Vision2 (5 page)

Tigaffo hesitated and stepped out from behind the rock, visibly trying to shrug off his fear as he shuffled a little closer. “But I wanted to study the human more. There
’
s so much I need to learn from him.”

Firturro laughed, a deep guttural sound that echoed down the hall. “Obviously, if you can
’
t even function through a greeting without getting startled, you
’
re not going to be much use to me. There is a lot to be explained, and your desire to study Roger would only complicate things. Go, tell the council what
’
s happened and report back to me in a few hours.”

Tigaffo moved down the dark hallway, his body becoming a shadow between the weak lights. But Roger could still see the purple glow of his eyes each time he turned back to look at them before he finally disappeared around a bend in the tunnel. He looked over when Tigaffo had disappeared and noticed that the two burlier creatures were still standing off in the shadows, letting their presence be known without crowding him. It reminded him off the photo ops with the President where the secret service was always just off and to the side.

Roger noticed a smile still played across Firturro
’
s face, and it changed his appearance dramatically. No longer did Firturro seem like a dangerous being, and Roger felt himself relaxing despite his earlier promise not to.

“Sorry you had to stay in the chamber so long. Our worlds, Obawok and Earth, are close on a certain level of space, but they are vastly different when it comes to time. Because of this enormous time difference, human bodies need a certain amount of time to adjust. ”

“What level of space? What time difference? What Obawok?” Roger asked, his head swimming with visions of alternate realities, dimensions, black holes, sun nurseries, and so much more. He
’
d never thought about all the infinite possibilities of space and time travel before, but he found that once he started, he couldn
’
t make himself stop.

“Obawok is our world as well as the name for our people, and it exists in harmony with your world on a variety of levels. However, time here moves rather quickly compared to time on earth. One year of your time is equal to roughly 100 Obawok years.”

It took him a second, but Roger began to add the time up in his head, trying to picture a world in which he could live to be a hundred years old before Bear was six. No matter how many times he tried, Roger couldn
’
t make the time difference logically mesh together.

“How are you able to watch humans if you
’
re 1,000 when they
’
re only ten?”

Firturro nodded, “That would be a problem if we only lived to be a few thousand years old, but Obawok generally live 90,000 years, and we observe two or three humans at once. We don
’
t start watching humans until their sixteenth birthday, and we
’
ve usually stopped watching them by the time they turn twenty-two.”

“Oh.” It was all Roger could manage; his head was still racing with numbers and years, adding up seconds and comparing them to minutes, and trying to figure out where the dividing difference was.

Firturro sensed his confusion and laughed a little as he peered up at Roger
’
s face. The deeply timbered voice didn
’
t hold any overtones of mockery as it echoed throughout the chamber, and it quickly alleviated a few more fragments of Roger
’
s anxiety.

“To help you understand, I
’
ll give you a more accurate breakdown of the difference. There are eight and half Obawok years for every human month, a quarter of a year every human day or roughly three and a half of our days for every hour of your time. It may seem like a very big time difference, but really, it all works out.”

Firturro turned and motioned for Roger to follow him down the hall even as Roger
’
s head was still reeling. They walked slowly, and the Obawok following them walked even slower, their uneven footfalls the only sound in the darkness. Roger thought of the coalmines on earth and was chilled. He
’
d always heard horror stories about the miners dying in the shafts when the walls would suddenly cave in on them. While he
’
d never been claustrophobic, the network of tunnels made the sudden onset of fear feel as if it was going to overwhelm him.

The fact that Firturro continued to lead him from one passage to another until Roger felt like a rat trapped in a maze and forced to run around aimlessly for some foreign god
’
s enjoyment didn
’
t help any. He clenched his sweaty palms to his side, ignoring the dull, throbbing pain of the gnome bite, and tried to reassure himself that the walls weren
’
t going to mysteriously fall apart.

“Umm, this might sound strange, but do you keep canaries down here?” He meant for the question to be light and even a little humorous, but the fear in his voice seemed to overwhelm any humor he
’
d intended.

Firturro stopped and looked at him for a moment, clearly puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, canaries. You know, little yellow birds that could be kept in cages down here so that we could tell if there was oxygen loss if they died. Like miners in the old days? Surely you watched them, too.”

He continued to stare at Roger for a little while until Roger felt a growing uneasiness at the steady violet gaze. Then, without warning, the little man laughed.

“Oh, I see. You
’
re thinking these caves are like those on earth that sometimes collapse. Well, don
’
t worry. These passages have been here as long as our people have, and they have never failed us. The rock they are carved from is among the sturdiest earth on either planet.” Then he leaned up to Roger
’
s face and dropped his voice to a whisper as if sharing a great secret. “Besides, most of these passages weren
’
t carved by Obawok, but rather were the dens of an old creature only known as the Deburnak, or rock dwellers.”

“Are the Deburnak still around?” Roger asked, suddenly worried that the Obawok weren
’
t going to be the most frightening things he would encounter here. Whatever had carved these passages was far larger than any Obawok.

“Oh no, no. Those creatures went the way of your dinosaurs long ago. In fact, these tunnels are almost the only thing left of them,” Firturro said as he started walking again.

Roger wanted to ask what Firturro had meant by almost, but didn
’
t. Instead, he continued to look around at the slick green walls they walked. The ice-cold grip of claustrophobia had left his lungs and he could breathe a little easier, and that helped ease his mind as they continued in the dark tunnels.

Shortly after that he almost fell over when Firturro suddenly stopped and turned to a small, hidden door to their right. He inserted a rather large key into a slot cleverly disguised among the shadows. The door itself was so small Roger had to hunker down to clear the frame, but once he walked through the entryway the ceiling gradually extended until it reached a comfortable height of about ten feet.

The room was just another portion of the tunnel, but the ever-thoughtful Obawok had tried to make the surroundings homey. In fact, the decor and furniture were all obviously brought in from the late seventies. Two garishly orange armchairs with semi-circle backs surrounded a white and green speckled Formica coffee table. There were also two velvet posters that made Roger chuckle at the sight of them hanging from the moss colored rock. One pictured an African landscape with two lions facing each other while they sunned themselves on a giant rock, and the other pictured a unicorn raring up amidst a forest of trees. Decorations like this on earth would have been any straight-laced parent
’
s nightmare, a sure sign that their child was on LSD, but here, it was apparently considered good décor.

“These are our guest chambers. You
’
ll stay here while studying and preparing for the Mezoglike. It
’
s important to your survival that you use every spare second to get yourself physically and mentally ready.”

The chuckle died in his throat, leaving his mouth covered in fur. “Survival?” Roger managed to choke out, but when Firturro only gave him a passive stare, he tried again. “Okay, if that one
’
s too tough for you, maybe you can tell me what the hell a Mezoglike is.”

“It
’
s why you were brought to Obawok.” Firturro turned and shut the door. Roger felt the anger rise up again. Here he was being more than cordial to someone who had just kidnapped him from his home, and he was getting nothing more than a few cryptic warnings.

“But why me?” Roger demanded, “What was so special about me that I was commanded to come here and appease you by running through hoops like a circus dog?”

Firturro studied Roger in silence, and Roger was immediately overcome with images from movies and books. In that world, aliens were always more evolved than humans, often using ESP and telepathy against them. He
’
d always believed all of that came from the minds of big time
Hollywood
execs, but the unusual way Firturro scrutinized him made Roger feel physically and emotionally naked.

“On Earth, your different religions preach both man
’
s freewill and the law of fate, and we Obawok know for a fact that they are both true because they are opposing sides of a life force. Sometime between human puberty and twenty years of age, human males appear to choose a path of either complete freewill or fate. It
’
s an unconscious decision, but it is something men need to do so they can go through a more natural life cycle.

“When a human doesn
’
t pick a direct path in life, Obawok are required by our laws to intervene. The result of this intervention is the Mezoglike, a mandated test that you must now undertake.”

Roger was silent while the information swam through his head. He rubbed his forehead and zeroed in on one of the orange monstrosities. It was cushy to the point of being lumpy underneath its velvet covering. It called out to him, and even though he
’
d just spent an untold number of hours sleeping, he could feel the weariness seeping through his body.

He rubbed his hands against his bare shoulders and found that he had a whole new set of worries, and those concerns mainly had to do with his clothing. All he
’
d had on when he
’
d been pulled here was his jeans and the old tennis shoes he always wore around the house. Hell, he hadn
’
t even bothered to put on clean socks, and his feet were going to be pungent when his shoes came off.

“So, I was dragged here because you believe you have the right to interfere with what I choose to believe on earth? What kind of monsters would do that?”

“I don
’
t have the appropriate knowledge to answer those questions. I
’
m just assigned to watch you and record information. The council members retain the information I
’
ve given them and decide what to do with it.” He sighed, and Roger noticed how pained Firturro seemed. “I
’
d honestly hoped you wouldn
’
t be forced to come here. I had faith that you would eventually choose your own path. They just had to understand that you were, well…you were different. And different humans require….”

“So you
’
re what, peeping toms with a mission?” Roger interrupted. He was tired and frustrated and perverts had just abducted him.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn
’
t get his mind around the fact that he
’
d been living a perfectly normal life, boring and inane maybe, but normal, when all of a sudden Boom! here he was in a strange world with even stranger creatures telling him what to do.

Firturro seemed to understand and even anticipate Roger
’
s anger, and his voice showed no signs of returning the accusations. “We have to watch portions of your life in order to know whether or not you
’
ve chosen. There are distinct qualities to both humans who have accepted fate as their imposed limitation and those who embrace the openness of freewill. It isn
’
t possible for an Obawok watcher to listen in on anyone
’
s thoughts, and even if it were, I would not participate in such barbarian activities.” Firturro looked directly into Roger
’
s eyes to better communicate this honesty. “And that includes watching your sex life. I didn
’
t need to see that aspect of your life to determine whether or not you have chosen a path, so I have always made sure that the mirror was covered and left alone at these times. I only look in on your life for an average of four to six hours a week, and these hours are predetermined by your work habits.