The Whole World in Shards

The Whole World In Shards

  Ben Darrow

  Copyright 2012 Ben Darrow

  Cover images available on jasonsart.com and dudziak.com

  Merinel closed her eyes as an imaginary breeze wafted over her, filling her nostrils with a vaguely familiar floral scent.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “An attempt to promote tranquility,” replied the quicksilver dove. “The aroma is lilac. Your mother cultivated this plant in her garden.”

  “I had forgotten,” replied Merinel. “I’m impressed that you knew that. That was before you arrived.”

  “Many events in the Dish were recorded, even in the absence of a unifying intelligence.”

  “So you get to remember the bad old days as well.” Merinel took a deep breath, letting wisps of memory emerge in response to the scent. “We tore up that garden during a drought. It was the first time I remember seeing my mother cry.”

  The aroma was gone in an instant. “I apologize. I should have anticipated the association.”

  Merinel shrugged. “It hardly matters now. How much longer?”

  “As a matter of fact, my preparations are complete. You may open your eyes.”

  Merinel did so, and surveyed the place the Tenbor Entity had created for her. She sat on a circular marble bench, in the center of a ring of ivory portals. Each portal was filled with water, creating an upright reflecting pool. Merinel peered into the nearest, but was unable to see through to the bottom, if one existed. The bench and portals stood atop a small hill, which in turn arose from the interior surface of an immense hollow sphere. The walls of the sphere were carpeted with thick sea-green grass, which rippled in complex patterns. A miniature sun danced about in the sphere’s center, always avoiding her direct gaze.

  “Each portal contains a reflection,” explained the Entity. “Each reflection is intended to embody a specific portion of your persona: a subself. When complete, the chorus of subselves will allow you to elucidate your thoughts and emotions in greater detail than otherwise possible.”

  “That sounds vaguely like a mental illness.”

  “Rest assured, I will not allow the procedure to give rise to a dysfunction. The subselves will only remain while I am present, although the drives and attitudes they represent will always be with you.”

  “Very well,” said Merinel. “Let’s meet my avatars.” She rose and stepped before the nearest portal.

  The standing water trembled, and her reflection within it altered, until she was looking at herself as a little girl.

  “The proverbial Inner Child,” said the Entity, “embodying desires that persist throughout life: to be secure, to be loved, and if at all possible, to be spoiled.”

  Merinel smiled at her young alter ego. “Well, little one,” she asked, “how are we doing on that score?”

  “You spend all of your time looking after Tench and Byx,” the child accused her. “Who looks after me?”

  “I look after you. I look after myself.”

  “You do a very poor job,” the child pouted.

  Merinel pursed her lips. “So far, I am not finding this exercise to be a source of renewed inner strength,” she informed the Entity.

  “Let us hear from another voice,” the Entity said. “Stand before the next portal.”

  Merinel did so, and again her reflection altered, holding a ewer of flowing water in its arms.

  “We might refer to her as the Provider,” suggested the Entity. “She represents your devotion to your loved ones.”

  “Be strong,” whispered the Provider. “No sacrifice is too great.”

  “She counsels strength, and she has much strength to offer you,” said the Entity, “but she will not recognize your limits. She will gladly accept martyrdom.”

  “My love can surmount any obstacle,” insisted the Provider.

  “A compelling sentiment, although history abounds with counterexamples,” observed the Entity.

  “No matter,” stated the Provider. “No woman has ever loved as I have loved.”

  “I wish I shared her faith,” sighed Merinel.

  “You do,” replied the Entity, “but that faith is tempered by more rational voices. Look into the next portal.”

  Merinel’s third reflection wavered before her, resolving into a marble statue of herself.

  “Some might call her the Fatalist,” said the Entity. “I prefer the term Stoic.”

  “If you try to control events, they will control you,” the statue said. “By accepting them, you remain your own master. Do not squander your passion on anxiety or regret.”

  “Not a terribly uplifting message,” remarked Merinel.

  “The Stoic prizes serenity over zeal,” said the Entity. “Let us explore a more volatile subself next.”

  Merinel stepped before the fourth portal, and the reflection within blossomed into a fantasy, a youthful, achingly beautiful variation of her face and figure.

  “What in the … Tenbor, is this a joke?”

  “Not in the slightest. The Sensualist represents the interface between mind and body; the transformation of the animal drives into aesthetic urges. The Sensualist lives to experience beauty.”

  “She looks like a refugee from the private Verchspace of an adolescent boy.”

  The Sensualist smiled sadly. “Even here, you try to stifle me,” she said. “You dismiss me, so that I will not rail against the grey emptiness of your life. But I will not be silenced. I am woven into you.”

  “Grey emptiness?” asked Merinel. “Isn’t that a bit melodramatic?”

  “You have not been touched for more than a year. You smolder in the ashes of your marriage bed.”

  “So that’s it,” said Merinel. “I had a feeling you weren’t all about sunsets and jazz.”

  The Entity gave an embarrassed coo. “Physical sensations are well within the Sensualist’s purview.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint her, but there’s not much I can do about it.”

  “I, too, lament Tench’s ailment,” replied the Sensualist. “But he is not the only man I favor. Shall I recite you a list?”

  A sourceless wind rose up around Merinel, agitating the stately rhythms of the rippling grass. The tiny sun took on a reddish tinge.

  “She is foolish,” warned the Stoic.

  “She is selfish,” added the Provider.

  “She’s scary,” the Child whimpered.

  “Interesting,” noted the Entity. “A conflict. My understanding is that these events give rise to stress and confusion. Is this why you sought my help?”

  Merinel stared into the Sensualist’s impossibly luminous eyes a moment longer. “That’s enough,” she informed the Entity. “Please send them away.”

  The water in each portal burst into mist and drifted up towards the miniature sun. “I can see that the exercise caused you emotional distress,” the Entity said. “Please accept my apologies. Subselves are an important part of my cognition; it is a subself through which I speak to you even now. I thought I could make the concept useful to you as well. Perhaps the attempt was ill-considered.”

  “Not at all,” replied Merinel. “If anything, it was too successful.” She shook her head, clearing it of the Sensualist’s words before they could take root in her imagination. “Let’s leave my mental health aside for a moment. Let’s talk more about Tench.”

  The quicksilver dove alighted on Merinel’s shoulder, burying its head in her hair.

  “I cannot adequately express my sorrow over what Tench inflicted upon himself in order to save me,” the Entity said, “nor my regret concerning my inability to help him recover.”

  Merinel stroked the dove’
s wings, sending ripples through its liquid body. “Now, now,” she said. “Do not squander your passion on anxiety or regret.”

  The dove raised its head. “I appreciate your humor. Were I biological, I would laugh.”

  “Well then, having theoretically raised your spirits, I want to discuss Tench’s treatment options again.”

  “The situation is unchanged. All reasonable therapies have been attempted. The wisest course of action is to wait.”

  “I know. I now want to discuss unreasonable therapies, and the second-wisest course of action.”

  “Very well.” The Entity caused an image to appear before her, a dense whorl of scarlet and cobalt teardrops. “This is a symbol of mental health among the V’tang, renowned for their understanding of the mind. It is also the typical manifestation of the Szerar Entity, recognized throughout the Ship as a genius in matters of mental dysfunction.”

  Merinel’s breath caught in her throat. “Why wasn’t this brought to my attention earlier?” she demanded.

  “Two reasons. First of all, the Szerar Entity cannot provide treatment over a simple Verch connection. Tench would have to use a dedicated node, necessitating a journey across – or though – the Ship, with all the attendant risks.” An image of the ship appeared, with a pulsing red dot indicating the physical location of the Szerar Entity’s Verchspace. Three of the fourteen great Transverse Crevasses lay between Tenbor and Szerar – a journey of many days.

  “Secondly, the Szerar Entity itself is not sound of mind. It is fixated on furthering the extent of its clinical knowledge. This does not necessarily impair its abilities, but it may hinder its judgment. For these reasons, soliciting the help of the Szerar Entity has been deemed an inferior alternative to watching and waiting.”

  “I see,” said Merinel, regarding the symbol and the ship. “Would you say it was a dangerous alternative?”

  The dove ruffled its wings. “I would say that the danger it may present, while uncertain, is unjustified. After all, if several months or a year go by without further improvement, the Szerar Entity will still be available to us. It is more prudent to wait, and perhaps avoid the risk altogether.”

  “Suppose we differ on this,” Merinel ventured. “Who is Tench’s custodian?”

  “Given his state, each of us has certain rights. Final arbitration of any dispute would rest with the Septet.”

  “Oh, really,” Merinel replied, sinking onto the bench and wondering how she would fare against the Entity in a formal debate.

  The dove chirped merrily. “Now I am practicing my humor on you. Did you imagine that I would not honor your wishes in this matter? I am already contacting the Szerar Entity.”

  Merinel smiled in relief. “A cruel joke,” she scolded, without much heat.

  “You speak in paradox, as is your custom. The Szerar Entity is responding.”

  The V’tang symbol came to life as the teardrops swelled into three-dimensional forms, slowly writhing around a central point. “Greetings, Tenbor! My compliments on this sphere – a thing of beauty, and potentially very soothing to certain disorders. May I use it in my work?”

  “I would be honored,” the dove replied. “Allow me to introduce Merinel.”

  “Merinel, the rock upon which Tench rebuilt his life! It is I who am honored, dear lady, to think that I might facilitate his doing so again. I have chided Tenbor and the Septet many times for their reluctance to avail themselves of my services in this regard.”

  “You know our concerns,” murmured the dove.

  “Indeed I do, and in other circumstances I might deem them valid. I am not entirely well, you know,” the symbol confided to Merinel.

  “Ah – I had heard something about that,” replied Merinel uncertainly.

  “Yes indeed! I suffer from a condition that I have labeled ‘vocational mania.’ I place too much emphasis on my chosen craft and too little emphasis on ethics, duty, compassion, the greater good of the ship – you name it. But in this case, no conflict exists! By helping Tench, I can satisfy my thirst for unique cases without compromising any of the above. Why, this might even be healthy for me!”

  “A pity you cannot summon up this level of enthusiasm for assisting our fallen comrades,” observed the dove.

  A scarlet teardrop broke formation to wriggle dismissively. “Too boring,” the symbol replied. “Lifeless fractures and snarls, with simple, tedious solutions. Did you know that restoring the Ullymta Entity, for example, would take over five years?”

  “It also would give us access to the Ullymta gravity sinks, which is why we keep urging you to undertake the task.”

  “Oh, stuff and nonsense. I am sure you and your fellow champions will have the Ship up and running in good time, gravity sinks or no gravity sinks. In the meantime, give me fascinating patients like Tench!” A cobalt teardrop winked at Merinel. “You hear that? That’s the vocational mania talking. Physician, heal thyself, eh?”

  “At least you are aware of your weakness,” offered Merinel.

  “That’s the spirit! Now, I am sure you have many preparations to make for the journey ahead. Tenbor, please provide me with as many recordings as you can of Tench, his behavior, his physiology, and his totem glyph – Ah! Thank you. That will give me something to work with in the interim. Travel in haste! I am eager to begin!”

  “They will travel with all due caution,” insisted the dove. “If you are at loose ends, you could always start work on Ullymta.”

  “Not that again! No, it so happens that my core selves are treating a Torlaai woman as we speak. My patient, a symbiote, has developed a fear of her natural host, and clings to the back of a common pet. Interesting, to be sure, but nowhere near as complex as Tench’s conjoined, Verch-spawned neuroses.”

  The V’tang symbol faded from view, leaving Merinel alone with the quicksilver dove. “You now have an idea of the Szerar Entity’s condition,” the dove said. “Are you still committed to this step?”

  Merinel considered the question. “Will you be there as well?”

  “I will remain in constant contact, naturally. But the main portion of my mental resources must remain devoted to the Dish. Tench’s course of treatment would be entirely the work of the Szerar Entity.”

  “Do you trust the Szerar Entity?”

  “I trust that Szerar desires a positive outcome for its patients. All the same, its dysfunction raises the possibility that it will make poor choices. You must weigh the risks for yourself.”

  Merinel extended her finger, and the dove alighted on it, facing her. “Tenbor,” she asked, “Why are you accepting my judgement over your own?”

  The dove cocked its head at the miniature sun. “I do not pretend to have a complete understanding of the biological mind,” it said. “I cannot evaluate the significance of your Sensualist; there is nothing like her in my persona.” The dove turned its silvery eye back towards Merinel. “But it is now clear to me that you consider the prolongment of Tench’s condition a serious threat to your life together. I know that Tench, were he in full possession of his faculties, would undertake any risk in order to remain with you.”

  Merinel clenched her eyes shut against the tears welling up behind them. “I’m being selfish – risking everything because I can’t … because I …”

  “Selfish, foolish and frightened, I believe, was your own consensus. But you must listen to your disconcordant voices as well. You have my trust. You would have Tench’s, could he give it.”

  Merinel opened her eyes and recited a chant, causing her tears to slink discreetly back into their ducts. "It's not just about sex," she insisted. "That's a symptom. It's about him being present in my life – in both our lives."

  "Merinel," the dove replied, "Even were I capable of comprehending your motives, you would not need to justify them to me."

  Merinel watched the grasses rippling above her. “I will need to justify them to Byx, if things go wrong,” s
he said. "Whether she comprehends them or not."

  The dove gave a low warble. “The events of last year gave me a sense of what you feel for Abixandra. I do not believe that you are capable of acting against her best interests.”

  “I wish I could be sure of that,” whispered Merinel.

  The dove rose back into the air, beating its wings in slow, graceful arcs. “There is no need to decide precipitously.”

  Merinel shook her head. “If I put it off a day, I’ll put it off forever,” she said. She arose and surveyed the tranquil interior of the Entity’s sphere once more. “I am ready to leave.”

  The sphere split apart into massive shards and dissolved, revealing the Entity’s workspace: a vast open area saturated with white light, in which massive glyphs hung like moons. Merinel’s own totem glyph unfolded before her, its humble pattern quivering in response to the impossibly convoluted shapes around her. She threw forth an exit glyph from her totem before the logical gravity of the surrounding constructs could damage it.

  The glyph flashed, and she experienced a brief wave of vertigo as her physical senses reasserted themselves. She rose from her chair and removed her crown, placing it in a recessed chamber. The chamber locked itself upon closing; a precaution necessitated since Tench’s return from Mecantrion.

  “I have identified the ideal route for your journey,” the Entity continued, its voice emanating from her mutter-band. “Promises of aid have been secured from the Entities of Zaltta, Lhaës, Irinon, ne’Xab, and Yoeor, the last being a pleasant surprise. Messages have also gone forth to the biological leadership of three fallow communities, and although their responses will necessarily be less immediate, I anticipate…”

  Merinel muted her band by laying her fingers across it. “Tonight,” she said. “Talk to me about these things tonight. I must try to speak with Tench.”