Quantum Void

by Douglas Phillips

  “Eschew. To deliberately avoid,” Zin added. “Eschewal is quite an important concept when it comes to probabilities.”

  “Explain,” Daniel commanded.

  “I probably shouldn’t… but since you are a rather special person, Dr. Rice.” He gave a humanlike shrug. “I’ll do the best I can. It probably won’t surprise you to learn that Core serves multiple purposes but some of its duties are beyond what most humans can imagine. Stellar stabilization and gravitational leveling for galactic homogeneity, for example. A complex subject. But one of its most critical functions is temporal probability analysis and guidance. It would take some time to cover the details but let me just say that even events as insignificant as your request can figure into the analysis.”

  The explanation wasn’t adequate, but it didn’t appear that Zin was going to do more than throw out complex terms. Get past the gatekeeper.

  “We need to speak with Core. Our request is quite simple,” Daniel said.

  “But the implications are not. If I say too much I could risk biasing your side of the conversation, should a conversation with Core occur.”

  The back-and-forth was almost as difficult as speaking with Core. Zin was simply more polite about it. “How can we make it occur?” Daniel asked with determination.

  “Sorry, I can see you may be frustrated and I do sympathize. So, let me say this much.” Zin looked at Marie and spoke slowly. “It could help if Marie attends with you.”

  Daniel glanced at Marie, but her surprised expression made it clear she had no prior knowledge of Zin’s suggestion. “Marie attending will give us the conversation we need?”

  “Yes, I believe it will,” Zin said. “Marie has proven to be quite valuable.” He turned to Marie who looked a little red-faced. “I hope I’m not embarrassing you.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Marie said. “I’m happy to go. Whatever I can do to help.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Daniel said. “Marie’s coming too.” He turned to Zin. “Let’s do this.”

  The android scurried around to the opposite side of the control desk and activated several pieces of unknown equipment. He froze in place and closed his eyes for a moment. He seemed to be thinking.

  His eyes opened. “I’ve just made the arrangements. You’ll be using the Antechamber.”

  “And where, exactly, is this Antechamber?” Jan asked.

  “Nearly four thousand light-years away,” Zin responded. “Inside Core.”

  “Inside? Really?” Jan shrugged. “Is that even safe?”

  “You can remain right here, if you wish, Dr. Spiegel.”

  Marie interrupted before Jan could say anything. “Really, Jan, the transfer procedure is safe and I’m sure the Antechamber has been designed for our use.”

  Zin nodded.

  “I think she’s challenging us over-forty types,” Daniel said to Jan. “Take a deep breath. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Zin’s eyes flitted laterally between the two men until Jan finally nodded in agreement.

  “Then I’ll send you on your way,” Zin said. “I’ll remain here and control your return. Touch the Reset button on the transfer station arm when you’re ready, and I’ll get the message.”

  He pointed to the chairs and each of them picked one. They began to buckle the seat harnesses until Zin waved a hand and explained that the straps were purely for show. Katanauts tightly strapped to their seats looked good for the cameras, but as a safety procedure it was unnecessary.

  As the hoods descended in unison over their heads, Daniel could feel his body reacting. Higher blood pressure, adrenaline and faster breathing. He couldn’t help it. Things were happening fast, and no amount of rational explanation or self-induced tranquility mattered when the clock was counting down to zero. Daniel had spoken with Core many times, but always from a location at Fermilab and using a two-way radio. Though Zin might imagine that a trip across thousands of light-years was routine, for any human it was nothing less than magic.

  Daniel peered under the edge of the hood and watched Marie, calm and experienced, reclined in her chair as if she were at the beach. She caught his eye and just smiled. Yes, Marie had definitely changed.

  A bright yellow light flashed, and Daniel disappeared from reality.

  22

  Core

  As the hood retracted, Daniel lifted his head from the chair and stared incredulously at the scene before him. Marie sat next to him. Regardless of how experienced she was with transfers, her expression of amazement made it clear she was just as surprised at their destination.

  They were in a bar filled with people sitting and standing all around. The blended noise of many conversations mixed with the clink of glasses and the squeaking sounds of rotating overhead fans. A bartender stood behind a row of beer taps, cleaning a glass. Two men sat on barstools in front of him, pints of beer in their hands. All around, tables were filled with groups of people leaning close to each other and engaged in private conversations.

  In the middle of this very ordinary scene, the stark-white transfer chairs perched on pedestals and the oval portal behind them were dramatically out of place. No one in the room seemed to notice that three interdimensional travelers had suddenly intruded into their after-work party.

  Daniel hopped down and stepped off the platform to a dusty barroom floor. Marie did the same, her mouth wide open. “Did we take a wrong turn somewhere?” she asked.

  The unexpected scene appeared normal, yet something was amiss. “It’s fake,” Daniel said. “A simulation of some kind.” The barroom sounds were accurate, but the motion wasn’t complete. Each human figure rocked back and forth, but their general position never changed. The bartender never finished cleaning the glass. The two men never brought the beer to their lips.

  Daniel walked over to one of the tables, where several women sat together, each holding a glass of wine. He leaned in close. Their facial features were detailed, their eyes glistened, their mouths moved, and their heads jostled, but the conversation was unintelligible—just white noise. Daniel pushed a finger against one woman’s head. He half-expected it to pass through an elaborate projection and was surprised by the feel of something solid. Cool and soft but definitely not a human head. The figure remained in a bouncy kind of motion, unfazed by his touch.

  “They’re like mannequins,” he said. Marie joined him at the table. Jan remained in his transfer chair.

  Marie waved a hand up and down between the conversing women. The chatting figures maintained the same repetitive motion. “Very weird. And kind of creepy.”

  Daniel looked around the room. Hung on the nearest wall were several neon beer signs. The far wall was less distinct, fuzzy, as though the details were unimportant. “I think I know this place.” He swiveled around examining the layout. “Yeah, I’m sure of it. This is a bar in Aurora, Illinois, that Nala and I used to frequent. We sat right over there.” He pointed to a booth in the corner, where a brown-skinned woman sat alone.

  “Oh, no. It can’t be.” Daniel’s nerves prickled at the thought—and the sight—of Nala. He squeezed past tables and humanlike figures with Marie following close behind. They stopped at the edge of the booth.

  Her features were less distinct, but the hair, the smile, the arm casually hung over the back of the seat made the source of the forgery clear. It was a mental image of Nala, a view of her that he’d seen many times before at this very bar and stored away somewhere in the recesses of his mind.

  Daniel sat next to the figure of Nala and looked deeply into her eyes. They blinked normally, and her lips moved slightly as if she were talking to herself. She was more than a mannequin, but still a distant approximation of a flesh-and-blood human. His heart sank as he wondered about the fate of the real Nala.

  “Manipulative SOB,” Daniel said under his breath. He tightened his lips in anger, jumped up and started back toward the incongruous transfer chairs at the center of the bar.

  Daniel yelled. “Core! Where are you?”

  The din of
a hundred conversations died down. The clinks of glasses faded away and a deep voice reverberated through the room, seeming to come from everywhere all at once.

  “I am here.”

  Daniel stepped up to the platform where the transfer chairs stood in a row. He waved his arms. “What is all this bullshit?”

  “It disturbs you?” The voice was unlike their previous radio conversations. The cellolike vibration was still there, but stronger and with a deeper resonance.

  Marie stepped onto the transfer platform, staying close to Daniel. The anger couldn’t be hidden from his voice, nor did he want to hide it. “You pulled this from my memory.”

  “Yes.” The vibration in Core’s voice made it sound more like yezh. “To make you comfortable.”

  Comfortable, my ass.

  A blank room would have been comfortable. A seashore would have been comfortable. Daniel pointed to the booth. “That counterfeit sitting over there is a reproduction of a dear friend of mine. A woman killed in pursuit of scientific knowledge. A woman who faced dangers that you could have warned us about.” Daniel trembled with anger. He’d never reacted this way to Core and was uncertain what might happen next.

  “You prefer reality.” It was a statement, not a question, but Daniel answered anyway.

  “Yes. Reality. Honesty. Candor. Stop trying to shade things or distort reality for your benefit or because you think we can’t handle it. Just give it to us, unvarnished.”

  “As you request. Reality.” Core’s voice faded away. As it did, the dark colors of the barroom lightened, becoming brighter and whiter. The people at tables, the booth where Nala sat, the bartender and his customers all softened into shapes of white that glowed like shiny plastic.

  A new scene opened up, as if a stage curtain had parted and backstage was suddenly visible. A vast grid of parallel beams curved gently into the distance. The gray beams were both horizontal and vertical, like lines of latitude and longitude on an enormous globe. Between each beam, globs of an oozing white substance hung, forming thin sheets and vertical columns that dripped and flowed in slow motion.

  The plasticlike material dripped from a beam overhead, creating dozens of stalactites that gave the appearance of a limestone cavern. Each stalactite thinned to a fine-tipped point as it inched downward. Some of the slow-motion drips had already reached the beam below, creating a thin vertical column with elegant hyperbolic curves between connection points at the top and bottom.

  The grid of beams continued indefinitely in each direction, fading into darkness. It was like looking into the reflection of opposing mirrors. The platform that supported the transfer chairs spanned the horizontal distance from one beam to another. As drips continued from above, a solid sheet of white began to form around the platform.

  Marie moved closer still to Daniel. She spoke in a whisper. “I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.”

  “A fixed framework with a moldable interior,” Daniel said. “We’re literally deep inside Core.” There were many photographs of Core’s exterior, an enormous sphere capped by a smaller hemisphere. It was essentially a lumpy moon that hovered in 4-D space surrounded by more than fifty orbiting devices that functioned as communication relays. The hand grenade, as Nala had christened it.

  NASA engineers had calculated its diameter at just under a hundred kilometers. If you dropped Core into Lake Erie, you could step on in Ohio and step off in Ontario without getting wet. No one knew why a single cyborg entity required so much volume, and no one had yet asked.

  “The white stuff looks alive.”

  “It may very well be. Core is cybernetic—part machine, part organic.” Daniel began to calm now that Core had acknowledged the deception. He still wasn’t happy with the emotional manipulation or the intrusion into his mind.

  Jan, still sitting on the transfer chair, spoke up from behind. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over as quickly as we can.” He looked pale.

  Daniel wasn’t ready to let the opportunity pass just because Jan wanted to make a quick retreat now that he was staring into the throat of the beast.

  “Core,” he shouted. “Show yourself. We didn’t come here to speak to a disembodied voice. We could do that by radio.”

  There was a delay, but the deep vibrating voice eventually responded. “Your eyes are not capable.”

  Daniel stood firm. “The unshaded truth. Remember? Do it. Show yourself.”

  A large glob of the plastic goo invaded the space and sealed off the view of the framework of beams. They were surrounded now by pure white.

  “Could we suffocate in here?” Jan asked.

  “Doubtful,” Marie answered. “We’re clearly in a climate-controlled space with pressure and oxygen set for humans. I can’t imagine Zin sending us to our deaths.”

  Jan eyed the recall button on the seat handle. Daniel couldn’t blame him. Having a backup plan was always a good idea. Marie seemed to agree as she repositioned herself closer to the transfer chair.

  “Core?” Daniel yelled once more. “We’re not simpletons and we’re not afraid. Show yourself.”

  Motion appeared, hovering in midair in front of them. Dark curving lines appeared that stood out against the white background. More lines materialized, hundreds… thousands. They began to twist into geometric shapes of astonishing complexity.

  The voice was the same, but it now emanated from the emerging shape that hovered in the air. “Expect no face, no body.” The curving lines formed a sphere with a smaller hemisphere on top, but the shape continued to morph into greater complexity, like zooming in on a fractal. “No form that you could perceive.” The lines twisted back on themselves, crossing into a mesh and turning inside out. A glow shone from the interior. “But I will project my essence into your space.”

  The view changed further, the glow breaking apart and forming an array of particles orbiting around a central point. The glow pulsated in a rhythm that cascaded down a line of individual particles like perfectly timed Christmas lights. “You would call me a quantum computer, and that would be partly correct.”

  The moving particles multiplied in number. Their orbital paths increased in complexity. The hovering mass expanded, stretching closer to the platform where they stood. Daniel backed up a few steps as the three-dimensional image engulfed the platform and surrounded them. They were inside, with tiny particles zooming in all directions.

  “I am more than you see. I am entangled beyond this single entity. Human limits cannot comprehend all that I am.”

  The shapes and motion were indescribably complex. Yet the voice had stated there was more, and Daniel believed it. This was an entirely different lesson, unlike any session that had come before. This time, Core wasn’t saying you will learn. Quite the opposite. You cannot learn, you are incapable.

  “Don’t underestimate us,” Daniel said, his emotions now under control. “Our species may be highly dependent upon our eyes. But that single organ produces a visual reality within our brain—a representation of truth like no other.”

  “I understand.” Some of the flying particles sparked in synchronization with the spoken words.

  “We have questions,” Jan said, several steps behind Daniel as they faced what seemed like the center of particle activity.

  “Jan Spiegel.” Core’s voice reverberated throughout the platform beneath their feet, and Jan jumped at the sound of his name. “Your questions?”

  Jan looked desperate now that he’d put himself front and center. The Cowardly Lion in front of the Great and Powerful Oz came to mind. Jan swallowed hard. “We have lost two good people… our colleagues. A dimensional mishap. We believe it was due to instabilities from the collapse of quantum space.”

  Daniel gave a nod of encouragement to Jan. Even though Daniel had taken the lead in past conversations, this time it would be best to have a physicist explain.

  Jan continued. “We have measured these instabilities, but we can’t control them.”

  “Your
question?” Core’s voice was sharp.

  Jan seemed shaken by the interruption but regained his composure. “Why didn’t you warn us? Why not explain the dangers inherent in this technology? Your own agent, Aastazin, used a device to send us here by way of dimensional compression. Your scientists must have faced the same issue and solved it. Why not share this information?”

  If Core felt any challenge from Jan’s accusation, its tone didn’t change. “Dimensional instabilities are common. You will learn.”

  “But two people have died!”

  “Over time, you will learn.”

  They were back to that tired phrase, and Daniel was having none of it. “If you’d warned us, our best scientists might still be alive, and we’d be in a better position to learn.” They’d had never confronted Core before, but the rules were different this time.

  “Daniel Rice. Jan Spiegel. Am I the instructor for your scientists?”

  “You could be,” Daniel answered. “When lives depend on it.”

  “Share with others. They will share with you. There are many.”

  It was a reference to the Dancers, no doubt. But if Marie’s experience on their planet was any indication, the relationship was a long way from discussing advanced physics. They’d barely gotten past identifying the difference between sexes.

  Jan followed the motion of the flying particles, as if searching for the specific instance of the intelligence they were speaking to. “Explain just one simple concept. Would that break any of your precious rules?”

  “Your question?”

  “We may have created a singularity, a zero-dimensional point. If I knew how to avoid it, we could protect ourselves but continue to experiment.”

  “You believe a singularity is simple?”

  Jan shrugged. “It’s a well-understood concept, mathematically at least. We just don’t know how it derives from the collapse of quantum space.”

  “Is a multivariate universe simple?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Then why should its opposite be simple?”