Truth of the Divine (Noumena, #2)

by Lindsay Ellis

But the purported reason for the delay in the release of what has up until now been confidential information isn’t the assumption that the public at large can’t handle the truth but instead the lack of legal status for any living ETIs inside the United States.

“My brain is damaged, as is yours, but mine far worse, irreparable in many regards. Within the Superorganism, there are resources to repair some forms of trauma, but no resources to repair damage as extensive as mine. In our Superorganism, I would not be suffered to live. I did not believe the attempt to fusion bond with you would succeed, but it did. If Esperas knew…” “I…” There was a part of her that was offended. He categorized his decision to bind himself to her as the product of a sick mind? “We are different species. It is perverse. It is bestial.”

Then there was the issue of their caste system—none but Ampersand and Esperas may speak to the hu-man, and Esperas was the gatekeeper to all the rest of the group. But the group was clearly unhappy. The group was suffering. The ones that were not committing ritualistic suicide were now in open rebellion. While she could advise the well-intentioned bureaucrats of the U.S. government, she couldn’t help the Fremda group if Esperas was keeping them under lock and key.

She felt Sol sigh next to her. “God-fucking-damn it, I hate it when they’re good.” “Who do you mean by ‘they’?” asked Cora. “These fucking polemicists. You try working in anti-terrorism for a few years. This guy terrifies me both less and more. Less in that I think he’s 900 percent less likely to strap bombs onto his chest and walk into a mall. More in that he’s way smarter and more charismatic than the usual grifter.”

By now the “Truth is a human right” chant had devolved into the simpler “Hu-man rights! Hu-man rights!” It felt like that phrase meant something different now than it had earlier that morning.

Oh merciful God, now that thing was looking at him with its horrible demon eyes. Both of them watched him, and it seemed to him that what he was looking at was one unit. The alien with its head down, cocked slightly, as if devising the most tantalizing way to be rid of the interloper, and the blue-haired girl who apparently had no compunction about yelling at the creature like it was her boyfriend.

“My family owns a few, but I only own my apartment in New York.” Her bewildered expression told him that made things worse, not better, as if he were trying to insinuate merely owning an apartment in Tribeca was a sign of humble means.

His instincts about sources were usually correct—who would talk, who wouldn’t, what type of charm would work on whom and what wouldn’t. His journalistic instincts were his greatest asset (well, that and his hair), the thing that had propelled him to the top of his field. It was therefore instinct, not rationality, that made him decide that Enola was the play, not Ampersand.

But the real issue was that Ampersand seemed, to put it mildly, extremely guarded if not a skosh homicidal, plus he had that inexplicably protective gatekeeper. Enola, conversely, was a mystery, but given his eagerness to talk to Cora, going even so far as to demand his freedom, Kaveh deduced that he was the less guarded of the two, and given that he was welded to the floor of a cave, also the less dangerous.

“OUR KIND ARE NOT PRESENTED WITH THE OPPORTUNITY TO BECOME ADDICTED.” “Then where did your … ‘medicine’ come from?” “I CREATED IT.” “Oh … dear.” “ONE AMYGDALINE OF THE SUPERORGANISM WOULD NEVER BE ALLOWED TO DEGENERATE AS I HAVE, OR AS MY DEAR BELOVED HAS. HIS DISEASE IS CRITICAL, PERHAPS AS TERRIBLE AS MINE. BUT WE HAVE NO WAY TO TREAT IT. WE ARE NOT EQUIPPED IN THAT SCIENCE, AND EVEN IF WE WERE, THERE ARE NO TREATMENTS FOR THOSE SUCH AS US WHO HAVE DEGENERATED SO MUCH. WE WOULD NOT BE TREATED. WE WOULD BE EUTHANIZED.”

And that was that. Female karyotype, functionally agender, but male pronouns and association with maleness was just more pragmatic. How poetic that the first thing she ever taught him was that femininity was associated with weakness and non-importance, and no one wants to be associated with that. She gave Kaveh the short answer: “Ampersand prefers male pronouns. I guess … you should ask Enola what he … they prefer.” “IT IS AS YOU PREFER, LITTLE COUSIN.” “Do you have a … chromosomal … karyotype?” asked Cora. “I HAVE A MALE KARYOTYPE.” “Ah, well, that keeps it simple,” said Kaveh. Cora inwardly thought that probably meant they should call Enola “she,” but kept that to herself.

Then, as if reading her thoughts, Enola spoke. “LITTLE COUSIN, I BELIEVE I KNOW WHICH INDIVIDUAL YOU ASSIGNED THE NAME ‘ČEFO.’ ČEFO WAS AN OLIGARCH, DE FACTO LEADER OF THE GROUP YOU CALL ‘FREMDA.’ ČEFO DIED, SUBJECTIVE, SIXTY-NINE EARTH DAYS AGO. I KNOW THIS, BECAUSE ČEFO WAS MY SYMPHYLE. AND HE WAS NOBLE OBELUS’S SYMPHYLE. BUT HE WAS NOT OUR DEAR BELOVED’S.”

“YOU HAVE BEEN GRIEVOUSLY INJURED AND REPAIRED. I DON’T THINK HUMAN DOCTORS COULD REPAIR HUMAN BIOMATTER SO SKILLFULLY. WHO DID THIS TO YOU? DID OUR BELOVED HURT YOU, LITTLE COUSIN?”

She spared a glance for Enola before she exited. His bright eyes were shining, curious, calculating. Set me free. We are sisters, you and I. “BE CAREFUL, LITTLE COUSIN.”

Just fangirling about this Last Unicorn reference.

He must have known that she was completely open to blackmail, that he could destroy her for fun and profit with minimal effort. She didn’t know him well enough to trust him on an emotional level, but she’d put herself in a position where she had no choice but to trust him on a material level. Please, please be the decent person you are presenting yourself to be, she prayed. Please, please don’t be like Nils.

“Could you describe the personality of any of the ETIs in a way that humans might appreciate?” What the fuck? That hadn’t been on the roster of preapproved talking points. It had all been broad, conceptual stuff about the nature of what makes a person, and do amygdalines fall under that umbrella, not “So what’s he like?” “Yes,” she stammered, totally blanking. He’s withdrawn, deceptive, duplicitous. He lies. He’s perfectly capable of kindness, but withdraws it when it’s inconvenient for him, and it’s always inconvenient. He doesn’t take care of himself, he lives in constant fear, he refuses to sleep because he’s so afraid. He’s killing himself. He won’t let me help him.

“We organized a Third Party rally a few weeks ago,” Miranda explained to Cora as if they were on the same side. “Events of the last few days have led to a lot of interest, so we’re looking at a crowd in the thousands. Senator Julian might be there, and also Tom DeLonge.” “Who?” asked Kaveh. “The lead singer of Blink-182.” Cora laughed. “Is he going to run through the crowd wearing nothing but sneakers?” Miranda almost looked offended, like it was 1999 and the lead singer of Blink-182 was a get that she just didn’t appreciate. “Surprised you aren’t covering it,” said Miranda to Kaveh.

I love this! This is the part when I had to educate myself on what Tom Delonge has been up to for the past 15 years. Your mileage may vary on how sketchy, grandiose, or relevant it all is.

The two looked up at the blinged-out ancient Egyptian edifice of the Cheesecake Factory at the Spectrum in Irvine, its signage emblazoned with red neon bulbs. A gilded monument to overpriced mediocre food, a confused mess of architecture and interior design that was equal parts sarcophagus and Mordor. A hideous calorie-laden monument to man’s hubris. Kaveh kind of loved it. Tacky as it was, it had been his family’s’ “special occasion” restaurant when he was growing up, so he couldn’t help but have some nostalgia for it.

Lindsay Ellis on-brand. We don't have a Cheesecake Factory in Spokane, but the local chain grocery stores sell gift cards. And honestly...FOMO?

“THERE IS A PART OF THE BRAIN THAT LIVES AND VIBRATES OUTSIDE THE KNOWN UNIVERSE, A PART TIED IN WITH WHAT YOU MIGHT CALL A SUBCONSCIOUS, WHERE THE BRAIN GREETS BUT DOES NOT UNDERSTAND THE UNKNOWN. THEREFORE, THE BRAIN CREATES FORMS IT UNDERSTANDS FOR THIS UNKNOWN—THIS IS THE DIVINE. THIS IS WHERE RELIGION COMES FROM, BOTH FOR OUR ANCESTORS AND FOR YOU. IT IS THE BRAIN GIVING A FORM TO THAT WHICH IT KNOWS TO BE TRUE BUT CANNOT COMPREHEND.

He seemed perfectly nonplussed, not particularly bothered by this.

Nonplussed is a word with two contradictory definitions, so the author elaborating made me chuckle.

How could an advanced civilization exterminate a whole other species, one that is wholly innocent to them, just because of a threat they might pose? Even as he had the thought, he felt childish. How many countless times in human history had human populations done exactly that to each other?

“There is no concept I can explain that you would not eventually comprehend at least the fundamentals of. Your raw intelligence may even be greater than our ancestors’, as I never could have imagined a civilization advancing as quickly as yours has. I am burdened with the knowledge of human personhood.”

They’d streamlined their messaging, too. Several of them were holding up signs that said things like, NO ONE-WORLD GOVERNMENT and DEATH TO THE GLOBALISTS. Ah, globalists, thought Kaveh. By night known as “Jews.” The dog whistle was so loud it was piercing, but Nils Ortega’s fans, high on anger at the lack of information and transparency, either did not hear the fascist undertones or ignored them. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

he didn’t think that Grandpappy Stahl, an officer in the army of the Third Reich, would be caught dead marrying one of those swarthy southern Europeans. Best to keep that observation to himself. It was a strange, uncomfortable truth that all of Nils’s colleagues knew about but no one talked about. He had to assume the same was true of the whole Ortega family, who only existed because an ancestor had decided to duck out on the Nuremberg trials.

“But that’s only two galaxies! There are hundreds of billions of galaxies in the universe!” “BUT WE ARE LIMITED BY THE LAWS OF PHYSICS OF THIS UNIVERSE, DEAR CLEVER CREATURE. EVEN IF WE WERE ABLE TO TRAVEL AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT, SPACE IS EXPANDING FASTER THAN ANY VESSEL WE ARE CAPABLE OF BUILDING COULD TRAVEL. WE ARE CONFINED TO THE LOCAL GROUP OF THE MILKY WAY AND ANDROMEDA GALAXIES, AND THERE IS NO LIFE IN EITHER OF THESE GALAXIES OUTSIDE OF THIS ONE SPIRAL ARM OF THE MILKY WAY. YOU ARE THE ONLY CIVILIZATION CAPABLE OF ADVANCEMENT THAT WE WILL EVER FIND.”

“I do, though. This is what I should have been doing all along.” He stood up. “Besides, what’s the point of having a rich boyfriend if you don’t get to skip the line sometimes?” She batted her eyelids like a nervous butterfly. “Boyfriend?” He kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose and then tapped it with his finger. “Boop.” They said their goodbyes, and he went out the door, and the second it closed behind him, he nearly shattered.

Just before he calls her dad...

“She’s too young to understand what’s at stake here,” Miranda said in an interview with CNN on Tuesday. “And people are using her actions, either of bravery or insanity, to uphold the status quo. But what we need right now isn’t the corruption of the status quo. What we need right now is answers, is accountability. And if those in power won’t give us that, what we need may well be revolution.”

“We are getting off topic. My point is, we have so many people who would be more appropriate for what you want—astronauts, geneticists, researchers, scientists, people who’ve dedicated their lives to being the type of person you’d need.” “I DID NOT ASK FOR A MORE QUALIFIED PERSON, FOR THERE IS NO QUALIFIED PERSON. THIS IS NOT AN ENDEAVOR FOR WHICH ONE CAN TRAIN.”

“OUR CHANCES OF SUCCESS WERE ALWAYS EXTREMELY MINUTE. I FEEL THEY ARE EVEN SMALLER WITH MY BELOVED IN SUCH A POOR CONDITION, A CONDITION FROM WHICH HE IS LIKELY NEVER TO RECOVER. BUT MOREOVER, IT IS NOT MY SPECIES THAT IS THREATENED WITH EXTINCTION, DEAR CLEVER CREATURE. YOU ARE MY CONNECTION TO THIS CIVILIZATION. I DO NOT WANT TO REBUILD HUMAN CIVILIZATION WITHOUT YOU IN IT. YOU ARE MY CONDITION.”

How to go about it? Who gets to contribute their “genetic material,” and who doesn’t? He could let entire races of people go extinct. Really, he would have to. He couldn’t possibly get a sample from all of them, and no one would be alive to exclaim, Quelle éthique! Race and ethnicity would be a thing of the past. There would be no cultures left to appropriate. Divorced from human civilization, history was nothing but data, and culture was only what Kaveh, Cora, and whatever other poor unfortunate broodmares Nikola absconded with remembered. And what could that possibly mean to some child who had no concept of culture besides whatever one they built?

That didn’t mean that the rest of the world intended to follow suit with whatever the United States did, but they were certainly waiting to see what the United States did. Some smaller countries like Costa Rica, Luxembourg, and Cuba (who was proud to claim the title of the first to do so) had already passed laws extending personhood to amygdaline ETIs, but mostly as a symbolic gesture. Japan was the only G7 country to have passed a law extending human rights to amygdalines (and only amygdalines—other alien species TBD).

Julian is probably going to win the presidency. Nils knows this. There is a lot Julian could offer Nils. “And NORAD?” “I know people died there. I don’t know how many.” The overlap of their rhetoric, how it had dovetailed in recent weeks, seemed so clear to him all of a sudden. The way they used almost the same wording, “debride the rot,” “cut the corruption.” The same lines. The same rhetoric. Oh, God. Did I do this?

“He didn’t always tell the truth about me,” said Sol, keeping his back to her. “He told you he got me reassigned when he leaked my identity. He didn’t. I requested to be transferred out of anti-terrorism months before they did their piece. I was gone before it even went to print. He didn’t get me reassigned. I left.”

re: Kaveh's exposé

He made her fucking furious, and anger was vastly preferable to the kraken of grief that was just below the surface, bubbling, roiling, ready to pull her into the depths.

“Kaveh told me—reminded me—what I did,” Luciana continued. “The day you … The day the … self-harm happened. He reminded me of this one night in 2002, me and Nils and Kaveh and some of their other writer colleagues, we went to this bar in Culver City, and Nils got me drunk, and … apparently I told him the truth, thinking he wouldn’t believe me. I swear, I didn’t remember doing this. I was blackout drunk. And I’m sorry for the way I treated you. You were right. You were right the whole time. But the thing is, even if you were wrong, I was wrong to treat you like that. Wrong to distance myself, wrong to let you distance yourself.”