Many Worlds: The Novelettes of T. E. Mark - Vol VIII

By T.E. Mark

Life changes for a computer science student when someone from inside the simulated Earth he's created to study how the scientists and world leaders will confront catastrophic climate change, suspicious his world has been artificially designed, begins trying to contact him. SIM
With the planned interbreeding of humans and their synthetic creations nearly complete, and the world council poised to make unlawful human – human procreation, a small rebel contingency of pure humans has decided to take desperate action. VINDICATION
The Multiverse – Interdimensional travel. Many Worlds takes us into the life of Paise Atherton, a Quantum Worlds Investigator, as he searches the multiverse for his parents, the girl he loves, and the memories of his missions routinely taken from him to conceal the consequences of interdimensional travel to our universe. MANY WORLDS

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.E. Mark
• Release date: Aug 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781370981496

T.E. Mark

T. E. Mark is an Anglo-American Science Writer, Screenwriter and Editor. He has studied Architecture, Music and Literature in the UK and in the US and has been penning stories since childhood. His first novel, Fractured Horizons, set in the wonderful of Bath England, was written at the age of 12.Mark has written novels for young and adult readers and a selection of science articles for national and international magazines. He also writes and edits academic papers on a variety of subjects for universities, governmental and non-governmental organisations.Follow T. E. Mark at:temarkauthor.wordpress.commthomasmark.wordpress.comtemarkurbanscratch.wordpress.comContact T. E. Mark at: [e-mail].

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Text © T. E .Mark – 2022

http://temarkauthor.wordpress.com

Copyright © 2022 T. E. Mark (Mark Thomas)

Cover Illustrations by © Tsai

Cover Design © T. E. Mark

Cover Preparation © Manoj Kumar Jalutharia

First published in the United Kingdom, Canada and The USA in 2022

T. E. Mark LTD

Paragon Independent Publishers LTD

https://temarkauthor.wordpress.com

[e-mail]

Mark Thomas has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents act of 1998 to be the author of this work.

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Cover images by © Tsai

Cover preparation by Manoj Kumar Jalutharia

www.fiverr.com/mkumarji

[e-mail]

The paper used in this Create Space book is made from wood grown in sustainable forests.

ISBN: 979-8846 048829

FOR HILDA.

CONTENTS

SIM

VINDICATION

MANY WORLDS

(1)

SIM

BLACK – LIKE THE WORLD’S DEEPEST MINE – NOT A WHISPER OF LIGHT

OVER THE TOP, A DEEP BASS & DRUM – THUMPING OMINOUSLY

WE FADE IN TO…

AN AMERICAN CITY AT SUNRISE

WASHINGTON DC - APRIL 4th 2022

…The Washington DC skyline, with a stagnant, yellow haze hanging above the city. It looks more like mid-summer during a sweltering heat wave than early spring.

The low, thumping bass continues above. The sun climbs. We can now feel the searing heat, while the bass slowly gives in to the radio news.

This is WJFK’s Rob Chesterton with Highlight news for the DC Metropolitan area.

Heat wave Clara, now in its 24th day, claimed 124 lives last night. New rescue and relief centres have just opened in Ballston at 47th and Cutter and in Alexandria at the Victory centre. (The Special Report continues but fades….

HIGHWAY INTO DOWNTOWN

A choked motorway. Cars inching along Highway I-395 into the DC metro area. The sun, now fully above the horizon, is searing – blinding – relentless.

While following the congested interstate… the radio broadcast continues.

It was 32 degrees Celsius, 90 Fahrenheit at 7 am this morning with possible relief predicted for Friday into the weekend. But don’t get too excited. We’re talking low 90s before it shoots back up into the triple digits again Monday.

CAR – THE BROADCAST CONTINUES

Our focus falls upon a grey TESLA Model 6, the source of the morning news, now jammed in – trying to change lanes. And we notice something odd. Nearly every vehicle on the motorway, even the long-haul rigs, are hybrids or fully electric. A positive projection from back in the idealistic 90s – the one that never seemed to stand a chance… but ultimately did.

Again, the broadcast comes up.

Congress passed new legislation restricting the use of Air Conditioning yesterday with the following exceptions: Hospitals, care facilities, pharmaceutical processing centres…. So… if your windows are up during your morning commute… be prepared for a big ticket.

With the news now a soft rumble, we close in further. Horns. A red-faced driver mouths something obscene. Tensions are high, and there’s little if any charity here in this sweltering, unseasonable heat.

ON THE DRIVER

We look in through the window at a blonde guy in his (30s) with an educated face and sunglasses.

This is JOEL WHEELER, (34). The NOAA deputy administrator on his way to the office in DC. Joel is the likes-to-be-right type… who usually is. Coupled with his obsessive nature, he’s often difficult to be around. But if you want the answer and don’t mind it hard or want something done – something no one else seems capable of doing… he’s the man you turn to.

FROM ABOVE

‘Come on buddy.’ He tries edging into the next lane.

CUT TO:

BETHESDA, MARYLAND – NORTH OF DC

Scorched lawns – late August yellow. Empty flowerpots and backyard pools – dead, colourless gardens. Everything is desert dry. In this opulent suburb of two-storey Georgian’s and wide porched Victorians – one notices immediately the lack of colour – and the lack of people. It looks long deserted.

Again, we hear the news above the scene – this time from a TV inside the Wheeler house, where we…

THE WHEELER HOUSE

…move inside and find Joel’s wife TRYSTIN, (32), homey, intelligent – pretty but hardly beautiful, in khaki shorts and a sleeveless shirt at the kitchen island making sandwiches.

She eyes the TV stuck to a wall while prepping a picnic lunch – packing things into a cooler at her feet.

‘Tromso Norway, at 69 degrees north latitude, recorded the highest temperature for this date ever, smashing the old record by 13 degrees. London hit a high temperature of 38 and Paris topped 39 degrees Celsius. The European Parliament will meet in Brussels tomorrow to address this latest….’ (The broadcast continues in the background…

‘Fifteen minutes Lil.’

A girl of (7), LILI (LIL), sparkly, red hair, a freckled face and full of energy jams into the kitchen. She searches the countertop – grabs a carrot stick. Begins to chew. ‘Can Tara come?’

Lil’s friend dashes in – also begins her search of the picnic makings for something to nibble.

‘Not with her asthma. Not in this heat.’

‘Damn!’

‘Hey!’

‘Oops… Sorry.’ Lil takes her friend’s arm and together they make a break for the stairs up to the bedrooms.

Trystin smiles… glances at Joel’s mother asleep on the sofa in the parlour, then returns her eyes to the morning news.

ON THE TV

NEW YORK CITY

Bright sun – burning hot. The sky is filthy. Ugly. Unhealthy. On the street, masked children run in and out of a spraying fire hydrant.

Shelving his eyes from the sun, a news correspondent speaks into his microphone from across the street.

‘Here at home, with the schools closed again today, at least some are finding comfort in this record shattering Spring heat wave – which…’ He turns to the kids. ‘…looks a whole lot like mid-August – hardly the first week of April.’

THE MSNBC NEWS STUDIOS – NEW YORK

The TV news anchor turns to the camera.

‘We’ll take a short break with scenes from Heat Wave Clara – gripping not just the United States – but the entire northern hemisphere. Then be back with the latest on the IPCC report – and the anticipated recommendations for further climate-related restrictions.’

Music plays over the scenes – a sad, haunting melody by Eric Satie.

AN URBAN STREET – PARIS

Adults swelter on benches in a park, fanning themselves while watching their children run in and out of an elaborate mist sprinkler.

A CORN FIELD – RURAL SPAIN

A failed crop. Miles of brown stalks waving in a hot breeze. A pair of corporate farmers stand alongside a pick-up examining a scorched-dead stalk – shaking their heads.

LAKE OROVILLE, RESERVOIR – CALIFORNIA

On a suspended ramp, overlooking the Lake Oroville reservoir, an engineer with a clipboard gazes haplessly down at the water line – lower now than it has ever been.

BEIJING

Deserted streets. The air is heavy and yellow like a filthy fog. Masked police are on every corner. A convoy of military trucks turns from a main boulevard into Tiananmen Square.

LOS ANGELES

Midday. The sun, though still low in the southern sky, is merciless – pouring down on the city. The sky is murky brown but cloudless.

Pacific Coast Highway – deserted. Sepulveda – deserted. Downtown – A sea of umbrellas.

LONDON – ST JAMES PARK – EVENING

The entire park strewn with blankets and tents. With vagrancy ordinances relaxed, and the unavailability or restrictions on the use of air-conditioning, people have taken to sleeping in the park – granting them modest relief – and the possibility of a night sleep.

THE WHEELER HOUSE – OUTSIDE

The side door to the Wheeler house opens to a covered driveway where a minivan sits.

Trystin steps out with the girls behind her.

‘Okay sweetie.’ She gives Tara a motherly hug. ‘Cheer up… they said it’s going to be cooler next week. We’ll go again.’

Tara kisses her cheek and turns to Lil. ‘Don’t do Ursa Major – you’ll drown.’

Lil makes a face. ‘I did it last week.’

Tara smiles and runs off towards the back gate. ‘I warned you.’

‘Wimp!’ Lil climbs in.

Trystin makes a move for the door but stops to greet a young girl on a bike – just pulling in.

‘Hi Mrs Wheeler.’

‘Oh, Jennifer. Great.’

‘Sorry I’m late… My Zoom class went…’

‘…Don’t… don’t apologise. She’s asleep on her sofa. Do you have your key?’

After a minute of digging in her pack, we hear a jingle. ‘Yup.’

Trystin climbs in – pulls the door shut. ‘Just stay until lunch. She can manage alone for the afternoon.’

‘Enjoy the slides.’

Trystin gives her a frown while shoving her laptop sleeve into her pack. ‘Vacation days… Hmm… I’ll Google that one later.’

Jennifer pats her arm. ‘The wading pools?’

‘Not a bad idea. Hey… See that she takes her meds, okay?’

‘Will do.’

The young neighbour tosses a wave at Lil and heads inside.

INSIDE THE MINIVAN

Trystin starts the engine and looks at Lil buckling into her car seat. ‘You blocked?’

‘Oh, come on.’

‘Are you?’

‘Are you?’

Trystin makes a mouth noise and takes a hand to her forehead. ‘You burn and…’

‘…I’m blocked – I’m blocked. Let’s go, already! How many times have we done this?’

DC METRO FROM ABOVE

We watch the minivan pull from the driveway into the scorching sun and head for the highway.

NOAA – WASHINGTON DC – OUTSIDE STEPS

After leaving his car in the lot, Joel heads for the main entrance with his phone to his ear. He looks angered… or at least frustrated. ‘Sam… I was the one who pointed out the sea level in the first place. That’s why I have Brian in Greenland and Dania with her team in Antarctica. If I had just one other…’ He listens. ‘…no, of course not. I’m not suggesting we cut… they… Sam, Sam you’re not listening!’ Disgusted, he waits. ‘All right. We’ll do what we can with what we have. I’m just getting in. See you at the meeting.’ -

He disconnects the call, takes to the steps and is immediately met by a man in his 60s pulling documents from a soft briefcase.

‘Ben.’

‘Yeah… Hi, Joel. Here are those studies you wanted.’

‘Thanks. I…’ he takes them and begins to read. ‘…I was just on my way to your office to grab these’

Joel continues paging. There’s something that looks a lot like confusion growing on his face.

His colleague zips his leather brief, then turns his eyes to the sky. ‘They said clear.’

‘Huh?’

‘I guess that’s called clear now.’

Joel glances up. ‘Oh… Yeah…’ he looks back down – trying to read a graph. ‘Things change.’

‘Looks more and more like the Venera images from Venus.’

Joel tucks the docs under his arm, throws one more glance at the haze, then looks at his friend.

‘The IPCC interim report is due out this afternoon. You going to be at the meeting?’

Joel takes a step up towards the doors.

‘Yeah, I’ll see you there.’

‘Thanks Ben.’

Joel takes three more steps up, grabs the door and glances once more at his friend – still gazing skyward. He looks up, squints and steps in through the door.

ANTARCTICA – THE ROSS ICE SHELF

We look down from above and see nothing but white. Miles of ice. This is the Ross Ice shelf. Antarctica’s largest, and the world’s largest body of floating ice.

After what seems an eternity of ice flows and jagged ice mountains, we see a small ship, a NOAA oceanographic explorer vessel, The Fourier, going nowhere.

SHIP – THE FOURIER

On the bridge of the Fourier, DANIA HOWARD, (30s), in a vivid blue, arctic parka stands watching two guys similarly dressed on the ice 10 metres in front of the ice-bound explorer working a portable drill.

Dania is blonde, strong… an Earthy look. She’s the girl whose childhood dream was to travel to remote, inhospitable places like Antarctica to study ice cores.

She brings up a radio.

‘Carter.’

The taller of the two turns. He points at his earpiece – nods his head yes – then points at his mouth – the extended mic… and shakes his head no.

Dania chuckles.

‘An ideal relationship. A guy who can listen but can’t talk.’

She smiles. Carter gives her the finger – it makes her laugh.

‘Are we getting out of here anytime in the neighbourhood of soon?’

He turns to the other guy with the drill – then turns back and shakes his head.

‘Great. How long?’

Again, he looks to the crewmember working the drill. Then turns – looks at Dania and holds up five fingers.

‘Wonderful.’

Carter nods and goes back to work.

Dania turns to the crew’s engineer on the bridge next to her.

‘Joel’s going to be pissed.’

‘At least there’s still ice.’

She gives him a comical look and reaches for a Sat phone. ‘Maybe it’d be better if you called him.’

He grabs his binoculars. ‘They pay you more for a reason.’

Dania chuckles and begins her call.

NOAA – JOEL’S OFFICE – WASHINGTON DC

Joel is in his office staring at his phone tapping a pencil on the edge of his desk.

The windows are open, and there’s a large post mounted fan set in the middle pivoting back and forth – ruffling papers.

The heat seems inescapable.

‘Okay Dania. Keep me informed. Don’t get too comfortable. I know you’re one of the few people on the planet who thinks of Antarctica as a dream vacation spot, but I’m just not sure our budget could cover you and your team right now for more than a week.’

ANTARCTICA – THE FOURIER

Dania gazes out at the ice.

‘What’d he say?’

She takes her binoculars to her eyes – starts scanning the shelf. ‘Besides we’re fired for being stupid?’

‘He said that?’

She hands him the binocs. ‘No. But he suggested we start storing up on whale blubber, seals, crabmeat and lobster.’

Carter Sneers. ‘So, was it during my first, second or third siesta that I decided it was time for a regime change? No offense meant for your fearless leader, but….’

His comment changes the jovial climate. Dania, without the warm smile, looks him in the eyes. ‘I told you months ago there were unknowns about this trip. Joel never held a gun on us… we made our choices.’

‘I wasn’t…’

‘…yes you were. Question him when we get back. Voicing your sarcasm to me will get you nowhere.’

Dania makes a turn for the bridge door.

JOEL’S OFFICE

After disconnecting with Dania, Joel moves his eyes to his computer monitor.

ON HIS MONITOR

His monitor now fills our view. A complex screen. Lots of input boxes. The one in the middle is half filled with code – the cursor flashing.

‘Hey.’

JOEL’S OFFICE (CONT’D)

Joel turns to the door. A young woman in white shorts and a NOAA T-shirt hangs on the door frame. This is ANI ZHANG, (mid-20s), Joel’s research assistant. She’s sharp, petite and just joined on after leaving Harvard with honours.

‘The IPCC interim – just printed it.’

She hands him a tan file folder.

‘Thanks, Ani.’ He takes it, opens it, and begins to read.

She plants her eyes on a book open on his desk ‘What’s this?’ she moves in closer. ‘…Programming languages for Artificial Intelligence?’

He lifts his eyes. ‘Oh… nothing… I was just... it’s something I’ve been studying.’

She then turns her eyes to his computer – his communications programme – the input box filled with code.

‘Tel-Sat? What are you uploading?’ She continues trying make sense of the programme.

He turns to the screen. ‘It’s… I was…’ He Looks back down into the file – continues reading. ‘…Nothing. Just trying to communicate with aliens. Thought I could enlist them. Helps me fill my spare time.’

Ani pulls her hair back and moves to the window. She peers out towards the horizon. ‘You have spare time?’

He pages – never looks up. ‘Hah… Yeah.’

Ani turns her focus to the south.

‘I read the report while it was printing.’

‘Yeah?’ He flips a page. ‘How’s it come out?’

‘Oh, you know… Dreary, gloomy, and bleak with a nifty Hollywood happy-ever-after spin at the end if we get our shit together.’

He reads more. ‘This doesn’t make sense.’

‘What?’

‘It’s like the climate has declared war on us. CO2 Concentration is at… what? 822 ppm? This can’t be right.’

‘I noticed that. Called NASA. It’s right.’

‘And the SO2?’

‘Checked that too.’

‘Everything we do… nothing seems to make a difference.’

He wipes the sweat from his forehead, then flips to the appendix and starts pouring over graphs.

Ani moves back to the window – begins fanning herself.

‘There’s another storm coming, you know.’

‘What?’

‘There’s another storm coming.’

He looks up - jolted. ‘What did you just say?’

‘There’s a storm coming.’

‘When? It wasn’t on the news!’

‘3pm. 195 degrees. South Southwest. Just came up.’

‘Shit!’ Joel tosses the folder to his desk and turns to his computer – begins typing.

Ani moves away from the window – Edges closer to the fan with her head turned – her eyes on the real-time weather programme Joel has just pulled up.

‘God damn it!’

He gets up fast. Ani steps out of his way.

‘What’s up?’

‘Tell Sam Ryan I’ll call her from the car.’ He moves fast for the door.

‘Joel!’

‘Trystin took Lil to a water park in Alexandria’

‘Oh, God!’

He looks at his computer. ‘Don’t close that – no matter what happens. You understand?’

‘I’ve got it… Just go.’

A CORRIDOR – NOAA

After leaving his office, Joel sprints the corridor heading for the parking lot.

VOICES ABOVE THE SCENE

LIKE FROM ANOTHER TIME

‘Craig. It’s 9:30.’

‘I know. But I have something I need to finish in the lab.’

NOAA – OUTSIDE

When Joel makes it out onto the porch, he stops – looks at the people in the parking lot – all shelving their eyes – gazing to the southwest.

He races down the stairs – gets clear of the building and turns – and sees it. An undulating wall of dust and sand nearly a kilometre high moving towards downtown DC.

‘My God.’ He squeezes his eyes tight. ‘Sandstorms in Washington.’

He opens his eyes and takes off for his car.

GIRL’S VOICE ABOVE

‘What are you working on?’

THE NOAA LOT – HIGHWAY US 29

After getting into his car, Joel starts the engine and fishtails out of the lot. Moments later he’s on the highway heading for the water park in Alexandria.

BOY’S VOICE ABOVE

‘My CS final for Tolmann.’

A CAMPUS PUB – MIT (FEELS LIKE ANOTHER TIME)

‘It’s turned into something… else.’

CRAIG COOPER, (22), sandy brown hair, sits in a booth across from his girlfriend SHALINI SINGH, (21), a sharp Indian girl with glasses in fashion jeans and a colourful shirt, and her friend TRISH, (22), a bright looking Sophomore with a sweet face. The MIT campus pub is typical. Pool tables – lots of TVs tuned to sports. Guys and girls at tables and in black leather booths.

Shalini glances at Trish then turns to Craig who has his eyes stuck to a TV.

‘You know…’ Shalini tries to get his attention. ‘…you’re missing classes. You’re never in here or the library… I barely see you. Where have you been for the last three weeks?’

He nods but doesn’t respond.

Again, Shalini eyes her friend. ‘Is there anything we can…?’

‘…If… okay, look. I want to tell you something. But I think I know what your reactions will be. So… I don’t know if I want to tell you.’ He looks down at his beer. Again, the girls exchange looks.

Trish watches him. ‘Fear of criticism killed the cat.’

Craig looks up – takes the beer to his lips and hesitates. ‘I thought it was curiosity.’

‘Well… you’ve already got that, so… want to try us?’

He takes a sip.

‘Not sure.’

The girls continue watching him.

‘Come on, Craig. You’re killing us. It’s about your final? It’s November. You have until June of next year. You think it might be a little premature for a finals panic attack?’

‘I know… but…’

He thinks – takes another sip of the beer and plants it on the table. Then stares into it.

‘Well…’ Trish stands – reaches for her coat. ‘… if this isn’t going anywhere, I might as well leave you two to…’

‘…you know the we’re living in a computer simulation argument, right?’

Trish stops – stares at him. ‘Nick Langstrom… Oxford… yeah. And let’s not forget the Wachowski brothers. So that’s where you’ve been? Hanging with Morpheus and the gang? Trinity and Neo still together?’

His expression never changes – still focussed on the beer… turning it on the table.

Trish retakes her seat.

After several moments, he looks up.

‘If we were…’

‘…living in a simulation?’

‘Trisha!!’

‘…Just… just for the sake of argument… and we suspected we were… or were trying to prove that we were… or even prove that we weren’t… how would we go about contacting those on the outside who created the sim?’

Again, the girls exchange looks.

Together they turn to face Craig – who stares back… obviously serious… and serious about wanting to hear their replies.

Trish bites her lip. ‘Maybe they have a website?’

‘Stop it!’ Shalini smacks her arm.

‘Hey! It’s only logical. I mean…’

‘…logical. Yourelivinginasimulation.com? Logical?’

Craig downs his beer and stands. ‘Come on.’

‘Where?’ They grab their coats.

‘Just come on.’

THE MIT COMPUTER SCIENCE LAB

The lights come on when the large double doors to the CS lab are opened at MIT.

‘I started writing the code over the Summer.’

Followed by the girls, Craig steps into the deserted lab.

Dripping from the drizzle on their walk across campus, he leads them to a far wall where his twin 30" monitors sit – running streams of code. There are note pads strewn about – months of coding – indecipherable notation and equations. The wall behind is a menagerie of post-it notes – more equations and bits of code.

The girls stare into the computer-generated code zipping by at an amazing velocity.

‘It’s a climate sim.’ He drapes his jacket over his chair and sits. ‘But different. Not just a model. I built a world in a simulation using a self-propagating platform built on an N86 LISP architecture with…’

‘…an AI. You built it using AI.’

He looks at Shalini. ‘No-no. Better than that. It’s structurally stochastic. Natural visual and language processing. Structured to form non-linear, unconstrained boundaries with limitless input-output modalities and fully capable of independent…’

‘…you used AI.’

He looks at her. ‘Well… yeah. But…’

‘…And this world you simulated – it’s…’

‘…identical.’

‘Identical?’

‘I mean… identical to ours, but with two relevant deviations.’

‘Which are?’

‘Atmospheric CO2 concentration and mean global temperature. This is where I got creative. I doubled the CO2 concentration to 822 ppm and bumped the global mean temperature up to 17.9 degrees Celsius. That’s 3 degrees higher than the mean temp in 2020 – and 1.5 degrees above the Cop26 limit for 2050.’

‘O-kay?’