Confrontation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 4) (13 page)

We return to walking in silence. The quiet lets self-doubt creep in. Are we back together as a couple? Did we just transition to being friends?

If Sofie and I are not a couple, I will live out my days alone. That’s not over-dramatic teen angst. There are two other women my age, my sister and Cassandra. Obviously my sister is out—we don’t share DNA, but she’s my sister. Even if Cassandra weren’t with my brother, she would be out. If we tried to spend one night in the same hut, one of us would wake up dead.

There are another four hours before we can stop walking, so I retreat into my mind. I used to dread physical activity, but now I welcome it.

Instead of running through a list of variables and organizing knowns and unknowns, I let my mind wander. I think about people and relationships. I consider the possibility of other planets holding other types of life. I wish for a moment I had learned to play guitar.

In the past, I have used subconscious thought to solve complex problems. Most of the time I would plant a seed in my mind before going off to sleep. The rhythmic pattern of walking is similar to sleep, but I have no seeds to plant.

The meaning of life is a big topic, but I guess that is what I’m thinking about. Is survival the reason we are alive? It seems like a chicken-and-egg argument. The goal of living is to stay alive, and the goal of staying alive is to be able to live.

I used to think that my meaning for life was to help people. Now that I have helped every single human on Locus, I’m not sure that was true. Maybe what I wanted was for people to be undyingly grateful for my help.

Meaning can change and evolve with time and circumstances. Just because helping people had been the meaning in my life doesn’t mean my life is over when it is achieved. The opportunity to find a new meaning for my life lies before me.

“So here’s a wild theory,” Sofie begins. “Suppose Earth had an alien species arrive seeking refuge. Before the people who found them could understand that, they panicked and killed them.”

“That’s not a theory, that’s a fantasy,” I answer coldly.

“Good to see you’re not hung up on winning me back with kindness,” she says. Her old tone of humor is not present.

“Sorry. A theory postulates something. Like, suppose A happens because of B,” I explain. I try to teach, to soften my coldness.

Sofie huffs.

“Fine. Suppose humans are the only species to ever conceive of war. Intelligent life from other planets avoided Earth because they didn’t want to fight,” she says, laying out a theory.

“I’ve seen no evidence that the species from this planet is capable of interstellar travel,” I reply.

“Oh. My. God. If there is life on this planet and Earth, don’t you think that there is probably life on another planet somewhere? Big picture to Seamus, anybody home?” Sofie says, and she has a point on both topics.

“Now that is interesting,” I say and continue thinking about the possibility.

Stimulating conversation causes us to pick up the pace of our walking. Or is it that the path is better defined so we can walk more easily? I’m getting the feeling that we are in a space that has been manipulated.

“What if they know who or what we are and they are afraid we are here to fight them?” Sofie asks, extrapolating on her theory.

“I feel like whenever you have more than one instance of intelligent life, there is going to be the likelihood of conflict. What if it’s not war that we invented, but weapons?” I don’t want to hijack her idea, but this is an interesting thought experiment.

“But weapons have been around since the Stone Age. They were originally used for hunting, but one day a human decided to use them on another human. That was the turning point,” she counters, with a strong argument.

We walk in silence while I think on her point. The path is getting wider and more consistent. Growth along the sides feels ordered, as if it were planted here, not spread naturally.

“Name another species that possess weapons.” I finally ask.

“Well, when chimpanzees use a stick to get ants out of the ground, we call it a tool. I bet the ants would call it a weapon. If a lion uses its teeth to kill a zebra, wouldn’t the zebra consider the teeth a weapon?” she says. She really is not just a pretty face.

“How many species are extinct because humans invented weapons with the sole intent of killing them?” I’m interested in our conversation, but the changing terrain is starting to distract me.

“My dad used to love boxing. He called it the purest sport, claiming that humans had been fighting each other with their fists for thousands of years.” She trails off.

“So, what you’re saying is that it’s a combination of the two. The use of tools to kill and the willingness to kill with something other than your own physical features.” We seem to have reached common ground.

Conflict in relationships is inevitable. When two intelligent creatures think for themselves, they will have different opinions. The issue is how those conflicts are resolved.

Using weapons—a club, sword, gun or bomb—gives distance from the conflict. Being able to take a life quickly and easily eliminates the need to ask if your disagreement is worth taking a life over. You have no time to reflect.

On the other hand, if your only means of killing something is your bare hands, you’ll have repeated chances to consider the importance of a conflict. I have seen no weapons other than the ones brought by humans. Our deaths at the hands of the natives have been through direct physical contact.

My nose bangs into the back of Sofie’s head. Pain shoots through my face and I let out a growl.

“Are you okay?” Sofie turns to look at me, her eyes full of concern.

“Why did you stop?” I should have been looking where I was going, but I still blame her.

“That.” She points.

Directly in front of us is a monolith. This one is wider than the others we have found and has an etching on the side facing us. The monolith stands about five feet tall and I would estimate it to be a foot and a half wide. The etching is precise and covers a roughly square foot space in the top center.

“Would have been nice to know we were looking for this.” I let my frustration leak out. Francisco and Horst should have told us this was out here.

Sofie ignores me. “Look at the base!” she says.

At the base of the monolith is a flowerbed. There are three varieties of plants encircling the post. The inner ring consists of tall plants that are green and leafy and grow almost a foot tall. In the second ring are flowering plants that are a little shorter. The outer ring consists of a red stringy growth that I would call ground cover.

It’s a signpost. Based on the rate at which we have seen growth on this planet, the flowers around the base are cared for on a regular basis.

Sofie walks around the post and studies it closely. She spends time staring at the etching before walking to the other side. I watch her face and detect a new expression.

When she moves again, my eyes remain on the path behind her. It is very well defined and significantly wider than the path we have been walking on. I would go so far as to call it a road, something else Horst could have told us about.

“This is going to sound crazy, but I feel like I can understand this sign,” she says in awe.

“Not that crazy. You’re smart and perceptive,” I say. I believe in her intuition.

“Your side says ‘safety’ or ‘welcome’ or something like that.” She is standing opposite me, looking over the monolith.

“What does your side say?” I ask.

“‘Caution’ or ‘danger.’” Her face contorts into confusion.

I walk around the monolith to join her and inspect the etching on that side. The scientific approach would have been for each of us to view both etchings, record our thoughts and then share the results. Now I am going to be influenced by her interpretation regardless of what I think.

To be completely honest, I don’t see it. I can recognize that the two etchings are different, but I don’t see safety in one and fear in the other. The signpost could be a distance marker highlighting a measure between two spaces. It could also represent a significant location. I feel like Sofie has let her environment dictate her interpretation.

Looking at my watch and then at the sky, I realize we are overdue for our break.

“We passed a small opening a little way back. Let’s get off the trail a little and settle down for a rest,” I say while inspecting the ground underfoot.

Sofie does not respond. She is busy sketching the etching into a notebook. Her intensity and focus are absolute; she probably didn’t even hear me.

So this is what it is like to be on the outside, waiting in wonder while someone works intently. It truly makes me happy to see Sofie like this.

My joy at watching Sofie focus quickly turns to frustration. It takes forever for her to sketch one side of the monolith. When she finally moves to begin sketching the other side, I head off to make camp.

After sitting at the camp alone for longer than I expected, I return to the monolith to find Sofie trying to take a rubbing of the stone. I groan, and that distracts her, but only for a second.

I feel safe. I’m not worried about Sofie, but it takes every ounce of self-control to sit here alone in the woods by myself while she works. It feels like payback for all my time spent in labs making other people wait.

I had a restless night. While we were horizontal for almost seven hours, I only slept for maybe four. Sofie lay close to me, but there was no physical contact and we did not cuddle.

Before she fell asleep, we talked through a few things. Both of us are a little overwhelmed with the situation.

Back at the village, our mission was clinical. We’ll walk, arrive at the natives’ city, engage with them, and come home. Overall, it was a simple task to be carried out with ease.

Feeling like we are close to the city has made the enormity of our effort clear. Sofie was able to introduce her own doubt into the interpretation of the etchings. She came up with the idea that it could be a street sign, much like the ones Dad put up around our own village.

While she thought about playing Pictionary with someone who speaks a different language, I thought about computer programming. The way we translate a key press into a character appearing on the screen is taken for granted. Pressure from our finger sends an electrical pulse to a processor. Code on that processor converts the pulse into a series of ones and zeros. Another piece of code sees the series of ones and zeros and understands it as an instruction to put a character on the screen. I can’t even imagine coming up with the idea to make that work.

As we walk, I start to think more about attitude than communication. When we walk into this city, we need to be strong and confident, yet humble. I can do meek and humble—too many gym classes taught me that. Generally knowing more than any teacher in the math or science department taught me confident and arrogant. Sofie will have to lead the way on confident and humble.

When Europeans arrived in North America, they needed help from the Native Americans to survive. We are thriving, so we don’t need anything from the natives. Our goal is to connect and learn.

I could still learn from the two Earth cultures. They bridged a huge communications gap. It must break down to discreet items. Find a way to translate for one thing, then leverage and repeat that example over and over.

Food or air seems like a good place to start, but I quickly realize that they are too broad. What we can eat and what they can eat may be totally different. Our bodies likely take nourishment from the atmosphere differently than theirs. 

At a time when we should be thinking about stopping to eat, Sofie slows her pace. Today I am paying enough attention to not slam into her. I slow down as well and lift my head to see a truly amazing sight.

In front of us is a vast array of structures. Broad avenues run between buildings of varying height. Vibrant colors and shapes are painted on the walls; some of the murals span across the façade of multiple buildings.

There appear to be several different methods of construction. I see some large blocks stacked, as well as some posts and lintels. Another structure appears to be made of panels that appear to float in mid-air.

Every second of inspection reveals a new feature. I’m in sensory overload, but in a pleasant way.

“Do you smell that?” Sofie asks.

I do but I can’t describe it. There is a scent in the air that is not floral or perfume-like but is just generally nice. If I were forced to place it, I would say the smell was on the order of vanilla or cinnamon.

We continue to scan the area in awe for several minutes. There are well-tended rooftop gardens and pools full of liquid. I can’t stop noting individual details, even though I want to step back and consider the bigger picture.

“Where are they?” Sofie wonders aloud.

She is processing things faster than I am. This is art; this is culture; this is a society. Understanding it will require empathy and openness, not calculation and analysis.

Her point is not lost on me. There are no creatures walking around. Could this be a cemetery or other ceremonial place? If we enter it, will we be offending them and incur their wrath?

“Maybe we should sit and observe?” I offer.

“Yeah, and I could use something to eat,” Sofie replies.

Both of us drop our packs and slowly sit. I pull out some nuts and some carrots and absently offer a handful to Sofie. She has her own food, but takes a few anyway.

While we munch, my imagination runs wild. What if they are migratory and have several different encampments? What if we brought a virus to this planet and they have all died? What if there is a farm or factory and they are all off at work?

In the distance, I notice movement. My heart jumps and begins to race.

“Did you see that?” I say.

“What? No, I guess not,” she replies.

When the movement happens again, I point. “There.”

Watching intently, my surprise grows.

“That’s Sonjia?” Sofie isn’t sure.

A human-like figure leaves a structure and walks over to a pool of liquid. The movements are calm and purposeful. We cannot see what the figure does at the pool, but after a minute it turns and heads back to the structure.

“Let’s go,” I say and get to my feet.

Sofie no longer gets to lead. I am out in front and we walk quickly. A few times I am forced to pause in order to navigate the streets. Being surrounded by the structures distorts my sense of distance and direction.

All of the structures have openings at ground level. I consider them to be doorways, but none are covered. Windows are noticeably absent, but in addition to the painting each structure has an etching near the doorway.

I am about to pick a doorway to walk through when I notice one that is covered. A floating panel fills the space that is open on the other buildings. While I don’t have enough data points, I am going to say it is the only door in the city.

It feels like the right distance for where we saw the humanoid figure. One of these things is not like the other; it makes sense that it’s used for something different. Something like holding humans who are a threat to your race.

Sofie and I exchange a concerned look.

“Together?” she asks.

I nod in agreement and the two of us approach the door. It may not be so bad if it is locked: A clear message of ‘do not enter’ would at least be something concrete for us.

Pushing on one side of the door covering causes the entire panel to move backward. The space we enter is dark and cool. My eyes take time to adjust, but while they do, I survey the ceiling and look for clues to their building process.

Across the room is a faint glow of light. It looks like another covered doorway. Without a word of discussion, Sofie pushes past me and heads toward it.

When I step through the portal she has opened up I see the unexpected. A table holding two bottles of water and a bowl of fruit sits under a trellis. Sitting at the table talking softly are Sonjia and Luke.

“Seamus!” Sonjia declares and stands up to greet us.

We exchange greetings and hugs and words of surprise. Rescuing people was not part of our plan. I had assumed that Sonjia, Luke and David were dead.

Seeing the stump at the end of Luke’s arm tempers my joy.

“We have your hand,” I offer lamely.

“Uh, thanks? I’m pretty sure it’s a little late to do any good,” Luke answers.

“Did you see David inside?” Sonjia asks.

“No! Is he really here?” Sofie can’t believe we missed him.

“He is, but he’s pretty banged up. I think his ribs are broken and he probably has some internal bleeding. He’s running a fever, but occasionally wakes up and we get fluids in him,” Sonjia explains.

“I was with him when he got injured. He killed one of them.” I don’t clarify the order of events. I’m sure we will have time to discuss things in more detail.

“Why don’t you sit and have something to eat while we talk? You both look tired and hungry.” Luke offers Sofie a rough bench to sit on.

“Did they cut off your hand?” Sofie asks timidly.

“Nope, I’m just an idiot,” Luke says, and starts his story. “We were walking along through the jungle and everything was great. After a while we got to a place that looked like something. You know, like it was built and not natural.”

Sonjia does not sit, but walks around the trellis, picking fruits and berries. It feels like we are visiting old friends at their country home.

“I know the feeling,” I say as I look at our surroundings.

“Anyway, there was this stream of water that seemed really out of place. While I was inspecting, it I tripped on my own foot and stumbled. My hand instinctively went out to catch my fall and it passed through the water and was severed instantly. The wound was cauterized immediately, but the pain was intense.” He rubs his hand over the stump.

“He went into shock and I sat with him for a while until he passed out and I fell asleep. When I woke up, a creature was carrying me and another one had Luke. Eventually we wound up here,” Sonjia says, finishing their tale.

“When did David arrive?” I ask.

“Maybe a day or two ago?” Luke offers.

“It’s hard to keep track of cycles. We sleep when we’re tired, and when we’re not, we just sit around here wondering what to do,” Sonjia explains.

“Are you free to leave?” I ask. They don’t seem to be restricted.

“That’s where things get tricky.” Luke smiles wryly.

“After we had been here a while, we got brave enough to try. We walked out the door and down the street. None of them were around, so no one tried to stop us. One of the streets led off into the jungle, so we followed that one,” Sonjia says.

“I don’t know if they took it or it got damaged when I lost my hand, but the containment field pack is gone. We didn’t feel any radiation effects here in the city, so I thought we could handle it for the walk back to our village,” Luke says, and shakes his head.

“He started to feel it first. Soon I was puking too, and I would say that we weren’t more than a couple of hours into the jungle. We decided to come back to the city, and we’ve been here since,” Sonjia finishes.

“Do you feel the radiation in the streets?” I want to know more.

“No. We’ve explored a good chunk of this city and never felt anything. Oddly enough, we almost never see any creatures either,” Luke explains.

“So they have a radiation shield that covers the whole city, but they don’t seem to live in the city. Do you think they put the shield up just for you?” I have no idea how he would know this, but I feel like I have to ask.

“I don’t feel like they put this up; I feel like it’s always been here,” Sonjia says.

“Do you think it’s possible that you, or we, are their pets? This is, like, a human habitat and they just watch us and think ‘How cute’?” Sofie asks. She blows my mind.