Chaacetime_The Origins_A Hard SF Metaphysical and visionary fiction_The Space Cycle_A Metaphysical & Hard Science Fiction Saga

by A. I. Zlato

  “So, this Machine can decide everything. I thought you had agreed with me … It is only a group of algorithms after all; It cannot be omniscient.”, he said.

  “It is omniscient. Nothing can match the Machine; thanks to It, the Equilibrium will be maintained, and that is all one had to know.”

  Paul kept mum, but Baley saw in his comportment that he did not agree. He resumed the conversation.

  “I had a conversation yesterday with Edgard. He told me that I had to differ the beginning and study the last manuscript discovered.”

  “Differ the beginning? Is that supposed to mean anything?”

  “I don’t know yet. Edgard sometimes speaks through metaphors, but if it said something, that must be important.”

  “So what about the manuscript; what does it talk about?” She replied slowly, determined to show good will until the end, despite her mounting impatience.

  “I don’t know yet, but it is obviously essential.”

  “You mean, essential for the investigation?”

  “Perhaps. Everything must be connected. It turns out that this document bears the Machine’s symbol. This is unheard of, I already told you. Its discovery, now, knowing that the children’s bodies...”

  “Listen. I’ll go interview the families. I wanted to bring you along, and that’s even why I asked you to come here. But I’ll let you study your manuscript, as it seems to be so important!”, Baley spoke gleefully, seizing the chance to work alone.

  She thought, deep inside, that she should have insisted that he come. After all, the Machine had selected him as a teammate. However, It had not specified in Its instructions what should be Paul’s involvement level in the investigation … and that suited her well. He also looked relieved. They were more comfortable working separately, focusing on their respective field of expertise. If one could only consider history as a field of expertise … but it was not the right time for sarcasm. Paul would leave, and that was a good thing.

  She focused on the upcoming interviews. She knew she had to conduct them, but she was reluctant at the whole idea. To question people torn by grief, that was part of her job, which she had practiced for several years.

  Nonetheless, it was still hard to see faces filled with tears, to hear broken and trembling voices, to stare at clenched fists with whitening joints … the emotional and physical expression of unfathomable pain. These people had lost a loved one, but even more, they had lost their child. Contrary to natural convention, they had experienced the death of their offspring. Besides the immense sadness, they had to live with the guilt of not having detected the distress of their child. One question haunted her. What could convince a child to commit suicide, let alone an entire group?

  Such intense despair … A busy day lay ahead, with fifteen interviews to conduct.

  Determined, she sent a message to the concerned individuals, and took the rail to reach the first family on the list. She knew that no parent had yet returned to work, and was thus sure to find them at home.

  The first couple lived in the Third Circle. While hopping off the rail, she noticed some weird stares directed at her. Here, residents were suspicious of people like her, those living in the First Circle, especially since the Problem arose. She proceeded, without staring back. Here, the buildings had only four floors, and large streets separated the houses. Some shrubs, decorated with flowerbeds, lay between the apartments, reminding everyone, if need be, that the Machine was far away.

  She found the building she was looking for, without difficulty, and announced herself via the terminal located on the ground floor. On the fourth floor, she saw a man and a woman, about forty years old, looking haggard, awaiting her in front of their apartment. There was no need for introductions. The message she had sent them indicated who she was and what the reason was for her visit.

  Baley, meanwhile, had reviewed their personal data. Sarah was a math teacher in a second-level school, located in the Third Circle. There she met Marc, her husband, who taught basic physics. Their story was a classic one, and Baley had not read anything out of the ordinary in the general database. They seemed happy with their life; their manager had made positive comments about their skills and attitude. She had to find out if there was anything else not mentioned in the database, which might explain why their daughter had committed suicide.

  She entered the apartment, following them. Sarah offered her a cup of tea, which she accepted. She observed this broken, sad woman trying to perform tasks as simple as pouring water in a teapot. These tasks, which she had performed reflexively until last week, now required intense focus on her part. Baley waited, in silence, for her tea. Marc was sitting in front of her, staring at his hands, powerlessly. More than sadness, dull and pervasive anger emanated from him.

  Baley took a deep breath and began the discussion.

  “I am quite aware of the difficult time you are going through. I am here to learn more about your daughter, and find out the reasons for her action.”

  “How can you just believe that you understand how we feel? She was our only child. At our age, we will not have any other … At our age, people bury their parents, not their children!”, said Marc.

  “You are right; I cannot understand, I can just imagine. I am a mother, too.”

  “How old are your children?”

  “I have a daughter; she is fifteen.”

  “You can breathe a sigh of relief; you should not be concerned, she is too old!”

  “That is true, you are right. I think, however, that I can imagine your pain.”

  “No, you cannot! Nobody can!”

  Baley knew she had made a mistake by trying to empathise; she had only provided an outlet for Mark’s anger. He was right; she could not imagine what they were experiencing. She had to find another approach to make them talk, She sipped the tea that Sarah had brought her, and said:

  “How would you describe your daughter? Had she had problems lately?”

  “Myriam was a lively child”, Sarah said. “She loved school and had many friends. She particularly liked Wednesdays; physics classes drew her attention. She was about to pass through the Graduation Day — and I hoped, well, we hoped, that she would land a job fitting her passion. You should have seen her … she would explain the theory of gravity, centrifugal force to us … at her age!”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “Yes, she is … she was a wonderful little girl. She had many friends; did I tell you that? They often came to the house, especially Caroline and Mary, her two best mates. You could hear them laugh aloud in her room. At the end of the day, before leaving, they always helped Myriam tidy the mess. Myriam is very careful with her stuff. Perhaps, if that can help you … I can show you her room, if you want.”

  “I would love that, if you don’t mind.”

  Sarah got up, and Baley followed her. Marc then joined the, his face contorted. The door to the corridor, invisible until then, slid noiselessly as they were closer, and closed quickly. The room leading to the bedrooms also concealed doors. This sort of ‘sham’ technology, which had existed in an upgraded version in the First Circle for many years, represented here great luxury. Sarah turned to the right, and the door opened onto Myriam’s universe, exactly as she had left it a few days earlier.

  Her room looked like rooms of all girls her age. A bed replete with teddies, the legacy of a childhood out of which she had not quite yet emerged, posters of rock bands on the wall, and a desk with a terminal. On a shelf were digital tablets of her favorite books. Physics textbooks lay one in front of the other, all marked with a big, pink heart. Baley looked around in silence, grasping objects that she put back carefully. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The room was a copy paste of what Iris’ room was, not so long ago.

  Once she completed her review, Baley resumed the questioning. Sarah, immersed in memories, jumped at the sound of Baley’s voice.

  “Has her behaviour changed in the last few weeks?”

  “What?...What do you mea
n?”

  “Is there something that drew your attention? Had she made new friends lately? Had she changed the way she behaved with you?”

  “I … It’s true that she was more reserved; she discussed a lot in the evening with her friends, but I did not care. Should I have worried? Could she have been in full despair, and I did not realise it? Is it my fault? Of course, it’s my fault …”

  “Children also know how to keep their secrets … You could not know.”

  “I should have asked her questions. I should have …” Sarah could not finish her sentence.

  Baley could not answer her questions, nor allay the guilt in any way, though she was convinced that neither Sarah nor Marc could have prevented their daughter from ending her life. She resumed the questioning, as gently as possible. She saw Sarah making an extraordinary effort to hold back tears. Marc turned more and more aggressive.

  “How is it that the Machine is not doing anything? There have been several cases before my daughter’s demise! I thought It preserved the Equilibrium … Is that the Equilibrium? Seeing our children die with no reason?” He exploded.

  “Human beings can always exercise their free will, and It can only intervene after the facts. I am here because the Machine had asked me to. I am here, precisely, to prevent the Problem from occurring again” Baley said quietly.

  “And when did you start your investigation?”

  “Recently”, she replied.

  “Ah! And what happened before that? Nothing?”

  “I cannot answer your question. I perform my investigation by analysing all elements at my disposal, and I will stop only when I find the solution.”

  “How many children will have died in the meantime? How many families will experience pain similar to ours?”

  “Your anger is legitimate. I cannot promise that I will find the answer before the Problem occurs again. I can simply tell you that I will do my best, and that the Machine’s analytical and computer power will help me move faster.”

  “As if It … Well, anyway. Do what you have to do.”

  Marc became silent, not because he was convinced, but because his wife had touched his arm, enjoining him to shut up. Baley realised she would not get more information for the moment, and left them, promising to provide them with answers soon. Marc shrugged, and slammed the door.

  She hurried out of the building, while memorising maximum details about what she had just seen and heard. She took a step back, disregarding their sentences, to analyse their attitudes, the words they used. Marc had said something that disturbed her, but she could not pinpoint it. Unless her impression came from the way and especially the moment that Sarah had chosen to tell her husband to shut up … She filed her recollections and impressions in her chip, and headed to the next apartment.

  Sam and Marie lived two blocks away, on the other side of the 5A rail station. Baley used the transition terminal to cross this transportation corridor. Her chip turned on, unbeknownst to her, and launched the sequence of the appropriate algorithm. Almost instantly, she found herself on the other side, and entered the building’s lobby. The building had an elevator to the upper floors. This obsolescent equipment had not been replaced with an ascending rail, probably for budget reasons. The elevator let out a sinister noise, and it took her several seconds to reach the second floor. In the oblong room that service the apartments, Sam and Mary were waiting, like Mark and Sarah, with the same look, lost and full of pain.

  Learning from her previous interview, Baley did not play the empathy card this time. It was obvious she had no idea of the pain they were feeling, and pretending she did would very likely trigger the same rage Marc had displayed earlier. Her chip conveyed directly the usual salutations, and terse condolence comments.

  “I will ask you a few questions as part of my investigation. Anything you can tell me will greatly help. If you think of something, a detail, even unrelated to my questions, do not hesitate”, she said.

  Sam and Mary nodded, in silence.

  “How would you describe your son? Was he having problems lately?”

  “Jules was a very lovely child; he loved school and had many friends. Recently, he had been a little reserved and spent a lot more time than usual in conversations with friends at night. Nothing out of the ordinary. Well, I guess you want to see his room. Come this way”, Mary said.

  Baley wondered briefly how Mary could have anticipated her interest in Jules’ room. It was a standard request in an investigation — but nothing in the database she reviewed about them, indicated that they had already faced something similar.

  Doubtfully, she followed Mary, and opened the bedroom door. She thoroughly inspected the boy’s belongings, and found nothing definite. Like Myriam’s room, the area resembled a classic refuge for a boy his age. Some toys lay on the shelves, digital tablets, posters, and some chaos … as if he had left, thinking of coming back. She went back to the living room and sat in front of Jules’ parents. Some weighty silence pervaded.

  “Did you notice anything unusual? Had he made new friends? Did he look depressed?”

  “In other words, you are asking us what we missed? How is it possible not to see one child’s pain? And you damn Machine, what was It doing, in the meantime?”, Sam asked.

  Baley found in him the same rage that Mark displayed, anger to which she could not provide any answer.

  “I understand your confusion. I am just trying to better define Jules’ personality and find common traits with other children.”

  “So that this doesn’t happen again, is that it? Have you proceeded similar in the previous case … and the one before the last? Asking questions, blaming the parents, and achieving nothing? Jules was a completely normal child, who loved life, loved school, and was so surrounded by friends. Do you think this is a personality trait that could invite a suicide? What if someone murdered him? Have you considered of this possibility, at least once? No!!! They must be poor, sad, clueless kids, raised by incompetent parents, right?”

  “Sam, please, the Special Agent is only doing her job. You know certainly that the death was ruled as suicide,that’s what the forensic expert said”, Mary whispered to her husband.

  “Our son was a fine boy! This certainly had an external element, something or someone who pushed him to do that; it is not possible otherwise. What about your Machine? What does It do now?”, Sam said.

  “The Machine had assigned the case to me, to solve the Problem. That’s what I am trying to do. The Machine is invaluable; I will find the solution, thanks to Its help.”

  “You have so much faith in that aggregate of electronic components..it’s only an amalgamation of algorithms, which humans created. And my child, my little one …”, Mary murmured.

  The interview was very similar to the one she had had with Mark and Sarah: a grieving mother, describing a wonderful child; and a father, mad at everything, especially her, a representative of the Machine. Baley still asked a few questions, just out of curiosity. She knew she would learn nothing more, but out of respect for this family, she wanted to spend time with them, to show them that Jules was important to her. They talked about the life of that little boy, his favourite activities, his classmates, the small quarrels he sometimes had with his father. She watched with them the 4D movie they had made for his birthday.

  She joined the simulated atmosphere, breathing the air of that spring day, with the feeling of treading a grassy ground, while being fully aware she was in the living room of Sam and Mary. Jules ran in front of her, surrounded by a dozen boys, all staring at a ball. Baley could see for herself the boy’s smile, the joyful tone of his voice, as they were last month.

  How could this boy, full of life, decide to die, exactly thirty-two days later? What had happened? She stopped the simulation via her chip, and the movie vanished. She dared not ask the parents if it was unusual that Julius and his friends play a game as archaic as running around a ball, without using their provisional chips to create a virtual reality.


  Without experiencing the Graduation Day, Jules had, by default, a chip similar to the one each of his parents bore. This did not allow him to engage in very complex simulation games, but the boys could still use their chips to play. When she was younger, Baley never imagined playing without the help of a chip. A quick search in the Machine’s database informed her that this was behaviour, albeit admittedly rare, that was not exceptional in this Circle and beyond. That was strange, perhaps the beginning of a trail in her query.

  She thanked Sam and Mary for their hospitality, and left. The day was well underway, and she had to rush if she wanted to interview the other thirteen couples. She ran through the City, optimising her path as much as possible. The couples lived in the Third Circle, Fourth Circle and Fifth Circle, in neighbourhoods that were far one from another. Commuting by rail was the quickest way to travel ‘by star’, that is, from one Circle to the other. To commute within a Circle, from one section to the other, she chose cable transportation when travelling by foot was too taxing.

  The cable was a ring of two metres wide, in perpetual motion. Every Circle had cables in its underground. One could reach them through columns arranged in front of each rail, near the balance point of the cable. The latter served primarily to transport goods, as humans hated finding themselves underground.

  Baley also did not like to find herself trapped under metres of earth and rock, but she chose to give priority to efficiency over comfort. She hopped on the cable three times, in addition to rails, to reach as quickly as possible the different neighbourhoods where the parents lived.

  She rushed through the thirteen interviews, desperate to finish them all in the same day. She first did it because she had told them she was coming. It seemed unthinkable to her to cancel at the last minute. Moreover, she wanted to have in mind responses of all interviews, to better identify common points. At the end of the day, she realised that the thirteen interviews had been similar, in all points, to the first two. Too similar, in fact … something that gave her the impression she may have missed something important. All parents described their children the same way; all fathers were irate at the Machine … a constant in all interviews.