“Whether it’s words spoken in the air, letters on a page, or fingers curled and tapped on the opposing hand, language is about taking abstract, meaningless grunts, markings and gestures, and using them to express our thoughts.”
Bower marveled at the implications.
“Instinct requires little in the way of thought. Instinct is reactionary, but even the most instinctive of creatures need some versatility beyond reacting, and that’s how intelligence first emerged.
“I used to volunteer in the dolphinarium in Berlin as a teenager. We could see dolphins were intelligent, but communicating with them was frustratingly difficult and limited. There was no doubt our dolphins were smart, but they were smart in an entirely different manner to humans.
“Over the last century, we’ve studied tens of thousands of dolphins in a variety of settings, from marine biology laboratories to sea world theme parks. We’ve observed their physiology, their habits, their interactions with fishermen and children, their culture, their language, and yet we can’t speak with them. They’re intelligent mammals like us, and yet we can’t converse with them. They can learn from us and communicate on our terms, but we’re yet to learn anything about their language, if their communication could even be called speech. Perhaps we’ll have the same difficulties talking with creatures from another world.”
Bower laughed at the thought, adding, “That alien probably thought it was dealing with the galactic equivalent of dolphins.”
“Eek, eek,” Elvis replied, joking.
Bower laughed. She hoped the alien couldn’t hear them. What would this interstellar being make of that? Humor worked only if you were in on the joke.
“And music,” she continued, her mind firing rapidly as it extended logical connections. “Written music is as much a language as any other, communicating harmonic aesthetics rather than words, emotions rather than ideas.”
Her mind was buzzing with these concepts as they approached the mattresses over against the steel shutters.
Elvis said, “If we’re going to get out of this hell hole, we need to work together, and that means being able to communicate with the creature.”
He slumped onto the one, remaining good mattress.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Exhausted.”
“I’ll get you some more water.”
Bower took the plastic jug and worked her way along the wall, looking for the leaking tap. A couple of soldiers walked past talking. Bower was silent, not wanting to give herself away. She took her time filling the jug, trying not to make any undue noise.
With the sun high in the sky, the heat within the darkened factory was oppressive. Sweat dripped from her brow. She drank and then returned with a full jug.
“Adan is dead,” Elvis whispered as she handed him the water jug. That got her attention.
“I heard a couple of soldiers talking while you were gone. They’re trying to figure out what to do with the creature.”
“What are they planning?” Bower asked, her eyes widening with fear.
“They weren’t in earshot for long, so I only picked up on a fraction of their conversation, but they’re going to burn down the factory. From what I could tell, sounds like they’re having problems coming up with enough fuel to flood the floor. They don’t want that thing escaping. I suspect they’ve got plenty of diesel, but need some gasoline to get the party started.”
“We’ve got to get out of here.” It was something they both said at once in almost perfect unison. Bower smiled and gestured to Elvis to continue.
“We’ve got to make a move tonight.”
Bower held up the butter-knife, saying, “The steel door at the far end of the floor; the hinges are on the inside. I tried to budge them but they’re too stiff.”
Elvis scratched the stubble on his chin, saying, “OK, that’s good. We can work with that. Try to find a large stone, something you could hold in your hand, preferably with a flat surface, and we’ll use that as a hammer. The hinges might have seized, but a few sharp taps should get some movement.”
“And then what?” Bower asked, trying not to be too idealistic about their escape. Getting outside the building was one thing, but that didn’t mean they were free. It could be the reverse; they could be going from the frying pan into the fire.
“We’re going to need a truck.”
“A truck?”
“For our friend. And, besides, we’ll stand a much better chance being mobile than on foot.”
“We’re taking the alien with us?” Bower asked, surprised by the notion. They’d loosely discussed freeing the creature, but she hadn’t considered taking the alien with them. “Why?”
“Because it doesn’t stand a chance alone.”
“But it can tear people apart,” Bower reasoned, not understanding his point.
“Do you know how you hunt a lion or a tiger?”
Bower was silent.
“In packs. Either one of them is more than a match for a lone hunter, but against a group of men working together, they don’t stand a chance. No, our buddy wouldn’t last more than an hour out there alone. He’d attract too much attention.”
“He?” Bower asked, objecting to the arbitrary assignment of gender.
Elvis smiled, looking very much the rock star he did when she first met him, albeit one that had been partying hard for several days non-stop.
“OK, Honey,” Elvis replied, “It… It would attract too much attention.”
“So, where will we take her?” Bower asked, being deliberately provocative. She suspected the whole notion of gender was irrelevant, it certainly looked that way, but she liked stirring Elvis, and it was good for his morale, she could see that from the grin on his face.
“We take her with us,” Elvis replied, resigning himself to her not-so-subtle spin on the creature’s anthropomorphic gender identity. “Jameson’s out there somewhere. We need to hook up with him and get the hell out of Dodge.”
“With a creature from another world in the back of our truck?”
“Why not?”
“Why not indeed,” Bower replied. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”
Chapter 12: Night
Bower had fallen asleep.
The sound of trucks driving down the alleyway beside the factory woke her from her slumber. Elvis was standing by a crack in the steel shutters, peering outside. It was good to see him on his feet.
“Tankers,” he said softly. “They’re getting ready for the party.”
Bower got to her feet and peered out of another crack. She watched as a soldier climbed down from the cab of a truck and slammed the door. The sign on the side of the tanker read “Water,” which confused her.
“Water?” she asked.
“It wouldn’t go down too well if they torched the entire neighborhood,” Elvis replied. He pointed further down the alley. “I got a glimpse of a gasoline tanker as well. It’s going to be quite a show.”
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Not so fast,” Elvis replied. “We don’t do nothing till all’s quiet and everyone’s asleep. Patience, Doc. It’s a fundamental of good military strategy.”
Bower knew he was right, but she didn’t like waiting. She was stir crazy. It was irrational and she knew it, but she had to get out of their oppressive prison. She no longer feared the darkness, but she was hungry, her back ached, she had a headache, and none of that made being patient any easier.
“Moonrise occurred less than ninety minutes after sunset. When the moon is directly overhead, it’ll be around one or two in the morning. That’s when we’ll make our move.”
“How will you know,” Bower asked, straining to see the sky through the thin cracks in the seal windows. She couldn’t see the moon.