The Days of Peleg

by Jon Saboe

  This last was projected toward Salah with pure venom. It attacked the core of his Cosmic Plurality, and was meant to portray him as living in the pseudo-scientific fringe. The crowd winced. No one ever spoke like that to a Mentor. But there was also a sense of relief since they had all known it was deserved—especially in light of his tasteless outburst.

  “That was just plain gross,” the lady said to her friend, referring to the Mentor’s rude personal history remark which obviously reflected his lack of modern social values.

  “Serves him right,” the man responded. “I don’t care if he was a Mentor.”

  The awkward pause continued over the audience, but Reu-Nathor raised his arms, embracing the entire assembly with a sudden warm smile.

  “Friends. We are not here to divide or make enemies. We are here to celebrate new discoveries, delight in new answers, and look forward with anticipation to tomorrow’s visions, taking advantage of the latest findings to make preparations for future investigations and research. The world is ours! To that end, I now present a proposal. A project of global proportions which is now possible and takes advantage of the diversity and opportunities afforded us by the Great Awakening.”

  The hall filled with murmurs of expectancy and excitement. The High Minister was about to announce a mission! Peleg glanced over at the young lady and was startled to see her eyes gleaming as they focused on Reu-Nathor. He turned to study her face more closely and realized that the gleam was not one of admiration or respect, but one of impassioned, almost feverish adoration. The kind of adoration that one imagined the ancients reserved for their mythical demigods. Or perhaps one witnessed in the theater; or when a young fanatic is willing to die for the cause of his military leader. Not the most scientific of emotions. He turned away and waited for more from the object of the lady’s devotion.

  “I propose that we explore our new world to its fullest. I wish to dispatch four vessels, fully equipped for trans-oceanic travel. Their mission will be to map the continents, catalog and investigate new colonies, and document the activities, achievements, and new technologies of our brothers and sisters who have left to build lives and civilizations based only on the dictates of their new enlightenment.”

  He paused for effect. Thoughts in the crowd were swirling. “Will I be allowed to go?” “How will I be able to serve?” “I can’t believe this is happening now! ”

  “I know what you are thinking,” he continued. “Everyone here, plus all those across the great plain, will be allowed to contribute. The ships will sail seven months from today, and they will embark on a twelve-year mission. Each ship will be sent on a different course and will return twelve years from its departure. All reports and information will be brought here at that time, and we will convene in the first Global Geophysical Congress to present our findings. I announce today the commencement of the Great Discovery!”

  Reu-Nathor raised his arms high above his head.

  “It is so ordered; it is so decreed!”

  A large parchment was brought to him, which had obviously been prepared in advance. He lifted it and turned so the entire assembly could see it. It appeared to be a written version of the proposal he had just stated. He took a large quill, which was offered him, and, in a flourish, signed it. He then raised it over his head again, waiting for the coming applause.

  When it had died down, a friendly gleam entered his eye. He smiled.

  “Twelve years is a small price to pay. A small percentage of your life, one would hope, depending on the robustness of your heredity.”

  There were some embarrassed murmurs, and then a quick silence as great effort was expended to avoid any and all eye contact with one another.

  Lifespans were a great unknown. The average age in the room was about eighty, but there were Mentors who claimed to be twice that age, yet, by all appearances, looked to be younger than many of them. No one present had ever personally known someone who had expired simply from old age.

  “Of course, any valuable items of commerce, new trade routes, and technologies of commercial value will also be most welcome.

  Appropriate rewards will go to crews who return with them.”

  Now the laughter was relaxed and understanding. Some who were secretly hoping to stay behind suddenly changed their minds.

  “All of you will receive instructions and assignments. This presentation is ended. May Knowledge Be Blessed!”

  A final standing ovation resounded before the moderator had a chance to say, “All Rise.” Reu-Nathor left the stage and the moderator strode to its center, raised his hands waiting for quiet, and when it arrived, began conducting.

  At the downbeat, the assembly sang “We Give Our Lives And Live For Knowledge”. The verses were set in an assertive trochaic heptameter; while the melody utilized an equal-tempered six-note scale with a lowered five.

  Peleg joined in and remembered his initiation when he was taught this song. Only those in this room knew it, but he knew there were additional verses which those in the higher orders sang in their secret meetings. He hoped someday to learn them.

  When they had finished singing, the Academicians in the front stood first and began filing out the forward entrance. As the others rose and headed for the exits, Peleg counted five Mentors throughout the entire room of over eighty men and women. At least, the ones that could be positively identified. The woman who had been seated in front of him was apparently wearing platform shoes and a hairstyle designed to imitate a Mentor’s appearance, but her stature and movement prevented any possibility of deception. Peleg hadn’t decided whether such attempts were honorable, or simply childish mimicry.

  “Hey, Dragon-Breath!”

  Peleg turned sharply to see his friend, Serug, coming towards him from across the room. He continued yelling.

  “I saw you sneak in late! Where were—?”

  Peleg motioned violently for Serug to be quiet until he got closer.

  Serug was wearing a short, woolen skirt, popular with young men his age, which had thin brass pleats sewn into it. It was dyed a dark blue, and over his bare shoulder he wore a bright multi-colored sash made of woven flax—which was not so common—and struck Peleg as somewhat flamboyant. It was a harsh contrast with his bright yellow hair. He also had two lapis lazuli studs in his left earlobe.

  When he arrived, Peleg hissed, “What are you doing, yelling across the hall? Show a little respect.”

  Serug grinned and said conspiratorially, “Great Discovery, huh? I guess that’s the new rule: One Great ‘Something’ every hundred years or so. Let’s hope that one hundred years from now we’re not engaged in the ‘Great Search and Rescue’!”

  “Be quiet!” Peleg voiced harshly, bewildered at his friend’s sense of humor. “At least wait ‘till we get outside!”

  Serug clapped his hand over his mouth with a look of mock-fear and motioned toward the nearest exit. “After you.”

  They descended the levels with the rest of the audience. As they passed the Hall of the Inner Worlds, Peleg caught a glimpse of the beautiful mosaic which portrayed the phases of Inana. After descending one more level, they emerged into the sunlight.

  Chapter 3

  Source

  “Untold resources have been expended trying to understand the Great Awakening, while the Great Cause is completely ignored.”

  The “street” was part of a large marble plateau which ran the expanse of the city. From it one could see the many office buildings, shops, banks, and the multi-story hanging gardens which adorned them. Behind Peleg and Serug was the Citadel Of Knowledge, from which they had just exited. This level of the City was two to three stories above ground level, which meant that the Citadel, which towered four stories above them, really stood almost seven stories above the surrounding plains. It could be seen from a distance of many leagues, and had a brilliant bluish or golden sheen—depending upon the angle of the sun.

  Peleg tried to imagine the Platform of Heaven and Earth, which was rumored to have been o
ver twenty stories tall. It was almost complete at the time of the Great Awakening, when it was destroyed, and much of the engineering technology had vanished since then. The sardonic comment was often muttered that it was “Lost in the translation”.

  “Do you think you’ll get to go on one of the ships?” Serug interrupted his thoughts.

  “Oh, it’s possible. I received the top score in my Spheroid Trigonometry class, and I already teach Cartography on the side. think there’s a good chance, but I’m not going to get any hopes up. I’ll wait for the Duty Assignment to be posted.”

  “You’re going, all right. I can feel it!” Serug’s optimism was infectious. “Let’s get a drink to celebrate!”

  “I play you a round of Twenty for it,” challenged Peleg.

  “You’re on!”

  They entered a nearby eatery which was famous (infamous in Peleg’s view—he detested seafood) for its grilled eel. No matter—they were here to drink.

  They sat themselves at a table, where a rectangular “twenty-square” board was nestled next to the wall. A sometimes not-so-friendly game of Twenty was often used to decide bets, challenges, and (in this case) who would pay for the drinks.

  Serug lifted the provided game board from its niche in the wall, took out the container which was hidden behind the board, and opened it. Inside were four Casting Sticks, along with the five cones and five reels.

  “Are you going to order anything?”

  A serving girl had approached the table, clearly annoyed at the prospect of customers who came and did nothing but play Twenty.

  “Of course,” said Peleg. “I’ll have a Red Beer, and my friend will have a corn kash.”

  “Wait!” said Serug. “I want to try the new Shika-rum.” He grinned at Peleg and spoke in a silly half-song. “‘Guaranteed not to take too many decades off your life!’”

  This marketing catch phrase was most often heard from stone-castor masons who proudly drank the latest and most potent beverages.

  If discussing personal history was the highest taboo, making light of death and longevity was a close second.

  Peleg glared. “You really are vulgar.”

  Serug grinned as the server walked off in a huff.

  Peleg handed the Cones to Serug which would allow him to have the first throw. He gave a practice toss of the casting sticks into the niche and rolled a six.

  “That’s the last bit of luck you’ll have today,” said Serug. He promptly rolled a four which not only allowed him on the board, but also gave him a free throw. He threw a three, shrugged, and handed the sticks to Peleg.

  Before Peleg could throw, Serug suddenly became very serious. “My cousin, Sal-Eber just returned from Kemet. He says that things are getting bad there.”

  Kemet was a settlement which had been established in the northeast area of the Southern continent. In Peleg’s younger years, a man by the name of Mizraim had traveled there with about two hundred colonists. Peleg was somewhat familiar with the language they had acquired. He knew, for example, that the written language they had developed was primarily pictographic—entire words represented by simple pictures or icons. It must be horribly subjective, nothing like his accurate logograms and mathematically precise syllables.

  “What did he say?”

  The drinks arrived along with a bowl of wheat chips and Serug lifted his mug and took a large gulp. Immediately, sweat formed over his reddening face and his eyes bulged. He forced the remainder of his swallow, and then gave two violent coughs. He wiped his forehead and grinned. “Nin-kashi! This is good!”

  “That’s one decade,” Peleg chided. He rolled a two and handed the sticks back to Serug who answered.

  “Sal-Eber says they’re in a panic. In the last six years there have been three reports of people dying from old age—one as young as one hundred and forty! Children are becoming pubescent younger and younger, and there are even men your age who are turning gray. They fear that if things continue in this direction, in a few hundred years, people will be lucky if they make it to one hundred and fifty. It’s like an accelerated aging epidemic.” He rolled a six, placed a new Cone on the board, and took his free throw.

  Peleg shuddered. Imagine middle age at one hundred. Offhand, he could think of no one who had died of old age; and he assumed, much like everyone else, that he would live to be at least four or five hundred. The only evidence that there was such a thing as death by old age was the fact that the lifespans of smaller animals were well known and there was no reason to assume that humanity was exempt. One could conceivably extrapolate an average human life expectancy based on one’s size.

  Actually, there really was no reason not to live to be a thousand. The body kept replacing itself, and he was stronger and smarter now than when he was half his age. Death usually occurred by normal events such as fights, construction accidents, and wild animals. No one really considered old age. In all actuality, there really was no objective way to even determine humanity’s average life expectancy.

  Peleg mused, “It sounds like Kemet is going to have a culture very obsessed with death.”

  Serug made a face indicating that Peleg’s comment was very bizarre.

  “Yeah, whatever.” He shook his head and continued.

  “Either way, it seems like longevity is simply disappearing from their heredity pool. And do you know what else he said? He says there hasn’t been a Mentor born in over thirty years. Not one!”

  One could usually identify a Mentor early in life by the fact that a Mentor was almost six years old before he or she learned to speak. Soon after, the extra height and larger forehead confirmed it. As they matured, however, they supposedly demonstrated superior intelligence, photographic and audiographic memory, perfect pitch, and clear heat vision. There were also rumors that they would live over six hundred years, but, since no one knew of any who had survived the Great Calamity, there was no way to confirm it.

  Peleg tossed a six which finally allowed him on the board. His Reel was in the war zone, just behind Serug’s first Cone. Throwing a two, Peleg avoided battle, but ended on the first Ute square which gave him another free throw. It was a useless three, which didn’t help him add any men to the fight.

  “No Mentors, huh? Well, we have more than enough here.”

  Serug stopped in mid-throw, looking quizzically at Peleg.

  “That came out wrong,” Peleg apologized. “It’s just that they insist on hanging on to some very old ideas. You saw Mentor Salah at the dissertation. I mean,” Peleg shook his head, “he’s a nutcase!”

  He anticipated a shocked, defensive response from Serug, but his opponent appeared not to have even heard his last sentence. Serug tossed the sticks, but now seemed preoccupied with something else. He missed a statistical calculation which improved Peleg’s chances. Serug’s first Cone, which might have made it to the Second Ute Square, was attacked from behind and removed from the battle zone. He didn’t even wince when Peleg rolled a six and a four which allowed the remainder of his Reels on the field.

  Serug took a second slug of Shika-rum. He wiped his brow and said earnestly. “Where did it all come from?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Peleg. You’re a linguist. You know that language is nothing but a code—a symbology with an agreed-upon convention. We understand each other because we agree on a given word’s meaning.”

  “Of course.”

  “But we didn’t invent the word. If you and I decided to create a secret code, we would have to invent it before we decided the rules of de-coding. According to the High Minister, some kind of psychic uplift occurred whereby large groups of people suddenly started using a different code. I don’t have a problem with that, but my question is, ‘Who invented the new codes?’ ‘What is the source?’ Are we supposed to believe that collectively each group of people co-authored the same conventions they later agreed-upon simultaneously?”

  Peleg’s mouth dropped as he stared at his friend in amazement—and some confu
sion. These were not the kind of words that normally came out of Serug’s mouth. The only time his young friend was serious was when he was asking for money.

  “When did you start thinking?” Peleg finally responded. “You heard the High Minister. He explained everything. You just don’t understand Metasystem Transitions, that’s all.”

  “Yes, I do,” Serug insisted, “But they don’t explain how a large number of people can instantly and without consultation agree on the same conclusions.”

  “The High Minister explained it. They have done all the calculations! Come on, you were there. You heard him! What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m trying to say that I think the Great Awakening was done to us.”

  “Done to us? And whom do you suggest could engineer such a thing?”

  Serug shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s some truth to the ancient demigod myths. I’m just wondering if it wasn’t some kind of psychic experiment or even an attack. I haven’t really thought it through.”

  “I’ll say you haven’t! But when you do think it through, try and restrain your newfound intellect with a dose of reason. I know it’s cumbersome and stifling, but you might come to some sensible conclusions. The establishment of Knowledge is the destruction of such myths! I don’t know how you acquire such thoughts or even where they come from.”

  “But that’s my point, exactly!”

  Peleg gave Serug a long, confused stare that lasted for several seconds. Suddenly his blond friend shook his head and grinned.

  “Hey, you haven’t even touched your beer! Besides, I thought you usually got Black Beer. When did you start drinking Red?”

  This was the Serug he knew and loved.

  “I tried it at another place about a week ago and liked it. Thought I’d keep drinking it for a while.”

  The game resumed in earnest. Serug got two cones to the fourth Ute Square. Peleg tried to attack as much as possible in the battle zone, but when it became apparent that he would not prevail, Serug ordered another round of drinks.