XV THE FICANIAN PSYCHICS

He left Smekleen behind him, the windstorm was over, Kavantar stretched out before him. He had already flown through the neesmus, inspected the broken cableways. Dedimount was just reverberated. So he was actually relieved. At first he was afraid he was going to die. But why was he afraid? He'd seen worse. Something had come back to life. Some memories he didn't understand.

How could he... Govleenbay had been through enough and MastronDavay, too. And now, he stood before Kavantar. On the horizon, he could see the thunderheads leading the Morean beauties in the chains. He had an immediate craving for hoshee. He used to slurp loads of it. He always dipped the hornfran in the hoshee – it tasted damn good.

Now, when he saw it, he was overcome with appetite. The Morean beauties seemed like nice girls. Yeah. But the skin, the effusions, that was worth a lot on the market. He wondered where he should go, but nothing big came to mind. He headed out into the city, grim-faced. As he surveyed the city, he was on his umpteenth light cycle, still couldn't figure out anything. He didn't find anyone suspicious, even with his questioning. And there's something to be said for that, nobody lived well under the frogheadie government. It was one long oppression. Like a noose slowly tightening around your neck. Still, every now and then someone would answer, I guess everyone was a bit lonely inside.

A lot of that time was about the fuel for dandas and taxinbo. There was a lot of torchlight driving, but because the frogieheadie government needed to get the economy moving, they pushed for smeerszkian demants. These were beautiful blue demants that gradually liquefied in a special tank. It left a beautiful blue trail behind the dandas.

It actually blued the roads you drove on. At night it glittered beautifully and the citizens loved to look at it from their balconies and windows. They were beautiful paintings, changing as they disappeared after each rain. That's why it was so fashionable to have the smeerszkian demants. Actually, Fork wondered why everyone was going through this when Dedimount had done so much damage. He could only understand that the government wanted to distract the citizens elsewhere. After all, Frogheadie himself was planning to enslave part of the city. He didn't need to calm things down for that. But he did need some capital to do it. It was a pretty good idea to empty the citizens' pockets and then enslave them.

Yeah, well, who knew that anthrax would spread through the city. After the shcandeen, ArtFork gave up and headed towards Nastreenfaat1589XCaemino. If there was one thing he needed to know, it was how to get back - and only The Ficanian Psychics could tell him that. He figured the neesmus side would be shorter.

In the end, it cost him two light cycles before he was out of the neesmus. He even had to spend the night in the canopy. He parked the ckholay under one of the dead trees and then climbed up onto a branch, looking both ways. The stars were shining, the chindras were crazing, and Fork could sleep. He slept for a long time. When he awoke in the morning, he watched Mexe and Trerise.

They were illuminated by the glow of an approaching BAZMAANR flare. When he wanted to go to The Ficanian Psychics, he couldn't miss The Ficanian Justice, which looked with its empty eyes into the soul's records to check the intentions. ArtFork parked the ckholay nearby, but he had to walk barefoot from there. Those were the rules. No shoes, no hurry. Every step he took in pursuit of The Ficanian Psychics had to be, and was, produced by awareness. Not everybody made that journey, and not everybody got to The Ficanian Psychics. For some, the path remained closed and they left with nothing. Fork had no fear.

He'd been to The Ficanian Psychics before, he just wondered why The Ficanian Justice was shedding tears this time. "Welcome, Fork," The Ficanian Psychics said. "Hello!" Fork said. "Have you completed your task?" The Ficanian Psychics asked him. "No," Fork wrinkled his big nose. "So," The Ficanian Psychics nodded.

"Yes?" Fork asked. "So," they answered him again. "So what's next?" Fork asked. But The Ficanian Psychics were silent. "Hm?" Fork wondered. He stood there. Somehow he thought they would be more forthcoming. "We know why you came," The Ficanian Psychics said after a little while. "But we don't know what to do with you."

"You don't know something?" Fork snapped. "Hahahaha," laughed The Ficanian Psychics. "We only know how much you can carry." "Oh," Fork lowered his chest. "Then at least tell me how to get back." "Can't." "What? Are you crazy?!" Fork snapped, but he was a little polite, considering he knew who he was talking to. "Why?"

"You can't go back because you're sick." "Ts," Fork took offense. "I guess I'd have to know something about that, wouldn't I?" But he whined it only to himself. "You've contracted anthrax." "What? What are you talking about? I haven't even found a single creature that's infected!" "Hahahaha," laughed The Ficanian Psychics, but it was a cold laugh. "Your journey was already destined to fail," they continued.

"How?" Fork couldn't believe his hearing aids. "By deciding to help NamastFinger, you have brought destruction upon Kavantar." "Well, I wonder how," Fork snorted. "You brought the anthrax to Kavantar. You are the source of the plague." "But I'm healthy!" Fork defended himself. "It was you who brought the Hakunbelan plague to Moshquenseer from the wormhole. And it was you who brought the anthrax from the wormhole to Kavantar. Don't you get it yet? It was you who decided the fate of Wetlandbad, as well as the whole Moshquenseer. It is you who have decided the fate of Kavantar," said The Ficanian Psychics.

"Me? But why?!" Fork exclaimed nervously. "Because you're part of a bigger plan to save the universe." "Saving the universe? From what?" Fork continued to ask. "The shadow universe is awakening. It's waking up to balance all the rushing progress and everyone's desire for better." "Shadow universe? What's that?" asked Fork.

"It's an exact replica of the universe you know. It's not different in any way." "If there is no other, why does it expand?" "Because it replaces the overblownness of everything. It erases all memories and names. It erases all progress and desires and wishes. All that's left is a pure universe without all that."

"Is there any way to prevent it?" "That's why you're spreading the disease," The Ficanian Psychics continued, without answering Fork's question, "that's why you've been given free will. To make your own decisions. And based on that, the world will be transformed and balanced." Fork remained silent. He had no thought in his head.

"You are MastronDavay of Wetlandbad. You are Govleenbay of Rukozlan. You are ArtFork, the fican detective from Jibhaainhulu. You want to protect NamastFinger, but she's gonna die anyway. And with her, MahammuFlaytra, and so will He." "Who is He?" "Your successor. Your successor." "My successor?" "Before you die, you will beget a son.

His name will be..." "Alfie of the planet Lucien," Fork snapped, though he didn't know what he had just said. "See? You have free will. It depends on what you do with it. In Kavantar, you find Anyenna of the planet Lucien and beget a son by her, and then you perish." "Brr," Fork shuddered. He didn't like the idea at all.

"Somehow I still don't understand how I got infected," Fork mused aloud. "In the wormhole." "Oh. That makes sense." "All diseases come from there. Diseases spread through wormholes throughout the universe." The prayoil was still spreading around, but it was slowly beginning to fade. And just as The Ficanian Psychics said, it did. Fork found Anyenna of the planet Lucien in the suburb of Carouge. He sired Alfie and died.

"Welcome, Fork," The Ficanian Psychics said. "Hello!" Fork said. "Have you completed your task?" The Ficanian Psychics asked him.