The Light of Other Days by Arthur C. Clarke
"Then what."
"I have been working."
A whiteboard had been set up against one wall; it was covered with scarlet scrawl, equations, scraps of phrases in English and French, connected by swirling arrows and loops.
Bobby said carefully, "Heather told me you dropped out of the 12,000 Days project. The Christ TrueBio."
"Yes, I dropped out. Surely you understand why."
"Then what have you been doing here, David?"
David sighed. "I tried to touch the past, Bobby. I tried, and I failed."
"...Whoa," said Bobby. "Did I understand that right? You tried to use a wormhole to affect the past? Is that what you're saying? But your theory says that's impossible. Doesn't it?"
"Yes. I tried anyway. I ran some tests in the Wormworks. I tried to send a signal back in time, through a small wormhole, to myself. Just across a few milliseconds, but enough to prove the principle."
"And?"
David smiled wryly. "Signals can travel forward in time through a wormhole. That's how we view the past. But when I tried to send a signal back in time, there was feedback. Imagine a photon leaving my wormhole mouth a few seconds in the past. It can fly to the future mouth, travel back in time, and emerge from the past mouth at the precise moment it started its trip. It overlies its earlier self."
"—and doubles the energy."
"Actually more than that, because of Doppler effects. It's a positive feedback loop. The bit of radiation can travel through the wormhole over and over, piling up energy extracted from the wormhole itself. Eventually it becomes so strong it destroys the wormhole—a fraction of a second before it operates as a full time machine."
"And so your test wormhole went bang."
David said dryly, "With more vigor than I'd anticipated. It looks as if dear old Hawking was right about chronology protection. The laws of physics do not allow backwards-operating time machines. The past is a relativistic block universe, the future is quantum uncertainty, and the two are joined at the present—which, I suppose, is a quantum gravity interface... I am sorry. The technicalities do not matter. The past, you see, is like an advancing ice sheet, encroaching on the fluid future; each event is frozen into its place in the crystal structure, fixed forever.
"What is important is that I know, better than anyone on the planet, that the past is immutable, unchangeable—open to us to observe, through the wormholes, but fixed. Do you understand how this feels?"
Bobby walked through the apartment, stepping over mounds of paper and books. "Fine. You're suffering. You use abstruse physics as therapy. What about your family? Do you ever spare a thought for us?"
David closed his eyes. "Tell me. Please."
Bobby took a breath. "Well, Hiram's gone into deeper hiding. But he's planning to make even more money from weather forecasting—vastly better predictions, based on precise data centuries deep, thanks to the WormCam. He thinks it may even be possible to develop climate control systems, given the new understanding we have of long-term climate shifts."
"Hiram is—" David sought the right word. "—a phenomenon. Is there no limit to his capitalistic imagination? And the news of Kate?"
"The jury's out."
"I thought the evidence was circumstantial."
"It is. But to actually see her at her terminal at the time the crime was committed, to see that she had the opportunity—I think that swayed a lot of the jurors."
"What will you do if she's convicted?"
"I haven't decided." That was true. The end of the trial was a black hole, waiting to consume Bobby's future, as unavoidable and as unwelcome as death. So he did his best not to think about it.
"I saw Heather," he said. "She's well, in spite of everything. She's published her Lincoln TrueBio."
"Good piece of work. And her pieces on the Aral Sea war were remarkable." David eyed Bobby. "You must be proud of her—of your mother."
Bobby thought that over. "I suppose I should be. But I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about her. You know, I watched her with Mary. For all their friction, there's a bond there. It's like a steel rope that connects them. I don't feel anything like that. It's probably my fault."
"You said you watched them? Past tense?"
Bobby faced him. "I guess you haven't heard, Mary left home."
"...Ah. How disappointing."
"They had one final fight about the way Mary was using the WormCam. Heather is frantic with worry."
"Why doesn't she trace Mary?"
"She's tried."
David snorted. "Ridiculous. How can any of us hide from the WormCam?"
"Evidently there are ways. Look, David, isn't it time you rejoined the human race?"
David caged his hands, a big man, deeply distressed. "But it is so unbearable," he said. "This is surely why Mary fled. I tried, remember. I tried to find a way to fix things—to fix the broken past. And I found that none of us has a choice about history. Not even God. I have experimental proof. Don't you see? Watching all that blood, that rapine and plunder and murder... If I could deflect one Crusader's sword, save the life of one Arawak child."
"And so you're escaping into arid physics."
"What would you suggest I do?"
"You can't fix the past. But you can fix yourself. Sign up for the 12,000 Days."
"I've told you."
"I'll help you. I'll be there. Do it, David. Go find Jesus." Bobby smiled. "I dare you."
After a long silence, David returned his smile.
Chapter 21—BEHOLD THE MAN
Extracted from the Introduction by David Curzon to The 12,000 Days: A Preliminary Commentary, eds. S. P. Kozlov and G. Risha, Rome 2040:
The international scholarly project known popularly as the 12,000 Days has reached the conclusion of its first phase. I was one of a team of (actually a little more than) twelve thousand WormCam observers worldwide who were assigned to study the historical life and times of the man known to His contemporaries as Yesho Ben Pantera, and to later generations as Jesus Christ.. It is an honor to be asked to pen this introduction...
We have always known that when we meet Jesus in the Gospels, we see Him through the eyes of the evangelists. For example Matthew believed that the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem, as appeared to be predicted by the Old Testament prophet Micah; and so he reports Jesus as being born in Bethlehem (though Jesus, the Galilean, was in fact—naturally enough—born in Galilee).
We understand this; we compensate for it. But how many Christians over the centuries have longed to meet Jesus for themselves through the neutral medium of a camera—or better still, face-to-face? And how many would have believed that ours would be the first generation for which such a meeting would be possible?
But that is precisely what has happened.
Each of we Twelve Thousand was assigned a single Day of the short life of Jesus: a Day which we would observe with WormCam technology—in real time, from midnight to midnight. In this way a first draft "true" biography of Jesus could rapidly be compiled.
This visual biography and attached reports are no more than a first draft: a simple observation, a laying-out of the events of Jesus' tragically brief life. There is much subsidiary research to be done. For example, even the identities of the fourteen Apostles (not twelve!) have yet to be determined, and the fate of His brothers, sisters, wife and child are known only sketchily. Then will come the mapping of the blunt events of the central human story against the various accounts, canonical and apocryphal, which survived to tell us of Jesus and His ministry.
And then, of course, the true debate will begin: a debate into the meaning of Jesus and His ministry—a debate which may last as long as the human race itself.
This first encounter has not been easy. But already the clear light of Galilee has burned away many falsehoods.
David lay in his couch and tested its systems: the VR apparatus itself, the nursing agents which would manage the intravenous feeds and catheters, turn his abandoned body to reduce the risk of
Bobby sat before him, in this quiet, darkened room, his face shining in complex SoftScreen light.
David felt absurd amid all this gear, like an astronaut preparing for launch. But that Day of long ago, embedded in time like an insect in amber, unchanging and brilliant, was waiting for his inspection; and he submitted.
David lifted the Mind'sEye headset and settled it over his bead. He felt the familiar squirming texture as the headset wrapped itself tightly around his temples.
He fought panic. To think that people subjected themselves to this for mere entertainment."
...And light burst over him, hard and brilliant.
He was born in Nazareth, a small and prosperous Galilean hill town. The birth was routine—for the time. He was indeed born to a Mary, who had been a virgin—a Temple Virgin.
As his contemporaries knew Him, Jesus Christ was the illegitimate son of a Roman legionary, an Illyrian called Pantera.
It was a relationship based on love, not coercion—even though Mary had been betrothed at the time to Joseph, a prosperous master builder and widower. But Pantera was transferred from the district when Mary's pregnancy became known. It is to Joseph's credit that he took in Mary and raised the boy as his own.
Nevertheless Jesus was not ashamed of His origin, and would later style Himself Yesho Ben Pantera: that is, Jesus, son of Pantera.
That is the sum of the historical facts of Jesus' birth. Any deeper mystery lies beyond the reach of any WormCam.
There was no census, no trek to Bethlehem, no stable, no manger, no cattle, no wise men, no shepherds, no Star. All of that—devised by the evangelists to show how this boy-child was a fulfillment of prophecy—was no more than an invention.
The WormCam is stripping away many of our illusions about ourselves and our past. There are those who argue that the WormCam is a mass therapy tool which is enabling us to become more sane as a species. Perhaps. But it is a hard heart which does not mourn the debunking of the Christmas story!...
He was standing on a beach. He could feel the heat like a heavy moist blanket, and sweat prickled on his forehead.
To his left there were hills, folded in green, and to his right a blue sea lapped softly. On the horizon, mist laden, he could make out fishing boats, brown-blue shadows as still and flat as cardboard cutouts. On the northern shore of the sea, perhaps five kilometers distant, he could make out a town: a clutter of brown-walled, flat-roofed buildings. That must be Capernaum. He knew he could use the Search Engine to be there in an instant. But it seemed more appropriate to walk.
He closed his eyes. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, hear the lapping of water, smell grass and the sourness of fish. The light here was so bright that it shone, pink, through his closed eyelids. But in the corner of his eye, within his eyelid, glowed a small gold OurWorld logo.
He set off, the sharp coolness of the Galilee water at his feet.
...He had several brothers and sisters, and also some half-siblings (from Joseph's previous marriage). One of His brothers, James, bore a remarkable similarity to Him, and would go on to lead the Church (at any rate a strand of it) after Jesus' death.
Jesus was apprenticed to His uncle Joseph of Arimathea—not as a carpenter, but a builder. He spent much of His late youth and early manhood in the city of Sepphoris, five kilometers north of Nazareth.
Sepphoris was a major city—the largest in Judaea, in fact, apart from Jerusalem and the capital of Galilee. There was a great deal of work for builders, masons and architects in the city at this time, for Sepphoris had been largely destroyed by a Roman action against a Jewish uprising in the year 4 B.C.
His time in Sepphoris was significant for Jesus. For here, Jesus became cosmopolitan.
He was exposed to Hellenic culture, for example through Greek Theater, and—most significantly—to the Pythagorean tradition of number and proportion. Jesus even attached Himself, for a time, to a Jewish Pythagorean group called the Essenes. This was in turn part of a much older tradition that spanned Europe—it had, in fact, reached as far as the Druids of Britain.
Jesus became, not a humble carpenter, but a craftsman in a highly sophisticated and ancient tradition. Joseph's trade would lead the young Jesus to travel extensively throughout the Roman world.
Jesus' life was full. He married. (The Bible story of the marriage of Cana, with water turning into wine, seems to have been embroidered from an incident at Jesus' own wedding.) His wife died in childbirth; He did not remarry. But the child survived, a daughter. She disappeared in the confusion surrounding the end of her father's life. (The search for this daughter of Jesus, and any descendants living today, is one of the most active areas of WormCam research.)
But Jesus was restless. At a precociously early age He began to formulate His own philosophy.
This could be regarded, simplistically, as based on a peculiar synthesis of Mosaic with Pythagorean lore: Christianity would grow out of this collision between Eastern mysticism and Western logic. Jesus saw Himself, metaphorically, as a mean between God and mankind—and the concept of the mean, particularly the Golden Mean, was of course the subject of much contemplation in the Pythagorean tradition.
He was, and would always remain, a good Jew.
But He did develop strong ideas about how the practice of His religion could be bettered.
He began to cultivate friendships among those His family deemed definitely unsuitable for a man of His station: the poor, criminals. He even forged shadowy links with various groups of Iestai, would be insurrectionists.
He argued with His family, and He left for Capernaum, where He would live with friends.
And, during these years, He began to practice miracles.
Two men were walking toward him.
They were shorter than he was, but stockily well muscled, each with thick black hair tied back behind his head. Their clothing was functional, what looked like one-piece cotton shifts with deep, well-used pockets. They were walking at the edge of the sea, careless as small waves broke over their feet. They looked forty, but were probably younger. They were healthy, well fed, prosperous; they were probably merchants, he thought.
They were so immersed in their conversation they hadn't noticed him yet.
...No, he reminded himself. They could not see David—for he hadn't been there, on that long-gone day when this sun-drenched conversation had taken place. They were all unaware that a man of their remote future would one day marvel at them, a man with the ability to make this everyday moment come alive and run through, again and again, utterly changeless.
He flinched as the men collided softly with him. The light seemed to dim, and he no longer felt the stones' sharpness beneath his feet.
But then they were past, walking away from him, their conversation not disturbed by so much as a word by his ghostly encounter. And the vivid "reality" of the landscape was restored, as smoothly as if he had adjusted the controls on some invisible SoftScreen.
He walked on, toward Capernaum.
Jesus was able to "cure" mind-mediated and placebo diseases such as back pains, stuttering, ulcers, stress, hay fever, hysterical paralysis and blindness, even false pregnancies. Some of the "cures" are remarkable, and very moving to witness. But they were restricted to those whose belief in Jesus was stronger than their belief in their illness. And, like every other "healer" before or since, Jesus was unable to cure deeper organic illnesses. (To His credit, He never claimed He could.)
His healing miracles naturally attracted a great following. But what distinguished Jesus from the many other hasidim of His day was the message He preached with His healing.
Jesus believed that the Messianic Age promised by the prophets would come—not when the Jews were militarily victorious, but when they became pure of heart. He believed that this inner purity was to be achieved not just through a life of outer virtue, but through a submission to the terrible mercy of God. And He believed t
Jesus was the Golden Mean between the divine and the human. No wonder His appeal was electric; He seemed able to make the most wretched sinner feel close to God.
But few in this occupied nation were sophisticated enough to understand His message. Jesus grew impatient at the clamoring demands for Him to reveal Himself as the Messiah. And the Iestai who were attracted to His charismatic presence began to see in Him a convenient focal point for a rising against the hated Romans.
Trouble coalesced.
David wandered through the small, boxy rooms like a ghost, watching the people, women, servants and children, come and go.
The house was more impressive than he had expected. It was built on the pattern of a Roman villa, with a central open atrium and various rooms opening off it, in the manner of a cloister. The setting was very Mediterranean, the light dense and bright, the rooms open to the still air.
Already, so early in Jesus' ministry, there was a permanent encampment outside the house walls: the sick, the lame, would-be pilgrims, a miniature tent city.
Later, a house church would be built on this site, and then, in the fifth century, a Byzantine church that would survive to David's own day—together with the legend of those who had once lived here.
Now there was noise outside the house: the sound of running feet, people calling. He walked briskly outside.
Most of the inhabitants of the tent city—some of them showing surprising alacrity—were making their way toward the glimmering sea, which David glimpsed between the houses. He followed the gathering crowd, towering above the people around him, and he tried to ignore the stink of unwashed humanity, much of it extrapolated by the controlling software with unwelcome authenticity; the direct detection of scent through WormCams was still an unreliable business.