Nathanial looked around awkwardly. “You know that Professor Fournier is dead, don’t you?” He had no idea whether Hermes was capable of sorrow or misery—or, indeed, of any human emotions.
“No,” replied Hermes—with yet another shift of voice and form, this time to a taller, slender shape with a higher-pitched, but yet still male, voice.
Nathanial cleared his throat. “She died a few weeks ago—a terrible accident here in these very caves.”
“Yes,” said Hermes. “She did die. But she is still alive.”
Nathanial blinked, his mind trying to catch up. “I’m sorry—I don’t understand you. You mean she didn’t die here?”
“Yes, she did die, but she is still alive.”
Nathanial looked at Annabelle, Heath and Arnaud—who had gingerly jumped down from the ledge and joined the rest of them: all three were frowning.
“Hermes—you’re not making any sense,” said Annabelle gently, clearly cautious of contradicting or antagonising the creature. “Did she die, or didn’t she?”
Hermes turned its head slightly to face her. “How would you define ‘death’?” it asked.
“Well that’s obvious,” Annabelle said. “She…ceased living.” She turned to Nathanial as she stumbled around looking for some other way of defining what she clearly thought of as a fairly unambiguous state.
“You are using circular definitions,” Hermes said. “Defining ‘death’ as ‘the absence of life’.”
“But isn’t that what it is? Death is the absence of life.”
“But what is life?”
“What’s it on about, sir?” said Heath under his breath, looking at Nathanial. “The professor was dead, no doubt about it. No one could have survived that rockfall. You saw her yourself, earlier.”
“But that’s not what you’re saying, is it Hermes?” Nathanial asked the shimmering figure. “You’re not saying that she survived. You’re saying that she died and yet is still alive—have I understood you correctly? But surely the two are mutually contradictory, are they not?”
“Humanity has a very binary way of thinking about the universe—and itself. I have found this with Professor Maria Fournier.”
“Binary?” said Annabelle.
“You define and describe things in terms of polar opposites, of extremes. Am I incorrect in this observation?”
“You mean like life and death?” asked Arnaud, clearly fascinated by the direction the conversation was taking.
“Life and death,” agreed Hermes, as another shudder fluttered through him and his voice became distinctly female—almost girlish. “Black and white, right and left, male and female…. Your worldview seems to be filtered like this, I have observed.”
“But that is the way things are,” protested Annabelle. “How else could it be?”
“I have a theory,” Hermes said, almost thoughtfully. “About why you think this way when I do not. But I need to reflect upon it a little more.”
“But what about the professor?” insisted Heath. “Is she alive or dead?” He looked at the others. “How difficult can it be?”
“Perhaps,” suggested Arnaud, “for a being like Hermes who has never known death, only perpetual life, the concept of death is confusing?”
“I am not confused. I understand the difference between the two states. Your idea of death is the destruction or terminal failure of the body, is it not?”
“What else could it be?” Arnaud said.
“But the cells of which your body is composed die and are replaced and renewed on a regular basis, is that not the case?”
“That seems to be the case, yes,” agreed Nathanial with caution. His own mind was working frantically to understand the logic which defined Hermes’ perceptions.
“Let us assume that over a period of years, every cell in your body is replaced by a new one. If there is no continuity of physical existence, then can you genuinely claim to be the same person throughout your life?”
“Even if that were the case,” argued Nathanial, enjoying the discussion greatly, “and I’m not for one moment conceding that it is, then surely the replacement of one cell by another does not constitute any form of death at all. Look at us!” He gestured to his companions. “We are the same people—older and, hopefully, wiser—that we were ten, fifteen years ago.”
“Then what is the ‘you’ that maintains its continuity if not the cells from which you are constructed?”
Nathanial was stumped.
But Annabelle wasn’t. “Are you talking about the soul?” she asked with a quiet reverence.
“The soul does not exist,” stated Hermes simply—as one might deny the existence of purple cats. “My conversations with Professor Maria Fournier suggest that it is a construct designed to reassure humans that, as they approach the ends of their lives, they will not completely cease to exist.”
Nathanial was reminded of the conversations he used to have with his father; they, too, were never able to find a middle-ground. Now they were having such philosophical—verging on theological—discussions with a form of life so unlike any of them.
“Nonsense!” said Annabelle. “What sort of rubbish is that? That we have no souls?” She turned to Nathanial, outrage written across her face.
Nathanial wasn’t sure what to say: although brought up in a very religious household, the things he had seen since leaving Earth had made him reconsider many of the basic tenets of his faith. It was hard to reconcile the word of the Bible with some of the strange beings he had met. If they were not mentioned in the Good Book, then did that mean that God had created them soulless? Or were they simply a part of God’s design that, so far, had been hidden from humanity?
“And how do you come to that conclusion, Hermes, if you don’t mind my asking?” Nathanial said. “At the very least, it’s a contentious theory.”
“There is no evidence for it,” Hermes said blithely.
“No evidence?” cried Annabelle—who was clearly getting angry, Nathanial could tell. And he wasn’t yet sure that a full-blown argument with this bizarre creature was a good idea. “Of course there’s evidence. Even if you haven’t read the Bible, has Professor Fournier not told you about spiritualism? Séances? Ghosts?” Her eyes widened. “Ghosts! How do you explain the ghosts that the men upstairs have been seeing?” She clenched her fist and placed it against her chest. “That I have seen?”
“There are many possible explanations that are more plausible than the existence of a soul.”
“Well maybe in your world, there are. But humanity has been around a lot longer than you. We’ve known life…” Annabelle paused and Nathanial felt sure he saw a tremor in her lower lip. “And we’ve known death. You haven’t. You can’t know there’s no such thing as a soul. You can only postulate it, or whatever the wretched phrase is.”
“It is possible that I am wrong, yes,” Hermes replied. “But there is no evidence for that either. And it was not the soul to which I was referring. It was the mind.”
“The mind?” repeated Arnaud. “But that is surely the same thing, non?”
“No,” Hermes said. “The soul is a concept with no evidence. The mind is what operates and animates your body, is it not, and which ceases to exist upon your bodily death? Whereas, if I understand correctly, the soul is some ineffable, untouchable, immutable thing. Have I misunderstood?” It seemed almost worried.
“Of course you have!” snapped Annabelle
“Hold on, Annabelle,” Nathanial said cautiously, aware that Annabelle was already spoiling for a fight. “There is some sense in what Hermes has said. Our souls live on after our bodies, with no body to support them. And yet the mind can be twisted and damaged by all manner of things physical, things acting upon our persons. Perhaps Hermes has a point—I confess, I am no great philosopher.”
“But, Nathanial,” argued Annabelle. “Our souls are what make us us. How can they not have an effect on us?”
“It is your minds that make you what you are,”
Hermes corrected her. “Make us who we are. I am no different to you in that respect. We are creatures of mind, not of soul.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Heath suddenly. “Miss Somerset is right.”
Annabelle raised her hands towards the glowing figure, in what Nathanial took as a placatory gesture. “I’m sorry, Hermes,” she said. “I don’t wish to cause offence, but you are most certainly not like us.”
“My physical form differs, that is true. But what does that matter? It is the mind that animates the body; it is the mind that communicates; it is the mind that is us.”
“Well maybe that’s true. Maybe. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have souls, too.”
“Indeed it does not—the two are not mutually contradictory. But there is empirical evidence for mind, and none for soul. I would imagine that you consider me to have a mind, but probably not a soul. Is that true?”
“I couldn’t comment on whether you have a soul or not. There is only one judge of that. But…well, yes, you seem to have a mind. That much is clear.”
“And yet despite the fact that my ‘body’—the physical matter of which I am composed—is different to yours, our minds are not so different. Less different, indeed, than you and a horse, for example. It is our minds, our ability to think and communicate, that we have in common. And yet, in terms of our physical natures, you are much, much closer to a horse than I am.”
“Cheeky beggar!” snapped Heath. “We are not!”
“Sorry, Corporal,” said Nathanial. “But I suspect he’s right. Hermes, if what we see before us is just some mental conjuring trick, what exactly is your body—your physical form?”
“You have heard of the things that Professor Maria Fournier refers to as ‘plates’?”
“The crystals?” Nathanial looked around the chamber. “The ones that are everywhere.”
“They are not everywhere. But yes. The plates are the medium within which my mind resides, as your brains house your minds. The difference is simply the material from which our bodies are constructed. The important part is the interconnections between those parts: they are what create mind. In you, your minds are simply a series of chemical processes. In me, they are a series of electrical and optical ones.”
Nathanial was still trying to absorb what Hermes had just said: its body was threaded through the rock of Mercury, not entirely dissimilar to the Heart of Luna. Although the Heart was the centre of that world, Hermes was… He gazed round the chamber, noting the threads of dark rock woven into the walls, the boil-like crystal spheres protruding from them. Hermes was…the planet?
“So you’re, like, just rock then?” asked Heath in disbelief.
“Essentially, yes. But then the particles which constitute your bodies have come from the Earth where you were born. You are simply a different arrangement of rock.”
“Sir,” said Heath quietly, turning his face away from Hermes. “This thing, whatever it is… Don’t mean to speak out of turn, sir, and I know you know all about science and that. But, well, it’s not all there, is it?” Heath tapped the side of his head.
“I don’t understand,” said Hermes, the voice becoming that of a young boy. “What does that mean?”
Heath turned sharply, clearly not expecting Hermes to have been able to hear him. “You’ve got bloody good hearing for a rock man, I’ll give you that.”
“I am not hearing with anything you might consider as ears. I am speaking directly into your minds and hearing you the same way. Professor Maria Fournier thinks that this might alarm you. Is that true?”
“It’s…unusual,” said Arnaud. “But then this whole situation is unusual, is it not?” He threw a twinkly grin at Nathanial.
“You keep talking about Professor Fournier in the present tense,” Nathanial said, feeling that the conversation had strayed somewhat. “Why?”
“Because she is not dead.”
“Not that again!” spat Heath. “I’m sorry, sir, but we should go. We need to tell the colonel about this thing.”
“By your definition of life, she is dead,” Hermes continued, “her body was crushed, her heart stopped beating and her lungs ceased to supply her body with oxygen. But by my definition, she is still alive.”
“I still don’t understand—,” began Nathanial, but Arnaud suddenly made a noise and threw his arms wide.
“Ah! You mean that her mind is still alive, n’est ce pas? That’s what you mean, isn’t it? We see people as things made of flesh and blood, but you see them simply as minds. Am I correct, Hermes?”
“Yes,” the figure said. “Professor Maria Fournier continues to exist. I have attempted to copy the patterns of the cells in her brain.”
“Copy?” said Nathanial, a little disturbed by the idea.
“Yes. It is inadequate and incomplete because part of her brain was damaged in the accident and much of it had degraded beyond the point of accurate transcription by the time I was able to copy her.”
“This is horrible!” said Annabelle, clearly aghast. “You’ve made a copy of a woman?”
“I have made an incomplete copy of her mind. Do you consider that wrong?”
“Of course it’s wrong! It’s unnatural—it’s against God.”
“There is no God,” Hermes said calmly—and at this even Nathanial narrowed his eyes, “therefore it cannot be against it or him or her. And since I am a part of Nature, it—and hence everything I do—cannot be unnatural.”
“Sir,” hissed Heath, tapping Nathanial on the arm. “This thing…it’s…I think we should go, sir. I really think we should go.”
There was a barely-restrained anger in Heath’s voice, and his eyes were dark. Perhaps he was right. There was so much more that Nathanial wanted to ask Hermes, but he caught sight of Annabelle, nodding in agreement with Heath.
“Hermes, we have to go,” Nathanial said.
“Where?”
“Back up to the surface.”
“Yes,” Heath agreed, vigorously. “And Colonel Shawbridge knows we’re down here and is expecting us.”
There was a very long pause before Hermes said: “That is not true.”
Heath and Nathanial glanced at each other.
“What is the purpose of making an incorrect statement when you know it to be incorrect?” continued Hermes.
“Are you reading our minds?” Annabelle asked cautiously.
“Beyond the activity of your speech centres, no—I have not yet perfected that ability. But I can understand some peripheral thoughts. And Corporal Paul Heath’s statement was not true.” There was puzzlement in Hermes’ voice. “Why would you knowingly state an incorrect fact?”
Heath didn’t have an answer.
“I think what the corporal meant is that Colonel Shawbridge will be missing us if we are gone too long,” Nathanial suggested.
“But that is not what he said—and not what you believe.”
Hermes was determined not to let this go, but Nathanial felt it was time for them to depart.
“And the corporal isn’t well, either—after the accident. He needs to rest.”
“Very well,” Hermes said simply.
“But we will come back and talk more, yes, Hermes?”
“I hope so.”
And, like the death of a swarm of fireflies, the glittering particles which made up Hermes’ body went out. Just like that.
“Well,” said Annabelle. “Not a word of goodbye. How terribly rude.” She looked at Nathanial, but instead of the humour he expected to see in her face, there was only annoyance. And anger.
Chapter Eight
“In Which Colonel Shawbridge Faces an Impossibility”
1.
Corporal Heath caught up with Annabelle as she stepped out onto the beach. She caught the look on his face, and whether he shared her anger or was simply in pain from his injuries she couldn’t tell.
“And that thing back there says there’s no God,” he said, shaking his head. “Who does he think
made him, then?”
“If Hermes has been here, under the surface of Mercury, for all those thousands of years without seeing beyond it, blind and deaf to the universe, perhaps it’s no wonder that he can’t conceive of a god.”
“Nah, miss,” said Heath with a shake of his head. “I don’t think it’s that. I reckon it’s more than that—I reckon he’s evil, plain and simple”
“Is that what you really think?”
“Think what?” asked Nathanial, catching up with them, his feet slipping on the gritty sand.
“The corporal here thinks…thinks that that thing might be evil. And I’m half inclined to agree with him. Those things that he was saying—about the soul and God.” She glared at him. “And you just stood there and didn’t challenge him, did you? Either of you!” She rounded on Arnaud who had almost caught them up. He skidded to a halt at the ferocity of her words, little puffs of sand jetting up in front of him.
Annabelle looked down at her own grubby blouse and trousers.
“But Annabelle,” protested Nathanial, “that was just…” He gave a shrug. “That was just talk. Hypothesising.”
“That is not how it appeared to me. That thing is convinced that God doesn’t exist, that we have no souls and that when we pass away…well, that we just stop existing. Like someone turned out a light. That’s a little more than hypothesising, isn’t it? How dare he be so dismiss—”
“Annabelle, Annabelle,” said Nathanial gently, placing his hands on her folded forearms. “Don’t let it distress you so. It was just words. And you have to admit, it did have some very interesting ideas.”
“I don’t have to admit anything of the sort, Nathanial Stone,” snapped Annabelle, pulling away from him. “I might expect that sort of poppycock from simple-minded savages or even children, but that thing has had thousands of years to sit and think in his clammy little cave—and that’s what he’s come up with. And you were encouraging him,” she added. “What’s happened to you, Nathanial? You used to be as strong of faith as I am.”
series 01 03 “THE GHOSTS OF MERCURY” Page 10