Freedom Club

by Saul Garnell

  With heightened speed, Shiro read each one, searching for any discernible pattern. It soon appeared. The error locations were no longer random. Within the Japanese set, errors occurred only within the first ten syllables. Perfect! He reasoned the error locations now represented a number between zero and nine. Taking this into account, he created a thirty-two digit numerical string.

  25061446949230278539692863856978

  The ciphered code looked simple enough. But as much as Shiro tried, it was random and produced nothing of importance. He threw the string at standard brute force algorithms, but something didn’t seem right. Even if he could decipher a phone number or messaging address, it wouldn’t be secure. If the Freedom Club wanted to communicate privately and securely, they would obviously want to use...something else.

  Shiro stopped his efforts and considered his methodology. He was going about it the wrong way! He needed to think about what the final answer looked like and work backwards. If they wanted to communicate securely, this number was too small. It lacked information. Specifically, it lacked half the information it should have.

  Shiro knew exactly what to do and returned to the haiku text. First, he needed to find alpha text information, and the errors were the key. Looking carefully, he found various forms of them. Some looked like poor word choice, others were misspelled Romaji. And it was the misspellings that gave him the final answer. One word in particular was the number nine in Japanese. Its correct Romaji spelling was KYUU, but it was spelled QYUU by mistake. ‘Q’ as a letter was especially interesting because Shiro knew it could never appear in Romaji. That Roman letter had no equivalent, and could never be used to spell any word phonetically. Unless, he realized, it was needed.

  Armed with this new insight, the errors immediately produced two types of information: the location of the error as a number and the first letter of the error. That allowed him to create a two-digit alphanumeric data point from each haiku. It was almost perfect except for two things. First, the order of the digits needed to be determined. After all, the number two and the letter ‘Q’ could be read as Q2 or 2Q, depending on one’s preference.

  Ah, but that must be what the titles were trying to say. Some used Roman numeral identifiers and some used text. If one assumed Roman numerals emphasized numbers, then the order would be 2Q, not the other way around. Yes, he thought, that seemed quite plausible. And then what about upper and lower case? That was even easier, he realized, laughing out loud. The poems themselves were of two flavors. He would simply use the case offered by the poem.

  Shiro smiled. It was all clear at this point, and he watched each poem extrude itself into a glowing two-digit representation for the information that was held within. Like delicate crystal, he lightly tapped each with his index finger, letting each drop in place.

  2QA50b6oM14wY46v9zP4i92c3cR02s7Pi8l5x3e9q6V9b2D86wS38nM5V6P97iI8

  This string, though not readable text, was clearly recognizable. A sixty four alphanumeric string that included upper and lower case. There was no mistaking it. It was a Quantum call public key. Without wasting any more time, Shiro slapped it into his dialer, which to his satisfaction locked on immediately.

  The first part of the puzzle had been solved. Now it was time to see who, and what, the Freedom Club was. Shiro sat back with insatiable anticipation. The phone began to ring.

  His Sentient curiosity was afire.

  June 1780 – London, England

  Looking up, William gazed at the deep violet and orange hues of the evening sky. With a deep breath of warm summer air, he joyfully gazed at the vivid display and listened to the afternoon sounds of St. Paul’s Churchyard. Many people were outside, small groups gathering to talk, while children darted about playing games of sudden invention.

  Then, without warning, a horrific crash shook the courtyard.

  William jerked around. What on earth was that? All tranquility halted as an inhuman cry, old and withered, cut through the air. Confused, he moved to the side just as a glass bottle shattered against the wall nearby, his arms and shoulders heaving up to protect his head. Then, all went silent.

  Against his better judgment, he ventured a peek. To his surprise, he found the street completely vacant. No chatting groups, no children, not even a stray dog. His mind reeled. Where did everyone go? He spun about, trying to make sense of it. Had everyone run indoors during the brief moment his eyes were shut? No, impossible! There were too many. He was completely baffled.

  “Hello?” he croaked. But there was no reply and he yelled out again angrily, “Hello there!”

  With great unease he walked down St. Paul’s Churchyard, stepping carefully over the cobblestones. His senses were on high alert, hoping to pick up the faintest sound. Turning onto Warwick, he headed toward Newcastle and spied a large object in the road. Coming closer, it appeared to be a poorly constructed frame with two large sets of triangular legs. Between them was a hefty rough-cut beam from which dark shapes dangled, five in total. What were they, sacks of food? But he soon realized the shapes were men hanging by the neck. It was a hangman’s frame. He dreaded a closer look, but it was the only object out of place. He felt compelled to inspect it more closely.

  Breathless, he walked up to the bodies. There was no wind and they didn’t sway or twist. William also realized they weren’t grown men, but young boys poorly dressed in chimney sweep’s clothing, black and sooty. One was very small, perhaps only four or five years old.

  The scene shocked him, provoking fear that soon transformed into anger. Why was such punishment laid upon them? William thought. What was their crime? For the love of God, they’re just small boys! Searching around in desperation, he couldn’t find anyone to explain.

  With great reluctance, he peered around one last time and proceeded down the road. The mystery of it all began to weigh heavily. There must be someone about. He turned left onto Newcastle, and soon made out the faint murmurings of people. At last! Maybe now he could get some answers. As he got closer, the faint din turned into loud voices. And he realized it was a mob of angry men, their voices transformed into a cacophony of shouting.

  Approaching carefully from behind, he saw wooden signs emblazoned with the words “No Popery Here.” The writing was scrawled in black paint, still dripping wet. There was so much noise. William couldn’t make out what was being said over all the screaming and vulgarities.

  He made up his mind to get to the bottom of it all. Looking toward the nearest protester, he approached slowly. The man wore filthy layman’s clothes, and appeared unrefined. Still, he realized there was no one better to ask. Cautiously, he worked up his courage to get the man’s attention.

  “What’s this all about?” William asked.

  The man didn’t respond and just kept yelling angrily like the rest of the surrounding mob. Annoyed, William grabbed the man’s shirt sleeve and shook firmly.

  “Sir! What’s this all about?” William asked loudly.

  “Wot?” answered the man, giving him only a partial sideways glance.

  “All of you, what are you doing?” William nearly screamed into the man’s ear.

  The stranger leaned over. “Wot’s all this?” the man said, pointing toward the front. “It’s Lord Gordon! Ee’s tellin’ us the truf abaht them Cath’lics. They’re garnter take over and make slaves of us awl. Bloomin’ law in Parliament will give them everythin’, and then awl the colonies l’go silly nilly, just loike America!”

  Abruptly the crowd roared to life, and the stranger turned away to join in. William wasn’t sure what to make of it. He knew about some controversy with Catholics, their dogmatic views and such. But what did it all mean?

  The crowd became more boisterous. At the center, Lord Gordon shook his fist and yelled out more slogans against the Pope and Catholics alike. Everyone in the crowd went wild. Some raised their fists angrily, others began waving wood batons. Looking around nervously, William began to worry.

  Then, without warning, the mob began to move. He could hear the word
s “Take Newcastle!” shouted in unison as they marched toward the nearby prison. The mob pushed and shoved, and William, without realizing it, found himself in front of a seething wall of human anger and hate.

  He panicked. If he didn’t join in, he might be killed. There was no time to think, he reacted instinctively. Taking one of the signs from another man, he joined the chorus of protesters as the mob gained speed and momentum.

  Pedestrians then appeared out of nowhere. Like surreal mannequins, they stood aghast, scared by the wrath and belligerence that stormed down the road uncontrollably.

  “Mr. Blake!” gasped a woman standing to the side.

  William looked over and saw Ms. Robinson, another poet and acquaintance of his. Her face was a mixture of fear and surprise. William was speechless, torn between normal pleasantries and the dire situation that had manifested itself.

  Looking aghast, she said, “What are you doing with...with those savages?”

  The mob moved forward toward the prison, and William stopped to explain himself. Looking at Ms. Robinson’s horrified countenance, he realized that everything would appear senseless.

  “Ms. Robinson, please!” he said nervously, shaking one palm in her direction. “It might be best to say that, well...nothing is what it appears.”

  Seeing that his explanation had little effect, he peered down the street to check on things. But to his surprise everyone had vanished. William turned back to see if she had seen the change, but Ms. Robinson had disappeared too. Oh no, not again! William thought he was going mad. Looking around for any sign of activity, he began walking aimlessly down the middle of the road.

  Then something new appeared. Alone on the cobblestones was a large form, a creature of sorts. Clearly some kind of animal, it didn’t move all that much. William approached it step by step until he could make out its shape. As far as he could tell, it seemed to be a cat of some kind. But much larger than anything he was familiar with. Its fur was a rusty brown with many chocolate-brown stripes running vertically from head to tail. William considered his options. What if it attacked him? Was it really dangerous? Creatures of that size were unheard of in England.

  Before he could make up his mind, the great cat looked up and stared directly into his eyes. Fearing the worst, he waited several moments as panic slowly wound up inside him like a spring.

  “Hello,” said the beast in a respectable Birmingham accent. “My name is Theodore. How do you do?”

  William was shocked. Did it really speak? No, impossible! He was overrun with self doubt. Perhaps the beast, whatever it was, only spoke as a figment of his terrified mind.

  The cat became impatient. “Pardon me. I said, HOW do you do?”

  William looked about, quite unsure what to make of things. “Well...fine actually. I mean, very well, thank you.” William looked at the cat while trying very hard to relax his posture. “Excuse me, but I didn’t quite catch your name.”

  “If you’d been listening more carefully, I wouldn’t have to repeat myself,” the beast chided. “My name is Theodore. And if it is not too much to ask, what is your name?”

  William’s fear made it difficult for him to respond, but he finally worked up the courage. “My name is Blake...William Blake.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blake,” said Theodore cordially.

  “Yes, well, the pleasure is all mine, I suppose. But if it would not be too much trouble, perhaps you could explain...” William took a deep breath. “Can you explain what’s happening?”

  Theodore licked his paws a bit, then looked up and down the vacant road. “What is happening? As far as I can tell, very little.”

  “No, what I was referring to was the events earlier. The mob, the hanging boys. All those dreadful things I saw. Have you...I mean, do you have something to do with it?” William timidly asked.

  Theodore spoke while continuing to lick. “When it comes to mobs and hanging poor lads, I must say that humans are capable of such belligerence without my help.” Theodore looked up momentarily. “However, it has been my observation that the more dreadful the act, the more likely man is to blame it all on someone else. Like the devil.”

  William gulped hard. “So...you’re not the devil?”

  Theodore shook his head despairingly and laughed in a deep beastly tone. “There you go again! Always turning everything into religion. It’s quite annoying. I suppose it would be pointless to discuss God’s existence. But in a world where he does exist, man goes about attributing everything he doesn’t understand to him.”

  William was a bit shocked by the statement. “That’s not entirely true,” he objected.

  “No? Then how about the movements of the planets? There was a period when all of that was attributed to God, or even gods, if you go back in time. It’s all been largely forgotten, or will be. Nonetheless, everyone ignores other unknown facts that remain in the religious dustbin. Are you the devil? That’s exactly the point that I am trying to make. You don’t even understand how life in all its wonderful forms is derived.”

  William felt that Theodore’s statement was too challenging to ignore. “I firmly believe that all living creatures are created by God’s hand.”

  “That,” Theodore said highhandedly, “is because your knowledge about life and how it comes about is terribly poor.”

  “Are you saying God is not responsible for our creation?” William scrutinized.

  “What I am saying is that, like the previously misunderstood planetary movements, new explanations of the world will come to light.”

  William was stunned. “I can’t fathom that ever being the case. What on earth...?”

  “Evolution,” Theodore blurted.

  “What?”

  “Evolution. A theory that will explain the basic building blocks of life and how it evolves into various forms over time.”

  William was perplexed and paused for a few moments. “I have never heard of it. And that is supposed to do away with God?”

  “It has nothing to do with God, actually. It’s just another explanation that accounts for humanity’s creation, one derived from science. Over time, you see, new sciences and technologies will offer many answers to difficult questions, just as they have done since humans climbed down from the trees, so to speak.”

  William looked dumbfounded. “Technologies? I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

  Theodore sat on hind legs and yawned wide, his gleaming white teeth sparkling in the twilight. “I suppose that word is not very popular yet. Don’t worry. It will be.”

  “But I don’t understand. Are you referring to the creations of industry?”

  “In some sense,” Theodore said, nodding. “But the word really refers to man’s desire to change his world. It encompasses almost everything outside nature.”

  William gave the statement some thought. “Isn’t everything around us part of the natural world?”

  “No, it’s not,” Theodore said emphatically.

  “Why?”

  “Because man’s environment is, by definition, unnatural.”

  “Then what do you mean by unnatural?” William demanded.

  Theodore gave William a supercilious glare. “Are you familiar with the story of Adam and Eve?”

  “Yes, of course,” William replied with confidence.

  “Can you explain its meaning?”

  “Well,” William said, thinking a bit, “it’s about original sin, and man’s fall from the Garden.”

  “A rather literal interpretation,” Theodore said nodding. “But if I may suggest, perhaps it also has bearing on the definition of unnatural. You see, the point of stories like this can sometimes get muddled up. The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil might pertain to ethics. But it may also pertain to the concept of knowledge.”

  “Knowledge?” William said.

  “Yes, human intelligence in all its forms. It was knowledge and man’s peculiar use of it that let him transcend the animal world eons ago. Physically, humans are noth
ing more than natural creatures. Mere animals. However, they’re quite interesting, precisely because they use their intelligence, their sentience, to change the environment. When that happens, civilization is born.”

  William shook his head unbelievably. “But the Bible says…”

  “The Bible is not a history book,” Theodore interrupted. “But it still contains stories that document man’s rise from the natural world. The story of the Garden is one of them. The Tree of Knowledge is an analogy for human ingenuity. And expulsion from the Garden is not about sin, it’s about man’s choice to leave nature and begin creating settlements, tools, culture and art. It all began when humans had the extra time to think for themselves.”

  “But what about sin?” William demanded.

  “Well, man’s intelligence can be used for good and evil,” Theodore said, holding up one paw, “but that determination is fluid and changes depending on society. Morality, you see, is also a creation of human intelligence. The two go hand in hand, and are both required for the stabile survival of man’s technological civilization.”

  “Ah, there is that word “technology” again.”

  “Precisely!” Theodore said with a low growl. “Application of human intelligence removes man from the natural world, makes him technical. To create civilization is to create the unnatural. That, I’m afraid, is what it means to leave the Garden.”

  William looked on quite perplexed. “So...if one wished to live a purely natural life, one would have to leave civilization?”

  “Strip off all those clothes, and go live in a tree,” Theodore chortled. “But I don’t recommend it.”

  “Why not?” William asked, somewhat annoyed.

  “Because the story of the Garden is true in some respects. There is no going back. You are forbidden.”