Diffusion Box Set

by Stan C. Smith

  If he were starting a new Kembalimo lingo on his smartphone, Bobby would clear the screen and begin sorting. But here he wasn’t sure how to do that. He put a hand out toward the symbols—nothing but air. On a gut feeling, he pretended to swipe them to the side. The symbols disappeared—all but four, hanging there, waiting to be sorted. He swept two of them into a pile. The two had round edges. The other two had corners, and he swept them to their own pile. The symbols disappeared, replaced by four more to be sorted.

  Now there was no doubt. The Lamotelokhai was a computer, and it wanted him to start creating a Kembalimo lingo. Kembalimo was all about creating your own lingo to communicate with people who don’t speak your language. The Lamotelokhai wanted him to learn to talk to it.

  Quentin returned alone to their tree house, easily remembering the way. Bobby’s excitement over the Lamotelokhai had prompted the villagers to insist that Quentin leave him there to continue his work with it. Samuel assured him that Bobby was perfectly safe if Quentin wished to return to Lindsey. Although doubtful of this, Quentin felt that he had little choice.

  Bobby apparently had discovered how to talk to the Lamotelokhai. Quentin had placed his own hands on the stuff, and was shocked to see a hallucination of objects appear before him. The objects did indeed resemble the symbols he had seen in Kembalimo, but he didn’t play the game, so it made no sense to him. It seemed Samuel was wrong—it was not Quentin’s capacity to communicate with the Lamotelokhai that the Papuans had been waiting for. It was Bobby’s.

  As he made his way back to the tree house Quentin called out for Addison but saw no sign of him. The rope ladder still dangled from the tree. He removed his boots and his hands and feet gripped the ladder as if he had been climbing it all his life. When he entered the hut, a Papuan tribesman with paint across his eyes stood between him and the others. The man smiled.

  “We were starting to worry about you, Mr. D,” Ashley said. “That’s Ansi. He brought medicine. Addison got mad and left, and Bobby went with the Papuans. They’re still gone.”

  “I’ve seen them both,” Quentin said. He warily circled the villager to where Lindsey lay. Ashley, Miranda, and Carlos were at her side.

  “She’s been sleeping, but she looks better now,” Miranda said.

  Lindsey stirred as Quentin touched her face. Her skin was dry and cool. No fever. And she did look better. The insect bites and scrapes were all but gone. Even her hair seemed less tangled and matted. He spoke softly to her, but her eyes remained closed.

  Quentin ate some khosül and drank from the water supply in the corner of the hut. He paced back and forth. He left the tree house again and made his way back to the Lamotelokhai tree, but he saw no sign of Addison. It was growing dark and starting to rain, so he returned to the tree house.

  As the remaining light faded to emerald shadows, Quentin sat by the opening in the floor with his back to the others. He watched the rope ladder, hoping it would go tight. The weight of the entire day was upon him, and a sob rose to his throat, but he forced it back. The students were watching, and he could not break down now.

  Quentin was pulled from his thoughts by a warm hand on his shoulder. He glanced up and saw that it was Lindsey. They gazed at each other, silent. The slightest smile appeared at the corners of her mouth.

  She sat on the floor at his side. “I told you I didn’t want their medicine.”

  “Yeah, well, it seems we don’t have much say in what happens here.”

  Lindsey looked around the hut at each of the kids, at the tribesman called Ansi, and then at Quentin. Her smile faded. “Where’s Addison? And Bobby?”

  Quentin gazed through the entryway. “Bobby is safe. He’s with Samuel and some of the villagers. It’s a long story, but he’s learning to talk to a lump of clay by playing Kembalimo.”

  “The thing from space,” she said.

  Quentin glanced at her. “You had the dream?”

  “It was more than a dream.”

  Quentin was silent.

  She put her hand on his. “Quentin, where is Addison?”

  His eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know. He was with me, and then he was gone.”

  She slid closer and laid her head against him. Her presence allowed him to finally let go, and his tears ran down his face to his chin and dropped through the hole in the floor.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bobby made remarkable progress with the Lamotelokhai, partly because he recalled the choices he had previously made with Kembalimo on his smartphone. In almost no time he had sorted the symbols into groups, and then into a specific order. Once he had decided on the symbols’ order, they were like numbers, and the next level was to solve hundreds of puzzles using the symbols. This way the rules of logic for his lingo were established. The next level beyond that was the hardest part—coming up with combinations of the 128 symbols to represent meanings. It was like creating a language using 128 numbers, and the logic of grouping them was completely different from a typical language. Once you got used to the process it was easier than learning any other language because it was based on rules you created yourself in the earlier stages. On his smartphone, Kembalimo would show him pictures, and he would group symbols together to have those meanings. But with the Lamotelokhai, instead of pictures on a screen, there were visions in his head, and sounds—even feelings. It was easy.

  Samuel and the Papuans had silently watched him until after dark. Finally, Samuel approached Bobby.

  “I must say I am mystified by your apparent knack for utilizing the same symbols that I have floundered with for many years.”

  “It’s just Kembalimo,” Bobby said. “I was already pretty good at it.” He glanced at Samuel’s perplexed expression. “It’s a language program. It’s made to be like a game, so lots of people like it.”

  Samuel looked no less confused. “How could it be that this Kembalimo involves the same symbols?”

  Bobby shrugged. “You’d have to ask Peter Wooley that.”

  Samuel suddenly stiffened. “Did you say the name Peter Wooley, sir?”

  “He’s the guy that invented Kembalimo. He’s famous.”

  Samuel’s face went pale, and Bobby was tempted to take a step back.

  “It cannot be,” Samuel half-whispered. “Peter was killed before my eyes. He was beaten beyond hope of repair.”

  “Maybe that was a different Peter Wooley,” Bobby offered. “The guy I’m talking about is alive and well. He’s really rich and he lives in Australia.”

  Samuel looked at the floor and shook his head, like he was dismissing this. “But the symbols,” he said. He furrowed his brows and fingered his vest. Slowly his face regained its color, and he seemed to relax. One edge of his mouth turned up slightly, as if he were pleased with something very personal. “How extraordinary,” he said.

  Bobby shifted back and forth and nodded toward the peculiar mass beside him. “Do you mind if I…”

  “Yes, do continue,” Samuel said. He then turned away, apparently still deep in thought.

  Several hours later they walked Bobby back to the tree house. A man named Tengorros was staying there, along with Ansi. Samuel said this was for their protection, but Bobby suspected it was to stop them from leaving.

  Mr. and Mrs. Darnell wanted to know what he had learned. He tried to explain but found this to be more frustrating than actually working with the Lamotelokhai. So he told them he had a headache, which wasn’t true. In the darkness of the tree house, he watched the two villagers’ silhouettes as they whispered to each other. Eventually they stopped talking, and Bobby was the last one awake, feeling very alone with his thoughts. The rain had stopped, and the only sounds were trilling insects and tree frogs.

  The stars were the only constant in an otherwise fluid setting. Everything around the tree kangaroo had always been and was still flowing, changing, evolving. But even the positions of the stars themselves were gradually shifting, revealing movement across the planet of the landmass upon which the mbolop li
ved. And according to archived data, the land mass had been moving long before Mbaiso had been around to measure it.

  Clutching the highest limb it could find, the creature extended its legs, pushing itself high enough to see the horizon. This allowed it to triangulate the positions of key stars. It filed the information away and then settled back to a more comfortable perch, completing a routine it had carried out many times before.

  Before descending the tree, Mbaiso sat motionless, listening. Although it could not know what sounds to expect, significant events would likely occur soon. Mbaiso and the other tree kangaroos were given little leeway for interfering, but they could observe and document. And Mbaiso was acutely interested in the outcome. The unusual new humans would probably take actions harmful to themselves or to their species. That was expected, but it would mean more waiting—possibly much more waiting. Perhaps the Creator, the Lamotelokhai, was unconcerned with waiting indefinitely, but Mbaiso had been given traits of a living biological entity. Including some sense of mortality, spawning impatience. The mbolop was ready to move on to what events may unfold next, even if this meant testing the boundaries of its permissions.

  Mbaiso continued to listen, but so far the night revealed nothing beyond the chorus of night creatures.

  The hut shook slightly and Bobby was alert again. Something rose up through the entrance in the floor where the Papuans slept.

  Bobby whispered, “Addison, is that you?”

  There was no answer. The figure took a silent step toward the sleeping men and touched their faces one at a time. It then dropped through the hole and was gone.

  Both men sat up. They wiped at their faces and mumbled to each other, and then they were quiet again. They didn’t seem to have seen the mysterious figure. And now Bobby wasn’t sure he had seen it himself. He closed his eyes.

  He was nearly asleep when he heard a cry in the distance. It rose and then trailed off like the call of a wolf. But it was human, and it was filled with sorrow or pain. Then another cry rose from a different direction. Soon there was a third. One of the Papuans lifted his head. He listened for a moment, then sank back to the floor and didn’t move again.

  The cries went on for some time. Bobby stared into the dark, listening to them, haunted by their misery, until sleep finally came.

  Quentin was the first to wake in the morning. For some minutes he lay still as the chatter of birds filled the air. He wished he could go back to sleep. He had dreamt of a life without the plane crash, where his only burdens were those any man could bear. The stresses of his life before the crash seemed so trivial now. Quentin thought of Samuel’s desire to return to his past and understood how desperate the feeling could be.

  But sleep would not return. Addison was still out there, and Quentin had to find him. Then he would convince the villagers to let them leave. If that didn’t work, they would escape and find their way to civilization on their own.

  Having made this decision, Quentin felt better. He forced himself up, intent on waking the others and getting started. He glanced at the two Papuans who had stayed with them through the night, and then his confidence dissolved in a single wave of shock.

  The villagers were gone. In their places were two piles of reddish dirt. Much of the dirt had fallen between the sticks and vines of the floor, but the remaining piles still resembled two sleeping bodies.

  Minutes later, Quentin paced the length of the small hut. Everyone else stared at the remains of the two men. Quentin wanted to find Samuel and get some answers. But he didn’t want to separate the group again.

  “We’re all going,” he said. “We’ll find Addison and then we’re getting out of here.”

  “I think Addison was here,” Bobby said.

  Quentin stopped pacing. “What do you mean?”

  “Last night. I saw someone come in. He did something to Ansi and Tengorros. He touched their faces. I think it might have been Addison.”

  “Why didn’t you wake us up?”

  Bobby looked at his bare feet. “I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t sure.”

  Quentin closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. Addison would not have killed two men. He opened his eyes. “We’re all going now.”

  They drank from the container of water until it was empty. Lindsey and Ashley both insisted that they now felt strong enough to climb down the ladder without being lowered down. So one at a time they all descended to the forest floor.

  Quentin led them to Samuel’s tree house. It was some distance away, perhaps a half-mile, but he remembered the route, and before long they stood beneath it. He called to Samuel but there was no response, so they headed for the Lamotelokhai tree. As they approached it, the shuffling of their feet echoed among the massive tree trunks. Quentin spotted the dark outline of a hanging corridor above, and he pointed at it without stopping. He followed the shadow of the hanging tunnel until they finally stood at the base of the Lamotelokhai tree. Quentin cupped his hands to his face to call out, but then he stopped. There was movement in some foliage perhaps fifteen meters above them. At first he saw only leaves and shadows. But then something twitched—something with a face and dark eyes.

  “Addison?” Quentin called out. “Is that you?”

  The foliage exploded as the form flung itself into the air. Quentin stumbled backward in shock as the thing dropped the entire distance to the ground. It was a fall that would kill—or at least break the legs—of any human being. It hit the ground with a loud thud, bounced a few inches into the air, and landed in a controlled crouch. It then lifted itself fully erect.

  There was stunned silence as they all stared at Addison.

  “Oh, my God,” Lindsey whispered.

  Addison’s body was changed. His arms were longer, like those of a chimpanzee, with sinewy fingers. There was no sign of Addison’s boyish body fat. Instead, his arms, legs, and torso were braided with ropes of muscle. A cord was tied around his waist, and from it hung a pouch that only partially hid his genitals. If it weren’t for Addison’s face, Quentin would not have known who—or what—it was. But even his face was changed, no longer that of a boy. It was now hard, with sharp angles. The wounds from the previous day were all but gone except for a jagged valley in the skin running from his left eye up past his hairline. Addison’s eyes darted back and forth as if he were a cornered animal. Quentin felt a mix of loathing and affection as Addison stepped toward them. He fought the urge to back away.

  “Yanop khomile-lé-dakhu,” Addison said.25

  Quentin found his voice. “Addison, we’re leaving. You’re coming with us.”

  “No. You will help me now.”

  “Help you with what?”

  “Kill them.” He pointed a long finger upward. “The rest are there.”

  Before Quentin could speak, Bobby stepped forward. “Addison, what did you do? That was you last night, wasn’t it? And I heard yelling. What did you do?”

  Addison leaned forward, placed one hand on the ground, and shoved his face up toward Bobby. The movement was chillingly nonhuman. “Nu khén-telo! You can talk to it.”33

  Bobby nodded. “Yes I can.”

  “So you know.” His finger stabbed upward again. “Help me kill the rest.”

  Quentin wrestled with the weight of Addison’s words. “What do you mean kill, Addison? You didn’t kill someone, did you?”

  Addison stood erect again. “Yes. I am almost finished. Help me kill the rest.”

  Quentin didn’t move or speak, afraid to trust his own judgment.

  Addison shifted from one muscled leg to the other, glancing at the canopy and back to Quentin. “Help me now!” he cried.

  Quentin knew they had to reason with him, convince him to leave with them. They could find their way to civilization and then get help for him. “Addison, whatever you’ve done, we can work it out. It’s time to go home.”

  “You don’t listen. You can’t go there. Help me kill them.”

  “No, Addison!” Lindsey said. “We don’t
kill people. What’s wrong with you?”

  Addison stooped forward until both his hands were on the ground. “Then I’ll kill you, too.”

  Following those words, everything seemed to go silent.

  Quentin opened his arms to the creature that still might be his son. “Please talk to us. Help me to understand.”

  Addison held out a balled fist. “Look at me. I can do anything now.” Then he leapt into the air. He grasped a limb, swung over it and landed on his feet on top of it. He gazed down at them for a moment before dropping back to the ground. “I’m better now. You can be too.” He eyed them, expectant, but no one spoke. “The Lamotelokhai knows you now. It has your keliokhmo. It can make you better.” Addison looked at each of them. When his eyes fell upon Ashley, he pointed. “You did not like the khofémanop, Addison. You wrote things about him.”40

  Ashley’s face darkened with anger. She left Lindsey’s side. “How do you know what I wrote, Addison? Did you read my journal?”

  “The Lamotelokhai knows your keliokhmo. And now I know, too. You wrote things about him—about me. Bad things.”

  Ashley’s hands clenched. “You bastard.”

  Addison continued, “You didn’t like him. But his father,” he jabbed a finger toward Quentin, “you wrote different things about his father, didn’t you?”

  Ashley shrieked, “Shut up, you twisted freak!”

  Addison lunged at Ashley, closing the gap with alarming speed. Quentin tried to get between them, but Miranda beat him to it. She blocked Addison with a hand against his chest. “Leave her alone!”

  Addison sneered. “You didn’t like him either.” Without shifting his eyes from hers, he dipped his hand into the pouch at his waist.