Passages

by Olan Thorensen

  “How is it you could do this since your physiology and biochemistry must be quite different from mine?”

  “By ‘you,’ I assume you mean my creators. While there are biological differences, there are only a few basic paths to develop life. In addition, human biology is relatively simple.”

  Mark wondered whether Hal had intentionally dropped tidbits of information it had previously avoided, or was the AI fallible and didn’t realize it had revealed its creators were biological? In addition, if Hal thought humans were relatively simple biologically, it must mean there were more complex organisms. He wanted to probe for more information but was reticent, in case Hal had slipped up and querying would alert the AI to be more careful.

  “Okay,” Mark said. “Are there any other effects of these elements?”

  “They will also prevent you from developing illnesses caused by any type of micro-organism or virus. However, the general protective action will not allow you to receive transplants of any kind from other humans or animals.”

  “Well, all this sounds like a good deal. If I understand correctly, I won’t ever get cancer or become ill. Do I have it right?”

  “That is correct. However, you are still subject to accidental damage to your body. Once you leave this ship, there will be no further access to our medical technologies.”

  Mark quit speaking, as he mulled over the revelations. If Hal was truthful, the accident had saved his life. He might already have been dead because he didn’t know how long it had been since the collision. Instead, he was alive and would never again contract cancer or any disease.

  The problem was the tradeoff for saving his life—losing Earth forever and being dumped into an alien society with no guarantees of survival or prospects. His gut longed to return to Earth and the life he knew, but as time passed in the white room, and in his calmer, more introspective moments, he acknowledged that he’d lucked out. Even if given a choice between the accident never having happened or his present situation, he knew he would have no choice but to go with the second option. Not that he liked it. Not that he wasn’t angry to be at the mercy of powers beyond his control. But he accepted, as much as he could, that all things considered, he had stumbled into better fortune than he could ever have imagined. Justified or not, he felt he deserved a spell of good luck.

  After the required four years of service following graduation from the Naval Academy, he’d left the U.S. Navy, due to a combination of his wife wanting a different lifestyle, Mark’s finding he didn’t like sea duty, and his not being enthused about a career of shore assignments. Instead, he opted for industry and a more opulent lifestyle than the navy could offer.

  Only on his fortieth birthday did he realize he hated his life, including a wife he hadn’t loved for most of the marriage, a daughter turning into a copy of her mother, and a management position with no strong connection to building anything—the reason he’d studied engineering. And that was without counting the cancer fated to kill him within a year.

  In the end, despite fear of an unknown future, he tried to see the opportunity in starting again, although not in a manner he’d expected. For several years he had fantasized about divorcing his wife, forswearing the executive life, and searching for something he looked forward to each day. However, he’d never worked up the courage or overcome whatever inertia had stopped him from changing his life. He didn’t dwell on assigning fault for his unhappiness; he only knew that he’d taken too many wrong forks. Now that the decision was forced on him, one regret was not forming a bond with his only child.

  Still, that was the past, and Mark persisted in probing for more information on where he would spend the rest of his life, however long or short it would be. Hal deflected most of Mark’s queries, but occasionally tidbits of information seeped through, such as when the AI showed Mark images of the destination planet as seen from space.

  “You say you’re merely a passive observer of the humans on this planet,” said Mark, “but that seems contradictory to putting me among them because I might change things.”

  “So unlikely as to be discounted,” droned Hal in its emotionless voice. “One human will be irrelevant and insignificant among hundreds of millions.”

  Mark flushed and bit off words on the tip of his tongue, though they were prominent in his mind.

  Irrelevant? Insignificant? Maybe you’re right, you cold piece of machinery, but we’ll see. I don’t know what’s in store, but I’ll do everything I can to make you eat those words.

  CHAPTER 2

  A SECOND LIFE

  For the second time in his life, Mark Caldwell came naked into a world. However, this time he was aware of what was happening, had a lifetime of memories, and had no caregiver to protect him as he attempted to fit into his second world, his second life.

  He lay naked on a beach, knowing no one, having no possessions, not speaking the local language, and having no information on the society and what mores, laws, and customs he might infringe on. His losses were formidable and the future uncertain, but it depended on him to forge the next chapters of his life.

  A hint of thirst prompted him to move, to take the first steps into his new life, whatever it was to be. Another wave washed over him. A tide was coming in. He raised a wet hand to his mouth. Saltwater. It was an ocean.

  For the second time, he tried to stand. Rolling to his right, he braced both hands on the sand, raised his left knee to plant the foot, and pushed. He paused, his hands and one foot supporting his weight, and slowly arched his back to plant the other foot before releasing his hands. He was upright for the first time. Dizziness almost made him sink back to the sand, but he closed his eyes and focused on breathing.

  After several minutes, his head cleared, and he looked around. The beach appeared the same as it had from the ground. He turned away from the water. A solid wall of vegetation seven to ten feet high began where the sand ended. In his naked condition, he didn’t relish pushing through the growth. He cautiously took a step, then another and another. Once confident he could move, he walked toward the rock spine, looking for a way off the beach. Unable to find a path or less vegetation, he reversed and walked almost two hundred yards past where he’d first awakened, then stopped when the beach ended at a cliff.

  He reversed again to where the vegetation seemed lowest and slowly worked his way into the growth, probing with his feet to avoid rocks and dried thorny twigs. It was slow going, and scratches accumulated. The land rose gradually, and when he looked back, he glimpsed aqua-blue waters. From his prone position on the beach, he hadn’t seen over the breaking waves to an opposite shore rising into hills and distant mountains.

  He winced as something sharp scraped across his right side, leaving a four-inch furrow that oozed blood. The dizziness threatened to return, but there was no place to sit, so he forged on. He knew he hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards, but it felt like a mile. Just as he was about to concede he had to lie down, he pushed through a stand of reed-like plants and stumbled onto a dirt road with low, grassy plant stubble down the middle.

  “Wagons,” he said to the air. “There must be regular wagon traffic to keep the wheel tracks worn.”

  His gratefulness was short-lived, as he wobbled toward a bare shoulder off the road. He didn’t make it and felt his back hit the ground before he passed out.

  Ulwyn Hovey sang softly, enjoying the mild weather as he made his way from the village of Hoxney to his hometown of Tregallon. He had only six miles left. Soon he would come upon the first farms once he cleared the brush-covered section of road running along the shores of Derwun Bay. Hoxney had proved more profitable than he’d anticipated. The villagers were close enough to Tregallon that many people did their trading and buying in the larger town. However, a series of storms had temporarily closed the road while he was farther out on his semicircular trading route. The road had only reopened the previous day, and enough Hoxney inhabitants were eager for his wares that it was a gratifying final stop in an already pro
fitable trip.

  Robberies were not common in this part of Frangel, but neither were they unknown, and his jovial mood didn’t prevent him from staying alert. He had been robbed three times in his forty-six years of trading on the roads between Kaledon and Brawsea, the two largest cities in the realm of Frangel. He had gone armed after the first time. On one occasion, Ulwyn brandished his musket, which changed a scruffy attacker’s enthusiasm for robbery. On a second occasion, Ulwyn had killed the man who was about to fire on him. A third holdup attempt had occurred when he was accosted by three armed men. He wisely didn’t dispute their wanting everything but the clothes he wore. Later, he followed them forty miles to the town of Kolwyn, where he recruited men who knew him as an honest trader. Ten armed men captured the three robbers. Ulwyn recovered all but some coin they’d already spent. He stayed in Kolwyn a sixday until the end of the robbers’ trial, where they were sentenced to three years on the Frangel penal island near Brawsea, the capital.

  On this fine day near home, he was in the sixteenth verse of “The Ladies of Kaledon,” with four more to go. It was one of his favorite songs, but he dared not sing it within his wife’s hearing. He began the song’s refrain just as the wagon turned a corner, then he pulled hard on the reins of his horse team. A naked man lay on the right side of the road.

  Ulwyn laid a hand on his musket while he looked and listened. The man looked paler than most people, had short hair and no beard, and was covered in scratches. He was alive, as evidenced by the rising and falling of his chest.

  “Hello there!” Ulwyn shouted. “Hello!”

  The man didn’t move.

  “All right, I’m coming down to check on you,” Ulwyn called out loud, so both the man on the ground and anyone hiding would hear. “I’ve got a musket and have killed robbers many times, so think twice before doing anything stupid.”

  He climbed off the wagon, his arthritic knees creaking, hefted the musket, and edged his way toward the naked man. His distance eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, but he could see clearly within thirty yards, and his hearing was as sharp as ever. If anyone was hiding in the brush, they were staying frozen. His hearing picked up nothing but the distant surf, the rustling of branches and leaves in the wind, and an occasional murvor or bird call.

  Ulwyn stood alert while he pondered what he should do. The man wasn’t his business. There was a chance it was still a ruse of some kind, and if it wasn’t, why would anyone be naked out here for whatever reason? Maybe the man was crazy.

  Ulwyn’s preferred option would have been to move on and let someone else worry about what to do. He wasn’t a pious man, but, if asked, he said he was of the Sholster faith. Of the religious practices in Frangel, it was the least demanding—which appealed to him. Not that many probed into others’ personal beliefs. Centuries had passed since the religious wars and persecutions that had blighted the Drilmar continent, but the period had so stained history that it was considered poor form to even inquire into a stranger’s religion.

  Still, he did attend occasional Sholster services, and his wife was a fervent follower of the Twelve Tenets—one of which was to succor the stranger in need. Sighing, he knelt next to the man. The breathing was unfettered, and the pulse was strong. His decision made, he retrieved a flask of water from his wagon, propped the man up, and let water trickle into his mouth. This elicited first a sputter, then the man’s lips latched onto the flask’s tip, and he vigorously drank. His eyes fluttered before opening.

  “What are you doing out here with no clothes?” Ulwyn asked. “You’re lucky it’s me that came along, not wanting to risk my wife finding out I left you alongside the road.” He laughed.

  Water touching his lips brought Mark to awareness. He swallowed eagerly and sucked for more. An arm held him upright, and he struggled to open his eyes. At first, he saw only a head outlined against the sky. Then the head shifted and covered the sun. The man had a gray beard, a cap with a tip hanging to one side, and a dark brown shirt.

  The man giving him water said something unintelligible that sounded like no language Mark recognized—one more confirmation.

  He tried to speak, but the words didn’t come out. He took another swallow of water from the flask and tried again.

  “Thank you, whoever you are.”

  The gray-bearded man replied, probably saying he didn’t understand Mark’s words.

  After several more fruitless exchanges, the man shrugged and tugged on Mark’s arm.

  He wants me to stand, thought Mark. Maybe I’ve lucked out and chanced on a good Samaritan. I need to try to show appreciation.

  He patted the man’s arm, smiled as best he could, and was helped to his feet. To his relief, the dizziness didn’t return, and he let himself be led to a large, multicolored, box-shaped wagon drawn by two horses. The man stood him against the wagon’s side and went to the rear, then returned with a pair of brown trousers and a buttonless gray shirt. After minimal miming, Mark understood the intention. The man supported him while he donned the trousers and pulled the shirt over his head and shoulders.

  Mark sighed. “God. Who would have thought two pieces of plain clothing could feel so wonderful!”

  The transition from nakedness to clothed felt like a shot of adrenaline. Mark would later ruminate on how such a tiny piece of civilization could make such a difference. But for now, the question was what came next? For all he knew, there was a custom or law against picking up hitchhikers. Would the man leave him as he was? If so, it was a hell of a lot better condition than a few minutes ago. He’d had water and was no longer naked so wouldn’t scare people—he hoped. Maybe he could follow the man to a town and see where that led.

  The man spoke again, this time at length. Mark had the impression most of the words were the man talking to himself. When the monologue ended, the man motioned for Mark to sit on the ledge at the end of the wagon. With help, Mark sat with feet dangling, and the man indicated a strap hanging from one corner of the wagon’s body.

  I think he means I should hang on, Mark thought. I guess hitchhiking isn’t illegal, but neither do I rate sitting with the driver, owner, or whatever he is. Maybe there is a good Samaritan custom, but how far does it reach?

  The wagon moved at an easy pace. Mark hadn’t noticed details before, but from his view to the rear he could see a relatively smooth roadbed, with pebbles and only a few ruts. Nevertheless, he held on tight because jolts came unexpectedly. He lost the view of the water within a half mile, as they entered a forest—at least, that’s how Mark thought of plants the size of trees unlike anything he knew of on Earth. Rough-surfaced trunks divided twenty to thirty feet off the ground into a branching network whose smaller members sprouted feathery purple-green foliage. Flying creatures became more common, with most resembling a cross between birds and lizards. Then, to his surprise and pleasure, a blue jay landed on a rock and scolded them.

  Well, it looks like a blue jay, he thought, and that’s good enough for me. Hal said there had been animals and plants transplanted here. I already know there are humans and horses. Maybe seeing a few familiar forms will help me feel less lost.

  The forest thinned and turned into groves separating farmland with crops he recognized and those he didn’t. Thatched houses, barns, and sheds became more common, and he saw occasional people. The driver spoke several times to passersby; Mark assumed he was greeting familiar faces and possibly explaining the stray he’d picked up east of town.

  Farms gave way to clusters of small houses, then larger houses and buildings, until the wagon passed through a wall opening into a courtyard. Ducks scattered, quacking protests, and a woman about the man’s age came out of the house and shouted something.

  “Where did you find him?” asked Gwanel Hovey.

  “Near where the road runs along Derwun Bay about three hours ago. Just lying semiconscious on the road, naked as can be. Naturally, I stopped to help, just as any good Sholster follower would do.”

  The facial expression of Ulwyn’s w
ife conveyed the depth of her skepticism. “And when did you follow the tenets, except when it suits you, Ulwyn Hovey?”

  “If I don’t always adhere to them, I am reassured that you’re around to remind me how devout you are.”

  “Don’t you sass me, old man, not if you want to eat dinner tonight or sleep next to me.”

  Ulwyn pretended to grumble and ignore her words, as part of the game they’d played for their forty-two years of marriage. Neither of them could imagine anything that could break their bond.

  “Well, let’s get him in the house and take a look at those scratches. Looks like he got dragged through thorns.”

  “He might as well have been. He had sand sticking to him, so he must have come from the beach and walked right through the shrubbery. He’s obviously not from around here, or he’d know of the beaten path leading to the western end of beach. It’s a favorite fishing spot, and if he’d waited there, someone would have come along and found him.”

  “And I wonder what they would have thought of a strange, naked man?” asked Gwanel. She cackled. “Maybe whoever found him wouldn’t have been someone as devout as Saint Ulwyn.”

  CHAPTER 3

  REFUGE

  Mark watched and listened to the couple’s unintelligible exchange. Their appearance and tone with each other reminded him of his Uncle Bill and Aunt Betty. Still gripping the strap he’d used to stay on the wagon’s back ledge, Mark hadn’t moved since the wagon had stopped. He was afraid if he let go, he’d fall to the ground. Only when the man and the woman took him by the arms and the woman said something softly did he release the leather. They supported him to stand and led him into a house constructed of what looked like bricks. Once inside, they put him to bed in a small room. As soon as they released him, he fell face forward and was instantly asleep.