The First Book of the Pure (2 page)

“It seems very odd to me that I’m willing to
share with you something that I have not shared through all of my
considerable years. No living outsider knows of this great truth I
shall share with you.” Those dark, unreadable eyes caught him up,
and Kenneth was suddenly a reporter again, and had more than a
fleeting interest in what was about to be told. There was a touch
of German in this guy, but the white blond hair and dark eyes were
throwing Kenneth off. He also noticed the man’s odd speech pattern,
with very few contractions, and almost, ‘proper’.

“I have never felt it wise or prudent to
share with anyone any more than is absolutely necessary. Let me
explain why I am making this one unprecedented exception. I want
this recorded, written down for posterity. I want someone who has a
gift with words to write this incredible history down, not that it
will necessarily be shared with anyone. At least I will have it.
But let us move on to the meat of the matter.”

“Wait,” interrupted Kenneth. “You said,
‘considerable years,’ and you’re obviously in your thirties.”

He pierced him with that lifeless stare.
“Things are rarely what they seem. I count my life in centuries,
not years or decades. Those like me are very, very rare. Let me
call us by our chosen designation: the ‘Pure.’ Because we are
exactly that.” He paused as if he were thinking about how to
approach this fantastic story that could well be dismissed as
nonsense.

“Vampires! You kidnap me to tell me some
fantastic tale about vampires?” spouted an outraged Kenneth, unable
to contain his anger any longer, as it now outweighed his fear.

“Nonsense. Vampires are legend and creations
in stories. No such thing. What I’m telling you is simple and true:
I’ve lived longer than you can believe. You see, we have already
established that you cannot believe it.”

“What about your children if this is so?”
Kenneth was wondering what he had done to deserve being chosen to
hear this tale. “There should be lots and lots of people by now,
living what, hundreds of years? Hardly a secret that could be
kept!”

Those same dark eyes that had seemed so
captivating before now seemed threatening when they turned to him.
Without blinking the man said, “I shall give you opportunities to
ask questions when I choose. Interrupt me again and I shall simply
eliminate you and share this history with someone else.” Without
waiting for any kind of response from his listener to this open
threat, he took a breath and continued. “But, a fair question, so I
shall answer it. Our children live long lives, and unusually
healthy ones. I have some sons over 100; let’s see, I think 103 and
105. Others are spread the full gamut of age, from fairly young to
very old. Most of them, however, will show little to none of Pure
traits, and will live the usual paltry seventy to ninety or so
years in all probability.” He laughed his throaty, practiced laugh
again. “I’ve spread my seed far and wide you know. My Pure children
will live in strength and health, as I do. You look ready to burst,
sir. You’ve a question already? Please, ask it at this time.
Forgive the earlier death threat, but do
not
dismiss it.
Your life is short, and therefore doesn’t seem terribly important
to me. Death for you isn’t really the threat that it would be to
me. Your loss would lose you just a few years compared to what I
would lose if my life were forfeit, not that I expect that to
happen. But, your question…” he asked, with a lift of his full,
blonde eyebrows.

Kenneth was very tentative in his question.
“So, just how many “Pure” children do you have, and is your
experience with offspring the same pattern as others of, the, uh,
Pure?”

His host answered with a predatory smile. “I
really don’t know. I track some of my children and grandchildren,
although most of them have no idea who I am. I see no benefit to me
in having Normals, even if they are of my seed, knowing anything
about me. If you lived one hundred years as a grown, healthy adult
male, how many children might you have? Now multiply that by a
factor of say, 12 or 15. A very few of that number, almost all
bastards of course, could be as Pure as the driven snow. I’ve
always assumed that at least some of the children who didn’t
survive to adulthood, which are many by the way, in other and older
cultures, might have been Pures.” He shrugged. “As a point of
reflection on your current culture, bastardization seems to have
become very acceptable in your short-lived culture today. I
remember when it was like having
BASTARD
branded on your
forehead; it had social and economic repercussions. No longer,
though.

“My Pure children would not have built-in
aging protocols which, like aging vehicles, make people quickly
obsolete, and essentially useless.”

He stared at Kenneth for a moment and added,
in a baiting fashion, “Those protocols in your own body are what
make you obsolete so quickly, and essentially useless. People
fantasize about this kind of thing, but cannot understand it. Let
me quote one of my favorite characters. I do
so
enjoy
today’s wonderful entertainments; they are technological marvels. I
recall visiting with Mr. Roddenberry years ago, a decade before
anyone recognized his vision of the future. Well, the incident I am
referring to was after Mr. Spock had died and been brought back to
life. His doctor companion, ‘Bones’ he was called, wanted to
discuss it, but Mr. Spock said something like, ‘Without having
experienced a similar thing we have no common ground for a good
discussion.’ Bones was incredulous, and asked if he needed to die
to have the ability to discuss death with Spock. Spock’s answer was
an unequivocal ‘yes.’ In similar fashion, I’m afraid, you simply
cannot completely understand that which you cannot anticipate or
expect, nor have ever known anyone to actually have.

“We are time travelers. I see the skepticism
in your eyes. We
are
time travelers, just as
you are
and everyone else on this planet. I don’t fault your skepticism
really, but consider this: we are all time travelers. Indeed, all
you Normals are time travelers too. Don’t deny it. In the next,”
and he looked at his $15,000 watch and said, ”twelve hours you will
have moved from when we are right now, to when we will be then,
that is, tomorrow. You won’t stay in today, but you
will
move into tomorrow. We all move from the now into the future. We’re
no different in that aspect. We are
all
time travelers. It
is a rule of the universe. But you see, you have to do it by slow,
con-se-cu-tive seconds.

“We Pures can do it in much larger chunks. We
“skip” periods of time, for our own reasons, but fairly
infrequently. We move only into the future as you do, but not quite
the same way. If this were a time I chose to not live through and
experience, then I would not. I would tell my mind and body to
sleep, and while I’d look very dead to you, I would on some level
still be alive, and I’d simply awaken at some point in the future
and pick up my life again. We have abilities others don’t have. We
are, quite honestly in your terms, more like gods than like men. I
say that without pride. It’s a simple statement of fact. Well,
actually, I suppose I
am
proud of it.

“I believe it will work best if I simply
share the stories of several of the Pure, and bring you up to date,
as it were. I will, however, tell you this about myself: I skipped
through about forty years I wanted to avoid in the last century. I
invested, disappeared, and with the right preparation came back to
collect my “grandfather’s wealth” which he willed to me forty years
before. It was an easy way to obtain more means, and to skip a
segment of history that I expected would be unpalatable, wars and
such. I’ve seen enough of them, and fought more than enough in
other people’s wars. In all fairness though, I
have
started
some of my own.

“I recall vividly how Gheret spoke of his
first remembered experiences. He’s likely the oldest man alive, and
as most of us, he’s worn various names through his long years.”

Gheret, First and Eldest

Gheret stood watching as his pack mates tore
into the downed antelope. He flicked his long, dark, filthy hair
out of his face with a shake of his head. His handsome features
were hidden under the dirt and sweat of this pre-industrialized
culture. In good weather they swam in the river, but now, when the
chill was strong, they just stayed dirty.

Flies and other vermin were already attracted
to the blood and gore and were rapidly making a nuisance of
themselves. The hunters cut their kill with stone knives and teeth,
having just taken it down with sharpened poles fifteen feet long.
They had learned to hunt as the pack they were. Several had herded
the antelope family toward the hidden pack hunters, who hunkered
down low, with their rock-sharpened spears on the ground. As the
animals got close the pack hunters crouched, set their crude lance
butts into the ground, and let the antelopes’ own speed and
momentum impale themselves on the crude lances. Three went down and
two couldn’t get back up. The hunters were on them, ripping and
eating raw meat, fighting for the tenderer, inside parts, as the
animal was shredded with their crude stone knives.

The tribe was able to communicate, but could
not be verbally specific. “Gheret,” in fact, was just a guttural
sound that referred to him, as others were “Hoo,” “Duug,” and
“Bek.” They used crude gestures and guttural utterances to convey
their desires. When their desires were sexual, the males simply
fought, and the toughest in any given fight took the female in
question and did what males continue to do many centuries later.
With inhibitions non-existent, and not being gentle or particularly
loving, the pack members mated aggressively and often, fulfilling
the original purpose of sex. They brought enough offspring into the
world so that some survived to adulthood. They would then continue
the cycle.

They were crude people, but people. They were
not inhuman primates, or a species flowing from the less developed
to the more developed, which would counter certain laws of nature.
Far later in his life, after studying the various sciences and
disciplines, he wondered at the logic of denying natural law to
argue that humanity had evolved instead of having devolved. Though
both sides of that argument are adhered to and fought for
zealously, he knew that early man had been people. Mankind has
always been mankind.

Gheret had taken his share of females, either
from desire or a sense of need. The “why” didn’t really matter. He
favored the ones who could communicate more clearly, and seemed
more intelligent than the average pack brute. Members of the pack
used to occasionally gang up on him and beat him nearly senseless,
but still he would somehow rise to win. Eventually he became pack
leader, or tribe leader, allowing their behavior to mostly remain
in place, but changing it slowly to make them more able to endure
in their harsh world. Today he was hungry, and even with his
somewhat thinner build and additional height, he walked up to the
closest antelope and shoved two men aside. One snarled and struck
back, instantly regretting it as Gheret picked him up and threw him
twelve feet, ignoring him as the screaming savage lay on his side
in the dirt, clutching his broken arm, knowing if he were hurt
badly enough he wouldn’t live long. Gheret ripped a piece of flesh
from the antelope, now lying with the stillness of death, and tore
off a bloody piece with his perfect teeth. The fresh blood rose in
an iron rich aroma to his nostrils, and he bit into it with relish.
He had harnessed fire and taught his people how to cook food, but
sometimes the joy was in the taking of it at the site and moment of
the kill.

This had gone on for many years, with Gheret
still the chief. The old and slow died, and the young, at least
some of them, grew up. Eventually his people could speak clearly,
and he led them in a less brutal but still crude life together.

For a long time the tribe grew, adapted, and
either drove away other tribes or slaughtered them. Any dissension
was met with an instant and brutal response from Gheret. The tribe
respected him, or more accurately, they respected his strength and
feared him. Gheret found that to be very lonely, after long enough.
One day he walked past three young men of the tribe, and one of
them clearly flinched as he looked at them. Gheret could smell
their fear along with the sweat and dirt of their unwashed bodies.
“Why do you fear me? I’ve done nothing but good for you and this
tribe.”

The youth nodded, almost groveling as he
answered. “Is it true that you were chief in my father’s, father’s,
father’s day?”

“Even if that were so, why should that make
me someone to fear?” Gheret was genuinely interested.

The young man was unable to answer. Gheret
didn’t like being feared. In fact, he realized at that moment that
he hated it. It kept him apart from the others, and other than
giving orders or taking a woman, he felt no part of the tribe he’d
nurtured and kept alive.

***

One day, months later, he spoke to Ghar, his
right hand man, a short, muscled, tough man, scarred from many
hunts and fights. “You must be ready to lead. I
will
die
someday. You know that. Everyone dies. You’ll then be chief.”

Ghar was very skeptical. “You’ve been gored,
and even slashed by the great cats, yet you heal and live - always!
You can’t die my chief.” By this time the tribe had moved into the
cliff caves and were using fire in the normal course of their rough
lives. Gheret had given them better weapons than crudely sharpened
sticks. He pushed his hair back, worn shorter now, and easier to
keep clean, and placed a finger on his full lips, like the motion
one would use to hush a child. It was his “thinking” motion. All in
all he thought he had been very good for the tribe.