Fine Tuned Page 3

  “Your crime was severe and your punishment correct,” he said. “It is rare for such a thing to be overlooked.” He started to circle the prostrate Xichial. “You have lived virtuously these past cycles and that is to your credit.”

  He completed one circle. “I am concerned that your primary motivation was to redeem yourself. It is difficult to know what lessons were incorporated.”

  He completed a second circle. “Hmm. There are complexities here.”

  He completed a third circle and stopped before the trembling creature.

  “The petition has been decided,” he said. He plucked the axe-spear from the grip of one of the nearby guards and drove it into the palm-like crown of the Xichial, Lap-re-yol. Ker twelve legs splayed out with the force and ker body went limp. A hushed, reverent “Oh” emanated from the watching courtiers.

  Aroused from my own ruminations only long enough to witness this judgment, I retreated from the nausea that threatened. Confusion washed over me. Was the Xichial’s death a reward or a punishment? Had kee atoned or failed to learn?

  Chi-ta-pron turned from the inert, lifeless body and ascended to his throne.

  Do they believe in reincarnation?—I wondered. No other human visitors to Paradise had ever reported that, although Chi-ta-pron himself had said things consistent with the idea during my visit. It was the only way this morning’s deaths could make sense. Except, the Emperors never seemed to be changed by their own Ascension. They weren’t put to death or sped along. If anything, their highly-public ceremony disproved the whole idea of a reincarnation-based religion.

  My agitated fronds drew a reprimanding glance from the Emperor several times in the hours after the executions.

  I don’t think anyone else was killed that day, though limbs were occasionally lost. Kuh-lan-ti justice was beyond my understanding.

  * * *

  Chi-ta-pron’s Day of Ascension began early the next morning with a parade through the city. Somehow, despite the schedule having been moved forward several days, hundreds of marching bands were out in full regalia, along with flower-decked floats and tens of thousands of costumed marchers. The parade wound for hours through city streets, lined with millions of well-wishers.

  The Emperor walked toward the end of the long line, unguarded as ever, waving fronds and tentacles at the crowd. He wandered from one edge of the street to the other, greeting people as if they’d known each other forever. Cheers, happy shouts, and tears of joy flowed freely.

  I must have walked over thirty kilometers that day, just a few dozen meters behind the Emperor’s main entourage. The Emperor outdid me by ten klicks, weaving from one side of the street to the other.

  As midday approached, I sagged gratefully onto a cushioned stool back in the Imperial Gardens, while the Emperor continued mingling with the throngs of well-wishers filling the walkways and spilling onto the manicured lawns. He seemed to be buoyed up by them, energized, as he basked in their goodwill.

  Not me. Resting alone behind a lush flowerbed marking the edge of the gardens, I grumbled to myself about the incomprehensibility of it all. If the Emperor were actually going to be dead at the end of the ceremony, why was everyone so happy? If nothing was going to change, what was the purpose of the whole thing?

  Tens of thousands gathered in the palace’s main plaza to watch the Ascension ceremony. There was an air of both festivity and solemnity. First, we feasted and were entertained by dancers, jugglers and acrobats (try that in 5g!), musicians, and magicians.

  In the middle of the long afternoon, a bell sounded three times to mark the beginning of the formal ceremony. Chi-ta-pron let go of his role as charming host and began a short journey to the various shrines positioned around the plaza. At each shrine, he bobbed and mumbled words of devotion, most of which were rendered inaudible by the ear-piercing clangs of the ceremonial bell.

  On completing the circuit, he ascended to his throne, the Seat of Ascension, which had been moved outside and placed on a dangerously high pedestal. He motioned for me to sit in the front row at the foot of the dais. He stood before his throne, and the crowd hushed to hear him speak.

  “My people, my friends,” he began. “I have lived among you for hundreds of cycles. Together, we have experienced all life has to offer. Hardship, joy, love, friendship, duty, integrity, and ambition. Today, my An-kuh-lan ascends to join the gods who created all life, here and throughout the known lands.”

  His eyes stalks swerved my way and he indicated that I should join him.

  “My Ascension is unusual not just because it arrives before the appointed time, but because this being is here.” He placed a rubbery tentacle atop my fronds. His own fronds shook with laughter. The Xichials in the crowd echoed his sentiment with a noisy, appreciative rustle. I didn’t get the joke. At all.

  Chi-ta-pron continued more seriously. “When I am gone, the Empire is to be honored with a visit from the An-lan—not in body, that is almost never permitted—but the An-kuh-lan of such a one shall be here in my place. Kee is here to offer judgment of the humans, their beliefs, their actions, and their ambitions.”

  His eyestalks bore down on me. I writhed uncomfortably.

  What’s all this about?—I wondered. This was the strangest reincarnation-based end-of-life ceremony I’d ever seen. Chi-ta-pron was clearly in excellent health. The only way he was departing this world was at the hand of someone wielding lethal force. But no weapons were visible nearby. And what could it mean that the An-kuh-lan of an An-lan (whatever that was) would take his place? To judge me? And all of humanity? Our beliefs and ambitions? He’d said the same the previous day, but it was ridiculous. My mind reeled.

  Chi-ta-pron sat down on his throne. He motioned me closer and grabbed one of my tentacles in his. “Don’t worry, Wed-jay-woo. It doesn’t hurt a bit,” he whispered.

  He winked and laughed.

  I could say nothing.

  He closed his numerous eyes and his fronds sank in deep relaxation. His grip on my tentacle loosened, but I held on tight. I was afraid to let go, fearing the consequences of an apparent rejection of the Emperor’s touch. A hum rose from the crowd, generated by vocal cords, vibrating antennas, and wheezing spiracles of all the species gathered.

  It went on for about a minute, and then stopped abruptly. By some sort of mutual agreement—I supposed. There had been no chime or signal.

  Chi-ta-pron opened his eyes and pushed my tentacle away. It was a quick, reflexive motion as if he was revolted by the sense of contact with me. He stood abruptly and walked to the steps leading to the ground.

  What happened?—I wondered. Nothing was obvious.

  “Follow me,” the Emperor commanded. The humor had vanished from his tone.

  I walked in his wake to his study. Behind us, the crowd quickly dissipated. The entertainers and food servers departed. Workers disassembled the stage, and the grounds crew began cleaning the terrace and garden. Within minutes, it looked as if the entire ceremony hadn’t happened at all.

  As always—I thought. I waited for the Emperor to speak.

  Though I’d known what to expect, the seeming pointlessness of it still caught me by surprise. The Emperor was still here, the same Emperor. Despite the day-long ceremony and all the preparations leading up to it, nothing had actually changed. The Emperor just closed his eyes for a minute. Probably, less than a minute. And then life went back to normal. It was baffling.

  He pulled the decorative bands and ribbons from his various appendages, and tossed them carelessly onto the floor. He resumed his perch on the stool behind the desk, and rearranged his stamps and seals. When I could bear waiting no more and was about to speak out of turn, he looked at me.

  “You are the human representative from the Church of the Six. Tell me your truths.”

  His tone sounded nothing like the Chi-ta-pron I’d come to know over the past few days.

  My spiracles gaped. Multiple personalities? Triggered how?

 
“We have discussed these already, Majesty,” I ventured.

  “Integration is not yet complete,” he replied, inscrutably. His fronds rustled with what sounded like annoyance. “Repeat, then,” he ordered.

  “Very well,” I replied. “Simply put, the Six show how the parameters of this natural universe are finely tuned for life to arise and evolve, eventually leading to intelligence and consciousness. We believe the incredibly complex and precise nature of the universe is a demonstration of its intelligent design. Of the Hand of God at work, if you will.”

  The Emperor glared at me and I tried not to shrivel away from the power in his eyes. I returned his stare for several uncomfortable seconds, astounded at how he’d been changed by the Ascension Ceremony. The humor and wit I’d been met with over the past few days was gone. Any sense of a budding friendship evaporated under this new, penetrating intensity.

  What happened on the throne in that short interval while his eyes were closed? I had no answers.

  “Proceed,” he growled, bringing my attention back to the moment.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said. “As we discussed only the other day, Kuh-lan-ti is a special example of God’s work.”

  “Ah, yes,” he interjected. “The memories are flowing now. Our unique and interesting life forms.”

  “Exactly, Your Highness. God’s direct intervention here is obvious to our scientists. Life on Kuh-lan-ti simply cannot have evolved naturally in any way we can see.”

  “No, not in any way you can see,” he agreed. “Tell me, is it possible that you are simply not seeing very well?”

  “That is a possibility, Your Majesty. Which is why we seek permission for more detailed studies. A more careful analysis of the DNA of your many species may prove or disprove our hypothesis.”

  “I am certain further study will only confirm what you already believe to be true,” he said.

  “I assure Your Majesty, our scientists are most objective in this,” I protested.

  He dismissed the claim with a flick of a tentacle. “Irrelevant. An objective examination will confirm Kuh-lan-ti life could not have evolved naturally. It is that way on all the Kuh-lan-ti.”

  All the Kuh-lan-ti? The strange phrase hadn’t escaped my notice.

  “Regardless,” he continued, “Your fine-tuned universe hypothesis is demonstrably incorrect.”

  “How so, Your Majesty?” It briefly occurred to me that I was discussing high-level science, philosophy, and theology with someone whose civilization could only be described as primitive. Why had I bothered to open such a conversation with him?

  Damn my ambition! Damn the tantalizing biology of Paradise!

  I perked up for what was sure to be a laughable answer.

  “If the universe was so well-suited for life everywhere, why is so much of it uninhabitable by biological life forms? Why is there no life on the far larger surfaces of the suns? Why are there only simple organic molecules in the deep vacuum between the stars?”

  My feeding proboscis dropped right to the floor this time, before I regained control.

  How could he possibly know of these things? “Where have you read this, Your Majesty?”

  “It is common knowledge among us,” he answered.

  Impossible! “But, that only demonstrates how rare and special life is to our Lord, God.”

  “Well, which is it?” he demanded. “Is life so important to your God that the universe is specifically designed for it to exist everywhere? Or is life so rare and special that it is barely tolerated throughout most of the universe?”

  I tried desperately to recall material from my Advanced Theology of the Six courses in graduate seminary.

  “Which is it, man?” the Emperor pushed. “Come, now. Surely it must be one or the other.”

  “I think it might be both, your Majesty.”

  Now he laughed, but harshly. “I look forward to that explanation.”

  I spoke deliberately. “The universe has been designed by God to make life possible, but if it was everywhere what value would it have?”

  Chi-ta-pron stood and wandered to his open study door. He watched the workers putting the garden back to normal. Still facing outside, he said, “I will grant you that the messiness of biological life has its value. Even the An-lan agree on this. But it is also true that biological life is neither the pinnacle nor the purpose of the universe. It is but a stepping stone.”

  “A place for our spirits to grow before we are rewarded in Heaven, Your Majesty?”

  He turned to me and scowled; that is, his eyestalks squinted and his fronds pushed rigidly outward.

  “Not as you think of it, fool,” he answered.

  The Emperor had never before insulted me, nor spoken so harshly. My own fronds drooped in humiliation.

  “Your Majesty is angry with me. I am sorry if I have offended you.”

  Chi-ta-pron approached to within a tentacle’s easy reach. His voice softened. “You humans can be so exasperating. You understand so much and so little at the same time.” He considered his next words.

  “I have decided,” he said. A tentacle darted out, poking sharply at my palm-like core.

  A coldness spread outward from where he touched me. “Majesty?”

  “You will now learn the true way of the universe,” he said. “Your absurd human beliefs have no place among the An-tor, the people of this planet. Nor among any of the An-lan, or the many Kuh-lan-ti we have created.”

  Created? Was he claiming these primitive people had made Kuh-lan-ti? And other such planets?

  “I don’t understand, your Highness,” I said.

  “Clearly not,” he replied. “But let me tell you.”

  He returned to his stool and straightened his few remaining body adornments. I watched intently, not knowing what to expect.

  “Ages ago, life evolved naturally on a planet in a galaxy not unlike this one,” he began.

  I sat there, unmoving, transfixed as much by his words as by the paralysis creeping out from where he’d jabbed my central core.

  “These ancestors of the An-lan eventually developed consciousness and intelligence. They began to explore their solar system and other nearby stars. Like you humans, they found few signs of life except in primitive forms on special planets. The vastness of space was inhospitable to biological life and its complex chemistry. For a while, they despaired of being alone in an uncaring universe.”

  He paused to make sure I was following.

  “Pleash continue, Yur Maphesty,” I mumbled. My speaking mouthparts were having trouble functioning.

  “The ancestors developed a new kind of life, one based on rugged machinery that could tolerate the conditions found in most of the universe. They made the An-lan, the machine-people. At first, they moved the majority of their consciousness into their new machines. But then they discovered the dangerous lure of the inner worlds.”

  Inner worlds? I could no longer speak; I tried to hold my fronds alertly, instead.

  “The virtual worlds they spun in their machine imaginations were such enticing places to live their long lives. Their attention turned increasingly away from the real universe as they spent more and more time inside their dreams. Until the Tuk-luk invaded.” He almost spat the name.

  “It was a long war. Some of the An-lan argued to withdraw completely to the safety of their dreams, and hide in the dark spaces no living beings desired. Others argued to maintain a presence in the real universe, the universe of crude matter. Eventually, they decided to keep their connection with the real. They fought the Tuk-luk and won.

  “Since that ancient time, we have maintained a strict policy of mixed biological and machine lives. One may encapsulate one’s Kuh-lan-ti, one’s essential cognitive structures, in the long-lived machine world only after one-thousand lifetimes in the biological. We have learned it takes many such corporeal lives to firmly ground one’s mind in the real.”

  Actual reincarnation!—I tho
ught, now unable to move at all. But how?

  He stood again, and moved to my side of his desk.

  “We have studied enough of your human religious beliefs that I can guess what you’re thinking right now. But there is nothing mystical about this. There is no spirit, no soul that moves between realms of biology and machine. The An-kuh-lan, the essence, is copied and transmitted from its permanent semiconductor store into the brains of the organisms we have designed to house it.”

  He plucked a pen from the desk top and waved it at me like a magic wand. “So you see, Wed-jay-woo, you were right. Life on Kuh-lan-ti was designed. By us! As on all the millions of Kuh-lan-ti planets across the known universe. There is no proof of your God’s special design here. It was the An-lan.”

  I heard a strange buzzing sound; it seemed to come from inside me.

  The Emperor continued, “As should be obvious by now, Chi-ta-pron, the previous An-kuh-lan to inhabit the body of this Emperor, has at last earned the right to join the An-lan in the vastness of space. Ascension is a joyous time when one is finally permitted to leave behind the miserable entrapment in these restrictive biological bodies. Normally, corporeal sentence lasts the lifetime of the body. Emperors, however, are special.

  “Becoming Emperor is the last step to Ascending. We permit our people to celebrate the accomplishment so they can be reminded of that to which they should all aspire. To live fully, with a wide array of experience, to gain wisdom, and to remember the real universe.”

  The room was growing fuzzy and I was having trouble concentrating.

  Judgment—I remembered. There was to be a judgment of humanity. I felt my legs splaying open, my muscle control waning.

  Then everything snapped into clarity and I sat upright and alert.

  “Good,” the Emperor said. “It is complete.”

  And it was. I knew his story was true. It was there in full, in my mind.