Michael Sullivan - Hollow World

“Even after all the tinkering, the ISP got rid of sex, but we still have a natural longing to feel a connection with others. We’ve outgrown the concepts of magic and demons, but there remains a longing for something. The problem is, we can’t define it because the word God has become meaningless. It has the wrong definition. It means some all-powerful man who knows all and judges everyone, and I don’t think that God ever really was that, any more than lightning and thunder was Thor. We can still sense it, still feel it acting in our lives, and we yearn for it, knowing that somehow it has the answers we’ve always sought.”

“So what is God then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Really? All that and you are going to leave me hanging? C’mon. You don’t strike me as the type to have lived this long and not have a theory, at least.”

Sol smiled. “I do have a theory.”

“Can you tell me?”

Sol shifted in her seat, straightening up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt. “It’s not a currently popular idea.”

“Why do I get the impression that isn’t a problem for you?”

Sol grinned. “Did I mention I like you, Mr. Rogers?” She drained the last of her tea. “It isn’t a problem. That’s the benefit of being this old. You get very lonely, and are bored a lot, but you also really don’t give a sonic bleez what anyone else thinks about you.”

“So, tell me. What is God?”

“The future.”

Ellis gave a puzzled face.

“Humans have longed for many things, and when we put our heads together we have usually found them. Weak as mice we tamed a planet and traveled to others. We satisfied our needs for food and shelter easily enough. Then we fulfilled our dream for peace and defeated death. But one aspiration remains. We’ve never satisfied one of our most primal desires: our lust for God, our need for a spiritual side. We’ve never really gotten close. But what if that’s because it hasn’t been possible—until now? What if we were caterpillars having precognitive dreams of flying? What if we were seeing our own future—and that desperate longing manifested itself in this ethereal hunger, this unfathomable lust for more out of life? My mother always said that we each had a little bit of God inside. It’s the part that guides us and tells us to treat others well. I think that’s true. I think we are all protective containers keeping precious treasures inside, but we are also holding them prisoner, isolating them from each other.” Sol leaned forward over her teacup. “What if God is simply humanity joined?”

“You’re talking about the Hive Project.”

Sol didn’t reply; she only smiled and ran a finger around the lip of her empty cup.

“My mother believed that heaven wasn’t really a place. It was merely the act of being one with God, and if you were, then you would know everything and never be frightened or angry or frustrated. You would experience eternal love. Everyone has an innate desire to be part of something greater than themselves, Mr. Rogers, and that’s what I think God is.”

“Good news,” Pol said after stealing him from Sol’s home.

Pol had popped into the middle of Sol’s living room. From the way Sol nearly dropped her cup, and the vicious look on her face, Ellis guessed forming unannounced portals in other people’s homes was considered impolite at best. Without so much as a hello to either of them, Pol waved him over, saying it was time to go.

Normally Ellis was happy for the go sign from Pol. Despite the low-gravity floors in the art shows and museums, he was always exhausted by the end of a visit. Part of it was physical—the standing for hours felt more taxing than swinging a pickax—but what really took a toll was the need to be “up.” The feeling that he had to entertain the mobs that followed him was grueling. When Pol entered this time, though, it was different. Ellis was genuinely enjoying his visit with Sol. The tea was good, he liked the homeyness of the room, and he liked Sol. Each time she answered a question, five flooded in to replace it. More than that, she was comfortable—like Pax.

“Dex and I were just at the ISP.” Pol spoke quickly once they were both back in Ellis’s room in Wegener. “Dex has the pattern and the processing equipment. Everything we need. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Pol was all grins, and Ellis wanted to join in, to be a part of the celebration, but his heart wasn’t there. Part of him was still back with Sol, still thinking about God. His deflated backpack was on the floor, empty. He’d never refilled it. Pol blathered on about the details of how he finagled the deal. While Pol talked, Ellis noticed one of the cans of Dinty Moore stew. The battered container sat upside down on the illuminated table next to the bed. He must have put it there the night before. He’d brought four, but had only put two in his pack when he’d left the time machine. Didn’t think he’d need more. Looking back, Ellis had only expected to be gone a few hours, but that can had been in his pack for more than five weeks. It looked just like its sister can and probably tasted the same.

“I want to go see Pax,” Ellis said.

Pol looked annoyed at having such a wonderful victory monologue interrupted. “We don’t know where Pax is.”

“I want to go to Pax’s home. If Pax isn’t there, I’ll speak with Alva or Vin.”

“Fine, but we still have one more appointment to make.”

“Why?” Ellis found himself annoyed. “I’ve spent the last week blindly going wherever you wanted because Warren needed the pattern, but you have that now. I think I’ve earned a vacation.”

“And you can start it tomorrow,” Pol said. “But right now we have an invitation to tour Subduction Zone 540 as the honored guests of the Geomancy Institute.”

“But we have the pattern, right? So why—”

“I worked very hard to get this invitation. GI is notorious for its secrecy. No one who isn’t an initiate is ever granted access to the low zones. They keep the coords a secret. It’s easier to explore space than penetrate the low zones where the geomancers do their magic. It would be a terrible insult to turn them down and horribly embarrassing to me as Chief Councilor.”

Ellis looked longingly at the can of stew.

“Listen, we won’t stay long. I’m sure the geomancers don’t want us around anyway. We’ll pop in, look around, and then say our goodbyes. After that, I’ll help you look for Pax—okay?”

“Right afterward?”

“Absolutely.”

Ellis frowned but nodded.

“Wonderful.” Pol drew out the Port-a-Call. “This should be most interesting. I’ve never been to the low zones—like I mentioned, no one outside the Faith of Astheno really has—and Sub Zone 540 I’m told is the center of everything. I’m also told it’s warm. Ready?”

The Geomancy Institute looked nothing like the rest of Hollow World. In one week Ellis had seen Olympus Mons, stood on the surface of Mars, looked up from the greatest depths of the ocean, visited the oldest remaining ruins of humanity, and traveled to a planet in another galaxy. All of it paled when compared with Subduction Zone 540. The best way Ellis could describe it was like walking into a Wagnerian epic vision of Nidavelir—the steel mill of the gods—beautiful in its hellish horror of spraying molten stone whose spiderweb entrails formed erratic patterns. These infant rock entanglements became the girders and smokestack-silhouettes of an organic industry built on the bank of a volcanic River Styx. Lava falls spilled into glowing seas from which gas blew bubbles and choked Ellis’s new lungs, making him nauseous. The hair on his arms recoiled from the bristling heat as if he’d just stepped into a preheated oven. His ears were attacked by chest-thumping booms of what could only be a giant hammer beating on the anvil of the world.