by Tim Andersen
Smith started towards the mountain and the complex of structures. From down here on the ground, the structure looked closer to the top than the bottom of the mountain, perhaps a kilometer up. There was a narrow path leading up to it, which we now began to climb.
As we gained altitude, the air turned colder, and I wished that I had brought my heavier coat with me. Eventually snow appeared underfoot and our feet began to crunch it down. Smith appeared to be propelled by a boundless energy, driven on to meet the Amidans after all this waiting, and unaware of the cold. Lika was warmly dressed in a long coat but seemed worried, nervous even. Meanwhile, I noticed that Crispin, who brought up the rear, kept one hand in his jacket all the time while he let the other one hang loosely at his side.
From the path, the complex became clearly visible at times, and, as we approached it, I noticed that the buildings appeared familiar somehow. One in particular looked astonishingly like a Gothic church or cathedral.
Lika seemed to be hanging back from Smith, although she was watching him intently. I caught up to her and, lowering my voice so that Smith could not hear me, said, “he’s awfully excited.”
Lika looked at me. “He’s been dreaming of this meeting for years, ever since they were discovered. If you’d been wanting something for five long years, you’d be excited too.”
“But don’t you think it’s a bit reckless, just coming down here and he not even wearing a mask?”
“The Amidans are a friendly race,” she said.
“That doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.”
“Goshan,” she said, “Tolan has a lot of intuition about these things. He uses technology because it makes him more scientific, but in the end he always goes with his feelings. Right now his feelings are telling him that the Amidans are friendly. If you stay with us, you’ll begin to see that Tolan is always right about these things.”
Clearly Lika and I were not going to see eye-to-eye on Smith. I decided to change the subject. “What do you think this place is?”
She looked around, as if just noticing it. “I think that this place is for us,” she said.
“What do you mean, ‘for us’? For visitors? I can’t imagine every alien species liking this.”
“No, no, the Amidans probably created this planetoid for the four of us to carry out our mission.”
“What? Conjured it out of thin air?”
“Something like that. Tolan thinks they have devices that can create objects spontaneously. It would be effortless for them to create a place like this.”
“My God,” I said, marveling. “Do you think that they materialized it right there, then? I thought they were just masking our radar from detecting it.”
“Who can say?” she said. “The Amidans are an advanced race, the most advanced humans have ever encountered. That’s partly why Tolan and I trust them, Goshan. They could obliterate the human race easily.”
“It makes you feel inferior, doesn’t it?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. The Amidans want to meet with us because they think we’re worth meeting. They don’t invite every species to come and visit them. They want to help us.”
“Since when do we need help?”
She looked nervous, shrugged again, and said, “since when don’t we?” and before I could respond she rushed on up ahead to join Smith, who was nearing the final bend in the path.
Far below me spread the valley with its sparkling blue river reflecting the shifting colors in the sky. Our ship was only a tiny dot. Looking up across to the mountain on other side of the valley, I noticed a set of recesses in the rock face about halfway up that looked artificial, each about three meters high. From this distance, I could not make out what they were.
While I was admiring the valley, I heard Crispin say, “would you look at that.” My head snapped around.
Up ahead Smith and Lika were approaching a large wooden gate set in the stone wall, at least twice my height, reinforced with iron. As we approached it swung open. From within a figure dressed in a red robe or cloak and leather boots emerged. It was the same elderly man who had appeared on the viewer before. When we had come within a few meters of him, he raised both his hands and held them out, palms upward. His smile was warm. “Friends,” he said, “welcome to the Abbey on the Mountain.”
We stood there, jaws agape, and I could tell that even Smith’s intuition had not prepared him for this.
“I am Abbot Fidelis,” said the man, gesturing us to enter. “Please, we have been expecting you.” He stood aside and allowed us to walk past him through the gate.
Smith was speechless for a moment and then stuttered a response, “we are most grateful for your welcome . . . most grateful.”
Stepping through the gate revealed what, from movies, I would say is a perfect reproduction of an abbey in the Gothic style. I could not say what century they intended. I could see a barn for cows, a pig pen, a chicken coop, and a horse stable.
In the center of the abbey was a stone square in the shape of an equilateral cross, paved in red stone and surrounded with a stubbly kind of mountain grass. Directly opposite me were the main doors of a massive cathedral, evidenced by the crucifix on top of its spire, statues of Saints, stain glass, and gargoyles. Buttressing either side of the cathedral were several buildings which appeared to all be connected and hugging the mountain side. In fact, the mountain had been dug out to such an extent that, I imagined, it would have been beyond medieval technology.
Once the gate had closed behind us, the Abbot turned to us and indicated a woman, dressed in a red robe similar to his. “This is Prioress Flora,” he said.
“Welcome friends,” she said, making the same hands out gesture as the Abbot.
I was surprised that they would have gone through all the trouble to replicate a human monastery and then indulge in the anachronism of having women inhabit it as well. The Prioress appeared to be prepared to answer this question though. Smiling, she said, “I’m afraid we could not all agree on whether to appear as men or women to you. I do apologize if you are offended.”
“Not at all,” said Smith, still looking shocked. “We appreciate your . . . freedom of expression.”
“Excellent,” said the Abbot. “Please, if you will follow us, we will introduce you to the rest of our brothers and sisters.”
The Abbot led the way to a door to the right of the cathedral entrance and we entered into a refectory. Ten contemplatives, five nuns and five monks were seated along a long table, all eyes on us. Set on the table was a tremendous medieval banquet, a roast pig, duckling, tureens of pea and carrot soup, and bread. There were sixteen places set (another clear anachronism, but they must of known that humans no longer eat banquets with their hands), each with a candle lit before it although most of the light came through high windows. The Abbot walked to the head of the table and introduced us. He then began to introduce the contemplatives starting down one side and going up the other: “Sister Lotus, Brother Amor, Brother Gauisus, Brother Facio, Sister Rosa, Sister Bena, Brother Usus, Sister Opera, and Sister Equa.” Each one would smile and nod and say “welcome friends”. Then the Abbot said to us, “please, we invite you to remove your masks and enjoy our midday meal.” He gestured to four seats nearest to the head.
We all sat down. Lika removed her mask first, then me. Crispin lowered his, but did not take it off. Smith was seated on the Abbot’s right side next to Lika. Crispin and I sat across from them, and the Prioress sat at the foot of the table. I wondered if the monks and nuns were seated in some order of precedence, seniority, etc. but perhaps the Amidans had chosen to ignore such details. All the monks and nuns were of varying ages. I would say that none were younger than thirty with the average being forty or fifty. The Abbot was the oldest. From a modern perspective he could be as old as a century, but, for the middle ages, he would be about sixty.
Since I was directly across from Smith, I had a good view of his face, which was trained on the Abbot. For the first
time since I had met him, I could detect real fear on his face. It struck me as odd, considering how friendly the Amidans had turned out to be. If, as Lika had suggested, Smith did trust them, I could not understand the cause of his fear. Perhaps it was all of this pageantry, so unexpected, that had thrown him off. He was used to dealing with aliens and machines. The Amidans had given him humans and not even real humans but humans who were aliens.
The Abbot looked at each person/Amidan seated at the table individually, starting with Smith and ending with me. Looking into his eyes I could detect nothing of the alien. His look was warm, his slight smile, serene, and I felt my shoulders drop, tension, of which I had not been aware, releasing. In fact, all three of my companions looked far more relaxed than before, even Smith. Crispin, who still had his hand in his jacket up to that point, took it out and placed it on the table, then dropped it to his lap. I could see that, where he had touched the table, it was moist with sweat.
“Let us now,” said the Abbot, “be mindful and eat our meal in silence.”
I had been expecting some sort of grace, but the Abbot said nothing more, and all the contemplatives began taking and passing food around the table, none saying a single word. Following suit I helped myself to some roasted chicken and pea soup with plenty of chewy, old fashioned baked bread and freshly churned butter. The food had a remarkable tastiness to it, considering that it had, according to Lika, been created spontaneously rather than grown, raised, and prepared. However, the only drink available was water.
Accustomed to noisy restaurants and cafeterias on Earth, the silence at this meal was eerie but relaxing. There was no need to make conversation with our hosts while simultaneously trying to eat. No need to avoid talking with my mouth full and no danger of having sauces dribble down my chin at the improper moment. There was a kind of freedom in it. Simply concentrating on the excellent food and its complex flavors was a joy. I also appreciated candle, considering that the room was barely warmer than outside despite a fire in the hearth, and I held my hands over it at intervals.
When everyone had finished eating, two of the monks, whose names I had already forgotten, stood up and cleared everything away on little wooden carts that bumped and rattled on the stone floor. When they returned, the carts were laden with tarts, fresh fruit, and custards which they set onto the table. Again all was silence, and, as soon as the two were seated, dessert began.
I helped myself to a custard and some berries with whipped cream, after which I could eat no more. Having finished, I observed the Amidans eating and saw that they ate with unusual precision. They appeared to concentrate on every bite carefully, putting down the fork or spoon each time as if they were finished eating, then picking it back up, taking another bite and putting it back down again. Occasionally, they would smile at us or each other as if trying to share their enjoyment in the meal. Smith, Lika, Crispin, and I finished well before them.
Once everyone had finished, two nuns stood up and cleared away the dishes. This time they did not return. The Abbot now stood, “now that our meal is done, go in peace Brothers and Sisters.” All the contemplatives stood, and all but the Prioress left the room, bowing to us as they did so.
Once the room was empty, the Prioress said, “You have many questions, I’m sure.”
Smith stood up. He fidgeted with his jacket’s zipper, and his eyes did not fix on the Prioress but, rather, roved the room as he spoke. “We . . . we are most grateful for this reception. We h-had no knowledge, that is, er, we were most surprised with this . . . all this,” he said.
The Prioress considered him tranquilly. “Be at ease my friend. That is what we have done ‘all this’ for: your ease.”
The Abbot now stood, “it was in deference to human sensibilities that we attempted to recreate one of your ancient religious institutions. Our study of human nature indicates that some humans seek refuge in places such as these.” He considered the walls that surrounded us. “Something about these stones, placed just so, in just such a place, calms the human mind and prepares it.”
The Prioress broke in, “prepares it for the contemplation of non-existence. If you’ll forgive me, human beings seem propelled to contemplate non-existence far more than existence.”
“Forgive me also,” said Smith, “but I don’t understand.”
The Prioress smiled again, “why did your ancestors build these places if not to consider mortality—Death, that is?”
“Is that what we have been asked here to discuss?” said Smith, sounding edgy. “Death?”
The Abbot shook his head. “We have asked you here because we desired to meet you and see if we could help you.”
Smith looked surprised and I could see that he was struggling to be diplomatic. “We have an interest in possible exchanges and you have been exceedingly generous in the past. I apologize as this is our first face to face meeting and we will no doubt become confused at times. I must ask though: Is there some assistance that you propose to offer humanity at the outset? Beyond your wonderful gift of artificial gravity that is.”
The Prioress looked at the Abbot. I sensed some communication passing between them, but her face betrayed nothing. She looked back at Smith. “We are pleased that you are happy with our gift. It is our only wish that you be at ease. And you have no need to apologize to us, Tolan Smith. We are the ones who must apologize, firstly, for not informing you in advance for this elaborate creation. We feared that, if your government knew that we were to appear as humans, they might send a different liaison than he who was promised—you, that is—one experienced with humans rather than a xenological expert, and we especially wanted to meet with you personally.”
“Me? Why me?” he said.
“Because,” she said, “you, Tolan Smith, need our help.”
This so shook Smith that his hands started to quiver and his voice shook when he spoke. “I am truly sorry, but what help do I need from you? I am interested in the welfare of humanity. I don’t matter.”
“You do matter,” she said. “Every sentient being matters. But you are correct in believing that we would not have asked you here if it were only your welfare at stake. It’s not because we don’t care, but we cannot make the welfare of each and every individual our prerogative. However, you are special.”
“How am I special?” he demanded.
“You have a destiny that exceeds that of other beings. You will impact the lives of trillions deep into the future of your species and others. We are concerned with their welfare and so we have arranged to meet you.”
“How could you know my destiny? Does the power of the Amida extend to knowing the future?”
“For us it is the past, in way,” she said.
“You’re telling me that you are from the future then?”
“No, for us, past and future are meaningless, but, for you, perhaps it’s better to say that we are from a past so deep it predates the universe itself.”
“How is that possible?”
“Many things are possible.”
“That’s not an answer,” he said, growing angry. Lika put a hand on his arm, and he looked over at her and grew calmer. The Prioress smiled at Lika. “Tell me how you know my—our future,” said Smith.
“You see,” said the Prioress, “you, humans, are our ancestors. That is partly why it is possible for us to communicate with you directly. We retain a great deal of our humanity. We could not have had such a meeting with any other species.”
“Our ancestors?” he said, “that would make you human. I know for a fact that you are not humans. That up there,” he said, pointing upward where the mass of colors swirled, “they’re not human, are they?”
“It’s a matter of perspective,” she said, “in your terms, perhaps we are not. In ours, we are deeply related, more than any two species in the universe. As I said, our ancestors were human.”
“You mean you evolved from humans?” said Lika.
The Prioress looked at her. “Yes, that would be the proper term
.”
“What, you’re telling me that you are some kind of post-human species?” said Smith, scoffing. “The human race is too young to have those kinds of off-shoots by several millions years at least.” I could tell that Smith had dropped his diplomat’s role and was now resorting to his more comfortable role as browbeater.
The Prioress was unphased, and, despite her lower rank, she had taken the lead from the Abbot, who sat expressionless. “As I said, many things are possible. We realized that these things would be difficult for you to digest which is why we appeared to you as humans. We studied the technology you use to communicate with alien species, as you used it to communicate with us, and we decided that it placed an unacceptable barrier between us. Our revelations would have appeared to be malfunctions in your translators, and we could not risk failing to reach you, Tolan Smith, because we have a great deal to ask of you, and it is imperative that you hear what we have to say.”
“What do you have to say?” he said.
“Will you hear us out?”
“Yes.”
“Then,” she said, “in exchange for your continued presence and cooperation with us, we are prepared to offer a considerable wealth of technology: vaccines and medical devices, propulsion systems, more efficient Pipe drives, optical equipment, ship-mountable gravity wave detectors, energy collectors, and more.”
“For all that, you want only my personal cooperation?”
“That is all.”
“Then I agree.”
Smith looked impossibly smug now, any trace of nervousness gone. The Prioress’s face, as before, was impassive, but I had the uneasy feeling, that I hoped was irrational, that Smith had signed his name in blood.
“Excellent,” said the Abbot, standing. “Then let me take you three on a tour of the Abbey while Prioress Flora and Mr. Smith discuss the details of his commitment to us.” He gestured towards to door.