Recalling that Revitalization Ceremonies had failed after the first three springs had gone dry, Jared brushed the curtain aside and headed for the Assembly Area to join the services. That it would be a novel experience added little to his enthusiasm.
He stayed on the fringe of the Congregation. To have gone up front at the first ceremony he had attended in gestations would have distracted Guardian and Survivors alike. And he felt even more self-conscious when he heard a sharp-eared child nearby grip his mother’s arm and exclaim, “It’s Jared, Mother! It’s Jared Fenton!”
“Hush and listen to the Guardian!” the woman reproved.
Guardian Philar was circulating among them, his words rebounding clearly from the object he clutched against his chest.
“Feel this Holy Bulb,” he exhorted. “Be inspired along the passageway of virtue. Let us hurl back Darkness. Only by renouncing evil can we discharge our obligations as Survivors and listen ahead to that great period when we will be Reunited with Light Almighty!”
If the Guardian of the Way wasn’t the gauntest man in the Lower Level, Jared felt certain, then he was at least in close running for the distinction. Bouncing off his body, central caster echoes picked up the harsh bluntness of bones that threatened to erupt through skin. His beard was sparse to the extreme of being fully inaudible. But the most prominent features of his haggard face were eyes set deep in their sockets and lids squeezed so firmly together that it was doubtful whether they had ever been open.
He reached Jared and paused, his voice stooping for but not quite finding a bass fervor. “Among all the things in this world, our Holy Bulb is the only one that has ever been in contact with Light. Feel it.” And, when Jared hesitated, “Feel it!”
His hand went out reluctantly and touched its cold, round surface. In exaggerated proportion, it had the same properties as the miniature Bulb in the object the monsters had left in the Upper Level. And he wondered…
But he banished the thought. Wasn’t it his own curiosity—over the Bulb and many other things—that had gotten the worlds into their present predicament?
The Guardian moved on, swaying, almost chanting. “There are those who would deny that Light ever dwelt in this relic. To them goes the blame for having provoked the Almighty’s wrath.”
Jared lowered his head, aware that many around him would have no trouble identifying the person for whom the accusation was intended.
“So the spiritual challenge we face on this Revitalization Period,” the Guardian concluded, “is a personal one. The echoes from the wall are clear. Unless we atone individually for our misdeeds, we may expect to find that the same Light Almighty who banished Survivor from His presence has it in His power to destroy Survivor completely!”
He replaced the Holy Bulb in its niche and faced the Congregation, arms outstretched. An elderly woman went and stood humbly before him and Jared listened to Philar’s hands performing the final ritual.
“Do you feel Him?” the Guardian demanded.
The woman grunted a disappointed negative reply and moved on.
“Patience, daughter. Effective Excitation comes to all those who persevere against Darkness.”
Another Survivoress, two children and a Survivor humbled themselves in front of Guardian Philar before the first positive response was evoked in the Excitation of the Optic Nerve Ceremony. It was elicited from a young woman. As soon as the Guardian brushed aside the veil of hair that hung in front of her face and applied fingertips to her eyelids she cried out ecstatically:
“I feel Him! Oh, I feel Him!”
The stark emotion in the woman’s voice made Jared’s flesh tingle.
Patting her head approvingly, the Guardian turned to the next person.
Jared lagged behind the last in line, not letting himself imagine those who were Effectively Excited might actually be feeling nothing more than a special pressure from the Guardian’s hands. Rather, he tried to keep his thoughts receptive, so that his first participation in the ritual would not be thwarted by long-standing prejudice.
By the time his turn arrived, the others had gone from the Assembly Area leaving only him and the Guardian. Waiting with his head lowered, he listened to Philar’s severe expression. The Guardian was not concealing his belief that Jared’s flagrant disrespect for the Barrier had brought on the Lower Level’s misfortunes.
Bony hands reached out to Jared’s face. They explored their way along his cheeks to his eyes. Then fingernails pressed into the soft recesses beneath the lower lids.
At first there was—nothing. Then the Guardian applied an almost painful pressure.
“Do you feel Him!” he demanded.
But Jared only stood there confounded. Two fuzzy half rings of silent sound were dancing around in his head. He could feel them not where the Guardian was pressing, but somewhere near the upper area of his eyeballs. Effective Excitation was the same sort of sensation he had twice experienced in the presence of the monsters!
Was he actually supposed to be feeling a part of Light Himself? If so, then why should he be aware of the presence of the Almighty, in a slightly different way, whenever he was near the Twin Devils? If Light was good, then why should He also be associated with the evil creatures?
Jared repressed the profane thoughts, chasing them completely out of his mind, together with the memory of ever having entertained them.
Fascinated, he listened to the dancing rings. They became more or less vivid as the Guardian varied the pressure of his fingernails.
“Are you feeling Him?”
“I feel Him,” Jared admitted weakly.
“I didn’t expect you would,” the other said, somewhat disappointed. “But I’m glad to hear there’s still hope for you.”
He went over and sat on a ledge below the Holy Bulb niche and his voice lost some of its sharpness. “We haven’t heard too much of you over here, Jared. Your father’s been concerned about that and I can understand why. Some period the destiny of this world will be in your hands. Will they be good hands?”
Jared lowered himself on the ledge and sat there with his head bowed. “I felt Him,” he mumbled. “I felt Him.”
“Of course you did, son.” The Guardian laid a sympathetic hand on his arm. “You could have felt Him sooner than this, you know. And things would have been different for you—different, perhaps, for the whole world.”
“Did I cause the hot springs to dry up?”
“I can think of nothing that would enrage the Almighty more than violation of the Barrier taboo.”
Jared’s hands clutched each other in distress. “What can I do?”
“You can atone. Then we’ll hear what happens afterward.”
“But you don’t understand. It may be more than just violating the Barrier! I’ve thought Light might not be Almighty, that He—”
“I do understand, son. You’ve had your doubts, like other Survivors from time to time. But remember—in the long run, one isn’t to be judged by his skepticism. The true measure of a reconverted Survivor is the sincerity with which he renounces his disbeliefs.”
“Do you think I can find the right amount of sincerity?”
“I’m sure you can—now that we’ve had this talk. And I’ve no doubt that should promised Reunion with Light come during your time, you’ll be prepared for it.”
The Guardian trained his ears on infinity. “What a beautiful period that will be, Jared—Light all around us, touching everything, a Constant Communion, with the Almighty bringing man total knowledge of all things about him. And Darkness will be erased completely.”
Jared spent the rest of that period in the seclusion of his grotto. Unification, however, was not the subject of his Contemplation. Instead, he reviewed his new persuasions, careful not to entertain any thoughts that might be offensive to the Almighty.
In that single quarter period he renounced his dedicated search for Darkness and Light, denying himself any regret over having done so. And he resolved he would never again go beyond
the Barrier.
New convictions firmly implanted, he relaxed in the assurance that everything would be all right—spiritually and physically. So certain did it seem he had done the proper thing that he wouldn’t have been at all surprised to hear the twelve dry springs had begun running again. It was as though he had entered into a covenant with Light.
He was still reaffirming his resolution when the Prime Survivor entered. “The Guardian just told me you’d heard the sound, son.”
“I hear a lot of things I didn’t hear before.” The earnest words bathed his father’s face and carried back with them the outline of a smile that was warm with approval and pride.
“I’ve been waiting for you to speak like this for a long time, Jared. It means I can now go ahead with my plans.”
“What plans?”
“This world should have young, vital leadership. It lacked that even before the springs went dry. With this challenge facing us, we need the imagination of a youthful leader all the more.”
“You want me to become Prime Survivor?”
“As soon as possible. It’ll take plenty of preparation. But I’ll give you all the help I can.”
A half-dozen periods earlier, Jared would have had no part of this development. But now it seemed only a minor enlargement of the life of dedicated purpose to which he had pledged himself.
“I don’t hear any arguments,” the Prime Survivor said gratefully.
“You won’t. Not if this is the way you want it.”
“Good! Over the next couple of periods I’ll tell you some of the things that have to be done. Then, when you get back from the Upper Level, we’ll start our formal training.”
“How are the Elders going to take this?”
“After they heard what went on between you and Guardian Philar, they didn’t have any objections at all.”
Early the next period—even before the central echo caster had been turned on—Jared was shaken roughly from his sleep.
“Wake up! Something’s happened!”
It was Elder Averyman. And whatever had happened must have been serious, indeed, for him to have burst into a private grotto.
Jared bounded to his feet, conscious of his brother’s restless stirring on the next ledge. “What is it?” he demanded.
“The Prime Survivor!” Averyman broke for the exit. “Come—quick!”
Jared raced off after him, hearing both that Romel was awakening and that his father’s ledge was empty. He overtook the Elder near the entrance to the world. “Where are we going?”
But Averyman only huffed more erratically. And the rush of air into and out of his lungs was chopped into discontinuous sound by the motion of the hair that hung down over his face.
That something was seriously amiss was evidenced by more than the Elder’s behavior. Indistinct voices, muffled in apprehension, could be heard in small, scattered groups. And Jared listened to several other persons, who had evidently been up and about soon enough to hear what had happened, racing toward the entrance.
“It’s the Prime Survivor!” Averyman managed between gasps. “We were out for our early walk. And he was saying how he was going to let you take over. When we passed by the entrance—” He stumbled and Jared crashed into his flailing form.
Someone turned on the central caster and Jared oriented himself as the details of his world sprang into audibility all around him. Among the impressions came that of Romel plodding along after them.
Elder Averyman brought his breathing under control. “It was awful! This thing came rushing from the passage, all fluttering and foul smelling! Your father and I could only stand there terrified—”
The smell of the monster still clung to the air. Detecting it, Jared raced ahead.
“Then there was this hissing sound,” Averyman’s laboring voice receded. “And the Prime Survivor fell where he stood. He didn’t move—not even when the thing came for him!”
Jared reached the entrance and elbowed his way past several Survivors who were asking one another what had happened.
The odor was even more offensive in the Passageway, growing stronger in the direction of the Original World. Mingled with it was the familiar scent of the Prime Survivor. There seemed to be an accumulation of the stench a short distance away. Jared followed his nose to the spot, reaching down to pick up something soft and limp.
About twice the size of his hand, it felt like manna cloth. Only, the texture was incomparably finer. And from each corner dangled a ribbon of the same material.
It was something that certainly required further study. But, as long as it reeked with the smell of the monster, he couldn’t bring it into the world without causing commotion. So he put it down and scraped dirt over it, fixing the location of the spot in his mind.
On the way back he almost collided with his brother, who was groping along the passageway.
“It sounds like you’ll be Prime Survivor sooner than you expected,” Romel said, not without a trace of envy in his voice.
To be continued in Issue Two
**********
Views expressed by guest or resident
columnists are entirely their own.
SOMETHING DIFFERENT
by Horace E. Cocroft
Horace Cocroft, an avid student of military history, thinks about off things like the economic engine of Middle Earth and other such matters…
Economics in SF
A few months ago, an unusual Paul Krugman blog entry caught my attention. He’d been asked to write the introduction to a new edition of Isaac Asimov’s “Foundation” trilogy. In it, he discusses his youthful fascination with the idea of psychohistory, a science that can predict human behavior through mathematical formulas. “I didn’t grow up wanting to be a square-jawed individualist or join a heroic quest; I grew up wanting to be Hari Seldon, using my understanding of the mathematics of human behavior to save civilization.” Unfortunately for Krugman, the closest he could manage was economics.
Economic conditions, as the last few years have proven, and as the residents of Greece or Spain could attest, directly affect all aspects of life. The well-being of individuals, their ability to achieve their hopes and dreams, and the obstacles and frustrations that oppose them are all dependent on the state of the economy. This is true of fictional people as well. Novels such as The Great Gatsby or The Grapes of Wrath are shaped by the economic conditions and economic systems prevalent in the novel. Of course contemporary works don’t need to explain the world that they are set in, as readers are familiar with the world around them. Even historical works can get by with little explanation. Most people know that conditions during the Great Depression were hard, but that the Roaring Twenties were prosperous. Wholly invented worlds, however, require a bit more description.
In the world of Star Trek, to take a particularly annoying example, economics are simply done away with. Apparently there’s no money in the Federation, almost no economic transactions whatsoever. How the characters at Deep Space Nine pay for drinks at Quark’s Bar is a mystery. Worries about finances and money are sneeringly left to less progressive species like the Ferengi. More importantly, the allocation of resources in the Federation is equally mysterious. I suppose in a world with replicators, unlimited resources might be possible, but even then the question of labor raises its head. How do you get people to do work that they’re not personally thrilled with? There are an awful lot of waiters in the world of Star Trek. I can see taking the time and effort to become a member of Starfleet and explore the galaxy, but if you’re not getting paid to do it, who would show up for work as a waiter? Or even, say, a lawyer? There are many people who are genuinely interested in the practice of law, but the fact that it is very well compensated has more to do with its popularity as a profession. It’s difficult to say that the economics in Star Trek are nonsense, because there just aren’t any.
An example of a fictional world that handles its economic realities very well is the “Novels of the Change,” by S.M. Stirl
ing. His world, a post-apocalyptic world where electricity and other advanced forms of power generation no longer work, is one stuck at a medieval technological level. In it, characters have to make a living, and have economic concerns. “Should I sell this flock of sheep at Corvallis, or can I get a better price in Portland?” It’s not the primary concern of the main characters, but you’re always aware that it’s something they have to deal with. It makes the world feel more realistic and lived in. (As an aside, does anyone else think the producers of the NBC show Revolution owe some money to Stirling? He came up with that electricity failing plot years ago.)
Of course, not every exercise in world building needs a detailed economic structure. Nobody reads Tolkien expecting to find a discussion of the trade policies of the Shire. Still, I’ve always been curious about how Bilbo supported himself before his share of Smaug’s loot. He was obviously a gentleman of leisure, to be able to take a trip of several months on short notice. And exactly how did the Dúnedain Rangers support themselves? Were they hunter-gatherers? Did they live off the largesse of the elves at Rivendell? Apparently, the only economic agents in Middle-earth are the Dwarf Lords, in their houses of stone.
Not all fantastic worlds need realistic economics. Authors such as Philip K. Dick, and, to a lesser extent, Ray Bradbury, are more concerned with ideas and images than with making a world feel lived in and realistic. An unconcern for economic and material realities is almost a part of their writing style. The Amber novels of Roger Zelazny go in the other direction. They’re so big and sprawling that economic concerns seem trivial in comparison. The universes these authors construct have their own strengths, and aren’t dependent on realistic-feeling settings to draw in readers.
Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 1 March 2013 Page 21