"I don't think the Oversoul is used to having anybody notice. I think that the very fact that you're able to think about the concept of unthinkable concepts means that the Oversoul is losing control."
"Issya, I've never felt so helpless and stupid in my life."
"And it isn't just wars and armies," said Issib. "Remember the stories of Klati?"
"The slaughter man?"
"Climbing in through women's windows in the night and gutting them like cattle in the butcher's shop."
"Why couldn't the Oversoul have made him get stupid when he thought of doing that?"
"Because the Oversoul's job isn't to make us perfect," said Issib. "But imagine if Klati had been able to get on a-been able to travel very quickly and get to another city in six hours."
"They would have known he was a stranger and watched him so closely that he couldn't have done a thing."
"But you don't understand-thousands, millions of people every day are doing the same thing-"
"Butchering women?"
"Flying from one place to another."
"This is too crazy to think about!" shouted Nafai. He bounded to his feet and moved toward the house.
"Come back," cried Issib. "You don't really think that, you're being made to think it!"
Nafai leaned against one of the pillars of the front porch, Issib was right. He had been fine, and then suddenly Issib said whatever it was that he said and suddenly Nafai had to leave, had to get away and now here he was, panting, leaning up against the pillar, his heart pounding so hard that somebody else could probably hear it from a meter away. Could this really be the Oversoul, making him so stupid and fearful? If it was, then the Oversoul was his enemy. And Nafai refused to surrender. He could think about things whether the Oversoul liked it or not. He could think about the thing that Issib had said, and he could do it without running away.
In his mind Nafai retraced the last few moments of his conversation with Issib. About Klati. Going from city to city in a few hours. Other cities would notice him, of course-but then Issib said what if thousands of people... were ... flying.
The picture that came into Nafai's mind was ludicrous. To imagine people in the air, like birds, soaring, swooping. He should laugh-but instead, thinking of it made his throat feel tight. His head felt tight, constrained. A sharp pain grew out of his neck and up into the back of his head. But he could think of it. People flying. And from there he could finish Issib's thought. People flying from city to city, thousands of them, so that the authorities in each city had no way of keeping track of one person.
"Klati could have killed once in each city and no one would ever have found him," said Nafai.
Issib was beside him again, his arm resting oh-so-lightly across Nafai's shoulder as he leaned against the pillar. "Yes," said Issib.
"But what would it mean to be a citizen of a place?" asked Nafai. "If a thousand people ... flew here... to Basilica... today."
"It's all right," said Issib. "You don't have to say it."
"Yes I do," said Nafai. "I can think anything. It can't stop me."
"I was just trying to explain-that the Oversoul doesn't stop the evil in the world-it just stops it from getting out of hand. It keeps the damage local. But the good things-think about it, Nafai-we give our art and music and stories to the Oversoul, and it offers them to every other nation. The good things do spread. So it does make the world a better place."
"No," said Nafai. "In some ways better, yes, but how can it help but be a good thing to live in a world where people... where we could... fly?
The word almost choked him, but he said it, and even though he could hardly bear to stay in the same place, the air felt so close and unbreathable, nevertheless he stayed.
"You're good," said Issib. "I'm impressed."
But Nafai didn't feel impressive. He felt sick and angry and betrayed. "How does the Oversoul have the right? he said. "To take this all away from us."
"What, armies appearing at our gates without warning? I'm glad enough not to have that."
Nafai shook his head. "It's deciding what I can think?
"Nyef, I know the feeling, I went through all this months ago, and I kww^ it makes you so angry and frightened. But I also know that you can overcome it. And yesterday, when Mother talked about her vision. Of a planet burning. There's a word for-well, you couldn't hear it now, I know that-but the Oversoul has been keeping us from that. For thirty or forty million years- don't you realize that this is a long time? More history than we can imagine. It's all stored away somewhere, but the most we can hold onto, the most that we can get into our minds is the most skeletal sort of plan of what's happened in the world for the last ten million years or so-and it takes years and years of study to comprehend even that much. There are kingdoms and languages we've never heard of even in the last million years, and yet nothing is really lost. When I went searching in the library, I was able to find references to works in other libraries and trace my way back until I read a crude translation from a book written thirty-two million years ago and do you know what it said? Even then the writer was saying that history was now too long, too full for the human mind to comprehend it. That if all of human history were compressed into a single thousand-page volume, the whole story of humankind on Earth would be only a single page. And that was thirty-two million years ago."
"So we've been here a long time."
"If I take that writer's arithmetic literally, that would mean that human history on Earth lasted only eight thousand years before the planet... burned."
Nafai understood. The Oversold had kept human beings from expanding the scale of their destructiveness, and so humanity had lasted five thousand times longer on the planet Harmony than it did on Earth.
"So why didn't the Oversoul keep Earth from being destroyed?"
"I don't know," said Issib. "I have a guess."
"And what's that?"
"I don't know if you'll be allowed to think about it."
"Give me a try."
"The Oversoul wasn't made until people got to Harmony. It has the same meaning in every language, you know-the name of the planet. Sklad. Endrakt. So-glassye. Maybe when they got here, with Earth in ashes behind them, they decided never to let it happen again. Maybe that's when the Oversoul was put in place-to stop us from ever having such terrible power."
"Then the Oversold would be-an artifact."
"Yes," said Issib. "This isn't hard for you to think about?"
"No," said Nafai. "Easy. It's not that uncommon a thought. People have talked about the Oversoul as a machine before."
"It was hard for me? said Issib. "But maybe because I came to the idea another way. Through a couple of unthinkable paths. Genetic alteration of the human brain so it could receive and transmit thoughts from communications satellites orbiting the planet."
Nafai heard the words, but they meant nothing to him.
"You didn't understand that, did you," said Issib.
"No," said Nafai.
"I didn't think you would."
"Issya, what is the Oversoul doing to us now?"
That's what I've been working on. Trying to look through the forbidden words, find the pattern, find out what it means to be giving Father this vision of a world on fire. And Mother. And the dream of blood and ashes that Luet was given."
"It means that we're puppets."
"No, Nafai. Don't talk yourself into hating the Over-soul about this. That does no good at all-I know that now. We have to understand it. What it's doing. Because the world really is in danger, if the Oversoul's control is breaking down. And it is. It's given up on war wagons- what will it give up on next? What empire will be the next to get out of hand? Which one will discover-that word you asked about-puscani prah. It's a powder that when you put flame to it, it blows up. Pops like a balloon, only with thousands of times more force. Enough to make a wall fall down. Enough to kill people."
"Please stop," whispered Nafai. It was more than he could bear, fighting off t
he panic he felt as he heard these words.
"The Oversoul is not our enemy. In feet, I think-I think it called on Father because it needs help."
"Why haven't you said any of this before?"
"I have-to Father. To Mother. To some teachers. Other students. Other scholars. I even wrote it up in an article, but if nobody ever remembers receiving it, they can never find it. Even when I sent it to the same person four times. I gave up."
"But you told me?
"You came into the library," said Issib. "I thought- why not?"
" Zrakoplov," said Nafai.
"I can't believe you remembered the word," said Issib.
"A machine. The people don't just ... fly. They use a machine."
"Don't push it," said Issib. "You'll just make yourself sick. You have a headache already, right?"
"But I'm right, yes?"
"My best guess is that it was hollow, like a house, and people got inside it to fly. Like a ship, only through the air. With wings. But we had them here, I think. You know the district of Black Fields?"
"Of course, just west of the market."
"The old name of it was Skyport. The name lasted until twenty million years ago, more or less. Skyport. When they changed it, nobody remembered what it even meant."
"I can't think about this anymore," said Nafai.
"Do you want to remember it, though?" asked Issib.
"How can I forget it?"
"You will, you know. If I don't remind you. Every day. Do you want me to? It'll feel like this every time. It'll make you sick. Do you want to just forget this, or do you want me to keep reminding you?"
"Who reminded you ?"
"I left myself notes," said Issib. "In the library computers. Reminders. Why do you think it took me a year to get this far?"
"I want to remember," said Nafai.
"You'll get angry at me."
"Remind me not to."
"It'll make you sick."
"So I'll faint a lot." Nafai slid down the pillar and sat on the porch, looking out toward the street. "Why hasn't anybody noticed us out here? We haven't exactly been whispering."
Issib laughed. "Oh, they noticed. Mother came out once, and a couple of the teachers. They heard us talking for a couple of moments and then they just sort of forgot why they came out."
"This is great. If we want them to leave us alone, all we have to do is talk about the zmkoplovs?
"Well," said Issib, "that only works with people who are still closely tied with the Oversoul."
"Who isn't?"
"Whoever thought of the war wagons, for instance."
"You said the Oversoul had given up on them."
"Sure, recently^ said Issib. "But there were people in Basilica planning to build war wagons, people dealing with the Potoku about them for a long rime. More than a year. They had no trouble with the Oversoul. It's like they're deaf to it now. But most people aren't-which is why Gaballufix and his men were able to keep it secret for so long. Most people who heard anything about war wagons would simply have forgotten they even heard it. In fact," added Issib, "the Oversoul may have deliberately stopped forbidding that idea in the last little while precisely because there had to be open discussion of the war wagon thing in order to stop it."
"So the people who are deaf to the Oversoul-in order to stop them, the Oversoul has to stop controlling the rest of us, too."
"It's a double bind," said Issib. "In order to win, the Oversoul has to give up. I'd say that the Oversoul is in serious trouble."
It was making sense to Nafai, except for one thing. "But why did it start talking to Father ?"
"That's what we need to figure out. That, and what it's going to tell Father to do next."
"Oh, hey, let's let the Oversoul keep a few surprises up its sleeve." Nafai laughed, but he didn't really think it was funny.
Neither did Issib. "Even if we believe in the Oversoul's cause, Nafai, somewhere along in here we may find out that the Oversoul is causing more harm than good. What do we do then?"
"Hey, Issya, it may be doing a bad job these days, but that doesn't mean that we'd do better without it."
"I guess we'll never know, will we?"
SEVEN - PRAYER
For a week Nafai worked with Issib every day. They slept at Mother's house every night-they didn't ask, but then, Mother didn't send them away, either. It was a grueling time, not because the work was so hard but because the interference from the Oversoul was so painful. Issib was right, however. It could be overcome; and even though Nafai's aversive response was stronger than Issib's had been, he was able to get over it more quickly-mostly because Issib was there to help him, to assure him that it was worth doing, to remind him what it was about.
They began to work out a pretty clear picture of what it was that humans had once had, and that the Oversoul had long kept them from reinventing.
A communications system in which a person could talk instantly and directly to a person in any other city in the world.
Machines that could receive artwork and plays and stories transmitted through the air, not just from library to library, but right into people's homes.
Machines that moved swiftly over the ground, without horses.
Machines that flew, not just through the air, but out into space. "Of course there must be space traveling machines, or how did we get to Harmony from Earth?" But until he had punched his way through the aversion, Nafai had never been able to conceive of such a thing.
And the weapons of war: Explosives. Projectile weapons. Some so small that they could be held in the hand. Others so terrible that they could devastate whole cities, and burn up a planet if hundreds were used at once. Self-mutating diseases. Poisonous gases. Seismic disruptors. Missiles. Orbital launch platforms. Gene-wrecking viruses.
The picture that emerged was beautiful and terrible at once.
"I can see why the Oversoul does this to us," said Nafai. "To save us from these weapons. But the cost, Issya, The freedom we gave up."
Issib only nodded. "At least the Oversoul left us something. The ability to get power from the sun. Computers. Libraries. Refrigeration. All the machines of the kitchen, the greenhouses. The magnetics that allow my floats to work. And we do have some pretty sophisticated handweapons. Charged-wire blades. And pulses. So that large strong people don't have any particular advantage over smaller, weaker ones. The Oversoul could have stripped us. Stone and metal tools. Nothing with moving parts. Burning trees for all our heat."
"We wouldn't even be human then."
"Human is human," said Issib. "But civilized-that's the gift of the Oversoul. Civilization without self-destruction."
They tried explaining it to Mother once, but it went nowhere. She stupidly failed to understand anything they were talking about, and left them with a cheerful little jest about how nice it was that they could be friends and play these games together despite the age difference between them. There was no chance to talk to Father.
But there was someone who took an interest in them.
"Why don't you come to class anymore?" asked Hushidh.
She sat down on the porch steps beside Nafai and bit into her bread and cheese. A large mouthful, not the delicate bites that Eiadh took. Never mind that Mother was the one who taught all her girl students to use their mouths when they ate, and not to take the mincing little bites that were in fashion among the young women of Basilica these days. Nafai didn't have to find Hushidh's obedience to Mother attractive.
"I'm working on a project with Issib."
"The other students say that you're hiding," said Hushidh.
Hiding. Because Father was so notorious and controversial. "I'm not ashamed of my father."
"Of course not," said Hushidh. "They say you're hiding. Not me."
"And what do you think I'm doing? Or has the Oversoul told you?"
"I'm a raveler," she said, "not a seer."
"Right. I forgot." As if he should keep track of what kind of witch she was.
/> The Oversoul doesn't have to tell me how you're weaving yourself into the world,"
"Because you can see it."
She nodded. "And you're very brave."
He looked at her in consternation. "I sit in the library with Issya."
"You're weaving yourself into the weakest of the quarreling parties in Basilica, and yet it's the best of them. The one that should win, though no one can imagine how."
"I'm not party of any party."
She nodded. "I'll stop talking if you don't want to hear the truth."
As if she were going to be the fount of irresistible wisdom.
"I'll listen to a pig fart as long as it's the truth" said Nafai.
Immediately she got to her feet and moved away.
That was really stupid, Nafai rebuked himself. She's just trying to help, and you make a stupid joke out of it. He got up and followed her. "I'm sorry," he said.
She shrugged away from him.
"I'm used to making stupid jokes like that," said Nafai. "It's a bad habit, but I didn't mean it. It's not as if I don't know for myself now that the Oversold is real."
"I know that you know? she said coldly. "But it's obvious that knowing the Oversoul exists doesn't mean you automatically get brains or kindness or even decency."
"I deserve it, and the next three nasty things you think of." Nafai stepped around her, to face her. This time she didn't turn away.
"I see patterns," she said. "I see the way things fit together. I see where you are starting to fit. You and Issib."
"I haven't been following things in the city," said Nafai. "Busy with the project we're working on. I don't really know what's going on."
"It's been wearing you out," she said.
"Yes," said Nafai. "I guess so."
"Gaballufix is the center of one party," she said. "It's the strongest, for more reasons than one. It isn't just about the war wagons anymore, or even about the alliance with Potokgavan. It's about men. Especially men from outside the city. So he's strong in numbers, and he's also strong because his men are asserting themselves with violence."
Nafai thought back to conversations he had overheard at mealtimes. About the tolchocks, men who were knocking down women in the street for no reason. "His men are the tolchocks?"
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