“Why do you think I sent you where you are?” The voice was a human one. The voice of his precious Teacher.
“Do you think your Teacher is an idiot?”
The thought made Kalsang recoil. Of course not.
Kalsang scanned the contents of his neuroview and found the mneme stored there from the original transmission. The diagrams were there. Kalsang again watched the tragedy of the death of the alien world, this time in fast motion. It was all there. What possible gain could be so great as to risk this unimaginably horrible outcome? Unbelievable.
After determining that the full contents of the transmission were indeed stored in his neurovisor he then scanned the orbiter's computer for the time of the transmission. As he had expected the mneme log had been falsified, a transmission of static replacing the alien people’s warning. Another curious observation was that the orbiter's clock was wound backward by nearly two weeks.
There was no doubt now. The situation brought back into memory Lama Wangmo’s song.
Make this perfect echo moment last longer.
There was no other explanation for everything that had happened. As impossible as it seemed, the responsibility to stop this madness had now fallen on him.
Kalsang knew that the first thing to do, in taking on any great matter, was to do nothing. So, he sat and focused on the empty movements of his breath. First from one nostril to the other, and then the reverse, and then together. He did this for a long time, balancing his energies so that the decisions he would have to make would be the best. Then he set his motivation. So many living mother beings depended upon him just now. No matter what was to come, he would never back down.
“Thank you Melded One.”
Only when this motivation was firm did he begin to consider his course of action. There was no option to call up and inform Mirtopik Control of his plight, and they were the only ones he could call given that the craft was only equipped with laser beam communications, ostensibly to allow greater efficiency of transmission, but also to make sure that commercially sensitive information was controlled by the micro-satellite relays and could not be picked up by radio telescopes. It would be suicidal to call in if they were trying to kill him. For this reason, it was necessary to deactivate the incoming signals as well so that they could not switch off the orbiter as they had done to the Terrapod. He searched with his neurovisor, and relieved to find that doing so was straight forward, switched it off. Done.
Next Kalsang had to determine his path back to Earth. It was obvious that to stay alive he would have to return to where he had transited out from, to the Europa station on that icy moon of Jupiter.
The Orbiter was stocked with enough anti-matter to accelerate him along a direct journey back to Earth, but his provisions would not last that long. Mirtopik controlled communications from the orbiter, but Jupiter was another matter. The Jupiter Deep Space up-link was used to communicate with the Oort Array telescopes and was monitored by the entire scientific community. On a close approach Kalsang could laser his message directly to his friends on Europa, and from there they could pass the message onwards. This was his only choice, and Kalsang activated a navigation programme for a return trajectory to Jupiter.
That being done, Kalsang turned his attention to editing the computer logs as best he could to cover his escape. He hoped that his absence would not be noticed and that he was not in any way endangering his friends and fellow monks on Europa, awaiting their rotation out to Neptune.
He couldn’t be sure. His actions could have been monitored by Mirtopik. His accidental escape would have surprised them, but it may not have gone unnoticed. Kalsang decided to consult his protectors.
Kalsang performed the prerequisite visualisations, slowly and exactly chanting the memorised liturgy while imagining the protectors appearing in space before him.
The air in the room began to boil with swirling clouds of black and blood. All the aliens shrunk back in terror.
“What is this Melded One? Has the sky eater followed us here?” pleaded d'Song.
“Not to worry. This is not that monster. This is only the kindness of holy beings to scare away such darkness.”
The vision hardened, writhing with imagined power.
Kalsang reached into his backpack and pulled out the specially marked dice and prepared to throw the Mo, to see what future the protectors predicted from his choice.
Kalsang concentrated on his dilemma. He was desperately in need of direction. It was so important for this to be right, to save all the beings in the Earth world system. The responsibility was overwhelming.
He cleared his mind and let the problem rest there, suspending all bias and impulse.
What is the best course of action? Is Jupiter the right place? What would he do when he got there?
Hours passed. Slowly a cohesive vision began to separate, in strobe light flashes, from the ordinary menagerie of thoughts and images that ordinarily cluttered Kalsang’s mind.
Off Kalsang sailed through space to Europa. Soon he was looking down on that cracked cue ball moon hanging in the shadow of an aurora-crowned dark side of Jupiter. Kalsang floated down towards the surface of Europa covered with the translucent cross hatching from innumerable thick ice plates grinding against each other as they slid over the super-cooled sea beneath. Thin metallic prayer flags flickering in the electrically charged winds from Jupiter hung from the many parabolic dishes spread across the clear crystal surface.
He was so happy to be returning. Europa, world of frozen splendors, his home away from home and of his few fellow adventurers, all plucked from their respective hermitages and flung out into the void. He felt so close to these brothers and sisters.
Kalsang descended in memory beneath the surface into the complex carved deep within crystal caverns that they had named New Shambhala station. The station was assembled out of inflatable ring-shaped tubes embedded in the ice and stacked one atop the other, green, red, blue, white and yellow, forming a cone. In the surrounding caverns, the monks had created a strange and magical world, half research station and half medieval monastery. Coloured lights shimmered off the surrounding ice walls, into which were carved intricate transparent sculptures and murals, mind-dazzling geometric patterns, animated mythical creatures frozen mid-leap, nature scenes, regional folk stories, mandalas and meditating masters floating on rainbow clouds. In the great amphitheatre within the cone was a large and lovely ice sculpture of the Amogasiddhi Buddha, his hands in the gesture of teaching, his face smiling benignly.
Kalsang saw his fellow monks as he remembered them: working in shifts, eyes blinking at their neuroviews as they maintained the Deep Space uplink infrastructure and attended to routine administrative details. While off duty, which was most of the time, they studied, debated, meditated or played practical jokes on one another. Kalsang had warm memories of the happy year he had spent there before his orders came to be the first to go to Triton. He vividly remembered his fellow monks that had been stationed with him. Geshe Tsultrim Gyeltshen, his fierce and rugged Khampa features belying a gentle spirit. Sangye Drub Tulku, famous for his bizarre antics and deep sincerity. Tashi Tsering, the quiet and intense artist, responsible for most of the ice sculptures carved into the frozen world. The sharp and inquisitive intellect of Choegyal Samten, equally at home with religious scriptures and the complex technology upon which their adopted world depended. And Zhi Lim T’ang, a very generous Chinese monk who had become his confidante. Tears ran down Kalsang’s cheeks as he once again waved back to them through the airlock doors.
A soundless light exploded.
Kalsang was propelled backwards into orbit by a mysterious force. When his perspective stabilized he could see that the top of the station, which normally protruded through the ice, was missing. The contents of broken Terrapod modules formed an ejecta field surrounding the crater where New Shambhala had been. Personal effects and bits of the debris were scattered everywhere. Kalsang flew down to inspect the damage, alighting at ground
zero of the explosion which had destroyed the station. At the center, the statue of Buddha was still standing, his hands no longer in the gesture of teaching but instead holding a skull cap in one hand and holding a trumpet made of human thigh bone high to his lips. Starting at the base of the statue a blood colored stain began to spill outward, slowly filling the transparent walls of the cavern beneath and extending into the seams and canyons of the surface of Europa until the moon’s face burned a brilliant crimson.
Kalsang rubbed his eyes on his main head. What a dreadful vision.
“Are you okay Melded One?” d'Song stroked his second right hand lightly with many of her hands, to show her concern.
“This is not good.”
It felt like the hole had been made in his heart.
Kalsang wrapped his hands tightly around himself, to ward off dizziness.
“Who were they Melded One?”
“My dear friends. They are okay.”
Okay. Of course they were. Nothing had happened. It was only a vision. His friends were still there, enjoying themselves as he had left them, as certain as anything was certain.
But it was a sign, undeniable.
Kalsang relaxed into his breathing once more, sinking slowly back into his meditation. A faint whistle blew through the stillness in his mind, drawing his attention to it. As his mental focus increased, the sound amplified until Kalsang could make out a subtle fanfare of depraved voices, howling with glee. Behind the tortured chorus, Kalsang felt a sullen presence, dark and greedy, drunk on the anticipation of great evil entering the world.
“Demons,” Kalsang thought with pity.
Then, descending out of a rainbow, Kalsang appeared in the high meadows of Tibet, standing on the banks of an emerald mountain lake. Sweet mountain air filled his lungs, a perfume of spring flowers and snow. He was talking to an unfamiliar older man who was perhaps an American. The man looked somehow familiar, but Kalsang couldn't quite remember his name. Perhaps he was a public figure of some sort. The man smiled as Kalsang opened the man's hand, and placing a jewel in the open palm, folded the fingers over it.
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know d’Song.”
Kalsang awoke sprawled across the floor. He lay there for some time considering his vision, letting his mind flow lightly over it without interpretation.
Kalsang threw the Mo and asked the question - should he proceed on towards Europa or proceed directly to Earth? The dice rose and fell and slowly rolled to a stop.
The answer was no. Either way the answer was no. Europa was no, Earth was no. Where else to go?
The only other place with people was Mars. Mars?
Kalsang threw the dice again.
Yes. Mars.
Was that possible? Kalsang used his neurovisor to check the trajectory. Mars was closer. This surprised him. To look at it this was hard to see. When orbiting back from around the Sun the Earth should be closer, but the transit wasn’t right. Going to Earth meant swinging back from around Mars. Mars was along the way to Earth.
Did he have enough resources to get there? Kalsang checked the numbers and came back disappointed. Oh, almost, almost. The calculations, by any iteration, showed him dying somewhere between his swing round Venus and arrival at the red planet. Mars still meant death.
Shaking the dice Kalsang asked again, “Should I go to Mars?” Both faces affirmed that choice. He threw the dice a few more times, each time with the same result.
Kalsang returned to the neuroview navigation report and studied it intently. The fastest approach involved an acceleration around Uranus followed by a turn around and deceleration via Venus. The acceleration around Uranus would be crushing, scarcely survivable. He would have to reduce the temperature immediately to conserve heat. Food would not last. Water would give out after he passed Venus. The atmosphere would become toxic soon after. First, he would be crushed, then frozen, then starved, then dehydrated, and finally poisoned.
Was there any way out? Kalsang intently shook the dice and dropped them. “Death,” they replied.
Why go to Mars if he would be dead when he got there? How close did he have to get for radio communications? His neurovisor returned a calculation as soon as this thought finished. It would be possible to send a single message to Mars, to Aurora, without using the microsatellites. Aurora was still on Mars, along the other Australians that he had trained with. Terry and Cath. Aurora. Of course.
Kalsang brought their faces from memory, clearer than any mneme.
His dear friend, with her copper wire frizzed hair and green eyes.
“What is her name?” d'Song asked while the other aliens wondered around examining the people from his memories, curious.
“That is Terry. She is very funny. We had a lot of fun.”
“No, I mean her.”
“That is Aurora. She is my very special to me. We have samaya between us.”
“Do I know her?”
The question was odd, especially considering that d’Song and his memories of Aurora were both figments of his imagination.
“She is frightened.”
Kalsang inspected his visualisation of Aurora. Yes, her face did hold fear, but this was not how he remembered her. Of all of them Aurora was the most fearless. Perhaps she was in some danger? Kalsang concentrated on Aurora more as her face began to fade. Yes, maybe so.
Kalsang breathed in the fear, breathing light back into her, until Aurora’s image stabilized, and she began to glow of her own accord.
“Don’t worry Aurora. You will be okay.” Kalsang studied her and then smiled. “Okay, Mate?”
Kalsang lay back in his webbing to think about the paths before him. On one path the laws of physics and common sense told him that he would reach a comfortable and safe destination. It would lead him back to the comfort of old friends at New Shambhala and a certain audience for his critical message. Reason supported this approach. On the other hand, he had the suspicion of a broad conspiracy by unknown powers arrayed against him, a series of hallucinations, and the results of an ancient superstitious practice of fortune telling. On the path these indicated lay an improbable outcome, pain, desperation, and a certain lonely death. His mind paralysed by doubt Kalsang sang out to his protectors.
Invisible guardians, diamond visions, mysterious friends
How well do I know you?
Three great mountains rushing to bury me
deterioration, sickness, and death
How well do I know you?
Irresistible wind blowing ceaselessly
In one direction, to the end of my days
How well do I know you?
Burning candle devoured by its own light
my life since first breath
How well do I know you?
Uncertain flicker, uncovered flame
Next heartbeat or next life
How well do I know you?
Ten thousand spirits wrestling
to claim my last sigh
How well do I know you?
Irrelevant bubble in samsara’s vast sea
My body tossed in the ocean of storms
How well do I know you?
Unscrupulous bandit digging up
Dusty treasures from my tomb of wealth
How well do I know you?
Fast mountain torrent carrying me
from friends’ hands outstretched
How well do I know you?
Traitorous bones, inconstant blood
feckless heat deserting my breath
How well do I know you?
Other than these is anything more true?
uncertainty of appearance
fragility of thoughts
emptiness of self
this unwavering elephant path
I have followed all this life
Faith, insight, luminosity, dependent arising
Everyday your face becomes clearer
My constant guides I bow to greet you.
You know me well.
Kalsang spent the day in meditation, his mind resting on a simple image of the Buddha and admitting no other thought. When thirst stirred Kalsang from this practice he sipped some water, chewed the edge of a Vitabar, and then calmly keyed into the navigation computer his new direction.
He was headed to Mars.
Chapter 19 - Aurora
Turning to stone did not hurt. What hurt was deciding that you didn’t want to.
The world around shimmered in an uneven light. It was like looking through midday heat against the horizon. Aurora’s arms, wrapped around her knees, looked to her to be wrapped in gauze. Everything was the dusty orange color of Mars.
Waijungari smiled up from below. He greeted her soul as it sank down into his patient embrace.
“Relax Darl. You and I are one and the same, see? No need to rush it. Let it happen.”
Aurora almost did. She was so tired. She wanted to sink. Down into her bones. That was until she realised she was being buried alive.
The weight of Mars came down on her frozen soul like a tonne of bricks. It brought back old memories that seemed somehow fresh - memories of being crushed.
Aurora began to fight, or rather to flail. There wasn’t anyone or anything to fight. The pressure closing in on all sides was overwhelming. There was nowhere to move. Her bones and flesh were being squeezed into jelly. A hydraulic force dragged her along in a tidal surge of desperation. The only direction was towards utter darkness. Even her screams could not escape, but only balled up in her throat and choked off her breath.
Not again.
Not again.
Not again.
Aurora’s last conscious thought was that the only thing left to fight was her fear. Everything else was a lost cause. That was what she did, and it had an effect.
From above, floating in sudden tranquillity, Aurora watched the light in a body below her slowly dim. The rest of the world all around shone up with a light that was free of shadow. She watched others arrive and lift her body and lower it and lift it again, down and away from the great mountain.
Ten Directions Page 29
