Amygdala

by Harper J. Cole

  The presenter finished his piece, flourishing his arm theatrically while stepping sideways out of shot. The background music scaled up in volume and urgency, gaining a heavy percussion element. With a rumble, the doors split apart, drawing back to reveal a stone passageway filled with billowing clouds of white smoke. Annie strode forward without hesitation, the other women following with varying degrees of eagerness.

  Gypsy, trailing after her mother, was the last to enter. Her heart was pounding uncomfortably; this music wasn’t helping her anxiety, or her ears for that matter. She hoped it would be quieter inside.

  A second rumbling made her turn her head. The doors were closing behind them. She had one last glimpse of Hunter through the thinning smoke before they shut with a reverberating boom.

  There was no turning back now.

  * * *

  The group followed the corridor for several minutes before it came to another door, a simple metal rectangle. There was a button beside it marked “open”; Rivers, feeling that as team leader she should do some leading, stepped forward and pressed it.

  With a reluctant squeak, the door slid aside to reveal a circular room. Entering, they found the walls to be made up of a number of bright blue panels, separated by a grey framework. It turned out that they had entered an elevator; once they were all inside, the door closed automatically, and they could all feel a slow downward movement.

  “Unusual walls,” noted Hisano, running a hand over the surface. “They remind me of something.”

  “Chroma key,” said Rivers. “Bluescreen technology for special effects. You remember, they asked us not to wear anything blue? They’re probably making it look as though this elevator’s moving faster than it really is. Or maybe they’ve got us flying through outer space – no limit to the possibilities.”

  “Wow, that’s tacky!” said Annie with a laugh. Then she noticed a little camera lens unobtrusively tucked away near the ceiling. “No offence,” she added hastily.

  “I don’t think they can understand you,” said Rivers. “We did trade knowledge of our languages to the Ramirans, but English is hardly likely to have spread throughout the colonies.”

  “Yeah, but the cameras are recording everything, right? I don’t want future generations of Matans thinking that I’m a disrespectful jackass. Even if it’s true…”

  “What did you all make of the boss woman?” asked Alice abruptly. “She were awful tense just then.’

  “Was she?” asked Gypsy, “I couldn’t understand her.”

  “Me neither, but you could see it in her face.”

  “Perhaps she’s worried that we’re going to beat her challenge,” said Rivers. “Perhaps she’s right to be. I for one have had my fill of failing intellectual tests. I’ve been banging my head against the proverbial brick wall looking for the slightest clue as to how Chamonix’s powers work, with no progress at all.”

  “Oh, that’s got something to do with ephemeral particles, hasn’t it?” asked Gypsy.

  “What?” asked Rivers, a trifle more sharply than she’d meant to.

  “Erm, yes, when I put my quantum goggles on I can see a sort of starburst of deviņi particles coming from where Chamonix lives sometimes. It looks quite nice, doesn’t it?”

  The head scientist gritted her teeth. “I wouldn’t know, not having looked. Why didn’t you report your findings at once?”

  Gypsy looked down meekly at her slippers like a scolded child. “Oh, I just thought surely, I mean, I thought you all knew already? You’ve got stronger equipment than I have for scanning the ephemera, I think?”

  “Yes, but we’re not in the habit of using it without rational cause. There’s been no evidence in the past that ephemera could be used to influence physical matter as the hybrid does. You’ve been sitting on a secret with enormous scientific ramifications.”

  The mathematician had flushed a rosy red. Her mouth worked soundlessly for several moments before she managed a feeble, “… didn’t know…”

  Alice stepped in to the rescue. “She knows now, anyway. And science isn’t her job.”

  Rivers glowered for a moment, but finally nodded. In truth, she was more annoyed at her own lack of imagination. A possible connection between the still barely understood ephemeral particles and the equally mysterious Chamonix should have occurred to her.

  How often did my college tutors identify a reluctance to think outside the box as my lone failing? I may be proving them right.

  “No harm done,” she said aloud. “I’ll investigate this new angle when we return. In the meantime, let’s all of us try to communicate our ideas freely. It could make all the difference down here. Agreed?”

  Gypsy nodded, looking relieved. Rivers reminded herself that some of her team would need a more delicate touch than others. Just then, the elevator drew to a halt with a squealing of brakes, and the door opened to reveal their first challenge. The room they entered was fairly simple in design, a wooden cube adorned with more of the bluescreen material to the left and right. There was a cavity in the floor, again cube-shaped, with a number of irregularly shaped blocks of wood piled up inside it, some of them spilling over the top of the cavity.

  Opposite them was an archway, blocked by a rusty bronze portcullis. To the side of this was set a digital display showing Matan numbers, which began to count down as soon as they were all inside.

  It was all as they had expected. They had a little over five and a half Earth hours to complete eight tasks, one after the other. If they did it in time then Examination 1 was complete; there would be two further Examinations, about which they knew nothing.

  “Okay,” said Rivers. “First challenge. Let’s be methodical, we’ve got plenty of time. This looks fairly straightforward; we need to arrange the wooden blocks into a cube so that they fill the hole.” She turned to Gypsy, hoping to show that there were no hard feelings. “Any ideas on how we should approach this?”

  “Well … if I could think for a minute, I’m sure -”

  “Something like this, you’ve gotta just dive in and get your hands dirty,” cut in Annie. She started pulling the blocks out onto the floor. “Let’s line ‘em up and see what jumps out at us.”

  “Not the most scientific approach,” said Rivers, “but as good as any, I suppose.”

  They got to work.

  * * *

  After seeing off her crew, Miriam Hunter was escorted to the nearby Gataran Direction Centre, responsible for the vast majority of the planet’s televisual output. It was a vast complex, with hundreds of studios given over to the direction and editing of programs. Glancing through glass doors, she saw hard-working Gatarans sat hunched before banks of screens displaying sports, cookery, drama, singing and other genres less readily identifiable.

  Television was evidently big here, in contrast to Ramira where the little she’d seen had been mostly dry programming dedicated to news and commerce. Perhaps this was what Haji had been thinking of when he described the Gatarans as decadent.

  She had to smile. If he didn’t like this, what would he make of Earth?

  They eventually came to a director’s studio marked with the zigzagging line which was the Matan numeral for one. It was slightly bigger than the others, and had more people in it – five, before Hunter and Nomi entered.

  One entire wall was given over to screens, with a particularly large one in the centre. They were all square – the rectangular shape of Earth televisions evidently wasn’t favoured here – and each of them showed live pictures from various parts of the Zakazashi labyrinth. The central screen, Hunter quickly realised, was showing the camera angle that was currently going out live.

  They had come in just in time to see Hunter’s team complete the first challenge. The captain watched with more than a touch of maternal pride as Annie slid the last piece of a three-dimensional wooden puzzle into place and raised her fists in triumph; the accomplishment was greeted with melodic chimes and a flash of soft red light from the ceiling above the team. The portc
ullis at the end of the room drew upwards to reveal a short slope leading down to the next room, which held a new brain-teaser, this one involving mirrors and beams of light.

  “We must be quiet while the live broadcast is going out, so as not to disturb the director’s concentration,” whispered Nomi, indicating a young, dark-haired woman seated in a large chair with numerous buttons on the armrests. “Please seat yourself at the back of the room. I have one or two matters of state to attend to, so I’ll be gone for a little while. I’ll leave an aide to see to your needs.”

  Right on cue, a young Gataran, barely more than a boy, entered the room and took up a position in the corner by the door. His clothing, entirely black, seemed designed to help him blend into the background.

  Hunter seated herself without complaint, smiling placidly as Nomi spoke briefly with the youngster and left. The captain could barely see him out of the corner of her eye but was aware of his steady gaze on her as she tried her best to concentrate on the screen.

  He seemed more guard than aide. Guarding her from something, or guarding something from her?

  Useless to speculate, she decided, pulling her handpad from her hip pocket. She had been forced to submit the device to a thorough security check before being allowed to bring it, but felt it was worth the hassle. Since the Zakazashi was a day-long affair, she should have plenty of time to read up on Matan history and culture, potentially fascinating areas that more pressing concerns had hitherto caused her to neglect.

  Arranging a golden lock of hair to block out the intrusive glimpse of the watching aide, and keeping the main television screen within her field of vision, Hunter began to read.

  * * *

  The second challenge of the Zakazashi had presented the women with few problems; the third, which was the first to contain a serious physical element, was proving more problematic.

  The right-hand side of this room was reminiscent of a shooting gallery, though they were throwing rubber balls rather than firing guns. There were four alleys, with four targets in each, one above another. Instructions engraved on the left wall explained that the competitors had to stand behind a line about ten feet back from the targets and hit each of them in turn, from bottom to top. This wasn’t too hard, but it had to be done simultaneously in all four alleys. There was also a strict time limit between the striking of the first and last targets. Good co-ordination and a steady rhythm were required.

  Experimentation had quickly shown their best throwers to be Bala, Annie, Iris and Alice. The four of them had only successfully made it past the first two targets thus far but were steadily improving both their aim and their timing. The mood amongst the group was positive – they had made good time with the first two challenges, so the timer mounted by the exit arch wasn’t preying on their minds too much. There were many loud exhortations, as well as good-natured insults when someone missed the target.

  Gypsy sat on a low shelf watching the group, her backpack in her lap. There was food and drink inside, provided by the Gatarans, but she preferred not to partake. She didn’t know how long this was going to take, and she hadn’t seen anything resembling a bathroom. The idea of being caught short didn’t bear thinking about.

  She sighed a little as she watched the fun and games, and must have looked a sad figure, because Kiaya Ferguson came and sat beside her, putting a reassuring arm over her shoulders.

  “Don’t you be looking so forlorn, honey girl. It’s gonna be fine.”

  Gypsy jerked away from her touch. “Not a girl,” she muttered. “I’m only ninety-seven days younger than you.”

  Ferguson frowned, and clambered back to her feet. “Fine. Guess I’m intruding.” She turned away.

  “Wait.” Gypsy felt a sudden stab of guilt. The geologist was only trying to be nice, after all. “Please, won’t you sit? I’m sorry. I just have issues with people touching me.”

  To her relief, the other woman sat back down with a smile. “I guess I forgot about your no-touchy thing. I’m from a real hands-on kind of a family. We see someone looking down, we reach out a hand.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry … to be honest I’m probably a bit on edge today, because I’ve broken my normal routine to come here. Plus being useless puts me in a bad mood. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not useless, honey. We can’t do this without you.”

  Gypsy shook her head. “That’s not true so far. I’m the only one who hasn’t contributed.”

  “Hey now, you helped in the last room.”

  “I stood there and held a mirror where you scientists told me too. A stuffed dummy could have done that.”

  “Well I know we’re gonna need your brain real soon.”

  Gypsy reached down to brush some dirt off her slippers. “Hope so.”

  They watched their crewmates in silence for a while. The team managed to hit the first three rows of targets perfectly, before Annie missed the last one. The redhead buried her face in her hands, then ducked for cover when Alice and Bala playfully pelted her with balls.

  “How did you know you and I were born ninety-seven days apart?” asked Ferguson.

  “Oh … crew profiles have the dates of birth. Numbers tend to stick in my mind – you’re the 22nd of July, 2127. Working out the gap’s easy, especially for dates in the same year.”

  “Easy, huh? How’s about a tougher challenge. How many days older than me is my wife?”

  “Your wife? I didn’t know you had one. Is she in the crew?”

  “Yeah, I’m married to Jess. You seriously didn’t know?”

  Gypsy frowned. “No, I don’t get out much. Let me think, though…” - she pressed her fingers to her temples, scrunching up her face in concentration - “… she’s three thousand and eighty days older. That’s exactly four hundred and forty weeks; you were both born on a Tuesday.”

  Ferguson applauded. “I’ve no idea whether that’s right but I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt. You’ve quite a talent.”

  A shake of the head. “A computer could do the same thing a lot quicker. Anyway, it’s just practice, mostly. I like to play around with numbers and look at new ways to navigate them. Eventually it gets to be second nature, so…”

  She was distracted by the ball-throwing quartet, who had managed to get through to the fourth row of targets again. This time they all hit, but there was no answering victory chime, nor the flash of red lights that signalled success. Their timing had been slightly off. Iris, Bala and Alice were in agreement that Annie had thrown too early; she was adamant that they’d gone too late.

  “Dang, that girl’s a livewire.”

  “Yes, she is.” Gypsy sneaked a glance at the woman beside her, gaining a fleeting impression of earth-brown skin and lustrous dark hair tied into a long plait, much as her mother’s was. With a sudden burst of bravery she asked, “So … you’re married? To a woman?”

  “Last time I checked, yeah.”

  “What’s it, ah, how can, I mean, how did…” The tide of Gypsy’s courage was already receding. “How did you meet?” she managed.

  “Start of space training in Arizona. The six of us – the science team – hadn’t ever seen each other before that day. Right as soon as she walked in the room, I just thought ‘Mm, yeah’, y’know?”

  “And did she think that same thing?”

  Ferguson laughed. “Maybe not quite the same words, but yeah, we clicked right from the start. We didn’t know we were gonna get hitched straight away, of course, but we knew we had something. It grew pretty fast over the years of training. By the time we were getting close to shipping out, we knew we wanted to be going out into the galaxy as wife and wife. We had the ceremony just a week before – guess you could say all this has been our honeymoon.”

  “Okay. So, the clicking thing you mentioned … how does that work? How could I make someone click with me, if I wanted to?”

  “Sorry honey, you can’t force it if it isn’t there.”

  “But how can you know whether it’s there
or not?”

  “Well, you could try making eye contact, see if there’s a spark.”

  Gypsy sagged slightly. “I’m not good at eye contact. Or sparkling.”

  “Mm-hmm. Now, I’m gonna guess you’ve got someone specific in mind. And I’ve a pretty fair idea who she is, given that you’ve kept looking at one particular girl while we’ve been sitting here.”

  “Please don’t say anything to her,” Gypsy whispered. She was relieved to have got her message across without having to confront the unthinkable task of saying it explicitly. But she felt exposed now, and more than a little absurd. “I’m deluding myself, aren’t I? Really, I’ve got no chance.”

  “Now, that ain’t true at all,” said Ferguson, obligingly dropping her own voice, though the rest of the group were making enough noise that being overheard wasn’t really a possibility at any volume below a shout. “You’d make a fine catch, sweetie. You gotta take the chance, though. I don’t mean going on your knees and saying ‘I love you’, just giving her the signals. Throwing her some bait and seeing if you get a bite.”

  “And I can do that just with eye contact?”

  Ferguson fiddled with the braids in her hair. “I don’t think that’s the best approach in this case. We don’t want you staring like you’re trying to hypnotise her. You gotta to learn to be coquettish. But don’t you worry now. Your auntie Ki’s gonna teach you all you need to know.”

  “Thank you,” said Gypsy politely.

  “Let’s start you off with some conversation tips. Have you tried talking to her?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t go very well. She asks me questions, but I can’t think of anything to say.”

  “Then hows about you ask her some questions instead?” Ferguson gave a little flourish with her hands, like a magician revealing that the Queen of Hearts had been on the table all along.

  “I … didn’t think of that.”