Confrontation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 4) (14 page)

When life was simple, the passage of time made sense. We had our rest and work cycles and our regular off cycles. Earth time and habits were forced into the cycles of Locus.

Just like on Earth though, nature always wins. I’ve lost track of our “cycles” and I’ve even become confused about where we are in a Locus day.

I’m not sure when I dozed off. Whenever it was, I’m sure it was rude, because the last thing I remember is a conversation about how the natives communicate. Sonjia and Sofie were theorizing about the nuances of how open or closed an eye was in signifying intent.

It certainly isn’t the case that I was bored, but I am almost sure that’s how Sofie will see it. I will admit that I am as fascinated by the way that Sofie tries to quantify emotion as I am with the emotions she’s measuring. She is a great choice for getting through to the natives.

Looking around the little patio area, I see that I am alone. My hope is that the others have gone into the building to sleep, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they left to find the natives.

I push myself off the bench and away from the wall. It wasn’t the most comfortable sleeping position, but I feel rested and energized.

Walking to the pool of water, I look around the large open space. It feels communal because of the several different doorways that break up the surrounding walls. In the vicinity of each doorway is artwork.

The artwork is unique around each door. I feel like the paintings convey a message, but I cannot decipher what. It’s not linear like any writing or hieroglyphs we would have seen on earth. It is so hard to describe or classify.

I dip my hands into the pool slowly. It looks like water and feels like water, so I will trust that it is water. I take a large scoop in my hands and sip from it deeply. The next large scoop goes up and over my head.

After a few minutes spent refreshing and cleaning up, I am ready for action. I just don’t know what action to take.

The short walk back to our patio area gets my blood flowing and makes me more eager to do something. After taking a few berries and fruits from the vines crawling around the trellis, I casually toss them into my mouth. A walk couldn’t hurt, I decide, while savoring something shaped like a strawberry but tastes similar to a banana.

The only exit I am sure of is through the structure the way we came in. Pushing the magical floating panel, I walk inside and pause for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the dark.

While they adjust, I survey the room with care. I can see three distinct shapes on the floor. Eventually they come into focus—my friends. Luke and Sonjia are lying together, and Sofie is across the room, lying by herself.

Underneath the sleeping bodies is a strange conglomeration of materials. Assembled in what can best be described as a nest are at least three different substances.

One of the substances is long and tubular. It looks similar to hay or straw but does not seem to have the variety of natural growth. It feels like this substance could be woven or linked together, but instead it is piled up loosely.

The next substance is flat and feathery. There are a variety of colors from blue green to an orange-pink shade. All are bright and brilliant even in the dark room. This material is haphazardly intertwined with the tubular material.

On top of the jumble of feathers and straw is what appears to be fur, though it could be a form of raw cotton. It has a silver-grey color and looks soft and comfortable. For a second I consider lying down beside Sofie and experiencing the materials first-hand.

Spooning Sofie without warning, or permission, would be a mistake on several levels. Instead, I watch her sleep. Sadness washes over me and I realize how much I have missed waking up near her. Fighting with her and missing her have negatively influenced every other thing in my life.

Life is too short to hold grudges. Sofie and I came together during a time of great stresses. We never knew each other without the fear of death hanging over our heads.

When life calmed down and we had time to think, things started to change. Now that we are back to conflict and stress, we are growing close again. That does not feel like a great basis for a relationship.

Knowing that I may have already lost her is different than accepting it. My current line of thinking has me accepting a friend relationship with Sofie. But that’s my head. My heart is still telling me that I love her and that being together is the most important thing to me.

Suddenly the room feels stuffy and I need air. I can’t make decisions about our relationship by myself. If we’re a couple, we remain one or stop being one together. It’s time to let my subconscious take over finding a solution to my relationship problem.

I quickly walk to the outer floating panel and push it aside gently. It moves silently but still I move carefully so as not to slam it closed.

Out on the street, for lack of a better description, I am again amazed by the colors and shapes on the walls. They elicit a feeling from me that I don’t remember from the first time we saw them.

All art conveys a message, but this feels different. I walk along slowly and study the shapes and colors. Like any puzzle, finding a pattern or consistent element will help decipher the meaning.

Nothing is intuitively obvious. There are so many data points I cannot even begin to process them. Colors appear to number in the thousands; shapes are inconsistent and varied; and the general scale of each work ranges from a hand-sized work in one place to a work that covers several walls.

With work of this complexity, I would expect to notice changes in brightness or tone. Even if one batch of pigment had been used, it seems like it would take days to apply it. All of my experience tells me that there would have to be at least a slight variation in the colors from one day to the next. I don’t detect any.

I can’t find where any one painting starts or ends and there are no discernable patterns either within a painting or from one painting to the next. In comparison, the simplicity of the English language is amazing: twenty-six characters making just over one million words.

Looking back toward where I came out of the building, I start counting distinct paintings. At number three, I see Sofie emerge from the doorway. She looks away from me first and then I see her face as she spots me.

When our eyes meet, I see a sense of relief and happiness flash across her face. Her light smile and “life is good” look remains in place as she walks to join up with me.

“Whatcha doin’?” she asks once she’s close enough.

“Counting the unique paintings. Do you think these could be their alphabet?” I answer, trying to match her happy look.

“I don’t think the paintings are the alphabet. I think their alphabet is more of a matrix of colors and brush strokes.” She steps closer to the painting directly in front of us.

“So kind of like the Chinese alphabet, with color being an added dimension?” I ask. I can see the theory.

“Well, color and probably a few other extra dimensions. Sonjia called it a multi-dimensional array last night. I vaguely get what that means, but it’s not how I see things,” Sofie explains.

My brain starts to play with the concept and I love it. The direction, weight and color of a line give it meaning. Varying the shape of endpoints would provide another dimension of significance.

An example forms in my mind. A thin red line going diagonally upwards from left to right could mean happiness. Change the color to blue and it could mean happiness due to food. Making the color pink changes the significance to mean happiness due to love. Increasing the thickness alters the meaning completely, and the symbol becomes satisfaction.

Combining these things could tell a story and convey meaning. Or maybe they simply cannot exist on their own. There is no way to convey “happiness.” The only way to convey happiness is to share the circumstances around the emotion.

The whole concept is a little overwhelming and I wonder how they can teach such ambiguity to children. Would it even be possible for an adult human to learn a fraction of their language?

“Seamus, I miss us,” Sofie says. “It’s like when we stopped fighting for our lives I just had to keep fighting something. I don’t know why, but I picked you.”

“I miss us, too. I loved our simple, quiet routine,” I say. “I thought that because I was happy, we were happy and I now know how selfish that is.” I just learned something about myself.

“I was happy, that’s what is so frustrating. I guess I have more than a little survivor’s guilt. Every time it was quiet enough to let my mind wander, I thought about the fact that my parents and everyone I used to know were dead.” She looks at the ground, where she pushes some dirt around with her toe. “Happiness felt wrong, so I looked for problems… and found them in you.”

“I know this is selfish, but I used to have important projects to work on, and then, suddenly, nothing. The human race doesn’t really need me anymore. I kind of started to wallow in self-pity, even though I was happy when we were together,” I say, embarrassed. Her loss is more important than mine, but my feelings are no less real.

“We’re good together, aren’t we?” she asks with a smile.

“We should get married. Make it official and forever.” I hadn’t thought about this before and the idea is a little surprising.

Her face goes almost blank. I can’t tell if she is happy or angry or scared. Then I notice that she is not looking at me but past me. Slowly turning, I see a group of natives standing in the street looking at us.

In the center of the group I recognize the smaller creature with the red markings on its chest. I suddenly recognize the markings as similar to those on one of the buildings I walked past.

The other creatures in the group also have markings over their bodies. Like the artwork on the walls, there are a variety of colors and shapes. Some of them look familiar while others are new to my eyes.

I’m glad that Sofie and I were able to resolve our conflict. Whatever happens from here out, we are together, and that is what is important.

The natives outnumber us and are physically superior beings. If we can’t resolve this conflict, it will likely cost us our lives. I need to take a step back and let Sofie’s empathy and instincts take over. She is a born connector, and I am comfortable having my life in her hands.

“Put your hands out to the side, palms front, and keep your expression neutral,” she says, without ever taking her eyes off the creatures.

I feel like she’s faking it. It’s as if she knows I believe in her, so she is pretending to know what to do. I’m worried that I have put too much responsibility on her and it’s not fair.

“My uncle used to say that if you know what you’re talking about, say it with conviction,” she says, as if she’s reading my mind. “If you don’t know what you’re talking about, say it with even more conviction, and you’ll make your statements true.” She looks at me and shrugs.

“Should we approach them, or is that considered an insult?” I ask, after several minutes of the standoff.

“Seamus, how could I know the answer to that?” Sofie doesn’t snap, but there is an edge in her voice.

I can’t stand waiting for something to happen. “I’m going to bow my head and show deference to being in their territory.”

“Don’t. If they communicate with their faces, they will think you’re hiding something from them. Keep your head up and let me take the lead.” My threat of action has prodded her to move.

Sofie starts walking slowly toward the crowd of natives. My heart is racing and I fight to keep a neutral expression on my face. I am scared and begin to panic that we do not have an escape route planned in case this goes wrong.

I follow her, but I am not comfortable. My eyes dance in their sockets, looking to Sofie and then back at the creatures.

Each time I have encountered these things, I sensed something. Now I sense fear, or maybe concern. There should be a better word. “Trepidation” comes to mind, but I’m not sure it’s accurate. I just have a feeling that we are all uncomfortable.

I hear my father’s words: When you stretch yourself out of your comfort zone, you are truly growing. It is so annoying that he sticks in my head like that.

Maybe six feet away from the group, Sofie stops walking. I come to a stop right next to her and notice the expressiveness in their features.

Where the hell are Luke and Sonjia? They have been here with the creatures for a while. Even if they can’t communicate, showing that we are with them would surely work in our favor.

“Sofie,” Sofie says softly, and I can hear her voice breaking. She moves her right hand and uses her thumb to point at herself.

Her movements are slow and deliberate. I can’t see her face because I am too scared to look away from the group in front of us.

“Seamus.” Her right thumb points at me.

A medium-sized native rushes forward and stops inches from my face. I have been present at the engagements that have resulted in death. I was there when our people killed one of their people. If anyone is going to be perceived as an enemy, it will be me.

The creature’s breath is rancid and raw. A stench similar to spoiled milk rushes into my nostrils with a heat so intense I fear I will be burned.

Turning my head to protect my face I see Sofie making frantic movements with her eyes, nose and mouth. If these creatures communicate non-verbally with expressions, Sofie is jabbering on in gibberish. Pity for the fools in their midst is our best hope for safety.

There is an eerie stillness surrounding us all. My close alien friend has not moved, and when I look back at him his eyes are boring a hole in my skull. How can he possibly communicate with the others if their language is non-verbal?

At some point he will need to turn around and look at the group to get instructions or permission. When he looks away, I will grab Sofie by the hand and we will run.

Movement from Sofie draws my attention again. I must look confused or clueless, the way my head goes from the native to Sofie and back.

Sofie lands on a single bent knee. She is genuflecting like one would in church. Instead of bowing her head, she keeps her eyes focused on the central figure in the group.

I can’t see his face due to my personal attendant. My senses are all completely off; fear prevents me from thinking clearly, and the desire to run won’t allow my mind to slow down and be analytical.

We are at a complete stand-off. There is no Rosetta Stone moment where one word or expression bridges the communication gap. They do not understand us and we do not understand them.

Defeated, Sofie rises back to a standing position. Her palms face forward, down at her sides, and I can see her shoulders slump. What must be going through her mind? We all put so much hope and faith on her shoulders. Any failure does not rest with her; it belongs to our entire species.

Carefully, I grab her hand and squeeze. Whatever happens, I am here for her; we are together, and that is what is most important.

A pleasant glow comes over my body. It has been so long since I touched her, felt the warmth of her skin. My mind slows from the frantic thinking and worrying.

Without any noticeable direction or input, my confronter steps back and rejoins the group.

The colors that decorate the creature’s bodies have turned from reddish to a soft yellow. The trepidation and fear I sensed earlier is gone, replaced with curiosity.

From the center of the group, the creature I’ve been assuming is their leader steps forward. His face is blank and the two sets of arms are still.

Slowly his left eye closes, and his chin juts out slightly in Sofie’s direction.

“That’s me!” Sofie says, excited.

All of the creatures take several quick steps backwards. I feel shock and surprise, and I am oddly comfortable seeing things from their perspective.

“Let’s speak softly,” I whisper. “I think our noises scare them. What do you mean, that’s you?”

“The wink is what I was using to name myself. When I pointed at myself with my thumb, I closed my left eye,” she whispers back.

“What did you name me?” I ask softly.

“Raised eyebrows and wide open eyes,” she answers.

“What? Why did you pick that?” It makes no sense, and I feel like it is a jab at my personality.

“You think we should be doing this now?” Sofie whispers, showing an edge in her tone.

The natives have come back toward us. Their steps are cautious, and they look up and down our bodies as if trying to detect the source of the sound.

Again the leader closes his left eye and juts his chin out toward Sofie. I’m not so sure that she’s right about him recognizing her symbol.

Sofie nods in response.

With a slight turn of his head, the leader juts his chin out at one of the other creatures and makes several facial expressions. I cannot imagine trying to reproduce his actions.

Sofie looks at the second native and juts her chin out in its direction. She then makes a series of faces that seem almost comical.

The creatures respond with a flurry of movement. While shifting their weight from foot to foot, each of them bats their eyes rapidly. Except for the one who was the target of Sofie’s chin.

Without looking away from us, the leader kneels to the ground and draws in the dirt with his finger. The shape he makes is a half-circle with a diagonal line moving through it. He juts his chin at it, then at Sofie and then closes his left eye.

Have they already given her a symbol? Do Luke and Sonjia have symbols? If so, do they know about them?

Sofie is our Rosetta Stone.

She kneels to the ground and turns to jut her chin out at me. Her next chin jut aims at the ground next to her symbol.

The creature looks intently at me. A semi-circle is drawn slowly in the dirt. The ends are connected with a rough, jagged line.

Carefully writing in the sand, Sofie writes her name just above her symbol.

“Sofie,” she says quietly, as she juts her chin out at the letters.

I have an amazing memory. Still, I cannot remember what it was like to see a printed letter the first time. Something as foreign to me as hieroglyphs still
feel
familiar because I know about them.

Adults struggle to learn new languages because our brains work too hard. We try and fit new words into the vocabulary we already know. When we see a picture of an apple, the first thing that comes to mind is “apple,” even if there is something else written with the picture.

Maybe we should bring Remmie to meet the natives? Children are amazing at learning and adapting.

My name is written in the dirt, and Sofie does her chin jut toward me and softly says “Seamus.”

How do we ask a question?

There is so much we need to learn. Questions not only educate, but they express an openness to understand and communicate. If we can get both sides the ability to ask questions, we may be able to peacefully work together.

If I were mute, how would I ask a question? Shrug of the shoulders?

“Sofie, we need to figure out how to ask a question. I’m going to draw your symbol, jut my chin at you and then shrug my shoulders. You should respond by writing your name over the symbol.” I speak softly; I get the feeling that they are physically uncomfortable with our voices.

She matches my volume. “What if shrugging your shoulders is a bad word or means ‘war’ or something? Let’s go slow and think about a next step based on what we have learned.”

“Do you have a better way to learn their names? Dad always taught us to learn and use people’s names. It makes them feel more comfortable and open to conversation.”

“Trust me. As a waitress, I know all about using customer’s names. Tips were always better from the people I addressed by name. My issue is that a simple movement like a shoulder shrug could lead to our death.” Her volume is rising, and so is my sense of tension.

“Calm down. If we do it smiling and emitting positive energy, we’ll be okay. They know we don’t speak their language, and if we direct our attempts to learn at one another, they will probably be more understanding.” I lower my volume so much I worry she can’t hear me.

“Well, now I can’t think of another way. So fine.” Her smile is fake.

We turn slightly to face one another. We pass a smile between the two of us and I let relaxation and comfort take over. Sofie closes her eyes and breathes in deeply through her nose.

The natives stand still, observing our movements. So far, closed eyes and smiles are acceptable in their presence.

When Sofie opens her eyes, I can feel her calm.

My chin juts out at her and I shrug my shoulders, keeping my arms at my side and the palms of my hands open, facing forward.

Sofie smiles first.

Her left eye closes slowly and I am instantly taken by her beauty. She then bends forward and draws her symbol in the dirt and writes her name above it.

My head nods in understanding.

The process plays out a second time in reverse, with Sofie asking my name. I erase the characters for Sofie from the ground and replace them with my own. It’s a bit of a struggle. I don’t like my name in this language, neither the raised eyebrows nor the jagged line.

“Good. Let me ask for one of their names. Pay close attention in case it’s some complicated facial twitch or intricate drawing,” I instruct Sofie before turning toward the natives.

This is where the rubber meets the road: our first question to an alien species.

While I try and muster enough courage to ask, I am reminded of a conversation from third grade.

Our teacher asked us to each come up with one question to ask a stranger who had just arrived from another country. We all set to work thinking of clever questions about climate, geography and sports. There was some assumption that we were being challenged to determine where this stranger was from.

Jason was the only one who wanted to ask the stranger’s name. The teacher wanted to ask the stranger where he was from. It was all a bit of a setup, because we had a new kid coming into the class and the teacher wanted us to introduce ourselves and get to know her. Still, it makes sense.

My chin juts out at the large native in the center, and my shoulders rise in question.

I think I detect a subtle nod before he kneels to the ground and sticks out a finger. In the dirt he draws a triangle with a wavy line through the middle.

Sofie lets out a breath, but I wait for a sound. I want to hear the name spoken.