The Reality Assertion

by Paul Anlee

  He left the memories of his human life intact but replaced blind belief with concrete knowledge.

  The memories are important. I’ll need a reference point to help me speak with sympathy and understanding to those still mired in blind faith. How can I bring truth if I forget who I once was, and if I can’t see others for who they still are?

  As fast as thought, the integration was complete. Ontro and Nem were no longer separate entities. The pair continued as a single, merged mind looking out on the universe from two places, one consciousness shared between two very different brains.

  The Good Brother shifted his Familiar self closer to Crissea and gently extended a tentacle to grasp her hand.

  “You were right,” he said.

  The sound came from his Familiar’s external speaker.

  “It is absolutely wonderful.”

  33

  “And why exactly do you need all these items?” Brother Franzel asked as he looked down from behind his elevated desk.

  The parishioner standing a good meter lower shifted nervously from foot to foot. He fiddled with the buttons on his sweater.

  To Franzel, Head Brother of the moderately-sized city of Altuno on Hanji 1397.2, Jock Stillman didn’t look properly intimidated, as might be expected of a supplicant submitting such an outrageous and unusual request. Rather, he suspiciously—and quite unacceptably—exuded so much energy and enthusiasm that he appeared to be fueled with an internal fire.

  “Well, Brother Franzel, as I said, I want to construct an experiment to explore notions of retrocausality using photon entanglement in something I call the delayed-choice quantum eraser experiment. I suspect some sort of let’s call it a guiding wave analysis will demonstrate non-locality of photonic wave functions.”

  Franzel stared blankly at Stillman. Individually, most of the words made sense but the Head Brother struggled to grasp the meaning of the complete utterance. That is, if there was any actual meaning and this Stillman character wasn’t a babbling lunatic. It was hard to tell.

  Sensing the Brother’s lack of comprehension, Stillman pulled a tablet from his jacket pocket, activated it, and turned it around so the monk could read the display.

  Franzel had taken the requisite fourth-year algebra class during seminary training at the Alumitum but he’d never really cared for the subject nor seen any use for it. And so it was with limited enthusiasm, and perhaps even a little resistance, that he glanced at the screen. Just as he expected, the indecipherable mathematical symbols and formulae that shimmered across the screen might as well have been written in ancient Greek.

  Not at all daunted by Franzel’s reluctance, Stillman scrolled down a few pages.

  “Now, as you can see here, the Eigenvalue of the fourth-order tensor of the probability density function of the photon would predict...”

  With one impatient sweep, Brother Franzel waved away the display, along with Stillman’s gibberish. He wished it were that easy to wave away Jock Stillman and his request, entirely.

  The Alumit had been flooded with many such strange proposals of late. Odd designs for new machinery or buildings, bizarre requisitions for materials Franzel didn’t recognize, public works art projects of blatantly provocative intent, and so on. His office had been handling a veritable deluge of unexpected and, in his estimation, undesired creative excitement over the past few weeks.

  He was determined to understand the source of all this....what would you call it? He thought back to his seminary days.

  What was the word for an unusual combination of existing things, for new methods, ideas, or products?

  It was on the tip of his tongue.

  Inno...something, wasn’t it? Inno...machination? No, that wasn’t it.

  Ah, yes! Innovation! That’s it. Innovation. Odd sounding word and an odder concept.

  He had a flashback of a startled classmate being cut down by one of his Professors with that word. Innovation.

  “Is Alum’s way, the way of this ancient and venerable Alumit insufficient for you, Brother Toft?” the Professor had demanded. “Would you prefer something new, something untested? An innovation, perhaps?”

  At that point, the Professor had had to divert valuable class minutes to explain what an innovation was, and the few occasions where one might safely innovate.

  “Innovation is only acceptable for Frontier Alumstons, and only to be attempted by experienced Founding Brothers,” the Professor had emphasized. “More established parts of the Realm have no need for such recklessness. Stick to doctrine, tried and true.”

  Franzel left his reverie and shuffled some files around on his desk display.

  “Okay, so I understand the mirrors and the prisms, and the double slits are fairly obvious,” he said. “Even the idea of this isolation table to separate your project from external vibrations. But I’m not certain what you mean by parametric down-conversion using this—what is it—beta barium borate nonlinear optical crystal.”

  “Oh, yes,” Stillman interrupted excitedly. “That’s at the heart of the experiment. It converts the photon that passes through either of the two slits into two identical, orthogonally polarized entangled photons with half the frequency of the original.”

  Franzel blinked at the man. He was doing it again, babbling words that sounded cogent but were nonsensical. The monk placed his stylus on his desktop and steepled his hands under his chin.

  “Tell me, again, where you got the idea for this project.”

  “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a few days,” Stillman answered. “I was on Community duty, tidying up the flower beds on Azores Street. I enjoy my time there so much, you know. I can let my mind wander for hours. Well, last week, I got to thinking about the dual nature of photons.”

  “Dual nature?”

  “Wave and particle, of course,” Stillman replied. “The basic double slit experiment illustrates nicely how light behaves as a wave, producing interference patterns on the detector screen until observation of the actual path traversed becomes determined, at which point the photons adopt particle-like travel and the interference pattern disappears.”

  Franzel shook his head to clear it and blinked a few times.

  “Go on,” he invited.

  “Well, I’m sure you know the debate around whether or not a conscious observer is required to collapse the wave function.”

  “There’s a debate?”

  “Yes. We wonder whether the rest of the matter of the universe plays the role of the observer or if an actual conscious human is required to make the observation. Of course, there are those who believe that Alum Himself plays the role of universal observer, or perhaps Yov.”

  “I was not aware this was a topic of active debate.”

  “Oh, much of it was historic. But several of us have met over tea. Yes,” Stillman chuckled, “those discussions can get quite vigorous at times.

  “But I digress. Where was I?” Stillman consulted his tablet. “Ah, yes, here we go. I have a reference for you here…somewhere.” He scrolled down through the display, searching.

  At that moment, a soft chime emanated from the Head Brother’s desk. He looked down and opened the message from his secretary. Before he got past the word “Shard,” the door to his private office burst open and an imposing man wearing the official robes of a Shard of Alum walked in.

  Franzel sprung to his feet.

  “Shard Martinez!”

  Altuno wasn’t so far from Home World that visits by Shards were rare but usually Franzel received advance notice when one of the holy men was due to arrive. There were protocols to be observed to ensure a level of piety befitting such a large and important center.

  Stillman turned to see the source of the interruption. Satisfied it wasn’t relevant to his immediate discussion, his attention returned to his search.

  “Kneel, fool!” Brother Franzel hissed back, over his shoulder, as he crossed the remaining steps to Shard Martinez.

  “My Lord, Shard!” he greeted the
waiting figure.

  The Head Brother knelt in front of Alum’s representative and kissed the casually proffered hand.

  “To what do we owe this wonderful surprise? Please, come and sit. Take my chair, if you please, my Lord.”

  He glared at Stillman, who glanced up briefly and nodded a greeting to the Shard.

  As if he were one of the High Holy, himself!

  Brother Franzel could not contain his anger.

  “Kneel, I said!” he shouted at the man, as Shard Martinez took a seat behind the raised desk. “Have you no idea who sits before you? Alum will curse your impudence with His holy vengeance. Do you not fear for your life? For your very soul, man?”

  “Let it be, brother,” Shard Martinez counseled in an unusually calm, unperturbed, hardly more than casual conversational voice.

  Franzel’s head whipped back around and his jaw dropped in astonishment.

  The Shard’s gentle smile was filled with forbearance. His hands patted the air in front of him.

  “We can discuss Alum’s indignation some other time,” he said. “For now, I believe Mr. Stillman was describing his proposed...experiment.”

  The word slid smoothly from the Shard’s lips, and yet it took on the sound of some vile bit of profanity.

  “Thank you, Shard Martinez,” Stillman replied comfortably, as if he talked with Alum’s representatives every day. “Perhaps the idea will be a bit easier for you to follow. I mean, one so highly advanced as yourself.”

  He reviewed the basic points of the proposal while the Shard listened intently, eyes closed, hands comfortably folded on the desk.

  Brother Franzel listened patiently to the entire spiel again, hoping to understand it better on the second pass. He didn’t. After another fifteen minutes of Stillman’s nonsense, Franzel felt no further enlightened than he had at the beginning.

  The Head Brother addressed the Shard, “As you see, my Lord, it’s impossible to decide upon the merits of this proposal. It doesn’t make sense. I can’t tell—”

  The Shard held up a hand, interrupting the Brother’s denunciation.

  “Your request is approved,” he said.

  He smiled at Stillman. “Naturally, you will keep the Alumit apprised of the results.”

  “Naturally, sir,” Stillman answered.

  “But, my Lord,” Franzel protested, “what of the others? There are hundreds, no, thousands of such insane proposals on my desk.”

  The Shard peered intently at the Head Brother.

  Franzel felt a tingle at the back of his head that told him the Shard had accessed the monk’s lattice, and was now examining his memories and roaming freely through his thoughts.

  “Thousands, you say?” The Shard sat back pensively, his mind still deeply immersed in the Head Brother’s concepta.

  “So I see. A fascinating assortment, too. A veritable explosion of creative thinking, isn’t it? What do you think, Brother? What is the cause of this sudden renaissance?”

  Brother Franzel didn’t recognize the word.

  “I beg your pardon, my Lord?”

  “This renaissance,” the Shard repeated. “In Alum’s name! Don’t they teach you anything in Seminary? This rebirth of so many fresh ideas? All this...innovation. Yes, I see you recognize that word. Where do you think it all comes from?”

  “I...I have no idea, my Lord,” Franzel stammered. “Mr. Stillman says the ideas just came to him while he was tending flower beds.” He let his voice trail off inconclusively.

  The Shard turned his intense stare onto Stillman.

  “Just came to you, did they?”

  Brother Franzel registered relief when the tingling of his scalp abruptly ceased.

  Stillman absent mindedly scratched the back of his head.

  “Hmm. What’s this?” Shard Martinez asked to no one in particular. “Mr. Stillman, have you had any unusual visitors in the past month?”

  “No, sir,” Stillman answered.

  “No, my Lord,” Franzel corrected. The man’s impudence was as annoying as his ridiculously incomprehensible proposal.

  Stillman paid him no heed.

  “Nothing unusual that I recall, sir. Why?”

  “Interesting,” the Shard replied. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to permit me to scan your concepta. Your security is of a type I don’t readily recognize.”

  Franzel was astonished. What in Alum’s name is going on?

  “Shall I call the local Guardian Angels, my Lord?” he inquired.

  Shard Martinez declined the offer. “No need.”

  “But, if he’s acquired non-Standard lattice security, my Lord..?”

  “What of it?”

  “Alum must be informed, my Lord.”

  The Shard scoffed at the Head Brother.

  “I’m here, am I not?”

  Franzel blinked. “Of course, my Lord. My apologies.” He took a deep breath and tried to explain. “It merely surprised me that a simple parishioner would have lattice security that my Lord couldn’t override.”

  The Shard narrowed his eyes at the reckless comment.

  “Given a little time, I’m certain I could push my way into Mr. Stillman’s thoughts,” he assured the monk. “But we are all friends and citizens of the Realm, here, are we not, Mr. Stillman?”

  Stillman nodded enthusiastically.

  “Yes, sir,” he confirmed.

  “Of course,” the Shard continued. “No need for distrustful hostility, then, is there?” The question was directed at Stillman as much as the Head Brother.

  “Not at all,” Stillman answered. “Honestly, I wasn’t even aware of any changes in my lattice security. Certainly, it was nothing I did.” He concentrated for a second or two. “Ah, there!” He dropped his hands to his side, palms forward. “Please, feel free…my Lord.”

  The Shard was already in; his mind ran through Stillman’s thoughts and memories.

  “Fascinating,” was all that the Shard said after several seconds. He closed his eyes, sat back in his chair, and said nothing for a full minute.

  Both men jumped when the Shard’s eyes sprang open in alarm and a single, drawn-out, “Ahhhhh,” escaped with his next exhalation.

  “So many wonders,” he exclaimed. An amazed smile and look of youthful wonderment had transformed his face.

  Shard Martinez rose from the Head Brother’s chair.

  “I must go, now,” he said and strode across the office with a sense of purpose. With one hand on the doorframe, he turned back and addressed a final order to Franzel.

  “Approve all such projects,” he said, “Previous and future proposals. On my authority.”

  The Shard Martinez exited, leaving a stunned Head Brother and a content parishioner behind him.

  34

  Brother Stralasi and Darian Leigh shifted into position near the end of the lineup outside the recruiting office of a local Alumita in the fifteenth sector of Darbiness. They were back in the Milky Way, on the galaxy’s second largest ringworld and headed for Vesta, home of the Alumitum.

  Out the corner of his eye, Stralasi caught Darian fidgeting.

  “Quit fussing with your face,” the monk snapped.

  “It feels strange,” Darian whispered back. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  Stralasi sighed for the hundredth time in two days and rolled his eyes.

  I thought the Gods would be more mentally agile than the rest of us—he muttered under his breath.

  “It’s fine; just like it was before we jumped,” he replied, keeping his voice low. It wouldn’t be good to draw unnecessary attention from the excited novitiates ten steps ahead.

  “The surgery was necessary; everyone in the Alumitum knows Trillian’s face,” he reminded Darian. “Without this precaution, we wouldn’t have taken more than two steps before crowds started gathering.”

  Stralasi recalled the stir Darak had created on Gargus 718.5 when everyone thought he was one of Alum’s Shards come to pay an unofficial visit. How long ago was that?


  He tried to remember what it had felt like to be that Founding Brother, the Principal Local Authority of the founding Alumston. It couldn’t have been more than a Standard year ago and yet he felt centuries removed from the simple, pious but officious monk he’d been then.

  Since leaving his Alumston, he’d traveled a good part of the Realm in the company of a God, learned about Cybrids, learned about the religio-economic system that made life in the Realm so good for so many, learned about science, spoken with alien Gods, witnessed Darak in space battle with Angels, survived the supernova explosion of the mythical Tri-Star system, met the love of his life on a rebellious ringworld in the heart of the Local Void, and planned battles with Cybrids and Aelu.

  And, now, I’ve become Esu myself. He shook his head in wonder.

  His attention kept shifting back and forth between his human part on Darbiness, that part of him walking at the back of an eager band of new initiates to the Alumit, and his Familiar, who was currently hovering silently in Crissea’s garden on Eso-La.

  He didn’t dare try to keep up two conversations at once yet, so his Familiar part remained blessedly silent in Crissea’s worried company.

  Soon, she’ll have to leave to go to battle around the Deplosion Array—he realized.

  He fought against his protective instincts, and resisted trying to convince her to stay at home.

  Crissea’s stronger than I’d like to admit—he knew that. It would be an insult to ask her not to join the battle. How could a woman like that, a leader of her people, simply sit in her garden and wait for the universe to fall apart?

  His eyes scanned the line of new Alumit recruits ahead of him and his hand reached for the tablet in his front pocket. The orders were for two experienced monks, Ontro Stralasi and John Darian, to teach a semester on the Alumitum.

  These forged orders are impeccable. Why would anyone have cause to doubt them?

  “Foundations of New Colonization: Spiritual Pragmatics, 315,” was the name of the course. It had been Stralasi’s specialty. If something went wrong, if they were forced to live up to their cover story, he was confident he could deliver the material well enough.

  But let’s hope no one checks up on us—he thought.