Nirvana Effect

15



“Concentrate this time upon unlocking your mind, and upon the mysteries of this substance,” urged Mahanta. He pulled a syringe from a medical pack at his side. He drew a clear liquid from a penicillin vial. The medicine had obviously been replaced by the drug.

Edward had no reservation. The after-pain was inevitable. He knew he would be facing that many times further in his research. And obviously, Mahanta had survived many doses. To Edward’s scientific mind, there was nothing to fear.

The native wasted no time in injecting Edward. The drug took effect almost instantly. Edward noted there must have been outward signs of the lleychta going to work, because Mahanta was nodding with approval.

Edward closed his eyes. It helped the trance. I can’t waste time; every microsecond counts. He reviewed all the facts. Indeed, he reviewed all of them.

His whole education flew into view, sorted by relevance, probable veracity, and importance.

It was as though his mental filing system had transformed from a mere “date and place” tabbing to a sophisticated cross-indexed catalog in a blink of his mind‘s eye.

Every fact could be reached, as he might reach every drop of water in a lake, and yet the important facts stood out brilliantly. His whole education was at his fingertips, ready for access at a speed far faster and a relevance far more refined than any internet search. He briefly indulged in wondering at the capacities of his mind. How much data is actually there? Is some of it delusion? All of it? He had to keep in mind that he was still under the influence of a drug, no matter how wonderful that drug might seem.

Perhaps this was what Mahanta meant by “unlocking his mind”. Its function was certainly enhanced, and all in what was perhaps ten minutes in real time. He wondered if the effect would last after the trance. Already, he had more control of his body than he’d ever had before his first trance. He wondered if it would be the same with his education.

Edward turned off his hearing, and most of his other perceptions as well in order to aid his concentration. A dull sense of touch remained, and of course automatic control of body function. Focus. It was all too tempting to venture down the rambling paths of speculation. He had a job to do.

The vital data surrounding the substance were few. He examined them all. Mahanta had done well relaying everything he’d encountered so far.

The substance came from the sap of a tree that for all Mahanta or Edward knew was found only on this island.

Edward verified this by ransacking his memories. Towards the end of his schooling, he had flipped page by page through a botany book which catalogued every known form of exotic tree in the Eastern world. It had been a particularly boring day in Botany and he’d kept the appearance of business by looking at all the pictures.

In his mind’s eye, the memory hung suspended in front of him and played like a 3-D movie with full sound and fifty other perceptions. As he examined the recall, he felt like he was back in Botany. He even felt the boredom.

He found he could slow the memory down or even stop it. This surprised him, but seemed natural enough. He had plenty of memories in his past that hung suspended like that in one crucial moment, though he’d never thought to press the “rewind” or “fast forward” buttons.

He could freeze the “playing” of the memory at each flip of the page and study its contents. In such a wise he re-examined every page of the book.

No picture matched. No description matched. The plant, indeed, was a totally unknown mutation apparently populating only this island.

Edward’s concentration flitted back to the rest of his conversation with Mahanta on the way back to the temple. The plant’s sap had long been used by Onge medicine men as a hallucinogenic. Mahanta became curious after he saw the medicine man smoke it and then catch a fly between his fingers as easily as he might catch a ball. Mahanta wondered how such a substance could make an old man so agile.

Mahanta later learned the art of distillation from an earlier missionary and subsequently distilled the sap. He found that it contained a hallucinogenic compound separate and apart from the substance which produced the nirvana effect. When he drank the distilled substance, he received a watered down version of the effect - heightened senses, bodily control, a sort of numbed version of the full-blown trance.

Mahanta got the idea of injection from the last doctor that had visited the village, a non-denominational whom the Jesuits had set up to start a clinic. The clinic failed, but not before the doctor taught an interested youth some first aid procedures and what medicine he could grasp, including vaccination and the administration of penicillin.

Injected in the blood stream, the full effects of the liquid were realized.

The after-pain. What is it?

Edward’s mind scanned again through his whole education and experience, and threw out some possibilities.

A side effect - naturally. Sensory overload? Shock? Dehydration?

It could be one or a combination of all three.

Perhaps it’s from the chemicals in the sap. Perhaps they aren’t all distilled out.

The answer, at least in part, came to him in a flash of certainty.

Nerve damage. That was it.

He sensed it not so much from his past but rather from a searching examination of the present condition of his body. There was a terrific amount of output coming from his brain, a terrific amount of electricity being handled. His nerves couldn’t handle it. They were like the muscles broken down during a hard workout – only nerves don’t heal like muscles.

He sensed his nerves were diffusing the charge as best they could, but it was still too much.

It hurt, actually. The perception was too much and caused a definite pain. In trance, he was able to shut it off and ignore it. After trance, he would no longer be able to. Thus, the after-pain.

He scanned the memories of his body’s recovery from the three injections. Somehow, his body had known to rebuild the nerves. The pain receded day by day as the nerves rebuilt. They were not conditioned, now, into greater strength. They were a bit weaker, if anything.

The after-pain was the damage caused by too much perception - too much current along the nerve channels.

His first hunch, sensory overload, was right, but not in the sense he’d originally meant. He was thinking psychologically, not in the raw electronics of the human body.

Is this substance lethal? Damaging?

He worried over the problem, but could find no answer. He needed more data. Certainly, his nerves weren’t back to normal, yet. Prolonged use could possibly damage his nerves beyond his ability to heal.

Any way out of the after-pain?

This question, he knew, was what should be his first line of research. Its solution would permit much more trance time.

The problem had many facets. He worked all of them. Two simple answers stood above the rest that flooded his mind.

The nerves must grow stronger. Or the impact of the nirvana effect must be lessened.

A thousand solutions flashed to him. He picked out the best few, keeping in mind that he wouldn’t be trancing during most of whatever conditioning he planned. Pain shut-off would not really be an option. He rolled to his next question.

What is my plan? And Mahanta’s plan…is it true? Can Mahanta be trusted?

And perhaps a more relevant question: Can I trust myself?

Tapping. Something was tapping Edward’s cheek. He opened his eyes. Mahanta was slapping his face hard. It felt like a gentle nudge each time. Edward instantly turned his present-time perceptions back on. His face stung like hell. His arm, too; Mahanta must have pinched him there to no avail.

“Do you hear it?” asked Mahanta.

Of course he did. As soon as his perceptions were running a wealth of data came rushing to him.

A fight. A challenge. The busy hubbub, the shouts as clear as though he were in the thick of it.

“What’s happening? I can’t tell from here outside of trance.”

Tien. Dook. Edward heard their names murmured, rippling through the crowd.

“A challenge,” Edward answered. “Dook has challenged Tien. They are fighting now. The crowd surrounds them.”

“Dook challenged Tien?“ asked Mahanta. “I would have thought the reverse.”

Edward furrowed his brow. It was not easy picking out single voices in the crowd, but he could do it. He got his answer from a conversation to a newcomer. “Dook challenges that Tien insulted your honor and conspired with Nockwe to challenge you.”

“Nockwe?”

“Yes. I believe he is there,” said Edward. He did not hear Nockwe’s voice, but rather heard a pocket of quiet in one area of the crowd.

“Dook lies, of course,” said Mahanta. “He is making his move. We must hurry.”

Mahanta sprinted out of the hut. Edward followed him. It was the first time Edward tried to run while in trance, and it was a bit like first learning to walk. He was too aware of his body, so that the curling of his feet and the pumping of his leg muscles seemed unnatural and the cause of study. He rapidly got the hang of it, and after a dozen steps was catching up with Mahanta. In the trance Edward was able to perfectly place his feet and push forward. He remembered Mahanta’s inhuman sprinting into the woods, as though a rocket were strapped to his back

The conflict was only fifty yards from the temple. A hundred tribesmen circled and watched.

Edward studied every one of them. He observed their stances, the way they seemed slack, almost grief-stricken when they looked at Tien. Those with their eyes on Dook had an angry tension about them. A handful had various other reactions. Edward noted those down as possible allies of Dook. It was apparent that the majority of the tribe wanted Tien to live.

Edward and Mahanta pushed through the crowd toward the edge of the ring of natives. Edward examined these possible members of Dook’s cabal. They looked nervous, but by all signs, none of them were intending to cheat for Dook. They were only spectators today.

A woman was crying hysterically, as were a few babies.

Dook and Tien circled one another warily. No one had struck, yet. Dook had a knife in either hand, while Tien had only one long dagger. It was the same he’d tried to use on Edward just a day before.

Edward spotted that no ally was needed to cheat for Dook. Dook had already done his dirty work. Tien’s skin was a shade of green, and he shook almost imperceptibly. Not just nerves.

“Dook poisoned him,” Edward muttered to Mahanta.

Mahanta cursed and spit.

A tribesman standing next to them jerked his head up in Mahanta’s direction. Recognition dawned. The man backed five feet and knelt at the same time, exclaiming, “Manassa!” He collided into several people as he moved.

The crowd diverted from the fight for a moment. They knelt, murmuring their god’s name. The nearest to their Manassa had a similar reaction as the first man, shocked that they had not given their god the deserved respect as he’d approached. They quickly restored a healthy distance from Manassa and his white servant.

Both Dook and Tien glanced at the disturbance, but neither stopped circling.

Dook lunged at Tien just as he returned his attention to the fight, but Tien managed to sidestep the blow in the nick of time and follow up with a lick of his own. He drew blood on Dook’s dark arm.

Weakened by the poison, Tien couldn’t follow through like he needed. Dook quickly regained the initiative, swinging low to gash Tien’s shin with his left-handed knife. Tien tripped backward, crying out in surprise.

Dook charged in to make the kill. Tien was too slow in getting up. Several members of the tribe cried out.

“At’tan! At’tan!” a deep, booming voice broke over the din. Dook stopped his charge quickly, as though he’d been expecting an interruption. He looked up and then smiled. Edward followed the path of his eyes to Nockwe, who looked tired more than anything else. Dook sheathed his knives and walked away from Tien to the far end of the circle.

“Nockwe intercedes,” explained Mahana.

“Dook was planning this all along!” whispered Edward.

“See!” shouted Dook to the tribe. “See with your own eyes! Nockwe and Tien work together to try to kill our god.” Murmurs rippled through the crowd. They did not believe his words, but there were doubts. The Onge way was one of unwavering suspicion.

“No mortal can kill our mighty god,” said Nockwe, slowly, using the same deliberate pace he’d used before to address the crowd.

“And yet you are fool enough to try,” said Dook.

“Your tongue is full of lies, Dook, but it will soon be cut out,” said Nockwe.

Dook beckoned him with his hand and once again pulled out both daggers. He was making quite a show. Nockwe pulled out his own dagger, and they began to circle.

Edward now studied Nockwe. He could tell that Nockwe was moving heavily. He was not in the same shape he’d been in when guiding Edward through the jungle. He looked weary and flat-footed.

Edward was no student of war, but knew that the wrong time to be tired was with a maniac circling you with bloody daggers in his hands.

Nockwe attacked repeatedly, striking at the snakelike Dook. The chieftain’s aggression stretched to the point of incaution.

“Nockwe moves quickly. He must not feel he can withstand a drawn-out battle,” commented Mahanta unnecessarily.

Dook refused to engage him. He dodged back at every strike, refraining from taking the easy opportunities presented by Nockwe’s over-extension.

By their shouts, Edward knew the crowd was rooting for Nockwe. They wanted him to live. Yet as the battle petered on, as Nockwe’s step further lost its spring, the natives tired as well. They took on the aspect of a crowd watching an inevitable train wreck.

Mahanta’s explanation during their last talk echoed in Edward’s mind. If Dook becomes chieftain, he will not long remain so. There will be many hungering for his blood, and many that would seek to take his place. This is a wild variable that could result in both of our deaths and the loss of this discovery. The turmoil that will attain in the tribe will prevent any work from being done as chalk lines are drawn and neighbor fears neighbor until a new ruler rises. I do not have the brute force to bring such a people in line without my chieftain. Under trance I am near invincible, but I am not under trance at all hours of the day and night.

Unless something drastic happened, Dook would kill Nockwe and become chieftain. Dook will be chieftain today. That calculation was a certainty in Edward’s mind. Already, Nockwe had stopped his lunging, had stopped even his circling, and instead just rotated in place as Dook worked around him, looking for an opening. Dook wasn’t worn at all, despite the bleeding from his left arm, and he looked ready to make his kill. Nockwe coughed spasmodically.

Dook finally leaned to make his first strike. Nockwe feigned to the left, and then swung his body savagely to the right. Dook missed him, but Nockwe caught Dook’s left arm near the first gash and again drew blood. Dook cried out and swung again, but Nockwe ducked his blow and kicked out with all his force, landing his foot squarely into Dook’s abdomen. The smaller man flew backwards and landed in the dirt.

All eyes were on Dook as he flew, but then went rapidly back to Nockwe. The chieftain hadn’t gotten up from his flying kick. Instead, he trembled on the ground.

Nockwe strained to lift himself, only to collapse again. Dook was back onto his feet, grabbing his daggers from the ground. His lips curled into a savage smile. The illness had finally overcome Nockwe, as the poison had overcome Tien. Still hunched over from the blow to his stomach, Dook swaggered as best he could to the chieftain. His time had come to claim Nockwe’s flag.

Nockwe managed to roll himself up to his hands and knees and made a grab for his dagger in the dirt.

It was to no avail. Dook idly kicked Nockwe in the head. Dook was showboating. The dagger flew back out of Nockwe’s hands as he collapsed again the ground. He pushed the dirt, struggling to get back up. His muscles trembled but would not move him.

Dook laughed, checking out the horrified crowd. He wasn’t getting the response he wanted, but he was certainly enjoying himself.

Dook grabbed Nockwe by the hair. “Stand up!” he shouted as he yanked Nockwe into a standing position. Nockwe used the momentum to lunge at Dook, but to no avail. Dook simply threw him by the hair back into the dirt.

Dook wielded his knife once more to finish the job.

“At’tan! At’tan!”

Edward had made an instantaneous calculation of hundreds of factors. Much of his calculation involved the future and his survival chances. The course he chose had many possible dead-ends, most of them immediately, but he felt he had to choose it. He would not have Nockwe’s blood on his hands. Nockwe had spared Edward’s life.

Mahanta is not able to help - he’s no match for Dook physically. Only one person had a chance at interceding successfully for Nockwe. It was the only person under trance.

Under the nirvana effect, the present was crisp and real to Edward. The past was just as definite. He could move his consciousness to any moment of it.

He could move his consciousness to the future, as well, and calculate. It was much less real. It lay across many paths, many probabilities. Most real was the present and the few seconds leading from it. Less real lay the infinitude of survival patterns or deaths that lay ahead of Edward and his allies. Many portals led to his goals, his dreams, and survival. Few doors were open past this encounter.

And still, Edward yelled the words of intercession.

Mahanta turned abruptly to Edward in shock.

Dook froze. Nockwe craned his neck up to see his benefactor. The hundred voices of the crowd all started jabbering at once. Edward could pick out every single one. “The white man intercedes! He’ll surely die. Thank the gods. Nockwe might live. He can’t do that. That’s Manassa’s slave.”

Mahanta grabbed his arm. “You’re still trancing?” Edward nodded slightly. “That’s no assurance of victory. And the trance will end any time now. You were meditating for a while before I disturbed you.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

Mahanta slid a long dagger into his hand. The Jesuit gripped the handle. Smooth, well-sanded wood gave some weight to the slender, sharp blade. “These fights are to the death,” cautioned Mahanta. “Don’t be a forgiving priest, or you’ll end up the sacrifice.”

Edward knew that outside of the nirvana effect, he would have difficulty delivering the fatal blow. He had never killed a man, and never wanted to. He shoved those thoughts away, along with the fear. The truth of the matter was that if Dook killed Nockwe, his own life was on the line. This was strictly self-defense from here on out; kill or be killed.

Dook had made one long glance at Edward to size him up, but now refused to look at him. Instead, Dook spoke slowly, directly to Manassa, with one knee on the ground.

“My lord, with all respect to your white magic servant, only a man of the tribe may participate in a challenge.” Nockwe writhed on the ground beside Dook, coughing.

Mahanta surveyed the crowd. All eyes were on their living god, now. Mahanta matched Dook’s pacing. “So it was said by our ancestors, that the living god shall have all manner of creatures as his warriors. His servants shall number the thousands, of every race and nation of earth. My servant fights in my stead.”

A harsh murmuring rippled through the crowd, chased by silence. The silence was golden to Edward. It seemed to shock Dook to his very core. Dook obviously hadn’t foreseen this eventuality. He had been stopped by his own living god at the moment of his greatest triumph.

Dook clanged his daggers. Edward advanced into the middle of the dirt, then immediately drew back into the crowd, reshaping their arena so that Nockwe was now on the ground behind the audience. Bri’ley’na rushed to the side of the fallen chieftain and began to attend to him.

Edward noticed the after-pain was starting to edge into his consciousness. He shoved it out of his mind, to the same place he’d moved the fear. In its place, he heightened his senses and pumped adrenaline throughout his body to prepare for the exertion to come. He knew he would not have much time, just like Nockwe and Tien hadn’t had much time. In mere minutes, the nirvana effect would be gone, and he would just be a puny white priest battling an animalistic primitive who lived by the hunt and the kill.

Dook tested him quickly, jabbing gamely after they circled once. Edward saw the vector of the knife, saw that it would miss him, and refused to react, Dook’s swing falling mere inches from his body. The priest then swung his own dagger at the Onge, but Dook’s natural reaction time was far better than Edward’s. Dook feigned a sidestep, then swung under Edward’s blow, coming up with a knife aimed directly at Edward’s abdomen.

Edward perceived every motion, every possibility. It was as though he were fighting the entire battle in slow motion, where he perceived one hundred seconds for Dook’s one. But he knew that even if the trance held out, there was a great chance he would not survive this encounter. The trance seemed to not be enough.

Edward had new data now, data that might have kept him from ever stepping into the ring a minute ago. He hadn’t seen Dook fighting an able opponent. No wonder Mahanta had looked so incredulous. Dook was just so much more physically able than Edward was. The native was a killing machine.

As Edward read Dook’s jab, he twisted his body backwards into the air. It was the only way out of the blow. His foot caught Dook’s wrist as he flew. The dagger went flying out of the Onge’s hand, but Dook still had another, and Edward didn’t land on his feet in the follow-through. Instead, he had to roll away and back up.

In that moment Dook was already back on top of him, swinging furiously to press his advantage. Dook had the initiative.

Edward was able to read each of Dook’s moves at its onset, at the first tension of the first muscle of his arms or legs. Every ripple of muscle foretold a change in direction. Edward knew exactly where Dook’s weapon was flying and exactly where his own body was in relation to it, as though he were fighting in an almost infinite slow motion. Still, it taxed Edward to the limit of his abilities just to keep the dagger out of his gut.

The surrounding Onge crowd was silent, totally absorbed. They seemed awe-struck, watching as each of Dook’s swings drew a little closer, as the white man kept up his impossible dodges.

Edward was unable to counterattack. Dook would inevitably hit him if he didn’t do something.

Dook made a long lance at him. Edward stumbled back to avoid the dagger to his chest. He heard Mahanta instinctively cry out. The tribe shouted, too.

Dook was about to pounce on him. Edward knew he needed the initiative, just one minute in which he had control of the fight. He probably only had a minute left.

Edward let loose a bloodcurdling war cry. It was enough to make Dook flinch. As Edward stumbled backward, he planted his left foot and pushed off to hurl his knife through the air at Dook’s head. Dook ducked it, as Edward had foreseen, but lost his eye contact with the priest. That was all the distraction Edward needed.

Edward dove, grasping Dook’s weapon. Dook tried to swing, but at the close distance Edward could feel every tension in Dook’s body. In the trance, Dook was an open book to Edward. Edward moved simultaneously with him in a deadly dance that kept the Onge from ever getting in a blow.

Edward worked Dook’s arm around in an expert pattern…he’d seen it once…somewhere…something in his mind urged him through the motions. Edward leapt to Dook’s left, then behind him, all with the primitive’s arm in tow. Finally, Edward wrenched Dook’s arm around in a complete circle using both hands, and Dook flipped, his back slamming into the ground.

Edward wrenched the dagger out of Dook’s hand. The Onge was defenseless, his arms flying up far too slowly to stop Edward’s inevitable killing blow.

Stop! With a gut-wrenching twist on Edward’s nerves, the trance ended. He could not kill a man. He would try to give him mercy.

No, he’ll kill me! Kill him! It was only a moment of hesitation, but that was all Dook needed to reach Edward’s wrist and deflect the blow.

Dook kicked and rolled, and now it was Dook with the knife, Dook on top of Edward, Dook driving down his blade toward Edward’s throat.

Edward could no longer break apart the perceptions. The slow motion of the battle rushed into a fast forward.

As the knife rushed down, Edward thought of Callista. In the end he gripped her in his mind’s eye as though he might take her with him to the hereafter if he held hard enough.

Thud. Dook’s body jerked to Edward’s side as though yanked by unseen strings. For a moment Edward did not react. Where Dook had loomed, there was only sky. The dagger had fallen away.

Edward scampered up. Dook had a long spear running out of his temple. Blood rushed from his skull and mingled with the muddy ground. Tien lay awkwardly on the ground nearby, his right hand still gripping the spear’s handle. He had lunged with spear in hand and collapsed once he’d hit his target.

“Get him, get Tien, kill him! He’s broken the law!” The tribe shouted in uproar. The Onge surged into the ring and gathered around Tien and Dook. Edward slid through the crowd away from the scene, momentarily forgotten.

A couple of the younger men grabbed Tien and started to drag him away. Tien’s woman shrieked.

Mahanta burst into the center of the crowd. The tribe backed away. The Onge god examined the bodies. Both were dead. Tien’s tongue lolled out, his body limp, his face frozen in a determined scowl. His veins looked green, his skin pale.

“He’s dead. The gods killed him for his law-breaking. He’s dead,” Edward heard the Onge muttering.

“He lives!” shouted Manassa. The tribe quieted, stepping back even further to give their god a wide berth. Mahanta continued in the traditional tongue of the Onge. “He lives on with the fallen as a hero, for Dook poisoned him before he ever was challenged.”

“Poisoned….he was poisoned…Dook poisoned him…” murmured the tribe.

“Dook was to punish the whole tribe in his lawlessness. He would have been the end of our customs. He would have been the end of our tribe. Let this be known as the day that Tien, son of A’lan, saved our tribe from the traitor. Let it be known. These are the words of Manassa.”

Mahanta abruptly left the circle without even waiting for his tribe’s response.