My short story “Arc of Time” recently appeared in Metastellar: Speculative Fiction & Beyond. Described by them as an “epistolary account of alien discovery on Earth over time,” the story follows the fate of a mysterious and charismatic character Dante Sarpé and his associates over several centuries.

Here’s how it begins (click on the link above to read the complete story):

—I-net correspondence

from:     F. Y. Benoit, Ph.D.,Paris, France

to:     Dr. F. Wolke, Bonn, Germany

September 6, 2096

Dearest Friedrich,

I missed you at the World Sustainable Environment Congress in London last week. Where were you? I thought you were going to come? You should have heard Dante Sarpé. He captivated the congress right from the start with an introductory quote from the 20th Century social ecologist, Aldo Leopold: “Ecosystems are not only more complex than we think, they are more complex than we can think.” Describing the grave environmental calamity facing us as a symptom, Dante challenged our present paradigms and values to achieve peace and harmony. He submitted that our insatiable thirst for knowledge reflected unease with ourselves and a lack of partnership with our world.

He moved me with his parting words, Friedrich: “The branch of the tree cannot bear fruit of itself. Without compassion to fill it, knowledge is an empty house, casting its shadow on our courage to embrace the paradoxes in our lives: to feel love in the face of adversity; grace when confronted with betrayal.”

The conference was very well attended. Over 3,000 scientists and socio-economists came from all over the world. I wished you’d come, Friedrich. I drank my coffee alone, longing for your stimulating company.

Love,

Françoise Yvette

✸✸✸

A breeze braced the boy as he scrambled up the mountain. When he reached the old woman’s hut at the summit, he shielded his eyes against the sun and saw her, stepping with fluid movements in some meditative exercise. He crept closer and watched from a distance as Da’at performed her graceful dance, limbs coiling and slithering to an inner rhythm.

After completing a full turn, she pulled her rags about her and faced the boy with a nod.

He stepped forward. “What were you doing, Mama?” he asked. Da’at was not his mother, but she had looked after him since before he could remember. She always called him her blue-eyed chosen one.

“They will call it Tai Chi Chuan,” she said in a deep voice, easing herself to the ground and crossing her legs. “It is an exercise of the will, mind, and body toward the Way of Nature. Something you must learn, boy.”

“It was beautiful.” The boy squatted beside her and looked into her green eyes. Her motions had reminded him of the elegance of the cormorant and the spring of the furry Purgatorius.

“The purpose of the movements is to transfer the Chi, or the intrinsic energy, to the Shen, or spirit, by using inner rather than outer force.” She trained her gaze to the bright sun and her eyes sparkled like emeralds. “It brings me closer to my eternal love who dwells now only on the shafts of light and the whisper of the wind.”

The boy tilted his head and squinted, trying to grasp the meaning of her strange words. She often spoke cryptically, expecting him to understand.

Da’at turned to the boy. “If you practice Tai Chilong enough and execute it properly, you will become reconnected with the unity of everything, including the fourth dimension.”

“What is the fourth dimension?”

Da’at smiled wearily. “Time, my chosen one.”

The worn lines of her masculine face resembled weathered rock. She had always looked old yet she never seemed to age. “Is that why you can see into the future?” the boy asked, rocking on the balls of his feet.

She folded her arms on her knees and her thick brows knit together. “Future? What is that?” Before he could respond, she added, “You have much to learn about time and space, boy. Do you think we inhabit one place and one time? Our universe is not only more complex than you think; it is more complex than you can think.”

A dove flew overhead. Da’at gazed up at the bird and raised her hands in supplication. “My Shekhinah, I sense your presence here. How will my chosen one acquire wisdom when you elude us like the shifting wind?”

Reminded of why he’d come, the boy moved onto his knees and leaned forward. He focused on the dark hairs on Da’at’s chin and, taking a deep breath, he said, “While I was napping in the forest, I had a strange dream. About a faraway place unlike any I’ve seen. Full of huts taller than the Gingko trees and so many people like me, crowded inside them like ants.”

Da’at nodded to herself. “The dove has spoken to you.”

✸✸✸

To read the full story go to Arc of Time on the Metastellar site.