Canticle Blue

3. Airship

Music - Improbable Landscape by Tim Story

"Certainly the outer world, the inner world, and the world of the spirit, are chapters in the same book."
      —Grahmen Ravi

The airship Onekotan was no stranger to the northern shipping routes, nor to the Sea of Blue Ice where Per'sa Island was located. For the better part of the first day, the ship had been out of site of land, moving steadily—often imperceptibly—northward. Its four engines were having little trouble with the headwinds encountered thus far. It was a chartered tandem model. Its transport unit featured twin ballonets separated by a frame, with a gondola suspended between them. The gondola was large enough to include passenger compartments for up to twenty people. The landing unit fit below and between the transport ballonets, and its crew-cargo compartment connected to the rear door of the Onekotan. It was powered by two steerable propeller-driven electric motors and was used to ferry passengers and cargo to areas where maneuverability would be limited. Since it could be mated to several different airships, it had a name of its own: the Lo'an. Each airship unit controlled its own buoyancy.

From his airship window, Havilan Meid could see only whitecaps and dark water in every direction. In this area, Havel could easily be taken for a water-world. He didn't tire of the view, though his eyes were becoming heavy from lack of sleep. He would occasionally focus on one breaking wave and reflect on the chaos emerging from the crest. Then, with half-closed eyes, he would imagine the formation of written characters and strings of text in the froth and spray, waves of coalescing words, spreading out like one long story, line upon line. But he didn't have to wholly imagine it. He knew of such a story.

As he lingered at the window, he considered the invisible things that could be seen with the eyes and mind. He could see the wind in the waves. He could not see land, but knew it was ahead. He couldn't sense the ship's direction, but felt confident that it was the right one.

During supper that night, he was joined by Elyse Gan, a childhood friend. They
found a small, relatively private table and took their food trays there. As she held their glasses, while he placed the trays, she asked, "So, what do you think we should talk about first? This is really nice, isn't it?"

"It is," he answered. We even have a little window. Maybe we can try to figure out which of these entrees is dessert."

She looked them over. "Let's see...which vegetable dish would be best for dessert?" She pointed tentatively to one. "I think that one is at least sweet. And, speaking of things that try to be sweet, my mom told me that I should watch over you on this trip."

He swallowed a bite without chewing. "That sounds... good to me. But why?"

"She said she thought you were one of those scholarly types who probably forget to eat sometimes. She said she was glad you got to go on the trip; but the last time she saw you, you looked too tired and too skinny."

And he probably was, on both counts. He began to wander off in thought. The word "scholar" still sounded a bit strange when applied to him. He had two Bryn Institute degrees in ancient scripts and dialects, and had already helped recognized textual scholars in translation work. He was also familiar with nearly all available Per'sa manuscripts, and well-versed in their history and culture. Sometimes he could scarcely get his personal thoughts and questions about them out of his head. But on this trip, and especially at this moment, he was just very glad just to be a team member on an adventure with nearly all of his favorite childhood friends.

"See, you're already forgetting to eat," Elyse said. "And here I am to tell you." Her voice, however welcome, penetrated his mind as if it came from another reality.

"So sorry, Elyse. I heard everything you said, but my mind is prone to tangents sometimes."

"Then you should take me with you on those 'tangents' and tell me what we did when you get back," she teased. But she actually wished he would. "Mom says you have to take care of me too. She thinks there could be dangerous plants up there, I suppose. She probably got weirded out by some of my lab work."

"I think I can protect you from plants at least," Havilan laughed, as he tried to picture her insidious hybrids.

Then she changed the subject. "Do you think the Per'sa were that much different
from us? To me, it sounds like they lived like us—or maybe we like them—and believed lots of the same things."

"I do think they were like us," he replied. "There's so much more I would like to know. But, they've been gone for 300 years. I think they paid more attention to what they might have called 'the pursuit of God' than we do. They were more like the original colonists in that regard. To them, the mind and life—if not the spirit--couldn't be properly balanced without nurturing that aspect of their existence. May I read something to you?"

"Sure."

He pulled a small book from his coat pocket and began to leaf through it. "This is from a Per'sa homily:

'It is a misconception for other cultures to think that we spend our lives merely seeking truth, or even the ultimate truth. For one thing, truth does not hide. What we actually seek is for the quality of our lives to be such that, when we are sought by truth, we will be found.'

"Now, if you ask me what that means, we're going to be here for awhile. But it gives you some idea... It does beg the question: How would you know how to live without knowing ultimate truth? I think their answer might be that they felt they could know God, and that would open the door to learning how to live.

"Anyway, I hope we find some textual material on the island. I'm sure It's not lost on the Institute that the Per'sa civilization seems to have failed. If they were like us, then what happened?

"And, I know I went off on a tangent again..."

"As long as you finish your supper," she said.

They talked well into the night about everything that mattered to them, even if what mattered most was to keep the conversation going. When they reluctantly retired to their cabins, each of them wondered if their dreams might be visited by the other.

Elyse shared her quarters with Annibet Sem. Sometime after midnight, she woke up, and Annibet wasn't there. She found her asleep at one of the windows, with her head resting on a table. When she touched her shoulder, she barely stirred. "Annibet, you need to get to bed. I'll help you."

Annibet raised her head slightly. "Elyse."

"What?"

"I think my cheek went flat." All of her words had soft edges to them. "I mean, I
know it's still there, but maybe it didn't want to be a cheek anymore. I don't want to have half a face."

"You're still half-asleep. Your cheek looks fine," she assured her. "A little reddish, maybe. It'll come back to you." She made efforts to help her to her feet.

"But," Annibet pointed out the window to shimmering water in every direction, "It's a two-moon night."

So Elyse sat down next to her, and they watched the sea for another hour. When she finally led Annibet on a weaving path to their cabin, she let her have the bottom bunk.