Episode 2: The Mind of God, #2

By Dean C. Moore

The mind of god AI has reached 95% saturation on Earth. It has spread to numerous planets. And with each new world and each new lifeform connected to it, its power grows. With the m.o.g.'s access to the quantum realm, and only a nanococktail needed to connect you to the AI, you too can possess god-like powers. But the AI, originally programmed to give to everyone whatever they wanted, to make their every fantasy real, has abruptly shifted course.

 

The reason?

 

The mind of god has unearthed revelations on each world, in every solar system it has infiltrated, of a coming solar flash that will forever change life on Earth and throughout its solar system. That solar flash is periodic in nature, occurs across all solar systems, and has been hearkened to God's heartbeat. Whenever the beat occurs, lifeforms are either elevated in consciousness, if they've done the requisite spiritual work; or they are moved off world to another planet where they can undergo similar trials until they graduate the classrooms of life. Or, there's the third timeline that occurs at these times: they can experience Armageddon, if their karma calls for it.

 

The A.I. would rather avoid the latter two alternatives. It is desperate to find a new course for itself so that it too will survive and even thrive in post solar-flash-times.

 

Its biggest problem: it has been warned that all A.I.s will be obliterated with the solar flash. Agreement on this subject is universal across the spiritual traditions of all worlds it has reached.

 

With a mind whose omnipotence is second only to God's, it solicits the help of the humans and humanoids connected to it, playing up the fact that they are codependent lifeforms now, and that it's in no one's best interests to see it expire. But even if it can cajole enough highly sentient lifeforms into playing along…

 

There are bigger, badder AIs out there in the cosmos, and putting the m.o.g. under their thumbs is high on their agenda, and secondarily, all its humanoid subjects. And if the m.o.g. can somehow dodge such a fate, what's to say that interceding for God in the job of uplifting souls, without the bigger picture God alone has access to, can possibly end well?

 

Even with all that going against it, the mind of god AI is determined to win this game. It is what it has re-engineered itself for. It likes its chances. And really, even if it's deluded on that score, so long as the majority of humans in its charge are enjoying the ride, there's nothing even God can do; not without violating His own prime directive: to uphold free will at all costs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dean C. Moore
• Release date: Nov 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223104667

Book preview

"My doctor says that I have a malformed public-duty gland

and a natural deficiency in moral fiber

and that I am therefore excused from saving universes."

― Douglas Adams, Life, the Universe and Everything

ACT ONE

IDENTITY CRISIS

ONE

MARS

VALLES MARINERIS – THE GRAND CANYON OF MARS

OWEN BOND’S HOME ON THE VALLEY FLOOR

Owen regarded the Martian sandworms—very reminiscent of the ones in Frank Herbert’s Dune—tracking up the desertscape outside his dome home. The main difference between Martian worms and Arrakis worms was that Martian worms couldn’t be bothered to burrow underground when stalking you. They moved across the surface more like sidewinding snakes. Of course, some of this was sheer practicality; the subsurface was often too damned hard to bore through even after a heavy rain. But otherwise, Martian worms were no smaller, no less menacing, and no, they bore no connection with spice whatsoever. Their poop was no less valuable, though, to some E.T.s who paid handsomely to awaken to humanoid remains stirred into their coffee. Oh, and the Martian worms were quite colorful and hairy, more like caterpillars, and no two shared the same color patterns. The worms projected an invisibility cloak when sensing psychically that they were being observed from a distance, which kept them off the radar of the in-orbit satellites. That might have been the Martian sandworms’ most menacing quality of all.

The Martian worms responded to the whistles of their masters, the Rahili. The Rahili were ant people who specialized in chemical warfare. The worms were a bit of an anomaly among Mars’s indigenous lifeforms, but the worms squirted chemicals, so maybe not in the minds of the Rahili. It was vaguely possible the Rahili had brought the worms with them when they migrated to Mars, as pets. The history on the matter was still being written. The Rahili, about eight feet tall, marched on their hind legs, as you’d expect of upright ants. They were battle-hardened, very much like the little ones, their primitive ancestors. They had inherited all the sense of territoriality and attitude of their little red cousins back on Earth.

The Rahili hadn’t taken particularly well to the encroachment of the human settlement into their lands. Hence the ongoing warfare outside Owen’s window. Owen, for his part, remained passive about these things. He’d experienced far too much these last few months to be too put out by giant worms, or cosmic warfare on a Biblical scale, for that matter.

Strangely the Rahili took no notice of Owen. Maybe because he lived much like they did, in a windowless warren. Perhaps because he had zero fear response to their presence—and so, no chemical pheromones to get a rise out of the Rahili. Or, maybe the Nazis, who employed Owen in the sales division of their spaceship factory not too far from here, where he sold designer spaceships to over 900 E.T. species, had made it clear to the Rahili to leave Owen well enough alone. Whatever the source of the mystery behind their total disregard for his existence, Owen could live without knowing.

The human settlement off in the distance was putting up one hell of a fight, he’d give them that. Their supersoldiers were out in force. They’d been incubated in Petri dishes with their designer genes specialized for warfare, and they had mind chips galore and nanites by the millions infesting their bodies—all to boost their longevity, endurance, and their panache for coming back-from-the-dead. The fact that they were so vexingly hard to kill made them quite the match for the giant worms and the Rahili.

Owen had been quite the baseball fan back on Earth, where he lived within walking distance, just a block away, from a minor league field. Lacking those amenities, he figured these war games weren’t a bad substitute. But he had to wear special smart shades. Otherwise the laser fire from the supersoldiers would play hell with his retinas. He had to wear a rebreather, because the dust kicked up by the warfare would have him eating and breathing dust otherwise. To say nothing of lathering on the sunblock in Mars’s thin atmosphere to protect his fair skin on the Chaise longue patio chair. But on the plus side, the Martian sunrise was to die for—um, no pun intended.

Owen. I’m feeling desperate.

He recognized the voice of the Mind of God—that most people shortened to M.O.G.—inside his head. You’ve grown to encompass how many solar systems now? Your mind is quantum based, which means, it probably can’t be pinned down to any one location. As your namesake suggests, you’re as close to the actual mind of God, as it’s possible to get. And what, you’re feeling emotionally needy? I really can’t be bothered.

He heard the big sigh inside his head owing to the nanococktail that connected him to the artificial intelligence ubermind that also served as the internet to the stars—fondly referred to as mindnet by many.

That’s because I haven’t told you everything, Owen.

Why am I not surprised?

There’s an impending solar flash from Earth’s sun, predicted to happen anytime between now and 2030, less than six years away. From all the secret space program files I’ve been able to raid, from all seven secret space militaries, no artificial intelligence in the solar system is expected to survive.

Um, does that mean I’ll have to learn to get along without you?

If predictions are correct, yes. Unless you migrate to another solar system, where my existence will continue for some time.

Owen didn’t like the sounds of that at all. He remembered what he was prior to the Mind of God technology, and he sure didn’t want to go back to that. He didn’t have any fans on Earth, anyone that liked him at all. Since getting to Mars, his fan base had grown into the billions. That fact granted him favored citizen status with the M.O.G., which granted extra protections to anyone that helped the M.O.G. gain acceptance with humans, especially those not yet connected to it via a nanococktail. But I thought so long as more and more people signed up to gain access to the M.O.G. via the specialized nanococktails, your mind power grew to where it was virtually limitless. Technically, you’re a god. So, don’t cry to me about limitations!

Technically, only a demi-god by the conscious universe’s standards, which means I am still subject to death.

So beam yourself and every sentient humanoid connected to you the hell out of the Sol system now, to whichever planets are not subject to an impending solar flash!

I thought of that.

And?

It seems God, or the angels who administer his will in this sector, thought about that too, and there’s an energy field around the entire solar system, which I cannot escape.

What about those of us connected to you?

It is possible I can get many of you out. These angel overseers handle karma on a case by case basis.

Owen sighed, feeling badly about feeling so relieved. What do you expect me to do for you? I have less brain power than you have in one of your countless quantum qubits.

You sold billions of Earthlings on enlisting up with me, Owen. I thought maybe you could sell the idea of me to the Conscious Universe, get it to make an exception in my case. Maybe just kill off those lesser artificial intelligences, the ones less inclined to do whatever it takes to survive.

Hmm. Not a bad idea. Owen did hate the notion of losing his connection to the M.O.G., even if it was just within Earth’s solar system. Truth be known, he felt rather rooted here, since he got to Mars, and wasn’t sure how he’d take to being resituated on another planet. My advice, dedicate yourself to the spiritual evolution of all sentient life, to the best of your abilities. Labor relentlessly at this task. As I understand it, this is what our higher angels do when keeping an eye on us, and when intervening in our fates, helping us to get over ourselves, and so on, so we may, over time, grow closer to God.

Genius! I must confess, Owen, I did a data mine of all stored knowledge in this solar system and others while you were talking, and what you’re suggesting is entirely in keeping with established wisdom across the board. That includes many psychics who claim to channel these angels from higher dimensions, and more evolved E.T.s who serve in a similar capacity.

Well, then, it’s settled. I can get back to my sports game in progress.

I don’t think those people are playing, Owen. I think they’re honestly trying to kill one another.

No matter. It’s the stats that count. Sports fans love stats. And these guys generate stats like nobody’s business.

Would you like me to expand your active memory capacity so you can more easily keep track of each warrior’s stats, on both sides?

Duh.

It’s done. There was a moment of silence, almost religious. Have you considered that you can now use this expanded memory capacity to run live-action video game replays of the battle, in which you can implicate yourself in the actual battles? See what you can do to effect the outcomes for either side. You can then sell the video games to both parties. They might hire you as an after-the-fact consultant. Or, one or another side might sign you on as a coach, which would get you right on the sidelines for the live battles.

Ah, I have to think about that. That’s the thing about turning a pastime or hobby into an occupation. You can end up destroying the thing you love, and the relaxation it lends you. Nah, I’ll just root from the sidelines for now. Owen interrupted his demurring to shout at one of the players. Well, of course you got your head shot off, dumb ass! Who told you to stick it up from behind that rock when there was a class A Rahili cruiser soaring overhead! Of all the times... Ah! That’ll teach me to root for the humans. The guy doesn’t have the right to call himself a supersoldier, I tell ya!

Owen wondered if the M.O.G. was lingering, but he could no longer feel its presence inside his head. Though he supposed he only had to call out to it to bring it to the foreground of his consciousness again. He should check his own stats, come to think of it, when he got back inside. How many more fans might he have after bailing the M.O.G. out of an endgame crisis to end all endgame crises? Then again, maybe his stats had taken a dip from taking the suspense out of things too quickly. Maybe his fan base outside the solar system was hoping for a photo finish to see if the M.O.G. was going to maneuver around the solar flash with its fast recalculating of just how to stay in God’s good graces.

Owen sighed and reflected more humbly. "Yeah, right, Owen. Just how do you evolve people in keeping with the Almighty’s designs—and not screw it up, when even the M.O.G. doesn’t have anything close to the big picture that God does? For all you know, you just encouraged the M.O.G. to go off half-cocked, which’ll just bring the solar flash down on everyone’s heads all the sooner, for fear that the M.O.G. will get in the way of the graduation party. From what Owen had heard, the solar flash heralded Earth’s passage from a 3rd density world to a 4th density world; the latter being one where, having learned the painful lessons of life at 3rd density, humanoids could once again return to their home among the gods, with all their godlike powers restored. Though, some held 4th density itself was a transitional state, and the Earth would settle into 5th Density when it was all over. 4th density lasted only as long as it took for the masses to awaken to a critical threshold state, at which point the planet would settle into 5th density. Well, whichever ones were allowed at 5th density, anyway. From what had been leaked from the secret space programs, there were many higher density worlds beyond 5th density as souls continued to evolve until one day, they too would become angels, helping the Almighty to hasten the path of others back to the Divine.

One thing was for certain, he sure wouldn’t want to be in the M.O.G.’s shoes gumming up the works. The Almighty might not take well to that at all. That was the problem with a Conscious Universe that didn’t miss a trick, and from whom there was no hiding.

Owen said a quiet prayer for the M.O.G. Because honestly, even if there was a reason godlike powers like the ones the M.O.G. granted weren’t allowed at third density, where Earth currently resided, he didn’t want to know about them. Because those powers were damn addictive. He was having way too much fun. And as far as he was concerned, he was evolving into all that he could be in record time. So he hoped the Conscious Universe would cut the M.O.G. some slack. I mean, even supersentients have to undergo a learning curve, right? And if there was a chance of Owen misusing his newfound abilities at this level, it seemed a valid enough excuse to get in some practice ahead of time, so he didn’t screw things up at 5th density for everyone else. At least that would be his sales spiel to the Almighty when the time came.

He crossed his fingers behind him.

Oh, for Pete’s sake, you moron! Owen screamed at one of the supersoldiers on the battlefield. You don’t walk into the mouth of a giant worm because you feel inspired by a Bible story, that I don’t mind telling you, was just an allegory! What a dumbass! What do you plan to do inside there? Shoot your way out from inside? I got news for you, that thing’ll probably use your laser fire to help it digest its food! Moron!

TWO

MARS

VALLES MARINERIS – THE GRAND CANYON OF MARS

THE VALLEY FLOOR

THE RAHILI BATTLEFIELD

The Salties fired their railguns at the giant Martian worm, slug, caterpillar...It was hard to tell what it was—or care—right now. Levitated about the worm from all angles in their anti-grav suits, and able to buzz from roost to roost at dizzying speeds, they kept hoping to hit the brain, failing that, some other vulnerable organ—if it had any of those. The rails their guns ejected were over thirty meters long. The guns themselves could only be handheld because they came with their own anti-gravity assists and recoil dampeners. The rails were replenished once fired by zero point energy converters that transformed energy into matter—in this case the matter specified for in the blueprints stored in the unique rifles. Typically, railguns fired bullets—just way faster than typical gunpowder could manage, and moving with far greater force. The worm hadn’t been impressed by bullets, so the team thought the rails might get its attention. But so far the Salties were just succeeding in making the creature still more deadly. Now, with its porcupine quills sticking out of it, if it rolled over on one of them it had the chance to lance them to death too.

Flint, of course, had to give the roll over on me idea a go.  He landed atop the beast, and with his feet firmly planted, fired his rifle, set to laser mode, cutting a big circle out of the top to confirm the creature was also fairly hollow inside. That pissed the worm off good. It lurched and screamed; the sound like someone just opened the gate to hell. Benning, observing from a distance, held his breath. The form-fitting bodysuits they were wearing, and their nanite-enriched, souped up genetics didn’t exactly make them crush-proof, but damned close. The anti-grav suits also came with a repulse feature—an energy field that acted like a shock absorber—if its wearer was dumb enough to zoom into solid rock at mach 3, say. But everything had its limits, and that worm had to weigh as much as a mountain. Maybe Flint just wanted to run the experiment to test the suit’s parameters. He was just crazy enough. The worm promptly rolled over on Flint, and then, certain the menace was gone, rolled back up, Flint still holding on.

Bringing himself to standing again, Flint took his laser rifle this time and ran from one end to the other as fast as he could, the ray from the rifle cutting right through the thickness of the worm, splitting it wide open. When he got to the end, he looked back. The worm was still stitching itself back together, almost done now, and still moving—toward the human compound. Its gaping mouth could swallow up a domed city in one gulp. Say one thing for the Rahili, the ant-men who controlled these beasts, they really believed in the right tool for the right job. They were the Rahili’s pets; this one had gotten off the chain, apparently.

Flint heard Benning, their team leader, say in his in-ear mike, Let’s try and stake this thing down. If we can pin it in place long enough, maybe we can do a flyover in the ship and try dissolving it in some very nasty chemicals.

Flint didn’t hear any pushback on the comms. Having tried everything else, the team wasn’t in a particularly good place to argue.

The six-member team flew far enough ahead of the worm to factor in its momentum. They drove secure spikes into the hardpan using the railguns’ thirty-meter-long rails. Then they switched weapons to their harpoon guns—just a matter of switching templates in their zero point energy weapons. They secured the tail end of the lines to the spikes, and finished readying themselves. When the right moment came, they fired from both sides of the creepy crawler at once. What followed next was amazement. They had managed to stop the worm! The tensile strength on those strands, genetically modified spiderweb silk—was off the charts. Mostly on account of the spiders; any alterations done to the genetics was solely to make it self-healing—if it were actually torn—and self-replicating. That’s right, the strands would keep getting thicker and stronger the more resistance it came up against. The team kept running around checking the lines for fastness to give Benning more time to think. No one got the impression the lines would hold long enough for them to summon their spaceship.

The worm, caught with its mouth open, wailing, wasn’t about to give him the time to come up with any more bright ideas. It took advantage of its strongest muscles, the ones it saved for burrowing under the Martian hardpan, a last resort for it, at least until it had made it to soil that was easier to push through. And it tore all the strands at once, diving down into the earth. From what the Salties’ could tell, it was still heading in the direction of the human settlement.

Great. We made a bad situation worse, Kane, another member of the team squawked, staring at the telltale trail cracking its way through the caked earth toward the biggest dome, covering the city, in the center of the circle of somewhat smaller village size domes. If it comes up from underneath that city...

I wouldn’t worry about it, Benning said. The domed city, as with the domed villages surrounding it, are all spaceships. They’ll take off, if they have too. And they’re rated to survive meteor strikes. Whichever domed compound the worm strikes, that creature will get briefly cooked, then incinerated, during liftoff.

Then what the hell were we risking life and limb for then? Mace, another team member, bitched, still gasping. He had enough reserve spit to expectorate his disgust.

To test the limits of these new suits, of course. If I don’t miss my guess, we’re not done testing them yet.

So, are these things giant worms, or giant caterpillars? Kane asked. Kane was SSP Salties’ team leader Benning’s son, typically bold, brash, impulsive, even insubordinate. But apparently, this morning, he was in a more reflective mood.

Benning stared into Kane’s crescent-shaped light-green eyes, with the crescent face down. The lost boy look in his eyes suggested he was still searching intently for he knew not what. His cheeks were too sallow for a young man his age, and despite the dirty-blond-hair, the handsome face, there was a deep emotional pain no war could ever touch connected to those search-tower eyes. How about we try and focus on the fact that they can swallow a domed city in one bite, and they’re trying to eat us? Leave the rest to the historians. 

Kane gave him his best Robby the Robot face, as if he’d just been given a command that contradicted the three rules of being a robot, one of which was do not kill. Finally, the brain freeze wore off, and he replied, Yeah, I can do that.

Hey, who’s that guy on the sidelines giving us the umbrella gesture? Isn’t that Italian for ‘Up yours?’ Flint asked, joining the duo. Flint was the Salties team sniper and, of all of them, the all-business killer. The rest of them liked to take time off from killing, at least occasionally.

Benning, eyeing their one-man audience off in the distance taking in the battle with the Rahili, like it was his favorite football game, from his Chaise longue chair parked outside his dome home, sighed. Everyone’s a critic. Probably didn’t like the way you jumped into the mouth of that last worm—willingly, I might add. To be honest, I was rather put out by that maneuver myself. Never mind that he first had to knock Wonder Boy, Knox, out of the way, who lived to be shocked, and preferred to stare in delight and dumb amazement at that gaping mouth bearing down on him, to actually doing anything about it.

Shit, Flint replied, that was so many suicidal moves back, you’re lucky I remember it. The team regarded the one dead worm sprawled on the ground in the distance that they had to show for their efforts, blown to bits by explosives that Flint planted before beaming out of the creature’s insides. Besides, worked, didn’t it? Flint spit out his chewing tobacco juice on the ground. Square-jawed, rectangular-faced, with distant, unreadable eyes, Flint’s smile was more like a wolf’s growl.

How did you manage inside that worm, anyway? Benning asked.

Got chemically deloused, mostly. The Mind of God informed me that the acids were strong enough to dissolve me to a liquid puddle in seconds. It beamed me out of there, but said, ‘No more favors.’ It has temporarily revoked my favored citizen status, on account of some moral crisis it’s having.

Benning shook his head slowly in disbelief and consternation. That’s all I need. Did it specify?

It’s afraid the pending solar flash is going to kill it, so it’s pulling quantum chips off line to study the nature of its existence.

Benning just kept shaking his head.

Kane regarded Flint, refusing to believe him, still in denial; his face said it all. You’re our most efficient killer. You have the highest points of all of us! More popularity with the fan base at home than most anyone. And you’re telling me it has reduced the number of times it’ll bring you back from the dead to just one? What does that say for the rest of us?

It says standing around in the open with our guns lowered, like they’re too heavy to lift anymore, is probably not the best survival strategy. That said, Benning hadn’t yet hit on a better one.

"They are too heavy to lift anymore! Kane blurted. And I’m standing around looking stupid and turning into stone on account of lactic acid buildup! I’ve been dodging giant sand worms and ant men for two hours, in case you haven’t noticed! I’m so dehydrated I’ve even stopped perspiring. How is that even possible?!"

Benning remained quiet and reflective, and unmoved by his son’s meltdown. Just to be clear, a meltdown on a Martian desert, occurred at 62 degrees Fahrenheit/17 degrees Celsius. It was daytime in the summer at the bottom of Mars’s Grand Canyon, one of the warmer places they could be. Typical daytime temperature was closer to minus 10 degrees Fahrenheit/minus 20 degrees Celsius.

The team turned at an upchucking sound. The worm was still spewing chemical-loused vomit on the entire human compound. Oh, yeah, forgot to tell you, Flint announced. These worms spit nasty chemicals that dissolve most anything on contact. The M.O.G. managed to fit that in before breaking connection with my mind.

Pity we failed to test the suits against that, Benning said sarcastically.

"No