City of Ruins

FIFTY-THREE



We don’t have linguists; we have historians and archeologists, and they have studied languages only so that they can understand the things that they find. I want a linguist, because my historians and archeologists disagree about what they’ve heard.

We’re sitting in the large room of my suite, which I’m beginning to hate. I had hoped we’d meet the crew of the Dignity Vessel, we’d talk, and we’d all learn something. I’d dreamed that I would be able to convince them to come back to the Nine Planets with us and see the other Dignity Vessels, help us figure out how to use them, and warn the Dignity Vessel crew about the Empire.

Of course, I knew that such a scenario was hopelessly naive, which is why I haven’t admitted it to anyone. But dreams can be such powerful things.

I was excited while we were in that large room, but I’m a bit wary now. Wary and exhausted. It’s clear to me that we have a lot of work ahead, and that work involves painstaking effort on both sides.

It also involves remaining on Vaycehn for several weeks, if not several months.

I have ordered Ilona to look at renting a house or an office for us, to cut down on expenses. She’s doubtful this can happen, simply because the Vaycehnese do not want us to have free rein in their city. No one from our team can get near the death hole site even now, and someone has been following a few of the historians.

We have to watch our step, and we have to be cautious about where and when we discuss the Dignity Vessel. We keep scanning our rooms to make sure no one is recording us here or watching us without our permission.

So far, we have found nothing, and for that, I am profoundly grateful.

I am not, however, grateful for the discussion we’re having over dinner.

The historians, archeologists, and scientists have listened to the recording I brought back of our first meeting. We all agree that the Dignity Vessel’s crew speaks a familiar-sounding language, and everyone has complimented Al-Nasir on his quick thinking below.

But no one knows, exactly, what to do about this language issue. Our scientists want to augment a language program that the Empire uses for strange dialects throughout the sector. Our archeologists want a written version of everything the Dignity Vessel crew says.

Only the historians seem comfortable with the spoken language.

“I’m guessing,” Dana Carmak says as she takes a slice of orange cake from the center of the table, “but I think that they’re speaking a language older than Old Earth Standard.”

She seems excited by this. Her color is up, making her seem abnormally red. Her strawberry curls tumble around her face, longer than they were when we got here, which tells me just how much time we’ve spent on Wyr already.

“How can you know that?” Lucretia Stone asks with more than a little condescension in her voice. “We haven’t seen the language.”

“We see it all the time,” Dana says. “The Dignity Vessels back home have it.”

I’m pleased that she calls our base home. My group has coalesced around that place and wants to return, which is a good thing. Some of my team is still uncomfortable with me, and with the mission. My speech a few days ago didn’t calm everyone. In fact, it made some of the team nervous.

“We have seen Old Earth Standard,” Stone says.

“There are some differences, which we attributed to the way the words were written in the Dignity Vessel,” Carmak says. “But I think now that they’re actually part of the evolution of the language.”

“Do we know the evolution of the language?” Mikk sounds a bit skeptical, although not as contemptuous as Stone. I realize that he’s actually interested, and trying to mask that interest like he always does, pretending to be the muscle instead of one of the brains.

“We know a lot,” Carmak says. “We know that Earth developed a language for diplomacy, but that language was not the main language spoken on the planet. Several other languages thrived there—how many we don’t know.”

She looks at Mikk as if to stave off that question.

“We know that the diplomatic language became the language of space, and eventually, that language became known as Standard. Standard has both evolved and codified. There are a thousand known dialects, some of which are simply older versions of Standard spoken in older parts of the known universe. I suspect if we had a way to get close to Earth we’d find people who would speak easily with the crew of this Dignity Vessel.”

“Supposition is not science,” Stone says.

“I’m not striving for science,” Carmak says. “I’m striving for understanding. The language is close enough that you, Fahd, were able to communicate with that woman.”

“I think I was communicating,” Al-Nasir says. “It felt that way at the time, but I do not know for certain. I worry about that.”

“We do the best we can,” I say, not really caring how the language evolved. “What I want to know is whether or not we can talk to these people.”

“Eventually,” Carmak says.

“How about soon?” I ask. “We don’t want them to leave before we talk to them about their ship.”

And stealth tech, and the room, and the death holes. I have so many questions. The problem is that even if we do have a grasp of the language, it’s the common parts of the language we share. The technical parts—how the machines work, what the black coating is—we might not be able to communicate about for a very long time.

“If you don’t mind,” Carmak says, “I’d like to work with Fahd. He’s got a facility for this language, and he might move quicker than everyone else.”

Meaning me.

“Simultaneous translation is not easy,” I say.

“We might be able to develop a program for that,” Bridge says. He’s been looking at the language, too. “That’ll take a few weeks at best, but it might help.”

“All right,” I say. “Fahd, when you’re not with us in that room, you’ll go with Dana, and the two of you will do your best to understand the language.”

“What about the rest of us?” Stone says. “We have language training.”

“It’s the spoken language I care about, Lucretia,” I say. “You can continue to work on the written language. If nothing else, we’ll write them notes. But it would be better if we can actually talk to them.”

She purses her lips, but it’s clear she understands me.

“Were you able to understand what they said today?” I ask Carmak.

“I think Fahd is right,” Carmak says. “They want to meet tomorrow.”

“Any reason they broke off the discussion today?” I ask. I’ve been thinking about it, and I haven’t come up with a reason.

“It sounded to me like they were confused,” Carmak says. “They kept asking your name.”

I feel my cheeks heat. “We didn’t use my name.”

“That’s the point, and the problem. If they know the word ‘Boss,’ then they’re not sure if the questions were asked and answered right. I think it’s probably best if Fahd is going to deal with them on a personal level. Unless you’re willing to use your real name . . .”

Carmak let her voice fade down, but I can hear the question in it. I don’t tell people my name, not because I’ve disavowed it, but because it doesn’t have much meaning for me. My parents gave me that name. More specifically, my father gave it to me. Before, I only told a select group of people my name. Now, I don’t bother.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll do my best not to confuse things.”

“I think you should keep getting information from all the equipment,” Stone says to me.

“I think you’re right,” I say. “Let’s hope they don’t take offense at that.”

“You’ll still bring your weapons in, right?” Bernadette Ivy asks. She opted not to return to the Business when no one else decided to go, but she still approaches everything around here with something akin to terror.

“We will,” I say, “but I don’t think the laser pistols will mean much. We saw a lot of people this afternoon, and to my eye, they all looked military. Which means that there are a lot more people on board that ship. We were outnumbered today in that room. We might be outnumbered in actuality by hundreds.”

Everyone stares at me, looking appalled. The Six, in particular, have stricken looks on their faces.

“What if they decide to take us hostage?” Quinte asks.

“We can’t come in and rescue you,” Roderick says. He looks worried.

“If they take us, they take us,” I say. I have to be honest about this. “We don’t have the numbers to fight back. The rest of you will have to monitor us. If we don’t come out of that room within the scheduled time, then you wait a few days. If you still haven’t heard from us, then you follow the emergency evacuation plan.”

Stone and Mikk look at each other. If something happens to me, there will be a little battle for control of this group.

The rest of the group looks alarmed. I’m going to quell this current panic now.

“I don’t think we have a lot to worry about on that front,” I say. “They could have taken us any time in the previous two missions. Instead, they came out and tried to initiate a dialogue. They’re as curious about us as we are about them.”

“I doubt that,” Kersting says softly.

“If they’re anything like the Dignity Vessels of legend,” I say, “they get to know people before they make decisions about them. They’re trying to get to know us now. We’re not going to make any threatening moves. I suspect we’ll be fine.”

No one speaks for a moment. Then DeVries looks at me.

“Don’t you think something is off here?” he asks softly.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, we’ve always heard about a fleet, but we’ve only found individual ships, and they’ve been old and ruined. Now we have an intact one. Do we even know this is the original crew? Or maybe these people are another group who have hijacked that ship, and don’t know how to work it.”

A chill runs down my back. I’ve been so excited to see a working Dignity Vessel that such a thought has never crossed my mind. And I’m usually enough of a pessimist to see problems like that.

“It’s a possibility,” I say. “But they can clearly operate in a stealth-tech field. So they have the genetic marker, at the very least.”

“Which means what, exactly?” Mikk asks. “Maybe they’re like your father, ruthless in picking their crew members, letting the ones without the marker die.”

“Maybe,” I say, “but I keep coming back to their military precision. Thieves usually don’t have that.”

“Neither do wreck divers,” says Tamaz with a grin.

He doesn’t know how accurate he is. I felt like a bumbling fool when I saw the care the ship’s crew used as they came down the stairs.

“We’ll figure this all out,” I say. “It’ll just take time.”

‘“Time,”‘ DeVries repeats, as if he didn’t want to hear that.

“Let’s just hope,” I say, trying to keep the group calm, “that the crew of that vessel is as patient as we are.”

“Who says we’re patient?” Kersting asks, and everyone laughs.

I laugh, too, but I really don’t find the comment funny. I’m not feeling patient. I’m not feeling patient at all.

* * * *

CITY OF RUINS

* * * *