Filling in the Gaps
“You know that’s impossible, right?”
Captain Wehha was startled to hear another voice. It wasn’t a member of her crew. They knew better than to interrupt her solitude.
She pulled the camera away from her face and looked around, finding a young woman standing only a few meters away. “I’m sorry?” the Captain said to the stranger.
Captain Wehha had been wandering the planet she knew as Nahualquizqui for hours. Like most other worlds she’d visited, this planet boasted no intelligent life. Such isolation offered a respite from the crowded Earth she’d left behind. There, she often felt disconnected from those around her, as if she were standing on a crowded tram where no one met her eyes. In worlds like this, she could rediscover her humanity, ironic in the absence of others.
In the planet’s vast garden, the Captain encountered only robust plant life. She saw the movement of neither insects nor animals and heard no sound beyond her own footsteps. Yet somehow, this mysterious woman had managed to approach without being detected.
The interloper’s dark skin glistened in the afternoon sun—a sharp contrast to her bright dress. She reminded Captain Wehha of a sunflower, its warm brown disk wreathed by vivid petals of bright yellow. “Don’t be sorry. It’s impossible, that’s all,” said the stranger.
The Captain lowered her camera and smiled. She wondered if this woman was the source of the mysterious message that had drawn her to this planet. “Do I know you?”
The young woman extended her right foot. With her toe, she drew a semicircle on the ground. “No, I don’t suppose you would.”
Captain Wehha scanned the garden, hoping to discover how the stranger had arrived. Plants and flowers surrounded them in every direction. Paths led to arbors dotting the horizon. The Captain’s glistening silver shuttle occupied one of many clearings. There were no other signs of approach, no other vessels in view. Except for their voices, only an unsettling stillness hung in the air.
Captain Wehha turned to the monolith behind her. On the closest side was the face of a clock, at least she thought of it as a clock. She recalled archaic time-keeping devices she’d seen in a museum long ago. Its unintelligible markings surrounded several indicators that emanated from the center. These had frozen in varied directions, their purpose elusive.
Before the voice, she’d been taking photographs of the clock and its enigmatic obelisk. Recalling her purpose, she turned her attention to the camera. It was her favorite, a comfort in her hands. With it, she took two-dimensional photos, an anomaly in her time. She still preferred them even if the rest of humanity had moved on to three-dimensional images.
The young woman called to her. “Ignoring me isn’t going to make me go away.”
Captain Wehha turned again to the stranger. “What makes you think I want you to go away?”
The young woman raised an eyebrow. “You do.”
“If I did, how would you even know?”
“The same way I know it’s impossible.”
“You mentioned that before. What are you talking about?”
“It’s impossible for all the clocks to stop at once.”
Captain Wehha felt a wave of coldness sweep through her. While taking photos of the alien clock, she had been thinking about that very thing. If it were a clock, it had stopped some time ago. How long that was, she didn’t know. It could have stopped within a few hours, but she didn’t expect that to be true. Days or weeks were more likely, but not as likely as years or perhaps even millennia. This stream of consciousness had led her to imagine all clocks stopping at once. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” asked the stranger, a twinkle in her eye.
Captain Wehha’s mind raced. Was there another question worth asking? When confronted with an unexpected someone, questions would not be in short supply. This person seemed able to read minds. Wouldn’t that be the most important thing to understand? Of course it was, only Veronica Wehha despised being limited in her choices. Like her life on Earth, it felt suffocating. She followed the obvious path reluctantly, but mostly not at all. “Why is it impossible for all the clocks to stop at once?” she finally asked.
The young woman laughed. “I guess you’re right, it’s not impossible. Let’s say it’s extraordinarily improbable. But even if it did happen, it wouldn’t tell you that time had stopped. Clocks only mark time; they aren’t actually linked to it somehow.”
The Captain extended a hand toward the young woman. “My name is Veronica Wehha. I’m Captain of the research vessel Tidræd.”
“I just proved that I could read your mind. Do you really think you had to tell me your name?”
It was the Captain’s turn to laugh. “I suppose not, but you understand how this works, right? I tell you my name so you will tell me yours.”
The stranger accepted her hand. “I am Tererai.”
The young woman’s skin was warm and comforting. Veronica Wehha found herself reluctant to let go. “Is that a family name?”
“It’s from an old Earth culture. It means ‘to listen, to pay attention.’”
Finally releasing the young woman’s hand, Veronica stepped back. “It’s nice.”
“That’s what we say,” said Tererai. “We tell someone their name is nice, that we like it. We might say we knew someone with that name, or it reminds us of someone else. These things help us make connections.”
Veronica nodded. “I suppose so. Even light-years from Earth, we’re still human. So, Tererai, what brings you here to this garden, this planet? What has you so far from Earth, reading other people’s minds?”
Tererai dipped her head and averted her eyes. “I can’t really read your mind. It was just a guess. Like I said, my name means ‘pay attention.’ You were looking at a stopped clock. I thought maybe your mind wandered to time stopping.”
Veronica smiled. “Neat trick. So, now I have to ask, why?”
Tererai’s face brightened. “Why am I here? Why is there a clock in the garden? Why is the clock stopped? Which ‘why’ did you want to ask?”
Veronica paused to consider each option. “Why is there a stopped clock in the middle of a garden on a small planet orbiting Algenib Pegasi?”
Tererai smiled broadly. “That’s cheating.”
“You were expecting me to ask about you. Well, I already asked what brought you here. You didn’t answer. Then I decided I didn’t really care.”
Tererai’s head tilted back sharply. “Oh, I think you care. It’s just that you don’t expect to get a straight answer, so you’re taking a detour.”
“That’s perceptive.”
“It’s paying attention.”
Veronica smiled. “Well, you have answered one question.” She pointed toward the characters arranged in a circle on the obelisk. “This looks like a clock, but I wasn’t sure.”
“What else would it be?” asked Tererai.
Veronica’s eyes narrowed. “I have no idea. It’s like many of the things in this garden, not quite what I expected.”
“Really? Like what?”
Veronica crouched down and ran her hand over the surface. “The grass, for example. It feels more like a low-pile carpet than something natural.”
Tererai spun in place, her dress fanning out like the petals of a sunflower. “I know, isn’t it wonderful? It’s fresh and clean, soft and inviting.”
Veronica reached for a nearby plant. Running her hand up its stem, she stopped at the branch of a leaf. Her fingers played across its surface, tracing the veins. There, she discovered a texture similar to that of the grass. “Why does it feel like a carpet instead of grass?” she asked.
Tererai stopped spinning. “Maybe grass just feels different here.”
Veronica searched the young woman’s face. After several seconds, she forced a smile and rose to her feet.
Veronica removed the lens cover and aimed the camera at Tererai. “Any idea where it came from?” she asked as she snapped several photos.
“Where did what come from?”
Veronica moved slowly around Tererai to capture the young woman at different angles. “The garden, the clock, all of it.”
Tererai shrugged. “How should I know? I came here from Earth like you did.”
“We both know that’s a lie,” said Veronica.
Tererai turned to stare into the camera. Veronica captured shot after shot of Tererai’s rapid shift from lighthearted to somber to angry. “Why do you take pictures with that?” asked the young woman. “Why not one of those hologram things?”
Veronica paused, pulling the camera from her face and inspecting it. “Okay, I’ll play along. I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” She lifted the camera and turned it slowly in the air. “I take pictures with this because the truth is often a matter of perspective.”
The young woman’s eyes widened with wonder. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that truth can be hidden. Sometimes, we speak the truth without saying much at all. At other times, we can see things that appear true, only to discover they are utterly false, as with you and your questions. You seem like a bright young woman from Earth, but you’re not. Are you from here?”
Tererai laughed bitterly. “Are you so narcissistic that you imagine a being from across the galaxy would look something like you?”
Veronica shook her head. “I’m not suggesting this is your natural form. Maybe, like the garden, you chose it to make me more comfortable, but the truth lies somewhere behind it.”
The young woman looked down at herself. She raised an arm, scanning the skin, twisting it in the light. Breathing deeply, she shut her eyes and tilted her head back. She got up on her toes, allowing her head to loll to one side. There she held her ear up as though listening for something. When she opened her eyes again, she trained them on the Captain. “Is truth important?” she asked.
Veronica aimed her camera again and stepped back to capture more of the garden. “For me, it is.”
“How can two-dimensional pictures be more truthful than three?”
Veronica shook her head. “Oh no, it’s your turn to answer a question.” She pointed toward the clock. “What about that? Why is it here? Why has it stopped?”
Tererai closed her eyes tightly. “It stopped because time stopped.”
Veronica nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere. When did time stop?”
Tererai laughed, her eyes opening wide. “Do you realize how absurd that question is? Time is ‘when.’ If it stops, there is no ‘when.’”
Veronica raised an eyebrow. “I thought clocks only marked time.”
“You were wondering about all clocks. They’re not all the same.”
“How is this one different?”
Tererai pursed her lips and glared at Veronica. “This clock is time.”
Veronica drew a deep breath and approached the obelisk. Her fingers touched the edge of the clock, outlining the symbols. “What do they mean?”
“You ask too many questions.”
Turning back to Tererai, Veronica smiled. “You have yet to answer a single one honestly.”
“What do you mean by that?” Tererai asked as she walked around Veronica.
Veronica’s eyes followed the young woman. “You said there is no ‘when’ without time. Then you told me this stopped clock is time. One statement negates the other. If time has stopped, like this clock, there can be no ‘when.’ I couldn’t even ask these questions because the act of asking requires time.”
Tererai stepped from place to place, pausing and adjusting her head at each point. Her movements resembled Veronica’s while taking pictures, absent the camera. “I could say the same about your answers.”
“Meaning?” asked Veronica.
“You said that truth was a matter of perspective. I don’t see anything different when I change my perspective.”
“You’re only changing your position. Perspective is more than just where you stand; it’s how you think, what you feel.”
Tererai pouted. “So feelings determine truth?”
Veronica sighed deeply. “Not really. Sometimes feelings reflect things that aren’t true, like reacting to a lie. Truth itself doesn’t require feelings, but it can inspire them. It’s complicated.”
Veronica turned, putting her hand on the monolith to feel the sharp corner of it. “This obelisk exists whether I believe in it or not,” she continued. “Even my ignorance of it doesn’t affect it.”
Tererai’s face lit up. “If an obelisk falls in the forest but there’s no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?”
Veronica smiled. “Something like that. So I change positions to capture latent qualities of the subject.” Veronica crouched at the base of the obelisk. Looking up, she pointed. “In a photo taken from down here, the stone seems to loom over me. Its dimensions haven’t changed, but now it may seem oppressive. The clock might appear ominous.” She stepped back from the obelisk. “From here, a photo might be more functional, drained of emotion, of tension.”
Veronica stepped toward Tererai. The young woman’s eyes had grown large.
“Three-dimensional photos, or holograms, just present things as they are,” Veronica continued. “I am fascinated with interpretation, finding something new, something less obvious.”
Tererai nodded. “I understand now.”
Veronica placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “It’s my turn again. Why did you summon me here?”
Tererai offered a fleeting smile before her face softened. “It’s a lie to say the clock is time. It’s not all of time. It’s my time, and it stopped long ago.”
“Long ago?”
Tererai approached the obelisk. She reached for the clock, tracing the contours of the symbols. “How does one measure time without time?”
“So, a minute, an hour, a lifetime, none of these things has any relevance here?” asked Veronica.
“For you, time still passes as it always has. Your hours measure something far away, the spinning of your home world. No matter where you go, they follow you. I can go no farther than here. My time has a different sort of hold on me.”
“And the hands just stopped?”
Tererai’s fingers drifted slowly away from the face of the clock. “I’m not certain I could explain it to you.”
Veronica sensed something familiar rise inside her. “It must be very lonely.”
“I have no words to make you understand how true that is.”
“Was loneliness the reason you invited me here?”
“Not really. I once thought I could banish loneliness with company.” Tererai turned and gestured to the vast garden. “You are hardly the first. I’ve hosted many others in this garden. I still smell the wine from the last party, some 3,000 of your years stale. I still hear the conversations that once filled this air.”
“What changed?” asked Veronica.
“At some point, they all left, just as you will. At some point, they all faded away. I could no longer bear it.”
Veronica bit her lip. “Despite this, you invited me here. I have something else you want.”
Tererai approached the obelisk. She pressed herself against it, throwing her head back and her arms wide around it. “I didn’t know why at first. You, who cling to your two dimensions, your photographs. Something in that intrigued me. Now I know there is far more to see here, far more to consider.”
Veronica neared the young woman. “You don’t have to discover these things alone. I will gladly stay for as long as you like.”
Tererai shook her head. “I’m finished saying goodbye to people I love. I don’t dare let anyone get that close again.”
Veronica wrapped her arm around Tererai’s waist. She held on, nestling her head in the side of the young woman’s neck. After several moments, Veronica backed away, tears wetting the corners of her eyes. “I’d rather stay,” she said.
As her words hung unanswered, Veronica realized that she would receive no response. Tererai stood motionless, her essence gone, as if the clock had reclaimed her. She was as still as the clock’s hands, frozen in time, or the absence of it. The young woman’s skin was now cold to the touch, like the stone she leaned against.
Veronica lifted the camera to her eye, adjusting her position to capture the essence of what she saw. Each time she prepared to snap a photo, her finger held fast. She could find no perspective that would do justice to the sadness—or the strange beauty—she saw.
Veronica made her way back to her shuttle, pausing periodically to take in the scenery of the garden. With each glance toward the obelisk, Tererai’s upturned head and bright yellow dress increasingly resembled a sunflower. The mysterious young woman had become a solitary bloom among many. She was a point of beauty nestled in profound sadness.
Captain Wehha engaged the engines of her shuttle and began the ascent back to her ship. As the surface of Nahualquizqui fell away, she reflected on Tererai’s despair. With this new perspective, she thought about all the goodbyes she hadn’t said when she last left Earth. It made her wonder if there was still time for her to connect with those who mattered.