by Jeff Young
Light rippled across the Kamanti as it walked toward them, photophores in its flesh firing in sequence. Danvers tipped his tablet fleck at the Kamanti, and it began translating.
“For now, you are welcome, associate of Brandiwicz.”
Cerdain stepped forward, then Danvers slid sideways to cut her off. Holding the small tablet in front of him, he said with respect to the Kamanti, “Last Light of Day, we are happy to find you here. We must look at Brandiwicz’s rooms. Will you let us in?”
It watched the play of colors across the surface of Danvers’s computing fleck and replied in kind. “Perhaps you can start to put Brandiwicz’s effects in order?”
As Danvers suspected, Cerdain didn’t let that pass without a response. Her fleck flashed back at the native, “Is that a request or a demand?”
Turning on its hinged legs, the Kamanti fired back a single flash of light. Danvers turned away, hiding a grin. He suspected that “Yes” was not the answer that Cerdain expected. He leaned over, tugging at the latch on the front door to slide it open, and asked, “Coming, ma’am?”
She impatiently gestured him onward.
Moving inside reminded Danvers of the tremendous flexibility of the Kamanti since the turns from room to room were sinuous without angles. That flexibility was echoed in the spirals inscribed in the walls, typical of Kamanti artwork. As he led Cerdain further into the dwelling, they passed a small kitchen, a cot under a rounded window, and an open garden. At last, they came to a larger area where a contoured desk sat against the curved wall. Cerdain began to shuffle through the items on the top of the desk.
Stepping into the final room, Danvers took a moment to splash water from a low basin onto his face and run his fingers through his close-cropped reddish hair. He looked up at the dingy flex mirror Brandiwicz had tacked to the wall and held back a sigh. His reflection showed tired resignation. He frowned and stepped closer as he noticed something written on the surface of the mirror. Danvers could just make out the words, “Being here doesn’t mean you belong.” A rather depressing thought backed up by the reality of the current situation. Respect for Brandiwicz outweighed Danvers’s guilt as he reached up and wiped away the comment. Cerdain called him when he turned back toward the office.
“What do you make of this, Danvers?”
She considered her fleck with a curious expression. Danvers glanced over her shoulder. The image on the fleck wavered for a moment before a Kamanti came into focus. The viewpoint pulled back until the native could easily be seen. The mirrored surface of one of the many water retention ponds reflected the Kamanti’s image. It stood, rocking back and forth, focused on the view before it. Brandiwicz’s voice broke into the recording.
“The Kamanti are susceptible to these fits of internal retrospection. It is almost as if they have a problem with being themselves. This, along with other evidence, such as the ingrained aversion to examine their collective past, illustrates how far we are from understanding our hosts.”
“So, he knew he was failing? Why wouldn’t he ask for help?” Cerdain asked, flipping the fleck back and forth.
“I wouldn’t say he was failing. I think that everyone assumed that the Kamanti would be easy to understand since a great deal of their life and culture appears simplistic. But they are alien and radically different from us in many ways. Take, for example, how the Kamanti learn. The Kamanti have something like our mirror neurons. The first time you watch someone do a task, a series of neurons will fire, even though you are not the one doing the task. When you later accomplish the task yourself, this same arc of neurons will fire again.
“The Kamanti have them in droves. We think they educate their young while they are still sessile by imprinting them with layers of visual information that gets absorbed and then acted upon using these mirror neurons. That’s like programming their young. It’s only once the young become motile that they begin to actively use the information to make choices. This alone makes their culture and their reactions very different from those of humanity.”
“If that’s the case, then Brandiwicz would have figured that into the overall cultural image of the Kamanti. So, what did he miss?” Not waiting for his answer, Cerdain continued to flip through the fleck chits layered on the top of Brandiwicz’s desk. “What do you think, Danvers? Did Brandiwicz do this to himself? The report I read on the way over here said he never regained consciousness before they shipped him out. What can you tell me about his state of mind before his injury?”
“I think sometimes he got frustrated by situations beyond his control. He would have what looked like the answer, and it would turn out to be an inexplicable aspect of the Kamanti behavior never fully observed.”
“Yet, you still defend his competency.” She sat the fleck down on the desktop for a moment to look at him.
“Up until a day ago, we were very successful here. That success came from the groundwork that Brandiwicz laid. Just because the man had an accident doesn’t mean that he is responsible if the mission fails.”
Cerdain’s fleck chimed. With a faraway look, she considered the message, but the moment did not last. “Gather up all the loose chits. We’ve got another problem to consider.”
He slid his arm across the table, scooping up the remaining info chits before dropping them into his thigh pocket. Then Danvers waved her toward the door. After passing by, Cerdain told him over her shoulder, “Brandiwicz has died. If he didn’t injure himself, we’re looking at a murder.”
Coming to a halt in the doorway, Danvers slumped against the rounded frame. His eyes wouldn’t focus, and the dusty yellow of Tuanach faded to a blur. His mentor, colleague, and friend was dead. And the last person he wanted to hear that from walked away. Briefly tempted to slip out the back into Tuanach’s winding alleys where Cerdain would never find him, he hesitated. But the chance that she might find out why Brandiwicz perished made him straighten up, pull his tunic straight, and lope after her.
She continued, “If that wasn’t bad enough, Pergman has also gone missing. He sent his empty skim back on autopilot. Your staff is annoyed. We’re asked to retrieve him since we’re closest.”
Danvers opened his mouth to tell her about Pergman’s personal tracking tag, but Cerdain cut him off, “And just in case you weren’t certain, that annoys me.” She headed toward the entrance, not waiting for Danvers to show her out.
At the doorway, Danvers stopped and looked back. Still in shock over Brandiwicz’s death, something unexpected caught his attention. By the entrance was a little alcove. Usually empty, it now held something. Stepping closer, he reached in to pull out a strange, brown object, about the size of his thumb, hollow and covered in unusual rectangular markings, sealed at one end. The other terminus ended in a jagged edge. The design on the outside caught his attention. Kamanti artwork was full of spirals, not squares. What was he looking at? Perplexed, Danvers took it with him.
Cerdain was already in the driver’s seat, tapping her fingers on the dash. “Get in. I never planned on collecting missing team members. Who knows what the hell happened to Pergman…”
Danvers leaned back as the skim shot forward. “He’s not in danger. The Kamanti are not a violent species.”
“Not violent? Look, just because they are not actively seeking to hurt you doesn’t mean that they won’t step out of the way and let you take the hit.”
“Ma’am, I can’t say that I agree with most of your views.” He paused to look down at his fleck, then pointed to the right. “Wait, take a right here.” He looked at his fleck again. “According to the locator on Pergman, he’s way out in the foothills past the edge of the plains.”
The skim picked up speed, its air-cushion protecting them from the uneven portions of the terrain. Looking over at Cerdain as she pushed the skim faster and faster, Danvers broached the question that gnawed at him. “Ma’am, is there a particular reason you happen to be unhappy with Pergman and Brandiwicz?”
She gave him a sharp glance and drove on, remaining silen
t. The awkward moment continued.
“If you must know, Danvers... we are having a great deal of trouble with the cultural modeling program we are running. I can only assume that our two most direct information sources must be flawed, hence my displeasure. We cannot nail down the correct behavior model for the Kamanti.” She took a breath. “Therefore, we can’t come up with their reasons behind this sudden about-face. With the data we’ve received so far, I only have a month to get this running properly. I don’t consider failure an option. Our part of this expedition was to be next. Since receiving word of the Kamanti’s desire for us to vacate, Center has given the whole embassy two days to finish its mission. At that point, the transition index will open, and Weavir needs to be ready to give them a yea or nay.”
“So, I take it that the cultural modeling is your project?”
“If you must ask, it’s unlikely you’ll ever be called perceptive.” Cerdain shook her head and turned her attention back to driving, shutting him out completely.
Watching the buildings diminish as the skim lifted out onto the plain, Danvers looked back at Tuanach. There is still so much to learn from the Kamanti, he mused. Their natural command over light gives them a unique perspective on such subjects as luminous data storage and light propulsion. Never mind that the natives were close-mouthed about their biology and even more reticent to talk about their past. With its casual mix of technology and massive communal living, this amazing world remained a rich treasure trove of knowledge.
A mile-long plume of yellow dust trailed after the skim as the heat from the plains rose in shimmering waves. Danvers spared a glance at Cerdain. Wisps of lighter hair fanned out around her head and danced about in the wind. Her blue-and-red-striped embassy pullover bunched and rucked at her hips. Her clenched grasp on the steering column made the tendons in her hands stand up like cords. Focused on the goal, she could miss things like potential solutions.
Glancing at her fleck, Cerdain adjusted their course away from the light farms overhead and said, “I don’t have to worry about driving us through one of the wormhole threads transmitting power, do I?”
“There’s no physical connection between the light sail farm and the receivers in the city. It’s just not possible.” Danvers realized his tone was a bit sharp and added, “So much of the Kamanti technology is passive in nature. The truth is, I’m jealous of them. It doesn’t break down, so they don’t worry about it. As a civilization, they’ve reached a point where infrastructure is no longer an issue.” For a moment, he considered her. An odd question, surely, she knew—then he had it. She probed at him, probably wondering how much he knew about the wormhole threads.
The tension drained out of Cerdain. “Don’t get me wrong, Danvers. I want this to work. It has to work. Don’t ever think that I’m not impressed by what I’ve seen in my short time here. But keep in mind that I am building a cultural model that will give future expeditions an immediate head-start to understanding the Kamanti. Which, if things do not change, will be useless.”
Danvers looked away. Her abrasive nature was back again. A very short moment of calm in a perpetual storm, he thought.
The skim approached the hills now as they headed into canyon country. Soon, Cerdain banked back and forth as they entered the maze of arroyos. She forced the skim higher on its air-cushion as Danvers checked his fleck. They were about two kilometers from Pergman.
“Down there,” Cerdain motioned, turning the skim 180 degrees to plunge into a tight gully. Light filtered down along the reddish walls of stone, giving everything a ruddy cast. The skim came to an abrupt halt, throwing Danvers toward the windscreen. Pushing himself back, he resisted the urge to snap.
The arroyo narrowed to a winding path, and Cerdain brought them to a halt in the last possible flat space. Fleck held in front of her, she slid out and headed to the left. Light from the display’s surface playing over her features had Danvers imagining what she might look like in conversation with the Kamanti, and he almost smiled. He climbed out, silently berated himself, and found his footing on the rough ground, ready to follow her between the looming walls of the canyon. Colored bands crawled through the twisting columns of rock formed by the very wind-borne sands that annoyed his eyes now.
“Only a damn archaeologist would enjoy coming here,” Cerdain called over her shoulder.
“Or a geologist.”
“Don’t feel you need to argue with me on principal, Danvers.”
Another smile crossed his lips. Turning one final corner, they found their way blocked by a mound of scree and rubble. “Well, that’s new,” Danvers remarked as he dropped to one knee to gather up a handful of the ocher dirt, sifting it through his fingers.
“Looks like your archaeologist ignored restrictions.”
“Pergman. Well, he was never very good at following orders to the letter.”
“Now you’re wondering if this is the reason behind our sudden need to leave the planet,” Cerdain said dryly, “You’re not the only one. Any wonder why Weavir felt it necessary to hit him with a tracking tag... ?” She’d reached the top of the rockfall and stopped with her hands on her hips. “Get up here. You won’t believe this.”
As Danvers pulled himself up, he realized they were on the edge of a large, bowl-shaped excavation. But that was the rim. At its center, a tunnel descended out of sight. “Weavir’s going to have Pergman’s head.”
“He can get in line. I’m here first,” Cerdain replied, waspishly. Already she’d stalked over to the guide rope running from the rim to the tunnel and began to make her way down.
Danvers followed. He had little choice. A string of tiny, blue-white lights descended into the depths along the ceiling of the tunnel. Together they went downward.
Their descent was rapid once he got used to Cerdain randomly tugging on the line below him. Danvers stopped, looking closely at the patterning on the wall of the tunnel. He’d missed something. There were spiraling grooves the whole way down. Almost as if— “Bastard,” he snapped, slapping the wall.
“Figured it out?” Cerdain asked, moving onward, “Pergman ought to hope I just seal up this tunnel and forget about it. Unlicensed and unapproved use of nano-dissociators. Whatever career he had, it’s over. I hope the natives don’t exercise any of their territorial rights.”
Increasing the speed of his descent, Danvers slid along the scree, trying to catch up. In fact, he moved so quickly that when the tunnel’s pitch leveled out, he fell forward. Cerdain reached down and caught his hand, hauling him to his feet. Struck by her silence and the intensity of her stare, following her gaze, he saw the first of the immense cylinders.
They were a dark, coppery red. The glow from brighter lights stuck to the ceiling fell onto three of the objects. Danvers walked up the closest and reached out a hand. He caught himself before touching the cylinder, mesmerized by its strange, indistinct nature. Call it a hunch, but something about the patina made him pull out his fleck and do a quick scan. Viewed with higher magnification, it became obvious an immense number of tiny hook-like cilia covered the exterior of the cylinder, all of which were canted upward. Upon further inspection, Danvers saw that the cilia moved in a spiral pattern almost too slowly to be seen.
“Don’t... ” he warned and then stopped, realizing that Cerdain now looked over his shoulder at the fleck’s image instead of reaching out as he had.
“Can’t imagine what touching that would do, but I’m not going to give it a try. Consider this for a second. If you were to bury that cylinder in the ground, wouldn’t the cilia propel it back up to the surface?”
Stepping around the circumference, Danvers looked down at yet another hole. Pergman had been quite busy. He wondered how far below the cylinders’ origins lay. And the real reason behind all of this? Something else caught his eye. Rectangular shapes were embossed on the cylinder’s exterior. One had to account for the cylinder’s size and the bad lighting, but the shapes were familiar. He pulled out the small cylinder he found in Brandiwicz’
s rooms. He started to call out to Cerdain but noticed a shadow moving across the light at the far end of the tunnel.
Cerdain moved forward. “Pergman! What the hell is going on here?”
Circling around the cylinder, Danvers put on a burst of speed, trying to intercept her before the encounter turned violent.
The archaeologist stopped mid-stride, a stunned look on his face. His long hair pulled back in clumps of dreadlocks, and the single suit he wore streaked with multicolored dust. A series of programmable plastic tables were arranged in an arc behind him. Various implements lay scattered about on top of specimen bins. In the middle lay a very familiar rod-like shape that mirrored the one in Danvers’s pocket.
“Did Weavir send you? I’m not quite ready yet. There’s so much more to find here. We’ve got to take the time and pack things up properly.”
“Properly?” Tension and anger marred Cerdain’s features as she marched forward, hands clenched at her sides. “Tell me why the unauthorized use of nano-dissociators, excavation against the express permission of the natives, and the use of embassy property to accomplish your personal agenda would have anything in common with doing this in a proper fashion?”
“Wait,” Danvers interrupted, “you’re saying that Weavir is aware of what you’re doing here?”
“Certainly,” Pergman said, indignation wrinkling up his features, “and I also gave all of my findings to Brandiwicz.”
Sharing a brief look with Cerdain, Danvers took a breath before continuing. “Well, I think maybe our anger may be a bit misdirected. Pergman, just what is going on here?”
Pergman took several steps back and pulled a sling chair out from behind the worktables. He slid back into it and proceeded to stare at the two intruders. Leaning forward, he spread his hands and said, “What we don’t know about this culture is staggering. Even now, I’ve made some finds that I can barely explain. There are elements at work here that run beneath the veneer of Kamanti society. But before I could really start digging into things, Brandiwicz stepped in. Weavir will hold him responsible.”