Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Legacy of Septimus Jones

Jonathan felt a tingling down his spine and inadvertantly took a step backwards. Looking at the man, he knew he looked familiar. There wasn't a doubt in Jonathan's mind that this Septimus Jones was the Septimus Jones - the one who had established the colonies and the one who had destroyed Earth.
The old man looked at Jonathan, and then at his offered hand and retracted it. "You seem a little upset by something Mr. Brooke."
Jonathan could barely believe the friendly tone of voice he was hearing. "You might say that," he replied.
"Of course, you are from Earth. I suppose I am responsible for some misunderstandings and minor unpleasntries there. But, Mr. Brooke, that was a millenium ago. Can't you forgive an old man?"
"Quite honestly, I don't trust you or feel comforatable." Jonathan told the man.
"Why not take a seat, then? I apologise for the state of The Beast, it seemes that it's rather fallen into disrepare over the last few hundred years; but I assure you, the chairs are as solid as ever. I always told myself I was going to fix this place up, all it would really take, you understand, would be a moment of thought. I would just have to focus my perceptions and tell the Mind what things really should be like. But, honestly, it's gotten to the point now where I can't really remember what anything looked like before. And who am I to destroy this marvelous wonder of archeology. I'm not sure you noticed the emblem on the door when you came in?"
Jonathan was still recovering from the shock of what he saw before him. His mind was mostly blank, but questions were slowly forming. The first was about that very emblem. He sat down carefully in one of the chairs, opposite the rotting table of Septimus. "I did see it."
"Ah, excellent! Then you might have noticed that it said 'USNA' on it; stands for the United States of North America, you understand? This ship is probably their most incredible wonder of technology. They couldn't build it out in the open, so they had to build it underground. On the moon, in point of fact. It's the last remaining fuctional peice of technology from that era, as far as I know. It really does carry a powerful weapon, a great cannon that can destroy human minds. I haven't used it since those days, of course."
"You bastard. How did you get off the moon befor the nuclear missiles obliterated the surface?"
"Now, now, Mr. Brooke, is there really any need to be insulting?" Jonathan still couldn't place what was wrong with the way Septimus was speaking. It was like he had an accent, but it was so vauge. "Remeber that I am an Idealist; in fact, I discovered this particular form of the philosophy."
"But it's wrong!" Jonathan demanded.
"So you would think, Mr. Brooke. So you would think. It's all because you fell in with the wrong crowd. You see, there was not supposed to be any sort of survival on Earth. I was a fool and assumed that the in system colonies woudl destroy themselves and that all life on Earth had perished. Apparently I was wrong - imagine my surprise when we spoke in the hall of Elders on Port Orpheus."
"You weren't there."
Septimus, in the blink of an eye was no longer the same bald old man in front of Jonathan. He had taken on the appearance of Lucas, the elder of Port Orpheus. When he spoke, it was with a different voice and the accent was gone. "Wasn't I?"
Jonathan's jaw dropped at the sight. It was impossible that Septimus could have changed his appearance like that. In an instant he was back to the same wiry old man. Septimus seemed to read Jonathan's mind. "The thing about Idealism," he said "is that the more you practice it, the better you get. I've had a thousand years to hone my skills, and, of course, I was the first to start changing the perceptions of the entire universe. Of course, it really is against the social laws of the colonial society to change your appearance with the Mind, but I feel it's necessary. I mean, most people in the worlds thing I'm dead."
"Maybe you should be," Jonathan said acidly.
"You know, your friend James Grinder said the same thing. Interesting really. If I had died, he would never have been here. Its through him that I knew where you were and were able to capture you. Blind luck, really, that you ended up here in the Ranch system and I didn't have to bring you from another world."
"What do you mean by saying through Grinder you could capture us?" Jonathan asked slowly.
"Oh, it's this strange side-effect of being so close to the Mind so often that I noticed. It seems that as I pour my perceptions into the universe, so the universe pours its perceptions into me. I was surprised at first when I could see thorugh the eyes of my children, but soon learned how useful it was. To my great pleasure, this trend continued through all the generations of my family. Most of them don't know that they are my descendants, of course, and none of them know about this strange ability I have to see through their eyes. Except, of course, James. I told him when we had a bit of a chat. He seemed to take the information very poorly. It's wonderfully really; the abillity I mean. I have hundreds of spies out among the colonies and not a single one of them knows what they are doing for me."
"You are a terrible man." Jonathan told Septimus.
The old man made a clicking noise with his tounge and said "Now Jonathan, did I really deserve that?"
Before Jonathan could reply, Norman dropped off the ceiling and onto Septimus Jones' head. The creature was attacking the old man, using his many thin legs to try and puncture the man's skin. a few scrapes began to appear in the flurry of movement, but Septimus managed to grab hold of the creature and throw it. Norman bounced off the wall, and handed on the ground. A strange clicking noise began to come out of his carpace once again.
Septimus calmy drew a gun out of the recessed of his clothing and pulled the trigger. Norman fell flat to the ground, and the clicking stopped.
"I think," Septimus said, wiping a dot of blood of his forehead "that our interview for today is over."
Jonathan felt speechless, and looked at the body of Norman. The creature had taken on a generic grey colour. Although Jonathan really knew nothing about his physiology, he was sure that the creature was dead. He was ready to attack Septimus himself when the two guards grabbed his arms and dragged him back to cell.
All the information he had learned on that day weighed down on him, and he felt heavy. The talk alone had been enough to justify the lack-luster pace the other three companions had adopted after their interviews, but Jonathan had the added weight of a lost friend.
He colapsed onto the cot when he was thrown into his cell and wept. He felt more hopeless in that moment than he even had in his entire life.