TITHONIUM BASE: THE PRAYER
Billy,” Jamie said softly, suppressing an urge to wipe his face, straighten his hair.
“I. . . uh, saw the light on in your office. . . .”
Some office, Jamie thought. A cubicle with flimsy partitions that’ll collapse if you lean on them.
“Do you have a minute?” Graycloud asked. His voice was soft, but Jamie heard some urgency in it.
Remembering, Jamie apologized, “I said I’d see you after dinner, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I got. . . tied up, sort of.”
Graycloud nodded minimally. “You and Mr. Trumball.” Jamie nodded back, realizing that everybody in the dome must have heard their shouting.
“So what do you want to tell me, Billy?” he asked wearily.
Shifting uneasily on his feet, Graycloud replied, “Can you come over to the comm center? It’d be easier if I show you what I’ve got so far.”
“The translation?” Jamie got up out of his chair.
“I’d like to get your reaction to it, if you’ve got a couple minutes.”
“Okay.” Jamie got to his feet slowly.
As they started across the shadowy dome, Graycloud said, “I think maybe I’m getting some sense out of the writings.”
“You are?” Despite himself, Jamie felt a tendril of excitement pulse through him.
“I think so. I might be foolin’ myself, you know, putting words in their mouths, kinda. . . .”
“Let’s see.”
Leading the way toward the comm center, Graycloud explained, “I assigned specific words to each of the symbols, and then sort of filled in to make sense of each line. Like the Egyptologists did to translate the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, back in the nineteenth century.”
Jamie felt an increased respect for the young Navaho. “You’ve been doing some research, haven’t you?”
Graycloud lowered his eyes bashfully. “Yessir. Some.”
Two women were monitoring the consoles in the communications center. Graycloud booted up an unused computer while Jamie pulled over a wheeled chair and sat beside him.
“It’s pretty rough,” Graycloud said, his fingers working the keyboard. “And like I said, I’m prob’ly putting words into their mouths, kinda. But I haven’t changed the sequence of their pictographs; each word stands in the same place as its symbol carved on the wall.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got, Billy.”
The display screen showed an image of the Martian pictographs. Then words in English began to print over it.
“The words in brackets are what I put in. The rest is straight from the symbols themselves, in the same order as they appear on the wall,” Graycloud explained.
Jamie barely heard him. He was focused on the translation as it came up on the screen.
[We are] the People. The People [live] under Father Sun. Father Sun [is] life. Father Sun [makes] the crops [grow]. Father Sun [is] Life. Father Sun [makes] the river [flow]. Father Sun [makes] the river [bring] water [to or for] the People. Father Sun [is] life. Father Sun [makes] the wind [blow]. Father Sun [makes] the clouds [bring] rain. Father Sun [gives] life [to] The People. Father Sun [is] life. The People [worship? adore?] Father Sun. Father Sun [gives] life [to] the People. Father Sun [is] life.
“The rest is pretty much the same,” Graycloud said, almost whispering. “Lots of repetition. It’s kinda like a poem, sort of.”
“It’s a prayer,” Jamie said, also in a near-whisper, his eyes still staring at the words.
“A prayer,” Graycloud echoed. Then he raised his voice slightly, breaking the spell. “Or maybe it’s just all garbage. You know, maybe I just put in words that have nothin’ to do with what the Martians really meant to say.”
“No, Billy, I don’t think so. You’ve made contact with them. You’ve touched their spirit.”
“You think so?”
More excited now, Jamie said, “You’ve got to write this up and get it published. And let Dex Trumball see it, too, before he takes off tomorrow.”
Graycloud looked embarrassed. “Dr. W, the professional journals won’t publish this. The real philologists will say it’s crap-by an amateur.”
“Then we’ll have the Foundation publish it. We’ll get it in front of the public. Get it on the Net, in the news.”
“You really think . . . ?”
Jamie patted the youngster’s shoulder. “Billy, you’re going to become famous. Your translation’s going to cause a stir, one way or the other. The more controversy, the better.”
“But they’ll say I don’t know what I’m doing! They’ll laugh at me.”
“Pioneers always get laughed at. Look at Wegener and the theory of plate tectonics. The geologists laughed him to scorn, but he turned out to be right.”
Graycloud looked down at his shoes and muttered, “I don’t know if I could deal with that, Dr. W.”
“You will, Billy.” Silently, Jamie added, You’ll have to.
His face showing clearly the conflict inside him, Graycloud asked, “If I write this up, you know, make a formal paper for publication, would you put your name on it, too?”
Jamie felt surprised. “I didn’t do any of this work, Billy.”
“I did it under your supervision. And if your name’s on the paper people’ll take it more seriously.”
“And I’ll take some of the heat,” Jamie said with a smile.
“Yeah. I guess.”
Nodding, Jamie said, “Okay, Billy. I’ll write a preface for your paper. Explain the background. We’ll include images of the pictographs and the cliff structures.”
“And you’ll put your name in as coauthor?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Thanks, Dr. W!”
We’ve got to get this to Dex before he leaves, Jamie thought. Maybe it’ll turn him around, convince him we’ve got to push ahead with our work here.
But then the reaction set in. Billy’s right. The academics will rip this translation to shreds. Nobody will pay any real attention to it. The news nets will claim it’s a desperate attempt to draw support for exploring Mars. A dying gasp. Which it is.
Graycloud broke into his dismal thoughts. “Dr. W? How long do you intend to stay here? On Mars?”
Jamie looked into the youngster’s earnest face. “As long as I can, Billy.”
Graycloud’s eyes shifted away momentarily. Then he said, “I’ll go back on the evacuation flight, then. You’ll be the resident Navaho, okay?”
Wearily, Jamie said, “Going back to Arizona?”
“New Mexico first. I’ll take a little vacation in Taos. That’s where my family lives.”
“Not on the Navaho lands?”
“Naw. My father owns an art gallery in Taos.”
Jamie almost smiled. “My grandfather had a shop on the Plaza in Santa Fe.”
“You wouldn’t recognize Taos,” Graycloud said. “Last time I was there the whole state was green as Ireland, just about. You couldn’t walk along the sidewalks in town because the bushes had grown so thick.”
“From the greenhouse climate shift,” said Jamie. “Some regions get drought, some get floods, but the southwestern desert is getting good rain.” He thought about the president of the Navaho Nation and her problems with squatters encroaching on their land.
“Yep. Just give that old desert scrub some rain and it blooms like the Garden of Eden.”
A memory popped into Jamie’s consciousness. “When Arizona was admitted to the Union, back around nineteen-twelve, one of the men appointed to the U.S. Senate gave a speech about the new state. He ended it by saying, ‘All that Arizona needs to make it heaven is water and society.’”
Graycloud grinned. “And somebody in the audience said, ‘That’s all that hell needs to make it heaven.’”
They both chuckled at the story.
“Wish we could say the same for Mars.”
“Water and society,” Graycloud echoed. “Yeah.”
For several moments neither of them said anything. Jamie looked past Graycloud, at the two communications technicians sitting at their consoles, at the humming, blinking screens, at the curved beams of the dome high above, lost in shadows. How long will we stay here? he asked himself. How long can we hold on?
He had no answers. At last he got to his feet.
“You’ve done a good job, Billy,” he said to the younger man. “I’m proud of you, son.”
Graycloud actually blushed.
Jamie left the younger man sitting there, with his translation on the display screen, and padded barefoot and alone back to his quarters.