Lawrence Schoen: Barsk: The Elephants' Graveyard

“So I can expect more of these chats? With other raised mammals?”

“I’m afraid not. You heard the history of our shame. I think the committee is correct; there’s nothing to be gained by that knowledge getting out. Which means other Speakers must not summon you.”

“But you told Bish you had a failsafe. Won’t the other Speakers you told about me make the attempt? Even if you follow up with each of them and assure them it’s not necessary, surely some will try.”

Jorl nodded. “You’re right. Curiosity is a universal trait. There’s no way I can prevent them from trying; I have to attack the problem from the other end and prevent them from succeeding.”

“I don’t understand, what will you—”

“This isn’t ‘goodbye,’ Dr. Castleman. I’ve managed the trick once, I can do it again. But it’s important to be sure no one else can.”

Without another word, Jorl filled the mental space around him with a hundred versions of himself. Then, as he had done with the Matriarch’s nefshons, the multitude of him focused on dispersing the particles that defined Chieko Castleman and scattered them farther and wider than any other Speaker could hope to summon back together, even with a lifetime of effort.

Jorl let his duplicates fade and brought his attention back to the real world. He took a final glance at his cloud-covered home before turning to leave. The pair of Ailuros snapped into position as he exited the mess. He’d only been on the job a short while, but he already knew he was not going to like his new role as a senator.

* * *

UNLIKEthe Resolute Purpose, Bish’s ship had only a single hold that doubled as a bay. It had been turned into a pantry and stocked with sufficient cases of food and drink to allow the senator to travel for years if necessary. At Jorl’s request, Druz had the Pandas move those goods into the warehouse where less than a day before they had stowed everything that had been removed from the polar base. Then, in turn, they moved some of that onto the senator’s ship, including the boat borrowed from the Provost. When the swapping back and forth had been completed, the ship detached from the orbital station and dropped.

Druz operated the pilot’s board on the tiny bridge of the ship. To her right, Pizlo sat at second, eyes fixed upon screens that should have been unintelligible to him. Jorl stood behind him, and the way the boy nodded and switched his gaze from one display to another unnerved Jorl more than he wanted to admit.

Under the terms of the Compact, only Lox and Eleph were permitted to set foot upon Barsk, nor could any other Alliance craft enter its atmosphere. Having inherited Bish’s ship, Jorl considered himself within the spirit of the law so long as only he and Pizlo disembarked. The ship followed the beanstalk down into the atmosphere. It leveled off high above the island of Zlorka and sped east into a storm.

“Stop! You went past it!” Pizlo unstrapped from his seat and jumped down.

Jorl nodded to the Sloth. “Can you drop us here?”

“Here? I can, but there’s nothing here.” Druz studied her console and set her controls so that the ship began executing a low, wide circle. “The nearest land is far behind us, sir. Are you sure?”

“Give us a bit to reach the boat and open the hold. Take us as low as you can, and try to ease us into the water. Once we’re underway, return to the station for your supplies. Then, as we discussed, take Lirlowil home. And when you’re ready, set a course for the technologically weakest of the far colonies and drop off their newest member.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Yes, well, no need to hurry. It’s going to take a while for me to figure out my new role. I don’t plan on leaving Barsk ever again, so I don’t know what I’d do with a vessel like this.”

“I do,” said Pizlo. “There’re are all kinds of places I could go. Think of all the insects that they have on other planets!”

Jorl smiled. “I don’t think your mother would be happy with me if I let her six-year-old son go traipsing around the galaxy.”

“I won’t always be six. Plus, I have moons!” He slapped his bandaged hands against the designs on his chest.

“We’ll talk about it. For now, let’s get you and your moons to the boat.” He turned back to Druz. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, Senator. I will see you when I return.”

Jorl and Pizlo made their way to the hold and onto the boat that lay braced against a vast gate on the outer wall. Moments later, that gate opened and water began rushing into the hold. The boat slipped out and free, and the ship skipped along ahead of them before rising up again. Wind and rain struck at the Fant on the little boat, and as one they turned their faces up in pleasure and watched the ship rise. The ocean cascaded from the open hold like a waterfall and then stopped. Clouds swallowed the ship, and the man and boy were alone on the ocean.

Pizlo stood in the front of the boat. It was late afternoon. Rain poured down upon him and he pointed the direction they had to go. Jorl set the controls. They sailed until dusk and slept beneath clouded skies caressed by light rain. The following morning, as the cloudy sky brightened, they saw the shore of a nearby island that appeared on no map. They paused to have breakfast and then made landfall. Before leaving the station, Jorl had instructed the Pandas to lash two plastic drums to the boat’s deck. He transferred them to the beach.

Pizlo sat at the water’s edge, eyes closed as if communing with the waves that now and then knocked him over. He’d discarded his bandages and when the cool water wasn’t washing them clean he kept burying his hands in the sand.

Further up shore, Jorl opened both drums, tilting them to pour out the coarse ash from inside. He rolled the empty containers back to the boat, already planning where he might keep them until Druz returned and could take them off Barsk for good. Then he went to sit with the boy, smiling as the water soaked his clothes that had only recently dried from the night before.

Pizlo continued to roll with the waves a while, then opened his eyes and asked, “Can I watch?”

Jorl hesitated. “We’re only here at all because of you. It’s not fair, but no. It would only upset them to see you, and they’ve been through so much. Honestly, many of them were never happy to see me, either. But this is something that has to be done. I won’t be long.”

He closed his eyes and, unbidden, the memory of the burning Dying came to him. Jorl shoved it aside. He’d had too many nightmares in his life already and hoped to exorcise this one before it took root. Instead, he imagined the familiar scent of spiralmint. He fanned himself with his left ear. In his mind, he re-created the shore where he sat, editing out the details of Pizlo and the boat. In their place, he began summoning the many Dying Fant that had shared the internment camp. He knew their names, and even though his personal knowledge of many of them was slight, no other nefshons had the feel of the recent days he’d shared with them. The handful he’d shared tales with took form closest to him. The rest materialized just beyond them, until they filled the space around him in a line along the water’s edge.

“Your time in life has since ended; you are now as you were in life, but not alive. Your journey here did not take the traditional form, and your arrival is decidedly tardy, but you have at last achieved your destination. I bid you welcome.”

“This is it,” said Rüsul. “I’ve seen this beach in my dream.”

“And those trees,” said Kembü.

Phas turned to him, one hand reaching out. “Jorl? How is this possible? What you just said, it sounded like the words from a summoning … but we were all just in the camp. The Pandas, they were rounding us all up—”