Em floated far above the clouds, Earth appearing smaller and smaller as it receded into the vast blackness that was the sky. The sensation of a weightless eternity was a balm to her heart. Soaring. Soaring.
“You are not dead. You are not dreaming.” I kept my voice deep, calm, and soothing. “We have transported you here. Do not be afraid.” She wasn’t. “You believe in aliens.” This was not a question. I knew.
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you believe in gods?”
“They’re nothing more than mankind’s way of explaining our existence. It’s much simpler than that.”
What? Me? Simple? “How so?” I asked. “We happened by pure accident in the evolutionary process.”
Accident! I chuckled. The Guardians wouldn’t like to hear that. “What do you believe happens when you die?”
“I had a near-death experience once. It was like this. Flawless calm.”
Now she was catching on. “And after death?”
“Nothing. Or maybe we become ghosts. Maybe we live another life somewhere.”
Really catching on. “Do you know who we are?”
She looked down to an earth no bigger than a pin point. “The controllers.”
“Yes. We are Powers. We work for the Guardians of the Universe.”
“Sounds suspiciously like talk of gods to me.”
“Not gods. But we do keep an eye on things, so to speak.”
“And interfere when you decide things aren’t going right. Use people like me to do the dirty work.”
Her words, her snarky tone; I should have been indignant, would have been with anyone other than my Little Soldier. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this at the beginning, before I started flailing about Earth on my little errands?” Again, the snarky tone. She really was gutsy or just so angry she didn’t care what I might do to her.
“Experience has taught us it is better for an aboriginal of a planet to learn about the powers we bestow in their own way. You have already learned much. You will continue to learn.”
“Please tell me you are guiding me.”
“All the time at first, yes. Less often now. You have an innate understanding of the complexities of your planet. You, acting on instinct, are ultimately more efficient and effective than our directives could ever be.”
“Christ! Isn’t that putting a little too much faith in a mere human? Not to mention it’s a hell of a burden?”
“What you do weighs heavily, I know.”
“You control my transports. At least you did at first, and still do most often, the locations, the timing.”
Her mind jumping like that scared me. Was she ADHD or something? No, no, I assured myself. It was just the strangeness of it all. I had to reassure her. “Of course,” I said. “You can’t do it all by yourself.”
“How can I be so sure that I am doing the right things?”
“You have always questioned, considered, thought, and wanted more for the world.”
“What do you mean, always? I have no knowledge of a time other than this, of a life before the jungle bloodbath.”
“You are two halves of a whole.”
“I do have another life.” She was ecstatic. The answer made her feel less disconnected as I knew it would. “Why don’t I remember?”
“You already remember some things. More will come to you when the time is right. The relationship of Miracle Madame—silly name they gave you—to your regular life is also better discovered on your own in your own time.”
She looked down; the speck that was Earth even tinier now. She took a deep breath, and then blurted, “How can you be sure that, through me, you are doing the right things for Earth?”
Oh Guardian, the very question I asked myself constantly. She wasn’t supposed to ask it. She was supposed to be my reassurance, my safety net. I had to do something, and fast.
“You worry too much, but that, too, makes you more effective.” My effort to soothe her succeeded only in riling her again.
She threw up her hands. “Now isn’t that just jim-dandy. Obviously, there’ll be no relief from the grinding stress of this hellish role you’ve given me.”
Sometimes she knew too much. And, though she desperately wanted to press the issue, she shifted topics. I sighed with relief. She’d be strong enough—for both of us; do the right things—for both of us.
“But, if I have a real life somewhere else, how is it that I can be gone so much? Doesn’t anyone notice?”
“We control time. To them you’re never gone.” I don’t think she heard my answer. She had so many questions whirling in her head.
“They say I’m perfect, that everything I do is miraculously right.”
“It works best if they think that.”
“Why don’t I—?”
“Do you think war can be stopped?”
“I wish!”
“We know what you wish. The question is— do you think war can be stopped?”
“Under the right conditions, yes.”
“Do it!” If you can, I muttered sotto voice; for even I wasn’t sure we could stop war. I’d do my damnedest of course. She didn’t hear my last words as she watched Earth rise to meet her.
*
“Do you think war can ever be stopped?” She played with her empty water glass, rolling it between her hands across her desk top.
Tom reached out and put a hand on hers. “You okay, Boss? You seem a bit spooked.”
Spooked? Now there's a fine word for it— him—them. The deep voice still reverberated in her head. Do it, he'd said. Yes, but how? And is it even possible? “I'm fine. Just a little tired is all. About war....”
“Oh, God, ask the easy questions why don't you? We've been studying the WWs in class. The kids are convinced war is a given. They think WWIII is looming.”
“They do?”
Tom fidgeted in his chair. “Sometimes I hate my job. Should'a been a phys ed teacher. As it is, I get into too many moral issues and heavy discussions with my students for my liking. I know our kids have good lives compared to so many in the world, but no kid should have to worry about war.
“So, can wars be stopped?”
“You mean all wars? Forever?” She nodded.
“In your dreams, girl.”