trip to the Creators’ realm. Had I really been there, cavorting with dolphins? Or was it all an illusion, a self- imposed dream, a feverish attempt at escapism?
My self-questioning quickly ended. I felt something brush against my badly burned leg. Just a touch, enough to make me twitch with alarm and get a mouthful of salt water in return. Then it was gone. But it would be back, I knew.
I remembered those tentacled horrors in the swamp, and wondered what predators this ocean harbored. Alone, half-dead, weaponless, I was going to be easy prey for some hungry hunter.
The sea will always be my friend, the dolphins had told me. I doubted it.
Another touch, making me flinch again. I remembered that sharks will often nudge their prey, bump it, almost play with it like a cat with a mouse before snapping it up in those horrendous tearing teeth.
Should I play dead or try to swim away? Would it make any difference?
It was no shark. This time I felt a tentacle delicately wrapping itself around the burned remains of my ankle. I shook my leg and it let go.
But not for long. The tentacle came back at precisely the same spot. This time it held fast. Quickly another slithered across my chest. I could feel its suckers attaching themselves to my burned flesh, delicately, almost tenderly.
I knew it was hopeless but I gulped down a big swallow of air as the tentacles pulled me below the surface. Bubbles gurgled in my ears. We sank down into the cold inky depths of the ocean.
Now I’m hallucinating, I told myself. First I dream about dolphins and now I hallucinate that I can hear their voices in my mind. While I’m being pulled down to the bottom of the sea by some tentacled monster. If I don’t drown the pressure will cave in my ribs soon enough.
I lost track of time as we sank deeper and deeper into the sea. There was no light to see by, no sensation at all except the rush of water swirling by me.
I could hear more than gurgling, I realized. There were crackling sounds all around me. Hoots and whistles and soft thrumming noises. And off in the distance a faint melodic crooning that rose and fell. None of the clicks and whistles of dolphins, though.
I hadn’t realized I’d been keeping them shut. Involuntarily I gasped. I was surrounded by hundreds of soft glowing points of light, like being in the middle of a meadow full of fireflies or in the heart of a cluster of gleaming stars.
And when I gasped I had air to breathe.
“Can you hear me?” the voice asked. And I could. It was using sound rather than telepathy or whatever form of mind contact it had used before.
“Good,” it said, without my answering. “The air globe is stabilized and you should feel more comfortable. We will see what can be done about your wounds.” The voice was silky soft, warm and calm.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Where are we?”
The lights danced and twinkled around me, blue and red and green and yellow, but I could not make out any shapes.
“We are nearing the bottom of the sea, roughly a hundred kilometers from the shore where the Skorpis have made their base.”
“You know about them?”
I sensed a tolerant chuckle. “Yes, we know about them. And about you.” The voice grew darker, more severe. “And about the way you casually slaughter one another.”
“I wouldn’t call it casual,” I replied.
No response. The lights flickered around me, as if they were dancing in a sphere all around me, binding me in a web of blinking colorful flashes of energy.
“You haven’t told me who you are,” I said.
“You may call us the Old Ones.”
“What does that mean?”
Again that tolerant sense of amusement, like a grandfather watching a baby’s hesitant first steps.
“You will find out in due course,” the voice said. “For now, we must travel deeper into the sea.”
I got a sense of motion, acceleration, a tremendous rushing through the dark waters. The lights remained all around me. I could breathe. I seemed to be floating weightlessly, almost like an astronaut in orbit. In the dim flickering light I could see that my wounds were scabbing over. The bleeding had stopped completely and I felt a little stronger. All the while I was moving through the inky depths, speeding deeper and deeper, farther and farther from the shore.
At last I saw more lights approaching. They glowed and pulsated as if they were living, breathing creatures. Whole avenues of light opened up before my eyes, as if I were flying toward a vast city, swooping along a highway of lights that led to its magnificent heart.
“How do you feel?” the voice asked.
“Bewildered.”
“I mean physically. Your wounds.”
I flexed my arms, looked down at my legs. They were healing rapidly.
“Everything seems to be going along fine.”
“Good. We are pleased.”
“Tell me more about yourselves. What is this city of lights that we are approaching?”
“This is our home, Orion. The home of the Old Ones.”
“May I see you?” I asked, sensing that these lights were merely sparks of energy.
“You may be unpleasantly surprised,” the voice replied. “You may be repelled by our appearance.”
“Then tell me what to expect.”
“A reasonable approach to the problem.” The voice hesitated, as if checking with others before answering my request. Then:
“Orion, your Creators have told you that space-time is an ocean, have they not?”
“The one called Aten has taunted me more than once about my linear perception of space-time,” I answered.
“Yes, we can see that. Yet your linear perception is not entirely in error, Orion.”
“There are currents in the ocean of space-time,” I said.
“And there is a flow, a very definite flow. Time’s arrow exists. Entropy exists. Even though we may move back and forth across the ocean of space-time, we still cannot hold back entropy. The continuum unravels a little whenever we move through space-time. The greater our move, the more disorder arises.”
“But what has this to do with the way you look?” I asked.
“Time’s arrow,” the voice replied. “There are earlier times and later times. There is a point in space-time when your planet Earth is barren and lifeless. There is a point where the human race begins—”
“Built by the Creators and sent to destroy the Neanderthals so that Earth can be inhabited by the Creators’ creatures.”
“Who in turn, over the millennia, evolve into the Creators themselves.”
“Yes. They created us and we created them.”
“There is a point in the evolution of our kind,” the voice said, “when we had not yet developed intelligence, when we were far simpler beings living in the seas of our original world.”
“Lunga is not your original world?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
“Then where did you originate?”
I sensed a hesitation. “Does it matter? Suffice to say that once we were far simpler beings than we are
