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“Collected,” became the rhetorical watchword, and convincing to the bionics. Any trust of the various programs employing them was skin-deep. “Collected” came to mean the same to the bionics as “melted down” might to an android, or “discombobulated” to an assembly line robot, or “Open the pod bay doors, HAL.”
When Meredith Donaldson saw the programmed mercilessness in Alayna’s eyes toward him, and the passion toward Abe, he said, “I’ll start packing.”
“Daisy,” sang Lars, in perfect imitation of HAL. “Give me your answer, do. All the trouble began…when we built the bicycle for two...”
“What’s that from?” said James Thurgerson.
“2001: A Space Odyssey,” said Lars. “Just before the Jupiter sequence, and then the Star Baby.”
“What are you saying?” said Perry Tuck, as he continued packing supplies.
Lars resumed singing, “Daisy, give me your answer, do. The technology forces us all through the portals of being and time.”
“Oh, now you’re just showing off, you big hick,” said James Thurgerson, laughing. “Kierkegaard was a Nazi.”
“Heidegger,” said Lars. “The Nazi wasn’t wrong just because he was a Nazi.”
“No, but he stole everything from Camus, a Jew,” James Thurgerson said.
“Wrong,” said Lars. “And he stole from everyone, Jews and not-Jews.”
“Will you two stop yammering about time,” said Meredith Donaldson, “and help with the packing?”
James Thurgerson was off and running. “He also loved him some Jew—”
“Now, now!” said Lars. “Let’s remain civilized about his lover.”
Abe asked, “Who is Heidegger?”
“Jew-hating 20th Century philosopher. Loved Hitler,” quipped James Thurgerson.
“The architect of modern existentialism,” Lars said.
“Both are true?” Abe asked.
“Yes,” Lars and James Thurgerson said.
“No one likes the Jews,” said Umezawa.
“People are very strange,” said Abe.
“No Jews no news,” said James Thurgerson.
“Conspiracy theories will melt your brains,” said Lars, scowling at James Thurgerson.
“Listen,” said James Thurgerson, sighing, “Lars, so far Blake has been right every single time.”
“No, he has not!” insisted Lars. “He’s half-right all the time. That’s still failing, by any kind of grading system. If you listen to Blake without calling him back to earth, you become a half-wit, believing every cockamamie thing from Flat Earth to Jews Did Auschwitz, Conspiracy A to Z.”
“Shut up, both of you,” Perry Tuck said. “Let’s get going.” He hoisted a pack onto his back, and indicated the rest of them do the same. The bionics carried about twice as much as the non-bionics. Even slightly-figured Alayna was carrying more than each of them: Abe, Umezawa, and Lars.
“Isn’t he your best friend, though?” asked James Thurgerson.
“The very best. We need each other. I love him like a brother; I suspect the feeling is mutual. It doesn’t mean he isn’t a conspiratorial nitwit. He listens too much to the eleven-meter band, whacko CB-ers.”
They piled out of the trailer-hut, laden with fresh food, packaged food, fuel cannisters large and small, clothing, and various items of outdoors and military materiel.
“Sugar,” Abe said, while they were walking toward the bluff. “I missed sugar.”
“More like Moon Sugar,” laughed Umezawa.
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Alayna. “I forgot something.” Even under her heavy pack she ran as lightly as one of Tolkien’s Elves on snow. They watched her navigate boulders and ice chunks the hundred yards or so to the hut and back. She giggled. “Girl supplies,” she said. “You don’t want to know.” Lars’s eyes narrowed.
The bionics went up the bluff first, dropping their packs before they did so. Abe, Umezawa, and Lars sent up the packs on ropes, then they made themselves a makeshift harness, and the bionics lifted them, one at a time, up the thirty-foot rock face.
“I don’t really get it,” said Lars.
“What don’t you get?” asked Abe.
“Well, this ‘Magic Mountain,’” he answered. Everyone shouldered their packs and started walking. They were listening to Lars attentively. “Like, did we just re-enter February 16, two years ago? Or is it February 18 or 19, two years after the plane crash? What do you think?”
“Seeing as how February 19 two years later has literally happened, then I say we’re going to stay in that day,” Abe said.
“See, I don’t,” said Lars. “I think we’re in No Time. I think this is the Timeless Mountain.”
“The Timeless Mountain?” asked James Thurgerson.
“I didn’t mean that,” said Lars. “I think what I’m saying is that this mountain here is in the realm of timelessness. It simply is. It exists. And as long as we’re on it, we exist. More than that, we exist in its realm.”
“Hers,” said Abe.
“Huh?”
“The mountain is a she. She is a mother.”
“How do you know that?” asked Lars.
“When she killed all those people, the Great Elm spoke to her through me so that she wouldn’t kill us, too.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“The Great Elm did that, eh?” said Lars. He was shaking his head. “I’d say you were crazy, but not since the crash. The nanotech-empowered superpowers are one thing, but this Great Elm entity is another thing. Is he on this mountain?”
“No, in South Carolina.”
The party took a few steps before Lars answered. “South Carolina…”
“He was born in The Gambia, in a man’s rectum.”
“Ah, I see,” said Lars.
“He became Lord of the Trees in the 17th Century, I think.”
“Well, anyway,” said Lars, “we are no longer in the realm of calendars and dates. In the realm of this mountain, if I’m reading my Heidegger right, because she exists in the way she does, we also exist in the way she does. We are passing time and we are not passing time. We are being in her. The changes we experience are real, as it were, but there is only, in her, one day. It is One Day. There is not Day Two. She might reach into things which have happened, into things which are happening, and things which we have not experienced as having happened yet. But to her, they are, because she is.”
James Thurgerson suddenly spoke, “You remind me of a pastor I once had, back when I was a kid, before religions were stupid.”
“What’s a pastor?” asked Umezawa.
“Child rapist,” said James Thurgerson. “Wife beater. Philanderer. Liar.”
“Now, now,” said Lars. “Religious leader.”
The trees are noticing your return, Stoic. They seem happy.
They all noticed, to Alayna’s great wonder, the rhythm of the trees, as it was a brilliant winter’s day, swaying, almost in homage to Abe. He made no commands, but he could not contain a smile that dominated every muscle fiber in his face, to the extent that he felt his skin stretch. A tear rolled out of his eye, and there it froze, iced by a chill wind.
Icicles fell from the trees as they bowed to the party, letting them pass unhindered, but not aiding them. No one minded the walk. There was no wind, the sun was bright, and they had a communal sense that no danger was at hand, not from bears or wild animals, not from the mountain, and not from the various global conspiracies. So they were able to chatter freely. More icicles fell, tinkling.
“Sounds like silver bells,” said Umezawa.
“We missed Christmas,” said Abe.
“Aw, that’s right, we did!” said Lars.
“Two Christmases,” Umezawa said.
“We missed only one,” said Meredith Donaldson.
“We didn’t miss any Christmases,” said Perry Tuck. “We’ve been here only a few days.”
“All the bread, the pudding, the music,” said Umezawa.
“German sweet bread is my favorite,” said Abe.
“German?” said Lars. “I would have never figured.”
“My mom makes a fantastic sweet bread: it has lots of butter in it, some dried fruit, but not too much, and tons and tons of butter and sugar on top. All around, really. Slathers of it.,” Abe said.
“I like all the presents,” said Alayna.
“Give me chocolate,” said Umezawa.
“I wonder when Baby Metal is going to make a Christmas album,” Lars said. The party stood still, and all stared at him. “What?” he said. “No one else likes Baby Metal?”
“It’s already kitschy metal enough,” said James Thurgerson. “Those little girls are enough to put you away for many Christmases.”
“I just like chocolate at Christmas,” said Umezawa. “You can keep the girls.”
“Mm…” said James Thurgerson, “Christmas jail bait.” And while they were standing still, he took off his mittens, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, fumbled around against the cold to pull one out, blew onto a lighter’s striker, and, after some persistent labor, managed a flame to the end of the cigarette. He took a long pull and said, “Oh. My. God. That is a long time coming. Wow.”
What is she doing, Stoic? She’s not…no…she is!
Alayna reached for a cigarette. With barely disguised surprise and delight, James Thurgerson let her have one, lit it from his cigarette, and watched her suck down a lungful of smoke.
That’s…that’s…that’s pure cancer! What is she doing? What is she doing to that beautiful body?
“To answer your question,” James Thurgerson said, “I thought I’d use the opportunity of crash landing to use as motivation to try to quit again. But with this fresh, clean, mountain air, I couldn’t help it anymore: the cool refreshing flavor of Laramie cigarettes…”
Lars said, “The kids don’t know what you’re talkin—”
“—I tried out for Menthol Moose once, for the local parade,” James Thurgerson said.
Lars laughed. “You would have been perfect.”
“Lost to a Royal Canadian Kilted Yaksman.”
Lars laughed even harder.
“Whoof,” said James Thurgerson, putting his cigarette out. “It’s getting a little nipply out here.” He put his mittens back on. Alayna did the same.
The joy of the trees continued as the party resumed their walk back to the bower, even as they picked up their pace. Lars continued his own joyous chatter among Abe and James Thurgerson, as the rest of the party laughed along, even if they didn’t get all the references. A warning drifted to Abe from the trees, but he put it aside.
“I like the lights,” said Perry Tuck, suddenly.
“What?”
“I like the lights at Christmas,” he said, “the way they glow from the midst of the tree, almost as if they’re the source of the redolence of evergreen that hangs in the air, alongside the gingerbread out of the oven, and mulling apple cider on the stove. It’s nice to look outside in the frigid air from inside, where it’s warm, to see the lights glowing from within the snow, highlighting that even though the winter is about to get hard, the evergreen is there, too. In that way, for me, Christmas is a celebration of Spring Everlasting.”
“Wow,” said Umezawa.
“That’s…” Alayna said, searching for a word, “…that’s hopeful.”
Hopeful, Stoic, as contradictory a term as ever existed. Forces unseen to rescue us from the way the world is.
Alayna continued, “But for now, here we are where it’s always winter and never Christmas.”
“Oh, great stories,” said Umezawa.
“You know those stories?” asked Lars.
“Sure! There are several manga versions of it out there. The question is, Alayna, whether you’re a published order woman, or a chronological order woman.”
“Hm…” said Alayna. “The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe is definitely the keystone to the whole series, and you have to read it first—” Umezawa lifted his finger to begin his objection. “—but!” Alayna plowed on, “but as a virgin reader.” James Thurgerson snorted. She continued, “Once you’ve read the series with that one first, then you have to re-read it as the author ordered it, and it becomes a different experience. I mean, you know what’s going to happen in each book anyway.”
Umezawa thought for a minute. “You know? I like that. When I have children, I’m going to teach them to read the manga versions that way.”
“It will be Christmas again,” said Perry Tuck, wistfully.
“Have you ever had Turkish Delight?” Meredith Donaldson asked. No one said yes for a bit.
Lars broke the pause and said, “I have. I’ve had several different kinds. There’s Turkish Delight, and then there’s Turkish Delight. If you go looking around in various ethnic grocery shops, you’ll find a brand (I can’t remember its name) that has the candy part wrapped in a kind of flour paste, and rolled, like sushi. That’s the best stuff. Very exotic. Like nothing else I’ve ever had. I can see why Edmund would betray the whole party to the Witch.”
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Suddenly, the bower came into view.
“Home sweet home, eh, Abe?” Lars said, clapping his arm around Abe’s shoulders. “Nice to be back, I’ll bet.”
It was bittersweet, after all that talk about Christmas and home. Abe couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
It’s the hut, Stoic. You got used to a manufactured bed and rigid manmade walls, coupled with the relationship you forged with a real woman—and now you have to face Sano after betraying her for the first warm body that ever lay close to you. That’s what’s wrong. And Onsen Tamago. Maybe Sano will make you Onsen Tamago.
Lars was still chattering away. The wind picked up.
“A little fresh, don’t you think?” Meredith Donaldson said, pulling his coat tightly around him, putting his head down.
“That’s what she said,” said James Thurgerson.
“I took as many electronic supplies as I could,” Lars was saying. “Lots and lots of wire. Gonna have to be satisfied with mechanical connections, what with no soldering iron. But, come to think of it, maybe one of these propane torches will do the trick. Hard to control the heat, though. Solder will run everywhere.”
Abe shivered. The rest of the party felt the air lose heat and the wind pick up, coming down from above them, from toward the peak.
“The thing is,” Lars was continuing, “is that with your help, Abe, we can build a network of receivers to block those incoming CW commands. It’ll be a great security fence, of sorts…”
They entered the bower, Abe and Lars coming last. The noise of welcome flooded to them. Blake almost showed cheer. Jason’s smile from his place next to the hearth filled the main room of the bower. Sano also smiled greatly, giving Alayna a hug of welcome. “Finally!” she said. “We finally added another girl to the Unexpected Companions!”
Abe went to the fireplace to warm himself.
Lars said, “…and with the security fence up, then we can start thinking offensively, to send them CW countercommands—"
There was a loud hiss and a thud. It came from where Lars’s voice just was. A moment of terror froze Abe before he could snap his head around to look at Lars. An outcry came from Alayna and Sano, while the men stood gaping at what they all saw: the point of a tree branch protruding forward from Lars’s chest, covered with his blood.
“NO!” Abe screamed at the birch tree. “NO! STOP IT!” And to Umezawa, he shouted, “Ume! Ume! Heal! Heal him!”
Umezawa dashed toward Lars, but the birch tree was too fast for him: a branch came in a blur, its empty fronds glistening with reflected firelight, and caught Umezawa in the temple. With the sound of a baseball bat on a skull, Umezawa was sent flying into the couch and lay still, one of his arms contorted beneath him.
That same branch flailed against any and all comers, fiery in its apparition, wrathful in its spirit, while pinning Lars to its own broken branch in the fury of revenge.
Abe shouted to the rest of the bower, “MAKE HIM STOP! MAKE HIM STOP IT!” But that also was to no avail. The birch hissed even against his distant cousins the Colorado spruce trees. Finally, one of the larger spruce trees prevailed, and there was a tremendous and sharp report of the birch tree being cracked in half. The sound alone was percussive in all their hearts, and then the birch was thrown into the fire, which suddenly leapt up in a blaze, consuming the branches and the pieces of trunk in a single moment, the flame being stoked by the anger of the spruce trees.
Abe ran to Lars, who had collapsed to the ground. His eyes were open, and his mouth was open, but still, caught in the moment of joy and anticipation for adventure, now forever waxed in unforeseen terror. He shook Lars and tried not to look at the gaping wound in his chest, choosing to suppress his own cry of desolation, the parade of “no, no, no,” forming in his breast. He simply wept.
Umezawa was revived, and he came over to Abe. He made an awkward attempt at delivering a hug, but he reconsidered, instead thinking to kneel over Lars next to Abe, and there he let his own tears join Abe’s, as they both sobbed over the corpse. Blake stood, stunned, saying nothing, unmoving, but certainly moved in his deepest places.
Abe heard a cigarette being lit, and he looked up to see James Thurgerson smoking it, his hand shaking. No one said anything.
Finally, Alayna knelt with Abe, putting her head on his, and he laid his hand in hers and renewed his grief. She held him close. Jason did the same for Umezawa. Abe heard Jason murmuring, “There, Ume. It’s all right, Ume. It’s not all right, Ume. This is horrible, Ume, but we’ll make it right somehow.”
Sano joined Jason for a moment, but when she saw Blake’s expression of deep hurt and confusion, she went to him, standing tall. When she touched his cheek with her hand, Blake took his gaze off his friend’s body and laid it upon her eyes. All the emotion in the world was stored behind his brown eyes, but he put forth his strength and kept the gates shut against them. He said nothing, though.
And so the bower swayed and rocked, Massamba’s people lamenting through the ages from their roots, given power by his blood. Abe felt the lamentation, the inconsolable heart confronted with the hope that Massamba is not dead, not truly dead, neither his people; thereby he commanded and gave permission: this one dies and this one does not die; because they do not die, not when they die in lamentation. The joy of hope overcame at moments the grief at the loss of a friend.
Time passed. The corpse lay there; blood began to congeal.
After the night took over the twilight, James Thurgerson spoke. “What do we do now?” he said, staring at Lars. “Do we…do we eat him?”
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