrelevant.”

  “I can tell by looking at you that you’re not a manual labor type. You weren’t a builder or a plumber or anything useful. You’re fairly well educated, I mean that’s obvious from the way you talk. But I would also guess that you’re not as clever as you think you are. Can I start guessing?”

  “What is the purpose of this?” He smirked and wagged a finger as best as he could with his hands restrained. “You are not being honest, are you, sir.”

  Ram spread his arms. “I’m just trying to get to know you better. I’ll tell you everything about myself from before all this if you tell me about yourself before the invasion, how about that?”

  The prisoner sat upright. “Our individual selves are unimportant when compared to the Temples of the Gods.”

  “The Temples of the Gods, is that what you call them?”

  “It is what they are. Even someone as unenlightened as you can see that, surely?”

  Ram pointed at him. “No, certainly not a builder. You’re not… earthy enough. You’re too bitter for that. Did you ever meet a builder who was bitter? Of course not, their job is creating places for people to live and work and even if you don’t like the work, and it’s hard work, you’re not going to be bitter about it. So, I think, maybe… you were a… janitor, right?” Ram stared, looking closely for a reaction. “I get a janitor vibe from you. But not one of those janitors who do their job diligently, I’ll bet. Not the guys who look after a building and the people that use it with a vague sense of duty and maybe even pride in their work. You were one of those who resented being forced to clean toilets because you thought you were better than that. Your bitterness comes from being a small man all your life when in your heart you knew you deserved respect. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “You are completely wrong. I never cleaned a toilet in my life.”

  Ram shrugged. “Right, of course. Cleaners clean toilets and you were never a cleaner. You had limits, after all. You did manly work, like polishing floors and mending windows, right?”

  “What game is it that you are playing here? Whatever it is, it won’t work.”

  “No game. You’re a traitor to humanity, of course, and perhaps you detect some latent hostility and maybe contempt I have for you but I really would like to understand. I want to be enlightened.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “You claim to want to understand and to become enlightened but I know the truth. Like other military types all you want is strategic information and insights into the Humbled.”

  “The Humbled is your name for the hex.”

  “It’s an approximation of their name translated into English, yes. But their true name is naturally unpronounceable with human anatomy.”

  “You wish you were one of them?”

  “I am one of them.”

  “You think you’re an alien?”

  “I am human. I would say I am as human as you are but I suspect I am far more human than you are. But I am also one of the Humbled. I am humbled before the majestic Gods of the Spheres.”

  “The Temples of the Gods or the Gods of the Spheres, which is it?””

  “The Temples are the orbs, sir. The Gods are the gods themselves.”

  “Ah, I see, but are the Temples the Spheres? What are they, temples or spheres?”

  “What makes you think they are the same thing?”

  “Okay, maybe it’s lost in translation. So, the Temples are just their ships and the gods are the pilots?”

  “It’s understandable that you mock what you don’t understand.”

  “So help me to understand.”

  “When you start being honest.”

  “Ask me anything you want and I’ll give you an honest answer.”

  “You are the champion Rama Seti, are you not?”

  “I am.”

  “Are you a clone of his?”

  “I’m a clone, sure. But I’m also me.”

  “You died in the Temple, no?”

  “And was reborn in a new clone body with my old mind fully intact. So I am me.”

  “But then you died in combat on Arcadia.”

  “You’ve got a good memory. I was gravely injured, yes. And yet here I am.”

  “Are you sick?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I am suffering from a kind of irreversible cellular degradation. My DNA and other molecular structures in my cells are damaged beyond repair.”

  “How long do you have?”

  “Unknown at this time. Weeks, perhaps months.”

  “They’re treating you for this?”

  “Regular blood transfusions and stem cell injections and all manner of gerontological treatments. That’s the reason I’m able to continue to function so well but there will come a point when my systems start to collapse and there’ll be nothing to stop it.”

  “You’ll die.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Horribly, I would imagine.”

  “For sure but between you and me…” Ram leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’m going to break into the armory, steal a weapon of some kind, and shoot myself in the head while I still can.” Ram sat back. “Don’t tell anybody.”

  “Who am I going to tell?”

  “Can’t you co
mmunicate with… you know…” Ram pointed at the ceiling. “The Gods of the Spheres?”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “You can’t… pray to them?”

  “You can if you like. But how would they hear you?”

  “I don’t know. Because they’re gods?”

  “They’re not gods in the way humans think of gods. Or of God.”

  “What are they?”

  “Beings of some kind that exist in some form or other. More than that can’t be said.”

  “So you and your humble friends have no more idea than we do about the Orb Builders, okay, cool.”

  “Your flippancy is an attempt to reign in your fear.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “You are in awe. An element of awe, along with wonder, is fear. More than that, it is terror. And it is well placed.”

  “What am I terrified about?”

  “You admitted it to me a moment ago without even meaning to do it. You are afraid of the Gods. You call them Orb Builders, another absurdly pedestrian description, surely you agree.”

  “Well, you know what these bureaucrats are like. They try to keep value judgments and, well, awe, out of their naming conventions. It’s descriptive, isn’t it, for a hypothetical alien civilization that constructed the orb stations and sent them out and that controls them. Bureaucrats, scientists, politicians, they’re not going to call them the Gods of the Spheres, ever. That’ll never happen.”

  “They will one day. When all of us come to see the truth.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “No. You are not willing to hear the truth.”

  “Alright, tell me about the Humbled, then. That must have been strange, being captured by them and indoctrinated, right? How about that?”

  “Again with the flippancy. And again it is because they frighten you.”

  “That’s true, I’m not afraid to admit that the Hex scare the living shit out of me. Sixteen legs… or tentacles. What do you call them, do you call them legs? I call them legs but some of the crew here call them tentacles. Some crazy few call them arms but that’s just insane, isn’t it? Arms, please. What do you call them?”