The Enigma Score

by Tepper, Sheri S

  Clarin didn’t talk with the viggy long. Using the translator, she began singing about hope and fear, with the troupe of Bondri Gesel as backup. Those of us with short lives,’ she vocalized, in a line of extended melody, ‘much regret ending, becoming nothingness. This regret is fear. Those of us with fragile bodies that can be broken, much regret that breaking. This regret is also fear. We fear ending and breaking. We fear the ending of those we think of as parts of ourselves . Others are those who are not broken with us or ended with us. Thinking of others as part of self is called love.

  ‘So, in our minds we create patterns in which there is no fear. These patterns are called hope….’

  Donatella was stretched out on the ground, simply listening, her face remote and musing. When she saw Tasmin looking at her, she remarked, ‘She makes it all sound so simple, Tasmin. They’ll probably understand her, too. I told you they talked, Tasmin. I told you. God, I wish Link could be here…’

  Later, falling over themselves from exhaustion, they tried to sleep, but Bondri Gesel kept waking them.

  ‘The Great One wishes you to explain pain once more, Loudsinger.’ ‘The Great One asks that you tell again of the difference between bad and good.’ ‘In answer to a previous question, you used certain Loudsinger words the Great One does not understand. The Great One wants to know more about “standard business practices.” ’ ‘The Great One wants to know if you have something the same as hoosil. I told the Great One that was anger, but it wants you to tell it. It sang your particular label. This means the Great One now knows we are each a separate creature, Tasmin Ferrence. It never thought that before. None of them ever thought that before.’

  Tasmin accepted this through a haze of fatigue. ‘I noticed the translator had some trouble deciding between parts and entities. As though the Presence isn’t quite sure about boundaries between things.’

  ‘The viggies noticed this, too, Tasmin Ferrence.’

  ‘You sound amazed, Bondri Gesel.’

  ‘I am … what is that word Jamieson gave me? I am dumbfounded, Tasmin Ferrence. I am based in silence.’ Bondri bounded away, obviously elated, only to return later, waking them all to get yet another answer and to answer a question or two himself.

  ‘What was that business about the northern and southern parts, Bondri? I didn’t understand that,’ asked Jamieson.

  ‘The one you call the Black Tower touches the ones you call the Watchers, deep beneath the soil. Far to the west it touches the ones you call Mad Gap. It touches the False Eagers and Cloud Gatherer and all the Presences of the Redfang Range. Beneath the lands, Tasmin Ferrence, all the Presences touch one another. Or perhaps not quite all. Perhaps they are all part of one thing. A thing that is everywhere, beneath the Deepsoil, far down, even beneath the seas. We think this is so. Or perhaps they only talk with one another. This is why, we viggies think, the Great One is not sure about edges of things. The Black Tower is not sure where it ends and other things begin. It is not madness, like the Enigma, but it is strangeness….’

  Morning.

  Donatella, still triumphant, to Jamieson, ‘I told you they talked.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me they talked all the time.’ Jamieson was unable to get up, and no one would let him try. Still, he seemed to be alert, with a clear understanding of what was going on. He asked Tasmin, ‘What do we do now? Have we got enough proof for the commission?’

  ‘We haven’t talked to it yet about what Justin is planning to do….’

  ‘Has already done,’ snapped Don. ‘At least partly.’

  This took the entire morning. Some things were understood almost immediately. The Black Tower understood destruction. It did not understand ‘maximizing profits,’ however, which Tasmin had taken some time to translate though he used the Urthish word for it, too. When the Tower finally understood cost benefits, it had a fit of hoosil, which required them to leave the vicinity for over an hour. At the end of the hour, the concept had been spread through the vast network and they were told that all the Presences both understood it and were equally annoyed by it as it pertained to them. What came out always equaled what went in, so far as the Presences were concerned. Taking more out than went in was immoral, unmathematical, and illogical. Things did not balance properly if more went in than out, or vice versa.

  ‘Of course, they’re completely right,’ Donatella said. ‘Do we want to talk about closed and open systems? Maybe that can wait.’

  ‘It’ll have to wait,’ Tasmin told her. ‘We’re all getting to the point that our voices are giving out.’

  ‘Now what?’ intoned Bondri Gesel, sounding weary but indomitable. The troupe had spent the morning telling each other what was happening, just to get it on record, and they had not been able to arrive at a finished song. Some of the words did not seem to be entirely accurate or true. The senior giligee was having a fit over that. Giligees were conservative anyhow, and this one was carrying the brain-bird of Prime Priest Favel, which made it even more conscious of doing things right.

  ‘I hate to say this, Bondri, but do you suppose we could teach the Black Tower to speak some Urthish? The human language? We have some words that are very cumbersome to translate.’

  ‘It should be very easy for them to learn the whole language,’ Bondri sang. ‘The Great One has already asked us to begin.’ Bondri sounded offended by this.

  ‘Your own language is far superior,’ Tasmin offered placatingly. ‘Truly.’

  ‘Oh, we know it is. More accurate. More specific.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Your language, on the other hand, has a lot of words we don’t have at all. It has more room in it.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘That’s what the Great One says. The Great One says it is a good language for puzzles, because it can mean many things.’

  ‘The Great Ones like puzzles, do they?’

  ‘For millions of years they have done puzzles, Tasmin Ferrence. They have divided themselves into parts. What you would call teams. They have used us to carry puzzle moves from one part to another, so the other team would not know what move they are making. They made us for this, or so our Prime Song says. Now you are their new puzzle, Tasmin Ferrence. You and all the Loudsingers. We viggies think it will be interesting to watch them figure you out.’

  ‘I want them to speak Urthish for only one reason, Bondri Gesel.’

  ‘We know,’ said the troupe leader. ‘When they speak to your powerful ones, there must be no misunderstanding what they say.’

  Now, Tasmin was dumbfounded. ‘They intend to speak to our “powerful ones”?’

  ‘They do, Tasmin Ferrence. As soon as you give them all the words in your language and tell them where these powerful ones are to be found.’

  ‘All the words?’

  ‘Are they not in the machine somewhere? The female, Clarin, said they were in the machine.’

  ‘The dictionary! In the translator, yes.’

  ‘Can this be played to the Great Ones?’

  ‘I suppose it can.’ The Presences themselves had thought of this? Well, it would certainly save the human voices. ‘I understood that recorded things were unacceptable to them.’

  ‘Irritating to the skins, yes, Tasmin Ferrence. But they can tolerate it if they are awake.’

  Tasmin exchanged a wondering glance with Clarin, who said, ‘Before they speak to the powerful ones, Bondri Gesel, ask the Tower if they will speak, very quietly, to persons from the citadels of the Tripsingers?’

  ‘They will do this, even though they say your language is ugly, Clarin. It has some very bad sounds in it.’

  ‘Would they understand an apology?’

  ‘They already know. They say you are a young race that has not had time to smooth yourself. You are still very bumpy.’ Bondri made a smilelike face, fangs showing at the edges of his mouth, a trifle malicious, Tasmin thought, before continuing. ‘Your language is bumpy, and it is obvious some of your individual persons are also bumps that need to b
e smoothed away. Or eaten,perhaps.’ Bondri licked his lips, enjoying Clarin’s near success at hiding a shudder. ‘Undoubtedly you have other bumps as well. However, they find even that interesting. There is no end to the interest that the Great Ones have stored up.’

  Jamieson could not travel. The giligees would not let him travel. Tasmin knelt beside him, his hand on the boy’s shoulder, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the flutter of eyelids, moving with the dream he was in.

  The pressure of Tasmin’s hand brought him from sleep. ‘Master Ferrence,’ Jamieson said, wakening all at once.

  ‘Reb.’

  ‘I’m sorry to plop out on you this way.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have let you sing to the Tower.’

  ‘You and who else would’ve tried to stop me?’

  ‘There was a Tripsinger here a while ago from Deepsoil Five, Reb. They heard the Tower roaring and sent someone to find out what was going on. I’ve asked him to send some people out to be with you, and with the Tower. The giligees will stay with you at least until then….’

  ‘Have a good trip, Master Ferrence. Make it fast.’

  ‘We will. I’m sorry you can’t be there for the end of it, however it ends.’

  ‘It’ll end here, too, one way or the other.’ Jamieson grinned at him, then heaved a deep breath, as though it hurt him to do so. ‘Master Ferrence.’

  ‘Yes, Reb.’

  ‘Remember, once I told you there was a lot to Clarin, Sir. I told you she wanted to work with you.’

  ‘Well – she got her chance.’

  ‘More than that, Sir. Tasmin.’ That heaving breath again. ‘She loves you. I got it out of her. I wish you’d kind of remember that. As a favor to me.’

  Tasmin could not think of anything to say. He clasped Jamieson’s shoulder in his hand once more and left him there.

  A caravan moved from Deepsoil Five westward, laden with brou. It came to the Watchers. The Tripsinger put back his hood and rolled up his sleeves. In the Tripwagon, the backup man leaned forward to touch the synthesizer.

  Trumpet sounds. A tap of drums.

  ‘Arndaff-du-roomavah,’ the Tripsinger sang.

  ‘Brother, brother, brother,’ replied the South Watcher. ‘Return to the citadel and tell the Master General this Presence is his brother and wishes to speak with him.’

  The wagons halted.

  The Tripsinger fell silent, amazed and dizzy, totally unbelieving.

  Not a ’ling quivered. The ground was silent.

  ‘Are you deaf?’ the North Watcher rumbled. ‘Do what your brother says.’

  Outside the Jut, a wagon train moved eastward along the ’Soilcoast road. It came to the Jammers. The Tripsingers readied themselves, a trifle nervously as every Tripsinger had done since the massacre. The ground was quiet, suspiciously quiet. They did not know what to make of that, and regarded each other with unease. The first notes sounded from the Tripwagon, only to be drowned by quite another music.

  ‘Brother, brother, brother,’ sang the Jammers in close harmony. ‘Return to your citadel and tell your Master General to check his armory and be ready for trouble. Also, tell him to keep quiet about it until he hears from us.’

  At the Redfang Range, a lonely Tripsinger sat high within the firelike glimmer of the ranked pillars, awash in orange light. Night was coming, and he had caught no sight of anyone the Grand Master was interested in. Rumors were the Grand Master’s own daughter was in here somewhere, but if that were true, she wasn’t showing herself. Sighing, he put his glasses in his pack and started down the trail.

  As he went into peril, he picked over the controls of his box, singing the Password in a passable voice, a bit wearily. He had been sitting high on the pass all day, and it had been a funny day. Spooky. Absolutely quiet. No movement in the Presences at all. He yawned, garbling the first words, his mouth gaped wide. It stuck that way. Someone else was singing….

  ‘Brother, brother, brother,’ the Presence beside him vocalized softly in flutelike tones. Tripsinger, go tell the Master General of your citadel to get word to the Grand Master of the Worshipful Order that I, Redfang, want to speak with him.’

  And then, almost as an afterthought.

  ‘Are you recording this, youngster? Your Master General may want proof.’

  The CHASE Commission was assembled in Splash One, conducting its scheduled meetings with considerable pomp. Among the audience were a number of VIPs, a few from Jubal, though most – including representatives from both the current and historic press as well as advisers and so-called neutral observers from the PEC – were from off-planet. Those from Jubal included the Honorable Wuyllum Thonks, not yet departed for he had not the means to depart, and his less than honorable lady, present for the same reason, although she did not understand why Wuyllum was at all worried. The only thing that had upset Honeypeach in a long, long time was Maybelle’s disappearance. Justin wanted her and Justin was getting nasty about it. Honeypeach licked the corners of her mouth and visualized what she would do when she found the girl. Maybelle had to come out of hiding sometime.

  Grand Master Thyle Vowe was also in attendance, though several of his friends and colleagues were not. Gereny, for example, and Jem. And that sweetheart of Rheme’s, the Governor’s daughter, the one that Vowe had personally pulled off that boat before Honeypeach Thonks could lay hands on her. Luckily Rheme had alerted them to provide a backup escape, just in case she didn’t get away. These three and some others had established quite a redoubt in the half-empty warehouse in the fishing village of Tallawag. That it was an unlikely place for them to hide could have been testified to by several minions of Honey-peach’s who had been searching for Maybelle ever since Vowe had abducted her. So far, they hadn’t even come close.

  Watching Honeypeach steam had given Vowe enough satisfaction to carry him over the deadly boredom of the hearings. He was of the opinion that the hearings were designed to be deadly, planned to be uninteresting in the extreme. Witness after witness testified to attempts to make sense out of Presence noises, some of them philologists who spoke pure jargon with no recognizable meaning. No one mentioned viggies. No one even thought of viggies. Vowe wondered at this. He had always had suspicions about viggies.

  Harward Justin squatted at one side of the hearing room, low-bottomed as a toad, his slushy eyes swiveling from side to side of the room, his thin mouth stretching in a gratified grimace whenever a witness made a particularly telling point. For all the boredom, the place was crowded and concentration was intense.

  Thus when someone jostled the Grand Master, he did not immediately respond. It took the elbow in his ribs twice more before he looked down to see a note held in the hand of an anonymous donor who was looking everywhere but at the Grand Master.

  ‘Emergency. Northwest Citadel, soonest.’ The name appended was Jasum Porlees, Master General of the Northwest Citadel. He and Thyle Vowe had been boys in choir school together.

  The Grand Master let a little time elapse, then squirmed through the crowd to the door. Outside on the steps, the same anonymous man was standing, staring out over the city and talking almost without moving his mouth. There’s an air car waiting for you at the garage, Grand Master. Your friend says hurry.’

  It was only when Thyle Vowe was halfway to the garage that he realized the man who had been talking to him was Rheme Gentry.

  ‘Your daughter’s all right,’ said the Master General of the Northwest, soon after Thyle Vowe’s arrival. He poured a cup of tea for the Grand Master and waited for the inevitable question.

  ‘Where is she, Jasum?’

  ‘Somewhere near the Black Tower. Or maybe most of the way here, by now. Probably coming pretty fast, since they won’t have to sing their way by anything.’

  ‘Won’t have to what? What in hell are you talking about?’

  ‘You’re not going to believe who told me, Thyle. Best way to tell you is to show you. Are you up for a short mule ride into the Redfang Range?’

  The commissi
on had heard witnesses for ten days and part of an eleventh. Finally it recessed for a day or two before reconvening to consider its findings. Some of the members took advantage of this interruption to see something of Jubal while there was still, in one member’s words, something to see. The destruction that would occur following their pronouncement was fully understood by certain members of the commission, although not by Honeypeach’s stepson, the chairman, Ymries Fedder. He had been brou-sotted in his apartment since arrival, and the commission had been chaired by its vice chairman, a junketeering bureaucrat from Heron’s World.

  Harward Justin retired to the BDL building to take care of a few details. Wuyllum Thonks was waiting for him there.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here, Thonks?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know. What am I doing here? Honeypeach and I were supposed to be off this place a week or more ago.’

  ‘After the findings are announced, Governor, you can be on the first ship out. Along with the commission members. I had to seal things up to prevent any last-minute problems.’

  ‘And when will the first ship out be leaving?’

  ‘Three or four days. Maybe five if they want to make it look good. Some of them are sightseeing right now. They may take an extra day or two.’

  ‘You don’t anticipate any trouble?’

  ‘I always anticipate trouble, Thonks; That’s why it never bothers me.’ Justin smiled, a slithering of lips across irregular teeth, making Wuyllum think of snakes writhing over stones. ‘Trouble is just another thing to plan for, Governor.’

  Wuyllum shivered for no discernible reason. ‘I’ll tell Honeypeach.’

  ‘Speaking of your charming wife.’ Justin smiled again, a particularly reptilian smile. ‘Honeypeach promised to introduce me to your lovely daughter, but seemingly she’s disappeared. Did you ever find her?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Wuyllum waved the question away, refusing to consider the implications of what Justin had just said. ‘Maybelle had planned to return to Serendipity. It’s her home, you know. When she was disappointed about the journey, she probably went to stay with friends. No doubt she’ll turn up. Well. We’ll be expecting space, Justin. On the first ship out. You’ll let us know.’