by Jack Doe
"What if they don't take the hint?" Bryce asked.
"The behavior is not tolerated," Anul'thek said again, his voice firm and icy.
Bryce got the hint. He glanced at the clock. "Oh, shit!" he said. "I'm late!"
Charles looked up. "Only a few minutes," he said. "Be safe."
"Will do," Bryce said. He paused. "I'd love to take you with me, Anul'thek," he said apologetically, "but I can't let you be seen." Anul'thek nodded. "You–you'll be here when I get back?" Bryce asked hopefully.
Anul'thek nodded. "If Charles will allow me to stay," Anul'thek said, looking questioningly at the senior human.
"Of course!" Charles said incredulously. "I've waited my whole life for you to show up!" Bryce and Anul'thek laughed, and then Bryce jumped on his bicycle and took off.
"I'm sorry if he's a little forward," Charles said after he'd gone. "He means well, but he's still learning tact."
Anul'thek shook his head. "He's just fine," he said. "Tact seems to be a human thing."
Charles looked relieved but frowned. "But you've been very tactful since you've been here," he said.
"Centaurs learn fast," Anul'thek replied. "From the studying of humans we've done so far, we've learned many things about you. Some things, we had to learn from talking to you. That's why I'm here."
"What do you really want with us?" Charles asked candidly.
"I have told no lies or half-truths," Anul'thek replied. "You remember my saying that life is joyous, right?" Charles nodded. "It is both a statement that life is joyous, and a statement that we should make it joyous at all costs. Nothing is more important in life than joy, because we only get to be here for so long, and it is a terrible thing to waste the time we have doing anything but being joyous."
Charles was taken aback. It seemed so simple, yet potentially so complicated. He held his questions, though: he wanted to see where Anul'thek was going with this.
"Centaurs do live joyous lives," Anul'thek said. "We feast for any reason we want, even if it's just to feast. We drink and are merry with each other. We fornicate for the joy of doing so. We delight in the world around us, make great art and music to celebrate it, study the world and each other to enrich our lives." His voice rose in intensity as his enthusiasm increased. He paused, and then started again, his voice sad. "But there is one thing that we centaurs have missed for thousands of years," he said. "We miss mankind. You were cousins to us; you brought a different perspective to life for us, a fresh outlook from a species not as developed as our own. At times, we laughed at your naive antics like you would laugh at the behavior of a little child. At other times, you awed us by showing us a new way to do something that we had never considered. We developed with you, we feasted with you, we planted with you. We have lived the last ten thousand years by ourselves, and it has been a good life. But the one thing that we still desire, the one thing that could enrich our lives any further, is to again share a planet with you."
Charles sat silently, choked with emotion. Nearly every story of aliens, of vampires, of uncountable varieties of monsters had trained him that the other sentient species out there sought only to use mankind, to steal his resources, or to eat or enslave him. Here was a species that wanted nothing from mankind but his friendship. Was it even possible? Or was this a clever trick of a species more beguiling than he had supposed possible? His heart told him 'no.' The stories his grandfather had taught him had said exactly what this centaur was telling him. All of those stories of monsters and aliens, they were all manmade, and of course they would portray the outsiders as wanting to harm mankind: it was what we did to each other, after all, and it's what we'd tried to do to the centaurs. There was just one question he had.
"Why, after all we did to your people," Charles asked, "would you want to have anything to do with us?"
Anul'thek thought about it, but he had no response. Finally, Ing'ma gave the response.
"Charles, my name is Ing'ma. I am Anul'thek's mentor and the oldest living centaur," Anul'thek said. Charles raised his eyebrows. "You asked why our people want to have anything to do with mankind." Charles nodded. "Let me ask you a question," Ing'ma said through Anul'thek.
"Sure, anything," Charles replied.
"Why do your people leave a relationship because it is not right, only to return to it again? Why do your people engage in self-destructive behaviors like drinking, smoking, overeating, or using drugs when it does nothing but harm? Why do your people spend endless days going to 'work' and being miserable, when all they really need is to eat and have shelter and clothing?"
Charles opened his mouth to speak. "I–Wow, that's a lot of deep questions, Ing'ma," he said. "It would take me a long time to find an answer to all that."
"Do not worry, Charles," Ing'ma said gently through Anul'thek. "The answer is that the people who do those things think it is worth it. The battered wife returns to her husband because it is better to her to be battered than alone. The alcoholic returns to his alcohol, the smoker to nicotine, the drug abuser to his drugs because it is better for them to put up with the negative impact on their health and lives than it is to deal with life in an unaltered state of mind. The overeater prefers to eat and be overweight than exercise self-control or face the demons that drive him to eat. The saddest of these is the worker who is miserable at his job but must face a choice between misery or starvation."
Charles said nothing. It made sense so far.
"Why does a chronic nail-biter continue to do so after kicking the habit? Because he wants to bite his nails more than he wants to kick the habit. Humans send people to rehab to kick addictions, to diet programs to cure overeating, to therapists to deal with being battered, but none of these things affects the deep-down root cause: ultimately, humans and centaurs alike do things that others do not understand because that thing is more valuable to them than the alternative, and even though they may grasp the logic of why their decision is a poor one, not even the most logical argument can break them of the habit until they themselves decide that what they really, really want, is to break it and focus single-mindedly on doing so. The addict must decide that it is worth the withdrawal symptoms and the lack of mental escape to kick his drug. Until he does, no amount of rehab or incarceration will change his mind."
"You learned a lot about mankind in the last few days, didn't you?" Charles asked, intrigued by the deep knowledge the centaurs seemed to have of mankind after thousands of years of separation.
"Yes," Ing'ma replied. "As Anul'thek is down there, we are still able to intercept your 'television' and 'Internet,' and our scientists are constantly learning new things about you."
"I'm sure you could see that we'd be uncomfortable about that?" Charles said reproachfully.
"I understand," Ing'ma replied. "And we are sorry to make you uncomfortable. It is not our intention to harm your people. But we must know, for our own sake, whether you mean to harm us. There is no reason for the rest of your people to know that we are observing them," he continued. "I am not saying that we want to be underhanded, but we feel that it does less harm to keep the rest of your species unaware. You asked about our learning about you, and I answered truthfully."
"What does all of this have to do with the centaurs' fixation with mankind?" Charles asked, changing the subject. The centaur mentor was right, but he suddenly felt like he was carrying a large burden on behalf of his people, and he wasn't entirely comfortable with it.
"You are our drug," Ing'ma replied. "Thousands of years of our logicians trying to convince our entire species otherwise have not shaken us of the habit, and invariably, it turns out that the logicians themselves were unmoved by their own arguments. So, for ten thousand of our years, we have remained optimistic, hoping that one day we would be reunited. That optimism continues to this day, in spite of all that we have learned. I have to say, though," as Anul'thek lowered his voice to match Ing'ma's pitch, "we are concerned. As Anul'thek said, we must not let our people be harmed again. We must protect our ho
meland and our families. The greed you have spoken of has been corroborated by the many, many news clips we have seen. The fact that there seems to be so little celebration amongst your people saddens us all. Life is joyous, yet your people want to report on the ineptitude of celebrities, the corruption of your governments, the atrocities that some people commit against each other. Instead of reporting on the millions of tiny miracles that happen every day, from hitting a traffic light green to finding your favorite food in stock at your stores, you harp on the one red light you get and find a manager to lecture–"
"All right, all right, I get it!" Charles cried, frustrated. Dejected, he hung his head. He could not deny anything the centaur elder had said. Bryce would not have stood it this long and would have opened his mouth. Charles sighed. "Look, you're right," he said. "We do make a lot out of the bad times. You could almost say that we're not happy if there's not something to be unhappy about. There are many who are greedy among us, and we let them get away with it because..." he trailed off.
"Because it's better than the alternative," Ing'ma replied quietly through Anul'thek.
"Yeah," Charles said.
"But what is the alternative?" Ing'ma asked.
"War," Charles replied flatly, looking up to face Anul'thek.
Ing'ma said nothing, waiting for Charles to finish.
"It would become a war between the haves and the have-naughts," Charles said. "And our history shows us that the have-naughts always have naught. The haves change in and out, but the have-naughts always have naught. What good does it do for us to fight to overthrow the CEO of some major corporation only to have a tyrant take over the money supply instead? What good does it to do overthrow a tyrant to have a corporation take over?" He sighed, feeling defeated.
"Charles, let me tell you a secret," Ing'ma said. "Yes, Anul'thek, you'll get to hear it, too," he said, addressing his pupil. "Centaurs were not so different from mankind once, long, long ago. It was not through a war that we came to be the way we are now. It was not through some constant overthrow of those in power. There certainly were people in power, and our people felt much as you do: what's the point?"
Charles lifted his head in hope. "What did you do?" he asked.
"The have-naughts banded together. They lived by the rules they thought were right for them: that everybody should help to produce, that people should be able to afford what they needed to survive. They lived by example. When people among them tried to take power, they were driven out. It became a mantra to our ancestors, that everybody pitched in, that just because someone tried to lead didn't mean that he didn't have to contribute. It took a long time, thousands of years, but we finally figured it out."
"What about people outside the have-naughts? What happened when they came with weapons and threatened to hurt your families if you didn't do as they said?" Charles asked.
"Life is joyous," Ing'ma said. "If it was a choice between living in fear of some centaur with a stick or death," he said gravely, "the choice is obvious. Our numbers dwindled significantly over that time," he said. "Entire clans were wiped out, but do you think it was the tyrants actually doing the killing? No. Eventually their followers came to regret what they were doing, to realize that the people they were killing off were no different from themselves. One by one they quietly left. Occasionally there were riots that overthrew their leaders, and what was left were the once-followers, who sought wisdom from the clans they had once oppressed. There were growing pains: the clans didn't want to trust them afterwards, and there was fighting. But eventually we came to our senses. It took thousands of years, Charles, but we got there, and so can you."
Charles sat silently. This was a much deeper conversation than he had been prepared to have this early in the morning—or ever, for that matter—and his mind was full of thoughts, full of emotions. Finally, he asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue for over half the conversation, a question whose answer he feared. "We're not going to reunite, after all, are we?" he asked.
Anul'thek replied, "It is not for Ing'ma to decide," he said. "Nor is it for me to decide. The centaurs onboard the ship will vote and decide.
"When do you think they'll decide?" Charles asked.
"Arguments are already being delivered," Anul'thek replied. "They will decide when each side feels it has made its case."
Chapter 12
As much as Bryce loved his job, he was having trouble focusing today. He did at least manage to give Sheila back her torch, but his speech had deteriorated into incoherent mumbling when she asked him if he found anything, and he finally had to walk off. Fortunately, she didn't bring it up again.
He gave one tour, and as his mouth recited the information he knew he was supposed to, his mind pondered what he'd learned: was it really just a big piece of artwork? There had to be more to it than that!
"...aliens?" Bryce started; one of his tour group was asking a question.
"I'm sorry, would you repeat the question, please?" Bryce asked.
"What would you say to those who believe Stonehenge was put here by aliens?" the man asked again. Bryce bit his tongue. What if he was beginning to believe that himself?
"There is no evidence to justify claims of aliens," his boss jumped in. "Archaeological finds in and around the site suggest that it was prehistoric man that put the stones here, although there is still debate as to why or how."
"There's no evidence to suggest that it wasn't aliens," the man taunted.
The tour guide replied unabashedly with a smile, "No, there is not. Archaeology is about finding out the truth about our history. If it was aliens who put this monument here, we encourage anybody with factual, verifiable evidence to submit it for testing and evaluation by the scientific community." She'd faced these questions before. The man, seeing that he was not going to get a rise out of her, backed down.
"Thanks," Bryce said to her after the group left.
"Don't mention it," she replied, flashing a genuine smile. "I've got to give you some kind of help out there, right?"
Bryce grinned ruefully.
"But who'd have thought that a question over aliens would be what stumped you?" she teased. "I mean, I've seen you politely set professional archaeologists' facts straight. I never would have thought that a question as ludicrous as aliens would get let the cat get your tongue!"
"I'm just not myself today," Bryce replied. "Been a few weird nights, and I haven't slept well."
His boss nodded. "It's a lot of pressure to take," she said understandingly. "And it's a big change from cashiering: you have to think on your feet a lot more."
Bryce nodded. "Thanks for understanding," he said.
The rest of the day had gone better: he'd worked the ticketing counter with Sheila, and then they closed up.
"No sitting among the stones today?" Sheila teased as Bryce walked out with her to the car park.
"Not today," Bryce said distractedly. "I'm gonna get home and try to clear my head a bit." Sheila nodded.
"Good luck in finding whatever it is you're looking for," she said encouragingly.
"Thanks, Sheila," he said. He waved as she got into her car and pulled out of the parking lot.
Thank goodness this day is finally over, he thought to himself as he strapped on his helmet. He pedaled faster than usual and made it home in about 25 minutes. As soon as he got there, he kicked down his kickstand and dropped the bike and helmet off and rushed inside.
"Is he still here?" he asked anxiously.
His grandfather looked up from reading a paper on the sofa, his pipe in his mouth. "He who?" he asked, letting a puff of smoke out.
"Anul'thek! The centaur!" Bryce exclaimed incredulously.
"Centaur?" his grandfather's eyes sparkled. "There's a centaur?"
"Knock it off, Grandpa! I'm serious!" Bryce said, frustratedly. The gleam in his grandfather's eye was of mischief, not of excitement. "Where is he?"
"He's out in the shed," his grandfather replied calmly, shaking his h
ead with a grin as he returned to looking at the newspaper and puffing his pipe.
"I can't believe you're sitting there with a newspaper when you have a centaur in the shed!" Bryce cried.
His grandfather looked up again with mock indignation. "I'll have you know, little whippersnapper, that I've spent the whole day with him and have had such deep conversations that you would have drowned if you'd stuck your little toe into them."
Bryce stared. He didn't know if that was supposed to be an insult, or if his grandfather was joking, or... He shook his head, went to the refrigerator to grab a soda, and went out to the shed.
"Take one for him, too!" Charles called. Bryce returned. "He might like it," his grandfather suggested. Bryce shrugged and grabbed another soda, then went outside.
As soon as the door was closed, Charles burst out laughing, shook his head, and went back to his newspaper: the troubles in the world revealed therein might not be pleasant, but at least they were in this world.