The Transdyne Awakening (9 page)

“That’s going to need some stitches, Alex,” he said.

Alex manoeuvred his leg down from the bench in obvious pain. The two others lifted him on to a makeshift traverse. “We’ll take him” they volunteered.

“That looks bad,” Clay observed.

“Yeah, stinking scavengers!” spat Jacob. “That’s the fifth bite we’ve had lately. We’re running low on biomeds so I’m glad to see you. Those vermin are getting bolder. They’re ready to take your arm right off if you don’t kill ‘em quick enough. They’re not plagued up, just hungry. That means they’ll come right up to the pens. We’ve had to double the lookouts on shift.”

“It wasn’t that bad before was it?” Clay asked.

“It goes in cycles,” Jacob replied.

That very night, two more wild dogs were killed trying to get in close. Clay was glad when they told him that no one else had been mauled.

The desert swam before his eyes, the colour of molten gold in the haze. Clay followed the winding route, further and deeper into outland. Long stretches of what had once been a highway had subsided and been reclaimed by the desert sands. He was grateful that a terraglide didn’t need mechanical contact with a uniform, hard surface. The adjustable nozzles on these machines kept them clear of the crumbling track.

The arid land shone little mirages as it baked in the unremitting heat. As he came out of a dip in the terrain he could see a small pack of dogs hiding from the sun in the shadow of some rocks. There wasn’t much for them to live on this far out. Despite that, each time he travelled here he noticed more of them. Up ahead, a huge lizard with fins at its throat lumbered across the track, oblivious to his passing. Still further out there were clusters of bleached bones, some with horns protruding from their broken skulls. He wondered just how long they had lain there.

Their eyeless sockets seemed to survey his passing, like sentinels from the long forgotten past. ‘Maybe the past isn’t all forgotten’ he thought. In his mind he could see rows of those books from oldtime, the lettering on their spines glistening in the light. He wanted to see them again on this trip.

He was always awed by the sight and size of the crater. Once more, he took his time on the steep descent, following the rocky contours down towards the now familiar entrance. He powered down and made his way out of the heat. Faces he now knew turned towards him in greeting. He felt alive and in the moment. He felt his own gravity, the blood rushing through his body and the strength in his limbs. He was alive and hungry for whatever was to come.

John had sent some of the crew to help unload and pack away the supplies. While they finished up, Clay helped himself to a drink from the cabinet in the large eating area. The liquid ran cool over his parched throat. As the men and women of the community finished their chores for the day, they started to drift in. Once again, he felt a pleasant sense of acceptance as he returned their nods of recognition.

No one brought him food this time. He got into line with the others and took a platter from the stack. He waited his turn for one of Berta’s assistants to dish him some stew, watching as the big lady quietly organized the serving. There was no doubt who was boss in the kitchen. Berta ran things in smooth order. She ladled out a second vat of the savoury stew as the first ran out. That way, every last one was ensured a fine, hot meal.

Berta looked up at him, her forehead gleaming in the heat. “You back here already, can’t get enough of my cookin’, eh?” Further down the counter, trays of vegetables were put up on platters over a steam bay. At the dining benches, big loaves of bread were waiting on trays. One of the crew cut slices from a loaf with a big serrated knife. Clay took one on his way to sit down. The dark haired girl and her companion were occupied in conversation just a few seats up the bench. John came and singled him out, once again gently elbowing into a space opposite.

Beside him Rael, the Tran, took a few small mouthfuls of stewgravy. His kind of Tran didn’t need to eat much, just enough to keep the biological parts functioning. They would usually do this by using infusion pouches. Here, they entered into the social aspect of the community, sometimes joining the others at table and taking small liquid meals.

“You still studylearning together?” Clay asked, between mouthfuls. John nodded. “You could join us again if you’d like to.”

The meal was over but no one seemed inclined to leave. Clay was talking to John when he heard a familiar, chiming sound in the air. A man who had been sitting at one of the other dining benches had drawn a single seat into the middle of the chamber and begun playing on an instrument. He cradled the device on his knee and started to adjust the pitch of its strings. Clay was transfixed. He immediately recognized the sound of the instrument. As the man satisfied himself as to the tuning, he set up a rhythmic strumming. Over this, he lifted his voice and began to sing.

Clay caught the first words and stared as the sound filled the space around him.

“He fills my cup to overflowing, what more could I desire?

I am bound for a far off city, each day he leads me higher…..”

It was the song by ‘Agape’; the same music that he played constantly to himself. He could scarcely believe his ears. He had never before actually heard anyone make music like that. He was mesmerized at both the sight and sound of this solo musician. The singer’s strong voice soared above the instrument and others at the benches began to sing with him. The music was coming from all over the chamber now and another kind of wave engulfed him. As the sounds reverberated around him he was overcome with emotion. He didn’t understand. It was like a dam had broken inside him. He noticed he was trembling slightly and he couldn’t seem to control it. He didn’t think he wanted to control it.

“You all right?” John asked.

“I… I know that song,” Clay said softly. He needed to get outside.

Leaving the bench, he went out through the big side door and walked to the sheep enclosure. Leaning on the fencing, he took deep breaths. He was confused and angry with himself. He hadn’t shown that much emotion since he was a child. Even then, it had been for a reason he could at least understand. On a cold winter evening an older boy had beaten him and taken his boots. He remembered sitting bruised on the broken sidewalk with his feet freezing. He had cried then all right: tears of rage. He had cried because he had been robbed and because he was in pain. But why had he been so overcome at that song and the people singing together? He’d better watch himself he thought. He didn’t want to come unravelled. Eventually John came to find him. He leaned wordlessly on the fencing beside him for what seemed like a long time. “Ivor’s singing that bad?” he finally asked.

Clay threw his head back and laughed. “No no! Anything but! He sounded great.”

He paused for a moment. “That song. There’s something about it...”

“Yeah, most of us like that one. The lyric’s about the trip we’re all on here, but it’s also about the road to heaven.”

Clay said, “I have a soundsheet that I like to listen to. It’s by a group of musicians called ‘Agape’. That song is one that they perform.”

“Agape? Oh, yeah, that’s right. One of them wrote it.” John looked surprised. “I thought all their stuff was destroyed years ago. Where’d you get hold of their music?”

“My line of work means that I can get hold of a lot of things other people couldn’t get legally,” Clay told him. “What was that thing Ivor was playing?” “It’s a twelve string guitar,” John answered. “We have a few musicians here. Two or three of them play guitars with six or twelve strings on them. Others play bass instruments or flutes and some percussion. Some of them used to play their instruments in worship before it was outlawed,” he added.

“It’s beautiful. That’s one of the sounds on the recordings I have.” Clay shook his head as if to throw off his bafflement.

“I reckon I’ve got a thousand questions. Will it annoy you if I keep asking you things?”

This time it was John’s turn to laugh; “Why would it bother me, son?”

“Well, what’s worship for a start?”

“Let’s take things slow, eh?” John said. “I’m going to go over to the studylearn. Want to come along?”

Clay initially thought that he would sit somewhere on the fringes of the discussion, but he thought better of it and took a seat almost in front of John. In the session that followed, Clay began to grasp the beliefs that John and the others lived out. He heard for the first time, in its entirety, their ‘gospel’ message; an oldtime word meaning ‘good news’. They told him that ‘Jesus’, whose name he had only heard used as an expletive, they believed to be the Son of The Living God.

Clay knew of only one other person hailed as a sort of ‘living god’ and that was Caesar Romano. Somehow, that seemed an easier concept.

Many said he’d provided the most good for the most people. That led some to accord him a god-like status. He found that the people of ‘The Way’ didn’t believe that at all.

The God that they spoke of wasn’t like Romano; in fact he wasn’t like anyone else Clay had ever heard about. He found their accounts of experiencing the presence of this God, that they had never actually seen, perplexing to say the least. How could you have an encounter with a person you couldn’t see?

One of the passages that came up in the session was from a book called ‘John’. It took Clay a while to realize that it wasn’t something written by the John seated in front of him. Someone read from the third chapter of the book. One part of it stuck in his mind.

“The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”

As he went on listening, he returned to his thoughts about right and wrong. He hadn’t ever seen these ideas, but he
had
seen things done that were wrong. He was starting to recognize things that seemed to him to be right. He thought that this was the same kind of thing.

He had told John that he had a thousand questions. He was beginning to feel that his estimate wasn’t far off that mark. Again and again he asked for clarification and listened intently to the answers offered. It dawned on him that he had become the centre of attention again. This time he wasn’t so concerned. The group didn’t seem to mind his frequent interruptions and queries. What he found oddest of all was that Rael and some of the other Trans sometimes offered him answers. People in the group either affirmed the veracity of their opinions with ‘amens’ or nodded their agreement. They were acknowledging that these Trans had something to offer in their grasp of the subject.

As the session came to a close, Clay was still putting questions to various members of the group, even the Trans. He didn’t care which direction the answers came from as long as he got answers.

When John became exhausted and said goodnight, Clay too stood up to leave. “I guess I’ve started to understand some of what you believe, John, but I still don’t begin to grasp the Trans’ interest in these things.”

Rael, standing next to John, spoke up. “You must be tired also, but if you are still curious about our interest, there is someone I would like you to meet. He was the first to enlighten us. He is very knowing.”

“Sure,” Clay nodded. He should have been exhausted but he was still wide awake. Rael made his way to the rear of the chamber and opened a door. Clay followed down some steps into another space at the bottom.

The chamber was very dimly lit. He could make out a great deal of electronic apparatus lining the wall to his left. Some of the equipment had small readout screens and dials which glowed a soft, luminescent green. The effect was eerie. From the end of the room came a soft, rhythmic sound. It repeated at short, regular intervals. As he listened, Clay thought it sounded like air being inhaled and exhaled. He realized that the rhythmic sound was coming from the far side of the chamber. Gradually his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he could discern the outline of a seated figure. Rael walked forward and spoke quietly to the seated one. Clay couldn’t make out what passed between them. The Tran turned again and said, “Clay, this is Adam-son. He is aware of your interest. Ask your questions. He will not tire.”

Clay moved towards the dimly lit figure and the noise of respiration grew stronger. Standing closer, the sight that confronted him was strange indeed.

The figure was slumped in a large chair with a high back and padded arms. The face staring at him out of the semi-darkness was badly mutilated and one eye was missing. Wide straps ran around the figure’s body, securing it to the chair. It’s arms rested on the padded sides and Clay noticed that both lower limbs ended just below the knees.

The only clothing this strange apparition wore was a pair of exercise pants, folded underneath where the legs ended. The hands, arms and torso all showed signs of damage. In places, tears in the outer skin revealed glimpses of fine wiring. Tubes ran from the console at the side of the room to the rear of the seating device. A red articulated pipe gently inflated and deflated with the rhythm of breathing. As Clay surveyed the broken body before him, it spoke. The voice resonated with the metallic timbre of a voice filter.

“Please excuse my appearance and the darkness of the chamber. My optical circuits are severely impaired and no longer function in bright light. But let us get to important matters, you are a man with many questions.”

“Well, yes,” Clay stammered. “Let’s start with… what… what are you… a Tran?”

“I am Tran. I have listened to you tonight as I did the last time you were here.” He was about to ask how, when Adamson’s head moved slightly, focusing on the area to his right. “I have a good view of the chamber above from here.” Clay turned to note a large viewscreen mounted on a wall support. An anti-glare panel covered the entire surface.

“What happened to you?” Clay inquired.

“I was nearly destroyed, along with the man for whom I worked.

He was executed because of what he believed. The Polibros thought that they had damaged me beyond repair. They had no concern for what remained of me. Who would want the wrecked remains of an old model Tran? I was left at the dwelling for the cleanup crew. What you see before you was salvaged by those who cared for what was in my memory. I stored the studylearning I received from the man I served over a long time.