The last thing Adam remembered of his native Earth was stepping into Cape Canaveral for one last time, before being whisked away into the Kennedy Space Center. He remembered feeling afraid, but knowing as well what he had signed up for. He also remembered stepping into a coffin of glass and steel, a pinprick in his elbow, his eyes already heavy from the dropping temperatures. . . .
And then he woke up here, in a coldly-lit room, with several other similar containers lining both sides of a corridor. From what he could see, he was at the end of this corridor, with most of the other passengers on his right side, extending beyond the view the glass permitted.
He remembered a moment later where he was – aboard the space-faring colony ship, Zodiac-Altair – or just the Zodiac part, at least. The culmination of a decade of coöperation, work, and progress from both sides of the Iron Curtain – and he was one of fifty applicants chosen to travel the stars aboard this vessel.
As the buffer fluid drained from his tube, he became acutely aware of a figure of a man standing before him – or rather, just the knees of one. Adam shifted his limbs, and quickly regretted it – the muscle stiffness sent a wave of pain coursing through his body. At least he knows I’m still alive, he thought. Right?
Finally, both glass barriers slid open: first the inner, then the outer, exposing him to the blistering cold air of the Zodiac. “Dr. Somerset? You can hear me?”
Adam noted the moderate Russian accent as he stiffly nodded with a slight wince.
“You are wanted on the bridge. Follow me.” This man wasted no time with pleasantries; surely something must have happened that required his urgent attention. But why me? Why a linguist? Surely an engineer would be more useful. He looked at the pod across from him, and saw it belonged to a soldier – one Argjend Gjebrea. Gotta think of everything, I guess.
Slowly, Adam climbed out of his tube, putting his feet on the ground – and immediately fell against the wall behind the tubes. “Centrifugal gravity,” the man explained. “You will need to use the ladder.” He tapped one of the bottom rungs. “Here. I help you.”
“Thanks.” He placed his feet upon what he thought was a wall, and other than a bit of weakness, he found his footing stable on the floor. Right, centrifugal gravity – Zodiac’s spinning, and I have to climb up to the middle. He firmly grasped a rung, and tried to pull himself up. After some straining, the man grabbed Adam’s waist and boosted him up.
That proved greatly helpful, and he found the rest of the climb a cinch. With each rung, the gravity grew weaker and weaker, and soon he found himself inside Zodiac’s central hub. Four hallways opened up to three sections of the Zodiac – in front of him, for instance, was the entrance to the Libra, Scorpio, and Sagittarius sections. He looked behind him – Aries, Taurus, and Gemini. The left side had another entrance, but was sealed off, but the right was wide open – “To Altair” the sign read, and below it, “К Альтаиру.” That makes sense – gotta show both worlds around.
“The bridge is through that way.” The man stumbled on the last word – Door? Doorway? What word did he mean to use? Even so, he pushed off the wall behind him and floated into the long central hallway. He couldn’t tell where Zodiac ended and Altair began; the merge was smooth, flawless.
Altair contained the bulk of the ship’s cargo, mostly stowed at the far end of the vessel. Around him were six doorways, each paired with heavy doors – heavy at least under Earth’s gravity. Four of these were for “TPRU,” or “ТПРУ,” numbered one through four – he had no idea what a TPRU was, but he assumed it was something the Soviets had built for the task.
Below him was a vertical column of an unknown purpose, and above him: “Мостик – Bridge.” Now we’re getting somewhere, Adam thought. He pushed himself off the edge of the doorway, and drifted ‘upwards’ to the bridge.
There was no gravity to be found here, but that didn’t bother him too much. He looked around, but couldn’t see or hear anyone else in this compartment. “Hello?” he called aloud.
“Hoo!” Another man jerked his head up from a computer terminal on the ‘ceiling,’ startled by the voice. He cleared his throat after calming down. “Dr. Somerset, I presume?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Splendid.” He thrust himself away from the terminal, spun to orient himself upright to Adam, and offered a handshake. “Commander Louis Darcy, if you do not recall. Anton and I were the last to board before departing.”
Adam looked around. “Anton?”
“Da, ja Anton.” The man he met earlier had come up behind him. “I am cryogenicist, for the ship. I watch over colonists, as they sleep in cold.” As he entered the bridge, Adam noticed the patches on his international-orange-colored jumpsuit – one was the mission badge for Zodiac-Altair, another his name, “A. KONSTANTINOV – A. КОНСТАНТИНОВ,” and the third was a golden hammer and sickle. Right. Because they didn’t have time to sew new patches for a post-Soviet world.
And Darcy’s uniform bore the same, save for a red maple leaf patch. “Though of course, Dr. Konstantinov and I have also been sleeping in cryo ourselves.” Louis pointed behind himself, to two cryo pods at the far end of the bridge. “As have you. And forty-seven others, or so I’ve been told. Speaking of – ” he turned to the Russian – “how are the others holding up?”
Adam could watch the gears turn over in his head as he tried to figure out the idiom – and a moment later, he answered, “All others are well, Commander. Alive, with no problems. We can awaken at any time.”
“Excellent!” The commander snapped his fingers. “Would you start preparing TPRU-1, please? I’ll need a few moments to confer with our star linguist here.” Charming.
Anton raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. “He is only linguist, no? I do not find any other ones in the manifest.”
“You know what I meant, Doctor. If you would kindly excuse us. . . .” As Anton dipped out of the bridge, Louis turned back to Adam. “Now – you’re probably wondering why I pulled you out of your sleep, Dr. Somerset.”
“You have no idea.” Adam chuckled. “Why me?” His mind started racing with all sorts of possibilities – what do they need me for?
“Nervous?” Louis asked. Adam nodded. “I’m sure you have every right to be. Come over here.” He gestured to an observation window on the port side of the bridge. “Look – there is our destination, Rhysling, can you see it? And no, before you ask – it really isn’t Earth.”
Adam couldn’t help but see it – the new world filled the window’s entire viewing angle, a world of blue, green, and white, ripe with alien life. Rhysling looked like Earth, to be sure – but then none of the landmasses matched up. “Amazing” fell out of his mouth without him realizing it.
“Isn’t it?” The commander cleared his throat, which snapped Adam out of his reverie. “I’ll tell you the story. For reference, today is the thirtieth of June, 1997.”
1997!? Adam recoiled at the news. Three years had gone by in the blink of an eye. He knew the voyage would take that long, but at the same time, it was a lot to take in. He wondered how his students were doing, current and former, back at MIT.
“Easy there, l’ami!” Louis put a hand up. “There’s more to this. After three years, seven months, and fifteen days in transit, we reached Jupiter early this month. That’s when our cryo pods woke us up – triple-redundant timers, plus Anton has heating pads on the back of his, so we’re up and at it during Jovian injection no matter what.
“From there, it was my job to ‘thread the needle,’ so to speak – the Flandro Object is about the size of a small asteroid, which might sound large, but it’s all too easy to slingshot around it by mistake instead.” He held up his left arm vertically, and the right horizontally, fist pointed to the left. “We went in – ” he shot the fist to the left arm – “and we went out – ” the fist crossed to the other side of the arm. “Simple as you like.”
“And that was it?” Adam had to ask. “No violent shaking, no parts falling off? Nothing?” It really can’t be that simple.
Louis laughed aloud. “Perish the thought! It was a smooth, easy transition – it happened in a second, hardly a bump. Perhaps the worst was that Anton almost spilled his water in the Zodiac’s galley.” He cleared his throat again. “So, where was I? Right – it was another four days of transit from the other end of the Flandro Object to Rhyslinger injection – ” he snapped his fingers, pointing out the window – “where we arrived on the twenty-first, on the Earth’s Solstice. Well. . . .”
Louis shot away from Adam and to the terminal. He hit some keys, and a moment later turned back to the linguist. “It’s actually the second of July on Earth today, when accounting for time dilation.”
“That’s all?”
“Two days, that’s all – and pray for no more. Anyway – ” with a hand motion, he ‘brushed aside’ the digression – “once we were in orbit, we needed a place to, well, run aground, for lack of a better word. But where, exactly? That is the question. After scouting that green area somewhere around there – ” he swirled his finger around a general locale, though it really didn’t help Adam much – “we dropped a probe. It’ll give us readings on atmospheric composition, climate and soil conditions, and so forth – that is, if we can get it back.”
He muttered something under his breath – Adam couldn’t make it out, but he was sure it was French. “For the last two days, we’ve been trying to hail it, and get back scientific data – but nothing! Rien de rien! It’s as if it had died at the worst possible time!” Tightly clenching his fist, he eventually let out a tense breath. “Pardon. We’ve tried every solution we could think of – everything short of physical intervention, in fact.”
“So that’s why you pulled me out of cryo?” Adam asked. Of all the things they need me for. . . . “I’m sure an engineer would do just as well – or a soldier.”
“That was the idea at first,” Louis replied. “Câlisse, I could’ve done that myself! But then Anton threw a wrench into the cogs. No, it wasn’t his fault – and besides, I’m glad he did.” He gestured to the terminal, signaling for Adam to watch the screen. A few dozen keystrokes later, he pulled up an image on the monitor. “This is the approximate area where we dropped – and, not long after, lost – the probe. Obviously it’s a forest, that much is clear – but look due north.” He traced the direction with his finger.
Adam had to lean in, close enough that he could see the dark traces between the pixels. When his eyes properly focused on the subject matter, he recoiled – hard enough to set himself spinning. He caught his ankle on the “ceiling” and stopped himself. “What was that, a human settlement?” Have I gone mad? Have we spent the last three years and whatever going in a circle!?
“A settlement, to be sure – but it’s not human.” He snapped his finger at Adam. “And that is why I’ve ordered you out of cryo. That is why I’m having Anton prepare one of the TPRU landers.” Oh, so that’s what they’re for. “Once you reach Rhysling’s surface, your mission is threefold.”
He started counting on his hand. “First: you will document the local language or languages in a way that we the rest of the colony can learn, so that we can communicate with the Indigenous. Second: you will negotiate a landing site with the local rulers. Do make sure there isn’t a local conflict over the area – the last thing we want is to be dragged into a war.” Even though we have soldiers? he thought. Well, I guess we can get outnumbered pretty quickly. “Third: you will locate and reactivate the probe, to transmit the scientific data that it likely already has, by any means necessary.
“These objectives are ranked in order of importance, though of course all of them are vital in some form. The last of these of course I can leave to a grease monkey, but the others require a degree of finesse from a relevant expert, like yourself. Necessarily on the ground.”
Seemingly satisfied with his explanation, the commander crossed his arms. “Any questions?”
Adam instantly had a few. “Why not send an engineer as well? What’s the risk of having two people on the ground?” I could really use the company, now that I think about it. . . .
“It’s more efficient this way, Dr. Somerset. The engineer can fix the probe, but once that’s done, now what? Besides, you’ve been trained for this sort of scenario. Plus – ” he snapped his fingers at the ‘floor’ – “I’d rather not send out additional supplies than what’s already loaded on TPRU-1.”
“Why not drop a second probe?” he asked next.
The commander was quick on the draw. “We’ve thought of that,” he answered, “but unfortunately both other probes have malfunctioned in transit. Worse, both of their parachute deployment systems have malfunctioned, and there’s no way to repair those without contaminating them. We can’t drop one even for spare parts – it would be charred by the time it impacted the surface.”
It just had to be this way, didn’t it?
“Which is also why I want you to work quickly,” he added. “Do a good job, of course, but don’t waste any more time than you have to.”
And if the Indigenous are time-wasters themselves? How would I deal with that? But Adam suppressed that question and asked a different one: “Can you at least tell what kind of Indigenous I’m about to deal with?”
“So sorry, Doctor, but I’m afraid your guess is as good as ours.” He pointed at the photograph on the screen. “This is as good as it gets on our ship-mounted cameras.” The commander sighed. “Look, I realize your head might still be spinning after being jolted awake from cryo, and something like this has only happened a handful of times in human history – but I simply cannot overstate that you have perhaps the most important job of anyone aboard Zodiac-Altair. We’ll support you however we can from orbit; just get it done.”
Adam’s head was swimming with myriad wild thoughts. I’m now putting myself in the shoes of those who came before. Plymouth, Botany Bay, Zanzibar – each of those areas were alien in their own right, yet being on Earth, they had human constraints. Here? Nobody here knows how they could communicate.
Flashing lights? Those I could see, but only in my visible spectrum, and I’ve no practical way to reply. Pheromones are right out, if I don’t want to break contamination protocols. A sign language I could pull off, but it’d be limited to the joints in my body.
Even so, if I could figure it out under the hood, at the fundamental level, maybe this could get Chomsky off his high horse. And a chance to make history. . . .
Adam let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Alright,” he said. “I guess I’m ready. When do I start?”
“As soon as you’re ready – hopefully in time to save whatever data was gathered before shutdown.” With an open hand, he indicated the hatch to Altair’s central spindle. “Dr. Konstantinov should have finished with preparations himself.” And in a louder voice, “Is Dr. Somerset’s lander ready yet?” he asked.
“Da, gotov,” Dr. Konstantinov’s voice echoed ‘up’ the way. “We should launch in ten minutes next.”
“Then the question is,” he next asked, “are you ready?”
Adam firmly nodded. “Yes!”
“Then we’ll not waste any more time,” Louis told Adam. “Step into the capsule there; we’ll seal it up and start the oven.”
Oven!? Adam was speechless, but his face held in shock.
“Poor choice of words? I’m sorry,” The commander turned away from him briefly. “Crisse, comment on-dit ça? – The autoclave, yes! The thing used to clean for hospitals and such.”
“Oh, for the outside.” Adam breathed his relief. “That makes more sense, alright.”
The commander raised an eyebrow. “Memory still foggy?”
The linguist nodded. “Yeah, but it’s all coming back to me. I’ll be fine.”
“Dr. Somerset, if there’s any chance of you forgetting something vital – ”
He shook his head. “No, nothing at all. Honest!”
“Then I hope you’re right about that – after all, you may have our voices to give you a reminder or two, but your boots will be the only ones on the ground. I pray you understand that.”
“Yes, sir.” Adam pushed off the walls of the bridge, climb-crawled his way to the exit, and once he found the way to TPRU-1 – hard to miss with Dr. Konstantinov floating nearby, waiting for him impatiently and holding a Sokol spacesuit. “Right, thanks.”
Putting it on was a straightforward affair, even with its several steps – slip in his legs, let his colleague zip up the back, hook oxygen tanks to a valve, slip on some gloves, flip up a helmet – done. “Like a glove.” A quick leapfrog found himself climbing inside the admittedly-spacious capsule.
“Bonne chance, professeur,” Commander Darcy said behind him. “We’re all counting on you.”
Dr. Konstantinov swung the heavy door closed, pressing it in to create an airtight seal. The commander switched over to a radio inside the suit. “There’s another hatch on your side, you’ll have to close it on your side. Push it in good and tight, too.” That’s what she said. “Last thing we want is for you to come down with some Indigenous bug. When the handwheel stops turning, let me know. Over.”
A door like this still had considerable heft, even in microgravity. The hinges were plenty stiff, but he was able to guide it right into place. He gave it a firm push – it took a while for the door to be properly seated. Five cranks of the handwheel later, Adam had locked himself into his fate. Salvation? Duty? Or a coffin? He grabbed the suit’s radio. “The hatch is completely sealed, Commander.”
“Copy Tango-1, starting the autoclave. Zulu-Alfa out.” A moment later, Adam heard the sound of rumbling air at the doorway. High heat, high pressure. . . . Yet there was no creaking of metal, no hiss of air between any cracks in the seal. I should probably find a place to strap myself in – reëntry can’t be comfortable.
It was then that he really started looking around TPRU-1. The interior seemed like a small apartment with all the utilities more or less crammed into one room. He found himself floating in what seemed like a cargo hold, full of food, water, spare filters, everything for an explorer of a new world. To his right was a seat, with straps jutting out of the wall – probably where I’m supposed to go. Or we, if the engineer idea had actually panned out. Oh well. . . .
He pushed himself off what he figured to be the ceiling (where the hatch was) and drifted over to the seats, with more force than he meant; he barely stopped himself with his arms. He swung himself into place. The straps came loose rather easily, almost like in a car seat. He clicked them together, and heard the retractors ratchet the slack back, so he was held firmly in place. I just hope Commander Darcy can actually fly this thing remotely, he prayed. I don’t see how I have any control from here.
From his new vantage point, he noted the rest of the ship. Right next to him on his right was a crude galley of sorts, where he could prepare food – really an assortment of freeze-dried stuff, dense in calories and nutrients to keep someone going for longer – using water from whatever powders were packed away over there – and opposite the kitchen was a toilet, one looking as though it was meant to work under gravity. Makes sense – gotta avoid contamination even in the same biosphere.
On the wall opposite, between an oxygenator, an observation window and a water reclaimer, was another door. Adam thought it strange, and felt tempted to unbuckle himself to go and close it – then he noted a ton of equipment packed inside the ‘door’ and realized it was an EVA suit – one adapted for the ground, no doubt. All that equipment must be for water, oxygen, temperature regulation, and so forth.
And on the wall right to the left of the seats was a red canister with a black hose. Fire suppression – of course. Don’t leave Earth without it.
But where am I going to sleep? He looked all around him, but found no obvious sleeping arrangements. Then he looked behind him, and realized why the seat was jutted out – oh yeah, I’m supposed to flip it down when I land. Adam knew memory loss was a possible side effect of cryostasis, but even this was obvious.
Okay, I know how to eat, where to sleep, where to do my business and wash up, he thought. I should be all set for however long it’s going to take.
A moment later, the rumbling above his head started to subside. Then the commander’s voice reäppeared over the radio. “Tango-1, the lander hull is fully sterilized. Jettison is due in T-minus one minute. Please strap yourself in if you haven’t already, Dr. Somerset. Over.”
“Let us descend now into the blind world,” began the Poet. . . . Reëntry would definitely take a while, so Adam would have liked something to help occupy his mind in the interim. Nothing he could use was in reach from his seat. “Strapped in already, Commander,” he confirmed.
“Copy. T-minus thirty seconds.”
Adam steeled himself against whatever apparatus would shove him off Altair – off this mortal coil? Man, I should stop thinking about my impending doom.
“Ten. . . nine. . . .”
Deep breaths, Adam. Deep breaths. You’ll be fine, just fine.
“. . . five. . . four. . . .”
Showtime.
“. . . one.”
Foom! The capsule lurched downward. Then as quickly as the sound came, it went – only a soft hissing as topside thrusters pushed him further and further away from Zodiac-Altair. After about ten seconds, even that sound cut out too – and Adam was left alone with just his thoughts to keep him company. Of course he knew that no air meant no sound, or something like that, so the outside was completely silent. The only sounds he could note were from himself – his breathing, heartbeat, and thoughts, the last of which tried to drown out the others, but didn’t always succeed.
Then he heard faint static as the radio came back on. “Dr. Somerset? If you can hear this, please acknowledge. Over.”
“I’m still here, alive and well,” he radioed the bridge. “Over.”
“Très bien,” Louis radioed. “I figured you’d want some company on the final descent – I can’t imagine how lonely it would be to descend alone in a small chamber built for three. I’ll try not to spook you – being strapped in a lander by yourself is frightening enough as it is, no? Over.”
Adam shrugged, even though he knew Louis wouldn’t see it. “Hasn’t been that bad so far. I’ve got my basic needs met. Food, water, sleep – I think I’ll be fine, though you may have to transmit the coördinates of the probe again – I forgot where it was with news of Indigenous activity. Over.”
“Oh sure, oh sure! Just bug us when you’re ready to receive it – you’ll want to write it down for later. Any other concerns? Over.”
Now that I think about it. . . . “Actually, two questions,” Adam said. “First, given that the ship was orbiting Rhysling, how long of a window will I have to talk to you as you pass overhead? Over.”
“We have deployed small relay satellites in Rhysling’s orbit,” Louis replied, “so that window is essentially unlimited. It’s meant so that any data transmitted from the probe is guaranteed to reach us, but you’re free to take advantage of them as well – and I have a feeling you will. What’s your other question? Over.”
“Second,” Adam asked, “how long will it take for me to land? Over.”
“Good question” was the best Louis could do. “You’re doing a sort of Apollo-style landing procedure, where you basically drop like a rock and then slow down for the last leg. Only difference is the addition of a retrorocket, and considering Rhysling’s gravity, you’re going to need it.
“In Apollo’s case, that took about twelve minutes from the Kármán Line to sea level. Space Shuttle, add twenty minutes, since it’s actually gliding instead of dropping. TPRU-1 measured a landing time of about ten minutes from the Line to the ground – which may not be sea level. Just to remind you, your mileage may vary, over.”
As though Louis had uttered a magic spell, Adam started hearing a soft, low rumbling outside the craft. “Funny you should say that, Zulu-Alfa,” he radioed. “I think I just hit the uppermost layer of the atmosphere. Please advise on what to expect. Over.”
“Good, good – means I don’t have to correct your trajectory remotely. However, at some point we’re going to have to black out communications. Nothing personal, but reëntry doesn’t like it when we talk to each other. That should last four, maybe five minutes. But feel free to radio us back first, please. Over.”
Well, so much for keeping me company, I guess. “When does the comms blackout occur? Over.”
“I’ll give it about a minute. Any last words?” There was a crackling chuckle on the other end. “Sorry, bad joke. Over.”
Even if that was a serious question, Adam didn’t have anything to add. “Nothing, Zulu-Alfa. I’ll ride out the silence. Somerset out.” He was not a religious man, but Adam prayed to whatever deities held domain over this world that he would survive unscathed, that he would safely land upon the new world, that he would do his job and pave the way for the others to come along as well. Even as the rumbling of falling through air built up outside, it could not drown his mounting heartbeat. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, each one assuring him that he was still alive – but for how much longer? Thump-thump, thump-thump. Anton said this suit would save my life – but what about on the surface? Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump. Can’t I talk to someone? No, no I can’t – you’re out of contact for this leg of the journey, remember? Gotta wait it out. Wait forever? Oh, shut up about your impending doom, would you!? It’s not helping in the slightest!
Adam became aware of how fast he was breathing, and tried slowing it down by holding his breath. Not enough air to be panicking like this – come on now! You’re supposed to be braver than this. Adam craned his neck around the capsule, trying to find something to distract him from the landing – but invariably laid his eyes upon the observation window. Even though he should be descending into daylight – at least, he thought so – it was still pitch black. What’s blocking the view?
Even as he watched it, it started glowing orange, brighter and brighter, as the apparently spherical heat shield started heating up around he lander, doing its job to keep the craft – and, by extension, its sole occupant – safe from the harm of reëntry. Like a great steel meteor, Adam thought. Let’s hope I don’t wipe out any dinosaurs. That’d prove bad for publicity.
Then he felt jolting beneath his feet, then scraping of metal as his question was answered – the heat shield was done with its job; he had felt explosive bolts firing, and heard the pieces of the shield fall away from him. I hope those don’t hit anyone important. Would make negotiations that much harder. He felt tempted to look out the window, but saw that no, there was a shutter across the glass, so he couldn’t see outside. But if he had to guess, he was landing in the part of Rhysling where sunrise was imminent. Early bird gets the. . . first lander, I guess. May as well set up shop while I wait for the sunrise. Come to think of it – how long is a local day? Does the sun just whip by in an hour, or will I have to stay awake for a week straight? I’ll have to ask about that.
And then another jolt. Overhead, he heard what sounded like ropes rapidly slithering out. Parachutes! We’re almost there, I’ll bet.
I wonder if that means radio works again. Only one way to find out! “Zulu-Alfa, this is. . . .” What did he call me again? Oh yeah – “Zulu-Alfa, this is Tango-1. The heat shield has fallen away, and parachutes have been deployed. Please acknowledge, over.”
“Tango-1!” There was a tone of relief to Louis’s voice. “We thought we lost you! Alright, touchdown is imminent. If I had to guess, you have five minutes until the rocket fires. Seriously hold on this time, it’s a lot of force, and you might not be able to hear me through the blast! Zulu-Alfa out.”
Well, so much for my question. A lot of force, did he say? Adam looked at his feet, or tried to – the suit’s helmet did not let him get a good look. Not that it mattered, he’d tell exactly when the retrorocket would fire. All he could do was heed the commander’s advice, and steel himself against the coming blast. I wonder how they’ll interpret the blast – it’ll be hard to miss. Would I be a god?
Far sooner than Louis had predicted, a sharp lurch and strong rumbling told Adam that the parachutes had detached from the lander, and the retrorocket had ignited. He looked out the window – the bottom half was bathed in an orange glow, as were the nearby surroundings. I could probably judge the altitude. Probably. But as tempted as he was, he refused to get up from his seat – lest the landing knock him down.
For the first time since TPRU-1 separated from Altair, he felt truly at ease. What was I worrying about? I’ll make it down here fine and dandy, I’ll do my job, write my paper, teach the other colonists the language of the Indigenous, and start a new life on a new world.
. . . if only it weren’t so daunting to blaze a trail.
Before that thought could go any further, an especially strong knock thrashed him in his seat – but the rocket had switched off. He looked out the window – the scenery was completely still. It was still early daylight, but that would change in time.
First things first.
“Zulu-Alfa, Tango-1 has landed,” Adam announced to the ship. “Repeat, Tango-1 has landed. No sign of damage on the ship, crew unharmed, ready to begin mission. Please acknowledge, over.”
There was only silence on the radio. Not even static to show that they were transmitting.
Did they not hear me?
“Zulu-Alfa, Tango – ”
“Mon dieu, Tango-1, that is wonderful news!” Adam could almost picture Louis jumping for joy inside the bridge. “You’ve safely touched down on a planet outside our own Solar System! Why, I can just feel Monsieur Armstrong’s envy from here.” He heard a muffled sound of a throat being cleared. “Anyway, setting up. You’ll have to switch on power for the rest of the lander. Locate the breaker box – it should be inside the cargo hold. Might have to move a few things around to get to it. Over.”
I guess that means I should get myself unstrapped. Adam hit the release button on his chest, and felt the straps retract into the seat rapidly. Standing took a bit of effort – God, gravity hurts – but he knew his muscle mass would return in time. Just gotta keep using my limbs, just gotta keep using them. Okay, cargo, find the breakers. . . .
There were a lot of crates to sort through, and every single one of them was strapped down for the trip. Undoing them one by one was a pain, especially when looking past them yielded nothing that looked like what he needed. Finally, on the wall just to the left of the crates, he found a thin panel with the universal yellow triangle-with-lightning-bolt symbol for power. He popped it open and flipped the main breaker to ON.
In a moment, the rest of TPRU-1’s systems roared to life. Fluorescent lights blinked on, the oxygenator started up, the water reclaimer went into standby, and a radio hidden in a wall recess started crackling. Apparently Louis was already tuned in, since Adam thought he could hear him mumbling a sea shanty.
How do I get to it? Adam noted a switch just at chest-height – pushing it sideways caused a table to fold down, revealing a few cubbies in the wall filled with various items, including the flight controls for the which was the radio. He’ll probably want me to use that right now. Adam, therefore, carefully started shimmying out of his pressure suit – first the gloves, then the helmet, then carefully reaching behind himself to undo the double zippers – and he was free. The table, he found, also had a foldable chair, which he promptly unfolded and used. Good – God knows I could use a sit-down after. . . five minutes? That would sound pathetic on any other day.
“Zulu-Alfa, this is Dr. Somerset, on Tango-1’s radio,” he opened. “All vital systems are powered on and functioning properly at this time. Please acknowledge, over.” I hope I got that right.
Louis stopped mumbling. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” he responded. “I’d say you’re ready for work, Doctor. You’re going to feel some smarting in your muscles for a while, that is normal, you’re just fresh out of cryo in zero-gravity. Please don’t feel tempted to use the chair or bed all the time, since I’m sure you’ll know exercise is the only cure for that weakness.”
Damn! Just when I was getting comfortable.
“Anything you’ll need for supplies are in those crates, contents labeled in English and Russian, so nobody can miss them. If you have any questions, you know where the radio is in the lander, so don’t be afraid to ask us anything. Over.”
Finally have a chance to ask. “Actually, I have one question, Zulu-Alfa,” Adam radioed. “Do you know how long a day is on this planet? Over.”
“Funny you should ask,” he announced. “As it were, it’s so perfect, so easy to memorize. Each day on Rhysling lasts exactly sixteen Earth hours – half daytime, half nighttime. So three days down there would be two back home.” Yeah, that does seem a bit too convenient – but then, Jupiter’s moons are perfectly in sync as well, aren’t they? “Good thinking about that – nobody likes a sleepy doctor, no siree! Anything else? Over.”
“Negative, nothing else. Somerset out.” With a great deal of effort, Somerset stood back up from the chair, and drew a deep breath. This is gonna be hell, isn’t it? He looked over to the seat – he still hadn’t flipped over the cot. One switch later, and it swung down with a sharp bam!
He decided to peek out the window. He grabbed the knob on the bottom and twisted it, which opened the shutter – just in time to watch the sun rise. A new day had begun for the Indigenous, whose settlement he could just see past a few hills. None of them are here right now, Adam realized. They’re either afraid of me – or arming for an attack. Let’s hope the former; that’s easier for me to work with.
His stomach rumbled.
Drat. Well, good time as any to fix myself some breakfast, isn’t it? After closing the shutter, Adam strode over to the supply crates. Let’s see. . . food, food, food – bingo! One crate was labeled “RATIONS, COUNT 240 – ПАЙКИ, 240 ШТ.” I wonder how long I can live off just this one crate. Two weeks, maybe? Then what?
Wait, how long is a week on this world anyway? What about a month? A year? What’s their calendar?
Shut up, Adam. Food now. Calendar later.
The crate was easy enough to open – just undo a latch on the front, and it swung open like a chest. Inside, as promised, were sixty clear vacuum-sealed packets of what looked like freeze-dried nutrient blocks. Because that’s what keeps better in transit. Never mind that the shuttle crews had fried chicken, the lucky bastards.
Preparation instructions were printed on the front, again in English and Russian. The first one he pulled out said it was “dry cereal mix – хлопья, сухая смесь,” and as for instructions, “No water – Не требует воды.” Works for me!
He stood up and went to the galley, packet in hand. A dotted line showed him where to tear it open. A quick tug, and the plastic parted. Let’s hope I don’t get crumbs everywhere. Could prove bad for lander functionality.
He tipped his head back, and took a bite. The slight shower of crumbs he expected to go flying and land on his face. . . simply didn’t. Apparently an oily additive worked as an adhesive to avoid that exact fear. He tipped his head back forward to keep eating.
– And as he did, he got a feeling of a change in the scenery outside. He pushed that thought aside until he was finished with his meal – which took another minute, followed with a shot of water from one of the galley’s hydration guns to wash it down – then, on a whim, decided to take a second glance outside. He reached over and twisted the shutter knob.
He was being surrounded.
“Guess I’m the one being contacted,” Adam said to himself. That was easier than I thought.
The galley had a receptacle for plastic waste, where he used for the now-empty packet. I’ll empty that out once I get through that crate. Probably. If it holds enough. He then got up to get a better look outside the window – at the Indigenous.
And as it turned out – the Indigenous appeared to have a healthy equestrian tradition in their culture. Horses in every shape, size, and color circled the landing site, as far as his eye could see. Most of them, he could see, simply stood there, staring at this curious apparatus that fell from the sky. Did I land in a pasture?
Probably should inform the others. . . . Adam got up to head to the radio. But before he could touch the receiver, he heard a loud pop outside, then a louder clang of metal hitting metal. He raised an eyebrow. Surely that can’t be good. Slowly, he turned around to see what that was.
One of the horses was standing right outside the window, looking right at him.
He blinked.
It blinked.
Slowly, slower than before, Adam started to approach the window. His heart was racing – is this an invitation? An initiation? A declaration of war? So many possibilities – he had to remember, this being was not from Earth, equine-like behavior from Earth need not apply. Does eye contact mean anything? Too late to look away now. This showdown of sorts could mean literally anything. Then of course came the question of talking to it. Do they speak? Use sign language? Pheromones?
Finally, Adam was at the window, and close enough to get a better look at this creature. It was equine, like the others further away. A unicorn, more specifically, judging by a conical growth in the middle of its head. Its eyes were absolutely massive – why? It’s not that dark out there. . . is it? Its skin – hide? – was a striking violet, and its hair and tail were indigo, with rose highlights. Fashion? Or genetic? Its body was turned to his right, and he could note a starry pattern on its hindquarters. Okay, that has got to be fashion, there’s no way a pattern as sharp as that occurs naturally.
Do I make the first move? How would it react? . . . only one way to find out. Adam raised his hand, straight out, and planted it firmly on the glass, with no further motion, as with a wave. He maintained eye contact as much as possible, to make sure it wouldn’t do anything too drastic, and endanger him – or the biosphere. And yet instead, the equine returned his gesture – it raised a corresponding hoof, and placed it right on the glass, precisely over his hand. Then his question about the mode of communication was answered – it opened its mouth and words spilled out:
Scratch all of that, Adam thought – they’re not domesticated by the Indigenous. They are the Indigenous! But how could equines like them build a settlement without hands? No, they must have other forms of manipulation. That’s something I’ll have to find out as well.
Adam put his hand down. The Indigenous didn’t say anything else. With their limbs ending in hooves, I better use only things they can replicate. But what? And would they understand?
It spoke again: [ɹ̩s ɑzɑɹɑɡɑˈβǔ] – with a tilt of its head, which could suggest confusion or concern. A question? The tone at the end certainly suggested that. But again, their language had no connection to human languages. None whatsoëver. Literally anything could go at this point. Right now, I need something universal, something both of us could understand. But what, exactly? What sort of number could I whip up to –
Adam’s eyes went wide. Wait. Numbers! The Indigenous should have developed some form of advanced mathematics if they’re able to build a complex civilization. I’ll start with the basics and go from there. I could even figure out which base they use!
But what to use? Adam stepped away from the window, slowly, so as not to startle the purple Indigenous, and went to the cargo hold. None of the crates’ manifests said anything about stationery, that much he found. Let me make a call. . . . He grabbed the radio on the desk. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Tango-1,” he opened. “Did Dr. Konsantinov pack anything I could use to write? Just a pen and paper would do. Over.”
Louis responded, “I’m going to assume you have contacted the Indigenous and are about to begin work, is that correct? Over.”
“Affirmative.” I don’t think I should tell them about their equine nature just yet. They’d think I’m making some kind of elaborate joke.
“Hold on, let me check.” Silence then fell over the line. For fifteen seconds, Adam had to wait by the radio for Louis’s voice to return, all the while with the Indigenous staring at him through the glass. Is it angry? Impatient? Then another voice came on, this time with a Russian accent. “There is notebook and pens inside the desk, and also this thing called ‘white board’ and ‘dry erase,’ or so the Americans call it. Out.”
. . . oh. Adam looked along the cubbies, and found a set of pens with two notebooks, and a bit over, a small box of dry-erase pens near a board the size of his chest. Well, I’m blind. Thanks, Anton. He set the radio aside and grabbed what he needed, then slowly re-approached the Indigenous. I’m going to look silly, aren’t I?
He held up the whiteboard, white side out, to the Indigenous, letting it get a good look. Then he pulled a black pen out of the box, and held it up as well. Then he popped off the cap and put the tip against the board, to demonstrate to the Indigenous how it worked. He produced a random scribble, one that meant nothing – at least, I hope so. He then rubbed his hand over the scribble, to erase it.
Apparently it got the idea – it turned away from the window and shouted away from the lander. He couldn’t make out what it was saying, but he hoped it wasn’t anything terrible. Last thing I want to be accused of is witchcraft. A moment later, he saw its. . . horn, for lack of a better word, start shimmering in a violet light. Fluorescence? To communicate? Oh dear me. . . .
Then it turned back to the window – and Adam realized he got exactly the wrong idea. It wasn’t communication – it was telekinesis. An identical field appeared around a chalkboard and stick of chalk. It made a scribble on the board as well, then with a cloth in its telekinetic grip, erased it a moment later. Showoff.
Adam ‘replied’ by drawing a circle on his board – as well as he could, though it was still lopsided. The Indigenous did the same, flawlessly. Okay, we’re on the same page. Time to get serious.
After erasing the board again, Adam put down his first mathematical equation. Something very simple, yet demonstrated a lot:
| + | = ||
The Indigenous copied him – but instead of using tallies, it used something more akin to die pips. A single pip, three pips stacked in a pyramid pointing left, another single pip, an inverted solid pyramid, and two pips arranged diagonally – in that order. Interesting. Easy to write with hooves, I suppose.
Adam started jotting down the pips and shapes, taking care not to use a regular equals sign, in case they also had it and it meant something else. Now the reverse. He erased his board and wrote:
|| - | = |
And how do you do it? As if it read its mind, the Indigenous erased the board, and put down two diagonal pips, three pips in a pyramid pointing right this time, a single pip, another solid inverted pyramid, and a single pip. Fair enough. Addition and subtraction are the same signs, arranged opposite to each other. And that inverted pyramid is an equal sign. He wrote down their signs and their definitions in his notebook.
Let’s go a little higher. Multiplication! Adam erased the board again, and scrawled down:
|| × ||| = ||| |||
Internally he debated making a bundle of five tallies, but decided against it, instead spacing out the six tallies into two groups of three. Might give it the wrong idea of a base-5 counting system. Plus, it’d demonstrate multiplication better. Okay, your turn. The Indigenous took its chalk and put down two diagonal pips, three pips arranged in an upright pyramid, three pips arranged diagonally, a solid inverted pyramid, then a single pip followed by. . . a pause sign? Yeah, that’s got to mean something else. Good thing I thought ahead.
Let’s try counting from one to ten. Once he noted their multiplication symbol, Adam erased the board, flipped it vertically, and diligently set to work. The process took longer than he anticipated, but the results were hopefully clear to the Indigenous:
Grouping tallies should help it out a bit, Adam thought. Can’t deny it’s decimal, no way. The Indigenous’s eyes went wide – shock? Anger? It quickly set to work writing its equivalent as well. Ten seconds later, he had an answer. It also used tallies, grouped in fives just like his, but chose to let them equal the pips. One tally equaled one pip, two equaled two pips, and so forth. With four, four pips were arranged in a square; five, four in a square plus one in the middle – but six threw him for a loop. It was one pip and the pause sign symbol again. Its counting did not go any higher. So they use positional counting, Adam saw, just like us.
He could not take his eyes off its number six, however – how it stuck out from all the others instead of making a group of six pips. Say, what if. . . ? Adam erased the board again, and wrote down:
| - | = 0
The Indigenous noted this, and copied him: one pip, three pips pointing right, one pip, solid inverted pyramid – that pause sign. Aha! That’s a null symbol! Adam realized, writing it down automatically. So their counting system really is base-6 – but what’s that based on? Decimal I can count with my fingers, but they’ve only got four hooves per. Unless they’re counting on something else as well? All of this he quickly got down on the paper – each pip from one to ten, including the zero.
And furthermore, if they have a concept of zero, and not just as a placeholder either. . . what about negative numbers? Adam tried his tally equivalent:
| - || = -|
That’s a negative number. Can you do that? he thought, but did not ask aloud. The Indigenous, after a moment, put down one pip, three pips pointing right, two pips, solid inverted pyramid, then a pip with a black arrow pointing right. Derived from a simplified minus pip-group. Makes sense. Easy enough to get down in his notebook.
But what about exponents? Adam decided to try that. Carefully, and in larger scrawls to emphasize the exponent, he presented:
||||| = |||| |||
The Indigenous did something completely unexpected to him. After looking at his board carefully for a few moments, it seemed to have an “Aha!” moment, then after some plotting, it came away with a solid upright pyramid with numbers written by each corner. The top one had three pips, the bottom left two pips, and the bottom right one pip followed by two.
This was the most impressive thing he’d seen so far from them, and he’d only been here on the surface for maybe half an hour. A single symbol to unite exponents, roots, and logs? This would revolutionize mathematics back on Earth! Adam thought this as so important, he placed it on its own page, with further explanations on how it apparently worked. Oh, if only you were here to see this, Dr. Marshall!
Then he heard something heavy land on top of the lander again. He looked up, by reflex, but of course couldn’t see through solid steel and titanium. At least it’s not dented, not as far as I can see. There came a sound of muffled talking – he couldn’t make anything out, except perhaps there were. . . clicks? Are those phonemes? I haven’t heard those from the Indigenous.
The Indigenous shouted over its head, [xõ ɹ̩ʎiluˈɸɑ . ɑzɑɹzũdɑmɑlˈβǔ xeˈɹɤ ɑlˈɹu] – which prompted more of the same muffled talk above. Eventually, the other Indigenous (presumably) leapt off – though Adam didn’t hear it land nearby. Curious. . . . The first Indigenous rolled its eyes, and returned its gaze to the linguist, with a strikingly-humanlike look of sheepishness. Tempting to take it that way, but don’t fall for it.
Now, what did Sagan say about. . . oh right, primes. I should probably get those down. Using tallies again, he jotted down the first five prime numbers in a sequence:
|| ||| |||| |||| || |||||||| |
I know yours is base-6, but what do you think? This took the Indigenous a bit longer to figure out than the exponent, but when it did, it turned away and wrote down a sequence: two pips, three pips, five pips, one pip followed by another, then one followed by five. Marvelous.
What operations haven’t I covered yet? And then Adam realized he forgot about division and fractions altogether. Better get those squared away, while I still have its attention. He erased his board, and wrote down something simple, something it would already know:
|||| | ÷ || = |||
Now you. The Indigenous wiped its board clean, and after some scrawling, presented a pip followed by the null sign – ten in base-6, right – three pips stacked in an inverted pyramid, two pips, a solid inverted pyramid, and three pips. He put it down in his notebook, noting the relationships between it and multiplication. Just like with addition and subtraction – same sign, mirror-reversed for opposite operations.
But before Adam could demonstrate fractions, the Indigenous wiped its board first, then did some writing. Something new in mathematics? What am I going to learn? Then it turned the board around – it had a rod with a circle on one end, which was pointing at itself, along with a script he had never seen before. I could swear it’s an alphasyllabary, but how does it work? Then the Indigenous used its chalk as a pointer, and sounded out each part of the script, very slowly: [ɑ̃ːː ... tiːːɹ ... l̩ːː ... sɑːː ... pɑːː] Then it pointed the chalk at itself: [ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ].
Ah, that must be its name. “Ahn-teer Ullsapah?” he cautiously sounded. The Indigenous smiled and nodded its head – its name, for the time being at least, was Antir. He started jotting down the odd-looking shapes, as closely as he could to what was presented, along with an IPA transcription. I’ll figure out a better way to Romanize that. Eventually. Wait, did I just assume the meaning of its body language? Antir didn’t seem to mind – at least, no sign of aggression could be found. Or maybe it’s more subtle than I thought.
Nevertheless, he copied for once – he wiped the board clean, put an arrow that would point to him, and wrote his name: ADAM SOMERSET. Just like Antir, he used the pen to sound out each letter: “A-dam. . . So-mer-set.” Then, pointing at himself, “Adam Somerset.”
[eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] it echoed back. An interesting corruption, he thought. It could just as easily have called me Etem. But maybe there’s something about the walls of the lander that muffles the noise. Eh, whatever. It did get the O in my name rather close, I’ll give it that.
Adam looked over its shoulder, on a whim, and found that, at some point, most of the other Indigenous had left the landing site. Perhaps the novelty wore off so soon? Or did they grow bored of interspecies communications? I wouldn’t blame them for the latter. After all, the day had just begun, and they shouldn’t slack off with. . . whatever it was they did.
What else could I show it? Antir once again took initiative, clearly enjoying itself with newfound knowledge of another world, and after some drawing showed him. . . a series of circles. The leftmost one was enormous, followed by a tiny one, a medium-sized one with a nearby small one, and further away, a large one with a line through it. The second circle in the line had another rod-with-circle symbol, again with the circled end pointed where it wanted to indicate. Wait. . . that’s the local star system, Adam realized. We’re on the second planet, Rhysling, just like that symbol points at, there’s another planet we didn’t know about, and there’s that gas giant Einstein also spotted. No moons around it though. Maybe they haven’t found any? Maybe its orbit is perfectly clean? Or it just wants to keep it simple? It’s also obvious they have a heliocentric view of the universe. Should make it easier to represent our Solar System.
So Adam did just that. Once he copied down its diagram on another page, including the previously-unknown planet, he took longer to draw out the Solar System, since it was a lot busier than theirs, and he wanted to be sure to include every planet. There’s the Sun, Mercury, Venus, Earth – I’ll put an arrow there – and the Moon, what the hell – Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, its rings, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto. Somehow all the bodies fit on the whiteboard, without him erasing everything. Nice. He turned around to show the Indigenous – whose jaw dropped at the sheer scale of the Solar System, compared to its local star system.
Something called out to Antir. It turned around and shouted something back, but of course he couldn’t catch it. Then it turned back to him, raised a hoof, pointing its frog straight at him. Then its horn lit up. Adam didn’t have time to close the shutter before a loud pop! intervened in a flash of brilliant violet light – then Antir was nowhere to be found.
But never mind that – what the hell kind of phenomenon was that? he thought. Was that radiation? I hope my life isn’t any shorter for it. . . even if I have the feeling that’s the case anyway. I should probably ask. . . .
He capped his pen, got up, shut the shutter – far too late to prevent anything – stepped away from the window, and headed back to the radio. “Zulu-Alfa, come in,” he opened. “Over.”
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” Louis replied. “Any new developments? Over.”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Adam said. “I have good news and bad news. Good news is I have a decent grasp of their counting and mathematics. Bad news is I may have received a high dosage of an unknown radiation. Did you detect anything of the sort earlier? Over.”
“De quessé!” Louis yelled loud enough to startle Adam. “Are you okay, l’ami? Do you have a headache, any starry vision? How did that even happen, anyway? Did the Indigenous tamper with the power supply module? Over!”
Uh. . . huh. Nothing like that, actually. “I’m fine, if that’s all I have to worry about,” Adam answered. “As for how it happened. . . TPRU-1 still has power, so the power module is intact. I believe the Indigenous possess some unknown ability or technology. It’s hard to describe, but one of them was able to levitate objects with some sort of device on its head. It used the same device to. . . teleport, or something. I honestly don’t know how it works. Over.”
“Well, it’s possible it might not have an effect on the human body. If you were looking right at the device and haven’t gone blind, you should be good.” Louis sounded relieved to be able to say that confidently. “In any case, well done with the mathematical notation, even if it’s not something we’ll be using at all times.” Really? “At your desk is a camera wired to Tango-1’s transmitter – just snap pictures of your notes, and they’ll be transmitted to up here. Our high- and low-gain antennas are standing by, Somerset. Transmission will be slow, but that’s what the data tape recorder is for. Zulu-Alfa out.”
Didn’t get to tell them about their exponent triangle. Adam sighed, then shrugged. Oh well, they’ll see it soon enough anyway. Now where is. . . oh. Right there in the corner it laid, attached to a flexible metal arm on stiff joints. The shutter button was not on the camera itself, but wired to the base of the arm. So it won’t become blurry when I snap it. Perfect.
He flipped to the first page, which had most of everything he’d jotted down from the mathematical exchange. He brought the camera over, carefully positioned it to capture as much of the page as possible in what he hoped was a readable resolution, then pressed the button. Click-click. No flash, no further action, but he knew the exposure was on its way up.
He turned the page to the exponent triangle, feeling giddy at such a perfect unity of three related concepts. After placing the notebook precisely where it was before, he hit the shutter button again. Click-click. Here’s to you, Dr. Marshall.
Last was their view of their star system. Click-click. Here comes the freakout, Adam thought. I’ll just sit by the radio and wait for their inevitable reaction.
And come it did – after a minute of radio silence. Louis sounded much more calm than he expected – did he need that time to compose himself? “Just got everything, Somerset,” he announced. “Mon dieu, it’s sparse at first glance, but it’s definitely not lacking in information. Any purpose behind the first planet in the third image? That object isn’t there. Over.”
“I’m sure if you look again, you’ll find it transiting the star,” Adam shot back. “It orbits much faster than Rhysling, in case you haven’t noticed. There’s no indication of how far away it is from us, so you’ll just have to look for it with your eyes, as dangerous as it sounds.” Aren’t the windows and telescopes polarized for that exact purpose anyway? “Over.”
“Copy, but what’s with the triangle on the second page, though?” Louis asked next. “I was never very good at math, and Anton is just as lost as me, and neither of us are willing to thaw out a mathematician just to answer this. Over.”
How do I explain this? Hmm. . . . “It’s basically a three-in-one tool,” he started. “You input two numbers in each corner, then you have to figure out the third missing one, whether it’s an exponent, a root, or a logarithm.” Dunno how much more clear I can make it. “Over.”
“. . . I see. I’ll keep them here for now and transmit back to Earth at our next opportunity,” Louis said. “Anything else we should know about, Doctor? Over.”
Internally, he debated over whether he should tell them about their equine nature – but ultimately he concluded they wouldn’t believe him, and then he’d be here all day convincing them. “Nothing else, Commander,” Adam closed. “Tango-1 out.” He set down the receiver and looked over his notes again. How fine their civilization must be, he thought, if their mathematics are this well-developed. No, not just well-developed – there’s a sort of elegance that looks like conscious control over their functions, eschewing older symbology in favor of something that’s easy to remember.
And that’s to say nothing of the obvious – that they have writing as well. A way of transmitting information not just across space, but across time as well. Their numerology, while senary in nature, allows division into halves and thirds with ease. Not quarters, but that probably never really bothers them. He shrugged. But what would they do with the symbols they’ve made? Surely none of them are just solutions waiting for problems. A lot of those are really good for architecture and logistics. But that’s something I have to leave the lander for, of course.
Besides. . . . Once again Adam picked up the radio. They’re getting real sick of me talking, aren’t they? “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset again,” he opened for what felt like the hundredth time since he landed. “Is it possible for me to leave the lander? Over.”
“Yes you can,” Louis said. “I think it’s time you stepped into your brand-new suit anyway – you’re burning daylight as it is. You’ll find it mounted outside the lander; just step in from the back, sterilize the backpack, and off you go. Couldn’t be simpler.”
Well, I could’ve told you that! “Copy that, Commander. Somerset out.”
Adam stood back up, and looked over to the swinging hatch of the suit. As he looked over the life-support functions built into the backpack, his years of intense training started coming back to him – airlock and sterilizer usage, monitoring suit stats, lights and cameras; where the air tanks, water reserves, and carbon scrubbers were and how to change them – the works. Looks like not even cryo can erase those memories, he figured. Just need to focus on recalling them in the moment.
The Strauss suit had a recommended operating time of twelve Terrestrial hours, or almost a full Rhyslinger day, before the carbon scrubbers filled up completely; it was also rigid-bodied, engineered just so one could still move around in it, but air – and by extension, germs – couldn’t penetrate in either direction. Ideally. We still don’t know anything about the nature of Rhyslinger life. I just hope I don’t die. He sighed. But then, that’s what I signed up for, isn’t it?
Donning the suit really was as simple as Louis had described. Once he put on a cooling undergarment, he just needed to step inside the hatch in the back, make sure the limbs fit where they were meant to go, then press a large button mounted outside. The hatch would shut on hydraulic hinges, seal the suit, vent any air back inside the lander, and heat and ultraviolet lamps inside the door would kill off any germs. In two minutes, Adam would detach from TPRU-1, and he would be able to walk around on Rhysling’s surface. Couldn’t be simpler, he thought, just like he said.
He set the book down and looked around for the undergarment. Pretty sure it’s part of the cargo, he surmised. After a moment of looking, he found it bundled away on the bottom shelf, right next to a box of. . . wait, are those diapers? While both NASA and Roscosmos recommended the operator use the toilet before gearing up, it also mentioned using these so-called “waste absorbent garments,” worn beneath the cooling garment, “just in case.” Oh, that’s right. I think I should be good – for now, at least. He stripped off his jumpsuit and slipped on one of the waste absorbent garments, then the cooling garment. Still as breathable as ever. Good for when I start sweating up a storm. Putting the latter on was easy enough, since it was basically a onesie – just like the jumpsuit, which he folded and put away for now – international orange in color, like all the others, with the left side of the chest adorned with the mission patch, his name, and a red, white, and blue star.
Once that little affair was settled, he walked over to the suitport. Grabbing a metal bar above the hatchway, he lifted himself up, tucked his legs in, and slipped himself inside the hatch. Getting his feet inside the boots was surprisingly easy, and the gloves weren’t too tricky either. Once they were rigged up properly, he hit the switch behind his left hand. He heard a prominent hydraulic hiss behind him, and a cold, flat surface press upon his back. Several clicks sounded behind him, and a soft hum started up. This is going to be a long two minutes, isn’t it? At least the air circulation had already started working, so he was breathing fine.
To kill the time, he started exploring the outside of his suit. Along the waist of the suit – below the part of the torso that swiveled – he felt out a series of identical objects. He thumbed a button in the center of one, and pushed it. A soft click told him that these were solid pouches, four which he might use to store anything of interest he would find while exploring. Adam clicked that pouch shut.
On his chest was what looked like a plastic console. He pushed down on it, felt it click, and when he released it, it swung up and displayed several stats on the suit – remaining oxygen tank and scrubber capacities, internal and external temperatures – the internal suit temperature held steady at twenty degrees Celsius, and outside, a colder fifteen degrees – even a timer for the sterilizer, with 1:28 remaining and ticking down. Though that should disappear in time.
His helmet had the light and camera controls, all usable with his now-gloved hands. He heard the lights switch on, noting the bright white glows out the corners of his eyes. He turned them back off – it was broad daylight right now, and he needed the battery power.
There were a few controls on his chest as well. Pushing a button on his left started a fan inside his suit. Handy, but I don’t think I need it right now. A nearby knob he felt out let him control the fan’s speed, before he switched it off altogether.
The next one over squirted some water onto his mouth, nose, and right cheek. He coughed and sputtered for a moment. Great. That’s hydration I’m not getting back. At least I know where to drink it from now on.
And the last one didn’t do anything. Maybe that’s for something not attached to the suit, he thought. Then a moment later, Louis’s voice filled the suit helmet. “Somerset, was that you transmitting?” he asked. “Over.”
Oh, that’s the radio! “Yes, sorry Commander,” he replied. “I’m still getting used to the suit functions. I have T-minus thirty seconds before I detach from the lander. Somerset out.” Well, that was awkward. But at least that’s how I can call them now. He didn’t push the last button, but he could tell it was meant to operate the helmet-mounted still camera. He glanced down on the timer, on a whim.
:03. . .
:02. . .
:01. . .
:00!
As the timer blinked out from the screen, he stopped hearing the ultraviolet hum, felt a sudden series of clicks, and he stooped over just a bit. He was in free motion. Time to set foot on Rhysling, and make history!
The ladder was right in front of him, attached to one of the lander’s legs. Once he shut the chest display, he clambered over to it, swung himself around so he could hook his feet in the rungs, and wrapped titanium-clad gloves around the lander’s scaffolding. Here goes nothing. . . .
Slowly, he reached the bottom rung of the ladder. This is it! he thought. The moment of triumph! As he pressed the radio button to announce the moment, he set his left foot on the ground – not the lander’s foot, the ground.
“Here. . . man has stepped. . . beyond the confines of his. . . cradle and home. It’s such a lovely day outside.”
He lifted his finger from the button. Then he lifted his foot off the ground, placed it back on the lander’s foot, and took a photograph of the footprint. He assumed that it would be transmitted to Zodiac-Altair without delay, but there was no reply – not from Louis, not from Anton, not from anyone else. Figures. This is much too poignant of a moment, and they’d rather not spoil it. All around him were myriad xenobiologic analogues of Earthborne life – trees, bushes, flowers, grass, moss, and all the other things that made him feel oddly at home. He felt tempted to remove his suit – but reminded himself of the potentially disastrous consequences of such an action. Keep it on, Adam. Save your life. Save Rhysling’s life.
None of the Indigenous were near the lander, not even Antir – though as he looked at the nearby settlement, he saw it was teeming with civilization. Equines walking, talking, working, singing, and all the rest. He was greatly surprised to see some of them were even flying over the roofs of the houses and such – and his mind went back to the math exchange. How he had heard a loud clang atop TPRU-1. That must’ve been one of the flying ones. Now it makes sense.
Slowly, he started to shamble to the settlement. Left. . . right. . . left. . . right. . . slowly now, don’t fall over, you don’t know how hard it is to get back up. He hadn’t got the attention of any of the Indigenous in town – it’s a town, right? At least their definition of a town? – but knew it was going to happen at some point. It’s not every day you see a white golem walk into town.
Now that I think about it, Adam thought, I wonder what Antir is doing right now. Probably doesn’t have much more time for me. And as if on cue, a loud pop! sounded just behind him at the lander. He slowly turned around, and saw the familiar violet equine looking right down at him, in apparent surprise.
Antir leapt down from the scaffolding, firmly hit the ground with no apparent sign of pain, then trotted right up to him. From the twin bags it had strapped to its sides, it pulled a chalkboard and a piece of chalk, and with a moment of sketching, showed him a rudimentary stick-like drawing of an equine being and bipedal being – us two, looks like – that rod-like arrow analogue, and what looked like a tree with a door at the bottom of its trunk. Looks like I’m going into town after all, he thought. I’ll just assume it knows the way and tag along.
Antir lit up its horn. He noted a violet glow shroud over his helmet – over the entire suit!? His eyes went wide. He started to panic. He tried to back away from Antir, to break out of its grasp of unknown nature.
It noticed his worry, and just like that, the violet glow went away. What were you thinking!? he wanted to shout at it – but knew that it wouldn’t do him, or the other colonists, any favors to get upset at Antir. His guess was that he was going to be teleported as well, to wherever that door-tree thing was. But I don’t know how that could happen, nor what that would do to me.
By reflex, he pointed to it, then to himself, then used his fingers on his arm in a walking motion, then pointed at the chalk drawing of their destination. Crissake, ad-hoc sign language, and no planning to it either. I hope it got the idea anyway.
To his surprise, and then his relief, Antir nodded. It gestured with a front hoof, pointed it to town, and started trotting along at a brisk pace, slipping the chalk and board back inside its left bag as it walked. Adam started pacing as well, right behind the Indigenous being – though much slower than his guide. Whether it was the suit he was wearing or the lack of experience with Rhyslinger gravity even then, he found it hard to keep up with its trot, which had started turning into a canter. But when Antir noticed that Adam wasn’t by its side, it turned around and stopped, waiting for him to catch up. Is that a look of. . . pity on the face? he wondered. For xeno lifeforms, evolving completely separately from us, they seem remarkably humanlike.
Once Adam was able to catch up, Antir started walking at a much slower pace. It seemed to want to stay by his side – to escort me? Keep me safe from something I don’t know of? Or maybe just to keep me company. Or is it the other way around? I don’t know it that well, but I guess I’m about to.
They reached a well-worn road not long after, with no other Indigenous coming or going in either direction. He and Antir were alone. It kept to Adam’s right, keeping to the same slow pace that Adam could barely manage. I can tell it’s going to be a very long walk.
It sounded muffled, but there came a particularly avian call from overhead. Birds! Here? There’s a lot to unpack on Rhysling’s surface. I’m sure the biologists would think it’s all an elaborate prank. And yet, as he looked down at his guide, whose head came up to just above his abdomen, he had to remember what Antir was capable of – and how real it was. And how badly it can hurt me, even by accident.
There was a bridge on the road, one that spanned across a shallow creek, running well with water. That’s water, right? Gotta be, according to other observations. He gestured Antir to go ahead of him, making sure it crossed the bridge completely. Then he set a foot on the. . . wood, I guess. . . and it did not give way to his presumably-heavy weight. Probably built for heavier equines than I, he figured. And I must fall right within its constraints. Who knows what sorts of heavy loads cross this bridge every day?
Slowly, carefully, left glove clutching the railing, he got up and over the creek, arriving at the other end of the bridge. Antir seemed proud that he was able to accomplish this otherwise mundane task, and set on the beaten trail again. Not much longer to go. . . right?
Eventually, the once-distant houses became within arm’s reach. As tempted as he was to reach out and touch their walls, he knew he probably shouldn’t. I have no idea how delicate those things are, and I’d rather not get into any more trouble than I probably already have. Antir being by his side gave him some relief – if they see it with me, they’ll know I’m harmless and start to trust me a little more.
In front of all these houses, he could see, were small metal boxes on wooden posts. A fully-fledged postal system. Marvelous! I wonder what the lander’s address would be. Some of them also had larger metal bins, full of what looked like refuse. Out of curiosity, Adam peered inside one, to see what constituted ‘refuse’ to these equines. Scraps of paper, metal cans, some food inedibles. . . nothing to indicate a carnivorous diet. As I would suspect. As he looked away, he saw Antir had stopped and looked back on him, with utter confusion on its face. It gestured to him to keep on walking along, which he did.
Up at the crossroads, she pointed right to him, then turned that way. Peeking around the corner, Adam could see a trio of equines on the porch of a house. One turned to greet Antir, in a noisy, clicky tongue – then in apparent shock, pointed a hoof at Adam. Antir seemed to brush off the others’ concerns, and continued to lead him on into town. As he passed by the trio, he held up his hand to greet them, but they flinched at the movement. He put his hand aside and kept walking, not looking back. One step forward, three steps back. Probably.
And from there it just got worse. The next left turn took him to the apparent center of town, where a large, three-story tower loomed right over him. Such high ceilings, for a small species. What’s the rationale? Not to mention the plethora of ponies who all stopped what they were doing to see the new arrival in town. Apparently Antir led him into a farmer’s market, what with all the stands of foods and other goods lining the streets. And of course, none of them had ever seen something like myself, Adam surmised. Still, that’s no reason to stop and gawk back. Best keep moving. Antir gestured him around the central tower – but it was through a large swath of the market crowd.
Oh boy, here we go.
He kept his hands to himself, walked at a steady pace, and tried his best to avoid eye contact with the others. Mostly he was successful, though he could tell there were some whispers amongst them, whispers cooking new rumors about the mysterious guest that walked amid their town. Must be a quiet place otherwise, he thought. Sorry I couldn’t keep it that way.
Parts of the street got rather narrow, almost too much so for him, and he had to step along carefully, making sure not to nudge the equines any more than necessary. On the upside, he was able to get a better look at the wares the equines were selling. Mostly it was stuff they seemed to have grown in their own yards – fruits, vegetables, hay; one stand sold flowers, and several sold baked goods as well. Adam couldn’t help but look all around himself, noting just how similar they were to what he knew back on Earth. But how could that be? he pondered. We’ve had no contact before, not in either direction. What’s really going on here? Still, he had to focus on moving forward, lest he clog up the square. Steady now, steady – you’re almost through to the other end –
Then without warning, he was knocked to the ground.
Standing back up was much more difficult than he thought. It feels like a couple hundred pounds pressed upon my back! He strained his arms, but found he could not move upward even an inch. What the hell’s got me pinned to the ground? His helmet couldn’t rotate around, so he couldn’t actually tell for himself. And I doubt this thing can understand my gestures.
Thankfully Antir came galloping right back, hearing the commotion. It looked up at where the weight pinned him down, and shouted [xõ ɹ̩ʎiluˈɸɑ . ɹiˈɣě ɑnɑˈβu]
A reply quickly came from right above him: [ɦɹ̩sˈlěj .. ʙẽ mɯlˈzl̩ ʒojɑŋdɑˈɹu .. ɹiᵑǃɑˈlɑ̌ ʒoɦubuˈʙu mɯl xẽleseˈxe]
Antir’s tone was firm. [m̥eˈsɤ mɯlɤzˈle jɑŋɡĩɹˈβu]
The other being let out a scoff, and Adam felt the pressure relieve massively from his back. Slowly, he stood back up and dusted off his suit. Thankfully that didn’t activate anything. Once he was back on his feet, he noticed Antir put out her horn. She must’ve helped me up, he concluded. He turned around to see what the other being was – and what he saw made Antir look mundane.
Here was a blue-furred pegasus, with a mane and tail in every shade of the rainbow. Compared to the other equines, who also all had multicolored hair, even this would stand out. That’s got to be a dyejob, he thought. If it’s naturally-occurring, it’s got to be the Rhyslinger equivalent of a redhead. Unfortunately he didn’t get a good look at its hindquarters, but assumed that its mark, if it had one, would be just as colorful.
This Indigenous crossed its front legs and looked away, trying to avoid eye contact. It mumbled out a quick [ɦulɑzɑˈɹu] to him before hurriedly taking flight. And what a hurry that is! Adam thought. The iridescent wake it left behind kicked the dust up from the road just a bit. He turned back to Antir, who also had an apologetic look on its face, and followed along. This time, Antir did not dare go ahead of him, in case another pegasus like. . . whoëver that was might get the drop on him. A sort of diplomatic immunity, at least until I can get some documents signed.
As they walked along, out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw another pony, wearing a stetson hat – another parallel to Earth, which surprised him all the more – and pulling a cart full of red fruits. Apples, right? Analogues thereof, of course. When that pony saw Antir walking with this strange being, it halted and cried out [xõː neˈle], giving both of them the right of way without question. Antir kept him walking forwards, and when they passed, he looked behind him and saw that cart had made a left turn and was heading into the market. No doubt with a story of the white golem, he thought. But then, they have something much more fantastic to share.
Adam felt himself start to tire in his suit. These joints are wonderful, but not magic – they can’t keep me going forever. Eventually he had to sit down – and he did so, right on the side of the path, next to a bench. He could’ve used it, but didn’t trust it to hold all of his weight. Antir came back to him, and found him panting just so. Just leave me here Antir, I’ll be along.
But it didn’t. Instead, it sat down next to him – on the ground, even – to stay by his side. Especially after that incident, he surmised. I wasn’t hurt then, but I could be later on. He looked over to his guide – it was looking this way and that, even above. After a moment, they eventually made eye contact – him noticing how large its eyes were. He knew he wasn’t supposed to take it that way, but it felt like he was looking at a puppy about to cry.
Crissake, that’s cute.
He resisted the temptation to reach out to pet it, but eventually gave in. Just a brush of the finger along the chest, what’s the worst that could happen? A titanium glove glided over to a particular patch of fur, bunched up front and center, and gingerly felt it up to Antir’s chin.
It looked down in surprise – then relaxed and let Adam touch it there. After a moment, it indicated its mane, giving it a flip with a front hoof. Adam rolled around a lock in his glove. It’s a lot coarser than the fur on its chest. I wonder if the same can be said about the tail. Unprompted, he rolled around a few strands of that as well. Yep, it is.
Meanwhile, Antir was curious about Adam as well, but didn’t have much luck. She got to know more about the Strauss suit’s outer workings than the human inside wearing it. Probably for the best.
Another equine happened by, a green-and-white unicorn, with a harp-like mark on its hindquarters. It seemed curious about Adam – get in line, horse – and cautiously walked up to him. She stared at him through and through, curious about the inner workings of this. . . whatever this is. Yeah yeah, drink it in, he wanted to say, but knew that it would be startled to hear him speak. Eventually it walked away, heading to the market – at least, that’s what he assumed.
Adam then realized just how parched he was. Remembering the water straw, he searched it out with his mouth – and when his lips sealed around it, he pressed the button. A shot of cold water hit the roof of his mouth. Ahhh. . . that’s better.
An epiphany hit. He looked to his left, and saw that all the equines in the town were converging onto the market. Stocking up on food, it seems, he thought. But why not you, Antir? Surely it’s not every day the town market is open. . . right? He nudged its side to get its attention – then once it was looking at him, he pointed at it, made the same walking motion with his fingers, then pointed at the market. Instead, it shook its head – no? Yes? Maybe? Something else? – then pointed at him, at itself, made a walking motion with both its front hooves, and then made the especially odd motion of. . . reading a book? So is that place she’s taking me to a library? Rather poëtic, if all that’s true.
Adam found that his breathing had returned to normal. On steadier legs, he got back up, ready to keep moving again. Seeing this, Antir got up as well, and with an outstretched hoof, pointed down the lane – they way they were going before.
Stumbling along, he kept looking around this way and that, to see just how the denizens lived their lives. From what he could tell, it seemed like a quaint little town, what with the ponies hard at work with their jobs – woodworking, smithing, selling, what have you – not unlike his native Earth. Except everyone knows everyone here. I really am a stranger in a strange land. It didn’t help that every Indigenous that saw him reacted in one of four ways – fright, shyness, hostility, curiosity, but altogether all of them could be broadly considered surprise. But then, can I blame them for it? I’ve never seen a real unicorn either. Yet Antir didn’t seem to care about any of that – and, in fact, its presence seemed to put the others at ease. If I’m not harming it, then they don’t have a reason to fear or hate me. Interesting strategy.
His guide took him on the next right, which led him past a farrier, hammering away at a horseshoe. Do they wear them like horses back on Earth? How is that one holding a hammer in its mouth? How often do the Indigenous wear down their shoes? So many questions, yet neither the time nor the vocabulary to find out more right now. As he got closer, he noted that the horseshoe was much too small to fit any of the equines he had seen yet – but when he glanced inside, he saw a much smaller Indigenous, facing away and trembling alongside a normal-sized one. Parents, raising their young. And the poor thing’s getting shod for the first time, I’ll bet. He chuckled to himself. Just like the dentist, isn’t it?
Speak of the Devil, too – four houses down, he saw what he figured to be an actual dentist’s office. No work at the moment, evidently – but he knew that wouldn’t stay that way for long. He didn’t stick around to find that out, however. Though as he looked, he did note that the dentist – a blue-and-white unicorn – had an hourglass mark on its hindquarters. Why an hourglass? Is that an instrument I have no knowledge of? Adam strained his mind to try to find a connection between the object and its work, but ultimately could not come up with anything. Eh, forget it.
At the corner of the next crossroad, there was a small shop selling small colorful confections. A candy shop, I’d reckon. Delightful. This was further evidenced by another juvenile Indigenous, jumping up and down, begging its caretaker for a bit of indulgence – and Adam couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. Me too, buddy. Me too. Unfortunately, NASA and Roscosmos both packed only the essentials, just enough to start up an offworld colony, and sweets weren’t exactly essential. Though at least some of us would object.
This time, Antir didn’t turn – so he didn’t either. Though looking ahead, he couldn’t see a tree ahead of him. Just how big is this settlement? Feels more like a budding city than a town. Or is Antir leading me on a tour of sorts? Christ, if only I could get a map of the place. Maybe I’ll have to ask it. He stopped and knelt down, tapping Antir on the shoulder.
It turned and cocked its head, raising its left eyebrow.
Okay, how do I sign this? Adam took his finger and traced out a random path, then mimed a large piece of paper, raising an eyebrow with the second sign. I hope that works. Please work.
Fortunately, it did understand. Unfortunately, it did not have a map with it right then, and either didn’t seem willing, or was plainly unable, to summon one from thin air. Or teleport one here to me? Is that how it really works? At least that way would not violate the law of conservation of mass. Either way, he was out of luck, so he had to keep walking to his destination, however long that would take. Adam stood back up and kept walking alongside Antir. Like Commander Darcy said, I’m burning daylight. And. . . whatever makes the carbon scrubber work. Wait, how much do I have left? On that note, he flipped up his chest display. Eighty-one percent carbon capacity remaining. Oh, that’s plenty. Even with that much consumed on this entire walkabout, I shouldn’t have to worry too much. He flipped it back down – Antir didn’t seem to notice or care.
Refocusing his attention on the pathway, he nearly bumped into another Indigenous. This one looked like it fell into a vat of paint – its mane, tail, and coat were all a striking pink. Pink must be a common color around here. Does it not appear in their visible spectrum? It drew a dramatic breath, in apparent shock or surprise – then scampered off at an unbelievable speed. . . . okay, then. That’s one contact I might’ve lost. He turned to Antir, who shrugged as well. Really? You live in the same town as this one, and you’re just as clueless as me? Adam shook his head and chuckled. I’m in danger, aren’t I?
With that put aside, he had no choice but to keep moving forward. That library’s got to be around the next bend. . . right? Come on, I can’t keep moving around in this suit forever. Between his agravic-atrophied muscles and the stiff joints of the brand-new, never-worn-before Strauss suit, it was a plain miracle that he was able to walk this far away from the lander. On a whim, he decided to gaze upwards – to see if he could catch any glimpses of tree branches, and gauge his distance from their destination. Nothing so far. Looking behind himself, he saw it was the same story. So either it really is that far away, or Antir really wants me to see the entire town first. But it hasn’t made any gestures to emphasize any aspect of the place in all this time. So what gives?
The next left was a series of houses. Nothing too remarkable to him, nothing to make them stand out from the neighborhood at the town’s edge. And then he saw the ground darken before his eyes. Turning his eyes up, he saw a great mass of clouds overhead – and the pegasi – pegasuses? Whatever – were interacting with them. Astonishingly, they seemed to be able to manipulate them as if they were a solid, even standing atop the larger ones. What sort of technology do they possess? Why haven’t they made greater application for them, like weather manipulation? – Wait, do they actually do that? They didn’t seem to mind his presence, so Adam decided to leave them alone. If any of those clouds hold lightning, I don’t want to be on the business end of that.
While his eyes were still looking up, Adam thought he could see the first glimpse of tree branches – is that it? Is that the library at last? Adam tapped Antir’s shoulder, and signed an open book while raising an eyebrow. Atir nodded. Yes! I’m nearly there! This seemed to put a slight pep in his step, one that the Indigenous could detect. This made Antir break into a trot, picking up the speed – before quickly reverting to a walk to keep pace with him. They came across another crossroad, but they didn’t turn there – no? Next one over? Looking back up, he noted a cloud dart past his vision, being pushed by some unseen rainbow force – must be that one pegasus from earlier. At least it didn’t try to jump me a second time.
The next right turn brought him in direct view of the library. Well, that was an okay start. Had its ups and downs – I can’t seem to walk about my business without startling any of them, but at least only one tried to attack me. Adam sighed – the air hissing through his helmet and back to the scrubber – as he tread forward. I realize I’ll take some getting used to, but this is ridiculous! At least their destination was just up ahead. The chalk drawing wasn’t lying – it really was a building converted from a tree, and more amazingly, the tree was still alive! Might be a parasite species who had lost its host, Adam figured. But never mind that – destiny awaits.
Antir opened the door first, and gestured inside, prompting him to enter. Adam had to duck down to enter, between his height and the size of his suit’s life-support backpack. Even when he thought he had it right, he still managed to bump the top of it on the doorframe. Once he was back upright, he saw that the interior was full of books. A library! But who’s the librarian? And is it okay for me to be here? He moved out of the way of the doorway and the bookcases, which appeared to be carved into the inner trunk – how is the tree still okay with all this? – and sat down on the ground, with a loud thud!Does this suit really weigh that much? I should have taken a better look at the manual. Antir wasn’t startled – or if it was, he missed that.
Antir let out a call: [xõ elˈzɤ̌ːː]
Quickly down the stairs, also carved from the inner trunk, came what looked like a bipedal reptile. So there’s more than equines for the Indigenous? Curiouser and curiouser. . . feels like something out of Dungeons and Dragons. Wait, they have unicorns and pegasi. . . could that actually be a dragon? When it saw Adam, it did appear to be startled. After making eye contact for a moment, it turned back to Antir. [ěm . xõ ɑ̃ˈtiɹ] it seemed to ask.
Antir then spouted off a reply that was far too fast for him to keep up – and unfortunately, the ‘dragon’ was barely able to keep up as well. Somehow, it nodded after the equine finished, and set to work finding what was apparently a list of book titles, while Antir stepped out of the room.
As Adam watched, the dragon searched a wide variety of the shelves for just what its apparent master had requested. One by one, these books came together into a stack in its arms. He suddenly had to dodge a quick movement of its arms as it reached for the shelf to his right. Once the dragon had a good stack of books, it deposited them in the middle of the floor. That’s a lot of reading. No way we’re getting through all of that before the carbon scrubbers fill up. Seeing Adam just sitting there, it backed away slowly to a doorway to another room – and nearly bumped into Antir, who was coming back in with some paper, a quill, and an inkwell.
The equine gestured Adam to approach and sit down by its side. Couldn’t you just move the books to where I am with your magic? But he did so anyway, with some reluctance. Take a little more out of me, why don’t you?
The unicorn then started sifting through the stack, looking for one book in particular. Eventually it hit upon it – it was brown, linen-bound, with an image of plants, mushrooms, and a bird on the front cover. Biology? Nature, more specifically? Time to see how similar we are – and if our quarantine policies were warranted.
Antir flipped open the book to a page close to the start. Here were two images of what looked like reproductive organs, along with two symbols to represent them. Ah! Sexual reproduction! Seems we’re not so different after all. The left drawing was what looked like two pairs of ovaries – two pairs? Okay, that is odd – and a womb, and its symbol was an oval broken lengthwise, like a pair of parentheses. The right drawing was a pair of testes, and its symbol was shaped like a T. Classy. The equine then pulled a stick of chalk from its saddlebag, and used it to point at itself, then on the ‘female’ symbol. Oh, Antir’s a mare, is she? I’ll have to remember that.
She then looked to Adam, eyebrow raised, as if she expected him to indicate his sex. With a finger, he pointed at himself, then laid it on the ‘male’ symbol. Sorry Antir, I’m married. She didn’t seem to care that much, instead scribbling down on the paper, quill held in her unknown grip.
A surprising amount accomplished, and I’m not even trained in biology. Now what? Antir pulled out her chalkboard, and with the chalk already out, started drawing a stick-figure version of herself, a bipedal dragon – the assistant, I’ll bet – and two larger ponies, adding a rod-and-sphere arrow to the smaller one, and labeling it with something in her language’s native script. After Adam raised an eyebrow in confusion, the chalk tapped the writing, then Antir’s chest. Oh that’s right, that’s her name. And that looks like her immediate family. No doubt the dragon was adopted.
She pulled out a second stick of chalk, then tapped the chest of his suit with it. He grabbed it carefully from the non-lit side, and when the light dissipated, he put down a stick-figure version of his own family. There’s me, there’s my mother, and there’s my father, may he rest in peace – arrow to me, and ADAM. Sorry to say you can’t see them right now, Antir. They’re a good. . . I have no idea how many light-years away from here.
After noting his immediate family on paper, Antir pulled a cloth out of her bag, then erased the board. Her next drawing – stick-figure man in front of a house, rod-and-sphere arrow, then another stick-figure man with a stick-figure horse. Above the arrow was written a symbol that looked like a backwards 6. She tapped that backwards 6, and made a show of raising her eyebrow and cocking her head repeatedly. It took Adam a moment to realize that was a question mark – native to their script, or purpose-made? – and, all put together, she was asking him how he got here. Not necessarily how I got out of the lander, I reckon – she must’ve seen the suit mounted outside earlier.
To answer her question – well, that’s an interesting story, but how do I best explain it? He wiped the board clean, but he still hesitated, as if he was forbidden to speak of it. Then he started redrawing the Solar System – might as well go with something pictorial. From there, he placed some dotted lines radiating from Jupiter – radiating into a ‘magnification’ of the area, and showed the planet in situ, and the Flandro Object, which Voyager had discovered. A curved arrow, and he redrew her own star system, taking note of the third planet she knew of before, but he did not. Antir wasn’t very surprised by this revelation. Were we not the first? Are there others out there, starfaring like us, but with more elegance?
Eh, too many questions for now. He hovered the cloth over the board, giving Antir a chance to get down the story so far. Next he actually erased the Jovian diagram and her star system, and drew his best representation of Zodiac-Altair – large rotating habitat in the front, that was the Zodiac half, then the long, spindly Altair half, with varying branches: the bridge, fuel tanks, thrusters, and the other TPRU capsules. But how do I get it from one place to the next?
Then he remembered, out of the blue – back when he was in third grade, NASA had launched Pioneer 10, to visit Jupiter – a feat that seemed impossible. Consequently, since there was no way for the probe to return to Earth, it was suggested that a plaque be placed on the probe, in case any aliens should find it. Part of the plaque crudely traced the probe’s trajectory from the third planet to the fifth one.
So that’s just what he did – a small arrow traced along the solar system from the third planet, past the fourth, then to the large fifth one. A ‘hole’ in space-time represented the wormhole, and then he redrew her star system once again, this time adding the other end of the wormhole, and traced the ship’s trajectory, past the local moon, to Rhysling.
Antir nodded in understanding, quickly jotting all of it down on the paper sheet. Seeing that it had filled up so fast, she rolled it up, affixed a red band to hold it so, then readied a second sheet. Adam let her erase the board herself, then on it, she drew a stick-figure man, the multiplication symbol, then the question mark. It took him no time at all to interpret it as a question of how many of him there were. On Zodiac-Altair? Or Earth itself? He had to clarify – he erased the board, then drew a quick Zodiac-Altair, then a quicker Solar System, slipping her question mark between them. She grabbed the chalk from his grip, then tapped both with it. Oh God, Earth’s going to be a nightmare.
He erased the question mark, then put a number key to remind Antir of his native decimal counting. | = 1, || = 2, and so forth. Then under Zodiac-Altair, he put 50, but hesitated before Earth. Global population’s growing all the time, and the five-point-five-billion figure I read on the flight down to Florida might not be accurate anymore. I’m going to have to eyeball this one. Let’s call it. . . six billion! He could barely see out the corner of the suit’s helmet, but he could tell just how much more Antir’s eyes bugged out of her skull with each zero he put down. Convert that, genius.
The unicorn needed a few moments to get her bearings – and once she did, she spent another moment to convert 50 into senary. Eventually, swiping the chalk from his hand, she put down one pip, then two, then another two.
Then she stopped. The chalk even dropped from her telekinesis.
Is she okay? Adam wanted to snap his fingers, but the joints in the gloves were still too stiff to let him do that. Besides, I don’t think she’d like it that much. Though – his thoughts returned to the dragon – it did have opposing hands like mine. I’m sure it’s done that before himself.
Then, with some hesitation, she picked the chalk back up. The pip sequence was just as dizzying as the scale he had described – two pips, four pips, three pips, one, two, one, two, four, five, three, four, another four, then the pause sign to indicate a zero. Well, when you put it that way. . . we really should put the brakes on our population. But then, I would never have gotten to know Gina, would I?
Antir started writing down the figures, confident that her math checked out. I’m not even going to try to correct her, Adam resolved. I was never the best in math. Then she erased the board, then drew a circle, crudely delineating Rhysling’s continents, then put down three pips, five pips, then eight null symbols in a row. Senary 3.5 billion. But how do I convert that? Maybe she would know? Out of desperate quick thinking, he put down an arrow from the pips, and made it point to her question mark. I’m sure she’ll think our math isn’t so advanced after all.
To his relief, Antir was happy to show him – or at least a hint. With her chalk, she wrote down 1, 6, 36, then put a long line after 36. Then Dr. Marshall’s lectures came rushing back – long division, of course! Plus there’s five zeros, so it’s a little less work for me. Just a little. Antir scooted some paper and her quill over to him, letting him work it out.
One, six, thirty-six. . . what comes next? Six times six made thirty-six, carrying the three, six times three plus three made twenty-one. Two hundred sixteen! That’s right! From there, he got twelve hundred ninety-six – seven thousand, seven hundred seventy-six, then forty-six thousand, six hundred fifty-six, and so forth until he reached, at long last, ten million, seventy-seven thousand, six hundred ninety-six. Man, I wish I had a calculator with me everywhere I went.
The further he went, the easier it became. That last number, tripled, was thirty million, two hundred thirty-three thousand, eighty-eight. Next one down, one million, six hundred seventy-nine thousand, six hundred sixteen, times five, was eight million, three hundred ninety-eight thousand, eighty. Added together, the total population of Rhysling was thirty-eight million, six hundred thirty-one thousand, one hundred sixty-eight. That’s quite big, Adam thought. Is that for the entire globe, counting only these equines, or is it only for her particular nation? I hope the rest of the crew has second thoughts about an embryonic explosion.
Now, if only I can get this down – wait, no notebook? Dammit! How will I remember all this? Of course I’d write it down, but with contamination risk. . . . Giving up, he pressed the radio button on this chest. “Zodiac-Altair, this is Somerset,” he opened. “I probably should’ve asked this before, but is it possible to write down notes while in the field? Over.”
A moment passed. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” Louis replied. “I knew there was something we’ve forgotten to mention to you. There was something about a locker. . . let me check with Anton. Please stand by.” Then silence passed for two minutes – two long, agonizing embarrassing minutes. Come on, hurry back! What’s taking you so long?
Louis’s voice then flooded his helmet. “Just got back from the cambuse,” he said. “Sounds like something that slipped through the cracks for you, doesn’t it? Next to the suit-dock, there’s a locker one can use to sterilize items going in and out of the lander. Make sure both doors are closed and sealed, and it should take a few minutes. Obviously don’t use it for any biological samples. Anything else? Over.”
No, that’s perfect! “Negative, Commander,” he replied. “Out.” He breathed a sigh of relief – well, that could’ve gone a lot worse. Now to backtrack on my notes. Adam grabbed another sheet from the stack, and borrowed Antir’s notes already taken, to jog his memory. First was the sexes – he noted their symbols first – their definitions, which one he was. . . then after a thought, added which Antir was as well. Then a rudimentary sketch of Antir’s family, and his own, and which they were. She noted very carefully the trajectory of Zodiac-Altair, but failed to realize that they went through a wormhole and did not land on a moon. That’s something I’ll have to work on. Then populations were noted – fifty aboard Zodiac-Altair, six billion (give or take) on Earth, then thirty million whatever on Rhysling. Rather large number for one nation, he noted in the margin. And just like that, their notes were in sync.
Not to mention he made it to the end of his sheet as well. Adam started to roll it up for later, but then Antir grabbed it out of his hand, affixed a red band in the middle, then set it right back in his hand. That was nice of her. Adam smiled and nodded his head, once and deeply. So what’s next for us, Antir? He popped open a pouch, to see if it could contain the scroll. Thankfully, it did.
Her stomach answered his previous thought – a low grumbling penetrated even his suit. Guess it’s time for lunch for you. Antir seemed to think so – she got back up on her hooves, and disappeared through another doorway.
Adam couldn’t help but follow behind her. As it turns out, this tree was outfitted with a kitchen. Why’s that? Looking up, he saw some furniture in a loft, including a bed. She must be the librarian living and working here full-time. The dragon was not in here. Do they not eat at this time?
And then he walked in, with a small bowl of colored stone-like objects within. Adam saw how they glittered in the light – are those cut crystals? And Antir doesn’t even bat an eye. Adam had to contain his excitement – this could be the foundation of a valuable line of trade! I’ll have to let Zodiac-Altair know about this, when I get back. A trip back to Earth would take a while – a few years – but the commercial motive. . . ! But for all of his efforts to conceal his gaze, the dragon spotted it anyway – and, amazingly, offered him one.
Adam took it from the dragon’s claws, and looked it over with a critical eye, carefully turning it over and over in his suit’s gloves. It was a brilliant, fiery red, not a flaw within its body, and expertly cut in a rectangular shape. He popped open another pouch, and slipped the gemstone within. As he clicked it shut, the dragon gave him a look as if Adam didn’t really know what he was supposed to do with it. Adam fired back with a look that said Alright wise guy, what do you do with them?
To his great surprise, the dragon opened its mouth, and ate these gemstones. Oh, that’s just excellent – now we’re competing with the Indigenous for demand. Better strike a balance in trade negotiations. At least there aren’t any Indigenous made of these crystals.
Antir was busy making herself. . . huh, a sandwich. Two slices of some sort of bread, and between them thick leaves and some flowers, served upon a ceramic plate. Those remind me of daisies. Maybe the biologists can tell me more later on – or Antir, even, once I break down this pesky language barrier. But then, that’s what they sent me for, isn’t it?
She turned around and seemed to be surprised to see Adam leaning over her shoulder. She looked at the sandwich, then peeled back the top breadslice to show him the leaves and flowers. Yep, not a bad job there. After closing it, she opened her mouth and took a bite from it. Chewing for a moment, she suddenly stopped, eyes starkly open. Something wrong, Antir? She gestured Adam and the dragon into the central room. The dragon let out a [ɹiˈɣě ɑnɑˈmu].
[iltem̥elˈɸɯ] she replied, sitting in front of the pile of books, sandwich by her side, still on the plate. In her telekinesis, she grabbed the biology book again, and after some furious page-turning, put the book down on a collection of skulls. No, not skulls – their jaws. Rhysling apparently had quite the biodiversity, with herbivores, carnivores, and omnivores alike interacting with one another – and of course, geophages like the dragon. Now that’s a five-dollar word.
With the chalk, she pointed at herself, then at the picture of the skull full of flat grinding molars. She opened her mouth, wide, so Adam could see for himself. Yep, lots of molars, and very few incisors to be found. Perfectly suited for the sandwich right there. Then she pointed at the dragon, then the skull full of sharp, remarkably dense teeth. The dragon opened its mouth, showing how it had just that layout described. Adam could note small bits of crystalline dust between the gaps. Rock picks for teeth – now I’ve seen everything!
Antir tapped the chalk on his suit, then hovered it over the page. Hmmm. . . which one’s the omnivore? Adam had to take a closer look at the page. None of them looked remotely like what he would expect an omnivore would have. He turned the page – oh, there’s more skulls! Another moment, and he tapped the picture of a skull with canines in the front and molars in the back – there aren’t any like ours, so that’s as good as it gets. He tapped his chest, then the picture again, just to be sure. Then, facing the unicorn, he swung his jaw open, spreading his lips, to show what his teeth really looked like. Neither Antir nor the dragon seemed particularly disturbed. Do they get sentient carnivores in town from time to time? Adam wondered. Haven’t seen any cuts of meat at the market here – lack of demand, or local law?
Still holding onto the book, he reached for a second sheet of paper, while Antir and the dragon were having lunch, and he started copying down the skulls from the book. Of course he wasn’t as good of an artist as whoëver illustrated this book, but he gave it his best shot, getting down the important details, even annotating in English just to remind himself later on. Now I wonder – do these jaws influence their languages? Adam thought. Well, the dragon seemed to know the same language as Antir – despite coming from radically different species. Will I have any luck here, decoding and replicating their speech?
Antir then closed that book in her telekinesis. Aw, I was just getting started, Adam wanted to complain – then she pulled out what looked like an atlas. The front page had a physical map of Rhysling, with all its rivers, mountains, oceans and landmasses, all represented on a projection that barely distorted from the global view he got from orbit. At least, as far as I can tell, he surmised. The next page was the same, but was now carved up into clearly political territories. My God, there’s so many of them. . . I’ve got my work cut out for me, don’t I? She used the chalk as a pointer, and lightly tapped the largest of these nation-states. She pointed it at herself, the dragon, and Adam, and again at that nation-state. So that’s where we are? Compared to the Soviet Union. . . that thing’s huge! What sort of militaristic conquests enabled such expansion? Whatever it is, I don’t think this suit’s built for withstanding it. That thought sent a shiver down his spine – a breach now would jeopardize everything, not just himself.
Next, Antir flipped the atlas open into a projection of just her nation-state. She pointed at herself and the dragon, then to a large fortress in a central mountain range. Then she tapped her hoof on the wooden floor, and pointed to a settlement near that mountain, in the middle of a dried-up basin north of a large forest. Oh, they’re not locals either. They moved here at some point. Of all the things I could ask her. . . where do I even begin? Adam sighed slightly. At least I won’t be alone in feeling like an outsider – even if they have the benefit of a common nation.
More page flipping happened. Antir eventually arrived at a map of the town. Just what I needed! But before Adam could grab a sheet of paper to copy it down, Antir snatched it away – then handed him another scroll. The green band was easily undone, and the scroll unfurled into a map of the settlement, from a bird’s eye view, complete with a compass rose pointing where he determined to be north, so he can easily traverse the streets by himself, even back to TPRU-1 as needed. Seeing that Adam was already looking at it intensely, she took the quill and made a small mark in the north-north-west extreme of the map. Adam pondered the significance of that location, but then she put down ADAM below the mark. Oh, that’s the lander’s location. Gotcha. Adam smiled, then rolled the map back up, retied the band, then slipped it inside a pouch. I’ll definitely need it for the walk back to the lander. And perhaps even back here at the library, if I need to. Thank you, Antir.
Next, she put away the atlas, then pulled out what looked like a children’s book. Seriously? Well, I guess I gotta start with the basics in their society. The first page was a normal, everyday setting in a place like. . . whatever this place is called. Did Louis forget to give it a name? Does he know other settlements exist like it? Whatever, I’ll think about that later. Here were ponies of every shade and hue of every color he could think of – and quite a few gray ones. Does their visible spectrum extend beyond ours? Or is color expression an allele? These ponies, just like in this town, were hard at work with various jobs – smithing, selling, woodcutting, stonecutting, milling – just to name the ones that caught his eye. And in the margins, the page was wreathed with text in their script. I definitely will have to learn how to read that at some point.
She let him turn the page, while she finished her lunch, and the next was a double-page view of a farm, once again annotated in the margins. A farm! A surefire way to get a lay of their diet. True to Antir’s dental structure, most of what the farm had were plants, grown in a set order – as the massive orchard in the background demonstrated well. Closer to the foreground, he noted large grasses grown until they ripened into a golden yellow – I’m guessing that’s some sort of grain for the mill. Then he noticed what looked like chickens in a pen, surrounding a coop. So they do eat meat after all? Adam had to ponder. But their teeth aren’t adapted for it – nor, I’m sure, are their digestive tracts. Do they cook their like we do? But then he saw one pony carrying a basket full of what he assumed to be their eggs into a nearby dwelling. Oh. I guess that makes sense. But do they refrigerate theirs? I know we Americans do, but I’ve heard the British don’t. A cutaway of the barn showed that it was mostly for storage of less-perishable goods, like threshed grains and such – but on one side were bovine analogues, with a pony somehow milking them. On one hand, I’m not surprised – but on the other, I have to wonder how they manage such a grip. There was a surprising amount for Adam to unpack, and it was some time before he turned the page again.
The next two pages were of a larger city, built almost entirely out of stone and metal, so far as he could tell. Out of the edge of his helmet, Adam saw Antir pull the atlas back out, then open it back open to the page of her nation-state. She circled the children’s book with the chalk in the air, then tapped the mountain fortress in the atlas. Oh! Must be a pretty important place for them to dedicate this much to one city. Adam took another look at the spread. On second thought, he realized, this isn’t a fortress at all – or if it was built as one, it isn’t anymore now. No, instead this could be considered one of the more élite places in their society – he certainly didn’t see anyone of their likes on his way to the library. He guessed they’d be too snobbish to interact with them. But Antir said she came from here, Adam remembered. Was she appointed here by some sort of decree? Was that why she moved? The library, however – maybe she’s working undercover?
The next two-page spread surprised him. The inside was apparently a massive, lavish palace, but the image bleed suggested it was actually still part of the previous scene. Oh, so it is a fortress, he realized. It just doubles as a powerful city because of its regal prestige. At least, I think it’s regal. What else could it be? The hallways were littered with palace staff here and there, such as servants, cooks, guards, groundskeepers, and more. Chambers with various functions essentially ensured that the palace could function autonomously if it ever fell under siege. And I’m sure they have at least a few times, Adam thought. And there, in the grandest chamber in the rear of the palace, was their leader. Lord? King? Emperor? Clearly it had some sort of leadership role, what with its crown, peytral, and shoes all made from gold. It was a tall one, very tall, even when seated on its daïs, with fur of white and hair that reminded him of the aurora borealis. There it sat, speaking with another equine – one who seemed to have petitioned even to enter this chamber – over some matter he could not discern. Probably not important for the illustration. Then a thought gave him pause. I don’t see a dungeon anywhere in the palace, he noticed. Strange, then, that I see guards and other peacekeepers here. Will that change on the next page?
He decided to find out. The next spread not only did not answer that query, it even further astounded him. A city! High in the sky! Made entirely from clouds! He had to look away from the book, and cast his gaze upon the ceiling. He found he was breathing heavily, on the verge of hyperventilation. What sort of technology do they have that lets them do this? And what else could they do with it? Why, they could’ve contacted us first, but I think I recall them showing no signs of space technology. He looked to Antir. What is your line of thinking? Of course she didn’t answer, so Adam had to draw his own conclusions from the image. Just as he saw on his way here to the library, the pegasi were working with the clouds as if it was solid and tangible material. Apart from the architectural styles, it wasn’t terribly different from the town or the city. Well, that was almost true. There was one glaring exception – out of one large cloud-clad building, there poured a steady stream of some sort of iridescent liquid, one that looked almost like a rainbow. Maybe that’s their claim to fame? he pondered. Or just a local legend? Actually. . . where is it? I didn’t see anything like it on the way down. But then, maybe it was just too dark. . . . He turned the page.
To his surprise, the next page spread was the inside of that very building. Wait, what in the actual. . . weather industrialization? Seriously? They just manufacture rainbows here? Indeed, this seemed to be the case – and not just rainbows, either. Here were stored up supplies for all manner of weather that wasn’t direct sunlight. Mint-like machines stamped out snowflakes from sheets of ice, though in a way that made it look natural. At least, natural back on Earth. A cutout of a foreman’s office – foreman? Is that the right word? – showed a large table of details on the wall. Wait, not a table. Adam’s eyes went wide. A calendar! Finally, I’ve got a good idea of what a local year is like! What’s more, a zoom-in of that calendar showed icons depicting weather statuses. With all that I have seen inside the factory, and coupled with their technology, they’ve achieved what has taken us decades to fail to do – manipulate the weather!
So where the Devil is that cloud-city, anyway? And why didn’t it show up from orbit? Adam had to get up to look, book still in his hand. There was a window behind him on the wall, next to a bookshelf – though the view to the outside left a lot to be desired. So he cracked open the door, ducking down so he wouldn’t hit his head on the frame, then stepping outside, leaned himself back to get a better view of the sky. Okay, where can I find a bunch of pouring liquid rainbows? Surely they have to go somewhere. . . . Yet there wasn’t any obvious sign. Antir then came up from behind him, and in her telekinetic grasp tugged the book down. Seeing the cloud city, she went around to the ‘rear’ of the tree, gesturing for Adam to follow. When he got a view of what laid beyond, she pointed in the sky towards a mountain range. Adam tilted back, and saw it. There it is! And no wonder I couldn’t find the rainbow-fall – apparently it started dissipating into the air partway down. Probably for the best – last thing they want is to douse the local water supply if that’s a migrating city.
That city wasn’t the only thing he noticed about the view. Oh hey, up in the mountain! That’s the fortress, isn’t it? And the city attached to it? He flipped back to the city pages, then after tapping Antir’s shoulder to get her attention, tapped the book, then pointed at the fortress. She nodded firmly. Yes! And that leader in the palace – just a few days away on foot to negotiate. I’ll have to figure out transportation at some point, preferably within the lifespan of the suit’s scrubbers. He closed the book and turned around to head back inside the library – and noticed that the sun was just starting to set over the western horizon. Have I been inside all day? Adam wondered. Has it been a full eight Earth hours since I got pulled from cryo? And even less time in the suit, too. I hope these scrubbers are working as advertised. He breathed deeply, to calm himself – well, that was counterproductive. He flipped up the display, just to be sure – sixty-nine percent remaining. Nice.
I think I’d better head back to the lander right now. God knows I can’t last out here forever. His stomach grumbled. And I should’ve had a larger breakfast this morning, too. Damn! And I suppose there’s no solution inside this suit, either. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask anyway. . . . “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he opened on the radio. “Is there any solution for. . . ingesting inside the suit? Not an emergency, just wondering. Over.”
A moment passed. They’re probably busy right now, Adam surmised. Probably with their own dinner in Zodiac’s galley too, I’ll bet! But he didn’t have much time to mull over that – “This is Zulu-Alfa,” Anton radioed back. Not Louis? Strange. “It is possible, but it must be done before stepping in. The cargo manifest contains nutrient sticks you can insert in the helmet, but you will have to suffer through it if you did not think it ahead. Out.”
Well, son of a bitch. And I know eating anything local would break isolation. Adam sighed. Just like back in my college days. . . . The sun was really starting to set over the horizon, lighting the sky on fire in red and yellow. Man, the day really goes by fast. I’m not sure if I can fully adjust to the new sleep schedule. He started back to the lander, but suddenly found his left leg couldn’t move. Turning to see, he found Antir’s telekinetic grasp wrapped firmly around his leg. Great. How do I sign my problem to her? He shook his head at her, then mimed with his hand a utensil shoveling food into his open mouth, then pointed away from the tree and, hopefully, to the lander. He handed the children’s book back to her as well. Don’t exactly have the authority to take this back with me.
But Antir was not taking ‘no’ for an answer. Instead, she shifted her grip up to both of his arms, and dragged him back inside the library. Inside, Adam saw the dragon snickering to itself. Yeah yeah, laugh it up, scales. You’re not the one being kept prisoner inside a library. She stopped him dragging his feet on the wooden floor just in front of the books again, and gave him back the children’s book. Guess I’m not getting out of this one, am I? He sighed, loudly. Here you are Adam, one of the greatest minds of your generation, the first to set foot on Rhysling, now completely at the mercy of a tiny purple unicorn. Way to go.
Seeing how he hesitated, the unicorn took the cover in her telekinetic grip and flipped the book open back into the so-called ‘weather factory.’ Meh, been there, done that. There wasn’t anything new he could find on those pages, so he turned the page and moved on.
The next page spread was surprising. It’s just like out of Gunsmoke! he thought. Here was a typical western scene, with wooden buildings, each looking like they were built within a day. Actually, the whole town looks like it was built in a week. What’s this here, a mine? A spring? Then a thought crossed him. No. . . is it some sort of penal colony? Does explain the lack of jails I’ve seen in the other pages. But even were that the case, the inhabitants seemed to have eked out a life all of their own, in spite of the surrounding environment. Like their own Australia, in a way. Then he saw some large bison-like creatures in the scene – and they looked like they were talking to some of the ponies, which further led credence to the penal-colony hypothesis. They were there first, Adam surmised, and the equines have just taken over their land. I hope they get along well. But where is it, exactly? Adam tapped the western scene, then tapped the cover of the atlas. Antir opened it, then pointed with the chalk at a settlement within a desert band south of the large forest. Though it looks like it’s still connected to a major pathway of some sort, he noticed. Are sentences short, or was I wrong about the penal colony? He nodded all the same, and she shut the atlas. Adam turned the page in his book.
The final pages were just repeats of all the previous pages, each with certain items highlighted. Oh, this must be like an I Spy book, and this is the answer key. Well, that should be helpful to construct a lexicon – though good luck comparing it to English. And that was the end of the book. Adam set it down, then turned to Antir. Am I free to go now? he wanted to ask.
The answer, as it turned out, was ‘no’ – her telekinetic grasp picked up another children’s book, and shoved it into Adam’s hand. Great, now what’s this? He opened the book, and saw it looked like a typical day in the life of a pony. The first page introduced the pony in question – gray-furred with a light red mane and tail, both moderately well-kept, but no wings or horns. Nor the advantages of either of those. It also had a flank-symbol, this one of a scroll, suggesting a job involving literature, or a notary. Or maybe it was just representative of being the book’s protagonist itself. This is just how ponies live, he concluded, as frankly as possible. He turned the page and started browsing.
The first two-page spread showed that very same pony grabbing a meal from the kitchen, one consisting of some toasted bread topped with. . . something he couldn’t identify, cooked eggs, fresh fruit, and a glass of what looked like milk. Good way to start the day off right. Through a window, he saw the sun rising over the horizon – that’s got to be the east – and, surprisingly, in the upper-right corner, he found a clock. This he paid close attention to – apparently the day was divided into six segments of equal proportion, and each of those were divided into six more. Six by six – that’s thirty-six. They must be on their own form of decimal time – or senary time, if I may. The clock had two hands, both of different lengths and shapes. A small, thick hand was pointed at what he knew to be the ‘1:00’ position on an Earth-bound clock, and a long, thin hand pointed directly downward. So half past the top hour. Sure, makes sense, why not? There was a good deal of text at the bottom of the picture. That’s probably describing what the pony’s doing at that time, and maybe what it’ll do on that day. Well, only one way to find out. He turned the page.
The next two-page spread was of the town’s shops, much like the ones he passed by on the way to the library. Though I don’t think there’s an actual library here. Oh well. There was another clock in the upper-right corner, this time showing 4:00 – or 2:00, rather – in the morning. So does the AM/PM transition happen during sunrise and sunset, or am I missing something here? But that’s not the point of the scene – his eyes fell upon another two smiths on opposite sides of the spread. One was forging a metal chain of sorts – interesting to see done by hooves and mouths – and another, a farrier, was doing horseshoes. Just horseshoes, too. Right – even though those have to be forged in mass, they’re adjusted to order and nailed directly onto the hoof. Gotta be a specialist in the trade. Between them was a woodcarving workshop – most of the wares were just boards and beams cut from a solid log – and it looked like they were getting a new log in. A woodworker’s work is never done, it seems. He ignored the text at the bottom and turned the page.
The next section showed exactly what the nameless protagonist did for a living – it delivered mail to the other equines in the town. So the scroll marking is because of both, Adam surmised. He’s the main character of this book, and a postal worker. Sure, that makes sense. Probably. The clock on the page showed that he was just getting started with his shift – 2:30 AM local. Not to mention that their version of ‘clockwise’ lines up with ours, he noted. Their postal system worked about as he expected – equines deposited enclosed letters in the metal boxes that Adam had noticed on his way through town, then the couriers collected their contents and slipped them in a bag. He thought it strange that no mail was being delivered at this time; that, for now, only collecting was happening. I wonder if there’s a system for that: collecting now, and delivering later. An inset in the picture showed what the outer appearance of a letter looked like – it was sealed with a stamped dollop of melted wax in the middle, flanked by what appeared to be postage stamps to its left and right, then text above and below. Addresses, I’ll reckon – but which is which? The book ‘helpfully’ pointed out each, but these of course remained to be translated. Until that’s done, I can’t be trusted to send a letter correctly.
After turning the page, he saw the inside of their post office, at their 3:00. Customers waited in line, each carrying either several letters by their sides or a large box on their backs. Might be the law here. At the front desk, the clerks processed their letters and packages, and the ponies paid for their postage. More letters demanded more postage, as did packages. And I’ll bet some of them are going a real long way. I wonder when someone will invent the telephone. That’ll be the day! But as tempted as Adam was to disrupt the local economy, he much preferred to let them figure it out themselves. But then, if they have teleportation technology like Antir here, Adam thought, why not just use it for everything? Is there a specific energy expenditure? Is there some sort of decree forbidding it? Is there something else I’m not accounting for? Adam put that thought aside – too many questions, not enough answers. Meanwhile, the book’s protagonist dipped into the rear of the office, its bag full of letters collected on its route. There, other collectors were sorting out letters by destination, and the protagonist was presumably going to join them there. He’s either running late, or he’s got a much longer route than the others. All those letters would be sent out with out-of-town couriers – the protagonist did not appear to be one such.
Turning the page again, Adam saw that, half an hour later, it was time for lunch. On this day, the protagonist decided to dine out at a restaurant. It took a table outside, and ordered something from a waiter. Some time later – demonstrated by another clock to be about eight ‘minutes’ – the protagonist got his order back: a mix of vegetables in a bowl, with something on the side and a glass of some sort of clear fluid. That must be water, Adam thought. The basis of life as we know it. This much we know from Einstein – atmospheric traces are impossible to fake. The other restaurant patrons were seated nearby outside, though he was sure some were inside as well. Then one of them caught his eye – an amalgam of at least two different animals. The front half was like an eagle, while the rear half was more feline. What kind of creature could that. . . a gryphon. Adam’s eyes widened at the prospect. Yes, that must be a gryphon. There’s no other explanation for that, no other word to fit the bill. Between unicorns, dragons, and gryphons, perhaps the high fantasy writers of old weren’t so far off the mark after all. But then, they couldn’t have counted on the imagination of so many engineers to make these findings a reality. And it was apparently eating meat – a fish with crossed-out eyes. Oh! So they’re no strangers to carnivores after all. But then, they must be a rarity of some sort. What else can be found here? Any gemstones like the dragon eats? He perused the scene, but came up emptyhanded. Either they’re also rare in this part of Rhysling, or they have literally expensive taste. Adam turned the page.
The dragon got up to leave the room, heading into the kitchen. Bored? Hungry? Fine by me – I’ll be fine on my own. Well, me and Antir.
He turned his attention back to the book. It was after lunchtime, and the protagonist resumed its duties at their 4:00. This time, a round of actual deliveries was happening. But that makes me wonder, what if something urgent needed to be sent as soon as possible? Are there private couriers? I haven’t seen any of those yet. Instead of stopping at the metal boxes, the protagonist went straight to the door, and delivered each letter by hoof. Some homes had mail-slots cut into the door; others, it had to knock. It had a single package to deliver, and it knocked on the door, despite a mail-slot being present. Probably to make sure it’s not intercepted, Adam assumed. Nothing too remarkable remained about the page – Adam figured that everything else about the trade was covered in the preceding pages, so he turned this one to move on.
The next page showed the protagonist shopping at the town’s market. Probably needs to restock on food, he thought. On all days, too! The market wasn’t terribly different from the one he passed through on his way to the library – the protagonist bought some bread and eggs. Anything perishable? Adam wondered. He flipped to the early morning scene. Yes, they have invented refrigeration as well. To keep the milk cold, perhaps the eggs if they wash them? He put that thought aside as well – no time to worry about little details like that. Focus! The answer just might be in front of your nose.
Antir’s stomach grumbled just as he was looking at the market scene. Again? But you just ate, didn’t you? She got up and went to the kitchen anyway. Adam’s stomach grumbled as well, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. If I try to sneak out now, she’ll probably hear the door open and intercept me before I could get a few meters out the door. Like it or not, he was stuck here. Curse you Antir, and your curiosity!
She came back out a moment later, with another sandwich. Did the dragon prepare that for you? That was nice of it. She sat back down, but this time in Adam’s lap. This is awkward was his first thought, but then he realized – maybe this is her way of pinning me here? Making sure I can’t get back up and leave? He tried it himself, but Antir’s weight just wouldn’t let him get up – she was sitting on his center of gravity. Clever girl. Giving up, he returned to the book. There wasn’t anything else he could note in the current scene that he thought was noteworthy – that, coupled with the fact that he was basically starving, convinced him to turn to the page right then.
It suddenly occurred to him that it was getting dark inside the library, and the dark coloring of the pages kept him from focusing. Looks like it’s after dark now, Adam realized. That’s, what, nine Earth hours? The darkness must have been bothering Antir as well, because she lit her horn – and in that instant, hidden lights were switched on. Not a gentle transition, either, suggesting candlelight – they were not, then suddenly, they were. Electricity? Most impressive, Antir.
Turning her head around, she could see the wonder in his eyes, but cocked her head in confusion. Adam took another look at the glowing lights. Despite being installed inside the wooden walls, and with an untold voltage flowing within them, the library did not seem about to go up in flames. I’m guessing either that, or the wood’s been treated, he figured. But then, what method did they use to ensure this tree remains alive, even now? But never mind that – now that it was light enough again for him to see the page, he took another look. Appropriately, it was just after nightfall, and the clock on the page was back at the 12:00 position. Ah, so they do transition AM/PM during sunrise and sunset, he concluded. And here, the protagonist was fixing himself his dinner. Using some of the bread and fruits he had bought that day, he had made himself a sandwich. Okay, maybe she’s not so special in that regard.
He turned the page in the book, both to see what else would come next, and to try to keep his mind busy. The next four scenes were placed on one page, the other one composing only a body of text. Adam tried interpreting them in the most ‘logical’ way he could – which is to say, left to right, then up to down, following English conventions. As it turned out, that seemed to be the correct order. Well, that was easy. First, the protagonist drew a bath for itself, relaxing in the tub for. . . some unspecified time. Adam realized that there weren’t any clocks on the page, so he would have to infer any assumptions as to the passage of time. Next, the protagonist started cleaning its teeth – again, just like us. Then it slipped on some clothing he hadn’t seen before. Pajamas, to be sure – but why? Wouldn’t they sleep standing up? Then it went into a bed, falling asleep. Huh, guess not. Good night, then. Hope it’s better than mine. He shut the book, setting it onto the ground.
But before Adam could contemplate escaping the library, before he could even stand back up, he looked down into his lap. Antir at some point had fallen asleep. He tried getting up again, but the slightest movement of his legs or waist elicited whining from her. He sighed – you win this round, little horsey. Guess I’m staying here for the night. Quietly, he flipped up the monitor on his chest – forty-nine percent scrubber capacity remaining. Okay, if I manage to fall asleep, I should conserve my breathing enough to live through the night. He quietly flipped the display back down, so as not to disturb her. Yeah. . . yeah, nothing for me to panic about.
Only trouble was, it wasn’t exactly comfortable inside a Strauss suit. He’d have to make do somehow. Carefully, he started leaning himself backwards, moving his legs as little as possible. She didn’t like it that much, but he needed his sleep, and no matter what, he was going to get exactly that.
The lights turned themselves off. On a timer, or a sensor? Or did she do that herself? He shrugged – his shoulders hitting the inner walls of the suit. At least it’ll be nice and dark. He closed his eyes, shifting his weight inside the torso. Somehow, all the equipment inside the backpack didn’t bother him all that much – he didn’t feel anything poking or prodding into his back. Guess things could be worse.
He slept at last.
–··–––
Adam didn’t remember dreaming that night. He fell asleep, and then he woke up in a matter of minutes to see the dawn’s light shining through the windows in the library. Well, more specifically, he woke up to an alarm he had never set. By reflex, he tried hitting the snooze button on the bedside table – then he remembered his alarm clock sounded nothing like this.
Antir could hear it too, apparently. She was looking at him, a look of worry on her face, as if to ask “Is everything okay, Adam?” Only one way to find out. He flipped up his chest display – fifteen percent remaining scrubber capacity.
Fifteen!?
“Shit!” Adam stood up with a start. He felt pins and needles in his legs, and the pangs of hunger in his stomach, but none of those compared to the urgency of running out of breathable air. He had to get back to TPRU-1, now!
Calm down, Adam, calm down. . . Adam knew that this was even less cause to squander the fifteen – no, fourteen percent remaining. He desperately searched his pouches, sure that he had a map from the day before – and found it in the third one. Unfurling it, and nearly tearing it in the process, he saw he had a very long walk. God help me. . . . He could barely hear himself think over the sound of the alarm blaring inside his suit.
Antir’s horn started to charge up. A teleportation spell? Adam frantically refused – I still don’t know what that does to me, and I’d rather not find out so soon. He took another look at the map – where he found his Hail Mary: the shortest path to out of town and to the lander was mostly a straight shot from the library – just turn right immediately out the door. There were a few more turns besides, but those weren’t until he left town. Or I could cut across the creek, if it’s shallow enough.
Adam barely made it in time back to TPRU-1’s suitport before the scrubbers filled up completely. He slammed his back into the slot, feeling the backpack click into place, and hit the button to sterilize it. Again a two-minute timer popped up on the still-opened display, and started a countdown. Each agonizingly-long second further tantalized Adam for the promise of fresh, clean air inside the capsule.
Adam stared down at the timer – and the scrubber capacity readout, which was flashing a red zero percent. Even so, it’s probably not a problem – I definitely have at least two minutes of oxygen in this suit. That thought started to calm him down – and as he did, he looked down at his boots, still dripping wet with specks of alien creek scum stuck to them. Yep – cutting across that creek was the best decision I ever made. Turned out the Strauss model was well-suited for water exploration just as well as in the air – though in the process, he’d had to cut across someone’s yard to get there. But when you’re about to choke and die, sometimes you gotta take that shortcut.
Oh right, I’ve got some samples to sterilize, don’t I? Adam decided to kill his sterilization time doing just that. On his left, above the suitport sterilizer button, was a small door. It swung out and away from him, and it revealed a small locker-like compartment inside the lander’s walls. Perfect. He still had his map in his hand, so he placed that inside first. Then he opened each of his pouches, and deposited the other paper with his notes, and the random jewel the dragon gave him. Commander Darcy said that I shouldn’t sterilize organic samples in here, he recalled. But gemstones aren’t organic. Right? He shut the door, and noticed a button in the center – pushing it with his thumb locked that door, vented the air from inside, and started the sterilization process in there as well. That’ll take two minutes as well, I’ll bet. He looked down at the timer – forty-five seconds remaining. Then I can kill that time changing out the scrubber. Perfect!
He realized in that moment that he wasn’t followed – not by Antir, not by the dragon, not by any other equine. Even that rainbow-maned one must not have seen me – despite having the aerial advantage over me. He shrugged. Must be Antir’s approval. He breathed in relief, not even caring how much oxygen that took up – because the timer had reached its end.
:04. . .
:03. . .
:02. . .
:01. . .
:00!
In that moment, he felt the pressure release from his back as the suit’s hatch swung open by itself, followed by a rush of cool, sweet, fresh air. He breathed it in deeply – Gods, that feels so much better! – and started shimmying out of his suit. First, his arms – which he used to grab the bar over his head, allowing him to pull himself up and out of the legs of the suit. Once he planted his feet firmly on the ground, only then did he notice just how much he had sweat inside that suit. Guess I needed that fan after all. Checking first to make sure the window’s aperture shutter was shut – which it was, thankfully – he started to strip off his cooling and waste absorbent garments, noting all the sweat that kept pouring off of his body all the while. Man, I could really use a bath. He looked around, but couldn’t find such a facility – only a sink and toilet nearby – neither of which would really work for him.
One radio call would solve that problem, he realized. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Tango-1,” he opened. “I have just disembarked from my suit after running the carbon scrubbers to their limit. Did Anton remember to pack anything for hygeine? I’ve built up quite a sweat. Over.” Let’s see if I can remember how to change scrubbers afterward.
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” the reply came from Louis. “He should have packed some special soaps and such in the cargo. Please try to conserve them and use them only as needed; there is only so much, after all. Anything else? Over.”
“Negative Zulu-Alfa, that’s the long and short of it,” Adam replied. “Tango-1 out.” Alright, let’s check the manifest. . . . After a few minutes of looking, he found what he needed: “HYGIENE – ГИГИЕНА.” Inside that particular crate were several bottles of liquid soaps and shampoos – none of which, as he recalled, needed water to work. As advertised. And right at the bottom of the crate was a tightly-folded towel, for when he was done with washing. The instructions on the bottles were also bilingual – at first, Adam chuckled about the fact that shampoo needed instructions, but then he remembered, this was a radically different formulation, so they would be justified. The process was pretty similar to regular shampoo – he had to squirt it directly into his hair, give it some handscrubbing, then just dry it off when he was done, and use no water – or a bit of water, for any stubborn spots remaining. The soaps were a similar story. And I should have enough to last me a few months, if I conserve it like he said. I’m not comfortable with that sort of timeframe, but. . . it is what it is.
Man, that’s a lot I ought to do. Probably should make a checklist. Adam grabbed a notebook and pen, and ripped a page out. He put down everything he remembered he had to do:
That last one’s going to take me a while, he realized. As helpful as Antir’s been, I hope she doesn’t bother me for the rest of the day. From the consumables crate, he fished out some freeze-dried goulash and beef jerky, along with a packet of distilled water, and left them on the galley’s counter for later.
He squirted some shampoo right into his scalp, then set to work washing his hair. The instructions said to do this for about three minutes, so he tried to be as thorough as possible. Once he was sure each strand of hair had been handled, he grabbed the towel and ran it through his hair. He felt it as the towel passed through – my! That stuff is magic! I wonder why we don’t have it for sale back on Earth. . . . It was a similar story with the soap – he just applied it onto his body, and toweled it off with no residue whatsoëver. This meant anywhere on his body – face, chest, back, arms, stomach, legs, unmentionables – was now clean and free of sweat. Wash hair and body – check! He deposited the bottles underneath the cot.
Adam then slipped his jumpsuit back on, zipping up the front, then sat down at the galley. The jerky was labeled for no water – duh – but the goulash came with a few more instructions – “150 mL hot water, 5-10 min. – 150 мл. горячей воды, 5-10 мин.” Probably should’ve thought ahead, Adam thought. He grabbed the red hydration gun, ticked the dial to 75, inserted the nozzle inside the straw, and injected. Twice. The stream of water permeated the cracks and holes in the block of meat stew, and started working its magic in bringing the Hungarian staple back to life. In the meantime, he replaced the hydration gun and started munching, almost absentmindedly, on a stick of jerky to tide himself over. This is going to be a long ten minutes, he thought. He looked to the window, but found the aperture was shut. He got up to open it, and see the new day while not in a panic. It was another beautiful day outside, a sky clear of clouds – probably as scheduled today. Actually, he realized, why don’t I get to replacing the scrubber? And retrieving my items?
Moving aside the suit’s hatch-door, he opened the locker from the inside, and saw that the two minutes had passed by without him realizing. Here was the gem, still as red as ever, and the papers with the map and his notes, none the worse for wear. Adam would copy down the map and re-sterilize it for later EVA use. The notes, however, would remain inside the lander. Retrieve notes, map, and jewel – check? Still gotta study them, of course.
Next he focused on the scrubber. As he recalled from his training, the scrubber was a module on the lower-right side of the backpack – well, lower-right when he was wearing it. He glanced behind him at the suit – it should have been white, but the one in his suit was black as coal. Oh yeah, that’s gonna need replacing. So then he checked the cargo – and right in front of him was a thin cardboard box that read “SPARE CARBON DIOXIDE SCRUBBER (STRAUSS) – ЗАПАСНОЙ ПОГЛОТИТЕЛЬ ДВУОКИСИ УГЛЕРОДА (СТРАУС).” Strauss-specific, huh? He looked up and saw several spares for the lander itself. Figures I gotta do that too at some point.
He popped open the box and slid it out – and just like from his memory, its screen was perfectly white. Huh, and it’s heavier than I thought. He lugged it over to the suitport and set it down. There was an arrow printed above the one in the suit, pointing to the left. He twisted the scrubber in that direction, and it jolted loose. He grabbed it and gingerly set it down. Then he picked up the fresh scrubber and set it inside its slot, twisting it to the right to lock it in place. Replacing the suit’s scrubber – check! But what do I do with the old one?
He looked around for a solution, then hit upon it: there was a scrubber restorer aboard the lander – a compartment above the toilet that should clean the scrubber for him. All he needed to do was insert it, twist to lock it in place just like in the suit itself, and let it do all the work cleaning out and sequestering all the carbon it had loaded up. It should take about two hours, but one could not argue with the results. As long as he handled both of them carefully, the scrubbers should last him for the duration of the mission.
Gingerly, he picked up the full scrubber and hobbled it over to the toilet, where the scrubber restorer waited for him. Opening its door, Adam inserted the scrubber into its slot, just like in the suit, turned it to lock it in place, and firmly shut it, making sure the door made a click. He didn’t do anything else with it, and it started up automatically. Well, that was pretty easy, I’ll have to hand it to the Russians.
Feeling his stomach still growl, he turned around – and saw the goulash, still rehydrating on the galley. Oh, that’s probably ready right about now! He grabbed the bag and pondered how he was supposed to consume it. He figured that through the straw in the bag would be the simplest idea, so he gave that a try.
It worked.
It’s probably the correct way, now that I think about it. Whatever recipe NASA or Roscosmos used to make the goulash was a lot spicier than he expected – but then, he did read somewhere that taste buds don’t work as well in orbit. Or maybe that’s just how goulash is normally made, Adam hypothesized as well. I’ve never had it before. Who am I to judge? He braced himself for the rest of the packet, wondering just what it was that gave the stew such a kick. Paprika for sure, but what else is there?
He finished the calorie-dense food within a few minutes, both the goulash and the jerky, and his belly was all the more thankful for it. Eat and drink something – check! That was a disaster yesterday. He signed in some contentment. Alright, let’s get started with the last item on the list –
Then he heard noises outside. Specifically, clattering on the lander’s scaffolding, then what sounded like a hard impact on the window. More clattering, then something running away.
Yeah, that’s way too weird for me to ignore. Adam got up from the galley, disposing of the jerky and goulash bags first, and slid the window aperture open. Apparently, one of the Indigenous left a piece of paper, attached by an adhesive strip to the window. On it were a series of drawings – from left to right, it was a bulky humanoid figure, with a backpack – I’m guessing that’s me in the suit – followed by the usual rod-and-sphere arrow-like symbol, which pointed at a rather detailed drawing of a building he didn’t remember seeing in the town, and next to it six equine figures. I guess we hadn’t gone that way. And who are those equines? Why are they gathered here? Do they mean harm? If they’re planning an ambush, this is definitely not the way to do it. The sun shone through the paper, which let him see that there was a map on the other side, with a line roughly tracing out a way to go. From the lander to that dwelling, he realized. Whoëver planted that there just now really wants me to show up, and I’m guessing as soon as possible.
But how do I ensure my safety? And how do I do so without frightening them? Adam’s safety was paramount, just as much as that of Rhysling’s biosphere, but at the same time, he had been tasked with documenting the Indigenous language, and that meant coöperating and coördinating with them – peacefully, and not by force. Adam decided that the dilemma was irreconcilable, and went with the option that preserved his mission best. Guess I’ll have to suit up and hope for the best.
This time, remembering yesterday’s fiasco, he checked the cargo, and found one labeled “NUTRIENT STICKS (STRAUSS) – ПИТАТЕЛЬНЫЕ ПАЛОЧКИ (СТРАУС)” Just what the doctor ordered. He grabbed one – really more of a metal tube than a stick per se – and went to the suit. Inside the lower helmet was a clip that he had neglected to notice the last time he went walking outside – one that perfectly fit the nutrient stick. He unscrewed the cap and, seeing some spill out already, quickly grabbed it up before it went to waste. Crissake, this tastes awful – but it’s all I’ve got in EVA. I’m guessing this was packed by the Soviet program. He shrugged, and next checked the water supply – 90% remaining. Yeah, no worries there for now.
As he was stepping away to put on the other garments – nature called.
–··––
Alright, should be good to go. Wait, almost forgot. Adam grabbed a notebook and pen, and deposited them inside the sterile locker. He shut the door and started sterilizing them there. Lord knows I’ll be taking a good amount of notes on this walk. That settled, he swung himself up, and landed both feet firmly inside the boots of the suit. He pulled his arms inside as well, and once he was situated, he hit the button to sterilize behind him. The monitor was still up, and it blinked to life – displaying 100% scrubber capacity remaining, a countdown from two minutes, and all sorts of other vitals that weren’t relevant at the moment.
He tried reaching over to the window to grab the paper left there – and was surprised to see that he was able to reach it. Carefully, he peeled off the adhesive, so as not to tear the paper itself, and took another look at it. There wasn’t anything in the drawings that he hadn’t seen before, thankfully. Flipping it over showed that he would be entering town the same way he did the day before, only this time he would turn right just before the central square, and keep heading straight. What he was looking for was more or less on its own block.
Thirty seconds left on the timer. Adam folded the display down, then folded up the map, slipping it inside a pouch. I’ll probably need the reminder on the way, he thought. Plus, if anyone asks me what I’m doing, I can just show them. They’ll know what that is, and what I’m to do there. He crossed his arms and waited for the timer to run out.
And run out it did – he felt himself lurch forward, just as he had before. He turned around, and opened the sterile locker, retrieving his items and stashing them in his pouches. This time, with yesterday’s experience, he managed to get down the lander without too much delay, and unlike the ceremonious step the day before, he practically hit the ground running. Well, not a run per se – more of a casual stroll. The Strauss’s joints were still being broken in, and he needed to work up the muscle mass he’d lost in transit, but he was walking along a lot faster than yesterday. Plus, he roughly knew the way there.
He came across the beaten path, much like yesterday, and took it. It was still empty before and behind him – the settlement must not get a lot of out-of-towners – or this just might not be a well-used pathway. Either way. . . . He kept his stride along the path, and found the bridge. Crossing it was a much easier feat, knowing both that it would support his weight or, if it didn’t, that the creek wasn’t very deep and the suit did not let any water in or out.
He made the same turns as Antir had showed him, even coming across those same ponies on that same porch. One of them, cream-furred and red-maned, cautiously waved at him. Trying to be friendly? he thought. He decided to wave back at it, gently, without breaking his stride. It quickly put its hoof away and went back inside. Enough interaction with the big white monster for the day? That’s fine. I’ll try not to stay a stranger here, though.
There was the central tower, high over his head, to mark his way – then, after checking the map provided, turned left and stayed the course. It’s not much further away, he found – right in front of him, in plain view, was one of the most fantastic buildings he had ever seen. It looked exactly like a gigantic gingerbread house, with a chocolate roof and a cupcake tower in the middle, complete with candle-like lamps. I’m guessing it’s some sort of confectioner’s shop, he thought. Much larger than the one I saw the other day. Competition in town? One thing that stuck out for him was the lack of traffic in the streets. Is it not as popular?
He stood still in the street, trying to find even a trace of life. But the suit’s helmet blocked his peripheral vision, and he couldn’t hear any outside sounds too well over his sealed-in breathing. Guess there’s only one way to resolve this. He stepped up to the door, and gently pulled it open.
Well, not completely – the door was in three pieces for some reason, but it was enough for him to get a look inside. The foyer looked to be decorated for a special event – tables were set with assorted refreshments. Colored streamers hung from the walls and ceiling, and rubber balloons decorated the room this way and that. He could see red, yellow, green, blue, purple – and a strange amount of gray. Maybe that’s for colors I can’t see. And there in the room was Antir, with five other equines. Friends of yours?
[xõ eˈdem] Antir greeted, with a wave of her hoof. [n̥ɑpɑˈtɑ] But Adam had barely waved back at her when a familiar-looking pink equine came right up to his face and started chattering at an unbelievably-rapid pace, and in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. [ᵑǃɑpɑˈtɑ ɲiliˈdi ɲiˈbi ɑlˈɹu bl̩d l̩ʃɑltɑᵑʘɑlᵑʘiˈɑ eseˈceɹ ɡin ɣõ xẽleˈsil ɑ inzɑˈzɑ ʃɤʙ̥ɯsɯ̃lʃɯᵑǃiˈɹɯ eʃ ʙil mɯl xɑsɑɹˈʙ̥ǔ ě ě ě ě ě ě] All the while, it kept bouncing around him, inadvertently keeping within his blindspots, making hearing it that much harder. Adam was barely able to keep up with it.
Thankfully, Antir was able to shut down the other’s babbling quickly with a [xõ ɲiliˈdi mɯl mɹ̩ʎɑˈβu] Then she turned to Adam, pointed at herself, and said [ɑ̃.ˈtiɹ l̩.sɑ.ˈpɑ] – then to him, [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] – and lastly to the pink equine, [ɲiliˈdi ɲiˈbi].
“Nyilidee Nyibee?” Adam tried. The pink equine nodded enthusiastically. [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] it said, pointing at him. He nodded stiffly in his suit, and Nyilidee did a backflip to behind a counter. [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] she announced to the other equines.
If only they were all so enthusiastic. Despite his lack of hostility on his part, most of the residents were still a bit leery around this odd white golem that fell from the sky. At least, he thought, that’s what they assume I am. So far Antir and Nyilidee were more accepting of him – Antir by virtue of experience, and Nyilidee. . . well, its reasoning was beyond him. I know I’ll have to prove myself, but it’s a start.
Nyilidee showed him to a table with refreshments, as if to offer him some. Adam had to refuse, with a firm shake of his head, as politely as he could manage. But Nyilidee either didn’t understand, or refused to accept it – it grabbed a small cupcake-like item and shoved it into his mouth – or at least, on the part of his helmet where his mouth would be.
Antir was right behind him, and seemed to chastise Nyilidee. [xõ ɲiliˈdi ʃelˈse seˈsl̩ ɑzɑɹŋobzũɟɑˈmu . mɯl ɑˈmɑ ɑkaɹˈm̥u] At the same time, in her magic, she grabbed a towel to wipe off his helmet, taking care to get it done perfectly.
Nyilidee rolled its eyes. [ɹiˈxɑ̌l eŋbiˈʙɯ ilsɑᵑǃɑlʙ̥iᵑʘẽ̌]
To which Antir fired back, [uˈxɑɹ mɯlˈzl̩ ilekelesˈɹɯ βẽˈzl̩ ɡemˈbeɹ sɑˈn̥ɑl] She sounded offended at whatever Nyilidee had just uttered.
[ɑ̂ːːː] Suddenly Nyilidee looked dejected. It turned to look at the refreshments. [seɹkiˈsɯ̃ ʃɤkelˈɹɯ mɯlˈje zɑlˈnɑ] Meanwhile, Antir lead Adam away from the table, and sat him down at another. From the countertop, she pulled her trusty chalkboard and stick of chalk, and spent a minute or so drawing something on it. When she was done, she turned it around to show him. Adam could quickly recognize Antir’s hindquarter-mark as one of the six drawings presented, but the other five eluded him. After hers were a large lightning bolt from a cloud, three balloons, three diamonds, three butterflies, and three fruit-like objects. Interesting that they have butterfly-like creatures on Rhysling, Adam mused. Wait, none of them are alike. Do they signify something deeper? Can they be copyrighted? Trademarked? Are they used as signatures?
Antir then circled her own mark and pointed at herself with the chalk – then she circled the three balloons and pointed at Nyilidee, who was apparently, and almost literally, drowning its sorrow in punch. Adam squinted at its hindquarters, and noticed that, indeed, it had three balloons – two blue, one yellow. He turned back to Antir and pulled his notebook and pen from his pouches. Remembering the simplicity and iconicity of their gender symbols, he plotted them on his paper. Alright, let’s take a guess. . . . He tapped the ‘female’ one, then Nyilidee’s mark. To his surprise, Antir tapped all six marks in sequence, then the ‘female’ symbol. Oh, so they’re all mares. Theirs could be a matriarchal society.
He tapped the lightning-bolt mark, then raised an eyebrow. In response, Antir called out [xõ ɹ̩ʎiluˈɸɑ ʃoj . seˈxe m̥eˈsɤ ezeɡɯbɯˈβɯ] – and to his surprise, that rainbow-maned pegasus who knocked him down the day before flew down from the ceiling. It – she – didn’t look too pleased to see Adam – and in truth, the feeling was mutual. What’s next? Will you crack my helmet? Good luck with that, it’s made from polycarbonate. That much he did remember about the Strauss.
She took a seat across the table from Adam, all the while glaring at him through his helmet. Again Antir introduced herself, [ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ] – then Adam, [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] – then the pegasus, [ɹ̩ʎiluˈɸɑ ʃoj].
[ɦeˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] the pegasus echoed, with a point of a hoof.
Adam pointed at the pegasus. “Early-loofa shoy,” he tried. That palatal lateral is going to give me trouble one of these days.
The pegasus shook her head. [ɦɹ̩jliluˈʙ̥ɑ] she corrected him.
Oh, so there are different dialects? Is she from out of town as well? And is there a standard version of the language? Adam tried again: “Hurry-lee-loofa.” When the pegasus nodded, Adam breathed a sigh in relief. Her name was H’ryleeloofa. Three down, three to go. At least for this event. Right? Cautiously, he extended a hand to her – bringing it to halfway across the table, and no further. Slowly, H’ryleeloofa placed her hoof in his palm. He let her feel the cool metal surface, before he decided to test her, and them by extension: he closed his grip gently around her hoof, and then lifted and lowered it in sequence three times. He let go of her hoof, and she quickly withdrew it from his gloved palm, in apparent shock. She looked down into it and, seeing no harm done, looked back up at him. She nodded, and flew up from her seat, to rejoin the others.
Next, Adam pointed at the three diamonds. Who’s this, then? [xõ ɲ̊eˈsel . seˈxe m̥eˈsɤ ezeɡɯbɯˈβɯ] Antir seemed to answer – and this time, another unicorn showed up – although this one had a coat of pure white, with a dark violet mane and tail styled in two enormous curls. He couldn’t help but notice she had eyeliner on as well. That must take an hour to prepare, Adam surmised. How does she put up with it? He was glad he married someone like Sarah, who kept her appearance easy to manage.
This one took her seat as well, in the same spot as H’ryleeloofa before. Just as before, Antir introduced herself as [ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ] – then Adam, [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] – then the unicorn, [ɲ̊eˈsel].
Why, Antir? Why a voiceless nasal? Adam sighed, and gave it his best shot. “Nyesell,” he pronounced it. Short and sweet at least.
The white unicorn shook her head. [ɲ̊eˈsel] she repronounced – exactly the same as Antir did.
You’re giving me a headache with this. “Nyezell,” he tried again. That’s the best you’re getting out of me.
And evidently, even that was not good enough. The unicorn sighed, and buried her face in her front hooves. [ᵑǂeˈsel] she pronounced – and even that was muffled and with some reluctance.
Is she embarrassed to have a click in her name? Adam pondered. I think it’s cute. “Nǂesell.” And hey, something I can easily pronounce!
Poor Nǂesell looked like she wanted to scamper off, what with her face flushed red from apparent shame. [ˈɑj ˈɑj ˈɑj] – Antir stopped Nǂesell from leaving so soon, putting a front leg around her shoulders. [βẽ ɑcɑsˈɹɑ m̥eˈsɤ ɤzɯŋˈβɯ] But this did little to console the distraught unicorn.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Adam extended his hand to halfway across the table. Will you take it, Nǂesell? Surely you know I mean no harm. [m̥eˈsɤ ɑnɑˈβu . βẽ ilkɑ̃ɲ̊ɑcɑˈm̥u] Antir seemed to encourage. Then, with the same reluctance as H’ryleeloofa, Nǂesell placed her hoof flat in his open palm. Adam gently smiled, knowing what an enormous risk that itself was, and did the same motion as with H’ryleeloofa – close the grip, three gentle motions up and down, release. “Nǂesell,” he said aloud.
Nǂesell’s blush started to fade, and she smiled back faintly. [eˈdem] she responded. Only then did Antir let her go, and she seemed none the happier for it.
Four down, two to go. This should be a rather quick get-together. He checked his scrubber status – seventy-four capacity remaining. Plenty of time, too. Well, as long as they don’t plan on keeping me here overnight again. He chuckled at such a thought. I just hope Antir learned her lesson this morning. So, who should I meet next?
Antir held up the board, and he saw his two choices left were the three butterflies and the three apples. Well, the butterflies one looks more interesting to me at the moment. . . . He tapped the three butterflies. [xõ sulɸojɑɹˈn̥ɑ] Antir called out – and another pegasus, yellow in appearance, made her appearance. Strange. Why not fly over here? She took a seat at the same place as H’ryleeloofa and Nǂesell, but hid her face behind her pink mane. Adam decided to introduce himself, instead of letting Antir steal his thunder. “Adam Somerset,” he said, hand on his chest. Then he extended the same to Antir. “Antir H’lsapa.” Definitely butchered that last word, Adam realized, but shrugged it off in his head. Then he gently set his hand towards the pegasus. He saw her mouth move, but what came out hardly amounted to a voice. It certainly never penetrated through his suit. He tilted his head in confusion. Just how antisocial are these ponies? he wondered. Or xenophobic?
Antir decided to try after him. [ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ] for herself, [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed] for Adam, then for the pegasus, [sulɸojɑɹˈn̥ɑ].
Great, more voiceless nasals. But didn’t Nǂesell replace hers with a click? Adam realized. He gave it a shot – [sulfojɑɹnˈᵑǃɑ].
Sulfoyarnǃa perked her head up. She gave him a glowing smile, and without warning, leaned right into his face, trying to get a better look at him. Instinctively, he put up a hand to try to push her away, but it backfired – it instead drew her attention, and she started manipulating his gloved hand in her hooves. It was a very intricate design, but by no means unique to this world – not if Antir’s dragon had anything to say about the matter. But soon she lost interest in it, and turned her attention again to her face.
Well, what’s there to admire? Adam wondered. I’ve got blue eyes, dark hair, a long narrow nose, jaws and teeth for plants and meat – here, he displayed his teeth, just as he did for Antir back at the library – like in your friend’s biology book, there’s nothing unique about me, save for the fact that I’m from the stars. Oh, well, I do have a chin at least. Haven’t seen even one here yet.
Sulforyarnǃa leaned away at last, content with her findings. She waved him goodbye, and quietly hopped off her stool to rejoin the crowd. Well, that was nice, he thought. I guess that leaves the one with the apples. . . . He didn’t have to wait much longer before an orange equine with a well-worn Stetson hat plopped herself down before him, unbidden by either him or Antir. [ɹiˈdiz ɑlˈɹu ʙẽ inˈzɑ xõ eˈdem] she said enthusiastically, curling her hoof around his hand and shaking it vigorously. [ɲelediɹˈʙe ɑlˈɹu] Adam had to pull his hand away after a few moments of that, lest she accidentally rip the arm right off the suit – and even then, he had to hold his arm down to keep it from swinging by itself.
Well, she seems open to interaction at least. Was that Antir’s work? Adam shelved that thought for the time being, and tried the usual round: pointing at himself, “Adam Somerset,” to Antir, “Antir H’lsapa,” and finally to her, “Nyeledirve.”
[m̩̂] Nyeledirve was definitely very enthusiastic to meet this new guest. So that’s all six of them, Adam concluded. Now what? He looked around the room, trying to see if there were any other equines to meet – but, finding none, he turned to Antir and signed a question – pointing at himself, finger-walking on his arm, then pointed at the door while raising his eyebrow.
But Antir shook her head – instead, she took his hand, and led him to the refreshment table, where Nyilidee still sat. Somehow she held herself back on the punch, but she still looked downtrodden. Maybe Antir wants me to apologize? Adam hypothesized. Well, I didn’t do that earlier – granted, I still don’t know how to either. He looked to Antir for advice – she reared up on her hind legs, and held her front legs in a circle around something. Getting back down on all fours, she pointed at Nyilidee. In essence, she wanted him to hug Nyilidee. Is that the norm, then? It does translate well between the two worlds. Guess I’ll give it a shot – back me up, Antir!
He knelt down to her level, and wrapped both arms around her. Not too tightly, Adam – you have controls on your chest.
Then she started to turn around to face Adam – and to his surprise, she seemed all too eager to return the gesture. Yes! Success! Thank you, Antir! He sighed in relief. As he pulled away a moment later, Nyilidee got a better look at his suit – all the myriad controls and instruments that lined it, and no idea as to what they did. She reached a hoof to the radio button, but he gently pushed it away. Well, I may as well indulge her a bit. He pointed to his chest monitor, and raised an eyebrow.
Confused, Nyilidee turned to Antir. [ɹiˈɣě ɑnɑɟɑˈmu] She sounds a lot calmer now. Maybe the novelty of my arrival has worn off?
Antir simply replied with [eŋbizɯ̃ˈɹɯ] – with a shrug-like gesture, so Adam could probably guess the meaning of the word. But it’s too early to make assumptions of their gestures. So far I’ve been lucky, but even luck’s a finite resource. Oh well. . . . Adam flipped open the display, and gestured for Nyilidee to come and look. Scrubber capacity was at seventy percent, and everything else looked to be just fine. Of course, he didn’t expect Nyilidee to be able to read the display – though Antir might have a slight edge over her in that regard – so he closed it right after.
But Nyilidee was still curious about his chest. Suddenly she lunged forward and hit a random button – he reflexively backed up, but not soon enough to avoid another splash of water on his face. He sputtered for a moment, shaking off whatever water he could. Nice going.
With that settled, he stood back up and headed to the door. Suddenly he felt a great weight tethered to his right leg – looking down, expecting Antir’s telekinesis, he instead found Nyilidee firmly attached, apparently trying to stop him from leaving the building. Well, I’d rather not run down the scrubber so soon, he wanted to tell her – but as usual, English words failed him. Gently, he tried to shake her off – but Nyilidee seemed to be firmly fastened to his leg. Antir eventually had to intervene, giving her a good yank. Somehow she did not damage anything on him – I guess the Strauss is built to last. Heh! – can’t believe I’m saying that about anything Soviet-built. But without much further ado, he stepped out, leaving behind five more equines he met. But before he walked away completely, he turned to the door, which was still open on one side. He extended his arm, and displayed his splayed palm, as if he laid it on a pane of glass. Antir somehow recognized the gesture – but instead of simply waving, she trotted over to match his gesture, even placing her hoof squarely against his palm. I guess this is our goodbye, he realized. Just like back at the lander. Speaking of. . . .
He started making his way back to the lander, following the invitation’s map – which he now assumed was drawn by Nyilidee. Straight ahead, turn left at the central square, then wind your way out of town. Walking may have been a carbon-intensive activity, but with that much remaining, he wasn’t worried in the slightest. He’d make it back in time.
For once in the mission, he had a pleasant walk through town.
·––·–
:04. . . :03. . . :02. . . :01. . . :00!
The back hatch swung open, and Adam then swung himself out of the suit and back inside TPRU-1. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, and started removing the undersuit garments. This time, he hadn’t worked up much of a sweat – so as convenient as it was to use the rinseless soaps, he felt no need for them, so under the cot they stayed for now. However, he did make a point of switching out the scrubbers again – even at sixty-two percent remaining, he felt it prudent, since he did not know how long he would be out again. God forbid it’s longer than twelve Earth hours. . . . As promised, the other scrubber was completely clean and ready to be used again.
Now, about those notes. Adam opened the sterile locker, and retrieved his notebook and the invitation – less of a sample and more of a keepsake, a reminder of who he had met. He made sure to close it behind him, in case he needed to get something inside next time he would head out. He then pulled out the nutrient stick – still perfectly unused, but figuring that he shouldn’t let it go to waste. The freeze-dried stuff managed to last three and a half years, he remembered. No reason why they should expire now.
But as he munched on the stick and worked on his notes, he realized, as much as he had learned, he realized he had so much left to go. These notes, even penned by his own hand, were meager. Senary counting and timekeeping, a population of thirty-eight million – for which area and species were still unknown – varying symbols relating to mathematics and so forth, a rough idea of what their writing looked like, plus sleep-addled memories of various local settings and a typical day in one’s life – indeed, today was a short day for him.
He popped open the window shutter, and noted that the sky had taken on a golden glow – sunset. Well, no better time than now for a meal and some sleep, he surmised. But while he was sifting through the bank for something palatable, something vital came to mind: Oh God, the probe! Quick as he could, he got onto the radio to try to hail the others. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he opened with the usual preämble.
“This is Zulu-Alfa.” Commander Darcy’s voice was somewhat refreshing to hear, especially when his life wasn’t on the line like last time. “Any progress on reviving the probe? Over.”
“Apologies, Commander, but I was busy strengthening communication with the Indigenous. For all the progress I’ve made so far, I still have so much left to do, and I suspect a lot of that has to do with trust – which I think I’ve earned, but only in a small circle of otherwise close-knit friends.” Maybe not the best word to describe them, but it will have to do for now. “Even so, I’ve made enough progress where we can communicate with pictures. I’ll get on it tomorrow, I promise. Out.”
Some time later, Adam woke up, all but naked, in his cot inside TPRU-1. Compared to the rude awakening of the scrubber alarm after falling asleep in the suit, the difference was night and day. Quite literally, too – when he opened the shutter to see outside, he caught the first rosy twinkles of the Rhyslinger dawn.
None of the pegasi were up and flying about yet, from what he could tell – and Adam couldn’t resist the temptation to admire the view. He went over to the suitport and stuck his head and arm in, reaching up to the camera. A sharp click! told him that not only was the moment preserved forever, the rest of Zodiac-Altair – and Earth as well – would share in the beauty of the alien landscape.
The Strauss’s radio lit up. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” Louis called. “Are you out and about already, Dr. Somerset? You’re a gentille alouette if ever I met one. Over.”
“Negative, Commander,” Adam replied through the suit. “I just thought it was a beautiful sunrise and wanted to share the moment.”
“Acknowledged, Somerset, merci beaucoup and all that, but please remember what you’re down there for.” Probe, language, landing site, but go on anyway. “I can give you the probe’s coördinates, if you want to get that out of the way first. Over.”
Eh, might as well. Adam quickly pulled out a notebook and the map Antir gave to him, pen already in hand. “Awaiting coördinates, over.”
“Stand by: forty-nine point four three seven degrees north, and assuming the prime meridian is placed where you are, point one four degrees east. If it’s any help, it should be in the middle of what looks like a forest. Over.” Adam quickly jotted down those coördinates, but getting them onto the map was another challenge. Besides the fact that it showed only the edge of a forest, there was the matter with. . . well, coördinating coördinates. The meridian lines were marked in senary of course, but Adam also realized suddenly that dividing a circle into three hundred sixty degrees may chiefly, if not only, be a Terrestrial phenomenon. How do they divide up circles? What are their degrees? Do they also have minutes, seconds? Decimal seventy-nine may be senary two hundred eleven, even forgetting the remaining .437, but nothing Louis said could really help Adam. I really don’t think Rhysling’s that big.
He set the map aside and responded, “Commander, with all due respect, I don’t think that information can help me. I don’t have any maps we generated of the terrain inside the lander, and the only one I do have was made by the Indigenous, and I think it’s safe to assume their divisions are radically different from ours. Please advise, over.”
“Latitude is easy to figure out,” Louis continued. “It’s halfway between the poles. Universal enough. If the Indigenous have maps – which they apparently do – then you can attempt to get a good idea of where we lost its signal. Of course, that doesn’t account for any movement made by any fauna, including the Indigenous themselves. Say, there’s an idea – take the coörds, and use them to cross-check and build rapport with the Indigenous. I would suggest heading out with a picture of the probe. Should be printed on the cover of the manual, or so Anton told me. You already know how to use the sterile locker by now, I would imagine, so if it fits, use that to get the manual outside.” There you go, Commander! That’s some lateral thinking! “Bonne chance, professeur. We are counting on you. Zulu-Alfa out.”
Now there’s a game plan I can get behind. Adam rolled up the map, then started to think about how he could show a picture of the probe. At first he considered drawing it out on another piece of paper. But I’m not a very good artist, he dismissed. I’m bound to be sloppy.
Hold on a second – is that what I think it is? One narrow shelf near the radio had a few wire-bound books. He pulled out the first one, with a yellow cover:
Разведывательный Посадочный Модуль Райзлинг (РПМР) Руководство по техническому обслуживанию
Turn over for English ↓
Bilingual, just like everything else. Adam flipped the book over, as instructed. And in English?
Rhysling Reconnaissance Lander (RPMR) Instructions for Manual Maintenance
Русский на обороте ↓
Yes! This is it! Adam flipped it open and skimmed the contents. The laminated pages showed checklists for repairing its various systems, in an effort to combat any possible cryostasis-induced amnesia. Whatever it is, he thought, I’m ready for it. For now, he just needed to unbind one page to show to Antir.
He had to unbind the rest of the book, but he was able to isolate it in a moment. With that done, Adam took that and went over to the sterile locker. He opened it, slipped them inside, then closed it and hit the switch. Now, breakfast. What to eat. . . ?
A moment later, he got some freeze-dried lasagna and vegetables, and took them over to the galley. The lasagna required 50 mL of hot water for 5-10 minutes, and the vegetables 65 mL of cold water for 10-15 minutes. I’ll check back in ten, then. Meet in the middle. He injected the water in each packet, then went back to the window to watch the sunrise. The rosy glow had come and gone, and the sky took on a peachier tone. And in the town, he could see the denizens waking the place back up.
What a beautiful morning indeed.
The sterile locker finished its work, but it would be a lot longer before he would be able to eat his reconstituted food. His stomach grumbled all the same, not understanding the lack of haste. How am I going to kill the time? Looking around the lander did nothing to answer that question.
And then, over his head, he heard a loud thump – like something had deliberately landed on the roof. Then steps leading away from the center, and a great leap off – and Adam could see that H’ryleeloofa came out to see him. Her hooves hit the scaffolding outside, and she turned around to see him through the window.
He waved. She waved back, with the slight hint of a smile.
She carried some bags on her sides, and from the right one produced an apple-like item. She took a bite from it – did she come out just to see me? – then gestured to him, as if to offer him one.
He shook his head no, then pointed to the galley inside. She shifted her angle, to get a better look inside. All she could have seen were some stainless steel items, and on the counter, two plastic packets with food still rehydrating. She turned back to Adam, eyebrow raised. Adam mimed sucking food from a packet, then a clock ticking forward – because I know they have clocks, that book wouldn’t lie about it. H’ryleeloofa kept eating her fruit, while Adam had to keep waiting for his breakfast. He sighed. This’ll take forever, won’t it?
Five minutes had passed, but Adam already had had enough. He walked over to the galley and grabbed the lasagna. Surprisingly, despite its consistency, he found it easy to eat – er, drink, as it were – the pasta. Even though I’m sure the Italians have gone insane about the concept, Adam mused to himself.
H’ryleeloofa finished her fruit a moment later, and then she pulled out a canteen to take a swig from it. Probably from that orchard, he thought. Another one came out of her bag, but before she could dive into that one as well, she looked over to him and, seeing him suck his food out of a plastic packet, recoiled in some combination of fear, shock, and/or disgust. Yeah, sorry, it is what it is. She finished her fruit a few moments later, though his vegetables were still rehydrating – though they should be just about ready by now, he realized. She wiped her front hooves clean, then placed the right on the window pane. Learning from Antir, are we? He chuckled, reciprocating the gesture, and a moment later, she took to the skies – her high velocity shook the craft a bit, and she even left behind a rainbow-hued trail.
Adam shook his head, and let out a laugh. Of course she always leaves behind a wake like that. He got up to throw out the now-empty packet, and to get started on the vegetables. They hadn’t rehydrated enough for him to drink, but that packet had a tearaway tab in the corner anyway.
––––
Adam followed the shortest treaded path to the library-tree, one he managed to reckon in the two minutes it took to sterilize his suit. Surely the Indigenous would have seen the probe descend onto Rhysling, he thought. It’s not every day you see a machine from the sky. And given that Antir lived here in a library, surely she would have heard of such a thing – and anything else about the location. Hopefully it’s not anywhere dangerous.
He knocked on the door, and stood there, waiting. The dragon answered a moment later and, when he saw who had come to visit, turned and called out [xõ ɑ̃ˈtiːːɹ .. eˈdem se ɑlɟɑˈmu]
Upon hearing this, Antir rushed downstairs so fast she nearly tripped on the steps. She already had a chalkboard and chalk in her telekinetic grip – ready for a new day of discovery, it seems. The dragon gestured him inside, which he obliged, ducking down to avoid denting the doorway – or his helmet.
Adam already had the manual’s page tucked under his arm, so he sat down in front of her and showed it to her, tapping the image of the probe that was printed front and center. He didn’t care that he was showing the Russian side – but then, she can’t read either language; all that matters is that she should know what the probe looks like.
Antir looked carefully at the image, but Adam soon put the manual away when he realized she was enamored with the Cyrillic printing. He set it down and pulled the map from his pouch. Of course, the probe’s coördinates still didn’t appear on that map, so he had to mime a book opening and closing while pointing at the map. Thankfully, she got the message. In her telekinesis, she grabbed the atlas, and flipped it open to the view of the town. It showed a much greater view of the area, including what he assumed was the entire unabridged forest. He grabbed the manual and pointed at the picture of the probe, then circled the forest with his finger a few times.
The reaction he got was not one he expected. She visibly recoiled in fear, almost cartoonishly so – and in her telekinetic grip, she grabbed up the biology book and frantically flipped the pages to somewhere well in the rear of the book, almost touching what he would think to be an index. Adam could swear he saw a few beads of sweat trail down her head. Then, when she found what she was looking for, she turned the book around to show him – there were several engraved illustrations, showing all manner of fantastic beasts. Many of them were either large, carnivorous, or both. And at least some of them seemed to be venomous. Adam reflexively felt a shiver down his spine – and speaking of spines, he noticed how thick the book’s was – meaning there were way more that he should fear. But I can’t let that scare me. It’s very important I reach that probe. If nothing else, this book should give the biologists something to work with.
Adam grabbed the chalkboard and chalk from her grip – which she easily relinquished – and jotted down a stick-figure man, an arrow, and several pine trees. Just for good measure, he tapped the trees, then circled the forest. Surely she would know what that means – didn’t I see pine-like trees on my way to Rhysling?
But Antir simply grabbed a cloth and erased the arrow. Oh no you don’t, little miss. He grabbed the chalk and redrew the arrow, adding two more above and below to emphasize the importance of his task. Antir looked up at him, and simply sighed in apparent resignation. She grabbed a third book in her telekinesis, one he had never seen before. Flipping it open to the middle, she showed him what was apparently a book of weapons. Ah, so they do practice warfare. I knew it! These things were his best chance at fighting off these dangers – if they proved to be real – but all of them of course were optimized for hoof-based combat, and most of them melee in nature. The only ranged ones were simple bows and arrows, and even those were not very hand-friendly – but these are all still things I can manufacture in the field, or buy from another Indigenous – that is, if they have a concept of money.
But realistically, his best bet was to check with Zodiac-Altair. He pressed the radio switch on his suit. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he radioed. “I have good news and bad news. Good news is, the Indigenous know where the probe is.” Probably shouldn’t tell them I’m the one who told them. “Bad news is, the area it’s in is known to be dangerous, and they have strongly cautioned me against entering. Is there something aboard the lander I can take to defend myself? Over.”
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” Louis responded. “As a matter of fact, there is.”
·––·–
“It should be inside a black-and-yellow case with a handle in the cargo hold, you can’t miss it,” Louis described over the lander’s radio. “Let me know if you still can’t find it. Out.”
Black-and-yellow, huh? This had better be good. . . . Adam got up from the desk and searched the cargo. True to his description, there was a black-and-yellow case, much too flat to be a crate by itself. He grabbed it, and opened it up on the desk. I didn’t think I’d need this, but here we are I guess.
Nestled in a foam cutout was a large firearm – a matte-black revolver with oversized controls – but then, he figured this was meant to be operated outside, while wearing a suit. There was a looseleaf pamphlet along with it, saying that it was single-action only, out of safety concerns, and that it was a top-break design with an ejecting cylinder, to facilitate easy reloading with thick gloves – like those of the Strauss. Also enclosed was a second cylinder, a white cloth holster, and a box of ammunition – fifty rounds, .357 Magnum. A powerful round by any standard, except perhaps Rhysling’s. I just hope whatever I find can be scared off or killed with this.
He opened the box, and removed six rounds. One by one, he filled the second cylinder with them – making sure to press them in, so they wouldn’t fall out. Then he picked up the revolver – my, this is heavy! – and worked a latch on the left side. The revolver swung open, and the cylinder popped out, hitting the desk with a sharp report, but little bouncing. He put the full cylinder in the slot, hinged the break shut, and set the gun down. Another six rounds came out of the box, and went into the other cylinder. The holster had a pocket for a cylinder, so he slipped that in. And with the gun properly holstered, he was almost ready.
I’ll need some tools. Gotta be some aboard for sure. He knew that the landers would have a separate maintenance box, which he checked first. Sure enough, he found a packet of “TOOLS – ИНСТРУМЕНТЫ” inside. He popped it open and started counting them up, making sure everything was accounted for.
Once he was satisfied with that detail, he started packing up all of them. Never know what you’re gonna need out there. He then got up and inserted both of these into the sterile locker, which he had already sterilized empty ahead of time. Shut, lock, click – and it did its work dutifully. Then he stepped inside his own suit – each action was reflexive, automatic, and before he knew it his back was pressing against the Strauss’s equipment and the timer started from two minutes.
Antir had accompanied him to the lander – and he still didn’t know why. This isn’t the way to the forest, he noted, and even she indicated as such. What’s going on here that I don’t know about? A second later, H’ryleeloofa descended from the sky and landed on the scaffolding, right next to him and Antir. You too, huh? What’s next, the other four will show up as well?
H’ryleeloofa sighed, leaning back against the lander, while she and Adam waited for the sterilizers to finish. It won’t be long now, he wanted to tell her – the suit’s timer read :30 – and the sterile locker was already done. They might not have been human, but there was an air of impatience even he could sense.
Finally, just as H’ryleeloofa seemed fed up with waiting, the timer hit :00, disappeared, and Adam disconnected from the suitport. Since this was the fourth time he’d gone through this procedure, he had become used to each movement and nuance. He turned and opened the sterile locker, removing the tools and the firearm. The manual could simply be carried under his arm, but the holster needed to be strapped to the suit. A series of metal loops provided easy strapping points, and Adam was able to figure it out without too much trouble. The two equines looked on in curiosity.
As Adam was climbing down the ladder, he recalled that the map showed TPRU-1 and the forest being almost on opposite sides of the town. Adam knew he had a long walk ahead of him – but as he looked, seeing Antir teleport herself down to him and H’ryleeloofa hover overhead, he knew he wouldn’t be alone in his walk, or his search.
··––
Definitely not alone for my quest. As he was passing through the town, four ponies had opted to join the band – the same ones he had met the previous local day. Are they important somehow?
Nyilidee was in the same bakery, working hard in the kitchen – though, seeing her friends walking with the white golem to parts unknown, decided to slip away from work to join them. Somehow the other ponies working in the bakery were okay with that. Is she an apprentice of some sort? he pondered. But then, her balloons mark wouldn’t make sense for a baking path in life. Unless there’s some sort of connection I’m missing? Almost by reflex, Adam started thinking about various ways to connect baking to party decorations – the party was an obvious one, but was that truly it?
Nǂesell was apparently a seamstress – or at least, as close to one as English would allow. Adam thought it strange that she would busy herself with work whose fruits were rarely seen in public. To be sure, they were all beautiful – a good amount of pastel colors, with a lot of fringes and trim, and lavishly inlaid with gemstones. Adam at first balked at the possible cost of these items, but then remembered that the dragon had been eating them almost offhandedly – when they’re this plentiful, you may as well make use of them. I wonder if we’ll run into a crystal mine on our way. But then, he realized as he looked around, this doesn’t look anything like a mining town to me. Seeing these familiar three walking along prompted her to abandon her work, for the time being at least, and join them. Really? I think we’re good with just three and myself, but thanks.
As they closed on the outskirts of town, Adam rounded the corner and saw a massive orchard of some sort. Each tree here bore one of those apple-like fruits he saw H’ryleeloofa eat at the lander. Oh, so it’s a bit more like a farming town, he realized. But I haven’t seen many more of these orchards around here. Do they put all their eggs in one basket? So far it’s clearly worked, but it’s no cause for assurance. He started looking around himself, to try to find other tracts of land being tilled for farmwork – and spotted another farm, further beyond the orchard, with what looked like a giant carrot in its roof, suggesting what that grew. Same property? Or a neighbor?
Yet somehow, for places of such magnitude, both in size and in importance, he found fewer ponies working on them than he could count on his fingers – on one hand, even. A loud whistle sounded over his head – looking up, he saw H’ryleeloofa take her hoof from her mouth, then motion for one of them to approach. That one turned out to be Nyeledirve, brow and coat sweating from her hard work, looking exhausted as well, but eager all the same to tag along.
And right on the doorstep of the forest was a most curious sight to Adam. Here was a hidden-away cottage, surrounded by more animals than he could name off the top of his head – and in the window, he could see Sulforyarnǃa inside. Yeah, it’d make sense for her to be a veterinarian – one specializing in wildlife, to boot. Not someone you meet every day. H’ryleeloofa broke off from the group to knock on the door. It opened up just a crack, probably to make sure some small critter couldn’t make a break. But when she saw Adam standing afar, she opened it up fully, her reticence dissolving without warning.
She and H’ryleeloofa engaged in some conversation – he couldn’t discern any words, since the various animal noises drowned them out and the suit further muffled them, but what the rainbow-maned one said apparently startled her. She must have resolved to tag along with the others, because she leaned away from the door to grab her bags – and as she did so, Adam thought he could see her beaver.
It darted away before he could get a better look.
I guess the forest really is dangerous enough to warrant safety in numbers, he thought. Six Indigenous escorts is nothing to scoff at, plus I’m armed for once – but will it be enough? Once Sulforyarnǃa had joined them, they set off into the forest. The full half-dozen insisted that Adam keep to well-beaten trails, but he knew that his prize did not necessarily lay where other Indigenous had been before. If it had, he surmised, surely they would’ve found and recovered it, and Antir would’ve informed me of such a find.
As they penetrated further into the forest, the trees got taller and taller, with ever-wider branches splaying out in such a way that sunlight effectively became a rare commodity here. The time of the day was almost noon, yet it felt like twilight had set on them already. Antir and Nǂesell both lit up their horns, but no telekinesis occurred, nor teleportation – they were using them for simple illumination. You know, it is getting a bit dark for me as well. He reached up to his helmet, and switched on his lights. As the device whined to life, cold harsh white light flooded the road ahead of them, supplementing the gentle glows from Antir’s light-pink light, and Nǂesell’s blue.
Eighty-nine percent scrubber capacity remaining. Adam told himself that, if he should reach fifty percent, he would turn around and head straight out of the forest and back to TPRU-1, no questions asked. I wonder if there’s a way to extend the range of this suit. Probably should’ve asked ahead of time. Unless Louis knows its specs and determined it’s safe for me? Eh, probably not – he’s had to check with Anton on some things. And he’s just the ship’s cryogenicist, for Crissake! Well, he is Sov – er, Russian. None of the other six were talking, so he didn’t think he should call ahead. Besides, I don’t know if radio signals can penetrate vegetation this thick. Best we move out of the place before attempting any transmissions.
There must have been a river flowing through here, since he could hear the telltale rush of liquid flowing past. Not to mention that the ground started building up a fog – must be cold enough to do that, what with the lack of sunlight here. He flipped up his monitor – outside temperature had dropped to a nice cold ten degrees Celsius. Here, their lights were especially important – not to mention staying close together and not wandering off and ending up a creek.
Which, comically enough, was what happened to Adam a moment later. He wasn’t paying attention to the fact that Antir and Nǂesell’s lights had turned right, and he kept walking straight, off the bank and into the drink. His suit was air- and germ-tight, and consequently liquid-tight as well, so the plunge was hardly a problem at all.
It was the getting out that was hard for him.
The creek – more like a river at this point – was more than seven feet deep, since his head couldn’t breach the surface. Not to mention the strong flow of water made it hard to walk forward, straight across. But eventually, his hands felt pressure on them, as if they found a solid surface. Rock! He was at the other bank. Gripping tightly, he started his climb out of the river.
It wasn’t a very long climb, as he breached the river’s surface a moment later – to meet the worried-looking faces of the rest of the band. He waved at them, hoping that they understood that he was unharmed. He felt a telekinetic grip on his waist, and he was pulled from the water and set upright on the ground, water draining out of each nook and cranny outside his suit. Further telekinetic manipulation further removed some soaked plant matter from him – from his boots, between his back and the backpack, and even the top of his helmet. Gee, thanks.
After that incident, they started treading back on ahead once again. The path forked ahead, so Antir turned around to face Adam, as if to ask him which way he thought the probe was. Remembering the Commander’s attempt to coördinate its last known location, he indicated left with an open hand, then went that way. None of the other six seemed to object, instead tagging along leftwards as well – I guess there’s nothing particularly special about that place? he wondered. Oh well, no complaint from me.
Outside temperatures remained steady at ten Celsius, but the fog only got thicker as they went along. Even so, the chill couldn’t penetrate the suit – not even to relieve his labored sweating. He didn’t feel a trickle of liquid running down, so he was able to rule out both bloodflow and a suit breach. The Strauss may have allowed him to walk without disturbing the biosphere, but it wasn’t capable of miracles. Strange that the Russians would cut heating out of the design, he thought – and the dunk in the river a few moments ago didn’t help matters much either. Is it a space issue?
Suddenly, all six of them looked up and behind themselves. Did they all hear something? Turning to see for himself, Adam noted a very flamboyantly-colored avian analogue – feathers in red, orange, and yellow, almost like a flame. Reminds me of the phoenix, Adam thought. Well, no better name than that for it. Phoenix it is!
Said phoenix leapt from its perch high in the branches and flew down to Sulfoyarnǃa’s level. It made a few coos that reminded him of a bird of paradise. Then to his surprise, she started talking back to the bird: [ɑ̌ .. ɹiˈsě ɑlɲɑˈmu] Is such a thing really possible?
Adam paid attention to the phoenix’s actions. Apparently it understood her perfectly fine – within the moment, it pointed further ahead on the trail with an outstretched wing. Then it took flight, high over the band, disappearing soon into the fog ahead.
[suˈsɑ ᵑǁɑᵑʘɑsiˈᵑǃɑ ᵑʘeˈsɤ ɣezeɡɹiˈe] she yelled out – then they all galloped down the road. After a delay to realize what just happened, Adam took off as well. Oh man, my scrubber is going to be the end of me. He glanced down to check his readout – eighty-three percent. Should be good, then. Probably.
He thought he was about to get lost in the forest – that he would suffocate and die as a result – but he remembered just how colorful the other ponies were. He simply looked for the bright pink coloring of Nyilidee, Antir’s and Nǂesell’s glows, and of course H’ryleeloofa’s signature mane and tail. But wait, he realized – what if I confuse it for a rainbow in the fog? Better not rely on something that fallible.
He saw the tail-end of Nyilidee’s. . . well, tail turn left at another fork, and Adam could only follow behind that. Please don’t lose me, please don’t lose me, he silently pled, desperately trying to keep up with them, but each time he was about to, another turn threw him off-course. He couldn’t tell if he was almost there to the probe or back where he started – Crissake, I hope it’s the former.
Suddenly he tripped, and fell on his chest. “Oof!” He tried standing up again, but found he was out of breath and too weak to lift up the suit.
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” Louis’s voice came in. God damn it, not now Commander! “Is everything alright down there, Somerset? Over.”
Adam worked up the nerve, and the strength, to reply. “This is Somerset,” he said. “I just. . . tripped while running. . . that’s all. Out.”
“Somerset,” Louis replied anyway, “why were you running? The power supply isn’t meant to decay this quickly this soon. What’s the emergency, then? Over.”
“There’s no emergency.” Adam finally was back on his feet, though the band of Indigenous were long gone. “The Indigenous have been escorting me through the forest, when they started. . . chasing this phoenix-like bird. I was barely able to keep up, and I tripped. Over.”
“Lousy lot of escorts they are,” Louis grumbled. “Back in le Commandement maritime, you would’ve been discharged by sundown for a stunt like that. Honestly!” He audibly sighed over the line. “I suppose the best chance of surviving would be to sit in place and wait for the Indigenous to realize that you’ve been left behind. Check your suit – is it breached at all? Over.”
Well, I don’t feel any air rushing in. What about out? Adam picked a leaf from a nearby shrub and held it gingerly in front of his suit, moving it around slowly to cover the entire assembly. He figured that, if it started fluttering, there was air rushing out at that spot. The longer he went, the more relaxed he got that biosegregation was still maintained. To be sure, he even covered his legs and boots – no breach there either. He tossed it away, then took a sip from the suit’s water supply. Then, ignoring Louis’s advice, he started down the path again. He figured that they would stay on the trail the whole way through. Might as well stop at the next fork.
As he walked along, he noticed the fog get noticeably thicker. Does the river flow through here? It must, if the fog reaches this far. His hearing wasn’t very good with the suit on, and now that he found he couldn’t even trust his sight anymore, he drew the revolver, keeping it pointed down – partly from the weight, partly for safety. So far he hadn’t found a need for it, but that was no reason to calm down.
Then in the distance, a cry: [xõː eːˈdeːːːm] – he couldn’t place that voice, other than it was one of the six – they must have realized they were missing him, and now they were out looking for him. Adam briefly considered firing off a shot in response, but that would be wasteful of his precious few munitions, not to mention he didn’t know how far away they were, nor how close, nor in which direction they were, and they might mistake that sound for something else. Please be nearby, he silently pled. He’d call out, but he didn’t know how much the suit’s helmet would muffle his speech.
Up ahead, he didn’t find a fork in the path, but he did find a large darkened shape in the fog. He didn’t know what it was, so he kept his revolver up and pointed at it, hammer cocked back. He started approaching it, slowly, silently, steadily, never taking his eyes off of the shape.
[xõ eˈdem] he heard ahead of him, in a yell. [mɯl ʃoʃõlɹ̩ˈjɑ mɯl ʃoʃõlɹ̩ˈjɑ mɯl ʃoʃõlɹ̩ˈjɑ] – that kept repeating a few more times. He had no idea what they were saying – was it a warning? An order? He kept his gun pointed forward, in case of the former. No matter what, he would find that probe, and he would get its data back to Zodiac-Altair.
Yet as he penetrated the fog with his light and sight, he started noticing a few things. Nearby, for one, he spotted a piece of curved metal, warped and twisted and partially buried in mud. He noticed some white writing on its face – wiping off the mud, he found it read “РПМР-1 – ТЕПЛОВОЙ ЭКРАН 4.” Now we’re getting somewhere, he thought.
At last, the dark shape ahead started taking on a more familiar appearance. First various branching, further subdividing into an intelligent design – and when he finally got to the place, there it was, RPMR-1 itself, exactly as described in the manual. And to boot, there was the phoenix, perched atop the probe. Despite its first impression, its feathers didn’t really shimmer like fire. But hey, he surmised, at least it led us to my goal. Clever girl. Now, let me just see about –
[xõ ɦeˈdem] a yell sounded. Suddenly Adam was tackled by a large dark shape. Turning on his back, he saw some lupine analogue snarling at him and clawing at his metal suit. Then it disappeared in a blue-and-rainbow blur – H’ryleeloofa had just saved his life. But before he could thank her, he found himself surrounded by more of these lupines. He was barely able to lift up his revolver again before another one pounced on him, then another, then another, and then he was engulfed by these monsters. At first, dark fur completely covered his helmet – then pink bolts of light penetrated his consciousness, as Antir fought them off as well, with H’ryleeloofa further wrestling away any more that were coming in. Then Nyeledirve took her turn – she had a rope attached to her tail, which she tied into a loop – no, that’s a lasso – and after a moment of spinning it up, tossed it over and wrapped it tightly around a bundle of dazed and confused lupines.
But perhaps her well intent was misplaced – it only took a moment for the beasts to break free of the rope and swarm the band once again. [xõ sulɸojɑ̃ɹˈn̥ɑ mɯljeˈɣe ɑzɑɹoɣˈβǔ] Antir said – and Sulfoyarnǃa stepped forward to start talking to them, just as she had the phoenix. [ᵑǃɑpɑˈtɑ .. ɹ̩ˈsl̩ ɦɑ̃lsõˈlɑj sulʙ̥ojɑ̃ɹˈǃɑ ɦɑlˈɹu .. piˈse ᵑʘeˈsɤ ɦɹ̩sˈjɑ kɑᵑǂɑʙ̥ˈjɑ] The strangest part was that it seemed to be working – none of them moved to strike her, the lot seemingly entranced by her words, her voice. Slowly, Adam grabbed his revolver, just in case this plan would backfire.
But it didn’t – if anything, the lupines all scampered away, whimpering all the while. Was that all a threat display? I should learn that technique sometime. H’ryleeloofa flew over to help him up, which he was grateful for – but when they turned around to look behind them, they realized why the lupines scattered – here was a sight he absolutely did not want to see: a massive carnivorous predator, an ursine analogue, towering over him, the equines, the lupines, and even many of the trees in the forest. Its fur was dark blue, speckled with dots that connected in varying random patterns, almost like constellations. But Adam didn’t have time to admire all of that – not with a maw that bore down on them all. He looked to Nǂesell, seeking advice, but all she could offer in the way of that was a quick bolt in the other direction – meaning he had to run. Now. Now, damn you!
He decocked and holstered his revolver, and took off running into the fog as well, following Nǂesell’s direction as best as he could – yet somehow, the ursine did not pursue them, instead staying to try to fend off the other five, who had taken to surrounding the beast and trying to wrangle it as best they could. “Nǂesell!” he called out – which made her stop and look back, to see her friends struggle valiantly. Either she noted their bravery and was assured her success if she joined, or she felt a sense of obligation to do the right thing, because she went rushing back to the place.
Adam was not so quick to follow. He, being of another world, needed to maintain that separation – and those claws definitely looked like they could penetrate titanium. Instead, he lingered back, studying the scene, leaving no detail unnoted, seeing what he could use to his advantage and theirs. The longer he searched, the more fruitless it became, the wilder his ideas became to compensate, and the less hopeful the reality of the situation became overall. Then he looked up – and found his solution.
On his left, and therefore the ursine’s right, was a cliff, one he hadn’t seen a moment ago. A large dark spot appeared on one section – shining his lights on it revealed a cavern. I could lead it in there, but then how would I keep it in? Simply looking up solved the problem quite elegantly – there was a good-sized pile of boulders overlooking the area, barely held in place by a single point – one that he could shoot out with his revolver. That is, if he was a good enough shot.
First things first, he thought – get the bear in the cage – er, cave! This demanded more thought, more planning. Then he remembered how Antir could simply teleport to and from something. He didn’t know how that worked, whether she needed an unobstructed line of sight of her point B or merely a mental image of it, but she could lure the beast into the cave, he’d shoot the boulders down to seal it off, and she could teleport out just in time. The struggle of life and death often provokes quick thinking, he thought. Just to make sure, he made a quick mental calculation, and found that there was a very low chance of those same boulders crushing RPMR-1 in the process. Sounds like a plan to me!
“Antir!” he called out, at the top of his lungs while jogging closer. He made a wild gesture of the cave, pointing at it with both arms, trying his hardest to make its presence as blatant as possible. Get it in there! Get it in, you daft horse! “Antir, c’mon!”
To his relief, she heard him speak, and saw him gesturing – she looked and saw the cave, connected the dots, and instantly teleported herself deep within. She even sparked her horn to draw its attention further. [mɯl seɤˈxe m̥eˈsɤ ɲ̊upɑɸˈje] she shouted – he thought at first it was to get its attention, but when the others saw what she she was doing and started attacking it on the side opposite, he realized it was actually a command.
The combination of metaphorical stick and carrot was enough to move the ursine into the cave, slowly yet surely. Seeing the progress, Adam drew his revolver again, and with all his strength lifted it up to get a bead on the boulders overhead. Too late he realized that he neglected to warn her about the induced avalanche. They’ll have to deal with it when it happens. This is it. Do or die.
Once he had the point in his sights, he cocked the hammer back once again, held it straight with all his might, and confidently pulled the trigger. A sound of thunder erupted from the weapon. The recoil made him almost hit himself with the barrel, and the report was loud enough that he would have been rendered deaf with tinnitus, were it not for the Strauss’s thick helmet. Adam waited with baited breath for the avalanche to come.
It didn’t. I missed!
In all fairness, it was a very small spot to hit. Something tells me I’ve got to get my aim back, and fast – the gunfire got the attention of everyone else in the area, including the Ursine, who was swiftly undoing Antir and company’s hard work.
Whatever, better take the next shot now. He aimed up at the spot again, and fired without hesitation. This time, the recoil did make the weapon hit his helmet – but the canopy was hard enough to withstand the strike. That or the top of the barrel is made of rubber. And this shot found its intended mark. A slight crumble overhead evolved into rumbling, louder and louder until the equines, and ursine, realized their fates would be sealed if they did not move.
As predicted, Antir teleported herself out of the cave. H’ryleeloofa zipped out in a familiar iridescent blur. Nyilidee and Nyeledirve galloped out at high speed. Unfortunately, Nǂesell and Sulfoyarnǃa were too slow to make it out in time – but fortunately, and to Adam’s surprise, apparently teleportation worked just as well on beings and objects other than the user, and Antir was able to pull them just in time from the brink of death. And the ursine was trapped within the cave, never to bother the band again, its fate otherwise irrelevant.
Once Adam holstered his weapon again and got his bearings straight, he was tackled again – this time by a swift pink blur. Nyilidee didn’t say anything, simply holding him close to herself, while Adam laid on his back. It took a [xõ ɲiliˈdi m̥eˈsɤ jɑŋɡĩɹˈβu mɯlɤzˈle] from Antir, along with some prying from her and Nyeledirve to get her to let go. She was reluctant, but she was eventually persuaded. But Adam knew that all of them were grateful for his quick thinking, and straight shot – perhaps except for Sulfoyarnǃa, who seemed to mourn the incident. Caretaker of animals, right. Yeah, sorry girl, but it was either it or the rest of us.
Alright, let’s see what’s the dealio here. . . . Adam walked over to RPMR-1, looking for any damage that might have happened between deployment and contact loss. At first, nothing seemed obvious to him – but then, he’d barely looked at the manual for it in the first place. Antir still has it, doesn’t she? “Antir,” he addressed – and once he got her attention, he pointed at her bag, mimed turning pages, then pointed at the probe. She seemed to get the message, and fished out the manual from her bag – but Adam had to snatch it out of her telekinetic grip, as she ended up ‘giving’ it to the probe. Close enough. Carefully, so he wouldn’t rip the pages, he flipped through it, looking for anything visual that he could compare to the probe in situ. There was no mistaking it, this was the probe he was looking for – although clearly it had seen better days.
“Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he opened his next transmission. “I’ve made contact with the probe. I don’t know how accurate your coörds were, but you were right, it was in the forest. What issues should I be looking for, mechanical, software, or otherwise? Over.”
Silence intervened. Adam sat down to wait. Surely they’re in the middle of something, he mused, looking up. . . .oh. The trees in this part of the forest were so thick, he realized they were blocking the signals. But then, he pondered, did the Soviets ever build probes that could transmit through trees? Venus, sure. . . .
He would have to move the probe out of the woods, preferably without damaging it further – and he had no idea what teleportation could do to digital data integrity. He certainly didn’t want to chance it. So he set the book on the probe, then signed his intentions to Antir – pointing at the probe, motioning picking up an object with both hands, then finger-walking on his arm, then he was about to point outside of the forest when he realized that he had no idea where he was, much less how to sign it. Luckily, the cliff was right next to a clearing, so thinking quickly, he pointed at an empty patch of ground next to it, clear of any overhead branching. Let’s hope stone doesn’t have a deleterious effect as well. . . . And in a show of good faith, he even picked up one end of the probe – or at least tried to. It turned out RPMR-1 was a lot heavier than he anticipated.
Antir rolled her eyes, and lit up her horn. By now, Adam had learned to recognize the beginning signs of a teleport function, so he quickly put a hand up, shaking his head violently side-to-side. She looked at him, rather confused by his gesturing. Keeping her horn lit, she used her telekinetic grip to grab each of the probe’s four legs and lift it up. There was a considerable amount of strain on her face, but she didn’t complain. Slowly, steadily, she lifted the probe up, then carried it over to the sunlit spot by the cliff. She set it down just as gently as she picked it up. Adam sighed in relief. Okay, that was close. Data should still be intact. Let me see about – oh, what’s this now?
On the ground behind him was a part that had broken off – a large blocky part, with various connectors projecting off one side. A stubby arm terminated in a bundle of now-frayed cables – which corresponded to a similar bundle on the side of the probe. As Adam searched his memory, he realized what part had been detached – the chemical battery, the one component that provided electrical power for the probe. Thankfully this wasn’t one of those parts that was inherently dangerous to handle – just don’t complete the circuit too early, he recalled.
Adam sat down by the frayed cables on the probe, deep in thought about how he could MacGyver a solution with what he had lying around. Crissake, it’s just one disaster after another. When will this nightmare stop?
Antir noticed Adam looking at the frayed cables, and decided she had to help him. As he watched, her telekinesis seized the battery in his grip. He looked up, saw some sort of intent in her eyes, but pulled back on the arm. Thank you, but I think I’d better handle this.
But Antir’s horn-light did not go out. She concentrated instead on the frayed end of the cables still attached to the probe, before she disconnected them in one fell swoop. She held them up to him, then hovered them over to the other frayed ends. Gonna put this back together, are you? He shook his head. Uh-uh. Gotta let me have this one. But I’ll have those, now that you removed them. He opened one pouch and tapped it. She eventually obeyed, with some measure of reluctance, depositing them within.
Her horn was still lit. Suddenly a bolt of violet energy shot forth from it. Reflexively, Adam stepped aside to avoid being hit by it. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to be aiming for him – rather, she was aiming for the power sockets on the probe itself. Antir, I swear to God, if you just broke that probe for good. . . !
But she didn’t, apparently. The sockets appeared to be perfectly intact, even as they were bathed in the alien light. She kept the beam concentrated on it, not daring to break it. He stood, watching, pondering what she could be doing.
And then, more fantastically still, RPMR-1 roared back to life. As Adam watched in pure awe, the antenna dish started rotating around, trying to recalibrate itself and get a lock on either Zodiac-Altair or one of the relay satellites. Come on, come on! Don’t let me down! The other equines could only stand and watch as well. Then the dish started rotating – and the tape recorder started whirring, reading data and transmitting it back to the colony ship. Thank God, it’s safe now.
Then he heard some grunting from his left. Turning, he saw Nǂesell on the verge of collapse, gripping the side of her head in apparent pain. None of the others seemed to be ill – but when he checked Antir, he saw a similar look of faintness on her face. So however their horns work, apparently high-energy radio signals interfere with it. I’ll have to be more considerate, then.
But it can’t hurt for me to transmit, can it? Adam waited until the tape recorder stopped its playback, another moment to make sure the airways were clear, then opened transmission. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset. RPMR-1 has been recovered, and data has been transmitted. Please confirm, over.”
–··–
“Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset. RPMR-1 has been recovered, and data has been transmitted. Please confirm, over.”
Commander Darcy wasn’t in the bridge when this came in, but Anton, who was observing Rhysling, overheard the transmission. He had turned his head to the terminal when he heard Somerset speak his name – and at “data has been transmitted,” reflexively pumped both fists past his head. “Ura!” he yelled out. “Kakoj čudesnyj den'!” His eyes glazed over the screen as the transmission poured in and was decompressed in real time. In his excitement, he shoved himself off the wall and bounded over to the bridge’s exit. “Commander!” he yelled. “Somerset, he has done it! He has found RPMR-1, he has transmitted the lost data! Yes, he has done this! Come and see at once!”
“Quoi!? Now!?” Darcy’s voice echoed from out of Zodiac. “If he’s pulling a fast one, I’ll court-martial him myself, mark my words!” A moment later, he pushed himself off and into Altair, then twisted ‘upwards’ and climbed into the bridge. “Voyons voir. . . .” He swung himself in front of the terminal – and his jaw dropped – well, fell away – when he saw that Anton was entirely correct. “Did he say anything about it?”
“He asked only that we confirm – ”
“Right!” He grabbed the radio. “This is Zulu-Alfa. Transmission received, zero data loss – I have to ask, how did you do this miracle? Over.”
Dr. Somerset’s response came within the minute. “It turned out the battery got disconnected. By what, I can’t say, but it was strong enough to fray the wires. Thankfully one of the Indigenous was able to provide a temporary charge. It only lasted a few minutes, but apparently according to you guys it was long enough to get everything from the surface. Repairing and reättaching it will be pretty tricky, but I’ll certainly try.”
“Any danger posed to the environment?” he interrupted. “Over.”
“Negative. Anything else you needed from it? Over.”
“Do just that,” the commander ordered. “We can’t be relying on the Indigenous to do our bidding, no matter how magical they may seem. When you’re not busy with that, concentrate on the language. Zulu-Alfa out.” He breathed out a great sigh of relief as he set the radio down. “So, what’s this data about? . . .” Darcy squinted to read the monitor, but unfortunately, he was not trained in biology, nor any related discipline. He sighed again, this time in frustration. “C’est du chinois,” he muttered to himself – then aloud, “Anton, can you get an expert in here?”
“I will, what is the expression, do you one better,” Anton replied. “I have a biologist thawing out in cryo right now, to help analyze.”
“That soon?”
He nodded.
“Good, thank you.”
Anton pushed off the walls out the bridge and headed to Zodiac. Then he took a hard upturn into Rack A – aiming for A6, to be exact. Once he found the right capsule, he saw how his work had paid off. The thawing procedure gradually warmed up the body over six hours – not too quickly, lest the blood’s albumin congeal. Anton finally saw normal reviving brain activity. Motor controls had been gradually restored – rapid eye movement, appendicular muscle twitching, heartbeat, respiration, oxygenation. Once the vitals were stable, he started draining the buffer fluid – and once the barrier was dry and empty, the capsule slid open.
There laid a woman, rubbing her eyes, still trying to wake up. Her international-orange jumpsuit bore the mission patch, her name, “E. WEISS – Е. ВАЙС,” and a red square patch with a white plus sign, betraying a Swiss origin. “Ach, was isch das für en Schmerz?” she asked herself – then, seeing Anton, “What is happening?”
Early the next morning, Adam woke with a start to a burst of static on TPRU-1’s radio. He was still sleep-addled and didn’t hear the message clearly, so he dragged himself off the cot and slumped by the desk. “This is Som – this is Tango-1,” he opened, correcting himself. “Transmit again please, over.” I wonder what Louis wants this time. While he waited, he glanced over to the cargo, wondering what he should rehydrate for that morning.
“This is Zulu-Alfa.” This was not Louis’s voice – for one, it was distinctly female; for another, distinctly Swiss. “Do you remember me? We trained together for this mission. I am Dr. Elena Weiss, one of the biologists on Zodiac-Altair. Some hours ago, Dr. Konstantinov had, erm, awakened me from cryostasis, for lack of better word, and assigned me to data analysis from the probe. Commander Darcy told me you fixed it and sent the data back to the ship; is that true? Over.”
Well, she sounds chipper. “Affirmative, Dr. Weiss,” he replied. “It wasn’t easy to locate it, and I had to get some help from the Indigenous to power it back on temporarily, but, well. . . it’s hard to argue with the results!” He chuckled. “I’ll need to perform additional repairs on it if we’re going to get more use out of it, plus Commander Darcy has ordered me to focus on translating the Indigenous language, to use it to negotiate a site for the colony. Over.”
“Yes, of course,” she responded. “However, from what I have overheard – ” Her voice cut off suddenly. Comms issues?
Then the commander’s voice replaced Elena’s. “This is Commander Darcy. So sorry to interrupt, Somerset, but I’m going to assign another mission to you. You retrieved the probe’s data, that much is good, but I want you to fix it up further. The probe’s mission was to identify Rhyslinger biochemistry, and while the data it has given us – given her – has proven useful, she says she needs a lot more to draw firm conclusions. That’s where you come in – you said the battery’s wires are frayed, correct? See if you can’t crimp them back together – you should be able to do that yourself on the ground. Once that’s done, help it out by bringing samples directly to the probe. Something tells me Weiss has a laundry list of things she’d like to see. Any questions about this? Over.”
Gee, more work for me, huh? Guess that’s what I get for being sent to the surface – hey! “Negative, Commander. I’ll grab a bite and suit up in a bit. Tango-1 out.” He set the mouthpiece down, stood up and properly stretched himself. It’s a brand new day, and already I have too much to do. Oh well, let’s get started.
He found another packet of goulash, and some cereal bars to go with them. He grabbed the hot hydration gun and started rehydrating the stew, then peeled open the cereal package and started eating. As he was chewing, he kept wondering how he could get the power supply back in working order. To fix a wire, he thought, I’d need some solder – and those are bolted on, if I remember correctly, so I’ll need bolts to get them back on as well. Let’s see if they ever packed those. . . .
A few minutes of searching later, he had everything he needed. Small pieces, though, he thought. I’ll have to be careful with my thick gloves. Getting back up, he walked to the window and slid the shutter open – there it was, RPMR-1, basically at his doorstep. And nearby, its battery, which Antir somehow transported to the landing site. He specifically forbade Antir from teleporting the probe, in case of any hardware faults it might cause, but either she didn’t understand him, or she did it anyway out of convenience. Then he noticed some tracks on the ground nearby, ones consistent with wagon wheels. Clever girl.
In any case, there they were, waiting for him when he came back to disembark the Strauss, and change out scrubbers – fourteen percent was not a good number to be at – and there they still were in the morning, still waiting for him for more proper repairs. They weren’t getting impatient, but Zodiac-Altair was – especially Elena, and Louis to some extent. With a sigh, he grabbed the tools and supplies he needed and was able to fit the lot inside the sterile locker with no issue. Just to be sure, he opened the toolbox before starting the protocol. Probably unnecessary, but better safe than sorry here on Rhysling.
He sat down at the galley again, and checked on the goulash. Still busy rehydrating, but very nearly done. He decided to return to the cereal bars for now, and watched the Rhyslinger sunrise while munching. No Indigenous joined him for a meal that morning – but he was used to it.
–··
Once Adam detached from the lander in the Strauss suit, he grabbed the tools and supplies from the sterile locker, stowing them inside his pouches, while he descended the lander. First things first: power. While he was grateful Antir powered the probe long enough to complete his first objective, he didn’t know how it worked, nor did he want to keep her trained on it. That would be slavery.
He knelt down in front of the probe and pulled out the connectors he had pocketed the day before. Still just as frayed as before, so reättaching the battery would take some extensive wiring work to make it happen. The wires attached to the battery itself had exactly the same break. It was bolted on before, too, so a complete repair of the probe could take a day or two of work – a day or two that he couldn’t exactly spare. And he doubted that Antir would be able to know how to help him fix it.
As he knelt there, deep in thought, he started becoming vaguely aware that he was being watched. Not by the probe – its cameras were still dead – but by someone fascinated, perhaps to a morbid degree, with this being from the stars. He checked his right, behind the probe – nothing. Then his left – and he saw a slight dark blur disappear into the shrubs. Against his better judgment, he got up to investigate.
The shrub was empty, and there weren’t any tracks that he could identify, nor to see where they went. He shrugged and returned to the lander – let’s get to work. But before he could focus on it again, he looked up and saw a familiar violet mare trot up to him, bags stalwart by her sides. Not taking ‘no’ for an answer, are you Antir? Her horn lit up anyway, anticipating work, almost instently. Adam gave it some thought – these are delicate parts. Maybe I can direct her? He motioned for her to approach, so she could get a better look. She took the lead, and trotted up to his side. This could work.
Let’s start with one wire. First, he took out a heat-shrink sleeve, one whose gauge just barely fit over a yellow wire – a live wire. Careful, don’t close the circuit. . . . Antir, watching him, seemed to get the idea, and took the sleeve from his grip, sliding it firmly on the wire for him. Then she plucked out two more sleeves and slipped them around the other two wires – a blue one, and one striped green-and-yellow. Taking initiative, I see. I guess you are up to the task.
He pulled out some solder and the yellow connector. Antir took the latter from his grip and hovered it over the green-and-yellow wire. Adam directed it back over the yellow live wire – besides helping him keep track of which wires were what, it also helped evaluate the Indigenous color categories. Do they not see yellow and green as separate categories? he pondered. A thought he shelved for the time being, as he started soldering the two wires back together.
The gloves were insulated, so even if he gripped the iron by the head, he could not get burned. But his hands were pretty shaky, and he could not do a neat job. Once again, Antir took the reins – she lit up her horn, brighter this time, and he watched as the solder started morphing until it neatly and thoroughly covered and connected the frayed ends. Better you than me. Adam then moved the sleeve over the solder, and hovered the iron over it. Antir watched as the sleeve started to shrink around the patch job, sealing it from the elements.
Once the unicorn got the idea, it seemed like second nature to her. All Adam had to do was pull out both the other connectors, match them with the wires, and hold up the soldering material for her. Whatever the light emitting from her horn was, it could apparently generate heat at will – which made soldering and shrinkwrapping the mends a cinch for her. Inside of a minute, the heavy work was completed. All he had to do was hook it back up to RPMR-1 – a task even he could manage.
For safety reasons, first Adam hooked up the ground wire – firmly socketing the yellow-and-green object into its proper place, then twisting it to lock it in place. He briefly considered planting that wire into the literal ground – I mean, it is the ground after all. But then he thought about the possibility of having to move it for the mission, and ultimately decided against it. Meanwhile, he hooked up the neutral wire – twisting the blue socket as well. Then he saw the yellow socket move on its own accord, as Antir’s telekinesis started copying his actions. Even though it was safe for him, he got his hands out of the way as she completed the circuit for him.
Then there were the bolts. He had a full set of spares, but he needed to extract the old ones first, as they had broken off inside the probe. Say, maybe you could do it? He tapped the broken-off end of one, and made a corkscrew motion, turning left while moving out. She effortlessly copied his motion, pulling out each broken bolt one by one. He undid the ones from the battery arm as well, using a socket wrench. As the last one fell to the ground, he held it up to the probe.
At first she held up the broken bolt pieces – but he snatched them from the violet aura and tossed them aside. I have no use for these anymore. Once she got the idea, her telekinetic grip held the battery, arm and all, firmly in place as he ratcheted each new bolt in in place. One by one, each one slowly went into the machine, but even as four, then five, were sunk in, her grip did not relent. Only when the eighth and final bolt was securely fastened did she finally release it.
Finally, we’re good to go. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he radioed. “Probe systems are coming back online. You should be seeing signals soon. Please check that everything is working correctly, over.”
“Well done, Somerset, and thank you!” Elena’s voice came in. “Probe systems are green throughout, not a thing out of place.”
Success! Thank you, Antir!
“That is including the cameras. Speaking of which, would you mind standing in front of one of them? Besides calibration, I’d like to get a view of the hero who fixed the apparatus. Look for a red stripe on the bottom of the lens, over.”
“Affirmative Weiss, but keep in mind that I’ve had help from the Indigenous. You’re going to get a look at one of them. Over.”
“All the more reason to get a photograph! Please do. Standing by.”
Alright, if that’s what you want. . . . Adam got up and stood in front of what she told him was the ‘front’ of the probe. Or at least the front of the camera. He tapped his thigh, then pointed at the ground – and Antir walked over to where he indicated, then sat down. Adam knelt down to her short height and put an arm around her shoulder “Go ahead,” he radioed, waving at the camera.
A tone was heard as the camera did its work.
·––·–
Elena was thankful the probes were designed to allow for remote control. She could conduct her studies from the safety – even, dare she say, luxury – of the orbiting Zodiac-Altair, where it was impossible for Rhyslinger biological forms to make contact with her. When she heard “Go ahead” from the ground, she manually took the photograph. The signal didn’t take too long to reach the probe, nor the data to make its way back here to Zodiac-Altair, where she could view it from a terminal in the bridge. “Röss?” Elena blurted out to herself. “Was isch das für en Säich?” Thankfully nobody heard that remark. This was one mystery she’d have to unravel by herself, without any help from anyone else aboard.
Even with the monitor’s scanlines distorting the image just so, Elena could make out a few details. Yes indeed, there were equine analogues on Rhysling, and they must be the sapient “Indigenous” Dr. Somerset was talking about. This one here had violet fur, with a mane of dark blue, which in turn had a magenta streak in the side. The tail matched the mane’s pattern. And right in the middle of its head, she could discern a horn of some sort. And then, of course, there was a white humanoid figure by its side – that was Dr. Somerset, no doubt, even waving at the camera.
For the time being though, she slotted the photograph away, and started drafting down notes. Well, more like a to-do list of things she would like samples of. There was life here, she had no reason to doubt it – but what she did doubt was of its nature. Its composition, its mutability, its diversity, and perhaps most of all, exactly how well or badly it could interact with Earthborne life, given the opportunity. (One Dr. Somerset had denied them thus far, for which she was thankful.)
Doubtlessly she would need to run physical experiments at some point, but she wanted to observe all she could without resorting to tampering. She looked over the data she was already presented with for the umpteenth time, but nothing new could be discerned from it. All she got were basic building blocks, which so far lined up with what she was already familiar with. But she wanted to know how the local carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and so forth connected with each other. Genes! Proteins! Cells! These things and more were her responsibility for the new colony.
Which is why that probe had to remain functioning as well as possible. She grabbed the radio. “Contacting Dr. Somerset, are you there? Over.”
He responded almost at once. “Affirmative, Weiss.”
“Is the probe located over vegetation?” she asked. “I would like to direct it to get a sample of that. Over.”
“Yeah, I would say so. Sample away, and call me back if you need anything else. Somerset out.” She surmised that Dr. Somerset was busy communicating with the Indigenous, or at least trying to. Heaven knows she had trouble communicating with the tour guide on her Amazon safari back when she was a young girl – even now, she still found it hard to believe German and Portuguese were anything alike!
Pushing those memories aside, she took control of the probe to grab a sample of. . . whatever vegetation was on the surface beneath the probe. The arm extended to the ground until pressure sensors told the probe that it had hit solid ground. It grabbed up a sample and brought it up to its internal laboratory. Local analysis would take a while, so she let it be. She pushed herself off the wall and clamored to the bridge’s exit.
The cafeteria in Zodiac’s Cancer module was empty – Commander Darcy and Dr. Konstantinov were obviously elsewhere. Still, she was grateful for the centrifugal gravity that Zodiac provided in this area. She wasn’t hungry, not at all – she just needed a quiet place to gather her thoughts. She would use her cryostasis capsule back in Taurus, but she found it rather unnerving being among what are technically dead colonists. Not to mention too loud for her to concentrate.
She looked out the window, and observed the endlessly-spinning view. Every so often, it would land on Rhysling again, and she wondered if she could see the place where Dr. Somerset was. She sighed – just what had she gotten herself into? Here was a new world, full of life that nobody could have imagined before. And yet, horses existed here? Never mind the fact that they were the dominant species. . . .
Perhaps panspermia did exist after all.
Planetside data analysis would continue for some time. She drifted herself back to the bridge every so often to check on progress, but each time nothing new would be coming up. At one point she ran into Commander Darcy. “Something the matter, Weiss?”
“Nei – nothing, Commander.” She shook her head. “It’s just that the probe is taking quite a while to do its job.”
“Is it still broken, by any chance?”
“It should not be. Adam fixed it just now, I saw it. The battery has been reconnected, with help from. . . one of them.” She sighed. “So far, I know at least some of what elements they are composed of, but now I fear if its actions may have led to contamination.”
“Let’s hope it didn’t come to that.” He cleared his throat. “We don’t have any more probes to send – full system checks failed for the other two RPMR probes, or so Anton interpreted for me – especially for the systems responsible for soft landings, so they’d be nonfunctional anyhow. That one on the ground, RPMR-1, it’s all we’ve got. But I’ll tell you what, now that power has been restored, we can do a system check on it remotely from up here.”
“But let us get the data back first,” Elena suggested. “Or else the signal interference could erase something vital. I can wait.”
Commander Darcy said nothing, instead turning back to his own terminal. Elena did the same, to see how far along RPMR-1 was in its analysis – forty percent. Nothing she could do could speed things along.
“Bah!”
–···
After he had finished repairing the probe, Adam was stepping up to the suitport when Antir stopped him. From her bags, she produced some books. No, not just any books – Adam recognized their covers. These were all the same books he had studied in the library back on the first local day. And now, she was just. . . giving them to him. How generous!
There was one more book with her as well, one he hadn’t seen before. She flipped it open to a random page, which showed an equine figure’s musculature. Oh! This must be about their anatomy! I’m sure this’ll be handy, Adam thought. I could see the muscles in their tongue, lips, and throat, and Elena could benefit from some scans of the pages. Good thinking, Antir.
But then again. . . Antir had teleported herself up to the scaffolding, and was tapping the suitport, trying to get one of the books in. Thank you, but that’s not the right way. He climbed up the ladder, then opened the sterile locker, showing her what it was. He inserted the tools first, then the anatomy book that Antir gave him. After several attempts to cram all the other books inside as well, she gave up, and slipped the books back inside her bag, leaving it on the scaffolding by the locker. Hey, it’s the thought that counts.
He had only the anatomy book – which would be useful for two parties – and the children’s book – which had a glossary – but already the locker was nearing capacity. I hope those bags are waterproof – who knows how rainwater would affect them? He shut the locker and started it up.
My turn. He pressed himself against the suitport until the Strauss clicked in place, then hit the button. For the whicheverth time, the backpack started being sterilized. Adam wondered how often he could do this until something broke. He sighed – hopefully it won’t be too many more times, he prayed.
Even though two minutes once dragged on forever, this time it felt like a blink of his eyes when Adam was able to step out of the suit. Before he forgot, he quickly swapped out the scrubbers. They had about ninety-one percent capacity remaining, but he was just counting the days until he had another incident like the one in the library. Better safe than sorry, that’s my policy. Once that was done, he opened the locker and retrieved his items. These’ll be handy for sure. He set the tools back into the locker where he found them, hopefully for the last time, and set the anatomy book on the desk. He cracked his knuckles – I hope you’re ready for a wealth of knowledge, Dr. Weiss.
He sat down, flipped open the book, and located what looked like a table of contents. Once he was sure it was, he started looking more closely at it. Remember, all these page numbers are in senary, so don’t be surprised if they go into the three figures. Maybe four? He glanced at the bottom, but didn’t find any four-digit page numbers. So much for that. The pages were rather thick – thick enough for turning with something other than fingers. It works for them, it’ll definitely work for me. Now, which one’s for the mouth, hm?
For several minutes, he kept matching senary page numbers on the sheet and in the book, flipping to the resulting pages, but finding nothing. To avoid duplicating work, he started ripping strips of paper from a notebook, scrawling what he had found, and bookmarked the corresponding pages. Finally, finally, he found the section on the mouth. It was further subdivided into tongue and teeth, and the esophagus was elsewhere, but it was progress all the same. Before he read on, he had bookmarked the section.
And just in time, too – he heard someone knocking on the window. He turned around to look – the shutter was still open, and he could see Antir still standing outside, but looking panicked this time. Okay okay, I’ll get those books inside! Be patient!
But it seemed like books were the last thing on her mind – she held up a scroll to the window. He squinted at it – the writing on it was much the same as he found in the books, just a lot less neat and more. . . calligraphic? She frantically pointed at the suit. Guess I’ll have to step out after all. Good thing I changed the scrubber – God knows how long this’ll take. He swung himself up and planted his feet inside the boots. Surely it can’t be that bad. . . right?
Whatever it was, it was apparently terribly urgent – Antir rushed Adam through the throng of equines in town to what looked like a train station, where what apparently was a passenger train was waiting. She thrust a slip of paper into his hands, and didn’t allow him to stow it in his pouch. Must be a ticket of some sort. Did she buy this for me?
Right by the door, she grabbed a bench, then indicated that he should do the same. He had to sit side-saddle on the facing bench, on account of his backpack full of life-support equipment. As soon as he sat down, he heard a loud whistle outside, and then the motion of lurching to his left. They were in motion, to some place unknown. Nervously, he checked his suit’s readouts – ninety-four percent scrubber capacity remaining. Let’s hope we don’t run into any delays.
He passed the time taking another look at his ticket. There was a very ornate printing on both sides, but with two squares delineated on one side, and on the back, crudely-typeset printing. From X to Y, he realized. And a third word printed on the bottom, which he could not read.
Down the central corridor came another equine, one decked out in a navy blue blazer and cap. Dapper. There weren’t any other equines on the train, so Adam stood out like a sore thumb. After getting over some brief shock, it came directly to Adam and Antir. [kejlepileʃeˈje piˈse] it said. Without question, Antir showed it her ticket in her telekinetic grip, and the other equine – a train conductor, he figured – punched a hole in the ticket, using some sort of hoof-mounted tool. When it faced Adam, he copied Antir as best as he could. The other equine punched a hole in one of the squares in the ticket, then gave it back to him. Only one of them? Then it struck him. Hers is a round-trip ticket – and I’ll bet mine is as well. . . . Checking the back of his, he saw the three crudely-printed words on the back. One of those must say ‘round-trip,’ he concluded. Or something to that effect.
[ŋ̊uɹuɲ̊ˈɹu] It bowed its head, then went along to the next train car.
So that’s why she had me keep it in my hand, Adam surmised. But now that that’s done, I guess I could stow it. Slowly, he popped open a pouch – the one next to his tools, which he incidentally still had – and slipped it in. He saw Antir watching, but she didn’t stop him. He shrugged and clicked it shut, and settled himself in for what he was sure was a journey.
He became vaguely aware of a feeling of being shaken – and not by the train, either. He turned to face Antir, who held up a chart of faces in her telekinetic grip. Each of these faces had a different expression, and each were exaggerated somewhat. Is she asking me how I feel? So far, our facial expressions have matched up. I could take a guess. . . . He had twenty-four choices to use – forty in senary – and after a minute of browsing, eventually picked the one he hoped was the closest to nervousness. I’ve been stuffed inside a train carriage in a hurry, on the way to someplace I don’t know, to do something I don’t know yet. Yeah, you’d be nervous too.
In response, Antir took his hand in her telekinesis, then held it between her front hooves. Trying to reässure me? He returned the gesture, gripping the bottom hoof. Hey, wait a second. . . . He let go suddenly, then pointed at himself, then her, then finger-walked on his arm. He raised his eyebrow at the last gesture.
This gave Antir pause. She took a moment apparently to figure out what Adam wanted to ask, then gestured him over to a map in the train car. He recognized it at once – this was the map of Antir’s nation. With a hoof, she pointed at the central settlement, north of the great forest, then to the fortress to the east. Wait – we’re heading there? But that means. . . what, exactly? A sense of urgency, a swift train ride, and I didn’t even have to pay for a ticket. . . . His eyes went wide.
I’ve been summoned by their leaders.
He considered other options, but none of them made more sense than what he concluded at first. Of course I’m the first of my kind on the surface of Rhysling – but am I the first extra-planetary visitor? That remained to be seen. All Adam could do was sit back down, side-saddle, and wait out the train ride.
Just when he was getting some semblance of comfort within the Strauss suit, he heard the door open – the one that led to the car behind – and saw another equine walk through – not the conductor, nor was it obvious it was some rail worker. It took one look at the monster in the suit and rushed to the other side of the car. Adam could only snicker at the sight – Hey, I’m not that ugly! Antir turned to him, and he could only shrug. You get used to it, he wanted to tell her. Imagine if you opened your mouth on Earth.
A few moments later, he heard an odd sound of something dropping out of the car ahead – then he saw the corresponding door open, and the same pony started carefully and quietly walking to the other car, hoping not to disturb him. Well, too late for that, buddy. Adam held up his hand, and gave it a slight wave – a simple wave, a greeting that so far the equines have understood well enough. It paused, saw the gesture, and cautiously returned it. It put its hoof back down, and crossed the aisle to the next train car, apparently trying to avoid eye contact.
–·––
After what felt like an hour, Adam heard the same train whistle, then the slight whine of the brakes. He felt himself lurch forward just so, and saw out the window that their surroundings were passing by slower, before stopping altogether.
They had arrived.
As soon as the train was motionless, Antir got up and headed to the doorway, beckoning him to follow. He had to duck down below the frame, as he had before with the library, and when he emerged on the platform, he noticed a large crowd of equines here, all with varying degrees of shock on their faces. He could swear one of them even fainted at his sight. Antir led him through the crowd – without a word on her part, though he could tell that the others were muttering things amongst themselves. Adam could only ignore all of that and move on with her – they were not his concern.
Compared to the streets of the first settlement, those of the fortress were neatly cobblestoned, though cracks were starting to show, as he expected. The equines here were dressed, actually dressed, with a variety of vest-like garments and hats, much of which Adam could recognize – straw boating hats, bowties, bowler hats, and some even had pocket watches – articles that he would have been wearing at the turn of the century. And yet, despite supposedly being from here, despite having a seamstress in town – one whom she knew well, to boot – Antir walked these streets stark naked. Perhaps it’s more of a class thing? Adam thought. Guess I’m at least modestly dressed, even discounting the suit.
His mind was still on those pocket watches when he passed by a shop that carried timepieces, and he had to stop to admire them. There was quite the variety – from tall grandfather clocks (well, tall to these equines; they only came up to his neck) to small items that had leather-like bands on them – wristwatches. Well, more like hoof-watches to them. Adam thought for a moment – what if I had one of those for myself? They look rather expensive – I can’t imagine how an equine could make such fine mechanical devices with their hooves and mouths. And then, looking down at Antir, who had noticed him pause but was urging him onward, he remembered about her horn. Right. That’s gotta be a unicorn’s work. A fine-tuned control over telekinesis should help produce them. Then he saw a lone unicorn, presumably the shopkeeper, trying to shoo him away. Between that and Antir tugging him, he knew he had to go. But then, these unicorns may have monopolized the means of production. I guess they don’t care?
Eventually they made their way onto a long and broad street – a main one, most likely, and it must lead directly to the palace. His mind went back to the children’s book, full of places around their nation. That one there, right in the rear of the complex – white and tall, wasn’t it? I forget the mane color – red? Blue? Green? Guess I’ll find that out when I enter.
He didn’t see many carts and carriages on the cobblestones, and just about everyone here walked. Adam thought it strange that they were limited in their options. But then again, it was implied to be a fortress. Maybe certain laws made for military contingencies are still on the books. Or it’s a point of pride that everything they could need and want is right within walking distance of their homes. Or it’s simply that their technological innovations have gone in a different direction. So many reasons, yet he couldn’t decide on them just yet – not when literally every one of them stopped to gawk at whatever this thing was, walking next to one of their own.
It was a long walk indeed, but finally they made it to the front of the palace. Four equines stood by a portcullis, armored in gold, their helmets reminiscent of Roman galea helmets, complete with crests in the varying colors – their mane colors? Yes, their tails appear to match. These must have been guards stationed to protect the palace, two each flanking each side of the way. None of them reacted to Antir, but they swiftly drew their spears and pointed them straight at Adam. He thought it was possible for the Strauss to stop their metal tips, but didn’t want to chance it. But then, Antir held up the scroll, the same one that had apparently summoned him here, and after a moment of closely reading it, one of them lifted its spear and returned to its post. The other three copied, granting him access. Adam could only chuckle as he followed Antir inside – well, can’t say I’ve had that happen to me before.
The doorway was tall, very tall – he estimated that it could fit three men stacked on each other’s shoulders. And the rest of the palace was no less lavish, either – beautifully constructed out of carved marble with inlaid gold, stained-glass windows depicting figures and events – probably historical or religious, he thought – and carpeted down the center in a deep red. And at every point and turn, there was at least one guard, very often two or three. Every so often, other ponies would come down the hallway, sometimes crossing their path, but only a few of them actually noticed him – and the ones that did reacted. . . well, predictably was the word Adam wanted to use.
Right when they came up to another set of tall, heavy doors, ones guarded by two armored unicorns, Antir stopped – and made him stop as well. Beyond these doors, he guessed, lays the one who had summoned me. It must be in session with another matter. Guess all I can do is wait here. Adam sat down on the floor, but Antir prompted him to stand back up. So I’m about to be called in? Or does nobody know for sure? He sighed and crossed his arms, taking care not to push down any of the controls on his chest.
After a few moments of standing around, Adam checked his suit readouts – eighty-four percent scrubber remaining. Eh, whatever. But as he was putting the display away, there came a thunderous knocking, and the guards opened the heavy doors with their telekinesis. Finally, Adam was permitted to enter, and see who had summoned him. As he had suspected, there was that large white equine he had seen in the book, with both wings and a horn, sitting fast upon a golden daïs – but by its side was another one, also with wings and a horn, but much smaller than the first, and in coloration was composed almost entirely of shades of blue – save perhaps for the sclerae of her eyes. Its regalia similarly reflected its appearance, but it had a lunar motif, compared to the white one’s apparently solar. So do they switch out during dawn and dusk? Adam pondered. Would make sense – but why is the nocturnal one awake still?
[xõ jeˈɹe kiˈsɯ̃] Antir said, promptly bowing before the two. Well, when in Rome. . . . Adam knelt before them as well. I hope this is passable behavior.
The white one turned its head to Antir. [xõ ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ . ezeɡˈlej ɡoˈɑ̃ bl̩d tem̥elˈm̥ɯ] Same dialect, I’ll have to assume – but my, that voice! Then it turned to Adam. [ɑ ɹiˈkě ɑlˈβu]
[mɯl ʒɤzɯŋˈmɯ] the blue one spoke. Unlike the white one’s, its voice seemed more fractured and defective. Had it not spoken in a long time? he guessed. If so, I wonder what that story might be. Adam thought that now was a good time to break from his kneel.
[mɯl ɤhsɯ̃ceˈm̥ɯ̌] the white one spoke again, this time pointing a hoof at Adam, while apparently addressing Antir.
[em] She finally stood from her bow, and shook her head. Was I a bit early on that one? [ɑn ɤx ɹ̩sjɑˈsl̩ eŋbizɯ̃ɟeˈmɯ]
[βẽˈlej mɯl ʃosɑn̥ɑlikɹiˈβɑ̌] the blue one said.
[mɯlɟẽ deˈŋe seɹkisɯ̃jˈsil ʃosɑn̥ɑlikɹiˈɹɑ] she replied.
[mɯˈlej ɹiˈɣě ɸɯsɯ̃lcem̥u] the white one asked.
This one gave Antir a moment of pause – you didn’t think of something, did you? She looked to Adam in some mixture of pondering and calm panic. Eventually she sighed, in apparent resignation, and turned her face back to them. [eŋbizɯ̃ˈɹɯ].
[βẽˈlej suˈsɑ m̥eˈsɤ ʃõlɑˈβu] The white one’s tone turned deeper, and it extended a hoof to Antir. [βẽˈlej m̥eˈsɤ ʃõlɑˈβu ɹ̩sˈjɑ ɸɯsɯ̃lkẽɲ̊eceˈm̥ɯ]
Antir nodded firmly. [ɹ̩sˈlej ʒoɑnɑˈɹu]
The white one added, [mɯˈlej ɸelˈse mɯlzl̩ɑˈmɑ dl̩ɡɑ̃βozɑnɟɑˈmu ki mɯl ɣõ ɤxesˈtil ɸɯsɯ̃lɯxeceˈm̥ɯ] She stamped hard upon the floor, loud enough even to make him shake in his suit – and behind him, the door opened up, to an empty hall. I guess we were last in line? Adam pondered. For now, at least. Surely they can’t be done for the day.
He nudged Antir on the shoulder, and mimed drawing on something, then pointed at both equines before them, then mimed talking with his hand.
Antir gave it some thought, then she got up and started walking out of the room, gesturing for him to follow behind. Adam shrugged – better not overstay my welcome in this court. He followed her outside the room, but she didn’t stop – not just yet. I guess we’ll have to handle this outside.
Once they had stepped outside the palace grounds entirely and onto a grassy knoll, she pulled her trusty chalkboard and chalk and started making some drawings. A few moments of thought and doodling later, she showed him an equine stick figure, a rod-and-sphere arrow, and on its other end, a humanoid stick figure. But there was more – there was a three-pointed star projecting off of the equine figure’s head, and a diagonally-crosshatched pattern on that section of the board. The same pattern appeared above the arrow-like symbol, and the humanoid figure had a similar three-pointed star above its head, but it had a spiral-like pattern instead of crosshatching.
I think I know what that means, but I’d better check. He pointed at the hash, then mimed hand-talking, raising his eyebrow to indicate that it was a question. She squinted, then shook her head. She pointed at the triangle shape – then flexed her front hoof to show a ‘hand’-talking gesture. Okay, so the hash is their language, and the spiral represents English – meaning they want me to learn their language. Don’t need to tell me twice!
First things first, the name of the language. He pointed at the spiral. “English.” Then he pointed at the hash, and gave his best attempt at naming their language. “Rhyslinger.” Antir gave it some thought, then copied him, though with some changes. She pointed at the spiral. [iŋɡl̩ˈneɹ] Then to the hash. [ɤxˈn̥eɹ] “Ukh-nerr,” Adam tried, pointing at the hash. Antir squinted, then shook her head. [ɤxˈᵑǃeɹ] Oh, right. Voiceless nasals can be clicks.“Ukh-ǃerr,” he tried again – this time to her approval. Good enough for now. Their language called itself Ukhǃerr.
But she wasn’t done yet. She erased the board with a cloth, then started drawing again. This one took a lot longer than he initially thought. It’s going to be a long and complicated ceremony, isn’t it? Or some sort of trial? A test of citizenship? He grabbed a swig of water from the suit’s tank, while he basked back and waited for Antir to finish her next statement – which may as well amount to a thesis for all the time she spent drawing. Finally, she flipped the board around to show him – humanoid stick figure, rod-and-sphere arrow symbol with the spiral question mark, then a whole series of drawing of humanoid figures doing various actions – chopping wood with an axe, forging metal with a hammer, picking fruits off a tree, washing something on the outside of a house, carrying a large box, and so many more besides.
All of them, however, were led back with another rod-and-sphere arrow to a humanoid figure receiving something. It looked like various parallel horizontal lines leading up to its hand, but a symbol above its head – resembling a letter S, but with the shape broken and each end nested within each other’s loop. He pointed at the symbol, raising an eyebrow. With her telekinetic grip, she reached into a pouch sewn into her bag, and out came a small golden discus. No, not just a discus – a coin. This is money. She held it up for Adam to look at, and he took it from her grip.
On one face was printed a yin-yang-like symbol, composed of two equine figures – no, not just any equine figures. These had both wings and horns, just like the two he found in the palace. This realization was further reinforced by the addition of a sun with rays above, and a crescent moon below. A balance between day and night, between light and dark – they must be founded upon this sort of balance, aren’t they? On the other side of the coin, there was quite a bit of engraving. Six words formed a ring on the outside rim of the design, while in the center was that same broken-S symbol he saw earlier. A single pip was also engraved below, which to him indicated that this was exactly one unit of whatever currency this was. Better keep this for later, he thought – but when he tried to slip it inside a pouch, Antir snatched it right out of his grip and slipped it back into her pouch. Yeah, I think I’d better earn one first.
Then his eyes went back to the chalk drawing. He would receive such coins as payment for. . . whatever actions they were. Adam tried to find a deeper meaning in those pictures, but nothing really jumped out at him. Not the way the figures were facing, not which way they appeared to be going – they all appeared to be random acts of labor. Then his eyes widened – labor. Yes, that’s it. I can’t just barge into their home, I’ve got to earn it.
In other words, Adam had been ordered to get a job.
·––·
On their way back to the train station, Adam checked his monitor. Seventy-three percent scrubber capacity remaining, but it had gotten a bit warmer outside. He shrugged and trudged along with Antir. I’ll have plenty of time to get back to the lander and change this out. He chuckled – man, Neil and the Apollo crew had it easy on just the Moon.
It was right about then that Adam stopped by the clockmaker’s shop again. He couldn’t help but peer inside again, and see each of them tick by in almost perfect harmony. He pointed out the shop to Antir, who reluctantly followed him inside. He had to duck below the doorway, of course. Lousy things just aren’t up to my standards.
The ticking only got louder now that the glass barrier outside wasn’t in their way. The shop was rather empty – not even the shopkeeper behind the counter to assist them, or to shoo them away a second time – but Adam knew to be careful around here. I must seem like a bull in a china shop, he thought. I must not break anything. Lord knows how expensive that’s going to be – even without a known dollar conversion rate.
If nothing else, Adam would have liked one of these timepieces as a souvenir – which doubled as being something actually useful: telling time specifically on Rhysling, even if by their rules. The only trouble was which one he would have. Grandfather clocks were right out, due to their sheer size, and most of the rest contained wood – an organic material that would not do well in the sterile locker. The watches could not conceivably fit around the wrists of the Strauss, and he couldn’t see through the arms of the suit, so he couldn’t make it work by putting it on before embarking.
Wait. . . pocket watches! Yes, those would work just fine! All the pocket watches in the shop were concentrated in one place – within a glass display beneath the countertop. Each one laid open, allowing shopgoërs to observe the time in perfect sync with all the others. Many of them had a picture frame inside the lid – all empty, allowing a customer to insert one for him- or herself. Some of them had a third hand, one that barely ticked by. But when he reflexively tried to get a closer look, pressing his helmet’s face up against the other glass, he saw that they, yes, they were ticking by, just slower than he thought. And some more of them had a small window cut in the middle of the face, each showing yellow. But only a few of them had all three of these features – picture frame, third hand, facial window. But each and every one of them, ultimately, was divided up the same way, just like the ones he saw in that one children’s book, the one that indicated the time of the postal-equine’s day. Right now it was just after their noon.
While I’m still thinking about that, he thought, I may as well ask Antir how exactly their day is divided up. All the way up, too. Adam searched his pouches, but realized he’d left in such a hurry he’d forgotten to pack a notebook and pen. Drat! He tapped Antir on her shoulder, then mimed using chalk on chalkboard. She used her telekinesis to grab them from her bag – the board had already been erased – and hand them to him. Next, Adam drew a solar symbol on the left, another solar symbol on the right, and between them placed a rod-and-sphere arrow symbol, purely out of habit. Next he added a crescent moon below the arrow, then the spiral question mark above, then started putting scores along the arrow, dividing it up more or less into four equal pieces. He showed her the results, and she gave it some thought as to what he meant.
Eventually, she took the chalk and board from his hands, and erased the latter with the usual cloth. She turned it vertically, then started writing – judging by the generally horizontal direction it was taking. It was only a few moments before she showed him the board again. This time, he was able to see that his earlier hypothesis of senary time was indeed correct. Simply put, according to her writings, one day equaled the time from one sun to one moon back to one sun again – so day to night to day – but the other units confounded him. The two periods of day/night were meant to equal twenty buckets, two thousand cups, and two million drops of fluid. This certainly gave him pause, especially that last unit, which was extraordinarily high – what sort of system is she describing?
Then his eyes went wide, as he realized what this metaphor was referencing. A water clock. Of course! The system he was observing was much more complicated than a series of buckets spilling into each other that he would see in imperial China, but the principle was much the same. But then Antir, upon an apparent second thought, turned the board away and circled the two million units. This only further confused him – was that especially important to them? Then he remembered how few pocket watches had that third hand. No – it’s circled; to them, that just means it’s optional.
It only strengthened his water-clock hypothesis – the rate of flow of water itself wasn’t measured at first, but one ‘minute’ was however much would fill the smaller cup. The cup would then empty, either manually or by some primitive mechanism, into the bucket – which itself would be emptied after an ‘hour.’ It took a thousand drops of seconds to fill a minute, a hundred cups of minutes to fill the bucket, and the bucket of hours would spill out twenty times a day – ten in the day, ten at night. Obviously those numbers were senary, but Adam had had enough practice converting numbers – twelve hours for a complete day – six of actual daylight, and six of night – thirty-six minutes per hour, and two hundred sixteen seconds per minute. Within the space of perhaps three minutes, maybe five, Adam had reconstructed an ancient water clock in his head. Maybe I should’ve gone into engineering, he thought. But who knows? Maybe some of those clocks still exist –
[ɑj ɑj ɑj] – a voice broke his train of thought. Apparently the shopkeeper had merely been away, and when it returned, had spotted the monster peering in the window earlier right in the middle of its shop. [ɹiˈɣě ɹ̩sim̥eˈlej se ɑnɑβiˈmẽ] It started waving to the door, at both Adam and Antir. [ˈʀo ˈʀo ˈʀo] Is it trying to shoo me away like some kind of animal? he thought. Not good for business.
[xoˈlo tɑlsɑˈxɑ ʃɤtem̥elceˈm̥ɯ] Antir fired back. She stepped forth, to put herself between him and the shopkeeper. [mɯl m̥eˈsɤ n̥ɑɹɑŋ̊sũˈɸu]
The shopkeeper stopped and looked around. It seemed satisfied that none of its wares had even the slightest scratch on them – then snorted. [ki mɯl ʃokɑʃõβiˈmẽ mɯl ʃokiloβiˈmẽ] Without another word, he went to his place behind the counter, but watched Antir and especially Adam like a hawk. Yep, like a bull in a china shop to that guy.
Adam, meanwhile, knelt back down to the glass display by the counter, where the pocket watches were displayed. Admittedly, he still had his heart set on one of these – particularly that one there, dead center, on a blue velvet cushion in its own box. Now now, Adam, be humble. I think a cheaper timepiece will do. . . .
[ɣo tem̥elˈɸɯ̌βẽlej ɸɯsɯ̃lˈɸɯ] the shopkeeper said. When he didn’t get an answer, Adam felt his head being nudged. Oh, it’s talking to me. He looked up to it, its face looking a lot different than one of frustration. Now, he could tell that it was sensing a trade opportunity right in front of him. I guess now you’re coming to your senses.
Adam nodded, then pointed at the center pocket watch – and accidentally tapped the glass, which made the shopkeeper wince. Its horn lit up, and its blue telekinetic glow surrounded the item, box and all, lifting it out of the display case and setting it on the counter.
Antir noticed the activity, and came over to see his selection. [ɹideˈɡě] she told the shopkeeper. Adam could swear he saw a few beads of sweat trail down her head. Is is that expensive? Oh dear. . . .
[ɑˈʎɑ kuɹsojˈsɑ̃ deˈɡe] he replied.
She then gave Adam a look that basically said “Well, you’d better save up big time, because that is not a cheap buy.” Adam could only sigh in resignation – one that quickly turned into a twisted determination. This setback only gave him that much more motivation to earn his keep on Rhysling – I don’t know how long it’ll take, he vowed, but I’ll earn enough to buy that.
Adam got up, bowed to the shopkeeper, then headed to the door. This time for once, Antir followed him as well. Let’s see if I remember the way to the train station. . . .
As it turned out, he did not. This fortress-city was much too large for him to memorize the way within a single trip, so he had to rely on Antir for assistance – who, as a native, would have memorized the entire place. Down to the last cobblestone too, he thought. Probably.
Antir pulled a train ticket from her bag, then held it up to Adam. Right, should get mine out. Was it this pouch? No, was it this one? Gah, it’s gotta be – this one, there we go! He pulled his ticket from the third pouch that he tried, and held it up to her. Antir nodded, and led him through. She showed her ticket to a clerk in the booth, who let her within; Adam did the same.
The line to the train – their train – was essentially nonexistent. I guess the way from here to the town isn’t very popular, he thought. He ducked his head and stepped into the opened car, right behind his guide. Again he had to contend with sitting side-saddle, taking up the entire thing.
The train whistled, and he felt it start back home.
––·–·
Elena had given up on finding things to do while waiting for the probe, and ended up busying herself with nothing at all. Meditation allowed her to reflect upon her decision to sign up for Zodiac-Altair, and the present-day consequences of it.
She had heard from Commander Darcy that it was currently early July of 1997 – so, not nearly as long as she had thought, but she’d certainly missed a lot. Worse still was that interstellar communications were limited to news from Rhysling’s surface and Zodiac-Altair itself, and very rarely the other way. The only thing they knew for sure was that, in 1996, United States President Clinton had been reëlected, as had been Russian President Boris Jelcin.
A voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts. “Dr. Weiss?”
Elena recognized the accent as Dr. Konstantinov’s. “Is there something that you need?” she asked.
“Only to tell that RPMR-1 has returned fresh data from Rhysling’s surface,” he said. He pushed himself off the wall and headed to the gym in the Virgo module of Zodiac.
“Es wird au höchschti Ziit defür,” Elena said to herself. She thrust off the wall back out of Zodiac, and headed to Altair’s bridge. Her terminal was waiting for her, screen flashing with some sort of alert. She hit a key to wake it up, and the screen splashed with charts and diagrams of dizzying variety. It took the screen a moment to paginate everything, and only when it did was she able to start reading.
The probe was able to get a more detailed look at what elements made up Rhyslinger life – besides the usual suspects, there were also various hydrocarbons, phosphorus in the soil, and water – the last of which she already knew to be on Rhysling. Chances were high that life here could be compatible with that on Earth. She sighed – which made Dr. Somerset’s isolation that much more important. So far as she could understand, he could potentially survive here for a day, maybe two, but eventually he might succumb to some alien disease. So far they knew that Rhysling’s atmospheric composition was similar to Earth’s – as was its soil composition – both of which could support a human colony.
But she couldn’t determine anything else just yet – she made a note to run some remote system diagnostics from orbit, to make sure the probe was working correctly. And even then, she thought, she’d have to run this particular experiment again, as this data, despite their best efforts, might actually turn out to be faulty. “Commander?” she called out. “Are you near the bridge now?”
“One moment!” his voice echoed from Altair’s central spindle – as far as she could tell. She killed the time by transferring the data to the ship’s server, but in truth, it was a few moments more before the Québécois emerged from the exit. “How now, did something come up?”
“The results did, from the experiment.” She indicated the screen. “I believe we are ready for remote diagnostics. But. . . .” She sighed. “I cannot recall how that is done.”
Darcy snapped his fingers. “We have documentation just for that scenario.” Then he put his hand aside. “Only question is where I put it last – since I ran initial diagnostics on the probe fleet. Or was it Anton who held the manual? Hmm. . . .” He started looking around the bridge, seeking anything that even remotely looked like a book. “Où s’qui-yé, où s’qui-yé, où s’qui-yé. . . ?” He was short on luck, and grumbled in frustration. “God-damned book, té où!?”
Elena bravely decided to speak up. “Commander, with all due respect,” she asked – “are you sure you or Anton did not leave it by the probes?”
“Quoi? Oh – let me check.” One thrust of his legs, and he was out of the bridge. She sighed – if what she said was true, then he wouldn’t be terribly different from her brother – always losing his stuff right by where he used it last. He grew out of that behavior eventually – or so she had hoped. It seemed some people never would, if the Commander was anything to go by.
“Eureka!” he shouted – and Elena could only laugh at the revelation. It was as she thought. He reappeared at the bridge’s entrance, manual in hand. “You were right – it was left by the probes. Now, let’s see. . . .” He started flipping through the English pages, trying to find the relevant part. “Here’s local diagnostics, but what about from orbit? . . .
“Ah! Here we are.” Commander Darcy cleared his throat. “Well, that’s. . . a little too easy. Just transmit this line of code? Is that really all?”
“Perhaps you should try it, Commander.” Elena shrugged. “What is the worst that could happen?”
“I should remind you, Weiss, that probe down there is the only one we have that’s working.” He pointed out the window. “We absolutely cannot afford any errors in our methodology. It was a damned miracle that Somerset was able to fix it – and with the help of the Indigenous, to boot!” Elena had to suppress some giggling, remembering what the Indigenous looked like – but he noticed. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, Commander.” Now was not the time to tell him about the horses she had seen.
After some further reading, he concluded, “Diagnostic results should appear on the terminal that sent it. Makes sense.” He turned to his terminal. “Are you absolutely sure it’s safe for me to proceed?”
“Jawohl!” She nodded firmly. “You may transmit when ready.”
Several dozen keystrokes later, the diagnostic command was on its way to the surface, via two relay satellites.
The train had just stopped back at the town when Adam got a radio call from Zodiac-Altair. “As I understand from the remote diagnostic,” Dr. Weiss said, “the probe’s spectroscope is also broken. That will require a bit more finesse; you should be able to remember how to fix it, or so Commander Darcy said. Failing that, contact for instructions; I can show you. Out!”
Adam sighed as he stood up – great, he thought; how am I going to fix something as delicate as that? He had seen that particular instrument in his training, where its fragility was prominently noted. He did note its function as well – it was a broad-spectrum detector, meant to find dangerous amounts of radiation in wavelengths higher than ultraviolet, though it could also find lower-spectrum stuff. Adam thought it was unharmed when he first rewired the probe’s battery with Antir’s help – guess not!
He followed Antir out the train door, ducking down as he did before, and made his way across the platform out of the station. He flipped up his monitor – forty-eight percent scrubber capacity remaining. No worries – he thought he saw the local sun start to descend over the western horizon. I’ll make it back in time to fix up the spectroscope – it’s probably easiest to get instructions from the ship; it would be a waste to sterilize twice just to fetch a book.
He still had the ticket in his pouch, but watched Antir to see what she would do with hers. In the end, she just threw it in the trash at the station’s exit. Adam contemplated doing the same, but thought otherwise – this was his first ticket, and it was covered in Indigen – er, Ukhǃerr writing, and he needed all the samples he could get, just like Elena did for her biology work.
Speaking of. . . Good thing I still have my tools here, he thought, patting the relevant pouch. Looking around, he saw that the town had eventually gotten used to his presence on this world. One step closer to learning their language – but would they trust me to do any useful work here?
Only time would tell.
·–·––
Once he got back to the landing site, he was pleased to find that the probe had been left undisturbed – though there was a curious small patch of fresh soil beneath it. As he looked, he found it was positioned perfectly where the probe’s sampling arm would grab it. Ah, so it was just doing its work. Though not completely, if they have to call me for more repairs. He sighed – alright, I’m burning daylight, let’s get started.
First, a call. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he opened. “I’ve arrived at the probe site with tools. I’m requesting remote guidance, over.”
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” Anton responded a moment later. “I have manual in front of me, I can use it. Do you have screwdriver, pliers, spare wire? Over.”
“Affirmative on the first two, but not the wires. I’ll have to cycle through to retrieve some.” But I could probably make it work. “Please advise, over.”
Adam could hear Anton sigh on the other end. “You may have to. . . ah, kak eto. . . ? – to improvise, yes. First, use screwdriver to open the covering panel, the one marked for light sensitivity, do you see it? Over.”
Now, where would that be again? After searching it for a moment, he found the covering on the back of RPMR-1 – dented inward and heavily scratched, as though something had been trying to get in. “I see it,” he radioed. “Opening it now.” Unscrewing it was a pain, both in how much effort he needed to exert and how delicately he had to do it as well, to make sure he could get it back on as well. Was it one of those lupine analogues? Can’t be ursine – the whole thing would be thrashed. Eventually the cover came away – and what he saw was disheartening.
The instrument itself was trashed. Wires were chewed and strewn every which way, including (but mostly) in a circle in one otherwise empty corner, lined with straw and other dry vegetation. In another corner, he found decayed plant matter. What in the world? . . . The best explanation he could come up with was that some rodent-like creature had crawled inside the dead probe and started making a nest in the spectroscope, tearing up the wires to make itself at home. The dented plate must have come from a carnivorous predator, having smelled out the rodent’s presence, and started clawing and banging away at the probe, trying to get in to catch it. It was a miracle that the plate was still even attached, and could still be removed normally.
He had his work cut out for him.
“Konstantinov, you’re going to want to see this. . . stand by.” Adam reached up to his helmet-mounted camera and took a photograph of the ruined equipment. This is going to turn nasty, isn’t it?
But instead of a string of vulgar Russian, Anton simply let out a sigh. “The instrument is destroyed. You cannot repair it.” Ah well, at least I tried. “Logically we will have to send a replacement probe, but RPMR-1 is the only working one.” A pause. “No. . . I have a better idea.”
Uh-oh.
“We tested all the probes – is how we know RPMR-1 is the only one without problems.”
Well, when you first launched it, I suppose.
“RPMR-2’s spectroscope failed to start, but RPMR-3’s is working properly. If I can rip that out and somehow send that to Rhysling, to you, you could install it on the ground. I’ll see to do that. Out.” For a cryogenicist, Adam thought, Anton sure thinks well like an engineer.
For now, he set the cover atop the probe, and the screws inside the compartment. Of course I’ll have to clean that out sometime, he vowed – when the spare part arrives, of course.
But it had been a long day, what with two train rides and a new place to discover and explore, and he needed some dinner and rest. So he climbed up to the suitport, plugged himself in, and started sterilizing.
––·–·
As the sun started to descend over the horizon, he grabbed and started rehydrating some cream of mushroom soup. One hundred seventy-five milliliters of hot water for five to ten minutes, the instructions said. He left that by the galley, and started sucking down a packet of fruit paste – which, oddly enough, did not require rehydration. I guess they don’t do so well in transit without water? he hypothesized. He stood by the window, admiring the golden hue of the alien sky. Though he couldn’t see it directly, he wondered how the others aboard Zodiac-Altair were doing. So far three others were out of cryo and roaming about – Commander Louis Darcy, Dr. Anton Konstantinov, and now Dr. Elena Weiss. How unlucky they must be, he thought, that they could not explore the surface of Rhysling first, to make first contact with the Indigenous. But then, he thought next, how lucky they must be as well, that they need not brave the same dangers as I.
He ran his hand through his freshly-washed hair, wondering how he was going to learn their language. To be sure, he had solved a number of mysteries so far – the language was primarily oral, with a written counterpart, the sounds were all things he could reproduce (albeit with practice) – hell, their facial expressions and most of their body language are perfectly identical to our own! But there was always the possibility that he was missing something – human ears were not nearly as flexible as equine ears, and he lacked a tail and all the signals it could produce. All he could imitate so far were delightful and convenient coïncidences, but how far could they possibly pan out? Surely there’s a limit, and then I’ll have to deviate from anthropology altogether.
All these and more he had already noted. But now, he’d have to find a job. I guess it’s to make sure I’m not just leeching off of their good will. Or perhaps they want to see if I’m truly as harmless as I claim to be. And even then, how can I make sure that their trust for me extends to the rest of Zodiac-Altair? – And to the rest of humanity, for that matter? So many concerns. . . . He sighed. I just have to take things one day at a time – one task at a time. The language I’ll have to learn on the fly for my job, if they’re not willing to teach me. The replacement spectroscope still needs to arrive, but then I’ll be able to install it on my own. His eyes drifted over to the now well-used probe maintenance manual, having been in and out of TPRU-1 more times than he could bother to count. And all his tools were left outside, still in the suit’s pouch. Despite their vulnerability, Adam wasn’t too terribly worried about them being stolen – the Indigenous, for the most part, still saw him as a stranger, an outsider, and wanted nothing to do with him or anything connected to him. But then, he realized – that means it’ll be that much harder to get a job. Plus, he realized as well, wouldn’t Antir work as an ad-hoc reference for my nonexistent résumé? As long as they see us friendly to each other, I’ll do much better. Plus, she can explain my predicament much better than I can at this time.
A random thought crossed his mind. The soup – oh yeah, the soup; I’m pretty sure it’s ready now. He got up and checked the packet. Oh yeah, that’s ready alright. He set the fruit preserve packet aside and started on the soup – which made him gag. It had been ready for quite a while, and had even started cooling. He couldn’t inject more hot water to heat it back up, lest he risk bursting it open all over the interior of the lander, and shorting out something vital for his own survival. Next time, I’ll have to set a timer to keep track, he thought. If I could find one. If I have one. For now, he had an empty stomach, and a too-cold packet of cream of mushroom soup to suffer through to fill himself up for the night. If only I had thought this far ahead. . . .
·–·
Anton wasn’t faring any better himself.
He had been rehydrating some cream of mushroom soup for himself in the Cancer galley when he got the call from Dr. Somerset from the Rhyslinger surface. Dr. Weiss was busy in the gym and couldn’t be interrupted, and Commander Darcy was fast asleep elsewhere, so it was up to him to take that call. It turned out he was looking to fix the spectroscope on RPMR-1, and needed some to repair it. Perhaps that was something that slipped his memory as well – or Dr. Somerset was just lazy.
But now, in a fit of desperation, he came up with a radical solution – cannibalizing a spare unit from one of the remaining two RPMR probes. But that posed two problems – how would he be able to retrieve it? Not to mention, how would he send it to the Rhyslinger surface safely, without any problems?
The first question was answered at the stern of the bridge module – there was an airlock, with a pair of Orlan-DMA suits strapped to the walls and waiting for someone to embark and leave the ship. That meant spending an hour prebreathing, maybe an hour and a half. He didn’t have time for that at the moment – he’d still consider a solution for the second question, but for now, he still had to eat, with his stomach complaining.
Anton, originating from the Soviet Union, was used to hardship – but when supplies were this plentiful, and had kept so well for so long, he felt his usual techniques for suffering through hardship hardly applied. And then he remembered the soup, still rehydrating.
He made a mental note to return to the problem at hand, to deal with something more pressing. He pushed himself off the walls and made his way back to Cancer as fast as he could steer himself. Alas, when he got to the soup, it had already turned cold. It wasn’t the first time he had cold soup – but it didn’t make it any better. Especially when it was freeze-dried and vacuum-sealed back on Earth.
“Čort voz'mi. . . .” Next time, he vowed, he’d keep food on his person while it was rehydrating. If only he had thought this far ahead. . . .
·–·
The next morning, Adam woke up with the sun. Not any sooner, not any later – am I finally adjusting to Rhysling’s rotational period? It would be convenient for his work, but not exactly for theirs – certainly when they constantly have to convert dates and times between Rhysling and Earth for any report transmissions back to mankind’s homeworld.
Regardless, he had work to do. And he couldn’t do it alone.
And Antir seemed to recognize this as well – when he opened the window shutter, there she stood, with a paper scroll in her front hoof. Where Adam was just getting started with his day, not even having had his breakfast yet, she was already bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and greatly impatiently waiting for him. So Commander, you were saying about me being a gentille alouette?
He grabbed the first things he could find – goulash, again, typical – and some cereal bars. He knew the instructions by heart by now, and let it sit to rehydrate on the galley counter. He got started on the cereal next, making sure Antir noticed him eating. Priorities, people! Priorities!
She understood, but still she urged him on, trying to hurry him along. He pointed at the packet of goulash and tapped his wrist, motioning the hands of a clock with his own arms and hands. These things take time, he was trying to say. While he was killing time, he shut the shutter, wolfed down the remaining cereal, then got started with suit garments. First for waste absorption, then for cooling – the latter made him feel too cold already, but he reminded himself that it would come in handy later down the road. At the very least, he had already replaced the carbon scrubber for the suit the day before – a force of habit that has proved to speed things along, if yesterday’s events taught him anything.
He grabbed his goulash and reopened the shutter, only to be greeted with an annoyed expression on Antir’s face. What? he thought. Can’t I get some privacy to change? He held up the packet, and motioned with his finger that it was meant to enter his mouth. Antir leaned in closer, until her horn started tapping on the glass – but still, she wanted to get closer. He noticed this, so before he actually started eating the goulash – which was still rehydrating, to boot – he held it up to the window. She squinted to see through her own reflection, and turned away in disgust when she noticed it was made from beef paste. Adam shrugged – I get it, it’s not for everyone. You least of all.
He sat down by the window and started sucking down the barely-reconstituted stew, sensing the still-palpable impatience from outside. The stew somehow disappeared down his throat in a matter of minutes – and in all fairness, the spiciness helped distract him from the insufficient reconstitution, for which he was grateful.
Alright, he thought, standing back up and disposing of the now-empty packet. You and me, Antir. Let’s get this done.
·–
:04. . . :03. . . :02. . . :01. . . :00!
As soon as Adam disconnected from the suitport, Antir wasted no time grabbing him up in her telekinesis. She carried him off the lander, to the road, on their way to town. Somehow he never felt any motion from the acceleration – it was all one smooth operation.
He tried to wrestle himself free from her grip, but it was much too strong – and as he struggled, he felt her force tighten on the suit’s ball-joints, preventing him from moving. Adam trusted Antir, he didn’t suspect any ill intent – but this was much too forceful for him, and he wasn’t the least bit used to it.
Finally they got to the northernmost edge of the town, where she set him down. She thrust the scroll into his hands. He unfastened the band and let it furl open. It was a list of twenty-four jobs, arranged in a list three by eight. All of these things were things that Adam, as a large bipedal creature, could do – and all were as well presumably within walking distance of the lander. The town is my oyster, he thought, and all I have to do is find and pluck the pearl. Let’s get started. He pointed at the first item – which displayed a humanoid figure moving a large rectangle through a series of concentric circles. Curious. I wonder what that could be? . . .
Without delay, Antir grabbed him up and took him to. . . wherever that job would be. At least this time it was by his hand – but then, he had to run to keep up with her pace.
·–·–··
A few minutes later, Antir dropped his hand – freeing it up to let him rebind the scroll and stow it away inside a pouch. When he looked back to the scene, he saw a great abundance of fine white chips and dust on the ground. Not just any chips and dust – this is wood, he realized. She’s taken me to a lumber mill.
Various equines were working on a log, one that had just been cut down from. . . probably that forest he was exploring the other day. Just like early Jamestown, he thought. I wonder how much of this town was cut away from that forest – and how much they have left to cut. Some of these ponies had mouth-mounted tools meant to strip bark from the trunk of the tree; some more were starting to cut the log in various specific places – ones that appeared to be measured from the base – some were sawing the branches off the trunk, taking care to make sure the resulting stumps blended smoothly with the trunk, some were taking those cut logs and making further cuts through them – but longways this time, turning the log into a set of planks and beams. It was all a smooth operation, but hardly clean with all the dust it made.
And this was a job he could apparently do, according to Antir.
[ᵑʘeˈsɤ ʃeɹʙ̥iˈe] a voice cried out – which was apparently a command to halt work immediately. An equine approached him and Antir – pulling off a pair of goggles with a hoof, coat and neckerchief profoundly coated in sawdust. [ɹiˈkě ɑlɹiˈmɑ] he told them.
Thankfully, Antir answered for Adam. [ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ ɑlˈɹu . ɑ suˈlɑ] – she pointed at the man in the metal suit – [eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed ɑlɟɑˈmu] She set her hoof down. [edemˈlej ɲoˈɣu ɸɯsɯ̃lceˈmɯ . ɑ mɯl suˈlɑ kipɑosˈlɑ ʃɤkɹ̩ŋ̊l̩cem̥ɯ]
The other equine looked up to Adam, hoof on its chin, as though considering something. After a moment, he turned back to Antir. [ɹiˈɣě ɑzɑɹɑnɑɟɑˈmu]
But before Antir could reply, there came a loud metallic snap, then a cry of [ˈɑj ˈɑj ˈɑj ˈɑj] – apparently a chain had snapped while carrying a freshly-peeled log, and the workers were backing up to avoid being crushed under its weight. Thankfully, it was not hoisted very high. This gave Adam second thoughts about working in the lumber mill – the Strauss was strong, but he wouldn’t trust it around heavy logs like that. Coupled with the risk of cutting through the suit with the saws. . . yeah, hard pass for the mill.
Neither was the unicorn keen on the human working alongside them. He saw how their equipment had failed on them – how easily he could be crushed beneath its weight, how easily he could break biosegregation with a ill-timed cut, not to mention that he couldn’t communicate, and thus, coördinate, with his coworkers – and he had to refuse. He pulled out the scroll of jobs, and pointed at the next one, making sure Antir could see his choice. She noted it, then took his hand in her telekinetic grip and led him out the sawmill and down the road, while the mill workers started replacing the chain themselves. I wonder where this next one is. . . .
·–
The answer, as it turned out, was at the town’s farrier. Adam stepped inside the building, right behind Antir. Indeed, here was the farrier, forge burning bright behind it, hard at work shaping a horseshoe. This shoe was large and thick, needing hard swings of a mouth-held hammer against an anvil to shape it properly.
Who’s it for? Turning his head away, he saw a rather large and heavy-built equine sitting nearby – who had been watching the farrier hard at work, but was now making eye contact with Adam. Its hooves were thick with keratin, its fetlocks unshorn, and the hindquarter-mark was of an apple-like fruit – green, against red fur. Is this one related to Nyeledirve? If not by blood, then by work. . . . Given its great size and the sort of work it would do on the orchard on the outskirts of town, it would need especially thick shoes. No wonder the farrier was so hard at work.
So hard at work, in fact, that despite the patron noticing, the farrier did not acknowledge either him or Antir for some time. Only when it looked up to check the new horseshoe against the patron’s hoof, who raised it up for the farrier to see, did it see a great white shape out the corner of its eye. Spotting Antir as well, it quickly looked to her, motionless otherwise, seemingly eagerly awaiting an explanation. [n̥ɑ.pɑ.ˈtɑ] Antir opened – a greeting of some sort, I have to guess. [suˈlɑ eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed ɑlɟɑˈmu . ɲoˈɣu ɸɯsɯ̃lceˈmɯ . ɸelˈse eʃ mɯˈlil l̩bɑˈβǔ]
[eʃ mɯˈlǐl] the farrier replied, pointing at Adam. Antir nodded – then started looking around the shop, trying to find. . . something for some reason. I guess it’s looking for something for me to do. [eŋbizɯ̃ˈɹɯ . ɹiˈɣě ɑzɑɹɑnɑɟɑˈmu] There’s that question again, but what does it mean?
The farrier took the hammer into its mouth and swung at the horseshoe. Two solid hits later, it held the shoe up to the customer’s hoof, and looked between them carefully, to make sure it was a perfect fit. Apparently it was – since it next grabbed some nails from another nearby bin.
The patron drew a breath, and looked away, apparently not wanting to see what would happen next. Yet the farrier was very careful – with a surgical precision coming from years of practice and experience, it hammered each nail in a semicircle around the rim of the hoof. One by one, seven nails were driven into the keratin, until the shoe was securely attached.
Only then did the patron set its hoof upon the ground. The shoe did not come off – nor did the other two, which were forged similarly to that one.
The farrier was grabbing two more shoes from a ready-made set hanging from a peg on the wall. It placed them in a pair of tongs, screwed the tongs shut, then inserted them into the fire. Adam realized that each of those shoes were only about half the thickness of the one he had forged. So it’s technically wearing six shoes right now, and needs eight for a proper set. I can only wonder how often it wears through these. . . .
The farrier took a moment to speak – if Adam had to guess, it was to answer Antir’s question rather belatedly. [kɑˈlɑ ʙ̥elˈse xɑɹɑʙ̥osɑᵑǃɟɑˈmu . kipcɑkˈjɑ enzeniˈɹe] it said – and seemed to indicate the still-new shoes mounted on nails driven into the wall.
But what did it mean by this? Adam turned to Antir and tilted his head, to signal confusion. She responded by taking six shoes off the wall in her telekinetic grasp, and holding them up to him. [sɑ̃ˈlu . iˈm̥ɑ̃ . kuɹˈso . deˈŋe . uˈɹu . iˈzɑ̃] she pronounced slowly – and with each word, she emphasized one more shoe in her grasp than before.
Wait, that’s counting! She’s counting the shoes for me! Those are their numbers! She had counted those six shoes exactly, but to her, it would be ten. She deposited them back on the nail on the wall.
Which left Adam to ponder just what she had meant by all of this. Did she perhaps want me to count shoes? he pondered. Why? She knows I can count. . . unless it’s to keep inventory? I could do that, I reckon. Get a chance to practice counting on their terms, even if it’s a trial by fire of sorts.
It was certainly a choice to consider – but for now, he simply walked away from the forge, scroll already in hand. Once they were outside, he pointed out to Antir a random item on the list – and she, as usual, led the way.
–·
“Going somewhere, Konstantinov?”
Anton had been spending the last hour or so prebreathing by the airlock, having already donned some cooling and waste garments, when Commander Darcy came up to the bridge. Anton pulled the mouthpiece out. “I only need to get a spare part from RPMR-3,” he explained. “It would not be long.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Whatever for? There isn’t anything broken aboard – is there?”
“No.” Anton put the mouthpiece back into his mouth, and kept purging out the nitrogen gas from his bloodstream. He continued speaking with the hose in his mouth. “Dr. Somerset said that spectroscope for RPMR-1 is beyond repair. It demands replacement therefore.”
“M-hm. And you thought to cannibalize one from one of the other probes?” Commander Darcy followed up. “That’s some clever thinking, Doctor, I’ll give you that – but how will you get it down to the surface?”
“I still figure that out, to be truthful,” Anton confessed. “Do you have idea?”
“I do not.” Darcy put a hand to his chin. “How long have you been prebreathing?”
“Hour and twenty minutes.”
“That’s plenty long enough. Suit up – and be careful. The ship is still in motion – go straight to the probes, bring only what you need to extract the part, and come straight back as soon as you have it – and do not, I have to stress, do not detach yourself from the tethers.” He snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. “They will save your life – mark my words. I’m sure you’ve had this drilled into your head back in Moscow, but I just feel better making sure you know, so am I clear?”
Anton nodded. “Yes, Commander.”
“That’s good – last thing I want is to lose our only cryogenicist. Now, what was I going to do here? . . .” Commander Darcy lost himself in his thoughts, as he turned back to the terminal on the ‘ceiling.’
Meanwhile, Anton shut off the oxygen tank, took off the mouthpiece, and placed it in an antibacterial bag. He grabbed a marker pen and wrote his name on it – first in Cyrillic, by reflex, then in Latin. Once he was done, he clipped it to the wall. There was a box of spare mouthpieces, but since this was his first spacewalk, and therefore his first prebreathing, he wanted to make sure that his mouthpiece was his – to prevent spreading his own germs around the crew and ship.
Next, Anton grabbed the nearest suit – these Orlans were made all the same, for ease of maintenance far away from home – and slipped inside the hatch in the suit’s back. It was a tight fit, not like the Strauss was, but he made it work. Once he was in, he hinged the life-support backpack shut, clamping the lock once it made contact. These suits were heavy – a hundred kilograms is nothing to scoff at – but that meant almost nil in the microgravity environment of Rhyslinger orbit. He hit a switch to seal and decompress the airlock.
As the pressure dropped, he started reflecting on his almost insane plan to get RPMR-1 back in working order. Yes, of course Dr. Somerset would need to do the act of replacement, but he needed to get the part to him. This was the first step – getting the part. The next one was to get it to Rhysling, and to Adam by extension. Anton had been thinking about that part of the plan for the past several hours – and even here, in the approaching vacuum, he was still considering how he was going to do this.
In the space of a few moments, the airlock was completely empty – judging by the near-lack of noise through his suit. As he moved around the vacuum, all the noises that he would normally hear were greatly muffled, as they now had to travel through the fabric of the suit instead of the free air. Anton rotated the handwheel slowly several times to open the airlock – the door swung inward, revealing a blank black sky. Below him was Altair’s fuel tanks. Above him, Rhysling.
“Altair, this is Konstantinov,” he radioed, as per protocol. “I am exiting the airlock and beginning extravehicular activity. Acknowledge, over.”
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” the reply came at once. “Godspeed, Konstantinov, and stay safe. Out.”
Carefully, Anton started making his way out of the airlock. Once he was fully out, he closed the airlock behind him. He turned downward immediately after leaving, and started heading ‘down’ to the ‘bottom’ of Altair – where all the probes were docked.
RPMR-3 was the sternmost of the three, according to the manual. Not to mention that their shells and heat shields were clearly marked in Cyrillic. Once he got a visual of what he was looking for, he all but beelined to the probe.
The Soviets, as they did with all their other probes, did not make it easy to access them while in-flight – not from inside the ship, nor from outside. This was meant to maintain biosegregation, since the probes themselves were thoroughly sterilized, and ensured that no Earthborne contaminants would make their way to the Rhyslinger surface.
Still, desperation breeds ingenuity – and sometimes ingenuity comes in the form of glinting steel. Once he clamped the tether to the ‘underside’ of Altair, right in front of his prize, Anton grabbed a screwdriver that he brought and started undoing each screw around the heat shield, one by one. Though there at first was a great deal of resistance, as a set of explosive bolts also held it firmly in place, he was determined to get at the probe inside. This one was never supposed to land on Rhysling, not after failing so badly on its initial system check.
Finally, the heat shield started coming away from the rest of the shell, exposing the probe to the naked vacuum of space. The shell was sealed in a vacuum, to prevent air from altering Rhysling’s atmosphere, but here also made sure that Anton wasn’t blown away – even if the tether would prevent that as well. From there, he needed to find which was the ‘front’ and ‘rear’ of the probe – the top and bottom were clear enough, but unfortunately the top was where the spectroscope was located.
Somehow Anton was able to fit the Orlan’s helmet and life-support backpack close enough to see. He started unscrewing the plate, slowly, one fastener at a time. The screwdriver was magnetized, and he stored each bolt inside a pouch on the suit. Finally, after undoing all four, the plate started floating away with the last screw. He stowed the fourth screw with the plate, and the screwdriver for the time being, then carefully started tugging away the instrument’s connections for power and data.
“Vot tak. . . .” He had the spare spectroscope firmly in his gloved hands. He didn’t bother screwing the plate back on, but did reättach the heat shield to the shell, and started making his way back to the airlock. “This is Konstantinov,” he radioed. “Instrument is secure, and I am going back to the airlock, over.”
“Copy Konstantinov, see you soon. Out.”
–·––·
As the sun started descending over the horizon, as it did every evening, Adam returned to the lander – plugging himself in, waiting the two minutes, and stepping back inside – and Antir bade him farewell with a hoof on the window pane. Unfortunately, after trying a few more different jobs, none of them seemed to work out to him – much to their frustration.
After putting the farrier’s offer on the backburner, the next job he had apparently picked was at what appeared to be a spa. This one was run by two equines, whose appearances were so similar yet so opposing – their fur and mane colors were pink and blue on one, and vice versa on the other. Adam surmised that they were related by blood, and so proud of that fact that they took to changing up their appearances just so they would be matching, yet opposite. He observed how they took care of their own patrons – among other things, massages, mud baths, hoof- and horn-filings – so those horns are made of keratin, he realized, and need to be filed down periodically – no doubt for a high price. He did, however, bump into Nǂesell while he was there.
Adam was starting to consider working at the spa more seriously than he had initially intended – if nothing else, the idle chitchat would help further his studies of the Indigenous language, not to mention that he could become much more familiar with their equine anatomy this way. Unfortunately, as safe as his suit’s gloves kept him from any germs penetrating this way or that, he also ran the risk of injuring the patrons, as the flexing was disjointed and could even pinch their skin – for which they could hold the spa liable. And not even just that – he also happened to be there at the same time as Sulfoyarnǃa, who apparently did not take kindly to anyone intruding into her quiet time. In the end, the two equines running it refused his employment politely, leaving him and Antir to move along.
Next was farming, where he ran into that large red equine again. Turns out his question about his relationship with Nyeledirve could be answered with “both” – the fruit farm appeared to be family- or clan-owned and run. Adam watched how these equines harvested the fruit – they carefully arranged several buckets at the bottom of them, then gave the trunk a solid hind kick. Their skills weren’t just with how much force they applied, but arranging the buckets just right, so they caught the most amount of fruit. No doubt they have it down to a science, Adam remembered thinking. It was hard work, to be sure – perhaps too hard work for him, where from kicking the trees’ trunks himself or climbing up the trees to pick the apples right off the branches, he could suffer heat stroke inside his suit – a dangerous situation back on Earth, and almost surely lethal on Rhysling. So farming was right out as well.
But they did have a barn – and in that barn they kept all the fruits they had harvested so far. Alongside those were various products they made with those fruits – fruit preserves, alcohols, and so forth. The alcohols caught Adam’s attention. From what he remembered from his anthropology studies, every civilization on Earth was founded on the fermentation of something, typically some kind of grain or starch. Sumer and Egypt both had wheat and barley, China had rice, Mesoamerica had corn. . . and apparently Rhysling had fruits. Interesting choice to cultivate – how did that come about?
But these were farmers, and as far as he could tell, they could manage inventory on their own just fine. Their livelihoods depended on it, after all. So if they ever made an offer, Antir must have refused it on his behalf, because off he went again to the next and final job.
This turned out to be at a floral shop. After ducking below the doorway, he was greeted with. . . a vacant interior. Vacant, save for a good variety of flowers. Adam pondered what these were meant for – decoration? Or are these edible? Perhaps both? Regardless, Dr. Weiss was going to have a field day with just this shop alone. He felt tempted simply to move the probe right up to the shop, but dismissed it as folly – not only was this a long way from the lander (and he didn’t want to bother Antir with such an odd task), he wasn’t sure how the town’s denizens would react to such an odd contraption.
And yet, another question remained. Were they out for lunch or something? Adam pondered. Call me crazy, but I think it’s rather late for that sort of thing. . . . Finally, one of them poked its head out from behind the counter – then just as quickly hid again. Oh, they’re still not used to me being here. Even so. . . really? Antir tried to reason with them, but they were all convinced of Adam’s dangers. Seriously? You’re the greater danger to me!
Once Antir explained the situation to them, they seemed confused. Apparently to them, he must have been some kind of supernatural creature bent on hunting down these equines. But here he was instead, looking for a job around town. While they spoke, Adam’s mind drifted over to the flowers – some of them seemed out of place for him. So he decided to sort them out himself. He couldn’t read labels, of course, but he could tell where they were intended to be grouped. He simply followed that pattern, fixing it, making sure chaos was shaped into order.
He became acutely aware of their silence just as he was finishing sorting out their flowers. When he slipped the last bouquet of hyacinths into its proper place, he turned around to find all three shopkeepers narrowing their eyes at what he was doing to their wares. Antir seemed to get an idea, and appeared to make an offer for an inventory-keeper. Apparently that was one of their jobs, but naturally Adam was more than capable of staying on top of things. There wasn’t an immediate ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer just yet, however.
As they were leaving the floral shop, he started to realize that, despite Antir’s fatigue with tugging Adam along all day, it seemed like she was gauging him – gauging his knowledge, his skillset, his limitations, anything that could help nail down the perfect job. The last place she dragged him to appeared to be a temp agency of sorts, with several working equines filing in and out – well, mostly out, at this late hour. After what Adam had been doing all day, he had inadvertently proved himself as a capable worker. After Antir spoke at length, seemingly recounting the whole day’s story, they were quick to offer him a space (through her trusty chalkboard) as a temporary inventory counter.
And Adam was all too happy to accept.
But he wouldn’t start his new job right now – they let him off for the day, but told him to be back at a certain time in the morning. Of course, he still had trouble telling time by native units, so he took it to mean ‘sunrise’ – easy to track. Though of course, it means I have to be up early, he thought – and chuckled, as he started on his dinner. Wouldn’t be the first time, either!
Dr. Weiss was on the bridge when she saw a shadow flicker out of the corner of her eye – turning her head, she saw a dark figure in the airlock on her left. The figure entered the lights, but she still couldn’t see through the gold-plated helmet. “Commander?” she asked. “There is someone entering the airlock.”
“That’s Anton.” Commander Darcy didn’t even look up from his terminal. “He went out a while back to fetch a spare part from one of the dead probes. He says he plans to send it to Rhysling’s surface, but hasn’t told me how. Not yet, anyway. Glad he’s safe.”
“That I’d like to see.” She turned back to the terminal, as a gentle hiss entered the airlock. “Did he say what it was?”
“Ah. . . .” Darcy paused to remember. “Spectroscope. The one on the surface is shot, Somerset reported. Saw the picture myself, and I’m inclined to believe him.”
She sighed. “’Türlich.” She stepped away from her terminal, pushed herself off the wall, and went out the bridge.
And then Anton finally entered the bridge, with his suit already off, and smelling strongly of sweat, despite his cooling garment having worked as intended. Commander Darcy turned around in time to see him enter. “Mon dieu, docteur!” he let out. “Rode hard and put away wet, were you?”
“Yes, Commander, I know.” Anton sighed. “Where is Weiss? I thought I saw her here.” He set the delicate instrument on the table, next to Dr. Weiss’s terminal – the magnetized surface ensured that it would not float away and become damaged.
“She left the bridge just now,” the commander replied. “I guess she sensed the coming odor.” He snapped his finger to the bridge’s exit. “You. Pisces. Wash. Dress. Now, please.”
“Da, da, ja znaju. . . .” Dr. Konstantinov grabbed his jumpsuit and other normal clothing, shoved off the wall, and headed down the exit, hoping that he wouldn’t run into Dr. Weiss so soon after disembarking.
The Pisces module was connected to the Aquarius, which itself was connected to Zodiac’s central hub. Anton took a moment to find it – since the whole thing was rotating, after all – and once he did, dove down that hallway, feet first, and connected his feet with the rungs of the ladder. He simply let his jumpsuit drop down to the floor – an actual floor, backed by centrifugal gravity – and followed them down. After floating free in Altair’s bridge and outside the ship wholesale, feeling the centrifugal pull was starting to strain him. Perhaps he should have spent more time in Virgo’s gym.
Even with the gravity, no water was allowed to flow here – in case Zodiac suddenly stopped spinning. But the rinse-free soaps were still slotted in their places – so once he was sure that nobody could disturb him in his sanctum sanctorum, Anton started stripping off his sweat-drenched suit garments to bathe.
··–··
Every so often, though she never bothered to time it, Elena watched Rhysling swing past the window’s view. Each time was different, unique in its appearance, despite the colony ship being on a regular orbit around the planet. She noted the vast seas, the lush green lands, the white clouds whipping up into storms, and the aurorae as the ship swung past the poles. She noted the dry desert bands, tan and broad, and wondered if anything lived there – and wondered if the colony could survive there. She noted the tall snowy mountains – and missed her home.
She sighed – if only she could see the Swiss Alps one last time. She had the photographs, meant to keep up crew morale, but they didn’t hold a candle to actually being there. Every summer, when the countryside wasn’t completely frozen over, her family would spend a fortnight camping out near Chäserrugg, mostly to get away from the usual hustle and bustle of the Zürich metropolis. She remembered waking up every morning to the cool, crisp, fresh air – moreso since she wasn’t in the same tent as her brother anymore. But now, having to share the same space, the same air, with two unrelated men – one of whom was her superior – it made her yearn for those simple moments in her youth, with her parents, with Hans, and with noöne else around.
She smiled in her nostalgic reverie – before her thoughts were interrupted with feet landing on the ground. She turned around to see Dr. Konstantinov, freshly clean and jumpsuit decently laundered, and heading to the pantry to get something. But before he slipped inside, he turned to ask her “Did you want something as well?”
Elena was about to refuse – but then her stomach answered that question for her. “. . . yes,” she admitted reluctantly.
Dr. Konstantinov smiled slightly, and grabbed some packets – boršč for himself, and some French onion soup for her. Both of these needed rehydration, and the French onion soup was very limited in quantity and only packed per French insistence – but he could recognize homesickness, and knew how it would impact crew performance. He read somewhere that it was also commonly served in Switzerland – so it all worked out nicely.
The rack of hydration guns were on the wall opposite. He grabbed the hot one and injected 150 milliliters of water in the boršč, and 130 in the French onion – both of these would take five to ten minutes to rehydrate fully. In the meantime, he replaced the hoses and took them over to the table, sitting down across from Elena. “Are you well?” he asked, offering the French onion packet.
“It could be better.” She sighed, but accepted his offer anyway. “Besides the lack of results from the probe. . . .” She left the other clause unspoken.
“I have the spectroscope,” he said. “Somerset will install it on Rhysling. Did the atmospheric results come in?”
She nodded. “They did – virtually identical to Earth’s, but with a lower atmospheric pressure and a slightly higher xenon content.” She cleared her throat. “Which is why I wish to see readings on background radiation. I wonder if the Indigenous have access to nuclear power.”
“If that is so, then what would their method be?” Dr. Konstantinov shifted uncomfortably. “It is something to consider, yes – but I am certain that they have simpler methods.” He put his chin into his palm. “Perhaps something that does not require a circuit?”
“And yet, Dr. Somerset tells me that the Indigenous were able to reättach the battery to the probe. Even with some help from the Indigenous – so theirs must work the same way.” She sighed. “I know what you might be thinking about. But we all understood the dangers of this mission when we applied. Even Somerset, lucky enough to first set foot on Rhysling – ”
“I did not.”
She paused. “Come again?”
“I did not sign up for Zodiac-Altair.” This time Dr. Konstantinov sighed. “All I did, all that I will say I did willingly, was to develop the cryonic storage for colonists – the same that you slept in while traveling the system. But the Kremlin insisted that I come along with them. At first I resisted – for I did not wish to leave the Motherland – I wanted a wife, a family – but they said that nobody else can maintain them, that nobody else can know fully how one technology central to the ship works. I offered to instruct them on every detail of its workings, ensuring that anyone can carry out this work without me, but they refused – and so here I am.”
He chuckled. “We are both homesick in a way, it would seem. I dream even now of living in the Soviet Union – or the Federation. Whichever. And you must want to see the mountains again, to. . . ski from the top, to talk with family. Am I not correct?”
“Mostly you are right. Though we never did go skiing – those places are full of tourists, and we never did like them.” She turned to face the window again. “We did leave Züri every summer, but only to get away from the chaos of the city. A ski resort would mean we end up in the same sort of situation.”
“It must be nice to leave the city.” Dr. Konstantinov turned to face the window as well. “Me, I have not known a day outside the streets of Leningrad before Zodiac-Altair.” A pause. “In a way, I should be grateful for the assignment – maybe some new sights would do me good.”
“Such as outside the ship, perhaps?” Elena turned back to him, with a smirk on her face.
He rolled his eyes. “That was only necessary to get the spectroscope. It should still be by your terminal – to remind me for later.” He put his face into his hands. “I can only wonder even now how I can get it to him – safe and sound, and perfectly clean.”
“I face a similar dilemma myself, to confess.” Her stomach growled again. “But perhaps that can wait until we’ve had something to eat?”
He looked up. “Č – ?” And then – “Right, yes, the ration packets.” He grabbed his, squeezing just so, to check its consistency. As it turned out, these were ready to eat by now.
Almost at once, Elena latched her mouth on the blown-in straw and started drinking it – and in that same instant, she recoiled at both the heat and the fond memory of home. “I do not know how they managed to do this,” she said, “but it actually tastes freshly-made. But how?”
“Ask France.” Dr. Konstantinov was more content in calmly drinking his boršč. It was hot as well, but he was too used to the familiar sour taste to comment on it – not to mention that it was made in bulk originally for the cosmonauts. “They did the cooking and processing themselves.”
“Ach, of course.” She returned to her meal for a moment, returning her attention to the view outside the ship. “What else did they bring? I have to wonder.”
“Several dozen recipes,” he replied, “optimized for various gravitational pulls. They thought of everything.”
“Unlike you, it seems.” She giggled. “Still need you a solution for the spectroscope?”
“Yes.” He paused for a moment. “But you said you have a problem yourself, yes?”
She swallowed her bite, and cleared her throat. “Put simply, I would also like a live sample in my hands – and so would Earth itself, even if the journey takes another five years.” She set the packet on the table and thought for a moment. “The probes should have a return apparatus for samples, ja?”
“They do,” Dr. Konstantinov recalled. “But I do not see how they – ” He stopped suddenly, staring blankly ahead – then started wolfing down the remaining boršč as fast as he could, paying no attention to the burning in his mouth and throat. He leapt to his feet and disposed of the empty packet. “I have to go, now.”
“Is something wrong?” Elena had to ask.
This caught him just in time to stop him at the ladder to Zodiac’s core. He strained his mind for what he wanted to use to reply, and it came to him after a moment:
“Eureka.”
––––
Louis was staying by the radio.
Somerset had gone to bed by now – he had decided to start living by the sixteen-hour day that Rhysling offered. But before he did, he reported what he had been doing that day – he managed to record a few phrases, plus he had just acquired a local job.
At first Louis wanted to laugh, but then realized the logic – if Somerset really wanted to stay on Rhysling, he had to make himself useful in their civilization. For that matter, that same standard clearly would apply to the rest of the colony. Thankfully, Somerset landed a job as a laborer – and was now, hopefully, earning gainful income and proving his worth as a member of their society. If he played his cards right, Louis hoped, Dr. Somerset could end up setting a positive example of what mankind could do, and help secure a colony site.
But that remained to be seen.
Speaking of fingers – he found himself tapping his on the terminal keyboard – not typing per se. In fact, all of this tapping was involuntary twitching. In his mind, it had been three and a half years since he left Earth, but to his body, it had been only about two weeks. Either way, withdrawal was setting in, and right now he would kill to have a good smoke. Having Anton waltz in smelling of the usual sweat from spacewalking didn’t help matters much either.
But alas, tobacco was contraband on Zodiac-Altair – and they needed to monitor oxygen usage as much as possible. Their carbon scrubbers, as long-lived and replaceable as they were, were still finite in their supply, and he knew just as well as NASA that he shouldn’t exacerbate them any further than he already was.
And still, that old craving still haunted him from Maritime Command. He wanted his release – so badly. His lungs were being filled with the same sort of air – two parts oxygen, three nitrogen, and no parts burnt tobacco. As part of the mission, he had to quit smoking entirely, and now he was starting to regret it. Of course, now was too late – while it was still possible to return to Earth, he thought it cowardly to turn around this international multi-billion-dollar ten-years-in-the-making state-of-the-art one-of-a-kind interstellar colony ship and fly back with their tails between their legs. Especially when one of them was still walking around on the surface – he’d have to gamble a chance at launching from Rhysling to return to Zodiac-Altair, to slip back into cryo, along with Weiss, himself, and Konstantinov. . . .
Thankfully, the last of these interrupted his thoughts with some frantic clamoring. “Did something come up, Konstantinov?” he asked.
He was barely able to stop himself and turn to face the commander. “I have a solution at last!” he told Louis. “I know how to get the spectroscope down to Dr. Somserset!”
Louis crossed his arms. “Alright Doctor, I’m listening. What’s your plot?”
“Dr. Weiss told me that she wanted a sample returned from Rhysling. She said that Earth would like such a sample as well. So I thought, maybe we can use a sample-return rocket to deliver the part to him.”
“Interesting idea, Doctor, let me check if it’s actually feasible first.” Finding the manual, Louis flipped to the table of contents. . . . “page 203, ‘sample return mechanism. . . Huh. You might be onto something here.” That section of the manual showed how it had just enough fuel to return a twenty-five-kilogram sample from the surface of a body with Terrestrial-strength gravity. Most of it was dedicated to the working of the sample-return capsule itself. It was a cylindrical pill-shaped object, measuring one meter long and another fifty centimeters in diameter. It was split roughly in half – the bottom contained a rocket and fuel, and the top held the sample itself, along with a parachute for atmospheric entry, and a beacon for recovery. The interior could be sterilized from the probe itself, or even from Zodiac-Altair, for whichever purpose. And to relay samples from Rhysling to Earth, the ship was supposed to have its own supply.
“I’ll go yank one from the cargo, excuse me just a moment. . . .” Louis set the book down – but really set it adrift in the bridge – and dipped down to where the other probes were docked. He turned himself towards the large cargo hold to the rear of Altair’s main body, and quickly, yet thoroughly, scanned its contents. “Voilà!” He spotted a group of cylindrical containers in the back, all meant precisely for sample return – and now for parts delivery, for one of them at least. He started unstrapping some other cargo to get to one.
Meanwhile, Anton was looking around the bridge, waiting for the commander to return. There wasn’t anything interesting for him to look at – terminal on the ceiling, in front of their cryo tanks, and right by his side was Dr. Weiss’s terminal, with the spectroscope still magnetized next to it. Curiosity seized him by his jumpsuit’s collar, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking at the probe’s results thus far with his own eyes. What treasures had RPMR-1 recovered so far?
Most of what he saw on her terminal was as she had described – atmospheric composition, basic elements of local life, and the like. And then there was a folder full of photographs taken from the probe. He opened it, and opened the first one. It was simply a view of the Rhyslinger ground – high up but still within the atmosphere, and it looked like it was descending into a forest. Good for studying local flora and fauna, but if what Dr. Somerset said was correct, it proved bad for first contact – as that area was considered dangerous even for the Indigenous. But then, why not just tame the area, to make it safe?
These and other mysteries from just one image. Anton proceeded to the next one – this was clearly after the probe landed – and before it apparently lost power. Remarkably, the plant life viewed from this angle was much like what one would expect from dear old Earth – lush and green in appearance, and varied in shapes and sizes, colors and textures – he thought he saw mushrooms, too. One could spend potentially centuries studying Rhyslinger life, cataloging the entire biosphere and seeing what few similarities exist with Terrestrial life – or take the easy way out and simply translate what the Indigenous had already named for themselves. But that would be Somerset’s department, not Weiss’s.
The very last photograph transmitted from the probe astounded him – yes, there was Somerset himself, waving at the probe’s camera – rather cheeky – and next to him sat a little pony. But never mind why Rhysling had such beings here – why would Somerset have one of these by his side? There seemed to be no indication that it was a recently-tamed pet, nor would he have knowledge of dying its hair and fur in such bizarre colors and patterns. . . therefore. . . .
“Lošadi?” he had to ask aloud, yet to himself. “Čto za bred?” Even less believably, this one had a horn. A horn! On top of its head! It was a unicorn, not just a horse! But was it capable of performing magic, like the legends of yore? “What sort of magic makes this real?”
“Konstantinov, did you say something?” Commander Darcy asked him, when he reëntered the bridge.
Anton closed out from the terminal. “No, Commander.”
Darcy just shrugged. “Eh. Anyway, it seems we’re in luck after all.” He held up one of the spare sample-return capsules, one the size of his torso. “While they’re supposed to relay samples back to Earth, there’s really no reason why we can’t repurpose them to send something down to Rhysling instead.” A pause. “We’ll need to sterilize the instrument, however. You’ve gotten our germs all over it, after all.”
Anton nodded. “Yes, it would seem so.”
With a snap of his fingers, he indicated ‘below’ the bridge. “Launching tube’s right in front of the RPMRs, built-in autoclave, you know how this works.”
Anton nodded.
The commander continued, “Biological contamination would be unavoidable in a years-long voyage like this one, so as you might recall, we sterilize the capsules a second time on-site before loading up the sample. Of course, there is the warning, ‘Do not insert sample before sterilization,’ blah blah blah, we don’t need to listen to it for this one.” He started unscrewing the top. “Where’s the instrument, by the by?”
“It is here.” Anton tapped the spectroscope.
With a firm grip and a strong pull, the commander yanked it free from the magnetized table. The commander then finished unscrewing the top of the rocket, revealing the hollowed cavity, perfectly sized for the spare part. “Right, in you go.” The instrument weighed nothing in microgravity, but both men well understood the gravity of the situation. The commander carefully inserted the instrument within, taking care not to dent or scratch anything important. Once it was in, he, with a bit less elegance, screwed the nose cone back on. “Time to clean.”
He grabbed the floor and guided himself out of the bridge and into Altair’s central cavity – right in front of the launching tube. Next he slotted the capsule inside the tube, closed it behind him, and when he did the automated processes started sterilizing both the outside and the inside of the capsule – ensuring that biosegregation would be maintained on Rhysling.
But while the launching tube could automate a launch, it would launch a sample-return mission into the Flandro Object, and only the Object, considering any other target a ‘miss.’ But he had a trick up his sleeve – and it involved Dr. Somerset. He overrode the automated targeting to aim for TPRU-1 instead, using its signal as a guide, albeit not an absolute one – essentially tricking the program into thinking the Object was on the surface of Rhysling. Once that was done, he would pray it would survive the trip. Though prayer was easy enough, it did nothing to change fate.
“How long until we swing into view of the landing site?” Louis asked. “For Somerset, I mean.”
“I think seven minutes.” Konstantinov kept his eyes glued on the window – with all the time he had spent awake so far, he had used some of it to memorize the larger features on Rhysling. “From here I can see general area, including forest – aim just north of them.”
“Roger that, way ahead of you.” Louis kept his eyes glued on the terminal’s monitor, waiting for the right moment to launch the rocket safely down, do not pass go, do not collect $200. All he had to do was hit the return key for the actual launch – and he waited for Anton’s word to make it happen correctly.
And then, an afterthought – and a way to kill a bit of time. Hoping that Dr. Somerset was awake by now, Louis grabbed the radio. “Tango-1, this is Zulu-Alfa,” he said. “Are you awake, Somerset? Over.”
It took a moment for a reply to come, but come it did. “This is Tango-1,” Adam replied. “I’ve been awake for a few minutes, the sun is about to come up. Is something happening? Over.” Indeed, in Anton’s view, the intended site was just on the cusp of daylight, but was still on the dark side of the planet.
“In T-minus five minutes,” Commander Darcy explained, “we will be launching a capsule, aiming for your landing site. Inside the capsule is a spare spectroscope. It has been sterilized, so you can open the capsule in the field, but it is also delicate, so handle it gingerly and install it carefully. Let us know when you do this – Dr. Weiss has unanswered questions about background radiation, and I have a feeling you do as well. Over.”
“Copy Zulu-Alfa, I’ll get some breakfast down first. I’m also supposed to start my local job today, so I’ll have to prioritize depending on when the equipment gets here. Somerset out.”
Nodding, Louis set the radio aside. “How long now?” he asked.
“Two minutes,” the doctor replied, still watching. “Probably less. Be ready.”
“Roger.” The commander hovered his finger right on the enter key, so a single twitch would send the payload on its merry way. He waited, with bated breath, for Anton’s signal, whenever it would come.
Behind, though neither man heard it happen, Dr. Weiss returned to the bridge. She noted both men floating steadily in one place, and had to ask, “What is going on?”
“Hoo!” Unfortunately, this spooked Commander Darcy into hitting the return key early, thus launching the return rocket early. As he heard the ignition echo from Altair’s central spindle, he let out an “Oh merde, c’est déjà parti!” as he realized his mistake.
“. . . now,” Anton said, dejectedly, as he knew how futile the command would be now.
Louis just sighed. “If you must know, Weiss,” he explained, “we were about to launch a repurposed sample-relay rocket down to Rhysling, to deliver a replacement part to Dr. Somerset so he can fix the probe and get you your radiation readings.” He turned to the window. “Unfortunately, due to certain circumstances beyond my control, the rocket was sent too early, so it will not end up properly on course.”
Elena realized her faux pas. “A thousand apologies, Commander,” she said. “It won’t happen again.”
He said nothing, and kept his eyes on the Rhyslinger view, which was now adorned with a silvery glint of a small vessel heading into it, followed by a blue glow. That glow cut off not long after, as the rockets shut off to conserve fuel – and work to slow its descent later.
Louis and Elena had both given up on ever saving the probe, but Anton did not. He kept his eyes on the planet and the glint, carefully tracking the part’s descent. “What are you doing, Konstantinov?” Louis asked. “That part’s probably gone forever. Even if Somerset can pick up the beacon and find the rocket, I doubt it’ll be intact, either from impact, or Indigenous activity, or – ”
“Commander, sir,” Anton interrupted, pointing at the glint. “It seems we are perfectly accurate after all. Look, there is the forest, there is the settlement, there is the landing site, and now – ” the glint started to gain a red aura, as reëntry ran its course – “Dr. Somerset will have the part in his hands in only a moment’s time.”
“Quoi?” Louis returned to the window. “But how can you be so sure? We’re too high up, surely you can see that!”
“But that is the point!” insisted Anton. “We are so high up, my initial. . . erm, reckoning, that is word – was off, but now, with help from Dr. Weiss, we launched at correct opportunity to get the part in the right place!”
Now Louis had to take a second look, just to see if he was indeed right. As he watched, and as Zodiac-Altair orbited Rhysling slowly for the umpteenth time, he saw the forest and nearby settlement start to make its way to the horizon – and there it was, the sample-return rocket, glowing a fiery red from atmospheric entry, well on its way to where TPRU-1 and RPMR-1 were, and not one kilometer to the north, south, east, or west. It was perfect. It was accidentally perfect.
Adam had been up and about for only a few minutes when the call came in from Zodiac-Altair – the replacement spectroscope was on its way to his location, and he only had maybe a few minutes before it would arrive. He knew he had to act quickly, to make sure the part would remain undamaged from outside forces, but knew as well that as a recent hire – and as an outsider, no less – he couldn’t disappoint his new employer. Decisions, decisions. . . .
Whichever would happen first, he couldn’t do either on an empty stomach. After scarfing down a packet of almost-boiling-hot-and-barely-reconstituted oatmeal, along with some fruit preserve to temper the heat, Adam suited up and started sterilizing. To him, in such a time, those two minutes could not pass by any slower.
In fact, at the :28 mark, he saw the silvery glint of the sample-return capsule – heavily charred from reëntry – descend on a red-and-white parachute near to him. He looked up and saw H’ryleeloofa flying past overhead, waving at him. She must’ve retrieved it for me! He waved back, glad that he wouldn’t have to walk more than a few yards away from RPMR-1 to get what he needed.
Right as it hit the ground roughly where he expected, the timer hit :00, and the lander’s suitport released him. He slid down the ladder, gripping the railings with just his hands, and ran over to where the capsule was. Respectfully, he started packing the parachute away, so the plants beneath wouldn’t die off, then started unscrewing the nose cone off the end – or at least, what was left of the nose cone, as that was where the parachute had been packed away. Inside was one perfectly-intact freshly-sterilized ready-to-install RPMR-spec spectroscope. A miracle, if ever there was one.
Next, he knelt down and started removing the old spectroscope, undoing each of the cables in sequence – or what was left of them. Thankfully, whatever the previous tenant was only did cosmetic damage to the sockets, so they could be reused with no issues. Adam didn’t know what to do with the old instrument, so he just left it on top of the probe, frayed wires and all, right next to the dented plate and useless screws.
Hooking up the new one was essentially the same process in reverse – the only issue was knowing which cable went where. Adam was able to use the colors and positions on the old one to guide him in this step, but then noticed how two wires seemed to be in the wrong place. At first Adam thought the spectroscope was upside-down, but then saw that all the other cables lined up just right. I guess these are supposed to cross each other.
Doing just that confirmed his suspicions – and once the power cable went in, as he saved that one for last, a few small lights on the spectroscope switched on. Guess that means it’s working now. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he radioed. “The new spectroscope has been installed and should be working as intended. Please confirm, over.” He started putting the plate back on, as best as he could, in order to block out the unwanted light.
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” Louis replied soon enough. “Dr. Weiss reports signals from the spectroscope – it’s coming back up, well done. And just out of curiosity, how far away from the landing site did you have to walk? Over.”
“Not far at all, Zulu-Alfa,” Adam answered. “One of the Indigenous intercepted it en route, and was able to land it right at my doorstep. It was perhaps the most convenient repair that I’ve ever done.” Not that I’ve done a lot of these kinds of repairs myself in my time. “I’ll have to leave for work now, but I will be in touch as I need it. Over.”
“Copy that, Somerset. Zulu-Alfa out.”
Adam got back up on his feet and started making his way to town. Helpfully, he had drawn directions from Antir in one of his pouches, so he was able to walk to where he was meant to go. And not shamble, either – walk. The suit’s joints had been broken in enough at last to allow free, fluid movement for most of his joints. And knowing what was on his agenda, he was all the more grateful for it.
·–·–
It was about half an hour after sunrise when Adam walked in the door to the temp agency. He dipped his head below the doorframe, and nearly ran into another pony – one dressed in a greasy pair of overalls and a neckerchief. My coworker, it seems.
[ᵑǃɑpɑˈtɑ] It bowed as it spoke.
Reflexively, without thinking, Adam replied with “Nǃapata.” Wait, was that appropriate? But he didn’t show his panic – nor his relief soon after, when the other equine simply smiled and let him pass before it, as it went out.
The place was already busy, with ponies filing in and out, many with written assignments for the day. He saw a bulletin board on the wall, with various sheets pinned to the cork surface, each one with an offer for work for that day. Or week, if they’ve been up there for longer. Adam wanted inventory jobs, but couldn’t tell at the moment which were which.
“Khon E-dem!” he heard from his left. Turning his helmeted head, he saw what was apparently the clerk who ran the place. He didn’t get its name, but it looked rather impatient. [seˈʃe ɑlˈʙu] It grabbed a long wooden pointer in its mouth, and used it to indicate a chalkboard, apparently with pictorial instructions for him. This was not in Antir’s neat telekinetic hand – this one was rougher, cruder, and got the point across with no semblance of elegance.
Apparently, he was called to an inventory job somewhere else in the town, where some flowers needed to be counted. Ah, so I’m heading back to the floral shop for the day, am I? he realized. I bet they’d be glad to see me – not to mention, he also realized, if their customers are prone to idle chitchat while waiting, I can also learn more there. Boy, is this going to be beautiful. The chalkboard also had a map of the town etched on a metal plate, upon which two magnets were placed. A yellow one was placed where Adam knew to be the agency’s building itself – easy enough – and a red one was placed where he had to go. And below the work instructions, he noted three hindquarter-marks, each with a different flower on them – which only further confirmed who he had to see when he got there. Come to think of it, he further realized, that red magnet’s location looks awfully familiar too. Isn’t that right on my usual route to town? And now they needed a spare hand for the day. Did they want me specifically, or are we randomly assigned?
[ᵑʘeˈsɤ ɑkˈʙ̥u] the equine suddenly barked at Adam, pointing at the door. Not wanting to waste any more time – if not for its patience, then for his scrubber – he silently bade his boss farewell and started out the door and down the road to his first job of the day.
·–
The roads were mostly empty at this time of day – he encountered only a single equine, small, as though it were a juvenile, scampering away at the sight of the white being from the sky. When he arrived at the floral shop, one of them was serving a customer – that mint-green unicorn he had seen the other day – but the other two noticed him. Silently, the one with lilies on her hindquarters waved him into the back of the shop.
Adam had to duck under this doorway so far that a second thought found it more practical to crawl outright. But once he was inside, he stood up and looked around the stockroom. Hmm. . . seems rather dim. Then again, he realized, these equines sure have large eyes for a reason. But mid-musing, he was handed – or hoofed, rather – a small clipboard with what looked like a grease pencil attached on a string. He needed no further instructions – not when the paper made it obvious which they wanted counted, with its illustrations of each flower juxtaposed to an inverted triangle – the Indigenous equals sign, if memory served him correctly.
She left the stockroom, leaving him alone to deal with the inventory. Remember Adam, gotta count with dice pips – gotta count with senary. He breathed, recalling what their digits were, including their zero, ultimately trying to get his bearings straight. Alright, what’s first? He recalled the writing direction their script took, and decided the most logical way to proceed was left-to-right, then up-to-down. The top-right corner had a rather-well-drawn picture of a rose. Roses, far from home. Imagine that! Dr. Weiss would certainly have a field day with this shop alone.
But wait a moment. This sheet appeared to be written in columns – three of them, to be exact. Would that mean going up-to-down in each column instead, or sticking to left-to-right?
Bah, why does it matter? If I do all of them, it wouldn’t look any bit different. Adam swallowed his curiosity and grabbed the grease pencil. First on the list looked like roses. Hold on, aren’t there two of them? Adam searched for different clues to differentiate them. Colors? None that he could tell. If it was marked in writing and not by the color itself, it was sadly lost to him. But then he noticed the stem – the first one had thorns, the other did not. Strange that they wouldn’t clip the thorns from all of them. Maybe it’s cultural-specific? Or maybe these are edible varieties. . . .
Regardless, he looked around for the roses. Right on the left, he found them, white-petaled and soaking in several metal buckets full of water. They probably intended for me to count each blossom individually. Let’s do that. Going from left-to-right, purely out of habit, he counted in the first bucket twenty-four roses, none of which had a single thorn on them. He counted the next bucketful, and found it too had twenty-four roses.
Adam then had an idea: what if I simply multiplied the buckets by twenty-four? He just as quickly discarded the idea when he realized it was entirely possible that one or two buckets might contain fewer or more than twenty-four, meaning he’d either record roses that didn’t exist or make them disappear on paper. Not to mention I’d look dishonest if I took shortcuts like that, he thought. Better do things the hard way.
Only five buckets held roses, to his relief – so he counted them up as quickly and carefully as possible. He had already counted up two of them, so it was onto the third. . . . twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four as well. Next one. . . six. . . twelve. . . eighteen. . . twenty-four. But the last bucket had far fewer roses than the others – a quick count showed ten, to be exact. Twenty-four times four is ninety-six, plus ten is one hundred and six. Got it.
Then came the hardest part of the job, and one he absolutely could not skip – converting the total from decimal to senary. His mind went back to the library earlier, and from there converting the decimal population of Earth to senary. Lessee. . . . He divided one hundred and six by six, and got seventeen with a remainder of four. Seventeen divided by six became two, with a remainder of five. And two could not be divided into six, which left the answer as senary two hundred fifty-four. Beside the inverted triangle next to the dethorned rose, he placed two pips, then five, then four, in the arrangement Antir had prescribed to him the other day.
Then Adam noticed four more buckets grouped with the roses, empty save for small traces of water. They must be popular in this town. Romantics, these lot? No, don’t be ridiculous – this must be an edible cultivar. In any case, this was one down, and. . . seventeen to go. This is gonna be a long day here in the shop.
He shrugged and started on the next one – tulips. The Dutch would be proud. These were stored in smaller buckets, and a cursory count of one of them showed thirty-six – one hundred in senary. And there were twelve buckets of tulips – senary twenty. As tempting as it was to simply convert, he knew he had to do it the right way. But he did find a safe enough shortcut – group up tulips in ‘bunches’ of six, then count those. One-two-three-four-five-six. . . twelve. . . eighteen. . . twenty-four. . . thirty. . . thirty-six. His mind lost track of time as he focused on counting tulips in this manner, one bucket after the other, one bucket after the other, one bucket after the other. . . .
Two minutes later, he found, somehow, all twelve buckets had thirty-six tulips. Four hundred thirty-two was easy to convert to senary – two thousand. Guess they’re not as popular here. So what’s next?
As he worked, he started to get better and better at counting in senary instead of decimal. By the time he reached the thorned roses – for which his suit’s titanium gloves provided protection – he had already abandoned base conversion, instead counting in senary as naturally as he would have with decimal. And as he noticed, those wares were the final item in the final column – meaning when he marked senary one hundred thirty-three, his job was complete.
Time to show ’em. As fate would have it, right at that moment one of the three florists came into the stockroom, apparently to check on him. And not a moment too soon! With a moderate glimmer of pride on his face, he presented the clipboard to it. Read it and weep.
It took a moment to look it over completely, making sure not a pip was out of place. It raised an eyebrow at one section, but a shrug told him it chalked up whatever he had written down to just a quirk of his kind. Adam distinctly remembered not placing any Arabic numerals or tallies on the sheet – lest he run the risk of confusing his employers. Eventually it looked back up to him – with a smile, satisfied by his work.
It stepped out of the stockroom, beckoning him to follow with a swipe of a hoof. Remembering what he had to do to enter in the first place, he got onto his hands and knees and crawled out of the room. When he stood up, another florist – the one with the peach fur and deep red mane and tail – had a small cloth sack at the ready. It reached in and pulled out a gold coin. I did my job, he realized, and now I get paid.
He took the coin and deposited it into an empty pouch, then started out the door. As he turned down the road back to the temp agency, he caught sight of them waving at him – must be a gesture for ‘goodbye,’ he hypothesized. He waved back at them, without breaking his stride. He smiled to himself – I did something productive in their society, he thought. Granted, it was just counting up their flower inventory – something they probably could’ve done themselves – but it’s still something I did. Yeah, Adam – you’re going places. You’re making your home here in this town.
··
When Adam got back to the temp agency, the clerk greeted him with a curt wave. Yeah yeah, good to see you too, boss. So what’s next in the adventures of Adam Somerset? The clerk answered that for him, wordlessly – it pointed again at the chalkboard, with the previous job erased and a new one drawn up for him. Apparently, according to the chalkboard, he had another inventory job, but now it was at a new place: horseshoes at the farrier – the same farrier he had seen the previous day. He even recognized the hindquarter-mark. And if my memory serves me correctly. . . yep. There it was, in a part of town he distinctly remembered going to.
Wordlessly, the clerk sent him on his way, with Adam tracing out the way to the farrier’s place in his head. The more I do this, he mused as he walked along, the better I’ll get in navigating, and the less I’d have to rely on hand-drawn maps, which could get busy and cumbersome.
It was about a ten-minute walk, just as uneventful as last time, between the agency and the forge. Adam could hear the telltale signs of activity – hammer meeting metal, crackling flames of a hot furnace – and he stooped down to enter the building, knocking on the side of the doorframe out of respect.
It took a moment for the farrier to look up from the shoe it was working on. “Nǃapata,” it seemed to greet him. [ʙẽz ilɑlˈɹu] It gestured another equine sitting across the way to him.
This one had the most bizarre appearance of all he had seen before: off-white fur with a line crossing a grid for a hindquarter-mark, with a blue mane and tail that gave him the impression that this one belonged in a seedy urban nightclub in Tacoma or Santa Barbara.
Not that he’d been to one in either city.
What’s your game? he wanted to ask – but he didn’t, as neither of them would understand English, nor did he know enough Ukhǃerr to get his point across. He simply stood back upright inside, watching as the farrier started applying adhesive to the now-perfectly-fitted shoe, before bringing it over to the client and sticking it right onto the hind-right hoof.
It stood up, rolling its hoof around on the ground, before finding the fit satisfactory and bidding the farrier farewell with a silent bow. Adam stepped aside as the client left the place – looking around, he couldn’t find any other equines waiting to get their shoes fitted. It was just him and the farrier now. In another moment, another clipboard found its way into his hands, and wordlessly the farrier pointed to the shoes on the wall.
Crissake, that’s a lot of shoes.
All of them were hung on pegs partially driven into the wall, no higher than his waist. No more than eight shoes were on any given peg, going off of a few random counts – a clear exception to the senary-centric society. So one of these pegs could shoe two equines, he imagined. Or one really heavy one, now that I think about it – but that red one is an obvious exception, not the rule.
He looked down on the sheet, trying to see what categories of shoes he should find. Measurements would be helpful, but he didn’t know what units he would use to measure them out. He looked down the list and saw that Indigenous shoes came in six standard sizes, and were further sorted into two columns. Senary strikes again. In his head, he categorized them for the time being as XXS, XS, S, M, L, and XL. If an XXL size existed, this farrier didn’t carry it, but they were likely forged custom anyway.
Can these equines grow that big anyway? Well, he recalled, they’re probably meant for equines like that white one at the fortress. Might make sense. Maybe.
The columns, however, confused him. Up to down they were sorted by increasing size, which was easy to keep track of, but what quality separated the columns themselves? Adam decided to ask the farrier.
Turning around, he found it tidying up the workspace. He gently tapped it on the shoulder when he was sure it wasn’t handling anything delicately. Good thing, too – it jumped slightly at the sudden pressure. Now that he had its attention, Adam showed it the still-unused sheet on the clipboard, tapping one column, then the next. He made sure to raise an eyebrow as he did so, but he wasn’t sure if the farrier could see the admittedly-subtle facial movement.
It furrowed its brow in apparent frustration and went over to the wall of shoes. At the far left, it grabbed one shoe, and somewhere in the middle, it grabbed another. It presented both shoes to Adam.
He tucked the clipboard under his arm as best as he could, then took the shoes from its hoofgrip. He held them up to his view through the suit’s visor, trying to find anything that could make them stand out from each other. Finally he held them flat, and found it: the shoe taken from the far left was thinner than the shoe taken from the middle – by two-thirds the thickness of the latter, by his reckoning.
He gave them back to the farrier, who then hung them back up. Adam took another look at the sheet, to see if the thickness was drawn out at all. Oh. . . that should’ve been obvious. The thicker shoes had a bolder outline. Then, looking back up from the sheet, he noticed that the shoes’ sizes restarted almost exactly halfway on the wall of pegs – perfect for finding where he should jump to the next column.
So now that that’s out of the way, he surmised, let’s begin. He walked to the thin-XXS shoes, and started counting them up. He could easily count the number of shoes on each peg by eye, without shifting them around with his finger – the farrier had spaced them out far enough that it could easily grab one with its jaws, and he didn’t want to mess that up. Adam wasn’t sure if that was even sanitary in the first place – but then, there’s a forge nearby, isn’t there? It’s basically an autoclave on steroids.
Adam soon noticed that in each group, the pegs were arranged together six across by six high. With up to eight shoes hanging from each, there was a theoretical maximum of two hundred eighty-eight shoes per group – senary twelve hundred. Actually counting them went by faster than he expected – he could quickly tell that the farrier had a tendency to take shoes from the third-from-the-top row of pegs first, then the top two going upwards, then the bottom three going downwards. I guess anything to avoid putting your mouth on the ground. Adam shuffled his suit’s boot – yep, it’s a dirt floor. It did make counting shoes go by a little faster – he simply skipped empty pegs, and the ones with one or two left were quickly counted in the blink of an eye. He eventually came up with two hundred twenty here – senary one thousand four. One pip, two pairs of vertical lines, and four pips later, he had recorded the total for the farrier.
And now to rinse and repeat. Adam went through the process, slowly yet carefully, counting however many shoes were on each peg, totaling, converting, down and down the line, until he reached the column, where he recorded one thousand, one hundred two thin-XL shoes. Definitely not a popular size, he thought. That, or they just restocked.
Which meant he had to start counting the thick shoes. Here, he noticed he had made a false assumption – there weren’t eight shoes per peg here, but merely six. I guess thicker ones mean less room on the peg, he surmised. Whatever, just means a slight adjustment.I can work with this. . . .
The same pattern of peg usage came into play, first the third-from-the-top, then the top two, then the bottom three. Adam quickly got back into the flow of things, marking down senary pips as he counted and calculated them. Between the previous practice and the fewer number of shoes overall, the thick column went by faster than the one before – and before he knew it, he had marked down senary four hundred twenty shoes for the thick-XL size.
·–·–··
“Dr. Weiss?”
Elena slowly set down the gym weights, making sure nothing vital got dented under their mass and force. “Yes?”
“You have results from RPMR-1.” Dr. Konstantinov pointed out the Virgo module. “They concern background radiation. I suspect the new part is working correctly.”
“I’ll see about that, thank you.” Elena took a deep breath, then leapt up and grabbed the ladder to reënter microgravity. Behind her, Dr. Konstantinov took her place in the gym.
The transition from centrifugal gravity to free-floating weightlessness is disorienting for the first few times, especially for the human heart, which is used to pumping blood against gravity. But after a dozen or so passages from one to the other, one’s organs would start to get the message, and start making the transitions for themselves much smoother. Even though Elena had been pulled from cryo last of all the four, she had still long since gotten used to moving through the two environments.
The slight weakness on her heart, for instance, had dissipated by the time she reached the bridge, where her terminal was. . . not blinking, since Dr. Konstantinov had apparently seen the results before her. But then, how else would he know what they were about? “Lueged mer mal. . . .”
Background radiation was about point five millisieverts, barely a hair over the Terrestrial average. Nothing to write home about. Going back to atmospheric levels gathered during the initial descent, she spotted that they did not seem to vary from altitude to altitude, however – and that caught her attention. “Würkli?” she asked herself. “So stabil?”
“Is something the matter?” Commander Darcy turned around.
“Nothing, Commander.” She sighed. “It’s just. . . background radiation is so perfectly consistent on Rhysling, regardless of altitude.”
“What about soil?” he asked. “Vegetation? Surely there has to be some variation.”
“Well. . . .” Admittedly, she didn’t see anything on that subject, but then she hadn’t ordered a second round of soil testing. “Only one way to find out.” She started queuing up the commands on her terminal, placing an emphasis on radiation and radioactive materials readings. “If I did not know better,” she said, “I would say the the probe itself is positioned over a deposit of pitchblende.”
The commander raised his eyebrow. “Any results for radium?”
“Negative, but. . . .” She ran her hands through her hair, letting out a quiet whine. “I have no other way to explain it.”
He pushed himself off the ceiling and to her side. “I realize this might be frustrating,” he said, his voice much lower, “that everything you find is fruitless or doesn’t align with conventional science – but if you ask me, that’s the beauty of it! It means, potentially, you could discover something that would revolutionize science, both here and back on Earth.”
“Or. . . .” She let her hands back down, and looked up at him. “Or it could be that something else on the probe is broken.”
“Not possible.” He snapped his thumb back at his terminal. “We ran the diagnostic – the spectroscope was broken, but it wasn’t anything we couldn’t solve with a bit of good old-fashioned human ingenuity.” He pushed himself off the floor and went back to his terminal. “So, will you take a second look at the sample? It shouldn’t take as long, since the old sample is still aboard – and I don’t think our dear Somerset has done anything to disturb it.”
This gave Elena some pause. “Well, now that you mention it. . . .” She hadn’t transmitted the command yet, so she started making some modifications – just to remove the order to take a second, now unnecessary, sample from the ground. “Let’s begin.”
She hit the return key, and away it went.
·–––·
Adam was back on the road again, for the sixth time today.
No sooner had he walked into the agency that he had a third job to do – inventorying wares at the farm south of town. But wouldn’t they do it themselves? he remembered wondering at the time. Maybe their usual guy’s sick or something. Regardless, they had put out a bulletin for help, and he was assigned to the task.
He had already done two jobs today – one gold coin per job, since the florists and the farrier apparently paid the same wage. Adam was frankly surprised to see they all paid him right after he finished – wouldn’t he get it weekly? He didn’t know if this was the usual fare for temp workers in this realm, or if he was being stiffed as an outsider, though the latter possibility wouldn’t surprise him – isolated communities can be incredibly racist.
Oh please Adam, just be grateful you’re getting paid at all. And that they’re giving you a fair shot in the first place.
As he had thought back at the agency, the walk to the orchard was long and winding – but Adam had started memorizing the features of the town on the way. There were various signs that named the businesses here, meant for residents – but even though he was an outsider, even with his poor command of the language, he could quickly recognize what these places were. That’s a stationery store over there, he thought. And he could also recognize landmarks – statues, particular houses, there was even a fountain on his way. Soon he was crossing another bridge to leave – is this settlement built on an island? – and headed on a well-beaten dirt road to the orchard.
Nyeledirve indeed was waiting for him when he got there – [ˈɑj xõ eˈdem] she called out to him. [seˈxe ᵑʘeˈsɤ ezeɡɯbɯˈʙɯ] She waved a front hoof over to him, beckoning him to follow, or at least come. As Adam started to her, she started walking away – follow it is, then.
As he set foot on the property, he heard what sounded like barking coming from his right. When he turned to look, he saw an obvious canine analogue, fur mottled brown and white, eyes and snout bearing straight ahead at him, tail wagging stiffly over its back, and by all accounts ready to pounce upon him to defend its territory.
[xõ ɣinoˈnɑ] she shouted at it. [ˈɤz]
The creature started to calm down, easing up on the tail-wagging, but did not dare take its eyes off of what it clearly perceived to be an intruder.
Thanks, Nyeledirve. Adam recalled a time in his childhood in Tacoma when some new neighbors moved in next door. They had also brought an aggressive dog with them, and though they kept it contained well in their yard, he still felt uneasy seeing it run straight to the fence and start chomping on the chain links. They were still there when he moved to Santa Barbara, though the dog eventually died a few months into his college stint. Oh well.
There was a great big red barn at the orchard – and that was where Nyeledirve led Adam. This was the first doorway he had found so far where he didn’t have to duck beneath the frame, and what a relief it was for him. Once he was inside, he took a look around the interior space. Along one wall was one great big group of crates, each one labeled with an apple-like fruit icon on the side – the logo for this orchard, he guessed. Some way to identify where these goods came from. On the other side, raw apples, hay bales, and other supplies he couldn’t identify at once. But right in front of him was a large cart, with the large red equine hitched to it. I guess they’re taking some of their wares to town, he concluded. All of those by the wall over there, or just what’s been ordered?
Another sheet of paper found its way into his hands, but this time it lacked a hard backing surface to write against. Really? Nyeledirve at least gave him a pencil to write with. Guess I’ll have to improvise a surface somehow.
First on the list was jars of what looked like fruit preserve. He didn’t see any of those jars in the lot, so he assumed they would be inside. Cautiously, he lifted open one crate, and found the silvery lids peering up at him – twelve, to be exact, senary twenty. He lifted one out, to make sure there weren’t any jars stacked on top of one another. Oh, there are! Another layer of twelve below the first brought the total to twenty-four. He lifted that jar up, but found only wooden shavings beneath to cushion them. So twenty-four to a crate, he surmised. Senary forty.
He packed the jars away and took a step back, to get a bigger picture of the wares. One, two, three, four, five – he managed to count to seven before Nyeledirve stopped him. Huh? She then pointed to the writing on the side of the crate, making sure he could see it. He knew them to be good writing samples, but actually sorting them by the label alone? As it is, that’s a tall order.
In the blink of an eye, desperation bred a solution for the linguist. Adam didn’t need to read the labels – not per se. He just had to match the squiggles to the contents, even if that meant popping open several more crates as he worked. He saw how Nyeledirve and the others reäcted – or didn’t, rather – to how he opened the first one. Surely they won’t mind if I do that some more.
Once he got enough of the writing-pattern encoded in his eyes, arguably to the point where he could see it in his sleep – it helped that he snapped a few photographs as he worked for later investigation – he started matching it to the crates of jars of preserve. It helped that each one weighed about the same as the others, which further hinted to any that might be short a few jars. One crate, two crates, three, four, five. . . eight total.
The last one had a noticeably louder clinking noise of glass jars colliding with one another. Even Nyeledirve was confused, glancing up to meet his gaze, so Adam thought it warranted prying it open to see what was going on. Well, well, well. . . this crate’s short one jar.
Nyeledirve turned towards the door and shouted [xõ ɲeleɟɯˈɡeːːː]
With a great amount of reluctance, a juvenile started creeping around the corner of the doorway and into the barn. He noted this one had yellow fur, with a red mane and tail that reminded him of leaves of lettuce, and a large pink bow in its mane. Apparently too, this one held back a jar, for purposes he couldn’t discern. But before it could return the jar to the crate, naturally it spotted Adam and hesitated, seemingly unsure what this bipedal monster would do to it.
Nyeledirve firmly pointed a hoof at the now-opened crate. Even with her fear and guilt trying to override her intent, the juvenile brought the jar over to him. Adam knelt down and picked it up, setting it down in the empty space where it should have been. He closed the crate up, looking back up just in time to watch the yellow one scamper out of the barn.
Right then, now that that’s out of the way. . . . The total, twenty-four jars per crate times eight crates, was one hundred ninety-two jars. A moment of base conversion later, Adam put down five pips, then two, then two vertical lines.
That was just one item. Next, there were the number of fruits themselves. These were sorted into different colors – red, green, and. . . white? He checked the burlap sacks, and saw that each one bore a similar identifying scheme: red, green, and a certain shade of grey. It must be one of those colors I can’t see, but they can. Delightful.
But it got worse. When he opened up the first red-fruit sack and counted the contents, he found that the total, just for this one, was fifty-three, senary one hundred twenty-five – a prime number. What logic is this? he pondered. Or maybe there’s none at all – they just sort them out by color, and don’t care at all how many go into a sack, so long as it can still seal up.
All he could do was count them up individually, one sack at a time. For the time being, against his usual practice, he wrote down 53 beside the red apples on the sheet, then started counting up the second sack of red fruits. Just as he thought, he eventually came up with forty-seven fruits – another prime number. Damn! He jotted down 47, and counted up the third one, slowly yet surely.
Ten minutes later, he totaled up two hundred and fifteen apples – one short of senary one thousand. Five pips, five more, then another five – and Adam was grateful that this pencil had an eraser attached to the other end, which let him hide the evidence that he cheated in his work.
Nyeledirve audibly sighed. Am I taking too long? Well, excuse me if you don’t keep track of the number of apples per bag! But he had no room to complain – not when they’d been so gracious in letting him search through them to get the numbers right. Now that I think about it, this specifically may have been what they called me in for.
But that was just one of the three colors; Adam still had the other two to count up. Here we go again, he thought as he opened up the first sack of the green fruits. Fifteen minutes later, he counted up two hundred and three of these – senary five hundred thirty-five.
As he worked on counting the undefined-colored ones, he heard Nyeledirve load up the sacks onto the cart. He couldn’t look up, of course – not when he ran the risk of losing count and having to start over. Thankfully there weren’t very many of this color – one hundred fifty-three, senary four hundred thirteen.
Adam sealed the last sack back up, and handed it to Nyeledirve. Right as she loaded it onto the cart, he also handed her the now-finished inventory sheet. She said [eˈdem ᵑǁuɹuᵑǂˈɹu], folded it up, and slipped it inside one of the crates of preserve. The red equine took it as the cue to leave, haul in tow.
As he watched it leave, he felt a nudging on his left hip. Turning, he saw Nyeledirve had another gold coin for him. Ah right, thanks. He popped open the same pouch and slipped that inside with the other two. One per job. . . not a bad start. But still, he didn’t know exactly how much they were worth. More than nothing, that much I can assume. With the matter settled, he too started to set down the road, back to the agency.
He turned to wave goodbye to her – and she waved back, with great enthusiasm. As he was walking, he couldn’t help but notice that the sun was just starting to descend over the horizon. Guess that’s the end of my working day, he thought. Good time as any to get out of my suit, change the scrubber, get some dinner, and so forth. But I’d better go check with my boss first thing.
·––·–
“Well well, that is very interesting. . . .”
Elena was pouring over the latest soil analysis reports from RPMR-1. Curiously, going against her earlier expectations, there wasn’t any pitchblende, radium, uranium, or any other radioactive substance in the soil.
“Is that so?” Commander Darcy looked over her shoulder. “What did you find?”
“I tested the same sample, like you suggested,” she replied. “Nothing stands out to me – no radium, no uranium, nothing of the sort. Is the part put in correctly?”
“I’ll have Somerset check, hold on,” he said. “In the meantime, dump that sample and grab a new one. I don’t remember much from secondary school chemistry, but I think shorter half-lives means the sample won’t be as good.” He floated himself back to his radio, grabbing it as he arrived. “Somerset, this is Zulu-Alfa. Dr. Weiss reports a lack of radioactive material in the soil, and suspects the new spectroscope may be at fault. Don’t consider this an emergency, as we’ll run another sample first – but just be on the lookout for more work. Zulu-Alfa out.”
Meanwhile, Elena started transmitting orders to the probe to dump the old sample and obtain a fresh one, just in case the commander was indeed correct. Somerset could wait – and wait a while, to boot.
·–·––
Adam was a few score meters away from docking when he received the call from Commander Darcy. Well, if he says it’s not an emergency. . . I won’t be bothered to check it out yet. He climbed up the ladder to the scaffolding, though he did note he weighed just a bit heavier this time – from all the pay he was carrying in his pouch.
As he had noticed while working, all of these coins were minted in gold – although he could have sworn he’d seen silver as well, though he had never actually received any of those – but from no other material he’d seen. At least, he thought at first, that’s just the cladding, with a cheaper material inside – but then he watched another temp worker bend a gold coin in its teeth, and he realized these were pure, solid gold and silver. He couldn’t help but wonder just how much these would be worth back on Earth. If he had to guess, however, here each of those silver coins were worth some fraction of six compared to a gold coin. One-sixth made the most sense, but that would mean having to carry more silver coins than gold. Do they not mind it as much? he pondered. Or is fractional pricing not as common?
For now though, he decided to take another look. He pulled one out of his pouch and set it in the sterile locker. He left the others inside the pouch – even though theft was possible, he hadn’t noticed very much traffic around here. He closed the locker behind it, hit the switch, and off it went, making sure the coin was safe to handle when he got back inside. Speaking of – he then turned around and plugged himself into the suitport, and hit the switch to sterilize that way as well. Two minutes, the monitor read out. . . and eighteen percent scrubber capacity remaining. I’d say that’s a close call – or a hard day’s work. Either way. . . . He crossed his arms in boredom and waited – and hoped that there wouldn’t be any more trouble that day. He had enough as it were.
Especially considering that the workday didn’t end until the sun was well on its way down the horizon, the sky lit up like a great red-and-orange bonfire to burn away the troubles of the day. He sighed – he couldn’t wait until he was out of this infernal suit to stretch out his back and his limbs. Being inside a hot, metal suit for. . . what was it, eight hours? – was not doing him any favors.
Another icon showed up on the readout – a water drop with a slash through it, indicating that his suit was starting to run low on water. Again. Thankfully Adam had plenty to spare, and refilling was easy – just hook it up to the water reclaimer nearby, and it would do the work.
He uncrossed his arms just in time for the timer to hit :00 – and for the back hatch to swing open, and for him to feel the cool rush of air from inside TPRU-1. He shimmied his arms out of the Strauss’s arms, grabbed the bar, and pulled the rest of himself out of his suit. Hungry, thirsty, drenched in sweat, and possibly needing other things – these he would have to take care of before examining anything new he’d found on Rhysling.
And yet. . . something compelled him to check the sterile locker first. Perhaps it was his unsatisfied curiosity, his itch he had to scratch right that instant, and not after taking care of everything else, or something else entirely. . . . He hinged the sterile locker open, and gingerly removed the coin. In his naked fingertips, it felt like it had a very smooth polish, with sharply-indented engravings on the obverse and reverse. Not to mention, it was indeed rather heavy – he could feel its weight as he brought it over to the desk, where he laid it out obverse-side up. At least, I think that’s the obverse.
His mind went back to the other gold coins – which let him recall that each of them appeared to be the same worth, even with different designs on the obverse – and each of them had the same reverse design. The gold coins were worth one unit of something, and the silver coins were worth one unit of something else – all things he figured out before stepping back inside the lander. He then slid the coin into the far edge of the desk, saving it for later. He contemplated re-sterilizing it to take back outside, but he wasn’t sure if he was going to need to spend it in the foreseeable future. Not to mention I have other coins outside that I could spend if I need to, he thought. What’s one less out of circulation?
Next, getting back up on his feet, he started fishing for some food to rehydrate in the meantime. Goulash again? Eh, can’t go wrong – those guys sure can make them spicy. By now he had the instructions memorized, so he grabbed the red hydration gun and went to business. The block of meat stew started absorbing it – meanwhile, Adam started stripping off his spacesuit garments, then retrieved the no-rinse soaps from under his bunk. He had no idea how much he would need, but he hoped it wouldn’t run out before he would be able to complete his mission.
He had an epiphany. Looking up, he saw the sun setting over the horizon through the window. Crissake, I left the window shutter open. He got up and started walking over to shut it, right when Antir teleported right in front of it.
Shit! Reflexively, his hands swiftly moved in front of his unmentionables, dropping the soap but still concealing himself from her view. He quickly yet carefully trotted over to the window, positioning himself so that he was still somewhat out of view – right when she put her hoof up against the glass. He paused – then hastily copied her movement, before twisting the knob to shut the shutter, thus restoring his privacy and modesty. I hope she didn’t see too much. . . .
Oh who are you kidding Adam, she’d have to see your anatomy at some point. It’s either through the glass. . . . The next thought sent a shiver down his spine, which made his hands shake in his shampooed hair. . . . or under the knife. Crissake, I don’t want to die!
Relax Adam, don’t get yourself all worked up. Just wash up, get some food in you, and look over your notes. You should have learned a few new words over the course of the day. . . .
After downing some rehydrated oatmeal, Adam looked over the probe’s manual once again. From what he could tell, he had installed the new spectroscope correctly yesterday, but it was still too early in the morning to make that call properly. If Dr. Weiss was complaining of some odd readings, both from atmosphere and from soil, it warranted investigation.
Adam hadn’t embarked the Strauss just yet – hell, he hadn’t even gotten a status update on the new sample. Time to pop the question, he thought. He grabbed the radio and opened, “Zulu-Alfa, this is Tango-1. Did you receive new soil analysis results from the probe? Over.”
He didn’t have to wait long for a reply. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” Commander Darcy’s voice came through. “Weiss told me that results were identical with what she had found before, so if there really is a problem, it could be your installation work.”
Rub it in, why don’t you?
“But if you can rule that out, if you can rule out a second faulty apparatus. . . you might be able to help rewrite science, and not even in your field either. Radio back once you’ve done this. Zulu-Alfa out.”
Not even going to give me a chance to respond? Adam wondered. I think I’m running out of his patience. Better not waste any more of his time. . . nor the agency’s, now that I think about it. He remembered how coldly the clerk treated him for his apparent tardiness – but right now, the Rhyslinger sun had not yet risen, so he had time to get his repairs looked into.
Okay, he thought, breakfast down, scrubber changed, water refilled, garments donned. . . time to go.
He quickly recalled the spectroscope’s functions, gearing himself up for whatever malfunctions could be present from his own handiwork, then went to the suitport to get outside the lander for God knows which time now. But then he noticed the locker’s light was lit red – meaning it had something ready for him. Strange, I don’t remember using this recently. When he opened the locker, he found something inside – something he had never seen before, never mind placed here.
He pulled it out – it was a piece of paper, folded, not rolled, nor sealed. Unfolding it, he saw it was a diagram of two coins – did Antir make this? Though there wasn’t any color to them, he was able to pick out their obverses with ease – and their relative sizes helped, as the gold coins were apparently larger than the silver. Below that, he noted that six of these small coins equaled one large coin – confirming what he had suspected earlier. But thankfully they hadn’t developed further fractions in their currency. Six silver is one gold. Easy to remember. I can do halves, thirds, and sixths, but not quarters.
And right at the bottom of the paper was a rough sketch of a pocket watch, which equaled one hundred thirty of the gold coins. One hundred thirty, convert. . . fifty-four. He wrote it down. So that’s my goal. And I earned three yesterday. . . oh boy.
He left the note on his desk for later. Okay, now let’s get started for real. He hoisted himself into his suit, stuck his arms into those of the suit, and hit the sterile button.
·–·–·
Okay, let’s see about that thingamajig. . . . Screwing the plate cover off was a pain, especially when he tried to get it back on afterward – but once it was off, accessing the instrument was a cinch. Carefully, he traced each cable with his gloved finger, meticulously checking, then double- and triple-checking that each color matched each connector, making sure each lead was correct, that every coil of wire was exactly where they should be.
They all matched perfectly. With a sigh, he started getting the covering plate back on, as it was necessary for its operation. The apparatus was self-contained, only requiring external power and input/output for data, but even it was vulnerable to light contamination.
“Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he radioed. “The spectroscope has been installed correctly and should be working properly. You can proceed with sample testing again. Please confirm, over.”
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” a female voice responded – Weiss, on station I see. “I am about to submit a sample and analysis order to the probe. Please stand back to avoid injury. Out!”
Her advice was well-founded, he learned – right as he thought he’d given the probe a wide enough berth, he stumbled backwards once again as a heavy tubular arm shot out and pierced the ground behind the probe. Then, much slower, the arm retracted, taking a clump of soil and unlucky biomass with it. The operation had begun, and Adam’s work on RPMR-1 was hopefully done for good.
He got back on his feet, brushed the dirt off his suit – unnecessary, but he wanted to make a good impression – and started down the road into town. Good luck, Dr. Weiss. I hope you find what you’re looking for.
He’d been in the town so often now that it seemed the denizens had now grown used to his presence. That, or word got around that his purpose was to count things – which, while that wasn’t one-hundred-percent true, did at least help acquaint himself with the various walks of Rhyslinger life. From what he could tell from about a week ago, their tongue had at least a few dialects – he couldn’t tell for sure, but he suspected that these were divided along the same lines as their tribes. Could their physiology produce dialectal differences? Adam could only wonder. Would it be due to them having different mouth or tongue shapes? Can normals and pegasi not produce voiceless nasals? Or do unicorns not fare much better, and stubbornly cling onto them out of pride?
He kept pondering these questions as he passed by the floral shop – which was on his normal route into town. He thought to slow down and wave, but he didn’t see any of them outside, so he decided to keep his pace. Not to mention how impatient his boss would be getting right about now – even though the sun was still barely coming up.
It was so early, in fact, he saw the postal equines just beginning their day’s work – he knew they were postal, since he suddenly collided with one on his way. He tried to help it up – a gray hoof grabbed his hand, and the equine hoisted itself onto its other three.
Its face had the most exaggerated wall-eyed expression he had ever seen. Was that from the collision? Adam started panicking – I’ve really bungled this one up, haven’t I? But then it smiled sheepishly, grabbed up its mail bag, and resumed its duties. Perhaps it’s more of a genetic condition than anything else, he surmised. And it seems this isn’t the first time it’s run into someone that hard – just the first time with me specifically.
He shrugged and kept on walking, hoping he wouldn’t literally run into any more trouble on the way.
··––
Louis poured over the latest batch of surface photographs. He sighed, with his head in his hands. Several thoughts swam through his mind, but two in particular took the spotlight. One: apparently the Indigenous had built settlements in the sky itself, using clouds as their primary material. Two: despite their best efforts to locate one such settlement, even with reliable intelligence from Dr. Somerset on the ground, they had yet to find one.
Not that it would affect the colony, no – they weren’t designed to be built in the sky, nor could they conceivably reverse-engineer the relevant technology in time for their arrival. Though their grandchildren might. . . .
But no, now they had to adjust the spacecraft’s cameras one more time, to test out yet another hypothesis as to its location and altitude. Or rather, he had; Dr. Konstantinov wasn’t trained in that area, nor was Dr. Weiss. But it was at least a simple matter of adjusting the cameras’ focus.
From what he remembered from looking at the Rhyslinger sky, they too had white clouds, just like back on Earth. Finding a floating city should be as simple, though he wasn’t sure if he could recognize the architecture, given that it would likely be less horizontal and more vertical. It was likely that they migrated as well, even if Somerset never mentioned such a phenomenon.
His eyesight was good – good enough that he could see the individual elements in the monitor. But by that same token, it meant he couldn’t see the ‘bigger picture’ – and that could have proven detrimental, were it not for Dr. Konstantinov interrupting him with a “Commander Darcy, sir.”
“Hoo!” He looked away from the monitor. “Oh. Did you need something, Anton?”
“I only wanted to tell you that I will leave the ship,” he replied. “Regular maintenance.”
“Yes, yes of course, you’re cleared.” He returned to his visual search. “Wait a second, come back here. I’ll need a second pair of eyes for this.”
“Ah?” Dr. Konstantinov pushed off the wall and joined his superior’s side. “What are you trying to find, sir?”
“Dr. Somerset told me the other day that the Indigenous have apparently been building in the sky,” he replied. “With clouds too, to boot!” He pointed at one photograph. “This is the settlement where Somerset’s been interacting with the Indigenous. He said he spotted one such cloud structure floating overhead the day he told us, which can help us narrow it down.” He sighed. “But not by much.” He turned to face the cryogenicist. “That’s where you come in. You were able to find the Indigenous civilization before – think you can find a flying city?”
“I can try. . . .”
“Be my guest.” Louis moved aside, giving Dr. Konstantinov room to do the favor.
He fell silent as he looked at the photograph. It was almost a full minute before he spoke up: “Našol!” He tapped the monitor with his finger, the nail making a noticeable tapping sound. “It is there.”
“Lessee. . . .” Louis gently nudged him away so he could get a better look. “Well, I’ll be damned. It really is a city!” He put a hand to his chin. “But what’s its purpose?”
“Dr. Somerset said that they have full control over the weather,” Dr. Konstantinov recalled. “So I think it is making weather.”
“Sound reasoning, you may have a point there – but,” he added, “if that’s the case, we might also need to negotiate weather over the colony like it’s a damned utility or something!” Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Louis then took full control of the terminal. “Thank you for your help, Anton. I’ll leave you to your duties outside the ship.”
He nodded firmly. “Yes, sir!”
––
The clerk already had a job waiting for him on the chalkboard. Just the one? he wondered. Either that, or they’re testing me, making sure I can remember a job before moving on to two or more at once. So, what’s on the menu for me today?
The answer was a humanoid figure, the rod-and-sphere arrow, and a broom sweeping up some material. Soil? The icon below that was a comb crossed with a razor blade. Oh, hair! That’s a barber! Then he started thinking: That could actually be a good way of getting to know the Indigenous better. I don’t know if Antir’s pulling strings, or something else’s happening entirely, but that’s awfully convenient for my mission. The red magnet on the metal map was located on the east side of town.
The clerk then pointed to the door, sending him on his way to the first job. Adam bade it farewell, and stepped out. Incidentally, he wasn’t alone – another equine happened to be taking the same route as him, so they went side-by-side.
He would normally find small talk with an impromptu companion, but he found under the circumstances, even absent the language barrier, he hadn’t anything he could talk about. Well, this is awkward. He prayed that the trip wouldn’t actually take that long, or that they would at least part ways at an intersection.
But such fantasies were ripe with that one folly, and of course it had to open its mouth and let forth its own small talk. [ɹiˈɣě zõɡˈzɑ noɣugizɯ̃zl̩ˈzl̩ mozuˈʙu] it said – and Adam hadn’t the first idea how to respond.
The best he could do was a reflexive shrug. Don’t take this the wrong way, buddy, he hoped it would understand, but I don’t know enough about what you said to have an opinion.
But it chuckled in an apparent response instead. [eŋbiˈɹɯ . ʃõˈkɑl ɹeseˈxeɑlɟɑˈmu .. ᵑʘeˈsɤ ɡɑzɑlzũˈʙu . ɹikiˈsɯ̃ mɯl ilxɑsɑɹɟɑˈmu]
Right back at you, buddy. Right back at you. Adam gave up any attempt to communicate at the moment, having only noted some commonly-used words that he had heard – meul and mʘeseo. Are they pronouns? There was a good chance they were – at the very least, they were frequently-used particles in their speech.
But only time would tell ultimately, and for the moment Adam had some work to do at the barber – the site indicated on the map was only a few blocks and turns away from where they were at the moment, and he had to steel himself for a hard morning’s work. At the very least, the equine took a right where he took a left.
·––·–
“Oj, suka.” Anton had spotted a nice dent in the hull of Altair’s bridge module – large enough to hold a golf ball, but he knew whatever made this couldn’t have been any larger than a grain of sand.
“Did you say something, Anton?” Commander Darcy radioed to his Orlan. “Over.”
“Negative, Commander,” he replied. “I talk to myself simply. I am not yet done with my work outside, and will not come back inside for some time. Konstantinov out.” That last part made his heart twinge – if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was the sound of his own breathing inside the suit and nothing else to accompany it.
Sighing to himself with a shake of his head, Anton untethered himself from the bridge module and started climbing astern along the hull, towards the fuel tanks. A moment later, the boredom got to him, and he started to sing to himself – softly enough, in his mind, that the microphones would not pick him up: “Rascvetali jabloni i graši, poplyli tumany nad rekoj. . . .”
His singing did well to help him concentrate on each individual handhold along the hull – even improvising with similar micrometeroite impacts to get a better grip and to correct his sternward trajectory.
He reached Fuel Tank 1 within a few moments, and started inspecting it for any leaks. It was a miracle that none had been found in the three-and-a-half years of transit, even moreso with its decade-long orbital construction – so it was especially paramount that they kept such a track record going.
He paused his singing for a moment, waiting for Commander Darcy to chastise him for taking up the frequency with idle chatter. But no such call came. Either he really was quiet enough, he didn’t care at all, or he genuinely enjoyed his performance. Still cautiously quiet, he kept singing “Katjuša” – this was a song he used to hear on the radio back in Leningrad, which comforted him somewhat.
Almost like he was back home.
–·–·
A small bell jingled overhead as the door swung open – followed by more jingling as a titanium chassis brushed past it. Once Adam stood back up, he came torso-to-face with the town barber. Its mane and tail were well-styled, and it even had a mustache. None of the equines that he knew to be mares had facial hair, so this might be a stallion. He wore a white jacket over a mottled brown-and-white coat.
Adam held his hand up, knowing it was a gesture of friendly arrival. “Nǃapata,” he greeted, making sure to stress the final syllable.
The stallion smiled. “Nǃapata,” he returned. [ᵑʘeˈsɤ xoɑkˈʙ̥u]
The human found a broom leaning against the wall to his left, with a dustpan clipped to the handle – guess that’s what I’ll use. When he made the motion to grab them, he finally noticed how the joints in his gloves had started to loosen up – not enough to break biosegregation, but just enough to grant him more fluid movements. Come to think of it, I think all the rest of my joints have loosened up just as much.
As he turned back, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Seems I could use a trim myself, he thought – he was starting to get some stubble to his chin and jaw, and his head, shaved bald at Cape Canaveral for cryostasis, started to have its brown hair grow back in. Too bad I can’t get one here.
The shop was empty at the moment, which gave Adam the chance to sweep up any loose dust from the floor – and an excuse to get a lay of the place. First, he separated the dustpan from the broom, noting that its handle was perpendicular, something he wasn’t used to. If he had to guess, this was meant so one could grip the pan in the mouth to throw out the dirt. Sweep, sweep, sweep, that corner’s clean. As he swept, he collected the dust in the pan, though he found the perpendicular handle was too cumbersome for his hand.
Before he could throw the dirt out, he noted a doorway before him, one leading to the rear of the shop. Adam had to squint to see down the darkened hall, but clearly the barber also lived here. Adam thought it strange, but then again, maybe their culture permitted such arrangements – or even encouraged them, perhaps outright requiring them. Like how Antir lives in the town library, he realized.
He ultimately shrugged and carried on with his task, deciding to dispose of the dirt right outside the shop door. Back where it came from. But as he opened the door, he nearly bumped into an equine – a pegasus, with lavender fur and a light-goldenrod mane and tail, and laden with a small bag hanging off of its right side. Something about its muzzle shape suggested feminity – which for convenience Adam assumed. Her hindquarter mark was the Sun behind a cloud. Weather-work? Even as he saw such work unfold before him, he still couldn’t believe that they could manipulate weather at all, and with such elegance and precision to boot.
Silently, he let the dirt fall from the dustpan onto the ground outside, moving aside as far as he could to let the pegasus inside. “Nǃapata,” she greeted the barber.
“Nǃapata,” he returned. [ɹiˈɣě ilɑlˈmu]
[piˈse xoˈlo ʃiɦl̩ˈɦɑ . ᵑǁuɹuᵑǂˈɹu] She took a seat in the chair in front of the mirror.
The barber went to work, draping the pegasus in a robe. He didn’t moisten her mane, however – and as Adam took a closer look, apparently both her mane and her tail were already wet. She must’ve taken a dip in the river on her way here, he figured.
But he couldn’t stand idly, not without potentially creeping out the mare nor without looking lazy in general. He busied himself sweeping, just as he was told back at the agency.
He bent down to place the dustpan in the proper spot. As he swept up a large pile of dirt, behind him he heard the barber start clipping her mane. He turned around to see him work. Somehow he had a pair of scissors rigged to his front hoof, with a mechanism swinging the blades together simply by flexing the joint between the hoof and the rest of the leg.
The mechanism mesmerized him. He watched as the blades deftly went through the mane, trimming back the too-long strands and letting them fall onto the floor. Admittedly, he hadn’t swept under the chair yet – but hey, may as well get that and the dirt out in one go, right?
But as fast as he worked, he apparently only did half the job. Next, he moved down to the tail. With the same mix of speed and care as before, he started trimming off the overgrown hair there. Do they not trim their own tails? Do they need trimming at all? And then: What about their fur? Would that need trimming too, or something else?
The tail took even less time than the mane, perhaps owing to its style – less complicated than that of the mane, but nonetheless demanding some degree of coördination, as local fashion seemed to demand – and soon she presented her hooves to him. Out the scissors came, shearing her overgrown fetlocks and letting the clumps of fur gather on the floor. I guess that answers that. What about the hooves themselves? Does he file them down too?
Evidently not – and he assumed that was done at home, or at the farrier – since the pegasus then hopped out of the chair. She plunged her muzzle into her small side-bag, and from it produced two gold coins. Shave and a haircut – two bits. He smiled as he accepted the payment, and deposited them into his pocket while she went out the door.
Although he was unbidden, he knew his cue – Adam grabbed up the broom and dustpan and set to work sweeping up the refuse. He made sure to go gently, to make sure the clumps of hair that had stuck together did not come undone. He even swept up the chair itself, making sure it was somewhat sanitary for the next customer. Eventually he made a neat pile of hair and fur at the front of the chair.
But before he could sweep it into the dustpan, the barber indicated a foot pedal in the floor nearby. What does this do? Adam stepped on it, and a plank opened up, letting him deposit the clippings into a bin below the baseboard – meaning that other dustbin nearby was for other things. I wonder if they recycle these clippings.
He couldn’t help but notice that the other bin was nearly full. Even if the barber didn’t want him to take it out, Adam thought it would do both of them well if he did so anyway. He clipped the dustpan to the broom, leaned them against the wall, and, noticing the thick handle in the middle meant for an equine’s mouth, grabbed it and lifted the whole bin out of the container.
The barbershop kept its garbage in a metal bin in the back, presumably bringing it out to the street whenever it needed to be taken out. Adam lifted off the lid and tipped the smaller bin inside, transferring the contents from one bin to the next. The larger one was only halfway full after the job, he noticed – probably not due to be put out to the curb for another two or three days. But then, he wondered, just how much waste do they produce?
He brought the first bin back inside with him, and placed it back from where he grabbed it. The lid came down with a muted clatter. Adam grabbed the trusty broom and dustpan, awaiting the next customer and the clippings such a visit would invariably produce.
And not a moment too soon: the bell started jingling behind him, and as he turned, he saw a normal equine walk in, one who also carried a light sidebag like the pegasus. This one was brown-furred, with a bright yellow mane and tail, and a hindquarter-mark of. . . . Adam had to pause to reflect on it. A guitar? First a harp, then a guitar – what other instruments do they have? Try as he might, he couldn’t find another purpose for the object the mark represented.
“Nǃapata,” it greeted the barber. [ɡoˈɑ̃ ɹ̩s zenl̩neɹeŋˈmɯ]
[emˈem] the barber replied, indicating the chair. [ᵑʘeˈsɤ zenl̩jˈmẽ]
The customer nodded, and took a seat before the mirror.
Now Adam was in a predicament – the shop’s floor was clean, perfectly spotless save now for beneath the chair. He couldn’t find something to keep him busy for while he waited for the barber to do his job.
Fine. Guess I’ll be the creep. He simply stood himself against the wall, noting his life-support backpack tapping against it, while positioning the broom beside him.
After the barber placed the cape over the customer’s body and got to work trimming the mane, the customer pulled a book from the sidebag and started reading. Adam of course couldn’t read the title, author, or anything else on the cover, nor could he deduce the contents from any other clues there. Which was not to say it was undecorated, no – it definitely was, black lines on grids surrounding the obvious text.
Hold on. . . haven’t I seen something like that before? His memory went back to the farrier. Could’ve sworn it had something to do with that place. . . but what? Nothing about the place itself suggested an answer. And then it hit him: it wasn’t the farrier, it was the customer! That hindquarter-mark had a similar design to the cover artwork: a thick line crossing a grid.
Coupled with the guitar mark he saw on this equine, Adam could immediately draw two conclusions from these findings. One: that the farrier’s customer he saw yesterday worked in music. Whether that was composing it or performing it, he couldn’t say. Two: this was a book about music. This immediately led to a third conclusion: there was a good chance that he could see whatever music notation these equines used.
Admittedly, musical notation was not his strong suit, even though he knew different cultures had developed their own systems and these were frequently tied to their languages – he was barely able to read modern Western notation, and that was nearly universal in the modern world. This was out of line with his mission, as he had no job with music – but curiosity seized him by the collar of his cooling garment, and he couldn’t help but try to figure out what Rhyslinger music notation looked like.
But he had to be subtle. Even though he’d resigned himself to ‘being the creep,’ he still couldn’t do anything that would put the customer at unease – lest he be sent away early, without pay, and possibly drive the customer out of the shop with a half-done job.
Then Adam got an idea. He remembered his days at university – specifically, sharing his dorm room with a Japanese exchange student. Akira Suzuki had flown in from Sapporo, as a computer science student, while he was still refining his knowledge on linguistics – and while it wasn’t her field, she took an interest to that all the same. While he never quite remembered the specific words, he did get his fair share of knowledge on how the Japanese language worked – knowledge that he still retained today, and knowledge that he felt certain would help him in his current mission on Rhysling.
She also showed him how to play the piano – naturally, he was terrible at first, and improved only slightly. But she didn’t seem to mind him making mistakes time and time again – no matter how frustrated Adam got, Akira simply giggled. Whether that was meant to calm him down, or she was genuinely amused by his countless attempts, it worked to take the edge off. One of the first songs she showed him was a folk song from her nation – “Sakura.” It was about the spring’s first cherry blossoms dancing in the morning breeze – though of course she had to tell him that. Playing it on the piano was trivially easy for someone like her, who grew up practicing it, but for Adam was. . . an appropriate challenge. And an exercise in reading sheet music.
When Akira left Santa Barbara at the end of her two-semester stint, he missed her greatly – but he would treasure the times they spent together. While he hadn’t practiced his piano skills in a few years – and no, the cryostasis for the interstellar voyage didn’t count – he at least still remembered how “Sakura” went. And this was true, even now on Rhysling – so if indeed they could demonstrate musical ability, judging by what he had seen so far, why not show them he could do the same? Not to mention that he did notice some more specks of dust and dirt on the lower walls of the room, so why not be a little more conspicuous about it while he was at it?
He stepped away from the wall, broom and dustbin in hand, and started sweeping the wall. The dust easily gave way to a gentle force, falling onto the ground, but the dirt took a bit more effort to be persuaded to do the same. In either case, there they lied on the floor, where he proceeded to sweep up into a pile, leaving it alone once he was done there. And as he worked, he started whistling.
Whistling was simple. It required no physical instrument, save for the lips and tongue, both of which a person had at birth. Many people whistled idle melodies to pass the time by – admittedly, Adam was no exception, though he tried to keep it to a minimum, a habit carried over from his college dorm, which came in handy when he taught at MIT. Melodies varied by person, typically based on music they had already heard, even intermixing them as they grew bored of the same one. Adam, naturally, had “Sakura” in mind – and that became the melody he chose to whistle as he worked.
He started with a few notes, A4 A4 B4, these three twice in a row. A mundane way of starting a folk song – then he arched from A4 to C5, and back again, followed by a B4-A4 glide, finishing the measure with an F4. Next he wavered around E4, going down to C4 and up to F4, like a sine wave. Another glide, F4-C4, then B3. He repeated the last four measures, just as Akira had shown him, taking more care than he should have to repeat the notes exactly. Perhaps he felt that she was by his side, making sure he got those notes precisely right. After the next B3, he repeated the first two measures, A4 A4 B4, A4 A4 B4, then the finishing arch from E4 up to a B4-A4 glide and back again. “Sakura” was a simple folk song, one that typically took less than half a minute to whistle or sing in its entirety, and Adam was able to memorize it within a few weeks, even as his college professors burdened him.
He rounded the corner and started sweeping down that wall, letting the dirt and dust settle on the ground before. Naturally, he swept them up into the same pile as the first wall, taking care not to soil any more of the floor than he probably had. He turned around, mainly so he could sweep down the opposite wall, but really so he could gauge their reäctions.
To say they were surprised would be an understatement.
The barber simply stood there, staring at the alien, having just clipped some hair from the customer’s tail. The customer, too, could not take his eyes off of Adam, even leaving the book open on its current page.
Once Adam took note of how they saw him, he simply carried on with his cleaning, beating down the lower wall with the broom, dislodging the dust and dirt to sweep up into a pile. Once he finished with that, so did the barber with his job, letting the client hop up and pay another two gold coins for services rendered.
But the customer didn’t leave just yet. Instead, before Adam could get a chance to sweep up the clippings, it tapped him on the hip. The human turned around, to see it handing – or mouthing, rather – the music notation book.
Setting the broom against the wall, Adam took it from his jaws. This one was thin and light, more like a booklet than a proper book – does it teach music lessons? It would certainly be a useful application, and this booklet was printed cheaply enough for mass distribution – like, say, giving students their own practice music. I guess I’m its latest student, in a sense. He opened it up to the exact middle of the book, where he could see the metal staples that bound the booklet together. What he found surprised him.
It was remarkably similar to western notation, yet the differences between the two immediately made themselves obvious. Rhyslinger notation did not rely on lines, as the western tradition did, but on grids, just as he had suspected. On some of the leftmost grids, he found a glottal-stop-like symbol – on others, the same symbol upside-down – on others still, figure-eights. How interesting,he thought. But what do they represent?
Notes – at least, he thought they were notes – were marked not with the characteristic staffs of western notation, but with lines. If he had to guess, these lines determined not only the pitch, but the exact duration of each note. Rather than rely on several different symbols, the performer need only watch the lines go up and down as they progressed across the page. Many lines ran parallel with each other, and many more ran diagonally – are these ties? Beams? Something else?
Bars were punctuated with a bolded vertical gridline – at times, new bars started with the starting symbols – glottal-stops, right-side-up and upside-down, and figure-eights. Adam didn’t even try to guess at what those signified. But clearly all of these symbols were optimized for stomagraphy, which was his guess for how everything else was traditionally written on Rhysling.
Even if it bore no impact on his language-finding mission, he simply found it fascinating. Music notation systems varied far and wide back on Earth, though nowadays the modern western staff notation was the global de facto standard. Here was a similar system, developed independently from Earth. He had to have a sample.
Lemme test this one real quick. . . . He opened an empty pouch, partially rolled the booklet to fit inside, and started inserting it. Then he looked up, with an eyebrow arched up, to imply a question.
The equine nodded firmly.
Yes! Adam slipped it inside the pouch, and clicked it shut. But won’t I need to pay for it? He next opened the one containing the coins, and pulled out a silver one. Again he raised an eyebrow.
But the equine closed his eyes, raised a hoof, and shook his head.
So. . . he’s just giving it to me, Adam concluded. He’s either generous, or these are that cheap. Or both. Either way, he was gracious – so he slipped the coin back inside with a muted clink, then clicked that pouch shut.
But this equine wasn’t done with the human yet. He tilted his head, one eyebrow arched – before straightening it back out, puckering his lips, and started whistling. No, not just any melody – he was copying “Sakura.”
Now it was Adam’s turn to be surprised – a feeling that quickly evolved into regret. He wanted to observe the Indigenous culture and language in situ, without human interference. Yet here he was, listening to this stranger whistle a tune from his homeworld. Way to go Adam, way to go.
The apparent musician turned to leave, still whistling “Sakura” as it went along. Adam, meanwhile, still had work to do. He grabbed the broom from against the wall again and, detaching the dustpan, started sweeping up the piles of dirt from the three walls around the shop, and after emptying it into the dustbin, started sweeping up the musician’s clippings.
–·–––
Three more customers later, Adam was let go for the day. He was surprised to see that the barber was closing up shop only halfway through the day. Is there something I’m missing? Public holiday? Barber’s hours? Regardless, he received his pay – three silver coins, only half of what he had earned for inventory work. But then again, sweeping up hair was a much easier job that took hardly any skill.
He didn’t mind.
He slipped the coins into one of his pouches, and started making his way to the door. He held up his hand, to gesture goodbye, then ducked underneath the doorway, jingling the bell as he ducked beneath the frame.
Okay, now what? Right, you need to head back to the agency. Gotta check in for the next job, after all. He cleared his throat, feeling a bit of phlegm in his throat. Let’s go.
Adam started down the road. How do I get back there again? He knew it was the same way as when he got to the barbershop, just in reverse, but that wasn’t very helpful at the moment. He searched his memory thoroughly, trying to pick out any details that could aid him on his journey. Any streets? Landmarks? Nearby buildings? Nothing came to mind for a few minutes of walking, not until he turned left at the next street – a broad main street, one that fed the rest of this side of the town. And then it struck him: the magnet was hovering near this main street. So all he had to do was stay on the main street, in the current direction even, turn right at the central square, and sooner or later he’d come across the agency. Can’t be simpler!
Yet things were about to become difficult. The further along Adam strode, the closer he got to the central square, which before he even got there he could see that it was unusually crowded. Almost like. . . yep. It was another market, just as busy as the last time he was here. To make matters worse, the western main street terminated here – and the southern main street a good distance to his right, whose view was blocked by the large tower in the center.
Here we go again.
This time, he made sure to step slowly through the throngs of equines, making sure no misplaced step could harm them. Not to mention he had a few coins in his pouch, and he didn’t want to be pickpocketed or swindled.
Remember, Adam – don’t put your hand over your pouch. This was a lesson he learned in his childhood in Tacoma, thankfully the easy way: it was how a pickpocket could tell which pocket held a person’s wallet. He’d seen how the unicorns could use telekinesis – how they could easily lift his pouch away from him without him ever noticing. They were in the blindspot of his suit’s helmet; he had to feel them out whenever he needed them.
There was a great amount of talking, all blending together into an indiscernible mass of speech that he didn’t have a chance of understanding. Were they talking to him? Clearly they’d be talking about him, but to his knowledge none of it was directed at him.
Thankfully the trek through the marketplace didn’t take very long – before he knew it, he was walking along the main street, on his way to the agency.
This street he knew quite well, despite being here for only a few days. I guess being desperate does that to you. He kept his eyes on the left, looking for the next correct turn. Was it the third left, or the second? No, definitely the third.
He took the third turn, and found it was the right one. He ducked under the doorway to his destination, and stood back up. “Nǃapata,” he greeted, with a wave of his hand.
“Nǃapata,” the clerk returned, rather curtly going off of the tone in voice.
Whatever. Adam turned his attention to the chalkboard – only to find it was empty. No description of where to go, no hindquarter-mark for which to look, no magnet on the metal map, nothing.
Then he had a thought: maybe market days are half-days. Would make sense – get only half as much time, devoting the other half to buying and selling.
He shrugged and walked out, waving to the clerk as he ducked below the frame again. I guess that makes me free for the rest of the day. Good time as any to walk back to the lander and start with further studies on the Indigenous language and culture. It was high noon at the moment – not even a glimmer of gold to suggest the setting of the sun.
But that didn’t bother him one bit – he flipped open the chest monitor, and found that while his scrubber capacity had dropped to a mere fifty-eight percent, the water supply had nearly run out. Not to mention that he was about halfway through his nutrient stick. I guess a hard day’s work will do that to you, he thought. Better get home to refill and change.
But of course, that meant walking through the central square again – and by extension, the marketplace. Let’s hope I don’t run into any trouble there. Adam crossed his fingers in his head, hoping the Indigenous wouldn’t take the opportunity to mug him. Three meager silver coins, but they were his.
·––·–
Being weightless inside of a spacecraft was an interesting feeling, but the novelty quickly grew old. Even transitioning from gravity to the lack thereof, as part of one’s routine, eventually became stale, as the heart came to adjust quickly between the transitions. Perhaps it was the fact that one was practically guaranteed a stable pressure within a spacecraft.
So when one steps out for the maiden spacewalk, the safety and comfort of the interior disappears entirely. Some enjoy the thrill – others abhor the experience.
For Anton, it was something he refused to think about. It was a mission necessity at times, nothing more. At least Commander Darcy put on some music for him as he worked – it did wonders to take the edge off, to take his mind off of the dangers of nothing at all and to let him concentrate on his work.
And thankfully, there wasn’t much work for him to do. Other than noting a few impact craters along the thick hull of the spacecraft, nothing he saw outside was cause for alarm. But then, it wasn’t likely for the Indigenous to develop a space program of their own, nor did Einstein nor Zodiac-Altair spot any rings around Rhysling – so Rhyslinger orbit should be perfectly clean.
Leave it to mankind to litter it with their technology, however.
Anton unclipped himself from Gemini and started making his way back to the airlock. It was a long way away, and even with such a relatively clean and tidy orbit, there was still the risk of floating off and away from safety.
He shook his head – that wasn’t something he wanted to think about, especially now of all times. Meanwhile, he held onto Gemini, waiting for the bridge to rotate back into view. Once he spotted it, he pushed himself off that end of the module and made more or less a straight beeline towards his destination.
He sighed – with still some air to spare. Safety was in his reach once again. Just a little further. . . .
With barely any effort, he overshot the bridge – but thankfully, he planted his boots right on the heat shield of TPRU-4. Turning himself around, he saw the airlock. He leapfrogged a second time, putting up his hands in front of him, and braked himself against the outer door of the airlock.
It was still a vacuum inside of it, so he simply opened the door and let himself in. He closed the door, sealed it, and started filling the airlock back up. While this was happening, he parked himself by the rack of spacesuits, to make disembarking that much easier. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Konstantinov,” he radioed. “I have returned from my duties outside. Acknowledge, over.”
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” Commander Darcy responded. “Welcome back, Anton – we were starting to miss you. Did everything come out alright? Over.”
“Affirmative,” Anton answered. “The spacecraft has the expected wear and tear, but otherwise is perfectly functional. Over.”
Darcy laughed over the radio. “That’s beautiful, music to my ears!”
Anton exited the bridge on Altair and floated up to the ceiling just nearby. He sighed, wearily – after staying up for God knows how long, he really needed a place to stop and rest – and Commander be damned, he was going to get just that, and this was just the place to do it. This part of the ship had six sleeping bags here, strapped to the wall so people wouldn’t drift away in their sleep – good for a crew of a dozen or so to hotbunk, but plenty for just the three. Dr. Weiss and Commander Darcy both got their fair share of rest – why, here was the latter, snoozing away – why not him as well?
He unzipped one of the bags and slipped himself in. Feeling the soft fleecy lining made him sigh in relief – there wasn’t anything quite like this back in St. Petersburg, nor anywhere else in Russia, save perhaps for the Kremlin. Once he was sure he was secure inside the bag, he zipped it shut, closed his eyes, and nearly fell asleep when Dr. Weiss spoke up. “Doktor Konstantinov, do you have a moment?”
–·–––
The sun had set on this part of Rhysling, and the darkness of the night erased the entire scenery from his view. Not that it mattered – Adam was just getting settled into his cot back inside TPRU-1. Apparently whatever the problem was with the new spectroscope had cleared up – if it ever had one – so he need not work anymore on the probe anymore, and Dr. Weiss could sample and test to her heart’s content.
He finished his jerky and packet of pasta and disposed of the empty plastic bits, having already washed himself, refilled the suit’s water supply and changed its scrubber, and noted down the words he had learned in a rudimentary transcription system. He was still a long way from completing any of his remaining goals, but he felt like he’d made some good progress in the two days he was on the job.
But for now, he had to get some rest. As he had several nights before, he arched his back, feeling the clicking of his joints along his spine, then properly settled into his slumber. Night on Rhysling would only last eight Earth hours – giving him maybe five or six Earth hours total to get his sleep in, by some rough and fatigued math – but he would have to make the most of them.
He had to – if he was going to live on this planet, he would have to play by their rules.
·–·–·
It was early in the Rhyslinger morning when the lander’s radio awoke him. “Tango-1, this is Zulu-Alfa,” Dr. Weiss transmitted. “Come in, Dr. Somerset, please and I’m sorry, but I need your help once again, over.”
Woman, I swear to God. . . . He got back up, shook the cobwebs from his mind, took a deep breath, and strode over to the desk, grabbing the receiver. “This is Somerset,” he replied. “With all due respect Dr. Weiss, I was in the middle of my sleep, it’s way too early to get me up, so this had better be really important. Over.” He sighed – what could the problem be now?
The next person to speak, after a moment, was Dr. Konstantinov. “From what Dr. Weiss has told me,” he said, “apparently some data is not coming back from RPMR-1.”
Are you fucking kidding me!? “Oh, what the hell is it this time!?” he interrupted. “Over!”
Anton sighed audibly over the line. “I will explain,” he said. “We figured this would be the case, since apparently it does not take this long to get sample results back from RPMR-1. We suspect there is something wrong with both antennas – both high-gain and low-gain. We would appreciate you taking a look at this at your earliest convenience. Over.”
And you guys couldn’t wait to tell me until daytime!? “Copy Zulu-Alfa, I’m going to deal with it right now, thank you so very much for waking me up from what little sleep I can get with this nonsense. Somerset out!” They want repairs, they’ll get all the damn repairs they want! I’m some goddamned outer space handyman after all, not a linguist!
As he was grumbling, he started slipping on his undersuit garments, then swinging and practically jamming himself into the suit. “Gah!” Crissake, my hip! But he was too annoyed to pay more attention to the pain, as he slammed the sterilizer button with his fist hard enough almost to crack the plastic.
And now to play the two-minute waiting game. Adam spent that time calming himself down. Don’t repair angry. Don’t spacewalk angry. You only have so much of that one measly scrubber to work with. Count to three – breathe in. Count to three – breathe out. Count to three – breathe in. . . .
As he kept counting and breathing, he took his eyes off the timer and focused on the probe, even reaching up to his helmet-mounted lights to illuminate the scene so he could actually see. Even though it was still looking the same as it did for the past few local days, if Dr. Weiss is complaining about some sort of communications failure – well, who else was on the ground to see about it? Nobody, that’s who. It was all up to him.
:02. . . :01. . . :00! Finally! Adam disconnected from the suitport and leapt from the scaffolding, not even bothering with the ladder. He hit the ground with an “Oof!” and started pulling the tools he still had from his pouch. He reached up to adjust his helmet’s mounted light – the white beam, now brighter, started to flood the scene.
He sighed, his anger starting to dissipate – at least he wouldn’t have to poke around blind. A panel on the top of the probe granted access to the communications equipment. He started unscrewing that panel as fast as he could. One screw went – then another – then a third, and Adam simply hinged it open on the last one. He squinted to get as good of a look as he could in the narrow gap.
Huh. . . how about that, actually? Apparently this equipment had been more rough-handled than he thought. The antennae were being held on merely by a few wires – barely able to get data up to Zodiac-Altair, and apparently over time it had been jostled just enough to dislodge them entirely.
Well, let’s make it better, he thought – and make it last a while, why don’t we? Getting the wires back in place was trivial, since none of them were frayed or broken, though it still required physical intervention. Each one went into this correct place, one by one, a process that took two or three minutes – and he was rewarded with his efforts with a transmission from up above. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” Dr. Konstantinov stated. “Thank you Somerset for your repairs. . . and I am sorry to anger you. I truly hope that is the last time you have to touch RPMR-1, for your sake and ours. Out.”
You and me both, Doc. He sighed, put his tools back in the pouch, and started making his way back to the lander. He grabbed the sides of the ladder, and wearily made his way back up – for as much energy wrath would grant him, fatigue – and hunger – would take away. He hadn’t had his breakfast yet, and he was essentially fixing by the seat of his pants. It’ll just be a quick in and out, he thought as he got on the scaffolding, turning around to plug himself into the suitport. Pick out dry stuff, clip in a new nutrient bar, I probably won’t even have to change scrubbers – he even double-checked his readout; it had just ticked down to ninety-eight percent. Yeah, nothing to worry about there –
A burst of violet light erupted on the road just beyond the lander. “Khon Edem!”
“God dammit,” he muttered aloud to himself – his light shone brightly on a rather disheveled Antir, who put up a front hoof to block the lights’ glare. What does she want now? Does this bitch even know what time it is!? Clearly she would, as she was native here, but didn’t care anyway, because she gestured Adam down from the ladder. He sighed, and complied – this had better be really worth my time, he swore to himself.
When he hit the ground and walked over to her, she held up a paper scroll, though its seemingly-calligraphic writing was still lost on him. So Antir pulled out her trusty chalk and board, and started drawing up a pictorial interpretation of what that paper was saying. She worked well enough by the light of her own horn’s telekinesis, but Adam’s was way overblown. Still, his eyes, like those of every other human being, dictated that he keep it on so he could see.
She turned the board around a moment later to show him. A humanoid figure, a rod-and-sphere arrow with a crude train sketch, pointing to the mountain fortress. Oh great, another train ride. I hope my boss will let me. . . . But from there, another rod-and-sphere arrow indicated a humanoid figure surrounded by equines on all sides. Why? Who are those ponies? Adam started to panic. Am I on trial for a crime I unknowingly committed? Or has something else happened? He felt his heart start to race. Relax, Adam – don’t jump to conclusions right now.
But she either didn’t see the fear on his face, or plainly ignored it. With her telekinetic grip, she took his hand and started dragging him along the dirt trail into town. As he was being pulled along, he couldn’t help but notice the Rhyslinger sun starting to peak over the horizon.
Good morning to me. . . .
·–
“Copy Zulu-Alfa, I’ll report back. Somerset out.” As Adam looked up from his most recent communication, he saw that a train waited for them at the station – just a single engine pulling a single car, its only doorway flanked by a pair of royal guards, armor shining clean and tidy in the dawnlight. I guess a royal decree would pull enough strings to get anything done, he thought. Particularly if there’s a good reason behind it.
He was rushed past the ticket booth and into the car – he barely had time to duck his head below the doorway. The guards followed the two into the car, shutting the door behind them firmly. But what about my ticket? he wondered. Surely I should have one. But the train conductor made no motion to check either of them – I guess my transportation to the capital is by decree, and the guards’ approval would suffice as admission.
Adam sat down on a bench by the door, putting his left leg up as he sat side-saddle, his back against the wall, like he’d done before. A moment later, Antir sat down on the bench opposite. Both guards reärranged themselves at the rear end of the car, and made no motion to sit – even with adequate seating around the car. Nor would I expect them to – it would be improper.
Adam crossed his arms. His stomach grumbled, demanding that he feed it. Damn it all Antir, couldn’t you be a bit more patient with me? he thought. Do you really have breakfast so early in the morning? He sighed, and leaned back, trying to make himself comfortable despite the pain mounting in his right hip – I just hope I get back in time to change my scrubber at least. Speaking of – He flipped up the display – ninety-four percent. Should be good for the trip, but that depends on what I’m supposed to do there. I hope it’s nothing that could jeopardize the mission.
As though she could sense his nervousness, he watched his right hand get enveloped within Antir’s telekinetic grip, then tug it out of his crossed arms and into a grip in her front hooves. Oh, this again? He sighed again, shifting his head back forward. Thanks Antir, but really I’m a man denied his daily bread. I need that more than anything else.
[elˈse ɑlβiˈmɑ̌] the conductor told Antir.
“Em.” She nodded. [piˈse m̥eˈsɤ siɹɑpɑɹˈjɑ]
The conductor bowed and left the car. A moment later, Adam heard the trademark whistle of departure, followed by the familiar backward jolt, as the whole procession made its way to the capital city. He fixed his sight outside the window opposite, trying to focus on something, anything, that might distract him from his other predicaments.
··
The trip took closer to forty minutes from start to end. He heard the screeching of the train’s brakes, as he saw the now urban landscape start to slow down – now bathed in the golden light of the Rhyslinger dawn. He felt like stretching himself out. Here we are once again. Now what?
Antir answered it in motion – she got up from the bench and went to the door. When Adam got up to follow her, the guards broke formation at the end of the train and followed behind him. He ducked down below the train’s doorway, and set foot on the station platform, one that was completely barren, save for another group of guards who joined the first, making sure that Adam was completely surrounded while at arm’s length. Guards, protecting me? he thought. What would warrant such a policy – and come to think of it, why not last time?
Antir took the lead, letting him – and the guards, by extension – walk right to where he ought to go. All around him, he saw the beginning glimmers of life in the fortress-city. Naturally, he started drawing stares from passers-by, be it by his own appearance, or by his gleaming entourage. Adam seldom felt self-conscious, but this was one of those times. He tried to take his mind off of it by sipping some of the suit’s water, but that only reminded him of his own hunger. Guess this is just going to be one of those days, huh?
Antir took the next right, and so did the guards – Adam wasn’t paying attention, and had to be nudged back on track by the one on his left. Not the palace, then, he thought. So who else would want me right now? And as he was rounding the leftward curve in the street, he got his answer.
A large building stood on its own city block, white and light blue in appearance, with a single large red dot serving as a symbol for. . . whatever its purpose was. Part of the building was cordoned off with thick cloth sheets, also light blue, – ah, so they do know what plastic is – where a single entrance, a plastic-covered tunnel, was clearly indicated with a pair of flanked guards.
As he approached the entrance tunnel, the frontmost guards parted and stood aside, to indicate that he would be entering without any of them. For once, Adam did not have to duck below the doorway – something he was thankful for, as all that ducking was starting to give him a crick in his neck and back. When he passed through the entrance fully, a flap of plastic descended over it, and the telltale zip! of a zipper made sure it didn’t go anywhere.
It wasn’t that hard for Adam to tell which way he was supposed to go – between the perfectly linear layout of the corridor, and a few ponies here and there pointing and urging him further ahead, no language barrier could block the meaning from him. Then he started noticing the outfits of these ponies – all of them were wearing light blue scrubs, with masks covering their muzzles and booties on both front and rear hooves. That, and the fact that he could see some analogues to modern Terrestrial medical equipment through the cracks in the light-blue dividers, told him that this building was a hospital.
Oh, he realized. They want to examine me. This thought started to scare him more than possibly standing trial for a crime he unwittingly committed. At least he would be able to argue a defense through drawing with chalk, absent an appointed attorney. But here? He could very well be breaking biosegregation right here – not only was there a chance this would kill him, he would also put all of Rhysling in danger as well.
Then the moral dilemmata began. Do I go through with this, or should I turn tail and run? If he went with the former, of course those fears could come true – otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to get much further without being tackled and forced to do it anyway. Do I tell the others, or should I stay silent? If the latter, and if he should die, then they would have no idea that their man on the ground was already gone. But if the former, any one of them – especially Commander Darcy – would chastise him for making such a hasty decision, but not do much more than that.
Better tell them.
He stopped in his tracks and pressed the radio button on his suit. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he opened. I hope radio can transmit through all of this plastic and other whatnot. “I have now arrived at their capital city again. This time not in the palace; I think I’m at a local hospital. I have no sure idea what they want from me this time, but I suspect they want to examine me – but that would mean I would violate contamination protocols. How should I proceed? Over.”
He waited one moment, then two. . . but only silence intervened over the radio. Seriously? Is nobody on the ship available to take my call? “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he tried again. “I am at a hospital in their capital city, about to undergo an examination, which could possibly trigger contamination. Please advise, over.”
He crossed his arms and waited some more. . . to no avail. But before he could press the button again, a purple hoof blocked his hand. Antir must have doubled back when she realized he wasn’t following her anymore. She then pointed to the ceiling of the plastic-lined tunnel. Adam had to lean back to get a proper view, but he saw that the tunnel’s framework was like a cage.
No, not just any cage, he realized. A Faraday cage. They really don’t want me to talk to the others, do they? He sighed and shook his head – either that, or they really don’t want radio signals to interfere with whatever they’re using here. He resigned himself to his fate, and the fate of all of Rhysling. Alright Adam, he thought, you’re on your own now. Gotta go through with this.
She grabbed his hand in her telekinesis, and tugged him further down the hall, further away from the safety of his lander. But then, he thought, am I truly safe on Rhysling? This was the risk for which he signed up when he applied for crewing Zodiac-Altair – he had to read the finer print in that phone book of a contract NASA gave him. I can’t believe my class dared me to do this. Did they want me dead, or just out of the way so I wouldn’t grade their tests? He smiled. Joke’s on them, my replacement’s way harsher for that sort of thing than me.
The next room, on the right, surprised him. It looked like the lobby for a large cleanroom, with four equine-sized and -shaped suits hanging off of a rack by the side – and next to the rack, a round orange bin. Interesting to see that they have established germ theory on par with mankind, he thought, taking all the same biological precautions with me. Would I technically be breaking biosegregation, then? That’s a theory for another day. Then his eyes widened. But wait! What about internal temperature? Air pressure? Atmospheric composition? I haven’t told them about those, have I? If he did, he couldn’t recall in the sudden stress.
He heard something tap on the leg of his suit. “Khon Edem?” One of the equines staffed at the hospital came up behind him and handed – er, hoofed – him a clipboard, with a pencil attached to it on a string. It had a single sheet of paper clipped to it, divided into four quadrants, each one labeled with a different symbol. The top left quadrant had a thermometer, and the top right had three arrows arranged in a triangle, within a circle. The bottom left one had an equine head with an open mouth, along with a rod-and-sphere arrow pointing to the mouth. The bottom right had the same, but the arrow pointed away from the mouth. They want me to indicate exactly those things I thought of, he realized. That’s considerate.
But wait a second. Another realization came over him suddenly. I can probably sketch out what CO2 and O2 look like in their language – if they have a periodic table, just like us – but what units would they use? Surely they don’t use Fahrenheit or Celsius like we do. Crissake! Can’t we agree on even one thing here!?
Sensing his distress, Antir gestured him over to a wall in the room. He breathed in, then out – a sigh. Finally, a Hail Mary. There was a poster on the wall, on which was printed what looked like a colored spiral, split into segments. As he looked closer, however, he noticed that, no, this wasn’t some random spiral – it was a periodic table of elements. Just what I needed! However, it did not extend beyond uranium, nor include technetium nor promethium – but they haven’t developed atomic technology just yet, he noted. Then how are all these miracles they have powered? But the differences after that quickly dissolved – for instance, all the atomic numbers and weights were marked in senary, and all the symbols were marked with. . . well, symbols. Not letters derived from their script, as he would expect.
He searched his memory to remember which atomic numbers carbon and oxygen were. What was that thing Professor Brookman used to teach me? ‘Here lays. . .’ oh yeah! Here Lies Benjamin Bones; Cry Not, OFriend, Needlessly. . . . As he played back his chemistry professor’s words in his head, he tapped his finger on the chart. ‘O’ was for Oxygen – its symbol was a line that curled up on both ends, as if to suggest a cloud. He marked down two of those symbols in the bottom-left quadrant of his sheet and connected them with two lines, thus creating breathable oxygen. He placed a third and fourth in the bottom right, with two lines splitting off of each for carbon in the middle. ‘Cry’ was for Carbon, two spaces back – its symbol looked like a flame. Makes sense – carbon is the foundation of combustion. He added a flame between the clouds, thus creating carbon dioxide.
So that’s respiration down. Next? . . . Next to the chart, he noticed a mercury thermometer and a glass-covered dial. Gotta be a barometer – now I just gotta compare their units to ours. He flipped up his chest display – ten degrees Celsius, and point ninety-five atmospheres. Eh, sure, tell them to boost the temperature, and just put up with popping ears when I’m stepping out. He noted what number the barometer’s needle pointed at, and simply copied it down without indicating the unit. They’ll have to assume it’s the one they use. Next, the current outside temperature was uncomfortably cold for Adam, so he thought to indicate twenty degrees Celsius – still chilly, but it would be more like a pleasant spring day.
Now wait a minute. . . how does their scale work? Where’s their origin? Adam knew that the origin of Celsius was the freezing point of water – he would start there. He set the clipboard aside for a moment and motioned for Antir to hand him her chalk and board.
She did. Next, he started drawing a water molecule – a cloud of oxygen, branching off to connect to two hydrogens – he checked the chart for their symbol; it was a water drop. Adjacent, he drew a snowflake – a simple one, one she should recognize – and next to it, a simple thermometer, a tube with a bulb at the bottom, and next to that their question spiral. He turned it around to show her.
Without hesitation, she took the chalk out of his hand in her telekinesis, and inscribed her zero below the thermometer.
Aha! A common origin! he thought. Naturally, since theirs is water-based life – still, fascinating! He looked at the thermometer again, and noted where the mercury had crept up – just past the senary eleven mark. Convert. . . seven. Fourteen and a half would be a good place to put it, then. Convert the other way. . . . Adam hesitated for a moment before he got twenty-two point three. Oh. . . I didn’t get how to write decimals.
Then he remembered how the periodic table records atomic weights as decimals. He leaned into helium – noting the sun symbol – and saw four pips, a tall vertical line, then three zeroes, two pips, then three pips. Vertical line, gotcha. He picked up the clipboard again, wrote down two pips, another two, put the senary line after that, then three pips. I think you lot can manage this temperature. . . right?
As he flipped down his chest monitor, he looked around for the equine whom had handed him the clipboard – and found it, blue-furred in light-blue scrubs. It took the clipboard in its own green telekinetic grip, and walked away, giving muffled orders to other equines. If he had to guess, they were going to condition the chamber’s interior to his exact specifications. They’re serious about me stepping out, aren’t they? He sighed – I hope they know what they’re doing.
It would obviously be a few moments before the chamber was ready for Adam – in the meantime, he decided to lean his back against the wall, crossing his arms in impatience. He thought of sending Zodiac-Altair what he had spotted, but remembered the Faraday cage they had put up to form the tunnel. And I suspect the rest of the building’s like this, he thought. I wonder if it has telekinetic-blocking properties.
He sighed. Curse you, Anton, and your insistence on constant progress. His stomach grumbled, insisting that he eat something – but that simply wasn’t possible right now, due to circumstances beyond his control, beyond his foresight even. Adam had gotten into the habit of changing his scrubber after even the slightest EVA session – but now, it seemed, he would have to clip a nutrient stick inside his helmet with the same rote diligence – either that, or he would always have to eat a meal before stepping out. Which I probably should’ve done today.
It wasn’t the first time he had gone hungry, even on the mission. His mind went back to Antir and her library, how she silently insisted that he stay for the night. But of course, then he’d had yet to find out about how he could eat on the run – this time, he had the knowledge, and in his furious haste forsook it. Crissake. . . .
He became aware of a prodding on his arm – if Antir had said anything, he didn’t hear it, but he figured that the cleanroom was ready for him now. That was awfully fast. I hope their instruments aren’t faulty.
He got up and walked over to the airlock, where he figured he was supposed to sterilize himself. So how is it done? Heat? UV? Chemicals? Knowing the Strauss could pick up the first two, he flipped up his chest monitor in advance. He noticed Antir walking with him into the airlock, along with three other equines. When they were all inside, the door shut, and sealed airtight. Wordlessly, the four equines started changing into each of the four equine suits, checking each other to make sure each of them were sealed inside properly and could still breathe without outside air.
[kl̩pxepeˈje m̥eˈsɤ kl̩kɑn̥ɑˈβu . xõ ɑ̃ˈtiɹ] one of them told Antir.
[ě] She looked down at her hooves. Then she lit her horn, adjusting the boots of her own suit. [ŋ̊uɹuɲ̊ˈɹu] Now that everyone was apparently checked out, Antir pressed a red button on the wall.
Adam heard a wind-up sound overhead, like a camera recharging its flash – then a pulse of brilliant white light, as a loud foom! thundered all around himself. Reflexively, he put his hands up to his helmet, to block the sound from his ears – but of course, its solid construction meant he had to suffer through it. When his sight returned at least, he panned it down to his chest display – but it didn’t pick up anything that could indicate that the place was clean – no burst of heat, nor radiation, nor did he notice any dispersed fluid on the surface of the suit. He grumbled in disappointment and shut the display away.
Then the other door opened up, leading into the cleanroom. That was. . . disturbingly fast, he thought. Whereas TPRU-1’s suitport always took two minutes to sterilize, whether to enter or exit, their sterilizer didn’t even take five seconds. Either they’re pulling my leg and want to do some biological experiments on me, or. . . . He had another thought, but dared not even to think it.
Yet he did anyway: it must be magic.
Slowly and cautiously, he entered the cleanroom, with the other four equines following. But how do I know this place is clean? Like, perfectly, wholly clean, free of any xeno life? His mind went back to when he saw Alien in the theater – how the crew of the Nostromo abandoned traditional containment measures and kicked off the horrific events.
He flipped up the display. Just as he specified, the cleanroom’s interior was twenty degrees Celsius and point ninety-five atmospheres. He had no way of determining atmospheric composition, but he suspected that they had filled it with pure oxygen. Just don’t light a fire in here, and we should be fine. Probably.
[eˈdem m̥eˈsɤ sɤxɤˈβɯ mɯlˈzl̩ kokoiŋ̊ˈkɑ siɑˈpɑ] one of them said.
Antir started motioning for Adam to take off his helmet. This was impossible – the Strauss’s helmet and torso were cast from a single piece of material – but he got the idea: according to her, the cleanroom was safe for him, and they needed him to step out. She hasn’t lied to me so far, he thought – most she could do is withhold information from me. I barely have a reason to doubt her right now.
He remembered from the manual that, in case of an extreme emergency, the suit could be opened away from the suitport, but he and everyone else in training were strongly cautioned against doing it, as it would also violate biosegregation. But if such a need ever arose, the user could pull his arms out of the suit’s arms, and pull a lever mounted inside the torso from the chest to the stomach. This would disengage the locks on the back hatch, allowing the user to climb out as he normally would. What was more, he’d also learned, the Soviets had gone and over-engineered the entire mechanism to allow the user to reseal himself inside the suit, and carry on as before. He didn’t know what sort of circumstances their engineers were considering when designing that feature into the Strauss, but considering the former Soviet Union’s bureaucracy, it wouldn’t be the most insane decision they would have made. Besides, he was glad it allowed him to walk out of the cleanroom, still in isolation.
Carefully, he slipped his right arm out of its sleeve. Seeking out a lever by his fingertips, he found a rubber lip just protruding from below his collarbone. He applied pressure to its top, and pushed it down firmly as far as it would go.
The Strauss’s mechanisms flawlessly articulated, and his backpack hinged open as it always did – and when it did, he felt air rush past him out of the suit, as the air pressures of the two melding environments equalized. He chewed his jaw a bit, and felt his ears firmly pop – good to go.
Slowly, he grabbed a rather inconveniently-small handhold above the suitport, and started to emerge out of the back-hatch of his suit. He was hit at once by the refreshing coolness of the new environment – first on his back and spine, slowly spreading across his sweat-drenched body until he was cradled in a gentle, breezeless coolness going through the webbing of his cooling garment.
Half-naked and afraid, he was completely at their mercy.
The wall opposite of the exit contained a sterile locker, just like on the lander, but this one was much larger – walk-in-size for small equine beings like themselves, but it only came halfway up his stomach. Still, it was nothing to scoff at. Another flash-sterilizer went off inside the locker, and it opened inwardly to reveal clipboards, pens, jars, syringes, a camera, and other equipment that they would doubtlessly be using.
Next to that, he saw a beam scale, the sort he would see in a physician’s office – though not a model he had seen before. This one had a much larger platform, clearly optimized for a quadrupedal species like these equines, while the beams were on a much lower level than normal – clearly meant to be moved by hooves, if none of these were unicorns. But they were all unicorns, since their suits had protrusions for horns.
He found that their suits’ visors weren’t one-way, and that he could see inside and pick out individuals. None of them looked like each other, so he was able to identify Antir instantly. The others he started nicknaming by their appearance, namely by their iris and fur colors – Green-and-Blue – whom he recalled took the clipboard from him to set up the chamber in the first place – Black-and-White, and Yellow-and-Brown. I probably should have given that strategy more thought, he realized.
One of them, Green-and-Blue, started giving orders to Black-and-White and Yellow-and-Brown – specific words were lost to his ears, given the muffling effect of their suits. Green-and-Blue grabbed a clipboard and quill pen using telekinesis – which apparently worked through the suits’ material, a thought which did not give him any comfort. Black-and-White grabbed the camera with its telekinesis, and started charging its flash. Yellow-and-Brown used its telekinesis to grab what looked like some measuring tape. Getting some basic information on me, I see. No instruction was given, be it verbal, symbolic, or otherwise, but he knew reflexively to step on the scale first and stand up as straight as he could. As this was happening, Yellow-and-Brown planted the tape’s cold metal end directly at his heel, unfurling it upwards. Green-and-Blue started moving the weights around on the beams this way and that – at first greatly lowballing his weight, almost by reflex, but later inching up the weights until it accurately recorded his mass. I’m heavier than they are, Adam noted, but I’m still within the range of this scale. Can’t imagine how much heavier I would be with the suit.
A week ago, he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to carry himself as confidently as he thought – but the trial by fire in the suit against the initially-painful gravity of Rhysling ensured that he would rebuild his former muscle mass within two or three Terrestrial days. He couldn’t tell what units they used for either of them, but he figured that the number on the tape measure was mind-bogglingly high – but predictably so, given how not a single equine he came in contact with so far surpassed his chest. Well, he thought, there are those white and blue pegasus-unicorn hybrids in the palace, but I haven’t stood very close to them, so I can’t make that call.
But Yellow-and-Brown wasn’t done with the tape measure just yet. Next, it started measuring different parts on Adam, with Green-and-Blue noting down each finding. It started with the length of his legs – both of them, to account for a theory that they were different lengths – noting the lengths as well of the different segments of the leg, down to the dimensions of his feet and each individual toe. Then it repeated with his arms – down to each finger. When it noticed Adam bending his fingers, it insisted on measuring the length of all fourteen phalanges on both hands.
All the while, Black-and-White had been photographing the things Yellow-and-Brown had just measured, almost in an assembly-line fashion. As Yellow-and-Brown moved the tape measure away, Black-and-White was already aiming the lens right where the former was measuring. Each click was accompanied by a burst of brilliant white light, the flash recharging itself in seconds after each take.
Yellow-and-Brown, keeping its horn lit, set down the tape measure and grabbed from the locker some paper and. . . is that ink? Indeed it was – it opened an ink pad, and grabbed Adam’s leg with its front hoof – not with its telekinesis. Right – I still don’t know what it could do to me specifically. Do they know, either? It dabbed the ink pad across the sole of his foot, then tapped a piece of paper it placed on the ground. Ah, they want my prints. Adam firmly stepped his ink-covered foot on the paper, rolling it around a bit to get a thorough imprint of his sole. Rinse and repeat for his other foot – and his hands, which he was easily able to do. Unprompted, he even rolled each individual finger across the paper, to demonstrate that human beings place some significance on those specific prints.
Once Yellow-and-Brown handed off his prints to Green-and-Blue, it grabbed the tape measure again, then started measuring the rest of Adam. First his back, noting the curvature of his spine – then the width of his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, but stopped before he could measure his hips. Adam realized his waste garment was likely to throw off that measurement – that, coupled with the fact that they would likely want to note his unmentionables, meant that he would have to strip completely bare.
He sighed, and started undoing the cooling garment. As tempted as he was, he didn’t want to go slowly – lest they grow impatient and rip it off entirely, potentially destroying it. And he hadn’t any replacements aboard – and he’d checked to make sure. Finally, the garment fell from his torso, and he stepped out of the heap – making sure not to get any ink on the cloth.
And now for the moment of truth – he dropped his waste garment from his waist.
·–·–··
After three excruciatingly-long minutes, Adam was finally allowed to re-don his clothing. This he did without hesitation – something tells me Antir might not have been too surprised by what she saw. He recalled the other day, when he was washing up without closing the window first. Never again, he reminded himself. The only thing she hadn’t seen before was something he hadn’t either – as he stood there in the nude, he noticed a dark splotch on his right hip, one he hadn’t had before. Apparently, in his haste to board his suit, he struck himself there hard enough to bruise. He brushed his hand over it – it stung a bit. I should be a bit more careful in the future.
He may have felt awkward disposing of his modesty, but Yellow-and-Brown either didn’t sense his discomfort or didn’t care. It had a job to do – and it did so with elegant efficiency, swiftly measuring everything Adam had striven to keep hidden. The tape felt cold on his nethers, and they noted his slight shiver as it ran cold across his skin – and the wince of pain when they measured his hips.
He zipped up his cooling garment. Finally – sweet modesty. So what else do you want from me? The answer turned out to involve needles and blades. Oh, Jesus. . . getting samples from me, are you?
They were nice enough at least to start off easy. He heard the telltale buzz of hair clippers coming up behind him. Now that I think about it, he mused, I could use a shave. He saw that Yellow-and-Brown was holding the clippers in its telekinesis, and he opted to do his job for him – reaching out to grab the shaver, he held it up to his chin, which after all this time had started getting rather bushy. Seeing his intention, Yellow-and-Brown let him take the clippers, and even held a plastic bag under his chin, to catch the clippings.
Adam ran the clippers over his beard – marveling at how smooth it glided on his skin, biting off the hair neatly at the surface of the skin while never nicking the skin itself. I’d have to ask how they made this thing, he thought. See if we can’t build our own back home. The bag easily contained the tiny bits of his budding beard, but apparently they weren’t satisfied. After a moment, Yellow-and-Brown snatched the clippers out of his hand. Green-and-Blue gently pushed the back of his knees forward – Adam knew they wanted him to kneel down, so he complied with their directions. This put him right at the perfect height for Yellow-and-Brown to shave part of his head. Thankfully, it wasn’t his entire head – it only removed the hair from part of the back of his head.
Next, as Yellow-and-Brown was sealing up the bag, Adam got back up onto his feet – where Black-and-White hovered the camera up to his freshly-shaven chin and back of his head, snapping photographs of each in succinct succession. He saw its telekinesis adjust the camera lens – apparently getting a close-up of his skin, close enough that it probably got each of the individual pores of his scalp and chin.
Suddenly the camera started sputtering, and a moment later it ejected a roll of film out of its bottom. Black-and-White caught it in its telekinesis, and floated it into a metal canister in the sterile locker. It opened another canister, grabbed that roll of film, and reloaded the camera. It sputtered for a moment as it unspooled and fed the new roll of film into the mechanism.
While this was happening, Yellow-and-Brown had shown the bag of hair clippings to Green-and-Blue, who then started taking down some sort of notes. Then it set the bag in the sterile locker, and grabbed a glass vial. Antir grabbed a set of giant cards from the sterile locker, and showed one to him. This one was pretty easy for him to interpret – they must know I can understand picture books. It showed a head, mouth open, with a liquid dribbling out into a similar vial. A saliva sample. Mouthwatering stuff.
Adam started working his tongue inside his mouth, and gestured Yellow-and-Brown to give him the vial. Once he had it in his hand, he stuck the tip of his tongue inside the vial, and let his spit run down his tongue and collect at the bottom. When his mouth was empty, he tried to hand it back to Yellow-and-Brown, but it gestured to fill it up to the top. Adam shrugged and gave it what it wanted – a moment later, the vial was full.
Yellow-and-Brown took it from him, stoppered it with a black screw cap, and set it in an orange container inside the sterile locker. From the same, it produced a needle and syringe. The next card Antir showed him within the moment was the syringe entering a neck, a rod-and-sphere arrow, then another syringe full of some sort of liquid. He started panicking slightly – it was going to happen at some point, but did they really have to draw it from the neck!?
He straightened out his left arm, indicating with his finger a prominent blue vein in the thin skin of the crook. Please use that instead. It was easy for him to identify, but he wasn’t sure if they could tell the blue from his pale skin. Apparently they could – Yellow-and-Brown dabbed a small cloth with a clear liquid from a bottle, and moved the cloth closer to him, intending on rubbing down the area indicated. It smelled strongly of alcohol – but Adam stopped him. He turned to Antir, pointed at the cloth, then mimed drawing.
It took her just a moment to present a diagram of a molecule. Adam searched his memory of his chemistry class, trying to recall what chemical this was, all while cross-referencing his memory of the Indigenous periodic table, to match up which symbols corresponded to which element. It was two flames connected to five water drops and a cloud; the cloud in turn was connected to a water drop of its own. After a few moments, he realized it was C2H5OH – ethanol. Thank the gods, that was a close one. He breathed a sigh of relief, and allowed Yellow-and-Brown to proceed. Last thing I need is to sterilize myself with methanol or something – I am not looking forward to going blind.
It brushed the crook of his left elbow, while Adam held it straight. Good – my neck’s safe. Then as Yellow-and-Brown brought the syringe closer to him, Adam reflexively jerked his head away, shutting his eyes as tightly as he could. He never liked to watch needles enter his blood, and he really didn’t want alien horses to be holding the needle. But he knew it was necessary, so he held his arm steady, clenching his fist, but averted his gaze, letting only the prick course through his nerves as the metal needle entered his vein. He unclenched his fist, and let the blood flow into the glass vial of the syringe. Five seconds later, the needle left his arm – and when he looked again, Yellow-and-Brown had a vial of Adam’s red blood. It removed the needle, placing it in a sharps container, and set the vial in the orange container. Meanwhile, Black-and-White briefly abandoned its photography duties to bandage Adam’s elbow – impressively, they had developed adhesive bandages independently from Earth, and it fit just right within his elbow.
But they weren’t done yet. Next, Yellow-and-Brown got a glass jar. He raised an eyebrow at Antir. She, noticing the expression, took to the cards. The next one was a humanoid figure standing before a jar, like the one he saw, with a curved line coming from the bottom of its torso and into the jar. Adam needed a moment before he realized what it meant. Seriously? Again?
–·–··
Yellow-and-Brown screwed the urine-filled jar shut while Adam pulled his waste garment back up, getting started on zipping the cooling garment back on. So that’s my hair, my spit, my blood, and now my piss. Now what? Are they going to cut me open?
Apparently that was the end of the sampling phase. Yellow-and-Brown shut and sealed the orange container, then set it towards the back of the sterile locker – which would be in the front on the other side. It shut the door, and hit a button on the side. He heard the usual windup and blast as the unknown mechanism sterilized the interior. Don’t waste any of that.
One by one, each of them started making their way back to the exit. Guess it’s time for me to go. Adam grabbed his white shell of a suit and started worming his way into it – taking care to steer his left hip out of the way of the edge, to avoid exasperating his injury. Once both feet and legs were securely inside those of the suit, as well as his right arm, he tried to stand up – but found the task rather difficult. Antir’s telekinesis helpfully propped him upright, and he was able to plant his feet firmly on the ground.
He gripped the torso lever, on the bottom this time and pulled it back up to his chest. The life-support backpack smoothly swung shut, and sealed with several clicks. Like it never even happened, he marveled. Though of course, I’ll have to tell the others about what just happened.
Adam followed the equines into the airlock, where they were standing, waiting for him. As soon as he stepped inside fully, the door shut automatically behind him. Antir looked up at him, as if to ask if he was ready. Adam answered by moving his hand to the sterilizer button. None of them stopped him from pressing it – and when he did, he braced himself for the flash and thunder of their sterilizer.
Five seconds later, they were all clean.
Promptly as the light faded, all four equines started stripping out of their suits, stashing each one into the orange bin. Whether these would be destroyed, or have the sweat and fur washed out of the interior and reused, he could not say. After taking a large breath of air, Antir took Adam’s hand in her telekinesis and led him out of the airlock and out of the room.
As they continued down the hall, his stomach reminded him of his lack of nutrition. Man, I really cannot wait to get back to the lander. By his judgment, the day was coming to a close, and by the time he got back, it would be far too late to clock into work today. On one hand, he was falling behind on his progress to prove himself – on the other, that was by government orders, and nobody had questioned those so far.
They got to the end of the tunnel, where it zipped open, revealing the six guards still waiting for him and Antir – but mostly for him, as while they surrounded him, they gave Antir little mind, save for her leading them to the train station to take them home.
Logically, it was the same distance from the hospital to the station – but to him, this time it seemed much further away, either due to his impatience, or the increased street traffic. Adam ignored the stares and gawks; he didn’t care what any of them thought of him. He just wanted a meal and some rest.
Right, I should hail them right now, now that I finally have a chance, he thought. Even if it is after the fact. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset, come in,” he opened, “over.”
Five seconds passed. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” Commander Darcy’s voice came through, with an exasperated voice. “We’ve been trying to hail you for about an hour now, what gives? Over.”
“Apologies, sir,” he replied, “I was in a dead zone. It turned out the building they took me into had a Faraday cage lining the walls. At first glance, it appeared to be just an architectural choice – though if it’s true that a Faraday cage would block the mechanism of their unknown technology, I think it would go a long way to determining the nature of their telekinesis, and teleportation. Over.”
Darcy sighed. “Leave it to them to engineer that connerie,” he commented. “Copy Somerset, I’ll relay that to Dr. Weiss once she’s awake. But for now,” he added, “what did you and the Indigenous do in the meantime? Over.”
Adam sighed – though that was left untransmitted. How do I break this to him? he pondered. Then he drew a breath – screw it, blunt force it is. “I guess it was inevitable,” he started. “They wanted to do a medical examination on me. Before you ask sir, no, they did not dissect me. They took some measurements, photographs, and samples of my hair, blood, saliva, and urine. They appeared to have biological containment protocols in place, and even simulated a Terrestrial environment.” Should I add anything else? I think that covers the essentials. “Over.”
Silence intervened for about a moment. Adam could just see the train station coming up. “. . . I suppose with a civilization like that, I should have seen it coming,” he appeared to concede. “I just hope it wasn’t too rash of a decision. Was it in a cleanroom at least? Last thing we want is to violate our own contamination protocols – even if they insisted upon it. Over.”
Adam started to relax. “Affirmative,” he replied. “They took every possible precaution to ensure that I did not contaminate Rhysling, nor would they me. The Indigenous were wearing protective gear in a cleanroom. Over.”
“Sterilization protocols, Somerset, how did those work for them? Over.”
“If I explained it to you,” he replied, “would you believe it? Over.”
“Somerset, we’re talking about a race that can teleport at will,” he replied. “Unless you’re just bullshitting us with that too – are you? Over.”
“Through unknown means,” Adam explained, his previous anxiety all but subsided, “their sterilizer works in an instant. Not even five seconds pass from start to end. Just a simple windup, then it showers you in bright light and loud sound. Once that was done, it was just a matter of coaxing me out of my suit. No ill effects are present now, but I will be monitoring myself for the foreseeable future. Over.” He clamored aboard the train car, along with Antir and two of the guards, the other four staying behind. As he usually did, he sat side-saddle on the nearest bench, with his leg propped up. Antir sat on the bench opposite, to keep an eye on him, and the two guards posted up at the back of the car.
“Elena’s focused on how Rhyslinger life works, particularly when interacting with Terrestrial life. On one hand, having more pairs of eyes planetside might help her along. On the other hand, if they find a weakness in our biology that they could exploit. . . .” There was a pause – Adam assumed he was deep in thought. “I suppose we’ll have to deal with that eventually. Get back to the lander, get some rest. Over.”
“Copy, Commander. Somerset out.” One of them thumped the bottom of its spear on the ground, which signaled the engineer to go.
As the engine whistled and the train started forward, Adam felt himself lurch into the bench. He sighed – forty minutes away from the first settlement, and another ten-minute walk to the lander. . . then I can just tear into the dry stuff. Yeah, I can wait.
Reflexively, he stuck out his hand to Antir. When she took it, he instead gripped her hoof inside his hand. She felt especially small, fragile – like she was made of glass. He glanced over to her, and saw her return his gaze. It had only been a few days since he landed on Rhysling, but he felt certain, more certain than before, that he might actually consider himself her friend – the first of hopefully many more he would make on the new world.
Elena started eating some jerky, while waiting for some chicken noodle soup to rehydrate in front of her. She sighed, and peered down at the revolving view of the planet below. She hadn’t heard from Adam since he gave the probe’s spectroscope a once-over at her request. The probe was still processing the radiation content of the soil sample, but atmospheric measurements – which she requested as well, just to be sure – came back in a matter of minutes: they were identical.
She shrugged and came into the galley to fix herself a quick meal. She would need it – analyzing the probe’s unadulterated findings would take some power. She only hoped it wasn’t too much of a strain on Dr. Somerset, there on the surface, who did end up fixing the issue straightaway, even if he was propelled by nothing but rage.
The planet came back into view, ever so briefly, and she kept eating her jerky. Behind her, she heard boots hit the ground. Turning around, she found Commander Darcy in the galley behind her. “Evening, Weiss,” he greeted. “I was wondering where you were, there’s something you need to know.” He pulled out a packet of ramen noodles.
“Ja?” She checked on the packet of soup – it wasn’t ready yet.
“After Dr. Somerset repaired the probe again, the Indigenous called him away – this time to a hospital in the other settlement.” He hooked the ramen packet to the red hydration gun, and injected a hundred milliliters of hot water. “They performed a medical examination on him – that meant him stepping out of the suit.” He sat down by Elena, setting the packet down to rehydrate on its own.
“And he did not seek caution first?” she asked.
“Apparently it was safe,” he said. “Cleanroom, hazmat suits, the whole nine yards. Contamination may be avoided yet. If not. . . .” He sighed. “If you meant talking to us first, he couldn’t – by the time he put two and two together, he found himself inside a Faraday cage – whole damned building was lined with one. – Thought that would be a lead for you, insofar as to their biology.”
She finally turned her body away from the window and faced Commander Darcy completely. “To confess,” she said, “I had not considered the radio frequencies.” A pause. “But then, we should have seen radio signals from Rhysling. So why have we not?”
“Good question,” he offered. “I don’t think the probe can detect anything in the radio spectrum – lest it obviously pick up its own emissions.” He rested his cheek in his hand, losing himself in thought – but only for a moment. “Wait. No – not by default. What if. . . we could simply interrupt the signals while searching out the radio frequencies?”
“I’m certain that could be done,” she answered. “I could try programming and sending the new protocol from orbit, at least.”
“And if it doesn’t work out,” he added, “well. . . we do have someone on the ground who could make it happen.”
“No.” She gently placed her palm on the table, standing up. “That should not be necessary. We ran the diagnostics, we know all the systems of the probe correctly working are. Besides! – you saw how angry Dr. Somerset was when last we spoke to him. If he says the probe is fine, if the diagnostic says the probe is fine, then Gopfverdammi nomal, the probe is perfectly fine!” She caught her breath from her venting, and sat back down. “I’m sorry, sir. I should not have – ”
“No, no, you were probably right.” Commander Darcy sighed. “As for other radiation types – can you at least tell me they’re within safe parameters?”
“The last reading? Yes, it was safe.” She finished her jerky, and checked the packet of soup. Seeing it had finally finished, she picked it up and hovered it in front of her mouth. “Though that may change when I see the latest.” She started drinking the soup. “In any case, that lead you mentioned – I will investigate it first thing, thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
“And thank you for being on top of it.” He prodded his ramen packet – it wasn’t ready just yet. “Though I still can’t get my mind off of that unexpected exam.” He set his gaze out the window. “I hope he’s just fine right now.”
·–·–·
Adam was most certainly not fine right now.
When Antir recognized the alarm as belonging to something vital to his survival, she leaped to her hooves and galloped to the head of the train. Whatever she told the engineer convinced him to speed things along; he felt the rail joints jolt him a lot more. It also meant that the train’s brakes started screeching sooner, louder, and for longer than he would have preferred – it was hard to concentrate on not crashing into a bench while concentrating on shallow breathing. Still, by the time they arrived, he had five percent of his scrubber left, and the alarm was getting on his nerves.
Adam started to get up, but Antir was having none of it. He was swept off his feet, and he found himself floating in Antir’s telekinesis as she floated him out the door. If she can lift things as heavy as me, he imagined – then what would be her upper limit? The guards didn’t even bother following her – their duties apparently ended when the train arrived.
He felt himself be hoisted higher, over the heads of passing equines. The monitor told him that capacity had dropped to four percent. As much as he was panicking internally, he knew he had to keep his breathing in check – don’t use up any more oxygen than you have to, he reminded himself.
But what if you need to use more than you have!?
Shut up, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Just relax and let Antir save your life.
Would this mean indentured servitude? What would she put us through!?
Too late to go back now, isn’t it? Just. Stop. Worrying. Right now. You damned. . . idiot!
They left town not long after. She crossed the bridge when she got to it, with him gliding neatly over the water to the side. He checked the monitor – zero percent. He was literally running on fumes at this point, and the landing site was just in sight. This is it, he thought. This is the moment where I find out it’s the closest call of my life – or my last stand. He started coughing.
She didn’t even give him a chance to climb up the ladder – nor could she himself. Adam felt some tingling coursing through his body – then he instinctively blinked as a violet flash of light enveloped his vision. When he opened his eyes again, he and Antir were on the lander’s scaffolding.
He blinked – Wait, did I just teleport? He coughed again. Forget it, I need air! Antir practically slammed the life-support backpack into the suitport, and hit the sterilizer button with her hoof. These next two minutes were hell – not just because he was spoiled by the five-second flash the Indigenous had apparently developed, but also because he had hit zero percent three minutes ago. He kept coughing, sputtering, and gasping, as his body struggled to pull what little usable oxygen remained inside the suit. It didn’t help that it was re-sealed at a reduced pressure, and therefore he had less air to work with. Or did something get inside the scrubber back in the cleanroom?
Through his watering eyes, he thought he saw Antir looking at him with genuine worry. He wanted to reässure her, tell her that human beings were hardier than he made them out to be – but that thought was quickly lost when he started coughing again. His eyes were completely shut, and he couldn’t read the timer on the display.
[ɹiˈɣě ɑlɲɑˈmɯ] H’ryleeloofa had apparently flown in at one point, noticing the commotion at the lander.
That was as much as Adam could make out before his coughing took up all his attention. And the amount of attention he had started dwindling as well – am I getting drowsy? he wondered. Oh no. . . no no no, God damn it!
His only saving grace was that right at that precise moment the suit’s timer finally hit :00, and he felt the back hatch swing open. Cool oxygenated air rushed past his back, as the two pressures equalized, but it was not enough to alleviate his problem. He was barely able to get his arms out of the suit’s, and then he found he no longer had the strength to pull himself out, nor could he remember what he should do. He then twisted his torso from side to side in an attempt to slip out, but ended up only irritating his bruised hip. Like it or not, he was stuck here.
He took a moment to use his freed hand to wipe his eyes clear, and to shake himself to a semblance of being awake – and when he did, he saw Antir’s telekinesis apparently working through the lander’s walls. She had found the knob for the window shutter, and hastily exposed the interior to her sight, letting in the golden rays of the alien sunset. She peered inside, looking for something – when she found Adam, she lit her horn and grabbed his back – he felt a warm tingling sensation on the skin, nothing painful – lifting him completely out of the suit and setting him face-up on the cot.
She didn’t bother to strip off his garments – and Adam was still coughing. The effort his body was exerting to get enough oxygen was still as great as ever, and it didn’t seem to be letting up. The only thing that could save him was the oxygen tank mounted by the oxygenator.
He tried to get up onto his feet, but his legs were too weak to support his weight. He essentially had to tumble himself out of the cot and start crawling to his salvation.
But Antir was having none of it. She once again grabbed Adam and forced him back onto the cot, not allowing him to exert himself. Frantically, he started pointing at the oxygenator, at the tank mounted nearby. Unfortunately, it was just out of her view, as the back hatch did not swing open wide enough.
She then apparently resolved to feeling it out – she prodded each part of the oxygenator, one by one, pushing here, tugging there, seeing which parts could be removed and which were bolted down. She was careful enough not to manipulate its controls. When her telekinesis wrapped around the oxygen tank, he nodded vigorously, and motioned for it. She tore it from the wall, snapping the metal mountings strap, and brought it into his hands.
A clear plastic mask descended over his mouth and nose. He felt some tingling behind his head, then he felt it lifting up by itself – then a strap snapped on, securing the mask onto him. A hard yet precise twist of the valve later, he was finally breathing some fresh air. He leaned back onto the cot and tried to get himself to relax – despite the now sporadic coughing on his part. Let’s hope I don’t suffer any permanent damage. . . either from them, or from this –
“Tango-1, this is Zulu-Alfa,” Louis announced over the radio. Son of a – let me rest, damn you! “Sensors have indicated that internal capsule pressure has just dropped. Is everything okay? Over.”
Adam could not be bothered to get up – besides the fresh, cool oxygen flowing into his lungs, he knew Antir would forcefully and wordlessly insist that he stay on the cot. There was something else I needed to mention. . . what was it again? He couldn’t remember; like it or not, Louis would have to take a rain check on a response.
“Tango-1, please respond,” he insisted all the same. “We’ve noticed that the capsule may have sprung a leak, can you please confirm? Over.”
I really need to tell them something, but I’m drawing a blank. Dammit, I can’t leave them hanging. He absentmindedly started to get back onto his feet, but he felt a great pressure on his chest, which forced him back down. A violet-hued glow played over his chest – right where he noticed the same warm tingling as before. This feels nice, I can get used to this. . . but let me up already! Louis is my commander; I have to talk to him about. . . something.
And then Antir did something else completely unexpected – she stepped away from the window, pressed her hoof on the radio button on the suit, and shouted loud enough for her voice to penetrate the titanium, “Edem. . . is. . . no well!”
Surprised, Adam jerked his head up when he realized she spoke English, however broken it may have been. Zodiac-Altair was just as surprised, for Louis’s reply was swift and succinct: “Last person transmitting, identify yourself immediately!”
But of course she couldn’t understand what he was saying just yet. “He not. . . he say ‘Eh! Eh! Eh!’” Onomatopoeia for coughing. “Not get air.”
After a moment, Louis replied, “I think I know what is wrong. Did you hear a sound? Did it say ‘Ee-ee-ee’?”
“Yes, ee-ee-ee.” No further words for Antir – either she didn’t know the words in English, or she didn’t care. But then, a moment later. “Edem have. . . thing. Get air with.”
Adam heard Louis sigh audibly over the transmission – out of relief. “Okay, that is good. Keep him on it, yes?”
“Yes!”
Then Louis turned his attention to the human. “Adam, if you can hear this – do not move around. Get some rest. Explain the situation to me when you can, not any sooner. Zulu-Alfa out.”
To Adam, that meant the line would go dead – but Antir did not understand. “What do?” she transmitted.
Louis seemed to have turned around to reply a moment later. “You helped Adam. Thank you. Goodbye.”
This prompted Antir to step away from the suit and back to the window. Adam translated the sense of the commander’s message by hoisting himself upright and holding a hand up to the glass.
Antir returned the gesture – laying the hoof directly on the other side of the pane. This meant goodbye, for the time being, but she still looked rather concerned. I’ll be fine, Antir. I promise.
Adam expected her to shut the shutter and be on her way back home – but she wasn’t leaving just yet. As he laid down on the cot, she used her telekinesis to rummage through the supplies, opening each crate in her sight through the window. What is she looking for? he wondered. She got me oxygen, she partially explained the situation to Darcy. What more does she want to do?
She eventually found what she was looking for – the food packets. She couldn’t read the instructions, but apparently Rhysling had quite a few food analogues to Earth, because she picked out several items that did not require any rehydration. Though I’m still rather parched. . . how much water was left again?
She thrust them onto the galley, but used too much force, and they tumbled onto the floor. Funny, he thought, she’s trying to feed me. Now what, will she get my pajamas on? Then with that idea, he started looking around for his nonexistent pajamas. He started getting up, but as usual she pushed him back down onto the cot with her telekinesis.
Per Commander Darcy’s orders, he kept his mask on while breathing. Slowly and steadily, he started purging out the excess carbon dioxide from his bloodstream. And it was all thanks to that violet unicorn by the window, whose quick thinking saved his life. He arched his back, twisting himself from side to side, and felt his dorsal muscles strain and stretch out, and those nerves tingle. This made him breathe the tanked oxygen deeply – which helped alleviate his symptoms further.
Antir appeared somewhat satisfied with the sight before her. She lit her horn and, in a flash of violet light, disappeared from the lander’s scaffold. She didn’t bother closing the window’s shutter first, despite having demonstrated she could actuate it from the outside. Maybe she wants me to enjoy the sunset? He shrugged, reached up to the tank’s valve, and twisted it shut. The life-giving air stopped flowing, but he felt somewhat fine now. Though I should take advantage of the rest order, he thought. I’ll try to remember today’s events.
He got up from the cot, setting the oxygen tank aside, and started stripping away his garments so he could bathe off the sweat. What’s this bandage doing in my elbow? Even when completely bare, he still felt impossibly slick – perhaps hotboxing himself inside the Strauss with all that carbon dioxide wasn’t such a good idea, even if he didn’t intend it. Eh, forget it – this is Future Adam’s problem.
He looked around still for his pajamas, but he could only be disappointed not to find them. Ugh, fine, guess I’ll have to sleep in the nude. Sighing in resignation, he laid back down on the cot. The last thing he could remember before he drifted off to sleep was possibly a pink-and-yellow equine observing him through the window. . . .
––
Louis pushed his head into his hands – both to take his mind off his tobacco withdrawal and to try to wrap his head around the fact that he had just made contact with one of the Indigenous.
If it said a name besides Adam’s, he didn’t catch it – if he had to guess, it was shouted through the suit’s walls into the internally-mounted microphones – but it sounded female, at least. But he couldn’t make such assumptions. All he knew for sure was that it helped Adam when he ran into some sort of trouble. The sensors indicated that internal pressure was now ninety-eight point seventy-five percent what it should be – as small a drop as it was, it still meant that biosegregation had been violated after all, and any Terrestrial germs, bacteria, and so forth could be populating and conquering Rhysling’s surface. He would expect Adam to explain everything once he was properly rested and recovered – but until then, he feared the worst. “Did you hear all of that, doctor?” he asked Dr. Weiss.
“I have,” she returned. “I believe I have an answer on how the breach occurred.”
Louis raised his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”
“The probe has returned atmospheric data multiple times,” she started. “It is a consistent point ninety-five atmospheres, at least at this altitude. I suspect during his examination, when he first left the suit, the two atmospheres equalized to the average of ninety-seven point five percent. Once they were done, he resealed himself at that pressure. So naturally, when he reëntered the lander, the pressures equalized a second time – ”
“And the pressure inside the lander would drop to ninety-eight point seven five percent,” he concluded. “Of course he would wing it with the air pressure from the start.” He shook his head and chuckled to himself, before going further. “Any progress on the new protocol?”
“I am still working on the latter,” she said. “It is taking me longer than I anticipated – mostly because a few commands would not come to my mind. Still,” she added, “if it means I’ve discovered something – ”
“And so what if you do?” he asked. “I’m a sailor, not a labcoat, but I would welcome the news that I had just rewritten conventional science. Wouldn’t you?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Put yourself in Darwin’s shoes,” he continued, unprompted. “He was ridiculed in his day, since his idea of evolution and survival of the fittest went against the idea that God created Heaven and Earth in seven days. But now? We see his principles pop up, again and again and again, everywhere we go, to the point that we can assume a new lifeform we discovered on Earth came from an ancestral species – assume with the all same fervor as the church assumed about divine creation.
“If anyone can change the collective mind called science – ” he snapped his finger at her – “it’s you. I’m sure you’ll find the answer, no matter how unexpected it would be.”
This put a smile on Elena’s face. “I’m sure you’re right, Commander,” she replied – then turned back to her work. Meanwhile, he noticed that Dr. Konstantinov had just come back up from his sleep, so he left to deliver the latest development – out of her earshot, so she wouldn’t be disturbed. Still, she couldn’t help but overhear the Russian exclaim, “He did what?”
She chuckled at the remark, but at the same time, she reflected on Darcy’s words – and realized what a perfect parallel it was between her and Darwin. Both of them made their work while on a long voyage far from home, both of their work involved the nature of life – and at least one of them would revolutionize biology in his time. Could she, though? Could she do the impossible? Could she flip not only her own field, biology, on its head, but conventional physics as well? There was only one way to find out – the new analysis protocol. She only hoped that this mysterious force posed no threat to anyone involved in the mission – least of all Dr. Somerset, who as part of his role had the misfortune of being right at the source.
Her sight glided over her terminal’s monitor. The instruments aboard the probe could only ascertain between alpha, beta, gamma, and X-rays – radio she would need to sift out manually by herself. Not to mention communications would have to black out during readings – but she set it for ten seconds at a time: long enough to get a good general look, but short enough that she would notice if something went wrong.
Normally physics wasn’t her line of work, but what if they were right, that Rhyslinger lifeforms could emit energy? Well, other than heat or light, via bioluminescence. She was willing to buy a bioluminescent horn on the unicorn’s head, but if it truly was capable of telekinesis and even teleportation, all via the radio spectra. . . well! She would have her work cut out for her.
––·
. . . what happened last night?
Adam still felt a bit tired from the night before. He yawned, stretching himself out. As he did, he looked down into the crook of his left elbow, and found a bandage stuck there. Huh? He yanked it off – it stung, as he expected, but the pain somehow gave him a burst of energy, enabling him to concentrate on what had happened the day before. And then it hit him like a freight train – I went to a hospital in their capital city, stepped out of my suit but couldn’t tell them because of a Faraday cage, and they examined and sampled me! Then after I told the others, I ran my scrubber down to the barebones and Antir had to yank me out. . . . He ran his hands over his body, looking for any external effects – any marks, scars, burns, anything – but nothing obvious was showing up. That could’ve gone way worse. But then she was speaking English too! And I didn’t even try to teach her! I’ve got to get out and find her.
He looked over to the now-coal-black scrubber still inside his suit. Still gotta replace that. As he looked away, he darted his eyes across the window. The morning light was streaming through, but he also saw Sulfoyarnǃa observing him. Did Antir set her up to watch me through the night? He waved at her.
She waved back, enthusiastically and relieved at his condition. She spread her wings, taking flight from the scaffolding, likely to report back to Antir. He looked down and found himself still bare and coated in dried sweat.
Alright, time to start the day. He found the oxygen tank, bundled it up with the mask, and stowed it under his cot. He looked down and found the food packets Antir had pulled out the previous day, and decided to clean them up. He held back some dry cereal and collard greens, rehydrating the latter with seventy milliliters of cold water. Despite his ravenous hunger and lack of cleanliness, he sat down at the radio. This is it, Adam. You have to tell them. You have to.
He grabbed the receiver. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he opened. He took a deep breath. “I have recovered from yesterday’s incident and am ready to report what had happened. Please acknowledge, over.” He set it back down, not expecting an immediate response. How is he going to take this report? he pondered. Most of what’s happened yesterday, I reported on the day of. Just need to cover the CO2 incident, including the pressure drop.
“This is Zulu-Alfa,” Louis replied over the radio. “Dr. Weiss told me her working theory, so I wanted to check with you as well. Sound off, over.”
Adam drew a breath. “I realize you’re going to call me an idiot, Commander, but bear with me,” he started. “After yesterday’s communication, I settled into the train ride back to the lander when my suit’s carbon dioxide scrubber fell below fifteen percent remaining capacity. I figured I had enough left to complete the trip and walk back, but apparently not. She had to help me finish the trip back.”
“‘She?’” Louis interrupted. “Do you mean the same one you’ve been seeing all this time? Over.”
“Affirmative,” Adam replied. “I suspect she went with me as an impromptu interpreter, someone both I and the others can trust. Anyway, once I arrived back here, my scrubber had reached zero percent remaining capacity. I. . . .” Oh boy. “I did not think to contact you at the time – I suspect the air was impairing my judgment. Over.”
“That was another close call on your record, Somerset – a closer one than last time. You’ve simply got to be more careful with your air supply. I don’t know if either I or your Indigenous friend can save you next time when the pressure mounts.
“Which brings me to my next topic,” he continued. “You gave me quite a scare with the lander’s pressure drop. What did you do to make that happen? Over.”
“That was a mistake on my part,” Adam confessed. “I. . . noticed that their ‘normal’ atmospheric pressure was close to what we know from back home, ninety-five percent of Terrestrial sea level – ”
“Aha!” Louis interrupted once again. And I was doing so well, too. . . . “You should have still asked for increased air pressure. So that was how pressure dropped in the capsule. Come to think of it, that may have been why you were suffocating inside your suit as well.” Really? Would they have a correlation? “We’ve lost air to Rhysling after all – yet somehow, assuming their contamination protocols are on par with ours, it shouldn’t worry us at all. Though that is a heavy assumption to make. . . .
“Again, you had me frightened there, Somerset, so next time keep your good eye on your scrubber. As nice as it would be for them to learn about us – at the risk of learning our own vulnerabilities as well – we need to know more about them. For you, that means learning the Indigenous language – so don’t lose sight of that.
“Oh, and before you go,” he added – “I’d like to get a look at the Indigenous. I’d like to know what we’re dealing with on the surface. Over.”
Adam sighed – as much as he wanted to document their language and get the hell off of this green rock, something tells him that wasn’t going to be that easy. If he hasn’t seen Antir yet, he realized, God knows I’m in for some more yelling. Were they too busy to see her? “Ask Dr. Weiss,” he replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to work. Somerset out.”
Getting up, he was about to grab some breakfast when he remembered the packet of greens at the galley. No need to check – they were long ready, and since it said to use cold water, it was never hot to start.
As he sat down to eat, a thought crossed his mind. He looked down at his naked chest, noting the pair of nipples and the pale skin without any discoloration, lacking contact from the light of either sun. He ran his hand across it, feeling the fine layer of hair along its surface, the steady pulse of his heart, and the stark contrast between his cold hand and his warm chest. But more, he started to realize, Antir’s telekinesis, and teleportation, doesn’t seem to affect me at all.
Well, perhaps not the one time, his thoughts went next. I still don’t know if repeat jumps would be just as ineffective. Better not chance it, he resolved, not at least until I have completed my mission.
. . . Crissake, spinach really doesn’t taste any better down here, does it?
“Ask Dr. Weiss,” Dr. Somerset transmitted from the surface. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to work. Somerset out.”
Louis just shrugged. “You have something for me, Weiss?” he asked.
“Indeed,” she replied. “I could not help but overhear you ask Dr. Somerset about the appearance of the. . . was isch das Wort? – Indigenous on the surface. . . and, erm, well, I can in fact show you at once, if you’d like.”
“Can you? Please do.” He made a motion to leapfrog from the ceiling.
“Jawohl – but first, Commander – ” she held her hand out, stopping him from approaching her terminal – “I should tell you this: this image came in some time ago from the probe. What you will see in it, you would not believe. I couldn’t believe it either – and to say nothing about Somerset making first contact.”
“I’ve seen enough crazy things back when I served aboard the Athabaskan,” he assured – “this? This should be a cakewalk.”
She rolled her eyes – and started loading the photograph. It took a few seconds to load its full resolution, but what it offered was unmistakable and exact in its testimony.
Indeed, Louis couldn’t believe it – just as she feared, and just as Dr. Somerset had apparently feared as well. There was Somerset, in his suit waving at the probe, while next to him, with his arm draped across its nape, was what looked like a violet unicorn.
Louis would’ve bought just about anything vaguely shaped like a humanoid being as the Indigenous. His mind went back to when he’d watched Star Trek on the family television – how the Vulcans, the Klingons, and the Romulans all looked human, walked human, though acted with the strange quirks that, while alien, still made them human. But this? It was like something out of a fantasy novel. It couldn’t be real. No, it couldn’t possibly be real.
And yet it was – and Dr. Weiss certainly had no experience manipulating photographs, nor did she have a reason. Would he have believed it if it were a mass of cells in a pile? What if it was part of a hiveminded race? Perhaps this one was – would explain the horn in front of its head – and nobody had figured it out yet. But of all the things he could have said, it ended up being just one thing.
“Les chevaux?” he muttered – then he turned to face Weiss, gestured the monitor, and blurted out “C’est quoi cette folie?” He expected confusion, perhaps the start of an argument.
But Dr. Weiss just laughed. “That’s what I said!”
·–··
As Adam crossed the bridge into town, his mind still focused on the mechanics of their telekinesis, teleportation, and anything else they might do with it. Can they do anything else with it? he wondered. I’ve yet to see it happen – but then, if I could wield it myself, what more use would I need?
But a sudden transmission interrupted his reverie. “Somerset, this is Commander Darcy.” Oh, calling me again, I see. Whaddaya want this time? “Dr. Weiss just showed me the photograph from the probe, taken a few solar cycles ago. Am I correct to believe that the Indigenous are equine in their nature? Over.”
Oh, now you’re just hearing about it? Seriously Weiss, Konstantinov – y’all dropped the ball there. But then, so did I, in a way. Bah! “This is Somerset,” he replied. “Affirmative Zulu-Alfa, most of the Indigenous are – ” he was about to use ‘xenohippologic,’ but figured that none of the three awake aboard would know what it meant – “equine. That was something I noticed as soon as I landed. I neglected to tell you since I wasn’t sure if you would believe me when I spoke of their appearances. Over.”
“Somerset, s’il te plaît. . . .” Louis paused for a few moments before he found the words – but even then, Adam was wondering why he heard a hint of hesitation in his voice, as though even he doubted his own words. “It doesn’t matter what they look like, so long as you found which ones were in fact the sentients. As long as you can find a way to communicate with them, that’s all that matters.” Fair point, I guess. “I’ll leave you to your job, then. That’s one mystery solved – I’ll be transmitting this photo back to Earth. Zulu-Alfa out.”
Adam chuckled to himself – he wondered how the world might react to the whole scene. Several facts could be drawn from it – his appearance in his suit, the fact that he was the first man to walk on Rhysling – on the first planet outside the Solar System – and the first man to make contact with an extraterrestrial species. But more importantly, the appearance of the extraterrestrials themselves. For all the wild and unbounded imagination of Man, it could conceive them to be something familiar to Earth, their cradle.
How would his family react to the scene? How would his friends? How would Akira? He couldn’t focus on these thoughts and the road ahead, and ended up hitting something right in the torso. At least, he thought it was the torso – he looked down and saw that he ran into Antir. “Hello,” she greeted – in English, not Ukhǃerr. “Edem is? well.”
There she is – and she’s still speaking English! “Yes, I am well,” he replied. “Thank you.” He turned to go around her on his way to work, but she tagged along instead, apparently having nothing better to do with her time. He didn’t say anything, instead opting for her to speak – in either Ukhǃerr or English.
But she didn’t – she stayed by his side instead, never letting him out of her sight, even as he entered the town proper. One look down at her face told him that it was because she was worried about him. Either she didn’t know what “Yes, Adam is well” meant in Ukhǃerr, or she did, but didn’t believe it, and decided better safe than sorry.
“Where? Edem home is.” she said. Apparently a question, he just noticed that all the interrogative intonation was placed on “where,” leaving the rest of the phrase unaffected.
“Adam home is. . . not here,” he cautiously replied. “Adam home is in sky.” He pointed skyward to emphasize his point. “Is in stars. Is very far away.”
“Yes, Edem home is in stars,” she replied. “But where? in stars.” Apparently she wanted a more specific answer.
Fair call on that one. “There is. . . hole in stars,” he replied. “What is ‘hole’?” Let’s see if she knows that word.
But Antir merely pointed at a bird passing through the sky. “Hole?” she asked.
“No. Bird.” Better demonstrate it for her. He knelt down by the side of the road and started digging into the dirt. He didn’t go too far, but then it wasn’t needed to demonstrate his point. “Hole,” he announced, pointing at the small hole he just dug.
“Hole,” she repeated, looking down at what he did. Then she looked back to his face – “Hole in sky? How?”
He shrugged. “I do not know.” But it’s at least a start. Let’s go from there. He formed a loop with his thumb and index finger. “Hole here.” He made a fist on one side of the loop. “Antir home here.” He moved the fist to the other side of the loop. “Adam home here.” Come to think of it, didn’t we discuss this before? he thought. Did she just forget, or does she think I was blowing smoke up her –
“How?” she asked still. “Stars is perfect. Stars has no flaw. Yara Ariman let stars has no flaw.” A local deity? Adam wondered. . . . no, hold on, I think I know who she’s talking about. One of the two tall unicorn-pegasus hybrids in the capitol’s palace. They weren’t deities – at least, he didn’t think so – but they did have administrative functions in her nation’s government. He didn’t catch the white one’s name, even though it was the first to respond to Antir, but it didn’t sound like Yara Ariman. That meant that name applied to the blue one.
As he thought about it some more, he realized just how appropriate it was. Yara Ariman represented the night – the moon and the stars that hang overhead in the night sky. Is she its custodian? Do these two rotate in and out with the sunrise and the sunset? The white one’s appearance does look similar to the Rhyslinger sun – maybe that really is the motif.
Antir interrupted his thinking with some tugging on his arm – in her hoof this time, not her telekinesis, as she normally would use. “Edem go now,” she told him.
Adam stood back up. “Yes, Adam go now.” He started back down the road, on his way to the repair shop. Something tells me I’m going to be late again, he realized. I hope she doesn’t fire me. . . .
··–·
Either he wasn’t late at all, nobody noticed him, or the clerk didn’t care at all. He noted the single job marked on the board: he was apparently supposed to be. . . picking up litter?
The purpose depicted was unmistakable: a humanoid figure was holding a pole with a narrow, pointed end, using it to puncture loose refuse on the ground, then depositing them into a bin. Worse, there was no magnet on the metal map – or rather, there were four, being used to hold a square of red film over the area where he was supposed to work.
Then he noticed the clerk turn the corner to see him. “Nǃapata,” he greeted with a wave of his hand, making sure to place the stress on the last syllable.
“Nǃapata,” it returned, with a similar gesture. [sɑˈsɑ noɣu sulɑkiˈsũ l̩bɑˈʙu] It pointed its hoof towards the board, assuming he hadn’t seen it yet.
He simply couldn’t imagine whoëver assigned these jobs to him would be that demeaning, but when it paired its words with a smile – a warm one, not at all sadistic – he started to rethink the intent behind it. He took another look at the map, at the area that the film marked. It was in the eastern part of town – and yes, it did enclose the barbershop where he worked the day before. Is that more populated? Less?
In any case, he came to realize that the clerk simply wanted him to get to know the town better. And apparently, the best way to do that, for a man of his cultural skills, was to pick up trash.
He took another look at the board itself, and saw a detail that was omitted from his initial observation: for every full bag of trash that he collected, he earned a coin. Which cladding? He had to ask.
He rapped on the clerk’s desk – then when it looked up, he pointed at the coin on the board, raising an eyebrow.
The clerk had to pause to ponder what he had meant by these mute gestures. Eventually it peeked under the desk, and retrieved a coin – silver. One silver coin per bag, he realized – six bags per gold coin. I just wonder how quickly these things fill up.
With that mystery solved, yet another opened, he sighed and shrugged, resigning himself to a rather demeaning fate, and turned to head to the door. As he did so, he noticed two things waiting for him there: a small wheeled bin, lined with a black film bag, and a trash picker – wooden, with one end ending with a rubber ball, and the other with a thin metal rod. He grabbed the rod, and started pushing the bin in front of him as he set off out the door.
Of course his first piece of trash would be found right outside the agency itself. He stabbed what looked like some sort of silver-foil wrapper, then emptied it into the bin. It hardly made a dent in the job – but then, he was just getting started.
At least he knew the way to the east side of town.
–·
C’mon, really? Adam stopped to pluck some more garbage – a wax-paper cup – literally right next to a public trash bin. It was right there! Literally just try!
But it was one more to add to his own bin, at least. Not only that, but the bag was getting completely full. Good time as any to tie it off and start on the next one. He set the picker down, leaning it against a tree on the side of the street, and started tying off the bag. This way, through here – pull tight! It was sealed closed. One silver coin in his pocket when he got back.
But how would he prove it? No way would they count the number of bags – besides, that’d be easy to fake: just toss the lot and reap a profit. Nor did he have a reliable supervisor with him, who would attest the exact number of bags he used. No, he’d have to keep it with him for the time being.
The bin did have a few places onto which to tie the bag, so Adam took advantage of that. He made a simple slipknot, one that he could unfasten quickly, but held its strength while he kept working. Satisfied by the handiwork, he grabbed another bag from a small cardboard box, shook it to spread it out, then carefully lined the bin with it. Ready to go! He picked up the picker again and kept walking, looking side to side for anything that he could miss.
He suddenly stopped. Hey, what if. . . ? He backed up and looked at the public bin again. Sure enough, this one was getting full as well. Do they use the same size bags? Their containers were of similar dimensions. That would make sense.
Then he got an idea. An awful idea. Dr. Adam Somerset got a wonderful, awful idea.
He lifted the public bin’s lid off and set it aside. Then he lifted the bag out, tied it off, and affixed it to his own bin. He shook out another bag, lined the public bin with it again, and placed the lid back on. That was another coin in his pocket, plus he did the regular sanitation workers a favor at the same time.
But that was a trick he could pull off maybe once. If he did that too many times, the agency clerk would know the jig was up and refuse to pay him anything for the day. But oh well, the deed was done, and there was no point ruminating over the consequences.
He set off down the road once again, keeping an eye on his surroundings. They were pristine so far, apart from that rather messy incident he saw. Then again, he saw similar things back on Earth – Tacoma, Santa Barbara, even Cambridge couldn’t be considered clean or tidy.
Aha! He found a loose square of paper blowing in the wind. Once it settled by his feet, he stabbed it and disposed of it. Lucky me.
Then his nose started to itch. Adam’s anxiety started rising – he knew he couldn’t scratch it easily, not in this awkward position. Thankfully, the Soviet engineers had implemented a quick and dirty solution: a small square piece of sandpaper inside the helmet’s lower rim. Adam bowed his head, and scratched his nose against it. Ah, much better.
He rounded the next corner and kept going up this street. Up ahead, he noted a rather large park within the town. A park means lots of equines, he thought. Means lots of trash. Could fill up another bag or two just roaming around there.
He went into the park, crossing under an iron sign, Ukhǃerr letters wrought into the grating in words he could not understand – well, apart from the obvious. Alright, trash, trash, trash. . . this park’s entrance looks clean at least. Wait. Stab, stab, stab, he collected up a few bits of paper, dropping them into his bin.
As he walked about the park, his mind was back on Earth. He remembered a time, back in middle school, when he had to pick up trash around the school. And that meant across the entire campus – the parking lots, both staff and public, the playgrounds, even the football field in the back. By coïncidence, that was the last time he had plagiarized an assignment. . . .
He shook his head. Where did the days go? He sighed, and kept trudging along, looking around for any similar messes like the one he found earlier.
He looked to his left – and spotted a proper sanitation worker, with a teal hat and coveralls, changing out the bags for a public bin. Just as he was a few minutes ago.
Adam was conflicted. Should I be doing the same? Clearly the town had specific workers for the purpose, and the chalkboard back at the agency specifically said to pick up trash, not change out bags. And he had already cheated at one point. . . .
What to do, what to do? Adam knew that he had to be an honest worker. He came this far to earning the trust of the Indigenous, and he most certainly did not want to screw things up – not when he had no idea how much further he had to go. But at the same time, the Indigenous were slow to trust outsiders, especially of the sort who came from the sky and nowhere from Rhysling at all.
He wasn’t worried about losing today’s pay – their trust was worth more than his weight in gold.
And yet, it was tempting. Maybe he’s a temp worker too, he thought. Then: No, don’t be ridiculous, he’s likely on a salary. And then, he noticed that the equine he saw earlier was struggling with another public bin.
He raised an eyebrow. Is it stuck? He grabbed his own bin and started heading closer, just to see what it was.
The poor thing was grunting and tugging every which way, but no matter what it seemed like the two pieces were welded together. Here, let me try, he wanted to say – but remained silent, as he grabbed the lid and tried it himself.
Huh, ‘welded’ is the right word after all.
His next reflex was to stick his fingers in – albeit his heavily-gloved ones – to try to see if there was something making the two pieces stick together. Not this corner, not this one. . . aha! The far edge made it really hard to pull his hand away – and when he did finally tear it away with an audible grunt, he saw a black tar-like substance stuck onto his fingertips.
Cue the equine worker planting its face into its front hoof.
The hell is this, horseshoe glue? Regardless, he’d found the problem. Now, it was just a matter of getting that resolved. First, the pony motioned Adam to clean off his glove – not something easy to do. He had to make do with the grass on the ground, which somehow did the trick.
That settled, now was the matter of getting the lid of the blasted thing. Adam decided to take advantage of where the tar-like stuff was placed – he grabbed the front, and started hinging it along. After a bit of back-and-forth motion, the lid finally snapped off – still with the sticky substance on it, but at least it hadn’t broken off. So that’s something, at least.
The equine insisted on dealing with the lid, which freed up Adam to empty out the bin itself. He lifted out the bag and tied it up, as he normally would. Conflicted about what to do with it next, for the time being he left it next to the bin. Grab a new bag, shake it into shape, line the bin, done within the minute.
This gave Adam time to watch the other equine deal with the other mess. Its strategy was simple: just chip and scrape the damned thing away. It had some sort of blunt blade in its mouth, and was running it back and forth along the inside edge of the lid. As awkward as the human found the placement of the tool, he had to admit, despite his own expectations, it was getting the job done. It didn’t even take him five minutes to clean away the lid, even though it must have been terribly hard work.
Once the lid was back on, Adam grabbed the full bag. Making sure he still had the equine’s attention, he pointed at it, then to his own bin, then to the equine, then raised an eyebrow – in that order. Hopefully it would interpret that as what he should do with it: keep it or give it to the worker.
It responded, just as silently, with a simple point at the bag, then to Adam’s bin – and followed up with a smile and a wink. Hmm – maybe it knows what I’m doing, and is now returning the favor. Tit for tat. Thanks!
Adam tied the bag to his bin, and started patrolling the park again. However, in due time he would find that all the rest of the bins had been cleaned out and changed – perhaps that troublesome one was saved for last, precisely for that reason. Oh well, Adam thought, there’s still the rest of the east side of town.
He wasted no more time here, and left the park shortly after.
··
[ˈɑj]
Adam barely had enough time to look up before something hit his helmet. It wasn’t hard enough to crack the glass, but he then noticed some orange fluid start to run down the glass bubble, which still left his brow furrowed in frustration. A group of adolescent (by his guess) equines started laughing, then took off down the road before he could shout something back.
Adam rolled his eyes – bunch of delinquents. But what was that they threw at me, anyway? Adam looked on the ground, and found they had thrown him a container of what looked like juice. I hope it’s not terribly caustic. The suit’s exterior was able to withstand most acidic attacks, but one could never be too sure.
It was a close call at least.
Adam stabbed the container, the lid, and the straw with which it came – though that one took a few tries – and emptied the picker into the bin. This one’s getting full, isn’t it? Good time as any to tie it off and start fresh. He stabbed the ground with the picker and began that old routine.
As he worked, his mind went to his own adolescence. Thankfully he wasn’t an unruly rascal – not like the ones he had just encountered – but he was still prone to trouble. His cousin had introduced him to The Lord of the Rings, which spawned a profound fascination with language once he saw a few glimmers of Quenya and Sindarin. Quite often, he was tardy or outright truant to several classes – he would be found in the libraries in those days, trying to read about more of the world of Middle-Earth. It got to the point where his history teacher once declared, at the top of his lungs in front of his peers, that he would amount to nothing, and that he would be forgotten entirely.
Those words shook him, but only just. Out of spite, he kept to his self-imposed studies. Soon he would branch away from those languages, and in his junior year he took a closer look at other, real-life languages. At first he limited himself to the Germanic ones, then he took up French and Russian simultaneously – he didn’t know how to speak either very well, but can easily explain how they worked ‘under the hood.’ By the time he graduated from UCSB, he had become a fully-fledged linguist, whose doctoral thesis concerned the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis and its effects on the speakers of Australian Aboriginal languages.
After teaching linguistics at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, he would sign up for Zodiac-Altair on a dare from his students, in exchange for their perfect scores. They gave him what they promised, so he had to put his money where his mouth was – which did end up making him the first human to set foot on an extrasolar body.
Amount to nothing, my ass – see you in Hell, Mr. Jones!
With a little more force than he probably meant, he opened up the next bag – which split open from a burst of anger. Crap. . . . He set the bag aside, grabbed a new one, and opened that up more calmly. He lined the bin with it, finally wiped the juice off of his suit with the torn bag, then stuffed that inside. Relax, Adam – you should be calm. Sure, it’s demeaning work, but at least you get to do it on another planet.
The walk from the park to the rest of the east side of town took a long time for Adam to traverse. Along the way, he passed by another fountain in the middle of the street. This time, with so many other equines being familiar with him, he was able to pass by relatively unscathed – be it the fact that he meant no harm, or the fact that he was putting in an honest day’s work just like the rest of them, he didn’t care and in all likelihood it didn’t matter at all.
Many of them were still rather skittish around him, but otherwise did not mind his presence. Some were more friendly – he recognized the wall-eyed pegasus from earlier, making its postal rounds, who waved at him as he passed around the fountain. He waved back, but kept his pace – there simply wasn’t enough time for him to chitchat when he was on the clock, and he did not want to disappoint the clerk.
Out of curiosity, he checked his stat readout. External temperature was fifteen degrees Celsius – still cold, but a bit warmer than the local average – and his scrubber was at sixty-seven percent remaining capacity. Adam shrugged, and closed the monitor away. He checked his right – pristine homes lined the street. Then his left – hey, wait a minute. Is that another park? This grassy yard was fenced off from the rest of the town; while it looked easy enough for him to vault, he didn’t want to try it.
He started second-guessing himself when he noticed that the equines there were all juveniles, no adults. No, this isn’t a park – it’s a playground. Casting his gaze further ahead, he saw what looked like a schoolhouse. I guess now it all makes sense, he thought. But for all intents and purposes, it was just idle musing, and nothing more. He still had work to do.
. . . no.
Now his mind started racing. Adam, you humble idiot! That’s the key to everything! Don’t you see? This means they teach their young – math? Science? History? Don’t care about those right now – surely they’re teaching language as well!
Yes, of course they would, but let’s not just barge inside randomly. That would be rude – and probably illegal, now that I think about it.
Still, it was significant enough for Adam to make a mental note about a possible source on the Indigenous language. He kept pushing his bin along the road, looking for loose rubbish.
However, he caught the eyes of one of the young. “Khon Edem!” it shouted from far across the fenced-off field. “Nǃapata!”
“Nǃapata!” he returned, with a wave of his hand. Naturally, they were curious, just like children back on Earth. Some things never really change, do they? And who could blame them, really – all of them have have heard of this being from the sky, clad in white armor and walking on two legs. Well, that last detail might not have been so amazing, considering the bipedal dragon living with Antir.
He kept moving, trying to ignore the sounds of hooves rapidly galloping up to the fence so the little equines could get a closer look at the curiosity.
“Khon Edem, khon Edem!” one voice eventually broke through his consciousness. He turned to look – hey, didn’t I see you the other day? Yellow fur, red mane affixed with the large bow. . . yep, it’s you alright. [xɑjɑjˈlɑj ʙẽ ʙ̥ɯsɯ̃lteᵑʘelceˈᵑʘɯ] It pointed down the road, directly to the schoolhouse.
I mean sure, the kids might want me there, Adam thought, but I don’t know about the teachers. Or the teacher, if this is one of those old-fashioned schools. He simply nodded in understanding and kept along his way.
Oh, hello there. He stabbed an odd-looking substance drifting in the wind. All he could notice at first glance was that it was brown. He brought it up into his view. Cardboard? Indeed it was – and granted, the corrugation in this sheet was wider than he was used to seeing back on Earth, but the principle was still much the same. In any case, it ended up in the wheeled bin.
·–·–··
Ten minutes of walking and collecting trash later, Adam found himself right on the steps of the schoolhouse. He took a moment to look it all the way over, to make sure it was the right place.
The yard by its side had a variety of playground equipment, with some of it being more familiar to his terrestrial eyes. He quickly recognized the slide and the swingset, but not the rowed fences. Or maybe that’s just play for them, he thought. Literal horseplay – he chuckled at that thought.
Besides that, he saw a large sign out front – no words for once, but it did have an open book. Open books mean learning, he thought. And if they have language textbooks. . . I’d be all set.
A tall flagpole opposite the playground flew a simple red flag, swallow-tailed at the end. As for the building itself – Adam could have sworn it was built to look like a gingerbread house. Red, brown, and pink served as most of the paint palette, and the windows and rafters were ornately decorated with swirls, hearts, and other patterns. In fact, one particularly high-up window at the façade was even built in the shape of a heart, and the window panes cast or cut to fit.
All of this was crowned with a belfry, though the bell hung silently over the building. A loud squeak made Adam aware of a weather vane atop the belfry, switching directions from north to east. Of course, Adam’s suit couldn’t exactly tell – its instruments had no capability of reckoning wind direction, instead relying on the user to infer it from the environment.
By the side of the steps, he saw one shrub had been cut to look like an equine wearing a blatant graduation cap. Cheeky.
Adam realized that he had been standing and looking at the building for an awkwardly long time, and he realized he had to get moving, lest he look suspicious.
But before he could start walking away, he saw the door open. An adult equine stuck its head out – violet fur with a mulberry mane. It was not, however, the proper angle for him to see its hindquarter-mark. “Khon Edem!” it called out to him. [ᵑʘeˈsɤ ezebɯˈʙɯ] It waved a hoof out to him, gesturing him to enter the building.
Guess that’s not time I’m getting back, he thought. He wheeled the bin up to the front of the building, left it by the ramp, and firmly planted the picker into the soil. Besides, he thought, they’re out playing right now, so I wouldn’t be disturbing class.
Once he was inside, he got a better look at what he presumed to be the teacher. Its eyes were green, and its hindquarter-mark was a small group of flowers. Flowers. . . doesn’t align with its job, does it? Perhaps it’s a relative of those florists.
Several more theories swam through his head, yet none of them made as much sense as being related to the town florists. Meanwhile, he watched as the equine grabbed a rope hanging on a wall and gave it a solid yank. Clang-clang-clang-clang! He shuddered as he realized what was about to happen, assuming it was anything like back home – all the pupils would come back into the schoolhouse, resume their lessons, and what was he meant to do in the meantime? Stand and stick out like a sore thumb?
But no – as the students filed inside the classroom with the teacher’s waving, it too turned and gestured for him to come inside as well. Adam tried to reason with it, but it seemed unwilling to take ‘no’ for an answer. He sighed, and relented – fine, but if my boss gets upset, I’m blaming you for it.
As the door closed behind him, Adam stood in before the class, his body and facial language as blank and mute as his speech. [xõ ɟoɟoˈɹiɲ . sulɑˈlɑj eˈdem zɤmɹ̩ˈzed ɑlɟɑˈmu] the teacher seemed to introduce him. [xõ eˈdem . ɑ̃lˈsõ ʙẽˈzl̩ sɤsjẽkipeˈxeᵑʘeˈsɤ eᵑǂeʙɯ̌] It indicated a chalkboard to his right.
Adam looked, but found it completely empty – and freshly-erased at that. He saw the chalk on a metal tray in front of the board, where he found a few sticks of chalk and an eraser. It wants me to write on the board, Adam figured. But what?
[ɑ̃lˈsõ . xɑˈjɑj] it said, putting a hoof on its chest. Then it pointed the same hoof at Adam. [ɑ̃lˈsõ ...]
‘Alnson’. . . that must mean ‘name.’ While he didn’t know how to write his name in Ukhǃerr’s native script, he could at least put it down in Latin. Besides, it would give them a peek at what it’s like back on my planet. He took a stick of chalk and started printing his name. First an A – two straight lines, angled from the top, and a third between them. Then D – straight down, and a curve. As he wrote, he kept his eye on the teacher, noting its reaction to his writing. Going off of its face, it seemed confused, yet curious, at the development.
He finished printing the M – he then jumped down to another line, and curved an S on the board. Nobody moved to stop him from completing his name – and when he printed the T and stepped away to show the class, he got a universal reaction of awe. Even the teacher’s interest was still piqued. “Adam Somerset,” he pronounced, underlining each letter with his finger.
The teacher then took the chalk from his hand, and started writing on the board next to the M, where it had room. Just as he had before, he saw that the script was written from left to right – and logic dictated that it would be read in exactly the same manner. As the chalk lifted off on one letter, it went down to a space right below it. Up-to-down as well, he noted – precisely the same as the western scripts. This to him would prove to be quite a convenience. Adam thought the script as otherwise strange and needlessly simplified, until it stepped away and pronounced it “E-de-m Zeo-m’r-ze-d.” Wait, that’s my name! In their script! I have another sample!
As it was pointing out each letter, he noted that their script was alphasyllabic in its nature – that could mean a simple syllable structure, he thought, and the bits he heard spoken aloud suggested further evidence. But there are a lot of internal markings in the letters. Maybe it’s not as simple as that. When it took its hoof away, he stepped in front of the board, hand already on his notebook and pen. He started copying it down, line by line, stroke by stroke, taking care not to miss a single detail, even repeatedly looking up to make sure each detail looked correct between the board and the notebook. Stroke order be damned, he thought, if it looks right, it’s right for now. Once those were down, he wrote his name below it, knowing he’d have to rough out a better guide later.
––·––
“. . . and so,” Dr. Weiss was explaining to Anton, “it would seem completely impossible for any Rhyslinger plant pollen to affect any Earth-borne crops.”
“So it would be safe to grow plants outside,” he tried to clarify. “No need for, ah, greenhouse in isolation.”
She nodded. “It is still a good idea, to limit resource takeover, but besides that, the colony’s longevity is assured. What is more, it also applies going the other way. Although more study is needed on local reproduction methods, I can confirm that it is impossible at the genetic level.” She turned away from Anton. “I could show you, but I would prefer making sure that other avenues of interaction are closed off. If you would excuse me – ”
“Yes, of course.” A sound came from the commander’s terminal – Anton floated up to take a look, in case the commander needed to know. “I would want to know more, but another time. Something else calls me.” He thrust himself off the floor and saw to the alarm.
“Is everything alright?” she called out.
“It will be.” Before he went further, he stopped himself and started looking around the surrounding ring of modules. He noted on the commander’s terminal that, no, it was not for Darcy. Cryogenic capsule D5 had blown its third and final fuse in its refrigeration loop – without that, the occupant had only a few hours to live. The buffer fluid bought him some time to get it fixed, but that was still not time he could squander. D5 was in Aquarius – as soon as he spotted that particular entrance, he pushed off the wall with his hands towards the way, rotating himself around so that he would land feet first.
“Hoo! Watch it, Anton!” A Quebecois-accented voice forced him to stop; he planted his feet on both sides of the doorway to avoid colliding with Commander Darcy. “Something got you riled up?” he asked the cryogenicist.
“D5 has a broken refrigerator,” Anton told him. “I must tend to it at once.”
“Now that you mention it,” he said, “one of the capsules here was a little quiet.” He gave him some leeway to descend the ladder. “Don’t let me get in your way, then.”
Anton took the opportunity, sliding down the railing with his hands and inner boots gripping the sides of the ladder. Once he reached the bottom, he grabbed a screwdriver, some spare fuses, and a canister of spare refrigerant, pocketing the former two and slinging the latter on his hip – before ascending the ladder. He stopped halfway before reaching the top – these capsules were arranged like bunk beds that could be easily pulled out as needed – to revive and disembark, but also to repair it as needed.
The refrigeration loop on each capsule was self-contained, so if there was a leak, it would not affect the rest of the array. Anton looked over the plastic tubing that went around the back, trying to feel out even the slightest trickle of moisture. He felt condensation, but no leaking. Good news at least.
After drying his hands, he shut off power to the capsule and popped open the electrical panel. Sure enough, all three fuses going to the refrigeration loop motor had melted. Anton reflected on how none of the other fuses had blown out during the three-and-a-half-year voyage from Earth to Jupiter – how this journey could have ended so much differently.
He started unscrewing the first fuse from its socket, letting it fall neatly into his palm. How long ago had this burnt out? Two days ago? Two years? After pocketing it for later disposal, he screwed in a new fuse, making sure the screws were nice and snug around the part. Then he reset the circuit switcher, responsible for essentially changing fuses automatically after five minutes. In an instant, power flowed through, the motor switched itself on, and the now-cooled refrigerant started circulating once again. The occupant’s survival was assured, for the time being at least.
After a few more minutes, he replaced both other fuses in the panel. He snapped it shut, and slid the entire capsule back into its proper place. He breathed a sigh in relief. He started descending the ladder, to put the tools and refrigerant canister back where he found them. The fuses would be placed in a garbage module aboard Altair – his mind went back to the maintenance spacewalk the other day, noting that golf-ball-sized hole in the bridge’s armored hull. With the problem solved, and a potential crisis averted, he rebounded off the inner wall and into the bridge.
“There you are, Konstantinov.” The commander appeared to have been waiting for him. “Report.”
“About ten minutes ago,” Anton started, “I had received an alert from the commander’s terminal that capsule D5 was without power to its refrigerant. I have replaced all three burnt fuses in the electrical panel, and it now works again. The coolant does not suffer a leak, nor are there any other problems.”
He nodded. “Good, good.” He drifted himself to the radio. “Reminds me, I should check on Somerset again.” He grabbed the receiver, clearing his throat. “Somerset, this is Zulu-Alfa. I’d like to check in on you, make sure the effects of yesterday afternoon are not lingering still. Over.”
·–·
“Somerset, this is Zulu-Alfa,” the commander’s voice rang through Adam’s helmet as the latter was just leaving the classroom. “I’d like to check in on you, make sure the effects of yesterday afternoon are not lingering still. Over.”
Making sure none of the students, nor the teacher, were in earshot by closing the door behind him, Adam took the time to reply. “This is Somerset,” he said. “I am well, no lingering effects. Over.” He glanced over his shoulder, through the pane of frosted glass on the door, trying to gauge if any of the equines were trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“Acknowledged, Somerset. Meanwhile, Weiss here is on the verge of a breakthrough herself. Think you can race her?” Louis chuckled. “No pressure, of course. Zulu-Alfa out.”
Adam too found that humorous, but got it over with before he stepped out of the schoolhouse. He looked behind him, and noted the sound of shuffling hooves from inside the classroom. The bell didn’t ring – he didn’t see anybody yank on the rope – yet as he stepped out of the building, the class had been dismissed. He grabbed the wheeled bin and plucked the trash picker from out of the ground. Behind him, the door swung open, and each student rushed out of the room and out the door, but many of them stayed behind to admire Adam.
He tried to make his way back to the agency, but none of them seemed to want him to go. All of them clamored around him, eager to make him stay – at least, that was his guess, for their voices were too high-pitched and too many for him to make out any individual words. They all matched his steps, one after the other, and would not leave him alone.
Thankfully the teacher saved his sanity – [xõ ɟoɟoˈɹiɲ ᵑʘeˈsɤ ᵑǃɑɹɑᵑsũˈʙ̥u] it said, and one by one the juveniles started to back off from the curiosity, some more reluctantly than the others. Adam was instantly thankful for the intervention, and set upon his merry way back to the agency.
“Khon Edem?” it called out to him.
Son of a bitch. . . . Adam turned around to see the teacher trying to gesture him back inside. He sighed – fine, have it your way. He stabbed the ground again, and ducked beneath the doorway.
Back inside the schoolhouse, Adam was led into the now-empty classroom. He stood in the front of the room, looking around before he faced the teacher. The desks were far too small for him, so he sat down on the floor and waited with bated breath for it to do something – anything. All myriad possibilities swam in front of his vision – what do you have in mind for me?
The answer came a moment later – it started to write on the board. As he watched, he realized it was once again his own name. It wrote his name in just a few moments, despite the inherent complexity of writing with stomagraphy. Thank God for hands, at least. . . . “E-de-m Zeo-m’r-ze-d,” it sounded out, just as it had before – and below that, it drew a humanoid figure, representing Adam.
Next to that was more writing – Adam couldn’t read it, but he was starting to think that it was the teacher’s name. If that was true, it was a lot shorter than he thought. Do they not have family names? he wondered. Or are they not as commonly invoked as they are in the west? “Kha-ya-y,” it pronounced – drawing below it right after a crude equine figure, and then below that a nearly-perfect replica of its hindquarter mark. Ah, that’s its name after all!
Khayay seemed intended on teaching Adam how to speak Ukhǃerr, whatever it took. Whether Adam would be receptive, or even understand each part of the language, would be left to fate. But it would certainly try. Unfortunately, as much as Adam wanted to learn from it, his eyes kept wandering around the classroom, before settling on a particular item on the desk – its desk. It was a large book, bound in linen, just like all the other books he had seen so far.
He stood back up and went over to the desk, intending a closer look at it. The quality of the book had some of the characteristics of mass production – meaning they’ve undergone an industrial revolution of their own, he realized – which meant that the teacher would likely have a few more copies of this same book lying around.
This last thought almost made his eyes bug out of their sockets. But he had to be sure that this book was just what he was looking for. First, remembering the direction of the writing, and thus the orientation of the book in relation to where the teacher would be sitting to read it, he picked it up and carefully rotated it to face him properly. He opened it up to a random page, close to the start of the book – and, by chance, found instructions on how to write the script. Could this be. . . ?
He flipped to another page, and found a most interesting thing. Half of these two pages were composed of pictures, and what was more, the actual writing on here, while sparse and printed large, were clearly hyphenated and with a few key words bolded. Clearly the text was demonstrating something in the pictures, but while he did not know which were nouns and which were verbs, nor what nouns and verbs were used, it provided a solid framework for him to use.
In his excitement, and consequently rash logic, he flipped to the back of the book. This was either an index or a dictionary. He squinted and looked more closely at the pages, even bringing the book up to his eyes – yes, it was an index, with each of the senary page numbers presumably leading back to the sections in which the concepts were explored, or at least mentioned. He could use the page numbers to translate each of the words – and where he saw a conflict, he could list the possibilities and later use the process of elimination by translating the other words first.
In other words, he was holding in his hands what might be the Rhyslinger Rosetta Stone.
–·
“Pardon me, Commander, sir – but did any messages come in for me?”
“Negative, Weiss.” Commander Darcy looked up and behind him to face her. “No new communications came in from Earth.” He sighed. “And certainly nothing personal, either. Look, I don’t like it either – but we just need to hold on.”
“It’s all so one-sided.” Elena peeled herself from the monitor, fixing her eyes on the pitch-darkness of space to give them a momentary rest. “I hope my family is doing well.”
“I’m sure they are – and I hope mine are too. Actually,” the commander shifted gears, “would you like to see something interesting?”
“Perhaps.” She scratched an itch on the back of her neck. “Is it on a computer screen?”
“I’m afraid it is – ” he nodded – “but please don’t force yourself to stare at it if your eyes are that tired. I’d hate for you to go blind.”
“No, no – I will deal with it.” She pushed herself off the wall and towards the command terminal. He drifted aside to give her room to see. “These are just clouds. I’m sure that weather data is useful, but why are we taking a visual approach?” She cleared her throat. “Not to mention the data I – we have already gotten from the ground, through RPMR-1.”
“It’s not data,” he insisted. “Dr. Somerset told me that the Indigenous had somehow built settlements in the sky itself, using clouds as building material. He couldn’t believe it, I couldn’t believe it, Anton couldn’t believe it, and I’ll bet you can’t believe it either.”
Elena was speechless. Settlements? In the sky? It was like something out of a fairy tale; how could it exist here? “How is that possible?” she eventually asked.
“I honestly have no idea,” he confessed. “But we’ll figure that out one of these days. The photographs certainly don’t lie.” He tapped the monitor. “Right there, Dr. Konstantinov had indicated one such flying settlement, can you see it?”
“Hmm. . . .” She had to squint, to get rid of the green-tinted glow from the other monitor. Then she started making out the details – wisps of vapor coälescing into a structural whole, too well-assembled to be a product of natural forces. There absolutely was an intelligent design to this formation, noöne could deny that. “I – I’m sorry, sir, I cannot find the words.”
“Don’t worry about it, neither could I.”
She leapfrogged away from his terminal back to hers. On the way, she saw more data come back from RPMR-1 – this concerned a soil sample, one focusing on non-radioactive constituents. As much as she had found, she knew she still had so much left ahead. She sighed, and got to work.
··–––
The sun had started going down when Adam finally stepped inside the agency, bin and bags in tow. As much as he wanted to stay to learn more about the language, he knew he had to avoid angering his superior – well, the one on Rhysling anyway. He had set the book on the table, bade Khayay goodbye, grabbed up his stuff, and left the schoolhouse before it could object to the sudden development.
To say he was giddy at what he had found would be the understatement of the century. It quickened his pace, as he started making plans to get one of those books of his own. First things first, though – he would have to get back here. As he walked, he checked his chest readout – forty-one percent scrubber capacity remaining.
The activities of the town had started to wind down, as he’d observed on his way back – one by one, shops closed up for the night, peddler’s wagons started leaving town, and all the residents went home to their families, for their evening meals and their washings-up and so forth. That meant a bit less traffic on the roads than before – and it would be a lonelier walk for him. The only soul he found on the road was one that took him a moment to recognize – a unicorn, light green, white-and-green mane and tail, golden eyes and a golden harp on the flank. He waved – and it waved back. “Hnapata,” it called out to him.
“Nǃapata,” he returned, not breaking his pace. Was that all right? He kept his eyes on it for a moment, and found that yes, it did understand him, even with the click.
Returning his gaze to the road, he felt his stomach grumble. He tried to eat some of his nutrient bar, but found that he had taken the last bite some time ago, and now it was completely out. Whatever, he thought – it would give him the strength to get back to the lander, where he would get a more appropriate meal ready for him. He started thinking about what he would have – as good as the goulash was, he knew he ought to have a bit of variety in his diet. The spinach would do as well, but found it all but unpalatable.
But what if I put the two together? In his mind at least, it would work perfectly. He’d get his fix of iron, while killing off the taste with the spiciness of the meat stew. Genius!
Finally, he got back to the agency. Hell of a job that was. So, whaddawe got? As he untied the trash bags from the cart, he found that the answer turned out to be. . . well, nothing actually, for lack of a better word. The agency was just about empty – he found only a single other pony, the same one whom he had met in the park, whom he had helped with a particularly sticky trash can. “Nǃapata,” it said to him in passing.
“Nǃapata,” Adam replied automatically. Which got him thinking – is this word more than just a greeting? It could just as easily be a parting greeting as an opening one – in fact, it could be one and the same. His mind went back to his class, when he had a student transfer in from the University of Hawai’i. Her family were primarily native Hawai’ians, and still spoke fragments of the language at home. Aloha was classically used to mean “hello,” but it turned out that, not only did it also mean its opposite – “goodbye” – it also meant “love,” and when used as a verb, “to love.”
That weekend, when he found some spare time, Adam looked over his Austronesian materials, and discovered that Proto-Polynesian *qarofa carried exactly the same definitions – as did all its descending words. In fact, English had borrowed not just the Hawai’ian version, but had doublets from the Māori and Anuta versions as well – which were “aroha” and “aropa,” respectively. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought at the time – but now, in retrospect, the Hawai’ian word, and its usage, was starting to come in handy for him right now.
The clerk quickly snapped him out of his thoughts – apparently it had been calling out to him for a while, and was getting frustrated at the lack of response. It forcibly opened his right hand, and into it deposited his pay for the day – five silver coins. For five full bags, he thought, including the two I had changed out from public bins. He must have taken so long to get back that any other jobs that he might have had had been handed off to others, seeing that he was unavailable for the entire day, a lot longer than he had been planning on.
Normally, the first thing Adam would do is take the money and return directly to the lander, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. But with this amount of pay, coupled with what he had already earned, he had another idea come to mind – instead, he would return to the schoolhouse, hoping that Khayay was still there, and there negotiate outright buying one of those Ukhǃerr-language textbooks – if it had spares, which by all accounts it should. With that, he could further study and even translate the language within an acceptable timeframe. The pages, from what he could tell flipping through the one on the desk, seemed durable enough to survive being sterilized, and could easily resist any accidental tearing he might do in his analysis.
But he would not steal it – especially when he was on the cusp of such an important victory. He would have to acquire it honorably, he realized, to maintain his good standing with the locals. And the day was starting to wrap up – if he wanted to enact his plan and get back in time for dinner, he would have to act now. He waved goodbye, depositing the coins inside the same suit pouch as the rest, and started making his way back to the western end of town.
The sun made the sky turn a golden red as he was leaving the repair shop, as he could tell by the bright rays glaring through the glass and into his eyes. Reflexively, he held up his hand to block the brightness – but then he remembered that the Strauss, like any other spacesuit, had a reflective visor that he could pull down over the glass bubble, inlaid with gold foil thin enough for him to see through, but thick enough to block the solar rays – essentially like one big sunglass. He slithered it over his sight, and while the world took on a golden hue, the light concentration was greatly reduced. Still, he thought, I shouldn’t use this to stare at the sun.
He kept his eyes on the road, remembering the path he took from the schoolhouse to the shop, and simply followed it in reverse. Where he could, he took shortcuts that he knew would shave bit after bit of time. Eventually, he was at its doorstep – where he managed to intercept Khayay just stepping out. “Khayay!” he called out.
It stopped. “Em?” it seemed to ask.
He stopped to kneel down to her, caught his breath, and started miming his request – flipping pages in an imaginary book, pointing to inside the schoolhouse in the classroom’s general direction, and then opened his pouch, showing Khayay the coins inside. He looked the teacher in the eyes, hoping that it would understand his mute request.
It took a moment to sink in, but eventually it relented. It went back inside the schoolhouse, with him following close behind. Just in time! he thought.
As it so happened, that copy of the book belonged to Khayay, but it got another one from the supply closet. It showed the second copy to Adam – he picked it out of its mouth, and flipped through the pages. While they weren’t all the same pages as before, the ones he did see were exactly as he remembered. Success! he thought. This is it! And now, for the art of the deal. How much? He asked this last point by reopening the pouch, showing the gold and silver coins within – while he did this, he maintained eye contact with the teacher as best as he could, making sure it could see him arch his eyebrow, to ask the question. Name your price.
Seeing what he was trying to convey, Khayay took a stick of chalk from the metal tray and drew a series of circles on the board – two of them were larger than the other three, but were otherwise the same size. Two gold, three silver, he figured. He opened his pouch and checked – he easily had that much in his pay right at that moment. For an item that could change the course of history, on not one but two different worlds, by bridging the linguistic gap between them – it was a bargain.
Commander Darcy turned around at Elena’s words. “What’d you find, Weiss?” he asked.
“I’m not sure if you would understand it,” she replied, “even if you did overhear me talking to Dr. Konstantinov about it.”
“Oh, the genetics?” He chuckled. “I got the gist of it, no need to worry. So tell me, what did you find just now?”
“As you might remember from school,” she started explaining, “DNA as we know it is based on four nucleotides, each pairing with one specific one and – ideally, at least – not with any of the others. Adenine goes with thymine – or uracil, with RNA – and cytosine with guanine. With me so far?”
“Yes, go on.”
“Furthermore. . . .” She paused for a moment to recall the words in English. “Adenine and guanine are known as purines – meaning they are a pair of molecular rings fused together. Cytosine, thymine, and uracil are pyrimidines – a single ring, by itself.”
“Are they pyramid-shaped at least?” he asked.
Elena burst out laughing – something she sorely needed after analyzing xenobiological data for so long. “Good heavens, no! No!” She took a moment to catch her breath. “It just means, the name, that it’s similar in structure to pyridine – which, in turn, is a benzene ring with a nitrogen atom replacing a methine group.”
“Ah well, thought I was onto something.”
“No need to worry, I got that from my family as well.” She cleared her throat. “So in essence, each purine goes with a pyrimidine. Adenine goes with thymine because it forms two hydrogen bonds, and cytosine with guanine, since it forms three bonds.” She sighed. “Oh, if only I had something to draw it – oh!” She looked down, remembering the pad of paper by her terminal.
Grabbing a pen, she started sketching out a review lesson for the commander, insisting that each molecule be marked correctly. “Here is cytosine, here is thymine, here is uracil,” she told him, pointing to each one as she named them. “Notice how, despite their similar shapes, each of them have a different arrangement of atoms.”
“I can sorta see it,” he said. “Mostly between thymine and uracil – it’s just that one thing sticking out there.”
“Correct.” She nodded. “And here is adenine and guanine. Two rings, of different sizes, linked together, like so.”
He squinted. “The smaller rings are identical – I guess they’re not as important.” He put a hand up to his chin. “Would it be possible to make some sort of DNA using only pyrimidines?”
“An interesting question, Commander – but one I cannot answer readily.” She glanced over to her terminal. “However. . . that is not what I expect we will be dealing with on Rhysling.”
He arched an eyebrow. “How so?”
“As you might have heard – ” she traced her finger across the terminal screen – “genetic interaction between our sort of life and theirs is flatly impossible. How exactly is very simple, yet yields some surprising benefits, which I will get to. First – those bases I mentioned?” She ‘swept’ them aside with her hand. “Forget them – we are seeing other bases on Rhysling.”
“Other bases, huh?” He leaned into the monitor. “Are you sure of this? Perhaps they’re some sort of contaminants the probe recorded by mistake.”
“Not a chance, Commander.” She tapped one part of the xenogenetic strand. “That is solidly attached to the strand. I cannot say for sure what that is – I have several different ideas – but I can conclude that it is, in fact, not cytosine.”
“And I can imagine you have no idea about the other three bases,” he surmised. “Three, right? There aren’t more or fewer?”
“No, there are four bases,” she explained. “Just like ours. Which leads me to another benefit.” She snapped her fingers. “Viruses. If they have viruses like ours, or even any at all, they cannot effect us – nor the other way.”
“Maybe not right now.” He paused to think for a moment. “But what if they mutate into something that could infect us? Our crops? What then?”
“Fundamentally speaking, that is not possible.” She tapped the screen. “Different bases, remember?”
“Right, right.” He sighed. “If you say so. Still. . . .”
“Think of it this way,” she added – “it’s like trying to open a tubular lock with a skeleton key.” After the commander chuckled at the analogy, she continued. “But what I was also thinking of was that we may be able to digest some food grown on Rhysling. Not what we’ve brought – I mean natively-grown, natively-bred, natively-evolved. The similar yet different genetic bases means the analogue proteins they yield are useful to us.”
“And vice versa?” He tilted his head.
“That remains to be seen.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “But this I can confirm: if Terrestrial DNA were to meet Rhyslinger DNA, they might have a few lucky places to connect base pairs – but there would be no way to connect fully with something so fundamentally different to us. Those already chance links, weak as they are, would fall apart as soon as they connect, ensuring a lack of consequences for interaction.”
He nodded. “I could see that happening; interesting stuff.”
Then it was her turn to chuckle. “Funnily enough, my initial findings had me thinking we were looking at an opposing chirality.”
“Opposing, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “What’s the difference? What would that have meant for us?”
“It’s the way they’re twisted.” She held down the shift key and hit the minus repeatedly, zooming out of the genetic structure. “Ours twists to the right – if Rhyslinger DNA twisted to the left, it would be a much more sure way to avoid interaction. But on the other hand – ” she snickered – “it would mean any proteins they produce would be useless to us.”
“Even if that were the case,” he asked, “couldn’t it, I dunno, flip over and interact with us?”
“Not possible.” She shook her head. “That is what ‘chiral’ means – it’s as if you want to cut off both of your hands, then reättach them on opposite limbs.”
“. . . let’s not bring that up again.” He held up his right arm and rolled up his jumpsuit’s sleeve, exposing a large violet band around his forearm. “Brings back bad memories of Maritime Command.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She turned her face away, her cheeks flushing red in embarrassment.
“That’s alright, you didn’t know.” He rolled his sleeve back down.
··–··
The sun started to disappear over the Rhyslinger horizon. Its golden glows gave their last to illuminate the final moments of the day, and all that were there to see it – be they the houses of the town, the shrubs that lined the road. . . and one glistening white bipedal figure, running out of the town as fast as possible with a book clutched under an arm.
Adam couldn’t believe his good luck. Not only did the Indigenous Rhyslingers study their own language, they had also apparently codified it in such a way that it could be written in a textbook and be taught to students – in such quantities, not to mention, that he could buy it, and it only cost him just a few coins!
His mind went back to those who came before – the first explorers of new and uncharted lands, like Plymouth, Hawai’i, and Zanzibar – and realized just how easy he had it to be able to study the language indigenous to Rhysling from printing, a benefit denied to those early explorers. His heart was racing, he found himself short of breath – and not just from the running, either – and though his legs started to tire out from having to carry thirty kilograms of equipment on a dusty road and across a bridge, he didn’t care. He couldn’t care, not when he was this close to a breakthrough.
The scrubber alarm went off just as he stepped off the bridge, but he ignored the piercing noise and kept on jogging back to the lander. He didn’t have time to panic – not to mention he knew what the symptoms were of carbon dioxide poisoning, as he had gone through it before. He could stand a few minutes of waiting on the last of the scrubber.
Keeping the book clutched tightly under his shoulder, he practically leapt up the ladder onto the scaffolding. He threw open the sterile locker, gently set the book inside to avoid damaging it any more than he may already have had, then shut its door and started sterilizing the book. Then he slammed his back against the suitport. The life support backpack clicked firmly in place, and he slammed the sterilizer button.
Two minutes – the same two minutes as they had always been, but his patience was at an all-time low. He flipped up his display, to check the time remaining – 1:45, not to mention that scrubber capacity remaining was at eleven percent. He thought it’d be lower – at least I won’t suffocate during my wait.
He decided to kill the time thinking about the possibilities of the language. From the outset, from the moment he first landed and made contact with Antir, Ukhǃerr contained phonemes that the human mouth could be trained to replicate – though if there was anything else, like unviewable colors, he would be in trouble. What if they use vibrations? Any luminescence? The unicorns might give him trouble in that department. To say nothing on their body language, either – so far, he had been blessed with the fact that their facial expressions were remarkably. . . human. Ones he could understand with near-perfect clarity. He could easily recognize joy, anger, sadness, and all the shades in between – and he reckoned they could see the same from his face, if they could see through the glass.
He looked down into his hands – and knew how well they had served him for this long, but realized all the same that they only managed to convey simple ideas. Sooner or later, he knew, there will come a time when he would need to describe something, he would not be able to sign it, and he would be lost. And in all likelihood, it could be something vital to the mission.
. . . :30. . . :29. . . .
He remembered reading somewhere that equine body language – at least, for those from Earth – worked primarily on ears. Different ear positions, no matter how minute the difference, could convey an entirely different message. Adam knew some people could wiggle their ears, but he wasn’t one of them. Nor, he realized, could he replicate it with his hands – in case of hoof-based language. And good luck with the pegasi, he realized, if they used a wing-based body language. As far as he had come, he still had much further to go. Not just orally, either – certain motions, intonation, and other minutiae, these would prove to be the great roadblocks in mankind’s contact efforts.
. . . :14. . . :13. . . .
At ten percent capacity remaining, he simply shut his chest display, crossed his arms, and started tapping his foot. By now, the sterile locker must have finished its job, and stood by waiting for someone inside to come and collect it. He sighed – he was so close now, he could just taste his success – as sweet as the champagne from his graduation party. . . .
. . . :06. . . :05. . . .
Time to make history.
. . . :02. . . :01. . . :00!
At long last, the alarm shut up, and the rear hatch swung open, and the cooler air inside the lander melded with his sweating skin. He slithered his arms out from those of the suit, reached up to the metal bar, and swung himself out, just as he always did each and every time. Planting both feet firmly on the floor, he quickly brought himself over to the sterile locker, unlocked it, and threw open the door.
There it was – perfectly intact, and ripe for his eyes.
But before he reached out to grab it, he looked down at his hands – how wrinkled they were, from all the sweat he’d built up, and how cold they were as well, as it evaporated off of his skin. No, no this would not do at all. The sweat could damage something important. I need to wash up first.
He grabbed the bottle of shampoo and liquid soap from under his cot, and started stripping off his garments – quickly glancing at the window to make sure the shutter was closed, so none of the Indigenous could possibly be watching. Good – don’t want a repeat of that incident. He threw off his cooling garment, and pulled off his waste garment, binning it immediately.
–··–·
Once his hands were cleaned and dried off, he pulled on his international orange jumpsuit – its rough Nomex fabric dry and cool against his skin – and stood back up. This time, confident that he could not possibly harm the pages or ink with his sweat, he grabbed the book from the locker – noting the finely-textured linen cover, with thick yet crisp pages bound between the cover boards – and brought it over to the desk. He cleared off everything save for the things he thought he would need – pen and paper, most certainly. Coins, that gem, and other whatnot, those could wait.
But I should probably announce the news. They should all see. He set down his pen and grabbed the radio. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he opened, restraining his excitement. “I have some fantastic news regarding the mission! Please acknowledge, over!”
He did not have to wait long. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” Louis would reply. “What happened, did you get a divine message from the Lord Himself, showing you how to speak it? Over.”
Adam threw his head back and laughed – yes, it certainly seemed that way! “That might be true,” he replied, “with how convenient it happened to me. But no, just today I learned about the existence of an Indigenous-language textbook – and more, I bought one such copy from a local schoolteacher. This is it! This is the breakthrough I’ve been looking for – the breakthrough all of you have been waiting for! Over.”
No reply. Perhaps they too were elated at the news? he pondered. I wouldn’t blame them – I would be too. He set the radio down and opened the book – to just the inside cover. Blank. Okay. . . . The next page was some sort of title page, with a horse’s silhouetted head, the author named below that, and right at the very bottom. . . Adam had to squint, but it was even more text. If he had to guess, it was the name of the publisher or a copyright notice.
Then the radio lit up again. “Anton here’s just wondering, Somerset, are you sure that’s right?” Louis asked. “To him, even with the books you have from the library, it seems far too convenient for you to have come across the answer key to such a difficult test. Over.”
. . . not the reaction I was expecting, but I’ll take it. “It’s completely right, Zulu-Alfa, so far as I can see,” he answered. “I can’t even imagine the wealth of knowledge that is at my fingertips!” But I won’t have much longer to imagine. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll need all the time I can get to completely go over this book. Tango-1 going dark.” Now that he was sure the others wouldn’t interrupt his studies, save for something equally important, he set the radio down and took another look inside the book. A few more flips of the pages showed what he figured to be a table of contents. He chuckled to himself – better get started with the basics.
He clicked his pen, and opened the book to the first section.
–·
“. . . meaning we can grow Terrestrial crops in Rhyslinger soil,” Louis concluded with Dr. Weiss, “without having to isolate greenhouses from the biosphere.”
“Is that not what I said?”
He turned around, and saw Dr. Konstantinov hovering at the bridge’s entrance. “Was it?”
“It was.” He pushed off the edge of the entrance, and bounded to the wall between Louis and Weiss. “Did I miss anything?”
She shook her head. “No, nothing at all – ”
“Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset!” The linguist sounded like he was straining to contain some great emotion. “I have some fantastic news regarding the mission! Please acknowledge, over!”
“This better be good.” Louis grabbed the radio and replied, “This is Zulu-Alfa. What happened, did you get a divine message from the Lord Himself, showing you how to speak it? Over.”
Adam took a moment to reply, which the commander found odd. “That might be true,” Dr. Somerset would respond, “with how convenient it happened to me. But no, just today I learned about the existence of an Indigenous-language textbook – and more, I bought one such copy from a local schoolteacher.” As Louis’s eyes started threatening to bug out of their sockets, Somerset continued, “This is it! This is the breakthrough I’ve been looking for – the breakthrough all of you have been waiting for! Over.”
And indeed it was. “C’est quoi cette merde,” Louis muttered under his breath, “est-ce-qu’yé sérieux?” He glanced around the bridge. “You two did hear that, right?”
The biologist nodded vigorously – but the cryogenicist arched an eyebrow. “Somehow it should not seem so easy,” he said. “From my own experience, if Fortune should offer you something you want, is always a trap.”
“Is that so?” Louis asked – then, “Right, right, you’re from the Soviet Union. I wouldn’t blame you for being so cynical.”
“What is ‘cynical’?”
“It’s. . . .” Louis had to pause to gather his thoughts, to find a suitable way to define the word. “It’s when you’re distrustful of other people, of their honesty or their honor. Does that make sense?”
“I suppose.” Konstantinov shrugged. “So, is Somerset absolutely certain that he found what he needed?”
“Only one way to find out.” With the radio still in his hand, he transmitted “Anton here’s just wondering, Somerset, are you sure that’s right? To him, and to me as well, it seems far too convenient for you to have come across the answer key to such a difficult test. Over.”
“It’s completely right, Zulu-Alfa, so far as I can see,” Dr. Somerset answered within the moment. “I can’t even imagine the wealth of knowledge that is at my fingertips!”
The cryogenicist just scoffed.
“If you’ll excuse me,” the linguist closed, “I’ll need all the time I can get to completely go over this book. Tango-1 going dark.” And no further message came, nor went.
“I am willing to bet my personal kit that Dr. Somerset’s ‘breakthrough’ will amount to nothing at all,” Dr. Konstantinov announced. “Will anyone take it?”
Louis turned to face him, eyebrow raised. “You know that gambling during the mission is against code, right Anton?”
“Is it?” He seemed genuinely confused. “I do not remember reading it. Memory loss is one symptom possible of cryostasis.”
The commander maintained his steely skeptical stare at him – before he burst out in laughter. “No, there’s nothing that doesn’t allow gambling once we’ve left Earth.” He regained his composure, making sure he was still oriented properly. “But I’m not taking you up on it. I have other things to worry about at the moment.”
“Neither shall I,” Dr. Weiss added. She started getting up. “If anyone needs me, I will be in the. . . gallery? To eat something.”
“Galley,” Louis corrected.
“Right, merssi vilmal.” She shoved herself off the wall and over to the bridge’s exit, and disappeared down Altair’s central spindle.
Dr. Konstantinov looked back to Louis. “Anything else new?”
“No, nothing at all.” He turned back to the terminal. “As you were, Doctor.”
The cryogenicist shrugged and left the bridge as well, leaving Louis alone with his work.
··
Cold pressurized water entered the packet of greens. Once Elena dispensed eighty milliliters, she grabbed it and the now-rehydrating packet of goulash and sat down by the window. The galley had enough seating for the crew of fifty, though if the colony were to expand they would need much more housing – not to mention that the rations they had were limited in supply, so they would need to grow crops or perhaps source local edibles – if they were edible for them at all.
That was also another key component of her role on Zodiac-Altair – local crops could fail, as any farmer on Earth could testify. Even with proper precautions taken, the seeds they had packed aboard could have rotted away, or been irradiated to the point of nonviability, in transit. Or both. They had to have a viable backup plan if they were to survive on Rhysling – and none of the three could so easily ignore the option of local crops at this point. All she had to do was figure out if human beings could find any nutrition in them.
First of course was to avoid any risk of interplanetary contamination – but once Elena demonstrated that such an event was improbable, then would come the challenge of making sure the crops could be made safe to eat. The obvious solution was to make sure that none of them would be eaten fresh – right off the branch, vine, root, what have you. At minimum they would have to be washed, at the most they would have to be subjected to complex chemical processes, the likes of which she couldn’t fathom at the moment.
As Earth’s newfound twin swept past her rotating view, she looked down at the Hungarian staple and also realized – humans need protein as well. Odds were one in a billion, even with a generous estimate, that native Rhyslinger resources produced the proper proteins that people needed to function properly. It demanded study. It demanded investigation.
But she couldn’t do it on an empty stomach – she needed the energy to focus, so she in her haste wouldn’t miss any vital details. Not to mention that, as useful as the probe was, it wasn’t mobile at all – and the best way to know the answer to her current questions was to sample those items directly. For such a task, she especially needed Dr. Somerset’s help, as he was the only human so far on the ground. And right now, he was far too busy engrossing himself with the contents of the language text book – allegedly for language, per Dr. Konstantinov’s insistence – and couldn’t be contacted at the moment. But she didn’t give up hope – their books should also reveal which of their plants and animals they knew to be edible – definitely the ones they had domesticated, as any civilization as complex as theirs would need to have a steady, guaranteed food supply to keep running.
Then she had another thought – since they were equine analogues, these Indigenous, surely they wouldn’t eat meat. Right? She hadn’t been around horses very often in her life – though she knew they were herbivorous, they were not above eating meat, as she remembered from visiting her grandfather’s ranch in Appenzell. That poor chicken.
And even assuming these Indigenous equines did eat meat as well, and therefore farmed the appropriate animals, there was the matter of sampling them. Ideally, a sample of meat should be as fresh as possible – a punch biopsy of a carcass should provide the best clarity to work with. And knowing what Dr. Somerset was trying to do on the surface, it would be counterproductive to maintaining good relations with the Indigenous. Watching one of their animals get slaughtered by an unknown machine might give them second thoughts about allowing mankind to inhabit the surface with them.
She sighed. “Wieso muess das so schwer sii?”
“Prosti?”
She turned around and saw Anton on the ladder. How she hadn’t heard him climb down to the floor was beyond her. “Have you come me to join again?” she asked.
“I suppose.” He didn’t bother grabbing any food packets from storage for himself – he simply strode over and sat down across from her. “I think you are worried about something.”
“Many things, really.” She squeezed both packets – neither of them were fully rehydrated yet, though the greens were very nearly so. “Commander Darcy is putting his faith in me to find a way to ensure our survival on Rhysling, either by our own means or theirs – and I’m sure you are, too. No?”
“Admittedly,” he replied, “I am. . . what is word? – anxious about the same thing myself. I am not botanist, so I cannot say if the seeds and such we brought can still be used.”
“And I am far too busy to check.” She propped up her head in her hand. “What with the wealth of information we have gotten so far – and yet, it’s not enough. And of course Dr. Somerset just happened upon a breakthrough of his own.”
“Or so he says.” He leaned back against the table. “I am still cynical about the whole thing, but I am certainly hopeful that he did indeed happen upon the key to the language.” And then he had a thought. “Did he say he bought this book?”
Elena came to much the same conclusion herself. “Yes, yes he did. Does that mean – ”
He nodded. “Let’s hope they are as good at negotiations as they are about developing advanced technology.” He glanced down at the packets of food in front of her. “I think your food is ready.”
“Huh?” She felt both packets. “Yes, they are now, thank you.” She started on the goulash – but the first sip from the packet overwhelmed her with such strong spicy flavor that she had to stamp her foot to distract her from the pain on her tongue. “Wieso isch das so scharf!?”
Anton tipped his head back and started laughing. “You had not goulash before, have you, Dr. Weiss?”
She swallowed her food, then swirled her tongue around the interior of her mouth to get rid of the painful spice. “Admittedly not,” she eventually said. “Scheisse! How does one get used to it?”
“Ask Dr. Somerset,” he answered. “As I remember from the lander cargo manifest, there should be quite a bit for him. From my own experience, it works wonders to dull the taste of spinach.”
“Hmm. . . does it now?” She tried a mouthful from the other packet, and gagged at the taste. Another, more cautious, taste of the goulash, and she seemed surprised – they canceled each other out. “I’ll have to remember that for later,” she commented. “Thank you.”
Anton simply nodded. “Somerset has enough rations to last himself a month – an Earth month. He should have learned about this trick by now.”
Elena swallowed her bite. “Somehow,” she offered, “even with his expertise, that might not be enough time to learn a language – especially one completely alien to us, as alien as their biology.” She shifted her view to the window. “And surely he has already started to deplete those supplies. . . .”
··–·
Marvelous! Simply fascinating!
As Adam was looking through the book – for ‘reading’ was far too generous a term at this stage – he came across a page where it seemed to explain how the script worked. Just what I needed! He felt himself grin without restraint as he noted the IPA-like diagram on the page, coupled on the right with a black silhouette of an equine’s head, in turn with the oral cavity delineated. Five places of articulation were marked along the silhouette, each in a different color – purple for the throat, red for the velum, yellow for the hard palate, green for the front teeth, and blue for the lips. Below the chart and head-diagram, he saw five shapes in those same five colors – a violet circle, then four U-shapes pointing four different ways. From left to right, there was printed a red U lying on its left, a yellow U upside-down, a green U lying on its right, and a blue U upright.
Already Adam was outlining some proper IPA charts on the pad of paper. Four of the five were easy for Adam to remember – he pictured the silhouette of the head within his mind, and placed the shapes within the oral cavity. The circle looked like the opening of a throat, and three of the Us were easy to place in the mouth – wherever the loop was was meant to be where the tongue was supposed to flex up to the roof of the mouth. The last one, the upright U, gave him pause. Surely this should be a null consonant. Yet it was blue – and blue meant labial. How am I supposed to – oh, wait, wait a minute. Duh! The last one, he guessed, was derived from a smile. And just like that, he had half the consonant chart marked out – the places of articulation: glottal, velar, palatal, dental, and labial. Now it was just a matter of getting the manners of articulation. But how could he tell?
Another part of the page indirectly answered that question. There were printed a series of four grayed-out velar Us. The top one was plain, and the other three had a few marks within the shapes – a circle, a vertical line, and a horizontal line. Each one was accompanied by another silhouetted head, each articulating that sound described on the left.
The blank velar sound appeared to be a stop, if the head-diagram was anything to go by, with the rear of the tongue striking that part of the mouth, both of which in turn were marked in green. Any pharyngeal variation to it? he wondered. Voiced versus voiceless? Plain versus aspirated? Versus ejective? Most languages from Earth made such distinctions, in particular Indo-Aryan languages. And to say nothing about those clicks – just where did they come from? Adam assumed that this sound was voiceless – an educated guess at the moment, given that stops tend to be predominantly voiceless – and pronounced it [k]. No aspiration, no ejection, nothing else. It was a good place to start.
Then there was the circle. The head-diagram demonstrated that it was another stop, again in the same place – but the key difference, again outlined in green, was that the velum was lowered, which allowed air to escape through the nasal cavity. A nasal stop, therefore – [ŋ]. Unlike stops, nasals were predominantly voiced, meaning the larynx vibrated with the articulation to produce noise. English made such a distinction, as did hundreds of other languages, if not thousands.
Then the vertical line. The head-diagram showed that it was not a stop – the tongue did not reach all the way up to touch the velum, though it seemed like it was. After a bit of thought, Adam realized he was looking at a velar fricative – [x]. The fact that it was voiceless was another assumption – as, like stops, they tend to be that way. Velar fricatives were not common sounds, though they were present in European language. Technically it was present in English, but it was exceptionally rare – loch was the only example to come to his mind, and even that was dialectal. There was a good chance, in fact, that [h] was also present in the language, with [x] as an allophone. Or is it the other way around? It could just as easily be free variation.
But the last mark cleared up a few things. The horizontal line within the velar shape also indicated a stop – huh? That can’t be right, he thought. So he started looking more closely at the corresponding head-diagram, trying to pick out even the most minute difference between it and the first one. The task seemed impossible with his naked eye, so he had to resort to using a magnifying glass – one he found packed away on a nearby shelf.
He brought it up to his eye, taking care not to set the page on fire inadvertently. Even then, he had to squint – but when he looked at the throat in the first one, he thought he could see an indentation in the throat. Is that right? He took the magnifying glass away, and looked again. Yes, now that he knew it was there, the indentation was visible even with the naked eye. Could’ve sworn that was a printer’s defect. He looked again with the glass – no, there was no way it was a defect, it clearly defined some sort of pharyngeal action – tension, perhaps? When he looked at the fourth one, there was no such tension. Curious. . . .
Just to make sure, he also observed that the throat in the second and third one were also similarly tensioned. Meaning [k] and [x] are really [ɡ] and [ɣ], his mind started to race – meaning this mark functions more as a modifier, to devoice these two sounds. And the nasals, too – to produce clicks. Nasal clicks! But descended from devoiced nasals? Is that right? Click genesis was poorly known and worse studied, but Adam assumed that the process was much more complex than that – the usual assumption was that they were derived from sequences of consonants. For instance, [mʷ] was just a stone’s throw away from [ʘ].
But then he remembered something – namely how ubiquitous nasal clicks were. Every known click language had nasal clicks; what was more, if a single type of click was found in a language, it was always nasal. Damin, the only known click language found outside Africa, though it was now extinct, had only nasal clicks. Well, the only known human click language outside Africa, Adam silently corrected himself.
In conclusion, all consonants were prototypically voiced, with devoicing marked explicitly. Adam thought that such an arrangement was strikingly odd – but then recalled his linguistics studies before he got his doctorate, and remembered that Australia had one such language, Yidinʸ, where all of its stops were voiced. No voiced fricatives – but then, it didn’t have any fricatives at all, which was par for the course for the Australian continent.
And down at the bottom of the page were three more consonant shapes – neither circles nor Us, but Ls with rounded bends. None of them had any color, so he couldn’t easily figure out in which part of the mouth they were articulated. I guess they tie into something else. . . . The first one was upside-down, the second was backwards, and the third was an L without any changes. Each had their own head-diagram, but were printed smaller than Adam was used to. Good thing I have this magnifying glass. . . .
Bringing it up to his eye, he still had to squint to make out the more important details. First thing he noticed was that all three throats were tensed – voiced sounds. The next was that the tongues were all flexing within the mouth, but none of them were making proper contact with the roof of the mouth – not even close, so these weren’t fricatives. And I haven’t seen these shapes before. They must be the liquids. With this in mind, it was simple to figure out the first one, its head-diagram showed a gentle flex right in the center of the tongue, highlighted in yellow, reaching up to the palate, but not quite making any meaningful contact – neither for a stop, nor for a fricative. A voiced palatal approximant, he concluded – [j].
The second and third were trickier. Both of them were approximants as well, both were voiced, and both of them were dental, with that part of the tongue highlighted in green. Beyond that, he couldn’t easily deduce the difference between the two. No, wait a second – one tongue was just barely tilted upward, while another was pointed flat against the teeth. He tried imitating the positions himself: “Ra, la, rrra. . . llla. . . .” Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. The second one reminded him of an upside-down lowercase r – which, conveniently, may perfectly represent itself in the IPA: [ɹ]. And the third one, the one that looked like an L, represented just that: [l]. Going back to the first one, the palatal liquid – Adam couldn’t remember, off the top of his head at least, what sort of letter shape would help him associate the glyph with the sound. He simply shrugged and moved on, finishing the consonant chart on the pad of paper.
Now let’s move on to the vowels. What about those? The next page was all about the marks surrounding the outside of the base marks. Their sweeping appearance reminded him faintly of the Brahmic scripts – though of course, he had to remind himself, they bear no genetic relationship to one another. I wonder what the inherent vowel is. – Is there one? The only trouble was, this time, there were not as many head-diagrams to guide his pronunciation. This is probably one part of the book where a teacher is supposed to point out to the student which vowel goes with which mark. But damn if I won’t try!
Hold on just a moment. . . . He tapped the back of his pen against the page. One, two, three, four, five, six – that can’t possibly be right. There should be way more vowels in the language – why aren’t they all written? Why omit something so important as how to pronounce a vowel? Is their script an abjad? No, can’t be – vowels are always explicitly marked, from all the writing that I’ve seen. It’s an alphasyllabary, it’s got to be. Unless. . . ?
He had a stark realization. Vowel harmony. Ukhǃerr is optimized for a vowel harmony. His eyes darted back to the consonants page – to the horizontal mark inside the placement glyph. Could they have a consonant harmony as well? Their consonants must have a pharyngeal harmony – voiceless versus voiced, and the approximants must be neutral. But are they transparent or opaque? Adam jotted down his question on the pad of paper, next to the notes he made so far about the phonological harmonies: Vowel harmony + Consonant harmony; There are neutral consonants. Transparent? Opaque? Ask Antir later.
And how would the vowel harmony work? A question for later – first he had to figure out how to pronounce each vowel. He tapped the page with the back of his pen, deep in thought. Wait. . . if the consonant harmony requires a special mark to shift it from voiced to voiceless – then the vowels should have a similar mark of their own! But which is it? After searching along the page, he found a moon-shaped mark over a glottal consonant. No, not just that – it’s blue. And it even came with a head-diagram of its own. Under the magnifying glass, he saw that the lips, marked also in blue, were rounded. Aha, a rounding harmony! But what sort of vowels would exist in such a place?
His mind immediately drifted to the Hungarian language – which, back when he was teaching classes at MIT, was his go-to example for vowel harmony. Hungarian had fourteen vowels – seven short, seven long, grouped into a backing harmony – though the specific categories they used were ‘low’ and ‘high.’ (“Height harmony does exist,” he would often add at the end, “but that’s a whole other can of worms!”) The ‘low’ – back – vowels were a, á, o, ó, u, and ú, and the ‘high’ – front – vowels were e, é, i, í, ö, ő, ü, and ű.
As for how they harmonized, that was a little tricky to figure out if one had no experience with the language. Even though i and í were placed in the ‘high’ vowel group, single-syllable roots containing either of those two vowels took suffixes that harmonized with ‘low’ vowels instead. Adam knew that such a phenomenon was leftover from a more archaic harmonization process, but it did help establish them as the truly neutral vowels – as opposed to e and é, which merely directly opposed a and á in the modern Hungarian vowel harmony.
Once he had the Hungarian vowel harmony in mind, he decided to flip its chief harmonization factor – backing – on its head. Ukhǃerr’s is a rounding harmony, right? That should mean the harmony is based on rounding instead of backing. I think I know how that might work. Once Adam sketched out a crude vowel trapezoid next to the consonant chart, he concentrated most of the vowels towards the back – [u] and [ɯ], ones he had heard, were the obvious first choices – two diametrically opposed vowels. And from practicing speaking Antir’s name, he also went ahead and marked [ɑ] and [i] as well. But while it was a start, the trapezoid was obviously incomplete.
So he went back to his primary source – the page. He saw how the vowel markings were simple lines – for one, there was a single line curving up on the right; for another, a single line curving up on the left. Then he saw how one vowel was marked with both of those lines. A historical mutation of sorts? he pondered. But he put that aside for the time being, as he focused on what the other markings could mean.
Then he noticed something he hadn’t considered – slight outlines of head-diagrams, so exceedingly slight he thought they never existed in the first place. Ah, so this is a misprint after all! he realized. Just in the worst way possible. Now more than ever, that magnifying glass was important. He brought it up to his eye, squinted close at the page, trying to find even the slightest traces of the print. As he looked closely, it was there, just so incredibly faded that it may have never made an impression on the page when it was first printed. If I had to guess, he thought, their printing plate was wearing out, and they didn’t notice until later down the line. And since this kind of problem isn’t limited to my own book – especially if they didn’t pulp it, since it’s right in front of me – Khayay must have an answer key back at the school, and simply instructs the students either to fill it in themselves, or puts it up on the board. I don’t get either luxury here, unfortunately. The answer was right there, just out of reach for him. But maybe it’s printed elsewhere in the book.
Keeping a finger on that spread, he flipped to the next page. It was full of sentences, describing pictures that were also printed there. On the right track. . . . But there weren’t any head-diagrams to help him along. Say, what if. . . ? He flipped back, placed his whole hand on the page, and flipped all the way to the inside back cover. Aha! Another vowel-consonant chart! Except this one came with head-diagrams, and intact ones at that. Are they printed separately? Maybe at another printer? Would be a strange practice. Nonetheless, he was glad for the fortune of finding the answer here.
But I am going to need another free hand for this. Not daring to dog-ear and thus risk damaging the pages, he instead opted to flip back to that spread, insert a bookmark – which he made crudely out of a torn-off page from his notepad – and then, with both hands free, flip back to the rear inside cover to study it further. Grabbing his trusty magnifying glass, he located the vowel markings and the head-diagrams next to them.
First was the circle, the glottal consonant – or maybe that’s the null consonant, he started to think. It wouldn’t surprise him – Hangeul, the writing system for Korean, worked the same way. But here, it was paired with not one but two head-diagrams. Huh? What’s up with that? He took the magnifying glass away to get a look at the page as a whole – then saw it: these were two columns of head-diagrams, not just one, and each was labeled with a different icon – on the left, a sun in splendor; on the right, a crescent, reminiscent of the moon. So that’s how they sort vowels out, is it? he thought with a chuckle. Associated with the sun and moon? But with that settled, using the magnifying glass, he looked down at the head-diagrams again.
The ‘sun’ one was almost identical to the ‘moon’ one, in every regard – even the lips were left unrounded in both instances. I guess it’s not purely a rounding harmony, he surmised. But then, nothing in life is ever really perfect. He looked elsewhere between them – and spotted the difference a moment later: in the ‘moon’ head-diagram, the tongue was perfectly flat against the bottom of the mouth, allowing an unobstructed flow of air and sound out of the larynx and out the mouth. This was clearly an open vowel – one he had marked on his trapezoid already. The ‘sun’ vowel, on the other hand, was slightly different – the tongue was flexed up just slightly to the palate. Definitely a mid front vowel. He couldn’t tell which if it was [e] or [ɛ], so on the trapezoid he just marked it as [e] between the two values. I’ll have to pay closer attention to their speech – see if they have any height allophones, or if it’s even just free variation.
But that does beg the question. . . do they have a vowel between [u]/[ɯ] and [ɑ]? He put that thought aside for the moment as he looked at the next mark – vertical line, on the right side of the glyph. The head-diagrams showed that it represented a close back vowel – but was subject to a few differences due to the harmonization process. The ‘moon’ version was rounded – [u] – while the ‘sun’ version was not – [ɯ]. Well, I have those marked already, he surmised, glancing back at the trapezoid to make sure. Moving on.
The next one was the same, but with another vertical line on the left side of the glyph as well. The head-diagrams here were also back vowels, and again with the same rounding harmony. Unlike the previous values, however, the tongue did not flex as far up to the velum as with the others. Adam had to double-check with the magnifying glass, but it seemed like it answered his earlier question of mid back vowels. Just like the close back vowels. Perfect! But he still didn’t know their precise values – so he just marked [o] and [ɤ] as approximations for the time being.
There was a vertical line on the left of the glyph, but the right side was blank. Moreover, it had a single head diagram, one straddling the ‘sun’ and ‘moon’ columns, which if he had to guess indicated it was a neutral vowel. Adam raised his eyebrow – then his magnifying glass. The tongue was reaching up to the palate – not as far as [j], but it was pretty close. [i], he concluded – and one he had already marked. Easy!
Then there was a downward curl, starting from the right side of the glyph, then turning to the left. It also had a single head diagram – meaning it was another neutral vowel – but its value surprised him: it appeared to be another approximant, but one articulated at the teeth rather than the palate or velum. This was a syllabic consonant, no doubt – with a value of either [ɹ̩] or [l̩]. But which one is it? Adam didn’t dare to mark anything in the book, but knew he would have to return to it eventually. It could be any number of things – perhaps both, with the difference either being free variation, allophonic, or dialectal.
The next vowel cleared that up quite nicely, even though it took a bit of work. It was another curl, this time starting from the right and curving to the left – the exact opposite of the preceding mark. It was also neutral, given it had a single head diagram – which indicated a nearly identical value to the other curling vowel. Wait a second. . . . Remembering the pages he had bookmarked, he flipped back to where he first saw the consonants and vowels indicated. He checked the bottom of the consonants page, where he remembered seeing those familiar shapes – and that’s where it clicked: the vowel markings he saw for the syllabic consonants were identical to the vowel markings. He double-checked against the vowel page; they matched as well there.
Safe to assume the vowel markings are identical to their non-vocal equivalents, he thought – but he couldn’t make that assumption, not without accidentally uttering an insult in practice. So, after refreshing his memory on which approximant was which, he flipped back to the inside back cover to double-check. Sure enough, they were the same. So they have syllabic [ɹ̩] and [l̩]. He marked them down on the pad of paper, in a separate place, below the vowel trapezoid. Not unlike Sanskrit. Do they have length differentiation as well?
There were a few more markings on the vowels. One such marking was a slight crescent-shaped loop placed on top of the glyph. It had no head-diagram to accompany it, but instead indicated a ‘moon’ symbol. Right – that shifts the vowel harmony, he realized – from ‘sun’ to ‘moon’ vowels. Meaning the sun-vowels are the default. Another marking was a reverse numeral 6. Adam realized this was a question mark – one apparently meant to be placed atop the letter instead of at its side. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve see that, he thought – as he recalled, the Armenian script did the same thing.
A third marking was a single dot placed below the glyph. It came with another head diagram, positioned precisely where the ‘sun’ vowel column would have run. I can’t see the difference. . . . But with the magnifying glass, he did – it was another [e] or [ɛ], but the velum was lowered, allowing air to escape through the nasal cavity. It’s a nasal vowel! he thought. So they have an oral-nasal vowel distinction. Adam hypothesized that the default value for the inherent ‘sun’ vowel was [e], with [ɛ̃] as a nasal shift. Same thing with [o] and [ɔ̃], and [ɤ] and [ʌ̃]. But these are all assumptions, he reminded himself. Educated assumptions, but still. I have to get confirmation from a native speaker – and until I see Antir again, I’m on my own.
A fourth marking was a line placed below the glyph as well. Its head diagram was another mid front vowel. Again? he wondered. Is it an archaic spelling rule? What am I miss – oh. He noticed right then that the throat was shaped differently. He brought the magnifying glass up, and compared it to the last one. Indeed, there wasn’t any tension in the throat for that line marking, but there were for the nasal vowel – as were literally every other vowel pronunciation. And as Adam recalled, he definitely heard some codas in Ukhǃerr – hell, the name of the language itself had two of them! So while Adam reserved the thought that the codas were historically voiceless vowels, for all intents and purposes they were codas now, and he would treat them as such.
The inside cover didn’t contain anything else for him to read in Ukhǃerr – meaning, between the script proper, the numeral system, and some limited mathematical notation, he had gotten down everything he would need to survive in everyday Rhyslinger life. Now he just had to develop a practical Romanization scheme, to help teach the language to the rest of Zodiac-Altair’s crew.
Thankfully, most of what he knew was easily marked with Latin letters – k and g were obvious, as were m, n, r, l, and y. b, p, f, v – and he completed the bilabial series. Well, almost – [ʘ], the bilabial click, gave him a bit of trouble; Adam decided to leave the click letter alone. Then there were the dental consonants. t, d, s, and z were quickly filled in – and leaving [ᵑǃ] as nǃ completed the series.
But it was the velar and especially palatal series that gave him trouble. c, j, and y could only get him so far – and he had already used y here. Adam decided to return to it later, while he filled out the velar series. Its nasal was unmarked, but as he recalled from reading The Lord of the Rings as a child, early versions of Quenya and Sindarin also had an explicitly-marked velar nasal. It could have been done half a dozen different ways, but J. R. R. Tolkein chose to use ñ – a choice that would plague Spanish readers for generations. But here, it was a suitable choice.
And then he had an idea – they use nasal vowels too, don’t they? And nasal vowels were made by lowering the velum. He could reuse the tilde to indicate nasal vowels as well. But first, he reminded himself, I’d have to figure out which vowels are nasalized. He made a note by the trapezoid about the idea. Even if they were allophonic, or at least dialectal, it was a swell idea.
Now, where was I? The velar click could remain as such, but the velar fricatives needed to be marked. [x] could easily be marked with h, but [ɣ] gave him some pause. He could resort to using ğ, per the Turkic tradition, but he didn’t like to use a diacritic on a single letter if he could avoid it. Then he started thinking – I’ve heard a lot of their speech, heard a lot of sounds, but what I didn’t hear? A [w]. Adam had been keeping w in his back pocket, just in case such a sound existed in their language, but not once did he hear that sound. It didn’t surprise him – not every language had that sound. Turkish certainly didn’t, for one.
But he could reässign it to [ɣ]. It was a radical decision – one he hadn’t seen before – but it had a similar manner of articulation, and almost the same place as well – the sound was labio-velar, after all. Of course, [w] may be just a rare sound in the language, but he would cross that bridge when he got there. For now at least, the velar series was transcribed neatly.
But that left the palatal series. Oh boy. . . . Adam had to scratch his head for a solution. Different languages Romanized their palatal sounds differently, but he had to find one that would stick. At first, he thought he’d use c for [c], which would make sense, but ultimately would be inconsistent – and harder to memorize. He racked his brain for a solution. As the saying goes, desperation breeds ingenuity.
And breed it did. He remembered how Hungarian marked its palatal sounds – it had a ky, gy, ny, and a now-obsolete ly. But y fit too well as the palatal approximant – but he had j to work with, didn’t he? Before he knew it, he had put down nj, tj, dj, sj, and zj. Amazingly, that left c over from the lot.
So why not mark the clicks as well? The language had four – all articulated (more or less) in the same places as the nasal consonants. In his head, he recalled how the Bantu languages marked their clicks with leftover Latin letters as well – c was [ǀ], q was [ǃ], and x was [ǁ] – with various digraphing, trigraphing, and so forth to produce further click variants. But they had no bilabial nor palatal clicks – so while Adam was easily able to assign q and x, and after some thought, c to [ᵑǂ], that left the bilabial click unassigned.
That letter was typically left as a click in those languages that had them – even the Bantu provision was a digraph, pc. But that would confuse the crew when he would teach them the language – for what if it was a sequence of p, then c? He could add a tiebar to the sequence, or add a diacritic to p – scratch that, m – but those solutions weren’t too elegant to him. He wanted something that would stick.
Then he remembered a bet he made with one of his students, Sigríður Magnúsdóttir, back at MIT six years ago. She saw how many uses the letters x and q had in Romanizing languages vastly different from the usual Indo-European lot, and claimed that she could use thorn – þ – as what he called a “wild-card” letter. Of course, thorn survived only in Icelandic, and while it was once used in English, it was supplanted entirely in the age of the printing press. She was adamant that a letter so tightly tied to the Germanic languages could be used elsewhere. He was skeptical, but took her up on her bet.
I guess you win this one, Sigríður, he finally, and silently, conceded. Thorn had never, ever been used for anything other than a dental fricative – up until this point. Now, he put it down as representing a bilabial click in the language of the Rhyslinger equines. Somehow, it felt right to him – graphically speaking, þ looked similar to p. Maybe she was onto something, he realized.
The vowels were much easier to do. The usual a, e, i, o, and u found their spots. For the back unrounded vowels, he took a few cues from the Vietnamese language, and used ơ and ư for those sounds. He snickered to himself – while it was for a different purpose, Vietnamese also used tildes in their language – on top of those letters, to boot. And as for the syllabic consonants, he simply used ḷ and ṛ – just as the IAST would do.
He breathed a sigh, as though he had exerted a great effort – and indeed he had; he was well on his way on becoming fluent in Ơhqer.
Adam didn’t know what time it was, but eventually he jumped from his seat, startled by some sudden knocking on the lander’s window. He turned to look at it – what’s going on? Before he could walk over to check for himself, a familiar shimmer of violet light descended upon the knob and cranked it – revealing Antir H’lsapa outside.
Just the mare I needed to see! he realized – but then it registered to him that she looked rather concerned about something. But what? I’m just fine, how about yourself?
“Edem is? well,” she asked – with a cocked eyebrow and a tilted head.
“Yes, Adam is well! Adam is well, well, well!” Even with such an effort he had exerted, he was still incredibly giddy about all the discoveries he had made – all that he could make, too, and more, all that he will. He couldn’t wait to get back to work –
“No.”
What?
“Edem is not well. Is not not not well.” In her telekinetic grip, she picked Adam up and put him into the cot. Wait. . . why? Adam put his head up, as far as she would allow, to look outside. Crissake, I’ve been up all night! It explained her concern, that he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Then his stomach growled – nor any dinner the night before, for that matter. But why was she concerned with him? They were friends, yes – but this was all part of the job, and he simply got caught up in his excitement. It wasn’t the first time, either – he often went hungry during his college days.
But she was not taking ‘no’ for an answer. Apparently she also heard his stomach growl – her telekinetic reach went around and grabbed a packet of. . . something. Even when he squinted, he couldn’t make out the label, but saw it was some sort of vegetable stew. She too recognized the contents, and miraculously picked out the red hydration gun – the right one. Can she recognize the numbers? he pondered. She brought the packet up to the window to get a better look at the label, then started adjusting the dial on the gun, squinting to get a better look at the engraving. He heard the dial tick by, slowly and carefully, as she counted it up to. . . eighty? Then she injected water into the packet, twice, and immediately handed it to Adam. I guess she doesn’t realize it needs time to rehydrate all the way.
Adam set the warm packet onto his stomach, intending to eat it later – but Antir wasn’t having it. She seized it in her remote grip, then bumped its nozzle up against his mouth. “No, Antir!” he cried out, loud enough to let her hear. “Wait!” He reflexively signed his intent as well – tapping his wrist, as if he wore a wristwatch, then arranged his arms like a clockface, ticking forward.
“Wait how much?”
Adam picked up the packet – 5-10 minutes. He was too tired to bother converting time between two worlds, so he simply answered “Ten minutes!” He laid his head back down, keeping the packet in his hands in the meantime.
The lander didn’t have a blanket – or rather, it did, but it wasn’t meant for constant use. Still, Antir improvised with the towel Adam used to wash himself, draping it over his reclining body. It was still somewhat damp and oily from its repeated use, but it wasn’t about to grow any mold – there weren’t any spores stowing away aboard.
He was tempted to kick it off, as he didn’t need it to stay warm at night – not between his jumpsuit and the lander’s heating system. But he knew she would force the towel back onto him, so he decided to keep it on. . . for now.
“Edem must eat,” she told him. “Edem must sleep. Edem is not well now, Edem. . . .” She was at a loss for words. What is she thinking about? “Edem later is well.”
Oh, she didn’t pick up on the future tense. “Adam will be well,” he corrected. “Thank you, Antir.”
She rolled her eyes. “Edem will be well,” she echoed, carefully following each tenet of his pronunciation, down to the precise stress timing. Still with a glimmer of concern on her face, she somewhat reluctantly closed the window-shutter – then in an audible pop!, presumably disappeared from the scaffold.
That left Adam alone with a towel, a packet of food, and his own thoughts and regrets. He sighed. Great – just great, Adam, he thought. After making so much progress in the night and into the dawn, now you have to take things easy for a while – Antir wouldn’t have it any other way. Worst of all, you don’t even have the chance to practice reading Ơhqer writings, nor speaking the language. Just perfect. He felt the packet in his fingers – the consistency of the contents said that it wasn’t ready just yet, but it was definitely getting there. His stomach growled all the same in impatience, forcing a frown on his face. Guess that’s what I get for being too eager to complete the mission, he mused. Now, not only can I not do my work –
Wait. He bolted upright. Work! Dammit, I’m late! My boss will have my head on a pike for this!
He leapt out of the cot, kicking the towel into a wad on the floor, leaving the packet where he was before. He started unzipping his jumpsuit, eyes darting around the cabin, trying to find where he had left the cooling garment for the EVA suit. There! By the suitport! He started pulling his arms out of the jumpsuit’s sleeves, bending down to pick it up – right when he heard the window’s shutter slither open.
He turned his head to look. Apparently Antir had doubled back – and he had been caught redhanded.
“Edem. Need. Rest.” Her tone, at least by human standards, had a measured mixture of anger and disappointment. Already he could feel the familiar tingling of the telekinetic grip along his back and spine.
“Adam has work today!” he tried to reason with her – but she wouldn’t hear it. Once more he was taken up by an unseen force, and floated right back into the cot, as though he were a petulant child. Packet in his lap, towel covering him, but the jumpsuit wasn’t zipped back into place – so its folds and creases started poking his back. Dammit.
“Edem not have work today,” she told him. “Ãtir talk Nowu-Gizũzḷ-to.” She gestured behind herself, towards the town. “Edem stay. Edem eat. Edem rest.”
He sighed – she really did think of everything, didn’t she? “Yes,” he replied, leaning back once again.
She gave him a glare that warned him of unspoken consequences should he try to break out of this hold again – then wordlessly as well shut the window’s shutter. Another pop! sent her away from the lander – hopefully for good this time.
Then he realized something. How did she pronounce her name? Ãtir? he pondered. Could’ve sworn it was Antir, but that might’ve just been an English bias. Is it allophonic? Phonetic? I’d have to check for minimal pairs first. Of course, Ant – er, Ãtir would be my best source for that sort of thing.
Making sure she would never know, he pushed himself up, slithered his arms through the sleeves of his jumpsuit, and zipped it back together. He then grabbed the packet and felt it around. It was nearly ready, though with a few chunks of substance still needing to be broken up. Eh, it’s close enough. He brought the nozzle to his lips and took a sip. The water definitely had cooled, as it intermixed with the freeze-dried block of stew, but it was still palatable. It wasn’t as spicy as the goulash – and he sorely missed that kick.
Oh well, what are you going to do about it, Adam? He continued drinking the warm stew, trying to get it all down before it got too cold to be palatable to him.
·–––
“Tucking in for some shut-eye?”
“. . . ja,” Dr. Weiss replied with a yawn, as she unzipped one of the sleeping bags strapped to the wall. “If you are wondering what else I have found so far, my notes are by the machine.”
“I’ll take a look when I get a chance,” Louis promised, as he thrust off the wall and into Altair. “Good night, Dr. Weiss.”
She just chuckled as she watched him leave. “Wänn isch es nümme Nacht?” she asked herself. “Ich gsehn nur d Sterne und d Dunkelheit. . . .” She slipped herself into her sleeping bag, and zipped it shut around her.
After a few moments, she shut her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. She still had so much data to go over, so many experiments to run from the safety of Rhyslinger orbit – and yet, she had done a lot since she was up. Clearly she had earned her rest now.
Tomorrow was bound to be a big day for her. Meanwhile, Louis was just getting started with his day. After downing a simple egg-and-noodle breakfast in the Cancer module, he exchanged a few words with Dr. Konstantinov – whom, he reported, had found no further issues with the forty-six colonists still in cryostasis, save for having to change out a fuse in the B rack, but otherwise the same news as from yesterday – and went into the Pisces module to wash off the grime he had accumulated over the past day or so.
It wasn’t easy, timing a sleep schedule in a quickly-orbiting location like Zodiac-Altair. He, like the others here, saw the sun rise and set more than a dozen times per day – and nobody could adapt their circadian rhythm to that sort of cycle.
Instead at first, they tried to maintain the Terrestrial twenty-four-hour day, as close as possible to the time at Cape Canaveral. Over time, however, that became impractical to maintain – and coupled with Dr. Somerset’s sleep schedule on the surface of the world, they gradually shifted over to its sixteen-hour day – eight awake, eight asleep. More or less.
First thing he looked for were communications from Earth. Most of the time, any transmissions were from the ship to the planet, not the other way around, but once in a blue moon Louis would spot something having been sent from NASA. Such messages were finicky things – after being transmitted from the most appropriate substation on the planet, it had to travel well over a billion miles out of the atmosphere and through the cosmos, before being received by Einstein, which was still orbiting the Flandro Object, and which in turn relayed the message through the Object to the receiver on Zodiac-Altair. Transmissions took hours in either direction, and the bulk of the data was redundant to minimize data loss.
It was a miracle that nothing vital was lost.
This time, Louis found something he hadn’t seen before – apparently, NASA and Roscosmos had finally allowed members of the public to send letters to the colonists – either through them directly, or through their nations’ respective space agencies. He browsed the names of all the letters he saw, but couldn’t recognize most of them. A few of them were for the people who had been pulled from cryo – himself, Dr. Somerset, Dr. Weiss, and Dr. Konstantinov. Somerset had no way of receiving or reading them right now, the second was fast asleep at the moment, but the third could easily read them right now.
For the time being, he sorted out the messages that weren’t for any of the four, and vaulted them on the ship’s server. They’d be able to read them once the colony was up and running. He also vaulted Dr. Somerset’s mail separately – just to keep things organized. Meanwhile, he turned his attention to the mail meant for him – there was a good assortment of messages, from various scientists to former Maritime Command friends to elementary school students, and many more besides, but one name in particular caught his eye: LECLERCQ, CAMILLE – his mother. That was the first one he opened up and started reading it.
Dearest Louis, it opened, she was grateful that the Canadian Space Agency had finally allowed civilian mail to reach Zodiac-Altair, apparently his grandmother had passed away two years before – she was perfectly fine and not in pain; it was just her time – and she had loved him even though he enlisted for Maritime Command. There was a brief musing of him catching a glimpse of her in transit. On the upside, his younger sister gave birth to a new daughter. Though Camille acknowledged that the news might stagger him, she urged him all the same to write back soon.
His mother did not jest with that last bit – all of that news from home hit him like a freight train. He had to step back from the terminal – well, more like thrust back, as he couldn’t step in microgravity – and tried as hard as he could not to cry. After all, tears cannot flow freely in microgravity, due to the surface tension of the fluid.
“Mon dieu. . . qu’est-ce que j’ai raté?” he asked himself, between silent sobs. The answer was in the letter, and yet it did not suffice. Some of the most important functions of family life were now far beyond his reach, and even his sight. It took a decision made in a conference building in Florida or California to allow a message to be sent from Australia, across a distance told only in epics of old, just to deliver news both good and bad – but bad mainly because he had missed out on them.
“Commander Darcy, sir.”
He instead decided to distract himself by diverting his attention to the window to the outside, where he saw the little pinpoints of light steadily gleaming in the black. No twinkling here – no atmosphere to make them twinkle. And as well, that large green-and-blue object in the sky – Rhysling, mankind’s new neighbor, and Dr. Somerset was setting up the place. Although the diversion tactic was working, it wasn’t working fast enough – he could feel his tears blurring his sight.
“Sir?”
He shut his eyes, tightly, and wiped his fingers along the lids, in an attempt to at least clean away the tears he had already shed. After a moment, he could see the outside view more clearly. Nothing had changed – for Altair didn’t rotate to generate centrifugal gravity; that was Zodiac’s purpose. Well, one of three: besides providing a gravitationally-bound habitat, the frontmost part of the half also had an aerobrake, which allowed the ship to slow down in Jovian space and enter the Flandro object at a manageable velocity – and, once a site was established, it would form the colony proper.
“Louis!”
“Eh?” Louis turned back away from the window. “Ah, Anton. How long have you been there?”
“Only a moment,” he answered. “I was about to ask: did anyone outside Roscosmos transmit to the ship?”
He chuckled – even holding back a stray sob. “Funny you should ask.” Even though Roscosmos wasn’t the only space agency sending messages to the ship, he got the gist of what he meant. “They just allowed messages to be sent from the public.” Out of curiosity, he checked just how many Dr. Konstantinov received. Only two – there was one directly from Roscosmos, and one from. . . probably a student also vying to become a cryogenicist, if he had to guess. “Here are yours.”
“Thank you.” Dr. Konstantinov bowed his head and, as Louis thrust off the ceiling, took the commander’s place in front of the terminal. While he read his mail, Louis would busy himself with looking over Dr. Weiss’s notes – and see what she had found so far, and what she has yet to find.
There was one problem. Not only was her handwriting some of the messiest he had seen – and he was blessed with being able to read his commanding officer’s notes – the bits he could see were in German: “. . . ist Fotosynthese möglich?” and “. . . könnte für Glukose sein. . .” were the only parts he could make out. He sighed – there went his plans for the day. He’d have to wait until she got up again – and that wouldn’t be for several more hours at the earliest.
And with Dr. Konstantinov occupying the terminal, thus preventing him from doing his work, he simply resigned himself to using the gym earlier than he had planned. Gotta get those two hours in, after all.
··–·–
On the other hand, Anton had started his wake-cycle the same way he always had on the mission: monitoring the lives of the forty-nine – well, forty-six now – other colonists in cryostasis. None of them so far had come into serious harm, but he noticed that pod B7 had blown a fuse on the refrigeration coils. He knew about possible equipment failure like that was bound to happen at some point during the interplanetary voyage, so not only did he stash away plenty of spare parts to swap out as needed, he even designed the pods with buffer fluid – using the thermal gradient to hold the colder temperatures for longer, buying him time to fix the issue at hand.
He of course reported the incident to his superior, Commander Darcy, but added that B7 had blown that fuse. The fuse had been replaced successfully, he had reässured him, and there were no further issues with that or any other pod. Yes, of course he would check the racks more than once per day, as he had always done so, now please let him eat his cereal in peace.
And so the commander would – giving Anton time to reflect over his life, and more, over what choices he had made in his time on Earth that led him to travel an unimaginable distance across space to this God-forsaken world. At least Drs. Somerset and Weiss had work – and, thus, a tangible purpose – on this mission: Somerset on the surface, communicating with the equine Indigenous – which apparently were capable of vocal speech like a man, and could even speak English of all things, or so Commander Darcy said – and Weiss with decoding Rhyslinger biology, determining if it was possible at such a level for mankind to survive on the new world, side-by-side with the Indigenous.
But he? His primary purpose was to ensure that the colonists would live to carry out their tasks once the colony was established – to revive them once they landed, or one by one revive them now, while still in orbit, to assist further in the mission. Drs. Somerset and Weiss were two such cases, at least at the moment. Anton, meanwhile, had resigned himself as a jack-of-all-trades in the crew manifest, fulfilling roles and purposes where it would be wasteful to revive a person for just a day to perform a single task, like delivering a spare probe part to the surface, which Dr. Somerset would use to fix the probe already on the surface and enable Dr. Weiss to do her work.
What a dreary existence.
Imagine his surprise, then, when Commander Darcy relayed the news about Zodiac-Altair’s very first public mail call. If he had to guess, Darcy must have received some upsetting news, since he had to take a few tries to interrupt some thoughts. Not to mention he thought he could have seen the glistening of tears around his eyes. But it wasn’t his place to ask, not then, not now.
Nor could he glean an answer from the message, as it was written in French. He shrugged and closed it, and brought up the messages meant for him specifically. Compared to the dozens, even scores, of messages meant for the man in charge of the whole operation, he had received two. Even Dr. Weiss received more than him – six. Not even second fiddle in the orchestra, despite making sure the other two were still alive. And he couldn’t imagine just how many Dr. Somerset would have gotten. . . .
Which would at least make this part go by sooner, so he wouldn’t have to take up the commander’s usual workspace. He opened the first one, listed as KOPTEV, YURI (ROSCOSMOS) – that name was familiar to him; he was the director.
Koptev was grateful that Anton was still alive, and promised to keep the letter brief, anticipating his tasks aboard Zodiac-Altair. For his work in cryogenics, applied in the mission, the newly-formed Russian Federation government had awarded him the Order of Honor in absentee – which, if he had not heard of it before, was supposed to replace the older Soviet Badge of Honor. The transition to a Federation government was progressing slowly, yet smoothly, and he was optimistic in a return to full strength in twenty years’ time.
He shrugged, supposing that not all news need to be bad. But he pondered what the use was for the honor, as prestigious as it was – especially since he could not exactly collect it in person. All he was doing was his job, and so far he hadn’t failed a single human subject aboard the ship. . . yet. He was sure that would change at some point. In his darkest dreams, he would find himself with several failing pods scattered across all four racks, and him scrambling in futility to fix them all and get them back in working order. Naturally, at least some of those poor souls would perish from his own ineptitude. . . .
But he wasn’t about to dwell on those nightmares – the broken fuse on B7 was in fact the worst incident that had occurred in the voyage. The other message came from a student from Moscow State University, named MOROZOV, MIKHAIL (MGU). He glossed through the letter, wondering why he of all people wished to hear from him, then he saw it: he wondered how it was that he was able to prevent cellular water from freezing and crystalizing in the cryogenic process, which would otherwise kill a person.
He was happy to answer that question – but first he would need the commander’s authorization.
–––·–
Louis was in the middle of his exercise regiment when he noticed a figure descend the ladder. “Did you need something, Anton?” he asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “Authorization from the mission’s commander is needed to transmit a message from the ship back to Earth. I have come to ask for that, sir.”
Louis raised an eyebrow. “What for? Does someone miss you back home?”
Dr. Konstantinov rolled his eyes. “Not quite, sir. A student from MGU wanted to know the answer to a problem about cryogenics. I realize my notes may not be neat, but that is no excuse for a lack of progress in science. Someone else on Earth needs to know – my work should survive.”
“You nailed it right on the head. Permission granted – ” Louis pointed back at the ladder – “go and write home.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And who knows?” Louis added. “Maybe someone might find a better method of freezing people. Could be that student at – what was it, MGU? Never heard of it.”
“Moscow State University,” the cryogenicist answered. “That is the acronym in Russian.” Then he started back up the ladder, back to the bridge.
·–·––
Once he swung himself back into the bridge – quietly, to avoid waking up Dr. Weiss – Anton started on his message to Mihail. To answer his question, he wrote, he got the idea from accidentally thawing out a wood frog in the middle of class when he was a schoolboy. Since then, he was determined to replicate the effect in human beings: after getting his MD – at MGU, to boot – he had spent close to twenty years developing a glucose analogue that could be both produced in mass quantities quickly, and be burned quickly, so a person would not suffer from glucose toxicity. Like a wood frog would, but better – though studying Jakutijan horse biology certainly helped. He also added a reminder that the bloodstream would need twenty to thirty minutes to cycle and distribute the cyroprotectants throughout the entire body, and once that was done, a simple sedative was all it took to trigger the cryosleep – though he was sure he knew that bit. He wished him luck in his studies, signed off on the message – then waited.
Einstein needed to be aligned with Zodiac-Altair, on exactly opposite sides of the Flandro Object. It was a window that lasted maybe two minutes at most – and it wasn’t there yet. But it was coming around, in just a moment. Anton kept a sharp eye squarely on the alignment, waiting, patiently yet eagerly, for the instruments to align.
Closer and closer they grew – until the reticle turned green. He hit the return key, and opened the transmission back to Earth. Even with all the redundancies, it completed in less than fifteen seconds – plenty of time to spare. He breathed a sigh of relief, then sought a way to do something for the rest of the day.
·–·
Adam stirred.
He opened his eyes, to find himself staring directly across the lander’s interior at the galley opposite. As he pushed himself upward by his arms, he looked down at the cot, and noted a slightly darker spot right where his head was. Had I been drooling in my sleep? He waited a moment for his sight to focus, then started shifting himself so his back faced the wall. At some point in his sleep he had kicked the towel-blanket off of himself, since it ended up on the floor, but he didn’t care – it wasn’t like he needed it.
Whatever makes Ãtir happy, I guess.
He sat up straight, and stretched himself out on the cot. He yawned – and he didn’t know why; this was the most refreshed he had felt in a long time, or at least since his days working at MIT. He just wrote it off as finally paying off his sleep debt, from God knows how long ago.
I wonder what time it is. While he couldn’t gauge it by either local or Terrestrial standards, he could get a rough idea by looking outside. But that would mean getting off of the cot, since he didn’t have the same telekinetic technology that the Indigenous had – that Ãtir had – and he didn’t want to do that at the moment. Right now, it was simply too comfortable for him to do anything at the moment.
But he knew he must get out of bed – sooner rather than later, to avoid wasting any more time than he already had. Commander Darcy’s going to have my head. He shuddered at the thought. But still, bed. . . and sleep. . . .
Dammit Adam, get your ass up already!
With that last thought giving him that final push, he swung himself out of bed and planted his feet firmly on the floor. He stood up, with no small amount of effort, and yawned again, deeply this time. He twisted his torso to the left, then the right, feeling and hearing the vertebrae crackle from the released stiffness. He looked to his desk as he was twisting, and saw the Ơhqer textbook still sitting open on the pages about the script and its pronunciation.
He strode over to the desk and took another look at his notes – as he couldn’t recall exactly what he had written down off the top of his head. Yet there it was, plain as day – the functions of the Ơhqer alphasyllabary, the consonants and vowel charts he had sketched up in his sleepless night, along with a question about vowel harmony. Strangely, there was no question about consonant harmony – Adam assumed he had that nailed down while he was studying.
But another question was still on his mind: what time is it? He then walked over to the window, and slid the shudder open – revealing the first glimmers of light in the morning. It couldn’t have been evening – this light was coming from the east, and the last time he had checked, Rhysling wasn’t upside-down, not like Venus. That left only a single conclusion in his mind: that he had been asleep for sixteen hours.
Talk about making up for lost time.
And yet, here he was, all the better for that time spent sleeping. At least I didn’t wake up in the middle of the night. . . . He turned around to find a packet of something suitable for breakfast. As he laid his eyes on some noodles, he heard a pop! outside the lander, and something heavy landing on the scaffold.
If that’s who I think it is. . . . He turned to look outside – indeed, there was Ãtir, looking a lot more relieved than the morning before. “Today, Edem is? well,” she asked. “Yes?”
“Yes!” He nodded firmly. “I am well today.” That should help her with the word order. . . .
“Edem will eat?” she asked as well.
“Yes, I will eat soon.” He knelt down and grabbed the packet he spotted earlier. Her English is coming along remarkably, he mused to himself. I wonder if they can listen in to radio frequencies. . . . Then he remembered the Faraday cage at the hospital, where he was examined. Perhaps he was on to something. Let’s hope she doesn’t confuse the commander’s French with English. Or Dr. Weiss’s German, though that’s more closely related. And if she could listen to radio signals, who was to say his own unspoken thoughts were safe? –
Let’s not dwell on that.
Though if that last hypothesis were true, Ãtir was smart enough not to say anything on the matter. She instead sat down outside the lander, but still peering through the window, apparently waiting for Adam to eat up.
He, meanwhile, injected 100 milliliters into the packet of noodles, then set it on the galley counter to rehydrate for the next five-to-ten minutes. For the time being, he sat down by the desk and looked over his notes a little more. At some point in the night – lost to his memory in his sleep, regrettably – he had also started to jot down some basic Ơhqer vocabulary. He might know how to pronounce them correctly – well, within reasonable accuracy – but he didn’t know exactly how those words connected with each other, nor could he get very far within their civilization. He may as well be reading from a phrasebook.
But it was the best he had for the time being. He turned back to the window, where Ãtir was still waiting patiently, and tried speaking his first complete Ơhqer words: “Ṛsley Edem Zơmṛzed alru.”
These four words, as simple as they were, shocked Ãtir deeply – as though he had just accomplished some Herculean task. “Ơhqer azarơhvu?” she asked – she simply couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Em,” he answered plainly. “Holo sita ơhseye.” Hopefully it meant he knew only a few words so far, and that she would be convinced.
She nodded, calmly yet curtly. “Edem look.” She lit her horn, and out of a pair of saddlebags he hadn’t seen before, she pulled out a series of books. Some of them he recognized from the town library, the ones she’d shown him – and others were entirely new.
“I see the books,” he confirmed.
“Edem, Ãtir, make yes-thing,” she said. An agreement, she means. “Edem speak Ơhqer more well – Ãtir speak Edemner more well.”
Well, that’s. . . one way to say ‘better,’ he thought. So putting that together, if I help Ãtir with her English, she would help me with my Ơhqer. Except. . . hold on. Does she seriously think English is – Crissake. They’ve named it after me! “English,” he corrected. “I speak English.” He pointed at himself, to emphasize the pronoun. That’s one suggestion for you.
“Edem speak English,” she followed. “I speak Ơhqer.” Hey, she’s getting it! She nodded to herself. “Edem, I, make? yes-thing.”
Adam was conflicted by the proposal. On the one hand, having the assistance of a native speaker would undoubtedly propel his mission progress to the stars – no pun intended. At the same time, she would be learning English, to assist further communication between the two civilizations, between the two worlds. But on the other hand, therein lay the catch for him – as much as he wanted to avoid influencing Ơhqer, he knew that it was inevitable. Already, he had introduced his own name – borrowed as Edem – both as a given name, and as a descriptor for his entire species. This was an impasse – there was no way he could avoid loaning English words into Ơhqer, and indeed he had facilitated that for some time.
This was it. This was the moment that would decide whether or not two civilizations would fully exchange their languages. And all it took was a single word out of his mouth, yes or no. His answer, one way or the other, would make history.
Adam was almost finished with breakfast when he heard a hoof knock on the lander’s window. The shutter slithered open, and he saw the gray wall-eyed mare, making her postal rounds. Usually she didn’t stop by until later in the day, since he lived so far outside of town – so this must’ve been important.
“Qapata!” she greeted him. She held up a manila-colored envelope to the window.
He nodded. “Wõ sehe þesơ cupavu,” he told her, pointing to the sterile locker. Ever since he got Ãtir’s books inside, the locker had been relegated to a makeshift mailbox. She knew to place items inside and to close the door, but never seemed to remember to sterilize them.
Such as now. As she flew away, Adam rolled his eyes and did the last step for her. He hit the switch for her inside, and stood by the window. Any minute now, he knew, Ãtir Ḷsapa would show up at the window as well. He couldn’t say precisely which time, but it was clearly scheduled.
Two minutes passed, and the locker was finished. Since Ãtir seemed to be running late, he decided to kill the time with. . . whatever this was. He pulled the envelope out and unsealed it. There weren’t any words that he could read – only mathematical definitions. But all these photographs were clearly biological in nature. Adam realized this was from the hospital in the fortress-city. They had completed what should be an initial analysis of the effects of breaching biosegregation.
While he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, he knew someone who could. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Tango-1,” he opened on the radio. “Is Dr. Weiss on station? Over.”
“This is Weiss,” her voice replied within the moment. “Receiving, over.”
“Just now I have received documents from the hospital laboratory,” he told her. “I will be transmitting scans of them to you at this time. Please acknowledge, over.”
“Copy Somerset, standing by.”
With that settled, he swung the camera over the document, and one by one started snapping photographs of the pages. Each of them was transmitted to Zodiac-Altair without delay. He worked quickly, yet neatly, to make sure she could see them all before Ãtir came to drag him away.
Speak of the Devil – right as he snapped the final page, he heard a pop! outside, and hooves hitting the scaffolding. “Hello, Adam,” she greeted him in accented English. “Are you ready?”
“Almost ready,” he replied. As he photographed the last page, he breathed a sigh of relief, then climbed into his suit. With this, he hoped he wouldn’t have to test any more samples with the probe. So far, they had tested a variety of fruits and vegetables – at least, all the ones that the Indigenous considered to be edible. They also tested other sources – things the equines could not eat, such as other plants and even meat. He remembered finding some tomato analogues here, and even though those had proved nonviable for human consumption, they were clearly cultivated by the ponies. He chuckled – he remembered Dr. Weiss’s fit from orbit; apparently Terrestrial horses could not handle nightshades like tomatoes. From what Adam remembered as well, between his initial findings and his subsequent studies with Ãtir, carnivorous sentients lived on Rhysling, and regularly interacted with the equines. However, he had yet to met a single one of them here in Ơhesti.
Ơhesti – that was the name of the large political body to which Ãtir, Sulfoyarqa, and all the other equines pledged their allegiance. Their rulers, Yere Kisữ and Yara Ariman, were testing him, seeing if he was fit to remain in Ơhesti. From what he noted, apparently all of Ơhesti revered them as living gods. I could see why, he remembered thinking at the time – I certainly haven’t found anyone quite like the two.
Not to mention, he further learned, they were sisters, and were the literal living embodiments of the Sun and Moon. He asked Ãtir how that worked – and she responded that they had direct control over the two celestial bodies. Adam sooner believed Yara Ariman’s control over the Moon than Yere Kisữ’s over the Sun. For one, that went directly against the heliocentric model they had apparently also adopted. For another, it also went directly against Kepler’s findings about gravity. Unless there’s something else at play here? Adam remembered masked skepticism, though he tried to respect Ơhesti’s belief system. Still, he wanted to see it happen firsthand.
She was surprisingly understanding of the whole thing, and decided to take Adam directly to the capitol city – which he learned also was called Kãtṛlat – even paying for the two tickets out of her own pocket. Adam wanted to pay her back for the convenience, but she refused. Is this her attempt at evangelizing me? he wondered. Still, he reserved his judgment until the train pulled into Kãtṛlat. It was early in the evening when he got there, and therefore the sun had not yet set. A perfect time, he supposed, to watch the two sisters at work.
Sisters. Right. Of course they would be. Two opposing celestial bodies, being so closely related to one another – one for day, one for night – one for light, one for dark – one for good, one for evil? He bit his tongue to avoid making the suggestion at the time. As the city’s clock struck the top digit – six, no, ten – he watched the events unfold before his eyes: first, Yere Kisữ flew up to the top of the sky, up to where she nearly left Adam’s field of vision. Then she lit her horn, and he started noticing the glimmers of the Sun start to shift to red, deeper and deeper as it descended over the western horizon. She kept descending with the sun, slowly yet surely, keeping pace with the celestial body itself. At the same time, meanwhile, Yara Ariman started ascending herself at the same pace as her sister, horn lit as well, bringing up the moon over the eastern horizon.
He couldn’t explain it, even now – he wasn’t a theoretical physicist. He was certain, however, that Zodiac-Altair had at least one packed away somewhere, meant likely to assist with reverse-engineering alien technology should the need arise. And judging by what he saw, that was surely going to be handy for them at some point. For the time being, however, Adam simply wrote off the entire experience as an elaborate ritual meant to legitimize the sisters’ reign.
The ride back home – to Ginzol, which he overheard from the conductor – was largely uneventful, even if they arrived at midnight. Adam knew Ãtir could easily have teleported him back to the lander – hell, even teleported him out of his suit and into the lander itself – but that posed a few problems. For one, he still didn’t know how the teleportation technology they used would affect human physiology. He noted no effect when they were nearby, but who could say the same for doing it at a considerable distance? For another, he was teleported while wearing a spacesuit. What if he was naked? These were the thoughts that kept him up at night, despite it not being his own department.
Time he spent all the same working on translating Ơhqer into English, despite Ãtir’s protests to the contrary. He would attempt to get another hour or two into the day, but she would always catch on, and always chastise him – in English, even – for staying up for so long. What are you, my mother? She meant well at least.
“Adam?” Ãtir asked him. “You’re quiet now. Is something wrong?”
“Hm?” He looked down at the violet unicorn. “No, nothing’s wrong, Ãtir.” He breathed into his suit deeply. “Will we go study now?” he asked her. He wasn’t worried about work – he’d checked the place early in the morning, only to find that it was closed for the day.
“Yes!”
With that, Adam disconnected from the suitport, and he and Ãtir started down the road, side-by-side with each other.
For most other equines, such a task seemed boring, dreary, something to be loathed as a necessary evil. Not Ãtir, for whatever reason. She reveled in such a task – it meant discovery, exploration, wonder. This attitude suited Adam quite well – she took to English like a champ, devouring all the words he could think of. She even took the time to memorize all the irregularities of its creolized grammar. Why, she even started developing an American accent, independent of his teaching. Is she trying to show off for me? he often wondered between his marveling.
Unfortunately, Adam was languishing in his studies of Ơhqer. He wanted to learn it, with just as much zeal as his equine colleague, but his approach was just far too methodical to immerse himself fully into the grammar. He wanted to learn not just which roots and affixes went together, which roots fitted which definitions, but why they did so. At the same time, he focused on drafting a practical phrasebook for the colony, ensuring colonists could survive in Ơhesti’s society. And even with Ãtir’s English lexicon as large and rapidly-growing as it was, even she couldn’t come up with a proper, fitting explanation for these roots and affixes.
It was a maddening issue, but one he had to tolerate.
As he entered Ginzol, he noticed that very few ponies were out and about in the streets – that was, until he approached the central square, where the residents of Ginzol were holding their weekly market. No thanks, he wanted to say, I don’t want any carrots; I’ve already tested those. Njeledirve, please, I’ve already tested a whole bushel of apples that you gifted me; they all returned the same results, or so Dr. Weiss said. It was a lot of offers to, and silent refusals from, the human – but it all did mean one thing: they had started accepting him as one of their own. It was as much as he could ask for – if they were willing to accept him, then surely they might be more willing to accept other human beings as well.
Not to mention that Ħṛylilufa managed to work past her initial bias and not knock him down again. Oh, yes, that was another thing – despite being united politically as one body, the three types of equines he had seen had developed their own specific dialects. Admittedly, he had also been influenced slightly by Ãtir’s specific dialect – if only because he came to learn that Yere Kisữ and Yara Ariman also had that same dialect, even with the latter’s broken speech, though a few mannerisms on their part all but convinced him that they had a personal dialect of their own. He would have to inquire at some point.
It was the unicorn dialect that had those tricky voiceless nasals and palatal laterals, and he was glad that he didn’t have to imitate those precisely for them to understand him. As he had suspected earlier, the voiceless nasals were nasal clicks in the other two dialects, to which he took quite easily. The palatal lateral was really an elision of the sequence [jl], though it took him a few days for that to click.
There were a few more differences between dialects – for one, the pegasi never had a null onset, whereas other dialects did allow those. The pegasi insist on using [ɦ], a sound he had not anticipated from the textbook on that night. He had to improvise johnny-on-the-spot to use ħ for that sound. Naturally, he’d drop it from the colony language lessons, reserving it for those who truly needed to know.
After a brisk walk through town, they arrived at the tree-library. Elzơ, her dragon assistant, was waiting for them already, books already in hand. Adam took them into his own arms – “Thank you,” he said reflexively. Oops!
But it was such a common enough phrase spoken in English that he responded with “You’re welcome!” before leaving the room entirely, leaving him alone with Ãtir. As he sat down on the floor, she took her usual place in his lap. He couldn’t feel it, but these equines were apparently warm-blooded, just like humans. Even Elzơ, too – against all his expectations. His reptilian appearance made him assume he was cold-blooded. But then, he realized, I haven’t seen him spend a lot of time in the sun. I guess he doesn’t need it?
He opened the book, and saw it was all about time. He realized he could learn more about how Rhyslingers kept the time, and more importantly, the date. He flipped the book open, without her prompting, to the first few pages. They were all about how time was told within the day – hours, minutes, and half-days. Strangely, there weren’t anything on seconds. Adam raised an eyebrow. “Why not seconds?” he asked.
“What is ‘seconds’?” Ãtir of course would ask.
“Seconds is. . . .” How do I define it for her? After some thought, he remembered the pocketwatches in the shop at Kãtṛlat. “Fast hand, tick, tick, tick, tick. . . .” Please understand it.
“Ah!” She nodded. “Seconds! We do not use seconds usually. Only if one is strict about keeping time.” That, or the book was printed before those were adopted. “Most of us use. . . .” She tapped her hoof upon the smallest unit upon the page – what he knew to be minutes.
“Minutes,” he told her. Then he pointed out the next largest unit on the page with his finger. “. . . and hours.”
“Minute! Hour!” she echoed back to him. “Yes!” She cleared her throat and translated them: “Ayadal. . . izãdal.” Then she paused – and pointed at the remaining unit on the spread. “What is this?”
Adam didn’t have an answer. Sure, he had the words ‘day’ and ‘night,’ but no word to describe both of them as equal measures of time, not like what Rhysling had – or at least Ơhesti. “We don’t have the word,” he told her, in full honesty.
“Kãtṛtal,” Ãtir pronounced for him. “We call it the kãtṛtal.”
And indeed, when Adam looked more closely, he saw the neat alphasyllabary printing, void of any serifs, spelling out kã-tṛ-ta-l. As he had learned, there indeed were vowel and consonant harmonies, but they only needed to be marked on the first non-neutral syllable. So only ka took on the horizontal line inside the letter – and were the word kẽtṛtel instead, it would not have the moon-vowel marking above kã. Even with all the roots he knew, Adam couldn’t detect any obvious etymology – so either it was a loanword from a language he had not yet studied, or this division of time was so ancient in their culture it had its own dedicated root.
“Let’s turn the page!” Ãtir said – and in her telekinetic grip, she grabbed the leaf and turned it over. This one was about more divisions of time, containing days within a year.
A local calendar! Adam drank in the page. Using as many English terms as he could think of, he noted that Rhysling worked on nine months instead of twelve, each with thirty-six days spread across six weeks, each with six days. But he noticed an odd quirk – each day was indicated with a numeral. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual – that was how the modern Chinese calendar worked, for instance – but the numerals were different. They were like dice pips, but instead of being arranged like on dice, as he had seen before, here they were stacked up into triangles. It was one pip for the first day, then two pips, one pip on top of two, then three pips with a fourth stacked atop on the left side, two pips on top of three – then where he expected one pip on two on three, there instead was another symbol – one he never seen before. This was the symbol for their money, or dege. It looked like a de and ge nested within each other, in an S-like configuration. This marked the last day of each week, which were also indicated in green. The sabbath, he wanted to say, but that would be too Christian, not to mention it might not actually be a day of rest for them per se. Regardless, it was a significant day – although Adam did not know its nature quite yet.
What better way than to ask? He tapped his finger on the green day. “What is this day used for?” he asked Ãtir.
“That is xurakisũ,” she explained. “It is the day when we sell at market.”
Market-day, he realized – though that might not be the most literal translation; he recognized the root for ‘sell,’ xura, added onto the root for ‘day,’ kisữ. “Is it also the day for rest?” he asked. Just want to be sure.
“Yes, for some of us,” she replied. “But not for all of us. Some of us sell. Some of us buy. Some of us rest.”
Maybe I’ve earned my day off from the clerk. Adam could already hear the colonists start to complain of only getting one day of the week off. But hey, he thought, better that than to have to work all six days of the week. Plus, it’s actually compatible with the five-day working week we have. Always gotta see the bright side of things.
Adam spotted some specific dates on the calendars, likely indicating holidays, festivals, and the like – but he wasn’t thinking about those at the moment. Seasons – what about those on Rhysling? Do the equines observe them? Surely they must, if they can farm crops of plants. “What do you do during the months?” he asked her.
“Kipþaq, we plant seeds. Ṛljiman, we let the rain come and go. Silaþaq, the crops start to green.” Strange verb, but I can visualize it all the same. “Djugaman, the flowers open. Gegemen, we harvest the crops. Xaþaþaq – ” a word heavy with clicks – “we burn what we cannot harvest. It will make the ground good for next Kipþaq. Izazaman, we celebrate the harvest, as the first. . . .” Stuck on a word, Ãtir? “Snow comes. When the first snow comes. Ariman, the days are short and the nights are long.” Ah, so even the days and nights vary somewhat, just as we do on Earth. Wait, isn’t that the name of one of their leaders!? “Kṛsjãþaq, the ground is still too cold to green any crops. It goes back to Kipþaq after.”
Adam could easily guess the literal meaning of each of the words. He knew enough roots for all these words. A kip was a seed, ṛlji was rain – though he would prefer ṛyli, as ṛlji was highly dialectal – sila was the color green, and all things associated with it, djuga was a flower, blossom, and all other similar structures, gege was a verb ‘to harvest,’ xaþa was fire, izaza was a party or a festival – the word made no distinction as to scale, as he found out from Njilidi Njibi – ari was night, and kṛsjã was snow. All of them, invariably, were attached to the root for ‘moon,’ man – implying this was a lunar calendar.
Seasonal divisions were strange – there were either three seasons lasting three months each, or four seasons lasting two months each, except for winter, which lasted three either way. But hey, at least the calendar is perennial, he thought. And there’s no ‘Thirty Days Hath September’ nonsense. But what if they have leap days? “Are the months always the same every year?” he asked her.
“Yes, every year!” she confirmed.
“Do you not have another day some years?”
“I don’t understand.” She looked back at him, tilting her head. “The months are always the same every year. Why would we have another day some years?”
Adam was about to launch into a lecture about the rotation of the planets not being precisely whichever number of days they had calculated – 324 in decimal, 1300 in senary – but even he would have to admit, with all the quirks the Julian and Gregorian calendars had to ensure they lined up with Earth’s tropical year, they both did their jobs. If, as she asserted, Rhysling’s orbital period was so perfect that one could construct a calendar that did not need any intercalation, then that much could help him, and the rest of the crew, adjust to Rhysling with few issues. After all, if NASA had already calculated a calendar for working on Mars, then adopting Rhysling’s calendar shouldn’t be too much of a hassle for them.
Speaking of years. . . . Adam’s eyes darted up to a five-figure digit printed at the top of the calendar. So they do number years, just like in the west, he noticed, but from what event? Regardless, it was the eighteenth day of Djugaman, year thirty-one thousand, two hundred thirty-two. Converted to decimal, it was the year 4196. They must’ve been counting for a while, he concluded.
They continued exploring the book in the meantime. The next page spread was about the seasons. To answer that question, it was the latter hypothesis – they had a spring, summer, and autumn of two months each, and a winter with three. At least, that would be true in the northern hemisphere, he reminded himself. “‘Seasons,’” he pronounced for her. Then, pointing them out one by one, “‘Spring’. . . ‘summer’. . . ‘fall’. . . ‘winter.’” Going off the order Ãtir introduced the seasons, they must observe the new year with the start of spring.
“Es-pring – ” she had trouble with English consonant clusters, which were much more complex than Ơhqer’s – “summer, fall, winter,” she repeated back to Adam. But then she asked, “But isn’t ‘fall’ for. . . ?” Then she demonstrated the verb, collapsing herself on the floor.
Adam burst out laughing. “Fall of the leaf,” he clarified.
“Oh.” After righting herself in his lap, she recited in the same order, “Sḷsẽqele, fasḷqala, azlanala, ẽrenele.” Literally, ‘wet sky,’ ‘hot sky,’ ‘dry sky,’ and ‘cold sky.’ To him, they made logical sense, but the words themselves didn’t quite roll off the tongue as easily as the English equivalents, which had only one or two syllables each. Then again, English’s phonotactics allowed those words to exist – Ơhqer didn’t have that luxury. “What’s your favorite season?” she then asked Adam.
Haven’t lived here for long enough to answer for Rhysling, but I can answer for Earth at least. “Summer,” he replied. “Fasḷqala.”
She nodded in understanding.
But before she could turn the page, there was still one question left on his mind. “What is today?”
Ãtir had to pop out of his lap for a moment to check the calendar. “It is the firsty-eighth day of Djugaman.”
“Eighteenth,” he corrected.
She grumbled. “Eighteenth.” She followed up with a sigh. “Why can it not be firsty-eighth?”
“I don’t know, Ãtir. I don’t know.” The last day of the third week, he figured – which was why he ran into the market on his way to the library.
Then she turned the page – to show the times of day: morning, midday, afternoon, evening, and nighttime. Well, those were the English distinctions. Here, they had just the four, combining midday and afternoon. Pick one, pick one, pick one. . . noon! “Morning, noon, evening, night,” he indicated, pointing to each one in succession.
Wait, isn’t that her name!? “But you are Ãtir,” he said.
She giggled. “So is that!” She pointed at the picture of the evening scene again. “My mother named me that, because that was the time I was born.”
That’s adorable. “Does everyone have that name?” he followed up. “From the time they are born?”
She shook her head. “No.” Must be a special case for her, then. Then she asked something he didn’t anticipate: “Any other words?”
Um. . . . “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Welze is morning. Welze is also dawn. Are they the same?”
Wait, I taught her both of those words? he realized. Oh boy. . . . “Yes,” he would admit eventually. I’m sure there are finer nuances, but those would have their own synonyms, and then we’d be here all day!
“What about for ãtir?” she followed up with. “Other words like ‘evening’?”
Let me see. . . gotta be a bunch of synonyms for the sight of the sun going down at the end of the day. . . “Sunset, dusk, twilight, nightfall – why do you ask?”
But Ãtir was busying herself with sounding out each of those words to herself – softly, so he couldn’t hear her. Eventually, he thought he could hear her repeat one word in particular. “Twilight,” she finally said aloud. “I like that word.” She turned around to face Adam. “Will you call me Twilight?”
I mean, it is a suitably-artistic calque. . . . “Sure, Twilight,” he said.
·–
“. . . scheiss, chuum z glaube,” Elena voiced to herself. “Das chan ächt nöd sii.” She nudged herself away from her terminal, pinching the bridge of her nose. She took a deep breath in, then let it out calmly, as she tried to recollect her sanity. She took another look at the screen, just to make sure what she saw was indeed correct. Once she understood them, she called down the ship, “Commander!”
“What?” she heard his voice echo up through the ship.
“Come to the bridge at once!” she shouted. “I have great news!”
“What sort of news?” Anton’s voice chimed in. “Is it something I have to see as well?”
She giggled. “You may as well; come here also!”
She didn’t have very long to wait until both Dr. Konstantinov, and then Commander Darcy, leapfrogged off the wall and into the bridge. “Over here!” she further said, gesturing them to the screen.
“Have you found something, Weiss?” the commander asked. “These just look like biological charts. Did Somerset send those?”
“He did,” she confirmed. “Apparently the equines at the hospital laboratory have been working on the same solution that I have – they simply have the advantage of physical testing.”
“At the cost of possible contamination,” added Dr. Konstantinov. “Still, what did they find?”
“As it turns out,” she explained, “many Rhyslinger proteins and nutrients are compatible with us human beings.” She sighed. “It’s not ideal, and it would need selective breeding for us, so we should stick to what we’ve brought with us for the time being.”
He nodded. “Understood.”
“Pardon my thoughts, but how do we know this for sure?” Dr. Konstantinov asked. “We haven’t done any of the work ourselves – only taking it from their word, whom,” he hastily added, “we do not know for sure are telling the truth. To say nothing on how fast they came to such a conclusion.”
She snapped her fingers. “They appear to understand as well as we do that, if contamination should prove harmful, they should take every measure to prevent it. Lying about it being safe is the very last thing they’d want to do – if anything, they’d lie about it being unsafe.”
“Bacteria? Fungus? Anything that could attack us on a larger scale?” The Russian started sounding flustered.
“That was towards the end of the document, but it appears that Rhyslinger bacteria do not recognize Terrestrial biology as. . . well, anything.” She rubbed her eye – fatigue was starting to overcome her, despite her initial excitement. “As for fungus, they pose no greater threat than ours do – or to them. Just wash up when coming inside, and that would be that.”
The commander nodded, a smile playing across his face. “I knew the labcoats made the right call recruiting you,” he said – “never thought we’d use their labcoats as well!” He snapped his fingers. “So, putting that all together, does that mean – ”
“Yes, sir – yet!” She held her finger up. “Even with all this knowledge of Rhyslinger life, there is still a risk of disembarking, even from causes none of us know about.”
“Even so, I’m sure our dear Somerset would be glad to hear the news. Damned thing must be getting stuffy for him, not to mention the joints might be wearing out as well.” He pushed himself off the wall and to the radio, grabbing it as he arrived. “Somerset, this is Zulu-Alfa,” he opened. “Dr. Weiss has determined at last that the surface of Rhysling may be safe for human exploration after all, even without suits. You can breathe its air, its microörganisms appear impossible to interact with, and now, it’s likely we can rely on some local consumables.” He smirked, even though he knew Dr. Somerset would never see it. “What do you say, Adam – want to step out of that suit one last time? Please acknowledge so I can transmit the isolation override, over.”
·–·––
Adam had only progressed a bit in his studies. For one, he also learned that Twilight’s last name, Ḷsapa, implied a shower of stars. English equivalents were aplenty, thanks to its poëtic traditions, but she ultimately settled on ‘sparkle.’ Something about the sp consonant cluster pleased her, despite being difficult to pronounce for her at first – she kept pronouncing it ‘asparkle’ a few times – but she kept it all the same.
“Why?” he had to ask.
“‘Sp’ – it’s very English,” she simply explained.
Adam wanted to object – that such consonant clusters were common to the Indo-European family – but that would be another all-day lecture, and he was simply not in the mood for that. And then there’s the Kartvelian family. . . .
And then he remembered a question he had earlier, but had neglected to ask until now. “I know you say ‘ãtir,’” he said. “But do you also say ‘antir’?”
Twilight burst out laughing. “Yes, yes we do!” She kept at it for a good moment, before she tried catching her breath. “Both words are in Ơhqer – and they mean two different things.”
Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. . . . “Is that bad?” he cautiously followed up.
She tilted her head. “No? Why would it be? You simply didn’t know the difference.”
“Not really.” He shrugged. “So if ‘ãtir’ means ‘twilight,’ what does ‘antir’ mean?” Please don’t be vulgar. . . .
Instead of speaking, Twilight decided to show him instead. She lit her horn, and a book’s spine also developed a similar glow. It slid out of the shelf and opened itself in front of her, pages fluttering by at a blinding pace – until it suddenly stopped at one particular spread. She turned around to show him a group of animals – clearly ones the Indigenous had domesticated. A small wooden pointer also introduced itself in a violet glow, and tapped the page. “This is andir,” she announced – while also correcting his pronunciation.
Wait. . . all this time, I’ve been calling her – !? As that thought sank into his mind, he found himself speechless – before he too burst out laughing. She must’ve been thinking I was blind or something! “I’m so sorry, Twilight!” he briefly got out. “I didn’t realize!”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she reässured him. “I just thought it was a silly mistake. I don’t mind it at all!” And once he got over his jollies, she followed up with “But what is andir in English?”
He cleared his throat. “Cat.”
“Cat,” she echoed back. “Cat, cat, cat.”
Suddenly the two were interrupted out of the blue with another transmission from the skies. “Somerset, this is Zulu-Alfa,” Commander Darcy opened the broadcast. “Dr. Weiss has determined at last that the surface of Rhysling may be safe for human exploration, even without suits. You can breathe its air, its microörganisms appear to be impossible to interact with, and now, it’s likely we can rely on local consumables.”
As he was saying this, both Adam and Twilight could clearly hear his words – the latter suddenly dropping the book, startled by the vocal interruption from the suit. As more news trickled in from orbit, Adam started to feel his heartbeat start to rise from a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Twilight had to put her ear up to his helmet to get a better idea of what Louis was saying – Adam had long since gotten used to staring down her ear canal. Even so, he could hear her quake in giddiness in his lap, tapping her shod hooves upon the titanium exterior, and he had to scoot her onto the floor so he could hear the call.
“What do you say, Adam,” the commander concluded – “want to step out of that suit one last time? Please acknowledge so I can transmit the isolation override, over.”
Adam looked down at Twilight. “We’ve been waiting a long time for this moment,” he said. “Seeing if it was possible to survive here. Now? Now we know we can.” He sighed. “Still, it leaves the question about surviving with you – but that is for another day.”
“Let’s go to Sulfoyarqa’s house,” Twilight suggested. “She would like to see you outside of your suit.”
A shame she couldn’t be there at the hospital in Kãtṛlat, he mused. Still, I think this is a suitable makeup – abandoning the Strauss is not something she would want to miss.
“Sure,” he said. “But first, let me get my clothes, please.”
“Just a moment.” She lit her horn again, charging up a great amount of energy. He recognized it as a teleportation spell, but something about it was different. But what? A moment later, he had his answer: she was seeking out the very thing he wanted, and yanked it out of his lander. His international-orange jumpsuit floated in front of him, fully encased in violet sparkling light. “It is clean-clean, don’t worry,” she told him – using a term she had coined to mean ‘sterile.’ “Let’s go!”
··
The trip through town was relatively calm – what with the residents trading at the market, or simply resting on such a fine Xurakisũ. Even though Adam had his jumpsuit draped over his shoulder, noöne they ran into even batted an eye – perhaps they were just too used to whatever strange things he had brought with him.
What did catch their attention, truth be told, was the two conversing in English – done in public for the first time. Adam wanted to practice his Ơhqer, but Twilight was much too eager to speak anything other than English. The two went back and forth about various things about Ơhqer, so it wasn’t time wasted for him per se.
Eventually they settled on a story – more specifically, the story about the origin of the script. It was a simple one, almost like a myth, although Adam had long learned not to discount such stories as mere myth and legend. As he listened, he started to visualize the scene unfold, and could conclude that all of it was plausible.
There once was a normal equine, a gardener named Zenedjưge – after Twilight described what the word meant, he chose to translate the name as Wisteria. Apparently Rhysling’s biology did boast such plants, which the equines cultivated – not for food, but for ornamentation. They were difficult to maintain, due to their parasitic nature.
One day, Wisteria got caught in a sudden and rather heavy thunderstorm, and she had to run and stay indoors during the ordeal. Adam noted she used the word ‘unforeseen’ instead of ‘unplanned’ – even when he explained the difference, she insisted. Must be before they harnessed the weather, he surmised.
When the storm started to clear, Wisteria got back to work. As she had noted, the ground was soaking wet and muddy, with all the insects and worms crawling out and around – more parallels with his native Earth. She forgot to wear her boots, having taken them off indoors while she waited out the storm, so she got her hooves and legs muddy.
Those boots also had another purpose: protecting the sensitive parts of their hooves from stray twigs, thorns, and the like. Adam knew there was a word for that part of the hoof, but it just didn’t come to mind. Putting that thought aside, he listened as the story continued – just as he had feared, she got poked by a stray twig on the ground. She lifted it away to check for damage – of which there was none, thankfully. But as she looked down, she saw her hoofprint, framing the twig, now pressed as well into the mud.
And something clicked.
Twilight had to stop and clarify something. Before this moment, Ơhqer was not united by a single writing system – two of the three member tribes, the pegasi and unicorns, each had their own unique writing system. Adam knew this was something to look into when he had a moment, but was not top priority at this time. Each one was adapted to the chief defining feature of these tribes – the pegasi wrote with their wings, and the unicorns wrote with long metal rods, held in place with their telekinesis. And yes, she answered his question, some unicorns did write with molted pegasi feathers.
And as for the regular equines? They never did develop their own script. Certainly some of them were trained to read the pegasi or unicorn scripts, but they themselves never wrote anything. And why not? All they had were their hooves, and their mouth – the latter they took full advantage of, developing a rich oral history instead of writing. Now that would be something to see, Adam thought – assuming they wrote down their history after the fact. Likely the first thing they did with their brand-new tool.
With those clarification out of the way, Twilight continued. Wisteria saw the pattern of twigs in the mud, framed in her hoofprint, and got the idea for writing with hooves. She took another stick in her mouth, stamped on the ground in another patch of mud, and tried to replicate the pattern. After several tries, she found she could do it reliably – so she started exploring other, more complex patterns, to see what would stand out the most. As it turned out, simple lines and shapes stood out the best, while twists and turns and sharp angles did not.
As she experimented, Wisteria found that all the sounds in Ơhqer could be represented with just a few basic shapes, easily reproduced with a rod held in the mouth and a hoof stuck in the mud. Literally any equine could do this – regulars, pegasi, and unicorns alike could all write with a common script. However, even though the regular equines were quick to adopt Wisteria’s writings, there was a great deal of resistance from the other two tribes. Neither of them wanted to adopt the ‘lowly’ writing system, a word Adam had to suggest when Twilight struggled to find the right word in English. Both of them were merely content with their feathered script, and saw no cause to go along with what the regulars had made for themselves. The key phrase here was ‘for themselves’ – for they were adamant that the three write their own ways.
It wasn’t until Wisteria herself demonstrated the ease of writing her way to the other two tribes, and adding that a single script was easier to learn than three, that slowly yet surely, they started to adopt hers, abandoning the ones they had made for themselves. Not least of which was Yere Kisữ and Yara Ariman, who had been consolidating their power in an Ơhesti in its infancy. It wasn’t until they proved their divine control over the Sun and Moon that their rule was legitimized – and when it was, it was Wisteria’s script that outlined their laws and proclamations.
“Just as her flowers took root in the gardens,” Twilight concluded, “so too did her writing take root in Ơhqer, and Ơhesti itself.”
How àpropos, he thought.
By the time Twilight finished recounting the story, they were just a stone’s throw away from Sulfoyarqa’s cottage. It was unmistakable who would live here – it was frankly more zoo than house. Adam noticed something odd about the place – usually it would be a lot noisier than this. But here? Now? It was rather quiet – almost like something was wrong here. Or they’re just entirely unfamiliar with my presence, he thought.
Twilight knocked on the front door – gently, to avoid sounding forceful. Adam made no further movement once he arrived on her porch.
Sulfoyarqa opened up within the moment. “Hõ Ħãtir, hõ Ħedem, qapata,” she greeted. “Riwe ħalnjamu?”
“Edemley sơhơgjemư ala almu kokoiñka mưlzḷ siapa,” Twilight explained in her native tongue. “Ṛsiþẽ ilenzevư?”
Sulfoyarqa sharply drew a breath, taken aback by what her friend had just said – even though he could only recognize the roots for speaking, helping, and a clever way of calling his suit literally ‘hard-clothes.’ I guess that’s also the word for ‘armor,’ he assumed. But she was enthusiastic all the same. “Ħem! Ħem! Pise þesơ ħezebưvimẽ!” She gestured them both inside.
Adam had never seen the inside of Sulfoyarqa’s home before – even so long ago, when he, they, and the rest of their friends entered the Kala-Uha Silasa. So now that he was here, he was surprised to see, despite what she was known for, how neat and orderly it was. The floors were swept, the upholstery was spotless, and even the pots in front of the fireplace were serviceable. Second only to the cleanroom in Kãtṛlat, I’ll bet. But then, right now, it doesn’t make a difference.
Yet even so, the three were not alone inside. Here and there were various animal habitats – mice within the walls, birds in gilded cages, and he could have sworn he saw a bear disappear around the corner into the next room when he peeked at her furniture. That would be amazing if Sulfoyarqa could have tamed such a dangerous creature as a bear, he thought. So why didn’t she try with that other bear in the Kala-Uha? Or the wolves, for that matter?
“Ilteþelvư,” Twilight insisted. Then, facing Adam, she switched back to English. “Do you want me to hold your suit in place?”
“Yes, please.” He nodded.
Without another word, she lit her horn and glided her telekinetic grip over the shoulders and chest on his suit. Try as he might, he found he couldn’t move those pieces. Just as he trusted her when he climbed out of the suit in the Kãtṛlat hospital, now he was trusting her to help him emerge from the suit – for the last time.
But before I forget. . . . “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he radioed above. “I am disembarking from my EVA suit at this time. Be advised, I may be out of contact once this is complete, until I return to the lander. Somerset out.” I hope they understand.
He turned back to Twilight. “Let’s do this.”
She nodded, once but with vigor. “Let’s!”
Adam slithered his arms out of the suit’s. He felt along the pectoral cavity, searching out for the lever that controlled the lock in the life-support backpack. “Here it is. . . .” He gripped it, as firmly as he could with just his fingertips, and pushed it straight down as far as it would go. When it hit the bottom of the slot, he felt the pressure of the equipment release from his back as the suit hinged open, followed by a rush of cool air caressing his sweating skin. As good as the cooling garment was, it wasn’t perfect, and did not hold a candle to genuinely fresh air.
He couldn’t easily worm out of the suit all the way without something to grip above him. Twilight had to tilt him forward, bending the suit over by its waist – and she and Sulfoyarqa watched as this being from beyond the stars emerged from his metallic chrysalis. With that, the biological barrier between Earth and Rhysling had been broken – hopefully to no meaningful consequence.
He didn’t know what Sulfoyarqa was expecting to see beneath the suit, though he knew Twilight had seen everything about him. Everything – whether he liked it or not. One thing was sure, however – both of them reäcted as though they had smelled something so rank, so profoundly foul, that they could not breathe the same air as him. His waste garment was completely dry – which meant that what they were smelling was the stench of sweat, sweat that had built up not just on his body, but inside the suit as well. He felt around its interior – Jesus Christ, this is grimy. I really should have taken the time to scrub this thing out.
“Outside!” Twilight coughed, sputtering for air. “Go outside, Adam! We will wash you!”
Once Twilight and Sulfoyarqa stripped off his garments, they hosed off his sweaty stench rather harshly outside, where they also left his suit to air out. The process was not a pleasant experience for him – he had forgotten about the typical ambient temperatures of the planet, so the water he was bathed in was freezing cold. Still, he endured it, even as the water reached literally every inch of his skin. This is going to be the death of me, he remembered thinking.
Once that was done, and he was starting to warm up back inside Sulfoyarqa’s house (he noticed that, while he was able to duck down at a much deeper angle, the lack of life support on his back meant that it wasn’t necessary), he let the yellow pegasus examine him, noting the leathery texture of the palms of his hands – which Twilight also felt for herself – and his ‘shaven’ exterior, save for the top of his head and around his face, which was something he also needed to deal with. He didn’t remember the last time he shaved his face, except it was likely well over three years ago, as cryostasis halted that process in the meantime.
At the same time, he also examined the two – physically, with his hands, no titanium separating them any longer. Twilight’s fur was very soft, almost like a cat. Maybe ‘Andir’ wasn’t so far off the mark after all. The hair of her mane and tail was a lot coarser, but without the telltale texture of hair dye. The same applied to her hindquarter mark – though she didn’t let him examine that for too long. Bad touch?
He also felt her horn, and noted how it was made from almost solid keratin. She started giggling as he apparently tickled its corkscrew groove – from base to tip, it was about three-and-a-quarter counterclockwise twists. Though there’s definitely some variation in a population. And Sulfoyarqa’s wings were stiffer than he figured, though he could tell they were well-preened. She was too shy to let him keep touching them, however.
Since he still had trouble with some words, he asked Sulfoyarqa, through Twilight, if she had a razor he could borrow. She seemed confused, but decided to help him anyway. Once he got his international-orange jumpsuit on, and his hairless skin and unmentionables hidden away from view, she showed him to her bathroom toward the rear of the cottage. From a box set under the sink, she pulled out some electrical clippers – unlike what he saw at the hospital in Kãtṛlat, this one was a lot larger, meant to be manipulated in hooves.
Despite its size, it didn’t have as much heft in Adam’s hands as he thought. The power switch was easy to identify – a lever on the top, which when pulled back switched the clippers on. These are clearly meant for shaving fur before surgery, he thought. Overkill for what I need.
But he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter – if he wanted a shave, this was what he would use. Using the mirror for guidance, he started trimming off his hair, not quite neatly, as close to the base of his skin as his nerves would allow, and somehow managed to do a neat job. Once he got over the fear of accidentally nicking himself, he managed to get it down to some half-decent stubble – though he did not doubt that it could be refined later on.
For now, it would have to do.
After that calm yet historic introduction, he bade Sulfoyarqa goodbye, and almost embarked his suit by reflex. He stopped himself when he saw that there was no longer a point – and though the suit had been airing outside for some time, it still had the remnants of his sweat coating the interior. He sealed it up by hand, then Twilight flashed a wave of violet light over it. “It’s back at your house,” she explained.
“My house?”
She laughed. “Your house! It’s made of metal and came from the sky.”
Oh, the lander. “Right, my house.” Sure, let’s go with it.
Despite having warmed up indoors, Adam found himself shivering just a bit as he went along outside. He was starting to miss the rank warmth of the Strauss, but knew that it was best that he leave it behind. Not that it would serve me much use, now that I’ve breached the barrier.
They hadn’t even reached Ginzol’s central square when they ran into Cesel. Her dramatically-curled violet locks looked well-maintained, as though she had them done just an hour ago, which was more than what he could say of the scraggy remains of his beard. “Hõ Edem!” she exclaimed at the human, before bursting out in a stream of Ơhqer too dense for him to understand.
Thankfully Twilight knew enough English to interpret. “She says she’s happy to see you out of the. . . space-suit, but thinks that this clothes – ” indicating his jumpsuit – “is worse.” After another stream of words, she added, “She wants to give you something else to wear.”
“What’s wrong with this?” he asked. Is orange not my color?
“Riweley nṛdj mưlzḷ almu?” she relayed to Cesel. She interpreted the resulting reply as it went, “Apparently red suits like yours are not. . . what is the word?”
“‘Proper?’” he suggested.
“Yes, proper, thank you!” she replied.
Apparently Cesel couldn’t wait a single moment longer to explain to Adam why a ‘red’ jumpsuit like his would not cut it, so she took him up into her own telekinesis – admittedly not as strong as Twilight’s, but serviceable in its own right – and together the duo disappeared down the road.
·–·–·–
Ten minutes later, Adam finally put down his right arm. Naturally, there was simply no conceivable way Cesel was able to throw together such well-tailored clothes at a moment’s notice without some sort of local template – so he would have to serve as that template for her. Clearly she did not want him to stay the whole time – if he had to guess, she wanted to surprise him with her eventual design.
He’d have to stay in his ‘red’ clothing in the meantime.
As she jotted down the final figures on a pad of paper, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was starting to get tired of all the tingling on his skin from where Cesel’s telekinetic fields brushed against him. And then he started worrying about the cost. She’d want me to pay in advance, wouldn’t she? And I wasn’t planning on buying anything, he realized – meaning all of my dege is left back at the lander!
“Ridege al. . . .” he tried to ask her, before stumbling over what grammatical number he should use. I don’t know how many pieces it’ll be. One? Two? More?
“Ơzơz!” she insisted. “Pixṛseyse almiza!”
Adam didn’t get what that one root was, but heard her use the paucal number. You idiot! He simply bowed and left Cesel’s shop, with a quick “Xurucru,” vowing someday to pay her back.
Twilight had apparently been waiting outside for him. “There you are, Adam!” she said. “Will you go home now?”
“Thank you, Twilight – and yes, I will.” Adam set on the road away from the ornately-decorated building – before quickly realizing that the violet unicorn wasn’t tagging along with him.
“Over here, Adam!” she called from his right. “You’re going the wrong way!”
Leave it to her to catch that mistake. . . . Adam quickly doubled back, checking his left to find her, and found her at the next turn. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m still not completely familiar with Ginzol.”
She giggled. “You have not been to Cesel’s shop, have you?”
He shook his head. “No, I haven’t.” He sighed, and watched his breath fog up in front of him. “Those clothes must cost a lot.”
“No, they won’t,” she insisted. “Didn’t you hear her?”
Um. . . . “Yes,” he admitted, “but I did not understand. She used a word I had never heard before – pixṛse.” He made sure to get the click right, even though both Cesel and Twilight used voiceless nasals in their places.
“A pixṛse is a thing you give,” Twilight defined, “but you don’t want a thing back.”
Adam stopped right in his tracks. His eyes went wide. Oh. . . . “Gift,” he translated. “She will give me a gift.” Of course – it’s literally a giving-thing.
“A gift,” she echoed, committing the new word to memory.
“Why?” he had to ask. “Nothing was wrong with my clothes before.”
“Is that right?” she asked him, head tilted upwards to face him. “You shook. Were you cold?”
Wait. . . . Adam looked down at his hands – sure enough, while his fingers were still exposed to the cold naked air, they weren’t shaking at all. Neither was the rest of him, for that matter. The jumpsuit was adapted to living constantly inside an enclosed, isolated space, like the lander or Zodiac-Altair – and as such, was made to be breathable. Without it, Rhysling’s piercing cold struck him, harder than it had when he was hosed down not a few hours earlier. He felt the jumpsuit’s fabric in his fingers, noting the polymer fibers – strong and fireproof, yet they let the cold in. I’d say I’ll need a coat at least – she was awfully generous.
But then again. . . he remembered seeing some particularly ornate designs mounted on equine mannequins while he was in her shop. Most of what he saw had inlaid gems – meaning they were about as commonplace as he had assumed. They must be, if they had enough to spare for Elzơ to eat on the daily. Come to think of it. . . they don’t normally wear clothes, do they? The only exceptions were mere accessories. There was Nyeledirve, who wore her hat when working on her family’s farm, and her younger sister Nyeledjưge, who wore a bow in her mane. There was also a gray equine in town who had a bow tie.
In Kãtṛlat, the doctors and nurses at the hospital wore white coats and scrubs, and the guards escorting him there wore plated armor. Clothing, it seems, wasn’t much of a necessity in Ơhesti. Every example he had seen was more of a protective measure than a means of keeping their modesty. Which, in Adam’s case, meant protection from the cold – so his usage wasn’t too inappropriate.
They took a left turn – first her, with him following – and found themselves at the market. On the upside, this meant Adam could easily find his way back to the lander from here. On the downside, with most of the town gathered here, it meant they would see Adam in the flesh, without any barrier between him and them. He anticipated mass hysteria from the crowd.
Instead, none of them seemed to fly into a panic. Some of them even approached him, to get a closer look at the resident human, now deshelled. A few took cautious sniffs of his jumpsuit and hands, or even nuzzled up with him. They didn’t seem to care about the fact that their interstellar visitor was no longer bound inside a metal garment. But then, he remembered, Twilight’s approval means I’m safe.
He looked down at Twilight, who merely shrugged. He breathed deeply, and started walking into the throng of equines. As he got into the thick of it, he felt like he was less walking and more wading through them, as they only came up to his chest at best. Some of them, with whom he was familiar, he could easily pick out. There was his boss, Nowu-Gizũzḷ, who waved at Adam. He waved back, then saw that one wall-eyed pegasus mare, whose name he still did not know, still with her mailbag.
He also ran into that gray mare with a pink bow tie, though they’d never met before. “Hõ Edem!” she greeted. “Goã bḷd teþelþư!” And as he waved at her, she started whistling a tune to him. But not just any tune – it took Adam a moment to realize what that tune was – “Sakura.” Did she hear it from that stallion? he wondered. Did he like it that much? As she completed the fourth measure, he replied by whistling the fifth and sixth in sequence.
“I haven’t heard that before,” Twilight commented. “Do you really have the gift of ḷrữ?”
Adam raised an eyebrow, still wading through the crowd. “Who is Ḷrữ?” he asked her.
She burst out laughing, drawing even more stares in the process. “Ḷrữ isn’t a who-thing – it’s a what-thing!” she said. “It’s something you do, it’s something you say.”
Pardon?
“Like this?” And though Adam had a bit of trouble following along with her words, it was the specific intonations that told him she was singing. ‘Ḷrữ’ – that means ‘music.’ Did she ask me if I had the. . . gift of music?
Then again, to him, it wasn’t like music was uniquely human on Earth. Bird calls were frequently described as musical as far back as antiquity. One would be hard-pressed to find a single culture that didn’t know about birds singing in the dawn. At the same time, he hadn’t been sure if the Indigenous themselves were capable of music at first – that is, until he met the stallion at the barber. Remarkably, a good portion of their audible range was in the same range as a human being’s.
Oh, right, before I forget. . . . “Music,” he told her. “We call it music.”
“Myoo-zick,” she pronounced, slowly, as though the first syllable was giving her trouble. “Myoo-zick. That one’s hard.”
“You’ll get used to it.” As they were exiting the square, he looked up and saw Ħṛylilufa – or at least, her rainbow-hued tail – resting upon an overhead cloud, although she didn’t seem to see either of them. Yes, a singular one, about her size, hanging so low over the ground it was almost fog to him. But he had to remember, pegasi like her could manipulate these clouds, as easily as he could manipulate clay, molding them into whatever shapes were needed and, to some extent, imbuing whatever properties were needed for the job – or so Twilight told him when they were studying weather.
Finally, they were out of the weekly market crowd, and well on their way outside of Ginzol altogether.
–·–·–
“It’s been two hours since we’ve had radio contact with Dr. Somerset,” Commander Darcy told Elena. “With all due respect, Weiss, were you absolutely certain of your findings?”
She nodded firmly. “Yes, sir. He should not run into any trouble as a result of disembarking – and neither shall the rest of us.” She sighed, looking away. “I realize you are anxious, commander. You haven’t heard from him, so you are assuming the worst. But I am confident, knowing him, that he or Antir would contact us once either of them reaches the lander. Speaking of – ” she turned back to face him – “you did override the biological protections, ja?”
“Yes, yes I did.” He tapped the screen behind him. “First thing I did when Dr. Konstantinov told me Somerset did just that – I rushed back to the bridge and held up my end of the deal.” He chuckled. “I would’ve let Anton do that for me, since I was in the middle of a bath, but that process requires the commander’s authorization specifically. So I had to rush in there – ”
He never finished his thought, but Elena knew enough to burst out laughing. “I think I was in the gym when that happened,” she added. “Ja, genau, I heard a great commotion outside in the Zodiac hub, and Anton shouting in Russian, and – and – ” She broke down in laughter at her unspoken words, before it ended abruptly in coughing. “I do not envy you, sir.”
“And he seemed unfazed himself,” he continued. “But then, he’s put all of us into the cold sleep. I should think he’s seen it all.” He cleared his throat. “Yet I still can’t help but worry about him. He’s the only one with knowledge of the horses’ language. . . .”
“I know, sir, and I’m worried too,” Elena responded. “You’re welcome to try hailing him now, but I don’t think he’ll be able to hear it, or respond.”
“It’s still worth a try.” He grabbed the radio. “This is Zulu-Alfa attempting to contact Dr. Adam Somerset,” he opened. “Somerset, if you can hear this, please respond at once. You have mentioned that you have exited your EVA suit at this time, and we want to know your current status. Over.” He set the radio down – seemingly not expecting a response at once.
“Like I said,” Elena concluded, “he wouldn’t hear it.”
The commander looked down at his watch, and noted the time. “Time for me to sleep,” he announced aloud. “Dr. Weiss, you have the bridge. If Dr. Somerset does respond, let me know at once – even if you have to wake me up to tell me.”
“Jawohl.”
“Thanks.” With that, he pushed off the ceiling and out the bridge, turning to head in the direction of the sleeping bags.
Elena, meanwhile, kept her eyes on the myriad points of data retrieved from Rhysling’s surface. She was sure, after weeks of intensive analysis, that interaction, while inevitable, was inconsequential. Their microörganisms couldn’t affect Terrestrial life, nor vice versa. This was true at the genetic level – and their life was composed of the same elements, molecules, and so forth as on Earth. They can breathe the same air, and the oxygen-producing organisms can easily convert their carbon dioxide into breathable oxygen. They could easily survive here, likely without any of the nutrients they had brought with them.
Now it was the political aspect of Rhysling that they had to overcome. That included their language – and that was Dr. Somerset’s area of expertise. He would have to prove himself to the horses’ political bodies, possibly earn some sort of citizenship, and negotiate a site where the colony would be founded.
But time was not on their side. Supplies, as abundant as they were, were still limited – food, water, scrubbers, and other things besides. Any day now, Commander Darcy could start rationing out their supplies. She had at least done her work – and she was sure she would be locked back into cryo to buy the two men awake aboard some time.
She remembered the process – and it sent a shiver down her spine. Not merely from the cold, either – though that was a major factor. Though she was ashamed to admit it, she was afraid of needles – and the glucose analogues used to keep her body insulated needed to be fed intravenously.
But time would tell whether that would come to pass.
–··–·
When Adam and Twilight arrived at the lander, he found the suit deposited leaning against one of the lander’s legs, back still facing out. He was surprised to see a mailbox as well, in front of the metal structure. He didn’t remember seeing that there when he left. “Who put this here?” he asked her. He knew how to ask that question in Ơhqer – “Rikeley sula sehe cupahu?” – but ever since she started learning English, she only ever spoke to him in that language. Whether she wanted to make sure he understood or she simply enjoyed speaking English, he didn’t know.
“It was Gugḷzimba,” Twilight said. “She is our messenger. She said you should get your mail yourself, instead of with me.”
Makes sense. Wait, who’s that again? Adam raised an eyebrow. “Gugḷzimba – she’s the one with the eyes that, well. . . .” He couldn’t move his eyes in different directions, but he used his fingers to demonstrate it.
She got the idea, and nodded. “Yes, and please don’t tell it to her. She doesn’t like it.”
Yeah, I figured she’d be sensitive over that. “Alright.” Once he grabbed the pouch that had his money, Adam then turned his attention to the lander – and more importantly, its suitport, which by design was the only way in and out of the structure. He sighed. “It’ll be hard for me to use that doorway. It’s much smaller than we’re used to.”
“Is it?” Twilight blinked herself up onto the scaffolding – whereas Adam was left to climb up after her. “It’s just right for me. Can I open it?”
“I don’t know.” Once his head poked over the bottom of the scaffolding, he got a better view of the suitport – noting the several ultraviolet and heat lamps that lined its interior, meant to keep the two biospheres separated by germicide. It worked with the Terrestrial stuff – whether it worked with the Rhyslinger stuff, noöne really knew, but at least Adam knew that none of it was truly necessary. Of course, only time could tell. “I think it’s still locked. Let me try it first.”
He cautiously placed his hand on the lamps, ready to retract it at the slightest pain. But no, he found it was cool and smooth to the touch. The bulbs of the lamps were durable – necessarily so, to survive regular use away from Earth. He then applied pressure to the door, pushing it inward – and found that it barely budged. Must be the hydraulic action. With this in mind, he started pushing harder on the door, outright leaning against it with his shoulder.
Sensing his struggle, Twilight pitched in with a telekinetic boost, applying it to the side opposite the hinges. With both of them focusing on it, the door eventually started to give, hinging open bit by bit until it revealed the lander’s cluttered interior. I should probably tidy up the place at some point.
Getting in was tricky, albeit less so than in its normal operation. He was used to climbing in backwards, bending back and reaching up to a metal bar at the top of the inside frame. It stood to reason that the best way to get inside, until he could figure something out, was to copy those same motions. He lined up his back with the opened suitport, leaned back, and scanned his eyes across the resulting view. There! He reached up and grabbed the bar, and hoisted himself up. He got his butt up onto the lower edge of the suitport, then scooted himself inside the capsule – where he swung his left leg, then his right, properly inside.
That could’ve gone better. “Do you need help getting inside, Twilight?”
“No.” She lit her horn – and blinked herself inside, phasing through the walls of the lander. Or did the open doorway allow for that to happen now? “It’s bigger than I thought,” she commented.
That’s what she said, he almost blurted out.
“What is this?” she asked, pointing to the soap bottles underneath the cot.
“Soap,” he pronounced. “I use it to clean myself.” And if I had thought ahead, I would’ve brought some of these with me to Sulfoyarqa’s place.
“Soap,” she copied. She grabbed the shampoo in her telekinetic grip, snapped open the cap when she spotted the tab, and smelled it. The scent made her cough. “How is this good to you!?” she asked when she caught her breath.
He shrugged. “It just is.” Come to think of it, I don’t think it had much of a scent. Either we humans don’t have the receptors for it, or I simply didn’t care about it at all.
She snapped the cap back shut, and replaced it under the cot. “What is that there?” She pointed her hoof into the cargo hold.
Adam leaned his head to get a better look at what she was indicating. “Cargo,” he answered. “I keep my things there. Things to eat, things to use to wash, things to use to fix, things to fix myself if I get hurt. . . many-many things.”
“Like this?” She fished a packet of dehydrated oatmeal mix from one of the crates.
“Yes, that is to eat.” I’d demonstrate it for her, but that would be wasteful. I’ll just describe it. “You know that already.”
“I see.” She set the packet back inside the crate – when she got a better look inside them. “A lot of these are empty.”
Ah, the waste. “I know – I’ve already eaten them.”
“. . . and you do not have many left,” she added.
He sighed. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll be fine.”
“Adam. . . .” She turned to face him. “You will not have enough to live here. What else can you eat? Surely nothing we have in Ơhesti.”
“You might be surprised.” A smirk played across his face. “We have been looking into that problem – using that machine outside.” He pointed at the probe, still powered on with its battery and dutifully awaiting its next orders. “As it turns out, we can eat much of the same things as you do here.”
Her eyes went wide. “The same? Exactly the same?”
“Not exactly the same,” he answered. “We eat meat also – you saw by the teeth in the book.”
She shuddered. “Will you eat me?” she asked, facing him – as though she felt she had to ask.
“No! Never!” He frantically shook his head. “That will never happen, Twilight. Never.” Oh God, why would I even put the idea into my head?
She sighed – deciding apparently to drop that line of thought. Then she pointed to the desk, which was littered with the usual paraphernalia – pens and paper, the Ơhqer textbook, a bag of dege coins, that red gemstone Elzơ gave him so long ago, and many other things she couldn’t possibly name. She started with one black, dull, and well-used instrument. “What is that?” She pointed it out to Adam.
“This?” Adam picked up the radio.
“Yes.”
“This is a radio.” He brought it up to Twilight so she could get a better look at it. “I use it to talk to other people.” He pointed straight up. “They’re waiting to come down to here with me.”
Twilight’s telekinetic grip started to appear on the tuner dial. He put his hand over it. “Don’t touch that,” he told her – and the field dissipated. It had taken a few weeks for Dr. Weiss to figure out the ‘safe’ frequencies that didn’t give unicorns like Twilight headaches; he did not need her to start fiddling around.
She stepped aside, went past him and up to the suitport, where she craned her neck to look straight up at the afternoon sky. “How high up?” She pulled her head back inside the capsule. “I can’t see them.”
“So high up, you can’t see them. Especially not in the day.” He set the radio back on its shelf. “But you could at night – if you have. . . .” Uh-oh. Gotta explain a new word. “. . . a telescope.”
She tilted her head in predicable confusion. “What is telescope?”
Yep, called it. “A telescope lets you see things from far away.” He closed his hands into curled fists, lining them up along a single eye. “You use it like this.”
“Te-less-cope,” she pronounced it. Weird, but it does line up with Ơhqer at least. “Eyḷteþelkesjer.”
Adam could recognize the verb for seeing in the word, but the rest was gibberish to him. Well, harmonic gibberish at least.
“We have those,” Twilight added. “I have one at the library. Maybe we could see them this night?”
“Maybe.” He nodded. “If we’re lucky.”
Suddenly, he saw the radio dart past the corner of his eye – but it couldn’t get very far, as it was attached with an electrical cord. “Can we talk to them?” Twilight asked. “Right now?” She apparently wanted to use it, but found she had to be at the desk for that to happen.
“Sure.” He nodded. “But let me talk to them first. They don’t like surprises.”
·–·
Elena was terribly bored.
It had been two hours since Commander Darcy had checked out for sleep, and in that time the radio in the bridge had remained perfectly silent. Not a peep from Dr. Somerset – nor Dr. Konstantinov, for that matter.
She wondered what he was up to. Resigning herself to find him, if only to kill some time, she nudged herself away from her terminal, then ‘walked’ along the surface of the ship, twisting her waist as she exited the bridge. Ahead of her was the rotating Zodiac habitat – if he wasn’t in the central hub, she had twelve more guesses to work with.
With one good thrust off the rounded edge of the passageway, she sailed out of Altair and into Zodiac. He wasn’t here – so he had to be in one of the modules. She used her hearing to try to pinpoint just which module he was in. All was quiet for a few moments – then he heard what sounded like keys being pressed in Cryogenic Rack C – in Scorpio. Right now, the entrance to that module, along with Libra and Sagittarius, was right below her, as the entire superstructure rotated around her.
She dove down to the entrance, letting the artificial gravity gently scoop her up and guide her to a new down. The pull eventually brought her to the wall near the ladder – from there, it was a simple affair of climbing down each rung of the ladder.
She didn’t have to go down too far before she found the cryogenicist checking over the vitals for C9 – whoëver that was. “Anton,” she greeted. “Hard at work, as always.”
“Da, eto pohože na pravdu, i. . . .” he muttered to himself, clearly absorbed into something much more important than talking to one of his colleagues – then he looked up and to the source of the other voice. “Elena,” he returned. “Anything to tell me?”
“No, Anton. Just wondering where you were.” She sighed. “The commander has asked me to watch the radio on the bridge, just in case Dr. Somerset would contact us.”
“Is something wrong?” He raised an eyebrow. “He should contact us whenever he needs. If not from TPRU-1, then from Strauss.”
“Well, that’s just it!” Elena took a breath. “Commander Darcy has given him the order to abandon his suit. From what I can tell, he has done just that – but without either his suit or the lander, he has no way of contacting us, therefore he has not done so.”
But Dr. Konstantinov simply nodded and turned back to his work. Suddenly, he jerked his head up. “So it has happened?” he asked. “Somerset is out of his suit!?”
“Were you not paying attention?” she asked. “I just said that!”
“Ohrenet'!” He lurched up. “Is he alright? Tell me, Doctor!”
“We still do not know yet. Which is why Commander Darcy has asked me to watch – ” And then she realized her mistake. “The bridge! He may contact us yet! I am sorry Anton, but I must leave you now!” She went back to the ladder and started climbing back up into Zodiac’s central hub.
She reached the outer wall of the hub, and leap-frogged off the surface in the direction of the Russian half. Once she was in, she looked around, and twisted herself to the right, when she noticed the unmistakable entrance to the bridge.
All was quiet there when she arrived. Not a sound emitted from the radio to disturb the peace.
All was not quiet to Elena, however – her heart was pounding in her ears, all from entering and leaving a gravitated environment so soon, from the effort she expended to get there and back again, and from the nervousness that she may have missed something vital.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. She yelped and thrust away from the threat – only to kick Dr. Konstantinov back out of the bridge by accident. Unbeknownst to her, he had been following right behind her. “Anton!” she called out. “Oh, it’s just you, I’m so sorry.”
He waited until his body hit the far side of the hull, then leapfrogged back into the bridge. “It is not the first,” he said. He looked around. “Where is Darcy?”
“He’s sleeping.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “And it gets boring to wait here by myself.” She glanced up by the radio, still dead from the lack of activity. “If I did not know better, I would say he is dead.”
“How?” Dr. Konstantinov asked. “If it is not from some Rhyslinger sickness, then what? Did the Indigenous kill him?”
Elena’s mind flashed with macabre images of Dr. Somerset’s possible execution – his corpse paraded through town, his head specifically on a pike, as they cheered the slaying of the monster – but put them aside for the time being. Now was not the time to get worked up. If Dr. Somerset truly was dead, the Indigenous named Antir would clarify that, as it had earlier with his near death by CO2.
“I don’t know, Anton. I really don’t know.”
But she got her answer within the moment: “This is Somerset to Zulu-Alfa, come in, over.”
She darted her head to the radio when she heard his voice come in. Then to the cryogenicist’s. “Go wake up the commander, and right away!”
He nodded firmly, and shoved off and out the bridge.
“Stand by, Somerset – we’re getting the commander right now.”
·–
“This is Somerset to Zulu-Alfa,” Adam opened his transmission, “come in, over.”
He set the radio down in his lap as he waited for the reply. It should be coming in any moment now; he just had to wait for that to happen. . . .
“Stand by, Somerset,” Dr. Weiss’s voice came through within just a moment. “We’re getting the commander right now.”
“Copy.” He set it back down into his lap.
“Can I speak now?” Twilight asked.
“Not yet, they’re getting someone else.” He tapped his wrist, reflexively indicating a pretend watch. “They don’t want to miss this.”
“Oh.” Twilight sat down on her haunches, by his side, and waited with him.
He sighed. Of all times not to be there, he thought – why now? Dr. Weiss was on station, that’s nice, but – eh, I probably just caught him at a bad time.
Finally, after several minutes of waiting, he heard Commander Darcy’s voice crackle through the speakers of the radio – he sounded like he had been roused from a deep sleep. “This is Darcy. Pardon if I seem. . . out of it, l’ami, but I’m glad all the same that you managed to survive one of the hardest trials you have faced in your life so far. So what has happened so far? Over.”
Even though Twilight seemed all too excited to get ahold of the radio to do the talking herself, she showed him enough restraint to stay seated still and wait for her turn – which worked just as well for Adam, who clearly had some explaining to do. “As soon as I stepped out of the suit,” he started, “they hosed me off with water – since the inside of the suit is just coated with sweat and. . . who knows what else. Once Tw – Ãtir teleported my suit back to the lander,” he continued over Twilight’s objections, “we walked the rest of the way back.” He looked down at her, and winked. “She’s right by my side, sir, and she wants to talk to you. Over.”
“Does she now?” he asked. “But I don’t know a word de la langue d’Indigène. You will have to interpret everything after the fact, Dr. Somerset, you know that. Over.”
“With all due respect, Commander,” he returned, “that isn’t necessary. She’s been helping me with learning their language – but in return, she wanted to learn English. It’s only been two weeks – ” or so he thought at least – “and she’s already very proficient. You’ll find you can understand each other just fine. Over.”
“De quessé,” the commander commented. “But then, she must be an exception, not the rule. We can’t expect them all to speak English when we arrive, can we? Over.”
Adam looked down to Twilight – who firmly shook her head. “Negative, Commander,” he relayed. “But enough talk from me, I’m patching her into this call.” Finally, he passed it down to Twilight, who firmly took it up in her telekinetic grip.
She had been watching Adam operate the radio, and copied it exactly. “Hello,” she opened – unconventional, but it would get the job done. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Ãtir, we can hear you,” he answered. “What would you like to tell us?” Adam couldn’t help but notice that the commander dropped the usual radio etiquette – perhaps he thought it would be less confusing for her? he hypothesized. But then, she heard me use those same words. Surely she would get their usage, especially since she had heard all of those words before!
“I’d like to send a message to Earth,” she replied. “For all to hear. Can you do that?”
“Absolutely, yes,” the commander affirmed. “Just give me a moment.” Adam knew that moment was needed to start recording her conversation to transmit to Earth. A live broadcast was too risky for the moment – both on a technical level, and a political one. “Go ahead, Ãtir – start talking.”
Adam could only sit and watch as Twilight made her speech, using every English word she had ever learned, and some he didn’t remember teaching her.
··–··
“Absolutely, yes – just give me a moment.” Louis pressed the ‘record’ button on a tape machine hooked up to the radio.
“Is this going to work?” Dr. Weiss asked.
“Chut!” he hushed. “We’re starting.” He grabbed the radio again. “Go ahead, Ãtir – start talking.”
And she started speaking:
Hello to the children of planet Earth. I am Twilight Sparkle, a citizen of the Harmonic Empire. I live here in a town named Ginzol, with my dragon-assistant Spike, in a library carved inside of a tree. I am the personal student of Yere Kisữ of Kãtṛlat, to whom I send my reports every week, from my studies on magic.
During the last week of the greening-moon, the Harmonic Empire received the first person from Earth. He is Adam Somerset, and he studies language. He was sent here to learn the Harmonic-Voice, a task we had also required of him when we learned of his intent – of his kind’s intent – to live in the Harmonic Empire with us. I, Twilight Sparkle, have been called upon to teach Adam the Harmonic-Voice – and have been fortunate enough to be taught the English-Voice. Neither of us are perfect in either voice, but I have learned and heard enough to send greetings on behalf of the beings of the Harmonic Empire to those of Earth.
You see yourself as insignificant in the unchanging stars, but to us – to me, at least – you make up one of the most important parts of the night sky. The simple act, however monumental it may be, of building an enormous ship, to take your first steps from your home to visit ours, the one you call Rhysling – that has given me hope that we may not have to face the stars alone, but instead with each other.
May we speak again, and many times after that.
Even after the radio fell silent, not a single soul dared to make a sound to disturb such sacred tranquility. A moment later, Louis did dare – by stopping the recording, so Zodiac-Altair would not end up transmitting so much closing silence.
“Neverojatno,” Dr. Konstantinov breathed out almost silently. For all the things he surely wanted to say, he regrettably could not find the will, nor the words, to speak them.
Louis sighed – knowing that speaking was still necessary, even now – especially to one person in particular. “Thank you, Miss Twilight Sparkle,” he said over the radio. “I will be sending your voice back to Earth. We all wish to meet you soon. Adam still needs to do a few things, however. Mostly, he needs to find us land – land we can call our own. Until that happens, we fear we cannot live with the Harmonic Empire.” He suppressed the urge to end it with ‘over,’ as his training demanded.
Her reply was immediate. “I will send a letter to Yere Kisữ at once. She and Adam will begin talking about that problem as soon as possible. I hope the outcome will make both of us happy.”
“I hope the same as well, Twilight. Thank you again for your words, and for your hard work. Goodbye.” He hung the radio receiver up, and started encoding the audio recording. “Remind me, Anton – what’s our next window for transmission?”
“About five minutes next, Commander,” Dr. Konstantinov replied. “But I think the recording is too long to transmit in one go. Dr. Weiss, what are your thoughts?” Only silence would intervene as an answer. “Elena?”
But the biologist wasn’t even paying attention – she kept her face glued to her work, her own studies. “‘Magic’?” she asked herself. “Wo hät sie das Wort glernt?”
Adam was not the biggest fan of bureaucracy. It was slow, inefficient, and it had a tendency of outlawing alternatives to keep the illusion of being the only option. But even here, it was a necessary evil when gaining citizenship in Ơhesti – or the Harmonic Empire, as Twilight had first translated it when speaking to Zodiac-Altair – as she was apparently still in negotiations with Yere Kisữ.
Harmonic. . . that was not a word he was expecting to use in relation to the ‘ponies’ – another word Twilight chose to use, after Adam inadvertently described them as much shorter in stature. In any case, he quickly memorized the root for ‘harmony’ – ơh, a very simple root, almost a particle – when he realized just how much of a cornerstone it was in their culture. Everything had to be harmonious, they insisted upon it. For one, a human observer would assume that two ponies working together would merely remain coworkers – but to the ponies themselves, they had to be thick as thieves for them to work at their best. A small wonder, then, that this sacred, universal harmony was reflected in their own language as well.
It’s almost as if it’s been engineered, he mused to himself earlier that morning.
As he had discovered the other day, having a mailbox in front of the lander was an enormous step towards legitimizing himself as a resident in Ginzol – not to mention that now ponies could send mail directly to him, instead of having to go through Twilight, who for all intents and purposes had acted as his agent. It was an odd affair, for them and for him alike, but a necessary one for the time being.
Once he had gotten word back from Dr. Weiss that certain plants and meats on Rhysling were likely safe for human consumption. . . he was frankly conflicted by the revelation. On one hand, he was excited to try some of these new, exotic flavors denied to his ancestors and contemporaries back on Earth. But on the other, it meant taking the same risk those same people did when they first explored and settled their world.
That conflict was going to come to a head, sooner or later. As many packets of food Dr. Konstantinov had packed for him when he first landed on Rhysling, even that was a finite number, and one that would eventually run out. By one last count, he had enough for four more local days – with regular consumption. Rationing could stretch it to three or four more – but then, that was it. He’d either have to get a supply drop from Zodiac-Altair – an enormous waste of supplies, considering how close he was to completion – or he would have to swallow his fears and try something local.
“Hõ Ħedem?” he heard outside the lander. Though he couldn’t see past the crude drape that now adorned the doorway – which still let the cold air in, but it did mean he need not constantly swing such a stiff and heavy door open and shut all the time – he instantly recognized Sulfoyarqa’s voice and dialect. “Se ħalvu?”
“Em, em, se alru,” he affirmed. He got up from his desk and his studies, went over to the doorway, and swished the curtain aside to reveal the yellow-and-pink pegasus. “Riwe fưsữlvư?” he asked her – he didn’t mean to be rude, of course; Ơhqer allowed some bluntness in the language, particularly with good friends. In a way, he was testing her, gauging how she saw him.
And from the way she responded, it seemed they were close friends after all. “Zjomozuru ħelsi zjogṛzalvu,” she explained. Adam recognized the root for ‘hunger’ in the second verb, after Twilight took her time to drill that into his head. “Ħiki sulaya zjoħuburu. Susaya fưsữlvư?”
Adam looked around the corner where she pointed her left wing – and found a good variety of fruits, vegetables, and cuts of meat that she had apparently brought for him. Somehow she had heard through the grapevine of his current predicament, and so decided to try to resolve it. Before he could make his answer, he had to cross-reference them with the list of items Dr. Weiss considered human-edible, to reduce the risk of accidental poisoning.
“Pise sãlu ayladal,” he excused himself. He dropped the curtain, letting it fall back into place to cover the entrance, while he checked his admittedly-messy desk for the sheet of notepaper where he jotted down such a list, with various corrections and amendments made in the margins. Where is it, where is it. . . ? Oh. He flipped up the Ơhqer grammar textbook, which laid open on the desk, and found the list lying neatly beneath the back cover, perfectly covered by the linen board. Typical.
He brought it back with him to Sulfoyarqa, and showed it to her. She was literate – necessarily so, to get the right supplies for her many non-pony friends – and he had also taken the time to write down the names of the items in Ơhqer. “Sulayayay ala esj ṛs alnjamye,” he told her. I hope I got the right noun class – there are just three, but they’re tricky for me!
“Mmm. . . .” Sulfoyarqa had to squint to look at the list properly, placing a hoof upon her chin as though deep in thought, obviously paying attention to what may as well be chicken scratches on the paper. But she works with chickens, doesn’t she? Or chicken-like beings, now that I think about it. . . . “Sula harakoħacãru?” she asked him.
Adam needed a moment to process what she was asking, as she just used a verb he had never heard before. He thought he could recognize the verb ‘to write,’ but didn’t want to jump to conclusions – not since he remembered calling Twilight a cat for half a month. Then he watched her pull a grease pencil and paper from her satchel, and realized what she wanted to do.
“Em.” He nodded, and held the paper steady in front of her. But Sulfoyarqa instead opted for him to set it down on the ground in front of her – so he did. As she copied his list, she cross-referenced it with what she had brought for him, and one by one gave some of them to him.
None of the cuts of meat she had brought ended up in his hands after all. Perhaps the cooking methods Dr. Weiss demanded to make them safe just weren’t in their technological grasp. That he would have to resolve at some point – show them how to cook at just the right constraints with just the right techniques to eliminate the prions and other whatnot that might otherwise kill him.
Or perhaps it was something another civilization had developed – and not the Harmonic Empire. Those gryphon beings might know a thing or two, now that I think about it. But he hadn’t met a single one here. Does the Empire not extend into their domain? He’d have to check the maps with Twilight one of these days.
“Ħedem xurucru!” Sulfoyarqa had apparently finished copying down his list, and had bowed her head and left the lander. Though the curtain blocked the view, he could hear her leap off the scaffolding and hit the ground, judging by the impact of hooves on soil and her slight whimpering grunt as she landed. But isn’t she a pegasus? he thought. She could easily fly off the platform and back home – and by all accounts she should. Or maybe it’s just her and not every other pegasus. A question for another day, no doubt.
For now, though, she had made that hard decision for him – what to do when the imported foods ran out. Now it was time to inform the rest of the crew. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” he radioed. “Come in, over.” It was going to be a long-winded explanation, and he wanted to make sure someone on the ship would hear it.
And hear they would – or at least one man would. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” Dr. Konstantinov responded.
“Just wanted to inform you,” Adam explained, “I’m about to consume local foodstuffs. Sulfoyarqa noticed that my. . . imported supply was running low, and opted to bring more to resupply. I showed her the list, and have narrowed it down to what Dr. Weiss has considered safe from the last check. Please acknowledge, as these may be my last words. Over.”
“Acknowedged, Dr. Somerset. I will tell the others.” The Russian paused for a moment. “How much imported do you have left? We could send a supply drop to you, with the permission of command. Over.”
“Thank you Zulu-Alfa, but I don’t think that will be necessary.” He glanced back at the pile just at the door. “I’m going to trust Dr. Weiss on this one. I will radio back with any immediate effects. Stay on the line until that happens. Somerset out.” He set the radio down and glanced back again. What should I start with?
He remembered the persistent insistence of Njeledirve on testing the apple-like fruits that she grew on her family orchard, all of which time and time again came back safe for human consumption. He also noted some strawberry-like fruits next to them, and next to that pile were some of the more basic breads. Made from those simple meal grains I saw in that book, he thought, There’s one in town, I’ll bet. Probably. He tried to picture the amber waves of grain dancing in a gentle midday breeze.
He sighed, and started making peace with himself. If I die here, he thought, I’ll at least die for the colony. Though the memory was foggy from cryostasis, he remembered that one clause in that phonebook of a contract he signed with NASA.
“Here goes nothing. . . ,” he muttered to himself. He got up from the desk and walked over to the pile of food. Kneeling down, he reached over to one of Njeledirve’s fruits, grabbed it up, and brought it up to his face. He smelled it first – but if it had a scent, he could not easily detect it with his human nose. But that doesn’t mean it won’t kill me, he reminded himself. Oh well, no going back now. Cautiously, he brought his tongue out, and plied it on the surface.
It tasted like. . . nothing, save for just the slightest suggestion of sweetness – a promise of glucose beneath the surface. So let’s see if that’s right. He retracted his tongue, but kept his mouth open, as he guided the fruit past the teeth. He brought his jaws together, taking a small nibble out of the fruit’s body.
There it is! The sweetness of the fruit’s skin was correct in suggesting the true taste of the rest – sweet as any apple back on Earth. But do the seeds contain cyanide? He checked the list – there wasn’t any mention of it. He would have to radio and find out.
Radio! Right! I should let them know I’m still alive! He got back up from the floor and went back to the desk. “Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset, come in,” he opened. He sat back and waited for them to reply.
It took a bit longer than last time, but then it did come. “This is Zulu-Alfa.” This time it was the commander who answered Adam’s call – either he had taken control of the radio, or Anton was too busy with something else. “Go ahead, over.”
Better catch him up real quick. “Did Dr. Konstantinov tell you what I was about to do?” Adam asked first. “Over.”
“Affirmative, Somerset,” Louis replied. “So how was your first local meal? Feeling sick afterwards? Over.”
“Negative!” Adam answered – perhaps with a little too much enthusiasm. “I have suffered no ill effects from eating the apple analogues.” But now I should pop that question to Dr. Weiss. “Is Dr. Weiss on the bridge? I have something to ask her, over.”
“She’s right here in the bridge, stand by please.” The radio fell silent for a minute – then a female Swiss-accented voice came on: “ – hear him just fine, merssi vilmal! Ah, yes, Dr. Somerset, you said you had a question, yes? Over.”
“I remember reading somewhere that apple seeds contained cyanide,” Adam asked. “Did the probe ever find any traces from the seeds in Rhyslinger apples, or did you never test them to such an extent? Over.” He leaned back, anticipating a decently-long wait for the answer.
Which he received a few minutes later. “It appears that the probe did nick one such seed in the middle of testing,” she replied. “Fortunately, it contains no toxic chemical compounds – toxic at least to us, for it may be a different story for the ponies. That is probably why I did not noticed until you pointed it out, so thank you for that.”
Crissake, Adam started to realize, I came that close to dying over an apple!?
“In any case, the seeds from all other plants had been tested as well,” she added. “No dangers are present in any of them either. They are completely safe, you have my word. Anything else, Dr. Somerset? Over.”
Well, when you put it that way. . . . “Negative, Zulu-Alfa,” he answered. “I think I’ll be fine. Somerset out.” He set the radio down, and continued eating the fruit. In time he would also try the bread, finding it just as safe and filling, the packets of food in the cargo hold wholly forgotten.
––––
It was market-day in Ginzol once again, and Adam had one thing in mind: soap. Not for himself – the soap bottles on the lander were still good for some time. No, he needed soap for his clothing – he had been wearing Cesel’s clothes perhaps a little too long, and the familiar scent of sweat had started seeping through the fibers. He’d have to wash them. Thankfully, today was a good day to do just that.
Clothes – apparently these ponies knew he was modest, and Cesel had tailored an outfit for him. She wouldn’t take payment for it either, even though he insisted. In any case, this outfit was composed of a white shirt, blue denim pants, – and a black overcoat. No underwear, he noted, and she also forewent any sort of footwear, including socks. Those were apparently not her specialty.
At least this way he could wear something other than such a garish shade of ‘red.’
He entered the central square and started looking around. He heard the sounds of bartering, coins clinking on the counters, a few out-of-towners trying to make a quick sale. He kept his eyes peeled, checking this way and that for anything that might resemble soap.
He finally found just what he needed after ten minutes of constant searching. Another mare – brown-furred and white-maned and -tailed, wrench for a mark – was already buying some of her own. She turned around and spotted the human. “Hõ Edem, qapata,” she greeted – and then smelled him. She recoiled just a bit, chuckled, and added “Mm, susa harsa ildḷgavu.”
“Em, xurucru,” Adam replied absentmindedly. As she went away, Adam stepped forward to the seller. “Harsa almu?” he asked the mare.
“Emem,” she said. Then she smirked – “Riqala? Mưl kelsữvư?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Em, kelrư,” he replied dryly. “Sasa pali dḷgagiloru. Ridege?”
“Deñe degile.”
Adam fished out four silver coins from his pocket, and laid them out on the counter in front of her. “Se,” he punctuated.
She counted them up and handed him a bar of soap, about the size of his fist. Not very large for him, but he would manage it just for today. Besides, he thought, how much would a single shirt and pair of pants need anyway?
“Xurucru,” he thanked, – before quickly asking, “Ala paqiarsoas almu?”
She nodded. “Emem!”
With that answered, he started walking away from the stand. He had everything he needed for the time being; there was no reason for him to stop walking out of the market altogether. He did spot a few more familiar faces in the crowd, however, and he was sorely tempted to stop and make small talk – but that would waste time he would need to wash, not to mention he didn’t feel like he had quite enough words to do that.
··–··
Just march down to the bank of the stream, strip down, and wash his clothes. Couldn’t be simpler. Right? Well, he’d also have to wash his jumpsuit – and he hadn’t done that before. Worse, it was still also the last barrier between him and the world. But it was market-day, and ideally none of the ponies would see him after his stint in Ginzol’s central square.
The walk there took only ten minutes from the market, by his reckoning. By the bridge, he found the washboard he’d left there – one he’d found partially broken in the bushes near the lander a few days ago, which he’d fixed up himself with a bit of duct tape. He stuck his hand into the water – he felt it flowing westward, away from the mountain where Kãtṛlat was situated. Maybe that’s where the stream’s source is, he thought – noting the snowy cap atop the horn.
He crossed the bridge, so he would be washing his clothes while keeping an eye on Ginzol, just in case he was caught with his pants down. He slipped off his coat and hung it off one of the posts, away from the water – knowing it would likely take the longest to dry if it ever got wet, and he shouldn’t chance it.
His shirt followed right after, one button at a time – then noting the washboard, he turned it inside-out. His mind went back to a history project about Colonial America – how the colonists would survive day by day in the New World. He was assigned how to wash clothes the old-fashioned way. After getting a washboard from his parents, he read in the library how to do so.
But his history teacher, Mr. Wycliffe, wasn’t interested in just a simple paper on the topic, oh no. He wanted his students to learn the knowledge in practice, and that meant Adam actually had to wash clothes by hand. But with enough practice, he was able to demonstrate it to his peers at the end of the school year.
Perhaps it was a little too convenient that the Fates had directed the assignment to him, but now it was knowledge that would come in handy. Because I’m a colonist now, he realized, just like the ones in Jamestown!
Slowly, he dipped the shirt into the flowing water. Right after it was soaked, he pulled it out and, fishing the soap from his coat pocket, started scrubbing down the white cloth – especially the collar and the cuffs, which were the most problematic. He returned the shirt to the stream briefly not long after.
Next, he positioned the washboard between his legs, held down with his chin, and started scrubbing the cloth against the washboard. Back and forth, in rapid yet consistent strokes, noting the suds the soap were making as he worked the cloth. This was the reason why he turned the shirt inside-out – it kept the buttons safe from the grating on the board. He looked up suddenly – nope, not a soul to see. Not that he would have minded – he still had his jumpsuit on. He returned to scrubbing.
Once he was sure the shirt was scrubbed clean, he dipped it again into the stream. He let the flowing water rinse it out for him – giving his arms a bit of respite. He turned the article this way and that, to make sure the flow got through every pore in the cloth. He watched as the soap suds started making their way downstream to parts unknown. There we go, nice and clean. . . . He pulled it back out of the stream for the last time, and started wringing it out as best as he could. He didn’t have a clothesline to pin it to – if anything, he’d have to walk back home first – so for the time being he simply left it on the bridge’s railing.
Now for his trousers. It was tricky to put them on and take them off on top of his jumpsuit, since the latter was a one-unit assembly with detachable boots. But once he did get them off, he repeated the process as with the shirt. Soak, add soap, soak again to activate. Then scrub scrub scrub against the washboard, try to be as thorough as possible, those pockets were not doing him any favors. He felt his hands start to run raw-red, and he knew he had to stop soon. Thankfully the cool water in the stream eased the soreness in his hands as the rinsed out his trousers. He then set the pants on the bridge railing.
And now for the moment of truth. One last time, he stood up and looked around – to town, away from town, upstream, downstream. Nobody was here; he was alone. Precisely what he wanted for this next step. He undid the zipper across his chest, letting the international-orange body split open and admitting the crisp, cold Rhyslinger air. Already he could feel goosebumps rising on his chest, arms, and elsewhere. He slid his arms out the sleeves, and let the whole assembly collapse below his waist. He pulled out his feet from the integrated boots, and unzipped them from the rest of the jumpsuit. Out of paranoia, he checked in each direction again.
Nothing and noöne to be seen.
He sat back down on the cold ground and slid the jumpsuit into the water. He knew this one would take by far the longest – not just because it was the largest article of the three, but also because it hadn’t been laundered before. Once it was thoroughly soaked, he ran the bar of soap through it, making sure to get into each and every crevice in the cloth, focusing on the armpits, the collar, and the crotch. He also took care to go around his patches – they were tough, but the stitching holding them to the jumpsuit was not. A quick dip later, and he was ready to scrub.
Somehow the washboard and jumpsuit put together made a perfect cover – not that he needed it at the moment. He simply leaned back, and kept scrubbing as best he could. And there was a lot to scrub – at times, he felt like he was cleaning the same parts of the jumpsuit twice.
It took him about three minutes to get everything done – at least, it felt that long – and Adam was just about to dip it into the stream when he heard the familiar feathery flittering of pegasi flight. Crap! He made sure the washboard covered him up, as he looked skyward. There was Gugḷzimba, that gray wall-eyed messenger, making her daily rounds. I really need to start looking up one of these days. . . . He waved up to her, but she didn’t wave back. Instead, she landed right by his side, uncomfortably close to the naked human. “Ecẽhese esj vẽ ḷbaru.”
Oh, I’ve got mail, haven’t I? “Ecẽhesekepehe, xurucru.” He pointed down the road, in the direction of the lander. “Sulatal herơ alru.” He emphasized that last sentence by showing the still-unrinsed jumsuit.
“Teþelru,” she acknowledged. “Qapata!” After a quick bow, she took flight again, in the direction he had indicated.
That left Adam alone once again, hopefully for the rest of the wash and the walk back. He plunged the jumpsuit into the stream, and watched as the suds started peeling off, in a great mass of excised filth. He didn’t take it out until he was absolutely sure all the soap had been rinsed out, and it took far longer than he would have liked to admit. Once he was done, he wrung out each inch of the suit, but this time did not set it on the bridge’s railing. Instead, he picked up the washboard, the shirt, and the trousers, and set them on the same shoulder as the jumpsuit – though the washboard he left firmly between his legs, to preserve his modesty. The coat went onto his other shoulder, to keep it dry on the way back.
··
Hardly a soul came through these parts, Adam had discovered during his stay. He wasn’t sure if it was because his presence – particularly the lander’s violent arrival – had spooked travelers into taking another path, or if there genuinely wasn’t anything of interest or importance north of Ginzol. Either way, he was grateful for the solitude.
Especially now, when he had to string up his clothes on a crude clothesline, projecting off of the lander and towards the wooded area to the west. First he leaned the washboard against the lander’s leg. He started putting the jumpsuit onto the clothesline, both since it would need the most time to dry and since it was the most important article he had. His shirt followed, then his pants. And his coat stayed on his person, to keep him warm and somewhat modest in the meantime.
Adam remembered once in his childhood when he got stranded outside without his coat in the dead of winter. Not a pleasant experience in Tacoma, where it regularly snowed – and this was Rhysling, where the temperature here left liquid water on a knife’s edge. If it only gets this warm during their summer, he thought, remembering how their months worked, imagine it in their winter.
Once the clothes were up, he went to get the mail Gugḷzimba left for him. Usually he didn’t get anything – the only other time he did get mail, apart from the stuff Twilight forwarded to him, was what appeared to be a catalog for some kind of retail chain. Sure, he remembered thinking at the time, it’s useful, but not something I’ll need right this second. However, when he showed it to Twilight, she promptly threw it away – nowhere in the universe am I safe from junk mail, I guess.
Even so, he later fished it from the trash, seeing what other wonders awaited him and his human contemporaries here in the Empire. A good deal of it was food, and a lot of it appeared to come from Njeledirve’s farm in town. That must’ve been what I was inventorying, he realized. He smiled slightly, knowing his work actually meant something to them.
He also saw other items – nails, lumber, steel – things the colony could use to construct buildings. Of course, such a sheer magnitude of supplies needed, not to mention the extraordinary circumstances, would mean they’d have to negotiate a contract with the supplier. Let’s hope they’re not greedy.
But no, this was no catalog. This time, it was a paper scroll, closed with a red band, not a letter in an envelope, nor one folded into itself. And he recognized the scroll’s golden seal, emblazoned with a sun in splendor – the unmistakable mark of Her Imperial Majesty Yere Kisữ. Whatever she wanted to say to him, she wanted to make sure he knew, and not through Twilight either, despite their close relationship.
Who am I to deny her? he thought. He stepped inside the lander to ensure the letter’s privacy, undid the seal and band, and started reading it. Or tried to, at least – the writing was extremely calligraphic, full of ornamental flourishes that made it hard to discern individual glyphs. He sighed. I’m going to need some help with this one.
He didn’t have very long to wait – as he looked out the window, he saw the familiar violet-furred quadrupedal body trotting down the road. “Hey, Twilight!” Adam called out, sticking his head from behind the curtain. “Over here!” He gestured for her to enter.
Which she did instantly: with a splash of violet light and an anechoic pop!, there she stood inside the cabin. “Did you need something?” she asked – not sarcastically; her tone suggested genuine inquiry.
“Could you read this for me?” Adam held up the scroll. “It’s pretty hard for me, but I’m sure it’s from Yere Kisữ.”
Twilight’s eyes threatened to bulge out of her skull. “You’re joking!” she exclaimed. “Let me see that.” Adam offered no resistance to Twilight yanking the scroll out of his hand with her telekinetic grasp. She held it up to her eyes and started to read it to herself. It took her only a moment to decode the calligraphic hand – hoof? Grasp? What’s the word to use? – before she interpreted for him: “This is great news! Yere Kisữ has seen your progress in living in the Harmonic Empire, and she’s willing to grant you citizenship, and a place for your ship to arrive!”
Is that so!? “So have your talks with her worked?” he asked her. Sounds obvious to her, but I just want to piece all of this together.
“They must have,” she said. She furled the scroll back up, and reättached the red band and golden seal. “But this means you’ll have to go to Kãtṛlat to finish the agreement. . . and I can’t help but notice you’re not quite ready.”
“I didn’t think Yere Kisữ would make this decision so soon,” Adam confessed. “I thought it would be another month or two.”
Twilight recoiled at the potential timeline, even dropping the scroll from her grasp – then settled back down. “That might be true on Earth,” she countered, “but the Empire’s leadership is fast and. . . effeck. . . effesh. . . ?”
“Efficient,” Adam offered.
“Fast and efficient, yes,” she finished. “Yere Kisữ has existed for over a thousand years; she would know how to work with strangers to the Empire – like you.”
A thousand years!? he thought. Surely she means the position and not the individual herself. . . ! But that’s not important right now. “And I’m sure the Yere and I will stay strangers,” he commented. “Nothing personal Twilight. . . I just have this feeling.”
“Even so, you might be surprised.” She then realized, “Oh, right, your clothes! I think you’ll want them for the trip.”
“Yes, but I just washed them,” he said. “They’re still drying outside.”
“Not if I can help!” She squeezed herself past Adam and slipped through the curtain, lighting her horn as she went outside. Adam knelt down and grabbed the scroll, setting it on his desk before following her out.
As he watched, Twilight started wringing out the clothes with her force. He couldn’t help but notice just how much water was running out of the fibers – it was enough to form a trickle down the sides of each article. But the trickling stopped within a few minutes. “They should be dry now,” she said. “I hope.”
“Let me see. . . .” He ran his hand through the orange Nomex cloth, noting the soft yet rigid structure. Most importantly at hand was that it was dry, perfectly dry – as if he had never washed it at all, nor worn it. “It is,” he commented without thinking.
“Great!” she chirped. “Put those on and come with me. We’ll be taking the train there.”
Adam started unclipping the clothes from the line, but when he turned around, Twilight was still standing there, still watching him. He thought he could feel his cheeks get warmer. “Would you not look at me right now?” he asked her.
“Why? What’s the problem?”
“I’d rather not. . . eh, y’know. . . .”
“Oh. Right.” She turned around, while also keeping a lookout for any wayward ponies coming along the way. “You know I’ve seen everything about you, right Adam?”
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “But I didn’t enjoy that at all.” As he unbuttoned his coat, his mind went back to the hospital in Kãtṛlat, where they’d had to strip him down examine the rest of him, right in front of her. The only thing he felt, the feeling still vividly burnt into his head, was the flaming in his face – the same flaming that started to flare up when he saw Twilight still staring at him.
But that started to fade as he slipped on the jumpsuit. Whatever process Twilight used to wring it out also left a slightly warm feeling to the cloth, which helped alleviate the normal cold of Rhysling’s surface. Once everything was in its proper place, he zipped up the jumpsuit. “Okay Twilight, you can look now.”
She turned around and saw Adam, fully clothed – sort of.
“May as well put the rest on,” he added. “Like your friend Cesel said, orange is not in fashion – it’d leave a bad impression on Yere Kisữ.”
Twilight cocked her head. “Orange? Is that not a food?”
Adam stifled a laugh. “It’s both.” He ran his hand over the jumpsuit’s body. “We see red and orange as two different colors. You can’t use one for the other.”
“But it looks red to me. . . .” Twilight stopped to ponder for a moment. “Never mind. Put those on, and come with me. We don’t have a lot of time.”
Once Adam got off the radio with Zodiac-Altair, Twilight insisted that he take Yere Kisữ’s scroll with him. He didn’t see the reason why right away, but he did so anyway, along with a pen and a large rolled-up map of the Harmonic Empire – for the inevitable conversation – and the money he had earned from working around town. Adam asked her to tag along, but apparently an occasion like this was meant to be done alone. In any case, being summoned by either Yere Kisữ or Yara Ariman entitled one to a ride on the Crown’s dime to get there, by whatever means necessary. Usually ponies would opt for the fastest way there – Adam simply followed suit.
Once he showed the scroll to the stallion in the ticket booth, he simply sent him through without another word, meaning he had brought his sack of coins for nothing. It must not have been a busy day today – he found himself in a nearly-empty coach. The only other occupants were an attendant, along with a filly and her mother – all regular ponies – riding with him.
He took his seat close by the exit, setting his stuff between him and the window, to keep them safe. This time, without his suit’s life-support backpack, he was able to lean back comfortably in the car. He noted the stuffed upholstery that lined the seat, and regretted the fact that he’d had to miss out on that for so long. He glanced out the window, and saw Twilight waving him goodbye. He returned her gesture, before relaxing for the ride ahead.
“Keylepilesje, pise,” a voice sounded behind him. Adam looked to find the train’s conductor, hole punch in his mouth, waiting for the human to present his ticket. But he simply showed the summons from Yere Kisữ, accompanied with a “Se,” and after reading it for a moment, the conductor left with a “Xurucru.” He didn’t even bother to punch it. Works for me!
As the conductor stepped out of the car, Adam started looking around his surroundings. There was a map in the car, just like the first time he was here, with several cities and towns across the Harmonic Empire marked. There was Ginzol, in a basin also named Kala-Uha. Did it come first, or did the forest? Well, technically the basin did, but which was named first?
He didn’t look down at the scroll – Lord knows it wouldn’t be easier reading it a second time – but he had a suspicion that it wouldn’t be good for a trip home. Luckily, he had his own money to buy his way back home, so he didn’t need to bum any spare change from what he suspected to be a high-class metropolis.
He felt the car shift forward, and Adam knew he was on his way to Kãtṛlat. He wasn’t sure if he should be nervous or excited to face the heavenly sister-matriarchs. Either way, it wasn’t a good feeling in his stomach. He sighed, to try to relieve the tension. It didn’t work.
“Qapata?” a light voice penetrated his consciousness. He looked down to see the filly he saw earlier had gotten up from her seat and had approached the strange curiosity that was Dr. Adam Somerset.
Good chance to practice being friendly. He smiled, but only just, and returned “Qapata.”
“Rike alvu?” she asked next.
Who am I? “Ṛs Edem alru,” he told her. “Rike alvu?” He quickly glanced up at her mother – who, while suspicious of Adam, as any mother should be with a stranger, didn’t seem to make a move to protect her daughter immediately.
“Kisữtjưke alru.” She looked down and away from him. “Pṛkele alvu.”
Oh, my sweet summer child. . . . “Eñbiru,” he replied. “Uman alru.” He showed Kisữtjưke his hand, to emphasize his words. “Bḷd vẽ alinzamu.”
“Hiþe vẽwe,” Kisữtjưke responded. Then she started to open him up a bit more. “Rike ã Kãtṛlatil ilanavu, hõ Edem?”
“Estikiq ilalru.” It was a simple question, hardly offensive. “Rike ilanavime?” He indicated her mother as well.
“Ilkiloriþa,” she simply said. “Rikeley, eñbizữrư.”
“Hõ Kisữtjưke!” her mother called out to her. “Ṛshe þesơ ezegưbưvư.” She made a gesture for her daughter to rejoin her in her seat.
“Qapata!” she told Adam, as she flounced away from the human and took her seat beside the window. He, meanwhile, occupied himself on the last word she spoke – qapata. It was a magical word, a word that he had confirmed long ago to mean both ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye.’ And something else, he had discovered later with Twilight’s studies, something he wasn’t expecting in a million years.
Friendship.
And yet, for all his expectations, that gloss fit the bill quite nicely. Why, it glossed perfectly like English did. Qapa meant ‘friend,’ and -ta indicated a change of a noun into a state of being the noun. That same noun ending, though it changed to comply with the phonological harmonies, also appeared in eñbide – ‘science,’ though its actual practice in the Empire also contained several elements of magic and alchemy, the latter of which he had to clarify with Twilight was obsolete.
He felt himself lean back into his seat as the train started climbing uphill. He sighed – it was a nice conversation with Kisữtjưke at least, while it lasted, and it did help take his mind off the fact that he had an impending meeting with Yere Kisữ. But some things simply weren’t meant to work out – some things he had to think about, no matter what.
···–
The train arrived at Kãtṛlat within an hour. A Terrestrial hour, or Rhyslinger? Maybe I’m getting too used to living on this planet, he thought. Regardless, he was here, and he had a job to do.
After watching Kisữtjưke and her mother leave the traincar first, he gathered up his map and sack of coins and stepped out, ducking his head down to avoid another large bruise on his scalp. As he looked around his surroundings, he saw that the city of Kãtṛlat wasn’t as busy with market activity as Ginzol was. Maybe it’s a rural thing, he thought.
Even though he had only visited twice before, he still knew the way from the train station to the Imperial Palace. He was sure that multiple ways existed between the two places, as Twilight could easily attest, and at least a few would be shorter, but he simply traveled the one most familiar to him. Clutching his meager luggage in his hands, he set off by himself on the cobblestoned road.
When he came to an intersection, he checked his left, then his right, for any traffic that might be coming along. None was present, so he crossed the street without a second thought. There on his left was that timepiece shop where he spent a few moments all those weeks ago – and inside, there was the shopkeeper, still apprehensive at the sight of him. Though now he was unsuited, which renewed his fear.
Adam couldn’t blame him.
The broad main street was on the next left, and here he saw some more glimmers of civilian life. Even though he had been on this world for a considerable amount of time, they still regarded him as an odd curiosity. “Ulazaru,” one of them called out to him.
Adam stopped and looked up to see who spoke – it was a brown stallion with an hourglass mark. “Em?” he asked him.
“Zjodḷgãdamalru, an se ã Kãtṛlatil alvu.” He scratched an itch on his hide as he spoke. “Pise þesơ sơhơvư, riqala?”
It was a rather odd and personal question, but Adam decided to humor him for the moment. What’s the worst that could happen? “Yereley ṛs zjogabaladjamu,” he answered, and even held up the scroll the Yere had sent him.
“Þepelrư,” he saw. He turned to walk away, but stopped and turned right back. “Aña ‘zjogabalnjamu’ sjơsiksơhơrư,” he added.
Crap, wrong noun class! “Ulazaru, xurucru!” he quickly spat out. He started hurrying back along to the Palace before he made himself any more of an ass than he already was.
There’s something about that noun class that makes it special, he started to think. It was a thought that had been with him for the past few weeks, but had tried to resolve it himself to avoid embarrassing himself in front of Twilight. Not out of any personal pride, no – what had just happened demonstrated to him that slight errors like that could easily build up to extreme offenses to all the Empire holds dear. Thankfully I didn’t just get vaporized right then and there, he realized.
He reached the Palace gates not long after, where four guards stood at the public entrance. Adam undid the seal and band, showing the guards his purpose for entering the ground. Wordlessly they let him through – and as he stepped through the gates into the lavish front gardens, he started redoing the band and seal as best as he could. The end result was sloppy, but it would have to do.
There were a handful of ponies here, but most of them looked like either nobility themselves or merely uniformed Palace staff. Very few ponies were outside of these two groups. Here you are Adam, in the halls of an alien Empress, the sole representative of your world and your species – including everything good about them, and everything bad. Yeah, no pressure, no pressure at all. Just waltz right in and secure your citizenship and a colony site.
. . . actually, that does sound like an awful lot to do.
As he approached the doors to the throne room, he noted that there were a few ponies here for court business gathered outside of the door. A loud knock sounded, and the doors opened, and Adam watched as a mare left the throne room, while the one waiting outside took her place.
As they walked past each other, Adam greeted her with a passing “Qapata.” She looked up in surprise – then smiled and returned with a “Hõ pṛkelegin, qapata!” and continued on her way.
Adam stood in place by the door while he waited for his turn for audience with Yere Kisữ. As he waited, he started to rehearse – in his head, of course, though that would rob him of the experience to speak it aloud to another person – the things he would try to communicate with the Yere.
Let’s structure this out first, he thought, try to do things in a certain, logical order. First, I have to gain my citizenship. I’ll have to have proved myself a productive member of Imperial civilization, and that I will not cause any trouble whatsoëver. Exile would be my likely fate, since deportation back to Earth would be difficult at this point. Although execution could still be on the table. . . . He shook his head to dispel the dark thought. Once I’ve proven myself to be one of them, then I can forward requests on behalf of the crew. We’ll need an area. . . how large again?
Adam unfurled the map of the Empire. Some time ago, he had transmitted a photograph of this very map up to the ship, so Commander Darcy could see what sort of latitudes and longitudes on which the Harmonic Empire worked. Once he saw it, the commander transmitted the coördinates for the four corners of the plot of land that he deemed to be ideal for colonial development. When he connected the dots together, the resulting red-inked square outlined a large area in a desert south of the Kala-Uha. If he had to guess the area size, it would be somewhere in the ballpark – no pun intended – of three hundred square kilometers. Good enough for a self-contained city, but if they had to expand, what then?
Adam noticed that the desert wasn’t entirely uninhabited – a small town named Njelezơl laid southsouthwest of the marked area. Hold on, he thought, haven’t I seen that place before? He searched his mind, trying to piece together what the source could be. . . and then he realized it was from that foal’s book he read on the first day on the surface, the place he thought was a penal colony. But no, he had later learned, it was simply a trading outpost, one founded on apples of all things.
If any human prospectors discovered minerals on Rhysling, fit for mining, Adam hoped that the two settlements would not come into a conflict. They focused on their orchards, whilst mankind would focus on mining. Though they should have mines of their own, he thought. For now, though, he rolled the map back up for later presentation.
And just in time, too – he felt the hard knock reverberate through his rear, and as he stood up with a start, the doors opened to let the other pony out. Neither of them said a word to the other as they passed by – mostly since the human already had too much on his mind.
“Hõ Edem Zơmṛzed,” a voice rang out. Adam looked to see it came from Yara Ariman, who had apparently opted to join her sister Yere Kisữ in deciding this matter. “Vẽ þesơ wõgakvu.”
Adam sighed, and complied with the Yara’s command – stepping on unsure feet into the throne room. The doors loudly shut behind him, granting him privacy for the meeting between him and the Imperial Sisters in such an intimate matter. When he was in front of him, he knelt before them – I hope they take this to mean a gesture of respect.
“Vẽ þesơ sjḷakvu.”
Adam stood back up, again as ordered.
“Vẽley Ơhqer sjơsikriơhvư?” Yere Kisữ asked Adam.
He nodded. “Em, sjosikrirư.” He made sure to get the words right – the last thing he wanted to do was to screw up his very first spoken words of Ơhqer to the Yere and Yara – aren’t they really the same word? – and prove both himself a liar, and Twilight a failure.
“Ãtirlaj rĩkiqa vẽ sjơikridjeþư?” she then asked, with a tilt of her head.
“Em.” Okay Adam, be a little more transparent. You’ve got to gain their trust. “A mưlwe Iñgḷner sjơikrirư.”
“Iñgḷner?” Yara Ariman raised one of her eyebrows. “Riqala?”
“. . . fưsữlsikritjeþư?” Adam thought he could feel sweat run down his face. This isn’t happening. . . this isn’t happening. . . this isn’t happening. . . ! Surely their language is one they treasure above all else, and any outside interference to upset and ruin its perfected harmony would not be tolerable. Yet here he was, teaching an Imperial citizen his own language. Surely this would spell his own death – !
But the Yere burst out laughing instead. “Vẽley kḷpali alvu?” she asked.
Adam was confused. He hadn’t heard that word before, ‘kḷpali,’ so he didn’t quite know how to answer. He could guess from the context that it meant ‘scared’ or ‘afraid,’ but now was absolutely not a time to jump to conclusions. The best course of action was not to say or do anything at all.
“Ezegley aldḷgãwu,” Yere Kisữ followed up. And then she really surprised Adam: “. . . for Twilight taught me too.”
Adam was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to the fact that Yere Kisữ, ruler of the Harmonic Empire, would stoop to learn an outsider’s language. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I should be the one fitting in here!
Adam finally mustered the will to speak. “Why?” he asked. “Why did Twilight teach y – ” Gotta be more respectful here. “ – Her Imperial Majesty English?”
“I have always wanted to try something new,” she answered. “When you have lived as long as I have, soon all becomes stale – becomes the same things before.”
That’s one way to put it. . . but is that really true? A thousand years? Adam pondered how such a thing would work. Perhaps if they can teleport themselves or other objects and beings at will, they can figure out immortality. Or that’s just normal for them, in which case. . . yeah. Sorry, Twilight.
“My sister, however,” she continued, “has not been so receptive to the English voice.” She glanced at her blue-hued counterpart.
“Ingl-voice hard is,” the Yara demonstrated. “Ơh-voice more good is.”
Adam rolled his eyes. Twilight was once there herself, as was your own sister, he wanted to say – but to avoid disrespecting either of them, he held his tongue.
“That is for another time,” Yere Kisữ took over. “I think you want to be a citizen of the Harmonic Empire; is this right?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty, that is correct.”
“Then I shall make it so.” She cleared her throat – a prompt for a previously-unseen scribe to take up a quill and paper, awaiting dictation. “Ṛsiþẽ, Yere Kisữ, sơhơriþẽ: Edem Zơmṛzedley sulatal a kala estikiq Ơhestisḷ aldjamu.” She waited for the scribe to finish writing, then turned her attention back to Adam. “It is done.”
“Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty.” Adam bowed before her.
She raised a hoof. “Please, Adam – I enjoy that you want to show me respect, but you can call me Yere Kisữ, or simply Yere – everyone else does.”
“I understand, Your Im – Yere,” he caught himself. His face started to warm up again from another round of embarrassment.
“I understand as well this ends the matter?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not quite, Yere.” Now to discuss the more important matter – a landing site. He pulled out the other scroll of paper. “This is a map of the Harmonic Empire,” he indicated. “Permission to approach the throne, Yere?”
“You may approach.”
Adam started unfurling the scroll, making sure the ink hadn’t smudged at all. It hadn’t – it never did – but he was still paranoid, even now. Once he was sure they could see the map, he showed it to them. “Do you see the area indicated in red, Yere?” he asked.
She had to squint at the spot he mentioned, but eventually she said “I can.” She looked back up to him. “Why is it marked?”
Alright, time to lay the cards on the table. “You might not believe me at first, Yere,” he stated, “but I did not travel to the Harmonic Empire alone.” He pointed up to the ceiling of the throne room. “Beyond the sky, beyond the stars, is the land from where I came.” Never mind that it’s another planet in another star system – baby steps, Adam! “We came here by a ship – a ship that can sail the stars. It took us a long time to arrive at the Empire.”
Clearly Yere Kisữ found herself intrigued by what the visitor was saying. She tilted her head as he spoke. When he finished that last thought, she asked him “Why did you come here?”
Oh. . . . “In truth, Yere, we still may not know the answer,” he confessed. “If I must guess, maybe we wanted to seek out the answer to a question: are we alone?” He chuckled – softly, to make sure she mightn’t hear it. “Of course, I know now we are not.”
The Yere started furrowing her brow. Uh-oh. “How did you find us in the first place?” Her tone wasn’t what he would describe as ‘cold,’ but he still knew he had to proceed with caution.
“It was many, many years ago. We wanted to know more about our own star system. We did not know much then – we still don’t now. But we did find this:”
Adam knelt down, flipped the map over, which was blank on the other side, and with the pen started making a rudimentary sketch of his solar system, making sure to delineate each of the nine planets and the asteroid belt. “This is our star system,” he said. He pointed to the third planet from the star. “Here is our home, Earth.”
“Earth,” Yere Kisữ echoed.
“Earth,” Yara Ariman intoned as well. Adam was intrigued to find that she could easily and perfectly pronounce the dental fricative, yet she had to stoop to mixing English words with Ơhqer grammar. “Earth-lay you-of home is?”
He nodded at her. Turning his focus back on the rudimentary starchart, he pointed at the largest planet of the nine. “Here. . . we found something we did not expect to find – a wormhole.”
“What is ‘wormhole’?” she inevitably asked.
How do I phrase this with her limited English vocabulary? “It is a hole in the stars,” he answered. “One end is here, the other – ” again he pointed straight up – “in the sky, near the Empire. We did not know this world existed,” he continued, tapping the ground with his pen, “until we saw it. We did not know the Harmonic Empire existed until I came here.”
“So now you do know,” the Yere stated. “Will you leave?” By her tone, she didn’t sound frustrated with his presence, nor anxious about him leaving so soon. It was a simple question, and it demanded a frank answer.
“We do not know if we can leave,” he said, and sighed – here came the hardest part of the conversation. “We were hoping to make a new home for us on this planet. We did not expect the Empire to be here.”
He stood back up, picking up the map and scrolling it back shut as he rose. “That is why I was sent here. My duty was to learn to speak the Harmonic-Voice, and to teach it to the rest of my kind who came here with me.” He held up the furled map, shaking it just so. “I have succeeded in my job, but I also had another – to make an agreement with the Empire, about where our kind may make its home.”
“Are you harmless?” she asked, completely out of the blue.
What? Uh. . . . “I am harmless, yes.” Where is she going with this?
“I know you are, but are you?” She pointed straight up. “Is your. . . kind? Is your world?” She loomed into his face. “Please answer with the truth. I can tell if you do not.”
Adam dry-swallowed. “Can you? How?”
But instead of explaining, Yere Kisữ simply lit her horn. Unlike Twilight’s, her glow was a golden yellow, not unlike the sun her world orbited. Adam felt his head tingle lightly, and saw that same golden glow swim into the top of his vision. “Speak an untruth.”
Hmm, what to use. . . . “I have children,” Adam blurted out automatically.
Adam instantly regretted it – the tinging on his head instantly turned to fiery pain. He reflexively dropped his items and reached up to clutch his head, but the same pain started to affect his hands. He dropped onto the floor, trying his best not to writhe about too much, lest the problem be exacerbated. The pain receded a moment later, and Adam found he could stand up again.
“Please answer with the truth,” Yere Kisữ repeated.
He sighed. Here we go. . . can’t hold back the truth now, not when she means business. And yet it’s an ugly one. “Our kind strives for peace,” he spoke. “To most of us at least, it is an ideal.” He paused. No burning. On the right track. “But of course not all of my kind do.”
“I did not expect that,” she agreed. “Twilight told me one moon ago that you brought weapons with you.”
“Only one,” he clarified, “and I did not use it ever again – nor do I wish to.” A pause – and no burning sensation resulted. “As I have said before, not all of my kind want to live with others in harmony. We fight, we steal, we even kill each other for countless reasons. ‘If you seek peace,’ it is said, ‘prepare for war.’”
The Yere said nothing – she waited for him to continue.
Which he did. “We are the children of planet Earth. We explore places we should not go. We do things we should not do. Yet we do these things anyway, out of curiosity. We are children, who are only starting to explore outside the cradle. We still need to grow up, to mature, to become better.
“As far as we have come, we still have so much further to go. But at the same time, we have hope. – We have hope that we rise above our old habits. We have hope that we can live among the stars, as well as Earth. We have hope, too, that one day we may stop our ill will to ourselves. If not for us, then for our neighbors – for you.
“So will you have us, Yere Kisữ?”
The Yere looked to the Yara – then they both looked back to him. “We will talk of this. Hõ Kãtṛ, rsiþẽ þesơ siapariþã a ơhriþẽ.” She stood from her daïs – and only then did Adam get the sense of how large she truly was. Even bipedal, and even discounting her half-meter-long horn, her head rose higher than his.
“Em.” The darker sister rose as well, only coming up to her own sister’s neck. Together they walked out of the throne room altogether, leaving him alone to contemplate what he had just said.
It wasn’t until they left that he realized that at no point in his impromptu speech that the burning sensation returned.
–·–·
The two sisters returned about twenty minutes later, and sat down upon their respective daïses. Yere Kisữ cleared her throat – in preparation for the scribe to jot down a second edict:
“Ṛsiþẽ, Yere Kisữ, sơhơriþẽ: Edem Zơmṛzed a mưlzḷ njalo wõ Ơhestil iluhatjaþya. Zana mưlyezḷ wõ ziñgail Kãtṛlatsḷ kelsi ilalmu. Ezeg zana sasa esj kelte ilalmu, nize yesṛ ilsơhơriþẽ.”
This one took longer to write, but only because it was a longer proclamation. And when the scribe finished, Yere Kisữ asked him, “May I see the map again?”
Wordlessly, he gave it to her.
She unfurled it, grabbing a quill of her own, and started marking another area on the map. “What you have proposed, we cannot accept – that place you cannot use.” Her penmanship was quick and efficient – only dipping the nub into the well twice to finish. “We think this is better, for you and for us.”
How so? he wanted to ask – and then he got the answer, when she showed him the map. She had marked a new square area, in black instead of red, and instead of in the desert in the south, now it was in a large grassy plain north of both Ginzol and Kãtṛlat. It was not their first choice, on account of the possibility of disrupting local wildlife, whereas that risk was diminished in a desert.
“Thank you, Yere,” he said. “Thank you, Yara. We will strive to work together, in harmony.”
“I understand as well this ends the matter?” the Yere asked.
“It now does,” he confirmed. “Vimẽ xurucru, a qapata.” He bowed in respect, then turned to leave. As he was walking, he heard the thunderous knock that swung the doors open, letting in another two ponies together as he left.
–··–
While I’m still here. . . .
Adam found himself in front of the timepiece shop again. The shopkeeper stood there, awaiting a new sale – and it wasn’t long before he spotted the human peering in. He definitely looked nervous at the sight of the deshelled alien.
The human, however, took it as an invitation to enter the shop, coins still by his side. “Ũyatalsa zjơezegưbưvư?” he asked him, with a slight tinge of nerves in his voice.
But as Adam approached the display case to retrieve the pocket watch he had worked for all this time – only not to find it anywhere in the case. Someone else had already bought it. Drat!
Adam knew failure. He knew rejection. They were simply parts of life. One could work to achieve success and still be robbed of it purely by chance. He shrugged, simply deciding to cut his losses before his heart could break any further.
He shook his head. “Xurucru,” he thanked anyway. He slipped the coins and bag back into his coat pocket, and stepped back outside. Even if he had bought the pocket watch, which was a heavy investment on his part, he should still have enough for a train ticket back to Ginzol – the fare, as he recalled, was only three degile, or half a dege, per passenger.
“It’s been hours since our last communication with Dr. Somerset,” Commander Darcy announced. “When we last spoke, he said that their leader, Yéré Kisoun or however it’s pronounced, was about to finalize negotiations with us about a colony site – with Somerset representing us.”
“Can you hail him?” Dr. Weiss asked.
“I’m afraid I cannot, even now.” He pointed out the window for emphasis. “The only portable radio is inside his EVA suit, and that cannot be removed.” He crossed his arms. “We’ll have to hear about the results after the fact. I can only hope they’re not exile for us lot.”
“I hope the same myself,” Anton spoke up. “It would be a lot of trouble for us awake, and us in sleep.” He pointed in the general direction of the cryogenic racks. “I do not know if the frozen people can handle a return trip – they were designed to last for seven years. Even approaching that limit may cause. . . how you say, povreždenije mozga? Brain damage, yes.” He sighed. “The best way to avoid it is to revive all of them – which I still now can do – but we do not have enough saccharides to put everyone back to sleep. And to say nothing of Dr. Somerset – how do we get him back? Do we leave him to die?”
“Doctor, you know as well as I do that the TPRU landers are designed for return ascent from the surface. The trouble is, it’s no longer spaceworthy.” He sighed. “Until he’s back where we can contact him, we can’t remind him about that – and until he’s back, we can’t hear the results of the meeting.”
Quite the quandary indeed.
“So now what?” Dr. Weiss asked. “Do we simply drift around in orbit, waiting for him to respond?”
“I’m afraid so.” He crossed his arms and directed his attention outside to Rhysling. “Look, I don’t like it as much as either of you, but we – ”
“Zulu-Alfa, this is Somerset,” the linguist’s voice suddenly sounded through the speakers. “Come in, over.”
“Well, speak of the Devil!” Commander Darcy grabbed up the receiver. “Go ahead, Somerset, over.”
“I have just returned from the Imperial capital,” he explained – “with good news and bad news. The good news is, Yere Kisữ and Yara Ariman have granted me citizenship, and are willing to do the same to the other colonists once they land. Please acknowledge, over.”
A resulting cacophony of cheering erupted from the bridge. Once the noise settled down to the usual level of ambience, Commander Darcy responded. “This is Zulu-Alfa,” he spoke. “That’s excellent news – and I take it you’ve also completed the language part of your mission, yes? Over.”
“Very nearly,” Dr. Somerset replied. “I still need to assemble some lesson plans for the rest of you. Over.”
“So what would the bad news be?” Darcy followed up. “Over.”
“Not so much bad news as it is a slight change of plans,” the linguist responded. “Yere Kisữ has permitted mankind to found a colony within the Empire’s borders, but has rejected your proposed landing site. Instead, she had indicated a plot of land north of Ginzol and Kãtṛlat – a grassy field, one that has never had any Indigenous development. The silver lining to that decision is that the area she designated is larger than in the desert to the south. Over.”
All three of them started looking to one another, realizing that they wouldn’t have to prepare for living in the desert after all. “I would not mind that at all,” Dr. Weiss said. “So long as it is not the forest. . . .”
“Yeah, I don’t like that place much either,” Commander Darcy commented. “Gotta be a real hellhole if Somerset needed a gun to survive it.” Then over the radio, “Roger that Somerset, we’ll be making adjustments to our descent schedule. Thank you for all of your hard work, Doctor – you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty. We’ll see you on the surface soon. Zulu-Alfa out.”
The commander hung up the radio. “So!” He then turned to the other two. “Let’s get started.”
–·––
“Iiiiiii!”
As Adam came up the path to Njeledirve’s farm, after making the call to Zodiac-Altair and noticing the usual market affairs that were taking place today had been called off, he only caught a glimpse of Njilidi before she squealed and promptly pounced on him. He was knocked onto the beaten ground onto his back, but when he tried to stand back up, he noticed that the pink mare had pinned him on the ground in a tight hug.
Upon receiving the news that Adam Somerset was now a citizen of the Harmonic Empire, Njilidi had apparently decided to celebrate the occasion the best way she knew how: with an impromptu party, with the entire town of Ginzol invited to attend. She had also extended an invitation to the rest of Zodiac-Altair, but for obvious reasons they could not come to enjoy the festivities. Still, it was a nice gesture.
From what he had learned from Twilight, Njilidi was the sort to throw parties for literally any sort of occasion – to the point where the residents of Ginzol actually had a betting pool on the date, time, and place for the next one. Adam took her to be extravagant and over-the-top – but for an occasion such as this? Becoming an Imperial citizen, the first human to do so – not to mention securing a place for the rest of his kind? That was worth celebrating.
Befitting the occasion as well, he also decided to get to know the ponies of Ginzol better – after all, they were the closest town to the soon-to-be colony. After some prodding from Njeledirve, Njilidi let go of him. Adam stood back up and started moving through the crowd. He chatted with the farrier about his trade, reminiscing over when he counted up his horseshoes and detected an apparent miscount. He had a word with the sisters Djuga – all three of them were simply frightened of outsiders, stemming from an apparently bad experience with a gryphon in their youth. Adam could hardly fault them. And then there was Khayay, the local schoolteacher who had sold him the language textbook. He would be forever in her debt, for kickstarting progress in human translation of the Harmonic Voice.
After a short and comical story about her class, Adam found the refreshments table. He noted that the local bakery had prepared a fresh batch of cupcakes and muffins – he wasn’t sure if the frosting was safe for him, since Dr. Weiss was laser-focused on only the things that could sustain the colony in the long term. But he was happy to take one of the muffins – he squinted, and thought he could see small bits of blueberries in them – well, Rhyslinger blueberries, anyhow. Those had been tested and approved, so Adam swallowed his worries and took a bite.
There was just a hint of tart to their taste, just like back on Earth. Adam got about halfway through the muffin before Njilidi noticed him. “Mưl hasarfu?” she asked him, bouncing over to the table. “E? E?”
He nodded. “Em, em! Mưl hasaru!” he confirmed. “Njilidi xurucru.”
But she wasn’t done quite yet. She quickly shoved something into his free hand, before bouncing off into the crowd.
Adam looked into his hand. This was a gift, wrapped in a colorfully-patterned paper and affixed with a ribbon tied into a bow, not unlike what he would get for his birthday. He finished his muffin, freeing up his hand to open the gift. The ribbon came away rather easily with just a simple tug, and the paper fell away along neat and crisp folds, revealing a small square-shaped black-shelled box. Once he found where it was hinged, he swung it open.
Inside was the pocket watch that he had once set his heart on – resting on its blue cushion, ticking away the minutes, hours, and seconds. It also had the picture frame inside the lid, but it was not empty – Njilidi had inserted a message for Adam. Apparently Twilight had let slip that he had his eye on this one specifically, so when he got word that he would be earning his citizenship, she slipped out of town the day before and bought it before he did.
He slipped the watch back into the box, which in turn disappeared into his pocket. “Hõ Njilidi!” he called out into the crowd. I’ve got to give her my thanks for this.
“Em?” she spoke up behind him.
He turned around on his heel to find her standing there, as though she had been there the whole time. He knelt down to her. “Esj ũyatalsail xurucru, hõ Njilidi,” he told her. He brought her into a tight hug, as tight as she usually made hers.
She returned it with just as much vigor. “Ơhestihe deznegi,” she told him. Welcome to the Harmonic Empire. . . .
·–·––
“Careful with that, Anton!”
“Yes sir, I know!” Dr. Konstantinov kept a vice-like grip on a light-blue box, one that had portable refrigeration attached to keep its contents frozen. He carefully brought it out of the bridge, through Altair, braking just enough to turn the mass towards Zodiac, and drifted it into the rotating section of the ship. Once inside, he twisted himself into Cryogenic Rack A, within Taurus. Suddenly he had to abandon the luxury of floating the cargo in microgravity, and grip tightly onto a handle on the side – as the centrifugal substitute threatened to make its contents shatter on the rotating floor. After all, this was a delicate operation, one that needed the people involved to take great pains to ensure it was carried out flawlessly.
Dr. Weiss was waiting for him inside Taurus – and for Louis, who was also carrying a similar box himself. She took the cryogenicist’s first, strapping it down with two more at the far end of the module. Dr. Konstantinov squeezed past the commander, pressing his back hard against Dr. Somerset’s now-empty cryo chamber, as he passed his box to her.
“How many more of these, sir?” he asked his superior.
“Just two; we’re almost done.” He indicated the ladder. “After you.”
Dr. Konstantinov started climbing, with Louis right behind. As he looked up, he saw how all the supplies needed for the voyage were now firmly strapped to both walls of Zodiac. Louis had to caution both of them against placing them along the rotating wall, especially the fragile items, despite how tempting and convenient it may have been.
Besides, it left them still with a good place for them to leapfrog out of the rotating environment back into weightlessness – which they both took advantage of. From there, it was a few simple twists and turns to return to the bridge, where the last two refrigerated containers were waiting for them.
Louis took a moment to read the label on the side: “HUMAN EMBRYOS, COUNT 1000 – ЧЕЛОВЕЧЕСКИЕ ЭМБРИОНЫ, 1000 ШТ.” – took the other one remaining, and handed this one off to Dr. Konstantinov.
“I know, sir,” he said unprompted, “I will be careful.”
“Pray you’re right,” Louis replied. “That’s the colony’s Plan B down the drain if you’re not.” He grabbed the sixth and final container for himself, then set off back to Taurus.
And out the bridge they went, carefully minding the gravitational pull Zodiac generated as they got closer to their goal. “There we are, my little ones,” Dr. Weiss muttered as she strapped down Dr. Konstantinov’s crate first. Then she did the same with Louis’s – and with a twang of the straps, she knew none of these crates were going anywhere.
“So let’s review the manifest,” he announced, “one last time. Obviously we have the embryos packed away just now, that’s good. And our sleepers?” He turned to the Russian.
“Still alive, sir,” he confirmed. “They should be able to survive the final part of the trip.”
“Good, good. . . .” The commander started climbing up the ladder back inside the central hub. “We have food, water. . . fuel and power, c’est correct. . . and communications, so we can phone home – how are our plant seeds, Weiss?”
“Fewer than two percent have been lost in transit,” she replied. “You will not miss them. Every species has survived.”
“Excellent!” He continued doing his quick yet thorough survey of the cargo, finishing it with “. . . and some starter kits for mining, building, and so forth.” He made sure to cast his gaze on both sides of the central hub, as a good portion of the lighter-weight cargo was also strapped to what was going to become the ceiling. He sighed deeply at four hours of hard work, well done.
Everything from A to Z had been transferred from A to Z.
“And radio’s in Sagittarius,” he reminded himself. “Good. Good.” He then turned to the other two. “Suit up and drink your brine. Anton – ” he pointed at him – “you’ll be staying aboard with me and the other popsicles. Weiss – ” Louis pointed at her – “you’ll board TPRU-2 and descend that way.”
“Yes, sir.” Dr. Weiss started suiting herself up, with the other two following along. Once they got their own waste garments on, they entered the back of their respective Sokol, slid their legs into their proper places, then their arms, then grabbed lanyards near the base of their spines. One firm tug over their shoulder, and the suits zipped shut. As they worked, each of them checked the others’ fit, making sure the other suits were sealed airtight to prevent decompression in transit.
“Elena, check your gloves,” Dr. Konstantinov mentioned.
“Hm?” Her right glove was correctly attached and sealed, but not her left one. She wasn’t surprised – it was the habit of a lefthanded user. She adjusted her left glove, until it fit more snugly around her wrist. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Of course.”
Without another word, she separated from the two, leapfrogging back into Altair, where her own lander was waiting – leaving both the commander and the cryogenicist alone.
“Hold on, before you forget – !”
The biologist turned around just in time to catch a packet of clear fluid flying towards her. “Thanks, sir!” She turned back and kept drifting.
“As for us two. . . .” Louis had two more packets of the same fluid, handing one to Dr. Konstantinov. “Et merde, y faut s’qui faut. . . .”
“Is it truly necessary?” the Russian asked cautiously.
“I’m afraid so.” He broke the seal to his packet. “Santé.” The salt water tasted bitter enough, but he knew, just as Konstantinov did, that they had to drink two liters of it to retain enough fluids for Rhyslinger gravity. Still, he drank it down, holding the packets in one hand, tightly balling the other into a fist – hoping the pain would distract him from the taste. It was another old habit from Maritime Command, one that had served him well aboard the Athabaskan.
Dr. Konstantinov simply contented himself with clicking his boots together, seemingly harder and harder with each succession.
Once Louis had ingested both liters of the foul substance, he pocketed his packet for later disposal and thrust himself into Sagittarius, where a radio and terminal waited dutifully for him. As he strapped himself into one of the seats, he noted Dr. Konstantinov follow along, strapping himself in, packet pocketed. Once they were both secure, Louis reached over to grab the radio. “This is Darcy, calling Weiss,” he opened. “Are you prepared? Over.”
“This is Weiss,” her voice responded. “Sealed and strapped into Tango-2. I can still taste the salt on my tongue. Over.”
“Any last words from you?” Louis asked. “Speak now or forever hold your peace, over.”
“There’s simply so much life to study on Rhysling!” she claimed. “It will take the rest of my life to catalog maybe a single percent that lives on the surface – below the surface, in its seas, and in the sky as well. I hope that my colleagues at ETH Züri are just as ready as I am.”
“Ever eager for a challenge, aren’t you Weiss?” He chuckled. “I’ll pass it on.” Then he switched radio channels, making sure Zodiac-Altair was aligned with Einstein and the Flandro Object. “This is Commander Louis Darcy of Zodiac-Altair contacting Earth,” he opened. “At this time, all cargo has been transferred into Zodiac, and nonessential personnel have boarded their own landing craft. We have successfully completed negotiations with the authorities of the Harmonic Empire, and are about to make planetfall. Before we do so, I have a few words to say to the people of Earth, in case we do not survive the journey.”
He stopped transmitting, to give himself a moment to sigh. “If I do not make it to the surface alive. . . .” He paused again to find the words. “Tell my new niece, Marie, that I have always loved her, the moment I have heard about her first. . . that I miss Mémé terribly, especially since I could not be there for her. To all of Earth, I pray that we have good luck.”
Now for Weiss. “Dr. Elena Weiss wishes to give her regards to her colleagues at ETH Zürich, and hopes they are ready for the burden of work cataloguing Rhyslinger life, as ready as she is.” And how about Anton? He looked up at him.
“Nothing to say,” Dr. Konstantinov shook his head, sensing the unasked question. “I have made peace with myself.”
Louis raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Suit yourself.” Then to the radio, “Dr. Anton Konstantinov has elected not to say anything.” Louis stopped to clear his throat. “But as I have said before, these may have been my final words. If so, you would hear next from Dr. Somerset, Dr. Konstantinov, or Dr. Weiss. Zodiac-Altair out.” Louis sighed, and placed the radio receiver back with the rest of the unit. He could hear his blood pounding through his ears. This was the most important, and at the same time the most dangerous, part of the mission.
He grabbed the command console and pulled up a text file. This contained a series of commands meant to be executed in the precise sequence given. Instead of copying and pasting these commands, he simply told the terminal to access the pre-written file and execute them for him. He crossed his fingers, and with those crossed fingers, hit the enter key on the command.
With that, the doorway between Zodiac and Altair started to seal shut, using a thick titanium aperture. It finished the process within the minute with a resounding thud, one that reverberated throughout the entire colony ship. A moment later, several explosive bolts fired outside, severing the two halves of the ship.
“Landing on the night side?” Dr. Konstantinov asked. “Is this safe?”
“For us, yes,” he replied. “Whole sequence’s automated, but I can take manual control as needed.” He tapped the top of the terminal. “Not like the ship needs daylight anyway.”
“And the Indigenous?”
“Dr. Somerset should have warned them of falling heat shield fragments,” he answered. “Not that they hadn’t had much prior experience with them.”
Altair would remain in orbit around Rhysling, to serve as a communications relay between the colony and Earth – but Zodiac, with all her cargo and all her personnel, awake or asleep, was on her way to the Harmonic Empire, once her orbit was stabilized. Whether they would make it remained to be seen. Outside, Louis and Anton saw TPRU-2 detaching and heading to the Rhyslinger surface, ahead of the rest.
“Notre Père, qui est aux cieux. . . .”
––·–·
It had been a fun day for Adam.
Besides celebrating his naturalization, he had made friends with a larger part of Ginzol, beyond just who he had met before.
He was also literally able to stomach a much greater variety of local foods, he had found. He chuckled as his mind went back to a dare from Njeledirve, that he couldn’t eat a particular plant leaf. He recognized its local name – to the ponies, it was a mildly toxic species, but after Dr. Weiss ran it through the usual rigmarole, she found that it had a slight painkilling substance within the fibers, and that he could easily survive ingesting it. With that knowledge in mind, he was easily able to chew and swallow it, even noting how it smacked of mint. On the upside, because of the terms, it meant the colony had a new local hand to help with construction.
It had been a fun day – but now it was time to head home. As he left Njeledirve’s farm alongside Twilight, he checked his new pocket watch – both hands were starting to near the top. He then looked to the western sky and noted the sun starting to set beyond the horizon. “Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” he asked her.
“A beautiful twilight, you mean.” She giggled. “It is lovely.” She stopped walking suddenly, eyes still glued on the horizon. “Back in Kãtṛlat, Yere Kisữ and Yara Ariman are turning the day into night as we speak. It always happens, and it will always happen. Yet I cannot help but watch it happen each and every time. It’s. . . magic, but not the kind of magic I use.”
He chuckled. “Yes, it really is magical, isn’t it?”
“Magical? As in, like magic?” She turned to him, a confused look suddenly on her face. “No, it really is magic – how can you explain something like that happening?”
Adam would have launched into a lecture about the heliocentric theory of the system, but two things stopped him. One: he had never seen the Sun and the Moon at the same time in the Rhyslinger sky, save for the brief transitory periods. And Two: it would spoil the moment.
So he simply left the question unanswered.
Twilight stood up and made her way off the beaten trail, onto the wild-growing grass that carpeted the ground. She sat there to watch the sun, and with a tap of her front-right hoof, invited Adam to sit with her.
He felt the grass as he descended – perfectly dry, yet filled with the verdance of life. He took a seat beside the unicorn, extending his legs in front of him while placing his hands and arms behind him, to prop himself up. He breathed deeply, taking in the slight earthy scent of the Rhyslinger evening air. “How often do you watch the sun set, Twilight?” he asked her. “Well, watch the Yere set the sun, as it were.”
“Not as often as I would like,” she admitted. “Usually I’m far too busy with studying – keeping my eyes inside a book, taking notes, and writing back to Yere Kisữ.”
“You keep to your studies so much,” he commented. “Then again, there’s a lot about my kind you still have to learn still.” He tore his attention away from the horizon, to look straight at her. “Do you study with your friends?”
“Not usually.” She noticed him staring at her at last, and returned the gaze to him. “Well, Elzơ helps keep me organized, and manages my time. . . but none of them are as interested in magic as I am.”
“I guess not.” He shrugged. “But then, where I come from, on Earth – we don’t use magic at all.”
“You don’t!?” She looked genuinely surprised. “Why not!?”
“Mostly because we haven’t created it,” he answered. “Or rather, we did, countless times. It’s a little hard to understand.”
She rolled her eyes. “Try me.”
Adam took a breath in. “There is a saying we have among our kind: ‘Any sufficiently-advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’”
“Technology? What is that?”
“It’s. . . .” Oh dear, he thought. It’s something so fundamental to human society, yet I can hardly define it. Maybe that’s the reason why. C’mon Adam, think! Think! “It’s the knowledge of how to make new things, the tools we use to build and fix these things, and the resulting things themselves” was the best he could muster off the top of his head. “That’s technology – and I think you have it, too.”
“We do?” She tilted her head. “How?”
Adam pondered for a moment for a decent example. “Rope,” he eventually decided. “You tie it. You can use it to tie something together, or to keep it near you. You can use it to climb the mountains – ” emphasizing by pointing out the mountains on the horizon – “to sail a ship across the sea, and many more things. Making and tying rope is a technology.”
Twilight didn’t have a response ready at the moment. She cast her gaze back at the fiery-orange horizon, taking in and processing what he had just said. “So we have technology. . . and magic. You have technology; why not magic?”
“It goes back to our saying,” he replied. “If the technology is ‘sufficiently-advanced’ – which is to say, if it is complicated enough – it can seem like a form of magic.” He watched her turn back to him, and knew to deliver the punchline then: “It’s only magic if you don’t know how it works.”
“So. . . your house, from the stars.” She pointed down the road, across his chest, in the general direction of the lander. “Is it magic?”
“To you, I guess it is magic,” he admitted. “Your horn – it’s magic to me. I don’t know how you can lift things with. . . whatever it is, that light. I don’t know how you can teleport with the same.” And he expected a lengthy lecture from her, one peppered with several hastily-defined borrowings from the Harmonic-Voice.
But she didn’t. Instead, she kept silent, watching Yere Kisữ finish lowering the sun.
Say, what if. . . ? Adam turned around, to watch the eastern horizon. If this phenomenon works the way I think it does. . . it does! Yara Ariman took the reins in the sky, raising the moon behind Kãtṛlat, silhouetting the mountains and the fortress in a silvery-white glow.
He turned to prod Twilight, to tell her to turn around, but found she already had. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked.
“It certainly is.”
“You might not believe this,” she told him, “but Yere Kisữ used to raise and lower the moon as well.”
That got his attention. “Really. What happened to the Yara?”
She pointed at the fortress. “You saw how the sisters worked with each other, yes?”
“I did.”
“They weren’t always like that. A thousand years ago – ” Is that really a thousand, or two hundred sixteen? Or is it just metaphorical? – “Yara Ariman saw the ponies of the Empire liked the day, but slept and ignored her night. One night she did not want to lower the moon to start the new day. Yere Kisữ tried to talk to her of this, but she could not hear her reason. Already she had become Zaraman, darkness itself – the same darkness she would cast upon all the Empire.”
Adam was spellbound. What more secrets does this story hold? Is it real, or is it myth?
“Yere Kisữ did not have many choices. Actually, she had only one: the Ơhseyse. She used the Ơhseyse to cast Zaraman from the Empire, and baniss her – ”
“Banish.”
“Banish. Banish her to the moon.”
To the moon? The idea tickled him. Man, if it was that easy, Neil should’ve tried pissing her off. His mind drifted to the Eagle hovering over the lunar surface, a cartoonish boot kicking Armstrong and Aldrin out, and simply stranding them there. Although I doubt that’s actually what happened. “Had it been a thousand years?” he asked.
“It has,” she responded, “only not long ago. On the longest day of the thousandth year, the stars helped her return to the Empire.” She then looked up to him, with a newfound smirk. “I was there. I saw it happen.”
Wait, was it really that recent!? “How long ago was it?” he asked her.
“It will be two years ago on the last day of Djugaman. That will be next week.”
Two years, two local years before Zodiac-Altair’s arrival. . . clearly the ship was in transit when it all happened. Then Adam had an idea, a radical one at that: Could it be that Zaraman may have created the Flandro Object all the way back then? Then how did we spot it in ’79?
Twilight continued, interrupting his train of thought. “When it happened, Yere Kisữ told me to find the Ơhseyse, and use them on her again. We went into the Kala-Uha Silasa, in the middle of the night. I was joined by my new friends – Njeledirve, Sulfoyarqa, Njilidi, Cesel, and Ṛljilufa, who helped me get to the old lat in the Silasa.”
‘Lat’? Oh. . . I don’t think I taught her that word yet. “Castle,” he translated.
“‘Castle,’ thank you,” Twilight continued. “Together, the te – six of us found the Ơheseyse – which were ourselves, as we discovered – and used them on Zaraman. She again became Yara Ariman.”
It was these six? Scant two years ago? Surely it has to be a ritual reënactment of some sort.
“Do you have any quest – ions. . . .” Adam looked down at her to see what made her stop mid-sentence. Something to the north caught her eye. He waved his hand in front of her eyes; she brought her hoof up to move his arm out of the way. Finally, Adam looked – and saw that it was happening: a large metallic structure, ringed in shape, was coming down from the twilight sky in a fiery blaze.
Zodiac was making landfall at last.
–··–
As the ringed section detached from her propulsive sister, smaller thrusters on the back of the ring pointed the ship into the proper angle – both to avoid skipping the entire structure off the atmosphere, like a stone on water, and to avoid disintegrating during reëntry. Aiding this as well were extensive and heavy reinforcement to the entire structure, and on its bow-turned-bottom, a massive heatshield – the largest mankind had ever conceived and constructed, made to span the entire width of the ring, and then some.
But that would not safeguard Louis or Anton against the shifting of the flow of gravity. Now, it permeated the entire ship, not just the sides, as the naturally-formed Rhyslinger pull overcame the artificial rotation. As tempting as it was to float about in the free-falling structure, he knew not to do so, save for an emergency.
Louis started to hear the slight wisp of atmospheric displacement outside of the hull. At some point, Zodiac had hit the Kármán Line, so he knew he was perhaps ten minutes away, by his reckoning. One way or another, it would soon end.
However, he couldn’t contact Dr. Somerset on the ground – nor Dr Weiss in transit – since the heat of reëntry meant that any radio signals couldn’t travel in either direction. Only now did he understand the linguist’s loneliness.
His anxiety started acting up – simply put, he couldn’t wait to learn more about the language from him. They just had to stick the landing. Below and above him, more explosive bolts fired – he heard the screeching of metal as the heat shield fell away, followed by massive retrorockets firing shortly after, and the fluttering of parachute cloth and cords coming out the top of the ring. By these forces combined, he was nearly flung up into the ceiling. The seat stopped him, keeping him in place – so he resigned to waiting. Still, he could tell by these events that they were nearly there.
·–
“Riwe ħalnjamu!?”
Adam looked up to see that Ħṛylilufa had joined the duo just now. “Zodiag ezegưbưnjemư!” he answered.
“Se? Sulatal?”
“Em, ese!” He pointed due north. Overhead, the ring had sprouted parachutes, to slow the descent now that it had penetrated the atmosphere. The heat shield assembly had been detached, and now four large retrorockets were firing. To Adam, it looked like everything was going according to plan. But just to be sure, he had to remind them – “Esj zanaz hipeyse fasḷkokosasḷ þesơ dolvia!”
“Ħem, serekiqhe ħilaksohoru!” Ħṛylilufa replied. “Qapata!” She flew away, but Twilight stayed by his side.
“Is something wrong?” she asked in English.
“No, nothing’s wrong.” He shook his head. “It will land in about a minute.”
She put a hoof to her chin. “How far away is it?”
“Pretty far.” He crossed his arms. “It’ll take a few hours of walking to reach it.”
“Not for me!” Before Adam could stop her, she lit her horn, brighter and brighter, obviously charging up something fierce and powerful. “I’m going to get us there quickly,” she told him. “Stand still!”
“Are you sure that’s – !?” But that was as far as he got before his surroundings changed. It was as if someone had made a jump cut in reality. The teleportation process was abrupt enough that the force of displaced air caused three apples to fall from a nearby tree.
–··–
Elena yelped when TPRU-2 hit the ground. After she unstrapped herself, she winced from the pain in her backside as she stood up. “Weiss to Darcy,” she hailed over the suit’s radio. “Tango-2 has landed safely on the surface of Rhysling. Did you also arrive safely? Over.”
After a moment, she got a positive response: “This is Konstantinov – Zulu has touched down safely as well. Where are you, Weiss? Over.”
She slithered open the window shutter – only to be met with a great cloud of smoke and dust, as Zodiac’s superstructure continued settling into the Rhyslinger earth. “I am near Zulu, Anton – I am exiting the lander at this time. We should meet outside Zulu. Acknowledge, over.”
“Copy Elena, but keep your distance. The hull is still very hot. Over.”
“Affirmative, out.”
Once the airwaves were silent, Elena started on her exit. She had two options: either she could dislodge her own Strauss suit from the suitport – or she could breach the seal on the ceiling, the same way she entered the capsule.
Climbing out would have been an issue for Dr. Somerset, but Elena had the advantage of having rebuilt muscle mass aboard Zodiac. That, coupled with the janky design of the suitport, meant the choice was obvious.
Outside, she heard solid impacting. She wondered what they could be – then remembered they were heat shield fragments. Whether from TPRU-2 or Zodiac itself – who could say?
Looking up, she found that door’s handwheel. Turning it five times, she then crouched down suddenly, to make sure that door did not hit her on the head. Thankfully, the hinges were stiff enough to slow it down considerably. Once it hinged open, her eyes met an alien starscape. After admiring it for a moment, she grabbed the door’s wall, hoisted herself up, grabbed the uppermost ledge, and climbed out of the lander.
She slid off the top surface onto the scaffold. Finding the ladder, she descended down safely. She hit the ground with a slight grunt – here was gravity, but not as much as on Earth, or on Zodiac. She looked forward – the dust cloud had settled down, the heat was still emanating from the hull. She kept her Sokol on, so they could reach each other.
But for now, she flipped her helmet up – something in the darkness caught her eye. When she got a better look – after breathing the fresh Rhyslinger air, of course – she knelt down and found a white lily-like flower. She took her glove off, and reached out to touch it. The petals were tough, leathery, like they could take a beating. Still, it was the first native plant she had ever touched – so she thought it appropriate to pluck it from the ground and pocket it for later. She’d have to ask the ponies what it was – through Adam.
On that thought, something struck her. “Anton, this is Weiss,” she hailed. “Is Louis still alive? Over.”
“Affirmative,” the commander’s voice answered for him. “We’re just clearing out some space to walk around. As tightly as we strapped everything down, of course the cargo’s bound to shift around. Where are you? Over.”
“I’ve just left Tango-2 and am heading to Zulu now,” she answered. “Over.”
“Copy, but keep your distance until further notice. Zulu out.”
She started running – the sooner she got there, the sooner she could see them. As she ran, she scanned her environment – of course she had seen the photographs taken by RPMR-1, but seeing a location and actually going there were worlds apart – literally in this case. For as much as she had discovered, she still had so much work left to do.
Naturally, however, that had to wait – as she drew closer to Zodiac, she could feel the heat of reëntry emanating from the surface of the structure. As it cooled down, she could hear the occasional pop! as the superstructure’s temperatures were still equalizing – even though a lot of it had already radiated away. Everything looked intact at first glance, but she knew that a thorough inspection would reveal the truth.
She got as close as she could stand. “I’ve arrived in front of Zulu,” she hailed. “Is it safe to approach? Over.”
This time it was Dr. Konstantinov’s turn to answer. “External temperature sensors read thirty-five degrees,” he answered. “It is safe, but do not enter yet – Darcy is still working with cargo. Over.”
“I’m working my way to Taurus airlock,” Darcy added. “I’ll meet you outside. Anton, check on all the cryogenic racks, make sure everyone’s unharmed, over.”
“Understood.”
Elena started making her way closer to the structure. As she arrived before Taurus, the airlock’s outer door started opening, and the Quebecois stumbled out. “There you are!” he greeted her. “Good to see you again.”
“Any trouble?” she asked.
“My restraints jammed, so I had to cut myself out.” He patted his pocket. “Other than that, the whole procedure has gone perfectly well.” He sighed, setting foot upon Rhysling. “Quel voyage tabarnak!” he commented. “But I’m glad that’s over now.” With renewed vigor, he put his hands together. “We’ve still got work to do, now that we’re planetside. While Anton’s checking out the freezers, we’d better give Zodiac a once-over, see if she needs repairs. Depending on the severity and extent, I’ll arrange for Anton to pull out engineers. . . .”
Suddenly, as though on cue, there was a pop! and a brilliant flash of violet light. This wasn’t from Zodiac’s hull – before them stood Adam and Twilight. Elena took a moment to note his change of attire – clearly they knew what clothing was, even if they usually went without them.
Without skipping a beat, the commander extended his hand to the linguist. “Dr. Somerset, I presume?”
Zodiac-Altair as a mission was divided into four phases. First was the construction of the ship itself in Terrestrial orbit, a task divided between the United States and the former Soviet Union, before being united, supplied, and crewed. The second was the voyage from Earth to Jupiter, through the Flandro Object, and ultimately to Rhysling.
The third was to land on the surface of Rhysling – this one had its own hiccups, as those awake at the time could attest, but it was nothing that courage, intuition, and no small amount of human coöperation could overcome. In any case, all of these had been completed successfully. All that was left was the fourth phase: survive. That meant hard work – settling, building, growing, mining, trading, experimenting. . . it’s a lot of work to do.
But they did not have to brave these alone. As each of the other forty-six soon discovered, these ‘ponies’ of the Harmonic Empire on Rhysling were more than willing to lend a helping hand to their new cosmic guests. Dr. Elena Weiss had shown them a number of local plants and meats were safe for human consumption – though of course, the meat needed to be prepared.
Help in that department came from a visiting Gryphon: Mirizveg. As the Empire knew only of the most basic methods, the Gryphons’ more intimate knowledge of such a craft helped ensure the colony’s survival, until the first Terrestrial livestock could be gestated and raised on the new world.
As Mirizveg started to leave the colony, hopefully in better hands than before, Dr. Adam Somerset thought he could hear her speaking in another language – not Ơhqer, nor any language native to Earth. He knew he had his work cut out for him on Rhysling, but knew as well he had a lifetime to carry it out. But he did at least help destroy the language barrier between the Harmonic Empire and the colony – and for his work, Commander Louis Darcy gave him the privilege of naming the place.
Lo, the settlement now bore the name New Tacoma – after his own cradle.
And truth be told, he certainly didn’t complete his mission alone: Ãtir Ḷsapa, alias Twilight Sparkle, had sworn to help the human learn her language, in exchange for learning his. In the process, both of them got more intimate knowledge of each other’s tongues, highlighting its similarities while emphasizing its distinctions – and by the end of the exchange, they were both fluent.
Still, Twilight insisted on using English for the colonists – but it did make her a reliable interpreter for her own brethren, at least. But at some point, New Tacoma had to learn the Harmonic Voice to communicate with their territorial hosts – a duty that fell to Adam and Twilight.
“So how will we do that?” she asked him over breakfast early one morning.
“There’s a certain order to it,” he said, looking up at her from across the table. “First, they’ll have to learn the sounds of the language. There are several that they’re bound to have trouble with – I’ve been making a few adjustments in the meantime, even, dare I say, testing them on you.”
“Oh, get out.” Twilight shoved his chest with her hoof – then burst out laughing. “I thought you were developing a lisp the whole time!”
“Or maybe it’s the start of a new dialect.” He cleared his throat. “Another thing – I don’t think we’d like to use voiceless nasals, but the good news is, we pick up clicks almost instantly.”
“Hmm. . . .” Twilight put her hoof on her chin, grabbing up a sandwich with what looked like daisies in her magic – a term she preferred to use for her telekinesis. “Can you sketch them out for me?” She took a bite.
“Sure, later,” he vowed. “But back on track – next we’d have to teach them the grammar. I’ve seen how. . . for lack of a better word, harmonic the Voice is in that part. Not like English at all.”
“I’ve noticed.” She tilted her head. “What’s up with that?”
“It’s something my father liked to say: ‘If it looks stupid but it works, it’s not stupid.’” He set down his spoon, to demonstrate it abstractly with his hands. “What that means is, it doesn’t matter how elegant, or for that matter how inelegant, you do something – so long as it gets the job done.”
“‘The end justifies the means,’ right?” she asked. That was another phrase she picked up from him.
“Mmm. . . not quite.” He shook his head, then tapped his finger to try to find his words. “It’s not so much bad as it is clumsy.” Though that is an interesting point. “Third, we’d have to have them practice speaking with ponies. The way I see it, Ginzol would get a lot of out-of-towners who wouldn’t be speaking clearly. I hope they’re ready for that.”
“We’ve had to put up with you getting random things wrong for a few moons now!” she shot back. “So don’t act like we’re not ready for forty-something more to do that too – trust me, we are.”
“If you say so.” Adam finished his communal breakfast and got up to stretch. With his joints properly loosened up, he next checked his pocket watch – it was still just after sunrise, and he had plenty of time to work. His eyes remained on the inserted photo of him and Twilight – the same one RPMR-1 took so long ago – before he closed the watch. “Care to join me? I’ve also got to write a paper on the Harmonic Voice, and I’d like for a native speaker to join me – just to make sure I don’t mess it up. If it’s any help, I’m actually almost done with it, so you don’t have to keep coming back.”
“It’d be my pleasure.” Twilight finished up just then, and snatched up both Adam’s and her waste as she got up. “And don’t worry about that – I don’t mind having to come back here all the time. Now, where do I – ? Oh yeah.” For the time being, waste from Earth and waste from Rhysling had to be kept separate, until materials recycling could occur.
As they were leaving the Cancer module, they rounded the corner and ran into Dr. Anton Konstantinov. Or rather, Adam stopped mid-stride, but Twilight planted her face into the Russian’s stomach. “Bbbbbbb!”
She hastily backed up. “Oh, Anton! Sorry, didn’t expect you to be here right now. Good morning!”
“Good morning, Twilight, and it is alright.” He ran his hand over his torso, particularly where he expected her horn to hit him. “It is not worst thing that has happened to me.” He turned to Adam. “Where are you going?”
“Out to work on my paper,” he answered. “Twilight’s going to check it, make sure it’s right.”
“I understand.” Anton nodded. “See you soon, Adam.”
Both of them stepped out the door of the central colony hub – really a decommissioned airlock/sterilizer combination unit – and started making their way to TPRU-1, now relocated on the outskirts of the territory. He had chosen the place as an intermediation between New Tacoma and the Empire at large. It was a decent enough arrangement to the commander, and Adam understood its purpose as a mere stopgap until more proper facilities could be built in the coming months and years – if everything went according to plan, which as far as they could tell, was still up in the air, yet they still remained optimistic about the outcome.
“Hey Adam!”
The linguist looked up on his way. “Yes, Commander?”
“Just wanted to get an update on your upcoming Harmony-Voice class of yours,” Commander Louis Darcy mentioned. “Do we have an ETA yet?”
“When it’s ready” was the best Adam could offer, though Twilight did promise a “Sooner than you might think,” against his hasty advice.
But Louis just laughed. “I’ll leave you two to it. ’Til next we meet!”
The colony’s land had a stream running through, forking off from the same source that fed those marking Ginzol’s northern and southern boundaries. An opportune choice for the colonists to place their first garden and greenhouse – which was where he found Dr. Elena Weiss working.
She heard the trudging, both bipedal and hooved, and looked up. “Twilight!” She waved her over for a moment. “I can use your help with this plant, please – it’s very stubborn.”
“Could you excuse me for a moment?” Adam let her leave him for the moment. For now, he simply sat back and watched her work with the biologist. “It looks like it needs a little more something in the soil,” she said. “Can’t say what, though. Ask Njeledirve when she comes here next. For now, just set it outside in that same pot, water it once a day, but leave it alone otherwise.”
Elena nodded. “Thank you, I will.”
Twilight flounced right back to the linguist. “Right then – where were we?”
–––·–
Adam unlocked the newly-installed door and opened it for Twilight. “Ladies first,” he said.
“Does it matter?” she asked, but accepted the invitation anyway. “But thanks.” She turned around as Adam was walking inside. “Why do you have locks on your door, anyway? I get if it’s for the toilet – but everything else, too?”
“Force of habit,” Adam replied after shutting the door behind him. “See, your things aren’t always safe on Earth,” he elaborated further. “If it’s out in the open and someone wants it, he or she just might take it.”
“That’s not right,” she said.
He shook his head. “No – and that’s our burden to bear.”
Twilight started to get the first glimmers of worry on her face. “Does that mean we’d have to start watching our homes in Ginzol? In Kãtṛlat?”
“I hope not.” He sat down in front of his own terminal, one he would need for the task at hand. “I’ve worked hard to earn the Empire’s trust. I don’t want to see it thrown away.”
She sighed. “Me neither. You’re a good person, Adam – I’d hate to see you have to leave.” She looked at the screen. “But never mind that – why don’t we get started?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Adam cracked his knuckles. “Alright, let’s just get started with – ”
Suddenly a wisp of green smoke floated in front of Twilight – which quickly materialized into a scroll. “Aaa?” She snapped it up in her magic, undid the golden seal and red band, and unfurled it before her eyes. She read it silently to herself, quickly scanning the lines. Adam thought it improper to pry, and instead turned his attention back to the work-in-progress document on the screen. He remembered when this computer was first switched on inside the lander – apparently the strain was too much for TPRU-1’s own power supply, so he had to ask Twilight to cannibalize RPMR-1’s to provide the necessary boost.
“So, anyway – ” she resealed the letter – “what do we have so far?”
“Everything so far can be seen on these notes.” He indicated the sheets of paper to his left – yellow, lined, covered with messy handwriting and crude diagrams. “I just needed to take these, and put them here.” He tapped the cathode screen. “I’m nearly done with that step. And since I have only one chance to submit a correct paper, you will make sure I get everything about it right – from what I hear around town, you’re good at that sort of thing.”
She giggled. “And don’t you forget it. I’ll make sure you get it right the first time!” She lifted her rear off the ground. “Scoot back, I wanna join you.” When he did so, she lifted herself straight off the ground and into her lap. “I want to see what you’re doing.”
She wasn’t any lighter than the night she fell asleep in his lap in the library, but he had gotten used to the weight – besides, most of it was on her hooves still, which were firmly on the seat between his legs. In a way, she reminded him of a cat. Maybe ‘Antir’ wasn’t so far off the mark after all.
Hopefully with every distraction now out of the way, the first thing he did, naturally, was to do some specific formatting in the document, using a technique she hadn’t seen before. “Lay-tecks?” she tried to pronounce.
“Pardon?”
“That thing you’re using.”
“Oh – it’s [ˈleɪtʰɛx],” he pronounced for her. “LaTeX is what I use where I work. It gives you a simple, plain way of presenting your work, that would look the same no matter who, where, or when someone compiles it.” Adam thought it was a ridiculous requirement for teaching at MIT, but now he had to admit it came in handy for the Zodiac-Altair mission. Guess you win this one.
Twilight raised an eyebrow. “‘Compile’?”
“To assemble, to build – but for writing specifically.”
Her eyes widened. “So it’s safe to say that I could compile Yere Kisữ’s letters?”
“Into a book, sure.” He nodded. “Uh, little help here – is this correct?” He pointed at a specific line.
She squinted “I have no idea what I’m looking at,” she soon admitted.
“The noun classes. I’m listing examples here. Is ṛyli in the right place?”
It took Twilight a moment to try to figure out what the words he used for the classes meant. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“Really? Could’ve sworn that. . . ah well, thanks anyway.” He continued scrolling through the LaTeX document. “How about this here?” He tapped a Venn diagram. Twilight was barely literate in American English, much less the IPA, so he had to sound each of them out for her: [e . ɤ . ɯ .. ɑ . o . u .. i . ɹ̩ . l̩]
“I recognize those sounds,” she said. “Yes, that is correct, well done Adam!”
He chuckled. “Thanks, Twilight. Now, what about. . . ?” He kept scrolling through the document. “. . . this? I put it at the very end, since I thought it was a really interesting part of the Voice.”
She squinted at the screen. “This goes back to the first thing, right?”
“Mhm?”
“In that case. . . yes, that’s right.”
He took a second look at the sentence. “How interesting. And here I thought it was the weird quirk of a dialect.”
She shook her head. “Nope, all of us do that. I could tell you why, if you want. We have a lot of stories to explain why the Voice is the way it is.”
“No, that’s okay, I could probably figure it out. . . eventually. Although. . . .” He scrolled back up to another section and typed another sentence there. “Thanks for pointing that out, by the way – the stories on the Voice.”
She smiled. “My pleasure!”
With that out of the way, he went through his paper notes one last time, trying to find anything that could aid him in fleshing out the body of the paper. But he found he had covered just about everything on the Harmonic Voice – all that was missing was to compile a dictionary and phrasebook, two herculean tasks he would have to undertake at some point. But for the time being, anyone could read and learn about how the language worked under the hood.
“What are you doing?” she asked when she noticed him updating the author section and bibliography.
“I’m adding you to my paper,” he said. “You’ve been a great help to me, so you should get some of the credit.” Not the first time anyone’s done that. . . .
“But I didn’t do anything!”
“You did,” he insisted. “All those weeks and moons ago, when we first met, when we agreed to teach each other. That’s quite a something.”
“Yes, I guess I did. . . .” She put her hoof to her chin. “But it still doesn’t feel right, putting my name on a letter meant to go to Earth.”
“Hey, hey, hey. . . don’t worry about it. Your work is just as important as mine, besides.” He knelt down from his chair, hand out.
She recognized the gesture, and returned it reflexively – placing her front hoof squarely in his palm. Then she was surprised to find it quickly evolved into an embrace. She sighed. “Thank you. I must’ve needed that.”
“To be honest, I might’ve too.” He straightened himself back to the screen. “Let me compile it here, so you can see it for yourself.” He input the ‘compile’ command, and a progress bar flashed on the screen. Ticking by took some time, since it had to construct some vector-based diagrams as well – but it wasn’t anything too complicated; anyone with a half-decent home computer from 1991 could do it. In two minutes, it was ready to be viewed. “Check it out!”
Twilight stood up on her hind legs, planting her front ones on the desk, as she drank in the sight of the compiled document. “That’s a weird title,” she immediately said.
He snickered. “I’ll explain it later, it’s rather funny.”
“If you say so. Let me see more.” As Adam scrolled, she seemed to skim each page, catching random sentences here and there, full of words she had never heard of before, and could guess the meaning of only half. It felt. . . odd, in a sense, to see her first language reduced to a varying set of rules and diagrams and so forth.
“You like it?” he asked her.
“I do!” She settled back into his lap, much more gently than before. She pawed the screen. “But I can’t hold it.”
“No. . . not yet. But we’ll get there someday.”
“I hope so.” She hopped down from the chair. “For what it’s worth, everything is correct. Send it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saved his work first, as anyone should, backing it up to not one but two floppy disks – one of which he would give to the commander to print out, the other he would keep on hand just in case. From there, he opened the transmission protocols for the colony, and directed the destination to NASA’s Deep Space Network. Once everything else checked out, he hit the return key to start transmitting the .tex file. “It’s away.” He grabbed one of the floppies. “Let’s go pay Darcy a visit.”
“Okay!” She opened the door for him with her magic, letting him leave the building first. She then shut the door behind herself, and let Adam lock it behind him. They set off on the road to the central hub, watching the children of planet Earth hard at work building a new home on the cool, green hills of Rhysling.
···–·
A well-beaten blue Holden hit a pothole in the paved road, splashing that morning’s rainwater puddled within. It made a hard left turn onto Discovery Drive, and continued going straight on the winding road.
It went over a bridge spanning Paddys River. The driver couldn’t help but take a look down into the stream, rainwater reïnvigorating it with new life. He then grabbed a sip from his morning coffee – a necessity to work such an early shift – before setting it back in the cupholder. A minute later, he crossed another bridge, this time spanning Larrys Creek, and from there it was another left turn, more gently this time, before the vehicle reached the Tidbinbilla Tracking Station – part of NASA’s Deep Space Network.
The driver noted the empty visitor’s parking lot, but kept driving straight, slowing down as he reached an automated gate – basically the only thing separating the visitor’s center from the Station facility proper.
He leaned over to the left side, rolled down the window, and inserted his identity badge into a card reader there. The photo matched his face, even accounting for natural aging, proving that he was Lars Northyard, a CSIRO employee. In a few moments, the reader noted that, yes, all of this was true, and yes, he was authorized to enter at this time to begin his shift.
Once the gate slithered all the way to the left to let him in, Lars made his way to the staff parking lot. It was empty at this hour – four in the morning was not an ideal time for most people, but he was assigned this shift anyway, to monitor the night sky and receive signals from whatever probes happened to be facing the Station at that time. Yes, that included weekends, for space missions did not take sabbaticals. It could be unpredictable work – some nights were completely quiet, others were lit up like the Yankees every fourth of July.
This shift did at least pay the most.
Lars parked his car in his spot and killed the engine. He got out the right side, ID badge still in hand, along with his coffee. He looked up at one of the facility’s dishes – well, not just any dish: this was DSS-43, the largest steerable parabolic antenna in Australia, and indeed anywhere in the southern hemisphere. But it was something he saw every morning – nothing special about it this time, except it was pointing to where Jupiter would be, anticipating a signal from New Tacoma.
The door was a few dozen meters away from where Lars parked, thankfully, and the lot was well-lit between the building and the lampposts here and there. As he walked, he saw the three empty flagpoles lining the entrance. No banners flew from here now, given the rainy conditions, but he knew that by the time he clocked out, there would be flying the Stars and Stripes, the Rojigualda, and of course the Australian National Flag.
He walked past these flagpoles onto the tile walkway. At the door, he swiped the badge into another reader, which instantly read the magnetic stripe, unlocking the door for him.
The interior was coldly-lit with fluorescence, but he was not alone. “Morning, Lars,” another man greeted, standing up to see him.
“G’morn’, Frank,” Lars returned. “Got anything in lately?”
“NASA boys said to keep an eye out for signals from the Pathfinder,” Frank replied. “So far, she’s all quiet on the red planet.” He sat back down. “Same story for Zed-Ae, ’fore you ask.”
“Figures, cheers.” Lars sipped his coffee. “Damn, this is a piss-weak cuppa this morning.”
“They always are,” his coworker quipped. “You always get the cheap stuff at the servo.”
“Oh pull your head in, mate.” He started walking over to his computer. “Alright, lessee what’s up with the Yanks. . . .” He started logging on, and the first thing he did was check his email. “Just the usual news, dadeeda. . . hold on just a tick.” He next checked for signals from Jupiter, and discovered that something did come in after all, contrary to what his colleague had reported. “Frank, what is this?”
“Eh?” Frank started walking over to his computer. “No, that can’t be right. I would’ve known at that time if it came in. I should’ve known!”
“Might’ve taken one too many naps on shift, ya bloody tool!” Lars chuckled at the revelation. “Too knackered for this line of work, I’d bet. Anyway, let’s see what’s here.” He opened the reässembled transmission packets, and started decoding them. It was way too small to be an image, so it had to be some sort of written report from New Tacoma – it turned out to be a .tex file. “Dot tex? Who uses that again?”
“Could be that Somerset bloke, check the metadata.”
“Hmm. . . .” He pulled up the metadata viewer, and saw indeed that the file was last modified by one Dr. Adam Somerset. “Too right. What’s his game again?”
“He’s the linguist, remember? Set foot on Rhysling first, got buddy-buddy with Twilight Twinkle or whoëver, eventually learned to speak their language. Honestly, how can you not remember that? The States still won’t shut the hell up about it.”
Lars turned around. “What, you wanted the commies to have that first too?”
“I – no?”
“Thought so. Though they’re still waiting on him to tell us about this ‘Harmonic Voice’ crock o’ shite.” He sighed. “What a mug, that Somerset.”
Frank had to ask, “Did you try looking at it?”
“Lessee. . . .” Lars opened the file. “Oh, would you look at that? He actually did come through. About time!”
“You know the drill, Lars,” Frank butted in. “The Yanks want to see that, so we gotta report it to them.”
“Yeah yeah, I know.” Now that the mission’s linguistic payload had finally delivered, he was all too curious to see what it was that he found. Screw the rest of the world, they can wait – he had a front-row seat to a piece of history, and he’d be damned if he were to give it up first. “The markup’s really hard to read,” he eventually conceded with a sigh. “Don’t TeX files need compiling or whatever, or is this just it?”
“Somerset must’ve sent us the raw deal, from the looks of it,” Frank answered. “Good for compression, bad for actual viewing. He’s probably counting on someone back home to compile it for him.”
“Actually, doesn’t this place compile TeX files somewhere?” Lars sat up and looked around the room.
“Yeah, you can do it with the terminal.” Frank tapped the relevant icon on the screen. “Use pdfTeX.”
“Oh.” Lars closed the .tex file and started the terminal. “Let’s give ’er a go. . . .”
STRAIGHT FROM THE HORSE’S MOUTH: A DISCOURSE ON THE HARMONIC VOICE
Dr. Adam Somerset & Ms. Twilight Sparkle New Tacoma colony, Rhysling 1997-08-09
Abstract
On 30 June 1997 (ship time, to account for any general-relativity differences), the interstellar colony ship Zodiac-Altair arrived in orbit of a world mankind named Rhysling. Per Commander Louis Darcy’s orders, a probe was dropped onto the lush surface, but contact was lost almost immediately. While exhausting every other means of regaining contact with the equipment to retrieve its data, short of physical intervention, by serendipity the crew had also discovered evidence of an extraterrestrial civilization on the surface as well.
Thus Commander Darcy had sent the author alone to the surface, to make contact with the Rhyslinger Indigenous and document their language in a way that the rest of the Zodiac-Altair crew could learn. This process was not an easy one, considering how closely language and culture are tied to one another, not to mention an assumption of a complete and utter lack of commonality between their language and those on Earth.
That assumption proved correct in some areas, and misguided in others. After discovering their language is articulated orally, with phonemes produced by air moved by a diaphragm through the oral and nasal cavities, it became clear that, in terms of mechanics, it would be possible for a human to speak as the Indigenous do, and vice versa – an amazing discovery, considering the beings with which we were communicating were largely equine in appearance.
In terms of grammar, however, it proved a challenge for the author to master. It took a natively-printed codex, along with guidance from a native speaker (to whom insisted be taught English), to master the Indigenous language – which the author had later come to learn calls itself Ơhqer (may also be spelled “Eochqer”), or literally the Harmonic Voice (ơh [ɤx], “harmony” + ner [neɹ], “voice,” “speech/language”). A fellow colonist humorously suggested “Equestrian,” and against better judgment, this paper will be using such a term.
[Fitting, then, that the equines’ nation should call itself Ơhesti (“Eochesti”), or literally the Harmonic Empire (ơh + esti [esˈti], “state,” “nation,” “empire”), but naturally the author digresses.]
After weeks of practice with reading, writing, and speaking the Voice, the author was able to negotiate his own Imperial citizenship and a colony site for the rest of Zodiac-Altair – a site later dubbed New Tacoma, after the author’s birthplace. He had also been tasked with providing an easier avenue for the rest of the colony, and mankind at large, to learn Equestrian. This paper shall attempt to serve an introductory purpose, with supplementary materials to further mankind’s understanding of the language, and any necessary errata should the need ever arise, all to be produced at later dates.
Here is documented its phonology, its grammar, its dialectology, its writing system, and other miscellanea that the author feels the reader ought to know to further his or her fluency in the language, all checked against a native Equestrian speaker, one Ãtir Ḷsapa [ɑ̃ˈtiɹ l̩sɑˈpɑ], alias Twilight Sparkle, whose contributions before and during this paper had proved major enough to warrant her coäuthor status here.
1 Introduction
Equestrian is an extraterrestrial language spoken by about ten million sapient equine analogues (hereafter “ponies”) who compose the Harmonic Empire on Rhysling. Genetic relationships with other Rhyslinger languages have yet to be determined. Most Imperial citizens are monolingual in Equestrian, only using other languages when interpreting with other political bodies.
A few phonological and grammatical principles remain, despite the language being open to borrowing words from other languages. Indeed, it has not been determined yet if Equestrian is a creole of multiple other languages. It is also unknown at this time where the language originated within the Empire, or indeed if the language is native to the region.
However, as the Empire comprises the largest and most powerful native political body on the planet, it would be pertinent for the time being at least to use Equestrian in communications with the Empire, then rely on Imperial interpreters to communicate with the rest of Rhysling.
2 Phonology
Equestrian has a set of fourteen vowels – seven oral and seven nasal – and two syllabic consonants, neither of which can occur nasally. Given the language’s total lack of polyphthongs, this gives a total of sixteen possible syllable nuclei.
Figure 1a: The Equestrian vowels.
Figure 1b: The Equestrian syllabic consonants.
Equestrian also has a perfectly regular consonant series.
Figure 1c: The Equestrian consonants.
Differences in phonology are detailed further in Section 4. Please note that Equestrian does have a native writing system, details of which are found in Section 5; for ease of readability, this paper will use the Romanization system shown in the phonological charts presented ante, along with any IPA transcriptions of newly-introduced Equestrian words.
Neither in the consonants nor in the vowels is any length distinction made – even allophonic length is not present in the language; e.g. dḷgãgru [dl̩ɡɑ̃ɡˈɹu] (“I need to go”), in combining dḷgã [dl̩ˈɡɑ̃] + ak [ɑk], drops the vowel from ak, assimilating the second root into the first, a sandhi process appearing to be present even in slow, careful speech. Further, the final vowel in the first root determines whether it is oral or nasal, simply by remaining in the state in which it is, i.e. a theoretical word dḷgagru combining dḷga + ãk would keep the oral vowel in the vowel sandhi.
In fact, any phonemic length appears to be in free variation, e.g. [ɑ], [ɑː], [ɑːː], and even [ɑ̆] are all phonemically /a/. The reason(s) why is/are not certain at this time, but it is possible it had always been this way. My current working theory is that lacking such a feature would let the language work better in song (see Section 5).
2.1 Phonological Harmonies
Equestrian vowels and consonants work in strict harmonies, both with rules that can never be violated; even loanwords are made to comply with them.
*However, since the word does not have the ‘recessive’ diacritic(s) as well, they are considered part of the ‘dominant’ harmony as well.
Each harmony has ‘dominant,’ ‘recessive,’ and ‘neutral’ categories, each specifying their own writing rules. The ‘dominant’ harmonies are assumed to be the default, and need no special markings. The ‘recessive’ harmonies require special diacritics to indicate the harmony; they only need to be marked once per word, and only on the first relevant glyph. The ‘neutral’ harmony does not influence the harmony into either direction, but has every vowel explicitly marked in writing.*
As Equestrian presents an agglutinative grammar, there arises the question of how the harmonies are applied in compound words. The harmonies in a given word are determined by the first root; even prefixes comply with the first root. This means that even a ‘recessive’ harmony can influence its corresponding ‘dominant’ harmony to comply, if the first root has the recessive harmony.
Vowels are divided along a rounding harmony, into these categories: ‘solar,’ ‘lunar,’ and ‘rainy.’ ‘Solar’ vowels are unrounded, and serve as the dominant harmony. ‘Lunar’ vowels are rounded, and serve as the recessive harmony. ‘Rainy’ vowels, while unrounded, are neutral.
Figure 2a: The Equestrian vowel harmony.
Consonants are divided along a pharyngeal harmony, into these categories: ‘aquatic,’ ‘terrestrial,’ and again ‘rainy.’ ‘Aquatic’ consonants are voiced, and serve as the dominant harmony. ‘Terrestrial’ consonants are voiceless, and serve as the recessive harmony. ‘Rainy’ consonants, while voiced, are neutral.
Figure 2b: The Equestrian consonant harmony.
An astute reader might notice that the neutral consonants and vowels not only share the same term, but also almost perfectly reflect each other. Section 5 further emphasizes this relationship, while Section 4 presents a few dialectal deviations from this pattern.
2.2 Phonotactics
Equestrian phonotactics are quite simple, albeit not without its complexities. A few rules exist in the language, and loanwords do not appear to be exempt from any of them.
The syllable structure is (C)V(C). Any consonant can serve as an onset or a coda; the nucleus can be any vowel, oral or nasal, or either syllabic consonant. As stated before, no diphthongs, triphthongs, etc. exist in Equestrian; for instance, any falling diphthongs ending in [i̯] are really analyzed as a sequence of a vowel followed by [j] as the syllable coda. If a loanword has a consonant cluster larger than two syllables, or if it has two syllables not straddling a syllable break, one or more [e] or [ɑ], depending on the vowel harmony (see Section 2.1, ante), are inserted to break up the cluster.
The primary stress always falls upon the final syllable of a word, unless it is a monosyllable, in which case it is not stressed at all. Only a single tone exists in Equestrian: a simple rising tone, placed upon the final syllable. Unlike the primary stress, it also applies to monosyllables. It does not matter whether the tone is [˩˥], [˩˧], [˧˥], or any other rising tone; it only matters that the tone ends higher than when it started. Consequently, it may be encoded in IPA transcriptions with the tone diacritic [◌̌], as its weakness of ambiguity perfectly suits Equestrian’s purposes. (See Section 3 for its grammatical purpose.)
Corresponding ‘rainy’ vowels and consonants do not appear next to each other. Which is to say: [i] and [ĩ] do not appear adjacent to [j]; [ɹ̩] does not appear adjacent to [ɹ]; and [l̩] does not appear adjacent to [l].
Nasal consonants do not assimilate position based on the following consonant.
3 Grammar
Equestrian grammar, while paralleling many Terrestrial languages, is markedly different from most. This section will explain how the language functions. The reader should take note that it will assume one specific dialect (traditionally associated with the farming caste); any dialectal deviations from this norm are listed in Section 4. Additionally, to simplify this paper, the affixes will all use the ‘solar’ and ‘aquatic’ phonological harmonies.
3.1 Noun Classes
Equestrian nouns are sorted into three classes, of which ‘animate,’ ‘magical,’ and ‘inert’ are the closest English translations for the language’s internal terminology. This is not to be confused with ‘masculine,’ ‘feminine,’ and ‘neuter,’ as nouns are not divided along gender lines per se; in fact, sexual differences are not expressed anywhere in Equestrian grammar at all. Another thing to note is that the definitions given here are not perfectly strict, and many exceptions abound – either through cultural definitions, or from a possible older noun-class system; the true reason(s) is/are not known at this time.
‘Animate’ nouns, as the term suggests, include living organisms, including the ponies themselves, and geographical locations. Some inanimate nouns are included in this list, such as ṛyli ([ɹ̩jˈli], “rain”), whose natural fall is seen as a force of life itself, rather than gravity forcing the water down (despite modern Imperial science and technology having perfected weather manipulation and control).
‘Magical’ nouns are a little harder to describe, as their definitions are clearly and deeply tied into Imperial culture. By and large they are composed of items one might consider ‘animate’ or ‘inert’ instead, along with celestial objects both local and distant, events, and any technology with which they are not familiar, either through sheer novelty, or those introduced by mankind. It would seem Arthur C. Clarke’s Third Law best describes this last point: “Any sufficiently-advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Perhaps in that vein, some of these items truly are magical, as their underlying mechanics demand further human scientific study to understand.
‘Inert’ nouns are the miscellanea class; anything that does not fall into either previous class. Certain items we know to be ‘animate’ are classified as inert, i.e. microörganisms.
Important to note is that these noun classes are not marked on the nouns themselves at all, which suggests this noun class may have been invented, either by the Imperial state, or by a single location from which it organically spread. Noun classes instead are marked on the verb, as the agent (the object, if any, being irrelevant in class).
3.2 Noun Case Declension
Nouns have a simple case declension system, composed of merely six (although some additional cases are detailed in Section 4): ergative, absolutive, genitive, dative, comitative, and prepositional. Note that these case endings do not change with the noun’s class, but may change based both on consonant and vowel harmony and according to any conflicting ‘rainy’ vowels and consonants.
The ergative (null) and absolutive (-ley [ˈlej]) cases also illustrate Equestrian’s morphosyntactic alignment, although the ergative case is very rarely evoked, save for a few special circumstances, including official government speeches and where the agent needs to be indicated.
The genitive and dative cases use the endings -zḷ [ˈzl̩] and -we [ˈɣe].
The presence of a comitative case (-ez [ˈez]) is unusual, especially since while the language also has an instrumental case, said case is strictly dialectal. The presence of the comitative case in all dialects appears to reflect the close-knit social structure in the Empire’s culture.
The prepositional case (-il [ˈil]) is a ‘catch-all’ for any other cases that are expressed by a particle placed before the noun. This includes any cases that are also expressed as an affix in other dialects.
3.3 Noun Numbers
Nouns decline for four numbers: singular, dual, paucal, and plural. These suffixes are -imẽ [iˈmẽ] for the dual, -ize [iˈze] for the paucal, and -ye [ˈje] for the plural. The singular is unmarked. Each of these numbers are placed directly after the noun but before any applicable case suffix.
Occasionally, due to the ‘rainy’ sound rule, these endings would have to be changed. If the noun ends in either syllabic consonant, [ɹ̩] or [l̩], the dual suffix changes to -ymẽ [jˈmẽ] and the paucal suffix changes to -yze [jˈze]. If the noun ends in [i] or [ĩ], the suffixes are assimilated as -mẽ [ˈmẽ] for the dual, -ze [ˈze] for the paucal, and -e [ˈe] for the plural.
The paucal number covers sets of three, four, five, or six items. This is a strict grammatical rule, one suspected to be tied into Imperial culture.
3.4 Pronouns
Equestrian recognizes five different pronouns, three of which are divided into the four numbers as detailed in Section 3.3, ante. These are the first person, the second person, the third person, the indefinite (also known as the zero person), and the reflexive.
The first-person singular absolutive pronoun is ṛs [ɹ̩s]. Its dual form is ṛsiþẽ [ɹ̩siˈᵑʘe], its paucal ṛsise [ɹ̩siˈse], and its plural rsye [ɹ̩sˈje]. Ṛsiþẽ functions as the ‘royal We’ in older and official speech.
The second-person singular absolutive pronoun is vẽ [ʙẽ]. Its dual form is vẽymẽ [ʙẽjˈmẽ], its paucal vẽyze [ʙẽjˈze], and its plural vẽye [ʙẽˈje].
The third-person singular absolutive pronoun is mưl [mɯl]. Its dual form is mưlimẽ [mɯliˈmẽ], its paucal mưlize [mɯliˈze], and its plural mưlye [mɯlˈje].
The indefinite absolutive pronoun is wo [ɣo]. The reflexive absolutive pronoun is ezeg [eˈzeɡ].
3.5 Numerology
Equestrian works on a senary counting system. Body counting is done first on the knees, then on the ears. Sãlu [sɑ̃ˈlu] indicates one item, iþã [iˈᵑʘɑ̃] two items, kurso [kuɹˈso] three, deñe [deˈŋe] four, uru [uˈɹu] five, and iza [iˈzɑ] technically six, but in the context of the language it is best understood as ‘ten’ items. Numbers beyond 106 combine roots in a specific order, in a fashion not too dissimilar from Japanese: 116 is izazãlu [izɑzɑ̃ˈlu] (note the consonant-harmony compliance), 126izaymã [izɑjˈmɑ̃], 206 is iþãysa [iᵑʘɑ̃jˈsɑ], and so forth. 1006 is ayla [ɑjˈlɑ], and 10006 is awidṛ [ɑɣiˈdɹ̩].
An astute reader can note the parallels between the numerals and the grammatical numbers, which I suspect makes me think of a strong conscious influence from a governing body. One should note that awidṛ does not have an equivalent grammatical number, but it is also used to mean ‘countless,’ in a similar vein to Greek μῡρίος (mȳríos, ‘ten thousand’). For most day-to-day usage, these numbers will suffice; however, for actual mathematical usage, which frequently exceeds these basic limitations, awidṛ can be partially reduplicated, i.e. awidṛwidṛ [ɑɣidɹ̩ɣiˈdɹ̩] for ‘1,000,0006.’ This technique does not appear to have an upper limit save for practicality.
The Empire heavily favors this counting system, primarily for its mathematical advantages over decimal, but applies it as well to all their weights and measures, including timekeeping and datekeeping, upon which I will elaborate further in the following subsections. It may initially appear to be a digression, but the reader should bear in mind that this facet of their civilization is important to recognize when dealing with the Harmonic Empire.
See Section 5 for the Imperial mathematical notation.
3.5.1 Timekeeping
First, the reader should note that the Rhyslinger day is exactly two-thirds of a Terrestrial day, and somehow not one second more or less. While oddly coincidental, this provides an excellent basis upon which to compare perceptions of the progression of time.
The Imperial clock works similarly to ISO 8601, but nonetheless divides the Rhyslinger day differently. First is the kãtṛtal [kɑ̃tɹ̩ˈtɑl], which lasts eight Terrestrial hours. The word has no direct equivalent in English, but can be understood as a ‘half-day;’ traditionally, the dividing line between one kãtṛtal and the next was the sunrise and sunset, though naturally when these occur vary from day to day. The equinoxes are the only days of the year when they are perfectly half-and-half.
From there, each kãtṛtal is divided into six (610, 106) ‘hours,’ or izãdal [izɑ̃ˈdɑl], each of which lasts eighty Terrestrial minutes. One can see that the unit is derived from the root for ‘106,’ a pattern that will continue to follow.
Each izãdal is divided into thirty-six (3610, 1006) ‘minutes,’ or ayladal [ɑjlɑˈdɑl] (a word again derived from a number, this time for 1006), each of which lasts two Terrestrial minutes and two-ninths of a third.
A very recent cultural trend has meant dividing each ayadal into two hundred sixteen (21610, 10006) seconds. This unit, however, is too new to have a common name, though if I had to guess, it would be named the awidṛdal [ɑɣidɹ̩ˈdɑl], following the trend of the previous units of time.
Traditionally, the units smaller than the kãtṛtal were determined by a water clock. The specific design is not one seen on Earth – well, not one used for such a purpose in any case. The clock ran on a pair of sōzu – Japanese deer-scarers – with one emptying into the other. A smaller one filled up within one ayadal before dumping its contents into the larger one; the resulting noise when it fell back into place counted one ayadal. The larger one held thirty-six times the smaller’s capacity, so it would fill up within one izãdal before spilling out, with the resulting knock counting one izãdal. The tentatively-named awidṛdal derives from the flow of water from the clock’s source; again, this is where the word’s dual definition of ‘10006’ and ‘countless’ come into play. For obvious reasons, this clock did not track the kãtṛtal, as its progression was manifest.
3.5.2 Datekeeping
The Imperial calendar year is divided into nine months, each with six weeks, each week with six days. No intercalation occurs at all; it is unclear if Rhysling’s rotation-revolution pattern is simply that perfect, or if the Empire sees no need for intercalation.
Each year is also divided into four seasons, with the same spring-summer-autumn-winter season differentiation as with western civilization. Spring, summer, and autumn each occupy two months; winter occupies three. The calendar year starts on the vernal equinox. The summer solstice is celebrated as an Imperial holiday as well; it is unknown if the winter solstice is treated the same way.
*The rain in the Empire appears to be under perfect control and manipulation, to the point where weather as a whole can be outright scheduled instead of predicted. What methods they use is still unknown to us at this time, but are being investigated.
The names of the seasons are derived from the general climate in the northern hemisphere. Spring is considered ‘wet’ with the seasonal rains,* summer is considered ‘hot,’ autumn is considered ‘dry’ – which proves perfect for the farmers’ tradition of burning the refuse and inedibles from their crops, then using the ashes to fertilize crops the following year – and winter is considered ‘cold.’
*Paper money is not used in the Empire at all; instead, the ponies still rely on coins made from gold and silver (with each gold coin worth six silver), which prove too substantially heavy for actual daily usage.
The traditional working week is five days long, with the sixth and final day of the week reserved either for rest or for transactions – either in a town market, or on the last day of each month, when the ponies traditionally conduct the actual transactions, insofar as currency is transferred.*
3.6 Color Categories
Equestrian color categories are best plotted within a cone. At the base is a color disc, with a white (ñalab) center and a black (ebơni) outer edge. Five categories are recognized between them – red (katja), yellow (hṛtjĩ), green (sila), blue (pele), and purple (tưsḷ). Occupying the third dimension is a category (zanja) only ponies can see, extending from the disc up to the tip – but as it approaches the tip, the other colors are expressed less.
3.7 Verb Conjugation
Equestrian verbs conjugate almost entirely for the subject/agent – four people except for the reflexive, and four numbers for each except for the indefinite – and four tenses: present, past, future, and cyclic, which is used for events that happen repeatedly or habitually. Curiously, no distinction in temporal aspect is made in Equestrian. Conjugation is perfectly regular across all verbs, except for the copula al [ɑl], which is not negated; instead, a negative copula ơzưñ [ɤˈzɯŋ] exists.
The first-person conjugation is marked with -rư [ˈɹɯ] for the singular, -rimẽ [ɹiˈmẽ] for the dual, -rize [ɹiˈze] for the paucal, and -ṛye [ɹ̩ˈje] or -rye [ɹˈje] for the plural. Two different endings exist for the plural, in part due to the approximant rule, and in part due to the syllable structure, both of which are detailed in Section 2.2. For brevity’s sake, this is a pattern that repeats throughout each of the other grammatical people, for similar reasons.
The second-person conjugation is marked with -vư [ˈʙɯ] for the singular, -vimẽ [ʙiˈmẽ] for the dual, -vize [ʙiˈze] for the paucal, and -vie [ʙiˈe] or -vye [ʙˈje] for the plural.
The third-person conjugation is marked with -mư [ˈmɯ] for the singular, -mimẽ [miˈmẽ] for the dual, -mize [miˈze] for the paucal, and -mie [miˈe] or -mye [mˈje] for the plural. The third person also conjugates for the noun classes; the conjugations given ante apply to the inert noun-class. The animate noun-class uses -djemư [ɟeˈmɯ] for the singular, -djemime [ɟemiˈme] for the dual, -djemize [ɟemiˈze] for the paucal, and -djemye [ɟemˈje] for the plural. The magical noun-class uses -njemư [ɲeˈmɯ] for the singular, -njemime [ɲemiˈme] for the dual, -njemize [ɲemiˈze] for the paucal, and -njemye [ɲemˈje] for the plural.
The indefinite-person conjugation is marked with only -wư [ˈɣɯ], with no number distinction.
The temporal conjugations are expressed with prefixes. The present tense is unmarked, the past is marked with zjơ- [ʒɤ], the future with il- [il], and the cyclic with ḷzj- [l̩ʒ].
The negative affix is -zữ- [zɯ], placed between the verb and the person/number marking.
A handful of mood particles exist. The indicative mood is unmarked, ama [ɑˈmɑ] marks the subjunctive mood, elsi [elˈsi] marks the conditional mood, and þesơ [ᵑʘeˈsɤ] marks the imperative mood.
A verb without any markings is infinitive. However, Equestrian has a rather unique conjugation behavior that I have taken to calling ‘compound verbs.’ Simply put, instead of leaving an indefinite verb adjacent to a conjugated one, the two verbs are agglutinated and treated as a single verb. To return to a previous example, dḷgãgru (“I need to go”) combines dḷgã (to need) and ak (to go), then conjugates the entire word for the first person, the singular number, the present tense, and the indicative mood.
3.8 Questions
Asking questions is a simple affair in Equestrian – the last syllable in a certain word receives a rising tone (see Section 2.2 for intonation). If it is a polar question, the tone applies to the verb; otherwise, it applies to the interrogative particle.
4 Dialectology
Equestrian has three dialects, divided along historical tribal lines. While there exists mutual intelligibility between them, their differences are still pronounced, and can even serve as shibboleths.
The rest of this paper assumes Common Equestrian, but this section in particular will take a closer look at the other two dialects, Courier Equestrian and Arcane Equestrian, and the chief phonological and grammatical differences between them and Common Equestrian.
4.1 Courier Equestrian
Courier Equestrian is spoken by winged ponies, ones we might call pegasuses in English. Compared to Common Equestrian, their palatal stops [c] and [ɟ] are actually postalveolar affricates, [t͡ʃ] and [d͡ʒ]. Courier Equestrian also forbids null onsets; where they occur in Common Equestrian, Courier Equestrian instead uses [ɦ], transcribed as ħ when appropriate. This is considered a ‘rainy’ consonant, even though it does not have a vocal equivalent.
Thankfully, there are no grammatical differences between Common and Courier Equestrian.
4.2 Arcane Equestrian
Arcane Equestrian, spoken by horned ponies (ones we might call unicorns in English), is trickier in some ways to master when coming from Common Equestrian, and easier in others. In either case, both the phonology and the grammar of Arcane Equestrian are radical departures from Common Equestrian.
4.2.1 Phonological Differences
Instead of the bilabial trills [ʙ̥] and [ʙ] like in Common and Courier Equestrian, Arcane Equestrian uses bilabial fricatives – [ɸ] and [β], respectively. Also instead of the trademark clicks ([ᵑʘ], [ᵑǃ], [ᵑǂ], [ᵑǁ]) of the Common and Courier dialects, Arcane Equestrian uses true voiceless nasals – [m̥], [n̥], [ɲ̊], and [ŋ̊].
The Arcane dialect also has a palatal lateral consonant [ʎ], occurring as a merger of [j.l] in the other dialects (the merged [ʎ] becomes an onset, never a coda). This sound is transcribed as lj when appropriate. This is also considered a ‘rainy’ consonant and, as with the Courier dialect’s ħ, does not have a vocal equivalent. However, unlike with ħ, it has its own glyph in the native script (see Section 5).
4.2.2 Grammatical Differences
Unlike between the Common and Courier dialects, the Arcane dialect features its own grammatical features. For the most part, they are four additional grammatical cases – namely, the locative -ơme [ɤˈme], the lative -ơwe [ɤˈɣe], the ablative -ơzle [ɤzˈle], and the instrumental -edj [ˈeɟ].
There appears to be an additional rule when used in official capacity (as Arcane Equestrian is also the administrative lingua franca) – a total lack of pro-dropping. However, since this usage is limited to two individuals, both of whom are rumored to be extremely long-lived, it is best to assume this is merely a register for said individuals, perhaps left over from an archaic form of Equestrian.
4.3 Human Adaptations
However, a human speaker need not pronounce these sounds exactly as prescribed. In particular, I have been experimenting with using labiodental fricatives [f] and [v] in place of [ʙ̥] and [ʙ] – Twilight Sparkle assumed I was developing a lisp, but could otherwise understand me. It is also acceptable to use the [t͡ʃ] and [d͡ʒ] from Courier Equestrian, and to forgo all the other dialectal differences from Common Equestrian.
5 Writing System
Equestrian is written with a featural alphasyllabary.
Figure 3: A sample of the Equestrian script. This spells “Ãtir Ḷsapa,” Twilight Sparkle’s native name.
The vowel order, assuming solar harmony, is as follows: e, ư, ơ, i, ṛ, ḷ. The consonant order, assuming aquatic harmony, is as follows: ħ, g, ñ, w, dj, nj, zj, d, n, z, b, m, v, y, r, l. Note that ħ represents the null consonant in the series, even though it is pronounced only in the Courier dialect. In the Arcane dialect, lj is collated between y and r.
Most of the letter shapes (save for lj) are optimized for stomagraphy, as this is the main method of writing for two of the three tribes of ponies, and as such are composed of a handful of regularly-applied sub-elements. Moreover, Equestrian has a native music notation system, similar to western staff notation, but obviously developed independently from Earth.
5.1 History
(Notā bene: It is unknown whether this account is actually historical or merely legend.)
*Indeed, this is still done today with the modern script
Before the Empire was founded, two other scripts existed – one used for the Arcane dialect, the other for the Courier dialect. The Arcane script was written using rods held in a unicorn’s telekinetic grip,* while the Courier script was strongly pterographic. The Common dialect was traditionally unwritten, and indeed most of its speakers were illiterate even in the other two scripts.
One day long ago, a gardener named Zenedjưge [zeneɟɯˈɡe] – literally ‘climbing-flower,’ but better translated as Wisteria – had to stay inside from a sudden rainstorm. When the rainstorm cleared, Wisteria neglected to redon her boots, so she had to work barehoofed. The shoes were meant to keep her hooves clean, and more importantly to keep her frogs from being damaged by stray twigs and thorns.
She felt herself step on one such twig, but when she recoiled in pain, she noted the pattern of the hoofprint and twig in the muddy soil – and inspiration struck. Within the space of a day, she was able to produce all the shapes of the modern script using only her hooves and a rod held in her mouth.
Wisteria found her script quickly adopted by the rest of her tribe, but she found resistance from the pegasi and unicorn tribes. They were both content with their own forms of writing, and thought it beneath themselves to adopt a ‘lowly’ script like Wisteria’s.
It was not until she demonstrated the new script to the leaders of a budding Harmonic Empire that it finally received greater adoption, as all of their initial laws and proclamations were written in Wisteria’s hoof.
5.2 Consonants
The consonants have two elements: a large circle or semicircle to define the place of articulation, and a secondary element placed inside the semicircle (but never the circle) to define the manner of articulation.
There are four directions in which the semicircle can point (insofar as the rounded loop is concerned): up, down, left, and right. The right-pointing one defines velar consonants, the up-pointing one palatal consonants, the left-pointing one alveolar consonants, and the down-pointing one labial consonants.
Standing alone, these semicircles represent voiced stops. There are three elements that can be placed inside, however. First is a smaller circle, to create nasal consonants. Second is a vertical line, to indicate fricatives. Third is a horizontal line, to change the consonant harmony from ‘aquatic’ to ‘terrestrial,’ i.e. to devoice these sounds. It need only be marked once per word.
The approximants are represented with their own symbols. These are L-shaped glyphs, with no subglyphs written within them. [j] is written with the bend in the upper-right corner. [ɹ] is written with the bend in the lower-right corner. [l] is written with the bend in the lower-left corner.
[ʎ] is uniquely written as a Z-shaped curve, likely ligated from [j] and [l]. This is not easily written with stomagraphy, and is likely a unicorn invention.
5.3 Vowels
The vowels are written with a series of marks placed outside of the circle or semicircle consonant-element.
An unmarked consonant carries the inherent vowel [e]. Placing a vertical line on the right side changes it to [ɯ]. Placing a vertical line on the left side changes it to [i ]. Placing vertical lines on both sides changes it to [ɤ]. Placing a curl on the right side, heading down and to the left, changes it to [ɹ̩]. Placing a curl on the left side, heading down and to the right, changes it to [l̩].
Above the consonant, a small crescent shape can be placed to change the vowel harmony to ‘lunar.’ It need only be marked once per word. Below the consonant, if a syllabic consonant is not indicated, one can place a dot to signify a nasal vowel, or a horizontal line to mute the vowel altogether.
5.4 Other Marks
Punctuation is sparse; only two marks are used – first a colon-like mark, meant to end an utterance, itself seeming to be a recent development, as it is frequently dropped. The other is more obligatory – a spiral shape, resembling a backwards 6, placed above the consonant (to the left of the lunar-harmony mark, if applicable) in a word where the interrogative tone is applied.
5.5 Mathematical Notation
Numerals use a place value system, marked with dots arranged in specific patterns, similar to dice pips. Zero is marked with two thick vertical lines. The senary point uses a thin vertical line.
Dots can also be arranged in triangle shapes. Pointing left is addition (+), pointing right is subtraction (-), pointing up is multiplication (×), and pointing down is division (÷).
Solid triangles are also used in mathematical notation. One pointing left is a greater-than sign (>), pointing right a lesser-than sign (<), and pointing down an equal sign (=).
A solid triangle pointing up represents exponents, roots, and logarithms all at the same time. The base is written in the lower-left corner, the exponent in the top corner, and the logarithm in the lower-right corner.
There also exist symbols specifically for negative values, π, φ, e, i, ∞, and -∞.
5.6 Musical Notation
Instead of lines, as with western notation, Equestrian music is plotted on a grid. Each grid is four lines tall, and stretches the full width of the page.
At the start of the grid, a symbol is placed to indicate the key signature. Dots and lines are inserted along the interstices of, and above, the grid. A single dot indicates a note played; vertical dots indicate chords. Horizontal lines indicate a longer note; diagonal lines indicate a slur or glissando. A lack of dots and lines indicates a rest.
Dynamics are noted above the grid. Instead of a time signature, each vertical gridline after a number is thickened, to indicate measures. Unlike with western notation, the ‘basic’ note in an Equestrian time signature is always the smallest; this is implied to be the key signature.
It is the understanding of the reader that key and time signatures typically do not deviate, but if they ever do, they are marked with a new time signature at the start of the next measure, or the next measure is a different length, whichever applies.
One should also note that Equestrian music is traditionally on a hexatonic scale (usually the whole-tone), and will need some significant tinkering to make it work for other scales. One ad-hoc solution for non-hexatonic scales is to use numerals over the clef.
Figure 4: The Japanese folk song “Sakura” using the Equestrian method. Note the numeral 5, which indicates a pentatonic scale. This transcription was provided as a courtesy by a musician living in Ginzol.
6 Conclusion
Despite being untold light-years apart and therefore having no previous contact with one another, I find that Equestrian is not terribly different from the languages we speak regularly on Earth. It shares several features with those found on every continent, and yet employs its own innovations that, while alien, are still remarkably human.
While I have endeavored to document everything I have found so far, I realize all the same that I still have so much left to go – to say nothing about the other languages spoken in the Harmonic Empire, never mind on Rhysling.
Still within the scope of Equestrian, I am left with a few personal curiosities. For one, why distinguish what are essentially two animate classes? For another, why do they place so much emphasis on phonological harmony? Even though the three tribes have apparently set aside their differences, they still maintain their respective dialects, for reasons yet unknown.
Perhaps most curiously of all, qapata [ᵑǃɑpɑˈtɑ] (‘friendship,’ also ‘hello,’ ‘goodbye’), an obvious abstraction, is classified not as inert, but as magical. . . .
