“He was right.” Houston was drinking a glass of wine at my table. “Their children fight better.” I chocked and touched my chest: my ribs were still there; my mind cried from remembered pain.
I got many wounds from that samurai until I was able to withstand him. My next opponent was a huge bear, then another warrior, I never knew from what planet, then another one. It took more than four weeks to do the ‘fine tuning of the program’, as she called it. Two weeks of hard work to ‘calibrate the neural firing process in reaction to external stimuli’, the best stimuli being considered the wounds I accumulated in the training. They disappeared when that particular session was over but only the physical marks; their memory still lingered in my mind. Of course she would explain, in a very scientific way, how this sadistic behavior would benefit me in the future, if I asked. But I never asked. One week to improve the ‘mitochondrial energy release and muscular reaction in response to neural commands’. And several weeks in order to ‘fully adapt my consciousness to the new state of reality’. I am ready.
*
“I will never accept Munti warriors in Dava.” Thus spoke the King, jumping from his throne in anger, and everyone went silent in the hall. The throne he jumped from was recently carved, made of golden wood with red ivy-like veins. The rule was that a new throne was built for a new king; the King was young, and the Queen even younger.
“They are valuable warriors that Dava may need in the future.” The voice speaking those words was just below me. I bent myself to see the owner: a Black Traveler, the voice quite human, baritone. I glanced at Houston, sitting in the next golden globe; she gestured with a thin smile on her face: they cannot see you. Encouraged by her sign, I tried to see the Traveler’s face – so many years, and I still did not know their physiognomy – the globe pushed me back. “Too early for this,” Houston whispered. Are they so ferocious? People here don’t look scared. If you see ugly things for a long time, you get accustomed. Why is she stopping me?
“They are traitors.” This time the Queen spoke. She did not jump from her throne, not because she did not want too, but because a small child was sitting in her arms, hindering her. “There was no Munti rebellion ever until these … these...” She could not continue, but everybody understood what ‘these’ really were. Why is she here with that child? Houston told me later that the Travelers asked for the child to be there – a subtle psychological pressure for the young queen, the young mother. The name of the boy, the heir, was Airan. “They opened a can of worms. I do not wish the worms to spread here.”
“They are not so many,” an old man spoke. The Magister; the encyclopedia that Houston had inserted inside my head started to collaborate with my own brain. To help our inner conversations I nicknamed ‘her’ Ency – very original. The process was natural, yet I could not stop a shiver. The chief of the Library of Dava, Ency’s voice, Houston’s voice in fact, continued. “Even here I cannot escape you,” I whispered, still not accustomed that they could not hear me. “Soon you will escape; do not be so sure that you will like it,” she mocked. I shrugged, not really understanding her words. Later I did, and as she said, I did not like it. “They have no political links inside Dava,” the old man continued. You play with the Travelers; you will be my enemy there. He is too old. Maybe that young and ambitious Comosis... “And we can forge stronger bonds between the Houses of Baragan and Munti.” The King and the Queen looked startled. The same expression came over all the faces in the council, apart from the Travelers’ – they were still invisible for me, but I was sure about this. “These bonds are the insurance of our kingdom’s survival.” Survival … war is peace… “We have to keep them close, to make them our friends, and absorb them into our society. If the King and the Queen approve, lady Zina would be a good candidate to bond our families. They were … a good match at the last ball in Dava.” He allowed himself a thin smile; nobody joined him. The Magister is the King’s uncle, Ency spoke to me again, and an influential political broker.
“Garon is Siena’s own brother,” the King whispered, “a much stronger link than being married to a distant cousin of the Queen.”
“The young man coming here is a bit different to the proud Garon wanting to replace his sister on the throne. His wings are broken, he learned a lesson, he will not aim too high; and, right now, Comosis takes care to chip even more at his wings. He has no other civilized place to go. He cannot return home, or he can return only to die there.” The Magister stopped for a while, waiting for his words to penetrate into people’s minds and I could not stop to admire his efficiency. “The Erins rejected him, only the Nogi or The Desert Brothers would accept renegades. No human can live with the Nogi; the renegades should never be allowed to join The Desert Brothers.” He stopped again. “I hope that everybody understands this.” From all the whispers, filling that silence, I recognized The Desert Brothers as something evil; Ency revealed nothing to me.
“What if we settle them on the west shore?” Oroles, the chancellor, I heard again in my mind. “They will be far from both Dava and The Desert Brothers.”
“At best, we are safe; at worst, they will catch us in a pincer movement and destroy Dava.” The Magister answered in a bland tone, as if talking about the weather. He looked composed, maybe too calm for such uncertain times. I magnified his face and focused on his eyes – I saw nothing. “I want a replay,” I told Houston; and when the image went back I observed only his eyes, they were fixed on a point far away: he was reciting a memorized text.
“They did not seal this…” I turned my attention to Houston.
“The man was looking outside the window. Why seal such small pleasures?”
“He was reciting a text made by others. You know by whom.”
“And the proof of this is? And what if he was reciting?” I tried to add more; she did not let me. “I know what you mean, but it is too weak to be a probe in a trial; guessing is … just a supposition, no more.”
“What is Siena thinking of all this?” Oroles interrupted in a low, unsure voice. “I don’t want her to be our enemy.” His mouth opened as if trying to add more, but closed without a sound. What stopped him? I glanced at Houston; she shrugged.
“Siena accepted their settlement here in Dava.” The voice came again from underneath me: the Traveler, and the tone in that voice closed any other comments.
“Both pairs of rulers are young,” I pushed Houston when back in my garden again.
“Yes, one Faction decided to use their lack of experience to start the war. Things did not go as easy as they expected, the Erins played a role too. The ‘young’ and inexperienced royals avoided the war for the next twenty five years.”
“You watched all this and did nothing.”
“What could we do? Wars happen in history, sooner or later. An Observer put many restrictions on Travelers. They are still in place at your arrival there.” Caught in the web of my own thoughts I passed over the ‘Observer’.
*
“Forget about the belt.” Her voice attracted my attention more than the words, and she avoided my eyes. It was pain in her voice; artificial, I agree, but nevertheless pain, an expression of a hidden message not the result of a real sufferance. Look at me! “No real time contact this time. Communication can be re-established in some fixed underground points, with ... caution; the risk of being discovered and neutralized is too high.” A map was transferred to me, a second later, scores of contact points. So many, she is really connected to that world... Factions are not aware of this. They are partners ... can be they enemies, also? Is Houston playing her own game? Stop it! “Yes, I need a certain degree of independence. I hoped it would not bother you too much.” A thin smile contradicted my fear of upsetting her. “They were at war over this planet, and they do not really make love now.”
“What does war mean for their level of technology?” What the hell I am doing there?
“That was a long time ago,” she avoided a direct answer. “Factions are no longer allowed
to interfere using advanced weapons, only surveillance devices are allowed. All landings should be approved in advance.”
“Let me guess, I have no visa...”
“No, it is a stealth mission.”
“If I am caught...?”
“Very low probability, our simulations...”
“What would happen if I were caught by the opposite Faction?”
“Any intrusion is annihilated.” They will kill me, I shouted inside, and I was sure she heard my scream. In that moment a decision came to me: I have to use her own rules against her power. She is designed to obey some rules, and I need to understand them. No more stupid complaints. I have to ask; I have to negotiate; I have to play the game as it is. An old memory resurfaced, ways of hiding thoughts. It lingered only briefly, killed by my growing anger, just as sparks of intuition disappear as we are about to grasp them. And of course, decisions are easy...
“You have a good cover; only a mind-reading device can blow it, and they are forbidden there.” I need that bloody belt; I have to find a flaw in her arguments to obtain the belt ... and weapons. Independently, something coming deep from my mind had the same opinion: a whip-crack made me shudder; a leopard roared. A drop of blood made a surreal loud drip, then another...
“Leave the weapons aside, they are not a source of power, they are a weakness.” What? “Your ‘what’ is only the projection of a distorted philosophy putting special interest groups above everything else. They use power to promote their interest, alter the society and delay collective development by thinking from a position of force.” They alter... Of course, they alter. If you have the power, you use it. I need some help there. “Galactic communication devices are not very often in a Samurai’s arsenal. The Black Eye will not tolerate this.”
“Who is the Black Eye?” I asked the question without thinking, and I cursed her, then I cursed myself for this weakness. She did not react. Why would she? Things were going in the ‘right’ direction. The bloody drops sounded farther and farther off, all went quiet, warm droplets down my spine made me shiver, the irony of warmth leaving cold feelings.
“The conscious presence of The Universe himself in this galaxy, the black hole you see in the center, and, let’s say, the chief of the Galactic Council. Not quite the right term but you will understand.”
“Are Factions members of this council?” A new piece of information driving the next question, again. There is no one on Earth to know this... A tinge of pride was born and died fast.
“No, there are entities far more advanced than Factions in that council: Observers of Serenity they call themselves, but they are no longer material. The council is only an arbiter, not a player.”
“I can die there and no one at home will know.” I had said it … I had finally said it … I ...said… Death will come with me … death will follow me … and I had the courage to state this … I had the courage...
“Your body will die; your mind will survive in The Field. Bodies … they can be replaced. The choice is yours, of course.” Of course… Your bloody simulations show death. No denials of it. “The Galactic Council is the intermediate layer between The Universe and the high-level forms of material intelligence in the galaxy: Factions. One Observer is willing to contact you in the future.” I asked nothing more; I had already learned that she would never reveal anything before its time.
“There is no correlation between cover and danger.” My last chance of winning the belt.
“You have changed, and this makes things equal. This is a simple post-medieval world; I see no significant challenges for a human of your civilization and with your training.” She stopped for a moment as though pondering something. “And from now there will be no mind reading from my side when we talk together; I will only access old memories for information purposes. You have passed into the next level.” And she left. Not bad, I thought. The belt!
*
“The name of the Faction to whom you belong by contract is: Existential Life Enhancers of Quadrant...” Houston recited a litany of more than twenty names and locations from an unknown corner of the galaxy. “I think you would prefer a … shorter variant.”
“’Faction One’ … would be ok?” She shrugged. “Or ‘my Faction’, much easier.”
“I am afraid you have to use the whole name when meeting them … if meeting them. We will find a way to solve this.” She smiled and dumped the names in my mind, followed by a giant map of the galaxy, highlighting the quadrants being managed by ‘my Faction’ … the good guys in this game.
Where is Earth? A star brightened instantly on the map, on a different spiral of the galaxy. Really far. Show me a closer picture. The map expanded to display our Solar system from around half a light-year’s distance. Nice. Go closer. The giants, Jupiter and Saturn took shape. Closer. Saturn’s rings brightened in full colors. Closer. “Houston, you are playing with my mind. You said…”
“The map is managed by ‘Ency’. Try to focus on Baragan,” she smiled before leaving. For one week, I played with the new toy, until she reminded me about the mission. The rivals, Faction Two, a better name than Celestial Servants of Proper Life... were the other good guys in the same game. In theory, too much interference was not allowed, only survey and guidance. And, from the same theory, when good guys met other good guys plenty of good things should happen. If you consider war being one of them then the theory is right: choice of the end covers choice of the means. Of four populations, only one was really an indigenous race: the Baragans. The other two, the Munti and the Erins were enhancements of the local type and the last one, the Nogi, an alien race brought here, or created, by Faction Two. How had they tricked the rules? Nobody told me. My Faction had never reported the Nogi to the Galactic Council, which meant that they also had some bad history to hide. One hand washes another, even in the most advanced and democratic civilizations. In the end, that ‘bad history’ would reveal itself as a puzzling game-changer in the universe.
“Four very different races, four blades in the same scabbard. Someone didn’t respect the rules.”
“Sometimes Factions feel strong enough to play against Time.” Her acknowledgment enhanced my bad feelings, and left me wondering how much I really knew about my next mission. “Sometimes they even attempt mutiny against The Universe. Gates cannot, we are part of the universe's fabric. When in doubt remember this.” I had many doubts from the first second. She recognized this, and she had also foreseen that my doubts would multiply. The future was murky from the beginning, my chances less than slim. Filtered knowledge induced a small level of confidence, enough to trick me into the game. A game with rules set by powerful ruthless Factions. I was no more than a minor pawn acting for one of them.
*
“That is the temporal nexus.” The volcano erupted before Houston could finish – a mini-volcano, in the middle of the garden, and red lava covered my flowers. I knew it was not real, yet all my muscles contracted.
“Wonderful effects. Do they have a reason?” I did not wait for her answer. “Can you go further in time? I want to see the moment of their death.”
“Their supposed death; a high probability, indeed, but still a probability. The short answer is: I cannot; yet if you like to see charred bones my special effects will help. The best effects will come from smell and screams. Are you ready?” Her voice was lazy, giving me time for an outburst. I did not react. Some time ago, I would have done it, in another life of mine – not now, not anymore. “We know that they are here.” A blue spot appeared on the map, close to the lava flow. She magnified the spot until transformed into a bunch of running people. It was difficult to think of them as being people; they looked more like ants, not in form but in size. A white line showed the ants’ path meeting with the lava flow. “My vision stops just before the canyon’s entry. The group is led by Airan, the inheritor of the Baragan throne.” I bent to see the canyon better – it was a dead end. They will die. The ‘will’ made me feel sick. Not because they were suppos
ed to die – my mind already acknowledged that I ‘will’ be there just in time to save them – but from the time shift. Their future ‘will happen’ in my past, yet I will be there in my own future, and this was still difficult to overcome. It was not a logical reaction, more like a bad feeling. “Your pineal gland is anchored in The Field, and receives temporal coordinates from him. There is no cure for that … yet.” From the way she said ‘yet’ I understood: not with your pitiable brain. “Only the incoming is active,” she underlined the yet. I cursed her inside, but that was all.
As in the Primes mission, we planned to take over a temporal nexus point, to conceal the teleportation, and to generate an advantage for my immersion in local society. My contract had a set of goals from the beginning: to stop the brewing war between Baragans and Munti. It was the last thing they needed. The planet had a civilization equivalent with our early nineteenth century, before the climate changed as their sun entered a hyperactive period, scorching the planet. Houston made me walk that path. I saw people dying from hunger, from the sword, from plagues. I heard mothers crying for their children and children crying for their fathers. I saw ruins, burning forests and dying rivers, a planet nearly deserted. Only small pockets of human society remained, spread across northern areas, with only two worth calling civilized. I saw them all – from my golden globe, wandering over that land of misery – and I wished I couldn’t. “You have to infiltrate their political system and stop the war,” she told me – a piece of cake.
“How do Factions influence things down there?”
“They interfered for centuries, direct interference, Baragans, Munti, Erins, all know about Travelers; a network of people, in every echelon of power, collaborates with them – usually for a good goal.”
“They know…” Trying to make an analogy with Earth, I found nothing similar in our recent past. I never saw Travelers on our streets; that mass hypnosis of some early Cro-Magnons could not count as being recent.
Io Deceneus: Journal of a Time Traveler (The Living Universe) Page 7
