A Collision In Time
Chapter 3 – The Council

Bureaucracy and social harmony are inversely proportional to each other.

– Leon Trotsky, The Revolution Betrayed (1936)

The circular lake shimmered in orange and green hues, reflecting the dense foliage surrounding it and the sun above. Pale red and glowing yellow leaves colored the surrounding shrubs and berry trees. Here and there, mature trees brought from Old Earth punctuated the color palette.

Elder Brumion sat on the pebble beach beside the lake and watched Dov’s reflection in the water as she neared him. She seemed troubled, though she hid it well. It had been many years since he had seen her. He marveled at the striking woman she had become, with a confident, intelligent presence about her. Her hair was darker, and perhaps so were her eyes, but of course these new-generation humans shifted appearance daily. Despite the years and her new maturity, everything he loved about her rushed forth.

He sighed and closed his eyes in thought. Had he prepared her? After all these years, finally, the moment was at hand.

He smiled and waved.

She waved back. “Thanks again for meeting with me so quickly,” Dov said as she joined him. “It’s so lovely to see you, Elder. It’s been a long time.”

He stood up, and they embraced.

“Please, let’s sit.” Brumion pointed to a driftwood log lying next to the shore. “Yes, it has indeed been a long time, maybe since you were a graduate student. I remember you describing your studies, and to be honest, I didn’t understand a word.” He lightly chuckled.

Dov smiled in return. “It was fun trying to explain. Those are fond memories”. She hesitated. “Though today I’m not so sure I understand those ideas anymore. I’ve had a rough few days, Elder, and my confidence is shaken. It turns out I still have a lot to learn.”

“Life ends when learning ends. So, what’s really on your mind, Dov?”

Dov sighed, then drew a long, deep breath. “I need to petition the Council of the Factions. It’s a long story, and technical, but I need to petition them this week. It absolutely can’t wait.”

“Begin,” Brumion said. “Tell me everything.”

The Pachamama Representative Council of the Factions convened once per week based upon the Priorities Algorithm. The algorithm sorted thousands of citizen-initiated petitions each day, with the average time for a petition to be heard by the council taking a year or more. Of course, there were exceptions. Petitions could be heard far earlier, even immediately in the event of emergencies such as natural disasters and rising national tensions, or in exchange for a favor, gift, or bribe in the right place to the right representative.

In her petition, Dov argued the subject qualified as an emergency, although she was aware of the challenge she had in convincing the council of this. The time-wave anomaly issue could not be explained easily in writing, and the questions on the petition did not lend themselves to facilitating understanding. Dov herself labored to describe the reason for and the implication of the time anomalies. She didn’t know how to explain the need for her to investigate and time-travel, especially to a distracted, insecure council not well versed in time physics. Her visits with Brumion offered a safe place for her to explain the problem. She clarified the dilemma to him and emphasized the need to act.

The two discussed the petition at length, with Brumion providing his advice. They remained together for hours, their conversation eventually shifting into silence as they watched the red sun begin to set and shift to hues of violet.

After some time, Brumion glanced at Dov. “Are you okay?”

“I’m nervous, I think; maybe anxious. A lot of what-ifs floating in my mind.”

“Tell me more,” prompted Brumion. “What if…”

“What if I fail at the council? Alternatively, what if I succeed? I’ll be forced to follow my recommendation and time-jump and I’ve never done that. So few have, and usually as observers, never with the intent to act and impact. What if I don’t understand how to proceed? There are so many aspects that could go wrong.”

“Dov, my friend. Of course you doubt. Yet I can think of no one else so suited to the task.”

“I barely survive in this space-time, Elder,” said Dov, and laughed nervously.

“Are you afraid?” Elder Brumion asked, then waited for Dov to respond.

“Maybe? It’s a sense of the unknown, I guess. When I solve a mathematical problem, I instinctively understand the process. This couldn’t be more different. There’s no formula or algorithm to rely on.”

“I agree this isn’t math, but—”

“Everything is math, Elder,” Dov interrupted. “Sorry. Yes, of course, this maybe isn’t math.” Dov laughed.

“And yet, mathematics is a language that describes the universe, its systems and logic, is it not, Dov?”

“It is.”

“And?” asked Brumion.

“I don’t know. ‘And’ what, Elder Brumion? Sorry, I’m not following you.”

“You understand patterns.” Brumion raised an eyebrow at Dov, but the confused expression remained on her face. He laughed. “Never mind. Maybe we’ve discussed this enough today.”

The gentle sound of waves lapping against the beach filled the silence. Dov put her arm around his waist and leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder. “Elder Brumion?”

“Yes, Dov?”

“I never understood why you helped me, all these years. With my parents.”

“Your dad…” Elder Brumion spoke in barely a whisper, as if he did not want to even admit the thought.

“My dad?”

He looked out at the lake. “I have known him for a very long time, and when he left you I needed to step in, as I did for him on many occasions.”

“I don’t understand, Elder.”

Elder Brumion shifted his position on the sand and crossed his legs. “Come meditate with me. Let us consider the pebbles and how they have formed. Look at our moons and how they rise and fall in patterns and orbit about Pachamama. Let us think about the stability in their orbit and the physics that define their movements. You understand those patterns. Dov, you create patterns, rather than be merely aware of them. You are someone who forms, not just informs. You shape events. You define history. And now it seems you are being asked to maintain it, to keep it calm. Please sit beside me and listen to the waves.”

Dov left the beach feeling calm and confident. She walked along the shore, skipping flat rocks. She had needed to voice her troubles and absorb the experience and wisdom, bordering on prophecy, of Elder Brumion. Like a supportive parent, he reassured her that the petition would be successful. She felt sure she could rise to the occasion when called upon.

Movement in the sky interrupted her thoughts. A pachahawk floated on a thermal air current, shifting its weight to glide down and intersect the next forming air current. Was the hawk hunting, or watching for threats? She followed it for some time as it soared overhead in its thermodynamic dance. Without warning, the hawk dove to the water, out of Dov’s sight. She hustled up a ridge to view the residual splash. A red stain spread like a paint spill from where the hawk had collided with the lake and found its prey. A thin thread of dark red emerged and coursed toward her as if the red time-wave anomaly needed to reassert its destiny. Dov shuddered and hurried home.

* * *

The following morning, Dov received the official notification. She smiled, knowing Elder Brumion had delivered.

“Uriel, Ariel, we got approval. But there is not much time to get ready. The instructions are precise. Let me paraphrase. In two days we petition the council with a formal presentation. We are due to appear at the cathedral and present between 11:22 and 11:37; voting will commence from 11:37:30 until exactly 11:37:45, and the decision reading will happen punctually at 11:38.”

Uriel interrupted her. “Our fate, and maybe humanity’s, will be debated and decided upon in sixteen minutes?” It was a rhetorical question.

“I’ll need a speech, Uriel—do you mind? Sorry, I realize I’m asking a lot.”

“What do you think should be the focus? The end of the world as we know it, or why we should be the team to time-travel?” Uriel smiled. “Or should we present enough mathematics that they aren’t even sure what they are agreeing to? Lose them in technology.”

“All of the above, Uriel. Write a draft and we can go from there. Ariel, please run as many calculations as you can, in preparation for difficult questions. Let’s get busy—these two days are going to fly by.”

* * *

The drumming filtered through the forest as Dov, Uriel, and Ariel approached the Representative Council sacred grounds. Celebratory energy heightened the festival atmosphere. The drum vibrations became louder and more distinct as they approached the stone walls of the citadel, where costumed performers danced atop platforms surrounding massive tree trunks. They passed street vendors hawking food and drink, actors in mid-performance, and rhythmic musicians below the outer stone walls. Normally it would be hard not to get wrapped up in the traditions of the council, but Dov was anxious as she approached the first passageway into the open-air cathedral.

She had arrived hours early, giving her time to ensure she was fully prepared. Close behind her, Uriel and Ariel engaged in strategic discussion as they finalized the presentation material.

A bored-looking security guard greeted them when Dov reached the doorway. “May I see your petition, please?”

Dov motioned with her hands, and the guard reviewed the text on his two-dimensional screen.

“Professor Dov Sabastien? Only you may enter. Your robots cannot come in.”

“No,” argued Dov. “They’re included as part of the presentation. Please check.”

“They may enter without holographic form. You did not include AIs as entities on your petition.”

“Fine. Ariel, Uriel, I will see you on the other side.”

“Good luck,” Ariel said as he flashed out of existence.

“Agreed.” Uriel disappeared.

Two small, nearly undetectable metallic beads followed Dov as she crossed the threshold and entered the cathedral.

“The presenter’s chamber is two hundred meters on your left, Professor Sabastien,” the guard called.

Within the forested inner walls of the cathedral lay a large circular central chamber ringed on the outside by twenty raised earthen platforms. These housed each of the factions. The chamber for the petitioners allowed each of the applicants to view the council proceedings. Dov joined a large group of petitioners who were also there early, some enthusiastic, some who acted confident, some calm but decidedly worried.

She stood at the back to study the presentations ahead of her. Through the first eighteen petitioners, less than half found approval. It was a high enough percentage to satisfy the citizens across Pachamama, but still provided a sense of power for the representative factions.

Dov noticed that some of the petitioners had elected to wear the colors of their adopted factions, clearly confident in the relative political power of their faction. Dov had chosen to present the petition neutrally, as this was not a partisan issue.

She overheard a man dressed in the black shirt of the Heretical Faction speaking loudly to another petitioner waiting nearby: “…and it’s a formality. I’m surprised they insisted I petition. I guess they want to provide the illusion of transparency.”

“This is my second petition,” said the other man. “The council rejected the first one; they said the application was rushed and didn’t include important information.”

“Too much information will confuse the council,” the black-shirted man said. “I’ve got this theory…”

Dov tuned out. There was no advantage to be had in listening. She reflected on the irony of how time seemed to slow while waiting for her turn. She was nervous, yet she celebrated the passage of time that brought her closer to her presentation.

Finally a guide beckoned her cohort of petitioners to queue on the central pathway that led to the petitioner platform. Dov marched and waited. Her eyes followed a petitioner who had finished her application pitch. The vote had been close, but her petition was marked as defeated by a margin of 8 percent.

“Sorry,” Dov said as she passed by the elderly woman. The woman looked back at her without expression and said nothing in return.

It was 11:14, and the petitioner ahead of her had begun his argument. He wore a bright orange shirt representing the Sun Faction, one of the largest and oldest factions in Pachamama. Dov suddenly wondered if she had erred and should be outfitted in a popular faction color. Elder Brumion had counseled against that. She scanned for the location on the Traditional People’s Faction’s platform, where he would be standing prominently.

There he was, on a distinctive copper platform at the head of his faction’s delegation. He presented proudly. As far away as he was, she caught his eye, and he nodded, a vote of confidence and encouragement.

“Council of the Factions,” the man in front of her began very formally. “My application today…”

Suddenly he was done. He had been successful, in fact, with 78 percent approval. Dov had been hoping he would fail, and provide the council with the opportunity to normalize the statistics by approving her petition. She had not wished him poorly in general, just this time. Her petition was critical, she reminded herself.

At 11:20:40, Dov moved forward to the platform and looked at the clock. It forwarded to 11:21:30 and indicated Dov’s petition number. An announcement boomed, “Petition from Professor Dov Sabastien.”

Dov took a deep breath and began. “Council of the Factions.” Her voice echoed across the council cathedral. How different she sounded to herself at this volume. How distracting.

“Today I petitioned for human time travel.” She brought up the time-wave holographic and waited a few seconds. “Council, you have seen this time-wave before in previous time travel applications. Analysis of travel must provide assurance the time constant is not affected, and that travel remains within the variable threshold. Time travel must not interfere with history, and we monitor the time-wave with care and precision to ensure we stay within the threshold limits. But I am here today because we uncovered new data that suggests the time constant is due to be disrupted, in fact four times. Way beyond the threshold limits. Moreover, we calculated that the anomaly disruptions will occur in our past.”

Chatter broke out around the cathedral. Dov raised her hands for quiet. “The anomalies we calculated are shown on the visual above. We don’t yet understand why the time anomalies happen, or the consequences. We also do not understand what is perhaps the most worrisome for the council: the impact on our present. An anomaly that occurs at a critical moment in Pachamama or Earth’s history may result in devastation. Billions of lives are at stake.

“Council, we have checked and double-checked our findings using a massive dataset. All of the data has been extensively AI reviewed. The analysis is shared with each of you. Each red dot you see here represents a time anomaly that could potentially disrupt this planet, and again, we don’t know what the impact will be.”

Dov paused, anticipating the reaction of the factions. “Council, time itself and our current timeline will change.” She cleared her throat as her mouth went dry. “If history is radically impacted, then our presence here may be altered as well.”

The petitioner floating above her glowed yellow with its first warning. It was now 11:29:00. How did seven minutes pass in what she imagined to be one minute of speaking? She had only started, but she’d used half her time allotment.

“We seek to personally investigate each anomaly at the time of its occurrence in history and be prepared to take action. I, therefore, nominate myself and my AI team to time-travel. We have the training and data models that will enable us to respond in realtime. Of course, we will communicate with and engage a team of time engineers nominated by each faction.” Dov spontaneously added that last. She sensed growing energy in the council that worried her. “Because time is of the essence, we make an emergency petition now. Our plan is to time-jump within seven days to seek to prevent any worst-case scenario, as I described.”

A woman from the Heretic Faction stood to speak. Dov looked at the clock. It was 11:30:45. Her allocated time window continued to progress quickly.

“You intend to influence us,” the Heretic said. “And with a flair for drama as well: ‘approve my petition or our world might end.’” Her gloating laugh generated laughter throughout the council.

Dov felt her cheeks flush. “Believe me, Representative” —Dov focused on the woman— “this analysis and our conclusions run counter to everything I have studied and believed physically possible. I stand here today aware that my reputation and career are at stake.”

Dov glanced at the clock: 11:33. Four minutes. “Would you rather we do nothing, take no action?” What fools they were. “Respectfully, I have examined the quantum chaotic limits of time-waves my entire career. We will be monitoring the impacts of the time-wave as we travel. We will stay within the acceptable limits. We will investigate the anomaly and either report back that this is nothing, or act to eliminate the disruption. The worst scenario is an interesting paper to publish, as far as you are concerned.”

She glanced at the clock again: 11:35:00. Two minutes. The incoherent sound and echoes from hundreds of representatives speaking drowned her thoughts.

“My council representatives,” Elder Brumion’s voice boomed. He spoke slowly, with purpose and clarity. “I am honored indeed to have before us such a renowned thinker as Professor Dov Sabastien.” He waited for the thousands of voices to quiet before continuing. “Professor Sabastien speaks, of course, about risk. She is willing to risk her career to stand in front of us. She has petitioned us to address a risk that, if real, represents a threat to humanity, unlike anything we have seen in centuries. We must grant her this petition for no other reason than to—”

The clock flashed red. His amplified voice ended. It was 11:37:05. Voting was to commence in twenty-five seconds.

Dov glanced at Brumion. Clever, she thought. He had shifted the mood. His speaking had given no opportunity for any others to voice an opinion. Dov felt confident that she had done well. Elder Brumion had created momentum.

11:37:30. It was voting time, and for Professor Sabastien, time stood still.

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