Dreaming Immortality

by Marco Santini

  On the third day, the spacecrafts enter the asteroid belt. They advance resolutely, protected by thick ionized gas armor to neutralize the cosmic powder. From time to time, powerful lasers dispel the absolute black space with sudden flashes, turning small meteorites into boiling plasma clouds. Ninety-eight hours after departure, the vacuum around the Caravels lights up with a dazzling glare, like a star. The beam of an antimatter gun has hit the core of a tiny comet, heating it to the temperature of the sun. Nothing left, matter turned into intangible radiation.

  The atmosphere in Alphacity is electric. Moments of discoveries for its inhabitants, wandering, prey to curiosity, in the virtual town of the Caravels, considered a planning masterpiece. In their faces, one can see the joy of those who go towards a long awaited future, convinced of seeing it achieved soon.

  @ The virtual town of Alphacity, quantum computer QC07A, Caravels.

  There is a ceremonial atmosphere in the large semicircular hall, where the parliament and the government of the fleet meet for the first time. They are all standing, with the Admiral at the center, in full dress, turned towards the audience.

  The streets and squares, the stadiums and theatres are crammed with people. Soft, ancient music spreads; music which speaks of the hopes of a people, their brotherhood and magnificent destiny. It is a masterpiece of a tormented genius, which the inhabitants of the Caravels are fond of because of its impressive style. Now the Alpha Centauri anthem is heard everywhere. When silence returns, the Admiral stares at the audience, then speaks:

  “The moment that we all have dreamt of, has arrived. Ten years ago, at the beginning of the Alpha Centauri project, even though our Government understood the impact of the distance on the relationships with the homeland, it did not want to grant us autonomy. But we held on, because a people doesn’t need obstacles, but stimulating laws. Most of all a people needs the freedom to choose its own future, at least for a matter of survival. And we are destined to govern, since four light years will separate us from our homeland, a distance sufficient to make any influence impossible. They have understood, and today we are celebrating the birth of the Alpha Centauri Republic, the fifth state of the Confederation after the Earth, the Moon, Mars and Net.”

  He sighs deeply. “A future full of uncertainties and bristling with difficulties is waiting for us. We are going to face it with serenity and determination. The Martian experience has strengthened our will and has allowed us to develop the techniques for widespread colonization.

  Above all it is the ultimate aim of our mission to guide us. Alpha Centauri is an important step on the way, but only the first one. When we have consolidated our presence on the planet, the Caravels will plunge into space again for an everlasting adventure.”

  The population replies with lengthy applause. The Admiral stretches out his arms. “Today I have the honor of presenting the parliament and the government to you…”

  He grimaces, clears his throat and starts again. But he can pronounce only a few syllables, because the rest of the sentence sticks in his throat. His forehead is beaded with sweat. He staggers and props himself up against the table, but a moment later, his strength gone, falls to the floor. Still conscious, with bright eyes, he stares at the audience that is affected by the same disease at the same time.

  Terror spreads through the vast crowds. They are about to start a desperate flight, when the same illness reaches them. After a few minutes, they all are lying on the ground, with glassy looks. Everyone can see a man dressed in dark clothes. Even though no breeze is blowing, his suit and hair are flapping as if in the middle of a storm. He approaches to touch their faces lightly. Then he announces with a devilish sneer: “I am taking possession of your life.”

  The inhabitants fall fast asleep. When they open their eyes again, they look around with a puzzled expression, wondering why they are lying down. They stand up without effort, not at all troubled; all of them with the same expression.

  REBELLION

  In the middle of the bridge, shine the holograms transmitted from Alphacity. Some androids in blue uniform are observing them in deep silence.

  “A viral attack of unprecedented power,” whispers a soldier.

  “It seems to be finished,” points out C573Y. “Let’s start the population checkup.”

  Programs able to reach the inhabitants and carry out the controls in a few moments are released. The screens fill up with statistics. The virus is inactive again. As for the people, most of their memories and personalities have been wiped out or profoundly modified. Only a few have been able to escape the infection.

  The officer leaves the group and starts walking around. Reaching the middle of the hall, he turns towards his colleagues: “Equip the troops with antiviral protection and send them to Alphacity. Meanwhile, the medical corps get ready to intervene.”

  The soldiers coming from another server, materialize in the town. At first the inhabitants observe them from a distance, speaking in low voices. Then they begin gathering in groups that move forward, threatening the newcomers with their fists and striking up more and more aggressive slogans.

  “Get ready to fight.” The troops take up positions.

  In unison, the masses launch an assault everywhere in Alphacity. The first rows fall under the shots of the paralyzers, but the following waves engage the soldiers in ferocious hand-to-hand fighting. It’s chaos.

  “Too many; immediate withdrawal,” orders C573Y. “Introduce the soporific programs.”

  The troops vanish. Then the inhabitants start falling to the ground, one after the other, like flies. The streets and the squares fill up with an expanse of bodies.

  “Activate the combat androids,” goes on C573Y. In the armory hundreds of war robots are stored. These will guard the crucial points of the Caravels, above all the bridge, because only from there is it possible to coordinate all the activities.

  A soldier gives a start. “They are out of control!”

  “The sphere, quick!” shouts the commander.

  A gigantic hologram of the ship appears in the middle of the hall. The outside shell dissolves, showing the structure below, a multicolored cobweb of cables linking rooms full of equipment.

  “Those…” murmurs an android pointing to a few red points. “Those are the computers connecting the bridge to the rest of the ship. They have stopped working!”

  All the lights become green. The soldiers don’t believe their eyes.

  “They have started again. Perhaps the problem is solved.”

  A flood of instructions reaches the computers.

  “They are still not answering!”

  A server turns red. It starts flashing. Half of the screens fill with a deluge of data. The alarms sound deafening.

  “Another attack!”

  After a few seconds, the light goes out. Silence falls on. All the eyes are turned towards the center of the room, where a message is shining:

  VIRTUAL POPULATION’S BACKUPS ERASED.

  An awful event has taken place. If the population of Alphacity were destroyed, it wouldn’t be possible to regenerate it from the backups any more.

  C573Y, who in the last moments had not uttered a word, intervenes: “I know what has happened: someone else has taken over the control of the Caravels!”

  He reaches the command armchair and sits down. He stares with a thoughtful expression at the star-studded sky from the panoramic window, then transmits the report to the Security General Headquarters:

  “Epidemic broken out. Most of the population infected. Memories wiped out, personalities modified, hostile attitude to Security. After intervention with soporific viruses, our troops occupied Alphacity. Control of part of the ships lost including the armory, which is under enemy control. Backups for virtual population destroyed.”

  APOCALYPSE

  @ Virtual town of Alphacity.

  The ovoid threads its way through the skyscrapers with reflections of the sky. Below streets, squares and gardens follow one another harmoniou
sly. According to its creators, the intent was to build a town to the level of the mission entrusted to its inhabitants: the colonization of Alpha Centauri. However, the real purpose was even more ambitious: they meant to celebrate the end of an era and the beginning of another, in which the virtual population would become the architect of progress.

  After a few minutes the aircraft heads for a sheet of water. At the center, is the Security Headquarters, a translucent cube connected to the town by thin bridges.

  The ovoid lands on a terrace. C573Y gets out and walks towards a colonel waiting for him.

  “Have the sanitary corps reactivated the hospitals?” he asks while getting near.

  “Certainly, I have organized a visit. A vehicle is waiting for us in front of the entrance.”

  They walk through a corridor crowded with soldiers checking their equipment.

  “Our troops are not meeting with resistance. They have already reached the strategic points.”

  “How is the assistance to the population going on?”

  “The streets are covered with millions of bodies. We will need a few days to reach every zone.”

  They walk down to a large square and pass a squadron intent on loading material on ovoids. A vehicle approaches, hovering half a meter above ground and the two get into it.

  “To the hospital!”

  They cross over a bridge and enter the main street. In front of them, thousands of bodies are lying on carriageways and sidewalks, inside shops and vehicles. The few who escaped the contagion are wandering around like ghosts. From time to time they come across soldiers and robots busy clearing the streets. The vehicle speeds towards the hospital, flying over the heaps of bodies.

  The officer explains: “Many hospitals are already full. We have started diverting the arrivals towards other welcome points. The problem is that there are really too many sick people.”

  He points to a few soldiers arranging the bodies in interminable lines on the sidewalks. “Often this is the only help we can provide.”

  The atmosphere permeating the town affects the passengers, who fall into a stony silence. The automatic pilot brings them back to reality: “We have arrived.”

  The vehicle stops in front of the entrance, waits for the passengers to get out and leaves towards a parking lot. The entrance is blocked by a crowd of civilians.

  “They are the victims’ relatives who are waiting for the arrivals. We shall go in by a secondary entrance.”

  They walk along the building towards a small door, in front of which a soldier is waiting. He takes them to a crowded hall, where the health officer is attending to patients together with his team. He leaves a little girl to an assistant and runs to meet them.

  “I am sorry I cannot receive you better, but here the situation is critical. Despite exhausting work schedules, we are overwhelmed by new arrivals. Let us visit the hospital. This is the emergency room.”

  The hall is crowded with bodies lying on stretchers and the few staff are working hard in the narrow space.

  “Very soon we will not be able to accept patients any more.” The health officer looks straight into his guests’ eyes. “How is the preparation of the clearing hospitals progressing?”

  “According to plan,” replies the colonel. “But shortly they will be full. We shall be forced to leave the patients in the streets.”

  The doctor heaves a sigh. “I see no alternative.”

  They set out through a corridor packed with stretchers. On them bodies, with waxen complexions, lie motionless.

  “Many arrive here without an identification code. In these cases we compare their genetic code with the data in the registry office, and then we publish their names and try to contact their relatives. Unfortunately our efforts are almost always in vain, whole families are usually infected.”

  They step into a room where a mother is sobbing over her son’s body. “Here relatives meet patients.”

  A few steps further, a man is asking to take away his sick wife.

  “What do you do then?”

  “We are happy to discharge the patient. We accept only those who are without any other assistance.”

  The director becomes gloomy. “Our medicine is powerless. In my whole career I have seldom met such serious injury.”

  “What type of service do you provide?”

  “Only decent accommodation. This situation humiliates us, our mission is something else… How is the Computer Science Institute going with the treatment?”

  “They are performing the first tests,” answers C573Y.

  “They have been lucky to escape the contagion. How was that possible?”

  “During the infection they were in the bunker for a meeting.”

  The guests take their leave. Now the situation in the main streets has improved. The victims are laid out in orderly lines on the sidewalks and the carriageways are crowded with troops and vehicles. The rescue teams are advancing into the side streets still covered with bodies.

  The colonel begins: “Within a few days we will reach everywhere and with a bit of luck we will have a cure.”

  But C573Y shakes his head. “Even worse moments are approaching.”

  “Why?”

  “The virus can reappear at any time. We must destroy it, but how? As to the treatment, we don’t even know whether the damage is reversible. What is to be said about the fact that the population has attacked our troops, or that the ships don’t respond to the controls any more? The real reason is that someone is trying to take possession of the fleet.”

  “You mean we will suffer a new attack?”

  C573Y thinks about the talk, of a few hours before, with the Computer Science Institute director.

  “I’d never seen anything like that,” the scientist had said. “The virus has modified thousands of code lines and destroyed whole databases. The personalities and memories of the population are not the same any more.”

  “When will a remedy be available?”

  “I can only tell you that when similar cases happened in the past, the outcome was always unfavorable. I will provide you with a report in a few days when the analysis has been completed, but don’t delude yourself.”

  “Did you identify the virus?”

  “Our efforts to isolate it have been useless. It was built with an unknown technology.”

  TOP SECRET

  The President of the Confederation stares at the message with absolute priority flashing in his visual field:

  EMERGENCY ON THE CARAVELS

  VIRAL ATTACK UNDERWAY.

  He addresses his executive: “Our meeting is adjourned.” Then he turns towards his assistant. “I am retiring to my study. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  He goes to a room with red damask walls.

  As soon as he has thrown himself into an armchair, the image of the Head of Security appears. “We have received the report from the Caravels.”

  The President gazes at the text for a few seconds, then calls his secretary: “Emergency meeting of Alpha Centauri Group, within half an hour, in the blue room.”

  One after the other, the participants sit around a luminescent table, in the middle of such a large room that floor and ceiling become lost in the darkness. The President, a small man with the look of an intellectual, observes them from the head of the table. They trust him unconditionally.

  He points at the message on a wall: “It arrived an hour ago.”

  While the others concentrate on reading, he continues: “First of all we must assess if the news should be made public.”

  They react immediately.

  “You will be considered the person with the primary responsibility for what happened, Mr. President, because you are a major supporter of the Alpha Centauri project.”

  “They will challenge your action against the crime, even if we know it is a wrong conclusion.”

  “With your innovative laws, you have made many enemies. They will try to topple the government…”

  “We are
facing an even worse danger: corrupt politicians are hand in glove with the Wonderful Islands. They will try to take power!”

  The President gives no sign of fear. All at once, the ideals they have fought for, the achievements gained in tough fights, of which they are so proud, risk being swept away.

  “For the good of the Confederation, the whole affair must remain secret,” thunders the President. He turns towards the Communication Advisor: “What do you propose?”

  “We will interrupt the bulletins, on the pretext of transmission problems. But if the crisis continues, we will have to turn to other systems.”

  “Prepare a plan.” The President addresses the Head of Security: “James, can you sum up the events?”

  Bogart clears his throat. “The authors of the crime are the Elects, a community that fifty years ago caused a sensation because of a mass suicide. You will remember their head, Nihil. They transferred to Net, a detail never made public to avoid copying. We lost trace of them till a few months ago, when we learned from a witness about an intrusion in the Space Agency computers. We found the informers, and from them we went back to the Elects.”

  “You mean the two employees who died in a car accident?” urges the Political Counselor.

  Bogart nods. “The Elects also eliminated the witness and destroyed the skyscraper where he lived. The Sydney outrage, where more than a thousand were killed.”

  Someone asks to intervene.

  “Why have they infected the population of the Caravels?”

  “To benefit from their support once aboard.”

  “How will the Elects embark?”