It would not be a pleasant wake-up.
She rose from her landing and went around to face her powerful, whimsical steed.
<You’re tall,> she said to him, shins throbbing. She stroked his snout. To that he whinnied softly and pushed his velvety nose into her hair. As he did this she got the vague concept that he, in turn, thought her small. Also that he really liked her.
He whinnied again and she hugged his head. Then, with a hand along his jaw, pointed him toward the trees. Without needing any further encouragement he went off among them, the other horses doing the same, and together the three began pulling and crunching leaves. Erius got the higher ones and Jess laughed at him reaching over the heads of the others. Maybe those were the most tasty.
Galfar began laying out a few of their things, along with the food for their supper. The night before they’d made no fire, tonight it looked as if they would. Which meant it looked like Galfar would be cooking. So far they’d eaten everything raw, which was fine—the food was of the sort you could eat without prep (she especially enjoyed the little clay jars of olive-like things, chewing off their tasty meat and spitting out the pits)—but the idea of a hot meal was suddenly hugely appealing.
<Anything I can do to help?> she asked. Galfar waved her No and kept working in his aged, methodical way. So far it seemed he considered it his duty to care for her, which included things such as this. She had no idea if it was from some chivalrous attitude, the men taking care of the women, or if it was driven by his concept of her as the chosen one. Either way it was silly to refuse her help. She was young and strong and should at least be doing something.
Speaking of which, she thought, where was Haz? She looked and found him further back, wandering around aimlessly, kicking rocks and gazing off into the distance. Why wasn’t he helping? Last night he did the same thing.
She sat and began arranging a few things, at first on impulse then just kept going, waiting for Galfar to protest. He didn’t. He continued doing his thing and finally got the sticks arranged the way he wanted and, using his staff, lowered himself slowly to ground and sat cross-legged. He pulled out what looked to be flint.
<Why did you train the Other?> she asked him. <If you doubted he was the one you were waiting for?>
Galfar shrugged. <At first he seemed to be, and so I began. But soon I soured of him. His tone was brash and I did not like him. Still, you must understand, I had waited my whole life. Others before me waited and no one came. No one ever came, for generations. So when he did … I wanted so badly to believe.
<Only Haz saw different.>
<Haz?>
The old man began striking the flint stones. <Haz is a bit of an adept. He has a mild prescience. He called the Other a fraud from the beginning. It didn’t take long for me to realize he was right.> With each strike the flint made bigger and bigger sparks in the cool evening air. Galfar coaxed them onto the kindling. <By then I had begun to divulge some of what I knew. It seemed easier to simply go on with it. The Other was happy to learn these tricks. I never took him beyond the village. He would go back each time, satisfied, then return, and when you came through I assumed it was him again.> Finally one of the sticks caught. Galfar leaned and blew it into little licking flames. Carefully, lifting one end and passing it around the others, he got the fire going.
Jess glanced over her shoulder, back at Haz who stood in the distance, looking up into the darkening sky. Stars had begun to appear.
She looked back at Galfar as he nursed the flames.
<Haz doesn’t seem to trust me either,> she said.
Galfar smiled; blew on a group of flames and got them licking ever higher. <Haz trusts you,> he said. <His conflicted feelings about you are driven by something else entirely.> At that he grinned, wide, gaps in his teeth dark in the slowly developing firelight. He fanned the flickering flames.
Jess noticed Haz had began making his way over, probably in response to the fire. Galfar rose to get the food. On the way Haz got his guitar, came and sat at a distance, acting as if he didn’t want to be too close to either of them. Jess watched from the corner of her eye as he began strumming experimentally.
<We should have enough food until we make the docks,> Galfar scooped dinner into a brass pan. Jess put her hands behind her in the dirt and leaned back. So far the weather here was perfect, and tonight was another beautiful evening. The soothing fire only added to the comfort. She uncrossed her legs and stretched her feet to the fire, baking her soles. It felt good. For a moment it reminded her of the big fire on Anitra, in the lodge, and she brought her thoughts back to the present.
Galfar put the pan on the fire and slid the food around with a stick as it began to sizzle. <We must sail the Yellow Sea,> he said as he cooked. Haz got the music going. The melody was nice.
<The docks are not far. >
Jess took some whiffs. <Smells good.>
Galfar added more spices to the pan.
Beyond it all loomed the majestic mother planet. And above that, filling the sky, countless stars and that beautiful nebula. The Heart of the World, it was called, and it was stunning.
This whole planet was breathtaking.
The soft chords of Haz’s play rounded everything out, and for a long moment Jess simply sat there savoring every bit of it.
At length she turned to Galfar.
<How have you been able to teach me so quickly?> Despite the extreme effort and all the tenacity it took to grasp, she’d learned the telekinesis incredibly fast. The basics, at least, in a single day.
Galfar shrugged. <One can “know” without needing to “learn”.> He scraped at the pan on the fire. <Anyone can. Most, however, have far too many reasons why they cannot. You’re different.>
She had to consider that maybe she was. After everything, might this merely be the next phase of her transformation?
Yeah, but what am I transforming into?
Galfar looked across the fire. Asked another of his random questions. <When you were a child,> he cocked his head a little, <did you learn anything you’ve now forgotten?>
She thought a moment. <I’m sure I did.> She’d learned lots of stuff as a kid, actually. Until very recently she was obsessed with knowing how to do things. Some of that had come in handy on this insane journey, a fact which was, in itself, a point of interest, but lots of the things she’d learned back then had, indeed, been forgotten. <Lots of things.>
<But you knew it then.>
<Of course.>
Galfar nodded sagely. <Think how much else you’ve forgotten.>
Galfar was being Galfar again. Yet Jess felt her mind expanding at the thought of it. Just a little, an epiphany waiting to happen, tinged with the cosmic. It was now fully night; stars filled the alien sky. Blue Saturn watched over them all. The light of the flames danced chaotically across the deep shadows of Galfar’s craggy face.
<We are timeless beings, Jessica.> He’d stopped stirring the pan. <We have known many things. As children. As others. As each we eventually forget. Only the span of time is different. But though forgotten, the memories are there. The knowledge. With the right focus we can recall what we knew. The fact that one cannot recall it easily does not make it any less real. So it is with all things. We can know what we knew, no matter how much time has passed, no matter who we once were.>
His green eyes seemed to pierce her soul. No matter who we once were?
Then he was back to stirring the pan, idly. <These things that I teach you? Perhaps you’ve known them all along.>
That was a little deeper than she was prepared to contemplate. Nevertheless it continued to make her head buzz.
She as
ked him something different.
<How about you? How did you learn? Did you know how to do all this … before?>
<Some of this knowledge has been handed down,> he said. <Among the Watchers. To others. When the priestess had the Codex she saw it would open our potential. The Codex is a record of this past knowledge.> At the repeated mention of the Codex, which Jess knew Galfar believed she was to find, she found herself, for the first time, wondering. More than idle curiosity. If for no other reason than to finally put this Prophecy to rest she wanted, suddenly, to find these Codes and see just what the hell this was all about. If it was supposed to be her that did it, then, maybe she would. Galfar was continuing: <Aesha also knew it would not at first be accepted. She knew that the Amkradus might in fact be dismissed. The Codex teaches many things; the manipulation of force, as I have shown you, is but one. Perhaps the least important in the grand scheme of things, it is certainly the most sensational. We among us believe the priestess recognized this, and in order to capture the attention of those to whom she would bring this freedom, she chose the thing most likely to gain followers.> He began taking the food off the fire to serve. <Legend tells us those in power did not like this. They wanted knowledge for themselves. They did not want others to have freedom, power. And so it was the Wars began, and so it was all was lost. The Codex, the priestess, any hope for freedom. All of it. And so we have suffered. These small restorations of power are all we have.
<As I say, we are timeless beings. We’re not learning anything new. We are simply restoring that which we’ve forgotten. Things we have long since chosen to prevent ourselves from knowing.> This captured her attention, imagining for one very lucid moment that she—that everyone—might have power they chose simply to suppress. <Moving things with your mind?> Galfar made a dismissive little noise. <Not a new trick. This is why you master it easily. You let yourself remember. Your mind is clear, Jessica. You do not deny what you already know.>
She looked to Haz, sitting over there playing on, caught in his own world, oblivious to the deeper discussion she was having with his father. She put her focus back on Galfar. <If that’s true then … why would anyone choose to forget something that would make them powerful?>
In answer Galfar gave a thin smile and a shrug. She thought he might say something more, might throw down some additional bit of wisdom or mysterious conjecture, or open up a whole new line of philosophical musings but … didn’t.
<The answer to that,> he said, <may be the answer to everything.> And he went back to serving the food.
Haz switched to a different position. A few strums and he was playing another lovely tune. Jess didn’t press. Instead she leaned back and closed her eyes to the new music; the sound of Galfar clanking the pan and the plates. She inhaled the smell of the fire and the food and felt her tummy grumble pleasantly in anticipation.
After a bit Galfar was handing her a plate.
She opened her eyes at his urging, leaned forward, crossed her legs and took it. The cooked food smelled great. She held the plate, being polite, and waited for him to finish serving.
<I know you say it simply “is”,> she said as he slid a plate in front of Haz, who just kept playing, <but what do you think? What do you really think this force is?> She wondered what his take on it was. Though she’d asked he hadn’t really given her an answer. Just that “it worked”. Did he think it was magic? Mysticism? <How do you think we can move things by thought?>
<Communication.> He served his own plate, put down the pan, took up a spoon and took a bite of food. He talked in her mind as he chewed. <Communication is everything. You merely communicate your intention to that thing which you would move and the universe responds. No different, really, than I communicate to you now. The universe, however, does not respond to words. The universe responds to force.>
She thought on that. Wanting to believe the simplicity of it. Thinking all things should be that simple. Thinking that, perhaps, were you to distil everything down far enough, the entire universe might actually be something quite simple indeed. Maybe it was all terribly simple.
There are only two absolute truths, the memory of Galfar’s words came to her.
And all at once she had the very strange, very abruptly extroverting notion that everything, all of existence, began with a complication. That everything was the purest of simplicities until …
Something happened.
Maybe it was Galfar’s talk of timeless existence, or the amazing things Jess had already done, or the fantastic setting or who knew what, but suddenly she experienced an overwhelming rush of philosophical insight.
The whole universe might be nothing more than a complication.
Springing into existence from that initial complication, whatever it was, roaring on unchecked from there, one complication after another after another yielding another after another yielding another cascading forward unchecked and built entirely of ...
Lies.
Was the entire universe nothing more than a string of untruths? All springing from one? One simple falsehood? The First Lie, perhaps. One little complication that set those increasing complications in motion, hurtling forward until …
Worlds were born. People.
The idea crystallized and in one disconcerting, omniscient moment she theorized that, if that original lie were revealed, that if the truth—the real, Absolute Truth of All—were suddenly known … the entire universe would just poof away.
She shuddered and moved closer to the fire.
Glad of whatever results had come from that moment of inception. The Big Bang, the dream of a god—no matter how things came into being she was glad they had. Glad for the current balance.
Too much simplicity would no doubt be very, very boring.
<Do you like it?> It was Haz. The music had paused and she’d drifted, saying nothing in its absence. He was no doubt hurt somehow by her silence.
She gathered her attention to the present. <The music?>
<No, my nose.>
Smart alleck. The degree of selfish reassurance he needed was incredible. Talk about insecurity.
<Yes,> she said. <It’s beautiful.> Then: <You play very nicely, Haz. You’re amazing.>
He looked back to the guitar and continued playing.
<I knew you were going to say that.> He sounded smug. Off to the side Galfar chuckled. Haz must’ve spoken so his dad could hear too. Jess turned to him.
<See?> the old man grinned as he chewed. <An adept. He has the prescience.>
Jess stared at him. <Because he knew I was going to say that?>
Galfar nodded.
She shook her head. <You call that seeing the future?>
And at that Galfar laughed loudly.
<As I said, it is quite mild.>
**
Lindin was back in his office at the mountain complex, fresh after a successful summit and the signing of an historic pact between the Venatres and their former enemies, the Dominion. Back home and, as expected, once the celebrating subsided conversation turned to the lost starship and that whole debacle, a colossal failure of which Lindin was the chief architect. The starship was his baby, his responsibility, and though it had not been he that directly let it get away, he was the one being blamed. The most painful part was that he had absolutely no solution. There was none. It would’ve been vastly different, vastly easier to take the heat if only there was a way to make it right. He would’ve gone to any lengths to fix it. But there was, literally, nothing to be done. The ship was gone and, unless and until the thieves decided to bring it back, there was absolutely nothing he could do.
And so the final leg of the return trip, trapped in transport with his bosses and nowhere to go, no way to divert, he’d had to bear the brunt of that interrogation with absolutely nothing to offer in return. No, “I’ll get right on this” or “I’ll see to that”. Nothing. At least on the ride over the theft had been fresh, the shock just setting in, little time yet to process the magnitude of it all; and of course
all that mitigated by the equal shock of the offer of a truce with the Dominion and the exciting prospects that held. Conversation then had been all about what to expect, what the future might hold. How things might be different for the first time in generations. Now that the truce was a success, now that the fact of that had settled and the exuberance of its novelty and its promise was firmly burned into their national conscience, it was time to pick up where they left off. And so they were all looking to him.
Lindin had no more answers now than he did then.
Glad to be home, at least, glad to have some time to himself, he’d been trying hard to come up with ways to proceed, trying to think of if anything could be done, something he was missing. So far his mind remained blank.
He leaned back in his chair. Took a sip of fresh tea. Realized he’d become a little spoiled during his time in the Dominion. Dominion tea was admittedly much better than their own. He took another sip. Maybe now with the truce they could establish trade. Get some Dominion tea imports.
That would be nice.
A knock on his office door. He paused, not expecting anyone at this hour. He leaned forward in the chair.