The Valhalla Covenant
Chapter Nineteen — Lift-off

Many of the GI’s best operatives were already aboard the flyers, but most of the rest were contacted and brought aboard throughout the day. Amongst those were Miles and his partner Meg, Red, Jos’s mechanic friend with whom he raced cars as a hobby, and Gabriel, the elfin little earth mother Reimas had known since primary school, who had dropped out of university to grow organic food.

On board as well was her good friend Evanna, who saw all forms of healing as her mission in life, and perceiving that the sphere itself was now in most need of it, had resolved to join the fray full time.

Also on the list of surprising new hard liners was Amanda, a young woman who, to many in Reimas’s wider circle, epitomized the watchful, caring and communicative mother.

After the recent and final abandonment of Honshu to the Fukushima disaster precipitated nearly four decades ago, she’d read about the millions of dead and couldn’t believe that governmental authority had allowed it to happen. She had had enough. If her children could only look forward to the prospect of a sick existence on a failing planet, something more drastic had to be done. The youngsters, now, were with relatives and she had joined the fight.

Sebastian, the sardonic and unconventional inferential historian had been brought aboard in the early afternoon, and Cam, the young guitarist and ‘funmeister’ no longer thought having fun was enough. He was the most recent to be picked up. As was the case with most of them, he had been in the Little River and was glad to have the opportunity to step things up.

At the end of the day, the question foremost in Reimas’s mind was about determining where they could physically gather now, to live, work and train as an effective team. Amazing progress had been made from an inauspicious set of events and Reimas took great satisfaction in knowing that it had been executed with no cost in Institute lives.

“We’ve done all right, so far,” he announced over the intercom, as the sun settled low in the sky, “but you need to know before you go any further that what we’re set upon here is rebellion. It will be no less than a civil war against forces of oppression that see themselves as authorities.”

All the pilots checked with those aboard, and everyone was committed.

“We have a small problem now, though,” said Laurence, from his position at the scanner console. “We can’t wait around in city houses like sitting ducks any longer now that we’ve got a better idea how much they actually knew about us.”

He had, after all, spent much of the day examining their records.

“But what about my house?” Jos wondered. “We need to get back and start setting things right.”

Reimas was sympathetic but adamant.

“I know this has been hard on you, Jos,” he said. “It can’t have been easy seeing your home destroyed like that, but there’s no going back and you’ll soon see there’s a hot sack of satisfaction in being a force to be reckoned with. Even though the power we’re setting ourselves up against is probably old and wily, and, if what that woman on Javora said is true, may have been around for thousands of years, we do have a damn good chance now.”

Jos eased back in his seat, grumbling.

“I guess you’re right,” he admitted after a while. “It’d be risky going back, in any case.”

“One day maybe, but if we’re going to meet the challenge, we’re going to have to put all that aside and get ourselves prepared.”

“What do you mean?” Erin asked.

“First, we need a base of operations.”

“What about your place in the mountains?” Jos asked.

“I don’t know. It’s remote.”

“Can’t see that as being a bad thing,” said Sean. “Where is it?”

Laurence raised a map on the main screen.

“There,” said Reimas.

“Plenty of room?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s ideal.”

Reimas shrugged.

“Okay.”

Sean, in the co-pilot’s seat, steered them up and around in a large twisting arc, and the rest of the flyers followed. Land shot far away from them, briefly, before they slowed and descended again carefully towards their destination.

Every so often a bank of clouds changed the light as the as the sun set in an icy delicate-hued evening panorama. The last of the light showed the tumbled carpet of the mountains and the white peaks.

The sun set as they flew down through the lowest of the cloud layers and Reimas marvelled at the spectacular colours above the alpine country he knew so well.

With such beautiful scenery visible during the descent, he was, however, not the only one to have his eyes fixed on the screen.

Sean set the flyer down in the courtyard behind the house and shut down the systems. Numerous pieces of clothing had been swapped around during the day so that people could cover up a bit, but the evening air outside was colder than most were prepared for.

Inside, after the fire was lit in the main lounge, Reimas left the organizing to Sasha and retreated to the studio. After sitting down, he let his gaze wander and noticed, for the first time, the ornamental altar Sasha had put together at one end of the room. It was suitably artistic, to be sure, but it occurred to him that there was more to it than that.

Later, when he was in bed, Sasha knocked on his door. He jumped up and let her in, holding her close before carrying her to the bed.

For her part, she was surprised at the effect that the day’s almost ceaseless action had on her emotions and perceptual nuances. Reimas had wondered if there would be recrimination over the day’s mayhem and violence but, happily, her perspective was no longer as simple as it had been. She knew that these things had to be done, and accepted his involvement with them.

After all, the GU had struck first.

Actually, her feelings for him had been as much boosted during the day as if he had just bought her a beautiful house, a luxury car, and had only recently made love to her passionately for thirty-six hours straight, but it did not manifest, on this occasion, in an immediate hunger for sex.

Instead, before long, they simply snuggled up close and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Awakening during the night, Reimas rolled away from her and feeling a disturbing lack of clarity, tried meditating. Normally, he was able to dive relatively easily into deeper consciousness, but the familiar feeling of intense relaxation and total integration did not come on this occasion. His mild disappointment was soon lost again to sleep.

Waking again some time later, he saw immediately that he was no longer in his bed.

All the complex paraphernalia of the flight cabin of a typical space vehicle surrounded him. He was as aware of his surroundings and thought processes as if he was totally awake, and it seemed to him for a moment as if he’d been moved bodily to this location while asleep. The experience was vivid and lucid beyond anything he’d known. As far as he knew, he was in a rocket cockpit at countdown, awaiting launch.

As the blast countdown progressed, sheer blind excitement overwhelmed any idea he might have had to further test the nature of his awareness. It was simply enough that he was suddenly having the time of his life. As a dream, it far surpassed anything that had come before it.

In the moments leading up to lift-off, he felt a burst of personal power and ecstasy. The first nudge of takeoff was gentle but then there was a real kick in the seat of his pants and a massive increase in acceleration thrust him hard back.

A console screen showed rapidly cycling views of all that was happening on and around the craft, but there was no way he could focus on what they showed.

Already pent up feelings exploded in sync with the forces that drove the craft, and he clearly heard music — a strong theme of challenge, vigour and conquest, swelling up all around him. It was the rejoicing, triumphant strains of the Emperor Concerto, and he knew it was exactly what he would have chosen to hear as an accompaniment to the deep thundering of the massive rocket exhaust if he had been on a real ship.

So vast was the sense of speed and g-forces that he succumbed at last to sensual overload and blacked out. Unaware of exactly how long had gone by when he came to, he was surprised and delighted to see stars rushing at him in an amazing kaleidoscope.

As he looked, the screen grew larger and closer, and the cabin grew much larger, until it seemed as if he was physically out there amongst all the millions of brilliant stars. It was a wild, fantastic experience of the most staggering proportions and it seemed bizarre to even think of it as a dream.

From the dim mists of his childhood he remembered his father, now long dead, quoting someone, after hearing about one of his colourful dreams, ‘For I see, since I am asleep, that I dream while I am awake,’ and the quote seemed ever so true now.

Time flowed into kaleidoscopic vistas of light and colour that were beyond anything he had ever known. Though it seemed to last for hours, for all he knew it might have been only minutes.

Eventually, however, he became aware of a slight fading of the intensity of the sensations that had kept him enthralled and, before he could begin to wonder what might be coming next, the craft came to a complete halt — far more suddenly than could have been possible if it had been a material thing.

All was dead still, then, and the cabin fell into complete silence — a quiet that persisted only until the question of how the craft had halted so suddenly began to form in his mind. Then, with a single portentous knock on the outside of the hull, silence was cast into oblivion. A loud sound, it yet fell dead in the cockpit like Reimas’s heart, which seemed to stall.

An indescribable thrill ran through him.

Fear mixed with pure adrenaline in that raw infusion known as a rush. His heart began to pound. All the dross was stripped away in the naked flame of his emotions, and he was totally alert as a stunningly pure thought form entered his mind.

A greeting can be many things but the thought that came to him was simple and definite. It said, I’m here and I see you. The sensation of the thought itself was smooth, comfortable — almost sensual. The being that spoke thus was entirely at home with the form.

Oddly, until now, Reimas had not thought much about the immaterial people. Yet it had to be them — the Vezarin.

Reimas found himself thinking the question and, along with a shuddering sort of feeling that held both curiosity and amusement, there came a reply.

“Yes, we are the Vezarin. We’ve brought you here to speak, in a manner that we thought might be memorable.”

An extended period of waiting ensued before Reimas could think of an appropriate reply. Apparently, these people did not believe in talking the hind leg off a donkey. That thought brought a strange and beautiful sensation of projected thought that Reimas quickly realized was laughter.

It was only after some moments that he understood what they had been laughing about. They were confused by the odd English vernacular, but perceived instantly that a donkey must be some sort of creature highly resistant to persuasion.

Almost immediately, they proceeded to pluck an image of one from amongst the mental flotsam and jetsam of his mind, and it delighted them no end. From the outset, it was evident to him that they were remarkably quick, though he could hardly have expected it to be otherwise.

“You’re not so slow, yourself,” said a voice that actually sounded, now, more like a voice, “for a consciousness largely bound to the material.”

Reimas then understood that although he had not made any reply as such, he had projected a good many thoughts to which one of them had seen fit to offer a response.

So, there were discrete levels of conversation in this mental language. Speech, as such, aimed specifically at another being, appeared to be a sort of starting point to weave around.

“Your pleasure in our method of communication will grow.”

“Then you must find me worthy of further communication,” Reimas said at last.

“Odd, that you might doubt it. It isn’t often that we speak with material beings, but when we do they rarely manifest such mental disquiet.”

“It’s a human weakness born of enduring millennia of cultural uncertainty,” Reimas replied. “Many choose to set about chasing it from their soul but it’s a task few have managed to complete.”

“The resolve is correct. With the execution, we could certainly help.”

Reimas felt a flush of hope, closely followed by suspicion.

“That could be full of surprises, if the way you brought me here is any measure.”

“You’re a free being,” a second voice commented. “We have no intention of forcing you to accept any assistance.”

Around that central thought flowed many others, which Reimas knew to be the manifestation of numerous minds attempting to keep silent so that he could think clearly. It was then that he fully realized the offer was not merely some polite prelude to further communication.

There seemed to be somewhere between six and twelve minds in very close proximity but most were sufficiently quiet that he didn’t feel at all confused or overwhelmed. The various thoughts he did perceive outside the first two were like a light swirling breeze of colours and aromas.

It became clear, as he made an effort to perceive them more completely, that they could no more hide their thoughts from him if he sought them out, than he could from them. This was both the weakness, in a very limited sense, and the strength of their manner of existence and consciousness.

“If I could but banish all doubt for a day,” he said at length, “I would not know how to thank you. When I think of how long and hard I’ve worked at clearing the house of my mind, and of my limited progress, your help would be gladly received.”

A thought of surprise manifested.

“You should not belittle yourself. Without the remarkable achievements you’ve made so far, you could not be here with us now. The progress of every being is a synthesis of what they achieve themselves and what they are given, and depends much on the social climate.”

“So it does,” said Reimas, “but thank you, stranger, for the compliment, nonetheless.”

“Of course, an introduction would be timely,” said the voice, noting his use of the word ‘stranger’. “My name is Tor. That will suffice, for now, lest too many new names be an unwelcome source of confusion.”

Reimas expressed his pleasure.

“The being I spoke to in the astral mentioned you,” he said. “I’m Reimas, though I suppose you already know.”

“He spoke of me, and spoke to me subsequently,” Tor replied.

“I see. I was excited to hear about you at the time, but I can’t think why I haven’t tried to find you.”

“That has been a source of some wonder to us, but it’s true that some of the enemies we’ve had to deal with have a great power to mesmerize their victims.”

“I hope that isn’t the explanation.”

“You’ve also been busy.”

“Perhaps a little,” Reimas admitted.

“And, yes, those irritating mind anomalies would scarcely help. With your permission, we could soon be done with them.”

“You could engineer some sort of meaningful change, just like that?”

“Literally, as we speak.”

Reimas hesitated.

“I don’t wish to sound suspicious but that would be my mind you’re talking about, and what could be in it for you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I have no other motive than to facilitate communication with you. Should you agree, you’d be aware of no sensation other than our speech, and there’s no reason why we should fail to pass the time in pleasant conversation while the neural alteration takes place.”

“But …”

“Something worries you?” Tor asked.

“I’ll still be myself, I take it?”

Again, Reimas felt the sensation of mental laughter — an effervescent, joyous sort of thing.

“Please forgive me. It’s been so long since I had a static material form, I’ve forgotten how readily change can be viewed with suspicion. I am, however, well able to reassure you that you will definitely be yourself, only more so than ever before.

“Words are the essence of both communication and thinking. We’ll do little more than modify your ability to structure them, and delete some of the more negative verbal constructs, each of which will only succumb in the process of their being demonstrated as fallacious. To us these alterations seem no more a change of personality than some aspect of personal grooming might to you. Your identity will simply be clearer.”

“All right,” said Reimas. “I’m for it. As I said before, I’d hate to think I’d wasted such an opportunity. I strive for clarity.”

“Very good,” Tor responded. “Many material beings care little for advancement. They take the power and significance of the words they use too much for granted, for one thing, and barely consider the available alternatives.

“I’m a relative newcomer amongst the Vezarin, and I recall that in the world of my last material incarnation, people all too frequently treated the verbal potentials with careless disregard. That seems to be the case, here, as well.”

“Yes,” Reimas agreed.

“Your life experiences seem to contain many powerful images and when you can through conscious choice deftly substitute one for another to colour your emotional standpoint, your mental experience will be vastly more rewarding.”

“So mental images can colour thoughts?” said Reimas as he became aware of being bathed in an increasingly poignant sense of wellbeing.

“Yes, the background of your thoughts. Beyond that, conscious choice will also be a determining factor. Few things could be simpler than the basic mechanics of the intellectual process that requires questions to be asked, alternative answers hypothesized and choices made from between the alternative answers.

“Yet none of these things can be done effectively or consistently while the mind is burdened with recurring negative emotions — many of them triggered by negative mental images.”

“I see. It does make sense. Negative images distract and positive ones empower.”

“Very much so. With a more positive balance, a good mind can move beyond merely observing external realities, and can observe the detail of its own processes.”

“That makes sense,” Reimas responded, now floating on a gentle cloud of elation, and unwilling to cast any pall on it by bothering to protest his prior knowledge of the concept.

“Physical beings generally exist in a material framework because they do not yet have sufficient mental discipline to exist otherwise,” Tor explained. “You may be aware of some of the most powerful mental constructs, in theory, but that’s where the positive and negative images come in. Until you command them adeptly in sync with your thought patterns, the concepts remain largely theoretical. They’ll sit there, nine tenths of the time, unapplied. All the same, you should know that you’ll ultimately have the potential to enter a state of virtually pure consciousness.”

“How?”

“All the things of your world are there to name and classify through language, but to enter a causal mental existence, you have to develop the habit of looking well beyond superficial elements of classification.

“Again, I understand that to a degree you are curious about the conceptual meaning of the words you use and the realities they represent. Yet if you wish to take it further, you should look far more often for the hidden meaning in the objects and experiences that you encounter. Time pressures can, I know, constrain you, but once the routine of almost instant contemplation is established, the vastly increased potential for time saving solutions will compensate you.

“You would not dispute that science creates solutions, but what greater science could there be than the art of communication, both with self and others, if you’ll forgive the apparent paradox.”

“Time does almost always press,” Reimas agreed.

“I do not doubt it. Nevertheless, there is no other way to begin the generative process. Also, you should bear in mind that once you’re accustomed to such mental processes they’ll flow in easy harmony with almost any activity. You’ve demonstrated some ability in this direction already, or you wouldn’t be here now, but it will improve.”

Reimas began to feel the truth of that statement already in the increasing clarity of his awareness.

“The individuality with which you create your conceptual word maps will contribute to your intellectual identity, as well as the depth of meaning with which you express yourself. You’ve managed to enter the astral but by choosing to spend more time in the conceptual world you’ll progress more rapidly towards existing as a causal being.”

“Your world?”

“Yes, the astral, by comparison, is more like a passageway than a room.”

“So that’s why some of our thinkers consider it to be an illusion?”

“Even the least disciplined may occasionally enter it in their dream states, but in their dreams there is little of substance — no more than smoke rapidly blown away upon the wind. It takes a much more determined assault on the unflinching pillar of normality to express oneself causally. We’re not sure if you and your people know already, but a certain minimum of idiosyncratic thinking is essential for the ongoing evolution of both social and individual consciousness.”

“Too few in our world value individuality,” Reimas replied, “but there are some.”

“You too, then, will doubtless share my delight in the inherently idiosyncratic behaviour of young children in physical worlds like yours.”

“You mean before they’re taught too many social conventions?”

“Precisely.”

“But isn’t it essential — unavoidable, even?”

“Of course. Social convention is unavoidable but it can also be a catalyst if it isn’t instituted too soon or too rigorously. Then the completion of such a process can lead one back to the same, or similar, point on a higher plane.”

“Of course. You have to relinquish self-will to learn social convention then move beyond it again to discover a more complex individual expression.”

Reimas felt, then, a sensation of pure pleasure — perhaps a sort of telepathic pat on the back.

“Childhood development is a succession of experiential pendulum swings between extremes of idiosyncratic behaviour,” Tor continued. “The range, or arc, of the swing grows smaller and smaller all the time as the child becomes more and more restricted by social influences. Sadly, so often the process is rushed, and if you’ve extrapolated the idea that childish idiosyncrasy has a vital role to play in the long-term development of imagination, you’ll see how important it is not to rush it.”

Reimas thought that Sasha would enjoy the concept.

“Childhood in a physical existence is short in the extreme by our way of thinking, and by rushing and urging children past it as quickly as possible, one will only succeed in minimizing the resource bank of personal idiosyncratic experience. By doing so, you seriously limit the range of possible behaviours that might be employed, or enjoyed, later life, when creativity, imagination and inventiveness are so much called upon as survival resources.”

“We retard our children overall, because of our own expectations concerning their early success?”

“Indeed, it can happen. Early childhood experience is a great part of the subconscious essence of a person, and it is only possible for us to extend these core elements in the mind of an adult, a little. In working on your mind, as we have just done, it is really more a question of optimizing what is already there. Once a child has fully come to grips with all the lessons of conformity, rule awareness, pecking order, social graces and the like, the opportunity to maximize the potential for later creative expression is lost.”

“In other words, the sooner children are plucked from their own little worlds of apparently meaningless idiosyncrasy and almost total dependence on a generally forgiving home environment, the less capacity they will have for initiative, creativity, inventiveness and imagination in their adult life,” Reimas reiterated.

“You have it. The very young children of physical worlds are free to exist in a materially indecisive way with little interruption to their own internal processes of growth, since all their needs are met, or should be. As they grow older they are forced, too quickly sometimes, to adjust to the world, to start to provide for some of their own needs and to begin to accept the rules and strictures of society.”

“Is this the cause of Earth’s tragic history?” Reimas asked. “Is that why you’re telling me all this?”

“In part, but there is more. Just know for the moment that if children are forced to adjust too quickly, they will seem to make great progress at first in the external world, but their skills will tend to be superficial. They’ll ultimately lack creativity and initiative.”

“So they’ll seem like the most intelligent when they’re actually not, and get streamed into the most decisive roles as adults.”

“I’m glad you understand. This socially repressing standard can only suit the agenda of a few who would exert control over others. They would be at the head of fear-instilling organizational forces and would not welcome creative individual thought, given that it so often challenges the structures they have fought so hard to establish and protect.”

Reimas felt the slight hold on his mind free up, and it was amazingly, beautifully obvious that profoundly dynamic changes had been wrought. Every dark cloud or psychic wound that had afflicted him and obstructed his spiritual vision was now clearly visible, but smaller and smaller as time went by, as if fading away into the distance.

As he cast his eyes over the retreating panorama of pain, it was lost in a remote pattern that gave meaningful texture to his mind but no longer held any destructive or inhibiting force.

While Reimas had remained largely unaware of the process until it was complete, the eventual contrast was astounding. An extraordinary sense of glowing radiantly from within combined with an awareness of being illuminated by some universal external source.

“I believe you’ll find many improvements, over time,” said Tor.

“What, like memory?”

“That and much more.”

“I feel it already and I’m most grateful, but right now I’d like to know how much you’ve learned from me in the process. Our planet is in a terrible way and I urgently wish to understand the cause.”

“If we had known about Earth before, something would have been done. There’s a great mystery at work here. You have no idea how vast the universe is and how few cases like this we come across, but your world may be host to the Aereons.”

“If cases of their dominance are so rare,” said Reimas, “how come it has taken you so long to find out about this one?”

“As I said, the universe is vast, but having made contact now, we would not have you suffer unnecessarily. These Aereons, if that is indeed who they are, represent a threat far greater than you can possibly imagine. They’ve tried, for tens of thousands of your years, to disrupt the very fabric of the universe.”

“Why?”

“They equate pleasure entirely with control.”

“Do you mean that they’re overly intellectual?”

“No, not necessarily. As I was telling you before, emotions can be controlled also — channelled and used to execute a purpose.”

“These Aereons sound dangerous because of their psychic strength, yet you were saying before that I should expand the depth of meaning with which I express myself, so that I too can gain such psychic strength.”

“Yes, I grant you the paradox, but you must understand that, for some, there’s a fine line between optimizing their minds and honing them to become a tool with a vast potential for destruction. We cannot, nor would we wish to eliminate one potential because of the dark risk of the other.”

Reimas became excited, and the Vezarin perceived it immediately. It was all beginning to make sense.

“I’ve been aware of that paradox recently in other contexts,” he said. “I became suspicious of employing ever more powerful strategies for material control in my work for the Institute, and was, therefore, persuaded to seek answers in the astral.”

“The change was wise. You have a more sophisticated view of life than before and knowing that now, you’ll be the freer to exercise judicial control, both in material and causal terms.”

“A mechanistic attitude permeates our society, and the tide of its progress must be stemmed.”

“Your world is close to self destruction,” Tor agreed, pulling no punches. “Are we not correct in perceiving that you don’t even possess any effective means of departure from it?”

“Our technology commands only sub-light speeds, with a very limited range. Enough only to see how beautiful the world is when viewed from space.”

“A strange paradox, indeed.”

“The Aereons are a great threat,” said another gentle, but powerful, voice, “so you can be assured that these things must and will be addressed. If they are in your world, they must be found.”

“I still don’t understand,” said Reimas. “How could they disrupt the fabric of the universe simply by equating pleasure with control?”

“You see these things in material terms,” said Tor. “The causal, however, is just that — the causal, and even apparently compact conceptual anomalies can flower into vast theatres of expression. If the Aereons became able to enter the astral, and manifest their acutely imbalanced form of causality there, it would irrevocably alter the universe. All existence might be horribly polluted by such a strain and its destiny could mirror that of your world.”

“The things you’ve witnessed,” said another, “can only have been inflicted on your world by individuals who see themselves as apart, and their influence has grown through your culture like a cancer. Given access to the astral, their causal strength can only grow and spread like a cancer throughout all, even perhaps beyond this universe.”

Reimas was becoming more adept at singling out the tones and manners of expression of the different individuals.

“Yet you told me, before, how my world’s plight could be explained simply in terms of human error — perhaps in the way we educate our young,” he said.

“Work back through any problem and you may find many possible causes,” Tor replied. “The Aereons are wily and are often the driving force behind these apparently random errors. It pays not to discount them. They’re very powerful and have only two weaknesses.”

“Which are?”

“Their greed, and a poor tolerance for the bright light of relatively young, healthy stars.”

“You mean they can’t tolerate sunlight?”

“Only for minutes at a time.”

“We have legends about beings like that, but they also drink the blood of their victims.”

“Such has been known in other places. If true, it would merely be a manifestation of their greed, but you said they were legends only.”

“Personally, like many, I’ve always considered the existence of such beings to be too far fetched. Greed we may suffer from, but vampires seem a little too theatrical to contemplate seriously.”

“Legends may not all have basis in fact,” Tor replied, “but you ignore them at your peril. In my last incarnation on a material world, we suffered similar problems and legends proved strangely accurate, describing creatures much like these vampires as you call them.”

“The Aereons?”

“No, the Sferani were actually fleeing the Aereons when they were stranded upon Ellaras, and, destructive though they were at times, they possessed a mere shadow of their pursuers’ potential for evil. The Aereons have spread wide throughout the universe and are without reservation the most malevolent destructive force ever known.”

“Just our luck, if we were to receive them. So, you were a physical being once?”

“Perhaps, although I hope not — and yes, I was. Around thirty thousand of your years ago.”

Reimas was stilled for long moments, absorbing with astonishment the incredible age of the spirit with whom he was speaking so casually.

“That’s a very long time,” he said eventually, “yet you still seem to recall it clearly.”

“Clearly enough to know that, here, things are worse — far worse. On Ellaras, we had lost touch with our elemental spirits for a time, and there was great chaos but, here, barely any natural state is unmarred and the world itself chokes. I can see no evidence of elementals. They must still be alive or the world could not survive, but they’re surely comatose and might never reawaken.”

“Is that bad?”

“It could not be worse. All living worlds have spirits. Once they’re extinguished, it’s only a question of time.”

“Til what?”

“Til all life disappears.”

“What can you do?” Reimas asked.

“We can only offer you advice and a degree of material assistance. We might not have any need for technology ourselves,” Tor replied, “but it certainly doesn’t mean we have no grasp of it.

“The technology in your flyers verges on approaching a practical window to the cosmos. Your understanding of gravitational dampening requires only small enhancements to provide both effective shielding and a much more effective light cancellation drive. Your current matter reduction stream is crude by comparison.

“You’ll find, when you return, that we’ve installed the required alterations in the one you’ve been flying. I should warn you, however, that you should not attempt to fly at a faster than light speed yet, as there are certain anomalies with the light harmonics and the inertia dampening that we don’t yet completely understand. Your scientists should be able to reverse engineer the changes so that they can similarly equip other units, and in the process, perhaps discover other crucial properties of light.”

Reimas was intrigued.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Ask yourself what you would want. It’s all there for the taking.”

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