Chapter 02 | Starbuilders

Deciding that he must take a calculated risk, Nothaar stepped out from his hiding place and presented himself. He positioned his hands into the universal gesture of peace, demonstrating that he was not brandishing a weapon. After making a noise with his throat to ensure that the strangers would notice him and not be taken unawares, Nothaar began in the dialect he had heard from them, "Greetings be to you, fellow travelers. Me hear you speak Language of Children, too. You speak Language of Children good; me very impressed. Language of Children very difficult for people not children!"

At Nothaar's words, the other two jumped up from their seats. It seemed to Nothaar that they had been completely oblivious of the fact that Nothaar was there until he had spoken. How could they not have sensed me? Nothaar wondered. I did little to mask myself once I came out of my concealment. If they lack critical instincts like these, how might they possibly be surviving out here?

Instead of responding to him, the one to Nothaar's left pulled some type of bent-shaped object from their belt, held it in their hand, and pointed it at Nothaar. It was difficult to make out any details about the item, but Nothaar was quite sure that even if the sun were shining brightly overhead, he would have no idea what its purpose and function were. However, he could recognize a threat when one was being directed at him. Perhaps they can't see me? Nothaar considered. That would explain why they're not even acknowledging the goodwill sign I'm making. Moving his contemplations to speech, Nothaar declared, "Maybe you no can see. Me make signal of goodness. No harm does me want to you do."

The one brandishing the… thing… whatever it was… finally broke their silence and demanded, "Stay where you are, or I'll shoot you dead!"

The voice sounded male to Nothaar, but was cracking under the declaration. It was quickly obvious to Nothaar that this man - perhaps boy - was not used to being intimidating and did not know how to do so effectively. Even still, Nothaar decided to take his warning seriously. Besides, he was quite confused by what this person had said and wanted some clarifications. He was familiar with much of the Language of Children, even expressions he had no translation for, but here was a term he had never heard before. To this he queried, "'Shoot'? No know word. What 'shoot' mean? Me know many languages. Please speak you natural tongue and then me better able talk you."

There was silence between all of them before the one to Nothaar's right moved towards their companion and put their hand on the first one's arm. "Lower your gun, Ifu," a female voice that sounded gravelly with age commanded the young man. "It's a native, and certainly not a danger to us."

At this pronouncement, the one apparently called Ifu did as requested. The woman spoke up again and announced, "Please be at ease, stranger. But also know that what we are speaking is our natural tongue. We have no other language with which to converse."

Well, this makes even less sense, Nothaar pondered. Giving voice to his opinion, Nothaar noted, "No can see you good, but you no sound like child. One say Ifu maybe child. If Ifu child, make logic that speak Language of Children. You, female, no sound like child. Sound like old lady, seen many seasons."

The seemingly elder woman started cackling, apparently greatly amused by Nothaar's observations. Nothaar was heartened by this, hoping it would lower the tension between all of them and lead to some type of détente. Once she was done laughing, the still unnamed woman admitted, "Your ears are quite sharp, friend. I am old, so very old. Hell, I'm so ancient that I've lost count! Last I checked, I had lived several hundred years, but even that was a long, long time ago."

This new information made Nothaar's head swim even more. He was not sure if he was translating the words correctly, but he recognized another one he had never heard before. "Please explain, what 'year' mean?"

"Damn it, Syraaq," Ifu cursed to his partner, "this thing doesn't even know what a 'year' is! What are we supposed to do with that?"

"Now, now, Ifu," Syraaq cajoled. "Don't take for granted that all of our words have direct parallels. Let's attempt a different tack with this one, try to see how things are progressing from his perspective. Mister… uh… what should we call you?"

"Me name Nothaar, clan name Akii," Nothaar offered, hoping that familiarity would breed some type of trust and understanding between them.

Syraaq attempted Nothaar's name, but it sounded jumbled on her lips. "Alright, Nothaar. As you've heard, my name is Syraaq with the… what did you call it… 'clan name' of Sec. My easily agitated young companion here is Ifuwukoogeeq, which is actually his full name as his… group… does not have clans or, what we call family names. But he just goes by 'Ifu' for short, and is personally insulted if you use his entire handle."

"Me understand," Nothaar conceded. "Many people use small name. Me call you Syraaq, him Ifu. Everyone happy now, yes?"

"Almost," Ifu menaced.

"Hush you," Syraaq gently admonished. "Let's see if we can bridge this cultural gap. Nothaar, do you measure the passage of time? Like, do you know when you are supposed to plant crops?"

"Of course!" Nothaar bellowed, insulted by such an odd recrimination. Even people without the Knowledge were aware of such basic concepts. "Is simple, all people understand. Count each season: spring, summer, autumn, winter, back again."

"Ah, now I grasp how you recognize the transition of a period," Syraaq declared. "Nothaar, there's no need to feel offended; a 'year' is just the entire span for all four of those seasons to have transpired. You could also think of it as how long it takes to make a full trip arou - "

"He definitely won't follow that!" Ifu interjected.

"No, me get idea, me have same concept," Nothaar argued. "Me live thirty-five springs. Little off due to me come from far north where seasons reversed, have to fix number in head. You from south?"

"Let's put that aside for now," Syraaq deflected. "Now that you fully appreciate what a 'year' means, I believe you'll have a different question entirely."

Thinking back to Syraaq's earlier statements, Nothaar made a noise of surprise. Both Syraaq and Ifu flinched with the latter yelling, "What the hell was that?!"

Are these people complete idiots? Nothaar deliberated. They don't even recognize a common sound of astonishment! And yet, they seem to know so much more. It's clear they're hiding something from me, even if I can't see their faces yet in order to read their expressions. On the other hand, they seem to think that I'm the feebleminded one - or at least, that's Ifu's attitude. Perhaps I should stop being so diplomatic and get a little belligerent with them. That should help establish our stations. I'll start by calling them out on the obvious contradiction Syraaq previously made.

Giving rise to these deliberations, Nothaar yelled with thinly veiled disgust, "Syraaq, you lie before. This not good way to start exchange. Why you lie about age?"

"I did no such thing," Syraaq calmly explained. "Everything I have said is true to the best of my memory."

"No is possible," Nothaar quicky retorted. "No people live eighty, ninety springs. Most die very earlier. Me just send Keeper Baubu Yoordi to realm of spirits. Baubu oldest person me ever know. Baubu lived eighty-three winters."

"And yet he'd be but a babe to me," Syraaq chuckled.

Nothaar was not discouraged and continued, "More proof: you sound old, you say me right to think you old, but me still no see you yet. Changed children, people speak Language of Children only twenty springs. You speak perfect Language of Children, therefore you must be child. Pretend to be old with fake voice, trick me. Why trick me? Me no understand, but me know you lie."

Satisfied that he had properly confronted Syraaq and Ifu's fabrications, Nothaar placed an expression of victory upon his countenance, even though the other two could not clearly see him either. Instead of admitting their deceits, though, Syraaq started howling in laughter. "If that is what you believe," she said as she continued to snicker, "then let me dissuade you of your own false pretenses."

Syraaq then walked around the campfire with Ifu closely behind, still nervously tapping the strange object he had put back in his belt. With the two clearly visible, Nothaar found himself once again speechless. Suddenly, he felt himself doubting everything he had learned, all he had done to maintain and add to the Knowledge. It would not be the last time.

The above piece is an excerpt from the speculative hard science fiction novel Starbuilders by J.P. Prag, available at booksellers worldwide. Learn more about the author at www.jpprag.com.

Twenty years ago, the stars above Nothaar Akii's head suddenly changed.

Christening it the Sky Shift, Nothaar found that this event was merely the harbinger of a devastating metamorphosis that was about to befall his world. More than anything, though, it impacted the children. Newborns came out of the womb with strange physical features, far different than anything seen before. As they grew up, the youths intuitively spoke a tongue that no one else understood. After learning these conditions were not isolated to his far northern village, Nothaar set out on a long journey of discovery, taking him all the way to the southernmost tip of the land.

With his expedition seemingly completed, Nothaar decided to retrace his steps and share his discoveries with everyone he had encountered along the way. However, those plans were quickly waylaid when he chanced upon a gift that had come crashing down from the heavens. Expecting just to find a rock filled with rare and valuable resources, he instead met Syraaq Sec and Ifuwukoogeeq. The mysterious duo not only spoke the Language of Children fluently, but also possessed knowledge far beyond Nothaar's comprehension.

And then they declared Nothaar was the key to unraveling a great injustice, one that had been perpetrated upon his people and many others by the Starbuilders.

Starbuilders is a work of mixed fiction and nonfiction elements. With the fiction elements, any names, characters, places, events, and incidents that bear any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental. For the nonfiction elements, no names have been changed, no characters invented, no events fabricated except for hypothetical situations.