Mr g (7 page)

After my humbling conversation with Aunt Penelope, I decided to attend again to Aalam-104729. Since my last visit, a number of fascinating changes had occurred. As a result of the nuclear reactions in the first generation of stars, the most abundant elements in the universe were hydrogen, helium, oxygen, and carbon, so I expected many molecules to have formed from these elements. And I was right. Water, consisting of two atoms of hydrogen bound to one atom of oxygen, was plentiful in at least one planet in every dozen solar systems—covering its surface in liquid oceans and floating above in gaseous vapors. Another common molecule in planetary atmospheres was methane, comprised of one atom of carbon bound to four atoms of hydrogen. And carbon dioxide. And ammonia. Sunlight filtered through these atmospheric gases in a lovely way, causing the air on certain planets to glow in crimson, turquoise, and cadmium yellow.

Other phenomena were less expected. The atmospheres of a great many planets were repeatedly cracked by jagged bolts of electricity. These spectacular discharges of electricity slammed energy into the primordial atmospheres and formed complex new molecules: sugars and carbohydrates and fats; amino acids and nucleotides.

Among all the atoms, carbon was supreme at bonding with other atoms. It had four electrons available for pairing, the maximum number for the smaller atoms. As a result, carbon atoms could link together and gather up hundreds of atoms of oxygen, hydrogen, and other elements in long, gangly chains. Or, instead, form hexagonal rings and other elaborate structures. Nitrogen, able to share three electrons with other atoms, was also excellent at bonding. Other elements had different bonding abilities, leading to many patterns. Atoms in molecules formed linear chains, planar triads, tetrahedrons, octahedrons—some folding upon themselves in the most marvelous ways. All of which was caused by the particular electrical attractions and repulsions between atoms, arising, in turn, from the precise orbits of their electrons. These orbits, finally, were rigidly prescribed by the laws of the quantum.

As with the planets and stars, I had nothing to do with the manufacture of these molecules. They formed by themselves, irresistibly following the creation of matter and the small number of principles with which the universe began. Cause and effect, cause and effect. I was a mere spectator. But I would watch over the progression of events, as Aunt P had suggested, and intervene if things began going awry.

As soon as large molecules were formed in the planetary atmospheres, they plummeted down through the air and sank into the oceans. And dissolved. Just as carbon is the atom most suitable for forming complex molecules, water is the superior liquid for dissolving other molecules. Owing to the positions of its electrons, water molecules can gently pull apart other molecules, attach themselves by electrical attraction, and escort the guest molecules as they swim about.

In time, the oceans of quite a few planets became a thick hodgepodge of carbon and nitrogen-based molecules, water, and fragments of other molecules. These bits and pieces proceeded to collide with one another at great frequency as they moved and jostled about in the warm seas. Even on a single planet, there were trillions upon trillions of such molecular collisions every tick of the hydrogen clock. With so many encounters, all kinds of new things occurred. New molecules were created. Some molecules stuck together to form bigger molecules. Some rearranged or tore off pieces of each other. Some extracted energy from other molecules by plucking off their electrons. Various architectural structures formed, such as spherical cavities or solid ellipsoids, held together for a few moments, and then came apart. It was trial and error, trial and error, trial and error. It was trillions of scientific experiments performed every atomic tick. I could hardly wait to see what would happen.

One of the molecules, a long chain of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, phosphorous, and nitrogen atoms, had the ability to replicate itself. At each section of the chain, the electrical attractions were just right to snatch a matching section from the jumble of raw material floating around it and duplicate itself. This master molecule could do more than replicate. It also served as an intermediary in assembling other molecules. In action, the molecule seemed almost purposeful, yet it was dumb lifeless matter, like the rest.

Then a curious thing happened. Quite by accident, in the quadrillions of new structures that formed every tick, one of the self-replicating molecules found itself lodged within a closed cavity of other molecules. The wall of this cavity, only a couple of molecules thick, encircled its own little world. And how small it was, trillions of times smaller than a planet. Yet this tiny cellular world had a certain wholeness, an outside and an inside. Outside was the thick ocean, full of sugar and carbohydrates and amino acids. Inside was one of the replicating molecules and other carbon and nitrogen-based molecules that had come along by chance. The cellular wall allowed some molecules from the outside to enter. Others were refused. However, even such cells could not sustain themselves if they did not have a source of energy. Energy was critical. In the Void, Uncle Deva, Aunt Penelope, and I had an infinite supply of energy. But here, in Aalam-104729, energy was a limited commodity. There was only so much and not more, and one had to find energy as best one could to maintain and survive.

It was only a matter of time before some of the cells had, again quite by accident, amassed all of the ingredients to preserve themselves indefinitely: the ability to procure energy by disassembling sugars, which harbored a great deal of electrical energy in the repulsive force between their electrons; the ability to reinforce themselves with supplies through a selective cellular wall; and the ability to reproduce themselves by enclosing a replicating molecule. Such cells formed in the oceans of many planets. They thrived on the rich sugars and other molecules floating in the warm seas around them. They exchanged materials with the outside world. They grew. Then they replicated their insides, split apart, and doubled their numbers.

Were such things alive? It depends on what one means by life. They were organized. They responded to their environment. Unlike mountains and oceans, they could grow and reproduce themselves. But in other, more essential ways, they were just dumb material. All of their wonderful mechanisms happened without any thought. In fact, there was nothing resembling thought within the sparse and limited protoplasm of their bodies. They could not communicate. They could not originate ideas. They could not make decisions. They certainly had no self-awareness. What few electrical impulses surged within them served solely to maintain and preserve themselves, and even these occurred quite automatically, like a standing rock that falls and topples another nearby rock, which falls and topples another rock, which falls and topples another, and so on. No matter how many rocks you have in such a progression, would you say that the thing has any thinking capacity? Certainly not. The rocks are just dumbly obeying the laws of gravity. So, while I was amused by these self-replicating cells, I would not say they were alive in any meaningful sense of the word. I would call them fancy inanimate matter. That’s what I would call them—fancy inanimate matter. And I was in no hurry to make animate matter.

I went back to the Void and gave a full report to Aunt Penelope. By this time, she had made up with Uncle Deva and was even allowing him to brush her hair. I found the two of them together, she sitting contentedly in her chair and he standing behind her. Now you’ve got it right, she said. Just there, just like that. There. That’s it. That’s it. Now you’ve got it right.

I was wondering when you would return, said Aunt P when she looked up and saw me. I should check up on the thing now and then if I were you. All is going well, I replied. Do not get smug, Nephew, she said, and threw a look at Uncle, as if challenging him to take issue with her sharp comment to me. But he said nothing and continued to brush her hair in long, rhythmic strokes.

It was a while before my next visit to Aalam-104729. To be exact, it was 2.5 x 10
³²
atomic ticks, but I wasn’t watching the time. I had been loosely following events in the new universe, but only loosely. Now that I gave it my full attention again, I was astonished at what I discovered. The fancy inanimate cells had continued to evolve, constantly buffeted and altered as they were by the molecules floating around them. Apparently, a large number of additional molecular possibilities had been explored, again all by mindless chance. Some of the cells had manufactured molecules that could directly use sunlight for energy, converting water and carbon dioxide to sugars. The by-products of these new chemical reactions included oxygen gas, which bubbled out of the water and into the atmosphere. Oxygen, in gaseous form, is caustic. It burns. It corrodes. It snatches electrons from other atoms and destroys them. A great many of the light-utilizing cells were annihilated by their own productions. But some had oxygen-resistant skins and had even evolved into new cells that could use oxygen to extract energy from sugars and fats.

On some planets, the new oxygen-utilizing cells had banded together to form larger and more complex organisms. These larger things, made of millions and billions of cells, continued to change as the single cells had done. As new molecular possibilities occurred, always by trial and error, the cells in these composite organisms did not all evolve in the same way. Some of the cells took on specialized functions, such as processing waste material or circulating the needed oxygen or providing mechanical means for the organism to move more easily about. Some of the cells even evolved to coordinate and control the activities of the other specialized cells.

All this had happened in my absence! Mindlessly following the rules of chance and necessity, the warm seas of the planets were churning out highly organized and efficient multicellular organisms. I felt a slight embarrassment that so much could proceed without any direction by me.

At this point, I was hesitant to call these things entirely inanimate. And I could see the rudiments of brains. Not brains with ideas, but conglomerations of cells that were clearly coordinating other cells. Undoubtedly, these specialized conglomerations would become more and more complex as the organism became more complex. The coordinating and control cells would send more electrical signals to one another. They would develop feedback loops. They would have a sensation of changing in response to stimuli. At times, they might exchange signals between themselves with no survival value but simply as a statement of shared existence. I could see the trend. Eventually, the things would have some kind of recognition that they were independent entities, separate from the external world. They would perceive themselves from outside of themselves. In short, they would become
aware of themselves
. And then they would
think
. It was only a matter of time.

How mistaken I had been. To believe that I could purposefully decide whether to create animate matter or not. As was now apparent to me, animate matter was an inevitable consequence of a universe with matter and energy and a few initial parameters of the proper sort. If I wanted, I could destroy life. But I was only a spectator in its creation.

I was surprised. I was moved. I was concerned. What was this thing that had been set into motion? First there was time. Then space and energy. Then matter. And now the possibility of life, of other minds. What would the new minds think? What would they grasp? Hadn’t I wanted this? Yes, I had wanted it. But also, I had not wanted it. Certainly I wasn’t prepared. I could feel the weight of the future, heavy, bristling with possibilities. But I could not see the future. The future was a dim, throbbing thing, an invisible galaxy. Was it out of control,
my
control?

On occasion, I go into meditative states that last an indefinite period of time. Before the first atomic clocks, these states were truly of incalculable duration. Aunt Penelope might tell me, after I had emerged from one of my meditations, that I had been gone a very long time, that she and Uncle had completed many sleepings and wakings while I was absent, that the music had practically ceased in the Void, and so forth. But to me, no time had passed. Or rather, no events had passed worth my attention. Even with the invention of devices to measure time, I still supported the view that time had meaning only in its relation to events. If no events occurred, or events of no significance, then one could say with some justification that no time had elapsed. At any rate, that was how I felt after each of my meditations in past eons. Indeed, the purpose of such meditations, for me, was to free myself from events, to bring my mind back to itself, to transform myself and my thoughts into a state of pure, instantaneous being. Certainly that was easily attained in the Void. In the emptiness of the Void, events never happened except for the occasional excursion by Uncle Deva or Aunt Penelope—and, with due respect to my uncle and aunt, those events could hardly be called significant.

Now, however, things had changed. With so many happenings in the new universe—indeed the new universe was a shouting match of events, one on top of the other—there was never a moment free of significant events. Even in the Void, that most perfect and absolute condition of nothingness, one was always aware that events were racing forward pell-mell in that small but ever-increasing sphere. No matter what one was doing in the Void, no matter where one was in the Void, one could
feel
the crowd of new developments in Aalam-104729. One could feel the present rushing headlong into the future, even though that future was faint and fraught with uncertainties. The trillions of other universes flying about, throbbing with potentialities, seemed as nothing compared to the explosions taking place in Aalam-104729. No longer could I meditate in complete stillness.

Thus it was that I had removed myself from existence, while at the same time being aware of the clamorings within the new universe, when Belhor and Baphomet appeared again. Belhor looked as he had on the previous visit, a tall and thin figure, dignified and dark. Baphomet, still squat and ugly with his interminable smirk, seemed to have developed a swagger. And now there were two Baphomets. Standing behind the original was a second, smaller Baphomet, who cowered in the most pathetic way and constantly bowed to everything in sight.

“I hope I am not disturbing you,” Belhor said to me.

“We hope we are not disturbing you,” said the larger Baphomet. “We would never ever want to disturb such an eminence as yourself. Not ever.”

“No, we would not,” said the smaller Baphomet. At which point the larger Baphomet jerked around and kicked the smaller beast, who let out a pitiful yelp. “Quiet,” said Baphomet the Larger. “I will tell you when you can speak.” “Yes, master,” said the smaller Baphomet. The larger Baphomet did a backwards somersault and grinned.

Of course they were disturbing me. I was triply disturbed. But I believe in some consideration to others, regardless of their actions, so I merely replied, “What do you want?”

“We have much to discuss,” said Belhor. “Many things have happened since we last met. Interesting things, I would say. It seems that primitive life has arrived in our little universe. Inevitably, the primitive life will evolve and become more … shall we say, complicated. Self-awareness will come next. And intelligence. It is only a matter of the passage of time. Would you agree?”

“Yes,” I said. “Unless I intervene. You are well informed.”

“I make it my business to be informed,” said Belhor.

“Oh, my master very definitely makes it his business to be informed,” said Baphomet the Larger. “My master knows everything about everything. Isn’t it grand.” Belhor gave Baphomet the Larger a fierce look, at which point Baphomet turned and kicked Baphomet the Smaller.

“My request,” Belhor said to me, “is simply that you
not
intervene. Allow these primitive creatures to evolve and develop self-awareness and intelligence.”

“I will consider your request,” I said.

“With intelligence,” said Belhor, “the new creatures will at least have the
impression
of making decisions on their own. Of course, whether they know it or not,
we
know that they will be following the same laws and rules as inanimate matter, the laws and rules that you have laid down. Their behaviors and actions will still be fully prescribed in advance, aside from the slight modifications arising from your quantum concoction. But the creatures will have the impression of freedom of choice. We can let them have that impression, can we not? What harm would there be?”

“Do not play games with me,” I said.

“I would never play games with you,” said Belhor. “I do not play games with anyone, and especially not with you. I am not asking that you do something. What I am asking is that you
not
do something, that you not intervene, that you let matters follow their own course.”

“Yes,” I said, “I understand what you are asking. I will consider it. There are pros and cons to the development of intelligent life in the universe, and they must be carefully considered. At the moment, I do not see any harm, as you say, in allowing the new animate life-forms to have the impression of making independent decisions on their own.”

“Good,” Belhor said. Slowly, he moved to where Aalam-104729 lay on its side and picked it up. The universe made a small, moaning sound. “It is so precious,” said Belhor, “with so many possibilities. Indeed with an infinite number of possibilities. If I may, do you remember our previous conversation, in which we agreed that with a sufficiently large number of outcomes, it would be impossible to imagine everything that might transpire in the future? Do you remember that conversation?”

“Yes, I remember it. I do not forget anything.”

“No, of course not,” said Belhor. “I just wanted to make reference to that conversation. Please, with your permission, let me continue. I want to discuss a matter of principle with you. We have recognized that our intelligent creatures will have the impression of making their own decisions, while at the same time being totally subject to your rules and laws. But the question now is: Will you have
foreknowledge
of their decisions and actions, even if their atoms and molecules are following all of the rules that you have laid down? And even if you could in principle have foreknowledge, would you be willing to relinquish that foreknowledge in some cases? Please hear me out. Many of these creatures will have brains. There are an extremely large number of possible arrangements even for a small brain. Consider a typical atom, like carbon. Say, for example, that it has 20 possible configurations. There might be 10
¹⁴
atoms in a single one of your new cells, so that there are then 20
^10
14
different possible configurations of a single cell. In one rather modest brain, with 10
¹²
cells, there would then be 20
^10
26
possible configurations. That number is enormously larger than the total number of atoms in a galaxy. As you can see, there is a staggering number of different configurations in even one modest brain, all of which may have an impact on a decision being made by that brain.”

“What of it?” I said. “I can do that calculation.” The more I knew of Belhor, the more impressed I was with him. And concerned.

“Of course you can do the calculations,” said Belhor. “To be frank, it is a pleasure for me to converse with someone of your intelligence. And I hope the same for you. Of course you can do the calculations. But why would you want to? At each moment, there is such a huge number of possible configurations for a single modest brain. Now consider that there will be billions of brains on each planet, and billions upon billions of planets. Why would you want to keep track of all of those brains, all of those tedious calculations, all of those possibilities? And remember that the displacement of a single atom in any of those brains might change the outcome of a long sequence of events, ending in a different decision or action.”

“You are clever,” I said. “But I do not understand what you are getting at.”

“I believe that you do,” said Belhor. He was looking at me intently now. Even face on, he was thin, so very thin, like the sharp edge of something. “I am saying that, just as you should not intervene in the development of intelligent minds in our new universe, I request that you should not attempt to predict the behavior of those minds. Let them make decisions and take action without your foreknowledge. The creatures are hardly worth troubling yourself about. They will still follow your rules and laws. But there are so many possibilities. Let the creatures act without your foreknowledge. They will have the sensation of making their own decisions … in fact, more than the sensation. But they will still be following your rules. Again, I am not asking you to do something. I am asking you not to do something.”

“If these hypothetical beings—and I have still not decided whether I will allow them to exist—if these hypothetical beings make decisions without my foreknowledge, then they will not be within my control.”

Belhor said nothing. He continued looking at me.

“Oh, I think the Big Guy is worried,” said Baphomet the Larger. “You know, I never thought the Big Guy worried about anything. My master has got Him worried.”

“Their atoms and molecules will still be following your rules,” Belhor said to me.

“Yes,” I said, “but with the large number of possible configurations, as you have pointed out, small disturbances could change outcomes. It will require some effort to predict all outcomes in advance.”

“Precisely,” said Belhor. “Do you insist upon having complete control of everything you have created? We have discussed this matter before.”

“I must consider all of this,” I said. In my own mind, I was thinking that Belhor was quite right, although I would not give him the satisfaction of immediately approving his request. I did not really want to calculate the zillions of possible configurations involved with each decision of each intelligent creature on each planet.

“Then you will consider it?” said Belhor.

“Yes, I will consider it.”

“Good,” said Belhor, and he smiled in that unsettling way that he had once before. “Now, I am interested again.”

“We are all interested,” said Baphomet the Larger. “Very interested.”

Belhor bowed. “I have enjoyed our conversation immensely. All of us here in these regions have responsibilities towards the new things you’ve made. To life. To life.”