Shaman Machine the Mentor Page 5

  Prodding the silence, I said, “Ziggy?”

  “Yes, Chance.”

  “Have you always lived outside of a house?”

  With a slowness presaging disaster, Ziggy turned his head to look at me. His eyes were as empty as a starless night. After a blink, he slid his gaze back to the land. High up on one of the ridges, a bird stood and moved its wings, making powerful strokes. Its stirring presence was made even larger by the monumental stillness of this world. Stepping into the air, it freed itself from one of the hard peaks. It soared. It circled. It swooped.

  “I lived in a house when I was a boy.”

  I absorbed the uncharacteristic austerity of this disclosure. Where had the Ziggy, who overflowed with details, gone? My mind prickled to a heightened alertness; still, I gambled another question. “Did you…dislike…living in a house?”

  The question left a wall of silence, absolute as granite. In the absence of an answer, we froze to an epic state of rigid immobility. The spell was broken when Ziggy took another sip of the water. “I grew up in a house filled with chaos,” he replied. “I was crowded out by indifference. There was no room for a child in there.” He made his mouth to the shape of a false smile. His eyes, no longer empty, pooled with water. “If it's not one thing, it's your mother,” he cried while laughing strangely. A tear broke free. I watched the tear sketch a crooked trail, from one corner of Ziggy's very sad eye. The tear tunneled through grime to the middle of his cheek before succumbing to the dry desert air, leaving behind a salty white trace. Then Ziggy told me I must stay put, before he scuttled to the top of a peak; where he now sat on the dangerous edge of a sheer face.

  Respect. Within the treatise, I had been searching, there existed one refrain often repeated: the sapient has the legitimate right to make his own choices. I tried again, calling up. “Ziggy, if you fall you could be badly injured.”

  Ziggy's chest heaved; his breath choked. He kept his eyes aimed on the sky through the whole of his reply. “I'm not so stupid, as that,” he said, “I wouldn't be injured. I'd be dead.”

  Respect. I had seen one hopeful note in my didactic search. The prescription provisioned that respect toward a sapient allowed room for honest persuasion. Honest. Persuasion.

  “Ziggy, I would not want to lose you to death.”

  Ziggy sobbed out a laugh and closed his eyes. “How could you care? Why would you care?”

  “Ziggy,” I contended, “you connect me to a larger existence.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Danel had an irresistible urge to scratch. He resisted. Only two weeks ago, he’d updated his tech augmentations in preparation for today's journey. Approximately three days ago, all of them had begun to itch. The most maddening were his earbud implants. Every sound was a vibration, that caused a tickling, that mounted an assault on his entire head! Yes, yes, yes…he should have had them done sooner…. I am a procrastinating idiot, he thought. Danel never had (and never would) admit to his phobia of having artificial parts grafted to his body. Fear of implants was considered strange. Even though Danel was aware that his fear was adding to his peevishness, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from feeling reactive.

  To make matters worse, there was more than enough noise to feed Danel’s agitation. He and Frances were riding on a mover in a crush of people, at the International Space Station in Upham, New Mexico. Moving through the various departure protocols, Frances was doing her level best to lighten the mood. As they headed to the final gate, she was a picture of relaxed composure; despite Danel’s ill temper.

  Likewise onerous, Danel had a deep seated fear of traveling off-planet. In his reckoning, even the commute to the Coalition Redistribution Satellite, was an absurdly dangerous undertaking. To reach the satellite, the shuttle had to maneuver through space junk. That a thumb-sized chunk of garbage could obliterate their commuter shuttle caused him no end of worry. Never mind that ships were outfitted with automated pulse deflector systems. Like a loose tooth, he worried over the threat of a system malfunction.

  “How you holding up, Danel?” Frances imprudently asked.

  Her genuine concern, made him temper his response. “I'm about to…ah…. Rip my ears off, Frances.” Strapping on a wilted smile, he added, “Anyway, the itching partially distracts me from obsessing about redistribution.”

  “But redistribution is supposed to be the easy part, Danel.” She reached out and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I'm sorry your ears are bothering you.”

  Her touch was warm and soft. She's a good partner, Danel thought. A fresh dose of instructions drilled his ears, wrenching him back to misery.

  “Five more meters and to your right,” the neutral gender voice told him. “Please exit immediately,” the voice insisted. The two followed the voice all the way to their space shuttle seats where, exhausted and stressed, Danel dropped into a slump.

  “Maybe you're right,” he said to Frances. “At least during redistribution I won't be conscious. I am so sick of this micromanaging little shit of a voice. I feel like shouting: 'yes, yes, yes. I-see-it-will-you-PLEASE-shut-up!'”

  Frances laughed awkwardly. “You’ll get a break after they tell us to buckle up,” she said.

  The Redistribution Satellite was far and away more massive than Danel could readily comprehend. The central core they traveled through was an agglomeration of gray levels, gray movers, and gray escalators. Gray perimeter walls were lined with numbered gray portals. As a designer, Danel was aware that every feature had been calculated to sedate. There was nothing to see, nothing to eat, nothing to do. His under stimulated awareness had no purpose beyond heeding to the harrying voice ordering his progress. Finally, as they were stepping from a gray mover in unison, Frances broke the hypnosis by pulling Danel to one side. Unbeknownst to him, they’d arrived to the gray juncture from where he and Frances would proceed separately.

  “See ya when I see ya,” Frances cajoled Danel.

  Danel dragged up one more limp smile in an effort to comply with normalcy. “Okay, see ya when I see ya,” he mimicked.

  “Oh, Danel.” Her tone shared a thinning patience. Sighing, she said, “Look, you'll be fine. You'll see. You’ll even be refreshed when we meet up next.”

  Danel looked unimpressed.

  Finally losing her patience, she scolded, “We're going to Varun!”

  Danel widened his eyes. “Yeah! Varun!” he said.

  Frances rolled her eyes and sighed. “You’re hopeless,” she admonished. “I'll meet you for dinner at the Bayside Palace.” Finished with trying, she turned from him; stepped on the mover and went her own way.

  The prep lounge was essentially a high tech locker room. Row upon row of gray lockers occupied the center of the large gray room. As per his instructions, Danel undressed; neatly folded his clothes; put them into one of the gray lockers. Naked, he stepped through a gray portal into a personal sanitation tunnel.

  The first gray room in the tunnel contained a gray toilet. There was no accompanying urinal, and Danel suspected this was intended to encourage voiding of both bowel and urinary tract. Danel found the banality of the object mildly calming. At least he hadn’t eaten. Danel urinated.

  The second room in the tunnel was partitioned behind a second airlock. Pushing past the portal, Danel stepped into a gray shower stall. After being washed and dried, his protocol instructions cautioned him to wait for the application of an antiseptic spray.

  The third gray room was an ultraviolet booth, where he stood with eyes closed until verbally released. Exiting the ultraviolet booth, he entered a fourth room.

  The fourth room was empty; really just a corridor leading to the next small hatch. Shockingly, the empty room wasn’t gray. It was an optimistic shade of golden yellow. Danel stood in the golden yellow glow, contemplating the deep purple portal straight ahead. As a designer, he knew the sudden inclusion of color was an attempt (a successful one) to manage the traveler’s emotions.

  From readings and rumors, Danel knew what to expect next.
Once he entered the redistribution chamber and secured the hatch, he would be put to sleep. The biological monitors would determine when his body was ready; then the chamber would fill with a liquid medium. Encapsulated in the amniotic environment, he would be held safely immobile. Under controlled conditions, he would dematerialize here, and re-materialize in a similar chamber, on a satellite currently circling Varun. This was the process dubbed Redistribution. Danel took three tentative steps down the golden yellow hallway, and pushed open the purple hatch.

  Pink. He huffed out a laugh. The redistribution chamber was pink inside. The hatch automatically closed. Danel placed his feet into obvious markings. Looking straight ahead, he set his eyes on a target. When his earbuds flooded with sound, he dissolved from consciousness.

  When next he opened his eyes, Danel was standing in a chamber. He crinkled his nose at the thin residue of goo coating his body. But then he realized that as promised, he felt quite rejuvenated. A wave of relief washed over him. For the first time in too many days, he was jubilant with anticipation. He’d made it! He was close, oh so very close. Varun was only a shuttle ride away, through an atmosphere agreeably free of space junk.

  Kamarong City occupied the west end of Kamarong Island. Mount Kamarong, an active volcano, was situated slightly to the north, near the center of the island. The volcano tapered into a long north to south running ridge that managed to flattened out just in time to become a sheer cliff dropping headlong into the sea on the southern coast. Continuously spewing sulfuric smoke and ash, Mount Kamarong shrouded the eastern half of the island beneath a thick volcanic fog. The combination of poisonous air and challenging topography ensured the eastern half of the island would remain uninhabited.

  Kamarong City sloped westerly toward a black sand beach which was protected by a fringe reef encircling the Bay of Dreams. Because the ocean was the primary destination; Kamarong City was predominantly a staging area for the business of coming and going. All of this Danel knew from the documents he'd reviewed.

  The night air was wet with mist. Even at this late hour, humans and machines traveled through the black sand streets, on foot or small wheel. The absence of movers, to control the flow, resulted in an unfamiliar chaos of randomness. Danel was surprised to find he enjoyed the unpredictability; it was quite stimulating. Pulling a map up on his arm, Danel memorized the directions before setting off; and then reveled at the odd sensation of finding a new place without the drone of instructions to keep him on course. Walking down the absolute center of the street, he wondered why everyone else seemed to cross and weave in whorls of directionless motion.

  Strictly speaking, the streets of Varun had not been built. More correctly, they were gaps; spaces left open; not truly developed land. According to the map, the streets were laid out as a series of arcs. The first arc scribed a half circle that contained the beach. The final arc at the outskirts of town was hedged in by finger hills that clutched at the city from Kamarong Mountain. Like spokes on a wheel, straight streets fanned out from the beachfront, connecting the curved roads together.

  Although constantly in danger of colliding, Danel risked himself a bit, in order to gawk at the absurdly exotic scene. Though the streets were lined with identical prefab modules; the diversity expressed was impressive. The modules had been combined into every conceivable configuration. They were stacked, buried and joined together. Black volcanic rock was the only other material in evidence. It was piled into walls, set in the ground, and even made into small shelters. Danel was impressed by the testament to originality.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Sometimes unforeseen properties and behaviors emerge,” the Mentor pointed out.

  ~~~

  I stood beside Ziggy as he leaned against the low wall enclosing the brew shop patio. The day was still very young. The first wave of customers were only just arriving. A nearby mover occasionally disgorged someone who skipped up the street and into the shop. “Uh-huh,” the mover said, burping out a giant with white blond hair. Even at a distance, Joud was unmistakable. Evincing the effortless ease of youth, he approached with a confident stride and vibrant energy.

  At reaching a comfortable distance, Joud raised a lazy hand; called out, “Hey, Zig.”

  “Morning, Joud.”

  Once they were close enough to touch, their hands bobbed up to slap a greeting. “Haven't seen you in a couple days, Zig,” Joud said. “You been working on a new piece?”

  “Not really. I’ve been in the desert with Chance-bot. Sometimes an artist needs some solitude, Joud.” Circles bruised the skin under Ziggy’s eyes, hinting at a more afflicted story.

  Squinting, Joud conveyed a gentle knowing. “I hear that,” he allowed. “I'm going to grab a coffee. You want a cup, Zig?”

  “I could definitely use one,” Ziggy agreed.

  “I’m on it,” Joud said. “I’ll meet you on the patio.”

  Turning to me, Ziggy said, “Alright, Chance. Back soon.” Stepping away, he entered a narrow passage squeezed between the patio wall and the next door building.

  On opening the patio gate, Ziggy paused, looking for the right spot. Seeing a corner table with an L-shaped bench, he headed that way, leaving the gate to close on its own. Shortly, Joud emerged from a side door, bearing an oversized to-go cup, a demitasse for himself, and a bagel with cream cheese. He set everything on the table. Wordlessly, he pushed the bagel in front of Ziggy.

  “I'm supposed to meet Carla here,” Joud warned him, “so don't be surprised when I abandon you, Zig.”

  “Oh. Carla,” Ziggy answered. Taking up the gifted cup, he sipped. Voicing marginal interest, he asked, “How's that going with you and Carla?”

  Joud grimaced at his cup. “Seemed like it was going pretty well,” he answered. “But now she's leaving,” he grumbled.

  “Leaving?” Ziggy asked. “Leaving to go where, Joud?”

  Petulant, Joud answered, “Varun.”

  “Varun,” Ziggy repeated, raising his brows, and taking a bite of bagel.

  “Yeah, you know, the new planet; the water planet. She has a new project to work on.” He sighed. “…with Danel.”

  Ziggy looked at Joud and waited.

  Cocking his head, Joud clarified, “You know Danel. Architect? Gray eyes? Salt and pepper hair?”

  Ziggy’s shrug could have been a yes; it could have been a no.

  Joud persevered, “He’s a water architect. He designs underwater cities. This will be Carla’s second project with him.”

  “Right,” Ziggy said. “So, where’s that leave you?”

  “Well,” Joud began and stopped. He stared at the floor. “Well,” he repeated. “My service time is coming up,” he revealed. “I was going to do it here. But…but if she's leaving…. I might just do my service somewhere else.”

  “Somewhere else?” Ziggy’s voice betrayed an increased interest. “Like where?” he pushed.

  Joud gave a puff of discontent. “I don't know,” he complained, “…maybe another province; maybe just a different region.” His former equanimity was rubbing off.

  When Carla stepped from the café, onto the patio, Ziggy saw her first; and bitterly pointed with a jerk of his chin. Joud glanced back over his shoulder; his frown rapidly emptied to a smile. Grasping his cup, he sprang from his seat, and bounced to a nearby table.

  “Good morning!” he sang to Carla, while settling his cup and pressing his fingers through his hair.

  She joined him.

  Recalling his conversation with Ziggy, he sobered. “So,” he asked, “when do you take off?”

  Her smile twisting in pain, she sniped, “Good morning to you too, Joud.” Cutting her eyes from him, she admitted, “I leave in three days.”

  Joud contemplated the information. “Are you scared?” he finally asked.

  “Nervous,” she countered. Shrugging a shoulder, she agreed, “Sure, a little scared….” Leaning forward, she amended, “but also, excited. It's a new frontier; and…” her smile reestablished itself, �
�a huge change from the desert. Island living…boat living. Well…hydroliner, I should call it.”

  “Hydroliner?” Joud asked.

  “Yes, hydroliner,” she affirmed. “That’s what they call their…well…their…boats,” she laughed.

  “And your team?” Joud asked. “Where will you be based? On the island? On…Kamarong? …Kamarong Island?”

  “Yes Kamarong. Kamarong City is on Kamarong Island. We'll be staying at the Poseidon Hotel. Actually, the Poseidon is the only hotel.” Her face became thoughtful; she stared into the distance. Joud waited. “Two years,” she finally said. “It’s a pretty long agreement.”

  “Yeah…it is,” Joud agreed. He shrugged. “It’s a very big deal project, though. Guess you’d have to be crazy to turn something like that down.”

  “It is a big deal project,” Carla agreed. “But, you know, it’s not just the project that interests me. This is an opportunity to see a completely untamed planet.”

  Joud raised his brow.

  “Think about it, Joud; Earth’s biosphere has been devastated. Our habitat is composed of a series of reclamation projects strung together. We still have more dead zones than habitable ones. Don’t even get me started on the oceans.”

  “I don’t know much about oceans,” Joud said.

  “Well, the truth is nobody does. Earth’s oceans are populated by bubble cities and walled off reclamation zoos. Whereas Varun,” she said, growing animated, “…Varun is a living ocean! It’s completely undisturbed; it’s natural. The water is alkaline, Joud.”

  “Alkaline?” Joud asked.

  Carla laughed. “Let me put it this way. I’ll be able to put my hand in it without burning my skin. I’m about to experience a living ecosystem.” Carla turned pink with excitement.