On the matter of concluding The Tragedy of Time, Rider proved correct. He read the final words aloud on the seventh day:

  “The cruel function of regulatory time is to induce a state of perpetual unease among a body of sentients, each of whom is fully capable of constructing his own, satisfying variation.”

  Rider’s sigh echoed through the darkness, as it had thousands of times before.

  “What is your first reaction, Royal?”

  “The conclusion isn’t satisfying. I knew that before page one.”

  “Did you?”

  “Sure. Everydamnbody does. Humans are slaves to the calendar. Whatever constitutes a day, hour, minute, or second, we have to play by those rules. We’re always up against it and chasing for more of it. That’s no big revelation.”

  “I see. And you expected revelation in the end?”

  “After seven hundred years in darkness? Damn right.”

  “I disagree, Royal. The secrets were revealed in the first chapter. Fifty years of learning. The intervening chapters gave you the skills to master those revelations, which the ending reinforces.”

  “So, you’re saying seven centuries boils down to common sense?”

  “From the perspective of a god? Yes. If this now seems rudimentary, then you fulfilled the academic goal. Your mind so understands the intricacies of this false prophet called Time that it mocks the simplest syllogism. You can organize something that does not exist into meaningful parcels which in turn provide you with a deep well of satisfaction. Conversely, you can eliminate those parcels when their usefulness has run out but not compromise your satisfaction. This feature is not accessible to lesser beings.”

  “Unless they learn about the Cartalingus.”

  “It’s the only way they’ll evolve beyond Time’s prison.”

  “And we can’t allow that to happen because …”

  “Because, Royal, it would be a disaster. They will encounter the same discontent and seek shelter in hosts who are themselves burdened by constructed time.”

  “It wouldn’t help the economy, either.”

  Royal laughed, and Rider joined along.

  “But for one god to host another god …”

  “That’s the best of all worlds, Rider.”

  “Indeed, my friend. So, now that we’ve read the book’s final assertion, let’s review your collected knowledge before we move on to the next phase of your training.”

  “A final exam?”

  “No, Rider. Think of it as an exit interview. You have learned the foundation of what it means to be a god. You will graduate to your next job, which is to apply your knowledge.”

  “We’ll do that work in the light. Yeah?”

  “Indeed. Let’s begin with a fundamental question.”

  “Shoot, Rider!”

  “What is time?”

  “A myth.”

  “Very good, Royal. What is time’s primary use?”

  “Enslavement.”

  “Outstanding. Why do societies advocate for its use?”

  “To maintain order.”

  “Indeed. Is order a bad idea?”

  “No. Neither is time, if each person is allowed to create it for himself. But they can’t in a physical body tied to a mortal life in a society that demands order.”

  “True. This reality begs the question: If time is a myth, and it is used for enslavement and order, and humans cannot leave their mundane physical lives, isn’t time in fact a practical, useful tool to mark the longevity of a fleeting life?”

  “A simple mind says, ‘Sure, why not? It’s comfortable that way.’”

  “Yes, Royal. A simple mind would. But what does the simple mind refuse to acknowledge?”

  “Time is a ceiling. Humans will always grow sideways, never up.”

  “Correct. However, history says humans are unaware of this concept and appear content. The tragedy of time. Do they not owe it to themselves to push through time’s ceiling?”

  “They do, but they won’t.”

  “Why?”

  “It scares the shit out of them.”

  “And fear is what?”

  “A prison worse than time, Rider.”

  “Then by this logic, might we infer that time induces fear?”

  “Time is the scariest fucker ever created.”

  “So naturally, he who controls it …”

  “Has no fear.”

  “And his joy?”

  “No limits, Rider.”

  “In the absence of limits, his happiness is?”

  “Neverending.”

  “His capacity to love, hate, destroy, and create is?”

  “Inexhaustible.”

  “His courage is?”

  “Unshakeable.”

  After a long pause, Rider continued:

  “You believe these things, Royal? You understand their implications for the journey ahead?”

  “Hell yes.”

  “Good. Then I’d say we have spent long enough in oblivion. Let there be light.”

  Dawn.

  After all those centuries, Royal welcomed the soft blue haze that preceded the sun. Unlike the approach from the western horizon on Hokkaido, this dawn encapsulated him on all sides.

  And beneath his feet.

  As it brightened, different shades emerged to distinguish sky and surface with subtle variations. But all was blue.

  He didn’t feel the ground beneath his feet, but it was there. Like glass, a grid pattern extended to every horizon. The sun did not rise, though the blue intensified to create the feel of mid-morning.

  Royal looked down. He was naked but missing more than clothes.

  The tattoos. The green sun. The others added in Bessios. They were gone, along with his hair. His torso resembled a mannequin.

  “In this projection,” Rider said, “you begin as a clean slate.”

  Royal spun around, looking for the source of the voice.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You can take the form of a memory, or you may create a new Royal. You can be anyone in here.”

  “I love myself as I am. I’m not changing shit.”

  “Good. After all these centuries, I feared you might lose your edge. I’m glad to see I was wrong. Search your memory, Royal. Become the man you were and always will be.”

  “I’m the man standing in the tube next to Moon. He’ll make the same damn choice.”

  “Done. Look down.”

  His black leather jacket above a brown muscle shirt allowed his bounty of gold necklaces to shine. He touched his scalp and felt the subtle contours of the red wolf.

  “Where are you, Rider?”

  “Here.”

  Royal swung about and faced the rear of a tall, leather chair. He saw hands on the armrests. Beyond it, a matching chair awaited.

  “Please join me,” Rider said. “I’ve anticipated this introduction for longer than you will understand.”

  “About damn time.”

  The voice suggested an older man, perhaps with a salt-pepper beard, wearing a well-tailored suit. To Royal’s surprise, Rider looked nothing of the sort.

  His eyes were green and catlike, his face clean-shaven and youthful. His sienna hair flowed to his shoulders. Rider wore a full-length, loose-fitting cloth wrap which reflected his eyes. He crossed his legs, exposing bare feet, with toenails painted to match his hair.

  “You remind me of someone,” Royal said upon taking his seat.

  “Anyone I know?”

  “One of your kind. I called him Gingerbread.”

  Rider’s sly grin said he anticipated the question.

  “All Creators are related to a certain extent. The one you called Gingerbread is, in human terms, a distant cousin.”

  “So, is this your original form, before you left your body?”

  “A reasonable likeness. I gave it up twelve thousand lifetimes ago. I remember flashes of who I was before they called me Rider.”

  “Are all the gods gingers?”

  “Most. There was a branch in the family, but we discarded them long before we created the Origin.”

  “That thing you’re wearing looks like a bedsheet.”

  Rider glanced down but showed no offense.

  “It’s an artful design. It acclimates to all environments. The fabric breathes. You should try it someday.”

  “Yeah, no. Not my vibe, thanks. You ain’t what I pictured, Rider, but you’ll do. So, if you remember your body, what about your name?”

  “Oh, my birth name is too complicated. The sounds alone will confuse you. Long ago, I heard a pleasant name during my journeys. I thought if I reacquired physical form, I might enjoy it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Theodore. You can call me Theo.”

  The name landed with a thud.

  “That’s it?” Royal said. “All the names on all the worlds. Theo?”

  “It’s simple. It rolls off the tongue. Less pretentious than Royal.”

  “That was my given name.”

  “I know. I was there on Earth while you gestated in your tube. Your parents were geniuses but also insane. I respected them. They wanted to break the ceiling, but they tried too hard.”

  Royal always assumed Theo hid inside him much later.

  “You observed Emil and Frances Bouchet?”

  “I did. I found your growth fascinating. Like the Bouchets, you killed many innocent people. Like the Bouchets, you showed no remorse. They wished to redefine what it means to be human. You have done just that. Despite these similarities, you are not their biological son. They used specialized groupings of genetic materials to create their immortals and their monstrous hybrids. I could tell you their story like no one else, but to what end? We have so much work to do.”

  Royal ignored the pique of curiosity.

  “You’re right. Let’s get to the good stuff.”

  “I like your attitude.” Theo rose from his chair and allowed the wrap to conform to his figure. “The first thing you will learn is how to defy the fundamental laws of the universe. This will take two centuries, but we will work in the light.”

  “And Moon?”

  “Soon, Royal. Did you know he’s ahead of you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “His training. He began this phase long ago. We’ll need to work double-time to catch up. Ready to begin?”

  7

  N OT FOR ONE SECOND DID MOON believe Rider was a woman. Then she introduced herself seconds before he went into stasis. Her voice soothed him in those first uncertain moments of pitch darkness inside the Cartalingus. She spoke with the tempting sultriness of Addis, who was his sole lover in the runup to victory at the Bessios corral. Yet Rider’s deep well of experience suggested far more than a sexual creature. Her tone was equal part maternal.

  “Were you a mother?” He asked after a lifetime of lessons from The Tragedy of Time.

  “For a day,” she replied through the darkness.

  “You lost the baby?”

  “My son was born robust. Creators did not raise our progeny like humans. Our children received their mother’s intellect while inside the womb. They emerged with the ability to speak and think critically. After a day at my side, my son began formal development elsewhere. Within a human month, he rejoined us as a functioning adult.”

  “Were you close?”

  “I loved him. All of us loved him. You see, he was not mine alone. No Creator claimed privilege over another.”

  “What side did he choose when the Creators had their schism? Did he become an Overseer? A god like you? Or did he decide to live a mortal life?”

  The darkness felt cold and empty before Rider answered.

  “We should move forward, Moon. Chapter Fifty-five will discuss the quantum math of entropy. Your skills will shine there.”

  He never asked about her son again.

  With each passing century, Moon felt a deepening connection with Rider. He sensed she wanted to be more than his parasitic companion when they escaped the stasis chamber and enacted Prelude. Their analysis of the text turned to debates about human behavior, on which she had limitless commentary. For the most part, she focused on observations of the human psyche.

  “I once entered a man on Earth in the Quaternary Universe. He owned a large farm in a small community. A foreign enemy laid siege in nearby land. They were engaged in an ethnic war. They sought to cleanse the countryside of people called Roma.”

  “Was the farmer Roma?”

  “No, but he knew many in the community who were. Like several landowners, he agreed to hide Roma families from the invaders. He did so reluctantly.”

  “He was afraid of being caught. He was a coward.”

  “No, Moon, although he was afraid. You see, Litton was a deeply resentful and narcissistic man. He believed he had been passed over for countless recognitions deserved since childhood. The truth was, of course, more complicated. But the monster buried inside Litton needed to be fed. Now, Litton neared seventy and feared he might soon die forgotten. He saw an opportunity to brandish his reputation. To be noticed. In this case, he wanted the new power in his land to recognize him for good deeds.”

  Moon sighed. “He turned in the Roma.”

  “Yes, and they were executed. Litton knew the consequences of his actions. He sacrificed the moral imperative to love and defend his neighbors in order to soothe his own special hunger. He worked in secret with the invaders to flush out the other hidden Roma. He enjoyed working with these jackbooted men in tight uniforms. He wished he had their courage to fight and kill. He collaborated throughout their occupation, which lasted five years.”

  “And then?”

  “What always happens. An uprising.”

  “The locals killed him?”

  “No. Litton had been very careful to maintain relations with the invaders and his neighbors. He distributed his wares for free to both sides. Because all the Roma within their community had been executed but none of the neighbors punished, no one knew precisely who the collaborator was. Litton played both sides against the middle during the uprising. With the outcome apparent, he used his newfound recognition to surge into a leadership role. In time, many groups coalesced into one and appointed Litton as candidate for Premier.”

  “I assume he won.”

  “He did, although his rhetoric became aggressive and ethnocentric. Though he enjoyed recognition and power, Litton knew his health was failing and his time short. Once again, he feared being forgotten.”

  “He should have been satisfied, but he was another slave to time.”

  “He led his militarized nation into a disastrous war against those who invaded years earlier. When his armed forces collapsed and his own people turned against him, Litton fled under cover of night. As the search dogs neared, Litton blamed everyone but himself. He unleashed the monster but never learned how to control it.”

  “I knew an Observant named Litton back in Bessios. The same?”

  “Yes.”

  Moon remembered the old man, though they rarely spoke.

  “We had a nickname for him. The Watcher of Ninth Boulevard. He sat in the same chair on a porch watching the traffic pass by. He always waved but no one noticed him.”

  “Everyone did. Your memory proves it. He only wanted to be seen. It gave him great joy. That motivation drives most humans, third only to the primal need for food and water.”

  “Being appreciated? Rider, I think you place it too high on the list of human needs.”

  “Why, dear Moon?”

  “Humans have a long list of survival needs that come before whatever their bruised psyche demands.”

  “For primitives, yes. But such peoples are long gone in the known universes. Humans allow their internal frailties to overpower their lives. No one exemplifies this more than you, Moon.”

  Her conclusion caught him by surprise, though he might have known better by now. Rider never told a story from her journeys unless she expected Moon to gain insight into himself.

  “More than me, Rider? A need to be seen?”

  “You were desperately unhappy on Hokkaido. I lived inside you from the age of five. In your teen years, after the family isolated itself from the war, you served as a secondary nurturer for your siblings. Outwardly, you were kind and gentle.”

  “Because I loved them.”

  “You hoped those feelings might destroy the monster you fought all your childhood. You knew the urges just beneath your skin ran counter to the moral code of a dutiful son and brother. You worked so hard to suppress them; but I was alone with you in the dark.”

  Invasion of privacy didn’t begin to cover where Rider headed. Yet Moon saw no point in trying to deny her eyewitness testimony.

  “What point does this serve? It happened centuries ago.”

  “Every stage of our journey informs who we are, Moon. I watched you those many nights. You closed your eyes but did not sleep. You set the monster free. At first, you were a warrior on the battlefield, slaughtering Swarm. Understandable, given the context. Then you turned your fury on other Hokkis and invented many creative ways to slaughter them. You did not understand the nature of the monster, only that it wanted to be noticed. Yes?”

  “I was frustrated, but I never allowed it to leave my room.”

  “A task which grew more perilous each day. Your father became distant, caught up in his projects. You felt ignored. He did not see you as a man. He did not value your intellect.”

  “I’m sure many sons experience the same feelings in their youth.”

  “Yes, but you were trapped on that island. Even after your father allowed you into his lab, you felt undervalued. He dismissed your views about the Splinters.”

  “He was shortsighted. If I spoke too harshly, he might’ve pushed me away.”

  “So you walked a fragile line, clinging to your need for recognition. And then, as if a miracle, Royal appeared. You knew the first day what he was. Rather than being repulsed, you ingratiated yourself to him. He manipulated you for his own gain, and you allowed it to happen. You saw him as a tool but also a potential mentor. For the first time, the true Moon might be recognized.”

  “I see your point, Rider. Why continue?”

  “You never allowed your family to see the monster. After you died and were reborn in the Origin, you no longer felt restricted by the moral code. The monster awoke. Now all it needed was a teacher. Someone who would not only accept it but encourage it.”