Perhaps none of those things would have time to happen. It was still quite possible for Spivey and Hutton to lose control over the Beta singularity, in which case, even the mountain-tomb surrounding her now would prove no more solid than a house made of tissue. The distance between Teresa and her friends in the outer world seemed infinite right now, but would become academic once the taniwha reached its ravenous, final maturity, when all their atoms would rendezvous in a sudden, intimate, topological union.
Teresa wondered what that might feel like. It almost sounded attractive in a way, as she contemplated the immediate prospect of starvation. Did other lost explorers get this philosophical when they neared the end?
She wondered if Wegener in Greenland or Amundsen in the Arctic pondered the vagaries of human destiny as they, too, plodded on and on beyond all realistic hope. Perhaps that, more than cleverness, has been our secret power, Teresa thought as she and Alex got moving again, choosing yet another branching path. Even when you run out of answers, there are still possibilities to consider.
After a while though, even that consoling line of thought petered out. Tiredness settled over her like a numbing weight, thankfully dulling the ache of countless bumps and cuts and scratches. Her knee pads might have been lost some while back, or not, for she could hardly feel anything from those quarters anymore as she crawled or crouched or sidled edgewise through cramped or slanted defiles. All that remained to focus her attention was the rhythm. And an obstinacy that would not let her stop.
She had no premonition when Alex stopped suddenly. Through the hand on his arm, she felt a tremor run through his body. “Come here, Rip,” he urged in a hoarse whisper, pulling her alongside him and then over to an inclined shelf. When she was seated on the cool stone, she felt him take her head between his hands and turn it to the left, then downward a bit. “I can’t tell,” he said in a dry voice. “Is there something over there?”
Teresa blinked. By now she had gotten used to the speckles and entopic flashes the retina seems to “see” even in total darkness — the lies your eyes tell in order to pretend they still have something to do. So it took her a moment to recognize that one of those glimmers was maintaining the same vague, half-imagined, blurry outline, keeping position whichever way she tilted. Teresa gingerly bit her cracked upper lip so the pain would rouse her a bit. In a voice parched and scratchy from thirst, she asked, “Um… want to go check it out?”
“No, of course not,” he answered with wry, affectionate sarcasm, and squeezed her hand before beginning to guide her down the new channel, this one layered deep with some sort of dust that gave off a strong, musty aroma.
Teresa inhaled and finally realized what was so attractive about the smell. It was a rich pungency, and she could only hope her suspicions were true, that the fragrance wafting her way rose from the thickly lain droppings left by endless generations of flying mammals… animals who sheltered below ground, but made their living flying and hunting outside, under an open sky.
Round more bends and turns they followed the faint glimmer, until Teresa began making out the dim outlines of walls and rough columns, contrasting at first only in faint shadings of black, but then with hints of gray and sepia creeping in to lend a detail here and there. Soon she found herself no longer needing as much help from Alex, guiding her own footsteps, detecting obstacles miraculously at long range, while they were still meters away.
Sight… an amazing sensation.
It took more steep descending after that, taking care not to make some fatal error in their haste, but at last they came to a place where the floor leveled off and was littered with a carpet of small bones which crunched under their feet. Now, overhead, they could make out thousands of brown, folded forms, hanging from every crack and crevice. The denizens of the cave gave them little notice, wrapped within the cocoons of their wings, sleeping through the day.
Day. Teresa blinked at the concept, and had to hold up a hand to cut the glare reflecting directly off one last cave wall — one facing a source of light brighter than anything she had ever imagined. I’m sorry I doubted you, she told the sun, remembering how in her dream she’d presumed it could ever have a rival.
Alex removed the grimy goggles and they looked at each other, breaking out in silent grins over how filthy, horrible, battered and positively wonderful each of them looked to be alive.
They were still holding hands, purely out of habit, when they finished scrambling through the brush covering the cave entrance and stepped into a morning filled with clouds and trees and a myriad of other fine things too beautiful ever to be taken for granted again.
□ ATTENTION! You have been targeted by a very special net search routine. Please don’t purge this message! It originates with the World Association of Mahayana Buddhism, one of the great religious orders of history, and your selection to receive it was not random. This is an experiment, a melding of modern science and ancient ways in our continuing search for certain very special individuals.
Those we seek are tolkus… reincarnated beings who in lives past were saintly, enlightened men and women, or bodhi-sattvas. In the past, searches such as this were restricted to within a few days’ journey of our Himalayan monasteries. But of late, tolkus have been found all over the world, reborn into every race, every native culture and creed. It is cause for rejoicing when one is discovered and thereby helped to full awareness of his or her true powers.
Even when tolkus live their lives unannounced, forgetful of their past or even skeptical of our word, they nevertheless often become teachers or healers of great merit. These powers can be amplified though, through training.
We emphatically denounce claims that Eastern meditation traditions are simply glorified biofeedback techniques for inducing natural opiate highs. Chemical comparisons are crude and emphasize only the superficial. They miss the essential power that can be unleashed by the concentrated human mind. A power you may have refined in prior lives and that even now may be within your reach.
Our search is of great importance, now more than ever. Recent strange portents, observed all over the globe, appear to indicate a time of great struggle approaching. Like those of many other faiths, we of Mahayana Buddhism are preparing to face the danger ahead. We have sent into the Net these surrogate messengers to seek out those whose lives, courtesy, works of charity, and creditworthiness indicate they may once have been masters of enlightenment. We ask only that you meditate on the following questions.
Do you believe all beings, large and small, suffer?
Do you believe suffering ends, and that one end can come through what some call Enlightenment, a piercing of life’s veil of illusion?
Do you sense that compassion is the essence of correct action?
If these questions resonate within you, do not hesitate. Use our toll-free account to arrange an interview in person.
You may be more blessed than you remember. If so, we have faith you’ll know what to do.
• BIOSPHERE
“So tell me. What do you think of Elspeth?” Dr. Wolling asked as she poured and then passed him a cup of tea.
Nelson stirred in a spoonful of sugar, concentrating on the swirling patterns rather than meeting her eyes. “It’s… an interesting program,” he said, choosing words carefully.
She sat across from him, clattering her own cup and spoon cheerfully. Still, Nelson figured this wasn’t going to be an easy session — as if any with this teacher ever were.
“I take it you haven’t a lot of experience with auto-psych programs?”