by Jack Doe
Bryce considered it. Tuition was expensive, and his grandpa didn't have the money to pay for it if Bryce couldn't do it himself. Then again, give him another month, and he'd have spent the £12 on another season pass. He reached into his pocket and took out the notes.
"Wise choice," the woman said, chuckling. "If I can interest you in a lifetime membership..." Bryce's face brightened hopefully. "...it'll be £1000 more."
Bryce's posture sagged. £1000 was a tenth of his yearly salary and all of the disposable income he had for an entire year; all of the rest of his money was spent on tuition and living expenses. He shook his head. "I–I can't," he said apologetically.
The woman smiled. "There, there, dear," she said kindly. "I had to throw it out there, but the good Lord knows that it's a lot of money." She handed him a clipboard with a form to fill out for his membership. "How are your studies going?" she asked.
"They're going," Bryce said distractedly as he began to fill out his information. His penmanship was lacking, but he tried to make it legible. Why didn't they have a computer for this, yet? He thought about it; he could probably go online and do the same thing with his iPhone.
"What are you studying now?" the woman prodded.
"History," Bryce replied, still focused on the clipboard.
"Well, duh!" the woman laughed. She took the clipboard back to get Bryce's attention. "Come on, Bryce, fill me in!" She leaned her elbows on the counter between them, folded her hands in front of her mouth, and regarded him with bright, expectant eyes.
Bryce sighed. "I'm bored, really," he said. He took a seat next to the counter and rested his arm on it. "All we cover is the kings and queens. It's as if antiquity never happened. I want to learn about this place," he said, holding his hands up in reference to Stonehenge. "Who built it, and why? What did it mean?" He sighed. "I want to learn about interesting history. I don't care about the Norman conquest; if I've learnt it once, I've learnt it a thousand times. I don't care about Mary I or Henry VIII. All stuffy sods, if you ask me."
The woman arched her eyebrows. "Mighty strong words coming from someone studying history!"
"They wouldn't let me go straight to archaeology," Bryce replied frustratedly. "I have to make it through a year of history first before they'll consider me."
The woman nodded. "Hang in there, kiddo; remember, they're not going to let you in if you don't do well this year."
Bryce nodded. "Oh, I know, Sheila. It's just boring, is all. And work today was..." he rolled his eyes and his head back and pulled his lower eyelids down to express his lack of enthusiasm.
Sheila laughed. "Oh, I know exactly how you feel! Was I ever glad to see you when you walked in!"
Bryce frowned. "Haven't there been a lot of visitors today?"
Sheila shook her head. "No, only a few. There was a dark-haired girl who came by with a brown-haired boy; they were here only a few minutes, and there was a tour group, but that's been it."
"Odd," Bryce said, making a face. "Such a nice day and all..."
Sheila nodded. "It happens sometimes," she said, shrugging. "We always appreciate our regulars." She grinned. "At the rate you keep coming here, you could practically teach the classes!"
Bryce's face brightened. His manager was nice and all, and the pay was what you'd expect, but it wasn't interesting work. "Do you think...?" he asked.
Sheila frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe," she said. "You'd have to lose the hair and beard, though. Ya look like a ragamuffin!"
Bryce pouted. "Aww, I like my beard!" he said, running his hand over the patchy tufts of hair on his face.
Sheila handed him back the clipboard and another form on it. "Seeing how you're filling out information anyway," she said, "you might as well fill out an application. I'll put in a good word for you. I really was serious about setting a record for most visits, you know."
Bryce grinned as he took the clipboard, filled out his information on both forms, and handed it back to her.
"Here's your membership card," Sheila told him. "Make sure you bring it with you. Even though I know you, I can't let you in for free if I don't see it." Bryce took the laminated card and nodded, but he lingered, biting his lip.
"I'll give your application to the director," Sheila promised. "It may be a day or two before he can review it."
Bryce grinned. "Thanks, Sheila; you're the best!" He reached over the counter and hugged her.
"Anytime, kiddo," she beamed back. "It's good to see someone young and fresh interested in this place."
Bryce left the welcome center and walked out onto the path that circled the monument. He wanted to touch the stones, as if like a horse whisperer, to communicate with them telepathically, to get them to open up to him, to tell him their secrets. For now, he had to settle for sitting on the edge of the path, staring at them, taking in the details he could see, their position, the little carvings into them, the smooth sides and rough sides, the colors. Every time he came, if there wasn't someone lecturing, he picked a different place to sit and watch the stones, to take in a new face of them, and by the time he left, he could picture the side of the monument in graphic detail. If he had been able to draw, he could have created a nearly exact replica, down to the individual crystals of the dolerite in the bluestone or the sandstone in the sarsen stones. But he couldn't, and he was content just to be in the stones' presence, hoping for that day when something in his life would budge, something would move forward, something would become less of a bore.
Chapter 6
The tiny dot that had turned out to be the sun had been slowly making its approach over the last twenty years, and as it drew very near to the port side of the spacecraft, the entire ship was in a commotion. It was less than a day's journey until they reached Earth, not yet visible, but they knew they were closing in on it. The ship's crew reduced the craft's speed. Everyone was restless and excited.
It had been thousands of years since they had last encountered mankind. Ing'ma did not know—nor did any of the centaurs—how advanced mankind had become, if they were peaceful, or if they would welcome their long-lost cousins. They did not know whether mankind knew how close they were, and if they did, if they were preparing a welcoming party or mounting an attack.
Already the ship had picked up on the presence of life on the planet and had broken it down according to complexity. Mankind was far more populous than it had been millennia ago. There were very few places that he didn't have a presence. When Ing'ma learned of this, he suggested that a scouting party go ahead and determine what the humans knew. If they had not evolved, the ship could orbit the planet. If they were somewhat evolved, the ship could hide behind the moon, and if they were very evolved, the ship had best venture no closer than an orbit around the sun until relations could be established.
As anxious as he always had been to meet mankind, Anul'thek volunteered immediately to do the scouting, and Ing'ma agreed. There were no dissenters. Everyone knew that Anul'thek was cautious but brave, passionate about mankind, and as well-versed in humans as Ing'ma had been able to make him.
It was with a mixture of anticipation, restlessness, and caution that Anul'thek got into his scouting pod, a tiny craft that wrapped itself around him like a cocoon. With its tiny size, it took very little thrust to propel it rapidly. The thrusters engaged, and he zipped off from the ship, streaking like a tiny comet towards the earth.
When his ship made it as close to Earth as the moon, he instructed it to circle the planet so that he could get an idea of what was going on. Powerful lenses let him see the buildings of Manhattan, the Great Wall of China, observatories in Colorado, military bases all over the world, research facilities in Antarctica, the rich of some countries and the poverty of others. His radio sensors picked up all manner of satellite communications and recorded them. His ship did not have the power to interpret the messages, let alone decrypt them; he would need the main ship's computer to do that. No spacecraft approached him, and judging by the many tiny satellites and one large sa
tellite that appeared to have a tiny bit of life on it, mankind's space presence seemed to be pretty limited..
Anul'thek returned to the ship, and by the time he had gotten out of his pod, the computers had already decoded the information from the satellites: video, aural, and textual data displayed itself for all to see. The centaurs were pleased to see that mankind had developed a broad means of communication and were intrigued by the clips of music and video that man had created. Clips of television shows gave the anthropologists an opportunity to piece together some of mankind's culture.
From the information Anul'thek collected, the centaurs determined that mankind was not unified and that there were very diverse cultures, some of them old, some of them new. They could tell that mankind was not entirely peaceful and tended to be suspicious of things that were new, that their diverse cultures had resulted in rifts between them that could make them violent towards each other.
The warrior centaurs were relieved to find that the humans had not seen Anul'thek, but the presence of the large satellite that mankind called an "international space station," indicated that they would probably see the much larger ship if it approached too close. As a result, Ing'ma instructed the ship's crew to hide the ship behind the moon. That would allow the ship to communicate with the scouts while remaining hidden from mankind. The communication would allow linguists onboard the ship to translate for the scouts should they encounter mankind, which of course was the intent.
Now there was the difficult decision of where to begin scouting. Many of the centaurs expressed interest in landing at De'ru, their original homeland, and from a philosophical standpoint, Anul'thek agreed; however, he saw that many areas near De'ru were densely populated. A scout could land there easily enough, but staying out of sight would be difficult. De'ne was also densely populated, and the populace there was very violent. De'bar seemed perfect: it was remote, had a sparse, mostly peaceful population, and had been the perfect blending of fertile soil and favorable climate. There was ample tree cover there to hide under and behind. Alt'udia, although one of the more remote locations, had had an influx of mankind, who lived in and near the caves the centaurs had once used to build their ship off the planet. The people there were not peaceful and seemed hell-bent on killing off people all over the world. Anul'thek and Ing'ma voted in favor of De'bar on account of its isolation and its inhabitants' peaceful natures.
Although centaurs were generally known for being logical above emotional beings, something of this magnitude was too great for them, and many of the others expressed strong desire to start at De'ru. Of the options, De'ru was the second-best, and although there were heavily populated areas near it, there were also areas that had relatively little human presence. Using imagery collected from Anul'thek's scouting mission, the centaurs found a place very close to De'ru where a scout could land and begin to interact with mankind on a limited basis, to discover from them firsthand whether the centaurs would be welcome or not.
The only major challenge was lack of cover: there were few trees, and the caves a bit to the north had become tourist attractions. Ing'ma recommended that Anul'thek wait until dark to land so as not to attract attention to himself, and then locate individuals to watch. It was agreed that Anul'thek would make the trip alone, and once he'd found some suitable individuals, he would introduce Ing'ma, who would then begin negotiating the arrival of the rest of the centaurs. All that was left to do was wait for nightfall at De'ru.
Anul'thek again found himself staring out the canopy in the observation deck, his whole body tense to the point of shaking. A hand on his shoulder made him jump.
"Easy, Anul'thek," Ing'ma said firmly, stroking Anul'thek's back. Anul'thek sighed.
"It's hard, isn't it?" Ing'ma asked. "We've made it this far, and we're this close: just on the other side of the moon there is what we've sought for millennia. So close. So very, very close."
Anul'thek alternately lifted his legs restlessly. "My whole life," he began, "I've wanted to see the humans. Now we've heard them. We've seen their entertainment. But we've also seen their violence, even toward each other. Ing'ma," he said, turning to face his mentor, "I am afraid. Those dreams have not left me. I can still see violence. I can see our people enslaved."
Ing'ma listened quietly. "Would you rather not go?" he asked.
"No!" Anul'thek said forcefully, surprising both himself and Ing'ma at his intensity. Ing'ma took a step back.
"That came out wrong," Anul'thek said apologetically. "I do want to go; I don't want to not go."
Ing'ma nodded understanding, and then spoke sternly. "Do not let your fear cloud your mind, Anul'thek. You represent our entire species. The fate of our reconciliation rests on your shoulders."
Anul'thek swallowed hard. He hadn't counted on that when he'd offered to be a scout.
"You are wise to be afraid, Anul'thek," Ing'ma continued. "It shows that you care about the outcome, that you care for your tribe, that you care for the humans. It shows that you are considering the worst case instead of leaping into things without thinking them through." He smiled, a wry grimness on his lips as he said, "You didn't anticipate being made the ambassador to mankind, did you?"
Anul'thek shook his head. The fear of letting his kinsmen down now dwarfed his fear of their enslavement. He sighed, feeling as though large rocks had been stacked on his shoulders. "No, Ing'ma, I had not counted on that."
"Let that be a lesson," Ing'ma said gently. "Remember to think through the consequences of your actions and commitments before making them."
"Am I even the right centaur for the job?" Anul'thek asked, feeling on the verge of despair. "If I'm making mistakes like that, how can I hope to make a good impression on mankind and ensure our safety all at once?"
"You have the benefit of having made the mistake now, volunteering as I hoped you would, rather than making the mistake of harming a human or failing in your commitments," Ing'ma replied. "We do not ask perfection, Anul'thek," he said, rubbing Anul'thek's shoulders. "We ask that you think, that you do what you believe is best. Certainly there will be great disappointment amongst our people if we are unable, after all these years, to reunite with the humans. Make no mistake, young roughhoof, we will all be terribly disappointed." Anul'thek hung his head. "But there will be another time," Ing'ma reassured him. "Probably not in any of our lifetimes, and certainly not in mine, but there will be another opportunity." He placed one hand on Anul'thek's chest and another on his shoulder and pressed fervently. "Take heart, Anul'thek. Trust in your people, trust in mankind, and trust in your own ability. I've seen you sneak up on and pounce on a rabbit without his ever knowing you were there. I've seen you settle disputes amongst your friends. I've seen your wisdom make elders pause to think. I put my faith in you, Anul'thek, and that must count for something."
Anul'thek's face broke into a hesitating smile, and he embraced his mentor. "Thank you for the encouragement, Ing'ma," he said earnestly, "I will do my best." Ing'ma nodded and smiled.
The door opened, and a crewman stepped inside. "It will be dark in De'ru in forty-five minutes," he said. Anul'thek nodded, and Ing'ma thanked the crewman. He nodded and left, the door melting silently closed behind him.
"Time for a quickie?" Ing'ma asked, and Anul'thek burst out laughing from a combination of stress and incredulity, laced with a hint of having expected it.
"What?" Ing'ma said, "It might be my last-ever time to be intimate with you!"
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," Anul'thek replied sarcastically.
"Oh, I gave you that already." Ing'ma retorted. "I've been giving you votes of confidence for 40 years, ever since your sire passed away."
Anul'thek smiled, shaking his head. "And I appreciate every one of them, Ing'ma," he said. He turned his back to Ing'ma, moving his tail out of the way. "Just a quickie," he said, but Ing'ma didn't move. Anul'thek turned to face him. "What is it?" he asked.
"We can't very well send a colt down to represent us, can we?" Ing'ma said qui
etly. Anul'thek stared. "Just a quickie," Ing'ma echoed, turning his back and moving his gray tail.
Anul'thek opened his mouth in protest. "Ing'ma," he said, "I've never–"
"I know," Ing'ma said.
"But what if I can't–"
"You can."
"But–"
"Just a quickie."
Anul'thek swallowed, stepped up behind Ing'ma, took a breath.
He let it out, shaking his head. "Ing'ma," he said regretfully, "I can't. I'm too nervous right now."
Ing'ma turned slowly to face him, looking up into his eyes. "You will, Anul'thek. One day, you will." He paused. "And if it's to be a colt that represents us, we couldn't have asked for a better one." He smiled, closing his eyes as he hugged Anul'thek, his favorite pupil. When he opened them again, they were misty.
"I'll be back," Anul'thek said, confused by Ing'ma's emotions.
