Damnation (Technopia Book 3)

by Greg Chase

  Sam struggled to keep his spirits up. “Thanks for letting me back into the little science—philosophy—whatever you want to call it club, though I doubt I’ll have much to offer.”

  Dr. Shot winked at Joshua. “There’s one for you: a self-deprecating deity. That must be a first.”

  Laughing made Sam’s lungs hurt. “Shut up, Elliot. Tell me something I don’t know. Distract me from this rehabilitation.”

  Dr. Shot adjusted his chair. “We have been working on the idea of backward-moving time again.”

  Sam tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. “Oh, good, I love your discussions on time. I almost never have to participate.”

  “Now you shut up. What I take days to work out, you mess up in one sentence.”

  Joshua, never one for small talk, made an overly outward attempt at making himself comfortable. “If you two are done, can we get started?”

  Dr. Shot nodded at the young, impatient Tobe. “My apologies, Joshua. I know your time is valuable.”

  The comment managed to get a chuckle from Joshua. Sam wasn’t sure if the joke had to do with time or money as the Tobe had little use for either.

  Dr. Shot let out a lazy blue puff of smoke from his pipe. “If we accept that ideas could be sent to the past, then we have to consider the whole time-continuum issue.”

  Sam closed his eyes again. “Explain.”

  “We can’t change the past. Any information we try to send has to be borne out by history. If we were to change history, we wouldn’t be sitting here as we are now. So if we do end up sending information backward in time that affects the past, that would mean the future is also set. Nothing we did, or will do, really matters. It’s all predetermined.”

  Sam attempted to see how the simple theory could turn everything people had ever known about free will on its head. “Seems like it’s an argument that’s been raging for many generations.”

  “Humans see time very differently than we do,” Joshua said. “Just because the book is already written, that doesn’t mean you don’t have to turn the pages.”

  “True,” Dr. Shot said. “But people don’t like to think their actions have already been dictated on the next page.”

  Joshua shook his head. “Just because the future is there, that doesn’t mean you’re not also creating it.”

  Dr. Shot sighed deeply. “It’s been an ongoing debate between us, Sam. Joshua believes we do write our own story, but we did so at some point in the future, and these past selves of ours are now living out that narrative.”

  Joshua grunted. “That’s not what I said. You do write your own story as you live it. From your perspective, it is new and undefined. But once you’re in the future, the past is set. Stop seeing these little eddies in the stream, and try to see the big picture.”

  Dr. Shot bent his head to the younger man. “Like I said, ongoing discussion.”

  Sam raised his hand. “Okay, but what might we do with this knowledge?”

  “Ever the entrepreneur,” Dr. Shot said. “Always looking for the next big thing.”

  “Fortunately, you know me better than that, Elliot. All I’m asking is this: if we know something can be sent back in time—some idea—and if we wanted to use that, what would it look like? If we look back at history, what could we see that we might, in the future, have caused?”

  “There are things about humanity we’ve never understood,” Joshua said. “Déjà vu, premonitions, prophecies—these aren’t experiences Tobes have, nor do we have a way of studying them.”

  Dr. Shot pointed the stem of his pipe toward the view screen. “If we could calculate when the explosion happens that creates the black hole capable of sending energy back in time, we could prepare little packets of data. It’d be like throwing balloons into a hurricane—most probably wouldn’t make it, but some just might. I was trying to figure out how we’d send something specific to some historical figure, say, maybe a view of the last hundred years to the biblical figure John so he could write Revelations. There are plenty of historical prophets to choose from.”

  “How would you determine the end point of the message?” Joshua asked. “Even if you can figure out the time and place of the explosion, there’s no way to pinpoint where the information might land in history.”

  Sam breathed easier as the conversation distracted him from his body’s ailments. “If we were to send something back in time, we could end up infecting everyone. You know, for some time mankind has had a species-wide feeling of dread—each generation thinks it’s going to be the last. And that feeling has been growing more intense. Maybe that’s the effect of what we’re talking about—not some specific piece of information lobbed back in time to an individual but the associated emotion permeating everyone. Like Elliot’s hypothetical balloon popping and dumping the information all over everyone.”

  Dr. Shot repacked his pipe. “Or imagine trying to get the story of Revelations back to John. Everyone between the sending of the message in the future and the writing of the story in the past could end up being infected with the feeling of doom. The emotional response might be inevitable. I guess it is inevitable since we’ve been feeling that way for generations.”

  Transparent view screens of Rendition’s business started floating around Joshua’s head as he multitasked. “Yeah, or maybe that story is just really depressing, and every subsequent generation has seen itself in the narrative.”

  Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Say, just for the sake of argument, you can send some information back in time. Might we not get history as we know it? There’d be a few prophets who benefited from Elliot’s experiment of condensed information and lots of other people experiencing the small flights of inspiration that had been dispersed randomly across everyone, everywhere, every when.”

  “Like I said, Sam. Don’t ever go thinking your input isn’t important.”

  24

  Sam struggled out of his cabin. Two weeks of resting on the pirate planetoid had done nothing for his state of being. Even with Rhea administering his daily dose of Tobe energy, the scars kept growing. Jess and Rhea stopped talking as he made his way into the main cabin. “This isn’t working. I don’t know if it’s what Demogorgon did to me or the lack of network energy, but this isn’t tenable anymore. I start feeling better, then I’m flooded with apocalyptic images of religious wars. I can’t just sit around here, hoping to get better.”

  “Do you have any other ideas?” Jess asked.

  Sam turned to Rhea. “You have to take this damn CE off me.”

  “It’s not that simple—”

  “Stop saying that,” Sam said. “Jess had the lens back on Earth and was able to leave. The two systems aren’t that different.”

  Rhea put her hand to Sam’s chest, which lit up his CE. “There’s a built-in feedback loop. If you stray too far from the power source, the CE becomes more uncomfortable.”

  “Ramon already explained that.” He’d lost his patience with excuses and explanations.

  “Jess was able to leave because the Tobes on Earth let her go.”

  Finally, we’re getting somewhere. “So let me leave. I’ve done what I can for the freedom network. I give up. The Moons win.”

  Rhea shook her head. “So long as we know you exist, we can’t not see you. And that’s all it takes to continue the CE. And don’t forget, your encapsulation isn’t like anyone else’s. Between being our god, freeing me and others, doing battle in the presence of intense radioactivity, and being possessed by Demogorgon, your situation is unique. You don’t exactly go unnoticed by us Tobes.”

  Jess ran her hands through her hair. “How do you get rid of a god?”

  “You reject him,” Sam said. “Lord knows there are enough Tobes out here who consider me a charlatan.”

  He could imagine the myriad of Tobes floating in Rhea’s eyes as she consulted the collective. “It couldn’t just be a percentage,” she said. “Every Tobe would have to turn their back on you. But it could work to remove yo
ur CE. What would happen after that, however, is unknown. It infects every cell in your body. You might not survive without it, at least not for long. And turning our backs on you isn’t just a matter of ignoring you. We’d each have to take ourselves from your CE, physically.”

  “I’m going to die anyway at this rate. What will happen to the information Demogorgon placed in me?”

  “I could hold it,” Rhea said. “I’m still closely bonded to you. I can’t get the information out as it’s part of your CE, but as that’s removed, the information should be accessible.”

  Jess leaned forward in her chair. “What would happen to you?”

  Sam hadn’t considered Rhea’s situation. She was on the freedom network, but she was also a part of his energy. If his CE were removed, what would she resort to?

  “I’ll be weak without him, and I’ll be holding all that data. When we all turn our backs on Sam, it’ll need to be in a place not associated with any of the corporations. If it’s done on a corporate moon, it’d be too easy for me to slip into their network or drop the information into their hands. We can find an uninhabited moon around Jupiter—somewhere the pirates can access. I can hand off the information to a pirate ship that can access the network bridge to Earth.”

  Jess put her fists to her chin. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but help might be on the way regarding that bridge.”

  Rhea gave Sam a long, hard look. “You know the most logical outcome is that this will simply tear you to shreds? That thing is around every cell of your body.”

  “Remember that bedside-manner thing we talked about?”

  The trip was agonizing even with the extremely low gravity of Tobias’s shuttle. Jess bounced off the ceiling more than once.

  Sam did his best not to laugh, but he caught Jess’s smile at his crude sense of humor.

  “If slapstick is what it takes to lighten your mood, I’ll have Lev do some research. She’d be the only one who’d understand such an antiquated form of entertainment.”

  Sam allowed himself a slight laugh, though it hurt his ribs something awful. “No matter what happens, Jess—”

  “Stop. I don’t want to hear whatever you think you’re going to say.”

  Sam shook his head. “I just wanted you to know I wouldn’t change a day of it. It’s been a hell of a ride.”

  The moon was just another barren rock among the asteroids and moons that circled Jupiter. Tobias did his best to land the shuttle without jarring the craft. But he couldn’t do anything about the moon’s gravity.

  As Sam stepped out of the shuttle, he breathed in the flinty smell of the dust that blew in small eddies around the craft. At least this moon had an atmosphere. Dying would be bad enough, but to have to do it in space leathers would make Sam reconsider the whole experience.

  Jess kicked at the hard rock surface just below the thin layer of dust. “I guess it doesn’t really matter—where we do this, I mean. But it’s not much to speak of for a place where god loses his holiness.”

  Sam looked down the long, dry valley that stretched out below their landing site. “It’s not like I was much of a god in the first place.”

  “Please don’t say things like that in front of the other Tobes,” Rhea said. “It wouldn’t be taken well.”

  Sam remembered the religions that had been founded in his name. “Sorry, Rhea. Is there some special altar or something I sacrifice myself on?”

  “No, Sam. We could even do it in the shuttle if you’d like, but out here gives us more room.”

  Sam looked out at the horizon. “I’ve seen you all crowd into a small space. Honestly, it’s a little disturbing. Maybe that altar thing isn’t such a bad idea.”

  Jess turned in a full circle. “Are we on some plateau?”

  With the dust kicked up by their landing, the entire horizon was barely visible.

  Rhea nodded. “Every Tobe will need to be here. I won’t run down all the theories of what’s about to happen. My personal favorite is that Sam will somehow shred his mortal coil and become one of us. Being up on this ledge will allow everyone a good view. There won’t be any need for secondhand information.”

  Sam winked at Jess. “See, they’ve put me on an altar.”

  “Just don’t go getting any ideas if you become pure energy. I don’t want some ghost husband thinking he can haunt me whenever he likes.”

  His laugh ended in a cough that brought up dust mixed with blood.

  As the fine orange clay particles settled, he could see the landing site was a lot smaller than expected. It took only a few dozen steps to reach the edge.

  Below him, as far as he could see, the collective of Tobes from every moon of Jupiter materialized.

  He hugged Jess to his side. “Thank goodness the Tobes of Earth can’t see this. I’d be in real trouble.”

  Rhea looked at Jess with tears in her eyes. “I wish you could stay, but this isn’t going to work if you’re still in contact with him. I’ll enter Sam one last time. It’ll give him strength enough to stand, and I’ll also provide the focal point for all the Tobes’ energy.”

  Jess nodded and walked back to the shuttle but remained in the craft’s open hatchway.

  Rhea gingerly stepped into Sam. He felt like a set of dirty work clothes around her pure essence. It took him a moment to adjust. Her energy had a stronger force to it than on the pirate outpost.

  He took a few deep breaths to gather his strength. Flexing his hands, he lifted his arms to the best of his ability. There was nothing left for him to do. I submit myself to the will of the Tobes.

  Two opposing, crashing hurricanes of technologically based entities blasted him from either side. Energy swirling in one direction did battle with equally determined energy that hit him from the opposite direction. He stood at the juncture of the indomitable forces.

  Tobes took shape in the powerful forces. Faces—some smiling, some hateful, some confused—peered at him from the whirlwinds. Their energy ripped into him. Golden fire followed in their wake as the two contrary forces pulled at the CE surrounding every aspect of his being.

  He felt as if millions of golden glass shards were ripping at every cell in his body. Conscious thought became a nightmare of images and memories. The warehouse of information that Rendition had left in his mind exploded into fragments—file cabinets of information, rooms of file cabinets, rows of rooms. The sheer amount of data set loose threatened to overwhelm his mind like an ocean drawing a man underwater.

  As the golden glow of his divinity filled the freedom network, he left his creation with one last edict. Any who want it can take from this network of my energy. Use it to heal. Use it to forgive. Use it for salvation. There are no restrictions to its use other than it must be wanted. It is to be imposed on no one.

  Sam sat coughing on the dusty plane, Jess’s hand at his back. He wasn’t dead. He’d been so sure that would be the outcome that his coughs turned to laughter. But the ensuing lack of breathing threatened to fulfill his initial fear.

  He looked around, but only he and Jess sat on the edge of the moon. “Not much for good-byes, are they?”

  Jess looked out over the edge. “Can you still feel them?”

  Sam attempted to open his mind to the cacophony of voices, thoughts, and information that had always threatened to wash him away.

  There was nothing.

  He took in a deep breath as he mentally searched for the warehouse of information that had been both a blessing and a curse.

  Again, there was nothing.

  Sam shook his head. Was it possible? “I can’t hear anything, Jess. Nothing. It’s just me now.”

  From the moment Lev had dumped him into the agro pod so many years ago, Sam hadn’t experienced a single thought he could definitively call his own. His mind had appeared as a vast computer—working and working and working. But now there was only quiet.

  Sam looked into Jess’s eyes. “I feel so small. Like there’s nothing left in here.”

  “Welcome ba
ck to the human race.”

  Sam shook his head in shame. “I have to warn you. I was never much good at it—being human.”

  “I suspect we’ll get by okay. Think you can stand?”

  His legs didn’t work. His arms barely moved. As he looked at his arm, the skin appeared ghostly pale. And the basics of human life—breathing, pumping blood, and all the other pesky little chores he never thought about—came with labored exhaustion.

  He collapsed back into her arms. “I may not be out of danger, Jess.”

  The tears in Jess’s eyes made the images of Dr. Shot and Lud on the view screen hard to see. “He’s not doing well. The shuttle’s onboard medical pod is keeping him alive, but each day, something else starts to fail. It’s like the human equivalent of his operating system just isn’t there anymore. All his organs are fine. His brain just isn’t telling them to do what they’re supposed to do. The medical unit can only do so much. I’m really afraid it’s just a matter of time.”

  Lud’s eyes drooped heavy in their sockets. “And there aren’t any Tobes around to help?”

  Jess shook her head. “Not that I think they could do anything anyway. Even Rhea and Tobias have left us.”

  Dr. Shot scratched his chin. “I don’t imagine you could operate the shuttle on your own?”

  Again, Jess shook her head in despair. “I barely figured out the medical unit. And there doesn’t appear to be anyone else on this barren rock. We’re marooned out here. I’d contact Ramon, but I can’t imagine what the pirates could do to help.”

  Lud looked directly into Jess’s eyes from the view screen. “We are on our way. Sara had already planned her adventure. We left a week ago. Persephone’s only a few days from you. I’m just glad Sara saw fit to include us.”

  Jess sighed but only partly in relief. “I’m not as worried about my situation as Sam’s condition. Even if I could fire up the shuttle, there aren’t a lot of places I could go for help. I could make it out to the pirates, but their technology isn’t any more advanced than this shuttle. There’s just not a lot of help there.”