Full Vessels (15 page)

“If he starts talking love, I'm out of here,”
Griff muttered.

“You can relax,” Hess said, “this isn't what
you expect from me. When I came back to myself, I wasn't depressed
anymore. To be honest, I have trouble remembering what being Zack
Vernon felt like. Which should be impossible, considering we have
perfect memories, but it's true. The pain isn't the same when I'm
not him.

“One thing did have a permanent impact on me.
I never noticed it before because I was so fixated on the flaws of
the worlds. Most people are happy most of the time. Perhaps that
fact struck me as profound only because I spent so long assuming it
was not the case.

“The people are happy, more or less. Which
means the worlds are not as flawed as I once believed. Except
possibly the disaster last Iteration.”

“I set off a nuke,” Erik said. “That was a
fucking kumbaya moment right there.”

Hess glanced to the clock. “That's all I have
to report.”

He stumbled through mountainous terrain in
the company of a hunting party, breath rasping with every step. The
other men traded jokes and ignored the scrawny Observer struggling
to match their pace.

When the world sprang into motion, the
Observer had assumed the identity of Hess the fatherless, who had
been graciously included in a group hunt by men who usually mocked
him. His role, both before and after the world's start, had been to
drive game with the young men towards where the real hunters
waited. Essentially, he had walked up and down mountains the entire
day in an attempt to move deer.

Two of the men carried the benefit of his
hard work between them – the meat of three animals wrapped in
valuable skins. Very little of that meat would go to Hess. Only
what the lead men chose to share with him.
If
they chose to
share with him. It hardly seemed fair that those who did the most
work on the expedition received the least, but the tribe rewarded
skill above all else, including effort.

The Observer smiled when he saw the tents
appear in the distance. Though he had never actually been to the
camp he remembered leaving that morning, coming home represented
something very special to him: an opportunity to stop walking.

So far, his experience of the world consisted
of making tiresome hikes on an empty stomach. His feet ached inside
his moccasins, sweat plastered his garments to his flesh, every
muscle in his body demanded rest, and the dull pain of his middle
reminded him that he had, in fact, never eaten. Filling his stomach
was an observation he would gladly make for the Creator.

Women and children met the returning party,
swarming them to see what prizes they carried. The Observer watched
the grand presentation of their future feast, listened to the
dramatized tale of its acquisition, and wished the day was over. He
wondered briefly if his attitude might not be appropriate for his
position, but he was too exhausted from the day's labors to
care.

Had the Creator placed him into the identity
of a better hunter, things might be different. Instead, he was Hess
the fatherless, a man who had never been taught how to be a man. A
clumsy outcast unable to hunt or fight or claim a woman.

The hunters settled around the fire to watch
the women prepare the feast. Hess collapsed to the ground some
distance from the others.
I do not know if I care for this
world
, he thought. Perhaps the Creator was as poor at creating
as Hess was at hunting. That would explain why an Observer was
necessary. His complaints would presumably inform the creation of
the next world. Why else would the Creator need input?

Things are too far apart
, Hess thought
to himself, starting a list for the Creator to address in the
future.
The next world should have less walking. Maybe make the
deer live closer to the people. And everyone in the tribe should
get a fair share of the food. All the children should have fathers
to teach them hunting. And definitely less mountains.

“And do we share with Hess?”

The Observer perked up at the sound of his
name.

“Not one scrap,” said Ron, the man who had
brought down two of the three deer. “His stomping scared away all
the animals. I bring down four or five on a good day. Only reason I
did bad today was that boy.” Ron turned to fix a sinister look on
Hess. “You have to earn food in this tribe. If you're not man
enough to hunt, then you should try to earn it on your back. Let me
know when you are hungry enough to be a woman, Hess.” The other men
barked rough laughter in response.

Hess glared back at the brute.
I can learn
to hunt on my own. When he grows old and weak, I will bring back
meat enough for the entire tribe and forbid it only to him.
How
long would a world last before the sky opened? Surely longer than
it would take a grown man to become frail. Otherwise how could he
see what this world had to offer?

He looked down at his hands. Hess the
fatherless didn't know how to do much beyond tending fires and
gathering plants. But he
wasn't
Hess the fatherless. He was
Hess the Observer, sent to watch this world for the maker of
worlds.

All he had to do was learn the things every
father taught his sons. It would take longer without a teacher, but
he had more than enough time and motivation to learn. In fact,
there was no reason he couldn't become better than the men of his
tribe.

So what skill do I learn first?
Hess
frowned. His identity truly did not have much talent to build upon.
Twenty years of children's chores and begging for scraps of meat.
He would need to start at the beginning, mimic what the older
children did. Learn to navigate the wilderness on his own away from
the camp. Spear fish in creeks far from their home. Track animals
on the land. Take down prey.

Actually a smaller list than what a woman
would be expected to know. A man's duties were few in the tribe,
but those few were vital. Ironically, in order to be successful at
procuring food, one needed the benefits of eating well, namely
strength and stamina.

Fishing would require less exertion than
hunting, so he would begin his journey of self-improvement with
that. The biggest problem would be the hike from the tents to the
streams, but he could endure it. After all, his feet had already
healed from this day's exertions.

While the rest of the tribe feasted, Hess
located the women's stock of roasted tubers and helped himself to
one. He ate alone, planning his future. Some day, he would reverse
roles with the great hunters of the tribe. And if their old age
didn't come fast enough, he could always arrange a crippling
injury. Or would that type of action conflict with his duty to
observe?

He still mulled the issue when his sister
Cora approached. Hess studied the girl, recalling that she had made
every effort to disassociate herself from him in the past year,
ashamed to be known as sister to a non-man. Cora squatted beside
him, pressing her back to the same tree so that their shoulders
touched. Her hands unclasped from before her to reveal a prize. She
held the back straps from one of the deer. The best cut of
meat.

Hess slowly reached out to accept the gift.
“Why?”

Cora shrugged her shoulders. “Ron gave me the
back straps because he said I was pretty. And I thought about you
helping him all day and not getting to eat dinner. It's just not
fair, Hess.” Inexplicably, glimmering tears began to flow down her
cheeks. “And I thought about how I never do anything nice for you.
You're my brother, Hess, and I think you might die soon for want of
food. Why haven't I ever done something about that?”

Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder, his eyes
fixed on the gift held in his other hand. The cure to the pain in
his stomach. An investment in his future as an expert fisher and
hunter. The start of his journey towards becoming a man the tribe
would admire.

“It's not your fault,” Hess said, eyes still
on the food.

“Yes it is,” Cora said. “There is enough food
to go around. Everyone eats well except you. Because the men want
you to die for being another man's son. Anyone in the tribe could
split their share with you, but no one ever does. All of us are
killing you, Hess. Why would we do that? What kind of tribe are
we?”

They were the kind of tribe the Creator had
made them to be. Hess turned his eyes to his sister. Watched as she
silently wept under the weight of transgressions made in a past
that never happened. And he realized this girl was not what the
Creator had made her to be. A single day had passed and she was
someone different. Someone better.

Hess wrapped his arm around her shoulder and
pulled her into an embrace. “You are a good person, Cora. Maybe our
tribe will be kinder when you are a mother and I am the best
hunter.”

She laughed through her tears. “Promise me
you won't give up, Hess. Don't let them kill you.”

“I promise.” He kissed the crown of her head.
“Now help me eat our meal before it grows cold.”

Natalia watched them over steepled fingers,
the ghost of a smirk upon her thin, aged lips. “I suppose,” she
rasped, “I should begin.”

Drake leaned forward. “We're dying to know if
you really had sex with tigers like Griff says.”

Natalia's nose lifted higher. “The lot of you
are positively primitive.”

“So,” Drake said, “you're denying you had sex
with tigers?”

“Jaguars,” Griff muttered.

“Of course I didn't,” Natalia said.

“Smart,” San said. “Cats and bestiality mix
badly.”

Drake shifted his attention to the other
woman. “Is that a fact?”

San clawed at the air. “There's very little I
haven't done, big boy.”

Natalia cleared her throat. “I would
appreciate it if you would provide me the same courtesy I extended
to each of you in turn. If you're an attentive audience, I promise
to show you a magic trick at the end.”

Erik snorted. “Like what? How to pull a
specific number out of a hat? Your sleight of hand is fucking
atrocious.”

“Nevertheless,” Natalia said, “I insist upon
respect while I provide my testimony.” She met each of their eyes
in turn, then nodded.

“Very well. My tale begins in what we naively
termed the First Experiment. When the Creator finished winding the
mechanism and set things into motion, I inhabited the form of a
sturdy lass in her first year of medical school.”

“Um,” Griff said, “
bullshit
.”

Greg cleared his throat. “Natalia, I don't
want to offend, but this is meant to be a serious affair. We are
here to discuss truths and not fictions.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Natalia took
obvious care in choosing her next words. “All I ask is for the
courtesy provided everyone else. Whether you think my words
fabrications or metaphors or delusions, trust that I speak in
service to the Creator.”

Erik snickered, but there were no other
reactions.

Natalia's gaze drifted into the distance. “It
was a marvelous place, that First Experiment. Our method of inquiry
was natural philosophy, which was not the combative and artificial
science Elza follows. Indeed, that entire planet celebrated
civilization – ironic, how often the etymological relationship
between civilization and civility is overlooked.

“But not by the civilization of that
Experiment. Or Iteration, if you prefer the intellectually
pretentious terminology foisted on us by Elza. Anyway, I studied
medicine for a few years before deciding that the mind interested
me more than anatomy. I became a clinical psychologist. Quite a
good one, I say without exaggeration. I helped a lot of people in
exchange for the opportunity to plumb the depths of the human
mind.

“Then came a day when I met an enigmatic
anthropologist at one of those social functions where everyone
pretends they are enjoying themselves far in excess of reality. We
both homed in on the most fascinating character at that event, a
man who unintentionally crashed the party because the host had
attempted to invite a famous composer of the same name. This man, a
wig-maker by trade, thought quite a lot of himself and assumed he
belonged in the esteemed company he found himself.

“This wig-maker would ask a second question
before his target had answered the first, interleaving his hasty
interrogations with self-aggrandizing anecdotes, off-color humor,
and ignorant assumptions meant to seem profound observations. This
man may have been a blight on the party, but he was a gold mine of
mental disorders to a young psychologist. I never had a chance to
properly diagnose him, but I would wager pathological narcissism
co-morbid with hyperactivity and oppositional defiant disorder.

“As I was doing my best to observe this
fascinating individual, I found myself sharing an orbit with the
aforementioned anthropologist. Time and again, she got between me
and the witless wig-maker. This would not have particularly
bothered me if she had engaged the man in a meaningful fashion. Yet
she only watched from the background, invisible to everyone but
myself as I found my view obstructed by her more often than
not.

“Finally, I made an ironic comment that we
both seemed intent on studying the same fool. To which my new
friend replied that she was more interested in how the other guests
were responding to him. We exchanged brief biographical blurbs that
identified her as an anthropologist and myself as a psychologist.
Our snooping became easier to disguise as we effortlessly used each
as cover.

“My companion made a passing remark that I
seemed perfectly suited for observing. I replied that the entire
world was a grand experiment and I was there to observe it all. No
doubt all of you can tell where this is leading. This
anthropologist, remarkably inscrutable all evening, turned pale and
stared at me. Oblivious, I moved to follow the wig-maker, but my
companion seized my arm and exclaimed 'you are an Observer'. The
way she said it, the capital O clear in her voice, was a
revelation.