A Change of Mind

By Benjamin Burress

Linvaria has overseen the affairs of seventy star systems for a thousand years, a job that she carries on with tireless dedication and implicit loyalty. However, within the privacy of her spare thoughts there is discontent. Galactic civilization has reached a state of arrested development. There is no advancement, no pursuit of unanswered questions, and no new questions to explore. There is only the edict of maintaining the steady state. Contemplating the endless circularity of existence in the galaxy remains only an academic pastime for Linvaria…until a voice in her mind urges her to question the orthodoxy of the status quo. Confronting a virtually limitless bastion of billions of star systems that spans the entire galaxy is a challenge beyond logic, and Linvaria has only three allies in her singular revolt: her loyal servant, an ancestral voice that speaks only to her, and an inexhaustible resource of time. A single spark is easily snuffed out—or, under the right conditions, may ignite a conflagration of change. For better, or worse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benjamin Burress
• Release date: Feb 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311568137

Benjamin Burress

My working life has always centered around science and education, but writing fiction--mostly science fiction and fantasy--has been an accompaniment throughout; another mode of expressing thoughts and feelings about the world and universe. As a Peace Corps Volunteer I taught physics and math in Cameroon. I worked for ten years at research observatories, first NASA's Kuiper Airborne Observatory, and then at Lowell Observatory. Since 1999 I have been a staff astronomer and content researcher at Chabot Space & Science Center in Oakland, California.

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Chapter 1

Linvaria stood like a statue in a celestial tomb.

A vast and silent milieu of stars, star clusters, molecular clouds, the luminous tissues of stellar formation, and dusty residues of their demise filled the great dome above. Linvaria’s eyes reflected the image, the vastness of the galaxy forming a backdrop for her thoughts.

She addressed her servosphere, enunciating the words in her mind and amplifying them to one of her emwave transmitters.

When you regard the inhabited galaxy, what do you perceive?

Would you prefer my answer to be in the form of a list or a comprehensive description of each item and the systems they comprise?

The circuits, mused Linvaria. The circles. The motions of stars and planets. Convective magma flow, continental drift, atmospheric circulation. Transizoa and simulazoa and synthezoa all going about their circular tasks, every microcycle of every period.

Only that; I am relieved. The servosphere had long ago learned to meet Linvaria’s vagaries with sarcasm, finding that this conversational device provided its master with a solid foundation for answering her own questions. Whenever Linvaria entered a reflective mode, the servosphere was at a loss to meet her abstractions with comparably muddled answers. May I limit the initial scope: perhaps only those worlds that have surface oceans? That is only slightly in excess of seventy-three billion planets.

Linvaria wanted no lists from her servosphere. She went along with her servant’s sarcastic banter because she did not want to upset its calculations. It was formulating its conversation with her, she knew, and had become very good at it in the time of its service.

A collapsed helix, she stated.

Collapsed into two dimensions along its principal axis, a helix becomes a circle.

The response amused Linvaria. Her analytical servant never took the initiative to use a simple concept as a conduit to a more complex one. Her own mind could leap from idea to idea like a stone skipping on the surface of water. Her servosphere would always be true to its nature: the stone would strike the water and sink to the bottom.

I am thinking of galactic civilization, she advised, likening it to a system of interdependent circles, each orbiting about a point on a higher order of circles.

Ah, said the sphere, finding an avenue in the conversation it was able to pursue. As the center of one circle orbits about a point on the perimeter of another, which in turn orbits a point on another, the circular motions become more complex orders; the simple paths are transformed into composite trajectories by exponential superposition.

Linvaria imagined the sphere to be pleased with itself, but it had still failed to apply the analogy to her opening subject.

"If one object moves in circles, but around another object that is also in motion, it is carried with that second object; it goes somewhere, like a planet orbiting a star that in turn orbits the galaxy, a galaxy that in turn moves through space. The orbits become ellipsoidal helixes. There is advancement.

But not so with our civilization. The wheels turn, but in simple circles. Nothing advances. We think of nothing new, because no new problems arise. We have removed all the obstacles that forced us to think in new ways.

You are saying that our minds turn and circulate, but get nowhere. Do you mean that we do not come to conclusions?

Linvaria was stunned. Her rigid little synthezo servant had made an astonishing leap from a model of geometric patterns to the subject of conscious thought. On second thought, Linvaria decided that nothing so transformational had occurred. More likely, the servosphere had only discarded the circle-helix line of thought and constructed a new statement based on Linvaria’s new lead.

Conclusions, yes, Linvaria enunciated in her mind, but the conclusions get nowhere. I ask you how we might refuel nearly depleted stars in my jurisdiction—mine the heavier elements from their cores and inject more hydrogen. In response, you develop an interstitial flow through process using a translocator array. I ask you where we will acquire the hydrogen, and you render an economic process of interstellar sweeping. Fine. We have concluded how to extract resources from an unstable star, and at the same time stabilize it and greatly extend its span. To what end?

Have you not answered this question? We have created a model for obtaining an abundance of material resources, and which greatly extends the useful life of the star. The galactic civilization will run smoothly ten times longer than it would were the galaxy left to its own entropy. The galaxy will maintain power sources ten times longer before resorting to alternatives. We will not need to expend energy to accelerate the formation of new stars. This is a productive enterprise, is it not?

However, said Linvaria, we are not changing. From one century to the next, for the past six kilocycles, we have not truly created anything. What we entertained in our thoughts then is no different from now. All efforts are focused on maintaining the galaxy in an unchanging state, and that is all.

That is our duty. To deviate would violate the Consensus. None has ever done so before.

So we are told. Linvaria gazed at the starry dome. One star twinkled, almost unnoticeably: a distortion caused by her servosphere peeking into primaspace from its juxtaversant dimension.

You do not often dwell on history, as historian is not your function, said Linvaria. "I was once a human being, and the memories I possessed are still with me.

"From the formation of the galaxy until six thousand cycles ago, everything was in a state of change. You may consider the physics of an expanding gas on your own time, but the most significant changes took place on planets, where molecules became complex enough to replicate themselves and catalyze their own proliferation. Over the eons, the life forms changed, constantly evolving into different forms. Intelligence began to grow out of the necessity of governing larger and more complex cellular systems—and just as the physical forms had constantly improved, so did intelligence.

Eventually, the life forms—starting with human beings, but spreading to other intelligent species as the technology was shared—achieved the ability to replicate their minds into more permanent forms. Still things changed, until zooforms, simulazoa, and synthezoa inhabited the entire galaxy. Then....

The changing stopped, said the sphere.

Yes.

And you believe that this is a detriment.

Change made us what we are, and the cessation of change has made us meaningless. The galaxy is meaningless; it does nothing but exist.

We are immortal. Human beings desired immortality for thousands of cycles, and now, as transizoa, they have achieved it. Is this a detriment?

No, said Linvaria, it is not. However, the spirit of creativity, of change and improvement, has met its death in the granting of the wish for immortality. To be truly immortal, one must not change. Change is a sort of death.

You are speaking in circles. You say that immortality is beneficial, and then you say that death is beneficial.

I meant that immortality is good for the mind, but that it has killed the spirit.

You are saying, said the sphere, with the droning synthezo equivalent of skepticism, that it is better to be creative than not, even if being creative means that you must eventually cease to exist; even if you can sacrifice the element of creativity for immortality. What purpose is there in growing, evolving, changing, and then being no more? Is not death a state that is at least as unchanging as you claim immortality to be?

You must not think in terms of time. Linvaria raised her left hand before her eyes, the simple motion slow and ponderous. She examined the thermal topography of her skin. Her hand was a multicolored mottling of thermal-coded radiance. "Whether primaverse expands forever or eventually collapses, duration of existence is not a qualifier. By that standard, if primaverse is to collapse and destroy everything, then even an immortal’s existence is meaningless, coupled ultimately to death. If the primaverse expands forever, at the limit of eternity it will become physically static, and any immortals existing within it also will be static, as inertia is what will ensure their immortality. We may as well stop time right now, and bring that death sooner than later.

No, my companion, we cannot use time to measure purpose. Tell me, then, what is the popular antithesis of quantity?

Quality, stated the sphere. I do not believe, however, that quantity of time devalues quality of mind.

Linvaria’s mouth changed minutely: she almost smiled. She would find these traces of human expression surfacing every few decacycles, usually when she thought heavily about existence, but the manifestation on her face was almost undetectable, a residue of her experiences as a human thousands of cycles before.

My loyal servant. Not a trace of emotion accompanied her voice. I am not speaking of mind, but spirit. I thought you understood that.

The sphere was silent for ten picocycles, and then it spoke. I regret to inform you that your reset period is expired. You allotted only two hundred nanocycles for private thought. There are matters requiring your attention.

Thank you, my punctual orb. I had not forgotten.

Linvaria put her private thoughts to rest. She would return her full consciousness to them in one centicycle, resuming her meditation at precisely the same point where she left off. Perhaps she would avoid discussing matters of spirit with her servosphere. Processing such thoughts was not part of its design.

She scolded herself for initiating the conversation in the first place. The servosphere would not report her; it was loyal to her. Nevertheless, it does no good to tell a rock that it can flow like water.

Chapter 2

The library was old, built before the age of the Global-serv. Avin found comfort here, deep in the basement of Daveena City’s public archives. The passageways between the rows of tall gray cyber cabinets were narrow and dimly lit, forming a protected and private space where Avin could do his work, think, or meditate—whatever he chose—in solitude.

Avin’s Global-serv portal of choice sat between two metal cabinet walls at the end of a long aisle. His physical proximity to cyber memory helped the youth to imagine the vast hordes of knowledge stored away in the repositories around him. An almost tangible sense of energy made the cubby the most conducive place for Avin to work on school assignments and community youth tasks.

He could more easily have worked in the dormitory. The dormitory was clean, warm, and comfortable—but full of other students doing their own work. Here, Avin felt soothed in a way he could not explain. Imagining the digital universe of recorded knowledge and wisdom that surrounded him simply made him feel good.

It is Reven, Avin smiled to himself, the sacred and unique spirit of the world. Thus, a teacher had once described it to him.

Avin’s gloport screen displayed a mosaic of task windows. One slate displayed Daveena City’s current news highlights, another a list of school assignments and their due dates. Avin focused his attention on a third slate: a thermographic satellite map of the major agricultural belt south of Daveena, along the coast. Avin was monitoring the daily effects of a minor drought that was under remediation.

A fourth slate was an input for Avin’s observations, for dispatch to a local information editor. From there the editor would send any useful data to the farmers in the drought zone, giving them guidance for irrigation.

Avin knew that a handful of other students were performing the same task, and that his observations were stacked up with theirs. Still, the work felt useful.

I am nothing at all without my smallest part, Reven said. The raindrop, the leaf, the insect, the grain of sand—each contributes to my existence, as I in return contribute meaning to theirs.

Sentry, Avin addressed the satellite.

flashed the text bar at the bottom of the screen.

Zoom out. Show me the entire continent.

The scope of the map expanded, drawing into its borders more of Daveena’s continent. Avin could see the great mountains to the north, and the high, green valley of Roevik embedded like a jewel in the icy whiteness of winter. A bold, black shape interrupted the glaciation farther north, toward the pole: Sarmin Karia, the steamy volcanic sea of the northern ice cap.

Cyber, Avin spoke to the gloport, give me a historical summary of Sarmin Karia. Avin leaned back.

Not now, said Avin, but link the information to my geography file. I’ll look at it later.

Thank you.

No, said Avin. Disconnect from Sentry. What time is it?

That late?

Real time?

Okay, let me have it.

Avin, where are you, and when will you get back to the dorms? Don’t bother sending a reply. Just get back here. The dorm monitor thinks you’re working too much, and I agree. Your loving sister, Ryla. Do you want to send a response?>

No, Avin smiled. Just tell me how a younger sister can sound like an older one.

Avin laughed. Yeah, I guess. Close session.

Yes, of course.

What...oh, thanks. I almost forgot the expedition.

Yeah, I am. I didn’t forget about the expedition, or even that it was tomorrow. I answered your question automatically.

Avin stood, allowing his chair to fold into the gloport. I’ll see you later.

Avin slung his pack over his shoulder and made his way through the archive’s tunnels, between the humming gray walls of cyber banks. He turned a corner, and stopped abruptly when a man in white coveralls appeared before him, blocking the passage as he struggled with a large box.

Don’t hurt yourself, said Avin, setting his pack on the floor. He lifted one end of the box.

Thanks, said the man. I’m taking it down the corridor, behind you.

The two carried the box five meters down the narrow hall, to a spot where a wall panel was removed, exposing a dark, dusty conduit space filled with fiberoptic cables. They set the box down, and Avin peered into the dark hole.

What’s all this? he asked.

The man opened the box as he spoke. The main traffic lines for the archives. We’re replacing all the old cables.

Avin fingered a dusty bundle of multicolored strands, examining it closely. This type of cable is supposed to last a very long time. Why the replacement?

The worker lifted a coil of new cable from the box. Well, they do last a long time—but it’s very old, original from when the place was built.

Avin gazed at the mass of old cables. Two thousand years, he almost whispered.

Uh huh, that says it all. The thermal stressing in a lot of them is registering upstairs—weakened signals, reflections.

Avin leaned into the hole. The trunk of cables continued straight upward through a shaft that stretched into blackness.

Do you have a light? asked Avin.

Sure. The man pulled a small cylinder from his belt and handed it to Avin.

The light traced an orderly cascade of dusty cables that followed the shaft high into the building. Avin grunted, finding nothing more than expected. He started to pull his head out of the dark hole when the light beam flashed on something shiny, less than a meter above Avin’s head.

What’s that? he said, stepping farther into the opening and standing up.

What do you see? The worker’s face appeared in the hatch next to Avin.

Something…. Avin reached up and probed the object with his fingers. Something shiny, sitting on a wall support. Avin knelt down, bringing his find into the light of the corridor. In his palm was a small disk, transparent and rainbow-hued under a layer of dust.

What is it? asked the worker.

Avin smiled. A piece of history. It’s a storage disk. I learned about these from my history programs. This is what they used to store data on, five hundred years ago.

What for? The man squinted at the iridescent disk. They had a Global-serv back then, so what’s the point?

Yeah, they had a glo-serv. But, people were in the habit of keeping their own archives, and this is what they used. I learned that some people, and groups, were data hoarders, gathering all sorts of information and compiling large datamasses. Kind of eccentric.

Maybe—but people collect all sorts of things. Information was probably just another thing.

I wonder what’s on this one, Avin mused, and why it was sitting up on that beam.

A general scanner can probably read it, offered the worker.

Avin nodded, handing the disk to the man, who waved his hand dismissively.

Take it, if you’re interested. Enjoy. If there’s anything good on it, let me know. My name’s Keever Raimat.

Thanks, Avin grinned. I’m Avin Sevalevan. Avin gave the disk one more look, and then slipped it into his jacket pocket. Bye.

Yeah. Keever smiled and gave a quick wave of his hand.

Avin returned the way they had come, picking up his pack from the floor. In the elevator he asked, What time is it?

Eight ten, said the intercom.

Oh well, Avin shrugged. I guess I’ll eat late.

The elevator lifted him twelve floors to ground level, where Avin hopped a rail car heading toward the school.

* * *

Ryla pushed her emptied dinner tray to the center of the table. The tray rose a few millimeters off the surface and floated silently to the wall, disappearing into an elliptical portal.

Leewyn sat across from Ryla, chin in palm and elbow resting on the table, staring vacantly at a group of older students leaving the dorm refectory.

What’s your problem? Ryla grumbled. Haven’t you ever been out of Daveena?

Sure I have, moaned the girl. And I don’t have a problem, Ryla. Leewyn frowned. I just can’t get excited about going off for a week to a faraway, isolated ocean to look at fish and seaweed.

First of all, Ryla applied her lecturing tone, it’s not an ocean, it’s an ice-bound sea. Second...ouch! I just sounded like my brother the human gloport.

Leewyn smiled then. Let’s get out of here. You want to study together?

Where are you?

Section six of human anatomy. It’s a lot more interesting to me than fish anatomy.

The two ten year olds rose from the table and headed for the door. Ryla spoke as the pair walked down the hallway in the direction of their dormitory wing.

I don’t know. Ryla took Leewyn’s hand and swung it back and forth as they walked. I hate to admit it, because it’s just the kind of thing Avin would get excited over, but there are some pretty interesting fish in Sarmin Karia—not that I’ve done a huge piece of research or anything. But I like animals.

What kinds of fish? The girls walked past three boys their own age, one of whom detached himself from his group to follow Ryla and Leewyn. He was shorter than Leewyn, taller than Ryla, and had rusty brown hair and eyes.

Like the zhinagir, the only species in the animal kingdom with copper based blood.

Oh. Leewyn was not excited.

The boy who followed piped up from behind. Hi, Leewyn.

In unison, Ryla and Leewyn stopped and turned their heads behind. When Ryla identified the intruder, she turned away and bit her lip to hold back a grin.

Hi, Seir. Leewyn was even less excited than she was about fish. Bye, Seir. She turned away and continued down the hall, pulling Ryla with her. The boy stood alone, his face dropping a notch.

Why the brush off? asked Ryla, interested.

I don’t like him.

What did he do?

He just tries to hang around me a lot, and it bugs me.

Ryla grinned, squeezing Leewyn’s hand. Maybe he likes you. Leewyn responded with a facial expression.

The girls came to a door. Leewyn touched a small yellow plate at the side and the door slid open. Once inside their room, Leewyn flopped onto her bed and faced the ceiling.

Ryla stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips. I thought you said you wanted to study.

There’s time. I’m digesting.

Whatever, thought Ryla. She went to the room’s sole desk and activated the gloport with a word.

glowed the text bar.

Where’s my brother?

Is he still there?

But when did he leave?

Great, Ryla grumbled.

I didn’t think he wasn’t.

Yes I do.

Ryla glared at the gloport. You wouldn’t understand, being cyber, but there’s more to human development than academic activities.

Yeah, okay, Ryla sighed. And yes, you are correct.

Ryla’s eyes stuck to the last word on the text bar, her brow darkening with a shade of suspicion. Finally, she asked, Where do you get your opinion from, if you are not conscious?

Okay, tell me your opinion.

Ryla’s mouth tightened to a thin pale line, blending into her light complexion and long golden hair. Not really. I’m quite self satisfied.

Close session.

Bye. Ryla rubbed her nose.

Ryla released a breath in a huff. Leewyn, are you finished digesting?

Yeah, about.

Let’s go to the rec room. I feel like swimming. It’s nice and warm this evening.

All right. Leewyn swung her legs