Diggory's World (Wayworld Book 1)

by T. Daniel Sheppeard

  Vilalgers brought food by, dropping it off after brief introductions. Much of it was food from Earth: watermelons, strawberries, apples, and chicken. It turns out that young Judith had earned her nickname because of her vast love of all things pickled. One visitor asked if there was anything in particular I’d like.

  “Please tell me you have milk,” I said.

  “We have soy milk,” they offered. I declined.

  I spent the night with the Patels. They suggested I take their bed while they slept on the floor, but I refused outright. In time, they insisted that Pickles could sleep with them that night and I could take the spare bed. In this they would not be denied.

  The following day found one overwhelmed Anton Diggory bandied about the community, accompanied at all times by the smiling and effervescent Pickles Patel. She introduced me to countless people, all smiling and warmly welcoming me. Their ages ranged from their mid-sixties on down, though people in their late twenties (my own age) were scarce. Everyone was very busy, but happy to take a few minutes out of their day to tell me their names (most of which I forgot) and learn a little about me. “See you at the party,” said several.

  “Party?” I asked Pickles, with raised eyebrow. Her eyes lit up like a beacon.

  “Of course we’re having a party,” she said, assuming it was obvious.

  I was examined by one of the resident physicians. She stitched up some of my gashes and gave me strict instructions to be very careful at the party. She said I showed signs of mild copper overdose (apparently common on Wayworld) but pronounced me reasonably fit.

  The village had two radio transceivers and a few working computers. Dr. Matthew Blum, a physicist, explained they had salvaged them and a few solar panels at their arrival on Wayworld. He booted one up.

  “Some of the modules from the Jamestown still orbit the planet!” he told me as we waited for the computer to start. “We can still ping them with the transceiver. Does us no good, but they’re still up there, if we can ever figure out a way to get them down here without being shot at.” Dr. Blum logged onto the computer and opened an image file. It was a grainy photograph taken from space. “Did you see what shot you down? It was one of these, wasn’t it?” He zoomed in on the picture.

  “Actually, I didn’t see what attacked—” I stopped and blinked in surprise. I hadn’t seen what shot me down, but I had seen a ship like the one on the screen. It was just like the ship that the shokhung traders, Mof and Gafikra, had tracked down as I’d traveled with them north of the mountains. I told Dr. Blum about our discovery.

  “Unmanned?!” he exclaimed. “A robotic ship? My boy, this is astounding! An automated system! We’ve always wondered who was doing this. It’s nobody!” He grabbed my arm and dragged me off to see another of their members. Pickles followed close behind.

  “Jared!” said the excited Blum after he had me recount the story. “Now it almost makes sense! The attackers never contacted anyone or followed up in any way because they’re not even there!” Jared wasn’t convinced and the two began a heated discussion. Pickles tugged at my sleeve.

  “They’ll be at this for a while,” she whispered. “We can just slip out.”

  One of our last stops was to the man who’d welcomed me to “Perdita”. His name was Solomon Touré, though he was more commonly called Brother Sol. He seemed to be the resident spiritual leader of the town. Pickles deposited me in his care and ran off to reconnect with her friends. Sol bid me sit at his table and poured me a hot drink.

  “It’s a tea, of sorts,” he explained, “made mostly from roots. It’s the closest thing to coffee I can offer you. Reminds me a little of the chicory I used to drink in New Orleans. It does have caffeine, however, or something like it.” I took a sip. It definitely was not coffee, but it wasn’t bad. Sol smiled warmly as he sat across from me.

  “It’s so good to have you here, Diggory. We can’t thank you enough for bringing Pickles back to us. We love all our children, of course,” he said, “but for a lot of people here Judith comes a close second to their own kids.” He sipped his beverage. “I want to hear your story, if you don’t mind, but first I’m sure you have many questions.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “So are you like the mayor, or something? Are you in charge here?”

  “Not at all,” he said, “but I somehow stumbled into the role of pastor.” He shrugged. “So, no, not in charge. But my voice is usually well-received.”

  “So, are you all a religious commune, then? ‘Cause that’s not what we learned in history class.”

  “No. Many of us are Christian, but we have Jews, Hindus, atheists…”

  “So I’m not here to be proselytized?”

  “No, again. I’m just here to welcome you and see what we can do for you.” He laughed. “But I will preach to you if you’re not careful!”

  Over the next hour or so he and I conversed. He gave me an abbreviated history of the colony, starting with their arrival. Like everyone else here, they’d been fired upon, but (according to their best guess) the modular design of the ship allowed many of the landing sections to parachute to safety. They’d moved a few times, but here they had enjoyed sufficient prosperity and security to thrive. They’d learn to farm, partly with seeds brought with them. They’d successfully hatched eggs from chickens, ducks, and guinea fowl.

  I asked about the apparent age gap in the twenties. When the Jamestown had launched few had brought young children with them. Nearly everyone in the village had either come here as adults or teens (making them older than me) or had been born here (making them younger).

  “They told you we’re having a celebration tonight in honor of Pickles’ return and your arrival, right? Are you okay with public speaking?” I nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Good. Everyone is going to want to hear your story. But, Diggory, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to get an abridged version.”

  Once again I accounted the story. The abridged version wasn’t so abridged, as Sol asked lots of questions about my time with the tupa and in Black Banks. As with Pickles, I nearly tripped up when talking about D’Silva. I tried to pass over it as before, but I saw Sol raise his eyebrows. All he said, though, was “How fortunate that the hermit knew what humans needed to eat.” He didn’t push or pry, but I was sure he’d guessed that my mentor had been human.

  “Remarkable,” he said quietly when I was done. “Simply amazing. You’ve had an incredible journey, my friend.” He quietly sipped his drink and thought for a bit. “Of course you’re welcome to stay here with us, I’m sure you already know. And I don’t think I’m alone in saying we hope you do. Assuming, of course, that you can live peaceably with us and do your best to pull your own weight.” He said the last part entirely off-hand and nonchalant as though obviously that wouldn’t be a problem, but it stuck in my head. Pull my own weight. How was I going to do that? My povum serta wouldn’t be any novelty in a community full of humans.

  Sol was standing. “You look tired. Why don’t you go back to the Patel’s and rest before the party?” I agreed and he walked with me long enough to be sure I’d find my way. Halfway there I came across Ankosh and found out he’d spent his day entertaining the human children with his amorphous nature.

  “What about Ankosh?” I asked. “Is he welcome to stay for a while?”

  “Of course,” remarked Sol. “Anyone is welcome who’ll do what they can to contribute.” Contribute. There it was again.

  I took a nap at the Patel house. I woke to find the cottage filled with delightful smells of cooking. Jay was manning the fire and let me test a few of his concoctions, but Nandini insisted I not eat much. “Save that appetite for later,” she said, shooing me from the kitchen.

  In another few hours the townsfolk began to gather in the center of the village. Blankets were spread out on the ground and tables set with all kinds of food. People brought musical instruments including many that surely came from Earth, like a flute and some harmonicas, and others more crudely built such as handmad
e guitars, banjos, and drums. There was a balalaika and a sitar. The music was old-fashioned, much of it reminding me of what my parents had listened to.

  After a while everyone gathered and Ankosh and I were presented to the community via formal introduction. Brother Sol spoke briefly. Nandini tried to address the crowd but was too choked up. Jay publicly thanked Ankosh and me for the rescue and praised our bravery. Pickles told about her own adventure. She clearly had no problem speaking publicly, and the crowd laughed at her jokes and wept at her sorrows. She teared up a few times too, but soldiered her way through it.

  Then it was my turn. I recounted, yet again, the tale of my last year or two on Wayworld. I was careful to gloss over my months with D’Silva, suggesting, without outright lying, that I had learned the survival skills from the shokhung, the tupa, and the okavi.

  The crowd shouted questions until one elderly gentleman insisted they wait until I had finished. Once I had, the questions came in droves. Could I find my way back to the okavi and the tupa, and would they be interested in trade? How numerous were the praad and did I think they would want to expand this direction? What sort of technologies had the shokhung scavenged?

  They wanted to know about Earth. What was the political situation? Had the predicted East Asian war ever broken out? And everyone wanted to know what was taught in school about the Jamestown. My answers drew jeers and sighs, not directed at me, but the information I’d conveyed.

  After stories and questions there was more food and more drinks and more music and then dancing. I was passed to and fro among a dozen or so dance partners, mostly little girls but a few women older than me, as well—all very sisterly and platonic, of course. I couldn’t really dance in my condition, so I mostly stood there while they circled around me, twirling and clapping.

  After a while I crept away into the darker edges of the gathering, fatigued and needing a little personal space. After ten or fifteen minutes I saw the tall form of Brother Sol approaching me.

  “You doing alright, Diggory?” he asked.

  “Yeah, fine,” I said. “Just a little overwhelmed. It’s been almost two years since I’ve spent time with humans,” (not quite true, but I intended to keep the hermit’s secret) “and now I’m surrounded by them—quite a change. Even before I came to Wayworld” (I’d told him my name for the planet) “I was used to spending time alone. Don’t get me wrong—I’m thrilled to be here. Finding a human village on this planet may be the happiest moment of my life! But yeah, feeling a little overwhelmed right now.”

  He laughed. I liked Sol’s laugh. It was deep, warm and genuine. “I can imagine. Take all the time out you need. I’ll run interference for you—keep the hordes at bay.” He started to walk away, then stopped.

  “There’s more to it, isn’t there?” he said, turning back to me. “Something else is bothering you.”

  I stood in silence for a moment, planning to brush it off and say it was nothing, but I stood in silence too long to make that denial believable.

  “You don’t need a government inspector out here, do you?” I said at last. He smirked.

  “Can’t say that we do. Don’t have much call for inspections. Don’t have much need for government. What are you getting at?”

  “Anyone’s welcome who can contribute, right?” I said. “I’ll do what I can, Sol. But what exactly is that? I got my old job because I knew someone who knew someone. I didn’t even have any expertise that made me right for that job. Every adult here is something: doctors, engineers, botanists, zoologists. Everybody else here has some specialty that makes your colony successful. I’m a clipboard holder. I don’t have anything you need. I have nothing to contribute.”

  Sol just looked at me quietly for a long time, his expression puzzled yet sympathetic.

  “Diggory, weren’t you listening to your own story?” he asked. “Look at what you’ve done, what you’ve accomplished, since arriving here. Nothing to contribute?

  “You are one of the bravest men I’ve ever met. You risked your life to save that woman’s. You followed a road that, by your own admission, could have led you to hostile people that might have done who-knows-what to you. Why? Because you thought that the chance to meet them was worth the risk. You marched for months across an alien world seeking a home. And then you charged after the kralsnar when you were wounded and half-dead, to save Judith.

  “And look at what you’ve learned along the way! Sure, you spent your life back home putting checkmarks in boxes. But now you’ve learned to hunt and fish, how to tan leather. You know how to sew; you know how to weave. You know pottery. You’ve learned the language of hundreds of sentient beings that no one else here knows how to communicate with.”

  I looked at him and saw not just earnestness, but genuine admiration. I’m not sure I’d ever felt admired before.

  “Diggory, you’d spent your life playing it safe. You never forced yourself to grow. You’re a gifted young man. But rather than put those gifts on the line, you hid your light under a basket because you were afraid to take a chance that life just might be hard.

  “I don’t mean to take away from the tragedy of your arrival here. I understand you lost a livelihood, along with your family and every friend you’d ever had. And that’s terrible. But in some ways, coming here was the best thing that ever happened to you. You’ve been denied the chance to play it safe, and because of that you’ve grown into a powerful, resourceful, and extremely competent individual.

  “I never met the old Diggory. But the man who stands here before me—that Diggory is frankly amazing. I’m truly glad to know him. And there is no doubt in my mind—none at all—that you’re going to be a great member of our community. We’re tough and resilient—just like you. And yes, you’ll contribute. Because there’s no safety net here. We work and we survive, or we fail. And you’ll do it, too. And now, you know that you can.” He paused and looked off to one side.

  “Oops,” he chuckled. “I broke my promise. I said I’d run interference for you, but someone slipped through.” I turned and looked over my shoulder to find Pickles.

  “You’re missing the party, Diggory! You have to come dance with me, now,” she said, grasping my hand and dragging me back to the lights. Sol shrugged at me. I didn’t fight her, but let her lead me back to the merry throng of revelers.

  As the music played, my mind drifted back to my first week on Wayworld. I’d been nearly out of emergency rations and the augie’s beacon was fading, along with my hopes of rescue.

  Anton Diggory, I’d said to myself, you’re never going home.

  Now, here I was, thinking, Maybe I just did.

  Appendix A: Language

  I’m pretty good with languages. I’m fluent in English and proficient in Russian and Mandarin. I speak a smattering of Hindi. I can get by in Shikachui. But it should be pointed out that while I have a knack for language, I’m not a linguist. I speak these language, but I can’t pretend to understand the mechanics. Where language is concerned, much of what I’ve described is incomplete at best, and wildly inaccurate at worst. Perdita’s Dr. Jonas Grisby, a literature professor and linguist, has expressed his frustrations with my inaccuracies.

  Most of the conversations I’ve related here were, in reality, far longer, slower, and more frustrating than depicted. There was a lot more repeating, questions, attempted clarifications, pantomimes, gestures, and guesswork than bears describing. I’d estimate that most conversations in Shikachui were about twice what I relayed.

  Pronunciation in Shikachui is imprecise: different species have different mouths, tongues, and voice boxes. In time, you pick up a knack for recognizing the mangled sounds—or at least I did.

  I used English consonants. Kh is like the ch in loch or Bach. As for vowels, I followed Latin conventions, since that seems to be what most languages (that use this alphabet) use.

  a ah (or anything like it)

  e e in hey or egg

  i i in happiness or igloo

  o o in goat
<
br />   u u in glue or oo in book

  Appendix B: Physics and Faster than Light

  I’m not a physicist. I don’t understand the mechanism that brought me to Wayworld. Not even a little. Both D’Silva and Petiri Dzenga (one of the engineers in Perdita) tried to explain to me the physics behind the Heim Displacement Drive. I’ve done my best to describe it below. Petiri reviewed my first three drafts and dismissed them as entirely unsatisfactory. I stopped asking.

  As Petiri explained, the Heim Displacement Drive was named for a physicist named Burkhard Heim, but it really had little or nothing to do with his work. Rather, D’Silva was inspired by an article on Heim’s theories which were described as “using magnetic fields to access higher-dimensional space”—whatever that means.

  D’Silva described the travel like this:

  Imagine a two-dimensional world. The shortest distance between points A and B would be a straight line connecting the two. Now imagine that 2D world wrapped into a spiral shape like a piece of paper rolled up. The shortest distance between those two point would still be that straight line, unless you could travel three dimensionally, in which case the shortest distance would be through the cylinder.

  Now apply that to a three-dimensional world wrapped around itself in a fourth dimension. The Heim Displacement Drive shifted the direction of travel fourth-dimensionally, sending a vessel between the layers of the “rolled up” universe.

  The trickiest part, he said, was navigation: directing the vessel fourth-dimensionally when our own senses only operated in three. It all hinged on detecting the curve of the 3D space within the 4D space. The Heim Displacement Drive did this with delicate sensory equipment that the team had developed.

  To the outside observer, the vessel would seem to simply disappear in one spot and re-appear some time later on another spot. A rider in the vessel, however, would experience movement, which of course, all the humans on Wayworld had. (I was unconscious for most of my journey.)