January 21, 2008
Arthur Mengel awoke to water dripping repeatedly on his forehead, no, a moist hand, he realized as he quickly came to his senses, or at least those that worked. The planet he was stationed on lacked the normal stimuli that most are accustomed to. He stretched in the pitch black of what he knew as home. A muffled skittering told him that his companion was satisfied he was awake and leaving him to ready himself. The middle-aged anthropologist’s cubby in the network of caves again returned to absolute silence.
At first the darkness and utter quiet had unnerved him, as it would anybody. Society had conditioned him to chaos. It was only his sheer will to complete his job that kept him from going insane in those first few years. Now the darkness was an old friend. He stood and oriented himself towards where he knew the door was, an ingrained map, just as with most of the rest of the corridors that housed his community. Slowly, he began walking.
He had been awakened for the morning ritual, or at least what he considered the morning ritual. There was no indication of time. He marched towards the single exit from the underground city. For some thousandth time he traveled to the amphitheatre. (2668 quipped a voice. He had stopped taking notes after first his datapad died, and later his flashlight, instead committing all his information to memory.)
The stars in the clear sky above cast more than enough light for him to navigate by with his sensitized eyes. He crested the hill to the sloped dish which seemed the center-point of his alien culture, the last of the stragglers. Glancing about for a recognizable face Arthur quickly sat down next to a younger Salamander that he’d nicknamed Kenapocomoco (snakefish), or Ken for short. The Salamander slowly blinked at him in recognition with exaggerated eyes then turned its gaze back to the center of the crowd.
The ceremony that had perplexed Arthur Mengel for the last seven years was about to begin again. The race of salamander like aliens he’d been sent to study had no language that he had discovered, and yet somehow formed a coherent society with a complex social structure. His eyes wandered back to the grotto that was the center of their community, his community. Slowly, the five who he had decided were the leaders ambled towards the opaque orb that was the cause of it all. The first one rose up and placed its front hands on the orb. Each of the others followed suit. Their glistening bodies went rigid, just before a light of growing intensity began to emanate from their shared heart. A short while later, a mellow wave of warmth washes over Arthur.
He knew there had to be some importance to this ritual. He felt understanding it was the one thing holding him back from truly knowing their society. Another wave of warmth, the light oscillating in mute greys and greens and blues, there had to be something, something obvious, something missing.
Another wave of warmth washed over him, but this one not emanating from the orb, but from within himself. The understanding washed over him. He began crying at the realization. Music. It was music. Ancient tales and strange emotions engulfed him. Music truly was the universal language. He lifted his head to the stars, and wondered if any other would ever experience their symphony.