Inhuman(12)

“Last night?”

“I had a visitor,” Old-timer replied. “Look, what matters is that I won’t keep it a secret any longer and, if you’ve been digging through the historical record, I’m sure you know about it already.”

“I might. What is it?”

“It’s—it’s Planck technology.”

“Planck technology? As in Max Planck? The theoretical physicist who originated quantum physics?”

“Uh…sounds right. I’m not sure. I never asked. But I’m specifically talking about something called the Planck platform.”

“Planck platform?” James’s face seemed to freeze for a moment as he searched the A.I.’s data base. At the same time, the warp bubble disengaged, the stars seemingly sinking back into their expected places, Venus becoming frozen in place, hanging in the limitlessness of space.

“Are you okay James?” Old-timer asked, once the disorientation of having space return to normal abated.

James’s glowing, azure eyes suddenly locked on to Old-timer, an expression of concern gripping them. “Oh my God. Old-timer, you should’ve told me.”





8



“I know, I...” Old-timer began to apologize, averting his eyes from James’s blue gaze. There was something about them, something so odd, as though they had immeasurable depth. They reminded him of the eyes of an owl that he’d seen as a child, the piercing expression seemingly filled with an abyss of wisdom. “I just didn’t realize…”

James silently turned away and regarded Europa again, before holding his arms up, palms facing upward, as though Europa were a painting hanging on a wall and he was making sure it was straight. Then he looked over his shoulder at Venus.

“James?” Old-timer asked as he watched the odd display.

“We still have a bet to settle,” James noted. “Have you ever wondered how I can control my body here, while still inhabiting the operator’s position in the mainframe?”

“I-I guess I have. A little.”

James smiled. “Just assumed it was a case of super genius again?”

Old-timer tilted his head, embarrassed to admit the truth. “Yep.”

“My pattern, the pattern of neurons that makes up the core of my personality, is still the same. But now, that pattern is electrical rather than electrochemical, and it is manifested in the mainframe. You follow me so far?”

Old-timer nodded. “Yeah, I think so. The pattern that makes up your consciousness is in the mainframe, and it’s functioning at electrical speeds instead of electrochemical speeds, which makes a big difference.”

“It means the difference between a neuron firing 200 times a second on average or a million times a second,” James elaborated. “That means that I have a higher temporal perception, meaning I perceive reality as moving much slower than you do. I have to slow myself down when speaking to you so that you can understand me, but to me, you appear to be moving slower than molasses.”

“I-I didn’t…wow.” Old-timer furrowed his brow. “It must be incredibly frustrating to talk to me.”

“You’d think so,” James replied, “but I make up for it by multitasking. For instance, I’ve been locking Europa into its orbit with Venus. It might sound godlike, but the calculations I’m doing are reminiscent of a seven-year-old catching a fly ball. How does he do it? His cerebellum, which comprises more than half of his brain’s neurons, solves dozens of differential equations even though he’s never taken calculus. The cerebellum solves the equations without him ever being consciously aware of it.”

“So…” Old-timer paused as he tried to sum up James’s point, still watching James as he appeared to adjust Europa’s position, his arms outstretched to the planet, “…you’re just guessing?”

“It’s a little more precise and a bit more conscious than the seven-year-old with the fly-ball analogy, but I’m taking in information, judging speeds, distance, mass, gravitational pull from the relevant bodies, and then just easing the moon into the right place, with the right rotation and momentum. It’s easier for me, because I can sense with more than just my eyes now—I have sensors throughout my body that are measuring electromagnetic fields, gravitational fields, the Higgs field, and many, many other aspects of what we’d call reality, but in the end, it’s just like trying to catch a fly ball. And speaking of…” he stopped, his back stiffening as he tilted his head to admire his work before turning to Old-timer with a wide, proud smile. “I think I just hit a hole in one and bowled a perfect game, and successfully mixed three sports metaphors, which is a—”