“Oh, hi Tracey, err, is Illary here?” He said as he entered, and as an afterthought. “How are you?”
“Yes, she is, and I am well thanks. She’s just setting Betty up with her implant. We're being shown the neural-net today!” said Tracey. Cauca could hear the mixture of excitement and nervousness in her voice.
“Wow, that's come around quickly.”
“Oh no, we persuaded Illary to connect the three of us a week early so we can start helping in the workshop.”
Cauca was slightly nonplussed. He was beginning to think it had been a good thing to come here first. “Did Uma Da’Cince clear this? And what is a week?”
“Yes, he did. We were enjoying working on our plot but fishing in the river was not something we are good at . Adam and I don’t eat meat, animals, on Earth. I couldn’t fish. Illary felt we would be more use helping her and her team examine the information from Earth. With all the TV and radio to interpret it made sense for each of us to pair up so we can learn and interpret in pairs. A week is seven days. It’s a measure of time we use on Earth. It was details like this that Illary thought would be easier for us to explain and record if we could access the neural-net together. She is going to give us an intensive training course to help us learn how to access the information we need and possibly more importantly how to secretly record information about Earth for the Guild of The Punku to review. I must admit I am not exactly sure what the neural-net is and how we can record and access information on it. It sounds like fiction, like telepathy.”
“What’s fiction, telepathy?” Cauca was beginning to get confused. He had hoped for a quiet conversation with Illary. Going through the Punku always unsettled him. He hated seeing his body stretch off into infinity and then snap back together in a different Pacha.
Tracey was smiling. She had come to realise that for all the wonder on Pachamama, such as the TuyTuy stones Dan loved, other elements of this society were completely missing. “Fiction is stories of things that are not real. Like a story about a bunny, a bunny is a small animal, and this small animal wears clothes and talks and likes to steal food from a farmer.”
“But that is not possible; animals cannot talk and do not wear clothes.”
“Exactly. It’s just a story, not history.”
“Oh, I see, like a parable. We tell parables which are to help us learn how to treat each other. How to care for DiPacha and all Pachans across all the realms. They are not histories just tales for learning the morals of the Garden,” said Cauca who realised he needed to open his mind to even more new things.
“Oh, we have parables but they’re generally told by religious types. I learned about them in Sunday school when I was younger… They are fiction I suppose, but normally fictional stories are told for entertainment not learning.”
“I can see why Illary wanted you to be able to use the neural-net. It will make recording and understanding your world much easier. Illary is giving Betty her implant now is she?”
“Yes. I’m told it’ll take about 1/10th a day, I think that is about two hours in Earth time. Time is a thing we have struggled to understand here. You do not have hours like we do and just divide up your day into fractions. We divide our days into hours and have twenty four hours in a day.” Cauca guessed Tracey was nervous. He knew what rambling was and was struggling to follow what she was saying. He made a mental note to discuss it with her later and continued listening patiently.
“Anyway, when we arrived Adam got very confused because his watch kept running fast. Then we realised your days are shorter. We think about four hours shorter. Adam will join us after lunch. He is working on our patch and does enjoy a bit of fishing.”
“Oh I see,” said Cauca politely.
“Betty and I, being women, were never given the chance in our society back on Earth, to work in a lab or in science. It’s changing slowly but women are supposed to be mothers and look after the home, not get involved in running anything or being more! That's partly why I joined our community. We wanted to be equal and in our group we were all equal. In or 1960s and now in the 1970s women are having to fight, not literally, but argue to be equal with men. Here, here on Pachamama there seems to be no difference between men and women. Illary is chief scientist, in charge of this lab. That’s amazing to me. And to Betty and Jane.”
“I do not understand, why should there be any difference between women and men? And what is a lab?”
“The second question’s easiest, Principal Cauca. I call Illary’s workshop a ‘lab’. It’s short for ‘laboratory’. That’s a name we call places where science is done on Earth. In the English language anyway… Why people think men and women are different, I do not know. All I do know is that it has been that way for centuries. Men always in control and women coming second. Women of my grandmother's generation started to fight for equal rights but on Earth it is still a long way away. Here, here I can work alongside men as an equal. This makes me happy.”
“And Betty and Jane, do they feel the same?”
“I know Betty does. That is why she and I took the chance to work with Illary. She inspires us. Jane has always loved growing things. She used to grow the best weed. She loves her assignment on our patch and is loving learning about your irrigation and recycling of waste.”
“Every time you answer one of my questions you create so many more,” said Cauca smiling at her. “And please just call me Cauca. I think we will be talking lots more and I cannot have you calling me Principal all the time. But why would you grow weeds and what is waste?”
Tracey now smiled back. As much as she was learning about this alien, yet human, culture she was teaching just as much about her own. The remaining time passed very quickly as the two swapped questions and answers. Betty appeared beaming as if she had received enlightenment.
“Wow, Betts, you look stoned!” said Tracey.
“No, Trace, sober as a judge. Hey, I’ll try recording what a judge is in the Guild of The Punku room in the neural-net.” Betty closed her eyes and concentrated.
Cauca looked on expectantly while Tracey looked a little confused.
Cauca suddenly said, “Ah a senior lawyer in charge of a court who dispenses justice to criminals. Normally an old man in a white wig.”
“What the hell!” Yelled Tracey in surprise.
“It worked!” Yelled Betty, delighted.
“Was that telepathy?” Asked Tracey.
“What’s telepathy?” Asked Illary coming into the room.
“No, Trace, it wasn’t telepathy. I told this… place in my mind what a judge is. It’s like a shared memory we can all see, a room where records, knowledge and memories can be stored and shared. The place I used is a room that only the Guild of The Punku can access. At the moment it’s the only room Illary has shown me how to access. Now anyone else that can access the room, our Guild members, can find out what a judge is. We can put down and pick up knowledge. Search for information we need to know or would like to know. Tell you what, I’ll tell the room what telepathy is so Illary can find out.” Betty shut her eyes and concentrated again.
“That was explained very well,” said Illary.
“When we’re recording information into the room do we need to look like we’re going to the loo?” Asked Tracey looking a little concerned and staring at Betts.
“No,” laughed Cauca. “As you get used to recording into the neural-net it becomes more of a reflex, sort of automatic.”
“That’s a relief!”
“Ah, telepathy,” said Cauca and Illary simultaneously. They looked at each other and smiled at the irony of the moment.
Once Cauca had been caught up with the changes and events, he made his way around the quadrant to the palace of Da’Cince and Ma’Kusi. He was pleased with the new assignments that the WaytaPata Hippies had found. They made sense. Understanding WaytaPata was very important, especially if anyone else managed to find that it did actually exist! For now, all he could tell the Uma was that he did not hear or find an
yone else who was behaving as if they had anything to hide. He and Cunac were the only ones to arrive early to the gathering and everyone else just came to meet, network and then left.
Cauca had just finished giving his summary to Da’Cince when Ma’Kusi came into the room where they were seated. A small room adjacent to the Da and Ma’s private living quarters. It was simply and functionally furnished with a small fire to keep the room warm. The only light came from a window in the roof, meaning no one could look into the room. It was the Da’s favourite place to meet.
“Good news, Kusi,” said her husband. “It would appear that currently we are the only Pacha to have identified any anomalous emissions and WaytaPata, for now at least. The Guild of The Punku and the refugee story also appear to be holding together. As I understand it we also now have a seven-strong team interpreting the information from the emissions.”
“TV and radio they're calling them, Da’Cince,” said Cauca. “One's picture and sound, the other only sound.”
“Yes, I'd heard that.”
“Ah, OK. I do not have anything else to report,” said Cauca. “Do you have another assignment for me?”
“Two, Cauca. One for Pachamama and one personal,” beamed Da’Cince. Cauca looked a little confused. He’d never been given a personal assignment for Da’Cince except for assisting at his wedding and blessings as Uma.
“I need you to maintain a close watch of the Guild of The Punku. I especially need you to keep your mind on the neural-net for any evidence anyone else has identified any anomalous emissions. The Guild must also maintain an open mind on the interpretations they are making. We know we only have five individuals from WaytaPata here on Pachamama and by their own admission they didn't conform to the society they are from. We cannot allow any bias in their interpretation. I need you to ensure Illary maintains control of this. At some point we will, or we will have to, acknowledge to all DiPacha that WaytaPata is real. We need an objective description of what WaytaPata is, to avoid or minimise any negative impacts.”
“That is understood, Uma. And the second assignment?”
“Ma’Kusi will tell you…” he said smiling broadly.
“We need you to be a Guardian. We are making you, our friend of many cycles, Principal of Pachamama and Guardian to the Heir. We're going to have a baby!” Now Ma’Kusi was also beaming at Cauca.
Cauca was glad he was already seated. “That's fantastic!” He said and meant it. “It's such good news,” he continued, regaining his composure. He'd heard so many revelations recently he was beginning to run out of reactions, and here were his two closest friends with such good news. He got up and hugged them both, breaking from the formal traditions.
Cauca spent another 20th of his day with his friends relaxing and absorbing their news. He felt privileged to be the the first person to be told of the forthcoming birth of a new heir, a future Uma. When it was time to leave he made his way out into the afternoon sun, which was cold and weak, but bright enough to make the mud brick buildings of Millham shine.
Cauca lived out near the western edge of the city not far from the river and on the opposite side of the city to the woods and fish ponds. His home was on the outer ring of Millham and not far from the hippies homes. He had always liked the river as it brought movement and light and changed with the seasons. The crisp mountain water raging passed in the floods, then sinking to a clear stream in the dry season. As it passed the city it brought power to the mills, fed the irrigation channels and fed clean sweet drinking water to the fountains across Millham. The river literally gave life to the city.
Millham was not just a testament to sharing for the benefit of all but also to gernations of inginuity that that made the best of the resources available. Long ago the residents of Pachamama realised that nothing should be wasted, no waste was put in the river which was the life of the city and the city did not take the life out of the river. Cauca found a peace in this and was proud of his forebares heritage.
As he slowly walked home enjoying his own company and musing on this, everything that had happened in the past cycle or so and more he walked right into Jane as she was coming back from an upstream sluice. Jane was proving to be an enthusiastic and capable student according to Foss, the chief water wrangler. Not above getting right into it and sometimes water wranglers really did have to get into it, especially when they were working in the reed beds downstream of the mills.
“Hi Jane, you look well. Foss tells me that you are picking up our irrigation and water recycling systems quickly.”
“He’s so knowledgeable. It’s so exciting. I’ve lived in several traveller communities over the last ten years, almost half a generation here, and we always wanted to have a minimal impact on our environment. Your systems and technology are so sophisticated without the need forf complicated technology. We could learn so much if I could show my friends what you do here…” Jane went from full blown excitement to morose sadness. She was about to cry but swallowed hard.
Cauca decided not to offer a shoulder or hug. His mind was too stretched to come up with something comforting and decided on, “Would you like to come for a meal? You look like you need one, and for somewhere warm and dry to sit!”
“Yes, that would be lovely.” She replied smiling sweetly at him.
Cauca’s home was not luxurious, very few on Pachamama were. However, some were larger and Cauca’s station as Principal gave him access to larger homes but he chose a modest one, just enough for his own needs. The one luxury he did allow himself was a private well fed directly from the river. He loved the fresh cold water. In the kitchen there was a solid stone stove, that he kept burning using dried dung, the normal fuel in the city, and a plain wooden table and chairs. He lived more like a monk than Cunac.
Normally Cauca kept the fire in but shut right down, but as he came in with Jane he opened up the fire and threw on a handful of dry grass and a heather type plant Jane didn’t recognise. Within seconds flames appeared and Cauca threw on some more of the larger heather plant stems and soon a small dried dung log. The room quickly warmed up and initially smelled a bit like potpourri and then a warm slightly smothering earthy smell followed. Not unpleasant but definitely earthy, Jane found it an oddly comforting smell, a natural smell.
Cauca made them both a hot drink from the pot he kept on the hot plate. To Jane it tasted a bit like nettle tea. Both sat in comfortable silence processing their own thoughts but both felt comfortable just sitting together. It’s amazing what you find when you’re not looking.
The next day Cunac woke early at his home which was on the opposite side of the city from Cauca, near to the woods, the grasslands and herds of damma antelope. Unlike Cauca, Cunac had as many luxuries as he could glean. As a Listener, Cunac felt it was his right and over a lifetime he had hoarded all he could. He never even considered that his requests would be refused. This went for all things he desired, yet he still considered himself a simple man and a man of meagre needs, a humble man. He considered that having what he wanted, no questions asked, was a fair exchange for a life of service. A life dedicated to giving guidance to the Pachans. He had grown up on and served Pachamama all his life, however, he considered his first allegiance was to the Garden and the Gardener. Finding the way back to WaytaPata was, therefore, his ordained duty. WaytaPata was his rightful home, the rightful realm of all Listeners’.
He had meditated deeply since visiting HuñuyPacha as he had been further disturbed by the words of the Wilaq, John, the head of his Guild. Cunac knew John had been brought up in the luxury of HuñuyPacha he could not blame him for the distortions this must have left on his mind.
He and his son, Sarenen, had listened closely to the Wilaq, as he spoke at length about the need to help all Pachans live to the principles of the Garden Realm and the Listeners ancestors. To share to benefit. There was not one word of taking the Listeners home. Cunac had noticed that during his lifetime, the Wilaq had only once mentioned returning home. Looking this up in the neural-ne
t, Cunac relived the Wilaq’s comments, “As Listeners we are teachers and leaders to all Pachans. We are lucky to have a role within DiPacha. Our home is within DiPacha. WaytaPata is no more than a legend lost in time. It may never have even existed. It may be a parable to teach us the benefit of sharing, over the danger of selfishness.”
The majority of the other Listeners from around DiPacha appeared to agree with the Wilaq. Carefully, Cunac had listened and even more carefully he encouraged his son Sarenen to ask questions on a one-to-one basis about the reality of WaytaPata and the role of the Listeners in DiPacha; now and in future generations. Sarenen had finally asked “How should we guide our fellow Pachans to the ways of the Garden to help open the path back to WaytaPata so all Pachans can benefit and we can have a home again?”
Cunac had listened very closely to the answers given and was disappointed by all answers except one from a young Listener called Eik, from the Stacha Realm, a forested realm of the giant trees.
“We should not forget all that is recorded in the neural-net. There is much to listen to from the generations that have gone before us, from those for whom WaytaPata was not legend or myth but a true history and memory. The Garden was a home. Rich and bountiful. We would be lucky to ever see that realm and have the opportunity to take guardianship of the resources it could offer all of DiPacha. Our duty would be to all, but our duty would include ensuring no one took more than could be given. We would be the Stewards of the Garden. Ah, but that is close to a future myth and a parable. It’s the dream I like to have. I listen to the Wilaq for guidance in the here and now.”
Cunac was sure he could foster and nurture a new philosophy from within the Listeners Guild. He really meant a return to the true purpose and philosophy of the Listeners Guild. To return his Listener kin to their home realm, where they could control it, as was their duty. It was not for the HuñuyPachans who had lost the Listeners’ home all those generations ago. They would have to answer to him and his successors.
Disconnected (Connected series Book 1) Page 17
