Chapter 10: The Universal Phrasebook

  The city didn't have a wall. It had an immune system.

  I crouched in the ferns. I could observe the world changing through a tiny hole in the ferns... Discomforting. The ground beneath my feet was a bloody mess of roots and pained bioluminescent fungi, but only a step farther on, the mess ceased. The trees, in front, were like spiraling giants, their old branches twisting and interlacing, creating a floating city of living bridges and walkways, which obscured the sky.

  It was beautifully organized and it was terrifyingly well-lit.

  "Okay," I whispered, crouching behind a fern. "They have rules, in case of a Structured society. The first rule: Do not allow the stray dog in."

  I checked my Lumen. 9/9. Full tank.

  I checked my Horizon. 7. It was a sore ache in my ribs, and was soon forgotten.

  I needed to cross that line. But to come as Kaelen, the Earthling Anomaly, was a nice method of getting arrested, cut up, or both. I needed to be someone else.

  I turned inwards, and focusing on Astrolabe. This time; I wanted to belong. Or at least, I wanted to look like I belonged. I thought back to the Sun-Petals, that golden, resonance-dampening pollen I’d looted earlier. Its properties had already been studied by Astrolabe.

  "Astrolabe," I murmured. "Upgrade the disguise. The harmless tourist package would be the best one."

  I poured a constant flow of Lumen into the particular constellation of my identity, the memory of the pollen, it served as a spark. This was subtle. It did not feel like the panic-fueled stealth of the Aetheric Shroud.

  [Activated Veil of Native Resonance]

  [Tier 2: The Guise of the Traveler]

  I felt a golden light of coziness upon my eyes. It settled. Like a second layer of clothes. To my own eyes, nothing changed. But to the world? he alien jagged edges of my soul softened. My aura that had traditionally screamed INTERDIMENSIONAL TRESPASSER, now layered lightly with a tasteless paste of the local atmosphere.

  Was I local? Nope. But I might pass as a person, say, in the next town over. Just a traveler.

  "Showtime," I breathed.

  I abandoned the ferns and proceeded to the pavement of the trimmed moss.

  I half-expected a siren. I expected the obsidian-skinned locals walking the path to point and scream.

  A tall, slender being with skin like polished glass and glowing teal veins walked right past me. It turned a little to the right to pass without hitting me, and its eyes moved over my body with complete, joyful disregard. No screaming and recoiling, good.

  It worked. I became boring to the locals of this place.

  I was in the traffic heading towards the city center. The design was mind-bending. Buildings were expanded rather than constructed as on earth. The stores were composed of huge hollowed-out boles of iron-wood and their windows were made of natural holes in the bark, which were closed with transparent amber.

  The road became narrow before turning into an opening created by two huge roots that were intertwined in the sky. Two guards stood there. They wore armor that looked like insect chitin, iridescent and hard, and held spears tipped with buzzing energy crystals.

  They were stopping people. Checking them.

  My heart did a little gymnastics routine in my chest. The Guise of the Traveler worked on passive observation. But if they questioned me? If I opened my mouth and spoke English? The Veil would shatter.

  Pretending to admire a glowing flower arrangement, I slowed my pace, while I panicked inside.

  I noted the guard attending to a merchant in front of me.

  The guard's hand shot up. "Krr-tk-sssh. Vrumm?"

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  The merchant nodded. Spat it right back. "Thrum-krr-click-sssh."

  A wave. Through.

  "Well, great" I said to myself. "Insectoid clicking. I certainly missed that high school class."

  Screwed. Totally. I could not talk my way through a language that was like a modem having a seizure.

  But the Astrolabe, my ever-present co-pilot, chimed softly. A new icon flared on the Schema: a stylized ear, right next to the Whisper-Coil.

  [Unidentified Language Detected]

  [Lingua Codex Access Available]

  I focused on the icon. TThe system was proposing a compromise. It was telling me that I did not have to learn this the hard way. I could cheat.

  The Lingua Codex.

  The concept flooded my mind. The Astrolabe could scan the Resonant Stream; the cosmic net of Wayfarers, to find out whether somebody else had already learned this language and placed the answer key.

  I focused on the words of the guards, the flavor of the sound, the clicks, the hums, the syntax.... I pushed that pattern into the Astrolabe, adding a mental tag: Query.

  The Astrolabe spun. It searched the network of memories left by other travelers.

  Ping.

  One particle of light entered my inner Whisper-Coil. It was dim, dusty and marked with a resonance which was utilitarian.

  [Lingua-Echo Found: Aethelgard Common / Trade Tongue]

  [Source: Wayfarer 'Iron-Jack']

  [Quality: Functional / Basic]

  [Cost: 1 Lumen]

  One Lumen. A price I could pay.

  "Purchase" I said, and banged my mental finger on the Buy button. "Give me the words."

  The transaction was instant. One of the parts of my energy had been lost, and I was a little more exhausted than ever.

  Then, the headache hit.

  It wasn't the smooth download of knowledge I’d hoped for. It was like somebody threw a rock covered with a dictionary at my head. My vision swam. For a second, the world seemed like a jumble of noise and symbols.

  [Integration Complete]

  [Language Acquired: Tier 2 - Functional]

  Functional?

  I shut my eyes, and shook myself. I looked at the guard. The noises he was producing were no longer like the sounds of a static, but they didn't sound like poetry either.

  "Next. Move. State intent."

  It was choppy. Broken. I knew the meaning, but the point had been lost. It was like you were running a beautiful alien language through a cheap online translator with the Caveman setting.

  The guard turned to me. His faceted eyes bore into my disguise.

  "You. Walker. Speak purpose."

  I swallowed hard. Tier 2: Functional. "Understanding and forming simple, direct sentences for survival." Okay. I could do simple.

  "Greetings, Guardian," I said. My voice was unfamiliar, my tongue was knotting itself around clicks that were not natural in my mouth.. "I... walk from South. Seeking... trade? Rest."

  I sounded like a toddler. Or a robot that has a failing battery.

  The guard tilted his head. Unimpressed., But did not looked alarmed either. My broken speech matched my disguise perfectly. A traveler from a distant region, uneducated in the high dialect of the city.

  "South," the guard grunted. "Bad roads. Heavy... air?"

  I think he means "weather."

  "Yes" I bobbed my head. Fast. Enthusiastic. "Big... air. Very wet."

  The guard sighed, a sound like dry leaves scraping together. He gestured with his spear. "Enter. Break no peace. Do not... touch... the singing glass."

  "No touching," I agreed. "I understand."

  He waved me through.

  I passed him, through the archway, and into the city itself. I gave a rattling breath as soon as I was out of hearing.

  "Functional," I muttered to myself. "Remind me to leave a one-star review for Iron-Jack. 'Download worked, but I sound like I sustained a head injury.'"

  I was in, though.

  The city of Lumina: the name that came to my mind merely as Light-Place, was a sensory overload.

  The "streets" were wide branches of the World-Tree, polished and leveled. Bioluminescent vines acted as neon signs, advertising shops. I could read the signs now, but the translations were painfully literal.

  One of the stores that sold glowing fruit had a sign that said: Sweet Spheres of Earth-Blood.

  One of the signs of a blacksmith was: Hard-Hitter Maker. Sharp-Sticks.

  I continued to walk further into the city, and my Guise of the Traveler prevented the locals from staring at the fool of a tourist.

  I overtook a party of natives arguing fiercely around a fountain. I walked slowly, listening, in hopes of hearing some news of the world.

  "But the... flow-twist... implies the... root-mother... is... [UNTRANSLATABLE]," one of them said, waving his hands passionately.

  "False!" the other clicked. "The... sky-eye... reveals... [UNTRANSLATABLE]... invents... bad-vibration."

  I winced. Functional meant I could buy a sandwich, not understand theology or politics. The complex concepts just hit my brain as static.

  "Okay," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "So I can ask for the bathroom, but I can't ask why the trees are glowing without sounding like a moron. Good to know."

  I felt my lumen reserves, Nearly full.

  I had a disguise that held as long as I didn't act weird, and a language proficiency that made me sound like a simpleton.

  "Step one point five," I muttered, looking at a stall selling what looked like roasted beetles. The sign read Crunch-Bugs. Good Eat. "Find food. Then find the exit. And try not to talk to anyone about politics."

  I stepped into the crowd, a stranger in a strange land, armed with a rock, a leaf, and the vocabulary of a five-year-old.