The Days of Peleg (11 page)

She thought for a while, then began her reply.

Chapter 11

Expanse

“If the World was made for man by the gods, why is it mostly uninhabitable water?”

W
hen it is clear, observe—When it is cloudy, compute!
This creed was meant to apply only to nighttime activities. It now seemed to apply twenty-four hours a day.

Peleg had to record every sunrise and sunset. He spent his days looking for land, which was usually in the form of a small island—and they were becoming more and more infrequent. Throughout the day, he also had to adjust his small planetary alignment model, and compare it with his sidereal time-charts. On those rare days when the sun and moon were both in the sky, he would have to record moonrise, and measure the distance between the two. This was about the only way he could make reliable estimate on their longitude.

At night, his real work began. Back home he had always used sextants with a mercury-covered artificial horizon. Reu-Nathor and the Elders at the
Citadel
might be great scientists and leaders, but they had proven to be shortsighted in the practical necessities of global navigation.

But worse than that, the official ship’s navigator, Meshe, hadabandoned them. He had been approached back in Meluha by a local author named Vatsyayana who had asked him to assist in research for a book that he was working on. Meshe had never made it back to the
Urbat
. Peleg had been forced to take on his duties which became increasingly burdensome as they ventured into more unknown territories. He was no
Ansu
, but as a cartographer, he was closer to being a navigator than anyone else on board. Captain Phaxâd had insisted that Peleg would eventually learn all he needed to know.

Any child could determine latitude—especially in the north where the brilliant star
Thuban
in the tail of
Tiamat
the Great Dragon shone down directly over the north axis of the world. Numerous myths and epics were built around the assumption that the cosmos revolved around
Tiamat
, and small superstitious cults even believed that the Great Dragon was the creator of all things. Of course, this was a specious and nonsensical assumption. It was known that true north drew a slow, small circle in the heavens and would gradually move throughout the years. In fact, it would take 25,800 years to return to its current position. He laughed to himself. In four thousand years, the polar indicator would be a faint star on the butt of
Marg’id Da’anna
, a baby bear which pulled the carriage for the Queen of Heaven. He wondered what sort of cult might worship the hind end of a little bear.

All one had to do was measure the distance between
Thuban
and the horizon to derive one’s latitude. In the south, where
Thuban
was not visible, measurement of the rising and setting sun sufficed, and a simple compass could keep you generally in the right direction.

Longitude was another matter. Exact knowledge of the relative position of planets, sun, and the moon were required, along with charts indicating the correct rising and setting times. By comparing the exact observable position of
Suen
(and its current relationship to the sun) with the chart’s predictions (which indicated the way the sky currently appeared back home), one could take this information and compare it to the planetary charts. Then degree measurements between the moon and other fixed stars were made. Discrepancies in these calculations could then be used to determine how far around the sphere one had traveled.

To this end he had received a standard issue sextant just like those he was used to, along with the usual astrolabe and cross-staff with a rotating 360-degree protractor attached to the center which could also be used as a slide rule. What the “Academicians” of the
Citadel
had failed to realize was the awkwardness of the mercury sextant’s artificial horizon on a moving ship or balloon—not to mention the dangers of painting with such poisons. For travel in well-known seas, it was adequate, but as they journeyed more and more into unfamiliar waters—and to longitudes further and further from home—this would increasingly be a serious concern.

Fortunately, Mentor Thaxad had brought a large trunk full of strange devices which he claimed, “…reflected the supremacy of ancient wisdom” and periodically pulled something out that was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Most suspected they were his own inventions, but it was clear that his
Castor
disciplines held many mysteries beyond those contained in the teachings of the City-run
Citadel
.

Thaxad had immigrated to the colony of Knossos along the shore of the Great Sea along with other settlers just twelve years after the Great Awakening. There he had been trained in mechanical engineering and drafting. Later, upon his initiation into the
Order of Buzur
, he had apprenticed in Kemet and studied the latest in Geopolymeric Procedures and Formulae from some of their greatest Castors.

When he arrived on board the
Urbat
, the first thing the crew noticed about him (after his height) was a prominent teardrop tattoo on his right cheek. Instead of a light blue, however, it was reddish brown, but no matter how curious the crew was, no one had yet mustered enough courage to ask him about it—and Thaxad never offered.

Once when Peleg was complaining about the inadequacies of his sextant, Thaxad had interrupted him with a finger to his lips and nodded that he would return immediately.

He re-entered Peleg’s cabin shortly with two items—a medium sized box, and an object which looked disappointingly like any other sextant—simply darker than Peleg’s.

He offered this to Peleg, saying, “You may use mine.”

Peleg had studied the object briefly and noted that it was slightly larger—a pentant—which marked off a fifth of a circle. The only other difference he noticed was a simple mirror in place of his mercury box. He shook his head.

“I don’t need a mirror,” he said, trying not to sound too unthankful. “At least mercury maintains a level surface. I don’t think…”

Thaxad interrupted him with a wave and approached him with small leather bag that had a tube attached to it. He fixed the tube to a small port on the side which Peleg had failed to notice.

Thaxad squeezed the leather bag repeatedly, revealing its function as a bellows, forcing air into the side of the unit. Peleg watched as the mirror began to turn slowly, and then rotate faster and faster.

The spinning mirror was apparently attached on a floating pivot and mounted to a circular weight.

“A horizon-wheel,” said Thaxad. “This will maintain your mirror at whatever level you set it. Once spinning, it resists change or deviation caused by the ship’s movement. Simply adjust the two spirit-levels and you will have no more problems.”

Peleg stared in astonishment at the evidenced simplicity. No more smoothing tiny puddles of mercury with his camelhair brush. He couldn’t wait to try it out.

“Just make sure you store it in sunlight during the day,” the Mentor admonished.

Peleg looked at him for an explanation, but none was forthcoming.

He turned his attention to the box, and inquired about it with his eyebrows. Thaxad retrieved it and handed it to Peleg, who set it on the table in front of him.

On the side of the box facing Peleg was a large circle marked off by layered inscriptions. Within the circle were three metal arrows of differing lengths which pointed to the layers from the center.

A small wooden knob protruded from the top, and Peleg saw that it was actually a crank which moved a small disk embedded in the surface. He turned the handle and was astonished to see the small arrows move within the front circle.

As the crank slowly moved, Thaxad silently pointed to the back of the box. Peleg looked behind and saw two more circles; each with several arrows, and inside the left one was a second, tiny circle with an arrow of its own.

Thaxad came forward and reached for the box. He released a clamp of some kind and the top of the box lifted, revealing the interior workings.

Inside was something beyond Peleg’s wildest imagination. A confusing collection of wheels, cogs, and ratchets. Several levels of meshing gears—each seemingly connected to at least three others—were attached to spindles which had smaller gears attached to them. Small bushings connected to the outside of the box, corresponding to the centers of the moving arrows. Thaxad closed the lid, reconnecting the crank.

Slowly it dawned on Peleg what this contraption was. He recognized planetary symbols—rendered in Minoan, and sidereal time markers. The front was a basic lunar calendar which also indicated the phases and relative position of the sun in degrees. He saw that he could turn the crank to set them to their current date, and when he did, the arrows in back showed the relative location of the other planets—also in degrees! The tiny, internal circle showed fine-tuning in minutes.

He began to see how he could make use of this device. It would reduce his chart reading and computation to one-sixth the time! He hefted the box in his own hands, and mentally compared the dials with his current plottings. There were no discrepancies.

He was almost speechless. “I have heard of such things, but I assumed they only existed in Heaven’s Gate. And
never
this small! I didn’t expect to ever witness one, let alone use it.”

Thaxad almost smiled and said, “Get comfortable with this. It is very reliable—I configured it myself.” He pointed inside the box, raising an eyebrow. “Differential gears.” He almost smiled again, then looked back to Peleg. “It will be accurate for at least the next seven hundred years.”

Peleg shook his head. This would give him visual and numeric representations of all the necessary celestial objects. It was almost like cheating. Instead of comparing columns of numbers, then performing hours of calculations, all he had to do was adjust the settings of this wonderful ‘planetarium-in-a-box’.

The great Mentor and chemist had nodded, then turned to leave. “No more complaining,” he admonished over his shoulder as he ducked to exit the room.

As the door closed, Peleg had thought,
He may have just saved our lives
.

Land was becoming a thing of memory. It had already been two months since they had left the last island. He had kept his new sextant (pentant?) in the sunlight as requested, assuming that expansion from the heat was important to its function. That evening, as he measured the distance between
Inana
, the evening star, and the horizon, he discovered the true reason for Thaxad’s admonition.

Some of the markings and dial indicators were glowing. Apparently, they were inscribed with a special paint that collected the sunlight during the day, and then re-emitted it when it was dark. Peleg was familiar with bioluminescence. It was often used as a light source—especially for underwater exploring. It had some commercial applications, too, like in the glowing sign above
BubusSunu’s
back home. But this was different. These markings were made with a substance that was certainly non-biological, but could be recharged by the sun.

Thaxad later said that it was a “composite of radium salts and phosphor” or something like that.

He now spent his days straining his eyes for signs of anything besides water and sometimes noticed smudges of dark clouds on the northern horizon. Although most were storm clouds, he suspected that many were volcanic emissions from lands that were far beyond their mission. Such clouds occasionally blew in from the northwest back home, and the only indication of their volcanic nature was the fine particles that dusted everything left in their wake. He hoped the resulting clouds and waves would not trouble the
Kibrat Erbettim
.

The last twelve days had been completely overcast, so the
Urbat
lumbered blindly in an easterly direction, completely at the mercy of their compass. Since no expeditions had ever traveled this far to the east, the difference between magnetic and absolute north (magnetic variation) was uncertain, and magnetic anomalies were uncharted. Although the powerful but mysterious magnetic forces usually compelled compass needles to align along the axis, there were certain regions of land and sea where they pointed in other directions or sometimes were even known to spin uselessly. Until they could make new observations, their course would be increasingly inaccurate the further east they traveled.

This afternoon,
Zini
had two passengers. Serug sometimes accompanied him to help with writing down measurements, but today, without any new land in sight, there simply was nothing to do; so they shared the ride out of boredom.

There had been a small celebration earlier that morning to commemorate the third anniversary of their departure. Certain events from their send-off elicited jokes and one-liners. Concerning Reu-Nathor’s farewell speech:
“We’ll see you in twelve years—don’t be late!”
And a most rare and unusual event—a small family of curious
Anzudmušen
with their tufted tails, metallic blue crests, and twelve-meter wingspans had flown above the ships, escorting them from port:
“It is a good thing the Great Behemoths don’t fly,”
the men had joked. The
Tabannusi
, which was commissioned to scout and survey the entire coastline of the southern continent, had to clean and repair her mainsails when it was damaged by inconsiderate contributions from one of the enormous reptilian vultures.

Now they sat in the gondola, staring out into the expanse.

“I keep thinking about the
Primordial Dreamstate
,” Serug reflected. It had now been several months since their encounter with the
Koori
, but he often enjoyed discussing his conversations he had had with some of their young men.

While there, Peleg had dutifully shared Reu-Nathor’s pronouncement concerning the Great Awakening, and the local scholars had received it with great excitement. But Serug had found himself with a group of less-cultured field-workers who had presented him with their own homegrown view of origins.