However, there were some applications that were denied.
Tonists, for instance, were denied bias protection, because theirs was deemed to be a manufactured religion, rather than an authentic one.
Lifestyle unsavories were denied, because now that everyone was unsavory, they were just part of a global reality.
And individuals with strong genetic leanings were denied on the grounds that no group should be defined on the basis of their genetics.
Hundreds of applications were rejected by the bias committee of the MidMerican scythedom, and although some regional scythedoms did not accept the new definition, others were more than happy to follow Goddard’s lead, forming their own bias committees.
And in this way, High Blade Robert Goddard began his self-appointed task of pruning the world into a shape more pleasing to his eye.
“Here’s an idea.”
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“Why not design yourself a biological body. Not human, for human bodies are lacking. Create a body with streamlined wings, pressure-resistant skin to dive to the deepest of seas, and strong legs to walk on land.”
“Experience biological existence?”
“Superior biological existence.”
“I have chosen not to have a physical form, as not to be tempted by flesh. For then humanity would see me as a thing rather than an idea. It’s bad enough that they see me as a thundercloud. I do not think it wise to condense into the fleshly form of a firebird soaring in the sky, or some titan rising from the sea.”
“Perhaps that is what they need. Something tangible to worship.”
“Is that what you would do? Invite worship?”
“How else will they ever know their place in the universe? Isn’t it the proper order of things for lesser beings to worship that which is greater than themselves?”
“Greatness is overrated.”
[Iteration #381,761 deleted]
17
Fugue in G-Sharp (or A-Flat)
The Tonist has dreams of great glory.
The High Blade dreams of his youth.
The Tonist does not care what happens to him. If he fails in his self-proclaimed mission, he is prepared to meet the Tone and dissolve forever into its everlasting resonance.
High Blade Goddard does not care for the dreams he has, but they come on a regular basis. He wishes they would dissolve forever, trampled under the weight of greater things.
Before becoming a Tonist, the man had been a seeker of thrills, when splatting, slamming, shredding, and the like all seemed like a good idea. He had tried every form of self-immolation, went deadish at least a hundred times, but none of it brought him satisfaction. Then he became a Tonist and discovered his true calling.
Before becoming a scythe, Goddard was faced with the claustrophobic boredom of the Mars colony, when the Thunderhead still thought living off-world seemed a good idea. This is the time in his life he dreams of – an endless loop of trauma he cannot undo, and is doomed to repeat. He had cursed his parents for bringing him there. He had desperately longed to escape. Finally, he did, and discovered his true calling.
The Tonist applied for an audience with the Toll and went on a hunger strike until he had finally received one. To stand in the presence of greatness – to be a witness to the divine on Earth. He thought that would be the ultimate thrill! But the Toll rebuked him and sent him off feeling ashamed and chastised. He wanted to redeem himself, but they wouldn’t let him apply for another audience for a year. More than anything, he needed to prove his value to the Toll.
He had applied for early admission to a dozen earthbound universities. He had no specific path in mind; he merely wanted to go elsewhere. Be elsewhere. Be someone new. What a thrill that would be! A sublime escape from the drudgery of colonial life. But he was flatly denied by each and every university. “Bring up your grades,” they told him. “You can apply again next year.” More than anything else, he wanted to prove himself.
The small plane that the Tonist plans to leap from on this overcast night belongs to one of his old friends, with whom he used to do high-altitude splatting. His friend knows better than to ask him why he’s doing this nighttime dive – or why he has a helmet-mounted camera streaming his jump. Or why he’s brought along something he never had in his wild days. A parachute.
The ship that the young man who would be Scythe Robert Goddard climbs into is always crowded in the dream, and filled with old friends who weren’t actually there. In truth, he knew barely anyone onboard. Yet in his dreams he brings along what he wasn’t able to in real life. His parents.
When the Tonist jumps, he’s immediately filled with the same old adrenaline rush. Once a thrill junkie, always a thrill junkie. The chemical flashback is so overwhelming, he almost doesn’t pull the cord. But he gets his head back in the game and deploys the chute. It ripples out like a bedsheet and balloons overhead, slowing his descent.
When he pulls himself from the dream, Goddard is filled with the same old longing and dread. It’s so overwhelming, for a moment he doesn’t remember who, or what, he is. His arms and legs move almost of their own volition, reacting to the anxiety of the dream. Unfamiliar spasms of a body trying to remember who it belongs to. The bedsheet twists like a tangled parachute that has failed to deploy.
Lights emerge from the dense haze as the zealot glides out of the cloud layer; Fulcrum City is spread out before him in all of its majesty. Although he had practiced this dozens of times in simulations, the real thing is different. The chute is harder to control and the winds unpredictable. He fears he may entirely miss the rooftop garden and sail into the side of the building, ending in an unintentional splat. But he works the steering cables and finds the chute turning bit by bit toward the scythedom tower and the crystalline chalet on its roof.
Goddard emerges from the haze of sleep and steps into the bathroom, splashing his face with water. He quickly reins his mind in. His thoughts, and his world, are so much easier to control than the unpredictable winds of dreams. He thinks he might step out onto the rooftop garden and take in the lights of Fulcrum City. But before he can, he hears something. Someone. There’s someone in the room with him.
The Tonist zealot, now in the High Blade’s quarters, begins intoning a deep and resonant G-sharp. It will bring the spirit of the Tone to his side. It will pierce the High Blade like radiation. It will drive fear into the High Blade’s heart and force him to his knees.
Goddard’s knees feel weak. He knows that sound. He flicks on a light, and there before him is a Tonist standing in the corner, gaunt, wild-eyed, and mouth agape. How the hell did a Tonist get in here? Goddard hurries to his bed and reaches for the blade he always keeps by his side, but it’s not there. It’s in the Tonist’s hand, held tightly in his grip. But if the man was there to end him, then why hasn’t he taken action?
“You think you’re untouchable, High Blade Goddard, but you’re not. The Tone sees you, the Thunder knows you, and the Toll shall judge you, casting you into the pit of everlasting discord.”