by Karl Beecher
Wonderful. Colin had finally found someone in the galaxy who accepted that Earth was where humans originated, and it turned out to be a nutter.
"We also are laughed at for our beliefs, Mister Douglass, but now that you have finally arrived, they will laugh no more. That's because you are the prophet that will lead us back to Earth. We will be vindicated."
Something dawned on Colin. "Do you mean we're going to Earth right now?"
He hoped he was wrong.
"That's right," replied Hanson.
Damn! Colin was normally wrong about things. Why couldn't this have been one of those occasions?
"But Earth is the trans people's territory!" exclaimed Colin, trying to remember their proper name. "The trans men…trans…"
"The Transhumanist Collective, also called the Transhackers. There's nothing to worry about, Mister Douglass."
"Nothing to worry about? The last time I was at Earth, a Transhacker ship attacked without warning and damned near killed us."
"Yes, they can be a little brusque," said Hanson. "But I've taken precautions. You see, every ship broadcasts a unique transponder signal identifying itself. I've obtained—at great cost, I hasten to add—a transponder ID that the Transhackers recognise as friendly. I've reprogrammed my ship's transponder to emit that ID. So long as any passing Transhacker vessel doesn't snoop too closely, they won't suspect a thing."
That was a relief, but only a small one. "Well, that just goes to show that you know a lot more about space travel than me. You obviously don't need me to guide you to Earth. In fact, the Solo system is on every map, I've seen it myself. Why am I here?"
"My apologies," said Hanson. "I may have misled you. I didn't mean you'd guide us to Earth specifically, but you will guide us once we arrive. For many years now, my society has possessed several pieces of a grand puzzle. When we finally have all the pieces, the puzzle can be solved, and we will have the answer to the ultimate question."
Ultimate question? This sounded vaguely familiar. "Which question?"
"Where is the origin of humanity? Where was the garden?"
"Garden?"
"The garden that was made for the first humans. The place where the Creator put them and granted them infinite happiness."
"You forgot to grant him glory," Colin whispered.
"Oh, sorry," said Hanson sheepishly. "(Grant Unto Him Glory). Thanks."
"You're looking for a garden on Earth?" Colin shook his head. "There's nothing left. Earth's a dead wasteland. You couldn't grow a blade of grass there. That's why everyone laughed at me when I said it used to be rich and lush."
"Don't forget, Mister Douglass, I believe that too, but I also know what happened before Earth's loss. You see, humanity fell from the true path, and so the Creator (Grant Unto Him Glory) destroyed it, lay waste the world and scattered the people across the stars."
"Then what do you expect to find?"
"After the scattering, a communicator was left behind on Earth. A direct link to the creator of the universe himself. It was left there secretly until the purest, holiest men would re-emerge and could return to activate it. That's why its location was kept a secret. Until now, we had only two pieces of the puzzle. The first is a set of coordinates that pinpoints the location of the communicator on the planet. The other thing we knew is that the prophet would come from Earth. Unfortunately, we didn't know which star system Earth was in. Now, thanks to you, we do."
Colin thought for a moment. It was difficult with the growing headache. "So, you have the star system?"
"Yes."
"And you have the planet?"
"Yes."
"And you have coordinates."
"Yes."
"Sho what'sh—" Colin paused. His mouth was beginning to feel dry and numb. He puckered his lips and soldiered on. "Why bwing me along? Shounds like you alweady have evewything you need."
"Not quite," said Hanson. "The coordinates are relative to a landmark. We don't know what the landmark is, hence the coordinates by themselves are useless. All we have is a clue to the name of the landmark in the form of a riddle. So far, we've been unable to solve it. But you, with your knowledge of Earth, can help us."
A riddle? Colin could scarcely believe what he was hearing. It was like talking with the…the…the hat character…from Alex in Wonderland. Or was it Alice? Oh, damn this memory!
"Fine," said Colin, his head beginning to spin. "What'sh the widdle?"
Hanson sat forward. "The riddle says that the landmark is ‘where the home of the gods becomes the homophone of the gods.'"
Colin tried to mull it over, but a sickening feeling overcame him.
"I think…I think…"
He tried to speak but couldn't muster the words. His vision became nothing but fuzzy outlines.
"Mister Douglass?" said the Hanson-shaped blob. "Are you all right?"
Colin's muscles went limp and rubbery. His head rolled to one side, and he slid along the sofa.
"Mister Douglass!"
As his head hit the cushions, Colin's vision faded to black.
7
Tyresa wondered if Brock Hanson was nuts.
In a sense, the answer was obvious: yes, he was. This was a man who believed the universe was ten thousand years old, that faster-than-light travel was a hoax, and whose views on contraception were so conservative he claimed male masturbation was literally mass murder.
In fact, there was little she'd put past a whacko like Brock Hanson, but to go charging into Transhacker space? That took insanity to a whole different level.
Admittedly, she had done it herself before and was about to do it again now, but in her case, it was different. She was a survivor; she knew how to fight and how to run and how to decide between the two when the chips were down. Hanson had probably never left Abrama and was ploughing ahead, trusting in nothing but faith. He probably believed he was on a mission from God, and the unbeatable weapon he could deploy was fervent prayer.
If he believed that, he was in big trouble.
The bridge's map table laid out the situation starkly. The Turtle was a small icon in the middle of a cloud of illuminated dots. Dead ahead lay the border with Transhacker space. Funny how quickly she'd ended up in this situation a second time.
In fact, she wouldn't be in this situation if she hadn't sneaked across the border a few weeks ago. If she'd stayed away and not let her impulses get the better of her, Colin would still be safely stored away in his own personal refrigerator on Solo III, and she would now be far across the galaxy, probably on a nice dig somewhere hunting for Predecessor relics. Maybe this outcome was her punishment, natural justice, the galaxy intervening and forcing her to go chasing off and risking her neck.
She sank back in her chair and sighed.
Across the room, Ade looked up from his console. "Problem, ma'am?"
"Nah." No sense bothering Ade with her neuroses. He wouldn't understand. "We're only twenty minutes away from the border. Anything on long-range?"
"No vessels detected."
"Good. Keep your eyes open. Hanson took off a few hours ahead of us. That must mean he's in Transhacker space already."
"Indeed, ma'am."
"I hope to dog they're all right. I doubt Hanson has the wits to deal with a Transhacker ship if one crosses their path. If one does, I just hope it's a craft with humans aboard and not a patrol ship, then he might have a chance of talking his way out of the shit."
Ade looked back towards his console, leaving Tyresa to ponder.
If by some miracle they encountered Transhackers and weren't immediately blown to pieces, Colin was in for a fright. The Alliance and Abrama might have given him culture shock—the Alliance was weird and Abrama unwelcoming—but the Transhumanist Collective occupied a whole other level. What would he make of their cold, almost machine-like mannerisms, and their weird group behaviour that made you wonder if they didn't all share a single brain? Of course, before Colin got to any of those, he'd have to deal with the more obvious
stuff, all those cybernetic augmentations on display.
For that matter, how would a Transhacker react to Colin? For a culture that was forever pushing the envelope and saw technology as the solution to every problem, coming across a relic like Colin would be similar to finding an old broken piece of pottery. And Transhackers rarely bothered with museums. They saw no value in anything out-of-date.
On the other hand, Tyresa knew she was being a bit unfair to the Transhackers. Under the surface, they were a bit more complicated. She had first-hand experience to confirm that.
But one thing was for sure. Their patrol ships were far too trigger-happy for her tastes.
8
Questions tortured Brock Hanson as he nervously paced the bridge alone. Had he messed up? Had he gone too far? Who could he blame if things fell apart?
On one hand, he had the prophet in his possession, and he was on his way to making the most monumental discovery in the history of history. On the other hand, the prophet was damned near dying over in his lounge as Doctor Gunga fought to keep him alive.
Hanson clasped his hands to his breast and offered up a silent prayer. Why am I being punished like this? he asked. What have I done wrong?
Fair enough, kidnapping was a little off the moral radar, and Colin was only close to death because Hanson had sabotaged his life-saving operation. But it was all for a higher purpose, surely the Creator (Grant Unto Him Glory) recognised that.
Hanson had assumed that, once the ship was underway, the prophet's disease would have been spontaneously cured, wiped away by the intervening hand of the Creator (Grant Unto Him Glory). Colin had been afflicted solely to get him to Procya, any fool could see that. Now the disease had served its purpose, it could be cast out. It was the only eventuality that made sense. Why would the almighty kill his own prophet before he'd delivered his prophecy?
Maybe Gunga, fretting, and fussing like an old woman, was actually right. Perhaps Hanson had been insufficiently reverential. That was the only thing he could possibly have done wrong. Yes, that must have been it. He needed to be more demonstrative in his respect for the prophet, then the Creator (Grant Unto Him Glory) would make things right.
The comms console beeped with an incoming communication. Hanson checked the readout. It was coming from Procya.
Surprising. He hadn't expected a call from anyone back home.
He opened the channel and on the screen appeared the face of Deputy Gilper.
"Howdy, Deputy. What's—" He stopped. Gilper was holding a reddened handkerchief to his forehead, and his cheek was grazed and bruised. "Are you all right?"
"I'll survive," rasped Gilper.
"What happened to you?"
"Never mind about me. I've got some bad news for you."
Colin awoke to the sound of voices.
"I warned you about this," said one of them, which sounded like the Doctor.
"All right, all right," sighed another. It was Hanson.
"I mean it!" snapped Gunga. "This is no way to treat the prophet. Kidnapping him, locking him up."
"Enough, Doctor. I accept your point."
Colin gingerly opened an eye and peered around. His vision had returned to normal, and he didn't feel so bad any more, aside from a little drowsiness. He was still in Hanson's lounge, laid out on the sofa. Some kind of slim, transparent tube protruded from his forearm. The other end was attached to a small, boxy machine on the coffee table. It hummed as it gently pumped a clear liquid along the tube.
Hanson and Gunga stood in the doorway, speaking in hushed tones. They hadn't noticed Colin rousing yet, so he shut his eyes and remained still. If he just listened, he might learn more about what was going on.
"Just cut to the chase," said Hanson. "What's the story with him?"
"I've put him on a cocktail of stabilisers," replied Gunga. "That should hold off the problem and keep him lucid."
"We're less than a day away now," said Hanson. "Do we have enough time?"
"I don't know. Maybe. But what if we don't? What if we get there and he's in no position to help us?"
Hanson sighed. "Then he dies," said Hanson. "And our dream dies along with him."
Good god. Colin's suspicions had been right. He'd heard it straight from Hanson's own mouth. If Colin couldn't help them find this garden place, it would become obvious he wasn't their prophet…
…and then they'd kill him!
A wave of shock welled up from the pit of his stomach. He gasped involuntarily.
"Mister Douglass?"
Colin looked up to see Hanson and Gunga bounding across the room towards him.
"Mister Douglass?" said Gunga, taking a knee beside him. "Thank the almighty. How do you feel?"
Hanson leaned over him too. "Mister Douglass, have you answered the riddle yet?"
"Hanson!" exclaimed Gunga, nudging him away. "Just give him a moment, please."
The evangelist stepped back and quietly pouted.
"Doctor," rasped Colin in a hoarse voice. "What happened?"
"Keep calm now," Gunga reassured him. "Nothing to worry about. It was just…erm…more after-effects of surgery. Your brain went through a very traumatic experience during that operation, and it still has to recover."
"Will this keep happening to me?"
"Very likely." He pointed to the catheter. "But this should stave off the worst effects until you're fully recovered. Not to worry. In a couple more days, you'll be at peace…and well again, I mean."
Hanson, who could contain his patience no longer, leaned over once more. "And, uh, the riddle, Mister Douglass? Any ideas?"
Colin peered up at Hanson. His life depended on persuading them he was who they believed him to be. He didn't know the answer to the riddle yet, but he had an idea that might placate them in the meantime.
"Not yet," replied Colin. "But, gentlemen…" He swallowed and prepared himself for the most important acting role he'd ever undertaken—and, admittedly, the first one since his school nativity play in which he'd starred as the donkey. "I've good news for you. While I was asleep just now, the most wonderful thing happened. The Creator…" He clenched and tried not to sound self-conscious. "Grant Unto Him Glory, spoke to me."
The Abramans' faces lit up like Christmas trees.
"He did?" Hanson gushed.
"Yes," said Colin. "He came to me in a dream and told me that I was ready to lead you."
Colin awaited the reaction. Had it worked? Would they believe him?
They turned to each other and smiled broadly.
"You hear that, brother?" Hanson beamed to Gunga. "He's finally had his revelation. Praise be!"
"Praise be!" proclaimed Gunga, looking up at the ceiling. Presumably, the Creator was off somewhere in that direction.
Hanson turned back to Colin, grabbing his hand enthusiastically and shaking it. "Oh, brother, can you feel the warmth of his wisdom, the light of his guidance? Can you?"
"Oh, you bet," said Colin. “I'm… uh… I'm bathed in it here."
Hanson's hand stopped its jostling. "It's such a shame that I now have to tell you the bad news."
"What news?" asked Colin.
"That woman, Tyresa Jak, is still alive."
It was lucky for Colin that he was already smiling because he felt a surge of intense joy. He quickly came to his senses, however. This had been sold as bad news.
"Ah, yes, right," said Colin, struggling to conceal his happiness. "Bad news. Erm… why bad exactly?"
"Because she's following us and she's likely close behind. And that threatens our whole quest. If the Transhackers detect her, they'll dispatch a ship to intercept her. And when they do, that might lead them to notice us and come take a closer look. They might discover we're trespassing, and the Transhackers don't forgive trespassers as easily as we forgive those who trespass against us."
Tyresa coming to his rescue? Colin was close to exploding with glee. Despite almost shivering in anticipation, he managed to ask his next question calmly. "So, what are you going t
o do?"
"I have a plan," explained Hanson. "She doesn't know that you're here willingly now that you've finally had your revelation. We'll send her a message that you're happy, safe, and you no longer want anything to do with her. That should persuade her to give up the chase."
Colin tried to stifle a laugh. "I doubt she'll listen to you."
"I know," said Hanson. "That's why you will send the message."
Colin's first impulse was, of course, to refuse. But then, how could he refuse? Now that he'd ‘seen the light' and taken the quest to heart—as far as Hanson was concerned anyway—on what grounds could he possibly object?
He had to think of a way out of this predicament. Think! What did Alec Guinness do in Bridge on the River Kwai? Oh, that's right, he also ended up unwittingly collaborating with his enemy. Bugger.
Colin had just manoeuvred himself into a corner.
But maybe there was a way to twist this to his advantage. An idea formed in his mind. It was a long shot. He'd need an awful lot of faith, but then there was plenty going spare on this ship.
"All right," he said at last. "I'll do it."
9
"…and so I fully embrace my role as the prophet of Abrama, the man who will lead the righteous back to the Promised Garden. Therefore, Tyresa Jak, I ask you now to cease your pursuit of me and allow me to go my own way. I am taking Brock Hanson back to Earth, to the place where I have slept these past two thousand years, so that he may feel the embrace of the Creator (Grant Unto Him Glory). As you in the Alliance say, ‘Safe travels and savour in success.' Goodbye and blessings upon you, Miss Jak."
The recording stopped. The hologram of Colin's face hung frozen in the air above the map table. It was the third time Tyresa had viewed the message.
Ade hovered at her shoulder; eyebrow pertinently raised. "Well, ma'am," he said. "A most astonishing turn of events."
"Astonishing?" echoed Tyresa. "It's unbe-fucking-lieveable."
"Quite."
