Chapter 1 - Conversion

                “I am not here to make a convert of you,” I preached to the dour crowd. The Concertist finished her Invocational and everyone returned to their seat following my Procession to the pulpit. The Hardfolk were uninterested. Picking at their fingernails, fidgeting with their hair, forcing their eyes open to stay awake. Some were even on their pocket devices. This sermon was not for them. The few Wildfolk, however. They were a different story. Ruddy and unkempt, I locked eyes with all of them. “For one cannot be converted to Science. Science is undeniable. Its evidence is all around us. I am here because this village has chosen to devote themselves to Science. I am here to ensure that devotion is rewarded. Mind blesses those who follow the ways of Science. Mind was born of Science and bestows its gifts to those who believe. Those who contribute to the Great Truth. The one true meaning of life. The answer to the question ‘Why are we here?’ As you see, I am of you. I am not an elite Citizen. I wear the habit of the Ascetics, not the Second Skin. I present my face to you, un-Mask’d! I was born of Wildfolk. Yes, it’s true! I have served as a chaplain to the Templari. I work this Mission not as punishment, but by choice. I am here to serve you, not convert you. Let us pray.”

                Everyone closed their eyes, bowed their heads, and held hands. I bowed my head and folded my hands, “Oh great Mind, Savior of Humanity, deliver us to the stars, where we may seed new planets and live on eternal,” I raised my head and spread my arms. “Benevolent Mind, protect us from Chaos, and bestow on us your great bounty, that we may serve you. Oh wise Mind, we put our faith in you, that you may guide us ever closer to the Great Truth. In Science we trust, Mind. Deliver us from Entropy, for thine is the kingdom, and the power and glory are yours, now and forever. Praise be.”

                The congregation raised their heads and dropped hands. “Praise be,” they said in unison.

                “Now, let us break off into Lesson. Uhh, any new or Uninitiated, please join Deacon Grace in Classroom One where she will continue covering the Tenets of Civility with you all. Today’s lesson is a rousing presentation on customizing your individual record on the healthcare portal. The kids can go off with Pastor Ern for Truth Study. For the rest of you, I feel it only right that I start my time with you here by kicking off a series of sermons analyzing the poetry and writing of the great Transcendentalist literature from Industrial Antiquity. For today, I’ve chosen to analyze a passage from the great ‘On Walden Pond,’ by the prophet Henry David Thoreau:

‘For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of man here to “glorify God and enjoy him forever.” Still we live meanly, like ants; though the fable tells us that we were long ago changed into men; like pygmies we fight with cranes; it is error upon error, and clout upon clout, and our best virtue has for its occasion a superfluous and evitable wretchedness.’

                “In this passage, Thoreau is commenting on the connection of the God of the Old Ways and the Great Truth of Science. Thoreau was a devout man of God, and he found his deity embodied in the laws that governed the natural world he lived in. This symmetry is where we can find the common ground between Science and Theism. In the aboriginal cultures of the Firstfolk, Gods were not deity as we perceive them today, but instead the titles given to the unknown forces that drove their world...”

*****

                “Thank you, Vicar,” the disheveled Wildman shook my hand as he exited the nave.

                “And thank you...Jacques, is it? I hope to see you here the day after next,” I patted his elbow as his hand dropped away, nodding his head and beaming ear to ear.

                “That was truly special,” the young Hardwoman curtsied to me.

                “I'm glad you enjoyed it, Yoko, is it? If you liked Thoreau, you may enjoy his predecessor, Ralph Waldo Emerson. I suggest studying some passages from 'Nature.'”

                “Yes, Vicar. Thank you!” Her face lit up and she curtsied again.

                “It is so nice to feel the presence of the See once again,” Pastor Ern placed a hand on my shoulder. “Too long I have felt its absence out here in the boondocks.”

                “You would do well to learn from these people, Priest,” I gave him my warmest smile and let his gloved hand fall away as I joined the crush of people milling about in the narthex.

                “I miss the comfort of Habitat, Vicar,” Ern again came up behind me, head bowed slightly.

                “It is alright, Ern. I simply meant to imply that you were stationed here not as punishment. This is a time to learn. This is Mind's true work. Helping these people. Teaching the Great Truth to the apostate and non-believers. Reinvigorating their faith in Science. Letting its lessons improve their lives so that they may find meaning in the Great Truth.”

                “I applied for this Mission so that I would be stationed with you, Vicar. That is why I am here,” Ern straightened his habit and blew his nose into a handkerchief he had stored in his sleeve.

                “Then I am afraid you have chosen this Mission for the wrong reason, Ern,” I hurried past the crowd in the narthex, waving at a smiling Wildwoman as I passed, through the back hall, and into the small room behind the church I deemed my study. “Sit,” I gestured to the small chair situated in front of the simple table I called my desk.

                Ern sat dutifully. “I do not understand, Vicar,” he cocked his head and furrowed his brow.

                “I do not take kindly to those seeking status,” I sat in an equally austere chair behind my desk and folded my hands.

                “But is that not why you left Pastor Al Maliq to serve under Exarch Cohen? To leave the shame of such a heretic and to gain prestige from such a hero?” Ern's shook his head as he spoke.

                I closed my eyes. “I left the tutelage of Al Maliq without ever learning of his heresy. I joined Exarch Cohen not out of vanity or opportunism. I did so for the same reason I left Abbot Gupta. I followed the path my thirst for education lead me upon. Al Maliq had taught me all he could. It is why I am here.  The Archbishop of Dain convinced Exarch Cohen that the next step in my education was here, in Smithsborough.”

                “But surely you must be aware of how hard the See has fought to bring Smithsborough into the fold? If you are successful here, you will surely receive a Cardinalship.” Ern again held fast.

                “I am aware of the importance of my Mission, Ern. But it is not why I am here. I am here for the people. Those Hardfolk and Wildfolk have long felt the absence of Science in their lives and it is my duty, nay, my pleasure, to bring the enlightenment of the Great Truth to their souls. This is not about my career, Ern. This is about serving Mind. This is about the journey, Ern, not the destination. If you are not prepared to open your heart to these people, Priest, I suggest you apply for a new Mission and allow someone who would find spiritual fulfillment here, and return to the Habitat to jockey for status.”

                “But, Vicar, surely you don't take me for...” Ern held his hands up.

                “You are dismissed, Priest. Meditate on what I have said and if you return to me, let your revelations show through in deed and action. Praise be.”

                “Praise be, Vicar,” he nodded abruptly and left. I unfolded my hands and shuffled some papers around on my desk, looking for a clean piece of paper to take notes on.

                “I wasn't sure you were the same Jim,” the Wildwoman said from the doorway.

                “I'll be with you in a second madam,” I said. I scribbled down 5/24, told Ern to inspect virtue. “And who are you?” I did not look up as I wrote. “And please, it is Pastor Ross. You should not use my name.”

                “Little Jimmy, Don't you recognize me?”

                I looked to her, then. Her red hair was a frizzy mane and her face was ruddy and cystic.  She was the most slender I had ever seen a human, her ribs borne clean through her sides and her skin stretched over her ropey muscles like clingfilm. “I am afraid I do not, madam. And who might you be?”

                “Oh Jimbo, you're gonna make me cry,” she ran in and hugged him around the neck from behind. “It's me, don't you recognize me?”

                I craned my neck to look at her as she dropped her embrace. I was able to meet her sharp blue gaze. “Now that I have a look at you, something in your eye is familiar, but I am afraid I cannot summon where from.”

                “I'll take it,” her smile beamed. “It's been more than two decades, so I can't blame you for not recognizing me. You're...different, than I imagined you at this age.”

                “I'm sorry,” I stood to face her. Her head sat no higher than my chest. “But, though familiar, I really do not know who you are and I have important business to attend to. If you will not introduce yourself and end this game, then I must ask you to leave so I may attend to the needs of the Flock.”

                “Always so serious, Jim,” she began to wander around the small room, alighting in front of a bookshelf I had populated with some research. She picked up a book by Carl Gauss and flipped it over a few times, inspecting the cover.

                “It's Pastor Ross,” I took the book out of her hand and put it back before she could move any of the bookmarks. “And, please, I must ask you to leave again.”

                “Oh Jim,” she smirked, “but I have not seen you in so long! Can't I stay a bit longer?”

                “Madam, I have important work to perform. I am tasked with governing this Vicariate, which means I have a a lot of governance that needs implementing, and many pieces of infrastructure require logistical...please, don't touch that...” I ran over to the woman. She had meandered to a corner and picked up the set of calibration blocks I had placed near my scale.

                “Look at you, Jim,” she let the box of blocks slip from her hand as I took it from her and she continued to mill about the room. “So important. I wonder what your mother would say. Proud member of the cloth, now. 'Governing' and binding lowborn to the yolk of Mind.”

                “Madam,” I felt heat between my ears, “you will absolutely desist from using such slander in my presence. How dare you use such words to refer to those hardworking and important people wishing only to ease the challenge of their lives by accepting some assistance from someone with the power to offer it. It is an offense of the highest order to consider these brilliant and amazing people as 'lower' than those in the Habitat. I am not here to gawk. This is my Mission. I wish to preach the valuable lessons that Science has brought us all and offer the boon of infrastructure that Mind's purpose offers. I do not care if they share in my faith. If they will commit to the Great Truth, then I will offer them the gifts that Mind brings. Nothing more. Even a Capitalist such as yourself can understand the value of such a deal.”

                “What I see is one who has strayed far from values that their mother taught them,” she flopped down in the chair in front of my desk. I returned to my chair, as well, and folded my hands.

                “My proginator was physically inseminated by a transient who I have, and never will, know. She worked as a carpenter for a small furniture factory where she lived as a wage-slave. Her faith's cult leader oppressed all in the collective, taxing and tithing all underneath him into destitution. He ruled his fiefdom unchecked as a Monopolistic god,” I scowled at the woman. Her face was unflinching. “I do not see the problem with 'straying' from the 'yolk' she toiled under.”

                “We lived free, Jim,” She did not move. “No one watching. No 'governance.' She could have left, but she worked the factory not because of some blind devotion to her faith. It was not a cult. And Levi was not a Monopolist. He cared for us. It took tremendous amounts of money to run that collective. We suffered for the greater good. To be liberated. To live free.”

                “Do you know how much money Levi has?” My eyes widened and I clipped my words. “I do. I know exactly how much his cult earns and how much he keeps.  I investigated the collective after I joined the Rite.” My words did not shift her face. “His sweatshop does extremely well for itself, and they are extremely litigious. They game the system to keep out of Mind's bad graces and keep to the back channels so that their shady dealings do not appear in the record. Those people 'yearning to live free' are being oppressed by a tyrannical madman. His greed knows no bounds, and his morality no virtue. He treats his subjects like numbers on a balance sheet, and sees them only for the money he can make off of them. It is sick and wrong.”

                “I know how much better your world is,” the young lady said dispassionately. “It's why I'm trying to leave that life. But to us out there, to those people like your mother, it wasn't about the money. It was about tradition. It didn't matter that Levi bled us all dry. He provided a slice of the old ways to us. Preserving that history is important, Pastor.”

                “But you can!” I grinned and leaned against the table, chest to my elbows.”That's the secret he kept from all of us! Mind has no problem with you living under his umbrella. Look at the Ascetics. Look at the Hardfolk. They all keep alive the ways of the past, but they do so with the guidance and protection of Mind.”

                “Not those old ways, Jim,” she put her hands on mine as I retreated my face. “The bliss, Jim. The bliss. We liked the work because it was hard on our bodies, challenging to master. It felt good working my muscles. My brain. The exhaustion at the end of the day, and the vigor from the next morning's coffee were intoxicating. Work hard, play hard. It was a brutal life, sure, and you knew that smarter, more savvy people were bilking you, but it was simple. We got to turn off and get lost in ourselves. I think the Rite calls it active meditation.  'Repetitive but engaging monotony allows you to enter a place deep inside ourselves.' Here, with Mind, you're always thinking about everything. In my world, you are always thinking about nothing. That's why we stuck around. We aren't smart, but we work hard.”

                “See, and this is where I must interject, Miss,” I stood and placed my balled fist in my palm behind my back. “I do not think this has anything to do with intelligence or 'smarts.' instead, I argue, this is not about engagement or wit, but about blindness. These ideas are not so complex or challenging that they cannot be comprehendedby even the simplest mind. Instead, it is not even knowing what you should be seeing or looking for. This, instead, is about ignorance. Even if I believe he was not power-hungry and disdainful, this is still a case of a willfully neglectful man preying on ignorance.”

                “Ignorance is bliss,” the woman shrugged with a half-smirk. “Devout faith is easier than skeptical doubt.”

                “For once we agree,” I flopped back into my chair, hands in my lap.  “Not about the faith-skepticism thing. I think they are equally as easy and as challenging. But ignorance and ease. I can understand those.” I put my elbow on the table and cradled my chin in my palm. “The Great Truth preaches that innocence is the key to innovation. All of Mind's power is devoted to the preservation of innocence, from cradle to grave. Innocence, it seems, is bred from ignorance.”

                “But why work so hard? For what?” the woman shrugged again.

                “Because...” I raised my eyebrows and closed my eyes for a long time before resuming, “...because there is something greater than us, that we are merely a part of. Something bigger than just yours or my simple, brief existence. In moments of doubt, I remember how arrogant it is to think that I matter. I am but a part of something much more than me, even if it is arbitrary. When I die, the world will continue, just as it had before I was born.”

                “So why live at all?” the woman scrunched her nose.

                “Because,” I shrugged, head still in hand. “It was chosen that I was be born. Mind offers us a comfortable existence from cradle to grave to apologize for the arrogance of that decision. I took it up on that proposition once, too.”

                “And why did you join the Rite?” her face was impassive.

                “To have conversations with people like you, whoever you may be,” I smirked. “My life is conversations.”

                “But really, why?” She folded her arms across her chest.

                “Seriously. Because I wanted to engage with real people,” I leaned back. “In the Habitat, you're given a little room. It's comfortable. You're afforded any means of entertainment you could require. An entire virtual reality is provided. Nutrition, medical attention, you name it, all taken care of. People never left their rooms, though, and the virtual social networks weren't the same. My room became a cell. Prisoner to comfort and fancy by my own will. I felt that there had to be more to life. So, I joined the Ascetics on a whim. I found a community of people who felt the same as I did, and I fell into Science.”

                “And look how far you've come,” she nodded her head down, then up.

                “I am passionate about Science,” I held my hands open. “The Great Truth opened my eyes. It is a truly liberating thing.”

                “It sounds to me as though you just swapped one faith for another,” She remained unmoved, arms crossed.

                “And you wouldn't be wrong, necessarily,” I shrugged. “The difference is what I decided to put my faith in. Science, unlike Theism, is indeed religious, as humans are wont to treat all matters of philosophy religiously.  The difference between Science and Theism is in the dogma and ontology.”

                “How and why,” she squinted.

                “Exactly, how and why,” I wagged my finger at her. “I chose Science over apostasy or Theism because of the power Science has, not as a spiritual surrogate, but as a way of looking at the world.”

                “This is very quickly devolving from a conversation into a lecture,” she stood up and did a pirouette around my desk, dragging her finger along the edge of the table as she alighted next to me. Her movements were lithe and agile, her scant clothing and emaciation highlightingthe contractions of what seemed like every individual muscle fiber as spun.

                “My apologies,” I craned my head to follow her as she meandered around me. “It's a habit I have. Comes with the cloth,” I held the material of my robe between my thumb and forefinger and let it fall away.

                “It's cute,” she came to a halt opposite me again, where she leaned over the desk, her face inches from mine. “But I really must go.  After today's rousing class on health care, I'm inspired to access my portal,” she leaned back and crossed her arms under her bust, cocking a hip out and angling a hand up to inscribe a circle around her face, “maybe they can do something about this crater field.”

                “If you are staying in the dormitories in town,” I maintained eye contact, “there is a Drop where Mind may deliverwhatever basic cosmetics and medical supplies you may need.” I looked her up and down in an obvious way, “And there is a commissary in the church basement, in case you are hungry.”

                “I may take you up on that.” She turned and sauntered away, pausing at the door to crane her head back to me, “why does the Rite want Smithsborough so badly?”

                “Um,” I paused for a second and cocked my head. “I am not entirely certain. I have been told that the directive comes down from Overmind itself. 'It is crucial to the Great Truth that Smithsborough be brought into the fold,' they told me. I do not dare attempt to understand all that the Great Synthesis understands. I would hazard that it is building a Seed and would like samples from Smithsborough, but those matters are, as they say, above my pay grade.”

                “Samples?” she furrowed her brow.

                “For another time,” I closed my eyes and smiled. “Go to the commissary and join Deacon Grace in the cafeteria. I believe she has made a hearty stew for everyone to enjoy. All natural local and church garden ingredients, none of that industrial Habitat stuff. The type of soup that sticks to your bones. Such artisanal cuisine would be worth a king's ransom in the Inner Circles.”

                “Those posh lushes'll never know what they're missing,” she winked and continued her saunter away.

                ***

                His thrust was quick. I parried and pivoted to the side, letting the assailant stumble past me. I jabbed the rim of the tiny buckler affixed to the knuckles of my gauntlet into the the back of his neck. He dropped, rolled, and stood facing me again, the tip of his jian just outside my effective range as he wobbled slightly, trying to blink away the stars. With a shake of his head, he skip-stepped into range, and with a lithe disengage and a stretched lunge, dodged his blade around the inside of my guard and attempted to bury the tip in the small crescent beneath my armpit that was unmailed. I pulled my shoulder back with millimeters to spare, but the assailant pushed onto his lead toe, his quadriceps straining against his leather trousers as he pulled himself up and forward into a spin attack so fast it was as though he were levitating. I punched his blade with my buckler as I swung my other shoulder back into place and drove my blade toward his midsection.

                Much to my surprise, however, the attacker pushed off of my buckler, spinning around to my outside and landed a reverse slash on my rear. The flat of the jian connected with a thud across my back, the unexpected hit staggering me forward. Thankfully, it did not rend the rings of my mail, but the blow was enough to force me into a forward roll to catch my footing. I pivoted mid-roll to face my foe, panting as I tried to recover my breath. He was relentless and began his next assault, again jabbing the long, gradually-sloping point of his sword at my neck, trying to hit the the gap between my bassinet and gorget. I parried down and out, knocking the blade to my side, and slammed the buckler into his face. The steel boss did not connect. He instead flipped backward, landing in a low crouching stance, from which he swiped the flat face of his jian against my ankle, dropping me to a knee.

                I snorted in the thick, oppressive air inside the padded walls of my bassinet as I laboriously recovered my footing and dropped my center of gravity by squatting low, spreading my legs wide, attempting to keep my zone of control aligned with his. My opponent jumped nimbly to my left, and again made a play for my armpit. This time, however, he did so in a way that foolishly exposed his back to me after I dropped my sword down in parry. Quickly, I riposted, driving my sword through the loose cloth beneath his own armpit, right between the ribs. The tip bit into his muscle. He wailed in agony, but scooped his arm around the blade. I twisted the blade, pushing up with my legs with such force he flew away, my sword wrenched from my hand as he thudded to the ground.

                I approached the body and kicked away the long black beard covering his throat. The wound under his shoulder was bubbling oozy blood as he choked and coughed, tying to get air into his lungs. With a quick slash, I ran my steel clean between his spine, cleaving his head from his spine. As his face rolled away, with all my might, I drove the blade down into his skull, ensuring his expiration.

                “You win!” belted through the sky, as though bellowed from on high.

                Everything cut to black. “Thank you, Brother,” the deep, gravelly voice said as though directly into my brain. “I resisted the Cut as much as I could. Thank you for the bout, your bladework is truly masterful. The Templari wish you would reconsider joining the Sergeants.” The black faded away, and me, the man who was my assailant, and several others were sitting on stumps in a dark field around a low, slowly crackling fire. “You are the only sword-and-buckler in this domain who I cannot beat,” the man continued.

                “He is plateless,” the mud-covered blonde woman across from me said without raising her head. “Too fast for an edged weapon. And with a punch buckler, too robust for close range. Rapier or Estoc. No one picks pointed weapons against a sword-and-buckler because they usually wear plate or scale.”

                “You should take a hint from Ylysse, Adrian,” I nodded her way. She did not acknowledge it and instead stared blankly into the dancing flame. “She defeated me with an Espada, recently. It was not even a competition.” I squirmed in place and held a hand to my gut, “I can still feel the steel penetrating my side before the Cut.”

                “We really wish you would return to the corps, Jim,” the dark-skinned woman next to Ylysse, the flame dancing against her glowing white eyes. “Grand Master Tycho and Exarch Cohen would love to see your return. A new Crusade is to be waged against Fabrican Timwark.”

                “Timwark? Why?” I cocked my head toward her.

                “Fabrican Nils is set to reproduce,” she shrugged. “They have had a seed prepared for several months now, and have courted us to fertilize it. Overmind has given us land to grow on, but it encroaches on what Timwark claims is historic breeding ground they have been building their own seed to utilize. Overmind says that they may stake a large claim in the East near Fabrican Yamato, but Timwark does not wish to lose its prime real estate next to the Grand Vatican.”

                “So my earlier suspicions were correct,” I nodded. “I had postulated that is why Smithsborough is so highly desired by the See.”

                “Probably,” the woman nodded as her eyes began to glow menacingly. “I have a duel request from a Zweihander. I’m taking this one.” She held her finger to her temple and dissolved into the night air.

                “Oh my,” I said, noticing the time. “I have service early tomorrow. I need to prepare my sermon. Thank you for the duels, Brothers. Enjoy the remainder of your night.” I nodded and held my finger to my temple. My field of vision went black, and I pulled the visor off of my face, returning me to the hard wooden chair in the tiny closet-sized room I had made my sleeping quarters. I placed my visor on the night stand across from me, removed my cassock, and climbed into the spartan bed next to me. I propped myself up against the wall behind the headboard with my pillow, swiping the tablet off my nightstand and began reviewing my sermon notes.