Writings from The Continuation of Daughter

How many thousands of years ago did our ancestors abandon Mother, the world of our evolution, to settle a planet of their own engineering, the planet we know as Daughter? There is no one I know who can figure the count of the years, in the universe itself or in the pre-light ships.

Now, some of you, my readers, may wonder, "Why, Nevan, do you begin this book with the beginning of our worlds? Am I not here to read the history of jae and not the history of humanity?"

Your questions are well spoken, yet I submit to you, my close-kin, that the origins of jae and the origins of humanity are no less than one and the same. For long, long before a technology exists, it exists in the mind of a dreamer. Healing existed before vaccines and killing before there were guns. No technology is anything but what the actions of its makers make it. No technology does anything but in the fashion that its users use it.

Listen: still thousands of years ago, Daughter became uninhabitable. The depletion and pollution of the living-lands, occasioned largely by the people who would come to call themselves the Kiris, triggered a collapse in its biosphere. The ancestors of the Four Nations fled exiled into space. And over the millennia, they made themselves new homes. Some of those homes remain today--and some do not.

Jae. It has been called the most dangerous invention in the history of humanity.

The first record of research into jae dates from the year 1029 Before the End, when the Ranlans hypothesized that a pocket of space could be shifted into a faster-than-light dimension by bombarding quarks with tachyons. They reasoned that a spaceship navigating through this dimension should be able to travel between any two real-space points almost instantaneously. This jae technology should have made our age-old super-light travel by rippling obsolete.

But by 895 Before the End, the Ranlans had classified jae tech as an "Unjustified Risk"-- that is to say, a tech whose implementation would likely cause more harm than good. Yet, where the Ranlans balked, the Samas chose to take the risk. The Samas paid for it.

Excerpt 2: From Chaper 30

And there he was. The relief of seeing a human face vied with terror that that face was his. He came not alone but with a footman, which was comforting. Strange to be comforted by an icy faced woman aiming a gun.

Sherayna managed a cracked smile and said in a quavering voice, "I think I'll take you up on your amnesty offer now, Warchief."

"Shut up," he spat and, stepping forward, seized her hard by the wrist and marched her out down the hall to a larger empty, white room. "Sit." He flung her at the floor. He turned to the footman. "You will wait outside the door."

Sherayna's heart was in her throat to see the footman leaving. She pulled herself up to a sitting position and looked away from the warchief.

"You will tell me why you did it," he said, almost whispering.

Sherayna stared at the floor and said nothing.

"You will tell me," he repeated.

"You just told me to shut up," she said, to prove to herself she would not cower.

He came to within perhaps six feet of her. Very quietly he said, "I don't think you realize how deep in this mire you are. The waters have already closed over your head; the ripples are subsiding fast."

She swallowed.

"Why?" he whispered. "Just tell me why!" A sob cut him short; his tone was suddenly imploring.

She glanced up in surprise to see his brow contorted with grief.

"Why what?" she asked helplessly.

"Why what?" he repeated, dumbfounded. He sank to his haunches before her, staring at her in frank dismay. "Why what!"

She shook her head. "Why did I become a Borderal?"

"The ship. Why did you destroy the ship?"

"I didn't," said Sherayna automatically. "I had nothing to do with the destruction of the Kiri ship. I was nowhere near Iltan. I was in fact in Oja on the day it happened. I can produce references to that effect."

The warchief stood up, made fierce once more by her tone. "Of course you weren't there! You had more than enough agents to do it for you. But you were behind it. Don't deny it. I know."

"Oh, you know. How?"

"I ask the questions, Sherayna."

"I have no answers."

He stepped back. "You will have no water until you find some." He turned to the door.

"You'll get none if I die of thirst! And you cannot take actions that will lead to my death without due process. It is against Humane Conflict and the love for the gods."

He faced her coldly. "Do not speak to me about loving the gods--you who would refuse to let us seek the stars to find them. We'll revive you from time to time, don't worry--enough to keep you functioning. You're not going to meet the gods yet."

Excerpt from The Hour before Morning: Playing with your dishes

[In the interests of pacing, this excerpt ended up on the "cutting room floor" during my revision of the novel. I can, therefore, electronically "publish" it without losing "unpublished" status for the MS as I shop it to publishers. In this scene, Elek, Jenchae, and Meravyn have been having dinner in their prison cell. Meravyn has been tapping her spoon too loudly. Jenchae's hands are broken.]

"Sorry," Meravyn mumbled.

Elek broke into a long, low chuckle.

"What is it?"

He shook his head. "It's just. . . here we are trying to be quiet. Quiet dishes, promptly returned to that wall-box. What for anyway?"

"So they'll keep sending fresh food and water," said Jenchae.

"All right, but there are three of us here. That's three water cups. I say at least let's keep one to play around with. Fresh water in two cups? -- we can live with that. While we can live."

Meravyn found herself smiling. "What do you want to do with the cup?"

"I don't know. Catch." He downed his remaining water and lobbed his cup at her.

Meravyn dropped Jenchae's spoon with a clatter, while the yellow cup thwacked on the tiles and skidded into the wall.

"That's a pretty sad showing, Meravyn. Didn't you ever play duneball?"

"Not in a little black cell at dinner." She reached to retrieve the cup. She didn't like Elek throwing things -- a violent man to start with. But what did she expect him to do? Crack her skull with a lightweight plastoid? Besides, Jenchae had him under control. And maybe the outlet was good for him, maybe good for her too. She tossed back the cup.

"Are feet legal in duneball?" asked Jenchae, inching out of the way.

"You just keep out of the line of fire," said Elek, returning Meravyn's throw.

She would never have guessed one could do so much with dishware. They threw the cup, spun it, slid it, stacked it up with its fellows, juggled two cups between them, bounced them off the walls, the thumps and clacks almost musical.

Once a cup ricocheted into Jenchae's chest. He kept his hands clear but winced as the motion shook them.

"Jenchae?" Meravyn started toward him.

"Come, it's nothing. Go on with the game."

Elek gave him a grin as he retrieved the cup.

Later, they washed the rice bowls in the lav sink's lukewarm trickle and inducted them into the games.

Meravyn seldom enjoyed such sports, but here, a feverish energy drove her, a bond of movement between Elek and her, two as one. The dishes, orange, yellow and red, sped like fireballs against black.

She couldn't guess how long they played -- and suddenly that worried her.

"We should send them back," she said, catching hold of a bowl Elek had launched.

"So our next meal will be late. Does it matter?"

"But our meals are our only means of judging the time."

He hesitated. "And does that matter?"

"It matters to me. Maybe it shouldn't but. . ."

Jenchae added, "And if we upset their scheduling, they might stop feeding us."

"I thought you said they didn't want to torture us," said Elek.

"Food distribution might be computer run."

They the wall-box suck away their dishes.

"But not this one cup." Elek kept a firm hand on his yellow one.

In the wake of their gaming, fatigue settled in. The three of them sat vague and silent, Elek fingering his cup.

"Epigraph"

Ghanior's legs threatened to buckle as he lowered himself to the stream-bank grass. The limp he scarcely noticed in day-to-day life knocked everything off balance on this mountainous trek, straining muscles he hadn't remembered he had.

Resting in the sun, apart from the others, he ate his midday ration in a stupor of contentment. But after perhaps a quarter hour, his legs urged him up to ease their ache with walking. Round the top of the knoll, the chatter of the stream gave way to a buzzing of bees on white flowers.

There, he caught a glint of auburn hair, 'Eblia perched on a rock, her pack at her side, her book in hand.

When sat beside her in the grass, she glanced at him and smiled with a comforting distance.

He mirrored the smile. "It must be an enthralling read to divert you from this adventure."

"I'm learning that a lot of adventure is boredom." She leaned the book on her knee, her place marked with her thumb. "In truth, I'm drawn to it because it comes from home. It's not a happy story, but it brings familiarity to this wilderness."

"What story is it?"

"The Hour before Morning." She paused as if to see if he knew it. "Based on a true account, though I wager it took great liberties. It tells of a man in prison for murder and of how his fellow prisoners tried to heal his mind."

"Did they succeed?"

"Well, you'll have to read it." She marked her place with a blade of grass and handed him the book. A paper edition of a contemporary novel, frayed and stained around the edges.

"I'm more a reader of the ancients," he admitted, paging through it.

He scanned the epigraphs: many were from ancient texts, some quotations as familiar as his fingertips. She's right. Familiarity itself is comfort. Thumbing from the back toward the beginning, his eye zeroed in on a modern quotation, ascribed to Naquel, the great rebel leader:

"Only twice did I turn in one of my own. One was a mistake. The other was Elek Onx: I had no qualms about turning him in."

Onx, the murderer protagonist, no doubt. The other...

Only twice. One -- Onx. Other...

A mistake.

The shaking of his hand made the words a black blur.

Dear God. He means my son.

In his heart, those days were never far: Kedren working for Naquel, Naquel convinced he was a spy -- because he'd gone to Ghanior. He'd gone to his father to plead for the rebels because his father had power in the administration. But Ghanior had refused to hear him.

And then Naquel had turned him in: "Take back your double agent."

Yet Kedren had been true to Naquel -- at the price of life.

'Eblia lifted the book from his hand. "I'm sorry." Her voice was carefully neutral. A hypertelepath, she'd feel his distress even through her mind blocks like a lance into the brain. But a hypertelepath learned not to show it.

"I'm all right, 'Eblia," he said and trusted her mind read the truth.

"Stander's Walk"

["The Stander's Question" is a famous, old Leddie religious parable.]

I stand.
There's a question I have
Got to push along.

I stand
It's a long way on and--
God, so long,
It's endless--so long.

And you go on and on--walking
Like there's no tomorrow--and no
TIME and where therešs
No time, therešs no sorrow, no sorrow.

(chorus)

So tell me what the time is.
What's the hour when eternity strikes?
Tell me when the end is.
When can I at last pull down the blinds
And quench the light?

I stand.
And know the things that only waiting
Twists into a tune.

Stand and know that
What I know is
What you will be needing soon.

And you go on and on--walking
Like each DAY'S tomorrow--and no
Time because the time is mine,
No sorrow for I take on the sorrow, the sorrow.

(chorus)

But it's you who pull the blinds and quench the light.

"The Stander's Question"

Stander. When you see him, tell him I have something to ask him.

Walker. What is it?

Stander. I'm not going to tell it to you!

Walker. Why not?

Stander. Why not! It's for him, not you.

Walker. Why him? Why not me? Come on, tell me.

Stander. You can't.

Walker. How do you know?

Stander. How do I know! (pause) Because only he can tell me the answer. (pause) If I asked you how you felt, who could answer that but you?

Walker. Any good mind-reader near me.

Stander. I don't mean felt like one feels emotion! I mean how would you feel, totally feel, (pause) about fire when it killed your whole family?

Walker. A fire killed his family?

Stander. Don't be silly! I was only making an illustration.

Walker. So you're going to ask him about how he feels.

Stander. I'll ask what I ask.

Walker. Is it important?

Stander. Most important.

Walker. Matter of life and death, eh?

Stander. Much more!

Walker. Then you'd better tell me your question.

Stander. Why?

Walker. Well, supposing that I told him you had a question for him, and he asked me what it was, and I said I didn't know. What do you think he'd do then? Do you really think he'd come across to ask just what it was he was supposed to be asked?

Stander. (pause) You may have a point.

Walker. Better tell me.

Stander. I can't.

Walker. Then you'll never get an answer.

Stander. What is the hour when the clock strikes?

Walker. That's it?

Stander. That's what?

Walker. Your question for him.

Stander. Not in the slightest. That one's nothing more than my question for you.

Walker. For me? How magnanimous!

Stander. Your answer then?

Walker. Well, (pause) which clock?

Stander. Any.

Walker. At which hour?

Stander. That's the question.

Walker. Well, it's whatever hour the clock says it is, assuming the clock isn't broken.

Stander. Yes, but what hour is it?

Walker. It depends!

Stander. On what?

Walker. The hour!

Stander. You can't answer.

Walker. The question's puerile.

Stander. I don't care what you think. That's why I can't tell you my question.

Walker. Because it's nonsense? Or because you don't care?

Stander. Because it can't be said.

Walker. Then how will you ask him?

Stander. (laugh) It can't be said to you!

Walker. (silence) Are you sure he knows the answer?

Stander. If not him, no one.

Walker. If no one?

Stander. The end.

Walker. Of what?

Stander. Just the end.

Walker. And what is it that makes you think he knows?

Stander. (silence) Himself.

Walker. Oh, so you've seen him?

Stander. I know him.

Walker. Then why haven't you asked him?

Stander. I didn't know the question.

Walker. And you know it now?

Stander. (silence) No.

Walker. No? Then what are you going to ask him?

Stander. Nothing.

Walker. Then why tell me you have something to ask?

Stander. I do.

Walker. (laugh) Tell me, what happens when you have to do a thing you can't do?

Stander. I have thought about that for a very long time.

Walker. You have an answer?

Stander. I have thought one becomes asymptotic, approaching infinity.

Walker. Come now! What does that have to do with life?

Stander. I don't know! That's why I have to question.

Walker. You won't question him.

Stander. I don't need your advice! Just tell him when you see him.

Walker. I won't see him.

Stander. (silence) Then who are you on your way to see?

Walker. I'm not on my way to see anyone.

Last update: 12/31/2005