Mala's Happenings

Mala stood beside a tall, tapering, gray structure which seemed a cross between obelisk and trapezoid.  As with all the structures within the cybernetic alien city,  It was freestanding and had no utilitarian function – at least none that she could determine.  Abstract forms flickered across it, as if chasing, then replacing, one another.  Mala assumed these were components of the ancient reptilians' language.  M'D'li agreed with that assessment, but disappointed her in his inability to recognize any of it.  She'd hoped for some archetypal revelation from him.  So had he.

She watched as he scanned the formation, a holographic recorder held in his bionic hand.  He'd stood in that same place, before what might – or might not – be the front of the obelisk, for ten minutes.  He'd done the same scanning procedure with the other three structures that made up that particular square of the city.  This was only the second time Mala had been able to join him in his research.  After she'd instructed the holodeck computer to make the program available to M'D'li, he'd spent several hours a day there.

"I fear missing something important; yet I can record comparatively little.  And I find few patterns to the order in which symbols appear.  Though that last sequence does repeat a recording I made two days ago."  M'D'li's expression – slightly wrinkled forehead and the tip of his tongue flicking out – indicated a wry observation of his own sense of frustration.

Mala had come to know him well, and appreciated his reactions and speculation, since he'd decided to spend time aboard the Arcadia.  She was as intrigued as he by their intensive studies of the alien city.  But they both knew he'd rejoin the Flammarion after its refit.  And they both knew that his frustration ran much deeper than trying to decipher the language of his progenitors.

M'D'li saw only what anyone would see who accessed the program – square after square containing large geometric formations, shapes moving across their surfaces, and the mosaic-like pavements beneath.  Only Mala, through her own cybernetics, was aware of the deeper layer of coding, the uploaded memories embodied by the structures.  And even for her, these remained fragments, often in random association.

"There must be some correlation between the language and the stored memories."  M'D'li – still holding the recorder flat against his ceramometal palm, directing it toward the trapezoid – turned his gaze to Mala.  "But for all their apparent mystery, these structures might be no more than sophisticated tombs, with the language relating the story of each lifetime."

Mala smiled and shook her head.  "Not tombs, no.  I'm almost certain the personalities could be decompressed and reassembled, with the right technology.  Perhaps the written symbols might give instructions.  But the storage for each one is distributed across the entire cityscape, rather than one personality per structure.  That's why I can access only fragments.  To me, that implies they wanted all, or none, restored to awareness.  As if one could not exist apart from the others."

"Or just preferred not to do so," M'D'li said.  He slipped the recorder into a pocket of the vest covering his bionic harness.  Then with a series of whir-click-slither sounds he crossed the short distance between them.

Their glances met.  M'D'li held her gaze; the pale green scales of his eye-ridge arched upward.  "You must know what I'm going to ask you, Mala.  Would you consider bringing some one of them into your own cybernetics, at least for a short time?  That might be the only way we can learn their language, interpret the instructions for their rebirth."

"Don't you think I've considered that, and been tempted to try it?  But... I'll admit the idea frightens me.  I'm not sure I could maintain barriers between myself and the other.  Even aside from that, I don't know how to untangle their strands, and isolate a single complete personality.  I could probably download the memories encompassing a scene or conversation – but there's no way to predict how much knowledge or awareness would be included."

Then Mala sighed.  "I understand what it would mean for you, and for your people, M'D'li, to communicate with those who may be your progenitors.  I feel the sense of tragedy and mystery here, and wonder at it.  With all their abilities, why would these beings retreat into this place?  What threat would cause such desperation?"  She turned aside, glancing past the obelisk.  "I hope we can find some means of discovery.  But I can't spend more time here now.  This is an important day for the Arcadia.  And before I report to the bridge, I have another holodeck visit to make."

They'd been waiting for her at the holodeck door.  Hovers Questioning and Floats Serenely.  Both were mottled and swirling with anticipation.  "Mala's Aerobat Program," she ordered the computer.

A few moments later, the two-seater, single prop stunt plane sat ready on the runway, beneath a cloudless Earth sky.  ~"Is there room for all of us?"~ Hovers Questioning asked, dark green speckling its outer layer.  Floats Serenely riffled through its electronic files, bringing up schematics of recreated 1940s planes, downloading them into Mala's cybernetics.

~Not quite,~ Mala told the plasmoid.  ~The 'bat wasn't actually a recreation, but a sport plane built on the same basic plan.  She has carbon fiber wings and a Lycoming AEIO-540 engine.~

Floats Serenely searched out specs on carbon fiber, magnified then fine-tuned the image to the molecular level.  ~Form follows function,~ the sphere declared.  ~Aerodynamically lovely.~

Mala laughed.  ~I certainly thought so.  My very own plane.  Took it with me when I joined the Air Carnival circuit.~

Now that the spheres had limited computer access, they were able to use a great variety of educational programs, as well as keep and manage their own files.  Floats Serenely had developed an avid interest in aeronautics.  Hovers Questioning was a beginning musician/composer on a thought-controlled keyboard.  It adored Mozart.

Mala led them to the plane, and vaulted into the pilot's seat.  ~There should be enough room for both of you back there.  Though you may have to blend boundary layers for the duration.~

~All right.  But we won't stay mingled.  We are not like Tribalself.  Not now or ever,~ Hovers Questioning asserted.

Mala pulled on her goggles, then looked over her shoulder, watched as the spheres settled down on the seat, opened their boundaries on one side, then overlapped.  ~You'd better include the seat molecules in that overlap.  Otherwise you might be flying outside the plane instead of in,~ Mala advised.  ~But better you than me.~

Mala would not ordinarily have been on the bridge during that shift.  But she'd rescheduled and split shifts, so she would be seated at the helm when Admiral Stephen April resumed command of the Arcadia.

She'd been as surprised as anyone else when Captain Rampart made the announcement at an officers meeting.  But at a subconscious level, she doubted anyone was surprised.  April's return was like a missing puzzle piece finally set into place, or the last line of a drawing completed, revealing new meanings.

Those metaphors reminded Mala of her childhood.  For years after her parents died, Mala sensed the incompleteness of the shape of her life – until she managed to create a new image of future possibilities.  She couldn't help comparing that feeling to her recent break-up with Jeremy Haskins.  There were times she missed him.  But there had been no sense of incompleteness in the shape of her life.  That was good, of course.  Wasn't it?

When Stephen April walked onto the bridge, Mala swiveled her chair half-way around, facing him, smiling, noticing as other crew members did the same.  Then he sank into the command chair – awareness seeming to deepen into his own private mystery.  Mala turned back to the helm's holosphere, set into a 360-degree view of the surrounding sector of space.

Private mystery.  Mala considered the thought.  It could be said that many aboard the Arcadia harbored their sense of private mystery.  Occasionally those mysteries surfaced, touching one another.  Enriching all their lives.

Then Admiral April spoke to her, and pointed.  "See that really faint, dim star off in the middle?  Take us there."  He paused then commanded, "Slipstream."

Mala smiled at him, enjoying the tone of his voice – she'd call it almost playful.  "Aye, Sir."

She located the star on her holosphere, focused her gaze on it, alerting the navigational program.  It provided a zoom view, with database number and coordinates.  She spoke by complant to engineering, receiving a systems okay.  Mala interfaced with the computer, ordering the generation of a quantum field.  An instant later the sparkling blue tunnel spread before the ship, and a trajectory of plot points flashed into Mala's virtual vision.