Outcasts of Gideon

Tehoho'a

Dawn didn't have an answer for them. The Atua had come to her in a great mass. They met with her in voices and thoughts too numerous to endure. They overwhelmed her senses, even those she'd never been aware she had. She could offer them little that would satisfy.

The music had triggered their interest. This fascinated her. Of course, she hadn't invented music. She couldn't compose or even read it if someone presented it to her. She couldn't string words together much less craft lyrics. If they wanted an expert in music, she was going to disappoint them.

How did beings capable of such extraordinary things not discover or invent music? She supposed she took things like this for granted. Music and the five senses were universal, weren't they? Scents. Textures. Sounds. If there is sound, why not make it beautiful? Why not form evocative passages? Why not stir the soul?

There it was again. She wasn't thinking straight. More accurately, she wasn't thinking like herself. Was it a byproduct of this place or this being? Whatever had caused it, it wasn't her, or it was changing her. Not that she was incapable of thinking about these things. They simply had never interested her enough to bother. Now she had an interest, but was it hers?

This music, it possesses you? Ptan's thoughts trailed off as though he were speaking softly in the corner of a vast room.

"Music is something we create."

"You create this from what?"

"Well, I don't create it. Others do. Musicians. Composers. Lyricists. They take sound, form words into lyrics, orchestration, rhythm, harmony, melody. It's one of the many art forms developed by humans." She felt as though she was reading from an encyclopedia.

"Art? This is Tehoho'a?"

"Tehoho'a?" Dawn opened her mind to allow the meaning to come to her. "Not exactly. It's similar. Art is comprised of more than just an image, tehoho'a. It can expand beyond sight to sound. It is often infused with emotion, tension, tragedy, surreality. There are virtually no limits to it as an expressive mechanism."

Ptan's thoughts flooded her mind. He was searching for clarity. She was looking for it as well.

What is happening to me? she thought.

She felt Ptan's mind. It was warm, inviting. He was embracing her, or as close to an embrace as he was capable. "The transference is a risky process. We have little experience with different species. It appears you are becoming Houith. She is likely becoming you."

"Becoming me? You mean, she's in my body?"

"This was her aim, to go to the origin of the violation."

"Well, you have to call her back."

"We are just as powerless in this as you are."

Dawn was feeling herself again. It was the rush of fear that brought clarity, urgency. "What if I can't get back?"

"That would be unfortunate. For Houith to succeed, she must return to Aitaoperaa. She must be able to obstruct the violation."

It was the 'why'. She'd been so preoccupied with how she'd gotten here. The more important question remained unanswered. Here it was, before her. "How does she plan on doing that?"

"Having identified the origin, she will remove it. That will restore utaime."

"Remove the origin? You mean humans?"

"Utaime must be made inviolate again."

Dawn's mind raced. Had she been thinking only of herself to this point? It became clear her visit meant much more than just her life, her safety. If Houith succeeded, the history of humanity would be expunged. Within her grew an emptiness, anger, and despair. It washed over her like a wave of adrenaline, electric and unrelenting.

She again became aware of her surroundings. The mass of Atua observing her. The barren landscape. The steady drone of the universe.

They were at a place, a point in time. The universe was more complex than she could ever have imagined. It spun around her, around them, as it always had. It folded into itself in ways that would have been unreal to her in the past. Sound and scent and form and light and darkness spiraled into an ever-evolving morass.

As the swirl consumed her, thoughts of her brother leaked into her mind. Creature's young face smiled at her across the vast expanse. He had that mischievous look she missed so much. In his hand was a small object. He held it up, showing it to her. It was the artifact.

Creature never found the artifact, she thought. Bobby found it on Phaethon. And Dewey on Luna.

The memory of Creature swept into the void. Only the artifact remained. She grabbed at it, holding it in her mind. It was cold, as she remembered it. It seemed to weigh nothing in her hand. It's surface glistened with the many points of light around her. She held it up to study. We didn't violate utaime, she thought. This alien thing did.