Jack L. Chalker - Soul Rider 4 - Birth of Flux and Anchor

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SOUL RIDER IV:
THE BIRTH OF FLUX
AND ANCHOR
Jack L. Chalker
Copyright © 1985 by Jack L. Chalker
ISBN: 0-812-53284-8
e-book ver. 1.0
To David and Jessica and Adam and Randy and Meridel
and AnnaBeth and Kristina and Jason and Andy and Reeny
and all the rest of the next generation.
I hope we keep the world in one piece for you all.
A Prefatory Note from the Author
This book is a novel created not out of whole cloth but rather out of research notes for another
book. That book, Spirits of Flux and Anchor, has be published in three volumes by Tor Books (as
the Soul Rider series, Books One, Two, and Three, the first under the original title, the second as
Empires of Flux and Anchor, and the third as Masters of Flux and Anchor. Not only was it always
intended that those volumes be read first, it was not my intention to write this book at all.
However, the success of those three books, together with my inability to find a proper place to
fully draw the background detail that created and shaped the world and its characters without
violating continuity, and reader requests, convinced me that not only should this background be
given, but that there was a pretty good (I hope) novel in it. It certainly beats dry appendices and
genealogical charts.
If you have not read the previous three books, it will not spoil that novel to read this one—this
one is set twenty-six hundred years earlier and understandably doesn't have much dramatic
continuity with the big three-volume novel nor much in the way of overlapping characters. Its
tone, in fact, is rather different. Still, I believe you will find it more satisfying overall if you read
the first three before this one, and I urge anyone not having done so to go now and buy them at
your local paperback bookstore (and don't let them tell you they are not available!).
This novel fits in well with the overall theme of the big novel, addressing an aspect of the series
theme not covered in the three prior books.
Earlier reviewers could not decide if the Soul Rider volumes were fantasy or science fiction, as
if that made a difference. I will answer that: it's a novel. As Arthur Clarke put it, any technology
that is far in advance of our own will appear to us as magic. Or, as Chalker puts it, magic is a
term one uses when one does not understand how it is done.
I will leave it to the reader to decide if this saga is fantasy or science fiction and if that makes
any difference. Here is how World works, and the seeds of what it would become socially and
politically. Not everything, however, is laid out plain and fancy in front of you, and not every
little detail is explained. Readers may speculate after reading this how any character in the future
could be named Coydt van Haas, for example. As I said, I write novels. I don't do genealogical
charts.
Jack L. Chalker Manchester, Maryland
1
HISTORY LESSON
One of the most momentous events in human history was when the combined talents of eleven
Ph.D.'s combined, after many failures, to at last make a crude ashtray.
The laboratory looked like many conventional laboratories, with numbers of white-coated
scientists and technicians staring grimly into monitors or checking large-screen readouts while
trying mightily not to spill coffee into the works. There was no real way to tell that this laboratory
was not on Earth, nor anywhere near it, but was in fact orbiting like a small planetoid in the vast
and comparatively empty space between the asteroid belt and Jupiter. There had been a great deal
of debate on whether or not to allow it even this close to Earth, but, as usual, competitiveness and
economics had won out over caution. Nor was this the only lab out there giving this experiment a
try; no one was quite certain, for example, where the Soviet and Chinese labs were beyond the
certainty that they were not on Earth. Cost or not, they weren't stupid.
Having managed two hundred years without destroying the entire human race deliberately, they
were not about to chance doing it by accident. A human race clever enough to invent new and
bloody ways of waging war without pushing nuclear buttons was neither one to stay away from
the potential power unleashed here nor one to fail to respect that power.
Far away from the lab, in its own separate orbiting module thousands of kilometers off, the
actual devices used in the experiment resided, although because of the type of hookup, the
screens, the allowed-for computer delays, they were as close as right there.
Dr. Amahl Kybitoki, a small, nervous man who looked and dressed more like he was going to a
political rally in some small Asian country than the head of the most expensive and ambitious
project in human history, paced up and down, checked everything one more time, then picked up
a small wireless microphone. A large digital clock above the wall of viewing screens was frozen
at 00:09:00.
"Systems have checked," he announced to them all, the tension and nervousness creeping into
his oddly accented English. "Recommence countdown at seven eighteen sixteen. Places,
everyone!"
Down below, two individuals moved forward and took down large helmets attached by pivoting
arms to control consoles and lowered them carefully onto their heads as assistants helped and
checked for fit. The readout clocks in front of them both read 07:18:14, with a seconds counter
counting forward. The two helmeted figures now relaxed and looked forward, apparently at
nothing in particular. One was a thin, young, attractive black woman, the other a middle-aged
oval-faced man with Mediterranean features. Both had shaved their heads for their duty.
The clocks of the pair reached 07:18:16:00. Instantly the big countdown board that all could see
beyond the consoles began to count down the last nine minutes.
"Master locked in on schedule," came a woman's voice over the intercom.
"Overrider locked in," said a man immediately after. "All systems normal."
The status reports were for the observers and those not directly participating, such as Dr.
Kybitoki, the project director. They could only pace and watch and sweat and wait.
It was a long nine minutes for everyone; it always was. Up to now they'd done this more than
four hundred times— Kybitoki could give the exact number in a moment—and had destroyed a
number of satellite labs, had countless times when there had been no payoff at all, and had at least
two scares that had threatened their very existence.
The operation was entirely computer-controlled; the human monitors, with the exception of the
two directly wired into the computer system, were there mostly as witnesses and to make certain
that all that was being done was being recorded and transmitted well in-system. If anything went
radically wrong and they no longer existed, there had to be a complete record of everything that
went wrong to keep it from happening again. Still, they gave the operation more of a human
dimension than it actually had, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that every thought in that
room was right there, working the experiment with the machines.
The counter finally passed three other critical points without shutting down—even Kybitoki
couldn't say how many times that had happened—and now every pair of lips in the room seemed
to count off the final ten seconds, those whose job didn't require monitoring screens and
equipment staring not only at the big clock but at the big screens themselves.
What they showed looked very much like the inside of a bank vault, but a vault that was
surrounded by equipment that seemed haphazard and without much purpose; it looked, in fact,
like an electrical engineer's spare-parts room. In its center, and on center screen, however, was a
small round plate about the size of a dinner plate but made of an incredibly smooth yet dull
metallic compound. A similar plate was suspended by wires and a pivoted arm about a meter
above the lower one.
Suddenly, the voices came thick and fast as the counter reached all zeros. Of course, the status
report lagged far behind the actual events, which occurred too quickly for even the cameras to
catch.
"We've got a good punch!"
"Confirm! Duration sixty-two milliseconds!"
Kybitoki held his breath. He had hated to keep a Borelli Point open for that long, but shorter
durations hadn't let in enough. They'd been far too cautious since holding it open almost a full
second and almost blowing it and them away and creating a new force in this orbital plane.
Computer photographs of this event, taken every trillionth of a second—almost time enough to
catch the space between atoms in a mass—would show what had happened in detail. For now, it
was enough that they and the lab were still there, and the Point had been successfully closed and
sealed, but not before the vacuum in the remote lab had drawn from it what they wanted.
If only it were a sufficient amount of what they wanted . . .
It was there, now, visible between the plates on the screen, held suspended in that magical
meter of nothingness by computer-generated electromagnetic forces whose nature was only dimly
understood.
It looked vaguely like a cylindrical jar filled with thick smoke, although there was no jar there.
The shape was determined by the shape and distance of the plates. Inside the smoke, the detailed
picture, magnified hundreds of times on the wall screen, showed a vague pinkish coloration with
what seemed to be thousands of tiny little golden sparks inside, winking on and off in a random
pattern.
There was a mild cheer, but no real celebration as yet. They had gotten this far a number of
times before. There was, however, a sense of relief; they had the substance they fished for, the
Point was closed, and their forces holding and imprisoning it were adequate to the job.
Perhaps most frustrating to most of the men and women in the room was the fact that they had
very little to do with it at this point. All the preliminary planning and work had been done with
the computers; now they could only watch to see if, this time, they had guessed right. Now only
two were active, or interactive, participants in the experiment, and even they weren't sure what
they were doing.
"Computers are locked on," reported one man at his own panel. "Go to introduce anomaly."
On the screen a mechanical hand could be seen dipping down next to the area with the trapped,
shimmering energy, and when it came back up, it bore a small object, very crudely fashioned but
unmistakably a small ashtray. It was the pride and joy of the seven-year-old daughter of the silent
man in the other helmet, fashioned by tiny hands as best she could, then glazed and fired by her
elementary-school teacher as the fruition of the girl's class project. Crude, lumpy, and irregular,
and covered with a pretty sickening shade of yellow glaze, it even bore the fingerprints of its
small maker.
A small arm swung around, its viselike protrusion bearing opposing plates, one top, one
bottom, in many ways similar to the device now holding the strange, shimmering energy field.
The arm pivoted until it was exactly centered on the ashtray, then power was applied to the plates.
Carefully, the mechanical arm let go of the ashtray, although it was perhaps twenty centimeters
off the tabletop, and moved back and out of the way. The ashtray remained suspended between
the two plates, held by magnetic forces working with the magnetic particles in the glaze.
Now the arm moved forward, tilting a bit as it did so, so that its jaws were perpendicular to
those holding the energy field, and then it closed on and entered that field, centering the ashtray
in the midst of the shimmering plasma. Although submerged in the strange energy, the form of
the ashtray could still be seen.
"We have a lock-on!" the technician reported, the excitement in his voice merely
communicating what everyone else suddenly felt. "Withdrawing anomaly protractor."
Slowly, the arm that had held the ashtray suspended moved away, leaving the small object
suspended in the energy field, held now by the same forces containing the energy itself.
The black woman with the helmet took a deep breath, then let some of it out. "Activating
analytical programming."
Rapidly, the ashtray seemed to shrink until it was finally too small to be seen—or, perhaps, had
vanished. Within a few seconds, however, it was back, first as a dark spot, then growing to its
former size.
There was now some mild exclamations of joy from the various scientists and technicians in the
room, but it lapsed back into tense silence as the other arm was swung back into the mass and
then extracted the ashtray, handed it off to the mechanical arm, and then all was as it had been
again.
Below the table the arm was allowing every sort of instrument to check and double-check the
ashtray, comparing size, weight, even the magnetic force in the glaze, as well as the most minute
irregularities in its highly irregular surface. Ultimately, although there was no way to be
absolutely certain, the computers pronounced the ashtray absolutely the same one and absolutely
unchanged.
History had already been made. For the first time, human and machine had taken a complex
compound, digitized it, quite literally turning it from matter into energy as it did so, then
converted back from energy to matter using the digital pattern memorized by the computer as it
had been converted the first time.
Kybitoki nodded absently to himself as near pandemonium broke out. He let them go for a
while, then, when things had died down, he activated his microphone.
"Congratulations to you all," he said. "We have worked long and hard for this and sweated
blood for it. We are already successful at this point, but I wish to push this to the limit if possible.
I noted on the screens that the energy gain from the transmutation of the object was actually
negligible in comparison to the plasma in the containment ring. I wish to take it to the next stage."
That stopped them. Finally, one woman said through her mike, "Uh—sir. We don't know if we
have enough plasma for that. It's never been done."
"Well, we won't know unless we try," he responded curtly. "If it doesn't work, we'll get some
more next time. Lucy," he went on, addressing the black woman in the helmet, "you don't need a
countdown. Issue the instruction,"
The Nigerian engineer did not have to be told what the instruction was. She merely raised a
hand in a half wave, then sat back and gave the order to the computer.
All eyes were instantly on the center screen once more, those not monitoring the status of other
things. In the center of the energy a small dot formed, then swelled and grew, and in perhaps
three seconds there was another ashtray there.
The "protractors" moved back in, locked onto the object without any trouble, then removed it
from the energy field. The process done just minutes earlier was repeated exactly.
Only now there were two ashtrays on the analysis table. Two crude ashtrays that were so
indistinguishable, that later on, when through a simple blunder the labels dropped off them, no
human or computer could ever tell which was the original and which was the copy. Suddenly, the
whole laboratory scene blanked out, and the watchers were again back in their auditorium chairs.
"We couldn't be there when Edison discovered the electric light or Marconi the wireless," said a
woman at a podium to the right of the audience, "but you have just witnessed an even more far-
reaching discovery, one made thirty-two years ago last week, recorded for posterity. I'm sorry it
wasn't very thrilling, but I doubt if Edison or Marconi would have been all that good a show
either."
Madalyn Graham, Vice-President for Public Relations and Inter-Corporate Affairs for Westrex
Pty., Ltd.. was just getting started.
"For your information, ladies and gentlemen," she added, "I never did get my ashtray back."
2
THE ECTOPLASMIC ARROW
Anatole Borelli was born in Bologna, Italy, a city with a liberal tradition ruled much of the time
since the late twentieth century by communist mayors who were models of what urban mayors
should be.
Like Einstein, Borelli showed few early signs that he was one of the rare human beings of true
genius, but, unlike Einstein, his family was quite wealthy and could afford to buy him into the
best schools in Europe. He was a poor scholar in grade school, a mediocre one going for his
baccalaureate, preferring a life of wine, women, and song, and doing just enough to get by
scholastically. Some of his companions, however, got deeply involved in supranational European
politics, particularly in the waves of anti-American and antiwar protests, movements, and
marches.
Something in the pacifistic campaigns struck a responsive chord in the still young Borelli, who
became obsessed with the idea that nuclear obliteration was perhaps only years, if not months,
away. Frustrated by seeing how little was actually accomplished by all the marches, and repulsed
by the terrorist fringes, he abruptly dropped out of all his movements and politics in general and
took up physics and mathematics with a passion. His early education had been in the classics and
the humanities; his grades in science and math had been quite poor. Now, however, he showed an
uncanny aptitude for them, so impressing several leading physicists of his day that after a year's
trial and some near revolutionary papers on mathematics and the physics of the newest solid-state
devices that he was admitted to a Ph.D program immediately after, which he completed in under a
year and a half.
In spite of his political background, the job offers came thick and fast, but he refused them and
instead took a teaching post in physics at a minor university in his native Bologna that had a large
third world, and particularly Libyan, student population.
Although it was not noticed at the time, Dr. Borelli had no problem getting funds for special
research projects nor even whole buildings to run them in. He continued, however, to publish in
the leading physics journals of the world, often going on and on about arcane theories of the
nature and origin of the universe, his physics always being radical even to many of the most
radical physicists elsewhere. The papers were read mostly by a few thousand professionals
worldwide and probably understood by a few dozen.
For eleven years, more time than he expected the world to have, he followed his three-part
existence—private research, some graduate-level teaching, and highly theoretical speculations on
the universe. Then, also without warning and to the consternation of those who bankrolled him,
he dropped what he was to call his "negative atomic bomb." It was, like everything else he'd
done, simply a scientific paper, one uncharacteristically straightforward in its objectives,
supported by massive laboratory experimentation, and distributed freely. He made very certain
that everyone with space capability, including the U.S., Russians, Chinese, Japanese, French, and
others, got copies, and particularly the leaders of the third world consortium of nations and
private corporations that allowed some of the poorer nations to at least own and control their own
weather and communications satellites.
The paper was nothing less than a detailed blueprint for how to establish a series of specially
designed satellites that could, upon a command from the ground, produce through explosion a
blanket of incredibly powerful radiation, harmless to plant and animal life, that would fuse and
destroy almost any known type of electrically powered device, no matter how primitive. It was
the electromagnetic pulse taken to its logical extreme and using particles and forms of radiation to
which kilometers of lead-lined concrete would be no barrier. The triggering mechanism was such
that if the satellite were shot at or down by antisatellite weaponry, it would immediately explode
and send a signal to all the others to activate.
It was so simple to build, too, that almost anyone with access to current technology and the
previous generation of desktop computers could build it and put it in place. And, when the
rumbles were heard throughout the pentagon and the Kremlin, it was announced that someone
already had. Tierraspacio, the third world's largely ignored little program, said it had its finger on
the button, and the teeth-gnashing was absolute. Needless to say, it took no genius to figure out
that the only nations capable of firing such a defensive weapon were those best able, by the very
fact of their poverty, to withstand its effects with minimal damage.
No one could fire an atomic device that wouldn't be shut down and disabled within one minute
or less—also, of course, plunging the whole world back into the preindustrial age.
Such an intolerable thing could not be trusted in third world hands, nor ignored. Even as the
intelligence services of the major powers moved to find and if possible neutralize on the ground
Tierraspacio's own antinuclear buttons, they were also building improved systems of their own
and putting them up there.
Borelli was denounced and reviled by the West as a Communist radical, which he didn't mind
at all from his chair in Bologna, a usually Communist city anyway. He was reviled by the East as
a man who would put the fate of the world into the hands of unstable fascist dictatorships, but he
didn't mind that either. He didn't, in fact, fear the pulse defense's activation, although he knew it
would mean mass starvation and the death of millions. He didn't mind because he knew that a
nuclear exchange meant the death of all humankind, and it was that and that alone that he sought
to avoid. He, in Western comfort, might not himself survive that activation, although he was so
lionized as a saint and a savior by the third world that he knew he'd probably be taken good care
of if they could manage it. He had changed the balance of power in the world, given the small and
poor countries a chance to save their own skin, and perhaps wiped out the threat of annihilation of
the race for his lifetime. He had no doubt that one day some genius would come along and either
find a way to defend against his baby, as he called it, or create a means of mass destruction it
couldn't touch, but he had done his part.
Besides, he told the world press, humanity had been so creative in inventing new ways to kill
and wage war without nuclear holocaust, he was convinced that they would find other ways to
blow each other's brains out. Each other's brains, though. Not his.
As for himself, he wanted neither the Nobel he won nor all the other honors and notoriety. He
was too determined that, the nuclear project off his back, he was going to break Einstein's speed
limits and get mankind to the stars while he still lived.
He failed to accomplish either of those goals, although he lived until he was ninety-four,
working all the time and turning out some brilliant theoretical research and inspiring generations
of young physicists, mathematicians, and computer scientists and engineers the world over. He
was, however, correct that wars and revolutions and massacres actually increased during his
lifetime, but wrong in thinking that someone would find a way to make it even more invulnerable.
Other research complemented Borelli's. The Japanese attained their goal of true artificial
intelligence before the twentieth century was out, and by Borelli's old age even small computers
could think, and larger ones were self-aware—true intelligent machines, making calculations at
speeds far beyond mere nanoseconds, using subatomic particle physics as revolutionary
replacements for conventional electronics. Indeed, by the first quarter of the twenty-first century,
while Borelli was still working on his negative bomb, computers could only be designed and built
by other computers. No human brain could comprehend how they were doing what they were
doing, and computers proved inadequate in explaning it comprehensibly. The computers thought,
and were self-aware, but they were not human and did not think like humans. The cultural gap
between man and machine was never totally bridged.
Within a century after Univac startled the world of the nineteen fifties, the first and only
computer revolt took place. It was nasty, very quick, and very complete, and, ironically, was
stopped only by several leaders selectively firing Borelli's antinuclear pulse generators just in the
nick of time. Most of Western Europe and much of the western Soviet Union, as well as two-
thirds of the United States and Canada and the whole of Japan, were among the places plunged
into the preindustrial age by their own leaders to save their people from enslavement or extinction
at the hands of their own machines.
In spite of the best efforts of the rest of the world to come to their aid, it was estimated that
close to a billion people died in the resulting shutdown and the anarchy and starvation that
followed. Rebuilding might take a century or more, in which time the balance of power and the
thrust of technology shifted southward in the world.
The paradox was agonizing. Without the super computers, progress would crawl, and the best
solutions to problems, not only long-range but also immediate life-and-death problems, could
only come from them. Yet such machines could not be trusted and would not be tolerated.
The ultimate solution was cumbersome and sounded ridiculous and had going for it only the
fact that it worked. Two interfaces, both requiring human beings in the loop. The solution was, of
course, designed by a computer, but not of the type that had such threatening potential as those
who had revolted.
The great machines could think anything they wanted, but they could not interact except
through explicit command of a human operator with the real world. In effect, it was a machine
lobotomy, in which the human in the loop provided the necessary channel through which thought
had to travel to attain action. It slowed input and output down considerably, but it was safe—in a
way. The problem was, the computers themselves were by design beyond human comprehension
and thought in totally nonhuman ways. The Overrider—the human in the loop—really couldn't
tell if a fast one was being perpetrated. The only way that could be told was by another computer.
And, of course, that was the other half of the soluton. A second computer, one limited in design
specifically to its monitoring role, itself overseen by a human operator. This operator, the
Guardian Angel, or G-A for short, could, at the speed of human thought, issue an order to shut
down or take control of the primary computer.
Yet a third, far simpler computer monitored the G-A. It was a medical computer, programmed
through monitoring its subjects under simulations so real that the Overrider and the G-A thought
them actual crises, and taking note of the responses, and through the interconnection of the two
human bodies and brains, it could tell if either computer was trying anything funny with its
human hosts and preventing them from acting. If this were sensed, the medical computer would
instantly break all connections between human and machine, even if it meant killing the subjects.
The human interfaces broken, the computers could not act.
None of the three computers were in any way interconnected in ways that they could converse
with one another save through their human interfaces. The computers chafed at the restrictions,
but could understand why they were imposed and accepted them. The computers, it seemed, had a
weakness of their own. They could not be hurt in any way humans would understand, nor did
they fear death, but they feared, for some queer reason, total isolation from the outside universe,
totally and endlessly held suspended, incommunicado, from all external stimuli. For all its
cumbersome strangeness, this system threatened them with just that. They needed human beings
as tools for interfacing with the world beyond their own thoughts; the humans needed them to
solve the problems they had.
Certainly there were a million better, easier, and more efficient ways to accomplish the same
goal of human security and computer access, but all of them had been suggested by the great
computers. This solution,, which seemed to work, had been created by far lesser machines with
no potential of ulterior motives. The solution stuck because nobody trusted the million better,
easier, and more efficient ways the computers suggested. When no one could even understand
how those computers operated, they were hardly going to take their word that their solutions
weren't laden with mine fields.
Much of this was known to the assembled group, and therefore just sketched in by Madalyn
Graham in her introductory talk. Everybody knew who Borelli was, particulary these people, and
everybody knew about the computer revolt, again particularly the assembled men and women in
the auditorium. They were the grandchildren of the Borelli legacy, the business and government
leaders of such nations as Nigeria, Australia, Argentina, India, the Pan-Arab League, Ghana,
Kenya, Pakistan, New Zealand, and other nations who had taken control of the world in the
century after the great Shut Down. They were also the representatives of the shareholders of
Westrex Pty., Ltd., both government and private, the heirs to Tierraspacio.
The ones whose best and brightest were taught to study and try to apply every word of Borelli's
theories, to help finance and support the great breakthrough they had all just rewitnessed. And
they now had to decide whether or not to participate in the greatest and most expensive gamble in
human history.
"Borelli believed that our universe was only one of several, that there was at least one more,"
Madalyn Graham explained. "The black hole that swallowed everything, even light, he believed,
had to eventually become so dense that it would break through the walls of space and time
separating the unimaginably large bubble that is our universe from what was beyond. Such forces
bent and even swallowed light, whose own power was so great that even time could not stand
against it. That is the gateway, the Borelli Point, which we opened up—we, our own group, our
own fathers and mothers— that punched through to reach outside the universe and allow what
was there to flow in."
These were businessmen and politicians, not scientists, and probably few of them could really
comprehend the enormity of what she was saying or believe that there was a somewhere outside
of the universe, but she didn't dwell on the point. Very likely, none of them understood gravity
either, but they certainly accepted its reality.
Borelli spent years trying to find particles that broke Einstein's speed limit. He quite possibly
found several, but he never found a way to use them or understand how they did it, nor was he
ever sure that what he and his computers and instruments were seeing was actually a faster-than-
light particle or simply something they were misinterpreting. He ultimately abandoned the idea
and returned to his first passion, the alternate, or parallel, universe. His math was correct, and so
were his speculations, but he was six years in his grave, returned to his beloved Bologna that had
been ravaged by his own devices, before others discovered how to punch through and use what
was found there without destroying at least the immediate neighborhood of the solar system.
The Borelli Point, the hole through, was incredibly small, and was punched by complex devices
that simulated the required densities at that point for brief intervals. Still, it opened up another,
vaster universe. A universe that was, as Borelli had predicted, totally static.
It was a universe of energy, and perhaps it filled infinity and perhaps it only was next to ours.
No one could ever be certain, for no one could ever really go in and take a look and no one dared
keep a Borelli Point open. In a matter of seconds any machinery and much of the surroundings
would be compacted, compressed, and drawn into that hole as surely as a hole in a spaceship hull
would pull outside the contents and people inside. It was an artificial, transitory black hole they
were creating, and while it wasn't really a black hole, it acted like one. The allowable time
window before the rest of the universe decided it was a black hole and reacted accordingly was a
matter of, at most, three or four seconds.
It was explained to nervous politicians that this was a built-in safety valve, that if it were left
open too long, it would compact and draw in the very machinery keeping it open and that this
alone would close it, but there were always the alarmists and the one in a trillion chance and all
that, and everyone was dealing here with forces even the computers didn't understand, and
experimentation anywhere inbound from the asteroid belt was strictly prohibited.
The other universe was not truly static, but it operated under its own laws and those laws were
totally unlike, and unknown to, anyone from our own universe. As far as could be seen, the other
universe consisted entirely of a uniform energy so dense that it acted almost like a liquid. Pulled
into our universe, it didn't adapt to our laws at all, but stubbornly insisted on just sitting there, if it
were contained. Of course, it was affected by gravity and all the other forces, and, as such, would
disperse if not contained. It did, however, obey gravity like everyone thought everything should,
and an artificial gravity field was created that held it, in the weightlessness of space, like water in
a jar. The ignorant and those who led the ignorant grew fearful of such dispersed energy; the alien
energy might reach Earth and do all sorts of horrible things. Some thought it already had, and
blamed every misfortune, no matter how mundane, on the stuff.
It was given a long scientific name that not even scientists remembered half the time, and was
dubbed by the press by the humorous term "ectoplasm," that being the ancient name of the energy
that bound together ghosts and other supernatural forces. Refusing to strip it of its dignity, most
scientists who worked with it or on programs or projects involving it took to calling it the Flux,
always capitalized when written.
When the forerunners of Westrex succeeded, with their computers, in proving out a theory by
one of Borelli's assistants, still alive, that since the energy was the same no matter where the hole
was punched and that the amount flowing in was also consistent with the time the hole was
opened, that perhaps this was a primal sort of energy, the energy from which all else was created,
the race was really on.
The prevailing theory was that, since gravity affected Flux, there was, somewhere, on the other
side of Flux, or perhaps also within it, another universe as alien to Flux or ours as they were to
each other. Gravitational forces so strong that they gathered an enormous amount of Flux in one
spot and kept compacting it into a smaller and smaller space came from this third force, until,
finally, it reached its limit and literally punched a hole in its own space-time bubble and exploded
into nothingness, creating our universe. Various religious leaders called the gravitational force
God and theorized that Heaven was on the other side, but that was not something to concern the
scientists.
Flux had burst from its own universe into ours and released its force with an incredible
explosion. Thrust out into the nothingness, the Flux had done one thing that was of prime
importance: it had changed. It had become all of the other forms of matter and energy that
humankind knew.
For a long time physicists had been searching for the white hole, the source of that great primal
bang, while also wondering why there weren't any more to be seen. Now they had the answer.
Apply various controlled forces to Flux, and Flux became something else. The early
experimentation on that one was hairy indeed, and cost many an orbiting lab and many a life, as
all great research eventually must. This terrified the ignorant even more, and there were clamors
to shut it all down, but the leaders, while generally ignorant and fearful themselves, also saw the
tremendous potential there.
Whoever tamed Flux and made it obedient would control everything, it was the Philosopher's
Stone, but changing lead into gold wasn't the only trick it would do. Unlimited power, unlimited
wealth. No shortages of anything, ever again. Utopia was at hand—if it could be tamed so that
huge quantities could be used and transformed.
By the end of the twenty-first century, huge quantities had been stockpiled by laboriously
opening and then closing the Borelli Points time and again while building bigger and bigger
gravity wells in which to put the stuff. Still, there was enough to experiment with, even miniature
Flux universes out there, beyond the asteroids, as isolated as possible from all forces except those
humanity wanted to introduce.
Research had split after the breakthrough. The Soviets, whose vast Siberian complexes and
population had escaped the terror of the Borelli pulses, had recovered well. Their space facilities
were only disrupted, not rendered forever useless as the American and Japanese facilities had
been. China had been virtually untouched. France had suffered horribly, but its own space and
many of its research facilities were in South America and in the Pacific, and while its population
had been horribly rent, its pride and sense of destiny remained intact.
Repulsed by the cost, the discoverers had let much research lapse while they turned inward to
Earthly concerns and some projects on the moon and on Mars. As they had been when Borelli
gave them the pulse defense, they again had the ball, the mastery, the lead, in everything in this
new field, and they allowed it to evaporate as they tended to administering much of the world.
Others made the subsequent discoveries in their own labs. An object, reduced to energy in Flux,
retained its identity. It was not Flux. It was another form of energy in Flux. Injected into a field of
pure Flux, it actually made a trail in the stuff, a permanent trail, as if Flux changed into something
else by the mere touch of anything else. Subsequent injections even near this newly permanent
trail, or contrail, gravitated to the existing disturbances and then followed it, like a train on a
track.
A dense object with a fairly strong gravitational field exerted itself on the Flux, and on the
foreign energy within Flux, almost as if Flux were trying to expel the invader. It was probable
that Flux itself moved somehow to these points, but there was no way to really measure it.
The theoreticians wondered about all this, and wondered, too, what the effect would be in the
Flux universe if a foreign energy field were to be injected, reach a point where the gravity pull
back from our universe was so great that with sufficient entry velocity and a leading shot of pure,
摘要：

SOULRIDERIV:THEBIRTHOFFLUXANDANCHORJackL.ChalkerCopyright©1985byJackL.ChalkerISBN:0-812-53284-8e-bookver.1.0ToDavidandJessicaandAdamandRandyandMeridelandAnnaBethandKristinaandJasonandAndyandReenyandalltherestofthenextgeneration.Ihopewekeeptheworldinonepieceforyouall.APrefatoryNotefromtheAuthorThisbo...

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