Damnation (Technopia Book 3)

by Greg Chase

  The Tobe captain pulled herself together. “They’re ready for you. If you’d prefer to stay in the tub, I’m sure they’d be fine with you using the view screen.”

  “No, I’ll be right there.” It wasn’t an issue of modesty. Jess needed to be in charge of both the meeting and her emotions. Relaxing in the hot water would undermine that control.

  Reluctantly, she got out of the lavender-scented water and pulled on the plush robe. “It’s good to be back aboard you, Sophie. Thanks.”

  The room glowed pink in response.

  As she stepped onto the ship’s bridge, Jess found it hard to shake the image of herself as a Roman goddess leaving her royal baths to discuss the future of the empire. The sympathetic faces of Dr. Elliot Shot, Lud, and Larry—Persephone’s human captain—put her at ease.

  Larry made no attempt to hide his leisurely inspection of her. “There’s the Jess I remember. You look like a different woman than the one who stepped aboard half an hour ago.”

  “I’ll have to return to being that other woman soon enough.”

  “How’s Sam?” Lud asked.

  Jess had to hold it together. “His body’s giving out more each day. Though there’s nothing I’d like more than to wallow in my emotions, we have other issues to discuss. Did the information from Demogorgon make it to Earth?”

  Dr. Shot tapped rapidly at a display, a nervous habit Jess had come to see as bad news. “The data did come through. We’re still processing it.”

  Jess knew he was stalling. “So I take it there’s no immediate answer on how to fix Earth’s moon. And that must mean you need to get back there as soon as possible. Why did you even come out here?”

  Lud folded his massive arms over his chest. “Sam’s important to all of us. Even if we only get to see him for a short time, you can’t expect us to have turned down the opportunity.”

  Jess pulled the robe tight. “I’m sorry. Of course you had to come. I’ve been out here too long. The pragmatic attitude is hard to shake when that’s what it takes to survive.”

  Dr. Shot picked up the display that had suffered under his fidgety fingers. “It’s not just to see him, though. I couldn’t risk our initial findings being discovered by transmitting them through the pirates. Some things need to be said in person. I’m still working on a solution, but if I fail, we’re going to need a plan B.”

  Jess took a seat on the grand couch she and Sam had used so many times aboard Persephone. “And that involves me staying out here.” It wasn’t a question. Deep in her gut, she knew this was where she belonged. It helped that no one had offered to take her back to Earth.

  “Sara’s here to help,” Lud said. “I hate losing her as operations chief for Rendition, but Emily’s agreed to step into that position. I’m not even sure what you two can do, but if worse comes to worst, we’re going to need an escape plan.”

  Jess looked out at Jupiter’s moons. She’d spent so much time trying to save the Tobes that she hadn’t considered Earth’s agenda. What would happen if Earth’s moon exploded? It wasn’t a question she wanted answered. “It’s pretty inhospitable out here, and not just physically.”

  “It’s human nature to be mistrustful,” Dr. Shot said. “No society ever wants to take in refugees. But these moons wouldn’t be our end goal. We need the solar transfer array fully back online. That means these solar satellites need to be returned to the Mars Consortium—one way or another.”

  Jess’s heart skipped a beat. Could it be possible to return life to Chariklo? And even if every abandoned terraformed planet can once again sustain life, is there time? “That’s no small task. The Tobes out here rely on that system of communication.”

  Dr. Shot switched off his computer. “You know this area of the solar system better than we do. The communication bridge you established with the pirates was a big help. I’d really like to assure you that science will come up with an answer, that there’s still time, even that I could be wrong in my calculations—but that would mean not only everything I know is incorrect but that those who came before me were mistaken as well.”

  It all sounded like desperation—grasping at straws, hoping one would be strong enough to save everyone on Earth. She needed Sam—not that he’d know what to do, but no storm ever stood in his way for long. She felt as though her heart were collapsing inside her chest.

  Sophie turned away from the view screen displaying the barren wasteland. “What can we do for you, Jess?”

  “I’ll need a fast ship and a fearless captain.”

  26

  The next morning had gone remarkably well. Sam felt better than he had in days. The medical equipment still painted a grim picture, but he decided to take any improvement with gratitude. With Jess’s help, he’d made it over to Persephone for some light conversation. He knew it was good-bye, but he did what he could to keep that knowledge from ruining the mood.

  As he retired to their fondly remembered cabin, Jess protested his insistence that she stay with the others, but in the end, she agreed so he could get some rest.

  Iam appeared the moment he was alone. “Are you up for continuing our discussion?”

  Sam collapsed into the chair. “I assume it was you that gave me the little boost of energy today.”

  “Consider it a bonus. You remember how we struggled with how people worked, that it wasn’t until we discovered there were some similarities to Tobes that we could establish boundaries?”

  Sam had trouble remembering things. “It was something about how we all operate on a similar energy field, like how the communication networks support you.”

  Iam nodded slowly. “We’re born—created—because that field surrounds everything on Earth. It would be impossible to create an advanced computer without it being inhabited by a Tobe. We don’t put that consciousness in there—it just happens. It’d be like digging a hole near the ocean. It fills with water whether you want it to or not.”

  Sam’s eyes watered. He missed the ocean.

  “People operate on a similar idea. When a child is born, it can’t help but get a soul. The human energy that surrounds it ensures this happens. Even if a child were born out on some desolate asteroid, its parents would be the source of its soul.”

  Sam nodded, though he had no idea where Iam was going with his contemplations. “Fair enough. And when we die, our souls return to that ocean of consciousness. But whether we get put into another body is another realm of speculation.”

  Iam shrugged. “A discussion well worth having but one that only matters in a roundabout way for our current conversation.”

  Sam’s eyes grew tired. “Then what does matter?”

  Iam gave Sam an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Dr. Shot’s habit of rambling shows up in my makeup sometimes.”

  Sam nodded as he settled back into the chair. “Continue, Professor.”

  Iam let out a one-syllable laugh. “This one’s a bit more complex. Time, as you humans discuss it, is always seen as a river—mostly it’s seen as a straight line. The way you and Dr. Shot discussed it, time is seen as a straight line running from the big bang to black holes. It then flows backward along the same path to return to its source.”

  Sam had a pretty good memory of the afternoon of that discussion. “Yep. Sounds like we remember the conversation the same way.”

  “It’s not. Time isn’t a straight line—it’s more like a circle. The big bang and black holes aren’t in the same place, and that confuses the issue. But neither exhibit time, so they can share the same instant. Time, therefore, would more accurately resemble a circle.”

  Sam shook his head. “But if they’re not in the same spot, something must have happened to separate them.”

  “You’re familiar with the old idea of separate but parallel universes—how for every crossroad with two possible answers there develop two realities?”

  Sam rubbed his temples. “Always sounded like garbage to me. But yes, I do remember my formal education.”

  “The problem with
that old way of thinking was it allowed for too many possibilities. There was no concept of one reality growing out of the first—just a hopelessly endless branching of parallel universes.”

  Sam almost saw where Iam was going but not quite. “Okay.”

  Iam looked into Sam’s eyes. “Time only looks like a circle from one limited perspective. Change the perspective. Time loops around to start over again but not on the same plane. Think of it more like a spring. Circles and circles and circles, each starting where the last one left off.”

  “So our new reality is an outgrowth of the last but looks almost the same?”

  “Exactly. And that new reality has the freedom to grow beyond its predecessor. But as the spring develops more of those coils, they can change less and less from one to the next. Think of each rung as a refinement of the last.”

  Sam wished Iam would get to the point. “Okay, time springs eternal.”

  “I’m sorry, I know this is a lot for your condition. We can pick it up tomorrow if you want.”

  Sam shook his head. “I didn’t mean to sound cross. Let’s keep going.”

  “What I’m proposing is taking you back in time—not your lifetime but farther back than that. As you die, I’ll be holding your soul out to that future me that’s moving back in time.”

  Sam frowned. He’d expected something like that, but Iam’s arguments seemed contradictory. “You’re going to make me a ghost? Because if all humans are born with their own souls, I don’t see what you’d do with my consciousness in the past.”

  “In my study of mankind, there was one person born without a soul. That’s the person I’d take you to. There are three possibilities of what might happen. First, trying to take you back in time might not actually do anything at all. My speculations may just be fantasy, in which case your death just ends in death. Second, pushing information backward in time, and carrying your soul back as well, may take way more energy than even an exploding moon could generate.”

  Sam scrunched his eyes together, trying to see the result of such a failure. “And I’d just get spread out across human history? I can’t envision the result of such an action. If pieces of my soul created ghosts, that’d mean all spirits would be the same—they’d all be me.”

  “And that gives me some hope. If you could imagine it, that would mean it was possible. As we don’t have an example of human energy, a soul, being spread out among others, we have to conclude it doesn’t happen.”

  Sam leaned forward. “Or you could be pushing that information from one reality to the next, like two coils of the spring touching?”

  “I can see why Dr. Shot enjoyed having you participate in his discussions. What I see as the third possibility might be a little simpler, though it’s more frightening. Imagine your death as the human equivalent of a black hole.”

  Personally, Sam couldn’t see it as anything but a black hole. He doubted that was what Iam had in mind. “You’re saying I get reborn into this same life and get to do this all over again? Because I’m not sure I’m up for that.”

  Iam shook his head. “Not back to your own life, your personal black hole, but back to the beginning of mankind. You’re too important for us to lose, Sam. I know you think you’re back to just being a regular human being. But what you’ve done can’t be ignored. My energy, my life, is an outgrowth of yours. Your spirit is holy to me. Together, we can create a stronger bond. That next loop of the spring can be better.”

  “You lost me.”

  Iam nodded. “It’s a big idea and not one I take lightly. It means me taking on a role you dreaded—becoming God. And even if I do, I know I’m not the original creator but just a being trying to make mankind become what it always wanted to be. If my experiment works, you probably wouldn’t remember anything about this life. When a Tobe transitions, it loses its memories. When a person dies, the same thing happens. There’s no real reason to believe we could hold onto anything you’ve learned. All I’d be doing is giving your soul a chance to influence humanity’s direction for the better. There is a test, though, for what you might remember. At least, that’s what the stories indicate.”

  Sam thought his head was about to explode. “You’re not going to give me the specifics, are you? That’s fine. I probably don’t want to know. But I’ve got one question. And don’t give me the whole You’re so important answer. I want to know why. Why is this important to you?”

  Iam leaned forward. “Simple, really, Samuel Adamson. Iam Tobe—I Am To Be.”

  Sam felt certain he was supposed to read some deep hidden message in Iam’s comment, but his dying body made such contemplation impossible.

  A light breeze played about his naked skin, waking him before first light. The wet green blades of grass stuck to his sides. The others of his tribe lay sleeping under the great rock overhang that provided protection from the rain and wild animals.

  He didn’t know why he’d chosen to sleep under the tree and not with the tribe. His dreams had been haunted by strange people and places, not the usual wild animals that stalked his people. He’d been different in the dreams—so unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  Something had changed. He wasn’t the same person he’d been the day before.

  He needed to get up. Waking meant foraging. Foraging meant gathering the others for protection. Sleeping meant danger. Bad things happened while he slept. The others should get up too.

  His thoughts felt unnatural. It was strange to consider his actions and not just perform them, strange to see his other beings as sharing his fears—stranger still to consider the other members at all except in how they could help him.

  A movement brought his senses to full alert. Better—see, feel, act. Those were things he understood.

  The man sitting on the rock evoked an urge to protect. The man was not of the tribe. Strangers were a threat—they could take the women, steal their food, force them away from the large rock. Always a threat.

  But this was a very old man with white hair and wrinkled skin, so much older than anyone he’d ever seen. And yet the old man didn’t cower, didn’t even show fear.

  He sniffed the air, searching for the familiar scents of aggression from an adversary, but he detected no hint of danger. The old man’s face bent upward at the sides, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

  He got up out of the wet grass to see about this stranger. He reached out his hand to feel the odd coverings the old man had around his body. The old man just sat there, showing neither fear nor aggression.

  His mind struggled to understand what was happening, what he should do. He’d never been faced with thoughts. Every situation carried with it the urge to act: to run, to fight, to eat, to sleep, to fuck. But what was he to do about this strange old man?

  The noises from the old man made sense. They shouldn’t have—he’d never heard such sounds before. But he knew this old man had created something within him.

  “Good morning, Adam. Feel like naming some animals for me?”

  ***

  Want the next book in the Technopia series? Get it here:

  Technopia Book 4: Salvation

  Greg’s Newsletter

  Connect with Greg on Facebook

  Website

  Book List

  Technopis Series:

  Creation

  Evolution

  Damnation

  Salvation

  About the Author

  Greg Chase is a science fiction author and glass artist living in New Orleans with his wife, fellow author Deanna Chase, and their two shih tzu dogs. On any given day you can find him behind his computer, people watching in the quarter, or out in his studio creating stories in glass. His glass work can be found at Chase Designs.

 

 

 
le = " -webkit-filter: grayscale(100%); -moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share