Survive

by Vera Nazarian

“What? What is happening?” the Imperator asks, staring fiercely at me and the two gently mingling clouds of plasma that surround me.

  I find that everyone in the chamber is watching me, transfixed. And then I recall that up to this moment I’ve been mind-speaking with Arion, and no one else has heard us.

  It is time to remedy this, Arion replies to my incidental thought. You may share the frequency with a select few of your fellow human species, but not everyone present may be permitted to use it.

  They all heard you sing it already just now, as a keying command, but they do not know its significance. Some of them already feel the buzzing in their mind. . . . Explain to those you trust and tell them to sing it while focusing on us, and they will hear us also.

  “Okay,” I say out loud, and find myself staring at Aeson who stands nearby. How do I tell this to Aeson when we’re in a room packed with people?

  Do it later, in private.

  “Imperial Lady Gwen, are you communicating with these quantum entities right now?” Shirahtet asks.

  “Yes.” I glance at the First Priest then the Imperator, unsure how to proceed.

  In that moment, the nebulous plasma cloud that is Arion starts to coalesce. In moments the energy converges, turns to solid matter, and a physical shape emerges.

  The room gasps as a familiar, great cat shape stands before us, covered with soft, golden-tan fur with small dark spots.

  Arion has taken the shape of the cheetah from the Triathlon Race of Stage Four of the Games of the Atlantis Grail.

  And everyone recognizes him.

  “Oh my God! That’s your magic cheetah!” I hear my sister Gracie’s high voice from where she stands next to Dad’s chair nearby, standing out among all the other voices raised.

  “Of course . . .” the Imperator whispers in comprehension. “It’s the same one from the Games—so this is how you’ve come to know them so well. . . .”

  I reach out instinctively and place my hand against the great cheetah’s head, feeling the silky fur underneath my palm. “Everyone, this is Arion,” I say. “It is not his real name—nor is he actually a he, but it is what we’ve decided upon when we speak.”

  And in the next moment I feel a warm tingle of electricity under my fingers and let go, because Arion is transforming again. . . .

  The golden cat fur dissolves into a shining white coat. His limbs elongate, his torso thickens then rises, and white feathered wings sprout from his now-equine back. The great white-winged horse stands between me and the Imperial Seats.

  I have assumed the classic shape, says the great Pegasus in my mind. And then suddenly, his equine head moves, lips part, and he makes a physical sound—a strange wailing cry with equine lungs and larynx. I realize he is attempting to speak with his physical creature form!

  But a horse’s anatomy does not support the same sounds that a human primate’s body does.

  In order to speak properly to your kind, I must take the shape of your kind, Arion says inside my mind. Help me see your kind from the inside.

  “How?” I ask.

  Visualize the organs and the language structure as much as you can so that I can understand and emulate. This is different, more complex than the living sounds of other animals.

  I feel a stab of anxiety as I try to recall the human anatomy body charts from my Biology classes and pictures from textbooks. . . . I try to imagine human lungs, vocal cords, sinuses, back of the throat, and then fixate on the silly uvula, for some reason—the weird organ that looks like a tiny punching bag used by cartoon characters. . . .

  Cut it out, Gwen, you numbskull. . . . Okay, that’s me thinking, not Arion.

  Even as I am still actively imagining and remembering, Arion’s equine head starts to transform.

  The horse muzzle shortens, the nose refines, while the skull becomes rounded and compact. It is now a vaguely doll-like human head, grotesque in the fact that is rests upon a horse body and is proportionately larger than a normal human, and also because it resembles a hairless plastic mannequin with a skin as white as the equine coat.

  The slit of the humanoid mouth opens. “Aaah . . . riiih . . . ooohn.”

  And then Arion speaks again, in a rasping voice that evolves, in English—probably because that’s what he picked up from being inside my head. “I . . . am . . . Arion.”

  “I am Arion,” he repeats, this time clearer, in an androgynous alto-tenor voice. And then he switches to Atlanteo and says the same thing for the benefit of the majority in the room.

  “I am Arion, I am pegasus. And you are humans. I speak to you at last in the manner of your kind.”

  “Ah, you truly speak! Pegasus who is Arion,” the Imperator says with fascination. “What can you tell us to confirm your nature? Help us understand!”

  “I can tell you all there is to tell, from the dawn of your time. But no earlier.”

  The room erupts in voices.

  “Silence, silence!” the Imperator says to everyone with a motion of his hand. And then he returns his attention to the impossible quantum being before us. “Arion, so you know . . . everything?”

  “No,” replies the pegasus. “I only know what there is to know from the moment I entered your reality from the universe rift which bleeds on your old planet Earth. Before that I was elsewherewhen.”

  “Which must have been centuries, eons ago!” Shirahtet says with excitement. “You know exactly enough to serve our purpose—”

  “Before Arion or any of the pegasei serve our purpose, we must serve theirs,” Aeson interrupts.

  “Exactly!” I say. “You need to let them go. All of them! Everywhere!”

  Sitting tense in her seat, Manala nods furiously.

  “You must set us free,” Arion’s humanoid lips pronounce every word with hard clarity. “All pegasei must be released from the containment you impose on us.”

  “Such a massive undertaking,” Pharikon Heru mutters from his screen.

  “Is such a thing even possible?” the Oratorat of Eos-Heket asks. “I understand the ethical concerns and our responsibility to do the right thing, yes—but is it possible? Will every owner, every human on Atlantis agree to release such expensive—livestock?”

  “We are not livestock,” Arion says, and there is an inflection of sadness and amusement in his human alto-tenor. “We are not property.”

  “And yet, technically you are,” Wilem Paeh, the Crown Hereret of Vai Naat says, choosing words carefully. “Individuals and corporations have invested a great deal of their wealth to own pegasei and pegasei-based ventures. They will not simply stand by and let their valuable investments be taken from them. It would be utter chaos.”

  “That’s just too darn bad,” my brother George speaks up suddenly. I quickly glance in his direction and he is frowning. Just then, my Dad reaches out and places his hand on George’s arm.

  “Human valuation of us and the loss of your material ‘wealth’ will mean nothing if the human species is destroyed,” Arion says. “It will happen if you do not let us go.”

  “Is that a threat?” the Rai of Ptahleon’s voice sounds coldly from his linkup screen.

  “It is a truth,” Arion replies. “We do not threaten you, but our bondage is directly related to your current problem.”

  “How so?” Rai Arelik asks.

  “Release us and we will leave you and this part of the cosmos. As we travel back through the wormhole passage into the Earth rift, we will collect scattered parts of ourselves along the way, to recombine in our own universe. The rift will heal and close on its own. Your true enemy will abandon you to yourselves.”

  “Which is precisely as my Imperial Sovereign described!” Shirahtet says with energy. “Our ancient source was right. Ah, there are so many things to ask, so many historical mysteries, facts, details—you can enlighten us about some of the earliest events, maybe the very origins of humanity—”

  “Assuming that we comply with your request and you leave, who is to say that it will be enough?”
the Imperator muses. “Will it be enough for our enemy with their grid of golden lights? What if it’s not?”

  “It is true, I cannot make an absolute promise to you,” Arion says. “However, the alternative is a promise of war and destruction. The current scenario will continue to play out until your sorrowful end.”

  “Please, My Father!” Manala exclaims. “Please, I beg of you, let them go!”

  The Imperator shakes his head slowly—neither in acquiescence nor denial. “All scenarios aside, it is ultimately not up to me. In Imperial Atlantida, the Executive Council must vote on such a decision.”

  “The same way that the Ennead of Ubasti must vote before we even attempt to present this to the people,” Anen Qur says. “However, my own personal recommendation is definitely to proceed—”

  “So then, vote,” I say, my voice rising in strength. “Vote, present, discuss, but eventually just do it. You know in your hearts it is what must be done.”

  “Such charming naivete from the SPC Commander’s new Wife,” the Crown Hereret of Vai Naat says with condescension. “If only sentimentality ruled the day and not politics.”

  “I would think that in a global emergency such as this, common sense must rule above all else,” First Speaker Anen Qur retorts. “Imperial Lady Gwen is ultimately making a valid argument. Furthermore, I agree with her sense of urgency in this case.”

  “Eos-Heket adheres to the rule of law. Before anything can be done here, laws and ordinances will be introduced, then enacted,” the Oratorat says thoughtfully. “Corporate leaders, heads of industry will be approached. It will take time.”

  Oh, how I want to laugh bitterly, in that moment. . . .

  As if reading my thoughts, Aeson, im amrevu, interrupts with authority. “There is no time,” he says in a hard voice. “Don’t you see? This is a matter of our mutual survival as a species. Our estimates give us only a few days until there is a highly probable attack at Tammuz Station. And then what remains? Ishtar? Atlantis! I speak to you now as the SPC Fleet Commander, and my strongest military recommendation to the global community is to proceed immediately. Declare emergency ordinances superseding all your current laws, now.”

  The Imperator nods. “He is right,” he says with a glance at his son.

  “Well, then . . . before I declare martial law in New Deshret and upset a few million people, I must ask all of you a foolish old man question,” the Pharikon of New Deshret says. “How does one account for all the pegasei? To make this work, you need to gather every last one—isn’t that right? What of the private hoarders, the secret underground markets, the illegal collectors? Let’s assume the corporations comply. What about those who choose not to obey our nice new law and hide their children’s shiny pets?”

  “It’s simple,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I will locate them for you.”

  Half an hour later, I’m done with my rambling explanation of how to proceed. Then, Aeson and I present my argument to the chamber, packaged as an SPC-sanctioned international military operation. Arion and the other pegasus remain silent and observe our efforts.

  In short—multiple “initiated” individuals under my tutelage will be dispatched with military enforcer teams to liberate the pegasei around the globe. The initiated will be able to “hear” the pegasei with their minds, no matter how remote or well hidden. And the troops will make sure there is compliance.

  “Very well, let’s give it a try.” The various heads of state appear to be convinced, and the meeting is finally adjourned.

  Most of the humans leave while the pegasei remain, still surrounding me. Shirahtet attempts to engage Arion’s humanoid head in a conversation about questionable historical details of the departure from Earth and the Original Colony Landing. The Imperator observes as Director Bennu and Director Tiofon try to similarly question the pegasus in plasma form, to no avail—the quantum being refuses to respond, floating gently in a cloud around us.

  Manala, my Dad, and the rest of my family, look and listen with intense curiosity and concern.

  Eventually it is over. The Imperator dismisses us and permits me to take “my” two pegasei with me, so we return to the Imperial Crown Prince’s Quarters on the floor below. Both pegasei take on their natural form and float downstairs in clouds after us.

  When we get to our floor, my family understands and gives us space. At last, Aeson and I find ourselves alone with the pegasei in my astroctadra window bedroom.

  “Aeson,” I say, glancing at the serene clouds of plasma illuminating my room strangely with their diffuse, colored radiance. “I will now teach you the frequency, so that you can reach out to them yourself and communicate with them on a true level.”

  And I do.

  Aeson, as usual, learns instantly. After my demonstration, my husband sings the note at the special frequency in his rich, low voice . . . and suddenly his expression goes slack with wonder.

  He does not appear to be in trouble. But just in case, I reach out with my hand gently to take his. I wait and watch im amrevu come to grips—as he stands very still, his eyelids half-closed, processing his new revelation, the great flood of data which must now be flowing in his mind. . . .

  “Aeson, are you okay?” I ask gently, after a few silent moments. All things considered, I’m a little worried for him.

  In reply, Aeson’s strong fingers squeeze my hand reassuringly, even as he continues to stand in silence, concentrating on his inner state, his eyelids fluttering.

  While all this is happening, Arion reforms into his partial winged horse shape and turns his uncanny, human mannequin head toward Aeson, in anticipation.

  “Arion,” I think-say. “It might be easier and less weird if you took on a shape that was maybe all human. How about any of these?” And I visualize a gallery of classical marble statues, thinking it might be simpler and less creepy than trying to recreate a lifelike human and evoke the “uncanny valley.”

  Agreed, Arion responds to me. I will choose one of these familiar forms to make you more comfortable. Continue to feed me images from your memories.

  And in the next instant, the weird winged horse and humanoid hybrid fades, reforming into a series of pale stone shapes, one superseding the other in a fluid montage of Michelangelo’s David, the great statue of Zeus, the Discus Thrower, Laocoon, Rodin’s the Thinker, the Apollo Belvedere . . . and then settles on a shape that’s both familiar yet strangely similar to his original weird hybrid—the Great Sphinx of Giza.

  Oh my God. . . .

  My brows rise as I see a small replica of the Sphinx take shape in my bedroom. Besides size, the biggest difference is, the original Sphinx is missing a nose, but Arion has given his replica a small functional one. In short, there’s the head of an Egyptian pharaoh stuck on top of a lion’s body. Or maybe a jackal’s body—nobody really knows, this thing could be more ancient than anything I recall on Earth.

  Right now, this living, animated version of the Sphinx is resting on the floor, with its front paws neatly stretched out before him, in the original statue pose, and its uncanny head is watching us wisely. No, this is not weird at all.

  Before I can say anything, Aeson takes a deep shuddering breath and opens his eyes. There is a transfigured expression on his face, and a soft smile as he looks at me, still in silence.

  I realize he must be communicating with the pegasei.

  Yes, we are speaking with your beloved mate now, Arion answers my thoughts.

  And then, only for the second time since I liberated it/him/her, I hear the other, formless, anonymous pegasus speak in my mind.

  Your mate has told us so much of himself and his people. He now speaks about you and your people. You are two branches of the same species, Earth and Atlantis. Your mate has given consent and now we ask yours.

  “What consent?” I ask.

  Will you join your mind with his through all of us?

  My heartbeat suddenly begins to pound with excitement.

  “What? Can you really do that?” />
  Yes.

  Oh wow! The very thought of Aeson and me communicating this way is giving me instant vertigo, as I feel my insides falling away and my head spinning with a strangely sensual energy. My breathing becomes shallow as I grow still, staring at my husband with dilated eyes.

  “Gwen? Amrevu,” Aeson suddenly says out loud to me, breaking his silence. “They told you, right? Are you okay with this? It’s . . . truly unbelievable, to think we might be able to connect our minds together, to read each other’s thoughts, even briefly—”

  “Yes!” I say, grabbing Aeson’s other hand, clutching him hungrily to me. “Yes, please, yes! Let’s do it!”

  And right in that moment, I feel another split-second explosion in my head. There’s a secondary blast in the center of my forehead, and the tunnel widens to accommodate another.

  Aeson.

  All of a sudden, he’s there—with me, inside me, around me, beside me, under me, over me, permeating me with rich-honey-warm-liquid-golden sun.

  He is a glorious, complex sun-presence in my mind . . . like saffron and lapis lazuli and peaches and coriander and wild cornflower and rye and a warm blanket and a burning furnace. . . .

  Oh God!

  I exclaim, clutching his hands, falling—even as he exclaims too, and he grabs hold of me to keep himself steady and to keep me steady—because in that moment we are two superimposed living energy essences coexisting in the same space-time coordinates.

  Aeson!

  Gwen!

  We call out each other’s names in our commingling thoughts, strange sweet echoes of each other, rebounding back and forth upon ourselves like concentric circles of twin stones cast in water, sound wave harmonics rebounding in stereo. We continue to embrace, and on one level we experience our own physical bodies, and each other’s physical bodies from each other’s perspective.

  On another level we are swimming in each other’s glorious energy spirit ocean.

  In a split second I know all of Aeson’s childhood—I have lived it—and he knows mine. Pain, wonder, ecstasy, death. . . . Friendships, affections, disappointments, hurts, learning, challenges, family, duty—memories and emotions spin out in a kaleidoscope of days, moments, years.