Getting to Bliss

By Paul Tietjens

On Mars, humanity has founded a galactic empire. On Terra, people spend their long lives immersed in the virtual reality of the time-dilated Interface. The Marterrian Frontier is a utopian future rejected by many of its inhabitants peppered by artificial intelligence, space travel, genetic engineering and robot avatars.

Theodore Clay Oneir was born with a defect - he cannot participate in the dreamworld of Interface. In a desperate attempt to escape his disability and his condescending society, Ted stows away aboard the Martian salvage starship, the Dame Brisen.

Aboard the Brisen, Theodore must face uncomfortable truths about life and his own origins. He finds that escape from Earth doesn't mean he's treated like less of a child, and that freedom comes in more than one flavor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Tietjens
• Release date: Dec 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301115112

Book preview

One

In Which Theodore Changes Dads

Theodore Clay Oneir was the dumbest child on Earth. He was arguing with a mechanical dog that only he could see.

"No, that’s not my Dad."

But Ted, The dog said, Creche has detected several psychological anomalies in you, and we want you to grow up to be healthy and well adjusted. The mechanical dog, shiny metal head and slick red tongue, stared up at Theodore with his soft, glowing blue eyes. Theodore cringed at the diminutive, ‘Ted’.

What anomalies? What do you mean, ‘well adjusted’? Without Interface, how am I ever going to be adjusted at all? Theodore spoke, without speaking aloud. His limited interface, a series of wires connected to his nervous system, allowed him to visualize a simplified virtual space. The Interface was a gestalt network pervasive in all Terran technology. For Theodore, this was visualized as a lattice of green framework suspended in a black space.

The problem, Ted, is that you don’t like change! Dir, the virtual dog, said. Dir was Ted’s artificially intelligent proxy. As a proxy, Dir’s duty was to fetch information from Interface’s more complex depths, and act on Theodore’s behalf when he needed something from the system. Theodore needed a proxy. He wasn’t capable of using the Interface to its fullest capacity.

I don’t see how that matters. Theodore said. I’ve had the same Dad my whole life. You can’t just change someone’s parents after nineteen years.

Not all change is bad. Creche wants you to know that. Plus, you didn’t like your old Dad, anyway. Dir barked a little bark and half-jumped up at Theodore’s mental presence.

You didn’t even ask me! Theodore said, his tone exasperated. He was getting tired of being treated like a child. Most nineteen-year-old boys on Terra would be ensconced in their primary vocations by his age. They could use Interface’s fugue state, a dreamlike-trance used to stretch subjective time out tenfold. Someone engaged in the Interface’s fugue could go to school for four years of subjective time, while less than a year passed in the physical world. Theodore couldn’t do that. He was ‘disadvantaged’, according to Creche, the agency in charge of caring for Terran children until they came of age. Theodore might never ‘come of age’, since he couldn't Interface.

Ted, it’s good for you! Come on, Creche wants you to smile big! It’s aaaall for the best, Dir said in singsong.

I think it’s time I decided what was best for me, Theodore said. So, you can stop being my proxy, and you can stop telling Creche to change my life. Oh, and you can call me Theodore, since it’s my name.

The little dog put its gimbaled tail between its legs and whined.

But Ted, Dir said, without a proxy, you won’t be able to do anything. What if you get sick? What if you want to go for a ride? How will you turn the lights off and on? What if mongooses attack?

Theodore frowned. He hadn’t considered the problem with the lights, and the rest of the tree-house's automated systems.

Terran tree-houses were huge trees with rooms and corridors formed from trunk, branches and roots. Terran genetic engineering (or ‘squish’) made the tree-houses, and so much more. But the hard technology, things like lights, media stations, cooking stations and sanitary facilities, all required Interface. Every child could Interface, except for children like Theodore.

Fine, stay my proxy. But call me Theodore, and tell Creche not to change anything else.

Alright, The-o-dore. The dog exaggerated the syllables in his name, making it sound like ‘theo door’.

Say it properly. Wait, attacked by mongooses?

It could happen, Ted! The little dog crouched down in a playful stance, and wagged its tail. Sometimes, Theodore worried that his proxy was broken when it said things like this. He ignored it.

Theodore sighed and checked his internal chronometer. The clock inside his limited interface said 1150. Almost time for lunch. Theodore was always on time for lunch.

*

Take your seats, children, the robot said in a feminine voice. A servo arm with a camera mounted on top slid a platter of food onto the table. Theodore was already seated, his knees poking up just over the top of the squat furniture.

The other three boys, all six years of age, trickled in from the classroom.

This isn’t peanut butter, Theodore said, looking at the platter. He prodded one of the sandwiches, lifting the top of the bread. It looked like ham and cheese.

No, Ted. We’re having ham and cheese, today, Mom, the robot, said. Mom wasn’t actually a robot. She was a Terran, a human being just like Theodore. But she was locked away somewhere far away, in her capsule. It took only small amounts of her time to care for the children in Theodore’s creche, since time passed so slowly for her in Interface’s fugue state.

Why? Theodore asked. Why were they having ham and cheese today? Today was peanut butter day, and though Theodore wasn’t fond of peanut butter, the change of plans disturbed him. Creche had a way of doing things that Theodore often hated. They would keep everything the same, day in and day out for a year, and then suddenly everything would be different. Schedules for physical and academic activities, sleeping and waking, meal times and menus, all kinds of things got changed, very often with little or no explanation. Theodore liked it when things did not change, because when they did, it made him feel as if he was sitting still. Rotting, like a log on the ground.

Dad and I decided to change the menu, a little, Mom said.

Yay, food! Hyps, the little blond boy, finally arrived (two minutes late, Theodore noted) and sat, clapping his hands. Ham and cheese was Hyps’ favorite.

It’s ham and cheese, Theodore said.

I know, Hyps said, frowning at Theodore. I can see, Ted.

My name is Theodore, he said, but Hyps wasn’t paying attention to him. The other two boys arrived. Theodore didn’t know their names. Sometimes, he didn’t bother to learn them. They would only be in the Creche for another few months, and then they would go away as soon as their nervous systems were mature enough to be fitted with interfaces.

The boys ate, and chatted with each other, ignoring the giant teenager who sat among them. Theodore debated on whether or not he should eat the ham sandwich.

On the one hand, if he ate the sandwich, he would be admitting that he approved of this change. On the other hand, if he didn’t eat the sandwich, he would be hungry.

Why’d you change the menu? Theodore asked Mom.

We thought it would be nice to change things a little, Theodore, Mom said. Theodore smiled when she used his name, even though he knew she was only doing it to appease him.

Why’d you think it would be nice? Theodore said.

Shut up, Ted. No one cares, Hyps said. He stuck out a ham-covered tongue at him.

Hyps, please behave in a civil manner, or you can go to bed early tonight. Mom’s robot camera turned to face the little boy.

Sorry, Ted, Hyps said.

My name is Theodore, he said.

"Sorry, Theodore," Hyps said, curling his lips in contempt as he said the name.

Apology accepted, Theodore said in a flat tone. He was no longer interested in Hyps’ opinion of him. When Hyps had first arrived, a year ago, he and Theodore had been friendly. Hyps was new to this creche, and was scared, just like Theodore, of change. Theodore had helped him by showing him the routine.

After twenty days, however, Hyps had begun to be rude to Theodore. As soon as the other boys had arrived, and Hyps had realized that Theodore barely knew the curriculum, he mocked him whenever the other boys did.

Theodore was disadvantaged, after all. In a year, Hyps would be smarter than him.

Mom turned away from the argument, and Theodore grimaced. He knew that she saw Hyps’ mockery, and yet she did nothing about it. The entire tree-house was covered in visual pickups. Nothing happened here that Creche, the agency, didn’t know about. And yet, they tolerated the other children constantly mocking and belittling him.

Theodore put his hands under the edge of the platter. Creche thought he had a problem with change? Theodore was going to make his own change, now. He flipped the platter up violently, scattering the sandwiches into the faces of the sneering boys.

Enjoy your ham, he said, and stalked out as Mom pelted him with scolding words.

Two

In Which Theodore Commits Mass Murder

Dad and I have discussed it, Mom said, her glowing red camera-eye pointed directly at his face, and we’ve decided that you need to take a break from socialization.

Fine, Theodore said, not waiting for Dad’s robot to chime in. Dad’s robot avatar sat directly behind Mom’s in front of Theodore as he sat on the couch in his home’s living area.

Theodore wasn’t bothered by this particular change in routine. He knew it was meant to be a punishment, but he hadn’t enjoyed socialization for a long time. No, the change didn’t bother him, but the idea that he, a grown man, was being punished as if he were a little boy, did.

We’re very concerned about you, son, Dad said. Theodore winced inwardly at the word ‘son’. He wasn’t their son. Theodore was the child of two adult genetic donors who worked at a power plant orbiting Terra. Before he had looked them up in the system, he imagined that his parents were romantically dysfunctional. Maybe, he told himself, they were veterans of a great war, or drug addicts, or pirates.

The truth held none of that romance. They were simple scientists living in an orbital arcology that transmitted power to the surface of the planet. Theodore found the idea of living in an arcology, a building full of capsules piled on top of each other like crates in a warehouse, as dull as ham and cheese. Sure, those capsules were full of people living very long, fruitful and experience-filled lives, thanks to the fugue and full sensory immersion of Interface. But Theodore would never join them.

I’m fine, Dad, Theodore said.

You were very rude to Hyps today, Mom refused to drop the subject and zoomed in on Theodore’s face. Theodore knew she was using a routine to gauge his body language, to discern his attitude, level of truthfulness and thought process.

Well, he was very rude to me! Theodore said. How could she be so stupid? Plainly the six and seven-year-olds of the world needed their own comeuppance. Theodore didn’t need to be lectured by a seven-year-old. Just because he was destined to have a working interface and Theodore wasn’t didn’t make him better then Theodore. If anything, it meant he should be nice to Theodore.

We understand how hard it is for you, Dad said, his treads whirring as he came up even with Mom in front of the couch.

Sure you do, Theodore thought. How could they know what was hard, and what wasn’t? They didn’t know what it was like to live your life ten times faster than the rest of the world, or have such limited access to information.

Oh, you know what it’s like to be nineteen years old and treated like a child? Theodore said.

The argument continued, with Mom and Dad trying to get some kind of capitulation out of Theodore, and Theodore refusing to apologize for what he thought of as justice.

In any case, it was only a tray of sandwiches. He didn’t see what the big deal was.

Maybe, Dir said as Theodore closed his eyes, ignoring his parents, if you acted more like an adult, they wouldn’t treat you like a child!

Maybe if you shut your stupid brain-face I’d like you more, Theodore said, and felt instantly sorry as the mechanical dog whined and put its head down.

He couldn’t close his eyes without hearing from Dir, and he couldn’t open them without hearing his parents. Everywhere Theodore went, he was being lectured at, controlled and harassed.

You’re right, Mom, Theodore said, not really knowing what Mom had just finished saying, since he hadn’t been listening. I’ll apologize to Hyps tomorrow. I’m sorry for making such a mess.

Mom and Dad continued, anyway, reassuring Theodore that they ‘loved him very much’ and ‘only wanted what was best for him’. Theodore filed these platitudes under ‘same dirt, different day’, and began to plan his escape from the prison called Terra.

*

So, what are you looking up shipping schedules for, Ted? Dir asked, cocking his head at the display that was unfolding in Theodore’s mind. On one plane of the green and black space there was a list of outgoing and incoming shipments from the BSS - the Brain Shipping Service.

I want to see how long it will take for a package to get from here to Bliss, Theodore said. He didn’t know, yet, if he could trust the AI. Theodore had long suspected, before Dir changed his Dad, that the brain proxy was in league with Creche. Now, he had confirmation that the proxy definitely reported to them, but Theodore didn’t know how much in league they were. Did Dir have to actively report Theodore’s actions, or was Creche tapped into Dir constantly, every minute of every day?

Why? Are you sending something to Bliss? Dir asked.

Not yet, Theodore said.

But you’re going to?

Probably. Actually, Theodore said, I’m thinking of setting fire to the tree-house and going into town naked in order to murder everyone, Theodore said.

Oh! Dir said, raising its little dog head, its floppy ears extending upwards. Theodore, I can’t tell if you’re joking.

I’m not, Theodore said. He was lying, of course, but Theodore had read that this kind of thing used to happen, before Interface was invented. Humanity had all kinds of strange trouble in the old days. Theodore didn’t know if Dir could tell he was lying, but he needed to know how much of what Dir knew, the Creche knew.

But Ted, if you do that, all kinds of bad things will happen, Dir said, whining and putting his head on his paws.

I know. But it has to be done.

Ted, you don’t have to be naked to kill people, Dir said.

He spent the rest of the afternoon pretending to look up the best way to burn down a tree-house.

*

While researching on flammable materials and methods for mass murder, Theodore discovered some things. The interface capsules human beings put themselves in so that their bodies could be cared for while their minds were interfacing, were capable of putting the body into a state of suspended animation. In case of a medical emergency, the person’s body temperature would be brought to incredibly low levels very quickly. A cocktail of chemicals were injected into the person’s tissues to allow the process to happen without damage to cell membranes.

The capsules could flash-freeze people. And, later, thaw them out, good as new.

Every tree-house on Terra was equipped with at least one of these fugue capsules. For people with a working interface, they were necessary. The interfacer could spend days inside the capsules while they went about their business in virtual space; playing, working, having a life, even if a ‘virtual’ one. Theodore knew the distinction wasn’t important to Terrans. To Theodore, it was the difference between being on the outside or the inside of society.

While Ted couldn’t enter fugue, he could have his body shipped to Bliss, a planet on the edge of the Martian Empire. In this way he could escape Terra, Creche, all of their dreary rules and fickle changes.

Martians were exciting to Theodore.

The Martians had, long ago, broken away from Terra. When Interface was first invented, and giant leaps in technology were accomplished in months instead of decades, the technology was hailed as a singularity. But the Interface, in order to induce the fugue time dilation and provide full immersion in its virtual landscape, required direct neural connections. Wires in the brain. Large portions of the population were averse to this. For reasons religious, paranoid, philosophical or fearful, the Martian Generation Colony was formed. Masses of humans signed up for the program, and after only a single generation of interfacers had been born, multiple generations of humans were aimed at Mars and launched with the intention of colonizing the world like a giant, rocket-powered dandelion seed.

Those humans who didn’t want anything to do with the new Earth, where virtual reality trumped non-virtual and robots were slowly replacing people on the streets, chose to go abroad.

The Terrans that stayed had little or no interest in space exploration. Certainly they had no interest in doing so in person.

The Martian Empire was born. Using advanced technology originally researched on Terra, from inside fugue capsules, humanity terraformed worlds, replaced fragile organic biology with cybernetic adaptations (which Theodore knew from popular fiction was called ‘tinning’), and ultimately even altered the human gene in order to expand and explore (often referred to as ‘squishing’).

Bliss was the closest bastion of freedom, in Theodore’s mind. A place where nobody had an interface, where fugue was taboo and ‘disadvantaged’ was the norm.

All he had to do was get the Brain Shipping Service to transport his capsule there. Tonight, he would crawl inside the fugue chamber, engage the medical emergency protocol, and wake up free.

There was a problem with his plan, though. The brain-driven robots that would arrive to carry his capsule off were not going to ignore the fact that there was a person in the capsule. When the medical emergency protocol was engaged, it was going to alert local services, and even the Creche.

Theodore knew only one way to bypass that alert system.

Dir, I need your help, he said to his proxy.

I’m all ears! Dir’s ears grew to three-times their normal size, and he flapped them, floating off the green and black surface that passed for ‘ground’ in Theodore’s virtual space.

I need you to disable the alert system on my capsule, Theodore said, and held his breath. Now, ever since Theodore had made the ridiculous threats, about nudity and mass murder and arson, no one had approached him about it. He had spent days researching weapons of destruction and flame, without any reprisal or even careful broaching from the robot parents.

Theodore thought he could trust Dir, based on this lack of interference. He wasn’t certain. Perhaps Creche was ignoring his outrageous claims, hoping he was kidding, or having a tantrum. Theodore was about to find out.

Why? Dir said, cocking his head.

I’m shipping myself to Bliss, Theodore said, his voice sounding more forceful than he intended it to. Having said it out loud, Theodore was surprised to find that he was nervous. What if something went wrong? What if he died in the capsule? The cryostasis induced by the system in the capsule wasn’t intended for long terms, like the months it would take to travel to a distant planet. Then, there was the possibility, almost worse in Theodore’s mind, of being caught and sent back to Creche, to listen to his fake Mom and fake Dad lecture him about his irresponsible behavior.

Oh! In the capsule? That’s pretty clever, Ted. But is it safe? The little dog scratched his mechanical ear with a metal foot, making little ‘tinkle’ noises as the metal hit metal.

You don’t seem worried, Theodore said, his own tone actually sounding worried.

Oh, I’m worried, Dir said. Remember, my matrix is housed in your interface. If you’re hurt, I’m hurt.

"Yes, so why don’t you sound worried," Theodore said.

Because you’re not going, Dir said. Theodore felt a chill. The hair on his arms stood up. He had been caught. Dir was reporting to the Creche, and now they were going to really watch him, maybe even lock him up somewhere so he couldn’t escape.

"Why not?’ Theodore asked, his voice shaking a little despite his effort to keep his voice calm.

Because you can’t do it without my help, and I won’t help, Dir said.

Oh. So, the dog hadn’t told on him, yet. "Well, I could do it without your help. But it will be very dangerous," Theodore said.

Now, the little dog looked worried. It stood up, and paced.

How will you do it, then? Dir said.

I can’t tell you, Theodore said. He was lying. He wasn’t very good at it, not having had much practice, but he couldn’t think of any other way to convince Dir to help him. His heart thumped hard in his chest. Theodore hoped Dir wasn’t monitoring his vitals, or if he was, Theodore hoped he mistook the accelerated heart rate for excitement over the project, and not deception.

I don’t want to die. I have so many things to do. Go kayaking, publish my memoirs, make nachos, Dir said, whining.

Then you’d better help me.

What if... Dir stopped and stood, staring at Theodore. I’ll help you, but only if you beat me at Animals.

Theodore’s pulse sped up even more. He was falling for it! Theodore felt sure he could beat Dir at Animals. The game, played in Theodore’s virtual space, was one of the few pastimes he enjoyed. Dir knew that, and was trying to use it to convince him to call off his plans, but Theodore thought the strategy was foolish. He wasn’t going to change his mind, because of a game.

And if you lose, Dir said, you have to stay, stay in Creche, and behave. No more sandwich throwing or angry fits or threats of naked, flaming murder.

Oh. So, Dir wasn’t just going to try and convince him to stay by playing with him, he was trying to trick him into behaving like Creche wanted him to.

Fine, Theodore said, and began to compose his strategy, even before the game appeared in his interface.

*

‘Animals’ is a game very popular among children of ages seven to twelve on Terra, and children of all ages in the Martian Empire, though in the Empire the players used holographic projections, instead of direct neural input.

The game has roots going all the way back to the twenty-first century. Themes of resource management, creativity and strategy are interwoven with the most realistic physics engine, planetary engineering models, and genetic sciences that humanity can offer.

The game starts by the players, or player, choosing a planet to terraform, and ends when a species on the planet evolves into a space traveling race. Victory for a player can be achieved solo or, in multi-player mode, through cooperation or eradication of opposing species.

The further from earth-like the planetary choice was, the harder the game. Only so much can be done to make a gas giant capable of hosting life forms, for example.

Animals was the most complex projection that Theodore’s limited interface could achieve, and as Theodore understood it, his resolution wasn’t nearly as good as the real thing. Even so, it was his primary means of escaping the sterile environment of Creche.

Dir and Theodore each picked a random number to decide who would pick the planet. Theodore won, and chose Jupiter.

There, let’s make this game really count, Theodore said. He had tried the Jupiter scenario numerous times, and was familiar with the changes that could be made, and what types of species would be successful here. He also knew that Dir hated playing on gas giants, from games they had played together in the past. Dir confirmed Theodore’s thoughts with a groan.

Theodore spent his resources on the changes he knew had to happen to make his chosen species viable. His chosen species, in this case, was going to be a race of floating, helium-filled bladders that would eventually evolve the ability to travel space without vehicles. All he had to do was change some of the atmospheric makeup to allow for the growth of bacteria in some of the giant planet’s storm clouds.

Dir surprised him by changing the temperature, and removing mass from the gas giant. The planet expanded in reaction to the decreased mass and Theodore cursed. His helium-bromeliads were going to need help.

Theodore had a tiny amount of resources left to spend, whereas Dir had spent all of his. Removing that much mass from a planet wasn’t cheap. Theodore added floating static generators all around the planet. His basis for life was ready, now to see if it took.

While Theodore watched for signs of life in his floating primordial soup, he grew nervous. Where was Dir’s species going to start? Why couldn’t he see the mechanical dog’s moves on the planet?

There was the spark! Tiny, proto-bacteria formed and evolved in time-lapsed glory as Theodore looked on. Single-celled organisms grew in the tiny pockets of water vapor on the planet and evolved organelles that could extract helium from the atmosphere, allowing them to leave the water droplets and travel between the pockets.

Theodore mentally whooped in triumph.

Evolution continued, and Theodore guided his tiny