by Vincent Vale
“Congratulations. You’ve not only discovered his whereabouts, but you’ll soon be joining him.” Clerk Bodel reached for a communication box.
“Please! Maybe we can resolve this another way. My coin purse contains a large sum of money, which you may find useful.”
Clerk Bodel hesitated, pulling his hand away from the communication box. “Are you suggesting I’m open to bribery? Such insults won’t help your case. Your coin purse will be added to the spaceport treasury.”
“And who commands the spaceport treasury? Who controls the flow of deuterium? Where does all this profit go?”
Clerk Bodel showed an expression of curiosity, as though he’d never thought to entertain such an obvious question. “To be honest, even after being cooped up in this office for half my life, I’m uncertain.”
“Allow me to enlighten you,” I said. “The money, goods, and resources are sucked from this planet you call home, by some greedy off-worlder who dwells deep in a mansion, getting fat from the hard work of you, your family, your friends, and your neighbors. He pampers himself with sweet meats, bitter cheeses, and robust liqueurs, while you eat stale bread and drink brown water.”
“You’ve painted a picture of many unpleasant colors.”
I shook my head. “It’s unfair that your hard work makes someone else a rich man. Don’t think of my money as a bribe, but as due payment for your dedication to the spaceport. Tonight you can be washing down mouthfuls of sweet meats and bitter cheeses with a robust liqueur.”
“You make a compelling point.” Clerk Bodel paced back and forth for a moment. “Since you’re not a space pirate, I see no danger in letting you go quietly. However, I don’t want to see you at the spaceport again. Understood?”
“Absolutely!”
Clerk Bodel disengaged the great metal hand, which retracted back to the ceiling to again look like a chandelier. “I’ll now graciously accept your coin purse.”
“As promised.” I tossed it in his direction.
Clerk Bodel’s pinched-face momentarily relaxed into a smile.
I started to leave but stopped short. “Would it be inappropriate to ask about the children of Fanbert Manderwall?”
Clerk Bodel, more cooperative with the coin purse weighing down his belt, went to his view-screen. “He’s survived by a grandson named Adel Manderwall, who resides in a loft above the Drunk Bird Saloon.”
With the sun on its downward journey and a cool breeze in the air, I decided to walk back to the hotel. On the way, my thoughts echoed with questions.
What am I becoming? Am I even the same person?
Fear and uncertainty played upon my mind. The weak telekinetic power I had developed indicated the Fume’s energies were stirring within me. The one thing that seemed clear was that Nara-Narayana, if as wise and powerful as told, might be the only person able to help me.
I stopped short on the road and was compelled to look to the sky. I was confronted by that strange celestial phenomenon I’d observed earlier. Even with the light of the sun veiling the heavens, it still managed to be seen as a faint haze.
I can feel it, I thought. A deep drumming within me... but so far away. Why does it beckon me?
I felt like a wild beast with the urge to howl at the moon. I tried to look away, but was unable. I slipped into a powerful trance and stood frozen.
When I finally snapped out of it, I found myself alone in the dark. The sun had set and the celestial phenomenon loomed above me. It was larger than I remembered from previous nights.
Aggravated by the loss of time, I moved quickly back to the hotel.
I found Orsteen and Morion asleep. “Wake up! It’s time to leave.”
Morion’s eyes opened. “You’ve interrupted the flow of a pleasant dream. Now I’ll never discover its end.”
“We were worried,” said Orsteen. “You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I think I’ve found Fanbert Manderwall.”
Morion splashed his face with sink water. “Can’t we rest longer?”
“Do what you want,” I said. “I leave now with the possibility of never returning. Orsteen, are you coming?”
“What’s wrong with you, Theron?” said Orsteen.
“Nothing,” I said defensively. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a strange air about you.”
He knows, I thought. He can sense the change within me. I should tell him. He’s my friend.
“Well?” asked Orsteen.
“I’m tired, weak, and worried about Allienora.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” said Orsteen. “The Fume.”
“I’m still in command of my faculties. I promise, my friend. Shall we go?”
Orsteen stood silent for a moment and then nodded. “Lead the way and I’ll follow.”
I glanced to Morion. “Are you coming?”
Morion groaned. “I’m right behind you.”
From the hotel’s front desk, we got directions to the Drunk Bird Saloon, which took us three blocks down the main strip.
“This is the place,” I said. “The grandson of Fanbert Manderwall is said to live in the loft above.”
Orsteen poked his head into a dim alleyway at the side of the establishment. “There’s a staircase which may very well lead us to our man.”
We climbed the staircase and knocked on the door. After no answer, Orsteen thrust his shoulder at the door and the bolt broke free.
We entered cautiously, finding only a small cot, a chair, a toilet, and a hotplate.
“The place is extremely clean,” said Orsteen, “but the air is stale, as if no one’s lived here for some time.”
I threw up my hands in frustration. “This seems to be the way our luck’s running.”
“All isn’t lost,” said Morion. “We’re only steps from the Drunk Bird Saloon. We could use a drink and a bite.”
“You’re right,” I said. “We can also ask about the loft.”
The Drunk Bird Saloon was filled with a colorful lot of spacemen from many different planets in the Crux Galaxy. They flushed their organs with the local rotgut, and entertained each other with the tales of their travels, grandly exaggerated.
I led the way to a magnificent wooden bar, where we awaited the notice of a serving girl, who tolerated the drunken ramblings of a petite man.
“I used to be an important man,” the drunk informed the serving girl, who returned an empty gaze. “However, the times change and the progress of the universe can’t be stopped. Now, I sit here obsolete and unemployed. Some may soon be calling me a relic or even a timeworm, and maybe they’re right, maybe I’ve become nothing more than a cinder of the past. It’s unfortunate my memories can only be appreciated by myself.”
The serving girl at last saw us and moved away from the petite man, who continued talking to himself.
“What’s your pleasure?” she said.
I looked to the mugs of the surrounding patrons. “We’ll have three of your house drinks, and a word with the owner.”
“I can help you with the drinks, but as for the owner of the Drunk Bird, he’s away on an errand.”
“Then maybe you can help us. We’re seeking the tenant who lives upstairs.”
“Sorry, but I’ve only worked here a few days. The previous serving girl may have been a greater help. They say she vanished one late night on her way home. A common occurrence when young girls work around so many drunk and lusty-eyed spacemen. I, however, have devised a method for dealing with such perverts.” She pulled a blade from her pocket. “This fillet knife will quickly relieve any man of such urges.”
My jaw dropped. “We’ll take our drinks now.”
The petite man turned to me and scooted a stool closer. He spoke loudly, as if to ensure he was the center of attention. “You and your friends are mismatched with the rest of these space bumpkins!” His comment caught the attention of a group of spacemen whose eyes flared in his direction. “In fact, I’ve never seen your kind before, and I’v
e traveled far and wide, to each and every inhabited planet in the Crux Galaxy!”
Before I could respond, one of the nearby spacemen approached. At his sides hung two enormous arms like restrained dogs.
“I’ve never heard such large words from such a pathetic wisp!” announced the spaceman. “Your claims of travel are absurd. You insult the real adventurers who surround you! It would take a lifetime to visit every world in the Crux Galaxy. You’re a gas bladder venting a vile bilge!”
The petite man tilted his mug to a vertical position, and then slammed it to the bar. He inspected the monstrous spaceman with apparent difficulty, as his vision must have been blurred from intoxication. “Let me reassure you, big fellow.” He nudged a finger into the spaceman’s chest. “I’ve even been to your planet, and can confirm that the females of your race are the most ugly in all the Crux Galaxy. Their stench, if I were to guess, is from the practice of bathing in fish guts.”
The spaceman’s face flushed and his hands trembled. He swung his fists at the petite man, but with each swing, the petite man successfully, but clumsily, moved aside at the last moment.
“Is this your best?” taunted the petite man, who just then was struck by an unexpected punch to the back of his head by one of the spaceman’s companions. He hunched forward with hands on knees, stunned by the impact.
The spaceman stood above him preparing to deliver one final blow to the back of his head. “Your words have killed you, small fellow.” He dropped his fist with full force.
A wail of pain was released, not from the petite man, but from the spaceman, whose fist shattered upon the petite man’s head.
Everyone in the Drunk Bird Saloon was witness to the petite man and the armor that had blinked into existence around him. The petite man stood upright and presented the spaceman with the single fiery eye of a Guardian.
The spaceman and his companions fled the saloon.
I turned to Orsteen and Morion. “I think we’ve found Fanbert Manderwall.”
Fanbert disengaged his armor, sending it back to its unseen realm, and then, as if nothing had happened, returned to his position at the bar. He signaled the serving girl. “I’ll have another drink, darling.”
She bowed nervously and fetched his flavor.
I joined him. “Fanbert Manderwall?”
Fanbert raised a crooked eyebrow of puzzlement. “You speak of a past life. I now go by the name Adel Manderwall. Although, I suppose that name, too, describes a past life. You see, I now dance to a new music. One that’s carefree, unrestrained, and possibly reckless.”
“I didn’t expect you to be so... coarse.”
“And who are you to pass judgment on me?”
“You’re a Guardian, aren’t you?” I said.
Fanbert’s eyes became sober as he looked suspiciously at us. “You yourselves aren’t Guardians.” He touched a finger to his temple. “I would detect the distortion of space around you if you commanded a dimensional transporter carapace and the Guardian armor. Who are you and why are you looking for me?”
Orsteen looked harshly to Fanbert. “I’m disturbed that you, a Guardian, sit drunk in a bar and neglect your duties as a protector of the Brahman Sprawl. Don’t you know what’s happening beyond these walls?”
“Apparently you know something I don’t. As far as I know, the threat of paradox has passed and the Brahman Sprawl no longer requires my services.”
I ordered a second drink. “I assume you’re aware of the Fume, and his presence in the Seven Galaxies.”
“I haven’t drunk myself stupid yet.”
“Then let me be the first to inform you that the Obelisks have failed to push the Fume out of our universe. Furthermore, the Fume has sent an army of beasts onto the Guardian Spheres. The Guardian Army is in ruin.”
“Impossible!” cried Fanbert. “I would’ve been called into action if such were the case.” Again, Fanbert tapped at his head. “I’m directly linked to the trans-dimensional Guardian network.”
“The Fume’s beasts have disabled many systems on the Guardian Spheres, including communications.”
Fanbert stood, his poise altered as if infused with renewed purpose. “If you’re telling the truth, I must leave at once to battle these beastly forces.”
“They’re too dangerous,” said Orsteen. “You wouldn’t survive long.”
Fanbert became oddly silent, staring into space.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“I’m attempting communication with the Guardian network.” A pause. “Something’s wrong. I can’t make contact with anyone. Even if the Guardian Spheres in the seven galaxies were overtaken, I should still be able to contact other Guardians. There are communication nodes scattered throughout the Brahman Sprawl. The three of you will wait here while I find answers.”
“No!” I said emphatically. “We can’t risk you jaunting off to another galaxy and never returning. We’re depending on you to lead us to Nara-Narayana.”
“Nara-Narayana?” Fanbert looked to me skeptically, as if my statement was insane. “You ask the impossible. Nara-Narayana is a demigod, beyond the reach of mere mortals. No one knows her location. This is the reason she can’t be corrupted or compromised, and this is why she’s able to bring order and control to the Brahman Sprawl.”
Morion tapped an inquisitive finger on the bar. “And how can she rule so effectively while being so detached?”
“It’s in her power to see all that’s happening in the Brahman Sprawl. And if she’s compelled to give orders to a single Guardian, she’ll whisper in their ear like a ghost. Her wisdom is profound, and with it, she’s guided us for over twenty-one million years without paradox.”
“And it’s this wisdom we require,” I said. “I’ve been told to tell you that we seek the forgotten world where the Prophets sleep, and that their awakening is overdue. Does this mean anything to you?”
“It means you’ve been in contact with one of only two people still alive who know of the Prophets.” Fanbert leaned forward eagerly. “JarNay survived the attack?”
I hesitated. “She’ll be fine.”
“Although JarNay’s a truehearted woman, I can’t allow her judgment to rule my actions. To help you locate Nara-Narayana would be against one of the most important laws of the Guardian Army.”
“Things have changed,” I said. “The Fume’s manipulations in the seven galaxies—and, more specifically, on Earth—were only the beginning of a plot so grand in scope that it’s almost beyond comprehension.”
“You have my attention,” said Fanbert. “Continue.”
“The temporal displacement of the Brahman Station wasn’t an accident, but a part of the Fume’s plans. Somehow he has anticipated the development and evolution of the Brahman Sprawl and all the people within it. The Fume told me the Brahman Sprawl and all its inhabitants are a critical part of his plan.”
Fanbert was at the edge of his seat. “Which is?”
“He claims his manipulations will cause our universe to evolve into something like himself, and his own universe, at which point he’ll be able to absorb the energies of our universe, so to become a more powerful entity.”
“Evolve into something like him? What do you mean?”
“He claims our universe is evolving into a god.”
“A god?” said Fanbert.
I nodded. “An entity whose constitution will be formed from all the matter and energy of the universe.”
“By what process?” asked Fanbert with disbelief.
“I, too, asked this question, but was left to wonder. However, when he spoke of this evolution, it was as if he spoke of a metaphysical process by which the souls of the people in the Brahman Sprawl would be assimilated and utilized to some extent. He said the soul is the precursor to godliness.”
Fanbert’s eyes sparkled with wonder. “A precursor to godliness? Astonishing.”
“The whole process seems quite complex,” I said, taking a chug from my mug. “Such a concept of god
being born from humankind turns all religions on their heads. The assumption has always been that man was born of god.”
“What of the Fume?” said Fanbert. “Technically, couldn’t he be considered our god?”
“A god maybe... our god, no. The Fume didn’t create the energy of this universe, or even the first life on Earth. He arrived after the fact, and manipulated what was already there.”
“So, if gods are born from universes, then what created the universe to begin with?”
I looked ponderously at the contents of my mug and then polished it off. “The basic energy of the universe has always existed. Isn’t it more logical to believe this, rather than to believe an all-knowing god has always existed? Where did he gain his knowledge? How could such knowledge have always existed? It’s a paradox. Gods, too, must have beginnings.”
“It’s an inspiring concept that humankind is the beginning of a god.”
“It is,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean the birth of this god should be allowed to occur. How will the universe be better? I’m comfortable with the universe and the state of humankind, as it is. If each of us has a soul, then each of us is divine. There’s no need for a god.”
“I tend to agree,” said Fanbert. “Change is unnecessary. The human condition is a magnificent thing that need not be lost. What’s more, if the creation of this god does occur, it’s apparently the plan of the Fume to destroy it and then absorb its energies... in effect our energies.”
“And this is why we must find Nara-Narayana.”
“We need not actually find Nara-Narayana to give her this message. I’ll relay the message to her by certain channels of communication.”
“No!” I blurted.
Fanbert’s eyes widened. “What?”
“You said you were unable to make contact with anyone.”
“This is true, but I’ll find a way.”
I rose to my feet. “May I speak with you in private, Fanbert?”
“Be quick.”
Orsteen and Morion looked at me suspiciously. I ignored their expressions and led Fanbert to a table hidden in a corner at the other end of the bar.
I must be careful with my words, I thought. How can I explain this? He can’t lose trust in me.