Providence - Max Barry Page 0,93
“Yes.”
“Kik.”
“Yes.”
“Mak-tak kik Gikky sik.”
It was the longest sentence he’d heard from the creature. And it was correct. Martin had killed Gilly’s ship. He stared at it. Its eyes were black and unblinking. It had no expressions; none he could discern. “What are we doing here, Martin?”
“Pak pak.”
“Talking. Yes. But why? What do you want to learn?”
“Gikky kik Mak-tak.”
“Gilly kill Martin?” He felt confused. “No. Gilly not kill Martin.”
“Yek.”
“No. Nok.”
“Sik,” it said. “Gikky sik kik Mak-tak.”
He hesitated. This ship had killed salamanders. That was correct. “But not Gilly. Gilly was along for the ride. I’m not even a real soldier.” The salamander didn’t respond. “Nok,” Gilly said. “Gikky nok kik Mak-tak. Sik kik Mak-tak.”
“Gikky nok.”
“Gikky nok,” he agreed.
“Sik.”
“Yes. Sik.”
The salamander made a noise in its throat that he didn’t recognize, then twice more.
“I don’t understand.” Its head bobbed. The sounds were unintelligible but seemed inquisitive. “Are you asking a question?” He mimicked the movement. “You mean, ‘What?’”
“Wak,” the salamander said. “Wak sik kik Mak-tak.”
“What ship kill Martin? I don’t know what that means.”
“Wak sik kik Mak-tak.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Martin. You know what ship.”
“Wak. Wak.”
He hesitated. “Do you mean ‘Why?’”
“Wak.”
“Why ship kill Martin?”
“Wak,” said the salamander.
He had been thinking about that himself. “I don’t know,” he said.
* * *
—
“Martin uses words interchangeably to mean either individuals or the species,” he told his recorder. “Sometimes when he says ‘Gikky,’ he’s talking about me. But other times, he means the whole human race. In the same way, he seems to use the term ‘Mak-tak’ to refer both to himself and to all salamanders. This suggests to me that he sees little difference between the two.”
Martin was hunched near the far wall. What Martin was up to right now, Gilly had no idea. He had been silent awhile.
“This would make sense, since salamanders are genetic clones, and motivated to prioritize the survival of the hive as a whole over their own lives.”
Martin said nothing.
“I’m studying you,” Gilly told him. “Maybe one day someone will hear this and use it against you.”
Martin didn’t answer. Martin didn’t know what he was saying. Gilly almost felt guilty, because Martin probably hadn’t done anything. As far as Gilly knew, Martin had spent his whole life on this planet, minding his own business. If he had been contributing to the war, it was likely in the same way as Gilly: as a small, replaceable cog in a war machine. If anything, Gilly had done more than Martin, since he’d actively contributed to the Providence program. Although that could have been anyone: If it hadn’t been Gilly, it would have been someone else. He imagined this was true for Martin. He remembered telling Beanfield that the real war was between salamander genes and human genes, and this felt true, especially the part where he and Martin were abused pawns in someone else’s grand strategy. Whoever that was, genes or Service or some ultimate salamander-brain creature, they should invent a way to go to war with each other directly and leave him and Martin out of it.
When he had nine hours left on his core, another salamander emerged from the tunnel. It was larger than Martin, with thicker, darker skin, and angular where Martin was soft. A soldier, with folded wings. It stopped in front of Gilly and didn’t move. He could smell it very strongly. After a minute, it turned toward Martin as if noticing him for the first time. Then back to Gilly. During this time, Gilly kept as still as possible, because it was terrifying.
The soldier moved closer. It rose onto its rear legs. It had no nostrils Gilly could see, but it moved its head as if seeking sensory input. It fell forward, its front legs landing on his arms, and he stifled an exclamation. The salamander’s head swung to face