Echoes of Esharam

by Robert Davies

  “Do not be concerned, Darrien; she is in no danger.”

  “You still haven’t told us what this is about,” he protested, but Qural only smiled.

  “Be patient; I believe you will enjoy the surprise.”

  Moments later, the emitter steadied itself to a uniform, pink glow and Rantara went completely limp, suspended in the brilliant energy field. They had never seen it change that way, but Haleth stood beside the control panel and said, “It’s functioning properly; she’s in a deep dream state.”

  Tindas turned to Norris.

  “Darrien, this will take little more than an hour, if you’d like to go upstairs and find something to eat before we prepare you.”

  Norris looked at Rantara again, then to Qural.

  “Prepare me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It will not take long.”

  Norris shrugged and looked again at Rantara, but she seemed well enough and Tindas motioned toward the ramp.

  “Go and have your lunch, Darrien; when you finish, Onallin will be ready.”

  Norris made his way reluctantly to Qural’s kitchen where Rentha’s aide waited to prepare a platter of bitter-tasting roots and oddly shaped leaves he insisted would improve digestion. Norris sat and picked his way through the selection of strange vegetables, determined to acquaint the entire Anashi people with the benefit of ordinary vinaigrette one day.

  After a while, and two full cups of chamas beer to wash away the foul aftertaste, he returned to the inner laboratory where Tindas pointed to a low stool. Rantara was gone from the Transceptor’s pedestal, he noticed, but Qural had the answer before he could ask.

  “Onallin is freshening up, Darrien; she will return shortly.”

  Tindas waited until Norris settled.

  “Tilt your head to the right for a moment, Darrien.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Your translation node.”

  “Is there something wrong with it? I can understand you clearly.”

  “Just another moment…”

  Norris felt a tingle on the skin covering his node. It wasn’t painful, but when Tindas stood away and spoke, all Norris heard was the strange, yattering of Belexic Khorran. At once, he shook his head and said loudly, “Something’s wrong with it; I can’t understand you now.”

  Tindas only smiled.

  “Can you hear me?” shouted Norris, yet Tindas’ reply was little more than laughter and gibberish.

  Suddenly, another voice from behind answered in clear, Earth English.

  “Why yo are shotting…shouting the loud, Darrien?”

  Norris spun around to find Rantara where she stood in the doorway, grinning sheepishly.

  “What the hell?” he said, dumbfounded and confused.

  “Yo can unnastan thees?” she said slowly, still unsure of the new syntax.

  Qural stood beside her, arm in arm while Tindas re-adjusted Norris’ translation node.

  “Haleth’s gift, Darrien.”

  Norris stared in disbelief.

  “How?”

  Qural gestured toward Haleth and said, “The Transceptor is a truly amazing device, and we have long suspected it was capable of transferring language fluency at incredible speed. Haleth discovered the algorithms and mapping instructions for the requisite neural pathways quite by accident several years ago. After some time he was able to work out synaptic triggers so that Onallin’s vocal mechanisms would respond correctly. Ommit temporarily disabled your translation node’s Khorran programming so Onallin could demonstrate her new English skills.”

  “Thees a very stran…strange, Darrien,” Rantara said. “I steel hev a tim…”

  She stopped suddenly, unable to keep from laughing until she recomposed herself for another, more deliberate try.

  “I have a tack more…take more time to…to speck the word, but Haleth say its will come esier…easier, the m…the more I use…”

  Norris went to her with a wide grin and a long hug to celebrate Rantara’s first foray into a new language the way parents fuss and encourage young children. He looked at her in wonder and delight as Qural explained.

  “Before you begin the journey to Earth,” she said with obvious delight, “Haleth will run the program again and you will understand both Khorran and Anashi as though taught from birth. As it is for Onallin, the process will take time for your speech mechanism and musculature to adjust, but when you both return, there will be no need for the nodes when we speak again.”

  Norris smiled at the meaning of Qural’s words and what it meant. By the miracle of a machine he still didn’t understand, he would suddenly become trilingual without effort. For an hour, he watched Rantara scrolling through images in Qural’s console, correctly identifying them in Earth English. Hesset and Banen would also receive the treatment, even as Norris and Rantara made their transit to Earth. In time, Tindas said, Haleth’s new linguistics ‘therapy’ might someday make translation nodes needless and redundant. Norris understood the goal and aim of such a thing could become an important tool for smooth and peaceful unification as each race found in another the common bonds of shared language. In his own small way, Qural nodded, Haleth had built perhaps the most useful bridge of all.

  AFTER EIGHT DAYS, Doctor Veers decided at last Rantara’s recovery had gone well enough for her to undertake the journey to Earth; their moment had arrived. During the pause, Rantara had become obsessed with polishing her English skills, bombarding Norris with endless conversations to make pronunciation and grammar adjustments as they walked the grounds of Qural’s estate until it was his turn.

  Haleth insisted it would be better if Rantara learned sufficient English first, and then to speak only without the node’s assistance to guide him as Norris took his first steps into Belexic Khorran because, he said, ‘those who teach are the best students.’ It sounded better to Norris in theory than it was in practice and he complained that Rantara had become a bully—a language snob—only because she went first. When no one took his side, Norris abandoned the fight and gave in to her new, additional authority.

  As they gathered one last time on the cool grass, Banen handed an infopad to Norris.

  “This is a data package that will help if Onallin shows any lingering signs of distress from the Kez’Erel explosive trap on Esharam. It has been translated by Haleth’s programs into Earth English with specific details as to the nature of the weapon, but also our efforts to neutralize and cleanse her body of the Velaspheres. This may be confusing to your physicians, at first, but the analysis should become clear when they access the research information inside this device and compare the enzyme production as it maps back to your physiology.”

  Qural stood beside Norris.

  “We managed to copy over most of the data we collected when you were here before, which will make it clear to them why you disappeared then, but also where you have been since your disappearance this time.”

  Norris felt himself flinch.

  “Does that include Bera Nima?” he asked warily.

  “Yes,” Qural replied.

  “Can’t we leave that part out of it?” he whispered; “I don’t want them to see her that way.”

  “There is no benefit from withholding crucial information, Darrien; they must see and understand everything, including those moments we all would rather forget.”

  Memories of the chasm flooded in despite his best effort to ward them off. They were the insoluble residue of a time he hoped would fade into insignificance, but once more, they tormented him from the shadowy fringes of his thoughts. He saw Rachel clearly, imagining her reaction when the truth of what Rantara had been was dragged into the light. Would it compel his own people to recoil, he wondered? There was no way to know and the question could only be answered when humanity met her at last.

  “With this information,” Qural said, “they will understand how and why you disappeared from Terran space. It will explain much, but your task to put a voice to our request remains.”

&
nbsp; The hours passed too quickly, just as they had seventeen years before and he remembered the sadness in her voice that haunted him in those final moments before he stood on the Transceptor’s pedestal, waiting for the memory transfer as the Trap high above Fells Moll prepared to send him home.

  “We’ll be back soon, Qural, I promise.”

  She smiled and took Norris’ hand, joining it gently with Rantara’s.

  “Please take care of each other; I will be waiting for you.”

  Qural embraced them one last time before nodding to Haleth.

  “They are ready,” she said softly.

  Banen held Theriani close and Hesset moved to Qural, steadying her as Kol had done when they first fought against the mounting despair while Norris’ memories were taken from his mind years before. Tindas’ programming of the scout ship’s navigation computer had relieved Norris and Rantara of anything to do but sit and wait; the sleek little machine would fly itself to an intercept point within range of the near-side Hyperthread.

  The engines whined to life and they lifted slowly above the trees, accelerating over Aremor City on their outbound track. The sky darkened through deep, flawless shades of purple to the black of space as the ship sliced effortlessly through the atmosphere. Moving quickly as Fells Moll slipped farther behind, the ship sped on until the Hyperthread’s entry gate flickered and flashed in silent explosions of dazzling blue light. Norris turned suddenly to Rantara.

  “Not your garden variety road trip,” Norris said with a smile.

  Rantara stared at him for a moment, rummaging through her new language skills to find an appropriate response.

  “I understand the statement, Darrien, but it still sounds ridiculous. Is this the way your people will speak when we arrive?”

  “Not likely,” he laughed, “but they will say other things that are quite proper and sound every bit as ridiculous; my politicians can be self-absorbed blowhards, no different than yours.”

  Rantara shook her head and settled as the ship found its center in a glistening Hyperthread tunnel and beyond it, the Terran colonies.

  AFTER THE FORTY-HOUR transit, an alert sounded from the scout ship’s control panel, waking them where they dozed in the aft crew compartment and half an hour more, they were through the exit gate, slowing in steady space. Immediately, Rantara selected a navigation display behind the cockpit where countless points of light made a three-dimensional image like delicate flakes of snow stopped in time on a moon-lit night.

  “Do you recognize any of these formations?”

  His smile and a quick nod told her they had arrived.

  “Yes; this is exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

  She leaned close to study the chart.

  “Which one is SLC-28?”

  Norris scrolled through a coordinates menu, inputting the three-axis location from memory.

  “This is the planet where you lived before we met?” she asked.

  Norris nodded as the ship continued on and Rantara made the attitude corrections until they steadied on a direct course for the bright, shimmering planet slowly filling the windscreen before them. Norris was sure he could conceal the tide of emotion sweeping over him, but Rantara saw it at once.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Norris nodded and watched the cold, barren world draw closer, yet it seemed a thousand years since he lifted into the clouds on that cold, stormy day, turning outbound for the Copernican Maze. In the misery of Bera Nima, he rarely allowed himself the thought of going home as he gazed upward at a clear night sky from the chasm, if only to lessen his loneliness and despair. Hesset often sat with him on the tier, trading stories of their home worlds and those who waited, but now, when the moment was finally upon him, the urgency of their mission had dulled his excitement and joy; his return had been suddenly co-opted and made subordinate to a higher purpose.

  In his silence, Norris felt cheated somehow—a strange and unlikely sensation that made little sense. It should have been a triumph of survival and the human spirit, but the horrors advancing on them from Namadi space compelled him to act beyond his own desires. Instead, he nodded with satisfaction, knowing the imposed sacrifices yet unmade were more than worthy; there would be time to enjoy a homecoming, once the bombardment clouds were destroyed. He took in a long breath and gave Rantara the communication codes. When she opened a link to one of the orbiting satellites high above SLC-28’s equator, Norris spoke the words automatically.

  “Demaeus Control, this is…”

  In an absurd and comical moment, he realized Tindas hadn’t told him the little scout ship’s hull number and he turned at once to Rantara.

  “What’s the registration number of this damn thing?”

  She quickly keyed in the system’s master information code and found the Khorran navy had assigned a bland, alphanumeric series.

  “RS2112,” she said and Norris tried again.

  “Demaeus Control, scout vessel Romeo Sierra 2112 requesting orbital vectors for Station 8.”

  There was no reply.

  “Demaeus Traffic Control, this is scout vessel RS2112; I need clearance and approach vectors from orbit, inbound to Station 8; please respond.”

  The comm remained silent. Norris looked at Rantara.

  “Did you input the code exactly?”

  “The channel is open, Darrien,” she whispered; “they can hear you.”

  Norris felt the frustration begin to build.

  “Demaeus, are you receiving this?”

  Still there was no reply and Norris leaned closer to the console.

  “Demaeus Control, is there a reason you can’t be bothered to answer my hail, or are you just an idiot who needs to find another line of work?”

  A few more moments passed until finally, a deep, digitally masked voice came over the comm.

  “Unidentified vessel, you are not on a filed flight plan; please identify yourself.”

  Norris shook his head and his jaw tightened.

  “I have identified myself!” he shouted as Rantara looked on in respectful silence. “This is Darrien Norris, chief engineer for CenturoCorp’s Surface Assets Division at Station 8, speaking to you from the heavily armed, Khorran scout ship Romeo Sierra twenty-one twelve. I need clearance and vectors, or I will put this fucking thing through your front door and we can discuss it in person!”

  “2112, Demaeus control; did you say ‘Norris’?”

  “Affirmative!”

  “Stand by.”

  In the quiet, Rantara grinned at Norris.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you lose your temper.”

  “Our controllers can be a little difficult sometimes,” he replied; “a very by-the-book group, unfortunately.”

  “I think you have their attention now.”

  As they neared a high orbit, the voice returned.

  “2112, Demaeus Control. You are cleared to Station 8 via the Southern One-Zero vector, but be advised, you will be required to present transit documentation to Security and Customs officials upon arrival.”

  Norris said nothing in a deliberate show of defiance, hoping the silence returned would have an equal effect on the faceless controller and Rantara frowned.

  “Aren’t you going to answer him?”

  “I will,” Norris replied, “but it’s his turn to wait.”

  After a full minute, Norris spoke.

  “Romeo Sierra 2112 is cleared to the pad at Station 8 on the South-Ten vector.”

  He could see her grinning from the corner of his eye.

  “What are you smiling at, Onallin?”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t me you were shouting at.”

  “I would never shout at you.”

  “You didn’t have any trouble three months ago,” she replied.

  “That was different,” he insisted.

  “I don’t know,” she replied with a noticeable leer; “if we had another hour up here, maybe I wouldn’t mind if you did!”

  No
rris’ double-take at her suggestive, lewd comment was immediate.

  “And you called me a dirty little boy?”

  She smiled again as they crossed over the Ross Mountains far to the west, dipping gently below the broken cloud cover where it hugged a ragged line of ridges and beyond, the Plain of Horab. When they turned for the final approach, Norris saw it at once; Station 8’s pale blue buildings clinging to the summit of the lonely, ancient hill in the fading afternoon light. He said nothing, but Rantara could see the tension was building.

  “Darrien?”

  “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

  She nudged him gently, remembering Arros and Ellimox as they arrived on Fells Moll to meet Norris.

  “I think I’m the one who’s supposed to be nervous this time.”

  Norris snorted and said, “You’ve never been nervous a day in your life.”

  “Maybe,” she answered, “but we’re almost there and I’m starting to feel it now.”

  He took in a deep breath and pointed toward the big garage bays as the last sunbeams sliced through a broken, grey overcast like pale, yellow needles bathing the whole of Station 8 for a stark, splendid moment.

  “This is a day they’ll remember the rest of their lives, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t want this to become a problem, Darrien; your people don’t know me the way you do, and…”

  “My people don’t have the luxury of time, Onallin; none of us do. There isn’t going to be any ridiculous, first-contact protocols everyone talked about when they discovered the Sannies. The big-shots on Earth are going back with us—they just don’t know it yet.”

  Rantara dropped the ship gently from altitude, circling to the east on a wide, half-circle until the landing cycle was established. Norris felt the adrenalin flowing and he wondered if Rantara would be able to hold her patience when the full power of Earth’s scrutiny fell only on her.

  The landing struts deployed, but far below, Norris could see a few of the security detachment’s guards, already on the landing pad with a Customs official. It was strange and profound, looking again at those most familiar things that had once been so common, only to regard them now as part of a distant past. Suddenly, he found himself searching through the uniformed figures as they grew larger, looking for Rachel with a strange expectation she would somehow know and be there, waiting for him in the cold, blustering wind. After a moment or two, it was clear; only the hooded guards in their bright green battle gear huddled against the scout ship’s downblast.