Echo (45 page)

Read Echo Online

Authors: Jack McDevitt

Tags: #Science Fiction, #General, #Adventure, #Fiction

BOOK: Echo
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“Just that we appreciate their help. I’m beginning to pass out of range.”
“Tell him you won’t be able to speak to him for a while.”
“I already have. Unfortunately, I don’t have the capability to tell him why, or how long it will take before we can resume the conversation, because I have no idea yet how these people measure time. By the way, you should be aware that it was a productive session.”
Moments later, she faded out. Turam stared at the bracelet. He looked like a guy who’d just experienced a divine visitation.
 
Seepah returned a few hours later to examine Alex again. The first thing he did was to take his pulse. He still didn’t like the result. Then he checked the leg. Finally, he produced a thermometer and waited for him to open his mouth.
Alex hesitated. Looked toward me. “You think they sterilize these things?”
“Sure,” I said.
He opened up, and Seepah inserted the device. After a minute or so, the doctor—he was clearly the local medical practitioner—produced a notebook and recorded the result. I don’t think he liked that either. They brought more food and liquids, hot and cold. And another pitcher of water.
When they were gone, Alex felt his forehead, frowned, and asked me to try. “Feels okay,” I said.
“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Alex said. “He seems worried about something.”
On her next orbit, Belle, speaking only to me, reiterated that her time with Turam had been fruitful.
“We should not waste opportunities. I should talk with him some more, or with someone, every time we can. And there’s something else: We’ve received transmissions from Audree and Robin, which I’ve downloaded to your respective links.”
 
The closest thing to an available private place was the washroom. I’d have preferred to go outside, but the image of Robin flickering on the grass might have upset the locals. So I retreated down the hall and waited until it was empty.
Robin looked good. He was sitting on his front deck, sipping lemonade, wearing a broad-brimmed hat to keep the sun off.
“Chase,”
he said,
“I just wanted you to know I miss you. Nothing here is the same without you.
“There’s not much happening. My uncle Allen will be in town tomorrow, and I’ll have to take him sightseeing. It’ll be a long day. He’s a nice guy, but he never stops talking. Always about either sports or the family. Anyhow, I’m counting the hours till you get back. Hope everything’s okay.”
It would, of course, be several days before he heard about our incident.
 
The main building housed approximately fifteen families. There were as many more scattered across the grounds in the individual homes, all of modest dimensions and purely utilitarian. Turam took me on a tour.
The compound extended over a large piece of farmland. It occupied almost a kilometer of riverfront and included two docks, a boathouse, and a waterwheel. Crops were everywhere.
The community had a manually operated printing press, ran a supply center in the main building, and they had a school. I noticed two more greenhouses in back, but they seemed underused. They were growing flowers in them. The two I’d seen originally appeared to be shut down completely.
Food was served at regular hours in a large dining hall. Apparently everyone was welcome, and almost everyone gathered—everybody who wasn’t working—for the evening meal. During the time we were there, I never walked past the dining hall during the day and saw it empty. If people weren’t eating, they were sitting around talking or playing cards. When Belle made her next pass, I grabbed a chair and sat in, with the link on so she could watch, and participate in, the conversation.
The news about the bracelet that talked spread quickly, and everybody wanted to see it. Most were skeptical, of course, especially when Belle was out of range.
See: I told you they were making it up.
There was a play area for kids out back. Alex, on his crutches, hobbled outside, found a bench, and sat down to watch. When Belle reentered the zone a few minutes later, she commented that the locals did not understand why we seemed so weak.
“It’s the gravity,” I said. “They’re used to it.”
“I wonder,” said Alex, “what the average life span is here.”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I can tell you there’ll never be a move to take over their real estate.”
“That reminds me,” said Alex. “Belle, have you asked them what happened here? What went wrong?”
“No. I’ve been reluctant. It might seem like bad manners. If I may suggest, Alex, it might be best if we wait until you and Chase have enough command of the language to put the question to them.”
Alex nodded. “Makes sense,” he said.
 
Turam and a couple of women showed up with clothes for us, shirts and leggings, made of heavy linen of a sort I’d not seen before. And socks and undergarments. They didn’t look especially comfortable, but I was grateful to be able to get cleaned up and change.
The really good news was that they had indoor plumbing and a water-purification system. They had soap, although they hadn’t figured out how to pipe in hot water. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice the shower had only one faucet until I was out of my clothes. Two buckets had been placed in a corner of the washroom for the convenience of the user. The kitchen, I learned later, kept a fire going round the clock, and always had hot water available. But even had I known, there was no way I was going to climb back into my clothes. So I had a memorable shower.
Alex could not, of course, manage a shower. When he heard about the hot water, he thought it was funny. But he was taking a chance since he would have had a problem getting washed down without my help.
Our new garments fit tolerably well although they had a dull, rumpled look even after being pressed. Alex commented that they had clearly been around the block. But we were happy to have them.
I brought hot water in and washed the clothes we’d been wearing during the crash and hung them on a line outside. They might have been a bit demonstrative for the compound, though. We were concerned that putting them back on would have amounted to rejecting the generosity of our hosts. So we stayed with the contributions.
After we were washed and dressed, we headed down to the dining room, Alex hobbling along on his crutches. Every time Belle passed over, we switched her on for eleven minutes so she could absorb as much of the conversation as possible.
Everyone was fascinated. They all wanted to talk to her and, secondarily, to us. Alex had a quick feel for languages, so he wasted no time picking up the basics. We’d already learned to say “hello” and “good-bye.” And “I’m fine.” During our first full day, we added comments like “It’s nice to meet you,” “I’m thirsty,” “It’s nice weather,” and “How did you sleep?” Alex worked out how to say “The river is beautiful in the moonlight.” And we learned to reply to questions about his neck chain and my bracelet. “Yes, they do speak but only at certain times.” I always did that with a smile, and it inevitably provoked a laugh. But by then almost everyone had heard the magic voice.
We took turns stationing ourselves in the dining room during the first few days. Turam spent a lot of time with us, doing everything he could to help us learn the language although it was clear he didn’t really understand what was going on. He had no concept of a radio, so the notion of someone speaking from a distant place was as remote to him as the possibility that the jewelry was talking.
By the end of each day, we were both tired and hurting. The day was several hours longer than we were accustomed to. As was the night. So our sleep cycle got derailed pretty quickly.
 
Belle passed on some information about Turam.
“Seepah informed me,”
she said,
“that Turam’s wife died recently from a disease that Seepah was unable to treat. He called it simply the Sickness, and said the community had been suffering from it for several years. Victims start with a fever, their skin turns yellow, heart palpitations ensue, and most are dead within two weeks. It’s become a recurring problem, and it’s one of the factors in a gradually decreasing population.”
“Are they in fact losing population?” Alex asked.
“I do not have numbers, but I suspect we can trust Seepah’s perspective.
“Turam, by the way, has no family to fall back on. Seepah says he responded to the loss by putting emotional distance between himself and his friends. He no longer hangs out in the dining room after hours. Or at least he had stopped doing that until you two came on the scene. But he’d been sitting in his room alone, or going for long, solitary walks. That’s why he happened to be nearby when you came down.”
 
We’d been there about three days when Viscenda called us into her office to ask how we were doing. Did we need anything? Was the food satisfactory? If in fact we were from another world, why had we come to Bakar? (It was their name for their home world.)
“We’re simply explorers,” Alex said.
A table stood in a corner of the room, partially shaded by a potted plant with broad leaves. Glittering in the filtered sunlight was a silvery statuette. The same figure that was depicted in the sketch in our quarters. An angel, or perhaps a goddess, with wings spread, about to take flight. With one breast uncovered. She was carrying a lantern. Viscenda’s manner suggested this was how she thought of herself.
Later that afternoon we were sitting in the dining hall with the director, and with Turam and Seepah. At Alex’s prompting, Belle put a question to them:
“We landed and tried to speak with some fishermen. Far from here. But they attacked us. Without provocation. Can you explain why that might have happened?”
Conversation was still difficult. We told Belle what to say, and she translated their answers for us. We described the entire event, the man in the robe, the staff, the guys blasting away for no apparent reason.
“They saw the lander? In the air?” asked Seepah.
“Yes. They saw it.”
They looked at one another. “The lander
floats
,” Turam said. “In the air. Even when it was coming down, it wasn’t really
falling
.”
“It’s called antigravity,” we said.
“Some would have called it magic.”
“Do you believe in magic?”
“There
are
demons. The man with the robe, you said he had a staff. What did it look like?”
“It was just a staff.”
“Was it decorated in any way?” This came from Turam.
“There was a symbol on the top.”
“Describe it.”
“An ‘X’ inside a circle.” I drew a picture.
They turned and looked at one another, nodding. I’d picked up enough of the language to catch the comment from Seepah: “I thought so.”
“I think,” said Viscenda, “that you ran into some true believers.”
Turam commented: “They’re religious fanatics. Horgans. They think the Dark Times were brought on because a lot of people weren’t living according to their theology.”
“The Horgans?”
“They’d been preaching for centuries that the final days were coming.” He made a strange noise in his throat. “Now they’ve come and gone, and the Horgans are still here. Left behind. I wonder what they make of that.”
Belle faded out of range, but we stayed where we were, trying to talk to one another without her help, relying instead on a combination of laughter and patience. We drank the local hot brews, and eventually Viscenda gave up and left, saying that she had work to do. Or something like that. I had never realized that so much communication was non-verbal. That language was a kind of refinement of information passed by other means. We discovered that, with the most limited vocabulary, a half dozen words, you could still cover a lot of ground. And eventually, Belle came back.
We asked her to get an explanation about “the Dark Times.”
When she asked for details, they all looked surprised. “Well,” said Turam, “it was, in fact, the end of the world.”

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