by Jon Saboe
Thankfully, the tonga finally stopped and Tizkar announced, “Well, here we are.”
As the men climbed out, Tizkar laughed, “Don’t mind me. I don’t much care who knows what I think.”
Serug muttered, “I see. Nothing like advertising one’s ignorance.”
Tizkar was fussing with his horse, and appeared not to have heard. He simply turned, and announced the fee for his services.
Peleg knew better than to expect Serug to pay for the trip, so he reached into his purse and pulled out the required silver Kaspum.
“Thank you so much for the ride,” Peleg said as he handed over the fare plus a small tip.
“No, Thank You.” Tizkar grinned. “But if you really want to know what I think, I think you should watch that Mentor Inanna. She’s always trying to get us to ‘Watch the moon’.” He laughed, waving his hands in mockery. “Next thing you know, we’re all going to be worshipping it.”
Serug could contain himself no longer. “Perhaps if you actually had an education, you’d realize that there are more possibilities in the universe besides the simple ones you make up in your head. You know, ignorance is a powerful thing—it makes fools feel omniscient.”
A huge knot of dread suddenly tied itself in Peleg’s stomach. Their driver slowly unfolded himself from his seat and stepped to the ground. His height was much greater than either man would have predicted when he had been sitting. He walked over to Serug, his large jaw pushed out and moving as if he were chewing his cud. Peleg decided that if he were forced to choose between fight or flight, flight would undoubtedly win. This guy was definitely in a heavier weight class.
Tizkar stood face to face with Serug, who had a still, panicked look in his eye as he waited, motionless, to see what would happen next. Suddenly, Tizkar’s entire frame relaxed, and he shook his head with an air of disgust and amusement. He turned and spat on the street next to his horse, leaving a large pool of glistening saliva.
“You see that?” he demanded, pointing to his creation. “Salt water. Same as the ocean. Same as you and me. That’s what we’re made of, and only the gods could have turned that into you.” He accentuated his final word by swinging his huge finger in an arc directly into Serug’s chest, where it landed with a thump.
Serug stumbled backwards slightly from the impact, but held his ground. He opened his mouth, although Peleg knew he really didn’t have anything to say.
Before he could try, Tizkar grinned.
“Forget it.” He started to climb back in his driver’s seat. “You are right about one thing, you know—the reason why those Mentors feel omniscient.” With that he laughed and hopped into his seat.
“Pleasure doing business with you!”
As their ride trotted away, Serug said, “What an ignorant creep!”
Peleg smiled. “Well I’m sure it is a bit disconcerting to discover you are mostly made of spit.”
“Thanks for your support.” Serug looked around to clear his head. He saw the glowing BubusSunu sign and suddenly remembered why they were there.
“Come on—let’s eat.”
Peleg knew exactly where to eat when his meal was free. Large plates laden with succulent Arinya-ribs were carried past their table, and Peleg couldn’t wait until his arrived. These splendid animals were increasingly rare, as entire communities had been loaded onto ships by poachers. They didn’t fare well in the excessive local humidity, but he had heard stories of the dry arid landmass to the southeast where farmers hoped to corner the market by establishing ranches. Of course, their scarcity drove the price up.
One thigh could feed at least six men two or three times over. Arinya stood on two powerful legs which they used to jump great distances—up to four times their own height. Peleg had never seen this, since they were kept in cages until it was time to “prepare” them.
Serug still seemed rattled by his earlier encounter. Even when the food arrived and they began eating, Serug was uncharacteristically quiet—he could usually talk and eat at the same time.
“Are you still bothered by that driver?” Peleg asked. “There’s no reason to let him get to you. He seems like someone who likes to spout off unorthodox ideas just to see people’s reactions—and to get attention.”
“Actually, I wasn’t even thinking about that.” Serug looked up from his goat meal. No matter how fancy the dining establishment, Serug never seemed to order anything other than seasoned goat meat in a bun or pocket of whatever kind of bread was offered.
“I’m just really shook up by Mentor Salah.” He shook his head. “Remember how you said I was determined about you speaking with Mentor Inanna? Well, I was—and now I don’t know what to believe.” He opened his sandwich and spread some more mustard paste on the grilled meat.
“I mean, how is anyone supposed to know what’s real? We speak so vauntingly of Knowledge, but on what do we base it? What do we use as a reference?”
Peleg always became troubled when Serug started his ponderings. He just wasn’t any fun. It happened rarely, but as uncomfortable as it was, Peleg was starting to realize the value of his questions.
“I know what you mean,” Peleg nodded. “I always prided myself as being level-headed, and not susceptible to strange and spurious ideas. But I have to admit that, for a moment, I completely believed and accepted Mentor Salah’s announcement as absolute truth.” He smiled, “Of course, it didn’t last long, but it took Inanna to shake me out of it.”
“That’s my problem.” Serug grit his teeth. “Mentor Inanna’s theories have no more basis than her husband’s. When you get down to it, both are nothing more than brilliant conjecture.”
He laughed, sadly. “I mocked our driver by saying his ideas were simple and made up in his own head. Well, it seems that although our favorite Mentor’s ideas are brilliant and complex, yet they too, are only made up in their heads.”
He paused, trying to decide if he should make this next admission.
“You know, I can’t think of the name of anyone who claims to be a survivor of the Great Calamity. With all the lost records, and the fact that our society despises history, not to mention that our educational system removes all knowledge of our parentage, how can we know?”
Peleg shook his head, confused. “There must be survivors who are alive today who would be glad to confirm somebody’s theories. In fact, just about anyone over two hundred. Let’s face it—we would all be descendants of theirs—our great-great-grandparents.” Peleg combed through his memory furiously for anyone he knew that was old enough. He was one hundred and four—if the curators at his orphanage were correct when they estimated his age. “Of course, there might be an extra ‘great’ or two in your case.” Peleg loved to tease Serug about his youth whenever possible.
Serug said, “Perhaps they have been silenced in some way.” He drew a deep breath, then continued. “Or perhaps even eliminated.”
They continued eating in silence. Given the right provocation, Serug could give undue consideration to wild conspiracy theories.
Peleg allowed himself a moment of thoughtless indulgence as he stripped the meat from the last rib. He would probably be stuck with dried fruit and fish for the next twelve years. He washed it down with the birchroot-nag he always ordered on special occasions. It was a carbonated, non-alcoholic ale.
He watched his friend, Serug, gulp down his second flagon of Shika-rum. Peleg would certainly be carrying him home tonight. As thoughtless and carefree as his friend sometimes was, Serug had a sharp, discerning mind and could be counted on to see things from many angles.
Peleg made up his mind.
“Serug?”
Serug looked up sharply at his name.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Part II
The Search
“The difference between what
the most and the least
learned people know
is inexpressibly trivial in relation
to that which is unknown.”
&
nbsp; Albert Einstein
Chapter 10
Dimensions
“Are there multiple levels of reality? If so, what (or who) makes them real?”
A dark line tore through the vapor, leaving little ringlets in its wake. The rectangular, glass bowl of fog (mixed with a little corn kashi) was lit and heated by a tight beam of sunlight which pierced through an opening high in the wall next to the ceiling in his otherwise dark lab. A glass plate was sealed to the top by a casein resin making the container airtight. The inside was coated with a thin layer of cooking oil to prevent internal condensation from obscuring his view.
When Thaxad had blown this bowl, he had left a small hole in its side for an acrylic spigot, to which was now attached a leather hose. This connected to a thick ceramic tube lying horizontally beside the bowl. The open end was sealed with a leather-covered plunger which currently rested halfway down the bore—and maintained the first container’s air pressure.
The entire contraption rested in a large, shallow basin of cold water. The trick was to make the temperature difference between the top of the bowl and the bottom as great as possible. An Elder Stonecastor had shown Thaxad this phenomenon while working on a grain alcohol still.
Another dark streak ripped through his cloud chamber, this time traveling in a jagged, circular route to the other side. Thaxad noticed some moisture forming in the bottom, reached for the small handle connected to the plunger, and pulled. The leather stopper slid toward him down the length of the cylinder, sucking air out of the bowl and reducing the internal air pressure. This lowered the boiling point of his vapor mixture and immediately the moisture on the bottom evaporated.
His Elder, Havilah, had explained to him that tiny objects—much smaller than dust particles—were constantly passing through all things, traversing the cosmos. Even at night, with a small flame as a heating and light source, these tracks could be seen. They were manifestations of other realities or other dimensions. Empirical proof of alternate planes of existence.
Two more lines shot through his bowl leaving an intersecting trail. When they met, one seemed to overpower the other and warp its path. Thaxad reached for his powerful ki-magnet, and placed it next to one side of the bowl. He waited. Sure enough, the next trail twisted and curved toward the magnetic bar before dissipating in a puff of fog.
Thaxad wondered what effect these particles might have to living flesh as they passed through it. Their travels (or perhaps temporary visits through this dimension) must certainly tear tiny holes or damage tissues as they carved out their paths. Perhaps this explained decay, or even aging.
He remembered with amusement how a number of his fellow initiates had reacted when they first saw these tracks. “Erset la Tari!” “It is the Netherworld!” One girl had even cried, “Dal’Khu!” or “Demons!” but had then looked around quickly to try and convince her colleagues she was only joking.
Thaxad was now an Elder, himself, and could recite all the formulae, engineering laws, and secret recipes which only Elder Castors knew—and would never divulge to anyone outside of the Order. He had made many contributions himself, most notably his chemical procedure using copper sulfate from chalcanthite which gave the tiles on the great Citadel Of Knowledge their powerful sky-blue sheen with their reflective qualities. He had achieved great prominence for this and had been appointed Master Chemist for the entire Great Discovery preparations before requesting assignment on the Urbat.
His lab suddenly exploded in a wash of blinding white light as the main door was flung wide open, allowing the radiant mid-day sunlight to come streaming in—intensified by the reflections from the surrounding ocean.
“I see you’ve been abusing our kash cache, again!”
Thaxad was blinded by the sudden light and could only see the silhouette of a man. The intruder was obviously amused by his own pun, though, for he gave a self-aggrandizing laugh and said, “Wait until I tell Captain Phaxâd!”
Thaxad grabbed the trespasser by the elbow and wrenched him into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Edin Na Zu! You shall be banished to the desert by the Order of Buzur after your tongue is removed and your eyes cast into everlasting darkness for your intrusion into the Ikkibu sanctum of an Ul-Elder Castor.” His blazing eyes could be felt as they bored through the darkness of the room. His deep voice lowered. “There will be no Sa Belet Ersetim Ki’Am Parsusa for you!”
These final words carried the weight of utter despair, and he waited for his intruder to respond.
The wait was short.
“First you’ll have to find a desert. And I think I can live—or die—without Madam Underworld’s last rites.”
There was a deathly pause, and Thaxad finally spoke.
“Serug. You know where you can go!” Thaxad incanted.
Serug broke into howls of laughter which finally subsided into gasps for air. As he caught his breath, Thaxad continued, “You do realize that, back home, I would have to kill you. I only put up with you because you are the baby of this expedition and need my constant nurturing.” His brusque voice was anything but nurturing.
“When we get back to civilization, you can register a complaint,” Serug sighed. “Besides—you keep me around because I’m an intelligent student.”
“Intelligent?” Thaxad raised an eyebrow. “Master Serug, I can tolerate disrespect, but never sarcasm.”
Their eyes had adjusted to the re-darkened room, and the heat from the chamber cast a glow throughout the room.
“Observe this.” Thaxad steered him towards the table. “When I move my magnet around, it affects the tracks.” They waited a few moments until another streak marked the fog. It bent towards the magnet, and then dissipated.
“As you can see, this indicates that these travelers exist on a physical level, not a spiritual one.”
“Or perhaps magnets have a spiritual influence over other dimensions?” Serug suggested.
Thaxad gave him a quizzical look that bordered on respect. He asked, “So what have you accomplished lately?”
“I just finished my studies on hyperelliptical orientation. I also just completed some of my very own surveying. In fact, I mapped the last two islands!”
“Excellent! How is our friend, Peleg?”
“Well, his face isn’t quite as green as it was at first.” Serug grinned, and even Mentor Thaxad showed the slight beginnings of a smile. “At least he’s able to keep his eyes open long enough to take measurements.”
“Peleg’s a fine cartographer—and a good man,” said Thaxad. “He must have seen something worthwhile in you.” He lowered his heavy eyebrows. “It’s beyond me,” he added with disgust that may or may not have been feigned.
He walked over to the wall and opened some of the shutters. The room filled with sunlight, and shelves with scrolls and measuring instruments could be seen.
“If you are through practicing your infantile impudence, perhaps you would be willing to commence acquiring some real knowledge.”
Stretched out below him was the glistening blue ocean of an untouched world. The deep topaz reflected the lighter blue of the sky, and the surface shimmered and refracted the sunlight in a spidery geometry. There was no hint of any land, not even along the horizon, and Peleg felt for a moment like this was his own personal, brand-new planet which he had just inherited.
The view directly over his head was obscured by the oblong shape of the hot-air balloon to which his gondola was attached. Flames from a small girabba-oil lamp far above his head heated the interior. Beside him were a small desk/shelf, some measuring instruments, and a variety of writing styluses. Spread out on the shelf was his current map, which needed no additions at this time. Right now he was tracking the sun, and in a few hours would record the precise point at which the sun disappeared behind the horizon. The Anur, or Celestial Horizon, was a constantly changing entity, and he would have to spend the evening making computations to reconcile the two, and then determine both latitude and longitude.
The view directly below him was…. He winced and tried not to think about it. He was attached to the Urbat by a hemp cable which kept him within 100 meters of the ship. The drag of the ship caused his craft to surge ahead, creating a slight breeze which whisked past him. Sometimes the wind at sea level, or shipwind, was a slightly different velocity than up in his gondola, and this wind-speed ratio could not be too great and had to be carefully monitored. But when the shipwind direction was different from his skywind, there could be some very interesting and dizzying results.
He had christened his observation craft the Zini or Air Spirit. It had taken a long time, but Peleg finally had enough control over his fear of heights so that he could honestly enjoy the amazing view before him.
In all his years instructing others in cartography, he had focused exclusively on the mathematical and theoretical aspects of his craft. He had avoided, at all costs, the practical hands-on practices of sailing vessels and their navigators—and it had cost him dearly as he assumed his duties aboard the Urbat. Fortunately, he no longer had to concern himself with avoiding his shipmates as his ‘lunch’ returned and found its way over the side. Also, the duration of his panic attacks could now be measured in seconds, not minutes.
The first three months of their expedition they had followed the coastline eastward with two sister ships: the Parsu and the Kibrat Erbettim. Much of the Southern Coastline of the Eastern Continent was already known, and they had traveled together, learning how to maintain supplies, make repairs while traveling, and do as much cross-training as possible. They had met with representatives of the Makkan and Meluha settlements and bartered for grain, supplies, and other extracurricular activities for which the Indus Valley people were known. These new colonies had formed at the mouth of the Ghaggar-Hakra River which began in the mountains thousands of leagues inland. At the source of this river, a giant granary and palace were currently under construction in Harappa as plans for large agricultural commerce were underway.