He looked at her—such a pretty face… he really didn’t see any harm. He wanted her to feel comfortable in the house, not as though she were somehow responsible for the friction between Paige and Jonathan. Hayden held up his pinky. “Pinky swear you won’t turn me in?”
She looked at his finger and smiled, wrapping her tiny finger around his thick one and shaking.
“Jonathan has had this, eh … thing with the girl next door, ever since she moved in. Anyway, they were supposed to be on their first big date last night, but then he came home with you,” Hayden said. “Which probably got Paige a little suspicious, because her and Leah have been like … do people still say ‘BFFs’?”
He hadn’t been watching Rylee as he struggled through the explanation, but when he looked back, her eyes were flickering back and forth like she was processing the information on double time. He started to feel anxious that he’d said something he shouldn’t have … so his mouth charged ahead of him, trying to fix it.
“What I mean is Paige probably thought Jonathan had been misleading Leah. You know, when he showed up in the middle of the night with a girl none of us knew and let her sleep over.” Hayden laughed nervously. “But Jonathan wouldn’t do that.”
Rylee hesitated a moment. Her mouth opened, but she seemed to rethink whatever she was going to say because no words came out. She finally hummed and spoke. “So, what’s this Leah like?”
“Jonathan, are you familiar with any of Ayn Rand’s books?” Heyer asked.
He shook his head. “Do I need to be? I haven’t exactly had a lot of leisure reading time lately.”
Heyer smiled. “One of Ms. Rand’s more useful insights was that contradictions do not exist—that when one believes they are facing a contradiction, they must review their premises, and they will find that one is false.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“I once told you that your memories were the only thing accomplishing any time travel,” Heyer said. “At the time, this was an effort to keep things as simple as possible. Nonetheless, it was a simplified explanation. What it lacked in detail has led you to perceive a contradiction, a paradox, where no such logical inconsistency exists.”
“So…” Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sounds like you gave me the kindergarten explanation. Leaving me to bang my head against a wall.”
“I’ve told you in the past that satisfying your curiosity is not always the wisest use of our time,” Heyer replied.
Jonathan let his annoyance be known, closing his eyes and releasing a long, frustrated breath before giving the alien a sardonic smile. “I’ll try not to waste time pretending to be shocked. Do you mind giving me the reality?” he asked. “Perhaps the grade school explanation?”
Heyer smiled faintly, his eyes turning apologetic before he nodded. “Your resentment is not unjustified, Jonathan. In answer to your question, ‘reality’ is, perhaps, the best place to start.”
The alien paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing.
“Mankind is gathering knowledge faster than ever. As a result, your world seems less mysterious; the gaps in knowledge that your species previously filled with mysticism shrink every day. A person born into this time would find it easy to assume his experiences were nothing more than the result of chemical reactions, physics, and various probabilities. That the material world is simply what he sees.”
Jonathan cocked an eyebrow at Heyer, then looked back to Mr. Clean on the monitor. “Heyer, are you about to give the ‘things exist outside our understanding’ speech?”
The alien frowned. “Hardly.”
Jonathan could see the alien retracing his words, smiling to himself as he as realized what Jonathan was getting at.
“I’m pointing out that your frame of reference may make your understanding difficult. So, let me ask you a question, as a practical example,” Heyer said. “What is the physical makeup of an idea, of memory, of knowledge, of information?”
Jonathan blinked, silent, his thoughts having gone in too many directions at once due to the vagueness of the question. Assuming that was the point, he chose to simply play along and give the sort of answer he thought the alien expected. “There are too many answers to that, each as good as the next,” Jonathan said. “Do you mean the biology of the brain, data on a computer’s hard drive, spoken language, the written word?”
Heyer nodded. “I mean all of those things, as well as thousands of others you did not mention. Still, you have landed on the point. Information is highly versatile; it can cross any boundary, as long as you have a signal on one end, a format that can transverse the barrier, and a receiver on the other.”
“Okay,” Jonathan said, drawing the word out.
“Jonathan, at the end of a confrontation with the Ferox, when you close the gates, you perceive that your memories occurred in a time and place that will never be—that events took place in your reality, and yet were somehow erased, leaving no effect on the world everyone else is experiencing. Yet, a Ferox is dead, his body returned to its point of origin, and you returned to yours.
“To you, it appears that you’ve gone backwards, returned from a version of history that has ceased to exist. This would seem to void the very history downloaded into your mind. You see a contradiction, because if this were true, then the battle which resulted in the Ferox’s death never happened. Therefore, your opponent was not slain, the portal stone he carried never retrieved and destroyed. The very memory of your experiences becomes a paradox. You cannot see a logical explanation that they would exist.”
Jonathan nodded. He might have had more trouble following the alien’s explanation, but Hayden had already gotten him a little further along than this. “At first,” he admitted. “Then I began to suspect I was experiencing memories from an alternate reality.”
Heyer’s expression softened, becoming a bit surprised.
“Don’t get too impressed,” Jonathan said. “I didn’t get there on my own. I asked one of my roommates to come up with an explanation for the plot of the movie Groundhog Day. Alternate dimensions with an element of time travel was his best guess. He couldn’t figure out the last piece, though. Why had that alternate reality ceased to be? Why didn’t it keep playing out somewhere in the space-time-contin … whatever?”
Heyer, seeming unfamiliar with the reference, turned to Mr. Clean. “Groundhog Day?”
The bald cartoon shrugged, but his smile didn’t falter. “The circumstances of the film’s plot are similar enough to his experience to provide an adequate thought experiment.”
“Well then, moving on,” Heyer said, clearing his throat. “You have already taken the first step—seeing that one of your premises was false. The piece you are missing rests in a technological discovery made by the Borealis in the years prior to their extinction: a temporary reality that can be manifested between two dimensions. One man referred to it as the Barzakh space, though it’s not a term I prefer to use.”
“Barzakh?” Jonathan asked. “Should that word mean something to me?”
“Likely not,” Mr. Clean said. “As with many things, it is a translation of a translation.”
“Mr. Clean is correct,” Heyer said. “Much like the term Borealis was never used by my people to describe themselves, Barzakh was a word chosen by a man’s subconscious translation of a Feroxian idea.”
“I’m not exactly following,” Jonathan admitted.
“It is much the same as when a Ferox identifies himself to you by name,” Heyer said. “Your device translates by searching your vocabulary for the best approximation. However, your understanding of a word may be far from the reality that the translation is meant to capture, because no word in your language was ever coined to address the exact meaning. This is further complicated by layers of metaphor through which any intelligent being forms a comprehension. It is the great weakness of the spoken word’s ability to communicate meaning. In this case, Barzakh came
from a man named Ibrahim.
“He was a Muslim, a follower of Islam. In his first confrontation, the Ferox referred to the place where they fought, and his translation of the concept came to him as Barzakh. The word’s inadequacy to grasp the truth withstanding, it became the term I used when speaking to him. Only later did I form an understanding of why that term resonated with the man’s beliefs.”
Heyer grew thoughtful for a moment.
“Perhaps, it is arguable that, had the device been activated within a Roman Catholic, the word would have been ‘limbo’ or ‘purgatory.’ Islamic beliefs don’t have a direct equivalent. Ibrahim’s beliefs told him that at his death, he would reach a barrier between Heaven and Hell called the Barzakh, a stage of death where he would be interrogated by two blue and black angels, Al-Nakir and Al-Munkar. I later came to understand that Ibrahim had, unconsciously, associated me with one of the angels from his religious beliefs.”
Heyer pointed to his iridescent blue eyes and wardrobe, and then continued:
“Ibrahim saw the Ferox as an incarnation of the angel Munkar. He had drawn the conclusion that his confrontation with the Ferox was the true reality of the ‘interrogation’ he had read about in religious texts. This, of course, is only an example of how one’s beliefs can alter understanding. A fight with the Ferox is nothing close, from my perspective, to the interrogation described in the Islamic texts. Nonetheless, Ibrahim believed it to be so, and that his victory or failure was predicated on the strength of his faith. I cannot say whether his survival was extended by his perceptions.”
Jonathan thought it over, but didn’t have much to say, so he simply shrugged. “Whatever gets you through the day, I guess.”
Heyer nodded, but seemed to be lingering in his memory. “Perhaps believing that he fought to validate his soul gave him courage he wouldn’t otherwise have had.”
Jonathan studied the alien. He found himself pondering how many stories Heyer could have told him about the men he had outlived. How many lives had he drafted into this war? What role had those men seen Heyer playing in their story? After all, Jonathan wasn’t sure he knew what role the alien played in his own. He pulled away from those thoughts when a memory of Bleeds the Stone came to the forefront.
“The Arena,” he whispered.
His words drew both Heyer and Mr. Clean’s attention, and the alien’s expression betrayed recognition. However, Heyer didn’t speak his mind, only watched Jonathan, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I never gave it much thought,” Jonathan said. “The Ferox I’ve fought… at times, they referred to Earth as ‘the Arena.’ Perhaps, where this man heard Barzakh, I’ve been hearing ‘Arena’ instead.”
“It is a possibility,” Heyer said. “Your perception of things clouds the translation. Where Ibrahim saw a battle for his soul, you see a contest over life and death. Still, the word ‘Arena’ in particular…” Heyer trailed off. “We will return to that in a moment. For now, let us stay on the topic of temporary dimensions. You see, the phenomenon Ibrahim called the Barzakh does have a name. Ibrahim simply never knew of it, and I saw no need to disillusion him. What he called the Barzakh, we refer to as The Never.”
“The Never.” Jonathan tried out the words, only to frown in confusion a moment later. “I didn’t realize that dimensions could be temporary.”
“They aren’t,” Mr. Clean cut in. “The Never is not a naturally occurring phenomenon. Realities like your own, the Feroxian plane, or the dimension from which the Borealis originated—these are fixed realities. They exist as they always have, playing out based on their governing physics, and will continue to do so.”
“In contrast,” Heyer said, “The Never is a reality brought into being by Borealis technology, the sort my ancestors likely wished they had not discovered.”
Jonathan’s brow furrowed in thought. “What is it that makes The Never different?”
Heyer looked at the floor as he thought over his answer. “Natural dimensions,” he finally said, “possess a certain indicator on all of their physical matter, something the Borealis referred to as a dimensional signature. It can be read, in a manner of speaking, off the matter found in any reality, though it is not, as you might say, an intrinsic quality of matter such as density. Rather, a dimensional signature is more akin to mankind’s use of radioactive decay to carbon date an object’s age. The Borealis developed a system of multiple measurements to assign dimensional signatures to each reality, as the physics of each dimension has its own unique qualities that can be measured.
“If I were to somehow blind Mr. Clean and drop him into any known reality, it would take him awhile to tell me where in said dimension he had been dropped. However, Mr. Clean could immediately tell me what reality we had landed in. He could do this by simply reading the dimensional signature off of the closest matter he found around him at arrival.”
“So a dimensional signature is used like what? A social security number, an address, a barcode on the energies that make up matter?”
“That is an over-simplification,” Heyer replied. “But if it helps to understand, then yes, you have the idea.”
“So what is different about The Never’s signature?”
“The Never has no signature. This is a direct result of its temporary nature. No readout within The Never is ever consistent. The matter from which it is brought into being is never subject to the same rules.”
Jonathan found his fingers tapping against the leather arm of his chair as he considered this. A moment later, he frowned. “What difference does it make? If your dimension is the only one without a signature, doesn’t that just make ‘no signature’ its…” Jonathan paused. “Well, ‘signature’?”
Heyer grinned at him. “It would seem so, at first glance. But, if we kept with the barcode comparison you made earlier, you see the difference rather quickly. Imagine that you are looking at an inventory sheet. It’s easy to account for the things that are listed. How do you account for the things that aren’t? It would be like trying to find a house with no address. Now, it’s one thing if you are standing inside the house, but quite another if you need someone to come get you out. Further complicating the issue, you would be looking for something that doesn’t always exist, something quite perishable. So, now, not only are you trying to locate something that doesn’t have an address, but something that may or may not be there at the time you happen to go looking for it.”
Mr. Clean added, “The same is true of the social security number comparison. It would be the equivalent of not having one, or, in the words of your generation, living off the grid. You may have noticed, when you accompanied Heyer here today, that no special point of origin was required to make the jump. I tracked his whereabouts via a signal sent out by his device and pulled you here when Heyer made physical contact with you. Time and space within The Never cannot be manipulated in the same way.”
Jonathan turned his eyes to the strange hologram that had been turning on the table top as he saw where this was heading. “So you enter through a gateway.”
Heyer nodded. “You do not, but the Ferox do,” he said. “The Never is manifested temporarily between two realities, and requires cooperation between Mr. Clean and his equivalent on the Feroxian plane.”
Heyer stood up from his chair and reached toward the iridescent blue cubes floating above them. As he did so, the projected images moved toward him, until Jonathan found he was looking at Heyer through the translucent shapes between them.
“When Mr. Clean brought this option to my attention, I too struggled to grasp it. It was helpful to think of the natural dimensions as books on a library shelf,” Heyer said.
As the alien spoke, he reached for one of the blue holographic cubes hovering between them. Mr. Clean seemed to anticipate Heyer’s wish to interact with the projections. The line of cubes moved toward Heyer’s outstretched hand. They grew in size as they neared, until they had expanded to encompass the visual space between Jonathan and Heyer. Once they had scaled siz
e, each of the cubes morphed in detail taking on the appearance of a set of encyclopedias arranged inside a shelf.
Heyer tapped the holographic book marked E. “Imagine that this book represents mankind’s reality, the home dimension of Earth,” he said. “For simplification, book E will represent the dimensional signature.”
The encyclopedia reacted to Heyer’s touch, taking on a faint green glow that caused the book to stand out against the rest. Heyer then moved his finger to the next book in the sequence.
“Now imagine that this neighboring encyclopedia represents the Feroxian plane,” he said, repeating the process as he tapped on the book marked F.
Like the other, this image reacted to the alien’s touch, taking on a yellow glow.
“The Ferox, much like most of Earth’s activated combatants, are only told minimal details about the nature of the engagement. Lacking any knowledge of The Never, the Ferox assume themselves trespassers on Earth. A male Ferox is selected from a lottery, and is provided with a dormant portal stone. My brother has led them to believe that most of Earth’s inhabitants are inconsequential, and as such, the Ferox are told to kill indiscriminately upon arrival. They are told, correctly, that this must be done to draw out one of Earth’s defenders—Earth’s abominations. Their challenger. In short, the Ferox believe they are simply jumping from F to E, picking a fight, and returning home with their trophy,” Heyer said.
Mr. Clean interrupted. “You could say the Ferox understanding is analogous to how Earth’s sports teams think of an away game.”
Jonathan, who hadn’t actually been struggling to keep up, politely humored Mr. Clean. “Thanks for the simplification.”
“The truth, as you can see, is hidden from the Ferox,” Heyer said. “Every Ferox male born is named, and added to a registry. Their name remains inactive on this list until they enter a stage of puberty where hormones start taking control of their development, manifesting behavior that sends them seeking confrontation. This is when their name becomes active on the registry, which is used as a lottery of sorts, deciding which males will be allowed to enter the gates. However, the element of chance is less random than the Ferox are told.”
The Never Paradox (Chronicles Of Jonathan Tibbs Book 2) Page 22
