His mind suddenly filled with images, making him jump. The images were of a small furry figure sleeping at his feet. His sigh seemed a scream in the quiet forest.
“Skitter?!” he called, realizing afterward that he probably needed to use the communication method he used when he was here before. Projecting an image of himself petting his furry friend, he was glad to see the unique rolling gait of the bulbous, furry body coming toward him. At least I’m not completely alone.
Large green luminous eyes looked up at him and Skitter chittered unintelligibly while sending pictures of Sam’s house disappearing the last time he was here. Right on top of those images, Sam saw the moon cycling in the sky. Without really knowing how, he realized that Skitter was telling him that more than a year had passed since he was here before. As impossible as it seemed, Sam did not doubt the images.
“Skitter, my friend,” Sam said while sending images of himself stuck on a rock out in the middle of a vast ocean, “I’m stuck here. I don’t know what to do.” He followed up by sending a picture he imagined of other people gathered around him, leaning in and reaching out their hands to help him. “I need help.”
Skitter looked at him questioningly, twitching his whiskers and chirping softly. An image of some crumbling walls filled Sam’s mind. Sam understood that it was a question, somehow. Skitter was asking him if finding another structure, like his house, would help.
With a nod, Sam mentally answered his furry companion. “Yes,” he said, while projecting an image of himself smiling and nodding, not realizing until after he did so that the image was the same as the way he looked right at that moment. “I think that would be a start. Let me get some things and you can show me where those walls are.”
Skitter chuckled to himself. The communication from this Sam was so crude! That last bit, where Sam sent images to Skitter of himself smiling and nodding, while he was actually smiling and nodding, was hilarious. He would really have to work with this creature. Without Skitter, he would probably fall into a hole or be eaten by a pantor. It was like watching one of the young ones, one who could not even eat solid food yet.
The Citizen watched with interest as Sam went back into his dwelling, sending feelings of calmness and happiness that he would have a guide, along with gratitude toward Skitter. Skitter curled up in the soft grass, content to wait for the man.
Curious, Skitter tried to further communicate with Sam even though he was no longer in sight. He was easily able to communicate a question about what the man was doing. When Sam dropped the items in his hand because of his surprise at the communication, Skitter laughed again.
You…me…communicate…walls…can’t see. The man’s message came through in disjointed, broken images. Still, mostly because of Skitter’s vast intelligence, he understood what the man was trying to say.
Of course I can talk to you at distance and through “walls,” he answered. Can’t creatures like you do that?
The man did not understand. He was hopeless. Sighing, Skitter tried again. I…talk…you…more far. This, accompanied with images of the two walking away from each other.
Sam’s surprise was evident. Really? he sent.
Truly, Skitter responded and began making his way out toward the edge of the clearing. Searching Sam’s mind for the correct concept, he sent, 50…100 feet…can send.
Understanding the creature’s measurements—of course, why would he not?—Skitter gracefully glided out to about seventy-five feet away from the house. Hear me…you? Sam answered in the affirmative.
Going further, to about one hundred feet, Skitter sent: Now? Again the affirmative. Sam had stopped whatever task he had been performing to pay attention to the Citizen.
You…tell…when can…still…hear. Skitter sent, sending images of Sam keeping a continuous flow of affirmations toward Skitter. With that, Skitter continued moving, past the end of the clearing and into the underbrush of the forest. All the while, Sam kept sending: Still…hear…me? over and over again. Skitter kept sending, Yes.
Surprisingly, Skitter got to a little over one hundred fifty feet away before he started losing some of Sam’s sendings. Stepping back into range, he sent to Sam his feelings of surprise and happiness. Even for Citizens who were closely connected, such as near relatives, the furthest they could communicate was barely a hundred feet. He and Sam could communicate at a hundred fifty feet. That was remarkable.
By the time Skitter had walked back to the dwelling, Sam was ready and had come out. He was wearing what looked like a rock on his back, a “backpack,” and he had some rigid object attached to his side. Searching Sam’s memories, he identified it as a “knife.” Apparently, it was for protection. Interesting. Skitter knew that the most intelligent creatures hid or ran from predators. Combat with them was a good way to become a meal.
Sam sent to Skitter, Hungry? Eat…good, and unwrapped something and held it toward Skitter. As he sniffed the half unwrapped item, Sam broke off a small piece and put it in his mouth. Granola bar, he sent. Skitter nibbled the end of the object and enjoyed the taste. Taking the “bar” from Sam’s hand, he greedily munched down half of it before realizing he was being rude.
You…want…some? he sent.
Shaking his head and grunting in his barbaric language, Sam sent: No…thank…you. Have…more…in…house.
Skitter took the wrapper from Sam and carefully rewrapped the granola bar to later share with others in his community. It would make him very popular.
Skitter started walking into the forest, sending that Sam should follow. The strange structures in the images he sent Sam were not near, but not too far away, either. He had only been that far one time, when he was an adolescent and keen to explore other areas. That was before he settled down and became reasonable, respectable, and wise.
Skitter had not seen much in his life beyond his own community of Citizens. In fact, most Citizens did not travel much beyond their own safe area. There were rumors that other communities existed, but Skitter did not know any other Citizen who had ever seen or communicated with another community. In the—what was the unit of time in Sam’s language?—forty-eight years that he had lived, Skitter had only seen other Citizens in his community, pantor, rakkeben (both of which tried to eat his kind and so were avoided at all costs) and the sole example of Sam’s species, Sam himself.
He often wondered what other marvels were out in the world, but being reasonable, respectable, and of course, tremendously wise, he did not try searching for any of these mysteries. If he was meant to see amazing things, those amazing things would come to him. Which started him thinking. Sam had come to him. Was that a coincidence? Did it mean something? He didn’t know.
He traveled easily through the underbrush, so he often had to stop and wait for Sam to catch up. The man was much too big and uncoordinated to travel in the forest like this. Sending encouragement often, he secretly felt sorry for the simpleton. Well, not all creatures could be Citizens. There had to be cretins to balance things out. Still, he was fond of Sam. In fact, he might make a good “pet,” a term taken right from Sam’s mind, though to Skitter the whole concept sounded akin to slavery. Perhaps he didn’t understand the concept well enough.
All along the journey, Skitter attempted to communicate with Sam. He believed even more strongly now that with practice, Sam could learn to communicate like an adolescent Citizen, albeit a dim-witted one. One mustn’t expect too much or over-exaggerate the abilities of inferior species, after all. Within two “hours,” communication was slightly better, with Skitter learning more about how to use “words” and with Sam learning more about using real communication: images, emotions, and other sensory mechanisms.
Finally reaching the strange structures, “ruins” as Sam referred to them, Skitter stopped and lay down in the cool grass, waiting to see what Sam would do. He sent to him, simply, This…is…place. As he scratched his ear, his eyes locked on Sam and watched with interest.
Chapter 5
Sam was tired
from the hike through dense forest, trying to keep up with Skitter as the furry creature led him to the ruins in the images sent to his mind. When he saw them himself, though, all fatigue left him. Skitter’s images were from the vantage point low to the ground and were only of the edge of the ruins. Now that Sam could see them for himself, he could only stand there and stare.
There, just in front of him, were the remains of a massive structure. Or several structures. Though crumbling, he could see that the walls were obviously concrete. A few of the corners were still intact, though he was sure that they were much higher when the structure was solid. Sam stepped carefully through the choking vines and bushes to the nearest corner to inspect it more carefully.
From the remains of the walls, Sam tried to picture what the structure looked like. It reminded him of some sort of commercial building. Definitely not a home. The rooms, where they seemed to be separated by crumbling interior walls, were too large for a dwelling. Of course, if there were once interior walls made of something other than the concrete-like material, they would probably have deteriorated and disappeared over time. How long ago was this structure built?
The outer walls described a building that was at least a hundred fifty feet wide by about two hundred feet long, with several partial walls that appeared to be partitions. Based on the height of some of the lesser-deteriorated walls, the structure must have had more than one floor. Through the choking vegetation, Sam could see other stone or concrete in places, perhaps part of the floor or foundation, perhaps part of one of the upper floors that had fallen.
He took a closer look at the wall nearest him, flicking it with his finger. A piece of it flaked off, revealing something embedded within the wall itself. Was that…plastic? Using his knife to gouge some of the other material away, he saw that it was indeed some sort of polymer, a synthetic plastic rib within the wall.
Of course. It’s rebar. It was a structural piece around which the concrete was poured, providing some small safety from the walls crumbling due to earthquakes and the like. He was familiar with the use of rebar in buildings back home. On his world, though, rebar was typically made of steel. He was sure this plastic rebar served the same purpose as the steel rebar he was familiar with.
So, this was concrete! But how old must it be to have deteriorated so badly? And what was this structure? Had he traveled into the future? Was this a building from his time and he was the only human left on the planet? Sitting on a low portion of wall that seemed solid, he put his head in his hands and groaned. What, exactly, had he gotten himself into?
A sudden sending from Skitter, one of surprise and fear, shook Sam from his reverie. Looking toward his friend, he was startled to see a man standing not ten feet from him, so still that he seemed like a statue or part of the ruined structures.
The man stood with perfect posture, completely motionless. His hazel eyes glinted in the mid-morning sun and seemed to look right through Sam. His thin face, with its chiseled features, over-wide and flat nose, strong jaw, and slightly tilted eyes, exuded power and mastery. His short black hair, peppered with gray, seemed out of place framing the man’s young-looking face. His stern visage sent a shiver up Sam’s spine.
Sam gulped nervously. “Hi, I’m Sam. Can you help me?”
The man walked gracefully toward Sam until he was directly in front of him. Sparing a glance at Skitter, who remained motionless where he was, the man fixed his eyes on Sam. It seemed as if he was counting every cell in Sam’s body.
The man was dressed in an outfit that Sam could only think of as monk-like. His soft sandals were laced up the calves with some kind of cord, over loose-fitting trousers held up with a sash of rough material, which was only visible briefly as the man held up the robes, which normally draped down almost to his ankles, when he stepped over some rubble. The robes, coarse material that was the same off-white or tan color as the rest of his clothes, reminded Sam of other such robes he’d seen back home. Honestly, the man looked like a Shaolin monk. He moved like one, too.
The man began softly barraging Sam with words, none of which made any sense to him. Obviously, whatever language they spoke here, it wasn’t something Sam could understand. That would make things quite a bit more difficult.
Raising his hands up to show he meant no harm, Sam said slowly, “Do you understand me at all?” The man’s stony face showed no emotion. He just stood there looking at Sam.
Sam sent a thought to Skitter, who had remained perfectly motionless, as if that would make him disappear. Can...communicate...with...him? Read...thoughts?
Still not moving, not even blinking, Skitter responded, No. The sending was tinged with confusion and not a small amount of fear. Sam knew that he would not be getting any help from his companion in this situation.
Suddenly, there was another person there, right next to the man. Where did this one come from? Sam had been looking right at the man and the next thing he knew, there was someone else standing there. Sending to Skitter to ask if he knew what was going on yielded no response. Apparently, his furry friend was so scared, he could no longer even communicate.
The newcomer walked a few steps to the side, looking Sam up and down. It felt as if he was being weighed and judged, again. If the first man was graceful, and he was, then Sam didn’t know how to describe this new person. If the first was a dancer, a piece of beautiful music made flesh, the second was a master performer, a symphony in human form, the opus of a composer of unbounded talent. It was hard to believe that someone could move that gracefully. The landscape, though clogged with obstructions, seemed almost to move around the person rather than the person moving around the obstructions. It was mesmerizing.
The second stranger spoke, not to Sam, but to the other man. Sam could not understand a word, but he was surprised to hear that it was a woman’s voice, melodious but firm. And, he was not happy to hear, sounding more than a little irritated.
Another disconcerting feature about the woman was that she wore some sort of mask, if such a cloth device that covered everything completely could be called a mask. There were no eye holes, no nose hole, and no mouth hole in the mask at all. It looked as if it was one solid piece of black cloth, but it also seemed to shimmer and change colors as he looked at it move. He tried in vain to see through it to the face of the stranger within. It covered her whole head, down to the neck. There was a bulge protruding out of the back and Sam guessed that her hair was long, rolled up tight in some sort of bun under the mask. How did she breathe in that thing? How did she see?
Sam felt he could be forgiven for not noticing sooner that the person was a woman. Her clothing was both close-fitting and oddly amorphous in its fit. There was no way to tell that the body beneath was a woman’s or a man’s. As she moved, it clung and moved with her, making no sound, not a rustle, but it also seemed baggy and appeared to provide complete freedom of movement. When she did move, though, it was with the utmost grace. They didn’t seem to be the movements of a woman. For that matter, they really didn’t seem like the movements of a man, either. The movements were too perfect, too efficient, to even seem human. What was under that mask? Was she even human?
The woman’s soft shoes, which, now that he thought of it, made absolutely no sound when she circled him, gauging him, rested lightly on a stone or concrete patch in front of him. Her entire outfit, a dull, mottled gray/green, would make her nearly invisible in the forest if she didn’t move. Or maybe even if she did.
Without taking her gaze off him, she spoke to the man. It sounded harsh, angry, accusing. The man, still calmly looking at Sam, answered her quietly. The woman, it seemed, did not like the answer and started to argue. One word was spoken by the man, “Nalia,” and she stopped mid-sentence.
Huffing her disgust, she turned and walked toward another part of the ruins. The man spoke a few words to her, at which she nodded and then, more gracefully than should have been possible, and with no sound, bounded around one of the walls and out of sight.
A fe
w minutes later, Sam heard some rustling and scraping, along with the heavy puffing of someone breathing hard. The racket grew louder in the quiet ruins until, finally, another man appeared around one of the crumbling walls. This one was quite different than the first man.
The man was older, probably in his 60’s, though seeming relatively fit for his age. He wore trousers and a tunic of some sort of rough woven fabric, undyed and functional looking. His boots were crude and looked home made, but were sturdy as he stomped them through the ruins towards Sam. His dress reminded Sam of safari outfits he’d seen in old movies.
His face was kind, a grandfatherly sort of face, with deep lines in his forehead, around his eyes, and especially near his mouth. Sam got the impression that the man laughed and smiled a lot, with the way the wrinkles were formed. His thin mouth was open and gasping. He was obviously having trouble breathing from rushing there. His short-cropped beard, a goatee really, along with his unkempt, wild, wavy hair were solid gray/white, reminding Sam of Colonel Sanders, of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame.
Stopping just short of where the other man was standing, the older man put his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. He held his left hand up toward Sam, motioning that he would speak in just a moment, after he caught his breath. Sam looked from him to the other man, who had not moved at all (was he even breathing?), to the woman. She had somehow appeared right next to the motionless man again. How did she do that?
When he was finally breathing more normally, the man stood up. He was tall, perhaps just over six feet, but appeared shorter because of his bad posture. Hunching the way that he was, he looked like nothing so much as a wizened, ancient scarecrow. He spoke to Sam in a rush of words that Sam did not understand.
“I’m sorry,” Sam told him, “but I don’t understand you.”
Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set Page 5