by Paul Anlee
The smug voice paused for effect.
“And we all know the value of survival. Above all else, it is the only thing that truly matters.”
Darak hung his head, absorbing the words as if they’d been punches.
“You’re right,” he admitted. “Survival is paramount. Played out on the great stage of the universe, extinction means irrelevance.”
He raised his chin and glared at the other Gods.
“Alright, we’ll confront Alum. First, with words. Then, with force if needed.”
The avatars stood as one and bowed.
“Now, go!” Darak yelled.
The encounter left a foul taste in his mouth. He waved his hand, and the avatars blew away from the hall like greasy, black smoke.
Darak stared in silence at the empty thrones. Beside him, Darya, Mary, and Brother Stralasi said nothing.
Without a word, he shifted them back to Eso-La.
19
Seconds after Darak AND THE OTHERS left the Hall of Thrones, the Aspects of the Six reappeared on their respective daises. They sat exactly as they had been stationed prior to their attack on the man-God and his friends.
“Did it work?” Lyv’s voice shook with excitement. Her spider mites rushed to mop up the digestive juices dripping from her mouth parts.
Depchaun let the question hang in the air. His Aspect hovered over his throne, motionless except for the microscopic movements of manipulator appendages that hinted at his own anticipation.
Each took a moment to observe the restless tics playing across whatever passed for faces among the others’ species. The tics were intentional, of course. The Gods only employed such involuntary signs when it served their purposes.
“That couldn’t have gone better!” Depchaun bellowed in appreciation of his own craftiness and the success of the ploy.
The other Gods smiled back with satisfaction, in their own ways.
All but Glenchax.
“Darak didn’t bother to check for entangled particles?” he asked. “I find it hard to believe that he’d allow himself to be so easily diverted by cheap emotion.”
“I’m as surprised as you are, brother,” Depchaun answered. “And, no, he didn’t check, not immediately. He let down his guard—only for twelve milliseconds before his normal routines reasserted themselves—but it was enough.”
“So…we’re in?” Ki-tan-la asked.
“Precisely! Immediately after they left this universe, I activated the connection and jumped thousands of new particles to our trackers. I shifted the new particles far enough away that they won’t be detected. By the time Darak had thought to look, our trackers had collapsed to normalcy. The passive drones I dropped at the new particle locations show no suspicion on his part.”
“Excellent,” Ishtgor exclaimed. “I love it! Where are we?”
Depchaun leaned back and patted the empty air in front of him, urging restraint.
“Patience, my friends. Patience! Darak and his companions appear to have returned to one of their ringworlds but the sky is unusually dark in that area and, as I’m sure you understand, I haven’t had time to examine it more thoroughly yet.”
“What do you think is responsible for the darkness? Screens? Dust?” Glenchax suggested.
“Uncertain as of yet. But I suspect not.”
“Mm-hmmm. Intriguing,” Raytansoh replied in a faraway voice. “Despite its remote location, the mere presence of a ringworld would suggest a significant Realm population, a relatively important Realm world, would it not?”
“So one would think,” Depchaun agreed. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean it is in an important galaxy.”
Raytansoh sighed. “Humans are odd, and difficult to understand. We must act with caution.”
“I agree. We need to collect more data,” Depchaun suggested. A port whisked open on his flank, permitting one of his appendages to snake into his shell and extract five small boxes. The boxes slid through the air and landed on the armrests of the five other thrones.
“What’s this?” Glenchax asked.
“These are the entangled particle links to the Realm that I promised you. Half of them link to the new particles where Darak fled. The other half link to systems connected to the Angel I salvaged from the triple-star system.”
“We should attack immediately!” Lyv pronounced. Her mouthparts flicked over each other at a blinding pace while her spider mites scurried over her body, grooming her vibrating rasps.
“I would urge caution, sister,” Raytansoh said. “You saw how easily Darak swept aside our attacks. And he’s exceedingly cautious when it comes to dealing with Alum.”
“Nonsense!” she replied. “I didn’t try hard to harm him. Not really.”
“Is that right?” Raytansoh pulled himself to the top of his tank. “I held nothing back. That hyper-energetic particle beam I used rips through the toughest matter I know, and the fields I casted should have thrown his internal organs into disarray. My strongest weapons barely touched him. I have to wonder, how much more powerful might Alum be?”
“A valid question,” Depchaun added. “Darak nullified my matter-antimatter disruptor fields with precision and in almost no time. The solutions to the fields I used are intricate and difficult. Had I cast them against any of you, I’m certain you would require seconds, perhaps minutes or hours, to analyze and counteract them. He managed it within microseconds of our surprise attack while preventing his Brother Stralasi from being dematerialized from this universe. Imagine the computational capacity required to achieve that!”
“Let us not forget his rather magical shape change, either,” Ishtgor said.
“Yes! Was that an Angel?” Depchaun replied.
Raytansoh’s agitated tentacles splashed water onto his throne. “From Darak’s previous descriptions, I would think so.”
“Until then, I wasn’t aware he could shape change,” said Lyv. “I presume the rest of you were as ignorant of that skill as I was. What other surprises does he keep hidden?”
Glenchax stood on six long, delicate legs and circled to the back of his jewel-encrusted seat.
“Though I am loath to admit such an oversight, I was also unaware. We shouldn’t be so astonished, though.”
“Why not?” Lyv asked.
“We can all cast Partials into whatever physical form we desire,” Glenchax replied. “I could construct an extension as unusual as yours or Depchaun’s, and instantiate a portion of myself into it. I admit that Darak’s transformation was faster and more seamless than I could’ve accomplished, but he simply may be more practiced.”
Raytansoh pulled both halves of his body almost entirely out of the water and perched across a front corner of his tank. “Do you really think that was a simple Partial or Aspect? Is that how his defense and subsequent attack felt to you?”
“Absurd!” Lyv exclaimed. “That was Darak. In his entirety. We’ve never had any indication that he is anything but integral and singular.”
“Then, where did the Angel incorporation come from?” Glenchax challenged.
Raytansoh slid back into the water with a tiny splash before answering. “There are numerous possibilities. For instance, he could be in constant contact with other synthetic universes or expanded dimensions where he keeps multiple corporeal forms. That would explain how he seems to have access to more computational power than his puny physical presence would indicate.”
“An interesting conjecture,” Depchaun said. “We’ve been remiss in not exploiting nearby exotic universes to a greater extent. If your suggestion is correct, and given that Darak considers Alum to be more advanced than even he himself is, this only confirms that we must exercise great caution inside the Realm.”
“But we have to move quickly,” Lyv said. “Alum’s Divine Plan will not wait for us. We all have links to the Realm. We need to explore now or we could run out of time.”
“Agreed!” Depchaun rose higher above his throne. “I have shifted several hundred microdrones i
nto the Realm. We will begin explorations immediately. Victory will soon be ours!”
20
Mirly trudged through a cold, damp, and barren landscape. She’d long ago given up trying to keep her hooves dry. They splashed through the many shallow, dirty puddles and became coated in green grime.
When she’d first arrived at the muddy fens, she felt sure she’d shifted as close to the edge of Heaven as possible. Behind her, toward the center of Creation, the wide-open grassy plains were dotted with bushes and occasional trees alive with rodent, bird, and insect life.
The plains coiled slowly inward like a conch shell. The layers wrapped tighter and tighter over unimaginable kilometers until they came together at the core of Alum’s perfect universe. The “sky” above—the underside of the floor of the next layer inward—radiated Alum’s Light and Love.
The mud ahead beckoned. It seemed clear that the edge of Heaven must lie outward, across the chilly quagmire. She turned her back on the warmth of the plains and headed into the cool, damp mist. She could neither see nor sense the edge of Heaven, but she was confident she could reach it by walking away from the core.
Heaven grew constantly as Alum pulled new matter from the...whatever one might call the stuff that surrounded His perfect Creation. Mirly had no idea what it might be. She passed many an hour along her journey imagining different possibilities, such as clouds, or maybe an endless ocean, or slowly condensing gases, or fire.
Oh, for a fire! She put one cold, wet hoof in front of another and wished for the comfort of a cozy fire. Alum permitted fire in Heaven, sometimes. Campfires were wonderful for gathering around and sharing stories or songs.
You had to be careful when making a fire. You could only use dried wood that had been shed from trees long ago. You had to select a spot where no grass or plant would be harmed, and you had to build a small stone circle around the fire to prevent it from spreading. You only lit a fire on special occasions. Usually, Alum would be present to mark such occasions and to watch over the flames.
Mirly could only imagine the warmth of a cheery campfire on this damp ground. It would be impossible to get a nice, warm fire going here, anyway—she thought. Too wet.
The mud didn’t seem like a terribly appealing place for life and yet this edge of Heaven teemed with mosses and microbes.
Young life. New life—Mirly thought. More of Alum’s children pushing upward toward greater consciousness.
She’d stopped trying to avoid stepping on other living beings days before. From the tiny plankton to water-beetles to lichen-encrusted rocks, the edge of Heaven stank with life. There was no avoiding it.
Back home, closer to the center of Heaven, biology was much better behaved, and it was spaced out with plenty of room for every precious living thing. Here, one almost choked on the density of life. Although most of it was microscopic, there were far more organisms than needed.
How does God choose which of these tiny souls will survive and mature—she wondered for the hundredth time. Or does He choose?
She couldn’t imagine a universe where the Living God simply allowed life to find its own way, standing by while some flourished and others died. Where was the plan in that? Where was the perfection?
A rear hoof became mired in the murky bottom of another pool. She tugged a little harder to break free, and the sucking release from the mud threw her off balance. She stumbled and, panicking, threw her front legs outward to regain equilibrium. Her front-left hoof struck a small rock covered in moss and skidded across the surface, gouging a trail of tiny plants from their peaceful niche.
Another million dead? Or only hundreds? Or just one?
How many lives have I taken since I arrived?
Probably too many to count.
She traced her trail of destruction back weeks, to the day when she’d first erased the mandala that had irritated Alum.
The needless murders had begun with Xitina. She could still hear the crunch of the tiny cricket’s carapace, squished between her hoof and the rock. She could still see the vivid stain on the boulder.
Stop it, Mirly!—she ordered herself. Replaying that moment over and over will not bring back your friend, and it does not move you closer to your goal.
She stopped walking, closed her eyes and reached out, feeling with her mind for a destination, desperately searching for somewhere ahead to shift.
Nothing.
That wasn’t so bad. “Nothingness” was a reliable guide. It always pointed the way forward, outward.
She stumbled on through the fog, barely noticing the unchanging surroundings. Having recently emerged from the veg state, her energy reserves were still high but this chilly air was sapping her strength faster than expected.
If I don’t find the edge soon, I’ll have to head back inward. I’ll find a good recharging location, sink roots, and enter the deep dreams of plant life. Maybe as my plant years pass, I’ll forget this yearning that drives me outward.
The little doe walked on, oblivious to all but her own thoughts. She didn’t notice the fog thinning or the air growing warmer until one of her hooves produced a distinctly solid click on meeting dry ground.
Dry ground!
She looked down. The puddles she’d been skirting for weeks were gone and along with them the profuse microscopic life she’d given up trying to avoid. Now that she thought about it, her hooves hadn’t been wet for some time.
She looked behind her. Dry earth and loose rock covered the solid bedrock as far back as she could see. She hadn’t noticed the ground changing; it must have happened quite a while back. She could barely make out the mist over the boggy zone anymore—it had to be at least a few kilometers away.
Had she reached the other side? Or circled back?
Peering ahead for an answer, she saw gray basalt stretching up to a brightening horizon. She was sure she hadn’t seen that before.
That must be the edge. I’ve reached the edge!
Mirly reached ahead with her mind, again looking for some indication of a place she could shift to, something that might save her weeks or months of dreary trudging.
She sensed nothing, still not a single recognizable place she could call on.
Oh, well. Maybe once I get closer.
Buoyed by the sense that her goal was within reach and renewed by the energy radiating from the warm glow ahead, Mirly broke into a trot.
She kept a quick pace for hours, which melted into days. Kilometers of unchanging, stony plain fell behind her. As she moved along, the sky brightened and the air grew warmer and warmer until it felt uncomfortably hot.
Mirly stopped and stared ahead, squinting to see details against the brightness in the distance.
Flames!
She could see them clearly, though it was hard to tell how high above the ground they shot. From her present location, they appeared to rise directly from the hard rock.
What could there be to burn out here?
Granted, fire didn’t necessarily require fuel. After all, this was Alum’s Miracle of Creation, the place where Heaven was pulled from Nothing and laid down. Either the fire caused the stuff of Heaven to precipitate out, or the fire was the result of the creation of new matter.
In any case, the flame created an impenetrable barrier between her and whatever lay beyond.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on her inner sense of place, on the feeling that there was somewhere out there. Somewhere I can shift to. She tried to feel a place close to the flames and then beyond them.
Still nothing. No feeling of anywhere she could get to.
For hours, she struggled at the edge of her perception. There was nothing she could fix on, nothing straight ahead, and nothing to either side for as far as she could sense.
Maybe I need to explore a bit.
She turned to the right and broke into a run. For days, she ran, stopping every few hours to extend her senses to their limits. She probed for any opening in the wall of flame that stood between Heaven and the out
side, into the universe beyond.
If there is a beyond.
There had to be something out there, something outside of Heaven. Alum had said so. Not directly, of course. But she remembered Him muttering in despair that His “concerns in the greater universe” may have somehow leaked through into Heaven, into Mirly’s mandala.
Into me.
After a week of running and probing, she gave up. She sat down on her haunches and considered her options.
She could run directly toward the flames and hope to penetrate their intense heat. She could shift back into the misty swampland, somewhere far to her left or right, and look for another exit. She could keep doing that over and over until her anima reserves ran out and she was forced to sink roots into terrain that seemed inhospitable to anything bigger than a tiny moss plant.
If she did that, she’d be stuck trying to pull Alum’s light through the mists for ages and die from exhaustion wherever she collapsed.
I’d never be able to search for the Edge of Heaven again.
She tried one more time to find a way through or past the wall of flame. But she could sense nothing beyond it, no weakness in the barrier. Her head drooped in resignation.
Why would Alum trap us in Heaven if He needs our help in the greater universe?—she wondered.
She folded her legs beneath her and sank into a pensive state. It wasn’t the same inspired dreaming she could achieve in veg state but it was close. Her concentration deepened.
Maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong. Perhaps leaving Heaven isn’t like walking out of a clearing into the forest or turning away from a lake. Maybe the way to get out is to go deeper.
The idea surprised her. It was paradoxical to think of leaving as going deeper into the center. Then again, that was how Alum came and went, wasn’t it?
Why didn’t I think of that before?
Most of the great distance between the edge, here, and the core could be traversed with a single thought. She had only to sense her old home, a distant but strong image, in her mind.
She recalled her youth, time spent in the deep forests close to the center, huge forests of elders in their long veg states, woods filled with lumbering creatures nearing the end of their final anima cycles, a place of sacred and mostly somber music, poems, and sculptures. Though her time there had been inspirational, it had overwhelmed her youthful exuberance and she’d fled outward to less psychologically weighty lands.
