Report to the Empiricists Part 3/5

 

REPORT TO THE EMPIRICISTS, CONTINUED

Three members of the crew were chosen for the surface party, myself, the ship contact, and a catalog expert who was due an excursion. We assumed human form and practiced movement; growing accustomed to the bodies we were in. It was determined that a mid-sized city in the center of the musician’s home governmental region would be best for our mission. We used composites of motion picture entertainers for our bodily features, represented our born gender, and chose casual business attire.

After much preparation, our party surfaced mid-stride on a small, quiet road in the business district of the city. We entered the nearest place of refreshment. There we would acclimatize ourselves through casual interaction with the dominants, and seek either verbal information or records about the woman who sang the song.

The place of refreshment could only be described as nice. The atmosphere held the scent of the roasted organic matter used to prepare the hot liquid refreshment. Contact purchased three containers of the ‘coffee of the day’, using local currency provided by the Empiricists. We experienced extended gaze from some of the people there; of course our appearance and attitude could never be perfect. We tossed thoughts as we walked to a spot of semi-repose and concluded that we invited attention mostly through Contact purchasing the drinks.

Assuming form creates attitude. Thus, especially this early in the mission, we were distracted. A distinct musical presentation reproduced on a machine in the shop was both relaxing and thought-provoking. Humans spoke to one another throughout the room. Adjunct requested a piece of currency from Contact, and inspected it. He pressed it against his face, compelling me to toss the fact to him that he possessed a single olfactory opening closer to the center. He inspected it visually and noted that it was very ornate, probably against counterfeit. He borrowed another piece from Contact and compared the two. He found them roughly alike, even in scent.

Noting continued gaze from those nearby, I reminded them to commit themselves to the inclusion of verbal wave communication. The next message was tossed, however. Contact had fielded an alert. Since we were in virtual form, our drinks had an allergic effect on our bodies, resulting in nervous stimulation. Adjunct confirmed this with a rapid nod of his head which seemed so naturally motivated. We all responded with diaphragmatic spasms. Then a female close by asked if we had found the fungus on the currency. Adjunct responded that he had not, and asked if that was the cause of the scent. He tossed to us that he was finding communication more difficult than he expected.

"No! No!" she said. "There’s a mushroom on it."

She hung partially over the shared backs of the repose pods, her head jutting into our space, her wavy head covering dangling into it. She motioned to the currency in Adjunct’s hand.

"Let me show you. I’ll give it back."

Adjunct handed her the piece of currency.

"You can give it back if you wish."

The young woman showed an expression of amusement. This was reflected by her male companion who sat on the other side of the pod they shared. Like her, his head covering was trimmed in a particular style, but closer to the scalp. Contact tossed that she would choose the woman’s style if there were another excursion to Earth.

The woman commented that Adjunct was easy in texture or attitude.

"You’re smooth," she said. "I don’t need to keep your money, though, thanks. Look."

She folded the currency twice, lengthwise, changing the image of a revered government leader into that of a mushroom. Adjunct toss-relayed information to us about the leader from Empiricist files- as he showed us the bill personally. The male told the female to show us the animal on the currency. We were now aware that, in all probability, there was not a tiny animal actually clinging to it.

Contact tossed that the woman had some pride in her head covering. Adjunct noted that this was also the case with the man and his facial covering. The man also wore a crude, vision-correcting device on his face. I tossed to the others that, considering the fact that the woman wore hers directly on her eyes, his device could be a personal stylistic expression on his part.

The woman had forgotten where the spider was on the currency, so she asked the man where it was, and he showed her. This was on a spot on the bill where it was most ornate, and she explained that they entertained themselves with the thought that the tiny animal had created the design on the currency for shelter and to capture food. The entire prospect amused us.

This was very different from the ritualistic first contact we had with these inhabitants. The mission was progressing well. Communication was difficult, but the result was more positive than expected. I tossed a reminder to the others to finish our drinks slowly. I tossed to Adjunct the task of getting these two to talk about their perceptions of individuals and groups within their culture.

Contact asked, "You invent and re-create these images with currency during your leisure time?"

The woman took on an expression of offence. "Are you saying that I have too much time on my hands?"

We focused our attention on her hands, which disconcerted her. If she could physically grasp temporality, it would be an example of the seemingly impossible acts our expert had warned me about. Contact scanned for extraordinary phenomena, and we prepared for immediate departure. Then the humans laughed, and the male slid from the repose pod to a vertical position.

"Where are you from?"

Adjunct mentioned a large city nearby. His response was good, considering the situation, and he used a deft contraction. But they didn’t fully believe him. The male announced that the time had come for him to go elsewhere, and labor for currency.

Contact tossed that, although the situation was confusing, there was no need for us to leave. The man expressed sadness that he couldn’t stay and interact. Contact found and relayed to us the fact that he felt no threat and his belief that our continued interaction with the woman would be a positive experience for her. Contact was compelled to toss to him a statement that we meant no harm. He left, deep in thought. As the young woman returned the bill to Adjunct, Contact tossed the fact that she would soon ask our names. We weren’t as prepared to meet the dominants as we should have been. So Adjunct was given the task of creating Earth names for the party immediately. Meanwhile, the young woman explained that her friend earned currency through artistic expression. That seemed important to her, and gave Adjunct needed time as he searched through Empiricist files for our new names. He had also heard the man use the woman’s name when departing and made use of that information.

"Your name is a variation on the word ‘pretty’," he told the woman. His task was difficult. He relayed to us the headings of files he was poring through. The woman said that her name was also reflected in the one for the hottest period in the hemisphere. I tossed to Adjunct that generic names would be better than showing hesitancy in revealing them. He tossed that mine had already been generated.

"…and what is your second name?" he asked her.

"Rose. Julie Rose."

We spread our arms and lifted our faces upward, impressed, and created enough delay for Adjunct to name us well.

"Julie, this is our boss, Rex Trout."

I nodded to her.

"This is Blythe Waters, our administrator, and I am Eddy dePoole, in the position of information management."

‘Blythe’ tossed that she had increased respect for ‘Eddy’, and I couldn’t help but add:

"I’m from a family that originally settled in what is the northern New York City metropolitan area. The Van Trouts."

Julie rubbed the fingers of one hand together and told us that she now understood our lack of concern over currency. Contact mentioned that her middle name was ‘Lavender’, then asked: "Is anyone offended by the creation of an image of fungus from that of a former leader?"

Julie was cautiously amused by Blythe’s question.

"If you are, I’m sorry."

She looked at me. Since I had been identified as the leader, and hadn’t joined in the interaction much, she valued my opinion. The relationship between individuals and group symbols was an important subject, and I wanted her to be comfortable.

"We’re not offended," I told her, "and we’re pleased that you showed us."

"Good. I just assumed you wouldn’t be. Some people might be, I guess."

The Empiricist envoy was correct to note the difference between intellect and knowledge when dealing with these dominants. Julie was curious, and began to glean knowledge from us.

"Then, who is the president on the dollar bill?"

I mimicked knowledge retrieval attitudes and recited information Adjunct toss-relayed to me. Julie was amused, and Contact joined her in the reaction, which helped the situation.

"I didn’t know most of that," Julie told me. "But you didn’t mention that he chopped down a cherry tree, or that he had wooden teeth."

Our bodies betrayed astonishment as Adjunct relayed fact and fable from the Empiricist files. Our only reaction was to laugh. Then Julie either inquired as to our mode of transportation, or our overall mission.

"So, what brings you here?"

"We’re just hanging around and want to meet people."

She was entertained by Adjunct’s use of slang. She spread her arms wide.

"Well, here I am!"

Julie told us that her education had been delayed, but that she was now in a tertiary program combining artistic expression and the use of newer technology. We told her that it seemed to be a good plan, and that she seemed ready for the task. Then she asked if our mission was to bring her to faith and/or spiritual enlightenment. Contact said that Julie seemed to be doing fine. Julie was pleased, but she still knew that we weren’t revealing what exactly our mission was.

"We’re social scientists," I told her.

"Well, what do you want to know?"

My response wasn’t the best way to proceed. Actually, the social aspect of our mission was going well, according to Eclectic guidelines. I decided to take a risk and simply ask her if she knew about the woman who sang the song.

"Yeah! Yeah!" she answered in the affirmative, disregarding the sudden shift in relevance, leaning over the back of the repose pod toward us. "But I don’t remember her songs much. That’s old music."

We had to remind ourselves that something new to us was so past to be practically unheard of to some there. Julie told us it was a slow type of music her parents listened to. She pressed us for more information, but we could only tell her bland facts. Still wondering who we were, and what our mission was, she told us that we were musicians, which we denied. Adjunct couldn’t locate files of the music nearby, so we had no example. Contact mentioned the title of the presentation that attracted us, but Julie didn’t recognize it.

"Well, sing it, then," she said. "Sing a bit of it."

With her innocent, curious attitude, we felt the only thing that would make her happy would be to have her hear some of the music. Adjunct and I ruled ourselves out of the task. Contact readied herself, mimicking the pose performers would take in the visual representations we had seen, as Adjunct prepared her form for the partial digital manipulation she needed. Then she sang three stanzas of the song, a note of which attracted us to the planet. The performance was rote, of course, but the quality of her voice was similar. Contact displayed comfort and enjoyment during the presentation, and her gestures were natural. Although I disclosed the purpose of our mission clumsily, the result was exemplary. Julie struck her hands together rapidly after Contact finished, indicating pleasure with the performance and fondness for the performer. No training could have prepared us for such a reaction. We were momentarily startled. Another person in the room joined her in this action, having been surprised by the performance while leaving. He then advised Contact, I think, to make a transition from her current position, which he assumed was diurnal, to the nocturnal career of an entertainer. We had been so focused on the interaction that we hadn’t noticed that we were now nearly alone in the room with the young woman.

"That’s such a sad song!"

Julie’s face didn’t indicate sadness. Her joy didn’t preclude content. Instead she attacked Contact with affection, jabbing a finger toward her.

"You’re a musician!"

"She’s formally trained," I said, and it was true. The presentation used every facet of Eclectic training.

Julie declared Contact a fine example of a scientist and musician and told her that her own life’s aim was to be similarly endowed with such knowledge and talent.

"You know," she said, "you’re different. At first I thought you were aliens or something. Now I know you’re just good people."

The lustrous fibers on her head dangled over an eye, as she fixed us with the other and declared in a charming growl:

"But I don’t think you’re from Chicago."