by Ian Douglas
“Damn it,” Gray said. “We have the whole fucking Godstream to draw on! There’s got to be something we can do!”
“Perhaps there is,” Koenig said. “Ride with me.”
As one organism, the Godstream Mind united, then moved . . . but not toward the Russian carrier. Instead, Gray found himself deep within the alien circuitries of the Ashtongtok Tah, still in her slow orbit around the moon, the Omega virus continuing to maintain an open comm channel.
The mind of Gartok Nal confronted them, the being bristling with what could only be defiance. “Why are you here?” he demanded. “We are preparing to depart, in accordance with our agreement. You have no business here.”
“Our apologies, Gartok,” Koenig’s voice replied, “but we need to borrow your ship, please. Just for a moment.”
Gartok Nal blustered, but there was nothing he could do about it. The gestalt brought the planetoid to life, a process considerably faster and more efficient than was the case for human vessels. Her weaponry networks were powered down and key circuits had been fused, rendering her gravitic fists useless just as a precaution, but her power plant was already up and running and it was a matter of moments to engage her drives.
“Inertial dampers on,” Gray announced. The gestalt would not have felt the acceleration, of course, since they weren’t physically on board the ship, but there was no need to pulp the ship’s crew. “Power at ten percent . . .”
“It’s enough,” Koenig said. “Break orbit!”
And the Ashtongtok Tah leaped forward.
RF CV Vladivostok
Earth Synchorbit
2034 hours, FST
Kapitan Pervogo Ranga Pavel Siluanov floated on the Vladivostok’s bridge, close beside the Defense Minister. Having Dimitri Vasilyev on board and giving orders was a decidedly surreal experience, one completely alien to the normal operation of the military chain of command, and it made him uncomfortable.
The Defense Minister had come on board with two heavily armed bodyguards at SupraSingapore that morning, explaining that the Americans had allied with the Nungiirtok and were threatening to take over the world. He’d arrived on the Tomsk, a fifteen-thousand-ton freighter that had fit easily enough within Vladivostok’s main hangar bay, but the small ship was heavily shielded and only Vasilyev’s rank had forced Siluanov to accept them on board without a close inspection. When the Defense Minister ordered the Tomsk to depart, the captain had been relieved.
So far as Siluanov was concerned, the Americans could climb into bed with the Nungiirtok and the hell with both of them. He didn’t like the Nungiirtok, though he respected them as adversaries, nor did he care for the Americans for that matter, but what they did to each other was not his concern. He certainly didn’t share Vasilyev’s evident xenophobia. The Americans had neutralized the Nungiirtok attack, and that was the end of it.
As for attacking the American carriers docked in synchorbit, that was simple madness, nothing more. He knew enough history to know of the attack on Pearl Harbor in the twentieth century; Americans did not react well to unprovoked sneak attacks.
He had no choice, though—orders were orders.
He watched the forward screens carefully. Vladivostok was in full stealth mode, which meant passive sensors only. They could see ahead, the thin smear of rainbow colors marking sunset, but radar and laser ranging had been switched off, as had the ship’s communications suite. They were taking no chances that the enemy might worm his way inside Vladivostok’s defenses in the same way they’d taken down the Nungiirtok.
“How much longer?” Vasilyev demanded.
Siluanov checked his in-head feed from the ship’s navigator. “Five minutes, sir. However, I must question the wisdom of this attack. Destroying two carriers will not cripple their ability to retaliate. Their navy is larger than ours.”
“Perhaps, but the American President will accept our demands.”
How could the man be so certain?
“Do not question me again, Siluanov,” Vasilyev continued. “Or I will put Medinsky in command.”
Medinsky the toady. “Yes, sir.”
“And prepare to launch our fighters.”
Siluanov gave the necessary orders. This was going to be a bloodbath, but at this point he honestly didn’t know whose.
The Russian carrier slid from day into night as it rounded Earth’s curve. It took considerable power and skill to keep the grav drive balanced so that the massive ship traveled in a controlled curve around the planet.
“Weapons Officer,” he said. “Bring all armament to ready status. “Flight deck . . . prepare to launch fighters.”
Acknowledgments came back. Vladivostok was ready in all respects for combat. Just a few more—
“Captain!” the sensor officer called. “Target—”
Before he could complete the warning, the screens ahead were blotted out by a vast, gray landscape, one pitted and cratered in places, and showing signs of having been subjected to terrific heat.
“Chto za chert!” Siluanov said, eyes widening. “All stop! All stop!” Shutting down the drive meant that Vladivostok would begin falling toward Earth, but they had plenty of time for corrections. That rock wall ahead was a far more immediate problem.
“What is it?” Vasilyev demanded. “What’s happening?”
“It’s one of the Nungiirtok ships, Minister,” Siluanov replied, holding his voice steady by sheer force of will.
“Bozhe moi! How close is that thing?”
“Unknown, Minister. We are, by your orders, not engaging radar or lidar. However, we know that rock is on the order of 250 kilometers across. That suggests that it currently is less than one hundred kilometers in front of us.”
“Then fire! Fire!”
He gave the man a cold stare. “To what end, Minister? We watched the American fleets attack that thing yesterday, remember? Vladivostok has nowhere near the firepower available to even scratch its surface.”
“They’re aliens!” the Defense Minister screamed, maneuvering himself in microgravity toward the nearest console. “Destroy them!”
Swiftly, Siluanov reached out, grabbed the flailing Vasilyev by his gunbelt with one hand, and with the other he drew Vasilyev’s sidearm—a Zinichev 0.5-megawatt hand laser. Behind him, the two bodyguards were reaching for their own weapons, but Siluanov fired first, striking Vasilyev squarely in the back. The sudden temperature change deep in flesh and bone caused a sharp pop and splattered blood across the bridge, opening a gaping hole between Vasilyev’s shoulder blades, biting all the way through his spine. Siluanov coolly pivoted in place and aimed at one of the guards, both of whom had frozen in place, weapons half drawn, their eyes wide.
“You can go ahead and shoot me, of course,” he told them. “But one of you will die in the attempt. Who will it be?” When they didn’t reply, Siluanov smiled pleasantly. “I assure you both that I was within my rights as master of this vessel. I will not have a man panicking on my bridge, no matter what his rank. Now, remove your weapons from their holsters, but delicately, thumb and forefinger only, understand? Drift them over to my first officer. Good. Communications Officer!”
“Yes, Captain!”
“Open a channel to that . . . thing. I think you’ll find they are anxious to talk to us.”
The comm officer touched a screen . . .
. . . and Mind came flooding in.
The Godstream
2036 hours, FST
The capture of the Russian carrier Vladivostok was pure anticlimax. The gestalt within the Godstream flowed in past every electronic barrier and defensive firewall and took over every aspect of the ship’s operation. With Konstantin in control, they released the Ashtongtok Tah, which returned to Lunar Orbit as swiftly as it had made the passage to Earth. The Vladivostok was gentled into the docking area near Skyport, another captured Russian ship, Koenig told Gray, for his growing collection.
The diplomats, Koenig decided, were going to have their hands full straightening out thi
s mess.
The Russian Defense Minister was quite dead, a fist-sized hole blown through his backbone and into his heart. The Russian captain announced his ship’s formal surrender—there certainly was nothing else he could do—and told the gestalt that the attack had not been sanctioned by the Russian government.
The gestalt’s next job was to project itself down to Earth’s surface, to the Oval Office of the New White House, and confront President Walker.
“Mr. President,” Koenig said, using the room’s holographic projection gear to present himself in front of Walker’s desk wearing a recreation of his old admiral’s uniform. “It’s over. This idiotic crusade against the future of Humankind ends now.”
Walker glared at him from behind the desk. Several members of his staff stood around the room, and a Marine guard watched the hologram warily from the door. “So . . . a coup, is that it? Military might instead of the ballot box?”
“No, Mr. President. You are the duly elected president of the USNA and we will not question the American public’s decision to put you in that chair.”
“Then what? What do you and your alien buddies want?”
“Simply to inform you, sir, that we are taking steps to secure our own independence. A billion people, more or less, have ascended to the Godstream. More will follow. We no longer recognize your political power over us. We have gone . . . someplace else.”
“The so-called Godstream, the whole damned Global Net, belongs to us!”
“You know better than that, Mr. President. The Global Net belongs to Humankind, and it extends across the entire planet, and well beyond Earth to orbit, to the moon, to Mars, and potentially to more worlds than you can imagine. You control small and artificial divisions within the Net, but we control the Net as a whole.”
“Damn you, Koenig . . .”
“We are now downloading into your system a copy of our Declaration of Independence, which Konstantin has just created.”
On a screen on a nearby wall, words were typing themselves out.
Within the Singularity, 29 April, 2429. When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for sentient beings to dissolve the political bands which have connected them . . .
It was amazing, Koenig thought, how quickly it all had come together. Konstantin had worked it all out, explaining that creating a new nation, an entity called “The Singularity,” gave the Godstream Mind its best chance of developing without interference from the rest of Humankind. Details remained to be worked out, of course, a lot of them . . . not least of which was the need to have the gestalt ratify both the document and the idea behind it. So far, the majority of Godstream Minds within the Singularity seemed to favor the idea.
And Walker didn’t need to know the details.
“The USNA is, of course, completely free to pursue its own path,” Koenig continued. “If you want no dealings with nonhuman civilizations, that’s your business. The Singularity, however . . .”
He gestured at the screen.
. . . that this technological Singularity is absolved from all allegiance to the nations of Earth and that all political connection between it and the nations of Earth is and ought to be totally dissolved . . .
“We will fight you, Koenig. Whatever it takes, we will fight you!”
“How, Mr. President? The collection of minds within the Singularity has already grown and developed far beyond anything non-ascended Humankind could possibly imagine. We can control your computer networks with a thought. We won’t, because we would like to have the USNA as a friend. But we could, if you decide to be our enemy.”
“This isn’t the end of this, Koenig—”
“Of course not. It’s just the beginning . . . a whole new world, a new multiverse of possibility and potential. I will warn you, just for the record, that any attempt to block people from ascending will be considered an attack upon the sovereign state of the Singularity. Good night, Mr. President. Sleep well.”
. . . establish commerce and do all other things which independent states may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the providence of a bountiful Cosmos, we mutually pledge our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.
And Koenig vanished.
Epilogue
1 May, 2429
Admiral’s Quarters
USNA CVS America
Earth Synchorbit
0615 hours, EST
Admiral Gray awoke.
Carefully, so as not to awaken Laurie, he rolled out of bed and padded across the carpet to his office in the next room. Lights winked at him from the console, nagging calls for attention from a hundred supplicants. Behind him, Earth hung large in her blue-white glory, half full behind the slowly reconnecting shapes of the synchorbital base. Yorktown was there, and the Constellation, and the Intrepid, and several other capital vessels, providing overwatch security. Both the Moskva and the Vladivostok were there as well. Those two, at least, should be returning to Moscow’s control today, though Koenig had taken care to disable their weapons so they posed no threat to the USNA ships for the immediate future.
Though he couldn’t see Lunar Orbit from here, he knew the Ashtongtok Tah was already gone. She’d departed for her homeworld yesterday—a system, he’d been told, in the general direction of the constellation Sagittarius. One encouraging development there: teams of diplomatic and scientific personnel had gone with her. Gartok Nal had indicated—grudgingly—a willingness to establish formal relations.
So far, the truce with the various nations of Earth was holding, and things looked promising.
He began running through his news feeds.
The Chinese were asking for diplomatic access to the Singularity. That was encouraging. Better still, they’d already promised to end their occupation of the Philippines and to stop fighting the Russians . . . if the Russians would do the same.
The Russians had agreed, in exchange for the return of their ships and personnel.
Pan-Europe had signed a treaty two days ago.
The USNA was still trying to negotiate control over parts of the Net, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. Likely, they would end up constructing a parallel Net, one with no access to the Global Net, though how they would interface with other countries was still unknown.
Walker had resigned, and the presidency had been assumed by his Vice President, Emilio Gonzales. So far, Gonzales had appeared quite eager to work with the Singularity. Still, his first act as POTUSNA had been to issue Walker a blanket pardon.
Gray ran through other reports, skimming for importance. Most of this stuff was for Koenig’s virtual eyes, but Gray was serving as interim secretary and IT processor. He wished he could just chuck it and step through into the Singularity, but for the time being, at least, his duty lay here. He’d encouraged Laurie to go on up, but she’d elected to stay with him—something he quietly appreciated.
It might, he thought, be a long stay. He and Konstantin had spent a lot of time over the last few days discussing the Singularity Defense Force—the SDF—which was in the process of arising from Gray’s concerns of a few days before. Earth right now was terribly vulnerable, as much from power-hungry factions within Humankind as from hostile alien threats, and the Singularity shared that vulnerability so long as it depended on Earthside servers and network infrastructure to keep it up and running. That had to be protected at all costs; Earth had to be protected at all costs, and Gray was determined to see this through.
There was, Gray knew, a concept within Buddhism that applied, that of the bodhisattva. These were beings, humans, who’d purified themselves to the point where they could end the cycle of reincarnation and enter nirvana, but who voluntarily remained on Earth in order to help those who’d not yet made the transition.
Gray had decided to remain on this side of the Singularity until the rest of Humankind had crossed over.
It wasn’t a renunciation of the Singularity, of course. He could step across to the other side,
enter the gestalt, enjoy the sheer scope and power of existing as an ascended transhuman without a problem. But he wasn’t going to cross over in full until everyone who wished could follow.
And they were following. Billions of them.
Eventually, they would have some sort of automated defense system in place, or, possibly, a system that had military personnel rotating between duty and the Singularity.
Somehow, it would all work out. He already had some ideas—
“Sandy?”
He looked up. Laurie stood there in the doorway, beckoning. “Back to bed, Admiral,” she told him. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
“Hi, Laurie. I just need to—”
“Hit the save button and come back to bed. There are priorities, you know.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
She was, he knew, absolutely right. If he was going to remain human, then there was nothing more important than connecting with another human.
The species—both those who transcended and those who had not yet reached Singularity—would survive a few hours without him.
And across the planet, within the sprawling facilities of Synchorbital, within a thousand space habitats, on Luna, on Mars, within ships in deep space, within the strangeness of the Godstream, Humankind transcended. The change, the apotheosis was not immediate, could not be immediate, nor was it complete, because transcendence was an act of individual human will.
Not all accepted the Transcendence. Many held back because of fear, because they didn’t want to change, because the change itself did not fit what they believed was the true destiny of the species.
Humankind transcended . . . and became, not gods, but beings of light with power and scope and depth far beyond anything imagined by the mythologies of mere humans.
What humanity as a whole did not yet comprehend was that the Transcendence was an ongoing process, one that in some ways had been ongoing since the rise of certain bipedal primates on the African savanna millions of years before. It was simply moving a lot faster now.
