The Chaos Sutra

by Gregg Vann

  Hes used a communication device integrated into his weapon to order an aircar. When it arrived, he took the controls and I slid into the second seat. We departed the Life Palace and headed directly for the outskirts of the city, where a single Blenej cemetery timelessly guarded the dead.

  We said nothing to one another during the journey. What was there to talk about? Besides, it was still pouring outside, and I could tell it was costing Hes a substantial amount of his concentration just to fly the aircar safely.

  I took the opportunity to log into the local network, and to notify the Musicians Guild about the impending delivery of musical instruments. Although loath to have anything to do with me personally, they would accept the shipment for Meela’s sake—for a chance to remember her in perpetuity. They also agreed to establish the trust, so that future generations might benefit from her loss. They would know who Meela was, and what I’d done to her.

  I then turned my attention to creating and funding a local account, to maintain the yearly ritual for Meela. After this year, of course.

  This year was mine.

  The Blenej believe a person’s soul is gradually released during decomposition, and that the deceased’s coffin needs to be taken outside and opened up once a year—to allow the accumulated essence to escape. This is an important familial responsibility, and one usually performed by children or grandchildren. Due to my actions, Meela had neither. And both of her parents had been lost in the war.

  The casket was normally left open for five days, and at least one family member always stayed with it—to protect the coffin until it was sealed up again and reinterred. My research revealed that originally, this was to keep wild animals from taking the body away. But over time, it became more of a comfort for the soul than protection from hungry wildlife; a loved one present to let the deceased know that they hadn’t been forgotten.

  And Meela would not be forgotten.

  By the time the aircar arrived at the cemetery’s squat administrative building I’d finished making all of the financial arrangements, and I was now ready to undertake my final task on Blenej. The facility was small, barely large enough to house a few offices and motorized casket carriers. The actual bodies were kept below—carefully catalogued, and then placed inside an expansive network of underground caves.

  Getting out of the car, I noticed an open field on one side of the cemetery building. It was covered in a uniform layer of shortly cropped grass, broken by small clusters of magnificently colored flowers—their petals sagging under the burden of the constant rain. Sitting right in the middle of the open space I saw a single black coffin, resting atop a stark white pedestal.

  I knew immediately that it was Meela.

  Hes stayed in the aircar, and I walked the short distance to the casket alone. It was protected from the relentless rain by a yellow tarp, held up on all four sides with decorative metal poles. They were anchored deep into the ground, to prevent the wind and rain from dislodging the flapping canvas square.

  The coffin was closed.

  I stepped up to the onyx casket and took a deep breath, remembering what she’d looked like the last time I saw her—those bloodstained pieces inside the blue box. The Shepherd Personality struggled to contain the flow of conflicting emotions. And I felt confusion building as satisfaction warred with unspeakable regret in my mind.

  Or was it his mind?

  Our minds?

  {Decompress-Reset…OVERRIDE}

  I was calm.

  Using both hands, I undid the latches on the front of the coffin. I raised the heavy lid and it swung back on internal hinges, locking into position with an audible click. I gathered my strength to lean over and look inside.

  {Emotional buffer-ENGAGED}

  They had done their best to rebuild Meela’s broken and sliced-apart body, but the end result was a macabre insult to the beautiful creature she’d once been. Her skin was now the palest white that I’d ever seen, almost as if the green hue had been bleached out of it. And there was visible stitching where Meela had been carefully sewn back together. Purple discoloration from blood and the byproducts of decomposition stained the inner lining of the coffin.

  I began to tremble, repulsed by what I’d done to her.

  “I’m sorry, Meela,” I forced out. “So very sorry.”

  I staggered back from the pedestal and retreated into the rain. The deluge was growing stronger now, and airborne waves of water sloshed over me—soaking through my robe, and seeping deep into the clothing underneath.

  But I didn’t notice.

  Nor did I feel the mud as it covered my shoes, gripping them in a tight and binding embrace.

  I couldn’t feel anything, because I just couldn’t handle it.

  I sank to my knees and the suction of the wet soil pulled me down, completely under its control. I became part of the ground—like a tree sprouting roots, immobile and inseparable.

  After a time, I found focus. Then I began meditating on what I’d done. What I’d taken.

  And then I prayed.

  For five days, I knelt there like a statue.

  Hes was relieved after the first nine hours, replaced by another Red in what became a continual rotation. But these transitions barely registered in my mind. Several times, workers from the cemetery attempted to provide me with food, or check on my well-being. But I ignored them all. I focused only on Meela. And what I’d done to her.

  On the fifth day, I cried.

  My tears mixed with the rain that never stopped, rolling down my cheeks to join the mud and puddles of dark water that now covered the field. And then, with inconceivable effort, I fought off the suction and my atrophied muscles to stand.

  My legs rebelled, shaking with such terrible force that my joints felt like they might rip apart. It took all of my strength to remain upright, but I eventually managed to gain a solid footing as the spasms subsided.

  Hes happened to be on duty at the time, and the Blenej soldier stepped over to confront me when he saw me finally rise from the mire.

  “Are you finished, machine?”

  “I am,” I replied, using a wet sleeve to wipe splattered mud off my face.

  I unsteadily walked over to the coffin again. Without looking inside, I closed the lid and re-latched it. Then I shuffled backward a few steps and pressed my hands together, prepared to recite the Avalokitesvara Mantra. I didn’t know if the benediction of comfort would help either of our souls, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

  Nothing could hurt Meela anymore.

  When I finished, I limped around to face Hes. “I’m ready to leave now.”

  “Then good riddance, machine.”

  It was the last thing he ever said to me.

  Two hours later, as my ship rose up through the thick atmosphere, I noticed that the rain had finally stopped.

  The sun was shining on Blenej.

  Love

  You will not be punished for your anger,

  you will be punished by your anger.

  The Buddha

  After rechecking the ship’s course and making a few minor adjustments, I limped back to the shower to clean myself. The ordeal on Blenej had drained me and I was in intense pain, both physical and mental, but I was satisfied that I’d done all that could be done. Meela was still dead, but the mourning had been genuine. I felt it, and I knew that those emotions had been transferred to him.

  It was difficult to get undressed; the wet fabric clung tightly to my skin, and caked mud fell to the carpet as I yanked and pulled. The ship was self-cleaning, and I knew that by the time I finished my shower everything would be tidied up. But for the moment, it was an absolute mess.

  I freed myself from my soaked undershirt last, and then stepped into the already running shower. Dirt and other filth swirled down the drain as powerful streams of water knocked everything off of my body. The hot temperature created a thick, humid mist—enveloping me, and slowly loosening my joints. After several minutes, most of my mobility returned, and I car
efully stretched my limbs.

  When I finally felt clean and limber, I shut the water off and stepped out into the bedroom. The crisp, cool air brought me fully awake, causing me to shiver. Cyborg or no, they built me to feel human, and I was subject to every discomfort the human form can experience. Heat, cold…even pain.

  Sometimes, I thought, especially pain.

  I went to the wardrobe and pulled out a high-collared jumpsuit and put it on. I covered the gray garment with a traditional black robe, throwing the hood back to let it fall across my shoulders. It felt good to be clean—inside and out.

  Returning to the bridge, I sat down in the pilot’s chair and contacted the monastery, using a dedicated channel set aside just for atonement monks. Brother Dyson answered almost immediately.

  “Brother Gent. How are things on Blenej?”

  “Complete. I have just left the planet.”

  I explained in great detail about the atonement I’d performed, and he nodded in agreement with everything I’d done. Right up to the point where I told him about the pledge to never play music again.

  “You did what?” His face came alive over the screen and he leaned in closer. “You had no right.”

  “I had every right, and you know it, Brother.” I was still flush with emotion from the experience on Blenej, and I matched his animated behavior. “The music was a tool of the sin—a lure for my victims. The danger was too great to leave things as they were.”

  “But how will you live?” he asked. “What will you do in your next life?”

  “Something new and different,” I replied. “Something better, hopefully. A true, new life.”

  “It was a…bold move, Brother Gent. You should have consulted us first.”

  I leaned in closer to the monitor, just as Dyson had done, knowing that my face now filled his screen. “I consulted my conscience, Brother. Just as I was designed to do.”

  He sighed and fell back into his chair. “Very well, then. The commitment has been made. What’s done is done. Please, connect yourself to the diagnostic interface. I would like to check your systems.”

  “As you wish, Brother.”

  I pulled back a patch of skin on my chest to expose the interface shunt, and then grabbed the data cable from the console in front of me. “Have you heard from the Volasi?” I asked, pushing the slender black cable into the open port on my breastplate. There was a snap as it locked into place.

  “Yes,” he replied, a frown creeping across his face. “They are still convinced that there’s no reason for you to come. In fact, they condemn your mission as a useless gesture, and could care less if your soul finds peace. For the Volasi, the birth of Idra’s clone, and your own death, started new chapters of life that are completely unrelated to the past. They see you as an inconsequential and extraneous figure, bent on inserting yourself into a life that has nothing to do with you.”

  Brother Dyson clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them. He exhaled heavily, saying, “As you are well aware, Brother Gent, we hold little sway on Volas. They don’t give a whit about us or our transcendence methods.”

  “Indeed.” The Volasi had their own cloning program. And though it was inferior to the Bodhi process, they prized their independence and shunned our services. “Regardless, Brother Dyson, I will find something appropriate when I get there—some way to help.”

  The old monk looked tired, and his weary eyes betrayed his age, his true age. “They don’t want you anywhere near her, Brother. Idra has no idea what happened to her, and they want to keep it that way.”

  “I see… Then have they barred me from visiting?”

  “No. They don’t recognize you as Gent, so you are at liberty to do as you wish, just like any other free citizen.”

  “Then I must do something. It’s the final act of atonement, Brother. There has to be a way.”

  “For your soul’s sake, Brother Gent, I hope so.” Dyson looked down at the panel in front of him, scrutinizing the data feed from my neural net. “Most irregular, Brother Gent. Most irregular, indeed.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your Shepherd Personality overrides are engaging far more frequently than I’ve ever seen in that atonement model—any atonement model, for that matter. How do you feel? Are you conflicted about your purpose?”

  Conflicted?

  “I know my purpose, Brother. There is no confusion.”

  He stared at the screen again, squinting to make out the finer points of information. “All the same, you should come back for a full systems assessment before you proceed.”

  “That isn’t necessary, Brother. I’m fine. Allow me to complete this final act before reincarnation. We are so close to an end.”

  Dyson sighed. “This has been a most troubling cleansing. And it has gone on for far longer than any other atonement. It would be good to be done with it, once and for all. Very well, complete this last assignment, and then return to Bodhi Prime.”

  “I will contact you when it’s done,” I replied.

  “Buddha’s blessings be upon you, Brother,” he said, and then Dyson disconnected the transmission.

  I pulled the cable from my chest and returned it to the holding sleeve mounted on the console. Then I sat back in the chair.

  Conflicted?

  About who and what I was? Maybe.

  I didn’t admit it to Brother Dyson, but it would be a lie to say that I wasn’t experiencing some confusion. At times, I felt separate from Gent, unique…individual, even. And that feeling was growing. But I also understood that without him I didn’t, I couldn’t, exist.

  No, I am definitely Fallon Gent. Brother Dyson was right. I’m experiencing irregularities in my programming. But I only need to function for a few more days to complete my task—to validate my entire reason for existence.

  I would persevere.

  Conflicted?

  Yes. But only about myself, not my purpose. And certainly not about what happened on Volas…about what happened to Idra.

  She had been another mistake. Another girl that wasn’t supposed to die.

  I shook my head to clear away the stray thoughts, the idle nonsense that only served to further cloud my purpose.

  I activated the display showing the ship’s flight information, and saw that it would be three days before I reached Volas. Three days to come up with something that would enrich Idra’s new life, or a way to heal some of the damage from her old one.

  But what could I possibly do? She lived in a virtual paradise, wanting for nothing.

  Volas was a vacation world, and famous throughout the galaxy for its low gravity sports, beautiful oceans, and enormous cities floating in the skies. The weather was always perfect, with no need for man-made atmospheric tinkering, and there weren’t even any dangerous forms of life on the planet. The Volasi themselves were renowned for their temperance and acceptance. And while not as passive as the Blenej Greens, they were nonetheless always kind and cheerful.

  Those were the reasons I was drawn to Volas the first time, traveling to the planet for a much needed, week-long vacation. But after meeting Idra, I decided to stay for an entire month.

  Like most Volasi she was tall and slender, and her graceful movements projected the quiet majesty that they all embodied. Truly regal creatures, the Volasi were willowy in constitution, but strong in spirit. And Idra displayed the best of their unique physical qualities. Her face was thin but full, and her features were dominated by a war between the brilliance of her smile, and the deep rapture of Idra’s piercing blue eyes.

  I was smitten as soon as I saw her.

  Despite what the Green Mother thinks, I am not an animal. Not always a lecherous, murdering deviant. I experience a full range of normal emotions—from the basest subhuman hatred, to the purest feelings of love and joy.

  I am human after all. My uncharacteristically wholesome feelings for Idra were proof of that.

  Her effect on me was remarkable. So strong, in fact, that I didn’t feel the need
to possess her—to imprison her spirit. I had no desire to control Idra, or to make her obey, because she set me at ease when we were together, and all of my abnormal compulsions fell away. Idra smothered my insanity. She made me feel…normal.

  And I loved her for that.

  But then I destroyed it all.

  We met during my second day on Volas. I’d decided to try an elemental dive from the floating city of Osala, and hired Idra on as my instructor. Osala, like all Volasi cities, was built upon a foundation of avarock. A unique mineral found only on Volas, avarock’s principle characteristic is that it’s naturally repelled away from the planet’s surface.

  In a process mimicking magnetic repulsion, avarock forcefully pushes itself away from the planet’s common strata. And this effect is so strong that pieces of the mineral naturally rise up from the ground when broken free from it. Different-sized rocks are frequently encountered floating in the air—at various heights—because the effect of the phenomenon increases exponentially in larger amounts of avarock—either singly, or in the aggregate. The greater the mass, the greater the amount of lift you can produce. A pebble may only float an inch away from the surface, but a boulder can make its way into the stratosphere.

  Ancient Volasi worshiped the mineral as having mystical qualities, but the planet’s modern inhabitants understood avarock for what it really was—a unique material that could be used to build astounding floating structures. Ones that defied belief, even when seen in person.

  Volas has few significant landmasses. But by exploiting the unusual properties of avarock, the Volasi were able to build massive cities, sitting high above the vast oceans that dominated the planet’s surface.

  The placement of these airborne metropolises, together with the planet’s light gravity and warm waters, far below, led to the development of several interesting sports that can only be found on Volas. Chief among them is elemental diving.