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, Stone.
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 in the Deep.
I’m the space between—
I am Breath—
I’m alive, I think. I swivel around for her. There she is—shining erratically. Yes, I’m alive. 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: