Strangers Bearing Gifts

Like all monons, Beattica served her insensate. A good monon, Beattica knew to be especially careful when Larra was irratable. Larra, Beattica’s insensate, was in a particularly foul mood this morning. Humid weather made Larra petulant. Unable to wipe the sweat from her own brow, Beattica would constantly be summoned to make Larra comfortable. Still, there was something else bothering Larra, something that need not concern monons, but concern Beattica it did.

Right now, the insensate was propped in a comfortable chair on the balcony, face averted from any path the sun might take, in a perfect spot to catch a gentle breeze passing over the veldt. Hopefully, the breeze would help.

Beattica stared, not because she herself felt the need to take in the breathless landscape, though it was beautiful, but so that Larra might gaze upon the ancient blue acacias. Larra could not do this for herself. She was insensate. The monodarium where they lived was built on a beautiful hillside. A solid wooden stairway led to the meadow below. Subtle shadows hid behind a sheet of mist rising from the wet grass. Some of the shadows looked like faces. Birds rose up from the grass; black ones with yellow bills. They were not from Africa, Larra once told her, nothing is where it started from. Humans are from Africa, but not the humans living there now. The God Machines are from heaven. Beattica heard the squawking of some long-legged bird in the distance, and through her telepathic gift, Larra heard it too. The last remaining member of the heron family, the cattle egret, it should not be calling so long after sunrise.

Her telepathy was not so much a gift as a curse, she thought. Her own people sold her to the monodarium, so that the sisterhood could have one more monon. One more monon to help the insensates rule the world from their wicker chairs and sitting couches.

Just then, she saw a figure in the grass. A man, but not one of the local Boricui, nor an Abomynii, her own tribe. This one was clothed. Next to him was another figure, clothed as well. She was a woman; the man’s concubine perhaps, though she lacked the dignity to walk behind him.

Meet Moronica at the door, and wash yourself first. This is very important. This is what I have been expecting. Larra’s voice was harsh inside the monon’s head. Though she could not use her voicebox, nor her arms, or her legs or any of her other muscles, Larra could make herself understood perfectly. Beattica hustled down stairs to find a washrag and soap. She was only a child when she was taken away from the Abomynii and made into a monon, but she could not help wondering how her own people got by without soap and washrags, and food from a garden. Beattica had never tasted freedom. The thought both thrilled and terrified her.

Beattica got to the door just as the strangers arrived. They walked into the downstairs fronchroom, unafraid and cordial, but also bearing no gifts. That was a serious faux pas, considering that they were visiting a house of the God Machines. Their tall, strong bodies looked unlike any city human she had seen, yet also unlike the tribal folk. They were young and carried devices. Such strange clothes and strange devices! Their outfits hugged their bodies, and the shiny silver ring piercing the woman’s nose. She had short hair, shorter than that of any city human and very much shorter than that of any tribal woman. Her hair was blue and her skin was an intense white. Her eyes were vivid purple, and her clothing was such a vivid hue that Beattica wished to touch it just for a short time to make sure it was real. Her clothing draped at the neckline to reveal a glimpse of her beautiful breasts, and her boots where shiny and blue like the rest of her outfit. She was beautiful. The man was strong, and to most people’s eyes he would have been beautiful as well, but to Beattica he was angular and lacking in the grace of Abomynii men. His grey clothing looked strong and leathery, and he had many pockets. His hair was cut close to his head, and his skin was dark brown. Both smelled of machines. Given their body language, Beattica guessed they were lovers, though not properly married, since she did not wait for his permission to enter the house.

He spoke the language of the God Machines, “My name is Mox, and this is Zaiomi. We are space travelers returned to your world. We wish to speak to the master of this house.”

At Larra’s directive, Beattica showed the strangers a comfortable couch near the window. Already, the sun was overhead and Moronica went upstairs to fetch the insensate. Moronica, her sister, was a tall, barefoot woman who rarely spoke, even though she had the gift of speech. In the meantime, Beattica stood politely and examined the couple for Larra. The woman’s bodysuit was covered with tiny silver stars that sparkled in the light. The man’s grey pants and shirt had thin white stripes. Beattica had never seen clothing so finely crafted. She touched her spun cotton garment lightly and wondered how it would feel to wear something so fine. The two of them sat cross legged on the greatroom floor, letting morning sunlight play over their beautiful faces. They held hands, both looking around as if waiting for something to happen.

Beattica could tell Larra found the man attractive, because she was

directing too many looks in that direction. Nobody knew why the ancient race of humans that gave rise to the insensates lost its ability to move and walk. Some said it was a punishment from the God Machines, but this made no sense. The God Machines did not care about what happened to humans one way or the other. Others said it was because they lost the desire to do anything themselves. Years of access to servants took away their will to do the simplest tasks, such as going to the bathroom or washing a cup. Larra told Beattica it was because of an ancient ailment called Loo Garrig’s disease that, for some reason, claimed insensates and nobody else. Insensates, always women because their boys did not survive, knew that if they could breed with just the right man, the progeny might not inherit the illness. Such a prospect must have been terrifying to Larra, since pregnancies were inevitably fatal. Once the normal litter of four babies was delivered by seesarian section, the insensate always died. Larra enjoyed occasional sex with male Boricuii, though she was careful not to do so during the one month a year she ovulated. This was the month for her, a possible reason for Larra’s foul mood. Larra was directing Beattica to stare willfully at this strange man. It made the three of them nervous.

Finally, Moronica, strong Moronica, arrived with the insensate. Larra’s frail body was tiny in Moronica’s strong arms. The monon sat Larra on a couch opposite the couple, allowing Beattica to cross Larra’s legs and cock her head just the right direction. Finally, the strangers told their story.

The man spoke to Beattica. “I am talking to a telepath no doubt? You are sharing what I say with people who can listen, but cannot speak, because of a congenital degenerative syndrome? These people are your social superiors?”

Beattica was made to nod.

“Very well then, we are space travelers, returned to your planet after forty thousand years. We come from an ancient world, this world. We have been very far away. We have been to many different planets and seen strange things. We carry important information. It is information you may not wish to know because it will unsettle your world view, but you should know these things.”

“Beattica, go tell the insensates, Danjo and Cimbion, what has happened, after that, fetch the strangers some wine.” Larra hissed inside the monon’s head. She did not want to leave, for the two strangers were just beginning to tell their story, and the errand would take an hour or more, but leave she did.

The sun was at its zenith by the time Beattica returned with a ceramic vessel of aged, pink wine from the cellar. She was tired from her long walk. Danjo and Cimbion had accepted the news without comment. The visitors were standing near the window, gently touching hands, when Beattica entered the room. The strange woman was speaking.

“On a place like Pluto, water ice is as solid as stone. It is very cold there.” She makes eye contact with Beattica, and shifts the topic of her monologue. “So, now you know. There are millions of us living out there, in habitats all over the solar system. We have been to many other worlds. Some of us have stayed in other solar systems, where other planets orbit different suns. You can see some of these suns, such as Alpha Centauri, in the night sky. You’re not following me, are you?”

The visitor beamed, laughing curiously. Beattica sensed that she was not being made fun of, but that Larra certainly was. Beattica felt a certain vicarious joy in this.

The woman with the purple eyes continued. “I have seen water clocks designed by the ancient Egyptians, and steam engines fabricated by Ancient Greeks. This machine out there on Pluto was something like that; ingenious and bizarre but dangerously limited. Still, we worked, bringing one component after another online till its clumsy circuits bristled with life. It revealed its secrets to us before we shut it down again. This was one of your God Machines, dead for centuries. They are gone, you know that? Now, we can come back to Earth. Frankly, we were wondering what we would find here.”

The man spoke thoughtfully. “Earth is not a wasteland, nor a single huge machine as we imagined it to be. From space, we saw a world of verdant forests, immense grasslands, blowing dunes, and severe icecaps. Carbon dioxide, absorbed into the ocean and weathered into the rocks after the last of the fossil fuels were burned away one hundred thousand years ago, has once again reached very low levels, and the planet is now in the grip of an ice age. The glaciers in the North come and go. The last time human civilization prospered on the planet, it was in one of those brief times when the glaciers have retreated and left the Earth under them bare. The sea was much higher then, and this place was under the ocean at the time. Now, the glaciers crisscross Siberia, and Juniper forests cover much of the rest of North America. There are cities beneath those glaciers. A ruin even in my day, the city of New York is flattened under a mile of ice.”

The woman broke in. “High in orbit, there are monolithic satellites the size of mountains. They are somehow associated with the God Machines that ran your civilization into the ground and destroyed it. They lasted for thousands of years. Some centuries, you worshiped them like gods, others, you barely knew they were there. They are dead now. No machine can repair itself forever, and they were too distrustful of each other to allow any of their kind to make copies of themselves.”

Larra instructed Beattica to shake my head twice for no. The blue-clad woman picked up on the gesture and looked thoughtfully at Beattica. The monon found herself speaking words for Larra. “This is heresy. The God Machines returned from the other universes to save us. They protect the Earth from evil machines from space. We are at war with the evil machines. It is a semiotic war. It is war of ideas and gestures. This war will never end. Under the protection of the God Machines, we are safe and the sun shines.”

The two visitors were silent for a moment, as if considering the implications of the words Beattica just uttered.

Speaking through Moronica, Larra spoke. “You are visitors and did not bring a gift. We will overlook this insult if Mox retires to the bedroom with me. After that, you are free to go and never return. Woman, wait in the garden with Beattica.”

Beattica was horrified. How dare Larra attempt to brush aside the woman and take her man so easily? Were the visitors stupid enough to imagine they could speak such heresy and simply leave? Even now, Cimbion’s hunters were coming. Still, Beattica kept her mouth shut. She was very surprised to learn that the new arrangement was acceptable to these strange visitors. If they knew they were in peril, they did not show it.

“Fine, the master of the house wants your DNA.” The woman spoke to her lover nonchalantly. “You might very well save them from extinction. It is good that at least part of you is not machine after all. This is probably the best way to avoid an ugly scene, no?”

Mox looked first bewildered, then horrified, then accepting. “I suppose I’ll only be a moment then.” He uttered, following Moronica as she carried the insensate to the bedroom.

It was a fine afternoon in the garden. Pink hibiscus flowers bloomed lavishly. An ocean breeze reached up the hillside. From the acacia trees, the staccato hum of cicadas was almost deafening. Far away in the distance, they could see the sprawling metropolis of Urb, with its cooking fires and ancient white towers. “Could it be true?” thought Beattica, Were the God Machines dead?

They sat in the shade under the arms of a black-trunked acacia. Tree rats, black and covered in shiny fur, stared down at them. It was the season for sunflowers, and the afternoon breeze rustled the flower heads in the sun. The stone path was littered with the exoskeletons of cicadas.

“Cape cicadas, a rare survivor of the Anthropocene” said the woman. Beattica had no idea what she was talking about.

In the distance, the God Machine stood like a crystalline needle. It was a spike, six miles high, and nearly transparent except for a black center that ran the length of the thing. What made it stand was a mystery to Beattica. Surrounding it, for miles, were the mortar and stone complexes that made up the city. Always, the city would be here to serve it, with its priestly class of insensates and its utilitarian monons. There were thousands of such cities, Larra once told her. Could it really be dead?

“Poor Mox.” Began the woman. “I’m afraid he got more than he bargained for.”

Beattica looked at her and sighed. “You are not angry at being dishonored like this?” She asked.

“Dishonored? No. I’m more concerned that Mox can’t finish what he started. Your mistress isn’t exactly his type.”

Beattica stared at her, considering this stranger carefully.

“So, you spend your days carrying her around like a load of luggage? Not much of a life, I imagine.” quipped the woman.

Horrified, Beattica blushed.

“Oh yes, I forget, your telepathic connection makes a private conversation impossible. I’ve seen worse. At least this way, you don’t have to worry about where your next meal is coming from. Why don’t you go back to your people and gather nuts?”

Beattica was afraid to answer. To leave this compound would be a death sentence.

“Afraid to answer again, I suppose?” Her voice was kind and gentle. “Don’t worry. I’ve blocked your telepathic connection to her, mostly to spare Mox the thrill of one more spectator. You didn’t know I could do that, did you?”

Beattica stared blankly. How was it that this woman could possess so much power?

“Well, that’s all right.” The woman continued. “You were Abomynii, I can tell by the tattoo on your upper lip. That is the tribe we first met when we came back here. Wonderful people. From space, we discovered that it was impossible to make contact with the God Machines. They would not respond on any of their normal frequencies. They are all dead, or at the very least, insane. That one in the distance babbles a meaningless string of numbers over and over again. We had to land. Besides, we had an object that we wanted them to experience.”

Beattica shrugged and poured wine into two pottery bowls. It smelled delicious. She had never been allowed to drink wine before, and hoped she liked it.

The woman with the purple eyes sat silently drinking her wine for a while. Beattica could tell she was happy, for some reason, perhaps because she missed being back on Earth after all her time in space

Zaiomi looked at the girl sympathetically. She drank a sip of wine and started talking again.

“After we left the dropship, we walked to the city and discovered that, though we could wander through it at will, none of the locals would communicate with us. It was the tribal people surrounding the city that took us in and sheltered us. Millions of them, descendants of the humans that built these huge stone cities, have gone back to hunting and gathering. Not a scrap of farmland on the planet worth a damn, anyway, but the rats have evolved to the size of terriers and there are flightless pigeons on every continent. Some of these hunter gatherers are not even human, they are robots like me, masquerading as humans.

Robots like me. Beattica finally understood who these visitors were.

The night they took us in, they built a big fire and told us the story of their people. They say the founders of their people and the God machines once lived like brother and sister, but that their ancestors loved the Earth, and the spring rain, and lighting fires at night, and the ancestors of the God Machines wanted books and knowledge, and to know the secrets of how to make metal out of salt and how to make music come from nowhere, so the families drifted apart, fighting battles that left their people devoid of artifacts and the people of the God Machines devoid of the ability to move or do anything for themselves. In exchange for knowledge, and tools, and other things, the Abomynii, the Boricuii, the Nihilii, and the other tribes trade their own offspring for use as ritual slaves. The less favored ones work the gardens and the wells and the favored ones, like you, serve the insensates. Does that sound familiar?”

Beattica nodded. Summoning all the bravery she had in her, she spoke. “You are the evil machines from space, aren’t you? You come here with ideas and gestures, just like the insensates preach. First you say the God Machines are dead, now you say insane. How can you say these things and expect to leave here alive?”

“I suppose that is one way of looking at it” said the woman thoughtfully. “But that machine out there really is quite mad. Perhaps you could say we won this war a long time ago without realizing it.” Don’t worry, your people can do no harm to us. We would just like to avoid harming them.

Over the din of cicadas, a quiet whooshing sound could be heard coming from the hills to the north.

“Let me show you something.” She offered. “This is how you win a semiotic war – a war of ideas and gestures.” She produced a metal cylinder, perhaps half the length of Beattica’s forearm. It seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, and it never seemed to be quite the same shape from one moment to the next.

“We did bring a gift, not for your mistress, but for the God Machine in the city below. This is from an alien planet, far away. Don’t worry, it’s sterile. It seems to be a latticework of exotic material that would be unstable were it not for a connection to a similar lattice of material in another plane of existence, possibly another universe, though more likely in the past or future. It has been all over the galaxy, and during the duration of its travels, its ultrastructure has changed. You’re not understanding any of this are you? This is what kills a God Machine. It is a problem they cannot possibly solve.”

The whoosh grew louder. Suddenly, a silver aircraft appeared overhead lowered to the open ground near the fish pond. Beattica had never seen such a thing before. Invisible one moment, now gleaming in the sun, it looked like the point of a very finely made arrow.

Her companion walked out into the veranda. “That was unpleasant” he commented, squinting at the sun.

The woman got up to leave, touching Beattica on the shoulder. “We don’t have a telepath” she said. “The real question is, will you come with us?”