Extremis (31 page)

Jennifer sat down and smiled, tried to send. “You. Carry. Good. News.”

Ankaht broadcast a pulse of (pleasure, congratulations, encouragement, confirmation). “Well done, Jennifer Peitchkov! Your progress is most wonderful.”

(Gratified.) “Good—and I’ll remind you again. You can just call me Jennifer.”

“Yes, I must remember this. Jennifer. As you have felt, among Arduans names are all one thought, even if they signify several things. It is strange to think of having multiple names, and that there are precise rules governing which different combinations of those names are to be used in which different circumstances. The closest equivalent in
selnarm
is that titles or ranks are appended to, yet remain separate from, names. But I will learn—Jennifer.”

“Thank you. And now—you have good news for me, don’t you?”

(Curiosity.) “Did you feel that in my
selnarm
or…?”

“I saw it in your motion, your posture, your gestures.”

“Really? This is a most excellent development, Jennifer Pei—Jennifer. And yes, I can now confirm our first reports. The male, Alessandro McGee, was not among those killed during the combat at your house.”

The first after-action report had pointed toward that conclusion, but hearing it confirmed lifted a great burden from Jennifer’s fearful heart and even her tense body. And then she discovered she was crying.

Ankaht sent, “These are what you call ‘joy-tears,’ Jennifer?”

Jen laughed through her sniffles. “Yes, tears of joy. That’s what these are.”

“They are…strange to witness, Jennifer. But I
shotan
the feeling in you that produces them. We have this feeling, too, although our tears are reserved for sorrow alone. Now, you will want to know how we are sure of this report, of your mate’s survival, lest you continue to have doubts.”

Hmm. They’re getting to know us humans pretty well now, aren’t they?
“Yes, Ankaht. How was the determination made?”

“Before the Enforcers approached your house, they had conducted a series of thermal scans from a variety of different positions and angles. When the combat was concluded, the Security that sorted through the wreckage also collected all the human remains—which were not very plentiful, it seems. Since then, forensic analysis has determined that the number of deceased humans for whom we had remains equaled the number that were detected inside the house at the outset. So, when chemical and physical analysis of all the human remains conclusively revealed that none had belonged to Alessandro McGee, we were also able to finally conclude that he hadn’t been a traceless casualty, either.”

Jennifer sighed and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Ankaht. I have sensed that this information was not—easy—for you to acquire.”

Ankaht was very still. Then: “You sensed this difficulty, Jennifer? How?”

“I’m not sure.” Jennifer opened her eyes and looked into the three staring at her; she couldn’t figure out which two to look into and wondered if the effort was rendering her cross-eyed. “I really never thought about it. I just sort of…knew.”

(Eagerness) vied with (composure) in Ankaht’s
selnarm
. “This is another excellent development, Jennifer. You are acquiring a sensitivity to that part of
selnarm
which is not strictly thought, but also an attunement to the sender’s feelings and conceptual metastructures. The closest word we have found in any of your languages to express this is the German word
gestalt
—but not in the context used by your psychologists.”

Jennifer nodded. “More a total message—sort of the way that a work of art strikes you. As a whole package, all at once.”

“Just so, Jennifer. Now I must ask you a difficult question. It is rather…sensitive, I fear. But I am duty-bound to ask it.”

“Go ahead.”

Ankaht sent (apologies, necessity). “Do you have any idea what the humans who were killed in your house were doing there?”

Damn, a fair question—but I can’t answer it.
Jennifer snapped her
selnarm
link shut, considered lying, then thought more carefully. She opened her
selnarm
again, like turning on the tap so only a thin stream trickled down. “Can you read my entire mind? All my thoughts?”

“No. If that were possible, there would have been other Arduans who—being less patient—would surely have forced open your mind and raided it for any useful information. And frankly, even for those of us who wish to make our discussions with humans consensual, why would we resort to all this mutually exhausting work to establish a
selnarm
link if we could join our minds to yours so easily?”

Jennifer nodded. “Then I must decline to answer the question you asked me about the other humans who were in my house when the Enforcers arrived. I don’t want to lie to you. And I probably don’t know anything of value. But these are my people—”

Ankaht made a jerky chopping gesture with her arm; the
selnarm
pulse that came along with it allowed Jennifer to understand that it was the Arduan’s awkward attempt to imitate a dismissive wave. “I understand, Jennifer. Although I must therefore report to the Council that you are uncooperative with our attempt to investigate those events, I am unperturbed by your desire to keep silent on the matter. Be warned, however, that some of my less sympathetic colleagues may suggest that your refusal to answer indicates you were somehow involved in facilitating the ambush on our Enforcer group.”

“Well, I can certainly answer
that
question. No, I was not involved. Not at all.”

“I already
shotan
this, Jennifer. Alas, the military commanders of the Children of Illudor will only care whether or not you answer
their
questions.”

“Sounds a lot like some human military types, too.”

Ankaht sent a pulse of wry (amusement). “Perhaps our races are not dissimilar in all ways.”

Jennifer shrugged. “No, we’re not. For instance, like us, you Arduans also evolved from the seas, didn’t you? Spent even more of your evolution there than we did, I’ll bet.”

Ankaht’s
selnarm
shut off with what felt like a snap, then quickly reopened with (apology, surprise). “Regrets, Jennifer. I had not expected so quick—or sure—an insight. Tell me: how did you determine this? You are not a scientist, are you?”

Jennifer laughed—probably the first out-loud laugh she had emitted in four months. “Me? A scientist? Oh, God, no. But as an artist, I have to see how things move. I have to, well, almost get
inside
a thing to really be able to create a piece of art that expresses it.” She smiled. “Which reminds me of a word which, I think, even beats
gestalt
as a near-synonym for
shotan
.”

“Oh? What is this word?”

“
Grok
. When you
grok
something, you know it as if you were it and it was you.”

“Yes, this is the ideal state and purpose of
shotan
. But why did we not find this word in any of your dictionaries, Jennifer?”

“Because it is from a made-up language. A long time ago, a writer used it to describe a way that certain aliens understood things.” Jennifer matched the stare of the three eyes. “I’ll bet he never thought we’d be using it today—for dealing with
real
aliens.”

“I see. But I do not understand why, even if it is a neologism, it is not in your dictionaries.”

“A neolog—? Oh, a new word. Well, that’s different. We’re always having to come up with new labels for new objects or concepts. But this word—
grok
—was part of a fictional universe. It was part of an extensive conceit.”

Ankaht struggled. “A—conceit. This is one of your words with many meanings. In this case, your
selnarm
tells me you mean it as a fictional or fantastic presupposition or story. Am I right?”

“Yes, you are. And why is the word
grok
not in dictionaries? Well, I think it was, for a while. Then people forgot it. But not all people. It still gets used in some circles, but not enough for it to earn a place in the dictionary.”

Ankaht seemed to take some time absorbing this. “I see. I hope I will
grok
this, too, one day.”

Jennifer smiled, inspected Ankaht’s “arms”: they were long, with the midpoint joint far less pronounced than a human elbow; the same was true of her “knee.” The “feet” were broader than a human’s, but not quite spatulate. They had probably been furnished with ten tentacles at one time, like the arm-ending clusters, but these digits had become even more vestigial than human toes: they were just the nub-ends of the ten cartilaginous flanges which were the framework for the Arduan “foot.”
Yep,
thought Jennifer,
marine evolutionary origins, no doubt about it.

Ankaht registered (bemusement). “I feel your assessment of our physiology. And you are correct. Ardu had more water than your Earth—almost ninety percent of its surface was oceans. They were our birth sac, and we remained in them until only 150 million years ago, or so it is thought.”

Yeah, that much water might complicate the accumulation of a good fossil record,
thought Jennifer. “I’d been guessing at your marine origins from the first moment I saw a picture of an Arduan.”

“Why?”

“Well, let’s see. You’ve got no nose, and now I’ve learned that your sense of smell is, as expected, pretty retrograde. Your ‘ears’ are tucked under those lower-cranial bony ridges—nicely protected, and they allow you to hear if you surface to breathe. But without a dish”—she tugged the loop of her ear—“to trap sound waves, it’s pretty clear this wasn’t your most important sense. And underwater, why would it be?

“Ah, but
selnarm
! Now, that’s perfect for underwater activity—sort of like cetacean echolocation/sonar, except even better. It works without any dependency on the surrounding physical medium, so the way water limits the range and clarity of both sight and sound is completely avoided. And watching the way you move, and the fact that there’s a lot of flexibility and cartilage in your body, instead of weight-bearing bone, well, it’s pretty obvious that you started out in the ocean. And stayed there for quite a while. But there’s one thing I haven’t figured out. What happens to an Arduan who is born without the power of
selnarm
?”

Ankaht (surprise, wonder). “What an interesting question.”

“Why?”

“Because it has never happened. All are born with
selnarm
. And we would never think to ask what it would mean if one of us were born without it.”

“So, as a race, you’ve never had to deal with physical disabilities?”

“Oh, no, that is not accurate. It is quite rare, but occasionally a Firstling emerges with eyes that cannot see.”

“And does their
selnarm
compensate for their lack of vision?”

Ankaht was (puzzled). “I am sorry, Jennifer. Your question is meaningless to me.”

“ ‘Meaningless?’ ”

“Yes, because there are no—” Ankaht suddenly stopped. “Jennifer, I am sorry. Now I perceive where our misunderstanding arose. I think I remember reading that your society teaches the blind how to exist by relying upon their other senses. Is this correct?”

“Yes. Don’t you do the same?”

“No, Jennifer. When a Firstling is born blind, he or she is immediately discarnated.”

Jennifer felt as though ice-cold ants were racing to and fro under her skin. “You kill your blind infants?”

“Yes. Of course. But the concept you sent me, and the word you thought, for ‘death’—
zhet
—is not what happens to a being with a many-lived soul. When a
person
passes to wait for their next incarnation, our word for that is
dest
.
Zhet
is what happens when a soulless creature ceases to exist. It is a death without reincarnation.”

“You mean, like what happens to us humans.” Jennifer grimaced: this was the crux of the two races’ differences—and their misunderstandings. She and Ankaht had had so much to achieve just in order to establish clear and effective communication, that this topic—as profound as it was—had not yet become a focal point of their conversations. Ankaht had explained some basic principles about the Arduan concept of death and reincarnation. For instance, the Arduans really did seem to believe that their souls, while awaiting rebirth, went into some cosmic holding tank that was lovingly tended by a deity they called Illudor. Ankaht herself had referred to past lives and had shared some memories of them that seemed as real and detailed as if she
had
lived them.

And who was to say it was impossible? No one would have believed in
selnarm
before the Arduans arrived, but Jennifer was far beyond such doubt: it was part of her daily experience now. So if one impossible metaphysical phenomenon were proven possible, who could say what others might be realities in the lives of the Arduans? But if they had such wonderful powers of communication and insight, then: “Why didn’t you try to find out if we—if humans—had even my kind of limited
selnarm
potential before you started shooting at us and killing us?”

Ankaht spread her lesser tentacles out in a kind of half droop (resignation). “Many of us wanted to pause and do just what you have suggested—but the choice was not ours. And there remains some confusion as to who truly fired first or detected what they thought was a warlike provocation. But either way, by the time the weapons were unleashed, it was too late. The pace of events overcame any other considerations. And you must understand that when we first started receiving your signals, we saw countless images of your war against the Bugs. Those savage images shocked us; they seemed an unabashed celebration of speciate genocide. And since we could not understand the language that gave the images context, it remained hard to believe that such triumphant bloodletting could possibly be vindicated. We sought an accompanying
selnarm
track in an attempt to make more sense of the images, but found none. And, of course, most Arduans deemed this to be further proof of humanity’s lack of (apologies) true sentience.”

Jennifer leaned back in her seat and reflected. It was sort of like what had happened as the humans of Bellerophon had formed their opinion of the invaders, but in reverse: there the problem had been too
little
communication. When the Baldies—now, the Arduans—had showed up,
they didn’t seem to be sending much in the way of discernible signals anywhere on the electromagnetic spectrum. And then, when they landed, it only got worse: no words, no understandable gestures, no body language whatsoever. The Baldies seemed to be nothing more than mute, motionless automatons that gestured, uttered (maybe) single-word instructions—and often killed those who did not obey, or who resisted. And now Jennifer had begun to enter their world, and as she did—as her sensitivity to their
selnarm
had at last blossomed—it felt like, all at once, a blindfold had come off, plugs had popped out of her ears, and she discovered herself to be in the middle of a loud ballroom with a wild, rollicking waltz in full swing. And now, just today, she had already begun to discern the whisperings of
selnarms
from the other side of her smart-wall, and in areas even farther away than that—