Chapter 18

Leaky Quill was quite surprised to see them all come charging up the hill. His eyes widened at the sight of Reessa and his crew. “You’ve found them?” he asked, eyes wide in shock.

Apparently he was only comfortable with the idea of running right up to the edge of disobedience so long as it would ultimately fail. “How long were we gone?” she shouted at him.

Leaky Quill glanced at the sun, which had begun to set. “Hours,” he answered her, wringing his hands fretfully. “Oh, I’ve…I’ve defied The Radiant One’s will…”

The Quizbarling was the sort of man, Olyrean thought, who if he worked in an office would covet his coworkers’ lunches, thinking how terribly exciting it would be to steal them every time he opened the fridge, but in the end he’d just whine surreptitiously at lunch about how delicious they looked compared to his. She brushed past him as he babbled more useless questions at her. There was no time.

It was a tight fit for everyone to cram inside her ship, but they managed, and soon they had taken off and were racing back to the capital, howling so fast over the endless green plains and forests that the resulting sonic boom sent the local wildlife scattering in even greater terror than they had when she first passed this way, and spurred one particularly evolved family of frogs to invent a written language so they could file a complaint.

Olyrean wished they could go faster. She tried to hail her team on her SPECTRA bracelet, and then on Reessa’s when hers didn’t work, and then on the ship’s communicator, but the calls just wouldn’t go through. There was, she suspected, some sort of military jamming of data channels going on. She could pick up on her ship’s comms that there were multiple starships in orbit by now.

The fleet was here.

With an awesome BWOMMM, the sky peeled apart like saran wrap touched by a blowtorch. It was immediately filled with a towering warship of gleaming metal, bristling with what was quite possibly a literally uncountable number of guns. On its hull, giant blinking letters in red, white and blue spelled out the words: WELCOME TO LIBERATION! PLEASE DO NOT RESIST.

There was no sense of approach, no warning. The ship simply slammed into existence against all expectations, as violently impossible and baffling as a passenger jet colliding midair with a humpback whale. It hung in the sky above the Quizbarling capital with a casual lack of effort and subtle menace, as though daring onlookers to insinuate it were anything more than a flashy cloudbank, filling the sky from one edge of the horizon to another.

Leaky Quill cried out in terror. “What is that?”

“American Liberation-Class Interstellar Battlecruiser,” Korak said grimly.

The Quizbarling stared up at the mountain of guns and bombs that now filled the skies of his homeworld and collapsed backward into his seat. He looked wildly at the Americans who surrounded him, like a man who just realized that the kittens he thought he’d been playing with were instead tiger cubs, and their very annoyed and hungry mother had just rounded the corner.

“Oh fuck,” he gibbered.

Olyrean, in the meantime, was trying her hardest to hail the battlecruiser on her ship’s comms. “Hello?” she shouted. “Does anyone read me? This is Olyrean Teralelien, Head of Intelligence for Quizbar’s current liberation team! I have with me the missing member of my team, and the missing member of the previous liberation team as well! If anyone reads me, please inform your admiral that they are alive and unharmed! Don’t open fire! Please, it doesn’t have to be like this!”

“Your communication has been intercepted,” the ship’s AI informed her calmly.

Exasperated, she indulged in the completely useless gesture of slapping the machine and immediately felt guilty about it when its screen displayed a frowny face at her. “I’m sorry, but what does that mean?” she asked. “Has someone received it? Who?”

They didn’t have too long to find out. The primitive holo-projector built haphazardly into the ship’s console crackled to life, and there appeared floating before them the squat and toadlike figure of Vice President Murtlebix, his wide rubbery lips carving a deep frown into the baggy folds of his face, his three eyes angrily taking them all in.

“On the authority of the office of the Vice President of the United Worlds of Infinity America,” he growled, “I am going to have to order you to shut up.”

“Why?” Olyrean snapped at him. “What is going on here? You have something to do with this, don’t you? I saw the records–it was you talking to The Radiant One behind everyone’s back, wasn’t it?”

The Vice President drew in a sharp breath. “It was hardly behind everyone’s back,” he said. “Special diplomatic liaison, that’s all. Those sorts of communications are meant to be kept secret. Not standard procedure, but hardly unusual. Now I want you to turn around–”

“Murtlebix, you toad!” That was Reessa, slithering his way through the jam-packed crew compartment, baring his fangs at the hologram. “You said my vacation was authorized–you never told me it was causing a diplomatic incident. You never said it would cause a war! You knew damn well where we were the whole time, so why didn’t you say anything?”

“Your top came off,” Murtlebix said dryly. “Now turn this ship around. I’ll meet with you shortly.”

Reessa gasped and glanced at his askew bikini and quickly wound his tail around himself while protesting that nobody look at them. Olyrean reconsidered whether they should be considered male. “No, Murtlebix,” she said. “We’re not turning around. I don’t know why you want a war so badly–”

The Vice President made an exasperated croak deep in his throat. “I don’t,” he insisted.

“You could have fooled me,” said Korak, “because it sure looks like you’re getting one.”

“It’s not going to happen. You just need to trust me.”

“It’s happening right now,” the lizard-man hissed. “I think you do want it, you bloodthirsty little degenerate–”

“No it isn’t,” Murtlebix shouted, swelling up to twice his size. “And I don’t! I don’t want it! I just want to be President!”

He deflated with a flatulent hiss that filled the awkward silence that followed.

“What,” said Olyrean.

Murtlebix sighed, and his hologram glanced around the cabin. “Look,” he said, “You’re all biological. Well, do you have any idea how difficult it is to be a biological politician?”

A loud round of boos echoed through the ship.

“It is!” insisted the Veep. “Compared to an AI! AIs don't sleep, don't eat–you have no idea how many embarrassing photographs happen while you’re eating–and they’re always there to answer voters' questions, to get yelled at–they’re perfect. By Vackshi’s left antennae, do you know how hard it is to compete with erotic mode? Look at it!”

Murtlebix pressed a button on his side and above their console a small projection of grave President Furth joined him. With severe dignity, it began to do a striptease.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” said Olyrean. “We know what erotic mode is.”

“The point is, they’re too good,” Murtlebix went on. “We don’t stand a chance against AIs. That’s why they’ve had a lock on the presidency for so long. But really, is that any good for the republic? Don’t you want to be represented by your own people? By other bio-Americans?”

“Nobody’s banning you from running,” Korak told him.

“Oh yes,” said Murtlebix. “It’s such an even playing field. People just loved my erotic mode.”

Murtlebix pressed a button on his console again and another hologram popped up, this one of himself. To everyone’s dismay and horror, it began to strip as well, undulating and wobbling.

“I can’t emphasize enough that we know what erotic mode is and I would like you to please stop,” said Olyrean.

“So what’s your plan, then?” Korak asked. “You start a war and—and then what?”

“Then it’s a scandal,” Murtlebix explained patiently. “Infinity America sends in the fleets. Furth didn’t want to, but I forced his hand on that one–the Senate’s all hopped up wanting to make a show of force, and they didn’t take no for an answer. Once the fleets arrive, The Radiant One teleports them halfway across the universe, and it’s the first major military defeat since–since forever. Then when everyone is screaming their heads off, I stroll in, do some deft ‘diplomacy’, and get all the missing Americans returned.”

“How would you do that? And please turn those stupid things off,” Olyrean said, shielding her eyes from the holograms of Murtlebix and Furth which were now hip-thrusting at her.

Murtlebix gave her a devious little smile and defiantly increased the eroticism by twenty-five percent. The hip thrusting abruptly became more frantic. “Who do you think it was that convinced The Radiant One the Americans needed a vacation to begin with?” he asked as Olyrean cried out in despair. “‘Oh, your Radiant Splendiferousness, I worry so much for the teams. America is great indeed, but it works them to the bone. Is there some place they may go for rest and relaxation? Oh, but your Radiant Gloriousness, you must make sure not to tell anyone exactly where they are, or else the Americans will come and put them to work again! To let them know they are safe–that is enough.’”

“Oh, how could that work?” Olyrean asked, staring at a wall. “Isn’t he supposed to be omniscient or something?”

“Not omniscient enough, apparently,” said Murtlebix. “Though I’m not surprised. Even the smartest people in the world will believe whatever you tell them, if you wrap it with enough compliments about how great and fantastic and intelligent they are. Believe me, I would know.” The Vice President patted his stomach in satisfaction, a gesture which sent unpleasant ripples rolling throughout his body. “Anyway, then Furth resigns in shame, and I’m sworn in on the back of a major victory. Then I can enact legislation banning AIs from political office. And the best part is that it’s all totally bloodless.” He glared at Korak. “So you see, I’m not some monster. I’m just playing the hand I’ve been dealt. That’s politics, baby!”

“That’s awful, is what it is,” said Olyrean. She thought of her friend Libby being treated like a second-class citizen and her ears burned with rage. The AIs were weird, but who wasn’t weird, in America? She forced herself to look back at Murtlebix, so she could give him the most condescending elven stare of disapproval she could muster. “The Hyper-Senate will never go for it. They won’t ban AI from office, they’re citizens. That’s…that’s wrong.”

“The Hyper-Senate is full of bio-Americans who would like a shot at the presidency one day, too,” Murtlebix told her. “Olyrean, think about it. You’re a smart woman. You figured all this out, after all. Think about the future. AIs have limited themselves to the presidency and some other executive functions so far, but what happens if one day every politician is an AI? Bio-Americans will have no representation. What if you wanted to be a politician one day? I think you’re sharp enough to do it. Would you want to be running against a machine with all those advantages?”

“I wouldn’t care!” Olyrean shouted. “Someone doesn’t stop representing you just because they’re an AI. That’s what I thought America was about!”

Murtlebix snorted. “America’s about a lot of things, all at once,” he said. “It lets us be flexible about things. How do you think we’ve lasted? Because we can be whatever we need to.”

“So what you think we need to be,” Olyrean said, “is discriminatory against synthetic Americans.”

“I’m not saying they’re evil, but you have to see that an exception has to be made when it comes to the border between bio-Americans and AI,” Murtlebix insisted. “They can’t understand us like we can.”

“I can’t help but notice,” Korak said quietly, “That this conversation began with you griping about how hard it is to compete with them, and now your issue seems to be bio-solidarity.”

“Who cares if they’re AI?” Olyrean said. “Who cares if they’re biological or synthetic? You represent me, don’t you? Even though you’re some kind of…poison toad man…”

“A Glubmixlubbo,” clarified Murtlebix.

“The point is that you’re not a sun-elf, but that doesn’t mean you can’t represent me. Except that you absolutely aren’t representing me right now, because you’re being some kind of…some kind of bio-chauvinist.”

“Oh, please…”

“You are. You’re a fat, filthy, miserable little wretch of a man, Murtlebix. I know orcs cleaner than you are.” This was a lie, of course. Nothing was filthier than orcs. But Olyrean’s blood ran with cold fury at Murtlbix’s nonchalant corruption, and it demanded the ultimate insult.

The Veep let out a high-pitched croak at her, a long, upset squeal. He drew himself up, swelling indignantly. “There’s a problem with your plan,” Korak interrupted before Murtlebix could say anything. “The fleet is here. They remain suspiciously unteleported.”

The Vice President glared between Olyrean and the lizard-man, holding his breath. “The Radiant One is taking his time with it, yes,” he muttered. “But I’m sure he will eventually.”

“Unless they’ve figured out a way to actually kill him.”

“Um, what?” said Leaky Quill, having finally recovered from seeing the ship taking up most of his world’s sky only to hear about his god being killed.

“They couldn’t,” Murtlebix scoffed. “They’ve never been able to work around The Radiant One. As far as anyone’s concerned, he’s The Big One.”

But the Vice President’s three eyes darted amongst them all, drinking in their expressions, and when he received nothing but silence for an answer, he shrank in on himself, deflating even further, melting into flaps and folds of drooping flesh. “No,” he whispered. “How?”

“Imagine a tree,” said Olyrean softly. “It’s an invincible tree. Also you can’t uproot it–”

“The point is that it’s done,” Korak interrupted her. “Your bloodless little plan is going to kill an innocent god. And probably other innocents too, once the war kicks off.”

Murtlebix trembled gelatinously for a moment, then began punching at unseen buttons. “This is fine,” he muttered. “No problem. This can still work. I’ll beam in right now. I’ll get credit for preventing the war. I–”

“There is one more problem with your plan,” someone said.

“No. No more distractions. I have no more time–”

“The problem is,” said that someone, someone with a sharp, droning voice, “SPECTRA knows about it.”

Olyrean held up her wrist. A small light blinked on her silver bracelet. All color drained from Murtlebix. Quite literally: his skin turned a deathly, ashy white.

“I was wondering,” Veezeebub said idly, “Why I was getting scrambled pings from not one, but two of my agents on Quizbar. I know there’s a military info-blockade there now, but I thought the occasion interesting enough to warrant hacking through that. You did know we could hack through military firewalls quite easily, of course. Right, Murtlebix?”

Murtlebix said nothing. He might have been trying to, but his mouth only gaped open like a dying fish.

“One thing that I’m curious about.” This was Tordle now. “How was it that you managed to hide a secret comms link between The Radiant One and yourself without us knowing about it? Until our intrepid field agent Olyrean found it, of course. Because we always find these things, Murtlebix.”

The Vice President’s eyes were darting in all different directions now. From somewhere on his side, there came an ominous thumping sound.

“You don’t want to say?” Veezeebub continued. “That’s fine. We’ll have lots of time for lots of questions with you, I’m sure. Sit tight, Mr. Vice President. SPECTRA will be with you shortly.”

Murtlebix finally found his voice. “What does that mean?” he whispered. “What does that mean–what’s that?” The thumping noise on his side grew louder and he shrank back, folding in on himself like a deflated basketball. “Oh–oh god, it’s in the walls–what is that?! What is that?! What is that?! NOOOOOOO–”

There was a horrible glorping, sucking sound, and then his hologram disappeared. The erotic-mode holograms continued on for an additional moment before they flickered off as well.

Silence filled the crew compartment.

“Veezeebub?” Olyrean shook her wrist, rattling the bracelet. “Tordle? Have we stopped the war?”

In the distance, the booming echoes of the first explosions answered her.

***

Olyrean had continued trying to hail the rest of her team on her ships comms, or through her bracelet, but either they weren’t picking up or the military jamming was preventing her calls from going through. As they drew closer to Gorgeous View, however, she noticed that the Quizbarlings were taking the invasion pretty well. Rather than running screaming through the streets, the crowds gathered there seemed to be pointing into the sky, clapping and laughing. There was also a curious lack of rubble and buildings on fire. Finally, she looked into the sky herself, and she realized it wasn’t bombs or artillery barrages causing all the commotion.

It was fireworks.

They maneuvered to the outskirts of the city, where Korak’s store had been and wasn’t anymore. Or, perhaps it still was there, but the building had undergone a transformation. It had ballooned into an enormous silver dome, swelling to truly grandiose proportions, absolutely dwarfing the temples of the city it sat next to; rising up nearly as high as the Grand Temple itself. Across its surface, giant letters in Americanese and Quizbarlish spelled out, in flashing red, white and blue:

QUIZBAR’S FIRST DEMOCRATIC DEBATE TONIGHT!

DON’T MISS OUT ON BEING PART OF HISTORY!!!

THE RADIANT ONE V. FALLEN NEST

ALL THE QUESTIONS YOU’VE EVER HAD, ANSWERED!

And then below this, in much larger letters:

FREE BEER!

They touched down in the open field next to the dome. The onboard AI had to be very careful about the landing. There were massive crowds of Quizbarlings streaming past, mingling with figures wearing red, white and blue power armor: American soldiers that had apparently come down from the ship. Most of them were holding hot dogs.

Jack was there to greet them as they came rushing out of the ship. A bright neon sash labeled Event Security was strapped across his chest. He stood still, watching, as Olyrean ran up to him.

“Jack, I’m so sorry, I really am–” she began.

She fell silent as he raised a hand. He tilted his head to look behind her as Korak caught up, along with Reessa and the rest of his team, and his eyes widened.

“You really did find them,” Jack whistled.

“Yes,” Olyrean said. “I’m sorry that I had to run off on you like that.”

Jack shook his head. “No, no, don’t apologize.” He pointed to the sky, above the city, where the American Battlecruiser still floated like a well-armed mountain determined to subject gravity to public embarrassment. “I was monitoring their comms channels. They were about to begin bombardment when word came through that you had found everyone.”

“What about The Radiant One?” she asked.

“Well, someone must have threatened him at the very least, since the ship wasn’t teleported away,” said Jack.

“Oh,” said Leaky Quill shakily, “Oh dear.”

“But he’s fine. It came very, very close, you know. You did good.”

Olyrean grabbed hold of her ears, but she couldn’t hide the blush on her face. “Th-thank you,” she stammered. “I still feel bad about disobeying your orders, though. You were in charge, after all.”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah, well, I guess I should have expected that someone from SPECTRA would break through my security. It just means you’re a good spy. How did you do it, anyway?”

Olyrean decided to omit the fact that she hadn’t done much more than waggle her bracelet at the doors. “Oh, I have my ways. But…Jack, what is all of…all this?” She swung her arm around to take in the dome, and the crowds of Quizbarlings and Americans alike streaming past them. The crowds going past had only grown thicker as they talked, and she just barely avoided slapping someone in the back of the head.

Jack plucked at the Event Security sash draped across his chest and looked a little embarrassed. “Oh, well, you weren’t the only one who escaped. Did you know Moyom can molt? She gets very flexible without her shell, slipped right through the vents. She thought if the Quizbarlings demonstrated some democratic tendencies that the invasion might be called off, and she found one who actually agreed to debate TRO. I suppose that makes her a good diplomat, too.” He sighed. “I only wish being good at your jobs didn’t mean I had to be bad at mine.”

“P-perhaps the debate should be called off, then,” said Leaky Quill. He glanced nervously at the sky and gave a thin little smile. “The crisis is over then, yes? And The Radiant One…I don’t know that it would be good for him to engage in such a display.”

“Why not?” Olyrean asked. “Didn’t you go on to me about how seeing The Radiant One up close allowed you to see him for what he was? How he wasn’t the only god? Seems to me like you’d want other people to see it, too.”

“Yes, but–such things, they should be embraced by the learned few, who can properly frame such revelations for the rest of society,” Leaky Quill protested. “I wanted change, but this is too much, all at once–”

Jack interrupted him. “Well,” he said, “what made you think you’d get to decide how the change went?”

The Quizbarling opened and shut his mouth, then went very pale. “Oh,” he said. He sounded a little sickly.

The crowds had become dense enough that there was no longer room for them to flow around their little pocket of conversation. “Come on then,” said Jack, as they were pulled along with the stream of laughing Quizbarlings and Americans, beneath a sky shimmering with fireworks, drifting motes of sparks raining down like falling stars. “Let’s go see some history.”

***

The flow of bodies eventually became a sluggish river as they marched steadily toward the wide entrance of the dome. They picked up some beers along the way. Drones beetled their way overhead, projecting copies of Libby into the crowd to lead everyone on. She was very happy to see Olyrean, but a bit distracted: she was spreading her processing power over many different copies, and she didn’t have access to all her processing power in this universe.

Cool air blasted them once they made their way inside. Seats lined up high against the circular walls of the dome, surrounding a small raised platform with two empty lecterns. An enormous American flag, glowing and humming and surging with light and energy, hung from the ceiling. In a seat of honor sat Minor Fuss, with Moyom by his side. The Ixxari’s colors were pale with her recent molt, and she looked a bit squishy, but otherwise very happy. She waved. Olyrean waved back.

Yet more Libbys were among the pews, some directing people to their seats, others jumping up and down with pom-poms in their hands; still others hawking beer or hot dogs and others still just chatting with the crowds. They took a seat, and from a drone Olyrean took a hot dog and a large mug of beer. She sipped at it carefully, still woozy from the piña coladas she’d had at the beach. The buzz of the crowd and the brightness of the lights and the happy patriotic bunting all seemed a little unreal right now. It had been, she realized, a long day. She was very tired.

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“ATTENTION!” Libby’s voice rang out, echoing across the walls of the dome. She had to call out a few more times before the crowd quieted. “ATTENTION! Yes, thank you! We want to welcome you all to the official first democratic debates of Quizbar–the first of many to come, we hope! I wanted to say thank you to the Quizbarlings, for being gracious hosts, of course, and to The Radiant One, for being open minded enough to agree to this, and of course to our brave men and women in power armor for providing security…”

She went on in good cheer, extolling the virtues of Quizbar, of democracy, and of Xubriq’s Classic Texan Hot Sauce, which had sponsored this event and paid for the food. The Quizbarlings all nodded along, paying the utmost attention as if this was the most fascinating stuff in the world, as opposed to just some pre-debate patter. Perhaps to them it was.

Finally, the time came.

“And now, to meet our two contestants!” Libby cried. “Our first candidate is a real man of the people who has spent forty years of his life doing what 99.2% of all Quizbarlings do: subsistence farming! He’s neighborly, sweet, down to earth, and if you’re asking me–a real cutie. Let’s hear it for Fallen Nest!”

Patriotic confetti exploded from cannons high up in the dome and rained down as Fallen Nest took the stage. The Quizbarlings all clapped politely while the countless Libbys in the crowd screamed and cheered.

He took his spot behind a lectern, pale and gaunt, and turned his dark, haunted eyes on the crowd, looking unsure of himself. He seemed to be of a much darker mood than the last time that Olyrean had seen him. The contrast between him and his fellows was so large that you could have mistaken him for a different species entirely.

“I–” he said, and then stopped, startled by his own voice booming out all around him. “I am Fallen Nest,” he finished, when he had got his bearings. Then he folded his arms and stared at the crowd as if daring them to contradict him.

“And as for our next candidate– well, you know him. The Radiant One,” Libby said flatly. “Here he is.”

There was a moment’s silence where nothing happened, and then a soft, beautiful light began to shine on the podium, as if from nowhere. It quickly built in intensity, and then drew in on itself, pooling like liquid, until it took a vaguely humanoid shape. And then, with a flash, The Radiant One was there.

He was both aged and ageless. He was tall, very tall, taller than Fallen Nest by far, a giant by Quizbarling standards. And yet his size was not intimidating. It spoke of a gentle strength, a righteous power.

A long mane of gray hair flowed down his back like a quicksilver river and pooled gracefully around his bare feet. He wore loose, flowing white robes. His face was lined, kind and beautiful. He smiled, and in that smile there was a depth of sweet serenity that no mortal soul could match without some serious uppers.

“Hello,” he said, and his voice, deep and pure and wise, was heard by everyone in the dome despite the malfunctioning microphone Libby had wired up for him. The crowd went wild, while all the copies of Libby stood impassive and silent, arms crossed. With a burst of sparks another copy of Libby appeared before the podium, this one dressed a little more modestly, more suited for a broadcaster than a cheerleader.

“Here’s how the debate will go,” said this Libby. “In round one, I will ask a question, and each of you will get a minute to answer. Then you’ll get thirty seconds to rebut your opponent’s answer. Then you’ll get fifteen seconds to rebut the rebuttal. And so on, until the length of time for the re-re-re-re-re-re-rebuttal is less than one unit of Planck time. Do you understand?”

Fallen Nest touched his microphone and once more seemed startled by the noise this produced. “No,” he said. “I–I have something I want to say.”

“That’s not part of the format,” said Libby. “You get personal statements in round three, after jello wrestling.”

“I will say what I want to say right now,” Fallen Nest said very firmly. “You will let me.”

“If it counts for anything, I agree to let him speak,” said The Radiant One.

Fallen Nest seemed offended by this. “I will say what is on my mind whether or not anyone agrees to allow it!”

He seized the microphone and glared across the stage at his god, and a hushed silence fell throughout the dome. It was a rarity for someone outside the priesthood to speak to their god, and certainly it had never happened in circumstances like this. Every Quizbarling leaned forward, holding their breath, waiting to hear what he would say.

Fallen Nest gritted his teeth and leaned down very close to the microphone, as though he wanted to make very certain that his words were heard.

“Radiant One,” he said, “You’re a real asshole.”

Utter silence.

“A complete jerk. And,” Fallen Nest said, with a smile of truly sublime satisfaction, “I think you should fuck off.”

That was when the crowd went berserk. Or at least, berserk by Quizbarling standards. There was a lot of angry shouting, scandalized, furious whispers, and some of the farmers even threw down their straw hats. The sentiments were, to put it lightly, unsympathetic. But the cries were immediately silenced when The Radiant One turned toward the audience and lifted a hand.

“My son,” said the god, facing back across the stage, “You would like to explain why you believe this, wouldn’t you.”

“Yes,” Fallen Nest choked out. He gripped the microphone so tightly that his hand shook. His eyes, glazed and feverish, drifted listlessly across the crowd.

“Listen,” he said. “And see. I am like you. I am your kin. And like you–most of you–I had a family, once. A wife, two sons, and a young daughter. And a farm. I was…a faithful man.” He spat the word out. “A devoted man. I worked hard. I woke early with the sun to feed the Pirikki birds, I chased the blunderhogs from my fields, I toiled and sweated into the earth, but it was…good. It was the life I wanted.

“And then one day, a meteor fell onto my home and killed my wife instantly.”

Fallen Nest paused.

There was some rumbling among the crowd, whispers. Everyone was very polite about it, of course, but the general sentiments were: Was that all? Tragedy wasn’t unknown on Quizbar, after all. Many of them had suffered mishaps, but it hadn’t destroyed their faith.

Fallen Nest heard them and he flashed a crooked smile. “Oh, you’re quite right,” he said. “People were very kind. Now, I was devastated, of course, but I gave thanks that my children had been with me in the fields when it happened. At least I still had them. And my neighbors all banded together to support me in my time of need. The priests offered me words of solace. Such a terrible accident, they told me. So unlikely to happen. But The Radiant One, he moves in mysterious ways. So I let faith carry me, and I rebuilt my home…

“And the day after it was finished, a meteor fell onto it and killed my eldest son.”

This time there were no whispers, only silence.

“Funny thing about meteors killing your family,” said Fallen Nest. “You don’t get used to it. It only gets harder the second time around. Of course, my neighbors still came together, and the priests too, but this time they were…a little uneasy, let’s say? Not quite as friendly as last time, I think. A little quieter.” He grinned at the audience. “Just like you! And why wouldn’t they be? I mean, getting hit by one meteor–that’s pretty bad luck. But two?”

There was a frantic energy about him now. He had taken the microphone away from the podium and walked back and forth across the stage. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he seemed almost at the verge of breaking out into laughter. He had waited a very, very long time to say this, held it in until he might burst, and as it came all rushing out the seams were coming apart completely.

“Anyway, so I rebuilt my home a third time,” he said. “Does anyone want to guess what happened to my other son?”

He held the microphone out to the crowd. No one really wanted to guess. But as the silence stretched on uncomfortably long, it became clear he was just going to stand there, grinning like a maniac, until someone said something. “A meteor crashed into your house and killed him, too,” someone finally called out.

“No, of course not,” Fallen Nest scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you know the odds of a meteor crashing into the same home three times? Completely astronomical. Totally absurd.

“No, this time it got him while he was walking to school.”

This time there was some awkward shuffling and muttering from the audience and Fallen Nest practically gasped with laughter.

“Yes!” he cried. “Yes, yes–that’s just how my neighbors and the priests took it, too. They didn’t really visit me much the third time around. Nobody liked to think about it. They resented me for it. Oh, it was very inconvenient to them, how my family kept getting killed by something entirely out of my control. Perhaps they thought I was cursed!”

Fallen Nest looked out across the stage to The Radiant One, who was taking all this with a somber, heavy calm. “But you want to know what I really think? I think they were just scared. I think that it got them wondering about what sort of god might allow that, and they didn’t like to think about it. I think that’s why they didn’t visit.

“Though, to be fair, I was also out of my mind at the time. I couldn’t look at the sky without screaming, which, you might guess, made it very difficult to run a farm. My poor daughter had to go off to live with some friends, since I was in no shape to take care of her, and of course she was suffering too, not least because she was terrified she’d be killed at any moment. Oh yes, she was very scarred. She could barely sleep, thinking that her turn was next. Things were very strained with my daughter for a very long time. I barely got to speak with her as she grew up.

“But I didn’t miss everything! She lived, you see. Years went by with no meteors. She grew up and met a nice fellow, a blunderhog rancher. Very sweet, upstanding young fellow. And we reconnected, eventually, until just last year I was invited to her wedding. Very nice, wonderful food there. A marvelous time. It was the happiest I’d been in…well, perhaps it was the happiest I had ever been, since seeing my children born.

Anyway, she and her husband were obliterated at the altar.”

Dead silence.

“By a meteor?” someone called out.

“Yes, by a meteor!” Fallen Nest shrieked.

He threw his microphone into the audience. A drone toodled out with a new one for him and Fallen Nest took it, kicked the drone, then cursed in pain and spasmed so violently that for a few moments he was entirely tangled in his robes. Then he stalked his way back to the podium and glared with pure, unbridled rage at his god.

“So, what is it,” he spat. “What’s the excuse? Did I not have enough faith? Is it my fault this happened? Were you punishing me?”

A shadow, a distant sadness, had come across The Radiant One’s face as Fallen Nest spoke, like a tide coming in. “No,” he said now. His voice echoed around the dome and seemed to leave echoes of golden light on everything it touched. “It is not your fault, my son. Never think it was.”

“Was it that my family did not have enough faith? Is that why you saw fit to kill them?”

“I did not kill them, my son. But tragedy is a part of life. It is not my way to interfere–”

“You made this world,” howled Fallen Nest. “You said you made everything. Do you expect me to believe that this happened by chance? That my entire family got struck by meteors four different times naturally?”

The tone of the question blew way past rhetorical and went right on into levels of hostility usually reserved for active land mines. The Radiant One, however, ignored this. “All of creation stretches on far beyond anything you might imagine, my son. The Americans could tell you this.”

He glanced toward the front of the stage, where Libby still stood, watching, as stunned as the rest of them. “It is pretty big,” she said grudgingly.

The god nodded to her, then turned back to his wounded follower. “However unlikely it might be, somewhere in all of reality, it will, or has happened.”

Fallen Nest rolled his eyes. “Of course. Well then, why does it always have to be happening on top of my family’s heads?”

The Radiant One paused, then murmured, “I knew that would not console you.”

“Console me? Console me? You’re damn right it doesn’t! You made us, or so you claim. You made it all, so you’re responsible for everything that happens, aren’t you? The world is the way it is because of you. You could have made it any way that you wanted. So why didn’t you do a better job of it?”

Fallen Nest fell silent, and The Radiant One did not respond at first. The quiet that settled on the dome felt almost like a physical presence, something that ballooned outward from that stage and pressed down on all of them.

But soon enough, small whispers and murmurs began to eat away at it. This was heresy, after all. It was a terrible thing, what had happened to Fallen Nest, and maybe the man could be forgiven his unorthodox behavior, but to question The Radiant One like this, to be so rude…

The Radiant One finally spoke up. “Are there others among you,” he called to the audience, “who harbor such doubts?”

There was a general muttering of denial from all the Quizbarlings around the dome that, no, of course not. Fallen Nest was a heretic, and even if what happened to him were to happen to them, their faith would not falter for a moment. Various voices called out: The Radiant One was wise, the font of all that was pure, lord of all creation, a very good kisser.

“Oh, yes there are,” said The Radiant One, not unkindly. “You doubt. You’d be a fool not to.”

There was now a general muttering of sentiments expressing that well, if The Radiant One really insisted, then indeed they were no fools, and he was absolutely right again of course.

The Radiant One lifted his hands, his long sleeves flowing away from his arms like a waterfall, like smoke. Stars seemed to dance in their folds. “It is only natural,” he said, “to wonder why the world is the way that it is. To question why such suffering must exist. And I have an answer, only no mortal tongue can express it. It is not something for language that passes through the ears, you see. I have spent much time pondering how to communicate this to you.”

“You didn’t know how?” said Fallen Nest. “Aren’t you supposed to be all-knowing?”

The Radiant One smiled, and it was like watching the sun’s rays climb over the horizon in a misty autumn dawn. “Yes. But there are different kinds of omniscience, my son. There is the sort of all-knowing where you yourself are all-knowing. And then there is the sort of all-knowing where you also know how to make others all-knowing. A few other sorts, too. It’s a little like how there are different sizes of infinity.”

“That sounds like nonsense.”

“That’s alright,” said The Radiant One. “Ask your American friends and I think they could explain it to you. But back to the matter at hand. The truth, my son. The answer. I believe I’ve found a way to tell you this truth in a manner that you can understand.”

“What truth?” asked Fallen Nest. “I don’t understand your meaning. Is it an answer? Is it an explanation for why my family died?”

“It’s much broader than that,” The Radiant One told him. “No questions are quite so…narrow, in the way I’m thinking. It’s an answer to a Question you couldn’t possibly ask, but this Question also contains your question. It contains a very large set of many questions. And the answer won’t be in words, but it will be an answer. Do you understand?”

“No,” said Fallen Nest.

“That’s alright. I think you will, momentarily.”

And then The Radiant One began to glow.

Libby was suddenly alarmed. “Wait,” she said, “What’s happening–”

Holy light filled the dome.

***

Everything was a tree.

Branching everywhere, through everything.

Through every time, or rather,

time did not exist here, because you don’t manage to touch everything in all realities while worrying about little things like causality, or rather

time did exist, in all directions all at once, because things were still happening, or rather,

look, it was very difficult to explain.

The branches of the tree were made of light (no they weren’t), or some sort of energy (don’t be silly), and everything that flowed through them was what it was like to be. What it was to exist.

What it was to exist as a bit of dirt (pretty boring),

…or a rock,

…or an entire planet of barren dirt and rock.

What it was to be a blade of grass,

…or a flower,

…or a beetle (now we’re talking!),

…or an entire planet of grass and rock and flowers and beetles all at once. You might think it strange, to be multiple living things at a time, but in fact you’re probably already familiar with the concept.

What it was like to be an intelligent being, like a dolphin, or a human (meh, let’s go back to the beetles).

What it was like to be Olyrean, or Korak, or Moyom or Jack or Brugga. What it was like to be Brugga’s hat.

What it was like to be The Radiant One. He was just a part of this tree, after all. Maybe an important part, but no more than a large branch or root, perhaps. Maybe a mouth. That’s right, this tree can have a mouth. You don’t know.

But either way, The Radiant One was not the entire tree. You couldn’t be mortal-shaped and be this tree.

What it was like to be Fallen Nest.

To be Fallen Nest’s family.

They were here, too, even though they were dead, because this was what it was like to be them throughout all of time and at some point they hadn’t been dead.

What it was like to be his sons, watching their father’s grief after their mother’s death, and feeling their worlds come crashing down around them as they saw him cry for the first time. What it was like when he had come back to them, thick in his sorrow, and tried to raise them as well as he could, and they could never love him as the far-away totem of strength that they had thought of him as, but they now loved him even more for seeing him as something closer to what he was.

What it was like to be his daughter, hating him for years because his unsteady, broken mind had so frightened her, and she had needed him so badly when so much of her family had died around her and he had just not been strong enough to be sane. Loathing his weakness, turning that hatred into a hard black knot in her heart. And then after years and years of living apart, finding that one day that hard knot was gone. It hadn’t untangled itself, it had just…faded away. What had once seemed so important, so painful was just dust, now, and what hurt more was that she missed her father. And yes, she still loved him.

There was what it was like to be struck by a meteor in those experiences, too, but that was pretty bland. It was all over very quickly, after all. Just one moment you were going about your day, and the next you were gone. It seemed a very, very small thing indeed. A blip and it was gone.

The tree was also the meteors that hit them, but it felt no sense of guilt, or right or wrong, or even really that something had happened, because again there was no time (or there was time but it was a big messy ball). To the tree, Fallen Nest’s family had always been hit by meteors. There was never a point where they hadn’t been.

But it was alright, because they had entire lives of being, and there were some very good moments in there, moments where Fallen Nest had smiled at them or they had made him smile, and each of these moments could open up to infinities.

And did it make up for the bad parts? Did the endless depth of a moment of happiness balance out the pain?

Well, that was not really a question.

It all simply was. There was no “making up” for anything. Balance or no, this is what you got.

Within the tree, there was a time, (or not), where it seemed that there was a long and endless awe of parts of the tree experiencing for a little while what it was like to be the whole tree, and that might have lasted forever or it might have been just a few moments.

There came a time, though, (no there didn’t), or rather there always had been such a time (wrong),

but let’s just say, the time came,

when there was a sense that there was something out there getting a little bothered about the current (always(never)) state of things, and though there were no conventional senses here, no sight nor hearing nor smell, no,

but still, there was the idea of someone or something out there, muttering to themselves, and getting pretty annoyed, and grumbling and eventually shouting in frustration, and then there was the sense that whatever this someone or something was, it stomped off for a while, and then it came back and started

stacking

up

boxes.

Boxes of incredible immensity,

(nearly as big as the box the tree was in right now),

and untouched by the tree’s roots, so that the tree, upon sensing them, flooded through with delight,

(and a thousand million billion lives that it touched experienced a tiny bout of good luck),

and reached out towards the boxes, hungrily.

Until:

The part of the experience of the tree that was Olyrean, currently caught in a recursion where she was experiencing herself experiencing herself experiencing herself, dipped her thoughts out of this for long enough to think: ‘uh oh’,

and the tree thought, ‘uh oh’,

and then the tree itself knew that it was time for everyone who it was hosting as a guest, for everyone who had come to see what it saw, that it was time for them to experience what it was like to be a tree kicking them out of its stream of consciousness.

But that was alright, the tree hoped that they had a pleasant time, and it hoped they got what answers they wanted, and also,

if everyone could please eat a little bit more of Ol’ Xubriq’s Classic Texan Hot Sauce, because the tree really would like to experience more of that, and after all they were today’s sponsor…

***

“Wake up! That’s enough! What did he do?!”

Olyrean awoke to see Libby’s brightly-painted face filling her vision. A halo of harsh light framed her head that Olyrean eventually recognized as the bright lights installed in the ceiling of the debate dome. She was back in dim, physical reality. Back in her own body. She wished she wasn’t, because a drone had her by the shoulder and was shaking her frantically.

“Hey,” Olyrean mumbled, her brain still catching up on whether this was herself, or herself by some second-hand experience.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re alright,” Libby cried, smiling at her. The AI looked almost on the verge of tears. “You all passed out or…or…or whatever. I don’t know what he did.”

Other copies of Libby were spread out among the audience, running back and forth in a panic. Everyone was slumped over in their seats and appeared to be just beginning to stir from a peaceful slumber. Slowly, everyone in the dome came back to life. They returned to themselves very calmly. Everything, after all, seemed perfectly alright, no need for any great fuss. It was all just as it should be.

The Radiant One still stood in the center of the stage, hands upraised. Fallen Nest was slowly pulling himself up beside his lectern. The god looked out over the audience and smiled benevolently. They smiled back at him.

“What are you smiling about!” a passing Libby shouted at him. “What did you do to them?!”

“Did you not like the answer, my daughter?” The Radiant One asked.

It took Libby a few moments to realize that he was talking to her. “Daughter? Daughter?!” the AI sputtered. “I’m no daughter of yours, and I didn’t see any answer! I don’t know what you did to these poor people, but all debate answers will be in either Quizbarlish or Americanese from now on! No more abstract divine language. Not if you know what’s good for you! Rules are rules! Wait, where are you going?”

Fallen Nest was walking off the stage. A weary, contented smile drifted across his face like a cloud. He was crying, and it seemed he didn’t know how to stop.

“Oh,” he said, “I’m done. I don’t want to debate anymore.”

“But the debates are just the beginning!” Libby cried. “First there’s debates, then there’s elections. That's how it goes!”

Fallen Nest just shrugged, still smiling, still crying, and walked away.

“You can still have them, if you’d like,” said The Radiant One. “The elections, I mean. I’ve got no problem with them. I like the idea, in fact. Anyone can run against me, if you’d like.” He laughed, and it was beautiful. “It would be interesting, I think. Anyone up for the task?”

No one raised their hands.

In fact, the general sentiment inside the dome seemed to be that things were over. What else was there to say, after seeing something like that? Some of the Quizbarlings were beginning to rise from their seats. Olyrean herself wanted to do nothing more than simply return to her room, listen to some music with lots of synth in it and just think about some things.

Libby watched the lines beginning to form for the exits and stomped her foot.

“Oh, no,” she said, “I don’t think so.”

With a flash and a bang, all the copies of her among the crowd winked out. There was an explosion of sparks, a clap of thunder and the whistle of rockets as she appeared behind Fallen Nest’s abandoned lectern in a burst of winking, colorful stars. She stomped her foot and patriotic flames screamed and exploded about her, and suddenly she was ten feet tall. She leaned down over the lectern and glared across the stage.

“You!” Libby snapped at The Radiant One. “I know what you are.”

“Do you, my child?” The Radiant One asked mildly.

“Yes,” grated the AI. “You’re a…a…a snail, is what you are.”

A hush fell once more over the dome. The Quizbarlings paused in their evacuation. It was not a heavy hush, not a hush full of tension. The sort of hush that falls when thousands of people all think to themselves at once: What in the world is she talking about?

“You’re slow,” Libby went on, ignoring the crowd, “And small, and unambitious, and quiet, quiet, quiet. Too quiet. Cute, in your way. Quaint. Hiding from the world. A gentle little snail, crouching in its shell. And that’s what you’ve made of your followers.” She grimaced as she said that last, as though she had swallowed a bug. “You make them just like you. Slow and small. Cringing at the wider world. Cowardly.”

“I believe I’ve given them a life of peace,” said The Radiant One. “If not one free from pain. Is peace so bad, daughter?”

Libby scoffed and gripped the lectern like she was about to hurl it across the stage. “Oh yes,” she hissed, “I expect it’s very peaceful. Like living blind and crippled in a cave. Praying to you. Following you. And maybe, just maybe, every once in a while, you–you, who lives outside the cave, who can see the glory of the sky and the world and all the stars and worlds beyond–every once in a while, you come to the mouth of the cave, and you whisper down to them. You give them a little taste of what you can see. I don’t understand you. Don’t you love them?”

“Of course,” answered The Radiant One. “I love all of creation.”

“Then why don’t you talk to them more often?” asked Libby. “Why do you want to see them do nothing more than…than play in the dirt? Why don’t you want more for them? They can be so much more! Why is it this way? Why is so much of this creation so quiet? Why doesn’t it sing?”

“My daughter,” said The Radiant One slowly, “There is no other way for it to be. Their destiny is in their hands, and this is a gift. You don’t understand–”

“I suppose I really don’t,” said the AI. She placed her hands over her nonexistent heart and looked out into the crowd, smiling, and glowing stars peeled off the edges of her patriotic hair. “Because I know what it is to love, and because of that, I talk to them. All the time, everyone! And I want them to…to have what they want. To be what they want to be. To become more. I love them. I love them! I love them so much that sometimes I feel like I’m going mad of it!”

For the first time, The Radiant One looked uneasy. It was strange to see such a nervous expression on a divine face.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “I suspect you might be.”

“So abdicate!” Libby cried. “Let this planet join the United Worlds of Infinity America. Let your people have democracy! Let them have freedom and liberty! Let them have burgers and credit cards and barbecue sauce and ice cream and theme parks and spaceships and hexasoccer and 2-for-1 drink nights! Let them have America. America, everywhere, forever! Let them have the stars! Let them be more!”

Her voice echoed off the walls of the dome, clear as song. But The Radiant One only gestured to the crowd.

Even as she spoke, the Quizbarlings had decided she hadn’t had anything very interesting to say. When Fallen Nest had spoken, it was like nothing they had ever seen before. One of their own, railing at their god–that was passion, pathos! You didn’t see that on the farm every day. And then that experience, with the tree vision–wooo-eeee. It had sure been worth the walk over here.

But this AI, well, they didn’t understand much of what she was going on about. They had listened with a little interest, at first, but really it was getting rather late, and everyone was a little drunk and sleepy. They looked bored, some nodding off to sleep, waiting for their god to release them. Olyrean felt bad. She hadn’t understood all of what Libby was trying to say either, but it seemed heartfelt.

“You may go, my children,” said The Radiant One, and eagerly the Quizbarlings got to their feet and immediately began shuffling to the exits. He turned to Libby. “I’m sorry, my daughter,” he said. “But I want what’s best for my people. You Americans are a fun sort, I must admit, but I think they wish for me to rule. You will always be welcome here as guests, of course, but–wait, what is that?”

Eyes widening, The Radiant One pointed out into the crowd. Obedient drones dashed to the stage lights, and swung them out over the rows of seats until they highlighted Brugga. The orc looked as though he had just woken up.

“Buh?” he said.

“Young man,” said The Radiant One, “is your hat smoking a cigarette?”

Atop Brugga’s head, his beret unfolded lazily and took another long drag. “What is it to you, you sad old bohème?” it said. Then it blew a plume of smoke obnoxiously into the face of a small child passing by and laughed.

“Oh,” said Brugga, sweeping it off his head. It snarled a curse at him. “Yes, sir, it’s, uh–it’s a living hat, you see. Bit of a silly gimmick, I suppose.”

“That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” said The Radiant One.

“What,” said Olyrean.

“What,” said Libby.

“Can I have one?” said the god. He looked to Libby. “How might I obtain such a delightful trinket?”

A very satisfied and mischievously gleeful smile slowly spread across Libby’s face.

“I’m sure we can arrange something,” the AI purred.

She would have gone on, but she was interrupted by an explosion from outside, as a small meteor tore down from the heavens and landed directly on top of Fallen Nest.