A Mist of Analysts - Part 1

Would it not be perfect to see everything all at once? To capture every spiralling drop; every expanding crystal lattice; every cell in a muscle contracting in sensational unison; every blustering squall that contributes to a cyclone? To see, on innumerable display screens, the lives of ten thousand billion organisms played out as a cosmic theatre production? To have this glorious spectacle stored forever as solid data, to be collated, reviewed, consumed and analytically dissected by humans? Or better still, scrutinized by perfect, immortal robotic systems? Would it not be impressive to be a part of this experiment? To initiate it? Create it, bring it about. You would think so. After all, you are, as I am, a striver: a sprinter, an achiever, a target-archer. A human. An analyst. I once brought this great, unfathomable wish within a hair’s breadth of reality. Grim, unforgiving reality.

***

His hand paused, ready to push, on the burnished bronze panel. He held his palm there for a second, mildly caressing the cool metal set into the shining, polished wooden doors. And such doors! He had seen them only once before, on receiving the honour of High Pilot from the Council, who, for the second time, lay beyond them. Looking at them for a following time they were no less grand. No less indulgent, no less austere, than in their first meeting. Three times as high as him - and he a well-built, healthy adult human - and carved from some beautiful tree. A tree from Earth? Possibly. Trees from a new planet? Given the Council’s wealth and exuberance, far more likely.
He breathed in deeply; part preparation for the oncoming test of nerves, part gratuitous inhalation of the rich filtered air that, at great financial and manual cost, passed through these expansive chambers. He remembered his colleague behind him, turned his head to the side and sighed, “Are you ready?”
“I’m shittin’ myself, Noa”
“Yeah, me too. This is big news, but it’s what they’re looking for. I’m sure they’ll take it well.” He turned his head again to the extravagant timber, then back to his friend, “And we let them know we were coming. Had to send a comm fourteen weeks ago to book a hearing with these guys. Hopefully they won’t be angry at the lost time.”
“Wondered why you were taking so long to get back to me. Thought you’d offed yourself or something.”
“Me? No. I tried that before. Didn’t work. Sorry, I haven’t been in contact recently...I took a trip to the Ravere system. Had to clear my head.”
Earth High Pilot Noa Jona pushed steadily with a careful concoction of might and respect on the door. Its weight resisted him heavily, at first, as if Newtonian physics or some other, far more mystic and unseen, forces rejected his presence within. However, he soon felt a small hidden mechanism assist him. He heard its small purring whirr, and the door started slowly to give. He pushed with both hands. The light of the corridor he stood in was swallowed by the dim crack he had created. He stepped through this small breach and stopped. There they are.
A crescent-shaped table, of the same fantastic wood as the doors now behind him, was lit up in front of Noa by cones of a soft light. Beneath these beams sat the people he was here to see: undoubtedly the most powerful men on Earth. That particular thought had possessed him many times in the past few months. Last time he just had to salute and go through a ritual. Now he had to talk to them. He held the door slightly for his friend, straining under its only partially-relieved immense mass, and then started towards the group. His awkward steps betrayed his nervousness, and his palms sweated. He held his torso high in faux-pride, however. The table seemed lightyears away. The tapping footsteps of his Craft boots echoed solidly on the flagstones below, echoed around the cavernous chamber.
In the subdued light to his sides he began to see shapes form, emerging from the darkness as they recognised the presence of a fellow observer. Some of these shapes he remembered from his last visit, some were new. Glowing rocks; small field-encased gas clouds; beautiful sculptures – representations of scientific theories – double helices, networks, chaotic shapes; and busts of the greats. Newton. Darwin. Kefter. Bexa. Doesn’t matter, look forward. Look ahead. Look positive.
The dusky light was so pressing in this place. He felt enclosed, encased; alone. There were tall windows and skylights above him, but these had long been encrusted with grime and soot. Outside had been irreversibly damaged in the past few decades – smog and putrid fumes choked the cities, and were beginning to creep to the rest of Earth, the last havens of unspoiled remote beauty spots. Nothing like the crisp, clean world that The Renews had envisioned: this planet was now damaged; defunct. Maybe the Councillors liked the gloom, Noa guessed. It would certainly fit their grim, droll personality.
Their eyes had been on him since he entered. He knew they would have been, but he could only tell for sure as he got close enough. Gold and silver bespectacled faces peered through him, scrutinised him, and observed him, as gamma rays would penetrate a brick wall. One of them looked down at the desk to arrange some papers, no doubt cross-checking his visage with that on a file. They were so ancient, these men and women. Were they still even in touch with reality? Had they seen the damage their kind had caused outside? They lived their lives in this building, it was rumoured. They stalked the halls during the day, and were held in stasis pods at night, where they were fed, watered, de-aged and informed by countless data cables. If one were to acknowledge the hearsay, one would doubt these individuals were even human. Yet here they were, breathing and assessing in front of Noa, trying to penetrate his confident air, hating like no robot or android possibly could.
“Good evening, Pilot Jona,” came a voice from the centre: a balding, sneering face. Noa stood to attention.
“Council.” He nodded with military precision and clarity. The bald dome shifted slightly to the right to examine the man behind Noa.
“And good evening, Lieutenant”
“Cay, get over here,” Noa hissed. His friend shuffled quickly forward to stand to attention at the Pilot’s side.
“Good evening, Sir,” replied Earth Lt. Cay, nervously.
There was a horrible stillness. Of motion and of thought. Cay hazarded a glance at his friend. It was not returned.
“So, what?” The bald man gestured with his palms, questioning.
“You did not get my personal message, Councillor?” Perspiration began to form on the Pilot’s brow.
“No, Jona.” The bald man glanced at his colleagues in annoyed amusement. One of them gave a small chuckle, looked down at a paper on the desk and ticked a small box. Noa wanted to strain to read it, but was firmly petrified to the spot.
“Spit it out, then”
“Sir, it’s about, hmm, our recent voyage.”
“To Sinai? It was successful, wasn’t it? You got what you went for? The planet was successfully tagged and flagged?”
“Yes, Sir, but-”
“Well? What are you standing in front of us for then? Just here for a chat?”
“Sir, you asked all stellists to report to you if we encountered –“
“Sentients?” The bald man cut him off.
Noa nodded solemnly.
Silence. The councillors looked at each other, and immediately scribbled short notes on their desks, and mouthed messages through their invisible mouthpieces to their contacts. Noa could hear the tapping of fingers against flat plastic screens. He could see the other councillors’ faces shrouded in shadow as their bent heads obscured their faces from the lights above them. He sniffed the clean, unwelcoming, air. After a long, whispered telecommunication with a colleague, the balding one looked straight ahead. Noa could see the messages flushing in vivid blue across his glasses. He looked back at Noa and their eyes met.
“We’re readied the Linnaeus for you, Jona. With a team of observers. You leave immediately.”
“Sir, I’m still recovering from my flight today. With all due respect, I’m entitled to my sickness hours”
“You’re going back to Sinai, to observe the sentients, and the rest of the planet.”
“Councillor, I –“
“We’ve equipped the craft with brand new tech: your new crew will brief you on it this evening. The Lieutenant will stay here with us for a short interrogation.”
“It’s unsafe, Sir. I physically can’t do it!”
“Do not use that tone with us, Jona! Your health is far secondary to what we will be achieving if we act fast, and reach Sinai again before the other colonies”
“Sir, we don’t even know if -“
A powerful fist crashed down mightily on the desk - “Jona, get out of this room and perform your duty to your Council!”
Lt. Cay watched in apprehension as the man, associate and friend he most dearly revered saluted, turned on his heel and marched out of the auditorium: spurned, degraded.