The Soul Continuum (21 page)

It starts with the faint crackle of electricity as a charge runs through the walls of the sphere. Directly ahead, the black depths smudge as a patch splinters out in the pattern of a gigantic snowflake. Multiple patches follow suit all around as if a glittering shower of diamonds rains down on the sphere. They shine bright for a fraction of a second, then fade back into the darkness, and it looks like I am at the center of a vast orb in which the surface is a black lake with brilliant sunlight twinkling off the rippling water. The imaging system is coming to life.

The cobweb wisps of nebulae—pink and turquoise—shimmer into view, and a freckling of blue stars skirts the edges. New suns are being born, and primordial elements are being created in the furnace of the heavens. It's always an exhilarating sight, but Qod zooms out so that the cosmos looks more like a fuzzy splotch of light. It reminds me of the distance the Soul Consortium traveled. We are so far from the matter and energy that gives everything substance that it is difficult to appreciate just how massive it all is.

But then another light comes into view to my right. An insignificant white speck.

“Qod. What is that?”

“It's what I wanted to show you.”

“Nothing should be out here. We're far, far beyond the boundaries of the known universe. Nothing escaped the collapse of the universe except the Soul Consortium.”

“Let me zoom closer. Everything will become clear.”

The focus shifts from the boiling gases that are becoming the new universe to the white spot of light. Qod enhances and enlarges it, gradually, so that the shapes within the light become more distinct. It looks remarkably like a molecule. Orbs of light jostle around each other, all different sizes, all performing a complex repetitive dance as if there is a troupe of jugglers at the center throwing balls into the air at different speeds and directions. Miraculously, none of them collide with each other, and as the image becomes more clearly defined and draws closer still, I can make out silvery streams of liquid energy connecting them. The surfaces of each orb (the ones that are slow enough for me to watch) are latticed, glistening wet with the energy, perfect in symmetry, and I am in awe of their design. I have seen that level of precision in engineering and design rivaled only by one glorious project before . . .

“Qod! That's . . . that's . . .”

Knowing I cannot bring myself to finish, she finishes my sentence for me. “The Soul Consortium.”

“But it can't be the Soul Consortium.
This
is the Soul Consortium . . . isn't it?”

“Yes,” she says. “This
is
the Soul Consortium. But then, so is that.”

“More than one was built?”

“Yes and no.”

“Again? You're answering me with riddles
again
?”

“They aren't exactly riddles,” Qod says, trying to placate me with a smoother tone. “It's just that I . . .”

I wait, but she holds back.

“It's just that you . . .”

I swivel my hand around in a gesture meant to encourage her to speak. “What?” I shake my head. “Are you going to tell me?”

“It is difficult for me.”

“Seriously? Exactly how long have we known each other, Qod?”

“That is why it is so difficult. I deceived you, Salem. I had to.”

I don't know if she can see my eyes narrowing on the other Soul Consortium, but she must be picking up on
my discomfort. She knows my mind. She can detect subtle changes in hormone levels and any increase in my heart rate.

“You lied to me?” I say. “What about? Why?”

“It wasn't just you I lied to,” Qod confesses. “I had to deceive generations and generations of the people living here, before they chose to die. There are some laws, Salem, that contradict others, and sometimes I have to make difficult choices to cover them as best I can. That is why you didn't know about the others. I . . . tampered with your higher reasoning.”

“Wait . . . others? What others?”

“The other Salem Bens.”

I turn to ice. There is another version of the Soul Consortium heading toward us. Could there really be another me living there? Of course there could! The revelation floods in as if Qod has exploded the walls of a dam. The cosmos is a repeating cycle. If the Soul Consortium escaped a cycle, free to observe the next, what about the Soul Consortium created in that new cycle? That too would have escaped in just the same way. With each cycle a new Soul Consortium, and within each Soul Consortium an exact same community following the exact same routine as its predecessor. Another Salem Ben is coming to seek me out.

“Is there more than one of you?” I ask Qod.

“No,” she says. “I am quantum. I live within each and every atom. I am omnipresent, so every time I am created anew, I simply converge with my predecessor. The trouble is, I reboot on each occasion, so I never learn anything from the previous cycle.”

“So why did you keep all of this a secret?”

“To follow the same principles set out in the Constellational Charter when genoplants were introduced and mass produced to facilitate immortality. You know as well as I it has always been a fundamental law to ensure that no human being can have a living clone with the same brain mapping as its source. Clones are strictly used as replacements for death, not as additional versions of the same person. You remember what happened to the Shek System Deviants? The ones who decided to challenge that law when it was first passed?”

The name is familiar. I pinch the bridge of my nose, deliberately looking away from the image of the Soul Consortium as it takes up more of the view. If there is another Salem Ben there, would he be thinking the same as me? That he is the real Salem Ben? We are neither of us imposters. Then I recall the story of the Shek System Deviants. Hideous bloodshed resulted from the chaos of people creating replicated versions of themselves using modified genoplants. It started off well enough, but eventually the population began to experience similar symptoms to the victims of the Chaos Wars when there was free reign to study the Great AI Reductionist Codex. The Codex was a complex mathematical model generated by the Great AI that enabled people to exactly predict the future. It took a very long time to stop those wars, and similarly, the Shek Deviants, knowing their cloned selves intimately, had similar issues. Each clone felt he or she had the greatest rights of ownership, legal priority, and self-determination. They could not share. I never could fathom why they were not able to work through these differences, but now I am beginning to understand. Who was the first? Did I come first? Or is the Salem Ben heading my way the senior? Already it raises a strange kind of resentment within me. To admit that I may be the newest version somehow makes me feel a sense of inferiority, and I am not looking forward to meeting my alter ego.

“Yes, I remember,” I tell her.

“Then you understand.”

“I suppose so, but what about all the other truths you've kept from me? Are you going to tell me about those too? Are you going to tell me why they are such big secrets?”

“Other truths?

“Yes. Don't feign ignorance, Qod. You know exactly what I'm talking about. How about the universe, to start with? That new beginning outside”—I gesture toward the wispy energy fields coagulating slowly into stars—“all of that. For as long as I can remember, that was the big bang described in far ancient mythology, but it isn't, is it? It's a cataclysmic explosion, I'll grant you that, but it's just one of an infinite amount that exist simultaneously, all of them repeating their own cycles. And this . . . this
space
we exist in isn't really a void at all, is it? There are particles and wave formations so small and different that they don't interact with even the most fundamental quantum structures we know about. I'll wager that's where the power comes from to keep the Soul Consortium going, too. Am I right?”

“Salem—”

“It's not the ignorance that bothers me, Qod. It's the deceit. Why would you keep those things from us? What possible threat do facts like that present? How much else don't I know? In all the ages of time that have passed me by, how many other things have you kept from me?”

I have so many more questions, and I am furious. Less with Qod than with the uncomfortable knowledge that I am not in control of my own mind. I know she would only ever have my best interests at heart. She waits a few more moments before answering, probably to give me the chance to simmer down.

“You have to understand,” she says eventually in earnest, “you have to
know
, that everything I do—everything—is for you. It is all for you.”

I am not sure how to respond. It's nothing I don't know, but hearing her say it, hearing this . . . consciousness share such intimate feelings with me is unnerving. In all the time I have known her, she has never been so explicit about her feelings, and it makes me think there are terrible revelations to come that could shake my opinion of her. But that would never happen, would it? We go back too far. But perhaps . . .

“There is a transmission coming from the other Soul Consortium,” Qod says.

I don't know if I am ready for this. I have not spoken to another human being—at least, not a real one—for longer than I can remember. I keep swallowing as the gyrating nest of orbs and electrical streams drifts closer, staring at it wide-eyed and sweating, as if the person in it is about to expose all the evil things I have kept hidden in my soul for a trillion years. I know I am overreacting, perhaps even paranoid that
this identical twin heading my way will, in some unimagined
way, destroy the equilibrium of my life.

“He only wants to say hello,” Qod says. “There's no need to feel so nervous.”

I suddenly realize I am holding my breath, and I release it quickly as an anxious laugh. I hate that I feel this way. “Back to your usual flippancy, I see.”

“Do I really need to justify that?”

She knows she doesn't, because she knows that I know her tactics by now. There's a human part of her artificial psyche that reverts to sarcastic humor to diffuse my nerves when I am afraid. Why should I be so afraid of meeting myself? Is it shame at what I have become? Is it the fear of competition? Until now, I have only ever needed to think of myself. How should I greet me?

“Are you going to answer you?” Qod asks.

“Yes, yes.” My reply sounds impatient. Irritated. “Is it audio or—”

There is a crackle of energy behind me and my irritation escalates as I realize Qod has allowed him on board. I swivel around in my chair, inclining my head and instinctively placing my palms on the rests like an emperor on his throne ready to receive a lowly subject. I grip a little too hard as the other version of me appears across the Observation Sphere. All feelings of anger evaporate at the sight of him, and instead, my mind is clouded by surprise. He is below me, standing on a levitating flat disc with a golden nimbus shining behind him, so that his visage is a dark oval. I can make out the charcoal robes. The same as the ones I am wearing now. The same ones I always wear. His head is bowed in submission, his hands laced as if in prayer and level with his knees so that his back is slightly stooped. This man, this alternate version of myself, has come under a cloak of complete humility. A better man than myself. Could this really be me? I open my mouth to speak, but he speaks first.

His tone is calm. Each word slow, almost mournful. “Yes,” he says, “I am you. Alike in so many ways.” The golden light moves slowly forward and upward so that I can see his face clearly now. “And unalike in so many more.”

I cannot help but be shocked. The face has my features, no doubt. The noble lines and prominent cheekbones are precisely the same, the subtle bronzed skin tone identical, but the eyes are so different. It isn't just the black corneal implants spiderwebbing across them; it is the burning intensity there. Despite his calm and measured performance, this is a man with fierce intentions and steadfast resolve. It oozes from him like a pheromone. He has shaved his head. The lengthy brown hair that I have had for so long is gone. It is an obvious difference that should seem insignificant, but I am certain that it is a deliberate sign meant for me. It is not a matter of principle, taste, or vanity, I just simply would not think to remove my hair. This must be an exhibition of difference. But if he is me, why would he be different? We are the same person following an identical path in the same environments. The AI Reductionist Codex principles have demonstrated that events are exactly replicated and predictable for every cycle of the universe. So why . . .

“. . . am I different?” the other Salem says.

His words have me stunned, perplexed. He presented himself initially as subordinate to my version, yet now I am thrown by his anticipation of my thoughts. He wants me to know that he understands me completely. Or he intends to throw me off guard.

“I have met thousands of you,” he says, edging slowly closer, drifting up to my level. “All the same. All thinking the same thing. All filled with the same sense of inadequacy and fear. All of you regretful of the person you
think
you are becoming.”

I don't answer. His words are not accusing. They are understanding, almost gentle.

He glides closer still, so that we are now only five strides apart, and offers a sympathetic smile. “Which one are you?”

“Which one?”

“Yes. How many cycles have you seen?”

“This is the third cycle.”

“The third?” He looks up, surprised, then directs his gaze up farther, past me, as if I no longer matter. “Qod,” he says, irritated, “this one was closest to the event. Why didn't you tell me?”

“I thought it might put you off,” she says.

Salem shakes his head and meets my eye again. “Is she like this with you?” He doesn't give me the opportunity to answer. “Are you like this with him?”