Occam's Razor

by J. E. Gurley

  “One day you will realize you are the son of a hataalii, that you are Diné. Whether you come home to the mesas or remain among the stars, the Spirits will never abandon you, even if you abandon them.”

  He remembered his own words had not come out as he had intended them. His intention was to explain his doubt. Instead, he had attacked his father. “Father, you’re a dreamer. You live in a world that belittles you and your beliefs, and you tell yourself it is because they know no better. Maybe you’re the one who is deluded, believing in spirits that no longer have any power in a world of space ships and technology. They’re like the old Greek gods living on Mt. Olympus, slowly disappearing because man no longer believed in them. Well, I don’t believe in yours.”

  At that moment, the bus had pulled up in a cloud of dust, and he had gotten on without looking back, distancing himself from any reply which his father might have made.

  Jazon returned to his cabin, eager to be away from his fellow passengers. Alone, he could close his eyes and forget where he was and how he had gotten to this place. He had seen as much of the galaxy as any human, and he had found it dirty and distasteful. Even the Dastorans who he had held up as the best the universe could offer, had turned out to be no better and no different from humans. They were less noble than his own people had been in their past.

  Perhaps one of the Great Truths of the universe is that all people change. If so, perhaps it would be best if the Phyein took over after all. Cold, metallic – maybe they were the answer to the future.

  As he sat there, he eyed the bottle of vodka sitting on his desk. He had made a promise to himself, and he intended to keep it. Frustrated, he picked up a pillow and tossed it at the offending bottle, knocking it over and hiding it from his view.

  “There’s one temptation down,” he quipped. “One to go.”

  In his dream, he was unafraid of the spider-like creature facing him, although its nightmarish features would have sent shivers up his spine in reality. He knew it was the Phyein, or at least one of them. Unlike the first, though, this one was gigantic. It stood two meters high on ten fibrous legs that ended in small claws. Its lumpish body had numerous protuberances jutting from it, the purposes of which he could only guess. It gazed at him with one large eye that seemed to have multiple filters, like a space suit helmet’s faceplate. Instead of a mouth were dozens of short, waving filaments. Jazon knew it was a dream because Occam’s Razor was floating in the background, and he was standing on a flat plain that stretched before him for kilometers. He wore not a space suit, but his finest leather britches and buckskin shirt and moccasins, the ones he had worn as a youth for religious ceremonies. Oddly, his face bore the red markings of war. He held a lance in one hand, beautifully crafted from a piece of cottonwood with a black obsidian tip and leather bindings. In the other hand, he held his father’s rattle. A warm breeze caressed his skin.

  “So, Anaye, evil monster,” he challenged the creature. “You wish to conquer my people. First you must conquer me.”

  The Phyein continued to stare at him. Suddenly, Jazon’s head exploded with images. Among them was the birth and life of the Phyein, from the first proto-life form created from crystals floating in the soupy, upper atmosphere of the gas giant, to the thousands of creatures milling around the rings of the gas giant, weaving it into one vast plain.

  “Human,” a voice said. “Your Anaye is within yourself. Seek not to slay another in its place.” So quickly that he was unable to dodge, one of the creature’s legs shot out and clamped around his throat. He could feel the steel sharpness of the claw and knew it could remove his head instantly.

  “Do not forget the power of the Blessingway or the hozhooji, hataalii. You must restore the hozjo, the balance to the galaxy.”

  The Phyein released him and scampered away, scrambling quickly over the rocks that made up the rings.

  Jazon had not thought of the Blessingway in many years, a ritual of good luck usually performed for a young warrior off to war or for an expectant mother. His hurried departure from the Reservation had made it impossible for his father to perform the ancient ritual. While he had no faith in such things, he knew it had hurt his father deeply, a blow he now wished he could recall.

  Jazon fell to his knees on the frozen plain and wept.

  A knock at his door awakened him. He stumbled to the door, his hand around his throat where he could still feel the sharp, steely edge of the Phyein’s claw.

  “Who is it?” he yelled.

  “Amissa,” came the soft reply.

  He opened the door. She stood there wearing only panties and a thin, almost transparent top.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, reaching out and touching his throat.

  He winced.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said with concern.

  He removed his hand and saw blood. “No, it was … it was only a dream,” he said, trying to convince himself.

  “No, I felt it, too. It was a message from the Phyein.”

  “But, how?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jazon sat down on the bed. Amissa sat down beside him, holding a piece of cloth to his throat to staunch the bleeding.

  “It knew about hozhooji – balance – and the Blessingway. How?”

  “It took the images from your mind, to remind you.”

  “Remind me of what?”

  “Of your past. Your past is still within you. You must embrace it.”

  In the soft light of his cabin, he could see her breasts heaving slightly through the thin material. They looked so inviting. He closed his eyes. “No. I left all that in Arizona.”

  “No, it is a part of you. It is always with you. That is why …” her voice trailed off and she looked away.

  “That’s why what, Amissa?”

  She turned to face him. “That is why my Lord Hromhada chose you. Your gods protect you.”

  He looked at her a second before bursting into laughter. “My gods? Ha! The only thing that protects me is me.”

  She recoiled from his derision. “You were bitten by a spider, were you not?”

  “How ….”

  “You sought an animal guide. You chose the hawk, but the hawk did not choose you. Instead, the spider chose you. You saw it only as bad luck, but it was a choosing with a purpose.”

  Jazon stood up abruptly, walked over to the desk, and threw the pillow across the room. He picked up the vodka bottle and held it out, looking at it longingly.

  “Do you think it a mere coincidence that the Phyein resemble spiders?” Her voice was plaintive, Jazon noted, begging for his understanding. He stared at her and set the bottle on the desk. He walked back to the bed and sat down beside her.

  “I don’t know what to think. First Lord Hromhada, now the Phyein. Too many things are using my mind,” He turned to her, “Using me. I don’t know what to believe.”

  Amissa took his face in her hands and drew it down to her breasts. “Believe in me, then.”

  He resisted for a second, then moved with her, his mouth finding her taut nipple though the silky, thin material. He heard her moan as his lips touched her and drew encouragement.

  His hands reached for her – one caressing the other breast, the other pulling her to him. Together, they lay on the bed, his passion rising with each passing second. Gone were his earlier thoughts of protection. She was fourteen, she was six hundred, and she was ageless. All he knew was that she was his, not Lord Hromhada’s chattel. He would not give her up even if the Dastorans sent their entire Thistleship armada for him.

  Her lithe body melded with his. Her mind anticipated every move and met his flawlessly as if their bodies were one. She let him remove her top, and then she helped him remove his shirt.

  “Jazon,” she whispered in his ear.

  The sound of the ship’s klaxon going off throughout the ship pierced his head like a fiery lance. He looked at Amissa, her eyes still closed, waiting for him.

  “Damn!” he yelled and let Amissa go.
He grabbed his shirt and raced to the bridge. On the way, he met Lyton and Ulrich.

  “What’s happening?” Lyton asked, fear evident in his voice.

  “Proximity alert,” Jazon threw at him without turning. He entered the bridge and took the command chair.

  “Screens!” he yelled at the computer, wishing Amissa were there instead.

  They were in their universe. They had Skipped. He checked the ship’s chronometer. It wasn’t time for the Skip. Something was wrong. At first, nothing was visible, and then, at the extreme range of the screens, he saw a familiar shape headed their direction.

  “Double damn! It’s a Trilock battle cruiser.”

  “We expected to meet them,” Lyton said.

  “Not this soon. Not out here.” He doubted that the Trilocks finding them just as they Skipped back into real space had been a coincidence. He turned to Amissa, now dressed in a ship’s blue jumpsuit.

  “Bring me the Trilock ambassador.”

  To Ulrich, he said, “The Three Principles – they call for balance, don’t they?”

  “Yes. That’s the reason for the interconnectedness of all species. Why?”

  Jazon waved his hand. “Oh nothing, I guess. It’s just something I remembered from the Rez.”

  Ulrich smiled. “You mean your people knew about the Three Principles.”

  “No, not as such, but we did have hozjo, or balance. It is a way of living our lives in balance with nature and the spirit world.”

  “I see. Then you Diné were ahead of the whites.”

  Jazon smiled. “I guess so. My father would have known what you were talking about. I guess I just didn’t want to remember. It was something I thought I left behind.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Ulrich said. “It was the same with me.”

  Jazon turned to look at his friend and noticed the faraway look in his eyes. “You’re going to have to tell me about your country sometime.”

  “If we ever get out of this, you can come back with me. I remember all the women have big tits and big round asses. You’d love it.”

  “Ha! Sounds perfect.”

  M’Kat entered the bridge. As soon as he saw the Trilock ship, he uttered a curse in Trilock.

  “What?” Jazon asked.

  “It is a ship of the T’Oki Clan, kinsmen of T’Tirik.”

  “Do they know of his death?” Ulrich asked.

  “Yes. And they know of his killer,” he replied coldly, pointedly looking at Jazon

  “Will they cause trouble?” Jazon didn’t relish testing the ship’s weapons against a Trilock battle cruiser.

  “I don’t know,” M’Kat admitted. “If they meant our deaths, they would have fired by now.”

  “Great! Get on the comm and see what they want.”

  M’Kat took the comm and spoke at length with the ship. Finally, he turned to Jazon and explained.

  “They wish to know if you desire an escort vessel through Trilock space.”

  “Then they don’t know about our Interstitial Drive?”

  M’Kat was silent for a moment. “It would seem not.”

  “Tell them we appreciate the offer, but our engines are much faster.” He turned to Amissa. “Let’s see how they like that.”

  As M’Kat explained to the Trilock ship, Jazon leaned over and whispered into Amissa’s ear. “Link in and take us out of here as soon as you can. I don’t trust these guys.”

  M’Kat looked at Jazon. “The captain doubts your veracity but appreciates your valor. He warns that the Trilock have spotted several Cha’aita ships near the Pralax Sector and doubts this small ship is any match for them. He again suggests that you allow him to protect us.”

  Jazon laughed. He saw a light flash on his board. “Here’s his answer. Hold on!”

  They Skipped into interstitial space so smoothly, that at first Jazon didn’t notice the absence of the Trilock ship. “They must think we just disappeared,” he chuckled. Then he saw the look on M’Kat’s face. “What?”

  “I fear you have insulted the T’Oki captain greatly. He was willing to overlook your killing of his kinsman as an act of fate, but he will not overlook this breech of protocol. I fear he may cause trouble in the future.”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t trust your people,” Jazon said bluntly.

  M’Kat rose to his full height and growled, “I see. Perhaps it would be best to space me now and take no chances later.”

  Jazon walked over to the Trilock and looked up into his eyes. “Don’t tempt me,” he spat. “You’re here on the wishes of Lord Hromhada, not mine.”

  M’Kat’s spines bristled as he stalked off the bridge, exuding the sharp stench of hatred.

  “You were a little hard on him, weren’t you,” Ulrich chided after the Trilock had left.

  “Not you, too,” Jazon cried out, slamming his fist on the bulkhead.

  “If there are Cha’aita in the area, we could have used their help.”

  “Faced with the Cha’aita and the Trilocks, I don’t know whom I would fire at first,” Jazon shot at him.

  Ulrich nodded. “Now it would hardly seem to matter.” He, too, strode off the bridge, leaving Lyton standing there. Jazon glared at him.

  “What about you, Professor?” he challenged.

  Lyton threw up his hands. “I’m on your side. I distrust the Trilocks, the Dastorans and the Cha’aita.” He smiled. “I’m not even too sure about you, Mr. Lightsinger.”

  Jazon laughed. “That’s a healthy attitude. You’ll live to a ripe old age.”

  Lyton’s face clouded over. “Oh, I doubt that. I’m nearly one hundred and twenty-five years old now. Soon, implants won’t take, and the drugs will become less and less effective.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We all die, Mr. Lightsinger, as I’m sure you know, as a soldier. I can only hope to die for a good cause.”

  He turned and walked from the bridge, leaving Jazon alone with his thoughts.

  Had he acted hastily with the Trilock? His hatred for them was almost second nature. Was he risking the mission by shutting them out? He knew M’Kat’s presence onboard was a choice made by Lord Hromhada in spite of the actions by the Trilock. Was he a threat to the mission or just a threat to Jazon? Having the Trilock kill Jazon would keep Lord Hromhada’s hands clean.

  Something or someone had caused the ship to Skip back into real space within range of a Trilock ship. If it was a simple malfunction, its cause needed finding, but if the ambassador had anything to do with it, he would take him up on the offer to space him.

  He slipped on the neuro-link helmet and immediately felt Amissa’s familiar presence. After the turmoil with the Trilock, he melded into her mental embrace as if it were a soft down pillow, letting her massage away the tensions that ran rampant though his mind.

  “Where were you?” asked Amissa. Her voice sounded relieved at his presence.

  “Thinking.”

  “About your brash decision to anger the Trilocks?”

  “Not you, too,” he shot at her.

  “I don’t concern myself with your prejudices except where they concern the ship. However, if you suspect the Trilock of somehow altering our Skip status ….” She remained silent for a moment. The emptiness seemed to go on forever. “Your feelings for me have changed.”

  He sighed mentally. “Yes, they have. They had to. Faced with your almost naked presence, my hormones took over.”

  He could feel a wash of complex emotions pour through the link. “I want you, Jazon. I know the other Amissa wanted you, too. She fought it as I have, but she did not have the power to overcome the urges your presence aroused. This internal conflict caused her a great deal of mental anguish and might have led to her death. I will not fight.”

  “She fought it?” he asked, confused. “But she offered sex so casually.”

  “She … we were bred for our sexuality. The previous Amissa and now I were lures to bring you to Lord Hromhada and to keep you by his side, but the Dastorans did not know, could not even suspect, that the
attraction could run both ways. She learned of this after your first brush with death.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That I love you, Jazon Lightsinger. The Amissa before me loved you. I can feel that. I suspect that if another Amissa comes along, she will love you as well. It is a part of our genetic makeup.”

  “I … I don’t know what to say.” Love was something he hadn’t given much thought. He knew he wanted Amissa, but didn’t know if it love or just lust.

  “Do you love me?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I desire you, you know that, but I don’t know, I’m not sure that I know what love means. I’ve always been alone.”

  “Nevertheless, I love you. It is a statement of fact, not a challenge to reciprocate. I am yours whenever you desire me.”

  The thought that her love, as much as it excited him, might be the result of genetic tampering annoyed him. “Get us to our next Skip point,” he ordered coldly. “I have to think.”

  He unlinked and sat back in his command chair, watching the stars fly past at a dizzying speed. He regretted his abruptness with her. He knew that his relationship with Amissa had reached a crisis. The balance was fine, teetering on the edge of a knife, and could go either way. His decision could put the mission in jeopardy.

  He laughed. Hozjo, balance, it seemed had followed him throughout his life. It was one more thing from his past he couldn’t escape. His heart and his soul cried out for Amissa, but a small calculating part of his mind knew that this desire could be part of the lure that Lord Hromhada had set for him. He was ensnared enough already. Was her desire for him based on want and needs or merely Dastoran programming? Once again, his lust had gotten him into trouble, only now maybe Ulrich would have to pay for it too.

  10

  “…And round and round the board we danced…”

  Complete Poetical Works 1888 William Wordsworth

  After their fourth successful Skip back into real space to monitor their progress, Jazon was confident of their ability to navigate safely in interstitial space, but he was still reluctant to eliminate the smaller Skips. He hadn’t had a chance to shake down Occam’s Razor before the trip and felt no need to push their luck. Although he was reluctant to admit it, he had the odd feeling that his contact with the Phyein would change him in some profound way. If they could reach into his mind, of what else were they capable?