Evolution (21 page)

S
am loved the agro pod
, loved the village, loved floating free with the plants and people, but sometimes he just had to escape. As the others busied themselves with the regular activities of daily life, he snuck away down the connecting passage to the rest of
Leviathan
.

He had friends out there, but none challenged his intellect as much as Dr. Elliot Shot. The confusingly old man had set up his office on the ship’s bridge. He said he’d gotten bored with life on Earth, but that answer didn’t cut it with Sam. Some comments were intended more to create further dialogue than finish a conversation.

The ship’s bridge had undergone yet another transformation. Physical books lay scattered across command consoles, and functional, built-in crew seating shared space with large, comfortable lounge chairs. Not that it mattered. Once Lev had become sentient, the one-time center of activity on the ship had become little more than a museum piece.

Dr. Shot stood hunched over some calculations that showed up on the central view screen—something about radioactive decay that Sam couldn’t understand.

“Spare some time for the slow student?” Sam asked.

Dr. Shot’s bald head sprang up to meet Sam’s smile. “Always. I could use someone to bounce ideas around with.”

Sam relaxed into one of the large chairs. As his hands ran along the leather arms, he realized it had come from Dr. Shot’s study on Earth. “Nice of Lev to let you set up on her bridge.”

Dr. Shot made some quick notes then joined Sam in the matching chair. “Well, ownership’s kind of a confusing topic when you’re talking about something as complex as
Leviathan
. Rendition owns the ship, and I’m partially responsible for Lev’s creation, so when I mentioned I’d like to spend some time on her during the rescue of the minor planets, she lent me this space. She never asked for it back, so I just stayed.”

“But why? You’ve got that beautiful mansion on Earth. Why become a live-aboard? And don’t tell me you were just bored. That was just a way to get me back here.”

Dr. Shot pulled out the familiar glass pipe and began to fill it. “Would you believe it’s because Yoshi’s cannabis is better than anything I can get on Earth?”

“If anyone else said it, sure.” Yoshi’s pot was the best. But for an intellect like Dr. Shot, it was far from enough of a reason to leave Earth.

“Remember our conversation on time, back when you first came to Earth after learning you were god to the Tobes?”

“Of course. That was one of my favorite intellectual discussions.”
More like the only enjoyable scientific speculations I ever took part in.

“After the Moons of Jupiter dumped their radioactive material on our moon, I started to develop an idea. We’d been seeing a spike in cancers just before those garbage runs. Not a huge increase, and they paled in comparison to what we saw after the moon lit up. But that was what got me thinking. No one had ever done a study on what happened to people before a nuclear incident.” Dr. Shot’s blue eyes sparkled through the light-blue smoke.

“What would it matter? With Cancer Free
,
it’s one little pill, and the tumor’s gone.” Sam couldn’t resist using the product’s tagline.

“Oh, it’s not the disease—it’s the cause that fascinates me. Cancer is one of the only ailments we can directly attribute to certain materials, and not all of them are radioactive.” Dr. Shot brought up a screen filled with carcinogenic materials. “On the face of it, they don’t look to have anything in common except their effect on animals.”

Sam knew Dr. Shot was headed somewhere with all this. “And this has to do with time?”

Dr. Shot drew his river and whirlpools—copies of what Sam remembered from the first conversation. “We discussed the idea that matter was merely time spun up on itself.”

Sam remembered the conversation well. “Sure.”

A weaker, lazy spinning vortex was drawn next to the first. “Radioactive material is constantly breaking down—like it wasn’t spun up fast enough. And as it slows down, it sheds that negative time, black energy.”

Sam had to remind himself of that one. He took the chalk for a moment and drew two arrows, one in the middle of the stream going with the current and one at the riverbank going backward. “If I remember correctly, you thought mass was created by time moving forward against black energy moving back in time.”

“Correct. Now, if radioactive matter was just slowing down, it might not have that much effect. Just like time moving at different speeds in conjunction with different-sized masses. But if it’s also turning loose that dark energy, that might have an effect on materials around it.” Dr. Shot drew some wavy lines off the lazy vortex, which intersected the stable matter.

“You’re speculating that this vortex is a human, and the radioactivity is messing with its body’s timing?” Sam asked.

“It could work that way. Imagine a cell that’s reproducing. Normally, it’d just be replacing itself. But if it performs that duty and then goes back an instant, it might not know it already finished its job. And then you get too many of the same cell. Cancer.”

“That would account for how radioactive materials work against the body, but you were talking about other carcinogens too.” So far, at least, Sam was keeping up with the conversation.

Dr. Shot pointed back to his river whirlpools. “Imagine this isn’t a body but a normally harmless material, or at least one that’s not too bad. It gets bombarded with this dark matter and becomes more carcinogenic. Maybe it’s just wound up perfectly to match what the radioactive material is putting off.”

Sam knew it was too good to last. His mind started struggling. “Okay, but that’d only work for two things next to each other, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe, or maybe one’s just able to work on the other over the specific energy signature that makes up that element.” Dr. Shot left the lazy whirlpool in place but drew the radioactive waves out in all directions then drew another tight vortex earlier in the time stream. “With normal radioactive material, the effect might not even be noticeable. But if something big enough were to happen here, in the future, it might disrupt the dark energy going back in time to these elements back here.”

Sam drew a little stick figure next to the element being bombarded. “So an increase in cancers”—he put the chalk on the stick figure man—“could be from some nuclear catastrophe in the future affecting other elements in the present?” He drew a line from the lazy vortex to the more stable material next to his stick figure.

“That’s what I was trying to figure out. We know the Moons of Jupiter are making new moon-suns. I was hoping to get close enough to tap into their communication network—nothing too obtrusive, just to get medical information on how things like Cancer Free were selling. Then I’d watch to see where the new moon-sun developed.”

Sam leaned forward. “And your conclusions?”

“Nothing definitive. The moon-suns aren’t as big a nuclear disaster as I suspected. At least not enough to cause the changes in elements that would have resulted in cancers prior to the detonations.” Dr. Shot waved his hand at all the computer displays. “I’ve still got a lot of data to look at. Lev’s helpful, but she doesn’t always see the big picture.”

Sam turned back to the drawing and absentmindedly drew lines back in time from the radioactive element. “Time travel?”

Dr. Shot took the chalk and drew a little box in the river. “You once told me you couldn’t envision sending something back in time. When it comes to matter, I agree. The time vortexes needed to create mass would become too unstable if you attacked them with enough dark energy to move them against the river. But the universe isn’t just stuff suspended in space.”

Sam stared at the small box. If it wasn’t mass, then what—energy? But energy was the very thing moving forward in time. “I still feel like I’m back where we started. If it’s not mass, and it’s not energy, what is it you could put next to the nuclear explosion that could move back in time?”

“Same answer as last time… ideas.”

Sam stared at the sputtering explosions on the moon. From space, it looked deathly ill. At least on Earth the constant cloud cover shrouded the effect, and only a constant twilight reminded people of the change. But from up here, the nature of the disaster was hard to ignore. “Is that why you stay up here—to study our moon more closely?”

Dr. Shot turned his chair toward the view screen. “Nothing’s permanent, not even planets. If the moon is going to melt down one day, I think I might like to see it—a fitting end to a life lived too long.”

Sam remembered back to when he was a very young child. “And you could sit by the side of the stream, putting stick boats into the water to see them float away.”

“When I was a kid we used bottles, but those were discontinued before you were born. You’d put little notes in them. I just need to figure out what they’d be made from for our analogy.” Dr. Shot took another hit of Yoshi’s cannabis. The smoke drifted around his head like memories.

* * *

U
sually conversations
with Dr. Shot left Sam’s head spinning but not in ways that intersected with daily life. As Sam headed back down the long living pod filled with people and shops, he stopped off at the space bar with its full-width view screen.

The beer did little to dull his thoughts. What if the moon did explode? Could the Tobes survive that kind of energy disturbance? How did the Tobes on the Moons of Jupiter deal with the new moon-suns? Too many questions, and what answers his imagination could find made the worries of today look like a schoolyard fight. What did it really matter if a group of people disagreed with how he and the village lived?

One thing he knew for certain: he didn’t want the problem left to his daughters. Mankind had a bad habit of burying its head in the sand, hoping the problem would go away, and if it didn’t, at least the next generation would somehow magically find an answer. Being stupid enough to create the problem meant they weren’t smart enough to find an answer.

Sam drained the rest of his beer. First thing was to ensure his girls could safely live on Earth. If they were to help the Tobes adjust and survive, they were going to need Rendition. The Moons of Jupiter had a fight coming, and they didn’t even know it yet.

J
oshua joined
the family for the return trip to Earth as
Lilliput
gingerly maneuvered between the monster storm clouds. “It’s been a rough two weeks, Boss.”

They can’t even give me a little time to appreciate having my daughter back?
“What’s first on the list of problems?”

“The government’s been demanding an on-off switch for the lens. Their argument is people should be able to decide when they’re sharing information. We’ve tried, and we can’t do it.”

Lilliput
banked hard to avoid some flying debris.

The Tobes had been unable to fit a lens on Sam because he was on the same energy wavelength as them. Why were all these problems ones he had no control over? “Can you show Jess the problem?”

Joshua turned in his seat to face Jess. He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “This is all we’ve been able to manage in terms of turning off the lens.”

Jess sat upright in her seat. “All I’m seeing is a red glow, and there’s some kind of humming in my ears.”

“Once the lens is put on someone, we have to manipulate it so it can be seen through,” Joshua said. “It’s not invisible on its own but more like a wall view screen. Once it’s turned off, all you see is the substructure. But the visual isn’t as big a problem as the audio.”

“Why the hum?” Jess asked.

“Ever try to not hear something? That’s the problem we’re having. To not hear you, we have to instill a white noise. It’d be like you putting your fingers in your ears and humming to drown out some sound.”

“But that’s not turning it off—that’s just masking the lens. Why can’t it just be removed from a person?” Sam wondered why every interface with technology had to be so damn complicated.

“That proved even harder. Other than using a virus, like the church did on Sara, we can’t remove the technology film. Remember, we looked at a person’s energy signature and then formed a lens specific to that person. It’s like making the person a magnet and putting them in a room with iron particles. Only the particles are information, and the room is all of Earth. Trying to take the lens off is like trying to remove one little speck at a time.” Joshua pinched his fingers together, trying to imitate what he was describing.

Lilliput
pulled up to skim along the Atlantic Ocean toward New York.

“And the virus would be permanent?” Jess asked.

“We still don’t understand the virus. It wasn’t one of our products, so we’re a little cautious about messing with it. But from what we’ve seen with Sara, it’s a one-way option. Once that thing gets into a person, it poisons the connection.” Joshua didn’t bother explaining how they were able to reconnect with Sara or why that wouldn’t work for others. Sam’s energy, and that of his progeny, was unique.

Emily reached from the backseat for Sam’s shoulder. “Can Sara and I work on it? I know it’s a big problem, but with Joshua and Ellie’s help, I’d like to try. It’ll be like teaching them about touch.”

Two teenage girls helping the Tobes solve a problem that threatened everything Sam and Jess had built? “I can’t think of anyone more suited to the task.” They needed an activity, something important. With Emily’s normal lens and Sara’s unique connection, maybe they could find something others would miss. And he had promised Sara she’d be more involved.

Jess looked out the view screen toward the city. Sam suspected she objected to the girls’ involvement, and he wasn’t happy that it would put them in the center of the dispute. But if they found a way out, even if that way had to have a lot of help, they could be seen as the heroes.

Lilliput
swung around hard to land on top of the Rendition Building.

Time to get to work.

* * *

J
ess stood
at the wall view screen in Sam’s office. She’d magnified the image to the point where Sam once again felt like he was standing in the Hudson River, looking out at Jersey City. Small tags accompanied the individual apartments with names and occupations of the residents. As she focused on a street canal, the image expanded. Was she searching for something or someone? “What are you doing?”

She didn’t turn away from her study of the once-desperate city. “I want to see the problem firsthand. Find out what people really feel about us. So far, it’s all been just talk.”

“I’m not sure I’d consider the Tobes secondhand. They do connect in a unique way to people.” Their last trip across the river to the newly formed artist community hadn’t been bad. But memories of their first trip, and the firefight that ensued, still colored his impression of Jersey City.

“We’ll take Ed with us, but I don’t want to use one of Rendition’s shuttles.” Jess turned away from the wall. “Don’t you ever wonder what it’s like for just a regular member of society? We’ve never even taken a cab, or whatever means of public transportation people would use to commute. It’s no wonder people have misconceptions about us.”

But they weren’t like everyone else. Jess had to see that. They’d been shot at due to their wealth, their daughter had been kidnapped, and though people sympathized with their family, the conclusion of that event had further alienated them from society. “If there’s someone you want to see, I’m sure arrangements can be made.”

Jess pointed to a couple of tags on the view screen. Paintings and sculptures began covering the cityscape. “The artwork over there is showing some disturbing trends. I’d like to meet the artists. But we shouldn’t go as members of the foundation—just as people curious about what the artists are trying to say. If we go flying over there in our grand display of wealth, we’ll never get the truth. I want to see the artists where they live, unsanitized for public consumption.”

Sam inspected one of the paintings more closely. It was a scene of street performers and musicians that easily would have sold to tourists in Central Park. Everyone loved taking home a work that reminded them of their stay in the city. But as he peered into the eyes of the painted performers, he noticed what Jess had alluded to. A dark hatred emanated from within the sunken sockets. His focus magnified the dark facial caverns. Scenes of riots were hidden within the blacks and grays, too small for anyone to notice with a passing glance but, once seen, impossible to miss. “I don’t understand. Why would artists feel such hostility?”

“That’s what I want to find out. Is it directed at us? At the Tobes? At the buyers? What’s the basis of this growing social unrest?” Jess was asking some very valid questions. Was the animosity directed at the village in space, at the Tobes—hell, at Sam himself—just a symptom of a bigger problem? Maybe he was the underlying cause.

* * *

S
am had never before exited
the Rendition Building at water level. His journeys with Jess had always started either on the rooftop or out the majestic front doors onto Eighth Avenue. But the Eighth Avenue dike divided the protected old section of New York from the modern reality of underwater walkways and street canals.

The water taxi that greeted them as they stepped foot out the sixth-floor exit, and down to the West Forty-Seventh Street canal, bobbed on the waves that crashed against the transparent dam a few feet away, the water beating its fists at the bustling avenue. The gangway jumped up and down as if on some demented spring. Were it not for Earth’s gravity and the enclosed passage from building to boat, Sam thought he’d have been rocketed high into the air from the ramp’s erratic motion. He and Jess squeezed to the back of the transparent-metal-domed boat, grateful to have survived the turbulent walk unscathed.

Sam watched Ed—invisible to all but him and Jess—survey each of the seventy-eight passengers. His stern face reluctantly nodded acceptance though he maintained his post next to a young man who needed a good shower and shave. None aboard seemed concerned about the growing storm that lashed the transparent canopy.

Fully automated, the craft didn’t bother with the niceties of announcements meant to calm its riders. With a burst of power, the dolphin-shaped boat lunged into the oncoming waves. Sam caught his breath as sheets of water obstructed the view. The propulsion did dampen the ship’s rocking, but he had trouble viewing the ride as smooth. They were strangers to everyone else’s reality. Sam attempted to not appear too much the awed visitor though that was exactly how he felt.

Frightening as the city canals where, being dumped into the Hudson River managed to make even the hardened passengers look up from their computer displays. The small, playful street waves were replaced by their much larger, ferocious river brothers. In spite of the boat’s best efforts, it leaned hard to one side then the other, moving wildly through the water like a porpoise.
And this is just a normal passing storm?
Sam wondered how anyone braved the all-too-frequent hurricanes.

Buildings jutted out of the river as the taxi reached Jersey City. The boat dove below the waves. Rubble of broken structures littering the once-dry streets dominated Sam’s view of the outside. Piles of bricks and twisted steel girders, unnervingly close, threatened the bottoms of the crafts in front of them.

Their boat lurched hard to the left, aiming directly at the solid, reinforced-cement side of a passing building. Just when impact seemed imminent, the ship sprang up out of the water to the waiting dock.

Jess’s face had a distinctly green pallor as she grabbed Sam’s hand to exit the taxi. “We could make a fortune selling Yoshi’s weed for these crossings.”

As if they needed another fortune. But the comment elicited more than one snicker from the neighboring passengers.

The office building that had been turned into tenement housing and then artist lofts looked much like the one Ellie had shown them: lots of open spaces with walls covered in murals and paint splatters. They housed a great economic cross section of artists, but the way Ed kept checking around corners gave Sam the impression the building had a dark underbelly.

A door to a typical artist space stood open. Had it not been for the paintings and view out the windows, Sam would have had trouble telling it apart from Ellie’s friend’s place. Unlike her welcoming example, however, a string of profanities filled the room nearly as deeply as the dark canvases.

Jess double-checked the number on the door before making herself known. “Hello? We’re the couple who contacted you earlier today.”

The profanity stopped for a moment. “Yeah, come on in. Just fighting with this damn commission.”

Little about the ten-foot-long painting appealed to Sam. It was a view of Jersey City before the cleanup, still in its post-apocalyptic furor, with artists painting out the decay as if the economic makeover were nothing more than a glossy cover-up of the problem, happy faces slapped over the despair. But maybe Sam was projecting too many of his recent experiences onto the piece.

Jess spent a long time inspecting the work in progress. “Why are all the paintings coming out of Jersey City so foreboding? I thought this area was experiencing a rebirth.”

Best not to explain their hand in that transformation. The Tobes had to be doing double duty to keep their identity secret.

“Give people light, and they’ll seek the dark. When this place was nothing more than a place to score drugs, the wall art was brightly colored—not cheerful, but stories of hope combating anger, people bonding together even if only in gangs. People define their position in life against what lies on the other side. Things are better now, but it’s every man for himself.” Blues, grays, and reds dominated the artist’s palette. Sam suspected the colors mirrored the man’s emotions.

“So the foundation, the Tobes, and the lens—it’s all just a whitewash? Nothing ever changes?” Jess asked.

“Drivers of society’s pendulum. I was a garbage collector before I turned artist. All those things you mentioned changed my life. But we may have reached the apex of change. Morality, privacy, and the old desire for one group to dominate another are slowly beginning to push back. That girl being abducted and the stories about her superpowers? Life’s headed back to the gutter.” The man continued mixing his paints of anguish.