Golem

By Brian Balke

In Golem, Dr. Balke deepens the mythos introduced in Ma, considering the challenges confronting those that assume responsibility for interstellar civilizations, and beyond to resolution of the universal conflict between good and evil.

Following the mystical ascendancy of the rulers of Paltane, ambitious local lords and the Eastern Empire rush to fill the void. Fear of the Golem, Lord Wortrin, an alien mind trapped in an electro-mechanical body, is the drum they beat. It is again to Earth that Corin and Leelay turn, seeking to use digital technology to restore Wortrin to his native form. But behind the scenes, Yeshua, avatar of unconditional love, forces Queen Zenica back to Paltane, and inexorably turns their efforts toward a greater and terrifying goal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jun 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490760438

Brian Balke

Dr. Balke would like his peers in physics to embrace spirituality as a phenomenon that deserves theoretical explanation, and understands unconditional love as the foundation for all of the deepest joys in our lives. For fifteen years, he has been laying out signposts to guide others into such experiences, and encouraging people from all walks of life to realize that attempting to prevent sin is a shallow substitute for the transformations that occur when our living is suffused with love.

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Copyright 2015 Brian Balke.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-6045-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-6044-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-6043-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015908579

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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For Karl, Kevin, and Gregory.

Thoughts seek bookends.

Life supplies them.

Preface

W hen in 2000 I resumed my journey into faith, I found myself wondering whether people had any sympathy at all for Jesus. It wasn’t enough that he had to suffer the pain of all the wrongdoing on our planet—no, he had to be responsible for everything everywhere.

It has been painful for me to witness the success of escalatory monotheism in public debate. Even the atheists buy into it, blaming religion for all the magical thinking and selfishness that infects the world. The contradictory evidence of the natural world seems to escape their attention—predation has an enormously long pedigree. The antireligious seems to have no sense of just how difficult it is to heal creatures that nature has programmed to hurt each other. Religion has no magical talisman to protect us from the prejudicial instincts of our neighbors, which require us to relate to them.

Because life is so complex, every generation seeks solutions for the problems that are immediately obvious, often failing to realize that those problems are the cracks in the solutions to uglier problems addressed by their ancestors. The misguided impulse to sweep away rules and restrictions brings a satisfying sense of activity, but it also polarizes public debate. Both sides of the struggle advertise the proclamations of hysterics, impeding rational discussion and informed problem solving.

The Catholic philosopher George Santayana is most famous for this dictum: Those that cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

In Three Philosophical Poets, Santayana marshals his wisdom to illuminate the difficulties of living well. His source materials, spanning two millennia, are the writings of Lucretius, Dante, and Goethe. The first extolled the virtues of reason, but Santayana observes that complexity runs reason into the ground with analysis paralysis. Dante upheld faith in divine love in his allegory of universal redemption, but reliance upon forces beyond our control leads to passivity and dependence. Goethe celebrates the accomplishments of forceful will now trumpeted by the elitist libertarians of the Republican Party, but a failure to negotiate with our peers generates ever-mounting resistance that eventually crushes the solitary man and brings the pyramid of tyranny crashing down under its own weight.

My first work of fiction, Ma, celebrated the feminine virtues of intuition, anticipation, and compassion as a means of escaping these traps. It chronicled the psychological struggles of men caught in the limitations of Santayana’s worldview and their liberation through submission to the caring of their women. The parallel story of Leelay suggests the psychological experience of a woman learning to support such men.

The deus ex machina of Jesus’s appearance at the end of the book was jarring to me. I rationalized it at the time as an assertion that Christ is called into being by the harmonization of masculine and feminine virtues. But it suggested to me that there was still more to be said.

I was also aware that Ma left many unanswered questions. The strategy of its construction was actually to overwhelm reason, forcing the reader to focus on the psychological experiences of the characters. When readers complained that I left a lot of loose ends dangling, I found myself playing with ideas that would tie them together.

Thus was born Golem. As a firm believer that love is universally redemptive, the work expands upon the dysfunction of digital technology, still characterized here as a unique manifestation of earth’s unstable ecology, and then imagines its applications in reconciling the divide between gods and mortals.

But at the heart of the writing is a plea for sympathy for our great religious figures. In the crushing grip of the enormously destructive forces that oppress humanity, to be a seed of light can be both humiliating and painful. Adherents to faith may seem foolish or misguided, but ultimately, they serve to dissipate those contrary forces, allowing the pure light of love to be liberated for all to see.

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T he empty shell of the building held no hiding places. Shying away from the light coming through the half-open roll-up door, Vladi ducked into the corner office and then heard booted footsteps on the concrete floor of the abandoned storeroom.

Flabby?

The bullies liked that insult. He shouldn’t have taken the receiver. Gudra would certainly notice its absence. Vladi shifted the debris, looking for a hiding place big enough for his backpack. As the steps came around the doorway, he curled up around it, wishing with all his might that his hunter would just kick him a few times and leave.

Flabby? Don’t walk through puddles. Makes tracks. Now c’mon, gigabrain, Alexi needs something. Vladi was hoisted up by the collar of his coat and crouched, with shoulders hunched forward. Don’t make me look like a jerk, the voice hissed in his ear.

Vladi uncurled and found Dorik waiting for him in the empty doorframe. He followed obediently across the wide pad. Halfway, Dorik kicked the puddle up, but he was smiling like he had once smiled in school, back when they were only eight. Put that on your back, or they think you got drugs or something.

Vladi stopped on the loading dock to check the scene. The gang was still clustered around Alexi’s open-topped roadster; their cars scattered up and down the block of assembly shops. Vladi knew the roadster was boosted—nobody had that kind of car here. Alexi sat in the driver’s seat, stabbing his finger into the console, his lieutenants smirking.

Dorik dragged him down the steps and across the road. Alexi, I got him. Wait here, Flabby. Dorik met Alexi as he threw a foot onto the asphalt. They spoke quietly. Alexi sneered and walked forward confidently. Hey, Flabby, you work with Gudra, right? Alexi towered over him, his girth beating at Vladi’s eyes.

Yeah.

My jetter won’t run. Fix it, and I’ll do you a favor. Dorik was nodding.

Vladi shuffled past. What does the console say?

I don’t know. It’s German. Get your asses off the fender. The two loafers stood away from the jetter. As Vladi slid into the driver’s seat, Alexi grabbed him. Wait. Vladi was manhandled through a pirouette. Boots on the liner. The crew snickered.

The backpack pushed him forward uncomfortably as he came down on the seat. Yes, the maintenance interface was in German. Vladi switched it to Russian as Alexi skipped around to the passenger side. The diagnosis was power fault. New parts for certain.

It’s the fuel cell or bus controller.

What?

Under the hood. Vladi spun through the operations guide for access instructions. When he had the panel up, he confronted a mess of wiring and the odor of burnt electronics. It’s been modded.

Hottest jetter on the Euro side.

Who? Then Vladi thought better. Blown capacitor on the control card. See? A large canister had popped its top against the inside of the panel. At a glance, Vladi saw why. The added power stages were overloading the regen circuit, and high-frequency voltage was leaking through into the accumulator. You want it to run fast or not break? I can keep the power filter from melting, but the torque is too high. If the mechanics don’t wear out, the windings will short. Shit again. They’re probably already damaged, you know?

Alexi looked at him blankly. It’s going to break again?

No telling, said Vladi.

Alexi shrugged with a sheepish grin. I’ll get a new one next year. Keep it hot. But you make it better?

Yeah, better and faster. Vladi felt a glow of acceptance. The turning radius will be reduced. I mean, you’ll need wider tires.

Alexi slapped him on the back. I’ll let you know. You have parts at Gudra’s?

You pay cash?

Sure, Flabby.

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With his back to Vladi, the thinning of Gudra’s hair was obvious. The owner buzzed him through the bulletproof partition. You in late last night, Vladi?

Road repair. They paid cash. Vladi dropped the roll of bills on the desk. Enough for Dr. Chernikov?

Gudra riffled through the roll and adjusted his scarf. Who did you take this from?

Vladi shrugged. People that don’t know anything.

Nobody has cash like this. What kind of people were they? Gudra tossed the roll into the back of the safe. You finish with the cryptography session?

Sure. Easy.

You make up time yesterday?

No. He had been trawling the hacker forums yesterday while Gudra was laid up with chemo chills. I can’t find the schematics.

Have you forgotten the public sites? Gudra was already transferring files to Vladi’s archive. Get this done.

Vladi said nothing and just put his palm on the armory scanner. He needed that receiver at home. Gudra was going to cut him off, he knew it. Once he had hacked into a mobile service, he could build a receiver, or maybe, after last night, he could get Dorik’s gang to find one.

Gudra had never said how he obtained this facility after the base was closed. People had shot at the window and set off dynamite against the walls. Nothing breached the construction. The workroom was a cavern. Ten benches at the front were loaded with industrial electronics and control systems for diagnosis. Fading into the darkness, row after row of racks held electronics and gear that Gudra’s suppliers had once purchased on eBay.

Vladi hated the Russian military. When they pressed territorial claims against Japan, the rest of the world had cut off access to electronics. So they were left with broken-down garbage, and Gudra had gone from equipment distributor to repair shop.

Vladi turned on the light over his bench and powered up the workstation. What was this? Gudra hadn’t downloaded specs. The first file began Quantum Distortion of Digital Control Loops. This had nothing to do with the repair. But it was cool. It looked like some kind of 3-D virtual reality headset. The technology was outdated, but the effects were surprising.

Vladi got up to poke his head through the armory door. No sign of Gudra. OK, well, he could ask later.

Later was well past quitting time. Vladi had never seen anything like this stuff and had gotten lost in the Russian hacker networks, trying to find answers. It was only the chat message from Gudra that pulled him out of the rabbit hole. I need you upstairs.

Gudra wasn’t up front. The upstairs was off-limits. Vladi was paralyzed until curiosity got the better of him. He tiptoed up the stairs. The palm scanner was unlocked. Behind the door was a mezzanine.

Gudra? No answer.

Vladi walked along the wall. His stomach did backflips. This gear is new. Where had Gudra gotten it? Why had he hidden it from him? The corridor was lined with offices. At the back, the largest had been converted to a bedroom. Gudra was collapsed in an upholstered chair. Vladi crept closer. Gudra, should I call Dr. Chernikov?

Gudra stirred. No. No, Vladi. Dr. Chernikov isn’t coming back. Those pills and some water. Vladi scurried to the end table and then back to the break room at the head of the hallway. He found an open water bottle but took a fresh one as well. Gudra sucked in a pill and took a swallow from the open bottle. Just a minute.

The computers, Gudra?

Yes, Vladi, I have some friends. What did you think about those articles? Gudra inhaled deeply and stood to guide Vladi back to the mezzanine.

Did you work on that?

Yes, I was, Dr. Ahramov. Gudra’s lips curled wearily. Let’s get you set up on this. Vladi had never used such authentication interfaces before. The fingerprint scanner was familiar, but then Gudra prompted, Think of your mother. The process was repeated several times before Vladi could log in without assistance.

Go ahead and explore. Wake me up before you leave. Gudra said and left back down the hallway.

The machine was loaded with software—cryptography tools, finite element analyzers, zero-day exploit archives, programming and circuit design suites, everything—with full access to the web through an external antenna and backup power through a kerosene fuel cell.

Gudra had crawled into bed. Vladi shook him awake. Gudra? Gudra?

The elderly man dropped his feet off the bed, sat, and rolled his shoulders. Well, what do you think?

Can I take it home?

It’s not meant for that. See this? Gudra pointed to the end table, an old-style keycard with a faded photo on it. Vladi looked from face to image. Yes, it could have been a younger Gudra. The Soviet Quantum Scientific-Industrial Institute outside Krasnodar. I was the researcher director when they closed it. You’ll find treasures there. Go anytime. You’re done here.

Without a second thought, Vladi left to fill his backpack with supplies and then collected the tablet. After planning his itinerary at the front desk, he raided the safe for last night’s cash. He stepped out into the night air but turned back. It wasn’t safe on the streets. Six hours until morning and then two hours until the first train.

He popped open the tablet and began browsing the software manuals. His mind was racing, and weariness just couldn’t catch up. On the train, an unguarded baggage room was his office for the first leg of the journey. Coming up for air at noon, he found himself wishing that he had Alexi’s jetter; he could have shortened his trip by a day.

If the truth was only half of what was described in the reports, he’d have free access to the world’s design data. The hackers would be happy to help him exploit the opportunity. Vladi had designed hundreds of machines, written hundreds of algorithms; with Gudra out of the way, at long last, he’d see them built.

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C orin scanned the boundaries of the growing room. The glade and surrounding woods were cut through in places by the original walls, hinting at a circle that had seemed endless to him as a child. Now even though the outlines defined a space that would take hundreds of paces to cross, the glassy smoothness was suffocating.

Twenty-three years old: that had been his age when the walls had been overwhelmed by the projections of the Fellowship’s hope, back when the Fellowship was only forty worlds. Now it was twelve hundred. The solidity of granite; the exuberance of flowered vines, nests, and burrows; the gathered power of life’s expressive thirsting had pierced the crystal walls with mystical pathways that once he had wandered freely.

Corin steadied himself against the great tree at the room’s center. It too was affected. Its myriad branching had receded until only the great limbs were left. Where his hand touched, he could feel still the personalities that held the Fellowship together: the compassion of Monteri, Czyrll’s incisive logic, the protective instincts of Daliash, Seractos’s creative wit. But the rest—the rest had lost their anchors in that hierarchy and clung now to his mind, the mind of their Nexi.

What would happen should the tree fade completely?

Corin circled its girth, coming round to the spring. Ambre and Ingolin were seated on the moss, dipping from the bowl that had once overflowed as a rill that wandered across time among the stars. The rill was now a trickle that paused when their cups came up.

The intimacy of their attitude swept his concerns aside. What were they doing? Whispers were exchanged, and then each raised their cup to the other’s lips. Eyes locked, they drank slowly for a space of heartbeats. Corin could not avoid the sense that he was witnessing a marriage. When they were done, the couple kissed tenderly. Ambre flushed as Ingolin offered his passion. When they separated, she smiled and mouthed the words thank you.

The room shivered. Corin understood. They were leaving.

Ambre traded cups with Ingolin and brought the second as a gift.

Dearest sister, Corin began as he accepted it.

Ambre curtsied deeply. Nexi.

Gazing at the golden crown of hair, Corin realized that she was granting him authority, authority that he had never imagined he would need to wield. As his adoptive elder sister, Ambre had befriended him after Corin’s mother had disappeared. When he had formalized the Fellowship as a political association, she had been the mystic that guided them through their greatest trials. But the spring had been her tool, and as it dried, it was only through its Nexi that the Fellowship could live for her.

Corin touched her shoulder and lifted her by the hand. Ambre, do you see nothing? How am I to sustain the Fellowship?

I cannot tell you much more than you know already. This change is not a change brought by fear. One power replaces another. As your mother weakens, another ascends. But…

Yes?

This I see only dimly. Danger comes, if only as a shadow of its former strength. Your work is in banishing it. For Ingolin and I only to keep the dawn from being eclipsed on Ekheal.

Ingolin had waited in the background and now clasped his breast to Corin’s. I cannot serve you as I once did, Corin. Corin felt worlds shift from Ingolin’s mind to his. It was only a goblet poured into a bowl, but Corin froze against the pain of the surrender. Ingolin was a warrior, and he was a philosopher and scientist. The melding brought dissonance, another problem for him to solve.

As Ingolin stepped back, Ambre pulled an inlaid ebony pick from her belt, offering, For Leelay. Please, Corin, this parting is not hers.

The past ends. He winced at the tone of loss in his voice.

Ambre stood on tip-toe to kiss his bowed forehead. Corin repressed an urge to sweep her up in an embrace. Ingolin took her hand, and the two walked into the copse as a bluebird flitted from branch to branch behind them.

Even after they had disappeared, Corin kept watch, hoping for one last flicker, just a turn and a final wave. Instead, the copse itself faded from view, revealing crystalline blankness.

Well, of course, he thought dourly.

Not daring to glance at the spring, Corin walked across the glade to the cabin that he shared with Leelay. Wide with concern, in the dim light, her eyes stood out against the dark brown face. Have they?

Yes. Ambre wished for you to have this.

Leelay smoothed the dress that filled her hands. It was worked with the signs of the mystical island where she had been healed of the shock of Morton’s murder on Earth. As his eyes adjusted, Corin observed that the details had changed: different birds and sea creatures, different hues in the foliage and sky. He had never asked her how she had come across it and couldn’t be certain whether the changes should be ascribed to its inherent qualities or to the constant mutation of forms that occurred in the confines of the growing room.

Leelay accepted the pick thoughtfully and inserted it in the front pocket of her pack. Smiling, she asked, So where are we off to?

I don’t know. Ambre implied that my mother is losing power in deference to another. She might return to Trialle and Paltane. There’s a room ‘porter that will take us there.

Would we be able to travel from Trialle to Earth?

Unfinished business?

Leelay shrugged and stepped closer to murmur, Would it be a bad thing to seek my father’s approval?

Corin broke into a sweat. Nothing would make me happier. But afterward, how do we get back to Trialle?

Leelay took the dress and held it against her length. I don’t think that I’ll need this. What do you normally wear when you go into the redwoods?

Something sturdy and warm. Jeans, woolen shirt, jacket, boots.

Ingolin brought a box earlier. Shall we look in it?

It was indeed filled with gear suitable for the misty climate of the Northern California coast. Leelay stripped without ceremony and changed. Corin waited as she closed her pack and headed out the door toward the great tree. Many of his personal effects were already packed. Feeling a little like he was being kidnapped, Corin changed, took the second pack on the bed, and followed his lady.

Well, at least something was unfolding according to his plan. An owl swooped down and hovered, dropping a packet into his cupped hands. Leelay smiled in awe, took in his demeanor, and flushed visibly even against her ebony skin.

Leelay?

Yes, my lord?

Corin went down on one knee. Will you guide my future? He unwrapped the bundle, found the smaller of the two rings, and held it up for her.

With some uncertainty, she replied, As I am able, Corin. She held out her hand, and Corin slipped the ring on it and offered her the second.

Corin?

Yes, my lady?

Is there anything that I can’t ask you to do?

I trust that you won’t ask me otherwise. She looked at him uncertainly and, taking in his smile, added the ring to his outstretched finger.

Corin stood, filled with pride. After a long and satisfying kiss, he released her and waited for Leelay to collect herself. She looked wistfully toward the cabin.

There’s a tree on Earth, somehow like this one.

I remember it, Corin affirmed. He stepped on to the lowest branch and reached down to aid her to rise.

They fell through time and space.

The close growth was familiar to Corin as the scene of remembered violence. That wounding had been replaced by a presence of purity like he had never known. Leelay? His betrothed simply shrugged, looking nervous. Corin led the way out of the copse. They were above the stand of redwoods, containing the great monarch that he had rescued from harvesting. Miraculously, the lesser trees that had been culled in preparation were restored to life.

A smaller man stood with palms against the great redwood. He wore a loose strip of cloth around his waist and sported heavy fur. Leelay gripped his hand, and Corin led her forward. The stranger, shedding light into the air around him, met them at the edge of the monarch’s buffer zone.

How can we help? Corin asked.

The avatar did not reply, simply looking into the sky.

Leelay, imp that she was, could not suppress herself. Yeshua, you look like a yeti.

Corin would have to warn her about provoking beings of power. The forest shook around them as Yeshua laughed joyously.

The Lord of Creation mastered his amusement, took Corin gently by the elbow, and guided him