Phase Shift (18 page)

"You disapprove, Molly McBride Prefect."
Either Reyes is an astute reader of body language or I'm more
bothered by the notion of prophylactic terraforming than I'm
willing to admit. "It is but fitting. It is these same feckless
actions which have created this situation. As I am sure you are
aware, both terraforming and willful shifting has proven toxic to
our planet. As a posit, the proscription against shifting is a
solution. Seemingly the solution. But a poultice only works when
applied not only in sufficient quantity, but with sufficient
duration."

It takes a moment to decode what Reyes is
trying to say. "You're telling me people still haven't stopped
shifting to Earth?" Reyes neither confirms nor denies my
hypothesis. From inside his tunic he withdraws a small, silver
object and hands it to me. "What is this?" I take it from him and
examine it.

"It is a Geo-link handset."

"It looks like my iPhone."

"iPhone?"

"My cell phone."

“Cell?”

“Short for cellular telephone.” My brain
busies itself trying to think of how I might explain Bluetooth
technology and the Apple conglomerate to him, when Reyes shakes his
head. To my relief he asks for no further clarification.

"My purpose in giving you the handset is
two-fold. Primarily, it is to answer your last question.

"Secondarily, it is to assist us in learning
more about the reciprocal planet.

“Inside the handset is a phase modulator.
Ensconced on the handset are a series of dates. When you return to
Earth, you are asked to query similar dates to determine if events,
seismic or man-made, have occurred."

"I don't understand. Why would an earthquake
on Earth have anything to do with what's happening on Gaia?"

"Our planets were once one. They occupy the
same space-time. As a result, our scientists posit they are
inextricably linked. It is sound positing to assume that a scourge
on one planet might affect the other." Reyes stands, nears me and
says, "Molly McBride Prefect, can you think of anything on your
world—anything—that might put it at risk?"

As far as human activity on Earth that might
put the planet at risk, I could think of about a thousand.
"Well...yeah," I said, like, 'duh'. "Pollution. The Greenhouse
effect. Fossil fuel gas emissions. Factories releasing toxic fumes
into the air and chemicals into the water. I could go on?"

I half expect Reyes to say, "Please do."
Instead he waves a hand to dismiss the question. "These ills must
be cured if we are to avoid Cataclysm. If our planets are to
survive."

"Cataclysm?" I ask.

"The pitch of our planet's phase resonance
is shifting. For decades it has been believed the shift is to a
phase pitch closer to that of Earth's. Physics tells us only one
mass may occupy any given space-time while emitting a single phase
resonance. The posit is that at some point in the future—possibly
the near future—Gaia's phase resonance will become synchronous with
that of Earth's. This is the time of Cataclysm, when the two worlds
collide. We must do all that is in our power to prevent Cataclysm
from occurring."

On Earth, pretty much every culture has some
sort of flood myth. Divergent cultural evolution aside, it stands
to reason every human culture would tell of Armageddon as well. On
Earth, the fabled "End of Days" is heavily mired in the
Judeo-Christian belief system. On Gaia, however, the concept is
rooted in scientific fact. "I don't know, Reyes. I can check these
dates for you, but other than that..."

The thought was sobering. Two planets on a
collision course, each one relying on the other to survive. My
students, conspiracy theorists all, believe the technology for
cleaner burning vehicles, electric and hydrogen, exists, but the
government is blocking it from wide-spread distribution because of
what it might mean for the infrastructure of our planet. Entire
economic systems could be devastated as the result of releasing the
new technology—gas stations made obsolete, manufacturing plants
having to re-tool to meet the new demand—and that isn't all. What
about the money needed to replace coal-burning and nuclear-based
power plants? Or the question of how to go about changing the
mindset of billions of people who're reluctant to turn down or turn
off their central air, even after the blackout of north-east North
America in summer 2003 indicated we were in trouble. These are the
real questions behind the issue.

"Look, Reyes," I say, "I'm only one person.
If you're telling me the reason your planet is in danger is because
of what's happening on mine, I don't see what I can do to help. Our
planet is different than yours. We're not so amenable to change.
All I can do is police myself, recycle and compost, you know? Use
public transportation instead of driving. I can't make others do
the same."

I wonder if Reyes understands even half of
what I've said. He looks at me, eyes thawing with his sympathetic
smile. He places a hand on mine. "Small advances, Molly McBride
Prefect," he says, in an effort to calm me. "Small advances."

I want to tell him that even in baby steps,
I have no power to change the world. I mean, I teach, and as a
result, I imagine, on some level, I
am
changing the world in
some way shape or form, no matter how small. But to change an
entire planet? I'm still having trouble training Palmer to toss his
pop cans and water bottles in the blue box instead of the trash
can. If I can't change the mindset of one man while we're living
under the same roof, then how could I possibly be expected to
change the mindset of billions globally? I open my mouth to speak,
but Reyes cuts me off.

"These things I speak of, they're merely
posits. Ideas that may or may not have any base. Find correlations
for the dates first, Molly McBride Prefect. We shall see what
evolves from there."

I nod, in agreement. At this point, Reyes's
doomsday predictions are no different than modern day
interpretations of the work of Nostradamus. Freaking out now would
be like preparing for the end of the world based on a message
discovered reading every eighteenth letter of the Talmud. Without
date correlations, without concrete scientific proof, Reyes's
posits were just that—posits—theories—and nothing else.

"Are you well?"

"I'm okay," I lie, stomach churning.

"Very well then. Enough about your
commission. I understand you have an interest in archaic
civilizations. This...what did you call what you do?"

"Archaeology."

"Yes. This Archaeology. I have arranged for
something you might like, then."

Reyes bids me to go with him. He leads me
out of his classroom, down the hall, and outside the building. The
Prefecture grounds are devoid of people. The grass glows emerald,
the same colour as the leaves on the trees, so vibrant it’s
hyper-real. A series of charcoal grey, two-seater cars await in the
circular drive in front of the building. Reyes opens the
passenger-side door of the nearest one. He waits until I get in and
then crosses over to the driver's side. A button press starts the
engine. It comes to life with the cadence of an electronic hum. He
takes a moment to type co-ordinates using a touch screen on the
dash. The car is steered with a rudder-like control, instead of a
steering wheel. "Nice car," I tell him. He looks at me like I'm
speaking a foreign language. It occurs to me, maybe I am. "I like
your vehicle," I tell him.

"Appreciated. But it is not mine, at least,
not entirely."

"I don't follow."

"The vehicles are a form of civic
transportation. Citizens in the Greater Prefecture Area are welcome
to use them as long as they do their part in the greater good. This
can mean participation in anything as long as it contributes to
maintaining the infrastructure of the area. Few people are denied
the privilege of their use."

As Reyes speaks to me, the car lurches into
action. He uses the rudder control to join the traffic stream, and
then flips a toggle switch on the dash. The car moves forward,
speed ebbing and flowing with the pool of traffic. I get the idea
the vehicle uses auto-pilot to arrive at its destination. Once he
has flipped the switch, he keeps his eyes on me instead of the
road. Not once does Reyes busy himself with the drudgeries of
defensive driving.

I broach the topic with Reyes and he begins
a long-winded explanation of how the cars work. In a nutshell, the
vehicles are equipped with lightweight, electric engines and simple
rudder steering to direct them while on the road. Embedded in the
road are a series of very powerful magnets. The cars are equipped
with similar magnets of opposite polarization. Once the system has
been switched from electric to magnetic, the cars are propelled
forward by magnetic resistance in a virtual hover over the road.
The wheels remain in contact with the asphalt, but barely so. In
this way, the system is similar to magnetic
levitation—maglev—systems on Earth, only on a much larger scale.
Cars travel forward at the same perpetual speed, which I guess to
be about sixty clicks. A snail's pace, considering maglevs on Earth
can reach speeds about seven times faster than that.

Reyes is just about finished talking when
the dashboard blips. "We have arrived," he announces. He takes the
car off autopilot and slides it into place alongside the curb with
only a few deft pivots of the rudder. The hum of the electric
engine cuts out and Reyes opens his door to exit. I do the
same.

"This is our destination," Reyes says,
sweeping an arm in the direction of a large, three-storey building
of grey hewn stone. Stained-glass set in gothic-style windows
breaks the cold facade at regular intervals. A majestic stairway
leads to two sets of wooden doors with frosted glass inserts.

"What is this place?" I ask.

"This is The Antiquary."

"The Antiquary?"

Reyes nods.

"Reyes?" I ask. "What's an antiquary?"

"It houses artifacts from past human
civilizations on Gaia. Our Antiquarians have much the same job as
you, Molly McBride Prefect: they gather archaic remains the world
over, revitalize and sustain them so future generations may admire
the scholarship which once was."

I can't help but laugh. I've never heard it
described in such poetic terms. "It's a museum," I tell him. "Thank
you, Reyes. For doing this for me."

"It is but my contentment.

"Now," he advises me, "you are in possession
of your Geo-link?" I show it to him. "They are expecting you." He
holds his hand out to indicate he wants the Geo-link. Once in his
hand, he presses a series of icons on the screen and I am struck
again by the similarity between my iPhone and the handset. Reyes's
riddle about the poultice back at the Prefecture comes to mind. How
did it go? A poultice applied both in sufficient quantity and
duration? The ban on shifting would only solve Gaia's problem if it
were followed by enough people for a long enough period of time.
Then he gave me the handset in answer to my question about people
still shifting to Earth, had said it was in
answer
to my
question. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure: the handset
is more than
similar
to an iPhone. It practically
is
an iPhone. Palmtop computers like the modern touch screen cells
have only been popular for about two or three years, palmtop
technology about ten or fifteen at best. This means, at least in
the last two decades or so, people were still orchestrating shifts
to Earth or vice versa. Reyes wanted me to check the dates stored
in the handset not to implicate Earth, but rather, to rule it out
as catalyst.

"You must show them this for entrance,"
Reyes tells me. On the monitor is a letter from the Prefecture
indicating I'm with them and they should let me in. He takes the
handset from me once more.

"Keep the handset with you throughout the
building. It will give you access to information integrated in each
diorama. When you wish to return to the Prefecture, enter a civ
vehicle and press this sequence of images on the control monitor.
It will bring you back to the Prefecture Proper—"

"I can't drive one of those things," I tell
him. I sense the onset of another anxiety rush.

Reyes places a hand on my shoulder. I close
my eyes and imagine it's Palmer trying to calm me instead of a
relative stranger. It almost works, but then Reyes speaks and the
fantasy dissolves. "Small movements with your hand on the steering
mechanism. The wheels pivot to allow virtual sideways movement.
Ease the vehicle into the passage when there is a break in the
flow. Toggle the switch to enact intuitive mode."

"I don't know—"

"You were able to bridge the gap on your
own, Molly McBride Prefect. Who is better suited to figure out how
to manoeuvre something simple as a civ vehicle? Conjointly,
returning to the Prefecture Proper is not your only option. You
may, if you wish, return to Earth whenever you so choose. But if
you do, you must remember to simultaneously enact the modulator
within the handset as you deactivate your own." Reyes turns,
crosses in front of the car that brought us here, and opens the
driver's side door.

"When you have completed your research on
Earth, simply re-activate your modulator and de-activate the one in
the handset. The modulators have been primed to return to my
chambers.

"Good-bye, Molly McBride Prefect. Until next
we meet." Reyes climbs into the car. I watch as the car edges
itself sideways into the break in oncoming traffic. He waves at me
once, through the passenger-side window, before his car accelerates
and disappears in the distance.

Once more I find myself alone on an
unfamiliar planet, only this time the license to explore is stored
in a file on my Geo-link handset. As I’ve said before, archaeology
is a sub-discipline of anthropology, the study of the cultural
development of human beings, and the rituals and belief systems
groups of like-minded people use to make sense of the world around
them. It is also about the way the same groups mould the
environment and their surroundings to fit their world view. In
front of me is a building at least as large as the ROM, warehousing
the history of an entire planet of people who seem to have
developed an entirely different social and economic base than the
one with which I'm familiar. This could be interesting.