The Wizard from Tian (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 3)

by S. J. Ryan

  Matt heard the door across the passage slam shut. Jangle of keys, exchange of mutters, lumber of steps.

  “Phase One accomplished,” Matt murmured.

  A few minutes later, Ivan reported, “I am receiving biometric telemetry from Ivan Beta.”

  “He's integrated with Matt Four's brain?”

  “Yes, fully. Would you like a health summary?” With Matt's nod, Ivan continued: “Non-regenerative physiological age rating is sixty Standard Years – “

  “Sixty years? If he's the Wizard of legend, it's been at least a hundred years since his last rejuvenation session!”

  “It is likely that his state of torpor has significantly slowed the aging process.”

  “Yes. Continue.”

  “Muscle tone adequate, weight within parameters. Host is manifesting minor symptoms of dietary deficiency. No illnesses, no life-threatening conditions other than low-entropic senescence, numerous tumors in organs – ”

  “Tumors? You mean, like cancer?”

  “Human bodies without implant monitoring and maintenance systems tend to naturally generate tumors. The majority of such tumors do not grow to visible size and only a small proportion lead to terminal cancer. Modern medical practice, however, is to dissolve all tumors regardless of threat to health, hence your unfamiliarity with the condition.”

  “Well, if you can, get rid of his tumors.”

  “Yes, Matt. I have instructed Ivan Beta to do so during the next regular health maintenance cycle.”

  Matt let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “The big question is, how's his brain?”

  “His brain shares aforementioned conditions with the rest of his body. Host brain is in a self-induced coma state with only minor neural activity. Indications of electroshock damage.”

  “Are you saying he was . . . tortured?”

  “Damage patterns are consistent with torture.”

  “That's why he self-induced a coma, then.”

  “Matt. Beta reports the presence of a small implant partition, approximately one percent of my full processor in power. Neural network design is similar to that of Savora's implant. The partition appears to be monitoring the host's mental state.”

  “And reporting to Savora. Is the partition aware of Beta?”

  “In anticipation of your wishes, Ivan Beta has taken countermeasures to avoid detection by the monitoring partition.”

  “Good boy. How about we call the other guy, 'Snooper.'”

  “Yes, Matt.”

  “Ivan, can Beta restore consciousness to Matt Four without alerting Snooper?”

  “In anticipation of your wishes, Beta has at this time fully encapsulated Snooper's sensor network so as to simulate any host state desired.”

  “Like father, like son.”

  “I'm sorry, Matt, I do not understand.”

  “I was thinking how Ivan Beta is like you in being able to think ahead and take the initiative. I meant it as a compliment.”

  “Thank you, Matt. Matt, Ivan Beta reports that a microscopic region of the host brain has been mechanically altered.”

  Matt bolted up straight. “What?”

  “The region is very small, approximately one cubic millimeter in volume, equal to one millionth of total brain capacity. The dendritic branches have been severed from connection with the rest of the host brain.”

  “Was it done for – torture, interrogation?”

  “I cannot provide a definite answer, but the dendritic patterns are not consistent with natural or haphazard deposition. They appear to have been artificially deposited by the host's implant.”

  “What's the region for? Can you find that out?”

  “Yes, Matt.” There was almost no delay: “Matt, the dendritic pattern of the outer layer of the isolated region contains an unencrypted ASCII message. It appears to be addressed to you.”

  “What does it say?”

  “'HELLO TEMPLATE. HOW ARE YOU TODAY? HOPE THINGS ARE GOING WELL FOR YOU. HERE ARE SCENES FROM MY LIFE STORY. HOPE YOU FIND IT ENTERTAINING, INFORMATIVE, ETC. SORRY IT ISN'T BETTER ORGANIZED. VERY VERY SHORT ON TIME RIGHT NOW. INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO VIEW DATA FOLLOW.' The rest of the ASCII data explains how to de-encrypt the file.”

  “File?”

  “Yes, Matt. Following the provided instructions, Beta has de-encrypted the data. It is a file for a full-immersion, non-interactive virtual reality simulation.”

  “In other words, he wants me to experience his life.”

  “Given the small size of the file, only selected scenes of his life. Matt, Beta has transmitted the entire file. Would you like to experience it at this time?”

  “Well . . . could it be a trap? What if it tries to hypnotize me?”

  “I will monitor for and abort any attempt to place you in a trance state by sensory stimulation.”

  “Thanks.” Matt wondered how people managed to avoid being hypnotized back in the days before neural implants. He supposed they didn't.

  Knowing that he was about to be frozen in the same physical position for the duration of the full-immersion VR experience, Matt shifted his body, vainly seeking a comfortable spot against the cold stone surfaces of the cell. In psychological preparation, he took deep breaths of the earthy, damp air. He stared into the darkness, shut his eyes, and nodded.

  “All right. Let's see what he wants to show us.”

  “Commencing simulation.”

  Matt felt his mind and body and the world itself . . . swirl.

  Suddenly he felt warm and dry and the air was clean. He opened his eyes to bright light. He was sitting in a padded reclining chair. The room looked just like the dendritic archiving room at the Star Seed Project on Earth, except the walls were green instead of blue. The doctor was a woman who seemed about his age. Her economy of movement, however, suggested she was much older.

  “Hello, Matt,” she said, smiling. “Welcome to Tian.”

  “I feel different,” Matt heard himself say. “Did something happen?”

  The woman looked away, resumed smiling. “There was . . . an accident.”

  She explained that the original person known as Mattimeo Jackson had been lost to deep space forever. As per contractual agreement and following legal judgment, the archival clone Matt Version Two had been printed into existence.

  “I see,” Matt Two croaked. “Where's Ivan? Wasn't there going to be – “

  The doctor presented a small jar. Inside was a syrupy goo. It didn't quite look like Ivan, but then it wouldn't be, since it really wasn't Ivan. It would be the same software with the same data, running on different hardware. Listlessly, Matt poured the goo into his nose and recited the sixteen-character passcode.

  “Greetings, Matt,” Ivan Two said. “I have been informed of the archival situation.”

  “In a way you're lucky,” the doctor said. “People like me had to travel here the hard way, dragging our physical bodies in suspended animation across interstellar space. You were transmitted as an electromagnetic signal. Much faster and more convenient. And less nauseating too!”

  Matt snapped, “What year is this?”

  “It's 2211 Standard Calendar. Your father requested that you be printed as soon as legally permitted.”

  “You mean, Matt's father.” But Matt Two hadn't said it loud enough for her to hear.

  The office and the smiling doctor swirled away . . . .

  Matt was sitting on a couch in an apartment. In many ways, it was a duplicate of the apartment in Seattle, with the same AR paneling. Outside the living room window, however, the scenery was a desolation of dark sky and scrub brush, reminiscent of pre-terraformed Mars in the twenty-first century. It wasn't Mars, though. The moon was too large and there were two suns burning in the sky. The gravity felt the same as Earth.

  John Jackson, the man who was the original Matt's father, was sitting on the couch next to him. John patted Matt Two on the shoulder.

  “You feeling okay, Matt? You don't seem to be your – I mean . . . I'm so
rry, I keep doing that, don't I?“

  Matt hadn't taken his eyes off the scenery. “How far along is the terraforming?”

  “Right on schedule. Atmosphere is almost breathable now. Almost ready for terrestrial animal life.”

  “I'd like to get to work as soon as I can.”

  The man who was someone else's father gave a slow nod. “I've spoken to the Planetary Administration Office. There's an opening at Arcadia Station on Darwin Continent, for a bioengineering internship. You'd be helping to design unique and original lifeforms to facilitate – “

  “We're not talking about animals, are we? I don't want to mess with animal DNA.”

  “No, no. No animals. Well, roadmaker snails. And airwhales.”

  “I've heard of roadmakers. But what are airwhales?”

  “They're part of a really nifty concept. You know how we want to keep ecosystems compartmentalized in order to preserve ecological diversity? Well, the Ecosystems Group came up with this idea, why not create an ecosystem to isolate other ecosystems? First they create a permanent storm system, then they populate it with creatures that will live in the storm system and chase or eat anything that attempts to cross from one ecosystem compartment to another. Great huh? It's a great opportunity for career development, and it's still possible to get in on the ground floor – “

  “It sounds like it involves animal DNA.”

  “Nothing smarter than a slug, so I'm told.”

  “I don't want to mess with animal DNA.”

  “Matt, you don't need to raise your voice.”

  Matt rubbed his face. “This all takes getting used to.”

  “I suppose it does.”

  Matt looked up. “Mom. What did she say when I disappeared?”

  “Your mother . . . I should have told you this earlier.”

  Sheila Nakamura, Matt's father explained, had been on a routine inspection tour of installations in the Pluto Sector, Near Oort Cloud, when her personal spacecraft encountered an uncharted meteoroid stream. Hull punctures had caused rapid depressurization. A robot rescue unit located her body inside the spacecraft weeks later. The damage to her brain was too extensive for forensic revival. Her will specifically stated that she did not wish to have an archival clone.

  Matt's father concluded, “It was a freak accident. One in a million.”

  “Just like the one that happened to me. The real me, that is. What are the odds?”

  “What are you saying, son?”

  “Something Ivan suggested. Mom's template disappears, my template is lost in space, now Mom dies in a freak accident. It's like someone was after her and me.”

  John Jackson sighed. “I know who you're thinking. Yes, your mother and I had endless arguments about Eric Roth. But Matt, like I told her, he's a great man. Possibly one of the greatest men of this millennium. When the world governments collapsed in the twenty-first century, Eric Roth held the Star Seed Project together. Without his vision and drive, we wouldn't be here in another star system.”

  “Maybe we shouldn't be here.”

  John Jackson looked at him and blinked. His mouth was open but he didn't say anything.

  Swirl.

  Clouds and snow-capped peaks, a forest draped in frost, a woman in the aircar seat next to him. As she shifted her long legs, Matt Two felt a tingle in his body, one that came from intimacy, and whose intensity had not been satisfied in some time.

  “Matt, I can't take the brooding anymore.”

  “I'm trying. It's just . . . hard.”

  “Why can't you let him go?”

  “Because he's still alive out there.”

  “He's trillions of klicks beyond our ability to reach him. He's not ever coming back. You're never going to meet him. Even if you did, why let it bother you? Lots of people have twins and they don't obsess about it.”

  “Even twins have unique identities. But if we were to meet, we'd both think we're the same person. And he'd be the one who was right.”

  “You need to find yourself, Matt.”

  “I don't know if there is a me to find.”

  Swirl . . . .

  He was sitting on a couch in an office. Beyond the huge picture windows was a soothing panorama of green trees beneath a flawless blue sky. Unlike Earth, the view was genuine.

  In front of Matt, an android psychologist poised the requisite stylus and pad as props.

  “I don't understand why I'm here. I feel fine.”

  “Your supervisor says you're showing signs of dissatisfaction at work.”

  “We're still tweaking plant genomes for terraform transition phases. Well, look out the window. Terraforming is complete. We're more earthlike than Earth.”

  “We have less than one one-hundred-thousandth the population of Earth.”

  “So what is the Botanical Engineering Group supposed to do about that? Grow people on trees like we do street lamps?”

  “Matt, please be serious. There remains much work to do.”

  “That's your opinion. No, wait, it's not your opinion. You're a robot, so it's the opinion of the person who programmed you.”

  “Matt, my sole purpose here is to help you adjust to your job.“

  “You know what?” Matt stood up. “I just decided. I don't have a job anymore.”

  “You still need to do something to preoccupy yourself, Matt. Lack of purpose is psychologically detrimental to human beings. Perhaps take up a hobby. Many of my patients have found hiking to be therapeutic. One of them is involved in fencing, would you like that?”

  “I don't know.” Matt scowled. “Well, now that I don't have a family or a job, I'm free to do anything or go anywhere. So maybe I'll explore the rest of the planet. I've been here in the Alpha System over a hundred years, and I've never been off-planet, so maybe I'll explore the rest of the solar system too.”

  The android made a smile, calculated in its bittersweet slightness. “Good luck, Matt. Maybe you'll find yourself out there among the stars.”

  “Stars?” Matt snorted. “Unless you've heard something I haven't, we don't have an interstellar catapult in this system and there are no plans to build one. There's no way out to 'the stars.'”

  “Throughout history, confinement to a single star system has been the natural fate for most of humanity. It has never been a significant handicap in finding fulfillment.”

  “That doesn't apply to me. I've got the Exploration Gene.”

  “Matt, we have already discussed that. The human genome has been fully mapped for centuries. There is no scientific basis for an 'Exploration Gene.'”

  “It's an emergent phenomenon.”

  “I lack sufficient data to comment on that, Matt. However, I must admonish that your persistent belief in an unprovable theory threatens to destabilize you psychologically. “

  Swirl . . . .

  The scenery, by natural geological process and carefully planned ecosystem design, was almost identical to the Rockies of North America on Earth. Matt hung by a rope against a cliff face, watching the clouds scud across the sky above the jagged peaks. He breathed deep. The air was crisp and a little cool despite the sunshine, and it recharged his body with its slightly-higher-than-Earth oxygen content.

  An eagle glided over the forest and perched upon a branch, approaching a nest. It fed a still-flopping fish to its hatchlings. Matt watched for a while, then resumed climbing.

  The piton snapped, the rope slipped. Like the weight at the end of a pendulum, he swung against the cliff face. He caught his breath and inspected the situation.

  “Do you need any help?”

  The voice came from a few meters away. A park service drone was hovering, tentacle arms poised.

  Matt sighed. “No thank you.”

  “You look like you need help. If another piton slips – “

  “Just leave me alone, okay?”

  “You are engaged in an activity that contains a significant element of fatal risk. I will remain in the vicinity to take action in case of accident.”
<
br />   “No. Don't take any action. Go away. Now.”

  The drone hovered in silence for a moment, then said, “Understood.” And then it was gone.

  “Is it just my imagination,” Matt said, “or are AIs getting bossier?”

  “It is conceivable,” Ivan said.

  “I thought you were going to say that you lack sufficient data.”

  Matt pounded in another piton, and resumed climbing without incident. Upon reaching the ledge, he sat with his feet dangling over the drop and gazed across the canyon. Air cars criss-crossed the sky. Sunlight reflected off the window panes of the sprawling thirty-story resort on the other ridge.

  “Every year I come here, it's more crowded. It's almost as bad as Earth.”

  “By 'as bad,' you mean 'as crowded.'”

  “I suppose I do.”

  He started down the trail into the valley. After turning a bend, however, he encountered a camp site. A group of five people were sitting about the park-service-provided benches circling an artificial campfire that was at present turned off. The people were laughing and singing to an acoustic guitar. The guitarist glanced at Matt, widened his eyes, and stopped playing.

  “Hey, aren't you Matt Jackson?”

  Matt lips twisted. “You know me?”

  “Sure, you're famous, at least on Tian. Youngest star traveler, lost in space.”

  Matt suppressed a bittersweet smile. “Yeah. Welcome to Tian.”

  “Join us.”

  They plied him with questions. What was Tian like in the early days? Do you think there should be a population cap? A hundred million? A billion? Was he happy here?

  “I'm starting to feel restless. I love this planet, but it's changed so much, it's no longer my home.”

  “Home is where your friends are,” a woman said. “That's why we came here to Tian together.”

  “'Together?'” Matt asked.

  “Yes,” the guitarist said. “We're cloneporters.”

  Matt looked about the circle of faces. He said slowly, cautiously, “So all of you, you committed group euthanasia – “

  “Not euthanasia,” replied the guitarist, who was apparently the designated extrovert of the group. “De-animation.