“No. Survival is part of the test, though the only weapon you need is your mind.”
Irene glanced at Dawa, who seemed pleased with this response. Good, she thought, he doesn’t seem to think much of me but maybe his overconfidence can be used against him.
Actually, Dawa was smiling because he had feared he would be forced to kill an animal, or Irene, to complete this challenge. His beliefs forbade him from taking another life.
Irene kept looking at the forest around them, noticing an abundance of plant life that was awfully close to what she had seen of tropical rain forests, or even the cloud forest they had just left in Costa Rica, but the shapes and colors here were alien. Square, purple cones hanging down from the orange branches of a tree. A squirrel (?) with red and green stripes the length of its tail running down one of those branches with a purple cone in its mouth.
Dawa broke the spell by looking up and asking, “What is the test please, Malcolm?”
“Eager, eh?” Malcolm answered from nowhere, everywhere. “Allow me to show you your goal—and please don’t worry, I won’t drop you.”
At the mention of the word “drop” both Irene and Dawa lost contact with the ground and began to rise into the air. Both fought back screams as they continued to rise. Irene tried pushing her arms up above her to somehow slow her climb, but accomplished nothing. It was as if every air molecule below or beside them were lifting them in unison. Soon they were even with the giant, fruit-eating creature. They were close enough to see that it had yellow eyes set deep within what looked like a coating of bark. Irene bit her lip as the creature turned its head and tracked their progress upwards, a large chunk of fruit falling from its mouth down to the forest floor below, crashing into leaves as it went.
“Where are you taking us?” Dawa asked.
“Up.”
Irene nearly rolled her eyes at this lack of an answer, but allowed her body, in its filthy, authentic Mexican attire, to be lifted even farther into the sky. As they rose she began to see that the trees did have tops. There was indeed a canopy, though it had to be several times higher than anything on earth. She looked down, queasily, and thought they had already risen more than three hundred feet. She looked up again and saw that they had about the same distance to go.
She heard the flitters and squeaks of what she thought were birds, but the deep, dark forest betrayed no secrets beyond whatever lay on the branches surrounding the clearing. She looked up again and saw that what she had previously thought were birds spinning in slow circles high above them were actually…pterodactyls? She shook her head to clear it but, no, they were still there. She looked over to nudge Dawa and show him but saw that he was already staring, mesmerized, at the prehistoric birds.
After what seemed like only a few moments later, Irene stopped looking at the pterodactyls and noticed they had stopped just a few feet above the canopy. The wind, which did not exist in the protected area below, was quite strong. Her clothes were pinned against her and it took a mighty effort to turn her head. The wind compelled tears to form in her eyes, then the tears were swept away.
“What now, Malcolm?” she asked.
“Look behind you.”
Both she and Dawa slowly turned within the wind, likely aided by Malcolm, until they faced the opposite direction. A conical shape of what appeared to be a volcano towered over the rain forest. Though the tree canopy moved slightly due to the wind, the volcano stood stock still—ruler of all that lay beneath it.
Irene could see the fuzzy shapes of birds (or more pterodactyls?) flying in between them and the side of the volcano. As before, when they were at the floor of the clearing looking up, it was impossible to gauge just how far away they were from the volcano, or how wide it was. The top of the volcano was covered in a layer of clouds that clung to it, like whipped cream atop a sundae.
“Is that an active volcano?” Irene asked quietly.
“Not at the moment, no, and your test will be over long before its next eruption.”
Irene looked at Dawa, who shrugged.
“What is our test, please, Malcolm?”
“Take one last look please, and then I will tell you.”
Both Irene and Malcolm stared intently at the volcano, neither sure what it was exactly they were supposed to be looking at, when they began to fall, quite quickly, back to the floor of the clearing.
“Malcolm?!” Dawa cried.
“Be still. You are both safe.”
Dawa nodded, shut his eyes, and concentrated on something that seemed to give him peace. Irene went the opposite direction, swiveling her head and trying to take in landmarks that might help her. The only thing she was able to discern in their brief fall toward the earth was that they had shifted somewhat to their right. The tree trunk that had been directly in front of her was now off to their left. That seemed odd enough that it might mean something.
Moments later their feet made gentle contact with the grass in the small clearing, and they immediately noticed something they either had not seen, or perhaps may not have been there before. Six equally spaced openings into the forest were placed all around them. No light was able to pass down to the forest floor other than the cleared area, so the openings looked like identical, wood-lined caves.
“Your objective is to reach the volcano you just saw and find the cave on the near side. In this cave are two artifacts. One is a red orb, the other a blue cube. When you reach the cave, enter it and claim your artifact. Whoever reaches their artifact first is the winner of this round.”
Irene thought back to the great expanse of forest between them and the volcano. She also thought about the fact that, besides her now wildly inappropriate clothes, she had nothing in the way of food or supplies.
“How far away is the cave, Malcolm?” she asked.
“That depends, of course, on how quickly you travel and, in the case of Dawa, the path that is chosen.”
She was about to ask why only Dawa got to choose a path when the opening directly in front of them began glowing red.
“Yes, Irene. As the team representing authoritarian, pre-determined rule, your path has already been selected. Dawa, representing free will, can choose from any of the paths.”
Dawa smiled again, and Irene did not appreciate it.
“I don’t believe in authoritarian rule. I want to choose my own path, like Dawa.”
Malcolm chuckled. “One of the famous writers of your planet once penned, and I’m paraphrasing, that holding two opposing ideas in your head at the same time is a sign of intelligence. In this instance I believe for the sake of your team you must want authoritarian rule to win, even as you yourself do not agree with it. Do you believe your intellect is equal to the task?”
Irene grew as red as the cave, while Dawa nodded.
“So, what is the point of this contest? I’m stuck with a path already picked for me but Dawa might choose one only half as long!”
“Or, instead, I might choose one twice as long,” Dawa said quietly.
“Exactly!” Malcolm exclaimed. “These variables are an integral part of the Game. We are attempting to determine which philosophy, which approach, is best for civilizations.”
“Are there not, Malcolm, too many variables at play here?” Dawa gestured to Irene. “In addition to the obvious differences—species, gender, age, education, physical stamina—there is also the reality that a certain amount of luck is involved. I might choose a path that is half the distance, but while traveling on that path have a tree fall on me.”
“Yes, Dawa. It is for this reason that the Game is being played so many times over such a long period. Outliers within the results will be identified and eliminated. Ultimately one approach will clearly prove to be more beneficial than the other. Thus far absolute authority has triumphed in the majority of the trials that have been conducted, but much more evaluation of the underlying civilizations involved is needed before a winner can be determined.”
Irene continued to fume and Dawa shook his
head slightly in disagreement.
“I understand that neither or you is pleased, but this is the Game as you will play it. I encourage you to channel your anger and other emotions into winning the contest.”
Irene, still angry, despite the guidance, chewed on her lip for a moment, then asked, “Are we going into the woods with nothing?” She stared again at the dark entrance. “I won’t even be able to see a foot in front of my face.”
“You will both receive provisions.”
There was a long pause, and suddenly Irene saw that Dawa was wearing a khaki-colored shirt and pant combination made for the outdoors. He also now sported hiking boots and a green backpack. Irene looked down and saw that she was now wearing the exact same thing.
“Dawa, in your backpack you will find the basic items you may need: a bottle of water, crackers, a pocket knife, a flashlight, a compass, spare batteries, and a small coil of rope. Irene, the path that has been chosen for you requires nothing other than the water and crackers. There is sufficient light on your path—and you may not stray from that path.”
Irene pulled her backpack off, unzipped the main pocket, looked in and found that it was supplied just as Malcolm had described. She looked over and saw that Dawa had done the same and was now putting his backpack back on as he surveyed the choices for his path.
“Before you ask, time is fungible here as well. Regardless of how long the contest takes, the others will feel it has taken a matter of a few minutes when they hear the results.”
Something about that sounded odd to Irene. “What do you mean ‘when they hear the results?’ We aren’t going back to wait with the others?”
“The overall winner of this contest will not be known until one team has achieved three victories. After each round the players are put into what can best be described as stasis, where they will await the final outcome. Winners will return home in the original form, losers will take a new form, with the leader of the losing team becoming the shell around that team’s final receptacle.”
“The only way to see my friends, or my family, again is to win…” Irene muttered, fighting back another round of tears—this time inspired by anger, not sadness. Peter had been wrong. Irene had not understood that she might never see any of them again.
“This should give you extra incentive,” Malcolm said, somewhat smugly to Irene’s ears.
“You’re a horrible…person, or whatever you are,” Irene bitterly stated.
“I understand your sentiment, but I am just playing my part in the Game. There is nothing personal here, and I take no offense.”
Irene looked over and saw that Dawa was just as unhappy as she was. She did not know what he was thinking, but guessed that he too would have relished the opportunity to say a few more things to his friends he might never see again.
“Irene, your only rules are to take the path designated for you, and to stay on it. If you stray from the path you are disqualified.”
Irene nodded, just barely.
“Dawa, you have no rules. Do whatever you think is best to win.”
Dawa nodded, but was concentrating on the tunnel to their left, the tunnel that seemed to line up the best with the volcano.
“Malcolm, a question please,” Irene asked.
“Yes?
”
“Just to be sure, when you say Dawa has no rules, you didn’t say whether he was allowed to hinder me, or hurt me?” As she asked the last part of the question her voice involuntarily went up a little. It seemed like an almost silly thing to ask, and she was almost embarrassed to ask a representative of a far superior civilization if this Game they had dreamt up would allow lesser, more primitive organizations to whack each other in the head with sticks in order to win.
With that as her frame of mind she was doubly shocked when Malcolm answered, “Once you leave this clearing, both of you can do anything you feel necessary. It is true however, Irene, that you are not allowed to leave your path, so the only time you will see Dawa again is if he chooses to use your path, or if you both reach the cave at the same time.”
Irene, shocked, looked over to Dawa, who was shaking his head vehemently.
“I would never do such a thing. I do not believe in violence. You have my word.” Dawa’s conviction as he spoke these words gave Irene a little comfort, but that quickly drained away with Malcolm’s response.
“It is best, I think, to avoid making assumptions about what you will, or will not do, to win. After all, you are fighting to save your friends, and your way of life. I have seen this compel actions that were far different than initially expected from a contestant.”
Malcolm pulled quickly at his mustache, then clapped his hands again. “Let us begin!”
***
Irene blinked and then looked to Dawa, who was already running full-speed, his boots barely touching the grass, on his way to the tunnel to the left. She forced herself to turn back to the tunnel glowing red in front of her, and then broke into a run. While Dawa seemed to glide over the ground, she found that she needed to stare down as she ran lest she step into a hole or run into a hidden branch. Her backpack did not help matters, slamming into her back as she ran. She fumbled with her hands to try and find a way to tighten the straps, which made her running all the clumsier.
She stole a quick look to her left and saw Dawa disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel. How is he so fast?
Forcing herself to calm down, she concentrated on reaching her tunnel, constantly scanning the ground in front of her and, happily, feeling a little less jostled after she managed to successfully tighten both straps of her backpack.
The red glow of her tunnel soon filled her view, but she slowed down when the brightness of the entrance fell away and was replaced by darkness within. She slowed to a walk and gingerly extended her hands in front of her. It had definitely looked like a path from where they had stood in the clearing, but for all she knew she was about to run directly into the trunk of a tree.
Her foot caught on a root, or a rock, and she stumbled forward, her hands finding nothing but thick, moist air. She remembered a trick her father had once shown her during a camping trip, stopped, and let her eyes adjust to the level of light that was available. After a few seconds, she became aware of the fact that there was a small amount of light available. It leaked in from tiny gaps in the canopy far above. The light was so weak by the time that it reached the forest floor that no one would ever mistake it for good old-fashioned daylight, but it did let her see that there was indeed a path between the trees.
She looked down, still getting her bearings, and saw that the path was a skinny, four-foot wide opening. On either side of the path stood the trunks of the massive trees that towered overhead. These trunks were several times larger than the tree in the forest that they had entered earlier—so big in fact that from her vantage point it was hard to see where the trunk for the first tree on her right ended and the next tree trunk began. She looked down and saw huge, wavy sections of roots emerging from the base of the tree and spreading out in every direction except the path, gripping the ground as they went. Irene had no idea how trees could grow this tall, but she was sure each segment of root descended far below the surface to keep the tree from falling.
Her eyes continued to adjust to the weak light and she became aware that each tree trunk glowed faintly. The colors varied—greens, yellows, whites, silvers and blues. She slowly walked along the path, admiring the tree trunks supporting the canopy just as the large stone columns of ancient Greece had supported the massive stone roofs above them.
She searched the trunks and the surroundings for any sign of animals, a bit concerned that the tree-like, fruit-eating creature might suddenly appear in front of her, but the near-darkness of the forest floor robbed the area of plant or animal life. She could hear chirping and chattering in the distance. All sounds of life seemed to come from the canopy far above.
Now a little calmer and better able to see now that her eyes had adjusted to the
dim light, she remembered the view of Dawa running full-speed into the tunnel he had chosen, and she forced herself to quicken her pace. Her hiking boots made soft, crunching noises on the path. Her breath turned to mist in front of her face, as if the air were freezing, but she ignored that odd element and forced herself to look ahead.
The path was not straight, but instead wound around the masses of roots surrounding each of the trees. Fortunately, as the roots avoided actual contact with the path, they helped point the way as they ran alongside, forming an ongoing border.
Growing more comfortable, she picked up her pace. She had no idea how long Dawa’s path was in comparison to hers but had a sneaking suspicion that it would turn out to be shorter. The only way she was ever going to see her friends again was if her team won the Game, and, now running as fast as she could for any serious distance, she thought, I’m not going to lose the first round. I’m not going to fail.
She ran, and ran, her breath getting heavier, more ragged. The puffs of air coming from her mouth merged together until they formed a constant cloud. Her lungs ached. Her feet began to betray her, finding holes or sticks where there were none.
She remembered the brief time she had spent on the junior varsity track team. Her father thought it would help her confidence. As a newcomer to the team she had been given the event no one else wanted: the quarter-mile (440 yards). Too long to be a sprint and too short to be a distance run, the 440-yard dash was the worst of all worlds.
At her first race, her skinny legs trembling from effort, trying hard to stay in her lane, she went way too hard—too quickly—in the first half of the race. Midway through the back stretch she realized she had nothing left. She willed her legs to rise and pump. She willed her aching lungs to find air. None of it worked and she found herself being passed by all the others in the race. Her breath hot, painful, her legs exhausted, she kept going forward even as she watched the other racers in the distance pick up their pace in the final turn and head for home.
The Promise of the Orb Page 18