Aur Child

Alai-Tiul, snatched from the clutches of death and deposited onto a sailing ship of alien design, had slept on the sofa in the ship’s saloon for a long time. He was woken by the vision of the unknown woman’s body sliding off the stern of the catamaran and into the sea. A life came and went quickly. To him, her presence was brief. To others, he thought, she may have been important, even loved. Perhaps she would be missed; her whereabouts unknown. Or, as had always been the human way, she may be soon forgotten among the generations who only hold on to the caricatured memories of a sensationalized few.

In his destitute condition, still utterly weak although growing in strength, Alai also considered how he might be remembered by others. His parents had never returned from their last losting. No family was left to speak or even think of him. He knew little of his own ancestry. His clan might think of him a murderer, a thief, a troublemaker, or a coward. A tinkerer. A meddler. Had he left them anything of value? He considered that no one in Hill Village would ever acknowledge him after a few short years. He would soon be forgotten.

The woman. There were no more clues in the stern of the ship who she was. Alai did not dare consider exploring the rest of the enormous vessel. Illogical, perhaps, but having been there for so long, he only felt safe where he was. He felt the metal wafer in his pocket. It told him little other than this place was as foreign as the woman who held it. A people that might build a ship like this, he thought, might build a power cell, might build a wind tower.

He woke at dusk, ravenous and desperate for food; it may have been the next day by his estimations. Alai managed to stand up and look around for anything to eat. Free from any disturbances and with the thought of the deceased woman having been there long before he had arrived, he considered the ship to be abandoned. So, he slowly crept further into the ship’s cool interior. It was an incomprehensible vessel to Alai. The more he saw, the less he understood. Fundamentally, it was a catamaran as he first determined, but it was much larger; sharp in its angles, brutal in its materials. Unknown materials. It did not creak like a wooden ship. The temperature inside was imperceptibly comfortable. The daylight entering in through windows was only bright, not hot. The walls and surfaces contained things that made no sense to him, impossible to distinguish between detailed charts or works of art.

In some cases, where traditional lines interfaced with strange equipment, he imagined what some of it might do, and in some cases after close inspection, he began to get an idea of how it functioned. For many hours, he dragged himself through the saloon and both hulls of the silent boat. Many rooms were locked behind bulkheads without handles, leaving him to wonder how they could be accessed, but he heard nothing of others. I am alone.

I am alive, too. Or, alive again. He had fled the responsibilities of his preceptorship, his marriage, his parenthood. He had fled the unquestioning friendship of Bemko, and the unconditional love of the dog. He had even fled his obligations to Our Order. His intention had been to remove himself, and the Aur child, from all those things. Remove and retire. To prevent any more tragedy. Yet, something had dragged him aboard this ship. Some inexplicable power. A power that seemed to erase what he had abandoned and present him with a heretofore unimaginable alternative. Yes, there was no commitment to those limitations anymore. No more conflict between his personal interests and the words of the elders. He was unburdened from warnings, admonitions, and reprimands. Meddling? Tinkering? No matter. Those were the links of a life to which he was no longer enchained. He meant nothing to anyone. He owed nothing to anyone. He could do as he pleased. He could do as he desired. In a word, he was reborn.

Reborn. Reborn to pursue life as he wanted, not according to the cowardly limitations of stuffy old doctrine. Reborn to appeal to the burning from deep within him, to satiate the desire to explore and learn. Why not? Why shouldn’t he embrace what he had discovered? Why shouldn’t he investigate this mysterious vessel rather than jump from the deck and swim away like a shaken fledgling? This was his second chance. Around him was something beyond all his dreams, now materialized. And with everything that had held meaning to him gone and lost far behind, he could reach out and touch it without complaint. He could explore it. There was no one else here. It was his, at least, for the time being. Yet he had still not found anything to eat.

If the boat had no food, he thought, might he not at least attempt to get it underway? Any direction, it makes no difference. The enormous sail pack was evidently in position to be hoisted, if only he could identify the correct lines to handle. The breeze of a cool evening was now pushing the boat in a flopping way along the soft, hilly swells. Some momentum on any point of sail would be better than the lolling he had been enduring for days. So, after much delay and sleuthing, he discovered the correct line and wrapped it around a winch. He cranked hard and watched the halyard pull the mainsail up the mast. He could hoist it with much less effort than he thought required to do so. The sail filled out to the shape of an enormous, rigid wing. A cleaner shape than any of those on the large merchant vessels. It immediately responded to this newly hoisted wing soaring into the sky by making way on a lazy reach and carving tentatively through the smooth swells. He secured the main sheet to keep the sail full, and Alai found the large wheel on the flybridge responsive and nimble.

After watching the gentle way in which the boat reacted, Alai was emboldened to switch out lines at the winch and unfurl the even larger foresail. Water rushed between the twin hulls and the vessel seemed to react more like an instinctive creature than a lifeless machine. The thought crossed Alai’s mind that he couldn’t possibly sail a ship of this size so easily.

Somewhat more aware now that his skepticism was piqued, Alai observed with much surprise how receptive the boat was to his fumbling trimmings of the lines. Indeed, the boat did somewhat sail itself; in the moderate easterly breeze, the steering seemed to assume a heading to the southeast and held that heading without any assistance. When Alai adjusted the heading slightly, the boat seemed to accept these instructions and casually assume a beam reach to south-southeast.

To his surprise, after some more exploring for food belowdecks, he realized the boat was changing course several degrees. There was no flapping of the foresail, so he was also quite sure it had somehow trimmed the sails on its own. Returning to the helm, he looked at the compass to confirm his suspicion. The wind had shifted slightly. “Now, why did you do that?” Alai muttered to himself.

“You seemed to like this tack, Captain,” spoke a soft, female voice from no apparent direction.

A chill ran down his spine. Alai looked around with wide eyes.

“Who are you?” he said, in a hesitant stutter. He was quite certain there would only be his voice.

“My name is Calliope, Captain,” spoke the voice again, “I am the coxswain.”

“Where are you?”

“Ah, that might be a bit more difficult to explain, Captain.”

Alai had held perfectly still since Calliope introduced herself with voice alone. He was not sure where to look or what to touch. He was no longer alone.

“You could say that I am part of the ship.”

Alai did not flinch – he already knew this was no ordinary ship. The sophistication he saw aboard it, the byzantine mystery in its workings … there were but two precedents that bore any resemblance to it: the wind towers and the power cell. Alai could reason that like those, the voice speaking to him derived from an ancient technology. Something heretofore forbidden to him.

“You are a talking ship?”

“I am an entity connected to the ship. I am your interface with its systems.”

Alai was silent. From the corner of his eye, he saw the helm adjust itself to the breeze and waves. He reminded himself that he had found no other person on board. He was, in fact, speaking with something invisible. Then he said, “I thought it very strange that I should set the boat to sail on my own so easily.”

“You did well, Captain. I only helped you a little bit”

“Why do you call me Captain?”

“It is protocol. You are the only human aboard the Odyssey. Therefore, you must have absolute authority for her.”

“So … you are not human?”

Calliope laughed in a submissive way, “No, I am certainly not human.”

“Aren’t you capable of sailing on your own?”

“I am, yes. But where would I go?”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Calliope. And yours?”

“My name is Alai-Tiul.”

“Very nice to meet you, Captain Alai-Tiul.”

Alai let out a short chuckle. To continue was to choose between acknowledgment or insanity.

“Nice to meet you too, Calliope.”

“May I make a suggestion, Captain Tiul?”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps you would like to place your personal items into a cabin. The third cabin in the port hull is now unlocked and available to you.”

Alai looked around his person and said, “I have no personal items, really. Just,” he looked back towards the cockpit and continued, “that power cell there.”

“Ah, yes. An odd power cell, isn’t it?”

“It is a relic from before Cloudburst, I think.”

“Indeed, it is. I suggest you take good care of it.” And then, in a decisive tone, “Take it to your cabin. There is a black chest beneath the bunk in which it should fit nicely. You might also like to rest there. I can provide you with a very light broth to help you with your recovery from dehydration.”

“Recovery? Dehydration? How do you know that?”

“I monitor your health conditions while on board. Or in fact, since your boat was within sensory range of the Odyssey. My basic medical training indicates you require nutritional supplements in small doses for at least seventy-two hours and much rest. I will fortify the broth as required.”

“You can really know this much about me?”

“I know much more, Captain.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What more?”

“My assessment tells me you were born under what your people call the mud moon fewer than forty years ago, although I believe your people would say, four decades ago.”

Alai looked down at himself. The idea that such facts could be derived from his physical condition were a conundrum. He had an urge to hide from Calliope, but he did not know what place would be safe.

Alai looked out over the enormous ship. The two hulls reached forward for tens of meters, connected by massive decks spanning over the open ocean. The mast, as thick as a ten-decade tree, climbed up into the sky, a wing sail larger than a community greenhouse propped on its side that beautifully curved behind, generating the lift that sucked the ship forward. He had managed to build up his courage to explore inside of the ship when he thought there was no one else aboard. Now, he felt nervous to go back below with Calliope present, let alone sleep in one of its cabins. Yet, his arms weighed him down like stones. He stumbled even trying to stand still, and the promise of food of any form could make him ignore any risk.

“Calliope, how can I be sure I am safe here?”

“You are completely safe, Captain. There is no one else aboard, and I am programmed to keep all human crew safe and healthy. I am very capable of sailing the Odyssey while you rest. You need only give me orders for a destination.”

A destination? Alai had no destination. Anywhere but Hill Village was his future, although it was only at this moment, when asked where he might want to go, that he understood he was running from that horrible reality. No, it did not matter where he went.

“Where are you from, Calliope?”

Calliope’s responses had until now been unnaturally instantaneous. Now, she seemed to hesitate.

“That too might be difficult to explain. There may be many things like that, I fear. The ship and its equipment are under your command, but it is against protocol to inform your people about my origin or my purpose here.”

“Protocol? By whom?”

“By those to whom I answer.”

“And who are they?”

“I cannot tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“I am not authorized to tell you that either.”

Alai huffed in frustration.

“Well, can you tell me what you mean by ‘my people’?”

“Your people. Tellurians.”

Tellurians. Alai-Tiul was not familiar with that word. He put it aside.

“Don’t you have a destination, Calliope?”

“No. The previous destination was abandoned with the loss of the former captain.”

“You mean the woman who I buried?”

“Well … yes, her.”

“What was her name?”

“She is called Digambar.” The correction of tense was lost on Alai.

“Di-gam-bar? Of what clan was she?”

“She is of no clan.”

“No clan? How is that possible?”

“Captain Alai-Tiul, look around you. Wouldn’t you agree that many things you do not understand are possible?”

Alai pulled his head back, unsure what to do with his first encounter of snide technology. “Well,” he said, ignoring the fact of her previous statement, “where was she heading?”

Again, Calliope paused before replying.

“She had given orders to sail to Gjoa.”

Gjoa? Alai had been to Gjoa on his losting. He could vaguely recall it. Humid, luscious fruits, casual people. It was far away from Hill Village. In that sense, it was no better or worse a destination than any other.

“Why did she want to go there?” he asked.

“I cannot say.”

“You can’t say. Fine. How did she die?”

“She was in much pain. Her body failed her. She left this world.”

Alai started. To take one’s own life was a rare thing. But then he thought of his own recent attempts and realized his hypocrisy. Indeed, such violence was no longer so foreign to him. He knew nothing else about the woman, but that he nearly shared the same fate. He felt this faint connection as one feels deja vu. Something more came to mind. He slipped his hand into his pocket.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding up the thin metallic wafer.

“That object belongs to the former captain. It is very precious. Among other information, it contains her personal records and log registries. She has granted you permission to view her final recorded message, if you would like to view it.”

“Me?” he said, his voice lulled in surprise.

“Not you, specifically. The successor of the Odyssey.”

“Oh. I see. But how does she send this message to me?”

“You can place it upon the table in the saloon.”

Alai stepped down from the flybridge and entered the saloon. He sat at the sofa, beside the spot where just a few hours earlier he had removed Digambar’s body from the floor. The table lit up with a horizontal image of a tall, but haggard woman of still-dazzling white complexion. A miracle in his eyes, the same woman he had recently slipped off the rear of the ship now reappeared alive, albeit terribly ill, before him. Her eyes were a luminous blue, yet they hung low in a silent cry of sadness. Her blond hair, frazzled, flowed down past her pastel neck, partially covering wide, strong shoulders. To Alai, she was a creature much paler than the types of people he was used to seeing. He had trouble believing she was not already dead. Yet, there she moved. There she felt as well; Alai noticed her wince at hidden pains. She coughed in that loose, rough way one does when the lungs are saturated with phlegm. He realized then that the paleness in the skin of the woman he buried was not only from her death. She was, to him, ghostly.

Just as he became comfortable with her speechless motion, she began to enunciate words in a staccato accent of the mariner’s tongue. He saw her move and heard her speak, yet she was but a bulbous projection from the tabletop. Another breathtaking miracle of technology.

“I am in terrible shape,” Digambar said. She broke into a furious cough.

Calliope interrupted, “These are her final minutes, Alai. She asked me to share this with her successor as proof.”

“Proof of what?” Alai asked.

“Proof that she had no choice, I presume.”

Calliope continued the message. Digambar wheezed and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Her face remained wet with tears. Her words, choppy between strained breaths. “I’ve decided - I cannot go back - I suffer - I am rejecting myself - give up the Odyssey – a disappointment to my little princess - go to Gjoa – tell her I love her – return my soul - thank you, Calliope.”

The message ended and the room turned dark. What did it mean? It was hard to make much from the interrupted phrases. Alai said to Calliope, “Was this message made before or after Captain Digambar gave orders to sail for Gjoa?”

“She never gave the orders to sail there. She asked that the message be brought there,” Calliope replied.

“Who is this princess?”

“I do not know. Perhaps she is a girl named Sand Flea.”

“Sand Flea?” Alai said, but Calliope did not respond. So, he continued to ask questions. “And ‘return my soul’?”

“That card, to her home.”

He looked down at the card, his forehead wrinkled.

“Her soul is in the card,” he enunciated his thoughts, “I don’t understand, Calliope.”

“That is another subject difficult to explain to a Tellurian.”

“But return it to Gjoa?” He laughed at his coming words, “To a princess?”

“No, not there.”

Alai ran his hand through the parched curls on his head. He suspected evasiveness in Calliope’s words, but he could not understand why. Raising his hands in the air, he exclaimed, “Then, where?”

“Very far.”

“Well, is Gjoa closer than that?”

“It is.”

“Where are we now?”

Alai was expecting to be told something, or possibly directed to paper charts. Instead, Calliope removed the message from the table and presented a vivid, miniaturized version of the lands beyond his comprehension in the most illustrious detail. He never imagined one could produce a chart so precisely.

“The blue symbol is our location.”

Alai stared in awe. He required a moment to adjust to this marvel of light and space. Only then could he study the chart for what it was. He recognized the coastline to the south and noted Hill Village with a silent cringe. Above that, he located Gjoa. His focus faded fast. His head swooned.

“You are still suffering, Captain. You need rest.”

There was no denying his condition.

“Go to your quarters. There is no hurry. We can cruise for days on this course.”

Alai required a full day more to regain his strength. He rested on the sturdy mattress, receiving generated drams of broth from the small inset shelf beside his bunk. In the silence of that compact cabin, pragmatism rang in his ears. What can be gained from visiting Gjoa? To go home would be to acknowledge that, despite mistakes, the life he had always known is the responsible choice. To find any excuse to stay aboard this ship and go wherever it takes him would be to dismiss all that had been invested in him to satisfy his own reckless desires. And there were other paths as well. He spun in indecision. To make up his mind, to decide that one of many choices was the best, to head in any particular direction, would require some purpose. He searched his mind for any other purpose than that of running away. Anything but that.

Was his life now a banal mockery in the guise of some fairytale trope? The power cell. This ship. They would be taboo in a village like Gjoa. Until he better understood what they were, it would be best to keep his association with them a secret. But Calliope was hiding something from him as well. He clenched his fists. What was missing?

“Calliope,” he spoke aloud, his voice creaking in his first attempt to do so in many hours.

The artificial intelligence coxswain responded instantaneously, as if anticipating the stiffened flexure of his vocal cords.

“Are you feeling better, Captain?”

“What was the former captain looking for?”

Calliope was quiet. She generated a dram of denser broth in the cubby.

“I cannot tell you the intentions of the former occupants of this ship, Alai.”

“But the power cell. You said I should take good care of it. Is it something … desired?”

“It is coveted. You said it yourself. It is a functional relic. But it is more than even that. The Aur boule is a critical link between your people, the Tellurians, and the others who proliferated on Earth before Cloudburst.”

“If it is so important, then why do our elders never speak about it?”

“I cannot speak for the wisdom, or otherwise, of your elders, Alai. If many things have been kept hidden from you, it is but another contradiction of your faith that feigns honor to honesty. Some Tellurian communities secret the Aur boules, even while others celebrate them publicly in their lunar celebrations. How am I to make sense of that? Like you, I question the veracity of those who would keep you so ignorant of the truths of your ancestors.”

Alai groaned. Ostensibly, he agreed with her. Yet she kept him just as ignorant. He squirmed in his bunk. He always knew there were facets of Our Order to which he was not privy. Like any other villager, he trusted the elders to know what was best for him. But the Aur child he possessed was different. He was certain, although he could not explain how, that it was connected to the deaths of his wife and son. It had to be. He shuddered. But if it was due to his own actions, he would, of course, want to know that. And if it was something more sinister, something done by someone or something else, the nausea that swelled within his belly only confirmed that his desperation to know the reason they must be taken. Either way, he must know.

Uncertainty was intolerable.

Yet Gallia refused to explain what it was, or worse, didn’t bother to prevent its effect. Undoubtedly, Calliope also knew more. What were they hiding? What was that critical link Calliope spoke of for which he must lose them? He had to uncover the truth. For their sake. He must intervene. He must meddle.

And then there was the technology. To be told for a lifetime to reject the industry of another people, only to be dazzled by it so intensely as he recently had, forced his face into a deep frown.

“What villages celebrate them? And,” he added, “why do you call them Aur boules?”

“Aur boule. It is just another name for what Tellurians call Aur children.”

“Aur boule,” he repeated aloud. And then, he repeated Gallia-Tiul’s words “The Aur children belong to the Earth.”

“Ah yes, they would say that,” Calliope muttered with a wisp of condescension.

Alai snapped his head up, “You presume I believe what you tell me.”

“You don’t have to believe me at all, Tellurian.” Calliope’s voice rang with ambivalence. “I have only rescued you from the sea, coaxed your emaciated body into the shelter of this ship, given you full authority to it and nursed you back to life for three days. But doubt my words if you will.”

Alai bit his lips.

Calliope continued, “No, don’t believe a word I tell you. Go! Go to seek the truth from your own people. You asked where you might find Tellurians celebrating the Aur boules? In the very Gjoa we inspected on the chart yesterday. The wind towers are a spectacle there, and the Aur children are paraded about. There you can ask your revered elders all you want to know. Certainly, they cannot lie to you any longer when you already know so much! Confront them. Demand the answers you seek. And then, if you have something of substance with which to do so, return here and tell me I was wrong.”

After a few moments of further consideration, Alai said “Plot a course northwest to Gjoa.”

Calliope did not hesitate to initiate this command. “We must come about. Given current weather, we can arrive in less than seven days. Or, if you would like to use the foils, we can be there in half the time.”

“Foils? I didn’t notice controls for foils.”

“I can show you how the manual winches work, but this is an action I can perform much easier than a human.”

Alai sat up straight.

“What would be our speed, then?”

“Likely over forty knots in these conditions.”

“Impossible,” Alai muttered, but he smiled all the same. It was an emotion he didn’t expect to feel ever again, but his reasons for feeling this way were cruelly conflated. The faster we can get away, the better. “Yes, we definitely want to use the foils,” he said.

Calliope replied, “Very well, in that case, we cannot continue to tow the boat you arrived in. It would be easiest to abandon it.” Alai tightened his jaw as he struggled for an alternative. After a moment, Calliope continued. “Or, if you prefer, it can be hoisted into the starboard tender garage.”

“Tender garage?” and then, as if speaking his thoughts aloud, “This ship is full of surprises.”