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[PI] A Demon From Earth (Ch 39)
Ok, going weekly now, at least for a bit. If the … forelog(???) of stuff builds faster than they're getting posted, I'll go back to twice a week. Because, seriously, having to wait a week between eps sucks, as I was just reminded. Though I think it generally takes longer to read one of these than an episode of Lore Olympus. ;-)
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"What is that abominable stuff? You made a face, but it didn't seem like you found it that horrible. Do you just not have any sense of taste?"
"That's distilled alcohol. It's the part of the wine that makes it fun to drink, without any of the other parts that make it taste good. Believe me, I found it atrocious as well, but… I've had a lot of terrible booze. The fact that I made it out of bad wine certainly didn't help. But I'm not making it to drink, and it'll work just fine for burning trolls."
"I can't believe anyone would drink that for fun."
"You'd be surprised. Ok, now that I know that the process works, I should show one of your people how to do it, so I can work on other things."
"I'll ask the queen to appoint someone to the task. Perhaps one of the winemakers."
"That would seem to be the right place to start. Hey, since we're just sitting around watching the fire burn and the still drip, I've got a question I was wondering about. What does your system of writing look like?"
"I'm not sure if I understand the question."
"Ok, fair. Did whatever it was that let you speak to me also let you read the language?"
"I'm not sure if I've ever seen your writing."
"Ok, so that's probably a no, then, because you definitely have. For one thing, there's writing all over the cars," I said, pointing at the rear bumper of Mercury.
"Oh, are those lines and curves your writing system? It doesn't really look anything like ours."
"Yeah. That piece there, the shiny yellow rectangle with the red marks on it says 'MERCURY', which is the name of the truck. It's what's called a license plate, which… well, just think about it as a permission marking to operate the truck on government roads. And the bit on the rear bumper over there on the right says 'LAST RESPONDER', which is a complicated joke about the truck having once been used to carry sick and injured people to a healer. You see, in ancient mythology, Mercury was the name of a god, and one of his duties was to guide the spirits of the dead to the afterlife. And, as you've seen first hand, the truck is well suited to sending people there."
She made a face at that.
"Anyway, the class of professional people who do that job are known as first responders, but since this is more suited to the other task, the joke is that the truck is the last thing they'll see."
"So, the shortest collection of symbols is for the word 'last', and the longer one is for 'responder'?"
"Yeah. That's usually how it goes. My language, in it's written form, uses what's known as an alphabet, where each symbol -- known as a letter -- has a sound associated with it. Although sometimes combinations of letters have different sounds than expected, and due to historical influences, sometimes even the same combinations have different sounds. There are also what are called 'uppercase' letters, and 'lowercase'. Those are all uppercase, though. Usually, in our written language, capitals are used sparingly, but sometimes for signs or slogans, things will be in all capitals."
"So, how does it work?"
"Ok. So, we've got an L, an A, an S, and a T. So that's lll aah sss tuh. And when you put it all together, you get 'last'."
I continued on this path, talking about letters, and the sounds they make, and how we have 26 of them in English, for a total of 52 between the upper and lower case letters. And then how German has 30, but one of them doesn't have an uppercase version, for a total of 59. Then I went into details about consonants and vowels, and how some writing systems only have the consonants and the vowels have to be understood from context. Then I tried to explain things like Chinese and Japanese writing, and told her she should probably ask Ivy for more details on that if she was curious, because she knew a lot more about that than I did.
It turned out that the elves also used an alphabet, though they had something like two hundred characters, and there was no such thing as capitalization. But every character represented a very specific sound. Some of them were very similar, because they represented similar sounds, but there was absolutely no way to mispronounce a word you were reading, as long as you knew what the symbols meant, anyway.
Overall, it was a lot like the International Phonetic Alphabet, although the symbols were completely different, and it was less rigorously built to cover every noise a human-ish or elvish mouth could make. Still, it was remarkably clever. It would certainly be much easier to learn to read Elvish than English, and get the pronunciation correct. Assuming you could make the noises at all, and completely ignoring questions of vocabulary and grammar. So, piece of cake, right? Heh.
Their numbering system was strange, though. Characters for 0 through 7. Ok, sure, they use a base 8 system. Then a separate character for 8. And also 16, 24, 32, 40, 48, 56, and 64. And 128, 192, 256, 320, 384, 448, and 512. And 1024, 1536, 2048, 2560, and so forth.
I suppose that if one is used to needing to memorize a lot of separate characters with very specific meanings anyway, it would seem normal. But it still struck me as cumbersome, and I said so.
"Well, how else can you do it?
So I explained Arabic numerals, and the positional number system.
"Fil, ah, sah, met, ket, hes, des, nun, tor. That's your version of zero, one, two, blah, blah, seven, eight, right? So I'd write the first eight characters the way you do, but then I'd write the tor as the symbol for ah, followed by the symbol for fil. Sah fil takes up a little more room on the page than… what did you say 16 was, sor? And ah fil fil takes up more space than whatever you said your word for 64 is, and again so at ah fil fil fil, rather than 512, but it's vastly simpler, and expands arbitrarily without needing to keep coming up with new symbols. I mean, what's your symbol for 16,777,216?"
"Why would we even need numbers that big? I don't know anyone who has ever had to count that high."
"Well, you know at least four of them. There are probably a dozen cities on Earth with that many people in them. And while it's not quite that large, the city that Anneke lives in has almost a quarter of that many people, and so does the one that Ivy and Corwin live in."
She looked like she was having difficulty with that idea.
"Anyway, let's move on for now."
I broke out a piece of paper and wrote down the letters, both cases, and went through them, naming them and making the sound they represented and trying to explain the history of W. She thought that was ridiculous, until I wrote down, and then pronounced in order, cough, rough, and slough. Then she just gave me that look again. She was getting pretty good at it. I gave her six out of ten on the Ivy scale.
She was working on the same task from the other side, showing me their alphabet and distinguishing the sounds -- although about half of them I couldn't actually tell the difference between two or three of them -- when a soldier rode up on one of the moose, pulling a cart behind it with several more satchels on it like the one from this morning. He said something to Friday.
"Mikrak says that they had apparently missed a few weapons earlier... He apologizes for the laxity of his previous search. He'd also like to speak with you again, if you can find the time."
Given that there were probably five times as many knives and such in the bags, it was clearly quite a lot more than "a few", but I was inclined to not make a fuss about it. He had delivered them after all. I guess seeing the trolls under the care of the elves must have made an impression. Maybe he would actually turn out to be someone who could be trusted in the end.
Not that I was going to count on that yet. It could still be a ruse intended to make me think just that.
"We found some holdouts after I told the other commanders what I had seen with the healers."
"I saw that. I'm glad to know that you're taking your duties as camp commander seriously. Your men must be quite clever at hiding things. If I didn't know better, I'd have guessed that was enough weapons for each of them to have one." My words were as dry as the scirocco.
"Yes, well. They're trained to always have something with them. Old habits die hard. But hearing that their fellows were being cared for was convincing. I don't think they truly believed that they wouldn't be slaughtered out of hand at some point."
"Well, I suppose that I can hardly blame them for that, if it's all they've ever known."
"Commander Fess. I'd like to propose something, which you may of course reject. But since you said that you were planning to break every town between here and the capitol, I'd like to send one of my leaders of 64 with you to talk to them, and let them know that you are both willing to spare them if they surrender, and unstoppable if they don't."
"That's actually a really good idea. I accept. Who will come with us? Ugrent, Miknirun, or Jusmuk?"
"You remembered their names?! That seems like a lot of effort. At any rate, it is Jusmuk who has volunteered to accompany you when you move out. And yes, it does seem strange that you can remember their names, Fess," Friday added at the end.
"You'd prefer I mangled your real name, Paylomayrinee?"
She twitched. "Ok, maybe being called Friday actually is better. Although I don't understand why you're referring to me by the name of one of your days."
"It's actually a literary reference. I'll explain later. He's looking confused. Please tell him that I accept."
She did as I asked.
"He asks when you will be leaving."
"It will probably be at least a week. Uh, one of your nine day weeks, a complete rotation of the ring. I think we've got at least that much work to do."
"Jusmuk will be ready. Although he'll be more convincing with his arms and armor. He understands that attempting anything foolish would be exceedingly unwise, even if he is armed."
"I'll ask one of the guardsmen to escort him to the place we're storing your equipment, and put it off to the side for when we're ready to leave."
"Wonderful. Thank you, Commander Fess."
"Really, just Fess is fine. I don't really need a title for anyone to distinguish me by."
"As you wish. I suppose you have a good point. But what did you mean about storing our equipment?"
"Ah, I suppose that would also be strange to you. Once all of this is over, your equipment will be returned. There are other hostile forces out there, one presumes, and I'm fairly certain that the elves won't much desire to end up as your protection."
He looked at me in bafflement. "Our king had one of every eight of those who returned from the previous battle beaten to death by the others for the crime of fleeing from the fight, and all of the officers who made it back. And now not only are you not killing us after we came to attack, but you're saying that once this is done you're going to return our weapons. I don't understand you at all."
"You're in plenty of company there, 256 Mikrak.
He bowed to me, and then walked away after my nod in return.
So, the trolls practiced decimation. Or, uh, octavimation? Fuck if I know, it's not like I speak Latin or anything.
In an even tone, I responded. "When this is over, you will not be their slaves. They will not be your slaves. No one will be anyone's slave. At the end of the war I mentioned, where my countrymen fought each other over the issue, the defeated soldiers were allowed to keep their weapons. The trolls will be free people just as you are. This isn't negotiable."
"I just think it's a bad idea to let them have weapons."
"You can't stop them from having weapons. It's just not that hard to make a pointy bit of metal. This way, they're going to remember that we trusted them enough to give their weapons back to them."
"I don't trust them!"
"Yeah, I know. I don't really, either. But the only way to build that trust is to try."
"I know you aren't an idiot, because of the things I've seen you build. But I think that you might be a fool."
"And you get to think that. Lots of my own people do as well. I'm used to it."
She just stood there for a minute, staring at me, then without another word, shook her head and walked away.
Ah well. I guess I should have figured that libertarianism wouldn't be any more popular here than it was back home.
I headed back towards the truck.
"You've got an awful lot of crap in here, Fess," Ivy said.
"Well, I wasn't exactly sure what we might need, and the last time I was here I was kinda short on equipment, so I just threw in anything I thought might be useful. But since you have it open, let's test the Molotov launcher."
"That sounds entertaining. We actually going to set things on fire, or were you thinking practice rounds?"
"Practice rounds. We've got all that leftover wine sludge, so that should make finding the landing sites easier."
"Ok, what's the plan?" Corwin asked.
"Well," I said, opening one of the bins further forward, and pulling out a mess of heavy surgical tubing, "I'll take some of the jugs the Steward found, fill them with the dregs, and then we'll go launch them."
"How's that going to work?"
"Hopefully, very well."
I decanted the wine leavings into jugs that were about a gallon in volume, corked them, and then put them in the back of War God. Then I climbed in and fired it up.
"Come on, let's go outside."
Ivy got in the passenger seat, and Corwin climbed on the rear deck. I slowly headed for the gate. After the elves let us out, I turned left and trundled up the road aways at about 10 miles per hour. After we were around the corner from the POW camp, and thus out of sight, I pointed the nose of the car away from the wall and shut off the car.
"Ok… now what?"
"Climb down and find out."
After Corwin was off the back of the car, I connected the ends of the giant water balloon slingshot to the eyes on the tops of the posts on the rear bumper.
"Oh shit. Hah!" he exclaimed.
Ivy was just shaking her head.
"Hey, grab me a jug, yeah?"
She grabbed me one, and handed it to me. I stuck it in the pocket of the launcher, grabbed hold of the handle, walked backwards until there was some tension, then sort of threw myself backwards until I had just about reached the end of how far I could get it to move and sat down on my butt, then let go.
The jug shot forward as the surgical tubing contracted, rocketing between the uprights on the bumper, over the roof, and upwards at about a 30 degree angle. Not ideal, but I couldn't get it higher without modifying the bumper. It dwindled to a speck as it arced up, hitting the peak, and then back down to hit with a shatter.
"Let's go see how far that went!"
We started pacing off the distance, each of us keeping our own count. We had a pretty good idea of where it had landed, so we were only off by a few degrees.
"I've got 350 yards."
"325," Ivy said.
"340," was Corwin's response.
I knew Ivy had more practice at that than either of the other of us, so I said, "Call it 330?"
"I can live with that," she agreed.
The jug had broken on impact, of course, and a wedge shaped spray of wine sludge had fanned out about ten yards past the point of contact. I figured that would make for some very unhappy trolls.
"Let's go launch a couple more, and see if it's repeatable."
We hiked back, and I let three more fly, on slightly different trajectories. Corwin wanted a turn, so he set two more fly. Not to be left out, Ivy gave it a shot as well, but hers landed a lot closer.
"I don't think you have the weight for it."
"Of course I don't. I am a dainty flower."
"Yes you are. With thorns. And poison sap. And prey luring pheromones. And..."
"Shut up, Fess."
We all laughed as we headed out to see the landing sites.
Ivy's shot had only gone about 200 yards. Corwin had made 275. I'd actually gotten a true 350 this time. All of the splash zones were similarly long.
"Well, I think that counts as a successful test. We'll need to try a live shot, of course, but that'll do for now. Someone please remind me to bring big buckets of sand or dirt, if I forget."
We piled back in the car and headed to the city.
"Ok. So… I'm hoping you'll do me a favor. I'd like for you to watch this… play, and write down, in your language and script, what you hear. You're one of precisely two people I know who can possibly do this translation."
"Why?" she said distractedly. She was evidently fascinated by the moving images.
So then I told her about subtitles, and my plan to show the elves a movie.
"How are they all going to see it on this tiny… 'screen'?"
"Yes, 'screen' is correct. And they're not. I'm going to turn one of the city walls into a giant screen. You'll see."
"Ok. And this wide tile here makes it stop and start again?"
"Ok. I'll work on it."
I could already feel tomorrow picking at me. I ate dinner alone, and went to bed early. I ran through every technique I knew for not thinking about things, but as usual, none of them worked all that well.
Several hours later, I finally drifted off to sleep.
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