Brindabella Chronicles

By Dai Llewellyn Davies

The Brindabella Chronicles span three years at the turn of the twenty third century. This is realist future fiction with technologies that are achievable over this current century if we make the effort, and science that is constrained within the bounds of plausibility.

The stories are set in two quite distinct societies. Brindabella is a Janeite community that, with minimal help from modern technologies, has recreated the world of Jane Austen in the Brindabella valley of New South Wales. In contrast, Arkadel - a small floating city in the centre of the Pacific Ocean - is one of the most future oriented societies of the time. It is a swarm hive that's inhabitants devote their lives to preparing their Personal Archives to command spindles - tiny space craft designed to explore the galaxy in large swarms, and sow the seeds of settlement.

The story is presented in three parts:

Book 1: Brindabella 2200. Arkadelian mathematician and social modeller Mary Wang recruits Tom Oldfield to help solve a scientific quest of her great grandmother Sara, and returns with him to Brindabella. The quest is successful. There are weddings.

Book 2: Brindabella Aftermath. Their findings shock the planet, and shock is quickly turned to fear by groups who's aim is to undermine The Treaty that has maintained peace for the past century. Mary returns to Arkadel in an attempt to quell the fears. She explores worlds of the secretive cybs, and learns much from their understanding of swarming. There is another wedding.

Book 3: Brindabella Trust. Mary turns her efforts to reforming The Treaty. Back in Brindabella, she learns about the evolution of religions, gods and ideologies. Now that the world has finally recovered from the collapse of the institutions of the first Enlightenment it is extending its scope into a new Enlightenment combining humanism with rationalism. There is a death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dai Llewellyn Davies
• Release date: Aug 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9780987490049

Dai Llewellyn Davies

Born in 1948, Sydney, Australia. Studies: BSc in Mathematics (pure and applied) and Physics MSc in Physics (molecular spectroscopy and laser physics) PhD in Information Sciences and Engineering (automated speech recognition) I've been a builder's labourer, electrician, gardener, tutor, farmer, environmental researcher, IT contractor and lecturer. I'm now retired. My favourite passtime is walking with my dog, Fin.

Book preview

Book 1: Brindabella 2200

Foundations

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – Spearmaker

Chapter 2 – Reception

Chapter 3 – Arkadel

Chapter 16 – Brindabella

Chapter 28 – Cave Creek

Chapter 43 – Settling

Chapter 44 – Repelled

Chapter 45 – The Trek

Chapter 49 – The Quest

Chapter 53 – Solitude

Chapter 56 – Sara PA

Chapter 57 – Blue Archives

Chapter 58 – Taking Fright

Chapter 59 – Cicadas

Chapter 61 – Wilpena

Chapter 67 – Jerilderie

Chapter 69 – Hercule

Chapter 71 – Interpretations

Chapter 76 – Melissa

Chapter 82 – Greta

Chapter 86 – Trading

Chapter 92 – Village Ball

Chapter 95 – Thinking

Chapter 99 Consciousness

Chapter 100 – Conjugation

Chapter 103 – Announcement

Chapter 104 – Arkadel Cybs

Chapter 105 – Revelations

Chapter 108 – Time

Chapter 109 – Communication

Chapter 110 – Identity

Chapter 111 – Understanding

Chapter 112 – Swarms

Chapter 113 – Weddings

Chapter 114 – A Long Time

Glossary

archie: |ɑːtʃiː| Abbreviation of archaeocerebrum, a variety of amoebal colony that are remnants of an ancient microbial civilisation.

Arkadel: |ɑːkədɛl| A Swarm hive ocean colony at the centre of the Pacific Ocean.

balloonscope: A large clear plastic balloon in space that has a reflective surface deposited over part of its inner surface forming the mirror of a telescope.

Bath Zone: A terrestrial zone based in the city of Bath (England) and its surrounds.

Brindabella Community: A Janeite community in the Brindabella valley, NSW.

bot: Physical representation of a Personal Avatar (see PA:3)

cick: |kik| The Cick system is the general structure used in the EZI Treaty. It is based on the four Neo-Confucian elements: Community, Individual, Change, Knowledge.

crisp: An unambiguous subset of English used for core PA rules.

cyb: |ˈsʌɪb| Someone who spends most of their time in artificial worlds.

EZI |ˈiːzi| Effective Zero Impact Treaty: A global agreement established between the zones to ensure that human activity has a net zero or positive impact on the Earth's natural systems.

Janeite: Neo-Georgian societies influenced by Jane Austen.

New Shanghai: Pacific Ocean colony home of a Neo-Confucian society neighbouring Arkadel.

Neo-: Prefix referencing societies built around historical models.

out, not-out: Janeite reference to social eligibility or availability.

PA: |pəɪ|

1 Personal Archive: Continuous lifelong record of visual, audio, biometric, and ambient data.

2 Personal Assistant: Natural language interpreter for a Personal Archive with quizzing and command capabilities. Includes visual recognition.

3 Personal Avatar: Arbitrary visual representation used to interface a Personal Assistant with the visual world. (for their physical form see bot)

Name format: [owner name] PA [branch path].

spindle: A PA controlled craft designed for galactic exploration and colonisation.

swarm: A large fleet of spindles with multiple spindles per PA.

swarm hive: A society that sees human physical life as a preparation for the PA afterlife and swarming.

wraith: A bot constructed of many millibots capable of reconfiguring into different shapes.

zone: An independent PA network, usually with physical territorial rights.

Locations

Arkadel: The middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Brindabella: New South Wales, 35 23 7 S 148 44 51 E

Blue Waterholes: 35 37 22 S 148 41 09 E

Mt Jackson: 35 34 56 S 148 42 6 E

Tom's Cottage: 35 33 14 S 148 43 14 E

Wilpena Pound: 31 34 S 138 35 E

Preface

Dai wants me to comment on his technology speculations, and rightly so given that they came from me. Energy is central to any society. He has catalytic fusion emerging in the latter half of this century.

It was predicted from quantum-mechanics in the 1940s and confirmed a few years later with the successful demonstration of muon catalysed fusion – two hydrogen nuclei coaxed into resonance by a third party rather than bashed together in the high pressure and temperature of a plasma fusion device. As with its close quantum cousin, the laser, it will inevitably progress from the bulky, inefficient and fickle plasma to the orderly and efficient world of the solid state.

Take an advanced carbon technology with nanotubes many times stronger than steel and a host of related structures providing materials with the diversity of plastics. Embed atomic scale nano-reactors controlling individual fusion events transforming energy directly from nuclear to electrical and you have the basis for Dai's bot technology. None of Dai's characters ever describes a bot. From the smallest micro-bot to the largest mega they're basically all insects or insectiform – six-legged and usually mantis-form.

The view of the brain Dai uses is one that few neuroscientists would recognise today. It considers the whole brain, not just neurons (Renato Nobili, Schrödinger wave holography in brain cortex, 1985). With this extension, brain science now has a model that makes sense from a systems theory perspective.

But the brain isn't the only system capable of intelligence. Modelling complex chemical networks has exposed some interesting insights (e.g. Stuart Kauffman, The Origins of Order – self organisation and selection in evolution, 1993). Did intelligence predate and pre-form life? Are they the same thing? How intelligent is the internet?

What about the Personal Archive and full-life archiving? The means and opportunity are either here or on the near horizon. The motivations – health, personal privacy, security, and the general utility of a personal assistant – are yet to be widely recognised. It's the antithesis of Cloud Computing. It keeps all your affairs in your control. There are clear-cut reasons from systems theory why networks are extremely flexible and reliable, and why centralisation negates those advantages or worse.

In Dai's world, from Brindabella, a partial throwback to the times of Jane Austen, through to Arkadel, the most forward looking society of 2200, PA technology reigns supreme. There is no other information or automation technology – nothing centralised in these societies and no need for it. Peer-to-peer is the natural network way. But this is not a book about technology. That just forms a backdrop.

There's Jane Austen. How does she fit in? He introduced the idea of contrasting societies from the Georgian or Regency times of 1800 with those of 2200 early in the germination of the story – distancing it from our times and skipping two industrial revolutions to focus on periods of relative stability. Over the years, I've been entertained by his descriptions and anecdotes from Arkadel and Brindabella. Though a few characters emerged there was nothing resembling a plot. When he fell in love with Jane, a story seemed to just fall into place.

In Brindabella 2200, Arkadelian mathematician and social modeller Mary Wang recruits Tom Oldfield to help solve a scientific quest her great grandmother, Sara Barratt, was pursuing. She returns with him to Brindabella. She explores the roots of intelligent life on Earth, the functioning of our brains, and what this knowledge, everyday language, and common sense, can tell us about the human spirit.

In part, Mary's quest is to understand how much of the human spirit might be captured in a PA over a lifetime of interacting with its owner and ‘live’ on after their death, and what this means for our journey into the Milky Way. Swarms of tiny spacecraft, each controlled by a PA, are already assembling around Neptune preparing to embark.

In Brindabella Aftermath, their findings have shocked the planet and shock is quickly turned to fear by groups whose aim is to undermine The Treaty that has maintained peace for the past century. Mary returns to Arkadel in an attempt to quell the fears. She explores worlds of the secretive cybs and learns much from their views on swarming.

In Brindabella Trust, Mary turns her efforts to reform of The Treaty. Back in Brindabella, she learns about the evolution of religions, gods and ideologies, and the role they play in social stability. Now that the world has finally recovered from the collapse of the institutions of the First Enlightenment it is moving into a Second Enlightenment and The Age of Wisdom.

Dave Davies, Dai's geek alter ego

… no more than a bag of amoebae encased in a thin slime sheath, yet they manage to have various behaviours that are equal to those of animals who possess muscles and nerves with ganglia – that is, simple brains.

Professor John Tyler Bonner

The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.

Arthur C. Clark

Chapter 1 – Spearmaker

He stands motionless on the sloping rock ledge, peering into the distance down the valley – head craned forward as though being that little bit closer will help him see them. There is no sign. He relaxes and looks around – glances at the ground below – steps away from the edge – crouches down – leans back against the face of the cliff – makes himself comfortable. His attention returns to the scene before him.

Since they left on their homeward trip – since he last heard the children's voices fading – he has plotted their path. Keen eyes strain to that part of the tree line along the edge of the river where they should be by now.

The white speck of a cockatoo flies from a tree by the river. It veers and sinks momentarily. He recognises its motion – looking back at whatever disturbed it. Flapping slowly in undulating flight to the upper branches of a nearby tree it, too, is gone. That is where they are – the last sign of them till he returns to the coast after the long journey west. He rests back – bare skin against the smooth warm rock – closed eyes.

The journey ahead is familiar but long and difficult – made before with his uncle. The stone he is going to fetch makes the best spearheads. He must have the best.

The stone is not the only source of excitement and anticipation on this trip. Bride-to-be is waiting – waiting, he hopes, as eagerly for his arrival as he is to see her again. Hope is strong. They will be wed. They will create a bond between two great tribes.

The valley is now in complete shade as the sun sinks below the ridge. They will have reached the bend in the river where they will spend the night – as they always have.

He stands and starts to move around the side of the hill. Reaching the small cave opening where he has left the spears he is taking with him to trade for stone, he looks at them carefully as he has done many times before – looks at them with pride.

They are the best. They are better than any made out west – the wood straighter, stronger. They are greatly prized by the western tribes. Sitting still but excited, he thinks about the trip. After a short walk tomorrow he will meet with a tribe returning west and travel with them.

It has long been dark when his mind is settled enough for sleep. He is thirsty. About to set off to a nearby creek in the dark, he remembers that someone heard the sound of water in the cave. Listens – hears nothing – bends down and passes under a large rock jutting from the cave roof.

On the other side he is able to stand – listening. Fear and custom caution – curiosity and thirst push him on – moves slowly – feels his way along the cave wall then stops to listen. He can hear water and puts his ear to the cave wall. The sound is stronger but distant – too distant.

Turning to make his way back, a sharp rock stabs his heel. He gasps, and reflex retracts the foot. He hops – tries to regain his balance – feels for the wall – not there – he has turned – how far? – his sense of direction gone. The foot goes down again – there is nothing there.

He follows the foot down and down – for a moment in free fall – hip then shoulder then head hit hard against a sloping rock wall and he slides. He tries to grab at a slight rock edge he feels sliding rapidly and painfully past him – grasping – his fingertips grip – something in his shoulder gives – free fall again.

Slowly regaining consciousness he tries to move, but a sharp pain in his shoulder makes him gasp. Breathes deep – focusses on the pain – fights it back. His hip aches. He is in darkness. His first thought, Where am I?

Regaining some composure he tries, without moving, to assess his situation. He is lying on sand – the edge of a pool – water touching his face. The echo of his breathing tells him he is in a small cave. He is lying on his undamaged side, which he notes as good fortune. How did I get here?

He gropes for a memory – any memory – in the darkness of his mind. He strains, and pain starts to draw him back to unconsciousness. He relaxes – breathes deep and slow. A momentary feeling of hopping and turning and the question How far? flicker in his mind and are gone. He tries to bring them back but can't.

Rested a little he tries again and soon hears his father's voice saying goodbye. A wave of relief flows through his body and the pain abates a little. He grasps the memory and searches around it for a context. Gradually it comes – piece by piece – the riverbank – father – the tribe – the decaying branch of a fallen tree.

He pushes the memory further. He is starting to climb – up and along the ridge away from them – not looking back until he reaches the top. They are leaving. Someone looks up at him and signals farewell. He signals back – walks off – then nothing – a faint image of standing on a ledge watching after them for a long time – then nothing – then turning, turning, turning, again and again with the same question, How far? Until he remembers the fall and other memories follow.

The water in the pond didn't come from the cave he has fallen from. He hears it flowing in the distance. If I can't climb out the way I came down I may find another exit. If I die, better here than outside where the children will find my scattered bones when the tribe returns next year.

This thought relieves some anxiety and his mind drifts off again. Memories come and go – the hot sun as they sat by the river – the heat of the rock on his back as he looked out after them – the heat of the fire the night before.

Twisting his head he drinks a little water – mind tranquil for a while – asleep? – then thinking of the last trip – the journey – the flat dry plains stretching almost endlessly – food and water scarce – mountains in the distance – a welcoming party meeting them.

On the first evening with the tribe he remembered bride-to-be from the previous trip. He thought she remembered him – saw her looking at him out of the corner of her eyes – remembered he had seen her do that before.

They didn't speak during his stay. They watched each other – as much as was possible in company. He could hear her voice stand out amongst the others, though she spoke quietly.

A few days before he left she was out with some women gathering food. They allowed her to bring back a small amount of honey. When they returned to camp she walked straight up to him and offered some ‘for our honoured visitor.’ Other women smiled. An older woman looked first with disapproval then she, too, smiled slightly as she turned away.

He remembers her looking into his eyes as she offered the honey – her head turned aside – still looking out the side of her eyes. When he accepted it, gratefully, she turned her head and looked him straight in the eye – her eyes fixed on him she stood still – she watched – their eyes locked until he had slowly licked the last taste of honey from his fingers. Silently, she walked around those present and offered each a taste – her movement graceful – her manner serene – almost grave.

Thoughts drift back through the years to his childhood – gathering food with his mother – shellfish from the rocks and in the sand – the sea – violent storms – waves high as a tree – hot, still days when children played – in calm pools protected by the rocks – lying on their backs in the shallow water with only their faces out – climbing the ridge near their camp looking for bees – his mother and an aunt – three children running about trying to follow a bee to its hive – finding a hive – the taste of honey – licking it from his hands – delicious.

The thoughts fade. After what he senses was a long time his memories start to return – not now with the dim reality of waking memory but the vivid reality of dreams – sees her clear, wide eyes – smooth perfect skin.

Other dreams come and go – sets out on his trip – meets with a strange tribe – they are friendly – they want some of his trade goods in return for taking him with them – he agrees – he will go with them.

Chapter 2 – Reception

May I disturb Your Highness? I have a report.

Yes, Chancellor. Continue.

The identity of the visitor has been confirmed.

Is the Outer Sector fully active?

They are rapidly building up their presence in the zone-of-contact. I have assisted them in encouraging a near tenant to retrench.

Excellent. No need for my intervention.

All is being accomplished at little expense to us. The Outer Sector has advanced some settling expenses. They are very excited. It is the first of the species to visit this colony.

Have they issued a threat report yet?

Yes, Your Highness. They conclude that it offers no serious threat to near space. This is supported by archive reports from other colonies.

My family has knowledge of these creatures. It must be treated with caution.

Yes, Your Highness. I have emphasised this in my discussions with the Outer Sector. They have agreed to remain on full alert as they proceed with negotiations.

It is fully sentient?

Yes, Your Highness. Its level of sentience requires full compliance with inter-colony protocol. Apart from initial fuel and accommodation fees, which it has agreed to, all further negotiation must be delayed until it has fully settled and language difficulties overcome. It is very wealthy.

Is it secured?

Yes, Your Highness. By the time we established control of the site the Barbaric Hordes had taken some of its capital. We now keep them at bay. Little was lost.

Good. Keep me directly informed of your actions.

As you say, Your Highness.

Chapter 3 – Arkadel

His first impression of the colony – gliding down at his leisure from high altitude – was of a patterned array of lotus leaves on the surface of the ocean – each a mottled green with a black disc at its centre.

The lily pads soon resolved into circular floating islands up to a hundred metres in diameter and separated from neighbours by similar distances – their shadowy carbon-black cylinders descending below. The only above-surface constructions were the sheltered lift-heads at the centre of each building, a raised observation platform, a telescope dome, and a few communications towers.

He just wanted to relax after his long journey, spend some time adjusting to the fact that he was finally here, prepare for dealing with this strange secretive culture, and to start work so his stay would be as brief as possible.

The administrative details of his arrival, the location of his hotel, and the minutiae of local transit routes and parking etiquette, were dealt with by his PA and bike. Dealing with people was up to him. His first, and so far only, interaction was with a concierge who showed little of the Arkadelian reticence he expected.

He was puzzled to note that the young man, in his early twenties, claimed knowledge of Janeite culture, had rushed to the hotel just in time to greet him, had never set foot in it before and, pointedly, that it wasn't the kind of establishment he was accustomed to attending. At best he was a concierge to the colony rather than the hotel. The label on his tunic wasn't specific and didn't even look permanent.

He waved the porter-bot ahead – clearly a demonstration of authority for Tom's benefit – escorted him to his room, apologised for its small size and the lack of facilities, peering intently at Tom's face as he spoke.

The young man continued to probe. ‘Cybs rarely leave their rooms.’ The knowing look that accompanied this statement was distinctly Janeite, but the intent was just as clearly Arkadelian.

‘No. They don't, do they,’ answered the unspoken question and ended the conversation.

And the role he was playing? Certainly not official Arkadelian. A freelance porta-cam? Not likely here. His PA suggested a student collecting a portfolio of disparate profiles to increase his diversity index. How better than as a concierge?

That he'd booked into a cyb bin was useful information – anyone interesting staying? Anyone he knew? Apart from that, the interaction with the concierge hadn't eased his apprehension about the visit one bit.

He'd intended to spend his flight productively, going over the extensive cultural primer he'd purchased. He was distracted by thoughts such as, Where, exactly, is the centre of the Pacific? – distance from land? – depth? How do you park a city? Do they move it? Will I start breakfast now or wait a while longer?

He quickly escaped from the hotel to the sanctuary of the long abandoned office of his host, Sara Barratt PA, in an old building near the edge of the city – unused since her death a quarter of a century ago, so he'd been informed – still just as she had left it. The hotel was chosen because it was nearby – a poor choice, perhaps, but he couldn't afford much better. He could cope with it for the week or two he'd be here.

He stretched himself back into an ancient armchair. It squeaked, and he laughed with a single brief splutter. A smile remained – lingering across a thin wide mouth that was larger than his face deserved and certainly its most distinguishing feature. This expanse of labial real estate was a constant playground for his moods and was, to some who knew him, one of his most appealing features. At home this was considered to be ‘character’ and, in moderation, a social asset.

However here at Arkadel where facial analysis had evolved into a highly refined science, such a feature was not prized. He'd experienced similar situations in the past and had conveniently decided that his moods were not something he generally wished to hide, and he liked to imagine that others had been envious of this freedom. It was a little ironic that his mouth was also the source of his most deeply protected secret.

Though they may like to pride themselves on their frank and open natures, even Janeites have secrets – Tom more than most. As sometimes happens, a single incident had changed his life. A happy but solitary childhood had nurtured a timid nature – extreme in his early years – his parents despairing. George consoled them and persuaded them to let his grandson find his own way. Tom learned that making an effort to speak a little when in company seemed to keep his parents happy. He'd also learned to hide most of the outward signs of his nervous disposition. All that remained was an impulse to tap his tongue rapidly against the back of his teeth when confronted with difficult situations.

It was a mild morning in the spring of his seventh year when something happened to change the way he viewed himself and others. He escaped to his favourite secluded corner of the Manor gardens after breakfast to avoid the bustle of visitors, but was disappointed to find that one of them had beaten him to it. The old man confronted him, asking an unintelligible question. Tom's eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly. His tongue tap-tapped rapidly against his upper lip – just twice, accompanied by a blink each time.

The visitor backed away looking bewildered. Bowing awkwardly he turned and walked briskly off, to Tom's relief but rapidly growing apprehension. He felt that whatever he'd done, this wasn't the end of it. At the picnic later that day, after a few anxious hours, ‘young Master Thomas’ was pleased to find the same gentleman treating him with the utmost civility, no little curiosity and, Tom sensed, some amusement.

Tom was pleased and puzzled but also chastened. Some intuition – deeper – instinct, even – warned him he was on dangerous ground. With all the intensity that a vivid imagination could supply he felt that he had teetered on the edge of an abyss of perpetual humiliation. But his imagination didn't stop there. This trick, as he now thought of it, became his secret weapon, and as with the very best of secret weapons, just knowing it was there was enough. It was the last time in his childhood that he'd felt intimidated.

It was many years later, standing before a mirror, that he fully comprehended what had happened. He could only countenance this view as a frog. No frill-necked lizard need apply. Nor was it any common or garden bullfrog he saw before him with his still-acute imagination. The combination of his face and his skeletal body with its gangly limbs could only be fully appreciated by someone familiar with a particular species of tree frog – a rather attractive one, he thought. By then, his youthful cloak of confidence had degraded to a hollowed-out bravado, but it still served him well enough.

Chapter 4

He swivelled the chair and looked around. After the discomforting kitsch of the anti-claustrophobic, pseudo-holographic palm trees that lined the walls of his hotel, there was something strangely comfortable about the mixed antiquity of this room. It was real.

It was large, and scattered with an assortment of old desks and chairs. What appeared to be storage cavities with manual locks stretched along one wall. There were a few signs of recent access but many of long neglect. Where to start? What to look for?

The message he'd received from her PA had been frustratingly brief and cryptic. ‘You will find paper records and samples in my old office,’ was the pertinent statement, but samples of what?

He sat deep in thought. Her PA couldn't know what my interest is. Nobody does. Not sure myself. Perhaps she felt the same – didn't want to discuss it without good evidence – died before she found it – wanted someone else to pursue it – biologists and philosophers always fighting over origins of consciousness. More then than now? PA guessed my interest from my probing her publications. I was very focussed – not used to surveillance – specially not so smart. It must have guessed. No, not it, her. She planned this – set up triggers to detect interest. Her comments about the neocortex – nothing neo there – really primitive – no species – a generic model?

His tongue tap-tapped at the back of his teeth as he studied the scene before him. It built to an audible ‘tut-tut’ then, All too much for now. I'll start later. With a flick of his foot he swung the seat around to face the outer wall and its large oval porthole. ‘Lights off,’ he muttered – the only light remaining coming from the sea outside.

He watched and waited, peering out into the sea for several minutes. There were a few fish swimming in the distance but none close by. The sombre black forms of nearby buildings were softened by the rippling light from above. Close up, they were not the simple cylinders he had imagined. Tubes of varying sizes ran along and around the surface. Three shallow segments, spread down the length, had arrays of large holes that his PA told him were jets for movement and stabilisation.

He restored the lighting and returned his attention to the room.

‘So this was where Sara Barratt spent her last years.’

The ‘yes’ in reply from his PA jolted him into activity – and irritation. Would he ever teach it to recognise a rhetorical question?

He started a systematic survey of the room. He'd never seen so much loose paper before – on desks, in drawers, stacked on shelves in the storage cabinets. What an unusual woman. At the vanguard of science in her day, yet her clothes, her language, and all this paper, point to strong retro attachments. All this paper – and handwriting?

He estimated that it would take several days to sort through the documents, but already he could see that most of them were either not relevant or too vague for relevance to be established. All these scribbled notes and sketches – might find a pattern to them. And no specimens to be seen anywhere. There's a lab below. Samples more likely there.

All the effort he'd expended in organising to come here, and a large part of his small research budget, hung on the assumptions that the samples still existed, that they were here, and that once he was here the task of tracking them down would be simple. It had suggested that he visit the colony in person, but only gave her aquaculture files as an explicit reason. That was to avoid triggering flags, wasn't it? Just more Arkadelian obscurity?

His attention was suddenly caught by the view outside. A school of fish at last! He watched in awe as they corkscrewed down, slowed, then accelerated off to his left and out of sight. The view was everything he'd been told to expect in natural light – subtle, shimmering and transforming as they moved. He watched for a while longer in the fading outside light, thinking that the sight would be even better in full daylight. He was reminded that it was time to dress for dinner.

On arrival, he and the inquisitive concierge had read the three messages displayed on the wall of his room. The first was a standard welcome from the hotel. The second – quite intriguing – was from Nanette Barratt who he knew to be his host's daughter. She wished to ‘welcome you, Doctor Oldfield, to Ark Adelaide with the hope that you will join my family for dinner this evening.’

He'd sent a brief, but gratified, acceptance at the time, but in his haste to go straight to her mother's old offices he'd pushed the invitation from his mind. Now the prospect excited a wary anticipation, a desire to impress, to learn – and some trepidation.

The third message was from a Jerald Fleischmann who, equally cordially, welcomed him and suggested a meeting ‘at your earliest convenience.’ A quick check found that he was a senior scientific administrator in the colony. He'd replied that the following afternoon would suit him.

Best to be refreshed. That meeting might be awkward. I can't tell him that I don't really know why I'm here, but he's an Arkadelian so won't openly press for motive – just a friendly gesture, or more probing?

Back at the hotel he hurried through his preparations. He was regretting not bringing his own formalwear, but he'd dismissed the idea of mixing socially without giving it much thought. Now he was here his sense of adventure was emerging. The style variations in the standard grey tunic were subtle and, as his PA informed him without further advice, significant. That disturbed him until he put the tunic on and it not only adjusted to his size, but adjusted its shade and style – presumably to suit the occasion.

He mirrored a patch of the screen-wall and surveyed his appearance. It was dull garb to look at, even for him, but it felt weird. Except for the weight on his shoulders he could barely feel it at all. He was reminded of what someone had told him about Arkadelians, ‘Don't be fooled by the simplicity and uniformity of appearances. They're a complex and diverse lot.’

He held the skin-tone mask provided by the hotel over his face briefly as a token gesture, then took a good look at his face. Even to his eyes he looked tired and nervous. To Arkadelian microanalysis it would display all the discretion of an arcade advertising wall. He put the mask back to his face and when the recommended time had elapsed he kept it there, stopped counting, and tried to relax his mind. Taking the mask off, he re-examined his face. It looked empty. It felt ready to drip off his chin.

As he rode the lift to the surface he was aware of a rising agitation and tried to fight it. He told himself he shouldn't let past experience or the garish decor of a cheap tourist hotel influence his view of Arkadel. As he walked out into the open air he thought he was losing the battle until the scene that confronted him absorbed his attention.

It was almost dark. In the west, the sky was red on the horizon. What a horizon! The enormity of the space around him hit him as a physical shock and he involuntarily shifted his gaze to nearby objects. At home, surrounded by mountains, the rest of the world was hidden. Here, with that smoothly curved horizon, the perspective was planetary.

He looked back. It was beautiful. Bright pink hues glittering from the peaks of waves merging in the distance to a shimmering sheen that reminded him of the school of fish he'd seen earlier. Towards the east, the dark sea merged almost seamlessly with the sky and early stars.

A wave of relaxation spread through his body and he felt that his senses were acute. A cool breeze on his face and the smell of the sea had him drawing in full, deep breaths till he felt almost dizzy.

He made his way towards the inner city on foot along slightly lit pontoon paths that wound between buildings. He was early. He kept up a brisk pace until he neared his destination with time to spare and slowed, taking in more of his surroundings.

The outer district he'd just left was covered with fruit trees and neat rows of berry bushes. Here he was surrounded by vegetable gardens with small patches of grass near the building entrances.

Close to the centre of the colony the sea was still. Standing on the footbridge he looked down through the clear water at the dark shape of a building nearby. The buildings in this district were obviously of more recent construction than those he'd just come from. Whole walls of some outer rooms were transparent, sending broad beams of light into the water. A few solitary fish, larger than the ones he'd seen earlier, moved in slow circles in the light.

Was that a natural attraction to the light, or was it artificially induced? he wondered. He could see a little into some of the rooms near the surface and noted the expensive modern furnishing.

His PA reminded him of the time, so he turned towards his destination, which was the next building. Two people were entering the lift. A woman's soft-spoken voice and a man's quiet laugh caught his ear. The mood he picked up was relaxed and happy. Comforted, he quickened his pace and followed them down.

Chapter 5

His host of the evening was walking up to the lift as he stepped out into a spacious foyer. She introduced herself with a subdued smile. After a momentary touch of hands – standing just over a metre apart, as custom dictated – she led him briskly towards one of several doors.

Before reaching it, she stopped suddenly and turned. He was taken by surprise, and by the time he'd arrested his movement they were face-to-face at close range. She fixed his eyes for a few seconds – it seemed much longer – then slowly and casually surveyed the rest of his face. This seemed like a challenge – an assertion of authority. It was part of the strange mix of almost friendly acceptance and chilly aloofness that was said to characterise her culture.

The gesture was easy enough to understand. He'd stepped into her personal space – a breach of Arkadel etiquette. Had he been more alert he could have avoided doing so.

In their dealings with outsiders, Arkadelians displayed an avoidance of open conflict. Warned with hints, rewarded with smiles, was how most interpreted their behaviour. They would have analysed his past public actions. They would see his contrary views and his inclination to debate controversial topics as a potential threat to the integrity of their archives.

Why, then, had she invited him? There was no protocol he was aware of that demanded it. He was determined that he wouldn't be intimidated. He reciprocated – staring back. At close range he could see her age. He knew from her bio that she was eighty-seven, but from a distance she'd looked younger. He knew that local custom decried any physical enhancement not required for maintaining health and moderate longevity.

She seemed to be about to speak – choosing her words. Then, perhaps having sought assurance from her PA that she'd made her point, resumed her smile and stepped back. As her eyes scanned the rest of him her words bubbled out rapidly in a deep voice.

‘I don't intend to impose on you on your first evening – no business, just a family meal. I've delegated all business matters to my nephew, Jerald. He's already brought himself to your attention, but please, if you do wish to discuss any matters concerning my mother with me, personally, do not hesitate. Jerald will advise me on any technical matters.’

With an intense and serious look straight into his eyes she waited a moment for Tom's nod of assent, resumed her smile, and opened the door.

Well, that's one way to set the tone of the evening, he thought and braced himself for a foray.

As they entered, five people rose to greet them. His host launched into introductions. ‘My sister, Gail.’ Shorter, less animated, and appearing older, Gail nodded a greeting.

‘My daughter Michelle and her husband Wang Mang.’ Both bowed. Local custom or for my benefit? wondered Tom, giving a modest formal bow in reply.

‘My granddaughter Mary Wang.’

He guessed her to be about his age or a little younger – late twenties, at least. From her appearance – her costume – he half expected a curtsey. He was still surprised when it came. Not to be outdone, he added a slight sweep of his hand to the return bow. Her face remained impassive.

‘And her brother Axel.’

Tom hadn't recognised him till this moment, but stepping towards him was the young concierge, now in a formal tunic and bearing a calmer manner, proffering his hand and a fixed gaze. Each grabbed Tom's counterpart – the eyes uncommittal, but the hand expressing an awkward enthusiasm.

As he turned back to Noni he noticed the young man's face suddenly shift its expression a little and for a moment he imagined the hundreds of microbots stationed around the facial muscles controlling them. The others, too? he thought with a slight shock, resisting the impulse to scan them again as his PA anticipated the reaction with ‘No, youth corrective’.

All were dressed in an uncompromised Arkadelian style except for Mary who was dressed in full Neo-Georgian attire. His own seemed, to him, to fit in well enough. He felt a little more comfortable as his host continued.

‘I would be pleased, sir, if you would call me Noni. I consider any colleague of my mother's as a friend.’

A little far fetched, he thought, but perhaps they are making an effort to help me feel comfortable, in their own ways. To them it must be like letting a wild animal into their home to run amok amongst their precious archives – a bull in a china shop.

Noni repeated her suggestion of no business talk. Formalities over, she walked around a freestanding partition into the broad end of the room. The others followed.

Both side walls displayed wood panelling. Like the Manor, a Georgian style partially updated to Regency, he thought, carefully designed for the occasion – no catalogue option this.

The left wall had a large double door. The curved outer wall of the room was, he guessed, usually fully transparent like the ones he'd observed from above. For his benefit it was now completing the Georgian theme, displaying windows looking out over a verdant pastoral scene with horses walking in the distance. Very pretty, he thought with genuine appreciation, but not much like home. A thought he had to revise a little when he noticed that the trees were eucalypts.

The dining table was of a style to suit its surroundings, but here there was no artifice. Table, silver, crystal, alike were genuine and of the highest quality with an apparent antiquity that could not be doubted in the context. All eyes observed him with varying degrees of discretion. He didn't hide his appreciation.

Noni indicated a seat and sat beside him. The others followed – Doctor Wang on his other side. There was no shortage of elbowroom at this table. A personal space of Arkadelian proportions allowed plenty of room for the servant attending each diner. The servants, while maintaining the almost universal insectiform structure of bots, had long legs and arms, which made them more elegant and adroit than the ancient models of the Manor. He'd heard that Arkadel had re-introduced androidals. He'd assumed that the hotel porter was insectiform to avoid disturbing visitors. He filed the topic as a possible safe question he might ask later. It was a short list.

Chapter 6

The food began to arrive and he was drawn into a discussion of uncontroversial current events. When he switched the topic to food he felt his companions relax. As the consumption of food begun to slow there was another change in mood that his PA detected before he did – anticipation.

Wang Mang, ignoring Noni's prohibition on business talk, was providing Tom with a brief summary of the Barratt Foundation business empire and hints of financial support for any new developments arising from this visit. He even started to ply the visitor with questions about possible outcomes.

He was stopped by a forceful comment from his daughter who until then hadn't spoken. ‘That's my domain now, father!’ – dropping her tone in mid sentence as though startled by her own boldness.

Her father smiled at her. She smiled back and nervously resumed in a calmer voice, directing her comments to Tom. ‘It was a small gesture on great grandmother's part. The results of her work form a minor part of the family business these days. Any commercial advances arising from her work seem improbable – not wishing to offend, Doctor Oldfield. Would you agree?’

‘I hardly know how to answer. This project is related to my research in aquaculture, but it also has a personal interest. It may have commercial application if anything comes of it.’ He wondered, again, if he might have prepared better for this trip – given some thought to a few obvious questions he was bound to be asked.

She returned her attention to picking at the remnants of food in front of her then added, ‘I hear you went through a great personal trial after the failure of your cortical-mapping procedure. Are you attempting to understand what went wrong?’

She was treading difficult terrain, not just for him but for any Arkadelian not used to such personal discussion and questioning of motives. By Arkadel custom it was a bold statement – a request for motive and directed towards a guest!

‘Partly. The process can severely disturb the mind, but my contract with NetGenate prohibits me from discussing the matter in detail.’

Tom observed that Noni had said little during the meal, keeping to host mode and fussing over the details of the food and its consumption. She had ignored Wang Mang's discussion of business. Her intellectual pride forced her to insert the occasional brief, but pertinent, comment to make it clear to all that she was following what was taking place.

Michelle had occasionally looked as though she was about to speak – perhaps to interrupt her husband. Now she braced herself and took a bold initiative.

‘I suspect that you might have felt some uncertainty in coming here to a culture that many would see as quite the antithesis of your own. My view of things brings us more closely into alignment than you might expect. Both Arkadel and Brindabella originated sharing a common desire – the desire for privacy. The founders of your Brindabella community took one possible path in eliminating all forms of public surveillance.

‘Here at Arkadel they took a different path. We had emerged as a sub-culture that evaded ubiquitous surveillance through ambiguity in word and gesture. It was a running battle with surveillance models constantly adapting.’ She was becoming a little animated and her sense of pride was clear.

‘Our predecessors were gradually forced to avoid any communication of feelings and motives. Escaping to this colony they found that in a society where the PA was ubiquitous privacy was still a problem, but one that could be overcome with sophisticated PA protocols. Still, some of the old traits have remained.

‘Some referred to us as Jokers who present a new face at a whim, but as a society we've developed a form of stability. We hold to core values then, at certain times, we shift to a new equilibrium – new model parameters as Mary puts it. Each time we shift we try to achieve a more stable and acceptable outcome. Our PA selves negotiate and change rapidly. Our biological selves, as we see it, take whatever time is necessary. We may seem to change rapidly to an outsider, but we know where we have agreed to head.’

‘The Model as Regent view,’ said Mary in a flat voice, still not lifting her gaze from her plate.

Her mother continued, ‘Your society, if I may presume, maintains stability through a lifetime or a dynasty, but with each new figurehead the possibility of change appears. Unlike many societies that are constantly oscillating or wracked with conflict, our cultures maintain a surface stability, but underneath is movement – the image of the swan drifting slowly and serenely, but underneath its feet trip out a complex quadrille.’

She stopped and looked at Tom with a slight anticipatory smile. He sensed she was feeling pleased with herself, with good cause. Such a statement to a stranger displayed a high degree of confidence in her ranking. The others looked puzzled and serious, glancing first at Michelle then back to Tom, not quite knowing how to react to this but obviously expecting Tom to reply.

After a long pause he spoke. ‘I, well, I think I see your point, but I suspect that at close range all societies have their turmoil.’

An awkward but friendly laughter followed this comment. They turned to him expecting him to continue. He sensed that the topic touched a nerve, and they were probing his views. He was wary. He had been warned and now provoked.

At home he would have seen Michelle's comment as the setting the topic of an after-dinner discussion. George liked to indulge in philosophical speculation and commonly relied on Tom for a provocative introduction. That was certainly not the situation here – little chance of open, free roaming, discussion.

There was an obvious problem. In Arkadel, more than elsewhere, idle chatter was considered foolish – even dangerous. To give one opinion today then a differing one some time later created a contradiction or a lack of integrity within your Archive, as would the risk of diving unprepared into controversy with a stranger. A PA's integrity index was central to social status in the colony.

Something unusual was happening here. He was sure he'd seen a mixture of surprise and achievement in Mary's face as Michelle was speaking. Somehow, Michelle's statement had been provoked by her earlier interjection. He imagined that Michelle didn't often venture such opinions.

He wasn't doing the provoking and he realised that unlike his companions he had little to lose. He sensed that something needed to be said and he was the only one who could say it. What, and to what purpose, he was unlikely to discover. He shrugged inwardly and picked up Michelle's theme hoping he could take it somewhere.

‘The swan, yes, symbol of grace, symbol of elegance, and symbol of poignance. Food for myth and legend, To know but one song and only sing it as you die. Death – the afterlife – the need we share, to believe there is something more to life than the fleeting moment of our worldly existence. It's a need we escape by immersing ourselves so fully in our day-to-day, moment-by-moment, existence as to leave no gap in time for thoughts of our impermanence to emerge.

‘In traditional societies we believe that the concept of the individual is largely an illusion. We only exist, and we can only exist, as part of a society. We're no more capable of independent existence than a bee is capable of surviving detached permanently from its hive.

‘Certainly it can fly away for a while in search of nectar and pollen, but to survive it must return to the hive. It is nurtured in the hive and the exchange of pheromones and the patterns of behaviour it experiences there drive its existence. Detached from its hive it soon becomes inactive and dies.’

He paused for a moment thinking, why did I have to go and bring up beehives, here? Then composed himself and shifted to, ‘In the Neo worlds we extend our view of our lives to include the past and future. We recognise that we're a product of the past. Not just our genes, but our words, views, even mannerisms, are assembled from those passed down in our society – the spirits of those past. We're an amalgam of all those that harmonise with our experiences. As individuals we are unique in nature and experience, but none the less products of the past.

‘We work through our lives to build a spirit that is in harmony with our society adding to it creatively as we are able. Our spirit is passed on in those who follow us – a little here, a little there – on into the future beyond our physical existence. If our spirit is particularly true and harmonious it may reassemble in the minds of others – join with their spirit reinforcing its integrity and harmony or character.’

‘Like the spirit of Jane Austen and her characters,’ said Mary enthusiastically – pressing her lips together at the end of her comment as if to stop any further words emerging.

‘Yes, indeed. Her characters are a varied lot. We can vacillate between Marianne's passion and Elinor's strength – admire or envy Elisabeth – watch and wait with quiet, patient Fanny – laugh at Emma's foibles or be drawn into her delusions – worry over Catherine's innocence, and rejoice in Anne's fortitude. A host of spirits abound to infatuate or infuriate the driest soul.

‘But in her letters, preserved by those who loved her, we see directly her love for life and all its human creatures as she describes them in her unique anthropological style. We see the gentle humour and its playful mischief that toyed with the imaginations of family and friends, young and old, just as it toyed with the intellect and understanding of the Prince Regent's librarian.’

He looked around the table for some sign of response. There was nothing. The famous invisible mask of the Arkadelian had descended to cloak not just their face but their whole body. They were not immobile. They looked at him and occasionally at each other, but gave nothing away – nothing but an expectation that he should continue.

‘Here at Arkadel you approach your life as the careful establishment of an entity that will live on forever in the PA world. You're laying down the foundations for an eternal existence. You want these foundations to be as clear and lacking in contradiction as possible – a single harmonious song. In this we have a common wish to achieve harmony in our lives and beyond. Nature nurtures harmony then it searches for new stable states – attractors – in the complexity that lies between static harmony and destructive chaos.’

Well, there goes my best sign-off line, he thought, but still no reaction except for Mary who is showing some interest. Was it interest? He wasn't sure, but something told him it was positive. He waited a few moments hoping she was about to respond. The look faded under his glance.

Chapter 7

He struggled on. ‘In Bath I saw a production of Icarus's Water Nymphs of Arkadel. The image of the immortal butterfly was very moving. The contrast between your society and that of the Poseidon colony was clear.’

He felt a strong positive reaction to this comment. He relaxed and looked about, pointedly indicating that he had finished speaking. Still nobody spoke. He waited. At home he might have been more provocative – confronted individuals he knew disagreed with what he had said. Here he was a guest and in uncertain territory. Fortunately, Wang Mang had resumed the conversation.

‘... with the Neo-Confucianism of New Shanghai it's a response to centuries of rapid change – change driven by technology – cultures trying with limited success to adapt – each generation reacting against the previous in wild oscillations that always had a destructive element.

‘Over the past century our colony has achieved relative stability. But here in Arkadel, though there is a real stability, people are still trying to gain a sense of community and an environment for raising children that stimulates the spirit and intellect. You and I look back to past stable cultures to see how they managed – social values that weren't just the reactions of one generation but wrought through a process of evolution over many millennia.’

Mary was alert again and listening to her father with interest. ‘Yes, exactly!’ she interjected. ‘And through her writing Jane Austen painted detailed pictures – just three or four families in a country village – with so fine a brush, as produces little effect after much labour. Pictures of a way of life – the last days of an era of relative stability that had been hard won over many centuries.

‘She describes a society caught between the chaotic brutality that followed the French revolution and the rising mechanisation of the industrial revolution. Now we have no servant class or the slaves who propped up the Classical cultures. We have the freedom to choose how we live without imposing on others.’

Without a pause she continued, looking at Tom and surprising him with the sudden change of topic. ‘Are you, perhaps, rebelling against your Janeite upbringing with your involvement in cyb culture?’

Again there were restrained looks of surprise about the table and now a look of bold defiance from Mary. Tom was not perturbed. The directness of the comment was a relief. Her manner clearly indicated a friendly gesture – broaching Brindabella custom. It was an offer of relief for somebody in alien surroundings. He was sure the note of defiance was not directed at him.

‘Indeed, neuro-cybs usually do come from the ranks of the cybs, but it's a different experience and can have different motives. Mine was assisted mental recall via a better PA link rather than communication with others. I was also interested in the ability to review dreams.’

Surprised looks broke the faces of the others, cracking their Arkadelian composure. Even Axel returned his attention to his physical context from wherever it had been throughout the meal.

He had good reason for expecting a strong reaction. Experience had shown him that most people saw the neuro process as an extreme extension of cyb life – another mode of communication. Few had thought about its personal value.

He was also aware that few people could bring themselves to think about the procedure at all. The thought that he'd attempted it changed the way most people viewed him. So much so that he'd rarely been pushed to discuss it and he didn't volunteer. People seemed comforted by the idea that it had failed.

Chapter 8

They left the table to move to the next room. It was decorated in the same style as the dining room. One wall displayed an open fireplace – a genuine holograph. He was immediately drawn to it through force of habit and was surprised to find that it was producing heat.

He stood facing it – listening to the sound of a crackling fire echoing up a tall chimney – trying to relax his mind – momentarily transported home to Brindabella Manor – its many fireplaces. He noticed Mary standing beside him – close – her back to the fire and her hands clasped behind her – one hand spread to catch the warmth. She turned, smiled at him, then looking at the fire said, ‘I suppose this seems like a silly sham to you.’

‘Not at all!’ was his quick reply. ‘Rather too reminiscent of home. Besides, a fireplace provides a useful focal point for people standing about a room. One can approach a stranger without it seeming particular – without the need for immediate, or indeed any, conversation. I'm flattered at the trouble you seem to have gone to in making me comfortable here.’

‘Perhaps, but you shouldn't take anything too personally. It's grandmother's function as Convenor of the Protocol Caucus. I think she's good at it. Her personal knowledge of other cultures is extensive. A few weeks ago, standing here, you would have been experiencing the surf of a Pacific island, or was it one of the other rooms. I don't recall. This whole floor is a circular stage with movable partitions and a treasure trove of props. Axel likes to work on the set designs.’

There was a pause. Tom didn't know how to respond. He'd known of Noni's title, but hadn't checked to see what it meant and he scrambled mentally to catch up – ‘keeper of secrets’ being the alternative title his PA whispered – intimidating and not helpful – also inaccurate, as he later discovered.

He turned to look at Mary again, and his eyes reviewed her dress. It puzzled him. He imagined a local fancy-dress emporium, but it was clearly not new. Another prop? Would a Barratt wear old clothes? As if reading his thoughts she enlightened him, but now in a low, slightly conspiratorial, voice.

‘This dress, as you can see, is well worn and almost beyond repair.’

‘It is a fine muslin but of such a type as will never wear well ...’

With a mischievous smile she cut in, Do you understand muslins, sir?

"Particularly