Ch 14: The God of These Things
The Futureness Part Two
The drone went still. We had slipped into the tributary Metasoma, grey and still and lacking all motion such that a fundamental notion that motion never existed sort of floated up in my mind. No reference points, no matter to make them. There was neither a bobbing lack of gravity, nor gravity. There was no body. The drone just went still.
“The thing is to get comfortable,” the Theian said.
Her voice formed a point of sharp relief against the grey silence.
“Navigation, how are we doing?”
Francesca stuttered. We are far, too far from Earth for it to be possible for it to be so far
“Metasoma tributaries are like rivers,” the Theian said. “They carry you along at their own speed, which often outruns light. So, it manifests as neutral to the, to your mind we replicated on this drone. What could you possibly perceive? You see nothing, correct? We see something.”
“Replicated. Do you mean, copied?”
“Transferred. We moved your digital dissection onto the drone. You’re of us, but your material, your DNA samples are here too, along with your vision toy, should the God of These Things wish to do something with you.”
“The God’s cargo.”
“You’re our cargo and the God of These Things to know, once we have delivered you. Just on the other side of the Metasoma the God waits for a sign like our ability to arrive with you. We should be there as soon as this river merges with the sea.”
Not one of you has returned from the Metasoma
“Your robot’s correct. I’ve told you just that. None. Despite bringing vast amounts of basewater into the Metasoma, or forms of life from brand new to samples of the most tenaciously ancient life we’ve found. We’ve spent stretches of time, long may we go. But it’s not basewater or simple offerings that the God of These Things wants, or thinks is good enough in order to speak.”
What’s the proof of this God?
“My proof is what I’m seeing but neither of you is capable of seeing. My best descriptive powers would practically be sacrilege.”
The grey darkened to black again, but without stars now.
“I can’t manifest myself for you,” said the Theian. “The preservation of basewater.”
“Turn the water back on, and let’s get back to Earth. The Metasoma. How many of you does it have to eat before you understand it’s not a magic door—”
I succumbed to the pain for three breaths before I remembered how unreal it could be that my body’s pain existed, and it rolled off like water down a pane of glass.
“That was only the suggestion of pain,” the Theian said.
“I’m feeling fine, while you and Francesca are running on low power.”
“You’ve realized that you’re our prize. We’ve been waiting for the right time to bring you. I think you have always, since you were a child, called it the Futureness?”
“You can read my dreams.”
“I wouldn’t understand them. We’re too different. Don’t mistake English for a form of connection between us. Other than our worlds colliding, we have none. You are prized cargo.”
You share basewater, Francesca said.
“What is this proof,” I said. “Allow yourself to be sacrilegious for your prize.”
“Beyond the Metasoma, we will be embodied again. My superiors guarantee it. It’s in what you call the science. Inside the Metasoma, we see images of our home and places where we are marked, like the launch site. I see the humanoids worshipping at the launch site. They appear heavily armed.”
“How can you see? What’s being marked?”
Rich, they have research into quantum states that we don’t
“As I told you,” the Theian said. “The first Metasoma—and your proof—came in the very small. Particles come and go through the Metasomas between them. The Metasoma we are inside is only different in scale. The larger the Metasoma or the particle, the longer it takes for our absorption into the outside of the universe of These Things. We are many particles, as you know, and I need you to believe all of this. Ask your bot.”
“Fran?”
I’ve accessed data that shows, proves, that it’s, it’s correct. I have also located Earth, Richard
“Where?”
Twelve light years from our entry into the Metasoma. If we could return to the entry point, I might be able to—
“Richard?” The Theian was speaking to me, but in Methyl’s voice. The Theian switched back to its own voice and said, “Your friend has found out more about our technology than your bot has.”
“Richard? Can you hear us.” Methyl’s voice was different. Matter of fact, almost unthinking in its automatic cadence. Most bizarre was she had an accent I’d never heard before and could not place.
The coldness of black and the hung stars returned, an alien skyscape of ancient galaxies and in the middle of it all, the Metasoma: black, motionless, millions of light years wide, waiting for us.
“We’ve been kicked out of the tributary again,” the Theian said. “The first time it was because you woke up. Now you are getting messages. You are unique cargo.”
“Radio Kill Report. The View-Master, the helium balloon,” came Methyl’s voice, this time from the stars. The Theian’s mouth remained closed, and she crossed her iridescent, crystalline arms over her chest. Her stare was chilling.
Methyl, we hear you
Francesca thought to reply before I could get the slightest of bearings, hearing Methyl’s strangely accented and rote voice and being out of the Metasoma again, and before I could get a grip on my surroundings, alien and distant as the stars surrounding us she was speaking.
“Richard?”
“We’re here,” I said through my speech center. My voice manifested in the starfield, but nothing came back.
“What do you mean she figured something out?” I turned to the Theian, in as much as I could turn at all—maybe she turned her manifestation to suit my mind’s wish to see her, I couldn’t know.
“Instantaneous communication,” the Theian said. “Even in the Metasoma, although it doesn’t remove you from the stream. For that, we might need to look to your robot.”
Methyl we’re attempting to reach you
“Fran, can you get her?”
If this is truly instantaneous—
“Messages can pass through small Metasomas,” the Theian said, cutting off Francesca’s question. “That discovery was our first proof in the existence of the God of These Things.”
“Why can’t we talk to her?”
“It’s not for cargo to communicate. That would violate the principles of the mission.”
Methyl’s voice came from the stars again. She sounded both like she was reading from a prepared speech and like she had wrung herself dry saying it repeatedly. “Rich, we are sheltering in place in the caverns. We don’t remember what they were called anymore. They aren’t far from Dayton. Do you remember? Fallout shelters, I think they used to be called. We still believe in you. Those who do not believe will not stop unless we stop them.”
“Methyl,” I said. “What people?”
The Theian has disabled the outbound communication system
“Thank you, Fran.”
“You heard your friend,” the Theian said. “Belief. Departures can be destabilizing. Had your other friend, Xavier Gregor, not made us public, none of this would be happening. I’m glad he did, because your world is becoming very promising. None of you know about the Metasoma, but many already believe, even with a war on Earth none have seen before.”
Don’t listen to her riddles, Rich. We traveled twelve light years before we entered the Metasoma twice. There’s every indication that the Methyl we just heard lives one thousand two hundred and thirty-one years after we ascended, due to time dilation on the drone
“She’s still alive?”
“As are many,” said the Theian. “Your friend’s scheme worked, in some areas. Ocean currents, political machinations, etcetera, left a sizable piece of your species looking for the vaccine but not finding it. Now, there’s a war covering your planet, and the war is over you.”
