John Cramer - Einstein's Bridge

“In this context, I’d like to understand more about how you establish a wormhole, what you called a Bridge,” said Roger. “Can you connect to anywhere?”

“We can only make a new Bridge to a locus that has reached the critical energy density,” said Iris. “And we are careful only to Bridge to a single location in another Bubble and never within our own. To do otherwise would be extremely dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?” George asked.

“Again, there is a danger of accidentally creating a time vortex. It is a rather complex subject, but I can explain it now, if you like.”

“Later,” said Alice, “I’m sure there will be time enough for small talk about physics. What I want to know is: When do we learn to Read and Write and how can we use the skills to protect humanity against the Hive?”

“We could begin now,” said Iris. “I must Write a retrovirus that will modify your genetic code and also Write several different nanomachines that will alter your body and your brain, installing receptors, modifiers, nerve paths, and creating new brain centers. I will introduce these into your bodies. You must rest for about two rotations, forty-eight hours, while your bodies are changed to accommodate your new capabilities. After that, I will give you instructions in how to use the skills,”

“Does it hurt?” asked Roger.

“There would be some pain if nothing were done to counteract it. However, part of the process involves the generation of endorphins that nullify most of the painful effects. You will not, however, be particularly mobile or comfortable. It will be like having a bad case of influenza, but without the fever and congestion.”

“Okay,” said Roger. “I’m ready now.”

“Me too,” said Alice, feeling some anxiety as she spoke.

George looked irritated and uncomfortable. Finally he said, “Okay, dammit. I suppose I might as well join this stampede of the guinea pigs.”

ALICE WOKE FIRST. SHE FELT WEAK AND VERY HUNGRY, as if she had been ill for a long time. She vaguely remembered recent periods of dull aches, sharp pains, and strange dreams, as if her mind and body had been dissolved and reassembled.

She struggled out of bed and stood. As the initial dizziness cleared, she glanced across the bed at George. He did not look ready to face the day, she decided. She quietly closed the bedroom door and tiptoed to the bathroom. After a quick shower, she felt better and returned to the living room.

Iris was sitting in a chair by the window where she could see the ocean. She seemed to be using Roger’s lapstation, rapidly reading page after page of dense text and arcane mathematical equations. The plastic case of a textbook holo-ROM lay nearby. Its title was Advanced Quantum Gravity Theory. The child was wearing a frilly pink dress that Alice had not seen before.

“That’s a very nice dress,” said Alice. “It adds to the effect you were trying to achieve. Where did you get it?” Alice felt almost as if she were seeing double, viewing Iris simultaneously as a mysterious alien and as a beautiful and charming child. She began to appreciate the subtle power of the alien’s choice of body forms.

“I grew it,” Iris said. She led Alice into the backyard. A large plant was growing there. Hanging from a pair of its larger branches were two long pods. The pod walls were translucent, and Alice could see that one contained something yellow, the other something blue.

“These aren’t quite finished,” Iris said, “but they will be by this evening.” She pointed to another plant across the yard. “I have underwear growing there,” she said.

“The world of women’s fashion will never be the same,” said Alice as they returned to the house. She went to the kitchen and rummaged through the food supply, finally deciding to cook up a big pot of spaghetti. She explained the fine points of cooking spaghetti and making sauce to Iris as she thawed a package of ground beef in the microwave. She thought how strange it was to be teaching cooking to a being who could grow her own underwear.

Iris touched the meat. “Oh yes,” she said, “I had forgotten. You still eat the flesh of animals. Is this what you call a cow?”

“Yes,” said Alice as she dropped clumps of the meat into the oiled frying pan and sprinkled it with garlic salt. “I’m afraid we’re still rather primitive in our sources of food. Over the centuries we’ve selectively bred animal species that we feed on grass and grain and then kill for meat. No one who has thought much about the practice is particularly happy with it, but as a species we’re genetically programmed to enjoy eating meat.”

Iris sniffed. “It does smell good,” she said. “I hadn’t expected that.”

Roger poked his head out of his bedroom door. “What’s that I smell?” he asked. “Spaghetti sauce with lots of garlic?”

“Good nose,” said Alice. “Might you perchance be hungry?”

“I feel as if I were in the last stages of terminal starvation,” said Roger. “I hope you made a lot.”

“It may not be up to the highest standards of gourmet cuisine, but there’s plenty of it,” said Alice. “Why don’t you see if George is ready to join the living?” She rested her right hand on the soft flesh of her left armpit as she talked and noticed a peculiar sensation. There was an electric tingle under her arm, and she felt she was looking at herself in an unfamiliar way from a long distance off. She looked at Iris. “I just touched my body and experienced a strange sensation. Was I Reading ?”

“Yes, I think perhaps you were,” said the girl. “Learning to Read yourself is the first step in the process you must learn.”

George, looking pale and disoriented, walked out of the bathroom and sat at the dining table. The others came to join him.

Alice served up plates heaped with spaghetti, sauce, and hand-grated parmesan. Then she poured red California jug wine into glasses. Holding out a glass, she turned to Iris. “This is red wine, a beverage made from the juice of a kind of fruit, grapes, which has been fermented by yeast cells. The fermentation converts sugar into alcohol, which when ingested has some interesting effects on the human nervous system. In small quantities we find it relaxing, but too much can be harmful and disorienting. Normally we do not serve wine to children. What should I do about you?”

Iris put a fingertip into the glass and looked thoughtful. “Fascinating,” she said. “Sugar, alcohol, tannic acid, and a whole array of complex long-chain molecules. Your species seems to have evolved specific genetic programming to deal with this substance, and it has some benefits. I think I should try some.” She took the glass. “I’ll synthesize an enzyme to aid me in dealing with the psycho-physiological effects.”

As Alice began to eat her own meal, she noticed that Iris was sipping wine and watching each of them intently, but not eating. She looked down at her plate self-consciously, then looked up. “Are you going to eat?” she asked Iris.

“Yes,” said the child, “but the process looks complicated, and I’m attempting to understand it. Roger rotates his fork against his spoon, rolls up the long strands, and moves the fork and spoon to his mouth together to transfer the food. George cuts the strands into small lengths and eats them with his spoon. You rotate your fork against the plate and bring the fork to your mouth, sucking in the loose ends. Why does each of you use a different method?”

“I suppose it’s a matter of how we learned to eat spaghetti as children,” said Alice. “Perhaps there is no good and proper way to eat spaghetti, so we each use a different awkward way.”