༺ Thesium ༻

Rebellion

The ‘High Neem’ sat on the throne, legs crossed and gazed imperiously out upon the congregation, filling the Cathedral. Here at the centre of Thesium, now the name of both the planet and the vast city surrounding the Ship of Light, his power was uncontested.

Only men were allowed inside where they could see the original Ship of Light, the women excluded. Also excluded were those whose skin was not purest white. Every last person crowded into the pews was fabulously wealthy and if they had any sexual peccadilloes, they were strictly guarded secrets. The policing of sexuality was severe, hetero-normative standards enforced.

“Listen well, good people of Thesium, the High Neem will speak!”

The bishop descended the steps below the throne and the High Neem arose.

“Brethren, please be seated.” There was an echoing shuffle of robes and finery as the people settled down. What followed was a repetition of their dogmas which lulled them and paralysed their thoughts, hypnotised by the flowing rhetoric, entranced by play of sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows.

Even as he spoke a group of White Coats were gathered in the Laboratory. Their leader had been newly voted in and now wanted to speak.

“Now that I have been installed as the Top Prof, let me ask you, has the Helper not taught us to follow where the evidence lead us? Has she not allowed us to think for ourselves? Of course she has, it has been often repeated to us. Now look here.” He brought up a schematic on a large screen at the front of the lecture hall. “This is the Ship of Light. This is a listing of its component parts. And THIS is a log of how many times these parts have been replaced. Yes, replaced by many of you now right here in this very hall!” (much murmuring of assent) “Over in the Cathedral at this very moment, our High Neem is preaching on the soul that this ship is said to house but can anyone show me any component that has not been swapped out? Is there any possibility that we have missed something?”

“Obviously not Professor, we can all see these numbers for ourselves. What is your point?” The student sat back down.

“What if there is no ’essence’ or ‘soul’ here to find? What then? Would that mean that there is no higher authority than our own intellects? Do we not owe it to the empirical tradition to challenge any notion that claims authority over what we can plainly see for ourselves?”

The student stood back up, hunching forwards and half-whispered “This right here is heresy. We are in grave danger. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we agree with you and have all held private suspicions that the doctrine of the soul cannot be true. Is that not so my colleagues?” Again, there were many conspiratorial murmurings of assent.

“Alright then! I have a proposal! But first, let us choose a name, let us be known as ‘The Evempiricals’, for we are both evangelical and empirical!”

Emboldened, the cabal of white coated men and women banged their tables in glee.

There followed a full week of secret meetings and whispers in corridors until the dawn of the annual ceremonial day, the day when all of Thesium would celebrate the Ship of Light and their mystical union with it and Neem’s heaven beyond. Every year they had repeated these customs that went back to the time of the Shamans. Mid-summer’s day arrived and the Cathedral, with its Ship of Light, was the focus.

A vast crowd parted before the High Neem as he processed up the steps to the closed doors of the Cathedral. He raised his jewelled staff and wrapped on the doors three times. “Sudowadaslav Sudowadaslav Sudowadaslav!” he intoned, and the huge doors were swung open.

The jewelled staff clattered to the floor! His mouth hung agape as he looked into the space where the Ship of Light usually stood. What had happened? He cast about confused as people started to rush forwards into the Cathedral, sensing that something had gone wrong and that the normal procession around the Ship was not going on as normal.

The crowd gaped too, for what they saw was that all the pews had been removed and laid out on the expanse of Cathedral flagstones was every piece of the Ship of Light! Each component lay in neat, separated rows, each with a little label filled with technical details. Each label declaring how many times it had been replaced. A three metre square of white heat-shield lay next to a series of tungsten girders. A long coil of nano-febrite stacked besides a crate of ten thousand little screws. On and on, into the far recesses, thousands upon thousands of bits of technical gadgetry and industrial hardware lay mute and museum still.

After a beat or two of surreal suspense, the High Neem’s vision darkened, his balance, and legs, gave way. Uproar exploded around him as he passed out in a heap of silk and brocade.