by Gavin Chait
He sits on the chair where the nurses usually keep watch. Now it starts.
A tall, straight-backed man enters. Behind him, Edith has a wrap, which she passes through.
‘I am Joshua,’ says the man. ‘Please,’ he motions with the fabric, ‘you may wear this until we are able to arrange clothes that fit.’
Samara takes it and quickly knots it in place after the fashion of the villagers, around the waist and tied at the shoulder.
Joshua nods. ‘You know our people and our language?’
‘No, but I have access to your sphere.’ He puts out his right hand. ‘I am Samara Adaro, of Achenia.’
Joshua grips his hand firmly.
‘I wish to thank you and your people for the care you have taken of me,’ he says. He smiles over Joshua’s shoulder. ‘Special thanks to you, Edith. I am grateful.’
‘He knows my name!’ her eyes morbidly wide.
One plans and then one still is not ready, thinks Joshua. What next?
‘You will have many questions. I am not able to answer all, but I will tell you what I can,’ says Samara.
Joshua nods. ‘There will be much interest. Are you strong enough to talk to the village?’
‘The village?’
Joshua hesitates, then gently places a hand on Samara’s shoulder and steers him out of the room. Thousands have arrived, filling the streets as far as they can see. Half the village is here.
‘This is a small community. There is no space for secrets, and they have all had a part in keeping you safe.’
[Oh dear.]
‘Of course. Where do we go?’
‘We will go to Ekpe.’ Turning to a man at his side, he says, ‘Sound the drum.’
The man nods and races away, threading through the crowd.
‘We are not sure of your recovery. Can you walk?’
[With care and assistance.]
‘Yes, but I am still weak. If it is no trouble, I may need to lean on someone?’
‘Certainly. Do you need nourishment?’
[Fish broth. Three litres.]
‘If I could have three litres of fish broth, please?’
Edith nods and disappears into the crowd even as Joshua and Samara start walking. They make their way through the side streets to Calabar Road, towards the market, around the ring of Market Road to the apex, and then Ekpe Road.
Now they hear a deep boom. A drum has been struck.
It sounds again. The percussive burst carrying out and across the village, into the fields and jungles beyond, where birds take fright. The acoustics channelling the resonance through everyone within hearing.
Ekpe Road is the widest and shortest in the village, almost a village square. It is tree-lined, with a short pillar upon which is a carved wooden box in its centre. The road is packed with people all watching expectantly.
Samara’s eyes close and he stumbles.
Joshua catches him, almost collapsing under his weight, but Samara wakes immediately and recovers.
‘My apologies.’
They arrive before a deep amphitheatre. Below, at the far end behind the stage, is a long, open-sided structure. The roof is of palm-frond thatch and it is held up by two massive brass pillars. The shelter is positioned narrow-side on to the amphitheatre and appears to be about twenty metres long and five metres wide.
Between the two pillars is suspended a colossal carved tree trunk. It is a slit drum and a figure strikes it now, sending out another epic boom. It is the last, and the figure withdraws.
Joshua leads Samara down into the bottom of the amphitheatre and then up a short flight of stairs to the stage in front of the structure. Closer, Samara sees that the building has sufficient space inside for at least fifty people to gather. Today, however, the meeting will be in the amphitheatre for the entire village.
The Ekpe House is at the crest of the town. It provides an unobstructed view from the high ridge in the centre of the village, over a cliff and down to the river and jungle below.
Chairs are brought and placed in the shade at the edge of the roof. Joshua motions for Samara to sit, worrying that it may not support his weight. It does.
They wait as the amphitheatre fills. A profusion of coloured wraps, umbrellas and peculiar things that people happened to have with them as they were going about their day. Groups of children of all ages arriving from a long building to the west of Ekpe Road are herded in by what must be their teachers.
[They appear more prosperous than I would have expected.]
‘Your population estimate appears about right.’
[Yes. But. Something unusual.]
‘Yes, I see what you mean.’
In time, the people settle and there is silence.
‘I call Ekpe,’ says Joshua, his normal speaking voice magnified and carried to all parts of the amphitheatre by embedded amplifiers.
‘Our visitor is Samara Adaro, of the sky people.’
A moment of thrilled conversation as people repeat the name to each other. To have someone who lives in space visit their tiny village, it is very exciting. ‘I will lead questions and then, as is our custom, any of you may ask as well. Please, though, our guest is still very weak. If we have to draw Ekpe to a close prematurely, we will resume when he is stronger.’
Edith appears with a large pot filled with warm broth, and a decanter. She has assumed that a bottle will probably work better under the circumstances. She remains in the shade behind Joshua and Samara, prepared to refill his bottle as the village meeting continues.
Joshua now sits and faces Samara directly. ‘Ekpe is our village gathering. Laws are passed here. This is where we discuss matters of importance and make decisions. Ekpe does not always need to involve the whole village, but, today, you can understand the interest.’
The formality is strange to Samara, but he can see the intensity with which Joshua is staring at him and the depth of emotion of the people gathered to listen.
‘I understand, and I accept Ekpe.’
‘Very well. There are two things of immediate interest: how you came to be here, and whether your being here threatens our village.’
[We expected these. Remember, charm. Oh, and I’ve located the sphere.]
‘Where?’
[It is on the short brass post we came past in the centre of that square before the amphitheatre. They have it under a box, for some reason.]
‘My name is Samara Adaro of Achenia. I understand your questions. There is danger, but it is not here,’ he says, addressing the amphitheatre.
There are gasps and a rising hubbub.
[That wasn’t charming. Please, do not scare them.]
‘My apologies. I mean that the danger I am escaping is in the United States, a long way from here. We are outside the connect, and they cannot find me here.’
‘I am not sure that is helpful. Are you a criminal? Why do they pursue you?’ asks Joshua.
[Tell them.]
‘What do you know of the sky people, of us?’
‘Not very much. That your people live in cities in orbit about the earth and that you keep to yourselves.’
‘Yes, but we are not one nation. There are many cities in orbit. Each is distinct and independent from the others. Some are privately owned, some belong to particular countries. All, independent or not, are expected to hold allegiance to one country.’
‘We understand. That is not very different from Ewuru and Nigeria.’
‘In my case, I am from Achenia, which is the largest of the orbital cities.’
‘How large is that?’
‘We number about eight hundred and fifty thousand people.’
Again, the jumble of conversation and exclamations. The sound settles.
‘Our people are organized very differently to you. I am of the Nine. We are the –’ [Careful.] ‘– defenders of our people. We offer legal enforcement and protection against threats.’
‘Nine because there are only nine of you?’ Joshua is trying to assess how lethal
a soldier he must be if nine can defend eight hundred and fifty thousand.
‘Yes. We do not make the laws or judge whether they have been broken. We are completely subject to our laws and answer directly to the Five, the judiciary of our society. Only they have the legal right to call on us or send us to war.’
‘Are you at war? Is there a war between your people and the Americans?’
Joshua can see that the question causes Samara tremendous anxiety. Many people are speaking now but still the amphitheatre is able to isolate and amplify their voices over the noise.
‘I don’t know. I –’ Samara squeezes his forehead as if willing an answer there. ‘– I was on a diplomatic mission to the US to discuss our cutting the umbilical and leaving. I don’t know what happened.’
[Samara.] ‘They cut off my ears!’ [Samara. Gentle. Please.]
‘Your meaning is unclear. Why would you need to go to visit the Americans? Do they own your city?’
Samara is silent. He appears locked in some internal struggle. Then he seems to recover control.
‘Achenia is owned by our people, but we are nominally associated with the US. Many of the great orbital cities have been cutting their ties to earth. In our case, perhaps literally. We manage a space elevator to move large quantities of freight up to our city. There are only two other such elevators left, and organizations who may wish to place freight in orbit use our services. This is how we have transferred megatons of material to build the space cities. It is not much used any more except as a safe channel to exit the atmosphere.’
‘You call this an umbilical? You would wish to cut it loose, like a child leaving its mother?’
Samara pauses. ‘Yes.’
‘I understand. Does this –’ he searches for a word, ‘– cutting? Does this cause conflict?’
‘We are the largest and most technologically advanced city. Our leaving will have many consequences for the planet. I was part of a delegation sent to negotiate with the American government in Washington. We were agreeing ownership of the elevator, amongst other things,’ says Samara.
‘This went badly?’
‘No, I didn’t think so. But –’ [You’ll need to simplify a bit. Maybe up to the first blank?] ‘– one of our delegates went missing. I went in search of him, and then I was rendered unconscious.’
‘How? We saw how much damage you can survive.’
‘I am unable to say. When I awoke I was on Tartarus, the American space prison.’
‘A prison in space? Why would anyone build such a thing?’ asks Joshua.
Samara gags, clutches his mouth, his chest heaving.
[Calm.] ‘They were eating each other!’ [Samara. Remain present.]
Edith leaps to his side, Joshua bracing him to prevent his fall. She rummages for a cloth and pours water on it before wiping it across his brow.
Samara grabs at the cloth and holds it over his eyes, regaining his composure.
‘I am sorry,’ his breath easing. He nods at Edith, the damp cloth crumpled in his hand and resting on his leg.
‘Tartarus is an evil place. It was built to dump America’s most unwanted. There is no hope there. Transportation to Tartarus is to death, one way or another. I saw things –’
Samara seizes Joshua’s arm. ‘I will see that place brought down. No one should suffer so, no matter their crime. We honour ourselves when we have honour even for broken men.’
Joshua grits his teeth under the pressure of Samara’s hold. Easing his fingers loose, he settles Samara back in his seat. The cloth drops to the ground. Edith retrieves it and, her heart pounding, returns to the shade.
‘You escaped, though?’ says Joshua, carefully.
‘Yes, I built a craft and escaped and landed here.’
Joshua sucks on his lips. Samara’s terror of the jail has chilled him, and many of the villagers look frightened. He decides not to press Samara any further on his time there.
‘That last part would seem to cover a great deal. But, no matter. It would, as you say, not appear to affect us. Do you think that your people might now be at war?’
Samara has been gradually drinking the fish broth, but there is insufficient energy there and he is growing tired.
‘As I said, I am unsure. My people will know I am missing, but I am unable to contact them. I crashed here as both outside the connect and sufficiently close to be able to reach the earth-side entrance to Achenia.’
‘Why can you not contact them? Why not simply go to the connect? It is only two and a half days away in Calabar,’ says Joshua.
‘No!’ Samara looks both exhausted and determined. ‘I don’t know who put me in Tartarus, or why. The Americans monitor all communications in the Earth-side connect, and I would be spotted immediately.
‘Normally there are antennae embedded in my ears so that I may contact my people directly. Without them, I would make myself known to those who pursue me as soon as I enter the Earth-side connect, but I would not have access to Achenia to call for help. That would create danger for your people.’
Joshua looks confused. ‘Where are your antennae?’
Samara’s exhaustion and isolation begin to overwhelm him. ‘They cut off my ears!’ he says, his voice anguished and despairing, his pain suddenly stark to all. Then he topples sideways off the chair, and is unconscious.
Joshua stares. ‘But I can see his ears?’
Then, ‘Quickly. Carry him to my house and place him in the guest room. Careful with the bed.’ Four men run for the stage.
Joshua stands and addresses the now quite chaotic crowd. ‘This Ekpe is suspended. We will return after sundown at eight this evening. If our guest is awake, he will join us, otherwise we will discuss the events of today.’ Then he follows the men who are carrying Samara.
The villagers are now very excited. This story, of the man who fell to earth, and his pursuit of justice, will become a legend.
8
[You are at Joshua’s house. It will take a few hours before I can ensure that you do not pass out again. In the interim, please remain as calm as you can.]
Samara opens his eyes. A young boy is close, staring at him. He grins in delight.
‘He is awake, Father,’ he calls. ‘Hello,’ smiling. ‘I am Isaiah.’
‘I’m Samara,’ he says, carefully shifting himself into a sitting position. The mattress is on the floor and the frame is leaning against the wall alongside.
They stare at each other, each as if they are seeing a creature of such fabulous peculiarity for the first time.
Joshua comes into the room, a mug of tea in each hand.
‘Do you drink tea? I find it helps.’
Samara realizes he has been staring, ‘Yes, sorry. It is many years since I have seen a child so close. Our people do not have so many children any more.’
‘Why not?’ asks Joshua as he hands him one of the mugs.
‘Our lives are long. We seem to have fallen out of the habit,’ he smiles. ‘And I was thinking that I am far too young and irresponsible to have children just yet.’
Joshua sits on a chair at the desk in the room. Samara remains seated on the mattress while Isaiah compromises and squats on the floor between them.
‘You must be at least my age,’ says Joshua, assessing him. ‘Thirty-eight is a good age to have children.’
‘Oh, I’m much older than that,’ says Samara.
‘How old are you?’ asks Isaiah.
‘I’m ninety-three.’
‘That is older than Aunt Miriam,’ exclaims Isaiah.
‘How is that possible?’ asks Joshua.
‘My body is host to a symbiotic intelligence. I lend it my subconscious and it forms a biological network to maintain my health. I can choose to be any age, but most of us –’ he smiles, ‘– most of us prefer to remain young.’
Joshua thinks. ‘I can understand why you would embed such a network, but why does it have to be intelligent? Is that the voice we hear when you are unconscious?’
&nbs
p; Samara nods, ‘His name is Symon. We have a close bond, which maintains the balance of the system. Managing all the functions of the symbiont is extremely complex. I cannot do that and be me as well. Without Symon’s intelligence, my mind would become unstable.’
‘I am unable to imagine what that must be like?’
‘You have a voice in your head you speak with that is really you? I no longer have that. I have Symon. It takes training not to lose one’s identity during the integration process. We don’t let children integrate with either the connect or with a symbiotic intelligence.’
The complexity is boring Isaiah. ‘Are you married?’ he asks.
‘Isaiah!’ says Esther, who has just come into the room and is leaning against the door frame, listening.
‘I don’t mind,’ says Samara. ‘Yes. My wife is Shakiso,’ looking sad and forlorn even as he takes strength from thinking of her. ‘We have been married only twenty years. She is one of the leading advisers within the Seven. They’re a sort of nominated group who offer insight to our people. They are like your father and the amama.’ As he speaks of her, his voice changes, goes soft, and his body relaxes.
‘Your ways are very strange to us,’ says Esther.
‘Yes, they must seem so. They have arisen because we live a long time in a confined space. There is nowhere else to go and we must find a way for everyone, not just the majority, to seek fulfilment.’
‘Can I speak with Symon?’ asks Isaiah.
‘No, not here. On Achenia, our atmosphere – the air we breathe – is different, almost a living organism. There Symon can project his presence outside my body and interact with others.’
‘Oh. What does he look like?’
‘You have seen him. He’s the silver fluid in my body,’ laughs Samara. ‘But I understand what you mean. On Achenia, he can look like whatever he wants to. Some people have symbiotic intelligences that look like people, while some look like animals or simply abstract shapes. It depends on the person concerned. My father –’ he stops.
‘Your father?’ asks Isaiah.
Samara shakes his head. ‘I will tell you another time.’
