The Water Bear

by Groucho Jones

  No one noticed their passing. They were a man in a suit, and a party of people.

  Even Samppo’s robes didn’t cause a ripple.

  “Welcome to the Deregulated Zone,” said the city.

  The last time Pax had been here was with Ophelia Box. They pressed through throngs of all types of people, until they found a backstreet, in a warehouse district, although the warehouses here were turned over to different types of commerce than storage. This was where people went to have an edgy time. An unlit sign said Leopardskin Moon.

  “I remember this place,” said Pax.

  They were met by a grinning, shaven-haired man in a lustrous suit.

  “Ant de Large,” said Pax, taking the man’s outstretched hand.

  The nightclub was empty of revelers, although there were women and men in the shadows. Po intelligence, or local criminals, hired in for the day. Limp bunting hung where decorators had been, and left with the job unfinished. They were led up a winding stair, into a glass-walled room, that looked down over a deserted dancefloor.

  Waiting for them there were a mustachioed man, and a latte-skinned woman.

  “Everyone,” said the city. “This is the Orbiter.” The man smiled. “And Polity.”

  The woman blinked. “I’m the people of Praxis,” she said. “And isn’t this the most exciting thing ever?”

  “I know you,” she said, to Pax. “Or one of me does. Sophie the waiter says hello.”

  “We’re broadcasting live?” asked Pax.

  “In living color,” said the city. “Polity’s an aggregate being. A summation of all the people currently online. Polity, do you know the facts?”

  “I do,” she said. “Although I don’t understand them. But look, we’re charting. 52% of the total viewing audience. It’s already a monster.”

  Also present was a shadowy being, who pulsed in time with the refresh rate of Pax’s wetware. “This is a Watcher,” said Praxis, “representing the Civics.”

  He motioned them to sit, in chairs that constructed themselves from wireframe models.

  “Now,” he said. “I’d like to begin.

  “Navigator Pax Lo has come to us with a proposal for war: that we should risk ourselves in a military attack on Kronus, the Enemy in Möbius space. I have a vote, as a citizen, and I’d like to cast it now. This Orbiter was designed to escape military threats, not pursue them. We can go anywhere. To Andromeda. In jumps, across the universe if we wish to.

  “I fully understand the situation. I understand our civilization’s at risk. I recognize the moral arguments on both sides. But that’s not our responsibility. It’s not my responsibility. My responsibility is to keep the people in this Orbiter safe.

  “I can’t go against my programming. I vote for peace.”

  “Well, that’s not a great start,” whispered Jaasper to Pax.

  “Now,” he said, “I’d like to ask Navigator Pax Lo to make his case.”

  [Be careful,] said the ship on a personal channel. [Don’t be misled by the city’s prolixity. This is an equal contest. And they work as a team. They won’t take any shit from us.]

  Pax nodded, and rose to his feet.

  “I’ll be brief,” he said. “As you can see, I’m Pax Lo, the master of the Water Bear.

  “This is a systemic emergency. I’m a Lo Navigator. I could, if I wished, take command of this ship. Orbiter, is that true?”

  “It is,” said the mustachioed man.

  “But I won’t. I respect your democracy. I serve you, not rule you. But I’ll say this. Now is a time of exceptional risk. Everything is in play. Not just this city, but our whole society, our species, and its future.

  “That’s not to gainsay anything Praxis said. He’s right. As civilized beings, we must protect our communities. This city can run. There’s a good argument it should. I say that as civilized beings, our civilization is our community.

  “It’s also a threat you can’t outrun. This generation might. But a time will come when you won’t be able to. You may plan to be dead by then, but that’s pure selfishness.

  “As your Navigator, I recommend war, as the best way to safety.”

  Pax sat down.

  “That’s it? I thought you were the bad cop,” said Jaasper.

  “I don’t do cop,” said Pax.

  The city nodded, and looked down at Jaasper. “Pursang?”

  “Me?”

  “The bank tells me you have something to say.”

  Jaasper cleared his throat, and rose to his feet. “I’m a soldier,” he said. “A holy warrior of Fluxor.” Polity’s eyes widened at that, and in the charts that sprang into life in the glass of the room, the ratings jumped past 70%.

  “I represent the first peoples of our species,” he said. “Your species. Three years from now, my world was destroyed. Will someone replay that?”

  “I will,” said the Water Bear.

  The room fell silent as the ship replayed the genocide, seen though her systems, and those of her people, and finally through Kitou’s memories. Flames, engulfing a biosphere, leaping into a forest, destroying a world. A small girl, being carried into orbit, struggling to get back to her father.

  “You see that child?” he said. “She’s fighting now, in Möbius space. Fighting to save your comfortable arses.

  “That’s why I’m here, to try to save you.

  “That’s why we’re all here.

  “Help us.”

  He sat down, and Polity was on her feet.

  “Holy warrior,” she said. She was genuinely moved. “We hear you.”

  [That’s better,] said the ship.

  “Jaasper Huw d Stratego,” said the city. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

  “It’s alright,” said Jaasper. “You were always a fatuous cunt.”

  The city cleared his throat.

  “Orbiter?”

  “I say damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “It is. I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Well, it appears I’m already outvoted.”

  Polity raised her hand. “Yes?” said the city.

  “Can someone please explain how we still get destroyed, if we escape? All I see is a lot of mathematics.”

  “I can,” said Samppo. He rose to his feet. He was everyone’s favorite uncle, but he was also the bank. No one watching would be in any doubt of his authority.

  “Two things,” he said. “First the infection.

  “This society is infected by a cryptographic disease.

  “Think of it as a song you can’t get out of your head. A song, whose tune is so alluring, and whose lyrics are so tempting, you have to believe them. And the words are so blinding, that you have to see everything burn.”

  “Like paranoid schizophrenia?” said Polity.

  “Much worse.”

  “Well, we’re familiar with that.”

  “Now imagine a whole galaxy with it.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s not the worst of it. Do you know what the wavefunction is?”

  “The multiverse?”

  “Near enough. The wavefunction is the sum of all possible states. All possible realities. All possible universes. Now imagine another disease, a tumor in spacetime, spreading throughout the wavefunction, filling it like a cancer. That’s what’s going to happen.

  “I’ll explain. A few hundred years ago, the Horu built a machine. A very clever machine. It created a new universe. Why it was clever was that it modelled a universe from particles in all their possible states. Why is that bad? Because where it exists, nothing else can. About three days from now, it’ll start to expand. First our galaxy. Then, the rest of our universe. Then, it’ll have devoured everything.”

  “How long will it take?” asked the Orbiter.

  “To completion? It depends on its rate of expansion.”

  “Lightspeed,” said Polity, looking relieved.

  “No,” said Samppo. “It’s not bound by lights
peed. Space can move faster than light.”

  “Which is why we can’t run away,” said the Orbiter.

  “Yes.”

  “This is a risk play.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And I suppose you’ve run the numbers?” asked Praxis.

  “Of course.”

  The city nodded.

  “Civics?”

  The shadowy figure flickered. “I’m not the Civics,” he said. His voice was a whisper, emanating from nowhere. “I’m just a software agent, hosted in your processors. Today, the primary is here directly.”

  “Where?” said the city.

  The Watcher pointed to the Water Bear.

  “Surprise,” said the ship.

  Pax was watching the ratings. As the ship spoke, they surged past 95%. The whole world was watching. Polls began to appear: 26% for, 42% against, 32% undecided.

  “Is this true?” asked Jaasper. Pax nodded.

  “You’re a Po warship?” asked the city.

  “Not really,” she said. “I’m a massively distributed personality. The most backed up object in history. But this is where I hang out.”

  “Might I ask why?”

  “Why not? I get to fly round the galaxy with my buddies, acting like a superhero. Who wouldn’t?”

  “Who knew?” asked Polity.

  “My Navigators and Firsts; now the people here.”

  “But...” said Polity, “that means everyone.”

  “I know. I’ll need a new pair of glasses.”

  “What’s your vote?” asked the city.

  “I’m not interested in voting,” said the ship. “I’m not interested in participating in your democracy. That’s not my role. I’m not your leader. I’m a civil administrator. But I have something to say.”

  She rose to her feet.

  “I’m a conservative,” she said. “I believe in the smallest possible government, the lightest breath of regulation. I must, because I’m not nearly as smart as our society is complex. Trying to steer it by hand will cause it to crash.

  “But being a conservative doesn’t mean I believe in inaction, or ignoring existential threats, or passing them onto future generations to deal with. That’s cowardice.

  “Like Pax Lo, I could take this city to war. I could fly us to Camelopardalis, or Sextans, or any other galaxy that takes my fancy. I can do whatever I want. Although I govern by your grace, my powers are unlimited. Like Pax Lo, I choose not to abuse them. If we conduct ourselves like the Enemy, we’ll become him.

  “It’s time for us to show what we’re made of. That we’re a species worth preserving. Because otherwise, the cosmos will delete us.

  “So, I say yes. But there’s one other thing.”

  She patted the processor cube. “I’ve brought along a guest speaker.”

  A hologram snapped into place.

  “Hello,” said a pajama-clad man. He was carrying a cocktail glass, decorated with glazed cherries and an umbrella. Recognition flowed round the room, like water into a dry creek bed. Polity grinned. “You’re the computer,” she said.

  The Finance Engine bowed, and said, “Enchantê.”

  He blinked at the room, and half a billion people saw him blinking at them.

  “I have nothing to say,” he said. “What can I possibly say? But I have something to show you.”

  Their sensoria faded to... nothing.

  Not space, or the absence of space, but its impossibility. They flinched, including the avatars in the room. It was literally terrifying. Even Jaasper, without any wetware, perceived it. His worldspirit howled in rage.

  The Finance Engine didn’t relent. He held it there, pressed against their minds, until they could never forget it. This was a different computer: not the delightfully mad one, but something less... manageable.

  “We live life on the wheel,” he said. “All of us do. We live, we die. We make space for the new. It’s a grand old melody. But to have never existed at all? Is that what you want, for all eternity?”

  Praxis got to his feet. “Did that go out unfiltered?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Polity, obviously shaken. “All of us saw it.”

  Praxis grimaced. “Then it’s time to choose.”

  “I can’t, she said. “I’ll need time.”

  “How much time?” asked Pax.

  “An hour,” she said.

  Pax, Jaasper and the ship joined Ant de Large on the empty dancefloor. Pax imagined he could hear the ghosts of the revelers from the night before. It’d be the easiest thing in the world, with his skills, to disappear. Fly away, to Sextans or Camelopardalis, or just melt into the crowd.

  “You know they’ll never let us remember this,” said Ant.

  “Ant, why are you here?” said Pax.

  “It’s my club.”

  “Yes, but why you? Why me? Why are we here?”

  “I speak for the Po,” shrugged Ant. “We can be trusted.”

  Pax was imagining Samppo’s metaphor, of a lake, just a tremor from freezing.

  “Can we?”

  “Yes,” said Ant. “Always. Completely.”

  [It’s time,] said the Orbiter.

  Polity was already standing. “We’ve made our decision,” she said.

  “At first there were as many opinions as there were people, but three won through.

  “One was fuck yes! It reflects a slightly feral desire to see this spacecraft fight. It was mostly held by the young, who haven’t had enough of life yet to become addicted to it. We salute them. Many would strap on a weapon themselves, and fight in the war in Möbius space, to defend their society.

  “The second view was more nuanced: what are we for? That’s a moral question, that we hope will be argued about for decades and centuries to come. If not this, then what? If not now, then when? Who are we to be the hand that holds the cup of life, and spills it?

  “The third view was that we should escape. It’s what this vessel was made for. That’s why people came here: to be safe. Why should we act unilaterally to help strangers?

  “Unsurprisingly, opinion was acrimoniously divided, until the Finance Engine’s testimony.

  “Now the matter is settled.

  “A small minority has asked to leave, and a Wu superlifter has been requested, and will arrive here in the next few hours.

  “A smaller minority has requested their lives to be speeded up, so they can be lived fully in the time before the event. That’s happening now.

  “The majority has requested large screens, and a party atmosphere, so they can tell their children about when Praxis went to war, to save humanity, and everything.

  “You have your answer.”

  Pax Lo and Jaasper lazed in the afternoon sun. They were resting beside a pergola, by a beach that stretched to endless horizons. Date palms swayed in a sea breeze, that was rearranging the sand, into identical whorls and drifts around their feet.

  Fractals, thought Pax. A gift of order from chaos.

  Jaasper had stripped to the waist. Pax was counting his scars.

  “Where did you get those?” he asked.

  “You don’t want to know,” said Jaasper.

  They were inside the Orbiter’s gamespace. Outside, in the Real, moments ticked by. Inside the pergola, Samppo, the Water Bear and the Orbiter were struggling with an intractable problem in mathematics. Samppo’s worldspirit was riding the thermals, far overhead. He’d taken the form of an eagle, down to its wing-tip feathers.

  “He’s called Avus,” said Jaasper.

  “Thank you,” said Pax.

  After a while, Jaasper said, “What would’ve you done?”

  “If they’d voted against us?”

  Jaasper nodded.

  “Taken command of the city. Taken us to war.”

  “A coup d’êtat?”

  “No, our society’s systems allow for it, for just this reason. A pure democracy is no tool for making hard choices.”

  “They would’ve loved you for it.”

>   “Maybe. Now they love themselves. A better outcome.”

  Their camaraderie was interrupted by two people requesting entry, who materialized in an aurora, the personal equivalent of a lightship drive, suggesting prodigious processing power.

  “I’m Charh,” one of them said. “We are the Pnyx.”

  They were both roughly human. Like beautiful children. Pax could see the capillaries pulsing in the translucent skin of their foreheads.

  “I’m honored,” he said. He had a high regard for the Wu. They were the mystical branch of his profession, who journeyed the stars for the blessed joy of it.

  “Are you the superlifter?” he asked.

  “No,” said the first Wu, Charh.

  “We’re the ship that first carried Ophelia Box into space,” said the second Wu, Pnyx.

  “Then I’m doubly honored,” he said. “What can we do for you, Pnyx?”

  “We bring word of a friend,” ze said.

  “Who?”

  “The Bat.”

  “He’s here?”

  “He’s repaired. He asks to rejoin your mission.”

  “Then he’s wanted,” said Pax. “More than that. He’s needed. Please ask him to reconnect with me. I’ve sent you the keys.”

  “The Bat is a brave ship,” said Pnyx actual.

  “I know the Bat well,” said Jaasper. “He was my first spacecraft.”

  “So, when Praxis gave him to us?” asked Pax, raising an eyebrow. “The game was already on?”

  Jaasper shrugged. “Time,” he said, “is what stops everything from happening together.”

  “How goes the calculation?” asked Charh.

  Pax looked inside the pagoda. “We have half our society’s brains in there.”

  “But, no solution?”

  “Not yet.”

  It was the last, vital piece of the puzzle. They’d been working for gamespace days - although only a few moments of realtime - on the mathematical problem of the Orbiter entering Möbius space. Without that, they were limited to a space war. They could win, but the team on the ground might die, cut off by the singularity’s event horizon.