XIII: A Message from the Becoller
The Eastern Edge - 1,000 Years in the Future
Pigman says the bees are coming. These aren’t bees like you know. These aren’t picnic bees. These aren’t your run of the mill bird and small mammal killing bees. These bees are as bad as Shaft and there are thousands of them.
Pigman is scared. I am scared. If Lesley weren’t too sick to think straight, he’d be scared too.
Hearing the crunch of boots on gravel outside of his cave, The Stranger put down his pencil and looked up at the cave's mouth.
"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," he thought to himself as Pigman stopped in the opening of the cave. Despite the rapidly diminishing quality and quantity of their rations, Pigman remained portly. He stood, nervously wringing his leather cap in his hands, and said nothing.
"Pigman?" The Stranger asked.
"Yes, sir," Pigman stammered, "I just wanted, I mean, I came here, I… the Scouts have returned, sir. They're going to hold a briefing in the main hall in a few minutes." The Stranger nodded.
"Thank you, Pigman. I'll be right over." Pigman stood there, staring, still clutching his cap.
"Thank you, Pigman," The Stranger said again, "I'll be right over." The second try registered, and Pigman snapped to attention.
"Yes, sir. I'll go and collect the Becoller and meet you there." He spun on his heel and left the cave. The Stranger sighed. He wasn't sure whether there was a point in bringing the Becoller to the briefing. He'd been less than useful for the past several years. What good is a clairvoyant in a world with no future? The Stranger mused as he picked up the letter he'd been working on, folded it, and tucked it into the inside pocket of his fatigues. Getting up from the small wooden table he’d constructed out of scraps, he snuffed out his lantern and left the cave.
The Stranger walked along the rocky outcrop. Several other caves lined this narrow ledge, which dropped off steeply to one side. The resistance fighters used these caves as housing, although The Stranger was the only one of them who didn’t share. No one wanted to share with a stranger, and that was ok with him. Other resistance fighters occupied tents and crudely constructed huts in a central clearing, down a steep path from the cliffs. It was one of the only areas on the Eastern Edge that was flat enough to actually be inhabitable, although calling it inhabitable was a stretch. The rest of the area, however, was either an endless boulder field, or sheer cliffs.
***
The Stranger arrived at the main hall to see a steady stream of Resistance fighters making their way inside. The main hall was only a tent, but it was the largest tent they had, and thus it was used for all gatherings. It also doubled as a mess hall and a medical facility during times of conflict, and once, a wedding chapel. It was portable, and so would obviously be brought with them when the time inevitably came to move on, provided there was any place left to move on to.
The fighters had been mustered in this place for many months. They had been waging a steady battle against both the Faction forces, and the bees, for so many years now that there were some who no longer remembered a life before. There were others who never knew one. The Stranger, who often recalled the time before the universe had begun to disintegrate from the outside in as vividly as if it were yesterday, joined the fighters despite the obvious futility of their mission. Between the bees destroying the very foundation of the universe, and the Faction forces determined to speed the process along, the odds were stacked heavily against those who wished to try to save their world. But The Stranger admired the desire that so many of them shared to go out swinging, and so he joined them, and he stayed and fought.
Inside the hall, all of the rough, wobbly benches were filled, so he crouched down near one wall and waited. A group of four Scouts stood at the front of the room, waiting for everyone to quiet down so that they could begin their briefing. The Scouts were an elite group among the Resistance fighters, if one could consider any aspect of a ragtag group such as this to be elite. They set out from the base regularly to determine how close the destruction was, the extent of the damage to the land around them, and to look for Faction fighters who might be waiting to ambush them. If they spotted the bees unguarded, they would quickly assemble a unit to take out as many as possible. Lately, however, the bees were always guarded by the Faction.
“Quiet, everyone,” the Scout leader shouted. He waited as a hush fell gradually over the group. When the Scouts had the attention of the room, the leader began.
“Earlier today we observed a large group of bees swarming a tall pinnacle of rock about two hours walking time to the south. This is a spire of sharp rock, similar to that of the cliffs here, with nothing else as tall nearby. We stayed and observed for several hours, and investigated the surrounding areas, but didn’t see any Faction fighters, or any sign that they had been there.” Several people in the audience sat up, excitedly, while some others looked apprehensive. Another Scout, the second in command, spoke next.
“Obviously, we understand that this could be a trap,” she said. “A group of bees this size, especially lately, is almost always being covered by the Faction. We considered this possibility when forming our recommendation.” She looked at the leader, who spoke again.
“We think that given the logistics, the benefits of striking the bees outweighs the potential risks.” A murmur rose through the room like a wave, starting in the back and gathering speed until it broke over the Scouts. They smiled because it seemed to be a mix of excitement and apprehension. A good sign. It meant they would have plenty of volunteers. Those who were apprehensive would be the weakest links on the team, so it was always better not to send them out if you didn’t have to. Another Scout, a man named Briton, spoke next.
“First, we think that there may be much more bee activity nearby, and that could account for the absence of Faction fighters.” He turned to a map, which was crudely drawn and pinned to the tent wall behind him. “Routine samples of the air quality collected over the past few weeks have indicated that a good deal of organic matter is being consumed and digested directly west of here. That is accounting for the increased red haze that you’re seeing in the air.”
“Some of this can be attributed to the storm systems,” said the Scout leader, “but not all of it.”
“Second, we know all too well that the Faction fighters are much better armed than we are, and that their tech is very sophisticated. That also makes it heavy, and not very agile. We think that if they do know about this group of bees, they may have opted to leave them alone because they won’t be able to scale the pinnacle. Now, of course, the Faction might have assumed that we thought of all of these options. Getting us halfway up the pinnacle before ambushing us would be a very convenient thing for them.”
“Which brings us to our plan,” the leader said. “We’re recommending that we assemble a team of six to seven fighters. We’ll travel in two separate groups to the pinnacle so as not to arouse suspicion if any Faction scouts notice us.”
“One group of three will scale the pinnacle and begin to exterminate the bees,” the second in command said. “The second group of three or four will observe the base of the pinnacle from several points nearby. We have scouted these points and feel that they provide adequate cover, a good view of the pinnacle, and a fast enough route to reach the base if Faction forces begin to close in.”
“It is our hope that, should the Faction attempt to attack while we are on the rock face, we can pin them down against the base of the rocks and neutralize them.” At this point, nearly everyone in the room seemed to begin talking at once to each other. The Stranger looked around and was startled to realize that Pigman was standing beside him, clutching the Becoller in his glass dome covering. Pigman looked nervous, and the Becoller seemed to be asleep, neither of which was unusual.
“I don’t think I can be on the climb team,” Pigman said. “I’m really not good at climbing.”
“That’s ok,” The Stranger replied, “I’m pretty sure they’ll have all the volunteers that they’ll need.” The Scouts gave the room a minute to talk before they signaled for quiet again.
“Unfortunately, because of the storm activity, it may be impossible to initiate this operation tomorrow.” With that, the room again burst into a buzz of voices. The leader held up his hands again and spoke loudly over the din.
“The dust storm moving in is massive, and carrying a significant amount of large particles. While it’s possible that it will dissipate before it reaches our camp, or will change course and not head toward the pinnacle, at the moment it is projected to do both. If the storm hits, everyone here will need to shelter in place and avoid any kind of physical exertion. We’re no longer able to clear these larger particles from your lungs.”
“But how do you know the bees will still be there the day after tomorrow?” someone called out from the back of the room.
“We don’t,” the second in command replied.
“But the size of the rock pinnacle, and the speed with which bees typically consume this type of rock, leads us to believe that, if left uninterrupted, these bees could be at this location for months,” Briton paused for the expected reaction from the group.
“Was Lesley part of this planning?” A person in the room called out. This got the largest reaction yet. Everyone was always slightly suspicious of any plans or orders that didn’t come with Lesley’s blessing. It was a great thing, this type of company loyalty, The Stranger thought to himself, when your leader was well. For that reason, they had opted to not let everyone know the full extent of Lesley’s sickness. The Scout leader searched the room and spotted The Stranger. They locked eyes, and The Stranger shook his head almost imperceptibly.
“Lesley has been briefed on the situation and the plan, and is supportive.” Again, the crowd reacted, with someone shouting angrily over the others.
“Then why isn’t he here?”
“Why isn’t he leading this mission?” Next to The Stranger, Pigman began to tremble. He clutched the Becoller close to his chest. The Scout leader again attempted to quiet and calm everyone down.
“Lesley has been involved in all operations, and prior to each one, assesses whether or not his presence will be an asset or a hindrance. In a small operation like this, he has opted to stay behind.” Before the crowd could start up again, the second in command spoke up.
“Our next step is going to be assembling a team. If you are interested in joining this operation, please come to the front of the tent. If you feel you would be best suited to climb the pinnacle, please see me. If you want to handle watch duty on the ground, please talk to Weissberg.” She pointed to another Scout, who had been quiet the entire time.
That officially concluded the meeting. Some people made their way out of the tent, and others clamored to the front to volunteer. The Stranger made eye contact with the Scout leader again and they stepped over to a rear entrance of the tent.
***
Outside, it was now completely dark, and the Scout leader and The Stranger stepped away from the tent. The Stranger kept an eye on the tent to make sure no one, in particular Pigman, had followed them. It wasn’t that Pigman wasn’t a valuable member of this group. It was just that he rarely handled pressure well, and so it was easier to keep him in the dark as much as possible. He mostly stood watch over Lesley and carried messages from the camp to The Stranger. He would be useless in a battle.
“I think that went ok,” The Stranger said. “You have a good, solid plan and they were all on board.”
“I just wish we could get through one operation without an uproar happening over whether he’s going to join in.”
“He was their leader for a long time,” The Stranger said. “And he has the Becoller, so for a while he seemed to be part prophet, too. He always knew what was going to happen next. I actually wonder, if he was well, would he still make that impression on them? The Becoller hasn’t spoken in years.”
“I wonder that, too,” the Scout leader said. “Anyway, I guess for official purposes, we should tell Lesley the plan.”
“I was going to head over there now. I’m sure he’s either asleep or raving, but I’ll make a point of saying the whole plan out loud. You want to come?”
“Nah, you've got it. I’m going to go have a look at the equipment stores and make sure they’re prepped.”
“You going along on this one?”
“I will if we don’t get enough climbers,” the Scout leader said. “I know there are more than enough brutal lunatics willing to go for ground duty, but I’m not sure about how many will be up for heights. Otherwise, Samma will lead the group to the location, and the rest of us will stay behind.”
“That’s a good idea,” The Stranger said, “It’s probably better you stick around and keep scouting,” He offered his hand and the Scout leader shook it.
“I’ll come get you right away if anything comes of my visit to Lesley,” he said, and walked back to the tent to look for Pigman.
***
The Stranger stood at the entrance to the cave that Lesley shared with Pigman and the Becoller. While Pigman fussed around the room, attempting to light a small stove for tea, which The Stranger had said he didn’t want, Lesley slept fitfully in a sleeping bag, on top of a makeshift bed. As he predicted, the man didn’t wake or give any acknowledgement that anyone was in the room, but The Stranger dutifully reported the plan to him anyway. When he was finished, he quietly left the cave and made his way back to his own. The air felt heavy and metallic. The storm was on its way.
When The Stranger returned to his own cave, he groped for the lantern in the dark and managed to light it. He took a seat at his desk, removed his letter from his pocket, and resumed his writing.
Lesley’s illness has progressed to the point where he exists half in the dream world, which is also the World of Death. Having taken shelter on the Easter Edge worsens his condition. The air is bad here. Our supplies are dwindling. I don’t know how much longer he can last here.
Lesley tells me, when he can collect himself, that I must record his dreams as he tells them, but he won’t say why. I was beginning to believe that it wouldn’t matter anyway. When Lesley recites his dreams, he raves incoherently, sometimes in languages that I fear do not belong to this planet.
***
The stranger awoke with a start, believing it was morning, even though it was still completely dark in his cave. Eventually he noticed that the mouth of the cave was a shade lighter than the inside, and slightly red. The storm was raging outside, and while the sun was rising, it was struggling to cast its light through the thick red dust. He lay on his cot, watching the opening of the cave get gradually brighter as an eerie red glow washed over him.
After a while, The Stranger got up and made his way over to his desk. He lit the lantern and its light pushed the red gloom back to the edges. He opened his small provisions kit and took out a lump of something that resembled a cross between dirt and granola and began to gnaw at it. This biscuit had been developed to be a nutritious food source that would last a very long time without spoiling. He didn’t actually know how old it was, but the saving grace was that these biscuits never tasted fresh, even just after they were made. When he finished, he took a drink from his canteen, which tasted metallic, and left the cave.
Outside, he walked slowly. It was difficult to breathe. The air felt thick in his lungs, as if every breath he took coated them in another layer. It was the right call not to start the mission today. As he made his way along the rocky ledge, the camp was quiet. It seemed like everyone had taken the advice of the Scouts.
***
Inside the cave with Lesley, Pigman and the Becoller, The Stranger sat on a low stool near a weak lantern. He had another scrap of paper and a pencil, ready to record anything Lesley said. Pigman walked over to Lesley’s bed and crouched down. He was sleeping fitfully again, but was quiet. Pigman reached out and gently shook Lesley, but he didn’t react. Pigman looked at The Stranger, who nodded.
Pigman shook Lesley, harder this time. Nothing happened. Pigman started to look nervous and was about to get up and walk away from Lesley’s bed when The Stranger gave him a look. He tried again.
“RAAAAHHHHH,” Lesley growled, sitting upright on his sleeping pallet. Pigman jumped backward and stood, shaking and staring at Lesley. The Stranger looked on intently, but he honestly wasn’t expecting much.
Lesley looked around the cave for a moment, as if unsure of where he was. His hair was wild from the long days and nights of thrashing around in a fitful sleep. The sleeping bag fell down to his waist, revealing his bare chest and torso. The scar from his last battle glowed diagonally from his right collar bone down to his armpit. It was healing, but barely. A tattoo reading “Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here”, directly above his heart, stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin. No one knew the story behind that tattoo, and it was cause for much speculation among the resistance. The Stranger had his own theory.
“Lesley,” The Stranger called out, “how are you feeling?” It took Lesley a minute to locate the voice, but eventually he turned and looked at The Stranger. For once, his eyes were clear and focused, something they hadn’t been since the injury and the onset of his illness. He moved his jaw back and forth a few times, as if testing to see if it worked. Lesley hadn’t consciously or deliberately spoken in a long time.
“I feel…” he said softly, his voice coming out like a broken whisper, “like I’ve been fighting a battle for months.”
“Well, you’ve been fighting,” The Stranger said, “but not the battle you think.” Lesley nodded.
“Sir? Water?” Pigman asked. Lesley attempted to turn his head and only made it about halfway to looking at Pigman. He stopped and nodded. Pigman scuttled off to get a canteen.
“How is the fight progressing?” Lesley asked. The Stranger shrugged.
“I won’t give you the whole history right now,” he said. “Once you’re stronger, we’ll sit down with the Captains and go over the details. At the moment we’ve only lost significant ground on the North Ridge, and everywhere else is holding.” Pigman returned with the canteen and Lesley winced as he attempted to turn. Pigman supported him while he held the canteen to his lips and drank. When he was finished, and was somewhat comfortable again, he looked back at The Stranger.
“What about our numbers? Any significant losses?”
“A few, but nothing catastrophic. We also located another group a few months ago near the canyon and they’ve joined us.”
“So there are more survivors out there. I always suspected.” Lesley was quiet for a moment before continuing. “I’m almost afraid to ask how long I’ve been out.”
“Long enough,” The Stranger said.
“The people ask about you constantly,” added Pigman.
“I would like to speak to them,” he said.
“I don’t know if that would be wise right now,” Pigman said. He looked at The Stranger, his eyes pleading for backup. Their leader was too weak to move around the camp.
“Pigman is right,” The Stranger said, “But the fact that you’re sitting up and talking is great. You should be able to address the group really soon if you keep this up. Maybe even return to battle.”
“Where are we fighting right now?” he asked.
“No one is actively fighting at the moment. There’s a dust storm sitting right on top of us. As you can probably tell, it’s making the air unsafe to breathe. I struggled just walking over here. But there is a mission planned for a small group, who will head out once the storm clears.”
“Who’s leading?”
“McCartney.”
“Good.”
“Sir,” Pigman interjected, “can I get you something to eat?”
“I don’t know if I can handle anything heavy right now, Pigman,” Lesley replied.
“Not to worry, sir,” Pigman said, “unfortunately we… uh... don’t have much in the way of heavy rations anymore. But I could prepare a thin porridge for you. Or perhaps a broth?”
“A broth, then,” Lesley said. “But only a little.” Pigman got to work on the little makeshift cookstove at the front of the cave. The Stranger looked at Lesley for a long moment.
“Is there a message you would like me to take to the group?” he asked. “I could read it to them at the next gathering, which will probably be when this mission returns. It would do wonders for morale.”
“Morale is low, then?”
“Well, at times. And more due to your absence than the current state of the battle.” Lesley seemed to turn this over in his mind. He was quiet for a long moment before finally speaking again.
“Have I been here the whole time?” he asked The Stranger.
“You mean physically?”
“Yeah, my body.”
“Yes,” The Stranger replied, “Since you were injured, you’ve been asleep almost the entire time. Occasionally you’ve woken up, spoken, tried to move around, but you didn’t seem to be completely conscious when you did.”
“You didn’t make any sense when you were talking, either, sir,” Pigman added. “I don’t think you were speaking human words.” Lesley nodded.
“Why do you ask?” The Stranger asked.
“Well, I’m time-displaced,” Lesley said, “I’m sure I told you that?”
“Yes, I recall. But you said you always had good control over it.”
“I always have, but I’ve never been in a situation where I wasn’t conscious or in control of myself for so long. With the dreams I’ve been having, I wasn’t sure. They seem so real sometimes. I thought maybe they weren’t dreams at all. That maybe I was traveling to them and they were real places and real things happening.”
“Sir, you’ve been here the whole time,” Pigman said. “I’ve kept watch over you almost every hour of the day.”
“Thank you, Pigman. I appreciate that.”
“Lesley,” The Stranger asked, “Did any of the dreams seem significant?”
“Well, in a way, all of them did. But one in particular.” He paused again, as if gathering his thoughts. “I want you to relay this to the fighters before they leave tomorrow. They may not understand it on the surface, but they will in time. Tell them that. Tell them.”
***
After Lesley had relayed his dream, he managed to drink a few sips of a weak broth that Pigman prepared. It seemed to take a lot out of him. His focus and attention faded and he looked suddenly very tired.
He asked for help to lay back down, and Pigman assisted him, covering him with the sleeping bag and repositioning the bundle of sacks that he used as a pillow. Within a few moments, Lesley was asleep. While it seemed a much more peaceful sleep than they’d witnessed him having lately, it was alarming how quickly the strength seemed to drain out of him, leaving him depleted.
After he’d slept soundly and seemingly in comfort for a few minutes, The Stranger took leave of the cave, nodding to Pigman as he did. Pigman watched him go, then returned to the cave, where he began his daily ritual of cleaning, tidying, and keeping watch over Lesley.
The Stranger made his way back to his own cave. The storm appeared to be letting up, but the air still felt heavy and thick. It was necessary to move quite slowly, and by the time he reached his cave, he was winded. He dragged his small stool to the mouth of the cave and sat down to watch the storm pass. Eventually he took out the letter he was writing and read over what Lesley had told him, which he had added to it.
But one morning, in the wake of a horrible dust storm (the sky of the Eastern Edge was stained blood red by the residual dust particles), Lesley recited a dream to me lucidly in the human tongue, because it is the Human Dream.
“I dreamt I was born motherless on an infinite golf course. My only companion was God. From my first day I played golf with God. I lost every time. God is God. What can you do? He didn’t even give me clubs to play with. I had to make my own out of wood and vines. I never knew, and doubt I will ever know, why it took me until so late in life to realize that I didn’t have to play. With my first joy since the day of my birth, I swore at God that I wouldn’t play with him anymore. God turned away and vanished. As I withered and died, I realized what a terrible mistake I had made.”
***
The next morning, the air was clearer. The air in this world was never good, it was never the crisp, clear air that The Stranger remembered from his youth, but it was better than it had been the day before. As he emerged from his cave, the sky was brighter. A thick layer of dust had settled on everything, and as The Stranger walked along the rocky ledge, he left footprints in the dust as if it were freshly fallen snow.
He made his way to the main hall, where the fighters were assembling to leave for the mission to the pinnacle rock. He had Lesley’s message, and would read it to the group before they left.
Inside the tent, a group was standing at the front, going over final checks of the gear that they would be carrying. Another group of people milled around the outside of the tent, and a few were seated on the benches. Most missions began this way. The group of fighters getting ready to head off, and the rest of the camp assembling to show their support. A leader would typically say a few words, as close to a blessing as you could expect from a people who were living in the end of days. In times past, Lesley himself would make this speech.
The Stranger entered the tent and approached the fighters. The Scout leader was there, going over the logistics with the mission leader, the man called McCartney. The Stranger approached.
“Everything look ok?” he asked, shaking hands with each.
“Yeah, the air is clear and there’s no indication of any other storms in the area,” McCartney said.
“We sent a team of Scouts out at first light and they just returned. They didn’t see any sign of bees, and there was no sign of any Faction fighters being in the area, or in the general direction that the fighters are going to be headed,” the Scout leader said.
“Well,” The Stranger said, “I spoke with Lesley.”
“Spoke?” McCartney asked.
“As in, like, you said things to him and he said coherent things back?”
“Yeah,” The Stranger said, nodding, “I’m as surprised as you are, but I went over there yesterday and when Pigman tried to wake him up, he actually woke up fully conscious and present.”
“So what did he say?”
“He asked about the mission, how much progress we’ve made, how many fighters we’ve lost. I told him about the mission heading out today, but I didn’t give him a whole lot of details. I didn’t want him to get worked up. Even though he was conscious, he just seemed so weak. Then he asked about morale.”
“Of course he did,” said the Scout leader.
“What did you tell him?” asked McCartney.
“That it was more that the people missed him, and less about the status of the fight. Then, of course, he said he wanted to come and address the mission.”
“And Pigman said hell no,” said McCartney.
“Well, I don’t disagree. There’s no way he could even get over here, let alone stand up and give an impassioned speech. I actually kinda think seeing him might be a blow for morale more than anything else.”
“He look that bad?”
“Kinda.”
“So what’d you tell him?”
“That I would pass along a message. I managed to convince him that this would be much better for morale than him being here in person. I mean, that’s true, but he didn’t want to believe it.”
“So you have a message from him?”
“I do…”
“But?” the Scout leader asked.
“I mean, it’s not a rousing battle speech. It’s more of a… parable?”
“A parable?”
“Yeah… it’s a story of a dream he had that he thinks is significant and that the people could be inspired by.” Everyone looked skeptical, including The Stranger. “I’ll try to add a little onto it to make it more of a rally cry.”
“Ok, well, we should be ready to go here in a few minutes,” said McCartney. He stepped away and checked in with the fighters.
***
The fighters stood before the assembled group at the front of the hall. The Stranger stood beside the two leaders, ready to make his speech.
“Before we head out, there is a message that we’d like for all of you to hear,” the Scout leader said. He turned to The Stranger.
“Friends, colleagues, I have a message for you today from Lesley.” There was a gasp in the room. The joy was palpable. The Stranger continued.
“As we’ve mentioned, despite his injury, Lesley has been kept up to date on all of the battles that we’ve been involved in, and has monitored our progress closely. While he trusts our leaders completely, he’s provided advice and support as needed. You never go forth from this place without his blessing.” The people seated on the benches began to clap. The Stranger waited for them to stop before continuing.
“Before our fighters head out today, I want to read to you a message from Lesley. I believe that, while it may not seem obvious, you’ll find comfort and inspiration from this story, and that it will carry you through any difficult times to come.” He turned to the fighters and nodded, then turned back to the room. He lifted the paper he’d been carrying with him and was about to read when there was a small commotion at the rear entrance of the tent.
A few people in the back turned to look. One let out a shriek, then another. Some people got to their feet. More people turned, and before long, everyone in the tent was standing, clapping, screaming, as Lesley Andrews himself walked into the tent. The Stranger stood, open mouthed in shock, as his friend made his way up the narrow aisle to the front of the tent. Pigman was nowhere to be seen.
Lesley didn’t look great. He was still skinny, disheveled, and a little unstable. His hair was wild and his face was dirty. That was probably for the best, because it served to mask his extremely pale skin. But compared to the day before, this recovery seemed miraculous. The Stranger didn’t understand how this had happened. He stood there, gaping, along with the rest of the fighters and leaders. When Lesley finally made it to the front of the tent, however, all of the fighters stood at attention and saluted him. Applause and cheers rang out. It was almost deafening.
Smiling, Lesley embraced each of the fighters in turn, then the leaders, and finally, The Stranger. As he leaned in, he whispered to The Stranger.
“Don’t worry about the speech. I’ll take it from here.” Stepping away, he turned to the audience and held up his hands for silence.
“Friends, I come here today to tell you the story of a dream that I had. I believe that this dream will bring you comfort, power, and inspiration in all times to come, and I hope that you carry it, and its message, with you wherever you find yourself in the future.
“This, my friends, is The Human Dream.”
***
When Lesley had finished his speech, the room sat in a stunned silence for a while, as the people processed the story they had just been told. Eventually, someone began clapping. Others joined in, and soon the room was cheering again, with the people on their feet. Whether they were inspired by the speech, or simply by the presence of their leader, was unclear.
After embracing each of the fighters again, and saying something softly and privately to each as he did, Lesley stepped aside to allow the fighters to march out of the tent. Usually, the people in the tent would file out behind them, standing at attention outside of the tent as the fighters headed off into battle. No one moved this time, as all eyes were still fixed on Lesley. He finally motioned to the group that they should follow the fighters, and eventually they did, turning their backs to him reluctantly.
When the tent had emptied, only Lesley and The Stranger remained. The Stranger turned to him. “How did you manage this?”
“I think you know,” Lesley said. They were quiet for a while, then Lesley spoke again. “I know it seems ridiculous to know the ending and to keep coming back. But each time I do, I feel like we get closer.”
“Yeah, I get it,” The Stranger said. “Whoever thought drastic changes were possible didn’t really understand a thing about time displacement.”
“Anyway,” Lesley said, turning toward the opening at the front of the tent, “thanks for always giving me the details.” He stepped through the tent, calling over his shoulder as he did.
“Until next time!”
The Stranger looked around the empty tent. He could hear the cheers and whistles of the people outside, sending the fighters off to battle. He took out his letter one last time and began to write.
I’m afraid the bees are closing in on us. I’m afraid that we are the last of our once-great family. I’m afraid this message may never reach the world. I’m afraid.
I entrust our souls to God.
***
After the fighters left, a few people returned to the tent, hoping for a moment or two alone with Lesley. They found that the tent was empty, with no sign of Lesley or The Stranger. They hadn’t seen either man leave when they were outside doing the send off for the fighters.
A few people went to the opening in the tent behind where Lesley and the fighters had been standing. Pulling back the canvas flap, they looked out. Behind the tent was an empty clearing. It was flat and desolate for several hundred yards, leading to the place where the vast boulder field began. The people looked in all directions, but saw no one.
One woman looked down at the ground, still covered in a thick layer of red dust. She called to the others, and pointed out two sets of footprints, obviously belonging to Lesley and The Stranger. They followed the footprints into the clearing and there, in the middle, they stopped suddenly. It was as if Lesley and The Stranger had just disappeared.
***
Later, another group trekked to the cave that Lesley shared with Pigman and the Becoller. Inside, they found Pigman weeping next to Lesley’s body, which was laying on top of his sleeping bag on his pallet bed. When the group had gotten Pigman to calm down enough to speak, they learned that Lesley had passed away in the night.
Across the room, the Becoller’s glass dome glowed brightly, and his fins and frills swayed gently but eagerly back and forth. The Becoller’s eyes were open. He was about to speak.
Las Vegas, Nevada - Present Day…
The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks sat on mopeds at a traffic light on the The Strip. In the crosswalk before them, a never ending stream of tourists crossed in both directions, all sweating and struggling in the desert heat.
Dixie stood up from her moped, with one foot on the ground, balancing the bike against her leg. She drew a rifle from a rack mounted to the back of the bike and raised it to her shoulder. Cocking her head to one side, she trained the rifle at the tourists in the crosswalk, watching them through a high powered scope.
Suddenly, the view through the scope was completely obscured. Dixie raised her head, lowered the gun, and looked at the end of it. There, perched on the stock just in front of the scope, was a very large, very scary looking bee. Dixie studied the bee for a moment before giving the rifle a little shake, sending the bee buzzing off into the heat of the Nevada summer evening.
“Johnny,” she said, turning to him, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Undocumented drag queen day laborers!” they cried in unison, before gunning the motors of their mopeds and speeding off down the strip.
