GROUND / CH. 2: SIGNALS

GROUND

“Thank you, Aza. You saved my life, I'm sure,” Jakav said, later that evening. Jakav wasn't quite sure how, but somehow they'd ended up sitting next to each other, right at edge of the feast.

“You saved mine several times, I think. You're fast Jakav.”

“I told you. Changing is a survival tool, but so is not changing.”

“I'm thinking, Jakav,” she smiled at him, “that if you wanted to you could probably trap me right now, as fast as you did those predators.”

“Do you need trapping?” he asked, confused.

“Depends what long term plans you have.”

“I think I must be missing your meaning.”

“Have you ever heard people talk about how being close to death makes people feel alive?”

“Yes.”

“And helps them decide on priorities?”

“Yes, I've heard that.”

“So, you're unusual.”

“So you keep telling me, but you normally call me other names too.”

“Unusual kept me alive today. You'd killed that pred before I could even move my blade. I've decided unusual is good, very good, worth keeping around, worth listening to.”

“Aza....” he wasn't sure where this conversation was going but it sounded like she was saying she'd like to be more than just a friend. But how did you check that? He could hardly ask her if she was suggesting he ought to propose. Could he?

“Yes.” She said, as though she was answering a question. He caught the scent of her breath and he savoured it. She'd always made his skin want to thin, and tonight, her feminine mix-enzymes seemed stronger than ever.

“What my mum said,” he paused for breath,

“It got me thinking, yes,” Aza said.

“Err, which bit?”

“Survival of the species, genetics, love. My mother suggesting your mother mix. Your dad telling me he knew I found the 'tender expressions' bit funny.”

“He was right?”

“Of course he was. So was your mother. Have you noticed how often we argue?”

“Yes.”

“Have you noticed what we argue about?” she asked.

“Pretty much everything, it seems.”

“Analyse it better. Do we argue about food?”

“No.”

“Drink?”

“No.”

“Colours? Flowers and other decorations? What makes a nice house?”

“No. You have the same taste as my mum.”

“Not your dad?”

“No.”

“Why not as your dad, if I've got the same brain as him?”

“I don't know. Gender, maybe?”

“What about you?”

“I side with mum, mostly. OK, so not just gender, good taste too,” he joked.

A deep uncertainty that she sometimes felt gripped her. “Do you remember what makes gender for us, Jakav? I mean, either of us could bud on our own. I guess I wasn't paying attention.”

“Well, you have milk glands,” he said, embarrassed at pointing out the obvious.

“So could you have, couldn't you?”

“In an emergency, I understand the principle. But... sorry, yuck. They look right on you.”

“Glad you think so. But what is gender for us? I know what it is in plants and multi-cellular organisms, but we don't have sperm and eggs and things.”

“It's something to do with which hormones turn up first, right at podding time. And that makes a binary choice, which glands dominate, which traits win, which ways the brain gets wired up.”

“But I'm on the defence force, not sitting at home mending. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really female.” There, it was out. Her deep fear.

“Not to mention which one of us is able to concoct mixing enzymes. I couldn't, I wouldn't know how to start, but you do it.”

“It's not deliberate... I do?”

“Oh yes. I can smell them.”

“Now?”

He laughed, “Aza, you're female, believe me, you've had a mixing enzyme scent since we were in budschool together. Right now?” He took a deep breath, and grinned at her, “Very much stronger.”

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She blushed, and changed the subject, “We argue about staying safe, Jakav. You argue with others about all sorts of things, but with me its always about safety, survival skills. I argue with you about health, safety, not excluding yourself from the community, which is also a survival thing. That's what your mother's spotted, I think.”

“You are the most female female I know, Aza. I know that much.”

“You mean Ana's part male?” Ana was his younger sister.

“No, I mean your scent makes my skin want to thin. You're incredibly attractive to me, Aza.”

“You say the nicest things, sometimes,”

“I think if I'd said that yesterday, you'd have run a mile.”

“Yes, probably. You could have caught me, though,” she mused.

“That would have made things even worse between us, wouldn't it?”

“Probably, but not now. Now I'm full of protein and I guess hormones too, and my perspective's different.”

“What about tomorrow?” he asked.

“If you insist on waiting. OK.” she said, grinning at his shocked expression.

“Aza! I meant what are you going to feel like tomorrow?”

“Ooh, the things he asks! I expect that if we join our skins tomorrow, I'm going to feel very very nervous and very very happy.”

Deeply embarrassed, Jakav tried again, “I meant are you going to write off this evening as just an overdose of protein and after-fight-hormones and regret any decisions we make now.”

“I know you did, Jakav. Sorry for teasing. I hope you'll forgive me for throwing myself at you, but protein and hormones or not, I've always wanted us both to survive. Why not together?”

“Aza, I love you, I think I've always loved you, in an argumentative way. Can we see if we can get on for a while without arguing?”

“No joining tomorrow, then?” she asked, giving his ear lobe a stroke, and sending shivers down his spine.

“Will you be my girlfriend, Aza?”

“Of course I will, silly. I was making a bid for wife, remember.”

“I was worried you might just mean protein induced podding.”

“Of course you did, you're a good man, and I was playing temptress. I've no intention of just podding with you, Jakav. I want you forever, like your parents have each other. And I want to mix what we can.”

It took him aback. “I thought the idea repulsed you.”

“No, Jakav. It scared me that I couldn't, or that I would get it wrong somehow. You do know why I don't have a dad, don't you?”

“I heard he died, when you were young.”

“A carnivore got his head. He died before I was born.”

“That's sad, it must have been terrible for your mum.”

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “They were engaged. Mum had wanted to mix, too. But the carnivore got him. She killed it, but it was too late.”

“You mean....” Jakav couldn't believe his ears.

“Dad's brain was too far gone, but his muscle organisms and his bone organisms were still alive. Mum's brain, mum's skin, dad's muscles and bones. Lost, but still alive. Mum gave some of them a chance to live.”

“Isn't... isn't that a crime?” he whispered.

“Don't tell anyone, Jakav. Please. I want to live. I'm wrong-podded, but I want to live.”

“Surely, no one would say otherwise!”

“Some do. It's part of the insult-chant, isn't it? 'Wrong-podded, walking dead, just be dead. Bang.'”

“You're alive, Aza, and you said it, your dad's organisms were alive. No way are you walking dead. When did you find out?”

“Mum's always told me there are worse things than being soon-podded, and it wasn't my fault, it was hers. She told me today. I... I guess that's why I threw myself at you. Existential insecurity.”

“Aza, I'd like to wait, I'd like us both to be a hundred percent certain we're not better off being no more than close friends. Not to mention finding out what's happening to our world before we bring new life into it. But... if you need an irrevocable decision now, I choose you.”

Aza gazed into his eyes, and her hands sought his. “Thank you, Jakav. I think we can wait, a bit.”

A movement caught his eye, and focussing, he saw a glint of metal among the stars. So, the machine was still hovering over the battle ground. Was it broken? It didn't matter; nothing really mattered except that Aza's hand was in his.

----------------------------------------

SPACE

“Well, I think that looks like another pair heading for romance,” Rachel said.

“Agreed. I wonder if this is just a normal evening, or the fight and the meat had something to do with it.”

“For all we know, they're long established pairs.”

“Could be. Since they change shapes so easily, it's going to be pretty hard to work such things out, isn't it?” Maggie said.

“Undoubtedly. Maybe someone can send us a nice powerful A.I. to help.”

“There must be some clue. They must have some way to tell, after all.”

“I wonder if those steaks they were serving are edible. They looked good.”

Rachel said, “And how come they serve them with chips? It's just not fair!”

“Land-carnivore steaks?” Maggie asked, “I'll stick to herbivore or fish myself.”

“I hope they're not intelligent.”

“But what's so special about chips?”

“My favourite home-cooked celebratory meal when I was a kid.”

“Oh, right.”

“Maggie,” Rachel said, looking out of the window. “You've been in this job a long time. Tell me about your normal planetary routine, I mean, when you find somewhere interesting.”

“We hover over a spot, spend dawn 'till dusk looking out of probe's eyes, take notes, record stuff, speculate idly about what we're seeing, test hypotheses, take samples. Follow strange animals, and so on. Just like we've been doing, really, except for the looking for crash-sites bit. And then we eat and crash into bed ready for another marathon of concentration the next day. It's a hard life, but it's OK.”

“Right. What don't we often do?” Rachel asked, still looking out of the window.

“Look down from up here at the clouds below?”

“Or play spot the street-lights.”

“What?”

“Can I suggest that we set up a probe to map night-time light sources across the whole planet? And day time multiple-spectrum imagery, not to mention multiple altitude air samples?”

“Sounds like a very good idea,” Maggie agreed. “We've not heard any radio signals have we?”

“Nothing on the frequencies we've been listening on,” Rachel agreed. Mainly the receiver had been listening for a faint distress beacon. Maggie laughed, “It would be really embarrassing to tune into a pop music station on a hundred megahertz F.M.”

“Agreed. But let's check, can we?”

“Of course,” Maggie's fingers were already flicking over the controls. “It'd be even more embarrassing if we didn't note one when it was there.”

“Oh yes indeed.”

“First rule of research: “, Maggie said, “when you're only looking for trees, you don't spot the wood-beetles. Or in our case, when you're rejoicing in the bio-diversity of the place, you might not spot that some of them have note pads and know Pythagoras' theorem.”

“Plus street lights and gun-powder,” Rachel said.

“So, thinking back, what civ-level are they at, from your first contact lectures?”

“Oh. Urm. I can't remember the numbers. But... controlling multiple aspects of their environment, tool use beyond individual survival needs. Abstract mathematical concepts are common, mechanically enhanced transport, artificially enhanced senses.”

“How do you get those two?” Maggie interrupted.

“Street lights; they count as enhancing vision.” Rachel said, “and the roads for transport.”

“But maybe they're just tracks for riding horses on, surely. That doesn't count as artificial.”

“I doubt it. There's a long road there, see?”

“Cue expressions of acute embarrassment.” Maggie said, “They've also got long distance communications.”

“Oh? Tell me more.”

“Multiple radio stations in the roughly one megahertz frequency band. Amplitude modulation. Nothing above three meg, so far.”

“So, we might be talking vacuum tubes and thermionic emission?” Rachel asked.

“Yes,” Maggie agreed.

“On Earth, that puts them somewhere near manned flight, and a little bit before uncontrolled nuclear, doesn't it?”

“Speak for yourself, landgirl. For Mer it puts us at about controlled fission power, and effective separation of oxygen from sea-water.”

“Sorry for my ignorance. But in any case, we were just developing radar.”

“Yes, just about.”

“Have you seen any sign of trade or money?”

“Not yet. Problematic, isn't it?”

“Certainly for my understanding of development.”