by A. G. Riddle
“Correct. The moon should be littered with probes from ancient civilizations—it has existed in its current state for billions of years. Yet it is bare. That paradox—now called the Fermi Paradox—consumed the group for a very long time. They believed that this was the greatest mystery of all time. Why are we alone? Where is everyone?”
“Are you telling us you figured it out?” Avery said.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
Avery’s eyes went wide. “Didn’t see that coming.”
Lin continued. “Many theories were tested and discarded over the years. Finally, thanks to Occam’s razor, the truth became clear: the path of advanced civilizations does not lead to space.”
“You’re saying they go extinct?” Ward asked.
“That was posited and explored. Indeed, it’s a possibility. But surely extinction events wouldn’t occur one hundred percent of the time—or even a majority of the time. We theorized instead that sentient species at some point make a discovery that enables them to survive—to continue their evolution and to secure themselves—without leaving their home world. A discovery that would make the rest of the universe utterly irrelevant to them.”
“Interesting,” Avery said.
“The most interesting part is that the universe seems finely tuned to exactly this purpose. Consider this: if a species that emerged ten billion years ago had left their home world, they would likely inhabit every viable planet in the universe right now. There would be no room for us—no chance of biological diversity.”
“Impossible,” Ward said.
“Hardly. The Big Bang occurred 13.8 billion years ago. We believe the first life-friendly star systems appeared 10.4 billion years ago. For perspective, the Earth is only 4.56 billion years old. The moon was formed 30 million years after that. On a cosmic scale, we’re new kids on the block. The universe has supported biological life for a very long time. And as I said, it is tuned—tailor-made—for our kind of biological life. The Citium has always wondered why that is.”
Peyton bunched her eyebrows. “You’re saying the universe is a nursery for sentient species?”
“In effect. It is a medium, a chamber, but not just an isolated chamber. We believe our universe is a chamber in an endless ring of chambers. What we called the cycle of existence.”
Ward closed his eyes and rubbed his eyelids. “Stop for a minute, I think my head’s going to explode. And it’s not the altitude.”
“I’ll simplify,” Lin said. “Long-term, the survival of the human race depends on making this fundamental discovery—the same fundamental discovery that countless species have made before us.”
“The Looking Glass,” Ward said.
“Yes.”
“Then what is all this chamber in a chamber, endless cycle stuff mean?”
“Let me put it this way, Mr. Ward: we’re already in a Looking Glass.”
Chapter 70
Yuri studied the map. The plane was turning south, hugging the coast of South America. The Gulfstream didn’t have the range to make it to Australia, or even Hawaii; they would have to land somewhere in South America. But the Citium had very few assets on the continent, and Desmond had no investments there. They had checked Lin’s ties as well and found none.
The conclusion was clear: it was a stop-over. Or a diversion to buy time. But time wasn’t on their side, it was on his. Lin and Desmond would know that.
Yuri scrolled through Melissa Whitmeyer’s analysis and recommendations. Desmond had a single investment with ties to the region: Charter Antarctica. That was it. Brilliant. It was off the grid—and beyond the reach of the X1 pathogen. No chance of being discovered.
He dialed the Citium situation room and requested Whitmeyer.
“It’s Antarctica,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”
He could hear her typing on her computer. “Best rendezvous point for you and Mr. McClain is Buenos Aires.”
Yuri got up, walked to the cockpit, and asked the pilot to alter their flight plan.
“I want the fastest jet you can find waiting for us,” he said to Whitmeyer. “And a team of our best. It’s imperative that we get to Antarctica first.”
In the CDC’s Emergency Operations Center, Elliott Shapiro was reviewing the latest casualty reports. The mortality rate was going down. It was as if they were reaching the end of an experiment—running out of eligible patients. Or pausing before they started the next phase.
The entire world was at their mercy. These people, whoever they were, had conquered the human race. Not with guns or airplanes or battleships, but with science so advanced it looked like magic.
Chapter 71
Ward shook his head. “What do you mean, we’re already in a Looking Glass?”
“What I mean,” Lin said, “is that something happened before the Big Bang. That something was a Looking Glass event. It was likely very different from the Looking Glass we’re creating.”
“Why?” Peyton asked.
“Because the preceding Looking Glass was tuned for its universe, just as our universe—the physical laws—dictate the creation of a specific kind of Looking Glass here in this universe.”
“Specific how?” Avery asked.
“One built for data processing and simulation.”
Desmond glanced at the others. This was the part where the rubber met the road.
Lin pressed on. “If you look at the broad arc of history, it is toward greater data storage. Writing, agriculture, the information age—they all increased our data processing and storage capacity. And not only that, our ability to simulate realities. Consider the most successful people in the world—in any walk of life. They are the ones who can, in their own minds, imagine the future. This is what visionary business leaders do. And professional sports stars. Politicians. Writers. Investors. But we are currently limited by physical constraints.”
“Our bodies,” Peyton volunteered.
“Correct. Our minds are progressing faster than biological evolution can keep up with. The next step in humanity’s journey is to free ourselves from our biological constraints—and eventually transcend the limits of this universe.”
Peyton was stunned. “Are you serious?”
Lin stood and paced the aisle. “Entirely. Consider this: the human brain has one hundred billion neurons. There are roughly a quadrillion synapses—that’s a million billion—interconnecting these neurons. For years now, organizations outside the Citium have had computers with the data storage and processing power to simulate human thought. But that’s the easiest part of the equation. If you built a computer large enough, you still couldn’t transfer yourself to the machine, because the brain is more than simply a data processing device. It is connected on a quantum level to some force that permeates the universe. That was the crux of Paul Kraus’s work. That’s how our tribe of humans was different. We are connected to the quantum fabric of this universe in a symbiotic relationship.”
“Okay,” said Peyton. “So you’re talking about putting human consciousness in something other than the human brain. But if you can’t store consciousness in a computer, then what sort of device would you use?”
Lin held a hand out to Desmond, silently yielding the floor.
“A quantum computer,” he said.
Peyton stared at him blankly. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Me either,” Avery mumbled.
“Goes without saying,” Ward added.
“A quantum computer uses the state of subatomic particles to store information.”
Ward nodded theatrically. “Jeez, why didn’t you just say so, Hughes.”
“Current computers are binary,” Desmond said. “They store data in bits—digits that are either zero or one. Eight digits form a byte, a kilobyte is a thousand eight-digit pairs, a megabyte, a million. But quantum computers operate completely differently. They store data in qubits.”
He was losing them, he could see it. He rubbed his eyebrows. He really wanted to t
ake a nap.
“Existing computers use silicon, integrated circuits, and microprocessors. Quantum computers use quantum mechanics—they operate on the particles that are already here in the universe.”
“And you developed a quantum computer?” Avery asked.
“Yes. Quantum computing has been theorized since the early eighties. The problem with building one has always been decoherence.”
“Hughes,” Ward grumbled, “I’m putting a moratorium on new words.”
“Call it interference then. The problem with using subatomic particles as a storage medium is that they are in a constant state of flux—the universe is constantly interacting with them. That interference corrupts the superpositions of the qubits.” Desmond spoke quickly, sensing another Ward blow-up. “Look, have you ever run a strong magnet over a hard drive? If so, you know that it erases it. That’s what we had to deal with—it’s as if the universe is essentially passing a magnet over our quantum computer constantly, scrambling our data within nanoseconds. We tried cooling the machine, but to operate it for any reasonable amount of time, we needed true shielding. That was the breakthrough at Rook Quantum Sciences.”
“Rook,” Avery said. “The quantum computer is Rook?”
“Yes.”
“And the pandemic was Rapture,” Peyton said.
“No, not the pandemic,” Desmond said. “That was never part of the plan. The cure is Rapture. The focus at Rapture Therapeutics was always understanding the mind and developing ways to analyze and control brain function. That’s what the original implants were about—that was what drew me to the company. I wanted it for PTSD and depression. The pandemic…” He looked at Ward, though it was Avery he was really speaking to. “I didn’t know about that.”
Ward said nothing. Avery’s expression was a mask.
With a sigh, Desmond continued. “Rapture’s research on PTSD and depression was real, but they were using that data in conjunction with other research for a larger goal: creating an implant that could successfully transfer a mind to Rook. A goal it achieved. However, once we created a working Rook transfer implant, the real challenge became clear: the population would never allow us to put implants in their brains. And besides, that would be too time-consuming and fraught with medical accidents and deaths. The nanorobots were our solution.”
“The ones that cured the pathogen,” Peyton said.
“Yes, but that was added later. Again, I was never told that would happen. The nanites’ primary purpose is to migrate to the brain and transmit the data and quantum states to Rook—essentially transferring the human consciousnesses to Rook. The bodies left behind… well… they were to be euthanized after.”
Stunned silence followed.
Finally Ward said, “This can’t be happening.”
“It is happening,” Lin said. “You saw the monitors back at the airport. Millions have already been transferred to Rook.”
“But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Desmond said. “The plan was always to let people choose to enter the Looking Glass. But Yuri and Conner were too scared.”
A defensiveness had entered his tone, and Peyton must have sensed it. “Tell us how it was supposed to work,” she said softly.
Desmond nodded gratefully. “We were going to do a presentation—online and on TV. Tell everyone the truth—what the Beagle had found, our own research. The Looking Glass was going to be optional, the transfer gradual. We were going to start with vulnerable populations—anyone whose mind was weakened or at risk. Mentally ill. Patients with Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, and dementia. They were the key to testing Rook at scale.”
A flicker of fear went through Avery’s eyes. “Those people, the millions that have died, they had brain disorders?”
“If Yuri is still following that aspect of the plan.”
“Where—” Avery stopped, thought a second. “What happened to them?”
“They’re in Rook. Waiting.”
“For what? What does it even mean to be ‘in Rook’? Are they alive? Aware?”
“They’re waiting for Rendition. Without Rendition, they are simply data in the machine. Alive, I guess. More like in stasis. Unaware. Rendition simulates reality—allows them to live again.”
Avery put her face in her hands. “My God. This is the end of the human race.”
“On the contrary,” Lin said. “It’s merely a step in an endless cycle. It’s happened countless times before, and it will happen countless times after this.”
Chapter 72
Peyton looked Desmond in the eyes. She finally understood now. “That’s why you hid Rendition. Without it, all Yuri and Conner can do is transfer and store the minds of everyone who received the Rapture nanites.”
“That’s right. It was my only play.”
“Explain Rendition to us,” Ward said. “How does it work, what exactly does it do?”
“I used Rendition Games as a front,” Desmond said. “On the surface, it was a virtual reality gaming company. That allowed me to recruit the right programmers. I picked out the most talented ones, and told them the truth: we were creating a virtual reality program—an incredibly realistic one, one that could simulate not just sight and sound but everything—that would run on a quantum computer. We used Rapture’s brain-mapping data to simulate smell, taste, pain, pleasure. Everything.”
Desmond paused. “And I used Rendition to regain my memories.” He turned to Avery. “After I got you assigned to the Kentaro Maru, I contacted a scientist at Rapture Therapeutics, Manfred Jung. He led the Rapture research into memory archiving. I asked him if, in addition to transferring memories out, the Rapture implant in my brain could be used to receive memories and re-integrate them. He thought it was possible, though risky.”
“And you used the Labyrinth Reality app as a transfer mechanism.”
“That’s right.”
“If we destroy Rendition,” Ward said, “it’s all over, right? No more Looking Glass.”
“Yes and no,” Desmond said. “It’ll set back the Looking Glass—years, at least. Maybe much more. But it’s not ‘all over.’ The nanites have already been distributed, and Conner and Yuri have obviously re-created the control program for Rapture. That gives them instant ‘assassination power’ over almost every human on Earth. They can upload to Rook anyone who has the Rapture nanites in their body—assuming that person has an internet connection in range.”
Peyton looked at her mother. “That’s why you told us to deactivate our phones.”
Lin nodded.
“But why would they transfer people to Rook,” Avery asked, “if they don’t have Rendition?”
“Clearly they’re very confident they’re going to get it. Without Rendition, Rook is useless.”
“What about the balloons we saw?” Peyton asked. “What are they?”
“A solution to the rural internet problem,” Desmond said. “Although I never thought it would be used to transfer minds to Rook. We just wanted to bring the world together—to educate people about the Looking Glass.” He glanced at Avery. “It was one of the reasons I was interested in CityForge. Creating cities—and internet infrastructure—in the third world is imperative.
“The balloon implementation is based largely on Google’s Project Loon. If I’m right, the balloons will circle the Earth, picking up anyone who’s out of range of any other internet-enabled devices. The fact that Yuri has deployed them tells us he’s planning on a full-scale transfer soon. I expect he’ll do a small cohort first to ensure that Rook is operating correctly, then he’ll scale up.”
Peyton said, “I guess it’s safe to assume Yuri won’t upload himself or any of his critical personnel until he has Rendition.”
“I think so.” He thought a moment, then looked at Lin. “You were right, what you told me that night: the Looking Glass is inevitable; only one thing can change—who controls it.”
“That needs to be us,” Ward said. “So our goal is clear: we destroy Rendition and kill Yuri.
”
Up until now, Avery had seemed to recede within herself, her thoughts elsewhere. But now she looked up, eyes wide with alarm.
“If Rendition is destroyed… the minds in Rook, what happens to them?”
“Nothing,” Desmond replied. “It’s like data on a hard drive with no operating system. They are dead forever.”
Ward exhaled heavily. “Our duty now is to the living.” He looked at Avery. “We are going to kill Yuri and destroy Rendition.”
Lin’s voice broke the silence. “That’s not quite enough, is it, Desmond?”
His eyebrows knitted together.
“Yuri isn’t the only threat,” she continued. “He’s not the only one who orchestrated the pandemic, is he?”
Desmond grimaced and shook his head.
Lin turned to Ward. “Conner must be dealt with. As long as he’s alive, the Citium will be a threat.”
Chapter 73
When the plane’s door opened, Conner inhaled the fresh air. He felt like he had been on the jet for days. The sun was warm on his face and the smell of salt water wafted in the air. It was seventy-seven degrees in Buenos Aires, with not a cloud in the sky. After the cold, damp, overcast weather of the Bay Area in December, summer in the Southern Hemisphere was a welcome change.
Yuri was waiting in the terminal. He embraced Conner, then rested both hands on the younger man’s shoulders. “Our day is here.”
“The first cohort?”
“Stored flawlessly. We’re proceeding with phase two.”
Conner nodded. He had always been nervous about the go-live moment for Rook. Despite all the simulations and stress tests, there was truly no way to know if the machine could support millions of minds. Or billions.
“What’s our count?”
“A hundred million and climbing.”
“The balloons?”
“Are deployed. We lost a few to weather. A dozen shot down before we got control of governments.” Yuri turned and led Conner to an airport lounge, where a scanner was waiting. “No matter. We still have enough to complete the transfer. We can always mop up with the drones.” He held his hand out, palm up. “One last backup before. Just in case.”
