The Deplosion Saga

by Paul Anlee

  “And so we need to remind ourselves every day to trust in the Lord, God. To remain connected to the Divine Spirit that lives within Alum and guides Him in all things.”

  “Because, if we don’t?” Stralasi prodded.

  “If we don’t, we might be tempted into apathy, which could lead to abandonment,” the young man finished.

  “Or rebellion,” Stralasi reminded the class.

  Mathers nodded in agreement, but his eyes betrayed his barely-suppressed shock at the second mention of that word in such a short time. The young man surveyed the room, as discreetly as he could, to see if anyone else had noticed. Eyes darted to the left and to the right. None would meet the novitiate’s gaze.

  Stralasi clapped his hands together, a startlingly loud sound in a classroom filled with nervous silence.

  “Very well, Mr. Mathers. Why don’t you lead us in the Benediction of Gratitude?” he suggested. “I think it’s appropriate that we begin this semester by thanking our Lord for granting us the gift of His wisdom.”

  After Mathers led the class in hushed and reverent prayer, the rest of the hour passed quickly. Stralasi provided an overview of the material they would cover in the months ahead. He was half-surprised to find how easy it was to fall into a teaching cadence, to propagate the myths that formed the foundation of the Realm.

  For a moment, he felt a glow of pride for his masterful presentation. As he unveiled the outline of the intended material, he felt a pang of regret that he wouldn’t get to teach the entire semester.

  It would have been a great course—he thought.

  Then he remembered all the things he couldn’t say and his wistfulness turned into guilt.

  If only I could deliver classes without all of the lies, if I could reveal the truth of Alum’s Realm—he wished, knowing full well that it was impossible.

  A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

  In a different universe....

  All of the usual questions one might expect from a first class cropped up, including, “Will this be on the exam?” He managed to navigate them all without diverging from his script.

  All, except one.

  His slip up began in response to an innocent question.

  “How do we choose the site for the Founding Alumston?” Armundsen asked.

  “You don’t,” Stralasi answered. “The Cybrids will have initiated construction of Alumston before you arrive. The Alumita Ceraffice and initial concentrics of the city will have been grown to maturity. Manufacturing and Integration asteroids—”

  He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed the blank stares and gaping jaws in his audience.

  “What’s a…psi-bird?” Mathers asked.

  Oh, bother! What have I done?—Stralasi thought.

  Regular People know nothing of the machine beings on whom their lives depend, or of the technology that creates their cities and their manufactured goods.

  His eyes flicked to Darian, sitting in the Assistant’s seat in the front row of the class.

  Help!

  Darian stood up, drawing all eyes to him.

  “Brother Stralasi is referring to the hybrids, I believe. The special species of plants Alum develops to Standardize each new world. You may have been led to believe that our Lord simply creates new buildings from air. That is the naive view, one unsuited to a Founding Leader.

  “The Lord is both more powerful and more subtle than that. He creates new life to do His bidding on each of our worlds. Much of the work we do on a new world is to help the Living God monitor Standardization of the planet. It is a blessed calling that Alum has given to the People, to join with Him in subduing the wild places and to bring them into the Realm.”

  The answer was a trivial perversion of Founding technology, bent to fit the theological expectations of the students.

  Stralasi mentally braced himself to respond to some deep-thinking student who would recognize the absurdity of Darian’s response and issue a challenge.

  None came.

  The Good Brother worked to collect his thoughts and continue. The students’ failure to challenge was as unnerving as any anticipated—and subconsciously hoped-for—challenge they might have thrown at him.

  Just one of the advantages of teaching to students trained away from skepticism, I guess. I suppose there are some benefits to being in charge when dealing with people accustomed to accepting whatever they’re told.

  The class moved onto other issues and Stralasi exercised greater caution in choosing his words.

  At the close of class, a few students with additional questions and comments hung back. He was pleased to see they reflected a decent level of enthusiasm for the semester that lay ahead. Much to his relief, his misspoken answer seemed to have been forgotten.

  Over lunch, Darian complimented the Good Brother on his preparation and delivery.

  “I almost gave us away,” Stralasi countered tersely, waving off the legitimately-earned congratulations.

  “It was easily corrected, Brother,” Darian replied. “You did an excellent job, otherwise. You’re a very good teacher.”

  Stralasi gave in to the gracious comments, picked at his lunch, and dutifully chewed his way through the meal.

  Another potentially life-threatening moment survived—he thought. But this one was of my own doing. Not Darak’s and not Darian’s.

  He’d been little more than a spectator to events since Darak had chosen him as a travel companion on Gargus 718.5 over a year ago. During that time, others had been responsible for endangering him, for protecting him, for rescuing him, and for planning the next steps.

  But this was on me. My words put us and perhaps the whole mission at risk.

  The freedom to act, to be one’s own agent in life, comes with the responsibility to deal with the consequences.

  A lifetime under Alum’s protection, secure in the embrace of the Alumit, had meant there was always someone wiser and more powerful to lean on.

  Responsibility for one’s actions is terrifying.

  He drifted through the rest of the day, tugged here and there by Darian as they played out their charade.

  That night, Stralasi spent an agitated fifteen minutes trying to sleep until Darian intervened directly and circumvented his relentless replaying of the day’s lecture in his mind, allowing the monk a few hours of peace.

  * * *

  Friday arrived, and Stralasi woke up feeling unexpectedly rested.

  “I really enjoyed teaching yesterday,” he told Darian over breakfast. “I’ve missed that kind of interaction with young people, especially with those eager for knowledge. Perhaps I could offer other classes once this is all over. People are going to be hungry for guidance in the new Realm.”

  At some point, he realized he’d been chattering to an unusually subdued Darian.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Darian pushed his plate aside, took a sip from his coffee, and wiped his lips with a napkin.

  “It’s happening,” he said. “The Spyders are on their way. Darak and Darya are ready at their end.” His usual easy smile faltered.

  “It’s time to put a stop to the Divine Plan.”

  9

  “Hmmph. ‘Like coordinating your hands when playing piano,’ indeed,” Stralasi grumbled.

  Sure, if each of those two hands were on completely different worlds, separated by over twenty-five million light years, and one of the hands could be killed at any moment if it were to be discovered. Otherwise, yeah, it felt exactly like he remembered when he was laboring through years of piano lessons.

  Arriving to distributed consciousness as late in life as he had, he knew the process was going to require a huge adjustment, but coordinating his consciousness between his human and Familiar parts was proving to be even more challenging than he’d anticipated. And disorienting. At times, disconcerting. Never mind all of the many cultural and social nuances he was struggling to work out.

  Until he could spend more time adapting, he’d set his Familiar sensory
input to a minimum and positioned it (him!) in a quiet alcove in Crissea’s home garden where it (he!) would be able to focus most of its (his!) attention on its (his!) human counterpart.

  Stralasi had called on his Familiar’s superior processing capacity to prepare for his first class but, aside from that, little else.

  The Good Brother was struggling. He let Darian deal with whatever twists the Alumitum Administration presented. Despite access to the heightened processing power of his Familiar’s semiconductor lattice, Stralasi could barely keep up with Darian, who’d been working tirelessly on penetrating Administration security. Perhaps owing to years of experience dealing with university bureaucracy, Darian seemed better able to deal with the disturbingly similar Alumit bureaucracy.

  The tired, cranky, scared human part of Stralasi trod alongside Darian on their way to rendezvous with the incoming Spyders. They retraced the steps of their first day in the Alumitum, following the river toward the starstep where they’d first arrived. Darian’s usual incessant patter fell blessedly silent as the pair made their way toward the plaza.

  * * *

  Back on Eso-La, Stralasi’s Familiar, who’d been faithfully monitoring the pair’s progress on the Alumitum, wasn’t too distracted to notice Crissea walking into the back of the garden without her Familiar hovering in its customary place behind her right shoulder.

  “Where’s the rest of you?” Stralasi asked, his voice emanating from his Familiar’s speaker.

  “We received notification from Darak that it’s time,” Crissea answered. “Those of us whose Familiars have been modified for battle are gathering outside the system, along with the Aelu soldiers. The rest are preparing to hide Eso-La.”

  “I wish you’d stay here, hidden with the rest of the world,” Stralasi said.

  “And I wish you were here with me, Ontro,” Crissea replied. “All of you, my love.”

  “However...,” she straightened her back and stood taller, “sometimes hope is just another word for fear. And if wishes were stars, the night sky would shine brightly with our dread.”

  * * *

  Light years away, on a gravel path scratching into the surface of another world, the realization of what they were about to attempt struck Stralasi so hard, it caused his human feet to stumble.

  Darian shot out an arm to prevent the monk from falling flat on his face.

  A startled Stralasi snapped his attention back to his human part, recovered his balance and composure as best he could, and nodded his thanks.

  Neither felt a need to speak.

  * * *

  On Eso-La, Stralasi’s Familiar bobbed unsteadily while his human part in the Alumitum worked to regain its balance.

  “So, we’re going transdimensional, are we?” Stralasi asked through his Familiar, once both of his parts had stabilized.

  “That’s the plan. The RAF generators are being warmed up right now,” Crissea reported.

  “Have you done this before?” the Familiar asked.

  “Only with a few experimental objects and people. Never with the entire system,” Crissea said. “Everything has worked fine so far, though. The theory is sound.”

  “Theory? Not a great thing to risk an entire world on, especially one with so many people,” Stralasi commented.

  “If Alum starts searching our galaxy, it would be best to make ourselves hard to find.”

  “Why not just shift elsewhere? Multiple times, if necessary.”

  “Because the battle could drag on for days, maybe weeks, or longer. He’d have time to scour the entire galaxy. He’d find us, Ontro.”

  “But what if the theory isn’t quite right? What if it doesn’t work on a grander scale? What if Eso-La becomes completely disconnected from this universe?” Stralasi objected.

  Crissea smiled. “There is a tiny chance that that could happen, yes. But Darak showed us some ways to prevent that. We’ll extend the vast majority of the system into a fourth spatial dimension and touch this dimension at a few hundred different points, each the size of a speck of dust.”

  “Each the size of a speck of dust,” Stralasi echoed.

  “All we need is one tiny toehold to find our way back. We’ll have plenty,” she reassured him. “More than enough.”

  Stralasi needed to see it for himself. He constructed a representation of the 4D extension in the CPPU of his Familiar part, something his human brain never could have fathomed on its own. He designed and watched a simulation of the transdimensional shifting process play out a few times.

  “I imagine a few hundred contact points with this hyperplane increases the risk of discovery.” He was amazed he knew what that meant.

  “Yes, it does make it a bit riskier,” Crissea agreed. “If someone scanned the expected location of Eso-La at high resolution, they might notice specks outlining the arc of our ringworld. I had our best minds randomize the contact points as much as possible. We think it’s the best way to manage the risk while maximizing our odds of returning to this dimension.”

  Stralasi suppressed a shudder.

  “If there is anything to return to,” he let slip.

  “If we lose, we lose in all possible dimensions, in all possible universes. We’ll lose more than our location. We’ll lose our existence.”

  She listened to the sound of the leaves gently rustling in the soft breeze. A few birds flitted among the branches with no greater worry than collecting a few tasty berries or bugs. She inhaled the fresh air.

  “Once you activate the shift, will we lose touch with our other halves?” Stralasi asked. “Will they be on their own?”

  “No, the QUEECH comms operate beneath all of that. The signal goes through the base of virtual particles that underlies reality.

  “At least, that’s how Darak explains it,” she laughed.

  The monk soaked up the sound of her laughter.

  Will this be the last time I hear her laugh?—he wondered.

  “I can follow Darak’s explanation on a conceptual basis but the math is a bit beyond me, even with the aid of my Familiar,” she confessed.

  “So you’ll risk your machine part while keeping your human part safe?”

  “That’s like saying a soldier risks his sword hand while keeping his foot safe. Losing our Familiar part would be worse than dying.”

  Stralasi’s Familiar emitted a hum of embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve realized that. It’s a brave thing you’re doing.”

  Crissea’s eye glistened. “No more brave than you. Are you almost at the rendezvous point?”

  Stralasi looked ahead to his destination.

  “Yes, I can see the plaza up ahead. I have no idea what to expect, though.”

  “I’m sure Darian could tell you, if you asked him.”

  “I think his mind is elsewhere, right now. I don’t want to disturb whatever deep thoughts he may be pursuing.”

  “Or deep feelings.”

  “Feelings? He’s a God. Sometimes it’s irritating, seeing how casually he coasts through difficulties. I’m not sure that he even has any real feelings.”

  Crissea laid a warm hand on the cool carboceramic carapace of Stralasi’s Familiar. Far away, his human face blushed.

  “I’m sure he’s as frightened as the rest of us, Ontro. Darak says we’re all equals in this battle.”

  “No one is safe this time, I guess,” Stralasi said. “You know, I’ve seen Darak survive such horrific threats that sometimes I forget he’s vulnerable, too.”

  * * *

  On the Alumitum, Darian steered the Good Brother toward a tree on the edge of the starstep plaza. He pretended to engage the monk in conversation, but his attention was elsewhere. His eyes shifted nervously, tracking nearby pedestrians.

  A group of five Brothers popped into existence in the middle of the starstep platform. Darian stepped out from behind the broad trunk and stretched lazily.

  “Come, Brother,” he said, unnecessarily loudly. “We have no classes today. Let’s fin
d a café and plan next week’s lecture.”

  He walked toward the monk manning the starstep Prayer Podium. The man sprayed some holy water on the ornately carved pedestal and wiped it reverently with a clean cloth as he mumbled some incantation Stralasi had long since forgotten.

  “Pardon me, Brother,” Darian called out as he approached the stand. “My companion and I are looking for a quiet place to sit and review our notes. Is there somewhere nearby?”

  He stepped onto the starstep platform and looked down on the scowling visage of the monk.

  “You shouldn’t stand there, Brother,” the caretaker of the starstep said. “Unless you’re traveling today.”

  He gently dabbed away a few drops of cleaning solution that threatened to run down the pedestal to the ground.

  “Oh, my! You’re right, of course,” Darian said, looking appropriately flustered. He made to step down, bumped into the podium, tripped, and knocked the spray bottle of holy cleaning solution out of the man’s hand.

  “Watch out, now!” the Brother cried out. He made a clumsy attempt at catching the bottle but it bounced off the ground and popped open, spilling the precious water onto the pavement.

  “Oh dear!” Darian exclaimed.

  He rushed forward, keeping his body between the monk and the raised starstep.

  “Brother, I am so sorry. Forgive me, please.”

  He pulled a tissue from the recesses of his robe and crouched as if to soak up the spilled holy water.

  “No! Stop! Please, Brother,” the other monk shouted, refusing Darian’s tissue. “This is holy water! You can’t just daub it up with any old rag,” he exclaimed and stepped around to the far side of the puddle.

  Darian maintained his position and insistence on helping.

  “Stop!” the caretaker repeated, holding up both hands to deflect any further unwanted assistance. “Really,” the exasperated caretaker said. “It’s alright. I have this under control. A quiet café, you say? Try Tranquility. It’s three blocks that way, turn left, and you’ll find it half a block down. I’ll take care of this.” He forced a polite smile.

  From his vantage point a few meters to the side, Stralasi noticed a cluster of dark, wasp-waisted bugs on Darian’s lower back, out of sight of the caretaker-monk.