Akilis last apparition

Science fiction by Marco Knauf, Holland

Weizo is the best there is. The greatest in his genre. Weizo is the Transformer, a man you would watch anywhere, even in the most crowded, busy places. He is more than two metres in height. He walks upright and is surrounded by an aura of invulnerability. Weizo declines Jones' offer of help to get him into the glider. The pilot sees that time is taking its toll on the Transformer. Nobody knows his exact age, but Jones believes he must be at least one hundred and ten. Weizo doesn't look at him. A nod is the only sign of recognition. It's time to leave. Jones checks the door is closed tightly, then walks round the back of the glider to the cockpit. He boards and takes his seat. He takes a deep breath. A unique trip. A noble mission. He's never transported such an important passenger. The weight of the responsibility presses him into his seat. Jones communicates with the base. He follows the launch procedure and takes off. The peace mission has officially begun.

The grey shades of the Alilonic landscape fades. The glider gains height. Jones wonders if Weizo's arrogant manner is simply caused by his concentration. He wouldn't fancy being in his shoes. The Transformer is the last hope of the Planetary Committee. If he fails, a bloodbath will follow.

The airship continues on its way, flying on automatic. Jones suspects that Weizo is preparing himself mentally for his task. Is he performing rituals? The man had made some demands before the flight: grinley with ice was to be provided, cooled to exactly four degrees. Fresh frivolias must be on board. Rare bacon with rostoli. An eraphone with soft cushions. An armchair, adjustable to all positions and a varied selection of music from the late third and the early fourth decade. The ambient temperature must remain at twenty-four degrees at all times. 

This doesn't surprise Jones: Weizo's unique gift has furnished him with cottages in the Maldives, the Bahamas, the South Pacific and even a spacious residence on Juvius' outer ring. The pilot monitors every adjustment to make sure that the flight goes smoothly. The weather is calm, the twisters are staying up north for now. The vehicle imperturbably searches for its destination: the southern hills of the Rijozonica. From that point on, Weizo will travel to the front line alone. Jones would like to ask him a thousand questions. When did he discover his talent? How did it feel to become President Wisvol? Or the ultra-singer Litti Johnson? How did he experience his form as Iloi, the talking alien?

In spite of his fame no one knows much about the Transformer. He remains an enigma. Apparantly, he wants to sustain the mystique. So many stories went around! Is it true that he has ex-wives and children living on all the outer rings? What is the truth in the rumour that he preferres to communicate with animals rather than with people? His former mascots - the giraffe D'lick, and the elepahnt Yoli - have been frozen cryonically. His current pet is the piglet called Frivo. Weizo insists on allowing the animal to run free in his room. It does so. Nobody has ever refused The Transformer anything. He is a man from whom you can expect everything, except, that is, for the predictable. He has previously refused to cooperate with this mission on at least seven occasions. Eventually, he did his greatest public deeds in the fifth decade.

After that he's kept to smaller transformations. Three days ago, he suddenly agreed to this big job. Nobody knows the official reason; the gossip factory hasn't started yet. On his way to Aliloni, he's studied the Djibi, the holy Scriptures of the Alilonians. Except for the highest members of the Planetary Committee, nobody knows the details concerning Weizo's task. And Jones won't see it from close up. He has his orders: he is simply to transport the Transformer to Rijozonica. He was told to keep silent until further notice.

The grey shades of the hills gradually shift to brown. The dreary surroundings make Jones feel melancholic. Even the overgrown areas present an alienating sight. Has this place finally driven its inhabitants mad? Jones symphatises with their opposition to the imminent colonisation of the High Plateau, the holy place of the planet. According to reports, the colonists want to investigate the precious zsis- minerals. Beyond the southern crests of Rijozonica, the colonists have pitched their base camp. The Alilonians gather in the Mirror Field, where they feel safe. They do not appreciate outer interference. They want to solve their own problems. The Planetary Committee follows this matter with care. The situation grows more explosive day by day. For the first time in two decades, a battle is impending, a situation which the captain finds uncivilized.

But there is hope. Weizo could be the last hope of preventing war. As the landscape glides away beneath the pilot, he hears music reminiscent of monks singing. Weizo's voice follows the high tunes of the choir. The Transformer is audibly pacing up and down. Jones is instructed to land at Place Two; the situation is too explosive at the original landing site. The time has come. And not a minute too soon. What if the Alilonians decided to massively multiply by fission? Every part of the body would develop into a full specimen within the hour. The adjusted landing schedule means a delay already! Instructions direct Jones to the downleaf hills, which merge with the Mirror Field. Sweat forms into beads on Jones'forehead.

With luck, Weizo won't have figured out what is going on outside yet; he has closed the windows. With his right hand squeezing the landing stick, the pilot lowers the machine. In front of him lie the hills. The two combatant forces are behind him. The Alilonians don't have a tradition of air forces; they use only spotter planes in case of emergency. Jones lands safely on Place Two. The pilot sighs deeply. His gaze is focused on the plain. Even from this distance the mirror trees blind him in the hazy atmosphere. It's quiet. He cocks his ears. A soft breeze whistles along the cockpit glass. And then comes the pleased grunt of a piglet.

Jones puts on the necessary footwear, fixes the oxygen strips in his nose and alights. The characteristic scent of Aliloni reminds him of the earthly tropics, although the air here is less humid and tingles with oxygen. Weizo leaves the glider without help. He holds Frivo in his arms. Jones notices how the Transformer appears to have shrunk. In the afternoon light Weizo looks old and weather-beaten, although the skin on his arms is unnaturally tight. Has the old man made a restart?

But Jones dismisses that thought. Weizo is not the sort of man who would undergo plastic surgery. That much is clear from his face. His dark eyes are swallowed by furrows. The top of his nose curves down. An ironic smile plays on his broad mouth. On the top of his head, the purple shiny hair is combed backwards, as if it were frozen seaweed. He has changed his modest clothes and is now wearing a bright red robe, which reaches to his ankles. He rubs his eyes as if to make them eliminate the furrows. Nothing escapes his gaze. The Transformer looks like a majestic imperial beak. The pilot wonders if Weizo's haught aura was merely an attitude.

 "Don't you need any adjustments?" he hears himself ask.

The Transformer shakes his head. "I'm about to change anyway," he answers.
His grating voice sounds surprisingly loud.

He is talking to me, Jones realizes. What has happened on the way? "And your pig? Frivo?" A twinkling appears in Weizo's eyes.

"Frivo can take care of herself anywhere. Even on board, where the food wasn't all that good. But... she is forgiving." He bends over and kisses the animal on the snout. Frivo breathes quickly. Her eyes are open wide. "It will all be right," he says, realizing that Jones is looking with concern at the pet. The captain is astounded by Weizo's frankness. He is known to be a silent man.

"I had to land by this plateau," Jones apalogises, for no reason.
"Skirmishes were imminent."

"Tell me about it," Weizo sighs. "Those fools. Very well, I didn't come here to find nothing." Bitterness colours his tone. He gazes out across the plain and makes a clicking sound with his tongue. Jones regains his courage.

"Why have you come here?" he asks when Frivo has finished grunting. "Is it purely a peace mission or is there more to it than that?" He shrinks mentally from his own impertinence. "That's if I may ask these questions, of course. It is none of my business. But you are knwon to be a... careful man."

Weizo looks round. Frivo's beady eyes gaze at the pilot. A visible struggle is razing in the old man's head: his eyebrows form a deep frown, the mouth thins into a straight line, his right hand squeezes the prominent chin. "Name the sense of honour," he says softly, almost whispering. "I am the best and always will be. I still am. Even on my hundred and forty-third birthday." Jones whistles admiringly through his teeth.

"I didn't realize you were as old as that," he admits sincerely.

Weizo's smile conjures up a web of wrinkles beneath his cheekbones. Again, he kisses the snout of his piggy. Then he gazes upon the plain and says: "I'm past my best."

Jones looks at the tall figure. His admiration for the giant grows. What really brought him here? He seems almost gruesome calm and resolute. "May I take your fingerprint?" the pilot asks. Weizo sits staring fixedly like a statue. Frivo reachts with a snorting noise. The Transformer turns around. "It's for my son," Jones goes on. "He collects pictures of your greatest tricks. I should have brought one with me, but I didn't know that... "

"That I had a human side as well?" Weizo completes the thought. His eyes are smiling. "I didn't bring printing glue, so you'll have to settle for a signature." He pulls his letter shooter and waits patiently for his travel companion to return from the glider to bring him timeless paper. The Transformer presses it up to the shiny outer fuselage and writes a careful scribble. Before Jones has the opportunity to thank him, Weizo announces that his time has come.

"What are you changing into?" Jones asks. The answer comes immidiately.

"I'll be Akili," Weizo says. "Akili, right arm of Zyclon, the God of prosperity for the Alilonians. Why did I tell you that? Hardly anyone ever asks me something. If they should, they would get a sensible answer." The captain leans backwards, perplexed. He leams back upon the nose of his glider and mumbles: "Akili? Zyclon?"

"If you'll excuse me," Weizo says, while his face maintains a stony look. Jones nods. "I will expect you here at six o'clock, as we agreed," he says. "Good luck." He walks up to the Transformer and shakes his hand. The old skin feels like parchment. Weizo's energy is tangible. His eyes beam with sadness. The pilot proceeds to the glider door, without looking round. He boards and darkens the cockpit windows. No one must see the transformation.

Weizo's heart is in his throat. Blood rushes through his veins. He focuses on the purple sky. The gravity strenthens. Thin air cystallizes in his lungs. He casts his eyes upon Frivo one last time. The piglet looks at him understandingly and wags his curly tail. Weizo closes his eyes. The skies explode. The atmosphere consumes him. His skin flaps around him. An explosion rages in his head. I won't manage, he thinks fearfully, for the first time in fifty-three years. I won't manage. I'm stuck halfway. It will kill me. He gasps for breath. His veins fan out like shrivelled tree branches. He recovers. The image of Frivo is burned into his retina. It has to work. It has to! He regains his concentration. When he has his breathing and heartbeat under control, his self-confidence increases. Akili drives his thoughts to the inside. He models himself, like a sculptor would. His mental strength moulds the gigantic body that emerge from the dust storm. He can still do it. It works. Euphoria dances through the new form. But it takes him a while to be satisfied. The head doesn't feel right yet. The two pais of arms are too short. 

Weizo - Akili - fights and formalizes. Fights and formalizes. Wrestles with the form of his robe, that shreds like the leaves of the mirror trees. Good. Good! Akili is ready to show his face to the Alilonians. He waits until the dust blows away. I've done it again, he thinks with satisfaction. I can still do it. I can still do it. Even for an Alilonic demigod his breathing is remarkably calm. He sits down. Opens his eyes. Frivo seems so small! The piglet dances in cheerful circles around him and licks his feet. Akili takes a look at himself. He's half transparent. He's got an elongated and narrow face, just like the Alilonians. A halo of soft green light encircles him. Yes, he is the bringer of prosperity in Zyclon's name. He stretches out his arms invitingly to Frivo. Akili stoops to allow the animal to jump into him. She does. Frivo grunts with pleasure against his chest. We're going to end the war, Akili thinks. It's about time to go the the Mirror mountain.

Akili realizes that there's no way the enemy can win; the eagle-eyed gaze of the demigod observes that the Alilonians are superior. How ill-advised of the colonists to threaten an armed battle! Akili remembers the earthly Vietnam, the ring war at the outer moon, North Amizona: colonist have never won against locals. From the sky the colours of the human base camp clash: bright yellow rectangles amidst the subtle shades of the downleaf hills. Akili now sees how little distance there is bewteen the two opposing parties.

On his left the Mirror field begins. He's able to follow the movements of hundereds, thousands of Alilonians. It appears that no one is fighting. Hidden between the clouds he makes his way to the spot where according to tradition he should appear. His hands warm the shivering Frivo. His gaze is drawn to the High Plateau: a dark red and triangular monolith, situated in the Field of Zyclon, which extends as far as the horizon. Akili is shocked. He can feel the primal forces of the Plateau, whose summit can be seen from the Mirror field. He feels as if he has participated in the creation of the rock mass.

The past fills his thoughts. He screws up his eyes and concentrates on the apex of the monolith. The longer he squints, the more he seems to be able to discern the noble features of Zyclon. Suddenly, the enchantment is over. The Mirror mountain awaits. For a demigod, the intense light of the south flank is easily bearable. Akili lands on the peak. The view on the valley is overwhelming. He takes a deep breath. Now he can be detected. He draws himself up to his full height. Apparantly he's already been spotted: he becomes aware of an audible euphoria.

One hundred thousand warriors seem to be moving across the plain. Their rustling noise overpowers him. The trunks of the mirror trees are shining, their leaves sway in the warm breeze. A whistle fills the air and shoos away the quatro wood-warblers from the branches. The discovery waves across the plain. The warriors that are bivouacked in the distance are informed. The sun escapes a cloud and catches Akili in a beam of light. His aura gains a golden shine. Merely by appearing, he evokes unprecendented emotions. The Alilonians are weird creatures, he thinks. Can they really be taken by surprise as easily as this?

On the other hand, he cannot help feeling that this race is still pure. Not spoiled with paranoid influences. Look how primarily they react! They massively raise themselves. They put four arms in the air as if they are part of the mirror forest. Their transparent bodies gleam with emotion. Their eyes change into black beads. These are Alilonians as nobody has seen them before. Akili will let ecstasy reign. The war will be forgotten. For days, the Alilonians will praise him and thank him in their prayers. After the celebrations, prosperity will follow. According to tradition they will be invulnerable till the next decade. Akili appears to be a convincing demigod.

The Alilonians colour to deep red. They dance on their flexible legs. Swaying mirror leaves reflect their gleam. The plain changes into a hallucinating zone of waving arms and branches. The mosaic confuses Akili, especially when his gaze zooms in on the Alilonians that stand on the mountain flank. Frivo lays at his feet. She considers this a sleep-inducing pastime. The swinging of the warriors turns into a single peaceful tone. Akili is overcome by poignancy. This is - but one - the highest singing that someone of his status may experience. He absorbs the clear sounds. Shudders travel from his neck down to his lower back. Blood rushes through his veins. He throws up his arms. He turns his palms to the front, holding them in a blessing. Akili is back. Akili is back.

This is the message that hums over the Mirror field. Ray arrows are forgotten. Human colonists no longer exist. Aliloni's new bloom is about to start. This is the beginning of the blue light! The movements of the cheering ex-warriors make a rolling wave, as a blowing red reed in a moon storm. Out of the west Shiver field, Alilonians rush in. They join the partygoers. Any minute now the entire colony should be present, Akili suspects. The plain is becoming overcrowded. An intense sense of happyness comes over the demigod. Never before has his apparaition known such success. He was used to being adored, but this is sheer pleasure. Ecstasy. He closes his eyes. The sight is stamped on his retinas. He hears the music of the singing leaves and the high voices of his people. His people. He has done his stint. He feels a stinging pain in his right side. His feet seem heavy. He is beset by panic. Can't he hold on just a little longer?

Does his subconscious react to the success of the mission? He opens his eyes. His red robe starts to shine translucently, as if a fire is burning inside him. What if...? His powers decline. It's a miracle he has made it as far as this. He breathes heavily. Frivo sniffs at the two toes of his left foot. The Mirror field is an euphoric mass. Akili detects five spots above the grey horizon. Air traffic from outside hasn't been legalized in Aliloni yet. Travellers have to fly through the surrounding area. The spots develop into V-sprayers. What are terrorist controllers doing here?

The saucers appear above the valley and spray yellow smoke across the landscape after which the space ships race past the Mirror mountain and disappear. Akili blinks. Is this an illusion, caused by the glittering of red and silver? Weariness takes over his body. He suddenly feels two centuries old. A nauseating smell penetrates Akili's nose. His skin starts to burn. The singing on the plain turns to moaning. It causes pain in Akili's brains. Frivolous dances turn into twisting movements. The mirror leaves become dull. Bare branches stick out as bones against the sky. Akili's instinct screams that he has to transform again before it's too late.

Weizo's survival instinct takes the upper hand. But one hundred and forty-three years take their toll. The Transformer has given a lot. The euphoric singing of the Alilonians dies away in their dissolving bodies. Akili's strangled throat produces soundless cries. Groaning, he starts the returning process. His head is banging. His arms hang loosely next to his body. Frivo gazes at the confusing scene; she's used to a lot, but this spectacle amazes her. Akili's body feels as if it has been set about with millions of glowing pins. The demigod writhes in agony. He fights for his last chance. Sand and pebbles form a dust storm at the peak of the Mirror mountain. The firmament takes care of Akili. He dissolves into space. Weizo wanders about and finds his destiny. After a long time he returns to the summit of the Mirror mountain.

Weizo awakes in the light of the setting sun. A moist snout sniffs at his feet. Instinctively, he holds out his hand. He feels Frivo's back. He pets her again. He smells his fingers. The Alilonic atmosphere has a strange effect on the pig's skin, which has become remarkably greasy. The Transformer blinks and protects his face against the sun. He sits up straight. He feels as if he's spent too much time under the radiator. When the throbbing in his temples subsides, he takes a look around. 

His eyes detect a lake. Grey water. There are trees or branches floating in it - he can't see clearly from this point. What is he doing here? He narrows his eyes and racks his memory. Snatches of his memories return. He has come here to transform into Akili. During the euphoric period, the colonists would extract their minerals undisturbed. It was a noble solution. Weizo opens his eyes. The greyness of the water gives him a headache. He feels old and tired. Very tired. He has always felt superior to mankind. As a demigod. And take a look now! His grating laugh, which puts everything into perspective, echoes down the mountain. When Frivo lies in his arms, he remembers that he wanted to prove he is still one of the greatest. Weizo remains the best. Frivo licks his face.