The Promise of the Orb

by Marshall Cobb

  A few minutes later, his stinky shoelace connecting the steering wheel to the wide-open throttle arm, he pulled out the drain plug and silently thanked the universe that he had been given a father like Big Ed. As he watched the water drain out, he wondered whether he would ever see his father again, then shook his head free of those worries, which were not going to help, and moved back up to the console to make sure that his shoelace solution was still intact.

  As he gripped the steering wheel for added support to the shoelace solution, a movement caught his eye. He looked to his right and saw a large green fin break the surface. The fin appeared to be comprised of a thin, leathery skin covering an array of long bones that arced upward and emerged as green points along the top. Peter’s heart skipped a beat as the fin continued to rise, towering above him and his boat. He closed his eyes—more than a little afraid to see what happened next—when the fin and whatever it was attached to within the water raced far ahead of his boat and then disappeared under the surface. The boat trembled and smacked against the water and the outboard motor whined as the wake left behind by the creature passed beneath.

  Peter clenched his hands together to try and lessen the shaking. He then pushed the heels of each of his palms against his closed eyes. It does not matter. If that thing wants to eat me it’s going to eat me and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  He stayed in that position for what felt like several minutes. Eventually the newfound bounciness in the boat compelled him to open his eyes and see that his maneuver had worked. That water trapped within the boat was gone.

  Peter turned and put the drain plug back in its spot at the transom. He also squeezed on his shoe, minus the shoe lace, which he untied from the throttle but kept attached to the steering wheel just in case it was needed later. Deliberately avoiding the temptation to look anywhere but directly in front of him, he stood at the helm and used the wheel to keep the boat along the red line indicated by the moving map.

  The line slowly turned to the right for the long, long run along the coast line. Even when his uneasiness about potential sea creatures faded and he risked looking around, his path never brought him close enough to make out any details of the shore, which remained a green, foggy mess. Fortunately, his path also kept him away from the large waves that had nearly killed him, and which he could still hear slamming down in the distance.

  He drove along this way for nearly another two hours, slowly drawing closer to the X. His display showed him nothing of Jigme and his location. He wondered if Jigme had survived his trip down the center of the lake and all those huge, rolling waves. He must have or the competition would already be over.

  Peter motored along, keeping an eye out for debris, waves or anything else that might cause him problems, while also striving to keep his mind free of doubt or worries that would do him no good at this point.

  Twenty minutes later, he finished his last required zig to the left, and then turned the boat to follow the red line on the display for the relatively short distance needed to reach the spot marked with the X. He snuck a glance back and saw that the gas can was now somewhere between empty and a quarter-tank. There was also nothing he could do about that, so he stopped looking.

  As he came closer still, he saw that the X, which he had envisioned would be something about the size of a car floating in the water, was actually the size of a small building improbably suspended above a large island dead ahead. He added a little more throttle, eager to finish, and then felt his stomach roll when he saw Jigme’s boat already pulled up onto the sandy beach. He was too late. Jigme’s path had been quicker, and he had not capsized.

  Peter finally let his emotions wash over him and, like the rest of his teammates, did not attempt to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks, the sobs coming up from his toes, and the snot that clogged his nose. It was truly over. I’ve lost. We’ve lost. I’ll never see anyone I know ever again.

  He continued on toward the island, which he could barely see through his tears, but was knocked out of his pity party when the lower unit of his motor hit something in the water and he had to quickly throttle down. The boat, aided by gentle waves, coasted up to the beach and lodged itself in the dark sand next to Jigme’s boat.

  Peter stood in his boat, lost. He finally reached down and turned the key to shut down the already out-of-commission motor, then sat down heavily. Who knows how long he would have stayed that way had not another thought crept back into his mind. If I’ve already lost, why am I still here?

  His mouth opened briefly, as if he were going to answer that question, then he frowned and rubbed at the tears still running down his cheeks. He looked again at Jigme’s boat. Is he lying down in it or something? Where did he go?

  Peter got up, a little unsteadily, and gingerly stepped out over the side of his boat, making sure to avoid knocking off his now lace-free shoe. Squishing over the wet sand, he walked over to Jigme’s boat. There was a small pool of what appeared to be blood on the deck below the steering wheel, but otherwise this boat was identical to his own. A set of footprints led away from the boat and up toward the trees that met the beach and blocked the view of whatever it was that was under the giant X.

  Having no better idea, he followed the footprints, slowly drawing closer to a collection of what looked to be an alien cousin of pine trees which lined the beach. He could not help but stare up in awe every few steps at the at the giant, three-dimensional X suspended above. As he got closer to the trees, the footprints disappeared into a sandy path strewn with pine needles. Peter looked on either side of the path and, seeing no obvious signs of footprints, he followed the path. Old, brittle pine needles crunched below his soggy shoes while the red needles still in the trees blocked his view of the X.

  He soon emerged in a clearing that had not been visible from the beach. The clearing was populated by tall, yellow waving grasses. Peter looked closer and saw that Jigme sat within a clump of grass off to the right of the path. Jigme sat motionless with his head in his hands. The giant X remained suspended above him a bit farther along the path.

  “Jigme?” Peter called. There was no reply. He tried again with the same result.

  Peter, now wary, walked slowly toward Jigme, looking for snakes or other hidden nastiness that might take him down so close to his goal. His shoe without a lace betrayed him constantly, attempting to fall off whenever the opportunity arose.

  He walked to within two feet of Jigme, who still covered his face with his hands, and then called his name, softly, one last time. This time Jigme removed his hands and looked up to Peter, revealing the source of the blood on the boat in the form of a badly broken nose. Jigme’s eyes were hollow, beaten.

  “I will go no further, Peter. You may continue on to claim your victory. I will not stop you.”

  Jigme’s voice was weak and nasally sounding from his injury. Peter looked up at the X, now so close, then back down to Jigme, who had closed his eyes and again hung his head. Peter took one step forward, then sat down next to Jigme.

  “What happened?”

  Jigme breathed in and out noisily, several times, then without lifting his head, responded. “As you draw closer to the X you see all the outcomes that are enabled by your team’s victory. In my case—free will—I was shown our earth over the next two thousand years.”

  Jigme’s voice cracked at the end of “years” and Peter waited patiently for him to continue. When he did not, Peter asked him what he had seen.

  After another deep breath, Jigme lifted his head and looked Peter square in the eyes. “Death, Peter. Death, war, famine, pollution. And, most of all, suffering.”

  A single tear left its perch from Jigme’s left eye and tracked down his cheek, past his ruined nose. Peter watched its progress until it disappeared into the folds of Jigme’s now filthy robes. As he lost sight of it, a thought occurred to him. A thought that, at some level, was treasonous to his cause, but something he needed to say either way.

  “Jigme, I thought you did not
believe in predetermined fate. You believe in karma. You reap what you sow.”

  Peter saw Jigme digesting his words and was surprised that there was little reaction. “Yes, young Peter, this is true. However, I fear—I know—that there is more than enough evil present in our world to bring about this future no matter how much I wish it were not so.”

  “Even if you and the rest of your team return and work for peace? Isn’t the winning team supposed to live for several lifetimes?”

  “Yes, Peter. It is as you say, but what I saw is that a desire for peace and a pursuit of Nirvana are no match for the array of weapons already stockpiled on our planet. I may not seek power, but that does not enable me to convince others to follow my path.”

  A wave of selfish relief flooded Peter. He had been afraid that his comments might compel Jigme to get up and run toward the X. Relief was then replaced with sadness. Jigme was a broken man, but he was not wrong. The world was full of evil—like the man who had wanted to abduct him when he was hitchhiking with Orb. Was the amount of evil within humanity enough to undo the world despite any efforts to the contrary? He did not know.

  Peter found that he, a thirteen-year-old boy from the country, had nothing else useful to add. He wanted to live. He wanted to keep his friends and his family. He needed Cube’s team to lose, but he also felt a great sadness at the idea that humanity might be incapable of self-destruction unless it was under the control of absolute authority. He filled the silence with a polite question: “What happened to your nose?”

  Jigme almost smiled. “A big wave nearly capsized my boat and I hit my face on the steering wheel.”

  Jigme lifted his head a little and stared off in the direction of the beach. “I am glad to be out of the boat, but I did enjoy the opportunity to try it.”

  “You did better than me, I think.”

  Jigme shook his head. “No, you were forced to take your path. I chose my own, just as I am choosing not to continue.”

  Peter snuck another look at the X. “I guess I could stay here with you.”

  Jigme shook his head again as Malcolm’s voice boomed in their skulls.

  “I am afraid not, Peter,” Malcolm stated. “Ties are not allowed in the final score and result in disqualification of both teams with the incumbent power retaining control. If Jigme refuses to finish, it is your duty to finish for your team or else all members of both teams pass on to other forms while Jigme becomes the final receptacle for Cube.

  Jigme grimaced and rolled his eyes. “I already asked him that, Peter.”

  Jigme gestured behind him toward the X. “Please go now. Pay no mind to the images you see as you get closer. Perhaps what our world needs is an absolute authority to bring it back from the brink. Perhaps Orb is that authority.”

  Peter whispered, not that it would do any good. “I don’t trust Orb.”

  Jigme smiled and whispered back, “I don’t trust him either, which is why we need you and your friends at his side to protect the world.”

  “Peter!” demanded Malcolm. “You must go now or forfeit.”

  Jigme closed his eyes again and smiled. “Go, Peter. It is your world, at least for a time. Perhaps karma will provide a solution after all.”

  Peter stared at Jigme for a moment, then realized he had said his piece. He rolled over to his feet, put his hand on Jigme’s shoulder for a moment, then walked slowly through the tall grass toward the X. Within ten steps he began seeing visions of Orb, now massive, hovering in the sky like a second sun as thousands of people cowered before him. More steps brought him additional visions, scenes of oppression as people in long lines carried supplies under the watchful, omnipresent eye of Orb. Still more steps gave him searing impressions of giant statues—spheres in tribute to Orb. These massive structures were covered with humans in rudimentary clothing scrambling along the surfaces with tiny hammers and small bags of mortar. Those working along the sides were suspended in place by long ropes woven out of coarse, natural fibers. There were no cars or other machinery. There were no cell phones or televisions.

  Peter stopped, then looked back at Jigme, who still sat in the grass. Jigme, who had seen widespread death, famine, and oppression and could go no farther. Peter’s visions were no less powerful. A world governed by Orb was a world of complete obedience to an alien presence. A world pushed back to the stone age where technology did not exist. A world with suffering for those who did not comply with Orb.

  Yet, as Peter thought about his visions, there was no death. No famine. No nuclear bombs. No pollution choking rivers and killing oceans.

  “Peter, you must continue, or forfeit.”

  Peter smiled and decided to tempt fate, or at least tease it. “Does it really matter, Malcolm? You don't care about me or my friends. This is all just an experiment, testing all of the many variables. Isn’t one of those variables a tie?”

  “This is not the time or place for this discussion, but as you already know this contest is taking place simultaneously across this universe, as well as in other dimensions and alternate realities. As you say, your choice does not alter the overall Game, but whatever choice you make is important to the Game, and the future of this, and all, universes.”

  Peter’s head hurt from even thinking about things like alternate realities and universes, but it pleased him, at least a little, to make Malcolm work a little, maybe even doubt a little. Peter started walking again, his brain again seared with images, many of which were unpleasant. He held on to the one thought that had given him hope. Both Orb and Malcolm had made errors. They were not gods. Perhaps there were more options in this new version of the world than they were willing to admit.

  Peter walked towards the X. “I’ll see you on the other side, Malcolm.”

  “I don’t think so, young Peter.”

  As Peter walked directly under the X, his mind went completely blank—all images were replaced by swirling walls of red and blue. He heard a popping sound, and then the familiar sound of water rushing down a rocky river bed.

  ***

  Peter sat up and realized he was sitting on the bank of the river—his river. Matt and Irene were to his right, while Eli and Jenny were to his left. All involved were groggily sitting up, trying to figure out where they were, until Matt rolled over and dog-piled Peter and Eli.

  “I thought I’d never see you again!”

  Irene and Jenny leapt onto the pile as well and they collectively hugged and cheered. Peter also thought he saw some kissing and was glad to have avoided it. Mostly.

  The celebration was interrupted by Big Ed, who yelled in their direction from his spot above the grill on the porch. “Are you kids coming, or what? The food’s getting cold and there’s some weird story on the news about a big sphere sitting above Washington, D.C.”

  Peter nearly cried again at the sound of his dad’s voice. He did indeed want to run to him but, before he did, he grabbed at the others, pulling them to him, and whispered, “We’re not done yet. We need to figure out how to stop, or win, the entire Game.”

  He saw all their smiling faces light up with hope—and questions. He shook his head as Eli opened his mouth. They had plenty of time to talk, Peter thought, but what he really wanted right now was to see Big Ed.

  “I think I have an idea, but first, let’s eat.”

  Peter hopped to his feet and ran back to the house, calling out to his father as he went.

  About the Author

  Marshall and his family moved to Costa Rica in 2015. After four years of volunteering in local native plant gardens as well as a local shade-tree mechanic's shop, Marshall and crew headed north to Canada. In addition to writing, Marshall continues to do unintentional, yet terrible things to both the Spanish and French languages.

 

 

 
ends