Sure, travelling three months to Endomis Station just to savor Mort\u2019s pumperpretzels is a tiny bit of crazy, but it\u2019s the kind of thing I\u2019d do even if humanity didn\u2019t have its upcoming arm-wrestle with God. Until recently, the only thing that marked this spinning kazoo on the planetary charts was Mort\u2019s use of a unique bioengineered yeast strain, one that produces the best pumpernickel this side of the Venusian Ovens. Of course, there\u2019s also the fact that it sits smack dab in no-man\u2019s space, between the Terran Hegemony, the Martian Co-Prosperity Sphere, and the controlled chaos that is the Asteroid Anarchy. I suspect it\u2019s this, rather than Mort\u2019s loafy lusciousness, that made it the ideal place to fool the Godstar.<\/p>\n
\u201cBetter store up some hot air, Gordon,\u201d Mati said, tapping her foot and pointing to Endomis\u2019 rotating oblong tube on the big screen. Set against the starry black, the gently turning metal tube glinted sharply in the distant sun, its upper bioyeast labs fully lit. Media shuttles extended from Endomis\u2019 airlocks like thorns, giving it the appearance of some bizarre space-succulent.<\/p>\n
I shook my head. \u201cDisagree. Compared to you, I bet I\u2019ll get as much attention as broccoli in a cat kennel. It\u2019s not every day that humanity\u2019s most famous superstar mathematician flits out of her garden.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, but you\u2019re the first member of the Omnite clergy to arrive, and it\u2019s your God they\u2019re going to disprove.\u201d Her left hand, which had been slapping her hip absently, suddenly froze. \u201cOr prove.\u201d<\/p>\n
I scowled. Mati was as opinionated as you\u2019d expect for a lady smart enough to decode gazilobytes of information from what everyone else thought was white light. She often reminded me of an intense gray-haired hummingbird, darting from idea to idea–a tiny slip of a woman whose brain-to-body mass must\u2019ve exceeded anything in the known universe. <\/p>\n
\u201cGod?\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m just here for the dark loaf.\u201d<\/p>\n
She pursed her lips. \u201cWhat kind of priest are you, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA hungry one.\u201d <\/p>\n
Mati\u2019s been my friend for twenty-five years, ever since I first interviewed her over the differential equations that had spawned a religion. Which meant I could give her hell whenever I wanted.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan\u2019t believe we\u2019re here, Dr. Antoretti,\u201d said Cullen O\u2019Shaunessy, hobbling up to Mati on his walker. \u201cFeels like it\u2019s been a year.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt feels exactly like three months,\u201d Mati said sharply. Her hand began smacking her hip again, like she was preparing for some African juba dance. \u201cBut I can certainly see how it could appear longer, as the brain tends to overcompensate for boredom and lack of activity. Yes, maybe it felt like a year.\u201d<\/p>\n
Cullen and I exchanged knowing looks. Mati was to idle chit-chat what quantum physics was to nematodes, but this habit of following up her acerbic observations with a minute of back-stepping was fairly new. Cullen had put up with it good naturedly the entire trip; he was a decent kid. Too bad his continued existence owed more to the vagaries of some grand physics experiment than normal human benevolence. <\/p>\n
There was a slight jolt as the ship hit the docking tube, and the first circular airlock opened. Smells of WD-40 and bleach assaulted me, the latter ensuring no viruses wormed their way from ship to station. <\/p>\n
I patted down my robe, suddenly forgetting about everything else. Omnos knows, I\u2019m no specimen of abdominal flexing. I\u2019m a foodie, and yes, it shows. I ran fingers through my thinning blond hair and plastered a beatific smile on my face.<\/p>\n
A whoosh of equalizing air pressure as the second airlock opened, and I felt the tug of dueling gravity generators. Trying not to buckle in the suddenly heavy pull, I walked toward the mass of hand-waving reporters on the other side of the airlock. <\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Everly, what do you think this event will mean for the Omnite view of the universe?\u201d shouted a crimson-haired man as I stepped aboard the station. A forest of hands shoved into my face, as if I was supposed to execute some massive high-five.<\/p>\n
Mati was right, as usual. To my chagrin, that cluster of red wigs (why do all reporters have to have red hair these days?) had bypassed her and had made a beeline straight for me. Their hands fought for air time in my face, and I found myself wishing a pox on the guy who\u2019d invented hand-mikes. Then I remembered I was on mindbeam, and re-inserted my best happy-person smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, that\u2019s what we\u2019ll find out, isn\u2019t it?\u201d I said brightly. \u201cI expect when the first information is received from the Magellan, it\u2019ll show that Omnos has predicted the future.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if it doesn\u2019t?\u201d shouted a petite woman, her red wig and black magneto-boots invoking visions of some naughty elfin prison guard. \u201cWhat does that mean for Omnite doctrine?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt means that God works in mysterious ways,\u201d I said carefully. \u201cEven without foreknowledge, what human process could weave the DNA of every single living person into light from a faraway star and in the process include a massive amount of incomprehensible information that is slowly being revealed over time?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI see you\u2019re still spouting the same tired doctrine, Gordon,\u201d said a familiar female voice. \u201cEven if the data shows Omnos did predict the future, it doesn\u2019t prove divinity, only that we missed something in physics 101.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned to my lovely nemesis Jonasa Wagner, leader of the Venus chapter of CLEAR–Citizen\u2019s League of Enlightenment and Reason. Just as in all our holo debate shows, she wore a no-nonsense pantsuit and dark top, making sure we all understood her Seriousness. A tall, powerful woman, she had jet-black hair and intense blue eyes that could cow any man not raised by Amazons. <\/p>\n
\u201cWell, Jonasa, at what point does human hubris allow us to stop pretending that everything is quantifiable, and start recognizing that there are some things we may never explain?\u201d<\/p>\n
She watched me from beneath a cascade of luscious black hair. Her high cheekbones radiated purple, the mood-cream translating her confidence into a violet glow. \u201cYet your God offers no moral dictates, and the only hope that\u2019ll happen is if the army of decoders managed by the Omnite church finally deciphers all the side-band information. Doesn\u2019t that make your religion more of a science?\u201d<\/p>\n
Every reporter huddled inward, shoving their hands between our faces. Oh how they loved our little debates.<\/p>\n
I clasped my hands together. \u201cWe believe Omnos will guide our evolution as a species, and said guidance will include rules of morality and growth. We don\u2019t know that\u2019s what\u2019s in Omnos\u2019 ancillary information, but we have faith. And isn\u2019t every religion based on faith?\u201d <\/p>\n
Her eyes gleamed. \u201cYes, but–\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me, but I suspect Mr. Everly is tired from the three month journey and might like to see his room,\u201d said a short man to my right. He was wearing a brown-white uniform that resembled the vanilla-chocolate swirl I\u2019d had yesterday, and I pegged him for the Endomis station representative.<\/p>\n
I nodded brightly at him. \u201cYes, that would be lovely.\u201d<\/p>\n
I followed him amid a cacophony of shouted questions from the reporters, which I happily stifled by waving my hand in their faces as we walked away. Just before we rounded the bend in the steel hallway, I turned to look at Jonasa, who was watching me with a slight scowl. <\/p>\n
Troublemaker.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m Gunnet Bradley, Endomis Mayor,\u201d said the short man, extending his hand. We shook, and his voice went into tour-guide mode as we escaped the red-haired gaggle. \u201cEndomis has over six hundred residents, a few of whom work in the bioyeast labs. Still, most are independent souls, some with–ah–a few minor legal issues. As you may know, Endomis station isn\u2019t subject to the laws of any of the three major powers…\u201d<\/p>\n
I listened with half an ear. Much as I hated to admit it, the debates with Jonasa always ruffled my feathers. And this time, her sniping had burrowed even further under my skin than usual.<\/p>\n
Mati\u2019s first presentation to the journal of Astrophysics back in 2210, the horribly mundanely titled \u201cPhotonic Anomalies in HD29641\u201d, had electrified humanity from day one. Using mathematical disciplines odder than an Antarctic amusement park, she\u2019d shown that light from a particular star in the constellation Orion was transmitting actual information, rather than the spectra of its component elements like every other self-respecting sun. But it got even weirder–a small portion of this celestial telegraph consisted of DNA sequences from every living human being in the solar system. Individual sequences disappeared a few months after someone died, and appeared a few months after they were born, like some cosmic check register. Since it took six hundred years for Omnos\u2019 light to reach us, this implied the impossible: long before two randy college students left the party on a hormonally-hyped ride in the aircar, Omnos could predict not only the event of their coupling, but the new baby\u2019s DNA as well.<\/p>\n
God. <\/p>\n
Or so believed by some, and enough to start the religion I have the honor of representing. Do I really believe Omnos is God? Officially, yes. In reality, I heartily subscribe to the notion that sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. So to me the question is immaterial; let\u2019s just say I believe that whatever\u2019s in the other 99 percent of that sinewave salad is likely to turn civilization on its head.<\/p>\n
Others aren\u2019t so sure. Some think there\u2019s no prescience involved, we just missed an easier explanation. Others believe that even if foreknowledge exists, those predictions could be altered. After all, if you had access to an earlier copy of Omnos\u2019 light, proving the Godstar was fallible is as easy as keeping someone alive beyond his DNA expiration date on Earth. And God isn\u2019t supposed to be fallible.<\/p>\n
To end this debate, twenty years ago the three big powers launched a viper-class starship at 0.15c in the direction of Omnos with mankind\u2019s latest invention–a D-tube teleporter. Five days hence, the Magellan would instantaneously transmit data to Endomis Station from three light-years closer to Omnos, light that would contain DNA sequences of people not only as yet unborn, but for whom the wine that led to their conception had not fully aged. From that light I\u2019d learn whether my son Aaron would live long enough to let me back into his life. And Cullen O\u2019Shaunessy would find out if he was supposed to be breathing. <\/p>\n
\u201cAnd over here is–\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do I feel heavier here than ten steps in the other direction?\u201d I interrupted. Gunnet stopped and looked up at me sheepishly. \u201cWe have an old gravity generator; its wave mixer has slowed down.\u201d He seemed genuinely distraught, and I realized I\u2019d just burst his bubble a little.<\/p>\n
\u201cA tiny hair on the cherry sundae that is Endomis,\u201d I proclaimed. He smiled again, and we continued with our tour. <\/p>\n
My room was quite nice, and I could tell I\u2019d been given the VIP suite. It had an eighteen-flavor nitro-paste dispenser, for those too asocial to tolerate even a distant dining room view of their fellow humans. It had a bubble bed set in a clear circular dome reached by ladder, to provide the feeling of floating amongst the stars. And there was a modern holo station, with multiple angled cameras so anyone I talked to could see my posterior.
\n
\nGunnet left with a wave, and I saw that the holo station message button was blinking. I pushed it and watched Archprelate Horatio Adams fill my room.<\/p>\n
\u201cGordon, I trust the journey to Endomis has treated you well,\u201d said the hologram. \u201cI\u2019m sending this message from mid-journey, as we\u2019ve had mechanical problems on-ship. Unfortunately, therefore, I won\u2019t be able to attend the ceremony.\u201d<\/p>\n
Unfortunately therefore? Who says that? I heard the hiss of my deflating ego. Here I thought my role as the only Omnite representative at the most important ceremony since–ever–was based on my rising status within the church. Turns out I was wrong; my boss had been planning to steal the show the whole time. Which meant I was here to do the only thing they knew I excelled at: solving a problem.<\/p>\n
\u201cGordon, I\u2019ll be honest, we need you to solve a problem,\u201d Horatio said. \u201cWe believe someone, probably the Zacharites, have infiltrated the station with a self-assembling beaker-bomb and are planning to stop the transfer of information from the Magellan by \u2018any means possible.\u2019\u201d He made air quotes around the last three words, and I stood up straight. The Zacharites were an extreme branch of Omnism, one disavowed by the official church. They believed our little experiment was a poke in God\u2019s eye, and that this blasphemy would bring retribution down upon the human race. Given some of the hateful spewings of their leader, Zachary Collins, I could believe that little inconveniences like ethics wouldn\u2019t stop them.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis project is extremely important to the church,\u201d continued the Archprelate. \u201cOnce it\u2019s been proven God has a plan for everyone, humanity will inevitably flock to Omnism–therefore, it\u2019s vitally important that nothing be allowed to sabotage the Magellan\u2019s information. Gordon, bringing this to closure will have a very positive impact on your standing within the church. We are counting on you.\u201d <\/p>\n
With that he signed off, and I stood for a long minute, biting my lip. Because of the light delay, there was no way this could be anything but a recorded message. No way for me to call the Archprelate and scream in his ear. Probably a good thing, as that would have a decidedly negative impact on my standing within the church.<\/p>\n
In the dining room the next morning, I piled my tray high with Mort\u2019s pumperpretzels while pretending not to snoop in on Cullen\u2019s outrageous flirtation with the omelet lady. I had to smile watching him, this kid whose terminal disease had been a death sentence until two years ago. That\u2019s when Mati\u2019s lottery chose to rebuild the nervous system of five out of eight million terminal patients, all selected through fundamentally random processes like thermal noise and radioactive decay. And all of whom would otherwise be far too poor to ever consider neuro-reconstruction. <\/p>\n
Yes, Cullen\u2019s rescue had ulterior motives. Soon the science world would know if Omnos deserved its name, for the random variables that selected Cullen were completely unpredictable–not only practically, but even in theory. If the Magellan detected the DNA sequences of the lucky five in Omnos\u2019 future light while the other eight million terminals had disappeared, it meant that Omnos had foreordained something that simply could not be predicted. The Godstar would be provable as a phenomenon truly outside science–a grand goal, even if it was hard to watch a good kid like Cullen being used that way. <\/p>\n
I abandoned my shameless eavesdropping and walked toward Mati with my Everest of pumpernickel, dismayed at the surrounding crowd. I pushed through the throngs and forced my way to the bench on her right. Chewing slowly, I watched residents and reporters swarm around Mati, always starting with the same platitudes: \u201cDr. Antoretti, I\u2019ve always wanted to meet you,\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve been following your work for years,\u201d and so on. Only after the throat-clearing was done did they finally ask their questions: \u201cWhat do you think is encoded in the rest of the information?\u201d, \u201cDo the DNA sequences stop when someone is in a coma?\u201d and other queries of the ilk.<\/p>\n
Amused, I watched Mati rip their questions into component parts, then offer some back-stepping apologetic nonsense when their faces fell. Her right hand slapped the table constantly, sending their eyes darting between her sharp face and her pounding hand. This combination of passive-aggressive exasperation and freakishly loud drumming sent them away one by one, until finally, only we two remained. <\/p>\n
I sat back. \u201cYou should write a song to that. We could call it ‘Ode to Impatience’.\u201d<\/p>\n
She blinked, and her hand stopped. \u201cDon\u2019t be absurd.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cI have a problem,\u201d I whispered, searching the surrounding tables for anyone within earshot. \u201cApparently, someone wants to sabotage our mission. I got this message last night…\u201d I described the Archprelate\u2019s holomail while Mati chewed her labmeatte slowly, giving no sign she was listening. \u201cThe beaker-bomb has to be targeted at the D-tube-receiver,\u201d I said finally, \u201cbecause once the information makes it to the receiver, it\u2019ll beam to every station, planet, and asteroid in human-occupied space. But I checked the ships\u2019 manifests, and the only cargo delivery I see is some bread-making equipment that came in yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mati put her fork down. The fingers of her right hand began drumming the table. \u201cYou know, beaker-bombs look a lot like bioyeast manufacturing equipment.\u201d <\/p>\n
I stared. She was right. Beaker bombs were so named for their two beakers–one filled with nanoteria, the other with instructo-gel, a translucent jello glopped around the nanoteria to provide those tiny CPUs their instruction code. Mixing the two spawned an army of tiny demon creatures, programmable to destroy anything, from anywhere. And no doubt Mort manufactured his bioyeast in similar containers.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s it!\u201d I grabbed her arm, knocking pumperpretzels off my tray. \u201cThey must have hidden the bomb in the bioyeast labs. Mati, you\u2019re a genius!\u201d<\/p>\n
She shrugged, and I realized that was like calling Picasso an artist. I extracted my lightpad to jot this down, but stopped at the sight of Jonasa Wagner charging toward my table like an angry rhinoceros, long black hair feathering outward.<\/p>\n
I pointed to Mati as Jonasa stopped at our table. \u201cShe\u2019s almost done eating, you can ask your questions.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve come to talk to you.\u201d With that, Jonasa slammed her tray down and took her seat.<\/p>\n
\u201cDandy.\u201d <\/p>\n
She stabbed her eggs like they were about to fly away, and I popped a piece of pumpernickel in my mouth.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, nice trip?\u201d I asked, voice muffled behind my cud. \u201cSix months for you, wasn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n
Jonasa squinted, then dabbed her mouth. \u201cTell me, do you really believe what you said yesterday, or were you just spouting the party line? I could never decide whether you\u2019re a true believer or just a career churchman. And I don\u2019t know which is worse.\u201d<\/p>\n
I folded my hands on the table. \u201cApparently Venusian conversations are to the point. Understandable, as your lives could be snuffed out any time a sulfuric-acid cloud leaks into one of those floating cities.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled briefly. \u201cI\u2019m going with career churchman.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shrugged. \u201cAny way you slice it, Omnos is an unexplained phenomenon. Not just unexplained, but unexplainable. In the end, what is God, if not that? Maybe we\u2019re saying the same thing but in different ways–like when you use the term \u2018career churchman\u2019 to mean \u2018devoted to faith\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUh huh. Doesn\u2019t \u2018devoted to faith\u2019 just mean someone who\u2019s sure what they believe? If so, do I get smiley-faces for being absolutely sure Omnos isn\u2019t God?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDepends. Does your faith in the lack of faith lead you to good works?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, but it also doesn\u2019t lead me to holy wars or proselytizing.\u201d<\/p>\n
We continued this tit-for-tat for most of an hour, while Mati sat back and listened without a word. Eventually, a reporter noticed our conversation, and soon we were surrounded by a forest of hands and red wigs. Jonasa scowled at them, and a few minutes later, she\u2019d made her departure with what could be the first polite goodbye I\u2019d ever heard from her mouth. I watched that tall shapely frame stride across the dining room, and reflected how attractive she\u2019d be without the whole crazy intensity thing. But that was akin to admiring the tiger\u2019s pretty fur before it ripped your throat out.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe likes you,\u201d Mati said, as the reporters drifted away. <\/p>\n
I stared. \u201cAre you crazy? She\u2019s just scoring points with the militant atheist brigade back home.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mati began tapping her foot. \u201cMy mental state hasn\u2019t changed. And I\u2019m quite sure she just wanted to talk to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, it\u2019s exhausting.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s smart. Women like that need someone who can match their intellect, spar word for word. Don\u2019t say anything stupid.\u201d<\/p>\n
I gave her a pained look and concentrated on my breakfast.<\/p>\n
Still. When a smart woman gives you advice on another smart woman, you have to listen. <\/p>\n
An hour later, I found myself striding through the yeast lab\u2019s gleaming metal hallways as a stooped, white-haired gentleman shuffled quickly ahead of me. I was on the top floor, and the hall\u2019s transparent ceiling displayed a brilliant band of stars, its walls covered by pictures of asteroid miners staring heroically into space.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh–\u201c I shouted, raising a finger, but Mort had turned into the next hallway. I cursed as I almost twisted my foot in the uneven gravity and hurried to the corner, only to see him racing away again. I reflected that either Mort was my bread-crazed Zacharite, or he\u2019d suddenly remembered something very important. I couldn\u2019t think of any other reason he\u2019d be running. I followed him through an open door, smiling broadly as I saw him backed against a corner.<\/p>\n
\u201cMort, at last!\u201d I exclaimed. \u201cI\u2019ve always wanted to meet you! I\u2019ve followed your work for years, tried every strain of pumpernickel that-\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
I stopped as I noticed him pressed against the wall, shivering like I was about to stuff him into a pumpernickel pita. <\/p>\n
I sighed and stepped back. \u201cExcuse me. I do love your work, but that\u2019s not why I\u2019m here.\u201d I coughed. \u201cHave you received any new \u2018bread-making\u2019 equipment in the last few days?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mort\u2019s eyes lit with relief. He nodded and pointed to a contraption on his left, a wheeled tray with two giant beakers and a small metal box. \u201cGot here yesterday,\u201d he said, in a raspy voice I doubted got much use. \u201cDarndest yeast beakers I\u2019ve ever seen.\u201d<\/p>\n
If there\u2019s one thing I excel at, it\u2019s detecting liars through body language. I watched Mort\u2019s hands carefully, and instantly knew he was clean. So why was he running? All I could think of is that like many of the other crusties on Endomis station, Mort was such a loner that he viewed conversing with another life-form akin to space-walking without a suit.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat, sir, is a beaker-bomb,\u201d I said, striding to the tray. I picked up the metal box and removed the battery from the self-assembling AI. \u201cUseless now. What time did it arrive?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mort scratched his chin. \u201cBout 9am, station time.\u201d<\/p>\n
I jotted this down on my lightpad then configured my headtrode to alert me upon any changes to the final ceremony roster list. Now that our Zacharite zero was deprived of his weapon, maybe he\u2019d try to do the job manually. It was a long shot, but didn\u2019t hurt to try.<\/p>\n
I twisted to take in the assorted beakers, yeast ovens, and biotic equipment in the room, making sure no one had ordered another one of these doodads. Everything looked normal, though the wall was studded with metal supports to ensure the equipment stayed level.<\/p>\n
\u201cMust be quite a hassle dealing with this uneven gravity,\u201d I said, turning back to Mort. Something in his eyes instantly seized my attention, and I smiled. <\/p>\n
\u201cI have a suspicion. This bizarre dual gravity, where things are heavier depending on which angle you\u2019re facing. That\u2019s the secret, isn\u2019t it? That\u2019s why your yeast strains are so good?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEh,\u201d Mort said helpfully. <\/p>\n
\u201cI knew it!\u201d I slapped him on the shoulder. \u201cDon\u2019t worry, your secret\u2019s safe with me. I\u2019ve always wondered how the economics of space-station bread making could ever work. This dual gravity, it makes the yeast grow in unique configurations, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n
We discussed bread-making for quite a while as Mort warmed up to me, and I became so engrossed that I forgot I was supposed to zap a Zacharite. When the lunchtime bell rang, I snapped my fingers, bid Mort adieu, and raced back to my room. There I immediately began researching ship arrival times, and discovered two very interesting facts: First, the only ships that had docked yesterday were mine and Jonasa\u2019s, and both had unloaded cargo. Second, Jonasa\u2019s had docked at 0800, whereas we\u2019d arrived around 1500, station time. Mort had said the new \u2018equipment\u2019 had shown up at 0900. <\/p>\n
Could Jonasa be my culprit? Well, she was the only passenger on her ship, so actually, the evidence left me no other explanation. And there was motive. It was clear what would happen to her merry band of skeptics once the Magellan finally proved the Godstar was predicting things impossible to foresee under any interpretation of quantum physics. I thought that the Archprelate was right: The outcome of this experiment could well be a mass conversion to Omnism. And that wouldn\u2019t be good for CLEAR. <\/p>\n
I sent Jonasa a headtrode-mail, and two hours later we were sitting across from each other in the conference room, Jonasa\u2019s slender legs crossed, her blue eyes studying me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat, no reporters, Gordon? Is this a social call, or are we actually going to debate without sound-bites?\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cJust a couple questions,\u201d I said, glancing at her hands. \u201cJonasa, do you think this whole experiment is worth all the expense?\u201d <\/p>\n
She frowned. \u201cOK, so this isn\u2019t a social call. Clearly I’m a suspect in some sort of investigation.\u201d Her shoulders slumped, and for the first time, I noticed she\u2019d substituted old-fashioned rouge for her normal mood-cream. She was also wearing lipstick, as foreign to that face as a koi pond on Mercury. <\/p>\n
Feeling low, I shook my head vigorously. \u201cNot so much \u2018suspect\u2019 as–\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201c–You want to know what I think? This whole experiment is a giant waste of time.\u201d Her eyes grew cold; the old Jonasa was back. \u201cI think people believe in spooky sky-gods simply to cover deficiencies in their own lives. After all, didn\u2019t you become an Omnite after a messy divorce and estrangement from your son?\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat, frozen, as Jonasa bit her lip. After a tense silence, she reached out and grabbed my arm.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Gordon, that was completely out of line. I\u2019m not proud that CLEAR investigated you, but my bosses don\u2019t like to lose debates. If it helps, I never planned to use it on holo.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded, forcing myself to smile. \u201cWell, you do have a point. My own mistakes and my ex-wife have turned Aaron away from me since he was fifteen, and I\u2019ve spent a good part of my life trying to get him back. Last year we had our first conversation in twenty years, just before he left for the Kuiper belt expedition, with a trip-survival rate of thirty percent. So yes, I have a personal stake in getting access to Magellan\u2019s database to see if he\u2019ll be alive three years from now. Still, I believe it\u2019s possible to meet God without asking him for favors.\u201d<\/p>\n
She said nothing, but her eyes had transformed from warrior Jonasa into something more human. It did wonders for her face.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut,\u201d I said, \u201cit was pretty dastardly for CLEAR to dig that up. It would be like us discovering that your daughter had died two years ago and could’ve been saved by Mati\u2019s random lotto. And then claiming that the subsequent belief in a godless universe is what led you to CLEAR.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stiffened, and this time I reached out and touched her hand. \u201cApparently, we Omnites aren\u2019t so pure either. We\u2019re not above the occasional inappropriate investigation of our own.\u201d<\/p>\n
We discussed our kids the rest of the afternoon, and soon afternoon turned into evening, where we found ourselves in the lounge talking animatedly over glasses of wine. <\/p>\n
That night was a strange one. It culminated in both of us stumbling to my room with a dark red bottle of wine in tow, followed by the happy discovery that having sex with someone you\u2019ve been publicly slapfighting for two years is actually quite liberating. <\/p>\n
The next morning, we lay in my bubble chamber, surrounded by stars as if floating in space. I remained motionless for a long while, pondering how this wonderful thing had happened, and what my first words should be this morning to keep us in the moment. Finally I opened with: \u201cSomehow, this seems wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
She propped up on an elbow, the blanket partially falling away to reveal one perfectly-shaped breast. \u201cSo wrong. Like mustard and ketchup in the same jar. And even worse than sleeping with the enemy, you\u2019re sleeping with the subject of an investigation. What\u2019s going on with that, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n
I watched her relaxed, playful face, thinking how different she looked from our holo mash-ups. Having the woman with whom I\u2019d publicly exchanged so many barbed words lying naked beside me revved my motor anew, and I leaned into her. <\/p>\n
\u201cSince I\u2019m already sinning…\u201d<\/p>\n
She pushed me back lightly. \u201cNope. My curiosity is going full steam.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sighed. And against all reasonable judgment, I told her about the Archprelate\u2019s holomail, how I\u2019d tracked the beaker bomb shipment to conclude that she was my main suspect. I said this knowing very well that I\u2019d probably regret it later. <\/p>\n
She stared at me for a long moment after I\u2019d finished. \u201cOK, first off, I can\u2019t believe you got the time from \u2018Missing Minute Mort\u2019. You are familiar with his tendency to show up for lunch at dinnertime? Second, I\u2019m as far from Zacharism as I am from spontaneous combustion. People like me don\u2019t set up beaker bombs; we leave that to the religious fanatics. Though Omnism is such a scant faith, I can\u2019t believe any branch of it cares enough about anything to use violence.\u201d<\/p>\n
I squinted. \u201cDid you just accuse us of being too tolerant to use violence? In any case, Omnism is not \u2018scant\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut it\u2019s such an odd belief system–you have no rituals, no commandments, I doubt you even pray. Your whole faith is based on waiting for someone to decode a bunch of information that may be gibberish.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe do pray,\u201d I said, \u201cbut it’s true we eschew most rituals because we find they distract us from doing good works. I\u2019ve probably headed more relief agencies than you own jars of mood-cream. And until we find out differently, what\u2019s wrong with assuming Omnos\u2019 un-deciphered information contains moral instructions?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if it\u2019s just a recipe for pound cake? Doesn\u2019t that obviate your whole religion?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, if it\u2019s heavenly pound cake–\u201c<\/p>\n
My headtrode beeped and I stopped, touching my ear. And felt my blood chill as the alert wormed its way through my audio cortex. The final ceremony roster had just bumped from six to seven people, with the new attendee labeled only as \u2018Mati\u2019s Guest\u2019. <\/p>\n
Cullen? Cullen!<\/p>\n
I shot up in bed. \u201cUh. I think I know who our Zacharite is…\u201d<\/p>\n
She sat up, draping the blanket around her body as I nearly fell out of bed. I hurriedly put on my pants, then turned to her just before crawling down the ladder. \u201cThe fact that I\u2019m leaving doesn\u2019t mean–doesn\u2019t mean–\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cI know. Go do your job.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mati answered my continually ringing buzzer with a pinched face and garden-themed pajamas. \u201cI was just about to take a shower.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cDoesn\u2019t matter,\u201d I said, pushing past her to the sofa. \u201cTell me about Cullen. Have you noticed anything strange lately?\u201d<\/p>\n
Frowning, she sat in the opposing chair, her short gray hair spiked on one side of her head. \u201cTwo months before we left, his mannerisms seemed to change.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYep. Change they did.\u201d I threw a few papers on the coffee table. \u201cI ran a retinal scan this morning, using the Phobos server. Your Cullen is actually Alex Piedmont, a well-known Zacharite. He must have gotten doppelganger reconstruction and replaced the original Cullen sometime after surgery. Who knows what happened to the original.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mati’s foot began tapping so hard, I thought she’d wear a hole in the floor. A very cold feeling spread through my gut.<\/p>\n
She knew.<\/p>\n
\u201cMati, I\u2019m going to ask something, and it\u2019s very important you answer me truthfully. Were you aware that the guy on our ship wasn\u2019t the real Cullen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d she said, \u201cbut I suspected something.\u201d <\/p>\n
I exhaled with relief. \u201cWhy in Omnos\u2019 name didn\u2019t you tell me?\u201d<\/p>\n
She watched me with a pained expression that I couldn\u2019t pin down. \u201cBecause–because…Gordon, what we\u2019re about to do could destroy this station.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cBetter explain that.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mati’s grandmother face scrunched tight, her foot tapping furiously. \u201cThese D-tube teleporters drag their own reference frame with them, thereby avoiding causality violations. But they\u2019re inherently unstable. Demodulating Omnos\u2019 carrier wave three years in the future could cause the D-tubes to de-cohere, possibly releasing millions of joules of energy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEnglish please.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was–\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cMake it so an idiot can understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sighed. \u201cPeople used to think that instantaneous communication would cause time-travel type paradoxes. We got around that using some tricks that–\u201c she stopped and smoothed her hair down. \u201cAnyway, what we\u2019re about to do here could reintroduce paradox to the mix.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the implications are…?\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cGordon, all my equations sum to infinity. These are well-established models for Omnos\u2019 information multiplex, not incomplete theories. But when I extrapolate them to describe light three years closer to Omnos entering our reference frame, none of my numbers make sense. Because D-tubes are so unstable, any unknown variables could indicate a collapse–and if that happens, we\u2019ll see a massive explosion.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared, and for a long moment, the only motion in the room was the perpetual tapping of Mati’s foot. <\/p>\n
She stopped. <\/p>\n
\u201cGo boom.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cI get it, Mati.\u201d I rubbed my forehead. \u201cSo even though you thought Cullen might sabotage our party, part of you wanted him to succeed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her face fell, and I saw that pained expression again. <\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then it hit me. That look in Mati\u2019s eyes, the way she\u2019d been so eager lately to soften her famously harsh opinions: she was beyond lonely. A lifetime spent pushing humanity away had left the specter of isolation to shadow her sixties. Now she was worried she\u2019d lose one of her true, close friends.<\/p>\n
I sighed. \u201cI\u2019m not mad, Mati. Well, maybe a little.\u201d<\/p>\n
She wiped one eye. \u201cThank you. If it\u2019s any help, I have a much likelier theory that doesn\u2019t involve D-tube de-coherence.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cBut you can\u2019t guarantee there won\u2019t be an explosion?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sighed, wondering what in Omnos\u2019 name I was going to do.<\/p>\n
I spent the whole day thinking, and that night I lay still in my starry dome, facing the direction of Omnos and wondering whether God could truly be so cruel. I couldn\u2019t believe Omnos would punish us for the simple act of trying to get closer. <\/p>\n
Sleep finally overtook me, and I awoke a few hours later with the absolute surety of two convictions: First, no two-bit fanatic was going to decide things for the rest of us. And second, it had to be Mati who reported Cullen. She’d brought this nimrod along, and the only way to avoid tarnishing a lifetime of incredible achievements was for her to make the \u201cdiscovery\u201d herself.<\/p>\n
So it was that the next morning I stood in the central airlock hallway, examining a piece of Cullen\u2019s walker, while Alex Piedmont cursed and kicked in the hands of two beefy security guys.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat you are doing is wrong!\u201d Alex shouted, trying to jerk his arm away from his captor\u2019s grip.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow does this thing work?\u201d I muttered, examining the inner tube of the walker\u2019s support. It had been coated with graphene circuitry, and was probably a weapon of some sort.<\/p>\n
Alex focused on me. \u201cYou’re the worst! A follower who questions the God he’s sworn to serve. Traitor to Omnos!\u201d<\/p>\n
I raised an eyebrow. \u201cI didn\u2019t know Omnos was at war. Gosh, I hope I get a blue uniform; I look great in teal.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alex stared for a long moment. Then he began thrashing violently, and this time managed to free an arm. He grabbed his captor\u2019s lightning gun, knocked him back, and pointed the gun at me. \u201cYou. Omnite circus clown. You\u2019re going to let me into the receiver room.”<\/p>\n
I tried to remember which way the gravity shifted, and then dove to my left. Alex swung around, and his pivoting knee buckled in Endomis\u2019 uneven gravity. Wincing, I watched his head slam to the floor as the lightning gun clattered down the hallway.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m–I\u2019m so sorry,\u201d Mati said to the crowd of reporters and representatives in the hallway with us, as the security guys pulled Alex to his feet and hauled him through the airlock.<\/p>\n
I got up, dusted my knees, and squeezed her shoulder. \u201cYou can\u2019t be sorry! If it wasn\u2019t for you, he\u2019d have sabotaged the whole event!\u201d Others muttered agreement, and Mati shot me a quick look of gratitude.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, shall we proceed with the call?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Earlier, I\u2019d asked Gunnet to set up a video call with everyone on the station. The long-time residents were such hermits, most couldn\u2019t be bothered to stumble down to the central assembly hall if their lives depended on it (which they actually did). Since I needed everyone to weigh in on this decision, we\u2019d set up giant screens broken into hundreds of little squares, so we could see everyone\u2019s face. The hundred or so that decided to attend in person, mostly reporters and representatives, sat around the giant round table as Mati began describing our conundrum.<\/p>\n
Mati isn\u2019t the best at explaining science to primitives, but she did a passable job. And the questions were about what you\u2019d expect. \u201cWhat are the chances those infinities will collapse the D-tubes?\u201d asked the ebony-skinned representative from the Asteroid Anarchy, her hair quaffed up in a giant pyramid. \u201cHow could a simple transmission of information lead to an explosion?\u201d Mort rasped, apparently on hiatus from pumpernickel duties.<\/p>\n
Mati answered precisely, as was her style, slapping her hip and doing absolutely zilch to give anyone the hot cocoa and cookies they were looking for. And I found something out that day: No matter what belief system a person subscribes to, in matters of survival, people look to a moral center. Numbers and statistics only go so far. So it was that after the Terran representative asked me for my opinion, I saw every single person and video square staring at me, desperate for someone to tell them what to do.<\/p>\n
I leaned forward and folded my hands on the table. \u201cI have absolute faith that Omnos would never kill us for asking questions. This experiment is the right thing to do. If someone trains me how to use the receiver and AI, I\u2019ll happily remain on this station to monitor Magellan\u2019s information, while everyone else takes a brief cruise.\u201d<\/p>\n
The meeting went quickly from there, culminating with a unanimous vote to proceed–which was the only way we could do this thing.<\/p>\n
Two days later, I stood in the ceremony chamber with seven other people: Mati, representatives from each of the three major powers, Endomis mayor Gunnet Bradley, Jonasa Wagner, and the AI technician, who\u2019d be interpreting the receiver output based on Magellan\u2019s data.<\/p>\n
It was a slick setup. The D-tube receiver was married to a very powerful AI server containing known DNA sequences of everyone in the solar system. The server would scan the information received from Omnos three light-years out, and compare it against the existing database, with any new DNA sequences likely belonging to people as yet unborn. OK, this wasn\u2019t guaranteed, because the database wasn\u2019t totally accurate, and it was impossible to monitor every birth in real time across the solar system. But if there were more than a small number of new sequences, it meant that Omnos was telling us about people who didn\u2019t yet exist–proof positive that the future was knowable. And somewhere in that jumble of data, God would tell me if my boy was going to live long enough to hear his dad apologize for a childhood of neglect.<\/p>\n
The transporter-receiver room settled into nervous silence, all of us alone with our thoughts as we waited for the countdown. I wondered whether an explosion would be noticeable at all, or if it\u2019d be a sudden baseball bat to the head. I guess my faith wasn\u2019t strong enough to squash the occasional doubt.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re receiving first transmission from the Magellan,\u201d came the AI tech\u2019s voice, high-pitched with excitement. The electricity in the air was palpable, and I saw Mati’s foot begin its perpetual motion.<\/p>\n
We all waited, frozen, as the tech pushed buttons on his helmet, interpreting the AI computer\u2019s analysis of the data. After a long moment in which I\u2019m sure no one breathed, he swiveled to face us, his expression perplexed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe–the AI is unable to interpret the data as DNA sequences. It has successfully matched some of the patterns to a system of sixteen base nucleotides, but the descriptions of those bases don\u2019t match anything in human DNA.\u201d<\/p>\n
A loud buzz filled the room. \u201cWhat do you mean, \u2018can\u2019t interpret as DNA\u2019?,\u201d snapped the Asteroid representative.<\/p>\n
The tech shook his head, then turned around again, hunching over and pushing more buttons. Silently, we waited an eternity while he worked and muttered to himself. Finally he turned around again, his eyes wide.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt appears–it appears that the Magellan is not where it should be.<\/p>\n
The room erupted into shouts, until I held up my hand for silence. \u201cPlease explain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt looks like the Magellan\u2019s initial heading was two degrees off, and now she\u2019s .105 light-year away from her intended destination. These photons would never be seen from our solar system. And when I sent the command to shift course, I got a message that the fusion reactor had ceased operation. Then the whole link went down.\u201d<\/p>\n
Now the entire room truly erupted, with shouts and accusations flying in every direction. The Terran representative sprayed bits of spittle as he hurled recriminations at the Martian ambassador for the Martian work on the fusion reactor, and the AI tech cowered before a blast of expletives issuing from the Asteroid representative. But the loudest sounds came from Mati, who was clapping her hands and hopping about madly. \u201cYes! I knew it!\u201d <\/p>\n
This counterpoint cut through the roar like a knife, until finally everyone stopped to stare at this short elfin-grandmother, hopping around like a kangaroo on fire.<\/p>\n
\u201cMati, you\u2019re scaring the normals,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
She ran to me. \u201cDon\u2019t you see, Gordon? It\u2019s Cruts-Helmsfeld! That\u2019s the explanation!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Mati, I don\u2019t see. As you\u2019ll recall, the rest of us elected not to pursue our physics Ph.Ds.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stopped to swallow. \u201cBack in the twentieth century, people knew Einstein\u2019s theories didn\u2019t strictly disallow time travel, but no one understood how to resolve the resulting paradoxes. Then, fifty years ago, Cruts and Helmsfeld proposed a method to enforce self-consistent timelines, based on work previously done in the twenty-first century. They posited that the universe would never allow someone to kill his grandmother before she gave birth, because random events would always throw up roadblocks to prevent the paradox. Those events would get stranger and stranger the harder you tried to force the matter.\u201d She stopped to breathe. \u201cThink about it Gordon. We launch ships all the time–how often do we get the heading wrong? And how often does the propulsion system and communication link fail right when we need them?\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared. The room settled into utter silence, pierced only by the low hum of the receiver.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo,\u201d I said slowly, \u201cyou\u2019re saying that the initial heading error was a not-so-coincidental coincidence, and that no matter what we do, we can\u2019t look at light before it reaches us?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can, but only if we use sub-C return speeds, so the information is old when it reaches Earth. We can never retrieve information in a way that allows us to alter a predicted event.\u201d<\/p>\n
I folded my arms. \u201cSo the \u2018universe\u2019 is preventing us from doing this experiment. How is that different from God decreeing \u2018thou shalt not doubt me\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mati looked disgusted. \u201cWe don\u2019t need superstitious claptrap right now; I have to prove this.\u201d She froze, turning a pained look my way. \u201cI mean–\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cNever mind, Mati. Go prove it.\u201d<\/p>\n
With that, she raced from the room and through the mass of reporters on the other side of the door. <\/p>\n
Everyone stood shocked for a long moment, watching Mati\u2019s back like they\u2019d been zapped by a Venusian electrical storm. <\/p>\n
\u201cSo we\u2019re back to where we started,\u201d I said. \u201cEveryone\u2019s right, and no one knows a thing.\u201d I looked around, but the room was quiet as a graveyard. Sighing, I smoothed down my robe, then walked through the door to spread the news to the rest of the solar system.<\/p>\n
The next two weeks were fascinating, heady, and bittersweet. Fascinating because as our limited Magellan data was processed, Mati and others became increasingly confident that it represented the DNA of a sentient alien species. Based on the ship\u2019s position, they even pinpointed a star cluster where the alien world had to exist. And within days, Mati and other scientists throughout the solar system had shown strong evidence for the Cruts-Helmsfeld explanation.<\/p>\n
It was personally heady, because I found myself sucked into endless interviews and commentary about what all this meant for Omnism, and philosophy in general. Whatever the Archprelate\u2019s opinion of me, I was pretty sure this could only be good for my career. <\/p>\n
Yet it was bittersweet. I\u2019d gotten used to the idea of not knowing whether I\u2019d ever have a normal relationship with my son; I could accept that God would give me no shortcuts there. But I was also unable to see Jonasa, and for some reason, that hurt. Granted, she was as busy as I was, but my few pitiful attempts to grab her attention always seemed stymied by her presence at some interview or other engagement. Finally, I gave up, and tried to look at the bright side: no matter what, I\u2019d always have the memory. I ignored the part of my brain screaming that this was something only a loser would say.<\/p>\n
On the day of our departure, I was walking with Mati toward our airlock when we turned a corner and saw Jonasa talking to a reporter. <\/p>\n
I quickened my pace, but not before catching an expression that might have been disappointment. What was this? I glanced in her direction, but she\u2019d gone back to conversing with the newsman.<\/p>\n
I noticed Mati had stopped, and I turned to a very angry Dr. Antoretti. \u201cGordon, you are being an idiot. If you don\u2019t talk to her, I\u2019m going to punch your ear.\u201d<\/p>\n
Now, compared to Mati, everyone actually is an idiot. But I suspected in this case, she had a point. I was debating what to do when Jonasa\u2019s loud voice rang through the hallway.<\/p>\n
\u201cI sure am glad they didn\u2019t prove Omnos was God,\u201d she declared. \u201cAt least now I won\u2019t have self-righteous Omnite priests knocking on my door.\u201d<\/p>\n
I faced her directly. \u201cWell, Venus is close enough to hell that I doubt I\u2019d make much traction anyway. Still, my charter is to spread the word, so I may have to pay it a visit.\u201d<\/p>\n
She touched the headtrode button on her ear. \u201cWell don\u2019t come around my neck of the woods. I just sent you my address so you know what area to avoid.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cActually, I\u2019ve found that those who reject the message usually need it most. I\u2019ll have to visit that exact location to convince the locals that Omnos is God.\u201d<\/p>\n
She folded her arms. \u201cIf you do, I\u2019ll meet you there, just so I can prove you wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOK, then.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked to my left to see the reporter staring at us, one hand upward in a high-five salute and the other one touching his headtrode, mindbeaming our little conversation out to every habitable rock in the solar system. <\/p>\n
Great. This was going to take the punch out of our holo debates.<\/p>\n
Jonasa smiled briefly, gave me a pinky wave, and then whipped around and strode toward the airlock. I watched those shapely legs retreat from us until they disappeared around the corner.<\/p>\n
The reporter rushed off, and I exhaled. \u201cSee what I mean, Mati? Exhausting.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes had taken on a dreamy glaze. \u201cBut what if you\u2019ve found the one?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at her. A lifelong singleton, it appeared that the sixty-two year old Mati was finally taking an interest in love. \u201cWell, then. Why don\u2019t you describe your perfect man, Mati? I might know a few on Earth that would love to meet you.\u201d<\/p>\n
We continued a very slow walk toward the airlock while Mati listed her uber-homme requirements, slapping her hip the whole time. And by the time we stepped onto the ship, my next year had been fully planned out: First, a brief stint on Earth to play matchmaker for Mati. <\/p>\n
Then, a trip to Venus to convert the natives.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Sure, travelling three months to Endomis Station just to savor Mort\u2019s pumperpretzels is a tiny bit of crazy, but it\u2019s the kind of thing I\u2019d do even if humanity didn\u2019t have its upcoming arm-wrestle with God. Until recently, the only thing that marked this spinning kazoo on the planetary charts was Mort\u2019s use of a …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":13977,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,1449],"tags":[1450],"class_list":["post-47249","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-19-spring-2016","tag-the-colored-lens-19-spring-2016","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/47249","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/13977"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=47249"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/47249\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139525,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/47249\/revisions\/139525"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=47249"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=47249"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=47249"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}