Pathways - Jeri Taylor [184]
“You mean—people stopped writing about us? We’ve lost part of the past?”
Toscat looked impatient. “What good was it doing us? Nothing ever changed, and fewer people knew how to read or write.” He turned to her and gave her a skeptical look. “I trust you can read. No one’s going to do it for you if you can’t.”
Kes lifted her chin proudly. “Of course I can read. And write. My father and mother made sure of that.”
Toscat made a funny sound in his throat, a cross between a grunt and a chuckle, which irritated Kes even more. She turned away from him. “Can I start now?” she asked coolly.
The man shrugged. “As you like. The door will lock behind you automatically, so if you leave and want to return, you’ll have to contact me.”
“It will take me days to go through all these books.”
“I would imagine so. I’ll arrange to have food and drink brought to you.”
He turned to go, but she was compelled to make one last effort to reach out to him, to share this remarkable experience. “Toscat . . . the first time you read these writings, weren’t you excited? Didn’t it inspire you?”
He stared at her with a curious expression on his face. “I’ve never read any of these old tomes,” he said dismissively. “I’ve never had time—and I can’t imagine what good would come of it anyway.”
He turned and went out the door, which closed behind him. Kes stared after him in amazement. Ocampan history was here, at his fingertips, and he’d ignored it. Something was very, very wrong with their people if they could purposely ignore the precious connection to their past. She went to the first book on the top shelf in the oldest section and pulled it out, releasing a small dust cloud as she did. She carried it to the table, opened it to the first scrawled page of writing, and began, in rapt absorption, to read.
“They called it the warming. Gradually the climate got hotter and hotter, until the water on the surface was almost dried up and the whole planet was a desert. The Caretaker opened a deep chasm in the ground and led our people here to the city he’d created. Then he erected a special energy barrier that would keep the Kazon from following. He promised to take care of us forever.”
Kes spoke with breathless excitement to her friends, who listened with hushed, eager attention. They were as avid as she to hear the details of their past, and had sat quietly, listening, as Kes chronicled their origins.
“And this is the most exciting part,” she continued. “I think our ancestors could do things with their minds that we’re no longer aware of. They make reference to some extraordinary abilities—like moving objects with their minds—but after eighty or ninety generations, there’s no more mention of such things.”
“What could’ve happened?” mused Daggin. He had gathered the group, which Kes was gratified to see now numbered about forty people. The farmers’ ranks were swelling.
“I think we lost those abilities because we stopped using them. The Caretaker provides everything. We’ve become lazy because we don’t have to work to survive. Our mind is like a muscle that’s atrophied from disuse.”
“But what does any of this have to do with the diseased people the Caretaker is sending us?” This was from Allia, a nurse that worked at the central clinic, and a new face in the group. She had burnished auburn hair and a kind, compassionate voice. Kes imagined she would be a very good nurse indeed. “And why has he increased the amount of energy he sends?”
No one had an answer for this, though everyone was aware that the pulses which signaled the delivery of energy had increased as of late.
“Something has changed,” said Kes. “Something is different from what it’s been for almost five hundred generations. And I think