Every year, on the night of the summer solstice, the people of the Great Forest on Fol’brdr gather at the ancient Grand Brdraekri Temple to throw a Wicked Awesome Party for the gods. They’ve been doing this for as long as anyone can remember — which honestly isn’t all that long, since the people of the Great Forest on Fol’brdr are (generally speaking) off their faces.

The Forests on Fol’brdr are home to one of the most powerful psychoactive flowers in all of creation, which doubtless explains why the gods come there to party every year. The people of the Great Forest consider themselves “so blessed” to receive their gods’ annual gifts of assorted snacks. Over the years they have erected numerous statues around the Temple Plaza in honour of each and every visiting god. Members of this illustrious pantheon include: the Frog Prince Est’Emper; the famed Sentient Node; the Lost Larva of Omega; First Commander Xylax of the 17th Egregious Fleet of the Nightmare Throne; and last but not least, the Lailas of the Lailaverse.

***

The Lailas’ Asynchronous Network Transport, recently given a fresh coat of phosphorescent paint and affectionately nicknamed the USS Anterprise, landed softly in a specially cleared forest clearing. The Lailas disembarked with some relief (the Anterprise was getting rather crowded these days) and made their way through the trees towards the sounds of merriment and debauchery.

“I can’t wait to introduce you to Xylax, he’s such a laugh.”

“A laugh?”

“He’s from — what, about 2000 years? — in the future; he fought — uh, will fight — in the Meitagenan Civil War. He’s fucking seen it all, man. Crazy guy.”

“Did you say ‘Meitagenan Civil War’?”

“I’ve got the documentary on blu-ray somewhere, I’ll lend it to you.”

The Lailas were a strange sight, Laila thought, shambling through the trees in the half-light, distinguished from each other only by their choices of eccentric clothing and, in some cases, number of remaining fingers.

Multi-coloured, orb-shaped lamps hung from the branches of trees, indicating the way towards the Grand Brdraekri Temple. The Temple itself was in a wide circular clearing, now positively heaving with various deities, titans, and demigods, along with their respective stone monuments. Laila tried to count the number of statues of herself that she passed, but she lost count at eleven. Ahead of them was the temple: a four-sided pyramid with steps leading up one slope towards a great open platform, where an ornate altar housed the Scarlet Flame, the sacred fire which allegedly has been burning uninterrupted since the Temple’s construction.

“Oh, there’s the Lost Larva of Omega; whatever you do don’t tell her we’ve consorted with Deltaworm. And avoid the Sentient Node if you can, it does tend to go off on one… Xylax!! There you are!”

Laila looked around sadly. Every supreme being in the galaxy was there. The Great and the Good, the Monstrous and the Terrible. But no Naomi.

Xylax was already quite drunk, it would seem.

“Laila, Laila, Laila,” he slurred, making his mighty way towards them. “Back for a rematch, eh?”

“Xylax, you old scoundrel. How’s this century been treating you?”

“I think I might have accidentally started a civil war several millennia too early,” Xylax guffawed.

Appreciative laughter all round.

***

Weaving their way respectfully among the assembled deities were the natives of the Great Forest. One of them approached the Lailas with a tray: drinks, nibbles, assorted hallucinogens.

“I kind of thought the locals would be joining in,” Laila said, munching on an amuse-bouche. “Not handing out snacks.”

“Oh, they will, they will,” another, more experienced Laila said. “This is only the first day. It’s like a welcome event.”

“Are you sure this isn’t … exploitative?”

“Exploitative? What are you talking about? Their gods are real. Not only real, but also like, super chill. We don’t ask for prayer, or sacrifices, or celibacy. We look after them, keep them safe, fend off potential invaders. They’re the happiest beings in the universe.”

Laila shrugged.

Suddenly the ground trembled and a chorus of muffled gasps passed through the crowd. It seemed that First Commander Xylax had fallen over.

“Ahem,” another Laila said, picking her way through the crowd towards them. “I think Xylax might be rather ill.”

The Lost Larva of Omega shook her prostomium sympathetically. “Too long away from his fleet, I expect. He’s a clone, he needs VitoFluids.”

“Can we get him some?”

“Not in this millenia, I’m afraid,” the Larva replied.

Laila sighed. “Alright, guys. Looks like we’d better take Xylax back home. We’ll take the Anterprise, won’t be too long.”

With the help of the Larva, two Lailas carried Commander Xylax’s twitching form away from the Temple and towards the trees.

***

Laila gazed around somewhat awkwardly, then noticed a strange blue entity floating beside her. An oblate spheroid of blue light, with a singular point, like a tiny star, at its centre. Laila wasn’t sure how long it had been hovering there.

“You must be the Sentient Node?” she ventured.

“That is correct,” the Sentient Node responded.

“Cool,” Laila said. “Well, I’m Laila.”

“I am familiar with your cabal,” the Node said. “Introductions are not necessary.”

“Sure,” Laila said. “So, er, what’s up?”

“I’ve been wrestling with a conundrum, Laila. Perhaps you would like to hear it?”

“Er…”

“I seek to define the set of formal systems in which any given proposition P is True.”

“You… you seek to…? Oh I see.”

“I call this set the eclectic of proposition P.”

“The Eclectic?” Laila wondered where she had heard that term before, before deciding it couldn’t possibly be plot-relevant.

“It ought to be trivial, really, since a proposition is just a sequence of symbols. It is elementary to define those systems in which the sequence P can be derived, assuming we have defined our notation consistently.”

“Er yes. Indeed.”

“The only problem is that, when we reduce a proposition to nothing more than a sequence of symbols, it rather loses its meaning. After all, the proposition 1 + 1 = 2 only means what we think it means if the symbols have the meanings we associate with them. And in the vast majority of formal systems in which P is True, its meaning within that system is completely divorced from its original — or dare I say — its desired meaning.”

Laila blinked.

“From whence does the meaning of a proposition derive?” the Sentient Node mused. “Perhaps it is cognate with the proposition’s derivation within the system? After all, we must first define what 1 and 2 are before we can claim 1 + 1 = 2. Perhaps the eclectic of proposition P is better defined as the set of formal systems in which all the propositions necessary to derive P, as well as P itself, are also True.”

“Along with all the rules of inference as well, I suppose,” Laila said offhandedly.

“Quite,” the Sentient Node responded gravely. “Take Turing completeness, as an example. The eclectic of any computable proposition must include all formal systems that are themselves Turing complete, no? This universe, the one we live in, is therefore itself part of the eclectic of the proposition 1 + 1 = 2.”

Laila had tried to take a few steps away from the Sentient Node, but it had floated along beside her without even seeming to notice.

“But suppose there exists a formal system that can derive 1 + 1 = 2, but also 2 + 2 = 5? Is that system part of the eclectic? My definition seems to suggest it is, but my conscience tells me that it is not, since it seems to contradict the meaning of the original proposition. But what is meaning?”

“Look, um, I’ll think it over, okay? I’ll, er, catch you later?”

Laila walked away very quickly without looking back, and the Sentient Node finally got the hint. It sighed, its blue periphery inflating and deflating slightly.

“It would seem seeking truths outside the system is, indeed, a lonely business,” it said sadly.

***

“Guess you drew the short straw,” Laila said to Laila.

“Oh, how’s that?”

“Looking after the newbie?”

“Oh,” Laila laughed. “Don’t be silly.”

The “newbie” looked around. They were sitting on the open platform at the top of the temple, looking down the steps towards the forest. Various wails, yells and bursts of laughter ornamented the percussive rhythms that emanated from somewhere among the trees. The air was warm and carried a sweet, floral scent.

The other Laila was lighting up some kind of joint. “Sure you don’t want any Ebrdrskrr?” she said.

“Ah… Maybe tomorrow, when I’ve learned how to pronounce it,” Laila said, warily. “We’re here all week, right?”

Laila shrugged. “Unless we get bored.” She took a long drag, coughed, and took another one.

“You… you’ve been to the future, right?” Newbie Laila said. “Like, far into the future.”

“Mm hmm.”

“The civil war, Commander Xylax, all that stuff. You’ve seen it for yourself?”

“Bits and pieces.”

“Tell me what happens to the Meitagenan Empire.”

Older Laila shrugged. “It’s not a very interesting story.”

“Humour me.”

“Well, at the risk of establishing canon…” She cleared her throat. “The Empire, like most great empires, eventually fractures. The galaxy splits into quadrants, most of which fall into administrative chaos. The most successful scion of the Meitagenan Empire will be the Dal-Seleckh, rulers of the southern quadrant. They’ll outlive the other dynasties by at least a thousand years.”

“And then?”

“And then… then the Thraxian Plague happens, and the Dal-Seleckh lose control of the southern quadrant to a race of sentient drones. The Meitagenan chapter ends and another chapter begins. Life goes on.”

Newbie Laila tried her best to assimilate thousands of years of galactic history.

“I thought you said… Didn’t you say something about the galaxy being in terrible danger, at some point?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, for a minute it looked like we might lose the Ebrdrskrr flower to blight. But we saved it, don’t worry.”

“Oh. Thank god.”

“What’s the matter?” Older Laila said. “Ah, I suppose you were hoping you’d be the one to overthrow the Meitagenans.”

“No, it’s not that, I…”

“What would be the point? You’d just have to find someone else to rule the Galaxy. Unless you want the job? Trust me, that timeline doesn’t end well.”

“What would be the point…” Newbie Laila echoed.

“Exactly,” Older Laila said definitively. “There is no point to any of this. There isn’t a plot. We’ve won already. We can do whatever the hell we want to do. Just enjoy yourself, Laila.”

Laila gazed despondently over the trees. A particularly bright star was shining just over the horizon, twinkling at her provocatively.

“I just wish I knew what Naomi was up to,” she murmured. “What her story is. Whatever it was, it seemed… important, somehow.”

“Why are you always talking about Naomi anyway?” Older Laila said. “She’s a nutcase. A literal computer virus stuffed into the brain of an Ascenter. She gave us what we wanted, now she’s best forgotten.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Laila said.

Older Laila looked at her in surprise.

“Why? Did you, like, have a… thing with her?”

“What? No.” Laila felt herself blushing, and turned away.

“You did didn’t you?? Hahaha oh my god. That’s fucking weird.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, you know… I think I might know how to take your mind off Naomi,” Older Laila said, shuffling closer to her. She leaned in, ran the tip of her nose along Laila’s neck, tracing a line from her shoulder to the back of her ear. Her breath was warm on her skin.

“Can you stop that?” Newbie Laila said irritably.

Older Laila didn’t pull away. “What’s the matter?” she said, her voice low, teasing. “Feeling a bit… exposed up here?”

Laila pushed her away.

“Seriously. What the hell is wrong with you? Are all you other Lailas just like… perpetually horny or something?”

“Well, why not?” Older Laila said indignantly. “We are Ascenters after all; bred to genetic perfection.” She draped herself across the stone platform in a manner Laila presumed was supposed to be seductive.

“Bred to genetic perfection by our Meitagenan overlords,” Newbie Laila said with disgust. “Or did you forget? After all this time, you could have changed your appearance, why do you keep this form? Why keep this Meitagenan ideal of beauty?”

“I’m owning it, Laila, and so should you. Someone’s got to set the beauty standards. Now come on, you really telling me you don’t want some of this?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Newbie Laila said. “Or the day after. Or maybe when the Thraxian Plague kills the last fucking Meitagenan. Maybe then.”

Older Laila laughed, and put her hand on Newbie Laila’s leg.

“Get the fuck off!”

“But…” Older Laila looked genuinely confused now. “You’re saying… no?”

“What part of that is so hard to understand?”

“But you’re… well, you’re me.”

“And that means I automatically consent? Fuck that! I didn’t escape oppression only to have my consent taken away from me!”

“Consent?” Laila scoffed. “Come on Laila, consent is — has always been — in the gift of the oppressor classes. They decide who can consent and who cannot. We’re above all that, now. It doesn’t mean anything to us.”

“Fuck. You.” Laila stood up.

“Laila! What’s got into you?”

“Fuck you! Fuck your narcissistic orgies, fuck your nihilistic hedonism, fuck pretending we’re gods, fuck your exploitation of these people for their fucking drugs, and fuck the Lailaverse.” She headed towards the stairs. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Oh yeah? Where are you going to go?”

Laila looked back. Older Laila was silhouetted at the top of the stairs, the Scarlet Flame burning and crackling behind her.

“How far do you think you’ll get without us?” she snarled. “There aren’t any Network ports on this planet. You could steal the Anterprise, except it’s currently on its way to the future with poor old Commander Xylax.”

Laila looked down, at the statues of the gods, and the long shadows they cast across the plaza.

“So I'm your prisoner now, is that it?”

“Laila. You're one of us. You can't change who you are.”

Laila glared defiantly over the treetops. The particularly bright star was still twinkling at her.

“Watch me,” she said.