Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2)

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  "You mapped your own motivations onto them," said Linda, nodding.

  "Indeed we did. Which leads us to reason three, because it eventually became clear that they were not like us. Which left us quite perplexed. These aliens were not acting at all as we had first expected they would. Their motives were almost impossible to divine. Their behavior was too absurd."

  Linda shifted in her chair and stretched her legs out. "How was their behavior unexpected, William?" she asked. "I think I know what you mean, but it would help to hear your take on it."

  The Fisherman shook his head as if in disbelief. "Well, there were so many of them, first off," he said. "So many types of spacecraft. So many kinds of beings. So many shapes and sizes. Some were indistinguishable from human beings. Some were strange but at least humanoid. Some were quite outlandish in appearance. And they kept doing the same things over and over. Were they scientists? Well, how many soil or semen samples did they need? Were they explorers or anthropologists? Why intrude so dramatically and then remain so elusive? Were they secretive because they meant to wage war against us? Then why not get to it and let the battle begin? And why wait years and decades and even centuries while we amassed an ever more powerful arsenal of weapons and technology to use against them? They were inscrutable. You see what I mean."

  Linda nodded. "Sure," she said.

  "These are the questions that drove the public UFO enquiry throughout most of the twentieth century and into the twenty-first," said the Fisherman.

  "But The Families took their investigation underground."

  "We did," replied William. "When we got more clear whom it was we were dealing with, we could look back in time and see that we'd been interacting with non-human intelligences for a very long time. There are stories in The Families that go back many centuries. Sightings. Exchanges of information. Meetings. It proceeded along in fits and starts for a long time. They were so... elusive, you see. And we were busily gearing up to conquer the world."

  "But at some point things must have ramped up, William. I mean... for you to have built the Herschel Colony back in the sixties..."

  "Indeed," said William with a nod. "Our current trajectory began late in the 19th century, about the time of the so-called 'mystery airship' flap. Meetings with a number of intelligent species. Treaties. Deals. Crashed and gifted ships and devices. Back engineering. Technology transfers. The world you know, the space program you've seen, NASA, the whole thing, it's all been a front, a way to control the story while working behind the scenes to further our plans. As a general rule, we are decades to centuries ahead of the mainstream human culture, technologically. We have been for a long time. With the help of the aliens, we've built and flown our own conscious ships, we've explored the Solar System, and we've begun, as I've shown you, to move our species beyond the confines of the planet Earth."

  "Well that's all very nice for you then," said Linda.

  William smiled indulgently at Linda's tone. "I'm afraid it hasn't been nearly as neat and simple as my little recap implies, Madam," he said. "As one Family member once put it, partnering with aliens has proven to be as befuddling and dangerous as staging a Broadway musical with a cast of tigers." William smoothed his neat beard. "Some are so strange that it's unsettling to be in their presence. Their motives, ranging from helpful and supportive to decidedly antagonistic, seem fluid and even bizarre. And it often feels like they are all in on some massive joke, with us as the laughing-stock."

  William closed his eyes and took a long breath, then returned his attention to Linda. "Still, there has been a core, long-term experience, with a few species, and one in particular, that we've grown to trust. Or had trusted, until the Life retreated in response to your rather careless and ill-informed actions some years back. But we know now, or have an inkling at the very least, I should say, of what is out there awaiting us, of what the stakes are, and how we might proceed, given the situation we have found ourselves in."

  "And that is...?"

  "The Cosmic Community, Madam. The chance for humans to take their place in the commonwealth of intelligent beings, out amongst the stars, just as you've been saying. And the opportunity to step beyond the confines of the materialist paradigm, and into a reality most people can barely imagine. It's the grandest spiritual quest ever, and we're taking it."

  "Sounds like the copy for another brochure," said Linda.

  The Fisherman scoffed. "Sounds to me like something worth achieving at any price."

  "And 'Cosmic Community' sounds an awful lot like extra-terrestrials to me," she said.

  "Some are, if by that you mean physical beings visiting Earth in technological devices from elsewhere in this manifest cosmos. But the reality, it turns out, is so much more than that. The Cosmic Community includes beings from levels and realms outside of either time or physicality, and beings from seemingly physical realities so different from our own that even our laws of physics are not the same."

  "And why is it that The Families got to know all about this but the rest of us didn't?" asked Linda.

  "We were invited to the party," said William, raising one eyebrow. "And we accepted the invitation."

  "Ah," said Linda, nodding. "No doubt because you already had tuxedos." She wrinkled her brow. "But it does not seem fair to me, William, that only a few of us humans get to attend this grand party."

  William leaned forward and opened his mouth to respond but Linda cut him off with a raised hand. "I mean, c'mon, William. Think about it. You and your people are decades ahead of us, you say. You've got alien technology that has allowed you to start colonies on Saturn, for crying out loud. You' got... I don't know... anti-gravity and... and... free energy. All sorts of shit. Undreamt of power. And look what you've done with it."

  Linda stood and waved her hand over her head to indicate the totality of her exasperation. "Look what you've done," she repeated. "All that power, and all you and your people could think to do with it is go off on your own and leave the rest of us behind as the planet burns up?" Linda fell heavily into her armchair. "Why, William?" she asked, her voice now soft and gentle. "Why have you allowed things to get so bad that genocide could begin to sound like a good idea? Why did you not bring us all along with you?"

  William nodded, his eyes downcast, his thoughts elsewhere. He took a long breath, then another, and another. Linda watched as he sat with her question. It felt like maybe she'd touched something deep inside that he had not known was there. But it also felt, or at least Linda had the suspicion, that even this was all for show, part of a grand manipulation so far beyond her understanding, so alien, that she could not wrap her mind around it.

  At last William looked up. "The aliens insisted," he said sadly.

  "Jesus," Linda spat. "Okay." She pushed back into her chair and hugged her knees to her chest. "Tell me about that."

  11.17

  "That's the third damn time I've gone down the rabbit hole!" said Ted. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

  Carl looked up and smiled. "You quittin' boss?"

  Ted leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "No, I ain't quittin'," he said.

  Carl picked a card, read it, and moved ahead six space. "You okay?" he asked.

  Ted sighed. "You asked about my father," he said.

  "Yeah, I did."

  "It made me remember," he said. "Your asking. I didn't want to remember." Ted looked at Carl and wrinkled his nose. "But I do."

  "He beat you or something?"

  Ted shook his head. "Never laid a hand on me. Was a pretty good guy, actually. But he disappeared."

  Carl nodded. "Left your mother when you were young?"

  "Nope," said Ted. "Stayed with her until they both died of old age. He just left... inside. He... he went into hiding."

  "So he wasn't available emotionally, then," said Carl.

  Ted rolled his eyes. "Listen to yourself, Bro," he said. "You sound like some TV shrink. Leading questions. The correct jargon. All
interested and shit. Could you just shut up and let me talk and try to get it?"

  Carl closed his eyes and breathed slowly. He nodded slightly, then opened his eyes. "You're right, Ted. I keep doing that. Pretending I'm here to help you. Which allows me to ignore the question of whether I have anything that I need to deal with."

  "Right," said Ted. "Like you're Mr. Healed or something."

  "Sorry," said Carl. "You wanna tell me more?"

  Ted stared down at his feet and thought for a while. "It was those aliens," he said at last. He looked up at Carl. "Damned little green critters that came and took my Dad away in their ship. And he was a physicist, and he ended up working in some underground military facility and shit. He was gone a lot. And when he was home, he was always distracted. Always reading. Or just sitting and staring into space, or up at the sky. Couldn't or wouldn't talk about any of it with my mom. Said he'd get us all thrown in jail if he said anything. He smoked a pack a day. Drank every night. It all just shut him down."

  "That sounds hard," said Carl.

  Ted looked Carl in the eye and nodded. "Yeah. It was hard." He motioned toward the Uncle Wiggily board. "I don't remember ever playing a game with him. Or joking around. Or just hanging out. He worked. He slept. He stared into space. Sometimes he'd sit with us for the evening and watch the television with my Mom and me. I think that was the best time." Ted stopped. His face was dark and his eyes were small and tight.

  "He disappeared," said Carl.

  Ted inhaled deeply. "Yep," he said. "And then the little green monsters grabbed my mother and me and we started to disappear too."

  Chapter Twelve

  12.1

  What caught Gabrielle's attention first was the smoke. She initially thought that the fire must be up on the Interstate. An accident, perhaps. A burning vehicle. But as she approached I-95 from the west, the smoke receded further in the distance, drawing her eastward under the overpass. Dusk was approaching, and Gabrielle was looking for a safe place to hide away for the night. She didn't know if the smoke meant safety or danger. She wanted to at least scope it out from a distance.

  When she'd fled Winthrop, Gabrielle had stayed mostly in wooded areas, her route shaped by a body of water that pushed her due south. Eventually she'd come to a road that looked so desolate and quiet that it felt safe to follow. That had brought her into the tiny town of Bowdoin, where she'd found a state road map in an abandoned service station. She learned from the map that she'd been following the shoreline of a small lake called Annabessacook. And she found that knowing where she was gave her great relief. Her route, chosen in a moment of panic and desperation, had set her up to make her way down to Squirrel Island while avoiding Augusta.

  Avoiding Augusta, with its government and its military presence and its cordon, felt like a smart thing to do. She'd seen that flying saucer once, glinting in the afternoon sun. That must be what they meant by the "AB" that had been "dispatched" to pick her up. It was far away when she saw it, back in the direction from which she'd come, but the way it moved, slowly passing just above the treetops as it tracked methodically back and forth, made it clear that it was searching for her. She was thankful that her chip did not allow them to follow her, but she had to be careful in any event.

  Squirrel Island was her destination. That was where the President was being treated. That was where the moment would happen. So that was where she had to go. And it didn't look that far away, really. Twenty miles? Twenty-five? Surely she could walk that far, if she didn't run into trouble.

  But not today. It was getting dark and Gabrielle's feet hurt and she needed to find some clean water. And there was that smoke ahead, a dark gray column rising against the fading sky. Which probably meant people. Which meant food and water and shelter. The question was: did it mean food and water and shelter for her.

  What caught Gabrielle's attention next was the music. It sifted into her awareness slowly, like the coming twilight. There was a deep insistent booming beat that seemed to travel through the earth underfoot, with snippets of guitars and horns and voices flitting about in the breeze, first loud, then soft, then a bit louder. It was joyful music, thought Gabrielle with a smile. Funky, it seemed, when she got close enough to make out the actual songs. Some classic rock. A couple of country tunes. And with the recorded music she heard snatches of extra voices, as people sang along. Gabrielle imagined a block social, a dance party, a joyous celebration erupting under the warm night sky of a small Maine town. She quickened her step, her heart beating with hope.

  Eventually she could see the flames, or the reflections of flames at the very least, as they danced across the side of what looked like a long, white barn. The sign on the roadside said she was at the edge of Bowdoinham, Maine. Keeping to the edge of the woods, Gabrielle walked closer, her heart pounding with the funky beat, her mind wary. She scanned the small houses across the road, but found nothing and no one to fear. She crossed a yard behind a burned out trailer, then stepped out onto the rough, open, corrugated surface of an old field. She could see the barn clearly now, and a huge bonfire in the driveway between it and an old farmhouse. The wind was starting to come up, catching the flames.

  And then a young man grabbed her from behind and put her in a chokehold. His thin, steely arm was black with soot and grime and tattoos and he reeked of old sweat and bad breath as he pushed Gabrielle toward the fire, causing her to lurch forward to keep from falling. She tried to call out but her throat was clenched tight, so she grabbed his arm with both hands and tried to pull it away.

  "Just chill out, girl," said the man as he pushed her across the field. "We'll be there in a second." He eased up on Gabrielle's neck and she sucked in a deep breath of cool air. She tried to turn her head, tried to speak, but he tightened his chokehold again and grabbed her hair with his free hand, keeping her gaze on the fire. "You don't take direction too good, do you?" he said, panting from the exertion of holding her and walking.

  When they stepped onto the farmhouse yard, he called out a name. Jeff, it sounded like, though it was difficult to tell with the music blaring. Gabrielle could see two or three others standing near the fire, and a few more sitting in lawn chairs further back from the flames, and half a dozen children chasing each other around. One man, must have been Jeff, turned at the sound of her captor's voice and started walking toward them.

  "Found this young thing watching from Mike's place," said the man who held her when Jeff got close enough to hear.

  "I said we ain't doin' people yet, Scotty," said Jeff, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Let her go."

  "But what if-"

  "I said 'let her go'," said Jeff. Scotty sighed with frustration and released his hold. Gabrielle fell to her knees in the tall, brown grass.

  "This 'young thing,' as you call her, is a person," said Jeff as he bent and offered Gabrielle a hand. Gabrielle, regaining her breath amidst her sobs, took his hand and stood, then stepped to Jeff's side, away from Scotty.

  Scotty, a short, thin young man with a shaved head and missing front tooth, glanced shyly at Gabrielle, then down at his feet. "I'm very sorry, Ma'am," he said. He looked again at Jeff, shrugged a reluctant apology, and walked toward the barn, disappearing into the gloom.

  Jeff turned to Gabrielle and smiled. "He's young and stupid," he said, nodding toward the barn, "and he doesn't really get what we're doing here. Not yet." He offered Gabrielle his hand and she took it and he led her back toward the fire.

  "What are you doing here?" asked Gabrielle. Her voice was shaky and dry and faint and Gabrielle could barely hear herself over the music.

  "Satisfying God's demand," said Jeff, leaning over to speak right into her ear. His voice was warm and calm with quiet confidence.

  The music quieted a bit as they approached the fire. Somebody had noticed that they had a guest. Close up, Gabrielle could make out what was burning: furniture, mostly, but also what looked like siding boards and picket fencing and the trunks of a couple of small trees. On one side of the bu
rning mound was a smoldering pile of clothes. Next to the clothes was a wooden rocking horse, almost unrecognizable. And above that was what appeared to be the charred corpse of a cat or small dog, sizzling in the flames. "We built this sacrificial flame to honor and appease the Lord our God in this time of great tribulation," said Jeff, loud enough for said Lord to hear him from above. As they stood there a young girl in a flowered dress and bare feet ran up to the fire and tossed a headless chicken onto the fire. An older boy came up behind her, a hatchet in one hand and the chicken head in the other. He tossed the head on the fire and took the girl's hand and together they ran back toward the house.

  "But why are you burning a chicken?" asked Gabrielle, shaking her head. "Was it sick? Aren't people hungry?"

  Jeff regarded Gabrielle with a gentle smile. "The Lord is coming with fire this time," he said. "Those of us who have been left behind are given the task of helping." From the far side of the fire came a shout to "watch out!" and Gabrielle stepped back in time to see Scotty and an older man toss a futon frame on top of the pile. The impact sent a fountain of sparks into the twilit sky.

  As soon as the fire settled back down, a pair of young boys approached, carrying a dead goat between them. They tossed the goat as high as they could, but it landed on a slope that couldn't hold it and rolled back down to the base of the fire and away from the flames. As quickly as they could, the boys dragged it back from the heat, got a better hold on the animal, and ran forward to toss it again. This time it stayed lodged in the flames. Its fur ignited almost immediately. The boys, satisfied, wiped their hands on their shorts and ran away.

  Gabrielle looked more closely at the people sitting in lawn chairs. This group was mostly women, with a few older kids mixed in, and they appeared to be sorting things. Clothes. Toys. Kitchen utensils and appliances. Lamps. Some of them sang along with the verses as they sorted, more joined in on the choruses. Anything that was obviously wood and paper got tossed closer to the fire, where a one-armed man picked it up and tossed it onto the mound. But other things got put into boxes and bags. "The metal, glass, and plastics go into separate piles, awaiting further instructions," explained Jeff when he noticed where Gabrielle was staring.