Chaacetime: The Origins: A Hard SF Metaphysical and visionary fiction (The Space Cycle - A Metaphysical & Hard Science Fiction Saga)

by A. I. Zlato

  The translucent plate, a communication interface only she could see, displayed the result. She read the two words “First Circle” … she was chosen to spend her entire lifetime with the Machine! She would live among the humans who were closer to It. Her dreams had come true; her expectations had materialised. She withdrew her hands and saw, with deep regrets, the note being erased. The screen became opaque again, ready to reveal another result. The words “First Circle” had disappeared, but her memory had engraved them. Baley came then downstairs, rejoining the ranks of her peers, the heart full of joy. She barely paid attention to the rest of the ceremony. Centred on herself, she had imagined what her future life would resemble. The First Circle would be her home, the Machine, her raison d’être.

  First Circle, First Circle … the words had resounded for a long time in her head. She had received the most sophisticated chip there was, replacing the provisional one she had carried up to that point. On her temple, the device since then had been pulsating, thanks to countless data flows. The Machine, the nerve centre of the City, was the most complex computer humanity had ever built. It improved every resident’s life considerably. It made life perfect. It was the most beautiful thing present in Space. Nearly twenty years earlier, the Graduation Day had been the most intense of her existence. Baley had been later appointed Special Agent in Charge. It had been an important moment as well, but not so much prominent. What could be nobler than to work on a daily basis with the most advanced technology of the time?

  Thirty-something years old, Bailey was an attractive woman, but not gorgeous. Her athletic silhouette gave a squared figure, devoid of female curves. Her short, chocolate-coloured hair emphasized the sharp angles of her face. Her gaze, ice blue, was so fierce that very few people could withstand it for a few seconds. Yet, when she smiled, her face reflected some soft warmth, and her eyes seemed to warm up and sparkle.

  She lived in the hyper centre, along with her husband and daughter. The windows in her apartment were all directed towards this non-space called the Machine. They never saw It, but felt It indeed. It was very strange not to see the Tower. To see it, it was necessary to be either further away in the City, or to be in the immediate vicinity. In the Periphery, the Tower looked like a pin springing into the sky — at least that was what some had said. Seen at the base, it was a gigantic presence with changing-colour walls, smooth in appearance, rough upon skin contact. The Tower was perfect, like the Machine it housed. Baley always felt a renewed joy when entering the building, although she did so every day.

  For now, she was observing buildings opposite the Tower, where residents were just waking up, always simultaneously, every day, in sync with numerical impulses. She liked to see and feel this community, of which she was part. Members had diverse skills and jobs; there were Special Agents like her, but also Machine Engineers, Mechanical Experts, and other countless holders of professions she only knew by name.

  Machine Engineers were atop the hierarchy, Space H.’s most talented experts, in charge of the Machine’s improvement.

  Baley had never believed that such a technological jewel could still be improved. However, she was aware that these engineers were working nonstop, refining algorithms, expanding the performance of such or such program. They all lived in buildings opposite hers, recognisable by their ochre colour, which contrasted with the dark blue of other buildings in the Circle. They also lived in sync with the Machine, moving in bubbles, a world apart, to which she had no access. They all hurried up, looking on the ground, sometimes murmuring nonsensical stuff. Brilliant programmers, they worked in a numerical environment, much beyond what she could imagine. A universe featuring lines of code she would never be able to understand. Nonetheless, she was not envious, because she was exactly where she was supposed to be, in a Special Agent role, the job the Machine had assigned to her — in the First Circle.

  The Mechanical Experts oversaw the Machine’s physical components ; they were the matching piece to the Machine Engineers for the structure. They thoroughly checked each cable, each chart, and implemented necessary changes and possible optimisations. One could easily recognise the Mechanical Experts by their antistatic gear, which they wore while working. Some of them left the Tower with their tool belt still affixed to the waist. Proud of their job, they would walk with their heads high, unlike the programmers. Curiously, both worker categories coexisted without ever interacting, although they all contributed to improving the Machine. As if the programs had no connection to the structure, and that physical components had no impact on the implementation of code lines — both job groups never met. Nonetheless, that work approach was effective, creating a perfect unit. Day after day, the Machine remained the centre of the City, and oversaw Space H.

  Bailey was a Special Agent, that is, the Machine instructed her to investigate variations of the Equilibrium that were triggered by an organic being, those variations that were not expected by the Machine’s programs. Organic beings referred mostly to human beings, who had initially built the Machine to maintain the Equilibrium but now spent most of their time trying to destroy it. Fortunately, the Machine oversaw everything. It evaluated, calculated, observed constantly, and worked to keep the Space operating. It felt no exhaustion, stress or anger … It built more and more every day, much more than humans could destroy. An extraordinary Machine!

  Baley was charged with investigating anomalies the Machine had detected, and finding ways to bring back the Equilibrium. She would feed her conclusions into the Machine, which filtered solutions and chose the best approach to bring law and order back to the City. The number of parameters It considered, the forecasts It made were so perfect… It saved humans every day from self-destruction. Baley was only one of countless links It used to accomplish Its tasks. She knew she was taking part in something bigger than herself, working at her modest level on the social welfare of the City. She loved her job, and she saw each investigation as a thrilling challenge to meet.

  She left her apartment, and heard the building vibrate, thanks to the sound of doors that kept slamming somewhat simultaneously. She greeted her neighbours and, like them, walked to the Tower. Drawn like a magnet to it, men and women of all ages strolled quietly towards the City centre, to this Tower they did not see. There was never a scuffle, because It was an expert in crowd control, and everybody could move without worrying about anything. Baley followed the crowd’s pace, and wanted, as usual, to determine at what time the Tower would emerge, when the invisible and nothingness would become visible and concrete. Although she knew she could not find out, she liked that morning routine. When she arrived at the entrance, she admired this building she never really saw emerge. A few moments ago, it was invisible, and now it was there, gigantic. The sun could only shine on one side, its rays unable to reach the ground, prevented by the thick and continuous mass of neighbouring skyscrapers. Dark-coloured at its base, the Tower would turn green, then red, and then translucent when one looked at the sky. A perfect mixture of colours! Brilliant.

  Like every morning at this hour, the Tower was wide open to enable the flow of humans entering the hall. The phenocrystallic curtain was rolled up on the sides and above the entrance, leaving the ground floor in direct contact with the outdoors. Baley entered the building, and, as usual, had a feeling of wholeness. The ambiance in this place, the architecture, gave her the impression of being a small link that fit neatly into a grander whole. A tiny part of this whole, she immersed herself in the large crowd of humans who penetrated into the Tower in accordance with the Machine’s continuous impulses. Every worker went his or her way, getting into work mode, in perfect harmony.

  Everyone could enter the ground floor, but only members of the First Circle did so regularly. Those living in Lower Circles rarely ventured all the way here. If only they knew what they had been missing …

  Kandrons also came here occasionally.

  Baley disliked those strange beings to whom the Machine committed so much time. Of course, as a guardia
n of the Equilibrium, It had to develop an interest in every living being. But she hated the fact that this precious and marvellous device would spend time with them. She would sometimes cross paths with one, never two. The Kandron stood in the hall, gigantic, compelling humans to make a detour on their way.

  She had tried once to start a chat, but the Kandron flatly had ignored her overture. Its ears had turned in her direction, evidence that he could hear her thoughts, and it had given her a look devoid of expression. It was the animal’s only reaction. Was it stupid or just indifferent, she could not tell. From then on, she would try to ignore them outright. Fortunately, today there were only humans who went about their business, focused exclusively on their respective tasks.

  The ground floor was the mandatory entrance point for everyone working for the Machine. The gigantic hall fit Its size, Its image. A perfect square, everything that was part of the Machine had a clear role, a carefully chosen place. There were terminals in two half circles, on each side of the hall. Entirely composed of fibroblasts, these terminals looked like plates that were five centimetres thick, coloured dark blue or ochre, like buildings in the First Circle. One centimetre wide at the ground, the plates lengthened up to seventy centimetres when seen vertically. The interface occurred through the membrane at the centre or directly via the chip. Most people would rather put their hands on the membrane to establish communication, to be able to feel the connection physically. Every terminal was an extension of the Machine, a window onto Its universe, a gift to humans.

  In the hall centre, there were three column groups providing access to the higher levels. Each group had two columns, one meter in diameter each, that started from the ground floor and blazed through the ceilings towards the upper chambers. Today, like every day, humans rushed to each column to get to their workplaces, and Bailey was no exception.

  She reached the first floor, the Special Agents’ floor. Once there, each worker was assigned a section, so they would never cross paths, and given a variable deadline. Once that time was up, it was critical to reach a column to be able to return downstairs. She did not know what would happen otherwise, but the instruction she had received through her chip was so compelling that just thinking about noncompliance would have produced excruciating pain. She always paid attention to the deadline given to her, and always complied. The instruction came from the Machine, based on the flow of data she had to receive and transmit on Its behalf. The instruction was always clear and precise, like the instructor, the Machine.

  Each Special Agent worked by himself or herself, only communicating with the Machine. Baley knew others could reach to this level, and that her time was counted. She could not get rid of the feeling that she was alone, and unique, and that her contact with the Machine was exclusive. Whenever she was there, she never wondered what her peers were doing — or who they were. She was indeed alone with the Machine, her Machine. Sometimes, she even pondered the very nature of this fabulous technology. What was It, ultimately? It was simply a voice in her brain, triggered by impulses communicated via a chip … an omniscient voice, devoid of emotion … where did Its centre, memory, operating system lie? What did it look like? A low-level role, such as Special Agent, did not have access to those answers, and if she spent too much time pondering those questions, the chip would automatically sway those thoughts onto something else.

  The Machine was right to assume she had no time to focus on such queries. Of course. So she didn’t enquire about where cables, servers and hardware were located within the Tower. No, she was not thinking about those things — and it was perfect that way.

  Morning meetings were different each day. Baley could not figure out whether the Machine had created an image just for her, or whether her brain had constructed a specific configuration of the room based on her mood. On the first floor, her brain and the Machine were so inextricably connected that she could not distinguish what came from the Machine from self-generated thoughts. Today, the connection membrane lay on the wall of a half-lit, narrow corridor. She stepped forward and put her hand on it. She had six minutes to file her report. Through her fingers she felt a flow of electrical impulses that was so pure, so intense, so … beautiful. Her chip recognised the data package assigned to her, and transmitted the information to her. She would have loved to be capable of immersing herself in this flow of information, without the chip, and understanding these reams of data … The connection was live, and the monotone voice sounded in her brain.

  Baley gave It the results of the investigation she had conducted the day before. She had been assigned to enquire about the drop in the production level of fibroblasts. The factory, located on the west side of the City, had lost twenty percent of output. Production equipment was fully operational, so that could only have been a human problem. She had started her investigation by visiting the plant. The site manager, who knew why she was there, spent the entire time trying to convince her it was not his fault, but nonetheless admitted there was a problem. She questioned all personnel, checked work plans, analysed production outputs, section by section. It was not a failure in a single section. The entire operational process, for some reason, had come to a halt.

  She then decided to work in the factory, to check things from the inside. She spent several days on site, without finding anything substantive about the problem. Finally, yesterday she saw some suspicious behaviour, not inside the factory, but in its environs. Some workers were discussing with someone hiding under hooded gear. A Servant … what was he doing there? As soon as the group noticed Baley’s presence, they disbanded quickly, and the Servant disappeared. Having had time to identify those within the group, Baley immediately went to their respective workplaces, the plant manager by her side. She questioned each of them unsympathetically. Under her intense questioning, they finally admitted that they had received gifts from the Servant, who directed them to reduce the production output. That was the agenda of the meeting she had witnessed a short while earlier. The plant manager, shocked, started screaming, asking them their motive. Baley, fully aware of the dark sides of human nature, simply raised her shoulders.

  Her hands on the membrane, she indicated the names of those involved, and requested that she be authorised to pursue the investigation. Admittedly, the troublemakers had been identified and she knew they would be reprimanded accordingly, but she wanted to know more about that Servant. Se wanted to know why he had endeavoured to reduce the output, how imperative that was for him, and, more important, whether he would resume his effort.

  “Instruction: Seek causes of the production drop in fibroblasts.

  End of instruction.

  No further instruction.”

  The Machine had just instructed her to stop the investigation. The report she had filed was enough. She received no other instruction. For a while, she had wished to investigate the youngsters’ suicides that the news media had been covering. People had started monitoring their children more closely; collective concern was palpable. It felt as if the future of a family depended on the facial expression of its youngsters. The past suicides affected children ages 11-13, so there were three categories of parents. Those whose kids were younger, who were stressed thinking about their little ones growing and reaching the dangerous “age bracket.” Then, there were parents with children in the very age bracket, who continually worried about their offspring’s wellbeing. Finally, parents whose children were older, who attempted to hide their relief, knowing well how extraordinarily lucky they were and how the less fortunate families would feel about their providence.

  Like Baley. Her only daughter, Iris, was 15. She and her husband were part of the “lucky” ones. Nonetheless, she still felt the collective anxiety gripping the City. Baley would have wanted to do something, but the Machine had decided otherwise, and Its decisions were final.

  Baley walked towards the exit, pondering the depressing prospect of a day of inactivity. Once outside, she raised her eyes to admire the Machine, her Machine, which had den
ied her some work … She saw several Kandrons flying, some with humans on their back. She had heard that some people in the Periphery cultivated a relationship with Kandrons, which was akin to the connection the Machine had with people living in the centre. Those who thought so were obviously living in the Periphery, who could not understand what a direct connection with the Machine meant — not like the linkup that occurred via a terminal.

  Likewise, she could not fathom what it meant to have a connection with a Kandron. First, she did not see the interest in such a connection, and then she hated even the idea of a bond, as if attempting to establish a relationship with a being other than the Machine were already, in itself, an act of betrayal. She stopped looking at the sky, and walked straight ahead.

  Not happy, she decided to make her day worth by setting a personal goal, to walk all the way to the Periphery’s end. It was a goal like another. Remaining idle was not an option. She would take the opportunity to inspect, to observe the City, although she disliked long walks, and today was not compelled to do so as part as an official, professional assignment.

  Turning her back to the Tower, she strolled decidedly and crossed the first row of buildings, through a corridor. The First Circle was a compact block, only a few such corridors enabled people to leave, and the exits were monitored. The access-scan screen indicated concisely, “Exiting the First Circle”.

  The Second Circle was much larger, because those who lived there had a job indirectly related to the Machine. From there, the Tower was an indistinct mass, neither invisible nor visible. Like a ghost, its presence was palpable, but not physical. People were watching Baley suspiciously; seeing her chip, they had identified her as a non-resident. They also had chips, but second-level ones that were less powerful. Fortunately for them, they could not tell what they had been missing in terms of chip performance. They probably could not grasp the feeling triggered by a continuous and gigantic flow of data. Baley realised her thoughts were arrogant, and she stopped. Every human being had a role to play, and each executed task was important. Immersed in her thoughts, she had not noticed a man standing in front of her. She flinched when the man started talking to her.