Count to Infinity

by John C. Wright

  “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”

  There was no motion, no sign. Silence answered him.

  “I might as well ask, since it seems to be expected: my wife! Where the hell is she? My hour! Is it yet come? I have waited a long damned time. The longest.”

  The clocktower moved. Very slowly two metal gauntlets emerged into view, draped in long clattering sleeves, and gestured to left and right.

  3. The Witnesses

  The ground-glow very slowly lifted into the air like a fog rising to become a cloud, and grew brighter. The ground surface grew dark. The glow gathered around other tower-tall and looming figures, and inched upward like glowworms crawling. The heads and upward parts of unmoving shapes vast as skyscrapers became visible in the distance, haloed and mantled in light.

  One was the figure of a crowned and sceptered prince, robed in furs, and in the gloom, a shining gleam like the Northern Lights was visible behind his crown, a nimbus. The figure stood with one foot on the silver road.

  Menelaus turned and looked the other direction down the road. Opposite this prince was a rearing warhorse whose chest and upward parts bore the head of a warrior in helm and iron corslet, and whose mighty arms bore shield and lance.

  These two were equal in stature with the clocktower. Other figures also stood upon the featureless plain, becoming visible as light passed upward.

  Beyond the Centaur, half his height, stood a nine-headed serpent of appalling aspect, whole coils knotted and reknotted on itself.

  Farther beyond the Centaur stood an image of a man of broad chest and arms of knotted muscle, naked save for the lion pelt across his wide shoulders, the lion skull on his helm, unarmed save for an oak club. Another figure, this one bearing chisel and maul, stood tall in the darkness, and beyond him, the blunt shape of a whale.

  Montrose turned again. The lifting light was brighter now. Behind the crowned figure was a peacock, a vision of splendor, whose proud tail held myriad constellations, and in one claw a jar that poured forth a river of stars.

  Other figures loomed. Behind the northern prince stood a figure in the Phrygian cap leaning on a cattle goad. Beyond this herdsman loomed a goat-horned and goat-headed apparition flourishing a drawn bow. Farther still gleamed the goggle eyes and idiot mouth of some monstrous fish, its lower part unseen in the gloom.

  There was no rustle of noise, nor did the carven eyes blink, nor did the chests rise and fall, but an oppressive pressure came into the air, invisible and impalpable, the tension of thunder before the thunderclap. Montrose was beyond fear at this point, but his heart trembled in him nonetheless, as he realized all these vast forms were inhabited, and the kingly shapes and monstrous forms glared and stared down at him, leviathan and herdsman, hero and demihuman, beast and bird.

  Montrose said, “I will need a Second to help me into my armor. Bring out Blackie as soon as you are ready. And I want my wife, damn you!”

  4. The Bride

  Far down the silver road, which may have been a frozen river, he saw a female shape. She was standing upright, her legs still, and an unseen force was sliding her smoothly forward at great speed.

  It was Rania. She wore a simple robe of white that fell to her naked feet, flapping like a gull’s wing in the great wind of her speed. A long-tailed girdle cinched at her waist, the sashes fluttered behind her like a comet tail. With one hand, she clutched a mantle of sky blue about her slender shoulders against the yanking of the winds. Her other hand was on her head, holding in place a wreath of roses like a crown. Wild and glorious behind her, shining, flew cascades of hair, bright as the sun, which, once her swift movement ceased, fell in wanton ringlets and clinging strands past her hips. He had never seen her wear her hair this long before and wondered how many years or eons unrecalled had once more parted them.

  Then they were in each other’s arms. She hesitated, just a moment, awed, but not frightened, by the grim and vast figures watching them with sightless and inhuman eyes. But Montrose leaned over her and pulled her fragrant head to his. They drank each other’s kisses. The crown of roses she so carefully had kept on her head now fell as she was draped back across his arm, and landed on the dark metal surface with a soft, green sound.

  It was she who drew her head back first, putting her small white fingers on his lips, a shepherdess touching the ring in the nose of a great and proud bull, gentle under no other hand. “Have you deduced what these signs mean?” she asked.

  “It is the time for the final duel,” said Montrose. “I recognize Corona Borealis, the Crown of the North, and Boötes and Capricorn, Pavo-Indus and Pisces. They represent the Great Voids, and stand for the Amaltheans. Against them are the superclusters of Centaurus, Hydra and Hercules, Coma and Shapley. All of them have long walls or great attractors. They stand for the Malthusians. The clock is the Horologium Supercluster. Once upon a time, someone told us he was neutral, not part of either group.”

  She said, “These are not emblems, not emissaries. These are the Seraphim themselves, all who dwell in our quarter of the cosmos. Timespace has been folded like a handkerchief, like an origami flower, and so the forms that reach across multiple millions of lightyears of space are here.”

  He looked up at the vast forms in the gloom. The hooded figure of the clocktower perhaps was smiling a little more thinly and ironically, but, aside from that, none of the staring giants had blinked nor moved.

  She said, “The cosmos is in its last hour. The two factions by solemn treaty agreed to quell all dispute, and build and restore the Eschaton Directional Engine, and made such initial warps and folds of spacetime as could be used either by a positive or negative fold, giving neither the advantage. So it has been for eleven billion years.”

  Montrose released her from his embrace, but held her hand. The two stood looking upward. Montrose shouted up, “And you want us to settle things for you? Is that it?”

  Rania said, “Actually, it is only that one.” She nodded toward the hooded clocktower. “Horologium was and is neutral. He is unwilling to submit to the Ulterior, because the conditions there are beyond imagination, beyond description, and yet the evil involved in creating the Interior Continua the Malthusians crave repels him. Horologium believes life must be finite to hold meaning and that a graceful self-dissolution and peaceful suicide is the only correct and moral response to the paradox of trusting the unknown or doing the unthinkable.”

  “How could someone so smart think something so stupid?”

  “Even the highest and greatest are bound by the logic of their philosophy. His is the suicide of the stoical pagans; Horologium neither steps into the Concubine Vector, which demeans and devalues life, nor does he step into infinity, which is life beyond life. He is neither above life nor below it. And that is death.”

  Montrose stomped one boot against the silver surface underfoot. “I take it this is the final Dyson sphere. This is the prison wall of the condemned. It goes all the way around the cosmos, or about nine-tenths of it? Nine-tenths of whatever is left, I mean. If the Eschaton Engine spins one way, it folds up into a ball and squeezes everything into an extropy fountain. And the other way…?”

  “All the darkness overhead would turn to light.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “Because Horologium is the one Seraph not allied with either, that is why the servants of Pavo-Indus and Hydra, to punish Ximen, flung him here as a beam of information. But Horologium foreknew that the three of us would disturb the quietude and silence by which he rules his Cherubim and clusters, Thrones and galaxies, Archons and Authorities and constellations.

  “So a black hole galaxy was interposed, and the beam deflected and slowed in the infinitely steep gravity well, flinging us into the remotest future where Horologium foresaw we would have a role to play, if a sad and final one.

  “Your wish of exile for Ximen was fulfilled, and the Seraphim left you alone, as you wished, when you followed me following him. And as for the death he wished on you both, the coming d
uel will serve.”

  Montrose said, “And the mercy you asked for?”

  She looked so calm that her face was like those of the Seraphim who stood and looked on. “It is mine to bestow, unless you bestow it first.”

  “My question was, why did you come? Why did you cling to him and not to me? We could have lived our long and happy lives, and had kids and grandkids and given birth to whole new galaxies and clusters, but you gave that all up to jump after Blackie. Why?”

  “You gave me leave to speak to him, and save him, which I shall.” She smiled shyly. “Do I not owe the man who gave me life the life I can give?”

  She stooped and put the flower wreath on her head once more. Montrose saw the roses had thorns, but he did not see how, or even if, Rania avoided being scratched.

  She said, “And I knew you would follow me, and that you will never lose me again. Nor will I be lost! The noumenal force, faster-than-light, outside of time, that links us, it is stronger than ever. Nothing inside the cosmos can sever it, nor outside.” Her smile was louder than music and stronger than life to him. His heart was peaceful without knowing why, even though his thoughts were troubled.

  He looked up at the motionless, superhuman faces. “They did not bother to ask us to settle things for them.”

  She said, “They live in a dying universe. Each gram, each erg, each drop of life they conserve like misers. They do not speak save when it is needed. Horologium knew that you and Ximen would be willing to fight.”

  Down the silver path came another figure, this one dressed all in red. It was an older man, in a cardinal’s robes, worn over the black-and-silver shipsuit of the Hermetic Expedition.

  Montrose looked on, doubting his sanity. The invisible force carried the man in red forward, and he halted. It was Pastor Reyes.

  4

  Count to Infinity

  1. The Father

  Montrose glanced in exasperation at the hooded clocktower. Father Reyes, seeing that look, said, “Be at peace, my son. I am not something invented by Horologium for your benefit.”

  Montrose noticed that Father Reyes trembled beneath the gaze of the hooded Seraphim of Horologium, and Reyes crossed himself.

  “Nor was I slain when Mentor Ull replaced me, merely forced into slumber,” Reyes continued, “Later, much later, the Senior Del Azarchel recorded me as brain information into a lobe of his own brain, so that he could bring me out from time to time, once each ten thousand years or so, to make his confessions or take the Eucharist. And I was not lawfully allowed to deny it to him, even if I at times doubted the depth of his contriteness. I was in a corner of his skull when he was aboard the Solitude with you. And I hoped I helped him overlook the composition of the central drive sphere, and the presence of hydrogen ions in normal water, and other matters that may have helped you. For I had some facility of using his techniques to influence his mind, or so I prayed.”

  Montrose said, “I ain’t sure what to make of that. Just out of curiosity, where did you come from? Just now?” For Reyes had approached along the other limb of the road than that which had brought Rania.

  Rania said, “There is an empty copy of the Hermetic in orbit here. I woke up in my old cabin. Twinklewink was there, and Bumpy Bear, and all my old toys. A picture I thought I had lost, a prayer card of the Virgin. It took me a while to prep and launch the lander.”

  Reyes said, “I came just now from the place where the Senior no doubt woke. A ruined town with open sewers running down the street, the walls marred with graffiti. Leafless trees and unburied corpses.”

  Montrose squinted at him. “That’s Barcelona, during the Jihad. I bet you saw the famous gutter from which Blackie drank stinking water with a boot. I wonder why he did not get something nicer, like his mother’s house, back when he was young and rich. I woke up in NORAD, my first tomb. And what about you, Padre?”

  “A Roman execution ground.” Reyes shivered and hugged himself, his face downcast. “I looked up, and the sky was black, and I knew this was the end of all worlds, the end of all time. So strange! We were promised that the Bride would endure until this very hour. Am I the only representative? Me? God is cruel, or this is mercy beyond all imagining!”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Padre? What bride?”

  “The Church. Me. This is terrible! Terrible!”

  “Padre, pay attention.” Montrose snapped his fingers in front of the little man’s nose. “Blackie. Are you with him or against him? I thought you broke with him. What happened?”

  “Think of my time inside his mind as penance, the smallest part of the purgatory I deserve for the ill I did. I knew his plans, the mutiny, the murders, the cities burned away on Earth, his conquests and genocides after, and the hideous program of forced evolution Jupiter, at his urging, enacted. He confessed to me. He knelt and told me all the darkness in his mind and soul. And I could have … I should have … well. Once, when I was young, I had a vision. Did I ever tell you?”

  Montrose nodded. “When I was insane. Those memories eventually all came back. You prayed over me. Like an exorcism. On the ship, in the dark, when we were starving, on the long way back to Earth. That was when you told me. You said you saw the Virgin Mary. She was taller than the stars, you said, and she turned and looked at you. You said it was real, but we were on half rations, if I recall.”

  Reyes nodded. “She spoke to me. Do whatever he tells you, she said. She wanted me to do as the Savior commanded. And I did not. I talked Del Azarchel into committing the mutiny. I forgave the crime before it was committed, which is a desecration. I slew the Captain. Do you see? Del Azarchel would not have done it, had it not been for me.”

  “I remember you are the one that married me and Rania. She was like, what, fourteen?”

  “Our Lady was of such an age when married to Joseph. You said you understood that you must wait to consummate the marriage the proper seven years. I knew you were insane, psychotic, then, but you agreed. And we were all going to die anyway, in the dark, years away from Earth. Was I the only one who thought we were not going to make it back? But you recall now.”

  “We were wed in secret, in an empty tank on the storage carousel aft. Why did you do that?”

  “To prevent incest. The Senior says otherwise, but he is her father. Rania is so precious to me, such a wise child, such a good student. I could not see her demeaned. He never touched her. Will you make peace with him? For her sake. For Rania’s sake? You do not want to be the only failure of her legendary talent for bringing peace. Forget your hatreds.”

  “I don’t get you. Blackie buggered you worse than he did me.” Montrose shook his head. “It is too late, Padre.”

  Reyes said, “You must forgive Ximen! You don’t know how he suffered when he thought Rania was dead. He has endured hell. Death is no punishment for him: he is fearless! You must not do this thing.”

  Montrose said, “Is that why you came? To talk me out of it?”

  Reyes said, “I was brought out of Del Azarchel into a physical body so that I could help him don his armor. He commanded me to act as his Second, but a man of the cloth I may not. Yes, I came here to halt this duel. It is an evil, that will lead only to misery. Shoot me in his stead.”

  Montrose said, “Why did you break with him? What made you turn your back on Blackie?”

  Reyes looked down at his hands. He had a string of beads that hung from his belt, and now his fingers, as if by themselves, were toying and twisting at the beads, fretfully, restlessly.

  “Ah, that!” he muttered. “That. You see, I made the Hormagaunts.”

  Reyes was silent a moment, his teeth clenched, his eyes downcast. He heaved a sigh and continued. “I planned out their history for them, step by step. They were the perfect evolutionary machines, weren’t they? If evolution led from ape-man through fallen man to unfallen man, they would rush along the pathway, the ever-upward pathway, faster than any other race. And I looked on my works.”

  Reyes shuddered and crossed himsel
f, but he did not raise his eyes.

  “Just one day, it was not for any reason, as I walked in the garden in the cool of the evening, beneath the trees of the world-forest that ran from north pole to south, I came upon two who fought, red in tooth and nail.

  “The more fit to survive was the victor, of course, a great strapping brute with blue fur and teeth like daggers. I stood, smiling with pride at my handiwork, at my child, just watching him eat the other man, who was a fishy, scaly green swamp-dweller. I looked on with pride as the victor ate up the brains of the vanquished, who was twitching and crying for mercy even then, calling on me.

  “The victor, soaked and dripping, was kneeling down to draw the bloody gray matter into his maw. I remember the smell.

  “And then … I saw. He was me. I mean, his posture. It looked as when I knelt at the bar in the house of God, took the host. Took the body of Christ. The flesh of God: body, blood, soul, and divinity.

  “I had never seen anything so blasphemous, so hateful to God and to everything good and bright and beautiful.

  “On that day, I saw myself with open eyes. That creature from whom I with my science had wiped away the image and likeness of God: the devil was my son. Made in my image.

  “I wished I had the strength, like the pagans of old, to smite out my own eyes, or plunge a dagger into my heart. Suicide throws the soul directly into Hell, and this would be better than to look on the mild face of Christ in Heaven, and to see in His eyes what I was. Yes, hellfire burning me forever would be better.”

  Reyes wiped his eyes, and then put out his hand and gripped Montrose by the wrist. “I beg you to turn away from your evil as I turned from mine. Hell hungers for you as well. Captain Grimaldi’s blood is on my hands. Mine! I spurred the mutiny on, told the Senior to do it. I called him a hero. I said he would save the lives of all the expedition members. I said history would remember him. I put that idea in Del Azarchel’s head.”

  Montrose said, “And the bombed cities? The breeding program? What about the fact that he killed the whole Milky Way Galaxy without warning? Some things just cannot be forgiven.”