She asks, “How did you sleep?”
“Remarkably well, in fact.”
“Good.”
“Is it?”
“You’re unhappy with me.”
It doesn’t take a mind reader to work that out. He says, “Today you and me are gonna free my friend, Donald.” If he hasn’t already been clever enough to get himself the heck out of there. Borman wouldn’t blame the man for leaving without him. “But before we do that, why don’t you tell me more about this power of yours to get inside my head. That ‘friend’ of yours who took him… Parxotic… had me frozen in my tracks. I couldn’t move a muscle.”
“Focused intention.”
“Meaning you can do whatever the hell you like.”
“We are all connected to that intention. It is the fundamental principle holding our world together. We are conjoined with that force — we’re a part of it. It’s the source of our strength. The reason disputes between our people have been non-existent before your arrival. Speaking aloud, like this? It’s been outmoded for a very long time. You might even say frowned upon.”
“For how long?” She knows, but appears reluctant to say. “Come on, humor me.
She whispers, “Thousands of years…” and it feels like she’s giving up a secret.
“You’re saying my presence here has split you from your people.” She nods, her eyes wide and mournful. She feels as alone as he does. She’s on her own here as his protector. How long can that last? “Holtz, where I come from disagreement is a good thing. It’s how we get things done. We talk, we compromise. We improve. Not always, I’ll grant you, but…”
“Martians have always been of one mind.”
“That sounds way too much like groupthink to me.” She doesn’t appear to understand the term. “Mind control? How can everyone possibly agree on everything?”
“This world is fundamentally different to yours. To say we control one another’s thoughts is to misunderstand what I have told you about the way our universe functions within itself.”
“I couldn’t live somewhere I wasn’t free to be myself and speak my mind.”
She says, “We have always allowed space for alternate viewpoints. But we exist in a higher state. Where time no longer exists. Where past, present, and future can all be viewed as one. All events in this universe can be observed and experienced at will.”
To Borman, this sounds like overreach. “Are you telling me Martians see the face of God?”
“This face of ‘God’ is within all these things. It is just your name for the radical energy field all around us. It is not removed, it is here.” She leans down and touches the stone floor beneath their feet, as if to illustrate her point. “All things, all people, all levels of consciousness, are connected. One can ride those connections as you would ride a train from one place to another. The destination resides within the intention. In this way, we have no need for religion, philosophy or ideology. We simply exist inside a single intention. There is little space for confusion or disagreement.”
“Until now,” says Borman. Again, she nods, but it’s like her heart is being ripped from her chest. “On Earth, the only freedom we know of comes from disagreement. In politics, in religion. Heck, even in marriage. I guess that sounds strange to you.”
“Ours is a universe of common thought. Science, theosophy, social interaction… These things are meaningless to us because we trust each other as we trust ourselves.”
He says, “To us, science and religion have always been mutually exclusive.”
“Yet you seek to live in both modalities.”
Borman shrugs. “It’s not easy, I’ll grant you.”
“In our world, we are the gods.”
A day ago, he’d have condemned the remark as arrogance, but now he takes a moment to think before responding. “In my belief system, there is only one God.”
She shakes her head slowly. “Humanity’s beliefs have been hiding the truth for thousands of years. But I speak not of your beliefs — I talk about what ‘is’.”
“You’re saying you know the truth, and we don’t.”
“It’s not that simple. This universe allows us to see things that remain veiled from your understanding.”
“Yet here I am, taking that step forward, holding out the hand of friendship. I came here in peace. It seems to me you must have the capability to visit us, yet you’ve stayed away. Why is that?”
“Our worlds no longer share the same space. If we travelled from this Mars to the Earth that circles this sun, you would not find the world you call home.”
She feeds him dates and berries and something sour and bitter that tastes like a combination of artichoke and lemon. There seems no point in resisting the food. He is completely at her mercy. Her world, her rules. He’s not like them, he won’t survive long if he doesn’t eat. And while he senses there is much about her “intention,” that remained hidden from view, he no longer suspects her of any ill intent. She has paid a steep price for his freedom, and may soon be called upon to do it again.
He finds the food tastes better this time. Indeed, it’s better than he remembers food could taste. So good, it’s almost sexual. It stimulates his senses and fills him with a pulsating and euphoric vitality. He holds up one of the red berries, which is like a cross between a raspberry and a plum. Its juice dribbles down his chin as he bites into it and the sensation fills him with pleasure. “You grow these yourself?”
She nods, pleased the berries are to his taste.
“Where’s your garden?”
“They grow in the forest. I pick what I want. And I always find what I need.”
“Always? Like they just appear in front of you when you go looking?”
“Metaphorical universe, remember? Think and ye shall receive.”
“Like how you got me to find the way to your home?”
“That’s right.”
“You were testing me.”
“I’m learning who you are.”
He picks up a large orange grape and pops it in his mouth. It floods his palate with a sweet juice and its flesh is wonderfully delicate on his tongue. He’s starting to feel like every mouthful helps him understand the Martian world a little better. It certainly gives him a sense of why such vibrant abundance would engender in its people a strong desire to defend and protect.
Seemingly out of the blue, Holtz asks him, “Who is Ningal?”
He frowns. “No idea. Why?”
“You spoke her name aloud last night while you were sleeping.”
“Did I?”
“More than once.”
He shrugs and shakes his head a little. “Sorry, I guess I must’ve been dreaming. Odd name, don’t know where I came up with that.”
“Do you always forget your dreams?”
“Most of the time. It’s pretty rare to wake up remembering everything that went on in your head during the night.”
She looks at him like it says far more about him than he realizes. He asks, “What do Martians dream about?”
She stares deep into his eyes with a cat-like intensity, making certain she has his full attention. “Our dreams are an expansion of our awakening. A time to draw parallels and connections with all that has taken place during the day. To better see where our choices may take us both now and in future.”
“You can do all of that in a dream?”
She nods. “And when I wake up I remember it all.”
20
The forest floor is warm and damp, like there’s been a tropical downpour in the night. He can’t recall it raining, but then he’d slept like the dead. They’re walking side by side, a new path this time. He tries to take it all in. The trees and the latent scurrying of small creatures, previously unnoticed but now somehow more abundant, are obviously present. Like they had finally awoken to his presence, or he to theirs. Borman wonders dimly if they are no more than a figment of his imagination, thoughts placed in his head by his hostess in an effort to make him feel more at home.