Exigency

by Michael Siemsen

  Fetz’s eyes hid and returned. She took a step toward Tom and spoke very slowly. “You understand these words?”

  “Yes,” Tom’s synth replied through the PA. “Peaceful greetings, Dowfwoss Fetz. It is great pleasure to meet you and to visit Threck City.”

  Fetz snapped a presumably stunned look at Tatsis. To Tom again, “You speak our words with enchanting precision! Do it again … more words!”

  “We are delighted to be welcomed in your beautiful city.”

  “Delighted … yes. Did you absorb my exchange with Persheck Tatsis just now?”

  Tom considered how delicate to be. Clearly this Fetz was an important citizen. “I did observe this, yes, before our proper introduction.”

  Fetz burst out with a melodious laugh, continuing for an awkward length. “Apologies!” she finally said. “Forgive my outburstings, as the pleasure your words incite fills my being with rivers of ecstasy! It is as if I am bathing from within! Give these to me now, Tatsis. I must never stop hearing these … What are they called?”

  “Syons People,” Tatsis said. “Tom speaking, and Angela. The Thinkers were to …”

  “Later!” Fetz shouted. “The Thinkers can have them later. Now, they will join me and meet the leaders. Perhaps Syons People will discover some small pleasure from us as I have from them. Assemble the council for abrupt conference.”

  “I will,” Tatsis said, and scuttled away.

  Fetz began walking sideways along the corridor, eyes alternating between the guests and the walkway ahead. “Come now, Syons People. Follow me and share the tale of your finding. Where did Tatsis discover you?”

  “We arrived at one farm today,” Tom replied. “Dowfwoss Amoss, Tatsis, and others came shortly after for harvest.”

  “I see, I see. And you requested visit to Threck City?”

  “Not exactly. We sought audience with Threck to request permission to establish small camp on the far northeast end of your land. Somewhere nonintrusive and acceptable to Threck people.”

  “And what is purpose of this camp?”

  “To live quietly and unobtrusively. Syons People land is no longer suitable for living.”

  Fetz turned into a covered corridor, leading them closer to the city center. “Interesting, interesting. And where is this land?”

  “It is very small place, great distance away.”

  “Interesting.”

  Fetz led them through a series of rooms and corridors. Tom and Angela caught brief glimpses of fabric weaving, a large, pie slice-shaped room where 100 or more Threck wove both roofing canvas and Threck garb, and then they passed through an identical area in which a smaller number stirred steaming liquid in large vats.

  “Coating,” was the only explanation Fetz provided.

  When asked by curious passers-by, Fetz responded only, “Guests of the council. Move along.”

  Soon, they reached the city center and a spiral staircase. Like the steps in the farmers’ domicile, they all sloped downward before meeting the next higher stair—perfectly contoured for a Threck knee-bend, and designed well to avoid slippage.

  The stairs seemed never-ending, and, midway up, Tom and Angela both closed their visors for fresh doses of pure oxygen.

  Twenty stairs ahead, and out of sight, Fetz called down. “Do they need assistance?”

  Tom ignored her and waved when Fetz returned to view.

  “We have reached the council room,” Fetz said. “You may wait at the window there and rest your bodies. The leaders have yet to arrive.” She turned and slipped through a passage in the wall.

  Tom and Angela reached the landing and collapsed against a wall, catching their breath.

  “Damn,” Angela’s voice in his helmet. “That was torture. Any fresh regrets for cheating on the legger machine?”

  “I didn’t cheat. I always just made it to ten percent below substandard and dealt with the monthly John Li frowny face during review. Regrets, though? Yeah.” Tom sucked in a final lungful of pure oxygen and opened his visor. “Ooh, look at this.” He ran his glove down a thin line of mortar between the wall’s large blocks. “From the ground, you can’t even tell it’s masonry. Do we let them know the place is going to crumble the next time a moderate quake hits?”

  “Not necessarily true. If you look, their engineers are actually super sharp—”

  A Threck voice came from the doorway behind them. “Is there anything I may provide you pair?” They turned to see a smallish Threck in a spotless, beige cloak. “I am Setkee. Do you drink water?”

  “Thank you, Setkee—” Tom began.

  The Threck interrupted him, “You do not refer to Setkee as such. This is strange.”

  Tom sent “Apologies” from his hotlist of terms and phrases. “I am not familiar with the word. How shall I address you?”

  “You may address us however you wish.”

  Tom decided it was safest to abandon the conversation. Without knowing Threck emotive expressions or inflection, he didn’t know if this person was angry, mildly offended, being helpful, or messing with him.

  Do Threck mess with each other?

  “Thank you for the offer,” Tom said. “We do not require anything at this time.”

  “Understood,” the Threck said. “If you do, simply beckon Setkee.” She turned sideways and slid back through the passage.

  “What the hell was that?” Angela said as they walked to a large window. “Oh … wow.”

  A warm, humid breeze blew against their faces as they gazed out on an unobstructed view of the city’s east side, and the lush low hills beyond the walls. Three of the city’s seven arcades could be seen sprouting from the tower base like wheel spokes. Straight roads—most of them paved with small stone slabs—extended out from the gated ends of the arcades, on this side leading respectively to a small cluster of farms, the granite mines, and the bay’s northernmost shore.

  Tom pointed to an open patch in the hilly jungle about 2K northeast. “What’s that?” An unfinished circular building could be seen just peeking out at treetop height.

  “Some kind of observatory,” Angela said. “At least that’s what Minnie thought.”

  She and Tom shared a somber look. Angela had said thought, not thinks.

  Was it what they both believed? Were John, Minnie, and Ish alive? If so, in that environment, how long could they possibly survive? Tom had run through several scenarios while still in orbit. Between the two EV’s SSKs, they’d have 480 multirounds against a very close-by Hynka population of a couple hundred thousand, plus several million more across the country. If a skimmer didn’t have to stop, it would take sixty hours to fly from Hynka country’s mountainous central valley to the western coast, and the EV’s skimmers could maybe go ten hours between three-hour regens. At best, they’d have to make five stops. Examining all of their mislaid comrades’ possible courses, Tom had trouble coupling what was possible with what was likely. But if there was a way, Minnie and John would find it.

  Staring out at the extraordinary panorama, Angela broke the silence. “She’d have absolutely loved this.”

  Tom only nodded. Evidently, Angela’s hopes weren’t so high as his.

  “Syons People,” a Threck voice spoke behind them. “The council wishes for you to enter now.”

  Tom’s Livetrans picked up a barely audible shout from beyond the narrow doorway. “If they are ready!”

  “If you are ready,” the Threck standing before them echoed. Tom noticed this one wearing the same sort of pressed, unmuddied cloak as the previous Threck, but was much taller. “Is there anything you require prior to meeting the council? I am Setkee.”

  “We are fine, thank you,” Tom replied, and then took the opportunity. “Excuse my limited knowledge of your beautiful language, but what does this word ‘Setkee’ mean?”

  The Threck pulled a quick eye hide and said, “It is the word which describes our status: Threckee, but not Threck.”

  Tom glanced at Angela, who he noticed was wearing the same
polite smile. “And what is the difference?”

  Another shout from the room. “Are they coming?”

  “One is what we are, the other is to be,” the Setkee clarified.

  “I see,” Tom said, and gestured toward the doorway. “Great. Let’s go in.”

  * * *

  The council’s floor of the tower—just above the city’s voluminous water reservoir and only two levels below the observation post—boasted a vaulted ceiling atop a wide circle of support columns and a substantial center pillar. Otherwise, the room was essentially empty.

  As they were led across the smooth marble floor, Tom noticed at once a dozen Threck standing tall in a wide oval. In silence, all eyes tracked Tom and Angela’s progress. Upon passing the center pillar, the Setkee guiding them stopped, rotated, and left. Tom froze as well, unsure of protocol. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see half of the council members as they were blocked by those standing closer.

  But are they standing? Tom wondered.

  Presumably, one of these people was Fetz, whom he’d met earlier, and who stood about Angela’s height, several centimeters shorter than Tom. This group, however, were all significantly taller than Tom. They had to have been standing on the ends of their leg tentacles, like some sort of Threck ballerina stance.

  “Continue on,” one of the Threck in front said. “We would all like to see you.”

  “Yes, come forward Syons People!” An arm appeared and waved from the far side of the assembly. “So that I may introduce you to the rest of the leaders.”

  Ah-hah. Good. At least we know which one is Fetz.

  Tom stepped forward and felt Angela grasp his hand as she followed. There was no discernible area where visitors were meant to stand, and the space between each council member looked a bit awkward for the pair to ease into. If he moved into the space between two Threck, his shoulders would practically graze their cloaks. So then, were they intended to stand in the middle of this group, surrounded, spinning round to hear or address any particular individual?

  Tom halted just outside the circle. “Peaceful greetings, wise leaders.”

  A flurry of translations scrolled up Tom’s fone as the thin source frame bounced from person to person, linking individuals to their respective comments

  “It’s true!”

  “I still can’t see them.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “Where are these from?”

  “Can’t see. Make them come into middle.”

  “No, Packte!” Fetz shouted. “These are delightful guests, not savage prisoners to answer questions and be punished. Apologies, Syons People, the council does not by habit receive guests. The chamber is not exactly suited for more than the twelve.”

  “As I mentioned, I have bathed with these people.” Tom realized the new speaker was Dowfwoss Amoss. “And it was beyond fulfilling. Shall we all descend to the tower bath?”

  ANGELA: We bathe well with others.

  TOM: Yeah. Any useful thoughts here? What do we do?

  ANGELA: Don’t get snippy with me, mister. Just let them sort it out.

  “There is plenty of space in here,” someone said, and Tom watched as this Threck’s apparently dangling legs curled backward, revealing some sort of thin stand beneath the hanging cloak, then she planted her knee-bends onto a connected block behind the stand, and lifted her body up and back. Once she’d stepped off the raised block, taking the cloak with her, Tom finally observed why they’d all appeared so tall: they were actually seated—or rather, draped over tall pedestals that supported their full weight, legs dangling just above the floor. None of this had been visible, of course, because their cloaks hung from “shoulder” height, all the way to the floor, presenting each council member as well over 2m tall.

  “True Thinker,” Fetz quipped, as explained by Livetrans.

  LIVETRANS: True Thinker. [Quip]

  Fetz stood up from her seat, too, and the others followed. The group moved to a wide open area near the curved wall and spread out in a semicircle, leaving a large space by the room’s center pillar for Tom and Angela.

  “Much better.”

  “Let them say more.”

  “I have many questions.”

  “Silence, please,” Fetz said, waving an arm before her. “Allow me to express proper introduction … you still understand all we say, Tom and Angela?”

  Tom took a deep breath, readying himself for what would surely amount to a Threck body language workout session for his weary body. “We do, yes. Peaceful greetings to all of you.”

  Impressed, satisfied, confused, curious, and other reactions scrolled by in Livetrans.

  Fetz introduced each council member by city group, along with sometimes interesting, often incomprehensible anecdotes, such as, “… And here stands Massoss Pakte, overseer of fish accumulation, storage, and dispersal, and patient tolerator of indecisive currents, insolent mains, and visitors both expected and not.”

  There was Massoss Symee in charge of the Expansion group, Dowfwoss Towtzaw from the Nursery, Massoss this, Dowfwoss that (more Massosses than Dowfwosses, Tom observed), ending with the uniquely-adorned Dowfwoss ʔnkte, representing the Thinkers, whose cloak edges were embellished with purple-dyed trim around the head slit, sleeves, and bottom.

  Fetz’s introduction of her was conspicuously brief, and ʔnkte (pronounced from deep down—an “unh” sound, as if one were just punched in the chest, followed by –nkte), said only “Hello” as her sleepy, half-open eyes gazed at Tom and Angela. Specially designed cloak aside, ʔnkte’s demeanor stood out among her peers, suggesting that Thinkers may literally think at a higher level than others. And ʔnkte was their leader.

  Disgruntled by Livetrans’ use of the glottal stop symbol ʔ representing this sound, Tom made a quick replacement. “Unhkte” didn’t look much better, but he’d deal with it.

  Next came the onslaught of questions, civilly from right to left, and, in the beginning, paired with extravagant compliments. Tom answered many of the same basic curiosities he’d provided back in the farmers’ domicile. Then came a new line of questioning.

  “Having never experienced the pleasure of another wise creature,” Massoss Fact from Waters & Sanitation began, “I beg forgiveness for looking upon you with excessively enamored eyes. For my first question, I wish to know if, in Syons People land, with so few inhabitants, if sanitation is of primary concern.”

  “Sanitation, as in keeping things clean?” Tom asked.

  Fact elaborated. “As in disposal of excretions. We are aware that one of you excreted near the feshoosh orchards. It is not of concern—Setkee collected the droppings; I believe we now have them down in Sanitation—but we wonder if this is common practice for Syons People, and if so, has there been any hazards associated with large accumulations.”

  Angela had stifled a choke and now stood holding her breath beside Tom.

  Tom had the M sent to Angela before Fact even finished imparting the question.

  TOM: When crapping one’s pants begins to sound like the preferable choice. You’re so going to pay.

  Tom quickly but carefully composed his response, sending it as he wrote.

  “I must apologize if this earlier action caused any offense. Syons People have equipment for such things, and are so disinclined to its appearance and scent, that droppings are sent away in an enclosed system which disposes of it without another person ever observing it. Away from our home, lacking this equipment, I was unsure how to appropriately excrete.”

  “Fascinating,” Fact said. “This sounds similar to our system. I would very much like to speak with you further on this subject.”

  “And it was not offense,” Amoss interjected. “You need not apologize for excreting in uninhabited brush.”

  Tom could see Angela’s chest subtly quaking in his peripheral.

  ANGELA: Dying … Literally. Dying. Inside.

  “Can you describe other equipment Syons People utilize?” Massoss Artsh of the Makers group.

&
nbsp; “This is one of the topics we wish to discuss with the council.” Tom used the opportunity to segue back into the mission. Minnie had outlined specific wording for this very moment, and Tom copy/pasted it into Livetrans—a temporarily relief of responsibility. “Our people have learned certain knowledge about living things, and have found unique methods for curing illnesses in people, animals, and grown foods.” Intrigue animated his audience. “We would like to work with the Threck to adapt these cures to your people and foods, improving health and longevity, and protecting food sources from often-devastating disease. This is what we wish to offer in exchange for one small, isolated plot of land to live out our lives.”

  “In the northeast,” Amoss added. “Beyond Tensakoss.”

  “We do not travel that far,” Artsh said.

  “I believe that is the objective,” Unhkte of the Thinkers said, speaking for the first time since her introduction. “Unlike the chattel we’ve made of our farmer friends, when this proposed arrangement is concluded, we’re not to be seen again.” She turned to Fetz. “I suggest accepting the offer and dismissing the council. This is all I have to say on the matter.”

  Tom worried about the leader of the Thinkers. Though otherwise quiet, Tom got the impression that she wanted him and Angela gone. What was going on in that head?

  “What else can they give us?” Someone asked.

  “I say we agree to terms,” another suggested.

  “They could also help improve sanitation systems,” Fact said. “Let us weigh what is most important to the city.”

  “How are we to know they can deliver anything offered?” Massoss Kwossh, from the Farming group. “We have attempted countless remedies for vine rot and graying disease.”

  “Let us not doubt wherewithal, nor presume the option to negotiate terms other than that offer which was surely long-devised, and from people clearly our mental superiors,” Amoss said. “They make machines which rise from the ground and fly as rocks are thrown. Their garb speaks our language with perfect tenor. Tom, setting aside some of my colleagues’ fast-accumulating aspirations, can you satisfy doubts about your remedies? Further explanation, perhaps, if you believe it within our capacity.”