Echless Yastis's Questionnaire

“Who is that one among us, that can claim to know forgotten beginnings and uncertain endings? Him who beholds those two extremes, beholds also the plane median to them, and as such the logic and reason underlying our current, *transitory* existence. As this is why we live in this body made of metal and toil, and not in the ones of stone and gas and deterministic nature - we are defined by our mission, our Final Destination.

….oh. You meant for elaboration on mine own physical condition.

….

I sleep in a bed. Eat on a table, sit on a chair, urinate and defecate inside a toilet. A door separates those items from the numerous hallways which consolidated weave a tapestry of paths through this cylinder, though I may choose to neutralize its essential function should I so desire. The door’s, I mean.”

“You confound cause with effect. I do not execute my duties in order to receive salary, but rather my salary is required so that I may continue my duties, free from the burdens of flesh. Only by folly can man reverse this causation so completely! If you know yourself to be afflicted by that terrible disease, tell me, so that I may know to distance myself from you.

….you are certain? Very well. My work lies within The Odysseus’ Archive. If The Odysseus is a garden and the Archive is one of many trees, I am one of many tasked with ensuring its fruitfulness. To this end we tend to it and prevent its shriveling from neglect; order its branches so that that which one desires may be within arm’s reach; taste the fruit and determine whether it still contains the sweetness of relevance or the sourness of obsolescence. And within this order of gardeners, I am made keeper of the Branch of Stars, that noble curiosity which seeks the truth to answer the how, if not the why, behind the swaying of celestial bodies to and fro.”

״A sensible question, and finding its answer would require a thousand lifetimes. But I will give you a few words concerning my musings on the matter.

I, simply put, am a curious man. We have all arrived to this reality, where our world, our toil, our very minds and souls row forward in a dark sea of indifference. Always forward.

Who built this vessel? Where did it come from? Why did our ancestors leave there? Where will our descendants arrive? Once there, what must they do? Will they one day build a construct much like ours, and go back to whence we came? Is our mission a cycle, imitating those great and terrible stars and their orbits? Or maybe those orbits are, indeed, journeys not unlike our own, their destinations so very distant in the future?

What despair does the hapless child feel, when there are so many questions and no great and wise elder to answer them! If sacrifice is what this elder would demand in exchange for his presence, then would the child…?

… I believe we should prod this subject no further. Please, would you give a bewildered fool but a moment to gather his thoughts?

Thank you.”

“It happened a few days ago - I do not recall exactly how many. I was watching the great Void through an observatory window. My father approached me.

”What do you see, my son?” He asked.

”I see stars, Father.” I replied. “Are we going there?”

”No. We are going much farther.”

We stood in silence.

”Father, where are we going?” I inquired.

”We are going to the Final Destination. We may not reach it within my lifetime, or yours. But we will reach it, in the end.” Father explained patiently.

”Father, what does the Final Destination look like?”

”No one knows. We will know when we arrive.” He responded sagely.

“And what will we do, when we’re there?”

”We… will know when we arrive.”

”Where did we come from, Father?”

”Our history is long, my son. Much has been forgotten.”

”And why did we leave there?”

”I already told you it has been forgotten.”

”Father, if we were there at the beginning and we don’t know anything now, how can you say we will know anything about what to do when we arrive?”

My father then beat me harshly, and I cried because of the pain this inflicted upon my frail body. After he left, I understood what his violence meant. He meant to say:

”I do not know. No one knows, and I fear no one will.”

I cried again, because of the pain this inflicted upon my frail soul.”

“Garsome is his name, but I do not believe he cares much for it. Especially not after his death. He still wanders the Archive’s walls, did you know? It is true. I sense his presence, overseeing me and my colleagues silently, auditing our knowledge and methodology as though he was so absorbed by his work he did not notice his own passing. It would not surprise me if it were truly so: The Archive is always in all of its gardeners’ thoughts, but the late Director had turned it into an obsession. I recall him on his deathbed, still awaiting the response from Command to his latest petition for access to the more… concealed files.

”…who is Director now? Oh, just someone. I believe his name to be Flike… or was it Slike? One of these, at any rate. The descendant of some important figure on the upper echelons of Command. One would think this would play in the Archive’s favor concerning our quest for access to the knowledge unwisely hidden from us, but our Director does not seem to hold our pursuit in such high esteem.

“…one who is most dear to me?… fine, I will tell you. One day, as I was walking to my work, I came across a woman with a small girl, who was looking at something on the ground and displaying great emotion. The woman was trying to get her to move, without much success. The small girl looked up as she saw someone approaching.

”Mister, mister!” She called.

”Mila, stop that!” The mother said, clearly flustered.

”Yes, child?” I stopped and answered, much to the woman’s embarrassment.

”I’m sorry my daughter’s bothering you, sir. She’s just-”

”Look!” The girl interrupted, pointing to the spot she’s been watching. There was a small ant.

”An ant.”

”She walks funny!” The girl squealed in excitement, expecting a response. I bent and looked closely, studying the ant. It did, indeed, have a strange gait.

”Mila, that’s enough! Stop upsetting the important man. Let’s go.” She pulled her protesting daughter away from the funny-walking ant. “I’m so sorry, sir. She’s just a child-”

This time it was I who interrupted her, my sudden laughter making her let go of Mila in her surprise. Mila ran and joined me in appreciation for the small and wondrous details of this universe. We laughed together heartily at the ant’s antics, and I knew that day humankind had hope.”

“Infancy. A mysterious time: it is then we reach the zenith of our wisdom, even as we lie in the nadir of our knowledge. Though in a way it is to be expected: We ask all the right questions, and we are not yet used to satisfying ourselves with non-answers.

Father had faith in our ship’s dogma. A good man, I think, but simple-minded. He had a great distaste for my immaterial inclinations, which were ‘a waste of everything I had gotten by the graces of this ship’, in his words. Nonetheless, he and Mother taught me much about this enclosed world of ours, and passed onto me our kind’s traditions dutifully. If nothing else, they have given me life; for this I must be ever grateful.

I was taught amongst my peers at first, but as time progressed the others asked less and less questions, and I only asked more. We were incompatible; my studies continued privately, and my parents were able to procure a young Archivist to tutor me. It was my first encounter with what would become a lifelong devotion.”

“Love…? I was in love with someone, once. She had bright blonde hair and a shrill laughter, sweeter than any symphony, and a collection of riddles which were not so clever, and a thousand other things that weren’t her but rather things related to her, and yet after having said such they were also her in a way.

We were married for a long time from one perspective, and yet it was also no time at all from another. Is it not droll how love distorts reality around itself so?

…oh, yes, we had children. I loved them, even more than the Archive, and yet the Archive is still here while they moved on. Some days it all happened a few days ago, and others it happened many years ago. I think today is one of the latter.

…my great-great-great-great-(great?)grandchildren still live in this ship somewhere, I think. I do not believe they know me, but perhaps it is for the best. I have chosen to linger here because my work is not yet finished, and I’m afraid one would not accomplish much if one were to receive gradually multiplying family visits.”