Submitted for the May 2025 prompt: Many Minds

Simo and I paddled easily up the narrow river. Morning rays illuminated clouds of mist rising from the sediment-rich water. Wet shirts clung to our arms as we floated deeper into the humid jungle.

 

Over the thrum of insects, the soothing voice of Angie, my virtual assistant, said, “Five more kilometers to the village, Sal.”

 

That’s when we heard the drone of a fan boat screeching toward us.

 

Simo grunted in frustration. We knew that only government agents were permitted to use engines on these waters. They’d likely interrupt our documentation of the Izenka language. If so, we’d have less evidence to support our theory that all languages on our planet stem from one family tree.

 

We tied up on half-drowned trees, swatted at mosquitos, and waited.

 

The fan boat rounded a bend and came into view. Its engine cut and bow sloshed down. The sun shone from behind, silhouetting the lithe figure of a woman. She shouted from the deck: “Dr Pedra? Dr Salente Pedra?”

 

I shielded my eyes. “Yeah.”

 

“Irene Mitz. Your presence is required at the Capital.”

 

Behind her, soldiers tightened their grip on weapons.

 

“I’ll come. But you let my friend go on.” It’d take longer, but Simo could get it done.

 

“Very well.” She motioned to a soldier. They tossed a line that landed with a thud. “Come aboard, Dr Pedra. I promise you won’t regret it.”

 

* * *

 

I hated that she’d been so right. Being part of a government team that had deciphered a new language was work that brought the excitement of discovery. And Irene and I had somehow transitioned from heated workplace rivals to — what were we, exactly?

 

And there was something else that was bothering me.

 

I slid open the glass door to our high-rise penthouse.

 

From this height, the stars seemed near. They’d ordered non-essential businesses to turn off their lights so the population could stare in awe at the sailing pinprick of light. Glancing at my watch, I set my drink on the railing and looked toward the northwestern horizon. There it was. That tiny speck was an orbiting spaceship inhabited by visitors from a distant star. Their arrival had brought Irene and me together six months ago. Had it been that long?

 

“You can’t leave this open.” She slid the door shut. Her hand slid to where she knew I was ticklish. I tried not to squirm. Eying my drink, she said, “You only do that when you can’t solve one of your puzzles.”

 

“True.” I sipped.

 

“But you’ve done it!” She pointed at the tiny sailing star. “We can communicate.”

 

I rattled my ice.

 

“Sal. Come on. Our generals wanted to shoot first. You asked for time and now we know they’re benevolent: refugees from a cosmic disaster.”

 

I hid my smile with another swig.

 

“You’re our planet’s first Xenolinguist.” She patted my arm. “Sounds sexy for a scientist.”

 

“Fifty colleagues could’ve done it. Our languages are surprisingly similar. The only major differences are dialectical ones between male and female.”

 

“Sounds all too familiar.” She tasted my drink. “Gross. What’s got you consuming this vile beverage?”

 

“Really wanna know?”

 

She nodded.

 

“It was too easy.”

 

“Well, all the related fields had similar experiences. They’re physiologically similar to us: carbon-based life forms, similar diet, analogous body chemistry, and our sociological structures match up well.”

 

“Yes, but why?”

 

A beep sounded from my pocket. It was Simo, sending a data file. He’d documented Izenka. He added a text: “Seems like this supports our theory that all our planet’s languages are part of one big family. Remember us, Mr Famous. XOXO, Simo.”

 

Lost in thought, I muttered, “Family.”

 

Irene pointed my chin up with her nail. “Sal.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Maybe we should start a family.”

 

My drink nearly tipped over the railing. “Huh?”

 

“You heard me.” Her eyes sparkled with that special mischief of the committed.

 

Families. That’s it! I hurried back inside. “Angie!” My workspace startup initiated.

 

Irene slammed the glass door. “Seriously. You're working? Right now?!”

 

“I think I can answer the question.”

 

“My question or your question?”

 

“Both.”

 

“Oh, good.” Sarcasm. Danger.

 

I glanced at my scattered notes. “Gimme two hours?”

 

“You have ten minutes.”

 

“Okay. Fair. Angie?”

 

Angie’s avatar yawned. “Sal. Seriously. It’s too late and too early to work. Have you followed my advice about Irene yet?”

 

“Yeah. Kinda. More on that soon. Listen, I need you to run a linguistic comparative analysis.”

 

“Sal, we’ve already cross-referenced each lexical, morphological, and phonological component of the two languages. The mission’s complete!”

 

“Not yet. I’m uploading a data file for Izenka. Add it to our family tree. Good. Now, compare all our language families against all of their language families.”

 

“Okay. Running…”

 

Grabbing a control pad, I assisted with the analysis.

 

Irene said, “Sal, why did the word ‘family’ start all this?”

 

“Historically, every language on our planet connects back to an earlier protolanguage.”

 

“Neat. This is important because…?”

 

“Simo and I believe Izenka provides evidence supporting a theory that all protolanguages can be traced back to a proto-protolanguage.”

 

“And…?”

 

Angie chimed, “Analysis complete.” She displayed the two languages as leaves, ours on the left and theirs on the right. The screen zoomed out, revealing more and more interconnected branches, until... there!

 

There it was. A node that connected the two trees together.

 

“There is no them,” I said. “There’s only us.” I grabbed my phone.

 

“Sal. Stop.” She stared and said: “Angie, play some music.”

 

Angie said: “I got you girl. I know just what you’re looking for.”

 

Irene caressed my phone out of my hands. “There is no them right now. There’s only us.”

 

She was standing the way she had on the boat on the day we’d met.

 

“But they need to know.”

 

“They can wait until tomorrow.”

 

“But—”

 

“No. You put that drink down. Come here. Let me teach you how to dance.”