Chapter 1: Volume 1. Chapter 1. Alicia Dunn

October 7^th, 2992, CE

     Renee Duncan settled into the padded seat of the taxi. The interior was dark, with deeply tinted windows to protect against Khanath’s starlight. She used her neural lace to select two destinations and compt the commands into the taxi’s processor. The processor provided an ETA of two hours and thirty-three minutes with a distance of 2542 km. The gravity cylinders activated with a low hum, and the taxi floated up three feet before accelerating away from her home landing pad.

     The domed biospheres of BoTor’s districts fell away below. Renee contemplated the upcoming week, a week away from studying the data coming through the Bridge, and the last week with her mother. The taxi passed and glided over the Grimmauld Ice sheet, extending for the next 300 km. One nearly unbroken sheet of white ice peppered with crystallized snow. She saw a Yten encampment at the glacier’s edge and momentarily glanced backward as a group traversed down to the chunky ice ocean below.

     She compt her neural lace to activate a sleep program with a wake protocol in two hours. The compt traveled along the neural lace and hit the processor. The processor triggered a biochemical cascade spiking her adenosine, dropping her into a restful sleep.

     Renee woke slowly with the neural lace inducing the gradual release of cortisol. The domes of NuTor were not yet visible on the horizon. Even then, the largest settlement on the planet was only a fraction of the size of cities in the Commonwealth because Khanath was not a terraforming candidate. The terrestrial and space-based infrastructure required was all in place, but Khanath belonged to the Yten. They were hundreds of years away from leaving the planet. Khanath was their home, and so it would stay.

     The taxi reduced velocity as it approached the residential domes of NuTor and waited a few seconds for the airlock to cycle. The taxi’s processor led them through a maze of skyscrapers before selecting a landing pad near the coffee shop. Renee compt approval of the selection with her neural lace, and the taxi hovered over the landing pad as the gravity cylinders cycled down. She exited and wandered through the residential tunnels. This place was upscale, and the metal walls gleamed from the light shone down by bright bulbs of fake sunlight.

     The coffee shop was a retro-modern design harkening back to the twenty-fifth century—all dark stone. Renee thought certain styles were never suitable and nostalgia didn’t improve them. The barista was a young-looking man – with short brown hair dressed in clothing that mimicked the décor. He was probably just as old. The barista took her order before sending a compt to the food synthesizer. Embarrassed, Renee insisted he makes the coffee by hand. ‘He might be old, but he must think I am ancient,’ she thought. The man plastered a blank smile on his face reserved for the customers with inane demands and proceeded to handmake the Americano.     

     While she waited, Renee looked around the shop. Empty except for two men wearing Commonwealth Navy insignia on their shoulders. They were ensigns speaking in hushed tones about how long they would be on Khanath. The younger one was lamenting the months away from his wife on Kraste. If only she could tell him that he would be home soon. The Bridge was closing. The barista handed her the coffee with the same blank smile and wished her a good day. She slipped into the tunnel and found her way back to the taxi.

     Fifteen minutes later, she stood at the door of her mother’s even more upscale apartment. She compt in her key, and the processor returned a confirmation as the door lock snicked open. She carried the precious cargo through the entryway, looking at the old décor. All hardwood – natural hardwood. The floor, the walls, the ceiling. Everything was wood. The extravagance was incredible. Almost no one had access to timber in any reasonable quantity. But her mother had connections. She knew everyone.

     “Hello,” said Renee in a raised voice.

     “Kitchen,” came the melodious reply. Renee found her mother standing over a small metallic pot on a stovetop. “Would you like one?” Alicia asked.

     “I brought you one,” answered Renee holding up the Americano she had brought from the coffee shop.

     Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Is it real? The synths never get the flavor, right?”

     “It’s real.” Renee accepted the excuse. Her mother never used synthesizers and hadn’t for centuries.

     “Well, then we can save this one for later.” She compt a command to the stovetop, whose processor initiated a shutdown.

     “Mom, you know that nobody cooks anymore, right? Where did you even find a stove on this planet?” asked Renee as she walked up and hugged her mom. Her mom hugged her back, grabbed the coffee, and took a sip before answering.

     “Yes, but most people alive haven’t had real food since before the Dispersal. Everything has been synthetic for centuries now. I still remember the real thing.”

     “Of course you do.” Renee stared at her mom for a few moments making prolonged eye contact. “I love you,” she said as she started to cry.

     “And you can love me next week too. You won’t even notice the difference. I’m updating the memtals right up the last moment,” replied Alicia. She leaned into the hug and gave it right back to her daughter. Her voice was strong, but her eyes were wet as she put her chin on her daughter’s shoulder. “The biobot has already grown. All it needs is the memtal, and it will be like I never left.”

     “But… you are.”

     “Because I must. This… everything,” Alicia gestured at her surroundings. “I have seen and done everything, met everyone, and listened to every story. The Bridge is something new. If I don’t go, I’ll end up in the ASI anyways.” Alicia took another sip of her coffee and gestured for Renee to follow. She led them into her study, a place that had seen countless hours of human labor in the past few years. She sat Renee down in a chair and ordered the house bots to prepare another one for her. After another silent moment, Alicia started the conversation again, “Besides. We have a lot of work to do.”

     “What?”

     “Well. I’ve collected many stories over the years. Many of them from before the Dispersal and many of those have never been heard.”

     “All the history made it through….”

     “The histories did. But the stories. Everyone knows Arnold. No one knows Frank anymore. Frank was someone who should have made it.”

     “Okay. So, what’s your plan?”

     “I’ve prepared all my interviews – or at least all the ones I think should be remembered – and plan for you to release them after I leave. Alicia sat back and took another sip of coffee. “But I want someone to listen to my story. I don’t want to tell it, though. I want someone to ask me all the questions I won’t think to ask. I’m biased with regards to myself.”

     “I’m not a journalist, mom. I’m a scientist.”

     “So was I when I started. It took me centuries to drop that title.” Alicia flicked the MemCourse she had prepared to Renee’s neural lace. “Use that.” The course would imbue Renee with the memories of a student who had learned to conduct interviews.

     Renee felt her neural lace warm the interior of her skull slightly as the processor sent out compts to the glands, which conjured biochemical memory. Her memtals could convert that to digital if she desired. “So, where should we start?”

     “The basics darling, ask me when I was born, my parents, where I studied, early life, you know the usual,” replied Alicia. She sat up. Renee never knew either set of her grandparents. Mom only knew the one. Renee compt her neural lace to activate the binoc and perceptory recorders. Combining binoc and perceptory recordings would allow the preparation of a full-sense recording.

     “Okay, when were you born, mom?”

     “Just Alicia this time. I was born on October 10^th, 2019, 972 years ago.”

     “And who were your parents?”

     “My adoptive parents were named Doug and Cathy Dunn. I never knew my birth parents.”

     “Why?” asked Renee as she took a sip from her tea.

     “They died in a car accident the day I was born,” said Alicia as she scratched at the grains of wood on the island where she sat.

You are reading story Future’s Past at novel35.com

     “Tell me about them.”

     “My birth parents?” quizzed Alicia with a raised eyebrow. Renee nodded. “My biological father was a scientist. My mother was an artist. Caucasian and Korean on old Earth in a country called Canada. Other than that, I don’t know anything. They didn’t have any family, so Doug and Cathy adopted me. Doug was a carpenter. Cathy was a teacher.

     “And where did you go to school?”

December 20^th, 2046

     Alicia poured a coffee from the office pot into her cup. She took a sip and let her brain wake up. Then she got to work. Her advisor, Stephen Lech, wanted the next batch of biosynth test runs started before the holidays. Stephen was one of three people with a biosynthesizer. Udo Musa, Stephen’s old advisor, had created the first biosynthesizer.   

     Alicia swiped her flick over the lock mechanism, which clicked open, granting access to their private group lab. Xander was already working on his set of biosynths for a holiday. “Morning,” mumbled Xander as he tried to aliquot out vials of his newest batch.

     “How’s it going?” asked Alicia. She sat down at the biosynth computer and used her flick to log in.  

     “Good. It’s almost Friday. Can’t be that bad,” he said while grinning back at her.

     “How are the mice?” Xander was working on cancer treatment in mice.

     “Oh, very dead. Though they stayed not dead a tad bit longer than last time.”

     “Improvement!”

     Xander chuckled. “Yeah, like I said. It’s almost Friday. How’re the plastic munchers?”

     “Dead,” replied Alicia with a smile. “But that is because they ran out of food. The last batch managed to eat up most of it.” Xander gave her a thumbs up, and Alicia dug into programming the next batch of biosynths. Programming didn’t always feel like the right word. It was more like art trying to guide the “dumb” AI that designed the biosynths to do what it was supposed to. Someday this would be easy. But not yet.

     The biosynthesizer was in a test phase. It combined advanced computing and AI with user inputs to design hypothetical biological specimens – from individual biomolecules to mini-microorganisms – with traits that let them carry out their intended functions. For Xander, this meant killing cancer cells. For Alicia, this meant chomping up microplastics. The biosynthesizer took the AI’s hypothetical design and constructed the real thing using a mixture of stocks, 3D printing, and occasionally grad student-synthesized compounds. The “dumb” AI could search all internet-uploaded literature to inform its design process. The big challenge was sorting through all the bullshit accumulated over the years.

     Alicia spent the next few hours designing a batch of biosynths that could crack some of the hard-to-break-down plastics that had resisted the last test set. After five hours, she was ready for a break and headed out for lunch. She hit the school’s cafeteria and checked her email. Celine Delaire, CEO of Qaynan Corp, had gotten back. She needed to delay her interview until after the holidays. Alicia sent a polite, formal reply and thanked all the gods that someone as busy as Delaire took the time to acknowledge her.

     The interview was for Alicia’s YouTube channel. She’d started it back in high school to break down interesting scientific papers. Over time, she began conducting interviews with the scientists that wrote those papers. She now had a strong following and consistent viewership. It made for a nice income to her relatively paltry graduate student salary.

     After a quick break, she returned to the lab and began preparing her aliquots of biosynths with their microplastic victims already trapped inside test tubes. How people had allowed this stuff to be ubiquitous in their lives for decades was never clear to her. It was terrible for everyone – from the user to the environment.

     Later that evening, she set up the recording equipment in her cramped studio to record her interview with Udo Musa. The notification that Udo had logged on chimed just before his video connected, and an older man with dark skin and a toothy smile appeared. “Alicia, it’s good to see you. How’s the work going?”

     “Dr. Musa, it’s good. The last batch nearly got everything. A few more iterations, and we might have something useable.”

     “Call me Udo.”

     “How about Doctor for the interview?”

     “Of course. That’s good news. How’s Steve treating you?”

     “Great, as per usual. My stuff is working right now. Xander is hitting snags.”

     “That is why they call it to do REsearch and not just to search,” Udo chuckled. “Also, I got the biosynthesizer shipped out for you today. It’ll arrive in the UK a day after you do. No one else knows about it yet. They’d be jealous if Steve got a second one.” Udo used a handkerchief to wipe a sheen of sweat off his forehead.

     “Thank you. Are you ready to get going?”

     “Yes, let’s do it. I’m not feeling great today. It’ll be nice to take a nap.”

     “We can reschedule if you want.”

     “No, no. Just a cold.”

     “Okay.” Alicia activated her recording equipment. “I’m here with Dr. Udo Musa, the inventor of the biosynthesizer. Biosynthesizers are a relatively new technology that blends AI-based design with 3D-printed biological specimens with many different applications, from health to the environment. Is that a good summary?”

     “Excellent.”

     “Can you give an example of potential applications?”

     “Of course. The first application was to clear plaques and tangles in Alzheimer’s mice models. It didn’t reduce symptoms, but it did ameliorate progression.” Udo coughed into a handkerchief after he finished speaking and took a drink of water. Alicia thought there was enough time to cut the cough out during editing. “Currently, other applications are being investigated in cancer and diabetes treatments along with environmental applications such as the breakdown of micro and nano plastics.” Another hacking cough came; this time, it was too close to be cut out cleanly.

     “Thank you, Dr. Musa. How did you build the first biosynthesizer?”

     “Well, I worked with a brilliant man who coded the AI for the design portion.” At this point, Udo began repeatedly coughing into his handkerchief. After a few minutes, he stared at it and said, “I’m sorry, Alicia. I don’t think I can finish this. Let’s reschedule for another day.” Udo cut the connection, and Alicia ended the recording a few minutes later.

 

You can find story with these keywords: Future’s Past, Read Future’s Past, Future’s Past novel, Future’s Past book, Future’s Past story, Future’s Past full, Future’s Past Latest Chapter