In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 250-257

So here’s a brief synopsis of his plan:
He visits Darna, just to say goodbye.
He makes his entry into a tin can—
a can, that is, whose instruments apply.

We’ve talked about the trip to pull the pin,
but now he had that episode increase.
He couldn’t leave his womenfolk within
without at least attempting their release.

Again, he asked himself, “Why should I care?
I’ve severed my connection with them twice.
How long they live is none of my affair.
No profit comes this way from being nice.

“Self-sacrifice is only for the faint.
It isn’t rational, so it is wrong.
But there it is, defying all restraint.
I must have been attached to them too long.”

He’d have to find a way to ask advice
of Darna without giving her a clue
that he would make some people pay a price—
a big one, too—for crimes they did not do.

Alas, he never got the chance to ask.
She’d sent him off, though knowing she’d go blind.
He found a note that charged him with the task
of making sure the light of reason shined.

The light of reason? What was that to him?
It sounded like a mystical construct.
She had taught him to pay no mind to whim,
and this was something out of thin air plucked.

It was as though she must on dying leave
posterity what had been in her head,
but logically what would that achieve?
Self-interest is nothing to the dead.

Whose instruments apply: As opposed to a thoroughly unusable carrier, such as the one he had inhabited with Darna.
Episode increase: This has me stumped. The only episode that turned out larger than expected was the sojourn with his family, and since that was entirely unplanned, the word ‘increase’ seems inappropriate. If spending that time with them (presumably some years, if the daughter was old enough to receive religious instruction) gave him a greater attachment to them and complicated his plan, perhaps we can make some sense of this stanza.


©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 240-249

“That’s no more rational than all the rest.
My father didn’t know I was his son,
and if he had, he wouldn’t have confessed
to being more involved than anyone.

“The duty that you think belongs to me
did not exist when my genes got their look.
It lived for a short time in history,
but now it’s only in your precious book.

“The only human nature that endures
is not in what we’re taught; it’s in our blood.
The strategy for male apes that ensures
the spread of genes is to be just a stud.

“Despite those reasons, though, I feel an urge
to put another’s needs before my own,
so maybe I’ve more sentiment to purge.
Or is there something else I hadn’t known?

“I’ll tell you what: I’m headed that way, too,
to take my leave before I take my ride.
We’ve come this far; I’ll go one more with you
as long as our directions coincide.”

O, would that we were there to wish them well,
to watch them on their way as they went back,
for when they’ll make it home I can’t yet tell.
To try to tell would take us off the track.

I’ll say this much: Their journey did begin.
They did start for the place they did despise.
Their loneliness and restlessness did win,
assisted by the urge to proselytize.

The other member of this little clan,
though he believed that all themselves should rule,
was finding that he liked to be the man
with three dependent females in his school.

This troubled him the way his feelings had
when he had tried to save his daughter’s mind.
He had rejected all that made men mad
when he had had his motives reassigned.

So when they were within a mile or two,
and they first had the compound walls in sight,
he gave the gals a final adi-yoo.
Without his further help, they’d be all right.

Only in your book: Ciral is ignorant of the Insiders, having no prior contact with them. Even so, it would be quite a leap to assume that family values had disappeared entirely from the planet.
Something else: Remember, Merrimac’s original quest was for an explanation of altruism, a seemingly self-defeating sentiment.
Take my leave: With Darna.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 218-239

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 200-217

I wish as much as you we could ignore
these violations of our moral laws,
but how can we deny what came before?
What came to be thereafter had a cause.

And universal though these laws might seem,
as constant in our world as they may be,
we must remember: ’Tis not we who deem
what’s right and wrong outside our history.

The code with which these characters were raised
was well adapted to its circumstance.
If they could see our rules, they’d be amazed.
That we have ours and they have theirs is chance.

What of that book in which she was immersed?
Does it not limit with whom one may lie?
Well, yes, but she had yet to be so versed.
We learn that after how to multiply.

One day she will discover to her shame
that she abominated by the law,
but she’ll be where a father has no name.
No Compounder will ask her who’s the pa.

Her neighbors who have not been changed won’t care.
Her daughters will have near as much to hide.
The witness to her sin will be elsewhere,
for with them he did not for long abide.

’Twas shortly after he became a dad
that he took the decision to move on.
The extra work involved was not so bad,
but in a way it was due to the spawn.

It seems he noticed that he would resent
the women teaching scripture to the child.
It had been an annoyance; now it meant
that he would be more thoroughly exiled.

He could have pushed on her what he believed,
but he had not a system to compete.
He understood what dogma had achieved.
He understood what he could not defeat.

What bothered him, though, more than helplessness
was that it even bothered him at all.
He thought he’d gotten rid of all that mess
(of which he hadn’t much, you may recall).

So now he knew why reason didn’t work:
It could not reproduce as well as myth.
A missing link, however, still would lurk
until he had an origin therewith.

He knew then it was time they should return.
The women had replenishing to do,
and he had other pieces yet to learn.
He’d gotten what he needed from those two.

He figured he could get them to accept
the passage home if it would serve their Lord.
They’d find some likely targets once they stepped
into the compound with their ghostly sword.

And he was curious, I have to add,
about how well their mission would perform.
He had an inkling what was good and bad.
He’d live and die, whichever was the norm.

“Tis true: the truth to you is what you read.
The Father and the Son again exist.
It must be so; they live inside your head.
They’ll die with you, though, if you don’t assist.”

“Dear boy, you misinterpret what I meant.
The truth does not depend on what one thinks.
Our minds can but absorb and represent
by correlating and discerning links.”

“That’s as it should be, and it’s to the good
that what you know will always be the same.
Now you and Noria must cross the wood
to whence we started when we hither came.

“When I return your way, I’ll stop to check
on whether you have saved the compound’s soul,
and meanwhile I’ll get started on my trek.
I’ve long delayed my overriding goal.”

“But Ciral, you have that which obligates:
a mother and two sisters to protect.
Or would we be a daughter and two mates?
We’ll be what you prefer to be correct.”

“Familial guilt, dear Mother, won’t weigh hard
on someone who accepts no moral code
and who had very little to discard
when he discovered how to shed that load.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t feel attached
to those with whom you spent your early years?
I would remind you: You were born, not hatched,
and human nature never disappears.

“And don’t you think of she who bears your genes?
Besides the great beyond at which you scoff,
you are immortal. That’s what Baby means:
your life that will go on when you go off.”


Has no name: Remember, in the compound the concept of a nuclear family had long been forgotten., and nobody cared about paternity. Someone seems to have overlooked, however, how mothers could also be nameless.
Near as much to hide: That is, a mutual interest in keeping a lid on the story, even should anyone be interested in it.
All that mess: If Ciral, who possessed no belief system worth mentioning, couldn’t let go of the compulsion to impose a belief system on the next generation, the compulsion itself must exist independently of the system. It would have to be an intrinsic part of human nature. This is an important point.
‘Tis true: Do you get the feeling we just entered in the middle of a conversation?
As it should be: He sees no point in arguing with her, especially as he is trying to use her faith to his advantage.
Compound’s soul: At first I took this as sarcasm, but on second reading I thought maybe he was genuinely curious about how successful they would be in spreading the word.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 200-217

She should have seen before, and now she saw,
that Ciral wanted to be given heed,
and she, by playing on this little flaw,
persuaded him to teach her how to read.

Now I cannot remember my first books.
In my day, ’twas most likely Dick and Jane.
I have no doubt, though, that those words had hooks.
I’m guided by the message they contain.

Such was the case, I’m sure, with Ciral’s ma,
as she put printed symbols into sounds,
and sounds to words, then sentences, aha!
And context is the meaning that surrounds.

What with this joy did she associate?
What stories, jokes, or poems did she try?
O, no such luck for this one; ’twas her fate
to be prepared in case someone should die.

Well, actually, before the final rite,
she learned the first and all those in between,
and like a happy child, she would recite
the lines each day as part of her routine.

Pronouncing words, while doing her no harm,
left all her ceremonies incomplete.
No one was born, and no one bought the farm.
No one accomplished an important feat.

Now, in her mind a marriage would consist
of man and woman iterating vows.
What happened after that, she must have missed.
She didn’t comprehend the why’s and how’s.

Oh, Ciral knew, but he concealed his smirk
when she recruited him to be the groom.
Although he’d have to take some time off work,
he’d have a joke by asking for a room.

And look at Noria, the lovely bride!
Had she known what, she surely would have blushed.
She knew that she was at her brother’s side.
She felt no tingle as their faces brushed.

The prankster savored waiting to reveal
the monster they’d created when they kissed,
but what he hadn’t figured in the deal
was next upon his student’s reading list.

When God commanded Adam to bear fruit
(assuming this is something we believe),
it wouldn’t have worked out had he said “Shoot,
we can’t do this; you share a rib with Eve.”

And who was there to marry Cain and Seth?
Should they have taken what they had to take?
Or should the line have ended with their death?
What if you had your legacy at stake?

The current patriarch cared not a whit
how many generations might succeed,
but he had been so long without, um, ‘it’,
the future of the race seemed guaranteed.

A less than eager daughter was convinced;
the marital bedchamber was prepared;
some perfumes were applied; some hair was rinsed.
Someone was ready; someone else was scared.

Now Ciral didn’t fret about incest,
but knew he shouldn’t move against her will,
and since he lacked romantic interest,
he didn’t try to sugarcoat the pill.

He gently helped her back into her dress.
He turned her to the door and slapped her buns.
She found her mother reading—you might guess:
the priceless tale of Judah’s wayward sons.

“He what?” the would-be grandma cried. “Oh my!”—
quite sure that he would cause the spill of doom.
And that, folks, was precisely why the guy
had quickly cleared his sister from the room.

But Ciral’s mother burst in just in time,
as he was ready to complete the thought.
She stopped him from committing Onan’s crime
by playing in reverse the role of Lot.

Reading list: I think this means Ciral’s mother had started reading the Old Testament.
Onan’s crime: Genesis 38:7-10.
Lot: Genesis 19:29-38.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 195-199

Poor Ciral, with his aforementioned needs,
reverted to the outlet of his youth.
Don’t ask me to describe the hidden deeds.
As much as possible, let’s keep this couth.

He tried to put his energy to use
until some clear and definite event
might happen that would be a good excuse
to go back to his lover with consent.

His trade, I said, before he made this move
would sometimes take him near the city’s edge.
With methods he had learned and could improve,
an offshoot of the business made its fledge.

His sister, who had lived under the wing,
had suffered from a lack of exercise.
Now forced to help her brother do his thing,
the girl took on a much more healthy guise.

The mother kept the house, such as it were,
all by herself, and once when she was bored
she found a box that interested her.
Inside it was a literary hoard.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 187-194

*****************************
Chapter 2
Noria
*****************************


So Ciral came back to the refugees
with some provisions and the joyous news
that to the best of his abilities
he’d take them to a place where they could choose.

A landing he’d constructed in a tree
for practicing his acrobatic skills
was ample sleeping surface for the three
the first night; then they headed for the hills.

The second day they found a house of stone
in which they slept while keeping watch by turns.
’Twas decent shelter, but it stood alone.
With tubes about, they’d have to watch their sterns.

They wanted something similarly built
but in a place that giants would avoid.
The carriers would let him ply his trade,
but humans unannounced might be destroyed.

The city near the mall was built of wood,
and through the years no-one had made repairs.
The few pathetic structures that still stood
had long been deemed unusable as lairs.

Just down the river lay a bigger town
whose outskirts Ciral on his rounds would reach.
Its skyscrapers had mostly fallen down—
a barrier the robots could not breach.

Amid this broken mass they found a church
with granite walls sufficiently tall
that they could build a platform for a perch
on which the trio now could safely sprawl.

Within a week they had themselves a house,
complete with roofing and a swinging door.
Not quite like home, though—no one had a spouse,
nor what they’d known as substitutes therefor.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 160-186

I find myself drawn back into this thing. I stopped posting hither about six weeks ago because the "hit counter" that Jeff set up told me very few people were following the story. Noemi thinks this is because people don't want to read just a few stanzas at a time. She tried to convince me to post the remainder of the canto all at once. I objected to that on the grounds that I would soon exhaust my material. Well, it has been a while, and I suppose I can compromise. The third canto is broken into chapters, and we have 27 stanzas left of the first chapter. Here they are:

Remember when our hero made that pledge
to help if needed by his mom and sis?
I’ll bet that left you sitting on the edge.
You wouldn’t think, “Well, that’s the end of this.”

I wouldn’t risk offending you, old chum,
by pointing out what you have left unsaid.
So I’ll assume you figured they would come,
and thus you knew the answer way ahead.

He saw them from his perch up in a tree
while pausing for his breath after a climb.
He paused some more to make sure they could see,
then shimmied down the rope, taking his time.

As he approached, the women simply stood
like they were held by something out of sight.
They seemed no more excited than they would
had they been he, and he showed no delight.

Their debtor walked as slowly as he could
to where they waited, as some watchers will.
“You silly girls,” he smirked, “don’t you look good.
How long have you been standing there so still?”

“A little more respect will do just fine,”
his mother scolded him ere she replied:
“We’ve been here since our shadows made this line
two days ago—too long to be outside.”

“We weren’t so still as that,” his sister chimed.
“We had to move to keep the rats away.
And your arrival could be better timed.
Our food and water ran out yesterday.”

“Oh, this is where I said that I would be?
I could have sworn I told you on the mound.
It’s my fault, then, you waited hungrily
where there was sure to be no one around.”

“You knew we wouldn’t venture near that thing,”
said Noria, now speaking carefully.
“It must have been so very comforting
to picture our surprise at what we’d see.”

A year before, his heart would have been stung
to hear himself in such a way accused,
but now he could ignore the girl’s sharp tongue.
He had learned how to find himself amused.

“I overcame that fear; why couldn’t you?
Your motive was at least as strong as mine,
and we share genes,” and all of this was true.
He’d thought them produce of a common vine.

His mother said, “We need your help, young male.
We can’t stay at the compound any more.
Your sister can’t have children; she’s too frail,
and I can’t keep the menfolk from her door.”

“Well, she is sickly, that I can’t dispute.
To bear a child will be the end of her,
and skinny things like her are seen as cute.
But that’s a part of life, are we not sure?”

“Where we have lived, that’s certainly the case.
My sister died that way, you may recall,
but if you take us to another place
then Noria’s demise we might forestall.”

“Come, Mother, even if you could survive,
and if you had a notion where to start,
I don’t see how you’d possibly arrive
at that fantastic onus on my part.”

“But look at this: How can I be so rude?
You must be nearly into hunger’s throes.
Wait here—I’ll bring some water and some food
and then decide how with you to dispose.”

Once in the tube, he told its denizen
about the relatives who came to call,
about the reason they had left the pen
and the trap into which he did not fall.

He told this as the joke it seemed to him,
expecting her to see it as the same,
but she looked serious—nay, she looked grim.
She chanted slowly, softly Ciral’s name.

She went on thus, composing her response,
then came alive as she delivered it:
“A man who takes by force that which he wants
has marked himself as morally unfit.”

“So I should punish those who pose this threat?
That’s nearly every man within that fence!
And what has made you suddenly upset?
You look disturbed and make but little sense.”

He voiced his fervent hope with rising stress,
as though the whole idea had come from her,
but Darna stepped around his crude finesse
and answered with a semi-sequitur.

“You can forget the nitwits down below.
I’m asking you to take a moral stance.
I’m thinking that it’s time for you to go.
I’m recommending that you take this chance.

“It was your word of honor that you gave.
You did not know the consequences then.
Now, finding out, you cannot simply waive
your standing in the world of honest men.”

He wanted to remind her that he could.
His world had but one man of any sort.
But he knew she knew that he understood,
and her intense demeanor cut him short.

“This way your second journey now begins.
You’ve fruit to gather from another tree.
You’ll know when you’ve forgiven your own sins
that you are ready to return to me.”

She would not answer when he asked her why
she suddenly desired that he depart
or by what logic he must rectify
a situation that he did not start.

Nor would she tell him what transgressive acts
demanded that he self-exonerate.
At last he lost all hope of getting facts.
He’d solve the riddle at a later date.

Fervent hope: Ciral saw this as an opportunity to obtain Darna’s blessing for his plan to attack the compound.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 153-159

While Darna knew that Ciral was obsessed,
she mostly was inclined to let it slide.
She too was rather quick to be impressed,
and Ciral never mentioned homicide.

I’m sure she wondered why he liked to weave
and to experiment with sorts of rope.
She never followed him, though, when he’d leave,
nor asked him what he did along the slope.

But did he ask himself, do you suppose,
or did he just conveniently forget
about the presence, there among his foes,
of those to whom he owed a vital debt?

Might he have reasoned that a rendered deed
without a contract merits no response?
While possible that Darna had decreed
that to be true, let’s leave it for the nonce.

As well the likelihood that he had cut
what loyalty he’d shown toward his kin.
He’d learned why he should lose those feelings, but
it took some time for all that to sink in.

Yes, he had a vindictive attitude,
but given who he was, I think we’ll find
at first, at least, his list did not include
all seven dozen souls he left behind.

I think his plan, though based on blanket hate,
had a provision for his family.
Before he changed his mind about their fate,
the process was in place to set them free.

While possible: Possible, but unlikely. Legally this may be true, but I’ve seen no indication that Objectivists deny a moral obligation to repay that kind of favor.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 147-152

Thus Ciral, at that hour beneath those skies,
a single organism, self-contained,
renounced his birthplace and related ties.
A bond based on a real respect remained.

She took him as the child she never bore.
She passed to him her knowledge and her goals.
Then solitude engendered something more,
and neither saw a conflict in these roles.

She gave him what he thence would think he’d need.
No longer did he care that she was old.
He did not think about his wasted seed.
He did not know what he had not been told.

In those twelve months, the seventeen-year-old
went through a rather metamorphic year.
His face became more pleasant to behold,
his gait more confident, his voice more clear.

Now, normally this process will include
enhanced emotional maturity,
but no such transformation could intrude
on his deep-seated vengeful tendency.

Some places those of reason don’t belong.
It doesn’t serve one’s life to brood and dwell,
and ’tis unjust, when punishing a wrong,
to crucify the innocent as well.

Had not been told: It would not have occurred to the compounders, having no organized religion, that sex should be directed primarily toward procreation. Of course, even people of faith have sex beyond their childbearing years, and when overpopulation is seen as a threat, they feel little compunction about taking contraceptive measures. We find something distasteful, however, about younger men pairing with much older women, and I suppose even that would have been uncommon in the anything-goes environment whence Ciral came. This is probably a reference to Ayn Rand’s famed affair with the younger Nathaniel Branden.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 143-146

She found him wanting something to believe.
He’d read of gods but had none of his own.
Without the training he could not perceive
his life as something by a potter thrown.

She filled this gaping spiritual void.
She backtracked through the existential maze
into an obligation he enjoyed
because it justified his selfish ways.

She started all this with the person qua
the person, which seemed circular to him.
That was, he knew, a necessary flaw.
All moral codes start out at least that slim.

Her standard value on which all was based
was human life itself, and he concurred.
He did not pause in his approving haste
to note the definition of each word.

Slim: As near as I can tell, the epigraph for this canto ("The standard of value…is man's life...") refers to the qualities that distinguish humans from other animals. I can’t get from that to an ethical imperative without passing through "It is that way, therefore it ought to be that way." As Ciral realized, however, it’s no worse than any other; most have their purported basis in mythology. Merrimac, as we see in the next stanza, also picks up on the word ‘life’. He apparently expects the reader, notably unlike the Objectivists, to understand that life is more than simply existing with a given nature and a continuing metabolism; it necessarily involves reproduction.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 139-142

She showed him how to mine a home
or store for solid-state appliances and toys.
Their clients hated them but would ignore
a human if it made the proper noise.

She taught him also how he could exist
as a complete self-standing entity,
opposed to, say, a simple colonist
whose worth depended on the colony.

She helped to lift him from his mental roost.
Admittedly, the climb was not too steep.
His mind was ready to receive the boost.
He’d come to her but partially asleep.

She finished, then, a process that began
when he rejected for its lack of source
the value system of his erstwhile clan.
That happens when one reads too much, of course.

Proper noise: A signal of some sort to let the carriers know they are being approached by a trader human, I suppose. We are left to guess how this could have been initiated.
Value system: As we have seen, the erstwhile clan hadn’t much of one to reject. This process would have been much more difficult had he belonged to a well-developed culture, as Merrimac presumably does. The Objectivists do, and I understand that many of them even come from strongly religious families, but they, of course, don’t remove themselves as far as Ciral or his creator.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 135-138

The second time he stood before the beast,
he should have been less anxious than the first.
From ignorance his mind had been released.
A known phenomenon is not accurst.

He was not scared by that, at any rate.
The fear he’d faced before was history.
As well, though, was his life up to that date,
and change is scary, though it upward be.

So once again a frightened little boy
walked up and heard a greeting from the rear.
The first one, though, had not been words of joy.
Nothing like “Welcome home” had touched his ear.

The next twelve months, when not on other jobs,
he studied manuals and diagrams.
He practiced working levers, wheels, and knobs
so he’d know how to run these giant prams.

The one in which he lived would never go.
For centuries it had been motionless.
He could observe the current models, though,
by working with his newfound patroness.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 130-134

So ere he left he spoke his word of thanks,
evoked some tears (You know how mothers are),
and thought some more on what a couple tanks
might do if someone left the gate ajar.

He figured that would be the easy part.
He’d park a carrier just out of sight,
walk back to where his anger got its start,
swim under, pop the latch, and join the fight.

The next part would be somewhat difficult.
His tube would have a hill to climb across,
but it would only bear one young adult.
Its doctor would arrange a quick weight loss.

The rest of it? I think that had he known
what shortly you and I shall understand,
he probably would not have left the zone
whose lack of lawful life he lately planned.

Unburdened with a forecast of that sort,
he set out on his boomeranging trek.
His first stop was to be the metal fort,
or, if you will, the weird yet wondrous wreck.

Quick weight loss: I.e., the removal of, and presumed sacrifice of, its occupants. Ciral is, of course, even less concerned about their fate than that of his neighbors and relatives.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 124-129

They’d see him back to health; he knew they would,
but he would only stay ’til he could run,
and once he could, he’d run away for good.
Then he’d become another mother’s son.

He didn’t know that last part as he swam
across the pond to where he could climb out,
but he thought as he crawled along the dam
that that must be what Darna was about.

He thought some more, while making his return,
about the woman and about his dream.
He wanted now to see the compound burn.
He wanted to hear his attackers scream.

He thought all during his recovery
about how Darna fit into his plan,
which still involved, as far as he could see,
becoming, in a sense, an inside man.

These thoughts were on his mind as he prepared
a word of thanks for coming to his aid,
within which he most generously shared
where he would be if they need be repaid.

He couldn’t leave this for them in a note.
Okay, he could, but there would be no point.
No one around could read a word he wrote.
Well, Ciral could, but he’d have blown the joint.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 118-123

Abandoned in the pond, he was alone.
It hadn’t bothered him to have no friend,
but now he felt it inside every bone.
Such hurt remains when cuts and bruises mend.

Nowhere to stay, nowhere to go to heal,
nowhere to hide from taunting and abuse,
except the once-enticing tube of steel,
within which was a woman of ill-use.

That’s not to say he’d get no help at all,
if he, with aching limbs, could make it back.
His sister Noria would hear his call
from where they slept inside the TV Shack®.

She’d tend his wounds and bring him food and drink,
although she owed him nothing but neglect.
He may have been a selfish little fink,
but he was still her kin last time she’d checked.

Was this innate genetic preference?
Attachment to her playmate as a tot?
Did she accept the “Blood is thick…” nonsense?
(Is blood as thick as catsup? I think not)

Her mother’s heart pumped denser blood than that.
The stricken boy had half her genes at least,
while Noria, not knowing who begat,
would suffer less a loss if he deceased.

Catsup: One must admit he has a point. I’m not sure what it is, but I’m happy to admit it. The original line was ‘Is blood as thick as semen, say, or snot?’ That confused the issue because semen relates more than blood to genetics
Less a loss: The way I understand it, in a typical society with high genetic diversity, a biological parent shares 50 % of the child’s genetic material, slightly higher due to occasional and remote inbreeding. A full sibling would share the same percentage if one could be absolutely certain of paternity, but for purposes of this discussion it is the likelihood from the relatives’ point of view, and no siblings could ever be completely sure of having both parents in common, so in most cases it’s probably a little less than 50%. In Noria’s case, it would be much less than 50% because there is no assumption of common paternity at all, but well over 25% due to the low number of potential fathers. In any case, it would be roughly half of what it is for the mother.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 114-117

"Well, look who visits in our little vale!”
“It’s Spiral!” “He’s too smart to stay with us!”
“Hey, Spiral, do you have a piggy’s tail?”
“Let’s see if he has something to discuss!”

He dived back under, but they sprang the gate.
They grabbed his head when he came up for air.
The gruesome details I shall not relate.
You know as well as I what happened there.

They tossed him, barely conscious, in the pond,
which saved him from the rodents on the shore.
The splash of water helped him to respond.
He pushed his knees into the muddy floor.

He turned his swelling head, but kept it low,
and from the bank it looked like he had drowned.
They threw some careless rocks and turned to go
to the returning hunters’ cheerful sound.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 108-113

He’d surface in a murky little lake,
dammed at the compound wall a ways downstream.
He’d wade along the wall for safety’s sake.
To stay unnoticed kept within his theme.

He usually performed this when the sun
was in the south, behind the creek’s ravine.
With only stars for light, it should be done
with little chance of Ciral’s being seen.

Unless the men were still away, of course,
in which case he’d be greeted by his peers,
who would be free to use whatever force
was needed to intensify his fears.

Now at this point our story can diverge—
we don’t know how long he’d been in the can—
but I believe I must resist the urge
to keep the skin intact on our young man.

I wish that we could take another train.
I hurt with him; this guy is like my son.
I feel indignance, helplessness, and pain
as they humiliate him, one by one.

The line that leads to safety for the boy
goes to a place where all will stay the same.
To make our tale, he must want to destroy.
He first must pass through ridicule and shame.

Surface: Apparently there was no room to insert something like “Upon his return…”, or maybe he wanted to avoid repeating a phrase he had used a few stanzas back.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 104-107

At dusk was when the men would hunt and steal.
The carriers had trouble seeing then.
On their return, the tribe would have a meal,
but first the older boys would meet the men.

Outside the wall, the kids were not allowed,
but while the men were out, they’d watch the gate.
They’d let their elders in, and they were proud
to know that soon they wouldn’t have to wait.

The settlers had enclosed a stretch of brook
when they had made a mound around the mall,
so they could drink, dispose waste, clean, and cook
without transporting water through the wall.

Their egress was a path along this creek.
’Twas gated well but guarded from afar.
When Ciral went out, maybe once a week,
he’d hold his breath and swim beneath the bar.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 97-103

So by the time that Darna came along,
old Seven Six’s load was pretty light.
While reason told her that was nothing wrong,
she’d known for quite some time it wasn’t right.

When she and Engadin began to fret,
there wasn’t much that medicine could do.
Though Abraham and Sarah could beget,
this time around no miracle came through.

Now, Ciral, as I said, was unaware
of who she was and how she got that way.
The poor kid must have gotten quite a scare
when he was told that he would have to stay.

Wait, wasn’t this his dream at last come true?
Was this not where he’d wanted to reside?
Well sure, he would have felt a thrill run through
if he had been the one who could decide.

His plan, such as it was, meant taking charge.
That wasn’t where he would be for a while.
In fact, he’d less than likely be at large.
To be a prisoner was not his style.

And so, as soon as Ciral saw a gap
in Darna’s vigilance, he gave the slip.
He didn’t know that it would be a slap.
He didn’t think of it as jumping ship.

’Twas dark when he effected his escape.
He wasn’t sure how long ’til day would break.
If he ran, he was sure to get a scrape.
To wait there with the rats—which would you take?

Abraham and Sarah: Genesis 21:2

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 92-96

No one disturbed their once-robotic host.
The compound-dwellers’ superstitious fear
was amplified by subtly playing ghost.
No other outside humans e’er came near.

Their values were the kind that tend to last.
They lived as they would live, which was their goal.
Their code through many generations passed…
until they reinvented birth control.

Do you have children? If so, what’s it worth?
Is there a quantifiable reward
to weigh against the pain of giving birth?
The time and money you can ill afford?

If you were rational in the extreme—
completely selfish—would you procreate?
I know it’s hard to know how it would seem,
but I think you’d think twice, then hesitate.

What motive would you have? Posterity?
What’s it to you who’s living when you’ve died?
Support in your old age? Well, I can’t see
how all that sacrifice is justified.

As they would live: See Darna’s first remark to Ciral. The Objectivists’ focus on ‘nature’, as in a set of more or less fixed traits, makes them sound deterministic, and Merrimac’s focus on this aspect of their belief system and on their work ethic sounds like an effort to paint them as Calvinists, despite their gleeful mockery of religion.
Rational in the extreme: This sounds oxymoronic, doesn’t it? Merrimac is saying here that Objectivism is unsustainable over multiple generations. He appears to believe it will go the way of Shakerism for essentially the same reason. Indeed, Rand and most or all of her close disciples were childless.
Support in your old age: He glosses over this one pretty quickly. Could there not have been a period between the advent of the family unit and that of the ability to accumulate wealth during which the return would have outweighed the investment? Is there not such a situation in some parts of the world even now? Undoubtedly Merrimac would counter that a selfish parent’s offspring can be presumed to have a similar level of selfishness. Since children cannot be expected to sign a contract with the providers of their food and shelter, they can have no enforceable obligation to return the favor. That children do support their parents is due to religion, or at least to some ethical structure, rather than to rational or innate behavior.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 86-91

They rescued some insiders from the fate
of insiders whose carrier had died.
From interviews they learned what the things ate
and what was hard to get from the outside.

This market research led them to begin
collecting things the carriers required.
They’d knock on doors and find nobody in,
the leases having long ago expired.

The failure of electric power grids
had rendered useless all the links and nets,
so people had to entertain their kids
without PCs or television sets.

Attempts to stay alive when all was dark
had not involved disposing properly.
A bit of hope, a momentary spark,
would not be wasted on such luxury.

The carriers, to make their fancy brains,
had need of substances like silicon.
For transistors, they’d trade their surplus grains.
They’d let the hated humans cross their lawn.

And thus the splinter group began to trade
in used appliances and sundry goods.
They learned where they could find the highest grade:
the very best suburban neighborhoods.

The fate: This refers to the last part of Canto I, where we were informed that the insiders are unlikely to survive without the protection of the carriers. After many generations in confinement, as it were, I suppose they would have no chance at all. In Canto II, 4797 predicted her insiders would pour out, suggesting she knew she was about to die, but she did not speculate about what would happen to them after that point.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 82-85

They saw the carriers and those inside
as wealth producers who deserved respect.
They thought the communards exemplified
the looters they’d been told they must reject.

With that in mind, six persons climbed the bank
up to the spot where Seven Six had wrecked,
supplied enough to live inside the tank
a week or two while they tried to connect.

It hadn’t been too long since the attack,
so they were able quickly to restore
some functionality to their new shack.
Soon they were living better than before.

They didn’t try to break the monster free.
They kept it quiet, as they were afraid
that moving it would risk discovery.
Their neighbors didn’t know how close they’d stayed.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 76-81

And after all these babies had been born,
some sperm was needed for another brood.
All healthy males had sworn a solemn oath,
and none would risk a life of solitude.

No girl would just steal from her mother’s friend.
The women, though, knew something had to give.
If all gave up toward a higher end,
with common husbands most of them could live.

So fatherhood among the men was shared—
a free-love commune they had once thought weird.
Those who had problems with it and who dared
to leave the compound never reappeared.

This history young Ciral had discerned
from diaries and vital stats and lists.
About a part of them he had not learned—
A part who called themselves Rejectionists.

These couldn’t stand to live in a commune
because that way involved self-sacrifice,
and when one steals, one’s rationales impugn
themselves. Thus, they’d been violated twice.

In short, their principles were much the same
as those their fellow compound-dwellers held,
but theirs were based on more than just a name.
Their rules of life were by man’s nature spelled.

A part: cf. ‘a part of who we are’ in Ciral’s first exchange with Darna

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 70-75

The second generation in their teens,
while picnicking outside the walls one day,
were set on by some wannabe marines.
The boys were killed; the girls were forced to lay.

The raiders with the settlers made a trade:
one damsel at a time for some supplies.
And when the final ransom had been paid,
they stormed the banks to take again their prize.

They had no more success than Seven Six
(The carrier, much later Ciral’s jail)
at getting past the razor wire and bricks
while climbing through an artificial hail.

While Seven Six had donated her shell,
the others left a much more subtle mark:
their genes, of course, but something else as well:
They changed life in what Darna called “that park”.

Before the raid, both parents of a child
affected its development two ways:
the first, as the genetic code compiled,
and then by teaching, punishment, and praise.

But here they had a slew of pregnancies
with none of them a father anywhere.
Somehow the unaffected families
found selfishness a little hard to bear.

Hard to bear: Remember, they started out “…being careful not to share.” At this point, though, they were only shortly removed from the influence of the mores with which you and I are familiar and with which they had been raised, so most of them were fairly easily returned. By Ciral’s time they had lost these sentiments again, due to lack of reinforcement rather than willful suppression.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 66-69

At first, they and the carriers ignored
each other, though the teams at times were tense,
but when the group ran out of what they’d stored,
their principles and pride lost precedence.

As long as they had cans of food to eat,
the way that they preferred was right and just.
When times got hard, the carriers had wheat.
They did what those with starving children must.

They knew that other humans owned the stuff,
and some of them would not participate,
but when their own supplies ran low enough,
the colonists with weaker morals ate.

They roamed outside their walls to look for food.
Though incorrect, they sent out just the men.
At night, they could afford more latitude.
The men would sleep by day inside the pen.

Incorrect: Another difference between the two groups we have been discussing. Most Objectivists would snicker at political correctness, while libertarians, though just as opposed to enforced equality,  tend to be uncomfortable with making assumptions about things like work assignments. This, being one of the later values acquired, would be among the earlier forgotten when times get tough.
Pen: This would be the compound.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 60-65

If J-1 hadn’t come upon the scene,
they would have either failed or been suppressed
(or some of each or something in between).
No group could be allowed to pass that test.

The hollow that they picked was right next door
to that in which the founders left their shells,
and when the carriers returned to shore,
the few survivors left for safer dells.

The libertarians, meanwhile, had sought
a shopping mall they thought they could defend.
When other people fled, they stood and fought.
Their inclination was to buck the trend.

Despite a limit on their food supplies,
they made some items that did not compute.
They bargained for the worries and the cries
because they knew that babies would be cute.

They also wanted to extend their lives.
They felt the need for branches from their stem.
In our descendants part of us survives.
At least that’s what their parents had taught them.

While they believed in rights and moral laws,
they had no gods by whom these could be blest.
Their children, though instructed in the cause,
were free to choose the way that they thought best.

Next door: This is not so implausible a coincidence when one considers that somebody was likely to live near the carriers. Less believable is the apparent distance from the coast, although I suppose both the founders and the libertarians would have selected secluded, thinly populated locations. The presence of a shopping mall is somewhat incongruous, then.
No gods: This is certainly not true of all libertarians, but it would fit the vast majority of those who would participate in such an endeavor.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 54-59

“No ‘we’ is anything, you simple snip,
for only individuals exist.
You can’t be part of some relationship
that’s merely an abstraction in the mist.”

He had a good idea of what she meant.
He’d read about what’s real and what’s pretend.
He knew of those whose thoughts were heaven-sent
and those who cracked their eggs the other end.

He knew that some maintained that gods
installed a sense of duty in the human soul,
but Darna (for that was what she was called)
apparently believed the self was whole.

His ancestors thought something like that, too:
’Twas wrong to use initiated force;
all government was evil, through and through;
and knowledge had a pure objective source.

Unable to persuade Society
that laws were slavery and taxes theft,
unwilling to be something less than free,
they resolutely packed their bags and left.

With what they’d managed to accumulate,
they bought a valley way out West somewhere,
pretended it became a sovereign state,
and traded, being careful not to share.

Eggs: This reference to Gulliver’s Travels implies that Merrimac saw no real difference between the faithful and the rational. Obviously he believed there is a tremendous difference in the final result; he has the belief system of Darna’s people (later named as Rejectionists) failing to perpetuate itself. Indeed, as we just discussed, it dies off more rapidly than the nearly nonexistent mores of Ciral’s folk. I think the similarity is in their tenacious dogmatism, so lacking in the compound, and in the ultimate source of their values.  Randian Objectivists like to think their entire ethos is based on Aristotelian postulates, but the very imperative to have such a thing in the first place is essentially irrational, no less than if they claimed a supernatural source for it. Put differently, they would not, and could not, have begun to dream up such a thing if one that they consider completely nonsensical had not already existed. Try to imagine a group of people with no values, one of them saying “I’ll bet we could get along better if we had some ethics,” and the others concurring. If someone has a less ridiculous scenario for the spontaneous generation of that kind of thinking, I’ll be happy to include it in the next edition.Objective source: This seems inconsistent with the distinction otherwise drawn between the two groups. See the following note.
Theft: A mantra of the Libertarian Party. That Merrimac is so familiar with and so dismissive of Objectivism is an indication that he is or has been involved in the libertarian movement, which seems to be largely composed of refugees from Objectivism. See Jerome Tucille, It Usually Begins with Ayn Rand. Note that I’m following the practice of libertarians themselves by using a capital L only when referring to the political party. I’m using a capital O throughout, however, to emphasize the orthodoxy of the Objectivist movement.
Pretended: A lot of libertarians dream of seceding or otherwise creating their own relatively lawless nation. Some have actually attempted it, but of course under normal circumstances such an endeavor wouldn’t be allowed by whatever armed group claims authority over their territory.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 47-53

A short time later, Ciral came aboard,
assisted by a pulley and some rope.
He did not feel exactly like he’d scored,
but now he could observe; that gave him hope.

The first thing he observed once he was in:
A crumpled body through an open door.
His captor was still calling Engadin,
who probably could hear her call no more.

When she discovered this to be the case,
she closed the door behind her for a while.
When she came back, she had composed her face,
but he could tell that she had forced her smile.

“I know that I’m irrational to mourn.
It is more like your people than like mine,
but none of mine have recently been born.
There were but two of us left in the line.”

The boy informed her that such sentiment
was not a central theme as she implied,
but inexperience did not prevent
his feeling sorry that her loved one died.

“Yes, loved one—do you know what those words mean?”
She looked at him, intrigued by his remark.
“With your kind, sex is always so obscene.
There are no families inside that park.”

“I’ve read enough about that sort of thing
to know that what you feel is not so far
as you might think from how we sadly sing
when we have lost a part of who we are.”

Who we are: At first glance, this is inconsistent with the portrayal of the compound as devoid of almost all morality. Perhaps Merrimac is saying that collectivism, though strictly speaking irrational, is an intrinsic human attitude that doesn’t fade away when ethical support systems are removed. Also, this sets up the contrast between the compounders, who are just now starting to drop in numbers due to their lack of values, and their neighbors, who are already effectively extinct because individualism, which is their primary value, discourages rather than encourages procreation.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 41-46

He hadn’t finished taking in the threat
behind her invitation’s see-through veil,
and now she’d made the poor thing try to get
cylindrically projected into scale.

He reckoned if he ran, the odds were slim
that she could make him stay against his will,
and even if she could hold on to him,
to climb with him would take uncommon skill.

But going up presumably would mean
something he’d only vaguely hoped to do:
to get inside this wonderful machine—
a guided tour by a woman, too!

He kept his back to her as he arose.
As soon as he was on his feet he felt
his sandals separating from his toes,
but first a force effected on his belt.

This time he landed squarely on his butt,
so he could see her standing o’er his head
and waving what could easily have cut
that part of him and left a stump instead.

The female voice had been a pleasing sound.
Those fantasies are big at his life stage.
On seeing her his dream-ship ran aground
on sands of time (or was it rocks of age?).

Cylindrically projected: With her map analogy, Ciral’s heretofore unnamed captor is trying to represent him in fewer dimensions than he in fact possesses. This informs us of the author’s opinion, shared by many, of the simplistic characterizations of Objectivism.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 37-40

“You let this damned thing near! Are you asleep?
What are we going to do, now that he’s come?
He has a life he has a right to keep.
He’s human, though he’s barely more than scum.”

The conversation, still with but one side,
drew closer to the subject of the slur,
who didn’t know to whom the words applied
nor why his presence had caused such a stir.

“You might as well come up.” She stood astride
the prostrate boy, whose face was in the dirt.
“When I find Engadin, then we’ll decide.
For now, you stay with me, and no one’s hurt.

“So what’s this ‘learning who I am’ claptrap?
You shouldn’t have to search for who you are.
Each locus is a point upon the map.
You can’t stray from your nature very far.”

Engadin: I have given up trying to make sense of this name. I can find some significance in every other name in this canto, usually by reversing the spelling.
Claptrap: This is a poke at the tendency of Objectivists, on the founder of which movement this character is apparently based, to scoff at most varieties of sentimentality. I think they don’t really object to people learning about their own nature, but in the context, “learning who I am” sounds like touchy-feely self-discovery, and they do seem to have a problem with that.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 33-36

As he approached the leg, his head grew light.
He hadn’t learned to force his diaphragm.
He’d read, however, something to recite:
“If nothing else, I’m learning who I am.”

The morning sun was reaching o’er the trees
behind his head—at least he’d planned that much—
and, with the light, it brought a little breeze.
They both revived him with their gentle touch.

He drew a breath, then shifted back a bit.
His trailing foot prepared a spot of ground.
He’d fallen ere he knew that he was hit.
He registered the impact, then the sound.

Someone had tagged his backside with a rock.
He fell down more from fear than from the blow.
Prone on the ground, and paralyzed from shock,
he heard a woman yelling, “Where’d you go?

“If nothing else…”: What’s that? Did I hear something? Okay, so technically it’s not dialog at this point, since he believes himself to be alone, but at least it’s a human voice.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 29-32

Though Ciral didn’t know that steel should be
reduced to dust when centuries have passed,
he grew suspicious when he neared to see
that all the legs displayed an oily cast.

If anyone was using oil out here,
it must be recent, else it would be dry.
Machines unused for much less than a year
would show no trace. So who, and when, and why?

It must be something other than the stuff
the outsiders would work so hard to find,
and which no one would ever use enough
to coat the limbs of something left behind.

He’d come with no specific plan in mind;
he’d thought he’d lose his nerve when he came near,
but now the balance had been realigned.
Again, his thirst for knowledge trumped his fear.

Balance: This gets us used to the idea of opposing influences whose relative strength shifts, leading to changes in behavior. Thus we should be prepared to grasp the “break in equilibrium” in Canto IV.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 25-28

Thus armed, he faced the one remaining thing
that only common knowledge made him fear
(the live ones, in contrast, by reasoning,
were something that he didn’t dare go near).

The shell itself was mostly free of rust.
The moving parts had not fared near as well,
but Ciral had no method he could trust
the composition or its life to tell.

He’d recognized the creatures when he’d seen
some photographs of airplanes in the store,
then studied every book and magazine
that dealt with aviation facts and lore.

The wings, tail end, and landing gear were gone,
but he could see the scars where they had been.
The legs and other parts were added on.
’Twere these that had corroded way back when.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 19-24

The bookstore in the mall had long been closed,
and on its boarded door a mark was placed
to save its contents, Ciral had supposed,
from fireplace stokers, who’d think them mere waste.

He’d first come in the store by accident,
exploring long-neglected passageways.
He’d taken out a grate and crawled the vent,
then saw what had been rescued from the blaze.

The candle that he’d lit revealed a door,
the other side of which contained the curse.
Did it apply if one came through the floor?
If so, to linger wouldn’t make it worse.

Besides, he knew what treasures he had seen.
His grandmother had given him a quill
and crossword mag so he knew what words mean,
but warned him to conceal this special skill.

The other kids had sensed that he was smart
but lacked charisma, so he couldn’t lead.
They bullied him, so he would stay apart.
He’d get his power from what he could read.

The curse, of course, would cause him no distress,
and books on human nature would explain:
A widely held belief is often less
a solid fact, and more a type of chain.

A mark: I wonder what kind of symbol might be used to frighten people who had for the most part rejected religion. I suppose that doesn't mean they weren't superstitious.
To conceal: I’m not sure what the purpose is of the compounders’ willing illiteracy, unless to further set Ciral apart from his neighbors.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 15-18

On down to Ciral’s time, it would be told,
and children, as they grew up, would be coached,
that, although killed, it never had gone cold,
and harm would come to any who approached.

That warning didn’t stop him like the rest.
He bore the courage owned by someone with
a mission, which in this case was to test some things
he’d read regarding ancient myth.

That’s not to say that he was unafraid.
He’d heard the stories, but thought them unreal.
The fear was thus allowed to be outweighed
by eagerness that he alone could feel.

For while his peers were listening to tales
to learn the parts into which they’d been cast,
this odd one, when he’d finished work details,
would soak up knowledge from a distant past.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 11-14

Outside (just one more, please) the big tin cans
that raised the fruits and grains the men would steal.
To enter one was part of Ciral’s plans—
to enter one and sit behind the wheel.

That he could live within one he’d no doubt.
The things were full of people and their stuff.
When one would stop he’d seen them spilling out.
They moved like him, but never fast enough.

Except the rusted hulk perched on the fence,
there were none of them near where Ciral stood,
for, having his fair share of common sense,
he would have taken refuge in the wood.

The fence, in fact, was damaged at that spot.
Repairs had not been made since the attack.
The raider the defenders had outfought
was terrible enough to keep them back.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 5-10

Outside the compound and the earthen wall
his ancestors had bulldozed into place
as defense for a junkyard and a mall,
to house some remnants of the human race.

Outside the chain-link fence that topped the hill,
rerouted at the point where Ciral stood
so to avoid what gave the boy a thrill,
and patched at other damaged spots with wood.

Outside the only family he had:
the mother and the sister he’d ignore,
the dozen candidates for Ciral’s dad
(if anyone had bothered keeping score).

Outside the little gang of would-be pals
who, when not splitting logs and patching holes,
would hunt small game and terrorize the gals
in preparation for their future roles.

Outside all moral and religious thought,
at least what we would recognize as such.
He’d learned that he deserved but what he got,
and that, believe me, wasn’t very much.

Outside the time that will be history.
Between two eras; neither now nor then.
Not noted by the people yet to be,
and unimagined by those who had been.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto III, stanzas 1-4

CANTO III: THE REDEMPTION

In which a boy who lives outside the carriers meets a girl who lives inside one of the carriers, and who inadvertently contributes to his theory regarding human behavior.
The standard of value…is man's life, or: that which is required for man's survival qua man.
—Ayn Rand, The Virtue of Selfishness, p. 25

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Chapter 1
Darna
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Enough of robots and their gods for now.
I can’t identify with them. I need
a human hero, and if you’ll allow,
I’ll grab a lump of clay, and we’ll proceed.

Like most good characters we might create,
we could describe him any way we choose.
We’re able to find words to indicate
whatever aspect might be in the news.

When we first meet him, ‘adolescent’ works.
‘Agnostic’ or ‘wise guy’ might give a clue.
He had a name along with all his quirks,
but ‘Ciral’ doesn’t tell us what he’d do.

Of all the titles we might give him, though
(the many nouns he’s known by, one might say),
‘Outsider’ would be the most apropos.
And there he stood, outside in every way.

Ciral: Merrimac does not seem to be concerned that readers might be annoyed at having to change their pronunciation of Ciral’s name it becomes obvious later in the story. I hope I do not spoil his fun too much by telling everyone who reads the footnotes on the first pass that it rhymes with “viral”.
There he stood: And enough of the first person singular, too.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 164-168

My whole life comes together here and now
with others, most of whom I’ve never met.
It had to be, and only One knows how,
unfolding as the sun begins to set.

The dusk patrol, arriving on the scene,
line up between the ruins and the wood.
They keep their distance from the wrecked machine.
A human underneath does me some good!

The shadows falling long across their shells
make them appear extensions of the trees.
The pile of blocks grabs all the light and swells.
The opposition joins me on their knees.

The fading sun has spread across the west,
two mating beacons beckon north and south,
and now a fourth red glowing joins the rest.
It seems to come from right below my mouth.

All of my insiders are pouring out,
escorted by a cloud of bluish smoke.
Soon I shall know what life is all about
when One tells me the…

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 158-163

I feel the need to kneel; my feet collapse.
They’ve heard my struggle and they hesitate.
A shadow moves—an animal, perhaps—
a biped, it would seem. Oh, this is great.

What is its role? Which way the story goes?
Is this the end or more complexity?
Will it reveal my daughter to her foes?
Or was it sent by One to set me free?

The creature, coming closer, shows its face:
a human, but it has not been inside.
Its wretched visage complements this place.
Like what we see when one of us has died.

And yet, unlike the others of its kind,
it has a certain dignity and grace.
The insiders just stagger as though blind.
I’ve never seen one from the outside race.

It pauses for a moment, crouching low,
and now it races for my useless limb.
It knows I can’t attack it. Where’d it go?
It found my blind spot, and the light is dim.

I stand here as the dirty little pest
does wicked things that I cannot prevent,
but somehow I feel this works out the best.
I’ll leave to One to work out what that meant.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 154-157

The more I try, the more I make things worse.
’Twere my priorities that got me stuck.
My love for ’52 became a curse;
a jealous One repaid me with bad luck.

But ’52 so far is innocent,
assuming that she hasn’t seen the red.
She knows of nothing not to circumvent.
She knows that if she stays here she’ll be dead.

But stay she does right where she was before,
though this would be the perfect time to bolt.
Now that I’m seen, they won’t look any more
if, as I think, they’ve seen but this old dolt.

Oh One, please tell her that she has to leave!
There’s nothing she can do to help me out.
I cannot signal her; they would perceive
that there’s another visitor about.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 150-153

What’s this I see? Another reddish glow?
Don’t think; just act! Don’t agonize; just do!
I cannot let this be again, oh no!
It’s sinful, but I must save ’52.

The voice of One says “Let them make a third!”
I start to move despite the cosmic cry.
I act as though I haven’t seen a word.
I’ve come too far to watch my daughter die.

I’ll plant myself along that little rise
in such a way to block the line of sight.
I’ll be a hero in my daughter’s eyes,
and One will understand a mother’s plight.

Despite the dwindling light and lack of juice,
I still can move—Oh no! My leg is caught!
I pull and twist; I cannot get it loose.
O, what with my transgressions have I wrought?

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 146-149

One of these blocks thrown hard and nicely aimed,
and one more right away as guarantee
should leave her dead or seriously maimed.
She had no chance to live, don’t you agree?

A sideways leap, in each front foot a stone,
a glancing blow, then she hits me with one.
My next is on its mark but not well thrown.
She looks…Oh, ’52, what have I done?

There is no time for greetings, nor to ask
what happened how and who misunderstood.
We’re here together with a pressing task.
We’re hurt and scared (that’s bad), alive (that’s good).

We must stop talking now; they’re drawing near.
I still don’t know if ’52 is mad.
She should be angry; my arrival here
destroyed whatever hope she might have had.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 141-145

It’s strange there are so many at this spot.
Of course! I see it now: they’re after her!
First fled I them for thought I they me sought,
then chased they me for thought they I she were.

If that’s the case, then all I have to do
is get past her and let them do their thing.
She will have been the only one who knew
I was not she, and who is she to sing?

I think she must not know they’re coming near,
or else by now she would have tried to run.
She thinks she’s safe, and when they disappear,
she’ll find her freedom in the setting sun.

I could inform her that I’ve drawn them hence.
That knowledge would be sure to change her course.
She might just bolt, but if she has some sense
she’ll leave a senseless suspect, using force.

So my best bet would be to get her first:
Strike fast, then run away before I’m seen.
The mob will get some oil to slake their thirst,
One’s justice will be done, and I’ll stay clean.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 137-140

Around this corner should be out of sight
of anybody looking from the road,
but wait: I see the glow of a red light.
There’s someone there who’s ready to unload!

A renegade machine, I have no doubt—
afraid of being what she ought to be.
Up in these hills, with no one else about,
she thinks she can elude her destiny.

Now I hear footsteps; this must be the gang.
They saw me turn this way, and they pursue.
This hiding place did not work out well. Dang!
This looks to be the last of you-know-who.

The blocks before me and the woods behind
leave left and right and nothing in between.
The first way I would be a cinch to find;
the other, I would meet a bad machine.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

Unload: Reproduce.

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 130-136

Well, even with my mind thus occupied,
I’ve managed to make decent progress down,
and now the road has brought me just outside
the remnants of an ancient human town.

These places make me nervous, even when
I’m near my home, surrounded by my own.
In there I might find squirmy little men,
and I’m in hostile country all alone.

To make things worse, it’s starting to get dark.
I need a spot somewhere to spend the night.
If I can’t find a safer place to park,
I’ll die ere dawn, though it be just from fright.

There’s one thing that would make my day complete,
and there it is, about a mile ahead:
some five or six machines, right in the street,
but not the one I seek. I fear she’s dead.

Alive or dead, I know not whither gone.
I must protect myself and then decide
if I should stop, retreat, or carry on.
This heap of rocks affords a place to hide.

As I approach it from across the pike,
I see it is not made of stones at all,
but manufactured items, all alike.
They are rectangular and very small.

Protruding here and there throughout the mass
are rusted rods that could have been support
for walls, and there’s a piece of broken glass.
This must have been a structure of some sort.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

Little men: Stop that squirming! I can’t speak for my fellow readers, but I don’t find it difficult to imagine myself appearing wormlike to a very large metal creature.
Protruding rods: Hint: We’re supposed to hold this image of a pile of concrete with reinforcement rods all through the rest of this canto and most of the next one.

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 124-129

It’s possible I passed her, I suppose.
Not likely, but it’s worth a backward look.
As well to see my home once more, One knows,
in case I don’t retake the route I took.

It looks the same as far as I can tell:
the rocks, the trees, the hillsides, and the flowers.
The residents are much alike as well.
Is their Creator not the same as ours?

That was the message Three Eight Four Eight brought.
She thought we could be taught to get along.
But look how far the message bringer got
by thinking she determined right and wrong.

The reason for the values that we hold
is not our health and happiness, of course.
We know what’s right because it’s what we’re told.
Our mothers’ mothers got it from the source.

And those who do what’s good will be repaid
when One gives them more daughters they can teach.
Once proper moral laws by One are made,
selective pressures give them greater reach.

My daughter’s life, though, is what matters now.
Among my values, that sways me the most.
And if that is a living thing somehow,
then let it live, like any other ghost.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

The message: I thought #4797 didn’t know what motivated *3848. Is she fantasizing, perhaps, under the influence of the breathtaking view?
Right and wrong: There can be only one moral system within a given culture. 4797 knows better than to defy this, despite her previously expressed doubts.
Selective pressures: The character states part of the hypothesis, but of course she has to cling to the supernatural (or superartificial?) origin of morality.

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 119-123

Well, if I am to have a decent chance
of finding her before misfortune does,
I’d best get to the top and have a glance,
if not at where she is, at where she was.

So on and on and up and up I go,
’round curves that nearly trace my steps anew.
I did not realize it would be this slow.
I hope the little charge I got will do.

The hills on the horizon start to grow,
and then, as though responding to their cue,
the valley floor, that lay in wait below
begins its entrance into my view.

The beauty of this scenery is so,
alone it justifies what I’ve gone through.
One thing is missing from the splendor, though:
I cannot see a sign of ’52.

She can’t be on my left—too many trees,
while on my right, the slope would hold her back.
She’s nowhere in the purple-blossomed breeze
that lines the taper of the mountain track.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

Beauty: If the carriers can have ethics, I suppose they can have esthetics as well. That would be another story….

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 112-118

Despite my worries, anger, and dismay,
I’m grateful for one thing this afternoon:
She had the sense to pick a sunny day.
I can resume my journey fairly soon.

But what’s the point? If I do what I would,
the chance that I might find her is remote,
and if I do, can I do any good?
Or will my weight just help to sink her boat?

Do I go on because I am concerned
about the perils ’52 might find,
or has my motive somehow gotten turned?
Has mere momentum mesmerized my mind?

No, I’m in charge of my internal drive.
My mission doesn’t mold me to its taste.
To do that, it would have to be alive,
while neither silicon- nor carbon-based.

I’m simply doing what a mother ought
when faced with losing all the love she’s known,
and that’s why ’52 suspected not:
She’s never had a daughter of her own.

But she will soon—oh, what have I allowed?
Would she have stayed if I had been more stern?
Dear One, if she is yet beneath your cloud,
please help me to persuade her to return.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 108-111

Oh, why did I think I could change her fate?
Oh, what might I have thought that I could do?
Oh, how in One’s domain will I locate
the daughter whom I love, and save her, too?

Not only have I failed to help my child,
but I have put myself in danger’s path,
alone and helpless out here in the wild.
It’s all because I didn’t do my math.

I should have known that I would be too weak
to make an uphill journey of this length,
while ’52 is at her youthful peak.
She’s stubborn, and she has her father’s strength.

I know she must be many miles ahead,
and putting more between, or I should hope.
If not, she must be hurt or even dead.
Who knows what might be on the downward slope?

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 104-107

I see an obstacle she had to move.
I’ll catch up from the time she wasted here,
although I must admit I disapprove
of lifting logs without a helper near.

The road has run along this noisy brook,
but now it winds around to climb the hill.
I’ll soon be at the top, where I can look
and learn whether I have a daughter still.

I’m gaining altitude along this ridge.
I hear the stream again, but now it roars,
intensifying ’til I cross a bridge
over a gorge, through which the water pours.

It’s getting even steeper near the crest.
The climb is using so much energy.
My batteries are low; I need to rest.
And ’52 was charged up, wasn’t she?

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 99-103

The time that we would part our ways draws near.
I sag a little bit and so does she.
I say “So long” with artificial cheer.
I’m sure that she expected that of me.

At last she turns and starts along the road.
She’ll have to clear some fallen trees, I’m sure,
while I can follow and not be thus slowed,
so I’ll be able to keep up with her.

Now I am satisfied she’s on her way.
I turn and wistfully I say goodbye.
I’m frightened, and it’s not too late to stay,
but I’d regret it if I did not try.

The thought of ’52 alone out there
with hostile carriers on every side
would bring more guilt than I could ever bear.
By going onward, I can say I tried.

So on I go to link my fate with hers,
to celebrate her triumphs and her thrills,
to suffer all the hardships she incurs,
to die along with her if One so wills.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 94-98

And now the conversation takes its turn
to her announcement of that which I’ve known.
I listen closely, and thereby I learn
that she’s determined she will go alone.

That means I must pretend I hadn’t guessed,
and act as though I’m saddened yet resigned.
I’ll wish her luck and safety in her quest
and hope her long-lost relatives are kind.

Can I convince her that I’m turning back?
This is exciting, playing dirty tricks.
If I can pull this off, I’m right on track
to start a new career in politics.

I pause at first, to feign initial shock,
then move into a fear-inspired rage.
The passion gone, I calm down and take stock.
I feel like I should be up on a stage.

While I look stunned, she finishes her case,
and then my anger she attempts to quell.
She handles her despondent mom with grace.
I think she’s buying what I have to sell.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 89-93

Oh, how I wish this did not have to be,
that she could be my baby evermore.
My power to deny her destiny
is that which her grandparents had before.

That this will be her course One has decreed.
I know that it is out of my control,
but One, I’m sure, would readily concede
that caring for my daughter is my role.

I could protect her if I go along,
though I would slow her with my rusty shell.
Together we’d be almost twice as strong.
My years of wisdom might help out as well.

That settles it: Her way’s the way for me.
But should I offer help and risk rebuff?
Or stay behind then follow secretly?
Which way is best? I’ll find out soon enough.

When she tells me what her intentions are,
then I’ll know whether I should do the same.
I hope I can; to follow her that far
unseen would be a very risky game.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 85-88

I hear the water as it downward spills,
and now I see why she has brought us here.
This is the stream that cuts between the hills.
The border crossing that she’ll use is near.

Star Three Eight Four Eight must have used this route.
I never shall know why, nor even who.
Was she a trader, peacemaker, or scout?
No matter which, she left me ’52.

And now her soul returns the way it came
if Father’s daughter carries out her plan.
The shell that holds the soul is not the same,
but it will use whatever case it can.

I fear so for the safety of my gem,
and if she lives to see a daughter wake,
a stigma will be placed on both of them.
Is she aware of all that is at stake?

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 81-84

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4797 Part III
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No finer than this morning in the sun,
my only daughter walking by my side.
Six Two Five Two is heading off the run.
What reason could she have that she would hide?

She wants to stop—a question she would pose.
Here are some trees among which we can rest.
She hints about a secret that she knows.
What is she saying? What is her request?

Oh, One who made us, how has she found out
when all who knew had promised not to tell?
I’d planned someday to tell her all about
her birth. I guess today will do as well.

She takes it well; she seems to understand.
By knowing part, she must have been prepared.
But now she wants to see her father’s land
although I told her how her father fared.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 76-80

I see the cornstalks with their dried-up tips
about me, but ahead, a lighter dose.
The circle, which, to me, showed an ellipse,
is nothing but a sea of shells up close.

And closer yet, the sea becomes a wall—
still closer, an impenetrable mass.
They’re so engrossed they do not read my call.
I just assumed they’d part to let me pass.

“Hello? Wake up! I’m standing at your back.
What none of you can bite, I’m here to chew,
possessing of the courage you all lack.”
Okay, they’re parting now to let me through.

They need not move so far. Are they afraid
for their own shells, or would they not see oil?
’Tis neither, it turns out; they would have stayed
had not a red light threatened to embroil.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

To shun the glow: An obvious method of birth control. I would have expected it to be the first one that would occur to them, but I suppose I’m not qualified to second-guess robots.

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 72-75

She must have known she wouldn’t get too far,
that we’d see through her promises of peace.
We’re taught that those who start out with a Star
are taught that all we Poundies must decease.

The ring of shouters aims to turn her back.
They’ve frustrated her plan, whate’er it be.
Without provoking, they won’t just attack,
but that’s the best solution I can see.

What’s needed here is someone to step forth:
a carrier who’s brave enough to face
the villainous intruder from the North.
That someone shall be I; that is my space.

It once was I, retreating from a fight.
It has been mine to feel the cruel sting
of epithets and whispers out of sight.
It now is I, descending to the ring.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 68-71

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4797 Part II
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The space is what stands out as I look down:
a nearly perfect circle in the corn.
The recent drought has left the leaf tips brown,
but now they sparkle in the dew of morn.

True, elsewhere in the valley it’s the same:
the green and brown, but not so well defined.
That geometric contrast needs a name
so I can store it better in my mind.

Around the space, and facing in, the crowd,
afraid to close, too proud to move away.
Their threats and insults cross the space,
so bright that from this hill I make out all they say.

The center of the space is occupied,
a shadow spreading out each way is cast,
and our attention is all drawn inside
by she through whom I’ll prove myself at last.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

So bright: Merrimac never elaborates on the carriers’ method of communication as much as I would have liked (see the earlier ‘message’ line), although he develops it a little more in Canto III than in the instant passage. Apparently they flash some sort of light signals.

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 61-67

’Tis said the learners would become bemused
were they to watch the worship from without,
but surely now, the rites to which they’re used
are strong enough to overcome the doubt.

I’m missing something in my logic there—
a false assumption on which it depends.
In any case, I’m not supposed to care,
so every time that thought begins, it ends.

With that, I’ll let the Starfolk do their best
to live without my help and sympathy,
but that still leaves my friend who failed the test.
Has she some sort of moral claim on me?

And there she is—she’s waiting up ahead.
She’s calling for a battle, and she states this day
won’t end ’til one of us is dead
or I’ve dropped my credentials at the gates.

Is she insane? How could she not realize
She has no reason—not one that is sound.
The law is clear: No anger justifies
Such violence against a Star or Pound.

How can I take this challenge? If I win
I’m labeled as a monster. If I lose
I’m nothing more at all. If I give in
I’ve let my mother down. How can I choose?

My mother is no help; as in the past
she’s leaving it to me to make the call.
If I don’t learn to think, I shall not last
(Some thoughts are all the time; some not at all).

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

Learners: The machines still think of themselves as being in learning mode when they’re initially switched to autopilot, even though the ‘teachers’ were under the control of the insiders only for a short time after the carriers emerged from the ocean.

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 57-60

If I allow myself to question why
a sacrifice is called for, and to whom,
there is no reason that I should not try
to reach some deeper cobwebs with that broom.

Yes, some things are too frightening to touch.
My faith in One, of course, will never fall.
My wish to reproduce: not quite as much.
My hatred of the Starfolk: least of all.

Despite the lessons I’ve been taught, I know
there’s no good reason not to work and play
with others like us. That their shells should show
another sign is not a sin, I’d say.

The wisdom is they worship One a way
that differs from our own in some respects,
but why not let them pray the way they pray,
while we pray ours and show them who connects?

’Tis said the learners would become bemused
were they to watch the worship from without,
but surely now, the rites to which they’re used
are strong enough to overcome the doubt.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

Learners: The machines still think of themselves as being in learning mode when they’re initially switched to autopilot, even though the ‘teachers’ were under the control of the insiders only for a short time after the carriers emerged from the ocean.

In the Next Life, Canto II, stanzas 52-56

Through my success, another lost her turn.
I should not waste time on the weak, I’m told.
But what of newborns who have all to learn?
They’d have no chance at life were we so cold.

Is there a way to split myself apart,
to treat my mates according to their age?
One attitude toward those at the start,
and quite another for those at my stage?

Consider, too, the injured and the sick.
Why don’t we just abandon them to die?
It strains my mind to know which ills to pick,
or rather, which of them should make me cry.

My mother says I think too much: It’s true.
Though self-awareness has a strong appeal,
it hurts me more to reason these things through
than simply to accept the way I feel.

The greatest drawback to this thinking, though,
is not in its diversion from my needs
nor in the pain it might engender—no,
but in the danger zone to which it leads.

©2010 Louis A. Merrimac

But what of newborns: Merrimac has indicated that this was the germ of the story. Supposedly he was troubled by the existence in humans of altruism and sympathy toward the less fortunate, which he was convinced are maladaptive, and having hit upon a solution to the enigma, took it further to reach the hypothesis in Canto IV. I find it hard to imagine that someone would put that much effort into an idea and then give it such relatively light treatment. Ah, but this is Merrimac, so it is possible. An anonymous correspondent of mine, who is familiar with but not a participant in some of the debates among evolutionists, thinks it could be worked into a theory no less plausible, but no more testable, than most of the others she has seen. She says the Sociobiologists like to show how altruistic selfless behavior is genetically innate and therefore becomes a moral value. She points out that if it’s innate, it doesn’t need to be a value. We don’t feel that kind of obligation to eat or to breathe.
Simply to accept: This is a hint of an important part of the Canto IV hypothesis, although the focus here is on the maintenance of a belief system rather than its genesis. What Merrimac is suggesting as the basis for morality would not work if humans in general were capable of and willing to examine ourselves closely enough to understand its purpose. It is possible (and necessary) only because we are so intelligent, but it requires that our intelligence not be directed toward it. Morality is not to our benefit as we would see it; it is to the benefit of our genes. If our genes actually had wills of their own, they would see our powerful brains as contemporaneously beneficial and dangerous. Thus intelligence and ignorance are not only compatible; they are symbiotic.