Authors: Doug Vossen
Skyfire (13 page)
“It’s good to see you recognize how little you know,” said Ronak. “That is the first step in your evolution as a species.”
“Sir, would you mind if I asked one quick question?” said Jack.
“Go for it.”
“Ronak, you said our greatest minds are on track to figuring this out for ourselves. How far are we?”
“Your best physicists have figured out the concept of a discontinuous jump at the sub-atomic level.”
“Can you elaborate?” asked Jack.
“Quantum objects can take a discontinuous leap. This is best visualized by thinking about electrons orbiting the nucleus of an atom.”
“I follow so far,” said Jack.
“Imagine when an electron moves from a higher energy state to a lower one. It moves from a higher orbit around the nucleus of an atom to a lower one, without traveling through the space between the two orbits. This fundamental principle has been demonstrated, measured, and recorded by your species.”
“Wow,” whispered Jack in amazement.
“Fuckin’ SCIENCE!” blurted Karl, enthusiastic as a child.
Colonel McColgan ignored this. He’d given up trying to control Karl. “OK then, Ronak. We’ve established how things work, how you got here, why you’re here. Now for the hard questions: what is that thing above the city, why is it here, and what the HELL is it doing to our people?”
Ronak looked concerned for the first time. “Colonel McColgan, gentlemen. I don’t know yet. That’s also why I’m here.”
Paralyzing fear gripped Jack.
Oh shit.
“Then what’s the next step?”
“We need to accelerate your evolution and begin learning as much as possible about why this particular location in space and time is unique and of interest to the phenomenon.”
“How do we do that?” asked Jack.
“To start, we need to find your species’ premier physicist in this region and work hand-in-hand with him to begin analysis. It is vital that our species work cooperatively in this endeavor. We cannot simply do this for you. Secondary priorities once this is complete would be to recruit as many competent medical professionals and engineers as possible to begin applying the analysis.”
“Sounds like kind of a long-term plan,” said McColgan.
“It is the only viable option at this time. More of the plan will unfold once additional data is collected.”
“What has your preliminary data told you?” said Karl.
“I am not from my people’s Collective of Scientists, but it is my firm belief that what you see hovering above your world’s crowning achievement is a representation of beings who do not exist through The Veil, as we and a great many others do, but within it.”
“So like, is this thing some sort of god?” Karl asked.
“Major McMullin: gods, devils, angels, demons, and any other deities, supernatural beings, or myths you wish to invoke are not only irrelevant, but a further sign of your species’ underdeveloped comprehension of reality.”
Where does science end and religion begin?
wondered Jack.
“These primitive concepts of mythological personification are what you have historically utilized to explain that which science has not – at least not yet,” said Ronak.
“Sir, I think he’s right – about everything,” said Jack. “We don’t have any choice but to figure out exactly what we’re dealing with before we can do anything about it.”
The colonel pondered this for a few moments. “Where is this physicist?” he asked.
“Resolute Colony Vessel IV last detected Dr. Mahesh Kapur’s life signs inside your city, in what is colloquially referred to as the ‘Upper West Side.’ I will convert the exact location to your military grid reference system (MGRS).”
The colonel studied the small map he carried in his document folder for a quick approximation of the grid Ronak provided. He checked it and then checked it again. “Jack, find me Fry and the Sergeant Major. We’re air assaulting into Central Park and snatching this fuckin’ guy from the American Museum of Natural History. I need something on my desk within two hours.”
Jesus Christ. This keeps getting better.
“Karl, come on. Let’s get you plugged into this shit too.”
“Fuck yeah!” said Karl. Jack wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or genuinely excited.
HUGHES
“You know you can’t smoke that in here.” The sergeant had a mild southern accent.
“Ah, he speaks,” said Trent. “Maybe you’ll just have to give me my shit and let me smoke it on my way to the aid station to check on my girls.”
The sergeant continued to glare at him.
“Dude, you do realize I’m an American, a vet, someone who was in this brigade for four years during the war, right? I didn’t ‘rush the gate’ like that bonehead teenager probably told you.”
“So you say.” The sergeant looked distracted, not fully present, which was odd given the circumstances.
That’s it. Kid gloves are off now.
Trent took a pull on the cigarette and felt the soothing sensation of carcinogens filling his lungs. It had been hours since his last cigarette. The lightheadedness calmed him a little. He was aware how immaturely he was behaving, but he didn’t care.
The junior sergeant walked over to him. Trent stood, took another pull and exhaled out his nose slowly and deliberately. “What now, sergeant? How you gonna handle this one, big man? Are you gonna shove a gun in my face like that little boy at the gate? I’ll bet you are. I’ll bet you’re the little shit that taught him how to act like that too.”
Hit me, faggot.
“Keep talking you piece of shit. You’ll see just what I can do to you.” The sergeant squared up to Trent, locking eyes with him.
Do it. Fucking do it. Just give me a reason to choke you out.
Trent knew if he went for his carbine - eight meters away in the corner - he’d be shot for sure. He reasoned that if he got the junior non-commissioned officer angry enough to hit him, he would be able to win a scuffle on the ground, and walk out relatively unharmed. His rage and overpowering desire to find Callie and Jessica prevented him from thinking what would happen after the sergeant regained consciousness.
“Big Army man!” said Trent. “I’ll bet your family in South Carolina or whatever southern white trash shithole you crawled out of is VERY proud. THANK YOU for your service! Big boy with a clean right shoulder!” Trent indicated the absence of a unit patch on the right shoulder of the sergeant’s uniform; the patch was only awarded to soldiers who had spent at least thirty days in a combat zone. Trent had spent two years in a combat zone.
Come on, you dick. Hit me so I can roll over you and get to Callie and Jess. They are a hundred times more important than people like you.
Something in the sergeant’s face changed. He became pale.
No way this dude is going to get scared and back down. If I were him I would have butt stroked me in the face forever ago.
The sergeant wiped his brow. He looked at Trent with a pleading expression.
“Just sit here for a few minutes and we’ll clear this all up.” The sergeant’s pallor increased alarmingly. Trent could tell the man was getting lightheaded. He had seen it many times before in people who were bleeding out while trying to get to safety.
Oh shit, what’s wrong with him
?
“Hey sergeant, you OK man?” Trent’s attitude quickly changed. He was now looking at one of his soldiers bleeding out in a dusty Iraqi alleyway.
The sergeant stumbled, the weight of his equipment straining him. “I… Just please, sit down.” The young man’s head tilted back and his eyes squinted. He sneezed in Trent’s face.
“Dude, cover your mouth!” As Trent wiped the mucous from his face he came to a disturbing realization: it wasn’t mucous. It was blood. “Hold on sergeant, I’m going outside for two seconds to find someone to take you to the medics. You won’t have any more problems out of me.”
The young sergeant fell to a knee and rested his weight on the butt of his rifle. Then the door to the trailer swung open. Trent turned around. Two soldiers walked in, a master sergeant and a specialist.
“What the hell happened here?” demanded the master sergeant.
Oh shit, he’s gonna think I fucked this dude up!
The specialist grabbed Trent by the crook of his elbow and flung him into the wall adjacent to his carbine and assault pack.
The sick young sergeant tried to speak. “Guys, I can’t ke-” he said before vomiting all over himself. All attention focused on the downed soldier. Trent could have easily made a grab for his weapon, but his innate concern for a fellow soldier took hold. All he wanted was to see this kid to safety.
“What the fuck did you do?” thundered the master sergeant.
Wait a second . . . Martin? Sergeant Martin?
Trent couldn’t believe who he was seeing in front of him.
Jack Rugerman’s second-in-command stopped, canted his head to the side as if to process what he was seeing. Trent sat there, his face and shirt flecked with the sick man’s bloody mucous.
“Sir?” asked the master sergeant.
“Are you kidding me?” said Trent.
The two remembered each other from a yearlong tour they did in Baghdad in 2006. It had been an especially unpleasant experience neither of them cared to repeat.
Small world. What are the chances?
thought Trent.
“Lieutenant Hughes?” asked Master Sergeant Martin.
“Shit, Sergeant Martin! Help me, this dude’s sick.”
They both ran over to the young NCO, now doubled over in agony.
“Wait, why are you here?” said Sergeant Martin.
“Look, you know I’m not some scumbag off the street,” said Trent. “I’ll explain everything as soon as this kid gets to the docs. We need to move, man. Look at him.”
“Good enough for me. Harrison, get back to the two-shop and hit the aid station on the radio. Let them know what we’ve got coming in. Move. NOW!”
Trent grabbed his gear. He and Sergeant Martin tried their best to support the weight of the young man as they moved down the stairway, into the evening air.
“Sir, what are you doing here?” asked Sergeant Martin. “And why the hell are you not in a uniform?” They were slowly making their way to the low rumble of generators next to the aid station.
“It’s not sir anymore, man, just Trent. I live about six miles from here. They saw my long-gun at the gate and some dipshit E2 flipped the fuck out and detained me. Things got out of hand quick.”
“Right on, man. You remember said dipshit’s name? I’ll get him to apologize as soon as we get this dude some help.”
“Dude, I don’t even care. I got two of my people at the aid station and I want to link up with them. Is that OK?” asked Trent. They were beginning to tire from supporting the majority of the young sergeant’s body weight.
“Yeah man, definitely,” said Martin.
“What the hell is going on here? Tell me you fucking know something. Anything.”
Martin was breathing very heavily. Before he could respond, a foul odor came upon them. The young sergeant had soiled himself. Martin wretched a massive dry heave. “Oh my god. He shit himself. He just fucking shit himself.”
“Fuck! Goddamn it!” Trent was disgusted, but resigned to the unfortunate reality of the situation. “Story of my life. We’re almost there. I can see the light peeking through the entranceway to the tent.”
“Yeah man,” Martin replied with a quick breath. The aid station was little more than a quarter mile away. They fell into a rhythm carrying the dead, stinking weight. They decided not to talk further until their task was complete.
RONAK
“Legate Ronak, shall we continue?” asked Colonel McColgan.
“Of course, colonel. But may I first ask a question regarding your current thought process?”
“Please, by all means,” said McColgan.
“You sent one subordinate to get another subordinate with the broadest of guidance, to accomplish the most significant of tasks, yet you continue to interact with me as if nothing has changed. Why is this?”
“Damn Legate Ronak, when you say it like that it sounds like I do absolutely nothing!” The colonel sounded amused.
I am puzzled. How can this man still find humor in the situation? This is mildly disconcerting.
“Ronak,” McColgan continued, “I can’t speak for everyone in my position, but I pride myself on being able to find and train the best subordinates possible. If you have good people around you who care about their job, let them run with the ball. If you micromanage them, you’re stifling their creativity. You have nothing to worry about. I’m letting them get started. I’ll be checking up on them on to make sure everything meets my intent. You trust them, but you also verify. Just don’t be a cock about it. Make sense?”
“How comfortable are you they fully understand your intent?” asked Legate Ronak.
“My S2 and S3 know me better than I know myself sometimes,” said McColgan.
“How did this come to pass?”
“A lot of time, training, and real world experience.”
This is an admirable quality we have all but lost since the singularity.
“I admire this quality,” said Ronak.
“Thank you, but surely your people can do the same.”
Embarrassingly enough, we have become slaves to our augmentations and perfect information. This level of unpredictable individuality is rare among my kind.
Ronak said nothing.
“I don’t think I can fathom how much you and your people know,” said McColgan. “I bet there are things I would never have thought possible.”
“What do you wish to know?” asked Ronak.
“You’re eight-hundred plus years more advanced than us. What is the single most important thing you’ve learned as a species?”
Ambitious, but heavily opinion driven.
“It is impossible to tell you the single most important thing, but I can give you my perspective.”
Make no mention of the fact I no longer possess extra-local communication or consensus data.
“I would rather it that way,” said McColgan.
Interesting. He means that. Do all terrans value the input of a trusted adviser over statistical consensus?
“My personal view, which I still struggle with at almost one terran millennium in age, is removing personal identity from ego. There is a broader, much higher purpose for all of us to follow. We cannot pursue this purpose with pervasive selfishness. Our technology largely forced this removal of ego, but natural tendencies toward bodily self-preservation and comfort are difficult to overcome.”
“What are the most fundamental differences if people are able to accomplish this on a grand scale?” asked McColgan.
“The most overarching theme is the most simplistic. Everyone and everything is interconnected. Whether one accepts this fact or not, it is scientific truth. If you transcend the ego, even slightly, it is likely you will realize that if you hurt another, you ultimately end up hurting yourself on a variety of levels.”
“Tell me Ronak, in those files in your head, do you have the phrase long-hair dirty hippie bullshit defined?” McColgan was only half joking.
“I am aware of the cultural stereotype your military has against those of which you speak, but I assure you this concept is very significant. I suggest you realize this. You should only look to harm as a last resort in all scenarios. There is no unbalanced equation in the universe.”
“What do you mean no unbalanced equation?” asked McColgan.
“It is as simple as your most basic algebra. For example, if ‘x’ minus eight is zero, then ‘x’ must be eight.”
“Obviously. I learned that as a 12 year-old.”
“No, Colonel McColgan, you do not understand. This concept extends to everything, including the emotions put forth by every self-aware being.”
“How so?”
“Have you ever loved someone?” asked Ronak.
McColgan was taken aback
.
“I have.”
“Have you ever lost anyone you loved?”
“I have.”
“Well then, it should be obvious. The amount of grief and despair you felt over your loved one’s death was mathematically proportional to how much you loved that person. This, as well as all things, is quantifiable.”
“I don’t understand how that’s even possible,” said McColgan.
“Of course you don’t. We are taking the initial steps to rectify this to assist in solving the current predicament.”
“How else does this concept manifest itself?”
“This concept manifests itself everywhere, even in the fundamental roots of creation humans have written religious texts to explain.”
McColgan was intrigued. “OK, I’ll bite. How does this apply to creation?”
“Simple. Subatomic particles arise due to entropic principles that, under certain circumstances, cause phenomena similar to what your scientists describe simply as ‘The Big Bang.’ These singularity-born explosions create massive clouds of hydrogen gas. The force of gravity inevitably condenses this gas into the stars, planets, and cosmic phenomena we all observe today.”
“OK, so there’s a shitload of space dust getting piled together into stars and planets. I’ve seen Cosmos too. How does that apply to everything being interconnected and a universal mathematical balance?” When fully engaged, as he was now, the colonel’s brain moved a million miles a second. He tended to snap back quickly with his responses.
“Please allow me to finish,” said Ronak. “Imagine, if you will, you are digging a hole in your garden to plant a bush. When you dig the hole there is a pile of soil next to it, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Well, in the case of creation, all the cosmic matter we observe - stars, planets, comets, asteroids, entire galaxies and clusters of galaxies even - is the pile of dirt next to the bush. The hole is the empty, expanding space that encompasses it. The sum of the universe is zero.”
The colonel chuckled. “If subatomic particles blink in and out of existence at random, and the sum of all this is zero, why would anyone need to create it? Wouldn’t that mean there is no God?”
Finally! A breakthrough in free thinking by a layperson! “
Colonel McColgan, this gives me hope for your race.”
“Legate Ronak, I was half joking about that. I was raised Roman Catholic.”
What a shame,
thought Ronak.
Colonel McColgan saw the look of disappointment on Ronak’s smooth, pale face, even if Ronak’s dull eyes were a poor messenger of emotion. “Ronak, if all of matter, including us, is the pile of dirt, and the vacuum of space is the hole, what’s the bush?”
Interesting question.
“I… don’t know.”
I should have just left it at digging a hole.
The colonel seemed pleased that he’d stumped the super intelligent big-ass alien. “I’m the motherfucking bush!”
These terrans.
“Whatever motivates and inspires you to accomplish the task at hand.”
“So if the big bang happened randomly and everything equals zero, what is all of this ‘zero’ contained in?”
“Nothing is nothing,” Ronak replied.
“How can we be nothing!? We’re right here! I love how scientists say things like they can’t explain the origin of the Big Bang, but if we give them that ONE miracle they can explain away everything else. It’s kind of bullshit, Ronak. Don’t you agree?”
“Right now, do you care?” said Ronak.
“Fair enough, I’m being difficult. I get it. We have to move.”
We are wasting valuable time. He is letting his curiosity get the best of him. He clearly cannot comprehend the counterintuitive nature of quantum mechanics.
“Colonel McColgan, everything was born of an infinitely small and infinitely dense singularity. Please realize that although I am more informed than you, my species still pursues all aspects of science with a fervor that we believe to be second to none in the galaxy. I do not have all of the answers. I am not hiding anything from you. I am committed to providing your race with all the informational resources we Æthereans have in order to resolve this discrepancy in your city. For now, we need to focus on the task at hand.”
“OK, I understand.” The colonel wasn’t quite sure what to believe. Ronak’s explanations were completely foreign to everything he’d been taught to believe. “So if we’re all inter-connected, why is something from this Veil you mentioned trying to hurt us? Wouldn’t they be even more enlightened than you?”
“I could not speak to its motivations.”
“Please speculate.”
This is the first time in years that I’ve been able to engage my opinion, without external interference. It is… stimulating.
“I would speculate that it is much like your white blood cells attacking bacteria. Taking this comparison one step further, perhaps it is similar to when people of your race voluntarily kill themselves slowly to destroy cancers in their body.”
“So that thing is a being that wants to kill us because it thinks we’re diseased on some level?”
“Unknown. I can not speculate on the identity of the phenomenon. It is like nothing I have seen. What I do know is there is no unbalanced equation in the universe. This applies to everything - intentions, emotions, thoughts - all of which are measurable within The Veil. This mathematical concept of balance does not solely apply to the narrow spectrum of nature terrans currently observe and measure. Concepts and intangible relationships are no less real than the very building in which we are speaking. You are a species on the cusp of unification, of Veil integration, but you are destroying yourselves in the process.”
“How do you figure? Before this week everything was normal enough,” said McColgan flatly.
“Everything from your agricultural practices to your energy utilization negatively impacts all living things. There are more than enough resources for everyone to live an exceedingly comfortable life, yet the stench of greed and arrogance pervades. The gap between upper and lower classes is staggering, even in the most supposedly progressive nations in your world. Since your industrial revolution, your planet’s climate has increased by four degrees Centigrade, in turn destabilizing your jet stream. Wars are fought in the interest of increasing the wealth and influence of corporate entities, entities whose sole purpose is to expand without regard for any other factors. All of this, of course, is fueled by the greed of shareholders who fail to recognize
they
are the ones being oppressed. The terran lifestyle is cancerous to all those unlucky enough to exist in close proximity. Need I go on?”
Perhaps I allowed my individual opinion of the matter to get the best of me.
“I don’t know, man,” said McColgan. “At this point it’s as good a theory as any. One thing’s for sure though - we definitely have a lot to learn.”
“As do we all,” said Ronak.
What is this… embarrassment? I have not felt this in over two hundred years. Why do I feel shame over expressing myself as an individual? Is passion a gift, or does it contribute to a curse of inefficiency within a species?
“If this… thing is so advanced, why does it care what we’re doing? Why would it want to hurt us, and consequently itself, if we are all interconnected?” asked McColgan.
“At this time I cannot formulate a more logical theory than I have already articulated. I believe this entity is beginning to view some of the organisms with which it is interconnected as detrimental, a cancer that needs to be cut out to preserve the remainder of the collective.”
“What, so we don’t deserve life anymore? Have we fucked that up too, Ronak?”
“Colonel, this is a fruitless discussion. I am simply speculating.”
“OK, so what does your all-encompassing consensus think? Care to break down that wall for me?”
This is not what I intended.
“Colonel, I am having a temporary lapse in extra-local communication. It is preventing me from tapping into the universal network.”
“Holy shit, this thing is even blacking out YOUR communications? Jesus Christ. This just keeps getting better.”
He’s losing confidence. I cannot allow him to falter.
“Colonel, it is simply a temporary matter. Occasional missteps in our form of communication are recalibrated automatically by the various nodes we established throughout the galaxy. Any technology utilized through The Veil is often fluid due to its dynamic nature. Surely there are instances in a new environment when you need to perfect your ability to speak to one another through technology.”
The colonel chuckled. “Fair enough. I can’t expect you to have a perfect internet connection when your WiFi hotspot is parked next to Jupiter. And now I can’t believe that sentence just came out of mouth.”