Interference

by Sue Burke

  “You’re welcome to come, of course. I just wanted to give you a choice.”

  “That’s what I mean. You don’t lead. We’ll never get home and it’ll be your fault.”

  I walked away, but now worried. What might he do on Pax? I had no way to predict.

  And so, finally, we were ready to go.

  “Goodbye, flowerpot,” Mirlo said. “Hello, jungle.” He floated steadily for his final check. The computer read out his data. His health was good. His gear had been properly stored on the plane, he was wearing a shirt and slacks over a bodysuit that would protect him from cold, precipitation, and small weapons and animals, and he had brought sufficient water to boost blood volume as we returned to gravity, so he was clear to go. He ducked into one of the planes.

  Eighteen more team members were checked, and then, finally me. I entered one of the planes to deliver the discourse I had written the day before. Nine faces gazed at me while the pilot stared instead at equipment readouts. I said:

  “We must imitate all friendly greetings and accept any offers of interest and help, but we must be prepared for hostilities from the natives or from the environment. We’ve seen large animals, and we will be unexpected. Maintain constant connection with the rest of the team. The pilots will remain on board to manage the communications systems, prepared for emergency escape if necessary. At the end of the day, we will have a formal meeting, and you will be notified of the exact place and time.”

  That was the necessary speech, but this was worthy of writing:

  We have already learned much about the place where we will land, about its climate, its general vegetation, even its population. But this has only made us want to learn more. Now, at great personal danger, we shall do what no one else has done before to further the reach of humanity.

  Or, I could have said, “We are going to our death. We will die of malnutrition, mutiny, murder, and madness—that is, we will succumb to Earth and the malice sent with us in human form to destroy us. Or we will prevail: I shall make that happen.”

  The technicians began the final preparations. I entered the second plane and repeated the prosaic speech before taking my seat. Pollux glared at me.

  The flight encompassed two hours of tedium. I sat strapped in place as gravity slowly and unevenly increased, as did my thirst. I sipped my water and reviewed our official plan yet again. We would land both heli-planes a kilometer away from the city in what we hoped to be a fallow field. We expected the inhabitants, alerted by the sight of the crafts, to come greet us. Perhaps the entire city would come running. But so much could go wrong. We could crash, we could land in the wrong place, we could be treated as invaders, we could be attacked by local fauna, we could fall into division and mutiny or distraction spurred by Pollux … Finally my anxiety inhibitor kicked in.

  Doubtless Pollux struggled, too. Our fears would soon battle each other. His personal feed was closed, at least to me, while mine was open. I received a few excited questions as around me, scientists and technicians anticipated what was to come.

  When J. P. Rashid headed downstream, he knew exactly what he would find and what he would need. We did not. Rashid was welcomed by civilized settlements, but between them he was frequently beset by bandits. The human colony might have breakaway lawless factions.…

  My inhibitor directed me to watch a projection from the flight deck’s windows and enjoy the sight of that beautiful planet. Eventually, as we descended, we entered a wide, lush forest surrounded by mountains on three sides and by unique red plains to the south … closer and closer, and then the rotor whirled more noisily.

  “Touchdown,” a pilot announced, though I felt nothing. He checked some readouts while I listened to the second plane’s roaring landing nearby. I got up, stumbling a bit in my first reencounter with gravity, then looked over the pilot’s shoulders directly at the planet for the first time.

  The vegetation was as we expected: farm fields with hedges of trees, mostly leafless in winter. The sun shone bright and the scene looked beguiling, almost Earthlike. Most importantly, several humans and pack animals with large side baskets came running toward us.

  Haus and Karola had already released their harnesses and were preparing to exit with me—just the three of us, in case we met hostility. My environmental suit suddenly couldn’t keep me warm or wick sweat away fast enough.

  I glanced at Pollux. He looked petrified. I had duties to fulfill before our confrontation could begin.

  “Let me take a look,” Haus said, and wended around stacks of freight to peer through the pilot’s windows. “They’ve got farm tools. Those can hurt you. A couple of spears. And look at those animals! Giant insects! Ugly, too. They’re fast, too fast.” Yet he smiled unceasingly.

  The natives drew closer, and I observed the animals: four thin legs, two spindly arms, a ragged blanket worn over a long thorax, and a long blunt head like a zucchini with insect eyes. But “ugly” was a subjective judgment. I tried to think of them as alien.

  Karola hurried to join us looking out the windows, smiling like Haus. “Four people, four animals. Three men, one woman.”

  “What are they saying?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but it looks like hello. They’re smiling and waving. Can we get exterior sound?”

  “Sorry,” the pilot said. “Not on this model.”

  “They’re keeping their distance,” Haus said. “They’re short and beefy.” He pulled on his coat, which concealed a variety of weapons. Would our environmental suits resist spears? Those animals? My anxiety inhibitor was still on. Haus gazed out the window, fingers tapping at his side. Karola took a few steps to shift her perspective, motionless in a way I had learned meant worry. I glanced behind me. Everyone was staring at their feeds of the view. This was the moment for success or failure.

  “Let’s go,” I said, and heads snapped toward me. The pilot rose, hustled to the door, threw some latches, and slid it open. Cold, sweet air entered the plane, reminding me of the accumulated stench of voyage.

  “Hillo!” called human voices. Their braying animals mimicked the greeting. “Wilcum to Pax!”

  Did I really hear that: “welcome”? I looked at Karola.

  She nodded. “Someone said, ‘Welcome to Pax.’” She tugged her hooded coat tight.

  We are greeted with joy.

  I tensed my legs, jumped, and landed on moist soil covered by dead grass, the grass coated with frost from the engines. With the stronger gravity I felt like I was made of weighty iron, not flesh—just as I had expected yet not how I had imagined it, weight on each and every part of my body, including the most sensitive. The natives continued to wave and cheer. I raised my arms according to plan and waved back at them with bare hands so they could see that I carried no weapons. My hands were trembling, and I couldn’t stop them.

  “Hello!” I shouted, smiling, but I heard tension raise the pitch of my voice. A young man in a black hat and a necklace of what seemed to be large claws or fangs began to walk toward me. He carried a spear casually in his left hand. He—like the other humans—was short and sturdy, a head and shoulders shorter than us.

  Haus thumped as he landed behind me.

  “Hello, Pax!” he shouted.

  Another, smaller thump. Karola.

  “Hello! Hello!” she yelled.

  Their shouts were answered by the natives. The young man’s face, tanned like the others, had sharp features and lively eyes. His felt hat was old and worn, as were his rough tunic and slacks, which were topped by a knee-length open cloak. Everyone’s clothes were faded and threadbare. Their tools and weapons were primitive. Disappointing.

  We are greeted with preindustrial joy.

  “Wilcum tar hom!” he said. “Wae taut hyew whur comin whin wae swa laiets in ta skai.”

  Karola didn’t answer, and for a long moment I doubted her. Perhaps Shani, may she rest in peace, would have been better. Then she said, “Hyew saw tat? Did hyew heer us?”

  “Hyes, laiets, an tru ar
tiliscyops wee swa et wus a spais sheep en worbit, but hyeer hyew? Ai dund—”

  “What’s he saying?” I sent. “Doesn’t he speak Globish? We thought they would speak Globish.”

  “It’s the accent. We knew sounds would shift, but not how. Mostly the vowels. They’ve become diphthongs.”

  “Everyone spoke Globish when they left. Globish was the world language.”

  “Yes, but this project was based in the United States. It used Classic English. They’ll understand Globish, of course. But talk slowly.”

  “Es dier sum sorda cunsirn?” he said, looking concerned at our apparent silence.

  “Hyur language es a surprise,” she answered slowly.

  He laughed. “Hyou ah a surprise!” He spoke very slowly, and despite his wide-voweled accent I finally understood him a little.

  She turned to me. “He said they saw our spaceship in the sky. They have telescopes, apparently.”

  “Ah hyew frum Eart?” he said, one word at a time, his face hopeful, and his accent falling further into a pattern. But why would he think we were from elsewhere?

  I stepped forward. “Yes, we are from Earth. I am Om. I lead this group.”

  “Ai am Arter. Tees es Hosay…” He gestured to a taller—though still short—gray-haired man. “Scratsher,” one of the pack animals. “Honee,” a very young woman with large tear-shaped tattoos on both cheeks. “Blas,” the fourth man, and the other three animals, “Cewkee, Shain, Treell.” Curious that he introduced the animals as if they were people.

  Beloved companion animals, an instinctual relationship for humans on Earth, have been re-created from local species.…

  Arter said something quite long, then gestured at people lurking across the fields.

  Karola clarified some terms and translated: “Arthur says, ‘I’m the head of this team, but we’re just a farm team working in the fields today. There are more people in the city, of course. Are there more of you? The planes look big. We’re very curious about you. And we’re happy to welcome you.’”

  Arter was Arthur, hyew was you, and so on. With time, I hoped, this would all be intelligible.

  But, if they were very curious about us, why was our greeting handled by a handful of mere farmers? We were hardly a surprise. No, we were something to be feared, met by a small group to test our intentions.

  Another thump behind us, then a few stumbling steps. I turned. Pollux had joined us. Terror could make a man do strange things—disastrous things.

  I had to take the initiative. “This is Pollux,” I said. “He is here to observe.”

  “I’m here to lead,” he said. “Which you aren’t doing.”

  I took a calming breath. I was about to dispute that, then I considered how terrifying leadership was, and how I wished to sow terror in his path. Before I could answer, he spoke again in Sino-Arabic Creole, Earth’s common tongue:

  “So you want me to jump back up…? No? Once again, you’re being passive.” He turned to Arthur. “You were obviously expecting us. Exactly what did you prepare?”

  Arthur looked at Karola. She turned to me. I turned back to Pollux, keeping my breathing even. “All right. You command the mission.”

  “What? You’re just going to let me?”

  “We don’t need an argument right now at this delicate moment. Go ahead.”

  As we spoke, Arthur patted the animal Scratsher rhythmically. It made an odd whistle-crack sound. The girl named Honee stepped forward and took Karola by the hand and murmured something.

  Karola sent privately to me with an utter lack of emotion, which meant she was seething with it: “They want to know if Pollux is on our team. I’m going to say he is starting right now, he is the new head, but imply that it’s an imposition. He speaks no Globish, so he won’t understand.”

  I assented. I should never have doubted her for a moment. She had divined my plan without the need to explain it to her.

  She shook her head and took a step closer to Honee and said quietly, letting me hear distinctly over her feed, “Hee es new on ar teyam, hee es ta hid, ta new leedeh. Hee es … hee can dew tat, hee can saey tat.”

  The native girl nodded, and Arthur and the other two native men tightened their lips, suppressing smiles. The scent of strawberries suddenly and incongruously wafted past. Honee patted Karola’s hands and stepped back with a knowing smile. They had seen that sort of thing before. At some point we’d have to learn about their leadership systems, apparently as rife with conflict as ours.

  As she spoke, Pollux centered his attention on me. “You haven’t evaluated all the danger here. To begin with, they have weapons. What kind of welcome comes with weapons?”

  “They might be ceremonial. Or perhaps they’re meant to protect us from some sort of danger. We mustn’t rush to judgment.” I was sure we were safe—from the natives, at least.

  Something buzzed loudly to our left. Pollux jumped. I held my breath to listen. The natives glanced at it, unsurprised, then Arthur laughed and addressed himself to Pollux, “Pallogs,” as he pronounced it, talking as he gestured with his spear and kicked at the ground with muddy wooden clogs worn over tall boots.

  Karola translated: “‘That’s just a … crab,’ he calls it. ‘They’re harmless. Not all the animals are. That’s why we need weapons even when we’re farming. Velvet worms are now this far north. But it’s safe for you. Your shoes look sturdy.’”

  “Tell them they’re responsible for our safety,” Pollux said. “If anything happens to us, they’ll pay the price.”

  She smiled at the natives. “We tang hyew fuh ar sayftee. We ar eegur ta see mor uf tis place.”

  “Can I look at his spear?” Haus asked in Creole, glancing at me before directing himself to the new boss. Pollux looked down, frowning, and finally nodded. Haus said to Arthur in Globish: “Can I look at your, um…”

  “Spear,” Karola said, her head held straight, her face returned to its usual inscrutability.

  “Sure,” Arthur said, and held it out, handle end first, apparently unafraid, still with an easy smile. Haus inspected it, especially the tip. One of the pack animals stirred nervously—disquieted by us or by something else? Hosay gave it a pat and murmured soothing words, and in response it brayed at the group lingering across the fields. One of those animals answered, and they traded squawks and hoots while Haus talked to Arthur.

  “Stone?” Haus pointed to the blade.

  “Yes,” he answered, then offered an explanation.

  Karola translated: “‘Yes, glass, actually. A long, sharp spear is all we need to kill a worm. It’s not meant for you, so don’t worry. The worms are poisonous and fast.’”

  “Those worms are a convenient excuse,” Pollux said. “They’re planning something, and you’re not prepared. You were never prepared. We should never have come.”

  “Is there something we can do about the worms?” Haus had Karola ask Arthur.

  He laughed before he responded, a man in his element. “Be cahrful hwat hyew tudge.” He looked at the other members of his team, then spoke at more length.

  Karola repeated, looking at Pollux: “‘Would you like to come to the city? I think there are people there who would be easier to talk to, and there are no worms or dangerous animals there. I can take you to our moderator. You can bring everyone on your team.’”

  “Moderator?” I asked. Pollux glared at me, unaware of the meaning behind the word.

  Karola nodded. “That’s what he said. Perhaps they still use their Constitution, or some vestiges of it.”

  If they followed it, they might have freedom. But our government on Earth told us we were free, too. And here I was on another planet, still squirming beneath its thumb. But not for long.

  Protocol said to seek Haus’s opinion, since he was in charge of safety, but our new leader had not bothered to study our plans. He stared at the ground again, then the sky.

  “No, not with those insects near,” Pollux said. “Look at them. They have claws. I can’t stand i
nsects. Translate that.”

  She turned so he could not see her face and frowned. “He sajz he duz nat laik insects. He es afraeed uv dem.”

  “Insects?” Honee muttered, frowning. The others blinked or shifted slightly. They understood that word, and it seemed to be taboo.

  Should I act? Or at least offer advice? In any case, I now knew the natives would also rejoice when I defeated Pollux. I had an idea, but to act … I took a deep breath. He was still more anxious than me, I was sure of it.

  I tried to smile with a hint of patronization, and said, imitating Pax speech as best I could, “Ai will keep him wit me. Ert es a very diffren plais.”

  “It’s hahd ta lead a team,” Arthur said.

  Despite a language barrier, we exchange messages of subtlety and complexity, sharing similar perspectives on issues of social order.

  Karola sent, “You learn fast.”

  “What did you say?” Pollux snapped.

  “I said I could stay between you and the … native animals.”

  “You and Haus.”

  “Haus’s job is to keep everyone safe. You should ask him what he thinks of the natives’ offer.”

  “Well?” Pollux said.

  “Stone tools,” Haus said. “We shouldn’t underestimate their effectiveness, though. They expected us and they had a plan, and part of it is to be friendly. They’re afraid of us and trying not to show it. My advice, sir, is to reciprocate. Be friendly. I see no signs of aggression.”

  “Ask him what he plans,” he said to Karola. “And look at how poor they are. And what’s in those baskets? I want a full list of dangers, and what kind of hospitality they can afford to offer.”

  She asked him where they would go, if they had room for all our people, and what kinds of precautions they should take. He answered too fast for me to follow, gesturing toward where the city was, toward our surroundings, and added, “Hyew ar wilcum, al uv hyew.” All of you. Oh, the subtle jokes!

  “He said we’re all welcome, they can accommodate us all in the city. They have houses and food. And there are no big dangers, but don’t touch anything without asking, especially animals. The baskets are to help us carry things we might have.”