The Valhalla Covenant

Over a period of about a week, the Vezarin made an initial assessment of Earth. Returning after each sortie to the safety and beauty of their own immaterial sphere, they took time out to let the horror slip away before conferring with their peers. In galactic terms, such abominations and atrocities as had confronted their consciousness were unusual in the extreme.

All the same, it was difficult to tell if an alien predator species dominated Earth, since the current culture seemed to have existed for so long. If it were the Aereons, they were as secretive as ever and had remained undiscovered for as long as several thousand years.

Tor, Reimas’s Vezarin contact, was not sure how he would put the problem to him when the time came. He did not wish to alarm his Earth contact unduly, but the fact remained that an appalling reality gripped his world. Despite having found no hard evidence, they were surer than ever of the presence of a malign influence.

Reimas was asleep when Tor chose to contact him, which was, after all, the most convenient time to be sure of commanding his undivided attention. If Reimas had not yet had any experience of thought-speed travel in the astral, he would have been so flabbergasted as to be useless for many hours after. As it was, when he initially woke into what he thought was a dream, flashing out into the cosmos, he took it all in his stride.

This time, he could see the Vezarin. Plainly, his recent dream had been some sort of message intended to accustom him to the idea that they had a tangible form. Apparently, they could occupy space, in the sense of a set of coordinates, just as surely as he could.

Tor appeared as a man apparently in the prime of his life: tall, dark-haired, with intelligent eyes — very similar in colour to the woman in the dream, with a high forehead and good jaw line. About him were seven other Vezarin of varied appearance, three of whom were plainly female. Not all, however, seemed to be of the same kind.

Despite his considerable surprise at seeing him, Reimas asked why he and his fellow Vezarin had not shown themselves before.

“It’s standard practice for us not to risk shocking others,” he replied. “Plainly, we are of the same species, but the main issue was that we felt you might have been overwhelmed by so many powerful personalities. Most of the time, we remain invisible but, in this case, it’s crucial that we establish the best possible communication parameters.”

“What do mean we’re of the same species?” Reimas asked, abruptly realizing the enormity of what he’d said.

“There’s no doubt,” Tor replied. “We’ve investigated your genetic makeup, and apart from some small anomalies, you’re an Ellaran.”

“But how can that be? I am of Earth … in any case, how distant is Ellaras?”

“In the thousands of light years, as you measure it.”

“Were your people such great travellers?”

“Not really, but there was a mystery — the disappearance of a select group that had emigrated to a relatively nearby planet named Genesis. How they could have ended up on Earth we’ve not been able to discover, but there can be no mistake. Humans, at least some of you, are Ellaran. The variation in genetic makeup and appearance in Ellarans is relatively small, so, given the wider variation on Earth, there may well have been remarkably similar species already there.”

Reimas was momentarily lost for words, but there were other matters to deal with.

From that point Tor resolved to take a direct approach. No one from his world regarded the matter of Earth’s corruption lightly. Earth’s current collective rule was without any doubt a dark force.

Governments, corporations and religious bodies alike purported to adhere to stated objectives promoting peace and welfare, but it was clear that their covert agenda was very different. No rational commitment to positive change was evident.

The line he had to present was unequivocal, but something held him back. Almost as he was about to speak, another’s thought broke in.

“Perhaps Earth’s population is truly aberrant,” he observed — one called Nalein — standing forth a little. “Maybe it only has itself to blame, since no alien culprits can be identified at this stage.”

It was out, and it seemed to be a view shared by some, but most, including Tor, disagreed.

“We know that this case is not without precedent,” observed a third figure of apparent standing, who’d earlier introduced himself as Onarion. “We had thought Aereons were long gone but we, of all peoples, know how well they can be hidden.”

“What did you do with the ones you found?” Reimas asked.

“We dealt with them humanely, as you would put it,” Onarion replied.

Reimas did not feel like probing further, wondering if humans, in view of their appalling behaviour, might also be dealt with ‘humanely’.

That thought was, however, met with horror, and a little embarrassed laughter echoed around the group.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, or humanity,” Tor reassured him. “Nalein expressed a doubt — an element that needs to be considered, but he had no intention of presenting it as an accepted fact. One of the precedents Onarion mentioned was, in fact, Ellaras. I have to say that this all has a strong feeling of familiarity about it for me. Really, the parallels are quite extraordinary.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one thing, during its time of trial, Ellaras experienced a phase of rapid technological growth, similar to your own.”

“And evil came of it?”

“Not of it but along with it. The evil was not in the technology, but in the invaders that were the driving force behind it.”

“So you experienced a similar challenge?”

“Now that I bend my mind to recall, it’s noteworthy how similar they were. I came from the world’s ruling line but in my time, bureaucracy had taken over, and I was obliged to pursue a similar sort of activist strategy as you, only to face an eventual crisis of confidence, as you have. I loved as you, with more than one partner, but the one I loved the most was Laseja. Your Sasha loves the sphere of art, as did Laseja.”

Reimas was astounded by Tor’s revelations concerning human ancestry and the remarkable parallels in their lives but, even as he weighed the shatteringly large odds against there being so many similar elements, he began to perceive that Tor was more moved by his distant memories than he cared to admit.

“You don’t know her now?”

“No, for some reason, her existence is hidden to me.”

“That could change,” Reimas suggested, aware of his mood. “There’s no end to time, after all.”

“Don’t lose Sasha, Reimas,” Tor replied, earnestly. “You may be swept up in the events of your day, but there’s no need to part if you will only not demand too much of each other.”

“I understand.”

“Good, because this is but a small part of your existence — a mere moment in time. I’m sure we’ll ultimately discover an external influence at work here, and these matters will all be resolved. It’s simply not characteristic of normal material existence. Individuals within most intelligent species usually band together to help each other. Moreover, they do it with conviction and determination.”

Onarion, the Vezarin elder for want of a better term, had been listening intently, and clarified further.

“The challenges of material existence make it obvious even to the dimmest of sentient brains that cooperation, good feelings and, indeed, love, make life so much better,” he said, with an expression of trust and approval faintly expressed in his calm, open features. “We’ve seen it in so many worlds.

“Fruitless opportunism and wanton cruelty, on the other hand, are bizarre aberrations that seem to stem from the rarest of circumstances, the principal one in our experience being invasion of one species by another.”

“Is it unusual that material beings develop intergalactic or even interstellar travel?” Reimas asked.

“Rare, indeed,” Onarion replied, “but it seems strange that it has not happened here, if we are indeed dealing with Aereons. It’s not like them to remain in one place very long.”

“If we are dealing with them,” said Reimas, “would it not help if my people had the benefit of the mind modification you gave to me?”

“It’s worthy of you that you would wish it,” said Onarion, “but we’ve thought about this at length and have decided in the negative.”

“Why?”

“Many on Earth plainly desire peace, but things have come so far that they have been inculcated with the philosophy and habits of war. Give others the sort of power you now possess, and we could have endless feuding and vying for pre-eminence. No, there must be clear leadership or vital time will be lost.”

Reimas recalled that he had only recently come to the same conclusion, but hearing it from Onarion’s lips truly brought home the reality of the responsibility that he had been given.

“Then you’re effectively making me ruler of Earth,” he observed.

“If you succeed.”

“Also,” Tor elucidated, “we must be careful, since there is no simple way to unlearn these terrible moral standpoints. We can’t simply program them out if an individual has no desire to make it so. Only experience, effort and good leadership can inspire a charge towards the right sort of moral understanding.”

“I beg to differ,” said Reimas. “I don’t see it. “Some degree of positive modification can only help people develop the right sort of moral understanding.”

“No. The effort to seek must come first. The dream lab is there and you have pioneered the techniques, but how many have consistently used it?”

“None, apart from myself.”

“That’s what I mean. People have to consciously decide to explore the greater part of their consciousness, or no help we can give will bear the sorts of fruits you would hope for. They will come to it eventually, but we cannot bring it to them.”

“When that happens, your assistance will be valued,” said Reimas. “I think you know how relieved I am to have found you — to know that there are beings of higher consciousness in the universe that are caring and compassionate, not to mention our very own ancestors. I recently had a dream, in which a great master of wisdom blessed me, and I felt that the people in it must have been Vezarin. They even looked similar to you.”

Tor was immediately interested.

“May I scan your memory of the dream?” he asked.

Reimas was surprised, especially by the intensity he felt in the other’s response, but agreed without hesitation.

Moments later, Tor laughed in both amazement and immediate pleasure.

“No, my friend, those people were not Vezarin, but they are, or were, Ellaran, and the lady who first spoke with you is Laseja. How strange that I’ve found her after all this time through your mind — after so many years, so many thousands… she must have found a way to pursue similar goals elsewhere.”

Reimas was curious.

“Not here, I suspect,” he suggested,“ for they seemed not of this world and unwilling to have much to do with it. Even so, such a wonderful discovery must mean something.”

One of the females stood forth a little. Her name was Tamilin.

“I feel you speak the truth,” she said. “Great things may come of it.”

Reimas was interested to note that Tamilin seemed all the more distinctively to be female when she spoke. It was as if her character as well as her beauty grew when she expressed herself. He also sensed that Tor had withdrawn from the conversation for the time being.

“Do not doubt us,” she said reassuringly. “Even we have learned over the long years to weigh things in the balance at higher and higher levels. We know the risk of helping is great but we also know that life on your world hangs in the balance. In such circumstances, how could we do anything else?”

“Indeed, we must assist,” Onarion agreed. “Even so, I do foresee a practical difficulty. If your world does suffer the presence of alien invaders, we’ve not yet seen the thought patterns we’d have expected to find. It might well be the greatest part of your job to actually discover them if they are Aereon, since they’re not obviously different. In that process, we may not be of much help.”

“You mean you can’t just think, ‘reveal yourselves aliens’, with any chance of success?” Reimas asked with mock disappointment.

There was general laughter.

“Indeed no,” Tamilin replied. “For one thing, we are not in the habit of entering the minds of others without their knowledge and assent. If the Aereons are at work here, they may have developed very sophisticated means of cloaking their thoughts over the last few thousand years.”

“What do they look like?”

“They resemble you so closely in appearance that they might almost be indistinguishable.”

Reimas was shaken to the core before he even knew why. When he understood, he was even more alarmed.

“All the same, perhaps these are utterly different beings,” Onarion speculated. “In that case, your local knowledge of cultural factors and the like would be crucial. You and your people must certainly lead this campaign.”

“The invasion idea is an interesting concept,” said Reimas, “but it’s one that’s already been so thoroughly explored in the story-telling of our race that it tends to be automatically discounted as myth and fancy.”

“Are these stories plausible examinations of the concept?” Onarion asked.

“To tell you the truth, no. The way it’s dealt with has almost always been entirely absurd; and, of course, in such stories the aliens are always quickly driven out and defeated.”

“That seems unlikely,” said Tamilin. “More probably, if they are on your planet, they will have been around for some thousands of years.”

“Yes,” agreed a male called Sereth who was their principal historical analyst, “from our brief exploration of your history, it seems that a change took place around three and a half to four thousand years ago. There was, then, a rapid accumulation of significant power blocks using previously unseen technologies, along with the slave labour of previously free people.”

“We’ve only recently begun to make significant discoveries about some of the ancient civilisations,” Reimas responded with immediate interest. “Unlike later ones set up for war and dominance, there were some that had no weapons — such as Mohenjo-Daro, which did, as it happens, exist around three or four thousand years ago. Since then, it’s mostly been war and destruction, though I can’t say I know why. I’ve read much about our most warlike ancestors in trying to understand the phenomenon, but never seriously believed they might have been alien.”

“It seems you’ve done well, my friend,” said Onarion, “given that so many of you have been duped by implausible tales of your own primitive society defeating powerful invading aliens but, that aside, what about the vast explosion of technology in your nineteenth and twentieth centuries?”

“Simply the arrival at a plateau of development?”

“Too easy. Such development simply doesn’t happen that way. Most people develop more slowly and steadily, perfecting the fine points of progress and weighing the consequences of their technologies before applying them on such a widespread basis. Your people have rushed into just about every new thing without bothering to check if it is safe, or even if it truly does represent a leap forward in the quality of life.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“The technology we’ve given you will at the very least facilitate your enquiries,” Onarion continued, “but you must be careful not to let it spread into the hands of the general population. We have provided it to you and your associates as a special measure to counteract the unusual conditions we have seen here, but you must use it cautiously.”

“So, except for that simple caution, you’re leaving it all in my hands?”

“You misunderstand,” said Tamilin. “In short, there would appear to be no quick solution. We already have a wide and demanding sphere of interest to attend to, and, as you observed yourself, people grow best when they meet their own challenges.

“It is also true that just as good people will not always be ruled entirely by material influences bent on domination, neither can such an evil be sought and isolated without intimate knowledge of the particular world involved. To put it bluntly, the game must be played out at your level.”

“While you will not, in any sense, be abandoned,” Sereth added, “you must know that this is your fight, and you must be at its head.”

“I see that, and I understand your reasoning,” Reimas replied, “although I have to confess that to know there are gods, now, and still not have their unequivocal aid leaves my heart heavy.”

“We’re not gods,” said Onarion flatly.

Reimas, despite having discovered the remarkable truth of Tor’s past as a material being, was surprised. He still had the impression that some of the Vezarin had always been in that form. Their power and presence was so great.

“I was sure you had to be gods, even if most humans do believe there is only one god. Come to think of it, that’s something I’d really like to resolve.”

Such a fascinating question became even more fascinating given the prospect of obtaining a definitive answer. The matter had baffled the greatest thinkers for a long time, and the Vezarin were the nearest thing to a definitive authority that he was ever likely to come across.

“I feel I should make it very clear to you,” said Tor, returning to the conversation in a timely way, “that I’m a being much like yourself in the ways that count the most. The important thing is that I share, as do we all, your desire to make right what has become wrong.”

Long ago, Onarion had said something very similar to Tor. Reimas was astonished by the comment, but the implications were profound and a deep well of elation began to rise somewhere inside him.

“Have you met or spoken with the being who did create life forms and who manifests consciousness?” he asked.

“I believe I have,” Tor responded, “as have many of our kind, though I have a strange feeling that Laseja would know more about this than me. Our limited study of your cultures suggests that a great many individuals throughout the history of Earth have experienced awareness of the ‘all’. This is also true for the many other planets in our galaxy, which have physical life forms and cultures upon them. The consensus is so general that a ‘view’ of the matter has been wrought.”

“And ... ”

“It has been determined that the great mind speaks equally to every consciousness, depending only on how open that consciousness is to receiving such communication.

“It is said that the great mind does not necessarily speak with words, although its meaning is frequently and readily translated into words of the receiver’s own interpretative choosing, and that its purposes are both vast and largely inscrutable.”

“So you don’t really know this divine presence any better than we do?”

“I would say that most of us know the creative spirit at least as well as the very few of you but our capacity, individually speaking, to perceive it is no greater than yours.”

“But you believe it exists?”

“We do not believe it. We’re certain that it exists. There is not one amongst us who doubts that a great intelligent capacity expressed itself through creation.”

“What about evolution, though?” Reimas asked. “You can see it operating in the environment. You can see it by tracing DNA blueprints. The evidence is everywhere.”

Tor gave expression to the smallest hint of impatience.

“You’re right, at one level, but where could you find evidence for an assertion that evolution has not the direction of consciousness behind it?”

“Where could you find evidence that it does?”

Tor regarded the Earthman with astonishment.

“It’s everywhere, including the very existence of your own conscious intelligence,” he said. “That is the ultimate expression of your physical being, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but, consciousness isn’t necessarily switched on in everything.”

“Life,” said Tor, “simply by virtue of its presence, is not strictly synonymous with the highest possible consciousness. No one should realize this better than you after undergoing mind modification but, where consciousness exists, it can be maximized through choice.”

Reimas was silenced.

“Evolution’s drive towards more and more complex states of order might seem to operate at the level of random chance when looked at very narrowly, despite such suggestive phenomenon as the far greater than chance transmission of advantageous characteristics directly to subsequent generations, but when you look at the big picture it’s different.

“When you consider the apparent purpose of it all, it works always towards adding meaningful complexity to its structures. Such complexity can only provide greater liberty and facility for the expression of consciousness, first at the material level and then beyond it.”

“Why at the material level?”

“You mean why bother with it and not go directly to the next level?” Tor asked in return, with the inference that he should frame his questions more carefully.

“I guess so.”

“First you must know that your apparently material existence is an illusion, at least as much so as you would consider your dreams, however convincing it seems. It does exist in a sense but, in the higher reality, it has no size at all. That part of it which tends to make you think it has an objective reality all of its own, apart from consciousness, is the illusion. It was made that way deliberately to fire the sorts of reactions that further the growth of the spark of consciousness at your level.”

“Since we think it’s real, we meet the challenges and grow,” said Reimas.

“Yes. It’s the sense of continuity and interaction that encase the growing consciousness, in one sense, almost in the same way as the tiny fusion nuclear reactions your scientists have long attempted to contain with invisible magnetic forces. The purpose of the material illusion is to enclose. It’s a cocoon for the creation of consciousness. Without it the spark of consciousness would peter out and come to nothing since there would be no suitable thing for its first manifestation to act upon.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Reimas, only now picking up on the most fascinating of the things Tor had said, “but did you say, before, that our universe has no size at all?”

“Not the size of a pea.”

“Then that must be why it is possible to travel so quickly in the astral.”

Tor nodded.

“The astral is like a blueprint of the material and, as such, it has few of the limitations normally associated with material experience. So long as you are aware of the causal parameters of your own being as well as what it was you were looking for, you could go anywhere in an instant.

“Even we must know about the place we want to go to, to do it that way, or we could never find it in the illusory vastness of the universe. Ideas alone are real. They are what your philosophers call causal reality, and there are countless millions of them to explore.”

“When I was first in the astral,” Reimas said, “I found that once I knew where a world was I could travel between it and my own world in the blinking of an eye, but to find the worlds, especially at first when I didn’t have a really clear idea of what I was looking for, took a lot longer. I had to use stars, galaxies and planets as reference points.”

“They were the ideas that your mind used to climb along in search of living beings like yourself on another planet. Once you had the idea structures located, you could move between them instantly, albeit only in the astral.”

“It’s true,” said Reimas. “How else could I have done what I did? The universe is an idea — but why can I only do it in the astral?”

“Your inability to do it in the so called material, reflects only the incompleteness of your knowledge of the ideas involved.”

“I’d like to know more about our ancient home of Ellaras,” said Reimas, “If what I saw in the dream was anything to go by, I’d get a kick out of at least hearing more about it.”

“Some day, I’ll tell you its story,” Tor replied, “but, for now, you must be content with writing your own.”

“Yes, my own little piece of the pea. To think of worlds being so small somehow makes it seem more plausible that they are ideas, and if they are ideas, it must have been a conscious being that originally thought of them.”

His own thought became awe-inspiring as he considered the implication.

“In a sense,” he said, “we could all be in the mind of the creator.”

“Just as we are in each other’s mind at this very point,” Tor observed, startling Reimas with a resurgence of realization that the whole conversation had been conducted in thought, without a single actual word being uttered. If that was possible, as it apparently was, it was conceivable it might also be simply because there really was no dividing space.

As the mental intoxication associated with these astounding ideas receded and was replaced by the sombre spectre of facing the task ahead, the Vezarin reaffirmed his realization of the importance of his own sense of mood and attitude, and told him that such apparently insubstantial factors would be the key to every great success.

Tor told Reimas calmly that without having the presence of mind to create exactly the sort of mental environment he would truly want at any given moment, nothing the Vezarin could give would be of much worth.

Finally, Tamilin reminded him that he was welcome to summon them at any time.

Waking back in bed, he wondered what time it was. The face of his watch glowed when he touched it and showed, yes, six thirty-four in the morning, Sunday July the ninth, 2050. It was amazing to contemplate how much had happened in the space of only a few hours.

Sasha was still next to him, her breathing slow, strong and rhythmic. The sound of it drew him away from the magic of the past few hours, and rapidly filled him with a powerful sense of appreciation for life and for the living. It might, in some senses, be an illusion, but it was persuasive.