The Days of Peleg

by Jon Saboe

  He paused and thought for a moment. He tried to apply the dictates of Cosmic Plurality to the situation. The basic premise of Cosmic Plurality was the impossibility of the number ‘one’. If a phenomena or event happened once, nothing could prevent it from happening again; in fact, it was almost certain to be a regular occurrence throughout the cosmos. Cosmic Pluralists were often accused of believing in “space beings” and “life among the stars” without regard for the deeper principles and tenants. If life happened once, it must have happened many times; and he was convinced that a ‘plurality of worlds’ existed and that this pattern was reflected throughout the universe. It most certainly was a mistake to think that life here was an isolated exception.

  He had opposed his wife’s theories on the basis that, although the ancients had some amazing technologies, they most certainly were not able to make the kind of voyage she envisioned. His mind began to formulate a new synthesis. What if they had outside help?

  If there were sentient beings on Nibiru with such capabilities, then perhaps the vanished Watchers had left. Perhaps they could have been rescued by the inhabitants of Nibiru if its path were elongated enough to allow close passage. Inanna would not be happy to give up her Suen theory, but hopefully, if he introduced it gradually enough, she would be satisfied to retain a portion of it.

  “As you continue your calculations and research, keep this in mind,” he encouraged his wife carefully. “Since Nibiru is currently much further away than people thought, it must have been much closer two hundred years ago. In fact it must have a very eccentric trajectory. Also keep in mind, that no matter how far away it is, it will return someday.” He hoped to nudge his wife in the direction of his new theory, but allow her to conceive it on her own.

  Inanna nodded, suddenly concerned. She loved her husband dearly, but it wouldn’t do to have his meditations and ‘hunches’ revising her theories.

  “I’ll get to work on them immediately.”

  Chapter 6

  Mission

  “Is the Universe to be understood or enjoyed? Either option implies purpose.”

  Peleg awoke to the clanging of the large bell suspended above the door of his living quarters. He swore quietly—this was his day to sleep in. He looked groggily around the room and wondered where he had placed his cape. His wives were no doubt singing and playing math games with the children who were still too young for formal education. When they were older, they would be removed to boarding schools if they qualified—just as many of his older children had been. This opportunity was available because of his position in the Citadel. The drawback was that he would lose track of those selected children as they continued their studies, since the Citadel education demanded that all family ties be broken. Every parent knew that their children, in order to be successful, had to join a trade school of some sort. The earlier a child left home and began his or her sequestered training at an appropriate boarding school, the better it was for the community—and of course for the child. Every parent’s first choice was the Citadel, but such positions were very rare, and entrance requirements were very difficult. But there were training schools in just about any discipline: Law, music, masonry, and finance were among the other options. Usually a child could find admittance to one of these before they reached their late teens. But at that time, the relieved parents knew they were probably saying farewell to their child for the last time.

  Most family lines had been lost during the Great Awakening anyway. Peleg had never known who his parents were, and besides, the Citadel taught that family dependencies inhibited the acquisition of Knowledge.

  The bell clanged again, and he grabbed a robe and went to open the door.

  Serug was standing there with a big dumb grin on his face. Peleg hoped he hadn’t been drinking at this hour.

  “Have you seen the Duty Assignments?” Serug was hopping from one foot to the other and talking way too loudly. “Your name is on one of the lists! You’ve been assigned to the Urbat!”

  Peleg continued to wake up. It was not a great surprise, but he was slightly relieved. It would have been embarrassing not to be selected.

  “What about you?”

  “No. Not me. I haven’t even finished my education, yet. I’m only forty-two.”

  Peleg was sure there would be some men that young on this venture but said nothing. He knew Serug was disappointed, but he didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  “Come on!” said Serug, “You’ve got to report to your duty master—although we already know what your job will be. Imagine: ‘The mighty explorer, Peleg; Chief Cartographer for the Urbat!’”

  “Whatever you say.” Although Peleg was renown for teaching Cartography, and excelled in math, he had never really exercised his skills in the real world, on a real expedition mapping unknown lands. His secret concern was his uncontrollable fear of heights.

  “Let me get dressed, and we’ll head on over.”

  The shipyards and dry-docks were in a state of frenzy. It had been four months since the High Minister’s proclamation, which left only three months to complete the building and outfitting of four seaworthy vessels and supply them.

  These fine vessels would also need crews, and it was up to him, Ninazu, to get everyone organized, and make sure that all crewmembers and scientists were taken care of. Someone had conferred upon him the title of Admiral, the Lord of the Waters, but once his current task was complete, he would not sail with the any of the boats in the expedition. Today he was dealing with the new Chiefs.

  “Excuse me.”

  A man with dark skin and sharp indigo eyes was staring over the desk in his open-air office.

  “I’m here to report for duty. I’ve been assigned to the Urbat.”

  Ninazu was going to spend twelve hours every day for the next three days repeating this exchange.

  “Name?”

  “Peleg.”

  Ninazu poured down the columns until he found the name. He poised his stylus to fill in the blank spaces next to it.

  “Ansu or Azu?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Ansu or Azu. Are you a Sky Master or Sea Master?”

  Peleg was taken aback. “Well, neither, actually. I’m a Cartographer.”

  “I can see that.” Ninazu growled. It was going to be a long two weeks.

  Peleg looked down and read upside down. ‘Cartographer’ was indeed inscribed next to his name.

  “We just need to register any extra skills you have. Not many people lack both.”

  He made a mark on his chart.

  “How many of the languages do you speak?”

  “Four.”

  The Admiral looked up with suspicion. “Are you serious? Fluently?”

  “Yes sir, read and write. I can even understand a little in two others.”

  He double-checked the column and scratched a ‘4’.

  “You’re all set, son. You’re confirmed as the Chief Cartographer for the Urbat. You’d better expect to do a great deal of assisting in communications, though.” He looked over at some kind of cross-reference. “Go over to Station 12. You’ll see a list of items you are allowed to bring, and the date you are to report.”

  With that he looked over Peleg’s shoulder at the young man standing behind him and said, “Name?”

  Peleg realized he had been dismissed, and backed out of the enclosure. Serug was standing there waiting for him.

  “Chief Cartographer, Right?”

  Peleg nodded.

  “I knew it! Nobody can survey like Peleg!” Serug intoned in an irritating quasi-melody.

  Peleg raised his hands, looked at the ground and shook his head. “Please Serug, calm down.” He looked up and into Serug’s eyes. “I have a lot of planning to do. I’m getting ready to remove twelve years from my life, and I need to make sure my estate is in order.”

  Serug just stood there, watching him intently.

  “I need to find Station 12,” Peleg said. “Have you seen it?”

  “S
ure,” Serug pointed over his shoulder. “Over there. Next to Station 11.”

  A small dance-drum troop was moving through the area. Apparently the Dock Union had seen fit to bolster morale with some entertainment. The dancers’ feet slapped out a quick septuplet as they stepped from side to side, slowly moving the ensemble down the boardwalk. They were all women and wore thin, sky-blue robes spun of flax over one shoulder, and each held a small percussion instrument of one variety or another. There were finger cymbals, small bells made of crystal and brass, hand-held tigi-drums, šem-tambourines, and of course, clappers. Two young women held a larger drum suspended between them on a pole, while a drummer with two mallets pounded out the one and three of a triplet, emphasizing the first beat which perfectly matched the seven-step phrasing of the feet. The other instruments tapped and sparkled with syncopations while each one moved in elliptical paths around the other.

  “You’ve got plenty of energy,” Peleg teased. “Why don’t you join a drum troop?”

  Serug looked at him with scorn. “Yeah, and while I’m at it, I could study to be a mid-wife.” Percussionists were almost exclusively women; and although there were some well-known male performers, their masculinity was certainly in question.

  A small lyre suddenly appeared from nowhere (apparently sequestered in a small backsash) and a loud, non-melodic ostinato rang out. Peleg looked up sharply at the sound of the instrument and realized that she was using special metal fingertips to hammer the strings.

  The troop moved slowly past, and Peleg and Serug continued to Station 12 which was empty, save for a posted list, informing those crewmembers with Chief status what they were allowed to bring, and what day they were to report.

  Peleg scanned the list. Chiefs were allowed to bring anything that pertained to their primary function. In his case, that would mean charts, measuring and calculation instruments, and, of course, his personal mapping compass. The ship navigators would have their own specialized equipment, supplied by the Great Discovery planners, but Peleg was particularly fond of his own.

  He looked to see if he could bring one of his wives, but was sure that would not be allowed. He thought about which one he would choose if he could, and decided he would take Talah-Barsuu, the mother of his first-born, Reu. But as he read on, he knew it was out of the question. Only captains could bring a wife.

  He suddenly realized that there was a special announcement etched in large lettering at the bottom. He hadn’t noticed it because he had been too busy focusing on the smaller script. It said:

  Special Assignment Meeting

  for Chiefs at Pier 17 Today!

  Zenith plus Three!

  Peleg glanced at the Time-Obelisk which was situated on a small hill to the side and central to the docks. The shadow indicated it was already two in the afternoon.

  “Serug!” said Peleg. “I’ve only got an hour before I have to be at this meeting!”

  “What meeting?”

  Peleg pointed. “I didn’t know anything about it!”

  “Well, let’s get something to eat here, and then I have to run. have Heredity Studies at three, anyway, so I can’t stay long.”

  Peleg nodded. Serug was already leading the way to a covered Akalum stand where Peleg was relieved to see they offered goat and wild dog—not fish. A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him: He would probably be forced to eat a great deal of seafood on this voyage.

  It was going to be a long twelve years.

  Peleg ordered a meal which consisted of sliced goat-meat with melted cheese wrapped in a wheat-bread pocket. Serug indicated he would have the same, and then gave Peleg that hungry baby-Raptor look. Peleg recognized the gaze, and knew he would be buying lunch for both of them.

  The meat was good, but spicy, which was probably done purposefully to increase drink sales. Peleg tried to avoid buying them, but in the end gave in and ordered two rye lagers for each of them. They were very watered down, but served their purpose.

  “You still haven’t said anything about the class with Mentor Inanna.” Serug spoke suddenly.

  Peleg took a deep breath. “Well, I must say I have never really considered history. It just isn’t encouraged. However, our math and astronomy must have come from someplace.” He paused. “A superior race of people? Declining life expectancy? Heredity?” He shook his head. “I’ll probably have to think some more about these subjects—” he looked up sharply, “but don’t think I’m going to fall for any of that ‘flying to the moon’ nonsense! If there was a super race, and their absence has impacted our current life span, well, I’m sure they’re long gone, now.”

  Serug looked into his eyes for a moment. Then he said, “Well, I have to go to class. I’ll stop by later this evening.” And with that he ran off.

  Before he got out of earshot, he turned and yelled, “Thanks for lunch!”

  Peleg entered the tent that had been erected on Pier 17. There were sixty-eight men seated in a half circle in front of a small podium.Many were wearing the large ‘fish-eating-its-tail’ hoop-earring sported by the Azu. He signed the attendance sheet with the quill that was offered him, took an empty seat in the back, and waited.

  The plus-three chime sounded in the distance outside the tent, and a tall bureaucratic looking man wearing a robe emerged from a flap in the tent by the podium.

  “Greetings.” The man had a voice much too high for his size. “I am Minister Rulphax, and this will be very brief. I’m sure you’re used to verbose politicians, but I assure you that I will have you out in good season. Of course, I’m not saying which season that will be.”

  He looked around for the laughter which was not forthcoming. Peleg rolled his eyes. Nothing like a politician wasting words promising not to waste words.

  “As to the matter at hand. You have been selected as Chiefs for the four vessels of the Great Discovery, and we want to congratulate you and clarify your mission.”

  He looked down at a manuscript and began reading.

  “Your Prime Directive is to discover and record any and all peoples and colonies which may have been established in the last one hundred years since the Great Awakening. We know many colonists went out and have never been heard from again. There is also the remote possibility that small groups may have struck out even before that time. Each ship will be given a target realm to explore and catalog these findings. Of course, much attention is to be given to trade possibilities and commerce.

  “Your Secondary Directive is the creation of accurate maps. Safe trade routes. Dangerous areas. Meteorological charts. Coastlines. You get the picture.”

  He glanced up without focusing on anyone, and then looked back down.

  “Finally, we wish to create a comparative catalog of the languages and where they have migrated.

  “Crews are now being decided, but each Chief will have the option to bring one assistant of his choice.

  “Launch is three months away. You will report two days prior to launch, and do not expect to return home after that time.”

  He looked up.

  “At some point between now and then, you will meet with your Captain where any further questions may be asked.

  “You are dismissed.”

  There were some attempts to pose questions for Minister Rulphax, but he had already exited behind the curtain.

  Peleg looked around. This had taken so little time; he could almost catch up with Serug if he wanted to.

  He exited the tent and decided not to try. He walked slowly, looking around. These familiar sites would be out of reach for a long time.

  He arrived back at the city gates and continued walking. Although the word ‘city’ was used, there were probably less than two thousand inhabitants within the wall. It just happened to be one of the largest known settlements to be established since the Great Awakening. Another large settlement was Kemet, and recently he had heard of a new city-state forming on the Mycenaen Peninsula.

  Inside the city, he observed a small class finishing a bird-glider r
ace. As a game, children were given a square piece of thin papyrus which they must fold in imitation of a bird’s wings and throw, competing for distance. They could fold it any way they wished—up to seven folds—but some form of wing was required. Crushing was not allowed. Most children attempted to mimic the outstretched wings of flying birds or reptiles, but it was soon discovered that narrow swept-back wings were best for distance—since there was no way to animate them like the living originals.

  Competitions were held between teams and sometimes schools. His first son, Reu, had won such a contest, and they had sculpted a bronze model of his winning design.

  Reu was born back when Peleg was thirty, just after his first wife had died. Reu would just be turning ninety now. He had not received the benefits of a Citadel education, but as a result, Peleg still knew his whereabouts.

  All parents hoped that their children would be accepted into the Citadel, but naturally there was only room for a select few. Numerous alternate schools were available, offering training in every conceivable endeavor. Among them were academies for business, art, law, and stonecasting, and most of them adopted the Citadel’s practice of removing new students from their home and boarding them so that family life would not be a distraction. Most parents felt successful if their child had matriculated into one of these by the time they reached fifteen.

  At the age of seventeen, Reu had still not been accepted into any schools, so he had finally left home, traveling north to Uruk where he brazenly declared he would start his own school—even though he would have to master a different language. Uruk was famous for its achievements in commerce, and Peleg soon heard that Reu was succeeding in finance or economics or some kind of related math offshoot that Peleg didn’t fully understand.

  But he wished he could have seen Reu before he left.

  As he approached his home, he saw a bright yellow spot in the distance. Serug’s radiant blond head could be seen long before the rest of his body. Peleg briefly considered asking Serug if he wanted to join him on the expedition, but wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to be imprisoned with his young friend for the next twelve years.