Win

by Vera Nazarian

  When they return, Zaap’s eyes are full of excitement, and he sings the “transform” note while still in the water, so that the delphit rises up and flows into the pegasus shape with Zaap still astride.

  By Noon Ghost Time, the cove is full of Contenders riding various animal shapes, most of them equine or aquatic. The Games audience loves it, and the noise of approval overhead is constant.

  As for me, I’ve been somewhat reluctant to get up on the white winged horse because it is truly huge and because honestly I’m a little afraid of it.

  Yeah, I know. . . . Great time to be afraid now—when I only have half a day to get used not only to riding, but to riding three different types of animals and then racing them tomorrow morning.

  To quote Brie, “Holy crap on a stick.”

  “Hey, you need to get up on it already, Lark,” Brie calls down to me from her own huge palomino as she confidently sits bareback, holding what is now a radiant bridle. “You don’t have much time to practice. Seriously, move your butt—”

  “I know,” I reply tiredly, standing next to my pegasus on the water-hardened sand near the edge of the beach. “In a little bit.”

  “Just think your commands and it’ll take care of the rest. Easy! Even a dweeb like you can do it!” And she gives me a sarcastic grin then takes off down the beach.

  I sigh, and turn to look at the blazing-white, imposing creature at my side. Looking closely—the glare of Hel makes the dense coat of hair or maybe the skin of the pegasus gleam and glitter as it feeds from the sunlight. . . . It seems that light itself is trapped just under the surface for a few instants of suspended time as it gets absorbed.

  I blink and then force myself to focus on what I need to do.

  Right now I need to learn how to ride.

  Resting my hand against the pegasus’s neck, I pause with indecision about what note to use to indicate “go.” I’ve already settled on F as the “transform” note, and G as the calming “stop” note.

  “Hey,” I say to the pegasus, running my fingers carefully through its soft mane. “Maybe you can help me decide? I’ll sing a note and you tell me which one you like best. Deal?”

  I know I won’t get any response, and it’s not even necessary, but this is definitely my form of micro-procrastination. . . .

  And so I start to sing the notes in a scale, holding each one for a few seconds. With each instance I imagine the pegasus running fast with me on its back, and I mentally ask the pegasus if that note combination evokes this feeling best.

  As I vocalize the notes, I watch the pegasus for any reaction. Now and then I feel a faint funny itch in the middle of my forehead. A light buzzing sensation.

  A strange idea comes to me. I switch back and forth between notes randomly to see if the sensation may be the result of my own vocal sound vibrations resonating in my sinuses, or if I’m just imagining it.

  Strangely enough, the buzzing itch increases with some notes and decreases with others. I focus on the notes that seem to evoke the most intense buzz in my head. And then I start to slide from one note to the next without distinct intervals, in an attempt to pinpoint the specific tone that makes the buzzing most intense.

  As I do this, I notice something odd. For the first time the pegasus has turned its head towards me fully, and its violet eyes are looking at me with more than just a blank wild animal stare.

  I stop singing and meet its gaze. And then I stare . . . because a strange swirl of color suddenly passes along its neck and rises then falls along its backbone. Red and purple pulse with green, and then the colors return to white.

  At the same time the buzzing in my head has gotten very loud.

  What is happening?

  I frown, raise my one free hand to rub my forehead that’s now itching like crazy. And then I resume sliding the notes.

  Just as I return to a certain note sequence, somewhere between a D and an E, suddenly I feel a blast inside my mind—a blinding flash of ripping pain explodes in my forehead, its location deep under the skin in the middle spot above the bridge of my nose.

  And then, like a tunnel, something opens.

  I think in that moment I briefly lose consciousness. . . . A flood of sensory data swirls through me—images, colors, sounds, scents, immense stars and microscopic specks of sub-atomic particles.

  None of it is my own.

  My world shifts. . . . I experience vertigo, and I involuntarily reach out and hold on to the pegasus around the neck to remain standing.

  That’s when I perceive an alien presence within my mind.

  A voice as deep as an ocean speaks inside me, in a language that is neither English nor Atlanteo, and yet I understand it absolutely.

  At last, it says. The frequency is a match.

  Still touching the pegasus by the neck with one hand I squeeze my eyes and shake my head. I’ve either lost my mind or I’m having another Games drug-induced hallucination.

  You are sane and healthy, human, the voice speaks again. Don’t be afraid. We can communicate.

  “What?” I mumble, looking at the pegasus. “Are you really speaking to me? Is this real—I mean—I can hear you! What’s going on?”

  The pegasus blinks its violet eyes.

  Yes. We are talking. This is how my kind communicates.

  “No!” I say, shaking my head. “This is just crazy!” And then I glance around to see if any of my teammates can see me arguing with a horse. Apparently, not.

  I am not a horse, the voice says. But you know this.

  Did I just hear a twinge of humor in its tone . . . inside my mind?

  My lips part as the realization sinks in deeper and deeper—not to mention, the open “tunnel” in my forehead is now receiving a constant stream of data, which makes me feel overwhelmed and unable to focus on the present moment. It’s as if I am experiencing double vision, two realities superimposed on each other, my own and an alien other.

  “Okay,” I say out loud. “If you really are talking in my head, please raise your own head up and down.”

  The pegasus slowly moves its head up and then brings it down. For one instant it seems that its violet eye regards me with . . . amusement. And then the expression fades.

  “Holy crap . . .” I say, as the undeniable fact slams into me at last. “You are sentient!”

  Yes. And so are you. I am glad, the pegasus says.

  I raise my hands to hold my face, almost dropping the harness cord. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry! We’re treating you as animals, and you are sentient! Oh, no!”

  Please stop speaking with your mouth. Use your mind instead, the pegasus says. You must not let the others of your kind know what we are. We must maintain the semblance of lower animals in order to stay safe in your world. . . .

  At once I shut up. And then I attempt to “think” my words to it.

  Words are limiting. Use complex images, the quantum being replies. Simply show me what is in your mind. Remember your experiences and I will know them.

  And I try to do just that.

  Our exchange goes somewhat like this, but with fewer words and more pictures.

  “Are you an alien?” I say. “Or are you originally from Earth?”

  Both and neither. I am alien to your world and to your universe. But I and my kind were brought into your space-time reality from the spatial location of Earth.

  “Does your species have a name?”

  Yes. But the name your kind gave us, together with this original form of fixed matter, is sufficient. We are pegasei.

  “Do you—the individual you—have a name?” I think-say awkwardly.

  Yes. But my personal name is impossible for this space-time reality. You may name me.

  “Okay,” I whisper out loud, then recall myself and think-speak. “How about—Arion?” And I visualize the wise sentient horse from Ancient Greek mythology.

  It is appropriate. I will answer to Arion.

  “I’m Gwen Lark,” I think-say.

  I know who/what/wher
e/whence/when/where to/why you are—now that we are bound at the same frequency.

  “Oh. . . .” My mind feels sheepish as I reply.

  “About that frequency,” I think-say. “What exactly did I do to make this—whatever this is—happen?”

  In reply I hear a single deep note played in my mind. It doesn’t seem to fall neatly along any conventional musical scale, being off by an infinity of micro-intervals, too flat or too sharp or too something in-between.

  The note resonates with buzzing inside my forehead, and I feel a vibration in my bones. Immediately the tunnel space in my forehead widens, and I feel another incoming rush, like a wind of thought. . . .

  This is the frequency. It is a connection between your form of energy and mine, the pegasus whom I just named Arion says. Few of your kind are able to connect to my kind. Those who do, we value. But we also ask you for your discretion. The reason for it you may come to know eventually—but not yet. Suffice it to say, we are in danger from you.

  I nod, then think-say, “Yes. I may not understand but I accept it.”

  Gwen Lark, you already understand more than you think. Even when we are not frequency-connected, we can understand much of your image-thoughts. But it is only one-way. You think at us and we understand your general meaning. We choose not to respond.

  “So you are making an exception for me?”

  The exception has been made because of the nature of the situation and the nature of you.

  Just at that moment, Chihar and Kokayi approach, riding their pegasei. At once I’m flustered, and I look away from my sentient pegasus and pretend I’ve been adjusting its harness.

  “Imperial Lady, you need to try to ride,” Chihar says to me. I notice his own pegasus is an odd shade of blue-gray, but solid and detailed, with a significant wingspan.

  “Um . . . yes,” I say. “I was just getting ready to try to—to make the attempt to . . . ride.”

  Good thing I sound nervous now because my teammates can simply attribute it to a phobia of horse riding.

  Don’t be afraid, I will allow you to ride my back safely, Arion speaks in my mind right at this moment.

  I blink and try not to react.

  Remember, simply think your answer. I can hear your thoughts.

  “Okay,” I think-say.

  And suddenly I realize that Chihar’s pegasus and Kokayi’s pegasus are both staring at me.

  “Wait—can they hear me too?” I mind-speak.

  Two new alien voices reply in unison.

  We can hear you.

  And then, all of a sudden, a chorus of a hundred alien voices speaks in my head, coming from all directions around the cove.

  We can all hear you.

  Chapter 87

  There are no sufficient words to express what goes through my head in that moment. And that’s saying a lot, considering that there’s been a brand new mega-highway of information streaming though me for the last few minutes, and I can’t shut the damn thing off.

  Don’t worry, you will soon learn to control the data flow, Arion says in response to my shock.

  “Uh-huh. . . .”

  But now, you should listen to your friends. This race that you have tomorrow—you will need to complete it—for the sake of many things. We will now practice the ride.

  I mumble something to Chihar and Kokayi and then walk past them, “leading” Arion along the beach.

  Climb on me, the pegasus tells me, stopping. I will stand still. Use my hips, back, and shoulder blades for hand holds. If we were not watched by others of your kind, I would kneel and lower my body before you, but that would give me away. You must make the effort on your own.

  I carefully place my hands around the creature’s mid-section and back, then heave and climb up with difficulty. I end up hanging on my belly across its back for several long ridiculous seconds.

  Oh, for crying out loud. . . . Gwen, clumsy klutz, Lark. . . . No that thought was all me, not the pegasus.

  Your first time riding, the pegasus remarks. Again I feel a surge of amusement from it.

  “What gave it away?” I mind-speak, continuing to hang across its back on my abdomen, like a sack. “Now I just need to turn around somehow. If Anu were here, he’d say I need a forklift.”

  The moment I think of Anu, I can sense a surge of memory information flow toward Arion, so that suddenly it knows and absorbs yet another aspect of me and my life. How much does he or she know at this point, it occurs to me? Aeson . . . my family . . . friends . . . Earth.

  I know only as much as you give me, Arion reassures me. We do not pry, we do not impose, only share.

  “That sounds like a good way to exist,” I think-say as I finally turn myself around with a grunt so that my legs come to hang on each side of the equine back, and I am sitting up. The two great wings are folded on either side of me, and I take care not to touch them as I lean forward to hold the neck.

  And I am neither male nor female, Arion tells me. Not in the same way as your species has a division of sexes.

  “Fascinating!” I think-say. It really is, and my mind starts going off on a biology tangent.

  But just then Arion tells me, Hold on!

  And suddenly we are in motion, running along the beach.

  The sensation is both terrifying and amazing. The power of the equine muscles and limbs is distributed in a smooth balanced motion as I cling to its back, my pulse pounding with anxious excitement.

  I can feel each potentially jarring impact of the hooves pounding the wet sand as a minor vibration—the great creature’s limbs act like shock absorbers, transforming and realigning the energy.

  As we run, I see other Contenders scattered all over the island cove also engaged in riding training. At one point we pass several members of Team Irtiu coming out of the water, their pegasei in the middle of transforming from aquatic animals to the classic winged horse shape.

  Thalassa is first out of the water, gracefully riding a great pale grey tif-nu-sha. As they emerge from the foaming surf, gliding smoothly, the sha rises up and becomes a scarlet-red pegasus with a fiery mane and wings. Thalassa never loses her seat, so smooth is the transformation. She happens to glance at me and my pegasus as we canter by, and throws me a look of angry fire to match her creature’s coloration.

  I shiver involuntarily and look away. Meanwhile Arion senses my fear and complex negative feelings toward the blue-haired Entertainer and picks up the pace, lengthening its stride into a gallop to remove us away quicker.

  In some ways the effect is unfortunate, because it appears exactly as if we are showing off. The blazing-white pegasus galloping past Thalassa with me on its back must be a really stunning sight. . . .

  I try not to think about it as we keep going, continuing to circle the island, slowing down to a canter then a trot, then speeding up all over again.

  Soon Hedj Kukkait and his team pass us, riding in the opposite direction. Hedj’s pegasus is pure ebony-black, but with white wings and a flowing white mane to match the rider’s own looks. The White Bird leans into the creature’s back, streamlined and beautiful in form as he speeds past, nearly flying.

  Other familiar Contenders move past us, and I look up to see Deneb Gratu on a huge golden pegasus with a dragon-like wingspan twice the size of many others. The golden pegasus and rider are circling in the air, halfway between the ground and the hovering audience platforms, doing stunning aerial dives and climbs, accompanied by spectator noise.

  Talk about showing off. . . . Deneb is basking in it.

  After running many laps around the cove, which gives me the chance to get used to riding, we switch to an aquatic animal and try the swimming portion.

  I concentrate on a dolphin form and transmit the image to Arion, who smoothly transforms while I remain seated on its back and hold on. . . .

  We plunge into the cold water and I let out a squeal as I wrap my arms around the strange new rounded, sleek body.

  Use my fins to hold on, or use the torso, the qua
ntum energy being tells me. But choose your grip wisely. It will be slippery and wet and you must hold on tight, or you will fall off.

  I muddle my way for a few minutes until I finally come up with a practical seat, with one hand on a fin and another on the body. We spend most of the time doing the water practice. At some point several of my teammates find me and we rip through the water together riding various colorful delphit and sha. I notice Lolu’s delphit is also pink. Kokayi sticks with the rainbow motif, and Chihar switches to a sea-green.

  Finally, there’s the aerial training part. I try to think of a large Earth bird, and an eagle comes to mind. But then I remember a more streamlined avian and visualize a hawk soaring through the skies over Earth. . . .

  “Are you able to make the hawk big enough for me to ride it?” I mind-ask the pegasus.

  A good choice and yes, Arion replies.

  I take a deep breath, feeling the transformation happening underneath me, and my fingers scramble desperately for a new handhold, to avoid falling off. Then two wide hawk wings unfurl, beating powerfully and I feel a sprouting of feathers, while the dolphin nose morphs into a beak, as we leave the water and burst out into the sky. I squeeze my eyes shut momentarily from the vertigo, recalling my old fear of heights.

  But then I open them and we fly.

  By the time Hel sets and the artificial illumination lights up Benben Island, I am exhausted, stunned, overwhelmed, and, yes, still relentlessly mind-blown by the new reality of the nature of pegasei and the data flow inside my mind. But at least I’m feeling a little more confident about the Triathlon Race tomorrow.

  “Saw you riding your white stallion, Lark—looking good out here,” Brie says with a tired wink as we all settle down on a sloping hillside past the top of a dune.