Mobius (26 page)

“We’ve discovered that the Fume isn’t unique to Earth. We’ve developed long-range dimensional telescopes to detect the Fume, and have thus far identified his telltale dimension and exotic energy around
a thousand alien worlds
. Fortunately, the Fume seems confined to a small corner of the universe—a conglomerate of seven galaxies. Avoiding this area of the universe must become dogma.

“If we’re capable of abiding by these laws for the next twenty-one million years, we may avoid paradox. But who can tell what such a vast quantity of time may bring?

“As the dimensional gateway technology is used to search for new worlds, it’ll be the duty of the Guardians to police its use. In addition to preventing paradox, the Guardian Army will be in charge of monitoring the Fume using unobtrusive methods. We must learn of this entity, and understand its function in the universe and its threat to humankind.”

Sensimion approached a workbench, where laid a sophisticated device shaped like a giant turtle’s shell. He placed his hand fondly upon it. “This miniaturized dimensional transporter will give the Guardians free range to roam the universe. Once it’s attached to an individual’s back and interlinked with the brain, it can be shifted into an alternate dimension, thus leaving it invisible and weightless. Without the constraint or conspicuousness of a ship, the Guardians may travel across the universe and arrive at any location in complete secrecy.”

The distant voice of a young girl interrupted Sensimion’s report: “Father, I’m finished with my listening exercises. I can’t take it anymore. The volunteers were thinking awful things about me. They think I’m ugly.”

From behind Sensimion a girl approached. Her appearance couldn’t be regarded as mere ugliness. Rather, she suffered some kind of hyper-cephalic condition, in which her head had grown uninhibited into a gnarled and unshapely mass, no less than twice the size of a normal human head. Sensimion wrapped an endearing arm around her.

“Say hello to the people of the future. They wish to meet you. People of the future... this is Nara-Narayana.”

The girl pushed close to the recording sensor, and presented a great pink eye that, from the influence of her overgrown skull, bulged wildly from its socket. “I hope you’ve become better people in the future, with proper and healthy thoughts.” She paused thoughtfully. “I’ll be watching you.” She proceeded to laugh with girlish glee.

“That’s enough, Nara. You must get back to your listening exercises. The volunteers have sacrificed a great deal to help you reach your potential.”

“Their thoughts are unmanageable,” said Nara. “Strange and horrible things rise into their minds. It curdles my blood.”

“You must learn to tolerate all manner of thought, good or bad. Evil thoughts will always plague the minds of men and women, no matter how pure the soul. Judge a person by their actions, not thoughts. Now, run along. We’ll study more about moral psychology after you finish your listening exercises.”

She went on her way and Sensimion continued his report. “Nara-Narayana is something special. She’ll someday lead the Guardians. She’ll live a life of near immortality, in a hidden realm, where she’ll look over the Brahman descendants. And, if all goes according to plan, she’ll protect them for the next twenty-one million years until the threat of paradox has passed. The complexity of her mind and genome is beyond that of any human. When I conceived of her, it was a moment of divine inspiration, nothing less.

“But enough about Nara; I cannot divulge the details of her abilities, or where she’ll reside for the next twenty-one million years. This knowledge must remain secret, so to protect her from outside influences that may someday wish to corrupt her. I’ll provide future updates when necessary. Goodbye.”

The hologram ended, evaporating into air.

“And as the story goes,” said Fandoral passionately, “twenty-one million years passed—without paradox, but not without difficulty. And, at last, the Brahman Station’s descendents have returned home.”

“Amazing,” said Allienora. “And now that you’ve returned? What next?”

Fandoral breathed deeply. “We’re going to stop the Fume’s manipulation of humankind.”

“Tell us about the Fume,” I said. “What is it? Where is it from?”

“We exist in a multiverse,” said Fandoral, holding up a hand, as if gesturing to the heavens. “There are countless universes unseen and unaffected by each other. Long ago, the Fume arrived from another universe. His consciousness spread around Earth, and he began changing and shaping the Earth as he saw fit. With time and the seemingly infinite patience of the Fume, humankind evolved. But man’s biological evolution wasn’t the only thing influenced by the Fume, for he also began manipulating man’s social evolution.”

“Hold on!” said Allienora. “Are you saying the Fume is the creator of humankind? A god of sorts?”

Fandoral smiled widely. “The Fume is indeed the creator of humankind—however, he’s not a god. The Fume doesn’t stand the test of any orthodox definition of a god. His powers are quasi-omnipotent. His manipulations, while they’ve generally advanced the human condition, have also caused many terrible repercussions.”

“And what of these manipulations?” I asked.

“As I said, the Fume began manipulating humankind’s social evolution. To do this, he took on human form, producing some of the most influential characters in human history. Through these various manifestations, he inspired wars, religions, prejudice, human arrogance, and so on and so forth, complicating the world in an effort to control humankind’s progression into the future.”

I knew these historical icons well. They haunted my memories.
How did these memories become rooted in my mind?
Do I possess some supernatural clairvoyance? Am I somehow in tune with the Fume? What was done to me in the sanitarium?

Fandoral halted. “Theron, you seem more disturbed by these revelations than your companions. Are you all right?”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “What does the Fume want from us?”

“Even after twenty-one million years, his final goal is still a mystery. Earth hasn’t been his only focus—there have been over a thousand planets in the seven galaxies that he has manipulated. We’ve witnessed the rise and fall of many non-human species, which he has created and controlled. He’ll take them to great heights, both technologically and socially, and then, in more cases than not, he’ll eradicate them, as if they had failed some standard he was trying to achieve.” Fandoral smashed a fist into palm. “The simple fact is that humankind and other civilizations under the Fume’s control are ultimately deprived of their autonomy, with no freedom to grow and evolve naturally. In the end, all seem to face extinction by a disgruntled maker. This won’t be the fate of Earth!”

Orsteen chewed on his tongue. “The significance of this is almost too great to swallow.”

“If he even speaks the truth,” said Morion.

“I’ve given you the facts,” said Fandoral. “It’s an extraordinary occasion to learn of your divine maker, only to look up and find your limbs are attached to strings, wielded by that maker, who’s just a puppet master jerking and pulling with a malevolent grin. But, do not fear. We’ve come to drive the Fume out of our universe. All who suffer under his control will be freed, and their autonomy regained.”

I sat forward. “And you have the means to accomplish this?”

“Why do you think we sent the Obelisks to Earth? We haven’t endured twenty-one million years to bring Earth a collection of monuments. And, like Earth, we’ve also brought Obelisks to each of the one thousand and twenty non-human planets shrouded in the Fume’s outpocketings. Currently, the Obelisks hold Earth in temporal stasis until all the Obelisks, throughout the seven galaxies of the Fume, are in equilibrium. Once this occurs, the Obelisks will create a dimensional barrier between our universe and the Fume’s.”

Fandoral extracted a metal bottle from a decrepit case on the table. He pressed a button on the bottle and the top opened, releasing a hiss of pressure. He poured its black, ethereal contents into six bulbs. “This is a monumental time—when you, the ancestor, and I, the descendent, stand side by side.” Fandoral distributed the bulbs to each in the group.

Stimple, who had mounted the tabletop by means of a small ladder, claimed a tiny remaining bulb.

Fandoral swirled the contents of his bulb under his nose. “I rescued this bottle from the ruins of a planet whose inhabitants—descendents of yours and some distant cousins of mine—were a hundred millennia extinct. I now propose a toast.” Fandoral raised his bulb high. “To the expulsion of the Fume from our universe. His meddling has gone on too long—”

Before the toast was completed, Morion took a premature drink from his bulb. Unable to cope with the volatile liquid, he convulsed, sending the contents of his mouth across the table and onto the little creature, Stimple, who looked down sadly at his wet clothes.

“The drink is detestable!” proclaimed Morion, lips puckering.

I stopped the bulb short at my lips. “Or our sense of taste has yet to evolve to appreciate the drink’s complexity.”

Fandoral grumbled in amusement. “Be bold, Theron Mobius, and have a drink.”

I took a small drink from the bulb. Like Morion, I found it disgusting. Regardless, I forced the thin liquid down my throat with a resisting gulp. “It’s very sour. Maybe it’s gone bad.”

Fandoral laughed. “It hasn’t gone bad. This is a unique drink. Its subtleties can only be enjoyed after suffering the first repulsive gulp, in that it changes your tongue in preparation for the next.” Fandoral took a second drink from his bulb, and then licked his lips clean.

I took another taste, and was surprised by the spectrum of flavors that coated my tongue. “Interesting, Fandoral. Once the tongue becomes altered, the drink takes on a whole new personality. You’re then able to taste flavors previously undetectable—almond, persimmon, and essence of ocean.”

“I’m glad you like it, Mr. Mobius.” Fandoral replenished the contents of Stimple’s tiny bulb.

Everyone finished their drinks and Fandoral rose to his feet. “Come, there’s time before the Obelisks are aligned. I’ll entertain you with a fine meal of our local cuisine.”

“Splendid,” I said. “I still have many questions.”

“Very good, Mr. Mobius. This way. It’s only a brisk walk down the Corridor of Guardians.” Fandoral lifted Stimple onto his shoulder and proceeded through the doorway.

We followed Fandoral down a corridor of tall glass walls, behind which were entombed armored figures standing at attention. There were thousands, arranged into rows stacked upon rows. On their backs hung the bulky transporter carapaces usually concealed in an unseen dimension.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“This,” said Fandoral, “is a repository of Guardians. They stand dormant in temporal stasis until their services are required. As you learned from Sensimion, the Guardian Army has been the key to preventing paradox for the last twenty-one million years. They’ve been recruited over the eons from numerous worlds in the Brahman Sprawl. They’ve given up their lives and pledged themselves to preventing paradox.”

“Are so many needed?” asked Orsteen.

“What you see here is only a fraction of a fraction.” Fandoral nodded gravely. “You’d be surprised at how many have plotted to destroy our existence, attempting to make contact with the Fume or visit Earth—maniacs, iconoclasts, anarchists, religious zealots on a quest to find their creator. Every sort throughout the ages has attempted. All that’s needed is an unauthorized dimensional gateway and a celestial map leading to the seven galaxies of the Fume.”