Magic Rules Zero Through Four

My favorite words are “but” and “what if.” One day I thought about the way the laws of thermodynamics begin with zero. What if magic had rules that started with zero, too? Our understanding of thermodynamics gives us great powers, but what powers would the rules of magic give us? My story offers one answer, but what if there are better answers? This flash fiction story was published at Daily Science Fiction in 2021.

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Magic Rules Zero Through Four

by Sue Burke

Rule 0. Magic works. But few people believe in it.

A half-dozen students awaited their teacher in a secluded garden. The sorcerer, they thought, would be an elderly man with a long white beard and wise sad eyes. Instead a carefree young woman strolled in, wearing a fashionable hoop skirt, bell sleeves, and corseted waist. She hummed as she sat on a wicker bench.

Years later, you labor in the War Department in utter secrecy. If anyone asks, you manage a special procurement research project, which your coworkers believe is a cover for espionage. You never correct them.

***

Rule 1. The forces of the world will work in accord with magic. But they must be persuaded or beguiled.

“Magic is a matter of will.” Her voice warbled like birdsong. “Human beings are endowed with an enormous force of will. We live for our plans and desires.” The way she said desires made the entire class fall in love, or at least lust. Then she showed how she did that.

You’re not a spy, but your country has excellent spies. The enemy hopes to change the course of the war with an invasion. You know exactly when and at which section of the coast.

***

Rule 2. The past and present cannot be changed. But the future can, and the further into the future, the more easily it can be changed.

She pointed to a nearby rosebush with impossible, sky-blue flowers. “Two years ago I introduced the sky to the rosebush and let them see each other’s beauty. A love charm today can alter the course of a dynasty.” She waved her hand, and a tiny cloud condensed around her wiggling fingertips. “A major storm? Oh, it might take weeks to convince the right tempestas.”

You spend sleepless days and nights negotiating with kobolds, flirting with undines, and chanting to the volcano goddess Pele’s forgotten Atlantic Ocean cousin.

***

Rule 3. Every part of reality in the past, present and future is connected; thus one change can affect many things. But all those connections must be understood.

She suddenly grew grim. “I have much to learn about the causes of famines. I also made a series of sad errors regarding Napoleon Bonaparte.”

Your troops, vastly outnumbered, clear civilians from a coastline and send cannonballs and bullets to slow the onslaught, but the enemy establishes a beachhead. At the right moment, the ocean floor snaps and a tsunami races toward shore. Your soldiers withdraw just in time, and the enemy is ravaged.

***

Rule 4. Rarely can accurate predictions be made about the future. But the future must be considered at every move.

“I have lived for two hundred forty-seven years,” she said, “and experience has taught many hard lessons.”

You fear that sooner or later, the enemy will begin at zero.

A tiny marvel makes this possible

“Tiny” means one millimeter or less: a tungsten carbide ball sintered (fused) at 1400ºC for hardness, then polished, but not perfectly smooth. The ball at the tip of a ballpoint pen is textured. Tens of thousands of tiny pits called divots on the surface are connected by channels to assure the presence of ink and to grip the writing surface. The ball fits into a machined brass socket that holds it snugly and ensures the consistent flow of ink from the internal reservoir.

A ballpoint pen exemplifies the marvel of precision engineering. It’s something I use every day but could never make myself, even if I could get the raw materials.

The quill pen was used for writing by my European ancestors in medieval times. I suppose I could stroll into the park next door, tackle a Canada goose (unwise), nab some feathers, and make my own pen. But a common ballpoint pen costs about a dollar (when you can’t get them free as a give-away), less than the medical care needed after a goose attack. In that way, acquiring a ballpoint pen shifts the danger of production onto other people. Sintering sounds potentially hazardous.

But — did the ball point pen kill cursive handwriting?

Probably. Cursive was originally developed to accommodate the limits and flourishes of quill, steel-nib, and fountain pens.

In “How the Ballpoint Pen Changed Handwriting,” Josh Geisbricht wrote (probably on a keyboard), “Fountain pens want to connect letters. Ballpoint pens need to be convinced to write, need to be pushed into the paper rather than merely touch it.”

Likewise, Justin Ohms wrote in his Medium column that fountain pens love gliding. “Cursive is a perfect match for this, flowing, continuous, it just happens to be the handwriting style that treats a fountain pen like it’s on a moving sidewalk.”

Myself, I was required to learn cursive as a child, but as an adult, I worked for a long time as a newspaper reporter back when we had no better technology for taking notes than a rugged (ballpoint) pen and paper. I learned to write fast, a jumble of block letters and ligature that incorporated shorthand strokes. Cursive is beautiful, but it’s artificial, slow, tedious, and unnecessary, and I have no more patience for it than today’s young people.

Audible sale of ‘Interference’

As part of an Audible sale, my novel Interference will be available for $6.99 from June 4 to June 26. This sale is only offered to Prime membership subscribers in the US. This is also a cash sale, meaning it will not affect those using an Audible credit to purchase.

Interference is the second novel in the Semiosis trilogy. More than two hundred years after the first colonists landed on Pax, a new set of explorers arrives from Earth on what they claim is a temporary scientific mission. But the Earthlings misunderstand the nature of the Pax settlement and its real leader. Even as Stevland attempts to protect his humans, a more insidious enemy than the Earthlings makes itself known.

“Narrators Caitlin Davies and Daniel Thomas May reprise their roles, and between them, they’ve once more captured the essence behind the voices of multiple characters, and even more impressively, this time there are non-humans thrown into the mix.” — Bibliosanctum Book Blog.

What I’m working on

I’ve been asked if there’s anything new coming out. I have some short stories looking for a home, and if they’re published, I’ll announce it here.

As for another novel, I’m most of the way through a very shitty first draft tentatively titled A Nice Galaxy. It tries to deal seriously with the size of the Milky Way, which is almost unimaginably vast. Suppose we humans have settled the galaxy. How can humanity remain united when even something as basic as a radio transmission becomes too attenuated to decipher less than a quarter of the way across the galaxy, not to mention the thousands of light-years it would take to arrive?

Imagine no handwavium shortcuts like faster-than-light travel. Then imagine humanity’s many self-destructive foibles and the problems of survival in a galaxy mostly hostile to human life. That is, imagine trying to carry out the impossible task of keeping humanity connected.

Chernobyl haibun

On April 26, 1986, the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant exploded, creating one of the world’s worst nuclear accidents. A haibun is a Japanese poetic form that combines prose and haiku, usually describing an event or travel. This is a haibun about my guided tour in April 2006 of Chernobyl.

I visited Chernobyl, and I also visited the National Chornobyl Museum in Kyiv, which tells the heartbreaking story of what happened and holds irreplaceable artifacts. Over the weekend, Russia deliberately destroyed the museum.

***

A military checkpoint marks the entrance to the Exclusion Zone, the contaminated area roughly 30 kilometers around the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. More than 100,000 people were evacuated within days of its explosion and meltdown in April 1986. At the Chernobyl Interinform Agency, in a room filled with maps, we met our tour guide, Yuriy, who cheerfully answered our questions in Ukrainian and English. Then we reboarded our bus to head toward the areas marked in red on the maps.

his pocket dosimeter

ticking ever faster

our guide keeps smiling

As we approached the nuclear power plant complex, we passed the rusting cranes and beams of buildings whose construction had been halted overnight. But there is a new building.

Visitor Center —

women plant tulips

wearing face masks

The cesium and plutonium that spewed out during the disaster washed into the soil, so digging requires precautions. Plants pull radioactivity back up through their roots, as a Geiger counter set on the pavement and then on the lawn can prove.

keep off the grass:

twice the dose

as asphalt

We moved on to Pripyat, a city built for the power plant’s workers and families. Its 50,000 inhabitants were told they were only leaving for three days, although authorities knew it would be effectively forever: the radiation will subside to livable levels in one thousand years.

busy ants —

do they notice?

the city is empty

It was a model Soviet city, with lovely tree-lined boulevards and many amenities. Its designer even had one rose bush planted for every inhabitant.

among the weeds

still a few

roses

We visited on the day after Palm Sunday. With no palm trees in Ukraine, the faithful gather willow buds and bring them to churches to be blessed. Willows were growing in Pripyat.

pussy willows

nine hundred eighty more

quiet springs

The tour company owner, Alexander Sirota, had been a boy in Pripyat when the disaster happened, a third-grade student at School No. 1. It was partially collapsed, spilling books, furniture, and students’ possessions across the cracked and mossy sidewalk.

a string of beads

on the ground: everyone looks

no one touches

We got back on the bus and passed through the “Red Forest.” These were pine trees growing next to the power plant that were directly under the path of the worst fallout. The pine needles turned red overnight; the trees died, were cut down and buried where they had grown.

Red Forest

dust to dust — only

Geiger counters wail

Our guide pointed out a tall metal grid: the early warning radar screen for Chernobyl II, a supposedly top secret nuclear missile site close to the power plant. An American spy satellite passed over the area 28 seconds after the explosion, and US analysts, who knew about the site, thought a missile had been fired and considered a nuclear strike in retaliation. Then they thought a missile had exploded in its silo because it didn’t move. Finally they realized it was the nuclear power plant exploding.

Chernobyl II

the bigger danger next door:

who knew?

And so we left, with one final stop at a Ukraine Army checkpoint to test our radioactivity. We all passed. Our irradiation during the seven-hour visit had been slight. No tee-shirts, no souvenirs.

like a small x-ray

but with nothing

to show for it