The Daughter of Meter

By Jon Laurent

Pandora's box, it's empty.

A crown without a head.

A throne without a king.

A mass of bodies gathers around the abyss,

As it consumes everything.

We, nothing but the dust in a storm,

Kicked up and spun around

Until we spin no more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Laurent
• Release date: Jan 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224902323

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The Daughter of Meter

Jon Laurent

Copyright © 2022 by Author

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

THE CHILDREN OF BABEL

1.The Babel

2.The Spear of Silvaticus Rex

3.The Anfortas Company

4.al-Ghaib

5.The Wilderness of Nod

6.The Voice of Magna Mater

THE CROWN OF LEVIATHAN

7.Muhajir

8.The Rod and the Staff

9.The Hand that Feeds

10.A Crown Without a Head

11.Troy-Town

12.Leviathan

13.A Throne Without a King

14.Pharmakos

15.The Mother's Peace

16.Dervish

THE TEMPLE OF THE EARTH

17.Kitmān

18.The House of the Pillar

19.The Malākīm

20.Immortal Yi

21.The Song of Arad

22.The Mountain of God

23.Jihād

24.The Mask of Magna Mater

25.Atrahasis

As for the inside, Moses parted its length into three partitions. At the distance of ten cubits from the most secret end, Moses placed four pillars, the workmanship of which was the very same with that of the rest; and they stood upon the like bases with them, each a small matter distant from his fellow. Now the room within those pillars was the most holy place; but the rest of the room was the tabernacle, which was open for the priests. However, this proportion of the measures of the tabernacle proved to be an imitation of the system of the world: for that third part thereof which was within the four pillars, to which the priests were not admitted, is, as it were, a Heaven peculiar to God.

-Flavius Josephus, The Antiquities of the Jews

THE CHILDREN OF BABEL

The Babel

James and Rebecca Kee had everything they wanted: a house in the suburbs, in a town called Capitol Hills; a four-door sedan; and a cabin that they could escape to on weekends in the Summer. James had a successful career and served on the town's business advisory subcommittee; he was also a distinguished member of the fraternal lodge to which he belonged.

Rebecca's pride was the home she tidily managed with the assistance of an assortment of appliances: for tackling clothes with the heaviest stains, a Cyclone washing machine; for devouring any trace of dirt that their son, John, brought in from outside, a Void Vacuum.

John, or 'Yankee' as James and Rebecca affectionately called him, was as rambunctious as any boy of twelve, but his parents made sure that his youthful energies were channeled productively. Their vigilance kept Yankee in the good graces of his teachers, and helped to mold him into the star player of his little league team.

In the evenings, James and John would play catch in the backyard. Rebecca would cook dinner on her four burner, ringing her 'boys' in with the dinner bell. On weekends in the Summer, the three would retreat to the cabin, with Yankee bringing a friend, on occasion, to catch frogs and fish and take the canoe out on the lake.

James and Rebecca Kee thought they had everything, until one Tuesday evening when three rapt knocks sounded on their door.

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James. Mrs. Kee never yelled. Her voice always seemed to carry delicately through the house to whomever she called.

Mr. Kee emerged from his study. He almost looked naked without his tie. James sidled up to his wife and put his arm around her waist. To an observer, the gesture would seem affectionate, but for James it was a protective impulse.

A lanky, almost emaciated man stood just outside. Framed by the doorway, he seemed to be leaning crooked. His shoulders were slouched like a coat-hanger, from which the rest of his body seemed to hang.

What can I do for you? Mr. Kee kept a smile, but his eyes were watchful.

Elijah Acher, said the stranger, holding out his hand in introduction. I'm with Anfortas.

James looked past the man's outstretched hand, noticing the large briefcase held in the other.

We're not interested in anything you're selling. Mr. Kee moved to close the door, but Elijah Acher's still outstretched hand held the way.

I'm not here to sell you anything, Mr. Kee. By a cursory glance of your home, the care of your lawn, your clean cut and your wife's beauty, you appear to have everything.

Rebecca blushed.

Is that the newest model? Acher pointed to the Sedan in the drive. James nodded and cleared his throat with a cough. Elijah Acher whistled.

I bet that gets the attention of the neighbors. How can I convince my wife that we need one? Elijah turned to Mrs. Kee.

Rebecca blushed again. James noticed, but there was no need for jealousy, knowing that their marriage was as secure as any. Acher's attentions were simply a means to another end.

I'm not much for the noise, Rebecca admitted. But I do like when James takes me out for a drive. When it's nice out, and we can roll down the top, I like to loosen my hair and let the wind take it.

Let her pick the color, too, James added.

Elijah smiled, then raised his briefcase and tapped the side. I suppose I should get on with the reason for my visit.

Won't you come inside? Rebecca asked. It's such a warm day, and we don't wish to make you sweat.

James knew not to argue with his wife. She had command of the home, and he trusted her with it. Rebecca, gliding elegantly, led the two men to the living room.

Lovely, Elijah commented, admiring the home.

They made their way to the living room, where a young boy was stretched out on the floor, reading a book.

Yankee, said James. We have a guest.

The boy turned his head at his father's voice. He closed the book gently, raised himself off the floor, then walked over to where his parents stood, with the stranger between them.

This is our son, John, said Mr. Kee.

Hello John, the stranger greeted. I'm Elijah Acher. Acher bent to Yankee's level and extended his hand. The boy took it cautiously and shook it once before releasing his grip.

What's in there? Yankee asked, pointing to Elijah's case.

Yankee, James snipped.

Elijah tapped the case. Curiousity killed the cat.

The boy squinted his eyes as if that could help him peer within.

Why don't you go up to your room, said James.

Yankee hung his head. Mr. Kee mocked the gesture and guided his son toward the stairwell.

Please, Mr. Acher, sang Rebecca to the tune of Yankee's ascending steps. Have a seat.

Elijah sat at the end of the couch, and set his briefcase on the floor between his feet.

I'll get some lemonade. Rebecca whisked away to the kitchen.

James sat in a chair next to Acher's end of the couch. Anfortas, he said, pondering the name of Elijah's employer. Never heard of it. The man's eyes conveyed to Elijah the hidden meaning of his statement. It said: Even though my wife invited you into our home, you are not welcome here.

James leaned back in his seat. Elijah sat tensely, his hands on his knees.

What does Anfortas do? James asked.

Research, mostly, responded Acher.

There was a light clatter from the kitchen as Mrs. Kee gathered the glass for the lemonade.

What kind of research? James interlocked his fingers behind his head for support and narrowed his eyes further. Mrs. Kee stepped in, disrupting her husband's attempt at interrogation.

Communications, replied Acher, not letting Rebecca's intrusion keep him from answering.

I wouldn't know what to do without the telephone, Rebecca commented, interjecting herself into the conversation without knowing the course it was taking.

James shook his head. His annoyance was almost imperceptible. Acher poured himself a cup of lemonade. Rebecca followed suit.

So you have something to sell us? James suspended the small talk with his question.

Rebecca took a sip from her glass, her eyes perched on the rim of her cup watching Elijah like a pair of birds on a ledge. Acher lifted his briefcase from the floor and set it on his lap.

No, Mr. Kee. As I've said, I'm not trying to sell you anything. The locks of the case clicked. I'm here to offer you something.

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What is it? Rebecca puzzled over the black cube that had been placed on the table.

It's a paperweight, James dryly remarked.

Is there something in it? Rebecca questioned.

No, Elijah stated flatly. Here, he said, picking up the box. Let me show you. Acher faced the object as if to address it. Babel, what is the volume of a cube that measures six inches for all dimensions? The surface of the box shifted, like small grains of sand moved by an unseen hand.

216 cubic inches

It's right! Rebecca exclaimed.

Babel. James turned his eyes, trying to remember something about the object's name. Wasn't that the name of the tower destroyed by God? Wasn't the language of the builders confused?

Acher opened his mouth to respond, but Rebecca interrupted.

Babel, how many days in a year? The sands moved. It was like reading a mirage.

365 days

Rebecca's hands fluttered together in excitement.

Babel, how many fingers am I holding up? Yankee had crept downstairs and was now leaning over the table, staring at the cube. His parents were too focused on the Babel box to care that their son had sneaked out of his room. The grains of sand did not gather to answer the boy's question.

Think of the Babel like an encyclopedia, Elijah said, addressing the three members of the Kee family. But instead of having to search for an answer by flipping through pages of information, the Babel sends it to you.

However, he continued. The Babel is not all-knowing, at least not yet. Elijah picked up the cube. Babel, what is my name? The surface of the box did not respond. The Babel cannot know the answer to my question because it cannot see me. It is blind.

But can't it recognize your voice? James asked. Elijah shook his head.

Now, watch this, Acher continued. Babel, Elijah Acher is Elijah Acher.

James, Rebecca, and John raised their eyebrows in confusion.

Babel, asked Elijah. Who is Elijah Acher?

Elijah Acher is Elijah Acher

I don't understand, said Rebecca.

James knit his brow in confusion. Yankee began to fidget.

The Babel is writable, explained Acher. What I have just done is to create an entry in its memory. Let me try a clearer example. He turned to the cube. Babel, Rebecca Kee is a beautiful woman.

Rebecca blushed. Her husband ignored the flirtation, the knit in his brow now a tangle.

Mrs. Kee, Elijah instructed. Please ask the Babel who you are.

Who I am? Rebecca hesitated. Elijah nodded in reassurance. Babel, Rebecca began. Who am I? The sands were still. The Babel did not answer. Rebecca turned to Elijah for guidance.

Remember, Mrs. Kee. The Babel is blind; it cannot see who is asking the question. Try again, please.

Rebecca turned back to the box. Babel, who is Rebecca Kee? The sands replied.

Rebecca Kee is a beautiful woman

Rebecca jumped in her seat with the thrill of understanding. James turned to her, and the two laughed. Yankee picked up the box and turned it in his hands, questioning it with his eyes. Acher watched the three intently, making mental notes about the interaction.

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It had grown dark outside. Yankee had been sent back to his room. James and Rebecca were listening to Elijah Acher as he gave further instruction in the Babel's use.

Your questions must be precise, he said. The Babel can tell you the volume of a cube, but only if the dimensions of the cube are specified. Also, the 'facts' that you write into the Babel's memory do not need to be factually correct. The Babel cannot distinguish between the truth or a lie, right or wrong. And it has no knowledge of good or evil. Acher turned to the cube to demonstrate.

Babel, the volume of a cube that is six inches for length, width, and height is ten cubic inches.

That's not right, said James, ignoring what he had just been told. Acher pointed to the Babel.

Babel, Elijah continued. What is the volume of a cube measuring six inches for all dimensions? The sands returned an answer.

Ten cubic inches

You should be aware, Acher continued, that if you write a fact into the Babel for which it already has a memory, you will overwrite that memory. Also, as the Babel cannot recognize who you are, being blind, anyone who knows how to command the Babel can change the facts in its memory.

So what do you want? Do you want us to buy it?

I have told you, Mr. Kee, that I am not here to sell you anything. The Anfortas Company has reached the point in the Babel's development where we need data from the real world to advance its programming. The Company would like you to use it.

James Kee rubbed his chin in contemplation. How will you get this data?

Ask it questions and write facts into it, Elijah answered. The Babel will record the data. In a couple of months we'll stop by to pick it up so that we can transfer the information to our systems.

Mr. Kee raised an eyebrow in concern.

Remember, Acher reassured. The Babel is blind. It only captures the question and the fact. It knows nothing about who you are. Acher waited a moment for the question he knew should logically follow, but Mr. Kee had already moved on.

What if we have issues with it? What if it breaks?

Acher took out a card, handing it to James. Call me if anything goes wrong with it, and we'll send a technician over to pick it up.

Elijah took his leave of the Kee family. The Babel remained, sitting on the table where it had been left, ready to be used.

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James Kee knew that his wife was smart. When they had met, she was studying at the University. But marriage, and the birth of their son shortly after, had moved her into a more domestic role. Deep down, James could sense that his wife was frustrated, and that her management of the home, perfected by the use of the various appliances he had bought for her, was a means for her to feel that she was doing something that mattered. But the efficiency Rebecca had achieved for her family was magnified by the Babel's utility, which had quickly become ubiquitous in their lives.

Babel, we're having roast for dinner, Rebecca said, writing the fact into the device. Babel, Yankee's little league practice is at six o'clock.

Rebecca recited to the Babel as she worked in the home, the box taking in every fact she created and storing it to memory for later use by her family. Once the fact had been written in to the Babel's memory, it would quickly leave her own, freeing up her thinking for other tasks.

What time is my little league practice? Yankee asked as he burst through the door.

"Ask