“You think that’s how The Collectors move entire galaxies in and out of The Menagerie?” Patent asked. “Or the people our jailors answer to, at any rate.”
“Well, duh. That’s how I managed to teleport the Gypsy Galaxy the first time. But you can see my problem…”
Patent sighed. The muscles of his body clenched and his eyes narrowed. “Yes, I can. As far as anyone looking through a telescope back in our home universe is concerned, nothing happened. Because some alternate Milky Way Galaxy popped in the second we popped out.”
“It also explains how Leon will be able to pilot his Gypsy Galaxy Grouping across space-time without anyone noticing. Because the mere act of moving it puts it forever in another universe, with each step it takes, the sheer warp of space-time for such a massive relocation… well, it’s as disruptive as any warp drive.” Dillon had moved to another piece of wall, looking like he was ready to get fired up again, only to get frustrated by what he’d written earlier, erasing all of it in a mad fury.
“But how then can we truly effect anything in our timeline the instant we jump the Gypsy Galaxy?” Patent asked.
Dillon waved him off. “Rest assured these timelines bleed into one another and affect each other.”
If that’s the case, what can The Collectors’ or their handlers hope to truly bottle up in the Menagerie, Patent asked himself. Then it dawned on him. “Think of it as cosmic hygiene,” Patent suggested. “Imagine the cosmos works by an economy principle. Nature may abhor a vacuum, but the cosmos abhors waste. So if you just confine the Leon and Natty types of the cosmos to The Collectors’ Menagerie…”
“You minimize the amount of quantum entanglement you need, which could make a mess of things fast enough.” Dillon was stabbing the air with his pen in Patent’s direction as he talked, delighted to make the realization. “Yes, yes, yes… You can bet that’s one of the pieces I’ve been missing. It makes sense that the civilizations you choose to imprison in The Menagerie would be the ones that tend to evolve more Tesla types over time, whose mind are themselves like warp drive engines, tearing at the fabric of space-time.”
“What if the cosmos is evolving us all in that direction?” Patent asked. “What if Natty and Leon just realize more of their true potential than the rest of us?”
“Yes, the evolving universe theory, always loved that one. You’re right of course. Why wouldn’t God evolve us back toward the godhead over time, and how else could we get back? If we’re right, then all The Menagerie does is buy the jailors some time.”
“The point is,” Patent emphasized, “from this point on, you know who’s on the side of right, and on the side of destiny—we are. No need to torture yourself anymore about the implications of your work, Dillon.”
Dillon froze, stopped with the head tapping. Patent swore he saw the ten thousand pound anvil lift from his shoulders. And then…
Dillon returned to his forehead tapping with the butt of his ink marker, the rhythm better than ever, but also interrupted by more pauses, as if he was fighting to gestate the next stream of equations.
“Ah, but how do you ensure the version of the galaxy that pops back in, if you’re one of the bastards that stuck us in here, is any more benign than the one you got rid of? I mean, from The Collectors point of view, or whoever it is they serve.”
Patent kept his eyes forever on Dillon, so he could stay sensitive to every twist and turn going on in his head. Patent was not about to miss any signs Dillon was exhibiting on the surface that could lead to Patent not getting Dillon back anytime soon. “Obviously they understand more of the quantum realm than you and I, and we have some catching up to do.”
“You think I don’t know that!” Dillon screamed at him, putting his whole body into it, as if he were vomiting out the truth, before kicking the wall, moving to another wall, and kicking it. He was stubbing his big toe on his right foot, and causing it to bleed. At this rate, he’d be writing those latest equations in blood, when and if they came.
“Maybe our two problems are related,” Patent suggested. “What if the barrier fields are like cell membranes in our own body, natural occurrences within the quantum realm? Each universe is enclosed by such a cell membrane on which its quantum error checking mechanisms are inscribed, in the form of Einstein’s equations or some others. The Cosmic Egg has long been a symbolic subject of art that some theoreticians say mirrors this essential truth, as channeled by psychics and artists whose mind got in touch with it long before ours did. Wasn’t it Stephen Hawking who said the real drama in universes happens on the periphery? It’s all about surface to surface interaction. Maybe our bodies are modeled on natural laws so fundamental, they are not biological in nature, but quantum in nature.”
Dillon seemed to snap out of his funk yet again and glared at Patent. “Techa, that’s brilliant—if it’s true. It makes the problem easier to solve, so I say we proceed as if it were true, and if it’s not, find a way to make it true.”
Patent laughed. “Now you’re speaking my language. I thought that was the whole beauty of the quantum realm. It’s so responsive to our thinking that we can make most anything true if we just believe strongly enough. Maybe the crutch comes in the form of some new science, or some new technology, that helps our mind see what it wants to see but can’t quite believe.”
Dillon focused his eyes again, taking note of the difference in their body sizes, this close up to Patent. “Techa, it’s like the mountain really has come to Mohamed.”
Dillon returned to his pacing and spewing. “Let’s say these galaxies have membranes, of a sort. Then all we have to do is to get them to rub up against each other just right… Or maybe we can assume they’re already rubbing up against one another, to run with your analogy to the cells in the human body, and it’s more about getting the surfaces of these cells to communicate their needs to one another.”
“It would be like activating a separate brain, the one governing the two or more communicating galaxies, getting them to cooperate in the requests being made of them…” Patent said leadingly.
“Which is entirely insane, mind you,” Dillon said, gesturing. “Of course, that’s what I love about Quantum Physics. It’s insane by definition.” He looked back at Patent, “I’m starting to like your ‘sometimes madness is your best foot forward comment’ more and more.” He returned to his pacing and thinking without making eye contact.
He was writing new equations again.
And for the first time Patent relaxed into a regular breathing pattern. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding his breath and forgetting to breathe this whole time.
“We’re still missing something, I can feel it,” Dillon said.
Patent thought about it, and sighed. “The power of belief. Psycho-biology is a big thing, especially to people in my line of work who often have to get a wounded soldier to participate in his own healing to hurry it along by believing he will live. Nanites sometimes can’t do it all…”
Dillon was already shaking his hand at him, the one with the pen in it. “You’re right, of course. That’s the missing piece. Maybe those soldiers have learned to harness more of the galaxy’s brain power, or more of their own somehow.”
“Sonny has deployed artificial habitats that function as psychic amplifiers to affect the thinking of those he’s negotiating with.”
Dillon made eye contact, once again glaring at Patent. “Why aren’t we out to get that guy?”
Patent groaned. “Long story. Right now I’m afraid he just has to get in line with the rest of the enemies stacked against us.”
“It does make me think though…” Dillon was back to shaking his pen again behind him while still staring at his equations. “Maybe a device in keeping with those psychic amplifiers is how The Collectors’ Menagerie is maintained.”
“It may not be a device, so much as a species genetically bred for the task,” Patent suggested. “Perhaps The Collectors themselves.”
Dillon whirled around toward
him. “And if it’s not?”
“I’ll get Solo on it. If there’s a device to be built of an alien nature strange enough, and impossible enough, he’s the man to call. I’ve already communicated the chain of our thoughts from my mindchip to the Nautilus, and to Solo, and whatever he uses in that brain of his to receive Singularity-pulse communications.”
Dillon’s hand was flying now with that pen in hand, the other equations all disappearing from the surfaces of the room, retreating before the latest wave of brilliance.
Well, Hailey did say the room was responsive to Dillon’s mind and vice versa, Patent thought.
“You’ll have to assume,” Patent said, “that whether it’s a device procuring the warped physics effect of The Menagerie or The Collectors themselves, that this switcharoo of galaxies within The Menagerie we’re proposing will be tracked. You’ll need some kind of smoke screen to hold for at least as long as The Kang need to do their work.”
“The Kang?” Dillon stopped stenciling.
Patent hoped he hadn’t put his foot in it. He made a throat clearing sound. “Ahem, yes, we’re dropping segments of the Kang galaxy on top of a few others, most notably the ones invading us right now with the intent of blowing us and every planet in their way to rubble.”
Dillon seemed to freeze up. It was as if someone had hit him with a pressurized tank of liquid nitrogen. And then he unlocked himself without any help from Patent.
“I assume the bastards attacking us are the same show-no-mercy types.”
“They are.”
“Well then, God’s work be done and all that.” Dillon made the sign of the cross over himself with his black highlighting pen before resuming his equations.
“I didn’t know you were Christian.”
“I didn’t know either. Maybe he’s some alternate personality that’s taking me over to power through my resistance to writing out the rest of these equations. Hell, maybe he came from another galaxy, to replace the actual me fleeing your madness before it makes mine any worse.”
Patent frowned. “I’m a pragmatist in these things. Whatever works. Though I should tell you, we have an Omega Force operative, Cronos, that found God recently. He really is certifiable. But curiously, now, a much better soldier.”
“Verbalize the new mantra with me,” Dillon said without taking his eyes from his equation writing, “Sometimes madness is your best foot forward.”
Patent smiled. “Yes, it is.”
Dillon had stopped writing, projecting the rest of the equations now on the board with his mind.
“Am I to assume I can broadcast your thinking now to Mother, to Solo, to Natty, et al.?”
Dillon smiled and broke into tears as he nodded, snorting out phlegm and putting his hand with the pen in it up to his mouth at the same time, out of common courtesy. You had to hand it to a man who could observe common courtesy at a time like this.
Patent was already transmitting the broadcast. His mindchip didn’t need the time his biological brain would have needed to commit these equations to memory. “I’m also going to fire up that Mars war god to run interference for us while we buy Leon some time with this move. It’ll be able to apply your thinking faster even than Mother, as that was what it was designed for.”
Dillon nodded. “I’ll miss the Jurassic Park, but I suppose sacrifices have to be made.”
Patent couldn’t tell how tongue in cheek Dillon was being, and Patent was beyond caring. Dillon could resume his vacation of madness as far as he was concerned. He’d earned it. “Now, if you’ll forgive me,” Patent said. “I have a war to fight.”
“Your kind usually does.” Dillon sounded exhausted, collapsing out of that high-energy electron-spin, down a quantum level, to a lower energy state. Patent, after their conversation, anyway, had no doubt that comparison was more than just an analogy.
The hole in the floor made its presence felt again as the room responded to Patent’s desire to leave.
But the Mars war god activated, and having no patience for his current form of transportation, teleported Patent to where he wanted to go.
Whether he was galloping headlong into a winnable fight now or no, Patent sure as hell wasn’t missing out on the fun.
NINETY-TWO
ABOARD THE STARHAWK NELSON MANDELA
IN A SECTOR OF THE GYPSY GALAXY INVADED BY THE CORSAIR ALLIANCE
Alpha Unit was en route to the launch bay, and the orbs—floating, anti-gravity spheres done in polished black.
Nelson, the Starhawk’s chief supersentience, anticipating their game plan, had surrounded each orb in the landing bay with a complete complement of fighters.
Alpha Unit cadets began dispersing the second they were through the sliding doors, mounting their hoverboards to speed them on the way to the orbs.
Once in proximity, the orbs cracked open at the middle, revealing nothing but a chair inside, more like a recliner, really, built for comfort.
The orb itself was a thought amplifier, able to read every impulse pulsing through the cadets’ minds. It also functioned much like a Samadhi tank, helping them to sustain an altered state of consciousness through which they could autopilot all of the fighters in their squadron. The fighter jets themselves were autopiloting, but they didn’t have enough brain power on their own to take on galaxy cruisers. To come up against fish that big they needed Alpha Unit and their finely honed trigger fingers and impulses, but also their gamesmanship against talented generals. The orbs did little but facilitate Alpha Unit’s staying in the zone, which the cadets did naturally, but that concentration could waiver under attack if they were burning alive, had just lost a limb, or had a hemisphere of their brain blown off. It was the orb’s job to be so damn impermeable and inaccessible that just couldn’t happen—mostly. Its stealth signature was unparalleled and its hard outer shell was impervious to all known weapons. But all known weapons, as it turned out, was a very small subset of all actual weapons, when coming up against warring galaxies for the first time.
The orbs and their squadrons headed out of the Mandela’s launch bay, moving so fast that they left in a blur.
***
Patent’s voice came over their Orbs’ COMMS. “Remember, you are to kill without killing.”
Skyhawk was the fastest on the draw responding, “I’m sorry, I must have not memorized that from my military oxymorons book. What in the labyrinthine complexity of a rat’s intestines splayed like runes does that even mean?”
They could all hear Patent take a deep breath, trying to choke out his own reaction to the orders. “We’re to hand out spankings, no more. Those are the orders. I’m afraid it is what it is. Many of these civilizations will ultimately become allies. We don’t want them dealt with so harshly that they spend the rest of time looking for retribution. Revenge is best served cold and may not come for hundreds of years. It’s our job today to make sure it never comes at all.”
“One more reason to blow them to smithereens,” an Alpha Unit cadet mumbled. “Their home worlds can’t retaliate if there’s no one left from the battle to tell the tale.”
Patent didn’t recognize her from her voice. He couldn’t blame the teen for speaking her mind, even if it was insubordination, since he was thinking the same thing.
“You have your orders and they’re final,” Patent said, dialing up the sternness in his voice.
“He does realize they’ll be trying to kill us, and he just hobbled our countermeasures immensely,” mumbled another female Alpha Unit cadet, again it wasn’t one Patent had worked with closely, so couldn’t identify just from the voice. But he wouldn’t be surprised if most of the Orbs were piloted largely by females.
Their superior forebrain multitasking abilities was perfect for these kinds of missions. He hated the typecasting; it went down like a bad Hollywood movie. But the guys, as a rule, also hated to sit there inert doing nothing with their bodies, just their minds. He might have to force more of the guys to take yoga classes alongside the women to settle their
asses down in order to even out his forces. He preferred them sexually balanced. The teen lads fought better to impress the girls and vice versa. Unless, of course, they were gay. Sigh. He might have to go Spartan on everyone’s ass and start creating squadrons of all gay and lesbian warriors. Patent, get your mind back on track!
“Yeah, I’d like to reiterate the, ‘he does realize they’re not playing’ sentiment,” chimed in another Alpha Unit cadet, helping to snap Patent out of his digression.
“Like it matters,” Skyhawk said. “We’ll crush them anyway.”
“Damn right.”
There were chuckles permeating across the COMMS.
“We’re GOAT.”
“The party isn’t truly sic until we get there.”
“I guess if Leon wants us to stall for time, best we don’t put an end to this battle before it gets started. Fighting with our hands tied behind our backs is the only chance they’ve got.”
Whoever uttered that last remark got a choral response of “True that!”
Patent stayed out of their COMMS loop from there on out. They were better at boosting one another’s morale than he was at lifting their spirits.
He panned his head to the Blue, Soturi, standing beside him on the bridge observing the big screen portal of the Nelson Mandela. “You got them if Mother has miscalculated regarding what they can and can’t do with this tactical deployment?”
Soturi nodded.
He had no idea how she planned to deliver on that promise from the bridge of the Nelson Mandela. He had no idea, for that matter, how a bunch of augmented-reality war-gaming teens were supposed to take out myriad battle cruisers that Patent couldn’t be bothered to count.
This was not a war gaming strategy he would ever have sanctioned.
And trusting Mother with their lives made him nervous. Who knew how many times they didn’t succeed with this approach in the probabilistic universes she inhabited for her to still give her okay?
Moving Earth Page 77
