Transcendental Read Free

begins.”
    Riley picked up the arm and carried it across the floor to the corner where the weasel-faced alien crouched. “I think this is yours,” he said.
    The weasel accepted the arm and laid it at its own feet. It said something that sounded like modulated whistling. Riley’s pedia didn’t interpret, but Tordor grunted, “It says it saw your guards asleep. It feared someone would do you harm.”
    “Tell it I regret detaching its arm,” Riley said.
    “No matter, it says,” Tordor reported. “Arms easy, life hard.”
    Riley laughed. He was beginning to feel a sneaky admiration for the weasel’s bravado.
    When he got back to his sleeping place, the dark-haired woman was sitting nearby. “It could have killed you,” she said.
    “You saw it?”
    “I don’t need much sleep. I see a lot of things.”
    “And you didn’t think it was worth warning me?”
    “It was none of my business. If it killed you, it would be because you weren’t tough enough to survive. And if you’re going to be a pilgrim, you’ll need to be tough. Only a few of us will survive.”
    What makes her so sure about that? He kept his question to himself.
    “Who said I was going to be a pilgrim?” So she was a pilgrim, as he had thought, and if he could keep her talking, he might get a better idea of where she fit in with this pilgrimage crowd.
    “You’re here,” she said. “It didn’t intend to kill you.”
    “How do you know?”
    “It had the opportunity before you awoke.”
    “That’s what it said. It said it was protecting me.”
    “It was the only creature that approached you.”
    “Thanks,” Riley said. He didn’t want her to think he needed help in figuring out what the weasel wanted. Neither did he tell her that his pedia had awakened him as the weasel approached and that he had pretended sleep until the last moment.
    But he didn’t know what the weasel wanted. He thought about it as he and Jon tried to revive Jan. Whoever had put Jan to sleep also may have had something similar for the flower child, but that implied a level of preparation that challenged belief. Of course the flower child could be part of the conspiracy, and could have administered the knockout chemical to Jan and only pretended to be asleep.
    When Jan stirred, stretching and yawning and apparently feeling no aftereffects of the drug except guilt, he/she/it had no memory of anyone approaching or any sting of injection or an odor other than the universal stink. “I’m sorry,” it said.
    “They were ready for us,” Riley replied.
    “They?”
    “Whoever they are.”
    “It won’t happen again,” Jan said, and Jon nodded in agreement. “We’ll be ready for them.”
    “Get some sleep,” Riley said.
    “It’s still my watch,” Jan said.
    “I don’t feel sleepy,” Riley said.
    When he sat down on the bench Jan had vacated, Tordor was rocking back on its tail a meter or so away, but its eyes were open, looking at Riley.
    “What did you mean,” Riley asked, “‘So it begins.’”
    “Long journey,” Tordor grunted. “Many perils. Many die. Many wish pilgrimage to fail.”
    “Many forces,” Riley said. “Many motives.” His pedia processed the words as a series of Tordor-like grunts, which led Riley to respond in the same sort of clipped syntax as Tordor. The pedia needed time to translate languages with which it was unfamiliar.
    Tordor waved his proboscis in a gesture that swept the room.
    “Right,” Riley said. “Who are pilgrims? Who are anti-pilgrims?” Maybe, he thought, there are no legitimate pilgrims at all. Maybe they were all attempting to sabotage the pilgrimage. That would be an irony even the transcendental gods could enjoy.
    They conversed for another hour, partly keeping awake, partly feeling each other out. As best they could in their limited common vocabulary, they discussed the reasons why this new religion might create universal fear.
    “Surely,” Riley said, “every creature, every species, wants to be