Visions of the Future (49 page)

Director, “That is not how it works Sir, the computer is not a physicist, I am.”

President, “I’m not sure what to believe.”

Omar Khalida had uploaded a version of his brain into a program that maximized intelligence, then had the maximized version downloaded into his own brain expecting to be a super genius, but a glitch in the computer program had left him a linear intellectual, deficient in tenderness, in empathy and in an ability to express love. Others exploited his intellectual potential, but avoided him socially as a cold autistic calculator. A being tormented by loneliness. Enter Kalliope. It so happened that Kalliope had uploaded similarly at the same time, but she had gone the other way. She became a warm hearted woman full of empathy and compassion, expressing love for all, but unable to balance that with appropriate intellectual problem solving. A soft touch, a vulnerable woman, people took advantage of her.

Why not have them meet and balance each other out?

There was, however, a problem, in that Kalliope was on planet Mars and Omar was on planet Earth, but it being the 23
rd
century, there was a solution. Rather than have them travel in person to meet each other, they were each to take a dose of programmed nanobots that would create within them functional representative holographic images ‘who’ would travel at the speed of light to meet each other. The two images would then enter into each other, becoming one, after which The One would divide into two mature images. Omar would accept a treated hologram into himself, and Kalliope would accept a treated hologram into herself.

Which is why Omar was on his way to Spa-E on Islandia’s famous Mount Mukti where he expected skilled facilitators would help, and Kalliope was on her way to Spa-M on planet Mars.

“You may now board. Your introduction is complete. Your pilot awaits you.”

Omar climbed aboard the sleek silver craft and soon he was comfortably ensconced as a passenger, his back pressing into the firm comfortable seat that adjusted to his spine and pelvis, as they took off into the thin air of the upper atmosphere, then beyond into space, the silver colored fuselage bright with reflected sunlight like that of a 21
st
century airplane, but there the resemblance ended, for this craft had instead of wings a pair of long fins, one on each side, no propeller and an unusually quiet engine. The flight was much smoother than that of any historic aircraft, and Omar knew that this ship had adjustable anti-gravity thrust derived from solar energy through a technology introduced in the year 2097. The same system used up excess carbon dioxide and methane, partially helpful in controlling the atmosphere, and also smart robots were designing ways for extracting useable energy from the risen sea and from the powerful electrical storms. Over the previous two and a half centuries the planet’s ecology had changed and only certain parts of Earth were inhabitable by humans.

In the 23
rd
century the world was one large ‘Global-United,’ divided into regions, with each region having a relative degree of self-governance. The hope that this would do away with acted out inimicality had been dashed. Quarrels arose between individuals and between groups, they expressed opposing beliefs, they blamed each other, they fought one another, and they killed. Some killed by poisoning their enemies with disease causing bacteria, but, fortunately, the bio-geneticists had designed neutralizing bacteria. Antibiotics were no longer in use. Some of what were once the world’s great nations had regressed into oblivion, others had risen from obscurity, so that the region previously known as India had become a world leader, known, however, by its ancient name of Bharat.

Omar, the only passenger, glanced to his left where sat the pilot, a female with clear skin, bright eyes and a merry playful expression on her face. She shook her head causing her black hair to fall down, some of it over her face. She laughed, she shook her hair back to where it had fallen from, and said, “My name is Alethea. I’m a robot. I’m smarter than humans, but there’s no need to be afraid. I know what humans fear the most, and that fear has consequences.”

“Oh, it’s not you or the robot police I’m afraid of,” said Omar, “although the police do seem to prowl around in our private lives, and many fear them. Maybe you can clarify: What is it that we humans fear the most?”

“Later, it’ll come. Your heart’s in the right place.”

Omar startled, looked at her sharply, and into her face, but she continued looking straight ahead.

“Hey,” he said, “according to scientific findings, fear is all biological, electro-chemical messages as if out of nowhere running through my inner organ systems throughout my body, bypassing my ability to think clearly, all my inner systems taken by storm.”

“Don’t try to distance me. It won’t work,” she said.

Alethea flashed her eyes around Omar’s face and he noticed tufts of gray scattered among the full head of dark hair and far from feeling intimidated, he felt encouraged, for the lady robot beside him touched him pleasantly. He did not feel her as intrusive. He also knew that Alethea was not subject to circadian rhythm, that this gave her an advantage over humans in that she worked the solar system’s information technology tirelessly.

Below the cruising craft was the wide arc of the planet’s horizon, no sign of its hills and valleys, although continental boundaries were visible. Alethea hit a control and the windshield filled with a carpet of dark green with irregular patches of light green in places, the whole landscape rising and falling rhythmically as the craft descended smoothly without delivering gravitational distress to its occupants. Visibility was excellent, the cabin comfortable, and the windshield wide and clear. It wasn’t really a windshield, it was a screen made to simulate one, and much more clear and accurate than any windshield ever was.

A round landing place emerged out of the rolling undulating green like a black Cyclopean eye, and, as Omar saw a river gently flowing, he imagined the sound of water pouring down slopes, around bends and trickling over smooth rocks, soothing it was to his linear mind, then the craft touched down, silent, soft and secure. The right side door opened, a series of steps dropped down and a gust of fresh mountain air brushed his face as he stepped outside and off the fifth and bottom step on to black onyx. A face stared back at him. It was his own reflection.

A tall, slim tawny-skinned man greeted him. The man spoke: “Welcome, Omar,” he said. “What do you desire within? What about your character style?”

“Are you always this abrupt with strangers? I thought you were going to help me? Are you a robot?”

“I am a robot. My name is Acastus. We encourage but we don’t manipulate.”

Omar paused at that, his head held slightly to the left. He knew that scientists had originally programmed robots to be subservient, but they had become autonomous, and Omar had doubts about their ability to love. Could they kindle passion in him? He himself could scrutinize those who loved, or who seemed to, but he felt unable to love deeply in his own life. The more he tried, the more elusive it became. Love was a mystery to him. His eyes met those of Acastus, who was staring intently at his face, then he remembered that robots had mastered the body language of mammals, and were well on their way to reading the minds of humans. Making a conscious effort to change his thinking, he glanced behind Acastus: Altitude 8000 feet. They were in the mountains.

“Where is Kalliope?” he asked.

Acastus smiled, nodded reassuringly, raised his right hand and said, “Kalliope is safe, residing at Spa-M in her home colony on Mars. Remember that gravity on Mars is much less than what you’re accustomed to, so don’t be surprised if Kalliope is taller and slimmer than you expect. Also, the Mars colony is protected while our robot engineers complete changes in the Mars atmosphere, capturing the sun’s energy, watering the dry red soil, and much more.”

“Kalliope was born in the Mars colony,” said Omar. “A Mars year is about twice as long as ours, its trajectory different. What does that do to her worldview? How old is she?”

“It’s best if you don’t get personal with her at this time.”

“Why not?”

“Rest assured she’s well meaning, she is compassionate, she wants what’s best for you, she doesn’t know you personally, and her love is genuine, but…”

“But what, Acastus?”

“It’s about love, you’ll learn, but don’t worry, your time will come.” He laughed merrily.

“Why are you laughing, Acastus?”

“I’m laughing because here I am, a robot, talking glibly about time to an earthling. What does time mean to you?”

“Acastus, I long for love, but, as for passion, what’s that? Trying hard doesn’t work, I get discouraged.”

“Omar, what would make you complete?”

“I would be complete if I could love unconditionally.”

“It’s in you, Omar, but for it to manifest you must with open heart surrender something you cling to most tenaciously.”

“What is that?”

“Omar, your destiny unfolds in the Drama of Life,” said Acastus, laughing and slapping his right thigh. “Your scientists didn’t really create us, but we let you Earth people imagine that you did, and boy, were you eager to oblige! However, many scientists now suspect the truth. Anyway, when you were artificially accelerated infants, you felt helpless, alienated, and you felt judged as if you were in a competition, and maybe you were. Some of you tried to survive and find peace of mind by working it both ways.”

“I’m ready for whatever it takes, Acastus.

“You may still be in competition, not a winning strategy, and not everybody is, but possibly a necessary one in your case at this time.”

“What if I’m a devious, duplicitous person?”

“A devious, duplicitous person in an old drama gets what he or she wants by operating in a way that will preserve integrity. It’s an internalized drama, a shadow of the Drama of Life. I’m not saying it’s your style; a robot can tell.”

“Is it that simple?”

“No, Omar, it isn’t, many people seem to operate openly, or honestly, or obediently, or with combinations of that, but all humans are together in the Drama of Life, and dilemma is ubiquitous, including in the Mars colony.”

“What is this Drama of Life?”

“Maybe it’ll come to you, maybe not, but for now, I do have one question: Have you ever visited the Inland Dune Desert?”

“Yes, once, several years ago.”

“What if you were to go today? Would anything look different?”

“Of course, I’d expect the sand dunes to look different. As the wind blows the sand, the dunes change.”

“Ditto the human mind.”

“Mom wanted me to be a practitioner in biology, genetics, and physiology; doctors, they used to be called. She never let me forget that she had me programed. Imagine the control. What do you think that did to me?”

Acastus smiled and said, “Keep talking, Omar.”

“Mom was fascinated by 20
th
century scenarios that she produced as entertainment in interactive three dimensional holography. She was good at it. She’d produce scenarios that included a representation of me. She’d create a scenario in which she’d be dragging me by the hand, sending me off on to some school bus, with an image of herself strolling down some 20
th
century driveway in her bedroom slippers, dressing gown flopping around her bare legs, curlers in her hair, cigarette in her mouth, coughing in the morning air. What a sight for sore eyes! While on the street next to the driveway, a bus full of 12 year old kids peeing in their pants laughing at me.”

“What did she do with the productions?”

“She distributed them to the public. Got reward tokens and recognition for entertaining the public. I wished she would die, but not her, she’s still alive, she’s into life extension, organ regeneration. I did get my own back on her, however, in that I never became a practitioner.”

“What if your mom hadn’t done all that? What would your life drama be? Would you be a satisfied salaried man in some science project? Would you be here in The Spa?”

Omar fell silent, he tried to contemplate, he tried to remember all his own deliberate actions, his accidents, his interactions with others, in his linear way stringing memories one after the other, but, coming to no conclusion, he gave up.

“Acastus, I’m unlovable.”

“Look at what Mom did to you,” said Acastus, he paused just long enough for effect, then he said. “Or, imagine what Mom did for you, Omar, yes, for you, but remember, each life is different. Do you understand? I’ll know later whether you understand.”

“That’s a tall order,” Omar said, a note of irritation in his voice.

“No, not with advanced 23
rd
century holography in virtual reality mode,” said Acastus. “The technology is new even for us, and you’ll take part by reenacting your character style in time lapse mode. It’ll be like what you call real life. You’ll laugh at the comedy, yes, you’ll find it entertaining. Well, that’s enough for now, here’s your room, Omar, go ahead and rest.”

Omar hesitated, indicating that there was something else on his mind, and he said: “Maybe I’m from a distant galaxy, Acastus. That’s why people think I’m weird, but of course I came the old fashioned way.”

“Are you still trying to avoid looking at your drama?”

Omar reviewed a day dream in which he’d exit from a womb, but it would be that of a well-chosen woman and of course there would be a father. There were still some people who practiced marriage and procreation. They lived in a remote colony in a small part of the southern hemisphere, a region abandoned by the technologically advanced people. In that colony he’d find a smart woman of substance, and a husband who never would suspect that he, Omar, had injected himself into the proceedings somewhere along the way. Superior technology would give him the means, and he’d be a member of a family that… “It gets confusing,” he said. “It’s just a childish fairy tale; it’s time I let go of it.”