As Trielle considered this a glimmer of understanding sparked in her mind. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the balance of the vacuum, runaway expansion and contraction pulling against each other as if poised on a knife’s edge.
But if those forces could be separated…
Trielle’s eyes snapped open as the animation cycled into a new segment that confirmed her growing understanding. A schematic of a functioning laridian ring hung in the air above the infochryst terminal, its spinning neutronium rings actively pulling vacuum through the central aperture, the chromatic field blocking the fermionic fields but letting the bosonic fields through. She watched as a charge of virtual fermionic energy gathered on the near side of the aperture, a near-limitless amount of spacetime curvature capable of being further shaped by the finely balanced gravitomagnetic fields of the neutronium rings.
Trielle’s mouth opened in awe as she understood the true power of the laridian rings for the first time. The design was elegant, a monument of mathematical and engineering triumph, and for a moment she forgot the purpose of her research. How could something so beautiful be destructive? The rings even appeared to generate their own operating energy by siphoning mesonic flux from the separated fields, using it recharge their internal storage crystals. It was almost as if…
Trielle’s eyes narrowed.
Nothing is ever that perfect! These rings are being presented as if they were perpetual motion devices. No matter how elegant this looks, there has to be a cost…
As she pondered this, Trielle noticed the thick beam of virtual bosonic fields streaming unimpeded from the rear of the device. An absurd pleasure blossomed within her, and she smiled. Evidently Newton’s Second Law still held after all. Then a troubling thought entered her mind.
What exactly does an unbalanced field of virtual bosons do? And how many fields like this exist? We’ve been using Laridian rings for millennia now!
The immediate effects were clear. If fermionic fields contracted space, effectively generating an artificial gravitic flux, then bosonic fields would create an antigravity field, a universal repulsion. But what then? Her brow furrowed in concentration as she considered the potential implications, but try as she might, she could not see beyond this fundamental insight.
The animation was complete now, and the final frames began to fade away, replaced by the nodes and lines of the datascape. Trielle gestured quickly, freezing it in place before it could vanish completely. She then touched the image of the ring’s bosonic exhaust with both hands, attempting to access the most relevant explanatory links. The image stuttered for a moment and then dissolved, replaced by a new information node that expanded to reveal the image of an ionic waste disposal system.
Trielle frowned.
That can’t be right… Must be a system error…
Trielle made a sweeping movement with her hands and instructed the infochryst to return to the previous node. A few seconds later the last frame of the laridian ring animation again appeared in the air. Trielle grasped the image of the bosonic field and gave a simpler command, instructing the infochryst to give a straightforward definition of the object. This time the animation was replaced by a primitive text article on stellar photonic emissions. Irritated, she tried a third time and then a fourth, but these attempts were also met with failure. Though she knew that a hundred innocent reasons could exist for unwanted redirections in a system of this complexity, the sheer persistence of the issue bothered her. Her eyes narrowed as she began to consider the unsettling possibility that it was deliberate.
Perhaps Garin and Kyr were right after all…
Chapter 10: Symmetry’s Weight
Garin sped across the crystalline bridge. Around him the cerulean mists rose in great billowing thunderheads, their vast bulk lit from within by furtive crackles of distant lightning, hints of deeper symmetries yet to be uncovered. Between these massed clouds the bridge coursed like a bright sunbeam streaming through a darkened canyon, and Garin was a part of that light, his very being an interplay of thought and primal radiance moving with a velocity he never thought possible. Time felt somehow irrelevant here, as if the sheer speed of his transit had raised him to a transcendent state where each moment became infinite. Suddenly he felt a jolt that seemed to tear each particle of his body loose from their moorings, followed by a bright stillness.
“Then the rumors among my brethren are true…”
The sound entered his mind like the faintest hint of a whisper, as soft as the rustle of an ant’s leg.
“Come closer, I wish to perceive you more clearly, thing of the lowest worlds.”
An unseen hand grasped Garin, pulling him from the light. There was a momentary, sickening plunge and the world spun around him. When the sensation abated he found himself inside a dim sphere of immense proportions. In the center of the sphere hung a complex, whirling shape.
The outer layers of the shape were composed of a myriad of multicolored rods that shifted and danced in a jerking, stepwise motion, a staccato counterpoint to the graceful weaving of the Perichorr’s filaments. Irregular fragments of shadow darted between the rods as they moved, their touch altering the colors of the rods and giving the entire shape a kaleidoscope-like appearance. Two spheres of light danced a slow waltz at the shape’s heart, their movements connected to the rest of the shape by long streamers of violet energy. The entire figure pulsed with strange, unearthly grandeur.
“Ahh, now my perceptions are clear. I know of your errand, composite one. My sister’s interaction with you even now reverberates along the light that binds.”
Garin strained to hear the words; the voice were almost inaudible. His heartbeats seemed like thunderclaps in comparison. The Perichorr, in contrast, had spoken in loud, almost deafening, tones, and Garin carefully considered the difference. Perhaps it meant nothing, but he was learning that he could take nothing for granted in this world. Any observation, no matter how insignificant it seemed, might be related to the next symmetry he must grasp to find Kyr.
“Great One,” began Garin respectfully, “I can barely perceive your words. Why is your voice so soft?”
A low sibilant hiss filled his mind. Several moments passed before Garin understood what it was: laughter.
“Composite One,” laughed the being, “My sister speaks into your mind by manipulating the motion of her scions in the organ of instantiated logic that you call a brain. As her scions are the direct means of that organ’s function she can do so with precision. But I am the father of different children. Deep within the heart of matter lay my scions, their movements only perceived in the fire of the suns and the decay of matter. Therefore they must exert their effects carefully upon your brain carefully, lest they liberate a storm of radiation that incinerates your body from within.”
Garin stood in silence as he pondered this new revelation, struggling to grasp the nature of the being before him. As if reading his mind, the voice spoke again.
“Composite one, do you not yet know who I am? I am among the first to emerge from the blazing world-light of the origin-point. I am he whose children lie forever locked in the heart of the elements bound by the symmetry of the three, the stable and fixed weight of all substances. I am the heart and telos of the endless dance of the Perichorr, the lodestar about which her countless children gather. I am First-Of-The-Bound. Do you now comprehend?”
Garin nodded. He needed no more explanation. If the Perichorr was the manifestation of the reality behind all the electrons of the physical universe, then this being was surely the reality behind their counterparts, the quarks invisibly buried within the proton and neutron cores of each atom. He now understood as well why First-Of-The-Bound could only speak in whispers, and shuddered at the thought of what could have happened had this restraint not been shown. He could almost picture it: the nucleons of his brain pulsing with new energy, countless gamma rays bursting from them as that energy was discharged, his brain liquefying within his skull under the sudden onslaught of ha
rd radiation.
A soft chuckle sounded within his mind.
“You are learning fast, Composite One. Now, let us not tarry over these distractions. As I have said before, I know the reason for your presence. And yet, I would hear it from you.”
“I seek the Exofuge, Great One,” said Garin. “I have been told that his domain can be reached from the Peak of the Third Glory, but I do not know the way. I understand, however, that I must comprehend the symmetries of this place in order to progress. Your sister the Perichorr assisted me in opening the symmetry-bridge leading to your domain.” Garin paused for a moment, and then added, “It was my hope that you could do the same.”
“Indeed I can,” echoed the voice of First-of-the-Bound. “Yet before we speak of the symmetries, I must first know what it is you truly seek in this place. Why have you ventured from Phaneros to the higher worlds?”
Garin told First-Of-The-Bound of his dream. He described the road paved with stars and his desire to know the truth of what, if anything, lay behind the doomed cosmos in which he had been raised. He told of how he met Kyr, and of his flight from the destruction of Sha-Ka-Ri. As Garin completed his story, the incandescent rods that formed First-of-the-Bound’s body drew inward and their stuttering movements slowed. Then, after what seemed like an aeon of thought, the great being spoke.
“There is truth in your tale, for this much I have come to know from the Perichorr. And yet… Your story is incomplete. You speak as if it you are the only one who has received this dream. Are you so naïve as to think this is so?”
Garin was speechless. His mind raced furiously as he considered the implications.
Others had received the dream? Whom? When? Had anyone else responded?
“None but you have taken the road, composite one,” answered First-of-the-Bound in response to Garin’s unspoken question, “None but you. And it is this that troubles me. Why you? Why now, when it is almost too late? We have called for so long! Are the people of the world below blind to the danger? Why! Why do they not care!”
The whisper in Garin’s head grew in strength as First-of-the-Bound’s passion flared. He felt suddenly hot, and a burning pain began to rapidly build behind his temples. Garin pressed his hands to his head and fell to the ground.
“I don’t know!” he cried, “Great One, please! I don’t know!”
The pain soared, and a red miasma crept across Garin’s vision. It felt as if the contents of his mind were evaporating. His last thought, as his perceptions faded to blankness, was of his father, and a dim pang of sadness gripped Garin as he realized that he would never see him again.
Suddenly the storm within his skull abated as First-Of-The-Bound fell silent. He lay there as the pain subsided to a dull ache, and his vision slowly returned.
“I ask your forgiveness, composite one.” Said First-Of-The-Bound, his voice again a faint whisper. “For a moment my anger overwhelmed my self-restraint. I have completed an inspection of the nucleons of your brain and can assure you that no permanent injury has been incurred.”
The pain had almost vanished now, and Garin slowly rose to his feet.
“But you must understand the shared nature of our peril,” continued First-Of-The-Bound. “The same dissolution that faces Phaneros affects our world as well, and yet my kind, for all our might, can do nothing to alter it. For a century of your years now the dream has been sent to your world. We know this for it is we who were charged by those of the higher worlds with inserting its content into the electromagnetic dance of your neurons. Many times the great ‘hedron revolved around the central unity while we called, and each day the Xaos pressed further inward, yet no one answered our call. We had begun to lose hope. But now, against all hope, you have come, and I would understand why.”
As Garin considered First-of-the-Bound’s question, his thoughts inexplicably turned again to his father. But why? He had followed Kyr to understand the truth about their world, had he not? What did his father have to do with that? A rush of memories surfaced, and he examined each one, turning them over and over again like bright pebbles gathered from the seashore. Many were filled with sadness: long nights spent alone in his home while his father attended functions of the Gravitic College, anticipated family events cancelled at the last minute due to urgent meetings of the Heirophants. But not all were dark. Garin vividly recalled a time five years earlier when he had arrived home from the Arx Scientia in tears, having been slighted by one of his classmates. His father had been home that day, and he had sat with him until the pain had subsided. They had talked late into the evening, his father explaining bits of esoteric gravitic theory, Garin drinking in the attention. A sudden warmth filled him, and he realized that, despite the dark times, he still loved his father.
But in the end what did that love mean? If the axioms were true, then nothing, not even the deepest relationships, were anything more than the random collision of molecules. And, once the entropy clouds had consumed the Conclave, even these would vanish. It was then that Garin understood. He had ventured upon the Sovereign Road not just to find the truth about the world, but to find the truth about himself and his life. Like First-Of-The-Bound, there were things he simply needed to know as well.
“Great One,” replied Garin with surprising confidence, “until now I thought that I was the only one who dreamed, and I confess that I cannot explain why I among all the others sought the road. But I do know this. For all my life I have lived in a world with no real meaning, a world where even the love between father and son was painted on nothing but an ephemeral canvas of dancing atoms. I believed that life was nothing but a long, slow slide into decay, and that someday soon all I cared about -my sister, my family, my world- would dissolve. But ever since the dreams came I have not been able to accept this. Not once I began to see that there might be real meaning after all.
A low hiss sounded in Garin’s mind as First-of-The-Bound laughed.
“Indeed,” he whispered, “there is more to your answer than you know. It is enough; I am satisfied. Now, Composite One, you must prepare to again traverse the symmetries if you would reach the Peak.”
“I am ready to learn this new symmetry, Great One,” said Garin.
“New?” laughed First-of-the-Bound. “Why would you wish to learn a new symmetry when you have insufficiently comprehended the old? Observe!”
The dancing rods that composed First-of-the-Bound’s outer layers unfolded outward like the petals of a flower, revealing a weave of brightly shining threads. It only took Garin a few moments to realize that these threads somehow encoded the pattern of movements he had seen reflected in the mirror of the Perichorr.
“Great One,” said Garin, “I understand. You are showing me those parts of your being that correspond to isospin, the symmetry that allowed me to travel here.”
“It is so,” whispered First-of-the-Bound, “and yet I do not think that you understand fully. In what way did the Perichorr show this to you?”
“The Perichorr assisted me by helping create a mirror in my mind where I could understand the transformation,” replied Garin.
“Then you must return there in your thoughts,” said First-of-the-Bound. “I will assist you as I can, but as you know I cannot safely exert the same degree of force upon the substance of your brain as the Perichorr. Greater effort on your part will thus be required.”
Garin nodded and bent his will toward the task of recreating the mirror. After a few moments of concentration he felt a gentle pressure within his head (doubtless the subtle guidance that First-of-the-Bound had promised) and again the image of a rotating silver polyhedron filled his mind’s eye.
“Do you see the mirror?” asked First-of-the-Bound.
“I do,” said Garin with tension in his voice. He did not want his concentration to falter, not if it would require more intervention from First-of-The-Bound. That was an experience he did not wish to repeat. “I can see the transformation between your being and that of the Perichorr easily, but I see noth
ing new.”
“Consider this, then,” whispered First-of-the-Bound. “With what sense do you see this transformation? How is it perceived?”
Garin paused and considered this new question. Until now he had simply assumed that he was seeing the mirror with ordinary light, but he quickly realized that this could not be the case. After all, isospin was a concept, not a physical object.
But what illuminates a concept?
“I can feel your bewilderment,” whispered First-of-the-Bound. “Yet in this bewilderment lie the seeds of understanding. Look closely at my shape and that of the Perichorr as reflected in the mirror, Composite One. Allow the similarities and differences to permeate your vision, your perceptions, and your thoughts. Consider them not as shapes, but rather as hues, shades of color that bear both similarity and opposing characteristics. Then ask yourself this, within what spectrum could these hues both dwell in comfort.”
Garin closed his eyes as he bent his will toward the task, aided by the faint but insistent nudge of First-of-the-Bound’s mental influence. At first the image remained unchanged, the inner workings of First-of-the-Bound and the Perichorr rotating in reflected counterpoint, but then his focus deepened (whether from his own effort or that of First-of-the-Bound Garin could not tell) and the features of that counterpoint that had once seemed most opposed began to take on a certain similarity. It was as if those oppositions were but the endpoints of a deeper, more fundamental relationship that intimately linked the two beings. As Garin continued to concentrate, the connections between the Perichorr and First-Of-The-Bound became rays of light that reflected back and forth across the face of the mirror, growing in brightness until finally all was a blaze of white fire, an incandescent forge that created synthesis from opposition and unity from disparity.
The Sovereign Road Page 10
