by R. J. Leahy
"Aramis tells me you're just about finished in the library,” she said.
"I am. That's it,” he replied, pointing to the small stack of volumes on the floor.
"So, what are you going to start on next?"
He closed the book he had been reading and rolled over.
"I've been thinking that it's time for me to leave. I still have to find a way to help my own people."
"Samson, I'm sorry. I've been so busy with my training I forgot all about the tigras. Do you know what you're going to do?"
"Not precisely. I need to talk to Mordachi and the scientists in Pyros. I know the tigras are telepathic, and that somehow that is connected with their downfall, but I need their help to fill in the details and, hopefully, find a solution."
"That's a big problem you're tackling,” she said, “but I can't help but feel optimistic these days. The rains have stopped. I'm ready to head north whenever you are."
Samson smiled. “I don't remember inviting you. You still have your training with Aramis to finish—though for the life of me I don't know what she's trying to accomplish. Anyway, this problem doesn't require your presence, only the scientists in Pyros."
"Quit trying to give me the slip, fur ball. They've been pushing me hard these last few months. Even Aramis says I need a rest. Besides, this works out perfectly. The last of David's men has been released from the hospital, and they're making arrangements to return. We can all go back together."
David was thrilled to hear that Jeena and Samson would be accompanying him and his men, especially since he and Sarah had decided to marry on their return.
"David, that's wonderful,” Jeena exclaimed. “She's a lucky girl."
"Thank you, but the luck is mine. I suppose I've known for some time how I feel about her, but I always hesitated in taking it further. The war kind of put things into perspective."
"War usually does.” She leaned forward and kissed him.
"Hey, I'm almost a married man."
"Don't remind me. You know in a Babylonian ceremony the bride gets the groom last?"
"Really? Hmmm. No, stop, I'm joking! I wouldn't survive. No, I think we'd better make this an old-fashioned Pyros wedding."
On hearing the news of David's impending nuptials, Selanja decided to accompany them to Pyros with a contingent to honor the ceremony. Ghannon would remain to run the temporary government. Bernd, as always since the death of Sargon, elected to stay at Selanja's side.
Jeena questioned her concerning the new closeness of the pair.
"He is tappu—heart friend—and no more,” she replied. “Sargon remains my ibru. Bernd understands this and is content."
The company was arrayed in full battle gear at the recently repaired gates; wagons held those too injured to ride. The people of Uruk had returned to their homes following the war's end and now stood gathered in final farewell.
Selanja spoke with Ghannon.
"I will return in three months. The palace should be completed by then and ready for the new regent's coronation."
He kissed her farewell. “We will await your return, tappu."
David gave the signal and the army of Pyros, now less than a third of those who had entered the city, marched in glorious array through the gates. People stood on the walls and leaned from the windows of nearby buildings and cheered, raining a downpour of confetti and flowers over them as they passed.
Jeena rode with Samson striding near her at the rear of the procession. Although she was sure he could learn to ride, he steadfastly refused the offer of a kytar.
"I'll leave the same way I came—walking,” he said.
A great cheer went up as they passed through the gates. The legend of their deeds had only grown during their stay, and they were loved and respected by the people as much for their gentleness of spirit as for their heroic rescue of their city.
* * * *
The group made its way at a slow, steady pace through the fields to the edge of the western desert, filling the days talking and laughing and sharing tales of their adventures together. Two weeks out, they sat around a warm fire, discussing the future of Ararat and watching the light display in the night sky.
"It's so beautiful, and so much more lively than any aurora I've ever seen,” Jeena said.
"I'm not surprised. It's Ararat's odd magnetic field,” David explained. “I'm told it fluctuates in a very complicated pattern. I saw a tracing of it in school once. Damnedest thing—looked to me like a brainwave scan."
"Whatever the cause, it's just one more thing that makes Ararat so special,” Jeena said. “Which reminds me, what will happen now that the Afridi are defeated? I don't mean to insinuate anything, but it has been my experience that power vacuums rarely last for long."
"If you mean do we in Pyros have any plans to take control of New Jerusalem or the other Afridi lands, the answer is no, but I cannot speak for Babylon."
Selanja frowned. “We have no claims on them, nor do we wish for more than we have."
"I understand, but your two governments may want to reconsider their policies. The Afridi have violated their Union charter. One or both of you could make legitimate claims on them."
"Yes, but why would we do that, Jeena?” David asked.
"Political and military stability, for one thing. Let's be frank—the Rosh-dan may be defeated, but none of us has any idea of who will be in charge when the remains of their army returns. I hate the idea of occupation as much as you do, but I'm not sure just leaving them alone is the best policy. What do you think, Samson? The tigras have claims as well. Samson?"
"Hmmm? What? Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't really following the discussion. Whatever you decide is fine with me,” he said, and returned to mulling over whatever it was that had engaged him.
* * * *
The following morning they continued north, passing only a few miles from Jeena and Samson's old campsite. The two decided to take a detour and visit it again, telling the others they would catch up later.
They reached the crash site, and Jeena dismounted, standing next to Samson and staring at the broken remains of the windblown and overgrown camp.
"Can it really have been only a year? It seems like a lifetime ago,” she said.
"In some ways it was.” Samson stood and put his arm around her. “Do you know that in all the time we've known each other I've never thanked you for taking me in when I was lost and alone? Thank you, Jeena, thank you for everything.” He felt her tremble in his grasp and turned to see a tear run down her cheek. “What's wrong?"
"There is something I have to tell you, but I am so afraid you will hate me after."
"You know that's not possible."
"Don't say that until you hear. Samson, you weren't lost, and you weren't abandoned. It was me."
"I know."
"No, you don't. Listen. I was the one—"
"Jeena, I know. I know it was you who killed her."
She looked up at him, and tears streamed her face. “You know? How?"
"I've known for a very long time. It was her scent that drew me to your camp, not the food. I could still smell it on the mound under the ship's wing for months. As I got older, it didn't take much to put it all together."
She laid her head against his chest. “I've lived in fear for so long of telling you the truth. Please forgive me,” she whispered.
"I do, and I know you had no choice, and that you have been carrying around the burden of that guilt for too long. How could you have known? You were marooned on an alien planet, alone and scared. It wasn't your fault.
"Even after I reasoned what had happened, I never wanted to bring it up. I was ashamed of her, Jeena. I was ashamed of being born to an animal. But I'm not ashamed anymore. She did all she could for me in the only way she knew. I never really knew her, but I think I would like to say goodbye to her now."
Jeena watched as he sat beside the mound, now covered in green grass, with lowered head. He spoke soft words that she could not hear then kis
sed the ground.
"Are you okay?” she asked, when he returned.
"Yes. I've needed to say those words for a long time. You see, you're not the only one who has needed to be forgiven."
They turned to leave the camp when something from under the flapping remains of the tent caught Jeena's eye. She went over to it and picked up a reddish object and dusted it off. It was a small clay tablet with a handprint imbedded in it, and in the center of the hand was a tiny pawprint.
They caught up with the rest of the company before nightfall. They said little of their visit to the camp, but stayed close to each other near the fire; and Jeena's hand never left Samson's.
* * * *
After many days ride, they finally came to the pass that had almost claimed Jeena's life, and then onto the rich fields before the great mountain city of Pyros. A boy saw their approach and raced to the huge bell, swinging at it with the hammer. Again and again the bell tolled as people poured from the city gates, running to them and letting out a great cry, until they were surrounded by a cheering and shouting throng. Many a brave man who had not shed a tear throughout the sorrow and death of war now wept openly to be back among his family.
Mingled in with the shouts of joy were the tears and mourning of those whose loved ones would never return.
Mordachi stepped through the crowd and greeted David. He embraced him long, and when he released him there were tears in his eyes. He looked out over the men and women dismounting and celebrating with their families.
"So few?” he asked sadly.
"Yes,” David replied. “Many gave all they had so that we might live free. They lie now in honor with the fallen of Uruk, in the hollowed ground of the Bacchian Fields."
"Then let them lie there in peace, where they sacrificed so much. Our people will wish to visit them, though, to pay tribute to their memories."
Selanja had been standing near David and now stepped forward.
"That they may do, sir, as many and as often as they wish. Your people will always be welcome in Uruk, where they are held as dear to us as our own."
"Mordachi, this is Selanja, commander of the Babylonian army and head of the interim government of Uruk,” David said.
"It is an honor, Commander,” Mordachi replied, bowing and taking her hand. “It has been too long since I last visited your fair city."
"The honor is mine, sir. For what your people sacrificed in our defense, there are no adequate words of thanks. Now that the need for secrecy is ended and the way between our cities safe, I hope there will be much visiting between our peoples."
Jeena had dismounted and stood near Samson. Mordachi saw them and smiled.
"I see you two have found each other again. I suppose there is more than luck in that, but I do not have the wisdom to put a name to it. I am glad to see you again, Samson. When I last saw you at the city gates, with an army of tigras behind you, I thought this old mind had finally snapped. Then, when they returned without you, I feared the worst. Tell me, did you find what you were looking for? Out there in the lands of your people?"
"I think so, Mordachi. It is because of them that I've returned to speak with you,” he replied.
"We will be happy to assist you in any way we can. It seems your people have now had a chance to avenge themselves on those who sought to annihilate them. In that we have played a part, though at great cost. I hope our sacrifices have helped to wash away the stain of our indifference for so many years."
Samson stood and, to the surprise of the old man, embraced him warmly.
"That error is well paid for my friend, and I thank you with all my heart for those who cannot speak. Now, though, I think a new era has begun. I've come to ask for your help again. I believe I know what happened to my race, and I think I may have stumbled upon a way to reverse it."
Chapter 29
The electromagnetic field, while stable, fluctuates in an unusually dynamic but repetitive pattern (see graph 17). The cause of this phenomenon is unknown and warrants further study, should time permit.
Detail from the Five-Year Survey report on the planet Ararat
Samson rose to speak. At his request, Mordachi had set up a meeting with their best scientists. Mordachi had introduced him, but in truth, there was none present who had not heard of the great tigra.
"I want to first thank you all for coming. I know that for most of you, this will your first experience in speaking with a non-human, but I hope that as we work together, the novelty will wear off."
He smiled warmly at the faces around the table, but only David and Mordachi grinned openly back.
"All of you here have worked for years on the problem that concerns us today, so I won't belabor you with a long introduction. The primary question is this: What caused the sudden decline of the tigra race? Specifically, why did they lose their ability to write before all other aspects of their culture? I believe I have at least a partial answer."
The scientists leaned forward intently. For many, this was a problem to which they had devoted their lives.
"What was it you discovered, Samson?” Jason prompted.
"Just this. The tigras do communicate, but not with words. They are telepathic."
There were murmurs and guffaws from the assembled scientists. Some openly laughed. Telepathy was the Flying Dutchman of science—claims had been made for centuries purporting its existence, but none had ever survived the light of scientific experimentation.
Samson waited until the commotion died down before continuing.
"Believe me, I am quite aware of the history of telepathic claims, but make no mistake—this is no theory. I have done it. I used this method of communication to control forty thousand tigras and lead them to war at the gates of Uruk.” He leaned across the table, his golden eyes aglow. “And if my words are not enough to convince you, then there are a hundred thousand Rosh-dan lying dead by their paws in the Bacchian Fields as testament to its truth."
The laughter faded as they saw the grimness in his eyes.
"But, Samson, even assuming this is true, how does it explain the tigras’ history?” Levi asked.
"That's the wonder of it, Levi, that such a potential boon could be so disastrous. How long has mankind searched for telepathy, dreaming of the great benefits that could be achieved if only ideas could be shared instantly and precisely, mind-to-mind?"
"True, we've always been seduced by the idea of telepathy. It would certainly improve communication. You would lose all the ambiguity inherent in words,” Mordachi said. “I would imagine you could glean great insight by bringing together all the great minds of an age."
"Perhaps, and maybe that's the way it would begin. But consider—once telepathy became the preferred method of communication, why would a race even need speech? Were that to happen, how long would it take for language itself to fall into disuse, slowly to be forgotten? A thousand years? Five thousand?"
"I think I see what you mean,” Mordachi said slowly. “Telepathy would be so much more efficient than speech that eventually it would supplant it completely."
Samson nodded. “And what is writing but the symbolic representation of the spoken word?"
"So, the art of writing disappears with the spoken word,” Jason said, thinking aloud. “All right, I can buy that, but why would that cause the collapse of civilization? You're not eliminating communication, just improving the method."
"Unfortunately, it is the method that is the problem,” Samson continued. “The sentient mind is incredibly complex, and utilizes concepts that we take for granted yet cannot even precisely define—consciousness and self-awareness, for example. What happens when the telepathic process within a species becomes so complete that all thoughts are shared instantly with every individual? Imagine a child born into such a society. Where does its mind begin and those of the others end?"
"I see,” said Jason, beginning to grasp the line of reasoning. “They would essentially become one thinking organism—a collective individual."
"Interesting theory. And the slide into primitivism?” Mordachi asked.
"I believe that as their minds became more firmly fused, they began to connect at ever deeper and more primitive levels. I've joined with them. They are not self-aware. There is a tiny spark of conscious thought remaining in them, but they no longer have the ability to tap into it. Their thoughts are of only the most basic and primitive emotions. But primitive as it is, it is a powerful force, and it takes a strong, conscious effort to pull away from the whirling vortex of images and feelings.
"And therein lies the trap. The more deeply their minds melded, the more of their own individuality they lost. Without a strong individual psyche, none had the strength of will to separate from the group. It became a downward spiral, ultimately bringing them to what we see today—feral animals."
The room had become quiet.
"How terribly sad,” Mordachi said.
"Yes, it is. I believe that once the process began the outcome was inevitable. I think any species would have succumbed, even man."
"Your hypothesis certainly answers a lot of questions. But what about you?” Jason asked. “Why weren't you affected?"
"Circumstance and luck. Remember that my mother had wandered far to the south of the last remaining tigra population left on Ararat. When she died my only mental link to the collective psyche of the tigras was broken, and at an early age. With no mental interference, I was able to develop my own individuality under Jeena's influence. Ironic, isn't it? Jacob's total elimination of my race in the south made it possible for me to become what I am, something that eventually led to his own destruction."
"But what caused these telepathic powers?” Jason asked. “The tigras had developed an advanced society long before this catastrophe, so it certainly wasn't something native to the species. Have you any idea what happened?"
"That is the question I have puzzled over since discovering the tigras’ mental connection. Whatever it was, it had to have affected the entire planet more or less at the same time, or they would have simply moved out of its area of influence. No, it had to be both universal and unstoppable."