Moving awkwardly, often unbalanced by the heavy burden he possessed, the man maneuvered down the mountain's uneven grade. It was obvious he wanted to proceed with greater haste but was hindered by his care for the large flat stone tablets. His aged face, weathered well beyond eighty years, expressed joy mixed with an anticipation; something of great import was about to be shared with others. Despite an obviously advanced age, his movement showed the vigor and vitality of a much younger man.
Looking neither left nor right as he descended, he did not take his eyes from the crowd at the bottom of the mountain other than for the brief moments required to ensure his footing. Staring into the commotion the man followed an unseen path he seemed to know well. It was apparent to Michael, from his distant height above the gathering, the man could not yet tell what was happening below.
Continuing to observe the scene from his remote position, Michael began to notice an increase in the thunder's volume. Silent until the morning, the gentle rumbles had thereafter remained steady, in interval and intensity, until now. Initially lost in the rising noise from the multitude, the thunder was now beginning to dominate. The cloud itself had grown darker in the past few minutes, the lightning more frequent.
Fascinated by what was transpiring Michael stayed in place watching as it unfolded. Not doubting the reality of what he was seeing he remained skeptical the mythological account would prove true. Knowledgeable about many folklores, he was well acquainted with their often exaggerated and colorful claims. It was doubtful this would be anything more than just part of the fanciful history of one of humanity's many races.
Over the better part of an hour he watched the old man's journey down the mountain. He noticed how the facial expression gradually changed as he drew nearer to the people below. At first exhibiting a peaceful joy, replaced by a curious bewilderment, and then outraged concern. Michael then saw a face wreathed in anger greater than anything he had previously seen. By now the crowd had grown so recklessly loud they hadn't noticed the peals of thunder growing in complaint, as if matching the man's changing mood.
At that moment a thunder clap tore the air. Michael shot a look upwards to see sharp edged lightning blazing from the cloud's enfolding blackness. The air turned cooler causing Michael to put his tunic back on, leaving the gloves drained of water on the ground beside him. The man now stood atop a flat rock near enough to the people that he was clearly seen by all. Those closest knew he was emotionally as one with the cloud; knowledge which rapidly swept through the crowd. His displeasure with the swirling activities of the congregation could be read in his face and stance.
The ground trembled slightly and the people froze in their confusion between celebration and fear. Some began slipping away from the mass, skulking between the tents, distancing themselves from the platform. The shaking and the thunder continued as more and more people began to leave, individually and in huddled groups, their faces to the ground. Many who stayed began to weep into hands covering their faces while others fell to their knees in supplication imploring the figure of the golden calf to do something to calm the cloud and the ground.
Clutching the tablets to his chest the man was screaming to the people, verbally casting his anger upon them. Michael heard nothing of what was said, distance and thunder precluding the wind bringing a stray word his way. Staying prone he watched, glad his involvement remained only as an observer.
Coins, jewelry and other oblations were tossed towards the platform by those able to keep their balance long enough to do so. It was as though they believed they could appease an angry deity with the provision of material goods. Fist size rocks tumbled down the mountain and along the ridge walls, sometimes bouncing into the air when striking a larger stationary stone. Michael's position next to the protruding arm felt the affects necessitating putting his arms over his head for protection. While lying so, his face pressed to the dirt, he imagined hearing a trumpet blast within the rolling thunder. Raising his still covered head to look at the encampment he did not see indication that anyone else heard it.
The old man, perturbed by what was happening above him, stood motionless on the flat stone glaring down at the platform. As if frozen in fury his countenance was hard, his lips tight and unmoving. Then, showing strength Michael thought impossible, he lifted the stone tablets one atop the other over his head, briefly holding them in place, before beginning a forward motion that could only result in their crashing to the ground and shattering.
Michael did not see the end result of the man's action. Taking on frenetic force the thunder and lightning screamed displeasure, the ground swayed as if about to tear apart and rocks rained from the mountain. Michael's eyes were closed, face buried in the ground, arms still covering his head, a silent prayer for protection offered unawares. Even if alert to what he had done, there would not have been a deity specified. Michael never believed in a god and this held firm.
In the midst of the turmoil going on around him Michael suddenly felt strangely at peace. A mental obscurity silenced the terrifying sounds while the ground ceased its movements. Nothing was falling any longer. Gradually he began to feel cold, his cheek freezing as if pressed against ice. This wasn't supposed to be what death felt like. There should have been no feeling at all. Death was simply a lack of being, a nothingness; why could he still sense things, feel cold, think?
Opening his eyes he saw brown icy mud, not the dry yellow dirt he had buried his face against. Someone knelt beside him their hands on his back.
"Are you alright Michael?" a concerned voice asked.
Raising his head he saw Nathaniel. Michael did not respond to the question: there was uncertainty to his thoughts, a dispute as to what was real and what wasn't. Remaining prostrate he propped himself up on his elbows to look around. Everything was white; no not everything, that was just a first impression. The ground was again covered with the white substance he had seen earlier, but it wasn't sticky, there was no scent of honey in the air. Michael shut his eyes trying to concentrate, lightning flashed quietly in the blackness. People thrashed about running from one side of his thoughts to the other, confused, they were confused. No, it wasn't them it was him, he was confused.
Opening his eyes he saw a line of tress; conifers, and leafless deciduous, at the distant edge of a snow cover field. The cold mud he was in was the strip of dirt he had cleared away from the field, near the village, the day before. Reality slowly came to him. But the ground was wet in spots, with only a thin coat of fragile ice over most of it, as if the snow had only melted a few moments earlier. That was twenty four hour ago, he had been somewhere else for a day, a night had passed, the ground should be solidly frozen but it wasn't.
"Is everything all right?" Nathaniel's voice asked again.
"I don't know," Michael answered, rolling to a sitting position, "What's going on?"
"You slipped, fell and hit your head. I asked you to look at the ground, not become part of it."
"No that's wrong. I went somewhere. Long ago, a myth ...folklore," Michael hesitated knowing his words didn't make sense.
"Concussion? We'll get a medical drone to check you out."
"I don't understand."
"You will, you will, in time. For now its best you not continue sitting in that cold muck," Nathaniel spoke comfortingly holding out a hand to assist Michael to his feet, "You need to get warm, cleaned up and fed. Let's go back to the village. There's a place we can stay, very congenial, we can talk more then."
Without commenting, Michael took Nathaniel's gloved hand and stood. His uniform was dirty with a few small tears in both the trousers and the tunic. He remembered touching the mountain in order to climb it, being jolted by a presence, falling back, sliding down a pebbly slope. Brown mud covered much of what he could see but traces of dry yellowish dirt were still noticeable.
The two began walking towards the village, Nathaniel leading with Michael a step or two behind. It was early evening, dusky, the sun almost gone, a chill wind rising and falling, testing his humor.
"Something happened Nate. I didn't just fall."
"No?" The older man replied without looking back. "Go on," he encouraged.
"I went someplace. A long time ago ...a desert place."
"Warm was it? Felt real?"
"Yes. No, it was ...real."
"Things are being revealed." Nathaniel said in a way that may have either been advice or a question. "There is nothing hid that shall not be made known. I paraphrase."
More fully recovering his sense of time and place Michael shot back, "Does everything you say have to be so cryptic? Can't you just answer questions according to how they are asked?"
"I didn't realize you had asked a question. But when you do, please consider that the answer should not be rejected simply because it isn't the one you want to hear. If it is, why ask in the first place? Sometimes by listening, I mean really listening, and considering the answer without preexisting bias, your understanding will increase. Your own prejudices often prevent you from seeing what is being shown and hearing what is being said," Nathaniel paused before finishing, "You don't refuse to look inside the house just because you've never met the builder."
"I don't understand."
"So you've said. So you've said." Nathaniel turned and winked before continuing on.
Neither man said anything more, though Michael's head was full of questions and new ones kept arriving. He was light-headed, dizzy. Hunger and weariness contributed to a muddled mental state, dampening his enthusiasm to talk further.
'Revealed,' Michael reflected on Nathaniel's word choice. He said 'revealed', meaning someone's active participation before the answers appeared; a disclosure of something covered or hidden; or, it could mean a betrayal, if it were secrets being revealed! Just play the game he told himself, learn as much as possible in the short time available. If answers proved unsatisfactory the less desirable option was always available. The gun was still attached to his belt and he had already comforted himself by brushing his hand against it.
"My coat, gloves ..." Michael muttered, the bitter cold making him realize something was missing.
Nathaniel, hearing him, turned, and as seemed to be his way, smiled but said nothing other than to encourage him along with the promise of nearby warmth.
Michael wanted to contact Gabe and see if the computer could in anyway account for his experience in the desert. An experience his senses both affirmed and denied. Gabe monitored Michael constantly and would know exactly what happened to him in the last twenty four hours. But contacting Gabe right then was too big a risk. Not understanding who or possibly what, Nathaniel was, Michael did not want him to know about his ability to readily access the mechanism controlling every automated system on the planet. It was a potential advantage not to be carelessly thrown away. But what was the chance Nathaniel didn't already know about the implant; he who seemed to know so much while revealing so little? Whether he did or not, Michael wasn't going to chance it unnecessarily.
Apart from the artificial outside lighting it was dark by the time they reached the first street in the village. Drones, being fully functional in any illumination, did not require lights to be on in any of the houses. Michael assumed Gabe anticipated Nathaniel and his need for lights along the street and had activated them without instructions. The assumption Gabe was watching reassured him.
They walked to the end of the street before turning towards the village center. No sooner did they turn than Michael noticed a colorful glow farther down the road. Contrasting with all the other houses, one was not only lit up inside but, following an old tradition long ago common to some cultures at this particular time of year, was decorated with colorful lights outside.
Drawing closer he could see three lit candles in the front window. Odd that candles would be used, he thought. Without specific instruction, neither Gabe nor drones would have done such a thing. A sure sign the arrangements were Nathaniel's doing — or perhaps someone working with Nathaniel? There had been no sign of a home decorated in such a fashion when they passed by earlier in the day, assuming it to be the same day. And Nathaniel asserted they had both been together in the field the whole time. Was there another person involved in what was going on ... or an Alien?
Snow lay billowed on the rooftop, rounding its edges, enclosing and separating the warm colors from the surrounding night. Michael felt welcomed, as if the house offered an invitation to leave the darkness. Nathaniel walked up the cleared cobblestone path to the front door with an owner's nonchalance.
Michael wondered why he hadn't noticed the house before. Admittedly, somewhat distracted at the time, it was nevertheless his habit to notice everything. Stopping for a moment before entering, he looked around, struck by something else that did not agree with his recollection. There had been a vacant lot, a gap in the symmetry, along this road. He wasn't sure where it was but he was certain of the empty space. There where no empty spaces now.
"Is something wrong?" Nathaniel asked opening the door.
"No, nothing important," Michael lied, following him inside.
The interior of the house immediately began to thaw Michael's frozen being; the warmth to his body, the enchanting décore to his mind. A small foyer and long hallway were dimly lit by candles, the light reflected in the polished wood floor. Both men removed their boots before padding down the hall in socks to a dining room ablaze with even more and larger candles. Following an ancient custom, evergreen boughs interlaced with red ribbons and bows ran along the room's intricate crown moldings. A thicker evergreen bough decorated with pine cones, small silver bells and a large red bow graced the fireplace mantle. In a corner stood a large fir tree resplendent in brightly colored shapes hanging from the branches, and a porcelain angel backlit by a candle shining at the top.
Michael had never witnessed such a display before, although he was acquainted with its nature. Many centuries earlier such ornamentation were part of religious celebrations, devolving over time into primarily secular occasions used to overcome, if only briefly, the cold short days of winter. Regretfully, as humanity began to act with a common purpose in reaching for the stars — colonizing and terra-forming other worlds — their thoughts matured and celebrations of a religious nature fell away. Even secular celebrations which might have offended because of a religious root were discontinued. Undoubtedly some people still participated in these activities, but they were few and personally unknown to him.
As beautiful as the room was, Michael's attention immediately focused on the overwhelming quantity and variety of food placed on a long table that consumed most of the available space. Among the dishes and trays were more candles, boughs, red ribbons, as well as gold and silver bells and other decorative articles. All sat on a white linen table cloth. Although there were eight place settings only two chairs were pulled away from the table in anticipation of diners. Apparently Nathaniel and Michael were to eat alone.
Before having a chance to sit, Michael's host directed him to an upstairs bedroom where he was to shower and put on a change of uniform. Despite not having brought a spare uniform with him, Michael was not surprised when he saw waiting for him a replacement, complete with the correct service ribbons, laid out on the bed. Setting the shower to the highest temperature possible without scalding his skin, he quickly stripped off the dirty and torn uniform before immersing himself beneath the cleansing flow.
"Gabe," Michael whispered, certain Nathaniel could not hear him over the shower's stream. However, suspect for concealed listening devices and having failed to scan for them, he remained circumspect in what he said.
"How long was I gone?" Between each statement he altered the inflections in his voice hoping any eavesdropper would consider his words only to be the product of a tired mind rambling incoherently.
Instantly a gratifying tingle was felt in the nerves behind his ears causing a grin to break out on his face knowing that Gabe was back. The response pleased him less, "Define your question parameters. Gone from what location?" questioned the voice from inside his head.
'What location?' Michael thought with surprise, certain Gabe would have been aware of his absence. What did Gabe mean by asking such a question? He had been displaced in both time and space and, although the A.I. might not know this specifically, it should have recorded his disappearance from their own present time. Then again, maybe not he realized, considering it further. Always a theoretical possibility, 'travel' of this nature had never before been witnessed or recorded. If he came back to the exact time he had left, the computer would not have noticed anything. If the return to his time was precise, to Gabe Michael would not have gone anywhere.
Continuing his attempt to avoid being obvious, he mumbled "This area ...village ...the surrounding fields ..."
"You were gone from the village, marked by its outer municipal boundary, for sixty-seven minutes. I will not provide the time in seconds for I know that information is not important to you unless specifically asked for. Do you need to know the seconds and any parts thereof?"
As much as Michael appreciated once again being in contact with Gabe, his frustrations with its non human speech mannerisms promptly revived. Even so, he found talking to the computer less annoying than talking to Nathaniel.
"No," he said in answer to Gabe's last question before then saying "the field", hopefully narrowing the first question's parameters concerning 'location' sufficiently enough for it to be understood.
"I believe your statement 'the field' is in reference to my initial question. Advise me if I have assumed incorrectly." Michael said nothing in reply.
Gabe continued, "I take your failure to respond as an affirmation of my assumption. Therefore, you were in the field sixty-seven minutes; you were never gone from the field during that time. The answer to your question must then be 'zero' by any increment used to measure time length."
So Gabe hadn't noticed his going to and from the desert past, even though it greatly exceeded the one hour plus recorded when he was in the field with Nathaniel. Michael still wanted to establish he was somewhere other than the field.
"Body temperature ...after fall ...before I stood up again?" he said, maintaining the subterfuge of having a conversation with himself.
"Thirty-seven point five degrees Celsius," came the reply.
That clinched it. Laying in the cold mud for any length of time should have dropped his body temperature. It had not. Rather than having fallen, his temperature was reported as being higher than normal. He hadn't been prone in the field long enough to cause a decrease in it before he opened his eyes and saw Nathaniel. This, as well as the torn uniform with traces of dry yellowish dirt on it, confirmed something had taken place other than what he had been told. Not to give any cause for suspicion about why he had been talking in the shower, just before turning it off he maintained the ruse by commenting unintelligibly about lost loves, cold nights and flying pigs.
Feeling warm and clean, his face freshly shaven, Michael entered the dining room. Nathaniel stood waiting for him next to a chair already pulled out to indicate where he was to sit at the table.
"Sorry about that, hope I didn't keep you too long. I feel like a new man," Michael said, feigning a cordiality he did not quite feel.
"No need to apologize, I'm just glad you aren't any the worse for wear given the trip you experienced. Please, do be seated," Nathaniel replied with the best affectation of a host to an honored guest.
After both had sat, they began to load their plates from the extravagantly laden table; goose, duck, ham; everything fresh and cooked to perfection, nothing artificial. Potatoes, carrots, peas, gravy, sauces, and stuffing in many varieties. There were soups and stews, condiments and relishes; an abundance too great for any two people to eat. Wines, punches, eggnog and fruit juices which could never all be drunk. Through the course of the meal Michael was to fill his plate and his glass more often and in greater amounts than Nathaniel.
The candle lit conversation started sporadically with hunger inhibiting words. Flickering between the weather, seasonal ambience, and the great variety of food stuffs set before them, their words fanned briefly into good natured banter as their bellies filled. Nathaniel continued his habit of avoiding specific answers, waiving off Michael's questions about the food preparation with hints about the drones being preprogrammed to anticipate needs, his vagueness covered by jocularity. Nathaniel insisted that he could not have attended to the arrangements having been in the field with Michael, and no person could be in two places at the same time.
"Yes ...together in the field," Michael mused aloud, "the cold, muddy, miserable field. The field where I 'tripped'. What exactly did happen out there Nate?"
"You are referring to my narrative about the villagers and the wall," Nathaniel answered without attempting to conceal its disingenuous nature.
Michael chuckled falsely, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs. "Admittedly the anecdote was interesting but that's not what I am asking about. What I want to know is how I ended up flat on my face in the mud, and where I was prior to that."
Nathaniel's left eyebrow raised slightly as if to show bemused confusion.
"Why Michael, in posing the question, you have already answered one of them. Last question first then. Prior to being flat on your face in the mud, you were not flat on your face in the mud. Now to the first question. While looking at the ground an unusually strong wind gust hit you. Not being prepared for it, I suppose you lost your footing in the slippery mud and toppled over. I thought you would get up right away, the fall not appearing that serious, but when you didn't immediately arise, I came over to offer assistance. You cannot believe my relief in finding you were all right."
Searching for any trace of insincerity in Nathaniel's eyes, or any quaver of subterfuge in his voice, Michael detected none. Nathaniel believed what he said.
"I wish I could have more faith in what you say Nate, but I'm having trouble with it. You see, as I looked at the ground as you had requested I do yesterday afternoon ..."
"Yesterday?" Nathaniel interrupted, "But Michael, we just met each other this afternoon. I could not have made a request of you yesterday."
"Bear with me Nate, as I have with you. Let me tell you what happened and then you can try to weasel word an answer," Michael replied, realizing that the food and wine had relaxed him more than he would have wished. "I looked down and saw nothing particularly interesting; other than the ground starting to dry up and change color in front of my eyes. Perplexed, I looked up and... guess what? You were no longer there. Gone ...vanished. But not just you ...the field, snow, trees, village ...everything was gone. Somehow you ...my apologies, I was about to make an unsubstantiated assertion ..." Michael trailed off before then picking up his glass and roughly refilling it to the brim with wine. Raising the glass to his lips he tilted it back and swallowed a large mouthful, then continued with what he had been saying, having used the interval to consider his words.
"Somehow, ...I was now in a hot, stony desert place at a time I came to believe was about four thousand years ago ...," Michael carefully put the glass down on the table without saying anything further, watching Nathaniel and gauging his reaction.
Nathaniel did not speak right away. Sitting with a quizzical expression on his face and a mischievous gleam in his eyes, it seemed as if he were searching for the right words to say when indulging someone possessed of a feeble mind.
"So off you went on an adventure without even bothering to invite me along. Adding to the injury, you went someplace warm," Nathaniel finally said, while smiling broadly.
It was not the reaction Michael expected or wanted. No transparently false denial, no admission as to the reality of Michael's statements, no request to hear more while he hunted for an escape from the discussion. Nothing was contained within the response to serve as a clue to Nathaniel's actual knowledge about what had taken place. It was all in keeping with what had so far been seen in Nathaniel's persona.
Nonplussed without making it known, Michael continued his account, injecting as much detail as could be remembered. He recounted stumbling backwards in shocked disbelief, gaining control of thoughts and emotions; finding the cave, water and something to eat; with both men entering into sincere laughter as the rats where found, prepared and consumed — comparisons being made by both with the feast now before them. He mentioned the slightly out of place positioning of the stars after the sun had set, only later realizing he had been viewing the constellations' positions as they appeared in the night sky thousands of years ago. He told of the unmoving cloud and the low murmur and, becoming more serious, how he had attempted to climb a part of the mountain only to be rebuffed by a power he couldn't understand; a force not wholly of energy but one having a presence to it — lacking for any better understanding — one that he almost wanted to be a part of.
Michael spoke of what he witnessed after his encounter with the untouchable presence. A city of tents in the desert, home to a million or more people all living a primitive existence. He mentioned the white 'substance' he had seen earlier, melting into a sticky mass before evaporating without leaving any residue whatsoever, which the people somehow could gather and use for food with no melting taking place.
Nathaniel listened attentively, giving nothing away — presupposing there might be something so to give — while Michael concluded by telling of the platform and the golden calf with those rejoicing in homage before it while an elderly man made his way down the mountain carefully protecting two stone tablets in his arms. Stone tablets the man was soon to destroy in anger.
Michael paused briefly before finishing, wanting to be sure of the accuracy in what he remembered and how he felt. Looking with purpose into Nathaniel's eyes, he told how the cloud and elderly man seemed to act as one in displaying rage at what the people had done in worshiping the gleaming statue. Michael could feel the turmoil, the bitterness, and even the sadness, as the thunder and lightning increased and rocks began to fall round about him, forcing him to cover his head. It was then that he had felt coldness against his cheek and heard Nathaniel asking after his well being.
In telling what had taken place, Michael omitted mentioning the prayer he made for protection; it was the single detail purposely left out. At the end he expressed his belief he had witnessed an event considered by most to be only an ancient cultural fable, akin to such epic poems as the ones about Gilgamesh and Odysseus. They were imaginative historical stories covered with a thin veneer of reality, and nothing more.
Having listened without comment or criticism, laughing only as appropriate, Nathaniel sat sipping his wine, letting both the meal and Michael's words settle. Gradually his expression altered from one of contemplation to that of bemusement, his right hand finding a small space on the crowded table where his fingers began a soft orderly beat.
After a moment wherein the only sounds heard were those of Nathaniel's fingers strumming and the tick-tock from a venerable grandfather clock in the hallway, the conversation re-engaged. Nathaniel sat back in his chair, clasped his hands on his lap and asked not on the event as it had been told by Michael, but on Michael's belief in it.
"So, do you think it all really happened?"
The question was asked in a manner suggesting Nathaniel could be convinced, or he already knew, of its reality. This surprised Michael. From Nathaniel's point of view the ready explanation was that Michael slipped on the icy mud and, striking his head, entered an imaginative unconsciousness. But this is not what had been offered. Instead, Michael's faith in himself was being tested. The slight part within him betraying any lack of confidence called for a careful answer, and it was heeded.
"I always considered such stories to possess literary merit but want for literal acceptance. Fanciful at best, nonsense at worst; designed to entertain while imparting a moral lesson. Harmless pap that assisted in keeping emerging social structures in order until secular institutions evolved to maintain order. If credence were given to what I told you, other writings from the same source could also be accepted as factual. Think about it. A man and his family with every kind of animal floating around a water covered world in a huge boat; seas inexplicably parting when struck with a stick; plagues from an angry God, fiery chariots from heaven, angels ..."
"Then you doubt your own senses; what you saw, heard, felt, tasted, smelled have been sown to the wind? Seeing, you see not, and there is no belief in hearing. The very senses you use to define your life are nothing and not to be trusted? So what does it then take for someone to believe?"
"You interrupted me Nate, and conjectured in error. I never said I did not believe in what happened to me."
"My apologies Michael. Then what you are saying is, although you doubt the authenticity of the only historical record available for what you saw, you are nevertheless convinced that your particular experience was real?"
"Yes I am. And I can prove it to you."
"Physical proof?"
"Yes."
"Then you don't believe what happened absent physical confirmation of it. You still only believe if you can use your senses to confirm it."
"You are wrong Nate. I know it happened and I'll show you."
"Show me? Obviously you have missed my point."
"I understand what you have said. I know what happened. I believe it happened. I just want to prove it to you. I do not need physical evidence in order to convince myself."
"We will see. What is it you wish to show me?"
"You have said I slipped in the field, lost my balance when I was upended by a sudden strong gust of wind. Hitting my head and making me loopy ..."
"I never mentioned that last part, never even hinted at your being 'loopy' as you so eloquently put it. You are speculating as to my thoughts."
"Right, right — nevertheless, everything about my fall supposedly took place in no more than a minute or two. If so, unless time were manipulated then nothing more happened; I imagined everything and, what you saw is the whole story, there is nothing more to it. But if both time and space — we must consider not only chronological distance but spatial as well, given how far the Middle-Eastern sector is from here — were somehow manipulated, it is possible I was transferred back through time and then later brought forward to exactly the same time I had left. And if it were the exact time — and I emphasize the word 'exact', within the twinkling of an eye so to speak — you would not have perceived that I was even gone. My uniform offers proof that this is what happened. While gone, I fell creating small tears in the fabric, causing yellowish dirt to be ground into the cloth. I'll get it for you."
"I never said I did not believe you Michael — and I would gladly view anything you offered in verification, especially so if I did not believe you, but regrettably a drone disposed of your uniform while you showered. I suppose the one assigned to this house used the 'optimal point' consideration, saw the uniform, and ¼ well you know, rudimentary programming took over."
Hiding his disappointment while suspecting Nathaniel's involvement in the loss, he bit his lip and went on, "All right, I might not have the physical proof — I don't have the uniform, but I can offer the evidence of something else I don't have. Where are my coat and gloves? When I stood up after my 'fall' in the mud, they were gone. What happened to them?"
Nathaniel did not appear nonplussed as he answered, "Don't you remember? When you first began melting the snow you removed your gloves to better handle the gun. Later, you removed your coat due to the heat being given off. You handed both to me. When you fell I came to your assistance, leaving the gloves and coat on the ground. The wind was still strong and might have taken them away. In any event, they were gone by the time you stood up. I considered looking for them but thought better of it given your dazed appearance and the fading light. Our distance from the village best argued for not wasting time in a futile pursuit of things so easily replaceable."
Michael sat dumbfounded. Having been so sure of everything and having the physical proof to back him up, it was difficult to accept it had all been snatched away. Then he recalled the other evidence still remaining to him. But he hesitated to say anything further, not wanting to reveal his close connection to Gabe. His body temperature had increased from having been in the desert; this was verified and recorded by the Gabe. This information could be brought forth to establish his testimony and refute Nathaniel's statement about the coat and gloves but, while he was considering what to do, this too was taken from him.
"Yes, yes," Nathaniel continued on with what he had been saying, "I thought it best to get a move on — didn't want you catching a chill — no coat, no gloves ...and you sweating so profusely from all that steam. Silly when you think about it. Standing in the middle of the snow as you vaporized it. Like being in a sauna ...must have caused quite a rise in your body temperature."
And that was the end of it; all physical evidence either gone or explained away. Admitting to tiredness, possibly depression — definitely loneliness — his emotions affected by stress, wine and the surreal acquaintance with Nathaniel, Michael allowed doubt to intrude upon his conviction. Even so, in his heart if not his intellect, he remained convinced of the experience, knowing that his gold-breasted dinner companion was again being less than straight forward, practicing subterfuge with a disarming subtlety. Stripped as he felt, Michael nevertheless saw no harm in attempting once again to elicit information from his strange host, and possibly trap him into an admission.
"Why did you have me look at the ground?"
"I will provide an answer by first asking you a question," Nathaniel responded while taking a spoonful of trifle, mostly custard and cream, swallowing without chewing, "Delightful, you really must try some. Let me ask you this Michael; why do you suppose those old men and boys gave up their lives in a futile defense of the ground on which you stood today?"
"I do not believe they were merely defending 'ground'. No one dies for dirt — for soil. They fought and they died for things dear to their hearts. Things irreplaceable which they thought to be threatened; wives, mothers, families, homes, memories, beliefs ..."
"Beliefs you say? You mean religion?"
"Religion yes, but there are other forms of belief: political, philosophical, and scientific for example."
"Beliefs are so immaterial. Soil has substance while beliefs do not. What about false beliefs? You say people won't die for soil - something they can see and touch — but they will die for a belief, even for a false one if strongly held," Nathaniel swirled the rich red liquid held in his crystal glass, seemingly captivated by its motion, "fatherland, motherland, Allah, Yahweh, God; kill the outsiders, the unbelievers, those we don't understand or agree with ...defend the land of our ancestors, the prophets, the holy ground. Odd isn't it. There is plenty of land on Earth ..."
Nathaniel was rambling and Michael thought he may have had too much to drink. He was about to suggest they continue their discussion in the morning, when Nathaniel anticipated him, "No I am not intoxicated. Not even close. Only a little while longer and then you can sleep if you wish. As I was saying about Earth ...what an odd name for a planet dominated by water ...there is more than enough land to support a population exceeding thirty billion souls, yet you keep the number far below that amount, encouraging them to leave their nest and reach out into space searching for something more, only to find less ...much less. After all these centuries you now know that your planet is a rare jewel, not only in this galaxy but in the universe as a whole. At one time humans estimated there would be millions of Earth like planets waiting to be discovered ...," Nathaniel chuckled to himself, "...but what was discovered? None. Not a single one. Only by expending great effort, great capital and a great number of lives, have any planets been made capable of supporting human life.
'Terra-forming', applying your intelligence to create livable worlds where there were none. Do they even know why they are so restless?" The last statement spoken as if to someone not present in the room.
Michael was becoming uneasy listening to Nathaniel talk as if speaking to someone other than him. Something did not sit right, not that anything had recently, but this was disturbingly peculiar on a personal level. And once again, Nathaniel was evading answering a question.
"The ground Nate; answer my question about the ground. Why did you instruct me to look at it?"
"Yes the ground. It is so important to humans. There has always been this attachment to land. The ground gives life;crops grow from it, livestock graze upon before they in turn are eaten. But this does not adequately account for the strength of the affinity, the passion for land. Properly utilized, all humans can be fed from it; everyone can build a home on it, more than enough to go around — 'Lebenstraum' — no need to kill one another for that which is so plentiful."
A pause as Nathaniel finished the remnants in his glass before refilling it. Offering to top up Michael's glass, but being declined by his guest, he continued, "Death is as integral to 'being' as is life. Death is a return to the ground from which all life springs and from which it is sustained. Even cremation eventually returns ashes to their origin. Discredited evolutionary theory once claimed all life derived from a pre-biotic 'soup'. Humanity matured; finally able to confess they might never be able to scientifically determine the true origins of life. Theories and suppositions still come and go but nothing is ever proven; something is always missing from the equation. You continue to wonder where your 'species' came from — what sparked the 'big bang' of existence — while all the while discouraging, discrediting and denying the earliest beliefs which sought to provide the answer."
"Earliest beliefs ...you mean religious beliefs? God created man from 'the dust of the Earth and breathed life into him' I recall the story from the holy book of the Jewish sect; a belief later embraced by other religions. Now I am thinking you are either drunk or you are mad, or both, to suggest such drivel as an answer to our origin. These earliest superstitious beliefs of primitive societies held sway to our detriment for thousands of years. I am grateful we have finally tossed them into history's 'dustbin'."
"Mentioning an anachronistic waste disposal container shows your predilection for history. You are a learned man Michael. You make inference to the best explanation available once all others fail. But does the ancient explanation have causal power, the ability to provide an answer where none can otherwise be given? Do you not wonder why there is a propensity to disregard previously cherished ideas simply because some new, yet untested, idea is presented? How did humanity arrive at the irrefutable conclusion that they did not spring from the ground as the creation of a transcendent being - God, if you will permit - when no other irrefutable explanation for existence could be established? Wanting so badly to complete the puzzle, perhaps they threw out the missing piece without bothering to make sure with absolute certainty whether or not it fit; instead preferring a presumptive emotional prejudice against a 'religious' explanation. Claiming to be wise their pride may have made them fools."
Michael did not attempt to reply right away, assessing what was meaningful discussion and what was merely rhetoric. But as the silence grew heavy and Nathaniel continued to look at him without saying anything further, he knew he was expected to respond.
"I would never assume the role of humanities apologist, nor would I ever unasked speak for anyone other than myself," he ventured slowly, trusting his weary alcohol invaded mind to frame an appropriate rejoinder, "but how can a reasoning being, myself, believe humans were created by an unseen God who never reveals himself? If my senses cannot confirm God's existence then sufficiency of proof will always remain lacking and the existence must be denied. Absent a creator, there can be no creation."
"But there is a creation. The entire universe is a creation arguing the existence of a creator. The very rocks cry out with evidence for a creator. Astronomy, cosmology, physics, biology, chemistry, and biochemistry, all argue a creator. Take any scientific discipline and, where its explanations fall down, you will find a creator to pick them up."
"Nate, your own intelligence is obvious and undoubtedly you have studied the scientific theories and evidence in support of them. You know the evidence against a 'God' creator is overwhelming."
"Just the contrary; every theory in the past five hundred years has been found wanting in some way or another. A theory is postulated, voluminous amounts of evidence brought forth in support, itching ears attentive to its truths; then, under increasing scrutiny it fails. Given such negative precedents, I am troubled by the premise suggesting humans cannot be equaled, let alone surpassed, for intelligence in this universe."
Wondering what any of this had to do with his original question, Michael nonetheless pushed forward with a response, "Why must there even be 'intelligence' involved in creation my friend? What troubles you about an unplanned universe arising from almost nothing?"
"It's the 'almost' which troubles me," Nathaniel replied gently, speaking into his wine glass.
"The 'almost'?"
"Yes Michael, where did the 'almost' come from? Who or what created it?"
"If you think that kind of reasoning convinces me there had to be 'God' who create the initial material, I'm not buying it," Michael replied, mildly flustered, "because, if God created it, then who created God? You see, you get an endless succession of 'turtles riding on the backs of turtles'. It is turtles all the way down. It is a road without end you are traveling."
"Am I Michael? I'm going to ask you something and then you will tell me if you agree or disagree with what I said. Rest assured I am not trying to trick you with clever word play, I just want an honest consideration for all possibilities."
"Sounds fair enough, go ahead."
"Whatever begins to exist has a cause. The universe began to exist. Therefore the universe has a cause."
Michael hesitated before saying whether he agreed or disagreed with the statements. The meal was over, with less than a tenth of the food stuffs being touched. He wasn't going to have anything else to drink despite the availability of many unopened bottles. He hoped his consumption did not influence the response he was about to give.
"I cannot help but agree with the wording used in your statement."
"Well I can't take credit for the words, they are not mine. They are derived from medieval Islamic theology as developed by a gentleman named al-Ghazali, and later adopted by Jewish and Christian philosophers. Though I take no credit for arguing from others, you do agree with it."
"I am tired Nate. Maybe I'm just agreeing because I have neither the energy nor the desire to disagree. I agree, I agree, I agree; what's your point?"
"The point Michael is your 'purpose'. Earlier today I told you I was here to help you find it. Very soon you will know what it is. For now let us deal with the 'turtles riding on the backs of turtles'. If everything that begins to exist, such as the universe and all it contains, must have a cause giving rise to its creation, then who created God? Well the answer is very simple; since God never began to exist, He did not require anything or anyone to create Him."
With this, Michael laughed loud and hard, banging the table with his right hand, amazed Nathaniel thought him drunk enough to be convinced by such circular logic, "You cannot use the point you are trying to prove as evidence for the conclusion itself my friend."
"But that is not what I am doing. I am simply stating a truth within the parameters of the argument. In agreeing space and time were created — a functioning part of the physical universe we know — you acknowledge they must not have existed prior thereto. If space and time did not exist before or apart from the universe, how can we say with certitude God required a beginning? How can there be a 'beginning' to anything prior to the existence of time itself? It is time which determines a starting point and an end point; absent time, anything existing just 'is'. Are humans, who are also part of the universe which had a beginning, possessed with such omniscient knowledge it allows them to exclude at a whim explanatory possibilities beyond what they are comfortable with?"
"Nate. Has anyone ever told you that you wear them out? My head is swimming and you are convincing me of nothing," Michael gave a small laugh as he spoke.
With that Nathaniel too began to laugh, suggesting they retire for the night while offering the opinion that the copious feast on top of the day's exertions were enough to tire any man. Almost simultaneously, they both began to say they doubted it could be the company which was wearisome. Readily agreeing, Michael welcomed the opportunity given to try and sort out all he had experienced since encountering Nathaniel. Standing, he offered his hand in an unthinking habitual gesture, finding himself pleased when the other man took hold of it. They shook hands in an affectionate manner as if they were long time comrades having more than a military heritage in common.
Nathaniel's touch conveyed a warm familiarity, akin to a shared destiny. There was a strong companionship with Nathaniel which Michael could not place. He knew the other man from somewhere he could not place, but he knew it would eventually come to him. After thanking him for being a most cordial host, being extremely considerate in attending to the beautiful and lavish preparations, Michael headed upstairs to the bedroom.
Shutting the door he engaged the lock, despite apprehending no reason to do so. He found the scanner and activated it, setting the instrument to sound a warning for any intruders who might enter while he slept. He then placed it on the bedside night stand. He next took the gun and, without activating it, placed it under one of the bed's overstuffed pillows.
Spying a nondescript beige nightgown hanging across the back of a chair in a corner of the room, Michael undressed and put it on. The garment was of a very old style reminiscent of a type worn by people in Victorian times. It was soft, comfortable; much nicer to sleep in than the uniform he had worn the past two nights. Or had it been only one night, if Nathaniel was to be believed? That particular issue would be dealt with further in the morning, once a good rest worked its recuperative magic.
Turning off the lights he looked out the darkened window of the room, reflections no longer hindering the view. Snow, no longer being blown about by the wind, thickly covered the road, lawns and neighboring rooftops. Nothing moved in winter's silent night save for a lone maintenance drone predestined to some unknown chore.
Wanting to contact Gabe, he did not, there remaining enough uncertainty in his situation to warrant continued caution. Instead, he whispered, "I wonder who Nate really is and what is to become of him before the Aliens' arrival?" He was promptly rewarded with a tingle near his ears as the computer prepared to respond. All he needed to do in order to hear the voice in his head was to mention Gabe by name. His instructions given earlier were being followed to the letter.
Lifting the thick down comforter and the flannel sheet underlying it, Michael slid into the warm bed. Old things are often best he thought,feeling the inviting natural softness around him; 'why are new ideas so readily assumed to be better.' Sleep came quickly after that.
Sometime during the middle part of the night, he awoke with a start, the scanner floating around in his dreaming mind, and its image still hard upon his thoughts. It had been used in the desert and held the data for everything recorded. The information could not be erased other than by entering a code only he possessed. The data within the scanner would prove he had not been in the field the whole time.
Sitting up he reached towards the light green glow being emitted and, grabbing the scanner, began searching for information from twenty four hours earlier — when he had been asleep in the cave. Set to scan actively for movement indicating a possible threat, it also operated passively, recording temperature, humidity, wind speed, chemical composition of the air; anything that, if rapidly altered, required a warning to be given. This information would be sufficient to establish a location much different from the present one. It would also show the air itself to be of a different quality, air existing in a time when the environment was much cleaner — prior to industrialization.
Anxiously he worked the settings, taking little time to find what he sought. His disappointment was enormous when the scanner revealed the information for twenty four hours earlier and displayed it with a single word — 'inactive'. He tried again, adjusting the scanner to show the reading for thirty hours earlier, then twenty, and finally, to random periods in between. On each attempt the scanner reported it had been 'inactive'. The last use not reporting as 'inactive' was when he had scanned Nathaniel in order to confirm whether or not he was human. Discouraged, Michael slumped back into his pillow, slowly sliding down amongst the sheets, scanner still in hand.
He slept fitfully the rest of the night, only settling into a deep sleep shortly before dawn. With eyes closed a pleasant dreaminess confined his mind. Ever so gradually, increasing warmth covered him. The agreeable sensation it provided seemed to last forever, tiredness not wanting to let go. But when ended, it flung him into a furnace.
Still asleep, the blackness exploded and everything became a splendid brilliance. Winged beings, human in form, danced on the head of a pin before vanishing. Now awake and looking at the back of his closed eyelids, he realized there was too much light in the room — much more than there should be. The bed felt hard and uncomfortable. Something was in his right hand. The scanner, he remembered. A bird chirped somewhere above him as a fluttering shadow crossed in front of his face — just before a tepid mucousy substance splashed against his forehead.
Opening his eyes, Michael looked up into a cloudless blue sky. Hesitantly he turned his head from side to side, first left then right. Tree tops rose just above where he lay on what appeared to be the rooftop of a small building.
"Oh no, not again," he quietly moaned.