The Moons of Barsk

by Lawrence M. Schoen

  “You need to understand that Pizlo is a precognitive,” said Druz, after an excruciating delay.

  “So, you’re saying he knows my future?”

  “I’m saying he may have insight into some piece of a probable future,” Druz said.

  “How high is the probability?”

  “The predictive sciences are … imprecise. I can tell you that Pizlo is the most powerful of any precog ever recorded. Some of that strength may translate into greater accuracy, but there isn’t a lot of data that’s been studied.”

  “But you’re saying the future is fixed?”

  “To the extent that it can be seen and understood, yes. Or, so we’ve always thought.”

  “But?”

  Druz shrugged, pushing back the long sleeves of her robes, black nails tapping on the glass of her control panel. “But I’ve been listening to the recordings Pizlo made, and he believes that destiny can be tempered by agency, at least for those who can see the future.”

  “What does that actually mean though?”

  “To you and me? Very little. We plod along same as always.”

  “And for the likes of Pizlo?”

  “He believes he can effect change in his fixed destiny, and the fate of those around him.”

  “How? How could he do such a thing?”

  The Sloth repeated her slow shrug. “Because he chooses to.”

  * * *

  A tenday after Pizlo had departed with Rina, the Fant had achieved an uneasy quiet. Every inhabitant of the planet—regardless of whether they’d ever visited Keslo or not—had realized they knew that island’s Abomination better than they understood themselves. They loved him and they were ashamed of themselves at the way their races’ deep-rooted feelings for abominations had brought the boy such a lifetime of neglect and loathing. Their feelings toward all abominations hadn’t changed, only for Pizlo.

  On Keslo, where the entire population had at one time or another seen and turned away from Pizlo at least once, the need to absolve themselves ran higher. The piers where so many residents had gathered to greet him upon his return from Ulmazh had miraculously survived. A couple people had been injured in the stampede back into the Civilized Wood when Pizlo’s ship had flown away from the harbor, but nothing worse. Tolta had returned home from an estranged family that now valued her as no mother and household of aunts and sisters had ever favored a daughter before. Her tiny house had become a shrine, pilgrims camping out on her doorstep for a chance to speak to the mother of the young man whose life burned so brightly for them all. The council boat had arrived with a unanimous decision to award Pizlo an aleph, insisting that Jorl be the one to inscribe the tattoo on the forehead of his protégé. Already songs were being composed describing such a singular event though it hadn’t happened and probably never would.

  During that time, Jorl and Dabni had buried themselves in the common cause of finding a solution to Pizlo’s echo as much to distract themselves over concern for Rina’s fate as to give themselves time to heal over the wounds Dabni had inflicted on their relationship. They worked together in a mind space that Jorl had conjured, leaving their bodies behind in a quiet and undisturbed location. Tolta’s home was out of the question, as was Jorl’s. In the end, they’d snuck down into the Shadow Dwell, bringing supplies to one of Pizlo’s hideaways. No one had thought to find them there.

  At the end of the tenday, Jorl summoned the seven members of the Caudex’s Full Council—Klarce’s nefshons somehow being immune to his call. They stood together in a mindspace of the council’s meeting room on the final island and offered their help. Unsurprisingly, there was some resistance.

  “I don’t understand,” said Sind. “What gives you the right to take from us our love of Pizlo?”

  “Are you insane?” said Nirl, the contempt dripping from her tone. “I know you’re bitter after we failed to end this rogue’s life, but you and Kissel and Melko have been acting like it was a mistake to try. Think of poor Klarce and what this abomination did to her!”

  “Klarce’s situation is not Pizlo’s fault,” said Kissel, setting his meekness aside. “He tried to help her. And without her sharing his echo, none of us would know how wrong we’d been.”

  “I rather think that’s Nirl’s point,” said Mason. “That echo has colored your perceptions.”

  “But not yours,” said Jorl.

  Mason nodded and emphasized his answer with a wave of his trunk that encompassed the deceased members of the council. “The echo was only sent out to the living. Only the dead have not had their sensibilities rewritten by Pizlo’s life story.

  “The dead, and a few who already knew him,” said Dabni.

  Jorl stamped a foot. “The point is, with Dabni’s help I’ve come up with a plan to remove the worst of the effects, but it will require ongoing support at an unconscious level. That’s not a part of my skill set but I’m assured it falls well within the scope of the Caudex.”

  “And what if we’re not willing to sacrifice our insights into Pizlo’s life? Would you just strip them from us?” said Kissel.

  “No one asked your permission before imposing them on you, why do you think you’re entitled to a say as to whether you can keep them?” said Dabni.

  Melko trumpeted. “I will not be lectured by a disgraced field operative!”

  Jorl stomped again until he had silence. “The solution is simple. I’ll remove what I can, and then, with a clearer head, if you still want that knowledge, I’ll restore it.”

  “You can’t remove it,” said Soosh. “Memory disruption is only effective before the new knowledge has had time to consolidate. Our people have had days to absorb and reflect upon the teachings of your protégé.”

  “I’m not going to disrupt the memory, I’m going to pull it out entirely. I’ve had some experience doing this before.”

  Kissel rose from his seat, shouting. “What gives you the right to force even that on us if—”

  The rest of his words fell away. Jorl had begun pulling out the nefshons of Pizlo’s life from where they’d entangled themselves in the totality of Kissel’s own particles. The work was infinitely more nuanced than when he’d unleashed the silence on Senator Bish. Time slowed. Jorl worked quickly but the threads of Pizlo’s life had overpowered Kissel, tying themselves into his own sense of self. Unknotting took time, far more time than a Speaker could normally manage in a single summoning. Jorl had no such limitation. It required as long as it required, and his power was more than sufficient to keep himself, Dabni, and the members of the council there in the mindspace until he was finished.

  He took only those memories that were part of the original echo and no piece of how it had been elaborated or enmeshed into other ideas. Nor did he remove any other knowledge Kissel had of Pizlo, nor any nefshons that were not tied specifically to Kissel. All other nefshons related to Pizlo that existed were untouched. And then, well into the next day, he was finally done.

  Kissel sat back down. “Oh.”

  “Yes?” asked Joel.

  “He’s … a remarkable young man,” said Kissel. “Notwithstanding all he’s had to endure.”

  “But do you love him?” asked Dabni. The other councilors, both the living who still held Pizlo’s echo and the dead who never had, focused their attention on their colleague.

  “Love him? No, don’t be foolish. I … have admiration for what he’s accomplished, surely. And … I think I need to reconsider our views on abominations. Surely we’ve outgrown that kind of cultural culling.”

  “So you’ve cured him?” said Nirl.

  “In part. Memory is resilient. In taking away Pizlo’s echo, I’ve left a hole that reflects its shape. Pieces of it will spontaneously reconstruct over time. Think of it like weeds in a garden. Periodically they’ll need to be dug up. That’s why we’re here. Dabni has told me you have means to deliver a simpler, ‘weeding’ meme to everyone on the planet without their awareness. I’ll need you to do that, once I’ve stripped what Pizlo inadver
tently shared with everyone.”

  “Ridiculous,” said Nirl. “You just spent most of a day unraveling the abomination from Kissel. How do you propose to manage the same thing for every person on the planet?”

  “The same way I bested you on Ulmazh, by multiplying myself. Once for every Eleph and Lox that carries Pizlo’s echo.”

  * * *

  BERNATH returned to Barsk with the comatose Klarce and accompanied by Ryne and Lolte, the latter two following the councilor to a private hospital suite while Bernath went to report to Sind. By the end of the second tenday after the events on Ulmazh, the Full Council was mollified, Jorl had miraculously reclaimed most of Pizlo’s echo from all the Fant, and Speakers on Ulmazh had begun implanting Dabni’s “weeding” meme on a routine basis right alongside the meme that ensured people thought it normal to sail away at the end of their lives. Pizlo no longer burned in the hearts and minds of the people of Barsk. His status had dropped to that of a folk hero, the object of stories that everyone knew and no one ever tired of hearing again and again.

  Sind traveled to Keslo and met with Jorl in an attempt to rebuild a pact that he would continue to uphold the secret of the Caudex and not endanger their goals or threaten the safety of Fant on the Hidden Worlds. And, too, he reassigned Dabni to serve as the Caudex’s liaison to the senator, an acknowledged ambassador rather than a spy. All things considered, both meetings went well.

  Nor had Sind come alone. He’d brought Bernath with him. Though both had been purged of the majority of Pizlo’s echo, their direct knowledge of the events kept an awareness of much of him in their minds. They lingered on Keslo, walking its boardways while under the influence of koph, following trails of his castoff nefshons that revealed where he’d been. They could not travel through the inbetween spaces of his most common routes, but where those paths crossed more accessible spots—near Jorl’s boat in its slip, several observation stations high in the canopy, near the door to an apothecary—they could immerse themselves in the spoor of his memory and felt themselves somehow closer to him.

  It was in one of these spots, a cove too small and isolated to have any practical value, that they found other nefshons, anomalous particles unlike any either Speaker had encountered. It made no sense, not least because no Fant other than Pizlo had spent so much time in the Shadow Dwell. Nor did the dispersal patterns lead anywhere else, suggesting that they belonged to someone who had been summoned after death rather than someone who, like themselves and Pizlo, had walked to this place. Sind had consulted the archive and Bernath had doubled-checked his efforts. These strange nefshons belonged to no Fant. Who then had young Pizlo summoned, and why?

  They stayed in that cove for the night, huddling against the end of flood in a tiny shelter they’d erected, letting the koph fade from their bodies through the twin gifts of time and sleep. In the morning, they prepared themselves. By unspoken agreement Sind began drawing together those scattering nefshons that troubled them while Bernath hung back as witness to whatever might transpire. The dispersion halted, reversed, and took on shape. At first it seemed as if an immense block was taking form before them, but it collapsed in upon itself before becoming solid. And then they were facing a young Lox on the edge of maturity. He was oddly translucent, as if he composed of living glass. Within his substance shadows swirled and colors flashed. He stood before them naked and aware, as if unsurprised at being summoned.

  “I can never tell how much time elapses between one visit and the next, but it pleases me to encounter new faces. Hail, and well met!”

  “I don’t understand,” said Sind. “You … you have Pizlo’s shape and appearance, but your self-image is nothing of flesh and blood. What are you and what is your connection to him?”

  “Second question first. It has been my privilege to have been Pizlo’s advisor. As for myself, I am the Archetype of Man.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Bernath, drawing closer and standing alongside Sind in the mindspace he’d formed of their cove.

  “I was created to preserve and curate stories from a time you call the Before. But now that you have come to me, perhaps it falls to me to add to my repertoire and tell a tale of your modern time. If you would hear it.”

  Bernath and Sind shared a look that was equal parts confusion, concern, and curiosity. It required a moment before Sind recalled he was the seniormost member of the Quick Council, the highest ranking member of the Caudex still drawing breath. He flapped his ears to regain his composure and nodded for the creature cast in Pizlo’s image to go ahead.

  “Space is vast,” said the Archetype, “and since the time of my creation many many different races of sapients have spread across thousands of planets of this galaxy. One such planet is Barsk, a world of hundreds of islands. One of these is Keslo, and on this island lived a young man unlike any other. He was the Abomination of Keslo…”

  * * *

  THREE and a half tendays out from Barsk and Pizlo continued his vigil in the yacht’s infirmary. He gazed down at Rina in the medical suspension bed, her life functions slowed to a crawl. The slight fever that had plagued her since her infection had faded and he took that as a good sign, though it made no sense. The bed should only have been able to delay the effects of her disease, not cure any of them. And indeed, that was the only positive sign. All the tone had gone out of her muscles. Though she slept, she looked more tired than relaxed. But according to the readouts she wasn’t getting any worse. Blue lights played across her skin, a constantly repeating diagnostic array that made minute adjustments to the machinery. Druz had been in communication with experts on Haven and over the days of their voyage she had fine-tuned the suspension bed to the needs of a Lox child. Rina’s readings had stabilized. There was every reason to expect her to remain like that until they reached their destination.

  Their route would take them through twelve different pairs of portals and across as many planetary systems. Traversing the space between exits and entrances would take tens and tens of days, but they’d completely skip the much vaster distances between stars. Abenaki had spent nearly as long in the same suspension bed and assured him it had felt like nothing but a longish nap. Haven, arguably the most developed and cosmopolitan world of the entire Alliance, awaited them. A world that hadn’t seen a Fant in eight hundred years would now save one.

  Druz had set aside quarters for Pizlo but he had no use for them. He preferred to make a simple cot for himself in the infirmary. The Brady didn’t need him to fly the ship and the Procy had enough common sense to leave him to his vigil. He kept watch at Rina’s bedside, interrupted only occasionally by the need to eat and drink, tend to his ablutions, surrender to a bit of sleep, or respond to one of Jorl’s frequent calls. He never had any news for his former mentor. He could only assure him nothing had changed, that the stasis bed continued to keep the physicality cascade in check, that he’d reach out if there was anything new.

  They’d just passed through another set of portals and arrived on the edge of still another star system. It was late night by the ship’s schedule and the need to sleep pulled at Pizlo. He’d just concluded telling Rina another story, uncertain if she could hear him, through the fields of the machinery, through the difference of time. Days ago he’d thought of using koph to reach out to her, but Jorl had advised against it, fearful that it might stir her to awaken from the sleep that kept her alive. And so he stayed by her side, waiting with her and telling her stories. There was little of nature in the ship, no trees or wind or rain to whisper to him. The portals they used, the planets and moons in each system they sped through, these had tried to catch his attention and tell him things, but he’d ignored them. Rina was his only focus. He’d watched her sleep so many nights before, her rag doll tucked in the crook of one arm. In many ways, this was little different.

  Pizlo had stayed up longer than usual, and for the first time since they’d left Barsk, Jorl had allowed a day to pass without reaching out to him. He found himself drifting into that place bet
ween wakefulness and sleep and spared a glance to his cot in the corner, unsure if he’d still be awake by the time he reached it. He pressed his face to the edge of the suspension chamber’s transparent cover, level with Rina’s and her doll. Maybe she could hear him, maybe not, but he always offered some reassurance before he stepped away and surrendered to sleep.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he told her. “We got you into suspension. The organ failure cascade is in check and when we get to Haven they can reverse it before bringing your body back to regular time. I promise, you’re going to be fine.”

  The doll turned its head as if scanning the room. It looked back to Pizlo and nodded, the blue light making the buttons on its face gleam.

  “Thank you for that,” said Kokab. “I was quite concerned. But now, tired as I see you are, I really think it’s time we talked.”

  APPENDIX ONE: PEOPLE

  Abenaki (Procy female)—representative of a consortium of Raccoons seeking to emigrate to Barsk.

  Adolo (Eleph female)—Klarce’s lover.

  Ajax (Lox male)—Speaker and member of the Caudex, he is assigned to Councilor Sind’s staff.

  Bernath (Eleph female)—member of the Caudex, she oversees operations of new arrivals.

  Burkl (Taxi female)—biologist whose expertise includes engineered and weaponized viruses.

  Chisulo (Lox male)—son of Keslo’s harbormaster and barely a year out of his mother’s house.

  Ciochon (Ailuros male)—Panda that babysat Pizlo when he was on the station.

  Dabni (Lox female)—field agent of the Caudex, wife to Jorl, mother to Rina.

  Damace (Eleph male)—ethernaut and a younger brother of Klarce.

  Denzi (Procy male)—civil engineer specializing in waterworks; father of Abenaki.