The Days of Peleg (9 page)

Chapter 9

Decision

“Selecting a course of action annihilates all other possible futures.”

P
eleg’s eatery of choice was the
BubusSunu
, but it was on the other side of the city. Fortunately, a horse-drawn
tonga
happened by, and they waved to the driver. “Good evening, gentlemen.” It was a two-seater, and they climbed in. “Where are you heading this fine evening?” He had a young voice, but it contained a gruff, uncouth tone and had a slight slur implying he might have had a few drinks earlier in the day. He was wearing a sleeveless linen shirt, displaying a progression of impressive muscles along each arm. Peleg gave him the destination, and the driver nodded. With a slight lurch, they were on their way, the horse’s hoofs tapping lightly on the limestone pavement. “The name’s Tizkar. I can’t help but notice that I picked you up in front of the house of Inanna and Salah.” He continued without waiting for confirmation. “A strange duo, them two. I mean, as Mentors go, they’re nice enough, but they’re always trying to convince people about other races, other times, and will try and persuade anyone who will listen that there were ‘millions and millions’ of people before the Great Calamity.

“Now me, I don’t buy any of it. Those Mentors are too smart for their own good. Always think they can explain the unexplainable.”

Peleg looked over at Serug and rolled his eyes. He had found someone who could talk more than Serug.

Tizkar continued. “Now, if you want my opinion, there never
was
a Great Calamity. Does that shock you? Well, I think these Mentors just made it up to feel important—and to impress us. Well, I’m not impressed. The
gods
created the first ones out of the sea just over two hundred years ago, and I for one am not going to fall for any talk of ancient pre-Calamity civilizations or flying ships.”

He paused to navigate a tight corner, then continued.

“Let me ask you this: Has anyone actually
met
a survivor of the Great Calamity?”

Serug started to respond, but Peleg silenced him with a wave.

Tizkar turned around and grinned. He let go of one of the reigns and flexed an impressive bicep.

“See this here?” His bicep and tricep did a little dance. “You think this just happened by chance? Of course not. Only the gods could design something as fine as this!”

He turned forward again. “The gods have placed us here, and it is our job to try and figure out why.” His voice lowered. “And I don’t need any
anzillu
Mentor to tell me how.”

As the evening twilight began to fade, he continued on with his dissertation, somehow weaving life, Mentors, conspiracies, history, gods and politics into a disjointed, yet comprehensive personal worldview. Throughout, Serug was bursting to respond—and Peleg continued to hold him back.

Thankfully, the tonga finally stopped and Tizkar announced, “Well, here we are.”

As the men climbed out, Tizkar laughed, “Don’t mind me. I don’t much care who knows what I think.”

Serug muttered, “I
see
. Nothing like advertising one’s ignorance.”

Tizkar was fussing with his horse, and appeared not to have heard. He simply turned, and announced the fee for his services.

Peleg knew better than to expect Serug to pay for the trip, so he reached into his purse and pulled out the required silver
Kaspum
.

“Thank you so much for the ride,” Peleg said as he handed over the fare plus a small tip.

“No, Thank
You
.” Tizkar grinned. “But if you
really
want to know what I think, I think you should watch that Mentor Inanna. She’s always trying to get us to ‘Watch the moon’.” He laughed, waving his hands in mockery. “Next thing you know, we’re all going to be
worshipping
it.”

Serug could contain himself no longer. “Perhaps if you actually
had
an education, you’d realize that there are more possibilities in the universe besides the simple ones you make up in your head. You know, ignorance is a powerful thing—it makes fools feel omniscient.”

A huge knot of dread suddenly tied itself in Peleg’s stomach. Their driver slowly unfolded himself from his seat and stepped to the ground. His height was much greater than either man would have predicted when he had been sitting. He walked over to Serug, his large jaw pushed out and moving as if he were chewing his cud. Peleg decided that if he were forced to choose between fight or flight, flight would undoubtedly win. This guy was definitely in a heavier weight class.

Tizkar stood face to face with Serug, who had a still, panicked look in his eye as he waited, motionless, to see what would happen next. Suddenly, Tizkar’s entire frame relaxed, and he shook his head with an air of disgust and amusement. He turned and spat on the street next to his horse, leaving a large pool of glistening saliva.

“You see that?” he demanded, pointing to his creation. “Salt water. Same as the ocean. Same as you and me. That’s what we’re made of, and only the gods could have turned
that
into
you
.” He accentuated his final word by swinging his huge finger in an arc directly into Serug’s chest, where it landed with a thump.

Serug stumbled backwards slightly from the impact, but held his ground. He opened his mouth, although Peleg knew he really didn’t have anything to say.

Before he could try, Tizkar grinned.

“Forget it.” He started to climb back in his driver’s seat. “You are right about one thing, you know—the reason why those Mentors feel omniscient.” With that he laughed and hopped into his seat.

“Pleasure doing business with you!”

As their ride trotted away, Serug said, “What an ignorant creep!”

Peleg smiled. “Well I’m sure it is a bit disconcerting to discover you are mostly made of spit.”

“Thanks for your support.” Serug looked around to clear his head. He saw the glowing
BubusSunu
sign and suddenly remembered why they were there.

“Come on—let’s eat.”

Peleg knew exactly where to eat when his meal was free. Large plates laden with succulent
Arinya
-ribs were carried past their table, and Peleg couldn’t wait until his arrived. These splendid animals were increasingly rare, as entire communities had been loaded onto ships by poachers. They didn’t fare well in the excessive local humidity, but he had heard stories of the dry arid landmass to the southeast where farmers hoped to corner the market by establishing ranches. Of course, their scarcity drove the price up.

One thigh could feed at least six men two or three times over.
Arinya
stood on two powerful legs which they used to jump great distances—up to four times their own height. Peleg had never seen this, since they were kept in cages until it was time to “prepare” them.

Serug still seemed rattled by his earlier encounter. Even when the food arrived and they began eating, Serug was uncharacteristically quiet—he could usually talk and eat at the same time.

“Are you still bothered by that driver?” Peleg asked. “There’s no reason to let him get to you. He seems like someone who likes to spout off unorthodox ideas just to see people’s reactions—and to get attention.”

“Actually, I wasn’t even thinking about that.” Serug looked up from his goat meal. No matter how fancy the dining establishment, Serug never seemed to order anything other than seasoned goat meat in a bun or pocket of whatever kind of bread was offered.

“I’m just really shook up by Mentor Salah.” He shook his head. “Remember how you said I was determined about you speaking with Mentor Inanna? Well, I was—and now I don’t know what to believe.” He opened his sandwich and spread some more mustard paste on the grilled meat.

“I mean, how is anyone supposed to know what’s real? We speak so vauntingly of
Knowledge
, but on what do we base it? What do we use as a reference?”

Peleg always became troubled when Serug started his ponderings. He just wasn’t any fun. It happened rarely, but as uncomfortable as it was, Peleg was starting to realize the value of his questions.

“I know what you mean,” Peleg nodded. “I always prided myself as being level-headed, and not susceptible to strange and spurious ideas. But I have to admit that, for a moment, I completely believed and accepted Mentor Salah’s announcement as absolute truth.” He smiled, “Of course, it didn’t last long, but it took Inanna to shake me out of it.”

“That’s my problem.” Serug grit his teeth. “Mentor Inanna’s theories have no more basis than her husband’s. When you get down to it, both are nothing more than brilliant conjecture.”

He laughed, sadly. “I mocked our driver by saying his ideas were simple and made up in his own head. Well, it seems that although our favorite Mentor’s ideas are brilliant and complex, yet they
too,
are only made up in their heads.”

He paused, trying to decide if he should make this next admission.

“You know, I can’t think of the name of anyone who claims to be a survivor of the Great Calamity. With all the lost records, and the fact that our society despises history, not to mention that our educational system removes all knowledge of our parentage, how can we know?”

Peleg shook his head, confused. “There must be survivors who are alive today who would be glad to confirm
somebody’s
theories. In fact, just about anyone over two hundred. Let’s face it—we would all be descendants of theirs—our great-great-grandparents.” Peleg combed through his memory furiously for anyone he knew that was old enough. He was one hundred and four—if the curators at his orphanage were correct when they estimated his age. “Of course, there might be an extra ‘great’ or two in your case.” Peleg loved to tease Serug about his youth whenever possible.

Serug said, “Perhaps they have been silenced in some way.” He drew a deep breath, then continued. “Or perhaps even eliminated.”

They continued eating in silence. Given the right provocation, Serug could give undue consideration to wild conspiracy theories.

Peleg allowed himself a moment of thoughtless indulgence as he stripped the meat from the last rib. He would probably be stuck with dried fruit and fish for the next twelve years. He washed it down with the birchroot-
nag
he always ordered on special occasions. It was a carbonated, non-alcoholic ale.

He watched his friend, Serug, gulp down his second flagon of
Shika-rum
. Peleg would certainly be carrying him home tonight. As thoughtless and carefree as his friend sometimes was, Serug had a sharp, discerning mind and could be counted on to see things from many angles.

Peleg made up his mind.

“Serug?”

Serug looked up sharply at his name.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Part II

The Search

“The difference between what
the most and the least
learned people know
is inexpressibly trivial in relation
to that which is unknown.”

Albert Einstein

Chapter 10

Dimensions

“Are there multiple levels of reality? If so, what (or who) makes them real?”

A
dark line tore through the vapor, leaving little ringlets in its wake. The rectangular, glass bowl of fog (mixed with a little corn
kashi
) was lit and heated by a tight beam of sunlight which pierced through an opening high in the wall next to the ceiling in his otherwise dark lab. A glass plate was sealed to the top by a casein resin making the container airtight. The inside was coated with a thin layer of cooking oil to prevent internal condensation from obscuring his view.

When Thaxad had blown this bowl, he had left a small hole in its side for an acrylic spigot, to which was now attached a leather hose. This connected to a thick ceramic tube lying horizontally beside the bowl. The open end was sealed with a leather-covered plunger which currently rested halfway down the bore—and maintained the first container’s air pressure.

The entire contraption rested in a large, shallow basin of cold water. The trick was to make the temperature difference between the top of the bowl and the bottom as great as possible. An Elder
Stonecastor
had shown Thaxad this phenomenon while working on a grain alcohol still.

Another dark streak ripped through his cloud chamber, this time traveling in a jagged, circular route to the other side. Thaxad noticed some moisture forming in the bottom, reached for the small handle connected to the plunger, and pulled. The leather stopper slid toward him down the length of the cylinder, sucking air out of the bowl and reducing the internal air pressure. This lowered the boiling point of his vapor mixture and immediately the moisture on the bottom evaporated.

His Elder, Havilah, had explained to him that tiny objects—much smaller than dust particles—were constantly passing through all things, traversing the cosmos. Even at night, with a small flame as a heating and light source, these tracks could be seen. They were manifestations of other realities or other dimensions. Empirical proof of alternate planes of existence.

Two more lines shot through his bowl leaving an intersecting trail. When they met, one seemed to overpower the other and warp its path. Thaxad reached for his powerful
ki
-magnet, and placed it next to one side of the bowl. He waited. Sure enough, the next trail twisted and curved toward the magnetic bar before dissipating in a puff of fog.

Thaxad wondered what effect these particles might have to living flesh as they passed through it. Their travels (or perhaps temporary visits through this dimension) must certainly tear tiny holes or damage tissues as they carved out their paths.
Perhaps this explained decay, or even aging.

He remembered with amusement how a number of his fellow initiates had reacted when they first saw these tracks. “
Erset la Tari!”
“It is the Netherworld!” One girl had even cried,
“Dal’Khu!”
or “Demons!” but had then looked around quickly to try and convince her colleagues she was only joking.