Shareware 1 2 the Maxx/sw_1.zip/sw_1/TEXT/SCIFI.ZIP/UNICORN.TXT

Text File | 1992-06-28 | 29KB | 629 lines

                                             unicorn.txt
                                             Ben Blumenberg
                                             Reality Software
                                             P.O. Box 105
                                             Waldoboro, Me 04572
                                             June 26, 1992

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                THE CHRONICLES OF ASTREUS: BOOK I:

                            THE UNICORN


                              Prolog




    "I'm going away from her, ain't comin' home.

     I'm going away from here, ain't comin'home.

     Going away to roam.

     Going away to roam.



     My true love said to me, she don't love me no more.



     The unicorn sat with the girl in the flowers of the field.



     The unicorn never sat with me and talked my troubles over."




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     Most civilizations, both past and present, in the various
quadrants of the galaxy have had their oracles, those prophets
and prophetesses who were looked to for wisdom in general and
more specifically, knowledge and guidance about the future.  On
earth, the priests of most official religions functioned thus, at
least during those periods when such faiths flourished, were
vigorous and honest and truly nourished their followers.

     The women who served the oracle at Delphi in ancient Greece
on earth were especially famous, respected and feared.  They
exerted great influence during their long reign into Hellenistic
times.  A ritual bath in a cold stream, a meal of laurel leaves
and the Pythia was ready to resume her seat on the tripod chair
situated over the chasm that spewed up those noxious and
mysterious fumes.  To this day, we do not know exactly what gases
those scared vapors were composed of, or indeed, if they effected
the Pythia in any way at all.  Most surface eruptions of deep
seated gas deposits are rich in sulfur.  Yet how would sulfur
help to induce a trance and lower deeply buried psychic shields
so that messages, feelings and spiritual essence might be
received from the gods and communicated to man?  The worst of the
Pythia's prophecies can be simply explained by the self serving
desires of hypocritical priests who chose to interpret the
incoherent mutterings of a half crazed old woman costumed up as a
twenty year old virgin. But how explain the best of such
utterances, those uncanningly specific predictions of war, love,
hate, death and birth that proceeded to come true?  How explain
prescience?

     Functioning outside the official religous hierarchy, often
scorned by it, but certainly adjunct to it, court astrologers,
seers and soothsayers continue ply their art.  Using their sticks
and stones, liver and yarrow stalks, tea leaves, celestial maps
and playing cards, they attempt to ascertain the influence of the
stars and planets upon our lives, past and future.  Interwoven
with their celestial concerns, is a concern with the forces
generated by mythic deities, and those nameless, uncountable
energies that perhaps serve to hold together the very fabric of
space-time itself.

     The shamans and healers of so many nontechnological cultures
certainly acted as vessels for the reception of both the past and
future directions of space time.  Their vision is, perhaps, the
most honest of all, devoid as it was of the possibilities for
significant material reward for its exercise.  Living within a
small group while participating in all mundane, daily activities
certainly creates the most difficult structure imagineable within
which to preserve and promote an aura of extra sensory capacity
and supernatural relationship, not to mention the survival
necessity of being right at least some of the time on important
matters.  The Delphi oracle could chose not to appear for a year
or more, if the circumstances warrented.  The court astrologer
could, at the very least, increase the level of ambiguity in
interpretation and multiply alternatives endlessly.  However, the
shaman lived with his/her village, ate, slept and loved with
them.  The shaman was also known as both a person and a
receiver/transmitter of the space-time forces and thereby existed
on two planes simoultaneously with his/her culture.  The shaman
was the mirror of the people and they were his/her mirror.  This
reality was naked to all, the pain of it apparent to all.  The
rewards lay in the love, status and respect of the tribe which
was freely given for such service rendered.  The ultimate reward
lies in the power of the niche, an intangible, nonmaterial, but
deeply textured power.  Could you or I bear the pressure, indeed
the obligation, to perceive and correctly interpet (at least some
of the time), the very fabric of space-time itself?  Could we of
this century survive such an intimate, incessant, every-
demanding, and above all honest confrontation?  Would not we of
this technologically miraculous, but spiritually barren,
relativistic - oh God, every thing is relative - age simply die
if placed in the position, the life, of the Apa'gakh, the great
Nunivak eskimo shaman?



     Earth, of course, does not exhaust all the possiblities one
might envisage for seers and oracles.  One planet could hardly do
that; I doubt if an entire galaxy would suffice.

     My personal favorite is the oracular trees of Thyme.  The
first scientists to experience them quickly dubbed them the
'FFTs' which stands for Fortune Telling Trees.  After they
predicted the defeat of the Federation of Hominid Planets'
military forces by those of the Gorgon Empire, they became known
as 'GDFTs'; god damn fucking trees.  Unfair say I; we should have
listened to them and perhaps avoided what amounted to an
intergalactic race war.  One thing I cannot fathom is why a bunch
of overgrown plants should care which animal dominates in their
corner of the galaxy. I know you're thinking talking trees are
ridiculous.  Only animals with nervous systems are supposed to be
able to communicate with sounds and language.  Well, those damn
trees can communicate with audible language and after two
centuries of study by the foremost botanists and zoologists in
the galaxy, no one has the slightest idea of how they function.
They certainly do not have nervous sytems that can be detected by
anatomical investigation.  Imagine trying to keep the details of
your latest love affair private on a planet that is covered with
a literal grapevine that speaks English!  Well, I didn't like the
situation and Sarah and Ann couldn't cope with it all. Two months
after our arrival on Thyme they jumped the next freighter out to
anywhere.  Can't say I didn't blame them, but what a loss of
sweet loving and incredible cooking!  Why didn't I leave with
them?  Don't ask!

     What about the Gorgons?  They could be worse, especially
when considering they look like small bipedal dinosaurs or
overgrown lizards.  They doubled taxes and demanded that all
Federation military craft be captained by a Gorgon.  And that is
all they wanted, or so it seems in this buffer zone at the tail
of their empire.  They never asked for, or took, natural
resources or women and they hardly need our technology.  Keep to
themselves, they do, and are reserved and uncommunicative, yet
also polite without being taciturn. They treat us they way we
often treat our pet dog or cat.  Makes you wonder what they need
us to buffer against.

     I have had an awful premonition for several years that some
unimagineable horror is going to attack this end of the galaxy to
get at the Gorgons and that we, that is the Federation of Hominid
Planets, now exist merely to be the wall upon which that
onslaught will fall.  The idea of being a sacrificial lamb for
anybody, mammal or reptile, has no appeal to either me or Admiral
Ansala.

     Perhaps it is time I introduced myself.  I can't tell you my
name, of course, but my profession, job, escape from reality,
call it what you will, I can attempt to describe.  My rank is
colonel, but in practice only five admirals have authority over
what I do, along with the Federation Prime Minister.  Officially,
I'm attached to military intelligence as a diplomat and
negotiations expert. I'm the guy they call in when everyone in
the room is about to declare war on one another, issue challenges
for duels at dawn, slap faces with white hankies, threaten
economic boycotts and proceed to indulge in the usual nonsense
heads of state resort to when they perceive their national
security (self interest?, self image?) threatened.  Supposedly, I
can cool such situations down and get everybody smiling and
talking rationally.  Not a bad cover for the Federation's Chief
Assassin, if I say so myself.


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                        Once Upon a Time...



     Once upon a time on a planet far, far away that was warmed
by the light from a medium sized red dwarf sun and a tiny white
dwarf star as well, there lived a unicorn.  She was all white, of
course, even her horn was white.  The only exception was her
soft, golden, brown eyes that had flecks of amber within.  She
was about the size of the average pony, but understand that
unicorns are no more related to horses than the Giant Pandas of
old earth were related to bears.  The only living relatives of
unicorns are antelopes, but the relationship is very, very
distant.  One glance at their exquisite and strangely feline
proportions and anyone with any perception would realize that
here is a creature unique among all the denizens of the galaxy.

     The unicorn of which I speak was not the only one in the
Milky Way, but was, possibly, the most famous.  Alone on
Kushanah, Astraeus had no company from any of her family.  But
then, who has ever heard of more than one unicorn on a single
planet?  She spent most of her time in an enormous meadow of
white and yellow daisies through which ran a small, bubbling
brook.  In this tiny stream lived Torgoches, Triglas, Barramudas.
Rainbirds, Bobas and Kukus.  Butterbirds sang in the giant Bread
Trees of the Gyges Forst that ringed the meadow.  The Gyges
Forest dominated the temperate latitudes of the giant northern
continent on Kushanah and was but a days ride from Akabah and the
planet's only spaceport.

     Astreus was a seer and prophetess renowned for the purity
and clairity of her vision.  Such was her reputation that the
famous, infamous, galaxy renowned and totatlly unknown all
journed across the Milky Way to Kushanah.  Upon arrival in the
capital city Akabah, which was the only spaceport, application
was made to the government office that controlled access to
Astreus.  She saw only one visitor at a time.  When the number of
visitors waiting to be received reached nine, all applications
were turned away until an empty place became available.  No
questions were ever asked of supplicants, merely a name - be it
false or true - and an address within the city where the
government could contact you when your day with the oracle was
imminent.  Considering that Astreus chose not to see visitors
everyday, indeed had been known to refuse the queries of
supplicants for a month or more, it was best to allow for several
weeks on Kushanah.

     Akabah was a small city but offered an exquisite array of
delights for the occasional visitor.  This banquet of temptations
was all out of realistic proportion to the small number of
potential customers.  Gambling of every imagineable variety was
available. Games drawn from the far reaches of the galaxy,
included shogi played for rhubidium ingots.  The most delectable
courtesans the Hominid Federation had to offer were at your beck
and call.  Nonprimate women too, if that was your taste.  All
were available singly or in groups, if one could afford the
price.  Sex could be cool, warm, hot, boiling, soft or violent
with women, men and animals of every description.  Food and drink
also abounded to suit any palate. This cornucopia of pleasure was
available every hour of the ten earth day week.


     How did the government agency communicate with Astreus?  She
would never come into town.  Nor did the agency people go to her.
I doubt she would have even recognized their existence, if they
had.  Astreus had a companion, a 'familiar' if you will.  Oriana
was about 20 or 25 if judged on external appearances, but she had
been with Astreus for as long as the records existed and was
therefore at least five centuries old.  A bit over five tall,
deeply tanned and exquisitely proportioned with long slim legs
and high, rounded breasts, Oraina was an indescribably beautiful
woman in spite of her badly scared and disfigured face.  Two
livid white scars ran down her neck and over her right shoulder
to disappear under blouse, perhaps to continue the length of her
body.  Oriana was thought be very beautiful, very sensuous and
very terrifying.  Oh yes, I almost forgot; she was also blind.
All Dacians are blind, judging from the handful, perhaps six
known to record history.  Why so few?  No one has ever located
Dacia; their homeland remains a closed mystery.  Oriana had not
been with Astreus continuously for five centuries.  Several
periods of long absence from Kushanah were on record, but where
she went and what she did, no one knows.  Dacians hardly need
spaceships to travel between the stars, as I'm sure you know.

     Once a month, Oriana rode her black stallion into Akabah to
confer with government fuctionaries, arrange for meetings with
Astreus and receive food and supplies for herself and the
unicorn.  No money every changed hands.  If the oracle was
willing to see you, she did and there was no charge.  If not, all
the rhubidium in the universe would not gain you access to the
forermost sibyl of all time.  Many had tried that approach, only
to be hustled off planet quickly and rudely.

     Conversation between the Dacian and government officials was
always abrupt, courteous and to the point; nothing more, nothing
less.  But then, how does anyone react to the most beautiful,
intelligent woman in the universe who is also blind and
disfigured?  Did Oriana ever have relationships as we ordinary
humans know them?  Gossip about her relationship with Astreus by
supplicants who had returned from audiences protrayed an
interaction of great warmth, sensitivity and compassion.  Love
also, perhaps.



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     One lazy, languid, late spring day when the heat was a bit
too thick and a bit too sweet and the mosquitos and gnats much
too active, a Gorgon Empire spaceship landed at Akabah, disgorged
one human passenger and quickly departed.  The visitor wore the
uniform of the F.H.P.'s fleet but without insignia.  He was of
medium height, well tanned, muscular with black hair and a neatly
trimmed beard and moustache.  His age was perhaps 30 or 40, it
was hard to tell.  His only distinguishing feature were his eyes
which were grey flecked with yellow and appeared, even on a
casual glance, to be utterly without emotion or feeling as if
carved out of a millenium old block of ice.  Those eyes were
frightening beyond words and certainly did not fit with the
academic impression conveyed by the man's general apperance.
Unknown to all on Kushanah and, indeed, unknown to all but a
handful of the inhabitants in the entire galaxy, for few had ever
witnessed this man in the performance of his particular craft,
the Chief Assassin of the Federation had arrived on Akabah on a
mission whose security cover was impregnable.  In the simplest
terms, Jared Colfax had raised the arts of the mercenary,
intelligence agent and assassin to the highest level and combined
them all.

     Jared arrived in the evening and presented himself to the
custom officials at the spaceport as a military research officer
assigned by the Gorgons to their international relations project
that was cataloging the various lifestyles, cultures and
intelligences to be found throughout the Milky Way.  After a
perfunctory interview, he was waved through and quickly set off,
suitcase in hand, for a little known one star hotel called the
Hrafnsmal that was also recommend in certain circles as the best
brothel in the twelfth quadrant.  The Hrafnsmal was a small,
three story clapboard building that was the best kept building in
the river bank dock area.

     Jared knocked at the front door about 10 o'clock.  The light
drizzle that had fallen all day had momentarily stopped and thick
arms of fog were rolling in from the river.  No answer.  Jared
closed his eyes briefly and knocked a second time.  The door
opened with a snap and he faced a tiny, voluptuous redhead in her
early twenties.  She wore silver boots with tall spiked heels and
black shorts that looked as if they were merely spray paint.  A
twenty carat ruby rested in her navel surrounded by ring of
antique diamonds from the ancient, extinct Republic of South
Africa on Earth.  Around her neck was a thin necklace of
incomparable value for it was made of 100 ringlets of pure
rhubidium.  Beyond this, the female volcano confronting Jared
wore nothing else.  Here eyes were green, her thin, finely
chiselled lipse were extremely pale and nearly the same color as
her pastel rosy cheeks.  A mane of reddish, gold hair fell to her
waist and nearly covered her small, upturned breasts.

     The nostrils in her perky, snub nose dilated when she saw
Jared.  A single tear formed in the corner of her left eye.

     "Theron, you bastard!  Whatever are you doing here?  Wait,
don't answer.  Please go away.  I have only one heart and you
successfully smashed that two years ago.  Go away!"

     Jared looked down at Tamar, who now stood glaring defiantly,
hands on her hips, while tears streamed down her face.

     "I'm sorry Tamar, truly sorry.  I told you at the time I
could make no commitments due to the nature of my work."

     "What work?  You never explained!  I don't even known your
real name.  I hate you!  Go away!"  Tamar delivered her venom in
a barely audible whisper.


     "I'm going to stay here.  You can't prevent me; only Mrs.
Levins can do that and she won't.  I won't bother you, I promise.
I won't even talk to you, if you wish."

     "Fine, you emotionless iceberg.  Don't talk to me!  I can
promise you, I won't talk to you at all!"

     Tamar spun on her glistening spiked heels and went halfway
into the lobby of the Hfrasnmal, then turned around and sauntered
up to Jared until she was nearly touching him.  Jared thought he
was going to faint from the sight and smell of her.

     "Do you know why I hate you, Theron?" Tamar hissed.  "Not
simply because you left me.  Above all, because I could never
figure out how someone as cold as you could be so kind.  Ice,
kindness and love, that's a combination that would rip anyone
apart.  Except you, of course!"

     With a gesture of mock servility, Tamar held the door open
for Jared and bowed low for him to enter.  As he did so, a short
plump, bubbling ball of energy came bustling down the stairs.

     "Theron, Theron, good to see you!  The chicken soup is still
warm and the coffee is hot.  Welcome!  Welcome!  Haven't seen you
since I left Deneb II."  Mrs Levins waddled up to Jared and
placed a loud wet kiss on his cheek.  Jared smiled indulgently.

     "The chicken soup and coffee would hit the spot, thank you."

     "Good.  Tamar?  Where did that girl go?  Oh, well, you just
come into the kitchen with me."  Mrs. Levins grabbed Jared's arm.
Jared picked up his small suitcase and was propelled forward by
the dynamic proprietor of the Hrafsnmal.  He readied himself for
a delicious, late night meal.




     The next day, Jared made his application to the government
people for his audience with Astreus and settled in at the
Hrafsmal for what he believed would be a long wait.  The expected
delay became fact and the days droned into weeks.  Jared did a
little gambling at the casino but kept to himself a good deal of
the time.  He frequented the science library at the local
university if only to maintain his false identity as a military
research officer.

     He took most of his meals at the Hrafsnmal because Mrs.
Levin's cooking was something not to be missed in spite of the
discomfort caused by Tamar's presence.  They said very little to
each other.  Jared started out by trying to say 'hello' and
maintain at least the outward appearance of civility.  But Tamar
would have none of that.  She would not acknowledge his daily
greeting and glared at him with murderous intensity.  Jared could
not fathom why her presence bothered him so much.  She certainly
went out of her way to antagonize him.  Whenever, she was
entertaining a 'guest', who was inevitably a member of one of the
galaxy-wide aristocratic families now out of work thanks to the
Gorgons, Tamar would go out of her way in Jared's presence to
drape herself all over her customer, often licking his ear and
loudly 'whispering' words that would have driven anyone but Jared
Colfax completely mad.  He began to wonder if Kushanah's fame
rested less on its legendary, oracular unicorn and more upon the
incredible talents of Tamar.  Considering the quality of her
'guest list', she was rapidly becoming the premier courtesan in
the twelfth quadrant.  Jared spent more time than he deemed
respectable trying to block out the details of their past
relationship, sexual and otherwise.




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     Then the nightmares started, which for the Chief Assassin, a
man who had never remembered his dreams before, were truly
frightening.  Nameless, indescribable monsters, corpses and wars
swirled across a blackened landscape.  Through it all floated the
blood stained face of a woman he could not identify.  For the
first time in his life, Jared was experiencing an enemy he could
not kill as the demons from within his soul erupted.  For the
first time in his life, Jared Colfax felt fear.



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     Finally the date for the audience with Astreus arrived.  One
wet, soggy, summer morning during the second thunderstorm after
breakfast, a faint knock was heard on the Hrafsnmal's front door.
Jared was alone in the sitting room and got up to answer.  He
opened the door and a skinny ten year old boy with a dripping
nose thrust an envelope at Jared.  Jared took it and the boy ran
off without a word.  He tore open the envelope, although he knew
most of the  message without reading it.  To his surprise, the
audience with Astreus would be the next day at noon.   He hoped
the rain would stop before then.

      The next day was brilliantly sunny and cool, without a
cloud in the cobalt blue sky.  No breeze blew as Jared cantered
through the Gyges Wood on his rented black stallion.


     "Odd," he thought. "How still the birds and insects are.
Not a sound to be heard."

     He slowed to a trot as he entered the meadow and noticed
Astreus and Oriana on a slight knoll in the middle of an enormous
bed of daisies.  They were obviously watching him; Oriana
expressionless; Astreus as usual inscrutable.

     Jared came to a stop, several feet to the northwest of the
knoll.  Not a breeze stirred, not a sound could be heard.  He
felt his knees turn to water, ice filled his heart and he closed
his eyes when the dizziness washed over him.  A moment passed,
his head cleared and then nausea gripped his stomach.

     "This is it," thought Jared.  "The end of my journeys, the
end of my life.  But who would have imagined it would be like
this?"  He chuckled audibly.  "I'd much prefer being murdered by
an enemy or dying gloriously in a spectacular battle.  Well, the
choice is not mine."

     "Hello, Oriana."  Jared was pleased at the self control in
his voice.

     She didn't answer.  I've felt more emotion these past few
weeks then in all my previous life.  I don't like it, and don't
understand it.  I can't control it and I'm afraid for the first
time."  His thoughts and feelings raced on, uncontrollably.

     "She loves you completely with all her heart.  Tamar has a
good, magnificent heart, filled with bottomless reserves of
compassion and sensitivity.  Stop this wandering and killing,
Jared.  Stop, I beg you before you kill yourself and all of us
around you.  Take Tamar and go live peacefully in some isolated
backwater of the galaxy.  Or out of the galaxy, if you prefer.  I
can find a planet for the two of you where no one could ever
trace you . You'll be safe with a woman who loves you deeply.
Please!"  Oriana's words burst in upon Jared's brain like pure,
blinding, white lightening.  They seared him, overwhelmed his
being and he stumbled, then straightened up.

     Oriana turned her scarred, beautiful face with the sightless
violet eyes toward Jared.  Her body remained frozen, motionless.
She was sad, infinitely sad.

     "My God, I still love her, this immortal, disfigured, blind
gorgeous creature."  The Empire's Chief Assassin whispered to
himself.

     "It's a little late now for all that, Oriana.  I don't love
Tamar and in any case she hates me now.  How...er... are  you?"

     I'm fine, you flinty hearted bastard!"  Oriania' voice
changed instantly from a languid, melodious ripple to the
harsheness of a metallic thimbara.  "You don't understand at all,
do you?"

     "Oriana, I ... I ... I'm sorry."  Jared's voice had fallen
to a barely audible murmur.

     Silence reigned and the air seemed oppressive, leaden and
wet.

     "What has passed between us is ancient history.  You are
going to kill us all, Jared-Theron.  Can't you stop?  Don't you
care about anyone?"

     They stared at one another, one seeing but not seeing, the
other blind but very aware, perhaps too aware.  Astreus munched
contentedly on a daisy, seemingly oblivious to the confrontation
before her.

     "Astreus, I have a question for you."  Jared roused himself.

     Atreus turned her magnificent head towards Jared, the daisy
drooping from her mouth.  Her horn glistened in the bright sun
with an almost metallic sheen.  Her eyes were bottomless,
unbearabldy intense and unfathomable.

     "What do the Gorgons want with us?  Why are we treated so
benignly, with such consideration?  Are we to be the sacrificial
lamb in some future war to be fought in this quadrant?"

     "I will not answer, you Chief Assassin.  The Gorgons
themselves may not know, strange as that may sound.  You are a
complex man, Jared Colfax, filled with great passions and great
hate.  You have done great evil.  Would that even a little guilt
resided in that heart of yours.  You have hurt someone I love
deeply and for that reason, I will not answer your question.
Your capacity to influence history has ended."

     Astreus' words pierced Jared's mind with electrifying
intensity.  He could not tell if they had been spoken out loud or
delivered telepathically.

     "I must know!"  Jared roared.

     "But, you will not."  Atreus's words sounded as if spoken by
a very wise child.  The daisy still drooped from her mouth.
Oriana doodled in the dirt with her sandals.

     Jared stared at them for an eternal moment then wheeled his
horse about and galloped away through the Gyges Wood.  He never
looked back, Oriana never looked up.



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     You might be interested in what happened to the actors in
this little tale.

     Jared Colfax has never been seen since that particular day
of prophecy.  He never returned to the Hrafsnmal and there is no
record of him leaving Kushanah, although a man of his talents
could easily have done so undetected.  Speculation as to his fate
continues to this day.  Some say the legendary rhubidium miner
Father Adler, who still prospects the backwater regions of the
galaxy wtih a small bag of earth tied around his neck, is really
Jared Colfax.  But that would make him as old as a Dacian!

     Mrs, Levins is still the proprietor of the Hrafsnmal.  She
hasn't changed in appearance but is said to be depressed and
withdrawn and rarely jokes or smiles.  Her famous cooking is not
what it used to be.

     Astreus and Oriana are still on Kushanah, more famous than
ever, dispensing wisdom, terror and ambiguity in approximately
equal doses.

     Shortly after Jared's disappearance, Tamar was found dead in
an alley near the Akabah waterfront with her throat slashed.
Some say it was suicide, some say she was murdered in fit of
jealous by a client who wanted to marry her.  We will never know
for certain, will we?