High in the Mintorn Mountains, the Green Chair underwent a barrage of tests. The scientists of Filstar Labs shook it, banged it, scanned it, and burned little bits of the seat. Before the results of one experiment were in, two others were begun. Barth's appetite for the endeavor could not be quenched, and he stalked the scientists day and night, ordering them to perform every conceivable experiment upon the chair. He borrowed their lab books and picked out random chemicals from long lists, urging them to study the interaction between the Green Chair and each successive potion. A pet grat was even brought in. It walked around the chair twice, sniffed it, licked one of the legs, hopped upon it, and promptly fell asleep. This was no problem for the scientists–they simply proceeded to study the effects a sleeping grat had upon the chair.

  Barth's mind was consumed by the chair, and he paid little attention to the reports of apocalyptic storms wracking the equator of the planet. Even the news that the Army had just missed Quinn in the Burning Wilderness did not distract him. Only once did he receive a call on his personal-information-center from the Emperor's office that jolted him. It had gone something like this: “Either you find out who blew up the Gaelen and how and why, or we will drop by North End and blow up your two-flyr garage. And we'll fire you, too. And take away any chance you had at becoming a history teacher.” Barth didn't really care what they did to his estate back in Seoltin. But could they blacklist him from the History Guild? He intensified his efforts with the chair.

  Unfortunately, every test on the chair returned similar results. Scientifically, this was a good thing, and the lab technicians tried to explain this to Barth, but to no avail. Barth was furious. Every test's result was this: It is a plain chair made of a mixture of plastic and metal covered in an unfamiliar type of green paint. Every problem has a solution, so it didn't take Barth too long to find a solution to the consistent results. He threw away all the data that pointed towards the green chair's being a more or less normal chair. Any experiment has a certain amount of error, he reasoned. Aberrant data, isolated inconsistencies, occasional anomalies. The scientists had discarded these, relying only on behaviors that could be consistently reproduced. If something happened once, but never again, it was considered experimental error and ignored. But at Barth's command, the scientists began to throw away all data identifying the chair as a normal chair of unknown origin. They began following the more subtle variations between it and a control chair built by the graduate students on Second Floor.

  This is when the experiment began to go somewhere. In fact, the chair flew across the room and slammed into a bookshelf. No one had pushed it or set it on an incline. The control chair remained stationary. And the sleeping grat was thrown against a wall. At that moment the scientists realized Barth might be right. The chair was definitely unique. They also learned that angry grats have sharp claws.

  * * * * * * * *

  Ulduk's cart of fruit came to a sudden halt, and he recognized the familiar ring of glockenspiels ahead, sounding out orders for the troops. “Another siege,” he muttered, cramming the rest of a banana into his mouth. Sure enough, a minute later, the cart's door was opened and fur clad barbarians yanked Ulduk out, corralling him with the other captives towards a set of large tents. As before, the prisoners were divided by language and each nationality assigned to one of the tents. As the Atakalans were gathered together, Ulduk examined the horizon. The army had stopped at the mouth of a narrow valley. At the opposite end of the valley was a walled city, dwarfed by steep mountains on both sides. His gaze was drawn away from the city and up to the mountaintops dressed in regal clouds. They are so tall! I scarcely remember the first time I saw such mountains! I was amazed… overwhelmed!

  The memory came vividly back. He had been twelve years old. Born and raised in Aketi, he’d spent his early childhood playing in the swampy jungle near his home. He had been fearless of the tsetse flies, learning to recognize their sound and slap them before that painful incision. He would hop from high spot to high spot in the wetlands near his parents’ hut, just at the door of the deep and dangerous Amono Marshlands. He had always enjoyed the rush of water as the Aketi River hit the Amono River, but it was the Marshlands that captivated him the most. His parents had often worried about his childish “adventures” into the swamp, but knew that he rarely went far. He’d climbed hundreds of trees, built countless forts, and formed winding paludal trails across narrow tufts of grass dotting the murky waters.

  But on his twelfth birthday, it all ended. His father and mother had called a family meeting, explaining that they were leaving the swampy depths of Aketi for another more “modern” village. The children grudgingly collected their belongings, unhappy to leave behind their memories. A week later, the family canoed up the Aketi River to the village of Wismer, where they would stay for many years. Across the Aketi River from the village, rolling hills covered with green jungles gently rose. And behind them, many miles in the distance, but barely visible on a clear day were the mountains, the first mountains Ulduk had ever seen, the highest reaches of the Tygard Highlands. Ulduk missed the swamps, his forts, and his trees. Yet, looking out at those towering peaks was enough to quell his sorrow. They were amazing. Spectacular. They made the miserable, modern city of Wismer worth it, he figured. In Wismer, there were no swamps to explore, and the trees were straighter and harder to climb. The river was narrower, swifter, and colder, no fun for swimming or play. And the city was crowded and noisy, rows and rows of clay huts along wide streets, each dwelling numbered in perfect order. In Aketi, there were no streets. To get somewhere, you took a canoe, or cut through the woods. You certainly didn't walk five blocks south and two blocks east. He tried to remember what he’d done after they’d moved there. Surely he hadn't stayed in Wismer ever since?

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  His mind was blank. He couldn’t recall a thing. I am a nobody. I have no name and a meaningless past. And from the looks of things, I have a miserable future in store as well.

  Ulduk’s musings were interrupted as he was corralled into the tent. Several guards stood by the door and watched the captives with distrust. They looked like they resented the duty. Ulduk claimed a spot near a corner and sat down to wait out another siege. His thoughts, however, were on those towering mountains he’d seen only moments ago. They called him, beckoned him. He eventually fell asleep, but slept poorly.

  Ulduk woke in the middle of the night. The mountains were calling him, tugging at his soul with their tantalizing grip. He could still remember them, high and majestic, gray and brown peaks towering from the jungles below. He turned his head to examine the guards, hulking masses of gray in the dim light of two candles. One leaned on an iron spear, staring blankly out the tent door, his back to the captives. Two others sat on the ground watching the Atakalan prisoners. One glanced at Ulduk and frowned. Three remaining guards were asleep.

  Ulduk was in the farthest corner of the tent from the guards. He rolled over, and reached out his hand against the wall, then scratched lightly with his finger. Most of his fingernails had snapped off when he'd climbed out of the ground weeks ago, but a few were still intact. They were long and curved, looking like they hadn't been trimmed since the Stone Age. And quite sharp. Ulduk grinned, reaching out farther to hold the tent's fabric between two fingers. The material felt lightweight; it was a textile rather than a thick hide. He pushed his fingers together, running his fingernail along a natural line.

  There! A small tear–his fingernail had punctured the cloth. Threads began to unravel as he carefully lengthened his cut. Slowly, he turned his head. The guards weren’t paying him any attention, and his slumped body hid his work. Inch by inch, Ulduk widened the hole he’d made until there was a foot long slit at the base of the tent. He rolled over until he hugged the edge of the tent, watching the guards as he turned. They looked back with half-opened eyes. When his back was to them, he returned to work, lying as still as possible as he lengthened the opening. Cool air from the African night blew on him through the crack. Twice he had to shift his position to reach further. After what seemed like ages, the slit was as long as his body. He readjusted himself so that he was lined up perfectly with it, and then waited a few moments until the guards stopped staring at him. Then he began inching sideways through the opening. When he was halfway out, he rolled over swiftly and was free.

  He wasn’t sure if the guards would notice or not. It had been fairly dark in there, but they'd also been watching his every move. He didn’t wait to find out. Scampering away, he looked up to the mountains and made a beeline through the camp to their foothills. He didn't see any guards, but heard shouting and knew they were following him. Heavy footsteps clanged after him, but he kept his eyes forward, running as fast as he could. In no time, he was out of the camp and battering his way through a thick jungle. He dove in to the undergrowth and began ascending the hillside, crawling through a thick mop of vines and roots. The crashing behind him stopped, but the shouts of the barbarians continued for a few minutes until at last, they too died down. Ulduk grasped his unusual necklace for good luck, continuing up the slope. The thick brush along the valley's edge gave way to a more open forest, and his eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that he could stand up and continue on his feet. Branches lashed across his face and he stumbled often, but he continued for a few more minutes until he felt he'd put enough distance between himself and the camped army. He collapsed in the arms of a tree with a tangle of roots falling from higher branches, but did not fall asleep. Instead, recollections peppered his mind. He'd tried to climb mountains like these before… though in daylight and under less stressful circumstances. He remembered how long it had taken to convince his parents to let him leave for the journey. He'd never climbed anything higher than a tree, but after growing up in Wismer in the shadow of the Tygard Highlands, he'd told his parents he wanted to leave Wismer and climb the mountains. It had made so much sense to him at the time, though looking back, he couldn't believe his parents had allowed it…

  “Mom, I’m almost eighteen years old.”

  “Ulduk, it’s dangerous! It wouldn’t matter if you were forty!”

  Ulduk! That was–is my name! I remember!

  “Dad… tell her.”

  “Louri, he is an adult now. If he’s certain this is what he wants to do, then we should let him go. I did the same thing when I was his age.”

  “And if a young woman hadn't fished you out of the Amono River, you would be dead now.”

  “Ah, but we would not have met, then.”

  Louri ignored the obvious ploy. “I will not have my son killed on those peaks. It’s dangerous climbing mountains… he should stay in Wismer where he is safe. Take over the shop…”

  “Mom! I don’t like Wismer. I want to explore… see the world. I've saved up for years to do this. Pop knows I have enough money for supplies. And if I run into trouble, I’ll come right back.”

  Louri shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips like air out of a tire. “Ulduk. Is this really what you want to do?”

  “Yes mother. Very much. I want to see things, learn things. Find things I never knew existed.”

  “Very well, then. But, please come back if you have any trouble. We love you, son!”

  And so, he’d packed and gone on his way, across the Aketi River, up into the Tygard Highlands. The rolling hills and dense jungles were no problem for Ulduk and he made swift progress. After all, he’d spent his childhood playing in the Amono Marshlands… what could be more difficult than navigating the narrow, twisted paths through the dangerous swamp?

  What happened then? Did I make it to the top of the Highlands? Did I cross the mountains, or return home? Ulduk Penney could not remember. My life is a scroll, a few pages filled at the introduction and now I pen the conclusion, but the entire middle is void of ink. He resigned his thoughts and at last fell asleep.