Part 4: The Conservatory
The entrance to the Conservatory was abstract. It wasn’t as much of a place as it was an architectural expression of its members. The entrance appeared to be a concave forum of silk and padding, surrounded by a mild convex plateau of flower petals. As Diotitus and Brangot recovered their sight, they found themselves immersed in bright palettes of pastels, deep reds, and light pinks. Though fully toned and brilliant, the light was nevertheless softly cast so as to produce no shadow.
Both men stood in awe of the color.
“How do I look?” Diotitus whispered. The din of their afterworld was gone, and he found his whisper boomed in the sterling silence.
Brangot quickly checked his clothes and appointments, and then surveyed Diotitus. “Fix your circlet.”
Diotitus groped the top of his head and adjusted the circlet to rest evenly on his crown.
“Where do you think we are supposed to go?” Brangot asked.
Then, a tower appeared as though Brangot’s words compelled it into existence. The tower was of such stature and opulence that Brangot swooned, and was overcome with vertigo. Its smooth form was pearl-toned and its presence lashed up at a brilliant sky that moments before appeared to be little more than an abstract ceiling with a soft and silky décor.
Diotitus looked up at Brangot, then back at the tower. “I see a door, I think.” He started walking towards the tower, and Brangot followed at his side.
The tower appeared larger as the men walked towards it, but they couldn’t determine how close they were. It kept growing bigger.
After walking for ten minutes, a voice spoke from behind them.
“An illusion,” the voice said, and both men spun round, coming face to face with someone they took for a god.
Brangot’s heart raced and he raised his cylindrical weapon in salute.
Diotitus was slow to follow, but he caught himself gawking and offered an affable salute with his shield and baton.
“Brangot, Diotitus,” the apparent god said. His presence was spectacular in its grace and form, and his voice was a sonorous experience closer to a symphony than mere words. “My name is Brian.” Brian looked at both of the men for a moment, and then asked, “Was it made clear you were to bring Tif?”
Diotitus raised an eyebrow and looked at Brangot.
“The subject was broached,” Brangot said, pausing to find an appropriate salutation. “Sir.”
“Tif isn’t available,” Diotitus responded with a measure of caution. “I thought that information would be passed on to you.”
Brian’s lips turned into a mild frown, and the once bright disposition of his voice changed to suit. “Should I conclude your presence is to trifle with my patience?”
“Uh, no,” Diotitus started.
“Then where is Tif?” Brian demanded. Clouds billowed in the sky and were tortured by a bolt of lightning. Cracking thunder rang in their ears.
“Sir,” Brangot said, and though mindful of the god’s show of pageantry felt otherwise unmoved, “She is not sound of mind, and is completely unresponsive to outside stimuli. Perhaps you might have better luck if you went to her?”
Brian snarled his lip, though his expression relaxed. “We don’t go there.”
Diotitus thought Brian’s tone snide, and he looked more closely at the god-like form. He stood as tall as Diotitus, who was much shorter than Brangot. His shoulders were hunched forward a bit, and as Diotitus forced himself to look less at his god-like presence and more at him as a person, he noticed Brian was fidgeting with his hands.
Brangot raised his lower set of arms in appeasement, “Sir, perhaps if I explained …” but Brian cut him off.
“I want results, not explanations.”
Diotitus grew less impressed and more impatient. Real Gods, the honest-to-goodness birthed-from-the-fires-of-the-universe Gods, didn’t hang around the Conservatory. He knew that much. These were academic gods. Bookworm gods.
Diotitus glanced sidelong at Brangot and a wry grin crossed his face. “I’ve got three spirit batteries that say he’s only a junior, with at least four thousand years to go.”
Brangot felt that his friend’s words rang true. Brian carried himself with an amateurish disposition, and demeaned himself as a bore. Brangot held up the business end of his cylindrical weapon, pointing it at Brian. “Care to settle our little bet? Do you have your degree?”
Brian raised his hand as though he planned to work some miracle, and Brangot smartly rapped his knuckles with the end of the long cylinder.
“Ow!” Brian whined and sucked the back of his hand. “I never said I was a god. You assumed.”
Diotitus pushed his way past Brian, and the two men continued walking towards the tower.
“What do you suppose that was about?” Brangot asked.
“He knew of Tif,” Diotitus said. “I would say it was for some lofty reason, but I’m partial to thinking one of the gods sent him to meet us if for no other reason than to be an ass.”
“Why would you think that?” Brangot asked.
“Because we’re from the sewer of the universe,” Diotitus said. “And these guys spent fifteen thousand years or more getting the most prestigious degree possible. They’re academics. What good is that if you can’t lord it over everyone else?”
Brangot nodded, considering Diotitus’ jaded view. “I find it curious they didn’t go see Tif themselves. Do you think being in our afterworld is a stigma?”
“Arrogance?” Diotitus offered. “Or maybe they can’t get in to our afterworld.”
“Maybe they can’t,” Brangot said. “I never thought about it, but perhaps there are places in the afterlife where gods cannot go.”
After a long though peaceful walk, they arrived at a large door leading into the tower. The door was constructed of black iron and aged wood planks. It was blocked open with a wooden wedge. Standing outside of the tower, they could feel the air inside was cool and dusty, smelling of granite, wood grains, and linseed oil.
Brangot, followed by Diotitus, entered and approached a large, simple wooden desk. A young man greeted them with a broad smile and bid them a good morning.
“You must be Diotitus,” he said.
Diotitus nodded and leaned over the desk to read the man’s name, which was scrawled on a sticker and applied to his nondescript uniform. “Rick?”
Rick looked up at Brangot. “And you must be Brangot.”
Brangot presented Rick with a lesser manual salutation befitting secretaries and concierges. Diotitus offered no salutation at all.
Rick narrowed his eyes slightly while looking at Brangot. “I can’t place your home world.”
Brangot didn’t respond, so Diotitus replied, “no one knows, and he never talks about it.”
“I see,” Rick said.
“Rick, we were called here on urgent business,” Brangot said. “I wouldn’t want anyone to be waiting for us.”
Rick continued to smile. “Not at all. In fact, they are waiting for you in the conference room on the thirty thousandth floor. You’ll want to take the elevator.” He motioned to a pair of black, polished steel doors set into a stone wall on the far side of the lobby.
The men thanked Rick and walked across the lobby to the elevator. The doors opened when they approached, then closed when they entered, and started moving.
“Weird,” Diotitus said. “This place, I’ve decided, is extraordinarily weird.”
“Actually, it’s making more sense now that we’re inside,” Brangot said. “It has all of the artistry of a college. Isn’t that what this is? A college for people studying to be gods?”
Diotitus shrugged. “I never had to study.”
“I like it,” Brangot said. “It is refreshing to not be surrounded by unnecessary technology and otherworldly machinations. Did you notice Rick used a quill and homemade paper?”
“It’s not a monastery,” Diotit
us snorted. “I think they’re taking it too far.”
The trip was short, and the elevator stopped moving and the doors opened to reveal a large, open-air conference room. A sky at twilight illuminated a central desk with a soft glow, and Diotitus thought he heard crickets chirping and frogs croaking in the distance.
“Gentlemen,” a steely voice spoke. A man with thin gray hair, drawn features, and wizened countenance approached. “Gerard,” he said, pronouncing the first syllable as a silence-baiting consonant.
“Brangot,” Brangot said and offered his formal salutation using his lower arms to extend his cylindrical weapon and his upper arms to show he held no other armament.
“Diotitus,” Diotitus said and grudgingly offered his own formal greeting, though had started to feel academic gods didn’t deserve it. He only half bowed and didn’t complete the full salutary motion with the baton.
Gerard looked over both men, and a thin smile drew across his pasty lips. “I hope it hurt,” he said, glancing along the length of the polished cylindrical weapon held in Brangot’s lower hands. “Tell me,” he said to Diotitus, “how did you know he didn’t have his degree?”
“He showed us some nice parlor tricks, but he didn’t strike me as having a god-like presence.”
“Indeed.” Gerard said. He remained quiet for a moment and then beckoned them towards the large table. “Let’s sit and I will tell you why you were summoned.”
The two men set their appointments on the floor and sat down in the large and very comfortable chairs surrounding the table.
“This is a nice effect you have,” Diotitus said, nodding towards the ceiling that looked and felt like they were under an open sky. He fully appreciated being bathed in the soft, colorful light.
“I had thought you might like it. It’s a Greek sky from your lifetime.” Gerard offered another thin smile.
Diotitus, never much of a reveler of the sky when alive, now took a careful look at his surroundings for it then seemed very similar to the architecture and environment from his homeland.
Gerard sat down at the table next to Brangot, folded his hands, and placed them on the table. “I’m sorry your friend could not be roused, but I am aware her condition makes it difficult.” He nodded towards Brangot, “You were correct in thinking we cannot enter Oblivion, which is why we were hoping you would bring Tif here. Although, it doesn’t matter where she is since she is a repressed.” He paused, and momentarily appended, “I believe the popular term right now is Drooler. But she has become of significant import and I hope to task the two of you with the responsibility of waking her.”
“I never thought that was possible,” Diotitus said.
“She’s hasn’t completely repressed herself,” Gerard advised, and looking directly at Diotitus, continued, “and if you ever gave serious thought to making some positive contribution in her life, then you would at least try to help her.”
“Can you tell us why it is so important that she recover?” Brangot asked.
Gerard nodded. “First, I would like to discuss with you the reasons that brought you to the Conservatory.” He paused and looked between Brangot and Diotitus. “The main reason is both of you have known Tif the longest, and self repression is not an abnormality cured with a snap of a god’s fingers. It is a psychological ill, and she will need her friends, the two of you, to convince her that her afterlife is worth experiencing.”
“I’m surprised you can’t help her,” Diotitus said. “I always assumed gods to be omnipotent.”
“Ah,” Gerard said, “A misunderstanding. Gods are omnipotent in their afterworlds, and have varying abilities to interact with In-Life and Pre-Life. Oblivion is a special case. It isn’t an afterworld. It is a nexus between all afterworlds. While the gods support moving the entire population to an afterworld, no god has the power to do so.” He spread out his hands on the table, “Gods have no power in Oblivion, and they can’t even enter it. They are only omnipotent in their own afterworld.”
“Everyone with a god degree is only a god at the Conservatory?” Diotitus asked.
Gerard nodded. “Yes. However, many afterworlds employ our graduates for research and administrative purposes. They are permitted to use some or all of their skills there.”
“Except Oblivion,” Brangot said.
“Correct,” Gerard said. “It is easier for you to cross between Oblivion and an afterworld than it is for one of us to enter Oblivion. Granted, you need credentials to get beyond the black-and-white observation levels. Even so, majority of afterworlds are not interested in Oblivion. They think it is another Christian Limbo.”
“Why do you want us to wake up Tif?” Diotitus asked.
Gerard said, “The moment Tif became a Drooler, she was thinking about something. We want you to finish her thought, and put it into motion.”
“Why is Tif’s last, half-finished thought so important?” Brangot asked.
“Unfortunately, I can’t elaborate why. I can only say she was thinking about a method to track every particle in the known universe over time.”
Diotitus caught himself before letting out a guffaw. “You think Tif was thinking about that?”
“It’s very important,” Gerard explained. “If you mutilate a body at the time of death, and spread the parts over a wide area, the soul is dispersed. What percentage of a soul is required to be claimed as a worshipper by a god?”
Brangot looked at Diotitus, who shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Fifty-one percent,” Gerard continued. “A god may claim a soul as a worshipper if they have fifty-one percent of it. Good for the god and the respective afterworld, and good for at least fifty-one percent of the soul. However, the other forty-nine percent will be missing. We surmise most of these soul fragments wind up in spirit batteries or stuck in Ghost Boxes.”
“Now,” Gerard went on, “imagine what would happen if an entire world was destroyed.”
“How exactly would that happen?” Diotitus asked, but was nudged by Brangot.
“Read the news sometime,” Brangot whispered.
“It happens,” Gerard said. “And, when it does, it is rare to recover a significant portion of a soul because all souls are scattered across the universe. Trans-dimensional fish food.”
He said, “We call this a Grand Disaster. If we track every particle, we could find the scattered souls.”
“How exactly would that work?” Diotitus asked.
“Tif knows,” Brangot said. “Right?”
Gerard nodded. “Precisely. No one ever worked out how this could be accomplished, except Tif. But, she didn’t figure it all out. There still remains the issue of how to record and access all of the data.”
“A lot of information,” Diotitus commented.
“You have no idea,” Gerard said.
“Haven’t the gods figured this sort of thing out?” Diotitus asked. “Isn’t this what creation mathematics is for?”
Gerard nodded. “Creation mathematics is a closely guarded secret. No one will give you the algorithms. All I can tell you is we need you to complete Tif’s thought. I will arrange for you to gain access to any afterworld you consider necessary. You already have access to the Quantum Stream in Oblivion.”
“Not a very exciting place,” Diotitus said.
Gerard smiled. “I imagine you’ll be spending a lot of time there.”
“And if we’re unable or unwilling to help?” Diotitus asked.
“You don’t want to help your friend?” he asked. “Universal Standard Time hasn’t moved forward in a very long time, and we can’t let it move forward until this matter is addressed.”
“Suppose we attempt this impossible feat,” Diotitus said. “What then?”
“I can’t promise there would be a reward.” Then, Gerard chuckled. “You want a mountain of gold bullion, or a fancy chariot?”
“Possessions are worthless,” Brangot said.
“Which makes
a reward unrealistic,” Gerard said.
Diotitus sat back in his chair and thought about the request. Gerard wanted a couple unsaved lackeys to steal the thoughts of an unsaved and insane woman. Images of Tif crossed his mind and he felt helpless about waking her from her drooling state. Beneath a sky deemed to be his own, moments of In-Life fluttered across the recesses of his mind. He recalled his childhood of privilege, adventures as a Greek soldier, promotion to commander, and his brief ascension to the status of a god. In the handful of weeks as a god, he couldn’t even muster a rain cloud or enchant a rune. It was all a sham.
Now, seated alongside an academically certified god, Diotitus’ claims were laughable. At least Gerard and his peers had studied for many millennia. What deeds qualified him to be a god? And what remained except a few clay tablets advertising his ascension. His fall was heralded only by the migration of his few worshippers. No one had been left to finish the epic of Diotitus.
Diotitus wondered why Brangot and he were necessary at all. Because the gods don’t have any power in Oblivion. His spiral into depression took an immediate turn. It’s not what we can do, but what Gerard can’t do. They couldn’t enter Oblivion. They had no power there. Oblivion may have been the sewer of the afterworlds, but it was also the afterworld of the forgotten. There were no gods of Oblivion.
Diotitus touched Brangot’s arm to get his attention, and offered him a slight nod and a subtle smile. He looked at Gerard and said, “I think we may be able to work something out.”
Brangot raised a bark-crusted brow.
“I presume if we complete this task, it would have to be administered and maintained,” Diotitus said.
“Yes,” Gerard nodded. “The Time Stream is managed by some machine-people and I imagine they would take ownership of the finished product.”
Brangot said, “We can assign those tasks when we have a better understanding of the requirements.”
Gerard appeared want to argue, but said nothing on that subject. He smiled, albeit a forced smile, and said “Excellent. You may direct requests for admission to a specific afterworld to me, and I’ll see it approved. Make sure to list the person or persons you intend to meet.”
“Do you have a suggestion on where we should start?” Brangot asked.
“I’d start with Tif,” Gerard replied. The god excused himself to attend other matters, leaving Brangot and Diotitus alone.
The two men decided to return home, and left the tower and walked to the Spirit Channel station. The trip to the station was much shorter, and they walked in silence.
They rested at the station, waiting for the next Spirit Channel to arrive.
Brangot looked intently at Diotitus, and said, “During my In-Life, we had many enemies. This,” he hefted the cylindrical weapon with his lower arms, “is the greatest weapon my people devised.”
Diotitus nodded, having heard most of Brangot’s stories over thousands of years. However, if the moment of insight he experienced in the Conservatory were to come to fruition, their friendship would need to become closer.
“It is marvelous in its simplicity,” Brangot went on. “It may be used on its own, or it may compound with multiple weapons.” His thick bark skin masked emotions, but Diotitus was able to read the subtleties in Brangot’s eyes. “One of our greatest victories was over an entire armada of space-faring warships with this weapon.”
“But,” Brangot continued, “Although diplomacy and negotiations are desirable, I have seen them used to greater effect than this weapon.” He looked at Diotitus, and his eyes were glassy.
“Over the infinite years we have been neighbors, I have known you to have a good heart.” Then, his brows furrowed. “But that god,” and he jabbed the tip of his weapon in the direction of the tower, “spoke nothing but academic deceit.”
Brangot lowered the weapon and planted it on the station’s wood planked floor, raising a sharp echo. “Tell me, my friend, what deceit did you hear and see, and what plans did you concoct, in that god’s lair?”
Diotitus set his baton and shield on the station. “Do you think this is the best time and place to have this discussion?”
“Let him listen if he can,” Brangot said. “The Spirit Channel station is an extension of its own afterworld. I think his power stops at the door.”
Diotitus nodded. “Maybe. I’ll tell you what I was thinking. They want to control us. If we follow Gerard’s suggestion, we would have to go through him to get approval for anything. Assuming we figure out what Tif was thinking, any success we had would be turned over to the machine-people. Rousing Tif doesn’t matter to them. It’s a distraction. We finish the first part, and maybe they already finished the second.”
“I guess I’m greedy,” Diotitus continued, “Because I kept wondering what was in it for us. Maybe we can wake up Tif, and that would be great. But that wouldn’t change her mind,” and he paused looking away from Brangot. “She never had feelings for me. I don’t believe anything I do would change her heart. It would be nice to be rouse her and have our friend back, but Tif isn’t a reward.” He shook his head. “So, what benefit is there for us? We wouldn’t be saved, that’s for sure.”
“What do you have in mind?” Brangot asked.
Diotitus smiled. “We complete Tif’s thought without their help. We find out what we can about this Grand Disaster, which afterworlds it affects, and we make sure we are the only ones able and knowledgeable to administer the solution. We find the secret of Creation Mathematics.”
“Ah,” Brangot said, “But the objective may be for the Conservatory to learn the algorithms instead of some theoretical device. Perhaps all they are interested in is ancillary information.”
“Maybe,” Diotitus admitted. “Therefore, we would have to maintain the secret. Either way, if we do create a solution, then we will have something of value.”
And Diotitus’ eyes sparkled, “Brangot, this is like discovering a lucrative mine. All we have to do is work the mine ourselves, and not sell out.”
Brangot said, “I understand. At the moment, we are of no consequence to any afterlife. With this solution, we would provide a valuable service.”
“Yes,” Diotitus said.
“Where do we start?”
“We should start at the beginning,” Diotitus answered. “We need to find the secret of Creation Mathematics. I think I know where to look, and my grandfathered status as a god might get us a day-pass.”
“Where?” Brangot asked.
“The afterworld reserved for gods.”