A Matter of Space-Time Metrics

By

Joseph Morris

Portown, New Arantes City, Jandira

20 May 423 SJF (Since Jandira’s Founding)

There’s a bit of irony that one of the most significant events in human history was witnessed only by a cat in an alley in the seedy part of a city on a backwater planet. Not the most auspicious place for the arrival of an almost godlike advanced species intent on First Contact with the Human Species. In the long run, the absurdity of the Passimian’s arrival being witnessed only by a feline did nothing to minimize the importance of the visit, but it did save the Passimian visitor some embarrassment that might have punctured the veil of almost godlike status that would be attributed to its species. And that godlike status would prove important in the Humans’ acceptance of the warning and gift it carried.

The day of the Passimian’s arrival was not a typical New Avery City late spring day. Late May was supposed to be the time of transition to summer, tempered with soft, cooling breezes from the huge bay the city straddled. Instead, the weather system had broken down and a stagnant mass of unseasonably hot, moisture-laden air hung over the city in a dull gray haze that was attempting to smother it with humidity. It seemed more like a dog day of August rather than a lusty day of May. Dress was as little as considered appropriate and good taste.

The aforementioned cat, a relatively nondescript, gray-striped Earth-Jandiran hybrid, was not troubled by the heat. He was too busy enjoying the luscious morsels of human food left by an attentive restaurant kitchen staff in symbolic payment for his efforts to keep the alley he inhabited free of vermin. As far as he was concerned, the alley, a dimly lit space between two stone buildings dating back to the colony’s founding, was his territory. He suffered Human presence only because of their tributes to his sovereignty. 

He paused chewing his favorite morsel of fish stew and raised his head to stare down the alley. A loud “Pop!” with a flash of blue Cerenkov radiation, followed by the sudden materialization of an apparition. Startled, he arched his back and let out a loud “Hiss!” before sniffing indignantly at the intrusion into his realm and regally stalking away.

The blue glow surrounding the apparition’s emergence faded into the nighttime gloom and heaviness of an alley lit only by two old-fashioned electric LED lights. As if caught in some paroxysm, the tall, female human-looking entity, oddly clad in a long winter coat and woolen cap, stood frozen with its lanky, over-length arms and legs locked in a stiff parody of military attention. Despite some issues with proportions, it appeared to be a member of the space-going species calling itself Humans. In reality it was a persona created by a billion-year-old discorporate Passimian. Humans prided themselves in their technology and in their Principate that ruled thousands of worlds across interstellar space. However, they had never encountered or even heard a whisper about a species called Passimians. A true First Contact was about to begin.

This particular Passimian had been tagged by its fellows with the moniker “One,” primarily because it was always calling Assemblies and was always the first to arrive at these meetings, if one could describe in human terms these gatherings of discorporate beings as meetings. One wore its label with a pride that probably would have been considered unseemly by its Passimian peers. And here One was, with part of its prodigious mind creating the persona, meeting the corporeality of this space-time, a reality that washed over its handiwork in a torrent of disturbing vibrations, ambiances, and perceptions. Too much of its mind responded to those disturbances. How did the Lesser Species deal with all these incessant sensations throughout their lives? She shook her head in a human-like gesture as if trying to dislodge the assault on her new senses. One had assumed a female human persona in this manifestation, and, therefore, temporarily accepted the designation of “she”, even though, in their current existence, Passimians no longer retained a sexual identity. 

There was a whisper that some Passimians considered a momentary appearance in the universe of Lesser Species as a guilty pleasure in order to briefly experience the sensations associated with a corporeal existence. She shook her head again. No self-respecting Passimian would ever admit to such an unseemly act. Besides, who would want to experience this? What Passimian would risk the unseemliness for such a jumble of dissonance and discord? But, then again, maybe some would get some sort of vicarious thrill out of the discomfort. So unseemly. Passimians had discorporated a billion of this continuum’s years ago to escape the distractions and influences of the corporeal world in order to allow the free flow of logical thought. A humanlike sigh. A billion years, even to a Passimian, was a long time.

She blinked as a bead of sweat trickled into her right eye. A cacophony of sound from the surrounding city sent shards of pain and uncomfortable sensations through her entire body. The decaying stench from the stacked pile of garbage bags battled with the cloying essences of sweet and spice from the restaurant’s kitchen brought strange feelings through her stomach. An amalgamation of tumult from this space-time that seemed to both exhilarate and overwhelm her. 

A humanlike grimace. She was a Passimian. It shouldn’t take this long and so much energy to resolve this. She brought more of her mind to bear. The solutions were simple and obvious. First, she lowered the gain on her persona’s auditory sense. The background clamor eased to a bearable level. She did the same with the olfactory gain. Her stomach calmed, though not entirely. She wiped her face and tasted the liquid on her finger. Salt. What Humans called sweat. Her heavy winter coat and the black knit ski cap were obviously not the proper adornments for this particular timeline location’s climate. 

Every Human was given a neural implant at age seven to interface with the planetary Nets. Therefore, A Human female would use her implant to find more suitable clothes. The persona had a facsimile of an implant that would tie into this planet’s Nets. She closed her eyes to shut out as much of the extraneous input as the limitations of this form allowed and reached out into the ether to shuffle through advertisements on the Nets. There! Female adornments. Ones that seemed likely for the climate here. The coat and the ski cap vanished, leaving her clad in a lightweight, short, mid-thigh, orange skirt and a lightweight, bright neon green short-sleeved, blouse. Oh, yes, undergarments. To provide relief from the heat, she picked the lightest, skimpiest set. The outfit, along with the meager undergarments, would also aid in her demonstration to the Human Duke of the Pheryl’s use of sexual stimulation to reduce resistance during a mental encounter. The Pheryl were using their mind influencing abilities to take over Human worlds. 

At least she could satisfy herself that her arrival here on this world had nothing to do with a guilty peek at the way things used to be. Her visualizations of this timeline had indicated Jandira was about to become the nexus that would decide the future of these Humans, and many of the other Lesser Species in the space-time vicinity. She was here as a result of the old human adage that “no good deed goes unpunished.” She had called an Assembly to deal with her findings that a Chosen Species was in danger. The Assembly had authorized the mission. Sort of. The Assembly had followed the usual Passimian path:

“Lesser Species problems again?” Four had queried, its comment almost tinged with a sarcasm that would have bordered on unseemliness. Designated as Four because it was the fourth arrival to the Assembly.

One had ignored the near unseemliness. “It’s about a Chosen Species.” 

 “Which one?” Three had asked.

“They call themselves Humans and they’ve reached a Level Three interstellar civilization.”

“Still quite a ways to go,” Three had commented.

“I detected a nexus in their timeline and many of their subsequent timelines include the Pheryl.” 

“The Pheryl?” “Abominations!” came back a chorus.

“Weren’t the Pheryl dealt with?” Three had asked.

“Apparently not,” One had replied.

“You found the problem, then fix it!” was the Assembly’s unanimous response. Then they were gone, leaving her to accomplish the mission with a minimum of unseemliness.

Lesser Species was the Passimian term for those species that had not achieved Discorporation. Since the Passimians had met no other species achieving Discorporation, all other species, regardless of their accomplishments, were therefore considered Lesser Species. A Chosen Species was a Lesser Species that was deemed to have the potential of achieving Discorporation in the future. Sometimes, slight modifications to their DNA were made to aid their development. Humans were such a species. Something to do with balancing their fight-or-light reflex with their instinctual friendliness response

It was still hot and muggy but now more tolerable. She glanced around the alley, recalculating her location in this space-time continuum. Another very humanlike sigh. Missing her target by six hours, the time of the year by five months, and the location by twelve kilometers in this space-time’s metrics was not something expected of a Passimian. The Assembly must not find out about the miss. The unseemliness would be unbearable. She must have miscalculated the metrics of this space-time. A humanlike shrug. No matter. She could still successfully perform her mission. Time and space metrics of this continuum, now that she recalculated, didn’t pose a problem. 

Now to check out the critical portion this visit, the Portal, a semi-life modification to a neural implant that would empower Humans to resist Pheryl influence and to detect Pheryl Merges among the Human population. The Assembly wouldn’t be happy about her gift. They’d argue Humans weren’t ready. But it’s the only way for the Humans to survive, short of direct intervention by the Passimians, to destroy the Pheryl. A direct intervention by the Passimians? A shiver. Unseemly beyond sufferance. No, the Humans will just have to learn how to deal with all the implications associated with the Portals. A calculated risk. Visualizations of the timelines indicated a 67 percent chance of them dealing properly with Portals, and then a 56 percent chance of defeating the Pheryl and dealing properly with the Portals. Without the Portals, the chances of the Humans defeating the Pheryl were an abysmal 9 percent.

She activated her Portal and the physical reality of this space-time faded into an alternate continuum. Well, not alternate, maybe adjacent, another dimension Humans had yet to discover. Awareness of nearby auras grew. Manifestations of Human emotions. What was taking so long for those auras to appear? Again, the damn metrics. A few minor adjustments and the auras grew more in focus. She withdrew from what Humans would soon be calling Portal Space and then re-entered. The auras appeared immediately. She tasted. The flavor was correct. Okay, so the Portals work. Well, what did she expect? She was a Passimian. Time to get on with the meeting.

She reached down and picked up the old beaten leather bag at her feet containing the Cube, the physical manifestation of her gift that would generate fifty implant Portal modifications per month. She closed her eyes and opened them twelve kilometers away and six hours later in the startled presence of the Duke of Jandira, a stocky, square-jawed man with deep-set gray eyes and a muscular build. She reached out through her Portal and read the Human’s aura. A bright blue and yellow aura with a strong, but sweet, spicy taste. Very strong. She studied him more. Parts of her persona’s body sent signals that were, at the same time, disconcerting but exciting in some strange way. For the briefest moment she understood why some Passimians might have tried to experience this corporeality. She quickly squashed the sensations, but not without thinking, “No wonder he was their leader.” Maybe there was hope for this species aft all.