The Galaxy, and the Ground Within

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The Galaxy, and the Ground Within Page 13

by Becky Chambers


  ‘It is cooler. And since you can’t get on the Linkings right now away, at least you’ve got this, hmm?’ He looked back to the other tables. ‘So. Explain to me how rocks fit into this omni-story you see at every museum.’

  ‘Oh, right, okay, so … you have a planet. It’s full of rocks, and the rocks tell you stuff about how things used to be on the planet. There basically wasn’t anything on Gora, ever. Well, there were volcanoes once, but not anymore. They’re dead. And there wasn’t any water, so we don’t have as many kinds of rocks as other places. But we do have some pretty ones from where the volcanoes used to be. Look, this is my favourite.’ Tupo picked up an unpolished gemstone for Roveg to see – murky blue and flecked with black.

  ‘That’s a nice piece,’ Roveg said. ‘Have you ever thought about polishing it?’

  ‘None of my rocks are polished,’ Tupo said firmly. ‘It removes the rock from its proper context and then people don’t know what it really looks like.’ Xe paused. ‘Plus I don’t have the stuff you need to polish them.’

  ‘That’s fair.’

  ‘So, at other museums, after rocks, you get exhibits about life. And the thing is, there is life on Gora. It just didn’t start here.’ Tupo gestured at the table of anthropological relics. Roveg noted a broken Harmagian piercing, an empty bottle of Whitedune, an immaculate Aandrisk feather presumably given to the child. ‘It is natural history,’ Tupo asserted. ‘Life came to Gora, just not in the way … not in the way most people mean.’

  Roveg started to grasp what Tupo was trying to say. ‘You’re arguing that calling your collection natural history rather than geology is valid because life did, in fact, establish itself here, and is therefore a key part of the planet’s history.’

  ‘Yeah. Exactly.’

  ‘Tupo, I have to say, I’ve never heard that perspective before, but I truly enjoy it. You should write a thesis one day.’

  Tupo made a face. ‘I hate writing.’

  ‘Well, then stick to curation, because this is a very fine museum.’

  The child shuffled xyr paws. ‘It’s okay,’ xe mumbled happily.

  Roveg’s gaze shifted away from the feather as a surprisingly familiar item leapt out of the crowd. ‘Ah!’ Roveg said, reaching forward. He picked up the three-dimensional ceramic object from the table. ‘You have a poem stone! Wonderful!’

  Tupo blinked at him. ‘It’s a what?’

  Roveg looked at the label the child had affixed below the stone: Unknown sculpture, 248/306, found by Tupo. ‘Where did you get this?’ Roveg asked.

  ‘Oh,’ Tupo said. Xe looked around the floor. ‘There were some other Quelin here a while ago, and they forgot it in the garden.’

  Roveg tried to catch Tupo’s eye. ‘Did you take it for your collection before or after they left?’

  The child became interested in a pebble near xyr forepaw. ‘Umm … well …’

  ‘I’m not your mother, Tupo,’ Roveg said. ‘You could always try to mail-drone it back. But theft is a long, proud tradition for many museums, so that decision’s up to you.’ He turned the poem stone over between his toes. It was of charming make – the sort of thing you’d buy at a tourist trap, but endearing all the same. He hoped its former owner hadn’t been too sad over its loss. ‘So you don’t know what this is?’

  Tupo quickly stuck out xyr tongue, the Laru body language for no.

  ‘Do you know how Quelin writing works?’

  Another blip of the tongue.

  Roveg set the poem stone down and looked around for something he could use. A vial of dirt – that would do. He walked to the Early Eras table and pointed. ‘Would it be all right if I emptied out one of these?’ he asked. ‘I’ll clean it up, of course.’

  ‘Uh … sure?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Roveg said. He emptied the vial onto the table. ‘Could you assist me, please? I need this as flat as possible, and I believe your paws are much better for that task.’

  Tupo did as asked, looking puzzled but intrigued. A few seconds later, xe’d provided Roveg with a flat patch of dirt.

  Roveg flexed his frills. Yes, it would do. He extended a right foreleg, and with its pointed tip, he drew a neat vertical line in the dirt, dividing the makeshift canvas cleanly in two. Then, with deliberateness, he took both a left and right foreleg and began to tap tidy indentations, starting near the dividing line and then spreading horizontally in opposite directions. He completed one pair of lines, then another pair above it, then another. After a moment, he leaned his torso back up and looked at Tupo. ‘What do you see?’ he asked, gesturing at the patterns.

  ‘Dots,’ Tupo said.

  Roveg expanded his abdomen happily. ‘To you, yes,’ he said. ‘To me, these are sentences. This is how we Quelin write.’ He pointed closer. ‘Look carefully. What do you see?’

  The child squinted, rubbing xyr lips together fervently as xe extended xyr head over the dirt. ‘They’re the same on both sides. Or … wait.’ Xe frowned harder. ‘They’re kind of different.’

  ‘Ah, you’re clever, Tupo. Yes, that’s exactly right.’ Roveg gestured at the sentences. ‘Everything I’ve written on the left side has the same literal meaning as everything I’ve written on the right. They are the same words. But each side represents a different means of speaking. Right now, I’m speaking to you with the vocal organ in my throat.’ He tapped his exoskeleton right where it lay over his oesophagus. ‘This is the only thing I use when speaking Klip. But when I speak Tellerain—’

  ‘That’s your language,’ Tupo interjected.

  ‘That’s right. When I speak Tellerain, I use both my throat and my … hmm. You don’t have a word for them in Klip. The … hard structures I have in the back of my mouth. They make sounds like this.’ He rattled his mouthparts together in quick staccato, releasing a chord of loud clicks that amounted to nothing but pure gibberish.

  Tupo was delighted. ‘Do that again.’

  Roveg obliged; the child laughed. Roveg continued with the impromptu lesson. ‘Tellerain is, in a way, two languages in one. Take the word for …’ He looked around the museum. ‘Rock. What’s the word for “rock” in Mululo?’

  ‘I don’t speak Mululo.’

  ‘No?’ Roveg was surprised by this. It seemed extreme for Ouloo to not teach her child xyr own official language.

  ‘I know, like … a few words. But I speak Piloom with Mom.’

  ‘Oh, my mistake. I didn’t realise your mother’s from Ulapot.’ A small Laru agricultural colony, located in Aandrisk territory. He’d heard of their regional language, but never heard it spoken.

  Tupo was surprised. ‘Nobody ever knows Ulapot.’

  ‘Of course I know Ulapot. They export the best redreed in the Commons. So, what’s “rock” in Piloom?’

  ‘Oelo,’ Tupo said.

  ‘Interesting. In Tellerain, there’s only one word for “rock”, but you make it in two ways. Spoken through my throat, the word is trihas. Spoken with my … other things, the word is—’ He released a crisp set of clicks. ‘Put the two sounds together, and you get …’ He demonstrated the layered word.

  Tupo attempted to mimic the clicks with xyr tongue, and failed spectacularly. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘You don’t have the mouthparts for it. No one does, and so no one can speak proper Tellerain aside from us, just as no one can fully speak Hanto or colour language. There aren’t many other sapients who make the attempt, but those that do only speak Simplified Tellerain, which uses the mouth sounds only.’

  ‘But that’s not … that’s not the whole word,’ Tupo said.

  ‘The meaning comes across. If you were to say trihas, I’d know you meant rock. But the …’ How to explain this to a child? ‘The flavour is missing. You know how some words just feel better than others?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Well, I can change the way a word feels a lot by just changing the clicks. Listen again as I say trihas.’ Roveg spoke the word in full, throat and mouthparts together. ‘That’s a boring wa
y to put it. That’s how you’d read it off of a dictionary feed. Now, if I was telling you that the rock in question is quite beautiful, I’d say it like this: trihas.’ The clicking this time was made further back in the mouth, a little sharper, a little deeper. ‘But if I was annoyed at this rock, if I had just stepped on it and hurt my toes, I’d say trihas.’ The accompanying clicks were exactly the same as before, only harsher, messier. Roveg exaggerated the sound like an operatic villain, so that Tupo could clearly hear the difference. He gestured again at the writing in the dirt. ‘So, you see – the left side of our writing tells me the throat sounds, the right side tells me the mouth sounds. At first glance, you’re right, they look like mirror images of each other, because each side represents the same words. But those differences you see, like how this letter is higher than its counterpart – those are directions. They communicate the feeling I’m trying to get across.’

  ‘So what’s it say?’ Tupo asked impatiently.

  Roveg traced a pair of legs in the air above the words, pointing to each as he translated. ‘My name is Roveg. I am with Tupo, a …’ He paused, seeking the right words in Klip. ‘An esteemed museum curator. Xe has a poem stone in xyr collection.’ He looked warmly at the child. ‘That’s the literal meaning. But if you add in the feeling as I’ve written it, it will tell you that I think Tupo is brilliant and that I admire xyr collection very much.’

  Tupo was so pleased that xyr fur began to fluff.

  ‘So,’ Roveg said, moving along, ‘your poem stone.’ He picked the object back up. ‘You see?’ He held it so that Tupo could look straight down the forward edge of the triangle. ‘Right-side words, left-side words. This is an ancient style of writing. Before scribs and screens and whatnot, we wrote using sheets of clay. The writer would pour wet clay into a flat mould and inscribe their piece before the clay dried. It’s a skill that takes a lot of practise, but it’s still the loveliest way to write, because – here, look.’ He directed Tupo to lean xyr face in closer. ‘Do you see how the depth of each letter changes?’

  ‘I guess,’ Tupo said. ‘Oh. Yeah.’

  ‘This changes the word as well. These are specific directions on how the poem should be performed when read aloud.’

  ‘So what does it say?’ Tupo demanded.

  Roveg turned the stone toward himself and began to translate. ‘All right, it won’t rhyme in Klip, and the meter will be awful, but it begins: Think of home when you are far from here—’

  ‘No, no,’ Tupo said, wiggling xyr neck. ‘I want to hear what it really sounds like.’

  ‘You won’t understand it.’

  ‘You can tell me after.’ Xyr paws danced. ‘I wanna hear you click again.’

  Roveg laughed. ‘All right,’ he said. He lifted the stone to the light, and began to read.

  Think of home when you are far from here

  Let it be your comfort

  Think of us when you are alone

  Remember always our bright days

  Remember song, remember joy

  Remember the purple sky

  Remember dark faces, old and beloved

  Remember children, their—

  The verse stuck in Roveg’s mouth and would not leave. He’d known what the poem was on sight – the lover’s farewell from the second act of The Summer Sorrows, one of Vemereng’s most paraded classics – but it had been ages since he’d read it. There was a reason he avoided Tellerain, and classic literature, and sentimental pap like this especially. He’d been so caught up in humouring Tupo that he hadn’t considered the dangerous territory he’d foolishly wandered into. Now that he was mired there, he could not see how to break free.

  ‘Is that it?’ Tupo asked. Xe craned xyr head right behind the stone.

  ‘Yes, that’s it,’ Roveg lied. He returned the stone to Tupo, placing it in xyr cupped paws.

  ‘That sounded really cool,’ Tupo said. ‘Though … kinda scary, also.’ Xe paused. ‘Mom says I shouldn’t say stuff like that.’

  Roveg didn’t reply, though he did not take offence. His mind was elsewhere now, and this place was no longer distraction enough. ‘Tupo, thank you very much for the tour. I look forward to exploring your exhibits more thoroughly later, but for the moment, I think I should return to my shuttle. I’m feeling a bit tired and could use a snack.’

  ‘I can get you a snack, if you want,’ said the ground host’s child.

  ‘No, thank you. I – I think a short rest in my shuttle will do me well.’ He headed for the exit, then paused. Remember children, their shells still white. He turned back to Tupo. ‘It really is an exceptional museum you’ve built,’ he said. ‘Gora’s lucky to have you.’

  He exited without another word, leaving the child to xyr scavenged treasures.

  PEI

  Pei walked out of the bathhouse a few hours after entering, enjoying the coolness of the filtered air. The smell of saltmoss lingered on her skin, and her freshly scrubbed scales felt smooth as soft metal. She raised her arm, admiring the intense glitter the sunlight created. She couldn’t remember seeing herself this bright since her early days of adulthood, that time in her life when her body had been at its absolute best in a way her younger self hadn’t remotely deserved. Ouloo certainly knew where to get the good stuff.

  She glanced up at the sight of people walking toward the garden – Speaker, with her arms full of some kind of tech, and Tupo, trailing happily afterward on two legs as they pushed a cart overflowing with what appeared to be the contents of xyr entire house: cushions, light fixtures, ribbons, basically anything bright and colourful that hadn’t been nailed down.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Pei said, walking their way.

  Tupo arched xyr neck toward her. ‘Speaker’s gonna make a concert!’

  ‘A concert,’ Pei echoed. ‘That sounds cool.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tupo said. The kid was excited – paws bouncing, fur fluffed. ‘Speaker’s brought all her stuff, and her and me are gonna share our favourite music. Mom’s making snacks. Do you wanna share some music, too?’

  ‘I think I’ll just … be in the audience,’ Pei said. This event was not going to be something she could contribute much to, but she wasn’t about to squash the kid’s enthusiasm. Besides, any sort of distraction was welcome at this point.

  She meandered over to Speaker, who was setting her cargo down on the garden lawn. Pei looked at the equipment in question. She’d seen sound tech before – at bars, at parties, in other sapients’ homes – but had no idea how to set it up, and had never paid it much attention. All the same, she asked: ‘Can I help?’

  Speaker looked at her, then around at her gear; she moved her head, but the mech suit stayed still. ‘Uh, yes, if you like. Are you able to lift the speakers?’ She made a funny expression. ‘The common-noun speakers, not … me.’

  Tupo laughed much harder at this than was warranted, chuffing through xyr nostrils in that strange Laru way.

  Pei looked at the equipment. Speakers were basically talkboxes made large; that much, she knew. She picked up a fat, keg-shaped thing she was pretty sure was a common-noun speaker, and when proper-noun Speaker did not object, Pei knew that she’d got it right. ‘Yeah, it’s not too heavy,’ Pei said. ‘Where do you want them?’

  Speaker adjusted the mech suit in order to look around the lawn. She pointed one of the suit’s hands and said, ‘Just evenly distribute them around the edges. Make a circle.’

  Pei lugged the thing over as directed, and as she set it down, a small etching in the outer plating caught her eye. ‘Are you sure this isn’t you?’

  ‘What?’ Speaker said.

  Pei pointed at the etching: a single-line drawing of an Akarak’s face, carved into the metal with something thin and sharp. ‘That’s definitely you.’

  Speaker walked the suit over, bent it down to look, and let out a laugh. ‘Tracker must’ve done it,’ she said with fond exasperation. ‘That’s very much her sort of stupid joke.’ With this, Speaker fell quiet.

  Tupo drop
ped the wires xe’d been trying to suss out and trotted over to Speaker. ‘She’ll be okay,’ xe said. Xe patted Speaker’s suit with a forepaw.

  Speaker met Tupo’s eye. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Pei did not chase that subject further. This Akarak was still an enigma, a walking, breathing blank space in Pei’s inner reference manual for the galaxy at large. But unaccustomed to her kind as she was, she knew better than to press on what was clearly a sore spot, especially with a stranger. It wasn’t her business, plain and simple.

  Still, though: Speaker’s silence had dampened the previously congenial mood, and Pei understood that she was not the only one in need of distraction. ‘Hey Tupo,’ she said. ‘What’d you think about that vid we watched last night?’

  Speaker gave her a quick glance; it was hard to say, but there seemed to be an air of gratitude in it.

  ‘Um, it was pretty good,’ Tupo said. Xe rubbed xyr chin against the lower end of xyr neck. ‘Some parts were kinda boring, though. I like vids that are more exciting.’

  Pei leaned against one of the lighting posts. ‘Yeah? Like what?’

  Tupo did not need to think about this. ‘Have you seen Creds and Revenge?’ xe asked, eyes growing wide.

  A laugh barked through Pei’s talkbox. ‘Have you seen Creds and Revenge?’ she said. ‘That’s a … pretty intense vid.’

  ‘Yeah! It’s so good!’ The kid was theoretically standing on all fours, but xyr feet were dancing around so much that there was never a moment in which there were more than three paws touching the ground at once. Xe whipped xyr head in Speaker’s direction. ‘Speaker, have you seen it?’

  Speaker’s attention was focused on her cockpit controls. ‘I have not,’ she said. ‘That sounds like a bit much for me.’

  Tupo tsked. ‘You’re missing out.’ Xe turned xyr attention back to Pei. ‘You know the part where that bad guy gets hit with a plasma cannon way up close, and he turns into a skeleton and then he explodes?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Pei said, not sure where this was going.

 

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