The Chaos Sutra

by Gregg Vann

  A few artifacts were placed prominently in the hall, meant to stand out and catch the eye of all who entered the room; not an easy thing to accomplish given the numerous rarities in the collection. The most notable of these specially arranged objects was a floating globe that resembled the planet of Volas. The perfect sphere had been painstakingly carved from a single piece of avarock by one of the planet’s finest artists, and it rested in a naturally repelled state, floating one meter above a stone base built from the planet’s common strata. The display demonstrated the extraordinary physics that kept Volasi cities hanging in the sky, and it was a subtle statement, reflecting the imaginative engineering found only on Volas. The planet’s few landmasses were marked with precisely shaped exotic metals, and sparkling jewels floated over the surface of the globe to represent the real-time positions of its aerial cities. It was an impressive piece—to be sure—but then it would have to be to stand out in this collection.

  Most surprisingly, given the nature of the monastery, the hall even had beautiful examples of jewel-encrusted weaponry. And there were full suits of armor, from many different cultures and martial traditions. Brother Ryll always thought them out of place in a working monument to peaceful reflection, but he still appreciated the enviable assortment of guns, swords, and armor, for the craftsmanship they represented.

  The hall’s opulent collection was illuminated by numerous glass panels set into the ceiling, high above—some with reflective surfaces. Each of the thick panes was mounted on bi-directional rails and motorized, and they continually adjusted their positions, tint, and refraction—as necessary—to counter the effects of Bodhi Prime’s axial rotation. This mechanical ballet was designed to allow in the perfect amount of natural light, producing a warm glow that flowed serenely over the entire collection. During the daytime, the lighting in the Grand Hall was unfalteringly even and perfect. The irreplaceable objects deserved no less, and the resultant spectacle of riches was unparalleled in the galaxy.

  How many times over the centuries had Brother Dyson stopped to appreciate these wonders? Ryll asked himself. Or had it all become less impressive as the years went by?

  Had the majesty of the Grand Hall dissolved into mere background clutter as his master’s eyes fell across it day after day, decade after decade…century after century? Brother Ryll found that hard to believe. But maybe time shapes perception in the same way biology controls living things. And life’s luster is akin to a plucked flower, the beauty of it slowly fading as each day passes—until finally, there is nothing left but an empty husk, unrecognizable from its former splendor. Perhaps that was the reason Brother Dyson had chosen now, after so long in this world, to finally allow himself to die.

  Maybe he was simply tired of it all.

  They arrived at their destination and Brother Uja pulled the heavy wooden door open, stepping aside so Ryll could enter the room alone. Brother Ryll paused for a moment, tracing his fingers along the decorative metal whorls set into the door’s surface, steeling himself for what was to come.

  Then he went inside.

  Colorful mandalas decorated the stone walls of the small room, and each of the framed works of art was draped with a long, crimson streamer, woven from the finest silk. The smooth fabric flowed down the sides of the finely carved wooden frames, nearly reaching the floor. Though visually stunning, the vibrant appearance of the mandalas, and the meditative promise of their purpose, didn’t match the somber reason for Brother Ryll’s visit. Nor did they reflect the state of the room’s sole occupant.

  Not any longer.

  The truth of this moment could only be found in the middle of the room, where a single bed sat surrounded by medical equipment. Brother Dyson was resting peacefully on his side in the center of it. His master was now a frail facsimile of the man Brother Ryll had known in his youth, little more than taut skin pulled across a shrinking skeletal frame.

  “Brother Ryll?” Dyson whispered weakly.

  “I am here,” Ryll replied, stepping in closer to the bed.

  He looked down at his master, or the haunting caricature of the man he used to be, and Brother Ryll wondered at the pain he must be going through. There was extra sting in the thought since the Bodhi possessed the most advanced medical knowledge in the galaxy, vastly superior to that of any other race or civilization. If anyone could save Brother Dyson’s life and end his suffering, it was the Bodhi. But Ryll’s mentor had refused any further treatments or therapies, and this horrible circumstance was the result of a conscious and reasoned decision.

  This was the end Brother Dyson had chosen for himself.

  After the transference technology had been distributed to every planet that wanted it—years ago—all of the laboratories and technologists on Bodhi Prime were re-tasked, shifting their focus from the ongoing refinement of Bodhi cloning and transference technology, to directed medical research that crossed into every discipline. And they were quite successful in this new endeavor, making remarkable strides in the treatment and prevention of countless injuries and diseases. But unlike in the recent past, when the Bodhi sought to control and profit from their proprietary secrets, they shared each of these new discoveries freely, spreading technological advancements in general medicine and species-specific cures alike with all of the other races.

  But then the monks decided to take the initiative even further.

  Brother Ryll spearheaded an effort to open Bodhi clinics on every planet in the galaxy—to assist the local populations with specialized healthcare, and to distribute the latest medical advances from Bodhi Prime as soon as they became available. The monks provided these clinics without condition or promise of payment, and irrespective of racial, political, or even religious affiliations. The results were so promising that even the more insular societies, like the Obas and Udek, accepted Bodhi healing centers—and the monks serving in them to train indigenous doctors how to operate the never-ending supply of new technology. Brother Ryll’s restructuring of the Order’s mandate was so successful that the Bodhi were now viewed as healers throughout the galaxy. Well respected, and welcomed wherever they traveled.

  The monks of Bodhi Prime were highly valued.

  And they were safe.

  Brother Dyson never shied away from telling Ryll how impressed he was with his efforts—and proud—even though the aging monk steadfastly refused any further medical interventions for himself. That decision cost him. The cancer came quickly, and then it spread even faster. But despite the rapid progress of the disease, and the horrific effects on his body as it systematically destroyed itself, Brother Dyson not only seemed resolved to his rapid descent into death, Ryll secretly suspected that his master looked forward to it.

  Now that time had arrived.

  “Is there much pain?” Ryll asked, afraid of the answer.

  “No,” Brother Dyson replied. “Not any more.” He shifted himself over onto his back and looked up at his one-time apprentice. “I feel nothing at all now, save the nearness of death. I sense its cold embrace tightening around me, Brother. It won’t be long.”

  Brother Ryll struggled to remain stoic for the sake of his old mentor—the person most responsible for shaping his life into what it was. But he failed. Despair overtook Ryll’s features as he fought back the tears. “It doesn’t need to be, master. There is still time—”

  “No, my friend,” Dyson said with surprising strength. “No more time. I’m ready to atone for the harm I’ve caused during this turn, no matter how well intentioned my actions. A price must be paid, Brother. It must be. Or everything we believe in is meaningless.”

  Dyson lifted a trembling hand and Brother Ryll took it into his own; it felt cold and lifeless. It was difficult for Ryll to watch a man whose whispers once toppled governments, now fight just to control his own breathing. The experience was a revelation, and a final lesson from his master.

  No matter how powerful you become, or what deeds you accomplish in life, this is the eventual fate of us all.

&nb
sp; The words and sentiment were ancient, common knowledge that was spelled out in thousands of tomes, and hundreds of languages. But Brother Ryll never realized the full import of it until today—until he witnessed it happening right in front of him. The monk felt powerless in the face of such universal and undeniable truth, and it took everything he had to push back an encroaching sense of hopelessness.

  “Have you collected everything I asked?” Brother Dyson said. His eyes suddenly widened, and Ryll thought he saw a hint of desperation in them.

  “I did, master. It’s all in my study now, and I will do exactly as you directed. Your writings will be assembled into an instructional book for the acolytes. And the following generations of Bodhi, all of them, will know your thoughts and experiences. They will share in your wisdom, Brother. Just as I have.”

  “A sutra…”

  A seizure wracked Brother Dyson’s body and he lurched forward, drawing in a sharp breath. As he sank back down into the bed again, Ryll placed a hand on his old friend’s shoulder.

  “I promise you, Brother. Your lessons will live on forever.”

  Dyson’s eyes lost focus, and his blood-drained lips parted one last time. A whisper slipped out. “Then…I am…content.”

  And then Brother Augustus Dyson, Buddhist Master of Bodhi Prime, returned to the Wheel.

  The funeral saw the greatest collection of foreign dignitaries ever assembled, with representatives from every planet in the known universe—other than the Brenin, of course—sitting in attendance. The event took place in the middle of the monastery’s large inner courtyard, with all two hundred guests seated in a half-circle of chairs placed on the grass. They were positioned in front of a small, yet brightly decorated stage, and an enormous tree filled the area just behind the modest platform, dominating the otherwise open space with its stately presence. It was the monastery’s Bodhi Tree, grown from a sapling taken from the original back on Earth.

  Brother Ryll strode down one of the wide aisles set judiciously between the rows of waiting people, and he took in a deep breath of the planet’s arid air. It was a beautiful, sunny day, perfect conditions for the ceremony. To his left, he saw Kiro Tien and his family, and the two men exchanged a brief nod. Brother Ryll thought he saw a terse smile peek out from behind Tien’s breathing mask, and coupled with the presence of his wife and children, the gesture almost made Tien seem like a normal man—no different than any of the others guests at the ceremony. But Ryll knew better. As the Chancellor of the Udek Special Corp, Kiro Tien not only directed a highly trained unit of Udek forces, overtly and covertly, he also controlled all of his government’s most closely guarded secrets. That made him far more dangerous than any mere general. Even though the galaxy was at peace now, praise be to the Blessed Buddha, Ryll understood that if violence did erupt somewhere, Tien’s influence would be felt—one way or another. Brother Ryll just hoped it was as an agent of peace. His past and present dealings with the volatile Udek led him to believe that would be the case.

  But there were never any guarantees.

  Ryll spotted General Eraz among the Udek delegation as well, and on the opposite side of the aisle from her, Maxal and Ayel sat with the Iriq contingent. The other Blenej in attendance cast occasional glances in Maxal’s direction, as if he were mistakenly placed when the seats were assigned. But Brother Ryll knew that Maxal was right where he’d chosen to be, at Ayel’s side. Their mixed-race child was sitting between the pair, fidgeting impatiently. And the little girl exhibited a fascinating collection of both of her parents’ physical attributes. Ryll noted with some amusement that she’d received her father’s arms in the unique blending of two alien races. Though unlike Maxal, the young girl was sporting a full count of four.

  Brother Ryll stepped up to the stage and briefly stopped to admire its artwork. The front of the platform had been painted with bold, swirling patterns of deep saffron, and was further embellished with an assortment of traditional Buddhist symbols—each carefully stenciled out, and then colored in with a vivid shade of red.

  This is perfect, Brother Ryll thought. Then he scaled the three short steps to stand behind the podium.

  Ryll shared a brief glance with Angu Limala, seated in the front row with his Volasi wife, Idra. As the first atonement monk to ever achieve sentience and survive, Limala was a legend at the monastery—and even well beyond its storied walls. He’d recently returned to Prime from his comfortable life on Volas, to recount his inspirational story to the latest class of acolytes. This had become something of a tradition at the monastery over the last few years, and Limala’s experience served as a cautionary tale, changing all who heard it. His transformation from a penitent killer into an entirely new lifeform was a deeply personal parable, and one Brother Dyson himself was often fond of sharing, even though Ryll’s deceased master was commonly viewed as the evil antagonist in it. But Brother Ryll knew the truth behind those sensational events, and the pressures and concerns that drove Brother Dyson to act as he did. As is always the case, a person’s deeds are best analyzed from a subjective perspective, with full knowledge of all of the underlying facts. Objective reasoning is a powerful tool, but it can sometimes lead to spurious conclusions. Because when it comes to judging people, motivations matter. The same can be said for when it comes to remembering them.

  “On behalf of the entire monastery,” Brother Ryll began in a loud voice, “I want to thank you all for coming here today. To share in our unfathomable grief, but also, to celebrate the life of an extraordinary man. Brother Dyson would have genuinely appreciated this assembly of notables—this showing of love, and respect.” Brother Ryll smiled and lightly grasped the podium with both hands. “I think he would have been somewhat amused by it all as well.

  “When our order first left Earth, centuries ago, we sought out a place where we could practice our religion in peace, far away from the never-ending strife that had overtaken our home system. We had hoped to withdraw from the galaxy completely and live on our own, isolated from its inherent and overwhelming turmoil—the tumultuous conditions we believed were holding us back in our quest for enlightenment. But as you are all well aware, the exact opposite occurred.

  “It was Buddha’s will that we embrace the races represented at this gathering instead, and spread our teachings far across the galactic plane. Brother Dyson was the monk who led that effort; the only one who could. At times, his vision was clouded. But what man’s isn’t? And it can be argued that he made some questionable decisions along the way. My master was, after all, only human. But you must never mistake his intent. Brother Dyson was a champion of peace. Always. And despite his controversial methods, and actions that often seemed at odds with our own ideals, he sought only to protect and preserve life.

  “The idea to share Bodhi transference technology was his, and just one of the many steps on Brother Dyson’s long quest for peace. As was the successful coalition he helped build to repel the Brenin invasion, saving us all from certain annihilation or enslavement. And while the Bodhi are now lauded as healers, and it is our great honor to fill that role, it’s important that each you understand this: the recent shift in the monastery’s focus may be mine, but it was Brother Dyson’s guidance over the years that made this Order wealthy enough to establish the Bodhi clinics, and to continue funding our ongoing medical research. His selfless efforts over an extended lifetime benefited us all, in very real and tangible ways. And his actions, both direct and indirect, have saved countless lives on dozens of worlds. So please, despite Brother Dyson’s faults, the weaknesses that we all suffer, never, ever, forget that. Sometimes men of peace are called upon to make difficult choices, and my master never shied away from that terrible responsibility—no matter what the personal cost. For that, and for his unwavering friendship and belief in me, I will always be grateful.”

  Brother Ryll scanned over the faces in the crowd. Volasi, Blenej, Obas, Humans, even Iriq and Udek, all sitting together peacefully in rapt attention. Yes, he thought to himself.
My master would have enjoyed this very much. Ryll motioned with his arms and saffron-robed monks began streaming down the aisles, disbursing small objects to the official representatives of each race.

  “These are saplings taken from the Bodhi Tree behind me. Please accept them as a gift from us, in Brother Dyson’s memory. The monks on your worlds will plant them at our clinics, so they may become places of thought and remembrance for us all—sanctuaries to reflect on what we once were, and more importantly, what we’ve now become.”

  Brother Ryll stepped back from the podium and removed an ornately carved vase from a stout pedestal beside him. He held the urn up high enough for everyone to see, and then walked down the steps at the rear of the stage. Ryll gently lowered the urn into a hole dug beneath the Bodhi Tree, right between two thick roots, and then a pair of waiting acolytes covered it using a pile of soil placed off to the side. They slid a simple white headstone into a mount near the trunk of the great tree next, making sure the brackets clicked to secure the heavy marker in place.

  Brother Dyson’s name was inscribed at the top of headstone. And below it, written in every language of the galaxy, was his favorite passage from The Diamond Sutra.

  Thus shall you think of this fleeting world:

  A star at dawn, a bubble in a stream,

  A flash of lightening in a summer cloud,