Onion Worlds

 

The rotoskiff's descent whipped up a cloud of blood-red dust. As it touched down, landing spikes snapped out of the creature's shell and imbedded themselves into the desert sand. Its high-pitched whine ebbed away, it folded its many slender wings, and curtains of red dust drifted down around it. From the protection of an arched alcove nearby, Damon Shadwell and his assistant watched with deep interest. Soon a hatch in the carapace slid open and the beast’s two caregivers emerged. As they began their maintenance tasks, Damon was able to make out the symbol on the back of their body-armor. 

He sagged with relief.

            "Rexus, return to the lab, power up all monitoring stations, then signal me and I will bring our guests."

            Being mute like most subforms, Damon's burly assistant simply nodded in reply, then keyed the portal and disappeared into the complex. Damon's gaze returned to the settling rotoskiff. He studied the hatch, anticipating the emergence of the dignatariots who’d come to evaluate his project. Watching the caregivers sweep sand from the chinks and crevices of the nearly dozing beast, Damon hoped his visitors would treat his project with as much care. 

The cross-arc symbol on their uniforms identified this as a court vessel, not a science vessel. This bode well for Damon. Whatever dignitariots were still hidden inside the beast would be impartial to his recent exile from the Greater Circle of Science. Although a court representative would be tougher to impress, at least Damon wouldn't have to contend with the heated debate his research always seemed to provoke among his fellow scientists.

            A section of the rotoskiff’s exoskeleton shifted, and three figures emerged. One was obviously a subform, therefore harmless; one wore court body-armor and official’s cloak; and the last wore pale robes and had a noticeably wide collar implant. As they neared, the symbol on the armored-ones breastplate became apparent – three intertwined circles. Between the symbol, the cloak, the armor, and the man's black on gray color scheme, Damon was able to determine his rank and duty to be that of a court-appointed, Scholar-of-Scholars, grade third-chief. 

He decided the robed figure had to be a public correspondent, probably for the Arc of Theology. Her shaven head and the monk-style icons woven into her scalp lock were a dead giveaway. The bulging implant that encircled her neck was clearly a Dense Ocular Memory Sponge, and with it, everything she saw or heard inside his lab would be stored on specialized neural tissue within the implant. Later, it could be downloaded to a viewing membrane at the Arc of Theology headquarters for possible broadcast. If all went well, she'd be reporting a major technological breakthrough. If not, there would be further humiliation for the once notable scholar.

            Once they'd reached the entrance to his laboratory complex, Damon greeted them formally, hiding his anxiety. Head bowed, Damon clasped the shoulders of the armored scholar. "My gratitude, my guest."

            The man nodded. "My gratitude, my host. I'm Third Chief Manard Kansan, scientific investigations for the Circle of the Royal Court, and this is Marran Bold, an observer from the Arc of Theology."

            Damon looked upon chill, blue eyes, "My welcome, visitor."

            The woman nodded slightly in return, her eyes fixed on Damon's. They were sharp and intelligent, yet completely devoid of emotion. He knew that a correspondent had to maintain absolute calm or risk warping the integrity of the sensory input, but that knowledge was not comforting. Many people, especially those from theological circles, became enraged by the nature of his research.

            The chief continued the introductions. "Behind me is Tem, an assistant to Torrin Masla, Submatriarch of All Science."

            "Torrin Masla?"

            "Yes, she's in the rotoskiff awaiting my report."

            "She is here?"

            "Yes, but she's chosen not to tour your lab."

            "So she won't be joining us?"

            "No."

            'Good', Damon thought. Torrin Masla was his harshest critic and greatest enemy. Damon Shadwell was once a high-scholar of first rank, holding influential seats on every notable arc of the Greater Circle of Science. He'd begun his current project nine revolutions previous, and because of its ethical nature, many of his colleagues opposed it from its onset. Damon was unconcerned. Believing in the Circle's stated mission of unraveling the mysteries of the universe, he felt secure that his impartial findings would justify themselves. As his research progressed and grew more controversial in nature, his opposition gained in strength, finally being led by Torrin Masla, right-hand staffwoman to the Matriarch of Science herself. 

Five revolutions into his project, the Matriarch finally succumbed to Masla's influence. Damon's title and positions were revoked, his funding all but cut off, and his laboratory was relocated to an unpopulated plain where he could be of no influence on the citizenry. Only Damon's reputation saved his project from being discontinued.

 Now, as a Citizen Good-Scholar, he was once more about to butt heads with the architect of his disgrace.

            Chief Kansan cleared his throat.

            "My sorrow, Scholar, I was distracted. It's just that I'm a bit surprised to find that the venerable Submatriarch has come so far on my account."

            "I know what troubles you, Shadwell. Just remember that I am a man of the courts. You will have a fair evaluation."

            "My gratitude."

            "Indeed. Shall we go inside?"

Damon pressed his hand into the sensory webbing beside the portal. Extensors relaxed, flexors contracted, and the cortical-bone door rose. They stepped into the foyer, and Damon led the way down one of its four long corridors. As they progressed, Damon prayed that neither of them would comment on the ribs protruding from the tissue in the walls. Although more functional and less expensive, ribbed walls were considered old-fashioned and hopelessly out of style. Back in the superstructure of the city, Damon hadn’t needed a framework of bone and could afford the luxury of furred walls and patterned sheets of hardened epithelium.

            "Is something wrong?" Kansan asked.

            "No. Why do you ask?"

            "You seem nervous."

            Damon forced a laugh. "It must be my project. I've been this way for turns. A startling situation has developed, and I've no precedent from which to take guidance."

            "Be at ease then, Shadwell. I am here to judge, and I will give you guidance."

            "My gratitude, Scholar, but as you shall soon see, this situation probably exceeds the scope of normal court doctrine." Just then, Damon felt tingling warmth from the telembiot implant on his right forearm. The large insect shared a communal intelligence with the rest of its race, and those who allowed the parasites to feed from the brachial plexus near their elbow could communicate through them. "Ah, my assistant, Rexus, has just informed me that the laboratory is ready. Shall we?"

            Damon motioned down an intersection and Chief Kansan led them in that direction. Damon fell into step beside Correspondent Bold. "Chief Kansan is familiar with the fundamentals of my project. I was wondering if the Circle of Theology is as well."

            Her pale eyes fixed on his. "I have been briefed, but for the benefit of the Church and the citizenry, a short overview would be in order."

            "Yes, well, first of all, this project is attempting to prove the First Doctrine. The thesis states that: due to the universal constant of morality, even an environments where biological resources are the less plentiful, a dominating, sentient species will always base its technology on the animal kingdom."

            The Correspondant nodded. "It may be a common thesis, but it is still good kaura to prove its righteousness. ‘The combined sciences of cloning, gene-splicing, and cross-breeding will provide tissues and other substances for use in industry. They will supply the citizens with all of life's comforts. But the taking of minerals from the firmament shall bring down the cataclysm....'."

            "...Our Lady Karita provides us with tools and sustenance so long as her body is not violated." Said Damon, completing the quote. He noticed the DOMS collar around the correspondent’s neck quivering. Somewhere inside, neurotransmitters and electrolytes shifted and aligned, storing his image and words for eventual download. He decided to maintain a steady facade as a believer in scripture so that whoever viewed these events would be less likely to accuse him of heresy.

            “Your kaura seems to be of fine character, Good-Scholar Shadwell. Please continue.”

            “Very well. As you may already know, when I began this experiment nine turns ago, I was of the opinion that previous researchers of the same thesis had been using models that were inadequate: less than thorough. I believed the only way to prove the First Doctrine with eternal certainty was to build an entire world where fossil and mineral resources were plentiful, and animal resources limited, then populate that world with a sentient race and see what they based their technology on. With my position and funding, I was able to do just that. When we reach my laboratory, you and your viewers will see an entire, fully functional world in miniature. It has its own ecosystem, environment, food chain, atmosphere, and even a complex culture of microscopic men. But be prepared, this world is totally alien to ours in every way.” Damon paused, hoping for an utterance of amazement.

None came. 

He cleared his throat and continued. “For example: most of our world is covered by the red desert; this model is mainly water and wild plant life. Secondly, the composition and availability of minerals on the model planet are nearly identical to our own. Our fragile ecosystem would never tolerate drilling or mining of any kind, but their ecosystem is rich enough that the harvesting of minerals would have only slight repercussions. Thirdly, we have a mostly carnivorous food chain that spans sixty-two animal classes and nearly a billion different species. On my model, they have only ten animal classes and a few hundred thousand species, many of them actual herbivores.” A wrinkle appeared in the correspondent’s brow and Damon knew he was approaching controversial territory. To the church, ingesting plants was not only sacrilege – it was sickening. 

            Damon suddenly realized that the whole time he’d been talking, the other dignitariots had been listening. Chief Kansan wasn’t overhearing anything he didn’t already know, but there was an odd, not-quite-emptiness in Tem’s eyes. Besides being his enemy’s personal valet, the thought of him being any less than perfectly ignorant made Damon shudder in disgust. 

The brawny creatures were descended from the first test group of men to have their DNA tampered with. Historically, all medical procedures and potential genetic alterations were tested on subforms before being practiced on men. The result was that the race was left with limited intelligence and no free will, yet still able to follow complex instructions without deviation or error. They were quiet and mindless, and their distinctive lack of emotion and free thought made them ideal soldiers and servants.   If Tem was somehow different, there was any number of ways that he could pose a threat to Damon’s research.

Seeing that the portal to the main laboratory was approaching, Damon brushed his suspicions aside – it was time his guests learned what his microscopic men were up to.

“Well, I’d say that was a decent introduction, Correspondent. As we’re about to enter the lab, I’ll save any discussion of my findings until after you’ve all had a look around.”

            Correspondent Bold nodded and Damon placed his hand in the neural webbing near the portal. The cords of muscle fibers flexed to the sides, creating an opening wide enough for the entire group to step through.

            On entering the main lab, Public Correspondent Marran Bold began a slow visual scan of the chamber, obviously recording the sights on her DOMS collar. The red-lit room was humid and dim, four levels high, and built around a massive, mucous covered pod in the center. This dominated the lab, hanging in the air like a giant meteor frozen in the split second before impact. Dozens of blowholes covered its slick sides, venting noxious-looking gasses and filling the air with a thick haze. A network of bone-based catwalks had been constructed around the floating pod, and a web of bio-vessels criss-crossed the room, joining the imposing structure to various smaller pods. Together these features appeared to cradle the massive ball in framework that seemed too fragile for the job.

            Damon cleared his throat and raised his voice to be heard over the din of hisses and gurgles. “Well, this is it,” he said, stepping over a conduit draped across the spongy floor. “If you’ll follow me to main control, I’ll begin outlining my findings.” 

The dignitariots followed Damon to a ring of interconnected pods directly beneath the floating giant. Rexus stood near a bone bench in the center, waiting for his master’s next command. Huge even for a subform, he was still dwarfed by the four-storey structure hovering just above his head. 

            “You’ll notice the ganglion workstations embedded in the model’s sides. Each of these controls a specific group of functions.  I have access to all functions down here at the master panel but control is limited and must be fine-tuned at the individual workstations. Information on every aspect of the project travels through a neural link to these panels, where it’s stored on dense memory sponges. If you’d like, I can prepare one of these for each of you to take back to your circles.”

            “Our gratitude,” said the Correspondent. “The Church and its citizenry would like to know what kinds of information you are monitoring.”

            “If you’re asking whether or not I’m monitoring kaura, the answer is ‘yes’. Since this experiment was designed to prove an ethical question, I felt it was critical. I’ve actually devoted an entire ganglion-access workstation to monitoring the character of the spiritual life force within the model. It’s the smaller of the two stations halfway up this side.” Damon paused and pointed his finger. “That larger one controls and monitors the biodeception membrane, which is the innermost lining of the pod’s shell. The model planet actually floats in a vacuum in the center of the pod, and when the inhabitants look beyond their world, they actually see the scope of space. Our biodeception membrane is advanced enough to perfectly mimic the stars of our own night sky: visually, gravimetrically, radioactively, and even with respect to stellar movement and development. Basically any characteristic of space that we’ve been able to observe in our own heavens, the membrane duplicates on its inner lining.”

            Chief Kansan interrupted, “Weren’t you credited for the development of the biodeception membrane?”

            Damon smiled. “I’m flattered that you remember. As a matter of fact it earned me my fourth Formal Recognition from the Greater Circle of Science.”

            “Yes, it’s proven especially useful to those of us in Military Arcs. Were you aware of how radically it’s potential was expanded in stealth and camouflage?”

            Damon’s smile faded. “No, my gratitude... Anyway, that ganglion-access station near the top analyzes chemical compositions in the model’s soil, sea atmosphere, and biological inhabitants. The two lower stations measure pressure and field dynamics, so these three together tell me everything I need to know about the model’s physical state. Over there is the workstation that controls the model’s temporal speed. It bathes the planet in a constant beam of hybrid quantum particles. This excites its molecules to such an extent that they can live up to fifty thousand revolutions in only one of our rotations. I can speed, slow, or freeze their perception of the passage of time whenever it suits me. Towards the beginning of the project, before any major evolution took place, there wasn’t much to see. The temporal beam was set to maximum. Since then I’ve had to adjust it many times, speeding it up and slowing it down according to how interesting the events taking place were.”

            “And where is it set now?” Kansan asked.

            “Very slow. One revolution per true rotation.”

            “Does this mean that interesting events are taking place now?”

            “You shall see in a moment. I only want to draw your attention to one more workstation. You can’t see it because it’s at the very top of the pod. This station controls the antigravity field. In order for my model to have realistic gravity, atmosphere, weather, and tectonic behavior, I had to make it incredibly dense. I’ve built two generators using avian-mammoth glandular tissue. One generator allows the model to float within the pod, applying stresses on it that mimic revolution around its sun and other celestial gravitational forces. Another antigrav generator keeps the hyper-condensed pod afloat – without this, it would smash through the floor, and its incredible weight would bring the laboratory crashing down on top of it.” Damon paused for effect, but only Tem seemed interested. He cocked his head to one side while the other dignitariots simply waited for Damon to continue. 

           “So, at the core of the model is another glandular antigravity organ which I’ve engineered into a metaplasmic state. As you know, the avian mammoth is a bulky creature that floats on air currents and sifts chemical nutrients from our soupy atmosphere. Glandular tissues within their abdominal sinuses secrete a hormone that enables all vascularized tissue to repel graviton particles. This creates a gravity resistant barrier around the creatures and allows them to live their entire lives airborne. I discovered that by inverting a few amino acid chains, the antigravity process is reversed in such a way that an even globe of gravity is exerted upon the model, terminating at the fringes of its ionosphere.” Damon checked his audience to be sure his technical explanations weren’t losing them. Their sharp eyes reassured him and he continued.

           “Now, taken with everything else I’ve just told you, you can see how the ‘microscopic men’ living on the model could be completely fooled into believing their planet is absolutely real, and circling a sun, which in turn circles a galactic hub. I’ve painstakingly included every possible detail: from cosmic background radiation, to weather dynamics, to volcanoes, to dust particles which swirl in sunbeams – I’ve even evolved nano-organisms which are microscopic to the microscopic men. The whole purpose behind my exhaustive attention to detail was so that no future scholar could ever again doubt that the Holy First Doctrine was proven with inadequate experimentation.” Damon ended his speech, more or less pleased by the points he’d made. 

             Chief Kansan cleared his throat, the Correspondent and Tem merelylooked at him, but once again Damon noticed a less-than-emptiness in the Subform’s eyes. 

           The disgraced scholar stifled a shudder. “Yes, well, if you’ll please follow me to the one ganglion-access workstation I haven’t mentioned.” 

            Damon led them to a bone stairway beyond the twitching pods of master control. They scaled it to the second level catwalk circling the slick walls of the huge pod. After passing the workstation for the model’s temporal beam, they came to a dark, oblong window looking in on the model. The pod’s thickness was immediately noticeable around the edges of the window, but the sight beyond was far more striking. It was like looking through a farocular into space. An expanse of stars twinkled on an eternally black backdrop, and in the foreground, a yellow sun was setting over the rim of a lovely planet swirled with greens, whites, browns and blues. It was turning abnormally fast, and seen through the darkened window, the vision was rather surreal.

            Damon rested his elbows on the windowsill and looked in at his creation. For a moment, his voice took on a wistful tone. “Every time I look at it like this, it's easy to imagine that I’m looking through a portal from a space vehicle approaching an alien world. It’s hard to believe. There are four billion intelligent beings on its surface. With families and jobs – going about their microscopic lives with no idea that their world exists in an organic pod inside some lab. Sometimes I think it’s a cruel joke to play on them.”

            Chief Kansan looked at him quizzically. “Shadwell, please, they are an experiment. They are smaller than bacteria and have insignificant kaura.”

            Damon raised one eyebrow. “You’d be surprised, Chief… Would you like to be the first to interface with this ganglion workstation? There’s something I think you need to see.”

            “All right, what is this station for?”

            Damon took a few steps down he catwalk and began manipulating the corpuscular controls of the workstations dark, jelly-like tissue. “Primarily it’s a highly sensitive viewscope. But I’ve also spliced in neural pathways to monitor their communications. They’ve developed a technology that broadcasts data, sound, and visual images to their citizens. It’s much like our own, Correspondent, except that it operates on completely alien principles. Now, Chief, if you’ll insert your head and hands into these sockets, you’ll see that the viewscope already focused on an item of interest.”

            Kansan stepped under the bulging mass of the workstation and raised his hands toward the dark, spine-filled socket. Sensing the presence of an interfacer, the ganglion-access organ lowered its moist, quivering bulk down around the armored man, enveloping his head and hands with a sucking sound. A few moments later, the Chief’s body seemed to stiffen with excitement. Damon thumbed the corpuscle, stimulating the eustacian canal to begin conducting sound. “Tell us what you see, Chief.”

            “This can’t be. There’s something unnatural floating in orbit around the model. It’s not like a cloud. . . it’s solid. It has a round, symmetrical shape. . . it couldn’t be any kind of comet or small moon. . .   The circle has spokes which join with a central hub.”

            “Try a closer focus.”

            The chief was quiet a moment, then said, “Fascinating. There’s a line of what look like airships travelling towards the structure, and judging from their size, the circle must be some kind of orbital city.”

            Damon was beginning to feel a sense of triumph. “It will be. They’re not finished building it. If you focus in on one of the spokes you’ll see workmen busy assembling it.”

            “I see them. . . they’re shaped like us.”

            “Yes, interesting, isn’t it. I didn’t intended that; it just turned out that a bipedal hominid was the most fit to evolve into the dominant, intellectual species.” Damon felt a swell of pride. “Shall we let the Correspondent take a look?”

            As the chief wriggled out of the ganglion organ, Damon noticed Marran Bold staring hard at him. Her expression was so faint that Damon at first wondered if he was truly seeing one. She stepped under the interface organ and it began lowering itself over her. All the while her ice-blue eyes stayed on Damon, and then he knew – she was displeased. 

His daring hopes began to freeze within him as he considered the implications of the Correspondent’s stare. ‘I should never have expected anything else’ Damon thought, ‘once again my glory is about to be deprived by scandal.’ He glanced to where the chief was now standing, staring through the dark window.  Except for one slightly raised eyebrow, Manard Kansan wore a blank expression. Damon approached him slowly.

            “I suppose you’re aware that my microscopic men use a mineral and fossil fuel technology.”

            The armored man nodded but remained silent.

            “They are capable of space travel.”

            The chief did not answer. After a few quiet moments, Damon joined him in staring at the false planet. He could only wonder what the chief was thinking, and could only hope that what the man had said earlier was true. If the chief were indeed a fair man, he’d return to the Circle of the Royal Court with a report that Damon Shadwell should continue his work. If not, then the beautiful planet before them would be dismantled and recycled like any other failed model. The thought made him shudder. 

His people were taught from a young age: ‘the Kaura of Karitta’s children is insignificant’ – the life-forces of all of the planet’s inhabitants were expendable. Only their living world mattered. Perhaps a secret part of him was indeed heretical, because these teachings had never quite settled with Damon. Even now, he could not help but feel a deep responsibility to the creatures living inside the pod. He knew from observation, that each tiny one of them had a lifestyle and an occupation and a spirit of their own. It was hard to observe the details of any individual’s life, given the speed of the model and the limited sensitivity of his instruments, but there they were, going to their jobs and raising their young in spite of it. In size and force, their kaura was indeed insignificant compared to his own, just as his was insignificant compared to that of the planet upon which they stood – the great ‘Lady Karita’ herself. For one fleeting instant, Damon wondered if it was the size of kaura that mattered, or if each torch of life, no matter how small, was precious in itself, simply because it existed.

            He watched his dream planet turn. 

            He paid special attention to a spot on a landmass in the lower hemisphere. To them the city was ancient, but to Damon, it had burst into existence a less than a quarter of a revolution ago. Its significance was that, somewhere above that spot, hovering in geosynchronous orbit, was a smaller city which had been transported and assembled in space.

            A wet, sloshing sound told Damon that the Correspondent was disconnecting herself from the ganglion-access workstation. He steeled himself, then turned to face her.

            He found her already staring at him.

            A cold tingling shuddered through his spine. He fought to appear normal, to hide his reactions, but his voice came out strained nonetheless. “Well then, now that we’ve all seen it, I suppose I should begin outlining my findings. If you’ll please follow me back to main control.” 

The dignitariots fell into step behind Damon somewhat slowly as he led them around the catwalk toward the stairs. He felt all three sets of eyes on his back. It felt like the day the Matriarch had publicly read Damon’s ‘Motion of Concentric Exile’.

           

            Rexus had the large viewing membrane fired up with glowing photocells by the time they’d reached main control. Damon directed his guests to be seated on the lipoprotein-padded benches, then went to the corpuscular array for the viewer. Checking that Rexus had correctly spliced the umbilical to the neural cube’s socket, Damon adjusted the image and stimulated the sponges to begin discharging their stored data. As a hazy, close-up view of one of his microscopic men formed on the membrane, Damon began speaking.

            “The first real intelligence to evolve on the model appeared about two revolutions ago. We’ve been calling them ‘microscopic men’ but the official name I’ve given them, and the name that appears in my research, is Cyanomites.”

The image changed, and was replaced by video of a small group primitive hunters clad in animal skins. “As you can see, the first tools of the primitive cyanomites were bone and rocks. Obviously, this time-period was critical to the project. If these early men preferred the use of bone, the experiment would be well on the way to scientific validation of the First Doctrine. If he preferred the rock, however, there would obviously be problems. There are gaps in the records at this point because the model was set at a high temporal rate, and many events took place very quickly. But what we next noticed was that the cyanomites were using plant life as fuel to build fires.” With an image of an open flame on the viewing membrane, Damon checked his audience for their reaction. Fire-building was a rather large taboo in their society of biologically generated warmth, yet the dignitariot’s faces were stone masks of indifference. Damon then decided to simply plow through all of his findings, no matter how controversial, and hopefully justify them at the end of the presentation.

            “The early Cyanomites continued to use bone in the crafting of objects, yet soon enough, all of their tools were wood and stone. Fire, then, in addition to purifying their food of disease-causing microbes, led them down the first steps towards their modern technology. Before long they were heating certain kinds of rocks to extract minerals they could shape into useful tools and weaponry. They also used stone and wood and were thus able to build homes, fortresses, land vehicles, and better tools and weapons. Although they had their share of war and strife, their generous environment made their lives easy – to the point that it wasn’t often necessary for them to kill each other in order to survive. Here in the real world, one-hundred thousand revolutions of continuous power struggles have repeatedly set back Karita’s social and scientific advancement. For us, the fact that so many organisms are fighting over too few resources has caused progress to move at a painfully slow rate. The Cyanomites have had only a fraction of our wars, and were able to flourish quickly. Soon they were combining their inorganic tools into large bundles that were capable of performing complex tasks, like harvesting plants, plowing soil, making fabric, and mass-producing their written language. These tool complexes resembled creatures at times because they were able to propel themselves and manipulate objects. Many of them even required sustenance, then shed waste. Of course, this was after they’d discovered the combustible qualities of fossil fuels. Now, during this time, they did use limited biological sciences. They crossbred plants and animals, developed microbes for use in food processing, and even had a decent knowledge of surgery and medicine. But if you were to focus the viewer on one of their laboratories, you would more likely to see a researcher developing a new chemical or mineral substance, than see any genetic manipulation or tissue cloning. To be quite honest, their society frowns on these practices. Instead of cloning, they found ways to mass-produce building materials. Instead of genetic engineering, they researched new hybrids of inorganic chemicals and developed new and better building materials. One of the turning points of their fossil fuel research was the development of their combustible propellant. In the last quarter turn, I have watched it develop from a light source, to fuel for small ground vehicles, and then for airborne ships. Now they have achieved escape velocity and reached space – something we might not ever be able to do.”

            Chief Kansan cleared his throat, causing Damon to look expectantly at him. After momentarily collecting his thoughts, the chief said, “Given that your… Cyanomites, use a technology that is strictly forbidden, how does that make you feel? Your artificial men have accomplished what we real men cannot – but only through illegal means.”

            Damon thought hard before answering – this was what it was all about. “Well, first of all let me just say that they are not artificial men. They are real men living on an artificial world, in a strictly controlled, completely contained environment. Of course I’m deeply concerned by their methods; I can assure you of that. I’ve only allowed this experiment to continue by accepting that, inside this pod, their transgressions pose no threat to our fragile ecosystem. The cyanomites are completely ignorant to the way life works in the real world. We all understand the hazards of ‘raping the firmament’, but these subjects are merely taking advantage of resources close at hand and available in large quantities.”

            “But what of the ethical question?” the Correspondent asked unexpectedly, “They are violating the universal truth of the First Doctrine. Doesn’t that taint their kaura?”

            Damon shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, Correspondent Bold, you’re not going to like hearing this… But as a species, their kaura is a brighter shade than our own. I can only conclude this means they are not committing evil by using their technology. In effect, I’ve not only sunk the thesis I’ve been operating under for nine revolutions, I’ve also disproved the First Doctrine.”

            The Correspondent’s eyebrows rose, exhibiting the first signs of emotion he’d seen from her. An uncomfortable silence descended over the group, during which Damon wished he had phrased what he’d said differently – understated it somehow. The words he’d just spoken would sound very bad when the Correspondent replayed them for the Holy Arc of Theology. Damon decided it would be best to change to a safer subject.

            “Anyway, beyond that, there is another pressing issue for which I desperately need guidance. You’ve seen for yourselves, the Cyanomites are about to start living in space, some of them at least. I’ve also learned from monitoring their communications technology that they’ve begun implementing a rather ambitious space-exploration program. Do you see my problem? There is almost no space for them to explore. They are going to run right into the biodeception membrane. As a matter of fact, I’ve already intercepted multiple unmanned probes and been forced to devote several of my indispensable neuron cubes to mimic their return data streams.” Damon adjusted the viewing membrane to show an image of two shining, spine-covered balls. Chief Kansan leaned forward and examined them with deep interest.

            While the Chief was thinking, Damon snuck a glance at the Correspondent. She too was looking at the viewscreen, recording the new information for her church officials, but her mind seemed to be focused inward. After several quiet moments, Chief Kansan sighed and leaned back. “I will have to consult someone from the Circle of Science about the communications issue, Shadwell. My sorrow. Do you have any suggestions?”

            Damon shrugged. “There are quite a few options, actually. I simply have no precedent to tell me which is the right decision. I could intercept their manned missions as well, but then I’d need more neural storage to mimic their data streams. Or, I could make contact and either tell them the truth or concoct a deception. I’ve even thought of engineering a special parasite to sabotage their space program.”

            The armored man gave him a direct look. “Do not forget, Shadwell, that the Circle could rule against you, and all this would be a moot point.” 

            Damon blinked. “I haven’t forgotten.”

            Suddenly they heard a loud splash from the far side of the lab. They all jumped to their feet and looked around.

            “What was that?” the chief asked.

            “Something fell into the mucus vat.”

            “Where’s Tem?”

            Damon broke into a run. “Hopefully not in the mucus vat.” 

            He raced to the stairs leading to the lab’s second level, followed closely by the dignitariots. His fears were soon realized when he reached the higher floor and saw the slime covered creature crawling out of the green pool. Tem paid no attention as Damon approached. He simply stood and looked high up the side of the pod, then began making his way toward it.

            “What’s he doing?” Damon looked around, trying to answer his own question. At the very top of the pod, a dark, wet stain was beginning to spread towards the floor. As Tem crossed the bone bridge from the lab’s second level to the walkway on the pod, Damon turned his attention back to the vat. A slack, pale umbilical lay draped and empty across the surface of the pool of slime. As the other dignitariots reached his side, Damon figured out what Tem had done.

“He’s torn the lymph vessel from the antigrav unit on top and fell in the process. He must’ve realized it was only a return umbilical – now he’s going back up to find something more critical.”

“Why would he do that?” Asked a somewhat breathless Correspondent.

“Don’t you see? He’s trying to sabotage the model! He heard me say that without that generator, the pod will crash through the floor. If he finds the nutrient artery, that thing will come crashing down, the lab will be crushed!”

“Lady Karita!” Exclaimed Chief Kansan. “He’ll kill us all!” .

“Not to mention the four billion souls living on the model… I’m summoning Rexus.” Damon raised his telembiot.

“I don’t understand,” the Correspondent said, her voice shaking, “Subforms aren’t capable of original ideas. Why would he do this?”

“I don’t know.” The Chief said with slitted eyes. “But I’m calling the Submatriarch.” 

In moments, Rexus’ massive form was visible, scrambling up the side of the pod like a lower primate. Tem had already reached the third level but was using the ladders and catwalks – Rexus was catching up quickly. The rogue subform reached the ladder to the fourth level catwalk, and though Rexus propelled himself upwards with powerful motions, they were unable to predict whether he’d reach Tem in time.

Upon reaching the catwalk, Tem noticed his pursuer and began running for the final ladder. Further down, Rexus reached the same level as Tem began scaling the last obstacle between him and the umbilical. Instead of following the rogue down the catwalk, Rexus displayed a lucky show of intelligence and continued to scale the pod’s side. Damon and the Correspondent let out simultaneous sighs of relief. Their paths would converge on top of the pod – it appeared they would reach the antigrav generator at the same moment. 

Rexus was scaling a section saturated with the oily fluid and was momentarily unable to get a good foothold. He recovered in a few seconds, but the lapse had allowed Tem to reach the quivering organ first. He immediately went for the nearest umbilical and began tugging.

“Oh my Lady Karita, that’s it! That’s the nutrient artery!” said Damon, chilled to his core.

Suddenly Rexus was there, raising his thick arms over Tem’s head and clasping his hands into a fleshy club. Tem ignored him, intent only on severing the umbilical. Rexus’ hands came down. They heard the thick slap of the meaty blow and Tem was flattened. The stunned subform began sliding down the pod’s slick, curved surface, and then he was airborne. He flailed limply, clipped one jutting catwalk, then spun into a mass of suspended umbilicals. Their elasticity slowed his fall, and he landed face-first on the moist tissue of the floor with a gentle splat.

Rexus began descending the pod, using the ladders this time, as the rest of them ran to the edge of the second level. Looking down, they could see the motionless rogue.

“The Submatriarch’s on her way,” Kansan said, “She says Tem is a new breed of subform that sometimes acts on their own to please their owners.”

‘Not bloody likely’, Damon thought. Subforms were too stupid to do anything but follow directions. Of course there was that ‘not-quite-emptiness’ in the brute’s eyes, but Damon still had his suspicions.

“She says she’ll put a stop to his behavior when she gets here.”

“I’d better go let her in the front portal then.” Damon was about to depart when he noticed Tem rising to his hands and knees, shaking his head.

“Rexus!” Damon yelled, “Get down there and restrain him – hurry!”

The burly subform immediately sped his descent as Tem rose to his feet and began wobbling toward the nearest stairs. Within moments, Rexus was upon him. The rogue was stunned and helpless as his stockier opponent manhandled him, spinning him around and catching him from behind in a savage embrace. Tem tried to weakly twist away but Rexus tightened his grip. The others could see the strain in Tem’s neck and the pain in his not-quiet-empty eyes. He struggled vainly to escape, groaning and snarling all the while, but Rexus’ great strength held him fast. Finally he gave up and went limp.

Seeing the fight was over, Damon flew down the stairs. “Don’t let him go, Rexus. I’m going to get the Submatriarch.” He rushed through master control, then up and out through the curtain of muscle at the main portal. Hitting a dead run in the hallway, the out-of-shape researcher thought to himself, ‘I’m about to get a battle of my own.’

 

 

When the complex’s thick external door rose, a narrow, gray-robed figure stood on the other side with folded arms.

            “Well, if it isn’t Good-Scholar Damon Shadwell, how’s your project doing these rotations?”

            “Please, Submatriarch, just come to the lab and put a stop to your subform. He’s on a rampage.”

            With a sigh, she stepped into the foyer and began walking down the hallway – her pace too slow for Damon’s liking. “It’s kind of sweet, don’t you think? The way my assistant does little things to try to make me happy.”

            He looked at her wrinkled face with its sneering lines. “He’s part of a new, more intelligent generation, is he? Funny I haven’t heard of them before.”

            “I’m not surprised. It usually takes a while for new technology to filter down to the citizenry.”

            Damon fumed at the reminder of his humbled social status. “Do you really think it’s safe to have subforms thinking for themselves? Or don’t they actually do that?”

            “What are you implying, Damon? That perhaps I ordered this attempted sabotage?”

            “I’m not implying anything, Submatriarch, but it’s interesting that you came to that assumption so fast.”
            “Watch yourself, citizen. You’re treading dangerously close to insubordination. My ‘assumption’ was based on the fact that you blame me for the pathetic position you’ve fallen into.”

            “My sorrow, Submatriarch, but weren’t you the one that moved to have a Motion of Concentric Exile read to me?”

            “Weren’t you the one trying to find a way to experiment with mineral technology?”

            “Of course not. I simply designed an experiment that would give the First Doctrine a realistic challenge – unlike the plain, possibly rigged models of those before me.”

            “You should talk about ‘rigged models’, Damon. You made conditions on your model ideal for a mineral-based technology. You knew they’d rape their planet, you did it all just so you could sample the fruits of their evil.”

            “Perhaps the Submatriarch is forgetting that the First Doctrine clearly states that any society under any conditions will use biological technology because it’s a universal constant of moral righteousness. Doesn’t it seem like this should apply to a world with fewer animal species than our own?”

            “I’m not going to debate the First Doctrine with you, Damon. If that was your true hypothesis, then as soon as you realized your subjects were using the wrong technology you would have labeled your findings as ‘erroneous’, sterilized the model, and started over.”

            “You are the second highest ranking official in the Circle of Science. Tell me, where is the precedent that says you should scrap any experiment that doesn’t go as predicted? If that is the way we do things, why even experiment? Why not simply make all scientific hypotheses instant laws and save ourselves the time and trouble?”

            “Damon, the First Doctrine is true. Mineral technology is evil and biological technology is righteous. Everybody knows that.”

            “Not according to my research.”

            “Your research is flawed. It’s erroneous.”

            “How?”

            “It just is. Like the researcher who proved mathematically that what comes up sometimes does not come down.”

            “Ah, but he was right, we now have antigravity technology.”

            “That’s an exception Damon, and you know it.”

            “Why can’t there be exceptions to the First Doctrine?”

            “Put simply, dear Scholar, because then it would be called ‘blasphemy’.”

            Damon snorted in disgust. “Here’s the lab. We can continue this after you’ve called off your rabid pet.”

            The Submatriarch’s eyes narrowed as she stepped through the opening between the retracted muscles. “Oh, we’ll continue this, all right. We are far from done.”

They hurried towards main control, where Rexus still held the now docile Tem in his strong arms. Chief Kansan and Correspondent Maran Bold stood nearby, shifting uncertainly. Seeing the scrapes and bruises on her assistant, the Submatriarch turned and snapped at Damon.

            “What have you done to him?”

            “My sorrow, Submatriarch, but during the course of his sabotage he fell off the pod. Then I had my subform subdue him – we had no choice. He would’ve killed us all, not to mention the four billion Cyanomites living inside the pod.”

            “Cyanomites… indeed. As if their Kaura would be of any loss. Now you call off yours and I’ll call off mine.”

            “Rexus, let him go…. Now go and see if you can reattach the lymph vessel to the antigrav gland.”

            The Submatriarch’s venom-filled eyes watched Rexus slink away. Tem was still able to stand on his own but wobbled a bit, all the while keeping his eyes fixed sheepishly on his master. Her voice softened as she spoke to her valet. “Tem, wait for me in the rotoskiff. Have something to eat if you like.”

            Damon was galled at that. Tem had nearly killed them and she was practically rewarding him. The Submatriarch read the expression on his face and asked, “Can I help it if even a subform can see this monstrosity for what it is?”

            “And what would that be?”

            “Evil. A threat not only to our way of life, but also to the frail body of Our Lady Karitta.”

            “Excuse me? How is this project a threat to our planet?”

“I know you, Damon Shadwell. You’re planning on using whatever it is they’ve learned how to do. If you had your way we’d be strip-mining every bit of desert on the face of Karita.”

            “I’m not stupid, Submatriarch.  I know what catastrophes would occur if we began tampering with our fragile environment. But there is something valuable we could learn from them.”

            “Hah! I knew it. You just confessed that you were after this technology from the beginning.”       

            “No I didn’t.”

            “Yes you did. Maybe not in so many words, but you did say we should use their technology. Just out of morbid curiosity, Damon, what have they discovered that would make you sacrifice your position, your funding, and your reputation?”

            “Space-travel.” He replied. 

An expression of surprise flashed across her face. She looked at Chief Kansan. 

He nodded somberly back at her. 

The Submatriacrch looked again at Damon and sneered. “So they can travel an arm’s length inside an artificial pod. How can that possibly be of any use in the real world?”

            “They’ve developed a combustible chemical mixture that can propel their vehicles fast enough to reach escape velocity. I know you’ve studied my research enough to know that their obstacles are identical to ours, only on a microscopic scale. What works for them can work for us.”

            “How? Should we start drilling into the Body of Our Lady to find fossil fuels?”

            “No. We should analyze the chemical composition of their propellant and develop our own glandular tissue to excrete a substance with similar qualities.”

            “And what of the waste? Combustion would release dangerous toxins into our already unstable atmosphere.”

            “Environmental impact is the primary focus when we develop any new substance. It can be dealt with during the engineering process.”

            “No, Damon, it can’t. Because what you’ve been doing here is blasphemous, and I won’t condone any knowledge that comes from such a tainted source.”

            “You’re wrong, Submatriarch. My sorrow, but the ‘source’, as you put it, most certainly is not ‘tainted’.”

            “Look, ‘citizen’, they are violating the First Doctrine. The source most certainly is tainted, just like their kaura.”

            “Their kaura has fewer blemishes than anyone on this planet, Submatriarch, including you.”

            The room got deathly quiet. Everyone stared at Damon in disbelief, most notably Torrin Masla, Submatriarch of the Greater Circle of Science. Her immortal soul had just been slandered by a lowly citizen. “What did you say to me?”

            Something within the researcher snapped. He was tired of being cautious and tired of being afraid of this tyrant. He decided it was time to say what he truly thought. “You heard me. Your kaura must be as black as the night sky. All you ever do is destroy – you never build. You destroy careers, lives, knowledge, hopes, dreams… everything good in life. It’s uptight, self-righteous, control-mongers like you that impede progress. You, Submatriarch, are personally stunting the growth of Our Lady Karita, and I hope she can see it in your kaura because a demon like you belongs in hell.”

            The Church Correspondent was so shocked she actually choked. Chief Kansan’s face was an odd, unreadable mixture of emotion. The Submatriarch, though – she was livid.

            “I do not believe what I just heard…” She raised her right arm. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten to whom you were speaking…” She whipped her right sleeve down with her left hand, revealing a queen telembiot with the power to communicate lethal doses of pain to another host, “I am Torrin Masla…” Damon stared at the implant in horror, wishing he could take back what he’d just said, “Submatriarch to the Greater Circle of Science…” The insect-like red creature began to vibrate, and Damon stepped back in fear, “…and you are mine, now. You hear me, you insolent little fool? I’ve got you.”

            A sudden, intense pain in his right forearm dropped Damon to his knees. He ripped his sleeve open and cradled his innocent telembiot. It was vibrating with intense pain – pain it was forced to share with Damon. He gritted his teeth and groaned loudly.

            “For your transgressions, Damon Shadwell… I invoke the Right of Corporeal Recompense.” With gleaming eyes, she sent another wave of searing pain through the scholar’s body. He screamed and fell onto his back. “For the crime of blasphemy against the First Doctrine, and for the crime of gross insubordination…” Another wave of agony burned through his arm, then his shoulder, chest and stomach. “…you are to be punished!” Then it struck his opposite shoulder, neck, and groin. Convulsions took hold of his body and rattled through his trunk and limbs.

            “And after this, there’s more, Shadwell, oh yes. I am terminating your ‘citizen-scholar’ status, and therefore your privileges to practice science.  Then I’m going to return here and not only dismantle this profanity you call an experiment, I’m going to personally burn away each and every one of your precious little Cyanomites. You hear me, Damon? All four billion of them!”

            Damon barely heard her.  With his face pressed against the moist floor, the pounding of his pulse filled his ears and his consciousness swam, threatening to drift away.

            “You hear me? Answer me slug!” She sent another wave, causing his back to arch and all of his muscles to contract violently. “I’m going to destroy every last little one of them and I’ll release their kaura to Our Lady Karitta so that she may put it to better use!”

“I don’t think you’ll be doing that.” Chief Kansan grabbed her right fist and forced it down. “And I really must insist that you stop doing that.”

            “Are you mad?” said the Submatriarch, glaring at him, “What do you think you are doing? I’m a submatriarch!”

            “And may I remind you that I am from the Circle of the Courts.” He looked down at Damon’s sickly writhing. “I am the investigator here, and I’ve concluded that this research is viable.”

            “You can’t be serious!”

            “I assure you, Submatriarch, I am. I’m going to recommend to the Courts that his experiments continue, and that others begin researching his space-vehicle propellant – formal recognition going to Good-Scholar Shadwell, of course. And furthermore, Madam Submatriarch, I’m going to recommend that the First Doctrine be officially designated as ‘under review’. Shadwell’s project will be cited as an exception, pending verification by repeat experimentation by other researchers.”

            “The Courts won’t follow your recommendation.”

            “Of course they will. Have you ever known them to not support the findings of their agents? We are their eyes, their ears, and the legs upon which they stand.”

            The Submatriarch’s face paled in outrage. “I outrank you. I forbid you to make those recommendations.” 

            “You have no authority to influence my decision, Submatriarch. He has used proper scientific method to validate his hypothesis, though in this case, sound research has in-validated the hypothesis. It happens all the time in experimentation. I am satisfied that his methodology was thorough and impartial, therefore his findings stand. You’re going to have to get used to it. Who knows? His contributions just might get him reinstated on the Circle of Science.”

            The thought of that drove her into a fit of rage. “How dare you!” she hissed, raising her telembiot.

            Chief Kansan glanced casually at the Correspondent to ensure that she was recording what was happening. “You wouldn’t want to do that, Submatriarch. I’d hate to have to recommend a Motion of Concentric Exile for you. Inappropriate dispensement of the ‘Right of Corporeal Recompense’ is a serious crime.”

            The Submatriarch glared at Chief Kansan with a burning hatred, yet she slowly lowered her arm. Just then Damon groaned and rolled over. Seeing that he was about to rise, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the lab. 

            Once she’d gone, the Chief bent down and helped the researcher rise. Feeling dizzy and nauseated, Damon’s eyes remained glazed and unfocused. The Chief and the Correspondent helped him over to a bench where he sat for a moment, trying to regain his bearings. When the fog had mostly cleared, he asked, “Where did she go?”

            “She’s gone. And you probably won’t have to worry about her for a long time.”

            Damon groaned. “Oh, the things I said… What was I thinking?”

            The Chief smiled. “It wasn’t a very intelligent thing to do, was it Scholar? But I do have to admit that I wish I’d have been the one with the guts to say it to her.”

            “You do?”

            “Sure. Everyone who knows her does.”

Damon tried to laugh but it hurt his head. 

 

 

            Soon he and his hulking assistant once again stood in the alcove by the main entrance. The rotoskiff erupted into the air, showering them with red sand. Damon shielded his eyes and waited for the tempest to die down. A moment later, he was able to lower his arm and watch the creature bounce away through the darkened desert sky. He looked beyond to the stars scattered lovingly in the heavens and felt a sudden swell of joy. The Courts always followed the recommendations of their investigators. It was entirely possible that soon Karitta would have her own version of space-vehicle propellant, and, in front of all of his peers, the Matriarch of the Greater Circle of Science would read yet another Formal Recognition to Good-Scholar Damon Shadwell. 

More importantly, he might have just made one of the greatest contributions to science in all of history. For the good of his entire planet, space-travel was now within their grasp. Damon yearned for the stars shining in the desert sky above him. He wondered how many revolutions it would be before the people of his world began to take to the sky and escape the confines of their atmosphere, like the people on his model. He smiled as he thought, ‘At last we shall know what’s beyond our little world.’