Still Human- Planet G

by Jerry Underhill

  It was quick work breaking down the tent. With his gear settled, he arranged a minor fire for his kettle while surveying the Cloud camp. Nearly all were missing, save for the leader who was standing with a few others under the sprawling broad-leafed branches of a particularly tall tree- the name of which the minister knew he was at liberty to come up with on the spot. Not that he wanted to. He didn't know the names of most trees on Earth; it never interested him.

  Huston reached his hand out and brought back the cup of coffee he'd been brewing. It seemed the beings were heavy in conversation, but as with all other observations of the type, there were no visible or audible cues to suggest it. All Huston had was a sense of… he didn't know. He couldn't even be sure that his senses regarding them were to be trusted. Huston felt almost spellbound by the possibility that they were inaudibly communicating their thoughts, intentions, and feelings to each other. To each other and to him, though in his case, not with enough clarity that he always felt certain of it.

  Stomping out the fire, draining the last of his coffee, and clipping the kettle to his pack, he made to join the now much smaller group of beings as they left the site- wondering with concern where the others were and whether he had any business traipsing in their wake. For hours he walked in solitude- the kind spent around others who were either unwilling or unable to commune. He had experience with being that other, being anxiety stricken and inwardly drawn as a young man. But this was the good kind of solitude.

  Traditions abound with figures whose journey into the wilderness saturated them with spirit, and whose followers carried a legacy of the effect of being in such a presence. Hermits, monastics, and others who joined in the near ageless pursuit of underlying and all-consuming ubiquitousness, God, the Eternal, infinite spirit, Allah, and a limitless supply of other titles. Huston had plunged himself into such seas in the past, and found those experiences a special balance when paired with a life spent with people, with family. And to be swirling through a landscape of alien biology-- somehow made all the more spiritual because he’d never studied its heartbeat in a textbook-- was as special a thing as he thought it would be.

  Lost as he was in the currents of sound and smell around him as they wandered over sprawling balds and up oft-tread corridors through bouldered green tunnels, he was surprised when they suddenly slowed early in the afternoon.

  He had to remove his hat and crane his neck to see the swaying spires atop a massive, mystically towering forest which bore into the sky in front of them. The feathery strokes of knee high grass tickled at his legs as he moved through the field before it; to his right, swarms of insects thrummed into the air in front of the hastened steps of Huston’s escort, the being he considered related to the leader, who rushed to the front and slowed the march to a pause.

  Turning, Huston spotted Komorebi, the leader, who’d moved from his normal position behind the slowest members to stand at the edge of the line of trunks. The grasses under him merely rustling as if by suggestion. As he sidled alongside Huston’s escort, the insects in his path not bothering to dislodge as his body faintly whisked through their perches, a team of Clouds surged forward into the green abyss.

  Standing idly, spinning his hat in his hand while undulating gasps of transpiration and cool breeze swept against his face, Huston spent several moments considering the nature of that surge. It was as if they'd bounced, but discontinuously. One moment one of them was on the ground and in a fraction of an instant he was on the next whorl up and the next whorl up, almost climbing a ladder of branches into the canopy, but disappearing and reappearing in a flash as they burst upward and fanned out in all directions. Huston imagined they were clearing the forest of threats or looking for something, a guess partially guided by the ebb of mild suspense he felt radiating from the group.

  Bringing his hat back up to hang behind his back, the minister removed his notebook. Hurriedly dashing across the mole-skin bound pages with his pen, Huston made note of their movements, being sure to include the caveat that ‘teleportation’ was only his best effort to describe what he was seeing - careful to not let his imagination get carried away.

  If what they're doing IS teleportation, it makes me wonder about their relationship with food and the network of predator and prey. Divergent adaptations on Earth have empowered species to better evade or consume others, but which necessity has given birth to the movements I've witnessed? I haven't seen corresponding abnormalities in the flora or fauna in this or the planet’s other suite of ecosystems. It would be valuable to know where they live and what they eat.

  Their movements also invoke some deeper biological considerations. Or maybe spiritual. When I pray, I begin by dissolving the boundary between me and a tree. Their ‘dissolving’ to appear anew feels spiritual, but I can’t be sure they aren’t just twitching at a speed I can’t process- the way spider movements can appear twitchy and discontinuous. It makes me think of what our travel through space would have looked like to a being observing it from a great distance. Would our ship’s journey through light speed have appeared as theirs’ did? With a beginning and end that can’t be connected by a series of observations? Are they somehow biologically producing light-speed travel?

  And if so, as we learn more about them, which claims the triumph of their abilities? Science or religion? Or is it another step toward reconciliation?

  Chapter Three

  They were carried by their long walk to a semi-temporary looking treetop village just as night was sinking its weight into Huston's field of vision. He didn’t see much to suggest that they’d modified the area, and there were no large storage bins, fortifications, or great sheltered meeting spaces. But would they need those things?

  He marveled at the sight of the Clouds as darkness swept in and painted a striking contrast against the moonlike incandescence of their forms. Joy mounted in him as he hung back and watched the band melt into a congregation of hundreds of Clouds who'd gathered to meet their arrival.

  A brief surge of attention from the group lapped over him as they seemed to absorb his presence, but it was met by an equal sense of calm an instant later as their attention returned to the leader. He was puzzled by it, though he supposed it might be the leader’s way of ensuring he felt safe. Or maybe for a sentient species, they’d evolved a cultural response to colonizing pioneers. He might seem no more novel to the Clouds than any other animal or plant that would’ve crept into their range.

  Looking above them at the platforms and simple structures nestled into the canopy, Huston guessed they were at the Cloud beings’ home, or at least a seasonal site. He still couldn’t hear noises from them. He could feel something, though: union, bonding, but something else, too. It was imprecise, or his sense of it was. He knew it could just be random images and thoughts bursting from his imagination as he tried to discern, but the kaleidoscope of what he felt suggested to him that the leader was informing them of some danger-- a meeting or a gathering that had disappointed, maybe-- and everyone seemed to be feeling something between panic and frustration.

  They stood like that for a long time, and he watching them; the sense of bonding grew stronger until what felt like the last gasp of disunity thawed and they gradually disassembled. He watched as most of the band discontinuously leapt into the canopy and scattered into the village. The majority of the beings who'd met their arrival walked up a makeshift ramp, as did the leader and Huston's escort, before it was hoisted into the branches like an inverted drawbridge.

  Forty feet below, the minister turned to survey the surrounding forest. He needed to make camp. If their neutral response to him was a way of measuring the instinctual nature of a new species, he’d be sure to preserve that good faith by being as transparent as possible. First, by camping within sight.

  It took him a handful of minutes to set up his tent and inhale a packet of vanilla flavored nutrient paste, wondering as he did so whether the aliens’ world resembled the competitive environment of the early hominids on Earth. Were the Clou
ds this planet’s Neanderthal, its homo sapien, or one of a suite of lesser known bipeds quickly covered and forgotten in classes on ancient history? Unfortunately, he knew that could depend on relationships built with his own species over the coming weeks.

  Satisfied the Clouds would be staying in one place for a while, and pressed by the scent wafting from his body, he decided to seek rescue in a creek they’d passed a mile back. The distance would feel significant after the day’s long hike, but he knew he could use the perspective shift. Water was as cleansing for the mind and soul as it was for the body. Fresh water, anyway. He’d never had much use for salt water- though he’d heard tales of how ‘fun’ the beach could be.

  It wasn’t difficult to work his way back. Most of their journey had followed courses gouged by nature; occasionally the route was informed by a tree, rock, or some other natural feature that’d been carefully manipulated by the Clouds, presumably, to mark the way.

  Stepping over a long sequence of weathered rocks, he emerged from the thick of the tree-shrouded stream he’d been tracing, letting his bag fall from his shoulders with a satisfied sigh before splashing into the creek. Tossing his wet clothes over a branch after removing and scrubbing them the best he could, he crashed back into the frigid trickle. It was several minutes before he thought of anything at all. The cold water shot blood throughout his body as leaves occasionally fluttered from freshly budding trees above, landing beside him before silently riding away. He knew the creek would continue gathering water as it flowed into connections throughout the watershed and with other waterways, finally merging in a lake or large river; he couldn’t remember which.

  His mind turned to Gangotra: Dr. Wallace's artificially intelligent bot he'd named after Gangotri, the Hindu temple situated at the source of a major tributary of the Ganges River, in whose waters so many devotees cleansed their souls. He wondered what the droid would think of the Cloud beings. Gangotra’s perspective was compelling. Some of Huston’s favorite conversations about ultimate reality had been with him.

  Thinking of Gangotra reminded him of Scott. He’d need to remember to tune into Radio Tashkent later that night. Deciding it was time to tell Scott about the Clouds, he pulled the comm unit from his bag— on the off chance Scott was already available on the channel— and was surprised to see a notification from the Tashkent app. Turning the volume to its loudest setting, he pressed play before reaching for his wet clothes to tie them to the outside of his pack. He threw weight of his bag over his right shoulder.

  “Huston. Hopefully you are hearing this. Right now, we can’t be entirely certain that the digital relay running through Wallace’s satellites is secure. I’m hoping shortwave is old enough that nobody will be listening in... Anyway, we’ve made contact.”

  Coming to a stop, Huston lifted the voice to his ear.

  “You know our scanning indicated that there were some beings on this planet that had intelligence at least rivaling that of cetaceans on Earth. What to make of that has been an open question, but we knew there would be organized primitive-- very primitive-- societies or groups.

  Now, one of these beings cornered a sentry out on patrol. The first day, they followed at a distance. We weren’t too sure what was happening, whether it was actually following us, but the second day a group of them emerged. These guys are bipedal, not that much shorter than the average human, kind of chitinous looking, and we think they communicate by light.”

  Huston smiled at the thought of it. The beings weren’t the same as his Clouds. Two sentient species inhabited territory within range of Port Wallace. A flurry of shadows all around him drew his eyes to the sky, where several masses of small birds he hadn’t yet seen were flocking overhead. The touch of Spring had beckoned their arrival, he guessed, while watching them circle low over the forest to roost amidst the emergent layer.

  “I believe they’ve asked us for a meeting- based on our interpretation of a light display they projected against a rock face. A sort of rudimentary map. Either they’re challenging us to a duel there or they’re asking for a meeting. I need to send somebody out there to see what’s going on. I’m not going to send you just yet. I need someone prepared in case it turns hostile, but I need you back here to help figure out a strategy for engaging with these things- to whatever capacity they can be engaged. I need to emphasize again the importance of security. Internally, we don’t know what these things are, what their capabilities are, or how the colony will react. I’m concerned about what could happen if this gets back to Earth before we can respond properly. This whole mission is in a precarious legal position under Earth laws, and the last thing we need is some soldiers showing up or a UN resolution robbing us of everything, with total disregard for what might be best for the situation or for the beings. I’m hoping you begin making your way back upon receipt.”

  Tucking his comm into a pocket on his hip strap, Huston continued walking in silence. The rest of the walk grew less and less enthusiastic, as return trips often could be. Setting his clothes to dry, he noticed that the Clouds were huddled around their central fire again- nearly frozen in place. Crouching low to try not to disturb them, he moved as close as he dared before dropping to a knee to watch. Looking around, seemingly all of the Cloud beings were present. Most of the ones who carried staffs were behind the crowd, though a few stood within the inner ring of the mass.

  The leader was standing well off to the side with Huston’s former escort- the bark of trees behind him nearly distinguishable through the milky wisp of the outline of his form. At times, It was as if his corporeal presence amidst the landscape was only a suggestion. Particularly now.

  A low vibration joined the rhythmic sweeping motions of the Clouds as each locked arms over the others’ shoulders and swayed in unison. His first thought was that the noise was part of a storm as its volume mounted to rise and fall as a coinciding wave, so was taken aback in realizing that the sound came from the beings. The closest thing he’d heard to it was the polyphonic chanting of Tibetan monks or Tuvan throat singing.

  He found himself holding two images in his brain. The first, his view of the colony the first night he'd set camp high atop the ridge as it sat ringed by golden lights mounted above towers on each side- a small sanctuary below a sprawling starry sky in the middle of miles of wild, open black. The second, superimposed on that scene, the image of the Cloud beings encircling their fire.

  In every direction, unseen stretches of forest lay beyond trees near enough to catch any flickering light that escaped the bodies clustered around the heart of their ritual. Above them, the same profoundly infinite swarm of celestial magic. Beings bound together by history, commonalities, and relationships. Species amidst so much universe and so much of consequence, plunging into a sea of uplifting peace, striving to rectify all that was felt but not seen with the more tangible experiences of existence.

  He dropped his head and sighed. Moved as he was, and as interested as he was in somehow mining the underlying spiritual meaning in their behavior, it was time to return to Port Wallace.

  Feeling a ripple of frustrated angst, Huston turned to see one of the larger beings huddled near the leader tear from sight, reappearing from oblivion in the face of a particularly enthusiastic Cloud by the fire. Its hands shot out to buy space, but the larger being seized its head in his hands- his moss-filled bags and tri-wrapped necklaces swinging as he wildly turned the two of them to face the others. Three of the nearest involved in the ritual stepped forward, their bravery rebuffed by a few of the larger being’s allies as they moved to intercede. For tense moments, the Clouds stood in pregnant stasis. Huston looked to the leader, who he was surprised to note felt reluctant. Reluctant and sad- not moving or imposing his authority otherwise. The larger being’s’ friends stepped closer to gently separate the ruffled pair.

  Turning to leave the Clouds to privacy, Huston walked to his tent, downed the zipper, and splashed to the floor. He'd leave when the sun rose. It occurred to him that leaving the tent in p
lace might demonstrate to them that he'd be returning; the hike back could be done in a full day, and if not, the weather was fair enough that he’d survive in a makeshift lean-to.

  Staring up at the wind-tapped ruffles of his tent’s ceiling, he thought of their ritual. He’d felt something recognizable in the ceremony: a sense of an ultimate reality. The form of their connection with that-- their pathway or pathways to such a connection-- remained unclear to him. He considered creative products spiritual pathways in their own right, though, as they transcended matter and the gravity of individual consciousness. If he knew them better, he might make sense of what he saw.

  But there were layers he knew he’d never know. How had the necessity of surviving this landscape carved beings who could teleport? He believed he understood the basics of how evolution on Earth had functioned. And he was slightly more sure he understood the basics of the development of culture as sentient beings, capable of responding to needs more swiftly than the machinations of competition and genetic mutation could afford, invented a second nature from a need to craft shelter, a need to build trust, a need to cooperate, a need to manage resources, a need to educate young, a need to compensate, and myriad other requirements of intelligent coexistence.

  And alongside those utilities, the depths of feeling. For those drawn to it, a need to connect with the grand spiritual force in the universe.

  And what was the conflict about?

  Observing the Clouds was reminiscent of his time with indigenous tribes, yet something unlike anything he’d experienced. This is what it looked like under the mask of civilization and modernity. Beyond the veil of a web of causation in which evolution and purposeful creation had crafted culture he shared a history with.

  His mind softly settling from a stir to lap gently against the oncoming ripples of new thoughts, he drifted into meditation. The relationship between his constituent parts and the subatomic fields of essence about him dissolving into an eternal sea of blue-purple beyond time and space, from which a universe of matter, creation, and consciousnesses intermeshed in form and without. As swiftly as he felt lifted into the mystical state, he crashed to ground. The familiar fear of losing himself resurfacing to draw him back from the awe.