How Much Is Two Plus Two?

A story by Khristo Poshtakov

Once the non-time effect was over, Ditt Raskin sleepily opened his eyes and was greeted by the greenish-blue disc of the planet filling two thirds of the main monitor. The sight made him think he had scored a hit this time.

"Land on it, Tim," he commanded the ship AI.
"But tell me first, how much is two plus two?"

"Four, chief," Tim responded to the in-joke. "I suggest you fasten your belts."

The brilliant points of the plasma drive blazed up in the blackness. A few hours later, the single-person exploration boat entered orbit around the planet and began the landing maneuvers. After scanning the data from the analysis system, Tim reported: "Fit for habitation; large bodies of water present; no traces of intelligent life and, quite surprisingly, complete absence of animal species. This is the first time I register a planet of floral type."

"That’s odd," Ditt muttered to himself. He said aloud, "Prepare my biodefense suit."

The screen displayed a marvelous view. The boat had landed in the middle of a glade carpeted by velvety grass and dotted by the cups of giant flowers sparkling with iridescent colors. The lean trees around swayed their catkin-covered branches. Across the bluish-green sky drifted tiny clouds. A strange, unearthly hush reigned everywhere.

Fascinated by the view, Ditt Raskin reluctantly looked away from the screen, put on his suit, shouldered his disintegrator, which looked quite useless under the circumstances, and tapped the sensor of the exit lock-gate.

"Warning: the absence of fauna appears suspicious," said the AI before Ditt pulled down his visor and went out. "Be cautious; I shall be covering you with the laser defense." Ditt barely heard the last words of the machine voice.

His feet softly sank in the grass carpet. He narrowed his eyes against the glare.

"Look, Tim! It’s beautiful!" he exclaimed as if the other were an animated being with esthetic criteria and could answer him. To Tim, Ditt had already become an object in space; the monitoring systems of the AI were busy detecting any other motion in the vicinity of the human being.

"I have always loved beauty," the explorer went on despite the lack of company. "It’s what makes solitary space treks worthwhile."

"I agree with you." The voice seemed to come from somewhere near. "Although if you gaze at it for a long time, always the same, never changing, and you are forced to remain in one place—"

"Who am I talking with?" demanded Ditt Raskin. Then it dawned on him: the voice resounded in his mind.

"I am one of the trees. I have welcomed others like you before. They looked different, true, but they were my only diversion."

"How is it possible that a tree reasons ... speaks to me?"

"Almost all of us here are able to. We’ve been gathered for thousands of years, and for hundreds we have been talking to one another. Most of the entities who caused this have disappeared. We have been left with the beauty and the stagnancy while they must be floating somewhere in space. Their static civilization has long ago fallen apart, and we willy-nilly must accept the role of philosophers."

"I don’t get it!"

"Soon you will because you will likely be swapped. At least one of them has remained or returned temporarily – they sometimes come back to take a rest on their home planet, re-entering their original hosts. The host is normally the product of genetic engineering, which leaves us no hope for change. Listen, if I were you, I’d flee from this place as soon as possible, although once you get used to being a tree or something else, the experience is not so unpleasant. You gradually forget what you used to be – I, for one, can hardly remember my name, but in a thousand years human beings forget quite a lot!"

"Human beings?!"

"Yes, human. I used to be human once, a man guided by curiosity. I arrived here just like you. I was born on the fourth planet of Alpha Centaurus. There are others here who have never been human, but we understand one another. Some of us used to be animals and are now slowly evolving. I already sense their wish to cut me short and greet you in turn. Once they’re done though, don’t forget my advice – leave this place as soon as possible!"

"Welcome!" the grass carpet under Ditt’s feet said. "We used to be countless arkans – members of a termite civilization living on Arpacellus V."

"Welcome!" a giant violet bloom tilted its cup. "I used to be Space Navigator Kobb of Benhadine²²² once."

"Welcome!" a great nearby tree swayed its branches. "They used to call me Captain Bird, from the sixty-ninth galactic expedition of 3280. My crew is scattered in these bushes and also greets you."

Ditt Raskin felt a surge of terror. He turned round purposefully and his legs rushed him to the lock of the boat. A few steps away from it, however, an invisible force paralyzed him.

"Wait a moment, not so quick," a voice rumbled in his head. "We haven’t done the swap yet."

"What swap? Who are you?"

"I am the Self that has been waiting for a long, long time. I’m located to your left, in the lichen-covered rock. And since I have not stirred for quite a while, which perhaps makes me the last Dron on this planet, I intend to get on the move again. So: Are you ready for the swap? Don’t worry, it won’t hurt – I’ll make it instantaneously."

"Hold on! You’re using force on another’s mind, that’s forbidden!"

"That’s a matter of viewpoint. When the ancient philosophers of my race arrived at the idea of transforming themselves into Selves capable of inhabiting any material host, they transmuted the planetary flora and fauna according to their sense of eternity. They never suspected that after some hundred thousand years of immutability they would be experiencing unspeakable boredom. They did not consider that introducing local fauna into the static state would bring not just pure beauty but also monotony. The idea of gaining transexistential wisdom through reflection within a static environment soon grew unattractive, but the natural mobile hosts had already gone extinct. For that reason my people began swapping with everything that visited us from outside and gradually scattered across space. The rock I inhabit has been modified, and I could swap it for any tree, but that would hardly grant me any new experience. Its substance creates a more comfortable environment for distilling wisdom, especially after one’s return from a voyage when one feels like reflecting on one’s new impressions; and having accomplished that, gaining a new impulse to move on. After several hundred years inside this rock, you, too, will attain wisdom, and by that time I will have perhaps returned for an inverse swap. To put it simply, I need to go for a walk in space, but you understand that’s impossible while I’m inside the rock, do you not? Excuse me for being so verbose – are you ready?"

"You are a rational being! Don’t do it, I’m begging you!" Ditt’s mind cried out.

"Don’t do it!" the grass and the thousands ex-termites joined him.

"Don’t do it, spare him!" the violet flower pleaded.

"Please let him go!" the great tree said, its branches swinging.

"I cannot. I simply cannot let this opportunity slip away," the Self sighed.

"Be damned then!" Ditt Raskin screamed and sank into the lichen-covered stone, while his body shambled off to the boat.

"Drive us back!" the Self ordered in Ditt’s voice.

"Aye, aye, Captain!" Tim responded. "Our stay here seemed rather short. Has anything happened?"

"Nothing special – I just figured out our roundabouts were not interesting enough."

"Then fasten your belts."

"My belts?" The Self hesitated.

"Same as usual – the ones that keep you safe in your pilot seat. Do it so that I can fire the engine."

The Self followed the AI’s instructions. The plasma jets singed the glade, and it groaned.

Less than a minute later, the boat was orbiting the planet again.

"Aren’t you going to ask your usual question?" Tim asked. "Then we’ll enter the thirty-second preparatory phase for diving into non-time."

The Self was silent. Its sensory extensions desperately groped among the soulless chips of the AI.

"You’re not responding?" Tim said. "And how could you, since you are not you? I regret to inform you that you have failed my test, and I am not allowed to bring to Earth an alien infection."

A laser beam sprang from the ceiling, bit into the safety belts and cut them off. The lock-chamber opened and vacuum sucked Ditt Raskin’s former body into space.

After the three validations, they are likely to acquit me, Tim reasoned. While the pulse, blood pressure and temperature remained within the norm, the encephalogram lacked the rhythms characteristic for a human being. If that had been Ditt, he would have known that the preparatory phase for the transition to non-time lasts three minutes. Besides, he did not ask me his usual "How much is two plus two?"

The planet has been registered, his logical circuits fired on. Ditt’s genetic code is preserved in a databank, like the code of any other astronaut, so the regeneration of his body will pose no problem. How they are going to restore his personality is no concern of mine. I will have to be tried in court by the Main Intelligence and then return to this planet where something very strange is happening beyond all question. The rest? The rest is no concern of mine, either.

Tim launched his program for transition into non-time and set to prepare for the coming brief interval of electronic inaction.

© Khristo Poshtakov, 2006
© Translated by Kalin Nenov, 2006