Spinspace:
The Space of Spins
Book 2 of
The Metaspace Chronicles
by Matthew R. Kennedy
Copyright © 2015 by Matthew R. Kennedy
All rights reserved.
Cover image by Irina Pechkareva.
This is a work of speculative fiction. It uses fictional characters in a fictional setting to tell a story. Any resemblances to real persons, living or dead, or real existing governments, organized religions, or organizations of humans in general is purely coincidental.
Get over it.
For
Andrew La Due Kennedy
3/28/1960 – 4/21/2015
Brother, son, father, husband, musician, and one of the most decent humans to ever walk the Earth.
Never forgotten.
Acknowledgements
Rare is the book that emerges from a vacuum. Most books have multiple inputs, and this one is no exception. I would like to thank the following people who made it possible: my extra-eyes Chassy, Susan, James, Jan, William, and Frank, and the Readers who make it all possible with their patronage.
Thanks.
Prologue
A New beginning
“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.”
– Albert Einstein
It wasn't the beginning of the end. It wasn't even the end of the beginning.
The collapse of Earth's technology, the Fall that we blamed on the Tourists, had happened. You could call it an end, of sorts. It was an end to the world that was, a world that might never return. Had millions, maybe even billions starved? Certainly. Had the globe-spanning networks of commerce and communications died, when alien technology failed? Undoubtedly. Had all the nations splintered into tiny kingdoms and city states? Of course.
But was it the end of humans? No. We could live without the technology of the Ancients. Just not as well.
Older technologies resurfaced to take the place of what we had lost. As automobiles failed, horse populations rose. Hardware stores closed and a new generation of blacksmiths set up shop. Pharmaceutical companies perished, and herbalists took their place. Everywhere, low-tech alternatives from before the Age of Machines filled the gap left by vanishing infrastructure.
The question was not whether we would recover, but how, and how long it would take. There were those like the former Honcho of the Lone Star Empire who dreamed of restoring our former glory by eliminating the alien technology, and rebuilding our technology without it. They sought to unify the splintered nations by conquest.
They were not always successful.
But there were also those who knew that the Fall was not caused by the magic alien technology, but by our failure to replicate, develop, and maintain it, once the aliens left. In short, our lack of magic tech support caused the Fall.
It took a while, but eventually long-term exposure of humans to the remaining alien tech caused, in some, the development of new abilities.
Once they manifested, these abilities, though rare, were frightening to many people.
Some of these wonder-workers were killed, out of fear. Some obtained the protection of local rulers. A few gained safety by becoming the local rulers.
And some had the foresight to pass on their knowledge, to take on apprentices, and even, in some cases, to begin to set up schools to teach their discoveries.
Wizards were among us again.
And that was a new beginning.
Chapter 1
Lester: The Thin Ice of The New Day
The last rays of the sun were yielding to the coming of night when the daily express from Denver pulled into the village. The team of horses clattered to a stop by the watering trough. “Inverness! Get out and stretch yer legs if you want, We're movin' on in ten minutes.”
Clem looped the reins around a knob on the dashboard and climbed out of the driver's seat. He ambled around to the passenger exit in case anyone needed helping down and stamped snow off his boots. At first, no one budged, and he was about to duck into the inn for an ale for the road when the vehicle resounded to the steps of a passenger who might have changed his mind about staying put.
Lester stepped down carefully, leaned on his staff, and looked around the place. Little had changed in the months he had been gone. Not that he had expected it to. He brushed back the hood of his gray robe, smelling the clean cold air. “Thanks for the ride, Clem,” he said, and strode off toward the front door of the inn.
He kicked his boots against a hitching post to loosen the snow they had picked up and reached out to open the door.
Before he could pull on it the door flew open and his mother embraced him. “Oh my baby!” she cried into his shoulder. “You're home! I was so worried.”
He hugged her back. “I'm fine,” he told her. “And I'm sorry I couldn't write. You've no idea how busy I've been.”
She released him and put her hands on his shoulders. “You look taller.”
“That's just my new boots,” he said. “How have you and Drew been? I need to speak with you in private, when you get a chance.”
“Oh, we're all fine,” she said, ignoring the fact that he hadn't asked after Gerrold. “Where did you get that robe? But what am I doing, keeping you on the street. Come in and wash up for dinner, the stew should be ready in a few minutes.”
“In a minute. There's something I need to do first.” He turned and strode off down the road.
The smithy was not far. It was an old story. When coaches ran long routes and needed to stop somewhere to rest the horses, a hamlet would form. The first thing that appeared was always the inn, usually hardly more than a watering trough and roofed room with a hearth. As the inn grew, adding rooms and a larger kitchen, the next building to spring up was the smithy. Even if there wasn't enough business out in the middle of nowhere for full-fledged smith, you could usually rely on a farrier to set up shop, eking out a living from horses that had thrown a shoe or re-forging broken plows for nearby farmers.
Once people noticed that a way station was forming, the next building to appear was the general store. It started with just feed for the horses and branched out to supply the growing inn with foodstuffs and linen and so on when traffic picked up.
From this point on the growth of the rest stop turned hamlet would begin to accelerate. The next building was usually a small church to serve the farmers who were only too happy to stop driving all the way to the nearest town. The appearance of even a small chapel officially transformed the hamlet into a village.
Other buildings appeared in short order, as the inn added more rooms and a stable for horses to come in out of the rain. Soon there would be a local seamstress, or even a teacher setting up shop teaching in the tiny church that doubled as a one-room school. When the size of the settlement justified it, a butcher's son would throw up a shed for farmers to bring old or extra livestock that for various reasons they were to busy to slaughter themselves. This, in turn, set the stage for a tanner and a leather worker...since no one eats hide. Just as the farmer's cast-off became the butcher's source, so the butcher's unwanted hides became opportunities for a tanner.
His mind was wandering again. By the time he forced himself to stop following that chain of thoughts, he nearly passed the smithy.
The sun was nearly down, and the air was already getting frosty, but Jonathan barely noticed it. The glory hole of his forge was pouring hot air out into the smithy, making it warm enough for Lester to begin sweating under his robe as soon as he stepped in. Jon was hammering a pi
ece of iron into a shape Lester didn't immediately recognize, and wearing the thinnest of shirts under the leather apron that he wore for the occasional spark or metal sliver.
Lester knew better than to interrupt a smith at his work, so he just leaned on his staff and waited until the metal part's glow had died and Jon stopped to grab the tongs and shove it back into the forge to reheat it. Jon seized the handle of the bellows with his free hand and pumped the coals brighter until he was satisfied.
When Jon turned away from the glow of the glory hole he finally noticed his visitor. Without putting down the tongs he wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “What can I do for you?” Then he seemed to recognize Lester. “Oh, it's you. Haven't seen you 'round here. Something break at the inn?”
“No.” Lester glanced around the smithy. “Do you happen to have any pipe on hand?”
Jon eyed him. “I might,” he said. “What diameter do you need?”
Lester shrugged. “Doesn't matter much to me. It's more like a case of what diameter you need.”
“Come again?”
Lester pointed at the bellows. It was a small model. It lay on a square brick pedestal next to the forge, parallel to the wall, with one handle lashed down so that Jon could pump it with one hand. “What's the nozzle diameter you use?”
Now Jon was staring at him. “What are you getting at? Thinking of going into business for yourself making bellows for smiths? Not much call for that around here.”
“No,” said Lester. “But as it happens, I need a bit of pipe and since I've no money, I thought maybe we could help each other out. What's the diameter?”
Jon's brows creased in bafflement. “Inch and a half. “Look, I guess you heard my striker's gone off to Denver to join up. But I don't think your ma can spare you long enough for you to work off the cost of some pipe. If you – “
Lester raised a hand. “She's done without me for a few months now. But that's not what I had in mind. We both know your everflame isn't as good as it used to be, or you wouldn't have rigged up the bellows.”
Here Jon frowned. “So? I ain't complaining. With charcoal and a bellows I do just fine. Carolyn's been helping me on the bigger jobs since she was big enough to reach the handle. When I'm between strikers, I mean.”
“I'm sure she has. What would you say if I could give you something better than a bellows? Would that be worth, say, a dozen feet of pipe?”
The smith pursed his lips. “Dunno what you're thinking, youngster, but decent pipe ain't cheap. It's not much fun turning it out myself, so I get mine from the guy over in Farlow.”
Lester sighed. He could feel his patience with this evaporating. “Have you got a short piece the same diameter as the bellows nozzle? It'll be easier for me to just show you.”
Jon grumbled a bit, but he rummaged a bit on his odds and ends barrel and came up with a piece about a foot and a half long. Lester accepted it and held it in front of him, willing himself to relax and open his mind to pathspace.
As he closed his eyes and reached out to sculpt the space around the pipe, he became aware of a peculiar sensation. It was a kind of echo, almost as if there two pieces of pipe he was working on, except one of them was about twenty feet away. Startled, he opened his eyes for a moment and lost his concentration. When he returned to his task he felt it again, that echo, but this time it was closer.
At this, he nearly dropped the pipe, but he forced himself to hang onto it and finish what he was doing. In a few moments it felt right. Reaching forward, he slipped the loop of rope off the bottom handle of the bellows and pulled it from the hole in the side of the forge. Before Jon could say anything, he shoved the end of the short length of pipe in.
“I don't see how a longer nozzle will be any better,” Jon muttered. “And you'll still need leather and a couple of poles for handles to make a bigger bellows.”
“No I won't. Watch.” Lester stroked the other end of the pipe, moving a finger along it toward the forge.
The was a faint hissing of indrawn air and the coals in the forge blazed brighter. He let Jon stare at it for a moment before he stroked the pipe back the other way, turning it off again. “You don't need to pump a bellows anymore, Jon. Now you have a swizzle. Much easier.”
Jon took his eyes off the swizzle. Now he was staring at Lester. “How did you do that?”
Was that respect in his eyes...or fear? “Something the court wizard up in Denver taught me,” he explained. “I'm his new apprentice.” He paused to wipe his own brow. “Well, isn't that worth a few feet of pipe?”
The smith rubbed his chin. He was about to answer when the sound of boots crunching on snow made them both turn.
Carolyn stood framed in the doorway. Lester swallowed. How had he forgotten how beautiful she was? He shut his eyes for a moment. Yes, sure enough, the echo was only a few feet away now. It was her. Well, well!
“Are you going to be much longer?” she asked her father. Then Lester saw recognition in her eyes. “Lester? It is you, isn't it? Almost didn't recognize you in that robe. Where have you been?”
“Apprenticing with Xander, up in Denver. How've you been? Still going out with Burton?”
“Not really,” she said. “Not for a couple of months. That's a story for another time. Who's Xander?”
“Set the table,” Jon told her. “I'll be in to join you in a minute.” He turned to Lester. “How much did you say you needed? A dozen feet, was it?”
“Yes. If you don't have it on hand I guess I could always come back later.”
“Let me go check the shed.” He hurried off to look.
Lester suppressed a smile and shook his head. In a hurry to get rid of me, aren't you? Oh, he wanted the swizzle all right, but that didn't mean he wanted Lester hanging around his daughter.
Carolyn laughed. She hadn't budged. “Should I set an extra place?”
He grinned. “Thanks, but no. I just got home, and my mom would pitch a fit if I ducked out of dinner the first night back. But I do want to speak with you tomorrow, if you've time.”
Jon came back in with two pipes. “These are six foot lengths. I suppose you'll need them joined.”
“Yep. Sorry, I should have mentioned that.”
“No trouble, no trouble at all,” said Jon, setting the pipes against the wall and reaching for his tools. He eyed Lester. “Anything else you need before I close up for dinner?”
Lester thought. “Actually, there is. Can you put a j-bend on one end?”
Chapter 2
Kareef: Troubling Doubts
“So, if thou art in doubt regarding what We have sent down to thee, ask those who recite the Book before thee. The truth has come to thee from thy Lord; so be not of the doubters”
– Quran 10:94
The other students had filed out of the madresah, but Kareef did not follow them from the school. Nizar, his teacher, had asked him to stay, and so he stayed.
Even now, as he sat on a cushion trying to quiet his mind, he could hear the approaching footsteps of the Mullah. He opened his eyes and waited for the elder to speak.
“Kareef, I sensed today that you are having more disquieting thoughts. Is this true?”
“Na-am.” Yes. “I feel like a boat adrift on unfamiliar waters. I wonder what certainties I can cling to.”
Nizar seated himself across from him. “Kareef, what are the five pillars of Islam?”
Kareef almost laughed. He knew that would have been disrespectful, but did Nizar really think that reciting the trained responses would bring him any nearer to certainty?
But he had been asked, so he would answer. “The five pillars are the Shahadah, the Salat, the Zakat, the Sawm, and the Hajj. The Declaration of one God, the five-times-daily prayers, the giving to the poor, the fasting in Ramadan, and the Pilgrimage.”
“And do you have doubts, questions, or disquieting thoughts about these?”
“Yes I do. To begin with, how can any of us undertake the Hajj? Ever since the Fall, we have lost
contact with other continents. We cannot walk to Mecca, so what meaning does the Hajj still have for us, if any?”
Nizar regarded him from under graying bushy eyebrows for a moment, stroking his beard. “Do you think that is the only possible meaning of the Hajj?
Kareef shifted on his cushion, suddenly uncomfortable. He didn't feel like turning his doubts into an excuse for another lecture. “What do you think?”
Nizar raised an eyebrow. “You could think of it as a spiritual quest. Forgive me for saying so, but I am sure Allah knows what we can and cannot do. He knows of the storms that raged when the weather control. satellites failed, and how the failure of the old technologies ended sea voyages.”
“Then why should He expect the Hajj? Or do we maintain the thought of it out of mere tradition?
“Has it occurred to you,” Nizar said, upon reflection, “that perhaps you could go on Hajj without crossing the ocean?
Kareef tried not to frown. “Is this a riddle?”
Nizar smiled. “No. From our book we know something of other societies, and in many other cultures there is the tradition of a spiritual quest. On the far continent of Australia, for example, they call it 'going on Walkabout'.
Kareef absorbed this. “And you think this it is some kind of universal coming-of-age thing? Is that why we still include the Hajj in the Five Pillars? To imitate other societies?”
Nizar grew serious. “No, of course not. I was merely pointing out a parallel.”
“And what about the Zakat, the giving of savings to the poor and needy? Am I, a poor student, supposed to give money I do not have? Or merely to feel guilty that I cannot?”
“Allah knows who can give and who cannot.”
And the Sawm, the fasting and self-control during Ramadan. The rest of the year it doesn't really apply, does it? To me, it appears that my own Islam rests on only two pillars, the Declaration and the Prayers. Is that enough? Even a chair or table needs at least three legs.”
Spinspace: The Space of Spins (The Metaspace Chronicles Book 2) Page 1
