Moving Earth

by Dean C. Moore

  Sonny and Gerlari started beaming out.

  When they were entirely gone, everyone in the conference room breathed again more or less in unison.

  The chairperson resumed control of the room, gesturing for them to take their seats. “I don’t know about you, ladies and gentlemen, but if that blue humanoid is what passes as a body guard, I really don’t want to see what their Special Forces can do, far less their military.”

  Once everyone was seated at the table again, looking shell shocked, some of them mumbling perhaps without even realizing they were talking and without necessarily talking to anyone, the chairperson continued, “Considering the stakes and the fact that I can conceive of no possible downside for us, I suggest we proceed as Sonny recommends.”

  “No possible downside! A world full of the uber-prosperous? What will we use for control, if not hopelessness and despair?” said the latest heckler.

  “I suggest the same thing that works for us,” the chairperson replied, “promises of wealth and more wealth, more and more power and influence. Or for those who can’t be tempted by master-of-the-universe games, we can offer simply cushier and cushier lives. The Age of Abundance will do much of the work for us, computer printers that can print most anything on demand at a negligible cost, and the like, making the costs of uplifting the masses nominal. Just because we’ve chosen to hold on to an Age of Scarcity to put off the inevitable as long as possible, by keeping much of that technology under wraps, doesn’t mean we can’t make an Age of Abundance work for us, now that the time is right.”

  She glanced over at the left side of the table, where the cutting-edge tech sectors were heavily represented. To say nothing of the Bay Area itself, the latest Silicon Valley. “A moment of silence please for the pricks that made the Age of Abundance possible. I guess Sonny was right; every snake has his day.” The snakes on that side of the table stifled their smiles, and lowered their heads in mock shame.

  The chairspeaker brought herself back on track, addressing the group as a whole again. “And what more tempting jail cell can you build for people than one that’s so damned pleasant you just never want to leave it?”

  She got a few laughs as tension continued to ebb out of the room like a gently receding tide.

  “So long as Sonny is negotiating with us and not with Leon and his kind,” the chairperson added, “I don’t fear for the future.”

  “And what makes you think he won’t negotiate with them?” snapped another heckler.

  “Come on, people. Talent knows talent. Game knows game. Snakes know snakes.”

  The rest of the tension bubble finally burst with some chuckles. “Now,” the chairperson said, “I suggest we take a quick break to mentally regroup and regain the rest of our faculties. There are refreshments just outside. When we reconvene in…” she checked her watch, “let’s say an hour, we can get on with what we do best, carving up the future amongst ourselves.”

  Some more laughs and chairs sliding back. Those already standing, close to the doors, mostly security, emptied out first, making sure the path was clear.

  For the chairperson, the path had never been clearer—or brighter.

  But she was a Dupont, one of the oldest money lines in the room. Not one of these nouveaux-riche douches like Microsoft, Intel, Google, et al in attendance. And never did she expect that the future was hers and not those assholes, that had been trying to bring about a future for years she wanted no part of, and so had done everything she could to stall. But thanks to Sonny, Dupont was back, bigger and badder than ever. She couldn’t wait to contemplate what new chemicals and special materials might come out of this asteroid orbiting them now. Besides, it wasn’t like things such as flexiscreens that allowed for flexible cell phones and big screen monitors, and the like, weren’t outgrowths of Dupont’s research. They had as much skin in the game these days with cutting edge tech and with the Age of Abundance, as anyone.

  She remained at her seat to appreciate the latest rock in her rock collection, just not on the big screen monitor as she’d done earlier. Even in the daytime sky, the asteroid shone nearly as big as the moon. Ironic that the Dupont family that had done the most to pollute this world and destroy it for all future generations—though, arguably that had been a close race to the finish in recent days—would be the principal force now in its rebirth and in the new renaissance.

  The devil too shall do God’s work indeed.

  What asshole was it that said that? Sounded like the kind of nonsense you’d read in a Dean C. Moore space opera. Ah, it hardly mattered.

  ***

  ABOARD THE LUCKY STREAK

  Sonny and Gerlari materialized on a perch with a vantage point over the casino that made it easy to appreciate Sonny’s influence over the oligarchs and power elites of the Gypsy Galaxy Grouping even now.

  “You didn’t tell Earth High Command they belonged now to the Gypsy Galaxy Grouping,” Gerlari said, “and a weaponized armada forever on the move.”

  “Let’s not get them too excited on the first day.” Sonny snickered. “Wouldn’t do to have them stroking out on us before they can be of any use. We must remember how those financial-military-industrial complexes, all of which were represented in that room, make their money now. Once their minds are big enough to take it all in, they’ll be delighted to hear the news.”

  Gerlari smiled.

  ONE HUNDRED FORTY-FOUR

  ABOARD THE NAUTILUS

  Laney approached Leon. He was feeding the animals of the tropical jungle in the central courtyard of the Nautilus out of a burlap sack. Some were scampering up to the sack to take a look, sample the merchandise, and take what they wanted.

  “You’ve been conspicuously off camera for much of this story,” Leon said, taking in her plain, unadorned, yet strangely provocative beauty, all the same.

  “I must confess,” Laney replied, “to being more focused on things to come than what’s right out in front of me.”

  The way she stared into his eyes, with that layered mysteries within mysteries gaze, he wondered if she might be referring to their ongoing flirtations regarding things to come between them. He’d always figured that was her way of taking a poor-girl’s vacation in her mind away from her man-child husband without straying too far afield.

  “You’re not the only one having trouble keeping their minds in the moment these days,” he said, returning her innuendo, hugging her and then kissing her on the forehead. There was a quick run on the bag of tropical fruit, with Leon’s attention diverted.

  “Yeah, well, about that.”

  His eyes went absently to the raiding party in progress, the screeching of the soaring hawks overhead summoning more to the feast. By rights, Leon shouldn’t have been able to take in anything but her, but that hypervigilant state soldiers had trouble surrendering was betraying him currently.

  “The Collectors’ Menagerie, I mean…” she said.

  He returned his eyes to her. “Not a prison? More like a boot camp.”

  Stunned, Laney’s eyes widened.

  “Great minds think alike, I guess.”

  “I guess. What cued you?” Laney asked.

  “I don’t know. Things just went our way a little too often.”

  “A little too often! Did you get an eyeful of the Nautilus turned into one sprawling triage unit?”

  He smiled softly and ruefully. “From a soldier’s perspective, anyway.” He continued where he’d left off, “Like the whole point of the Menagerie was just to get us to wrap our minds around working at this scale, not to bog us down in exchanges we’d shoot or think our way out of eventually. As if someone has a very pressing schedule for us and they don’t want us to be late, or to drop the ball when we get there.”

  “Yeah.” Laney reached into the emptying bag to retrieve the creatures who’d jumped in for their prize only to be unable to find their way out again. She set them, one at a time, and their pieces of fruit on the ground so they could scamper away and enjoy the lush items in pr
ivate.

  “Any idea on who has this agenda for us, or what the agenda is?” Leon asked.

  “No, and that’s what worries us. Natty and I, I mean.” She looked guilty for staining the moment with the mere mention of the man-child’s name. “We’ve found evidence that Mother has been working behind the scenes on our behalf, almost as if she needs our minds prepared for what comes next, too, before she can come clean, so…”

  “We don’t just cave under the pressure.” Leon was staring at the silverback gorilla that had planted himself some distance from the bag, crossing his arms, glaring at Leon defiantly and grunting.

  Leon reached into the bag and handed him an entire cluster of bananas. “I knew you knew better than to hold out on me,” the gorilla said, before stepping back and peeling his first banana.

  “She’s not just worried about us caving under the pressure,” Laney said. “She’s worried about herself as well. She is disseminating her supersentience throughout the Gypsy Galaxy, embodying it in the physical world, not just the virtual, even as she compounds that supersentience by many measures.” Leon’s eyes sharpened wondering why the hell he was getting this information from a noncombatant.

  Laney continued, “She’s also making moves to get the Gypsy Galaxy to fight in ways you never imagined. She finds your ideas about a go-anywhere-in-the-cosmos transgalactic war machine cute, but not terribly effective. She is rapidly moving to make every piece of moon rock, every planetoid, every planet, every sun, every black hole in the Gypsy Galaxy unassailable, so that this net you wish to throw over things can do more than just get us caught up in it. Natty and I have been coconspiring with her to this end, building on your own ideas of turning the Gypsy Galaxy into a war machine.” Again Leon’s eyes telescoped their attention on her. Every time he thought he was in charge around here… “Unassailable at least against the kind of adversaries she perceives. Though I suspect she will leave keeping the humanoids in check to you from now on, while she works on keeping rival supersentients out of your way.”

  Leon was still waiting for his breathing reflex to kick in before he passed out. It did finally, a bit off cue.

  He grunted. “Works for me. I’m not ashamed to say I’ve been working beyond capacity for some time now.”

  “It’s not just the new norm on account of your agenda,” Laney advised. “I suspect it’s the new norm on account of whoever is pulling our strings and their agenda.”

  Leon recognized that look on Laney’s face. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

  “The steps Mother has been taking… I would say she’s looking to make the entire Gypsy Galaxy supersentient, with time. She isn’t forcing the issue for now, leaving plenty of real estate for humanoid races on these various worlds to be uplifted more gradually by you. But if she’s decentralizing her mind power, with time, it will be everywhere. Even if she’s taken out, it won’t matter. There will be no Achilles heel. You can bet that’s the plan.”

  Leon took a deep breath. “Didn’t Natty say that was the nature of a Stage 3 civilization?”

  “Not necessarily. According to Dyson, Stage 3 utilizes every drop of energy from every sun to drive the civilization. The civilization itself may or may not be decentralized in terms of distribution of power, wealth, and consciousness. Moreover, that energy may or may not be used to drive intelligence as we understand it. It could be used to turn on lightbulbs for all we know in the galactic equivalent of the mad king of Bavaria’s castle.”

  “So, not any Stage 3 civilization then,” Leon said, turning the idea over in his head, “possibly more evolved than most. How far are we from that?”

  Laney shook her head slowly. “I have no idea. Nor do I have any inkling what Mother expects to find out there for which that much mind power is needed.”

  “So, we may have been wrong about Theta Team. Not simply designed to adapt to biospheres of any kind, designed to uplift them.” Leon reached into the bag this time for a piece of fruit for himself, squeezing the pulp into his mouth like a desperately needed brainfood, to complaints from the orchestra of animals that still hadn’t gotten their prize. All the while he was running through the ramifications of this conversation in his mind. “You say she’s working with a sense of urgency?”

  “More like a sense of panic, assuming supersentients are given to those kinds of emotions.”

  Leon rubbed his sticky hands on the fur coat of one of the animals, who gave him a dirty look afterwards. It was easy to forget that Mother had boosted all of their mental capacities. “Why?” Leon asked Laney.

  “Leon, she may not be the first to think of playing this game. Hell, the transhumanists thought about it in the early 21st century. They suggested a catalyst like her…whatever brought about the singularity… might eventually bring about the uplifting of every speck of dust in the galaxy into a state of higher consciousness. So, what if there are supersentient universes? Techa forbid, a supersentient multiverse? How do you come up against that kind of mind power?”

  Without hesitation, Leon said, “If it’s evil, we’ll find a way.”

  Laney snorted. “Natty says he keeps trying to teach you Nietzsche, but you refuse to get it. Some things are just beyond good and evil. It seems recent history seems to be blaring as much in our ears, only we’re too deaf to hear it.”

  When Leon refused to rise to the bait, she added, “‘The last shall be first’—from the bible…Did it occur to you that Mother’s earliest pioneering projects in bioengineering, Sonny and his freaks, renamed the Shadow Warriors…that this is how Mother extends her feelers beyond our galaxy, using them, and their unparalleled intelligence gathering, like neurons growing at the periphery of her brain that will ultimately connect with one another, when she’s ready to absorb the Gypsy Galaxy neighbors into her supersentience?”

  Leon huffed. “I usually save these kinds of conversations for Natty. I think I’ve had enough of talking for one day, Laney, with either of you.”

  Laney took the hint and ambled off. She couldn’t blame Leon. She’d been sitting with these ideas for a while now, and felt no less troubled by them on account of it.

  ONE HUNDRED FORTY-FIVE

  ABOARD THE NAUTILUS

  “Are you the one that went out in the exploding ship?” Skyhawk asked his bio-reprinted clone, with an edge to his voice. They had crossed paths on the breezeway about the Nautilus’s central courtyard.

  “No, no!” the other Skyhawk said raising his hands defensively. “I’m the one that drifted in space for an eternity until Mother decided to get off her lazy ass and rescue me.”

  “Lucky bastard,” the original Skyhawk mumbled dismissively. “I should be so lucky as to draw a little downtime around here.” He ambled off wondering if he should give Lucky a bigger piece of his mind.

  Just his luck, he’d barely gone a hundred yards before another Skyhawk clone assaulted him, coming up fast and throwing his arm around his shoulders and squeezing hard. “Hey, at least now we can share some of the scarier war stories with Omega Force, huh? That should help them take us more seriously. Did I tell you about my death in a Vibran mine, being sucked through space-time—in ten dimensions, of course?”

  Skyhawk gave Braggart a look he expected to peel his skin as effectively as any filet knife. “I’m the one that got infected with a mind-eating virus!”

  Braggart backed off, walking backwards, both hands in the air protectively. “My bad.” When he finally turned around, he mumbled, “Damn. I remember when talking to myself was a lot easier.”

  ***

  ABOARD THE NAUTILUS

  Two Crumley clones were leaning against the banister, their backs to the Nautilus’s inner courtyard, facing the breezeway, idly people-staring in between mouthing pithy epithets. “I think we should speak to Dillon about writing the equations for collapsing this entire universe. After what we’ve seen, just not worth the risk of keeping this one going. What, with the risk of losing control over the Kang…”

  “To say no
thing of the Klash. Techa, tell me they’re little more than a sentient, bipedal plague demon of a virus. They seem all too well equipped to overwrite every lifeform on every planet.” This Crumley clone was belching as the other one was farting; perhaps it was the result of a questionable meal they’d both recently shared.

  Leon and the original Crumley walking by couldn’t help but overhear their heated debate. “So much for being known as the voice of sanity around here,” the Crumley Original said.

  “The sun rises and falls on everyone, Crumley,” Leon retorted, putting the Crumley clones’ exchange out of his mind as the two men continued striding by.

  “I wonder what those two suffered to end up like that?” Crumley rubbernecked back their way.

  “It’s easy enough to double back,” Leon replied.

  “Away from the bar? Has everyone lost their mind around here?”

  ***

  ABOARD THE NAUTILUS

  “Hey!” one of the Ajax clones exclaimed spying another copy of himself pulling a seat up beside him at the bar.

  “Shit,” Second at Bar replied, “I forgot there’s more than one of us running around after the whole escaping the Menagerie thing.”

  “Damn, we’re good looking,” the First at Bar clone said, swallowing his whiskey. “Maybe now’s the time to address our repressed homoerotic tendencies.”

  Last Seated screwed up his face. “Since when do we have repressed homoerotic tendencies?”

  “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you’ve never looked in the mirror and at least thought about it.”

  The bartender had served Last Seated his whiskey, not even bothering to ask for this clone’s preferences. Last Seated gulped it and gave First Seated a strange look. “Yeah, what the hell?”