“Mm-hmm. You were probably believin’ that everyone else finds talking about themselves as crazy hard as you do. Not true. Lots of folks’ll happily talk about themselves for an hour if you feed them a few questions. More like a year with that one.”
“But what do I ask?”
“Could be anything, that’s the beauty of it. Favourite colour, favourite book, thoughts on politics or God … just keep feeding her questions, make comments on what she says, see if it leads to more questions. Easy.”
Chimes sounded and red lights flashed. A cheer went up from the rest of the team; they’d made it all the way through this time. The portcullis guarding the exit archway rose into the ceiling with a grind and a scrape.
“Three down, five to go,” sang Annie. “We’re putting on a show, down here below!”
“Mercy,” said Ferguson, rising to her feet. “That girl should never try to rap.” The geologist went to put a hand on Gypsy’s shoulder, stopped herself just in time. “Time we were going. Don’t worry Honey, you’ll have your moment.”
Rejoining her mother as the group moved on to the fourth room, Gypsy felt a surge of excitement mixed with awe. Ferguson seemed an almost divine figure, an oracle speaking truths hitherto always hidden from her.
Just ask questions. Even I can do that.
V
… “Trust not young men, nor old women” is a saying believed to date back to the pre-imperial era. For a long time, it was believed to have been coined by Queen Chivu, but this is unlikely. The claim is based on non-contemporary testimony by two middle-aged male historians who stood to gain by perpetuating gender myths.
While scientific study has consistently failed to show any firm evidence of differing “prime” ages for males and females, a subtle bias against certain demographics persisted until the time of the exodus. Four of the new colonies formed in the wake of that upheaval managed to almost completely eliminate such prejudices from their fledgling societies. However, in the more traditional cultures of Lega and Gatari, the problems still exist. Young men, in the eyes of many on those worlds, are by their nature headstrong and foolish; old women are perceived as being on the decline both physically and mentally. Both are seen as unreliable.
At time of writing, there have been voices raised against these stereotypes on both Lega and Gatari. Hopefully they will be heeded. A culture that remains tied to past notions can never truly embrace the future …
– Translated extract from Ramiran encyclopaedia
Miriam Hunter glanced up as Nomi took the seat next to her. The minister had been gone for about four hours, the vast majority of which Hunter had spent sat in the director’s studio, reading from her handpad and watching the Zakazashi. She had taken a brief break a couple of hours ago for refreshments and ablutions, accompanied of course by Nomi’s aide, who had said as little as possible. Most of the personnel in the room had been relieved since she first entered, though the young director didn’t seem to have budged from her chair at all during that time, nor taken her eyes off the main screen – she seemed able to switch between camera angles and cut to commercial breaks using the buttons on her chair, without ever needing to glance down at them.
These people took their television seriously.
Hunter leaned close to Nomi and spoke to her in a low whisper. “How are the viewing figures looking?”
Nomi still looked tense, but she offered a tight smile. “Good. Very good. Nearly ninety-three percent of the viewing public, over seventy-five percent of the whole population. Everyone wants to see how your people behave, whether they love the idea of aliens or whether they’re … unsure about you.”
“I’m pleased for you.”
Having read up on Matan gender stereotypes, Hunter felt that she was beginning to understand the minister. Nomi was middle-aged. Her career was supposed to have gone about as far as it was going to; now she was expected to fade away. If she was to climb any further up the political ladder then she would have to do something pretty special. Letting the human visitors play for the prize of Gatari’s fragment was a gamble that it must have taken quite an effort to push through. The colossal viewing figures, which would doubtless be repeated on the other colonies if Gatari sold the broadcast rights, would make that gamble a huge success.
But not huge enough to justify the price of defeat.
The minister’s tension was quite understandable. If Hunter’s team prevailed, which she fully expected them to, Nomi’s job would surely be forfeit. The captain knew her women’s history inside and out, and had seen her own share of discrimination as she pushed her business out into the stars – she could fully empathise with Nomi’s situation. It was unfortunate that fate had put them on opposing sides.
She returned her attention to the Zakazashi, where her crew were facing the seventh challenge. Since the co-ordinated ball-throwing exercise, which had given them some difficulties, they’d made steady progress through the next three rooms. The scientists had enjoyed themselves tremendously with a task involving the concoction of an explosive from various unlabelled chemicals; Hisano had taken on a mental challenge whereby a jumble of swirling words on a wall-length screen had to be matched together as pairs of antonyms by projecting beams of light at them, passing on only her second attempt; the team had assisted Iris as she clambered through a three dimensional glass maze, adjusting walls and obstacles using levers mounted on the outside of it to clear her a path.
As to the seventh room, that was proving more difficult. The team had been confronted by a number of bulky wooden blocks, rather like in the very first task. This time, though, they were building them upwards, so that a key could be fitted into a slot in the ceiling. It was a test of forward planning, but also of brute strength, as the blocks were quite heavy. That was the one thing the team had little of. Still, they’d saved a lot of time with their previous quick successes, and Rivers now had them making steady progress towards constructing a pyramid the ancient Egyptians would have been proud of.
Hunter, truth be told, could see why television ratings for the Zakazashi had been flagging recently. Obviously, this particular instalment would get plenty of viewers curious to see aliens in action, but for all its billing as the ultimate test of mind, body and soul, it was little more than a slow-paced game show so far. Probably fun to take part in, but not the most exciting watch. Even the captain, who had a bigger stake in the outcome than any Gataran, had found plenty of time to read from the encyclopaedia stored on her handpad.
Matan history made for fascinating reading. The major events were quite different from those found in humanity’s past, but many of the themes and characters were the same: war and diplomacy, empires forming and fracturing, heroes and villains rising from the throng to leave their mark.
She’d read more about names she’d heard in passing. There were chapters of material on the warrior queen Chivu, who’d built an empire back on Mahi Mata that would have been the envy of ancient Rome, and the Kerinian genius Sheko, whose many revolutionary scientific accomplishments towered so far above his strongest peers that even the Ramiran writers of the encyclopaedia departed from their scholarly tone to refer to him with open reverence.
New characters sprang from the pages. Many of these were admirable: altruists, social reformers, inventors, life savers, authors and musicians. As so often, though, it was evil that left a more indelible mark on the imagination. Hunter was appalled to read of the many pointless acts of terrorism that kept the Monosade-Anasade hostility alive whenever a long-term peace was drawing near; the story of Mavestede, a Kerinian President who’d abused his position to rape dozens of women with impunity, filled her with anger and disgust.
A substantial percentage of the population attributed some or all of these disastrous incidents to a secret society known as the Chilu Raza – literally translated, the “buried sect”. The captain could remember Haji speaking of them dismissively as a myth, and the encyclopaedia came down strongly on his side, noting that there was no fi
rm evidence that such a society had ever existed. It listed some quite absurd claims by the believers, crediting the Raza with responsibility for anything the slightest bit mysterious, from unusual weather patterns up to and including the existence of Vitana itself.
Such an obsession with fantastical notions, argued the encyclopaedia, could only detract from the quest for the truth. Hunter was inclined to agree. Conspiracy theorists, she felt, tended to manufacture false realities because they were unable to cope with the true one.
The captain’s reverie was broken by the sound of cheering from the screen. Her crew had managed to haul another block into place; they’d made creative use of their backpacks, linking three of them together by the straps to give themselves some extra leverage. They still had about an hour left; as long as the next challenge wasn’t too physical in nature, she had no doubt that they would beat Examination 1 – the collective name for this set of eight challenges. But she felt a slight disquiet whenever she wondered what the mysterious second and third Examinations would bring.
Hunter shut down her handpad. Time, she decided, to really start concentrating.
* * *
Bala Abayomi, wobbling slightly as she stood on her tiptoes, reached up and slipped the key into the matching groove in the ceiling, before giving it a simple quarter-turn clockwise. The by-now familiar chimes and flashing lights greeted the accomplishment.
Another round of cheers greeted the success. Not so loud as in the previous rooms, though, as the women were all absolutely exhausted from constructing their pyramid.
Annie didn’t join in. She might have wanted to, but it probably wasn’t the best idea while she had Bala balancing on her back. “Any time you want to get down’s fine by me…” she wheezed.
“Just a moment. I’d rather not tumble from this height.” The Nigerian stepped carefully down to the top of the pyramid. “You were very sturdy. If you ever tire of being a technician, I can see a second career for you as a footrest.”
“Ouch! This is the kind of respect I get from my beloved sister-explorers.”
Rivers watched the exchange with satisfaction. It said a lot for the morale of the team, she decided, if the usually sombre Bala was cracking jokes. They’d really come together over the course of the day; even Gypsy had thrown her body into the last few challenges.
“Good work, everyone. You all deserve a drinks break, but let’s go through to the eighth room first. We can think about the final challenge while we rest up.”
She led them through the exit archway and along a short passageway. A sharp turn to the left brought them to their destination.
It was quite different from the previous seven rooms. Rivers could see that even before she rounded the corner, by the blue glow spilling out into the passage.
They entered a broad, hemispherical chamber, perhaps twenty yards across. It was completely empty and had no visible exits. A rich royal blue light permeated the entire area, though there were no visible light sources. The only break in the uniform colour scheme was a white ring encircling the entire wall at shoulder-height. Closer inspection showed it to be made up of Matan characters, each enclosed in a little square.
“These are all numbers,” said Rivers. “They’re in groups of six, followed by two blank squares. Can’t see any instructions, but I dare say we’re expected to fill in the blanks.”
A gentle rumbling interrupted her. She turned to see a section of wall rising into place to block the archway they’d entered through. Once it was in place, more of the white numbers appeared there, completing the circle.
“Totally seamless,” said Annie, inspecting the area where the arch had been. “I hope they’re planning to let us out afterwards.”
“I shouldn’t trouble myself too much about that. If they wanted us dead, there are less elaborate ways to do it. Let’s turn our attention to the challenge. These appear to be simple mathematical progressions; we’re given the first six numbers and have to supply the next two. This one here, for instance … the numbers we’re given are 1, 4, 22, 60, 175, 440. We need to find the next two.”
“So that’s 1175 and 2500,” said Gypsy.
Rivers’ eyebrows twitched aloft. “What?”
“Isn’t that right? It’s the square numbers multiplied by the Fibonacci sequence – the first two in the sequence being 1 and 4 are a giveaway, so you’re looking for the third number to have a relationship to 9, which obviously reads as 11 here because the Matans have an octal numeral system, so then 22, which is 18 to us, is double that so you’ve got 1, 1 and 2 as multipliers and you’re already thinking Fibonacci at that point and the next few multipliers confirm it, 3, 5 and 8, so then you just need to work out 49 times 13 and 64 times 21 and convert to octal, though actually I find it simpler to do the whole thing in octal, that is to say, 61 times 15 equals 1175 and 100 times 25 equals 2500, but I’ve been practising in octal beforehand so that gives me an advantage there. It comes to the same either way though. What’s the matter, have I made a mistake?”
Rivers slowly shook her head. The calculation, as far as she could see, was perfect. The professor felt a somewhat unseemly surge of resentment; she had always prided herself on her mental arithmetic and found it hard to accept anyone as her superior. She’d known about Gypsy’s accomplishments in the field of mathematics, of course, but it had been difficult to connect them to the frail, stammering woman who hid in her room all day.
Life’s biggest surprises are the ones you should have seen coming, Rivers reflected, reaching out a finger and drawing the missing characters in the boxes provided. The wall glowed white at her touch. Once she’d finished, there was a single brief chime to acknowledge that the answer was correct.
What followed was quite beautiful. The white numbers that comprised the completed sequence began to drift upwards, leaving a trail of light pink in their wake. Once they neared the highest point of the chamber, they split apart, becoming a cloud of dots that drifted on for a few seconds before coming to a rest as a seemingly random pattern of white points above their heads.
Her crewmates spontaneously applauded the blushing Gypsy. Rivers smiled. “I do believe that this is your time to shine, Ms. Cumberland. Evidently none of us can challenge your status as our math expert -”
“Maths.”
“Quite. Anyway, I suggest that the two of us work our way around the room. You get the answers, I check them, the rest of the team takes a break. Fair enough?”
Gypsy nodded. Her eyes, as they fixed on the next sequence, glimmered with life.
* * *
Rivers and Gypsy made steady progress around the room. The mathematician didn’t get all the answers quite so quickly as the first one, but none of the problems could resist her for long. It was all Rivers could do to keep up with her.
The same thing happened each time they got an answer right. More and more of the room changed from blue to pink, and more and more of the white dots made their way up to the ceiling. It soon became obvious that new characters were being spelled out above them – a message that would be completed once the last sequence had been solved.
Seating herself on the floor, Annie sipped at her water and watched Gypsy’s progress. She felt a strong tangle of emotion as she watched her friend in action, mainly pride that the painfully shy woman had come out of herself and started contributing. Annie was well aware that there were certain obstacles she herself would seldom have to face: insecurity, introversion, self-doubt, social anxiety. It was an extrovert’s world – or galaxy – that they lived in.
“Looks different, don’t she?”
Annie turned to see Alice sitting beside her. Bliss showed on the elder Cumberland’s face; emotion gave her voice the faintest tremor.
“Different?”
“Back straighter, movements surer, head raised higher. There’s a spring in her step.”
Annie nodded, watching Gypsy snap her fingers as the answer to another puzzle came to her. “Yeah, you’re right. Her voice has changed, a
s well. It’s more like yours.”
“Bit of a northern twang? I think you’re right; it comes out when she’s relaxed and having fun. Look at her, lost in her numbers. Clever girl. I wish that-” Alice faltered, tears running down her cheeks.
Annie turned and placed comforting arms around the older woman’s shoulders.
“It’s okay,” said Alice in clearer tones. “You’d best move away before she sees. It’s not like me to cry this often. Maybe I’m not as tough as I thought.”
“Hey, I understand,” said Annie, pulling away and glancing back at Gypsy. Alice’s daughter, engrossed in what she was doing, appeared not to have noticed anything unusual.
“I want her to be like this all the time,” said Alice. “Just like this. No rituals, no fears, no frowns. Living in the moment. She deserves that. We all do.”
“She’s gonna make it, Alice,” said Annie reassuringly. “Because of who she is, and who her mother is. There’s no quit in the Cumberland genes.”
“You’re a positive lassie, aren’t you? I can see why she likes you. Don’t you ever lose that attitude. Reckon we’re going to need it to get back home.”
“Hey, don’t worry about that! The forecast inside my head’s nothing but joy and sunshine, from this day to the last day. But look, they’re on the last sequence now…”
Even as Annie spoke, Rivers entered the final pair of numbers. Once again, a chime sounded, but this time it was joined by others, multiplying and varying in pitch, seeming to jangle all about the ears of the little group. The last traces of blue gave way to pink; the last of the white characters split apart, drifting up to join their brethren above.
They had competed Examination 1 with plenty of time to spare – over quarter of an hour, if Annie was reading the time display correctly. A section of wall opposite to where they had entered rumbled softly into the floor. The women were free to leave, but they had one more thing to do first. All eyes turned to the message on the ceiling.
Amygdala Page 18
