A Paradigm of Earth (37 page)
“But Cartesian grids are two-dimensional. Where’s the third dimension?”
“In chaos.” At Blue’s quizzical look, Morgan held her hand up in the dusk. The golden lamplight from inside the lodge limned one side’s contours. “Interfaces.” she said. “Look. Three dimensions. Think of that figure in chaos theory—remember, I showed you the triangles accreting like crystals onto the side of that triangle bounded in a circle—remember its infinite coastline? We fill only the space we displace, yet our skins are the coastline. We are finite in displacement, yet we have an infinite interface with the universe.”
“You are saying we are infinite beings.”
“I guess I am. I sound like an evangelist.”
“Well, it’s good news to me.”
Later, they snuck into the hot tub after the other guests were in bed. The sky was clear and the stars’ light was unimpeded by human light sources. The aurora borealis played across the lightsmear of the Milky Way.
The tub was large enough that they could float between the edges. Blue dragged the bubble-plastic cover across the water and told Morgan to lie atop it. The edges of the tub disappeared behind the periphery of her vision. Blue began to pull her around in a circle.
Suddenly she was afloat in the dark sky, spinning slowly amid the stars, falling into infinity, surrounded by the void: she was at peace.
In the early morning Morgan and Blue went trail-riding with the other guests and Mr. Grey, who was being minder in a lighthanded, distant way, on placid horses trained to put up with the vagaries of citified tourists. They were led by two wranglers from the ranch, a slim, wordless woman Morgan would under other circumstances have tried to flirt with, just to see her blush, and a tanned, compact man who only last night had been showing them his new computer equipment—but today he looked the perfect cowboy from a century ago. The woman and the other guests chose a shorter trail and the groups divided. Blue and Morgan decided, despite Morgan’s awareness of the disadvantages of her small size and wretched condition of fitness when straddling the back of a mammal as large as this, to go on to the lookout at the top of one of the mountains that last night had been just two-dimensional cutouts. They were certainly real now, every bump and gully, Morgan thought wryly. But she was hoping the view would be worth it.
At some point in the ride Morgan realized that she was happy.
It was a state she had enjoyed so seldom in the last few years that she was like a bad swimmer come up for breath—she took a great gasp of this air that smelled only of musty spring grasses—and, of course, horse. The man who rode beside her, however, didn’t notice that she had moved up a level. He was riding in a curiously balletic posture, with one gloved hand loosely holding the reins, the other reached backward to the rump of the horse, resting there. She wanted to ask him if it was unconscious, or just a friendly gesture to the horse, or if he was doing something calming, horsey and wise. She didn’t speak.
Ahead, Blue rode with the same lumpy rhythm as she, but Blue learned faster, and even as Morgan watched she saw the alien looking attentively at the wrangler then adjusting seat somehow. Morgan envied the facility, aware as she was of the sharp impact of buttbones on saddle. Sitting down wouldn’t be easy for Morgan tomorrow.
Morgan thought that the wealth of Earth humans had to offer Blue was all in this moment.
We become concerned with the artifacts we create to last past our deaths,
she thought,
but we lose these moments. We lose the integration of our souls within with our souls without
. This gentle motion through the stands of softly surrounding trees and thickets of bush, this was the cosmic motion.
We become concerned with the artifacts we create to last past our deaths,
she thought,
but we lose these moments. We lose the integration of our souls within with our souls without
. This gentle motion through the stands of softly surrounding trees and thickets of bush, this was the cosmic motion.
What was civilization really but a relentless drive to conquer all this, subjugate it, prove human mastery over the inhuman beautiful supramundane? And when we have despoiled it, what do we have?
Her optimistic belief in the effect Blue’s visit would have on the world was not based on the apocalyptic model. More the stone in the placid pool. Already everyone who knew Blue had changed, and the process was spreading. Something like it must have been happening with each alien, in at least twelve other places in the world. Soon, she thought, everyone who knew everyone who knew … and so on.
But she let even those thoughts slip away, impelled by the insight of wind and the inspiration of leaf into a state close to what she expected pure consciousness to be; the state was modified by the stiffness growing in her right leg, the superficial pain whenever she urged the horse to trot, to catch up with the others. Because of that pain, she kept her horse to a walk, amazed—with a city-dweller’s easily-won amazement at mastering a simple physical skill—that she had learned how and did it so easily. She was also amazed to feel she liked the horse, leaned to pat its neck. She had never thought a horse would be likable. Now she knew better. She snorted slightly at herself.
The rest of the riders had long since passed through a distant gap in the ridge, and even the grey man had not looked back. There were only three of them now in that magic landscape: the rich carpet of grasses and flowers growing on the water flat, the surrounding trees, the glades of willow, the sluggish gleam of silver creek water, the sun through the pattern of cloud, rays in the distant smoky/dusty air. The horses were walking steadily at a rhythm that reminded Morgan of cowboy music; the man beside her was humming to himself or his horse. Blue was ahead, also quiet, also walking the horse.
The wind blows, the grass grows, the Shadow knows … Morgan laughed out loud and the guide turned a tanned, lined face to her and smiled. She felt the current of humanity run between them—and whether it was sensual, spiritual, tactile, whatever, didn’t matter. They were together in their solitude.
Ahead, Blue glanced back, the make-up not masking the mobile smile, then looked ahead and pressed the horse into a canter, disappeared into the trees. The flurry of motion only deepened the peace.
“Are you cold?” said the guide. “You could wear my jacket.”
“No, thanks,” said Morgan. “I like the way it is.”
His brown face turned to the trail. Whatever she felt, whatever he felt was not written there. Yet she felt they had said something. They rode on in silence.
Home from the mountains, they settled into the house again. It was desperately quiet, without Jakob, Russ, and John. “There are ghosts everywhere,” said Blue.
“Yes,” said Morgan. “After a while, if you live long enough, the whole world is made of ghosts. Layers and memories, shapes that aren’t there any more. I used to be so angry about that. I hated entropy.”
“And now you are reconciled to it?”
“I don’t think so,” said Morgan. “But I’m reconciled to something. Being human?”
“Me too,” said the alien.
That night, drying the dishes, Blue dropped one of the blown-glass glasses that had been Morgan’s mother’s. It shattered on the floor, and Blue stood amid the shards, visibly shaken.
“What is it?” said Morgan.
“I feel so old,” said Blue. “Part of me is very tired. I think, Morgan, I think I am wearing out. I think there is a—statute of limitations, perhaps we could call it—on this body. My hands are aching. Like you said was arthritis. Like the grey man said. Maybe I should have let them test my body.”
“How long do you have here?” said Morgan. “Can we count on a certain amount of time?”
“I don’t know,” said Blue.
That night, they moved together again in their ecstatic journey of discovery. Morgan felt like each touch of Blue’s hand to her, each touch of her lips to Blue, each moment that their minds swirled gently below that event horizon, was a manifestation of the essence of their connection. “This is such an important part of how I love you,” she said. “Embodied. In your self. A body. Like me.”
“This is not the end,” said Blue. “It is just one answer.”
“Let us dream while we can,” said Morgan. “Eventually it will be memory and imagination. I want to store it up.”
“Now that we admit to all this love,” Blue asked, voice that innocent inquiring alien again, light, “pastel Blue” thought Morgan with an inner chuckle, “will you mourn for me with the selfhate that you did for your parents?”
Morgan shook her head. “No,” she said. “I have learned something about love these last two years. I will not forget it.”
“Memory will serve us both,” said Blue with satisfaction. “My whole life has been learning you.”
“Learning Earth,” said Morgan, alarmed.
“It’s the same thing,” said Blue. “Go to sleep. I want to dream.”
Their days were a delicate balance of waiting.
“What will we do for money?” Delany asked. “Your maintenance allowance from the Atrium probably lapses with Blue’s departure, and my disability’s been cut again.”
They were six today at dinner: the diminished household of three, Katy who was still with them for now, the grey man, and, of all people, Aziz, who’d dropped by with flowers and stayed to help make the rich clam chowder they were eating with toast and cheese.
“I don’t know,” said Morgan.
“I have a severance allowance,” said Katy. “I could stay here for a while more and pay rent.”
“But you want to move on,” said Blue. “You have found that nice apartment.”
“Yes, but if I can help …”
“Thanks, K., but I don’t think you need to sacrifice your plans,” said Morgan. “But I do admit it’s been worrying me. There are fewer of us than before.”
“Nancy wants a place to stay,” said Aziz.
“But that has its problems,” said Delany.
“Russ will be out on bail after the preliminary hearing Friday,” said Katy. She looked sideways at the grey man but he said nothing. Delany turned to him.
“Come on, Mr. Grey, you can’t keep us on the hook forever. Did he squid the home vid as well as the government channel? Will he end up charged as an accessory to murder?”
“No. The home vid was John all the time,” the grey man said slowly. Delany sighed with relief and Morgan leaned forward. He continued reluctantly, “Russ has an unconscious signature that’s not present on the house squid, and John liked to sign his handiwork with some pretty characteristic flags. Hester McKenzie and Jeffrey Bryant—our experts—have made their depositions to that effect. Russ did the gov vid though. He’s proud of it. So, he’ll be fine until the trial on the sedition charge.”
“But he’ll be unemployed,” said Morgan. There was a short silence. The grey man laid his napkin beside his plate as if preparing to say something, but before he could, the alien spoke.
“You could sell your story to the tabloid media,” said Blue. “You know. The videorazzi?”
They looked at the serene pale face in shock. “Well, is that wrong?” said Blue. “I will be gone.”
“It’s a point,” said Delany.
“True,” said Morgan. “They’ll be plaguing us anyway, once they find out. Might as well get something besides aggravation out of it.”
The grey man cleared his throat. They all looked at him.
“You were not willing to have CSIS pay your garbage fees but you will take a living from the slag media?” he said sternly. Morgan was about to speak when Blue laughed.
“That’s funny!” said Blue.
“Yes,” said Mr. Grey, and smiled. “But in fact, I have already given some thought to this problem. Unstable though the situation may seem, I have made an arrangement that I hope will transcend politics. You won’t have to sell your story to the media—unless of course you want to. There will be a—service pension, shall we say. Commencing on Blue’s absence.”
“I won’t be dead,” said Blue brightly. “Make sure it isn’t a survivor’s pension, or you will have to wait seven years to claim it.”
Morgan, Delany, and the grey man chuckled along with the alien, and Katy looked at them in shock. “The things you people find funny are so—’ she said.
“Funny?” said Delany. For the sake of Katy’s dignity, Morgan managed to stop laughing only a few moments later.
“Morgan, is that you?” The voice on the telephone was Robyn’s, sounding very far away.
“Where are you? You sound like you’re at the bottom of the ocean.”
“Not quite. I’m in Tibet, on a land line.”
“Tibet?”
“Well, actually, we’ve just crossed the border into India. Twylla and I are helping get the new Dalai Lama out.”
“You’re
what?”
what?”
“Oh, her grandfather is some kind of Buddhist guy. Priest. Whatever. So they needed some people with some money and goodness knows I have some, since that Tumbrel Stones deal.”
“What on Earth are you talking about?”
“It was a stock market thing, never mind. I put some of your trust money into it too, though, so you have some money. I’ll tell you all about it later. I just wanted to let you know the wedding is still on. You and Blue still coming?”
“You sound like you’re wired.”
“Yes, I
told
you I’m on a land line. I’m just really happy to be alive, you know? So I thought I’d tell you I was.”
told
you I’m on a land line. I’m just really happy to be alive, you know? So I thought I’d tell you I was.”
Other books
The Divine Appointment by Jerome Teel
Shakespeare by Peter Ackroyd
Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) by Ann Christopher
Flags in the Dust by William Faulkner
Arachnodactyl by Danny Knestaut
The Whispering by L. Filloon
Petal's Problems by Lauren Baratz-Logsted
Rise of the Serpent (Serpent's War Book 2) by Jason Halstead
Cries from the Heart by Johann Christoph Arnold
The Saint's Mistress by Kathryn Bashaar
