by Andy Andrews
“Stonework creating entire cities in Bolivia, Egypt, and Peru surpass anything possible in today’s world—even by your modern engineers. Granite blocks weighing hundreds of tons were transported over long distances after having been quarried to precisions—angles and edges—of less than the width of a human hair.
“The stones—some the size of your five-story buildings— were placed one on top of another over and over again until they reached the sky. These colossal blocks were aligned so perfectly that grout was not required. Today, only your diamond-tipped laser saws can approximate the precise specification of margin, but no machine or engineer on earth at this time can duplicate anything close in those size dimensions. It is a source of amusement to me that your scientists insist that these megalithic marvels rose from the dust of nomadic hunter-gatherers.”
As those at the table listened in wonder, Gabriel continued. “Sophisticated astronomical alignments exist at sites all over the world. And while some of them have been discovered, most are not yet understood. The civilization that built these sites knew the exact circumference of Earth and chartered it into systems of measure around the world. Your mathematicians and engineers have now seen this in surviving buildings in South America, Europe, and Africa because the figures were incorporated into the architecture they left behind. And these equations were calculated perfectly. You, on the other hand, were only able to calculate these exact mathematical values after Sputnik circled Earth in 1957.
“Your scientists, with the benefit of satellite radar imaging, have now conceded the accuracy of ancient maps detailing the coastline of Antarctica. This was accomplished by others despite the fact that the location has been buried under thousands of feet of ice for millennia.”
“Why are they gone?” Lincoln asked. “Why did that civilization disappear?”
“For the same reasons your civilization is in peril,” Gabriel answered. “Arrogance, greed, selfishness, ungratefulness, loss of faith. But I might add, your people have managed to reach the precipice of the cliff in an astonishingly short time.”
“Is there anything we can do to turn back?” David asked.
“Of course,” Gabriel said. “That is why you are here. Until it is too late, it is never too late.”
With no more questions forthcoming, the archangel said, “You have two more opportunities to answer the question.” With those words, Gabriel stepped away from the table and across a hushed room.
Before he reached the door, however, to the disbelief of all, David called the archangel’s name again. This time, he stopped and turned completely around. The archangel did not speak but focused his attention on David.
“Gabriel,” David said in a voice that was soft in expression, yet audible to everyone in the theater, “you mentioned the moon. You said that there were clues about who made the moon in the first place. What clues? What did you mean?”
The archangel stood motionless, giving David the impression that he was composing his answer. Or perhaps, David thought, he wouldn’t answer at all. But when Gabriel spoke, he did so in a manner that reminded David of his parents and how once, as a child, he had deeply disappointed his father.
“David Ponder,” the archangel said carefully, “your civilization is enamored with the concept of chance. Chance. Luck. Randomness. A philosophy of contingency upon probabilities and possibilities. Chance—no assignable cause.
“You have embraced the idea of chance so completely that you have created entertainment to further the notion, and buildings and cities as monuments to the concept. You allow chance to steal your money and waste your time. Chance is given credit for the children you bear and the legacy you pass on to them. The idea of chance has made you greedy. Worse, it has made you arrogant. It has corrupted your minds, for now, many of you dare to attribute your world, your universe, your very existence . . . to ‘chance.’
“Here is your clue, David Ponder: In a path of perfection that has existed since the second day, your Earth revolves 366 times during one orbit of the sun. Earth is exactly 366 percent larger than your moon. Conversely, your moon takes 27.32 days to orbit the Earth and is exactly 27.32 percent of the Earth’s size. Your moon is 400 times closer to the Earth than it is to your sun and exactly 400 times smaller than the sun. As the moon turns, the speed of the lunar equator, by the way, is precisely 400 kilometers per hour.”
Gabriel paused, then moved again toward the door, which was opening wide to meet him. Before he crossed the threshold, however, he turned, glanced around the room, and said, “What are the chances of that?”
CHAPTER 9
David sat down heavily as the room began to come to life around him. He looked at the others in turn and hoped they didn’t see in his eyes what he felt. At that moment, David admitted to himself, he was terribly discouraged.
“Do not give in to the black dog,” Churchill said, noting David’s expression. When David questioned the comment, he explained. “I dealt with depression my entire life. I called it my black dog, for it seemed to follow me everywhere I went. The black dog wasn’t always on me, wasn’t always in sight, but I grew to find that he was ever nearby.”
“Is that what I had?” Lincoln asked. “I never knew it was a black dog.” The remark was only partially in jest, but it made David smile, and that is what the president had intended.
“I learned to be on my guard,” Winston continued. “I never liked standing near the edge of a platform when an express train was passing through. I always stood far back and if possible got a pillar between the train and me. I wouldn’t allow myself to stand by the side of a ship and look down into the water. A second’s action would have ended everything. A few drops of desperation, a moment of incaution with my defenses down, and the black dog would have jumped me from behind.”
Lincoln nodded. He told Winston he knew exactly how he felt, for he, too, had, been beset by depression.
“What did you do?” Joan asked. “How did you manage?”
Winston had his answer ready. “Never feed a black dog,” he said. “They are always hungry, and the more one feeds a black dog, the closer its teeth get to one’s own throat.”
“How do you feed a black dog?” Eric asked.
“The better question, young man, would be, ‘How do you starve a black dog?’ For you see, bad questions only whet his appetite.”
Eric looked around at the others. Only Lincoln was smiling as if he knew what Winston was talking about. “I don’t get it,” Eric finally said.
“The quality of one’s answers,” Winston explained, “can only be determined by the quality of one’s questions. If you want good answers in your life, you must ask good questions.
“It is a fact that most of the talking we do on a daily basis is with ourselves. Whenever we ask something, our subconscious mind is determined to answer and immediately goes to work doing so.” Winston thought for a beat and continued. “What I mean is that our subconscious works on whatever problem we give it to solve. Therefore, if one asks bad questions, one’s mind descends to a state in which we work to furnish bad answers. Bad questions feed the black dog because they prompt negative thoughts. Then, of course, the black dog begins to feed on us.”
Lincoln spoke up. “An example of a bad question from my own life,” he said, “would be, ‘Why can’t I solve this problem between these people?’ You see, when I asked that question, my mind began to think about all my deficiencies. Well, I would answer myself, you can’t solve this problem because you were not educated properly. I worried about the way I looked. I talked to myself about the part of the country I was from, my accent, the mistakes I’d made in the past. All these depressing thoughts are answers to ‘Why can’t I . . . ?’
“Now, on the other hand, if I can manage to ask myself a good question, a question like, ‘What is the best way to solve this problem between these people?’ at that moment, my mind goes to work on solutions. I have set my subconscious to think of best possibilities, and because of it, I am happier
and more productive.”
“I understand,” Eric said. “So ask good questions, get good answers. You could even throw in other words to guide your subconscious, right? Like, ‘What is the happiest, fastest, best way to solve this problem between these people?’”
“That’s it,” Winston said. “Good questions. That’s how you starve the black dog.”
“Then let me ask this,” David said. “What is the fastest way to accurately answer the question before us?”
Though he was serious, David’s question—a good one, he hoped—elicited chuckles from Churchill and Lincoln. The president had a quick response. “New blood will be the fastest way,” he said. “New counsel. We are tired of listening to each other. I believe it is time to call another Traveler.”
With all agreed, David stood, quieting the theater, and said, “The summit requests the assistance of a Traveler.”
Every eye in the theater was directed toward the middle aisle behind Lincoln, Joan, and Eric. A large man had risen from the shadows—the sixth row—and was already making his way down the steps. His hair was dark, curly, and almost shoulder length. A band of braided gold wrapped around his head, holding his hair away from his face.
He wore sandals and a leather loincloth that stopped just above his knees. His shirt, also of leather, was sleeveless and studded with bronze and silver. Coiled around the deeply tanned skin of his muscular upper arms were thick bands of gold. The man’s fingers were bare of rings, but his wrists were encased in solid pieces of polished bronze.
He was one of the most incredible sights David had ever seen. The man carried himself in a manner that while not threatening was certainly imposing. Everyone at the table stood as the man approached, but oddly, no one made a move to shake his hand or greet him in any traditional manner. He strode directly to the head of the table and said, “You may be seated.”
Curious, David thought to himself as he sat down. Churchill and Lincoln also took their chairs after raising their eyebrows to each other in unspoken words. When this whole thing started, they had noticed immediately that the appointed leader of their group, David Ponder, had not chosen the head of the table—the power position—from which to conduct the summit. Instead, he had chosen to sit with everyone else.
Churchill and Lincoln had recognized the humble maneuver because it was one they also had often employed. Now, though, they seated themselves without rancor, for both suspected the identity of the new arrival. Eric, on the other hand, remained standing for a moment longer, as if to communicate to the man that he was not intimidated and would do as he pleased. David was already seated, and of the five, only the Maid of Orleans did not sit down.
Her sword had been in front of her since she arrived. But now Joan took it up and, with it lying flat on her upturned palms, walked toward the man who had assumed the head of the table. He watched as she approached him without expression and made no move except to turn in her direction. When she was in front of him, Joan kneeled, raising the sword above her bowed head.
The man took it, and as she looked up, he nodded to her. Joan returned to her chair, and only then did the man place the sword on the table—this time in front of himself—and sit down in the place he had chosen.
When she had returned to her chair, Joan noticed Eric, who was seated to her left, staring as if she had lost her mind. Though he had not asked, Joan felt the need to explain. “I am not a woman to him. I am a warrior. And a king never comes to a council table with armed warriors. He does not have his men with him here. Therefore, by tradition, my weapon must be presented to the king himself.”
“King?” Eric said. “What king?”
Never taking her eyes off the man about whom she was speaking and aware that he was growing impatient with what he considered Eric’s ill manners, Joan whispered, “The king who slew the giant as a boy. King David.”
That information managed to open Eric’s eyes and close his mouth. Taking advantage of the silence, the king looked at David Ponder and said, “You may begin.”
To his credit, David did not say any of the things that came to his mind. He tried to remember that King David was the only one at the table so far who probably didn’t know who any of the others were. However, after the lecture about egotistical behavior they’d just been given a few minutes ago, he did want to call Gabriel back in and ask if he had ever noticed this guy! I suppose I am fortunate, David thought, that the king didn’t assign me another name. But David had known for a long time how to deal with people like this. After all, that’s why he had chosen the middle chair when Winston had appeared.
“Sir,” David said to the king, “as I am sure you already know, my very name is an honor to your legacy. We appreciate so much having you here. Your wisdom will be a touchstone for this summit as we seek the answer that has thus far been beyond our meager minds.”
Lincoln suppressed a grin from across the table as David poured it on, but Winston, sitting next to him, hissed, “Oh, for God’s own sake, why don’t you give the man a massage?” And before David could do anything about it, Winston added, “Let me do this,” and addressed the king himself.
“Sir,” he said, “we are honored by your presence, but time is of the essence. I am certain that you already consider this summit to be similar to the councils you held with Israel, Judah, and your neighbors on the east bank of the Jordan River as you were establishing your kingdom. While we are assembled as such, engaged in an historic and monumental task, I assume you would have us communicate as you yourself suggested so long ago, as equals. It worked when you first proposed it, and I, for one, defer to your wisdom and leadership again.”
Winston looked around the table with eyes wide, as if to say, Come on, people. Work with me here. And they did. Everyone agreed loudly. “Oh, what insight! If only we had thought of that!”
As Lincoln, Joan, and Eric were backing Churchill’s proposal, David leaned in to Winston and quietly said, “Thank you. Well done.”
“No challenge, my boy,” Winston replied. “It’s just like dealing with the French.”
As they got down to business, Lincoln remembered to ask, “Is there a particular motion the theater makes through you at this time, sir?”
“Yes,” the king responded. Addressing David, he said, “My son Solomon was seated with me. He sends greetings to you.”
“Thank you,” David responded and looked up into the dark from where the king had come, but he could not see Solomon.
King David continued. “As we have discussed possible solutions, Solomon has held fast to his conviction, an answer with which most of us now agree. I certainly believe it to be the answer but, because of our equal stature at this moment, will allow discussion.”
“Oh, how noble of you, Your Majesty,” Winston blurted out, earning himself a reproving glare from Lincoln.
“Thank you, sir,” the president said immediately. “What is the solution your wise son proposes?”
“Exert self-discipline,” King David said. “Control over one’s self. Heart, muscle, and mind.”
“That could be it,” Winston said. “That very well could be it.”
“The other three—hope, wisdom, and courage,” Eric said cautiously, “certainly fit into self-discipline as a larger category.”
“Why do you believe self-discipline to be the answer?” Joan asked the king.
“Because everything I ever accomplished in my life was because of it.”
“I’d love to hear some of those specifics,” Lincoln said, “if you don’t mind.”
Thoughtful for a minute, King David smiled and seemed to relax for the first time since he had arrived. “My first lesson in self-discipline,” he began, “was the one I carried with me for the rest of my days. In fact, whenever I needed to remind myself of this mighty principle, I had this to touch, to feel, to remember. For you see, I really did carry it with me for the rest of my days.”
As King David had spoken, he pulled from inside his shirt a fist-sized, wadd
ed-up mass of leather cord. When he shook it out, everyone at the table widened their eyes, but Joan reached across Eric and held out her hand. “May I?” she asked.
“Of course.” The king smiled and placed it in her hand.
Joan stood and stretched the object to its full length, which was about the span of her arm. It was a simple construction— two leather cords, both tied at one end to a leather piece about the size of Joan’s palm. “You still have it,” she said in awe, and the king—once a shepherd boy—smiled and nodded.
It was the sling with which he had slain Goliath of Gath, the giant, champion of the Philistine army. The story was familiar to all of them, and as they passed the relic around the table, they asked questions like excited children.
Patiently, the king answered every one of them. “Yes,” he said, “this is the very sling. Yes, I chose five stones from the brook. No, I used only one. Yes, I really did take his sword and cut off his head with it.” And on and on until the sling had come back to King David.
At last, he laid the sling on the hilt of Joan’s sword and said, “As many times as I’ve told that story, I am amazed at the people who assume that to have been the first time I ever used the sling.”
“What do you mean?” asked Eric, who was now as much in awe of King David as the others.
“Before the giant, I killed a lion and a bear. Both were after my father’s sheep. But before the lion and the bear,” the king said with a teasing smile, “I must have slain ten thousand rocks and trees!”
Eric laughed politely, but he knew the point. David, the shepherd boy, had practiced with the sling for months and years. There was a reason he had been able to kill a lion and a bear. And there was a reason that it took only one shot to fell the giant.