Vision2 (6 page)

“The council makes its decisions to bring people here only after putting together all of the data. An average man is given until his twenty-first birthday to decide. Do you remember what I said about the decision being made while one goes through puberty?”

“Yeah, I got that part.”

“Okay, well, our ancient texts tell us that all human men must decide. If they pass a certain age and haven
’
t made a decision, their souls remain in limbo. Still with me?”

“I think so, but what about the women? What happens to the human women if they don
’
t have to decide?” Roger found it amusing that they were referring to all humans as if they all were male. If one of those radical fem-a-nazi
’
s could here how this guy was talking, they would blow their tops for the chance to have an equal opportunity in being abducted by strange creatures. The image was almost enough to make him chuckle…almost.

“I don
’
t know what happens to the females on your planet. That issue has never been addressed in our society. They may not possess the same necessity to make a choice. Perhaps the choice has already been made for them, but they are not my concern. You are.”

“Lucky me.”

“Our society was built and is maintained for the sole purpose of preventing this needless loss of souls. That
’
s why you
’
re here. The council is going to force you to choose a path through this test.”

The weariness that had been plaguing Roger since they
’
d walked into the room finally threatened to overtake him. He walked to the corner and sank into the chair. The plush covering felt good, comforting, and it reminded Roger of home. Just when he thought he could finally be comfortable, he heard his stomach turn over on itself and realized that he hadn
’
t had anything but beer in over two days. “I need to eat. Is there anything around here that won
’
t be too disgusting?”

“Oh yes, there
’
s a refrigerator over there, and it
’
s stocked with human food. I
’
ll leave you alone for a few hours, but I
’
ll be back later with more information so we can prepare for your introduction to the council tomorrow.”

Roger was heading toward the fridge before Firturro even finished talking. “When is this test going to take place anyway?” he asked as he took inventory of the food in the fridge without bothering to turn around. Firturro was going to have to be content talking to his backside.

“The council will decide tomorrow.”

“Okay, but….”

Roger turned as he heard the door shut and lock behind Firturro, his newly formed question still hanging in the stale air. Shaking his head, he resumed his search for food. The first thing he spotted was a package of ham and a few slices of cheese. He hoped they were still good. If one hour of human time was three days here, how long did it take for human cheese to go bad?

The equation hurt his head, and he decided to go ahead and eat the cheese without worrying about the math.

He
’
d expected it to be a little stale, but instead he found his mouth watering after the first bite. It was hard to imagine how a dry and plain ham and cheese sandwich could make a person so content, but it did. Each bite tasted better than the last, and when he
’
d finished the sandwich, he was absentmindedly sucking the crumbs from his fingertips.

For a few minutes he thought about making another sandwich, but there wasn
’
t much food in the fridge, and he didn
’
t know how long it would have to last him. So instead he pulled himself away from the kitchen before he gave in to temptation to eat everything in the kitchen.

In the bedroom he noticed a large book sitting alone on an otherwise meticulously clean desktop. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. There was nothing announcing the book
’
s purpose on the cover, but as he flipped through the pages, he realized that it was a guide to Obawok culture.

Roger sat down in front of the desk and began to read, thinking that bullshit answers were better than nothing. After a few minutes of reading he decided that that was exactly what he was dealing with, nothing. Plain and simple topcoat and filler to keep up appearances, is what is mother would have called it, but he continued to read because even as weary as he was, his nerves were still too tightly wound to sleep.

Eventually, his body gave out and he fell asleep with his forehead on the table in front of the book, a stream of drool making its way out of the corner of his mouth and marring the wood while he slept. He stayed like that for hours before he woke up enough to drag himself to bed. And for a moment, in that blissful stumbling halfway between dreaming and reality, he could almost have believed he was home.

Where else would you go?

Tigaffo stood outside the President
’
s door, his knuckles resting against the heavy oak. Talking to the leader of the Obawok was as scary a proposition to him as anything he might encounter from the human.

He was still debating whether or not to knock when the door swung open and revealed the President sitting behind a large, perfectly arranged, and meticulously polished mahogany desk. Tigaffo knew he had ordered a drove of grunt workers to bring the desk back from earth, but he still gasped at the unbelievable size of it as he walked into the room. He could barely see the President
’
s head over the towering monstrosity and found himself thinking,
This is what having power truly means, a big desk.

Tigaffo cleared his throat and bowed his head as he crossed the threshold to show his respect.

“Mr. President?” he asked after a few seconds of tense hesitation.

“Is there something you need?” the President asked as he leaned over the desk. “You
’
re with Firturro, aren
’
t you? And I
’
d guess that you
’
re here to tell me about the human. Am I right?”

Tigaffo raised his head. “Y-yes,” he stammered before pausing and reminding himself to slow down and think. “Firturro sent me. He wanted me to inform you, uhh…and the council, umm…that the human has been removed from the decompression chamber. Afterwards, he was immediately shown to his quarters.”

“Anything else?” the President asked, bringing his face even nearer to Tigaffo
’
s.

Now their faces were so close Tigaffo could feel the aroma of the President
’
s slowly rotting teeth and recently digested root and worm stew surrounding him.

“Umm, he said the human had taken the transition rather well,” Tigaffo continued.

Kristi Brooks

“Yes, I suppose he did say that. But tell me, what did you think of our guest from earth? And call me Darelle. It
’
s my given name, after all, not President.”

The President
’
s broad smile spoke of goodwill and untold realms of kindness, but his eyes spoke hellish dimensions in which he would gladly spend eternities presiding over the slow destruction of anyone who stood in his way.

“Well, the human, Roger, was shaken when he first left the room. He…umm, he thought he was dreaming.” Tigaffo thought about what happened next and snickered.

“He tried to pet one of the servant gnomes, and it latched onto his hand, and he…well, he…he kind of woke up I guess. His response to the bite was tame, considering the injury. We know how bad a gnome
’
s bite can sting.”

“No, I don
’
t believe I do.” The President stared even harder at Tigaffo, hell and self-righteousness shining through the cordial veneer. “I was never stupid enough to allow one of them to bite me. But continue with your story anyway, I
’
m sure I can understand.” His eyes changed, and that sense of peace and reassurance returned.

Everything about this situation felt wrong, but short of running from the office screaming and crying in fear he was stuck. All he could do was to continue talking.

“Well, sir, he seemed agitated, and I thought Firturro had calmed him down. Everything was fine for a few moments, but after that he...well, he...” Tigaffo was unable to continue when he thought of the way the human might have hurt him.

“What?”

“He started to lose control, and I thought he was going to hit me.”

“This one will need to be watched closely then, won
’
t he?” The President patiently waited for Tigaffo to nod his agreement before continuing. “Obviously, he
’
s smart enough to keep you guys on your toes. Well, I
’
ll tell you something, if you can keep it a secret from your master.”

He leaned close, once again filling Tigaffo
’
s head with the claustrophobic odors of his breath, and Tigaffo found that he had to fight off the urge to reach up and claw at the President
’
s face. Tigaffo managed not to succumb to the desire even though his eyes were watering and his fists were clenched together.

“Do you think you can keep a secret?” the President asked again, his gaze growing even brighter.

“Yes, but I don
’
t understand why.”

“Firturro has some, shall we say, eccentric ideas. Since we don
’
t exactly agree on how these things ought to be handled, I didn
’
t want you to start an argument between us by repeating what I
’
m about to tell you. This is a crucial time, and we need everyone in Obawok to be cooperative.”

“Then why tell me?” Tigaffo asked.

“Because I need someone who
’
s on the inside to make sure Roger is obeying all of the test regulations.” He paused. “If the test is run fairly, then the subject cannot survive. If he cheats and somehow beats the test, it would disrupt Obawok,” the President said, leaning back in his large leather chair.

“Why would it disrupt anything?”

“Because,” he studied Tigaffo, “that would mean humans have the capability to be as smart as we are. The Obawok culture couldn
’
t survive under such circumstances. The ancient ones assured us of this when they discovered that our mission was to guide the humans, and our mission would be void if they were smarter. How do you lead someone who could be viewed as an equal? This would cause watchers, controllers, even workers to question the ancient texts. That is where the problems lie, because you understand the texts are always correct, that their words are infallible.” The President
’
s shining violet eyes daring Tigaffo to challenge this statement.

“Yes,”

“Okay, and I trust you know there is a price to pay for betrayal, so I don
’
t think that we
’
ll have a problem with that. Will we?”

Tigaffo was shaking, and he wished he hadn
’
t come. The secret wouldn
’
t be hard to keep, certainly not as long as the President continued to look at him with his hateful stare.

It also helped that he agreed with the President about the human, especially where cheating was concerned. If the human happened to win fairly, he could learn to deal with that. On the other hand, if Firturro helped him win,
that
would cause a problem.

“You have my promise.”

“It
’
s good that we agree. Now go, and remember to keep an eye on Firturro. Don
’
t let him help the human.”

Tigaffo slightly bowed his head and backed out the door. He didn
’
t dare raise his eyes to the President; even if he had been informal before, looking at him now would be disrespectful.

As soon as the doors were closed, Tigaffo lifted his head and stumbled down the left-hand corridor leading to his apartment.

Tigaffo
’
s frantic pace lessened as he walked further down the hall and away from the powerful stench of the office, but he couldn
’
t stop thinking about what had just happened. The shock wasn
’
t what was said but
how
. It wasn
’
t a surprise that the President didn
’
t want Roger to win. The council was comprised of controllers, and they believed the Obawok species to be superior. What Tigaffo wondered was why the President was willing to go to such desperate lengths to ensure Roger
’
s failure.

The question was still bothering him when he walked past the door to his room and headed toward the pit. Maybe a little trip to the women
’
s quarters could relieve some of his tension.

Once the doors closed behind Tigaffo the President leaned back in his chair and contemplated the encounter. Having Firturro
’
s assistant in his pocket would help his cause. He
’
d thought he might have to trick the young apprentice, but Tigaffo had been so scared it had turned out to be far easier.

He closed his eyes, listened to the meaningless tick of a human clock and hummed. If one didn
’
t take the time to properly think about their problems then they often made rash judgments. As some human had once said, “One can only see the truth when one is centered with the universe,” and he had never doubted the value of this statement despite its lowly source.

When Darelle felt properly refreshed, he got up and exited the room through a small door hidden by the careful placement of his desk. A small, flat handle had been meticulously built into the surrounding wall and camouflaged so the door was not visible to the naked eye. To draw attention away from the passageway, he had decorated the walls with plush velvet tapestries.

Darelle pulled back a corner of the drapery, gripped the handle, and pulled hard. The door slid open and he stepped through and closed it with another hidden pulley on the opposite side. The corridor was the same emerald green color as the rest of Obawok, but here the hall wasn
’
t lit at all for at least 400 feet. He neared the first lamp and saw the thick slime coating the walls.

Darelle used this passageway so often he didn
’
t need to use his hands the guide him. The first lantern he came to signaled another pulley and door system. Darelle released the pulley and entered a cozy apartment. The entryway was decorated with an expensive Persian rug and intricate Indian artwork. Most Obawok may have been ignorant of the benefits of decorations, but he knew how important surroundings were, and he refused to live in blandness. Around the corner and in the living room there was also a wide array of human furnishings.

A small piano sat in one corner while two plush velvet armchairs, taken from Victorian England, were carefully arranged on either side. Two bookshelves stood on the far right side of the room filled with bound works of the ancient texts and a few books of human world history and several on language. Four lanterns had been built into each corner and filled the room with light. Against the opposite wall, across from the bookshelves, there was a slightly younger version of Darelle sitting in a leather reclining chair leafing through a thick volume of ancient texts. He looked up as Darelle entered the room.

“Hello, father.” The greeting was stiff and formal.

“Did you finish memorizing the fourth volume of texts yet?” Darelle questioned.

“Almost.” He looked back down at the book in his lap, grabbed a worn slip of paper that he used for a bookmark, and closed the book.

“That
’
s good, Trulle. It won
’
t be long before you
’
ll be introduced to the council as my only son and heir to the presidency, and you
’
ll need to know the rules and prophecies by heart.”

“I know. I just feel like I should be getting to know the council members and experiencing everything firsthand.”

“That
’
s not the way things are done. I
’
ve told you that before, and I don
’
t have time to sit around and rehash the rules and procedures with you.” He went to his room, closing the door behind him and holing himself up in his dark quarters. There were too many things to think about, too many new possibilities to consider, and he didn
’
t need to add his son
’
s growing curiosity to his list of worries.

Trulle watched as Darelle marched across the room and through a door on the other side, shutting it behind him with a sense of finality.

“President Darelle has spoken, so shall it be,” Trulle mumbled under his breath, glancing at the closed door while settling into his chair and re-opening the hidden fantasy novel he
’
d been reading. The written works of literature produced by humanity always moved him. He was especially amazed by their perception in the areas of science fiction and fantasy. Not all of them were stupid; some of them saw glimmers of the other worlds surrounding them, and he was fascinated by these accounts. Some of his favorites were
The Time Machine, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Dracula,
and
Frankenstein.

When Trulle had started reading the history books about humans, he became more and more interested in what they thought and felt. His dad didn
’
t allow him to read human works other than history, so early on he had convinced one of the servant gnomes to bring him books from earth.

He had to be careful when dealing with the gnomes since almost all of them were dedicated to his father, and most of them didn
’
t talk or have names, so it was difficult to distinguish them. It had been lucky that Trulle had found a sympathetic gnome. He brought Trulle a different book every month or so and took back the old one so there was a less likely chance of his father discovering his treasonous habit since Darelle checked his belongings.

Trulle sighed and leaned into the chair, immersing himself in the book and another world that was drastically different from his own. Then again, he didn
’
t really know his world outside of this room.