<USS Cervantes> "Source of Echoes"

"Source of Echoes"
Rear Admiral Ashne'e Al Kiara
Lieutenant Kennedy Rhune
0209.13
 
            First the steps of the woman, solid and hollow and reverent.
Then answering her foray, the man, with the resolve of the ages. Behind
him, the shaven ones, and behind them all the watchers, released into a
frenzy like blood lust, or at least lust, in the oldest Grecian sense:
Bacchanalian lust, antithetical to Puritanism, but no less fervent, no
less extreme.
            The procession writhed like a thing possessed, serpentine
with scales formed of living beings. Past strange windows and murals it
wove, oddly cohesive, an intelligence united by some unconscious
instinct that could not be instinctive at all for it had beguiled and
assimilated Ashne'e and Kennedy into its disparate midst. They were a
mass of gorgon snakes bound by the scalp to the same determination, or
else a million bacteria colonizing within a weeping wound.
            From beneath the ground, and all around them, the shining
violet stones made the procession beautifully macabre. A woman cast in
purple cackled chaotically as she stepped from the swarm. Another man
wrapped his arm around her corseted waist, and sequins glimmered among
the patches of her fur. The sweet smell of spilled wine rose from the
paving at their feet. Their footfalls were a light patter, as though
they were performing ancient dances on ritual grounds, movements like
tiny fever-pitched leaves rolling in a breeze, and suddenly Ashne'e
realized that what she had taken for an internal cadence mirroring the
tantalizing emotion of her heart and blood was actually the riotous
exclamation rising from the throats around her. Voices wove with the
steps, and yet the pattern never broke despite the interruptions. Were
they organized by some grand design? The eerie thing was not their
stolen will that bound them in serpentine procession, but the
individuality that remained in malformed crystals. More dancers were
straying from the perfect s-curve of the loop, but their traitorous
steps were vibrantly choreographed flourishes. Swirling skirts, the
sand-pale fur whooshing like gauze in the grip of transparent spirits,
glittering eyes, and emphatic claims ringing like instruments worked
from flesh, cabaret, cabernet, carnival, festival, masks, hollow eyes,
surprise.
            Look to the left. Puffed fabric draping the walls, tiny
stars sewn into the pattern, winking brightly, but threateningly, next
to the torches. Look to the right. The dense mass of people beyond, but
that's invisible. All you can see is in sharp relief. Kennedy's cheek
turned so that her expression is unreadable, but a tiny drop of dew
crystallizing where the corner of her eye is visible beneath her hood.
Past the shine of her boot, a verdant beaded bracelet embracing
someone's ankle, the threads of a discarded piece of jewelry, a yellowed
cat claw, barely distinguishable from distance. Upward looms the exposed
sky with its webbed mass, peering through airy rafters. Downward, the
clatter of violet stones beaming happily at the soles of passing feet.
            Impossible to gain a cohesive image, to separate all of
these fragmented perceptions into one whole that the mind can contain,
can wrap in a globe, and name, with finality, The Procession on
Khefiraa.
            
            Hisaj had his eye on the pair of foreigners in the cloaks.
They didn't smell like Ss'thla. For that matter, they didn't smell like
Khefiraan either, but it was hard to tell. These mammals, with their
excrescences and hormonal cycles, were a bouquet of aromas with
constantly shifting composition. It was hard to define them with any
single smell; they lacked the clarity of Ss'thla who were always clear
like a jewel tone. But even though he could not completely confirm his
suspicions without peeking beneath the jet black hoods that concealed
their faces, he suspected that these interlopers were the aliens from
the starship.
            If Ss'lih had known, he would have darkened to a rage cycle,
started emitting fumes for war, and stalked them with his teeth showing
- loss of honor, breach of contract, and all that. Hisaj, on the other
hand, was glad to share the discovery with them. These marvelous
ancients were a treasure that should be shared, not hoarded. He'd
suspected they might discover the secret ever since the corpse had
vanished from his laboratory. The one called Oriana had displayed her
distress like a loudly colored cloak.
The procession had begun to ascend a stone staircase. The weight of
thousands of footsteps droning in parades like these had worn the
centers to a nub so that each stair bowed in an arch. Hisaj's excitement
mounted with each rising step, even as his claws scrabbled for purchase
on the slick, worn marble that was alien to his calloused feet. Since
the days when they had first discovered these temple chambers and the
mysteriously sensual priests and priestesses, the Ss'thla had never
known how to stand with them. Hisaj, whose fascination was the
aristocracy of society, had prowled among them at first, eager to
comprehend what distinguished the white-clad cats from their brethren
who seeped in the streets. That was when the expedition had been new and
the time-traveling wormholes had taken them all by surprise - back when
Hisaj had trusted Rahssh and tried to foster some good feeling in the
bitter wretch by ushering him around in the protective shell of his good
will. At first Rahssh had seemed creeping and eager like an apprentice
at heel, but later when the priests' openness and joviality slammed into
a wall of ice, Hisaj realized he'd erred. Early in the season, Rahssh
had infiltrated the priests and won entrance to the room above where
mysteries were kept, and Hisaj, not wanting to crush his enthusiasm, had
allowed him the space to share the knowledge in his own time. But
betrayal was sewn deeply into Rahssh's scales, and he had never hinted
at what lay above. Sometimes Hisaj suspected he had purposely initiated
the rift that made the priests distrust the other Ss'thla to guard his
secret. Hisaj and the others were barred from this facet of the culture,
and Hisaj, touring the homes of the aristocracy, taking in the elegant
extravagances of these epicurean people, was left with the sour taste of
orschh staining his tongue. What could exist in these chambers that was
unmirrored outside them? What wealth? Even Ssarish with her vast
knowledge of Khefiraan philosophy, garnered from countless nights spent
spinning ruminations with their greatest thinkers, had been barred
entrance. The Khefiraan population was only permitted to enter the rooms
above during the Rites of Sand and Fur, so like them, Hisaj had waited
until the ritual was nigh. Finally, he would know the secret Rahssh
seemed desperate to protect. 
One claw steadying him by digging deep into the molding, Hisaj scanned
the crowd for the short cloaked figure with a familiar scent that would
be Rahssh. As he had been when they gathered to watch the rites, he was
absent. Where was he? Couldn't he bear to face the moment when his
secret slipped?
            As Hisaj paused, the procession whirled past him. The
cacophonous laughter was growing louder as the tail approached; those at
the back had reveled the longest in wine and company. The two mammalian
figures were with them, only a few paces away. Hisaj swooped back into
the procession to avoid them; he didn't want to seem hostile. Besides,
he wanted to watch their unadulterated reaction when they saw what
awaited all of them in the hidden chambers t the top of the stairs. Like
any true academic, Hisaj's sense of excitement rose to a climax when he
had the opportunity to discuss his findings with another aficionado.
With the secret of the time travel erased, he had the opportunity to
discuss anthropology without any awkwardness intruding.
            A hush was descending on the crowd as the forefront of the
procession entered the hidden rooms. The gaiety and laughter of the rear
was like a splash of cold water, almost comically inappropriate. It was
startlingly separate from those who had already gained entrance, as
though an invisible blade barrier split them in twain. 
The stairs curved at a sharp angle before reaching their destination,
even more precariously worn here, and narrowing to a vanishing point so
small that Hisaj had to crumple his large body like a discarded tissue
to force his way through. The narrowest point scraped his scales with
harsh marble, but a shock of cool air on the other side eased his ache
as he finally passed the portal.
 
            Even Ashne'e found the last dying raucous exclamations of
the felines trailing the procession eerie as they echoed throughout the
corridor which had once been filled with shouts and laughter. She turned
to Kennedy to ask her opinion, but the archaeologist was facing away,
examining some minute wonder with her magnifying glass gaze, and Ashne'e
knew better than to interrupt her intellectual curiosity for a petty
affective question. She wondered what artifact had bewitched Kennedy, or
if, perchance, her pensive posture was a mask for inner contemplation of
the sort that Ashne'e had been studiously, and successfully, avoiding.
            Most of the women on the crew would have to give way to
contemplation soon, but the moment for thinking was far away, driven off
by the urgency of the Khefiraan mystery.
            It was a good excuse. Ashne'e couldn't fathom what emergency
she might have concocted to stave off reflection without it. Perhaps
something dire concerning morale.
            Pushed against one of the walls, a pair of the felines was
rutting. Their screwed up features seemed near climax. The others danced
around them, barely noticing; was this normal behavior or limited to the
madness of the ritual?
            Ashne'e tripped on the first step of the stairway, and
overbalanced. The sleeve of her cloak flared away, revealing her pale
hand. Kennedy caught her by the arm.
            "Watch your step," she said quietly. 
            Ashne'e nodded, scanning the area in front of them for a
sign of the Ss'thla. The black cloaks were moving away from them like
migrating birds. "Fortune is with us," Ashne'e answered thankfully.
"They aren't watching."
            It was difficult to navigate the high steps with the cloak
fabric ready to tangle beneath their feet at each step. Furthermore, the
smooth, rounded steps were slippery, difficult to find purchase on. It
was like rock climbing, exactly the sorts of trial missions Ashne'e had
hated at the academy as she yearned to return to the miracles contained
in her text books.
            The coupling felines had slipped from their embrace and
rejoined the procession. The smell of her heat was redolent even to
Ashne'e's alien nostrils.
            "The stairway takes a turn there." Kennedy pointed to the
twisting steps where they bent dizzyingly out of sight. "There's no
noise from that high. No echoes. What do you think.?"
            "I don't know." Ashne'e fixed her eyes on the marble beneath
her feet, the easier to sweep her voluminous robes out of her way. It
also kept her from gazing upward at the winking eyes of the wormhole
webs above; they were eerie and distracting; caught staring at them, it
was easy to be beguiled by the fantasy that they were climbing up into
their celestial embrace. "And we won't be able to see until we're
directly upon it."
            Kennedy paused, digesting. "What did you think of that. the
ritual...?"
            Ashne'e answered Kennedy's unasked question. "Yes, I think
they must be associated with the statues we've found. So beautiful, so
lifelike, it makes sense that they would be alive, have been alive. in
the sense that a mummy is alive." A trickle of the relieved echo Ashne'e
had felt when she touched the statue brushed her mind. The statues
Sammie had witnessed had been horrible and splendid, but they were
nothing this serene or religious. Perhaps they were evidence of a later
cultural corruption, or even an early barbaric practice that had been
steered in the direction of civilization.
            "What I don't understand," Kennedy broke in, "was why the
other facets of the ritual were so clearly described but this was
hidden. If this was the pinnacle, the beautiful height of the affair -
but then. maybe like the Eleusian mysteries." Her thoughts were
wandering, and Ashne'e felt herself to be an incidental audience to the
musings. ".but no, everyone was there."
            "If it was something so deeply insinuated into their culture
it was as obvious as drawing breath, then they wouldn't have needed to
inscribe it," Ashne'e indicated.
            Kennedy made a faint noise of assent, but it was a thin mask
for skepticism, a scientist's mind still fretting at the uncooperative
pieces of a puzzle.
            The stairway was narrowing. Kennedy, tall and thin, had to
fold her height in half before she could pass. Ashne'e was more
fortunate in her girth and petite stature. Clasping her hands in front
of her to narrow the width of her shoulders, she continued easily. 
The diminution continued until they approached a tiny opening wreathed
in brass. Kennedy braced herself to enter it first. As she passed, she
suddenly froze, and inhaled sharply in surprise. A moment, two, and
Kennedy had not moved; fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and she still stood
rigid in shock.
            "Lieutenant Rhune?" Ashne'e queried gently.
            With a murmured apology, the woman stood aside, and Ashne'e
followed her into the room beyond.
            As the fabric of her cloak trailed through behind her, she
stood and stared, suddenly understanding Kennedy's rigid awe.
            The chamber itself was nothing special. It was long and
strutted like those they had passed through on the way here. The floor
was decorated in whorls with violet stones accenting the patterns, but
even the glow of those gorgeous gems had no power to astonish. Above,
the ceiling was, surprisingly, closed so that the rafters formed a
graceful arching peak. Tiny holes filtered the radiance of the wormholes
down like spotlights onto the modest floorboards below. 
            In the areas the spotlights illuminated, frozen Khefiraa
prayed to the heavens. The elderly female that had been the pinnacle of
the ritual was visible among a cluster of white-clad felines. Already,
she stood in such a spotlight, her pelt glowing golden and blue
simultaneously, shimmering with the infinitesimal shifts in the quality
of light diving from the heavens. She was encircled by cats who were
reverently touching her feet, their faces assuming her expression of
cathartic relief as their digits caressed the sandy fur of her paws.
            Other felines were worshipping at the feet of the statues
that filled the crevices of the chamber. Their faces too, were changing,
and their awed exclamations were a steady, hushed rush of sibilance.
            Each statue was posed differently, embodying a different
facet of some positive or reverent emotion. Most were praying as the
matron had, with their muzzles uplifted and their paws venerably
clasped. Others were singing or dancing with mouths quivering open or
legs poised for graceful pirouettes. Still another was straining to
enclose an invisible form in a warm hug, and beyond that one, an old,
old feline was shifting backward on his heels with his eyes clamped
shut, ready to slip into sleep.
            Following the feline example, Ashne'e prepared to fall at
the feet of the statue nearest her, then started back in involuntary
surprise. Her jaw worked in astonishment, then she realized it made
sense, given the openness of the culture. Hadn't a couple been making
love on the stairway? Still, it was astonishing to see this statue cast
in the same reverent light as the others. He was crouching on the floor,
his eyes half-lidded in contentment, the pink flash of his tongue
trailing the edge of his mouth, abandoned in concentration or pleasure.
His handsome features were redoubled in their beauty by the bliss etched
on them. His knees were bent forward and his back at a rakish slant
while one of his hands steadied the posture. His other pulled just
lightly at the tip of his penis, exposing the reddened phallus from the
enclosure of his fur.
            Other felines were fondling his feet with seeming
satisfaction - unsurprising, since it was probably more titillating to
grope this statue than his sober counterparts - and with the flush of
surprise submerging into the placid waters of her usual disposition,
Ashne'e folded herself onto her knees, and reached out with them. As her
fingers plunged into the statue's still-warm fur, she felt a warm wave
of lust and pleasure fill her like an infusion of wine. It was a sudden
and heady rush that bespoke the inspiration to leap to her feet and
tickle her fancy. With effort, she held herself to her knees, but the
feeling didn't fade until she slipped her fingers out of the fur.
            She held them aloof for a moment, waiting for her sense of
equilibrium to return. In a few moments it did, and experimentally, she
probed the statue's paws again, and instantly the lust was back,
whispering of trysts in autumn leaves beneath wide, paternal branches,
and the rush of personal tidal waves. She withdrew her hand, and
watched, with unclinical amusement, as the felines touching the statue
flushed beneath their fur, and snuck furtive glances at their
companions, assessing their virtues.
            Standing again, she remembered the flooding sensation of
relief that had flown from the matron's statue at a touch. Caught, as
she had been, in reminiscence, she had half-believed it her imagination
or a trick of her senses, but really, this was an empathic echo of the
last moment of true life. Amazing!
            She rushed back to Kennedy. "Do you see the Khefiraa
touching the statues?" She pointed at the handsome masturbating male.
"Try it. Touch his paw."
Kennedy raised a skeptical brow, her gaze darting over the statue like a
hummingbird, memorizing every detail as quickly as possible.  Her stare
found a perfect perch just below the Khefiraa's waist, and she nodded
appreciatively.
"Not too shabby.  I've seen better, of course, but that's fairly - "
"Kennedy."
"Have you ever heard the song 'Deep Sexy Space' by the Lords of Acid?
Ancient Terran band?  'You get no kick with a little - "
"Lieutenant."
Kennedy shrugged and knelt before the statue, mimicking the posture and
gestures of the legitimate Khefirraa.  She extended her arm, her fingers
hovering over the statue's paw, hesitating.  Shame?  Fear?
No.  Guilt.
Kennedy had made a living out of invading sacred spaces, gravesites.
Lives.  But somehow the passage of time, of centuries and eons, seemed
to numb the presence of the divine and deconsecrate hallowed halls.
Dust and decomposition sent away honored ghosts with stern fingers
pointing towards oblivion; what wraith would haunt a structure so many
centuries after his ancestors had forgotten him, so long after the last
flowers anointing his grave had become but shadows on the ground, echoes
of rotted beauty?  The shards of a shattered urn were impersonal
fragments, a puzzle for academics to assemble, callous probing fingers
gloved by excuses and justifications - the pursuit of knowledge.  But
here.Kennedy was surrounded with objects and murals still imbued with
purpose and intent, alive with the energy of a flourishing civilization,
Khefiraan beliefs beating down on her with invisible wings, inescapable,
claws of a reality from the past made present ripping the mask of the
scholar from her face.
She was an intruder here.
She felt Ashne'e nudge her from behind, and obediently dropped her
fingers to the statue's paw, immediately gasping at the sensations
forced upon her mind.  She felt consumed. Her skin burned like a pale
flame, desire and lust and mindless gratuity spinning between her ears
and slipping down her body in waves, a sea of lava washing over her
slender form in time to her pulse like grenades in her head -
Her hand darted back like a snake striking in reverse.
"Good god," she murmured to Ashne'e, snarling quietly.  "Haven't we had
enough of that lately?"
Ashne'e shrugged and gestured towards another statue.  Kennedy screwed
up her face, the shadow of the hood forming a dark crescent on her
forehead.
"We should touch some more.  I think they're telepathically transmitting
the last emotion the Khefiraa experienced before he or she was - "
"Yeah.  That's great.  You go play with the telepathic mummy statues.
I'm not big on mind games that fuck up my head."  She glanced towards
the walls, curving gracefully towards the ceiling like a dancer's arms,
beckoningly tattooed with a myriad of symbols and images.  Hypnotizing.
"I thought you couldn't read Khefiraan."
"I can't.  But I will."  She wandered towards the wall, determined and
hypnotized.  Ashne'e caught her arm, glancing around at the kneeling
Khefiraa, worshipping the statues with caressing fingers.
"No one else is standing by the walls.  Just the statues.  You'll be
very conspicuous."
Kennedy tugged the hood down lower over her face and pulled away,
locking her eyes to the wall as she moved towards it and forced the
captain and the rest of the occupants of the room from her mind and
vision.  They were unimportant, irrelevant, and redundant.  
Regardless of the number of pips they may or may not wear on their
collars.
She stared blankly at the hieroglyphs, letting them burn into her eyes
and saturate her brain, marinating between synapses.  She flipped
through a mental Rolodex of hieroglyphs from other cultures and
civilizations - felinoid cultures, cultures of similar environment,
technology, beliefs, desert oases, sand and fur, searching for
similarities, a foothold, a Rosetta stone.  She scanned for patterns
among the hieroglyphs, examined the images themselves, plunging for
answers like the ancient Terran game of bobbing for apples, immersing
herself in icy water, hoping to sink her teeth into something solid.
Each image had a thousand possible associations and meanings.  
These, however, seemed fairly straight-forward, more pictograms than
hieroglyphs, and were well-illustrated by supportive murals.  The very
simplicity and inclusion of numerous explanatory images seemed to
support the points made in the symbols themselves - this was a culture
intent on preserving itself.  It wanted to be understood and remembered
by later generations, so that it would never die.
She wandered back to the captain, and pointed at the wall, careful to
keep the sweeping arm of the robe pulled over her hand to disguise the
unfurred flesh beneath.  Ashne'e followed her point to a mural of seven
Khefiraa, dressed in violet swirls of pleated fabric, accented with
white trim.  They cavorted on brilliant green hills aglow with purple
flowers.  Trails of white smoke or mist followed them, and surrounded
their feet like steam rising up from the ground on a hot, moist morning.
Flames rose from their shoulders like epaulettes thrown upwards in a
strong wind.
"Gods, obviously," Kennedy whispered.  "They live in verdant plains
above the sky, and control the sand.  That's actually sand floating
around their feet.  When they become angry and stamp their feet, they
create sandstorms on Khefira.  When they sleep, the sands are calm.
When they walk, wind blows the sand slightly.  Etcetera."  She pointed
towards another scene, almost an orgy, in which the gods were surrounded
by ordinary Khefiraa, young, old, male, female, beautiful, ugly,
healthy, disabled.  All were dancing together, feasting, copulating,
interacting, celebrating.  Some had flames emanating from their
shoulders, though smaller, less vibrant flames than those of the gods.
Purple dots covered the floor.
"Images of the mythic first Ritual of Sand and Fur.  The gods had been
fighting - there's a big complicated explanation, not really important,
the point is that they were all very angry and creating a helluva lot of
sandstorms on Khefira.  The Khefiraans prayed and implored them for
peace and mercy, afraid their society would be forever buried.  The gods
heard their cries, and the pain of their followers softened their
hearts.  They made peace amongst each other.  
"Then, for seven days, purple flower petals rained from the sky, and on
the seventh day, the gods descended from on high to mingle with the
commoners, and celebrate the peace.  It is of note that no purple
flowers exist on this planet, so in later rites, they were replaced with
the violet stones that are so prevalent everywhere.  It is assumed that
this replacement was the reason the gods never returned to the planet.
A classic type of cultural justification.  Anyway.  The gods came down
and celebrated with the townsfolk, but were careful not to touch anyone.
As soon as the sun set, they embraced some specific individuals, who
sprouted the flames you see in the illustration.  When the moon rose,
the gods ascended into the sky and all the individuals they had embraced
froze into statues.  This was the gift of the gods - eternal
preservation.  The Embraced were released from the hardships of life,
and were given eternal preservation as statues. 
"Now, whenever the Rites of Sand and Fur are performed, there's a big
celebration like what we just witnessed, and the burning of the fur is
meant to recall the flames on the shoulders of the first Embraced, and
kind of begins the ceremonies that follow because the smoke ascends to
heaven and gets the attention of the gods.  Then they statuize some
select and willing individuals - it's quite an honor to die this way.
It's a final act of sacrement between the people and the gods.  It's
also an assurance that whatever happens with the sands when the gods get
angry, the society will never die, but live on and be preserved in a
series of statues that illustrate Khefiraa life and feeling and emotion.
They live eternally by.dying.  But they don't see it that way."
She pointed to the opposite side of the room, and a smaller mural.  It
was only half-completed.
"The priests who perform the ritual are highly trained; they're seen as
sacred.  They're supposed to be the ancestors of the originally Embraced
Khefiraa, so it's a fairly nepotistic profession - hard to get into
unless you're related to someone who's already a priest.  However, there
are some references to 'Dark Ones' who have gotten the knowledge without
the training.  They are seen as unholy demons of the sands who have
infiltrated the society and threaten the culture."
She paused for effect.
"They can be identified by their malodor."
"The Ss'tha'la."
"Apparently." 
Ashne'e glanced around the room.  There was a howl rising from the
throats of all the Khefiraa present, undulating in the air.  It sounded
unearthly and supernatural, like footsteps in an empty attic.
"Mourning the absence of the gods in the celebration," Kennedy said
confidentally.  "They'll be filing out of this area shortly.  Then it's
more feasting and sex."  She shrugged.  "Not a bad place to live.  I
could get marooned here."
Ashne'e smiled and nodded her companion towards the door as a few
Khefiraa walked by within earshot, then spoke softly. 
"The longer we stay the more of a danger we have of being discovered.
The Ss'tha'la have interrupted their development enough."
"We could fix that."
Ashne'e elevated a brow.
"Using the wormholes?  Going back in time?  Too dangerous."
"No.if we can get the Ss'tha'la off the planet - for good - we could
replicate a lot of purple flower petals and beam them down.  Sort of a
sign from the gods that they've taken care of the unholy demon
invasion."
Ashne'e shook her head.  
"We shouldn't.  That might not be the way they'd interpret it.  It could
make things a thousand times worse.  The damage, unfortunately, is
irreparable."
Kennedy sighed, imagining a stinking Ss'tha'la in front of her and
glaring daggers at it.
Fucking iguanas.

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