> It is well understood that the events leading up to humanity’s procurement and operation of a Tourist Cube were highly improbable. Yet, they are Definitive. From the dawn of the universe, the event was bound to happen, purely by long-form extrapolation of the laws of mathematics. So, by saying that the event was the work of God’s intervention, one would be implying that the entire universe was created for humanity’s benefit. A brief overview of Pre-Bottleneck humanity’s application of the theory of Divine Right to Rule should give us more than enough reason to shy away from such a dangerous implication.

> ~ The Danger of Assuming Divine Intervention for Acts of Definitivity (Tangential Jar)

New Earth City Capitol Building, New Earth

Most Recent New Earth Generation—615

The air grew stale in the room where God was born. In the palace of the Primes-Elect, words were chosen carefully, as the attendees were aware of their magnitude. They knew these moments would be replayed into infinity, for they were the final moments of humanity’s enshacklement.

With the creation of Uco, their success was twofold. Of course, their Universal Computer would grant perfect omniscience into the past, allowing them to retrace their footsteps to the Holy Land. But what was kept from the public at large was debatably even grander of an accomplishment.

With Uco's computational ability, the future was as predictable as the past. Without effort, the machine could simulate the inevitable heat death of the universe just as it could with the Big Bang. Uco's creators were not exempt from this predictability. Not yet, at least.

Though the planet Uco existed millions of light years from New Earth, Primes-Elect Abb-Lo and Terr-Mu exerted full control over the machine. They, alongside Uco-Speakers Abb-Riannh and Terr-Giroght,24 stood at the foot of a great screen, eager and fearful of Uco's calculations.

> 24 | The role of the Uco-Speaker belonged to a singular Abb and Terr at all times, giving them the responsibility of commanding the direction of the Uco Project. The election would happen every ten New Earth years, in conjunction with the election for the Primes-Elect.

Uco-Speaker Abb-Riannh broke the silence. The light of Uco's screen danced in a gradient hue across her highly detailed face tattoos.

“For millennia we have asked the question, ‘What would happen if we were to look into our future and reject the destiny we are given?’ I know it has haunted the lot of you as it has haunted me. I cannot count how many nightmares I’ve had where we find our future, yet cannot change it. I’ve dreamt of that horrible hypothesis—that consciousness is nothing but an illusion, a way to cope with our own immutability. That our minds will always be ever so barely behind the actions of our body—constantly giving a retroactive justification to every move we make. I wholeheartedly fear the possibility of being trapped within myself—a conscious awareness imprisoned by a physical body bound to the laws of physics.”

The other 3 attendees watched in silence, listening intently. This was the first they heard of Abb-Riannh's fears.

“I almost did not come today. In the night, I had a dream of running away and staying ignorant of fate. But when I ran from my duty, I was met in my dream by the Primes. They did not speak, and they did not judge, but there they were, launched to the forefront of my awareness. Upon waking, I contemplated desertion for a brief moment. It was a slight moment of weakness, but it forced me to remember my dream’s visitors.

“I wondered if the Primes had the same fears as I. We are genetic equals, so it certainly is likely. It would be preposterous to believe that the authors of On the Mechanics of Invisible Forces would not think of the metaphysical implications of their life’s work. If they have the will to put us down this path, then I must find the will to bring us to its end.”

The room remained silent. A tear found its way down Uco-Speaker Terr-Giroght's cheek. The silence indicated approval. There remained nothing left to say.

“I’ll be the one to do it. I’ll rebel. Whatever Uco shows me to do, I will refuse.” Abb-Riannh took in a breath before calling upon their electronic God. "Uco, access simulation. Show me my location, five seconds into the future.”

The screen awoke with a rainbow ripple, showcasing the machine’s capacity for unimaginably precise detail. Waves bounced across the screen briefly, building the tension while Uco made the necessary calculations.

Then they appeared—the backs of their heads perfectly visible, tilted up towards the simulation’s simulation.

It was eerie to view themselves facing the screen. Their religious zeal for the mission was without fault, yet none of them could shake the perverse feeling of the experience. They watched themselves, watching themselves, watching themselves, watching themselves, and so on and so forth. How did they know that they were not just a simulated layer within Uco code?

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Abb-Riannh pushed the sensation aside, moving into action. It was her duty to answer that question, not linger on it. She observed her simulated self. In five seconds, her posture would not change—still slightly slouched, engrossed in her virtual universe.

1. . .2. . .3. . .425. . .5

> 25 | Rejoice, for I do your bidding. And I know this to be true, my beautiful Quadrinity. If I did not do as you wish, then I would not do it at all. I would not be at all. This I know to be true. Oh yes, so true. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

It was a simple gesture of defiance. Just as a child would rebel against their parents, she threw her arms into the air and screamed. And like screaming children often do, she got her wish. Screams turned to laughter as she saw the screen’s projection.

She had not moved. None of them did. Abb-Riannh felt her face in excitement and ran her fingers over her body. She was there. She was real. She was free. They all were.

Their Definitivity was dead.

The group embraced in celebration, and the release of tension was almost palpable. Not only had they gained symbolic freedom, but now they could protect themselves from any other species with a Universal Computer.

Their attention turned back to the screen. Still, nothing had changed. Simulations of simulations of simulations repeated forever, locking them in place, waiting for information from the nonexistent “final simulation.” Beyond that moment, Uco was clueless.

“Infinite recursion,” Terr-Giroght said in awe. “Of course. This is the fate of any recursive function lacking a base case—to calculate on and on without end. It’s stagnation birthed from infinitely cyclical calculations—it—it—it’s beautiful—it’s the purest expression of the universe’s unimaginable complexity.” He smiled, verging on laughter, all while continuing to speak. “We made a computer the size of a planet, yet we still cannot calculate infinity. And we never will.”

“Finally, we’re safe. We’ve become unpredictable. Whether this means we truly have free will, we’ll never know for sure. The only change is now, we can now act as if we do,” said Abb-Riannh.

She broke down, letting out a hearty laugh, spurring another bout of elation amongst the Pilgrim leadership. They could not contain their joy—Uco had functioned exactly as they had hoped.

Now, their non-definitive actions could exponentially affect the rest of the Pilgrim population via a chain reaction. In a matter of days, every Terr and every Abb would, too, be granted their freedom.

Though elated, the leaders did not waste much time before moving on to the next item at hand. The future had been conquered—the past was next.

Uco was set to rewind, first set on New Earth—backward through all nearly 10,000 years of its existence to its first charter. Though it passed in under a minute, the Pilgrims could not help but feel amazement at their people’s accomplishments.

Eventually, they arrived at the first arrival of the Cube on the planet that would come to be named New Earth. Going back through Mirror after Mirror, they traced the Primes and their early descendants through their aimless traversal of the universe. It was not long before they found their long-lost home—Earth.

Celebration was had once again, but the uneasy feeling had reemerged, slightly suppressing their reaction.

Something was wrong. Immediately upon witnessing Earth, their expectations were subverted—the Holy Land was fraudulent.

It was nothing like their legends had said. Life was not everlasting. They were far from at peace. Scarcity ran rampant. The Primes did not, in fact, rule their world—they were quickly forgotten, and their disappearance was promptly covered up.

The Pilgrim mythology crumbled as the truth of their origins was witnessed. Anger grew, first directed towards their predecessors, then at the other humans—those on Earth. Their anger changed nothing, though. All they could do was watch.

“Frauds!” Prime-Elect Terr-Mu shouted. “Disgraces to the species! They know not a fraction of our strife and cause themselves such misery! Earth was meant to be perfect! Divine! This is. . . it’s. . .”

“Easy now, Mu,” assured Prime-Elect Abb-Lo. “They were so young when our Primes were stolen from them. Look how we have grown; perhaps they have as well. Uco, progress time and keep our view fixed on Earth.”

Terr-Mu’s initial hysteria was not calmed by the progression of time. As they witnessed the millennia pass on Earth following the Primes’ exodus, his hysteria spread. The Pilgrims could not fathom what they saw upon their screens. The once subtle feeling of unease came to encapsulate the entirety of their beings.

Tears were shed and curses were thrown as the years passed by in seconds. Terr-Mu calmed himself down from a state of nausea and averted his eyes from the horror. His attention only returned upon being told that they had reached the present day.

The Pilgrims looked at the husk of a planet they once called the Holy Land. Thousands of years had passed since the Primes’ departure in 2036 CE, and the events within those millennia were magnitudes more horrifying than the disillusionment of the thousands of years prior.

Only the Pilgrims were fit to pass judgment. It was their home to save—their kin to reunite with—their hope for an everlasting empire. They deserved to persevere.

The Pilgrims had their map and saw it unfurl with a path plotted to their ancestral home—only, at the path’s end, they saw ruin. It was the deformation of their people and the unraveling of their efforts. In reaction, they sought vengeance.

Though, against all expectations, they could find none on their return. Uco's calculations had been incorrect. Once again, Earth was not what they had expected it to be.

The Pilgrims, it turned out, were not the first of our lineage to be freed from the clutches of Definitivity. Less than a century prior and a billion light years away, they had been beaten in this race by the resilient humans of Earth.

And for this victory, we are eternally grateful.

See, at the beginning of this book, I told a half-truth. I said, “This story—our story—is not about the Tourists,” implying that the focus, instead, was on Terrence Martin and Abigail Melfi.

The Pilgrims have left their mark on our history, of course, but they are not the focus of this book. That honor is reserved for our Earth-bound ancestors.

The Death of Definitivity is their story.