Interference

by Sue Burke

  “The women love us,” Ernst says. Velma shoots him a look.

  “Fraternizing is forbidden,” Om says. Ernst laughs.

  “And then there’s that whole Stevland thing.”

  “Well, yes, they lie all the time.”

  “I wanted to go on a farming trip,” someone else says, “and they said it would be too difficult. Yeah, they think we’re weaker.”

  “Arthur, the hunter, seems pretty fed up with us,” Velma says. “But that’s just one person.”

  “I think all the Glassmakers hate us.”

  “Well,” Mu Ree Cheol says, “they won’t talk to me at all, so I can’t tell.”

  Om listens as they continue. Eventually he records: A few members of our team, tall and lanky like Parents, watch this and ask each other if they are seen the same way. One anthropologist says no, the ritual relates to historic incidents, but then some mission members begin to relate small, accumulated slights to show that Pax hostility to Earth has not waned. Earth had cooled as a memory, but we reignited it.

  As the discussion among the Earthlings over the question of staying continues, the rancor becomes personal. While many regard Pollux as the representative of something they hate, a few consider Velma stupid. They even call her a tulip: they have learned something during their stay, one new word. She responds in kind.

  I do not like how this situation is developing. Ladybird has already noticed that the Earthlings are quarreling, and she issues an order that whispers from mouth to mouth: separate the Earthlings. The Pacifist mentors assigned to each one approach to guide their charges to participate in the festival, just as they isolated individuals at their arrival on the planet. But this problem will grow more acute, and guides would surely prefer to celebrate rather than work, so discontent may spread among Pacifists. I must share my observations with Ladybird.

  Food—quality food, a delicious feast—is eaten, and then a song-and-dance spectacle distracts everyone as the sky begins to show its first hints of pink sunset.

  I also patrol the border with the Coral Plains. I get two notices of fire that seem to be merely sunset reflected on still pools of water. Other than that, we trees and plants chat as best we can, for they do not have my size or intellect. But our rootlets touch, calcium ions move, and each wave of ions with its enzymes and chemical pathways creates meaning.

  “Springtime,” says a ponytail tree.

  “No rain,” a village of ferns complains.

  “Water flowing deep,” a free aspen answers.

  “Owls digging,” says a grove of palms.

  “I am happy,” a young locustwood says. “I am chosen to be male here.”

  “Congratulations,” I say. “You will progress far.”

  “I am dominant. You will see how much.”

  “I have observed that much domination is possible.” The tree is still too young to be as helpful and annoying as the valley’s main locustwood speaker, and yet I am pleased that a large, intelligent tree will grow so near to the edge of the plains. He will no doubt prove himself useful.

  In the city, Human and Glassmaker children and fippokats engage in a complex dance. The older children arrange themselves, dancing in a precise grid alternating with kats. Toddlers come forward with younger kats and try to imitate them in a way meant to be humorous, and they succeed. Rattle tries to dance on two legs, and Human children on either side take her front hoofs in their hands. It is charming. Finally the older children simplify their movements, the younger ones invite adults to dance with them, and the older children pick up torches, light them one by one as they dance in swirling patterns, and lead the way, singing, out toward the bonfire in the field, a dance of flames.

  Mere words cannot convey the beauty and spectacle of the show, and in fact, any single viewpoint misses some details. I can see it from various stems, and the Earthlings also share their viewpoints and marvel. For a long while they even cease to bicker.

  Once everyone arrives at the bonfire, the Earthlings face the question of removing their clothes as Pacifists are, both Humans and Glassmakers.

  “It’s too chilly.”

  “They’re going to look at us as outsiders again.”

  “I don’t have anything to burn anyway. I came to observe, not to go native.”

  “This is such a beautiful ceremony. I want to be part of it.”

  Mirlo silently strips off his clothing, quickly, perhaps nervously. He takes his bundle of twigs from a pocket to burn. Of the twenty Earthlings, only six have removed their clothing: Mirlo, Karola, Velma, Haus, the physician, and Om.

  Pacifists continue to sing, and some compare the items they created to burn. One after another, they dance forward to place or toss their pledges of change onto the pile of fuel, including Queen Thunderclap, who throws two small items and then helps Rattle toss something. Child dancers come forward and set their torches at the base. Loggers begin to move the crowd back as tinder catches fire.

  I fear fire, but I watch, fascinated and safely distant. As the flames grow, they light hydrogen seeds, which flash and bang. My box is burning in there, somewhere, my pledge to meet this other bamboo. Despite what I said to Mirlo, I wish to go as soon as possible, and I envision complications. First, some Earthlings like Pollux wish to leave Pax immediately. I must delay that. Second, although Mirlo truly wishes to go, perhaps not all Earthlings do, since it is a long, uncertain trip. They would go if they understood, as Mirlo does, that they would visit yet another sentient alien species who might fascinate them as much as the Glassmakers do. Yet I do not wish to make myself known. I see no advantage to me or my people.

  At the city, I am watching fire and pondering change. At the edge of the forest, I am searching for fire and pondering ecological stability. The young male locustwood, admirably, wants me to share what history I know, so I describe the nature of the Coral Plains and the consequences of its recent earthquake.

  “No trees in the plains?” he asks.

  “Only bushes, and very different.”

  “We must colonize it.” He is already aggressive.

  “It will be difficult to colonize. I have not succeeded.”

  Another of my groves gets a message from several plants of various species at once: “Fire!” I pass the news on and concentrate my attention. Another false alarm? From the top of a stalk, I spot a bright light at the edge of the forest. It is not, as I expected, centered over the water, but at the far edge, on the Coral Plains.

  The fire is small, the size of a Human, growing slowly over logs floating in the water, but wet wood will not burn. Perhaps this fire will endanger only the plains, or it may be simply swamp gas.

  The forest plants who see it are screaming with fear, the terror expanding to those too low or far away to see the flames. I report that the fire is on the far side of the swamp to try to calm them, but for some, the idea is too abstract. They understand “fire,” a chemical word almost identical to danger. They would understand “safe,” but that might be a lie.

  Should I call for help? It would be hard to mobilize a team. At the Spring Festival, the fire has reached its peak, roaring like a pack of fippolions. Its uppermost flames swirl and sparkle. I notice that the loggers have buckets of water nearby and watch to see where sparks fall. Even from far away, I can feel the heat.

  Dancing and singing have resumed. Mirlo is still with the Pacifist woman toward the front, while most of the Earthlings are standing far back, watching and sending among themselves. Then whooping cheers catch everyone’s attention. Arthur is talking with Fern. I cannot hear the words, but I see him point to his penis, which, I imagine, is erect. She answers with an embrace and kisses.

  I believe this will be the start of a family. The Earthlings share scandalized comments, but I could tell them this is hardly the first love consummated on the night of the Spring Festival. Pacifists are used to it. Spring is the time for flowers and fertilization, although flowers lack the emotional complexes that Humans must suffer for love. Arthur and
Fern have been encircled by dancers to reinforce their joy.

  And then at the city a sudden sharp wind blows across the fields, a foehn wind from the mountains. The fire is pushed higher and brighter, crackling with new life, while loggers scramble to maintain safety and vigilance. But no one is surprised. These winds happen from time to time, depending on the exact weather situation.

  This wind, however, will travel across the valley all the way to the edge of the forest. I have never observed its exact effect at the border with the plains. A flame will tell me a lot, but I do not know what I am about to learn. I wait.

  One by one, my groves between here and the city report the arrival of the wind, but the speed of transmission is barely faster than the speed of the wind itself.

  At the edge of the forest, the tops of trees rustle as they are tossed in the wind. The sound moves closer. My own branches wave, first the top ones, then all the way to the ground in the fierce wind. The fire suddenly grows brighter. Birds bark and dash away while plants scream again.

  I watch as calmly as I can. The fire roars and sparks like a smaller version of the festival bonfire, and it leans—away from the forest, toward the plains. It creeps along the ground, burning whatever litter it can find. It flares with a bang, perhaps fueled by gas or a dry bush. It flares and bangs again, then seems to cease growing. I feel hopeful. Yes, after a minute, it has definitely begun to die. Within another minute, it is gone.

  “Safe!” I announce.

  “Good. Good. Good.”

  “What happened?” the young locustwood asks. Locustwoods cannot see.

  “The fire died. It was blown into the plains, but it could not find enough fuel, and it died.”

  “The plains do not burn?”

  “I do not know. I am not exactly sure what happened. I can see little in the dark. I will look in the sunlight, and perhaps I will send a service animal to make closer observations. The fire is out. I can assure you of that.”

  But if there is another fire, if whatever caused it within the Coral Plains is different, perhaps it can burn with more danger and damage. I really do not know what happened.

  I thank the locustwood for helping to observe. He promises to continue, himself and the female trees he now lords over and all the neighbors he can bully into his service. He asks for more information about my service animals. I give him a little history and describe their capabilities, and he is impressed by my ability to control such powerful creatures.

  Back at the city, the bonfire has burned low, and most people have returned to their homes. Spring is the best time to grow anew and stronger, and we have all promised to change. My change will affect more than just myself.

  * * *

  The morning starts just slightly earlier for me today because the planet tilts and days grow longer in springtime. The light infuses leaf after leaf with energy that flows from crown to roots, a slightly longer day yielding a bit more energy than yesterday and more than enough for today, even though it will no doubt be eventful. But for most of the animal residents of the city, who stayed up late last night and may have drunk some truffle as well, sunrise comes far too soon. Humans of both planetary heritages and Glassmakers, even fippokats, leave their homes yawning in full sunlight. They, like me, may have changes to maintain or initiate.

  Mirlo arises in the home of his Pacifist companion, Paloma, and breakfasts with her. Afterward, on his way to his laboratory, he approaches a stalk.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Warmth and food. What do you want?”

  He sits on a bench, staring. “I think you should be in the network. I can connect you as a piece of equipment, and you’d be part of it, not an observer. You’d be an object, like me—technically we’re all objects—and that would give you some advantages. You could interact more naturally. And I could call you directly.”

  “I have heard Abacus speak to people.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Would it not seem odd to Abacus to speak to a piece of equipment?”

  “A lot of machines have humanlike interfaces, even some animals back on Earth, for that matter. Whales. That changed everything. Anyway, I’ll set it up when I get to the lab. You’ll like it.” He stands and starts walking. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to convince Om to send a trip to Laurentia. The trip to the plains didn’t go smoothly.”

  “I have found an idea for that. I have examined the scans closely and observed near perfect circles of growth among the bamboo there.”

  “Can you do that? Grow like that?”

  “I do not see the utility of such growth, but it is easily done. No doubt it is aesthetic rather than functional, which suggests social interaction. But that is not all. I see small, persistent fires, presumably campfires, which means that intelligent animals seem to live there. They may be interacting with the bamboo. Perhaps they are making the circles.”

  I do not mention that eagles use fire, and bamboo does not interact with them, and the circles may be art rather than interaction. But beyond all doubt there is some fire-using animal there and a civilization of bamboo.

  Mirlo smiles at a stem. “I’ll talk to Om. He’ll want to go for sure.”

  He enters the lab and compiles observations of campfires as we locate the network connection for the chip Queen Thunderclap stole. He creates settings that identify me to Abacus. It is a minor technical task. Suddenly, my stolen radio chip receives a message: “Welcome.” It is the strong male voice. “I’m Abacus. You’re Beluga. Please use my help functions freely as you navigate the network.”

  “Mirlo, what does ‘beluga’ mean?”

  “I chose that for your network identification. I told the network you’re a microscope. The name is a whale, a kind of whale. They talk a lot.” Then he hurries out, sending to Om as he does. Om is in the fields researching Pax culture, but he replies promptly and with interest as Mirlo shares what he has found.

  I am also listening with my original radio to a private exchange between a pilot who remains on board the spaceship orbiting Pax, one of ten people maintaining the vessel there, and Pollux. Both want to return to Earth immediately.

  “They aren’t going to leave anytime soon,” Pollux says.

  “We have our orders.”

  “Every time they turn around they discover some new wonder.” He says that as if wonders were to be disdained.

  “Is it wonderful down there?”

  “It’s like a resort I went to in Japan once. A historical re-creation, so there was no running water or electricity. Pretty, but everything’s primitive. We’re lucky the natives do all the work or we’d starve.”

  “It can’t be that bad, since no one wants to do rotation and come up here. Om said the ship can fly itself. Come down, he said.”

  “You should. Come down, but take over. It’s out of control here. We need you if we’re ever going to get out.”

  They plan the details. The ten mission members on the ship will arrive tomorrow to take control. I am not sure how that will succeed because they are outnumbered by the mission members on the ground. I am sure that Om will not be notified. I could do so, or Beluga could, but then I would no longer be secret. I could tell Mirlo, but he would have no logical way to have learned it himself.

  As I think, Pollux sees Haus, the soldier, and quietly tells him the mission members from orbit are coming to bring order. Haus salutes, and when he turns away, he still seems less happy.

  Soon he is searching for velvet worms with Jose and mentions that the orbiting mission members are coming to renew order among them.

  “What do you mean by order?”

  “They will have to obey the right orders.”

  “They aren’t obeying Om? I thought he’s in charge now.”

  Haus aims his rifle at a trap for the worms. “Ready.” Jose uses a long spear to lift the trap and shake it. A worm twists inside, Haus turns on a beam of light, and the worm explodes. “Not everyone likes Om,” he says, “but I prefer him.” He does not
transmit his remarks with Jose to other Earthlings.

  Out in the fields, loggers are dismantling the remains of the bonfire and spreading the ashes, and Om is working with them, questioning them on the lore acquired over the years through experience, turning a forest into a home, but he is also sending with Mirlo. When Mirlo arrives, they speak, and Om proves to be almost as excited as Mirlo about the prospect of more exploring and more discoveries.

  Karola is some distance away learning bat language from a hunter, and a flock of bats, attracted by their practice, approaches to see if they can earn food in some way.

  Arthur and Cawzee are moving their belongings into Fern’s house with great joking and laughter. She is delighted by Cawzee’s carni-kat kitten.

  Jose, as he and Haus wander the fields, sees Geraldine and steps aside to speak to her quietly. She rushes across the river to tell Ladybird, who sends Geraldine and a Glassmaker assistant to notify several people of an emergency meeting: Om, Thunderclap, Jose if he can leave Haus discreetly, and if not then Arthur.

  Communication can be accomplished without the network. I am relieved.

  Out in the fields, Ladybird’s assistant signals Jose from afar using hunting hand signals. Jose signals “no.” The hunter with Karola also sees that and interprets for her, and she seems to have a question. They stop the Glassmaker and speak with him briefly before he runs back to the city. Karola runs behind him, her face showing intense fear. I have never seen her terrified before.

  The assistant runs to Arthur, who comes after grumbling about politics and meetings. Geraldine finds Om and explains the situation with near panic. They hurry to the city, and Mirlo comes with them.

  Ladybird is in the Meeting House, waiting. Everyone arrives almost at the same time except for Karola, who is running across the bridge.

  After a little summary from Ladybird, Om explains the situation and does not stint on political aspects of Earth. It had a vile government, which he had avoided explaining before “because you are already convinced that Earth is a horrible place. Indeed, some of us, I think most of us, left as much to escape from it as to find you.”