Chapter 6: A Short History of the Planet Part 2

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The Planet convulsed.

When the Alchemists launched their assault they expected that the visitors would immediately understand the righteousness of their cause. Richness and privilege to be swept aside in a new glorious revolution. The underdog, always a good bet. Plenty of historical precedent. Some Guilds fell. Seats of learning stormed by no-nonsense experimenters armed with new and powerful weaponry. Guilds shuddered. ‘The Decline and Fall of the Freudian Empire’.

Horror and incredulity gripped the Guilds. Without the brake of paradox, the veneration of the aged, the Alchemists ranged deep into the halls of the Guilds. Destroyed the precious archives of paper. Brought not just the new but the old paper into the sun and incinerated it in the magnifying glasses of scrutiny. The Doers did. The Experimenters experimented. The Alchemists directed, overturned and burned.

But the tentacles of the Guilds ran deep into the voices of the visitors. Feudal structures pulled at loyalties. Visitors did not want new science. Trusted structures and fealty gave comfort. The assault faltered. The new science regrouped and struck again. New gains. The Guilds sought a fresh saviour. An unprecedented idea, Guild cooperation. A return to history, to the spirit of the first colonisers. But it wasn’t enough. The Guilds needed their own new weapon. And they found it where they least expected it. In the very heart of their own laws. At the very core of the Planet. The 1st paradox.

Words generate paper. Words are the ultimate Planetary addiction. On the margins, the outlaw lands of the weird and the doings the scant supply of words kept the Alchemists, Experimenters and Doers clean. Their meat and drink was cause and effect. Their paper was different, riven by strange symbols and hieroglyphics. Dense and barely understandable. The high priests of Alchemy, doing and experiment were keepers of the new paper. Most of the entourage from the margins cared little and understood less of these priestly writings. They sensed privilege and wanted it destroyed. Mercenaries with less belief and more opportunity. Storming. Happy to be led.

The Guilds sensed opportunity. A strategy. The Trojan Horse.

Into the Alchemists’ camp came a gift. A Turncoat. A refugee from the Guilds. Dissatisfied and willing to learn from the Alchemists’ instruction books. Maybe the Alchemists had a point. The Planet could change, learn from their new ways. The Turncoat turned, spun and weaved. Introduced the Alchemists to words. The mercenaries, opportunists, listened, drank around the fire with the refugee, broke bread and were caught in the web.

The coalition from the margins, from the weird and the doings creaked. United by the Experimenters, the Alchemists and Doers compared weapons. The Alchemists and their mercenaries drank ever more deeply from the jug of words. But needed the Doers, needed the Experimenters. The Guilds were still strong, the visitors suspicious of change, unwilling to embrace revolution. Words became ever more seductive.

The Alchemists sensed gold.

The Turncoat worked away. Suggested a new Guild. A Guild of Alchemists, Doers and Experimenters. The Planet would be stronger. All could share in its riches. Words were plentiful. Didn’t they know the Guilds controlled the source, dammed the flow? Observe the sluice gates, wind the handle. See how the words come gushing? The Alchemists were hooked. Certain of it now. Gold.

The Planet breathed again, drew back from the abyss.

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