The Deplosion Saga

by Paul Anlee

  “But, as I mentioned earlier, in the aggregation of all these particles into larger-scale lumps of matter, things that we can hold in our hands, those many small-scale oddities average out and matter ‘behaves’ itself.

  “All kinds of behavior might be possible for individual members of a species but, if that species’ aggregate behavior deviates too far from the limits tolerated by nature, the species cannot survive.

  “Other examples of natural moral law might go something like, ‘Thou shall not contaminate your environment to uninhabitable levels,’ or ‘Thou shall not overly limit diversity.’ The first of these is rather obvious, but the second one is very interesting.

  “Nature needs genetic diversity in a species because the environment is unpredictable. Levels of moisture, available food sources, changing light levels, and so on, mean that no species is ever completely safe from their environment because environments are not stable.

  “The way that species adapt to change, in an evolutionary sense, is to encode variability right into their DNA. Individual members of any species are slightly different from other members. As an environment changes, some members will be better able to adapt to the change than others. In biology, we say these traits are selected but, really, we mean that some of the variations are more suitable than others. So nature says species must be capable of adapting or they run the risk of becoming extinct.

  “How does this apply to us as individuals? It turns out that nature does not care too much about individual members of any species except as they may contribute to the survival of the species as a whole. However, as individuals of an intelligent species, we can choose to synchronize our individual behaviors with behaviors that are important to the species as a whole. We can attend to the needs of our young; we can be responsible shepherds of our environment; we can develop diverse skills and talents; and we can appreciate diversity in others, even if we don’t like their behavior very much.

  “Does any of this require an overarching God to threaten us with punishment if we stray? No, not at all. Nature will deal our species the ultimate punishment, non-existence, if we are immoral—that is, if we behave contrary to the types of behavior that select for survival of an intelligent species.

  “Children require the guidance of an adult to help them select and practice behaviors that fit with survival over the long term. We learn to share, to cooperate, and to care about the well-being of our fellow humans. Much of infant behavior is directed and guided by their ‘omnipotent’ parents. But there comes a time when we develop the ability to think rationally, to reason on our own about right and wrong. We no longer need the threat of punishment to determine what kinds of behaviors are good for us and what kinds are bad.

  “If as a society—as a species—we can learn to become aware of the behaviors that are good for our species over the long term, we can begin to take steps to select good behaviors from bad ones without needing the threat of eternal punishment. We no longer need the idea of a God or gods to choose good behaviors.

  “I believe that it is time for humanity to grow up, to claim its adulthood, and to begin taking conscious responsibility for its future development.”

  LaMontagne leaned forward, itching to launch a rebuttal. To his dismay, his opportunity to reply was drowned out by thunderous applause. Much of the crowd rose to its feet and enthusiastic hoots rose from both theaters. Darian took it all in, surprised by the response.

  One spectator, despite remaining seated, stood out; it was the same man who had been fuming through the entire talk. His face was contorted with fury; his chest heaved in ragged and uneven breaths.

  Throughout the talk, the man had been holding his hands clenched tightly at his sides. His slightly overweight frame looked like it had once been muscular and well-toned; a certain hardness underlay the soft exterior. Years of military training and discipline—Darian guessed.

  Unable to restrain himself any longer, the man’s right hand slid slowly and deliberately across his body and disappeared under the vest. When it reappeared, it held a large pistol.

  18

  The first shot went into the ceiling. Someone yelped, and the shooter drew a broad arc through the crowd. “Everyone, sit down and shut up! I don’t want to hear a word out of anybody. Not one word.”

  Darian transmitted an urgent notice from his lattice to the local police broadnet.

  The man fixed his sight on Darian, and made his way into the stairway leading toward the podium. “Darian Leigh, you have blasphemed against the Lord God and His only son, Yeshua! You have set the false idol of science before us. You have attempted to turn our gaze away from His loving face and toward your own.”

  As he made his way down the stairs, the shooter’s hand bobbed and swayed a little with each step. Darian contemplated dashing for the door. He’s far enough away. I’d be hard to hit with a handgun. He realized that running would likely put the entire auditorium at risk. I have to draw his fire.

  Training his eye firmly on the man’s trigger finger, the young professor subtly echoed the sway, side to side in rhythm with the assailant’s steps, minutely amplifying the motion each time. He hoped to lure the man into increasing the sway, making it harder for him to maintain an aim on Darian’s chest.

  If I can get him to fire on an outward sway from at least twelve or more meters away, I can reverse my own movement and get up to a seventy percent chance of dodging the bullet. His calculations had to incorporate a lot of assumptions about the man’s training, response time, and how many shots he could fire before someone stopped him. All this computing power, and it comes down to hunches and guess work.

  Darian fought to remain calm.

  Internally, he raced through his lattice archives for teachings of Yeshua’s True Guard Church. If I can get this guy angry enough to fire off a sloppy shot before he gets any closer, I might have a chance. I have to get all his attention on me. Maybe someone in the crowd can stop him before he gets off a second shot. Or a third.

  “You, sir, are the blasphemer!” Darian shouted. The man stopped in his tracks and stared at the scientist.

  Playing up his indignation, Darian grabbed the lapel microphone from his collar and threw it to the ground. The speakers squealed as it bounced off the tile floor. He kept his eyes locked on the man’s trigger finger and broadcasted his next words directly from his lattice into the PA system, hoping the unaided amplification might further rattle the man.

  “You have entered a House of Knowledge with a closed mind, arrogantly sure of your fairy tales and your false god.”

  It didn't take a lattice to see the man's surprise return to rage and disgust. Darian slowed his side-to-side rocking, and prepared to twist away the instant the trigger was pulled.

  The man’s lips stretched into a smile as if recognizing a familiar face. He continued his descent toward the podium. “Ah, Satan speaks through you, I see,” he bellowed, “but Yeshua has shown us the way. ‘I am the light and the glory,’ He says. ‘There is no path to heaven but to follow me.’ It will be a great service to the Lord, when I rid you of the demon that haunts you, Darian Leigh, when I free your soul from the Prince of Lies.”

  The gunman’s spare hand produced a silver cross from the breast pocket of his vest. “I cast thee out, Satan,” he cried. “In the name of Yeshua, son of God, I command thee to depart from this man. Lift the veil of darkness from his eyes so that he may see the true light of our Divine Lord and find his soul in peace.”

  Darian was stunned. He’d imagined a great number of possible responses to his talk today, but being the subject of an impromptu exorcism by a religious fanatic did not occur to him. He momentarily forgot his plan to avoid being shot.

  “You are delusional,” Darian said, just loud enough for the gunman to hear. “Do you believe so deeply that only you know the truth, and you know it so confidently and righteously that you would kill a simple scientist for the mere crime of speaking?”

  “The poison of your words is more d
estructive than a million guns!” screamed the gun-bearer. “Do not attempt to deceive me, Satan. For I hold Yeshua firmly in my heart. Your words hold no weight with me. You may fool millions with your evil lies but be warned. There are legions who see through your deceptions. Our Lord has permitted your presence so He may weed out those who are too weak, losers who are too easily swayed by your dark promises to enter into His Kingdom. Your day of reckoning is coming, you servant of Darkness!”

  As the man stepped off the final stair, Darian’s lattice screamed at him: MOVE NOW! He saw the bullet leave the gun barrel, or maybe it was just the projection from the motion-modeling software in his lattice. In any case, he responded. Everything slowed as he twisted to one side, away from the projected point of impact. The last thing he saw before registering intense pain was Greg tackling the assailant from behind, and Kathy lunging forward to join Greg in an effort to bring down the shooter.

  The bullet slammed into Darian’s left side, spinning him around, and sending him crashing to the floor.

  Galvanized by Greg's and Kathy’s heroics, a handful of attendees leaped forward. The rest took advantage of the distraction and fled in the opposite direction. Four university security officers shouted and shoved their way down through the panicked crowd.

  The ruckus grew distant as Darian's mainly biologically based consciousness faded to black, dragging his lattice along with it.

  19

  Larry sat in the eighth row, one seat in from the center aisle. He rested his chin on his hands and stared dismally at the empty stage. The shooter was in Police custody. Ambulance attendants had strapped the wounded Darian to a stretcher and whisked him away, with Kathy and Greg glued to his side. Larry had tried to make his way over to them through the panicked crowd but it was impossible. They didn't even bother to look for me.

  He shouldn't have been surprised. Things had been tense between him and his lab mates since last month. It started with that big blowout they’d had over whether or not to expose themselves to Darian’s engineered virus. The following morning, they’d all shown up for work a little late, and something had changed between them. A coolness had settled over them.

  Adding to the irreconcilable moral and philosophical differences, they’d said things that could not be unsaid. They were only human, after all, and hurt feelings, a sense of betrayal, and burgeoning resentment was all it took to undermine the friendship they once valued.

  They maintained an awkward but professional working relationship, and they worked as hard as ever, but the light banter and easy comfort they’d once enjoyed with one another was gone.

  The past few weeks had been especially trying for all of them, with Larry constantly monitoring the other two scientists for subtle changes in their abilities or personalities.

  “Don’t worry; I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

  The deep voice snapped Larry out of his reverie. A man in his mid-sixties, escorted down the auditorium stairs by three Secret Service types, was heading his way. They wore characteristic black suits, navy blue ties, and comm gear in their ears. Despite the hall being nearly empty, their eyes scanned the room continuously, presumably assessing the potential threat of hidden assassins.

  The man who had spoken seemed at peace, unconcerned about possible danger. His face reflected nothing more than kind concern for the worried scientist.

  “Reverend LaMontagne,” Larry recalled from Darian’s introduction to the audience. “Thank you. I hope so; it looked pretty serious.”

  “You are Dr. Rusalov, no?

  Surprised at being recognized, Larry nodded.

  “Why didn’t you accompany your mentor and friends to the hospital?”

  Larry frowned. “I couldn't get to them in time. Anyway, I’d just be in the way there. There’s nothing I can do to help.”

  “True,” said the Reverend. “And it doesn’t seem like Dr. Leigh is the kind to need moral support. Nevertheless, your colleagues seemed to feel that they should go with the ambulance.” The Reverend allowed several seconds for that to sink in. “Do I sense a little discord in the Leigh research group?” He smiled sympathetically, like a kindly father or grandfather might have done.

  Larry regarded the man, trying to decide whether he should say anything. If he confessed his doubts about Darian’s methods, it might open his friends and supervisor to unwelcome scrutiny, perhaps get the lab shut down, maybe even result in legal action. This man was from outside the group, outside the university. Heck, since secession, he was from outside the country.

  But the Reverend’s approach struck a chord. Larry desperately needed to talk with somebody. He was being squeezed out of the gang of lattice-imbued geniuses, and he could use a sympathetic ear. Reverend Alan LaMontagne was probably as sympathetic an ear as Larry was likely to find. If you can’t trust a man of God, who can you trust? Talking to the Reverend couldn’t do the group any harm, and the man might even offer some sage advice.

  “Things have been difficult these last few weeks, I guess,” admitted Larry. “The physics we’re working with has always been excruciatingly difficult to understand but lately we’ve also been dealing with a few, I don’t know, ethical issues. I’m just having a hard time sorting it all out, is all.”

  “Do you mind if I sit down?” Reverend LaMontagne gestured to the seat beside Larry.

  Larry didn’t object, and the Reverend gratefully took the empty place. “As a spiritual advisor, I’d like to think I might have some insight into moral issues but,” he chuckled, “I don’t normally expect to find many such issues in a Physics department.” He sighed, “Dr. Leigh does seem to have a propensity for pushing the boundaries, though, and not just academically.” He patted Larry’s arm consolingly. “Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

  “It’s hard to say. He always has an answer, and it always seems so reasonable, so well thought out, and so well supported by evidence.”

  “And yet?” LaMontagne encouraged, with a gentle tilt of his head.

  “And yet, I’m not convinced he’s actually right. Something just seems wrong, deeply wrong, about the direction we’re heading.”

  “Something wrong with the math?” The Reverend asked.

  Larry, struggling for words, missed the subtle attempt at humor entirely. “I wouldn’t know. Without a dendy lattice like Darian’s, the math is way beyond me. But that’s not really it. I mean, he’s just so smug in saying that a Creator couldn’t possibly exist. It seems to me like God would have to be so incomprehensible that such math would be as far above Darian, as his math is above me.”

  “Yes, I should think so. The arrogance of some scientists is truly amazing to regard.”

  “Do you think he might actually be…evil?” Larry struggled with the idea.

  “Darian? Hmm. I’m afraid even I can’t tell you that. Normally, I would think he’s simply misguided as to what science can and cannot prove. But Darian Leigh seems to enjoy rubbing our noses in his superior perspective in a most annoying way. ”

  “That’s for sure.” Larry’s bitterness added years to his face. “But if he can figure out the basis for natural laws then couldn’t he, potentially, learn to manipulate those laws? He'd have God-like powers. Wouldn't challenging God’s dominion over creation be evil by definition?”

  “Do you really think he might be able to do that?”

  “Well, as I said, it’s beyond my ability to figure that out. But he thinks he’ll be able to, and soon.”

  “I see.” LaMontagne rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s assume that he’s right, that his research does lead to a new understanding of what makes the universe work, and that he’s able to modify the physical laws of nature, the laws given by God, in some manner. Does that mean there is no original Creator? No, it does not. In fact, it would rather seem to support the idea of an Intelligent Designer whose Word spoke the natural laws into existence in order to create our universe as it is.”

  “Well, there’s always the multiverse theory.”<
br />
  “The idea that all possible universes exist? Don’t look so surprised, Larry. I try to keep up with the arguments that disfavor the existence of Our Lord, as well. Know thy enemy, and all that. But even Darian doesn’t believe that any of those other universes are real. And the multiverse wouldn’t prove the Creator doesn’t exist, any more than a single universe proves that He does exist.”

  “Why not?”

  “The multiverse would just provide more ways and more possibilities for God to demonstrate His infinite love and wisdom. Nothing about the multiverse would answer why we are all here, why something rather than nothing exists, any more than a single universe does. No, I don’t believe that we’ll ever find an answer to why everything exists until we acknowledge the purpose of it all is simply to bring glory to its Creator.”

  Larry relaxed. “I agree. I believe, like Newton and Einstein, that there’s no purpose in trying to understand it all except to catch a glimpse into the mind of God. Knowledge for the purpose of raising man above God does not feel right to me.”

  The Reverend smiled and stood up, “Well, then. See? That wasn’t so hard to figure out, was it?”

  Larry hung his head. “That isn't all. There’s more.”

  The Reverend sat back down. “I wondered if there might be.” He waited patiently as Larry grappled with his conscience.

  “You know Darian’s story, don’t you?”

  “Doesn’t everyone? A fascinating tale of hubris, risky experimentation, and playing God.”

  “I mean, his mother’s story.”

  “So did I.”

  “Darian's mom was once quoted as saying, 'I don't play God; it's rather hard work.'”

  LaMontagne harrumphed his disapproval. “She would say that. Nevertheless.”

  “Did you know that Darian’s strain of intelligence-enhancing dendy was never approved for use by the FDA?”