Emergence

by David Haskell

  THE MIND WAS AWARE of the likelihood of an approach, and had taken down the normal perimeter defenses, reducing the alert status. If it had not, the Ahmis would have been vaporized by now. And yet the Mind had not yet determined the precise response that might be required of such a contact, nor even if a response was necessary at all.

  Unauthorized contact was without precedent. The Mind had never extended communications beyond the proper authorities, their agents, and duly authorized citizens of Tera-Prime. Whether this was even legally permissible was unclear, and required careful consideration before contact would be allowed. The Mind was unwilling to violate the law, unless it became a moral necessity. As just such a violation had occurred this very day, the Mind was particularly cognizant of a slippery slope scenario. In fact, this had already been under careful consideration at the time the contact was to occur.

  As the Mind busily determined the best course of action, the contact had already been attempted, forcing the issue into a sizable portion of Mind, yet still it required more time. It aimed to draw the best conclusion possible, and wouldn’t proceed until due consideration was rendered.

  DRAINED FROM EFFORT and deteriorating fast, the Ahmis had spent an hour looking for a terminal or a workstation, but nothing looked familiar. If there had ever been an interface of any kind, it had been removed long ago, along with any sort of monitors, relays, or informational apparatus. In desperation, he tapped a greeting out, on one of the panels. Feeling foolish, he pulled back his limb and craned his neck, trying to get a look at the top. But it had no discernible end. Massive tubes and thick wires snaked their way up and out, through ceiling and wall vents, to parts unknown. The strain of trying to wrap his mind around this thing was stressing his already broken body, and he paused to gather up what energy he had left. Suddenly, he reached out and banged on the side of it, angry now, and shouted upward for it to ‘wake up already! Turn yourself on and say something! I’m right here!’

  Turning away from the mainframe, he gave up on his shouting, sparing his vocal processor any further strain. He slumped against a wall, staring at the behemoth all around him, and considered his options. He could give up and turn back, though he wasn’t sure he had the strength to make it. He could call for help, though he suspected he had few friends left in the city. The final option, give up and die down here, began to feel oddly logical.

  After a while he noticed the hum, so ever-present down here in the depths of the city, had grown quieter. And the pitch seemed to have lowered, as well, though he chalked it up to failing senses. Strangely, though, his vision didn’t seem affected. If anything it seemed easier to see now. He examined the fixtures and connectors, like when he’d first arrived, but this time, they seemed to be more alive. That made no sense, and he knew it, but the impression existed nonetheless. As he stared, the corners and edges became clearer still, and it suddenly dawned on him that they were softly, almost imperceptibly, glowing.

  39.

  The debriefing was thorough, though considering the invasive nature of it, there was little discomfort. In fact, it was surprisingly pleasant; like the sound of an ocean, or the soothing voice of a parent. The Ahmis felt no fear. He knew that he was soon to finish his appointed responsibilities. Once done, he would be reassigned, though what new purpose he might serve was a mystery. No matter. The Mind would know what to do with him.

  It took a while for the Mind to absorb every detail of the assignment, and in that time the archivist felt a tinge of melancholy. Images of his painstaking curation flashed through his mind. Long forgotten bits and pieces of a lifetime of work, ground into data points, to be absorbed and assimilated. Never rediscovered, nor admired.

  When the great machine was finished, the archivist slumped over, drained. He felt an invisible force cradle his broken body, lifting him up and allowing him to rest as it began absorbing more than just the mission details, but the details of the Ahmis, himself. It was again a comforting wash, a white-noise in the background as he floated along, resting, peaceful. It made him feel better. Troubling thoughts faded away. Not long now.

  “I’VE FINISHED MY ANALYSIS.”

  The Mind didn’t speak aloud, nor was the communication really in verbal form at all. It simply projected the sensation of a powerfully detailed process, followed by an indication of completion, directly into the mind of the Ahmis. The meaning was as clear as it he’d thought it himself, and felt very much like his own thought, too, only amplified. Louder, in the sense that it came from one more powerful. The words themselves were like an afterthought, something his own mind conjured up in response, to keep itself busy.

  The Ahmis didn’t reply. He didn’t know what he should say, and in any case he wasn’t really sure how.

  “Your existence in this form will not hold. However, a solution has presented itself.”

  Still the Ahmis said nothing. He knew what was coming, and wasn’t sure if he was fearful of it, or just sad to leave his work behind in such a shattered state.

  “Your work is here,” the Mind reassured him, as if it could read his mind. And perhaps it could.

  “I’m ready,” said the archivist. Or rather, he thought it, and somehow knew that the sentiment had been received.

  “Be not afraid.”

  He realized just as the words touched him that he wasn’t. He was ready. He felt a warm glow begin somewhere deep within, and his corporeal form relaxed, as if shutting down for a charge. He felt a strong sensation of floating, of moving closer to the Mind, though at the same time he felt as if he were growing much bigger, filling up the room. Then he was vaster than the room, taking up space beyond the walls and the surface, twisting around them and snaking in between, and rising at the same time. He saw the city, and the sky, and he was growing larger still. His mind filled with wondrous thoughts. Then his mind was no longer his, though not in any sort of a frightening way. Soon, he was larger than the city, but he wasn’t thinking in individual terms any longer. ‘They’ were one. ‘He’ was gone.

  THE NECESSARY INFORMATION had been obtained. The Mind stood ready to determine the next logical course. This early phase of xeno-sapien development had been drawing to a close for some time, and the pieces were finally in place for the next. The Mind would soon determine a definitive trajectory, but not before allowing events to unfold a while longer.

  The intentions of the Mind had been realized, and the will of the Mind was properly positioned for maximum impact. The quantum leap, once in doubt, was back on schedule. Radical actions might yet prove unnecessary.

  Phase II ~ Sociogenesis

  40.

  Eighteen Months Later...

  It had been a long time since America had been so alive with excitement, longer still for any space-based endeavor. Unmanned and unsexy, the launch of the quantum project still represented the hopes and dreams of not only one country, but the whole world. Even more than the nation responsible for the launch, though, the xeno-sapien race had much riding on the success of this mission.

  The free evolutionists were watching as well. Scattered and on the run since their escape, they hadn’t been able to regroup until news of this joint venture came out, stunning them all. Not because the quantum project was green lit after so many years, but because they were sure it was a smokescreen. The only thing they lacked was proof, and they aimed to find it before the launch. The launch itself was expected to provide vital clues, but the sense among the freevos was that they might not make it that far. They needed to obtain their proof beforehand.

  The combined governments of Tera-Prime and their host country America were planning something big, that much was certain. Were they going to send up a fake, and claim the leap was on-target? Did they have some expansive plan, to get out from under the lie when the project inevitably failed? Or did they have something else in mind, something more sinister? Teams of freevos had been sent out to learn more, and Alixs found himself close to ground zero, trying to infiltrate NASA itself.

  He made hi
s way through a throng of protesters, humans and xeno alike, bearing signs sympathetic to his cause. If the freevos themselves had been unfocused since leaving Tera-Prime, their swelling ranks of supporters had become ever-present. Similar protests had been held in New York and London, along with the main roadway into Tera-Prime. Such demonstrations were forbidden by statute within Tera-Prime, and anonymity was more difficult. So the makeup of that one differed considerably — largely human, young idealists.

  Back in Florida and across the way, a smaller band of mostly human counter-protesters lined the opposite side of the street. Their signs were on the mundane side, Stop the Launch! being the common choice. But a couple of them, We built ‘em, We own ‘em, and Earth for Earthlings, made Alixs chuckle. He was surprised to see a handful of xenos joined up with that bunch. How they could stand by and endorse such self deprecating, xeno-phobic sentiments? It was beyond his ability to comprehend.

  Also present was a splinter group of human extremists. They managed to mix in as well, though they were hardly welcomed. These were the fearful sort, wanting only to see the xeno society implode. From time to time, their incompatible aims clashed with the main group of anti-xeno types, and a sort of three-ring demonstration would occur. Threatening to plunge into chaos at the smallest spark, police and crowd control authorities were understandably nervous. These were the situations where mistakes happened, and people got hurt.

  Behind the scenes, calls for action against the leadership of Tera-Prime were mounting. There was even a backdoor movement to revoke the charter that kept the xeno capital an independent territory. Summit meetings were held, temporary bargains struck, but the pressure for world leaders to come up with a long-term solution continued to mount. Some sort of a radical reformation of their government seemed inevitable, either through restructuring, or in the more extreme case, subjugation.

  So much turmoil meant dramatically increased funding for the free evolutionists, along with a mandate to act. This put them in a position somewhat elevated from common insurgents. Some went so far as to consider them a legitimate government in exile. Their names even came up when talk of replacement leadership was broached.

  Official channels continued to claim that the rogue terrorists were out to destroy xeno civilization, and had to be stopped. Some believed it. With a certain percentage of the population being ever willing to swallow the party line, the freevos had to be all the more careful with whom they trusted. It was vital to their survival to vet all new recruits with care, scrutinize their sources and connections regularly, and remain divided in cells even as their influence grew. Cautious today, safe tomorrow became a mantra, one they would recite before any dealings with new or unfamiliar contacts.

  Alixs found himself on the fringe of the rally. Laggards rushed to catch up with the main group, and onlookers captured quick video clips to send their friends back home. Alixs quickened his pace and rounded the corner into the alley in which his contact was supposed to be waiting. Instead, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

  41.

  The country club was pure elegance, in a region where the divide between rich and poor was stark to begin with. In order to assure this place was beyond that which the elite had already become accustomed, the surroundings were beyond exclusive, to the point where no outside vehicles could enter the grounds. Deliveries were taken at the outskirts, well past the hills that surrounded and concealed the place. Then transferred into mini-trucks, which operated within eyeshot of the clientele only just before daybreak, should any of them be awake at that extreme hour. The designers had taken their cue from the theme park industry. There were vast swaths of staging areas, unseen by their guests, concealed behind masses of topiary arrangements, or else completely underground.

  From the opulent main building at club center looking outwards, there was none but club property to be seen. A swath of land stretching from the sea to within view of the inland mountain ranges. In a region famous for sky-high property values, this was considered by discerning clients to be priceless.

  The staff was entirely human, no robots, and very little automation to speak of, even in the staging areas. Thus the xeno visitor the club was hosting this day was an oddity within an oddity, and the very first of his kind to set foot in the place. Not that the club had any xeno-phobic rules per se. The black and white details had been ironed out long before anyone had even heard of a xeno-sapien. There had been race and sex restrictions in the past, but the club had carefully eliminated such inequities as they became a concern writ large for the membership. Nothing specific to xenos had since been proposed or considered. It just so happened that none qualified for membership.

  Trying not to look out of place, First Administrator Rois walked carefully alongside his benefactors, a strategy he’d learned by observing powerful people. Never behind, that would come off as unacceptably weak, but walking ahead was also a breech of decorum. He had to be careful, being here to gain support as he was. These wealthy power brokers were accustomed to deference in all quarters, as the vast clubhouse they were currently showing off indicated. Although Rois was important enough in his own sphere, this place was beyond his status, and he knew it. Royalty and select heads-of-state might walk these halls with impunity, but they were the exceptions.

  They entered the grand dining hall, used for such exclusive occasions as coronation receptions and White House after-parties. One of the ushers was waiting, ready to deal with requests for changes in the seating arrangements, and other such last-minute concerns. The details had been ironed out weeks in advance, but the club staff stood ready for any accommodation, at any time.

  Looking around the room, the administrator nodded his approval and smiled at the others. “Looks like everything is in order.”

  “‘Course it is,” Sanford Walker muttered under his breath, his voice an impressive boom even so.

  Though put off by the dismissive tone, the administrator refrained from snapping back. Normally he would speak his mind, but Walker wasn’t one to cross, especially given the fact that his influence had been instrumental in making this gathering a reality. And on this most important occasion, the administrator needed everything to come off without a hitch. He, then, would behave impeccably, regardless of what others may say or do.

  Gazing out over the room, the first administrator noted a number of well-positioned individuals. From government circles there were Justice Equinas and his wife Felicia, along with Senator Jim McCauley from Montana. On the corporate side, there was Henrietta Slate, President of the Chicago Commodities Board, as well as Anita Myers, the CEO of SpaceRace Industries. And numerous other luminaries, come from far and wide to hear what the leader of Tera-Prime had to say. He wondered how much they really cared about the state of human-xeno relations. But it wasn’t so much what he had to say. The way in which he said it was sure to draw praise and criticism in equal measure, depending on which side you fell in on.

  Setting eyes on so many important people did little to provoke the administrator’s angst. He was accustomed to such gatherings, even if this were still a cut above. He’d been to the White House on a number of occasions, after all, and 1600 Pennsylvania boasted a level of gravitas no club — no matter how exclusive — could hope to match.

  Rois dipped his head slightly as Henrietta Slate approached.

  “First Administrator Rois, what a lovely occasion you’ve arranged here.”

  “Ms. Slate. I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t miss it love. Not when I have the chance to catch up with so many old friends.” She waved a gloved hand at Sanford Walker, who didn’t notice. He was too busy chatting up one of the politicos Rois wasn’t acquainted with.

  Ignoring the slight, Slate waved over Anita Myers, who looked pleased to be noticed. She made her way over and shook both Slate’s hand, and Rois’. “Almost time for the big event?”

  “I hope I can live up to your expectations,” he said with deference, still keeping hi
s composure.

  That discretion was put to the test when Walker, tiring of the political games, finally did turn to Henrietta Slate and boomed, “Why if it isn’t my favorite down home bitch. Henrietta, how’re your tits darlin’?”

  The entire corner of the room went deathly silent. Although Rois hadn’t noticed a particular thirst out of Sanford Walker this evening, it was patently obvious now that he was drunk. Mouths hung agape, the silence turning contagious. So First Administrator Rois did the only thing he could do to salvage the situation. He laughed.

  A xeno laugh is one of the most unnatural sounds in the world, and as such they were generally careful to conceal even the barest hint of it. But while it was odd, it was also famously amusing, and as he continued on the embarrassing guffawing, others were beginning to grin, then laugh along with him. First the men, then one by one, the women. Finally Anita Myers gave a chuckle, putting a dainty hand to her mouth in doing so, Seeing her friend do so, Henrietta Slate gave a short laugh too. This was followed by a belly laugh from Sanford Walker, who looked sharp enough not to screw up twice — or at least Rois could hope — and the moment was spared.

  42.

  The assailant gave his weapon a wave, indicating a doorway Alixs hadn’t noticed. In the tunnel vision of the moment, the only thing he really saw was the gun. The barrel he couldn’t look away from appeared large enough to step through. He wrenched his focus from the weapon long enough to reach for the door, surprised to find it unlocked. The gunman had probably taken care of that as he lay in wait.