by Paul Anlee
I guess that explains why there are no bug carcasses lying around—he thought. There’s nothing left of them to litter the floor.
The laser defense system hadn’t struck right away. If he sent another wasp, how close could it get to the node before a laser zapped it? Was the defense system adaptive? Would it respond sooner next time? One real wasp finding its way into this room per day would be highly unlikely. Two appearing on the same day would be so improbable, it was sure to be noticed.
But he couldn’t have the tiny Spyders crawl the whole fifteen meters from the vent to the comm device. That was about fifteen thousand times their body length, the equivalent of asking a human to walk thirty klicks and then climb a three-kilometer high sheer vertical wall at the end.
If he were to send a transport wasp to within a few meters and have the Spyders parachute to the floor on a silk thread, how many tries would he get before triggering another alarm?
Could I get away with dropping them right over the node? They could crawl down from there, no problem. And if I let the wasps fly into the room using a Gaussian distribution, it’ll look like a hive wandered into the ventilation system by mistake. That’ll provide a plausible reason for more than one wasp in the room on the same day.
He had eleven wasps and Spyders left. He modeled how a natural distribution and movement might look; he’d only have one chance to get it right.
At the last second, he decided to hold one insect back to record the operation and serve as a fallback plan. Should the swarm-pattern idea not work out, he’d be ready with one last, less than ideal option that would be guaranteed to put a Spyder in position, but also guaranteed to alert Alum to a God-level intrusion.
Very, very much less than ideal. He hoped it didn’t come to that.
Darian released ten wasps into the room in a carefully timed pattern. They infiltrated slowly, flying in all directions. Most explored to the right and left along the wall, some climbed up to the ceiling, and two spread out across the floor. The invasion looked completely natural, like a small nest had been disturbed and the inhabitants had spread out, seeking safety or enemies.
When the first of the wasps got within three meters of the silicene cube, a bolt of green lanced out and vaporized it.
Damn!—Darian thought. Just as I’d feared, the defense system has become more sensitive.
A second wasp circled lazily within five meters. He instructed its Spyder to parachute to the floor on a thread. It would take at least an hour for it to wander across the open tiles to the QUEECH device but it could end up being the only chance. Darian watched it descend gracefully to the floor and noted its trajectory before turning his attention to the others.
As he’d feared, the other nine wasps and Spyders approaching the node were being vaporized outside a wider and wider defense perimeter. All of them but the solitary walker.
Darian watched his single soldier inch across the tiled expanse, hoping its insignificant size would protect it. After an hour of painstakingly slow progress, the Spyder made it within a few dozen centimeters of the target.
It had almost reached the base of the device when a green flash put an end to that hope.
In the Proctor’s office, Darian exhaled noisily. He stood up from the chair he’d been glued to for the past sixty minutes, and stretched. Stralasi stopped his incessant pacing.
“Success?” he asked, eyebrows raised high in hope of a positive reply.
Darian shook his head.
“The opposite,” he muttered.
Stralasi’s shoulders slumped.
“I have one Spyder left,” Darian said. “One final chance to get inside.”
Stralasi grunted. “If you couldn’t get to the device with the other eleven, what good will this one do?”
“Oh, I can get it there,” Darian answered. “Guaranteed.”
Stralasi frowned. “Okay, so why didn’t you just do that, first?”
“There’s no way to do it secretly,” Darian replied. “Alum will know I’m here.”
“Oh! Well, then, don’t do that!” Stralasi said.
Darian continued, “He’ll activate His defenses, call in the Angels, throw up the shift-blocking field.”
Stralasi blanched.
“I see,” he said.
“Yeah, you’ll be trapped.”
Stralasi pursed his lips and exhaled loudly. “Again.”
Darian gave him a lopsided grin.
“But not all of you,” he added brightly.
“My Familiar is in Heaven. With Alum.”
“Darak will protect you there,” Darian said. “And I’ll protect you here.”
“Until the end of the universe?” Stralasi scoffed.
Darian nodded solemnly. “For as long as we can.”
The Good Brother had nothing to say.
Darian gave him a moment to get used to the idea before pressing.
“It’s our only chance.”
“I see no other option,” said the Good Brother. “You have to do it” He held his hands, palms up, in front of him as if about to make a point. He let them drop to his side. “It’s just…hard.”
“I know,” Darian said. “The eternal plight of humanity, being at the mercy of the Gods.”
His eyes caught Stralasi’s. The Brother’s were filled with despair, whereas his twinkled with humor and determination.
“Yes, so it would seem,” Stralasi agreed.
Darian shifted the last Spyder from its perch atop the back of the transport wasp in the return-air duct to the top of the QUEECH comm device.
“Here we go,” he announced.
As the tiny Spyder made its way through a gap in the metal housing and toward the heart of the device, alarms started sounding throughout the Alumitum.
Darian reached out all over the Alumitum Administration and its neighborhood, shifting people and things as random decoys. Lastly, he shifted one of the guarding Angels into the office and released the Proctor from his consciousness loop.
“...and so, you really must be more careful,” the Proctor continued, mid-sermon.
On hearing the alarms, he snapped his mouth shut and whirled away from the window. He froze in place as he beheld the imposing figure of the Angel standing inside his office door.
The Angel’s drawn sword crackled with barely-restrained energy along the length of the blade.
Darian felt the shift-blocking fields snap into place around Vesta. They wouldn’t hold him, but he couldn’t leave without breaking his promise to the monk.
The Proctor’s face contorted with fear and confusion.
“Wha...What’s happening?” he stammered.
14
Mirly stepped daintily between the sparse ferns of the old-growth forest. Plants sprang up from the damp floor wherever Alum’s light shone through the thick canopy to the ground below. Enormous coniferous trees rose up, branchless for the first ten meters or more before their generous limbs spread out and their highest tips brushed the bottoms of wispy clouds to feed on Alum’s Glory.
Earlier, when she’d been at the fringe of the First Forest, Mirly had been able to make out the slight curvature of the ceiling that was under a kilometer away. But here this close to the center of Heaven, the thin clouds made it hard to judge how low the sky was.
This is the last layer—she thought. Or the first, I guess, counting from the center, outward. The ceiling above was the floor of Heaven’s Core, where Alum resided and possibly where she’d find a doorway to the “greater universe” outside.
From her position near the edge of Heaven, Mirly had been able to shift this close to the Core because she’d once visited the lush jungle of the First Forest during a hummingbird phase. That was before she’d extended roots and spent a few years as an orchid, growing between the always moist branches of a sheltering forsythia.
A peaceful, beautiful time—she recalled. Then again, all of her time in Heaven had been peaceful and beautiful. Right up until she’d made that horrible mandala.
Since then, she’d shifted and trudged through much of the only universe she’d ever known, seeking a way to redeem herself for being the source of the disappointment she’d seen in Alum’s eyes.
The visit to the outer edge of Heaven—where the fires of Creation pulled the firmament of Heaven from the great nothing—had proven fruitless. Having found no way past the flames, she’d turned back toward the life-giving Core.
For weeks now, she’d pushed ever inward from the rainforest of her youth, trying to track the gentle curvature of the sky, walking endlessly with barely any rest, ever closer to the center of the universe.
Life guided her. The closer Mirly came to the center, the larger and more magnificent life grew. Older and wiser beings migrated nearer to the center to be closer to Alum in their final millennia. The closer they got to the Core, the bigger they grew. In the veg state, they put down roots for centuries at a time. In their final anima state, they turned into great, lumbering beasts that sang hauntingly beautiful odes to their Creator.
Now, the gigantic trees of the First Forest told her she was nearing her journey’s end. The woods were silent, save for whispering leaves, creaking trunks, and branches rocked by the gentle breeze.
There were seldom any animals here. Those in their vibrant anima phases preferred the faster life of the less majestic areas. They left the ancient trees to their slow, sage thoughts.
One of the trees she passed was near to shaking off its last sleepy ponderings and changing into the anima state for its final journey to the Core, where it would join Alum in eternal bliss.
Its leaves and branches were already fully re-absorbed, and its trunk had shortened and become swollen. The body of the beast was forming as its massive head slumbered. The base of the trunk was dividing into four stocky legs, though they remained deeply rooted in the ground.
I could wait for it to finish its transition and follow it to the Core—Mirly thought. In their ultimate anima phase, all Alum’s people had an intuitive knowledge of how to reach the Center of Heaven. But such an enormous transition could take months or more, and she found it hard to imagine having the patience to sit there and watch the entire time.
She took note of the area, paying particular attention to any differentiating features in the woodland. It was hard; the trees looked the same in every direction. The pond she’d passed a few days earlier was easily the most distinctive place she could remember. Calling its image to mind would allow her to return here if she made no progress by walking.
Satisfied, she set off in search of any discernible route that might have been left by an earlier mammoth on their final journey to join Alum.
She hoped her own path had been spiraling closer to the center, however slowly.
Legend said there was only a single Gateway to the Center of Heaven, though there were infinite approaches. She suspected everyone on their final journey wound their own way to the Gateway from wherever they happened to transition into their ultimate anima form. The transitions took place rarely. It would be a great stroke of fortune to happen upon anything she could recognize as the movements of one of the behemoths.
Deep in thought about her travels, Mirly stumbled into a shallow depression hidden beneath the plants and composting leaves on the forest floor. Her front-right leg dropped a little lower than expected, upset her balance, and caused her full weight to come down hard onto the errant hoof.
Ow! That was clumsy—she chastised herself and rubbed her leg with one hand.
Mirly looked back to see what she’d tripped on. She cleared away some leaves and a few dead branches. There in the dried mud was a huge footprint about a meter long and deep enough to have made her lose her footing.
It must have walked through here after a rainfall.
Wait! What must have walked?—she asked herself. Clearly, this was an anima person on their final journey.
A path!
She craned her neck left and right, following the length-wise axis of the footprint. The spacing of the trees was wide in every direction.
Is that a broken branch?
Her eyes sought confirmation in the distance.
Yes, there! And again, over there!
She could make it out now, a trail of bent and occasionally broken low-hanging branches, and subtle shadows cast in compressed detritus on the ground.
Hints of other footprints?
She set off to follow them.
Mirly walked at a brisk pace until impatience drove her into a trot and, soon after, into a full-out gallop. The path seemed to go on forever and as she grew tired she slowed to a patient walk. A few hours later, she grew bored and distracted.
She’d been trudging on in a straight line for a quite a few minutes before she realized she’d lost the trail. The endless forest of towering trunks, light fog, constant mist, and lack of light finding its way from Alum’s Glory above to the forest floor all conspired to make it nearly impossible to determine if she were moving in the right direction.
Exasperated, she backtracked until she again found signs that the elephantine person had passed by.
Hours passed. Whole days went by. Her alertness diminished and she felt the pull of the rich earth beneath her feet more than once, as her internal energy stores decreased dangerously.
If I plant roots here to recharge, it would be ages before I could transition to the anima state again—she thought. So little light reaches the forest floor that it would take forever to replenish my stores. I just can’t wait that long; Alum needs my help, now!
She pushed on, determined not to waste her last, best hope.
Finally, the light ahead grew stronger and the forest thinned.
Have I come to the end?—she wondered. Or have I retraced my way back to the beginning? She couldn’t imagine why anyone would have walked out of the First Forest on their journey to the Core.
Then again, what do I know? Hope—even my last, best one—has not guided me especially well so far.
Click. Click.
In her exhausted, trance-like state, she didn’t notice stepping out from under the final tree and onto a marble terrace until the soft click, click of her hooves reached her fading consciousness and sparked her attention.
Click. Click.
Fifteen meters away, stood a wide garden gate. It didn’t look like much, the sort of ornamental iron gate one might use to set off one part of a clearing from another.
Surely, this can’t be “the” gate. The entrance to the Core of Heaven should be more beautiful than any other gate—she thought.
I suppose that it’s here at all makes it special. Metal gates aren’t all that common in Heaven. Stones with fairly pure iron were hard to find, and metal forging was an unusual hobby. Still, this particular one was a little…underwhelming. She’d seen one or two gates at least as fancy as this one in her lifetime.
Her efforts to reconcile reality bumping up against her expectations this way made her laugh out loud.
Oh, Mirly!—she chided herself. What need did the Living God have of decoration, when the entire universe was His to make as intricate and beautiful as He desired? What would be the point of trying to inspire more awe in His people, when they already admire Him, love Him, and worship Him with every fiber of their being?
Silly me. That must be why Alum’s always so casual and relaxed when He visits—she realized. All of Heaven rejoices in Him and praises His glory. All of Heaven is His home. He doesn’t value any one part of it more than any other.
She wondered if this setting looked any different to a person on their final journey, on their way to becoming one with their Creator. She’d always imagined a soul-warming, brilliant light spilling out from the open gate as Alum welcomed one of His children home.
Home! A chance to speak privately with her Lord!
A chance to seek a way to help Him in the “greater universe” outside!
She stepped forward tentatively and put one hand on the gate. It felt cool to the touch but not uncomfortably so.
She pushed it forward a crack and saw that the marble tiles carried right through to the other side.
No soul-warming, brilliant light.
Mirly opened the gate enough to squeeze through, entered, and closed it gently behind her. She closed her eyes and faced inward again, barely daring to examine the Core.
“Ah! You’ve made it!”
Her eyes flew open at Alum’s voice.
God stood at the far end of a large clearing—she didn’t have the words for such a place. It had barren floor and walls, and a ceiling visible only a few meters above. A dull sphere, slightly smaller in diameter than her Lord was tall, floated behind Him.
A second being with the same upright bipedal aspect as Alum shimmered uncertainly in a haze between Alum and the sphere.
Another God?—Mirly wondered. How could that be?
While Heaven boasted an amazing variety of life in a wealth of forms, there were none, absolutely none, in the image of their Lord. Only Alum stood on two legs, with hands hanging at His side.
Mirly felt her knees go weak, and she started to tremble.
Alum rushed forward. He took the quivering doe-centaur’s hand and steadied her. She gave Him a weak smile of gratitude, and He led her back to where the other God stood with the hovering globe.
“Mirly, My dear,” Alum began. “I’d like to introduce you to some of My friends from the universe outside of Heaven.”
He indicated the other bipedal form with one hand.
“This is Darak Legsu, an old friend and comrade,” He said through a broad smile. “You’ll have to pardon his rather insubstantial appearance. A small matter of mutual distrust, I’m afraid.” He waved His hand dismissively. “Temporary, I’m sure.”
He gestured toward the dull-grey sphere.