Remeon's Destiny

by J. W. Garrett

  She had been so young and impressionable then, and he had been defiant, even though she knew he had been terrified. The earthly disease that afflicted him made him the perfect specimen for the doctors on Remeon to make much-needed progress. She didn’t perceive his illness as a weakness. On the contrary, his human qualities attracted her. Humans were forthright and at times brutally honest. True honesty and sincerity were difficult to find on Remeon. Remeonites valued other traits.

  Through her daily lessons, he had quickly mastered his newfound telepathic ability, and they had delighted in each new discovery of each other. As she turned the pages—which she knew so well—vivid pictures of their time together flooded her consciousness. She could almost feel his presence, the caress of his lips, and the tenderness of his touch.

  Her heart ached as she remembered the ensuing passion that had developed and the forbidden love they had pursued, despite the council’s decision. He had wanted her to come to Earth, to leave her family and responsibilities and her dying people, all in the name of their love. In the end, the secret that she kept meant she had to stay. Survival was at stake for her people. And the urgency with which she had to move him off-world had left her no other choice.

  Although the research and subsequent discovery of the ancient portal had ultimately saved him, it had doomed their love. All her life she had been told the portal was a myth. She was one of a small group of people who knew the truth. Though well-hidden, the portal offered transport to other worlds, provided certain truths were evident. It was a secret that needed to be kept. She wondered if she would ever see him again, and fantasized a reality in which he knew the truth and found his way back to her, but, in her heart, she knew it could never be. Their relationship necessarily failed for the good of the people. And now too many years had passed. The book she held was the last remnant from their relationship—a gift from his final trip through the portal.

  Plans were set in motion. It would all happen again. They had finally found another human candidate, one who, from knowledge gained during their scans of Earth, wouldn’t struggle with the concept of interstellar space travel and worlds beyond his own. This was paramount. There had to be a basic common ground at the outset. The preliminary testing for perseverance, character, and personality fit, would soon begin. Will he be strong enough to heal the people and fight for them if necessary? Her emotions were in flux. Others can sense this. I must gain control.

  A knock on the door brought her back to reality. She felt the presence of her daughter; Whisterly smiled. “Come in, little one.”

  “Mother, you haven’t been responsive. I started to worry.”

  She shrugged. “Well, even the head of the council sometimes needs a little time away.”

  “I see you’re reading up for our new experiment,” Arista said, as she eyed the book beside her mother. “This could be the break we’ve been waiting for. It won’t be long now.”

  Whisterly winced inwardly, momentarily regretting hiding the full truth from her daughter. Eventually she would know the truth. But now was not the time. “Yes, our doctors and scientists are prepared. I should be as well, don’t you think?”

  Arista could tell her mother wasn’t being completely forthright, her previous comment only a version of the truth. “Mother, you are always prepared,” she said, as she moved in to share her seat. “You seem more solemn than usual, and I’m not getting a reading on you.”

  “We’ll fix that,” she said tenderly, pulling her in. The two locked foreheads, merging their consciousnesses, sharing almost all with each other.

  THOMAS FELT A commotion, like millions of conversations going on in his head, and twisted his body from side to side to make it go away. What is going on? Why is it so loud? Almost trancelike, he couldn’t seem to shake off the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. It seemed useless fighting and struggling within himself; he could not wake. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he heard the word peace. As he heard it, and its repetition over and over in his head, he gradually felt it take hold, and, while he still did not wake up, the clatter in his brain subtly subsided.

  It is time, Thomas heard unspoken in his head.

  Who was that? He blinked several times, as he struggled to determine where he was. The grogginess eased, and the peaceful feeling from before was still at work, just below the surface. Why am I outside? Have I been sleepwalking? Maybe Joe played a trick on me at the party. Disoriented, he glanced down. No, he had not been sleeping at home in his own bed. His clothes were on: his leather jacket, the cotton long-sleeved shirt, trousers, and boots, all on and accounted for. This is truly strange. He mulled over the situation.

  The sun was rising. Judging from its distance in the sky, it was about 8:00 a.m. He remembered the party from the night before, his birthday party, and retraced the events. His hands went to the leather from his new jacket, now welcoming its warmth. “Yes, it was real,” he said aloud to no one in particular. He dug deep into his pockets and found his pocketknife and handkerchief in one, and, in the other, the familiar heart-shaped rock and a new rock carefully wrapped in blue material. Just within his reach was the box, the one he had in hand yesterday at his party, the one with the compass. Quickly emptying the box of its contents, he grabbed the compass and the two dollars, and pocketed both.

  Gingerly he rose. More stiff than he realized, he had obviously been sitting or sleeping for some time. Something wasn’t right; he felt extremely light. He took in the full length of his body and was unprepared for what he did not see. He reached down, frantically feeling the length of his legs. No braces were on his legs or on the ground or anywhere within his field of vision. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, and he fought the urge to scream. What could be happening? How did I get here?

  Carefully anticipating pain and weakness, he walked, first one step, then another. Absolutely none of the old pain was evident. His muscles felt strong and true, like they used to be. After a few more tentative steps, he walked purposefully. Then, steadily on his feet, he broke out into a full run. When he expended all his energy, he stopped. With his hands on his knees to catch his breath, he inhaled deeply. This can’t be real. Something’s got to be wrong. I’m in some deep, deep dream.

  Thomas took another more detailed look around the landscape. He climbed a tall tree and scanned the horizon in all directions, as far as he could see. The terrain looks real, just not like home… Where’s the farm? Our neighbors? Without a second’s hesitation Thomas slapped himself hard on his face. No, not a dream. He rubbed his face, then made his way down the tree.

  Bewildered, he sat on a large rock nearby, racking his brain for any inkling of what could be going on. His head throbbed again, and the calm feeling from before waned. He was out of ideas. His legs began rhythmically bouncing up and down nervously.

  Someone spoke, and, looking around, he said, “Who’s there? Show yourself. Where am I, and where is my family?”

  Silence. Deafening silence.

  He paused, hoping for a response, then tried again, this time louder.

  “I heard you. I know you’re here. Where are you? Don’t be a coward,” he added. Thomas felt the wind blowing coolly on his face, turned his gaze toward the sky, and saw the sun beating down. This is real, damn it. I’m not asleep. “I said, show yourself! What do you want with me?” Thomas yelled.

  He was silent and listened, hoping to see a sign: an animal or human, some evidence of intelligent life somewhere. He felt alone and deserted. In all his sixteen years, he was in a place where he had no recollection and absolutely no idea how he got there. Thomas slid down the rock and came to rest on the ground. Then he heard it again—a voice, a very soft, gentle voice. He cocked his head forward. He waited. And he heard it again, this time a little louder.

  You are safe for now. We understand this is unsettling, but there is no cause for alarm.

  Even among all the confusion, Thomas felt like he had somehow been in this place before, heard this voice sometime, maybe
long ago, possibly multiple times… Am I being manipulated? He was unsure. A fog clouded his mind. He took a deep breath and let go, as he cleared his thoughts, leaving his mind open for all possibilities. The voice began again.

  Be still and save your energy. All will be made clear soon.

  Thomas threw up his hands, exasperated. “I am still. I got that down.”

  Your travel was difficult and the transfer…unusual. We do not mean you harm. But those close by would harm you. You must rest. But, first, what do you call yourself? We know you but in another sense.

  The transfer? What the heck? He concentrated hard to think of an answer. “My name is…” Wait… No. I can be anyone… I don’t have to be Thomas, the boy with braces. He considered his response for a few minutes longer. And when he did reply, he was surprised by his own words. Stephen T. is my name, he stated and smiled as it finally hit him: Telepaths, we must be speaking telepathically. And yours? What is your name? And, if you know me, why don’t you know my name?

  SHE JUST HAD to get out of that hospital. The rhythmic kneading of the bread provided Elizabeth a mindless, monotonous chore. The flour coated her fingers, easily allowing the dough to bounce lightly back to her as she pushed and released. It gave her a much-needed outlet. She pounded the elastic dough harder and threw it against the counter repeatedly. It felt good to hit something.

  It had been three long days. Three days since her son had gone into a coma, and the worse part was, the doctors could not tell them why. She and her husband had been taking turns spending the night with Thomas, so one of them would always be with Thomas in case he woke during the night. The days were spent divided between home and the hospital, with church volunteers offering to fill in the gaps.

  The birthday celebration now seemed like ages ago, an isolated little blip of happiness in an otherwise chaotic few months. Where did this medical crisis come from? Elizabeth could not even guess. Her son had been on the upswing, or so it seemed. They had begun to settle into a new “normal” somewhat, not really acceptance but an acquiescence for the time being.

  She recalled the evening. It was taking on a dreamlike quality. A happy time for Thomas, wasn’t it? That had been her goal—to make it the most special birthday ever. Now the confusion and commotion accompanying Thomas’s collapse was becoming a blur. Initially the immediate family had surrounded Thomas, trying desperately to revive him. When it was apparent that he had not just fallen or fainted, Thomas was taken directly to the hospital. Belle was inconsolable, and Mary stoically tried to control her own emotions. It was a long first night at the hospital as the family rallied by his bedside.

  The doctors attempted to find a link between this collapse and his most recent polio diagnosis. To say they were unsure of his prognosis was an understatement. To add to everyone’s despair, at this point in time, the doctors really did not know what was happening with Thomas. Elizabeth heard the words of the hospital staff over and over in her head like a stuck record: coma, complicated by dehydration, weakness, and lethargy.

  The doctors’ working theory at this point was some kind of secondary or post-polio syndrome, characterized by severe weakness and possible muscle atrophy. The translation became: more of the same initial treatment. However, the coma was a source of contention among the doctors with no agreement as to why this had occurred. All that could be offered was treatment of symptoms to keep the patient, her son, comfortable. Where in the world do we go from here?

  Naturally no other option was conceivable than Thomas waking and proceeding on his path to full recovery that had begun weeks ago, Elizabeth surmised. She rolled out the dough, the activity calming her nerves. She set it aside to rise once again and turned to find Belle in the kitchen doorway, eyes staring in the distance. Caught up in her own thoughts and concerns, she had not even noticed her youngest child. How long have I let my thoughts stray in my own little world?

  “Hello, my sweet girl. How are you?”

  Elizabeth watched as Belle sniffed, bravely fighting back tears. Elizabeth lost herself in her daughter’s big brown eyes, mesmerized by the depth of sorrow she saw on her face. Then the flood gates opened. She reached out her arms, and Belle fell into them, clinging tightly, with a ferociousness beyond her years. Elizabeth rocked back and forth, adjusting her in her lap, soothing Belle as Elizabeth had done years ago when Belle was just a baby. After many minutes had passed, and Elizabeth could tell Belle had calmed by her rhythmic, now regular breathing, Elizabeth spoke again.

  “Belle, your father and I firmly believe your brother will recover from this episode. He will be home before you know it to continue his recuperation.”

  Belle faced her mother. “But, Ma, it’s so scary. And he is so still. That’s not like our Thomas at all.”

  “Yes, you’re quite right, dear. But his body needs time to heal, and, to do that, it must conserve energy. So his body has gone into a deep sleep to repair itself.”

  Belle opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again, as if evaluating the words she had just heard.

  Elizabeth could see her child’s expression change as she digested the information. “What is it Belle, honey?”

  “Well, how long does his body need to…you know…? Get better? We thought he was getting better before.”

  Elizabeth nodded her head in agreement and took Belle’s hand in her own. “Yes, I know, and he was getting better. But right now the doctors don’t know what has changed, just that it will require some more time for him to heal.”

  Belle bobbed her head up and down in acknowledgment, even though her face was still quizzical.

  “What can we do? Thomas needs us to get well. I know he does.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I think you’re right. The doctors believe he can hear us. So we can talk to him and read to him, tell him what’s been going on. We can pray. Would you like to read something to him? Something you know he’ll like?”

  Belle looked up eagerly at first, then slowly bowed her head down again, frowning. “I can’t read as well as you or Pa, but I’d really like that. You know, I pray every day for Thomas when I say my prayers before bed. Do you think he’d like to hear one of his comic books?” Belle asked, her tentativeness apparent in her voice.

  “I certainly do,” Elizabeth answered. Before she could say another word, Belle was off and up the stairs in search of material she could read to Thomas. Oh, to be young and so instantly distracted. She laughed at her youngest daughter, just for an instant, and stopped short, her voice caught in her throat. What am I doing? My son is lying in a hospital bed, and I’m actually laughing? Ashamed, she covered her mouth and bowed her head.

  “Do you really believe reading to Thomas will wake him up, Ma?” Mary asked.

  Her eldest child had obviously been listening to her conversation with Belle and had caught Elizabeth off guard. She cleared her throat and brushed the hair from her face, allowing a few seconds to compose herself, before facing her daughter. “Yes, I believe he can hear us, and we can help bring him out of the coma.”

  “But the other possibility is that he won’t come out of that coma, right, Ma? He may never…” Mary’s voice shook and tears fell, as she left her sentence unfinished and buried her head in her hands.

  Elizabeth quickly closed the distance to her firstborn daughter and put both her hands into her own. “Listen, Mary. You must be strong. Be strong for yourself and Belle but especially for Thomas. He needs us all at full strength for him.”

  “You’re right, Ma. I just can’t help but think…” Mary’s voice broke, and she took a deep breath, her bottom lip quivering.

  “Yes, you can,” Elizabeth said firmly. “I know you can,” she replied, putting her finger under Mary’s chin and raising it, even with her own. She kissed her on the forehead and wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug. They stood like one statue. Elizabeth was unsure who was supporting whom.

  She took a deep breath and pulled away, studying her daughter’s face. “We’re okay,” she said, w
ith as much confidence as she could muster.

  “Now could you help by setting the table, while I put together an early dinner for us? I need to relieve your father.”

  “Yes, Ma, of course,” Mary said, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

  Elizabeth pivoted, back at work preparing dinner for the three of them. As she did, she mentally rebuilt the walls in her mind that had just been torn down. She couldn’t afford to let these kinds of negative ideas into her thoughts. Willing herself free of their influences, she focused on Thomas and bringing him home. This would happen any day, Elizabeth told herself, any day now.

  WE KNOW YOU, Stephen, and know you have unique abilities. We can feel the spirit of powerful purpose in your life force. This is one reason you have come to be here.

  Thomas, now Stephen, thought, Here? Where is here exactly? And you still have not told me your name.

  The naming of one invokes controlling power among my people. If you can name an inner spirit, you can control it. My commonly used name is Whisterly. You can use that name to summon me. Here, where we are, all will be unveiled in time. For now, let me just say we are in a different realm…another place—other than your home.

  Other than your home… The words reverberated in Stephen’s head, back and forth like a ping-pong ball. He had always believed in life beyond Earth. Was that what this was? Whisterly had said just that, so matter-of-factly. She made him want to believe. But this was crazy, wasn’t it? A sobering thought occurred to Stephen. What if he were crazy, and she—just a voice still—was just a figment of his imagination, and this was all just some silly, very realistic-feeling bit of insanity. On an impulse, Stephen blurted out, “We have been communicating telepathically, right? Can you read my thoughts? Do you know what I’m thinking?”