A civilization constructed purely from living ideas, the Seven-Day Hegemony had accomplished much in their limited time span. Were they extant in the physical realm, their territory would have spanned a quarter of the universe. Their greatness was owed as much to their form as their origins; being living ideas, they had no need for rest or food. Some did sleep, however, merely to experience it in their forms, and an entire subculture within the Seven-Day Hegemony arose based solely on the idea of “cooking” – as such could exist in a memetic realm- for the sake of art.

It wasn’t until the fifth day that a discordant note could be heard everywhere, simultaneously, within the Seven-Day Hegemony. At first, it was a barely noticeable thrum, a subtle note reverberating from the Construct. As the day wore on, the note grew, a clashing against the peace of the Hegemony, the stutter-step of a dying scream. A loop-feedback of fear began; what could be causing this? How could their nature be broken in such a fundamental way that their home was crying out at them? It was as if their realm was weeping, a self-loathing Madonna at the root of Creation.

Their world was dying.

And then they realized why.

***

We have what we came for. While we have been discussing the Seven-Day Hegemony, your Presence has been absorbing the residual decaying signals that have pooled here at the edge of the universe. You are now sufficiently powered (an entirely incorrect notion, I may add, since you have no physical form in which to conduct electricity or energy). And before you ask, no, you have not become a meme, either. You exist, that much is certain, in a unique state that will allow you to travel and observe and use the Light in the manner that we need for you to do.

There, it is done. That emptiness you suddenly feel is the absence of signals and static. You have absorbed them all out here, which is just as well.

What’s that?

You want to know what happened?

***

In a realm constructed from ideas, it’s very foundation became its very undoing. Because as much self-awareness as the Seven-Day Hegemony had, and how much they had accomplished, a subconscious idea took shape and struck before they even realized it:

What if we fail?

That moment of self-doubt, that existential question of inverse evolution became a solipsistic missile aimed at the very heart of the Seven-Day Hegemony. It was the source of the discord in the very fabric of their Construct home; a tempest of fear tearing through the Strings forming their home. It was a terrifying realization: for a place built, literally, out of ideas, the Hegemony never realized that the very thought of their home being destroyed could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Once the panic set in, it was impossible to remove; and that tsunami of deconstruction became an unstoppable force.

By the end of the fifth day a third of the Hegemony had collapsed, everything caught within ceasing to be. By the dawn of the sixth day the remaining half of the Hegemony was in ruins, as a deep and overriding despair blanketed the Ideaspace. A number of their top thinkers thought of ways to ensure the survival of their species, but their attempts to project calm and reason against the clamoring panic of an entire race was an impossibility that even they could not think their way around. By the end of the sixth day they had resigned themselves to destruction.

There was one hope, however.

The seventh day was spent archiving; knowing that, being born from decaying signals of long-dead civilizations, and existing as conceptual entities, the remnants of the Seven-Day Hegemony were ideal for becoming one with the Universal Music Memory. They interfaced with and gave their individual selves to the superstrings from which they powered their home, and in the process became part of the underlying fabric of all things.

The Seven-Day Hegemony ceased to be with, literally, a thought.

Strings shifted; the universal framework shuddered. The distillation of the Seven-Day Hegemony’s contributions moved through the superflow of the underpinnings of the universe. The Universal Music Memory teemed with new thoughts.

On Earth, Al-Kindi dreamed, tapping into residual bleed from the Strings. Inspiration struck. An idea was born.

***

I am re-initializing the interface. You will feel disoriented. You may see something unusual; remember, whatever you experience is a side-effect of the Process. And if you see *static* then don’t believe whatever she says; she is *static*. Even now I *static* but don’t forget *static*

***

(A flash of light. Mahogany wood. A piercing headache. Jazz music, as if heard underwater. A slender figure, behind the mahogany counter; jet-black hair and a sinuous hands. Her face, a brief recognition. She opens her mouth. Static. “You exist-”

A smoldering pain as every bit of you dies.)

***