Bridgers 1_The Lure of Infinity

by Stan C. Smith

“Again,” the vice president said, “we have no idea.”

  She looked from the vice president to Armando, and then back to the vice president. “The planet is being destroyed, and you came here to talk to us in person? You could have given the order to quit using the bridging device over the phone. Why are you here?”

  The vice president nodded. “Because we don’t want you to quit using the device.”

  She glanced at Armando, but his face was like a stone.

  Macpherson went on. “The United States government does not have a contingency plan for this. We have strategies for everything else you can imagine, including an impending asteroid impact. But all of those plans involve seeking shelter on a traumatized earth. None of them involve an earth that ceases to exist. And we are decades from having the capability to move even a few people off the planet. To put it simply, if the second alien signal’s prediction proves to be correct, the human species is screwed.”

  Infinity’s mind raced as she began to realize why the vice president had come to SafeTrek. But what he wanted was impossible. “You want to bridge people to another world, don’t you? Do you have any goddamn idea how—”

  “Infinity!” It was Armando. “Vice President Macpherson is aware of the limitations of bridging. Hear him out.”

  Macpherson cleared his throat. “For the time being, we must assume the threat is real. All evidence matches what we have deciphered from the second radio signal. Perhaps in the coming weeks—assuming the earth exists that long—we’ll know more. But in the meantime, if there is any chance of preventing the total extinction of the human race, we must take it. That’s why I’m here. We need good bridgers. We need you to find suitable worlds. When you do, we’ll have carefully-selected groups of people here ready to bridge to those worlds. And then—”

  Infinity stopped him with a raised palm. “Listen! It takes thirty-six hours to do a bio-probe. If the bio-probe is successful, it takes thirty-six hours to send bridgers to check it out. We have access to each alternate world for only 108 hours. That leaves only thirty-six hours before we lose access to that world forever.”

  Armando spoke up. “Again, we’re all aware of the limitations. We’ve never bridged more than five people at once, but there is no reason we can’t bridge more than that—perhaps even thirty at once. And we think we can have the bridging device up to full power and ready again within an hour of each bridging. Infinity, I believe we can bridge about a thousand people to a specific world within thirty-six hours.”

  Infinity stared in disbelief. This was their plan to save the human species?

  “I want to be a part of this,” the tourist said.

  Everyone turned to him.

  He glanced nervously at Infinity and then addressed the men behind the plexiglass window. “You need bridgers, and I’ve had some experience now. I want to help.”

  Infinity gazed at him. For some reason, at that moment, it actually hit her that the world was ending. Everyone was going to die except for a few who were bridged to alternate universes. Only seven bridging facilities existed on Earth. How many was it even possible to save? Each thousand who were bridged to an alternate world would need skilled guides to help them survive and start a colony. Infinity was damn sure she would not be among those selected to survive unless she were one of the guides.

  Armando said, “One excursion could hardly be considered experience, Mr. Weaver.”

  “He can be my partner,” Infinity blurted out.

  Now everyone turned to her.

  “He saved my life. Not only that, but he has the ability to recall long strings of information, a skill that could be highly useful. He’ll make a damn good bridger.” She turned to Armando. “If you want me in on this insane plan, Desmond’s going to be my partner.”

  17

  Extinction

  August 19 (fifteen days later)

  The subtle shaking of another tremor broke Desmond’s concentration, resulting in a jab to his gut from Infinity’s double-tipped, four-foot spear.

  “You took your eyes off mine again,” she said. “Watch my face, not my weapon. Look at me!”

  Desmond stared at her.

  She jiggled the rubber tip of her spear up and down. “Can you see what my weapon is doing while you’re looking at my eyes?”

  He sighed. “Yes.”

  “Of course you can. Now watch my eyes.” After a few seconds she narrowed them slightly and tightened her mouth, and a split second later she thrust the spear.

  This time he blocked it.

  She nodded. “That’s better.”

  Desmond held one hand up and stepped over to the picnic table to get a drink. He checked the time on his phone. “We’ve been at this for three hours. Take a break with me.” They had done half-hour drills with six different weapons, and the training yard behind the SafeTrek building was starting to heat up under the late-morning sun.

  She shrugged and joined him at the picnic table. They both drank deeply from their water bottles. For several minutes they sat on the table listening to the murmur of activity from the sprawling acres of lawn and forest on the front side of the SafeTrek building. A few weeks ago, the SafeTrek building had been hidden away, isolated at the end of a half-mile private road running through mature Missouri oak-hickory forest. Now, the area on either side of that road had been cleared to make room for almost 2,000 living spaces, including RVs, bunkhouse trailers, and wall tents. There was enough temporary housing to accommodate 1,436 refugees—two groups of 718 people selected to bridge permanently to alternate worlds. In addition, the encampment was occupied by another 600 people: 100 security officers, 300 workers responsible for providing food, sanitary services, medical treatment, and last-minute survival training to the refugees, and another 200 spouses and children of these workers. The workers and their families had been promised a place in the last group to bridge, as long as they continued providing their services until that day came. And since it was becoming clearer every day that the earth was indeed dying—and dying fast—all of the workers were diligently committed to their duties.

  Any of the bridgers surviving until then would be allowed to go with the last group.

  Someone at the federal level had decided there needed to be age restrictions for colony members, due to the potential hardships. In spite of the resulting public outcry, no one under fifteen or over sixty could participate. Whether this rule was right or wrong, it had reduced the once-overwhelming number of people demanding spots in the colonies. The only families eligible were those with all members between the fifteen to sixty slot.

  Through frantic trial and error at the seven bridging facilities around the world, it had been discovered that one-way, non-return bridging could be accomplished by simply not administering the radioisotope marker. It had also been shown that about twenty-three people could bridge at one time, presumably limited by total biomass. And so the agreed-upon safe standard was twenty people. Lastly, it had been proven that bridging devices could consistently be made ready for bridging another group fifty-two minutes after the previous bridge, so sixty minutes was considered a safe standard. This allowed 718 refugees, plus two bridgers, to be bridged in the available thirty-six hours. So 718 had become the standard population size for each new human colony. Although there were seven bridging facilities, only five colonies had so far been bridged to other versions of Earth. This was due to a number of failed bio-probes and world-assessment excursions. The SafeTrek facility had bridged one of those five.

  The back door to the building popped open abruptly. Lenny came out, followed by Xavier, each of them on crutches with one leg in a cast from the knee down. Behind them came a woman and man Desmond hadn’t seen before.

  “You two are hardcore,” Lenny said as he propped his crutches against the picnic table and sat down. “It’s freaking sweltering out here.”

  “Yeah, it’s hard to stay hydrated,” Desmond said. “Couple of weeks and you two will be training out here with us.”

&nb
sp; “That might be pushing it,” Xavier said. “We’ll be ready when we’re ready.” He turned to the man and woman behind him. “Lorissa and Zachariah, meet your bridgers, Decay and Infinity. Decay and Infinity, meet Lorissa and Zachariah, your tourists. Or environment evaluators, or whatever we’re calling them now. Lenny and I are giving them the grand tour, seeing as we’re not good for much else around here.”

  Desmond appraised the tourists as he shook their hands. “You don’t have to call me Decay. Just call me Desmond.” He estimated they were both in their forties. The woman appeared to be in decent physical shape. The man, on the other hand, was slightly pudgy and didn’t look like he spent much time in the sun.

  As Desmond had expected, Infinity stayed put, not interested in shaking hands.

  But Lorissa stepped around the picnic table and extended a hand to her anyway. “I’m from the University of Oklahoma. Agricultural sciences.”

  “And I’m at Iowa State,” Zachariah said. “Microbiology and Parasitology.”

  Infinity nodded. She shook Lorissa’s extended hand but didn’t reply to either of them.

  Zachariah slapped his hands together. “My goodness! Real bridgers, in the flesh. If we weren’t meeting under such dire circumstances, this would all be downright exhilarating.”

  Finally, Infinity spoke. “By dire, you mean everyone on Earth will be dead soon?”

  The guy frowned. “Well, yes. I suppose. I was just trying to impose some levity.”

  Infinity gave no response.

  Lenny cleared his throat. “Well, damn. As far as awkward moments go, I’d give that one a seven.”

  Desmond spoke to Lenny and Xavier, “I suppose this means Wraith and Trencher have had a successful bio-probe?” Wraith and Trencher were the bridgers up for the next excursion. If they returned with positive news, SafeTrek’s second group of 718 refugees would bridge.

  “Yep, the bio-probe came back two hours ago,” Xavier said. “Lenny and I were there to see it return. Every test animal alive but one. So Doyle asked us to bring Lorissa and Zach to meet you. You’re supposed to start their training today.”

  Again, Desmond appraised the tourists. So this was really happening—he and Infinity would be next in line.

  Lorissa spoke up. “According to protocol, our group has voted on which divergence point to select for our new home. The overwhelming majority of us would prefer a world without other humans. We would like to have our own identity as we begin a new human colony, rather than simply melding into an existing population. So we have chosen a divergence point of 210,000 years.”

  This plan made sense to Desmond. Homo sapiens had shown up on Earth about 195,000 years ago. Since most evolutionary events were random and unlikely, in a do-over of the last 210,000 years, humans probably wouldn’t even appear at all.

  Lenny grabbed his crutches and struggled to his feet. “Wraith and Trencher will be back in less than thirty-six hours, probably with news of a suitable world. So they’ll have thirty-six hours to bridge 718 lucky bastards.” He turned to Desmond. “And then we’ll initiate your bio-probe—another thirty-six hours. So my wicked-keen mathematical mind figures you’ve got 108 hours until pucker time.” He looked at Lorissa and Zachariah. “Sorry, but the fun part of your tour is over.”

  Xavier nudged Zachariah’s shoulder. “Might as well take your clothes off now. Your training doesn’t get real until you do.”

  He and Lenny turned and crutched their way back toward the air-conditioned SafeTrek building.

  Desmond couldn’t sleep, which had become a nightly problem during the last two weeks. When he did sleep, he often dreamed of his mom, huddled up in her home in Lexington as horrifying, inescapable earthquakes or tsunami waves devastated everything around her. He sighed, pushed the covers off, and sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes in frustration. His mom was over sixty, therefore not allowed to join a colony. He got up and pulled on a pair of shorts, left his bunk room, and padded barefoot down the SafeTrek halls to the metal door leading to the training field in the back. He smiled when he saw the door had been propped open with a small rock. All doors were kept locked now, and the rock meant Infinity wasn’t sleeping either.

  He emerged under a starry, moonless sky. He was slightly disappointed that no aurora was visible. He stood still for a minute or so, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Even as late as it was, a considerable amount of noise filtered around the building, including what sounded like someone wailing in anguish. Seven hundred and eighteen of the refugees would soon leave this world forever. Everyone had their own way of dealing with such knowledge. Several days earlier, Desmond had made the mistake of wandering through the makeshift village of waiting refugees. Most of them seemed to be living their last hours on this world in a sedative-induced daze, walking a fine line between euphoria and emotional breakdown. Even though they were fortunate to have been selected, they would soon leave everything they had ever known for an existence filled with hardships they could barely fathom.

  Infinity was sitting on the picnic table. Her skin glistened in the starlight, probably from holding yoga poses Desmond couldn’t come close to replicating.

  She glanced at him as he sat on the tabletop beside her, but she didn’t say anything. She turned her gaze upward again, and they stared silently at the stars.

  “It’s almost cold out here,” Desmond muttered. It wasn’t actually cold, but he thought this half-joking hint might make her smile.

  She nodded slightly. Then she surprised him by turning toward him. “Scoot your ass back.”

  He moved back from the edge of the table to make room for her. She sat between his legs and leaned back against his chest. The two weeks of hair growth on her scalp felt soft on his skin.

  Several minutes passed.

  “At least we don’t have to worry about falling out of a tree this time,” he said.

  She didn’t reply.

  “You feel like talking?” he asked.

  “Not really. But that won’t stop you, will it?”

  He blew out a one-huff laugh. “I’ve been thinking about this whole effort. I know the idea is to save the human species from extinction. But humans still exist in an infinite number of other universes, so does it really matter?”

  She shrugged. “No one wants to die. So we fight to stay alive.”

  “But it’s not like our species would really go extinct, right?”

  “I don’t know. One time Armando tried explaining parallel universes to me, although I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know that much about the subject. Those universes we bridge to? I guess they don’t actually exist until we bridge there—until we observe them.”

  Desmond tried unsuccessfully to grasp this concept. “That’s messed up. And it’s why I’m a biologist, not a physicist.”

  “Each universe is just the result of a different version of our own history. Armando has a favorite quote: ‘We create history by observing it, rather than history creating us.’”

  He sighed loudly and decided to change the subject. “I called my mom again today.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s handling all this pretty well. I told her I won’t give up on trying to get her an exemption on the age restriction. But she said it’s okay, as long as I get to go.” He shook his head. “She’s always been that way.”

  Infinity didn’t respond, and Desmond realized he may have said the wrong thing.

  “My dad died when I was five,” he said. “Are your parents still living?”

  She shrugged slightly. “No idea.”

  He decided he’d better not push it. He looked down at her hand resting on his knee. The faded SafeTrek tattoo was barely visible. Desmond glanced at his own SafeTrek tattoo on the back of his right hand. His was fresh. When he had officially been designated a bridger, Infinity had insisted he get the tattoo. All the SafeTrek bridgers had them. One of the med techs was an amateur tattoo artist and did them for free. Desmond put his hand on the painted bunting tattoo on her che
st, which was definitely not done by an amateur. “You going to try to get this re-inked one last time before our final bridge?”

  “Too late. My artist left for Texas to be with his kids. Besides, I doubt there will be a final bridge.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She tilted her head forward and then back, thumping his chest like this was a stupid question. “Think about it. Our job is to find good worlds for each refugee group. SafeTrek is going to keep bridging new groups off this world until the last minute. Which will probably be when the generators give out or the building collapses in an earthquake. Chances are, that’ll happen during a bio-probe or while refugees are being bridged. Where does that leave you and me?”

  He removed his hand from her tattoo. “Thanks for cheering me up.”

  She thumped his chest again. “Well, here’s the way I look at it. For the first time in my life, I’m with someone I don’t mind dying with. And I’ll take that.”

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