REAP 23

by J J Perry

  The server arrived, and they ordered dinner.

  “What about finding the chip or whatever?” Nin asked.

  “Bhat is certain they would have erased it.”

  “If they found it,” Nin added. The topics wandered as they chatted idly as they ate, Porliche learning about life on this side of the world and vice versa. The crowd was a diverse bunch, clearly coming from all corners of the globe to this tower of academia. Toward the end of the meal, Nin asked, “Are you religious?”

  “No.”

  “I am a Reaper.” Nin spoke intensely, leaning forward and looking Porliche in her eyes as if searching for a visceral response. “That is why I am interested in your topic.”

  14.3

  Porliche gaped in awe and misgiving. “You probably don’t know how to respond to that,” Nin said. “There is no organized Reaper religion as far as I know. There are a few believers around here, but we keep it quiet. Officially, I belong to a state-supported theological society, almost part of being faculty here. A lot of students your age have religious inclination, and the society provides something that most people can adopt in one way or another. I found the Book of Reapers and loved the precepts. Have you read it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t you think it was inspirational?”

  “I thought it was an interesting story.”

  “You seem so bookish,” Nin said. “It surprises me that you got out of a library and traveled around the world to do this. Why?”

  “I am kind of boring, I guess. Everything about me is ordinary.”

  “Not everything. What happened?”

  “Nothing really. The boyfriend I grew up with pushed me into a pool. We were on a cliff, and he kept jumping in, and I wouldn’t. He thought I was too timid, and he wanted excitement. Well, I landed in shallow water and broke my leg and almost drowned. It took me a year to recover. I learned to fight for every step. I learned to ignore pain and push on. And I decided I should marry. I did, just not him. An astronomer.”

  “That explains a lot. So, Porliche, tell me what you have found so far in your research.” Nin scooted closer and bent in to hear against the din of diners. Her perfume had not been noticeable until now. It was unusual, stimulating.

  Dinner ended as they talked, sharing findings and opinions about the topic that they shared from different perspectives.

  “I’m pretty tired from the travel and time change. It would be nice to talk more, maybe tomorrow if you could, Nin.”

  “Let’s go down to the sublevel for half an hour. Then I’ll let you go to bed.”

  “What’s down there?”

  “Fun. You can’t travel half the way around the world and stay in your hotel room, girl.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “It’s not late. Just half an hour.”

  When the elevator opened on sublevel five, deep bass, pulsatile, exciting music and throbbing animated lighting signaled a dance floor. The room ahead was filled with people moving, twisting, and bobbing. The odor was bitter mixed with fresh, clean sweat and almonds. It took less than a minute to see that more than dancing was happening in the room. Nin, already gyrating, pulled her into the fray. Although initially hesitant, Porliche began to move. After ten or fifteen minutes, both women were glowing. They stopped for a drink and felt buzzed within minutes. Porliche turned to avoid seeing the corners of the room filled with groups of people whose dancing had evolved into activities she did not care to see. She could not keep her eyes away. Dancing resumed, and, soon, Nin had accepted the exclusive attention of a very tall and somewhat older man. Two men and one woman were competing for attention from Porliche. She was not interested, but the drink or pheromones or the continuous display of sexuality were eroding her commitment. She smiled at a plump young student, and he started rubbing up against her as they danced. It was disgusting. She wanted to leave. He tried to pull her closer, but she fought off his hands. She moved away, leaving him with the agony of rejection wrenching his face. She moved back to the bar and ordered a tonic with lime. Another young man immediately sat next to her, offering her a drink. She became impolite. He left. Nin had disappeared.

  Porliche surveyed the room, feeling tired, detached, and objective. These people were pleasure hunters. Most wanted only a conquest followed by the fulminant moment of gratification, the easy pursuit of indulgent, low-hanging fruit. She disdained the physicality of a relationship without an exchange of ideas, knowledge, philosophy, history, hopes, failures, flaws, and fears. Her list went on until she thought about her own mate and how he had become so intellectually boring in such a brief period. Surrounded by strangers and her own dissatisfaction, she felt more lonely than if she were in her deserted room. She drained her glass and walked away. Nin caught up with her at the exit. She put an arm around her waist and squeezed. “Welcome to Australia, poor girl. This is how we party here. What do you think?”

  “I feel like I need a bath. What was in those drinks?”

  “Harmless chemistry. The air, music, lights, the drinks are all designed to enhance the experience.” An older man with short, gray stubble on loose jowls followed them into the elevator. His belly peeked out from between his buttons and sheltered his belt. His yellow shirt was open at the neck, his maroon pants loose, cuffs dragging on the ground. Not the professorial look, Porliche concluded. “This is Sparky,” Nin said. “He is an electrician and might be able to help us.”

  “Us? How is an electrician going to help? Sorry. Hi, Sparky. I’m Porliche.”

  “Dyk Sparks.” He nodded once. An insular fellow, she thought.

  “Tell Sparky about how you are going to figure out if that machine received a signal.”

  “In a secret memo. In a personal letter. I don’t know. It’s way too late for me. I need to sleep, Nin.”

  “Then let’s arrange a meeting for tomorrow. Is that OK with you, Sparks?”

  They haggled and decided on a time. The elevator doors opened. “Let’s meet downstairs again.”

  “I don’t think so,” Porliche reacted.

  “How about the library?” Nin asked with a smile. Both agreed to a specific place and time. Nin left with her hand on Sparky’s arm, and Porliche reentered the elevator. She crashed into bed, into dreams of men using coercion and seduction from whom she escaped for hours. It seemed to last until morning when she finally was about to succumb and woke up tangled in soft, deep-red satin sheets. Sunlight poured through the window from a hazy horizon. Looking across the campus, she saw a garden of buildings of many shapes and styles, all with a large UB near the top. Very few people were out at this hour; 7:14 by her room clock. She had slept nine hours, a long time for her. She was still sleepy.

  Fed and clean, she started in a hurry, but the intrigue of the foreign campus slowed her down. She paused to read several plaques, memorials to some of the famous professors or markers of buildings long gone from the spot. Over two thousand years of academic history were here, different from her own college and dramatically larger.

  Nin’s tight, cool clothing style dominated on both men and women, but still there were others who wore loose-fitting garments characteristic of most of the world. She didn’t feel so out of place in her loose weave, coarse fabrics. She was shorter than most here as well as in Yucatan, but sizes, shapes, and colors were more heterogeneous. Few wore glasses, and none as thick and dark as hers.

  She arrived at the library almost eight hours before the planned meeting and spent the time culling documents. She sporadically found information that was new to her. She stored and cataloged everything, knowing she could comb and shrink the data later when time was not such a premium. As the afternoon dragged, she grew disappointed and worried at the absence of specific references to the discovery of the box in the Bunker.

  At fifteen minutes after five o’clock, Nin, Porliche, Sparky, and a tall and thin black man met in a tiny room
. He was Professor Aulaaona, a historian in the same large department but a different building than Nin. His hair was black and graying, curled tight and high on his head. His face was long, cheekbones prominent and high, jaw angular and small. His fingers were long and knobby. His niche was technical history.

  Porliche spoke following the brief introductions and an explanation of what she was researching. “I found a few more documents from the Gwolono era. There are a few references I need that I haven’t located. I found a variety of other papers that were not referenced in his writings. However, information about what was done by the Atlanticans when they took over the Bunker is pretty sparse, probably summaries of some other documents that I can’t find. So far, there is no hint that anyone ever was able to confirm or conclusively deny the claim, but there is also nothing to indicate that a lot of effort was expended or technology utilized to systematically and carefully examine the box other than external measurements and description.”

  “That is hard to swallow,” said Aulaaona. “A technological discovery thousands of years old, and no one drills deep enough to mine the data? Unbelievable.”

  “The papers are replete with references about the derision aimed at those mavericks specifically and the religion in general,” Porliche said. “I don’t find that too surprising.”

  “Many people, including scientists, are blinded by agendas or bias,” Nin offered. “The regime in Atlanticus was both insular and oppressive at that time. I’ll bet that they kept records but that they hid them from the outside world.”

  “The question is whether they are so well hidden,” pondered Porliche, “that they are lost. I do that with some of my data.”

  “Yeah, don’t we all?” Aulaaona responded with a broad, toothy smile contrasting brightly with his dark face. “The curious thing to me is that they could not find a way to confirm the signal. At the time these things were built, backup and memory were well established, easy to do, and routine. The way they did it was different than the ways used for the last centuries and possibly different than what was done at that time. I can find more about the technology in that era.”

  Porliche studied the historian. He was between 1.9 and 2 meters. He spoke Universal well but with a deep, guttural pleasing accent she had never heard. She responded, “I don’t want to put a burden on you. You are probably busy enough.”

  “I could get a publication out of this if it pans out. It interests me. I have time and young gophers that want a good project. It is not a problem. I should thank you for introducing me to the opportunity.”

  “It sounds like it is mutually beneficial to all of us,” Nin said.

  “Not me,” said Sparky.

  “Au contraire,” said Nin in a language no one understood. “You get money, fame, and fun if you come with us.”

  “What?” Porliche gaped at Nin.

  “I have never been to old Europe. I have funding for an excursion. I want to go. So when I add this all up, we are coming with you to France.”

  “I can’t go,” said Aulaaona, “if it’s next week. I have to host and present at a conference. I could send a graduate student.”

  “We could hook you up with a satellite link if you want,” said Sparky. “I do that all the time.”

  “That is a great idea,” he enthusiastically responded. “Between the grad student and the sat-link, we should be able to figure this out. I have funds for the link.”

  “I didn’t plan on this, and I didn’t expect it,” Porliche said.

  “Do you object?” Nin asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said perplexed.

  “When is your flight?” Nin asked.

  “In three days? Very early in the morning.”

  15.0

  The sign in the terminal said Viva La France. “How quaint,” Nin said. “Signage in a dead language.”

  “What does it say?” Quan asked. “I don’t recognize the symbols.” He was the graduate student in technical history about the same age as Porliche. His cheekbones indicated Asian heritage, darker skin, possibly aboriginal, and average in height for a man but a bit shorter than Nin. He had the paunch of a guy who had sat for years. His hair was black and short on top but longer on the back and neck, like so many other students on campus. ___.

  “It’s ancient, and the letters are derived from Latin,” Porliche said. “The language is French and dead longer than English.”

  “There are a lot of extinct languages.” Quan stared at the posters on the walls depicting scenes from antiquity. There was a woman in armor holding a sword in battle, a group of women holding up skirts and kicking, and a big tower made of metal beams.

  “Oh, honey,” Nin said, “there have been tens of thousands languages. Most are lost. Each language gradually changed over time with influence from and exposure to other cultures because of commerce or conquering. Don’t they teach you this in school?”

  “It’s engineering, Nin. There are translators for current languages.”

  “All six of them,” Porliche said.

  “There’s our bags,” said Sparky. “Looks like they got here and they’re all on a car, the way they should be.” He lumbered in that direction, skinny arms hitching up his pants under his small roll of fat.

  “Sparky, I think that is the longest sentence you have ever used,” Nin said.

  “Smartass.”

  “Maybe that’s why you like it so much.” Nin smiled and patted him on the rear as they walked in the lead.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” said Quan.

  The flatbed cart that held their luggage followed them to a loading zone where a van awaited. The bags and trunks were auto-loaded as they climbed on board. Sparky slipped a small card into a slot, and the van left the airport. It drove onto a moving train, and, after two more moving transfers, they arrived at a mountainous locale many kilometers almost due north of the large coastal city of Nice where the plane had landed. Over the last millennium, many towns in this region were renamed to their ancient appellations to encourage tourism.

  “Sparky, would you take our bags to our room, sweetie?” He took a rolling cart with three bags and two trunks into an elevator along with Quan, who carried a backpack and pulled a trunk. Nin and Porliche sauntered into a bar.

  “When do you want to start in the morning, poor girl?”

  “The site opens at nine. It will take us at least twenty minutes to get there from here, so how about eight thirty?”

  “Do you want to meet for breakfast first?”

  “Sure.” They ordered drinks. Porliche admired Nin, dressed in her usual tight and stretchy short tube, a long, luxurious coat draped over the back of the chair. “I have a question, Nin. How long have you been with your husband?”

  “Nine or ten years, I think.”

  “So tell me how it works for you to sleep with Sparks while you still have union with, uh, what’s his name?”

  “Parnet. He doesn’t care. In your culture, monogamy is the norm. In our culture, union is not an exclusive contract. Sex is something to share. It is an act of hospitality and friendship, a way of loosening up.”

  “Do you love Parnet?”

  “Sure,” she said casually.

  “How do you feel about Sparks?”

  “I like him for a change of pace.”

  “I think that is strange.”

  “What is love between two adults? Would I sacrifice for them, give a part of me, of my time and life? Yes. Do I have an emotional sensation, like a feeling deep in my chest when I see either of them? I do. With whom do I want to spend all the days of the rest of my life? Maybe neither of them. Maybe no one. Which of those things is love? Relationships are dynamic.” She took a sip. “This is good vodka.”

  “Doesn’t that make you insecure?”

  “Not at all. That’s a funny question, Por.”

 
“Do you have affairs often?”

  “What’s an affair? A single encounter? A few days? Weeks, months, years? More than one intimate relationship at a time? I don’t have, how shall I put this, repetitive engagements more than two or three times a year. Maybe none. It depends. Parnet and I are nearing the end of our intersection, I think.”

  “Intersection?”

  “Some people, a small percentage, meet and join then stay happily together for life. I think of them as a double helix—two lines that twist around each other from the time they meet until death. Most of us are curves that intersect and stay close for years. Our lines or lives eventually diverge as they grow. Few of us move in the same direction with similar periodicity and velocity for very long. The few that do are the double helices.”

  “Where does this come from?” Porliche asked as she rolled her eyes in mockery, unnoticed by Nin, whose eyes were scanning the bar.

  “It’s not my original idea. It was something I learned from my number two.”

  “Number two?”

  “Parnet is number three. Man two, Bosan, was a physicist and mathematician. I have no idea how he came up with this, but it resonates with me. We exist physically in the standard four dimensions of space-time. We also have personality characteristics that exist in at least four dimensions or scales if you will. You can be intro- or extroverted. I’m extro. There is an axis of logic and emotion, an axis of self-interest or self-sacrifice. I must be the latter, which is why the Reaper doctrine appeals to me. Another axis is sensual versus intellect. Some love pleasant sensations, while others find suffering to be edifying. Maybe sensation and intellect are two separate axes. I’ll have to ask Bosan when I see him again and see what he thinks. It doesn’t matter too much. The curves or waves of our lives are often so complex that most of them are bound to diverge.”