by J. J. Green
“I’ll leave you to decide,” she said. “I can’t make you take me, but if you do I think I can help.”
She went to the corner of the underground chamber, where a makeshift kitchen had been set up. It wasn’t much, just a stove that ran on batteries and a collection of battered pots and pans. An older man called David was the cook. He couldn’t get around very well anymore, so his contribution to the cause consisted of creating meals from whatever supplies the fighters managed to steal and generally keeping the place clean and organized. He was about the only person who cared about the living conditions. Most of the rest of the group were—it had to be said—complete slobs.
He was leaning over the stove, stirring something in a pot, and didn’t notice Taylan approach. When she reached his side, he jumped a little and the spoon banged against the side of the pan. He seemed alarmed. “What do you want? Dinner won’t be ready for another half an hour.”
“I thought you might need some help.”
“No, no. No need. Go and relax.”
“I don’t want to relax. I’m bored. There has to be something I can do.”
She was puzzled. She’d spent most of the previous afternoon helping David in the kitchen. He’d seemed grateful. Now, for some reason, his attitude toward her had done an about-face.
His shoulders slumped. “All right. How about you stir this for me while I try to find the salt? I made the mistake of leaving it out after yesterday’s meal and now it’s gone walkabout.”
She took the spoon from him and peered into the big pot. He was making a stew of mostly root vegetables and beans. She tasted a little and grimaced. It did need salt, but also something else. While David was doddering around the room, she peeked into the boxes of dried ingredients on the shelf next to the cooker.
There it was.
The date on the box was the previous year, but this was the kind of thing that didn’t go off. Its flavor only lessened over time. She opened up the box, finding it surprisingly full. She used to use this in her cooking all the time.
But just as she was about to add the dried fibers to the stew, a hand fastened on her arm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” asked David, peering into the box.
He read the label. “Horseradish? What makes you think my stew needs horseradish?”
“I thought it could do with pepping up a little.”
“Hand it over.” He beckoned with his fingers.
Taylan hesitated, the dried horseradish fibers poised to be dropped into the pot.
“Hand it over,” repeated David, “and step away from the stove.”
“But...”
He stared at her with hard eyes.
Holding his gaze, she silently pushed the horseradish into the box and closed the lid. She gave it to him.
“Did you find the salt?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
He returned the box to the shelf and moved between her and the cooking pot so that she found herself looking at his back.
Dismissed by his body language, Taylan disconsolately went to sit in the place where she slept.
“Taylan,” said Meilyr, noticing her, “we discussed your participation in the mission. We decided you’re welcome to come, if you’re sure that’s what you want.”
“I am, and I will. Thanks, guys.”
Medwyn’s expression was cloudy and he wouldn’t look at her. She wondered if the brothers had taken a vote and it had been three to one.
“Grub’s up,” David announced. “Clear the table.”
“Great,” said Meilyr, leaning back. “I’m starving.” Then a look of concern, almost fear, came over his features. He glanced from the kitchen area to Taylan, as if twigging she’d just come from there. “Did...did Taylan help to cook it?”
The four men shared expressions of alarm.
“No, she didn’t,” David replied. “This is entirely my own work. No additional ingredients.”
“Phew,” said Marc, visibly relaxing. “Dish it up then.”
Chapter Eighteen
After several days of trekking across the West BI countryside, Wright and Arthur had stopped for the night in an abandoned farmhouse. The area near Dwyr Orr’s castle was being closely watched, so they’d been forced to land much farther north and make their way cross country to the Preseli hideout. He doubted Taylan was still there, but it would be a starting point in their search. The fighters would probably know where she’d gone next.
The crossing from Ireland had gone smoothly, but getting out of West BI was going to be harder than entering it. He hadn’t been able to give their Irish helpers a firm date for their return.
Spending time with Arthur had been an education. In his years of military service, Wright had met countless men and women from different cultures and backgrounds, but they all shared one similarity: they were of this time. Arthur was not. Wright found it hard to articulate his impression, even to himself, but it was as if the king saw reality in an entirely different way.
For one thing, he was deeply religious. Every night, before going to sleep, he would get down on his knees, bow his head, and clasp his hands in prayer. And the man’s religiosity extended much further than regularly praying. He seemed to see evidence of his beliefs all around him. Once, when they were nearly out of water, they’d happened upon a stream, and Arthur saw it as a sign that God was helping them. Another time, when they got lost, the ancient king was sure an evil spirit was leading them astray.
It was like he was living in another world.
Another interesting thing about him was his expertise at living in the wild. He could forecast rain hours before it arrived, and he seemed to have an instinctive sense of direction. Even when it was cloudy and they hadn’t seen the sun or stars for days, he knew where the points of the compass lay. When asked how he was so certain, he said he just knew, and he was surprised that Wright didn’t. Possibly, he was subconsciously reading the landscape or other signs, perhaps something he’d been taught as a child and internalized.
Arthur also spotted animal trails where Wright only saw ground cover or undergrowth, and he had a—it seemed to Wright—somewhat unhealthy obsession with their droppings. He could tell what animal had left them and how long ago. Given free rein, Wright was sure he would have set off to hunt them. He didn’t like to eat the dry rations they’d brought along.
One thing Wright knew—accompanying Arthur was a re-education on everything he saw around him. If the sky was clear at night, the king explained the constellations he saw and the stories behind them. In the forests, he knew the name of every tree and the various uses of their wood.
The king’s ease of existence within the natural landscape was surprising. Poor King Frederick, who had only reigned a few weeks before Dwyr Orr had murdered him, probably wouldn’t have had the first idea about anything that existed beyond the walls of his palatial homes. Arthur had been royalty too, but perhaps his beginnings had been more humble.
“Goodnight,” said the king, settling into his sleeping bag.
“Goodnight. You’re sure if we make good speed tomorrow, we should reach the Preseli Hills by sunset?”
“Yes, that’s my estimation. I hope we find Taylan there.”
“Me too.”
Wright fell asleep quickly, but, seemingly only minutes later, he was awake again. In the darkness, it was hard to tell how much time had passed. Arthur’s heavy breathing indicated he hadn’t woken. Wright wondered what had pulled him from his slumber. Normally, he would only be irritated—he hated being woken up—but in enemy territory, he had greater cause for concern.
He listened.
Raindrops pattered on the rickety farmhouse roof and the old concrete of the yard. He couldn’t hear anything else, and nothing seemed to be moving within his field of vision.
Or was it?
He was facing the doorless opening to the outside. An empty window stood on each side of it. All three revealed nothing but the deepest night. Then he heard
a very slight variation in the steady drumming of the rain, a regular sound, like...
He reached for the beamer he’d placed under the folded sweater he was using as a pillow.
“Arthur!” he hissed, wishing he was close enough to poke the man with his foot.
The king slept on.
He was sure he’d heard footsteps. Someone, either EAC or a member of the Resistance, was slowly creeping up on them. As far as he could tell, it was only one person, so naturally he or she was being cautious.
“Arthur!”
Nothing.
He lifted the beamer and aimed it at the doorway.
A figure separated from the darkness and stepped inside.
Wright rose onto his elbow and tried to press the trigger, but suddenly his intention to fire faded away and he wondered why he was holding a weapon.
“You can shoot me if you like, Major Wright, but I’m warning you, it won’t have any effect.”
“Merlin,” Wright said angrily. “I was wondering when you would turn up.”
“Thank you for the warm reception.”
“I thought I’d made it clear I didn’t want you around. If you insist on coming with us, I’m out. You can forget all about attacking the Dwyr’s ship.”
Arthur was rousing. “My old friend. You’ve come to help us find Taylan?”
“Exactly right. I don’t think you’ll manage it without me.”
“We’re not going to be managing it with you,” retorted Wright.
“You might not understand it yet,” said the alien, “but you need me. I would explain, but—”
“I wouldn’t understand. Yeah, I get it. I don’t care.” Wright sat up to better address the shadowy figure in the dark. “You either let us do this on our own, or the deal’s off. You might have pulled the wool over the Alliance’s eyes, but not mine. I know there’s a lot more to this than you’re telling us, and you’re not going to use me to achieve your aims. And if you think Ellis is more likely to agree to your scheme with you around to persuade her, you aren’t the all-knowing, superior extra-terrestrial being you make yourself out to be. She doesn’t trust you any more than I do.”
“Perhaps you know her feelings better than I,” Merlin conceded. “But you don’t have the slightest idea what’s happening here. These events are beyond human comprehension, and if you value the future of your planet, you would be wise to listen to me.”
“Merlin has always been a faithful and trustworthy guide,” Arthur gently interjected. “I’ve known him a long time, and he helped me greatly in my former life.”
Wright ignored him. What Arthur was saying might be true, but it applied to the world of three and a half thousand years ago, not today. “What do you mean, beyond human comprehension? Try this human, then we’ll see.”
The whites of the alien’s eyes were barely visible as he held Wright’s gaze before appearing to come to a decision. He sat on the cold flagstones and crossed his legs.
“Earth is one of the very few planets in this galaxy inhabited by an intelligent species. There are...powers...who care very much what happens here. Over the history of your world, tens of thousands of conflicts have taken place. In Arthur’s time, there were hundreds of controlling factions. Now, three organizations battle to decide Earth’s fate. The Antarctic Project would like to see her stripped of resources and abandoned; the Earth Awareness Crusade want to return her to a state where traditional science is rejected in favor of a less...um...reliable understanding of the physical universe; the Britannic Alliance wants to remain on the current path of progress toward a better, safer, fairer civilization. The powers I represent support the Alliance’s stance. I’m here to help it fulfill its aims. Is that explanation enough for you?”
“No.”
Merlin had mostly told Wright what he already knew, except the part about the ‘powers’ and his role. That was not at all difficult to understand, so either the alien’s comment about events beyond human comprehension was bullshit, or he was feeding him a line.
“Why do we need you to find Ellis?” he asked. “What do you know that we don’t, and how do you know it?”
The alien smiled. For the first time since Wright had known him, the smile reached his eyes.
“Just as there are powers humans know nothing about, there are universal laws and patterns that shape all our destinies. Many of them even I cannot grasp, but I can read the signs of their operation. Don’t bother asking for more details. No human language has the capacity to express what I mean.”
“Why haven’t you told the Alliance all this?”
“I prefer to rely on Arthur’s legend to convince them of my usefulness. It’s simpler, and, as you have said, the notion of an alien civilization exerting control over human affairs is...disconcerting?”
“Well, the cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it? As soon as it’s safe to comm Colbourn, I’ll tell her everything you’ve said.”
“I’ll deny it. Who will they believe, I wonder? I read your psych assessment report.”
He smiled again.
Wright’s stomach plummeted. The assessment had gone badly. He’d recounted everything that had happened in the counteroffensive in Jamaica, and he’d lost it. He’d been surprised Colbourn had allowed him to continue with the mission to find Ellis, but he guessed Merlin had probably insisted.
Arthur said, “Would you agree to Merlin helping us to find Taylan, and then you and I talk to her?”
He wanted to say no. He wanted nothing to do with the creep, least of all introducing him back into Taylan’s life. He’d feel like he betrayed her. But he couldn’t see a way out of the situation. The only other option open to him was to desert, and he wasn’t there yet. “I’ll sleep on it.”
As Wright lay on the hard floor, the sound of rain drumming in his ears, he recalled intending to shoot Merlin and the impulse inexplicably fading away. What had that been about? There was so much more to the alien than met the eye.
Chapter Nineteen
“You told me once that time doesn’t exist,” said Kala. “Can you explain what you mean? Each minute, hour, and day follows on from the one before, the planets circle their suns, and the Milky Way circles its center. How is it possible that time isn’t real? I age, as all living things do, but I’ve noticed you do not. Do you exist outside of time?”
It was one of her regular learning sessions with Morgan. Her days aboard the Belladonna had fallen into a rhythm. She spent the mornings with Perran, teaching him the beliefs of the Crusade, and in the afternoons she became the student. Her classes took place in one of the flagship’s briefing rooms so Morgan could use the holo display for visual illustrations. She was a fickle tutor, however. She flicked from subject to subject, quickly becoming bored and moving on, often before Kala truly grasped the relevant skill or knowledge. It was extremely frustrating, but if she complained, Morgan would make a veiled threat of some kind, usually involving Perran.
Her question to Morgan had been sparked by a message from one of her seneschals in the BI. Midsummer was drawing near, a significant date in the Crusade’s calendar, and celebrations would be taking place all over the Isles as well as the rest of her realm. The message had been a respectful inquiry about whether she would be attending any of the festivities. The man wanted notice so that suitable preparations could be made, though he hadn’t been so bold as to mention the fact.
She hadn’t decided on her answer yet. Of all the momentous occasions of the year, she loved midsummer the best. The long day, heralding the warmth, vigor, and fecundity of the months to come, had a vitality and sense of abandon about it that she relished. In the years of her leadership of the Crusade, she’d never missed attending at least one celebration.
She was sorely tempted to return to Earth and indulge herself in some heady wantonness. The sterility of life aboard a starship didn’t suit her. She longed for stormy nights, the crash of waves against rocks, the rush of wind through a forest. She also felt she was needed by her peo
ple. Her empire was slipping from her, and hiding away in space wasn’t helping matters.
“Time exists for you in the sense that you perceive its passage,” Morgan replied. “This is because in your experience cause and effect are irretrievably tied. In the same way, you’re currently bound to the physical universe and subject to its laws and forces. I assume you’re aware of the concept of time dilation?”
“Yes, I understand. After Ua Talman’s ships launch, time will pass normally for the colonists, but from their perspective it will appear to speed up on Earth. A year on a ship could correspond to ten on Earth. And as the ships build up speed, time will appear to pass even faster on Earth. It means that if the colonists ever return, it will be to an Earth in the far distant future, a much longer duration will have passed than the time they have spent traveling.”
“Good. Imagine an event on Earth, let’s say, a volcanic eruption. On another planet, many light years distant, is another volcanic eruption. Do you agree that someone traveling in one of Ua Talman’s ships would perceive the eruptions as happening at different moments than an observer on Earth would?”
“Yes, I can see that. The perspectives are different.”
“And do you agree that each eruption has no relation to the other?”
“I suppose not.”
“Well, it’s also true that, at certain relative velocities, the person on the ship would observe the alien planet’s eruption as occurring prior to the one on Earth. Separated events can appear in the future from one viewpoint and the past from another. Therefore, the ordering of events is not agreed upon by all observers. Therefore, all events that have happened and can happen are already in existence, in some sense.”
“That’s...remarkable,” said Kala, trying to wrap her head around the concept.
“Your species’ physicists already have this knowledge. I’m surprised you don’t know it. Perhaps you should spend less time with your nose buried in dusty old books.”
