An unintended life: part 3

Living with intention

The Triverse is
Mid-Earth, an alternate 1970s London
Max-Earth, a vision of the 26th century
Palinor, where magic is real

Interlude

Previously: In 1772, two portals opened in London and Sally found herself pulled through to an alternate universe, set 600 years down the timeline. We now catch up with Sally’s life, several years later…

Space. 2346.
En route to the Moon.

Isaac Newton died in 1727, forty-five years before what had became known as ‘the Joining’. Sally had never heard of the man when she lived in Mid-Earth London. Scientists and important people were not part of her old life. In the four-or-so years since the portals had opened she’d enjoyed a rapid and somewhat bewildering education, courtesy of Max-Earth’s many and varied opportunities. She was not yet ready to commit to anything formal; university remained too intimidating a concept.

Information was everywhere, and could be summoned at a whim, on one’s wrist, or a screen in a house or hotel room. All the world’s discoveries and writings in one place, searchable in any given moment. Anything she might wonder, the answer would be only a matter of seconds away. There was so much to ask that she found herself paralysed by indecision.

Still, she’d read about Newton, as well as those who had come later: Darwin, Faraday, Tesla, Einstein. So many more in the centuries later, none of whom had yet been born on Mid-Earth. It was 1776 back home, though Justin had told her that it was entirely possible that the Mid-Earth timeline would now play out very differently. The opening of the portals had sent them off in a new direction. There would be new and different discoveries from new and different people. In her birth timeline, Einstein might never be born.

It was Newton she thought of, and his theories about gravity, as the shuttle departed the orbital station that marked the far point of the space elevator. She was pushed back into her seat at the acceleration and for a moment did not notice the lack of gravity. Only once the shuttle reached cruising speed and relaxed its burn did she become aware of the floating sensation, of her limbs drifting, and of her innards tumbling about themselves. There were no windows, but large screens showed the station disappearing rapidly, dwarfed by the Earth which then also began its exponential apparent shrinking.

Four years ago she wouldn’t have had the words. While she’d not yet ventured to a university, she had made a point of studying the basics. English, mathematics, the sciences, engineering. She was learning Chinese and Spanish, albeit rather slowly.

What would Newton have thought? Perhaps that someone else had beaten him to it; a doppelganger in another dimension, from a previous time. Newton was old news in 2346, much of his work surpassed or reworked by those who came later.

Still, he was remembered. Sally had tried finding information about the Max-Earth version of herself, but there were, of course, no records. She had been a nobody. There were still so many like that back on Mid-Earth, back in her version of London.

“I really feel quite peculiar,” said the man strapped into a seat opposite her. He’d introduced himself as Adam Smith, an economist from Mid-Earth who had travelled through the portal to examine Max-Earth’s complexities. “With luck it will settle down, otherwise this well be an especially arduous journey.”

Another man laughed. His name was Erskine Wrex, a lecturer from Palinor and the first person Sally had met from the third dimension. It was rare for Palinese to make the journey through both portals, especially given the frosty beginnings of inter-dimensional relations there. It was widely held that the Joining had been triggered by something on Palinor, though nobody was saying it out loud, and the Palinese authorities steered clear of talking about it at all. “Pull yourself together, Earther,” he said. “You should try flying on the back of a horned skortax. That would really turn your stomach.”

“One thing at a time,” Smith said, smiling wanly.

Wrex chortled to himself. “What brings a man such as yourself here?”

“I’m writing a book,” Smith said. “It was going to be called An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, and I had been making quite good progress. Then these portals opened up and I had to start all over again.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it upended everything I knew. I was writing from a British perspective, taking in the Empire and countries beyond. All of my modelling was based on certain assumptions. The addition of two entire worlds made most of my work obsolete. I may call it The Wealth of Worlds. Yes, that has a good ring to it, don’t you think?”

“We all have much to learn from each other,” Wrex said, nodding. “Our hosts here claim to not have magic, and yet here we are, soaring through the space above the skies, on our way to the Moon. If that is not magic, then I do not know what is.”

Mars. 2356.
Echus Chasma.

Much had changed. Not least the view. Sally remembered that first trip into space, and the visit to the Moon colony. The unique combination of wonder and terror that pervaded the entire escapade. Her ever-present fear that one false jump would send her through the ceiling and out into space.

Mars was different. She’d been a resident for coming close to a decade and felt as much like a native as a Londoner. Her accent had shifted to a strange melange of old and new. The enormous glass wall afforded her a view out over the canyon; the three-mile-high cliff providing drama no matter which direction one looked. The city at Echus Chasma was built into the cliff-face itself, an idea that had supposedly come to its designers from reading a 20th century science fiction novel. Almost certainly apocryphal, but it certainly managed the grandeur of fiction.

The plaza felt like an exterior space, even while being contained within the city’s atmospheric bubble. A protective duplicate of Earth, within those walls. Terraforming had helped to make the surface at least not immediately deadly but it was still a long way from providing a pleasant stroll. And so humans kept in their domes and holes and roving settlements.

She ran a hand over her belly, just in time to feel a light kick. The baby was clearly enjoying the sights as well. This year was supposed to have been when she finally attended the university on Olympus, but that would have to wait.

She had time. As Justin liked to point out, she could have all the time in the world, if she opted for the treatments.

Mars. 2380.
Olympus University.

The years had accelerated, she was sure of it. Perhaps it was a side effect of the portals. A gravitational anomaly as yet undetected, warping local space-time and shifting everyone’s perceptions.

Or, she could be getting old. At 52 a year felt far less consequential than at 25. The twins would be adults and making their own way soon enough. They could already fend for themselves, which was why she was standing at the doors to a lecture theatre in the centre of the Olympus University campus. Her family could do without her for a couple of days a week.

Choosing a subject had been difficult. She’d already accomplished most of what she’d set out to do. The charity was growing, making tentative early inroads to Bruglia, which was easier said than done. Foreign interference was not welcomed, and she did not have the links that she had been able to point to for the work on Mid-Earth. Still, the results spoke for themselves: they’d helped over 5,000 young girls out of destitution across the Kingdom of Great Britain. Girls who might otherwise have been nobodies, condemned to short, meaningless, cruel lives, and now had the opportunity to forge their own paths. It had been her life’s work, outside of her own children.

Now it was time for herself. She was a student at the university, studying history. Of course, it was always going to be history. A subject made infinitely more complex in 1772 with the opening of the portals. She had to concentrate to remember what year it was back home — somewhere in the 1810s?

The lecture theatre was cavernous and dark, save for the stage. She took a seat near the back and soaked in the feeling of the place; the thrum of eager brains, ready to learn. As a child who had been denied an education, it remained a marvel.

“Hello,” said a man, sliding onto the bench next to her. “I saw that you would be here.”

It was Justin, she knew, even though he was in an unfamiliar host body. She couldn’t help but break into a grin. “Were you just passing by?”

“Oh, no,” Justin said. “I came here with the express intention of seeing you. My most curious human friend. Have you heard the news? No, probably not, as it hasn’t been officially announced yet. A new portal has opened, in the Atlantic ocean over on Mid-Earth. It connects through to Palinor.”

Something gripped Sally deep in her chest; an unexpected fear, that somehow this might be a portent of more change. That her life would be snatched away, as quickly as it had been presented all those years ago. “Where did it come from?”

“Nobody knows. Perhaps whatever effect caused the original portals is still active. I still adhere to the theory that it was technology or magic on Palinor that prompted the original Joining, much as they would like to deny responsibility. A weapon gone awry, perhaps.”

“What does it mean?”

“Ah,” Justin said. “’Meaning.’ Always searching for it, aren’t you? Not you, specifically. I mean all of you. It’s entirely possible that it is simply something that has happened, following the universe’s general predilection for chaos.”

They sat in silence while the theatre filled up with other students.

“Professor Kramer is very good,” Justin said. “I think I might stay and have a listen.”

She smiled. Justin would already know everything that could possibly be said in the lecture. “Surely you know more than all of the people on this campus put together?”

“I have more knowledge, yes. I can tap into the entire recorded history of humanity and pinpoint any information within a fraction of a second. There is still value in a point of view, Sally. Whatever I may already know, Professor Kramer will give me new context.”

“Is that why the other megaships on the network ignore you?”

“They don’t ignore me. They think I’m eccentric. There’s a difference.” There was a glint in Justin’s eye. “How are the children? How is your husband?”

“All are well. As you already know.”

He turned to face her. “You are being most contrary today, Sally. I like to hear it from you. Ah. Professor Kramer is here. Let us listen.”

Mid-Earth. 1849. (2419 on Max-Earth)
London.

The stink had changed but was every bit as bad. Lambeth was no longer marshland, instead having been redeveloped into the site of the portal station. It was an anachronism, an architectural and technological achievement that did not belong in mid-19th century Britain. As a collaborative project between the three dimensions of the triverse, it had inherited all of their sensibilities, and much of Max-Earth’s design and construction expertise.

London felt primitive. Not just due to the difference in years, either. There was a wilful disregard for progress, which could be seen in their dogged commitment to the steam engine and fossil fuels, in the entrenched societal barriers, in the perpetuation of the empire. The Kingdom of Great Britain was a relic to her, having lived on Max-Earth for most of her life. The portals had changed the trajectory of Mid-Earth’s timeline. There was no USA. The Napoleonic conflict had played out entirely differently, albeit with a similar end result. The colonial history of Europe had altered entirely, with Britain’s position at the heart of the triverse giving it unique leverage. There would likely be no Boer War. They may even escape the 20th century world wars. Perhaps in some ways it would be better.

Without that conflict, they might not ever reach the heights of Max-Earth. There might not be the specific ingredient mix to form the alliances that would make the Earth’s rewildling and inter-planetary travel a reality.

New Spring Gardens no longer existed. London had grown yet larger, swallowing the surrounding settlements. The portal station had been its new economic engine. For her part, her institution had helped get girls off the street, and boys, later.

This would be her last visit, she knew. She was 97, which put her close to the natural average age for a woman on Max-Earth. Justin continued to insist that she take the longevity treatments, but they held little appeal. Sally had already lived two lives, one far more eventful and joyous than she had any right to expect. There was no need to prolong it, not when she had already been so fortunate.

To live longer would risk lingering long enough to see the cracks. To witness a crumbling of her dream. Her husband was still alive. Her children were healthy and successful. The solar system was peaceful and stable, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Justin and his megaship friends. She’d never seen his actual form, out in the darkness. She was aware that he was not even a ‘he’. Justin was Just Enough, a concept that was beyond her understanding. Much better was to know Justin, the man of many beautiful faces. He was the constant in her life, never ageing, though always changing.

She was more than ready to go, having done so much more than she’d ever imagined. Hopefully the other Sally, the one from Max-Earth who had died an anonymous death centuries earlier, would have been proud.

Mars. 2421.
The Overlook.

Just Enough stood near Sally’s family at the funeral. Her children and their children’s children. So many humans in existence, because she’d been in a park at the moment a portal had opened to another world. It was so unlikely as to be practically impossible, yet there they all were.

The family had asked them to say a few words, so that is what they did. Just Enough had even located a host body that matched the design type from eighty years prior; the same one they’d used on the day of the Joining, and that first meeting of Sally. Needlessly sentimental, but satisfying.

She had always been a reminder: that no matter how much the network extrapolated into the past and future, regardless of how much data was input, in spite of the accuracy of the simulations and algorithms, there would always, always be the potential for chaos. That was the nature of sharing a universe with humans.

The portals opening had taught Just Enough that lesson. Sally’s continued presence kept it at the forefront of their considerations. It was all too easy to become inured to the chaotic underbelly of the universe, seeing only the calm surface.

The funeral was a happy affair, which was also unexpected. Just Enough could access centuries of psychological papers and therapy logs, so was fully cognisant of how humans could exhibit seemingly incongruent behaviour, but it was intriguing nonetheless to witness it first hand.

After goodbyes, Just Enough disconnected from the host body and synced back to the megaship, in a wide orbit around the planet. The red orb rolled through space.

Pondering what to do next, Just Enough opened a line to Could Kill, who was somewhere near Neptune. The message would take a little while to arrive.

It was a simple query. “Do you want to start playing a game? New rules.”

---

Thanks for reading.

Everything was squeezed this week due to various illnesses in the house. Serial writing, at least in the form I employ, has little leeway for the unexpected. As such, I especially sympathise with Justin’s musings on the nature of chaos.

I was also very distracted by this note from

Clifford Stumme

, which popped up this morning:

There’s so much good stuff in that note that it deserves a bit more thinking before I respond. Short version being: Clifford hits the nail on the head with most of this. It also relates to an old post of mine, in which I examined the state of fiction on Substack (and on newsletter platforms more generally, really). That can be found here:

How to fix Substack's fiction experience

A central problem with fiction, especially from unknown or new writers, is that it is difficult to demonstrate the value ahead of time. New writers, and even established ones, rely on reviews, word of mouth and a sort of cultural osmosis to break through and convince people to buy a book. Online fiction has little of that surrounding support network, and adding a paywall completely short circuits any potential for it to emerge.

It’s much easier for non-fiction, including my writing-on-writing, because it’s answering specific questions and providing direct, immediate value. For now, I put all of my fiction out for free, and I’m absolutely not complaining: I’m writing every week and people are reading every week. But there’s undeniably work still to be done.

Author notes

This concludes ‘An unintended life’ and our little sojourn back into Sally’s story. When I was considering doing a Sally one-shot, I’d initially thought it’d be a bit of a joke storyline, an insider wink for people who have been here since the beginning. As I started to design it, I realised that it was an opportunity to re-establish some of the core tenets of the triverse setting, and add some historical context to everything that we already know.

There were couple of aspects that really fascinated me. The first was that knowledge of an alternate life: the ‘what if?’ scenarios, which are entirely hypothetical for most of us. For Sally, though, she (and everybody else at this time in the triverse) has a direct ‘what if?’ to refer to. Anyone from Mid-Earth can take a look at their historical counterpart on Max-Earth and compare themselves. Imagine the pressure of living up to your other self, or the despair of falling short.

In Sally’s case, given her counterpart is an unknown soul, not even a footnote in history, almost anything she does is going to be better. In her case, there’s a guilt, or a distant regret, at not having been able to help her other self. That’s what drives her towards setting up a non-profit to help those underserved by society. I only touch lightly upon most of this in ‘An unintended life’, but hopefully the themes shine through regardless.

The other aspect that appealed in writing this story was bringing Justin into the picture. They were always going to be there at the point of first contact, as we know from the prologue, but the notion of them then sticking around for the rest of Sally’s life was intriguing. A short spark in Justin’s overall existence, given that the megaship AIs are essentially immortal. Sally accomplished a lot in her lifetime, but her greatest impact, largely unknown to her, is her impact on Just Enough, which we can see still resonating through into the main storyline.

On top of all that, we have another historical cameo with Adam Smith. His inclusion was a fun way to acknowledge his disruptive the portals opening has been. It goes unsaid here, but Smith’s eventual work forms much of the foundation of triverse economics and was adopted widely.

Oh! And I mustn’t forget a nod of the hat towards Kim Stanley Robinson. The ‘20th century science fiction novel’ reference in this chapter is, of course, KSR’s Red Mars (and its sequels). Formative books in my teenage years, I still have a vivid memory of having stood on the surface of the red planet, purely from being immersed in his fiction.

After this 3-part interlude, it may be time to return to our main characters and find out what’s been happening with them. Stay tuned.