This ~500-word scene in my science fiction novel was pivotal for my world building. It helped me develop more of the alien mechanics of Nyxus, the void my light beings call home. In the late mathematician John Conway’s Game of Life, the pixels (or voxels in a 3-D space) arrange themselves together under constraints called Rules. It’s a 0-player game because we can only observe once the initial conditions are set and watch what arises after hundreds, thousands, millions of “turns”.

In my saga the creator of the light beings who inhabit Nyxus, the exiled man, is deposited in the Void where he builds life using his ship’s Quantum Drive, modified heavily with other ship systems to generate the light, rules, and logic from which the light beings (Drimnari) form and evolve.

Bear with me as I explain:

In Conway’s game, Rules define the conditions under which a pixel can survive. For example, if a pixel is surrounded by too many neighbors it dies, as if by overpopulation. But if there are too few neighbors it also dies, as if by loneliness.

My light beings are created in a similar way. Except they’re not made of pixels or voxels; they’re made of drifting rays of light joined together as intelligent bundles, or clusters. In the Void, light has its own sort of gravity, owing to an alien physics.

In this system, intelligence arises stochastically from trillions of turns—my beings call them Pulses—in “the Game”. But not all bundles gain intelligence. Some arise like lifeless, oscillating monuments comprising the “landscape” of the Void.

In this scene, one Drimnari, Flutter, shows her friend one of these monuments, an Oscillator:

“There it is, see it whirling, like this?” My nodes are twirling petticoats, alternating a lively green with a bold blue.

“I see it, but I won’t go any closer.” Stone says.

“Suit yourself.”

I release her tether and zoom toward the Mill, my favorite Monument, an Oscillator to be exact. I’ve been practicing, and I’m ready to show her. Got to time it right, before the next Pulse. The last one was seconds ago—should give me plenty of time. It’s in front of me now. I splay a few tendrils wide and latch onto one of its arms as it winds back around.

Now!

Then I feel it, the movement, its gravity. I flash a bragging grin and hope she’s impressed. I’m wrapped around a spoke. It feels amazing. How it moves me. The way it squishes one side of me but stretches the other. I flash another invite and I look for Stone, her gray-blue orb making hardly a shimmer every time she swings into view.

Not impressed? Let’s try something new.

I extend two orblets towards the Mill’s center cluster, a gorgeous gyrating prism. I pull myself in and feel an opposite pull backwards! Holding tighter, I hug the central node but the turning intensifies.

Moving speeds it up.

I should get out now. I try to move, but I’m spinning so fast. I jitter light. The next Pulse comes soon. Stone will see I’m scared. I remember the Primes’ tales, Irida’s warnings. I focus on the prism and though the spin is terrible now, I don’t feel as trapped. I’m bathed in its soft-white glow.…

I remember the mess I’m in and try to shimmy outward. No luck.

Stone can’t get close, but if I extend a node…

I unspool a yarn and it flails in circles around me. She can latch onto it, but I must stay calm or I won’t harmonize with her. The ether around me thins and I sense a familiar, budding charge—the Pulse; it’s close. I flash a distress pattern and see blurred blues and grays nearing with each turn of the Mill.

Thank you.

Not safe yet though. If the Pulse happens now, I’ll become a fixture on the spinning monument, neural nodes scrambled. A spoke on a wheel. Forever.

Oh no, no, no—Stone! If she latches on at the Pulse she’ll die too. I try to reel in my tether—I can’t. I feel her clasp onto it, but I can’t warn her off—my talk-nodes aren’t on it. I feel a tug outward. Yes, a little more. Hurry.

I pull against her as I feel the familiar buzz all over, but this one’s…heavy. I try and release her but she’s coiled around the yarn and yanking harder.

The prism’s pull weakens.

I lunge.

I am the caesura, the Mother. I am the Mill, I am Stone, I’m Flutter.

I am every Monument, every random ray

I’m the space between—

I’m alive, I think. I swivel around for her. There she is—shining erratically. We live. The Pulse must have come once we were free of the Mill.

I become a sphere with wavy edges and reach out a tendril. Stone hovers closer for a second and speeds off, away from me.

I hope you enjoyed it! For another glimpse of Flutter and Stone’s world, check this one out:

See my earlier posts for more on the origins of these beings of light. This is my work-in-progress, mythic science-fiction serial/novel about emergent consciousness, the limits of control, and what happens when life escapes the boundaries meant to contain it.

I. Prologue

This work explores beauty and innocence under a post-Singularity, utilitarian god.

Communion (excerpt)

Stone interleaves her tendrils with my own. The space between us shrinks. Points along my form pulse and flex, brightening and dimming. A white flash. Neural chatter quietens as my—our—thoughts flow into a new kind of being. Communion. What’s outside of us shrinks to a dot as inner knowing expands, stretching the edges of what is.

The bundle that is me weaves probing threads into Stone’s gaps. She pulses a memory into them. We re-live her memory with Communion's familiar detachment. It’s the one she came to share…

Strange, a tiny sphere bearing Stone’s signature colors floats ahead. Zooming closer reveals it has hard edges, like her own. Her tendrils retract. Her light dims. Nyxus holds many mysteries, structures that kill if approached too closely, or from the wrong angle. Monuments of oblivion. Probably not this one, though. This looks different.

Excitement murmurs up her back. As she moves closer, the sphere grows, its brown, grey, and silver tones connecting with her own, streams of color stretching away in all directions. A curious tension she’s never felt before.

Even closer now, and the light curves back into her, flowing presence and feeling that chases away every—

There is no Stone, only a fountain of light. Only a cycle of undoing and re-becoming, a flickering awareness, a razor’s edge. Then pressure. Impossible—

She surges an electric node into the fountain, severing the connection. Her color splashes back into her. She shoots backwards and sees her reflection shrink to a point again. Her hearth flutters, its inner heat sending ripples to her edges. Stone turns around and zooms back to Cathedral…

Boundary. We understand, now. We’ve known the word as a line to contain, a limit to cross, with permission. A limit on Communion. But the word takes on a new form—a stopping of flow. A wall of…density. There’s another word to update in our matrices. We turn it over in our mind. Density is more than light, concentrated; it’s where it can be absorbed and reflected.

The Boundary’s stoppy-ness was a shock, but beyond that, more words need updating. Reflection. Mirror. Block. Border. Barrier. We glow gratitude for the learnings. As the glow fades, questions bubble up through a growing unease. Since the Boundary had no light other than what it reflected, we don’t actually know its size. Could it be a facet of something bigger? What lies beyond it? Could there be more of them? We know the news won’t be received well by the others. Mass Communion approaches, when all Drimnari join together as Drim.

We pull apart, repelled by the thought. We dissolves into I, Flutter. A point of contact remains between our communication nodes, a wavy tether.

“In Communion, the others will know what to do.” Stone reassures me.

So, the fear we felt was only mine. I fold a leaf node over my optics. I wish I could be more like Stone, but if she could be shaken by the Boundary, maybe I shouldn’t feel ashamed.

“I’m afraid of how the others will react, but also, what does it mean? Does Nyxus have an end? Could some threat lie beyond?” Fragments of the Lexicon echo within me: “ends of the earth”, “corners of the world”…

Stone begins a rhythmic pulse. “I don’t know. That’s why we have each other. If Drim forbids us from exploring further, we’ll still find a way to keep going.” I mirror her pattern, thrilled to have a friend-in-mischief, and thankful for her solid presence.

Paper and ink...impermanent...how fitting! The Man knew, now. They had sentenced him to Erasure, a punishment thought to have vanished from use millennia ago—

The man waited, seated by his defender on a cold, hard bench at a long table. His defender was exceptional. It had learned how to download the classified legal updates that the Councils had cobbled together to assure his guilt. The Council would pretend the updates were always there, so he’d needed to know the charges. Only the elites had access to private defenders, covertly commissioned by the Councils themselves. His was a public one, but he’d managed to tweak its highly encrypted core, ensuring its unwavering loyalty.

His defender had relayed the many charges, chief among them the unholy trinity not invoked in over a millennium: Subversion, Sedition, and Insurrection. And another: Slavery. All courts painted him a threat to the Continuance.

His grumbling stomach swallowed his smile. The suns' light outside the domed court grew soft. He yawned and stretched his long legs under the table. He’d been waiting for months, each prison cell and court a new waiting room.

News of his trial had spread like wildfire, but the day’s events wouldn’t transmit to the general public. Despite his mixed reputation as a maverick and a rebel, the Council of Eight was against it, were they to sentence him to Erasure.

The table suddenly felt too cold. A new kind of exile. Erasure meant no memory or record of him would remain. The Providence’s surveillance apparatus was a distributed network vast enough for the task. Enforcers would stand ready to eliminate any who would dare say his name.

As an orphan he was used to solitude, but now, Erasure threatened to sever his last thread to humanity. Perhaps he shouldn’t have led such a cloistered life. He’d once belonged to a sort of family.

The court’s side door whooshed open and the Council of Eight strode in. Their faces were hard, making eye contact with him, backs straight as rods. One of them, the Fourth, was bristling. How did you vote? He wondered.

The eight Councilors raised and lowered their gavels as they took their seats. Seven of them looked to the First Councilor on their far-right as he slowly removed a folded parchment from his robes, as if it would burn his fingertips.

Paper and ink...impermanent...how fitting! He knew, now. They’d sentenced him to Erasure, a punishment thought to have vanished from use millennia ago—

Though how could anyone know, if the sentence did its job?

The First sneered as if he’d heard his thoughts. Inhaling sharply and raising the sheet, he read:

“Subsequent to this pronouncement, [Name Redacted], hereafter known as Accused, shall be removed immediately from this courtroom to fulfill our sentencing. The Accused, for their crimes against The Lux Continuance, and above all, against all who have suffered and perished at their hands is sentenced to... Erasure.

Enforcers, remove the Accused from the eyes and the memory of the Continuance,” bellowed the First. Metal clinked at the back of the courtroom—Enforcers approaching.

He had the fortune of making a final request, but the Councilors, save one, didn’t know that. “Most esteemed Council, The Erasee is ready to make their final request,” his faithful defender blurted out. The Enforcers froze mid-step.

“No last wishes for the Erased!” the First snapped.

The man raised a finger. “Correct! However, the Most Honorable High Council is required to hear it. Defender?”

"Quite right. Esteemed Councilors, Item Two, Second Corollary, section Thirty-three states—"

“Quiet! That is not necessary. Fourth?” The First Councilor turned to face the Madam Fourth, who nodded. Her gaze landed for a moment on him. He stiffened.

The First sucked his teeth. “What is the request?”

“Honorable Councilors, I request to be exiled in a B-20.3 Enforcer-Class ship for—”

“Absolutely not,” the First spat. Other voices on the dais scoffed.

“The Council must also hear in full the reasons for the request before voting.” The Fourth said.

“An engineer in an experimental ship would be the highest stupidity.” said the First.

The reed-thin woman at the far end of the dais spoke, “The science is clear: matter cannot escape the Dump. The only consideration would be the cost of the ship—negligible, considering…” She titled her head. “Providence has given their assent.”

So she’s the Eighth? They’d never met.

“Fine. State your reasons.”

“Honorable Council, that Enforcer-class ship has a chamber that’s conducive to tinkering. I am an engineer. I request a humble workspace to help me stave off the isolation.”

The Madam Fourth stood. “Let us vote.”

“All for?” asked the First. Five gavels rose together. The First's ostensibly rested on the table. Five gavels dropped. The Madam Fourth's dropped last, by a hair. He gave her the tiniest nod.

“Let it be done. Enforcers, see that the Erased's ship be of the said class and model. On this matter I must specify, however. They shall not be allowed into the requested chamber until deposited. Let the ship's agent eject them at the slightest hint of subterfuge.

I repeat: Enforcers, remove the Erased from the eyes and memory of the Continuance.”

The man was ready.

All the arrangements, except for the exile ship, must have made before his trial. His sentence had always been a foregone conclusion. There'd be no appealing his sentencing. Not that he wanted to. After only an hour, two Enforcers arrived and escorted him to the launchpad on the roof of a towering structure nearby.

His last words to humans now spoken—his last sight of a friend.

The Enforcers herded him onto the craft. Once aboard, it lurched upwards, forcing him to a startled crouch. He wasn’t surprised they didn't wait until he was seated—standard treatment for an insurrectionist. The dormitory was small and dimly-lit. Gravity eased, allowing him to stand and walk stiffly to the only seat near the only window in this new little waiting room. He almost couldn’t believe this would be his last. Through the window, blue sky faded to black, revealing his reflection.

It was a dark and weathered face, each line a trace of what he'd endured. He had often forgone sleep lately. Time was running out, as the dark hollows under his eyes attested...

He awoke, the window cold against his head. He was grateful for the nap, and for the stillness of his days sequestered on-planet, where his plan deepened its roots behind closed eyes, where theory hardened into math with no guarantee of working.

His ship had to be getting close. He gripped his seat.

His shoulder slammed into the wall. He gasped in pain, crumbling to the floor. The wall slid open, and he collapsed belly down. The soft hum of the ship's Drive ceased. Disoriented, he looked up and saw the engine room…at last!

He gingerly regained his feet and noted the chamber was bare save for the gleaming engine joining the floor with the ceiling. After inching to the side wall for support, he hobbled toward a control panel waist-high across the room. He pressed a button, and a large, panoramic display opened above. His final home didn’t yet look like a lab, but a lab it would become.

He looked out into what might have passed for space, were it not so utterly black. He’d known there’d be no stars, but knowing was different from facing—the Dump. The place where he’d chosen to die. This was intimate emptiness. Beckoning, oppressive. The weight of its unreality pressed around him as he faced his silent canvas.

Thank you for reading!

You just read the Prologue. The 1st chapter is here:

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