A Not-So-Short Story206/3347:46
Today I begin the first chapter of my “Vacation Chronicles”, at the urging of my Otherlife counselor. According to the rather sketchy information contained in the pamphlet she gave me, First Vacation can be a time of immense confusion. They got that right.
Vacations. As the period of formal education nears its end, it’s all you talk about. Despite the
official restraint of relevant information the word gets out. Friends recall parental conversations concerning time spent on exotic Otherworlds.
Rumors of Uncle Derza...“He never came back, you know. I heard my mother say it was the most fantastic thing she’d ever experienced.” Everybody seems to think Vacations must be some sort of fantasy ride, the ultimate high. Sometimes I wonder... after all, they are government sponsored.
The amount of secrecy makes me worry. The adults say the young have no need to know, you’ll find
out soon enough. Well, I made it. The shroud of secrecy is about to be pulled away and put an end to fifteen years of speculation.
Today, I’m en route to Homeworld Transmigration Center M6.
Tomorrow the mystery unfolds.
208/3348:72
HTC M6. You wouldn’t believe the size of this place. According to the orientation hologram, the
campus is comprised of fifty-seven separate buildings, thirty eight miles of transportation tubes, has its own fusion plant, and boasts a full time staff of 37,000. M6 is just one of fifteen identical installations
on Homeworld.
I’ll be spending the next three weeks with Frosh-group 93 in preparatory classes. Translation: more school. As they say, “Life’s a bitch...and then you die.”
208/3363:27
Sorry it’s been so long between entries, but I’ve really been spinning the discs. For the official version of reality, may I present my latest class report:
A BRIEF HISTORY OF TRANSMIGRATION VACATIONS
by Marga Re Xan M6t56639711RCD
According to historical tradition the universe was seeded with life by our parent race some four billion years ago. Our ancestors then settled on Homeworld to monitor the development of Otherworld species. Over a period of time, it became apparent that the Grand Life Experiment would have a rather curious outcome. Although scientists had predicted that intelligence and organization would evolve on a statistical number of planets, no such civilizing force arose. In fact, only a handful of worlds developed an ecology beyond the simplest microbial levels, and of those, only eleven reached advanced levels of plant and animal life. It seems that human levels of intelligence are not the inevitable result of evolutionary forces.
125,000 years ago, a deadly plague mutated into existence on planet seven, completely destroying the world’s multi-cellular life forms. When unwitting scientists returned to Homeworld carrying the virus, the population was swept with disease. Ninety-two percent of all life was lost within two weeks, and the planet was plunged into a 34,000 year period of ignorance and strife. Death came so swiftly only a fraction of the records of the time were able to be permanently preserved, and some of those were lost in the ages’ numerous wars and natural disasters. Among the data lost and never recovered was the secret to inter-stellar travel. Although files had been uncovered pointing to the existence of the Otherworlds, they were beyond mankind’s reach, brightly beckoning points in the sky, and a source of constant frustration to those who could only imagine the resources they represented.
All that changed in 200/7544 when a little known theoretical physicist named Condra Pandlin began experimentation in the then new field of Cold Energy. Pandlin’s misfortune became humanity’s greatest discovery when he accidentally reversed polarization in a power cell and teleported his soul into the body of the laboratory cat.
Life Image Transmigration was born.
In the years that followed, it was discovered that it was possible to impose a human life Image on virtually any lower life form. The superior energy of the higher image would pre-empt the lower, enabling the Traveler to effectively assume control of its new Otherbody. Unfortunately, upon retrieval of the Life Image, the host body would perish, its own Life Image irreparably distorted by the control of a foreign force. During early experimentation, some fascinating papers were written by researchers who had spent time as a dog or other animal. Some people even opted out of paralyzed or disfigured bodies to spend the rest of their days soaring the air currents as eagles.
Inevitably, the Transmigrationists turned their attentions to the Otherworlds. The vast distances of space posed no barrier to the peculiar energy involved in the increasingly popular “soul rides”, and on five of the worlds an incredible discovery was made.
During the Great Plague a small number of scientists had been stranded on the Otherworlds. Cut off from civilization, their progeny had reverted to barbarism,
occasionally inter-breeding with gene-spliced primates, a legacy of earlier efforts to
spur local evolution to human levels. Soul-riding researchers found a race of man-apes using stone tools and living in caves. A new program of evolutionary stimulation was launched, although with difficulty. The relatively advanced state of the native minds made transmigration extremely taxing, even when the target body was a newborn. Although the superior mind would eventually prevail, the resulting Life Image conflict would leave the Traveler with no memory of previous self, thereby rendering Image retrieval impossible until the death of the host body. So, although your Homebody remains in suspended animation during the trip, Otherworld Transmigration is a “lifetime” deal. You can’t come back until your Otherself dies.
The loss of primary identity made the evolutionists’ task considerably harder. They couldn’t direct events, and had to rely on the Travelers’ increased intelligence alone to move things along. It was a slow process. Although a Traveler retains full memory of their Otherself upon return to Homeworld, the early scientists usually couldn’t wait for a random death to return information, and began using a series of “spy animals” to gather needed data, and even rarely to direct events. There are a couple recorded instances of dogs influencing decisions and occasionally intervening to save a Traveler’s life, but these were generally few and far between.
Evolution proceeded at an accelerated pace, and approximately 6000 years ago civilization was appearing on five of the Otherworlds. Meanwhile, on Homeworld, free-radical suppressant R~3 had just been discovered, effectively putting an end to the aging process. With drastically reduced death rates, and fewer fatal diseases every year,the population began to soar. Until then, most Transmigrations taking place were evenly divided between scientific missions and wealthy thrill seekers. But, as resources became strained, support for mandatory stays away from Homeworld grew. Finally, in 207/8230 the Enforced Vacation Act was passed. Everyone of legal age was required to spend one Otherlife every thirty years away from Homeworld. In 208/5766 that was updated to every twenty years, and it now stands at every fifteen. Vacations were, and are, touted as opportunities to gain knowledge and wisdom, visit exotic lands, live another life, and soon became immensely popular.
END RUN
208/3363:34
So that’s the official storyline. I, along with a few other members of my Frosh-group think there might be more to it than meets the eye. Observation: First-trippers are completely isolated from contact with Repeaters. Observation: Our access to library files is restricted to Otherworld information so hopelessly skewed toward presenting a pretty picture that it smacks of the worst kind of propaganda. Observation: The military and police presence here is immense. What are they protecting? Who are they guarding? Crime and war have been virtually unheard of on Homeworld for generations.
208/3364:44
Today we got the official tour of the facilities. Very impressive. First stop was a block long gallery of Otherworld Images. All representational holography, of course. It’s impossible to send physical imaging equipment to the Otherworlds, and the problem of memory loss prevents Traveler/Scientists from constructing the necessary end links for a hyperwave channel even if they wanted to. Back in 200/9347 a ship equipped with canine-operable equipment was dispatched to the nearest Otherworld, 0-4, but even at top speed, it’s still 24,000 years away. Until then, all we have are the images Vacationing artists have created upon their return.
Otherworld One (m/1) has a double star system, with three sister planets and four moons visible at varying times during the day. m/2 is a tropical paradise, lush vegetation, and a features a peculiar sort of bird that changes colors in seconds. m/3 seems to be mostly mountainous, with breathtaking vistas of canyons and mile-high waterfalls. m/4, our nearest neighbor, is actually the most unlike Homeworld, a planet comprised almost entirely of Oceans, and can only boast of a single moon. m/5 has a rather pinkish atmosphere, and low gravity, with the holograms depicting games where players leap 30-40 meters at a time.
The plant and animal life on each planet has it’s individual differences, but overall is strikingly similar, not surprising considering its common origin. Same for the human population. Given variation in height, coloring, and minor physical features, the people bear a great resemblance to ourselves, also not surprising - they still carry the founding scientist’s genes.
Cultures and traditions vary wildly, depending on the planet, and sometimes even from place to place on each world, a difficult concept for one having been raised as part of a global system to grasp.
All in all, the Otherworld images convey a reassuring sense of familiarity, beautiful worlds and beautiful people, each a lovely place to spend an Otherlife.
I think it sounds too good to be true.
Most of the other first-riders are milling around, babbling ecstatically about this Otherworld, or that beautiful sunset, or the spires of Lyristen, a city on m/3. Only a few of us aren’t caught up in the
experience. One of the cautious ones is Reba Lyi, a fem I recognize from my history orientation group. I’ll make a point of talking to her later.
Next stop is the actual Transmigration Station, or rather, one of many. The guide informs us there are 130 stations in this building alone, each capable of handling thirty-six rides per hour. They operate
continuously, twenty six hours a day. The control room looks like a typical fusion power station, banks of flashing lights, print-outs, and glowing monitors. The technicians are dressed in matching jumpsuits, color-coordinated each according to their function. On one side of the room, a row of windows allow a view of the waiting area, rows of chairs face a tele-screen on the front wall that is presently showing a documentary on the solar kites of m/2. Periodically an ident number will run across the bottom
of the screen, and its owner will obediently rise and walk through the pink door beneath the display. Attendants are dispensing Relaxit for those with a case of the jitters, and lending a helping hand to the terminally nervous as they walk into the unknown.
On the other wall, another string of windows overlook the three Transmigration chambers. I can see a line of capsules along one wall as they enter a box-like device near a porthole at the end of the room. The Vacationer simply enters a capsule through a hatch, and is carried along a track to the box. The machine is connected to the main Life Image bank, which selects an appropriate Otherself body being born, and imposes the new Life Image on it. After transmission, the Homebody is placed in suspended animation, and safe in its self-monitoring cocoon is transferred to storage until retrieval.
It sounds too easy, our guide says, but in centuries of operation there has yet to be a major malfunction. Transmigration is safer than a monorail ride to the store. In answer to our questions; No, there has never been a loss from storage of a Homebody, the safeguards are failsafe. The chances of imposing on an Otherself of the wrong sex are miniscule - .002%, and even if it happens it merely results in a little gender confusion (not fatal). Most Otherselves adapt quite well, and it gives you a new appreciation of the opposite sex upon return to Homeworld. Some people even ask for it.
Destination planet is chosen by lottery, specific placement is impossible - you take the body being born at the moment of Transmigration. Although it is quickly lost, you do retain memory of your Primary Self for about fifteen weeks after arrival.
Some vacationers have reported an ability to remember bits and pieces of primary memory, recalling past Vacations and Homeworld images. Some have accidentally established a tenuous telepathic link to non-Vacationing relatives, and a scientific panel has been formed to investigate the possibility of strengthening communication with these so called “mediums.” Although generally dismissed on the Otherworlds as crackpots, should this experiment succeed, it could provide the first real two-way
communication channel between Homeworld and our Vacationing Otherselves.
The Transmigration process itself is totally painless. Riders generally report the sensation of flying, a feeling of well-being, and most report being drawn toward a bright source of light. Scientists theorize this light source to be the destination planet’s sun, although no firm data is available on Life Image
perception during transmission.
208/3365:13
So that’s the official storyline. After the tour I had an opportunity to talk to Reba, and found she shares my distrust of the government version. We’ve agreed to attempt to obtain more information, but it’s not going to be easy. We need access to restricted library files, and that means we need a gold card to clear security.
208/3365:54
Getting the gold card was embarrassingly easy. We simply seduced a clerk down in records, and lifted it while he was pre-occupied. We’re hoping he’ll be too embarrassed to turn it in for a few days, and by that time we’ll have what we want anyway.
Reba suggested a trial run, so we took a little unsupervised tour of the RepeatRiders departure lounges. We figured if we got stopped we could plead ignorance, “We’re lost officer”, and since it’s not as sensitive an area as the library or storage banks we’d get off with a warning. Nobody bothered us though, the gold card was as good as its name.
We didn’t stay long. The repeater’s lounges had a really strange air about them. Whereas the FirstRiders’ call areas were buzzing with excitement, the few we saw in this section were depressingly quiet. No one talked to you, our questions bringing clipped answers or more likely, silent stares. Not exactly the atmosphere you’d expect from a bunch of people about to have the time of their Otherlives.
And there was another difference, the security presence was far more noticeable. There were military uniforms everywhere, and these guys meant business. Although inconspicuous, each man carried a small silver cylinder. Zap packs. I remember them from a couple of student demonstrations I attended. Nasty little things. You don’t want to tangle with them twice. We decided to call an end to our impromptu tour when a couple of the guards started paying a little too much attention to us.
On the way back we saw another curious sight. A prison van pulled up to a dock at the back of building seven, and discharged eight manacled convicts, who were led through the bay to a waiting elevator. Building seven is all Transmigration stations. Where did they come from, and why would prisoners be going on Vacation?
208/3366:32
Every hour is important now, this gold card isn’t going to stay active much longer. Not only that, our Departure is slated for the day after tomorrow.
Reba and I have decided the best plan of action is to attempt to slip into the library with the opening hour’s rush.
208/3367:04
So much has happened in the last few hours my head is spinning. I’ve got to get this entered while it’s still fresh.
We slipped security at the library, no problem. It took a while to find the section we wanted- the place has 48 floors, and like all government buildings is a maze of conflicting directions. After a series of trial and error inquiries, the Info-bot pointed us to a glass enclosed room on floor twenty-seven. Fortunately, once you’re in the building, the library relies on electronic security, and our card was
never questioned.
Restricted Access was surprisingly busy, maybe thirty to forty people coming and going at all times. We’d spent about two hours locating files and transferring data to personal discs, when my screen went blank. Now, that’s something that never happens, and since everyone else’s screens were still glowing, I figured the card had termed out, and that meant trouble. The terminal wouldn’t give up the disc I was working on, so I grabbed the two I’d already filled, and went looking for Reba, who was two stacks over. We’d just left the R.A. cube when the blue suits started appearing. Government Golds aren’t accustomed to Security search and seizures, and a scuffle broke out almost immediately. We didn’t waste time cheering for the trouble-maker, who was holding his own against ever mounting opposition, we just jumped a down-tube and got the hell out.
Stopping at the third floor balcony, we could see it would be useless trying to get out the main entrance. Security was doubled and people were being carded. So, we decided to split up - Reba trying the people mover, which was still running, while I decided to try a different route.
All buildings constructed after the Deza-tel fire of ’1755 are required to have emergency slides installed on the first twenty floors. The problem was starting a fire-in a building designed to be virtually fire-proof. Even the antique realpaper books are treated to resist combustion. Solution? Good old fashioned toilet paper, it hasn’t changed in centuries, and burns like a charm. So I started a small blaze in the rest room, and amid screaming alarms and a torrent of water, hopped into the snake-like tube and slid to safety in the commons three stories below. I blended into the startled crowd, and eventually made my way back to my room.
I haven’t been able to contact Reba Lyi since.
208/3367:54
Still no word from Reba. I’ve been reviewing the data that she collected as well as my stuff. Even though we were cut off, and didn’t get the entire picture, what we have tells a pretty chilling story.
For starters, the history of Transmigration has been marred from the very beginning by political abuse. The Otherworlds were basically used as convenient penal colonies, and still are. Homeworld has no jails, convicted offenders are simply beamed off to serve a prescribed number of Otherlives away from the planet. The worse the crime, the worse the situation your Otherself finds itself in, and some of those can be pretty bad. The Otherworlds aren’t all the serene paradises the government would have you believe. More on that later - suffice it to say that serving a sentence can be an outstandingly miserable experience. There aren’t many repeat offenders.
Add to the legitimate criminals an endless string of politically motivated exiles, conveniently misplaced by the government to silence opposition. If they are merely annoyed with you, someday you might be allowed to return. If they really consider you an enemy, your Homebody might just disappear. You
simply cease to exist. End of problem.
The government isn’t the only one playing these games either. If you’ve got the money, you can buy off
a guard at the storage terminal, and hey, your mother-in-law problem vanishes. Or the president of a competing concern never returns. An even more interesting tactic is to arrange to have a conspirator’s Life Image re-integrated into an enemy’s Homebody, and pose as the real person. It happens so much there’s a whole division down at Security devoted to sniffing out impersonators. It’s also why the government gives Vacation exemptions to highly placed officials. Nothing is fool-proof, though. I wonder how many people in power are really who they say they are.
In a related, bizarre twist, there are a couple hundred thousand people who belong to a Homebody swapping club. It’s officially discouraged, but not illegal. Members spend time in each other’s bodies, and more than a few lawsuits have been filed for damages done during occupation. Broken bones,
contracted diseases, accidental amputations - that sort of thing.
There’s also a huge black market for healthy Homebodies. The ailing rich, unable or unwanting to
steal a body from storage, will contract with a disadvantaged person for the use of their physical self.
It’s a chance for perpetual youth. One such Life Image is said to be on his tenth body - he’s over 2,300 years old.
Every now and then, something legitimately goes wrong. Power failures, natural disasters, computer malfunctions and the like are responsible, combined with theft, for the loss of six percent of all Homebodies placed in storage every year. If your relatives have the money or the clout, they’ll buy you a new Homebody, thereby contributing to the cycle. For a little less, you can be placed into an endless cycle of Otherlives, at least until the flow of bribe money stops.
For most people, their Life image terminates along with their Otherself. No one complains too vigorously. Mistakes could be made on their next Vacation.
Sound bad? Consider this. The Transmigration process itself isn’t as mistake-free as it’s made out to be. Getting a wrong sex Otherbody happens about fifteen percent of the time, not .003 like the guide said, and lots of people have big problems with it. A female Life Image placed in a male body can be quite confusing. Not every Otherbody is in perfect shape, many have deformities, weakening diseases or other defects. Not all Otherworld medicine is advanced as ours, cancer- is still rampant on m/4. Control can’t predict stuff like that, so they just say, “Learn from it,” or “Look how lucky you are on Homeworld compared to that,” and meanwhile you’re stuck with a miserable existence until your Otherself dies.
Sometimes the guiding mechanism fails and your Life Image ends up getting beamed into the middle of an Otherworld star.
O.K. Let’s say you get by all that. What are the Otherworlds really like? The holograms depict five islands of paradise, but there are really only four left - m/2 blew itself up in a nuclear fission war fifty years ago. There was no way Homeworld could handle re-integration of so many Life Images at once, so over two billion souls were lost. The planet is now the ultimate prison sentence - a wasted, radioactive desert, inhabited by twisted mutants.
You’d think that that would have put an end to the Homebody shortage for good. No way. The government had an auction. They were gone within three days. The average Homeworld citizen’s age dropped thirty-two years. Prime specimens were selling at the rate of fifty million credits apiece. A lot of people bought two.
On the other end of the scale lies m/5. For some reason, evolution has proceeded so rapidly there
that Life Image domination of their bodies has become impossible. Their souls are as strong as ours, thus closing the door to travel, except to the planet’s lower species. Our only presence on 0-5 lies in
a limited number of animal spies. At their present rate of advance, technological parity with Homeworld is predicted in 1700 years. We should be able to establish communication in 400. I wonder what
they’ll say?
So. Three Otherworlds left, and Homeworld’s population still growing. Let’s take a look at them.
m/1. Also known as Cara System 3. This Otherworld lives up to its billing. Part of a double star system, the planet is eighty percent tropical. The population has stabilized at about 3.5 billion, technology has advanced to level III. Most disease has been eliminated, and primitive inter-planetary space flight has been achieved.
Cara System III is a playground of the rich and powerful. For all practical purposes, you have to buy your way in. Homeworld allows Cara to maintain a stable population because the policy makers have a stake in keeping their Vacationland pure.
It would be a supreme coup to achieve m/1 on FirstRide.
m/3. Of the remaining two planets, m/3 is handling its growing share of Vacationers the best. Its
planetary governing council is best prepared to deal with a population now exceeding three billion. Even so, there are areas of the planet with poor communication, lowered nutritional standards, and exposure to the elements. Climate control is only in early stages.
m/3 has its moments though. Medical care is generally good, and about half of the planet is truly
enjoyable. Forget the lottery system - if you can’t buy Cara III, you can still obtain favorable placement on m/3 for a reasonable price.
m/4 gets everybody else. There’s a saying; when asked how bad can a situation get, the answer is, “As bad as a day on 0-4.” Overpopulated, fractionalized local governments contribute to food shortages, and are constantly at war with each other. Resources are strained, and there is no coordinated plan to deal with ever increasing pollution threats. Medicine is still in primitive stages, as reported earlier in this journal, cancer is uncontrolled. Technology still mired in level I, is advancing, although slowly. Ozone levels have been depleted, and global warming is causing weather fluctuations on a massive scale. Nuclear fission is still used as a power source, and radioactive leaks do happen.
No one goes to m/4 voluntarily.
208/3367:89
Still no contact with Reba.
208/3367:91
At the suggestion of our ever friendly InfoBot I checked the status board, and was shocked to find Reba’s name listed under “Departed...3367:67”. She wasn’t supposed to leave until tomorrow.
I really have a bad feeling about this.
208/3368:21
Departure day.
I was up all night considering my options. The way I see it there are two possibilities that explain Reba’s early Departure. Option A is she chose an early out as a way to escape pursuit by the Security forces. If they were close behind, she may have bribed a Techie and hopped a Ride out of danger. She wouldn’t have had time to notify me of her plans.
Option B is the one that kept me up all night. If Security did catch up to her, they probably did a memory scan and then shot her off to some corner of m/4 or worse. That would mean they know about me.
Intercepting Government files is a serious offense, they don’t like you knowing things you’re not supposed to. Even so, the material we accessed was hardly of the most sensitive nature. Anyone who’s spent time on m/4 or the penal colony of m/2 would be aware that not all Otherworlds are a bed of roses.
So... either they know about me, and are waiting for RideTime to execute their sentence, or I’m safe, and stand the usual risks of ending up with an unpleasant Otherlife. My social status should be good enough to merit a Trip to m/3, if l can bribe the right person.
There is one other alternative.
I could go underground- join the Z-Riders. They don’t believe in Transmigration, and refuse the mandatory Trips. It would mean abandoning everything I own, completely defying the authorities, and making a run for the FreeZone, an area I’ve barely heard about, and have only the vaguest notion of
how to find.
I can’t do it. I’d be declared a Runner the second I didn’t show for Departure, my access cards would closeout, and a city-wide alert would spread before I could even clear M-6 property lines. And that’s assuming that they don’t have surveillance on me already. If I added Running to the charges of File-
tapping, I’d probably be looking at a sure stint on the Nuclear Playground.
I don’t have a choice, I’ll take my chances on the Ride.
208/3368:46
Departure lounge T7. This will be the last entry in this journal for a while, possibly forever. I’ve signed over every credit in my name to a shifty-eyed little grunt at Ride Control who assures me I’ll have a pleasant Destination. I don’t trust him for a nano-second, but what can I do? At least I tried.
Everyone around me is chattering excitedly about the things they’re going to do, places they’re going to see, speculating on Destinations. There’s going to be a few surprised faces when these people get back from Vacation and realize they just spent an entire Otherlife as a laborer in an m/4 spice mine.
The Board just flashed 5663962, it won’t be long now. My hands are shaking so bad I can hardly hold this transcriber. I have the overwhelming desire to break and run, but I’d swear every Bluesuit in the place is watching me. Paranoia does funny things to your head. My mouth is dry, my palms are wet, everything’s backwards. My heart is racing, and seems to go faster the closer we get to my number. All around me people are walking into oblivion, blissfully ignorant.
56639711RCD. That’s me. I’m so dizzy I can hardly stand up.
Oh god, just give me a bearable Otherlife.
Please don’t let it be m/4.
END TRANSCRIPT
Chalaka Mgumbwe looked up at the canvas above her and was grateful. Outside a desert sandstorm raged, but the ragged tent provided some relief from the wind and the searing sun that had parched the land for seemingly endless months. When her village ran out of food, she had walked seventy miles through the burning desert to the relief camp, where meager shipments of food and medicine were occasionally allowed to get through by the rebel army.
She looked at the stranger’s white face, and closed her eyes as the pain came again. The man was babbling something in a foreign tongue, and Chalaka arched her back as a fresh wave of pain washed over her. She was so weak. She didn’t think she could make it, but she braced herself and pushed one more time. And then suddenly it was all over.
A cry drifted across the sand, and the doctor, weary from months of service in the Ethiopian desert, regarded the latest addition to a troubled land.
“Welcome to the world, little one,” he said.
And in his hands the baby girl opened her eyes...
...and began to scream.
No comments:
Post a Comment