—Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
Somewhere East of The Barrens, New Utah
They approached a city, and Asach paused in awe. It was not large. Perhaps two hundred hectares in all. It shimmered above the fields of reed, glowing green and gold in the morning sun. It appeared to be one enormous, integral structure, pockmarked with entryways: a sponge of ochre brick and glass, carpeted with green fuzz. No roads appeared to lead into it, save the one they were on: a narrow pavement of laterite, barely two hands wide, disappearing fore and aft into a tunnel of arching reeds. Asach realized that there could well be dozens of such tracks; hundreds even, hidden within the surrounding marsh and invisible to the ground-level eye. The others did not stop. Asach hurried to catch up.
But a city, indeed, it was, and had Asach’s sixth sense of that needed confirmation, it was soon to come. As they drew near, the paved track widened, and became lined with—industrial stalls, as best Asach could tell. The construction was the same: a low rise in ground, covered with young crop; one or more entryways; the doorways and, so far as Asach could see inside, the domed interior walls fashioned of what looked like glass; the floors and surrounds of laterite paving. Some forecourts included knee-high laterite benches with green-stained tops. Others had large, smooth, slightly concave, bluish-white circular surfaces, a double-arm span wide and a hand’s-breadth deep. Still others had stacks and stacks of pottery bowls, the size of two cupped hands, inverted beside laterite stair steps leading nowhere.
As they walked, some of these stalls were empty; others alive with activity, and Asach became aware of an industrial process. Enormous, silent versions of the white-haired creature that seemed to be in charge of Laurel’s progress delivered stacks and stacks of the fresh-cut reed to the work-bench stalls. There, wielding stone cudgels, others like them shoved and pounded the stalks until limp. The workbenches actually included narrow gutters at the top and base, which drained into larger versions of the bowls, that had one edge pinched into a pouring spout. Next, the now-limp reed was passed to the stone circles, where it passed under what looked like corrugated rolling pins that circled the dish, reducing the reed to pulp. Again, narrow channels drained juices into large spouted bowls. Then, bearers brought racks of bowls. Each bowl was filled, the pulp pressed flat to the rim. The racks of full bowls were then taken to the stair steps, where they were set out to dry in the dazzling sun. When partially dry, the reed-patties were turned out onto drying mats until they were hard. Lastly, the collected juices were poured into enormous ewers.
Reed-like, thought Asach, trudging along. Not reed, exactly. More like Spartina—salt grass. Or something else entirely. That intense aquamarine color—like blue-green algae. A giant algae? A fruiting algae? Like seaweed, perhaps, only on land? Absent-mindedly, lost in thought, Asach reached out and broke off a stalk with an audible snap. The hindmost Warrior swiveled at the waist in a shocking one-eighty-degree turn like an owl’s head, then leapt. Within three bounds its clawed fist dug into the small of Asach’s back while—something—scratched a thin line of blood at Asach’s throat. In sheer desperation, arched so far backward that the only thing visible was the vault of the sky, Asach shouted, as loud as possible with a hyper-extended neck, a bad imitation of the hairball-hacking sound the white one had used twice before to order restraint.
Unfortunately, what Asach actually shouted was an obscenity, but it so startled the Warrior that he took a half step back, even as Enheduanna called back “Hold!” This time, Asach caught the variation in inflection, repeated it perfectly—and then repeated it again with the error. The Warrior froze a moment. Then, suddenly, it leaned forward, eyes locked on Asach, and began hissing like a steam kettle. The other Warriors turned as one in that back-wrenching pose.
Now Asach froze. Slowly, palms forward Asach knelt, placed the broken stalk on the ground, then just as slowly stood. At this, all the Warriors began hissing. The white one was watching Asach intently. Asach was watching Laurel. The girl’s upper arm was bruised to pulp by the gripping hands of her rotating guard. She looked pale and terrified.
Asach decided to gamble all or nothing. It needed only one move to bend down, snatch up the broken stalk, and take the first two steps forward. Looking squarely at the first Warrior, Asach shouted again, in its own tongue, “Hold!” and started walking. The Warrior made to grab, but the white one waved it off. Asach kept walking, looking directly at the white one, then directly at Laurel, then directly at the white one again, the green stalk thrust forward.
“Hey Top,” called the one closest to Asach, “D’ya think it knows what it’s saying?”
“Nah,” answered the hand leader, “it’s just copyin’ the sounds. Like A Meat.”
“Yeah?” answered the first one, “I ain’t never met dinner before what said ‘hold off, asshole!’”
All the Warriors began laughing again, their hisses pulsing in unison. The thing was no threat—any one of them could cut it down in an instant—and Enheduanna was cautiously curious. Mimicking like a Meat? Or mimicking like a child? It seemed purposeful. Before bringing it before the Protector, its status must be known. It approached; it stopped, its bizarre skin hanging about in folds. It looked directly at Enheduanna. Like a Farmer at a Post, it took a bite of the stalk; chewed, swallowed. Then it touched the manna-eyed one. It made noises. Exasperated, Enheduanna turned to move on, but the thing spoke again, this time softly: “hold?”
Enheduanna’s disgust overflowed. The Warriors reeked of anger. How dare it? Thought Enheduanna. How dare it? And then thought, well it dares, either because it knows nothing, or because that’s the only word it knows. Enheduanna decided to err on the side of child, and waited. The thing reached inside its folds of skin. It pulled out a packet of something. It removed a wrapping. It took a bite, and chewed. Strange, but plain enough. Then it handed the packet to the manna-eyed one who, one-handed, began to devour it, like the vermin that it was.
Enheduanna was about to order them onward, when a file of tray-carrying Porters approached. There was no choice but to make way, lest they drop their load. The creature raised its hand in a rude gesture, and made a noise. It did it again, and again, and again. It finally dawned on Enheduanna that it was indicating manna drying-bowls. Enheduanna said: “khkhkh!” the aspirated “k” rolling three times, followed by a click.
The creature replied: “khkhkh! Bowls,” its mouth making an odd lip-pursing movement as it spoke.
Nearly-lipless Enheduanna replied: “Muuulls. khkhkh!”
The creature reached inside its skin again, and removed a small ewer. It touched the manna-eyed one. It pulled a stopper from the ewer, and held it to the manna-eyed one’s mouth, tilting the ewer. But the ewer was empty. It held it inverted, then shook it, to show that. One drop of water splattered and alighted on the creature’s hand. It raised the hand. It made a noise. It touched the manna-eyed one, and said: “khkhkh! [noise] khkhkh! [noise],” all the while making the same rude gesture at the water drop as it had used to indicate the bowls. It offered the ewer, then made the noise—no, said the word—again. Enheduanna thought, then said “Ater. [drip].” The creature replied instantly: “khkhkh! [drip].” It had to use one of its hands to say [drip], flicking its face with one finger, but it said it nonetheless.
On impulse, Enheduanna called to one of the crushing floors: “Dip me a bowl of manna juice.” The worker’s posture looked skeptical, but it did so. Enheduanna waved it aside, and with a twitch of posture indicated the creatures. They drank strangely. The manna-eyed one tilted its head back and drained the liquid in three large gulps. Enheduanna called for a second bowl. The skin-draped one sipped more slowly, but drained it as well, with that same lip-pursing, back-tilting gesture, then handed back both bowls. If the worker was surprised or intrigued by these beings, there was no way to tell. Enheduanna was amazed that they seemed to require sustenance after so short a time. They had only marched two days, and that slowly.