by Tim Dennis
"Would you like to stand now?" Sach asked.
She spoke softly but even that was almost too much. It seemed he'd spent an eternity senseless. Sight and sound, smell and taste, it was all new to him. Physical sensations of cold and warm and touch, he couldn't handle touch at all. She stood away from him, close enough to lend a hand if one was needed but far enough not to crowd him.
"I think so." He said.
The Doctors had told him, if 'Doctors' was the right word, that Sach had been coming to see him since before they drew him from the tank. He lifted himself off the bed and took a step towards her, feeling every imperfection of the floor through the soles of his feet.
They'd showed him images. Pink and stripy, a fleshy boneless mass of atrophied muscle, a bag of barely functioning organs suspended in a tank of mystery juice. A mystery to Myles, he assumed the Docs knew what it was. His skin had reformed its epidermis before his bones regrew, that was normal they said. But then it had to stretch and grow as structure returned to his body. That was the little pains and aches he had felt before becoming fully conscious.
Sach returned the following week, as promised. In her absence he'd learned much about his time in the tank.
"I guess I'm the first homo sapien-sapiens to be Flashed." He said. They walked slowly in the gardens, Sach letting Myles use her as a crutch.
"Well, technically that's not true." she said. "Physiologically we are sapien-sapiens as well. It's the mind's development, our extra-dimensionality where we differ."
"So we can still interbreed?"
Myles thought he saw a flush of color in Sach's face.
"Our children would not have two heads, if that's what you mean." Sach said.
They walked in silence, pausing every few steps for Myles to rest. He guessed by the many blooms that wherever he was, it was springtime. They reached the edge of the gardens. The opposite side of the street was lined with grand stone apartment buildings.
"You've done it?" He asked. "Flashing? The Doctor told me it was why you were so concerned about me. Is that true?"
It hadn't been the only reason. Sach considered how honest she should be. "Before ToEv went to Legong, Chanly and I tried to do some data gathering. We took the long route in, from the outer system. We chose a trajectory we thought would not attract attention, but your Shield Guard is quite efficient. The incident would show in your records as just another meteor dispersal, but both Chanly and I had to Flash back."
"You have a lot of these tanks?" He asked.
Sach let his hand drop. She tried to look him in the face, but turned away, pretending to be engrossed by the traffic flitting along the edge of the park.
"It's not just about the Tanks, Myles. We couldn't Flash your people because of their linear minds. You were in that Tank for six months. The Flash itself took only an instant, but in that instant you stepped out of these four dimensions into the greater world beyond. You experienced the infinity of space and time. To you it came all at once, a bad enough psychological shock for an Earther, but for most of the Legongs it would have come linearly, one second of time after another. Seconds would pile up and become years, and the years would never stop coming. They would feel that Myles, they would go mad."
Sach couldn't read Myles's emotions. He could be seething in anger or in a deep, suppressed sadness. Or he might just be having trouble processing.
"They might not have come through at all." She added.
Myles wanted desperately to find a way to blame Earth for the catastrophe. Instead, he let Sach help him back onto the stone bench.
"I tried, Sach." He said, too numb for tears.
"It was an impossible task."
"I want to see ToEv. Or Gabrile."
"They're no longer working on the Legong project." She replied.
Sach's visits came at shorter intervals. Walks and talks grew into lectures and tests. If he were to become an Earther he had several hundred years of technology, economics and sociology to catch up on. A month after being extracted from the tank Myles was once again free. He returned to his little apartment in Paris and sulked. A week of that bored him, so he set out to reconnect with the petanque league.
Myles watched the old ladies and gents from the bench. He had his strength and his coordination back, but he wasn't quite ready to re-join the group. They all treated him well enough, asking about his experience, what his plans were. Ferew had Flashed, his experience not so different from Myles's.
"You will, of course, always be welcome here, with us, but it is a large and varied planet, you should travel." The game stopped and the elders surrounded him, Ferew plucking randomly at his guitar as Yasli and Tatko told tales of travels, both on and off Earth.
"There is only one place I want to visit, but it's not there anymore." Myles said.
"Ah, yes," said Yasli, "we know of this. It is a terrible thing."
"They are in a better place." Said Tatko, "and one day you will join them, we promise you that, but in the mean time you are young, you have a life to lead. It is that which you must focus on."
"Maybe I'll just sit in the park, play petanque."
"No no no." Said Ehun, "this is for the old. We have accomplished our goals, we've lived our life."
"At least take up a hobby." Ferew held out his guitar for Myles.
"No." Myles said, putting up his hands in a defensive gesture.
"Take it. I have another." Ferew continued holding it out. Myles hesitated, then accepted the gift. "I can't play." He said.
"You can learn." Yasli interjected.
"You can do anything you wish." Ferew winked.
Myles declined a round of dinner invitations and set himself to wandering with the guitar awkwardly slung over one shoulder. He considered taking the instrument straight home, but felt that would end his day too soon so he decided instead to explore more of the city, visiting shopkeepers and craftsmen, imagining himself first here, then there. He didn't really expect to solve his problems in one day, instead hoping for inspiration.
I'm an Advocate, an Envoy.
"Not any more." said Pig.
Then what shall I do?
The new presence of the guitar brought to mind Harry. It seemed his rival was never under stress, always pleased with himself or pleasing others. Like Carson and Sgullen. They too seemed happy, always surrounded by people. He began taking special note of the restaurants he passed, looking for patterns either in decor or menu. He could find none. He decided the restaurants could be divided into two broad categories: those that served only to satisfy the need for sustenance, and those that satisfied the soul. The third realization he made was that the cuisine of Legong was entirely unrepresented on Earth. At least in Paris.
He continued his research, snacking and imbibing samples from a variety of restaurants until late into the evening, and then, when he could be reasonably certain that the favored place of the petanque league would be closing, he took off across town.
A few lovers and mischievous youths promenaded the streets around Carson and Sgullen's eatery but the place itself looked empty. Carson sat by the window, recording the important events of the dinnertime in stack of bound papers. He looked up, and seeing Myles outside the window, leapt for joy, calling back to the kitchen for Sgullen.
"Cochonnet! You are back with us!" Carson said, dragging Myles in from the street.
"I have made a decision." Said Myles. "I am going to be a cook."
Sgullen came out from the kitchen. "Ah, a noble profession." He said, taking Myles's guitar from him and strumming a random chord. "You know Myles, an ordinary man has only the tools to please one at a time, but with talent and a well equipped kitchen, a chef may please as many as he can coax into his chambers." He played a sensual riff and smiled mischievously.
Myles looked suspiciously at Sgullen, who looked back with such honesty and innocence that for a moment Myles doubted the nature of his entendre. "How do I learn?" Myles asked. "Is there a school, a training program somewhere?"
Sgullen put the guitar down and poured some wine for himself, Myles declined.
"First we must discover if it is in your blood, if you are meant for the life of a chef." Said Carson. "Then, with time, you may become as good as Sgullen."
"Fine. How do we do that? Figure out if I'm a chef?" Myles asked.
The two men looked at one another. "Well," said Carson, strapping an apron around his waist, "there is no time like the present." Sgullen and Carson dragged Myles through to the kitchen, making a clanging and banging as the tools so carefully put away were dragged back out. "First we must decide on what to make."
"Don't you have a menu? Doesn't the customer choose from that?" Myles asked.
"The Customer?" said Sgullen. "What does the customer know about food?"
"No no, Myles," Said Carson. "this is part of your responsibility as a chef. It is for you to know what is good, what is fresh. You must know your patron. How is their health? What are their plans?"
"and you must feel the day," Sgullen added. "Is it raining, cold? Humid? Has there been some great news, a public catharsis? The preparing of the meal is the last task for a chef."
Carson and Sgullen outlined hypothetical diners: A man and his son, out for his son's seventh birthday. They have spent the day in the art museum and counting fountains in the park. They had done a lot of walking, and afterwards would be going to see a show. It was early, perhaps six o'clock.
"Now Cochonnet, what would you make for them?" Carson asked, both he and Sgullen watched Myles closely.
Myles thought about it for a minute. "Um. Ground cattle-beast with a grain paste and dried algae."
Carson rolled his eyes and turned away.
"No, he has a point." Sgullen said. "It is simple, bland, but with a touch of the exotic. The boy is young, if he is unsophisticated..."
"Very well. I think we can start there." Carson said.
Carson pushed Myles into an out-of-the-way corner of the kitchen and he and Sgullen started working. He did not stock algae, so instead he called for carrots, celery and onion. A sample of each flew out of a cabinet, carried on a carpet of blue haze. They positioned themselves over a pan and fell into small pieces. A lump of butter came from nowhere and a flame danced under the pan. Sgullen watched and listened, adjusting the flame with the twiddling of fingers and straining of vision. A lump of solid cow muscle lifted itself from a cooler and laid down beside the stove top. Myles stared into the blue haze surrounding it. It was covered with tiny five-legged spheres, ripping it apart, leaving a pile of tiny shreds in place of the disappearing slab.
"Wait!" Myles shouted. "How am I going to do this? How do I control all these things?"
Sgullen stopped what he was doing. "Ah, right. I forget, Cochonnet. Forgive me."
The lesson changed from cooking to controlling sputties. This was a mental game. "First decide what you want." Carson said.
"I want to cut up the vegetables." said Myles.
"No!" Sgullen said. "You want the vegetables to be a certain size. How they become that size is not for you to decide. At least not yet."
Myles sighed.
His first lesson lasted an hour, and at the end of it, he, along with his teachers, were exhausted. Carson went out to his podium to re-assess the supplies they'd need for the next day. Sgullen put together a package of the vegetables.
"Take this," he said, "and this," he handed Myles a kitchen knife. "Use it to separate the carrots into pieces this size." He held his fingers apart. "Tomorrow, when you arrive with your petanque fellows you will leave them at their tables and come in here with me."
Myles somberly agreed, took his package, slung guitar over shoulder, and headed out.
Despite his failures in Sgullen's kitchen, Myles felt energized. He carried his burden down to the river, a sparkle in his eye matching the moon's reflections in the gentle evening currents. He walked along the embankment at street level, looking down on the river and a second path a few meters below. Lights flickered on ornate poles, competing with the moon for the right to cast shadows. The scene was as in a Legong entertainment, designed more for romance than anything practical. He longed for someone to share it with. He instinctively looked into the sky, try to find a Legong that wasn't there. The wind suddenly picked up and stars winked out as clouds moved overhead.
He'd been unable to prevent the landing from being repulsed, failed to save the Guards from annihilation, and hadn't even been aware of the catastrophe of the Rip and Legong. He knew nothing of the fate of his family, Bento, Harry. With the moon obscured, the dim street lamps only managed the occasional glint off the wind-driven waves. A misty rain began to fall. Ahead lay a bridge, and with no cover in sight Myles took the next stair down to the lower path, reaching shelter only after being caught out by the cloudburst. Just a meter or two from the water, here there was no railing, the stones wet enough to be slick, but not so wet as to be washed clean. The feeble light of the street lamps failed completely at penetrating the shadows under the bridge, and in the confined space Myles felt claustrophobic. Through the pounding of rain Myles heard a noise.
"Hello?"
His voice echoed off the stonework. Myles clutched his guitar and turned around slowly. The rain was coming down in buckets now, bringing with it a cold breeze, sticking his damp shirt against his back. He strained to hear the noise again. Rain smacked stone like meteors on Legong, each producing its own little muddy crown. Between the smacks came the scraping noises. Myles peered into the darkness.
Sgullen gave you a knife.
Myles put down the package and opened it, dumping the vegetables on the pavement. He found no knife.
Beyond the bridge the river danced, each raindrop threw up fingers, reaching for him from below as the sky attacked from above. The swirling, pitching whorls of the river climbed the banks.
It's getting higher.
Again he heard the scratching sound, close, louder now than the noise of the mingling rains. Chittering noises joined the scratching and the shadows, a gnashing of teeth.
What creatures are there on Earth?
What monster birds awaited beyond the bridge, scheming to catch him if he ran from the beasts that must surely be slithering up from the dark waters. Myles dropped to his knees on the cold, muddy stone flags and felt for the spilled contents of his carrier-bag. Something brushed against him. Myles grabbed the guitar and swung it wildly, smashing it at the sounds all around him. With his gift in pieces his hands reached for vegetables, grabbing and throwing until one resisted.
Resisted?
Claws and teeth gripped the vegetable at the far end, brief flashes of light illuminating a four-legged furry thing, the size of Myles's foot with a long, hairless tail. Myles ripped the vegetable away from the beast, stood up and backed away, pointing the vegetable like it was Peto's pistol. The animal leapt at the offer, wrenching the food from Myles's hand and landing at the very edge of the stone embankment. Myles kicked at it, and in its retreat the creature slipped over the edge, frantically scrabbling claws against stone. Myles took a deep breath and looked at the scattered bag of vegetables.
It was hungry. It was only trying to get some food.
Two more hairy things dragged away vegetables, all smaller than his attacker, a third creature sniffed the air and looked around curiously.
Children? It was trying to feed its children.
Myles took a few steps towards the unguarded edge and peered over. The stones making up the riverbank sloped, and on a dry day the creature would have had no trouble climbing back up. But the rains continued, sending waves and currents to catch the beast, dragging at its hindquarters as it scratched and slipped, reaching a little higher, then falling back. Myles stood with the other the animals, chittering away as the desperate wet thing screeched up at them. He searched the underpass. No twigs, no rags, just the neck of his guitar. Myles lay on the cold wet stones, digging the fingers of his right hand into the dirt between while dangling the guitar neck over the edge with his righ
t.
Don't be a fool.
The guitar reached the animal easily, but instead of grabbing onto it the creature slipped, scrambled and moved away.
"Grab it you stupid beast. Grab it!"
Screeches, chittering and Myles's own yelling combined with the sounds of the torrents. A flash of light filled the sky, illuminating the situation well enough to remind Myles that not only the rat was in danger. He gripped the stones more tightly. The three little ones moved away from the edge, away from Myles's flailing limbs.
"Shut up!" Myles yelled. "Shut up!"
"Useless!" one of them said.
"You're only going to stab her and eat her." screeched another.
"You can't even keep a lizard fed."
"Shut up!" He screamed back. He let his fingers slip from between the stones and stretched his arm farther down towards the river. "Grab it! Grab it you stupid animal!" The creature did, grasping one of the strings without getting a hold. For an instant it scrabbled with both front paws and then it was gone. No splash, no screech, no more little beastie.
"Aahhhhhhhh!!!!" Myles spun around, flinging the vegetables and guitar neck against stone and river, and then, waving his empty arms like a lunatic, he slipped, falling on his ass on the cold hard stones. He pulled his knees up to his chest and muttered. "stupid animals. they don't know. how can they know. it was just a stupid animal. they didn't know." He resisted the sobs that so desperately wanted out and lay on his back, spitting out the drips that fell from the damp stones of the bridge above.
Are you finished?
Myles took a breath. He sat up amongst the nibbled-on vegetables, silently gathering those within reach before standing. Myles waited for the rain to subside, and as the dim light of the street lamps reasserted themselves he stepped out, climbing back up the stairs to the street level.
55
Myles woke with the sun in his eyes, his wet clothes on the bed and he on the floor. Unwrapping himself from the rug he walked, naked, into the kitchen, mumbling to himself as he searched the cold storage locker for scraps. He found two-day-old leftovers, slopped them onto a plate, and took them to the door. Instead of a walled yard leading to an empty expanse of rock and scrub brush he looked out at the narrow top floor landing, and his neighbor, Ms. Fipler.
