Damocles, page 25
“You see, Meg and the rest of the Urfers have a complex and nuanced system of communication. I assure you, they are very attuned to the social dynamics going on around them, with or without a full Cartar vocabulary.” His eyes flitted to the screen where he saw text boxes filling as her program recorded his words. “They are also a very private people who prefer a chance to compose their responses rather than blurting. Under the circumstances, you can appreciate their desire to be understood as much as possible.”
“So you’re saying their responses to date have been carefully rehearsed? They don’t engage in spontaneity?”
Loul laughed in spite of himself. “You might want to ask your cameraman that question. Bet he didn’t see that slap coming. And you should see them in the rain. They love the rain.”
“Tell me.”
Loul considered the man before him, this legend of underground broadcasting. With two softly spoken words he transformed from a polished, mythical Internet icon and infamous threat to the classified secrets of the Cartar Space Administration into just another curious nerd, with the same open-mouthed wonder of Po and needling curiosity of Hark. He didn’t frame himself in front of the camera and his microphone hung forgotten in his fist. Loul saw he had made eye contact with Meg, who stared back at him with a soft, closed-mouth smile, her body turned toward him. Loul knew well the effect of that posture.
“They’re beautiful. They throw themselves into the water, fly across it like waterbirds. The rocks break their skin but they don’t seem to care.”
The Searcher’s voice was a whisper. “Their skin looks like silk.”
“It feels even better. And it heals really fast. But the suns bother it if they stay out too long. Their skin turns red and looks sore and they’re careful to keep covered.”
The Searcher’s lips moved but no sound came out for several seconds, like he was having a silent conversation with himself. He nodded and then spoke a little louder. “That’s why they came during the Purpling.”
“What?”
Whatever trance Meg’s attention had cast over the reporter evaporated, and he pushed his knuckles down into the table. The camera moved into position, needing to adjust as Meg pulled back. With her keen attention to communication, Loul didn’t doubt that she saw the shift.
“The Purpling. Surely you haven’t forgotten. Come, come Mr. Pell. You can’t expect the people of Didet to believe that even at this momentous occasion you could forget the event.”
“Oh shit.” Loul automatically looked up through the ceiling, really noticing for the first time the rosy tone of the late Fa-pale. “Oh shit.”
“Dude.” Hark and Po spoke as one. Even Reno Dado looked shocked.
“I…I didn’t even…with all the excitement, I’ve totally lost track of time.”
“Time, Mr. Pell?” The Searcher leaned toward him, making room for the camera arm to follow his path. “We’re not talking about working through lunch break. We’re talking about the end of the Fa Decade, about a planetary event that happens once every generation.”
Hark leaned in and hissed. “We’re talking about the barbecue. Your parents are having like a hundred people over. We’re all packed to head out there. You forgot?”
Loul could only look around him, open-mouthed and speechless. He had forgotten. Not only had he forgotten, but judging from the conversations at the landing site, he’d bet most of the ground crews had forgotten as well. He could feel that flicker of terror flame up in his chest once again that somehow the Urfers had hypnotized them all, that they had a master plan. How else could an entire work site of people forget that within just a few shifts all the suns of Didet would drop below the horizon? Even Fa, the Ever Present Sun. It only happened once every eleven or twelve Red Years, maybe half a dozen times in anyone’s lifetime. Everything came to a stop at the Purpling. Everyone went home, everyone. As the Purpling moved over the planet, every family, every city, every country had their traditions and festivals and celebrations. Nobody forgot the Purpling. Nobody. Ever. Until now.
The Searcher’s tone sounded sharp and predatory, a tone that used to thrill Loul when he watched the man on his program. Now it made Loul’s teeth itch to clamp shut and grind. “Let’s talk about that ship. It can’t be a coincidence that they’ve come to us at our most vulnerable.”
Without him noticing it, Meg had slid her hand beneath the table. She now gripped his thigh, her long fingers nearly spanning the width of his leg, her fingers pressing into his flesh. Her free hand moved over the screen but her eyes never left The Searcher.
“Meg talk.” Her fingers flew among the text boxes. “This is who?”
“I am The Searcher.” He tilted the microphone toward her and Loul saw the corners of her mouth twist up. It was a look he’d seen before, a look she’d worn when approached by Baddo. “I’d like to ask you some questions, Meg.”
Loul started to translate but Meg interrupted him. “Yes. Okay. Meg talk…” She turned to Loul. “Loul talk this. This. This is who? Talk this.”
“You can talk to me.” The Searcher jabbed the microphone in closer and Meg held her slender wrist up to stop it from coming too close. She raised her gaze to the standing reporter and Loul thought you didn’t have to be psychic—or Urfer—to understand her meaning. If he kept poking that microphone at her face, she was going to give it the same treatment she had given the camera.
Loul tapped his knuckles. “She just wants your name. Names are important when you don’t have a lot of vocabulary. It’s standard practice at the landing site to make sure both sides can pronounce the names. It’s just…polite.” He turned as much as he could to face Meg, purposely giving his shoulder to the camera, and carefully enunciated the words.
“The Searcher. The. Search. Er.”
Meg mouthed along with him several times before attempting the sounds herself. The syllables came out breathy, the harder sounds impossible for her slender throat to make. Finally she came out with something sounding more like Hatador, and Loul gave her a yes.
“Close enough.”
“Okay,” Meg looked back to The Searcher. “Meg talk Hatador. Meg need/want Hatador talk…” She pumped her hand palm down over the table.
“She’d like you to lower your voice. Her hearing is very sensitive.”
The Searcher spared the crowded social center a skeptical glance and then nodded. “All right, Mr. Pell. Meg. I’ll keep my voice low but the questions remain the same. Meg, why are you here?”
Meg cocked her head as the translation played out in her ear. “Meg here. Loul take Meg to see Didet. To see Dideto, Loul Dideto.” She smiled at Loul’s friends. “Is good/okay, very good/okay in Didet. Very…” She raised her hands above and before her, the long fingers waving like river reeds from her slender palms as she smiled up at them. “Very good/okay.”
“This is very different from the landing site,” Loul said. “Obviously there we’re outside; it’s not very crowded. The music, the people, the vendors—she seems to be really enjoying—”
“You’re kidding me, right?” The Searcher scowled at Loul. “That evasion crap may work with the morons at the Space Administration but we both know that’s not an answer. Meg, I know you know what I am asking you. Why are the Urfers here on Didet?”
Loul hoped she wouldn’t try to play coy. Meg could be incredibly charming but The Searcher wasn’t going to give himself over to her thrall. Loul didn’t doubt that his agenda was exactly the opposite of Loul’s. The Searcher wanted the news to be bad. He wanted to be known as the man who discovered the Urfers had malicious intent. Even if it meant the enslavement of the entire planet, Loul knew The Searcher would revel in being the man who uncovered the truth. He was probably already prerecording messages for the rebellion he no doubt planned on heading up. Loul felt his stomach twist as he realized just how well he knew the agenda of the man before him.
Meg remained still for a long moment, her eyes on the reporter. The camera whirled in closer and it seemed to Loul she was allowing it to set up the shot before she answered.
“Urfers here to see.”
“To see what?”
“To see all. To see this. To learn.”
“Why?”
Meg’s head snapped up at the question like she’d been surprised. “Why?”
“Yes,” The Searcher asked, his voice hard and low. “Why? Why do you want to see?”
She turned to Loul as if he could explain this to her. Loul said nothing, just urged her to answer with his eyes. Her eyes narrowed briefly before facing her interrogator again.
“Urfers need/want to see. Need/want to learn. Very need/want.”
The Searcher growled low in his throat. “What do the Urfers need/want to learn?”
She held her hands out wide. “Much. All. Very all. Meg talk Hatador question.” She leaned forward on her elbows, her thin arms breaking into the light screen, her bony shoulder carriage riding up as she craned her long neck up at The Searcher. “Dideto not need/want to see? Hatador not need/want? Why Hatador has this?” She flicked the microphone with a fingertip so quickly The Searcher jumped back from the table. Meg was on the offensive.
She leaped up like a snake shooting from the grass, her long fingers capturing the camera orb. This time she didn’t smack it away. Instead, she grabbed the orb, her fingers somehow finding purchase on the metal, and pulled the orb close. Loul could see the muscles in her arms bunching as she fought with the operator to draw the camera close to her face. She didn’t look into the lens. She pulled it in close to The Searcher, turning it so it stared into his face.
“Why Hatador has this? To see. To learn. Yes? Yes?”
“Yes.” His face flushed deep red. “Yes. To learn the truth. To see the truth and tell it to the world. The truth you still haven’t given us!”
Meg tossed the camera away from her grip and this time Loul was certain the camera operator fell over. The camera arm swung wildly up over the back of the booth as The Searcher banged his fists against the table.
“The people of Didet deserve the truth.” He yelled into his microphone. “There are ships amassing in orbit over our planet. You have made inroads in our culture. It’s a fact that you’ve interfered with communication all over the country as you raid our databases for information, so don’t tell me that this is just some sightseeing trip to the country! Tell me the truth!”
Everyone jumped when Meg slammed her hands down flat on the table. For just a second, Loul thought she might strike out at The Searcher, smacking him like she’d smacked the camera. Instead, she blew out a loud breath and folded herself back down onto the seat and turned to Loul.
“Talk this.”
“What?”
“This.” She waved her hand over the text boxes. “Talk this. Talk this Hatador say.”
Without a chance to catch himself, Loul barked out a laugh. It was the wrong reaction, he knew, but he couldn’t stop himself. One laugh led to another, and in no time he was reduced to loud, huffing snorts. Hark and Reno Dado sat frozen, hands over mouths, Po looked pale enough to faint, and The Searcher looked within an inch of punching Meg in the face. Only Meg seemed undisturbed by Loul’s reaction. Her eyes widened but she smiled, an easy smile, the smile she showed him a lot. She’d told him before that she liked his laugh. Apparently she liked it even when it was completely out of place.
“What the hell is so funny, Pell?”
Loul clenched his teeth, trying to rein in his nervous laughter before answering. “I’m sorry but could you repeat the question?” Po snorted out a laugh, followed by Hark. Reno Dado kept her hand over her mouth but Loul could see her smiling. “Maybe I didn’t make this clear earlier. The Urfers don’t actually speak Cartar. We’re lucky to distinguish the difference between edible foodstuffs and pants. I appreciate the fact that you’ve got a show to produce, but if you want this to make any sense at all, you’re going to want to keep the grandstanding to a minimum. It’s wasted here.”
Loul and his friends may have been amused but The Searcher most definitely was not. He leaned in close to Meg and shouted. “How many Urfers are coming?” Loul shot his arm out to hold the man back but Meg’s light touch stopped him.
“One.”
“Bullshit! How many Urfer ships are out there? How many are coming to Didet?”
“One.”
The Searcher’s face turned redder than his shirt. “How many Urfers are on the ship that is orbiting the planet? How many soldiers are you bringing? If you think I’m going to turn my world over to you and your goon squads, you can think again! I want an answer. You tell me! You tell the people of Cartar, of the world, how many Urfers are on that ship?”
The louder he yelled, the stiller Meg grew. She waited until he finished his last tirade to wipe the globs of spit off her cheeks with delicate fingertips. Making a show of drying her hands on her shirt and then folding them before her, she spoke in a soft, breath-filled tone.
“One.”
The Searcher punched the table and pushed back. “This is useless. She’s playing with us. They’re all playing with us. Pell, you listen to me. You’re going to go down in history as the man who let these monsters onto our planet. You understand that? Your name, your family’s name will forever be associated with the ruin of Didet. Are you prepared for that?”
Loul swallowed loudly. It seemed Meg wasn’t the only one with the ability to cut right to the core of Loul’s thoughts. That was an unpleasant realization. He tried and failed to find the words to defend himself. Surprising everyone, Po broke in.
“Maybe she’s telling the truth.” Everyone turned to Po, who looked entirely comfortable with the attention. The Searcher scowled at him with a look that said such an idea was beyond possibility, but Po ignored him. “Meg said the Urfers want to see. They want to learn. Isn’t that the underlying premise of, like, eighty percent of the Magagan comics? The urge for scientists to explore and discover? I mean, they flew through space! Space! They didn’t just build some crappy telecom satellites and call it a day. They’re like…they’re like…maybe they’re like the Sea Gods of the Skies. Did you ever think that?”
Po slid the scrapbook closer to Meg. Her eyes watched his fingers as he flipped through the pages. “Here.” He pointed to a Magagan image that bore the wear and tear of frequent viewing. It was one of the older images in the book, cut from a classic edition of the Evanestas series where the reptilian Evanesta aliens invade Didet and spawn planetwide mayhem. Even non–comic fans like Reno Dado were familiar with the series since it had been the basis for multiple TV, Internet, and theater movies. The image Po pointed to showed a heavily armored Evanesta bracing itself on its spiked tail to draw back a whipping cane over a bent and bloody Dideto child. All around the alien, other Dideto children crouched cowering, locked together with thick chains.
Meg’s eyes narrowed at the image. “This?”
“Do you really think she’s going to tell you if that’s what they have planned?” The Searcher spit on the ground. “You said it yourself. They’re not stupid. They’re not going to give us any advance warning.”
Loul looked up at him. “You mean like sending a landing party to build a language?”
“If that’s what they’re here for. If you believe her.”
“I believe Meg.”
Meg must have understood the words because she turned to him and smiled. Then she pointed to the comic book picture. “This? Loul talk this?”
Loul didn’t want to explain it to her. As much as he really desperately didn’t want this to be the fate of Didet, even more he didn’t want Meg to think anyone considered the Urfers capable of such dramatic violence. Face-to-face with Meg, a real alien who was no more reptilian than Reno Dado, the whole scrapbook concept embarrassed him.
“Some Dideto”—he waved his knuckles in the direction of the scowling reporter—“think…um, have thoughts…that this is why Urfers are here. Urfers do this.”
“This?” She pointed to the whip. “To children? Why Urfers do this?”
The Searcher leaned in again. “For world domination.”
Meg squinted at Loul. “Loul thoughts this?”
“No.”
“Po? Po thoughts this?”
Po’s mouth hung slack when Meg turned to him. “Not anymore.”
“Hatador thoughts this. Yes, Hatador thoughts Urfers have not good/bad to children.”
“Not just kids, sweetheart.” The Searcher lined himself up for one of his classic confrontation shots. “I think you have plans for all Dideto. I think you’re in collusion with the Cartar Administration, letting them think they can make deals with you. Trade technology for a higher ranking when you colonize the planet. You’ve done your little mind tricks on them, convincing them to sell out their entire race for bigger scraps of food and nicer cages to live in.”
Reno Dado banged her fists on the table. “Do you even hear yourself? She’s sitting right here. They’ve been here for, what, a week? Has anyone been hurt? Has there been even a single gunshot? I saw the footage. We’re the ones with weapons trained on them. We’re the ones with the army assembled. There are five of them. Why does everyone think that Didet is the center of the universe? What the hell are they going to get colonizing us? Dust?”
“They’re going to get a planet full of free submissive slave labor!” He slammed a photograph onto the table. “If they’re not invading, why are there ships amassing in orbit? Why has this image been redacted from national weather imaging? Why is the administration hiding the truth? Answer me, Meg.”
Meg pulled the photo up from beneath the light screen. Loul heard her breathe out a quiet word and she dropped the picture. Her fingers moved through the text boxes, whipping through the database until a photograph appeared on screen. It was another Urfer in a stiff fabric overshirt staring unsmiling at the camera. This Urfer had black hair and black eyes but its skin was somewhat paler than Agnar’s, the Urfers’ leader.
