I had hoped that I could somehow return with my body repaired, strong and healed of my wounds. But that, I could not do.
I opened my eyes and saw the starry dark night and felt pain, wave after wave of agony throbbing through every part of my body. Even as I consciously damped down the pain receptors in my brain I could feel it sullenly glowering beneath my deliberate self-control.
I was floating on my back in the deep, dark ocean, just as battered and helpless as I had been before my trip to the Creators’ realm. Had I really been there, cavorting with dolphins? Or was it all an illusion, a self-imposed dream, a feverish attempt at escapism?
My self-questioning quickly ended. I felt something brush against my badly burned leg. Just a touch, enough to make me twitch with alarm and get a mouthful of salt water in return. Then it was gone. But it would be back, I knew.
I remembered those tentacled horrors in the swamp, and wondered what predators this ocean harbored. Alone, half-dead, weaponless, I was going to be easy prey for some hungry hunter.
The sea will always be my friend, the dolphins had told me. I doubted it.
Another touch, making me flinch again. I remembered that sharks will often nudge their prey, bump it, almost play with it like a cat with a mouse before snapping it up in those horrendous tearing teeth.
Should I play dead or try to swim away? Would it make any difference?
It was no shark. This time I felt a tentacle delicately wrapping itself around the burned remains of my ankle. I shook my leg and it let go.
But not for long. The tentacle came back at precisely the same spot. This time it held fast. Quickly another slithered across my chest. I could feel its suckers attaching themselves to my burned flesh, delicately, almost tenderly.
I knew it was hopeless but I gulped down a big swallow of air as the tentacles pulled me below the surface. Bubbles gurgled in my ears. We sank down into the cold inky depths of the ocean.
Do not be afraid, friend Orion, I heard in my mind. We will not hurt you.
Now I’m hallucinating, I told myself. First I dream about dolphins and now I hallucinate that I can hear their voices in my mind. While I’m being pulled down to the bottom of the sea by some tentacled monster. If I don’t drown the pressure will cave in my ribs soon enough.
Have a little faith, friend Orion, the voice in my mind said. It felt almost amused.
I lost track of time as we sank deeper and deeper into the sea. There was no light to see by, no sensation at all except the rush of water swirling by me.
Listen to the music of our world, said the voice. Open your mind to it.
I could hear more than gurgling, I realized. There were crackling sounds all around me. Hoots and whistles and soft thrumming noises. And off in the distance a faint melodic crooning that rose and fell. None of the clicks and whistles of dolphins, though.
Now open your eyes, Orion.
I hadn’t realized I’d been keeping them shut. Involuntarily I gasped. I was surrounded by hundreds of soft glowing points of light, like being in the middle of a meadow full of fireflies or in the heart of a cluster of gleaming stars.
And when I gasped I had air to breathe.
“Can you hear me?” the voice asked. And I could. It was using sound rather than telepathy or whatever form of mind contact it had used before.
“Good,” it said, without my answering. “The air globe is stabilized and you should feel more comfortable. We will see what can be done about your wounds.” The voice was silky soft, warm and calm.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Where are we?”
The lights danced and twinkled around me, blue and red and green and yellow, but I could not make out any shapes.
“We are nearing the bottom of the sea, roughly a hundred kilometers from the shore where the Skorpis have made their base.”
“You know about them?”
I sensed a tolerant chuckle. “Yes, we know about them. And about you.” The voice grew darker, more severe. “And about the way you casually slaughter one another.”
“I wouldn’t call it casual,” I replied.
No response. The lights flickered around me, as if they were dancing in a sphere all around me, binding me in a web of blinking colorful flashes of energy.
“You haven’t told me who you are,” I said.
“You may call us the Old Ones.”
“What does that mean?”
Again that tolerant sense of amusement, like a grandfather watching a baby’s hesitant first steps.
“You will find out in due course,” the voice said. “For now, we must travel deeper into the sea.”
I got a sense of motion, acceleration, a tremendous rushing through the dark waters. The lights remained all around me. I could breathe. I seemed to be floating weightlessly, almost like an astronaut in orbit. In the dim flickering light I could see that my wounds were scabbing over. The bleeding had stopped completely and I felt a little stronger. All the while I was moving through the inky depths, speeding deeper and deeper, farther and farther from the shore.
At last I saw more lights approaching. They glowed and pulsated as if they were living, breathing creatures. Whole avenues of light opened up before my eyes, as if I were flying toward a vast city, swooping along a highway of lights that led to its magnificent heart.
“How do you feel?” the voice asked.
“Bewildered.”
“I mean physically. Your wounds.”
I flexed my arms, looked down at my legs. They were healing rapidly.
“Everything seems to be going along fine.”
“Good. We are pleased.”
“Tell me more about yourselves. What is this city of lights that we are approaching?”
“This is our home, Orion. The home of the Old Ones.”
“May I see you?” I asked, sensing that these lights were merely sparks of energy.
“You may be unpleasantly surprised,” the voice replied. “You may be repelled by our appearance.”
“Then tell me what to expect.”
“A reasonable approach to the problem.” The voice hesitated, as if checking with others before answering my request. Then:
“Orion, your Creators have told you that space-time is an ocean, have they not?”
“The one called Aten has taunted me more than once about my linear perception of space-time,” I answered.
“Yes, we can see that. Yet your linear perception is not entirely in error, Orion.”
“There are currents in the ocean of space-time,” I said.
“And there is a flow, a very definite flow. Time’s arrow exists. Entropy exists. Even though we may move back and forth across the ocean of space-time, we still cannot hold back entropy. The continuum unravels a little whenever we move through space-time. The greater our move, the more disorder arises.”
“But what has this to do with the way you look?” I asked.
“Time’s arrow,” the voice replied. “There are earlier times and later times. There is a point in space-time when your planet Earth is barren and lifeless. There is a point where the human race begins—”
“Built by the Creators and sent to destroy the Neanderthals so that Earth can be inhabited by the Creators’ creatures.”
“Who in turn, over the millennia, evolve into the Creators themselves.”
“Yes. They created us and we created them.”
“There is a point in the evolution of our kind,” the voice said, “when we had not yet developed intelligence, when we were far simpler beings living in the seas of our original world.”
“Lunga is not your original world?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
“Then where did you originate?”
I sensed a hesitation. “Does it matter? Suffice to say that once we were far simpler beings than we are now.”
“Simpler beings,” I said, beginning to understand what he was hinting at, “with tentacles?”
“Yes.”
“And claws that can crack armor?”
“Do you think you are prepared to see us?”
I thought of those things in the swamp, with their clutching tentacles and snapping claws and dozens of beady eyes.
I took a breath and said shakily, “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Very well.”
The sea around me brightened and I saw that I was surrounded by dozens of writhing tentacled creatures. They were huge, immense, like gigantic pulsating jellyfish with long wriggling tentacles and lipless round mouths that opened and closed, opened and closed, coming nearer and nearer to me. My skin crawled and I felt panic rising inside me, surrounded by these enormous engulfing undulating horrors pressing closer and closer, tentacles reaching out for me, mouths pulsating…
“Can you rise above your fears, Orion?”
I wanted to scream. Those enormous gaping mouths, like suckers big enough to swallow me whole, they seemed to be bearing down upon me, coming to devour me, coming to grasp me in those powerful tentacles and stuff me into one of those gaping maws. I could feel their digestive fluids burning into my flesh. I felt smothered, suffocating.
“Can you see beyond your terror, Orion? Can you look upon us as we truly are?”
I realized my eyes were squeezed shut, my fists pressed so hard against my temples I thought my skull would burst. They saved you! I raged at myself. They’re healing your wounds. They are intelligent beings. Go beyond their appearance; look at them as they see themselves.
Shaking with dread, I opened my eyes and forced myself to look at them again. They hovered all around me, huge, engulfing. I took a deep, shuddering breath. They came no closer, floating silently in the deep waters. Yet they were so enormous that they filled my vision wherever I looked. There was no escaping them. I fought against the panic that surged through me, deliberately forced my heart to slow its terrified beat, calmed my breathing to something close to normal.
I stared at them for long, long minutes. They hovered all around me, pulsating slowly, lights flickering within their undulating bodies, patterns of color glowing and shifting rhythmically across their translucent skins. There was a certain dignity to them, I slowly recognized. Even a certain kind of beauty as they floated throbbing in the deep waters. They moved gracefully, I forced myself to admit, trying to avoid looking at those dilating mouths.
And they were watching me intently. Each of them possessed two giant, solemn eyes that seemed focused on me.
“You are… beautiful,” I managed to croak.
“We are glad you think so. After your experience in the swamp we were afraid that you would be biased against us. Xenophobia is one of the deepest traits of your species.”
“We were created to be warriors,” I replied. “It makes it easier to kill your foes if you are frightened of them.”
“And yet the dolphins vouched for you.”
“The dolphins?” I blurted. “Are they here?”
“Not in this era,” the voice answered.
I realized that these Old Ones could travel through time the way the Creators could. The way I had myself.
“When we first made contact with you, Orion,” the voice continued, “we sensed nothing but a warrior intent on slaying his enemies. But the dolphins told us you were a good friend to them, so we probed deeper.”
It was the Old Ones whom I had sensed earlier, then. Yet I had no memory of how I got to be a good friend to the dolphins. Was I sent on a mission into the ocean, in another era?
“We find that although your basic instincts are those of a warrior, there are other desires struggling within you.”
“I have a will of my own,” I told them, “even though my Creator looks upon me as nothing more than a tool for his use.”
“That is a part of the problem you present to us.” The voice sounded slightly perturbed despite its silky smoothness. “We have been observing your kind since you first arrived. You humans are bloodthirsty as well as xenophobic.”
“We were made that way,” I admitted. “Although some of us have tried to rise above it.”
“Have you?”
“Some of us have. There are humans at the Skorpis base who are scientists. They are not warriors, not killers.”
“Why do you not regard the Skorpis as humans?” Although I heard only one voice, I got the impression that more than one of these sea creatures was speaking to me, or perhaps they were all speaking, and what I heard was a blend of their individual thoughts and questions.
“The Skorpis come from another world,” I answered. “They are descended from felines.”
“While your kind are patterned after primate apes.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“What makes you think that the Skorpis come from a different origin than your own?”
“They couldn’t…” I hesitated. “Do you mean that they were also—”
“Produced by your Creators? Why do you find that difficult to believe?”
“Not difficult. Just—a new idea. I hadn’t considered it before.”
“The universe is old, Orion. And your Creators have been very busy.”
“But if the Skorpis were also made by the Creators, why are they fighting against us?” I asked.
“Whatever your Creators touch degenerates into violence,” the Old Ones said. “They are a plague among the stars.”
“But you,” I asked again. “Who are you? What have you to do with the Creators?”
“We are a very old race, Orion. Older than your Creators by tens of millions of years. We have no desire to be dragged into the slaughters that your kind are perpetrating.”
“Why should you be?”
“Because your fellow humans have discovered us. They have tried to make contact with us. They want us to ally ourselves with them against their enemies.”
“I don’t even know who our enemies are,” I said.
“Other humans, of course. And species of similar levels of development, such as the Skorpis and the Tsihn.”
I felt confused, stunned almost, at all this new information they were throwing at me. They sensed my mental turmoil.
“Do not feel anxious, Orion. We will explain everything to you so that you can understand it fully.”
Why? I wondered. What do they want?
As if in answer, the silky voice told me, “You are going to be our ambassador, Orion. You will give our message to your Creators.”