by Ed Hurst
George spoke in Galactic, “Good men, could you tell me where I might find a couple of hunters? I am in need of an armed escort for a few days.”
The men maintained their dialect. From the ensuing conversation, Fortis gathered there were a couple of young hunter apprentices up for licensing in the coming summer, sons of someone named Farrell. But the conversation was interrupted. From the other side of the entrance, a balding man stood and approached the group. Speaking plain Galactic, he addressed himself to George. He placed a palm on his own chest.
“Sir, I am a hunter – a senior hunter at that. I have business in the city and was planning to leave today, very shortly. I submit to you, one highly experienced hunter would be the equal of two apprentices. And I won’t charge any fee, since I’m already going that way.”
George’s face was impassive. “Well, we can’t leave right away. Our tent needs a full day to charge.”
The stranger was quick. “Oh, but I have a spare battery pack, fully charged. There’s no need to delay. We can be well on our way by nightfall.”
“No, really, we aren’t in a hurry...” It seemed George was almost making excuses.
The stranger betrayed just a tad of impatience. “Come on, old fellow! What are you waiting for?”
George rose to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. “Show me your sword,” he said coldly.
The stranger’s eyes diverted downward, and it was his turn to stammer. “I... I’m just a hunter, Sir. Elder, please forgive my impertinence.”
There was a long silence as the muscles in his jaws flexed a few times. George remained frozen. Finally, the man turned quickly and stomped away. He passed close by the table where Fortis sat. The latter tilted his hooded head forward a bit to meet his mug. George watched the man until he disappeared between two tents.
Turning back with mildness to the old men, he said, “Please be so kind as to inform the sons of Farrell I will offer a premium for their services. We depart with the dawn tomorrow.”
Setting his mug on a table, George looked at Fortis and began moving slowly away. Fortis hurried to join him. George maintained his regal demeanor, scanning the street and open courtyard of the village until they entered their tent. Fortis noted the basket which had brought their fine breakfast, and which they had then placed just outside the entrance, was now gone. George checked his baggage, then Fortis’ pack. Fortis checked his bedding, then his jacket. Nothing seemed to have changed; nothing was gone, nothing added.
They sat down on their beds facing each other. Fortis ventured, “So the sword is a mark of social standing.”
“These days it is mostly symbolic, but I have used it a time or two.” He reached back and drew it out, confirming Fortis’ guess about being a lefty. The off white ceramic blade betrayed nothing of its history, as George cradled it in his hands. It was clearly designed more for thrusting than slicing. “That man may know how to do some hunting, but he’s no hunter. He slipped three times.”
Fortis thought a moment. “I suppose the ‘old fellow’ was a breach in protocol. Did he forget he was playing a lower rank?”
“Indeed. Plus, the batteries are thin sheets built into the fabric of travel tents. Most tents used as homes do have external hookups, but a hunter would know the difference. Since I helped in making this one,” he waved his right hand to indicate their shelter, “I knew precisely what was involved. There is no way to add external power without destroying the high efficiency of the meager current this thing generates.”
“What was the third item?”
George half smiled, “Did I say where we planned to go?”
Fortis caught it. “No, but he did. Are there other places likely?”
“Oh, yes. There is a second academy with a large village, a different direction from here. It’s a business school, supported by a shipyard, and three logging houses. While the harbor we used does minor repairs, the staff shipwright there mostly performs inspections. A few kilometers farther east is the shipyard. This very village is mostly a bedroom for the woodsmen whose cutting feeds it. Take the narrow track northeast of here and you’ll find a logging camp. This part of the forest is pretty much limited to selected species of tree for lumber. A ways north of here we’ll be passing through one of the largest natural forest preserves on Misty. That’s where the predators are more likely to appear.”
“Both kinds, I suppose,” Fortis said.
“We will surely have at least one encounter. If Farrell’s boys are any good at all, we’ll be fairly safe. I surmise whatever is working against us has been too hastily arranged, so it won’t amount to much. When I refused to grant that stranger forgiveness, he surely realized I was on to him, so there will have to be a Plan B.”
Fortis cocked his head to one side. “You seem awfully relaxed about all this. I suppose it’s part of mysticism, though – a sense of detachment.”
George chuckled. “It is, but there’s much more to it than that.”
Chapter 16: Cast Adrift
George sheathed his sword, and then took off the harness. After shifting things around a bit, he sat on the end of his bed, leaned back against the pack frame. “I am by no means a teacher of religion. But I do share your interest in anthropology, even if I lack your wide, hands-on experience. You may not embrace a faith like mine, but I feel comfortable trying to explain it in academic terms.”
Fortis settled himself somewhat like George.
Looking at the ceiling, George began, “On purely intellectual terms, I assume you are like many out there in the more advanced society of the galaxy. You are aware of religion as a subject of study, without which no man can hope to fathom even a sliver of human nature. Humanity is religious, regardless of whatever word they use to denote a belief in something beyond human ken.”
Looking again at Fortis, “You probably have some vague religious feelings yourself.”
Fortis nodded. He fingered the spare spooler he had been keeping in case there were more significant details worth adding to his initial report.
“I’m going to guess you haven’t really given it much thought, but your reflex is to believe it’s unknown, but only partially unknowable. Belief should meet certain rational guidelines to avoid being a mere delusion. So you probably can respond to religious talk, and you are familiar with the vocabulary.”
“Your intuition is better than mine,” Fortis smiled.
George grinned. “Lots of practice, since all I have is the data from our birds. We understand there are a vast horde of varied religions out there, and plenty of them use variations of ‘Christian’ in the title or it appears in the summary explanation of them. Our religion here is one more. You also are probably aware of the Book, in various versions and translations, as ancient literature. Perhaps you are familiar with a major figure named Noah.”
Fortis nodded, “The guy with the giant boat and all the animals.”
“Quite so. While our religion holds the story contains literal elements, it is largely meant to be read as symbols. The ancient culture which produced the Book is what we attempt to emulate. Noah is associated with a particular set of Laws only vaguely referenced in the pages of the Book, but we know the very detailed laws of another character are a specific application of the more general Code of Noah. You would recognize the second fellow as Moses.”
“Ah, the father of Judaism, and a few other derived religions,” Fortis recalled.
“Exactly. Many religions diverge, and then merge again, and it’s all very mixed up. The point is this: We find in our holistic reading of the Book there is a set of standards for human government revealed in the Codes of Noah and Moses. Not so much in the words, as many religions assert, but for us the primary interest is the cultural and intellectual assumptions. That being, as you know, Eastern Mysticism. More precisely, Ancient Near Eastern Mysticism – Early Hebrew Mysticism. The context of those terms is mostly forgotten now, but the labels still work. The entire culture and religion of Misty, while o
stensibly Christian, adheres to a fundamental epistemology derived from what we can perceive of the ancient world of Noah, and to some degree, Moses.”
George rolled a bit to one side, resting on his elbow as he gazed through the narrow gap between the curtains over the tent doorway. Fortis said, “But you can’t really teach mysticism.”
George rolled back to face Fortis. “No. We can’t even really call it a way of knowing, but a way of arriving at a decision. The mystics have strong input on the development of the legal code here on Misty. Most of us serve as judicial advisers to sheikhs or their vassals. While the religion is carefully guarded against significant drift, the most important thing we do is prevent changes to the basic social structure. Agitating for change is a good way to get in serious trouble. When sheikhs call out the troops, it is most often to quash that.”
George rose to his feet. With an oddly quite voice and dramatic gestures, “We are so very firm with such things because by mystical means we have concluded it is absolutely necessary. So important, we would destroy the planet before allowing fundamental changes in the tribal feudalism. We can offer rational proof this serves the purpose of reaping the promises of God’s Laws, but that would miss the point. God is sovereign. What He commands, we do, regardless of the costs to us. Whatever comes of it is in our best interest.”
For all his jolly, bubbly energy in the past, Fortis had never seen George quite so lit up. It was not fanaticism, but a quiet passion, an assurance of such depth there were no words. George sat back down, still glowing.
“So, this trip through the forest to the city is tied to this struggle to lay the groundwork for sending missionaries out into the galaxy?” Fortis was surprised at his own question.
George beamed. “Yes.” He patted his palm on the ground between them. “Yes a thousand times.” It was almost a whisper. “You can go your own way any time you like. If you choose to follow me to the city, you will learn far, far more. Not so much in the sense of volumes of data as you did in your professional studies, but a massive depth which will shift the entire universe under you.”
“Rather like the technology of hyperspace which brought me here,” Fortis thought outloud.
“Where do you think that technology came from?”
Fortis shrugged, having never given it much thought.
George went on. “One of the retired technicians of our community who stayed behind on Terra described a conversation he had with the men who developed that drive. They were having trouble with the algorithms, and he suggested they reverse their mental image of it. He was just a lab assistant then, on his first job after getting his degree, but he was a mystic. They laughed him off at first, but later embraced it as the only way to make things work.”
Fortis found himself swimming in vast sea of thought. There were no words, no time, and no reality; just he cast upon a vast sea alone. He closed his eyes. Perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes or hours passed. Slowly, he realized he was not alone. Not in the sense of George just a meter away, but someone else was in that endless ocean with him. Unseen was this Presence, but there nonetheless. He knew he would not drown.
How long he had sat thus, he couldn’t guess. A part of him knew when George slipped out of the tent, but it didn’t matter. When at last he opened his eyes again, he realized he was a stranger to himself. So much so, he could find no words for it.
Chapter 17: Stable Flux
Eventually, Fortis rose to his feet and wandered to the doorway of the tent. Whatever this change was would require time to filter down into his conscious mind. He felt the need for a temporary distraction.
George was standing, almost blocking the doorway. Between the half-open curtains, just over George’s shoulder, Fortis spotted the clan banner he had seen on their approach from the sea. When they marched inland, they left behind the high knoll on which it stood somewhere west of the harbor. Now and then the breeze moved the treetops just enough to glimpse the kites. The brightly colored panels of fabric were displayed in just about every imaginable configuration, but they had one thing in common – most of them were quite stationary in the winds aloft.
“Do the kites remain in the sky day and night?”
George turned his head a bit toward the southwest. After a moment, “That’s one of the objectives. Fancy loops and artistic whirling might be more interesting to watch, but stability is what pays the bills, so to speak. They are supposed to self-adjust for variations in the wind to remain stationary.”
Fortis considered this for a few moments. “This village... Aside from the cultural bias in favor of orderly living, how do they maintain the social boundaries? I saw a sample of things when you confronted the self-proclaimed hunter, but I don’t quite understand how it works in this setting.”
George turned so he stood sideways to the entrance, facing Fortis in the interior gloom of the tent. “The largest tent here belongs to the village chief. When my people first began to spread out across Misty from our crash landing, we were in discrete family units. Most villages remain so, but we don’t pretend every man’s son will love his father’s business. Social stability depends entirely on the familial feel, the interdependence so essential to keeping order. Here, only half the village is blood kin, while the other half must enter a covenant to live as if they were kin. It’s not highly involved, but is taken with deadly seriousness. Once a man or household moves to this village, they become kin-in-effect, interacting as family and adapting themselves to minute local variations in how the families interact.
“The village chief is neither precisely hereditary, nor elected. Certain assumptions regarding the natural order of things are given – revealed, so to speak. Anyone stepping outside those boundaries is given ample opportunity to self-correct. The community itself is deeply obliged to maintain the process. Everyone is dealt with individually; not two people are treated precisely the same. It’s not so important what one does or says, but whether the sum total of those things points to a commitment to keep the family stable, prosperous and safe.” George counted those last three items on his fingers, to emphasize them as specifics. “That commitment is utterly personal, and person to person. The chief here is head of a very large household.”
“And visitors stand out,” Fortis concluded.
“Very much so. Various factors complicate things, based on covenants of loyalty through a complicated chain of privilege and mission, but we camp here only at the sufferance of the chief. That we have not seen him simply indicates he is busy, and that busybody woman is probably his primary point of contact for visitors. On my first visit a decade ago, I presented myself formally with proper credentials regarding the importance of my social position and my mission. Since I place no noticeable burden on his daily affairs, it is altogether appropriate for him to ignore us socially. It’s up to me to demand more attention from him.”
Fortis crossed his arms, looking down at George’s feet. “So right now you are trying to keep a balance between too much and too little.”
“Only because in my feeble imagination, it appears there is some threat to the mission. That mission is much larger than either of us. We can only act on what we perceive in the light of what God shows us.” Lifting his chin a bit, George oriented on something across the square. He took a few paces out into the normal lane of traffic. After a few minutes, two rather smaller young men approached and bowed low to him.
Fortis noticed they wore axes across their backs. He estimated the ceramic blades were too broad and thin for serious wood chopping. Their cloaks were mottled brown, green and black, but they wore some sort of tied scarf around their temples, brightly striped purple and yellow, the clan colors. The two young men were identical twins, differentiated only by the scar running across the nose of one. George led them close to the tent, and one produced a pocket device like George’s, but folded instead of rolled.
Fortis was getting better at following the local dialect, and he understood they were discussing routes. Fortis caught gl
impses of the map displayed. He noted the forest was several kilometers across, a wide flat valley with some hills on either side. It ran generally northward with few breaks, and ended in a series of low hills clustered near the center of the island. Markings on those hills he took as indicating the city.
Stepping back, he tried to visualize a city of mostly tents, somewhat like a very large version of this village. George had said permanent structures were mostly outlawed on Misty. Frames were a compromise barely tolerated, and cultural traditions made much of genuine nomadic living. Buried utilities and such were out of the question. He recalled George mentioning whole cities were moved from time to time, based on a number of factors which included waste build-ups and such. George had said something about honoring God by respecting His creation. Fortis took that to mean a high degree of ecological awareness, though perhaps less than the various nature worshipers.
George seemed pleased with the meeting, as he stepped inside after the young men bowed quickly and walked away. “Those are good men. We are blessed.” He clasped his hands together for a moment, vacantly staring at the ground. Looking up suddenly, “Pull up your cowl and let’s find some lunch. And while we’re at it, we need to get some dried food for the hike. Your load will get heavier.” That last came with almost a smirk, as he shrugged into the sword harness.
Chapter 18: Confusion
They went back to the tea tent. After a solid lunch of stew, pan bread and berries, the man behind the counter brought out a cloth bag filled with various sized bulges. George pulled from his robe a similar bag which was empty, except for a few smaller ones inside. He then showed the man something on the screen of his pocket computer. The fellow pulled out a somewhat thicker flat version of the device, poking and stroking it a few times. He looked up with a smile, then bowed and walked away.
As they left, George handed the bag to Fortis. It was not as heavy as he expected, but heavy enough. “That should get us to the city with some to spare,” George said with a smile. Fortis was suddenly freshly aware of the stiffness in his muscles. Yet something inside was eager to test the limits of physical endurance.