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