“So, after all that, we are grounded for a week?”

“A week at the least,” I correct Two-Five. “Will probably be more.”

“But, you said they have the recordings of your helmet that prove us innocent. Is this not why we were released?”

I had spent the last several minutes explaining our legal situation. Hey, needed to do something to kill the time while we’re being processed for release. Still, there’s only so much context I can fit into that short amount of time. I now realize I’ve forgotten to mention one tiny detail about human civilization.

“It is, but our case needs to be properly processed before it can be closed, which given the average rate that corporate bureaucracy works at will be a while longer still.”

Namely, our apparent obsession with paperwork and red tape. Well, I guess those things are part of the reason why Two-Five and I get to just walk out after destroying an expensive piece of government equipment, so it’s not all bad.

“What is this… coor-pore-eight boo-wreck-racy?”

“… You seriously don’t have a word for that, either?”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt as envious of an alien culture as I do right at this moment.

“Kekekek, just kidding!” he declares while throwing me a pair of finger guns.

“Oh, you sonuva- Alright, yeah, you got me.”

I’ll give him that one. It’s not easy to get a rise out of me. I am curious about one thing, though.

“Where’d you learn the finger-gun thing?”

“I noticed it when I viewing classical human cinematography. As I understood, this gesture is meant to punctuate a practical joke or used as informal greeting.”

“Like our movies, do you?”

“Oh yes, quite a bit. Literature as well. Your works of fiction are incredibly inventive by orizian standards. As expected of a race that needs to constantly entertain themselves.”

I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or not, but I’m not going dwell on it. It’s not like he said anything untrue, after all. I kept asking Two-Five about his experience with human culture. As far as I can tell, he approaches the subject with a sort of childlike wonder and excitement, though the way he speaks about us makes him seem like a scientist observing a bunch of rats in a maze. I can’t be sure, though. The auto-translator really doesn’t interpret inflection all that well.

My gunner and I leave the detention facility the instant they finally allow us to leave. We’re left standing on a windy walkway surrounded on all sides by massively tall buildings and the constant buzzing and swooshing of flying cars. It’s hard to tell what time of day it is this deep down in the lower city, but my helmet tells me it’s still early afternoon. And since I’ve been, as Two-Five put it, grounded for the foreseeable future, I honestly have no idea what to do with myself.

“Seventeen? May I make a personal inquiry?”

The orizian’s question snapped me out of my stupor. I didn’t even realize it, but I ended up leaning on the railing at the edge of the platform and absentmindedly staring at the sky traffic.

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

I think I have a pretty good idea of what he’s going to ask.

“The woman I saw you speaking to earlier, who is she?”

Yup, as expected.

“You are familiar with the concept of marriage and divorce, yes?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, that feisty woman is Karen Freeman, used to be my wife. We married fairly young, but with her law career taking off and the unpredictable hours of my own line of work, we just ended up drifting apart.”

I don’t mean to sound bitter, but our divorce was only mostly my fault. Karen’s just as guilty of prioritizing her profession over our relationship as I was. Navigating the laws, legislations and regulations one needs to be intimately familiar with in order to become a corporate lawyer makes sailing through breaches seem like child’s play. Both our jobs require one’s utmost attention and focus in order to succeed, but mine just sucked up way more time. If either one of us was going to give up their career for the sake of our marriage, it had to be me. And I didn’t do that.

“It’s kind of funny, really,” I continue. “Karen’s paychecks are so outrageous that she literally doesn’t have the time to spend her money. She could have easily provided our family with a luxurious lifestyle, and all I had to do in return was be there for her when she got home. Hell, I might be able to still make it work if I just quit right now, but I can’t do it. Doesn’t that seem crazy to you, Two-Five?”

“Not at all, Seventeen. I think you’ve merely found your Shulot.”

“My what?”

“Shulot. I guess your language does not have a word for it. It is an idea among my people, a belief. Our faith teaches us that the Omnissiah sets out multiple paths in front of each soul, but only one of which will lead to true happiness and fulfilment. Finding that life out of all those possibilities is what we refer to as a Shulot. Your is to be a navigator, not Karen Freeman’s spouse.”

“Huh. I didn’t think you were that religious, Two-Five.”

“Really? What gave you that idea?”

“Because you’re a scientist. Ah, I guess it may be different where you are, but most of our scientists don’t tend to believe in a higher power.”

“Oh! That’s right!” he suddenly claps his hands together. “Forgive me, I forgot that humanity has yet to definitively prove the existence of your God.”

“… What?”

“Unlike you, we have had hard evidence of the Omnissiah’s existence for a few millennia now. Even has a home address, so to speak.”

“That’s… uh… huh.”

This is a bit unsettling. Not the ‘scientifically proven deity’ bit. Anything’s possible with all those crazy worlds beyond the breaches. What bothers me is that this is the first I’ve ever heard of this. We’re a society that has waged wars over religious beliefs since we’ve been able to hold sticks. Surely it would be a huge fucking deal if actual, tangible proof of a higher power existed beyond the breaches. I mean this Omnissiah guy has a damned house address for fuck’s sake.

Wait, is this why there are so many religious nutjobs hurling themselves into neighboring dimensions on purpose?

Either way, this smells rotten. I mean, it is technically possible that Two-Five could just be pulling my leg again, but he doesn’t seem the type of guy to make shit up about heavy topics like life and faith. My gut tells me it’s far more likely that this is one of those crazy conspiracies you hear about all over the internet. It’s also entirely above my pay grade. I’m just a guy who wants to help others. As Two-Five put it, that’s my Shulot. Not chasing after shadows and hidden agendas.

“So you can just, like, walk up to your god’s house and ask him stuff?”

Still, I can’t help but be curious about this.

“Indeed. Many communicate through messages and letters, but it’s practically mandatory that each orizian visits the Omnissiah in person at least once in their lifetime.”

“What, just like that? How can one being personally pay attention to an entire world’s population?”

I have no idea what the population or birth rate on Oriza is like, but I imagine they have a mind-boggling number of newborns each day, far too many for any one person - divine or otherwise - to keep up with.

“It is… difficult to describe, but essentially, the Omnissiah’s house exists in about a hundred thousand places simultaneously.”

“So this god of yours can hold a hundred thousand conversations at once?”

“The Omnissiah is very good at multitasking.”

“Uh-huh. Right. Wait, does that mean you’ve gone to meet this Omnissiah, too?”

“I have indeed,” he declared. “It was… not as exciting as I initially thought it would be. The Omnissiah doesn’t tell us anything we haven’t figured out for ourselves, but our chat was still quite enlightening. It filled me with hope and optimism for the future, and encouraged me to follow what I believe to be my Shulot without fear of being ostracized. I would not be where I am without the Omnissiah.”

“Well, so long as you’re happy. What’s this guy look like, anyway?”

“The Omnissiah’s form is difficult to describe. Like a never ending stream of glowing shapes and lights that- Actually, it is easier to show you than explain it.”

He reaches for his jeweled bracelet thing and starts poking away at the various colored crystals embedded in it.

“I have a holographic recording of my talk with the Omnissiah,” he explained. “I always carry it with me and play it back whenever I feel lonely, sad or depressed. The audio quality is a bit bad, so your auto-translator might not be able to interpret the conversation, but… Oh no…”

“What? Something wrong?”

I barely got those words before Two-Five’s PDA equivalent released some colorful sparks along with a garbled noise.

“Jurziv blasted kharatakil hijurek cloacas!”

“…”

“I apologize, please forgive my language,” he calms down after a few moments. “It seems the recording became corrupted when my causality field went down.”

“That sucks. Hope that wasn’t your only copy.”

“Oh, no, I have more back home, but this is the only one I brought with me. Still, this is most distressing.”

“Well, tell you what. Since we’re grounded anyway, why don’t I show you how us humans deal with our feeligns of loneliness, depression and sadness?”

“… Does it involve copious amounts of drinking?”

“Yup.”

“Count me in, then.”