Колонизация

The old woman sat cross-legged on thick moss. She wheezed. “Pardon me, but I am not used to this old skin.”

A strange truth began to dawn on Bill. “Are you saying that your mind has somehow changed bodies?”

The old woman paused to suck in a deep breath. “The storm did it. The storm comes every few moons, or every few years. Once I saw it twice in one day. Who is to say? But, it comes. It always comes.”

“Storm?”

“It brings the change. For some it brings youth. For some death. A baby may become an old man. An old woman may be granted a new life. At least until the next storm.”

“The electromagnetism?”

“I do not know that word. Last night I changed from the form you knew into this ancient body. We all changed. I hope I can survive until the next storm.”

Bill sat down on a rock and plucked out “Cripple Creek” on the banjo. It was one of Earl’s favorite songs.

The old woman hummed along in a wavering voice while the shell of Earl, the younger body, wandered off.

***

“Beth, we need to leave immediately,” Bill urged as he and the Captain sat in the conference room.

Beth showed professional concern. “Bill, we’d all love to go home, but the mining tests aren’t conclusive.”

“Carnegie is dangerous.”

Beth leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. “Bill, what are you getting at? I have a seasoned crew here. Nobody sees any problems.”

“It’s about Earl.”

Beth massaged her temples. “You found him?”

“More or less.”

Beth let out a little laugh. “Explain something to me. I thought that anthropologists were supposed to learn about other cultures. So, aren’t you contaminating the natives by teaching them about country and western?”

“Bluegrass,” Bill said. Beth rolled her eyes. “Fine. Bluegrass. Shouldn’t you be learning about their music?”

“They seem more interested in ours.” He cleared his throat. “Beth, you know that electromagnetic disturbance last night?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

“The natives call it a storm. This is going to sound nuts, but the storm affects the natives. Their minds switch bodies. Earl’s mind went into the body of an old woman.” Bill searched for the right terminology. He hadn’t exactly been a stellar student in biology courses in college. “I did some research on the ship’s computer and the best I can figure is that the storm somehow mimics or stores copies of the neuron centers of the brain and-”

Beth was staring at him.

“I’m just an anthropologist, but I think that these impressions might get kicked around by electro-magnetic fields and displaced so that people in close proximity to each other-”

“Switch brains,” Beth said.

“Yeah. I can’t explain it any better than that. Maybe something else happens entirely. Who the hell knows? Look, I know it sounds impossible, but Earl was the only one who could speak

English. Now the old woman is fluent.”

Beth sat up straight. “So, he taught her.”

“I think Earl is telling the truth.”

Beth smiled. “Bill, listen to me. The natives are probably playing a joke on you. Or maybe they’re trying to con you. Maybe they want something.”

“They don’t want anything. I could never figure why their culture hasn’t advanced. Why they don’t have need of any possessions. Now I understand. They don’t even own their own bodies. It would be a nightmare trying to keep track of who owns what. Family units would be moving constantly from house

to house, if they had homes. It’s just easier for everybody to own everything.”

“Okay, Bill, maybe they don’t need any possessions. They might just want us to leave.”

The Captain might have a point. If Skaggs had his way, Galactic would lay waste to the planet. “I don’t think that’s Earl’s motive.”

She moved an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. “So why didn’t this storm affect us?”

“Maybe we’re shielded in the ship.”

“Bill, I think youre being co

***

Bill leaned back on a couple of stacked pillows on his bed and plucked away at “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” Earl Scruggs had written the bluegrass song for a movie years ago. Bill tried to remember the name. It was about Robin Hood bank robbers stealing from crooked banks.

He practiced his picking as much as his banjo stance. The seasoned banjo player didn’t prance about, drawing attention to himself. His fingers worked at lightning speed, like a summer cloudburst. But, the player’s genteel posture remained calm and polite, like a warm morning in North Carolina.

The airlock hissed open. Skaggs stormed inside. “Why in the hell did you get my miners confined to the ship at night? They have work to do.”

Bill put down the banjo. “I wanted to go back to Earth. Confining people to the ship was the Captain’s idea.”

Skaggs sneered. “What a surprise. The big brave professor wants to go home.”

Bill shrugged.

“Go complain to the Captain.”

“My problem’s with you. Listen, professor, you better convince the Captain to change her mind or I’ll file a report about you.”

Bill sat up on the edge of the bed.

“Report?”

Skaggs smiled.

“Yeah, pal. You probably didn’t know it, but Galactic wants me to report on everybody. Troublemakers aren’t allowed back on another Galactic ship.”

“I’m not a troublemaker.”

“Galactic wants these trips to make money. Losing hours of work every day because some fraidy cat thinks we’re in danger from electromagnetism is trouble Galactic doesn’t want.”

“The electromagnetism is dangerous.”

Skaggs rolled his eyes. “The engineers say it isn’t.”

Bill knew it would be a waste of time to reveal what he knew. Skaggs would just ridicule him. Instead he pointed to his laptop. “I write reports too. Maybe I’ll say you’re the problem.”

Skaggs snorted. “You think I really care what a bunch of damned intellectuals at some college think of me? If I had my way they’d shut those crapholes down.”