A Second Chance at Eden

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘You mean you haven’t decided yet?’

  ‘There is a line, Chief Parfitt, and you are not on our side of it. I’ve put myself in a most dangerous position confiding in you. One word to the board from you, and my role out here is finished, along with my career and my pension and my future. But I talked to you anyway, honestly and openly, because I can see you genuinely want to find Penny’s murderer, and I believe you’re capable of doing so. But informing you of anything more than our general intentions, things which you could pick up in any bar in the habitat, that’s out of the question. You see, you’ve been making some very ingratiating sounds towards us, words we like to hear, words we’re flattered to hear, especially from your lips. But we don’t know if they’re real, or if they’re just an excellent interview technique. So why don’t you tell me; will the Eden police try to prevent Boston from achieving independence?’

  I looked into his hooded eyes, searching for the depth which must surely come from being augmented by other minds. There was a great deal of resolution, but nothing much else. Bob Parkinson was a man alone.

  So I had to ask myself, did he really think the board didn’t know of his membership? Or if they did, and he was their provocateur, why wouldn’t he tell me?

  ‘It’s like this,’ I said. ‘I would never fight a battle, unless I knew I’d already won.’

  *

  My third day started with a dream. I was completely naked, standing on Jupiter’s delicate ring. Clouds swirled eternal below me, perfectly textured mountains of frozen crystals glittering in every shade of red, from deep magenta to a near-dazzling scarlet. Close enough that I could reach out and touch them, fingertips stirring the interlocking whorls, bathing my skin in a sensation of powder-fine snow. It tingled. The planet was crooning plaintively, a bass whale-song emerging from depths beyond perception. I watched, entranced, as its energy shroud was revealed to me, the magnetosphere and particle wind, embracing it like the milk-white folds of an embryo membrane. They palpitated slowly, long fronds streaming out behind the umbra.

  Then the palpitations began to grow, becoming more frenzied. Long tears opened up, spilling out a precious golden haze. A ripping sound grew into thunder, and the ring quaked below my feet.

  I knifed up on the bed. Clean sober awake. Heart racing, sweaty. And for some reason, expectant. I glanced round the darkened room. Jocelyn was stirring fitfully. But someone was watching me.

  A faint mirage of a man sitting up in bed, staring round wildly.

  ‘What is this?’

  Please relax, Chief Parfitt, there is nothing to worry about. You are experiencing a mild bout of disorientation as your symbiont implants achieve synchronization with my neural strata. It is a common phenomenon.

  It wasn’t a spoken voice, the room was completely silent. The hairs along my spine prickled sharply as though someone was running an electric charge over my skin. It was the memory of a voice, but not my memory. And it was happening in real-time.

  ‘Who?’ I asked. But my throat just sort of gagged.

  I am Eden.

  ‘Oh, Christ.’ I flopped back on the mattress, every muscle knotted solid. ‘Do you know what I’m thinking?’ The first thing which leapt into my mind was that last row with Jocelyn. I felt my ears burning.

  There is some random overspill from your mind, just as you perceived some of my autonomic thought routines. It is a situation similar to a slightly mistuned radio receiver. I apologize for any upset you are experiencing. The effect will swiftly fade as you grow accustomed to affinity.

  Jupiter again; a bright vision of the kind which might have been granted to a prehistory prophet. Jupiter floated passively below me. And space was awash with pinpricks of microwaves, like emerald stars. Behind each one was the solid bulk of a spacecraft or industrial station.

  ‘That’s what you see?’

  I register all the energy which falls upon my shell, yes.

  I risked taking a breath, the first for what seemed like hours. ‘The inside. I want to see the inside. All of it.’

  Very well. I suggest you close your eyes, it makes perception easier when your brain doesn’t have two sets of images to interpret.

  And abruptly the habitat parkland materialized around me. Dawn was coming, washing the rumpled green landscape with cold pink-gold radiance. I was seeing all of it, all at once. Feeling it stir as the light awoke the insects and birds, its rhythm quickening. I knew the axial light-tube, a slim cylindrical mesh of organic conductors, their magnetic field containing the fluorescent plasma. I sensed the energy surging into it, flowing directly from the induction pick-off cables spread wide outside. Water surged along the gentle valleys, a cool pleasing trickle across my skin. And always in the background was the mind-murmur of people waking, querying the habitat personality with thousands of mundane requests and simple greetings. Warmth. Unity. Satisfaction. They were organic to the visualization.

  ‘My God.’ I blinked in delighted confusion at the thin planes of light stealing round the sides of the curtains beyond the end of the bed. And Jocelyn was staring at me suspiciously.

  ‘It’s started, hasn’t it?’

  I hadn’t heard her sound so wretched since the last miscarriage. Guilt rose from a core of darkness at the centre of my mind, staining every thought. How would I react if she ever went ahead and did something I considered the antithesis of all I believed in?

  ‘Yes.’

  She nodded mutely. There wasn’t any anger in her. She was lost, totally rejected.

  ‘Please, Jocelyn. It’s really just a sophisticated form of virtual reality. I’m not letting anyone tinker with my genes.’

  ‘Why do you do that? Why do you treat me as though my opinions don’t matter, or they’re bound to be wrong? Why must you talk as if I’m a child who will understand and thank you once you’ve explained in the simplest possible terms? I lost our children, not my mind. I gave up my life for you, Harvey.’

  Right then, if I could have pulled the symbionts out, I think I would have done it. I really do. Christ, how do I land myself into these situations?

  ‘All right.’ I reached out tentatively, and put my hand on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch away, which was something, I suppose. ‘I’m sorry I did that, it was stupid. And if you’ve been hurt by coming here, by me having the symbiont implant, then I want you to know it was never deliberate. Christ, I don’t know, Jocelyn; my life is so straightforward, all mapped out by the personnel computer at Delph’s headquarters. I just do what they tell me, it’s all I can do. Maybe I don’t take the time to think like I should.’

  ‘Your career is straightforward,’ she said softly. ‘Not your life. We’re your life, Harvey, me and the twins.’

  ‘Yes.’

  A faint resigned smile registered on her lips. ‘They like it here.’

  ‘I really didn’t know the other kids in the arcology were tough on them.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘Look, Jocelyn . . . I saw Father Cooke yesterday.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s a smart old boy; that’s what. Perhaps I should go and see him again. I’m not too proud to ask for help.’

  ‘You’d do that?’ she asked, uncertainty gave her voice a waver.

  ‘Yes, I’d do that.’

  ‘I don’t want us to be like this, Harvey. It was good before.’

  ‘Yeah. Which means it can be again, I suppose. I’ll go and see Cooke, then, find out what he’s got to say about us. Uh, I’m not sure if I can do it today.’

  ‘I know. The Maowkavitz case.’

  ‘Her and Boston. Everything always comes at once, doesn’t it?’

  ‘And at the worst time. But that’s something I knew even before I married you.’

  *

  It was Eden which guided me to Wing-Tsit Chong’s residence, that echo of a voice whispering directions into my brain. I drove myself there right after breakfast, it was too early for Nyberg to be on duty. I didn’t feel like her company any
way. But I had a rising sense of satisfaction as I steered the jeep along a track through the parkland; at least Jocelyn and I were talking again.

  The old geneticist lived some way out of the town itself, a privilege not many people were granted. The Agronomy and Domestic Maintenance divisions wanted to keep all the buildings in one neat and tidy strip. If everyone was allowed a rustic cottage in the woodlands the whole place would have been crisscrossed with roads and power cables and utility pipes. But for Wing-Tsit Chong they made an exception. I expect even administration types held him in the same kind of reverence that I did. Whether you approved of it or not, affinity was such a radical discovery.

  His residence was a simple bungalow with a high, steeply curved blue slate roof which overhung the walls to form an all-round veranda. Very Eastern in appearance, to my untutored eye it resembled a single-storey pagoda. There was none of the metal and composite panelling which was used in most of the habitat’s buildings, this was made from stone and wood. It had been sited right on the edge of a small lake, with the overlooking veranda standing on stilts above the vitreous water. Black swans glided imperiously across the surface, keeping just outside the thick band of large pink and white water lilies which skirted the entire lake. The whole area seemed to syphon away every sound.

  Wing-Tsit Chong and Hoi Yin were waiting for me on the wooden lakeside veranda. She was dressed in a simple sleeveless white-cotton robe, standing behind her mentor, as stern and uncompromising as ever. Wing-Tsit Chong however smiled welcomingly as I came up the short flight of steps from the lawn. He was sitting in his ancient wheelchair, dressed in a navy-blue silk jacket, with a tartan rug wrapped round his legs. His face had the porcelain delicacy of the very old; my file said he was in his early nineties. Almost all of his hair had gone, leaving a fringe of silver strands at the back of his head, long enough to come down over his collar.

  It is most gratifying to meet you, Chief Parfitt. The habitat rumour band has talked of no one else for days. He chuckled softly, small green eyes alight with a child’s mischief.

  ‘It was very good of you to agree to tutor me. As you can see, I still haven’t got a clue about affinity.’

  This we shall change together. Come, sit here. Hoi Yin, some tea for our guest.

  She flashed me a warning glance as she went inside. I sat in a wicker chair opposite Wing-Tsit Chong. Dulled copper wind chimes hanging along the edge of the eaves tinkled quietly. I really could imagine myself attending some spiritual guru back in Tibet.

  A good girl. But somewhat overprotective of me. I ought to be grateful to have anyone so attentive at this time in my life.

  ‘She thinks I’m wasting your time.’

  The chance to offer guidance towards understanding is not one I can lightly refuse. Even an understanding as simple as this one. All life is a steady progression towards truth and purity. Some achieve great steps in their quest to achieving spiritual clarity. Others are doomed to remain less fortunate.

  ‘That’s Buddhist philosophy, isn’t it?’

  Indeed. I was raised in that fashion. However, I diverged from the training of Patimokkha traditions many years ago. But then arrogance is my vanity, I acknowledge this with great sadness. But still I persist. Now then; the task in hand. I wish you to talk to me without using your voice. Subvocalization is the talent you must muster. The focus, Chief Parfitt, that is the key to affinity, the focusing of your mind. Now, a simple greeting: Good morning. Look at me. Nothing else, only me. Form the words, and deliver.

  *

  I sat on that veranda for two hours. For all his smiling frailty, Wing-Tsit Chong was unrelenting in pursuing my education. The whole session put me in mind of those adolescent martial arts series on the entertainment cables, stumbling pupil and wise old master.

  I did indeed learn how to focus my thoughts. How to flick a mental switch that allowed me to use affinity when I wanted rather than that initial erratic perception which I’d experienced. How to recognize individual mental signatures and use singular engagement. I eavesdropped on the general bands which filled the habitat’s ether, the gossips who discussed every subject under the sun; not so dissimilar from the net bulletins on Earth. Communion with Eden was the most fascinating, having its entire mental and sensory facilities available at a whim – using them time and again until the commands became instinctive. Instructing servitors. Sending my own optical images, receiving other people’s.

  Only then did I realize how restricted I had been until that moment. Earth was the kingdom of the blind, and Eden the one-eyed man.

  *

  This is a priceless gift, I told Wing-Tsit Chong. I thank you.

  I am pleased you think it useful.

  Whatever gave you the original idea for affinity?

  A fusion of disciplines. My spiritual precepts told me that all life is in harmony. As a scientist I was fascinated by the concept of nonlocal interaction, a mathematical explanation for atomic entanglement. Quantum theory permits us to consider a particle as a wave, so the wave function of one particle may overlap another even though they are at distance. An effect once described as atomic telepathy. The original neural symbionts I developed allowed me to exploit this loophole and produce instantaneous communication. Identical cloned cells are able to sense the energy state in their twin. They are in harmony.

  But if affinity confirmed your Buddhist principle, why have you rejected it? I asked.

  I have not rejected the Buddha’s basic tenets; rather I seek a different road to dharma, or the law of the mind, which is the goal of the Buddhist path.

  How?

  I consider the nature of thought itself to be spiritual. Human thought is our mystery, it is our soul. All states of existence are contained within our own minds. Buddhists believe that thoughts should be cleansed and simplified to bring about progress along the path. For myself, I consider every thought to be sacred, they should all be treasured and revered, no matter what they are; only the wealth of experience can bring about enrichment of the soul. You cannot achieve this by meditation alone. By purifying your mind, you become nothing more than a machine for thinking, a biological computer. We are meant for more than that.

  Hoi Yin was rocking her head in agreement with everything he said. She had sat in on the whole affinity training session, helping Wing-Tsit Chong to drill me in the essentials. Her attitude towards me hadn’t changed; and affinity showed me her thoughts were as hard and cold as her expression. But she remained quite devoted to the old man. I was becoming very curious about the underlying nature of their relationship. At first I’d thought she might be a relative, a granddaughter or a niece, but now I could see it wasn’t that sort of attachment. She called herself his student. I’d say it was more like his acolyte.

  Is this what you believe, as well? I asked her.

  Alert tawny eyes regarded me for a full second, searching for treachery in the question. Of course. I have learnt to order my thoughts rationally. To accept what I am, and be thankful for it. I savour the essence of life.

  So why do you never smile? I asked myself.

  Hoi Yin has accomplished much in the time she has been with me, Wing-Tsit Chong said. But it is Eden itself which is my greatest pupil, and my greatest challenge.

  I couldn’t stop the amazed grin from spreading over my face. You’re teaching Eden to be a Buddhist? The image that brought up was ridiculous; I hoped to hell that I genuinely had learnt how to internalize my flights of fantasy.

  No. I simply teach Eden to think. That is why I am here. This technophile conquest of Jupiter holds no interest for me, other than a purely academic admiration for the accomplishments of the JSKP’s engineering teams. It is the habitat’s intellectual nurturing which I consider important enough to devote my last days to. My final work.

  I developed affinity symbionts for the Soyana corporation back in 2058, and they made a great deal of money from selling bonded servitors before the worsening social and religious situation on Earth virtually closed down
the market. It was on my insistence that they joined the JSKP consortium. I pointed out to the Soyana board that with a single modification to the proposed design of the habitats they could develop a whole new market here in Jupiter orbit where the population was uniformly educated, and largely immune to popular prejudice. I could see how the most effective utilization of servitors could be brought about, and advocated incorporating what is now termed the neural strata into Eden. Prior to this, it was envisaged the habitat would have only a small cluster of neural cells, possessing a limited sentience to regulate its functions. Penny Maowkavitz and I collaborated to design the cells and structure of the neural strata. And afterwards, while she devoted her energies to refining the design of new habitats, I assisted with the birth of Eden’s consciousness.

  You mean it wasn’t sentient to start with? I asked. How could something this smart not be self-aware?

  Wing-Tsit Chong smiled fondly out over the lake. The consciousness which is every human’s birthright is a gift often overlooked. It is brought about over many years by responding to stimuli, by parental devotion in imparting language and example. Now consider a habitat seed; already its neural kernel is orders of magnitude larger than a human brain. Hoi Yin has explained to you how the neural strata is a homogeneous presence operating innumerable thought routines simultaneously. Well, those principal thought routines were all designed by me, and entered into the seed as growth was initiated. I have remained here almost ever since, guiding Eden through the inevitable confusion which awakening engenders in any living entity, and assisting it in refining those routines as required. There was, after all, so much I could not possibly foresee.

  Penny Maowkavitz was the creator of my physical structure, Eden said, Wing-Tsit Chong is the father of my mind. I love them both.

  Hoi Yin was watching me closely, waiting for my reaction.

  You can love? I asked.

  I believe so.

  Any entity with a soul can love, Wing-Tsit Chong said. It is only the fault of our flawed society that not all are given the chance to love. For only by showing love can you receive love in return. This is what I consider to be the most fundamental act of dana, the Buddhist practice of giving. In its purest state, dana is a sacrifice of self which will allow you complete understanding of the needs of others. And in doing so you transform yourself. A supreme state of Nibbana achievable only with unselfish love. Sadly so few are capable of such munificence.