Interlude: Quimea

2081

Alfonse had been in many tense situations in his life. It was, after all, somewhat inevitable given his upbringing and line of work. It never failed to amaze him though, how utterly incapable his body was at sorting true danger, the sort that resulted in broken fingers, perhaps slit throats, from that foggier, fictional danger created by the imagination.

Thankfully, he had a system to take care of both now.

Yet, as he left the-- interview? --- with the strange clock-faced being he couldn’t help but feel a sensation of dread. While it had been years since he had felt the pounding heart and sweaty palms of physical fear, he had never been tempted to interfere with his mind’s keen attunement to danger, and now, despite the sure knowledge of the safety of his true body, his imagination couldn’t help but respond to his complete lack of control, his ignorance of what lay around each new corner.

The steadily dimming light resolved the ambivalent atmosphere toward twilight, and as the path led away from the misted pond and turned to a field of sapling trees, he found himself with a new choice. The path, now a rutted thing of dried dirt and leaves, split just ahead. One choice led deeper into the woods; if he looked carefully he could see a dark crown of forest against the sky in that direction. The other choice continued through the saplings, but beyond he thought he could see rolling hills, spotted with dim lights, perhaps signs of habitation.

Either way he went, it would be too dark to see soon. Ironically, this might make the woods a better bet, since his system was capable of rudimentary echolocation and would work much better surrounded by massive hardwood pillars. Still, that did not dissuade him from turning to the hills. If there were people there, or simulacrums of such, he would have far more options than in the lonely woods.

He took a moment to ponder his choice. After he had taken his seat on the golden throne, he had spent a substantial amount of time telling the construct about himself. If he understood the function of this trial correctly, it was a translation process, a way to adapt who he was in the real world to a vast virtual space that had once been a game. Alfonse had never been particularly fond of the various virtual games common before Guardian had made its disruptive entry onto the world stage, but the value of DayNight and its ilk as hubs for secure communications, particularly the type of communications necessary for a multinational cartel to function, had made them a regular presence in his life. The built-in translation, the relative anonymity and the safety of meeting in the game could not be found any other way, so he had logged many hours as one character or another, always under some version of his cartel name, Alchemist.

When he had finally decided to ask another question of the construct back at the pavilion, it was a simple one.

“Was that information useful to you?”

The black line swept around until it had wiped away the childish mouth, replacing it with sunken gums and blotched wrinkles.

“Yes,” the amalgamation of old and young had replied, its voice quavering now. “Very. You may proceed.”

And that was it. It was still bothering him a bit, the feeling that he had complicated the situation with his tendency to overthink and scheme. It bothered him even more that he had been… handled, in ways he didn’t fully understand. He was just smart enough, or so he hoped anyway, to notice.

This is what it’s like to encounter a superintelligence, he mused. Not a battle of wits, but a complete envelopment.

The sensation still lingered as he contemplated his own manipulations of those less intelligent than he. He couldn’t help but think of the third of Guardian’s rules, the one that suggested sentient rights were contingent on the degree to which the beings in question could model each other’s internal states. Guardian could model his mind in detail a million times over, if its Rules were to be believed.

He couldn’t help but shudder a little, and despise himself for the weakness. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and unnecessary. He knew he should consider Guardian more like an environment than a rival, a threat as pervasive and implacable as the vacuum of space.

That’s just it, he realized. The future of humanity will be determined by those who best understand our new environment, who study and understand the dangers and opportunities.

He followed the winding path into the darkness, just barely able to resolve the surface a few feet in front of him by the subtle differences of reflected sound. Several times he heard the sounds of large creatures rustling the brush, or deep grunting noises from the darkness ahead. Each time he froze, using the time to meditate, for these supposed dangers were not enough to cause fear, or even concern, really. The real enemy in this trial was himself, not some beast hiding in the dark.

The rest of the trial provided some challenge, even some enjoyment. A village, where he solved the mysterious disappearance of the Reeve’s son from a locked room, led him to an ancient underground structure filled with traps and puzzles. He didn’t take it seriously, not until he experienced his first death, slowly crushed in a room that shrank around him as he frantically tried to determine which of the arranged ingredients could be combined to create a potion that would allow him to shrink along with the room. Once again, the trial impressed him with its verisimilitude, and though he could use his system to render the experience less painful, the sound and sensation of his bones breaking and being driven into his internal organs lingered unpleasantly despite his best efforts to keep the memories from turning into long-term trauma.

He was a bit disappointed by the conclusion of the trial, where he was forced to choose between the destruction of the village with which he had become familiar or a substantially larger city he had never traveled to. It was suitably dramatic, of course, involving a team of researchers he had rescued and then organized to fend off the oncoming doom, but once it became clear it was no more than a glorified trolley problem, he lost interest. Saving the greater number at the cost of the few was, in the end, a trivial decision.

And then it was done. He found himself in a new location, on a hill overlooking a quaint river town.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Emily said, almost startling him. “I asked the Archon to bring you to me when you were done. What did you think?”

He brushed away the character sheet vying for his attention. “The sensory data is beyond anything I’ve experienced.”

“And the trial? Was it hard enough?”

Her excitement was… adorable. He hated to let her down. “It was… intriguing. I’m probably not the right person to give that kind of feedback though.”

She waved a hand. “I’m sure it will take a while for it to get calibrated. You’re one of the very first, if not the first. The Archon may have a much grander mind than you or I, but he still doesn’t really understand people that well.”

Or that’s what you are meant to think, he thought.

“Anyway,” she continued, “What are you going to call yourself? You can’t just use Alfonse Cortez.”

“That’s Dr. Alfonse Cortez to you,” he joked.

She punched him in the arm. “Online degrees don’t count. Besides, my dad always said his PhD stood for ‘piled higher and deeper’”

It was the first time she had mentioned her father, but he didn’t want to pry.

“I usually use something related to alchemy,” he said. “On DayNight I was Alquimista.”

She scoffed. “A little on the nose, don’t you think? I’m sure you can be more creative than that.” She snapped her fingers. “I know! Your first name’s Alfonse, so why not make a pun out of it. Let’s see… how about Al Lembic?”

He shook his head. Choosing a name for an online character was not something he had ever spent more than a few seconds on. Still, this was something he might live with for a long time.

“Not crazy about that one. It’s a nice idea but...”

“Alfonse,” she said with a mock serious expression. “You need to live a little.” She blew her hair out of her eyes. “Fine. What about Al Quimista? That’s Dr. Quimista to you, bud,” she said in a low voice.

He couldn’t help but smile. “Closer. Sounds too much like chemist in English. I think Quimea would be perfect. The ‘Al’ part can be our little joke.”

“The mighty and mysterious Dr. Quimea has been born!” Emily exclaimed. “All will hear his name and tremble!”

Chapter 46: Share

Dear ???,

I apologize in advance if I ramble. My name is Sarah, or really, originally, Sarai Senbatu. I entrusted this letter to Delika, a friend of surpassing goodness and loyalty, in the event that things don’t go the way I hope. Or maybe if they do? I don’t know anymore. Oops, rambling already. Anyway, I just wanted there to be a chance that you might benefit from what I’ve learned. Maybe things will be better for you, and this will seem pathetic. Maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better by leaving some record of my existence.

I was never supposed to be here. Inside I mean. I grew up in what used to be called Ethiopia, in a small community of the twice-exiled. That’s not really important though. The year is 2205. Three years ago I inherited a legacy from my great-grandfather, by which I mean the nano-devices currently crawling around in my brain. It’s a long story. If Delika is still around, maybe she’ll tell it to you. Anyway, our rule is to keep to ourselves, tend our gardens, such as they are, and trust in the will of God. What that really means is that we hide from the clans and starve.

I don’t know why Guardian thinks I’m some kind of ‘chosen one’. I never asked for it. I’m the fourth, or so the Insiders tell me. Let me tell you what I do know, or think I do anyway. I’ve been having visions, waking dreams. They are hard to explain. Maybe you are already having them? In them, I feel like I am a bystander, a witness to what I guess you could call a conversation in archetypes. There are gods (little ‘g’), spirits, and great concepts like death and love. The thing is, these are like the words in the conversation.

I’m probably not explaining it well. But I think Guardian is using me as a conduit to reach something. A collective unconscious​? If it were conscious. I think we (by which I mean humans) have got it all wrong somehow, that we’re too small to see or we don’t have the right senses, and we’ve been trying for thousands of years, when we talk about God. But as soon as we talk about God, God is no longer there, and the conversation just becomes another circle of words in our head.

I hope I’m not bothering you with the religious talk. I was raised that way, but I think most people aren’t now. It’s just too hard to keep the Commandments when Guardian is so… there, with its Rules. I haven’t gotten close to many Outsiders, but I’ve talked to enough of them to know that hardly anyone thinks the way my family does any more. (Sorry, more rambling)

Anyway, back to the visions. They’ve been getting stronger, and I think I’m beginning to understand, a little. There’s something I’m supposed to do, but I don’t know if I’m to be Abraham or Isaac, or both somehow (hopefully you can look that up if you don’t get it). Basically, I feel like there’s a choice coming, that somehow, everything is going to come down to one pathetically small pile of brain cells that calls itself Sarah and the problem is, I’m not ready.

Is that why the others vanished? Did they make the right choice or the wrong choice?

So why write this? Maybe you are reading it soon enough to prepare better. I feel like I’m close, as if I could pull it together if I could just hold more in my head. If you are as late in the process as I am, at least know that you have a friend across time who understands as little as you do, but if this came to you earlier… Well, study, I guess? Learn and become wise. Wiser than me, anyway. There are many great teachers among the Insiders. Listen to them.

Watch for the signs and portents Outside too. I thought I was being overly imaginative, or perhaps mentally ill at times, but now I understand. There are miracles in that cruel world still. (I almost didn’t write that previous sentence, because I don’t want you to think me mad. Please don’t think me mad!)

Your Friend Across Time,

Sarah

The torn, yellowed paper was covered front to back in cramped, slanted writing. If she looked just right, she could filter out the translation to perceive the original symbols, Hebrew she was quite certain. She let the paper fall to her side, surprised by the depth of emotion she was feeling, emotions she couldn’t place just yet, though they felt almost like relief.

Holy crap. That poor girl. I wonder if she really was a little mad.

She felt a little bad when she thought it, but it couldn’t be ruled out.

She transferred the paper to her inventory, and the sealed envelope addressed simply to ‘The Next Child’, and wondered if Delika was one of the Matrons. Unfortunately, there was no way to find out at the moment. She, with Anda, Jess, Skria and a Urkulps guide were in instanced travel. Although…

“Jess, were any of the Matrons named Delika?”

Jessila shrugged. “Not that I know.”

The meeting with the Grand Matrons had been a rushed affair, for they had many pressing demands on their time. Two of them had rushed off, or more lumbered off, leaving one to explain the situation. Or less an explanation, and more instructions. They could, if they were so willing, join Anda on his side expedition to the Rotted Land. Or they could join the vast majority of the orc forces in occupying a different portion of the border between the Boiling Plains and the Great Grass Sea.

The letter had been given to her almost as an afterthought. She had waited until they were under way to open it.

“What’s it say?” Anda asked.

She pulled the letter back out and handed it to him. “It makes me sad I’ll never meet her,” she said. My friend across time. Too bad I can’t reply.

It felt strange to receive a letter written specifically for her, or potentially Attaboy, by someone who had been gone for almost thirty years, like nostalgia for a place she had never been. Yet it felt good to have a companion on this specific journey, good that someone understood in a way that none of her… present friends could. Somehow, that feeling overshadowed her concern that soon, she or Attaboy might be seeing visions and encountering signs and portents.

She had to wonder though, how much Sarah’s background influenced her perceptions. She would probably never know for certain, but the last name, and of course the location, led her to think that Sarah might be an Ethiopian Jew. That portion of the world, and the whole Middle East really, had been in terrible shape decades before Guardian complicated things further. Perhaps the biggest surprise was that there was anyone at all still living on the Horn of Africa.

Though they might not be there still, she thought. Thirty years is plenty of time for a small group on the edge of starvation to disappear. Twice-exiled. I wonder if they came back to Ethiopia from Israel.

“Well. That’s certainly something to think about,” said Anda, handing back the letter. “Signs and portents. I don’t suppose you or Attaboy have...”

She shook her head. “No visions that I know of. I’d like to think he would tell me if something like that was happening.”

Anda snorted, but didn’t say anything.

***

The use of instanced travel as a tactical measure was not something Lilijoy had considered before the short journey they had just finished. The orcs had it down to a science though, and their travels brought them right to the edge of the Rotted Lands at the same time as several other small groups, a largely uneventful trip through desert terrain altogether preferable to that of the Boiling Plains. Other than a fight with a band of centauroid Gila monster things and a nerve-wracking episode with a forest of towering cacti that rained spikes, it had almost been pleasant.

Elsewhere, she understood, the entire orc population of the Boiling Plains was on the move, down to the smallest child. She hoped they knew what they were doing, but she had her own concerns.

“I’m still a little foggy on what we’re supposed to do to ‘probably-not-really-undead ghost-zombie things’. Assuming we can even kill them somehow, won’t they just respawn eventually?” she asked Anda.

He plucked another cactus spine from his woven shield before answering. “I’ve been wondering that too. My assumption is that it must be something that only I can do, which isn’t that long a list. Maybe we’re not trying to destroy them, but change them somehow, bring them into alignment with the Inside.” He plucked another spine. “I’m an exiled Maasai, so there could be some common ground, if they can be reasoned with.” He didn’t sound particularly hopeful about the prospect.

“It seems unlikely that all they need is someone who understands their problems in life. Death. Whatever. I bet it’s something to do with the Tao System,” Lilijoy added.

“Yes. I’m afraid that may be the case. It almost seems that we’re being used to clean up the Archon’s messes, doesn’t it, with you and Averdale, and then me and the orcs and this.”

“I’ll warn Attaboy not to get involved with any dwarves.”

Anda chuckled. “I’ve actually wondered if the main reason I’m involved is to bring you along. I don’t have any unique abilities and you have two. Maybe you need to do your mind meld trick.”

“Maybe I should try to teach you?”

He looked up at that. “Do you think it’s possible?”

“I think it would depend on how badly you wanted to learn it.” She already had an idea for how it could work, but it really would depend on them both wanting the same thing.

“I hadn’t considered it before.” He plucked a few more cactus spines. “To be honest, it sounds a little too real, if that makes sense. It’s one thing to use magic for Stealth or fighting, but to join my thoughts to something that’s not me, I’m not ashamed to admit, feels a little frightening.”

“It can be,” she agreed. “I started doing it before I had any idea what I was doing. I was too ignorant to be afraid. Now, though, I’m reluctant to use it without a good reason.”

She couldn’t help but wonder what this might mean for Anda’s potential to advance within Stage two of the Tao System though. The ego destroying soul blender was many times more terrifying than her Two Minds One Self ability.

This might be the best way to find out if he would be in danger, she decided.

“I think you should try to learn it anyway,” she said. “It’s not like I lose myself completely. Usually. Just don’t try to use it with a mind thousands of times bigger than yours, and you’ll be fine.”

He gave her a searching look, then smiled.

“Well, I’m the one with all the talk about being a warrior and using fear as the resistance to train my spirit. I can hardly set such a bad example as to let it dissuade me now.” He set down the shield. “How do you propose we go about this?”

“It starts with a place of common ground, where desires or instincts overlap. Beyond that, it’s different every time. Animals are more fickle, plants more stubborn, sentients… well, as you might imagine, thinking beings are each unique. It helps if they have a very strong desire or point of focus, as long as that desire isn’t refusal to merge in the first place.”

Anda made a sound of understanding. “I think I understand why you said it depends on how badly I want to learn it now. You want to use the ability with me, and use my learning the ability as our common ground?”

She nodded.

“I’m going to have to think about that for a bit,” he said. “We aren’t going in until night falls. So I have a few hours to procrastinate.”

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s not like we can read each other’s minds, really. It’s more like doing something with such a unity of purpose that you just flow together. We would learn a lot about each other’s motivations, if it works at all though, so it’s not exactly private either.”

“I feel bad that I’m hesitating,” Anda said. “The more I think about it...” he slapped his thigh. “Never mind what I said before. Let’s do it. How often does one get an opportunity to learn a life-changing ability?” He held up a hand. “Don’t answer that.”

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