Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2)

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  "Yes, but..."

  "So the human experiment has gone awry. To the point where it's killing off an entire planet's worth of lifeforms, many of whom are running their own experiments in self-awareness. Put an end to that experiment, Madam. Release the miserable human souls from Earth, to find new adventures and walk new paths, whether in the physical bands or elsewhere. Let those who have been chosen continue the physical human experiment elsewhere in the great Mind-at-Large, as they have already begun. Let those who survive Earth's depopulation, if there be some, and if they may, create a new and less-destructive human society on a future Earth we cannot now know. Demonstrate your willingness to self-control, and help the human species as a whole earn its place in the Cosmic Community. Let the struggle end, Madam. Let the Earth rest for a bit."

  Linda shook her head. There were tears in her eyes. "But there are so many, many good, wonderful, beautiful people, William. They... how can we..." She stopped and wiped at her face. Her eyes were fierce. "What about all the people who aren't even members of what you call the 'dominant global culture'? Do they have to die because the rest of us went crazy?"

  "We and the aliens have been in contact with most of the remnant tribal peoples for some time. They have been 'dying because you went crazy' for centuries, Madam, and most understand and accept the need for the actions I am proposing. A few are sending representatives with us as we move out to the stars. One people, the Yazidis, chose to be relocated entirely, rather than be completely exterminated by Islamic militants. They're actually all now at Herschel Colony, awaiting their next journey. Most of these groups are choosing to meet their fate on the Earth. Your Inuit friends, for instance. They know death for what it is, and wish to continue their own versions of the human experiment on the land that they love."

  "But in the meantime the bad guys get away scot-free? I mean, I know you Element guys are all spiritual adepts and all that, but there's lots of other Family members going too, right? The rich, powerful people? The ones who've done some of the worst, most crazy stuff of all? All us regular folk will be dying down here with your kinder, gentler Ebola virus and you guys will be sipping champagne in your mother ships as the Earth recedes in your rear-view mirrors."

  "Would you believe me, Madam, were I to tell you that even that has been taken into account?"

  "Is that what you're telling me?" asked Linda.

  "Yes," said William.

  "And I should trust you why?"

  William pointed toward the sky. "All of the above, Madam," he said. "Do you think the Cosmic Community wishes to welcome such people to the consensus meta-meta-reality any more than you wish to see justice go unserved?"

  "So how would this action not be a complete breaking of the Prime Directive, William? Why are you not just letting us continue to choose our way through this? I mean, isn't this interference in our internal affairs?"

  "The question has been hotly debated amongst alien groups for millennia, Madam. Humans were born out of interference, and there have been plenty of mistakes made in the time since. I would argue that in these last hours, the rules must change to reflect the situation. The evolution of consciousness is still the highest goal. And I would add that I am not interfering here. I am asking you to."

  "So if there's no death, William, then what does it matter if we take every other living creature down with us?"

  William smiled patiently. "This too has been hotly debated. From the perspective of the Community, all consciousness is cherished, and planets as full of life as the Earth still is, even now, are thought to be precious indeed, and more rare than many would suppose. In general terms, the Community values life over non-life, and 'higher' levels of consciousness over 'lower' levels."

  "Some animals are more equal than others, William?"

  "Here's the thing, Madam. Something marvelous happens when a mote of consciousness becomes 'self-reflexive': it gains the ability to hold itself together even through the process of shifting from one band of reality to another. Or, as it is known on Earth: dying. So the vast majority of human consciousnesses, upon dying in the physical, will survive intact, and continue their journeys in one of the ways I've already mentioned. But the matter is much less certain for most of the non- or only partially-self-reflexive lifeforms on Earth. Much more of that consciousness will be lost. And the Community calculates that such a loss would be needless, given how easily a depopulation can be achieved, and how surely humanity is destined to be depopulated in any event."

  Linda shook her head. "You've got an answer for everything, don't you William?"

  The Fisherman sighed heavily and looked down at his hands. "I have my answer for everything, Madam." He looked up at Linda. "But we've reached the point where my answers are no longer important. What matters now is your answer. And you already know the question."

  "But I don't have an answer, William," said Linda. "Despite your impassioned attempt to convince me, I don't feel any closer to an answer than when we began."

  William smiled sadly. "I believe you are, Madam. All you need now is a little incentive."

  Linda frowned. "I don't have enough incentive?" she asked. "Are you kidding me?"

  "I'm afraid not, Madam," said William with a sigh. "So allow me to lay out the situation for you more clearly." He turned his head and looked off in the distance, in the direction of the 'lobster tank' and Linda's rescued body. Then he turned back to her. "You see, Madam, I regret that, in order to do the work here for which I was chosen, I've had to tell a number of untruths. The first is this: that method for reducing the human population quickly and painlessly? It was dispersed around the planet over the past two decades, and was triggered into activity eleven days ago. It has been breaking out across the globe ever since, and is now causing an exponentially-increasing number of human deaths."

  "What?!" said Linda, pushing forward to the edge of her armchair.

  "They call it the Quietus, Madam, though it is called by other names by the people of Earth. Some call it the alien flu, as we saw in that virtual video we watched early on. Others call it Greensleeves."

  "You bastards!" said Linda.

  "Second," continued William, wincing, "there exists a very effective cure for the Quietus. I have placed a small vial of this cure in a cabinet near your real body back on Squirrel Island. There is enough there for your scientists to quickly and easily replicate and produce."

  "What are you talking about, William? What do you mean by my 'real body back on Squirrel Island'? You told me that that body was a copy, a fake." Her eyes were filled with fire.

  "Another lie, Madam," he said. He gestured in the direction of the lobster tank. "That body in the glass container over there? Pure theatrics. It's not real, as you might have guessed when you inspected it more closely. The body you found lying on a gurney in the facility underneath your vacation retreat on Squirrel Island is your real body. The problem now is that that body is quite dead, and has been for about a day now. I was there and watched them kill you." He glanced cautiously at Linda, who had recoiled in her chair, her face frozen, her eyes wide and hot.

  "I can't... believe you'd..." said Linda, seemingly unaware that she was speaking at all.

  "And here's perhaps the hardest part, Madam. While your children's bodies are all still alive and well, their conscious selves, which have been roaming about the Astral since you and I began our conversation, are now quite lost in a rather devious Astral-level trap known as a 'Murk.'"

  "You lying bastard!" screamed Linda, her voice harsh and sharp. She rose to her feet and took a step forward the Fisherman, as if she meant to attack him.

  "Indeed," agreed William. He held her gaze, as if willing now to take the full brunt of her rage. There was a look of wet sadness in his eyes that verged on shame. After a moment he cleared his throat and spoke again in a gentle voice. "And yet I have acted as I must. Moving a mole here. Cutting a power cable there. Making a couple of mysterious phone calls. Letting out some line, then reeling it in. Speakin
g to the Directorate as was necessary. Somebody had to oversee this project. For better or worse, I was the Element’s chosen.” He looked around him, out and across Rumi’s Field, a wistfulness in his eyes, as if he were seeing it for the last time. Then he looked up at the President. “I have just one last thing to say, Madam." He leaned forward in his chair, making sure he had Linda's attention, looking her eye to eye, almost as if he was pleading. "Urbem Orsus," he said.

  And then he was gone.

  14.23

  Carl looked up to the ceiling. Something had just happened. A flash of light, maybe. A rumble. An earthquake. He couldn't tell. Everything seemed as it had before, as it always had. He looked at Ted. "You feel that?" he asked.

  Ted looked up from the game board and glanced around the room. He shrugged. "Something," he said. "Maybe the air conditioning going on?" He flashed a slight smile.

  Carl shook his head. "No. Something else. Bigger than that. It hit me in the gut."

  Ted looked around the room again, then at Carl. "A great disturbance in the force, maybe?" he said.

  Carl shook his head. "I don't know, Ted." He looked at the ceiling again, then at Ted. "I think it was despair."

  Chapter Fifteen

  15.1

  Gabrielle woke in the hairdresser's waiting room to find gray light seeping in through the blinds. The wind outside battered the trailer, howling and coughing and whistling, throwing raindrops at the windows and dropping them on the roof like handfuls of pebbles. Gabrielle pushed herself into a sitting position on the sofa and rubbed the remnants of sleep from her eyes. No dreams. No wild journeys with Zacharael. No zombies at the door. And no one had lit fire to her shelter. Apart from the growing storm, it had been a restful and uneventful night. Which was good. She still had a long walk ahead of her.

  In the morning light, Gabrielle could see the trailer's interior for the first time. At both ends of the sofa on which she'd slept were small tables holding stacks of old magazines. At one end of the trailer were two old-style barber chairs and some cabinets, counters, and sinks. Past the sofa on the other side was a partition with an open door, through which she could see a tiny kitchen and more living space. Whomever had had their shop here had also lived here. Gabrielle stood and explored the living spaces, hoping to find something to drink. Her search was quickly rewarded when she opened a little cabinet over a toaster oven and found three large, sealed bottles of sparkling water. She smiled. It was the good stuff. Her favorite, in fact. Whether it was Zacharael who'd left these, or the woman who'd lived here, the water felt like a gift meant just for her. She opened a bottle, drank deeply, and sighed with pleasure.

  Stuffing the bottles in her backpack, Gabrielle headed for the door. She wished she'd had a raincoat, as she did not cherish the prospect of getting soaked, but she'd found nothing of the sort in the closet. She'd have to scout one up soon, in one of the many abandoned houses she knew she'd encounter.

  She pushed the door open against the wind and her eyes widened. Right in front of her, right at the bottom of the metal steps, was a huge black ball, taller than she was and hovering a few inches above the grass. It was black in the way that crows were black: slightly shiny, with a hint of blue. And it didn't hover really, so much as give off the impression that it was the motionless object here, bolted to the girders of time and space, and that it was the Earth that trembled underneath it. The wind couldn't touch it. Neither could the rain. It was right there, and yet it was somewhere else entirely.

  Gabrielle stepped out onto the landing and headed down the steps, holding her jacket against the wind and squinting through the rain. She knew this had come from Zacharael. She'd seen a much smaller version of this black ball somewhere before and knew that, should she take the time to access them, she would find flashes of Zacharael's memories of this device in her mind. This was a vehicle of some sort. He'd brought it for her to use.

  Reaching the grass, Gabrielle stepped up to the strange ship. She wanted to get out of the storm, but had no idea how the door worked. She reached out to put a hand on the sphere's surface and found herself transported immediately inside. The wind and rain no longer touched her.

  From the outside the ball had been black. From the inside it was clear, as if she were inside a giant soap bubble. The strange thing was, she was changed as well. She appeared to be an orb made of pure, white light. And stranger still, her vision now worked in all directions. She was a shining ball of consciousness inside of a huge black ship, seeing spherically and doing so as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was cool as shit.

  Gabrielle closed her eyes, or shut off her visual senses, so as not to be distracted. Zacharael's memories were often fragmentary and disorienting and difficult to understand, but she knew that if she gave it some time, she'd get some useful information. She let the storm rage around her. She let the mysteries be mysterious. She let her excitement beat in her heart, and she let her body and mind be whatever they now seemed to want to be. She let it all go so she could go inside and search through Zacharael's memories.

  There must be instructions somewhere for how to fly this darn thing.

  15.2

  Linda sat in her armchair and fumed. Her howl of rage and despair still rang in her ears, and across the planet called Mars. Her kids were lost in the Astral level? People were already dying from some virus? She herself was dead? And that bastard William just drops these bombs and disappears? Linda wanted to strangle him. But there was something final in his last words. She was pretty sure he wasn't coming back.

  The biggest lie was one he hadn't even acknowledged: that he would keep her here until she was convinced of what he said. But he was gone, done, finished, and she was most definitely not convinced of anything, beyond the fact that she wanted to find this Fisherman on her own terms and prosecute his ass to the full of extent of her laws. How could she be convinced, when he had so cavalierly destroyed any trust she might have had in him at the very end, with his admission of lies? Who could tell the lies from the truths in such a situation? Maybe his admission of lies was itself a lie! It was crazy-making.

  Oh, and he probably knew that. Did it on purpose. Loved it. Because he knew it would leave her tangled in uncertainty. Was he a sane person making a reasonable case? Or a madman weaving an elaborate delusion? And how could you know for sure? Triage and evolution and choice and circumstances, the beautiful people and the Little Prince and angels and demons, all woven together to convince her that she was some new creature that had been created to make the most important choice in human history. Yet she couldn't trust it. What was left to trust?

  That was the kicker. Perhaps she was convinced. Convinced of what, exactly, she wasn't sure. But maybe she already knew what she was going to do. Maybe William already knew. Maybe they already knew: the aliens, the Element. Maybe it had already been worked out long ago. Maybe it had already happened. In this crazy new world in which time and space and reality could all be twisted around, maybe anything. In which case, what the hell did they need her for? To take on the guilt?

  It wasn't fair. What they asked of her should not be asked of anyone. Ever. But there I go again, complaining about my circumstances, as William would say. The circumstances don't care whether I like them or not. Apparently, neither does William. Hadn't he said that he hoped she would love him when they were finished? Linda was not feeling the love.

  It occurred to her then that she'd become so accustomed to being trapped in William's shackles that she hadn't even tested the constraints. She pushed herself to her feet and walked around the armchairs. She seemed to be tuned still to the near physical. But the real test was yet to come.

  She closed her eyes and zeroed in on the lobster tank and blinked there in an instant. The tank, now an old, cracked, dirty fish tank, had been pushed over onto the Martian sand. The stand it had sat upon, cheap painted plywood, had broken apart at the poorly-stapled corners. And her body was nothing but an old department store mannequin, now splayed out on Ru
mi's Field like an assault victim, one leg twisted off and a cheap blonde wig lying nearby, partially covered with gravel and dust. Had it always been thus? Had he tricked her with some illusion or glamor? Or had he changed it all around since she'd last seen it, another bit of theatrics meant to teach her something? Was there anything physical here at all, or was it all in her mind? Could she know? Could she tell? Did it matter?

  No. What mattered was that her kids were in danger. What mattered was that Cole was caught up in this too, somehow. What mattered was that people were dying of an engineered virus. And what mattered was that, if William could be believed, she was now dead to them all, with no living body to which she might return. Linda looked up to the Martian sky and let out another harsh scream of pain and fury, then bent forward in sobs. She was surprised to find that her habitual body image, or whatever it was called, could produce tears, but this one did, and they streamed down her face, as if mocking her with their physicality.

  If William could be believed. That was the key. Linda Travis closed her eyes, keyed in on her naked body lying dead on a gurney beneath her retreat on Squirrel Island, and blinked away, to see whether William could be believed or not.

  15.3

  The knock on his door was soft but insistent and Cole startled at the sound of it. It was fully light out now, though it was the dark, ominous, bruise-colored light one got when the sun's rays were filtered through a heavy storm. How he'd managed to drift back to sleep Cole didn't know, what with the wind howling as it was, and the rain clawing at the glass. He threw back the covers, pulled on his shirt and jeans, and went to open the door.