Canaan

by David Salvi

  “You’re welcome.”

  That’s when Chris found the gumption in himself to kiss Olivia.

  A sweet, soft connection of their lips ignited every nerve in their bodies. Their faces felt warm, flush with blood and tingling pores. For a few moments, everything erased inside their heads except for the pure pleasure of a feeling. Chris pulled away and gazed into her eyes again. They both smiled at each other with a soothing calmness.

  Though she wanted the kiss, Olivia was surprised it came so suddenly. The heart wants what the heart wants. The mind sometimes tries to hold it back for logical purposes. But there is no logic in love. That’s what makes love different and special. Love is what makes eternity possible and life endless. So she told herself.

  “I’m sorry if that was forw…” Chris was saying until Olivia kissed back, this time more intense and passionate. Chris knew he didn’t need to say sorry anymore.

  Finally Olivia relinquished their lips. She said “Don’t give me some crap about doing that because you’re going off to battle like some pathetic Greek tragedy.”

  Chris said, “Never. I wanted to do that. And glad you did too.”

  “Me too.”

  Another kiss. Electricity pulsing through their bodies again. Their hands wandered throughout each others bodies, noting every curve and muscle.

  The experience reverted Chris back to his first kiss with a girl named Claire back in Canaanite City. It was experimental and disappointing. Neither of them had feelings for each other outside of their screaming hormones at the age of seventeen. It was to see how it was. What it felt like. Give it a try. Something Canaan heavily discouraged. You were told what to do.

  This experience reversed all previous notions Chris had and placed kissing above all else at the moment. Euphorically motivating so to speak.

  Chris released, gazing into her eyes again, and said, “Dammit.”

  “What?” Olivia said, concerned.

  “You know.”

  “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Yea.”

  “Then I’ll do the pathetic thing and see you off like a clingy girlfriend.”

  “I’d like that.” Chris smiled and pecked her on the cheek. Olivia dipped her chin and closed her eyes to receive a passionate kiss.

  But then Chris thought of Riley. She stole his attention long enough to bother him. What the hell?

  February 2065 Entry -- Yukon Territory, Canada

  I write these for future generations. Always make progress possible.

  They are coming for us. Rambling around the world trying to find the source of our cosmic explosion. If they find us, everything will be over. All the progress and plans.

  Alas, our mission is secure for now, but time is running out. Before the world’s armies hunt us down with the fury of the apocalypse, we will depart for our interstellar journey of epic proportions. Yes, we are the future. They are the past. The past cannot catch up to us and swallow us whole like a giant whale eating a swarm of shrimp. No, we must evade the mighty predator who is desperate for food and aching for salvation through which we only have the means—Canaan.

  And with that, we are setting final preparations. Our population of a bit over three dozen souls will board our spaceship, Stargazer. Rations and supplies are loaded as I write this and the complex litany of items we’re transporting from Earth to Canaan will launch into Earth’s orbit soon. We successfully maintained a “space station” above our current position on Earth. The rotational spacecraft has simulated gravity for almost nine months with complex ecosystems aboard. Plants, vegetation, and animals have successfully lived in space during that time. Several scientists are on board maintaining the condition, health, and survival of those systems. Many of our genetically-approved “breeders” (maybe I need a better name) are already up there dancing in orbit as well.

  On board we have a sophisticated artificial intelligence system I call Rob, which will communicate through space with Rob II and use our “base time clocks” to approximate when to blast the exotic matter into a wormhole. These are clocks we matched at the beginning of Rob II’s trek years and years ago. At the given time, which was sent recently, the blast will coordinate and open the passageway for enough time to travel four light-years within minutes. Since we have only tested the blast twice (any further testing would risk revealing our compound’s location by tracking our signal), there’s a major risk in “winging it” for try-numero-tre. But we have little choice in the matter now. The Space Freedom Act is a tease to ambitious minds. What we need is covertly in space.

  And so we shall go. Soon.

  Life has a funny way of dawning itself upon me. A sort of self-realization within an existential analysis.

  A digital recording of old Medieval songs are playing in my headphones, devices to isolate and enjoy sounds or music, for if it is a foreign idea to those who read these letters. The lute and ancient drums are epic reminders of where we came from as a people. A long, dark time of our past that included constant warfare in a battle for thrones and power, religious persecution, degradation of entire peoples serving in harsh class systems, and sicknesses spread like wildfire. I ponder the Dark Ages with imaginative fondness thanks to Lords and Ladies and knights and mighty steeds. It was supposedly the birth of chivalry and grand conquest, where armies displayed honor and valor to the greatest degrees in combat and adventure. The Arthurian tales dazzled me, the hunt for the grail excited me, and prospect of magic allowed my imagination of human capacity soar.

  All this, and I can’t help think of our Dark Ages now. Whereas everything I just laid out is a reflection of that time and our time. Crippled from pillaging our own planet for profit. Spread disease faster than anything the Medieval period could have experienced. Harsh class systems, rooted in suppression. Entire religions persecuted to the point of hallow spirituality, stripping away histories and traditions that defined who we were and who we are.

  From it, we stand to awake in a Second Enlightenment as we did centuries ago after the discovery of the new world. Now our new world is farther than a mere ocean. No indigenous culture is awaiting us. No king or queen back home to please. We have our knowledge, technology, will, and wit to survive. Only we can get in our own way, but I won’t let that happen.

  History will repeat itself for the better. This time to the final frontier.

  End of Entry.

  Oscar Marian

  CHAPTER 13

  MOTUS ISLAND BUZZED. People cheered and energized the military procession. Drum skins bonged in the distance at their loudest. Everywhere you saw red flags of all shapes and sizes flying wildly, some frayed at the ends as makeshift flags made out of sheer pride, all with the Motus symbol—a hollow green pentagram.

  The pentagram was more of a curse than jubilation for Chris. Most of the Motus members tattooed the symbol to a place on their body in a deep green ink. But Chris has it painfully tattooed in his mind and heart as a final image before his mother died in his arms in their tiny apartment in the middle of Canaanite City. It felt more like a slap in the face than a call for victory.

  In the history of Motus, not one military procession was this decorated or abundant with hope and joy. At least that’s what Wallock told Chris. He had a way of being hyperbolic, but you enjoyed the storytelling.

  With this particular one, soldiers thought shedding blood would bring peace. Citizens left behind, for being too young or too old for battle, applauded knowing some, if not many, may not return to the island and atoll, their haven of safety and pure freedom.

  The soldiers banged their armor with knives and guns and shouted. Their boots stomped the ground like a rebellious earthquake looking to shake the inner cores of its victims.

  Citizens smiled without fear.

  Dignitaries praised the bravery and valor of their fine warriors of justice. Labeled them heroes before stepping on the battlefield.

  And Riley, at the helm of the army, nodded at citizens with a face of supreme confidence. Sh
e was outfitted as an armored soldier, decorated with rank on the sides of her shoulders in the form of engraved and golden pentagrams. She’d slow her pace and the force behind her would follow, as well as a cacophony of screams from the crowd.

  Chris, set to board the second vessel, followed in the ranks of soldiers. Lavik took lead in front of him and their group of tower siegers. It was this group that was slated to shift the tide of centuries-long disputes.

  As he walked through the procession, Chris spotted Olivia in the front of a pack of screaming citizens—who acted more like adoring fans of celebrity. She had a bright, wide smile across her face and electric eyes that instilled a foreign strength into Chris’s body. He instinctually glared back with confidence by squinting his eyes, puffing his chest, and walking taller and more erect. He nodded at fans, but reverted back to Olivia. Chris found her giggling at his postured manliness, and he snickered back. They caught eyes and remembered their feelings in the library that ignited a passion for one another. He felt immortal at that moment. As did all the soldiers amid the pandemonium.

  Chris drifted toward her, battling through the soldiers, clinking armor, and sending out empty apologies for the disruption. He nearly fell a time or two, at which Olivia giggled to herself.

  When Chris reached her, he said, “Hi.” She simply grinned back like a smitten lovebird. Then they held hands.

  After a few brief moments of communicating with their eyes, Olivia reached into her pocket to break their hypnotic gaze. She took something out and presented it to Chris. Between her soft fingers was a parchment made of krakona paper, a sturdy and thick form of paper.

  It was folded once over. Because of the quality of paper, it had a heavy crease.

  Chris opened it. Inside a single word was written on the bottom half, as not to be obstructed by the crease.

  MAGNANIMITY

  “What’s this?” Chris said. He had to raise his voice so Olivia could hear.

  She leaned in and said into his ear, “I see you and I think this. You are special, Chris.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And take this. It was my father’s before he died. He always said he wanted to live to see something great happen. Maybe this war is it. Maybe not. Take it with you.”

  Olivia handed him a gold pocket watch with a matching chain. Chris delicately inspected it with his fingertips. He opened it to reveal a clock face with Roman numerals. The hands were stopped at 5:55.

  “For luck.” She hoped to hell it gave him good luck, if there was such a thing.

  Chris smiled. To that, Olivia smiled back.

  At the front of the procession, Riley walked, but turned to eye her fighting force with pride. But she saw Chris hugging a line of Motus citizens and facing a tall, blonde woman. Riley knew of her—the librarian. A mysterious recluse who kept to herself and books, movies, and games hidden in the mountain’s stacks. She’d see her there at the desk, but always found her a bit odd, like an outsider.

  Back in the crowd, Olivia told Chris, “It was passed down from the original Stargazer. When they left Earth and travelled here, it stopped at this exact time. No one in my family has wound it since.”

  “This is amazing...how can I ever thank yo…” Chris’s words were halted by a kiss loaded with passion, romance, and even sorrow. It was a goodbye kiss. They both weren’t sure if it was a permanent goodbye or a temporary goodbye.

  Olivia ducked into the crowd and out of sight. Chris’s heart felt heavy.

  After witnessing the kiss, Riley jumped into shock. The roaring fans and shouting soldiers turned into a dull blare in her ears. Something about what she saw sat poorly. She was too arrogant to admit vulnerability, but that’s what it felt like in the center of her body. Her sternum felt tight. She was short of breath.

  Time paused. Then back it came.

  Commotion returned, as did Riley’s focus. She looked out and stretched her hand to evoke a blast of hurrahs. Her eyes shifted back to Chris, who now looked at her in silence. Their eyes connected for a moment and then back to the army.

  For weeks Riley, the council, and all of Motus prepared for this day. The dignitaries watched over with a strange sense of glee, offering unsolicited advice and help when requested. Between manufacturing weapons—firearms, knives, and explosives—armor, and supplying appropriate rations for the trip, the army of freedom-filled rebels amped themselves for battle. There was hardly an ounce of doubt or fear in their eyes. No quiver in their voices. Their cause was just and right. They were to be the deliverers of freedom to Canaanites by purging oppression and spreading the good and honest news of Oscar Marian, as intended instead of the city’s clear idolatry for personal gain.

  Now was the time.

  ***

  Soldiers hopped aboard. Four vessels—Santa Maria, Pinta, Nina and Armada—were loaded with rations, supplies, weaponry, soldiers, and mountains of courage in their hearts. Ready to travel through the dreaded Ocean of Antiquity. But these were hearty boats made by the finest craftsmen on Motus Island and of the strong krakona lumber.

  The day saw nothing but sunshine. Winds carried from the west, which meant a smoother and easier pull line. Everyone basked in the good omen.

  Chris traveled with his knapsack, a Motus saber—a curved and hearty blade in a form-fitted scabbard—a hand-sized gun, and rations for a lingering campaign if needed. He hopped aboard and looked around. Then he counted the men and feared the worst. Too few are in the ranks versus what the Canaanites have in weapons, vehicles, and manpower—not to mention the brute force of that manpower in hand-to-hand combat.

  “Not enough,” he said quietly to himself. He shook his head and stored his items in silence. “Not enough.”

  Before they set out to sea through Motus Bay and into Antiquity, Riley took a bullhorn and addressed the crowd as the commander of the expedition and campaign. She tried to utter an opening word, but the masses went ballistic to the point of a dull, blaring cheer. Their fearless military leader raised her hand for silence, which she immediately received.

  With a smile, she said, “My whole life, we’ve talked about the war between Motus and the Canaanites. When we return, that war will be over and the planet will be ours in victory.”

  Thunderous roaring from her fans. Again, a hand was needed to silence their fervor.

  She continued, “We are standing on the precipice of freedom for the whole of our planet. In victory, we will bring peace!” Her voice echoed off the mountain and around the atoll like a deity bestowing wisdom on her creation.

  Then she screamed into the bullhorn, “For freedom!” The crowd and soldiers repeated the line over and over. Her hand was up in a fist and her face scrunched as a determined warrior. And at that moment, she was.

  Now was the time.

  The orders for the pull line came through, and its navy of boats followed suit. Off they went through the gate at the canal dug out of the atoll. Pull lines yanked with greater fury than ever before with fresh arms and hearts. The thrill of battle pumped through their veins.

  Atop the gate, guards saluting their compatriots, wishing good tidings to victory and rivers of Canaanite blood. Motus belligerents shouted back.

  And through the gates they went, all four vessels, with hundreds of men and women at arms believing their actions in the next few weeks will shape the course of their planet’s history for the better.

  When the ships saw the vastness of the Ocean of Antiquity, a jolt powered the vessels faster and faster, led by the Santa Maria. White tips crested and crashed into the wooden ships. Sprays of the aftermath splashed against the hull and on deck. The wind picked up and those leaning over the edge to watch the beginning of the voyage let air fling their hair like a raging fire.

  A different story brewed below. Chris settled into his quarters. He scribbled on his papers with loose focus. He lifted his pencil off the paper though, thinking about what Riley shared with him before departure.

  When he thought about their conversation, his h
eart beat faster. He recounted the words in his head.

  “It makes sense.” Riley reminded Chris of this several times through their talk.

  “No, I get it.” He wanted to see the positive, but regardless of the spin his face said doubt.

  “What’s the problem?” Riley asked, pressing the issue.

  “Dividing the forces and hiking through the mountains isn’t going to be easy.”

  “It’s through the mountain pass we made. We have done it hundreds of times.”

  “Not with thousands of fighters. It’ll take a few weeks.”

  He had a point. She knew it. It bugged her that he was right.

  Riley rebuffed him with, “That’s the only way to keep the element of surprise.”

  “Then enter the city from the north, following the supply lines?”

  “That’s where we’ve snuck in before. Not as many of those brute bastards.”

  Chris had to hand it to Riley for mapping out the approach, even if soldier fatigue was a cause for concern. Her warriors were ready, she assured dignitaries when presenting the plan. Strategically sound based on the geography.

  The overriding kicker came when Riley suggested sabotaging the military base first as a means of two things: cause a distraction, like their last raid, and eliminate their tactical response to an attack. Lavik’s company would then lay siege on the city, focusing on the tower and capturing Arch Canaanites as hostages.

  After securing the city, Motus would gather Canaanites to inform them of the truth and that a new Canaan order was in place in the name of all who lived on the planet before them. The oppression was to end.

  In theory, it all sounded good. Chris, however, knew that Canaanite forces were not going to take this lightly. An immediate and swift response surely was to hit back hard from wherever other forces were stationed at the moment. He sounded that opinion at the War Council, but was shut down by Riley’s reply, “That’s why it’s imperative to eliminate the base and the quality of their response by leaving them with only stunners and inefficient armor.”