Traveler_Losing Legong

by Tim Dennis

  He was right. It was a silly assumption driven by anxiety and confusion. Both feelings remained, but rationality slowly seeped back in.

  Who else has a ship that can fly wherever, whenever?

  Myles tried to ignore himself.

  You've already taken it twice. He won't mind once more.

  Myles marched himself along a corridor that he knew would take him to Krykowfert's elevator.

  He's not there you know.

  I'm not going to see Krykowfert, I'm going to ask Traveler. Wait- how do you know Krykowfert's not there?

  He wasn't. He'd gone up to the shuttle hub to meet Myles. But Myles had no way of knowing that. He continued on his present route, a little less certain.

  I want to go Home.

  That's what we're trying to do. There's an elevator at the hangar. Goes straight to Krykowfert's office, and Traveler's quarters. Ask him. Hell, take him with you. Just do it quickly.

  On the previous trips he'd only been an accessory to theft, what he was considering now was to take Traveler's ship by himself, not as part of a mission, not as the pawn of some higher authority, or for any purpose higher than personal whim. Myles's purposeful walk slowed to a saunter. The saunter wavered, became an amble, then lost all directionality and fell into a ramble. Myles pumped it back up to resemble a constitutional, managed to maintain that for a few meters, then gave up altogether and turned into a side corridor. He had no idea where he was at the moment, but turning down the corridor felt right.

  Felt?

  He thought this turn led in the right direction, no, felt it went in the right direction. He took it and promptly got lost. He came across a Guard, looking very official, standing at a lectern at the nexus of several corridors. He was about to ask him for directions when he noticed he was standing at the entrance to the little elevator lobby outside Traveler's hangar. Myles looked at the Guard. The Guard looked at Myles. Myles still needed to pee.

  There's a toilet in there.

  The gurgling gut had quit as soon as the feeling of gravity returned, but the pressure on his bladder remained. Myles pointed into the elevator lobby and give his best questioning glance. The Guard leaned forward, looked into the lobby and returned a questioning glance.

  "I'm just going to, you know." Myles left the Guard in the nexus and sequestered himself in the now fully functional toilet. A moment later he heard, no, felt, Norte and Councilor Six enter the nexus from the hangar.

  "I saw nothing," he knew what Norte was saying without actually hearing her. She was frustrated. Frustrated with a nonsensical Earth and with Six for questioning her repeated explanations. "Nothing in orbit, nothing on the surface, nothing at all that could be described as military or para-military or police."

  Myles felt deep consternation. For a brief moment he felt kinship to Norte, then realized it was Council Six's feeling, not his. "It is not rational that the planet would have no defenses at all." Myles couldn't help having his own feeling, that it was perfectly rational. They had no defenses because they weren't afraid of anything.

  Something clamped down on the flood of feelings coming from Norte and Six. Myles himself became acutely aware of the Guard in the corridor nexus and the presence of Six and Norte into the elevator lobby, away from the Guard in the nexus. Myles was no longer certain if he was actually hearing the women or just feeling their ideas.

  Can you feel ideas?

  "OK." Norte said. "Maybe they're not completely defenseless, but we saw nothing comparable to Traveler's ship. I'm not convinced he's even from Earth. He could be from another Colony, a first diaspora colony with more developed technology. Maybe we'd already have this stuff ourselves if so much of our resources weren't focused on asteroid control."

  Six noted Norte's doubts and considered the situation. The evidence suggested Earth had recovered from the diasporas, at least ecologically and perhaps technologically, and that played in her favor. "Director Krykowfert has agreed that Tugot will do one more run. I don't know if the Traveler will accept his confinement much longer."

  "Look," Norte said. "We had no trouble blasting those little balls that accompanied Traveler's first arrival. We must have something that can cut his ship open. If not, well, Traveler's made of skin and bone, we know how to cut that. Give me the ship or the man, and I'll give you a navigation device."

  Peto entered with a jaunty step. "Oh! Hey Myles."

  Norte and Six turned to see Myles standing in the restroom doorway.

  "Um, hi." He said back.

  "Advocate Tugot," said Six, "your Council is deeply concerned about the violent destruction of Caldera's Launch Rail and you can rest assured that no resource will be spared to bring the perpetrators to justice."

  "What did you just say about Traveler?" Myles ignored Six and addressed Norte directly. She looked away. "What are you planning to do with him?"

  Councilor Six stepped between Myles and Norte, Peto took a step back, feeling that he was seeing something he wasn't meant to. Six spoke. "You live on the surface," Six began, "you've experienced the meteors, the volcanism, the quakes. It will be millennia before children can walk safely on Legong. Director Krykowfert's programs can help us only so far, Earth can help us more. We need their navigation technology. The survival of the colony depends on it."

  "But we have a Rip to Eden." Myles said.

  "And what if we discover there was a reason for our diversion?" Six continued. "What if Eden holds hidden dangers, things undiscovered until your Earth friend has long departed? What do we do with our resources split between two failing worlds? No, Tugot, we need freedom, the power to come and go at will. We need Earth's nav devices."

  Norte, Myles and Six were equally surprised at Six's candid appeal. Being in the background was no longer good enough for Peto, he left the room.

  A bit dramatic.

  Yes, but she has a point.

  Yeah, but it's usually covered by her hood.

  Really? ReallY

  Six and Norte watched Myles's facial expression shift in undecipherable patterns. His thoughts drifted to Bento, the little lizard in his back yard and the farm of his childhood, the cradle, his womb, Bento's womb. He didn't want to be important, he didn't want to save the world, he just wanted to go home, and there was a ship just meters away that could take him there. He turned to Councilor Six.

  "Eden, Earth. That's between you and Krykowfert and I'm not getting in the middle of it. For now, I work for Krykowfert, and he wants me to get some more practice so that I can better control Traveler's ship." Hoping their enmity would keep their plans secret from each other, and his lie undiscovered, Myles turned his back on Councilor Six and headed for the hangar.

  Norte hesitated, Six encouraged her with a little nudge. She turned and ran into the hangar after Myles, smacking Peto in the shoulder on her way past. She didn't bother establishing an implant connection, she just pointed at bags and cables in the hangar floor and climbed into the ship. Peto paused outside, dragging certain equipment away from the ship and hastily shoving other material into the hatch. He cast a last glance around the hangar and pulled himself up and in. Councilor Six watched from the corridor nexus as a blue haze filled the opening and then faded, replacing the nothingness of the gap with something-ness. She stepped back, allowing the door to close in front of her.

  Norte leaned into the pilothouse. Myles sat with his eyes closed, the walls blank.

  "Tugot?" She said. No response. "Myles?"

  His eyelids moved. Shit. Passengers

  "I got this." He said. Norte drew back, leaving Myles alone.

  Let Norte take it to Earth and steal technology. I just want out of this tin can. I want Home.

  He started by imagining his house, Bento on the slopes behind installing the Gun. He fought against that image, trying to banish the Gun without removing Bento. Instead Harry showed up, sitting in his own back garden a few houses along, and when Myles tried to banish that image the Shuttle Station blew up.

  It didn't happen l
ike that.

  Myles opened his eyes and shook his head, shoulders and arms. "Blahhhgggg" He let his tongue loll about and blinked. "Harrumph!" He closed his eyes and tried again.

  Myles brought back the image of his house, but back in time, to the day he moved in. The line of houses was freshly Makered and the colors were brighter, still a powdery pastel, but a higher saturation. Pig slipped into the empty chair beside him.

  "That's a construct, they were never that bright."

  Myles shot Pig a derisive glance and moved his imagination inside the house. It was decorated for Turn-Around Day. Bento and Harry were there, along with some other attractive people that Myles didn't recognize. They were all drinking and chatting, the sun was getting low and the dinner table showed evidence of a recent feast.

  "That never happened," said Pig.

  How would you know? thought Myles. You weren't even born then.

  Again Myles's mind went blank, along with the pilothouse walls. Unknown to Myles, Peto's head and shoulders protruded into the space, and he'd watched Myles's imaginings, Pig included, play out on the pilothouse walls. He quietly called for Norte. She came back to the hatch and leaned in beside him. Images started to flood back onto the walls.

  The party scene returned, a little earlier in the evening with Myles's mother serving the meal. The beautiful people were gone, as was Harry, but a twelve-year old version of Bento remained. Myles' brother and father, Bento's parents, all sat around the table in the Farm house. Again it was Turn-Around Day, and a strange family that Myles had never met sat with them. The parents conducted the ritual introductions, pushing forward their young son as Myles and Bento stood tightly together, secretly holding hands. The little boy became Harry and the walls suddenly went blank. Peto and Norte turned to each other questioningly. Myles shook again and the observers reflexively pulled back from the hatch.

  Myles opened his eyes and shut down the free association he'd been relying on and consciously, deliberately, lined the walls with a series of carefully chosen images and memories. His house, Tugot key, the farmhouse, his childhood family, Bento as adult and little girl. Pig tried to speak, but disappeared along with the other fantasms.

  Peto held the rim of the hatch and positioned himself for a good kick. Norte stopped him, and they both silently returned to watching Myles.

  Myles reached out, physically grabbing and restraining images as they faded, lining up and arranging them chronologically, then geographically, then socially. He became frustrated, gripped his seat cushion and closed his eyes tightly. Images quickly came and went, a few from the past weeks, one or two of Eden or Earth, but mostly of himself, his family, Bento and the farm. The images slipped by faster until they were no longer individually distinguishable, the pilothouse walls becoming a wash of shifting colors and shapes.

  A black disk expanded in the space taken up by Norte's and Peto's heads, wrapping around them, bringing with it a strange star field. Myles noticed at the same time as Norte, opening his eyes in time to see the black sky envelop them. All three exclaimed aloud, Norte in understanding, Peto and Myles in shock, as Earth once again appeared before them.

  22

  Gabrile stood with her back to the table, her skirt gathered up to below her bosom. She turned slowly so her cohorts could see the areas she couldn't.

  "You see," said Gwirionedd, "it's coming." Gabrile's pink skin was finally darkening. She'd had a particularly restful night and the morning showed smooth olive in place of the cheery peach of the previous weeks. "It's only the stress of being apart from ToEv." Chanly and Sach nodded agreement and three women moved to sit around the low glass table while Gabrile continued examining herself. She dropped her dress, letting it drape as it wished, and joined them.

  Beyond the lanai rain pounded sand and made a mess of the lake surface as a tall, slender, and very dark naked man made his way towards them from between the outbuildings in the glade further up the shore. It was Trendle, and as he reached the shelter Chanly offered him a towel.

  "The telemetry team's reviewed the raw data." He said. "It's worse than we thought." Trendle swapped the wet towel for a thin robe and stood beside Sach and Gwirionedd, seated on the couch. He leaned over and placed a small ball on the table, pulling from it a wisp of orange and blue vapor. "All Legong subjects we've recorded have at least one major deficit, often with an opposing superfluity. This makes many expert in some narrow task or knowledge, but with an opposing weakness that creates great personal and social conflict."

  "They're like animals." Gabrile said. "They may as well have claws or hooves instead of hands."

  Gwirionedd examined the shifting colors, tugging at some vapors and brushing away others. "Neuro-profiles like this hark back to the post-diaspora re-population. You see the degree of these deficits?" She teased apart one vapor into two strands.

  Chanly slumped back in her seat. "That's what limits their ability to cooperate."

  Gwirionedd leaned in, excited by the new data. "It separates them into distinct neurological types, that must make it almost impossible for all but the simplest ideas or emotions to cross from one type to another. Look," she said, taking the two colored wisps from Gabrile. "The opposing surfeits just exacerbate the problems. They provide a limited superiority in one narrow trait which allows each neuro-type to cling to a belief in its own general superiority."

  "Is this how they maintain detente? With each group providing a different benefit they're naturally dependent on each other." Asked Sach.

  "You would think so, but this interferes:" Gwirionedd took control of the ball from Trendle, waving away the orange and blue wisps she'd taken from Gabrile and releasing more smoky colors. There now danced a dozen or so sets of tangled strands of multi-colored vapor lined up across the table. Gwirionedd reached out to one in particular and drew it to the center. "If the surfeits and deficits within an individual fall to extremes," one strand within the tangle faded to almost transparent yellow while another thickened to a dense, opaque purple. "That individual develops Ideation-Lock. Ideas that they themselves don't originate, or that originate from other neuro-types, are beyond difficult to understand, they appear to them to be the result of madness."

  Gwirionedd left the strong-purple/weak-yellow tangle in the middle of the table and gathered the others in front of her. She manipulated one, forming a tiny tapestry including several colors but lacking purple. She then brought the two tangles into contact. Gabrile and the others watched with interest.

  The first tangle had no trouble replicating the tapestry within the second, but couldn't help but bleed purple into it.

  "You see, if the neurological surfeit is too strong it imposes itself on patterns that don't contain it." Gwirionedd separated the two tangles and unraveled the tapestries, replacing the strong-purple/weak-yellow tangle in the center of the table.

  She then took up the second tangle and formed within it a new tapestry, this one including a lot of yellow. Again she placed the two tangles in contact. They both immediately started vibrating.

  "You see the first one, the one with only a very weak yellow? It cannot duplicate the pattern, so it's trying to replace the yellow." The tangle tried weaving other colors in yellow's place, but each time the color was ejected, causing an increased vibration. "It cannot match the pattern, no matter what it tries, and this is extremely distressing for it." She continued to hold the two tangles against each other. Lacking yellow within itself, the first tangle sent tendrils into the other, trying to prise the yellow out of its tapestry. This created great stress within the second tangle and both vibrated violently.

  "At this point the actual patterns become meaningless and the neuro-type with the most extreme bifurcation tends to destroy the more balanced type." The yellow tapestry exploded into a shower of fragmented colors, shattering the tangle which held it into foggy wisps escaping in all directions as they faded.

  "This is inherent to their neurology?" Gabrile asked.

  "That is not the only pro
blem." Trendle said. He leaned forward and brushed aside all but two of Gwirionedd's tangles. He caused all the colors within one to weaken and tried to create a tapestry. No matter what he tried, the tangle could only sustain the simplest of patterns. Gabrile shrugged. Trendle held up a finger in pause and drew up Gwirionedd's first tangle, forming within it a simple pattern of strong purple. He left the two near each other, but not touching. The weakly colored tangle immediately took on the pattern of the strong-purple.

  "Mirror neurons." Chanly said.

  "And a high degree of bicamerality." Trendle said. "Few are capable of learning via any other process. They simply absorb ideas presented by the most imposing neuro-type."

  "So we're dealing with pre-diaspora brains." Gabrile said.

  "Only slightly more advanced than dogs or cats." Said Trendle. Gabrile let out a sigh. Trendle stood beside her. Gabrile absently wiped away a trickle of rainwater running down his calf. His build was much like ToEv's, and she considered asking him to spend the night. "Are you calling him back early?" Trendle asked.

  "No." Gabrile said, "In light of this mirror-neuron thing we're going to need more data on language and how it affects their belief systems."

  "Perhaps we should send in more Sputties?" Chanly asked.

  "They've already destroyed three," Sach replied, "and they're monitoring the remaining two. In addition, ToEv's data suggests non-relevant factors are major determinants in their decision making. They're increasingly reacting to random stimuli and decreasingly considering concrete realities. It's making them unpredictable. We haven't been able to model that."

  The sound of rain on the rooftop softened. Gabrile felt a moment of tranquility. "OK. Then we wait." She gathered her robe close and moved over, giving Trendle space to sit.

  "I'm going back to the telemetry team." He left his little ball on the table, tossed his robe behind the couch and ran back into the rain.

  Chanly brushed aside Gwirionedd's tangled neuro-models and pulled from the ball a new strip of color. She patted it into a cube and let it dissolve into an image of ToEv's ship, skimming along at the limit of Earth's atmosphere.