Book Excerpt: 2.11 In Consultation With Uilliam & 2.12 Flight From Telmun

2.11 In Consultation With Uilliam

“I really shouldn’t answer that,” Uilliam said.

Maramurru imagined a man leaning back, crossing his arms, and shaking his head in a way that conveyed, “we’ve been over this”.

“I’m not asking you to tell me anything that I haven’t been able to divine myself.”

“No, you’re asking for confirmation,” Uilliam replied bluntly.

“You’ve said you have been watching us.”

“Well, of course we have been watching you! Transplanting a population from one planet to another is not as easy as one might be inclined to believe. We did not spare humanity from annihilation once just so that it could be permitted to kill itself at some later date.”

“…and so, you created us.”

Uilliam spoke in a muffled tone, his face sounded like it was buried in his palms, “yes, so we created you, and, if I do say so, the seven of you have done a remarkable job thus far.”

“Six.”

“Sorry?”

Maramurru massaged his hands. “There’s six of us—now.”

“That was… unfortunate. We had such high hopes for her.”

“How? How have you been watching us? Are there people—agents—on Eridu? You know, I’ve always felt this…presence I could never explain.”

“That? That’s just your average bout of paranoia; everyone in the universe experiences that. No, there are no ‘agents’ of ours or anyone else’s on Eridu nor have there been for quite some time.”

Maramurru bit into his tongue. “Are you saying that there’s truth to the stories, myths of… encounters?”

“I am afraid that information is classified. As is the information regarding our data collection instruments.” There was a modicum of drollness in Uilliam’s voice, Maramurru was sure of it.

“It’s either a base or observation outpost of some kind, likely on Artorius. Particularly if inhabited. The other moons are too small, barely more than rocks left adrift. But I don’t think it is inhabited. I don’t think you’re here at all. I think there is an artificial satellite in orbit, but we would have seen it before now reflecting light from the suns… so it must be cloaked… somehow rendered invisible to the eye and light.”

“Or maybe we just use an excessively sensitive telescope. If we are finished with these games, Maramurru, I should like to hear how your man received your word.”

“You were there.” Maramurru was now leaning against one of the Pantheon’s tables.

“Will he follow where you lead?”

“Maaschuel will do what he believes to be right.”

Uilliam’s groan was plenty audible, though he probably didn’t mean for it to be. “I hope then that you are a good judge of character. What will you do about the other one?”

“Barumgal?”

“If that is his name,” Uilliam quipped.

“He has given me no inclination so as to suspect he either heard or saw anything, but the lack of full confidence was anything but undetectable, not because he thought it not truthful, but because it may… hinder the plan.”

“…did you search his mind?”

Maramurru shook his head from side to side. “No. Their minds are too fragile. If I didn’t discover what I was looking for quickly, I could have damaged him, killed him possibly.”

“Their minds are… fragile because you have them spend not enough time expanding their minds. They should be creating culture instead of shunning it. Reading books instead of burning them.”

Uilliam was referencing the cultural purge, a process the Baltutu charged their Etlu to perform once an enemy had been defeated. All of their creative works inconsistent with the lifestyle being engineered by the Baltutu were to be erased permanently from the banks of human knowledge. The works destroyed, burned more often than not. The authors killed outright or worked to death. The students not so far along in their studies would be given the opportunity to become indoctrinated with approved philosophy; otherwise, their fate was less than kind. Obenia was currently experiencing this purification, as the Baltutu preferred to call it.

“I’ve made arrangements. Their legacy will be preserved.”

“Some, but not all. Did you know that, of all of the human civilizations to have arisen, on Erestu or Eridu, theirs was the only to celebrate parents—especially the mother—on birthdays? It is a central theme in much of their art. You measure your own success by the health of your progeny.

“I don’t know why we rescued your species, but I’m not all too confident it was out of charity. And I would be in a position to know more than most. In the many questions you have asked me in all these years, you have never asked why I do it—why I act in flagrant violation of my people’s own law. Someday, I hope Fortune and circumstance conspire and that you ask me, and, someday, I hope to have an answer for you. You should go. It will be dawn soon. And you have a very long journey ahead of you, Maramurru.”

2.12 Flight From Telmun

Maaschuel came thundering in, bursting into the servants’ quarters, those servants who tended to the needs of Maramurru. Quickly barring the door behind him, his broad chest heaving, and his eyes nearly the size of saucers, he lingered there against the door for half a moment. With Maramurru away, most of his servants were taking advantage of the reduced workload—not that Maramurru ever sought to put them to exceeding amounts of labor to begin with. Most were here, downstairs, enjoying their leisure time whilst awaiting supper. Though far from proper procedure, it was not unheard of for Maaschuel or another member from upstairs to grace them with their presence. Locking the door was a bit odd.

“Master Maaschuel!” said the chamberlain, who, in all of his subtlety, hastened the downstairs staff to their feet, “uh, what—how may we be of service?”

Maaschuel was breathing ever so heavily. His face was flushed with red, a contagious rash spreading over his light skin. His body was still firmly entrenched, his palms turned against the wood of the door. His eyes had yet to reduce themselves to their normal size. The servants were quite attuned to the emotional state of their masters upstairs. Empathetic creatures the lot of them. They could sense what was wrong with you before you were ever the wiser. The panic so clearly displayed on his face was being transposed on to each of theirs. He had come here running. Something was wrong.

“They are coming. They are going to take you.”

The chamberlain inched forward, the chair standing between the lion and its trainer. “Sir, whatever are you talking about?”

“I need all of you to pay very close attention to what I say. I need you to focus. The others. They will be coming down here next. Any moment now. They’ll round you up. They are going to ask you some questions. They are going to tell you things. You. Will. Be. Fine. I swear it. And, when they release you, I am ordering you to seek and accept whatever posting you can.”

How they had managed to not hear it before, they would never know, but the heavy movements of the Etlu, mountains blessed with legs of steel, were rummaging about upstairs. There were also the muffled sounds of voices, like when someone holds their hand over your mouth. Others were unintelligible screams—painful ones they all thought. It sounded like a right mess up there.

Maaschuel’s eyes followed the sounds as the clanging of metal boots changed direction and headed for the entrance to the servants’ hall. “Do whatever they ask of you,” and he skirted about the space, his intent made plain: He was moving towards the rear entrance.

The chamberlain, still without a satisfactory understanding of what was about to happen, called out to Maaschuel as he disappeared beyond the hallway, “what if they ask us if we’ve seen you?”

“Tell them the truth, Mr. Davos. I told you to remain loyal to the Baltutu. I’ve fled out the rear entryway,” and his voice trailed off just seconds before Etlu soldiers broke down the door and funneled in, some hauling the servants up to the courtyard while others proceeded to search the hall for signs of Maaschuel.