Parallax (William Hawk)

by William Hawk

  When he arrived, Shana was waiting with the sensor, a small double-tined fork. William turned his arm out, and she pricked his skin quickly. It hurt the first time, but he’d gotten used to the swift pain. Proof explained the sensor once, saying that it was for research purposes. Nobody knew exactly what type of research he meant, not exactly.

  William went over to his pod. It was his in the same sense that a chair was yours in a classroom; everybody tended to choose the same pod every day, even though they were all the same. It looked like a long coffin. Shana had cleaned out the white goop, as she did every night.

  “Shana, what is that white stuff that always appears in our pod?”

  “We pour it inside as soon as you go into the tag-along,” she replied “It serves as a kind of spiritual conductor. It makes the experience a little crisper.”

  “Proof never told us about that.”

  “Maybe nobody ever asked.”

  William climbed into his pod. It was made of some type of polymer that was slightly spongy, like the bottom of a playground mat. It was always cool to the touch.

  “I have another question,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “Are we ever going to meet the Ancient Engineer?”

  Shana was matter-of-fact. “It depends entirely upon him. And you. Lie back please.”

  William lay down in the pod, feeling the back of his head come to a rest against the polymer. It was comfortable here, like a firm but slightly giving mattress. A person could comfortably lie here all day without falling asleep.

  Shana came over with the armband and affixed it to his right bicep. It featured a digital readout. William didn’t need to look down to know what it was showing, a continually changing series of biometric readings, including heart rate, internal temperature, and other core body processes.

  “How many snaps have you done?” said William.

  “You have a lot of questions today,” came her reply. “But the answer is a few hundred.”

  “So you should be a CA3 by now.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said. “Close your eyes and get ready.”

  William obediently shut his eyes, and she slid the top of the pod over his body. Now he was encased entirely in a pure white polymer pod. His eyes tracked the soft blue light that ran around the edges of the pod, casting a pleasing glow. He watched as the light slowly moved through the entire chromatic spectrum: indigo, violet, red, orange, yellow, green, and back to blue. He felt hypnotized.

  From outside came the sound of footsteps as the others arrived and climbed into their pods. Then he heard the soft sounds of the lids being closed.

  At last, the colored lights dimmed, and through the frosted translucent case, William could see the various images of the parallax begin flickering on the ceiling. He turned his head. In the pod next to his, Grace sat with the top open, looking at the choices. This was customary; William had done the same yesterday.

  He saw her arm lift toward the ceiling and point. He wondered which one she chose. They all had their own prejudices. Trina liked tropical sites; Jeremy favored darker, moodier locations; while Hunter was flatout unpredictable. William wasn’t quite sure about his own preferences. Mostly he was just interested in meeting new people. He was just thankful to have been given the opportunity to be here.

  Then the pod fell away, and William felt himself falling away, down, down, through a long tunnel, bits of light flashing past him.

  CHAPTER 6

  IVE HUNDRED BREATHS.

  William was astride a horse hurtling across an open range. He wore a felt coat with long sleeves that covered his arms and hands. His elbows were loose, and his body was relaxed on the animal’s broad back. The horse had a long shaggy mane.

  The air was sharp and clean, the grass green and long. Overhead, the sky shone an intense shade of brilliant blue that he’d never seen before. The sound of the horse galloping on the ground beat a tattoo under the sound of the wind whistling past his ears.

  William turned his head. Next to him pounded another horse. It had a larger head, a shaggier coat, and stubbier legs than he had expected to see. He guessed that was probably to help the animal survive winters.

  The rider, like William, wore a traditional coat that was as blue as the sky overhead and a loose ankle-length robe with a high collar that was buttoned from the left over to the right shoulder. William felt the lining inside his own coat and guessed that it was probably made of sheepskin or fox. Underneath his coat were heavy pants tucked into boots, which were curved up to tiny points. Lastly, around his waist was a sash, and William could feel a knife riding there.

  The other rider turned and looked at William with hard, cruel eyes. His face seemed vaguely Asian, but not Vietnamese or Cambodian or Japanese. The face was a lighter shade and wide with higher cheekbones.

  William suddenly knew where he was.

  In Mongolia.

  His host turned around, and William got a glimpse of the size of the group he was travelling with. Behind him were a thousand riders on horseback, all trampling across the plain. A massive cloud of brown dust rose into the air behind the group.

  He was part of an enormous Mongolian horseback army.

  Four hundred eleven. Four hundred ten.

  Then William saw something else that surprised him.

  About a hundred feet behind him, a globe seemed to float around one rider’s head. It looked like a helmet of light, an aura or a bubble, much like the ones that Christian painters of old used to depict holy people. This particular one was a pale blue.

  He remembered the word. It was a nimbus, and he got a strong sense that this rider was Jeremy’s host. He couldn’t say how he knew. It was just an intuitive thing. He knew that was Jeremy the same way he knew that he liked bacon and eggs.

  He looked to the other side. Another rider had drawn up alongside his horse, the animals’ hoofbeats echoing one another. This soldier had an orange nimbus, and William’s intuition told him that this was Grace’s host.

  Scanning the pack of riders, William saw the other two nimbi. A hundred meters back bobbed a third one, a yellow one; he knew it was Trina. The fourth was on a distant horseman, separated from the rest of the pack, and it was black, so black that it nearly obscured the rider’s face. That was definitely Hunter. As William watched, Hunter’s host swung his butt out over the side of his horse and dropped two steaming turds on the ground. The horse never stopped running.

  That was definitely Hunter’s behavior. William wondered if he’d found a way to manipulate his host’s behavior, or if Mongolian horsemen always acted that disgusting. It was entirely possible that Mongolians crapped off the sides of their horses for fun.

  They rode for a few more minutes, and William marveled at the wildlife on the hillside. Little ground animals scurried into their dens as foxes chased after prey. Swans floated down the streams that crossed the plains. Ravens swept across the landscape, while hawks perched on rocks, waiting for a meal.

  On a nearby horse, another rider lifted an arm, and William felt his host tugging the horse’s head to the left. About fifty others did likewise, and soon he realized that this was a division of the army, and that they were headed somewhere in particular.

  Three hundred thirty-eight. Three hundred thirty-seven.

  In the distance, tucked into the foothills, a series of small circular structures appeared. William rode up to one, stopped the horse, and hopped off. Twenty other riders arrived, one by one, including the other members of William’s team. The nimbi made them easy to spot.

  The soldiers laced their horses together by tying the reins to a common line, then turned toward the structure. William recognized it as a ger, more commonly known as a yurt. It was the traditional shelter for Mongolians who lived in the rural areas.

  William felt himself talking to another soldier about the rain clouds on the horizon. Then they were chatting about the likel
ihood of finding alcohol or a pretty young girl in the ger. This conversation wasn’t particularly enlightening. As far as William knew, soldiers had been seeking food and sex for as long as there were soldiers.

  William’s host gazed at the structure. The wooden framework appeared to be sturdy. A layer of felt made from animal hair covered the roof and sides. Sturdy ropes helped hold the felt in place, and huge rocks anchored it all in place when the wind blew, which was probably often. A wooden door had been placed on the side facing southeast.

  One of the soldiers cupped his hands and shouted at the ger. A dog started barking. A minute later, a man came out through the doorway. Dressed in shabby clothing, he was probably a herder. Next to him stood a young boy, not more than seven years old. The child ran to the dog and sat down on its head. The dog stopped barking.

  The soldier and the man exchanged greetings. Then the man welcomed the soldiers to enter his ger, one at a time, to receive some airag, the fermented horse milk that was the universal Mongolian welcome beverage.

  Two hundred forty-five. Two hundred forty-four.

  William felt himself walk across the grass toward the ger. The herder greeted him warmly, with a broad smile and open gestures. The door was painted a bright red.

  He entered the house, realizing that his hand was on the knife in his sash. Just in case. He sensed from the host that using it wasn’t unheard of.

  Inside, double poles with a wooden ring at the top had been placed in the center of the circular home. Rafters were inserted into the ring, and long orange poles connected the ring with the top of the walls, which were hung with patterned fabric curtains. There were no windows except for an open flap at the top, allowing for ventilation.

  William took in the rest of the ger. The marriage bed stood opposite the entrance, holding cushions for sitting and quilts and clothing. A low wooden stool in front of the bed indicated the guest’s place of honor, facing the entrance. A chest with a Buddha altar was nearby, painted orange, which seemed to be a good luck color. Saddles and hunting gear were nearby, on the left side of the ger, protected by the sky god. A single carpet had been thrown over the dirt floor.

  In the center of the floor was the man’s wife, who crouched over a large bag that was tied to a pole, whirling the bag. William felt his host smile. This must be the airag.

  One hundred seventy-two. One hundred seventy-one.

  Three other soldiers entered the ger, and William joined them in taking seats on the low stools. One of them was Hunter, the black nimbus so obvious to William that he was surprised nobody commented on it. The woman opened the bag and dumped the liquid into a wooden bowl and handed it to William. He took it in his right hand, flicked three drops to the sky, then inhaled. It smelled milky and acidic and bitter and floral all at once. Then William felt himself take a sip. It was a strange liquid, sour and alcoholic, but his host enjoyed the flavor.

  The woman passed around a hard-dried curd that looked like a biscuit. They all took turns gnawing at it. William thought it was decent. He’d learned in these snaps that what passed for food depended greatly upon region, era and class status.

  Eighty-four. Eighty-three.

  Across the hut, Hunter’s host suddenly reached over and picked up one of the saddles, threw it over his shoulder, and stood up. He started to leave the ger, but the owner stopped him at the door. They got into a heated conversation, with both of them gesturing to the saddle and the horses outside. The man tried to take the saddle from Hunter’s shoulder. Hunter became upset, the nimbus grew even darker, and he pulled his arm back as if to strike the man.

  The atmosphere grew thick with tension.

  Fifty-two. Fifty-one.

  The other soldiers leapt to their feet and restrained Hunter. He immediately changed, the nimbus grew less dark, his body relaxed, and he lowered his arm. He sat down at his stool again.

  Everybody relaxed. William’s host let out a giant sigh of relief. William, meanwhile, had a sneaking suspicion about what had just happened.

  Hunter had made his host try to steal the saddle.

  Thirty-seven. Thirty-six.

  The owner left the hut and returned carrying what looked like a bloated, furry ball. It was blackened and burnt and disgusting. The charred smell invaded William’s host’s nostrils. He guessed that it had once been a large prairie rodent, maybe a marmot.

  The man put the thing on a wooden tray in the middle of the room, and then slit it open with a knife. Hot coals and nearly raw animal entrails spilled out of the animal’s belly and onto the tray. Using the knife, he cut the entrails into pieces, one by one.

  As he did so, William felt his host’s stomach rumble. William had committed to this experience, but part of him hoped that the snap would finish. Quickly. Raw marmot intestine wasn’t his idea of enlightenment.

  Sixteen. Fifteen.

  The man speared a chunk of pink animal intestine on his knife and handed it to a soldier. Then he did the same to another, and to another. Then to Hunter. William watched them chewing contentedly, small grunts of pleasure coming from their mouths.

  Nine. Eight.

  Finally, the man speared a chunk of the delicacy and handed it to William, a big open smile on his face. The man was nothing if not hospitable. William watched his fingers take the meat.

  Four. Three.

  William watched himself lift the raw innards to his mouth.

  Two.

  The intestine touched his tongue.

  One.

  The flavor of raw excrement filled his mouth.

  Snapback.

  CHAPTER 7

  N THE POD, WILLIAM SNAPPED AWAKE, the horrendous taste still in his mouth. He turned his head and spit into the white goop that had appeared at the bottom of the pod tank, as usual.

  He heard Shana moving around outside, opening each of the pods.

  At last, his own slid open. Shana unfixed the armband and offered him her hand. William ignored it, preferring to pull himself out.

  Hitting the floor, William’s feet felt strangely heavy. He’d noticed that his reaction to each snap was different. Sometimes he felt giddy, sometimes he felt sad, sometimes he felt ineffable awe.

  This time, he felt both excitement and a deep sense of unease, and he knew the reason for both.

  “How was it?” Shana asked.

  “I ate raw animal turd,” he replied.

  Surprise registered on her face. “For real? I hate it when that happens.”

  “Totally putrid. It was awful.”

  “Once I went to a snap in Borneo that turned into a cannibal family picnic.” Shana shook her head at the memory of it. “I will never forget that.”

  Around them, the others were stepping out of the pods. Every member of the team experienced each snap differently, depending on many factors, particularly the type of host they were assigned to. At the moment, Trina looked frightened, while Jeremy just seemed tired. After all, not every snap was created equal. Some would be more intense experiences than others. It was a numbers game, in a sense. Proof had explained that they were simply seeking individual breakthroughs. William’s breakthrough had arrived today. He was able to see the nimbi as clear as day.

  And he’d also seen something else.

  He watched Hunter climb out of his pod. His teammate wore an artificially relaxed look on his face, as though he knew he’d just gotten away with something.

  When he noticed William standing nearby, he ambled over casually. “Mongols, man! Pretty wild, huh? I always wondered what it was like to be part of Genghis Khan’s army.”

  “I figured that was where we were,” said William.

  “Yeah, it definitely was. My host kept thinking about him.”

  “Mine didn’t.” William decided to venture a small comment. “Hey, did your host want to steal that saddle?”

  Hunter’s narrow eyes searched William’s. “How did you know my host tried to steal a saddle?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  Hunter made a
lateral movement with his hand as though wiping things clean. “I had nothing to do with that, man. We don’t always tag-along with the nicest people in the world.”

  With that, a vicious wink fluttered briefly at the corner of his eye. Than Hunter walked away, and William watched him go. He felt suspicion in nearly every inch of his being.

  Hunter had just lied to him.

  

  Later, in the debriefing room, William sipped the strange tea beverage and watched as Proof went around the room, eliciting responses.

  “I felt terror,” said Grace.

  “Why?”

  “My host tried to steal a girl, and her father caught him.”

  “What happened?”

  She dropped her head. “There was a fight. He beat me.”

  Proof put a hand on her shoulder. “Remember, it was just a tag-along. You were a visitor to their time and place.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just, we’ve discussed this before, the whole violence thing.”

  “Violence is a part of life,” said Hunter.

  “I’m not talking about killing animals for food,” Grace said. “I’m talking about unnecessary violence.”

  “Killing animals is unnecessary,” said Trina.

  “You’re a vegetarian,” said Hunter.

  “So what?” she shot back.

  “Shana’s not a vegetarian because she loves animals,” said Jeremy. “She’s a vegetarian because she hates plants.”

  “Will you shut up,” she said, laughing.

  “Anyways,” said Proof, trying to calm them down, “let’s pick up this topic later tonight. I’d like to move to William’s experience.”

  William cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Well, this was an interesting one, because for the first time, I could identify everybody.”

  Proof looked confused. “Who is everybody?”

  “The five of us.”

  “How?”

  William calmly explained how he was able to see nimbi around everybody’s heads. He described the colors, the textures, the translucence. Proof’s eyes grew wide, and he faced William square on.