"It is a name." Nalo poked a finger at his chest. "For us. For all Vox."
Eyes narrowed and fixed on him, Jalila listened. There were other Vox nearby; why weren't they screaming in outrage and attacking Nalo for saying that word?
"Once, 'mazeesh' meant beautiful," said Nalo. "It was a beautiful flower."
Jalila nodded. It was what she had thought from the start, the sole reason she had used that word at all.
"One day," said Nalo, "visitors came from the stars. They hunted and killed us."
As Nalo told the story, Jalila noticed the camp around them had become conspicuously quiet. Earlier, it had been alive with the sounds of activity and Vox chatter; now, it seemed everyone was hanging on Nalo's every word.
"Part of us, in our heads." Nalo tapped his temple. "They ate it. For fertility.
"It looks like the flower. The mazeesh. So they called us mazeesh."
There it was: the link between a word meaning "beautiful" and a slur strong enough to spur a crowd to murderous rage...but Jalila still didn't understand why Nalo had used it out in the open, on a city street, with an unsuspecting visitor.
"'Mazeesh,'" said Nalo. "It means 'prey.' It means 'food.' It means 'filth'...'property'...'lowest of the low.' It is the most hated word in the world.
"But that is about to change," said Nalo. "Thanks to you."
Jalila frowned.
"Don't worry," said Nalo. "The hard part's over."
Jalila's frown deepened. As weak as she felt, she managed to prop herself up on her elbows.
"You broke the silence," said Nalo. "You are a symbol of free speech. We chose you well."
Jalila could not believe what she'd heard. Suddenly, the day's events made perfect sense. Perfect, terrible sense.
All along, she had wondered how both she and the Voicebox device could have made such a huge mistake...how they could have mistranslated an outrageous slur as a word meaning "beautiful." She had wondered why Nalo had used the word to begin with, if the penalty for speaking it aloud was so steep.
Now, it all fit into place. It made perfect sense.
And it changed everything.
Until now, Jalila had accepted the fact that she'd made another mistake, just like on Pyrrhus VII. It had been easy to blame herself and wallow in self-pity. It had been easy to surrender all hope.
But not anymore. She knew better now. This wasn't another Pyrrhus VII after all. This was not a hopeless situation.
She had no excuse for giving up. She had every reason to fight to redeem herself.
"You used the word just as we hoped," said Nalo, "when I gave it to you."
Finally, Jalila understood. She had been used.
She had been set up.
*****
Chapter 6
When the cooking smells reached Jalila, her stomach growled, but she ignored it. She had other concerns on her mind, like how she was going to get off the forsaken mudball known as Vox if it was the last thing she did.
Since learning the truth--that she had been manipulated into using the forbidden word in front of Ieria and the ministers--her attitude had done an about face. Just a short time ago, after her condemnation, imprisonment, and near death experience, she had been at the breaking point...but now, she felt revitalized. Her state of shock and panic had given way to clearheaded calm and resolve.
She was going to get herself out of the mess she was in, whatever it took. She was going to prove she was better than anyone imagined, and she was going to make up for what had happened on Pyrrhus VII.
Sitting cross-legged on the bedding where Nalo had placed her, she watched the two dozen Vox in the underground chamber as they gathered for a meal. Before digging in, they all raised their cutlery and cheered for her.
"To Jalila!" They flashed their teeth in her direction. "To free speech!"
Jalila was almost grateful for the gag. She would not have wanted to share a meal with the Vox even if she could have.
Nalo had explained their reasons for setting her up, but she didn't care. Nothing could justify putting her through the nightmare she'd endured...not even a dying language.
"'Mazeesh' is one of many profane words," Nalo had told her. "They are all from the same language.
"In fact," he had said, "every word in that language is considered profane.
"They say it is the language of the ones who hunted us. We, the Free Speakers, believe otherwise."
Growing increasingly impassioned, Nalo had paced and gestured and raised his voice. "We believe it is the tongue of our ancestors. We believe our leaders have suppressed it because it allows for the expression of dangerous ideas."
Nalo had stopped pacing and dropped to his haunches before her. "Crastala na neepom," he had said. "It means 'to be an individual.'
"Shoshar na yothu. It means 'to follow your heart.'"
All the Vox in the chamber had gathered around him then. As Nalo had recited each phrase, they had exuberantly repeated it. "Shoshar na yothu!"
Nalo had sprung to his feet and whirled to face his supporters. "Tark razeek na."
"Tark razeek na!"
"To dream of something better!" Nalo had said. "Zush na carapata imbolio rivix shanyo!"
His supporters had repeated the phrase, and he had spun to face Jalila. "To tear down what is broken and replace it!"
The Free Speakers had cheered riotously, hopping and yipping and hugging with abandon. When the commotion had died down, Nalo had settled to his haunches again, staring intently at Jalila with his black pearl eyes. "These things I have said...they are called profanity now. It is forbidden to speak them in public.
"But this is the true language of our people. Soon, it will be heard round the world, from the mouths of every living Vox."
Gently, he had reached out and touched her cheek. "Thank you, Jalila. Ija onya sufir brin cozcona. 'You give us hope.'"
If Jalila had been able to speak at that moment, she would have used some profanity of her own. As a linguist, she had an extensive repertoire from which to choose.
Truth be told, under other circumstances, Jalila would have been fascinated by the Free Speakers and their struggle. Language was her passion; she would have been excited to study a suppressed tongue and participate in efforts to resurrect it.
If she had been asked instead of tricked, she would have gladly done everything in her power to help Nalo. If she had been asked, and if her shipmates had not been endangered. And if a massive alien fleet with heavy weapons and unknown motives was not hours away from orbit.
Any other time, she would have been thrilled to lend a hand. It was a once in a lifetime experience and would make a stunning paper for the linguistic journals back home.
But now, she wanted only to tell the Vox to go to hell.
Her one and only goal at this point was to escape and find Major al-Aziz and the others...if they were still alive. She had been brought into this against her will, and she was determined to use sheer force of will to get out of it.
Unfortunately, for the moment, she was stuck. Plenty of weapons were available in the cave, but if she snatched one and made a break for it, she would have no place to go but the tunnels. Without a guide, she knew she would end up lost in that maze.
So she had to wait until someone led her back to the surface. That would be in the morning, according to Nalo, when the Free Speakers made their big move. Jalila didn't know what exactly they had planned...only that they were going to take her along.
That was when she would have to act--when they emerged on the surface, before they could drag her into some new ordeal. She would feign cooperation, catch them with their guards down, and make a run for it.
After dinner, Nalo walked over and patted her on the head. "Get some rest, Jalila. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
Jalila looked up at him and nodded...but all she wanted to do was swat his hand away and punch him in the face for bringing her into this. For making her doubt and hate herself even more. For sending
her back to Pyrrhus VII in her heart.
She swore she would never go back there again.
*****
Chapter 7
When a voice roused Jalila, whispering close to her ear, she had a hard time waking up. Her exhausted slumber was so deep, she couldn't force herself to crawl back to consciousness.
When hands gently shook her by the shoulders, she finally came around. Her eyes popped open, and she was greeted by the blurry sight of a Vox she didn't know, staring her in the face.
Instinctively, Jalila swung up an arm to bat the creature away, but the white-furred Vox quickly darted out of reach. Jalila jerked to a sitting position and scooted back over the bedding away from the unexpected visitor. She pushed her black hair behind her ears and stared at him, blinking her brown eyes hard to clear her vision.
The Vox calmly raised its arms, suggesting peaceful intent. Jalila watched, eyes wide, for the creature's next move.
The Vox placed its hands on its chest and bowed its head. "I am Folcrum," he whispered. "I will not hurt you." The voice was cracked with age.
Glancing in the direction of the other Vox in the chamber, Jalila saw they were still curled together in a sleeping heap. As she returned her attention to Folcrum, she caught sight of a nearby pile of weapons and wondered if she ought to make a grab for one of them.
"I am a Lexicon," said Folcrum. "A keeper of language. I keep it all up here." Folcrum tapped his head. "Every word, every meaning, every rule. All here."
Folcrum moved forward, and Jalila twitched, thinking about getting a gun or waking the others. Folcrum was only shifting off his knees, though, and settled back to sit on the floor.
"When someone is searching for a word," said Folcrum, "they come to a Lexicon. When there is a question about the language, a Lexicon answers it.
"Without us, the language of the world would be in chaos. People would have no set rules or definitions to guide them. Miscommunication and misunderstanding would run rampant."
As Jalila listened, she realized for the first time that she had been missing something. In all the hours she'd spent on Vox, she hadn't seen a single sign, inscription, electronic readout, or printed page. She hadn't seen so much as a single character representing a unit of Vox speech.
Jalila had been too busy and distracted to notice until now, but it jived with what the Lexicon was telling her. If, as he claimed, walking dictionaries were needed to keep track of words and linguistic rules, it followed that the Vox lacked something that was found on most worlds where the inhabitants communicated verbally: a written language.
"Lexicons are not always popular," said Folcrum. "We are the enemy of those who would twist language for their own purposes.
"Like them." Folcrum nodded in the direction of the sleeping Free Speakers. "A discredited language is not their chief concern."
Jalila glanced at the nearby weapons. The truth of Folcrum's words was obvious.
"We Lexicons have always remained neutral in matters of conflict," said Folcrum, "but not this time. This is a matter of life and death for us. That is why I'm asking if you'll come with me. We need your help."
Jalila looked at him, wondering what exactly he had planned for her...and if it could be any worse than what the Free Speakers had in mind. She suspected that once again she faced a choice between the frying pan and the fire.
"What must you do to change a language?" said Folcrum. "To make the kind of sweeping change they want?" He gestured toward the Free Speakers.
"Out with the old." Folcrum slashed his hand through the air. "The old Lexicons.
"When minor changes are made, we are revised. When bigger changes are made, we are...retired. Our minds cannot be extensively rewritten.
"But to replace an entire language? Every word and rule? Drastic measures are needed. So, out with the old." Folcrum drew a single clawed finger across his throat. "Make way for new Lexicons to serve the new language. Don't give the people a chance to fall back on the old language by keeping old Lexicons around.
"Not a single one of them," said Folcrum. "And that is what happens tomorrow."
With a little difficulty, Folcrum got to his knees. Leaning forward, he extended a hand toward Jalila, palm up, and fixed her with his black pearl gaze.
"So what do you say?" he whispered. "Will you come with me?"
Jalila slipped her hand into Folcrum's and shook it.
He got to his feet and she followed, taking care not to make much noise. When he headed for the tunnel entrance across the chamber, however, she made a detour.
From the piles of weapons on the floor, she selected a few items, stuffing a holstered knife into her boot and a handgun in a pocket of her gray jumpsuit. She slung a rifle over her back, then picked her way over the dirt floor to catch up with Folcrum.
*****
Chapter 8
This time, Jalila's trip through the underground tunnels wasn't nearly so harrowing. The passages were still pitch black, claustrophobic, and convoluted, full of twists and sharp angles and drop-offs and cave-ins, but Folcrum set a humane pace and seemed genuinely considerate, unlike Nalo.
After a long crawl through uninterrupted blackness, Jalila glimpsed Folcrum's hindquarters in front of her in a dim light filtering from somewhere up ahead. She could see her hands as they pressed into the tunnel floor...and then the rough red earth around her as the glow grew brighter.
When she followed Folcrum around a tight bend, the light flared, and she could see it pouring in from an opening a few meters off. For an instant, she allowed herself to hope she was about to emerge on the planet's surface...but then she realized the light she saw, bright as it was, wasn't sunlight.
Fortunately, that realization didn't rob her of the thrill she felt upon emerging from the tunnel into the underground garden.
Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the brilliant light, she crawled out after Folcrum and let him help her to her feet. As soon as she took her first breath, she was assailed by a rich mixture of sweet floral perfumes.
It was like stepping into a greenhouse or arboretum when all the flowers were in full bloom--a whirl of heady scents commingled into one breathtaking fragrance. As Jalila inhaled it, she knew at once it consisted of a multitude of parts, each scent on its own as agreeable as the next...and yet, she was unable to pry apart the whole and single out one piece from another.
Not only was the fragrance intense and multi-layered, it shifted as she stood there, component scents ebbing and flowing. A sharp sweetness was preeminent, then a citrus, then a nutmeg...the soft tones of something like a rose wafting up and sliding away before a piquant mix of mown grass and daffodil. The transmutations were continuous and mesmerizing, stirring up new and beautiful combinations in progressive waves like strains of music.
The restless perfume was unexpected, even shocking after all the musty dirt Jalila had crawled through...but no less so than the sights that greeted her as she looked down from the sloped rim of the cavern in which she stood.
The space was so huge, it made Nalo's hideaway look like a mouse hole. Instead of a makeshift camp, a tidy village nestled amid lush and colorful gardens; Vox gardeners moved through the vegetation individually or in groups, tending the harmoniously arranged plant life. Waterfalls cascaded from the walls, splashing from opposite sides of the grotto into foaming ruby pools.
Light sparkled on the surface of the pools and bathed the village and gardens, cast from the illuminated walls and ceiling. The cavern was blanketed in glowing white moss like that in Nalo's cubbyhole, but more developed. Tendrils hung from it, studded with giant blossoms like sunflowers that shone with steady white incandescence.
Earlier, Jalila had been captivated by the beauty of the surface world with its see-through rainbow buildings and blown-glass architecture...but the cavern's natural beauty easily rivaled that. She had a hard time tearing herself away from the panoramic view when Folcrum started down the slope.
As he led her into the gardens along a winding gr
avel path, however, Jalila found herself absorbed in drinking in the scenery from a new perspective. The beauty of the gardens enfolded her, limitless varieties of spectacular flora vying for her attention.
The leaves and vines and stems were tinted a thousand shades of red--pink, rust, copper, fuchsia, scarlet, crimson, and more. The flowers, on the other hand, were a riot of colors, sizes, textures...and light. Like the moss and flowers on the walls and ceiling, many of them glowed from within.
Tiny blue blossoms blinked like clusters of Christmas tree lights. Yellow bell-like flowers flecked with mauve hung from lacy blood-red webs of vine, the tips of their waxy stamens blazing like candles on a birthday cake. Atop stiff vermilion stalks, giant eye-level blooms changed color as Jalila watched, emerald light flowing into azure into gold into silver. Pale aquamarine fronds brushed her arms and face, twinkling like fiber optic strands.
Even the butterfly creatures glowed with inner light. They were five times the size of any butterfly Jalila had ever seen, with furry bodies that looked more mammal than insect, and their wings swirled with luminescent pastel colors like the electrostatically active panels of the buildings on the planet's surface.
Wide-eyed, Jalila trailed after Folcrum and took it all in, marveling at the intricate display of color and light and life. If not for the pressure of time and worries to move her along, she easily could have spent hours on that path, lingering spellbound at each remarkable sight. The fragrances alone were enough to mesmerize her, richer and thicker than ever in the heart of the perfumed gardens.
As Jalila lagged further behind, Folcrum stopped and waited for her to catch up. "Do you hear it?" He drew in a deep breath. "Do you hear the garden talking?"
Jalila took a deep breath of her own, inhaling the intoxicating mixture of scents.
"This is the Garden of Yesterday," said Folcrum. "It has existed for countless generations. If you know how to listen, you can hear the history of the world in here."
Universal Language Page 3
