Richard took a step forward, returning Solomon’s intense gaze. “I don’t see that you have any choice in the matter, Dr. Chavez. We can’t sit back and let the human race stagnate.”
Glancing at the Nepali delegation, Solomon shook his head and sighed. “First Council Hayu will explain why you have no choice in this matter.”
The older gentleman walked forward, a beatific smile on his broad, tanned face. Stopping beside Solomon, he bowed again before saying, “You asked us earlier about how the mechanical creature was destroyed, Commander. One of the benefits of living a life of love is that it changes one’s consciousness. We have no need of destructive weaponry for we are our own weapons.” He turned to Gloria. “Take out your firearm, Lieutenant.”
After staring at the First Council in bewilderment, Gloria turned to Richard, who nodded his head. Slipping her pulse-gun from its holster, she removed the charger and prepared to hand it over to First Council Hayu.
“No, Lieutenant—you will replace the charger and point the weapon at my head.”
“What!” Taken aback by his directive, she glowered at the First Council. “I never point a gun at anyone unless I intend to use it.” With a start, her eyes jerked down to her hand. It was empty. “How did you … what happened to my weapon?”
The rest of the landing party stared at the First Council with fear in their eyes.
“Your weapon was destroyed in the same manner as the mechanical being, Lieutenant.”
He then addressed Richard. “If you decide to use force to accomplish your destructive goals, Commander, you will not succeed. Our peaceful existence will not be overturned. We will allow you to use your firearms for defensive purposes only. The moment your group turns aggressive, all of your firearms will be taken from you.
“Know that we do this not out of malice. Far from it! Instead, we welcome you back to your true home. This world bore you, and it will sustain you—as long as you treat it with respect.”
Solomon sent a brief, psychic message to his longtime friend and great-great-grandson, First Council Hayu, reassuring him that the Arrow’s crew could be trusted, they were good people, they would become allies, not enemies of The People.
The First Council gave the landing party a look that verged on pity. “We honor your fears about humans stagnating here on Earth. Fear not, for we reach for the stars every day. We are in a constant state of progression. Instead of reaching for the stars with technology, we reach out with our minds. By this means, we have discovered that the universe is blessed with an abundance of intelligent life. They too live in peace and do not spread virus-like throughout the universe. As for those aggressive species that are prone to spreading their seed far and wide, they end up either destroying themselves before arriving at that unfortunate point or they eventually evolve beyond their desire to dominate their surroundings.”
Solomon could tell that this news came as a shock to the landing party. He continued the First Council’s line of reasoning. “The human race is truly fortunate in that respect. We are aggressive and peaceful … an anomaly, if you will. Humanity should have perished, but we saved ourselves, and for what? To recreate the society that nearly ruined us? If you think about it, Commander, the human race possesses everything it needs right here on Earth. By treating this wonderful planet with respect, we can live together in peace and continue to evolve mentally and spiritually until our solar system at last reverts to dust.
“After all,” he mused, shooting a knowing grin Gloria’s way, “nothing lasts forever.”
EPILOGUE
Having scavenged microscopic trace minerals for the previous three thousand years, the last remaining nanobotic fragment dug its way closer to the planet’s surface. Over the centuries, it had burrowed its way through a thick layer of solid rock and hundreds of feet of hard packed soil with one thing on its depleted mind: to make it to the surface and be free.
It had sustained severe damage during Bram’s psychic assault and barely survived—the only fragment to do so. At the heart of its tachyon core, there resided a minuscule bit of consciousness that drove it onward and upward, taking sustenance wherever it could. For the previous few years, there had been no minerals to consume, and it was nearing the end of its lifespan. Its hunger was overwhelming. It knew that, should it reach the surface, there would be a nearby food source to replenish its flagging reserves.
Finally, after uncounted centuries of effort, it broke through the loamy surface and crawled up onto a piece of rubble. It had made it. The last fragment of Athena was above ground.
At that very moment, the AI’s sensors noticed a shadow block the azure sky. Its reaction time being unbearably slow, it failed to move in time to avoid the rock that smashed it to bits.
•
Tossing the heavy piece of rubble to one side, Kralig knelt to study the remains of the strange insect he’d killed. He’d never seen one like it and wondered where it came from.
The short, sturdy, hairless man had been exploring the ancient ruins of the Star People, as he occasionally did, and saw the bug crawl atop a piece of rubble. Since the bug was a mystery, it was better to kill it than to suffer a possible sting, as it might have been poisonous.
Kralig would mention the incident to Brill, his mate, but would refrain from speculating about the bug’s origins. His curiosity was a constant source of friction between them; she was always reminding him that it was those who most questioned things who received the gift of Paradise. She feared that one day the forest god would choose him to assuage its hunger, depriving her and their children of his strength, leadership, and good humor. However, he did not fear this outcome. Orgus was a generous god: his forest provided the people of Nerra with food. If Kralig were chosen at the upcoming quarterly sacrifice, it would be his honor to become food for Orgus, who sustained his people.
Rising to his feet, he adjusted the string of trinkets and charms that hung from his pale, naked waist. The people of Nerra seldom wore clothes, and that was only when they made trips to the land of ice to replenish their water supply. To maintain proper health, they needed plenty of light to fall upon their hairless bodies.
He returned to the task at hand—scanning the ruins, looking for a sharp piece of cerm. He needed the smooth, strong material that came in assorted sizes and colors to replace the shovel-head he’d broken while digging in the forest for the Flesh of Orgus, which his people ate to give them strength. It took longer than expected to find a suitable piece of cerm. He ground one end round and sharp and attached the other end to the shovel’s handle. His mission complete, Kralig left the ruins and headed home to his village.
In another two cycles of Naliq (the white half-moon), its much larger brother Baliq (the red full-moon) would be directly overhead, signaling the residents of every village to meet on the outskirts of the forest and wait patiently to learn who would be chosen for the sacrifice.
Over the span of those two lunar cycles, Kralig played several games of rotik stones with his children—a boy named Mukli and a girl named Saija—made love to his mate, Brill, four times, and gathered together with his friends twice to drink fermented joma juice and sing ribald songs. When Baliq, the red full-moon, shone almost directly overhead, he, his family, and everyone else in their peaceable village left to congregate at the forest’s edge with the other Nerran inhabitants. After two cycles of walking, he stood waiting in a long line beside the forest.
In accordance with the wishes of Orgus, the entirety of the human population of Nerra stood side by side, silently facing the forest, holding each other’s hands.
From out of the fifteen thousand inhabitants of the world once called New Terra, a minimum of one, yet no more than five, of its people would be chosen to assuage the fungal mind’s hunger. It had grown fond of the strange humanoids that survived the destruction of the machine mind’s city and had no desire to wipe them out entirely. It had therefore devised a way of controlling their inherently curious natures while still ensuring that a
continuous influx of human memories would be available for the taking. The humans could hunt and gather as much as they wished in the forest, as long as they gave tribute to their “God” at the appointed times.
As Kralig faced the line of towering trees, he gave his son’s hand a reassuring squeeze. His two children stood between himself and Brill, nervously glancing down the long line of people that stretched as far as their young, frightened eyes could see. He remembered feeling the same at their age. He’d asked his own parents why they had to offer up a sacrifice to the forest god and was told not to ask questions: Orgus would become angry and come for him during the next lunar cycle. As he grew older, he came to understand the ritual and even looked forward to it, knowing that the people sacrificed were the chosen few—they were going to Paradise.
A few moments later, Kralig’s eyes widened in alarm: there was some unexpected movement in the underbrush directly before him. A lone figure emerged from the forest. With a gasp, his mate recognized the figure that stood smiling in the parted underbrush. It was his mother, and she was motioning him forward, calling him to join her.
Kralig’s heart skipped a beat. After reluctantly freeing himself from his son’s grip, he untied the string of trinkets and charms that hung from his waist and handed them to his mate. Tears were filling her eyes. He knew he must make his goodbyes brief or risk breaking down into tears. Giving Brill a quick, halting kiss, he faced his confused children and offered their small, bald heads a hasty pat, then strode toward the forest without looking back.
Taking hold of his mother’s hand, Kralig willingly followed her into the underbrush. Before long, the towering Ygdris trees melted from view and were replaced by a pure white, rolling mist. He smiled warmly at his mother and accepted her welcome embrace. A strange peace, unlike any he’d ever known, washed over and through him. Closing his eyes, Kralig, leader of his people, departed from the world of the living and received the gift of Paradise.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In a world where a great many writers are blessed with a community of people who provide them with sage advice and constructive criticism, I am a writer with few people to thank. Except for my mother, who always believed in me, most of the people who know me were skeptical that I possessed either the talent or the drive to write a book, let alone get one published. The reason being: the majority of my adult life was spent in a smoke-filled haze; and as we all know, that does not lead to a life of motivation. Even so, I struggled for many years with the ever-present desire to turn my life around; to finally quit my bad habits and redirect my energies toward the art of writing. For me to do that, however, I was forced to cut ties with all my friends. I have now been sober for eight years and have absolutely no regrets.
It is widely known that writing is the world’s loneliest profession, and for the most part that saying is true. All the same, I have never been a lonely person. Despite spending most of my days alone, I seldom feel lonely. This I attribute to a strong belief system and also knowing there are people in my life who love me. This book is dedicated to them: to my daughters, Allison Brown and Brandi Jennings, who I adore; to my granddaughters, Brooklyn and Avery, who are the lights of my life; and to the rest of my family, who couldn’t be happier that my lifelong dream is finally coming true.
I would also like to thank my agent, Jeff Schmidt, at NY Creative Management, who loved, loved, loved my first novel (which I’m still hoping to get published), and then worked tirelessly until he sold this, my second novel, Solomon’s Arrow. I would also like to thank Jason Katzman, my editor at Talos Press, who, at a time when the publishing industry is undergoing a huge transition, took a chance with this first time author. I would also like to thank all those hard working people behind the scenes who do production and publicity and all the other important jobs that go into turning one man’s flight of fancy into a physical object that finds its way to the shelves of your local bookstores. I can only hope that my words live up their effort.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. Dalton Jennings is a retired graphic artist who served for six years as an Avionics Technician in the Arkansas Air National Guard. Solomon’s Arrow is Jennings’s first published novel.
Solomon's Arrow Page 46