At first, EUe worried that he'd set himself an impossible task. It was a miracle that he'd been able to teach the vessel as much as he already had. Introducing the concepts and terms he would need to ask the wall truly substantial questions meant having to convey aspects of physical experience.
It probably was going to be difficult and damnably frustrating, but what else could he do?
He had to try.
But before that, he had to eat!
Taking a break to go back to camp and have dinner turned out to be just what he needed to rekindle some of EUe's inner fire. One thing led to another, and he'd ended up in a good, old-fashioned science talk with his newfound colleagues.
"So," tlE-la asked, "what's already on the table?"
EUe combed through his notes once more. He, tlE-la, lU-twO, and several others—kweU-kE, zEa-en, and hU-en-twa—sat on the sofa built into the carpeted walls of the depression at the center of EUe's nest. Everyone had bottles of cool nectar in hand, fresh from the tankard outside.
"The wall groups sound-based communions with heat, cooling, and motion," EUe explained.
"I suppose that means trying to teach it to recognize sounds using communions anchored in sound-related lEs isn't likely to work," hU-en-twa said.
"That's what I was thinking," EUe said.
"We already know the Impactor is capable of distinguishing ensouled matter from matter disconnected from the lEs of life," lU-twO said. "Maybe I'm just a superstitious old feather, but, from what you've told us EUe, I've got a gizzard feeling that the Impactor can recognize sound."
EUe had shared with the group many of the things the Impactor's interior had already been observed doing—like extruding or retracting all those geometric forms—and head pointed out that all of them created sounds, and lots of sounds, at that.
That was promising, right?
"Is that assumption really merited, though?" kweU-kE asked. "We are talking about an alien lifeform."
"Not-Lifeforms," EUe said, with a swaggering whistle and a dab of tongue.
kweU-kE rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."
tlE-la tapped a claw on the carpeted floor. "The problem is getting it to associate sounds that you make with the symbol language you've been using to communicate with it so far."
zEa-en spoke up. "Building off what lU-twO said, I think it's self-evident at this point that the Impactor is aware of EUe's presence."
EUe nodded in agreement. "Not only has it sent waves of symbols following after me whenever I so much as stepped toward the exit hole to leave, there'd be a persistent rippling effect on patches of the ground beside me whenever I was consulting my notes, or even so much as eating. It was like the Impactor was peering over my shoulder to eavesdrop on me."
"Ever since tlE-la told us about your explanation of not-life," hU-en-twa said, "I've been reading up on the literature." He turned to EUe.
"Lemme guess," EUe said. "Eka-yU-yU hEe's book?"
"No, his son's," hU-en-twa replied, with a wave of his hand. "Anyhow," he sipped from his glass, "the behaviors you've described so far fit with what theory predicts not-life to do. Corporeal beings like us process external stimuli by using our bodies to perceive physical phenomena like light, sound, touch, or smell. But not-life? It wouldn't have conventional physical structures like nerves or eyes. Instead, a not-life entity would, in all likelihood, perceive their environment through not-light directly."
"Yeah," EUe said. "Where we see the world overlaid with patches and networks of not-light, not-life would probably see just the not-light, and nothing else. Though…" he paused for a moment. "It's conceivable that they could have evolved mechanisms for using not-light to detect physical phenomena."
hU-en-twa nodded in agreement. "Yeah. You're right, they absolutely could."
The conversation went on for a while longer, theories getting tossed left and right, giving off that curious mix of progress and going in circles that characterized healthy research. Only in the middle of it did EUe realize how much he'd missed that. He loved the process of discovery, and the environment that supported it. He thrived in that setting; discussing problems with others became its own reward. Caught up in the midst of things, he stopped being a kwekek, he stopped being a Gatherer—he even stopped being fucking depressed; all of that melted away, until he was just another voice in the room, no better or worse than anyone else; just another dreamer, learning and sharing.
At the end, tlE-la made a suggestion that rocked EUe to his core.
"I think you're trying too hard," she said.
"What?"
"Stick with the basics, and see how far they can take you. We've talked about using sonic communions to show the Impactor how to recognize sound. Why not try that?" tlE-la pushed her spectacles up her beak. "Amplify your words, and then, as you speak them, direct them at a single spot on the wall."
"You think the Impactor will be able to make the connection?" lU-twO asked.
"It's certainly smart enough to do so," she replied. "It hasn't shown him any malice so far." She turned to EUe. "EUe, it's giving you the leeway to experiment, so… experiment!"
"Alright," lU-twO said, "I'm getting tired." Flicking out his tongue with satisfaction, he set his empty nectar glass down on the depression's carpeted step. "I'm gonna to call it a night."
"Me too," hU-en-twa said.
EUe stood up and looked over the group. "Thank you, all of you. This really helped."
"What," zEa-en asked, sarcastically lifting a single wing, "you gonna make some kinda big announcement?"
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
EUe whistled excitedly. "Sure, why not?" He nodded. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time!"
zEa-en held his hands to his sides. "That's it?"
"That's it." EUe nodded. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he added, turning to face the door, "I need to get back to work! These ideas aren't going to put themselves into action, now, are they?"
"Don't push yourself too hard," tlE-la said. "You might regret it."
"Thanks for the concern, but I'm used to it by now."
Grabbing his nectariat—its phials fully refilled—EUe flew up out of the aerial door, eager to get back to work.
And to his surprise, he found himself wishing these explorations would never end.
— — —
EUe paced back and forth within the Impactor, steeling himself for what was to come. He'd decided in advance which communions to pair with the words he intended to teach, and had double checked their not-light to make sure they wouldn't react badly with the networks constantly abuzz in the Impactor's walls.
He'd chosen a helical weave, rendered in a handful of ribbons that corkscrewed between himself and the wall.
All that remained was to dare and do.
Clearing his throat, he invoked the communion and spoke.
"One two three four five."
There was some triangular rippling at the spot on the wall at the other end of the web, but wasn't anywhere near as pronounced as the ripples the wall had made in response to having firebolts launched at it.
Was the Impactor being reluctant? Confused?
He shook his head and tried again. He intensified the communion this time around, making the web a little louder.
"One two three four five," he said.
Curiously, the ripples that spread across the wall were even weaker than before.
He stomped his foot, tail feathers twitching. "Please figure it out," he muttered. "You can do it. C'mon."
He tried a third time.
"One two three four five."
The room filled with sound—a hollow, metallic echo; a blur in sonic form.
EUe's neck feathers bristled. His pulse quickened.
"One two three four five," he said, only this time, without a communion to accentuate it.
He waited, arms trembling and fists clenched.
C'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon c'—
—A metallic, inebriated sound shimmered through the air.
"Wun to vree vor vive."
It seemed far away, as if it had crossed through water.
EUe raised his fists. "Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes!" He leapt, and stayed there, hovering mid-air.
"One two three four five!"
"One two three four five," the vessel said, far clearer than before.
EUe made an excited "Woo!" and the Impactor woo-ed right back at him.
With his heart at a happy purr, EUe landed and quaffed a phial of nectar in celebration. Then, lowering his head, he crossed his fingers and folded his wings around the front of his body and took a moment to pray, under his breath, in thanksgiving to the Gods, though he had to stop before he was done, because the Impactor started yelling seemingly random numbers, the way a child might call out toys they wanted at the store.
"Okay, okay," EUe said. "I hear you."
He flitted his wings and rolled his shoulders, his determination renewed.
This might actually work.
To make sure the vessel understood, EUe said a few words: "EUe, sky, sun, life, luck, happiness, health."
"EUe, sky, sun, life, luck, happiness, health," the vessel repeated.
The Gatherer flicked his wing feathers.
"Now, for the moment of truth."
He was getting a lot of those lately, wasn't he?
EUe walked up to the wall. As before, protrusions reached out to greet him, and EUe gently slid his hand along them as he started inscribing every symbol he and the impactor had been using to communicate so far.
Every time he carved a symbol, both before and immediately after, he said the corresponding word loud and clear, and then waited for the vessel to respond in kind before he moved on to the next. He did numbers first, covering the twelve digits—zero through eleven. He even quizzed the wall to check for understanding, drawing the symbols in place and then waiting for a response while keeping the tip of his claw pressed against the silvery surface:
| | |
"Three," the vessel said.
Too excited to celebrate, EUe moved on to the operations and relations. "lU-twO" was "plus". "E" was "equals". "O" was "true"; "◊" was "false". Going over the truth tables again—drawing them out, like he did before—then established logic: "and", "not", "or", "if", and "then". Several times during the lesson, the Impactor voiced its frustration, setting its walls aquiver with irregular ripples and churning geometry. Because it didn't believe in the lEs that justified assigning particular sounds to certain abstract concepts, the Impactor was probably irritated by the use of seemingly arbitrary sounds for particular words. It brought to mind EUe's memory of the single most confusing class he'd ever taken, where the lecturer had insisted that numbers were "meaningless fabrications".
He could hear that doodlebrain's ranting even now:
The correct way to count two herds of gU-lUte is to show that every gU in one herd can be paired to a gU in the other herd, without any unpaired gUs left over. But then, some idiot came along and said, "No, the herds are the same size only if they have the same 'number' of gUs!" Well, that bird can lick it! They knew nothing! NOTHING!!
EUe dropped the class after the third lecture.
He wondered if the Impactor might have had an easier time with it.
After one particularly ripply outburst from the alien machine—made in response to the explanation that the word "is" was another way of saying "equals"—EUe found himself chuckling at the Impactor's frustration.
"I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to suck it up. It hasn't been easy for me, either!"
Gentle ripples spread across the walls in response.
Once EUe felt he'd covered enough math and logic, he decided to move on to more abstract concepts.
This was where things were going to get tricky.
He figured it was about time for him to formally introduce himself to the wall.
After a moment's hesitation—exacerbated by the overeager Impactor's attempts to reach out and wrap its polyhedral tendrils around him—EUe sunk his right arm into the wall. It went in deep, deeper than he'd thought it would. The wall moved by sliding sections of itself in and out, and their size and shape could be anything from cubic prisms wider than his head to stiff, silver threads as thin as a telel-Ula's hairs. Despite that, the wall's embrace was surprisingly gentle. The material deformed to fit the contours of EUe's arm. It didn't hurt, but it was definitely uncomfortable, the pressure being quite intense.
Overall, it was like having your arm down a drain that was extremely eager to meet the strange new limb you had inserted into its domain.
EUe said his name aloud, while patting his spare hand on his chest.
The Impactor tightened its grip on him ever so slightly. "EUe."
EUe had to push off the wall with his feet to pry himself free. His wings were all that kept him from slamming back-first onto the floor behind him as his arm popped free.
The Impactor became quite agitated. It shouted his name, as if from a rooftop, and over and over again "EUe!" it yelled. "EUe EUe EUe EUe EUe EUe EUe EUe—"
EUe steadied himself midair and gently hovered back to the floor. "—It's alright," he said, "I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere."
He walked up to the wall, ready to ask the Impactor what—if any—names it had for itself, only to stop mid-stride and hiss.
"Shit, I forgot questions!"
Fortunately, if there was one thing math was useful for, it was for asking questions!
Approaching the wall, and batting off the Impactor's embrace with a (gentle) nudge from the scaly backside of his hand, EUe inscribed a mathematical question—one plus one—on the silvery surface with his claw
| lU-twO | E
"Question," he said, loud and clear. He filled in the answer next, while saying the same:
| lU-twO | E – |
"Answer."
One plus one equals two.
He then did this with a couple other problems, only for the wall to reach out and stop him from inscribing the third question-answer pair.
"Question question," the vessel said.
A question about a question?
No, EUe thought, I think it wants to ask me a question.
It was getting impatient.
"Me, too, buddy," EUe nodded, "me too." Pushing himself up with his ankles, he said, "Ask question" in a strong, clear voice.
The wall rippled with frustration.
EUe decided to clarify, using "false" to mean "wrong". "Question question equals false. Ask question equals true."
"Ask question EUe," the Impactor said. "Ask question EUe. Ask question EUe. Ask—"
"—I wish I could, but we need to do more."
The wall rippled with frustration.
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