The Moons of Barsk

by Lawrence M. Schoen

  “I’ve told you before, the Compact doesn’t guarantee our survival, it only delays the inevitable.”

  Jorl shook his head. “You’re missing the larger point. When she helped draft the treaty, Margda knew that it was imperfect. You can see that when you study her life. It’s there in between the lines of her writing. She saw the future and planned for it. And those plans included the Compact to buy us all time.”

  “No, you’re making my point for me, Jorl. If Margda relied on her visions to keep us all safe until we reached some critical future point, the Caudex created that future. We’ve spent our time actually doing something. I would say we did so in case she was proved wrong and the Compact failed, but to embrace your explanation I could as easily say we were part of her vision. From that perspective, is it so hard to realize we’re on the same side, sharing a common goal?”

  Klarce escorted Jorl from her office and together they strolled along a promenade. Her control of the mindscape was perfect but strange. He knew himself beyond Barsk. The foliage in this city looked familiar yet slightly off, and were Arlo still alive he’d no doubt explain it all away as an effect of a different gravity, a different world. He’d walked on other worlds of the Alliance while in the Patrol, but to see a Fant city that did not exist on Barsk was a wonder all its own and moved him deeply.

  He tried to keep any of it from showing on his face.

  They arrived at a pavilion and stepped within until coming to a balcony that opened onto the largest chimney he’d ever seen. The degree of detail in this mindspace spoke of actual experience and not simply fanciful imagination. Klarce had stood here in the flesh, felt these breezes, smelled these fragrances.

  “Where is this place?” He leaned over the balcony railing. Birds, far larger than any that existed on Barsk, flew past him, gleaming jewels of fruit clutched in their claws.

  “This is the newsest of our havens. We call it Wella.”

  He didn’t even try to hide the smile that pulled from his lips. “What a coincidence. We have a moon we call by that name.”

  “Don’t be droll, Senator. We gave the first of our hidden worlds the name of one of our moons as a security precaution. We were overly cautious as it turned out, but on the off chance that some Alliance senator or Patrol officer intercepted any correspondence, their confusion would be limited to our home system. As we expanded even more, the pattern stuck.”

  Jorl refrained from reminding her that he was an Alliance senator as well as a retired officer of the Patrol and instead asked, “I suppose you’ll need to find a new naming scheme now?”

  “No doubt, but we’re still pushing a portal to the star system of what will likely meet the requirements to house our seventh colony.”

  He waved his trunk in a broad arch. “What sort of requirements applied here?”

  “This is the sixth hidden world built and colonized by the Caudex. It’s nestled inside a dead moon in a solar system that the Patrol surveyed and wrote off three and a half centuries ago.”

  “But the Alliance knows of this place? They’ve been here?”

  “Been and gone. There’s nothing here that can’t be acquired more cheaply elsewhere. So they came and went, pushing their portals from one end of the system’s plane to the other and beyond. It would take the nearest Alliance vessel more than two hundred years to get here. They have no portals in this system. Why would they?”

  “But you do?” He reached out with his trunk, snagged some leaves and brought them to his mouth. Again a blend of familiar and strange, but also all part of the illusion Klarce provided.

  “When the founders of the Caudex hit upon this plan, to potentially colonize systems where the Alliance would never return, they focused their best minds on the science and engineering of portals. The basics haven’t changed much in several millennia. The Alliance builds them large, to accommodate multiple ships coming through at once. They build them to never close. We didn’t have those constraints. Our portals only remain open when we need to use them. Otherwise, we disassemble both sides so no one can slip through.”

  “And you think that keeps you safe?”

  “Our enemies don’t know we exist. And if they did, they can’t find us. And supposing they somehow learned where we are, they still couldn’t reach us in time to do us any harm. Once we established each of the hidden worlds, we began pushing new portals of our own outward from each of them. We have sufficient vessels and protected backdoors to allow us to remove the entire population of any of them with a hundred years to spare before even an unmanned attack could reach us.”

  Jorl pushed away from the railing, passing Klarce and pacing back into the pavilion. “That’s a strategy of hiding and running away, not safety.”

  “And what would you have us do instead, Senator?”

  He winced at the scorn she poured into his title. “Invite them in,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You’ve done an incredible thing here, perfected a technique which would serve the Alliance’s goal, its hunger, to expand to new worlds. Invite them to share in what you’ve created. Bring the other races to each of your new worlds and let them learn to live with us again.”

  “Have you heard anything I’ve said? Why would we want to live with them? They’ve shunned us, exiled our ancestors, turned us into monsters in their own folklore. We don’t need them in our lives.”

  “You do,” insisted Jorl. “And they need you. Everything the Alliance accomplished prior to moving the Fant to Barsk, the art and science, technology and mathematics, envisioned and developed and perfected over tens of millennia, all of that stems from diversity. When they forced our people onto Barsk, they cut us off from all of that. They stole an entitlement from us.”

  Klarce laughed. “And yet look what we’ve done, unhampered by their ‘diversity.’ If anything, we’ve excelled without it.”

  “For now. But you’re mistaking stagnation for utopia. Look at history, Klarce. People need to struggle. We need differing opinions. We need argument and disagreement. It’s the way we advance. If you lock all the Fant away in these hidden worlds, how will we grow?”

  The balcony vanished without warning, replaced by the walls and furniture of a simple office. Klarce sat across from him on a long couch that faced a work desk.

  “I hear you, Jorl. I really do. But what you’re describing is theory, unsupported by any data. You might be right, or then again maybe not. If we take a bite out of that fruit and are wrong, well, we can’t go back and have a whole, unblemished fruit again.”

  “Actually, you could,” said Jorl. “Allow just one of these worlds you’ve created to become a mixed world. Integrate it however you like, and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  She shook her head. “What you’re talking about is using upwards of a million people, Fant like you and me, as unwitting participants in a social experiment. And even if I thought it was a good idea—and let’s be clear, I do not—how would you keep knowledge of the existence and location of our other Hidden Worlds from non-Fant when your experiment goes horribly wrong?”

  “You’re making assumptions again—”

  “And you’re being a naïve academician. Let me be frank with you, the Full Council decided to tell you about Ulmazh and the colonies we’ve named for Barsk’s other moons because after some debate it seemed clear that we all agree more than we disagree. You understand that there are forces in the Alliance—not everyone, of course, not even most, but some—who would see our entire race, wiped out. This is not a burden we wish to place on all Fant, and so the Caudex remains a secret on Barsk. Likewise, the knowledge of much of what we do is limited even on those worlds we’ve colonized.”

  “Is that why you gave the order to have me killed?”

  Klarce stared, speechless a moment, then nodded as she thought it through. “Dabni told you this?”

  “She did. But she didn’t know why.”

  “You summoned Fisco, and the damn fool mentioned the Caudex.
From what we already knew about you, it was obvious you’d try to track that down. So Sind activated a team to disrupt the consolidation of your memories of that conversation, only they failed. As did a second team. We still don’t know how you managed that. But the point was, whether deliberately or accidentally, you’d breached our security and then proved uncontainable. We knew you to be engaged in regular communication with the Alliance senate. And as Margda’s chosen you were already under suspicion. A difficult decision was made, and not lightly.”

  “What changed that led you to not only rescind my death sentence but also share your secrets of Ulmazh and six other colonies?”

  “Your efficiency and your nature.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You went from knowledge of Fisco to locating the Caudex in a matter of days. You didn’t attempt to transmit this information to the Alliance. You didn’t see it as a threat or a danger. You personally went to investigate it, to explain it. You sat down with me—with a degree of antagonism on either side it’s fair to say—and you sought understanding. The Caudex seeks the safety of our people, not conflict. We believe you do as well and that the best way to ensure we would not be at cross purposes—to ensure you would not become a liability—was to show you just how much was at stake and recruit you instead.”

  He considered this a while before responding. “So you’re saying you trust me now?”

  “Not so completely as that. We have common cause though. We’re not philosophically opposed to the ideas of Fant living side by side with other races, but not if pursuing it brings Alliance scrutiny to Barsk. Find another way, and you’ll have our support.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Return to your books, Jorl. Write your articles. Give seminars. Study the past as is your preference and let others chart the future. Above all, do not threaten our security—”

  “Or you’ll have me killed?”

  Klarce’s sighed like a character in a play. “You can paint me as the villain if you like, but we seek to preserve our people. Part of who we are is a tradition of isolating and culling aberration. You’re already exceptional, Jorl. Rein in your aberrance, for your own sake.”

  “Some would say that aberration is what keeps a society from stagnation,” said Jorl.

  “You’re the historian. How often is that the story that survives the passage of time and the rigor of events?”

  And with that, the audience ended. The nefshon connection had been severed and he was back in his own office, left to ponder Klarce’s advice regarding the aberrations in his life. Understandably, he reached out for Pizlo.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  REFUSAL

  THERE were times when Pizlo knew he thought too much, and other times when he thought he knew too much. This was neither of those. He felt betrayed by the moons and clouds and trees that should have been more forthcoming with information. And because all of these were just the metaphorical masks worn by his own precognitive abilities, he’d managed to betray himself.

  His intention to puzzle it all out when he left the harbor had failed. Logic and reason didn’t yield any insight and the whispered revelations he usually relied upon had produced the problem in the first place. If he possessed an answer in him, he hadn’t stored it in his head. Pizlo kept his body moving, determined to climb up and down and across and back through the Civilized Wood as many times as needed for something to fall into place or until he dropped from exhaustion and might have a chance to find what he sought in sleep.

  * * *

  HE’D climbed up and across the Civilized Wood and halfway back down the other side when a shiver ran through him. He stopped his descent to the Shadow Dwell, pausing on a meta-tree’s broad branch. Closing his eyes, he opened himself to the sensation. The scene of Jorl’s study flowed into his mind. “Where are you, Pizlo?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Everyone was upset earlier, though you seemed to have some knowledge of things beforehand.”

  “Some,” he admitted. “But not all.”

  Jorl nodded. “I was hoping you’d be with Rina. You have a special connection to her and I know she’d be comforted by your presence.”

  “I had some things I needed to work out … still working out.” Pizlo paused for just a moment, listened to the branch near to hand, and said, “She’s fine. Chisulo caught up with her and they found a soup vendor near the park closest to Tolta’s house.

  “Thank you for that,” said Jorl. “So, are you more upset about being surprised than by the content of the surprise?”

  “I’ve been thinking about how we know what we know, and when we know that we know it,” he said. “I knew that Dabni might hurt you, but then I knew she wouldn’t.”

  “It’s all going to be fine, Pizlo, I promise.”

  “No, it’s not. Your wife changed her future, but not yours. That woman, Klarce, she’s at the crux of everything. I see that. Once I heard she had tried to hurt you, every moon in the sky told me it all ran back to her.”

  “Maybe that was so, then. But after you ran off, after Dabni left, I came home and spoke with Klarce. We’ve reached an agreement. That’s a very new development. Maybe you were right, maybe I was in danger before, but not now. Things can change, Pizlo. They can change for the better. They have.”

  He reached out, sought out the answer rather than waiting passively for knowledge to come to him. And found, in this moment, Jorl was safe. Welcome news, but it wouldn’t last.”

  “Maybe. For now, but like you said, things change, and that includes the change you’re describing. What you’re talking about’s only temporary.”

  “It doesn’t have to endure forever. It only needs to last until the next thing. And there’s always a next thing.”

  “Okay, but … why is everything always in flux? Maybe if people really knew one another, it would be different, stable, and everyone would get along.”

  Jorl smiled. “It’s a nice idea, Pizlo, but it’s not possible.”

  “It is. I made a meme.” The construct of Pizlo closed his eyes in Jorl’s office, blocking out the illusion of vision there. In the real world he resumed his downward climb, blind but hardly slower, his hands and trunk finding grips as they always did.

  “A meme?”

  “Well, sort of. An echo, really. It’s a different way to use nefshons. I saw Dabni do something, and it was kind of like waking up and realizing there was another color in the world or a new way to cook butterleaf that no one had imagined before. That started me thinking about how every Speaker does what every other Speaker does. Nobody questions it. Everyone just re-creates what was done before, retelling the same story.”

  “You’re not making sense. Look, I can see you’re still bothered by this. Why don’t you come here, we’ll talk. And we can join Rina and check in on her, too.”

  Pizlo shook his head and continued to drop. “I thought about giving it to her, but I didn’t. Even though it would show her my life, I thought it might also make her sad, and that wasn’t right. I mean, I’m not sad about being alone, but it’s how I’ve always been. And since she hasn’t, she’d see it differently, right?”

  Jorl frowned at him. “You’re talking about the meme you made?”

  “You don’t understand, and that’s okay. I’m not like you or anyone and that’s why it’s my place to do things differently. I’m a contradiction. So I tried playing with nefshons in a fresh way and made my echo.”

  “But what does that mean, Pizlo?”

  “I’ll show you next time I take some koph,” he said. “But you really need to talk to Dabni. I know you know she’s a Speaker, but she’s not like any you’ve known. She does things differently and she’s not what you think she is.”

  “I know all about Dabni, Piz. Yes, she’s a Speaker, and has kept that from me. And she works for a large group of other Speakers that are living apart from everyone else on Barsk.”

  “Apart, but not apart. Like me, but she gets to be a pa
rt which I don’t. But that’s not what I meant. Is that the same group that’s living in Ulmazh or is there more than one group of Speakers that nobody knows about? Cuz that seems really unlikely.”

  “What? How do you know about that moon?”

  “Maybe you don’t know all about Dabni like you think you do.”

  “Pizlo, please. Just come home.”

  All around him the world whispered that he’d reached the last handhold. He let go and pushed off, dropping a short distance and landing lightly on a mossy patch at the bottom of the Shadow Dwell. Pizlo patted the pockets of his bandolier until his fingers found the right shape. He slipped the packet of koph into his mouth and opened his eyes, seeing the study again.

  “Where is that, Jorl? Where’s home? It’s not Tolta’s house. It’s not yours. It’s not any of the nooks and nests I’ve built throughout the Civilized Wood. It’s certainly not on any other island on Barsk. Where do you imagine I’m supposed to feel at home?”

  “With your family,” said Jorl. “You’re not a child like Rina. You know that running away won’t solve your problems.”

  Pizlo sighed. The weight of the entire forest rested on his shoulders and he couldn’t recall how it had landed there. “You talk like all problems have solutions.”

  “Because I believe they do.”

  “Maybe for you. But I’m not you. I could spend the rest of my life taking koph and walking up to frightened strangers and handing them my echo, and it wouldn’t be enough time to solve my problems, not going one by one. But … oh.”

  “What?”

  “I just realized, you could do it for me, Jorl. I’ve seen it; you’re able to do things with nefshons that others can’t. Like what you did to Bish.” The golden swaths of his own particles began to shimmer around him as the koph took effect. Absently, he dismissed them.

  “I don’t talk about that.”

  “And I’m not asking you to, but you touched everyone. Can you do that with this?” Able to perceive and manipulate nefshons again, he locked down his end of the connection to Jorl and conjured up a copy of the meme he’d shared with Telko and with the Archetype. He held it out to his friend and former mentor, feeling himself reflected in its swirls. “Here. This is the echo I made. It’s me. Will you take it?”