Echoes In Time # with Sherwood Smith Read online

  He paused. Again, no questions.

  "As for interaction, the races are segregated, save for a single exception: the mysterious House of Knowledge— which, apparently, is what Ross and I called the library— where the Russians found that carving."

  Eveleen cast another quick glance at Saba. It was clear what her job would be: she'd have to penetrate the House of Knowledge, to learn what she could about the missing Russians. The evidence was already there, if the carving could be believed, that Saba had been there. Her visit had already happened—hopefully safely.

  What is my job to be? Eveleen thought.

  She looked down to hide a grim smile.

  She'd find out soon enough.

  * * *

  SABA EXCUSED HERSELF from dinner as early as was polite, and left the common room. Much as she enjoyed watching the impetuous Americans strive to find congenial topics to discuss with the reserved, rather dour Russians—and the way the two male agents, Misha and Ross, watched each other speculatively when the other was not aware—she felt the pressure of time tightening the muscles on the back of her neck.

  She'd seen the looks on all their faces when a sample from the language tapes was played. If the stakes had not been so high, she would have laughed at the restrained disgust of the Russians (who had apparently just begun struggling with the Russian version of the tapes) to Eveleen's shock and Ross Murdock's blank despair. Only Gordon Ashe had displayed little reaction, a slight frown between his brows, his head bowed as he concentrated.

  She crossed the short hallway to her room, turning on the light and her computer at the same time. Calling up the tapes, she tabbed the sound to the speakers, and paced back and forth in the tiny space as she listened.

  Saba was grateful to Katarina, the unknown but gifted Russian linguist/archivist on the missing team, for having done a superlative job on the preliminaries. As it was, learning this language was going to be a terrific challenge.

  The translator's voice began.

  "The Yilayil language has one component in common with English: it seems to be a tremendously flexible language, adopting words from all the others, altering them and making them its own.

  "That is all the Yilayil tongue has in common with English."

  And next was an example. The sound was strange, midway between a whistle and a drone, with ululations and note alterations rather like a chant, or music, modifying it.

  The Yilayil people, with their muzzles that resembled those of earth weasels, were not likely to make the labial sounds of human languages. The humans who were to approximate the Yilayil language would first of all have to know how to whistle—and then would have to learn to hum while doing it.

  But harder, much harder, was the prospect of hearing the language and then speaking it. Chinese, often regarded as the toughest language to learn, used to take at least a couple of years for a linguistically gifted individual; now, with the hypno-tape method used by government agencies, it took several months. Chinese seemed easy compared to this utterly alien, bizarrely weird tongue.

  Especially since the hypno-tapes she had used until now were complete and these weren't. These tapes left whole levels of expression fragmentary and confusing.

  And they had a limited time in which to learn it—the duration of their flight to the planet.

  Saba had seen the unspoken reaction in all the others' faces. She knew it matched her own: dread. Everyone was very aware that the First Team's lack of knowledge might have been related to why they disappeared.

  Luckily Katarina had taped a great deal of indigenous talk—which her team had been in the midst of studying when they disappeared. Saba, on hearing her tapes, vowed she was going to master it before planetfall. This meant that she had to find the key to the language, its music, even though its speakers had utterly nothing in common with human beings, whose various language-musics carried subtle but definite similarities.

  So she'd better get started right away.

  * * *

  GORDON ASHE LOOKED at Saba's closed door. From beyond it came faint sounds: he recognized the weird noises of the Yilayil language. Annoyance and admiration twisted at his guts.

  The admiration was easy to acknowledge. He had a lot of respect for any agent who got right to business when a mission was at hand, especially one that carried this much firepower. The annoyance… why the hell couldn't she call them all in and share her expertise? Did she have to get ahead, just to show off?

  He shook his head, hard. No. Stop attributing competitive American motivations to someone from a totally different culture.

  He raised his hand to knock, then sighed. What would he say? Would he just be interrupting her for little purpose?

  Better to get busy with his own tapes, he decided. So he retreated to his room and fired up his computer.

  He paused the tape after that first Yilayil example, then replayed it.

  "Weird, isn't it?" Ross spoke from the open doorway.

  Ashe turned around, saw Ross and Eveleen standing there.

  "Come in," he said. "I take it you had the same idea?"

  "I saw Saba leave," Eveleen said, smiling. "Ross and I made a bet she was itching to get cracking on her tapes."

  "Where are the Russians?" Ashe asked.

  Ross jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Finished dinner, Colonel gave them the high-sign, and they vamoosed in a group. My guess is, they're hunkered down right now with their versions of Katarina's tape. Learn fast, make the decadent Americans look bad."

  "Be fair," Eveleen retorted, elbowing Ross in the side. "That missing team was their friends. If our friends went missing, we'd do the same."

  "I don't want to be fair," Ross said. "I want to be first."

  "So much for scheduled recreational time," Eveleen added with a grin.

  "We can do recreation on shipboard," Ashe said, and he hit the replay again.

  At the end, Eveleen had a faint crease between her brows. "It's like chanting, more than speech," she said.

  "Speech sounds monotone after it," Ross added, his eyes closed.

  "Mellifluous," Eveleen put in. "That's the word I was looking for."

  "Mellifluous—or demented?" Ashe said, and activated the tape again.

  The translator's voice filled the room: "The normal word order is: Speaker identity, status, location, time, verb, subject, indirect object, direct object."

  She followed with a trill/drone in Yilayil, then said, in English, "This is, roughly translated: T, Yeeyee Sight-of-stars, at pathway-meets-water at dawn offer trade of scent-bearers-from-beyond-sun their gili-blossom mat."

  Ashe paused the tape.

  "That takes forever," Ross complained.

  "The Yilayil statement took half the time the English translation did," Eveleen said. "Are all those flowery things names or noun-identifiers that you have to invent every time you speak?"

  Ashe shook his head. "Too little information yet. Let's listen further."

  "This is the word order of neutral statements. There are other word orders for different challenges and deferences, for commands, for questions. We will address the matter of questions later, for these constitute another form entirely: briefly, we have questions of challenge, questions of debate, questions of personal consequence—"

  "Huh," Ross interrupted, rubbing his chin. "What about 'Are my shoes untied'?"

  "That, I imagine, would be a question of personal consequence," Ashe said, smiling.

  "If they wear shoes," Eveleen put in. "Now hush, and let's hear this thing through, or we'll never get any sleep tonight!"

  Ross subsided with a willingness that he had never exhibited to any of his male partners in the past, and they proceeded through the tape in silence.

  At the end, Ashe shut off his computer, and sat back in his chair. "Well?"

  Ross pursed his lips, and let out a long liquid trill. "Guess we better practice wetting out whistlers. Think they have beer?"

  Eveleen snorted a laugh. "Will you be serious?" />
  Ross sighed. "I think we're going to go nuts trying to learn that mess. I can't hear anything but bird-tweeting. Some cabbie I'll be."

  "We'll be," Eveleen said. "Just as well we both are assigned to transportation. One of us is going to have to learn this stuff."

  "You learn it. I'll drive." Ross grinned.

  Ashe shook his head. "Oh, go to sleep."

  CHAPTER 6

  "WHAT HAPPENED WITH this new Russian, Misha Petrovich Nikulin?" Saba asked the next day as Eveleen and she worked out side by side on the stationary bikes. "Something. There was too much tension yesterday that I cannot otherwise explain."

  "Oh-h-h-h-h yes," Eveleen said, rolling her eyes. "I was just going down to the training room when I looked up and there was this handsome blond guy strolling along looking at the door numbers. Before I could open my mouth to ask him if he needed directions he walked up, introduced himself, threw his arms around me, and tried to kiss me."

  "No warning?"

  "Nothing. Because coming along right behind was Ross."

  Saba took her lower lip between her teeth. "Did you know this man?"

  "Misha? Never saw him before in my life. But I will wager any amount of money he knew who we were, though he pretended not to. And furthermore it was not my devastating beauty that brought on that excess of affection—it was some kind of crazy challenge, because he wasn't the least surprised to see Ross there."

  Saba, to Eveleen's surprise, nodded in agreement. "I know that type. In truth, I think this agency the world over selects for just that sort—both male and female. My former partner was like that. I could see her doing this to your spouse, just to see what would happen."

  "And I would probably have decked her," Eveleen admitted. "Yes." She winced. "You know, I would have. It's all very well to tell Ross that I can take care of myself, thank you, but instinct is faster than thought, and it does go both ways."

  Saba smiled, her dark eyes steady.

  "Huh," Eveleen said. "I hadn't thought of that. Well. One of those unpleasant little insights that one needs now and again to keep one humble. I'll remember that, in case Misha starts it up again and Ross breathes fire."

  Saba put her head to one side, but said nothing.

  Eveleen gave a sigh, short and sharp, and forced her mind back onto the job. "Speaking of Russians—and Yilayil challenges. It makes a kind of sense, if what the Russian linguist surmised is correct, in challenge mode one gets very flowery— the more challenging, the more oblique. This would give the other person time to frame a response, and decide who gets preference, who defers. This must mean that everyday activities require relatively simple language—not just with outsiders, but among themselves. Otherwise it just doesn't seem reasonable."

  Saba's eyes narrowed as she considered. "I would take care," she said slowly, "in assuming what might seem reasonable to Yilayil culture. Especially given the hints of multiple layers to the language, the odd tenses and sensory aspects."

  "I just assumed those were artifacts of a limited data set," said Eveleen. "Just misunderstood."

  "I am not so sure," said Saba carefully. "But, yes, otherwise I do agree that far: quick modes of speech for the minutiae of everyday business makes good sense. It does seem, though, that almost every aspect of life involves a challenge of some kind or other—at least when encountering beings outside one's own group."

  "If a few months' studies can be trusted," Eveleen said. "I keep thinking of that poor biologist." She winced as she recalled the grief and shock expressed by Katarina when her team discovered the remains of their fellow agent, just after they had made their first encounter.

  Saba also reacted, her face tightening, her gaze lowered. Eveleen felt the lance of remorse, and wished she hadn't spoken. She had momentarily forgotten about Saba's first partner. Did the woman lie in some unknown grave worlds and centuries away? Or had something wrenched time out of alignment so that she was forever lost—as had apparently happened to one of Gordon Ashe's former agents?

  Eveleen bit her lip, wondering if Gordon or Saba would talk about that. They both had this experience in common, but they were both so very reserved.

  Saba looked up, and said in her calm voice, "This has occurred to me as well. Often. The challenge aspect might be emphasized only with newly arrived outsiders."

  "We'll be getting that treatment," Eveleen said, relieved that the moment seemed to have passed.

  "Perhaps. As for the specifics: most of them sound like they are ritual challenges, and both sides know the question and answer before it's even spoken," Saba said. "It's a kind of right-of-way etiquette."

  Eveleen nodded, glad that, so far, her instincts were corresponding with the better-trained Saba's. "And the Russians were still in the early stages of establishing themselves within the hierarchy, so they were exposed to the more formal challenge-speech…"

  Eveleen thought she heard doubt in the Ethiopian's soft, musical tones. "Except?" she prompted.

  Saba shook her head slightly. "It means little to query at this early point."

  "I know," Eveleen said. "Just for the sake of discussion— and because, hard as we are working, we're not exactly going anywhere…" She pointed at their bicycles.

  Saba smiled. "All right, then. It does seem to me that the Yilayils do little that is sudden or impulsive, if what we are learning conveys a true sense of their culture. And yet we come back to the fact that the First Team disappeared— abruptly—without any sign or signal."

  "That we've yet discovered," Eveleen amended. "When we get back, we might still find something."

  "And, barring that?"

  Eveleen bit her lip. "I have to admit it's been bothering me too. I suppose the problem, if problem there was, might not originate from the Yilayils at all—but from one of the other races living on the planet. We don't know anything about these as yet, except for some names and some superficial characteristics. Our Russians didn't have enough time, apparently, to learn much of them between the time they made themselves known and when they disappeared. They spent so much time living in the jungle outside the city, just watching!"

  "And?" Saba prompted.

  Eveleen sighed. "Well, I know it's not fair to judge, but I can't help thinking about what the Yilayils became down at our end of the timeline—those Weaslies. There certainly was no sign of hierarchy, or structure, or music, when Ross and Ashe encountered them! Just bloodshed!"

  "I, too, have pondered this," Saba admitted.

  Encouraged, Eveleen warmed to her theme. "So far, in every culture I've studied or encountered, there is at least some trace of the former. But here—we are presented with the Yilayils, whose culture is intricate in the extreme. It reminds me of medieval guilds, only much more complex. Each individual seems to be born into a specific guild, to which they appear to belong for a lifetime. Their name and location indicates their guild, family status, and field of mastery—and everyone has a place. Strangers are not tolerated; they have to be integrated slowly, but integrated they are. No evidence of war, the Russians said. And yet—we always come back to this disappearance."

  Saba nodded again. "Since it is my lot to go to this House of Knowledge, I have to hope to find some clues there."

  "Except that's another mystery," Eveleen said.

  Saba smiled grimly. "When was I there for that statue to be carved? Or am I going to arrive to find a group of women, from some other planet, who look just like me—and if so, where might they have come from—and why?"

  Eveleen shuddered. "I know it's cowardly to say so, but I'm glad that my 'skill' is just going to be a cabbie. That is, assuming we get that far."

  The timer went off then, indicating the end of the workout. Saba went off to the showers, but Eveleen lingered. Since this was not officially rec time, she was hoping to find someone for a good workout on the practice mats. There was no better stress reliever, she firmly believed, than sparring and grappling with some feisty martial-arts expert whose skills were as good as her own.
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br />   She moved to the gym—but just as she was opening the door, her pager buzzed quietly against her wrist. She peeled back her leotard sleeve and glanced down, then sighed.

  Milliard! There was no putting him off.

  She showered and changed in record time, then raced to an elevator to go to the top brass levels.

  When she emerged, she found another surprise—Ross was just getting out of the second elevator.

  "Hey," he said, grabbing her hand.

  "What's the problem—do you know? Is this meeting an 'uh oh,' or an 'oh yeah'?" she asked, sneaking a peek around the corridor.

  "I don't know anything beyond the fact that it's just thou and I, O wife," Ross said, grinning.

  "So you haven't pounded Misha Nikulin into paste."

  Ross laughed. "I haven't even seen him. Besides, you're the paste-pounder in the family. You could dispose of him faster than I could."

  Eveleen nodded, not showing her relief. Especially after her discussion with Saba, she was doubly glad that she hadn't further hassled Ross about that disastrous first meeting with Misha, after they'd retired for the night. Apparently Ross had thought it through on his own. "And don't you forget it," she said, mock commanding.

  No one was in sight. She leaned up for a kiss, then Ross knocked at Milliard's door.

  "Come in."

  The big boss was seated behind his desk, his gray hair disheveled as if he'd just been running his hands through it.

  "Something's wrong?" Ross said as he and Eveleen entered and sat down in the overpadded chairs before the desk.

  "Many somethings," Milliard said with a twisted smile. "But that's my headache. I called you two in for a last-minute talk. I know it's late in the game, and I'm not sure what to do if there's a problem, but I have to talk to you if only to ease my own mind."