“No way to make real peace between Factions? What are they gaining from war?”
“Influence.” Wars for influence? Such advanced civilizations start wars only for influence. “Their clout in the galaxy is proportional to how many low level civilizations they patronize. When they are strong enough they can create their own Field version.” Information warfare, welcome to the future…
“Like fighting for markets,” I derided them.
“Sort of. The strongest Faction consumes the weakest and grows further. ”And we the ‘low level’ have to pay for their games.
I reduced everything to reverie, sitting in my garden waiting for the sun to disappear in the dusk, dealing alone with my complacent, introspective melancholy and lingering sadness. For minutes I did nothing except look around me in the sweet tranquility of the evening; flowers, trees, the rising moon, all so familiar, so deeply embedded in me until, gradually, twilight merged colors, contours and thoughts. I touched my leg, unconsciously; a crack resurfaced, and pain, and a white splinter piercing my bloody pants. Get out of my mind! I cursed the splinter. Something was missing in the puzzle, something about Factions and Munti, I had a very strong sentiment about this, just ... I could not work out what. She knew all this and said nothing. Only useful information is passed to the ‘employee’. Later I had to agree that there was a reason for this. Would I be able to cope with all these parallel and completely separated lives, intertwined, like the patterns in Persian carpet, in the flow of time?
*
There is darkness in the cave – an obvious thing. I have a torch to light that darkness and chase my fear. The ancestors are waiting for me; I feel it. I cannot explain why I am going inside without asking the clan elders for permission and guidance; I just feel that I have to do it. Tears pour again from my eyes, as many tears as there are hands on the wall. When touching the highest ochre handprint my palm melts into the rock as if it were dough. It is warm inside until it’s not. There is no more dough, only rock, cold and rough. My hand is petrified in the wall and white light springs from behind the wall, filling my body: hand, elbow, shoulder... Thousand of hands come to life, souls of people departed long before I was born, white and shining, trying to reach me, they blend into my translucent white. Their touch is cold and not gentle, as though trying to punish my intrusion. They cover my eyes ... you should not see. My clenched teeth open in a long scream that swirls like red smoke around me. “Aaaarrghh!”
The moon was rising above the small ridge – an unbelieving moon that looked down at me with a cynical light. What a bad dream ... the moonlight spell. In fact, I could see the planet’s two moons – the small one centered over the large one like a pepper bean on golden plate, as when I arrived at the ocean shore with the Primes. Am I there again, or is it a dream inside a dream?
”Houstooon!” My shout came out despite myself. “There’s been a mistake; you’ve sent me back to the Primes’ planet.” The scared horse neighed, cutting off my cry. This is my horse, the new one, sorrel not black. I observed my clothes: no black stuff, just the local norm. But the two moons were still there, watching coldly over me all that night, a long, frightening night without sleep.
The entrance was large, and the light went deep inside; nothing looked evil or scary, a decent cave. I tied my horse’s halter to an old dead tree. “Stay here,” I patted his neck. “You are my only pal in this bloody wasteland. Don’t go away.” I sighed. “My previous one...” The Black Travelers resurfaced. What if they have spies here too? Fighting a leopard is easy ... now it is easy; when it first happened, I was numb; confronting my far future is another thing. A flashback, the ridge, falling, nausea invaded my mind. Stop it! I made the first step into the shadows; the sword was stiff in my hand.
“Did you send the dream to me?”
“No, I am in no direct contact with you. We are not on Earth; I need a belt here. It could be that The Field induced the dream.”
“Is this a warning?” I raised my voice.
“I do not know. My sensors are not detecting anything abnormal. I agree with you that this could be a hidden message from The Field but that does not necessarily mean that bad news is coming.”
“Then I am on the Primes planet again.”
“Yes, you are.”
I was expecting a mysterious riddle; I received a cold statement; I even felt a slight dose of deception. “And you kept this hidden for ...?”
“It is part of the game.”
“This is not a game.” It worked, I told myself; finally, I found the proper reaction to her tricks.
“The conjunction will be there for five days, one hour each evening, and the sky is clear in the desert. You already know something about it: The Black Companion wedding The Moon, once in twenty years.” My first dream... There is such a thin line between my dreams and reality. ‘You already know this. You dreamt it. Pay attention.’ How can I separate them? “And the first ‘leopard’ on the road would tell you the whole story. It is part of the surprise I told you about at the beginning.” I agreed. “And this is the answer for their early contacts with the Travelers.” Her amused glance disconcerted me. ‘It was your fault’, I remembered. What the hell do you mean? “You told the old chief about people living on far away worlds. Their civilization grew up without being ‘the center of everything’. The Galactic Codex allows contacts only when civilizations are developed enough to naturally accept aliens. The Observers gave the green light, and that came with bad and good strings altogether.” Bad … good… What was more? The war… The possible war. ‘Nobody would let me act if I really knew the exact course of an event.’ I remembered. Maybe there is no war. Maybe there is. Maybe...
“That guy, Deceneus, mentioned some debt they have to pay. It’s from saving them.” She did not answer; it was an obvious thing. A feeling of pride swelled inside me. I saved them. How did he know? “The Other Side of the Mirror…” She shook her head: too early for this. “What do we do now?”
“I do not have a proper explanation, it happens rarely, and such a long conscious approach from The Field to low level humans is even rarer.”
“Nefertiti?” I remembered how the crawler played my fear.
“Simulation: no real time interference, no consequences. Crawlers are naturally attracted by simulations; they see the game and enjoy playing. The reality is not altered in those games. If you need crawlers’ help, give them simulations. They will love you. The one playing Nefertiti enjoyed your role; he considered you very genuine.” I could not help but curse her smile … inside. Cursing without being caught was one of the good things coming from being able again to keep my thoughts private.
“He didn’t know that I was not playing.”
“I could not spoil his pleasure,” she smiled again. “Carpis was his human name. You may meet him again.” Not by my will, with this brain. Don’t tempt me; I don’t want your genetic modifications.
“Is The Field a selective automaton? A program?”
“No. What I mean is that our actions here have too small a significance to attract the mind of The Field. It was probably one of his Dream Crawlers; they were humans once. He cannot have direct knowledge of everything happening in the galaxy, as even he does not have unlimited resources.”
“How many years have passed here?”
“Many thousands.”
“Very precise, as always.”
“Do not get distracted by numbers. They are not important.”
*
Dust, heat and despair, loneliness and reverie, snakes, my horse and the howling winds as company ... that is the desert. This place is going to kill me if… The horse snorted: danger, intruders. The reverie ended. I had come to trust his keen senses and my heart pounded. Danger, I needed my bow. Intruders, I needed a place to hide and survey. The camp was settled at the foot of a large rock providing cover from any direction in which people or animals could come along the road. My hand had a tight grip on the bow: too tight, too scared. Arrows lay on
the stone in front of me, another one nocked in my bow, ready for them: the enemies. I caressed my sword: the last stand is for you. I closed my eyes and breathed. I am ready. Two people were advancing cautiously, leading their horses by the halter, black silhouettes in the twilight. They were reading my traces in the dust: one man and one horse, easy prey. I smiled. Maybe.
“Ahoy,” the tall man, hidden between horses, shouted in Baragan. Good strategy. You have to come closer. I am waiting: I can afford to. You want to pass. So... You have to come closer. I am waiting... Stop it! “We are travelers, not looking for trouble and mean no harm. We want only to pass.” Baragans for sure... And the woman. What the hell is a woman doing in this wilderness? I was alone and had been dreaming of having a conversation for almost two months. Do something!
I stepped out from the shadow of the rock. “Join me for a hot meal and warm fire.” I bit my lips. Stupid! Now what?
“Why would you share your food with some strangers?” Good question.
“Two months without conversation. I am a Baragan from the south east, not one of these marauders trying to rob travelers. It will rot anyway ... the food.” The last thing you expected here, I smiled. She patted his shoulder and took a step forward. He followed. I tensed my bow.
“We are happy to accept your invitation.” A warm and pleasant voice, meant to calm. She reminded me of Houston and I blushed. What the hell? I let the bow down. My hand was on my sword’s hilt. Their hands were on their hilts. They are coming. What now?
They are coming. This bloody silence, it’s the quiet that’s initially unnerving... I said this once. When? I have to remember... Look; observe... I saw things: their clothes, their horses, the stuff they were carrying, my new awareness catching everything, assessing, in separate, independent streams. Not the objects themselves: untold stories, concealed things, hidden threats, making the difference between death and life. A long sword and a dagger: both are fighters. He moved closer, the hilt glittered in the sun. Jewels: high-ranking people. They move slowly. They are afraid too. Her eyes are beautiful. Beautiful eyes can kill too. What are they doing here? The sheath is worn, polished leather ... old hand fighter. Good horses, their destriers towered over mine, and looked well maintained. Saddles ... decorated. I glanced at my saddle, only worn leather. Four horses; two of them were carrying heavy loads. Houston is always a practical genius. I am not here to attract thieves. I switched back to them. Why would a couple travel so far from cities? And with so many horses and stuff. This is not Earth, only a savage planet. We are savages too, in so many ways. I looked around: barren wasteland, twenty feet from me white bones were grinning in the sun – a human skull.
There is no better place for conversation than a campfire, with flames dancing smoothly in the night, after weeks of talking only to yourself and the stars. “We are from Dava,” the man said, “a place far away from here – the Baragan King settled there after the Great Drought.” He glanced at me. You mean that I should pay allegiance to Dava. “Never heard of that city,” I avoided a straight answer. “A fine one, you should visit us.” He did not let slip if my answer disappointed him. I will do it. “I am Talian, and my wife, Aldira.” They were carrying out some business they were not yet ready to talk about to a stranger like me. “We are going home,” she added, and her tired words changed into temperate joy. “Dava is looking for all Baragans over the land and sea,” he renewed his claim over people. You need people. As for me, I was a traveler from the far southeastern peninsula where the desert meets the ocean, the only habitable places there, now engaged in a search for other surviving Baragan communities. The name of the land and city, Ardava, existed on the old maps, and still survived as a small community of fishermen, around ten thousand souls. A strong odor of salt and fish surfaced inside my mind; an involuntarily deep breath filled my mouth with dust. Wake up!
“The secret of our survival is fish.” The image of the small village was still fresh. I spent the equivalent of several months there, in simulations. I knew many people, their stories, their dreams. They dream of rain and sea. I left them after a wedding, the young and beautiful Saona and her future husband. I toasted them; I even danced. Three days of simulations ... three months of life, virtual life, as good as the real thing. “The climate is dry and life is hard. Our good luck is the cold stream coming from the North Pole meeting the warm one arriving from the Equator, so plenty of fish and whales gather.” I hunted one... I had to… The wind, salted from the sea, fills my nostrils, the ones from the simulation. A noisy eruption slices the water apart. The whale is only feet from my boat. These memories are too fresh, more persistent than the real ones. “Persistence is needed,” Houston told me. “If you live there three months the brain will select the most vivid feelings. Your three virtual days there must all be impressive. You cannot choose. You must not forget. You must stand against any interrogation. The persistence will do it for you.” Good enough to mislead the Travelers? I shook my head to come back.
“I have never seen a whale.” Talian was dreaming. “Apart from drawings in a book. How big are they?”
“The largest whale is ten horses long.” He glanced at the horses and sighed. His mind was trying to feel that length. Ten horses’ length means nothing if you cannot imagine things.
Evenings pass fast when rich in stories, and we agreed, when already deep into the night, to take turns keeping watch.
*
Each morning of my journey started with the ritual of finding a high place and scouting the land with my binoculars, searching for an easier passage or incoming dangers. In the first days on the planet, Houston ‘arranged’ for me to find an old ruin which still held some technical relics, one of them being a pair of decrepit but still functional binoculars.
“What is this?” Aldira’s words came out slowly. Like: whaaat issss... She was blinking fast, as if trying to repel a ghost that was summoning her.
“Binoculars.” Hmm… I have new bait for you. Houston must give me some more tools. They will open many doors.
“Yes, I know.” I frowned. “Sorry ... only pictures in the old books. I ... I never saw the real thing.” Her voice was wobbling. Play her!
“Try it.” I offered the tool to her. There were descriptions of binoculars in their old books, but the construction technique and the physics behind it had been lost in the wake of destruction. The childish joy arising from playing with the object and their interjections – associated with far away discoveries – made me smile. And there was also something else, a word Aldira often pronounced while pointing at me, causing Talian to frown: Deceneus. That old priest... In the Baragan language, the name was formed by merging the word for far, ‘dece’, and the one for sight ‘neus’. Therefore, far-sight, used for being able to see far; and for a mind able to anticipate future developments or even to foresee the future – the one who knows. But why was Aldira using it for me?
*
“Hurry, they will see us!” Talian gasped, pulling the horse's halter, forcing him up the abrupt slope; a large wall of stones on top of it was our sanctuary. “Rock!” he screamed; a head-sized boulder came down, then another; Talian followed, slipping between the horse’s hooves. I jumped aside. The horse bounced slightly, one leg in the air. The hoof came down. “No!” Talian cried, rolling to his left and landing off the trail. Dust swirled, a rock splinter cut his skin, red welled. The horse sniffed blood and neighed fear, loud enough to be heard by the band in the valley. “Go!” Talian shouted now, lying safely outside the hoof’s range. I struck the horse to drive him up and hastily followed, Aldira was already there. One of the sturdy bags slipped, blocking the path toward the top; I wanted to oversee the valley. They were too many to fight, even when protected, from one side, by this natural fortress.
“It’s full of books!” I was feeling their hard covers pressing against the bag. Their reaction was that of two bewildered thieves. Keep your mouth shut! “I am sorry; your luggage is not my problem.” Books, nothing mysterious. What’
s wrong? I took out the binoculars; the band was coming.
“Keep the horses quiet,” I urged them, following the band down in the valley. Talian took the bags, then tied a scarf around his head. Blue and red over his black hair: I could not avoid seeing those colors. Look down! I forced my eyes onto the road, then back and around. Aldira calmed the frightened horse, playing with his mane. “Be quiet,” she whispered. “Be quiet, you are a good horse.” She took something from her pocket. The horse reached for her palm – a piece of sugar. They cannot be thieves. So many books ... rotting in the ruins. Saving them is an honorable thing to do. Why are they so surprised?
“They have changed course,” I kept them informed. Maybe we still have a chance. No chance. Bastards! “They found our tracks.” One savage knelt to read the dust: five horses and people, things to rob, many things. Greedy faces and grabbing hands played in my mind, and swords. “They know we are up here.” My voice went instinctively into a whisper while counting savages down in the valley. Or maybe it is forbidden to save books. “Ten.” Talian made a sign of understanding with his bow. They were prepared for fight. Is Houston’s information outdated? Are books forbidden? Inquisition suppressing knowledge? I put the binoculars down and took up a fighting position behind the rocks. “Something is bothering the savages.” Able to see the valley again, they nodded.
“Our horses,” Talian answered.
“What about them?”
"Mounted horses leave deeper traces, loaded horses too. They may think of us being five warriors.” Lucky us ... if they did not see us before. “Maybe we should send some arrows.”
“No, they will figure we are only three,” I answered in haste.
Io Deceneus: Journal of a Time Traveler (The Living Universe) Page 9