Traveller's Notes
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Traveller's Notes |
The next day we tourists settled down to watch the Mating Day activities. Several low tables were set out under wide umbrellas to keep off the frequent rain; we sat on the dry earth beneath, and ate fruit, barbecued meat, and spliced meat-fruit salad. All around us we could see the neobonobos spiralling through the trees, chasing each other like a game of tag.
Some trees in this rainforest stretched as far as the green
photosynthetic worldhouse roof, five kilometres above; there were
many layers of canopy beneath the veined sky, and most of them were
covered in chimps.
It was difficult to see what was going on, to be honest; using the
highest magnification my eyes were capable of I could watch one
particular individual, as he chased another neobonobo; they embraced
for a few seconds; fell in slow motion tumbling comically; was
chased himself, embraced again with a different partner; the whole
ceremony seemed very different to any kind of human sexual
behaviour, and I was getting a little bored watching it.
At the next table squatted the Greater Neochimp diplomat from the nearby world of Digit; I already knew his name, which was Respected Hoogh-Ahh-Lehh. He was dressed in a crisp white suit and a pale grey hat; he watched the chase with a tiny golden telescope on the end of his walking stick. Lowering his stick, he grimaced- I recognised his facial expression as unhappy/disgusted, although confusingly it looked like a human smile.
"I do not care to see such vulgarities," he said across the tables to me.
That must be why you have the telescope, I thought, but said nothing, attempting a cross-species friendly face.
He continued, "This nonsense cannot be interesting to you humans; why do you not come to our own world and I will show you real civilised chimpanzee behaviour."
Somehow I doubted that the chimps of Digit could be any more gracious than the good-humoured peoples of Bolobo; but it has always been difficult for any nonchimp to gain entry to any Greater Neochimp world, so I replied, "If that is an invitation-"
"It is!" Respected Hoogh-Ahh-Lehh interposed.
"Then I am grateful, and I accept." It is good to network whenever an opportunity arises, naturally.
Well, it was a bit of a hassle, but I'm finally here
In the end I took Morky (my Companion)'s advice and went for the Corona-Medius-Brannon-Yzak-12w078a-Cybus-Kentaurus route - even though 12w078a was only a 2 meter gauge (talk about claustrophobic! I was sure at one point I felt the tidal forces, i dont care what the capsule mind said about that being "impossible"). And some of the neumann clades at the Cybus interchange were freaky to the max (though not as freaky as their hu wannabes!). But it allowed me to avoid the tolls at Gramon, and with the horror stories i'd heard about the red tape the Medius-Juzan 74510 worm insists on (there's been cases of people having to go into nanostasis rather than die from boredom on that sparse little station waiting for their visa to come through) I thought i'd take the risk, even it did mean the extra cost of a hi res backup and storage before departing (can never be too careful)
Those who consider the Nauri (Nur? Nurri? no one is sure of the correct pronounciation) to be these ahuman plunderers who cheated hu of their original interstellar colony would be disappointed. Those neumanns I have met in person (which addmittedly are about as many as one can count on the fingers of a baseline hand) have been friendly and gracious, in fact among the charming of clades, even if their idea of a nearbaseline-friendly morph leaves a lot to be desired. A skittling metal spider with accompanying wasp-like insectoid areostat swarm and a great bloated oily utility fog forming a grotesque mask of a face in which all the baseline expresisons are almost, but *not quite* right - I shudder to think of what their normal appearance is like! (Morky is offering to show me some 3Ds - no Morky - that was a rhetorical question only. Where was I, oh yes). After weeks on intersystem and inter-wormhole shuttles and grapeships, and cramped hotel living units, accomodation is luxuriantly spatious. Or was when these biont habs were originally built, which the data interface here tells me was during the "Two-Hundred-and-Ninety-Eighth" Era, about 520 standard years ago, when the Nurri overmindat the time , apparently seduced by some NoCoZo subversion and a lucrative cozzie megacorp franchise offer, decided to again open the place for tourism. Since then there have be at least six overminds (even with fast learning I still can't understand Nurri politics!) and tourism and trade have been neglected. So have these habs, although the imported bionano has adapted famusly and seems to be working fine, if you ignore the scummy patches that flake off from the wall every so often (Morky did a bio analysis and e has assured me they are harmlesss. Well, i'm keeping up my medical nano doses, no point taking chances.)
Anyway, they're quadrupal bunking in most of these suites now and I expect it will only rise. Everyone seems to want to go to Rigel Kentaurus System now - Morky says - well this is what he got from expertsystem localnet analyses before we left Corona, that it is the new "last frontier" of the current sociomimetic cycle. The Periphery, Virch, Morphic Exploration, now Social Explrotion through encounters with non-sephirotic clades. I expect the situation will cahnge in a few years or decades, it awlays does. Maybe go back to relativistic tours or something.
I was lucky though, there was only one other person sharing my accomodation unit. One Jone Solis, a (well, no surprsie, with a name like that) Bordist, putting together some travelogue edufiction intercatice virch, hence all the cams and cybertelepathic feeds and what not e has in eir skull and positioned on various parts of eir person (including the most intimate).
After I settled in we had a real good rave about travel experiences, fave place, best and worst stargates, what food to avoid, and so on. I also let em interview me (apparently I'm going to have some sort of minor starring role - whatever turns you on I guess)
Anyway, Jone was a hermophrodite when I arrived, but in the weeks since my arrival, but while I was checking out the usual touristy places here (thought I'd best get them out of the way before going for the juicy stuff) - the Historical Museum (a little aerostat remote gives guided tours ever tenhour, whether you want it or not), the First Probe (or at least a good naoreplica of it), the Planetological Interactive Tour (worth taking if you want to learn everything you ever wanted to know about planetissimal aggregation and eujovian metallic hydrogen convection cells), the Nauri Museum of Perfect Art (inscruitable even by Perfect Art standards) - e turned into a full female. That's the Dominion for you, always happy to flirt!
At least things here won't be as dull as they were on Redbrown Rock.
Fade to scene of an open field or meadow, tall golden grass swaying gently in the wind, rippling across the expanse of the field in ocean-like waves. A small baseline child, Human, about 3 or 4 years of age, wearing shorts, kid sneakers, and a white shirt with buttons up near the neck, walks up to a milkweed in the field. He breaks open one of the pods and watches the fluffy white seeds blow away. Behind the child, his mother approaches. She looks to be about 35. She is tall, almost Amazonian-tall, with long blonde hair and a long white dress both flowing in the wind. The child approaches his mother and hugs her warmly, his chin about on a level with her waist. She reaches down, picks him up, gives him a little peck of a kiss, and then hugs him affectionately, his chin resting on her shoulder. After a moment, she holds him away from her and speaks to him.
"We have to go," she speaks, her voice soft yet authoritative.
"Now?" her son asks. His voice still has the squeaking quality of early childhood, yet although he only spoke a single word, his voice betrays a deep intelligence and keen insight beyond what most baselines ever know.
"Yes," his mother replies. "I just heard from your father and your uncle a millisecond ago. That means ey've been waiting for us now for 750 years, with the communications lag between here and the system where ey've set emselves up. Bad enough it will take us an additional 758 years by eir reckoning to get there. It would be unnecessarily rude to keep em waiting any longer than that."
"Okay," the boy concedes, trying too hard to sound disappointed, though he's really only pretending.
Scene fades again to an immense red supergiant, larger than the orbit of Mars, in the backround. Nearby, almost imperceptible against the red behemoth, a flattened glowing disk with a bulge in the center, impossibly swings the star around, almost like a mouse swinging a brontosaurus it is dancing with. Except this "mouse" is a black hole, the remnant of the supergiant's companion, and is actually more massive. As the black hole swings its dancing partner around, like a vampire dancing with a mortal, the black hole feeds on its companion. A trail of plasma streams off the supergiant's corona and spirals into the hole, whirling around forming an accretion disk before disappearing forever into the hole's maw.
Against the backround of the star, two entities, each over a kilometer long and massing hundreds of thousands of metric tons, though appearing microscopic against the star even when viewed at close range, cruise along. The two entities are space-dwelling neumanns. Visually, each resembles a cross between a jellyfish or a hydra and a waterlily - an ovoid central body, with "tendrils" streaming behind the entity as it travels, and "petals" opening like a flower around its front end. On the commonly used toposophic scale, the two entities would each rate probably about SI:2. The two are mother and child, each at least a couple of centuries old (the mother more likely a millennium or more) as ey reckon time.
The two have spent much of the past few centuries (eir own time) travelling at relativistic speeds, each capable of cruising within a percentage point of the speed of light, and so haven't experienced as much time passing, by eir own reckoning, as other memebers of eir kind who have stayed put. It hardly matters. Eir species is basically immortal. At least none have died of old age as far as anyone knows. Ey are used to taking several centuries "growing up." Just frolicking and doing completely irrelevant things for no apparent reason. In short, just being kids. Parents usually stay with eir kids for half a millennium or so, making sure eir kid don't kick over any anthills (i.e. Raze a planet with an indigenous ecosystem, or especially a baseline sapient population on it), without understanding what ey are doing (Some of em might be your friends someday, parents usually tell eir children when asked why it isn't okay to slam a kilometer-wide asteroid into such a planet for target practice). It rarely happens anyway, but children always need to be watched to make sure ey learn respect for others, eir lives and property.
The two break orbit around the star and arc through space toward the black hole. Ey intend to use it as a slingshot to help shave a few years off eir journey and conserve some energy. The two follow the gas stream from the star as it streaks along toward the hole, before spiralling down into its maw. Diving through the accretion disk, the two bask briefly in the X-radiation (harmless to em, if ey limit eir exposure to only a few moments; Eir pico-rejuve systems are able to cope with most damage that isn't fatal outright, and the two have near-complete conscious control over what goes on in eir own bodies, so are certain to suffer no lasting ill effects in any event) emitted by the gas as it disappears forever, and then shoot out below the ecliptic of the accretion disk at 0.2c. The child swoops in slightly closer than its mother, and zooms away slightly faster, a couple of percentage points closer to c. She struggles to catch up.
"You cut that too close!" she scolds, sounding more annoyed than she actually is. She doesn't mind her child having fun. Just his timing, and his annoying habit of seeing how close he can cut things, is what annoys her.
"Sorry, Mom," he replies, nonchalantly, which demonstrates to her he really isn't sorry at all. "I guess old habits die hard."
The two continue on eir way to the meeting with others of eir kind in a distant star system.
A somber day today. We came in from Chezakiim just above the system ecliptic, the Pitch Drive slowing us down to a crawl of only 1% of c. Nobody complained however; all of us on this voyage knew that this was coming when we came aboard. Presumably anyone who didn't want to make the detour made other travel arrangements to get to Certe.
At the appropriate hour, a quiet tone passed through the com-net and those of us so inclined linked into the ships sensor web to view our destination. Irdis, once a quiet, backwater world, now a memorial to the sacrifice of millions for the sake of billions more.
The Version War was so far over as to already be the stuff of history books and romance novels when the rogue autowar entered the Irdis system. The autowar was ancient, its weapons nearly exhausted, its fuel all but spent, and its AI, it is believed, thoroughly insane. It had never heard, or had ignored, the broadcasts announcing the end of hostilities. In its mind, the war was still ongoing, battles still to be fought and victory to be won from the enemy and eir worlds. In this case, the worlds orbiting the open binary stars of Katrop-Chezakiim. Katrop with its single unremarkable planet of Irdis and, a mere light-month beyond, the rich, unsuspecting, and far more populous worlds of Chezakiim.
The autowar could have simply flown right past Irdis, leaving its 15 million inhabitants suspecting nothing until the light of Chezakiim's destruction filled their sky. Certainly, that would have made more sense tactically. But for whatever reason, the a-war chose to eliminate Irdis first. As such, when its stealthed approach had brought it within range, it fired a single implosion swarm at the planet below.
There are some who speculate that there was method to the autowar's madness. That it intended to use the flare of Irdis' destruction as a distraction to cover the opening moves of its attack on the Chezakiim habs and that the implosion swarm was mis-programmed or malfunctioning when it went critical only two days after the autowar had launched it.
Whether this view is correct may never be known. What is known is that when the implosion swarm activated, crushing the planet down to ultradense matter and then exploding much of it out into space, the resulting energy flare, traveling at the speed of light, far outraced the approaching autowar and lit up every detector in Chezakiim space. So forewarned, the sensors and telescopes of the Chezakiim Domestic Defense Forces were able to first detect and then isolate the autowar, vainly trying to arrive in time to carry out its mission. Several heavy cruisers, parked in mothball orbits, were hurriedly reactivated and proceeded to blow the approaching intruder out of the sky. The lives of 30 billion sophonts were saved. At the cost of 15 million who probably never knew what hit them.
At first look the memorial was a simple thing. The remains of Irdis' core, cooled and dead after all this time, and an orbiting ring of debris. The ring is semi-artificial. It would have formed eventually, given time, but legions of bots deployed into the system intercepted and redirected and coaxed the debris of the planet into a single, well-ordered disk long before natural processes could have managed it.
It was what could not be seen that made the memorial what it was. 15 million micro spheres scattered throughout the ring, each formed out of diamond. Each one etched with the name of one of Irdis' inhabitants from that fateful day. Even at high magnification we couldn't see them, but we knew they were there. Eternal memories of those now gone.
For a full Irdisian day we coasted past the memorial's location, our sensors trained upon it. For a full Irdisian day we maintained comm. silence, thinking about what had been lost here. Thinking about how much more could have been lost if this tragedy had not occurred.
At the end of the time of silence, the ship reactivated its drive and we resumed our journey to Certe, 10 years flight away. We're pulling 50Gs right now, not that any of us notice. That's the advantage of traveling as an upload, mind in the computer, body just a template to be remade when needed. You don't notice the little things.
I'm going to wrap this up now. There's a gathering tonight in one of the ships common virtch nodes. A party in the traditional style, with music and dancing and drinking. But before I go, I'm going to do one last thing, I think. I'm going to invoke one of my personal virtch templates, a particularly fine glass of a particularly fine vintage of a particularly fine wine I picked up in the Inner Sphere some centuries back. I save it for special occasions and have only used it a few times. I'm going to drink a toast to the people of Irdis, and all they lost, even unknowingly, to save the lives of others. And then I'm going to erase the template so it can never be used again. A small sacrifice, to honor those who lost so much more.
::BEGIN DOWNLOAD? <Y>::
Standing on a shield wall, barrier between two incompatible biomes. Oxybots in my bloodstream make it unnecessary to breath. I mentally flip a coin, make sure my lines are firmly fixed and then begin rappelling down the side of a cliff 1000km high.
Riding a gridditch across a plain larger than a planet. Six legs pumping, the gridditch is holding steady at 30km per hour. They are biocybernetic organisms, engineered for travel over the vast distances that prevail here. Nevertheless it will be three more days before we reach our destination.
Making love to a tigersplice, three meters of striped fur over rock hard muscle, as we freefall down a tree lined shaft a hundred thousand kilometers tall. We wear only parachutes for use at journeys end. It will be ten more days before we hit bottom.
Floating in free space over the inner face of a Vertex. Three great struts of habitation filling the space in front of me and extending off to infinity behind. White of cloud, blue of sea, and ten thousand shades of green/brown from the various biomes spread across the land beneath me. Glorious.
Sitting in a meditation garden in a low gravity zone. In front of me, a circular pool is being fed from above by a bubbling anti-fountain. Great, lazy bubbles of water are teased thru a membrane above and fall gently into the pool below. Each bubble is filled with millions of microorganisms. In the time it takes each bubble to complete its lazy fall, they rush through their tiny lives from cysts at the bottom of each bubble to scintillating, rainbow swimmers rising to the pole, to migrating clusters of humming flyers traveling to the next bubble, to encysted eggs nurtured on the travel exhausted remains of the previous generation.
::HOLD DOWNLOAD::
I'm going to take a break for a while. Reintegrating multiple Copies is always tedious. But when visiting a place like Kepleria, a world that dwarfs solar systems, it's really the only option to truly enjoy even a fraction of the wonders that it contains. A dozen Selves went out on this visit and a dozen memories of the last month came back. Nothing really, against the whole of Kepleria's possible experiences, but more then enough to keep me occupied during the long transport ride to Ergedai.
The rain hammered on the transparent roof of the autocab as we made our way to the Nung-wu Festival of Cuisine; even with weeks of medication and exercise we are still finding the high surface gravity of Penglai difficult. A short walk into the crystalline Pudong District dome to the Festival and we had worked up an appetite.
And this was a good thing, as there were so many fabulous food
sensations to try.
The Sea Monster (Yu xiangh) of Linyi Island is replicated throughout
the galaxy, but I have never tasted it prepared so well; new to us
was the Red-cooked Dragon (Yulon `ongshao) and a fantastic variety of
sea-kelp fruit.
For more cosmopolitan palates thousands of edible filigliders were
released; they had a spicy dry flavour, but were difficult to catch.
There were also strangely shaped nmemonic vegetables containing false
memories and other psychoactive experiences, but we avoided them for
the moment.
The heavy-set Penglaiese were celebrating loudly all around, and we learned that an avatar of the Ascended Master Michael Qian Ganymede was expected to materialise later in the evening. Talking to one of the locals, I determined that the Ascended Master was scheduled to bless the Festival and to bid farewell to a party of long range colonists, soon to set off for the Carina Rush Volume.
These adventurers were the loudest of all, and noticing that we were
travellers ourselves, they gathered us into their circle and demanded
stories of the outer worlds from us.
Nothing pleases seasoned tourists like us better than an audience;
but they were so intensely fascinated by our tales that I suspected
that they were using Grok or some other focussing drug.
However the cheerful, broad-shouldered matriarch of the colonist
group revealed that the nmemonic food we had been avoiding was mostly
tailored to intensify in the consumer the awareness of interstellar
space, and the outward urge.
It sounded intriguing, so we finally tried it; by the time the
Ascended Ganymede avatar appeared, our minds were more full of stars
and coordinates, polities and prospects for terraforming than we had
ever thought possible.
Ever since that night in Nung-wu we both have been restless, and consumed with the desire to set off for the periphery. How long we can resist, and where we will find the funds, is all that occupies our minds these days; whether we like it or not.
The Rat stood on the table, in front of me; crossed on his back was a
rapier and a tiny one-shot pistol. His name was Tirripik, and I think
he was drunk.
"Only Rats, Rats and Trogs," he said, emphatically.
I told him I didn't know what he was talking about. He looked around
at the other customers in the off-worlder's tavern in Jefferson City;
there were trogs in here, as well as bear-people, Cyclopes and deer-
people, as well as several races of baseline humans from the lo-tech
societies sprinkled across this low-tech world.
Most of them were at least merry on good Ribblehead wine.
Through the thick smoky air of the tavern tiny flying Tech-leveller robot drones kept an eye or three out for illegal high tech use; they were aware that I had no functional implants or other devices, thanks to the thorough screening at the spaceport.
"They try to keep us out, but they can't- the Trogs are in the caves underneath, you see, and us Rats can hide in the drains (if they have them) and in the walls if they don't. Rats and Trogs are found in every land in this world, everywhere! We know everything there is to know in Ribblehead. Everything."
I knew that the hundreds of tiny sovereign nations on this large world were often at war with each other; the wars were usually minor skirmishes, fought with low-tech weapons; some hatreds ran deep, and there was only limited contact between several of the nations, except here in the cosmopolitan city of Jefferson.
And it was forbidden for off-worlders to leave this city, to see the
bizarre and fabulous countries the tweaks and reanths and prims had
built for themselves.
"So you would know how to sneak a tourist out of Jefferson, then,
wouldn't you."
"Heheh - nothing to it, pal." The Rat hiccupped.
"Prove it." I leant forward, eager to show I meant business.
Tirripik took my money, and arranged for a rendevous with some Minoan tourist smugglers. They dressed me as a Xhosha baseline to fool the Tech-leveller vecs, but the smugglers were wary of discovery and betrayal, so they blindfolded me and took me by cart to a creaking wooden jetty, then concealed me in a boat under a tarpaulin in the dead of night. I heard the smugglers rowing across the water, and then they jumped onto another boat, or jetty (I couldn't tell which).
After a half hour one returned, saying that he had a problem with the
captain of the ship that would take me onwards, and asked for more
gold.
I gave some of my reserves to the Minoan, while wondering if he
meant to cut my throat in the dark. When he left me alive I grew
hopeful again, while giving thanks that my backup was relatively up
to date. A full citizen of the Galaxy like myself (with the
opportunity for reincarnation in the event of death) will always have
the advantage over mere prims. We citizens sometimes grow reckless
and foolish for this very reason; it is well known that a prim who
harms a citizen will be severely punished.
And foolish is what I felt when I peeked out from the tarpaulin a hour later, in the grey morning light; the boat I was in floated on a lake in the public park, and several curious Jeffersonians were gathered on the shore, roaring with laughter.
We touched down at Aspen, only yesterday, and already I feel the cold. Although the skiing isn't bad, of course being the largest ski resort on the planet does have its advantages. Of course the trip down from Hawaii Orbital was interesting, as most of the trip was served with commentary, free drinks, from the local oceans. As we rest in our hotel, deciding what was on our agenda, my partner scans the newscasts and holo's for news of her favourite sports, as I scanned our daily activities.
There's lots to do on Pacifica; This evening we will be dining at the hotel's New Seabed restaurant; a clever design if you ask me, it is all encased in PolyGlass, so we can see local inhabitants swimming around.
Tomorrow we will visit what is called the School of Schools, a virtual floating City, an Atoll of the floating and flying cities and schools. The entire atoll is filled with boats, greenzeps and temphomes. It is a mixture between a festival, a market, huge party, a great place for people like us.
Since we will be here only for a few weeks, we plan to take a private sub and go exploring the depths; and we may try our hand at some of the other marine Sports available here; and we may have a chance to see Armstrong University as well. And then go onto our private floating Villa for the rest of our stay.
The most difficult thing on this World to get used to is the day length; it is 25 hours 23 minutes long, an extra Hour compared with our world.
Never mind, we have come at the right time of year, (Non Hurricane season). So plenty of Sun, and lots to do.
Today did not live up to expectations, I am afraid. We went
shopping for technorat gadgets in the market in Lib City, but there
was nothing we wanted particularly; then we joined the small
flotilla of boats and dirigibles out to the edge of the continental
shelf to catch a rare glimpse of Deep Blue, the Pacifica whale
godling. Everybody onboard had just sat down for lunch (an
interesting lobed fish called Latima or something, somewhat oily,
but an incredible taste) when the captain cut the engines and we all
rushed to the side.
There was a school of Hwissi dolphin circling around one spot in the
ocean; green balloons and gliders swarming overhead, the brilliant
sunshine making me polarise my contacts; there was a channel called
Big Surf Watch on the 'net, and we used it to find out how far away
and how deep the Whale God was.
Two kilometres, one; a hundred metres deep, fifty; now we could see
the Whale through the eyes of a tracking submersible as E came into
the sunlit topmost layers of the ocean.
By Space, E was big! The Godling has been growing for thousands of
years, and is bigger every time E is seen- the `net channel said E
was at least a kilometre wide now, and perhaps three long- everybody
on the boat peered into the bright ocean, expecting to see the
gleaming back of the creature as E surfaced. A vast area of the
ocean turned pale, silhouetting the tiny leaping Hwissi… then the
Surf Watch channels all showed the gigantic creature turn back into
the deeps of the ocean without breaking the surface, before losing
all visual and sonar contact with the creature, as always.
Later we heard the dolphins talking loudly in Galanglic about the wonderful sighting of the Great Whale, just to annoy us; they have a strange sense of humour, which can be cruel at times.
Today I spread my wings and flew around the world!!
Well, not really. But using a wingpack to fly across an arc of the Cair'Keel Freesphere while orbiting Tyrtanen at a thousand klicks up it certainly felt like it.
I started my flight while the freesphere was just coming out of the night side, A'trenin's 'Symphony for the Dawn' playing in my ears. Holding firmly to the wingpack grips, sweeping my arms down and back in the motion implanted in the mem-training from the night before, I swept out from the launch station into the hundred kilometer expanse of the freesphere, sunlit dustmotes and water vapor painting me with rainbows.
Of all the free-fall class habitats, freespheres are my favorite
As I flew, I took in the sights of the habitat around me, and the world below me. Twist-trees and cluster-bushes as far as the eye could see; a bubble-sea just at the limit of vision. I think I might have even seen a pod of whales playing inside.
At one point a flock of parrots started flying formation with me. Well, flying with me anyway. They laughed and chattered, making fun of my flying technique and offering pointers, wondering what I was doing here, and telling jokes, most of them dirty. I took it all in good humor and even fired a few one-liners back, earning appreciative squawks.
Eventually, they tired of the game and took off in the direction of a driftreef, singing something incredibly raunchy in at least three keys.
Below me Tyrtanen was a slowly blooming bulk just on the other side of the clear outer wall. It looked like you could reach out and touch it. The terraforming looks like it's going well. Plant green and water blue spreading everywhere, atmosphere probably getting thicker every day.
I finished my flight at another launch station, Two Spins in Harmony's 'Night Sounds' escorting me in.
Time to wrap this up. A bunch of us are going out to check out the nightlife. Rumor has it that the locals ferment an ice-wine on the outer hull that will make you see the gods. We'll see.
Tomorrow we're taking one of the beanstalks down to the surface. A quick flyer ride and then a 10-klick hike up to the Esada Plateau for a midday meal. If everything is going on schedule, a couple of cometary fragments are supposed to be directed into the atmosphere just about the time we should be eating. Shatter-bombs will break up the fragments into pieces too small to do any damage, but the view should be spectacular.
I look forward to eating lunch under a rain of shooting stars.
(Eggen/Greenstein 471 white dwarf) 50.5ly from Sol
A wonderful two weeks; the people on Ouaddai love their music, for
sure!
The towns were a continual buzz of concerts, busking, singing and
dancing; we had to self-medicate sometimes to keep up with them
(mind you, to make sure everybody appreciates the natural joy of
musical harmony they don't allow psychomimetic drugs there).
This is the oldest Ringworld in the galaxy, by the way; we did see a lot of the vast, still countryside, as well - but it is only two million kilometres across, with the white dwarf in the middle wrapped in a power swarm. Every night the swarm thickens and the star turns dark red directly over your head- we spent many balmy Red Nights by the coast of the Benin Ocean.
To be honest I expected more Old African ethnic influence in the culture- it is a shame, but nearly every inner sphere world seems to be losing its old character thanks to the ubiquitous mediacorps and interstellar netlinks. Eh, and I suppose tourism is having an effect, too. We found plenty of restaurants and clubs with names like Mayo-Boneye, Youssou, Monts de Lam, and N'djamena; but the old Republique du Tchad lifestyle seems diluted, a sentimental memory only.
And of course, so many of the oldest and the greatest people have ascended to posthuman status; they mostly live on the Letheian cinderworld Aouzou far out at the edge of Ouaddai system, but we didn't have time (or permission) to go there.
Gun pride week of the Kings, whoever thought it would come to that?
Well, the local population loved it, but as far as I could see it was frightening, for someone who had never seen a killing weapon before.
One of the Locals tried to explain it to me; he seemed to have a great pride in it as he showed me his collection, which he kept under the desk of our local Hotel. Of course I cringed at the fact of these primitive weapons. But he explained not only were they his, but antiques as well, passed down by his great-grandfather.
Lucky we were only passing through here.
Of course that what happens when you book a hotel in Galt's Gulch, Atlantis.
Anyway, when we arrived at the McDaggart Orbital Terminal, after a restful trip through the Wormhole Gate, First Class (of course).
It was only broken up by a particularly rude passenger who shared our flight to the Terminal. He seemed to complain about everything he could think of; luckily for me and the rest of us, he was heading to Newdisneyworld first.
When we reached our stopping berth, on our bed was a small jacket and a visor. After picking it up I read the instructions and realised it as a wearable currency converter. It did seem strange that Atlantis uses a system of private currencies, where each person, family or group "prints" its own currency.
As we left our berth, and picked up our passes for the McDaggart Monument we were constantly bombarded by Warsport Advertisement and promotions for Gun Pride, even in the capital, It seemed have a wide impact our most of this world.
The McDaggart Monument wasn't much to look at; I was disappointed in it, really.
I've seen bigger and more complex monuments on other worlds. But still it was a sight to behold. The Holo matrix seemed to give off its own glow, even in the sunlight; and suddenly I could see McDaggart himself standing next to us. Of course he was only a Virtual program, I almost felt sorry for him as he gave our group his speech.
After the speech several of us asked him questions and he dutifully answered them. After a while I became bored, but as the afternoon wore on we boarded a Magrail to the Themelands, where we would stay a couple of days, before heading home.
Today I met the King of Europe.
He lives in a large, bare apartment in Port Robinson, the old Martian capital; from his windows you can see the huge, ancient city, thousands of years of architectural styles competing for attention.
On the horizon, when the air is clear, the beacons of the beanstalk can be seen blinking their warning in the pale sky, apparently hovering above the distant canyon Juventae Fons .
King Roland, as he styles himself, has a court of several score Old Europeans, who regularly press his claim for recognition to the Goddess of Earth.
As a direct descendant of Charlemagne, King Roland considers himself the rightful heir to the Holy Roman Empire, which would consist nowadays of a few tribes of Cro-magnon cave-dwellers living in the forests and cave systems of what briefly was known as France.
On his wall he often displays a huge real time image of Western Europe, beamed direct from a godwatch geostat in active suspension a million kilometres above the old planet, outside the exclusion zone. The artificial farmlands of the North Sea have been washed away, and little trace of human civilisation remains; but Roland has evidence that the ancient court of Charlemagne at Aachen has been preserved, just as the Pyramids and the White House are kept, at the whim of the Protective one. One day he hopes to occupy this building as the rightful King, which he is convinced has been preserved specifically for himself.
Of course if his claim was ever accepted he would have to be radically altered to live in the thick atmosphere and heavy gravity of Earth; Roland and his Old Europeans have been adapted to the half terraformed atmosphere of Green Mars for too long.
Before I leave this ancient world I personally will need to be radically altered myself to return to my normal environment; but this is something I have grown used to after so much travelling.
When our crew arrived, I took a week off, to visit the large offshore lakes for a bit of surfing and sun, before we had to put the ship through its inspection before the race, just over two weeks away. I think I'll take a much-needed vacation, maybe after the race perhaps a month off.
As I sat in my Hotel cubicle, I read over the Changes to the race rules and talked it over with the Annulas -Ai, My solar ship, who agreed that the changes would be better for all of the competitors. Of course Solar racing isn't exactly a Cheap Sport, but having major sponsors and a great family and crew to support you helps.
As I laid back and drifted off in an induced sleep, I thought about the trip here, through customs and wormgate officials, money and sometimes favours changes hands. Most of them wished me better luck this time. As the last time I had a major power failure just 2 million kilometers from the finish line and the embarrassment to be towed across the Line as well.
When I awoke, it was barely night and the yellow and brown twilight from the twin suns shone through the protective dome of the city. Turning on the newscasts all I saw was news and gossips about the up and coming Zenana-Ku Annual Solar Event, Of course it was a Big event, nothing compared it. I got an update brief from my crew chief, who said everything was coming along nicely. And she told me to relax and have a good time off.
After scanning the tourists Spots, I decided Just to relax in the Sun and on the beach and try my hand at real surfing, I didn't care for those VR one's. So I donned my BlockU glasses, (a gift from a Friend of mine, and the only thing to block out Subliminal adverts and messages) and walked to the Beach. It was pure bliss, I even managed a swim.
As it got dark I decided to take in the local Nightlife and sample the local seafood cuisine. Even the waiters, Bio-bred half-breeds who serve the locals and the tourists, were chatting about the race, as I listened, I could hear them saying, what luck that the race had been brought to Edsono, it will be a great boost for the local economy. As I eat my rich Biogenetic Food I called the "Annulas" AI, to check on the progress of the rebuild. Of course the "Annulas" AI told me everything was going fine And did I want to talk to my Crew chief.
I decided to take a Short Magrail trip over to the famous Benson's Point Museum but found it under reconstruction after a mysterious fire, Or so the Guard told me. It suggested I go to the Captain Mistreal Lookout, Where I could see the local wildlife do something called the Openal Dance. When I arrived there 45 minutes later I grasped at the wonderful display of glowing shapes floating just above the ground. The 20 or so crowd which were there were regulars, as I found out later, had been here every 3 months for this event. I was lucky to catch this display.
Later that early morning I staggered back to my hotel cubicle and slept like a log. For I still had 4 more days left, with lots to do.
Our hosts in the Secharia system took us to the Bluesky Arrival day celebrations on Hiresia; they told us little about the citizens of this world, apart from the fact that they were an ancient race of cybertweaks from the early days of the Original Solar System, and that we might find them surprising when we got to know them.
Beneath the sparkling blue membrane of the overall worldhouse roof, we stood among the tall, multicoloured humanoid and serpentine cybertweaks as they sang the praises of the Lady Bluesky.
A huge image of her was projected in front of an ancient, shabby habitat; before her arrival all the inhabitants of the system huddled in this one airtight structure.
"That is an unusual image of the Lady, is it not?" I asked my host, a tall palefaced Sesharian humanoid called Harpaul.
"Indeed, she was a human then, long before she ascended; it was a very long time ago. Come with us, we would show you our parklands."
He strode off with his long legs, accompanied by Ajaana, his lifepartner, who slithered on her snakelike belly beside him. We skipped along in the low gravity behind them as best we could.
After a kilometer or two we came to a large area of concrete with several hundred Secharians standing motionless in rows, all facing a beautiful green recreational area with full grown trees, paths and ornamental hedges. I realised with a start that the motionless figures each had nothing but a hollow space where the face should be.
I turned to Harpaul, and he opened the hood of his cybersuit to reveal a tiny body and legs, his small hands gripping the edge of his hood as he leapt down onto the ground and ran off into the distance.
Ajaana shouted, "Come on, before the wading pool gets too full!" and did the same. I could now see that the greensward was full of tiny homunculi, running with their own legs beneath the artificial sky.
The huge powerful bodies they wore for formal occasions and vacuum excursions stood passively by in the parking lot.
What a deeply disturbing, nay, even frightening experience my stay on Bambata, the heart of the Emple-Dokcetic polity was. Not disturbing or alarming in any physical way, of course - every person I met was more than welcoming, more than friendly, their hospitality a credit to the Emple-Dokcetic as a whole. And their multitude of appearances and attitudes, while unusual in some cases, was not more than one might encounter in some of the more cosmopolitan polities outside of the Emple-Dokcetic.
No, what is disturbing are the implications of their embracing the concept of modularity. Of each individual being a fundamentally transient, temporary, entity, constantly swapping and changing not just elements of their physical selves, but also of their _mental selves. Memories. Values. Drives. Responses. All are transient for each individual, but nothing is ever lost to their society as a whole. And the constant creation of new individuals, replacing the old and remixing all elements of their population in new and diverse ways gives them a drive, a dynamism, a vitality that I have rarely seen in any group, let alone an entire society. And with it comes a unity, a knowing that all within the Emple-Dokcetic are truly, at a fundamental level, one.
I think the ancient saying, 'live as you were to die tomorrow, plan as if you were going to live forever,' is at the centre of an understanding of their society, for, for them, both parts of the saying are true. The transient specific person will only live a short time, but their parts will live forever.
And all of this is without taking into account their ability to temporarily link themselves - many individuals - into larger gestalts, to the level of entire worlds, to gain consensus, or the ability to tackle, and solve, particularly thorny issues.
No wonder they so greatly dislike the use of violence. From their modular state they know the feeling of others, and clearly extrapolate that understanding to others outside of the Emple-Dokcetic too. Hurting another must be, to them, analogous to hurting a part of themselves, with the subconscious implication that part of the individual one has hurt may one day be a part of oneself, and so allow one to know, intimately, the consequences of ones actions... Thus I suspect the utter lack of corruption in their society arises from the same source, that hurting others, in the end, hurts only oneself.
And perhaps that, too, explains their vivacity, their seeming love of life.
They know transience. They know that the 'them' of them present moment is temporary, but that all that makes them up will go on. So each of them - each transient individual - loves their life, but does not fear the transition to the next 'them'. Combined with the Zarathustran beliefs which are part of the Dok, live for the now, and the future, living with directness, joy in life and every moment, regardless of what it brings, they move forward rapidly.
No wonder the Emple-Dokcetics expand so quickly, to become a major power of the Outer Volumes. Dynamism. Vivacity. Seeming benevolence. High technology. A potent combination, to say the very least. Are they, perhaps, the future?
And no wonder I find them so disturbing. They are alien, yet of humanity quite as much as I, myself...
Such a strange child of the synthesis of Zarathustrism, manimal animism and Bot Marxism. But nonetheless have achieved a society that appears to work, better than many others I have encountered. And their Dok explains matters with ... admirable clarity. It is not, after all, a religious text to be loaded down with metaphor and symbolism to the detriment of information...
They asked is I wished to contribute, genetically or mentally, to the creation of a new set of modules. But I could not - would not - do so, and politely declined. I could not give a part of myself to them, even though I would lose nothing myself. I value my individuality, my being me, and regardless of how sugar-coated the pill, I will not give that up, even in a copy of myself.
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