As scheduled, the celebrations of Kwanzaa continued each rotate of the weeklong festival. Each evening devoted to the recognition of one of each building blocks of self-awareness. From Umoja (unity) to Kujichagulia (self-determination) then to Ujima (collective work and responsibility) through Ujamaa (cooperative economics), Nia (purpose), Kuumba (creativity), and finishing with Imani (faith). The mystical number seven was at the core of the celebration; there were seven rotates, seven principles, and even seven symbols of the festival. Kwanzaa was essentially a clan holiday. Each evening of the holiday, the Aidennians gathered around the celebration table within Pod 4's galley to read the Seven Principles and meditate on the principle of the rotate while the youngest child, Retho, lit one of the candles. Nicraan technically was a visitor to the clan and was asked to participate as the brief nightly ceremony was held, the candles lit, and libation poured from the communal cup.
For all its serious principles, though, Kwanzaa was also a time of feasting, of rejoicing, of savoring friendships and ties with a clan, or renewing commitments. Part of that communion of clanship and friends took place around the table, and the communion of the table was a good part of the warmth of the holiday. Systemites for generations had communed in kitchens, food-preparation areas, and galleys. Systemites for generations had gathered around scarred wooden tables shelling peas and picking at pieces of cloned-soymeat. They had come together at millions of unity banquets, child-naming ceremonies, christening feasts, and clan reunions. They had shared sorrows and mourned over passing-ceremonies meals. They had danced with friends, mourned lost loves, advised offspring, and planned futures around eating tables. During the holiday of Kwanzaa, the stranded Aidennian crew again came together in Pod 4's galley communion, using the table as a locus for reaffirming their clan values and ethics, their personhood, and their principles as sentient beings.
Since the destruction of the Systemite way of life, there were no griots or Masters of the Word, to oversee the communion; and so, Commander Capel served as emcee. Each night savoring each nuance of language and meaning with a delight that was contagious amongst the crew. In the past, griots were unknown bards, troubadours armed with koras or harps, drums and cymbals recalling the deeds of heroes in Systemite history. But in modern times, the griot ephemeral words were captured from the air by historians and placed on milli-disks to be used in data-optical readers and hand-held data pads.
Aside from communion and holiday celebrations, leisure games were strictly three-dimensional jigsaws that had become a drug. Even Commander Capel Perezsire found it a useful exercise to take his mind off the eternal responsibilities of his command. Alone in the upper deck’s observatory-ready room, with the lights dimmed and a drink at his elbow, he allowed himself to become completely absorbed in a huge jigsaw of Aidennia.
The evening faded to night. Pioneer Four ticked over quietly around him. He instructed the computer to shove half a dozen generated pieces with simple pleasure, straightened from the desk slab and checked the time.
The node was at hand for slumber and he opted for the personal approach to bid salutations to his consort as the duty shifts were changing. He finished his drink, turned out the desk slab light and opened the door to the cabin. After taking the glide tube down, the lower utility deck faced him.
Retho, his surviving son, and Dara, his consort, looked over their shoulders from the lab cubby as he appeared behind them.
Capel said, "I'm turning in now, Dara."
"Lucky for some."
"Good luck on your experiment, and good night."
Dara rose from her stool, laced her fingers around the back of Capel's neck and kissed him lovingly. Withdrawing herself, she said with a smile, "Good night."
Retho's "Good night, Sire" chimed out as Capel moved towards the living quarters area. They watched as he entered Dara’s and his stateroom and close the door before they returned their attention to the petroscope. Beneath its scanning eye laid a fossil from the menagerie out on the flatlands.
"As we identify them, it is difficult not to think of these fossils as individuals," Retho commented as Dara's attention refocused toward the work at hand.
"What have you discovered?"
"It appears that these rhinos -- a short-limbed genus Computer identifies as Teleoceras -- were much more social animals than modern Systemite varieties."
"Really? In what way?" Dara's eyes took on the same gleam as her offspring's.
"Teleoceras formed stable herds of adult females and their calves accompanied by single adult bulls. The presence of lots of calves and young adults suggests a healthy, vigorous herd struck down in its prime. A study of tooth wear revealed well-defined age groups among the calves, almost one cycle, two cycles, three cycles, and so on. The ages showed that all were born at the same time each cycle, suggesting a tighter breeding schedule than that of modern Systemite rhinos, which may mate and give birth at any season.
"Of about a hundred skeletons scanned, seven are adult males. Adult females, mostly far younger than the bulls, outnumber males by more than six to one. This age-sex ratio closely parallels that of some modern savanna antelope and zebra herds."
"Have you come up with any theories as to the cause of death and burial?" Dara inquired.
"Moela, Sire, and I have theorized the animals were overcome in a curved, shallow depression by some ancient catastrophe on an otherwise flat floodplain. Excavating the ashy filling of a prehistoric water hole, we have scanned the skeletons of several hundred victims of a dusty cataclysm. The skeletons, some intertwined and piled on top of one another, have lain buried, mostly in undisturbed death poses, for millions of cycles since the animals were overwhelmed."
"Overwhelmed by what?"
"An ashfall from a volcanic eruption. Our work has provided a detailed glimpse of the subtropical savanna habitat -- so different from the look of this planet's modern appearance -- that flourished during its Miocene epoch."
"How vast was the devastation?" Dara asked, looking absent-mindedly at the fossil's data floating on the petroscope's holoset.
"We don't know the extent of the ash at our site, but its overall shape, three retems thick in the middle, a third of a retem at the edges, resembles a boomerang. The skeletons are concentrated along the midline of the deposit.
"We found smaller skeletons -- birds, horses, camels -- at the bottom of the ash bed; nearly all the rhinos, in contrast, are lying above them. Smaller creatures frequently show partial crushing, as if trampled by the rhinos before the latter finally succumbed. Signs that scavengers tore at and dismembered some of the carcasses strengthen the case that the animals were not filled and covered instantaneously. I believe that most of the ash fell within a few rotates, that wind kept it stirred up like drifting snow, and that as much as a month may have gone by before the last rhino died at the water hole."
"Water hole?"
"Yes, it is clear from the presence of numerous aquatic turtles and microscopic diatoms that water stood in the depression when the rhinos died. The water was probably very shallow and stagnant."
"What, actually, was the cause of death?"
"Since the bones are entombed in volcanic ash, the circumstantial evidence is strong that the ash was responsible."
"But how?"
"Unlike most victims of a volcanic eruption, who met death instantly from hot cinders and pumice raining down from the sky, these plain's rhinos were killed and eventually buried by ash from an eruption many hundreds of, perhaps more than a thousand, mets away. Unlike typical eruption deposits, this ash fell far from its source and was surely cool, with no lethal gases. But like typical eruptions, it halted life in mid-course, revealing details of a locale and its inhabitants that otherwise might have been lost to time.
"I suspect, but cannot yet prove, that the animals died slowly of suffocation as their lungs filled with the highly abrasive volcanic dust. Look here under the petroscope's magnification," Retho turned the doctor's train of thought to the device's holo
set. It revealed fragments of ash with sharp, jagged edges.
"Such material undoubtedly would severely damage delicate lung tissue," Dara replied, concurring with her son's theory.
"This region ten million cycles ago was cooler than now. The rhinos probably never saw snow, though. Near our ash bed, in the same geologic level, I dug up land tortoises -- hot-country dwellers -- and alligators, which could not survive extended chill. I tried to imagine the late Miocene landscape in the country, which today has a rolling, sandy rumpled surface cut by draws and creek beds. Certainly the dominant impression would be of flatness -- a horizon so level that a saber-toothed cat could watch the suns rise between the legs of a distant camel. An ocean of grass would reach as far as the eye could see, interrupted by shallow stream valleys and clumps of forest. Animal life would be present in stunning numbers and diversity. Dozens of hoofed species, comparable in variety to those on the savannas of modern Systemite worlds, lived on Aidennia's plains. Numerous grazers -- rhinos, horses, camels, prongbucks -- cropped the grass, while those with other feeding strategies -- huge gomphotheres, tapirs, three-horned deer, browsing horses -- frequented the wooded area. Meat-eaters ranging in size from weasels to great lumbering bear canines ranged over the landscape."
Dara's eyes were wide with fantasy, caught up in the vivid picture Retho spun with his words. He was truly a wordsmith, a poet. A small, whimsical smile betrayed her joy as she marveled at her son.
"Makes you kind of want to be there," she said, her voice barely a whisper of desire.
Under the observation instrument, now lay a sample of ore on an assay dish. It was intermixed with a tetragonal crystal colored yellow, brown, and red. The holoset next to the petroscope was beginning to detect metallic chemical element qualities when the set went suddenly dark. Retho rechecked the plugged petroscope cables that were hooked into the computer inputs on the wall against the counter on which they worked. After getting a rash of green lights across the board, Retho attempted to analyze the specimen once again, looking for a response on the holo-viewer. This time a wavering line ran across the 3-D oscilloscope holo-viewer. There was no registration at all.
"Computer negative..." Dara remarked in disbelief, snapping out of her vision. "That's impossible... every rock has at least some form of response."
"I don't buy it," Retho shook his head, looking absolutely stumped.
They were still wondering about the phenomenon when a low chatter of jabberwocky had them looking at the oscilloscope set. A single, continuous line was crossing the holoset, indicating that the sensor was being blocked.
"Here's our answer," Retho reported, somewhat annoyed. "The petroscope is being jammed."
He reached out to tab the recalibration control when the viewer filled from edge to edge with a three-dimensional running frieze of hieroglyphs.
"What the...?" Dara began, moving for a Comm-set. Tabbing its call control, the holoset filled with the same kind of figures that were racing over the oscilloscope. She hit the contact point again, and called, "Capel? Capel?" There was no response. She tried a third time, "Capel, do you read me?"
Dara studied both viewers. It was an odd malfunction, she thought. Even if the computers had somehow crossed the channels, the three-dimensional images zooming across them were totally unrecognizable as anything that could have entered the memory banks. She tabbed opened her commpin to make the call and found that it too was taking the same program.
The static-like sound grew louder. Dara and Retho swung round to see that it was widespread throughout the deck.
"Computer," Dara called out to the intraship short-range pick-up net. "Identify current program over-running all visual hardware."
Silence.
"Computer, respond," she called out again, her voice more annoyed than concerned.
Both Retho and she exchanged puzzled glances.
Moela, entertaining herself with a data pad reviewing Nicraan's recent shuttle flight in her bedset, sat at her stateroom's desk with a puzzled look on her angelic face. The information presented by the data pad pieced together a picture of dire ecological disruption. Animals had died. Plant life was wilting. There were intense retinal disorders, over ninety known cases of blindness. The suns were melting what little polar cap the planet had. There were floods. And to top it all off, mosquito larvae were maturing early and swarming across a region stretching south in an erratic swathe from the arctic panhandle.
Tabbing several control icons on the pad's interface, Moela enlarged a sphere that represented the planet on the flat instrument's screen. It was in full color. She then began plotting her points and taking measurements: A hundred thirty kilomets from end to end. The shape varied, warped, wafting, and changing dimensions. Thin, translucent blobs, moving like a blimp through the planet's ozone. A hole.
Moela tried to imagine it. A cannibalized, arid void, drifting like an iceberg, caught in the currents of wind that carried it but not being able to penetrate. Moela's fingers tensed on the keypad as chemical residues presented themselves for study. The ozone molecule O3, by-product of chemistry four billion cycles old, precursor of all life on this planet, was being wiped out at the rate of over 100,000 ozone molecules for every alien chlorine molecule that got it; that rose from the surface of tectonic activities five, six, seven mets below.
Absent-mindedly she gently stroked her protruding abdomen. The science-officer was in the 40th week of her 52-week pregnancy. She had begun to look noticeably pregnant as her uterus enlarged. The motion seemed to ease her naturally accelerated heart rate -- a result of circulatory changes. Already, Moela was aware of the echelon-hybrid fetus moving around. She smiled as the sensations tickled her inwardly.
Without warning the data pad's screen fuzzed with static and then framed unrecognizable hieroglyphics, Moela looked over her shoulder to call for the intraship communication pickup when she saw it also on her Comm holoset.
Nicraan was in Engineering, intently going over repairs needed in the mechanical grappling system when the noise reached into his private world. Following his ear, he could make nothing of it.
"What in Space is that?" he whispered to himself.
The same question was being asked shipwide. Holo-viewers in every area of Pioneer Four had gone over to the unintelligible signal. Capel, just enjoying his sleep stint, heard the electronic mutter and, leaving the dream he was involved with, looked over at his cabin's Comm panel. The gibberish on its holosets had him going over to them to trouble shoot. Nothing. The fault remained even after his insistent callings. He would have to go on foot. After redressing from his pajamas into his regulation gold-black uniform, he tabbed aside the door.
Hurrying along the deck, Capel met Nicraan and Moela looking like a surprised primate. "What's happening, Nicraan?" he questioned. "More disturbance from the red sun?"
"Either a malfunction, or something very interesting."
Dara and Retho had already reached the upper deck, where BeeTee was surrounded by holo-viewers all bearing the same legend. No tuning ploy the bipedal cybernetic could think of was having the slightest effect. The strange communiqué had overridden every piece of switchgear and would not go away.
Dara said, "Track it, BeeTee."
"It's coming in on every channel."
There was always the old-fashioned direct vision and Dara raced across the deck to look through the large bow viewport. The well-stocked Galaxy was all there. Stars by the trillions crowning the twilight of the setting red supergiant and the dawn of the planet's primary sun. All seemingly minding their own business as they lined the mountain-topped horizon and above.
The upper deck was filling up as the full staff reported for duty. Moela, Nicraan, and Capel topped the stairladder and ran, stopping short to stare at the holosets. Dara called from across the floor, "Someone or something is talking to us, Capel."
The commander spun round to track the voice, "What's to see?"
"Nothing unusual. This one is for you. You'd better get t
o work on it."
Retho said suddenly from the computer wall interface, "It's coming from somewhere along planetary sector line three-eight-six, Sire. We can rule out any involvement from the Class-M star. This one is definitely planet-based."
Capel turned to speak to the cybernetic, "What do you make of this?"
"A continuous relay of data is being received."
"Analysis?"
"No analysis, yet. Still receiving. Attempting to decrypt --"
Suddenly all viewers cleared. The electronic chatter reached a climax and cut. There was silence aboard the grounded Pioneer 4. Dara, amazed and bewildered, came over to join the others. "What's going on?" she asked barely audible.
Moela's face was asking the same question. She looked away from the communications wall, where she had been observing the hieroglyphs, to the syntheform.
"Can you explain?" she questioned.
"Transmission was being broadcasted on a wide-band carrier wave to compensate for solar interference”
“That explains why our antennae were picking it up and it over-ran the entire communications net of the ship,” Moela exasperatedly breathed out.
“It was being relayed by an unknown source.” BeeTee continued its report, “I estimate the origin is between land references three-five-zero and four-zero-zero."
"The last reported reference point for the signal was three-eight-six. It is possible that is the source location, unless it is non-stationary," Retho summed up.
"Logical," BeeTee concurred.
"Where is the transmission's destination?" Capel queried.
"Specifics unknown. Deep space estimated," BeeTee replied. "Due to our present navigational status, I am unable to track the transmission to its destination. All stellar cartography files are still off-line."
"So what do we do now?" Moela asked.
"The only thing we can do," Nicraan told her. "We go and investigate. Right, Commander?"
Sidereal Quest Page 7
