by Nōnen Títi
The two little girls settled down, their ears and eyes wide open. Giti came in carrying a tray of drinks.
“You’ll never get them to listen to you if you keep giving in to their whims,” Mom told her and then addressed Jema in the same tone of voice: “I don’t see why you should complain. You always had it good. Nobody on Geveler suffers from hunger or diseases and we have freedom. A spacekabin will be much more like a prison camp.”
“There are enough people hungry here too, but you just don’t see them. Like most people, you close your eyes.”
With pursed lips and a frown Mom opened the doors to the closet and pulled out a stack of clothes. “You’re making that up. Everybody has enough to eat on Geveler,” she said shaking out the shirts to start refolding them.
“I wasn’t talking about food.”
“I think Jema meant the children in the institution,” Giti said.
“They’re not hungry either. Nobody told you to work there. You had free will and equal chances, just like everybody else, but you chose to be recalcitrant. You could have been a maker and had two children.” Mom put the pile of neatly folded children’s clothes into the closet and pulled out a next load. Why did Giti let her do this?
“Actually, I think this planet could do with a whole lot less makers and a few more ponderers,” Jema answered.
Mom’s hand slapped down on the poor clothes. “That’s exactly your problem! You think too much.”
“At least I’m capable of thinking.”
Mom ignored Giti’s desperate offer of another drink and went into a monologue about the trivial subjects which made “life hard enough already”, like keeping fit and healthy. What good it was for Mom to keep fit when she was only three years short of Life was beyond Jema.
“Maybe if Geveler would get its priorities right and focus on ethics instead of images—”
“If you focused on your daily responsibilities for a change, you wouldn’t need to flee into space,” Mom interrrupted.
“Yeah well, not everybody believes that. Kaspi says I’m right to go.”
That was the end of it. Mom knew she couldn’t compete with Kaspi.
Freberer
9/4/3/6184
Mektar sat down on the cold ground in the small underground cave he had just lowered himself into. It was darker down here than the night outside. He lit his small lamp.
The cave was only as deep as a man was tall, and no wider than twice that in all directions. The entrance was too small to be found by anyone who didn’t already know where it was. In a forest this dark no people would come anywhere near it. Mektar visited once every turn to make sure the site was undamaged.
Little was obviously special about the cave except for the symbols scratched into the walls and a large slab of stone at its centre. It was the slab, or rather, the detailed drawing it held, which made this place important.
This was the oldest sacred site on Freberer and only twelve people knew of its existence. They protected it from outsiders, for here lay evidence of a people of true intelligence. The drawing on the slab was both a record of their culture and of time. The stars and planets were so accurate in their location and relative distance to each other, there could be no doubt that the people who’d made it had known every single one of them. Yet the cave had been a secret held by Freberer since long before modern science had been able to calculate the exact distances. Only one star on the slab sat in a different place from where it was today; AR, the southern star, whose position changed over time. On the slab this star was nearly eight mas of turns away from its current position.
One of two things could happen if an outsider learned about the cave: It would be hailed as the greatest find ever, with flocks of scientists and tourists coming from Geveler to see it, or it would be ridiculed as a fake by Geveler astronomers and archaeologists who were unwilling to believe that the ancient people could have possibly had any culture, much less any knowledge of the stars or mathematics. Mektar believed that the latter was more likely since the people of today always felt they were the most intelligent, the highest evolved or the chosen.
However, it would bring just as many scholars who wanted to prove their superiority, along with those looking for evidence of aliens coming to DJar long ago. Either way the sacred site would be destroyed. So Mektar had made sure he was alone and didn’t disturb any of the vegetation surrounding the entrance. He wondered how long it would be before time itself would erase this last evidence of what might have been the greatest civilization DJar had ever known.
Now five kor old, Mektar had first come here with his teacher when he was a student of natural healing. He had listened and learned since then. He had promised to pass on his knowledge only to the one pupil worthy of the secret.
“You will be told who that is when the time comes.”
Mektar had searched for a long time to find a young person to teach his healing methods to, but the young generation of Freberer had its eyes on the towns, and even on Geveler City. The promise of an easy life of luxuries and technology was taking the children of Freberer away. Of all he had met, Mektar had not yet found a follower. Still, there was time. He could easily live another forty years.
Thus he sat in the cave like he did every year and let his mind travel of its own accord. The symbols on the walls were familiar to him, though he didn’t know their meaning; some of the secrets had been lost too long for his teacher or even his teacher’s teacher to have known them. Most of what the wise men of Freberer did know came from the ancient chants of creation and the stories of their ancestors.
Mektar’s teacher had left him with a message: “As we listen to the plants until they share with us their healing powers, so we can listen to the cave until the divine council decides to speak.”
And so he sat and listened to wait for the wisdom of the council, trying not to hear his own thoughts since his thinking aimed to explain and wisdom couldn’t be explained: it just was. As the night progressed his thoughts left him and the lamplight faded when it ran out of oil. In the silent darkness, focusing deep inside himself, Mektar became aware of the apparition of the council of AR.
AR was kollen. He stood central, his cloak spread around him, taller than the cave roof. On his right the children Agjar and Bijar sat together next to Bue, whose presence was indicated only by a vague illumination at the centre of the cave. Kun, humble, sat in front of AR. On the left were the twins: SJano, only a reflection, and SJibi, invisible but for the fire that lit her from within. Mektar didn’t need to see them to know their shapes and recognize their presence.
In silent words he asked permission from AR to speak his concerns. I have come to seek your justice, since it is you who created DJar and the ken, but it is the people who are destroying her.
And why is this? asked AR.
You once gave the voice of the ken to the people, but people no longer speak for all of the ken. They speak only for the people. Worse, each of the people speaks only for his own kind and none listen to the others.
And who are you, who now speaks to me for DJar and all the ken?
The people will not listen to me. I’m only a healer. Just as they ridicule your council so they ridicule my healing. Each believes to be true only what they can prove, that knowledge is only what they themselves have recorded in print, and each believes theirs to be the One Truth needed to put the Essence back together. How shall we mend the Essence if people fight over the truth? You are judicator. Could you not silence the people or remove them before time runs out? I fear for the fate of DJar if it is in their hands, Mektar said.
To believe that every pool reflects differently is to be blinded by the light of one’s own eyes, for what can be seen in a reflection is no more than the shine of one’s own vision, said AR. You speak on behalf of the ken but against the people, yet you are one of them. You ask me to silence the people I myself have given a voice. You ask me to judge the people, but you have not yet spoken on behalf of them.
Mektar found it hard to come up with a reason to justify people’s existence; after all, life had flourished on DJar long before people.
Does your silence mean you question the wisdom of my creating people? asked AR.
No. But maybe people’s shouldn’t be the only voice.
The voice of the ken is heard as music to the song of life, replied AR. If the people are singing out of tune it is they who cannot hear the song. I created the people, but I do not lead their voices. Remember that a note is but a fraction of the wave that carries sound and all of existence are but notes in a cosmic song. As the string vibrates, so the notes spread. People ride only one wave, which is neither finite nor linear. The music will not end. Life exists forever or not at all and time, like death, is an illusion. You speak of justice, knowledge and reason, but truth is none of these. None bear any value. Of value is only the meaning given to it. I once split the Essence and now but a fragment can be found in each element of creation. The messengers of the One Truth need to tend the embers of these fragments until the flame can be lit, for it is fire that carries the passion needed to recombine the Essence and, once whole, its power will be boundless. Yours is the voice to kindle the flame, not douse it, until she who knows both OT and SJari is ready to carry it away.
By now Mektar was convinced that he was not the right person to be the teacher of the One Truth, since he didn’t understand what AR was trying to tell him. There must be a wise man who did speak the language of the ancients and who had the respect of the people. He mentioned it to the council.
A flash of lightning followed by a thunderous clap that shook the tiny cave made Mektar jump to his feet and hit his head against the roof. For a moment he expected rain to come falling down, but it wasn’t the weather that had startled him.
YOU MAKE US A REQUEST YET YOU INSULT OUR ADVICE, thundered AR.
Mektar trembled even as the god lowered his voice. But maybe you are right. When I gave a voice to the people they were still capable of honour; capable of seeing their place within the ken. Your words reflect none of that. Maybe my mistake was in creating people, but I cannot undo what I have done. Nor can I judge the people, because along with their voice came the responsibility to think for themselves. The council can only advise. Your voice need not speak nor teach. You need only be an example so she who carries the flame will be able to find you. And remember it was not you who came to us, but we who chose you to be a messenger of the One Truth.
Mektar sat back down, feeling berated and still wondering how he had provoked this angry response. How shall I know which is the one worthy of the words of the council? he asked.
The one who will carry the message is already on the way. She must walk a long distance to get to you. A young child will ask for your attention. The child needs you because those who ridicule you cannot heal her. Take care of the child and she will bring you the one you seek. Speak of us to only her and show her where we are, then let her go and return to your healing. As you heal the people so you will heal DJar. The council will guide you as it will guide the one who will find you. The flame of truth will find its way.
With that the council disappeared and vague morning light entered the cave. Mektar thanked them and climbed back out, making sure all traces of having been there were erased. He trusted the ones he could not explain. They had never been wrong.
Greguia
3/5/3/6184
The wave from the city arrived at Kaspi’s home on the last day of Jema’s holiday. She had spent most of it in the partikel library learning all she could about the Kun system. The message was brief but confirmed her place on the kabin. It asked her to be available on the space base during all of Station Six to help with the administration. She would be able to take along a small amount of personal belongings — no personal communication devices — and was reminded once again that this was a one-way journey. The registration of her child was to be made directly to Daili before the end of Station Four.
“I’m not telling Kityag. Not before there’s no more chance for him to stop me. I’ll work through Station Five and then—”
Then it would be Station Six and Kaspi would leave on Firstday of its third moon. Jema stared at the collection of photographs on the sideboard: Kaspi’s daughters and grandchildren were looking back at her. She felt like covering their faces. “Maybe we can find a way to get you on the kabin too. There must be a way. I can call this lady who interviewed me. She was really nice.”
Bright light poured into the room. Kaspi’s was a solid shape in a play of shadows, standing in front of the window. She shook her head in a slow and deliberate manner but didn’t turn around.
Maybe Jema could try anyway. Kaspi would go if she had a chance. Maybe she could just hide for two moons… No, too many people mysteriously disappeared before their date. All were found. “Oh, this is hopeless!”
“Yes, it is. There are no what ifs left, Jema. You know that as well as I do. Don’t go looking for the impossible when it’s already so hard to deal with the difficult.”
Out of nowhere a flood of tears fell from Kaspi’s eyes. It was so sudden that Jema had no idea what to do but put both her arms around the big woman. Kaspi was warm and smelled of flowers, the same perfume she had used for as long as Jema could remember.
Kaspi smiled through her tears. “Don’t mind me. I’m going to have some more wine.”
“You drink an awful lot of that lately.” …Another stupid thing to say.
“Yes,” Kaspi answered immediately. “It isn’t like it makes a difference anymore, is it? So I changed some of my points in to get it. It helps pass the long nights.”
Later, on her way home, Jema kicked the street. “Stupid rotten planet!”
Kityag was still awake when she came in. “I thought you said you’d be home early?”
“I was over at Kaspi’s.”
“You’re always there. I get lonely too, you know. It’s like you care for her more than you do for me.”
She raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I enjoy your company.”
She wasn’t much company for him to enjoy. “Well, Kaspi won’t be here much longer, so stop worrying about it.”
“But I worry about you. You take it all too much to heart. Some things can’t be helped. Kaspi has reached the end. She’s had her share. Such is life.”
“Life stinks.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He softened his voice and moved closer in an effort to comfort her. It would be much more comforting if he agreed, but he insisted on looking at the bright side of things. “We still have half of our lives to live. We could go places; take some time off together, go to the beach,” he said. “Maybe in Station Six.”
The beach in Station Six? What did he have in mind? Freeze? “Maybe,” she said.
“Okay then, try and get the third moon off. Tomorrow we can go and see a film. There’s one called Love You Forever. It’s something you’ll like.”
“Okay, tomorrow.” She didn’t want to go and see a film, especially one with that title.
“Go on, get us a drink then.”
Who did he think she was, his servant?
He moved closer and his hand was on her chest before she could get away. “You know you’re beautiful,” he started.
She stood up so abruptly that the button scratched his hand and picked up the wine anyway. She spilled the first squirt onto the floor, too angry to handle the pouch carefully. She rubbed it away with her foot. If only for once in his life he would appreciate her mind… but the only thing that counted was the outside. She was a piece of meat to him, no more, there to satisfy an appetite much like that of his stomach. How many more years would this have gone on if Kun DJar hadn’t come up?
That thought made her feel a bit better. She was getting out. He just didn’t know it yet. He’d be okay. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t be able to find another woman. It was more likely he’d have them lining up. He was handsome, charming even, a smooth talker, tall a
nd athletic. All the girls always fell for his matching light brown eyes and hair. And he was smart. Why he hadn’t left her a long time ago was something she’d never understood. She drank as much wine as she could so she would fall asleep instantly in case he had other ideas.
The next morning, when climbing the steps to Closed House, she did feel a little sad about leaving; this had also been her home for the last eight years. She hung up her coat and walked through to the office. The girls’ bedroom door was closed. Nobody seemed to be awake yet.
As soon as she put down her bag in the office she felt like something was wrong. It was the forced conversation about trivial things between the others. “What’s up?”
They exchanged quick glances. “Look, Jema. They told us not to get attached.”
The sip of hot coffee burned her throat. She knew before they said it. She clenched her teeth to keep a tight rein on her expression.
“It was just that a moon was too long. She couldn’t cope. It isn’t your fault. She never had a chance anyway. She’s better off now.”
The only thing that moved for a while was the flashing timedisk. It had all their attention. Jema didn’t ask but was given the details anyway: Four days ago Nori had gotten hold of a lighter. Nobody had seen her do it. The dayshift had been alerted by the other children. She had been wearing three of her dresses and they had melted rather than burned. She’d been taken to the hospital but it had been no use. Her mother had picked up the registration partikel yesterday. She’d not wanted a ceremony so the hospital had taken care of the rest.
Gad warned Jema to expect trouble from the senior and went home more or less immediately after, leaving Max uncomfortably alone with her. He insisted she stay and have another drink while he prepared breakfast. Jema didn’t want another drink but she couldn’t get up. Her eyes caught the plan on the wall. The little card with Nori’s name on bed number four had been replaced by a new card. She didn’t want to sit here. She had to get busy.