Collaboration
“I hope you realise how disruptive this is to my work on the Northern Continent, Professor,” Dvorack muttered, as he leafed through the pages that fluttered on his lap, eagerly seeking to make their escape through the open window of the lighter.
“Believe me, Professor,” Lydia Moreno spoke over the engines insistent hum, “I would not have brought you down here for no good reason.”
“Then why the secrecy?” He asked. He had important, possibly ground breaking, work to conclude prior to next year’s uplift. What could possibly be of greater concern amongst the sparser primitive tribes down here? None of the original research had indicated anything particularly unusual.
“Not secrecy Professor,” Moreno stressed, for what must have been the fourth time, “merely my whim. As I’ve already told you, I have the greatest respect for your work and I just wanted you to see this first hand. Please indulge me for a few moments longer, we are almost there, look.” She pointed out of the craft’s window, which up until now Dvorack had paid no notice of, preferring instead to concentrate upon the documents that he had insisted on bringing along, making notes here and there as he worked his way through them. So odd that he prints everything onto paper, she thought, where on earth did he keep it all?
Dvorack raised his head and for the first time looked out and down across the ocean that they had been traversing. Land was looming on the horizon and the lighter was angling towards it, bringing it visibly closer second by second. But the terrain was like none that he had ever seen. The mountains that loomed loftily amongst the clouds were magnificent, yet in no way unique, but the land that came down to the sea, over a distance of what must have been a hundred kilometres, was a different matter entirely.
The appearance was of literally a hundred rivers cutting deeply definitive paths to the ocean, leaving incredibly long straight plateaus of land pointing like fingers towards the waves. Plateaus that must have been many miles across, he surmised as the craft came in lower and closer.
Dvorack tore his gaze away from the window, to look at Moreno in what she thought was the first time that carried no air of hostility. “It’s….remarkable Professor. I presume you have a thesis all worked up?”
“Yes Professor, of course.”
“Look,” he smiled, and for the first time, with the wind swirling his greying hair, she realised that he was not an unattractive person after all. “We are both Professors. There’s an unwritten code you know. Amongst equals it’s okay to drop the titles. Please, call me Mr. Dvorack.”
The uncertainty was evident upon her face, causing him to laugh out loud. “I’m joking, I’m joking, it’s Philip, call me Philip.”
She relaxed back into her seat, shaking her head at his unexpected jocularity, “I’m Lydia.”
He looked back at the approaching land masses, “So Lydia, give me your Geologist’s view on those mesas. But remember, I’m a simple Xeno Culturist, so keep it basic.”
“Well,” Moreno began, “it’s pretty hard to believe it, but these formations are little over a thousand years old, which, as you know, is like yesterday in geological terms. They’re the result of torrential erosion. Much of the water on this world is sub-tectonic and when fissures occur between the platelets the uprising is considerable and extremely lengthy.”
“But the amount of watercourses…?” Dvorack could not reign in his enquiring scientist’s mind.
“The geology is stacked repetitively for thousands of miles along this continental coastline,” Moreno continued, “and it was always undulatory, which is what saved the inhabitants – they would have clung to the high ground whilst the torrents carved their way through the chalklike intermediaries.”
She caught the glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “And these inhabitants are why you’ve brought me in?” he asked.
“Yes, there is more that you need to see,” she turned her head to shout into the forward pod of the aircraft, “take us closer.” She then turned back to Dvorack, took the liberty of moving to sit alongside him, noticing that his papers had been stowed away.
“We are correctly shielded?” he enquired, looking concerned.
“Absolutely, they’ll see nothing and we’ll be running near silent.”
“Then tell me more,” he said.
“We have limited field operatives, for obvious reasons of culture preservation,” Dvorack hurriedly nodded his understanding, “but we have encountered two very distinct tribes dwelling on adjacent mesas. They each number in the tens of thousands and, although they appear to have many differences, there are also similarities.”
“Religious similarities?”
“Yes,” Moreno went on, “a thousand years back they would have been a single people, now they are two. The first call themselves the Tuluk and the second the Soluk. The closest translations we have are God’s Fist and God’s Beloved. There is much animosity between them, they each travel many kilometres into the mountains to skirmish with each other in the narrowest of passes, it is the only place they can come into contact.”
Dvorack pondered this, “it’s probably a rite of passage, a coming of age thing. Very common.”
“But, they’ve suddenly stopped fighting and started trading. Many goods are travelling up to the mountains and down the other side. And there is a large transfer of people also, with no indication of them being prisoners or hostages.”
“But this is a natural civilisational process!” Dvorack again began to feel concerned that his precious time was being wasted.
Moreno gestured to the window again and for a second time he was amazed. Indeed there was much urbanisation on each of the mesas, but what took his breath away were the gigantic arms of an impossible wooden bridge that reached to each other across the churning kilometre wide river below.
“But, how….?”
“There are mechanics looking into it already. The adaptive processes involved in constructing a structure such as this with such basic materials is, they tell us, unbelievable. These people are pushing the capabilities of what they have at hand further than we humans ever did.”
Dvorack smiled proudly, “and soon they will be reunited once more.”
“No,” Moreno looked down at the lighter’s floor, “they are building this together, but not to unify themselves. This bridge will enable them to do something not possible in a thousand years.” She looked up into his eyes, “they will go to war.”
“Believe me, Professor,” Lydia Moreno spoke over the engines insistent hum, “I would not have brought you down here for no good reason.”
“Then why the secrecy?” He asked. He had important, possibly ground breaking, work to conclude prior to next year’s uplift. What could possibly be of greater concern amongst the sparser primitive tribes down here? None of the original research had indicated anything particularly unusual.
“Not secrecy Professor,” Moreno stressed, for what must have been the fourth time, “merely my whim. As I’ve already told you, I have the greatest respect for your work and I just wanted you to see this first hand. Please indulge me for a few moments longer, we are almost there, look.” She pointed out of the craft’s window, which up until now Dvorack had paid no notice of, preferring instead to concentrate upon the documents that he had insisted on bringing along, making notes here and there as he worked his way through them. So odd that he prints everything onto paper, she thought, where on earth did he keep it all?
Dvorack raised his head and for the first time looked out and down across the ocean that they had been traversing. Land was looming on the horizon and the lighter was angling towards it, bringing it visibly closer second by second. But the terrain was like none that he had ever seen. The mountains that loomed loftily amongst the clouds were magnificent, yet in no way unique, but the land that came down to the sea, over a distance of what must have been a hundred kilometres, was a different matter entirely.
The appearance was of literally a hundred rivers cutting deeply definitive paths to the ocean, leaving incredibly long straight plateaus of land pointing like fingers towards the waves. Plateaus that must have been many miles across, he surmised as the craft came in lower and closer.
Dvorack tore his gaze away from the window, to look at Moreno in what she thought was the first time that carried no air of hostility. “It’s….remarkable Professor. I presume you have a thesis all worked up?”
“Yes Professor, of course.”
“Look,” he smiled, and for the first time, with the wind swirling his greying hair, she realised that he was not an unattractive person after all. “We are both Professors. There’s an unwritten code you know. Amongst equals it’s okay to drop the titles. Please, call me Mr. Dvorack.”
The uncertainty was evident upon her face, causing him to laugh out loud. “I’m joking, I’m joking, it’s Philip, call me Philip.”
She relaxed back into her seat, shaking her head at his unexpected jocularity, “I’m Lydia.”
He looked back at the approaching land masses, “So Lydia, give me your Geologist’s view on those mesas. But remember, I’m a simple Xeno Culturist, so keep it basic.”
“Well,” Moreno began, “it’s pretty hard to believe it, but these formations are little over a thousand years old, which, as you know, is like yesterday in geological terms. They’re the result of torrential erosion. Much of the water on this world is sub-tectonic and when fissures occur between the platelets the uprising is considerable and extremely lengthy.”
“But the amount of watercourses…?” Dvorack could not reign in his enquiring scientist’s mind.
“The geology is stacked repetitively for thousands of miles along this continental coastline,” Moreno continued, “and it was always undulatory, which is what saved the inhabitants – they would have clung to the high ground whilst the torrents carved their way through the chalklike intermediaries.”
She caught the glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “And these inhabitants are why you’ve brought me in?” he asked.
“Yes, there is more that you need to see,” she turned her head to shout into the forward pod of the aircraft, “take us closer.” She then turned back to Dvorack, took the liberty of moving to sit alongside him, noticing that his papers had been stowed away.
“We are correctly shielded?” he enquired, looking concerned.
“Absolutely, they’ll see nothing and we’ll be running near silent.”
“Then tell me more,” he said.
“We have limited field operatives, for obvious reasons of culture preservation,” Dvorack hurriedly nodded his understanding, “but we have encountered two very distinct tribes dwelling on adjacent mesas. They each number in the tens of thousands and, although they appear to have many differences, there are also similarities.”
“Religious similarities?”
“Yes,” Moreno went on, “a thousand years back they would have been a single people, now they are two. The first call themselves the Tuluk and the second the Soluk. The closest translations we have are God’s Fist and God’s Beloved. There is much animosity between them, they each travel many kilometres into the mountains to skirmish with each other in the narrowest of passes, it is the only place they can come into contact.”
Dvorack pondered this, “it’s probably a rite of passage, a coming of age thing. Very common.”
“But, they’ve suddenly stopped fighting and started trading. Many goods are travelling up to the mountains and down the other side. And there is a large transfer of people also, with no indication of them being prisoners or hostages.”
“But this is a natural civilisational process!” Dvorack again began to feel concerned that his precious time was being wasted.
Moreno
“But, how….?”
“There are mechanics looking into it already. The adaptive processes involved in constructing a structure such as this with such basic materials is, they tell us, unbelievable. These people are pushing the capabilities of what they have at hand further than we humans ever did.”
Dvorack smiled proudly, “and soon they will be reunited once more.”
“No,” Moreno looked down at the lighter’s floor, “they are building this together, but not to unify themselves. This bridge will enable them to do something not possible in a thousand years.” She looked up into his eyes, “they will go to war.”