A Caelo Usque Ad Centrum [Latin] - From The Sky To The Center
The Greeks spoke of Epimenides of Knossos, who slept in a cave and awoke 57 years later to an altered world. Rip Van Winkle dozed on a mountain, waking 20 years later to a post-Revolutionary America. The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, fleeing Roman persecution of Christians, slumbered for 300 years, awakening to a Christian Roman Empire.
Sleep escapes me in space. I miss Earth. - Chris Lehrer
One month into the first mission aboard the space station Laurasia, my crew and I remain in high spirits, mostly. Many of us are grappling with the overview effect—a profound shift from seeing Earth from space for the first time. It’s overwhelming, awe-inspiring, or both, shaped by one’s emotional, spiritual, or sociopolitical roots. The impact is real, undeniable.
The effect varies widely. Some feel a surge of unity and purpose; others retreat into isolation, weighed by grief or defeat. Those with deep faith—Christians, Zen Buddhists—seem less swayed, as if their beliefs temper the experience.
We’re elated to have recovered the Aether Probe, a pre-revolution satellite lost for decades. After refueling, repairing, and upgrading it, we’ve restored a relic of humanity’s early reach for the stars.
Akio Tsukino, Thursday, February 5, 2076
Adaequatio Intellectus Nostri Cum Re [Latin] - Conformity Of Intellect To The Fact
"To me, being religious means adhering to a strict set of ideas and principles or following a systematic and repetitive methodology. In this sense, everyone is religious. Religious thinking and practice don't require a deity or veneration; they merely guide us and can be measured by our actions. Though I respect individual religious beliefs, I loathe organized religion for its evident potential for abuse throughout history. This includes not only oppression, violence, intolerance, injustice, and the suppression of knowledge but also the distortion of its own teachings. The only religion to have remained true to itself is Shinto, because its origins were communal and syncretistic. I have never belonged, and will never belong to any organized religion or political party." - Raymond Sheen
Chris awoke to the simulated dawn in his sleeping quarters, synchronized with his hometown back on Earth. Digital recordings of birdsong heralded the artificial light of the rising sun. Leaving Earth had been the right decision; stepping away from the responsibilities of his megachurch and its global congregation felt like a tremendous weight lifted from his shoulders. He could no longer endure being part of that dog-and-pony show.
Dietrich, his grandfather, knocked and peeked into Chris's room as he was finishing his morning workout. It irked Chris more than a little that his grandfather had some way to enter his quarters even when the door was locked, without any visible key or card.
"How do you do that?" Chris asked. "How do you open the door without a key?"
The old man shrugged as if it were an insignificant mystery, which only annoyed Chris further. He was always somewhat more aggressive after his morning workout. Before he could protest, Dietrich rushed in, speaking quickly.
"I have to join the ship's captain for some crucial updates; Kacela Adesina from the ministry has shuttled aboard for an important interview; I need you to entertain her for a while until I return."
He studied Chris's expression and body language. Dietrich hadn't spent much time with his grandson growing up and was never particularly adept at reading people, but the contempt was evident. Chris's father, David, had abandoned the family business and his inheritance to devote himself to 'the Lord' or some such foolishness...
"What ministry!?" Chris snapped.
Ah, there it is, Dietrich thought. He had unexpectedly re-entered his grandson's life upon hearing of the famed child minister. For reasons he still didn't fully understand, he'd decided on a whim to anonymously give Chris $200 million to buy the megachurch, which Chris had only recently and mysteriously abandoned. His thoughts trailed off until Chris snapped him back to reality.
"Dietrich! What ministry!?"
"Sorry. Uh, the Ministry of Science and Technology. MoST."
If anything, Chris's expression grew more contemptuous, but before he could retort, Dietrich quickly turned and left the room.
Chief Deputy Adesina was led by an android to Dietrich Lehrer's grandson Chris's living quarters. She was far from pleased about this. Why not let her settle in after the torturous shuttle from Earth to this ridiculous space station? Why thrust her into a room with some fanatical child guru? The android, a heavyset masculine model with a noticeably milquetoast demeanor, bowed curtly at Chris's door and disappeared down the hall.
"Hmph." She muttered, composing herself before knocking firmly on the door.
They introduced themselves politely, and Chris invited her into the reception room where she settled into a comfortable overstuffed chair. He said, "That shuttle from Earth is unpleasant, isn't it?"
"It's torture," she replied, her exhaustion evident in both voice and posture.
During the discussion, Chris studied her carefully. Her skin tone and facial structure—broad face with roundish features, an undulating mandible, and slightly curved gonia—indicated she was of African (Ghanaian) descent, yet she had an American accent. She radiated strength, intelligence, and integrity, which might be misconstrued as arrogance or officiousness. He instantly liked her but decided to proceed cautiously.
An awkward silence ensued, filled by the ambient noise of the station's engines, until Chris broke it with a question. "What exactly is the Ministry of Science and Technology?"
There was a barely perceptible hesitation before she answered. "We are a non-political, non-profit group of scientists whose mission is to distribute resources on a global scale to every man, woman, and child on planet Earth."
Chris stared intently into her eyes, searching for any hint of humor or madness. With a condescending smile, he said, "Well, there certainly isn't any potential for abuse there! Who do you suppose will fund this modest undertaking?"
She met his gaze confidently, a gleam in her eyes, and said, "No one."
Silence returned, no longer awkward but intense, as they held each other's gaze. He felt he was missing something; the disjointed facts played through his mind. She waited.
She wasn't here to milk his grandfather for money; her manner of speaking confirmed that. She showed no signs of political or financial interest, nor any connection to the apparent revolution on Earth. The "news" there was all about him, the fallen young idol of Pathway Ministries, and his supposed overdose. She would know at least the mainstream narrative...
"Why am I here?" he asked abruptly.
"What, do you think, in at least the last 100 years, has been the primary opposition to the advancement of science and technology?" He bristled at the question. Her body language suggested she had been waiting for him to ask this. She was playing him, and he didn't know why. He decided to go with it and relaxed.
He simply stated, "Religion."
"Wrong," she answered. "It's money. Conflict of interest. Most often politically incorporated; certainly not through religion."
His eyes darted around as if searching for answers. In anger, he blurted out, "I'm not interested in being a part of whatever you're doing!"
"Why do you think you are here?"
Still angry, he said, "I came here to get away from..." He stopped himself, sensing she might disengage from the conversation if he continued. She was surprised by his stance; he was bright and had all the pieces of the puzzle, just not yet assembled. And how could he?
"You not only figured out that Dietrich had given your church $200 million anonymously, but you paid him back in a remarkably short time."
His confusion was palpable, but she continued.
"You had millions of people all over the world listening to your message..."
"And they would all abandon me one by one in days if I told them anything remotely resembling the truth!"
"Exactly! So, you see our problem is the same as yours."
"I'm not part of it! I'm not this 'yegg'—whatever that is—you yourself said I can't be trusted."
Now it was her turn to be confused. She blinked once, looking down, trying to understand what he meant.
"You heard me talking to Dietrich over his Lyceum?"
"Yes. You said I was the wrong choice."
She shook her head. "No, no, no. That was someone else. Something else, actually. An android. A yegg is a safecracker. A thief. It has nothing to do with you."
Shaking his head, he threw his hands up unenthusiastically, stood, and began pacing. He couldn't understand why he was even having this conversation but felt compelled for reasons beyond his comprehension.
She decided to come out with it. "We want you to be a chronicler for our mission, our Pathway Machine." Seeing he was about to protest, she quickly continued, "It's nothing to do with your church. At least not as you know it. It's about spirituality, not religion."
"I know nothing about what you're doing." He felt defeated.
She resisted the urge to reassure him physically, instead saying, "That's why you're perfect for this task. We want you to report what you see. Not what we want you to see."
And there it was. What compelled him in this discussion was his insatiable need for truth over illusion, for integrity—the same reasons he left the church, to escape the nagging feeling of living a lie and to hold himself ccountable for his part in that larger deception.
Chris looked out into the cold dark void of space and felt terribly lonely. Almost whispering, he said, "You planned this all along?"
"No," she quietly answered. "I thought you were an idiot."
"Apparently, I am an idiot. Or at least willfully ignorant. A blind fool."
She gave a reassuring smile, thinking to herself, 'We all are, each and every one of us.'
