Digital Souls: Book I: Escape to Heaven

By Kipp Martines

"Digital Souls" transports readers to the near future in 2042. The Yellowstone caldera erupts with a cataclysmic fury. Four scientists develop a system to download human minds, as nuclear war wrecks the planet. And, from the ashes, a corporation called GEN-TEC builds a new city. The privileged live in luxury, while the only hope of the other citizens is to win a lottery that will rocket them to a new world. When a young woman of privilege joins forces with a downtrodden detective in this dark existence, they attempt to discover the truth behind a series of citizen disappearances. Together, they uncover horrible truths fueled by greed and power, as they peel back the layers of GEN-TEC corruption and try to liberate the digital souls.

Humanity supposed that its technology, genius, and the exceptional progress of 2,000 years of social development could keep everyone safe from any eventuality. People believed that they could handle anything that nature could throw at them. And everyone foolishly assumed that they were the controllers of their own destiny. They were wrong.

This novel will challenge your understanding of human innovation and make you question the implications of technological advancement. Science fiction takes on deeply relevant environmental themes in this captivating thriller. Get ready for an adventure unlike any other!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667826691

Book preview

cover.jpg

Digital Souls

©2022 Kipp Martines

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

eBook ISBN 978-1-66782-669-1

This book is dedicated to my wife,

Chele. for all of her love and support.

You are my everything.

Love Always,

Kipp

"No matter who the characters are,

you can strip them down and

find small universal truths."

–Jena Malone

Contents

ACT I

Chapter 1

Yellowstone National Park Year 2020

Chapter 2

Yellow Stone National Park June 22, 2042

Chapter 3

Wright Patterson Air Force Base 2050

ACT II

Chapter 4

City Of New Haven, Boomtown District 2196

Chapter 5

Harrison Party, Green Zone

Chapter 6

New Haven 2196

Chapter 7

Ashes To Ashes Dust To Dust Club, Boomtown District

Chapter 8

Movement Headquarters, Dust Bowl

Chapter 9

Café De La Ville, Green Zone

Chapter 10

Gen-Tec, Green Zone

Chapter 11

Harrison Estate, Green Zone

Chapter 12

Gen-Tec, Green Zone

Chapter 13

Gen-Tec Research And Development Division, Green Zone

ACT I

Chapter 1

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Year 2020

Following the group of boys in his pack, Oliver Martin, cub scout from den 451, watched as the tower of water blazed into the air. Rainbows and mist surrounded the column of water as it stretched into the sky and returned to earth with a deafening crash. His Cub Scout troop yelled and cheered, as Old Faithful performed its trick like clockwork. Wiping his wire rimmed spectacles with his neckerchief, the boy placed his glasses back on his nose. Being short for his age with a little round tummy, Oliver usually wasn’t as fast as the other boys. Trying to see the geyser up close was difficult. He rarely made it to the front of any rowdy Cub Scout gathering. But the whitewater spring signaled its arrival clearly in the sky, tall enough for him to see the very top. The crowd that stood and viewed the geyser pointed camera phones and video players at the liquid marvel.

For thousands of years these geysers have been erupting in the air.

Oliver listened as the park ranger provided information about the famous fountain.

Old Faithful was first discovered in 1870, by the members of the Washburn-Langford-Doane Expedition. The geyser can release as much as 8,400 gallons of boiling water up to 185 feet in the air. Eruptions can last one and a half to five minutes in duration.

One of the Cub Scouts raised his hand and asked, Does it explode every hour?

The ranger shook his head. No, the time interval is closer to 90 minutes. Back in the 1930’s, it averaged every sixty-six minutes, but the time is now up to an hour and a half.

Why is it longer now? pursued the boy.

Well, as the magma shifts underground and the tectonic plates move, the time it takes to boil the water changes. I guess some day it may be even longer between bursts.

Oliver thought about what the ranger had said. The magma moved and changed deep in the ground. How exciting would it be if the geysers could be controlled so they went off whenever he wanted?

I want to study geysers, Oliver said out loud to his friend Jimmy Reece, When I grow up I’m going to be a park ranger and watch the geysers every day.

His red-headed, freckled face friend looked at the geysers and back at Oliver. You’d have to wear a funny hat like that guy. Pointing to the ranger, And you’d be wet all of the time.

Oliver thought about Jimmy’s observation. The hat was kind of funny looking and he didn’t want to be wet all the time.

Ok, Oliver replied to his friend, I won’t study geysers, I’ll study magma instead.

Jimmy smiled at Oliver, showing that he was still missing his two front teeth. Most of the other boys had already grown their permanent teeth in by seven years old, but not Jimmy. He looked like a mini hockey player. Jimmy knew that Oliver liked science.

Lava would be cool, said Jimmy. I guess I could study that too.

Of course you could, exclaimed Oliver with a smile.

Shhhh, hushed one of the den mothers. You two boys need to listen.

The ranger continued to explain how Yellowstone National Park was located within a huge caldera. The caldera had once been an enormous super volcano that hadn’t erupted in 640,000 years. If the super volcano ever erupts again, it could be an extinction level event. But the ranger assured the crowd that none of them would be around to see such a thing. The volcano previously erupted two million years before that event, so they don’t expect it anytime soon.

A patron raised her hand from the crowd and asked, But I have seen shows that say we are overdue.

Looking uncomfortable the ranger responded, Well, ma’am, it’s all theoretical really. A thousand years give or take doesn’t mean a lot to a geological structure. I’m sure the U.S. government wouldn’t allow visitors into the park if they thought it was dangerous.

Clearing his throat, Now let’s allow everyone to see the geyser first hand. Please rotate your groups so that the kids in the back can see, too. Thank you. 

As the boys took turns watching the geyser erupt in all its glory, they became caught up in the excitement.

Wouldn’t it be cool if the two of us were here when it erupted next? whispered Jimmy.

Oliver nodded, but he did not share his friend’s enthusiasm. If a super volcano erupted in Yellow Stone National Park—he wouldn’t want to be anywhere near here.

***

NASA PROPULSIÓN LABORATORY

PASADENA, CALIFORNIA 2036

Pouring a cup of coffee from the break room carafe, Jared Stringfellow opened a small foil packet from his pocket labeled EXTRA and dropped the 100mg of Caffeine into his morning elixir. It had been quite a few days since he had slept more than a few hours at a time and he knew that sleep would be taking him soon.

His partner, Ross Summerfield, slept on their office couch. Snoring and twitching, the rotund man barely fit on the piece of furniture. When the two had been students at MIT, they would pull all-nighters for days without rest or sleep. Prodding the other along to work out complex physics puzzles and questioning universal laws – their version of nerd bonding. Twenty years later, and they were both still trying to figure out universal puzzles and complex equations, but days without sleep was a thing of the past.

Walking past Summerfield on the dark brown leather couch, Stringfellow kicked the furniture’s wood leg. The sleeping scientist had begun to drool on the leather cushion as he snored and choked in rhythm to the ticking wall clock. For years, Ross had been one of the few people who could put up with his inability to interact socially with others. Most people didn’t appreciate his blunt honesty and directness. Most people could be so confusing. They would say one thing and mean another. Ross knew Jared’s intentions were meant to simplify situations to their most common element. It kept his world organized.

Wake up Ross! Sleep time is over. We haven’t made any progress on that last equation in hours. You know how Dr. Stanford feels about you drooling on the couch. Get up and let’s try this again.

While Stringfellow was still lean and possessed a mess of long black hair, Ross had not fared as well in the physical department. A deep love for donuts mixed with a genetic tendency to be bald, left the man looking like a typical middle aged bachelor. Pushing hard to right himself, Summerfield sat up and stretched. Taking a piece of nicotine gum out of his lab coat breast pocket, he began to chew enthusiastically.

Ross had never smoked a day in his life, but experimenting with nicotine gum had turned a side project into a pure addiction. As the chemical made its way into his blood stream, the portly man bent over and stood up. He was hungry and tired. He was also annoyed that his partner wouldn’t let this project go for one minute. He was ready for a vacation. Maybe he should buy a ticket to Australia and visit some friends he knew down under. That thought put a smile on his face.

Stumbling to the white board, where Stringfellow was staring at a set of equations he said, Ya’ know Jared, I think it’s time for a vacation. We have been working on this same project for months and we are no closer to finding an answer than we were yesterday or the day before that.

Ignoring his colleague, Jared continued to ponder the last incarnation of his work. The idea of ion propulsion was not new, but the ability to reach light speed without succumbing to the parabolic curve had escaped his grasp. Jared began drawing a parabolic curve on the white board.

Speaking out loud, he said, The axis of symmetry is perpendicular to the directrix and the curve is equidistant between the focus (F) and the directrix (L). So, if the focus is above the vertex in the curve, then the latus rectum would be…

Laughter cut his thought process short. Ross was giggling like a three-year-old school girl.

What is your problem? said Jared, with no amount of indignity.

Ross pointed at his partner and said, You said RECTUM which made him laugh harder, slapping the desk unable to speak.

 Jared frowned at his colleague.

You know, if you took this a little more seriously, we may have accomplished something instead of the shit we have written on the board!

Ross’s ability to breathe just came to an end. Jared’s reference to more bathroom humor was the nail in his coffin. Trying to breathe between tears and laughing spells was too much. He got up and left the room to get some water. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Lack of sleep had made him giddy and Jared’s sober face added to the hilarity.

Annoyed as ever, Jared turned back to his drawing. The word rectum sat on a horizontal line that crossed the upside-down curve. His drawing looked like a toilet and now he couldn’t think of anything else.

Damnit Ross! Now I can’t think straight!

Taking a sip of his dark brown coffee, Ross’s mind voodoo was now everywhere. Maybe Ross was right. Maybe they did need a vacation.

A little while later, Ross entered the room with a smile. Jared was too focused to be cross with his friend. He knew they were close to a solution. But no matter which mathematical direction they investigated, the acceleration was constant based on fuel consumption. Space would not provide the extra push that the propulsion needed to reach anywhere near light speed. Humans could get their crafts to other worlds. Unfortunately, by the time the ship reached its destination, the people who sent it into space wouldn’t be around to know if it succeeded. Insanity is defined as performing the same act and expecting a different result.

Stepping into the insanity ring again, Jared posed the same reoccurring question to his partner. So the idea of folding space works out mathematically. It’s good on paper. But what is the catalyst that folds the space? How can we activate the space to fold for us on command?

Ross took out another piece of gum and began to chew.

I keep telling you, that’s the easy part. When Gerald Feinberg proposed, that tachyons were faster than light particles, he had no idea what their full capability could be.

Pointing to his previously written equation, Ross lectured, "Using E = m[1−(v/c)²]−½ we can determine the energy of the tachyons that are needed to accelerate their mass. If we maximize the mass of the particle using p² − E² = M², where M is real, we use the tachyons mass to rip open a tear in space time at the quantum level. The tachyon burst could be tracked to the other side of the event and the ship would come out."

Stringfellow closed his eyes and tried not to snap at his friend. Many people took his tone to be rude, and Ross knew it was just his impatience. But Jared was trying to improve himself. Evolution was the natural order of life and sounding rude all the time was not his objective.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Yes, Ross, we know that. We have had this conversation dozens of times. But WHERE would we come out? How far away? How do we control the tachyon burst and what would it do to living tissue?

Ross rummaged through a desk and found some peanut M&M’s. Popping a few in his mouth, he crunched as he spoke.

It’s all theoretical. I mean, tachyons don’t just exist in a jar. It would take an antimatter casing to hold them in place and then a mechanism to deliver them into the region of space you want to fold. Plus, we don’t know how far tachyons spread because E is imaginary in most equations, so the volume of the tachyons would have to be relative to the size of the object passing through. We don’t need to worry about living tissue right now, we could just send Androids. Japan has some new androids that are killer sweet.

Clenching his fists and placing his coffee cup down before he threw it at Ross, Jared suddenly felt weary. All this self-restraint was getting on his nerves. Jared thought of Einstein, Hawking, Tesla, some of the greatest minds in the world. He wished they were here with him now, instead of Captain Obvious telling him what he already knew he couldn’t do. Ross was right about one thing; the Japanese had developed a new level of android with a 5th generation A.I. platform that was much more stable than previous incarnations. If he could solve the time folding issue, they could use the androids to reach farther into the galaxy than humans could ever travel. Maybe Ross should go see his friends in Australia and leave him to work on this alone.

Switching tactics, Jared asked, Where are you going to go in Australia?

Ross knew his friend was trying to employ better social mechanisms. If he wanted to have a conversation during their problem solving, that was fine with him.

"I’d start out in Sydney, but I have friends in Perth. We chat on social media all the time. The Aussie’s have a great sense of humor and a better way of life, in my opinion. Much more laid back than America. I’m not so keen on the vegemite stuff, but going down under is always fun."

Jared smiled at his friend. So, smart yet sometimes so simple. When you visit the southern hemisphere of Earth you are not actually going down anything. North is only a designation navigators gave to keep track of the sun and their location. Images of the Earth are always displayed with the northern hemisphere aligned on top, but in reality, space doesn’t have a top or bottom. Space is a three-dimensional area and humans need a reference point to be drawn along in their journey.

Munching on more candy, Ross asked, Do you want to come with me down under? It would be a lot of fun.

Down under. Ross wants him to go down under. Down under. Like underground. Like a mole burrowing in a garden. A hole in the earth, like a wormhole. But we don’t know how to open that hole for a ship. But we can track tachyons. What if we sent tachyons into the hole and we followed them through space up top?

Ross, Stringfellow exclaimed, If we sent the tachyons through a hole in space and the ship could remain connected to them, the ship would just follow the tachyon trail!

Ross stared at his friend and sensed he was on to something. Standing up and crossing the room, he began to write equations on the white board, muttering as he went along. Jared watched his cohort work. Ross could be a bit lazy and distracted, but his mathematical skill was unmatched. That’s’ why they were such good partners – what Jared could think up, Ross could statistically work out. Minutes later, Summerfield had stopped writing. His chubby hands had worked so long that he felt wrists cramp.

I believe I have it worked out. If we sent a tachyon burst through space and judged its wave-function based on a spin-zero particle starting point…

Ross wrote a new equation. We can use the Klein-Gordon equation, if we assume that mass increases with the particle as it moves on the light cone and the ratio of particles in a volume of sub space is constant, then we should be able to create a sliding scale for how many parts per billion the tachyons would have to be directed at a certain distance.

Standing back from his latest scribblings, Ross smiled and said, It would actually be quite simple really.

Jared stared at his colleagues last equation and read it out loud. p=(v3)+Em4 in a 3+1 dimension.

Ross nodded, If the ship could be tethered to the tachyons like a magnet, it would ride space time like a surf board on a wave to the destination of the tachyons exiting the space time rip.

Both men stared at the board and then stepped back. As if in sync, they slowly lowered themselves to the floor. Sitting and staring at their discovery, Jared began to laugh. Ross giggled and started chewing on some more gum.

We did it! exclaimed Ross.

Jared presented a rare smile, We just created a mechanism for long term space flight.

The phone rang. Jared stood up and answered.

Yes, Dr. Stanford. Yes, we believe we have something to show you. Yes, sir. We’ll have a report ready for you first thing tomorrow morning. Yes, Sir. I will tell him. Thank you. Thank you.

Well that was a creepy coincidence, said Ross flatly. We discover something significant and the boss is already calling? It’s like we are being watched.

Jared frowned at his friend, Of course we are being watched. We are always being watched in the complex.

Oh, said Ross, Then I guess they saw the stuff I was looking at on my phone the other night.

Looking embarrassed, the heavy-set man stood up and left the room. Jared didn’t even want to know what he was talking about. Knowing his colleague’s obsession with nicotine gum and Asian porn, he could only guess. But this would put them on the map. This was a Nobel prize winning level discovery. Now they just had to prove it would work.

***

Sydney, Australia YEAR 2036

The University of New South Wales

School of Biotechnology and Biomolecular Sciences

Typical Friday nights at 11pm on the University of New South Wales Campus could be entertaining. A beach party, darts tournament at the local boozer, or a bit of naughty-naughty in one of the dorm rooms would be quite an exciting activity. But on the Kensington Campus, in the School of Biotechnology and Biomolecular sciences, the nightlife was generally the same.

Filling his thermos with coffee for the third time that evening, George Watterson yawned, trying hard not to spill his liquid stimulant. Several weeks of late night laboratory testing had finally taken its toll on the research scientist. As a doctor of biology and psychology, George knew the effects of short term sleep deprivation. Hyper activity, hallucinations, as well as, irritability all made the symptom list. Putting the cap on the insulated bottle was an automatic response at this point. Just like the reflex for sliding his palm over his bald head. In his younger years, George had sported a long pony tail and beard. Surfing at Maroubra had become an obsession and getting a haircut or shave hadn’t seemed necessary at the time.

Trudging down the hall, George’s eyes became heavy, as he tried to shake off the shackles of sleep. A rush of water followed by the sounds of a mechanical wind machine announced that his grad student, Charles Thompson, was about to exit the bathroom. As fast as the two researchers could consume their coffee, the faster it seemed to exit.

Silver cages lined one wall of the lab. Various colors of rats were awake and active. Rats were a nocturnal lot and the best time to work with the subjects, fought against George and Charles’s efforts to obtain normal sleep.

George directed his student with a weary voice, When was the last time we ran a diagnostic on the equipment?

Charles Thompson was a bright young lad, and George was pleased that he had agreed to work out his doctoral thesis on this campus. Studying the effects of synaptic signals interfacing with digital receptors to digitize memory and learned experiences was being pioneered in their lab. The science sounded more science fiction than science fact, but George knew that a breakthrough was less than a decade away and he wanted to be the first one to develop and replicate the process.

The last diagnostic ran at 7:43pm, Dr. Watterson. Shall I run another?

Watterson shook his head. No Charles, I think we have done enough for tonight. Let’s start to clean up and tackle this again in the morning. Maybe we can stop by the boozer and sink some piss, eh?

The grad student looked sad but he was exhausted. Watterson had never found someone more passionate about finding solutions to this research than Charles. As a boy growing up on his parents Outback Station, he had always been around animals. Sheep and cattle were his families main staple of choice, but Charles was fascinated by all living creatures. He didn’t have an interest in just being a battler. Living outside of Western Australia’s capitol had many perks and lucky for him, a scholarship program for local students provided an opportunity to attend the University of South Wales and study biochemistry. Now he could work on unlocking the secrets to life and how the brain used chemicals to create and maintain memory. He was a long way from home and hoped to get back there often, but months slipped away into years as he focused full time on graduate school. He was long overdue to call his parents and check in.

I think I’m going to look at going home next semester for a short visit. It’s only five hours by plane. I could go for a weekend.

George Watterson knew how hard his grad student had been working these past few months. Charles I am sure you could go longer than that. Or better yet, drive.

The young man shook his head, No way. The idea of a 40-hour road trip in my clunker of a car is not an idea of a good time, Professor. Plane trip is the only way to go.

As the two researchers continued their preparations to close the lab and discuss the benefits of road trips, a sound emanated from one of the monitors.

Professor? I think you need to take a look at this.

Watterson crossed the room and looked at the computer analysis, displayed on the monitor. The last set of specimens were providing unusual data.

Is this subject 113 and 117? Were they put in the solution together?

Charles checked his notes. He didn’t see where those two samples of brain tissue, attached to the computer circuits in the bio bath, should have been placed together.

I’m sorry sir. I must have grabbed the wrong sample. I guess I was more tired than I thought.

Watterson still stared at the read out. Pointing to the monitor his voice became excited, Look at the neural pathway speed of 113 and 117. They are triple the speed of any of the other samples. We have been using slices of the same brain tissue in the bio bath solution to see if they would relate to each other. But look at the synaptic response of these two different brain tissues. I think they are communicating. Their synaptic response times are a beaut!

What does it mean, Dr. Watterson?

Smiling at the screen the older man extrapolated, "It means…It means. It means that we have connected the two tissues neural signals in the bio bath. Like placing a penny in a vinegar solution with an iron nail. The tissue from one brain coated the second one. These tissues must have bonded chemically. It means their digital experiences have been downloaded into the organic bio bath and that has acted as a conduit for transferring neural pathways across the bath solution. Not only are we able to download the neural impulse from the Rat Brain tissue, but in the bio bath, the two entities can reach out to one another. Communicate. This is the breakthrough we have been needing! I need to send a communiqué to Dr. Eason and the entire review board.