Obsolete Theorem

by Stan C. Smith

  “Whatever challenges confront you at your destination, we hope they are surmountable,” said Chandler. “Godspeed to you all.”

  Lincoln nodded at Jazzlyn, Virgil, and Derek. He watched as they zipped themselves in, then he closed his own body bag. In the darkness he tapped his watch. The screen came on, showing less than seven minutes remaining. He navigated through several menus to get to a large green button he’d designed months ago, labeled with the words No Time Like the Present. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.

  He tapped the button.

  Lincoln was weightless for a split second before landing on his back. Something sharp was under his shoulder blade, so he rolled to the side to relieve the pain.

  “Jeez, my neck!” said Virgil.

  “For God’s sake, that hurt!” Jazzlyn said. “I thought we’d be offset by a few centimeters, not half a freakin’ meter.”

  Maddy spoke in her calm voice. “It is because of the rocks. Extra clearance was necessary.”

  Lincoln realized his eyes were shut. He opened them and had to squint against the sunlight. His ear was now against the ground, and all he could see were rocks of various sizes and a few sage-like shrubs. A steady sound was coming from somewhere nearby, like a stream flowing over rocks. He sat up, groaning at the pain in his back, and saw gnarled trees, most of them only a few meters tall. A wide field of rocks and shrubs stretched out beyond the trees, and rocky hills rose in the distance beyond that.

  The T3 was there beside him, minus its body bag. He got to his feet. Yes! The contents of all the body bags were there: Jazzlyn, Virgil, Derek, Maddy, and the two duffel bags. The T3 had worked exactly as expected, assuming of course that they were at the correct time and location near the Pomer site.

  To Lincoln’s left, no more than a few meters beyond the T3’s placement perimeter, was the rocky bank of a clear, gushing stream. More gnarled trees stood on the far side of the stream, with more rocky plain and distant hills beyond.

  “I didn’t feel a thing,” said Derek, rubbing the back of his head. “At least not until I hit the ground. I thought we’d feel something. I thought maybe we’d see stars, or the face of God, or something like that. Instead, nothing.”

  “Look at this place—it’s just wilderness,” Jazzlyn added. “The message said to come to this time and place because our entire civilization is at risk, but there’s nothing here!”

  Virgil moved to the duffel that was filled with extra body bags. “I think we should get everything set up to make another jump. We weren’t allowed to bring weapons, and by my latest count, there were no fewer than fifteen different megafaunal mammals here that would give any sane person nightmares.” He pulled out one of the body bags and began unrolling it.

  Lincoln scanned the ground until he spotted the mini-drone. The machine had parked itself on the outer perimeter of the targeted area, having completed its mission of assessing and approving the site for the team’s jump. He picked up the mini-drone and took it to Virgil. “No point in using one of the backups if this thing still works. I agree, we should prepare the T3 for a second jump. Just in case.”

  “I suggest you all look to the northeast,” said Maddy, her feminine voice at a high volume, indicating urgency.

  Lincoln didn’t know which way was northeast, so he glanced at Maddy to see where she was looking. He stared across the stream but saw nothing. Then he saw it—movement, barely visible through the leaves and tangled branches of one of the trees. Something was running, and it was quickly getting closer. “Get behind the T3,” he ordered the others.

  Still wobbly on their feet, the team moved behind the boulder and crouched.

  The creature kept approaching, and now Lincoln could hear its feet on the gravel. He silently cursed the damn bureaucrats who had insisted his team not bring weapons. Their reasoning had been that if Lincoln’s team went around killing things, they’d have a greater impact on the future.

  “It’s getting closer,” Virgil hissed. “Should we run?”

  Before Lincoln could reply, a figure skirted one of the trees and came into view. It was a person—a woman—with animal furs hanging over her shoulders, fastened around her waist, and covering her feet. The woman came to a stop. Soon after, another figure rounded the tree and stopped beside her.

  “Holy shit!” Derek exclaimed.

  The woman heard this and snapped her head around. She stared across the stream at Lincoln’s team.

  Standing on four mechanical legs beside the woman was a drone, its illuminated vision lens glowing as it also stared across the stream.

  There was no point in hiding now, so Lincoln rose to his full height.

  “Khala-melu!” The woman shouted, with a distinct clicking sound between the two words.

  Lincoln considered saying something back, but his eyes were drawn to the rocky field beyond the woman and drone. More humans were coming. There were at least eight, apparently men, with darker skin than that of the woman. Running with apparent purpose, each of the men wielded a hatchet-like weapon.

  5

  Strangers

  47,659 years ago - Day 1

  With the comforting heft of the dead bolup’s khul in her hand, Skyra ran with Ripple to the river. They reached the forest-lined river ahead of their pursuers, but the scrubby trees offered few places to hide. She slowed, came to a stop beside one of the trees, then looked back. The men were still steadily following. She turned back to the river. It would be easy to cross, but then what would she do? She scanned the far side and immediately spotted something that looked out of place.

  “Holy shit!” a strange voice cried.

  Skyra grunted and stepped back, nearly falling over Ripple. There were people across the river, watching her from behind a rock that looked nothing like the other rocks. She stared, nearly forgetting the men pursuing her. She could only see the people’s faces. They weren’t nandups—she was sure of that—which meant they were bolups. Humans. However, only one of them had skin as dark as most of the other bolups she had seen. The others were paler than even the palest of nandups. One of the pale bolups rose to his full height, now visible from the waist up.

  Skyra shouted, “Khala-melu!” What are you? The bolup—a man—was not wearing a fur cape or even one of the tight-fitting deerskin garments bolups usually wore. This man’s garment was the color of a cloudless sky, and it clung to his torso like a second skin. Skyra had never seen anything like it.

  The man was watching her, but he shifted his eyes to look at something beyond her. Then he spoke. “Are you in trouble? Are those men chasing you?”

  Skyra took another step back, confused. She knew these words. This man spoke Ripple’s language.

  “We’ll help you if we can,” the man said.

  The other three bolups rose to their feet at once. All of them wore the same sky-blue garments, which were so tight-fitting that Skyra could see that the dark-skinned bolup was a woman.

  “I recognize these humans,” Ripple said. “One of them is Lincoln—” Ripple stopped speaking as a beaver-sized creature stepped from behind the boulder. The creature looked just like Ripple.

  Skyra’s heart was already pounding, but now she felt the strength of the woolly rhino and cave lion surging through her entire body. Her legs trembled as if they wanted to carry her away from this confusing scene.

  “They’re almost here!” the pale man shouted.

  Skyra blinked and sucked air into her chest. The men chasing her—she could hear them getting closer. She hesitated for only one more breath then bounded to the river’s edge and leapt into the knee-deep water. She glanced back. The bolups chasing her were now weaving their way among the trees, and the nearest was raising his khul as if he intended to throw it.

  Ripple was sloshing through the water toward the strangers, so Skyra made her way across the river and climbed onto the rocky shore.

  “Look out!” one of the strangers cried.

  Skyra looked back just as the bolup released
his khul. She dropped to the ground. The weapon flew past her, almost grazing her shoulder, and landed harmlessly among the rocks beside the strangers.

  She jumped to her feet, gripping her khul. She raised the weapon, ready to kill the blue-clad strangers as they rushed toward her. They were not wielding weapons, and they were thin and frail-looking, but there were four of them. She quickly determined the one she’d need to kill first—the man with the strange gray beard.

  The humans surrounded her but kept their distance. Most of them were staring across the river at Skyra’s pursuers, who were now gathering on the far shore, but the man who had spoken to her was watching her warily. He held out a hand, palm toward her, and said, “Take it easy. We’ll try to help you if we can.”

  At Skyra’s side, Ripple said, “You are Lincoln Woodhouse.”

  The man blinked and looked down at Ripple. “That’s right.”

  Skyra’s pursuers began crossing the river. Except for the man who had thrown his, they were all wielding khuls. The skinny, unarmed strangers were about to be killed, and Skyra would be taken, to suffer the same fate as Veenah. She should have kept running.

  “What the hell are we supposed to do now, Lincoln?” said the woman with the dark face, her voice high and squeaky like an injured hare.

  The gray-bearded man held something up in his hand. The object was too small for Skyra to see, but he was shoving it out toward the approaching men. “Hey!” he shouted. “You need to back off.” He moved his thumb, and a small flame leapt from his fist and continued burning. The man was holding fire in his hand.

  The nearest bolup, who was now almost across the river, paused and stared. Skyra studied the attacking bolup’s face. He hardly took notice of the fire. In fact, she sensed that he was preparing to attack, only a breath away from charging forward to kill the gray-bearded man.

  Without hesitating, Skyra drew back her khul and heaved it. It was lighter than the khuls she normally used, so she adjusted her aim to compensate. The man who was about to attack didn’t even see it coming, and the blade split his skull just in front of his ear.

  “Jesus Christ!” one of the skinny strangers said.

  Skyra leapt into the river and reached the man’s body as it was drifting away. He had dropped his khul somewhere in the water, so Skyra yanked her own khul from his skull. She swung around to face the rest of the men, most of whom were now standing midway in the river.

  The bolup men were hesitant—she could sense it from their expressions. Depending on what happened next, they might attack, or they might finally decide Skyra wasn’t worth the effort.

  One of the men pointed at the strangers and spoke to his companions. Skyra looked, then she gritted her teeth as she saw he was pointing at the dark-faced woman, who, like Skyra, appeared to be of breeding age. The balance had just shifted. The men now knew they could take two women, not just one.

  Ripple spoke up. “The attacking humans are not frightened by your technology. Such devices are so far beyond their experiences they are virtually invisible to these men. If you wish to survive, you must intimidate them in a way they understand.”

  Skyra realized her companion had been talking to the strangers rather than to her.

  “The drone is right,” said the stranger Ripple had called Lincoln Woodhouse. “We have to do something they understand.” He picked up a rock and raised it up as if to throw it. He then rushed to the riverbank, howling like a sick auroch calf.

  The other strangers grabbed their own rocks and followed the first man. The strangers now sounded like a bevy of sick calves.

  The attacking bolups’ expressions changed, and Skyra saw they were losing the will to fight. She sensed they were about to turn away. Then, as she knew they would, they all made their way back to the far riverbank. They spoke quietly to each other for a moment then began walking back the way they had come, glancing over their shoulders frequently to make sure they weren’t being pursued.

  The strangers finally fell silent. Skyra continued watching the men until they were almost to the base of the first hill.

  “Do you think she’s going to hurt us?” It was the squeaking voice of the dark-faced woman.

  Skyra pulled her eyes from the now-distant men. The strangers were watching her warily. Ripple and the other creature were now face-to-face, gazing at each other as if they had never seen one of their own species before.

  Skyra relaxed her arm, allowing her khul to hang at her side. She made her way through the water to the rocky bank.

  The strangers backed up as she stepped out of the river.

  She picked up the khul that had been thrown at her then stood with a khul in each hand, staring at the strangers.

  “We’re not here to hurt you,” said one of the men, the only one who hadn’t spoken yet. Like the others, he wore blue garments that seemed to cling to him so tightly that he must surely struggle to breathe. On his face he wore a thin strap that had two holes over his eyes. Held over his eyes by the strap were disks, as clear as water, perhaps made of the same substance as Ripple’s orb.

  Skyra gripped both her khuls, ready to kill if she needed to, and stepped within striking distance of the skinny man called Lincoln Woodhouse. She studied his face. He was frightened of her, which was comforting. He was also curious. He wanted to know more, as if everything he saw was new to him. His long hair was the same color as Skyra’s, but unlike hers, his hair was wrapped into a braid. Only the children of Skyra’s people would ever wear their hair that way, as a braid could be dangerous when hunting or fighting. A sparse beard covered his cheeks, chin, and around his mouth, nothing like the chest-long chin hairs of the gray-bearded man. Skyra’s own people did not have facial hair, but she had seen human men with long hairs growing from their chins.

  She gazed into the man’s eyes and said, “Lincoln Woodhouse.”

  “Holy crap,” he muttered. Then he swallowed loudly, obviously frightened. “Yes, that’s me. Who are you?”

  “Skyra-Una-Loto. You can call me Skyra.”

  “She speaks English, Lincoln,” said the dark-faced woman.

  Skyra now knew she was not in danger. These strangers did not intend to attack, and even if they did, Skyra was now confident she could kill them all. They did not appear to be fighters. Or hunters. How could they even stay alive? And where did they come from? Skyra wanted to learn more, so she decided to make a gesture of friendship.

  Abruptly, Lincoln Woodhouse ducked to the side and put up a hand to protect his face. “Please don’t,” he said.

  Skyra stared at him, surprised. She had intended to offer him one of her khuls. After all, these people had no weapons. She hadn’t even begun to lift her arm and the khul, yet he had known. Somehow he had known.

  She decided to offer him the khul in her other hand, and the man quickly glanced down at that weapon just before she started to lift it.

  This was impossible. Her birthmate Veenah was the only one besides Skyra that could sense people’s intent by watching their face and body.

  Skyra relaxed her grip, and the two weapons thudded onto the rocks. She held a hand up in front of the man’s chest, fingers extended, flattened palm facing to one side.

  “I think she wants to shake your hand, Lincoln,” said the man with the strap across his eyes.

  Lincoln raised his hand and started to grasp hers. She swatted it away. Then she took his hand in hers and positioned it in front of him the same way she had just held her own hand, flattened and vertical. She released his hand, and he held it there. She placed hers next to his, both palms facing each other about a hand’s width apart.

  “I have no idea what you’re doing,” Lincoln Woodhouse said.

  She pointed to one of her eyes. “Watch my face.” She gazed back at him until she was sure he was watching her. Then she snapped her hand toward his, attempting to slap it. He pulled his hand back, and hers flew by without touching it.

  Skyra grabbed his hand again and put it back into place. She positioned
hers beside his, waited several breaths, and tried again to slap it. She hit nothing but air.

  She let out a laugh—a squeal, followed by a rapid at-at-at-at-at-at.

  “Is that girl laughing?” the dark-faced woman asked.

  Lincoln Woodhouse held his hand out again, this time without being forced. “It’s my turn.”

  Skyra put her hand in position and waited. She saw it in his eyes, a slight tightening of the skin, and she snapped her hand back just before his swished by.

  The man bared his teeth and let out a strange “Ha!” It sounded almost as if he had been hurt, but Skyra was sure it was his way of laughing. He raised his hand again, and again she avoided his swipe.

  Skyra laughed, this time louder than before. This was a game she and Veenah used to play, although they never played it with the other nandup children for fear of being shunned or even killed. Maybe this person before her was a bolup, or maybe he was a new kind of creature she had never heard of. Regardless of what he was, she had something in common with him.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Lincoln Woodhouse asked.

  “I did not learn. It is inside me, with my bones and my blood.”

  He gazed at her eyes and then shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “But you are talking.”

  “I meant I’m completely confused by all of this. I just… I had no idea what we’d find here, and now... well, I have a lot of questions.”

  “How did you learn to speak English?” asked the dark-faced woman.

  Skyra eyed the woman warily. The dark-faced woman wore two tiny rings in her nose, white like bones but polished until the curved surfaces shined like ice. Instead of one braid like Lincoln Woodhouse’s, her hair was twisted into more long, thin braids than Skyra had ever seen on one person’s head. The woman was showing her teeth, but her eyes were wide, which seemed like an odd way to smile. Skyra tried to imitate the expression, but this made the woman close her lips, so she stopped trying.