“Freeze it there.”
I didn’t really want to see it, but I wanted to freeze the recording there, an instant after the bullet struck Jaklyn Sanders in the bridge of her nose – just to confirm that it was a precision, carefully targeted shot.
The image was macabre. It was still clear that she was a beautiful woman – the bright and intelligent eyes, the high cheekbones, the carefully quaffed mane of hair – but those features were all out of place, like a jigsaw puzzle with the pieces broken apart but still close to each other. I couldn’t help but stare at her eyes, which still had a spark of light that was fading fast, one eye unnaturally an inch or two above the other and separated by a large, round, red hole with black around the edges.
One instant she was describing the sudden attack by government forces on unarmed protesters, and the next instant she was gone, simply gone.
“A shot like that, that’s a well-aimed shot,” I said. “Somebody took her out deliberately. This wasn’t random.” I sensed agreement around the room, but no one else spoke. They were all staring at the image, too, trying to make sense of the sight, their brains trying to re-assemble the face into its proper alignment.
The official story was that the officers had fired to defend themselves against an angry mob, that they just fired indiscriminately to drive off the rioters. I was charged with inciting the riot, never mind that it wasn’t an actual riot until the shots were fired.
But here was grisly but hard-to-dispute evidence that at least one shot wasn’t indiscriminate, and that particular shot happened to kill the reporter who was closest to the center of action, the reporter who could affirm to the world that the chaos and destruction was caused by the security force, not by the people who wanted nothing more than to go to work and to support the people who were reporting to their office.
My defense would depend on convincing a jury that my intentions were peaceful and nonviolent. At least, that was the strategy.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Entry 79. Fighting rage
The staccato firing of shots, the whine of lasers, and the smell of death.
John Hemlock holding himself just over us, palms down, arms on either side of me and Buffalo, head ducked.
Screams. Shouts. Someone shouting, “Cease fire! Cease fire!” from behind the lines. A thundering noise I believe was the sound of 5,000 people running in every direction. Moans of pain. Shrieks of agony. Higher-pitched screams as loved ones recognized the victims.
John holding his position as best as he could with dozens of people jostling past us. His body was bruised and scratched afterward, but he was committed to protecting us at any cost.
“Don’t worry about it,” he would say later when we gasped at his purple and blue arms and ribs. “Looked a lot worse after Super Bowl CCX.”
They knew we were unarmed; they knew we had pledged to take our stand without lifting a hand. They shot at us anyway, they wounded hundreds anway, they killed 35 of us anyway.
These were not cold-blooded killers, they were not Earthians shooting at strangers. They were our neighbors, and though I did not realize it at the time, that would make all the difference.
I did not hear about Washburne until much later, did not know that one of the shooters brushed a young woman’s brain matter off his uniform in horror, tossed down his weapon, and walked off.
“Washburne! Get back here and hold this line!” his commander barked.
“No, sir,” Washburne called over his shoulder. “I choose not to participate.”
I know now that at least a half-dozen other security officers followed Washburne off the field. At that moment, however, I had no idea. All I knew was that Badiah Sinclair had to have ordered this.
Thirty-five dead. Thirty-five lives. Thirty-five varied collections of hopes, dreams, triumphs, disappointments. Thirty-five stories. Countless grieving friends and family members.
And I understood the power of rage. Nearly my entire being wanted to find a weapon – any weapon, a stick or a rock would do fine – find my oldest and dearest friend, good old Badi, strike him in the head, again and again, keep striking until there was nothing left but a bloody, dead mass.
Somewhere, deep down, I knew that if I did that, 35 lives would be wasted and Badiah would die knowing that he had won.
My only choice was to forgive the unforgiveable, to fight through the rage and give more than I receive. Not give back more death than I received – give more of what I fight with than any purveyor of death can possibly resist.
The time when loving your neighbor is most important is when there is every reason not to love.
And so I held Buffalo in my arms, and John Hemlock shielded the two of us, until officers came and told me I was under arrest.
“I am under arrest?” I said. “I am under arrest? For what?”
“Inciting a riot,” said the commanding officer, reading from a document. Yes, they had prepared the arrest warrant before the riot. They killed 35 people and brought me into custody, and it was all part of a plan. Those who’d laid down their lives deserved better than the outrage that threatened to consume my heart.
So I swallowed my rage, took several deep breaths, and as lovingly as I could, I said, “All right. Take me where we’re going.”
Entry 80 - Once a beautiful face
John Hemlock holding himself just over us, palms down, arms on either side of me and Buffalo, head ducked.
Screams. Shouts. Someone shouting, “Cease fire! Cease fire!” from behind the lines. A thundering noise I believe was the sound of 5,000 people running in every direction. Moans of pain. Shrieks of agony. Higher-pitched screams as loved ones recognized the victims.
John holding his position as best as he could with dozens of people jostling past us. His body was bruised and scratched afterward, but he was committed to protecting us at any cost.
“Don’t worry about it,” he would say later when we gasped at his purple and blue arms and ribs. “Looked a lot worse after Super Bowl CCX.”
They knew we were unarmed; they knew we had pledged to take our stand without lifting a hand. They shot at us anyway, they wounded hundreds anway, they killed 35 of us anyway.
These were not cold-blooded killers, they were not Earthians shooting at strangers. They were our neighbors, and though I did not realize it at the time, that would make all the difference.
I did not hear about Washburne until much later, did not know that one of the shooters brushed a young woman’s brain matter off his uniform in horror, tossed down his weapon, and walked off.
“Washburne! Get back here and hold this line!” his commander barked.
“No, sir,” Washburne called over his shoulder. “I choose not to participate.”
I know now that at least a half-dozen other security officers followed Washburne off the field. At that moment, however, I had no idea. All I knew was that Badiah Sinclair had to have ordered this.
Thirty-five dead. Thirty-five lives. Thirty-five varied collections of hopes, dreams, triumphs, disappointments. Thirty-five stories. Countless grieving friends and family members.
And I understood the power of rage. Nearly my entire being wanted to find a weapon – any weapon, a stick or a rock would do fine – find my oldest and dearest friend, good old Badi, strike him in the head, again and again, keep striking until there was nothing left but a bloody, dead mass.
Somewhere, deep down, I knew that if I did that, 35 lives would be wasted and Badiah would die knowing that he had won.
My only choice was to forgive the unforgiveable, to fight through the rage and give more than I receive. Not give back more death than I received – give more of what I fight with than any purveyor of death can possibly resist.
The time when loving your neighbor is most important is when there is every reason not to love.
And so I held Buffalo in my arms, and John Hemlock shielded the two of us, until officers came and told me I was under arrest.
“I am under arrest?” I said. “I am under arrest? For what?”
“Inciting a riot,” said the commanding officer, reading from a document. Yes, they had prepared the arrest warrant before the riot. They killed 35 people and brought me into custody, and it was all part of a plan. Those who’d laid down their lives deserved better than the outrage that threatened to consume my heart.
So I swallowed my rage, took several deep breaths, and as lovingly as I could, I said, “All right. Take me where we’re going.”
Entry 80 - Once a beautiful face
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Entry 78. Thirty-five lives
Lon Weston, 56, kissed his wife on the cheek as he left for work that morning. He had spent his entire adult life dreaming of starting and running a business; Imaginary Structures was a dream come true.
Randy Derringer, 32, did not kiss his wife as he left that morning; in fact he felt badly about the selfish way he had acted. He planned to apologize when he came home that evening.
Mai Vang, 27, was planning her wedding. Her best friend was refusing to divulge any details about the bachelorette party except that she was supposed to bring a towel.
Camille Harper, 20, was still chattering to her best friend about what a terrific family reunion she had attended a few days earlier, reconnecting with cousins she hadn’t seen in years.
Stan Aziz, 63, was concerned that his grandson didn’t seem to have a plan for his life. Kids nowadays seem so aimless and uncaring about where their lives are going, he thought.
Phyllis Henderson, 49, had been Lon Weston’s personal secretary for 23 years. She and her husband vacationed every year at Lake Ptolemy.
Maureen Fisher, 22, was concerned about her great-grandmother’s failing health. She was planning to meet with her that night to suggest she move in as a full-time caretaker. She expected resistance from her feisty, independent Great-grandmama.
Snooky Wong, 33, had owned the first and most popular bar in the Proximi Centauri 3 encampment, but she abandoned that dream to accompany her husband to Sirius 4. Rather than deal with the rigors of running another late-night establishment, she chose to put her talents to work in a day job at Imaginary Structures.
Pete Wong, 38, had worked in the logistics industry as an independent contractor. He and his partner had their ship hijacked during the imaginary bomb incident; after marrying, he decided to settle on Sirius 4 because of its independence.
Lian Wong, 1, had an entire life ahead of her. Her parents were sure it would be a happy one because of the way she laughed and smiled impishly all the time.
Seth Johnson, 23, was a hunter who astonished his friends with his skills as a wild game chef. He eschewed manufacturing meals out of ImagPro and liked to talk about how food was “meant” to be prepared.
Juniper Lapin, 31, saved Michael McWilliams’ life during an attack on their campsite during the Earthian occupation. I need not remind you of how important McWilliams’ medical research has been in recent years.
Benny Cardova, 94, was having a dispute with builders over where to locate the lakefront home where he planned to spend the last 20-30 years of his life. But he told friends if Sinclair were to get away with closing this business, it wouldn’t matter where he wanted the home built.
Shen Hu, 17, wished his friends understood how what happens to a factory in Ganges Pass could affect everyone on the planet.
Taja al Reshedi, 49, was one of the most respected physicians on Sirius 4.
Salman al Reshedi, 51, proudly lived in the shadow of his well-known wife and dabbled in sculpture.
Russell Perry, 71, had coached successful competitive swimmers for decades but confided in friends that in another 10 years he might be ready to retire.
Brenda Henderson, 33, was an architect who was pushing the envelope of using Imaginary Structures’ technology for bold design, but her friends said recently she was most excited about learning her third child was on the way.
Cliff Henderson, 32, had worried out loud that Imaginary Structures was making his building skills obsolete but also touted the value of maintaining those old skills for clients who wanted “the real thing.”
Jaklyn Sanders, 45, had produced some of the most insightful news features about Badiah Sinclair and took some of the dramatic footage of the Ganges Pass incident up to her death.
Marjorie Butler, 19, wrote a beautiful poem about freedom that was read at the memorial service for The Thirty-Five.
Victor Foster, 109, was known as “Poppy Po” to his great-great-grandchildren and often spoke to them about the important of standing up for their beliefs.
Milt Gray, 50, councilor, was one of Badi Sinclair’s early political allies but was not at all pleased with some of the president’s recent decisions.
Chester Washington, 25, Councilor Gray’s chief aide, was one of the brightest analysts of fiscal data at the capital.
Everett Brooks, 60, was renowned for his gardening abilities. Friends spoke of how serene he always seemed, especially after a full day working the soil.
Cora Patterson, 19, had entered the university that semester but was already telling friends and family it was a mistake. She was writing the plan for her new business and expected to finish her classes and launch the endeavor.
Leona Ross, 21, was also planning to leave the university but had no plan for her future. Her mother feared she lacked of direction, but her father spoke of his daughter’s remarkable compassion for animals and was confident something would have come of that.
Patrick Carroll, 54, entertained children for a living. His friends said he was a big kid himself and may have been the happiest man on Sirius 4.
Aidan Hughes, 42, came to Ganges Pass to meet John Hemlock and perhaps get his autograph. His passion for following Earthian football was the only thing that all of his friends mentioned.
Hanna Whyte, 98, inspired generations of her family to succeed, coaching, cajoling and chiding them not to settle for producing anything less than something others would love.
Philippe Losnedahl, 59, was one of the founders of a popular beverage company who gave more than half of his fortune to the arts and charities. The Losnedahl Foundation is a major contributor to the university’s music programs.
John Olhouser, 36, was an obstetrician-gynecologist from a well-placed family; his parents had made a fortune developing the Olhouser brewery; he was active in political causes and injected passion into everything he did.
Beverly Symanczyk, 43, lived for weekends at her retreat on Lake Ptolemy, a little cottage she had saved to purchase for the first decade of her career. A popular face at Imaginary Structures, she was a reliable worker whose heart and soul lived for that waterfront property.
Gavin Ndebele, 63, was a dedicated sales engineer who made time for fishing, hunting and working in the great outdoors. He would not hesitate to pick up his guitar and entertain visitors at the slightest hint of an invitation.
Trevor Rubio, 83, owned his own business in the energy industry. His children each laughed spontaneously recalling an incident involving their father, a rotten tomato and an unexpected gust of wind.
So often one hears that many people had died at one time and place but their individual lives become lost in the number. I met with each of The Thirty-five’s survivors to make sure they would be remembered.
Entry 79 - Fighting rage
Randy Derringer, 32, did not kiss his wife as he left that morning; in fact he felt badly about the selfish way he had acted. He planned to apologize when he came home that evening.
Mai Vang, 27, was planning her wedding. Her best friend was refusing to divulge any details about the bachelorette party except that she was supposed to bring a towel.
Camille Harper, 20, was still chattering to her best friend about what a terrific family reunion she had attended a few days earlier, reconnecting with cousins she hadn’t seen in years.
Stan Aziz, 63, was concerned that his grandson didn’t seem to have a plan for his life. Kids nowadays seem so aimless and uncaring about where their lives are going, he thought.
Phyllis Henderson, 49, had been Lon Weston’s personal secretary for 23 years. She and her husband vacationed every year at Lake Ptolemy.
Maureen Fisher, 22, was concerned about her great-grandmother’s failing health. She was planning to meet with her that night to suggest she move in as a full-time caretaker. She expected resistance from her feisty, independent Great-grandmama.
Snooky Wong, 33, had owned the first and most popular bar in the Proximi Centauri 3 encampment, but she abandoned that dream to accompany her husband to Sirius 4. Rather than deal with the rigors of running another late-night establishment, she chose to put her talents to work in a day job at Imaginary Structures.
Pete Wong, 38, had worked in the logistics industry as an independent contractor. He and his partner had their ship hijacked during the imaginary bomb incident; after marrying, he decided to settle on Sirius 4 because of its independence.
Lian Wong, 1, had an entire life ahead of her. Her parents were sure it would be a happy one because of the way she laughed and smiled impishly all the time.
Seth Johnson, 23, was a hunter who astonished his friends with his skills as a wild game chef. He eschewed manufacturing meals out of ImagPro and liked to talk about how food was “meant” to be prepared.
Juniper Lapin, 31, saved Michael McWilliams’ life during an attack on their campsite during the Earthian occupation. I need not remind you of how important McWilliams’ medical research has been in recent years.
Benny Cardova, 94, was having a dispute with builders over where to locate the lakefront home where he planned to spend the last 20-30 years of his life. But he told friends if Sinclair were to get away with closing this business, it wouldn’t matter where he wanted the home built.
Shen Hu, 17, wished his friends understood how what happens to a factory in Ganges Pass could affect everyone on the planet.
Taja al Reshedi, 49, was one of the most respected physicians on Sirius 4.
Salman al Reshedi, 51, proudly lived in the shadow of his well-known wife and dabbled in sculpture.
Russell Perry, 71, had coached successful competitive swimmers for decades but confided in friends that in another 10 years he might be ready to retire.
Brenda Henderson, 33, was an architect who was pushing the envelope of using Imaginary Structures’ technology for bold design, but her friends said recently she was most excited about learning her third child was on the way.
Cliff Henderson, 32, had worried out loud that Imaginary Structures was making his building skills obsolete but also touted the value of maintaining those old skills for clients who wanted “the real thing.”
Jaklyn Sanders, 45, had produced some of the most insightful news features about Badiah Sinclair and took some of the dramatic footage of the Ganges Pass incident up to her death.
Marjorie Butler, 19, wrote a beautiful poem about freedom that was read at the memorial service for The Thirty-Five.
Victor Foster, 109, was known as “Poppy Po” to his great-great-grandchildren and often spoke to them about the important of standing up for their beliefs.
Milt Gray, 50, councilor, was one of Badi Sinclair’s early political allies but was not at all pleased with some of the president’s recent decisions.
Chester Washington, 25, Councilor Gray’s chief aide, was one of the brightest analysts of fiscal data at the capital.
Everett Brooks, 60, was renowned for his gardening abilities. Friends spoke of how serene he always seemed, especially after a full day working the soil.
Cora Patterson, 19, had entered the university that semester but was already telling friends and family it was a mistake. She was writing the plan for her new business and expected to finish her classes and launch the endeavor.
Leona Ross, 21, was also planning to leave the university but had no plan for her future. Her mother feared she lacked of direction, but her father spoke of his daughter’s remarkable compassion for animals and was confident something would have come of that.
Patrick Carroll, 54, entertained children for a living. His friends said he was a big kid himself and may have been the happiest man on Sirius 4.
Aidan Hughes, 42, came to Ganges Pass to meet John Hemlock and perhaps get his autograph. His passion for following Earthian football was the only thing that all of his friends mentioned.
Hanna Whyte, 98, inspired generations of her family to succeed, coaching, cajoling and chiding them not to settle for producing anything less than something others would love.
Philippe Losnedahl, 59, was one of the founders of a popular beverage company who gave more than half of his fortune to the arts and charities. The Losnedahl Foundation is a major contributor to the university’s music programs.
John Olhouser, 36, was an obstetrician-gynecologist from a well-placed family; his parents had made a fortune developing the Olhouser brewery; he was active in political causes and injected passion into everything he did.
Beverly Symanczyk, 43, lived for weekends at her retreat on Lake Ptolemy, a little cottage she had saved to purchase for the first decade of her career. A popular face at Imaginary Structures, she was a reliable worker whose heart and soul lived for that waterfront property.
Gavin Ndebele, 63, was a dedicated sales engineer who made time for fishing, hunting and working in the great outdoors. He would not hesitate to pick up his guitar and entertain visitors at the slightest hint of an invitation.
Trevor Rubio, 83, owned his own business in the energy industry. His children each laughed spontaneously recalling an incident involving their father, a rotten tomato and an unexpected gust of wind.
So often one hears that many people had died at one time and place but their individual lives become lost in the number. I met with each of The Thirty-five’s survivors to make sure they would be remembered.
Entry 79 - Fighting rage
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Entry 77. Reporting for work
At the hour when the workday at Imaginary Structures Inc. usually began, three distinct and large groups were gathered near the front gate.
Forming a perimeter around the complex were hundreds of security officers, armed, wearing face masks and armor, and holding large shields. Facing them were 5,000 witnesses surrounding 1,500 company employees, who were dressed for an average workday.
At the front of the line was Lon Weston, president and founder of Imaginary Structures, with a big smile on his face. It seemed a little forced, as if he was trying as hard as he could to look serene but it wasn’t working so well.
I stood near Lon with Buffalo and John Hemlock. We witnesses were going to form a corridor through which the workers would walk. In an ideal world, the small army of security personnel would step aside, but they looked as though they were prepared to stand their ground.
The plan was for the workers to press forward until they were taken into custody; once in custody, they would respectfully decline to cooperate with authorities. Asked their name, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Pressed for a contact number or address, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Threatened with jail or prison, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.”
With all 1,500 employees of Imaginary Structures Inc. being processed, the court system would have precious little time for real criminals.
Looking at his timepiece, Lon Weston proclaimed loudly, “All right folks, let’s go to work.” And he began to stride toward the line of shields. The company’s associates came forward behind him.
“This plant is closed. Do not come any farther or you will be trespassing,” an authoritative voice barked from somewhere behind the dark force.
Lon Weston and his team came forward.
“It’s such a beautiful day to work,” Weston called, spreading his arms to indicate the warm, bright sun.
“You are trespassing. Turn back now,” barked the disembodied voice.
Lon Weston and his team came forward. Except for the armed men with shields blocking their path, it could have been any other morning as people approached the factory entrance. Perhaps there was less of the everyday chattering of conversation.
“Halt. This is your final warning,” barked the voice.
“We choose not to participate,” someone called from behind Lon Weston, and a few people laughed nervously.
The crowd was three to five meters from the security force. “Here come the arrests,” I said to no one in particular.
And then, for the second time, John Hemlock saved my life.
He stepped in front of Buffalo and me, yelled “Get down!” and not waiting for us to react, tackled us flat and covered us with his massive body.
Not quite comprehending, as I fell backwards I caught a glimpse of dozens of security forces aiming their weapons.
Entry 78
Forming a perimeter around the complex were hundreds of security officers, armed, wearing face masks and armor, and holding large shields. Facing them were 5,000 witnesses surrounding 1,500 company employees, who were dressed for an average workday.
At the front of the line was Lon Weston, president and founder of Imaginary Structures, with a big smile on his face. It seemed a little forced, as if he was trying as hard as he could to look serene but it wasn’t working so well.
I stood near Lon with Buffalo and John Hemlock. We witnesses were going to form a corridor through which the workers would walk. In an ideal world, the small army of security personnel would step aside, but they looked as though they were prepared to stand their ground.
The plan was for the workers to press forward until they were taken into custody; once in custody, they would respectfully decline to cooperate with authorities. Asked their name, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Pressed for a contact number or address, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.” Threatened with jail or prison, they’d respond, “I choose not to participate.”
With all 1,500 employees of Imaginary Structures Inc. being processed, the court system would have precious little time for real criminals.
Looking at his timepiece, Lon Weston proclaimed loudly, “All right folks, let’s go to work.” And he began to stride toward the line of shields. The company’s associates came forward behind him.
“This plant is closed. Do not come any farther or you will be trespassing,” an authoritative voice barked from somewhere behind the dark force.
Lon Weston and his team came forward.
“It’s such a beautiful day to work,” Weston called, spreading his arms to indicate the warm, bright sun.
“You are trespassing. Turn back now,” barked the disembodied voice.
Lon Weston and his team came forward. Except for the armed men with shields blocking their path, it could have been any other morning as people approached the factory entrance. Perhaps there was less of the everyday chattering of conversation.
“Halt. This is your final warning,” barked the voice.
“We choose not to participate,” someone called from behind Lon Weston, and a few people laughed nervously.
The crowd was three to five meters from the security force. “Here come the arrests,” I said to no one in particular.
And then, for the second time, John Hemlock saved my life.
He stepped in front of Buffalo and me, yelled “Get down!” and not waiting for us to react, tackled us flat and covered us with his massive body.
Not quite comprehending, as I fell backwards I caught a glimpse of dozens of security forces aiming their weapons.
Entry 78
Monday, October 22, 2012
Entry 76. Preparations
Lon Weston had taken Imaginary Structures from, well, a figment of his imagination to one of the larger businesses on Sirius 4 and certainly the economic engine of Ganges Pass. He was not an imposing man physically, but he had a quiet energy that simmered under the surface all the time and frequently bubbled over.
Usually that energy was expressed in enthusiasm and encouragement; now the best words seemed to be anger and frustration. He and his associates, 15 hundred strong, had decided to show up for work as usual the next morning, and now Weston had asked me to coach them on passive resistance.
“We’re scientists and programmers, not activists,” he said. “I need you to give us all a short course on how this works.”
As I had said so many times over the years, and especially to the thousands more who would back up the workers in the morning, I stressed the importance of nonviolence.
“Presuming there will be a security force there to turn you back, you should be firm in your resolve but not raise a hand to them,” I said. “One of the basics of civil disobedience is being willing to accept the consequences of your disobedience. I’m guessing they will either let you through the gates or arrest you; our goal is to fill the jail and clog up the system. But don’t resist arrest – try very hard to get in and don’t stop until they bring you into custody, but let them bring you into custody. There’s a component of raising public sympathy here, and believe me it’s all on your side, but that can shift if you slug a cop or do anything else to hurt them.”
“Why if they try to hurt us?” someone asked from the middle of the group. “Don’t we have a right to defend ourselves?”
I told them about Gandhi’s march to the sea, about how the protesters were urged not even to raise their hands to defend themselves if the police started beating them, about how wave after wave of people did just that, and how the result was a revulsion so universal that the British government agreed to relax its restrictions and, more important, never had the power it once had over the Indian people.
“Gandhi called it satyagraha – satya is a word meaning a truth that equals love, and graha means force. If you do this with a spirit of love, you will accomplish amazing things,” I said. “I don’t think they will try to hurt you, but if they do, if you don’t try to hurt them back, your power will increase exponentially.”
What smug assurance I had when I said, “I don’t think they will try to hurt you.”
Entry 77
Usually that energy was expressed in enthusiasm and encouragement; now the best words seemed to be anger and frustration. He and his associates, 15 hundred strong, had decided to show up for work as usual the next morning, and now Weston had asked me to coach them on passive resistance.
“We’re scientists and programmers, not activists,” he said. “I need you to give us all a short course on how this works.”
As I had said so many times over the years, and especially to the thousands more who would back up the workers in the morning, I stressed the importance of nonviolence.
“Presuming there will be a security force there to turn you back, you should be firm in your resolve but not raise a hand to them,” I said. “One of the basics of civil disobedience is being willing to accept the consequences of your disobedience. I’m guessing they will either let you through the gates or arrest you; our goal is to fill the jail and clog up the system. But don’t resist arrest – try very hard to get in and don’t stop until they bring you into custody, but let them bring you into custody. There’s a component of raising public sympathy here, and believe me it’s all on your side, but that can shift if you slug a cop or do anything else to hurt them.”
“Why if they try to hurt us?” someone asked from the middle of the group. “Don’t we have a right to defend ourselves?”
I told them about Gandhi’s march to the sea, about how the protesters were urged not even to raise their hands to defend themselves if the police started beating them, about how wave after wave of people did just that, and how the result was a revulsion so universal that the British government agreed to relax its restrictions and, more important, never had the power it once had over the Indian people.
“Gandhi called it satyagraha – satya is a word meaning a truth that equals love, and graha means force. If you do this with a spirit of love, you will accomplish amazing things,” I said. “I don’t think they will try to hurt you, but if they do, if you don’t try to hurt them back, your power will increase exponentially.”
What smug assurance I had when I said, “I don’t think they will try to hurt you.”
Entry 77
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Entry 75. Interact with love (The second tenet)
It is something I believe so strongly that I made it the second essential tenet of my world view: Interact with love, not force or violence.
You make no friends using force or violence; coercion can only silence your enemies, it will not convert them.
Through the years this has not stopped people who have set themselves above the rest of us from using force to impose their will. But while they may have changed the behavior of their subjects by using violence – or a very real threat of violence – they did not affect what was inside those beaten subjects.
All they created were dead enemies – or defeated enemies who avenged violence with violence at the first opportunity. And so the cycle has continued for centuries.
Only love can make a friend; it is that much more powerful than hate. Deploying love takes patience, forgiveness and a discipline that feels counterintuitive and defies human nature at times. But it is the only sure way to resolve a conflict. People respond in kind: Force your will on them, and they will eventually respond with force. Treat people with love and respect – even (or perhaps especially) those who wish you harm – and they will eventually respond with love and respect.
Early on I adopted what a long-ago philosopher called the Zero Aggression Principle – no one has the right, under any circumstances, to initiate force against another human being for any reason whatever; nor should anyone advocate the initiation of force, or delegate it to anyone else.
I have always believed that a society based on that principle likely would not even need a government to keep the peace or secure liberty. I must confess I never expected I’d have the opportunity in my lifetime to test that theory.
Entry 76
You make no friends using force or violence; coercion can only silence your enemies, it will not convert them.
Through the years this has not stopped people who have set themselves above the rest of us from using force to impose their will. But while they may have changed the behavior of their subjects by using violence – or a very real threat of violence – they did not affect what was inside those beaten subjects.
All they created were dead enemies – or defeated enemies who avenged violence with violence at the first opportunity. And so the cycle has continued for centuries.
Only love can make a friend; it is that much more powerful than hate. Deploying love takes patience, forgiveness and a discipline that feels counterintuitive and defies human nature at times. But it is the only sure way to resolve a conflict. People respond in kind: Force your will on them, and they will eventually respond with force. Treat people with love and respect – even (or perhaps especially) those who wish you harm – and they will eventually respond with love and respect.
Early on I adopted what a long-ago philosopher called the Zero Aggression Principle – no one has the right, under any circumstances, to initiate force against another human being for any reason whatever; nor should anyone advocate the initiation of force, or delegate it to anyone else.
I have always believed that a society based on that principle likely would not even need a government to keep the peace or secure liberty. I must confess I never expected I’d have the opportunity in my lifetime to test that theory.
Entry 76
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Entry 74. Taking action
I believe the most beautiful place on Sirius 4 is the beach of Lake Ptolemy, but an argument can be made for the region around Ganges Pass. This was a lush forested land that settlers had cleared strategically to conserve the woods while making room for crops and homes. The great river that flowed through the region evoked the memory of a mighty Earthian waterway, and so those early adapters named their settlement after that memory.
When the occupying force first took up stations around the Imaginary Structures factory and blocked the path of anyone attempting to report to work, I called on people to report to work anyway.
“What are they going to do, murder 1,500 people for trying to make a living?” I said at the time.
A handful of people did make the attempt but were peacefully turned away, if being shoved to the ground or arrested for trespassing can be called “peaceful.” In comparison to what Badiah Sinclair’s forces ended up doing, it had been peaceful indeed.
Unrest across the land had already become a bit of a problem for the government. Councilors were getting a lot of questions why – if a healthy portion of our confiscated earnings were no longer being sent to prop up the Earthian government – they had not lowered taxes to reflect the flow of funds to Earth that was no longer flowing.
“Earth is no longer providing the services we received in return for those taxes; we have to do it ourselves,” the councilors would say. “Be patient, once we get everything established we should be able to lower the tax.”
Badiah Sinclair’s decision to enforce the ImagCorp ultimatum changed everything.
“We can’t live without the products and benefits of imaginary physics,” he pleaded with the citizenry. “Imaginary Structures Inc. is going to have to abide by the licensing process that all of these other producers are following.”
But “all of these other producers” were, at that time, on Earth. ISI was the only company on Sirius 4 using what ImagCorp described as its proprietary technology and what every licensed company using that technology had reverse-engineered and adapted more than a century earlier. They just went along with the licenses to save even higher legal costs.
Imaginary Structures didn’t see the need for the license, and for several years it had the Sirian government’s backing. Now Sinclair was yielding to ImagCorp’s extortion.
“Just go to work, all together,” I told the people who asked. “The state depends on the ‘voluntary’ cooperation of its subjects to survive. If you ignore it in unison, they may try to turn you away and even arrest all of you, but that would clog the courts – they would have to find a way to back down. Respectfully refuse to acknowledge their authority and they’re lost. That’s the essence of noncooperation.”
And so the 1,479 associates of Imaginary Structures Inc. showed up to work that morning, with more than 5,000 of us gathered near the gates in solidarity to cheer them as they entered. I never believed Badi Sinclair, whom I’d known all my life, was capable of what happened next.
Entry 75
When the occupying force first took up stations around the Imaginary Structures factory and blocked the path of anyone attempting to report to work, I called on people to report to work anyway.
“What are they going to do, murder 1,500 people for trying to make a living?” I said at the time.
A handful of people did make the attempt but were peacefully turned away, if being shoved to the ground or arrested for trespassing can be called “peaceful.” In comparison to what Badiah Sinclair’s forces ended up doing, it had been peaceful indeed.
Unrest across the land had already become a bit of a problem for the government. Councilors were getting a lot of questions why – if a healthy portion of our confiscated earnings were no longer being sent to prop up the Earthian government – they had not lowered taxes to reflect the flow of funds to Earth that was no longer flowing.
“Earth is no longer providing the services we received in return for those taxes; we have to do it ourselves,” the councilors would say. “Be patient, once we get everything established we should be able to lower the tax.”
Badiah Sinclair’s decision to enforce the ImagCorp ultimatum changed everything.
“We can’t live without the products and benefits of imaginary physics,” he pleaded with the citizenry. “Imaginary Structures Inc. is going to have to abide by the licensing process that all of these other producers are following.”
But “all of these other producers” were, at that time, on Earth. ISI was the only company on Sirius 4 using what ImagCorp described as its proprietary technology and what every licensed company using that technology had reverse-engineered and adapted more than a century earlier. They just went along with the licenses to save even higher legal costs.
Imaginary Structures didn’t see the need for the license, and for several years it had the Sirian government’s backing. Now Sinclair was yielding to ImagCorp’s extortion.
“Just go to work, all together,” I told the people who asked. “The state depends on the ‘voluntary’ cooperation of its subjects to survive. If you ignore it in unison, they may try to turn you away and even arrest all of you, but that would clog the courts – they would have to find a way to back down. Respectfully refuse to acknowledge their authority and they’re lost. That’s the essence of noncooperation.”
And so the 1,479 associates of Imaginary Structures Inc. showed up to work that morning, with more than 5,000 of us gathered near the gates in solidarity to cheer them as they entered. I never believed Badi Sinclair, whom I’d known all my life, was capable of what happened next.
Entry 75
Monday, October 15, 2012
Entry 73. Rendering with John Hemlock
After one of my talks about anarkhia and noncooperation, I turned to my friend and bodyguard.
“This must make you a little uncomfortable, when I say we don’t need a state to live our lives well, given what your Nazarene said about ‘render unto Caesar,’” I said.
John Hemlock looked puzzled, and then he burst out laughing. I have to say that John’s laugh is one of the most delightful sounds in the universe; he is one joyful man.
“Oh my man, you’ve been fooled by one of the all-time great misdirection plays,” he said, in what I believe was a football reference (I really should learn that game to understand my friend better). “‘Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and give to God what is God’s – Is that the quote you mean?”
“Yes,” I said. “He said pay your taxes and acknowledge the state’s authority.”
Another full-throated, full-body roar of laughter.
“Jesus said that when some political types were trying to trap him,” John said once he caught his breath. “They wanted to get him to say something subversive, so they asked him if it’s right for his followers to pay taxes. He knew they wanted to trip him up and catch him telling people to revolt. So he had them show him a coin, and sure enough Caesar’s picture was on it. And then he said – listen up now – ‘Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and give to God what is God’s.’”
Then he spread his arms wide with a huge grin, as if the punch line was obvious.
“Don’t you get it? This is the guy who said sell all your belongings and follow me – follow God,” he laughed. “Give to God what is God’s – Everything is God’s! Caesar is just a pretty, shiny picture.
“You just keep talking about your anarkhia, Ray. My Nazarene is smiling and thinking, ‘Finally, someone gets what I was saying.’”
Entry 74
“This must make you a little uncomfortable, when I say we don’t need a state to live our lives well, given what your Nazarene said about ‘render unto Caesar,’” I said.
John Hemlock looked puzzled, and then he burst out laughing. I have to say that John’s laugh is one of the most delightful sounds in the universe; he is one joyful man.
“Oh my man, you’ve been fooled by one of the all-time great misdirection plays,” he said, in what I believe was a football reference (I really should learn that game to understand my friend better). “‘Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and give to God what is God’s – Is that the quote you mean?”
“Yes,” I said. “He said pay your taxes and acknowledge the state’s authority.”
Another full-throated, full-body roar of laughter.
“Jesus said that when some political types were trying to trap him,” John said once he caught his breath. “They wanted to get him to say something subversive, so they asked him if it’s right for his followers to pay taxes. He knew they wanted to trip him up and catch him telling people to revolt. So he had them show him a coin, and sure enough Caesar’s picture was on it. And then he said – listen up now – ‘Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and give to God what is God’s.’”
Then he spread his arms wide with a huge grin, as if the punch line was obvious.
“Don’t you get it? This is the guy who said sell all your belongings and follow me – follow God,” he laughed. “Give to God what is God’s – Everything is God’s! Caesar is just a pretty, shiny picture.
“You just keep talking about your anarkhia, Ray. My Nazarene is smiling and thinking, ‘Finally, someone gets what I was saying.’”
Entry 74
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Entry 72. The plant at Ganges Pass
The existence of the Imaginary Structures factory was a thorn in the side of ImagCorp, which had parceled out licenses for the use of its intellectual property for close to two centuries. When Badiah Sinclair and the council decreed that the plant could reopen, alarm bells must have sounded at corporate headquarters.
It was telling, for example, that one of the invading force’s first actions had been to shut down the plant at Ganges Pass. It was not so much that people’s ability to purchase a shed or a home or a business building erected with imaginary power posed a threat to planetary security; it was the fact that this little company was using imaginary power without paying tribute to the barons of ImagCorp.
Whether an argument could be made that imaginary physics was now in the realm of public domain was irrelevant. One of the revenue streams to the company that pioneered imaginary physics was cut off. Long accustomed to having its licenses upheld and defended by the ruling government and its courts, ImagCorp exerted pressure on the independent state of Sirius 4.
When Sinclair said Imaginary Structures Inc. had a right to operate on his planet (“his” planet – another warning flag), ImagCorp responded by announcing that it would cease conducting business on Sirius 4. No new “legitimately licensed” product would be shipped here, and any license-holding entity that traded with Sirius 4 would be subject to losing its license.
To me the solution was self-evident: Encourage the freethinking entrepreneurs of Sirius 4 to fill in the market void, open facilities that manufactured meal machines and vehicles and all the other imaginary products upon which we had come to depend in our everyday lives.
To Badiah the solution was equally self-evident: “For our own protection,” he ordered that Imaginary Structures Inc. either negotiate an ImagCorp license or shut down its operation. To emphasize the point, he sent a contingent of troops to Ganges Pass.
The trickle of inquiries I was receiving about the nuts and bolts of noncooperation became a flood. Everything happened very quickly after that.
Entry 73
It was telling, for example, that one of the invading force’s first actions had been to shut down the plant at Ganges Pass. It was not so much that people’s ability to purchase a shed or a home or a business building erected with imaginary power posed a threat to planetary security; it was the fact that this little company was using imaginary power without paying tribute to the barons of ImagCorp.
Whether an argument could be made that imaginary physics was now in the realm of public domain was irrelevant. One of the revenue streams to the company that pioneered imaginary physics was cut off. Long accustomed to having its licenses upheld and defended by the ruling government and its courts, ImagCorp exerted pressure on the independent state of Sirius 4.
When Sinclair said Imaginary Structures Inc. had a right to operate on his planet (“his” planet – another warning flag), ImagCorp responded by announcing that it would cease conducting business on Sirius 4. No new “legitimately licensed” product would be shipped here, and any license-holding entity that traded with Sirius 4 would be subject to losing its license.
To me the solution was self-evident: Encourage the freethinking entrepreneurs of Sirius 4 to fill in the market void, open facilities that manufactured meal machines and vehicles and all the other imaginary products upon which we had come to depend in our everyday lives.
To Badiah the solution was equally self-evident: “For our own protection,” he ordered that Imaginary Structures Inc. either negotiate an ImagCorp license or shut down its operation. To emphasize the point, he sent a contingent of troops to Ganges Pass.
The trickle of inquiries I was receiving about the nuts and bolts of noncooperation became a flood. Everything happened very quickly after that.
Entry 73
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Entry 71. Getting there
Although a few people seemed to agree with me about the value of noncooperation versus violent revolution, and I was being heard by influential people, it wasn’t a popular opinion when there was an occupying force from Earth walking the streets. But when Badiah Sinclair began to act like Silas Fredersen, there were no calls for civil war. Perhaps some grumbling, and there definitely were more people who came to hear me speak.
Also giving me some assurance was the fact that of the two childhood friends, I was still the only one who had ever stared down the barrel of an assassin’s gun. Ironic, that – but men and women of peace do make the violent anxious.
Badiah Sinclair had been probably the most popular political figure Sirius 4 would ever see, and that made the disappointment that much greater when he began to run the government – and attempted to run our lives – just like pretty much everyone who had come before him. But few people wanted to do violence to him or to any of our neighbors who served on the security force. Again: The nature of Sirians is to leave our neighbors alone as long as our neighbors leave us free to live our own lives.
That’s why noncooperation could work on Sirius 4. I dare say it would work on any world where that core value is instilled, but our world was especially ripe for the effort.
Therefore it wasn’t long before the questions at my lectures became more specific and less about the general theory of passive resistance.
For instance: “What would a Jim Simmons do, if an armed force was sent to make sure his building was torn down?”
That was always a tough question.
“Find a way to stay alive,” I would reply. Simmons’ death played out exactly as successful passive resistance could, except perhaps that he displayed a rifle and the intention to use it. Because he was willing to die for the principle of using his own property as he saw fit, the government acted in an obviously foolish way, and the result was public outrage loud enough that the Earthian rulers withdrew, albeit temporarily. The idea was to do anything to block the tyrant’s progress, short of killing or maiming him.
There was one assuring thing – zoning administrators under Badi Sinclair weren’t going to bring in army units to back themselves up. A Jim Simmons could probably win his point by blocking the progress of any heavy equipment sent to raze his building, if it got to that.
The more everyday applications of noncooperation were a little less onerous. If the government bans the sale of alcohol, buy and sell alcohol anyway. If it taxes something for the sake of taxing it, don’t pay the tax. If called to jury duty against someone charged with a crime that shouldn’t be a crime, don’t show up. If the government bans the use of native salt, march to the sea and gather salt. Anything to throw a monkey wrench into the operation of an overreaching government.
Heads would always begin to nod in understanding and agreement.
Also giving me some assurance was the fact that of the two childhood friends, I was still the only one who had ever stared down the barrel of an assassin’s gun. Ironic, that – but men and women of peace do make the violent anxious.
Badiah Sinclair had been probably the most popular political figure Sirius 4 would ever see, and that made the disappointment that much greater when he began to run the government – and attempted to run our lives – just like pretty much everyone who had come before him. But few people wanted to do violence to him or to any of our neighbors who served on the security force. Again: The nature of Sirians is to leave our neighbors alone as long as our neighbors leave us free to live our own lives.
That’s why noncooperation could work on Sirius 4. I dare say it would work on any world where that core value is instilled, but our world was especially ripe for the effort.
Therefore it wasn’t long before the questions at my lectures became more specific and less about the general theory of passive resistance.
For instance: “What would a Jim Simmons do, if an armed force was sent to make sure his building was torn down?”
That was always a tough question.
“Find a way to stay alive,” I would reply. Simmons’ death played out exactly as successful passive resistance could, except perhaps that he displayed a rifle and the intention to use it. Because he was willing to die for the principle of using his own property as he saw fit, the government acted in an obviously foolish way, and the result was public outrage loud enough that the Earthian rulers withdrew, albeit temporarily. The idea was to do anything to block the tyrant’s progress, short of killing or maiming him.
There was one assuring thing – zoning administrators under Badi Sinclair weren’t going to bring in army units to back themselves up. A Jim Simmons could probably win his point by blocking the progress of any heavy equipment sent to raze his building, if it got to that.
The more everyday applications of noncooperation were a little less onerous. If the government bans the sale of alcohol, buy and sell alcohol anyway. If it taxes something for the sake of taxing it, don’t pay the tax. If called to jury duty against someone charged with a crime that shouldn’t be a crime, don’t show up. If the government bans the use of native salt, march to the sea and gather salt. Anything to throw a monkey wrench into the operation of an overreaching government.
Heads would always begin to nod in understanding and agreement.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Entry 70. Same as the old
President Badiah Sinclair addressed the planet and spoke about how the existing structure of the government remained in place, but now it belonged to us, not the Earthians. And that was comforting for the moment.
“We are a free world led by free people,” he said. If it seemed things were very much still the same, well, we still had that “free world, free people” image to fall back on. And in one mighty symbol of the difference, the Imaginary Structures plant at Ganges Pass was reopened.
Life without the tether to Earth was a bit of a challenge, especially for those whose role in life had been to pass wealth from Sirius 4 back to the old world and accept a fraction of the tribute back in return. But it wasn’t long before the treasury wasn’t paying all of the bills. To keep the new/old government running, Sinclair and his council implemented new regulations, some rationing and even curfews – so that some of the police force could have an occasional night off and still others could be laid off.
“Why do you still need all this bureaucracy, anyway?” I said during one of our increasingly rare lunches together. “Most of your government apparatus was created to facilitate the subjugation of Sirius 4 to Earth’s orbit. Not needed anymore.”
“Ray, I know it seems unnecessary,” the president said in a tone that was starting to sound like a parent lecturing a willful child. “Before you can obtain that ideal society based on liberty, there must be a period of transition to pave the way. We can’t just stop enforcing the law one day.”
“If it’s a bad or obsolete law, why not?”
My old friend laughed like my old friend, but also like someone who was getting tired of being patient. “Come on. What do you do with criminals? How do you enforce regulations?”
“You’re not hearing me, Badi. A lot of those regulations were designed to keep us in line. You’ve got a planet full of people who were tired of being told how to live their lives by someone who wasn’t here.”
“But now their leaders are here; the power is in Sirian hands.”
“The power to do what? Tell us how to live our lives? Remember the part where we were tired of that?”
“It’s only for a little while, until the people are ready for a little more autonomy,” Badi said, now approaching irritability. “You don’t just change everything overnight.”
“Well, actually, that’s the purpose of a revolution, isn’t it? When do you decide when it’s OK to loosen the chains?”
“That’s a little unfair, to talk about chains, Ray,” he said. “Really? Chains?”
“When is it OK to ‘give us a little more autonomy’?” I persisted.
“We’ll know when we’re there.”
About a year after the Earthians left, it was clear we weren’t going to get “there” anytime soon.
Entry 71
“We are a free world led by free people,” he said. If it seemed things were very much still the same, well, we still had that “free world, free people” image to fall back on. And in one mighty symbol of the difference, the Imaginary Structures plant at Ganges Pass was reopened.
Life without the tether to Earth was a bit of a challenge, especially for those whose role in life had been to pass wealth from Sirius 4 back to the old world and accept a fraction of the tribute back in return. But it wasn’t long before the treasury wasn’t paying all of the bills. To keep the new/old government running, Sinclair and his council implemented new regulations, some rationing and even curfews – so that some of the police force could have an occasional night off and still others could be laid off.
“Why do you still need all this bureaucracy, anyway?” I said during one of our increasingly rare lunches together. “Most of your government apparatus was created to facilitate the subjugation of Sirius 4 to Earth’s orbit. Not needed anymore.”
“Ray, I know it seems unnecessary,” the president said in a tone that was starting to sound like a parent lecturing a willful child. “Before you can obtain that ideal society based on liberty, there must be a period of transition to pave the way. We can’t just stop enforcing the law one day.”
“If it’s a bad or obsolete law, why not?”
My old friend laughed like my old friend, but also like someone who was getting tired of being patient. “Come on. What do you do with criminals? How do you enforce regulations?”
“You’re not hearing me, Badi. A lot of those regulations were designed to keep us in line. You’ve got a planet full of people who were tired of being told how to live their lives by someone who wasn’t here.”
“But now their leaders are here; the power is in Sirian hands.”
“The power to do what? Tell us how to live our lives? Remember the part where we were tired of that?”
“It’s only for a little while, until the people are ready for a little more autonomy,” Badi said, now approaching irritability. “You don’t just change everything overnight.”
“Well, actually, that’s the purpose of a revolution, isn’t it? When do you decide when it’s OK to loosen the chains?”
“That’s a little unfair, to talk about chains, Ray,” he said. “Really? Chains?”
“When is it OK to ‘give us a little more autonomy’?” I persisted.
“We’ll know when we’re there.”
About a year after the Earthians left, it was clear we weren’t going to get “there” anytime soon.
Entry 71
Monday, October 8, 2012
Entry 69. The first imaginary revolution
The words – but not necessarily the people who spoke them – are immortalized.
Unlike “Watson, come here, I need you,” or “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” you’d have to look it up to learn that it was Sara Wilde and David Shorting who made the mental breakthrough that led to the foundation of imaginary physics.
They were working in a lab at the company that became ImagCorp, struggling to find a way to move starships faster than light so that you wouldn’t need intergenerational space arks to travel from Earth to far-distant stars.
Ironically, the genius moment came when Shorting said, “I give up.”
Yes – “I give up,” David said. “I can’t imagine a practical way to travel faster than light.”
And then came the spark.
“That's it – we need imagination!” Sara Wilde said – although few people recognize Sara Wilde as the name of the person who said those famous words. Even I had to look it up.
Because – as people had been saying for centuries – the power of the imagination is unlimited. The key was developing an engine that tapped that power. Once that mental barrier was passed, it did not take very long for them to build that engine fueled by computers with imagination.
“The power of the imagination is unlimited” became the first and central tenet of imaginary physics. And unlimited it is. It’s not just the once-unimaginable reality of traveling between stars in a matter of hours (or days, at least) – imaginary power allows us to perform an incredible variety of operations.
But we can’t conjure something from nothing – meal machines, for example, need a wad of ImagPro protein supplement to create a meal. Hence the second tenet: Matter still can’t be created or destroyed.
And despite what Einstein said, time doesn’t accelerate or decelerate at faster-than-light speeds, and despite what a multitude of writers speculated, you can’t move forward or backward through time because all that really exists is this moment. Thus the third tenet of imaginary physics: What’s done is done.
Although it does indeed have those limitations at least, imaginary power is what enabled us to settle and develop Sirius 4 in a matter of decades. It’s what made this life, and this story, possible.
Entry 70
Unlike “Watson, come here, I need you,” or “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” you’d have to look it up to learn that it was Sara Wilde and David Shorting who made the mental breakthrough that led to the foundation of imaginary physics.
They were working in a lab at the company that became ImagCorp, struggling to find a way to move starships faster than light so that you wouldn’t need intergenerational space arks to travel from Earth to far-distant stars.
Ironically, the genius moment came when Shorting said, “I give up.”
Yes – “I give up,” David said. “I can’t imagine a practical way to travel faster than light.”
And then came the spark.
“That's it – we need imagination!” Sara Wilde said – although few people recognize Sara Wilde as the name of the person who said those famous words. Even I had to look it up.
Because – as people had been saying for centuries – the power of the imagination is unlimited. The key was developing an engine that tapped that power. Once that mental barrier was passed, it did not take very long for them to build that engine fueled by computers with imagination.
“The power of the imagination is unlimited” became the first and central tenet of imaginary physics. And unlimited it is. It’s not just the once-unimaginable reality of traveling between stars in a matter of hours (or days, at least) – imaginary power allows us to perform an incredible variety of operations.
But we can’t conjure something from nothing – meal machines, for example, need a wad of ImagPro protein supplement to create a meal. Hence the second tenet: Matter still can’t be created or destroyed.
And despite what Einstein said, time doesn’t accelerate or decelerate at faster-than-light speeds, and despite what a multitude of writers speculated, you can’t move forward or backward through time because all that really exists is this moment. Thus the third tenet of imaginary physics: What’s done is done.
Although it does indeed have those limitations at least, imaginary power is what enabled us to settle and develop Sirius 4 in a matter of decades. It’s what made this life, and this story, possible.
Entry 70
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Entry 68. Nary a difference
Life in independent Sirius 4 was not unlike the way it was before. This seemed to jar some people, who thought they would be happier if the Earthian tyrants were gone. Certainly there was no more killing, no more men and women in dark uniforms patrolling the streets enforcing curfews, no more edicts from a military man charged with keeping the peace.
More than a few expected to be free from the notion that their earnings might be confiscated and used for purposes of “the general good,” or that someone else might decide on their behalf what constitutes the general good. They expected the control of their lives and property to be in their own hands at last.
But there were still taxes and regulations and laws. The mitigating factor was that now the taxes were going to “us” and not back to Earth to be laundered and some of it redistributed back to Sirius 4. The regulations were protecting “us” and “our” interests, not Earth’s. And the laws were for “our” benefit.
Still, the people started to wonder about it all.
Entry 69
More than a few expected to be free from the notion that their earnings might be confiscated and used for purposes of “the general good,” or that someone else might decide on their behalf what constitutes the general good. They expected the control of their lives and property to be in their own hands at last.
But there were still taxes and regulations and laws. The mitigating factor was that now the taxes were going to “us” and not back to Earth to be laundered and some of it redistributed back to Sirius 4. The regulations were protecting “us” and “our” interests, not Earth’s. And the laws were for “our” benefit.
Still, the people started to wonder about it all.
Entry 69
Monday, October 1, 2012
Entry 67. Imaginary victory
But the war had to play itself out – there were not enough thinkers thinking like John, like Buffalo, like me.
And play itself out it did. Dozens of Earthians breathed their last each week, and their bodies were returned to their home planet. Dozens of Sirians also died defending their homeworld, and their ashes returned to the soil.
As is the case in war, the killings did not change minds. Earthians continued to believe they had a claim to Sirius 4, and the people of Sirius 4 were more convinced than ever that Earth had no such claim. But as is usually the case in war, those who lived in the disputed territory held the greatest resolve.
It was not a very long time – although it seemed forever to those who lost loved ones – before Earth requested a cease fire and negotiations were hastily resumed. not long after that, the peacekeepers were gathered up and prepared to be shipped back to Earth.
Lt. Joshua True and other dignitaries from Earth made a great showing of how Sirius 4 was now prepared to live on without peacekeepers, and President Badiah Sinclair – now recognized as such by the departing forces – was magnaminous enough to allow them to live the illusion that they were leaving because their job was done.
Badi told me later that as they made their final farewells, True gripped his hand as hard as he could – and he could grip mightily – and said, “This is your choice, Sinclair, but you know we’ll be ready when it all falls apart on you.”
Smiling as politically as he could and wincing in pain, Sinclair replied, “Thanks for the warning. We’ll stay ready to chase you away again.”
True’s eyes narrowed – true be told, he always kept his eyes narrowed – and he strode onto his ship without another word. Without a sound beyond their faint mosquito-like buzz, the imagination-powered ships rose into the sky and were gone, quietly and without fanfare.
They were accompanied by the roar of the crowd that had come to see them off. Badiah took the opportunity to make a speech – he was nothing if not a politician, after all.
It was quite a stirring speech, as you know, with as poignant turns of phrase as had ever been turned on Sirius 4. No longer simply a leader with dreams of a better tomorrow, Badi was now a great planetary hero who had delivered on the promise.
There is much talk about “us” in that speech – We turned back the invaders, and now we will move forward together, that sort of thing – and in all honesty there was only one moment when I winced and wondered if it may all be an illusion.
That was when the “we” turned singular: “Let me tell you about my vision for a free Sirius 4,” he said.
The words of that ancient song whispered through my mind – “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss” – but were drowned out by the crowd’s approving roar.
Entry 68
And play itself out it did. Dozens of Earthians breathed their last each week, and their bodies were returned to their home planet. Dozens of Sirians also died defending their homeworld, and their ashes returned to the soil.
As is the case in war, the killings did not change minds. Earthians continued to believe they had a claim to Sirius 4, and the people of Sirius 4 were more convinced than ever that Earth had no such claim. But as is usually the case in war, those who lived in the disputed territory held the greatest resolve.
It was not a very long time – although it seemed forever to those who lost loved ones – before Earth requested a cease fire and negotiations were hastily resumed. not long after that, the peacekeepers were gathered up and prepared to be shipped back to Earth.
Lt. Joshua True and other dignitaries from Earth made a great showing of how Sirius 4 was now prepared to live on without peacekeepers, and President Badiah Sinclair – now recognized as such by the departing forces – was magnaminous enough to allow them to live the illusion that they were leaving because their job was done.
Badi told me later that as they made their final farewells, True gripped his hand as hard as he could – and he could grip mightily – and said, “This is your choice, Sinclair, but you know we’ll be ready when it all falls apart on you.”
Smiling as politically as he could and wincing in pain, Sinclair replied, “Thanks for the warning. We’ll stay ready to chase you away again.”
True’s eyes narrowed – true be told, he always kept his eyes narrowed – and he strode onto his ship without another word. Without a sound beyond their faint mosquito-like buzz, the imagination-powered ships rose into the sky and were gone, quietly and without fanfare.
They were accompanied by the roar of the crowd that had come to see them off. Badiah took the opportunity to make a speech – he was nothing if not a politician, after all.
It was quite a stirring speech, as you know, with as poignant turns of phrase as had ever been turned on Sirius 4. No longer simply a leader with dreams of a better tomorrow, Badi was now a great planetary hero who had delivered on the promise.
There is much talk about “us” in that speech – We turned back the invaders, and now we will move forward together, that sort of thing – and in all honesty there was only one moment when I winced and wondered if it may all be an illusion.
That was when the “we” turned singular: “Let me tell you about my vision for a free Sirius 4,” he said.
The words of that ancient song whispered through my mind – “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss” – but were drowned out by the crowd’s approving roar.
Entry 68
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