Joud jolted awake. Finding Carla on one of his arms, he smiled; and wrapped the other arm around her to nuzzle her in more closely, feeling certain, he could never be happier than in this moment. He promised himself to remember this night for the rest of his life. He was just beginning to drift back into slumber when a sound tugged at him; tugged him back to awareness. He listened intently; heard nothing aberrant. It occurred to him that Alex might be rousing.
Arising from a deeply recondite sleep, he didn’t at first apprehend. Hard! He landed on his shoulder, hauled from the bed by his ankles. When Carla screamed, his body clenched. His reflexive response called forth the tip of a spear that painfully intruded on his ribs. Following the tip to its source, Joud found a man pugnaciously wielding a speargun.
“Don't be a dead hero,” warned the man. He was the same tall stranger from yesterday’s incident. Joud looked to the bed he'd been dragged from, where he was alarmed to find the tip of another spear held to Carla’s throat. Even through the dim light of almost morning, Joud recognized the eyes of the pretty man. With the sweep of their guns the intruders supplanted words.
Joud was devoured by tension and dread when they forced him to lead, denying him even the pitiable palliative of holding Carla in vigilant regard. Because all of Joud’s senses were amped, the bottoms of his feet noted the subtle roughness of the deck. When they reached the deck, the backs of his knees felt the cold air rising, as it always did in that ephemeral time preceding sunrise. Beyond the handrail, the Seaweed Field was a rolling gloom beneath a blue black sky. Here and there, he saw pockets of stars. The men herded Joud and Carla to the bow. Jabbing Joud in the ribs with the sharp cool point of the spear, the tall man forced Joud to spin around, thus pinning his spine to the handrail.
“Weed Fever has taken more lives on Varun than we'll ever know,” the tall man told Joud. “People who succumb are just as sane as you or me. And sometimes there are accidents, too.”
“What is wrong with you?” Carla protested.
Joud measured the men. He measured the distances.
“Why are you doing this?” she plead. “What do you want from us? Just say it, and we'll give it to you!”
The strangers looked at each other and laughed. “Oh you'll give it to us, all right. You will indeed give it to us, pretty lady.”
Just returned from my evening swim, I was surprised to hear voices as I climbed the middeck ladder. Generally, no one ever roused before the light of dawn. When I stepped from the ladder to the deck, I very nearly collided with Alex. We both staggered back in mutual portent. I very nearly fell back down the ladder, but Alex reflexively grabbed and steadied me. When Carla screamed, we flew.
At the bow, Joud was curling in on himself, gripping a bloody spear that protruded from his gut. The spear was attached to a cord leading to the wrist of a tall man I recognized from the previous day. Straight ahead of me a caterwauling Carla was cornered by another intruder. Turning at the sound of our approach, the man guarding Carla turned his gun on Alex. I leaped. The trajectory of my flight brought me crashing into Carla’s erstwhile oppressor. Spinning in embrace, the invader and I pitched across the deck. Together, we hit the handrail and flipped overboard.
Before hitting the weed, I shoved away from the man. Plowing into the thick embrace of weed, I was dragged to a halt. Suspended in the dense green snare, I examined my entanglement only to discover the fresh spike impaling my midsection. The spear was attached to a cord. First, I tried to break the cord; but could not. Effectively immobilized, I conceived no other option, save to pursue the source of the cord.
CHAPTER 51
Ambushed by panic, he discovered himself to be thrashing wildly, lips held tightly clamped together. He hadn't even had a chance to take a breath. But his mad struggle only caused the rope like strands of seaweed to grip more tightly about his torso, his arms. His legs. Spots of black gathered in his vision. Summoning all of his courage, he willed his limbs to cease their struggle. His temples throbbed.
Soon the burning in his lungs would force his mouth open. Desperate! Head rotating, eyes frantically darting; searching for the mouth piece that would feed him air; give him the necessary time to free himself. Where was it? Where! His mind convulsed through another wave of terror. He would have begun to thrash again; but even this was denied him, held fast as he was by his seaweed bindings. But then he felt a propitious sensation; a tug…somewhere. On his body. His oxygen deprived brain could not at first identify the source of the sensation. Hope gave him the strength to focus. Again, he felt the tug. It was the cord around his wrist! Next the face of the bot swam into his view. Holding back a sob of relief caused shards of light to rupture from his eyes. The bot could save him!
CHAPTER 52
Moving very slowly, dorsal plumage wholly contracted, I grasped first one and then another handful of seaweed. With the cord guiding the way, I maneuvered a tortured route through the tangled green. Winding the cord around one hand, I painstakingly followed it until I found the water’s surface.
Lifting my head clear of the morass, I was met by the terrible sound of an inconsolable keening. The horrible howling focused my need. Fiercely desiring to return to the ship, I stared at the cord bound roughly round my hand. Though desperate to assist, I suffered I must first unshackle myself. Grasping another handful of green, I let the cord guide me from the hideous pleas. Back into the water. Back into the snarl of weed. I descended.
Forced to move in excruciating slow motion, I was confounded by the endless stretch of cord. When finally the man came into my view, I harbored no margin for concern. When his face lit with hope, I thought only of time. Precious minutes had already been lost by this ruse. The Cardinal Command did not compel me to serve as a savior for a man who had doomed himself by his own sinister actions. The trail of his choices had led him to this hideous place. Reaching out, I stripped the cord from off his wrist; thereby releasing our connection. Using a full hand of seaweed, I turned myself away. Grabbing another, and another, and another; I left the poor wretch to his fate.
CHAPTER 53
They stood together, an inchoate clump at the Kamarong City Spaceport. Her features swollen by grief, Carla appeared hollowed out. Pancho kept hold of her hand. The rest of us; Frances, Saul, Alex, and I arranged then rearranged ourselves around and in relation to her. We were equally incapable both of giving and of receiving much comfort. Our pall of distress was showcased ever more conspicuous when a group of buoyant young men arrived to the lobby. Nearby they loitered, a cluster of chattering cheerfulness. Heedless, they punched and teased one another.
One of them began to sing, “You're a rogue with a brogue, and you'll never get a mate or a date-- oof!” The singer was thwarted by a punch to his solar plexus. A blonde man, the apparent butt of the joke, had delivered the blow. The rest of the group raised a chorus of delight as response to the playful altercation.
Her attention riveted on the lighthearted youths, Carla began to tremble. Pancho glared ferociously in their direction while Frances and Saul looked anxious. Dearly wanting to block her view of them, I stepped forward. Carla knit her brows and burst into tears. I took her hand, and Pancho perceptively released the other one.
“Thank you, Chance,” she said, taking both my hands into hers, “If you hadn’t been there….”
“Will you be alright for the journey?” I asked.
“I’m just really stressed out,” she said. “If you hadn’t got back in time...I don’t know what would have happened. I was terrified that I’d make things worse; and then you showed up and stopped the bleeding and...and stabilized him.”
“We are now boarding all passengers on the shuttle to the Redistribution Satellite,” a voice announced into all of our earbuds. “All passengers for the shuttle please begin boarding,” it instructed.
“Thank you, Chance,” she said again, before releasing my hands. She turned next to Pancho.
Pulling her to his chest, Pancho said, “We’ll talk soon. Okay
?”
“Sure,” she said. “Yes,” she repeated, as they stepped apart.
Carla looked at Frances. The two women hastily hugged. When they drew apart Saul stepped up. Carla kissed him on his cheek then shifted her eyes to find Alex. Deflated with arms hanging limp to his sides, Alex stared miserably at Carla. Emotions stormed across his face. Abruptly, he wrapped himself around her, crying, “I am so sorry, Carla…so, very sorry. I wish I could make it right. I just…. I’m so sorry.”
Carla fought for composure, but the tears kept falling. “Alex….” Then she swept away and disappeared beyond the gate.
With the loss of Carla, the group fractured. Pancho, Frances and Saul wandered away together. Left alone, Alex and I assessed each other.
Alex was clearly wrecked. “Chance, I need to clear my head,” he said. “I'm going to climb that ridge and walk to the base of Kamarong Mountain. I won’t be back until sometime later….” After choking back some pain, he clarified, “…sometime tomorrow.”
“If you don’t mind,” I said, “I’d like to come with you, Alex.”
Wearing defeat, Alex shrugged and said, “Fine.”
CHAPTER 54
Alex readjusted the water belt. It had two compartments. One side he’d filled with water; the other side with pineapple juice. When he stepped out the exit, the wet air oppressed.
“Which way is more direct, left or right?” he asked me. Not waiting for response, he blurted, “Oh, I suppose it hardly matters from here. Left.”
He turned left and I followed. After we circled the station, we were swept up by a welcoming breeze. Caressed by the air, we headed for the outermost fringe of the city. When we’d made it only halfway there, Alex seemed to stall. Hesitant and pensive, he looked to the heights. The steep slope of the ridge knifed a sharp fault. High above us, the volcano belched out perfect puffs of smoke parading off toward a mysterious eastern horizon. Dropping his eyes back to the ground, Alex resumed walking while I tracked a step or so behind him.
As we advanced away from the city center, there were fewer and fewer houses dotting the view. Outcroppings of shiny black stone, occasionally embellished the flat terrain. At a certain point, as we were closing in on the ridge, the erstwhile breeze abruptly stalled. As if marching, we continued on through the stagnant air. Moisture gathered on our surfaces, beading into rivulets; flowing through the folds and crevices of natural and artificial skin, alike. When finally we arrived to the toe of the ridge, we stopped. Contemplating the climb, Alex slowly canted back his head.
The ridge was a loose pile of rocks, rising precipitously to a hardened cap of molten stone. Empty of vegetation, the slope presented a formidable aesthetic. Looking to his shoes, Alex said, “Water shoes. Not the best choice.” Eyes cutting to me, he added, “Oh, well.”
“We can go back to the station and re-fabricate the ones you’re wearing,” I suggested. “It wouldn’t take all that long.”
“Too late,” Alex said, “I already swallowed the pills.”
Our eyes locked; and I offered, “I could run and get you a different pair.”
Letting his face, and his eyes drift back to the ridge, Alex demurred. “No,” he said, “I’m in a mood to pay penance.”
We began to climb. The going was quite treacherous. Not merely loose, the rock was hard as glass with edges patently sharp. To save his feet, Alex moved judiciously; cautiously shifting his weight, for every step taken. He began to sweat heavily. Perspiration rained from his face and body. The contortions made by his face confessed a misery of unspoken words. Presently, he stopped to clasp his forehead in both his hands.
“Is there anything I can do to help, Alex?” I asked.
When Alex turned to answer me, gravity staked a claim on him and he nearly tipped headlong. I grabbed for him with both my hands. Gripping him at his hips, I anchored him in place.
“Do you need to rest?” I asked.
“I’m just…it’s just…the pills,” Alex stammered, “They’re…. They’re coming on.” Alex surrendered to the proffered support. A wave shimmied through his body. He felt himself grow very tall. His eyes stretched wide and wider still. Body secured, his head was set free to ride the unseen currents. Alex let his vision drift. The land was quite severe; and the sky exceptionally volatile.
His wandering vision alighted on me.
“Honorable,” he mouthed. “Protecting me,” he mumbled. “Thank you for not letting me fall,” he said. Alex felt the disparate particles reconvene, reassemble and reestablish a suitable center. “Okay,” he said, “okay. I’m ready. Let’s go some more.”
We traveled more quickly, now. Alex began to navigate the treacherous slope more confidently. When we reached the top, the wind once again came pressing at our backs.
Alex supposed he must be flying. The accompanying clouds, being generous, shared their special beauty. Soaring with the clouds, just above the ground, he was freed from the laws of gravity. Mysterious. Mystical. Misty. He was not fooled by the fine vapor also in the air; the water rolling down his cheeks were made of something altogether different. They were giant round droplets. Alex realized he was crying. The tears came alone, free from corrupting ideas. Empty of the need for meaning, his mind coalesced into peace.
After a time, the cycling clouds transformed. They were vibrating. They were vibrant. They were gold and purple. The colors were so wonderful; Alex had no other choice, but to sob. Great shuddering cries tore from his throat. But the clouds would have none of his sorrow; they swept around him in a swirling dance of unshakeable joy. The rocks agreed with the clouds. Glossy rainbow reflections bounced from every polished surface, of every black shard. Alex came crashing back to the ground. Mount Kamarong towered above him. He had arrived.
I knelt beside the man. “You’re hurt,” I said.
Alex dredged up his chin to see a shining spirit. Realizing the truth, he said, “Yes. I am. I am in pain.”
Examining the man’s bloody knees, I asked, “How can I help?”
“Forgive me,” Alex sobbed, “Forgive me.”
I looked at his tortured face. I truly did not begin to understand what he was asking for. “Forgive you for what?” I asked.
“I didn’t mean for-- I just-- I just wanted-- just a little-- but not--” Alex sobbed. Alex stopped. His face was wet. He sat up to stare at me, his eyeballs vibrating horizontally.
“Alex, are you okay?” I asked.
“Chance?” he asked, in return.
“Yes, Alex…I’m right here. How can I help?”
His manner gentle, Alex asked, “Will you answer a question for me?”
“Of course, Alex.”
“Do you ever have regrets?”
I took my time in solemn consideration of the question. “Yes,” I resolved.
“Like what?” he said, “Tell me a regret.”
“I regret I missed the signs of danger.” Looking at Alex, I tried to read his face. But he looked wild and I could not reconcile the expression with anything I understood. So, I continued to explain, “I should have stayed aboard that night, rather than leave on my nightly swim.”
“I see you,” Alex whispered.
I was concerned. I wondered how much poison Alex had taken. I reached out and touched his chest. His heartbeat felt solid and correct.
“I can see your tears,” Alex said. “I can. I can see them. I didn’t…I couldn’t see them before.”
Alex watched the bot shoot the gun. Knowing it was appropriate, Alex threw his body precisely in the line of fire. The spear pierced straight through his heart. Then he knew. Alex knew. He woke from the dream. Opening his eyes, he sat up, stiffly. “I was dreaming about,” he croaked. No. The dream was gone, now.
“About what?” I asked.
Alex shrugged and shook his head. His mouth tasted like paste. “It’s gone now,” he managed. He pulled the drinking tube from its catch and took a mouthful from the water side of the belt. He rinsed and spat. Then he drank more deeply. When secu
ring the straw, he noticed the cuts. There were nicks at his ankles, and along the knuckles of his left hand. His knees were bruised and crusted with blood. Feeling the weight of middle age, he stood. He rolled his shoulders. He looked up at the mountain. The summit was shrouded in a fog. He could smell and taste the faint taint of sulfur in the damp morning air. Alex turned his back to the mountain. “Let’s go,” he said.
We began to walk.
Once the stiffness had partially abated, his flesh commenced to feel vulnerable. His pores became a million hungry mouths. Alex stopped walking. “Hang on a moment,” he said to me. This time he drank from the pineapple side of his belt. Hooking the straw back to its place, he said, “Chance?”
“Yes, Alex.”
Alex kept his eyes on the view. “I may be the life of the party,” he said, “but I’m not much of a friend.”
I waited for the next part.
“I betrayed Joud. I didn’t mean to.” He let out a shaky sigh. “But I did.”
I searched for a reply that was both helpful and true. “You did the best you could that day with what you saw and understood. Today is a new day. What do you know today, Alex? What will you choose now, Alex?”
Alex bowed his head. Arms hanging down, he formed his hands into a fist then stretched his fingers free. He looked up at the sky. Spreading his arms, he opened his chest. “Okay,” he said, nodding, “okay.” He took a deep breath, and said, “It wasn’t only Joud, I betrayed. I betrayed you also, Chance. I am very very sorry for that.”
I absorbed these words. “Thank you,” I said, “I forgive you, Alex.”
“Thank you for that,” he whispered, “You’re very perceptive. I think I’m beginning to see, Chance. I hope, I’m beginning to see.”
Shaman Machine the Mentor Page 20