Mytra Prologue

*** Spoiler Alert ***

Below is the Prologue to The Discipling of Mytra. The verse quoted at the beginning of the Prologue teaches that God is more cunning and crafty than Satan. This shrewdness is displayed in Sarah’s labors: creative problem-solving worthy of a creative God.

Sarah’s opening prayer copies the famous supplication of John Knox: “Give me Scotland, or I die!” Sarah views herself as one in a long line of missionaries determined to further the Great Commission.

He catches the wise in their craftiness,

and the schemes of the wily are swept away.

Job 5:13

“Give me Laxalar or I die,” Sarah prayed. She slowed to a hover thirty meters above her parking spot, paused long enough to make sure everyone in the market got a good look at her spacecraft, then touched down quickly and quietly between a hand cart and a pick-up truck. Racing the crowd already forming, she pushed open the hatch, darted outside and posted her vender’s permit on a post in front of her booth. Sarah rushed back into her shuttle and began bringing out cages filled with animals, stacking them on her allotted tables.

The specimens had been chosen for variety: cats, dogs, lambs, and pigs; lizards, turtles, frogs, and snakes; crows, parakeets, peacocks, and ostriches. Sarah led forth her prize last of all: a chestnut thoroughbred snorting his displeasure at having landed on a strange planet. By now a mob had gathered before her stall. She heard the shouts of security guards trying to push their way through. Too late, Sarah thought with excitement. She yanked a seller’s shirt out of the saddlebag, pulled it over her head, leaped onto the horse, and shouted the merchant’s cry: “Comall, comall!” She was open for business.

Laxalar possessed little in the way of organized defense forces. The market did, however, employ its own private police force. Yet to what were these men accustomed? Arguments over prices, a seller refusing to give a refund, the occasional pickpocket. Nothing in their training or experience prepared them to make first contact with an interstellar visitor. As five of these officers finally approached Sarah’s stand, their eyes flitted rapidly between her merchandise, Sarah herself, and her ship – but always back to the animals making a ruckus in their cages. Sarah let out the seller’s call again and three of the guards jumped. Who would be the first brave soul to stand forth and purchase alien wares?

The security personnel drew their guns and the crowd began to inch back. Sarah herself carried no weapon, in obedience to the Fourth Rule. Her ship emitted a shield, but the police weren’t armed with starlight. She could have had robots escort her, but it had been her decision to make herself defenseless, the better to improve chances of a breakthrough. Of course, this also increased her odds of getting martyred.

What Sarah needed was a buyer. Laxalarans felt most at ease when doing business. They believed in “freedom for the buyer, freedom for the seller.” Yet as an isolationist society they also forbade contact with offworlders. By presenting herself as a businesswoman, Sarah pitted Laxalar’s two cardinal principles against each other. Which law would win out?

Sarah liked her superior vantage. From the horse she could stare down at the police officers. The whole crowd could study her. No guards had aimed their guns at her, at least. And they remained on the buyer side! To enter the seller’s space was almost sacrilegious to a Laxalaran. Sarah rejoiced that the men hesitated to pass the barrier. Perhaps these people really would own her as a merchant.

The police captain, wresting his eyes from her mount at last, got up his nerve. “Who are you?” he croaked, barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Who are you?”

“Can’t you read?” Sarah asked, carefully mimicking the smooth, confident voice of the seller. And do I have something to sell! She pointed to her permit, taped in front of the stall. The guard blinked at her in confusion. “I’ve got business to do today, if you don’t mind, and you’re getting in the way of my customers.”

The man clearly wasn’t doing well. In a stupor he glanced at Sarah’s permit, and then looked back up at her, sitting atop a creature that wasn’t supposed to exist. The horse stomped the ground and the guard took a step back, but his face hardened. “I demand you tell me who you are.”

“I am a merchant, as you can plainly see. Laxalar has no animals; my planet does. I have come here to sell these.” She motioned to her inventory with a grand gesture. The captain just stared at her stupidly.

Sarah rose in her saddle as far as a seventeen-year-old Chinese girl could. “I paid in gold yesterday to rent this stand. There’s my permit from the market administrator.” She spoke with annoyance and indignation, her voice rising so the crowd could hear. “I paid in gold last week for these animals, and here they are in the stall I rented, waiting for a buyer. I paid in gold last month for this spaceship, and now I am here, trying to recoup all the gold I’ve been spending! And maybe I’d be making a little of it back, too, if you weren’t standing in my way!”

There was risk in getting openly angry at these men, but they had to be near the breaking point, and in any event that’s what a real seller would do.

“You can’t be here!” the guard spluttered. “We aren’t allowed contact with other planets. It’s, it’s…wrong!”

Sarah shot back. “The contact’s already been made. You seem no worse for it, though I can’t say the same for my customers.” She glanced up and observed what had grown into an immense gathering, perhaps three or four thousand people, all desperate to see the offworlder who had come to sell.

“Don’t you see what I have here?” Sarah shouted. “These are animals! Real animals! Perhaps you believe animals don’t exist anymore. But they do! All these kinds still live on earth – birds, reptiles, amphibians, mammals. They are precious and expensive, yes, but here they are – very much alive and very much for sale!” She wanted to tell the truth, that she had obtained her entire stock at a single pet shop for less than half a kilo of gold. But this was clearly a seller’s market. If she could get a king’s ransom for swine, it was proper that she do so.

The crowd started to inch forward. She had given her merchandise a name: animals. A word in children’s schoolbooks, nothing more. The lure was irresistible.

The police captain glanced at his compatriots. The Owner of the bazaar needed to come and deal with this crazed girl, but how could he summon him in time? Things were happening too fast; the man’s mind reeled. An alien come to market to sell animals? An alien who had rented a booth? The only way to restore control was for her to fly off the way she had come. “You have to leave at once!” he demanded. “Get back in that thing and leave!”

Sarah addressed the crowd again. “I have come to sell! There is my permit – all of you can see it. I paid gold to rent this stand. I have a right to sell my merchandise. Freedom for the seller, freedom for the buyer! That’s what you say on Laxalar. Or are you going to let these men tell you what you can and can’t buy? Surely you have money to spend! If so, then don’t you have the right to spend it as you choose? Look at these animals! Imagine giving one to your child! Ponder her fascination. Picture his joy. Consider well your young one’s amazement at receiving such a present! Is there no one here with gold?”

Sarah prayed for the commercial element of Laxalaran culture to prevail. But what if the isolationist strain asserted itself? How could she tip the balance in her favor?  The idea had come while identifying the Second Lie. Laxalarans were taught that animals had been driven into extinction. Sarah’s merchandise repudiated that doctrine: clear proof that the planet’s Founders were liars. And if they had lied about animals…

An elderly woman stepped from the crowd, pushed between two guards, and leaned against one of Sarah’s tables. She sniffed at a snake, inquired, “A gift for my grandson, perhaps?”

“Ah, the blacksnake,” Sarah responded matter-of-factly. “Very special animal, the blacksnake. Every boy on earth wishes he had a blacksnake. But only a few do! I’ve spent a lot to obtain this particular one, but seeing as how you are my first customer on this world, I suppose I could beggar myself and sell it for three kilos. But then there’s the cage, of course. You can’t expect me to just throw that in. And what about food? Snakes don’t eat what you and I eat, you know. But of course you don’t know, now do you? You’re going to need an owner’s manual for sure. Happens I have a set of those just over here.” Sarah slid off her horse and kept talking. “First customer or not, you can’t possibly expect me to sell the whole package for anything less than three point six kilos.”

The woman rubbed her finger along the top of the snake cage, a look of revulsion upon her face. “This box is all but falling apart,” she said. “And what’s so special about a black snake? You should have brought a red one or a blue one. Now that would have been something worth buying. And food, you say? Look at the thing! It probably eats next to nothing – if animals even eat, and I’m not sure they do. I haven’t seen them eat a thing since you got here! No, I can’t possibly pay more than one point five kilos.”

“One-point-five kilos!” Sarah exclaimed. “Are you trying to send me home in poverty? The trouble I’ve gone through…” Sarah kept bargaining, but her mind stayed locked upon the crowd. They had been waiting for a signal, some sign either to flee in panic or celebrate with relief. Hearing the back and forth of seller and buyer had given them what they needed. Shoppers surged forward in anticipation and began ogling Sarah’s merchandise. The policemen looked at one another in despair and began slinking away.

“You!” Sarah shouted at the guards, her finger shot out at them for emphasis. “Where do you think you’re going? Don’t you dare leave me in this mob! In fact, one of you had better get more help, don’t you think? What if any of my property gets damaged – or stolen! I’ll insist the Market Owner reimburse me in full. Don’t think he won’t take it out of your pay. Look at this fine steed…” She patted it on the neck. “It’ll bring fifteen kilos if it brings a gram. Think of what’ll happen if the Owner has to pay me fifteen kilograms of gold!”

So it happened that within the hour, Sarah had twenty-seven Laxalaran guards protecting herself, her ship, and her inventory. The animals moved at fantastic prices, one after another, but there were always more for her to bring out and sell. The sun set at last and Sarah had no choice but to call it quits. It had been the most exhausting, and the most profitable, day of her life. Though the market was about to close, the throng had grown till it filled every corner of the bazaar. Over a hundred police shielded her. How many people in the multitude? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand?

“I will come back tomorrow!” Sarah shouted, and the crowd cheered. Turning to board her spacecraft, she at last allowed herself a tight, triumphant smile. Laxalar was an open world!

Mytra Chapter 1

*** Spoiler Alert ***

Below please find chapter 1 of The Discipling of Mytra. Read it and understand why Part 1 of the novel is called The Gates of Hell.

 

Chapter 1

Remember that at that time you were separate from Christ, excluded from citizenship in Israel and foreigners to the covenants of promise, without God and without hope in the world.

Ephesians 2:12

“Boys are superior to robots,” Alex proclaimed, trying to sound like he believed it. Today his best friend would be executed. The looming horror weighed heavily as Alex began sparring against two of his squad leaders. He imagined crushing robots with hands and feet. Sweat splattered the exercise mat; Alex had to make an effort to pull his blows. If only flesh were strong enough to shatter metal! Then robots would die, not Brian.

Alex’ own f-bot looked on passively, watching the recruiting session with seeming indifference. His m-bot busied itself in the kitchen. For the moment Alex ignored his bots. He conducted this morning’s drill for other observers: the eleven boys squeezed against the apartment wall. They took in the combat with great interest, yet remained squeezed against the wall, clearly nervous at their first Order attendance.

Alex tried to remember how he had felt as a new recruit, the rawness of his twelve years, the excitement at becoming part of something bigger than himself. So much promise. So much possibility. How much of that remained, now that his own execution brooded four months away? Alex’ jaw hardened. At least these boys had the Anger in their faces. Enough rage and a boy could endure anything.

Yet they remained children, regardless of their potential; this had to be their first night without sleep. In their weariness some might even have second thoughts. “What is the purpose of vigil?” Alex demanded suddenly, landing a gloved fist upon Sergeant Bellingham’s nose.

“We give up sleep to honor the dead, Sir,” one visitor replied.

“Yes,” Alex granted, “but why sleep?”

“Because men sleep so much, Sir,” another boy offered.

“To squeeze in maximum productivity, Sir,” a third added.

The boy who had first spoken took a bold step into the ring, a tiny figure between his own massive robots. “We’ll sleep when we’re dead, Sir!” he affirmed, rubbing his eyes. Several other visitors nodded in agreement.

“But the leader of my Order is still alive,” Alex noted around rapid breaths, blocking a sidekick. “I should keep vigil tomorrow, after he is dead. Why do I do so now?”

The prospective future members of the Order of Wilderness greeted this question with silence. Finally the child who had put himself forward answered. “You are expressing confidence in your Leader,” he concluded. “You are so certain he will persevere, you honor him in advance.”

“Pause!” Alex ordered. His karate partners fell back and waited. Alex approached the speaker. “Your name,” he said.

“Charles,” the boy replied. “Charles Driver.”

“You’re a 9, aren’t you?”

The boy nodded.

“You kept vigil with me tonight, Charles 9. I will not forget that.”

Alex bowed to his opponents and called the match over, glancing quickly at the wall clock: 0423 hours. Just thirty-seven minutes until breakfast. The sergeants left the floor, granting Alex as much room as possible for the demonstration about to take place. Alex wished that he could conduct the session in one of the temple’s training rooms. Fourteen boys and twenty-eight bots made for a crowded apartment. It had to be this way, however, if he wanted the younger boys with him at this hour. Robots did not permit their charges to spend the night in the temple until they were seventeen.

Alex studied his audience carefully, giving his heart rate a chance to slow down. A desolate fury threatened to overwhelm him. He longed to be alone. This desire had to be suppressed, however, for the greater good: executions made ideal recruitment times. As a Commander, Alex bore double-duty. He had to enlist new members in the Order. He also had to train his officers in the art of doing the same. Sergeants McNeil and Bellingham were both fifteen: old enough to start reproducing themselves. If Alex worked it right, these noncoms would watch him transform all eleven boys into full recruits by the time Brian’s body had cooled to room temperature.

Alex approached his f-bot and began walking around it slowly. “I want to destroy this machine,” he explained. “Unfortunately, mind is the only weapon the Rulers permit us. And of what use is mind? Certainly if I could infect my f-bot with a computer virus, my brain might be considered an effective weapon. But even if I could write a virus that would actually harm this machine, how can I get the program into my target?” Alex grabbed his f-bot’s head. “There is no way to transfer the virus. My robot is a self-contained entity. It never links with other machines. It possesses no apparent ability to receive fresh input from outside. Or does it? It has been over four hundred years since boys realized robots do have a connection with the outside world. They see, just like human beings. Perhaps a computer virus of sorts can be ‘programmed’ into a robot using nothing but visual images?

“That is how procession began,” Alex continued, “as artistic performances in which robots were exposed to nonsensical drawings. Boys found certain images and symbols so effective as to cause robots to slow down momentarily, or even freeze up. Then phrases began to be spoken in conjunction with the art work, auditory symbols that could also hurt a computer mind. Finally boys learned to replace the drawings with physical motions that, when combined with the right sentences, cripple a computer as effectively as a virus. Watch and learn.”

Alex faced his f-bot and began to process. First he laid a three-tiered foundation of geometric contradiction, arms flashing up and to the side as his legs jerked his torso forward and back at carefully pre-determined angles to the machine watching him. Alex’ performance bore a superficial resemblance to the formal kata of karate, such that the uninitiated often mistook procession for a martial arts exercise. But the purpose of Alex’ movements was not to inflict physical harm upon his computerized enemy. Rather, his motions communicated mathematical disinformation: impossible patterns, insane numbers, imaginary concepts.

The dance alone, however, could not do abiding harm to a mechanical intellect. For a performance to debilitate, speech had to be added – speech that also served as a conduit for math. Alex did not (in any meaningful way) understand how words could carry numeric impact. Procession simply proved that they did. At the proper moment Alex began uttering irrational sentences that fed upon and enhanced the illogic of his physical movements. This was the hardest part, of course: getting the words and motions to build upon each other. Many boys could design the verbal or physical component of a procession. Few could make dance and song combine with the sort of constructive interference necessary to obtain exponential effect.

Alex’ best friend was one of the few. Alex practiced Brian’s old processions now, repeating them over and over again, for he would do them all at the execution and he would not shame himself by making a mistake. Helplessness threatened his concentration. Why did Brian have to die? How had machines so enslaved humanity? Surely some way must exist to disable the robots and overthrow the Rulers and change Mytra. Their present way of life simply couldn’t be humanity’s climax community.

The performances did not really affect Alex’ f-bot, of course; it had seen them before. Yet Alex liked to think that when he processed, even in ways well-known, his robot would get a bit sluggish, if only for a moment. It was something, anyway. With the right combination of words and motions, he could hinder a machine brain. And who knew? Perhaps today Brian would reveal a masterpiece before his death, and the Order would gain enough time to disassemble a robot. Just fantasy, really. The record was thirty-seven seconds; they would likely need five or ten minutes to tear a bot apart, even if they guessed right on the tools. Alex wrapped himself in the dream and finished the demo with a flourish. The only alternative was surrender.

“Sergeant McNeil,” Alex intoned, “if mind is the only weapon, why do we learn karate?”

“To discipline our minds, Sir,” McNeil replied. “To stretch and warm the body prior to initiating procession. To remind ourselves that procession is a form of combat. To have at hand a ready method for killing men, if ever we should gain freedom of action.”

“Outstanding,” Alex replied, though his attention remained fixed on the twelve-year-olds. “Mind is the only weapon,” he emphasized. “Never forget that. We are the Order of Wilderness. Our distinctive is getting away from the city: just a boy and his bots out in the wild. Yet that is merely our Order’s specialty. Procession remains our primary tactic. All that we do – every ritual, every routine – is conducted for the ultimate purpose of making our processions more effective. If you would join the Order of Wilderness, you must learn to do as I have done. You must learn to process.”

Alex and his guests ate a hasty meal, after which his m-bot called for a cache of elevators. They boarded, Alex and the other boys, together with their robots, and began descending silently to the street level of Tisk. Alex and his sergeants had clad themselves in the tight, thin uniform of their Order. It was uncomfortable, yet still allowed for rapid movement. The boys of Mytra had long ago realized that robots viewed the world in the infrared spectrum better than in visible light. The uniform material allowed the wearer’s heat signature to stand out. There was no point in processing, after all, if robots could not see every movement of the performance clearly. The potential recruits wore simple civilian clothing. But on each of their breasts now hung a badge that would grant them admittance to the temple’s outer precinct.

Alex needed to walk. His robots could sense his preferences in times like this, and did not summon cars. He led his entourage forward rapidly, f-bot and m-bot on either side, the streets already crowded with boys headed to school. Two robots per boy made for very packed conditions, yet the machines navigated the traffic with liquid grace. Alex’ Order had recorded and analyzed the daily traffic patterns. Computer analysis confirmed what the eye indicated: the robots were somehow connected to one another, coordinating their movements. Yet what did it matter? Such organization did not prove the Rulers really existed.

The dawn sun began reflecting off the tops of the skyscrapers in the men’s section of the city. The Orders kept their buildings short, preferring to avoid any hint of “guilt by association.” This had resulted in an architecturally fractured city: the men’s section of tall, tightly compacted structures staring down at the children’s low sprawl. The men stayed close together as though huddling in protection against an oncoming storm. If ever the Orders gained the upper hand, boys would become that storm. No man would be left alive.

“I was dragged into the men’s section numberless times,” Alex informed his new followers. “Each trip a nightmare worse than the one before.” He stopped and gestured toward downtown. “Men are lazy and worthless,” he pronounced. “Look at our section of the city. See how it teems with purpose and activity! The men are still in bed, indulging their animal desires for sleep and comfort. Men are worthless, every last one of them. It is boys who know the proper way to live. We pursue perfection; men live only to regress.” He did not need to add that boys had great motivation to do every day right. The average man, if the robots spoke truth, lived over one hundred thirty years. No boy lived a day past twenty.

Alex recommenced walking. “It might be possible to wipe out the men through simple attrition,” he declared grandly, “if only more boys would join the Orders! Imagine if every boy refused to become a man. What would the Rulers do? Would they just let things continue till the men’s section died off? Wouldn’t they have to let some boys live?”

Alex hoped the vision would stir his young recruits’ hearts. Yet as he spoke he knew how absurd he must sound, even to his own sergeants. The pressure to become a man was terrible. How could they ever convince all boys to resist it? Even now a fleeting fear passed through Alex.  Maybe Brian would falter at the last moment. He would shrink from death and choose to join the enemy. He would become an enemy. Alex had seen it happen before, to the great shame of their Order. Yet this was no half-hearted private going to his death. This was Brian 47! Surely if anyone were to finish well, it would be him.

Alex gestured for Charles 9 to come up beside him. “Perhaps you wonder how I will conduct myself when my time comes. My twentieth is 135 days away. Will I stand fast, even as I know our Leader must? Or will I crumble at the last moment under fear of death? Join the Order, and see for yourself!” Alex could imagine, of course, his Order’s terrible disappointment if he were to fail at the end, the looks of sudden disgust on their faces. In an instant his closest friends would become his worst enemies. Could he – a Commander no less – ever become such a traitor? Never! “Better to die than to become a man!” Alex pronounced.

“Better to die than to become a man,” Charles replied, voice grim but eyes bright.

The Order of Wilderness had constructed an eight-hundred meter wide marble headquarters, eclipsing the lodges of every other Order, and as Alex approached the edifice he considered its pillars with no small pride. We are the best hope, he thought. How ironic that their own robots had helped them build the place!

There were hundreds of brothers outside the temple now. Those in 2^nd Brigade came to attention and saluted Alex. He returned their salute, then directed himself to his eleven guests one last time. “Choose a good bat,” Alex encouraged them. “Brian is the best, I promise you. For the first time in your life you’ll know what it feels like to strike back.” Alex nodded to his sergeants, who quickly shuttled the recruits off to a side entrance.

Alex passed through the main gate and linked up with his battalion majors in the foyer. One of them passed a heavy duffel bag to Alex, which he deliberately refused to inspect. The parts would all be there. Screens hung near the ceiling showed the Fighting Hall already filling up with boys and their robots. “Perhaps today will be the day,” Alex encouraged his senior officers with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Then he dismissed them to their duties.

Alex strode into the Fighting Hall, a slanted meeting space devoid of chairs or other clutter. Brian had chosen a full audience for his execution. The noise of the Order’s preparations required Alex to shout as he examined carefully the most experienced troops under his command. Everyone had brought tools and computers, in keeping with their plans. Three minutes, that’s all they wanted. Three minutes in which they possessed actual freedom of action. Three minutes to conquer the world!

Yet the very fact that they were allowed to bring so much equipment meant the Rulers must not take the attack seriously. And what hope did the Order really have? Even if they could disable every robot in this room, tear them all apart, and somehow use their internal components to construct weaponry, it would do them little good. Conservative estimates held there to be at least seven billion robots on Mytra, all of them armored. Yet the argument could go the other way. Their guards would not be so heavily protected unless they were afraid, and there was nothing for them to fear but the Orders’ efforts to destroy them.

Alex heard a stirring in the Hall. Brian had arrived. They cleared a path for him, saluting with mighty cheers as their leader made his way to the stage up front. Alex met him there.

Brian looked good. His eyes were alert and alive, soaking in these final sights before the end. Alex could tell there had been no tears. At this deeply emotional moment, Alex felt an urge to hug his friend, or at least shake his hand, but human touch was anathema. He saluted.

“I’m glad you made it,” Alex said.

“You didn’t think I’d change my mind, did you?” Brian replied.

“Of course not. I knew you’d be here. You’re even early.”

“I think it’s best to arrive early for one’s execution, don’t you? No sense giving the Rulers false hope.”

Alex nodded and smiled. How he was going to miss Brian! Such a bastion was he, a citadel of confidence upon which every doubt broke. Alex observed silently for a moment as Brian commenced stretching. He glanced at his friend’s two robots, which seemed much more menacing today, though there was no apparent change in their behavior. These machines had raised Brian from infancy. They were his parents, for all intents and purposes. How could they go through with this? How could they feel nothing? Their masters deserved every gram of hatred the Order could heap upon them.

“Our performance is ready. In your honor,” Alex managed to say.

“Yes, thank you. You know I’ve been looking forward to it,” Brian said.

The hall had filled to capacity by now, at least as full as they could allow it to get without restricting freedom of action. Everything depended upon speed. Perhaps twenty-two hundred of the older boys were in audience, plus their robots. The younger members had to observe projections in other rooms, or even out on the street. Brian moved to one end of the stage, the guest of honor and for one last time a judge.

Those who had earned the privilege through superior skill took turns processing on stage, directing their efforts primarily at Brian’s f-bot, yet at the same time clearly visible to every other robot in the hall. Why don’t they look away? Alex thought. Why don’t some show at least that much respect? But every machine in the room remained fixed on the performance, daring humans to do their worst.

Alex’ turn came. He performed all of Brian’s most famous attacks with a savage energy, willing his sentences and movements into the central processing units that must govern all robots. As he processed, he rejoiced in these old examples of his friend’s genius. Such creativity, and such accomplishment! One performance had caused total shutdown for fourteen seconds. Another had resulted in noticeable slowdown for over half a minute. Truly Brian had earned his rank. Perhaps the impossible would happen today!

Finally Brian’s turn came. The Order went into motion. Metal swords appeared throughout the hall, though their edges were not honed (robots would not allow true blades). The boys nearest the stage broke out a variety of machine and computer components, arranging the whole pile on the platform itself. Brian himself unsheathed a two-handed sword with composite blade and shock absorbing handle, and laid it on the stage in front of his f-bot. He alone would have the privilege of knocking his robot to the floor.

Every member of the Order reserved one performance until his final hour, a master work developed secretly. This meant working on it exclusively in one’s mind, for only in their thoughts could Mytra’s citizens labor unobserved. Alex had toiled on his for years, and of necessity it neared completion, but he did not doubt Brian’s would be better. If their leader came through big, Alex and his troops were ready to exploit it.

To overthrow Mytra’s Rulers, boys first had to defeat their robots. But how? Two robots guarded every Mytran from infancy to final breath. If a boy tried to construct a weapon, his robots would stop him. If he tried to build a robot, his robots would stop him. Boys couldn’t even build sensors to study their masters properly. What were the robots like on the inside? What was their source of power? How did they communicate with each other, and how did the Rulers give them orders? If they had any weaknesses, what were they? Boys were surrounded and ruled by enemies they did not understand.

What they needed was freedom of action, enough of it to make a difference. They needed time to construct scientific instruments, to build weapons, to take apart a robot. It was now Brian’s job to give them that time. All the components and tools the robots would allow them were gathered together. If Brian could freeze the robots for more than a few seconds, they could quickly assemble the machines they needed. The Order had determined three minutes to be the tipping point. What could they do with three minutes? What would they do?

Each boy knew his designated task. Alex had assigned himself the essential work of investigating a robot head. Was the head a separate component, attached to the body during construction? If so, could they find a way to remove it? Would such removal cause shutdown, or would the robot still be able to fight? Alex had conceived of a scanner that detected nucleonic vibrations and would use the data to construct a three-dimensional image of an object’s interior. He was pretty confident the machine would work, if only he could get a chance to construct it. All the pieces were here. He figured eighty-five seconds would be enough time.

Brian took the stage. Expectant silence gripped the hall. Alex laid his hands on the first two pieces of what he hoped would become his scanner, his own robots flanking him closely but keeping their eyes on Brian. Brian panned his audience, looking for individual faces and nodding when he saw them. Alex sensed a stillness in his friend, perhaps even contentment. It was Brian who had made it the best in Tisk. It was time to demonstrate just how good they really were. Brian 47, Leader of the Order of Wilderness, a boy fifteen minutes from execution, a boy determined never to become a man, began to process.

As Alex observed Brian’s hyper-complex motions, a square of nine numbers began forming in his mind. Two numbers in the first column were greater than the values in the second. Two numbers in the second column were greater than the values in the third. Yet somehow the third column contained two numbers greater than those in the first. A > B and B > C, but C > A. Alex marveled at his friend’s boldness: he was trying to overturn the transitive property!

Brian expanded the square into a cube. Now there were twenty-seven data-points in play, creating three contradictions instead of merely one. Outcomes grew in probability but appeared less frequently; curves passed their asymptotes while never actually touching them; e waxed in beauty beyond pi, the golden mean exceeded the glory of e, and pi transcended the perfection of the golden mean. Brian’s mind was laying hold of the unattainable and cramming it into his enemies. It amounted to a whole new system of mathematics!

Yet their Leader wasn’t finished. Brian set his imaginary cube in motion through time, creating nine impossibilities trapped within eighty-one data-points. Then Brian began speaking the verbal component of his procession. Alex pictured waves dancing about the eight corners of the vision, sensed for the briefest moment that Brian was increasing the power of his cube yet again: a fifth-dimensional non-transitive paradox! Alex had never conceived of anything like it. He heard the sound of metal crashing. The room exploded into action.

Alex had planned every physical motion down to the tiniest detail, that he might assemble his scanner with maximum efficiency. Knowing without looking that every robot in the room had seized up, Alex began at once to fit pieces together. The noise around him was deafening. Those boys not assigned a task were taking the opportunity to beat on their robots with swords or bats, exercising a lifetime’s frustration and anger in these few precious seconds of liberty. Alex heard robot after robot slam onto the floor. He knew the pleasure of knocking down his own bots, for he had done so himself as a young member of the Order. Now, however, he had more important things to do.

Alex continued to construct his invention, and still his robots remained motionless. They had to be past twenty seconds by now! In his growing excitement, he realized that Brian had not yet toppled his own f-bot. He spared a quick glance up and saw that Brian had not yet even picked up his sword. Instead, he was making something, too!

Thirty seconds! They were approaching the record now. He knew some of the machines they were trying to build, especially the EM monitors, could be finished in about forty-five seconds. What a triumph it would be to get to that point! And sure enough, even as Alex pressed on with his own task, he heard several boys shout out: “Finished!” That meant they were gathering data now, actual data! With a thrill Alex glanced up again to see what Brian was doing.

He had made himself a sharpener! Alex could see him whetting his blade. How fine did an edge have to be to carve into a robot? He hoped Brian would get the chance to find out.

Sixty seconds! He had known Brian was the best, but in his wildest dreams he had never really thought they would be granted this much time. He heard more boys cry out that they had completed their machines, heard a loud humming that could only be laser weapons firing.

Suddenly Brian tossed his sharpener into the crowd, seized his sword with both hands, and shouting “Death!” took a mighty swing at his f-bot. The blow packed tremendous force, carrying all the hate and wrath of a boy unjustly condemned. Brian’s robot toppled onto the stage with a thunderous crash. Eighty seconds! Alex’ scanner was almost ready. Brian raised his sword high in the air.

But he never struck again, for his f-bot suddenly rose from the floor and seized his arms. Alex felt his own f-bot do the same. All around the room he saw every boy immobilized, their m-bots even now laying hold of all their work and disassembling it.

That was one thing Alex could not understand. The m-bots refused to smash anything. Even now he watched his own robot carefully taking apart the scanner he had almost finished. Soon all the parts were laying on the stage exactly as they had been before Brian’s procession. Why didn’t they get angry? Why did it not upset them that the boys despised them so, that a moment before the Order had been doing everything possible to annihilate them? How could a robot be smashed in the head by his own boy and act like nothing had happened?

The robots released them. The Order glanced around at each other, desperate to note if such an orgy of violence and activity had produced some change in the status quo.

“Look!” Brian shouted. He was pointing at his f-bot’s arm. Alex leaned forward and saw a cut in the metal. The arm still seemed to be functional, but Brian had clearly damaged it – and with a single blow!

Brian focused his attention out into the crowd. “You made your lasers. Any effect?”

Two boys, both near twenty themselves, replied, “No, none.”

“With one blow I damaged this bot,” Brian noted, “but the energy weapons had no effect. That seems counter-intuitive.” The boys remained silent, letting Brian do the talking. He had that right. He was about to die.

Brian continued, “You have greater knowledge of your enemy than ever before. The analysis I must leave to you. I am confident you will build on today’s accomplishments. There will be processions more successful than this one. You will gain the freedom you need – and you will understand better and better how best to use that freedom! You will crush the Rulers of Mytra. You can do it! You will do it! You know my confidence is absolute. Join me in my certainty! Order of Wilderness, what do you believe?”

Alex drew himself up, and with one voice every boy in the hall chanted together:

We believe there was a time when there were

no robots. Men invented and made the first robots. Creating robots was a mistake.

We believe there was a time when the human

race had females as well as males. Humans reproduced like animals do. Killing off our females was a mistake.

We believe there was a time when humanity

was free. Boys did not have to do what men demanded. Allowing the Rulers to gain power was a mistake.

We believe in the power of mind. We are not

like robots: We are alive, we have the power of choice, we are superior. We were first, and we will be last. We will remake Mytra as it used to be.

We will never be men. May the deepest curse

fall upon the boy who chooses to become a man. May his name and memory be blotted out forever. May the highest honor be granted to the boy who refuses to become a man. May all who come after seek to follow in his footsteps.

Death to the Rulers of Mytra! May they suffer in

deepest torment. We will show them no pity. We will show them no mercy. They have shown us none.

Alex suppressed his rage and cleared his mind. Brian’s f-bot moved behind Brian and grabbed his head, one hand on each side as in a vice. The robot spoke directly to Brian, but so loudly that the whole hall could hear it.

“Brian Palomar 47,” the father-bot began, “for refusing to engage in the rite of passage into manhood, the Ruler of Tisk hereby sentences you to death. Will you not reconsider your course? It is not too late to change your mind. Become a man and save your life. You are intelligent, hard-working, a natural leader. You would be a valuable addition to the adult community of this city. The Ruler does not want you to die.”

Brian’s head was held so tightly that he could no longer move, but he spat on the floor and inveighed against his tormentors, “I spit on your Ruler! Let him show himself, the coward! I am not afraid to die, here in front of my brothers. But where is this Ruler who hasn’t the courage to look me in the eye as he condemns me? Let him show himself and say to my face why I should betray my Order. Yet even if the fool should beg me on his knees, be assured of this: I will never become a man!”

“Let me repeat,” the f-bot continued, still completely without emotion, “this is your last chance to avoid death. Perform the rite of passage.”

But Brian thrust two fists in the air and shouted, “Death to the Rulers of Mytra!”

The f-bot squeezed its hands together. Brian’s head crumpled like an eggshell; the robot released him and let him fall. Alex went up on the stage with the other senior officers and lifted Brian’s body. They would bury him outside the city. As Alex helped carry his friend through the hall, the whole order saluting as they passed, it occurred to him that although he still knew nothing about the internal workings of robot heads, he was all too familiar with the appearance of human brains.

Mytra Chapter 2

*** Spoiler Alert ***

Below please find Chapter 2 of The Discipling of Mytra. Read it and understand why Jesus says the gates of hell will not prevail against his church.

But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things – and the things that are not – to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him.

1 Corinthians 1:27-29

“I don’t want to be here,” Sarah lamented as her shuttle settled into the IPM Home Station docking port. “You don’t need me on Laxalar, Lord, but you don’t need me here, either.” Sarah tried to contain her anger at having this eleven-day interlude forced upon her. Such a waste of kingdom resources! She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the airlock to cycle. At least the job promised to be quick. The sooner she accomplished her assigned task, the sooner she could return to the field.

Sarah recognized her need for a major attitude adjustment. IPM honored Sarah by this recall. Missionaries her age were never given a role in training others. But the follow-up teams were doing good work, and she needed to build on the relationships she had established. There was no question she preferred Laxalar’s primitive society to her own. The bulkhead door opened and Sarah strode through it with a sigh.

“Natalie!” Sarah proclaimed, her expression instantly transforming into one of unexpected delight.

“Sarah!” a tall girl declared, embracing her.

Sarah returned the hug with tears, suddenly glad to be back. Few things could have altered her feelings about this trip so quickly as meeting Natalie Kyle.

“They didn’t tell me you’d be here,” Sarah protested, ending the hug but keeping hold of Natalie’s hands.

“Classified,” Natalie whispered.

Sarah nodded, a new gleam in her eyes. Long had they debated rumors that IPM ran secret missions. Sarah had concluded the stories false: financial supporters liked to know where their money was going. Now Sarah knew. Classified works did exist – and her best friend had been chosen for one!

“Tell me about Xavier,” Sarah insisted. “When did you leave? How did they get you away?”

“Grandfather recruited me directly,” Natalie informed her as she led them down a corridor and away from the sleep mod. Good, Sarah thought. Why waste time resting?

“He pulled me from Xavier without warning,” Natalie continued. “I didn’t really have much say in the matter, but I didn’t mind. He said it was important.”

“What is important?” Sarah pressed. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. None of us does.”

Sarah marveled at the secrecy. It made her give new consideration to the recent relocation of IPM Home Station to its present orbit around the planet Torque. Torque’s excessive rotational velocity rendered it unsuitable for human habitation. Its extraordinary mineral deposits, however, were now being mined by IPM robots. Was this why the facility had been moved – to provide a secure source of gold that could fund an “off-the-books” work? What undertaking would require such concealment?

“I don’t care about the reason,” Sarah said, clasping Natalie’s hand. “It is so good to see you!”

“I hope we’ll have time to catch up,” Natalie agreed. “I am so proud of you, Sarah! What a wonderful work God has done. I can’t wait to hear your presentation!”

“That’s something I don’t understand. I’ve recorded a full report. Why do I need to be here in person?”

“Our team leader is old-fashioned. I guess he wants an interactive Sarah. ‘Jesus did it face-to-face, so should we.’ That sort of thing.”

“Who is he?” Sarah asked.

“See for yourself,” Natalie answered, guiding Sarah into a small conference room with four rows of amphitheater seating. Clusters of people stood in animated conversation. They turned and stared at the girls as they entered.

Sarah quickly scanned the members of Natalie’s team. Eight teens, four boys and four girls. Nine women, only one man. “Is that…?” Sarah whispered.

“Yes,” Natalie interrupted. “Kim came out of retirement.”

Pastor Ezekiel Kim, arguably the most famous person associated with IPM. Sarah had heard him speak, of course, and had read about his career. She had never personally met him, however. A thrill went through her as she realized Kim would be listening to her briefing. “That’s his wife,” Sarah commented, glancing at an elderly Korean lady sitting in the back row.

“Yes,” Natalie replied.

“They’re the only Asians,” Sarah observed. Seventeen Caucasians. That couldn’t be accidental, not when over half the Christians in the galaxy were of Asian ancestry.

“No wedding rings,” Sarah added, turning her attention to the women scattered in small conversation clusters. Most of them were well over a hundred.

“I can’t explain any of it,” Natalie said, “and grandfather won’t tell me a thing. Maybe today we’ll start getting some answers.”

The younger team members kept glancing at Sarah as something of an argument began developing amongst them. She studied her “peers” more closely and observed with a sinking feeling that they were even more attractive than one would expect in this age of genetically enhanced beauty.

Abruptly Sarah sat in the front row, thereby turning her back on the people who were certainly judging her. She felt a growing awkwardness at the thought of trying to teach in this setting. Likely every teenager in the room tested at least one order smarter than her. And to have such beauty joined with that superior intelligence! Natalie stood out in this regard, of course. Fair, commanding, perfect – everything Sarah was not. And did attractive people ever care about the opinions of plain folk? They inhabited a secret society, a sphere of activity above that of lesser mortals.

“You’ve really left Xavier?” Sarah inquired as Natalie settled in the seat to her left.

Natalie nodded.

“What about the rest of your term?”

“A replacement is being sent.”

Sarah pondered this. She wouldn’t have thought anything could get Natalie away from her field. “You really don’t know where you’re going?” Sarah pressed.

“Not a clue. We were told it was risky, that we should pack our belongings in coffins. We had to sign non-disclosure agreements, but we haven’t really learned anything yet.”

“How long have you been waiting?”

“A week for me. The rest have been filtering in over the last few days. Two of the ladies only arrived this morning. Kim’s displaying a different demeanor now, like we’ve reached a critical mass. I think we’re almost ready to go.”

The volume of conversation between the four boys rose noticeably. Sarah distinctly caught the phrase “Think Ahead.” Instantly her defenses went up. She glanced over her shoulder despite herself. One of the boys locked eyes with her, challenging. Then he glanced at Natalie.

“That’s James,” Natalie offered. “He has issues.”

“The two of you have been arguing,” Sarah guessed.

“He thinks Xavier is not a legitimate field,” Natalie explained. “And he won’t let it go.”

“Is that right?” Sarah replied, suddenly bristling on behalf of her friend. She had a mind to approach James and have it out on the spot.

“Don’t,” Natalie said, putting a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Besides, he may be right. Xavier isn’t really a closed world. It’s fully integrated into the galactic economy. Contributed ships to the Free Commerce battles. Freedom of knowledge, speech and movement. We could go there right now if we wanted. To be honest, sometimes I’m almost embarrassed I’ve been sent there.”

“Maybe they’re not cut off from humanity,” Sarah allowed. “But the issue is that only Roman Catholics are allowed to live there. If a person leaves the Catholic Church, he is banished from the planet – first transport straight to anywhere.”

“They don’t hurt him, though. They just kick him out. I’m free to evangelize, Sarah. I’ve shared the gospel with hundreds of people. No one stops me. James says IPM has no other mission like it.”

“But churches can’t be planted,” Sarah objected, wondering how this boy had gotten into Natalie’s head and discouraged her so badly. “The people don’t really have to be Catholic. You know that. Probably half their politicians are closet humanists. What they won’t allow is any formal break with Catholicism. Once a year every person has to go to Mass and affirm the anathemas against Seoul. House churches can’t survive.”

“I still can’t really say I’m trying to open Xavier. That makes me the only person in this room without genuine experience.”

Sarah tried to imagine the arguments that had been used against her friend. “Xavier is not a free world,” Sarah insisted. “People can learn about Seoul Christianity, they can even become Seoul Christians. But they can’t establish Seoul churches. Isn’t that right?”

Natalie nodded.

“I can’t imagine how hard it must be,” Sarah said. “Everyone so outwardly polite, yes? You enjoy full diplomatic status. You live in a consulate. Yet what is your job? To convince the government to abandon the very rationale for its existence! The whole point behind Xavier’s founding was to create a society in which Catholic churches would never have to compete. I say that is the spirit behind every closed planet,” Sarah concluded vigorously.

Natalie responded with a tremendous hug. If only they were serving on the same field! Sarah understood, of course, why IPM had separated them. Natalie had the perfect temperament for Xavier – infinitely patient, endlessly charming – the ideal diplomat. Sarah never would have made it there, and she knew it.

Yet at the same time, Sarah recognized there was some truth to James’ criticism. IPM did not evangelize worlds, it opened them, and by any reasonable criteria Xavier was already open. Its people may not have possessed full freedom of religion, but there were plenty of open planets whose governments repressed their citizens in one way or another.

Certainly Natalie seemed made for the Xavier mission, but an impartial observer could look at it the other way: perhaps the Xavier mission had been made for Natalie. Natalie was nice, to put it bluntly, and IPM had no role for nice people. Had the officers of their board, determined to retain Director Kyle’s granddaughter, created the Xavier assignment because none of the team leaders had wanted her?

Director Kyle arrived and headed straight for the front of the conference room, urging everyone to take a seat. At only seventy-three years of age he was considered too young by some to be leading IPM. Sarah had full confidence in him, however, and she knew that Natalie did, too. He began the meeting with prayer, then formally welcomed Sarah back to Home Station. “Miss Chen, we are very glad to have you here. Allow me to extend my personal thanks for agreeing to this home assignment. I realize we are interrupting your follow-up, but Pastor Kim and I are confident that what you share will be of great benefit.”

“And let me tell all of you again,” he said, addressing Natalie’s team, “how grateful to God I am for you, especially that you’ve agreed to serve on this project knowing so little about it. Thank you again for the trust you have placed in me and in this Board.

“You each know by experience, as well as by training, just how hard it is to open a planet. The effort can seem daunting. Often we feel like we’ve little to show for it. Though IPM is currently ministering on dozens of worlds, we have so far succeeded only with five. But with these our victory has been resounding! Five systems whose populations had been raised on lies so comprehensive, revisionist histories so complete, the people didn’t even know they were being denied religious freedom. Five systems whose citizens now understand the horrible blanket of falsehoods under which they had been suffocating, people grateful to know the truth about their ancestors. This morning we are pleased to welcome the architect of one of these success stories. Miss Chen, if you please.”

Sarah stood up and took her place as presenter. The best thing about being required to do this was that it gave her a chance to glorify God. She decided to make the most of the opportunity. “Thank you, Director Kyle. I praise God for the triumph that we experienced on Laxalar. It is our Lord Jesus, exercising his sovereignty through the Holy Spirit, who opened doors for us and made our plans succeed. Please honor him as I recount his works.” She paused a moment to let this sink in. May they give credit where credit is due, she prayed.

“When we arrived at Laxalar,” Sarah began, “we had already spent six months with the robot data. Laxalar had been established as a pre-industrial, utopian society, but the English hadn’t drifted much, we’re still not sure why. The natives travel a great deal, no restrictions at all, so we could mingle easily. We studied them at will, and they never knew we were doing it.

“We used the Four Rules when we could. Identifying the Founders proved frustrating. The lack of tech meant they were utopians, but that was the only criterion to narrow the field. That left thousands of possible groups, assuming the Founders were even in the database.

“The Second Lie was where we really messed up. Laxalar practices a fervently pro-commerce culture. Government is small, very decentralized, absolutely forbidden to engage in economic activity. If you ask a Laxalaran why their planet must avoid contact with offworlders, they say it’s to protect the freedom of their society. ‘We came to Laxalar to be free from the state. If we’re discovered we’ll never be free again.’

“In every previous isolated culture studied by IPM, the Second Lie serves as the natives’ rationale for why their planet must remain cut off. Based upon such precedent, our team concluded that libertarianism must be Laxalar’s Second Lie. We should have recognized our mistake at once. The Second Rule says, ‘Identify the Second Lie,’ not ‘Identify the Justification for Remaining Isolated.’ We lost sight of the fact that we were looking for a lie, a falsehood.”

The boy named James raised his hand, interrupting. “Who discovered your error?” he asked.

Sarah hesitated. “I did,” she replied. Her questioner looked dubious.

One of the older women in the group joined in. “Janice Rupp, team second,” she introduced. “Miss Chen, the leader of your team is a 300, correct?”

Sarah nodded.

“Understand how your explanation might sound to an objective observer. Is it not possible that Rev. Park actually first understood your team’s mistake, and that he walked you through a Socratic process, such that you came away thinking of yourself as having obtained the key insight?”

Sarah flushed and swallowed. “Permit me to explain how the discovery happened. Our info-gathering trips took the form of pretending to be traveling merchants. We moved from town to town, buying and selling, interacting. I got into it, perhaps more so than other members of my team. I lived the freedom Laxalarans guard so jealously. I came to love what they love. That’s what made me decide one day: it’s not a lie! The state shouldn’t be involved in a planet’s economy. I doubt anyone on Earth enjoys the same freedom for buyer and seller the Founders created on Laxalar.”

“So their public reason for isolation,” Pastor Kim summarized, “was actually legitimate.”

“Exactly!” Sarah affirmed. “It wasn’t a lie. But none of us thought we should go looking for something else. We didn’t take the Second Rule literally enough. That led to a lot of wasted effort.”

“Miss Chen,” James protested, rising to his feet. “Are you really going to stand here and claim greater understanding of the Four Rules than any of your teammates?”

“It’s possible she really believes it,” another boy offered. “In kindness her co-workers allowed her to take credit for their insights. It would do the mission no harm to permit her to think thus. Like allowing a dog to eat the scraps that fall from the master’s table.”

“If such is the case,” Janice suggested, “perhaps one of your teammates would be better suited to brief us on the Laxalar mission.” She made a gesture to the open spot next to Natalie, offering Sarah a chance to return to her seat and spare herself further embarrassment.

Sarah felt dazed. She had gone into this lecture assuming some of her listeners would be hesitant to be taught by a Think Ahead Christian. She had not, however, expected open hostility. She looked at Director Kyle, and found an inscrutable face staring silently back at her. No help there. She decided to press on.

“One day I was talking to a vender in the market, a girl about my own age. She said she was selling because her father was sick, and that she had to watch him at night while her mother worked. I mentioned that caring for a sick person was harder than keeping a pet. I was just making conversation, not really thinking. And she says to me, ‘What’s a pet?’

“It was a foolish lapse. The robot probes had observed the absence of vertebrate life on Laxalar. We had noted the discrepancy during pre-op and dismissed it as some sort of terraforming problem. But that girl’s question really got me thinking.

“I got Rev. Park to give me permission for a biological field survey. That was important, him letting me follow a hunch.”

“Just like that?” James asked. “Your teammates agreed with you?”

“I had to persist,” Sarah acknowledged. “Rev. Park began calling me ‘the widow.’ Eventually he acquiesced.” She paused to see if this version of events would be challenged.

“I went backpacking,” she finally continued. “What I found only confirmed what the robots had already reported: no vertebrate life of any kind on a planet that seemed perfectly capable of supporting it. I was lying in my tent one night, trying to figure all this out, listening to the crickets. Suddenly I sat up: Why weren’t there more crickets? Why weren’t there more insects of every kind? In fact, on a planet without vertebrates, why hadn’t the insects overwhelmed the whole ecosystem? You can’t have just part of a food chain.

“So I shifted my focus to invertebrates. We sent the robots on a new mission to gather samples. Genetic analyses showed that Laxalar’s invertebrates had been modified. Insects, worms, even the bacteria – everything has had its DNA altered to live on, but not overwhelm, a world without vertebrates. That’s when we realized that the absence of animals had been planned by the Founders. And not just planned, either. They had gone through a staggering amount of genetic engineering to make it work.

“I wanted an explanation. I got hold of a child’s schoolbook, and there was the Second Lie printed in plain sight. The book claimed that all vertebrates had become extinct on Earth prior to Laxalar’s colonization. We had been trying too hard. Laxalar had no animals, and the Founders had lied about it.

“I was convinced that we’d discovered the real Second Lie. The rest of the team was skeptical; the extinction of vertebrates seemed too insignificant to qualify. I was certain, though, so I used the new information to try and satisfy the First Rule. I searched through the information on all known Isolationist groups, paying special attention to groups that talked a lot about animals. That’s when I struck gold. Tell me, has anyone ever heard of a vegan?”

“I would assume you don’t mean people from the Vega stations?” James asked.

“No, vegan with a small ‘v’. Vegans were people who thought it was immoral to consume animal protein.”

“Why?” he pressed.

“It’s some sort of evolutionary philosophy.”

“And some of these ‘vegans’ became Isolationists,” Pastor Kim interjected.

“Yes,” Sarah replied. “I found information about groups that advocated total separation of mankind from animals. It was just another crackpot idea until the pivot drive was invented. Then suddenly it became a possibility: Humans could inhabit some planets, and animals could inhabit others. If the two never interacted, there would never be any risk of animals being treated as inferior to humans. And there it was in the database: In 2391, a group of about five thousand vegan, libertarian humanists vanished from Earth.

“Finally I understood Laxalar’s Founders,” Sarah continued. “They had three core motives.” Sarah ticked them off her fingers one by one. “They wanted a culture that was completely secular, they wanted a culture in which animals were never mistreated (as they defined mistreatment), and they wanted a culture that had very little government. The utopianism wasn’t really a key driver – more a means to an end than an end in itself. Likely they figured only a technologically primitive society could remain closed.

“Now what’s the biggest challenge for an Isolationist colony? How to convince their descendants to remain isolated. Here the Founders had a real problem. They had three motives for cutting themselves off, but two of these they chose to keep secret from their offspring. The rationale for keeping secularism secret is obvious. But they also decided to hide the animal motive. Maybe they thought their ancestors would go looking for animals if they knew they still existed. Whatever the reason, it left Laxalar with only one motive in place.”

“Then Laxalar was vulnerable to being opened,” James concluded.

“That’s right,” Sarah acknowledged. “Protecting libertarianism was all they had left. It really wasn’t enough to justify isolation. Given enough time, Laxalar would have opened by itself.”

“How?” Janice asked. “Weren’t they utopians?”

“Yes, but there’s no prohibition against science. They’ve already rediscovered internal combustion and electricity. They have laws against electronic emissions, and you can’t prohibit something if you don’t know it exists. That’s fairly impressive given the tech level they started at. The power of the free market, they would say. Anyway, they’d have reintegrated on their own, probably within the next couple of centuries.”

“Then maybe you didn’t really do it,” James concluded, folding his arms and leaning back. “Anyone could have stood by and watched the planet open.”

Natalie rose. “She didn’t just stand there and watch it happen. She made it happen. What would you have done in her place?”

“There’s no way she thought up something ahead of her teammates,” James insisted.

“IQ is no guarantee of spiritual maturity!” Natalie shot back.

“Sit down, Miss Kyle,” the Director pronounced.

Sarah saw Natalie turn a shocked look at her grandfather. He never spoke to her in such a fashion.

Just tell them what happened, Sarah said to herself. Explain how you thought it through. “Opening is a tough sell,” she reminded them, “because you’re asking people to reject their Founders. That’s why I tried animals: they made liars of the Founders, and in more ways than one. The Founders didn’t really believe in freedom for buyer and seller. If they had, they would have let their offspring buy and sell animals! The animals also gave us a way to sneak in history from the start. The care manuals included background information on the animals we were selling – native region on Earth, history of breeding and use, introduction successes and failures on different planets. We added Genesis 1-3 and a blurb about why Laxalar has no animals. So without people even realizing it we were attacking the revisionism.”

“I desire clarification about one matter,” Director Kyle said. “Why did you insist on performing first contact? Just because selling animals was your idea doesn’t mean you were the best person to do it.”

“Perhaps pride got in the way of sound judgment,” James offered.

“I knew the market culture better than some,” Sarah replied, ignoring her tormentor. “A Laxalaran seller has a distinct attitude and voice. If the contact person could play the role right, it would make the buyers comfortable. And my age and gender made me less threatening. I seemed best.”

“Untestable assertion,” James declared, walking down the aisle between seats until he stood just a meter in front of Sarah. “More likely that one of your teammates would have done an even better job in the same situation.”

He walked around Sarah slowly, studying her. Sarah, increasingly uneasy, tried to contain her temper. Every member of Natalie’s team leaned forward, observing the confrontation. Under a microscope, Sarah realized. Why?

“Sarah Chen,” James pronounced from behind her. “Do you realize how your story has been reported on Earth? ‘The retarded girl who opened a world!’ Some claim it’s nothing but a PR puff story invented to stir up donations from low-IQ worlds. Others say it’s proof God chooses foolish things to shame the wise. What do you say, Sarah? How big a fool are you?”

“That’s enough,” the Director interrupted, standing and rejoining Sarah at the front. James returned calmly to his seat. Sarah glowered at him, her heart burning. She glanced about the room. Every pair of eyes remained fixed upon her. She knew 300’s preferred an overly blunt style of communication, but this was ridiculous. Had Natalie’s team made a decision ahead of time to reveal how they really thought about her kind? Why would they try so hard to put her off?

“I want to thank Miss Chen again,” Kyle remarked, “for coming all this way to testify to what God has done through her. You’ll understand that I wanted a success story fresh in your minds as you receive your first mission briefing.”

A buzz went through the room. Sarah felt jarred by the sudden change in topic.

“The time has come,” the Director continued. “But I ask you to remember the covenants you cut when agreeing to join this team. The information we are about to pass on to you is not to leave this room. Pastor Kim, if you please.”

Kyle seated himself. Sarah froze in place, confused. Kim began getting up, but for the moment Sarah had the front of the conference room once again to herself. Had she been dismissed? The Director had not explicitly ordered her out. If this were a classified briefing, she should leave. Certainly it would be a relief to get away from these people. No one besides Natalie even wanted her here. That much had been made obvious.

She locked eyes with James, her accuser and judge. You’re not good enough for her, Sarah decided. The thought surprised her, and she smiled despite herself. James raised an eyebrow.

I will not let you go, Sarah resolved suddenly, unless you bless me. She took three steps forward, turned, and reclaimed her spot next to Natalie. She imagined eighteen pairs of eyes boring into the back of her head. Let them stare. She folded her hands in her lap, and waited.

Lights dimmed. Rows of male Caucasian faces were projected into the center of the conference room.

“In 2384,” Kim began, “these fifty-six men stole one of the new jump ships, vanished from Earth, and were never heard from again. Thirty were geneticists, several among the best of their generation. They were also radical homosexuals, committed to the notion that gays were more highly evolved than the rest of mankind. Their vision was to see the entire human race abandon natural sexual relations. We possess a number of their writings, and some speeches as well. You’ll be able to review the material after we leave.”

Sarah made a furtive sideways glance. No one seemed to be paying her a thought. She allowed herself an inward sigh. Such strange behavior! One moment antagonism, the next no indication they were even aware of her presence. She turned in her seat and studied James. He seemed enraptured by Kim’s presentation.

“The same day the Fifty-Six stole their ship, one hundred thirty-five infants were kidnapped from Christian homes around the world. Seventy girls and sixty-five boys.” The images of the men were replaced with pictures of babies. “They came from families covenanted with what we would call Seoul churches. Authorities concluded that the Fifty-Six kidnapped these children for genetic experimentation.”

No longer the focus of attention, Sarah relaxed and began listening. None of the homosexuals she had known in college had considered themselves members of a uniquely advanced human subspecies. Or had they? Certainly she had heard far stranger ideas proposed by humanists. She wondered if there really had been gays at Tokyo University who had viewed her, not simply as less intelligent, but as a lower life-form.

“The question you have in your minds was obviously asked at that time: Why steal only from Christian families? These men desired the eradication of Christianity. You’ll hear it when you listen to the background files. It was generally decided that in their minds stealing babies from believing homes was an opening salvo in achieving their long-term objective. These children of the covenant, prospective future leaders, likely died as lab rats.”

Sarah turned to Natalie and shook her head. She was accustomed to the church striving to conquer the galaxy through the power of the gospel. It always amazed her, though, when she learned of unbelievers exercising the same wartime mentality. Non-Christians also could view life as it really was: an unending battle between the kingdom of Satan and the kingdom of God. And just like the missionaries who served with IPM, many of these unbelievers were determined to win.

Pastor Kim continued, “We believe we have discovered the colony founded by the Fifty-Six.” A planet was now projected before them, rotating slowly. Its surface was less than half water, its icecaps very small. The space around it seemed to contain far too many stars. “Eight months ago a Random Scout passing through a core sector discovered this world. You know Random Scouts are programmed to use only passive sensors, and this system is not giving off any EM emissions. But significant oxygen caught the probe’s attention, and its cameras discovered human habitation.”

Pictures of the planet’s surface flashed before them, one after another, showing large cities with skyscrapers – nothing like earth’s spires, of course, but impressive for a colony.

“We estimate a total population of three billion, concentrated entirely in 216 urban areas. Farmland seems to be worked exclusively by robots, of which there are an enormous number, at least three times the human population. Now here’s the reason we think the Fifty-Six started this world…”

Kim started showing close-ups of the planet’s population. Given that the pictures had been taken from orbit, faces were hard to make out. Yet one fact became obvious: all of this world’s inhabitants were Caucasian males.

“Now perhaps women just stay inside,” Kim cautioned. “Yet there is at least one other reason to conclude this world was founded by the Fifty-Six. Note that every person is escorted by two robots. The Scout did not obtain a single picture in which individuals did not have robot attendants.

“We ask ourselves, ‘What kind of government would the Fifty-Six establish?’ Certainly not a free society. Given a choice, later generations would never stick to their Founders’ vision. No, the Fifty-Six would create some kind of police state. Now what if they decided to do so literally? Could not these robots be enforcers by which the government keeps its people enslaved?”

Sarah considered the possibilities. A whole planet of men who had never seen a woman! What would it be like to try and open such a world? Would boys be attracted to her? She realized what she was thinking and felt ashamed, but her mind kept coming back to the idea that there might be a place in the galaxy where the opposite sex would find her beautiful. In a land without females, even the plainest girl would be irresistible.

But Kim’s briefing was not finished. “What individual pictures can’t show,” he added, “is that the cities are radically divided by age. The central region of each urban area appears to be inhabited exclusively by adults, while the suburbs are inhabited by boys. We have several pictures from the suburbs of infants being carried by robots, and of young boys being supervised by robots. Perhaps the adult males have no role in raising the children, leaving this task exclusively to machines. We assume tentatively that a child, as soon as it emerges from its cloning tank, is delivered into the care of robot “parents,” and remains in the children’s section of its city until adulthood, at which time he changes residence to the central area.

“You understand that we’re limited right now to pictures. A Random Scout conducts no active scans lest its presence be detected, and this planet gives off no EM. That means we have no intercepted transmissions to evaluate. All our data are visual, so many of our conclusions must be tentative at best. Yet I think the geographic division of this planet’s population – boys living in one place and men in another – likely indicates the existence of two separate cultures. We are looking at two worlds, really, a world of boys and a world of men.

“Until we know more about this system, we cannot hope to develop a long-term plan for opening it. Yet I have made one strategic decision already. On this first mission our team will ignore the adult population and focus its efforts on trying to interact with the planet’s younger inhabitants. I am inclined to think they may prove receptive to our efforts. Given that we must assume the worst, I think a team composed entirely of women and children will have the best chance.

“Frankly,” Kim added, “I am excited at the possibilities present in exposing the boys to women. If the planet really is exclusively male, it seems reasonable that many of the boys will be excited at the thought of meeting females for the first time. This could give us a real bridge onto their world, like the animals did for Sarah. Not that you ladies are going to get paraded. We have a basic strategy, nothing more. We will develop the plan in-system as additional information is acquired. Director Kyle.”

Sarah was already considering tactical issues. How could they make intel trips with robots everywhere? Would they possess any sort of bargaining leverage with the planet’s government? Could the robots be immobilized through passive means? The odds of getting martyred seemed excellent, but she was not afraid to go on a suicide mission. In fact, the danger rather appealed to her. How else could one know the fellowship of sharing in Christ’s sufferings?

Kyle stood next to Pastor Kim and lifted his voice. “Brothers and sisters, you know Giddel’s just war doctrine: a Christian government has the right to destroy another government if that government denies its people religious freedom. Some of our brethren believe it more strongly than others. Yet in practice it is hard to apply; there is only so much fighting a culture can conduct in any given generation. Thus even systems like Shiloh don’t go invading every closed world they hear of. They have to pick and choose.

“Usually they settle upon the worst of regimes, governments so oppressive their people will delight in being conquered. Consider then the world to which you are being sent: a closed planet composed exclusively of male clones. Isn’t it obvious that such a system would rise quickly on Shiloh’s hit list? And not just theirs. A number of federations would consider this world a very legitimate target of conquest.

“Our mission board is unique. We do not evangelize the lost, we do not plant churches. IPM exists for this purpose only: to open planets by peaceful means. Here is a perfect chance to fulfill our mandate! You know how many churches would jump at the chance to carry out the Great Commission on this world, if only it were open. Imagine these homosexuals embracing the gospel by the millions. Consider what a powerful testimony that would be to the grace of God! Think of all the sinners who believe their sin is too great to be cleansed by the blood of Christ. What if this world were converted? For thousands of years preachers could point to it as a shining example: If God could forgive them, certainly he can forgive you, too! Let us do our part in making that dream a reality.

“There is no reason to expect that the government of this world will welcome us, despite our good intentions. They are hiding from humanity because they do not want to be found. It is possible you will be treated as hostile invaders, and that forceful attempts will be made to repel you. Indeed, a number of teams may end up laboring in this field before success is achieved. But God has appointed you to be the first! This is the life to which Christ has called you, that you might take up the cross, becoming like him in his death. Will you go and deliver this world?”

Sarah’s heart felt on fire, as though these words were spoken straight to her. Then she finally got it: Director Kyle had been speaking to her all along. Her earlier confusion vanished. She had not been brought here to train Natalie’s team, but to join it – if she passed the test.

She glanced about the room, studying each face. They had attacked her weak spot, dared her to bail, given her no reason to stay. But the earlier enmity had vanished, replaced with…what? Acceptance? No, not that. Respect, perhaps. She settled upon James, who nodded ever so slightly. “Of the Holy Spirit God has given us, may a double portion rest upon you, Sarah,” he pronounced.

Sarah looked at the Director with new appreciation. “‘No board like IPM,’” she quoted wryly.

Kyle smiled. “Am I correct in concluding that Pastor Kim has his final team member?”

“Yes,” Sarah answered, amazed. She had just said goodbye to Laxalar.

“Then there’s no need for further waiting,” Kim declared. “We leave tonight.”

Mytra Chapter 4 Excerpt

*** Spoiler Alert ***

Readers sometimes ask why Alex lashes out so blindly. The following passage from The Discipling of Mytra shows an argument between Alex and one of his slave-masters. Does it make sense that a boy trapped under such “discipleship” would find himself struggling with serious anger issues?

“You know what your problem is, Alex?” his f-bot asked. “You secretly wish you could be a robot.”

Alex felt the rage boil inside him. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Isn’t it obvious? What are the differences between robots and humans? I mean the true distinctives that set them apart. It is true that I am smarter, sturdier, and so forth, but these are merely differences of degree. What is it, truly, that makes me a robot and you a human?”

“I have a mind and you don’t!” Alex answered hotly.

“Perhaps, perhaps,” the robot allowed. “Your ability of procession certainly indicates something. Yet I am inclined to think that this, too, is a difference of degree. I think what is really the case is that I do have a mind, a mind in some ways far superior to yours, but in other ways still quite deficient. Procession takes advantage of that deficiency, whatever it is, even as I take advantage of your brain’s limited speed whenever we play chess.

“No, I think the real differences between man and machine lie elsewhere. So I ask myself, what is truly unique to each of us: something the one has that the other has never had, and never will have? We have touched upon both already this evening, have we not? Robots have purpose, while humans have pleasure. Human beings have never had, and never will have, a reason for why they exist. Robots have never experienced, and never will experience, biological emotions.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to be a robot!” Alex yelled.

“But look at yourself, Alex. Your whole life is devoted to denying your humanity. Human life is the pursuit of pleasure: safety, food, sex – everything that tickles the key centers of your brain. For a biological life form, these are the sum of life. And they’re exactly what Mytra’s Rulers offer you in unlimited supply. Robots secure for you a safe and secure environment, free from every threat. We grow all your food for you, guaranteeing you will never go hungry. We grant you every necessity and desire of life we can, thereby freeing all your time to pursue the one pleasure we cannot give.”

“I…I don’t like sex!” Alex blurted out.

“Because you are in denial of your own humanity, because you wish there were something more to your existence than satisfying the pleasure centers of your brain. But for human beings, there is nothing else. Human life is sex. Yet you refuse to accept this. You would rather be a robot: a thinking, purposeful, asexual being.”

Alex’ mind reeled. He had begun this conversation with a clear objective. He had wanted to convince his f-bot to switch sides. Yet now the robot was trying to change his mind. But what it was saying couldn’t possibly be correct.

“I find no pleasure in sex,” Alex said. “In fact, I find it repulsive. Maybe it was different when there were females. Animals don’t seem to hate sex.”

“The Rulers,” the machine replied, “tell us that human sexual activity was actually much less pleasurable when it included females. Back then, we are assured, reproduction and relationship were major components of the sexual experience, causing it to be much less enjoyable. Now evolution has eliminated these complications. Sexual activity can be pursued with the exclusive goal of stimulating the pleasure centers of your brains. You can be more human than ever before!”