by Jeri Taylor
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when he heard her voice. In fact, when it was all over, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever woken up. But, sleeping or waking, he heard her. It seemed to him that his eyes opened to the darkness of the shelter, saw the slumbering forms of his crewmates, and then stared into blackness for a long time.
But that might have been a dream.
If so, it was a dream unlike any he’d ever had. The sound of Kes’s voice in his mind was palpable, and he had to resist the urge to answer her out loud. He lay quietly, letting happen whatever was happening, feeling borne along on a series of images like a toy boat bobbing on the waves of a fast-rushing stream.
He saw, in his mind’s eye, the underground city of the Ocampa, that wondrous creation he had visited just after he’d met Kes. It seemed that he were flying through the city, dazzled by the immensity and beauty of the buildings that stretched for many kilometers throughout the deep caverns of the planet.
And all the while, her voice in his mind . . . soothing, mellifluous . . . he couldn’t really hear words, couldn’t assign them meaning, but somehow the voice was communicating to him nonetheless.
His flight came to an end in the great Assembly of the Ocampa, where he stared down at a small child, long blond hair trailing down her back, staring up at an Ocampan man who looked, if anything, beleaguered.
Kes.
CHAPTER
12
“WHY?”
Kes was staring up at her father, feet spread, fists planted firmly on hips, small mouth pursed in determination. She’d asked a question and so far she hadn’t received a satisfactory answer, and she wasn’t going to move an inch until she did.
Her father gazed back at her, his face a mixture of bafflement, frustration, and adoration. Kes didn’t identify them as such, for she was too young yet to comprehend the complex network of emotions that can exist at once in people. She was less than halfway through her growth cycle, a period of time that she would later come to identify in human terms as nine months, and still focused on herself: her needs, her perceptions, her questions.
“Kes,” her father began in a tone of voice that was becoming familiar to her, “you have to accept the fact that there simply aren’t answers to every question.”
“Why?” Somehow everything Benaren said led to a new question, and more often than not, it was “why?”
Her father drew a breath, looking around for someone who might rescue him. They were standing in the courtyard of the Assembly, the soaring, magnificent structure built for them by the Caretaker so many generations before, which was the focal point of Ocampan life. Here daily rations were dispensed; entertainment was provided; social groups gathered. It was always full, but there was never a sense of congestion. The rhythms of Ocampan life were leisurely, ordered. No one rushed, no one pushed or shoved, no one exerted any more energy than was absolutely necessary.
That sense of enervation was one of the first things Kes had questioned, as her own restless spirit began to manifest itself. “Why does everyone sit around so much?” she had queried, on one of her early visits to the Assembly. “They just do,” replied her father, and was duly introduced to Kes’s relentless tenacity.
“That’s not a reason,” she stated with conviction, looking at her father with full expectation that a more satisfying answer would be forthcoming.
It was not. Every attempt he made to answer her in a convincing way was met with another question.
“This is our way of life, Kes. This is how people behave.”
“How did it get to be our way of life? Who said it should be?”
“No one said anything, it’s just always been that way.”
“But how did it start in the first place? Who were the first people who acted that way?”
“No one knows. It was a very long time ago.”
“Then how do you know that’s the way it happened?”
The first of many long sighs issued from Benaren. “We assume that’s how it was. It makes sense.”
“But maybe there are other things that could make sense, too. Maybe people were different a long time ago, and something happened to change them.”
“Like what?”
Kes had bit her lip, mind struggling to comprehend something she had no reason to believe was so but which she nonetheless instinctively knew was the truth.
“I don’t know. Something . . . that made them not care anymore.”
That had been the first of her inquiries, some months ago, and they hadn’t abated. Now, she was pursuing a line of questioning that she found infinitely fascinating: the Caretaker.
She’d asked many questions in her short life about this mysterious being, to whom most Ocampans were so reverential, and none had ever been answered persuasively. Today, as she and her father stood in line to receive their rations, she had introduced the subject again.
“If the Caretaker built our home for us, under the ground, he must have had a reason to do it. Doesn’t anyone ever wonder what it is?”
“Most people are grateful for his generosity. He gave us our home, food, energy, water—we owe everything to him.”
“Why do we owe anything to him? He chose to do this. He must have wanted to.”
“I’ve told you—no one knows why he did it. But it would be wrong not to be grateful for our good fortune.”
Kes pondered that for a moment as they moved—slowly—toward the head of the line. She was impatient, as always. It always took so long to wend one’s way to the front, where the rations were doled out. Surely there was a better way to handle this process, one that wouldn’t waste so much time, time that could be devoted to . . . to other things. More interesting things.
And that certainly didn’t include, for instance, sitting in front of the entertainment screens, those massive plates which displayed continuous imagery of a calming, tranquil kind. Most people seemed content to sit for much of the day, gazing in a kind of stupor at the placid images, but Kes found it intolerable, becoming bored within minutes and jumping from her recliner to dash across the floor of the Assembly, much to the consternation of the others.
Now, as she and Benaren inched their way toward the head of the line, another line of questioning occurred to her. “Father, why did the Caretaker build our home here, underground?”
“This is where it is safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“From our enemies.”
“Who are those?”
“We don’t know their name. But they would take our energy, and our water.”
“Why?”
“Because they need it.”
“Why?”
“They don’t have as much as we do.”
“Why?”
“Just because they don’t.”
“Why?”
“That’s not for someone your age to worry about.”
That is when Kes planted her fists on her hips and refused to budge until she got an answer.
“Kes, move along. Others are in line behind us.”
“I’m not moving until you answer me.”
“You have to accept the fact that you’re too young to know some things.”
“No, I don’t have to accept that. I want to know.”
And at that, Benaren gestured to the people in line behind them. “Step around her,” he told them. “She doesn’t want to move.” To Kes’s irritation, the line wound around her and her father moved with them, leaving her behind.
He expected that she’d follow him, she knew, and that realization stiffened her resolve. She stood resolutely, immobile, refusing to budge as the long line snaked around her in its slow progress toward the food stations.
When Benaren had received his allotment, he came back to Kes, still standing where he had left her. “Come along, Kes. Your mother will be waiting for us.”
“I told you I’m not moving until you answer me,” she replied firmly.
“I’ve answered you as best I can. I won’t
be manipulated to do more.”
“Fine. I’ll stay here forever.”
Benaren sighed and started away. “When you get hungry, come home.”
Kes stood in the Assembly for a very long time, how long she wasn’t sure. The entertainment screens droned on, people collected their rations, and eventually the crowds began to thin out, which meant the time of rest was drawing near. Any number of people had stopped to ask if Kes had needed help; each time, she shook her head and replied that she was waiting for her father.
As time wore on, she began to grow weary, and decided that it wasn’t really violating her resolve if she sat down. She did, watching as more and more people left the Assembly. She was beginning to feel somewhat forlorn as she realized her father wasn’t going to yield to her determination, but she was utterly unable to swallow her pride and return home.
One minute she was sitting on the floor of the Assembly, feeling somewhat drowsy, and the next she was waking up in her bed at home. It took her a brief moment to realize where she was and then she looked up to see her mother, Martis, sitting by the bed.
“How did I get here? I didn’t want to move from the Assembly,” said Kes.
“You fell asleep and one of the Elders, Toscat, carried you back here.”
“No! He should have left me there!” Kes felt her eyes begin to burn and then grow moist.
“He knew you should be at home in your bed.”
“I said I wouldn’t move until Father had answered my questions.”
Martis leaned forward and stroked an errant lock of hair away from her daughter’s face. “Kes, you’re a bright and beautiful child, and your father and I love you very much. But you’re also willful and stubborn, and that concerns us. We don’t want you to grow up to be spoiled and arrogant, and so we’re not going to allow you to decide what will and will not happen in this family. Benaren and I are the adults, and you are the child. We’ll make the decisions that determine your behavior until you’re an adult and can make wiser choices.”
Kes didn’t like being chastised. It made her feel funny inside, queasy. She idolized her beautiful mother, and didn’t like the thought she had disappointed the woman who had always given her such loving care. She hung her head, unable to look up.
“It grieves your father if he thinks he hasn’t been able to give you the information you want. But you ask questions that can’t be answered.”
“I don’t understand why not. I don’t understand why these aren’t questions that everyone asks.”
“Darling child,” said her mother, “you can’t begin to believe how unique you are. I’ve known that since you were born. I told your father that I thought someday you would see the sun.”
This aroused Kes’s curiosity instantly. “What does that mean? What’s the sun? Why would it be special to see it?”
Martis smiled. “We’ve decided it’s time for you to hear about the surface. Usually parents wait until a child has finished the growth cycle, but you are precocious, and can probably understand the story now.”
Kes sat up in bed, eager to hear about the “surface.” This was more like it. Now maybe some of her questions would finally be answered.
“Long ago our people lived on the surface. A giant orb in the sky, called the sun, provided light and heat. The Ocampa were a happy, peaceful race with an affinity for the arts. Then for reasons no one knows, or remembers, a disaster befell the planet, and climatic conditions changed. Drought ensued, and water became more valuable than gems. A people called the Kazon began to raid the Ocampan settlements and steal their water. Our people were in danger of dying out.”
Kes listened in fascination to this story. She already had a dozen questions about what her mother had said so far, but she knew she should wait and hear everything before interrupting.
“That’s when the Caretaker presented himself to us. No one knows in what way, but somehow he made it clear that he would protect us from the Kazon. It was a promise. He built this magnificent city for us, under the ground, and supplied us with endless amounts of energy and water. That was long ago, and he has kept his promise ever since.”
Kes was bubbling with questions, but wanted to make sure there wasn’t more to the story. “Is that all?” she asked, breathless with excitement.
Her mother nodded, and Kes leapt in. “Where did the Caretaker come from? What was the disaster that happened to change the climate? How long did all this take? Why are the Kazon so mean? What happened to them? How did we get down here? Has anybody ever been back?” She took a breath, more questions forming even as she’d asked these. Her mother smiled and held up a hand.
“Everything we know, I’ve told you. If I knew the answers to those questions, I’d give them to you. But all that was lost over the time we’ve been here. We just know that the energy keeps coming and the Kazon have never bothered us here.”
Kes sat back, mind racing, turning over these astonishing details in her mind. It was maddening—each element of the story led to a set of endless, and apparently unanswerable, questions. She probably had enough questions for the rest of her life, but there weren’t any answers. Or were there?
“Aren’t there any records, any writings about all this? Why wouldn’t we know about our own history?”
“I don’t know of any writings. The story has been handed down from generation to generation.”
“That’s unbelievable. Why wouldn’t someone record all this?”
“I don’t know. They just didn’t.”
It was the kind of answer Kes hated most. It wasn’t really an answer, just saying “because because.” It was frustrating.
“Has anyone ever tried to go to the surface and see what’s there now? Do we even know if the Kazon are still up there? Maybe we could go back now.”
“Why risk it? We’re safe here, and we have everything we need.” Her mother rose, signaling an end to the discussion. “I would think you’d be hungry. We saved you some rations from yesterday. Come along.”
Kes rose and followed, but she knew somehow that things would never be the same. She had tasted knowledge, and it was intoxicating. She had to learn more.
Kes met Daggin soon after she’d completed her growth cycle. He was a sweet-faced boy just slightly older than she, with a quick mind and a ready smile. She’d noticed him looking at her in the Assembly, and she returned his smile. That apparently worked as some kind of signal, because Daggin hurried to her and introduced himself.
That was the first thing she noticed about him: he hurried. She was immediately intrigued that someone besides herself moved to quicker rhythms than most Ocampans. Soon she would learn that Daggin was unusual in many ways, and he was to be a formative influence on her young life.
“Would you like to see the farm?” he asked as soon as she’d told him her name. She was curious—what was a farm? She’d never heard the word.
In reply, Daggin led her out of the Assembly, and then, to her vast surprise, out of the well-traveled confines of the city. Her breath caught as she realized they were past the boundaries, moving through unfamiliar parts of the underground space.
“Where is this? How long have you been coming here? How did you know about it?”
“These tunnels go on and on, all around the periphery of the city. I started coming out here shortly before I finished my growth cycle, when my mother brought me. She has friends who decided to cultivate the farm.”
Kes was fascinated. Daggin had actually answered her questions, and although more had immediately formed, she was content to be silent and see where they were going, trusting that any questions she had would be responded to.
Shortly they emerged into a natural chamber which Kes found astonishingly beautiful. Terraces had been carved into the walls of stone, and green plants grew in abundance on each of the terraces. Lights were suspended above them, casting a warm glow throughout the chamber. There was an unusual aroma, something fresh and clean, that Kes found exhilarating. She turned in wonder to D
aggin.
“Tell me about this place. Whose idea was it to build it? What are the green plants? Why are they here?”
Daggin smiled but it was a smile of comradeship. “My mother and her friends created this farm. They believe we shouldn’t just sit around all the time, waiting for rations to be handed to us. They’ve begun growing plants for food. We work to tend the farm, and we eat the fruits of our labor. We’re active, we have more energy than the others, and our minds are being used.”
Kes stared at him. Everything he said was resonating deeply within her, as though a powerful bell were pealing in her mind. A sense of wonder and joy enveloped her, for she knew she had found kindred souls, that she wasn’t unique and alone after all. There were others who questioned their existence, and challenged it. Her heart was pounding in excitement and anticipation.
“Can I do this, too?”
“Of course. I thought you might feel that way.”
“Why is that?”
He smiled and his eyes sparkled as he did so. “I saw you the night you stayed in the Assembly until you fell asleep. I knew you were someone with a questing mind, someone who didn’t accept this docile life of ours. But I waited until you’d finished your growth cycle before approaching you.”
Kes reached out and fingered one of the plants. The leaves were silky and inviting, and she looked forward to nurturing them. For once her mind was quiet, satisfied for now, knowing she had found a place, a niche, where she could be who she was, among others who would understand her and who would answer her questions. She felt a peace she had never in her short life known before.
It wasn’t long after that she found the access tunnels. Once she realized the boundaries of the city weren’t the boundaries of their underground space, she became a relentless explorer. Deeper and deeper into the caves she ventured, always careful to leave markers so she could find her way back, but pressing ever forward, away from the city.
