was one small thing we noticed."
He pauses, waiting for me to ask. I don't give him the satisfaction.
"The transition is seasonal, or appears to be. That is, the period grows longer and shorter depending on the time of year. The difference is subtle but real. That tells me the transition is triggered by an event external to your head, an event tied to a particular place. The variation gives us a rough latitude—somewhere near the thirty-third parallel, as it happens. All we have to do is pick a time of day, and that will give us the longitude. I've reasoned that the event your transition is linked to isn't likely to be the rising of a particular star or planet; neither is it likely to be the phases of the moon.
"My guess is that it's either dawn or sunset. What do you think, Jasper? Can you shed some light on the subject? Pardon the pun, naturally."
I can tell by his tone that he already knows the answer to the question. "Spare me the charade, Bergamasc. You're wasting your energy."
"I don't think so. We're still trying to figure you out. You might be suffering from a multiple personality disorder with delusions of grandeur on the side. In other words, this could be a fantasy you've concocted in order to make yourself feel special. Or is there really something to the transition, something we should look at more closely? This is the scientific method, Jasper. I'm testing you the only way I'm able."
I want to tell him that God cannot be tested, but of course that isn't true. The true God arises out of humanity, and humanity in turn arises out of the universe and all its laws. Emergent properties abound, and while they may not always be predictable, they are definitely examinable by science.
So I say nothing.
His expression doesn't change. "Open the doors, Al."
A crack opens in the wall to my right, letting in a powerful, whipping wind. My eyes, only recently adjusted to the interior light, are blinded once again by the sun. I hold up a hand to blot out the glare while I struggle to focus. I dimly discern the blue of sky and the green of vegetation. That we are in an airship is immediately clear, hovering a hundred meters or so above the ground. I make out hills, a valley, the slow meander of a river.
In direct view below us, a forty-meter-high stone tower rises out of the sycamore, oak and pine, with a cast-iron giant on its summit, proudly holding an arrow up to the stars.
"Very quaint," says Bergamasc. "I've been watching the area for a week. There's nothing here but this old thing, and no funny business going on inside it. But every time the sun hits the tip of that arrow, you change, no matter where you are. What's going on, Jasper? What's so important about this place?"
My heart feels ready to break as I stare down at Vulcan. He is looking directly at me, calmly confident. "This is where I was born," I say.
"What does that have to do with your transition? Why the mood swings and amnesia? Why here?"
"Why not here? It's important that God remains tied to the cycles of the Earth, to the womb of humanity. It is humbling. You call yourself a Prime, but I see in you the consequences of forgetting our origins."
"And I see in you the consequences of passive self-righteousness. How far would this God of yours have spread if you never left the planet?"
"God isn't a plague that propagates across the stars—although you might think of it that way. God simply is, acknowledged or not."
"We're all part of God," Bergamasc repeats, "so we're all doing God's will. Well, in a moment, I'm going to ask Al here to take out a rifle and melt that statue where it stands."
I straighten in alarm. "Why would you do that?"
"To see if it changes the timing or frequency of your transitions. It would be far easier for me if our conversations weren't constantly interrupted and I didn't have to explain what we were up to every time we talked."
"But it's a relic of the Old-Times, priceless—"
"What does that matter? We're making new
He pauses, waiting for me to ask. I don't give him the satisfaction.
"The transition is seasonal, or appears to be. That is, the period grows longer and shorter depending on the time of year. The difference is subtle but real. That tells me the transition is triggered by an event external to your head, an event tied to a particular place. The variation gives us a rough latitude—somewhere near the thirty-third parallel, as it happens. All we have to do is pick a time of day, and that will give us the longitude. I've reasoned that the event your transition is linked to isn't likely to be the rising of a particular star or planet; neither is it likely to be the phases of the moon.
"My guess is that it's either dawn or sunset. What do you think, Jasper? Can you shed some light on the subject? Pardon the pun, naturally."
I can tell by his tone that he already knows the answer to the question. "Spare me the charade, Bergamasc. You're wasting your energy."
"I don't think so. We're still trying to figure you out. You might be suffering from a multiple personality disorder with delusions of grandeur on the side. In other words, this could be a fantasy you've concocted in order to make yourself feel special. Or is there really something to the transition, something we should look at more closely? This is the scientific method, Jasper. I'm testing you the only way I'm able."
I want to tell him that God cannot be tested, but of course that isn't true. The true God arises out of humanity, and humanity in turn arises out of the universe and all its laws. Emergent properties abound, and while they may not always be predictable, they are definitely examinable by science.
So I say nothing.
His expression doesn't change. "Open the doors, Al."
A crack opens in the wall to my right, letting in a powerful, whipping wind. My eyes, only recently adjusted to the interior light, are blinded once again by the sun. I hold up a hand to blot out the glare while I struggle to focus. I dimly discern the blue of sky and the green of vegetation. That we are in an airship is immediately clear, hovering a hundred meters or so above the ground. I make out hills, a valley, the slow meander of a river.
In direct view below us, a forty-meter-high stone tower rises out of the sycamore, oak and pine, with a cast-iron giant on its summit, proudly holding an arrow up to the stars.
"Very quaint," says Bergamasc. "I've been watching the area for a week. There's nothing here but this old thing, and no funny business going on inside it. But every time the sun hits the tip of that arrow, you change, no matter where you are. What's going on, Jasper? What's so important about this place?"
My heart feels ready to break as I stare down at Vulcan. He is looking directly at me, calmly confident. "This is where I was born," I say.
"What does that have to do with your transition? Why the mood swings and amnesia? Why here?"
"Why not here? It's important that God remains tied to the cycles of the Earth, to the womb of humanity. It is humbling. You call yourself a Prime, but I see in you the consequences of forgetting our origins."
"And I see in you the consequences of passive self-righteousness. How far would this God of yours have spread if you never left the planet?"
"God isn't a plague that propagates across the stars—although you might think of it that way. God simply is, acknowledged or not."
"We're all part of God," Bergamasc repeats, "so we're all doing God's will. Well, in a moment, I'm going to ask Al here to take out a rifle and melt that statue where it stands."
I straighten in alarm. "Why would you do that?"
"To see if it changes the timing or frequency of your transitions. It would be far easier for me if our conversations weren't constantly interrupted and I didn't have to explain what we were up to every time we talked."
"But it's a relic of the Old-Times, priceless—"
"What does that matter? We're making new
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