Poet's Moon

A ledge. Or so it appeared. Jutting out, seemingly miles above the ground, that was the only decision that seemed logical. A ledge, connected to some unseen cliff face, that projected itself above a flowing green valley. Dark green. A virtual blanket over the smooth landscape. But, there, in the distance, movement. A jerky sudden movement that vanished within in an instant. But it was there; it had been there. Somewhere to the right of this fleeting image the valley rose to a sudden slope, the blanket of trees flowed upwards contrary to sense. To the far left there was something. Something out of place, subconsciously it seemed to have phallic undertones, it rose from the green and stood triumphant, almost like the builder intended to prove a point. Maybe it was the fact that...

But there it was again, a flicker, dead ahead. Like a wave, only more mechanical, like a swing, but not as graceful. Almost like a crane... Focussing on it, the exercise now over, it stood still, ready for action, yet motionless. Perhaps it had a job, a purpose, and it was done now, perhaps it was resting, perhaps... But questions, yet no answers. Who could be so curious, so interested in machines, with all this beauty who could care? There was only one answer, Them. Them? somewhere deep in the mind that may connect, the capital letter, the idea, the paranoia. Yes, it is Them, they that are among us. Our watchers, observers, the referees of life. Greys, they have been called, appropriately, and yet the boring implication that goes with that epithet is wholly incongruous. The Them watched. They waited. It would happen soon. Locally there were but two. The rest some distance off, the lucky two were here. That is to use human concepts. For the Them believed in a concept that only a few took as their creed, the doctrine that the whole is more important than the individual, a belief which worked. These pair would watch first hand, the rest experience it, record it, re-experience, learn from it. It would teach them what they needed to know, it would help their experiments, give them their results. But even as this concept is being explored things happen, the moon rises overhead, seemingly faster to the different metabolic rate of these outsiders. The 'Locals' controlled their thoughts, focussing on feelings and emotions (what little they were capable of), theories or conjecture were void from their minds. The 'Remotists' wouldn't like such interference, researchers seldom listen to any idea but their own, and those whose lives were devoted whole-heartedly to this profession, were more adamant about this than anything else.

One, the younger (for even in this society age is a consideration), spoke. The language unfamiliar to a human ear, it's slow tones, sharp exclamations, abrupt syllables. But in translation, the words had an emotional feeling. 'Poet's moon. That's what you said. Remember?' He looked over his shoulder at the elder, she smiled.

'But, that was so long ago.' She made a sound, a clearing of the throat sound, perhaps a cough, perhaps a sneeze, but to try and second-guess a species whose full anatomical details are totally beyond even our current comprehension is foolhardy. Whatever the sound was, it quelled the youth's excitement. 'Remember, watch, learn, record but don't think. That's not our job.'

The youth had the urge to question, but to query the Remotists was pointless. In effect the elder was the Remotists spokesperson down here, to disobey her would mean untold disgrace for his clan. After this was over, after he was gone, they would feel the pain, the exile, the humiliation, it was that that stopped the rebellion before it had taken root. But... a tiny sapling of an idea survived. It would not hurt his people but it would give some pleasure, and maybe a little better understanding to him. He decided to try. 'I did not get chance to study the entire case-file...' he left a pause, let the elder attack.

The elder was still calm. 'I expected as much.'

'Could you explain the generalities?' The youth deep down knew that the answer would be yes, eventually, he only wished it would come early.

'A primitive carbon based life-form. You've seen the pictures, I assume?' a vague nod showed his assent. 'They were under the impression that they had conquered their planet and sought to extend their searches to greater distances, without much luck. Perhaps the constant reliance on chemistry was to blame.' This let the pair laugh a small amount, the idea was as ludicrous to them as a caveman trying to demonstrate a square wheel. 'Their local satellite they claimed, the nearest planet likewise, that was as far as they got, feeble. Their major failing, it appears is the basis of their life on hopes, dreams, ideas, fantasies, visions, faiths' the list decreased in volume slowly as she continued. 'But,' the sound level restored, 'this, as even you know, was the point. See if they could survive. They watched a bird, and wanted to fly likewise. They saw a moon, wanted to visit it. Observed wandering planets, they tried to conquer. And, the distant suns they wanted to reach. All because they dreamed.' This reminder sent the elder into some kind of trance induced reverie. Her eyes shut. She spoke not from the mind, but from the heart. That was why she was here. 'I remember the beginning, I had a new idea, they gave me an apprentice, told me to get on with it, out of the way. I felt... yes felt, not thought, but I felt that a people needed not only a consciousness, but more of an ability to question that consciousness, to try to understand it. I wanted them to look up at the moon and...' A sudden shock flew through both of them. The Remotists had had enough. They were to watch. 'It'll start soon.' Those were the elder's final words.

The moon high in the sky, cast a white, but faint, light over the trees. In the distance the crane, immobile, was barely visible. Elsewhere on the horizon the tower with Freudian connections, was lit up, shining like something from a primitive religious rite. A sudden ejaculation from it's top started the beginning of the end. A stream of light behind it, the missile flew off skywards. It wasn't long before the building's light was compounded by an explosion overhead. A fierce light that slowly built to blinding proportions, it reached it's climax before the sound hit. A thunderous boom, the soundwaves knocking down trees due to the ferocity, the fires of the explosion, pushed on by the force of the wind rapidly spread, the whole area was gone by the time the light was dim enough to see by. Nothing remained. Yes, there was land, a few cinders. But of the crane there was nothing, the installation was razed. The ledge was gone, destroyed completely like it had never existed. And then it was over, Man's rape of Mother Earth had finally finished, and yet, within that cold euphoric stillness as the radioactive dust settled, the bacteria and microbes continued their distorted reproduction, and life, of some other kind, began again on the petri dish of earth.

'Well Senator, do you still think the funding is futile?'

The senator, sitting upright waited a few seconds before speaking. The suspense he loved, their waiting. 'Yes. We saw a planet destroyed. So? What's the point, the reasoning, the necessity?'

'With respect sir. The whole point is the fact that we try to find a better race. We cannot advance anymore. We know that. You know that. We reach a plateau a point of terminal advancement. Like terminal velocity it depends on the environment. If we change the environment we may make a race that can advance beyond us.'

'So why did you let them destroy themselves. The self-destruction of a test subject doesn't look too helpful to your project. If you'd saved them they might have advanced.'

'But,' the Remotist spoke slowly and forcefully so the words could penetrate the bureaucratic brain, 'if we interfered we'd change the environment, they might be limited as we were. We have to let them advance alone, that way we stand a chance.'

The senator thought this over, mentally somewhere a light lit up saying that the scientist was right. He pursued that road no further. 'So... what was this one about?'

'As our Local said, hopes and dreams. Our society frowns on non-productive thoughts, dreams are the worst culprits, we do not have them. Her idea was to create a race whose life revolved around dreams, and ambitions. She wanted them, to quote her, "...to look up at the sky and think of poetry, to describe the way the clouds swoop over the moon, how the dust makes it red, the imagery. But most of all to want to know why..." she called the experiment Poets' Moon for that reason. Even at that time she was slipping. Non-productive thoughts were taking over. That's why she volunteered to stay. To die observing her creation...' inside the scientist felt something, he almost dared to admit it was emotion, he had always liked her, it was a shame she was no more. 'But, their dreams made them paranoid. If you look upwards a lot, you are always unsure of where you're walking, any slight change in land or life brought the dreamers out of their hopes and back to reality, this change caused paranoia. They were frightened of each other. The slow build up of distrust caused the final war. A war we couldn't stop...' The Senator seemed about to speak.

'So, they were destined to self-destruct, by their very nature.'

'Perhaps. But perhaps not. Their dreaming could have caused co-operation, could have caused advancement. It was a shame it took a wrong turn...'

Again the Senator was ready to voice is views. 'I am going to recommend the continuation of the project for a further fifty tests, then re-evaluation will occur. It may be me again. But I doubt it. Too many non-productive thoughts...'

Somewhere in the depths of space the final words of the elder travelled, having been received by the Remotists they echoed outwards, outwards, out... Perhaps someone else might hear them, perhaps another of the tests. But one things for sure, whoever does hear it, Them will hear it too.

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Page last updated on 12th November 1998

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