Report to the Empircists Part 5/5

 

"We detected a note from far away," I told Marty, "and, at first, thought that it was a distress signal."

"How far away?" he asked me.

"At a spot where some edges of your galaxy were just being obscured from vision," I told him.

He told us that nothing that they had produced could go that far that quickly, and I told him that he was basically correct. I explained that we had caught a particle that had bounced off the broadcast. He asked me what type of particle that was, and I told him that since it was a particle his science didn’t recognize, I could explain it no further.

"You can go anywhere," he announced. "Can’t you?"

"We’re limited," I told him. "There are always thresholds. We’re concerned that the woman is missing. Your records don’t tell us where she is."

Marty told us that the woman no longer existed. This shocked us. I told him that another possibility we had considered was that she was stolen. He indicated that that wasn’t the case. Contact asked if she was manufactured. Marty didn’t understand. He mentioned the state the musician was from. Now we were all confused. I provided an example of manufacture, telling him that our forms didn’t truly represent existing humans, but were manufactured from a composite of motion picture performers.

"Okay," Marty said. "I know what you mean. No."

"No, as in you suddenly forgot what he meant?" Adjunct asked him.

"No, she wasn’t manufactured," I said. Marty indicated that I was right. Adjunct apologized, adding that the mission had been long.

Marty told us that the woman existed, performed the songs, and then didn’t exist. At the time, we found this confusing. Concerning the particular information we sought, our mission was failing, but the quality of the information we had gathered overall was superb. We liked the planet and its inhabitants. Marty shared our interests. We were simply having problems with communication. Adjunct sought access to the music machine, and I verbally reminded him that displays of super-human ability would be counter productive. Adjunct then requested permission from Marty to operate the machine manually, and found the song that attracted us.

"A particle encountered a series of electrons from a presentation of this song some years ago," Adjunct told Marty. "It carried with it a universal note of despair. That’s what attracted us initially."

Marty nodded, with an expression of wonder. Our visit was more important to him than to us, and he understood the chance that brought us there.

We listened to the song and invited his comments during the performance. Marty told us what he found interesting about the structure of the song. The woman was using positive language while describing a state of despair. He felt that it was a hopeful song. By recognizing love, the love couldn’t truly be missing.

Our party was excited.

"That would be a valid interpretation!" I told Marty. "We could have used your input when we were…that far away."

"Is the music curative?" Adjunct asked him.

"It helps," he said.

"Then it’s palliative," I said. "When you listen to that song, do you wish to reunite her with the feeling she has lost?"

"You could say that."

"I just did."

"Is this another custom, granting permission to ask retroactively?" Contact asked.

"It’s a qualified affirmative," Adjunct informed us.

I asked Marty why he chose to listen to that music in particular.

"It was handy…"

"Readily available," Adjunct clarified.

"…thank you. And I was sick. I wanted soft music."

"You wanted her to sing to you," Contact told him.

"You could say that."

I told him that he was a sentimental subject. Contact added that we were pleased with that, and that we will comfort ourselves with the thought that he will always possess that personality attribute.

Adjunct asked him what other moods compelled him to listen to that music.

"I don’t know," he said. "I don’t keep track."

"He doesn’t catalog his moods and the resulting activity in a thorough manner," Adjunct informed us. He gave Marty an example. "Hypothetically, if someone you had considered a possible mate informed you that you are wrong in that assumption, would you then listen to this music for its palliative effect?"

"Either that or speed metal," Marty answered.

"Fast metal?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered vaguely.

"In a molten state, perhaps," Contact offered. "It’s a warm planet."

"A contrary musical genre," Adjunct concluded.

"A contrary human would be more correct," Contact said, then added, "Again, hypothetically, if you encountered the woman who sang that song, would you personally attempt to reunite her with those feelings she had lost…"

"Less relevant," I told her, but she wished it all to the worst place and continued…

"…perhaps initiating a relationship where you have children and spend all your tomorrows together?"

"Hypothetically, yes," he said, "But impossible, and by the way, don’t pile on."

"We have established that the subject is human," I announced. "But why is it impossible?"

Marty used as an example our concern over the game he had played when he was young. The worst that could have happened to him, happened to her.

"Oh," I said. "Then you just don’t know where she is."

"You could say that. Do you?"

"No, but we needn’t look any further," I told him. "Thank you for your help. Our work here is done. You have a nice planet."

We offered to depart through the door, using bipedal locomotion, but Marty insisted that we leave the way we came. Clasping hands in a ritual of departure, Adjunct advised him to ‘widen his horizons’, and called up the image of our galaxy. We stood before the display and Contact told him to never lose his sentimentality and to drink plenty of fluids. As the image of our galaxy engulfed us, I took the opportunity to jab a finger toward him.

"And don’t tell us your pension number."

He returned the gesture.

"Never".