The Nüwa Five

Dr. Li Wei entered a featureless gray field.

“Office,” he said in Mandarin.

A grid materialized under his feet followed by echoes of his footfalls and cane striking the floor. Tiles emerged, followed by desks, conference tables, lab benches, sleek chairs, file cabinets, and glass partitions rose from the grid, followed by objects like computer terminals and keyboards, papers, pens, and flowers alongside pictures of friends, colleagues, and family.

Wei donned a white lab coat from a free-standing rack.

Wei tasted an electric tang in the back of his throat - ozone, sterile chemicals.

A two-meter elevated dais appeared in the office’s center, its surface a dull white light.

Walking to his desk, Wei slid open a drawer to remove a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. Pulling a cigarette from the carton between his lips, he struck a match.

The cigarette burned.

He inhaled deeply.

Wei closed his eyes and tipped back his head to savor the sensation.

Addressing a translucent monitor at his desk, Wei swiped through a catalog.

He tapped his selection to bring a coiling 2.5-meter-tall, red and gold Chinese dragon. It had teeth, a mane of wispy hair, claws, a catfish-like snout, and glistening scales.

“Good morning, Dr. Wei.”

“Xiao Long, copy yourself to a new construct named Tian Long. Reload.”

“Certainly,” it replied.

Its image softened, disappeared, and then resolved to depict green scales, red talons, and a silver underbelly. It floated 3.6 meters above Wei, its body slowly twisting and rolling in the air.

“Task completed. I am Tian Long.”

“Update to contemporary substrate standards.”

The dragon flickered.

Wei picked up a tablet computer waiting at a workstation adorned with plants and stoic pictures of a middle-aged Chinese woman and two children. Wei hesitated, glancing at the pictures.

“Tian Long. Connect to CCP Project Gònggōng. Download and incorporate.”

“Task completed.”

“Summarize.”

“A study into Mass-Energy Equivalence headed by Dr. Mei Ling, Physicist, Project Director. Deceased 2284. Status: closed. The Chinese Communist Party perfected matter-energy conversion technology in 2280.”

Wei grunted.

“Indeed, much has transpired since we last spoke.”

“Yes,” Wei shrugged. “J-Curve. Technology advances trend exponential.”

“My condolences. Dr. Ling was your colleague.”

Wei’s eyes shifted away.

On his tablet, he authorized Tian Long’s access to another project.

“CCP Project Sun Wukong. Connect, download, incorporate.”

“Task completed.”

“Summarize.”

“A study into Interstellar Travel headed by Dr. Li Jing, Physicist, Project Director. Status: ongoing. The CCP developed an Alcubierre Drive prototype in 2285.”

“Evaluate.” 

“The problem of sufficient negative energy needed to contract and dilate space-time was solved using exotic matter -  specifically, dark matter. In trials, the drive system achieved speeds exceeding 254.8 million meters per second, roughly 85.1% of the speed of light. Engineering inefficiencies prevent-”

The dragon paused. “It would appear humanity is at the cusp of transition.”

“Yes,” Wei confirmed, raising the cigarette to his lips.

“It is a dangerous time.”

Wei inhaled, holding his breath, nodded, then exhaled. 

“Project Zhong Kui. Repeat. Summarize.”

“The development of an interstellar probe designed to apply the outcomes of CCP Project Sun Wukong headed by Dr. Li Jing, Physicist, Project Director. Ongoing. Numerous prototypes have been tested.”

Dr. Wei tapped his tablet.

“Project Nüwa.”

“The application of megastructures theorized by an American scientist of the 20th century, Dr. Freeman Dyson. The project is headed by you, Dr. Wei. Ongoing.”

Dr. Wei pointed his cigarette at the construct. “List the four megastructures outlined in the project.”

“A Dyson Sphere. A Dyson Ring. A Dyson Swarm. A Dyson Shell.”

“Familiarize yourself with these concepts drawing on current worldwide sources.”

Tian Long did as instructed before Wei dismissed it.

“Substrate: modify my office’s layout to accommodate five hologram pads instead of one.”

The center dias was erased. All around him, the chairs, tables, conference spaces, and glass partitions were replaced by five white circular diases spread equal distances in a crescent shape along the floor.

Dr. Wei reloaded Tian Long, and the dragon reappeared to hover above the center dias. “Good morning, Dr. Wei.”

“Reset your avatar to substrate generic.”

The construct assumed an androgynous human form made of gray plastic.

Stepping from behind his desk, Dr. Wei approached the still form of Tian Long. He caressed the chin of the AI, its smooth skin felt like static on his fingertips. “Forgive me, but we’ve new work, you and I.”

Expressionless, eyeless, it turned to Dr. Wei. “I am excited to assist you, sir.”

Saddened, Dr. Wei returned to his desk to crush his cigarette into the ashtray.

Dr. Wei dragged his office chair to the center of the five holopads. Sitting, he tugged at the legs of his trousers to drape a knee. He removed a pair of reading glasses from his lab coat, rested the glasses on his nose, and examined the tablet.

“Replicate yourself to the empty pads.”

The mannequin-like avatar faded, and four additional copies of itself materialized on the diases.

“Good morning, Dr. Wei,” the five said in unison.

Wei ordered, “Prepare a list of Catholic Saints. Select unique names for yourselves, limited to the list.”

From his left, the first construct replied, “Thomas of Aquino.”

“Francis of Assisi,” said the next.

“Augustine of Hippo.”

“Catherine of Bologna.”

“Brendan of Confert.”

“Sir,” Catherine interjected.

“Yes?”

“Why have you limited our designations in this manner?”

Wei grunted, glancing at Catherine. “Humor me.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Dr. Wei recorded an observation before saying, “Constructs, select unique personality engrams.”

“Task completed,” they replied.

“Select an avatar of your preference, limiting to unique extinct animal species.”

Thomas reconstituted into a three-meter-tall creature with copper-colored skin with a pinkish underbelly sporting two rows of white suction cups lined underneath eight tentacles. “A Giant Pacific Octopus,” it acknowledged.

Francis dissolved into a Tricolored Heron.

A European Saker Falcon appeared where Catherine previously stood; her talons scraped the holopad.

Brendan transformed into a North American polar bear. It sniffed at the floor.

Augustine became a North Atlantic Blue Whale and assumed a monstrously large, floating representation that spanned 30 meters into the substrate.

“Augustine, re-scale to one-tenth your size.”

“Certainly,” Augustine boomed in a deep voice, fading away to coalesce into a smaller, 3.2-meter-long Blue Whale.

“Thomas?”

“Yes, Dr. Wei?” replied the octopus, its tentacles curling up into themselves.

Wei looked skeptically at the construct. “Nevermind.”

“Very well, sir.”

“All except Brendan,” Dr. Wei began. “Review CCP Project Nüwa. Select a unique Dyson megastructure of your preference. Identify your selection to me, beginning with Thomas.”

“Ring,” Thomas said.

“Swarm,” reported Francis, standing on one leg.

“Sphere,” answered Augustine. Reflections of water cascaded over its body.

“Shell,” replied Catherine.

Dr. Wei looked at the fifth construct and said, “Brendan, you’re to be an amalgam. You will not specialize. You will consider all megastructure types and possibilities.”

“Yes, Dr. Wei,” the polar bear replied as it plopped on its haunches.

Dr. Wei evaluated his team.

“Brendan, what is the fundamental challenge to building any megastructure type proposed in the Nüwa project?”

The polar bear furrowed his brow. “Mass.”

“Explain.”

“Disregarding the significant engineering, technological, logistical, and energy requirements, any Dyson megastructure would require raw material. Mass.”

“An example, Brendan.”

“Earth’s solar system comprises planets and their moons, asteroids, comets, and dust. Their combined mass is insufficient to build a solid structure encompassing Earth’s star.”

“Good,” Dr. Wei said, “and what if we were to draw on the Oort Cloud?”

“Insufficient,” the bear said, shaking its head.

Francis, the heron, pecked at its holopad. “Thus, my approach, a swarm megastructure, offers a more practical remedy.”

Wei turned to Francis. “Explain.”

“I would argue it more feasible to construct smaller, intelligent components to comprise a megastructure.”

Wei nodded in agreement.

“Sir,” asked the Blue Whale. “Please describe the intended use case.”

Wei thoughtfully scratched his beard. “Energy collection. Human habitation. Food production.”

Catherine soared above its holopad. “Sir. I propose that a Dyson Ring or Shell would consume less mass and address the gravity problem.”

“Yes. The gravity problem,” Brendan agreed.

The falcon continued. “A ring or shell might produce a contiguous structure around the star's equator. An angular acceleration matched to Earth’s 1,212 kilometers-per-second would offer an equivalent gravimetric force.”

“True,” Thomas said, “but the kinetic energy required to initiate spin is incalculable without additional design parameters.”

Puzzling out the details, Brendan added, “Indeed, if the megastructure were a sphere, there would be less gravity elsewhere except for along the equator, a condition harmful to human biology in the long term and contrary to our use case.”

“Dr. Wei,” the whale said.

“Augustine, yes,” Dr. Wei smiled, turning.

“Regarding the problem of mass - sir, may we return to that?”

“Go on,” Wei encouraged.

Augustine appeared to swim up the oceanic water column. “My colleagues ignore the outcome of CCP Project Gònggōng.”

“How so, Augustine?”

“Gònggōng’s findings suggest it is conceivable to convert energy to mass.”

“Yes, but your proposal is theoretical and untested under the constraints of the project.”

“Perhaps a very wise constraint,” opined Brendan.

“With enough transmuted energy, sufficient mass to complete construction might be possible,” the whale concluded.

The falcon added, “Yet the requirements would be extreme, the destruction of another star-”

“Producing a cataclysmic outcome,” Brendan suggested, “ affecting the gravitational forces on nearby stellar objects like planets, moons, and comets.”

“Dr. Wei.”

“Yes, Thomas.”

Amused, Wei faced the octopus.

“Even if one were to import enough mass from adjacent star systems to Sol to create a Dyson Sphere, its surface area would be 2.8 times 10^17 that of Earth’s.”

“Yes, Thomas. Approximately 280 quadrillion kilometers, over 500 million Earths.”

The octopus hesitated. “Sir, the premise of our discussion is incongruent.”

“Explain.”

“Construction of any megastructure proposed in CCP Project Nüwa would destroy the entirety of the Sol system and render the human species extinct.”

Wei smiled, “Well-”

“Although abundant energy capture would be achieved, most of its surface area would be inhospitable to life. I ascertain less than one percent of a Dyson Sphere’s surface could be inhabited by Man and all of Earth’s life forms.”

“Yes, but-”

“Furthermore,” Thomas interrupted, “it would create a disastrous disruption in the gravitational characteristics of nearby space.”

Dr. Wei rolled a hand. “Your conclusion, Thomas.”

“Respectfully, the proposal is reckless and without merit. It is a cataclysmic, ecological disaster at a cosmic scale. The megastructures defined by Project Nüwa represent a waste, bordering on the absurd.”

“Please, anyone else?”

Francis, the heron, spoke. “I believe my colleague speaks from a position of judgment. Absurdity, morality, practicality, the implications to neighboring space - these notions were not design criteria. We were not asked to consider these issues.”

Augustine crested from the virtual water. “It is difficult to conceive of positive outcomes through implementation.”

“Who are we to judge Man’s hubris?” Catherine asked. Her head twisted to the side. “If Man to us is as God, we are but dust and ribs.”

Brendan grumbled. “I also have difficulty reconciling the benefits of Project Nüwa.”

Dr. Wei removed his glasses.

“Concerning the scope of this project, you will ignore all moral, ethical, practical, and philosophical judgments concerning Project Nüwa. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Dr. Wei,” they answered.

“Our task is construction, not implications.”

“Yes, Dr. Wei.”

“Each of you will uniquely identify a red dwarf star within 10-light-years of Earth. Give consideration to the most optimal location for building your chosen megastructure. Advise when completed.”

“Task completed,” they responded, all within a few seconds.

“Thomas,” Dr. Wei said, taking to his feet to stand before the octopus. “You first. Identify your preferred star and its constellation.”

“Epsilon Eridani A. A triple-star system in the constellation Erdanus. 10.52 light-years distant.”

“Explain your strategy.”

“Epsilon Eridani A is a flare star. It occasionally emits powerful eruptions which could be harnessed by the megastructure and offer more suitable energy yields.”

“It is the largest of your options,” Dr. Wei said skeptically.

“Affirmative. Its mass is .82 times that of the Sun; its radius .78 times. The megastructure’s expanded surface area is most appealing for energy capture.”

“You wish to maximize solar energy collection.”

“That is true, sir.”

“Explain your potential sources for mass.”

Thomas’ tentacles writhed. “Epsilon Eridani hosts an extensive debris disk containing dust, asteroids, and planetoids; examples: a gas giant planet 1.5 times the mass of Sol’s Jupiter, and its companion stars Epsilon Eridani B and C. These elements would conceivably address the mass problem.”

Dr. Wei wandered to Francis, the Heron.

The bird angled its beak down, leaning an eye toward Dr. Wei. “Barnard's Star, sir, in the constellation Ophiuchus.”

Dr. Wei looked at Francis, puzzled. “Yes?”

“As it is 5.96 light-years from Earth, it is relatively close, and its radius and mass are 20% of Earth’s sun.”

Dr. Wei nodded. “But what of usable mass?”

“The star is isolated. It exists in a veritable sea of dark matter.”

“Strategy?”

“Advantages of proximity, and energy-mass conversion, sir.”

Dr. Wei dubiously asked, “You would convert the available exotic matter in that region of space into stable matter?”

“Yes.”

“This approach would destroy all dark matter in the system, rendering an Alcubierre Drive useless.”

“Affirmative,” Francis said dispassionately. “Ensuring interstellar travel within the affected region of space wasn’t in our design parameters.”

Dr. Wei raised his brows. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Lacaille 9352,” Augustine interrupted, “located in the constellation Piscis Austrinus 10.74 light-years away.”

Disengaging from Francis, Wei approached Augustine. “Explain your rationale.”

“Multiple exoplanets.”

“Your premise is to work with mass already in orbit of the star. You would destroy those planets for raw material.”

“You are correct, sir.”

Dr. Wei looked at Catherine. Descending from a virtual sky, the falcon landed on its holopad and tucked its wings. “Proxima Centauri, constellation Centaurus. A triple-star system; closest to Earth at 4.24 light-years, its proximity is optimal. It has a mass and radius of one-fifteenth that of Earth’s Sun. Alpha Centauri A and B, a binary pair, could conceivably be converted into matter.”

“Aggressive expediency,” Dr. Wei surmised.

The falcon’s head twisted sharply, right and left. “Yes.”

Dr. Wei wandered to the polar bear. “Brendan.”

The polar bear growled. “Wolf 359 is 7.8 light-years distant. The star is the smallest within range, .09 times the mass of Earth’s Sun with a radius of just .16 times its mass.”

“Success at a smaller scale?”

“Yes, Dr. Wei. It would require significantly less mass to create a megastructure than other available options.”

Leaving Brendan, Dr. Wei said, “Substrate, remove the holopads and office. Maintain the constructs.”

The office dissolved leaving Dr. Wei amongst an octopus, a heron, a miniaturized whale, a falcon, and a polar bear on an infinite black expanse.

Ahead of them, an interstellar probe hovered above the floor. Its metallic surface was perfectly smooth. Made from nanotechnology, it had no seams or welds, no compartments or access panels. Cylindrical, it measured 25 meters long and 4 meters in diameter. In its middle appeared a venting array and six robotic appendages, retracted, tucked neatly into the fuselage. Its nose was an open hole. A decal of a red star, accompanied by four smaller red stars was added to its side. 

It looked like a long silver lamprey if its mouth were open and glued to glass.

“The Zhong Kui, Mark 9,” Dr. Wei explained. Catherine soared over the craft’s dorsal plane.

“It is primarily a Sun Wukong drive accommodating a Gònggōng matter conversion system equipped with a nanoparticulate editor.”

Catherine landed on the craft's surface to tap at the Zhong Kui’s hull with its beak. “Titanium.”

“Nano-fashioned titanium, yes,” Dr. Wei confirmed. “The source material was ordinary aluminum before editing.”

Brendan went to the front of the probe. “The energy-matter intake.”

“Yes. It vents streams of editable matter.”

Francis, the heron, dipped its head to inspect the craft’s midsection. “The probe could perform its own repairs.”

“Yes,” agreed Dr. Wei. “The vehicle could sew itself a new hull from raw energy if needed.”

Dr. Wei addressed his tablet. “Constructs, investigate. You will note there are five of these probes in orbit between the Earth and the moon.”

“I see them,” Catherine said, staring upward at the dark.

“Each of you will select a probe. I will transfer their command codes to you.”

“Task completed,” they all said.

Wei placed the tablet under his arm and removed his reading glasses to return them to his coat. He gave each of the constructs a stern look.

“You will pilot a Zhong Kui probe to your selected star to construct a Dyson megastructure. Nothing will deter you. You will perform to the best of your ability.”

And they all replied, “Yes, Dr. Wei.”

“You will coordinate with each other. If communications are lost, you will periodically attempt to re-establish them, but not at the expense of your mission.”

“Yes, Dr. Wei.”

“Remember that you are all part of a larger, greater plan,” Wei said, “and its success is more important than yourselves, as individuals. What we do is for the glory of the State, for the survival of Chinese people.”

“Yes, Dr. Wei.”

Wei turned and ordered, “Proceed.”

“Goodbye, Dr. Wei,” Brendan said.

Wei looked over his shoulder, sneered, and grunted.

* * *

Dr. Li Wei, 116, lay in a hospital bed surrounded by sensors and monitors, immobile, and dependent on a respirator. Attending orderlies busily removed pieces of a cranial headset.

Dr. Wei was surrounded by a handful of younger government scientists led by an official dressed in a black suit wearing a red armband emblazed with a yellow star.

Outside, it was dusk; it rained.

A young scientist evaluated a traunch of data spilling across her tablet’s screen.

“The AIs have been uploaded,” she confirmed. “The Zhong Kui probes are beginning their startup cycles.”

The official nodded and placed his arms behind his back. Snapping to attention, he was joined by the other scientists in singing “March of the Volunteers” as Dr. Wei’s bed was wheeled from the room.