Lament for the Fallen (36 page)

‘We debated and we realized that we had to if we had any hope for ourselves. We went back to The Three and agreed.

‘She told us that there are an infinite number of planes of existence. We, through our biology and force of habit, live in only a few. Worse, we have taken our frame of reference from the scarcity of the physical world and applied it to the abundance of others. We compete intellectually and emotionally as if we fight for physical space.’

Joshua feels a moment of recognition. ‘Samara told us a story about that, about forcing the ocean to take the shape of a home.

‘When refugees arrive in Ewuru, then the majority expect that anyone who wishes to stay must adopt our customs and laws. Those that do always struggle. Some of our differences are contradictions.’

Nizena agrees. ‘And the more people you have, the more of these contradictions that emerge. The Earth is a big spaceship. There is still room for people to move if they must. Achenia is tiny. Conflict here will destroy us all.

‘Neither do we wish to remove these contradictions. The universe is varied, and we need new ideas and approaches as conditions change.

‘The Three recommended a new way of organizing ourselves. One in which competition is limited to some planes and eradicated from others. If there is a release of competitive pressure, then there is a place for everyone, including sentient machines.

‘“Do what you will,” she said, “but, unless you have their consent, impose nothing on others.”

‘It isn’t as simplistic as that. Instead of countries filled with competing political movements, we have independent polities. Anyone may found a new polity. Each polity manages itself with its own laws and judicial system. Anyone who doesn’t like those laws can change polities instantly via the connect. If an interaction involves more than one polity, they can agree on which polity will apply, fall back to the core laws, or special advisers can assist in resolving the differences. If all other means are exhausted, they may call on the Five to hear their case and make a judgement.’

‘All obey the rules of the Five?’ asks Joshua.

‘Oh, no. The Five simply mediate between polities. The core laws specify the supremacy of the Five in disputes; other than that, polities supersede all. There is only one area where they act independently, and that is when dealing with anything that threatens the continuity of Achenia itself. Even there, though, they are guided by a body representing the polities. They are called the Seven. And The Three has a deciding vote should there ever fail to be consensus amongst the Five.’

‘It seems very complex,’ says Joshua.

‘People on Earth have managed to trade across borders for centuries with different notions of law and nation. The more open societies permit different cultures and religions to coexist peacefully even while intermingled. It is surmountable,’ says Nizena. ‘The connect makes it easier, allowing us to own our identities and property independently, not through polities or nations. If you own everything of yours directly, it makes such moves painless. Mostly, though, our people are not out to get each other. Where lives are long and treasured, and people are healthy and prosperous, conflicts tend to be fewer.

‘Of course there are compromises. But that is the strength of our system. No one has to stay in a polity that conflicts with their values.’

‘What about extremists? Like Boko Haram?’ asks Joshua.

Nizena nods. ‘We have been lucky. Or maybe they don’t emerge in a society like ours. Our fundamental solution is simple. You may not impose on others without negotiated consent. If they cannot accept that, then they must leave.’

‘How?’

‘Achenia was designed to bud off workable environments. Anyone who cannot live with others must go and find their own way. The Nine will make sure of it.’

Joshua digs his feet into the sand, thinking.

‘The Nine. I still do not feel I understand them.’

‘We’re still human, Joshua. One of our first instincts is still to fight. We offer tremendous freedom here, but we need to accept that we may not impose our choices on others. Think of the different social systems back on Earth. How many of them are incompatible? How do you resolve them should those societies come into conflict? The mediation of the Five is respected because the Nine report to them alone. Overwhelming force in the defence of the common good.’

‘And what is that force?’

Nizena laughs. ‘Mostly it’s that they’re almost unkillable.’

Joshua shivers suddenly as he remembers that first day. Samara in the remains of his escape craft.

‘How do I use this knowledge for Ewuru?’

Nizena smiles and shakes his head. ‘I would not tell you even if I knew. You have time, and you will choose for yourselves.’

‘And the griots? What message are they carrying?’

‘The most simple: that ideas can be reborn and that each can find their own rhythm without taking away the songs of others. All they need do is travel, sing different songs and tell different stories. Time will do the rest.’

Nizena takes Joshua’s arm and walks slowly out of the water and up the beach. ‘Your struggle, our struggle, there is no difference. Each of us is on a ship travelling through space. Each of us trying to work out the best way that all of us can find joy.’

The light is changing, shifting through orange.

They sit on the beach watching the embers of the day and the ocean ebbing and flowing.

45

‘My love.’ Shakiso is there as he opens his eyes.

‘My darling,’ and Samara clutches at her hands, her face, tears of joy, relief and unutterable sadness.

She touches his face, a finger tracing a tear, understanding. ‘You survived,’ she says. ‘You have behaved with honour. You have nothing to regret.’

He reaches up, caressing her cheek. ‘Thank you,’ letting even that sadness fade away.

He is lying on the bed they share, the room open out on to the deck alongside the waterfall. Mist drifts across, and the roar of the falling water fills their home.

She falls to him, and they lie, tangled, for hours. Exploring again familiar shapes, not making love – that will come later – remembering, rediscovering.

‘I am grateful,’ she says.

There is a space in his head, but Symon has his own apologies to make. He will return in his own time.

‘I owe a great debt,’ he says.

‘Joshua has been waiting. He is down at the lake,’ Shakiso says, cradling his face in her hands, searching deep in his eyes. ‘You have come back, but
—
’

‘I want you to know, I will never take anything for granted ever again. You are more precious to me than anything.’

He kisses her fingers, and her eyes are serene waters dappled with sunshine.

46

Joshua is seated on a boulder against the waters of the lake. He can smell the forest and hear the sounds of the birds. He knows he must return home and realizes that the decision was always clear for him.

He hears a discreet cough and turns. A young man is standing there. He looks oddly out of place until Joshua notices the iridescent shimmer he has associated with symbionts. He stands, walks towards him.

‘Symon?’

‘Joshua. I am so sorry. I—’

And without thinking whether it is even possible, Joshua runs and embraces him. ‘You are alive!’

Symon, uncertain, hugs back. ‘I was dreading this moment. I thought, perhaps, you would—’

Joshua shakes his head. ‘I was so worried I had killed you and Samara. You are back.’ His relief is so profound that he realizes how far he is from coming to terms with Achenian technology.

Symon smiles shyly. ‘Samara will join us, but I asked for time with you. To apologize. To thank you for bringing us home.’

They walk along the shore together.

‘What you were saying. Before you –’ Symon hesitates. ‘I am sorry. Without Samara, it is easy to simplify, to believe that the killing of one bad person will end all evil.’

‘Please,’ says Joshua. ‘I understand, understood even then.’

They walk on in silence. Symon relieved that he has asked for, and received, forgiveness.

‘Did you know?’ asks Joshua.

‘About Ewuru and Nizena? I might have,’ says Symon.

Symon walks, accidentally stepping out and on to the water, leaving little depressions there. ‘In order for someone to know where they’re going, first they must know where they’re from.’

‘Did you direct the craft? Did you choose us?’ Joshua persists.

‘When we neared the coast, I identified a range of places to land. I was uncertain where to take us and even if any of the villages still existed. So much of that land is abandoned, dead. There was a memory, a trace. Someone had loved Ewuru. I was alone. Outside the connect. I made a decision. I am sorry.’

‘Please,’ says Joshua. ‘I am grateful. I would not have had you choose anywhere else.’

Symon, his face so young, looks relieved.

A rustle in the trees and Samara emerges. He smiles. He and Joshua embrace, each with relief and gratitude.

‘It is over now?’ asks Joshua.

Samara shakes his head. ‘No, another debt still to repay. And you must return to your people. To Esther and Isaiah.’

Samara crouches and runs his fingers in the water, recalling a time when they shared conversation along the Akwayafe.

‘My grandfather has given you the tour?’

‘Yes. This is a beautiful world,’ says Joshua.

Samara nods. ‘Ewuru will always have a special place in my heart.’

He reaches into a pocket. ‘Here, I wanted to share this with you. It is the last story my father ever wrote.’

Joshua takes the folded page. Opens it.

Etai’s tale
The Tail of One

47

Joshua turns the page over. Holds it up to the light. Apart from the neatly handprinted title, the sheet is blank.

‘I do not understand?’

‘My father chose his date of going. He wanted to leave on his hundredth birthday. On his deathbed, he gave that to me.

‘He said, one day you will find the peace you seek. Your questions will be answered. You will have focused your passion. When that day comes, you will write your first story. We will start work on this one together and – one day – you will complete it.’

Samara takes the paper, holds it as if feeling skin, gently caressing it.

‘He told me the bones of a story. About a dimensional bomb that disrupts higher orders of mathematics and time, drawing power from them.

‘One is a being. After such a dimensional explosion, he is separated from his lover, Story, who is drawn up into higher dimensions. In his dimension he is only of two axes, height and width.

‘He runs in search of Story, his love, but she is out of his reach, twisting through other dimensions. He meets a couple. In this dimension they are bats. They know who set off the bomb but not how. Criminals using terror to influence and control their world.

‘He travels through dimensions of wonder, of art, of science, always seeking Story.’

Samara folds the paper and returns it to his pocket.

‘I don’t know how to make a samara from these elements. I don’t know what they mean. I am a simple man. But, I know now I will learn. I have time.’

They walk along the shore, holding hands, sharing the comfortable closeness of old friends.

‘I was there through his passing. My mother, my grandfather, my grandmother. Shakiso and I had been seeing each other only a short while. My father loved her, and I wished so much that they had more time to know each other. It was not to be.’

He stands straight, tall. Symon by his side. Together Joshua can see the resemblance. What Samara would look like without the garb of the Nine: the heavy matt-titanium density that gives him such an alien physical presence.

‘His going went so quickly. He took to his bed. Said farewell to his symbiont, drained him from his body. A small glass of silver fluid that slowly cleared. We gathered, told his favourite samaras, listened to music, relived our lives together, laughed, rejoiced, cherishing our remaining time.’

Samara’s voice trembles. ‘I held his hand, could feel his heat going. He couldn’t move any more. He became like a child. I dressed him, washed him, fed him. He drank almost nothing, ate so little.

‘At first he joined in our conversation. Every word seemed to cost him so much energy. A sentence, and then he would sleep. Gradually, he withdrew. Only listened. I sat with him for hours.’

Samara is weeping, tears dropping on to his tunic, forming liquid beads that fall to the lake shore. The sea inside joining the sea without.

‘I had no words. Didn’t know what to say. Shakiso, she kissed him, held his hands, told him she loved him. He smiled. I wept.

‘On the morning of the last day, he fell silent. His mouth was open, and his breath came in short gasps. I could feel the absence. His skin was so thin, so fine. White, cold. Late in the evening, he closed his mouth. Would not eat. A few hours later, he breathed one last breath, and was gone.’

Samara wipes his face, his hand wet.

‘I miss him every day. My mother – they were married seventy-five years. I try to imagine the emptiness. How it feels to have been so close to someone, to share so much laughter and love. And then nothing. She never says.’

Joshua knows how this feels. He has buried both his parents.

‘My father said I would, one day, understand what he was doing. I’m not sure I will ever accept his choice completely, but when I saw your children playing – reliving his stories – I realized. He has his immortality.’