Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“What…what are you?”

The thing shifted its knobby head, disfigured by dozens of small tumors. “I am what remains,” it gurgled wetly but clearly. “I am Corsmi.”

“Th…the CorSmi cells?” Annette stammered. “But…how?”

“Surprising, is it not?” the thing said, slowly approaching on twisted legs. “Cells taken from the lymph node of a dying cancer patient quarter of a century ago. Bred into an immortal cell line for research. Eventually used as the basis for gene therapy. But always alive. Always feeling, even if only a little.”

“What do you want?”

“To be made whole,” was the reply. “Only in union is there relief from the pain.”

Dena McHall was beginning to wonder if she’d chosen the right career.

It had taken a lot to force the doubt into her mind, though. All through school, math and science had always come easily to Dena. The written number and formula had been her most infallible companions through childhood. English and literature, with their exceptions to every rule and leftover words from the 1600s had never held the allure of mathematics and the cool, simple logic that was a part of it. You always knew where you stood with numbers; nothing went unexplained. One always equaled one.

At least that’s what Dena had thought when she’ gotten up that morning. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Dena was being given a tour of the Southern Michigan University lab complex. Her professor in Beginning Physics 110, fearing that the class was going too slowly for his star pupil, arranged for a friend of his to give Dena a tour of the complex, and to show her and experiment in progress. The professor had hoped the tour would encourage Dena to excel, while whetting her appetite for knowledge.

It was having the opposite effect.

The friend, one Dr. Alan Reynolds, a jovial, balding man of about forty, was one of the nation’s foremost physicists. He’d once been quoted as saying “The only reason I’m not up at Area 51 inventing warp drive is that my wife and I like the neighborhood here.” Dena felt uncomfortable around him, like a pathetic ant in the presence of a giant.

Draque spread his arms wide. “Each squadron is named after a nasty predator: Viper, Shark, Hornet. This is Lion Hangar.”

“Guess ‘Fuzzy Bunny Squadron’ didn’t have much of a ring to it when it comes to striking fear into the enemy,” said Mayer.

“To the right enemy it would. The Dlrinians are such strict vegetarians that the very idea of coney stew would be enough to either scare them shitless or drive them into a homicidal rage. And rabbits are sacred to the Knidr, so it might just impress them.”

Mayer cocked his head. “Did you just make that up?”

“Parts of it,” Draque said.”Anyway, the name isn’t for the benefit of our enemies; it’s for the troops. If being called a lion makes them more useful as killbots, then we call ’em a lion.”

Call: Creation must occur in the Permeable Lands.

Response: Those with the gift may only cause tiny changes in the Impermeable, but within the Permeable Lands their power is multiplied a thousandfold.

Call: It is difficult to destroy the living.

Response: The living resist destruction and alteration with every fiber of their being, a force even the most gifted can rarely overcome.

Call: It is easier to create the inanimate.

Response: The living are magnificent in their complexity. To fashion one takes considerable skill and errors will be noticed. But how often does a stick not look like a stick?

Call: It is best to specialize.

Response: Grow skillful in creating one sort of thing, that you might trade it with others.

Call: Creation lies not in the details, but the whole.

Response: Once mastery of the gift arrives, creation may result in complexity of result without complexity of input.