The Awakenistas And The Arrow Of Time: Awakenistas, #3

By Ian Eress

THE AWAKENISTAS AND THE ARROW OF TIME is the third book in the Awakenistas series. The Awakenistas return to their daily lives. But the world is not as they remembered it. And they aren't the only ones with unreliable memories.

X-org and Urzur are behind the changes in the Awakenistas' world lines. Van Godlos builds a new world order in South Africa. And the Street Guardians do their part too.

Vishal works on his new plans involving advanced technology. After getting married, Kevin enjoys himself while preparing to destroy the time machine. But X-org puts a stop to that. Still furious about their defeat in Australia, Muhammad Mukhtar's forces wage war in South Africa.

Vishal and other Awakenistas accept they must resolve the crisis. And they gain a new powerful ally. However, Urzur violates the Thohnuth-Qeerav treaty with a vengeance. Will the Qeeravs let her get away with it? Or will Earth fall in Urzur's hands?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Eress
• Release date: May 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393188223

Ian Eress

Born in the seventies. Average height. Black hair. Sometimes shaves. Black eyes. Nearsighted. Urban. MSc. vim > Emacs. Mac.

Book preview

1 GARDNER: VERMOTRUO

If you have a wormhole, then you can turn them into time machines for going backward in time.

Kip Thorne

SECRET LOCATION

MARCH 19, 2019

On the ceramic bottom of a transparent two-meters tall booth, lay a shiny material which was neither solid nor liquid but more akin to chocolate about to melt. Around it, in the well-lit space, metal arms protruded on a distance of several arm lengths away from the booth.

X-org engineers worked overtime to finish the project. Cameras displayed the room for Urzur, important Street Guardians, and the X-org heads wearing dark cloaks and masks. What they observed was a small fraction of the whole complex.

The top X-org physicist, Reginald Gardner watched the images too. Clad in a white shirt, with glasses and gray hair, he smiled like a professor facing his students. The lupsofot oscillated similar to a runny vibrating egg. The glowing halo around it also fascinated Reginald Gardner. He needed to know how the time machine worked.

All he got to go on were Miller’s scribblings, a Street Guardian who received visions from higher dimensional beings. Urzur, a superintelligent AI created on the planet Thohnuth, never explained what the system did. Gardner had studied the equations and diagrams, but they made no sense. For it, all to work many physics laws had to be violated. But maybe they were improperly defined.

Urzur, can you explain how the time machine works in a couple of sentences? he asked.

Or an epic poem. A set of equations would be best.

It’s a wormhole with microscopic rotating singularities on both ends, Urzur said. As a rule, you aren’t able to create a wormhole. Unless you spend huge amounts of energy, and it might collapse on itself. However, with imaginary spin particles, we keep it open long enough for an object to pass through. And we use the lupsofot to hold tiny black holes.

Gardner and his colleagues on Earth could measure nor verify any of that.

Most things you mentioned sound impossible, Gardner said.

More like magic, Gardner thought. But television or the Internet would appear magical to ancient civilizations.

I don’t have time to give you a physics class, Urzur said.

Urzur could fork herself and provide Gardner the information he needed. So her unwillingness indicated she wanted to keep the Earthlings ignorant.

A while ago, I read a recent research paper which says time travel is possible within the framework of general relativity, but it concludes that it’s impractical, Gardner said.

The author was an inexperienced, young researcher with less than average credibility. But geniuses tend to be most productive at that age, Gardner thought.

Your primitive science is based on backward ideas, Urzur said. It’d take much longer for you to unlearn that nonsense than to teach you the proper theories.

That was the way Urzur talked to almost everyone. Gardner imagined how he’d speak to a scholar from 200 BC.

But what about causality? Gardner asked. Can I go back in time and kill my dear grandfather when he was a child? And if I do, wouldn’t this mean I never was born?

If I so much as sneeze in the past, it could have unintended consequences which would exponentially worsen over time, Gardner thought.

As I told you before, what you’re experiencing is only one strand of reality, Urzur said. There are many more world lines—almost an infinite number. Even if you murder your poor grandmother before she reaches early adulthood, that should be irrelevant to you. What we as physical beings experience is the superposition of realities.

A weird twist on quantum mechanics. That way you could explain anything as a weighted sum of phenomena you couldn’t measure without disrupting them.

That’s a silly explanation, Gardner said. And we have strong evidence from gravitational waves measurements there are only three spatial dimensions.

He meant LIGO: an accurate interferometer which observed the aftermath of billions-years old astronomical events. The gravitational waves of massive black holes crashing into each other.

Okay, where do you think these complicated diagrams and equations came from? Urzur asked.

Gardner could only speculate because the information he received was secondhand at best.

Maybe your friend, Miller, is mentally ill, Gardner said.

Psychology wasn’t his specialty, anyway. Urzur is a superintelligent AI, as smart as Einstein or smarter, Gardner thought.

If he is, the whole setup won’t work, and we’ll be back to square one, X1 said.

Of course, as a military man, X1 preferred the pragmatic approach, Gardner thought. And he was the highest X-org boss, so Gardner couldn’t contradict him. Gardner interpreted X1’s comment as a warning.

According to legend, X1 always carried a grenade in his pocket. So Gardner was glad to be in a different room.

We have a strong belief in Urzur, the Holy One said. Therefore, we rule out any problems.

The Holy One, a Jesus-like figure, and the spiritual leader of the Street Guardians saw Urzur as the incarnation of the Holy Spirit from the Bible. Recently, he started wearing long white robes. Gardner decided to ask safer questions.

Why clones? Gardner asked.

So the higher dimensional beings insisted only clones would go through the portal. But they never explained why. If they existed that is, which Gardner still doubted.

Doesn’t matter, Urzur said. I shared what Miller experienced through the neural dust. He’s not crazy.

The Street Guardians were chipped—tiny processors in their brains let them communicate telepathically. The neurodust enabled Urzur, or her many copies, to monitor humans. But some regained control.

Clones are rarer in the Multiverse, Urzur said. And therefore they can manipulate the past without causing too much damage. That solves your grandfather paradox too.

Gardner laughed. They still could kill their cloners. Who spoke to Miller?

Why didn’t the higher-dimensional beings speak to someone else? What was so special about Miller? Not that Gardner thought it’d be fun to chat with deities.

Most likely an automated broadcast, Urzur said. I doubt they want to talk to anyone.

Their voicemail, Gardner thought. If the gods experienced time and space differently, how could you even communicate with them?

Why not? X1 asked. They might learn something from us.

I wouldn’t talk to a Neanderthal man from Flatland. Gardner smiled for a second.

Why would they? Urzur asked. A Thohnuth theory suggests the higher dimensional beings are conscious parts of the Multiverse which are neither matter nor energy.

That sounded more like a religion than science. Gardner wasn’t a religious man himself, but he knew many scientists who were.

Do you mean space itself? Mrs. Caldwell asked.

Gardner had heard through the grapevine that an X-org operative killed the real Mrs. Caldwell. The Street Guardian speaking to them was a modified clone. Urzur’s robots on Mars had injected alien DNA in her body.

No, it’s an extended equivalent in the Multiverse, Urzur said. They’ve no interest in biological creatures.

I wouldn’t either if I was a God, Gardner thought. Just like most humans don’t care about insects.

Too bad, X1 said. But they know how to send priceless information.

I suppose they are so advanced they can figure it out, Urzur said.

Or at least their scientists. The average higher-dimensional being could be as clueless as anyone on Earth. Clearly, the Thohnuths believe their gods to be equal, Gardner thought.

The Ockham’s razor principle recommends we choose the simplest hypothesis, Gardner said. Which means they must be similar to us.

Because otherwise, they would need to assume the deities followed a different evolutionary path. Or that the history of their society differed radically from Earth’s.

No, they can’t be, since they perceive dimensions beyond our reach, Urzur said.

How do you know that to be the case? Gardner asked.

That information is classified, Urzur said.

Gardner became intrigued, but he had no chance of discovering more. Urzur hid Thohnuth’s secrets on Mars in special databases inaccessible from outside.

Let’s wrap this up, X1 said. We can chat again later.

2 VISHAL: SURU KARANA

In the startup world, you’re either a genius or an idiot. You’re never just an ordinary guy trying to get through the day.

Marc Andreessen

NEW YORK

MARCH 20, 2019

In a large hall with many tables and chairs in a long row, Vishal and a Chinese entrepreneur, Chui Fu, played pool; Adam watched with his hands crossed in front of his belly. Looking seriously, Chui Fu was middle-aged and clean shaven with black hair. He wore a white shirt and starched jeans.

In the opposite corner, Juliana and Katie chatted around pinball machines dedicated to Hollywood blockbusters. Large mute TV’s were tuned to American financial channels. Posters of movies and musicals decorated the brown walls. In a corner, comfortable couches guarded game consoles and TV’s attached to them.

You’ve got a winning pitch deck, Vishal said. The value proposition is exciting.

Chui Fu had shown Vishal and Adam a short presentation giving a global overview of his business plan. He must have customized it for us, Vishal thought. Except for one slide covered with Chinese characters which Chui Fu forgot to translate. He translated on the spot without flinching.

Thank you, Chui Fu said.

On purpose, Vishal missed an easy shot. Startup founders didn’t beat the door down, so Vishal accepted all offers. He hoped to outgrow this phase soon.

How many angel investors have you spoken to? Adam asked.

For Arb Analytics, Vishal reached out to dozens of wealthy individuals. The AFB was easier to finance with Kevin, Rhodes, and several governments involved.

Not many,  Chui Fu said. I’m not a fundraising fool. But I don’t mind getting help from venture capitalists.

Vishal had heard the expression ‘fundraising fool’ before. He had never been called that, and it meant little to him.

Which we’re not, Vishal said. The Awakenistas Fiduciary Bank only invests 10% of its capital in startups. But we also want a working partnership with you.

Vishal envisioned the AFB to contain a startup accelerator department. But he didn’t wish to be a mentor or a teacher.

Why not 100%? Chui Fu asked.

Curiosity killed the cat, Vishal thought. Maybe the guy was being polite. Although what they did wasn’t a state secret, a part of Vishal remained paranoid. What if Chui Fu worked for van Godlos? Chui Fu turned out to be an excellent pool player. There was almost no way for Vishal to win.

That’s not our business model, Adam said. What’s yours?

A long time ago, Vishal and Adam agreed diversification was good, but there was also a limit to it.

First, I saw a video on a Chinese news channel about Hyperloop which uses vacuum tubes. Then I traveled with it from Beijing to New York, and I thought this could work on shorter distances too, Chui Fu said. It’s ten times cheaper than rail.

With robots, the cost would go down even more.

So? Vishal asked.

Vishal forgot when they built the Hyperloop connection. How did he miss that? Adam also seemed confused when Vishal asked him about the Hyperloop. But the kilometers long vacuum tube was unmistakably there. Two days ago, Vishal and Adam had seen it with their own eyes.

That costs a million dollar per mile to build—the train tracks, Chui Fu said. Therefore, the system I’m proposing will be affordable. Also, labor is cheap in China.

But still more expensive than robots, who made fewer mistakes and never went on strike.

But you only want to send goods to people’s homes from shopping malls, Adam said.

Vishal looked it up: there were 4,600 of those in China. So if Chui Fu achieved full penetration, he’d need close to half a billion US dollars to build the vacuum tubes.

Yes, Chui Fu said. Many senior citizens lack the mobility to buy their groceries. My parents also complain about it.

Vishal’s mum in Mumbai never did, but they spoke each other less than a dozen times each year. Maybe Chui Fu’s idea would work out in India.

We can provide you with robots from another startup. They’ll lower your costs even further. Have you considered drones or ziplines as Rwandans use to deliver medical supplies? Vishal asked. Um, they drop the packages with parachutes. And they don’t land but use hooks to stop.

Qeeravs made the androids; they looked weird but were perfect workers.

No, I talked to government officials in China, potential clients, and investors, Chui Fu said. They think what I propose is a good idea.

And profitable, I hope, Vishal thought. Enough to generate significant revenue which will help finance other projects.

We agree, but we received other proposals in the transportation sector too, Adam said.

Such as? Chui Fu asked.

Chui Fu missed for the first time; Vishal asked himself why. Either Chui Fu lost interest in playing, or he didn’t want to humiliate Vishal. Both could earn millions if the deal worked out. Not to mention the possibility of expanding worldwide.

For instance, scramjets—planes traveling at hypersonic speed without moving parts, Vishal said.

Scramjets sucked air through inlets, compressed, and heated it to generate thrust. The typical scramjet speed was around Mach 4. For obvious reasons, Vishal didn’t tell Chui Fu about Goblin’s involvement.

That sounds more ambitious; the drag and sonic boom would hurt you, Chui Fu said. Air resistance increases quadratically with velocity.

And the engines reached high temperatures. However, materials treated with Berfzau could take a beating. Qeerav nanobots meant for warfare suppressed sound waves. Goblin also promised to provide the AFB with substances which reduced friction. Out of curiosity, Vishal read up on the subject, but it seemed like magic.

Your business plan sounds more realistic, and you have social proof, Adam said while rubbing his chin. Okay, we need estimates for the annual revenue. And we want collateral; you should prepare an emergency fund. We have sent you the forms and draft contracts.

The AFB lacked legal knowledge; Vishal preferred discussing related issues with external lawyers. Afraid to leak excessive information, Vishal never invited them to the AFB office. Also, Katie with the help of Goblin created an interactive knowledgebase on related matters.

Yes, I glanced at them, Chui Fu said. My nephew is an experienced lawyer, and he’s reading the documents in his office right now.

In China? Vishal asked.

Yes, Chui Fu said. As soon as he approves everything, I’ll send you my statements and anything else you need.

#Katie, are you ready to process Chui Fu’s data,# Vishal asked telepathically.

#Yep, I made a simple decision trees model. When are we getting the numbers?#

That entailed branching conditional statements. The algorithm lacked complexity but provided enough transparency to compensate.

#Soon,# Vishal said.

Great, Adam said. Where are you going next?

To Chicago, Chui Fu said. I have an appointment with interested investors. But before that, I’m going to the Chinese restaurant you recommended.

The Golden Noodle, Vishal said. We‘ll call you a cab. Wait a second.

Vishal arranged it while Chui Fu waited. Adam used the opportunity to inform Mo Die with the neurodust.

Thank you, Chui Fu said. I like your office. It looks nothing like a bank.

It’s not gonna, Adam said. We want to keep the headcount low: less than a hundred employees.

And it was hard to explain the way they behaved. For instance, their telepathy through neurodust.

#The guy who is organizing a music festival canceled,# Vishal said.

He wanted to make a VIP experience out of it: invite supermodels for a fashion show and the guests could sleep in five-star hotels. But Sue Hoffman and Ora Cain were too busy.

#Too bad,# Adam said. #We should copy his idea ourselves.#

Vishal almost smiled; he had to keep his amusement to himself otherwise Chui Fu might get annoyed.

3 EMPEROR GLUK: DINOSAURO

The reality is you either step into the future, or you become a dinosaur.

M. Shadows

BEIJING, CHINA

MARCH 21, 2019

They are training in jetpack suits, General Shao Li said.

Dressed in a green uniform with a dozen medals, he was about five and a half feet tall. He referred to the eleven Atagans inhabiting the bodies of Chinese army officers. They sported multi-colored powered exoskeletons generating a weak protective force field. In a large, empty hangar painted in army green, their emperor towered over General Shao Li wearing his own battle gear.

Hmm, jetpack troopers are no match for nuclear weapons, President Chang said.

Clad in a dark business suit, with a white shirt and red tie, he spoke in a deep, pleasant voice. A colorful badge, pinned on his left side with a special chip inside, told his bodyguards where he was at all time.

But they excel in aerial combat, General Shao Li said.

Because we flew our whole life, Emperor Gluk thought. The Atagans evolved from an alien species resembling pterodactyls. If the Chinese leaders saw his real body, they’d be terrified. The Qeeravs had a similar defensive system, but their nanobots were much smaller. In comparison, the Atagans used ten by ten-centimeter plates containing conglomerations of molecular machines.

The onboard weapons systems were also more elaborate because the Atagans were no pacifists, unlike the Qeeravs. Their main weapon used charged particle blasts—Xenon ions traveling at high speed. They chose Xenon for its high atomic mass and because it was inert. Antimatter generated energy for most systems; some came from Earth’s Sun which the system collected with microscopic solar panels.

Emperor Gluk checked the suit’s cybernetic interface. It provided information to the smart lenses he wore. Or more exactly his host. The proper owner of the body, a former acrobat and martial artist, served in the Chinese military. Through the phenomenon called bicameralism, the Emperor’s consciousness communicated to his host. It came down to inducing and receiving auditory hallucinations using sophisticated electronics inside the hosts‘ heads.

When the hosts gave up control of their bodies, they moved like newborn ducks, but there was no need—the collaboration was like having an invisible navigator. The Emperor still lived on his native planet Atagan but deep under the surface. The exterior was too hot to sustain life. A series of wars involving thermonuclear and neutron weapons turned it into a hell.

92% of the Atagans died during the battles; however, their consciousnesses were preserved in digital form. Not using primitive Earth technology, of course, but more reliable and efficient storage mechanisms. They mastered methods to manipulate gravitational waves. Which allowed them to build wormholes. Through such a wormhole they sent messages to China. Which led to an agreement—China offered hosts for the Atagans in exchange for advanced technology and know-how.

Computing power for the Atagan battle computers came from billions of systems on Atagan. To Emperor Gluk’s knowledge, the Qeeravs had a comparable minimal system which they kept quiet about.

Your Highness, this pocket in the Universe where you get your antimatter from; is it far from here? President Chang asked.

During his many dealings with the Chinese, Emperor Gluk discovered their dislike of monarchies. Although kings and emperors ruled the Chinese for many centuries, the Chinese communists considered monarchy to be backward and immoral.

Yes, Emperor Gluk said. Luckily, our ancestors discovered it a long time ago and built a wormhole leading there.

Or maybe it wasn’t luck but something else. According to an ancient legend, a blind Atagan saw a sign appear in a dream on a map. A disembodied voice told him about the antimatter. The man was a seer, so the Atagans of his time period believed him.

Is it large enough to fulfill your needs? President Chang asked.

I could insist he addresses me properly, but I must be doing it wrong too, Emperor Gluk thought.

Our scientists give us a couple of decades, Emperor Gluk said.

And then? General Shao Li asked.

No antimatter, Emperor Gluk said. The most logical choice would be to switch to nuclear fusion.

If we’re still alive by then, Emperor Gluk thought.

It seems the Thohnuths and Qeeravs prefer that option, President Chang said.

He had studied electrical engineering in one of the best Chinese universities. His Ph.D. research had focused on renewable energy technologies. But he didn’t pursue an academic career after that.

We have no contact with them, so I can’t comment, Emperor Gluk said. Keeping to ourselves became the norm for us. But we were also too busy fighting each other.

And the Indians had made contact in the recent months too. But neither President Chang nor Emperor Gluk knew more than that.

What was the war about? General Shao Li asked.

A group of bandits challenged my authority, Emperor Gluk said. Over the years their number grew because citizens put faith in populist fools who bribed them with free money without thinking of the consequences. One actually promised to abolish all taxes.

If I could do it over, I’d have sponsored more parties to dilute my opposition’s support, Emperor Gluk thought.

Your Highness, how many countries did you have? the Chinese President asked.

Only one, Emperor Gluk said. My grandfather brought everyone in Atagan together under his mighty banner. But separatists remained active. I ordered pre-emptive strikes to eradicate them.

The Atagan nation span over nine continents. However, geographically isolated regions were hard to control.

Your Highness, did you nuke them? General Shao Li asked.

Not with your puny nuclear weapons, Emperor Gluk thought. Atagan nukes were tiny suns in a box.

There was no other way, Emperor Gluk said. But they retaliated, and within years the situation escalated.

So you know how to deal with nuclear attacks, President Chang said.

Build shelters and prepare infrastructure, Emperor Gluk said. Are you still worried that the Soviets will do something stupid?

Emperor Gluk was in a shelter on Atagan at the moment. His ancestors had built the Imperial bunker centuries ago.

No, I do worry about Urzur, President Chang said.

If we have enough Atagans with their battle exoskeletons, we can fight off her robots, Emperor Gluk said. How fast can you produce them?

Emperor Gluk had thought of a method involving adhesives to immobilize Urzur’s octobots. When General Shao Li heard about it the first time, he laughed with glee because he thought it was a joke.

Because of secrecy concerns not fast, President Chang said.

Can’t you render the workers blind and deaf as I suggested, Emperor Gluk asked.

The two Chinese laughed. Emperor Gluk wondered what was so funny. He had trouble understanding human emotions. Do they consider humans to be equal? Emperor Gluk asked himself. The idea seemed ludicrous to him.

No, we can’t, Your Highness, President Chang said after a minute. If we did that, we’d get ourselves into even more trouble. Why can’t you get things going on Atagan?

I told you already, Emperor Gluk said. My citizens are sick and dying; only high-ranking officials who hid in bunkers were spared.

The Chinese attitude puzzled Emperor Gluk. Why did they worry about public opinion so much?

4 UBAID BELKACEM: CAILLOU

Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.

 Michelangelo

TIARET, ALGERIA

9 PM, MARCH 22, 2019

Buried in the ground with only his head sticking out, the former history teacher of Algerian descent, Ubaid Belkacem, tried to discern the faces of his M3 comrades in the dark. With a good sense of humor, Ubaid Belkacem was middle-aged, bald, and had a mustache with specks of gray. The mujahideen exposed him to hot steam from a pan. But the neurodust dulled the pain sensation. One jihadist, wearing a thin blue jacket and jeans, threw a small stone which left a bloody mark.

Where is the Holy One? the bearded cell leader, Farid Fellag, asked.

Farid Fellag wore a green jacket and cotton pants and had a wrinkled face. Ubaid Belkacem remained silent for a while. He sent telepathic distress calls; help was underway. But would they come on time?

The Street Guardians gave him rudimentary unarmed combat training, and he learned to shoot. However, withstanding torture wasn’t part of the curriculum. He did the best he could while keeping in mind what he knew from popular culture about torture.

However, Ubaid Belkacem could say whatever he wanted. The Holy One was nowhere near Algeria. And M3 had insufficient manpower to capture him; not with X-org as the Street Guardians' ally.

But Ubaid Belkacem needed to go to a bathroom; he was hungry and thirsty. Not to mention his headache and other discomforts. He dreamed of chicken—in sandwiches, grilled with baked potatoes, roasted, and cooked.

If you give me food and water, I’ll tell you, Ubaid Belkacem said.

Chicken nuggets, chicken soup, chicken tikka masala. He didn’t care too much about the type of drink.

No, infidel, tell us first, then we’ll let you go, Farid Fellag said.

What can I say that sounds believable? Ubaid Belkacem asked himself.

He is in a forest 15 klicks from here, Ubaid Belkacem said. I can lead you there, but first I need to relieve myself.

Yes, they would find nothing, but it’d buy him precious time.

Do that already, Farid Fellag said.

That’s disgusting, Ubaid Belkacem thought.

No, I want to be treated as a prisoner of war, Ubaid Belkacem said.

You’re a traitor, not a warrior, Farid Fellag said. Okay, dig him out. We know you’re lying, but we can perform our own waterboarding methods on you.

Prior to their conversation, Ubaid Belkacem starved for weeks in solitary confinement. That’s when his chicken visions started. Strangely enough, M3 thought he was an important Street Guardian with knowledge of troop movements and the Holy One’s whereabouts. But he wasn’t.

A case of mistaken identity, yet Ubaid Belkacem didn’t dare to ask. He’d have been surprised if there were more than five chipped Algerians. M3 overestimated telepathy; they thought Street Guardians shared all their information. After the organization’s inception, it could have been the case but no longer.

Ubaid Belkacem’s brother, a former consultant at PerfControl, had chipped him months ago in his Parisian home. Ubaid Belkacem agreed to infiltrate M3. So at least two Algerians had joined the Street Guardians. However, they were only foot soldiers.

An M3 member stumbled and fell on the dry grass. Ubaid Belkacem didn’t see the offending object. With dry ground and no wind, few options remained.

#Our snipers are in position a klick from where you’re,# a Street Guardian said in French.

Ubaid Belkacem saw nothing, and he was afraid to move his head in fear of tipping off the enemy.

#About time,# Ubaid Belkacem said. #Did you bring me a chicken sandwich?#

With lettuce and tomatoes but he would be grateful even if the rescuers kept it simple.

#Why are you so obsessed?# the same Street Guardian asked.

#I’m hungry,# Ubaid Belkacem said. #Haven’t eaten in weeks.#

#I have a bag of chips with me.#

No, telepathy didn’t make people more eager to help.

#Good enough,# Ubaid Belkacem said.

Another M3 terrorist assumed a horizontal position. The mujahideen noticed what was going on. Shouting and shooting in random directions, they spread in a large circle around Ubaid Belkacem.

By sending images through his neurodust of the jihadists, Ubaid Belkacem helped his fellow Street Guardians. From a great height, a small drone descended above Ubaid Belkacem’s head; it shot tranquilizer darts at the mujahideen. Stunned, Farid Fellag dropped to his knees and his head flopped down.

With their cell leader incapacitated, the other M3 members ran for it. The drone stopped another jihadist in his tracks, but gunfire shot it down. Street Guardians approached Ubaid Belkacem and dug him out. Someone took care of Ubaid Belkacem’s head wounds.

The Algerian inhaled fistfuls of potato chips until he saw the naked, shiny, silvery packaging. Ubaid Belkacem could eat a thousand times more.

Is that all you got? he asked.

I have a piece of chocolate, a Street Guardian, wearing a black jacket with SG embroidered on it, said.

Give me, Ubaid Belkacem said.

Not enough to feed a tiny mouse, Ubaid Belkacem thought. After frisking the fallen cell leader, a Street Guardian, sporting green clothing worthy of a soldier,  threw dates wrapped in plastic at Ubaid Belkacem. The latter caught the package while mumbling thanks.

What did they want? someone asked.

Forming pairs, the Street Guardians carried the unconscious M3 terrorists.

They inquired about the Holy One, Ubaid Belkacem said. And where the other Street Guardians are.

Did they ask about X-org?

No. I don’t think X-org is on their radar, Ubaid Belkacem said. And they confused me with someone else, but I don’t know who.

As a foot soldier, Ubaid Belkacem knew the bare minimum about X-org. He had never met an X-org operative.

Why do you think that?

It seemed they expected me to know everything about the Street Guardians’ plans, Ubaid Belkacem said.

They were fishing.

With stones and their fists, Ubaid Belkacem thought. The Street Guardians reached their black MG vans.

I learned nothing useful, Ubaid Belkacem said. My cell kept to itself. Only our leader communicated with other M3 members.

The way most M3 cells operated. The whole operation was a waste of time. Ubaid Belkacem could have been more productive somewhere else.

But we chipped him. So now we’ll get better information.

Who’s fishing now? But at least the Street Guardians didn’t torture their prisoners. No, what they did was worse.

Doubt it, Ubaid Belkacem said. He might know more than an ordinary mujahid, but not much.

We should have chipped the whole cell.

That would have been better, Ubaid Belkacem said. But it would take forever to reach the M3 top people.

You want to give up.

Of course, my cover is blown, Ubaid Belkacem said. I could as well join our mining operation or work at a neural dust factory.

#That can be arranged,# Urzur said. #Which one do you prefer?#

How would I know? Ubaid Belkacem wanted to ask.

#I’ll flip a coin,# Ubaid Belkacem said.

5 ADAM: MANGO

A lot of people have this misconception that Indian food means heavy curries and complicated procedures.

Maneet Chauhan

SPICY MUMBAI, NEW YORK

MARCH 23, 2019

The Spicy Mumbai restaurant sat between a petrol filling station and an antique store. Vishal’s sister, Dipa, mixed traditional Indian cuisine with other culinary elements leading to unexpected combinations. For instance, she asked her experienced chefs to add parmesan cheese to some dishes. The AFB and Eresseum sat at the best table available in the Spicy Mumbai.

The popular establishment had red walls decorated with portraits of Indian celebrities, a white ceiling, and dark furniture. The place was packed, but it didn’t interfere with ongoing conversations.

The Indian waiters served tandoori chicken—roasted in a special oven and marinated in yogurt and spices. Papadums accompanied the meal—cracker-like discs of fried dough which Dipa’s cooks enhanced with parmesan cheese. So the dishes were well prepared but not following the Indian culinary tradition to the letter. And the patrons ate stuffed Kashmiri Dum Aloo—potatoes stuffed with paneer, cashews, and coriander cooked in yogurt gravy.

Adam thought something odd was happening. For a minute, it seemed he was in the Golden Noodle; then his vision blurred, and he returned to the Spicy Mumbai. Also, he forgot when Dipa moved to New York.

I have been reading about Benjamin Franklin, Vishal said. A bit of a nerd, he spent hours reading and conversing with like-minded individuals.

Adam had witnessed Vishal go through similar phases before. Adam bit in a finger-licking good papadum.

Will that help the AFB in some way? Adam asked.

Not directly, Vishal said. It appears we now take advantage of what Goblin shares. He says we can have a space elevator in low Earth orbit.

Adam wasn’t well-versed in technology and what Vishal said made little sense to him. Why not use plasma rockets? The spicy tandoori chicken blended heat and soothing yogurt which appealed to Adam.

Would that be stable? Alex asked.

Adam suspected that Alex used to be an aerospace engineer, but he forgot why he came to believe that.

Not without plasma rockets keeping the structure up, Katie said. The forces acting on a space elevator are tremendous; debris could knock it down. Better to build it on the Moon where it’d be harmless.

Now Katie knows the technical stuff well, Adam thought. And not only because she loved to make multiple-choice quizzes.

Or we can launch goods with a shuttle and let them glide down, Vishal said. But Goblin did send samples of superlubricated crystalline materials. Useful for rails or hypersonic planes.

Superlubricity allowed materials to move over each other with zero friction. I guess if two surfaces are smooth…, Adam thought. He tucked into the Kashmiri Dum Aloo or spicy baby potatoes with extras as he described the dish to himself.

I think the self-replicating nanobots have more potential, Adam said.

And it was easier for him to imagine how those worked. It seemed like magic: you gave the little machines what they needed, and they did their job.

This food is spicy, Kevin said.

Close to tears, Kevin’s face was flushed.

You get used to it, honey, Katie said.

How long would that take, angel? Kevin asked.

After Katie and Kevin married, they went into full terms of endearment mode. Adam had not seen such a remarkable transformation before. It was hard for him to keep a straight face with them both together.

I could ask Dipa to tone the spiciness down for you, Vishal said. It’s the waiter’s fault: he should have asked about your preferences.

No, thanks, Kevin said. I’m fine.

No, he wasn’t. Perhaps a startup will think of a solution, Adam thought.

Do you prefer the Golden Noodle, hun? Katie asked.

Maybe, Kevin said. Are there more Chinese or Indian restaurants in New York?

Kevin asks the weirdest questions, Adam thought. And he seems not to realize how unusual they are. Or going over the pain threshold made him more inquisitive.

Is that important, love? Katie asked.

Just curious, sweetie, Kevin said.

Adam smiled; what if Katie and Kevin were both telepathic? Would he miss out on their back and forth?

What if there are more of one than the other? Katie asked.

Don’t know, but the majority must be right, Kevin said.

A weird thing to say, Adam thought. They’re restaurants, not votes in an election.

Not necessarily, Vishal said. Anyway, can we have a conversation club of sorts?