Spheria (12 page)

She collected herself and searched the camp for a moment, finding the tracks Sa∙ma and she had left when they entered the night before. Her plan was to return the way they’d come until she reached the mountain. Then she’d try to find another way over. Since they entered a fissure when coming, she’d begin by searching for a similar anomaly on this side.

She proceeded down the trail, and it was easy going, easier than when they came to the Rift. It was actually pleasant traveling alone, and it gave her a lot of time to think about everything that had transpired. She was learning quickly, both skills and history, and she felt that she’d soon be qualified to take Sa∙ma’s place. Not that she wanted to do that anytime soon, but she’d be ready when the time came.

She came to the red river. Their bridge was still in place, but she decided not to cross it. It occurred to her that she was moving too fast, not taking in the environment around her. Since she’d made such good time, she decided to slow down to observe more. She walked a little off the trail and stopped at a peculiar looking tree. It was scraggly and had facets that twisted around and through itself like a big net. It was kind of beautiful. A typical tree nearby had produced a small indigo shard up at the top: a sensor. This type of tree produced vision sensors, which Polyans attached to their bodies to see. Other plants produced hearing and speaking versions, as well. But most plants just produced yellow dots. These were used to create joints between body parts, or segments in a rope or whip. She looked longingly at the sensor hanging above her. She did have a free sensor port, but lacked the ability to climb the tree to get this one. She tapped on the tree with her leg, but the sensor wouldn’t fall.

As if in response to her tapping, she heard a low grunting noise from a thick patch of vegetation nearby. She wondered what might make that kind of noise. Obviously some sort of creature, but one that she was unfamiliar with. Since the brush that concealed it was relatively short, it couldn’t be too dangerous. She decided to take a look. Weaving between the brambles, she proceeded slowly in the direction of the sound.

She heard it again. “Grunt, grunt, grunt.” Was something sick? Or trapped?

She got closer, and the grunting rose in pitch. It became a sort of whine. A small creature, with a long body and many short legs, sprang from the bush. It darted between her legs, carrying a yellow dot on its back.

“Hey there, slow down,” she said, turning around to watch it scurry away.

There was a loud crunch behind her, and the world flipped upside down. She was thrown backward through the air, landed on her back with a crash, and lay there stunned. When she regained her awareness, she heard the unmistakable roar of a Zalisk. Then she saw it. It charged at her again, scooping her up with its tusks, and threw her over its body. She landed hard, but upright, and dodged behind a tree as the beast turned to swing at her again. The tree exploded into a bundle of shards, and the Zalisk fixed its gaze upon her once more.

Le∙ma dashed through a low series of arched plants. She heard the Zalisk crashing through each one right behind her. Without warning, she fell into a shallow gully and sprawled onto the ground. The Zalisk loomed over her. It raised its enormous tusks high and readied to deliver a killing blow. There was no way for a Polyan to survive a Zalisk attack alone, and she knew this. She briefly thought how fleeting life is; that a beautiful day could have an utterly nightmarish ending; that her plans to change the world were all in vain. She waited for the blow to come.

Chapter 13 - Happy Hour

“When you're surrounded by people who share a passionate commitment around a common purpose, anything is possible.” - Howard Schultz

Min squinted at the rows of cells on her computer screen. The numbers all blurred together as her eyes watered. She made two fists and rubbed her eyes, trying to work out the strain. She looked at the clock on her computer, “6:12 p.m.” To her, this meant happy hour.

As if on cue, the sound of a blender and crushing ice emanated through the office. She saved her document, locked her computer, and stood up. Leaning backward in a gentle arc, she reached her arms toward the ceiling. Three of her vertebrae cracked, one by one. “Ah,” she said out loud.

Voices were beginning to get loud so she followed the commotion. A couple of folding tables had been set up in the space between the cubicles. An assortment of ethnic dishes were spread on top. Min headed toward the kitchen and pulled her tray out of the fridge. Translucent cigar shaped rolls formed an inviting circle around a bowl of sauce in the middle. She walked back to the crowd and placed it on the table.

“What is this unusual delicacy?” asked Max.

“This,” said Min, “is Goi Cuon, which means ‘salad rolls.’ One of my favorite Vietnamese appetizers. They’re stuffed with greens and shrimp, and my family’s secret concoction of herbs.”

“Hmm,” said Max as he grabbed one, raising it toward his mouth.

“Nah ah,” exclaimed Min, “you’ve got to dip it! The sauce is the key – Nuoc cham.”

“Newock who?”

“Cham! It’s a staple in the sauce world.”

Max looked at the thick yellow sauce, with what looked like seeds and red peppers floating in it. He shrugged, dipped his roll in, and bit into it.

“Yum!”

“You like?”

“Sure do. It’s like sweet, sour, and spicy all at the same time. Delish…”

His words were drowned out by the sound of the blender again, this time much closer. They turned toward the opposite table where Tim was mixing a frozen concoction. “It’s after five, time for Margaritas!” he shouted. He stopped the blender, poured four glasses, and began handing them to those who had yet to get one. Max accepted one, Min declined. “What, not your thing?” Tim asked.

“Okay, give me one,” she said.

Tim handed her the last glass, and she took a small sip.

Dana appeared from the lab entrance. “Team, thanks for staying late tonight and bringing all these wonderful dishes.” Everyone else stopped talking. “Tomorrow, assuming he’s on schedule in that flying contraption of his, will be the visit from our esteemed sponsor: Graham Neilson! I do have an ulterior motive for arranging this potluck, and that is cleaning. Let’s make this place look spotless for him.”

“Food and Margaritas,” commented Frankie. “We’re more likely to trash the place!”

“Try to remain civilized,” said Dana.

“Wait until I break out the Jello shots,” said Tim.

“Great,” said Dana. “But I don’t mean food and waste. I mean empty boxes, extraneous papers, soda cans, etc. We’re supposed to be high tech, that means ‘paperless.’ I had a plastic dumpster brought up and it’s over by the windows. Please clean out your cubicles and throw everything in there. The cleaning staff will come get it tomorrow morning. I also replenished the cleaning chemicals in the kitchen, so we’re good to go. Eat, enjoy, and clean!”

“Go team,” seconded Max, allowing his voice to trail off. Then, turning to Tim, “You were joking about those Jello shots, right?”

“No way, would I joke about alcohol?” He pulled an aluminum foil covered tray out from under the table and peeled back the top. Small plastic shot glasses lined up with jiggly solids of varying colors. Max grabbed a red one and slurped it down, digging a couple of lingering pieces out with his tongue.

“Hey, they’re for the after-party,” protested Tim.

“That’s past my bedtime. I need them now.”

“Very well, help yourself.” Tim nodded toward the tray, then added more ice to the blender.

Max grabbed a green Jello shot and walked away.

#

“So where’s the pizza?” asked Desmond.

“I have to mix it up,” answered Frankie. “I brought the next best thing, lasagna. Did you try it?”

“Not yet, I can’t get enough of these Swedish meatballs.”

“I made those,” interjected Dana. “Don’t tell anyone, I stole the recipe from Ikea.”

Desmond raised an eyebrow. “The furniture place?”

“Yeah. You never had their Swedish meatballs?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Well, now you know what you’ve been missing.”

“So,” said Frankie, “you just bought them. We were supposed to make stuff.”

“Aw, what’s the difference?”

“You told us all to make something, and you break your own rule?”

“Senior management privilege.”

“Speaking of breaking,” said Frankie, “my drone broke the other night.”

“No way,” said Desmond. “Your $1,200 drone?”

“Yeah, that one, but actually I added on a night vision camera so it was like $1,500 at the end of the day.”

“How did it break?” asked Dana. “Did it get shot down?”

Desmond jumped to conclusions. “You entered restricted air space and the feds fired their anti-aircraft missile at it?”

“Actually, that’s not far from the truth,” said Frankie. “It’s kind of a strange incident. So with the night vision, I've been doing a lot of nighttime imagery. Basically, trying to capture nocturnal animals moving about, hunting and such. So last Wednesday night, I hiked up the bluffs near West Hartford reservoir to get some added height. At the first lookout, I set up my headset and launched the drone, flying it along the cliff and then up and over the trees.”

“You don’t have to see it to fly it?” asked Dana.

“No, my visor shows the view from the camera in real time. So it’s as if I'm on the drone flying it. Pretty fun experience.”

“So did you crash it then?” asked Desmond.

“No. I flew over a clearing that was filled with people walking single file around a flat rock. I thought this was strange so lowered down for a closer look. That’s when one of them threw a stick at my drone and took out one of its props. I lost control and it crashed right onto the flat rock in their middle. The camera definitely smashed since it stopped transmitting.”

“Damn!” said Max. They hadn’t noticed him join them during the story.

“What did you do?” asked Dana.

“I snuck over to the clearing, and when I got there, which was no more than ten minutes later, the people were all gone. And my drone was lying there in pieces like it’d been smashed.”

“That’s messed up, dude,” said Desmond.

“Too bad you didn’t talk to me first,” said Max.

“Why’s that?” asked Frankie.

“Because I could’ve stopped the drone from crashing.”

“How so?”

“Well, I've been reading a great book on anti-gravity... I can’t put it down!”

“Ugh, Max,” said Desmond. “Go find another group to test out your corny jokes on.”

“I will.” Max walked away sulking.

#

“I’ve been white-water rafting,” said Jean, “but I'd never try that in a kayak.”

“It’s way more fun,” said Lee. “You against the element of water. A total rush.”

“But you can flip over and get stuck on a rock, right?” asked Rash.

“You can, but it’s unlikely. The boat is sealed, so it’s super buoyant. The biggest problem isn't getting stuck on a rock, but hitting your head on one. The guys that don’t wear helmets are the crazy ones. But the worst that could happen is a few bumps and bruises.”

“Still sounds dangerous to me,” said Rash.

“What’s the biggest rapid you'd go down?” asked Jean.

“I’ve gone over waterfalls,” answered Lee.

“Waterfalls?”

“Yeah, it’s not so bad if you know what you’re doing. You can either land flat at the bottom or go straight in nose first. Depends on how deep the bottom is.”

“You are a crazy man!” said Rash.

“Maybe. Heck, I'd consider going over Niagara Falls.”

“People have died doing that,” said Jean.

“So what is death, right? The way I see it, every single night when we go to sleep, when we’re not dreaming, when we lose complete consciousness, we are effectively dead. What’s the difference between a complete brain shutdown and death? Yet, somehow, nobody is ever afraid of going to sleep. You may not wake up and you'd never know the difference. You'd just… cease to exist. It’s always puzzled me why we humans have such difficulty accepting this possibility. Yet we experience that state every single night.”

“Whoa Lee,” said Max, arriving at the group, “that’s way too deep a discussion for a party with… Jello shots!” He waved his arms in the air as he said this. Somehow, wedged between his fingers, were four cups of Jello. He handed them around, keeping one for himself.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Ready?” said Rash. “I was born Reddy.”

That got a chuckle, and they all downed their shots.

“Hey, want to hear a joke?” asked Max.

“Sure, Max,” said Jean, humoring him.

“Well, this one ties in nicely with the whole ceasing to exist thing. So, why can’t atheists do math with exponentials?”

“I don’t know.” Rash repeated, “Why can’t atheists do math with exponentials?”

“Because they don’t believe in higher powers!”

This didn’t get a chuckle, only groans. Max left toward the tray of Jello shots, shaking his head.

#

“What do you call this?” asked Min.

“It is called fufu,” said Abina, “It is the national dish of my homeland.”

“It’s kind of sticky.”

“I should have explained to everyone how to eat it. So you take that sticky white stuff and roll it into a ball, then dip it into the broth, which is groundnut soup.”