Diffusion Box Set

by Stan C. Smith

  “I thought you said we were the first ones allowed to come to this village besides you.”

  “I was reluctant to discuss Peter. His was an unfortunate circumstance.”

  “What happened to him?”

  The Papuans addressed Samuel before he could answer. Samuel frowned, and as they talked, he became increasingly distressed. Were they debating killing them? Quentin eyed the opening in the floor and considered making a run for it. But he would never get Lindsey and the kids safely down from the tree house and out of the village if the Papuans truly meant them harm. He was at their mercy.

  As they talked, Quentin focused on an object hanging from the white-feathered man’s neck. It was familiar. It was a carved animal, similar to the one he had found the day of the crash. Though he was uncertain of what effect the action might have, he pulled the figurine from his pocket and held it out to them. “I found this. I think it might be yours.”

  The Papuan men stared at the figurine and made no move to accept it.

  Samuel’s voice grew tighter than before. “Quentin, I do not know how you obtained that, but it will not—”

  “Nu lefaf! Yu be-khomilo-n-din-da. Ya nokhu wola-maman-é. Nokhu solditai imoné khomilo.” The white-feathered man spoke with such force that Samuel became quiet.27

  Samuel turned to Quentin. “This council is concluded. We must now go.”

  Bobby tried, but he could pull no more detail from his memory of the other airplane. It had happened so fast. And he seemed to have fainted or blacked out at the time. Was the other plane the cause of their crash? Bobby was pretty sure a mid-air collision would do more than just cause an engine to leak and then catch fire. It didn’t make sense. He rose to his feet to return to the tree house before Mrs. Darnell blew a circuit. There was movement in a nearby patch of saplings. Bobby saw two brown eyes gazing at him from the brush.

  “Mbaiso! Where’ve you been, boy?” He held out his hand.

  The tree kangaroo stayed put. Then out of the brush came a second tree kangaroo, which Bobby recognized as the true Mbaiso. “Whoa, you brought a friend?”

  Mbaiso hopped to his hand and sniffed it. Bobby tried petting his head like he would a dog, but Mbaiso ducked to the side. Suddenly there was a third tree kangaroo. The two newcomers sat a few feet away, watching him. Bobby settled onto the ground and crossed his legs, face to face with Mbaiso. “I know you can talk. Can your friends talk too?”

  Mbaiso scratched an ear with his hind leg.

  “Parrots can talk, but they don’t know what they’re talking about. But you do, don’t you? If I could just understand, maybe you’d tell me what the hell’s going on here.”

  Mbaiso settled back on his haunches. His two companions moved a little closer.

  “Can you teach me?” Bobby moved his hands in a nonsense attempt at sign language.

  Mbaiso cocked his head, watching Bobby’s hands. And then he began moving his front paws. The movements were controlled and definite.

  “How’d you learn to do that?” Bobby tried repeating Mbaiso’s signs. Because of the shape of the creature’s hands, there were no finger movements. The memory of the sequence ran through his mind on demand, and he simply copied it. It was easy.

  They continued this way—Mbaiso showing, Bobby repeating. The new kangaroos moved closer until they sat just behind Mbaiso.

  Bobby finally dropped his hands. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

  Mbaiso tried again, but Bobby just shrugged. Mbaiso’s forepaws began digging into the fur on his belly, as if scratching an itch. He scratched deeper. Bobby stared at the digging claws as they pushed their way through the skin. One paw disappeared. Bobby looked into Mbaiso’s eyes, but the creature seemed unconcerned. Finally the paw appeared again, holding a wet lump of pink innards.

  Bobby’s voice was a whisper. “What did you do?”

  Mbaiso held the lump of flesh out, and it quickly changed from pink to tan. Mbaiso held the stuff toward Bobby’s face.

  “What? What do you want me to…” But Bobby knew, and Mbaiso confirmed it by leaning forward and touching the lump of flesh to Bobby’s mouth.

  Not a good idea, Bobby told himself. But before he could talk himself out of it, he pinched it up from Mbaiso’s paw and dropped it into his mouth. He chewed it a few times. It had the texture of gritty mud, with a bitter and metallic taste. Not what he expected from animal flesh. So he closed his eyes and swallowed.

  “Okay, now what?”

  Quentin descended the rope ladder, put on his shoes, and waited for Samuel.

  “Your presence here has disturbed my indigene hosts more than I dared to believe,” Samuel said when he reached the forest floor. “Tell me, Quentin, how is it you have come to possess an mbolop talisman?”

  “I found it in the forest, in a bowerbird’s nest. The day our plane went down.”

  “Your choice of occasion to produce this find is unfortunate. I wish that you would have consulted with me beforehand.”

  “I thought they might want it. So what do we do now?”

  “It is not you and your party that concerns me so much now.” Samuel seemed to struggle for the right words. “You must understand that these indigenes, as with other lower civilizations, have deeply-held beliefs that, although unrefined to us, guide them in their lives.”

  If Samuel was lying about his age, he was going to great and offensive lengths to be convincing. “That would be considered an old-fashioned attitude in my world,” Quentin said.

  Samuel raised his brows. “Would it?”

  “We’ve come to realize that the people of unrefined cultures are just as intelligent as anyone else—more intelligent when it comes to some things.”

  Samuel seemed to contemplate this. Then he waved his hand dismissively. “Regardless of their inherent capabilities, uncivilized peoples subscribe to doctrines based upon their beliefs. This is true throughout the world. But here—here among the indigenes to which we are both now bound—there is a force at work. It is a force I can scarcely hope to understand after many years of study. Savage tribes of the world believe supernatural forces are at work in their daily living. Commonly these notions are simple and unwarranted. Our Papuan hosts, in contrast, believe in the supernatural because here it is real. I assure you of this. Whether the force is of nature, or from beyond the natural world, it is one of great magnitude. And so the indigenes’ beliefs should not be ignored. Matiinuo, the elder with whom we have just met, has told me with the firmest conviction that he believes the world is coming finally to an end. Never before have I witnessed such passion in his words.”

  “But you know better,” Quentin said. “You know the world isn’t ending, so what difference does it make?”

  Samuel held his gaze without answering.

  “Don’t tell me you believe him.”

  “Perhaps not. But if the people of this tribe decide that their world will end, then I fear not only for them, but for all the peoples of this world.”

  Samuel began walking, and Quentin followed.

  “Why?” Quentin asked. “The substance you’ve found here will help people beyond anything I can imagine.”

  Samuel cleared his throat as if preparing to say something important. “Quentin, are you familiar with the consequences of introducing uncivilized peoples to the civilized world?”

  This took Quentin aback. “There are few people who understand it better than I do.”

  Samuel gazed at him for a moment with raised brows. “Is that so?”

  “My parents were anthropologists. They studied indigenous people here in New Guinea, and I know exactly what you’re referring to. People know of poverty because they have learned about personal possessions and money. People know shame because they were shown clothing. They live in fear because they were given modern weapons.”

  Samuel nodded. “Consider the acts of missionaries. Their mission, so to speak, is to bring uncivilized peoples into the light of God and the civilized world. In doing so, such
peoples are changed, never to be the same again. Some would argue this is for the savages’ own good. But I have come to realize that this is good only if one accepts that the indigenous state is inherently bad. Do you understand?”

  Perhaps Samuel’s ideas were not so outdated. Quentin nodded. “As I said, better than most.”

  “Suppose that we turn the situation about. Suppose that we—you and I, and the civilized peoples of this world—are the poor subjects of the missionaries. Suppose that we live our lives in such a way that suits us quite well, praying to our Gods, adopting rules by which to live in harmony, improving ourselves with scientific pursuits. And we are most content with this existence. In fact, there are some of us who would sacrifice much to preserve it.”

  Quentin felt a tightness building in his throat. “You think the medicine you’ve discovered is meant to change us?”

  Samuel nodded. “It is a gift.”

  “A gift from who? God? I thought you said God had nothing to do with this place.”

  “It is not a gift from God. God provides us with limits, and with humility. With the Lamotelokhai, there are no limits.”

  Quentin stared at him. “No limits?”

  Samuel nodded, his face grim. “Quentin, you must never leave this place, even if the indigenes decide you are the one to do so.”

  The sensation started in Bobby’s gut. It wasn’t painful. It was more like the tingles you get when your foot falls asleep and then slowly wakes up. The sensation crept to his chest and up to his neck before he became frightened.

  “What’d you give me?” he said to Mbaiso. The feeling entered his face, prickling his lips and warming his eyes. “What is it?” he nearly yelled.

  As the feeling rose to his scalp, Bobby pressed his hands to his face. And then the wave of tingles stopped. He peeked through his fingers. The tree kangaroos were still there, watching him. Mbaiso raised one foreleg, moved it as if drawing the letter L in the air, and then repeated the action with the other foreleg, but like a reverse L.

  This was a sign Mbaiso had shown him already. But this time, as the gesture ended Bobby saw something strange. The lines of Mbaiso’s body melted away, and an image of the kangaroo pulled free from his own body, rose from the ground, and hung in the air just in front of Bobby. It happened quickly. Mbaiso’s image floated there briefly, and then faded away.

  “What the hell?”

  Mbaiso signed again. Both arms moved at once, one of them drawing a letter L, the other drawing what looked more like a J with an extra coil at the bottom. Immediately Bobby saw another hallucination. This time one of the kangaroos behind Mbaiso popped up and floated before his face, then vanished. Suddenly it made sense. They were introducing themselves.

  “No freakin’ way!” With shaking hands, Bobby copied the two opposite Ls and pointed at Mbaiso. He made the other sign and pointed at the second kangaroo. Finally, he pointed at the third kangaroo and waited.

  Mbaiso’s forepaws drew another pair of signs in the air, this time a letter L and a circle with a squiggle through it. A likeness of the third tree kangaroo popped up and then vanished.

  “I get it,” Bobby whispered.

  The kangaroo named L and curly-J hopped forward and made a new sign. It ended with the two paws together, as if praying, and then slowly moving them apart several inches. As soon as the paws stopped, another hallucination appeared. The tree kangaroo’s likeness moved away from Bobby a few meters. The kangaroo repeated the sign, but separated his paws even farther. The creature’s likeness hopped away again, but farther than before.

  Bobby copied it, but he spread his hands apart until there was a foot of space between them. There was no hallucination, but all three of the kangaroos hopped away into the brush and stopped about ten meters out. On a hunch, Bobby made the gesture again, but this time he passed his hands over each other and reversed the direction of separation. The tree kangaroos obediently returned to him.

  Bobby smiled. He was learning their language.

  Quentin and Samuel made their way around enormous sago and eucalyptus trees. The immense trees must have been why the Papuans had chosen this location for their village.

  “Samuel, how did you end up in this place, anyway? If you started your life with these villagers as long ago as you say—what, back in eighteen sixty or something like that?”

  “Eighteen hundred and sixty-eight, actually.”

  “If you started living with them then, how did you get here, to this location? There weren’t many explorers who penetrated the interior back then.”

  “At that time their village was far to the north, near the port of Hollandia where I made my residence. I first encountered them on a collecting trip. An assistant of mine, Charles Newman, accompanied me. The young man had only recently arrived from London. We had chanced to hear stories of a place the local villagers rarely entered. They told us that those who visited there never returned. As a naturalist, this interested me. I gave no thought to their superstitions. I saw an opportunity to collect specimens rare even to the locals themselves. And so we set out to enter the region. With three of my boys, whom I employed to assist in collecting and carrying, Charles and I ventured inland, making our way along the river. We traveled six days, as we were instructed to. When we approached our destination all signs of mankind gave way to a pathless wilderness. The area appeared to be uninhabited.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “Correct,” Samuel said. “Upon entering the area, we encountered creatures that were most assuredly new to science. My assistant Charles shot several aiyals: bandicoots, which seemed to hold no fear of man. And then he shot a tree kangaroo. That is when our good fortune expired. We found ourselves surrounded by indigenous Papuans, quite unlike any I had seen before, who proved to be as dangerous as they were silent. Almost immediately, they murdered poor Charles. My boys tried to run but were stabbed to death without so much as a word spoken. I feared for my life and kneeled to them, determined on appearing agreeable.

  “And then something astounding happened. The mbolop, which I was certain was shot dead by Charles, awoke, and it approached me as I kneeled in the mud waiting for my death. This may seem difficult to conceive, but sure as I attribute the death of my companions to the shooting of the mbolop, I also attribute my own survival to that very creature. The tribesmen I faced were much influenced by the tree kangaroos, as they are to this day.”

  “Which is why they make these figurines of them,” Quentin said, pulling the troublesome object from his pocket. “I suppose I insulted them somehow by having one?”

  “It is not that you insulted Matiinuo so much as you confused him. The talisman you hold once belonged to him. It is a possession that an Elder does not readily give up. But he did give it away, and soon after it was lost under the most unfortunate circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?”

  Samuel hesitated. “I have told you of the poor fellow, Peter.”

  “Yes. Who exactly was Peter?”

  Samuel sighed. “As I have said, Peter found his way to the village of my hosts, quite by accident. He was allowed to live for some time. The villagers held hopes that Peter could understand the Lamotelokhai. Matiinuo even gave him the mbolop talisman, a sign of the highest regard.” Samuel looked at the ground. “Peter became a friend to me. But then he insisted on leaving the village.”

  “The Papuans killed him, didn’t they?”

  Samuel responded only with a blank stare.

  “So they let you live, and you remained here for all these years? Why?”

  Samuel leveled his gaze at Quentin. “I quickly learned that the indigenes possessed a substance with extraordinary medicinal qualities. When they shared it with me, I experienced the most pleasing advantages. As with Peter, they held hopes that I might understand the Lamotelokhai, and that I might communicate with it.” With these last words, Samuel gave Quentin a guarded look. “You see, the indigenes will not themselves communicate with the Lamotelokhai. Long ago
they determined that to do so results in misfortune and bereavement. But they do wait for a man to come who will assume the obligation of doing so. And to some extent I could. But evidently I was not the one they had been waiting for. I faced the dilemma of becoming useful to them or suffering the same fate as the others in my party. I had no more freedom to leave this tribe than you now do. Or that Peter did. I chose to be useful, and to devote my scientific efforts to ascertaining the potentials of the Lamotelokhai. For all the answers that I uncover, however, more questions are revealed. The Lamotelokhai is most mysterious, and very dangerous.”

  “What do you mean, dangerous?”

  “In recent years, my questions concerning the substance’s capabilities have become more earnest, and the results of my investigations more pervasive and treacherous. I have concluded that there will be, quite literally, no limits to the capabilities of the man who unlocks the particulars of its true nature.”

  “And you want to be that man. You’re helping them hide this thing, aren’t you?”

  “You think me to be self-interested. But I know I am not that man. My indigene hosts believe a man will come who will converse with the Lamotelokhai in ways that I cannot, and will then take it from this place, essentially bringing their world to an end, or turning the world upside down, as they put it. They accept this as inevitable truth. I suspect that they believe you may be this man, which explains why you are alive at this moment. But I am not so convinced as they are. I mean no contempt, Quentin, but you and those in your party do not lead me to believe that society has progressed to such a state of civilization that the Lamotelokhai’s properties would be utilized safely and sensibly.”

  Quentin regarded him. “You decided this after knowing us for two days?”

  “As I said, I mean no contempt. When you have learned more of the Lamotelokhai, I trust you will agree that it should remain hidden from those who would suffer its temptations. So strongly do I hold this to be true that I convinced the tribe to migrate far inland to avoid inevitable encounters with civilized peoples. In the fifty years after my capture, I moved with my hosts to no less than four new home territories, each one more remote than before. At last we settled here, a place I was sure would not yield to strangers. Wandering souls of Papuan descent, yes. But for many years no civilized men, until Peter—and now your own party.”