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SIMPLEXITY by PAUL S. GRIMSLEY

Turner pulled the simplicity blade from its sheath, keened its edge on a few mathematical problems and watched as its hunger grew for complexities. Out here on the edge of mathspace things sometimes got quite hairy.

He remembered all that time ago when he had first imbibed the solution and stood face to face with the binary truth of the universe - all the superpositional states of being made manifest before him, and he suddenly understood what it was like to be god; it was a return to the native state he had been in before the physical universe, and so, it felt natural.

Their enemy was a well established professor of advanced algebra who, despite his twisted form had somehow managed to override the tendency of the universe, not towards entropy, but towards simplicity - all things resolving down to an obvious answer. The truth really was that the devil was in the details - and Professor Parris surely was detailed.

The shifting tesseracts that composed the skin of Parris's exoskeletal mathspace environment suit shimmered with calculus; algorithms glistening like diamonds of dew on its surface. He moved through the complicating tangles of hypothetical quantum states that conflicted with or complimented other scientific theories given weight purely in a mathematical sense. He was coming to kill Turner and finally rid reality of simple fact.

Turner's perceptual filters were under a vast amount of strain; he found himself starting to think as he had once thought in maths class - formulas unspooling in his head, alongside the thought that he would never use this. He uttered the word mantra and 'one plus one' started to loop through his auditory system.

The blade was alight with intent - its own innate sense of right, and the power it drew from and his certainty. A wave of integers, prime numbers, Fibonacci, Fermat's last theorem, and Einstein's theory of relativity crested before him and threatened to drown him in their intensity. He sliced through it and kept going; pushing ever onwards.

That final blow which he dealt Parris surprised even him - Parris, having paused to watch the disintegration of his thinly coherent arguments was apparently transfixed, and as the blade swung through a weakening field of ones and zeroes, it was as if he didn't really see it. His suit buckled under the pressures of unmitigated mathspace and Turner could barely find a smile to indicate he recognised victory as his whole war resolved in this easiest of acts.

Was it really that uncomplicated?

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