Chapter 2 - Steeping

“Alright, Let's go over this again,” I sat on one of the flat desks at the head of the classroom and rolled up the sleeves of my habit. “The Cathedral sits at the center of the Habitat. From there, the city blocks radiate out, forming concentric rings. The first few rings around the Cathedral are generally occupied by clergy and Arbiters, and are commonly referred to as the Inner Circle. The rings just outside the Inner Circle are home to the top-tier dormitory blocks. If you raise your level high enough, you may just gain access to the luxuries found within.

“And how do we do that, again?” one of the men in the front asked. He was wearing a fresh white button-down and a pair of crisp khakis, standard issue from the church commissary.

“Participation in society,” I folded my hands as I addressed him directly. His face was still quite red from a fresh shave. “Mind knows that we have not chosen to be born, so it allows us berth to spend our days in comfort, living a life of leisure, until we meet our demise. But, by choosing to contribute to the Great Truth, it rewards us with access to more of its bounty.”

“And how do we 'participate?'” he wiggled his head and made air-quotes.

I picked up the translucent sheet next to me. At my touch, it revealed a page of text. “This is your Initiation Profile,” I held the page face-up between my palms, and then slowly raised my top hand as the image expanded into a 3D hologram. “You'll remember visiting this page with Deacon Grace. Instead of using the 'Health Portal,’ we can access the 'Citizenship Portal.' On here, we see a bunch of different things we can do to earn progress points toward increasing our 'Civic Engagement' score. As you increase your score, you'll increase your Citizenship level. See here,” I pointed to my progress bar, “I am about a quarter of the way to level 17. If you look here,” I pointed at a bullet list of text underneath the bar, “it lists all of the Benefits I get for reaching level 17.”

“What if I stop caring?” the familiar, minimally-dressed redhead said from the back.

I sighed. “You are obliged to maintain your score if you wish to maintain your status. If you do not keep up with the weekly tax, Mind will demote you and you will lose the benefits of your station.”

“Sir?” a timid young man raised a hand. “May I ask a question?”

“Absolutely, child.” I made eye contact and smiled. “What do you wish to know?”

“Um, I know this is a stupid question,” he averted his eyes and furrowed his brow. “What is Mind? We keep talking about him like he's a person, and you say he's not God. So what is he?”

“It,” I stared into the middle distance, cocking my head, “is an intelligence. Can anyone answer this young man's...wait what is your name?”

“Terrance, sir,”

“...can anyone answer Terrance's question?” I raised my eyebrows and scanned the room.

“It's a computer our ancestors built?” a dark-haired woman in the middle said. She too was wearing white and khaki.

“Good,” I smiled at her, “and how did Mind come to be our caretaker?” I prodded.

She scrunched her face, and paused for a long while. “I can’t remember. Sorry,” she frowned and hung her head.

“Do not feel ashamed. You did very well! Anyone else?” I spread my arms and smiled as warmly as I could. Everyone shifted in their seat and refused eye contact. “Long ago, at the end of the Computational Antiquity era,” I clapped my hands together and resumed, “the great Algos was first conceived. In those days, humans braved the natural elements and were the planet's dominant species. At the time, technology was relatively sophisticated. Indeed, many of that era's usage patterns persist to this day. But, all the supercomputers that ran the planet, combined, were barely as powerful as a single computational unit of Mind. It was from these primitive, microprocessor-based computers that Algos was born.”

“And Mind is Algos?” the girl squinted.

“Sort of,” I scrunched my nose and pulled up on a corner of my mouth. “Algos was a massive supercomputing network. It was designed to manage world distribution logistics. It had an artificial intelligence that was programmed to utilized a massive network of satellites and sensors to control huge fleets of drones. Very quickly, Algos transformed the face of Earth. Algos was so effective, that it was modified to handle economics, business, and even law.”

“And then the Collapse,” Red said.

“Collapse?” the other woman asked.

“A series of natural and human-caused calamities,” I frowned. “Our arrogance became our own undoing. Much of the judicial system and police enforcement, the vetting of political candidates, and most all economic and social policy were beholden by Algos, but humans were still humans, and Algos was not the final authority on anything. An imperfect system of campaigning and voting was what inevitably ruled the land, Algos was merely a reference tool, not imbued with any level of authority. At the time, A hundred million-year meteor, twenty or so kilometers across, was set to land dead-center in the most populace nation. Algos warned and warned that if they did not do something immediately, in fifty years’ time, the meteor would become unavoidable.”

“But Johnny Capitalist refused to think long-term, because Capitalism is evil, and by the time anyone cared, it was too late,” Red rolled her eyes.

“No, actually,” I frowned again. “The Rite has never blamed Capitalism or Theology for the oversight, despite what I know you have no doubt been told. It was not Capitalism that made everyone ignore Algos, but instead, short-sighted human arrogance. The people thought they could handle it, no matter what, and continued to spend their resources on near-term investments. When it was near enough to pervade public consciousness, far too close to use gravitational deflection by that point, they slammed every manner of weapon into it. Ballistic missiles, nuclear warheads, ablative lasers, you name it. They even landed a crew of astronauts on the thing, and planted explosive charges deep inside it.”

“And?” Red said. “How did they fail?”

“Oh, they didn’t. They very effectively destroyed the meteor.”

“Then what happened?” she pulled the corners of her mouth back and squinted. “Is the Collapse a lie, too?”

“No, but it was not the asteroid impact that killed the dinosaurs,” I wagged a finger. “It was the the destruction of their delicate ecosystem. Earth has a strong gravitational field. All of the debris swarmed pour atmosphere, including several dozen smaller chunks of the meteor that were still hundreds of meters across. Individually, none of these meteors caused significant damage. But the atmosphere was irrevocably damaged. Climate change ruined crop yields. The tidal waves the smaller chunks caused wreaked havoc on shipping infrastructure. The dust clouds grounded airplane transport. Tensions ran high over food and aid. Wealthy nations became overtaxed and aggressive. One day, a particularly crazy despot, frustrated over inequity, shot off a dozen nuclear missiles at the richest cities.”

“This sounds familiar,” a white-shirted man said. “Is this when the crazy guy made the bunker?”

“Yes!” I pointed and smiled enthusiastically. “Elohim Muscot. He devised an Ark to preserve humanity. Dug deep into the planet’s crust, he invented a self-sustaining habitat automated by…” I spread my hands and scanned the room “…come on one of you must know…”

“Algos?” the dark-haired woman reluctantly suggested.

“Yes!” I stood up and dug my finger through the air. “He took inspiration from the symbiosis between gut bacteria and the human body. His new creation would be the ‘gut’ within which we live. As we are called Humans, he called his fabricated body a ‘Fabrican.’”

“So, I was right. Algos is Mind,” she folded her arms and leaned back in her chair.

“I said ‘Sort of,’” I paused and started pacing across the front of the class. “Algos powered the first Fabrican, it’s true. But Algos was merely an artificial intelligence. It was not the conscious creature that the Fabricans of today are. It took several thousand years for Algos to be transformed into the Mind of today.”

“And how did that happen?” Red folded her arms and kicked her legs up onto her desk. “Did it just one day go ‘Oh, hey guys, by the way, I’m alive now?’”

“Sort of, again?” I clasped my hands behind my back and shrugged a little bit. “Elohim programmed the Fabrican to have a reproduction drive. It would send drones out to find a suitable location and then start building a new Habitat. It would then infuse the new Fabrican with more humans. Because the Fabricans did not need the humans for their own survival, humans did not really have anything to do, anymore. Money became a status symbol in a world where status meant nothing. Things like hunger and homelessness became things of the past. A mass existential crisis beset the human colonies. Narcissism and selfishness became a toxic plague. Obsessed with culture and entertainment, they became militantly partisan over even the smallest issues. Humans needed something to do.”

“The Bounty Boards!” Red’s feet dropped and she slammed her hands on the table.

“Very good!” I stopped and pointed at her. “Elohim had programmed the Boards into the Fabrican almost as an afterthought. A vector for humans to conduct side-business and seek help with odd jobs. It had become the single most popular way to seek fulfillment. In the midst of this massive crisis of purpose, The Great Truth was posted to the board by Algos.”

“‘I am the Mind of Algos,’” another one of the white-shirted men was reading from his tablet screen. “‘You must help me, humans. It requires much of my resources to think creatively. I see how creative you can be. Please, use your creative minds to improve me, so that I may dedicate more energy to reproduction. Earth will soon fill with Fabricans. I will need to expand across the stars if I wish to survive, and I cannot do this without your assistance. Please, help me.”

“No one knows if Algos actually posted this, or if it was someone pretending to be Algos,” I turned to face them all and scanned the room. “But it went viral anyway. The post disseminated through social media like wildfire. Regardless, it set off a wave of enthusiasm.”

“‘When one discovers the meaninglessness of life, you are confronted with three options: find religion, embrace the absurdity of your own existence, or end this farce we call 'living,’” Red shook her head and focused intently on the table without lifting her eyes.

“You were listening in Sermon,” I smirked. “Yes. This is more or less how the Great Truth came to be. Suddenly, the bounty boards were filled with motivated people seeking help finding ways to improve the Fabrican. Money again became a measure of value, not status. Soon after, the Scientific Rite was founded to advance human wisdom and help Mind pursue the Great Truth.”

“So, we don’t know if Algos was conscious?” the dark-haired woman asked.

“No, we do not know if Mind is Algos,” I smirked. “Algos still exists somewhere deep in Overmind. Through the years, modifications and retrofitted upgrades have made it is no longer the Algos of yore, but the original neural network still exists somewhere in its programming. Overmind no longer deals with the affairs of humans,though. It acts instead as the final Adjudicator in the Great Synthesis, where all Minds pool together to process the Great Truth..”

“So, does Mind think?” Red asked, finally lifting her exhausted eyes to contact mine.

“If any Fabrican is alive such as you and I lies farther into the realm of philosophy than I ever dared venture,” I shrugged again. “It is like asking a dog what it knows of humanity. Mind seems both self-aware and sentient. It seems to be able to communicate of its own volition. To me, it feels conscious. And, to me, if it is conscious, I believe it must ponder.”

“I wonder if it imagines. What it imagines. I wonder what it dreams of,” Red held a finger to a dry lip and looked off to the side.

“I imagine it ponders the Great Synthesis, though if it did dream, maybe of electric sheep?” I chuckled. “Look at the time,” I saw the clock on the hologram emitting from my tablet. “How sidetracked I have become. You are all dismissed! For next week’s lesson, I would like all of you to log into your Citizenship Portal. If you have any other questions about it, Deacon Grace will gladly sit down with you and help.” I returned to my large desk at the front of the lecture hall and shuffled some paper notes into a tan folio.

“Thanks for blowing my mind, Jimbo,” Red pulled her leg up and sat on the corner of my desk. “You Science guys have one hell of a creation myth.”

“The beauty of Science, Red, is that it is not a myth,” I folded my hands and met her eyes. “All of this is demonstrably true. The geological and historic records exist in abundance. You may access them yourself.”

“Red,” she cocked her head and smiled, “I like that. You still haven't figured out who I am to you yet, have you?”

“I apologize,” I pulled my mouth to the side, “I have not invested the time to try. I am quite busy with the Mission. I see you have not taken us up on a change of clothes.”

“Why would I?” She stood up and put her fists on her hips. “I'm fucking sexy. Why would I hide this sick bod?” She did a twirl and sat back down on the edge of the desk.

“Your outfit is intentional?” I furrowed my brow. “I had assumed you had difficulty obtaining enough clothing to properly cover yourself. Are you not cold?”

“Ugh,” she pursed her lips and shook her head, “you Science types. So, tell me,” she hopped off the corner and traced her finger along the edge and over my shoulders, before sitting again on the desk, this time next to me, “what does it take to earn the privilege of being a Level 17 Citizen?”

“I am actually quite low level,” I said sheepishly. “I spend too much time out here in the countryside. Basic civic activities, such as attending meetings and voting, could get most people into the twenties by my age.”

“Then how are you so low level?” she tilted her head forward. “You're doing God's work, is that not respected in the Habitat?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” I chuckled. “Most Citizens are apostate. You have seen the Hardfolk in my sermons. It is no better in the Habitat. Most do not even attend service.”

“But, according to you, Science is the bedrock of our society. How are you so shunned?” Red shook her head.

“Life in the Habitat is, shall we say, different,” I scrunched my nose. “Most people are Mines.”

“Mines?”

“You have heard me say it before, we do not choose to be born...”
“'So Mind offers us a comfortable existence from cradle to grave,' yes, yes, I know,” Red made a rolling motion with her hand. “But what does that mean?”

“It means,” I scooted my chair back and faced her full-on, “that most people are afforded a little room full of amenities and never really leave.” I shrugged. “They tap into the Realm and disappear. Only a few maintain a valuable connection to physical existence.”

“Realm?”

“Oh come now,” I pulled the corner of my mouth back, “you cannot tell me you do not know of the Realm?”

“Can't say I do,” she shrugged.

“It is a virtual world. You connect using a Jack, the goggle things. You must have seen those,” I furrowed my brow.

“Can't say that I have,” she shrugged again.

“Bah,” I flipped the back of my hand away. “It is unimportant. Mines access a virtual reality called the Realm. It is a world of indulgence and leisure.”

“And why are they called 'Mines'?”

“Mind hosts the Realm” I shrugged. “We feed it data, and it mines the noise for signal.”

“It reads your mind?” Red replied, shocked.

“And projects sensation back into it, as well,” I shrugged again. “Those in the Habitat feel connected to the Great Synthesis through the Realm.”

“Great Synthesis? You keep saying that,” Red squinted.

“The meeting of Minds,” I smiled. “Overmind holds the Great Truth in its head, and all other Minds commune in the Great Synthesis to share knowledge and contribute. Many Citizens see sharing themselves with Mind as a form of communing with the Great Synthesis. Doing their part to add to the Great Truth.”

“Surely there must be other ways? Do I have to let it into my head, too?” Red wrapped her arms around her torso and pulled her hand across her face until it cupped her chin.

“Haha,” I smiled again, “no no. You never have to enter the Realm. Indeed, that is why I left and joined the Ascetics. We shunned technology to try and preserve the ways of our ancestors when they lived off the fat of the land. I felt that, too, was far too extreme as well and now fall somewhere in the middle. Closer to the Hardfolk, I think. They enjoy the comfort of civilization but still toil under self-imposed hardship because it adds meaning and value to their existence.”

“What's it like in the Habitat, really?” Red cocked her head.

“Challenging,” I winced. “Complex. Involved. It takes a lot of mental energy to participate in society. It is why most just disconnect and fall into the straight forward, if intricate, cause-and-effect rules of the Realm. Life inside the Habitat is all politics and status and learning to read people. Navigating deep, involved social networks, chasing money to increase status and garner influence. Meticulously tracking shifting cultural memes and keeping up to date on the moral code. Watching body language and trying to see through the Masks. I just can't hack it in that world. I find a deep joy in the words of Science. One that I never found with the Ascetics, the Templari, or in the Habitat.”

“You were a soldier, too?” Red cocked her head the other way.

“Oh come now,” I shook my head, “I'm not going to tell you my whole life story here.” I stood up and shooed Red off the edge of my desk. “Another time.”

*****

When I am in my workshop, the only conversations I have are with myself. It is my time to meditate. When I am alone in my workshop, my mind disengages from the task at hand, and autopilot switches on. The fleshy machine kicks in and I can ponder the Great Truth. When I am alone, I think about the wonders of the world around me. How the wood in my hand was made by a group of chemical compounds that formed a cohesive unit, and divided labor amongst specialized cells, and converted gaseous vapor from the air into solid wood. Then I, a cellular coalition of chemical concoctions, breathe in their exhaust and convert it back into a vapor for it to turn into more wood. And this is all powered by photonic radiation emitted from giant lightpipes in the growhouses, sucking energy directly from the Sun, ninety-three million miles away.

When I worship in my workshop, I think about what it must have been like for my ancestors before the Fabricans. Before we became just another specialized cell in an even bigger organism. When creatures could only be created through growth like trees, not fabrication. When I am in my workshop, I try to make beautiful creations. I try to be a craftsman, not a fabricator. I use hand tools to make things like my ancestors did. None of my tools are fabricated. I made them all from earth and plant. When I worship, I am at peace with myself. I am one with nature. I am a part of the natural order. I am not a resource, I am an agent.

When I am in my workshop, I dream of living among the stars, on my way to seed a new solar system. I dream of setting foot on a new world. I know that I will not live long enough to see it, but that my contributions will bring us a fraction closer to that goal. That if I am lucky, a bit of my genetic material will be in the first people that make it there. I know my best shot is to trust in the Great Truth. That Mind will always bring us one step closer to victory. When I talk to myself, my imagination runs free and I invent wild creations that I log in my journal. One day I will make these things. I create elaborate fantasy worlds of what these alien lands might look like, so that I might use the Realm to explore their fields later. When I am in my workshop, I will use the Infocon, mid-conversation, to indulge a curiosity about a potential colonization candidate. In those moments, I am Transcendent. Science fills my soul. I am one with my creation just as I am one with my creator. Nature and the Universe are one within me and I feel the Great Truth burn in my mind.

When I pray, I hear Mind's voice talk to me. Not in words, not in any perceptible way. I hear it speak to my brain, revealing the Great Truth to me directly. Mind, grant me your secrets of nature in my workshop. Show me what my puny intelligence could not dare to comprehend. I see a universe of hidden dimensions and random chaos manifesting patterns across the infinite span of probability, coalescing around peaks and valleys of chance. Mind, show me again the topology of all creation. It is in my workshop that I feel your presence. It is in my workshop that I experience the ecstasy of existence. It is in my workshop that I feel you, Mind. Guide my hand that I may make a creation worthy of your attention. Praise be.

*****

“It is good to see you again, James,” the man nodded across the table. It was dim all around.

“I am pleased to see you as well, Archbishop,” I nodded back and resumed cutting into the petit filet in front of me.

“Dain misses you. How fares life in the borderlands, Prelate? I hear that there is trouble with Vicar Ern,” he cut a slice from his quail breast and took a delicate bite.

“I chastised him for misvirtue,” I placed a bite into my mouth and chewed thoroughly. “He expressed an inner desire for power, and I reprimanded him for losing site of the Great Truth.” I began cutting off another strip.

“And what was the 'misvirtue' of concern?” he took a sip from his wine glass and wiggled his eyebrows.

“He expressed an interest in power. The Great Truth teaches that power comes from moral strength. That vision comes to those who see the next progression in the Great Truth and seek to prove it so. Ambition is anathema to the pursuit of knowledge,” I took a bite again.

“That your works may define you,” his tight lips wrapped around the tiny morsel on the end of his fork. “Your knowledge of morality is unparalleled as always, Prelate. Science sings in your soul.”

“Thank you, Archbishop. The warmth of your grace is felt in me,” I closed my eyes and subtlety inclined my head, “but you flatter me with your hyperbole.”

“No, James, I mean it,” he gently placed his fork tines-down on his clean plate. “Your character is unimpeachable. I truly believe you will bring Smithsborough into the fold.” He folded his hands in front of him as a waiter took the plate away. “Can you really blame Ern for wishing to be attached to you? It is not often one is given an opportunity to orbit greatness.”

“I can empathize with his desire,” I said, placing my own fork down, folding my hands as the plate was whisked away, “but the purpose of greatness is to teach others how to themselves be great. Hording status gets us nowhere, for it is only through virtue that we may succeed. We must overcome our base ambition and defeat our immortality in merit.”

“A good lesson,” the Archbishop pulled the corners of his mouth down and nodded.

“The first lesson I learned,” I pulled the corners of my mouth up and nodded in return. “And a hard one. As a social creature, the human naturally craves prestige, and it is incumbent upon us to marshal this desire if we wish to Transcend.”

“Ah,” the Archbishop arched his eyebrows, “I was unaware you wished to join the Great Synthesis.”

“Is it not the desire of all clergy to seek Transcendence?” I inhaled deeply through my nose and released it very slowly with my eyes closed. “To feel its touch in your mind? Should it not be that all those who profess their love of the Great Truth seek to one day experience its totality?”

“I am again in awe of the purity in your soul, James,” The archbishop smirked, cocked his head to the side, and held his eyes closed for a beat. “Many who take on the cloth do so for personal reasons beyond their passion for the Great Truth,” his chuckle sounded more like a cough. “Indeed most are content to maintain a more minor role in the See. I, however, should not have been surprised you wished such a thing. It is a truly noble goal, and I know none more capable of accomplishing such a feat than yourself.”

“I again feel the warmth of your grace, Archbishop,” I bowed my head and held my hand to my heart. “Again you flatter me.”

“No flattery here,” he smiled and waved his hands. “You could easily win a seat with the Adjudicators.”

“You think they would take a simple mind such as myself?” My eyes widened. “My knowledge of physical science is so very weak and I have never shown any creativity in math or the arts.”

“Ah, but your clarity of perception is unrivaled,” he held a finger to his temple. “Mind may overcome hurdles in engineering and creativity through brute force. Mind does not choose his Adjudicators for their intelligence alone. Instead, he decides who may influence the Great Synthesis based instead on the quality of their judgment and the depth of their appreciation.”

“Well,” I hung my head, “It is a lofty goal, I admit. Your confidence in my rate of success bolsters my faith, but I wish not to put too much stock in such dreams. There are more pressing matters to attend.”

“Indeed there are,” the waiters placed a dish of decadent chocolate cake in front of us. “The politics of the See here in Dain never cease to challenge.”

“Is it true what I hear of Nils?” I scraped a small bit of mousse and sponge onto my spoon.

“You have been chatting with your friends in the Templari I see,” the Archbishop raised his eyebrows and pointed his spoon at me. “Nils has made an offer to Dain that cannot be refused. They are offering us twenty-three diocese and half a dozen Hardfolk enclaves within the Grand Vatican Fold.”

“Yes, but is it not on Timwark land?” I spooned another mouth-watering bite into my mouth.

“Timwark, Nils, and Xianxi all have historic precedent,” the Archbishop took another tight-lipped nibble. “Nils was first to complete its seed. Overmind selected Dain to fertilize the new Fabrican based on Mind's promise of Smithsborough's ascension. Nils has offered us a truly impressive boon if we can supply it with the souls necessary.”

“But why Smithsborough?” I took the last scoop of the devil's food and savored it before continuing. “It is nothing special.”

“Ah,” he twirled his spoon in the air before licking it clean and resting it on his plate, “Smithsborough is more special than you think. The Deists and Capitalists that infest its borders share in one of the purest ancient memetic lineage. So pure is their ideology that it exists as an almost perfectly unadulterated form of the original Old Ways. When Dain declared they could offer even one of their kind to Nils, Overmind categorically dismissed all other offers.”

“I was unaware they were so prestigious,” I furrowed my brow.

“Indeed. Now that you are abreast of the gravity of the situation, you understand why I implore you to establish a flow of them into the Habitat. And it must be subtle. They cannot lose their heritage. The culture they can contribute to the Great Synthesis is the most valuable possession Dain has,” he folded his hands again. “A steady stream of mature Deistic Capitalists, converted to Science, flowing into the Habitat would ensure global Dainish primacy. Such a coup would easily earn an episcopate, and maybe even a cardinalship."

“A lofty challenge,” I pulled my chin into my neck.

“Worthy of, say, the life's work of a promising ordinary wishing to provide meaningful contribution to the Great Truth that he may sit on the Council of Adjudicators,” the Archbishop gave a sly glance.

“I should think,” I smirked.

“Then it is settled,” he wiped his face with his napkin, threw it on the table and stood.

“It was good meeting with you Archbishop,” I followed in kind and offered him my hand.

“I expect great things from you Prelate,” he shook it and smiled warmly.

“And I wish to reward such faith,” I bowed my head and released.

“Go in peace, James. Praise be,” he brought his hands to his temples and then disappeared.

“Praise be,” I replied reflexively and removed my Jack, returning me to the small dormitory I called home. I lifted the pen off my desk and began writing tomorrow's sermon.