Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round Two: The Kestalvian Rainforest]
11-17-2011, 10:22 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.
He-Is-Not-Of-Much-Note stared at a waterfall that falls upwards, admiring the rightness of it. He flared his nostril and took in the smells of four dimensions: spice-dragonflies trailing pepper flakes as they fly by; the morning dew and dusk-smells of fear and pheremones harmonizing; fresh air blowing in from the east today and the south tomorrow. An ill stink from the future: fire and flesh; death; death. Ominous. Time for a bath.
* * * * *
”…Status report? What the hell?”
The current atmosphere aboard VII was fairly silent, which Itzel took to mean that nobody knew what to say to her, which she didn’t like. Couldn’t she even dart off to make a speech without all hell breaking loose?
“Nothing,” blurted Captain Quirrinal. “No sensory data. Pressure on the hull suggests a vacuum. No response to signals on any frequency. And the clock has stopped. We’re nowhere.”
“More like nowhen,” mused the High Admiral. “Is it possible that one of the contestants died, and we’re just, I don’t know, gearing up for the next stage of the battle?”
“If je anomaly pozhezhsches multiplull iteraschions jroughout je foresht,” pointed out Terrence, “It ij quite possiblull zhat it could have killed one of je ojjer conteshtanch.”
“But that doesn’t line up with our previous experiences with the Hedonist,” riposted Quirrinal. “Occam’s razor: it’s the Tesseract holding us outside time somewhere.”
Itzel hated the feeling of having missed something. “…Tesseract?”
Ninety seconds (from a certain frame of reference) of frustrated half-explanations later, the High Admiral remained displeased. “Why’s it keeping us here? To use as a weapon later?”
“Very literally possible, especially if we’re retaining our forward momentum from before the outside world cut out.”
“Are we?”
“If we’re actually in an endless, lightless vacuum, it’s impossible to tell whether we’re moving or not, because we define space. The wormhole generator isn’t even having a readable effect. It’s just sloughing off energy.”
Itzel rested her brow on the tips of her thumbs, as though her brain would be more efficient if it less comfortable. “Is there any chance the Tesseract will just leave us here for a while? That would be ideal.”
“Je djurazhion of je effect ij a scheriousch conschern. Given zhome yearzh, ve could zhore up defenshesh and maybe develop a vay out of here. Given dayzh, ve vill only accomplisch a lowering of morale and alertnesch.”
“And given minutes, we’re right back where we started. Or worse, somewhere else.”
“Hmmmmm,” purred Sithembil, unsolicited.
“Something the matter, Sithembil?”
“Nnnn-nn. On th’contrary, love. Just, according to th'polls, that last speech of yours was rather well-received among demographics previously considered, mmm, sociologically hazardous.”
“You mean the Convolution?” The speech had been alright, Itzel thought, but nothing revolutionary. “So what, it’s decided to support us now?”
“No, no, no, no no no nonono. Centralized authority is anathema to this one. More simply: ‘sdying.”
“Dying?” Something told Itzel this wasn’t going to be the good news it appeared on the surface.
“’Sright, love. This lines up with a recent theory of regarding the meme’s behavior since we’ve entered th’rainforest.”
Itzel sighed. “Fassil, is there anything else I need to be doing before I launch into dealing with this Convolution nonsense?”
“Nothing I can’t take care of, Admiral.”
“Attaboy. Sithembil: private line. Share with me your theory.”
* * * * *
The human girl makes the sweetest music, doesn’t she? She-Likes-Red-Things held her mouth and hands to the woodwind, as she'd been taught. Every song could be remembered as a nonsense rhyme: to play this one one must simply sign “violet-thunder-folds-within-folds-within-daynight-violet-daynight-within-daynight-folds-violet-lifetimes-folds-help-folds-help-where-help-when-violet-folds-help.” Sounds sweet with a hint of fear, confusion, hunger--emotions of the nighttime. Beautiful song. Beautiful human girl. There is happiness here.
* * * * *
”Th’Convolution is, mmm, a lot of moving parts spread over a wide area. It presumably has a base somewhere in th’jungle ‘swell as s’presence in the ship. These two cells have been acting independently of one another, and our hope was that th’sisolation would eventually cause one of th’cells to disappear in favor of th’other.”
Itzel nodded. “So either we don’t have a Convolution to deal with on the ship, or we don’t have a Convolution to deal with in the battle. Is that what’s happening?”
Sithembil shook her head. “No such luck, love. Th’evidence supports that th’infected denizens of poor Lucky are affected by… operant conditions in th’outside.”
“Operant conditions?”
“Non-linear time,” clarified Sithembil. “Everyone aboard the ship is experiencing 1:1 time, whatever th’conditions outside. But fashion trends, pop music, crime rates among th’infected .5% are… not.”
“So, the Convolution itself…”
“S’unstuck in time. Has been th’whole round. One almost feels sorry for it.”
* * * * *
what is happening
Restless-She heard something go crunch as everything went purpley-black. Home run. Run home. Unconscious, the chimpanzee experienced something between nothing and a dream. Velvet-gloved hands in her head signing what-when-where nonsense rhymes violet-folds-help-iloveyou-when-help-iloveyou-help-folds-violet-golden-danger-help. Restless-She would have helped if she could, but here was only black and purple red and blue no green no grass no canopy no nothing only blackness.
She was jolted to awakeness by the sharp, slightly bothersome pain of decapitation. Cognizant just long enough for her eyes to open, the last image impressed on her eyes was that of a beautiful human girl carrying a bladed horn. The part of Restless-She that had ever known love departed. What was left behind was something a little less than a slice of skin off a soul, which was composed mostly of hate, and which lingered for a moment before turning its attention to its remaining moving parts.
* * * * *
”M’initial thought was that th’field of the Convolution functioned as some sort of, forgive me if this metaphor seems a bit grade school, love, some sort of blanket, a fabric, like spacetime or what-have-you. And th’fields of temporality covering th’forest are permeating and stretching this blanket and whipping it about in th'wind like a plastic bag. But if we’re now outside time, th’blanket should have ripped entirely, and we’d see th’brainplague either die off all ‘twonce or split off into two autonomous units.”
“But we haven’t seen that. Instead it’s been dying off slowly.”
“Which doesn’t fit in with any of our models of how ‘tsupposed to function. Unless an outside force is interfering.”
“The anomaly?”
“Th’Tesseract, yes, ‘twas my thought. Suppose th’thing’s sphere of influence is less direct than we’d supposed. Presuming it can’t hurt us directly but can manipulate time however it wishes—“
“Then it would try and get us to kill each other. It would put one of us through a track of time that ended with it murdering another contestant, but so as not to reveal its purpose it would pick the contestant who can’t communicate with us directly—“
“—and, more to th’point, doesn’t have a physical form ‘tall. Not so much as a theoretical blanket that th'other contestants would be able to see blinking in and out of existence.”
“So in that model, where do we and our own little pocket of Convolution fit in?”
* * * * *
It occurred to Bethany all of a sudden that she absolutely hated this woman. Elimine was a pretty little thing in a human sort of way, but she had a look about her that suggested she would, for instance, dash Bethany’s brain against the rock at the slightest provocation.
Maybe it was just envy. In the week since Elli had joined the family, Bethany no longer felt like the special, more highly-evolved one. She now had to share that position with this upstart who, of all the things, was teaching them music. Upsetting, the xenobiologist concluded, the natural order of the rainforest. Bethany had joined the chimpanzees’ culture purely for the purposes of science, and for the sex. To be sure, her motives had since devolved into a complicated web of delicate familial relationships and confused species identities, but she still had the right to distinguish herself from the girl who had no better reasons for being here than petty fear for her own life.
why why why did you do this
Thought Bethany, examining a drumset that had been carved out of tree bark and crocodile hide. Unfortunately, she couldn’t kill Elli—partly because she simply didn’t have it in her, partly because the Alpha wouldn’t be too happy with her—but she could do her best to make the trombonist’s life miserable. Starting, perhaps, by legitimizing Elimine’s fears about what would happen should she try to leave the family. Bethany waved goodbye to Elli and walked off to consult the Alpha.
* * * * *
”It seems likely that th’, mmm, for lack of sufficient synonyms call it th’monster, has gathered that if it can kill one contestant, it can get rid of ‘sall. So when we made contact with it, it decided 'twould be enough to cast us aside.”
“We wouldn’t be the target,” agreed Itzel. “It would go after one of the humans, especially one who’s already interacted with the Convolution.”
“That’s one explanation for why we’re here. Another’s that, were we released back int’ th’ jungle, we could pose a further threat to its aims.”
“And by surgically removing our Convoluted population, it prevents us from contacting the main body of the Convolution through the ship while we’re stuck here.” Itzel gave this some thought. “This is a negotiating tactic by the Tesseract. It’s scared of us, but knows we’re sick and it knows that we’re in real danger. So it’s carrying us to safety and healing us of the Convolution, hoping that we’ll step aside and allow it to kill Gabe or Elli or Cailean…” She shook her head. “This is ridiculous. We’re several postulates deep with no proof of any of this. What do we know?”
“Mmmm. We know th’brainplague isn’t experiencing linear time. We don’t know why. And we know that it’s disappearing from th’ship, but we don’t know why. We know, f’rall intents and purposes, that th’Tesseract has trapped us here, we don’t know why, we don’t know when or if we’ll go back t’regular space. We don’t even know if time is passing on th'outside.”
Itzel nodded. “But we do know that if we talk to what Convolution remains onboard, we can send a message to the Convolution in the rainforest, share our theories and maybe put a stop to some unnecessary violence.”
Sithembil shrugged. “It’s only a handful of lives at stake out there, love. There’s th’ship to think of.”
“I’m thinking of the damn ship!” snapped Itzel. A moment passed, from the admiral’s frame of reference at least. “Look, Sithembil. The Hedonist. The Tesseract. The Convolution. Hell, even AMP. We’re tiny to them right now, and they don’t think much of us. When are we ever going to step up to these things? Are we ever?”
Sithembil smiled, licking her teeth playfully. “’Sfor you t’decide, love. I’m not th’Admiral here.”
* * * * *
He-Is-Not-Of-Much-Note smelled blood mingling in the present and the recent past, violent blood, the sort of blood that never fertilizes but only burns the earth. An olfactory cry for vengeance.
Tree to tree to tree to tree, Elimine i understand you why won’t you understand me, He-Is-Not-Of-Much-Note found a branch overlooking the piled dead. Elli the music-woman fleeing the scene, carrying some scrap of human technology. The chimpanzee was angry.
He howled. There was no one around to see him sign, but he signed as he howled, fingers flashing obscenities like a piano solo. Had he words to howl, the word he would have howled would have been LIES. He had been lied to. The music-woman had lied to him. Bethany had lied to him. Mother had lied to him when she’d signed Love-Security-Motherhood-Forever, Alpha-He-Declines-the-Nipple had lied to him when he’d signed Peace-Safety-Friendship-Family-Protect, even the songs had lied with their soothing melodies. When the forest was green, that too was a lie. Only his nose had told him the truth, the truth he didn’t want to smell, the truth of blood and tears and dead grass and WAR.
The trees were rustling. He-Is-Not-Of-Much-Note had been heard. Black dragonflies were circling in the air, trailing gunpowder and mustard gas, attracted to the blood.
He-Is-Not-Of-Much-Note stared at a waterfall that falls upwards, admiring the rightness of it. He flared his nostril and took in the smells of four dimensions: spice-dragonflies trailing pepper flakes as they fly by; the morning dew and dusk-smells of fear and pheremones harmonizing; fresh air blowing in from the east today and the south tomorrow. An ill stink from the future: fire and flesh; death; death. Ominous. Time for a bath.
* * * * *
”…Status report? What the hell?”
The current atmosphere aboard VII was fairly silent, which Itzel took to mean that nobody knew what to say to her, which she didn’t like. Couldn’t she even dart off to make a speech without all hell breaking loose?
“Nothing,” blurted Captain Quirrinal. “No sensory data. Pressure on the hull suggests a vacuum. No response to signals on any frequency. And the clock has stopped. We’re nowhere.”
“More like nowhen,” mused the High Admiral. “Is it possible that one of the contestants died, and we’re just, I don’t know, gearing up for the next stage of the battle?”
“If je anomaly pozhezhsches multiplull iteraschions jroughout je foresht,” pointed out Terrence, “It ij quite possiblull zhat it could have killed one of je ojjer conteshtanch.”
“But that doesn’t line up with our previous experiences with the Hedonist,” riposted Quirrinal. “Occam’s razor: it’s the Tesseract holding us outside time somewhere.”
Itzel hated the feeling of having missed something. “…Tesseract?”
Ninety seconds (from a certain frame of reference) of frustrated half-explanations later, the High Admiral remained displeased. “Why’s it keeping us here? To use as a weapon later?”
“Very literally possible, especially if we’re retaining our forward momentum from before the outside world cut out.”
“Are we?”
“If we’re actually in an endless, lightless vacuum, it’s impossible to tell whether we’re moving or not, because we define space. The wormhole generator isn’t even having a readable effect. It’s just sloughing off energy.”
Itzel rested her brow on the tips of her thumbs, as though her brain would be more efficient if it less comfortable. “Is there any chance the Tesseract will just leave us here for a while? That would be ideal.”
“Je djurazhion of je effect ij a scheriousch conschern. Given zhome yearzh, ve could zhore up defenshesh and maybe develop a vay out of here. Given dayzh, ve vill only accomplisch a lowering of morale and alertnesch.”
“And given minutes, we’re right back where we started. Or worse, somewhere else.”
“Hmmmmm,” purred Sithembil, unsolicited.
“Something the matter, Sithembil?”
“Nnnn-nn. On th’contrary, love. Just, according to th'polls, that last speech of yours was rather well-received among demographics previously considered, mmm, sociologically hazardous.”
“You mean the Convolution?” The speech had been alright, Itzel thought, but nothing revolutionary. “So what, it’s decided to support us now?”
“No, no, no, no no no nonono. Centralized authority is anathema to this one. More simply: ‘sdying.”
“Dying?” Something told Itzel this wasn’t going to be the good news it appeared on the surface.
“’Sright, love. This lines up with a recent theory of regarding the meme’s behavior since we’ve entered th’rainforest.”
Itzel sighed. “Fassil, is there anything else I need to be doing before I launch into dealing with this Convolution nonsense?”
“Nothing I can’t take care of, Admiral.”
“Attaboy. Sithembil: private line. Share with me your theory.”
* * * * *
The human girl makes the sweetest music, doesn’t she? She-Likes-Red-Things held her mouth and hands to the woodwind, as she'd been taught. Every song could be remembered as a nonsense rhyme: to play this one one must simply sign “violet-thunder-folds-within-folds-within-daynight-violet-daynight-within-daynight-folds-violet-lifetimes-folds-help-folds-help-where-help-when-violet-folds-help.” Sounds sweet with a hint of fear, confusion, hunger--emotions of the nighttime. Beautiful song. Beautiful human girl. There is happiness here.
* * * * *
”Th’Convolution is, mmm, a lot of moving parts spread over a wide area. It presumably has a base somewhere in th’jungle ‘swell as s’presence in the ship. These two cells have been acting independently of one another, and our hope was that th’sisolation would eventually cause one of th’cells to disappear in favor of th’other.”
Itzel nodded. “So either we don’t have a Convolution to deal with on the ship, or we don’t have a Convolution to deal with in the battle. Is that what’s happening?”
Sithembil shook her head. “No such luck, love. Th’evidence supports that th’infected denizens of poor Lucky are affected by… operant conditions in th’outside.”
“Operant conditions?”
“Non-linear time,” clarified Sithembil. “Everyone aboard the ship is experiencing 1:1 time, whatever th’conditions outside. But fashion trends, pop music, crime rates among th’infected .5% are… not.”
“So, the Convolution itself…”
“S’unstuck in time. Has been th’whole round. One almost feels sorry for it.”
* * * * *
what is happening
Restless-She heard something go crunch as everything went purpley-black. Home run. Run home. Unconscious, the chimpanzee experienced something between nothing and a dream. Velvet-gloved hands in her head signing what-when-where nonsense rhymes violet-folds-help-iloveyou-when-help-iloveyou-help-folds-violet-golden-danger-help. Restless-She would have helped if she could, but here was only black and purple red and blue no green no grass no canopy no nothing only blackness.
She was jolted to awakeness by the sharp, slightly bothersome pain of decapitation. Cognizant just long enough for her eyes to open, the last image impressed on her eyes was that of a beautiful human girl carrying a bladed horn. The part of Restless-She that had ever known love departed. What was left behind was something a little less than a slice of skin off a soul, which was composed mostly of hate, and which lingered for a moment before turning its attention to its remaining moving parts.
* * * * *
”M’initial thought was that th’field of the Convolution functioned as some sort of, forgive me if this metaphor seems a bit grade school, love, some sort of blanket, a fabric, like spacetime or what-have-you. And th’fields of temporality covering th’forest are permeating and stretching this blanket and whipping it about in th'wind like a plastic bag. But if we’re now outside time, th’blanket should have ripped entirely, and we’d see th’brainplague either die off all ‘twonce or split off into two autonomous units.”
“But we haven’t seen that. Instead it’s been dying off slowly.”
“Which doesn’t fit in with any of our models of how ‘tsupposed to function. Unless an outside force is interfering.”
“The anomaly?”
“Th’Tesseract, yes, ‘twas my thought. Suppose th’thing’s sphere of influence is less direct than we’d supposed. Presuming it can’t hurt us directly but can manipulate time however it wishes—“
“Then it would try and get us to kill each other. It would put one of us through a track of time that ended with it murdering another contestant, but so as not to reveal its purpose it would pick the contestant who can’t communicate with us directly—“
“—and, more to th’point, doesn’t have a physical form ‘tall. Not so much as a theoretical blanket that th'other contestants would be able to see blinking in and out of existence.”
“So in that model, where do we and our own little pocket of Convolution fit in?”
* * * * *
It occurred to Bethany all of a sudden that she absolutely hated this woman. Elimine was a pretty little thing in a human sort of way, but she had a look about her that suggested she would, for instance, dash Bethany’s brain against the rock at the slightest provocation.
Maybe it was just envy. In the week since Elli had joined the family, Bethany no longer felt like the special, more highly-evolved one. She now had to share that position with this upstart who, of all the things, was teaching them music. Upsetting, the xenobiologist concluded, the natural order of the rainforest. Bethany had joined the chimpanzees’ culture purely for the purposes of science, and for the sex. To be sure, her motives had since devolved into a complicated web of delicate familial relationships and confused species identities, but she still had the right to distinguish herself from the girl who had no better reasons for being here than petty fear for her own life.
why why why did you do this
Thought Bethany, examining a drumset that had been carved out of tree bark and crocodile hide. Unfortunately, she couldn’t kill Elli—partly because she simply didn’t have it in her, partly because the Alpha wouldn’t be too happy with her—but she could do her best to make the trombonist’s life miserable. Starting, perhaps, by legitimizing Elimine’s fears about what would happen should she try to leave the family. Bethany waved goodbye to Elli and walked off to consult the Alpha.
* * * * *
”It seems likely that th’, mmm, for lack of sufficient synonyms call it th’monster, has gathered that if it can kill one contestant, it can get rid of ‘sall. So when we made contact with it, it decided 'twould be enough to cast us aside.”
“We wouldn’t be the target,” agreed Itzel. “It would go after one of the humans, especially one who’s already interacted with the Convolution.”
“That’s one explanation for why we’re here. Another’s that, were we released back int’ th’ jungle, we could pose a further threat to its aims.”
“And by surgically removing our Convoluted population, it prevents us from contacting the main body of the Convolution through the ship while we’re stuck here.” Itzel gave this some thought. “This is a negotiating tactic by the Tesseract. It’s scared of us, but knows we’re sick and it knows that we’re in real danger. So it’s carrying us to safety and healing us of the Convolution, hoping that we’ll step aside and allow it to kill Gabe or Elli or Cailean…” She shook her head. “This is ridiculous. We’re several postulates deep with no proof of any of this. What do we know?”
“Mmmm. We know th’brainplague isn’t experiencing linear time. We don’t know why. And we know that it’s disappearing from th’ship, but we don’t know why. We know, f’rall intents and purposes, that th’Tesseract has trapped us here, we don’t know why, we don’t know when or if we’ll go back t’regular space. We don’t even know if time is passing on th'outside.”
Itzel nodded. “But we do know that if we talk to what Convolution remains onboard, we can send a message to the Convolution in the rainforest, share our theories and maybe put a stop to some unnecessary violence.”
Sithembil shrugged. “It’s only a handful of lives at stake out there, love. There’s th’ship to think of.”
“I’m thinking of the damn ship!” snapped Itzel. A moment passed, from the admiral’s frame of reference at least. “Look, Sithembil. The Hedonist. The Tesseract. The Convolution. Hell, even AMP. We’re tiny to them right now, and they don’t think much of us. When are we ever going to step up to these things? Are we ever?”
Sithembil smiled, licking her teeth playfully. “’Sfor you t’decide, love. I’m not th’Admiral here.”
* * * * *
He-Is-Not-Of-Much-Note smelled blood mingling in the present and the recent past, violent blood, the sort of blood that never fertilizes but only burns the earth. An olfactory cry for vengeance.
Tree to tree to tree to tree, Elimine i understand you why won’t you understand me, He-Is-Not-Of-Much-Note found a branch overlooking the piled dead. Elli the music-woman fleeing the scene, carrying some scrap of human technology. The chimpanzee was angry.
He howled. There was no one around to see him sign, but he signed as he howled, fingers flashing obscenities like a piano solo. Had he words to howl, the word he would have howled would have been LIES. He had been lied to. The music-woman had lied to him. Bethany had lied to him. Mother had lied to him when she’d signed Love-Security-Motherhood-Forever, Alpha-He-Declines-the-Nipple had lied to him when he’d signed Peace-Safety-Friendship-Family-Protect, even the songs had lied with their soothing melodies. When the forest was green, that too was a lie. Only his nose had told him the truth, the truth he didn’t want to smell, the truth of blood and tears and dead grass and WAR.
The trees were rustling. He-Is-Not-Of-Much-Note had been heard. Black dragonflies were circling in the air, trailing gunpowder and mustard gas, attracted to the blood.