The door was large, like the entrance to a mansion in sheer stature. However, it was plainly a working door, scuffed by passing machinery, boxes, and boots. The symbols engraved near the top were mysterious to me, but I deduced that their meaning must be rather mundane: perhaps 'laboratory,' or 'to bridge,' or 'exit.' Maybe they only meant 'door.' Apart from its dimensions (being built as it were for people as tall as Dayus, and their equipment), it was not an especially remarkable door. But it was the only one, the only choice for one who could not turn back. So needless to say, I went through it, more afraid of what I'd left behind than what I might meet on the other side.
The difficult part was figuring out how to open it; the frame and the hinges were obviously there, but I was stalled momentarily by the absence of a knob or handle. After a few fruitless tries at pushing and pulling, the problem solved itself, when my hands found their way to my pockets, and I felt the recorder give a subtle vibration - it was a key, amongst God knows what else. The door opened inward toward me on its hinges, and I stepped back to allow enough room for it to open fully; it moved under its own power, but with no obvious mechanism or motor. Through the door was a hallway, dimly lit yet navigable by sight, proceeding in a straight line for a very considerable distance.
The walls were made of the same chalky material as the door, but in the darker atmosphere they appeared less white than pale grey. They were set wide apart, with a high, vaulted ceiling that echoed with the rubbery thud of my shoes on the tile floor. It was very large, especially for me, but substantial all the same for those who built it, and I could see that it was practical for a laboratory setting. As I walked, doors appeared on both sides, each labeled by inscriptions in the unknown alien alphabet, with no windows (and thank goodness for that, I thought). There were no cameras that I could see, or security of any kind, but I was not fooled. I was soon to be noticed, and likely soon to be apprehended.
And that was alright. The further I walked (and the distance was quite far), the more secure I felt. I could claim diplomatic immunity - they called me a diplomat themselves, didn't they? If Dayus had been seriously hurt by the drugs, it might be a tough sell, but I figured that in some way or another, they needed me. If I was important enough to be dragged unwillingly across outer space, I might just be important enough to escape punishment.
And as the minutes passed, my pace slackened, and it started to seem like I really was that important. Of course they knew what was going on; it was positively idiotic to believe otherwise. But they let me pass anyway, and there was just no point in granting me a false sense of security. There were no sounds except my footsteps in the hall, no other presences at all. I even began to feel bored.
After another five minutes of walking I reached a corner, which connected to a larger hall, more brightly lit by white fluorescent tubes, and furnished with spare columns here and there - smooth octagonal pillars, seamlessly integrated into the ceiling and the floor. The walls were like fine marble in appearance, white with patches and streaks of mottled grey. But the texture was not that of stone, but of steel. The metal was bare, with no sign of paint or pigment, and I knew it was an alloy, a highly advanced type that had never been seen on Earth.
The left hand wall was much like the interior of a classical temple, beautiful but vaguely inert. It was the right hand wall that surprised me most of all; the grey patches in the 'marble,' I soon realized, were not arranged like natural stone. They were shapes, humanoid shapes, arranged in a great mural by a skillful art I could not immediately guess at, as they appeared neither to be painted nor engraved, but rather intrinsic to the substance of the medium.
It was an epic march from right to left, seemingly across space and time. At one end were the forms of what I took to be wild animals, painstakingly detailed with bulging muscles and horns. Interspersed among them were people, wearing very simple clothing but unmistakeably of Dayus' species, with large square heads to show for it. They looked like families at first; I couldn't guess at differences between the sexes, but there were large figures and smaller ones, and the latter I took to be children.
As they advanced across the wall the figures multiplied, and changed in every characteristic. The children diminished in number compared to the adults, who now wore robes and carried staves and swords, and the animals gradually disappeared entirely. The men, and women, presumably, were soon clustered together: first in pairs, then in pairs of pairs, and so on, merging into larger and larger groups, growing steadily denser against the sparse white background space. Some held weapons, others things that might have been tools; in time they all came together as a single massive group. They marched in lock step, or seemed to, though of course each figure stood completely still.
At the far end of the hall was a door built of the same metallic marble, inlaid with radiant, geometric designs and more mysterious letters. The mural came to an end just shy of this door; at the head of the great mass of people was a single man, holding aloft a large staff. While the others faced left, he stood seemingly in opposition, as though he were addressing them, and to his back was a symbol: a set of three circles. There was a large one, with a smaller one set in the center, and an even smaller one set at the apex of the largest. Both the man and the symbol were perplexing, and I could not easily identify them, though they seemed almost like a god and a prophet, or beings from some ancient myth.
As I leisurely analyzed the picture, as though I were only in an art gallery, I heard the door to my left swing open. I turned to see two aliens, taller and more robust than the assistants from days before, wearing sleek black robes and carrying long, unadorned staves. Security had arrived; instinctively, I reached into my coat pocket and drew out my pocket knife. Brandishing the tiny blade, I stood my ground and demanded as they approached, "What do you want?"
"Please remain exactly where you are until the doctor arrives," they answered. The pair stopped their approach after only a few steps, blocking the open door with their weapons. The room on the other side looked much the same as the hallway, but I could not get a good look at its features without passing them.
"Do you know where he is?"
"Yes. He is coming here now."
I waited, my muscles tensing, perhaps unnecessarily, in anticipation. I felt that there was probably no need for violent action; what the moment truly called for was theater, the appearance of strength and preparation. Most of all, I needed to appear like a dangerous man.
In my heart, I was relieved to hear that he was coming. If I had killed Dayus, then cause or no cause it would haunt my conscience forever. But no harm, no foul, as they say; my plan was completely successful, and nothing Dayus did from then on could detract from my victory. I was the captive, and I became the conquering hero, and if no one had been watching, I would have let my knees shake at the thought.
The guards held their positions with impeccable dispassion, entirely unimpressed by my affectation of bravado. They didn't care, and I didn't care, so the three of us stood therein silence, as the sound of echoing footsteps grew louder from behind. I shook out my shoulders and straightened my tie in anticipation of the event, while the guards kept still and focused. I took a few deep breaths, bu tried not to do so obviously.
Dayus turned the corner slowly, entering the marbly hall with a very slight, disconcerting wobble in his gait. Closing the distance between us, he turned his head to the right to view the mural himself. The images that captured my attention so thoroughly were, to him, completely familiar, but they seemed to please him, and his expression softened as he looked over them. I relaxed myself as well, casually swinging the knife in low arcs. The guards looked on, silently.
"That," he said, in a deliberately neutral tone, "was completely unnecessary, Jonah. I told you that you would be allowed to come out today."
"Well," I replied, "I decided that I was coming out, whether I was allowed to or not." I held the knife in a semi-guarded stance, nonchalantly closing the blade, and reopening it, over and over again. "It really wasn't personal. I'm not proud of having tricked you like that, but I would have been ashamed of myself if I made it all the way out here, without having found my own way out."
"How curious that you should feel this way. I thought you had made peace with your role in these proceedings."
"I have. But I'm not going to stick to the script you've written." I took a few short steps toward the doctor, shoring up the bulwark of my conviction. "I'm not going to be 'kept' anywhere. I'm going to help your research, and play ambassador, for as long as you need me to. I'm doing it because I think it's the right thing to do. But it's going to be on my terms, and that's all there is to it."
"You may go," said Dayus, and for a split-second I was confused, but I realized he was speaking to the security team. The pair promptly withdrew from the doorway, and remained totally silent; though they hid their emotions behind a sheer facade of discipline, I still assumed they hated me. I decided to reciprocate this apparent show of good faith, so I clipped the knife closed and returned it to the inside pocket of my coat. I made my point, and I was willing to make my point again if the notion bore repeating, but enough was quite enough for me.
I looked the doctor directly in the eyes. "Do we have an understanding?" I asked?
"Yes we do," he answered, staring back with equal focus, "but further deceptions will surely hamper our working relationship."
"I'm not an expert liar, so I don't expect to fool you twice. But I'd expect an equal amount of honesty and transparency from you, and your associates."
Dayus was looking much like his old self again; the slight distraction in his eyes, which I had taken to be an effect of the sleeping pills, was now gone, and they increasingly looked sharp and attentive. "I believe the most surprising revelation from this incident," he said, "is of your remarkable capacity for pride."
"It'll be a long year with that kind of attitude," I said, "and it's hard enough already."
"I didn't mean it as an insult," he continued. "It's clear enough that you harbor anxieties about the contact between our races. You regard us as frighteningly superior beings, without even knowing the half of our intellectual or technological capabilities. From your perspective, you are a prisoner, not even of people, but of fate and natural forces you could never hope to influence. In your own eyes, you have become insignificant and weak; but in spite of that weakness, you struck me, harder than you would admit that you could. You might have even killed me, though I do doubt that it was your intention. All for pride. And now that you've got your pride, your qualms about cooperation have disappeared, when by all rights you should expect nothing but retaliation. You should know, Jonah - people with pride do well in this universe."
"Well, enough about me," I said, impatiently, wondering if I'd put the knife away too soon. "Let's talk about something else."
"Such as?"
"I don't know. I guess...this mural, for starters. What does it mean?"
"Mean? Well, this is a symbolic representation of the early history of our people."
"It's beautifully made. I'm not quite sure what sort of technique they used to make it." I placed my palm on the wall, trying to perceive some fissure in the metal that could mark the boundary between the light and dark regions, but there was none to be found.
"The white metal is a special alloy that resists the forces of electromagnetism," he explained, "and the darker metal is an iron alloy. The images are created by applying precisely controlled magnetic fields to a molten mixture of the two."
"Fascinating," I said, stepping back to better appreciate the work as a whole. I contemplated silently for a moment, turning the images to narrative in my mind, but the conclusion still seemed too obscure to be definitive. "Dayus," I asked, "what does the circular symbol at the end stand for?"
"That is hydrogen," he said, as though it were a simple matter of fact. Its appearance was, I had to admit, evocative of the nature of the element.
"Ah," I said, "the first element. So, does it represent the sun, or something?" It had occurred to me that the marching people vaguely resembled the style of Egyptian wall paintings, and I wondered if these people's ancestors had been sun worshipers.
"Not exactly," he said. "In our scientific tradition, hydrogen is not considered the first element, but rather, the one element; the hydrogen atom is the simplest incarnation in nature of the atomic form. More precisely, in this image, it stands for the discovery of nuclear energy." He pointed to the penultimate figure, who held aloft his staff, saying "the scientists who first developed this technology are represented by the hero in this spot. The discovery is considered the pivotal point, when the ancient era transitioned to the modern one."
The story was definitely interesting, and it sounded like there was a great deal more of it to tell. But suddenly, a tremor passed through the hall, shaking the floor and knocking me down, taking me completely off guard. Dayus swayed a little with the motion, but appeared otherwise undisturbed. Looks like he's completely recovered, I thought, pushing myself up off the ground.
"I'm sorry," he said, "that vibration is the result of our rapid deceleration to sub-light speed. We have arrived in the vicinity of my planet."
"Good," I said, steadying myself against the wall; I felt a dull ache in my hip, but it wasn't serious. "Now what?"
"If you would, please accompany me to my office, where we will report to the Chief Minister." He set off through the doorway immediately, before I had a chance to respond; I followed, but held back slightly, partly for the sake of appearances (not wishing to look eager or subservient), but also to admire the craftsmanship in the proceeding hallways.
The metallic marble was the dominant mode of decoration throughout the ship, and most of the walls were sparsely adorned with light, naturalistic patterns, in imitation of the inherent beauty of the white stone. As we passed through over a dozen sections, rounding corners and taking jarring detours, I took note of the few that showed highly detailed images. Most of these were landscapes, while a few seemed to depict scenes from history or myth; many featured animals, and it was difficult to tell if they were real creatures, or monsters of ancient legend. The entrance to Dayus' 'office,' at last, was decorated by a monstrous, yet unmistakeably serene face, the visage of what might have been a bear, if bears had longer hair and small, curled horns.
The room was small, about the size of a conventional office room, with a single rounded wall. There were no windows, but there was a flat display screen, much like a wall-hanging plasma television set; it probably measured some forty inches, diagonally. This single extravagance aside, it was bereft of decoration, and neatly kept; it contained only a desk, a cabinet, and a long, high bench for sitting. He sat down there, and invited me to sit to his left. The bench was ideally suited for a person of his proportions, but it was a little high for me; my feet dangled a few inches above the ground, and I found the lack of a back rest uncomfortable. With no support, I did my best sit straight.
"May I have the device you took from me back?" Slightly embarrassed, I dug into my pocket and retrieved the recorder, and placed it in his over-sized hands. Dayus manipulated the device with a few gestures, thereby activating the screen; quite the handy object.
Presently, a second alien appeared on the screen. Like Dayus, his head was square and elongated, but he was stouter, and appeared less tall, with no hair on his scalp. His robe was of a refined blue material, with a grey patch of coarser fabric set on his shoulder like an epaulette. I noticed a small, dark blue replica of the hydrogen symbol prominently embossed on the grey patch, looking like the extraterrestrial equivalent of a politician's lapel pin. He greeted Dayus with a slow, overhead arching gesture, right to left, with his left hand; the doctor immediately returned it. The stout man smiled, and spoke first.
"Welcome home, Doctor. I see that your mission was successful."
"Yes, Chief Minister. This is Jonah, a human from the planet called Earth, acting as ambassador for his people."
Feeling awkward at this juncture, I gave a conventional right handed salute, not wishing to emulate signs I didn't know the meaning of.
"Greetings, human of Earth. I am the Chief Minister of my people, of the planet Etnarus. I trust that your journey has been comfortable?"
"Exceedingly so, sir," I replied. It seemed that 'comfort' was not a peculiar obsession of Dayus' after all.
"Doctor," he continued, shifting his focus away from me once more, "how is the Commander's mission faring?"
"At the time of our parting," said Dayus, "the commander's party had successfully made contact with an influential governmental authority. His impression was such that a peaceful exchange was highly likely."
"Excellent. look forward to your full report upon your arrival."
"Yes, Minister. But if you don't mind my asking now, what new developments have arisen in the rebellion incident?"
Rebellion? That's not right! I'd begun to drift off, but I snapped to attention to hear this news.
"Ah yes," said the minister, his face turning two shades more grave. "I'm not surprised at your concern. It was as we feared; the rebels acquired two nuclear weapons and attempted to use them in the capital city. Fortunately, our security forces were able to recover one; the other detonated at the rebels' base of operations. The situation appears to have stabilized."
"I am glad," said Dayus, smiling faintly. He repeated his saluting gesture, which was then returned by the minister, and said "We will meet you in your office in one hour." The minister nodded in assent, and disappeared from view.
Stunned, I leaned back, nearly losing my balance and tumbling backwards. I quickly recovered and straightened up again, muttering, "So, that's what was hiding behind the curtain."
"What do you mean?" Dayus asked.
"Are you telling me that your planet's in the middle of a civil war?"
"That term," he explained, a bit testily, "implies a more even distribution of power between the opposing forces. This is merely a noisy separatist movement."
Whatever. I put my elbows on the desk, cradling my forehead in my hand as I dreaded the tasks ahead. "I suppose I should have put it together; our people aren't very different at all. And neither are our planets. If I had thought about it critically - if I hadn't idealized you, your world so much - I should have figured out there'd be something like this. It would have been obvious."
"You are concerned about our nuclear weapons?" The notion was probably alien to him, I realized, but he still adopted a neutral tone in asking.
"Not as much as I'm concerned about ours," I said, "but really, what worries me most is when people don't mind using them." I hopped off the bench and began pacing the room slowly, weighing the conflicting perceptions in my mind, searching for amoral priority. "These rebels... what's going to happen to them?"
"The ones who were not killed in the explosion will likely be tried and executed. Does this surprise you?"
"No, I guess it really doesn't," I said, scratching my head with the side of my thumb. "What are they fighting for, anyway?"
"They represent the militant wing of a regional interest group, which opposes the central government," said Dayus. "They are ruthlessly ideological, and cannot be reasoned with. Indeed, they represent a dire threat to our entire civilization."
"Yeah, I guess you really should do something about that," I said, wearily. "But I don't understand why I had to fly a million light years through space to hear about something I see on TV every day."
"Pay it no mind," he said, the terseness of his delivery emphasizing his impatience toward the subject. "Your civilization, and mine, both stand to gain very much from this exchange. Our similarities only reinforce this principle; it is a clear indication that a broad cultural understanding can be reached between us." He too rose from the bench, turning to the cabinet to retrieve what I presumed to be documents relating to the expedition.
I hope that's what those similarities mean, I thought. I stopped pacing and stared at the viewing screen for a while, absent-mindedly playing with my tie and feeling a light, nauseating churn in the depths of my gut. If I really had been dreaming, I was waking up at last. The odds of seeing truth for what it truly was were as remote as ever, even with fully opened eyes, but I tried to accept what enlightenment there was to be had. I didn't like it; things were not as they should have been. What value had the dream been, if reality coldly defied the dreamer's hopes? I leave that question to the philosophers, as I begin to address the more practical question: what happens next? Having only just woken up, I feel so very tired.
Showing posts with label Novella. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Novella. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
On the Second Floor, Chapter XII
Day Ten
The next morning I lay motionless in my bed for several minutes, checking the extent of my resolve against the magnitude of my task. My artificial environment was so remarkably consistent, one day was just the same as another, and there were no omens, no signs of special importance; but it was important, I reminded myself. It was the last day of school, if school were a bubble of inertia and self-doubt. It was New Year's Eve at the turn of a brand new century.
I got up and performed my Judgment day stretches, knowing I would have to be limber in body and mind. It was a token gesture, and I didn't know the first thing about proper stretches and exercise. What really mattered was focusing my brain, actions synchronizing with intent; preparation for the great unknown. In a moment of peaceful clarity I prayed for success, though niggling doubts of its efficacy remained in my mind.
I rummaged through the cupboard looking for a powerful breakfast, and I settled on honey nut cheerios because there was nothing else to be had. "Grant me the strength of the honey bee," I said, relishing the absurdity of every crunchy spoonful. There was no milk, but the cereal itself provided the necessary sense of fortification. "Lower my cholesterol too, if you can."
Important days call for special attention to one's physical appearance, when 'routine' matters of hygiene pass from quasi-optional to unquestionably essential. So I pulled my electric razor from the drawer and shaved my face, shearing down four days' stubble with ruthless efficiency. Shaving on an irregular basis is a haphazard affair, and I wondered if it made any difference among aliens or not. This is not about what they want, I sternly reminded myself. It was time to make a point.
I went to the closet and donned my people's ceremonial armor: a black, single-breasted business suit, rarely worn but all the stronger for it in my imagination (I come from a long and storied line of professionals). The entire ensemble hung conveniently assembled on a coat hanger, the classiest coat hanger I owned, and I was pleased to see that the fabric bore no prominent wrinkles. The tie, a modest blue pattern to match the shirt and blend with the coat, was a recurring enemy from formal occasions long past; I did my best, and I make no claims to aesthetic excellence in the art of tying ties.
I elected to wear tennis shoes, reasoning that the aliens would never know the difference, and reckoning comfort a higher priority than the strictest formality. My formal dress shoes were only a liability, buried in depths of the closet where they belonged, to the extent that they belonged anywhere within miles of my feet. The tennis shoes were black, and that was qualification enough for the occasion.
It was an outfit fit for a warrior, or a diplomat, or a spy; whichever role I might be called upon to play, the suit evoked a ruthless spirit I could rely upon to make me stronger than myself. The clock struck twelve, and I fiddled with my tie, hoping against hope to tease perfection out of its appearance. Finding none, I settled for less, because a tie is an impossible thing and a man must know his limits. The armor was on, and sufficient to the cause; it was for me then to believe in it, to invest it with strength from my own soul. The suit was invincible.
There was as usual no indication of when Dayus would arrive, but that was no concern of mine. I focused on my own preparations, the most critical element of success. The room was inundated by the music of Wagner, who lent his trademark audacity to a task that required much of it. I washed the dishes from the night before (and admittedly the night before that as well), unsure as I was about when I'd get another chance. The fate of the dome, and the apartment, and my property within it, was all an open question as far as I knew. I brewed the tea, the linchpin of the entire operation, more so even than the tie. The universe expanded and convulsed in wild, explosive waves, unabashedly unpredictable on every conceivable plane, just as it always had and always would; but in the sphere of my senses I was finally in complete control, and more determined than ever to use it to my advantage.
When the tower stirred at last, my preparations were in place. The music, German opera of the highest tradition, was like a transcendental storm, quivering with wind and strings and fearful noise. I read from the works of Ovid, stories of transformations on a multitude of scales. Outside my window, just such a transformation was taking place. As the tower receded, sunk deep in the ground, in its place stood Dayus, eight feet tall and noble, untouchable and unassailable as the pillar itself. He approached the door, and I welcomed him in.
"I notice your clothes are different," he said.
"This is formal clothing. If I'm going to be meeting the big wigs tonight, I want to look my best, don't I?"
"It is good that you take your position so seriously. Now, there are certain matters we must discuss."
"Certainly." I got up to place the Metamorphoses back in its place on the shelf, nestled amongst books of religion, myth, and philosophy.
"I'm sure you are curious about your future living arrangements."
"Yes, actually. Specifically, I want to know what's going to happen to the apartment, and all of my belongings."
"There is a space in my laboratory which is large enough to hold this building," he said. "The simplest option would be to re-transplant the structure to that place for the time being. You could continue dwelling there, if you wished, but your movements will necessarily be limited by laboratory security protocol."
"I can see that getting annoying after a while," I said, wondering at his poor sense of irony.
"I thought perhaps you might think so. Which is why I allocated money in my research budget for the purchase of an apartment in the capital for your use."
"Hold on," I said, eyebrow set to maximum surprise, "you guys have money?"
"It is probably not entirely similar to your conception of currency," he explained, "but money, in some form or another, is used in the overwhelming majority of advanced societies. Does this surprise you?"
"Well, a little." I felt a little foolish and resentful at the question, an emotion I had thought I was through with. "It's just that I never considered the possibility. That's all."
"I would hope this information would comfort you in some way," he said, "to know that the world you are about to enter is not so different from the world you have left."
"Yes, you're right," I said. God forbid it, I thought.
I rose from my seat on the couch and rubbed my face, still burning slightly from the razor. The time was as good as any; "you should drink some tea with me," I said, and he assented.
I retrieved the drink from the refrigerator, a rich Darjeeling blend on ice, and poured it in a pair of tall glasses. I mixed in the appropriate additives for each, shaking the glasses gently for a complete, even distribution, as my guest waited in the living room. The music, which was reduced to a volume more suitable for conversation, grew louder with the silence, asserting itself into the foreground with the absence of talk. I handed Dayus a cup, and he drank.
"This seems to taste different," he observed, "from the last such drink you offered me."
"That's because it's a different pmixture." I took a mouthful from my own cup, savoring the hint of lemon juice and mint that infused it. "Eating and drinking," I said, "are sacred actions in all human cultures, and a variety of preparations serve a variety of purposes."
"Explain," he said, taking another sip.
"Drinking especially," I continued. "Of course, water is essential for daily living, so we have to drink it every day. Water gives life, and that's why it's the prototype - the natural prototype, that is - of the magic potion."
"You ascribe magical properties to these substances?" His skepticism was plain, and not unwarranted, but I had more to say.
"Not in a literal sense, no, though we did just that in ancient times," I replied. "But I think that's still the best word for it - a magic potion." I drank more, leading him onward, and guiding by example. "If magic is a means to transform nature, and natural things, and states, then we have a host of potions to accomplish those changes. Take coffee, for example: usually, we drink it in the morning, when we feel sleepy and dull. The caffeine acts on our nervous system to wake us up, but we don't perceive the chemicals, only the effects; what we feel is a magical transformation of our cognitive states. We drink alcohol for the same reason: mental transformation. Many people drink drugged potions for religious reasons, to commune with the gods." I took another gulp. "Sometimes," I added, "a malevolent person might take another person's drink and poison it. You might call that 'black magic.'"
"And what about tea?" he asked, putting his cup down from yet another sip.
"Well, tea is a stimulant, just like coffee, but it has other chemical properties that give it a relaxing quality. For my money, it's the ideal drink for socializing, and relaxing on a sunny day like this."
"Yes," he murmured, closing his eyes slightly, "I do feel relaxed." Breathing deeply, he seemed at a loss for words. Like a good host, I filled the gap.
"So you see, two people coming together to share a drink, it's an act of friendship and trust. It's a common experience, of spiritual, vital significance."
"Yes, I can see how it is so." Dayus drank again, eyes closed, and I did as well, cherishing the moment. "This music," he said, "it's very...bold."
"You really have to be in the mood for Wagner," I said. "His style is very intense; he's a perfectionist, working on an absurdly big canvass. The man actually invented new musical instruments to make all the sounds he wanted. What it's really good for - what I really like about his music, though - is it sense of purpose."
"Purpose," he said, distractedly.
"Yes," I said, "purpose. It's a quality I admire in an artist, and probably art's greatest contribution to human society. It's the will to overcome self-doubt, to act heroically, boldly; to do what needs to be done." Dayus made no response, and his glass sat three quarters empty on the corner table. I watched as, weakly, he attempted to climb to his feet.
"The spider has a sense of purpose too," I continued, "though it took me a while to see it clearly. I finally figured it out, the difference between my way of doing things, and the spider's." I took a final gulp of tea from my own glass, and swallowed it, instantly feeling refreshed. "The spider has the nerve to pounce when his prey is in the web."
Dayus collapsed, landing mercifully with his head on a couch cushion, and enough sleeping drug in his system to drop a stallion. It had been too easy, but it was only right; just what he deserved for underestimating me. I took his glass and poured the remainder down the sink, rinsing it out quite thoroughly. I turned off the kitchen lights, taking care not to waste electricity, and returned to the living room to frisk his pockets. I took possession of his recording device, which I decided must have other functions, some of which might very well prove useful. Lastly, I grabbed my pocket knife from its place on the corner table, and tucked it in my coat pocket.
Outside, the sun was high and bright, and the air soaked warm with its rays; perfect weather for an afternoon siesta. I saw the elevator platform, a pale disc anchored in a sea of grass, awaiting the return of its sleeping master. I stepped cautiously toward it, and found that its defensive force field had disappeared. Trembling slightly, glancing quickly in all directions, I stepped to the center.
My doubts multiplied. The time for bold action came, and I seized it, but in doing so I felt as though I'd done a terrible wrong. My dishonesty, my treachery was the least of it; the amount of sleeping agent dissolved in that tea was positively criminal. I put so much in to compensate for his great stature, and to ensure success, but it was all guesswork. Dayus' body was different from mine, and there was no telling how his body might metabolize the drug. He'd been breathing when I left, but there was no guarantee that he would continue doing so. Not when he was so different than I; different in every conceivable way.
My gaze turned upwards, and I beheld the black hole. There was the exit, the entrance to the real Elysia, whatever it might look like. The pillar began to rise, uncertainly, as if it took its cues from my own vacillating will, and I crouched in the center, because I was afraid of heights. I rose above the roof; I rose higher, above the tree tops, and saw the whole length of the shadows they cast in the light of the sun. Higher and higher, perhaps a mile up, a gentle breeze kept me rooted in place, for fear I might be blown off and fall.
As my altitude increased, the dimensions of the space seemed to change. I could perceive the curvature of the domed sky more easily, as well as the circular plane of the ground, and even the crease which separated them. I saw the finite course of the brook, its water so clear that I could see the sandy bottom (shallow as it was). Daring even to look straight down, I saw my apartment, looking oddly natural in the artificial landscape. The air was cool, but barely more so than it was on the ground, it was so homogeneous. As I passed even the sun in height (I could see it crawling steadily down the western wall of the sky), the illusory perfection of the environment was nowhere to be seen. The light was scattered and diffuse, and the colors faded from the landscape, to leave the little world benighted, in a sad state of greenish grey.
The black hole grew in size, and what was once little more than a speck in the sky was now clearly large enough for the elevator to pass into. Yet even as I approached, even to within a few yards, there was only impenetrable darkness inside. The frightful gap was my destination, and the security of terra firma was more distant, less comforting with every passing foot. A stray thought crossed my mind, as the darkness engulfed me at last; how beautiful, and relieving, it must look on the way down; to look down and watch the land become real, to see the colors come to life, and escape the all-encompassing shadow.
For a minute it was all dark, even as the elevator ground to a halt. And then the lights - harsh lights, much harsher than my artificial sun - flashed on, nearly knocking me back to my knees. stood, shaking and stumbling, and reached out with my hand to block the worst of the glare. It was a modestly-sized room, uncrowded by boxes or equipment; metallic, but as pearly white as the tower itself when it glistened in the morning, strangely warm in spite of its austerity. Worried that I might be taken down once more, I quickly moved off the platform and stood in a corner, trying desperately to regain my bearings. On the left adjacent wall was the only other exit: a large, chalky door, carved with indecipherable symbols.
The next morning I lay motionless in my bed for several minutes, checking the extent of my resolve against the magnitude of my task. My artificial environment was so remarkably consistent, one day was just the same as another, and there were no omens, no signs of special importance; but it was important, I reminded myself. It was the last day of school, if school were a bubble of inertia and self-doubt. It was New Year's Eve at the turn of a brand new century.
I got up and performed my Judgment day stretches, knowing I would have to be limber in body and mind. It was a token gesture, and I didn't know the first thing about proper stretches and exercise. What really mattered was focusing my brain, actions synchronizing with intent; preparation for the great unknown. In a moment of peaceful clarity I prayed for success, though niggling doubts of its efficacy remained in my mind.
I rummaged through the cupboard looking for a powerful breakfast, and I settled on honey nut cheerios because there was nothing else to be had. "Grant me the strength of the honey bee," I said, relishing the absurdity of every crunchy spoonful. There was no milk, but the cereal itself provided the necessary sense of fortification. "Lower my cholesterol too, if you can."
Important days call for special attention to one's physical appearance, when 'routine' matters of hygiene pass from quasi-optional to unquestionably essential. So I pulled my electric razor from the drawer and shaved my face, shearing down four days' stubble with ruthless efficiency. Shaving on an irregular basis is a haphazard affair, and I wondered if it made any difference among aliens or not. This is not about what they want, I sternly reminded myself. It was time to make a point.
I went to the closet and donned my people's ceremonial armor: a black, single-breasted business suit, rarely worn but all the stronger for it in my imagination (I come from a long and storied line of professionals). The entire ensemble hung conveniently assembled on a coat hanger, the classiest coat hanger I owned, and I was pleased to see that the fabric bore no prominent wrinkles. The tie, a modest blue pattern to match the shirt and blend with the coat, was a recurring enemy from formal occasions long past; I did my best, and I make no claims to aesthetic excellence in the art of tying ties.
I elected to wear tennis shoes, reasoning that the aliens would never know the difference, and reckoning comfort a higher priority than the strictest formality. My formal dress shoes were only a liability, buried in depths of the closet where they belonged, to the extent that they belonged anywhere within miles of my feet. The tennis shoes were black, and that was qualification enough for the occasion.
It was an outfit fit for a warrior, or a diplomat, or a spy; whichever role I might be called upon to play, the suit evoked a ruthless spirit I could rely upon to make me stronger than myself. The clock struck twelve, and I fiddled with my tie, hoping against hope to tease perfection out of its appearance. Finding none, I settled for less, because a tie is an impossible thing and a man must know his limits. The armor was on, and sufficient to the cause; it was for me then to believe in it, to invest it with strength from my own soul. The suit was invincible.
There was as usual no indication of when Dayus would arrive, but that was no concern of mine. I focused on my own preparations, the most critical element of success. The room was inundated by the music of Wagner, who lent his trademark audacity to a task that required much of it. I washed the dishes from the night before (and admittedly the night before that as well), unsure as I was about when I'd get another chance. The fate of the dome, and the apartment, and my property within it, was all an open question as far as I knew. I brewed the tea, the linchpin of the entire operation, more so even than the tie. The universe expanded and convulsed in wild, explosive waves, unabashedly unpredictable on every conceivable plane, just as it always had and always would; but in the sphere of my senses I was finally in complete control, and more determined than ever to use it to my advantage.
When the tower stirred at last, my preparations were in place. The music, German opera of the highest tradition, was like a transcendental storm, quivering with wind and strings and fearful noise. I read from the works of Ovid, stories of transformations on a multitude of scales. Outside my window, just such a transformation was taking place. As the tower receded, sunk deep in the ground, in its place stood Dayus, eight feet tall and noble, untouchable and unassailable as the pillar itself. He approached the door, and I welcomed him in.
"I notice your clothes are different," he said.
"This is formal clothing. If I'm going to be meeting the big wigs tonight, I want to look my best, don't I?"
"It is good that you take your position so seriously. Now, there are certain matters we must discuss."
"Certainly." I got up to place the Metamorphoses back in its place on the shelf, nestled amongst books of religion, myth, and philosophy.
"I'm sure you are curious about your future living arrangements."
"Yes, actually. Specifically, I want to know what's going to happen to the apartment, and all of my belongings."
"There is a space in my laboratory which is large enough to hold this building," he said. "The simplest option would be to re-transplant the structure to that place for the time being. You could continue dwelling there, if you wished, but your movements will necessarily be limited by laboratory security protocol."
"I can see that getting annoying after a while," I said, wondering at his poor sense of irony.
"I thought perhaps you might think so. Which is why I allocated money in my research budget for the purchase of an apartment in the capital for your use."
"Hold on," I said, eyebrow set to maximum surprise, "you guys have money?"
"It is probably not entirely similar to your conception of currency," he explained, "but money, in some form or another, is used in the overwhelming majority of advanced societies. Does this surprise you?"
"Well, a little." I felt a little foolish and resentful at the question, an emotion I had thought I was through with. "It's just that I never considered the possibility. That's all."
"I would hope this information would comfort you in some way," he said, "to know that the world you are about to enter is not so different from the world you have left."
"Yes, you're right," I said. God forbid it, I thought.
I rose from my seat on the couch and rubbed my face, still burning slightly from the razor. The time was as good as any; "you should drink some tea with me," I said, and he assented.
I retrieved the drink from the refrigerator, a rich Darjeeling blend on ice, and poured it in a pair of tall glasses. I mixed in the appropriate additives for each, shaking the glasses gently for a complete, even distribution, as my guest waited in the living room. The music, which was reduced to a volume more suitable for conversation, grew louder with the silence, asserting itself into the foreground with the absence of talk. I handed Dayus a cup, and he drank.
"This seems to taste different," he observed, "from the last such drink you offered me."
"That's because it's a different pmixture." I took a mouthful from my own cup, savoring the hint of lemon juice and mint that infused it. "Eating and drinking," I said, "are sacred actions in all human cultures, and a variety of preparations serve a variety of purposes."
"Explain," he said, taking another sip.
"Drinking especially," I continued. "Of course, water is essential for daily living, so we have to drink it every day. Water gives life, and that's why it's the prototype - the natural prototype, that is - of the magic potion."
"You ascribe magical properties to these substances?" His skepticism was plain, and not unwarranted, but I had more to say.
"Not in a literal sense, no, though we did just that in ancient times," I replied. "But I think that's still the best word for it - a magic potion." I drank more, leading him onward, and guiding by example. "If magic is a means to transform nature, and natural things, and states, then we have a host of potions to accomplish those changes. Take coffee, for example: usually, we drink it in the morning, when we feel sleepy and dull. The caffeine acts on our nervous system to wake us up, but we don't perceive the chemicals, only the effects; what we feel is a magical transformation of our cognitive states. We drink alcohol for the same reason: mental transformation. Many people drink drugged potions for religious reasons, to commune with the gods." I took another gulp. "Sometimes," I added, "a malevolent person might take another person's drink and poison it. You might call that 'black magic.'"
"And what about tea?" he asked, putting his cup down from yet another sip.
"Well, tea is a stimulant, just like coffee, but it has other chemical properties that give it a relaxing quality. For my money, it's the ideal drink for socializing, and relaxing on a sunny day like this."
"Yes," he murmured, closing his eyes slightly, "I do feel relaxed." Breathing deeply, he seemed at a loss for words. Like a good host, I filled the gap.
"So you see, two people coming together to share a drink, it's an act of friendship and trust. It's a common experience, of spiritual, vital significance."
"Yes, I can see how it is so." Dayus drank again, eyes closed, and I did as well, cherishing the moment. "This music," he said, "it's very...bold."
"You really have to be in the mood for Wagner," I said. "His style is very intense; he's a perfectionist, working on an absurdly big canvass. The man actually invented new musical instruments to make all the sounds he wanted. What it's really good for - what I really like about his music, though - is it sense of purpose."
"Purpose," he said, distractedly.
"Yes," I said, "purpose. It's a quality I admire in an artist, and probably art's greatest contribution to human society. It's the will to overcome self-doubt, to act heroically, boldly; to do what needs to be done." Dayus made no response, and his glass sat three quarters empty on the corner table. I watched as, weakly, he attempted to climb to his feet.
"The spider has a sense of purpose too," I continued, "though it took me a while to see it clearly. I finally figured it out, the difference between my way of doing things, and the spider's." I took a final gulp of tea from my own glass, and swallowed it, instantly feeling refreshed. "The spider has the nerve to pounce when his prey is in the web."
Dayus collapsed, landing mercifully with his head on a couch cushion, and enough sleeping drug in his system to drop a stallion. It had been too easy, but it was only right; just what he deserved for underestimating me. I took his glass and poured the remainder down the sink, rinsing it out quite thoroughly. I turned off the kitchen lights, taking care not to waste electricity, and returned to the living room to frisk his pockets. I took possession of his recording device, which I decided must have other functions, some of which might very well prove useful. Lastly, I grabbed my pocket knife from its place on the corner table, and tucked it in my coat pocket.
Outside, the sun was high and bright, and the air soaked warm with its rays; perfect weather for an afternoon siesta. I saw the elevator platform, a pale disc anchored in a sea of grass, awaiting the return of its sleeping master. I stepped cautiously toward it, and found that its defensive force field had disappeared. Trembling slightly, glancing quickly in all directions, I stepped to the center.
My doubts multiplied. The time for bold action came, and I seized it, but in doing so I felt as though I'd done a terrible wrong. My dishonesty, my treachery was the least of it; the amount of sleeping agent dissolved in that tea was positively criminal. I put so much in to compensate for his great stature, and to ensure success, but it was all guesswork. Dayus' body was different from mine, and there was no telling how his body might metabolize the drug. He'd been breathing when I left, but there was no guarantee that he would continue doing so. Not when he was so different than I; different in every conceivable way.
My gaze turned upwards, and I beheld the black hole. There was the exit, the entrance to the real Elysia, whatever it might look like. The pillar began to rise, uncertainly, as if it took its cues from my own vacillating will, and I crouched in the center, because I was afraid of heights. I rose above the roof; I rose higher, above the tree tops, and saw the whole length of the shadows they cast in the light of the sun. Higher and higher, perhaps a mile up, a gentle breeze kept me rooted in place, for fear I might be blown off and fall.
As my altitude increased, the dimensions of the space seemed to change. I could perceive the curvature of the domed sky more easily, as well as the circular plane of the ground, and even the crease which separated them. I saw the finite course of the brook, its water so clear that I could see the sandy bottom (shallow as it was). Daring even to look straight down, I saw my apartment, looking oddly natural in the artificial landscape. The air was cool, but barely more so than it was on the ground, it was so homogeneous. As I passed even the sun in height (I could see it crawling steadily down the western wall of the sky), the illusory perfection of the environment was nowhere to be seen. The light was scattered and diffuse, and the colors faded from the landscape, to leave the little world benighted, in a sad state of greenish grey.
The black hole grew in size, and what was once little more than a speck in the sky was now clearly large enough for the elevator to pass into. Yet even as I approached, even to within a few yards, there was only impenetrable darkness inside. The frightful gap was my destination, and the security of terra firma was more distant, less comforting with every passing foot. A stray thought crossed my mind, as the darkness engulfed me at last; how beautiful, and relieving, it must look on the way down; to look down and watch the land become real, to see the colors come to life, and escape the all-encompassing shadow.
For a minute it was all dark, even as the elevator ground to a halt. And then the lights - harsh lights, much harsher than my artificial sun - flashed on, nearly knocking me back to my knees. stood, shaking and stumbling, and reached out with my hand to block the worst of the glare. It was a modestly-sized room, uncrowded by boxes or equipment; metallic, but as pearly white as the tower itself when it glistened in the morning, strangely warm in spite of its austerity. Worried that I might be taken down once more, I quickly moved off the platform and stood in a corner, trying desperately to regain my bearings. On the left adjacent wall was the only other exit: a large, chalky door, carved with indecipherable symbols.
Monday, October 12, 2009
On the Second Floor, Chapter XI
Day Nine
"Good Morning, Toto," I said to the spider, who clung to the corner of his tousled web, waiting for his next meal. Toto was a comfort to me, but I had begun to accept that he would very likely die soon. There were no native bugs to sustain him in the dome, and if there were any other stowaways to be found near the apartment, none of them appeared to have been ensnared in his trap.
And yet he lived, for the time being. I have no idea how long a spider can last between meals, but Toto was unquestionably a survivor. Impossibly tiny, ignorant of his ultimate fate, doomed by unavoidable circumstances; starving for the sole reason that it was my window where he'd elected to make his home. Was I responsible for the spider? In some small way I must have been, but I could think of nothing that I could do for him; so for the sake of my conscience I joined him, hoping that when the time came, if it did, we might not be alone.
I sat their that morning, on the grass outside my window, with the sun upon my face and my mind in outer space, as my surroundings seemed more concrete, and more illusory, than they ever had before. I was thinking, but in circles, reaching no significant conclusions but the most obvious ones; namely, what a strange state of affairs had brought this all about, to have brought me so far with nothing to show for it. With all that had been taken from me, I'd been given only stories and intimations to show for it; and only a hungry little spider to share them with.
I brought a book with me, but I only half-read it, being more interested in the idea of reading it, than in actually putting effort into the process. My desires had grown, multiplied beyond what was either possible or reasonable, but even as they did they decentralized, dislocated themselves from one another, and I realized at last that they were no longer a part of myself. I had only one desire now: to be wise and know the truth; to admit to myself all the things that seemed too painful to be true; to accept it, and to own the guilt that was surely mine.
"I don't know what I can do for you," I said to the spider.
I was tired, as usual, but I had slept adequately the night before. It wasn't the lack of sleep that tired me, but the notion that I had never really been awake, and had never put aside the beauty of dreams for the truth of reality. I had stubbornly insisted that they were one and the same, and I was tired from the effort of believing it. And worst of all, I had begun to believe that I might never, ever awaken.
I smiled. "Maybe I can't do anything at all. And maybe that's a sin. If I am incapable it must be because I've made myself that way. If I am powerless, then it's because I've never wanted power. If I am trapped, it's because I will not free myself." And he said nothing.
What was real? The grass, the sun, the beautiful things around me? They had never been real, ever before. The tower? What was real that could not be touched? I forgot them, turned my thoughts within myself, and considered only wordless impulses and indescribable emotions. In my weakness, I nearly fell asleep.
So I hardly noticed when Dayus arrived, though his entrance was accompanied by the typical noise of gears and beams. Until he was standing over me, I did not stir from my position, sprawled on my back like a child. I glanced upwad with a wordless greeting, and pretended again to read my book.
"It's good to see you again," he said. "We have very nearly reached our destination."
"Oh yeah?"
"We will arrive tomorrow evening," he continued, "as time is counted in this dome. When we land in the capital city, however, the local time will be closer to mid-day."
"That's good," I sighed, and rested my book upon my lap, no longer interested in pretending. "I'm tired."
That same look of concern crossed his face; he was warmer now, more personable. Of course, I thought, he's been working hard, doing whatever it is that he does. The journey was at an end, or it almost was, and he could begin to relax, couldn't he? Does he really care about me? Maybe he does, but why should he?
"Have you been unable to sleep?"
"No, I slept fine. I told you, it comes and goes; sometimes I just need a little help."
"Then there is an unknown, underlying cause to your condition. Have you made any effort to understand, or diagnose it?"
"Sort of. But I think I'm beginning to understand why I feel the way I feel now."
I got to my feet, slowly rising as I brushed the damp blades of grass from my legs. "By the way," I said, gesturing to the window, "this is Toto."
Dayus perceived the spider in a moment, then approached the window for a closer look. He had obviously never seen such a creature before, and so was naturally curious; he raised his hand, as though he wanted to touch him, but but I warned him of the spider's bite. Even I didn't know if this one was a poisonous type, but where spiders are concerned, it's always better not to risk it. He lowered his hand.
"I see. And this creature preys upon other creatures of similar size?"
"Yes. Do you see the web here? He waits for something to get stuck to the fibers, and then he pounces."
"What does it do when no prey is forthcoming?"
"Well...hmmm. I guess he starves. But he will keep on waiting, as long as it takes. And you know, on Earth, spiders are everywhere, so I guess it works enough of the time."
"It is fascinating," he said. "I am not a zoologist, but similar creatures are found on my world as well. Such a peculiar strategy, though..."
"It is fascinating," I agreed, "no matter how many times you see it."
"Jonah," he said, as his tone became serious once more, "the next several days will likely be very stressful for you. Are you quite sure you're alright?"
"I guess so," I said, growing ever wearier of his words of warning. "I'm only tired, is all."
"If it is not the lack of sleep that is exhausting you, it may indicate that something is wrong." How grave! I was in the midst of a spiritual crisis, and he thought I was sick. Whatever the substance behind his show of concern, it was almost touching.
"I'm tired of feeling the way I do," I said, putting as best I could my recent thoughts into words. "Every day I'm tired, or bored, or angry, because I'm always waiting. I'm waiting for things to change, to where they're just right, and I can jump in, and shake things up, seize control of my own life. I want to take control, I want to do all of those things. But, I'm too tired to jump."
"You want to wait, just like the spider."
"Huh, I guess I do." I turned to the corner, inspecting the little niche in the windowsill. "How do you do it, little guy? Everything just comes to you, and you just sit there, and cast your net, and take what it catches." What a life! "And nobody criticizes you for it, either! They say your web is beautiful, and nobody minds if you sit in it all day, as long as you keep it tidy, fix it when it's broken... I hope you realize how good your kind has it!"
"I don't believe the creature can understand what you're saying to it."
"I know." How best to explain? "Talking to animals just makes me feel better. They might not understand, or answer back," I said, as I turned my attention back to Toto, "but they hear, and sometimes, I just need to be heard." The spider was more active now, seeming to patrol his web with renewed expectations; perhaps he knew something that I didn't.
How odd we must have looked to Dayus, a man with no qualms about abducting innocent people for science. Could he understand what I said? Could he see himself in the spider's web, as I could? Was he a spider, or a fly?
"...I will not keep you long," he said at last. "I have matters elsewhere that require my attention."
"Big day coming up, eh?"
"Yes. When Elysia left port, there was some cause for anxiety at home. Due to the distances involved, I have not received any news of the situation, and I will not be able to until we decrease to sub-light speeds."
"What kind of anxiety?"
"A mere matter of politics. I am sure nothing has come of it."
"That's weird," I said. "I can barely believe you even have politics."
"But of course we do. I told you so yesterday."
"But your society is so advanced now. With my people, politics is a seriously ugly business, full of liars and cheaters who keep anything real from getting done."
"Politics do not often bring out the best qualities of any people."
"I guess not. But your people must have come far; you said you had a unified world government, right?"
"Yes," he said, "based upon the principles of knowledge, cooperation, and mutual welfare."
"Then whatever it is, couldn't be so bad," I said. "I'd like to see it; if for nothing else, than to be sure it really works."
"Not to worry. Before we left for Earth, I arranged an audience for you with our Chief Minister." My shock was apparent, as he continued, "I know you consider yourself a prisoner here, Jonah, but you will not live as such during your time on my world. You will be the object of study, yes, but you will also be an honored guest. Just as my comrades are our envoys to your governments, so shall you be received as your world's envoy to ours."
I stared blankly, humbled by the impact of his promise. I suppose I always knew this; how many times had he assured me that I had nothing to fear from my captivity? But it was real now, something to believe in. The waiting was almost over, the end fast approached, and a new time was about to begin.
And yet, as we said our goodbyes, and Dayus ascended once more to his celestial stronghold, I knew that it wasn't enough. I would play the ambassador, but neither he nor his Chief Minister would lay their secrets bare to me. So long as I was smaller, weaker, more foolish than they, the skies would be their domain, and the dirt at best my fiefdom. I knew what I would be told: "all that I needed to know," all that they, in their arrogance, believed that I could understand.
Initiative; I needed the initiative. I had it once, or I thought I did, but who knew if it was ever enough? It was certainly not enough to impress them. I had to be desperate, and I was; I had to be crazy, and I wasn't sure if I was or was not. But I knew I wanted to go up there, on my terms, and not theirs. As humanity's envoy to the universe, I could not settle for any less. But as for myself, I could only wonder whether I had it in me, to risk it all for the sake of pride, andpick myself up again if I should fail.
And then what should appear before me but a fly, a common house fly, another little stowaway; zipping to and fro as such creatures are wont to do. Perhaps he was disoriented, perhaps not, but in short order he made a fatal error - he was trapped in the spider's web. As he buzzed and struggled, patient Toto nimbly crept from his corner and began hisritual task, stunning the fly and wrapping him for easy consumption.
What were the odds? What a universe, where even an unfortunate spider could wait his troubles out, and find a meal a million light years from home!
"Toto, you are incredibly wise."
"Good Morning, Toto," I said to the spider, who clung to the corner of his tousled web, waiting for his next meal. Toto was a comfort to me, but I had begun to accept that he would very likely die soon. There were no native bugs to sustain him in the dome, and if there were any other stowaways to be found near the apartment, none of them appeared to have been ensnared in his trap.
And yet he lived, for the time being. I have no idea how long a spider can last between meals, but Toto was unquestionably a survivor. Impossibly tiny, ignorant of his ultimate fate, doomed by unavoidable circumstances; starving for the sole reason that it was my window where he'd elected to make his home. Was I responsible for the spider? In some small way I must have been, but I could think of nothing that I could do for him; so for the sake of my conscience I joined him, hoping that when the time came, if it did, we might not be alone.
I sat their that morning, on the grass outside my window, with the sun upon my face and my mind in outer space, as my surroundings seemed more concrete, and more illusory, than they ever had before. I was thinking, but in circles, reaching no significant conclusions but the most obvious ones; namely, what a strange state of affairs had brought this all about, to have brought me so far with nothing to show for it. With all that had been taken from me, I'd been given only stories and intimations to show for it; and only a hungry little spider to share them with.
I brought a book with me, but I only half-read it, being more interested in the idea of reading it, than in actually putting effort into the process. My desires had grown, multiplied beyond what was either possible or reasonable, but even as they did they decentralized, dislocated themselves from one another, and I realized at last that they were no longer a part of myself. I had only one desire now: to be wise and know the truth; to admit to myself all the things that seemed too painful to be true; to accept it, and to own the guilt that was surely mine.
"I don't know what I can do for you," I said to the spider.
I was tired, as usual, but I had slept adequately the night before. It wasn't the lack of sleep that tired me, but the notion that I had never really been awake, and had never put aside the beauty of dreams for the truth of reality. I had stubbornly insisted that they were one and the same, and I was tired from the effort of believing it. And worst of all, I had begun to believe that I might never, ever awaken.
I smiled. "Maybe I can't do anything at all. And maybe that's a sin. If I am incapable it must be because I've made myself that way. If I am powerless, then it's because I've never wanted power. If I am trapped, it's because I will not free myself." And he said nothing.
What was real? The grass, the sun, the beautiful things around me? They had never been real, ever before. The tower? What was real that could not be touched? I forgot them, turned my thoughts within myself, and considered only wordless impulses and indescribable emotions. In my weakness, I nearly fell asleep.
So I hardly noticed when Dayus arrived, though his entrance was accompanied by the typical noise of gears and beams. Until he was standing over me, I did not stir from my position, sprawled on my back like a child. I glanced upwad with a wordless greeting, and pretended again to read my book.
"It's good to see you again," he said. "We have very nearly reached our destination."
"Oh yeah?"
"We will arrive tomorrow evening," he continued, "as time is counted in this dome. When we land in the capital city, however, the local time will be closer to mid-day."
"That's good," I sighed, and rested my book upon my lap, no longer interested in pretending. "I'm tired."
That same look of concern crossed his face; he was warmer now, more personable. Of course, I thought, he's been working hard, doing whatever it is that he does. The journey was at an end, or it almost was, and he could begin to relax, couldn't he? Does he really care about me? Maybe he does, but why should he?
"Have you been unable to sleep?"
"No, I slept fine. I told you, it comes and goes; sometimes I just need a little help."
"Then there is an unknown, underlying cause to your condition. Have you made any effort to understand, or diagnose it?"
"Sort of. But I think I'm beginning to understand why I feel the way I feel now."
I got to my feet, slowly rising as I brushed the damp blades of grass from my legs. "By the way," I said, gesturing to the window, "this is Toto."
Dayus perceived the spider in a moment, then approached the window for a closer look. He had obviously never seen such a creature before, and so was naturally curious; he raised his hand, as though he wanted to touch him, but but I warned him of the spider's bite. Even I didn't know if this one was a poisonous type, but where spiders are concerned, it's always better not to risk it. He lowered his hand.
"I see. And this creature preys upon other creatures of similar size?"
"Yes. Do you see the web here? He waits for something to get stuck to the fibers, and then he pounces."
"What does it do when no prey is forthcoming?"
"Well...hmmm. I guess he starves. But he will keep on waiting, as long as it takes. And you know, on Earth, spiders are everywhere, so I guess it works enough of the time."
"It is fascinating," he said. "I am not a zoologist, but similar creatures are found on my world as well. Such a peculiar strategy, though..."
"It is fascinating," I agreed, "no matter how many times you see it."
"Jonah," he said, as his tone became serious once more, "the next several days will likely be very stressful for you. Are you quite sure you're alright?"
"I guess so," I said, growing ever wearier of his words of warning. "I'm only tired, is all."
"If it is not the lack of sleep that is exhausting you, it may indicate that something is wrong." How grave! I was in the midst of a spiritual crisis, and he thought I was sick. Whatever the substance behind his show of concern, it was almost touching.
"I'm tired of feeling the way I do," I said, putting as best I could my recent thoughts into words. "Every day I'm tired, or bored, or angry, because I'm always waiting. I'm waiting for things to change, to where they're just right, and I can jump in, and shake things up, seize control of my own life. I want to take control, I want to do all of those things. But, I'm too tired to jump."
"You want to wait, just like the spider."
"Huh, I guess I do." I turned to the corner, inspecting the little niche in the windowsill. "How do you do it, little guy? Everything just comes to you, and you just sit there, and cast your net, and take what it catches." What a life! "And nobody criticizes you for it, either! They say your web is beautiful, and nobody minds if you sit in it all day, as long as you keep it tidy, fix it when it's broken... I hope you realize how good your kind has it!"
"I don't believe the creature can understand what you're saying to it."
"I know." How best to explain? "Talking to animals just makes me feel better. They might not understand, or answer back," I said, as I turned my attention back to Toto, "but they hear, and sometimes, I just need to be heard." The spider was more active now, seeming to patrol his web with renewed expectations; perhaps he knew something that I didn't.
How odd we must have looked to Dayus, a man with no qualms about abducting innocent people for science. Could he understand what I said? Could he see himself in the spider's web, as I could? Was he a spider, or a fly?
"...I will not keep you long," he said at last. "I have matters elsewhere that require my attention."
"Big day coming up, eh?"
"Yes. When Elysia left port, there was some cause for anxiety at home. Due to the distances involved, I have not received any news of the situation, and I will not be able to until we decrease to sub-light speeds."
"What kind of anxiety?"
"A mere matter of politics. I am sure nothing has come of it."
"That's weird," I said. "I can barely believe you even have politics."
"But of course we do. I told you so yesterday."
"But your society is so advanced now. With my people, politics is a seriously ugly business, full of liars and cheaters who keep anything real from getting done."
"Politics do not often bring out the best qualities of any people."
"I guess not. But your people must have come far; you said you had a unified world government, right?"
"Yes," he said, "based upon the principles of knowledge, cooperation, and mutual welfare."
"Then whatever it is, couldn't be so bad," I said. "I'd like to see it; if for nothing else, than to be sure it really works."
"Not to worry. Before we left for Earth, I arranged an audience for you with our Chief Minister." My shock was apparent, as he continued, "I know you consider yourself a prisoner here, Jonah, but you will not live as such during your time on my world. You will be the object of study, yes, but you will also be an honored guest. Just as my comrades are our envoys to your governments, so shall you be received as your world's envoy to ours."
I stared blankly, humbled by the impact of his promise. I suppose I always knew this; how many times had he assured me that I had nothing to fear from my captivity? But it was real now, something to believe in. The waiting was almost over, the end fast approached, and a new time was about to begin.
And yet, as we said our goodbyes, and Dayus ascended once more to his celestial stronghold, I knew that it wasn't enough. I would play the ambassador, but neither he nor his Chief Minister would lay their secrets bare to me. So long as I was smaller, weaker, more foolish than they, the skies would be their domain, and the dirt at best my fiefdom. I knew what I would be told: "all that I needed to know," all that they, in their arrogance, believed that I could understand.
Initiative; I needed the initiative. I had it once, or I thought I did, but who knew if it was ever enough? It was certainly not enough to impress them. I had to be desperate, and I was; I had to be crazy, and I wasn't sure if I was or was not. But I knew I wanted to go up there, on my terms, and not theirs. As humanity's envoy to the universe, I could not settle for any less. But as for myself, I could only wonder whether I had it in me, to risk it all for the sake of pride, andpick myself up again if I should fail.
And then what should appear before me but a fly, a common house fly, another little stowaway; zipping to and fro as such creatures are wont to do. Perhaps he was disoriented, perhaps not, but in short order he made a fatal error - he was trapped in the spider's web. As he buzzed and struggled, patient Toto nimbly crept from his corner and began hisritual task, stunning the fly and wrapping him for easy consumption.
What were the odds? What a universe, where even an unfortunate spider could wait his troubles out, and find a meal a million light years from home!
"Toto, you are incredibly wise."
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
On the Second Floor, Chapter X
Day Eight
"You've gotten better at this game." Part of me couldn't believe it, refused to believe that Dayus could learn the game of chess so thoroughly in a single day; still another part of me found it maddeningly typical. Of course he would, the extraterrestrial with the huge head, infinitely smarter than I could ever hope to be, only had to think about it to achieve perfect play- why shouldn't I be fighting for my life after only twelve moves? What a bloody disgrace, the jerk.
"I would say your technique has diminished since last we played; perhaps your overconfidence has affected your strategic thinking."
"Yeah, I guess," I said, ready for any excuse to avoid admitting my obvious inferiority. Another devastating strike from his bishop put away my hopes for a renaissant defense. "I mean, I'm tired, too. I barely slept last night."
His eyes flashed with concern, even as he mercilessly analyzed my line for weaknesses, plotting to exploit them in his regicidal siege. I thought of how unseemly it was for a scientist; to get so wrapped up in his experiment as to descend to the level of his subject chimp, playing his little puzzle right along side, and outwitting him, and for what, what gain? It was nothing but some hyper-ironic, mundane tragedy, like an exercise in fooling no one. But all the same, he looked concerned.
"I know what you're thinking," I sighed.
"Do you?" was his only reply. He only had to call me on my tedious bluster.
"Yeah. Look, it has nothing to do with you, or this environment, or how 'comfortable' I am. Sometimes, I just can't sleep," and I yawned for emphasis. "And that, that, good sir, is why today I suck at chess." I brought out a rook, my last rook, blocking his approaching queen in a desperate, fatal gambit.
Attrition - it was my only hope. Attrition and stalemate, the only path and destination of dignity still available to me, and only one opportunity to seize it, if I could only erode his offense, take his key pieces, keep mine on the board just long enough...
"The truth is, my technique has improved." He indicated with his recording device as he explained. "Based on your description of the game's rules and objectives, I conducted automatic simulations to develop effective strategies." As he moved to reinforce his queen's position, he added, "if your playing has worsened, it's only because you are panicking."
"Probably. Do they have games like this on your world too?"
"There are similar principles which I was able to apply. But more importantly, I am worried about your sleeping problem."
Really worried, or only worried that I might spoil his experiment? "I told you, don't be. It's got nothing to do with you, or any of this, this stuff here. It's just a problem.. an issue I've always had, really."
"I may still be able to help."
"I've got pills," I said. "If I can't get any sleep, I'll just take them, and they'll put me to sleep." How pathetic, he must have thought, to hear such an admission. But it was the truth. I didn't need the sleeping pills every night. I didn't even usually need them most nights. On Earth, before my life went all science fiction on me, I might have one or two hopelessly sleepless nights a month.
I did my best to keep my pill consumption limited to those extreme instances, for fear of becoming addicted. But this was the second time in less than a week; was it stress, some sort of space madness? Or was I more dependent than I thought? Maybe that's why I was losing so badly; the insidious work of drugs on my tortured neurons. It made me sick.
"My medical technicians can help, once we have arrived at our destination."
"That'll be fine."
"Is that a yes?"
"That'll be fine." Only a few moves had passed, and my gambit looked increasingly hopeless, a lost cause for mankind. I was boxed in, immobile, effectively impotent. I was forced to reckon with the loss of my attack pieces; forced to choose between useless moves and stupid ones. And there, at the center of the board, hovered the instruments of my destruction, the horsemen of my own apocalypse, a pair of avenging knights, backed by a rook.
"Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide," I murmured, half-heartedly arranging my few remaining pawns in a defensive triangle. Got to give myself just enough room. Just enough to force a stalemate. Just enough to keep my dignity.
Three moves. Two counter-moves, with no third forthcoming. My goose was cooked. I sat defeated, trapped in a cage of my own design.
I slumped in my chair, tipping precariously on the back legs, and suddenly kicked the table; hard enough to make the smaller pieces jump, but not enough to erase the evidence of my disgrace. Computer simulations, eh? Dirty cheater.
"Would you like to play again?"
"No. No. No, I would not." I rose to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. "Definitely not. No, I'm too tired."
"This seems to be an unusual sort of exhaustion. Are you sure you're alright, Jonah?"
"Well if I'm not, it's your fault!"
"So you were not being honest when you said it wasn't?"
"Aw hell. Mother hell, you jerk. You ass," I fumed, "I'm all stressed out. I don't know what is up, what's true anymore."
Almost without looking, Dayus had been reorganizing the pieces, placing them neatly in the box (neater than they had any particular reason to be). His hands moved deliberately, but I could see on his face a look bordering on confusion. "Jonah," he said, holding his pause as if anticipating m response, "does it really bother you that much to lose to me?"
What? What!? What the hell!?
I nearly choked on my water, had to fight to keep my reaction subdued. Who's the jerk now, who's the poor sport? Who's the "real" bad guy here? No, no, this could not stand. I was not about to concede the bigger game.
"No, not really," I said, summoning my sincerest-looking smile for the mighty task. "I told you before, I'm stressed, and I'm not sleeping well. That's all, it's fine. It's all fine." I laid myself down on the couch, I closed my eyes, and kneaded my temples slowly with my fingers. I felt better as I rubbed my cheeks, focused, then unfocused, as I willed myself into a state of half-delirium. "I'm fine. How are you?"
If he wasn't confused before, he certainly was now. "I'm alright. Quite alright."
"Good, good," I closed my eyes, the better to conceal my thoughts. If anger, if accusations could get me no progress (and it sure looked like they couldn't), then I had other methods to employ. "How's your family, Dayus?"
"They are quite alright as well."
"What are they up to?"
"My son is board this ship, acting as a navigator. My wife is at home."
"Nice, I see. Your son, is he the one who sent us off course a few days ago?"
"...that was merely a minor, unavoidable course correction, due to factors beyond anyone's control." How adorable.
"I see," I said, feeling myself on the right track, guided by the warm inner glow of achievement. "How's your home planet?"
I opened my eyes to see his reaction, but he had averted his gaze; how very interesting! This was a spool of thread worth following, whether it led out of the labyrinth or not.
"You will see it in due time," he said, and I pressed for more with my silence, subtly prodding for an elaboration, provoking with a smile. I was shameless with my smarm offensive, but he had no defense against it. It must have been hard for him, with all he meant to keep hidden from me; but he couldn't leave, not with my behavior turning so strange. He had to stay, and he had to answer.
"My planet is a complex world, with many thousands of years of recorded history. It has seen the rise and fall of many cultures and civilizations, and today, it is home to what you would recognize as an advanced society. It is too...multifaceted to explain in any significant way in the short time which we have here."
"Now that is interesting," I said. "My planet is much the same: so old, so complex, so 'multifaceted,' sometimes it's difficult to know what to talk about. You know, scratch that. It's always hard, because it's almost impossible in principle."
"Nevertheless, your contributions have been invaluable to my research."
"But you see, that's the interesting thing." I was sitting up now, becoming animated as I sensed an opening, taking careful aim at the target even as he insisted on clouding the issue (perhaps there was an embarrassing admission? I could only hope!). "It's just so inefficient. Your method, I mean. You pick me up, you put me in your little box, that's fine, for what it's worth."
"Jonah..."
"No, hang on, I think I've got a real point here." Just shut up already. "You see, I'm only one human, and trust me, I'm not typical. I'm still not convinced that you don't have other people on this ship somewhere, but even if you had a hundred, you wouldn't get anything like an accurate representation of humanity, anything close to what you really want out of this whole endeavor. Most of them, they'd be ignorant of anything outside the everyday experiences of their own lives, and once you'd isolated them from humanity, they'd probably lose their perspective and forget half of that too. It's an even worse idea with only one subject; for all you know, I could have been a total idiot."
"Well, even if you knew nothing important about your people's history or culture, I would still have gotten useful data from the broader aspects of your personality."
"But you didn't need to take me off planet to do that. You could have just observed all of us humans at once, you know, in our 'natural habitat.' Or, here's an idea: you could have just approached us and said 'hello,' and we could have had an honest-to-goodness cultural exchange. Think of how much more productive that would be! Instead, you've put all the pressure on me; as if I could ever make sense of it all for myself, you want me to make it all clear to you? What good could that do?!"
"There were compelling reasons to bring a single human back with us."
"Oh really? Scientific ones?"
"Yes, of course. What other reasons would there be?"
"That, Dayus, is a very good question."
"Besides, I already explained this to you, at our first meeting. I did leave a contingent behind to make contact with Earth's governments, and conduct just the sort of research you suggest. When we re-establish contact with that party, we can contrast it with the information gained here.."
"OK, OK, I thought had you there, but I was wrong. Again." So much for my daring breakthrough. "Let's just forget it. What's it like on your planet? How do you, you know,get things done?"
Dayus was more relaxed now, perhaps calculating that my attacks had finally ceased. "Originally, there were many political divisions among my people, taking the form of nation states. However, over time, a super-national authority developed, which has unified disparate elements of our various cultures, superseding various local interests in favor of advancing the collective interests of our race." It didn't sound nearly so rehearsed when he said it, but I strongly suspected that it was.
"That doesn't sound so complicated to me. It sounds like your institutions have trended toward simplicity over time."
Dayus looked at me, becoming suddenly quite direct, as though he'd realized some critical error he'd nearly overlooked; there was a quiet intensity in his voice. "Jonah, I have studied dozens of civilizations across this galaxy. I have learned many things, and I believe it is a universal truth that societies never trend toward simplicity."
Oh. He was right,of course. How foolish of me to build his pedestal too high.
"No, no I guess they don't." I was growing more tired by the minute.
"You've gotten better at this game." Part of me couldn't believe it, refused to believe that Dayus could learn the game of chess so thoroughly in a single day; still another part of me found it maddeningly typical. Of course he would, the extraterrestrial with the huge head, infinitely smarter than I could ever hope to be, only had to think about it to achieve perfect play- why shouldn't I be fighting for my life after only twelve moves? What a bloody disgrace, the jerk.
"I would say your technique has diminished since last we played; perhaps your overconfidence has affected your strategic thinking."
"Yeah, I guess," I said, ready for any excuse to avoid admitting my obvious inferiority. Another devastating strike from his bishop put away my hopes for a renaissant defense. "I mean, I'm tired, too. I barely slept last night."
His eyes flashed with concern, even as he mercilessly analyzed my line for weaknesses, plotting to exploit them in his regicidal siege. I thought of how unseemly it was for a scientist; to get so wrapped up in his experiment as to descend to the level of his subject chimp, playing his little puzzle right along side, and outwitting him, and for what, what gain? It was nothing but some hyper-ironic, mundane tragedy, like an exercise in fooling no one. But all the same, he looked concerned.
"I know what you're thinking," I sighed.
"Do you?" was his only reply. He only had to call me on my tedious bluster.
"Yeah. Look, it has nothing to do with you, or this environment, or how 'comfortable' I am. Sometimes, I just can't sleep," and I yawned for emphasis. "And that, that, good sir, is why today I suck at chess." I brought out a rook, my last rook, blocking his approaching queen in a desperate, fatal gambit.
Attrition - it was my only hope. Attrition and stalemate, the only path and destination of dignity still available to me, and only one opportunity to seize it, if I could only erode his offense, take his key pieces, keep mine on the board just long enough...
"The truth is, my technique has improved." He indicated with his recording device as he explained. "Based on your description of the game's rules and objectives, I conducted automatic simulations to develop effective strategies." As he moved to reinforce his queen's position, he added, "if your playing has worsened, it's only because you are panicking."
"Probably. Do they have games like this on your world too?"
"There are similar principles which I was able to apply. But more importantly, I am worried about your sleeping problem."
Really worried, or only worried that I might spoil his experiment? "I told you, don't be. It's got nothing to do with you, or any of this, this stuff here. It's just a problem.. an issue I've always had, really."
"I may still be able to help."
"I've got pills," I said. "If I can't get any sleep, I'll just take them, and they'll put me to sleep." How pathetic, he must have thought, to hear such an admission. But it was the truth. I didn't need the sleeping pills every night. I didn't even usually need them most nights. On Earth, before my life went all science fiction on me, I might have one or two hopelessly sleepless nights a month.
I did my best to keep my pill consumption limited to those extreme instances, for fear of becoming addicted. But this was the second time in less than a week; was it stress, some sort of space madness? Or was I more dependent than I thought? Maybe that's why I was losing so badly; the insidious work of drugs on my tortured neurons. It made me sick.
"My medical technicians can help, once we have arrived at our destination."
"That'll be fine."
"Is that a yes?"
"That'll be fine." Only a few moves had passed, and my gambit looked increasingly hopeless, a lost cause for mankind. I was boxed in, immobile, effectively impotent. I was forced to reckon with the loss of my attack pieces; forced to choose between useless moves and stupid ones. And there, at the center of the board, hovered the instruments of my destruction, the horsemen of my own apocalypse, a pair of avenging knights, backed by a rook.
"Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide," I murmured, half-heartedly arranging my few remaining pawns in a defensive triangle. Got to give myself just enough room. Just enough to force a stalemate. Just enough to keep my dignity.
Three moves. Two counter-moves, with no third forthcoming. My goose was cooked. I sat defeated, trapped in a cage of my own design.
I slumped in my chair, tipping precariously on the back legs, and suddenly kicked the table; hard enough to make the smaller pieces jump, but not enough to erase the evidence of my disgrace. Computer simulations, eh? Dirty cheater.
"Would you like to play again?"
"No. No. No, I would not." I rose to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. "Definitely not. No, I'm too tired."
"This seems to be an unusual sort of exhaustion. Are you sure you're alright, Jonah?"
"Well if I'm not, it's your fault!"
"So you were not being honest when you said it wasn't?"
"Aw hell. Mother hell, you jerk. You ass," I fumed, "I'm all stressed out. I don't know what is up, what's true anymore."
Almost without looking, Dayus had been reorganizing the pieces, placing them neatly in the box (neater than they had any particular reason to be). His hands moved deliberately, but I could see on his face a look bordering on confusion. "Jonah," he said, holding his pause as if anticipating m response, "does it really bother you that much to lose to me?"
What? What!? What the hell!?
I nearly choked on my water, had to fight to keep my reaction subdued. Who's the jerk now, who's the poor sport? Who's the "real" bad guy here? No, no, this could not stand. I was not about to concede the bigger game.
"No, not really," I said, summoning my sincerest-looking smile for the mighty task. "I told you before, I'm stressed, and I'm not sleeping well. That's all, it's fine. It's all fine." I laid myself down on the couch, I closed my eyes, and kneaded my temples slowly with my fingers. I felt better as I rubbed my cheeks, focused, then unfocused, as I willed myself into a state of half-delirium. "I'm fine. How are you?"
If he wasn't confused before, he certainly was now. "I'm alright. Quite alright."
"Good, good," I closed my eyes, the better to conceal my thoughts. If anger, if accusations could get me no progress (and it sure looked like they couldn't), then I had other methods to employ. "How's your family, Dayus?"
"They are quite alright as well."
"What are they up to?"
"My son is board this ship, acting as a navigator. My wife is at home."
"Nice, I see. Your son, is he the one who sent us off course a few days ago?"
"...that was merely a minor, unavoidable course correction, due to factors beyond anyone's control." How adorable.
"I see," I said, feeling myself on the right track, guided by the warm inner glow of achievement. "How's your home planet?"
I opened my eyes to see his reaction, but he had averted his gaze; how very interesting! This was a spool of thread worth following, whether it led out of the labyrinth or not.
"You will see it in due time," he said, and I pressed for more with my silence, subtly prodding for an elaboration, provoking with a smile. I was shameless with my smarm offensive, but he had no defense against it. It must have been hard for him, with all he meant to keep hidden from me; but he couldn't leave, not with my behavior turning so strange. He had to stay, and he had to answer.
"My planet is a complex world, with many thousands of years of recorded history. It has seen the rise and fall of many cultures and civilizations, and today, it is home to what you would recognize as an advanced society. It is too...multifaceted to explain in any significant way in the short time which we have here."
"Now that is interesting," I said. "My planet is much the same: so old, so complex, so 'multifaceted,' sometimes it's difficult to know what to talk about. You know, scratch that. It's always hard, because it's almost impossible in principle."
"Nevertheless, your contributions have been invaluable to my research."
"But you see, that's the interesting thing." I was sitting up now, becoming animated as I sensed an opening, taking careful aim at the target even as he insisted on clouding the issue (perhaps there was an embarrassing admission? I could only hope!). "It's just so inefficient. Your method, I mean. You pick me up, you put me in your little box, that's fine, for what it's worth."
"Jonah..."
"No, hang on, I think I've got a real point here." Just shut up already. "You see, I'm only one human, and trust me, I'm not typical. I'm still not convinced that you don't have other people on this ship somewhere, but even if you had a hundred, you wouldn't get anything like an accurate representation of humanity, anything close to what you really want out of this whole endeavor. Most of them, they'd be ignorant of anything outside the everyday experiences of their own lives, and once you'd isolated them from humanity, they'd probably lose their perspective and forget half of that too. It's an even worse idea with only one subject; for all you know, I could have been a total idiot."
"Well, even if you knew nothing important about your people's history or culture, I would still have gotten useful data from the broader aspects of your personality."
"But you didn't need to take me off planet to do that. You could have just observed all of us humans at once, you know, in our 'natural habitat.' Or, here's an idea: you could have just approached us and said 'hello,' and we could have had an honest-to-goodness cultural exchange. Think of how much more productive that would be! Instead, you've put all the pressure on me; as if I could ever make sense of it all for myself, you want me to make it all clear to you? What good could that do?!"
"There were compelling reasons to bring a single human back with us."
"Oh really? Scientific ones?"
"Yes, of course. What other reasons would there be?"
"That, Dayus, is a very good question."
"Besides, I already explained this to you, at our first meeting. I did leave a contingent behind to make contact with Earth's governments, and conduct just the sort of research you suggest. When we re-establish contact with that party, we can contrast it with the information gained here.."
"OK, OK, I thought had you there, but I was wrong. Again." So much for my daring breakthrough. "Let's just forget it. What's it like on your planet? How do you, you know,get things done?"
Dayus was more relaxed now, perhaps calculating that my attacks had finally ceased. "Originally, there were many political divisions among my people, taking the form of nation states. However, over time, a super-national authority developed, which has unified disparate elements of our various cultures, superseding various local interests in favor of advancing the collective interests of our race." It didn't sound nearly so rehearsed when he said it, but I strongly suspected that it was.
"That doesn't sound so complicated to me. It sounds like your institutions have trended toward simplicity over time."
Dayus looked at me, becoming suddenly quite direct, as though he'd realized some critical error he'd nearly overlooked; there was a quiet intensity in his voice. "Jonah, I have studied dozens of civilizations across this galaxy. I have learned many things, and I believe it is a universal truth that societies never trend toward simplicity."
Oh. He was right,of course. How foolish of me to build his pedestal too high.
"No, no I guess they don't." I was growing more tired by the minute.
Monday, September 21, 2009
On the Second Floor, Chapter IX
Day Seven
At the back of my apartment was a small network of pipes and wires, hastily yet competently assembled by the ones who brought me to this place. They were interstellar scientists, "naturalists," you might almost call them, experts in whatever they called the abduction of sleeping Earthlings. They knew enough about enough to know how things work, to perceive what it took to keep a human's home running well, to keep its occupant "comfortable." And the proof was not to be ignored, for I had suffered no electrical outages; my water flowed just as it was supposed to, and it was heated to just the right temperature, by whatever crazy alien gas they employed.
And judging by the lack of horrifying issues with my toilet, I presumed that one of those pipes also carried my sewage away. I wasn't especially interested in finding out which one.
Standing there, hearing the low whir of what sounded like a generator, I had to marvel at the efficiency of the work, and the commitment of the workers, who clearly didn't do it out of kindness. And I felt reasonably sure that if they were going to install the washing machine today, as Dayus promised, then they would install it there.
The sun couldn't burn me, but I wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, because I hadn't in a while and because I could, and at high noon such hats are perfectly reasonable things to wear. The pipes made a muffled rushing sound, and I whistled in approval. Keep on rushin', I thought, resuming my circuit of the building.
On the other side, the tower was still there, just as always, a mere fifteen or twenty yards from the front porch. It was familiar now, but it still seemed to resist becoming mundane, as the trees and even the funky fake sky had long since done. The tower - the elevator - the tower was the key. It could never be mundane. It was the end, the opposite, the absolute antithesis of mundane, the pearly ride to outer space, and the center of my latest plan.
I stopped walking outside my bedroom window and saw a spider web, and in a moment I recognized its significance. Here I'd been moaning about being alone, being cut off from all of God's creatures, when all along I'd been accompanied by at least one tiny, hideously eight-legged representative of the animal kingdom. And come to think of it, who knew how many other creepy-crawlers had hitched the same sort of ride! Just imagine what was living in my walls!
Imagine indeed, I thought, shuddering at the notion. If I ever saw one, I might have to call Dayus for a quick extermination job.
For as long as I'd lived in that apartment, the bedroom window had been stuck shut, impossible to open from the inside; and since it was on the second floor, it was impossible to access from the outside. I had never thought about it very much, because it was only ever a problem on hot, sticky, summer afternoons. But now there was no problem. Silently apologizing to my landlord, I grabbed the mesh screen and tore it off with a jerk, then leaned it gently against the wall.
I found the owner of the cobweb huddled in the corner of the windowsill, a small, grey, nondescript spider of the utterly harmless variety. I wondered if he had enough food, and fearing a massive infestation, I quietly hoped that he didn't. But he looked healthy, as arachnids go, so I assumed he was doing alright.
"Little guy," I said, "I'm naming you 'Toto.' I do not care to explain why." With that I returned to the task at hand, tugging on the sliding glass pane. I pulled as hard as I could but it wouldn't budge, until I braced myself against the perpendicular wall, and it slid aside. "This'll make things easier," I said.
I spent the next hour and a half just on the other side of the window, reading comic books and eating tortilla chips in my computer chair, biding my time. It didn't matter when Dayus showed up next, but as soon as he did, I intended to force the issue of my captivity, and seize a little respect. I only needed the tower to come down.
And then, down it came. I could never be sure just how tall it was, but I knew the process took a few minutes, so I didn't bother looking up right away. As a matter off act, I had just enough time to finish an old Spider-man issue as the rim of the platform, and its occupants, came into view. I put the comic down and assessed the situation.
There were three of them; Dayus and two others, probably the ones from the beginning. With them was a small, cubic machine, about the size of an old television set. One of the assistants pushed the box on some sort of futuristic dolly. The three continued conversing for a short time after the platform touched ground, but I couldn't hear them. Just as well, I thought, it doesn't really matter what they have to say now.
The two assistants took the machine toward the back, while Dayus himself proceeded to the front door. This wasn't optimal; I had hoped he would install the machine personally. However, it didn't make a difference. I cleared the desk beneath the window of clutter, climbed on top, and waited.
I heard him knock from the other room, but I didn't answer, knowing he was perfectly capable of letting himself in. I waited, hoping the other two would not be too quick in putting the new contraption together. Peering outside, I saw that the spider web was blocking the upper space of the open window; I reached out with my hand, and broke it. "Sorry, Toto," I whispered, "I'd rather not get this in my face."
Dayus rang the doorbell. The doorbell, for God's sake; when did he learn manners? I rolled my eyes, and then at last I heard him open the door. Tense, I waited to hear it close again, and then I sprang - out the window, down to the grass, and then running, as fast as I could manage, to the platform.
If I could just stand on it, I thought, I could make him take me up. I could force the issue; if they tried to make me move, I could defend myself with my pocket knife. But I had to reach the platform, to do it before they could stop me, or there would be no advantage. I had to run, I had to dive, so I leapt, and I dove - and bashed my shoulder against the force field, which of course had been there all along.
I failed. For a minute I lay on the grass clutching the point of impact, but it seemed that not even the security measures were designed to be harmful. As far as I could tell, the damage barely counted as a bruise. Dayus was soon there, looking down at me as though expecting an explanation. I was angry and frustrated, and for a moment my thoughts turned toward the knife, to make my stand there, but I knew that would be a mistake. The situation could be salvaged with the right attitude.
I stood up, rubbing the sore spot gently, and put on my best wry smirk: "Well, it was worth a shot."
He smiled back. "You really must stop underestimating me, Jonah."
"I won't in the future." I implied the threat, but I half-hoped he wouldn't understand it; further attempts would be easier if he expected less. Of course, further attempts would require further plans, and those had yet to be made.
We went back inside. "My assistants are installing the machine you requested now."
"Oh, that's good. I thought that's what that box was."
"You need only place your clothing inside. The computer will then provide further voice instructions."
"Peachy," I said, as I opened the cupboard where the tea was kept. "Want a drink?"
That afternoon I taught Dr. Dayus the game of chess. I kept an old board on my bookshelf, one that I'd received from my father years earlier. It hadn't gotten much use recently, but I kept it around for just such an emergency as they say. I desperately wanted him to forget the escape attempt, and concentrate on something else, something pertaining to Earth's culture; that's why he was there, right?
Dayus picked up the game quickly, though he made the typical beginner's mistakes. He needlessly sacrificed his pawns, exposing his more powerful pieces and putting them in untenable positions. It was funny, because with his dignified robe and enormous, gnarled head, I could easily imagine him as a legendary grandmaster. For that reason alone, I derived a great deal of satisfaction from beating him, unfair as it was.
I taught him the history of chess, about its origins in India and Persia; how its modern rules and terminology took form in the west, and how it came to symbolize a certain kind of intellectual sophistication. I called it "the Game of Kings," though I was fairly sure that title belonged to polo. But I didn't know polo and we didn't have horses, so chess would have to suffice.
Halfway through our tenth game, I mentioned what I'd seen in the window. "There's a spider on the outside of this building. I guess you guys picked up more than you expected too when you...grabbed me." He said nothing, and I realized that he might not understand the term. "A spider is a tiny animal that makes silk webs, and preys on other tiny creatures."
"I see," he said, guarding his King with a Knight. "Is that a problem for you?"
"No, no. Actually, it was nice to see something from home out there. I named it 'Toto.'"
"Why?"
"Oh, no reason."
"I see." The game was not going well for him. That was to be expected, but I imagined that he, as a scientist, lacked the "military" mindset needed to play aggressively and effectively. Even if I was wrong, at least I could enjoy my advantage for a while longer.
"There are probably other small creatures from Earth in the vicinity," he continued. "Some may even have found their way into the forest."
"Well that would be interesting," I replied. "Maybe you'll have some unintended colonies out there."
"Our usual procedure is to sterilize the chamber with radiation when our experiments are concluded."
"Oh," I said. "Well, that may not be enough. Earth bugs can be pretty tough."
"How 'tough?'"
"They say a cockroach can survive an atomic blast."
"I regard this information with some skepticism."
"Well, I don't know if it's true or not. But all the same, it might be worth your time to study them, too. You know, when you're done with me."
"Yes, perhaps." The lack of interest was palpable.
"Preferably before you blast them with radiation," I added, finishing the game with a rather elegant checkmate. I don't know if he saw it coming or not, but he sure as hell couldn't stop it.
"I think I shall be leaving now," he said, rising from the table. "In the meantime, let me know if these 'spiders' become a problem."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," I said, though I now half expected to find tarantulas under the floorboards. What a planet!
As the elevator bore Dayus away, I flopped on the couch, reflecting on my failure. "I guess I'll go do laundry now."
At the back of my apartment was a small network of pipes and wires, hastily yet competently assembled by the ones who brought me to this place. They were interstellar scientists, "naturalists," you might almost call them, experts in whatever they called the abduction of sleeping Earthlings. They knew enough about enough to know how things work, to perceive what it took to keep a human's home running well, to keep its occupant "comfortable." And the proof was not to be ignored, for I had suffered no electrical outages; my water flowed just as it was supposed to, and it was heated to just the right temperature, by whatever crazy alien gas they employed.
And judging by the lack of horrifying issues with my toilet, I presumed that one of those pipes also carried my sewage away. I wasn't especially interested in finding out which one.
Standing there, hearing the low whir of what sounded like a generator, I had to marvel at the efficiency of the work, and the commitment of the workers, who clearly didn't do it out of kindness. And I felt reasonably sure that if they were going to install the washing machine today, as Dayus promised, then they would install it there.
The sun couldn't burn me, but I wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, because I hadn't in a while and because I could, and at high noon such hats are perfectly reasonable things to wear. The pipes made a muffled rushing sound, and I whistled in approval. Keep on rushin', I thought, resuming my circuit of the building.
On the other side, the tower was still there, just as always, a mere fifteen or twenty yards from the front porch. It was familiar now, but it still seemed to resist becoming mundane, as the trees and even the funky fake sky had long since done. The tower - the elevator - the tower was the key. It could never be mundane. It was the end, the opposite, the absolute antithesis of mundane, the pearly ride to outer space, and the center of my latest plan.
I stopped walking outside my bedroom window and saw a spider web, and in a moment I recognized its significance. Here I'd been moaning about being alone, being cut off from all of God's creatures, when all along I'd been accompanied by at least one tiny, hideously eight-legged representative of the animal kingdom. And come to think of it, who knew how many other creepy-crawlers had hitched the same sort of ride! Just imagine what was living in my walls!
Imagine indeed, I thought, shuddering at the notion. If I ever saw one, I might have to call Dayus for a quick extermination job.
For as long as I'd lived in that apartment, the bedroom window had been stuck shut, impossible to open from the inside; and since it was on the second floor, it was impossible to access from the outside. I had never thought about it very much, because it was only ever a problem on hot, sticky, summer afternoons. But now there was no problem. Silently apologizing to my landlord, I grabbed the mesh screen and tore it off with a jerk, then leaned it gently against the wall.
I found the owner of the cobweb huddled in the corner of the windowsill, a small, grey, nondescript spider of the utterly harmless variety. I wondered if he had enough food, and fearing a massive infestation, I quietly hoped that he didn't. But he looked healthy, as arachnids go, so I assumed he was doing alright.
"Little guy," I said, "I'm naming you 'Toto.' I do not care to explain why." With that I returned to the task at hand, tugging on the sliding glass pane. I pulled as hard as I could but it wouldn't budge, until I braced myself against the perpendicular wall, and it slid aside. "This'll make things easier," I said.
I spent the next hour and a half just on the other side of the window, reading comic books and eating tortilla chips in my computer chair, biding my time. It didn't matter when Dayus showed up next, but as soon as he did, I intended to force the issue of my captivity, and seize a little respect. I only needed the tower to come down.
And then, down it came. I could never be sure just how tall it was, but I knew the process took a few minutes, so I didn't bother looking up right away. As a matter off act, I had just enough time to finish an old Spider-man issue as the rim of the platform, and its occupants, came into view. I put the comic down and assessed the situation.
There were three of them; Dayus and two others, probably the ones from the beginning. With them was a small, cubic machine, about the size of an old television set. One of the assistants pushed the box on some sort of futuristic dolly. The three continued conversing for a short time after the platform touched ground, but I couldn't hear them. Just as well, I thought, it doesn't really matter what they have to say now.
The two assistants took the machine toward the back, while Dayus himself proceeded to the front door. This wasn't optimal; I had hoped he would install the machine personally. However, it didn't make a difference. I cleared the desk beneath the window of clutter, climbed on top, and waited.
I heard him knock from the other room, but I didn't answer, knowing he was perfectly capable of letting himself in. I waited, hoping the other two would not be too quick in putting the new contraption together. Peering outside, I saw that the spider web was blocking the upper space of the open window; I reached out with my hand, and broke it. "Sorry, Toto," I whispered, "I'd rather not get this in my face."
Dayus rang the doorbell. The doorbell, for God's sake; when did he learn manners? I rolled my eyes, and then at last I heard him open the door. Tense, I waited to hear it close again, and then I sprang - out the window, down to the grass, and then running, as fast as I could manage, to the platform.
If I could just stand on it, I thought, I could make him take me up. I could force the issue; if they tried to make me move, I could defend myself with my pocket knife. But I had to reach the platform, to do it before they could stop me, or there would be no advantage. I had to run, I had to dive, so I leapt, and I dove - and bashed my shoulder against the force field, which of course had been there all along.
I failed. For a minute I lay on the grass clutching the point of impact, but it seemed that not even the security measures were designed to be harmful. As far as I could tell, the damage barely counted as a bruise. Dayus was soon there, looking down at me as though expecting an explanation. I was angry and frustrated, and for a moment my thoughts turned toward the knife, to make my stand there, but I knew that would be a mistake. The situation could be salvaged with the right attitude.
I stood up, rubbing the sore spot gently, and put on my best wry smirk: "Well, it was worth a shot."
He smiled back. "You really must stop underestimating me, Jonah."
"I won't in the future." I implied the threat, but I half-hoped he wouldn't understand it; further attempts would be easier if he expected less. Of course, further attempts would require further plans, and those had yet to be made.
We went back inside. "My assistants are installing the machine you requested now."
"Oh, that's good. I thought that's what that box was."
"You need only place your clothing inside. The computer will then provide further voice instructions."
"Peachy," I said, as I opened the cupboard where the tea was kept. "Want a drink?"
That afternoon I taught Dr. Dayus the game of chess. I kept an old board on my bookshelf, one that I'd received from my father years earlier. It hadn't gotten much use recently, but I kept it around for just such an emergency as they say. I desperately wanted him to forget the escape attempt, and concentrate on something else, something pertaining to Earth's culture; that's why he was there, right?
Dayus picked up the game quickly, though he made the typical beginner's mistakes. He needlessly sacrificed his pawns, exposing his more powerful pieces and putting them in untenable positions. It was funny, because with his dignified robe and enormous, gnarled head, I could easily imagine him as a legendary grandmaster. For that reason alone, I derived a great deal of satisfaction from beating him, unfair as it was.
I taught him the history of chess, about its origins in India and Persia; how its modern rules and terminology took form in the west, and how it came to symbolize a certain kind of intellectual sophistication. I called it "the Game of Kings," though I was fairly sure that title belonged to polo. But I didn't know polo and we didn't have horses, so chess would have to suffice.
Halfway through our tenth game, I mentioned what I'd seen in the window. "There's a spider on the outside of this building. I guess you guys picked up more than you expected too when you...grabbed me." He said nothing, and I realized that he might not understand the term. "A spider is a tiny animal that makes silk webs, and preys on other tiny creatures."
"I see," he said, guarding his King with a Knight. "Is that a problem for you?"
"No, no. Actually, it was nice to see something from home out there. I named it 'Toto.'"
"Why?"
"Oh, no reason."
"I see." The game was not going well for him. That was to be expected, but I imagined that he, as a scientist, lacked the "military" mindset needed to play aggressively and effectively. Even if I was wrong, at least I could enjoy my advantage for a while longer.
"There are probably other small creatures from Earth in the vicinity," he continued. "Some may even have found their way into the forest."
"Well that would be interesting," I replied. "Maybe you'll have some unintended colonies out there."
"Our usual procedure is to sterilize the chamber with radiation when our experiments are concluded."
"Oh," I said. "Well, that may not be enough. Earth bugs can be pretty tough."
"How 'tough?'"
"They say a cockroach can survive an atomic blast."
"I regard this information with some skepticism."
"Well, I don't know if it's true or not. But all the same, it might be worth your time to study them, too. You know, when you're done with me."
"Yes, perhaps." The lack of interest was palpable.
"Preferably before you blast them with radiation," I added, finishing the game with a rather elegant checkmate. I don't know if he saw it coming or not, but he sure as hell couldn't stop it.
"I think I shall be leaving now," he said, rising from the table. "In the meantime, let me know if these 'spiders' become a problem."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," I said, though I now half expected to find tarantulas under the floorboards. What a planet!
As the elevator bore Dayus away, I flopped on the couch, reflecting on my failure. "I guess I'll go do laundry now."
Monday, September 7, 2009
On the Second Floor, Chapter VIII
Day Six
"This is new behavior."
Dayus found me that morning, floating on my back down the babbling brook. I'd heard him coming, of course, but I was sure he knew where to find me, so I made no effort to find him, and refused to let him interrupt my lazy reverie.
"Don't read too much into it," I said, slowly spinning around in the current. It was more than just pretty scenery. With a little imagination and initiative, I could occupy myself with it for hours, as I had already managed to do that day. I climbed trees, I jogged through the field; I even built little sand castles in the soft mud by the banks. Now I was cooling off, relaxing, floating in the water, "getting back to nature" in a snow globe.
"By the way, the sun here isn't going to burn my skin, is it?"
"Unless we have over-estimated your resilience, nothing in this environment should pose a any danger to your body."
"That's good. Very good. I don't have any sun screen."
"This activity is purely recreational, then?" I closed my eyes at his question, amused by its ridiculous nature, and promptly drifted into a sand bar. I used my hand to push myself back to the middle of the stream, gently resuming my place in the flow.
"I guess so. I suppose you could also say it's hygienic, but I don't have to leave my apartment to get clean."
"No other purpose?"
"Nothing springs to mind."
"I wonder at its recreational appeal." What an odd way of putting it, I thought.
"Well, it's quite relaxing. I don't have to do very much, but I get to move through the water anyway; looking at the trees, and rocks and stuff. It feels good on my skin. And even if I stop moving, the water keeps flowing, so it feels like I'm still moving." The sound of wildlife might have improved the experience, completed the illusion, but I was feeling generous so I didn't bother to mention it. All things considered (how familiar these words had become in my mind), the world that Dayus built was good: sterile, but clean, beautiful in an idealized and classical sort of way.
Dayus was silent for a while, walking slowly along the bank, keeping pace with me (it wasn't hard). I watched his bizarre profile from the corner of half-opened eyes. I wondered if the setting more resembled my world or his; if he ever walked alongside the rivers of his home, or even swam in them.
And then he spoke: "Jonah, as you are probably aware, this place has finite boundaries. In a few minutes, you're going to bump into a wall."
Sigh. "I guess it's time to get out then." Dragging my fingers in the dirt, I came to a slow stop, and then I stood, thigh-deep in the center of the current. "I need to go back and get my shirt and towel," I said, as I waded back to shore.
"They are here," he said, producing them from a fold in his robe. "I found them hanging in a tree, before I found you."
"Thanks. Yeah, that's where I left them." I took the towel and dried myself. It might have been my imagination, but I thought that the water came off very easily. "Now, which way back to the apartment?"
Dayus indicated a direction, saying "your home rests in the center, so we can reach it simply by moving away from the wall."
"Makes perfect sense," I said, pulling my shirt on over my head. "Let's go."
Remarkably, I did not feel sunburnt at all; whatever kind of radiation that light in the sky was putting out, it had no ill effect on my pale skin. If Dayus and his people knew enough to censor the electromagnetic spectrum in their efforts to make me more comfortable, then our bodies could not be too dissimilar; unless, of course, they already knew more about humans than they were letting on.
As we walked I felt quite peaceful. That dip in the river had been very good for me. The touch of the grass between my toes was even better. I smiled inside as I asked Dayus, "What are we going to talk about today?"
"It does not really matter," he said. "The main purpose of these conversations is to observe and record your natural behavior, so whatever you want to talk about will do."
"Well that's helpful," I said, frustrated again. "There's a million things we could talk about; it's hard to pick one." And then I tripped, stumbling on an exposed root, and realized that my bubble was more dangerous than I thought.
"Lately, you have shown an interest in the nature of your present habitat."
"'Interest' is putting it mildly." I sighed, and stretched my arms, and folded them behind my head, as I became aware of a small itch that needed scratching on the back of my neck. "I don't know, Dayus. I like this place well enough, whatever I've said. But somehow, it's still not satisfying."
"It can be modified with any additional comforts you require."
"I'm already 'comfortable' enough, thanks." I shook my head. "I suppose I'm just not satisfied spiritually." We came upon the meadow where my home was situated; I noted that the pillar was still submerged in the ground.
"Now that is interesting," he said, in his curiously enigmatic way.
Inside the house, I started brewing a pot of ice tea. I put on a Coltrane album and went to my room to get some dry pants. "By the way," I shouted over the music, "if there's one more 'comfort' I could use, it's a machine for washing my clothes. I'm running low on clean ones."
"We have machines like that. I could bring you one tomorrow."
"Beautiful," I said, returning to the living room in fresh, dry pants. Dayus took his seat, as usual, and we were silent as the tea brewed. I poured him a cup after it was done.
"Jonah, what did you mean by 'spiritual' satisfaction?"
"I don't even know. This place is amazing, but on Earth, everything seems...uh, well, perfect. I just feel like there's something subtly wrong here, I guess it's kind of a soul thing."
"Is that religious terminology?"
"Yeah, I suppose it is. Why, do you want to talk about religion?"
"Yes," he said, his eyes exhibiting the rarest of twinkles. It still surprised me how familiar and human those eyes appeared, set within his alien facial structure. "Comparative religion is a subject of great interest to me."
"I would have thought that your people would have...evolved beyond religion, or something like that."
"A people do not 'evolve' beyond religion. It is religion, and religious understanding, which evolves within the context of a society."
"Yeah, I guess that's true."
"How do humans presently understand their religion?"
I thought hard, and tried hard to show it too, with my chin resting on my hand. How to even begin an answer? "I have books which could explain it better."
"I believe your insight would be invaluable, regardless of their content."
"Then I don't know," I said. "There's no consensus, only a thousand different 'understandings;' I don't think humans as a whole 'understand' religion at all." I stood up to reach the stereo, and turn it down to a volume more conducive to serious conversation. "For one thing," I continued, "there's hundreds of them; religions, I mean. They all agree on some things, most of the time, but the rest of the time, they're at each other's throats. Literally." I tried to show with my eyes how serious I was, without having to go to the trouble of spelling out "w-a-r."
He didn't seem very surprised. Maybe I should have been offended by that.
"So, there are no religious principles which can be said to characterize the whole of human belief?"
"Huh," I thought, "well, most people talk about a supreme being, called God, who created everything, and controls everything, and stands for everything good."
"Most people?"
"Well, some people think there's more than one. Or that he doesn't control everything; or that he is everything. Or even that he isn't actually good. And some people think he doesn't exist at all, and that religions are nothing but hoaxes for keeping the superstitious masses happy."
"Interesting."
"And some people hedge their bets, and say they aren't sure if they believe in God, or they say they do, but he doesn't actually do anything, so it doesn't actually matter."
"There are many choices, then."
"Yeah, except most people haven't been allowed to 'choose,' and just believe what the people in their community believe, and take on all their traditions and practices. Most people just worship how their parents worship. And frankly, when they change them," I paused to take a sip of tea, "I mean, if they convert, their basic ideas don't really change. They just adopt a more appealing mythology."
"You are saying, then, that religious differences are merely culturally aesthetic."
"Yeah, but that's not really it either. On the one hand, yeah, all the holidays, and ceremonial clothes, and customs and rules, and sacred books, it's all just a big piece of aesthetics. But it means so much, it moves people so much, it's almost twisted. You know," I laughed, ever so slightly, "they say religion is the number one cause of death in human history. To think of all the wars that have been fought over what God said and when, all the murders, and the martyrs, and the suicides, and it feels like a huge waste of everyone's time."
Dayus was quiet for a moment, perhaps expecting me to go on. And then he said "but are you confusing religion with mythology?"
"Maybe. I don't really have a problem with either one."
I finished the rest of my tea in a large gulp, holding a portion in my mouth, savoring the taste, before I swallowed it all. I felt the chill on my palate, between my teeth; it was refreshing.
"But, I guess that's a lie," I said. "They're both infuriating questions, questions with no right answers, and all the baggage that goes with them just makes it worse."
"What do you believe?"
"What can you believe when there's a million possibilities and no way to know for sure?" My mind was excited, my pace quickened. "I could pick one at random and justify myself with faith, but I wouldn't know anything I don't know now; how can you say something is true just because you believe it?"
"Logically, it's untenable."
"You got that right," I said. "But at the same time, something tells me it's right to ask about God."
"An intuitive feeling."
"I suppose. And somewhere inside me, I feel like I know that the answer isn't 'nothing.'"
"That may be because there's no answer at all."
"Dayus, do you know something that I don't?" I looked at his eyes, which depicted some unknowable emotion, or a mix of familiar, disconcerting ones. "What do your people believe? What do you believe?"
Dayus smiled. "That there are a million possibilities."
"Figures."
Soon it was time for the good doctor to leave again. We walked to the pillar and I felt solemn, almost inappropriately so. Again he stepped on the platform, and I felt the repulsive force of some invisible barrier. I'd learned my lesson, and I didn't try to cross it. But before Dayus left, I had one more thing to say.
"You know, when you brought me here, before I knew what I know now, I thought it was some sort of...religious experience. Like I'd died and gone to heaven."
"That is common," he replied. "However, you're not dead, and this is not heaven."
"I can see that," I said, wryly.
"But that doesn't mean you were wrong."
"This is new behavior."
Dayus found me that morning, floating on my back down the babbling brook. I'd heard him coming, of course, but I was sure he knew where to find me, so I made no effort to find him, and refused to let him interrupt my lazy reverie.
"Don't read too much into it," I said, slowly spinning around in the current. It was more than just pretty scenery. With a little imagination and initiative, I could occupy myself with it for hours, as I had already managed to do that day. I climbed trees, I jogged through the field; I even built little sand castles in the soft mud by the banks. Now I was cooling off, relaxing, floating in the water, "getting back to nature" in a snow globe.
"By the way, the sun here isn't going to burn my skin, is it?"
"Unless we have over-estimated your resilience, nothing in this environment should pose a any danger to your body."
"That's good. Very good. I don't have any sun screen."
"This activity is purely recreational, then?" I closed my eyes at his question, amused by its ridiculous nature, and promptly drifted into a sand bar. I used my hand to push myself back to the middle of the stream, gently resuming my place in the flow.
"I guess so. I suppose you could also say it's hygienic, but I don't have to leave my apartment to get clean."
"No other purpose?"
"Nothing springs to mind."
"I wonder at its recreational appeal." What an odd way of putting it, I thought.
"Well, it's quite relaxing. I don't have to do very much, but I get to move through the water anyway; looking at the trees, and rocks and stuff. It feels good on my skin. And even if I stop moving, the water keeps flowing, so it feels like I'm still moving." The sound of wildlife might have improved the experience, completed the illusion, but I was feeling generous so I didn't bother to mention it. All things considered (how familiar these words had become in my mind), the world that Dayus built was good: sterile, but clean, beautiful in an idealized and classical sort of way.
Dayus was silent for a while, walking slowly along the bank, keeping pace with me (it wasn't hard). I watched his bizarre profile from the corner of half-opened eyes. I wondered if the setting more resembled my world or his; if he ever walked alongside the rivers of his home, or even swam in them.
And then he spoke: "Jonah, as you are probably aware, this place has finite boundaries. In a few minutes, you're going to bump into a wall."
Sigh. "I guess it's time to get out then." Dragging my fingers in the dirt, I came to a slow stop, and then I stood, thigh-deep in the center of the current. "I need to go back and get my shirt and towel," I said, as I waded back to shore.
"They are here," he said, producing them from a fold in his robe. "I found them hanging in a tree, before I found you."
"Thanks. Yeah, that's where I left them." I took the towel and dried myself. It might have been my imagination, but I thought that the water came off very easily. "Now, which way back to the apartment?"
Dayus indicated a direction, saying "your home rests in the center, so we can reach it simply by moving away from the wall."
"Makes perfect sense," I said, pulling my shirt on over my head. "Let's go."
Remarkably, I did not feel sunburnt at all; whatever kind of radiation that light in the sky was putting out, it had no ill effect on my pale skin. If Dayus and his people knew enough to censor the electromagnetic spectrum in their efforts to make me more comfortable, then our bodies could not be too dissimilar; unless, of course, they already knew more about humans than they were letting on.
As we walked I felt quite peaceful. That dip in the river had been very good for me. The touch of the grass between my toes was even better. I smiled inside as I asked Dayus, "What are we going to talk about today?"
"It does not really matter," he said. "The main purpose of these conversations is to observe and record your natural behavior, so whatever you want to talk about will do."
"Well that's helpful," I said, frustrated again. "There's a million things we could talk about; it's hard to pick one." And then I tripped, stumbling on an exposed root, and realized that my bubble was more dangerous than I thought.
"Lately, you have shown an interest in the nature of your present habitat."
"'Interest' is putting it mildly." I sighed, and stretched my arms, and folded them behind my head, as I became aware of a small itch that needed scratching on the back of my neck. "I don't know, Dayus. I like this place well enough, whatever I've said. But somehow, it's still not satisfying."
"It can be modified with any additional comforts you require."
"I'm already 'comfortable' enough, thanks." I shook my head. "I suppose I'm just not satisfied spiritually." We came upon the meadow where my home was situated; I noted that the pillar was still submerged in the ground.
"Now that is interesting," he said, in his curiously enigmatic way.
Inside the house, I started brewing a pot of ice tea. I put on a Coltrane album and went to my room to get some dry pants. "By the way," I shouted over the music, "if there's one more 'comfort' I could use, it's a machine for washing my clothes. I'm running low on clean ones."
"We have machines like that. I could bring you one tomorrow."
"Beautiful," I said, returning to the living room in fresh, dry pants. Dayus took his seat, as usual, and we were silent as the tea brewed. I poured him a cup after it was done.
"Jonah, what did you mean by 'spiritual' satisfaction?"
"I don't even know. This place is amazing, but on Earth, everything seems...uh, well, perfect. I just feel like there's something subtly wrong here, I guess it's kind of a soul thing."
"Is that religious terminology?"
"Yeah, I suppose it is. Why, do you want to talk about religion?"
"Yes," he said, his eyes exhibiting the rarest of twinkles. It still surprised me how familiar and human those eyes appeared, set within his alien facial structure. "Comparative religion is a subject of great interest to me."
"I would have thought that your people would have...evolved beyond religion, or something like that."
"A people do not 'evolve' beyond religion. It is religion, and religious understanding, which evolves within the context of a society."
"Yeah, I guess that's true."
"How do humans presently understand their religion?"
I thought hard, and tried hard to show it too, with my chin resting on my hand. How to even begin an answer? "I have books which could explain it better."
"I believe your insight would be invaluable, regardless of their content."
"Then I don't know," I said. "There's no consensus, only a thousand different 'understandings;' I don't think humans as a whole 'understand' religion at all." I stood up to reach the stereo, and turn it down to a volume more conducive to serious conversation. "For one thing," I continued, "there's hundreds of them; religions, I mean. They all agree on some things, most of the time, but the rest of the time, they're at each other's throats. Literally." I tried to show with my eyes how serious I was, without having to go to the trouble of spelling out "w-a-r."
He didn't seem very surprised. Maybe I should have been offended by that.
"So, there are no religious principles which can be said to characterize the whole of human belief?"
"Huh," I thought, "well, most people talk about a supreme being, called God, who created everything, and controls everything, and stands for everything good."
"Most people?"
"Well, some people think there's more than one. Or that he doesn't control everything; or that he is everything. Or even that he isn't actually good. And some people think he doesn't exist at all, and that religions are nothing but hoaxes for keeping the superstitious masses happy."
"Interesting."
"And some people hedge their bets, and say they aren't sure if they believe in God, or they say they do, but he doesn't actually do anything, so it doesn't actually matter."
"There are many choices, then."
"Yeah, except most people haven't been allowed to 'choose,' and just believe what the people in their community believe, and take on all their traditions and practices. Most people just worship how their parents worship. And frankly, when they change them," I paused to take a sip of tea, "I mean, if they convert, their basic ideas don't really change. They just adopt a more appealing mythology."
"You are saying, then, that religious differences are merely culturally aesthetic."
"Yeah, but that's not really it either. On the one hand, yeah, all the holidays, and ceremonial clothes, and customs and rules, and sacred books, it's all just a big piece of aesthetics. But it means so much, it moves people so much, it's almost twisted. You know," I laughed, ever so slightly, "they say religion is the number one cause of death in human history. To think of all the wars that have been fought over what God said and when, all the murders, and the martyrs, and the suicides, and it feels like a huge waste of everyone's time."
Dayus was quiet for a moment, perhaps expecting me to go on. And then he said "but are you confusing religion with mythology?"
"Maybe. I don't really have a problem with either one."
I finished the rest of my tea in a large gulp, holding a portion in my mouth, savoring the taste, before I swallowed it all. I felt the chill on my palate, between my teeth; it was refreshing.
"But, I guess that's a lie," I said. "They're both infuriating questions, questions with no right answers, and all the baggage that goes with them just makes it worse."
"What do you believe?"
"What can you believe when there's a million possibilities and no way to know for sure?" My mind was excited, my pace quickened. "I could pick one at random and justify myself with faith, but I wouldn't know anything I don't know now; how can you say something is true just because you believe it?"
"Logically, it's untenable."
"You got that right," I said. "But at the same time, something tells me it's right to ask about God."
"An intuitive feeling."
"I suppose. And somewhere inside me, I feel like I know that the answer isn't 'nothing.'"
"That may be because there's no answer at all."
"Dayus, do you know something that I don't?" I looked at his eyes, which depicted some unknowable emotion, or a mix of familiar, disconcerting ones. "What do your people believe? What do you believe?"
Dayus smiled. "That there are a million possibilities."
"Figures."
Soon it was time for the good doctor to leave again. We walked to the pillar and I felt solemn, almost inappropriately so. Again he stepped on the platform, and I felt the repulsive force of some invisible barrier. I'd learned my lesson, and I didn't try to cross it. But before Dayus left, I had one more thing to say.
"You know, when you brought me here, before I knew what I know now, I thought it was some sort of...religious experience. Like I'd died and gone to heaven."
"That is common," he replied. "However, you're not dead, and this is not heaven."
"I can see that," I said, wryly.
"But that doesn't mean you were wrong."
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
On The Second Floor, Chapter VII
Day Five
It felt like another good morning for pancakes, so I gave the griddle a ceremonial washing-off and fired it up once more. I retrieved the box of batter from the cabinet and scooped out the recommended quantity, and as luck would have it there was barely enough to make a single serving of four. I put the dusty box in the overhead cabinet, there being little point in throwing it out. Dayus and his people would sooner or later discover the human litterbug tendency; the way we lazily dispose of that which can't be recycled with maximum convenience. But I didn't want him learning it from me; I was making a new effort to produce as little trash as possible. An empty box isn't trash until you throw it out. Besides, no matter how many batches of pancakes you make in your life, it's always nice to have the directions on the side of the box to refer back to.
I poured the batter; I stood over it for a while, keeping busy by organizing some of the clutter on the counter top. I wiped off a couple of old wine stains, and gravy stains, and the stains of various other kitchen liquids that had never really been dealt with (and some which were not even my fault). I brushed up the bread crumbs that were strewn about the toaster nook. A few minutes later I flipped the pancakes, and I was delighted by their rich, golden color they'd acquired. I ought to open a restaurant, I thought.
Tired of all this kitchen work, I took a quick step over to my bedroom, to check the day's internet news. There was no internet to get the news from, of course, so this was strictly a matter of habit, and I came to my senses before the familiar error screen popped up. You would think, after a week without web access, I'd give up this little ritual, but you'd be wrong. Sighing and bored, I slumped in my chair and stared at my screen, internally calculating the entertainment value the machine still held for me.
A few days before I'd gone into space myself, I had downloaded a new picture for my laptop background; a dynamic view of an alien world, with stormy blue clouds and red earth, orbited gracefully by a futuristic spaceship, one not unlike the ship I was now aboard. Simplistically shaped, but elegantly constructed, it was a ship of peace, an envoy of the future that Science Fiction promised us was not so very far off. Well, the future had arrived, and come to get me, but had it come the way we'd hoped? To boldly go where no one had gone before - or to be led there? How depressing to think that Roddenberry had gotten it wrong.
But maybe there was hope yet. Dayus' scientific ethics were questionable, but he was a man of science, after all. Perhaps Elysia had many functions, but who would plant a forest or garden in the middle of a ship of war? I didn't think it was likely, at any rate. Perhaps the boat had come, and we were about to enter an age of space-faring, peace-keeping ships, to live among the stars, in pursuit of knowledge and understanding; and at the very least, I still had my books and papers, to write it all down. But a prison is still a prison. Somewhere above my head, it was 'all power to the engines.' Down here, it was just another day.
Another perfect day; he smoke alarm was beeping furiously. Panicking, I sprung up from my chair (nearly collapsing backwards in the process) to silence the foul machine, and then rushed back to the kitchen. My breakfast (though really more like a brunch) was ruined, scorched lack on one side even as the other maintained its appealing golden hue. I doused the griddle to cool it down and swore at Dayus for burning my food. If it weren't for him, I could have gone to the grocery store and bought more.
I generally don't believe in wasting food, so I grabbed a sharp knife and engaged in a salvage operation. Carefully, methodically, I parted the hard, black crust from the soft interior, with all the determination of a crack surgeon; I met with only moderate success. At the very least, I'd made something edible, and with the subsequent liberal application of maple syrup, you might even call it palatable. And then I cut my finger with the blade.
While I fumbled through the drawers for band-aids, I heard the rumbling of the tower as the man with the worst timing in the universe came for another visit. Faced with a devastating one-two-three of negativity I did my level best to calm down, clean up the wound (it wasn't that bad anyway), and try to have a decent breakfast, for God's sake. Dayus reached my door as I sat down for my breakfast.
As usual I was annoyed with him, but even more so at myself. I pressed the fork against my bandaged finger as I ate. He noticed the blood; "It's nothing serious," I told him.
"You know that better than I do," he said.
Yes I do, and don't you forget it.
He took his usual seat as I ate on the sofa, and a strangely comfortable silence ensued. I was eating and he was watching, but after half a week of anxiety and paranoia, I'd grown used to the idea that there might be hidden cameras watching my every move. I still had some dignity, enough to make him wait while I finished my breakfast, creepy voyeur that he was.
"You do not seem happy, Jonah. Is your habitat inadequate?" I was in the kitchen now, empty plate in hand, still mostly silent. Rather than answer immediately (the better to educate him in human passive-aggressive techniques) I poured a new tub of hot, soapy water and dumped the plate in, taking my sweet time. Next the mixing bowl; the bloody knife, the measuring cups, the sticky, syrupy fork. I'd get to the mixing bowl later. I straightened out the counter, and rejoined him in the living room.
"Yeah, and no." Why beat around the bush. "There are so many things a man needs to be happy, you couldn't hope to replace them all." Pausing, I reached for the remote and flipped on the radio, and hyper-sonic space static blared out a high volume. "Case in point," I said. The reference might have been too obscure for him; though I got the distinct impression that Dayus enjoyed my little rants, for scientific or personal reasons or whatever, he made no reply.
"I'm cut off, man. I'm being dragged through space in a bubble. You're here, but half the time you're not. And meanwhile, I'm running out of food!" I pointed toward the kitchen, while my eyes pointed accusingly at him. "I've got a bottle of milk that's going to go bad in a week. and I'm running low on everything else. How am I supposed to live without a few decent meals every day?"
"From my observation of your metabolism, I believe you could survive longer without food than you are implying."
"Oh yeah, wise guy? You brought me here, and you're responsible for keeping me healthy. I know what I need to stay healthy. I can't feed myself locked up in this ball!"
"Are you complaining that you're going hungry?"
"You ass," I cursed, "it's more than food. I'm alone. A human can't just lose his friends and his family and his home and be alright all at once."
"You will be restored to your world," he said, in his deliberate fashion, "in due time. We ask only for your patience."
"Oh, you'll get it, and more besides." I didn't quite know what I meant by that threat, but oh did I mean it.
"As for food, our bodies are not so different from ours. Our nutritionists have been certifying a number of items for your consumption. You will not starve."
"Well, that makes me feel better." I rolled my eyes. "I'm going outside."
What I really wanted, then and there, was perfect solitude, to be rid of him forever if I had to be rid of everything else. But I didn't like the idea of him sitting in my living room alone, so I did not protest when he followed me out.
It was another perfect day; sunny skies, warm, gentle breeze, and an elevator platform in the place of a glittering tower to heaven in my front yard. I gazed up to the tiny black hole in the sky, or what I called the sky, and wondered how to reach it.
"Dayus," I said, knowing that he stood behind me, "bring the stars out." I turned to plead the case with my eyes.
He looked puzzled. "According to your clocks, there should be daylight now."
"So what? That doesn't make a difference. It's only 'day' here at all because you say it is. The sun, the moon, the stars, they're all false, meaningless lights on a screen or whatever that thing is, so what difference does it make? Give me fifteen minutes of starlight."
Dayus obliged, but I couldn't say exactly how he did it. I saw little more than a nod of his head, but sure enough the sun faded from view. As it waned, the twinkling stars emerged, almost naturally, from the twilight. There was no moon, and without the natural atmospheric effects of Earth, they burned in the coldness of space. I was awed, and at first I forgot what I meant to say, but I composed myself shortly.
"Do you see!?" I shouted, gesticulating for all it was worth. "This is what I need! You've made me this place, and it's too small! If I have to leave the world, leave my friends behind, then let me explore those stars!"
Dayus looked very serious. At first he only said nothing; then, to my surprise, he turned to face the platform, and walked toward it, and stepped aboard.
I tried to follow him, but an invisible barrier seemed to spring up, like a force field, to block my steps. Dayus looked me in the eyes as I wordlessly repeated my request: "You said it yourself, Jonah. Those stars are false."
The elevator ascended slowly, toward that little black hole you could barely tell was there, but for the lack of stars. I stood there, though the barrier was gone, I watched and waited for him to be gone too. Soon, the brief interlude of night was restored to day. The sun resumed its place in the sky, a few days west from where it had faded out. No detail had been forgotten: everything was once again in its proper place. It was another perfect day.
That night I could not get to sleep. When I cannot sleep, I toss and turn, sometimes twisting my body over and over again, looking for that sweet position, waiting for exhaustion to win out. But that night, after doing so for an hour, I'd had enough. I went to the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and pulled out some emergency soporific drugs. I don't usually do this, I thought, but desperate times and all. I took two tablets, washed them down with water, and did my best to dream.
It felt like another good morning for pancakes, so I gave the griddle a ceremonial washing-off and fired it up once more. I retrieved the box of batter from the cabinet and scooped out the recommended quantity, and as luck would have it there was barely enough to make a single serving of four. I put the dusty box in the overhead cabinet, there being little point in throwing it out. Dayus and his people would sooner or later discover the human litterbug tendency; the way we lazily dispose of that which can't be recycled with maximum convenience. But I didn't want him learning it from me; I was making a new effort to produce as little trash as possible. An empty box isn't trash until you throw it out. Besides, no matter how many batches of pancakes you make in your life, it's always nice to have the directions on the side of the box to refer back to.
I poured the batter; I stood over it for a while, keeping busy by organizing some of the clutter on the counter top. I wiped off a couple of old wine stains, and gravy stains, and the stains of various other kitchen liquids that had never really been dealt with (and some which were not even my fault). I brushed up the bread crumbs that were strewn about the toaster nook. A few minutes later I flipped the pancakes, and I was delighted by their rich, golden color they'd acquired. I ought to open a restaurant, I thought.
Tired of all this kitchen work, I took a quick step over to my bedroom, to check the day's internet news. There was no internet to get the news from, of course, so this was strictly a matter of habit, and I came to my senses before the familiar error screen popped up. You would think, after a week without web access, I'd give up this little ritual, but you'd be wrong. Sighing and bored, I slumped in my chair and stared at my screen, internally calculating the entertainment value the machine still held for me.
A few days before I'd gone into space myself, I had downloaded a new picture for my laptop background; a dynamic view of an alien world, with stormy blue clouds and red earth, orbited gracefully by a futuristic spaceship, one not unlike the ship I was now aboard. Simplistically shaped, but elegantly constructed, it was a ship of peace, an envoy of the future that Science Fiction promised us was not so very far off. Well, the future had arrived, and come to get me, but had it come the way we'd hoped? To boldly go where no one had gone before - or to be led there? How depressing to think that Roddenberry had gotten it wrong.
But maybe there was hope yet. Dayus' scientific ethics were questionable, but he was a man of science, after all. Perhaps Elysia had many functions, but who would plant a forest or garden in the middle of a ship of war? I didn't think it was likely, at any rate. Perhaps the boat had come, and we were about to enter an age of space-faring, peace-keeping ships, to live among the stars, in pursuit of knowledge and understanding; and at the very least, I still had my books and papers, to write it all down. But a prison is still a prison. Somewhere above my head, it was 'all power to the engines.' Down here, it was just another day.
Another perfect day; he smoke alarm was beeping furiously. Panicking, I sprung up from my chair (nearly collapsing backwards in the process) to silence the foul machine, and then rushed back to the kitchen. My breakfast (though really more like a brunch) was ruined, scorched lack on one side even as the other maintained its appealing golden hue. I doused the griddle to cool it down and swore at Dayus for burning my food. If it weren't for him, I could have gone to the grocery store and bought more.
I generally don't believe in wasting food, so I grabbed a sharp knife and engaged in a salvage operation. Carefully, methodically, I parted the hard, black crust from the soft interior, with all the determination of a crack surgeon; I met with only moderate success. At the very least, I'd made something edible, and with the subsequent liberal application of maple syrup, you might even call it palatable. And then I cut my finger with the blade.
While I fumbled through the drawers for band-aids, I heard the rumbling of the tower as the man with the worst timing in the universe came for another visit. Faced with a devastating one-two-three of negativity I did my level best to calm down, clean up the wound (it wasn't that bad anyway), and try to have a decent breakfast, for God's sake. Dayus reached my door as I sat down for my breakfast.
As usual I was annoyed with him, but even more so at myself. I pressed the fork against my bandaged finger as I ate. He noticed the blood; "It's nothing serious," I told him.
"You know that better than I do," he said.
Yes I do, and don't you forget it.
He took his usual seat as I ate on the sofa, and a strangely comfortable silence ensued. I was eating and he was watching, but after half a week of anxiety and paranoia, I'd grown used to the idea that there might be hidden cameras watching my every move. I still had some dignity, enough to make him wait while I finished my breakfast, creepy voyeur that he was.
"You do not seem happy, Jonah. Is your habitat inadequate?" I was in the kitchen now, empty plate in hand, still mostly silent. Rather than answer immediately (the better to educate him in human passive-aggressive techniques) I poured a new tub of hot, soapy water and dumped the plate in, taking my sweet time. Next the mixing bowl; the bloody knife, the measuring cups, the sticky, syrupy fork. I'd get to the mixing bowl later. I straightened out the counter, and rejoined him in the living room.
"Yeah, and no." Why beat around the bush. "There are so many things a man needs to be happy, you couldn't hope to replace them all." Pausing, I reached for the remote and flipped on the radio, and hyper-sonic space static blared out a high volume. "Case in point," I said. The reference might have been too obscure for him; though I got the distinct impression that Dayus enjoyed my little rants, for scientific or personal reasons or whatever, he made no reply.
"I'm cut off, man. I'm being dragged through space in a bubble. You're here, but half the time you're not. And meanwhile, I'm running out of food!" I pointed toward the kitchen, while my eyes pointed accusingly at him. "I've got a bottle of milk that's going to go bad in a week. and I'm running low on everything else. How am I supposed to live without a few decent meals every day?"
"From my observation of your metabolism, I believe you could survive longer without food than you are implying."
"Oh yeah, wise guy? You brought me here, and you're responsible for keeping me healthy. I know what I need to stay healthy. I can't feed myself locked up in this ball!"
"Are you complaining that you're going hungry?"
"You ass," I cursed, "it's more than food. I'm alone. A human can't just lose his friends and his family and his home and be alright all at once."
"You will be restored to your world," he said, in his deliberate fashion, "in due time. We ask only for your patience."
"Oh, you'll get it, and more besides." I didn't quite know what I meant by that threat, but oh did I mean it.
"As for food, our bodies are not so different from ours. Our nutritionists have been certifying a number of items for your consumption. You will not starve."
"Well, that makes me feel better." I rolled my eyes. "I'm going outside."
What I really wanted, then and there, was perfect solitude, to be rid of him forever if I had to be rid of everything else. But I didn't like the idea of him sitting in my living room alone, so I did not protest when he followed me out.
It was another perfect day; sunny skies, warm, gentle breeze, and an elevator platform in the place of a glittering tower to heaven in my front yard. I gazed up to the tiny black hole in the sky, or what I called the sky, and wondered how to reach it.
"Dayus," I said, knowing that he stood behind me, "bring the stars out." I turned to plead the case with my eyes.
He looked puzzled. "According to your clocks, there should be daylight now."
"So what? That doesn't make a difference. It's only 'day' here at all because you say it is. The sun, the moon, the stars, they're all false, meaningless lights on a screen or whatever that thing is, so what difference does it make? Give me fifteen minutes of starlight."
Dayus obliged, but I couldn't say exactly how he did it. I saw little more than a nod of his head, but sure enough the sun faded from view. As it waned, the twinkling stars emerged, almost naturally, from the twilight. There was no moon, and without the natural atmospheric effects of Earth, they burned in the coldness of space. I was awed, and at first I forgot what I meant to say, but I composed myself shortly.
"Do you see!?" I shouted, gesticulating for all it was worth. "This is what I need! You've made me this place, and it's too small! If I have to leave the world, leave my friends behind, then let me explore those stars!"
Dayus looked very serious. At first he only said nothing; then, to my surprise, he turned to face the platform, and walked toward it, and stepped aboard.
I tried to follow him, but an invisible barrier seemed to spring up, like a force field, to block my steps. Dayus looked me in the eyes as I wordlessly repeated my request: "You said it yourself, Jonah. Those stars are false."
The elevator ascended slowly, toward that little black hole you could barely tell was there, but for the lack of stars. I stood there, though the barrier was gone, I watched and waited for him to be gone too. Soon, the brief interlude of night was restored to day. The sun resumed its place in the sky, a few days west from where it had faded out. No detail had been forgotten: everything was once again in its proper place. It was another perfect day.
That night I could not get to sleep. When I cannot sleep, I toss and turn, sometimes twisting my body over and over again, looking for that sweet position, waiting for exhaustion to win out. But that night, after doing so for an hour, I'd had enough. I went to the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and pulled out some emergency soporific drugs. I don't usually do this, I thought, but desperate times and all. I took two tablets, washed them down with water, and did my best to dream.
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