[Last updated August 7, 2016]

XIV

Seeing in Tongues

Ross was very sore the next morning. Yesterday was the first time he had used his physical talents so extensively since he was still under the enemy's spell. In reality that was only days ago, but to Ross it felt somewhere between weeks and a year ago depending on how he thought about it. Technically he remembered everything that had happened while he was the Commander, but they felt like someone else's memories. Putting aside the cognitive vertigo he was still experiencing, what mattered most was that he was beat. Yesterday he had run a mile as fast as an Olympic runner would, only he had to run through woods and over hills.

As the Commander, or while he was training, Ross knew he would have been fine the next day after such a run. He supposed it was largely psychological. He wasn't always angry anymore, and he wasn't under a spell either, so that subtle link he had felt to the power of the Virus was mostly gone. What he could still do he did from muscle memory, and unlike before he felt the toll. Still, it felt better to be exhausted and (relatively) at peace than strong and furious.

Ross stood up and stretched his aching legs. It was about half an hour until dawn. Everyone else was asleep except for Jacob, who had the last watch. Ross didn't expect a 'good morning' from Jacob, and he didn't get one.

"So what's next?" asked Jacob. "We've already found your mystery spot, learned nothing useful, got the kids traumatized…"

"If I knew he was going to be there, we wouldn't have gone."

"Fair enough. But really, what's next? Do you have any kind of plan?"

Ross's plan from here on was vague, but he didn't see how it could be otherwise. There was no instruction manual on how to induce evolution in Vaccine-types, and if there were it would be buried so deep in their library that they'd never find it in less than three weeks.

"Same as before," said Ross, "Learn more about the Vaccine. We're going to sit down and have a discussion about what we've seen and what it means."

"You've got to be kidding." Jacob was getting angry. "That's just going to make them more upset—what the hell good is that going to do? It's not even going to get us anywhere. Don't you have something in mind besides 'let Tat and Michael fumble around in the dark'?"

Ross thought that Jacob was being awfully assertive for someone who had no idea what he was talking about. "If you've got your own stupid, uninformed plan, let me know. Until then, we're sticking with mine."

Jacob didn't argue any further. Ross could tell that even though Jacob hated his guts, he still thought they were on the same side. That was important: Ross could deal with Jacob not trusting his character or stability, but it would be a big problem if he thought they were still enemies. So a few hours later when Jacob didn't join Ross and the others for the discussion, Ross suspected it was because Jacob was getting sick of him rather than that he trusted him to do a good job.

Ross sat in a circle with Michael, Garurumon, and Tatiana. Greymon was far too large to be in the circle, but since he was only there to listen it didn't matter if he sat outside it. What worried Ross was how grim everyone looked. Tatiana seemed especially sad. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Okay," said Ross. "Let's start with our original assumptions, then compare and contrast those with the new evidence we've seen. According to Garurumon, the common belief among the Vaccine is that all three attributes came into being at the same time and from the same source, correct?"

"Hm," muttered Garurumon in the affirmative.

"Right. Now in contrast, what's the other version of the story we learned yesterday?" Ross didn't want to even mention where the story came from. It seemed everyone else was at least as uncomfortable with it as he was, as no one volunteered to speak. Michael was looking straight at the ground. Ross knew he had to get the boy's head back in the game. "Michael, I want to hear this in your words."

Michael didn't even lift his head, as if sitting still like an angry statue would convince Ross to give up on trying to talk to him. Ross knew this kind of response, as it was how he would treat his parents at times back when they were still a part of his life. He was wondering how to get through, when Garurumon spoke up instead.

"Michael, he asked you directly."

Michael remained unmoved.

"Would you rather I answer instead?" asked Garurumon.

"…No." Apparently that was what it took. Ross guessed that Michael didn't want to put a burden on someone else.

Michael gave his explanation in monotone. "Something made the Data, then a human made the Virus, and he made them try to kill all the Data."

This was the impression WaruPiximon wanted them to have. Ross suspected that it was mostly correct, but a third of it was missing. There was an omission here that WaruPiximon wanted them to stay blind to—perhaps one that the monster wanted himself to stay blind to. "What about the Vaccine, Michael? Presumably they came last, but where did they come from?"

"It doesn't matter." Ross shuddered a little when Michael said this. If he couldn't turn this around it would mean failure.

"A human made the Virus," Michael continued, "So humans can make the Virus evolve. The Vaccine came from somewhere else, so it's hopeless."

"That's what WaruPiximon wanted you to think," Ross was beginning to sound less scholarly and more desperate. "He was trying to manipulate you. Think about it, you already knew that there are awful…evil humans out there. You already knew about Genghis Khan and slave traders and Hitler and whoever else, and that giant was just another one of them. They didn't make you think every last person was a monster, so this sicko shouldn't make you think you have anything to do with the Virus. It's a trick, and you're too smart to fall for it."

Michael just hugged his knees. Things were just getting worse and worse. Ross didn't know what he was thinking, trying to inject some phony optimism into this kid as if that would ever work when it came from the mouth of a bona-fide psycho. "Tatiana, what do you think?"

Ross needed backup, but to his dismay Tatiana jumped a bit, blinked, and said, "I, uh…I wasn't listening."

Ross groaned and rubbed his eyes. One way or another he needed to get these kids to focus and make connections. "What about the giant angel at the Holy City? It obviously has something to do with the giant human. What do you think it means?"

Then, to Ross's surprise, Greymon stood up. Ross wondered for a moment if he would try to communicate something nonverbally, but instead the new Adult-level turned away from the group and started walking. The only sounds were of the loud thuds of his footsteps, and of the occasional tree that had to bend orfall down so he could pass.

At length Tatiana stood up and announced in a matter-of-fact voice, "I'm going with him." She scampered off, and something told Ross not to stop her. It felt a little like giving up, but he was pretty sure that wasn't what he was doing. In any case, it had jarred Michael out of his fit. Now he was looking at Ross, and his expression was somewhere between expectation and confusion.

Ross stood up. "Change of plans. Michael, spend the day with Garurumon. Talk about whatever you want, but no more silent treatment."

"You don't want to listen? You're sure?" asked Garurumon.

Ross gave a convincing white lie to the second question: "Yeah."

"…What about Tatiana?" asked Michael.

"If she sticks to Greymon, I'd say she's safe. We'll go looking if they're not back near sundown." It occurred to Ross that Michael might be asking if she was supposed to talk to Garurumon as well, seeing as Greymon couldn't speak. But Ross decided there was no reason to try the exact same approach with both kids in case the approach was wrong. And since he was sure anything else he said to Michael would be counterproductive, he walked away without another word and left them alone.

Tatiana was now caught up to Greymon, and she had to move at a brisk pace to keep up with him. After they had walked for half an hour, she started to wonder if he had a destination in mind or if he was just walking for the heck of it. Eventually her legs started to get tired, and it occurred to her that she had an opportunity that probably no one in human history ever had before.

"Hey, Greymon?" she said. "Can I ride on your head?"

Greymon glanced down at her, appeared to ponder for a moment, and then stopped walking. He lowered his head to the ground and tilted it in Tatiana's direction so she would have an easier time getting up. She bubbled up a little in anticipation and pulled herself up onto the left horn which stuck out of his temple. Greymon lifted his head up again as she was climbing onto his crown, which meant she wasn't quite ready but she managed to hold on. When she was on top and safely balanced, Greymon started walking again. Now Tatiana could look around, and it took her breath away. She was riding among the treetops on top of a dinosaur. This should have been the best moment of her entire life.

It wasn't, though. She knew Greymon was Agumon, but it still felt like Agumon was gone and she was trying to replace him with something fun like a dinosaur ride. She wished Agumon were sitting next to her instead of walking under her, but when it occurred to her that Agumon never would have shied away from the chance to evolve she felt selfish. As much as she wanted Agumon back, she didn't want to do anything to hurt Greymon's feelings. It was embarrassing how she had acted when she learned he couldn't talk, and she hoped he wasn't mad about it.

There was only one thing to do, then: act like nothing had changed. The hard shell under her fingers was warm, just like Agumon always was. He was still her friend so she would treat him like her friend. "Greymon," she said, "What was it like to evolve? Did you do it on purpose or did it just happen?"

Greymon grunted. Tatiana felt the vibration from his utterance in her chest, but she couldn't parse it as an answer to anything she had asked. "Did it hurt, or did it feel good?"

Greymon didn't acknowledge her, and just kept on walking. "I kinda wish growing up for humans was like evolving. I mean, I still want to talk, but it'd be so cool to breathe fire and be bigger than a house. I'd want to be able to control my size though so I could go inside sometimes."

It felt like talking to a wall. Was she making him mad? Was he upset that he couldn't talk anymore? There was an easy way to find out, she thought. "Hey, are you upset that you can't talk anymore?"

Still nothing. She started to worry he was refusing to acknowledge her. It stung to think that she might have hurt him that badly. If that were the case she wished he would find some way of telling her. It didn't help that she couldn't see his eyes. "Do you want to take a break?"

Greymon came to a stop, and then lowered his head again. She started to climb down carefully, but then he tilted and shook a little and she went falling down. She landed on her feet, and her knees smarted a little. She went 'oof' and grimaced. Greymon stared at her, and after a moment of indecision she said, "I'm okay."

This seemed to satisfy Greymon, as he lied down on his belly and closed his eyes. Tatiana didn't know what she was going to do about him. She needed to think, and she liked to pace while thinking. As if it were a perfectly natural thing to do, she climbed onto Greymon's back and did her pacing there. If Greymon minded, he gave no sign of it.

At length, Tatiana had an idea and walked up to Greymon's head for an easier climb down. She moved to what she thought was an appropriate distance from his head for conversation, and to her surprise he opened his eye to acknowledge her before she said anything.

Then she asked him with some hesitation, "Greymon, do you think I can make you evolve again?"

Greymon didn't make a sound or move a muscle. Tatiana expected this, and said, "Blink once for yes and twice for no…or three times for I don't know."

Greymon didn't blink. He just sighed and looked away from her. Now Tatiana was getting miffed. She knew that he could understand her, and she knew that he could blink, so what was the problem? "Fine, be like that." She stomped over to a tree and sat down facing the opposite direction from Greymon.

She didn't understand it. Greymon and Unimon weren't like dogs who could only understand certain words. She was positive Greymon understood the idea of a yes/no question, and she was pretty sure he wasn't just acting out. If that were the case he probably wouldn't have let her climb all over him. She tried to put herself in his shoes—or skin, whatever—but she couldn't imagine it. She couldn't remember a time before she could talk. The closest thing she could think of was when she didn't know most of the words adults used when they talked to each other, but that wasn't close enough. Greymon was definitely smarter than a three year old.

She wasn't used to this. Usually when she was at odds with someone all the disagreement was expressed in words. Even when it turned into shoving it was still mostly words. How was she supposed to guess how he felt?

Time passed. Tatiana thought at as hard as she could about the problem at hand, but inevitably her mind would wander and she'd find herself dwelling on memories from home. It always started as an attempt to pull something relevant from her old experiences, but soon she'd find herself reminiscing for the sake of reminiscing. It was only when the shadow of the tree she was sitting by had moved from her right to her left did something finally click. It had been a long, convoluted thought process, but she finally had a line of thinking in her head that made some kind of sense.

It was in first grade, when in art class they were supposed to draw their families with pastel crayons. She made a big stink with her teacher because she wanted to draw horses with colored pencils. 'I don't want to draw that!' she yelled, landing herself in timeout in the process. What she would come to understand later was that she didn't yell the right thing. It wasn't about what she wanted to draw, but how. The colored pencils were much more important than the horses. She always could have written 'MOMMY' next to a horse and her teacher would have just rolled her eyes and gone with the joke, but Tatiana absolutely would not budge on the colored pencils and that was why she yelled.

The pastels just didn't look right. They were thick, bright, and obvious. She wanted to draw with thin lines that didn't smudge. The big kids didn't use crayons, and everything they drew looked real. The picture in her head wasn't thick and smudgy, and even if she got it wrong with the pencils it wouldn't be because she was using the wrong thing. It would never be the right drawing if someone made her do it the wrong way—it wouldn't even be her own drawing, and that felt like she was being robbed.

She realized this was also how she felt about talking dogs in movies, and how they always seemed off. They never talked like a dog would talk if a dog could talk: they always sounded like people disguised as dogs. Every word they ever said made them less dog and more human. Even shaking their head 'no' would make them less dog. It was like the people making the movies were stealing their dog-ness.

And now she thought she understood Greymon. It may have been that he could have blinked once for yes and twice for no, but that wouldn't be Greymon. That would be her trying to push speech onto him by other means. Tatiana had assumed that Greymon was mute the way a person was mute, but that wasn't right at all. Someone who was mute still used words, just not out loud. It wasn't that Greymon didn't talk, it was that he didn't use words in any form. He understood them, but they weren't his, so he never used them.

Tatiana got up again, and walked over to Greymon. "I'm sorry, Greymon. I won't try to make you talk anymore." Maybe this wasn't the smart thing to do, but she was sure it was the right thing to do. In response, Greymon very gently moved his head over and bumped into her just enough to make her fall on her rear. She'd tried to do everything her way, and now they were even and Tatiana felt much better.

What she did next was maybe a little silly. Whether it was because she wanted to convey to Greymon that she understood him better now, or because she just thought it would be fun, she got up, showed off her teeth and 'claws,' and gave her best T-rex roar. And just as she hoped he would, Greymon stood up as well, took a deep breath, and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

Tatiana felt the sound reverberate all through her body. It shook the trees, echoed back from a mountain miles away, and put a smile on Tatiana's face that lasted for hours. In that moment she could have sworn that she could yell that loud herself. The vibrations were lingering in her chest even after they were no longer present in the ground. And for one second, the world around her changed. Everything was fuzzier but also sharper. Everything in her peripherals was a blur, but if she looked directly at a distant tree she could count call of the twigs on its branches, and all of the knots in the twig, and all of the cells in every millimeter of it. 'Is this what everything looks like to Greymon?' she thought.

The moment passed, but the pure exhilaration remained. She decided right then that she had to learn to see the world like Greymon did.

Several days later Ross's muscles were no longer sore. He first noticed that the aching was gone while he was squatting down to gather mushrooms for dinner. It was going to be a moderately offensive-tasting meal with an unpleasant texture like always, but at least he'd be able to stand up without pain afterward. In this respect, he probably had the most optimistic outlook on dinner out of the entire group. The first night they ate these things Joanie had to use serious reasoning and persuasion to keep Michael and Tatiana from spitting them out. Ross had thought about saying, "It's gross, but at least there's a ton of it," but he never brought himself to actually make the joke.

When he had picked up all the mushrooms he could carry in his jacket, he returned to the banks of the stream they had found shortly before they ran out of their own water. This was where they now made camp, even though the stream was so thin that the water tasted almost intolerably like dirt. Once or twice Ross wondered if he could still function without eating, drinking, and sleeping, but the thought of being in that state of mind again was far worse than the thought of drinking this swill. It wasn't fun, but at least it couldn't last more than another week and a half.

Joanie was the only one at the camp when Ross arrived. The kids and the 'mons were off in pairs as usual, and Jacob was somewhere else. Ross dropped the bundle of mushrooms wrapped in his jacket on the ground, to which Joanie said, "Thank you," in a tone that was somewhere between politeness and resignation to eating more of this garbage.

"You're welcome," said Ross in the same tone as he sat down and began to wait for the evening.

The minutes passed, and before long it became clear to Ross that there was more to Joanie's creased brow than frustrations with their recent diet. There was anxiety in her silence, and Ross couldn't stand to let it fester. He didn't mind silence, but only the right kinds. When he thought of the perfect silence it was back at the Homestead, where the two of them could sit in one place for hours looking at the same mountains and know that the other never felt uncomfortable. But he knew that he could not return there. Whenever he and Joanie sat in silence since his return it was like it was now. So they had to talk or it would kill him.

"Spit it out."

Joanie sighed. "I guess I was just wondering when you were going to step in again."

"If you mean when I'm going to listen in on them and offer advice, I'm not." Ross had come to this decision a while ago, but he had avoided talking about it for the simple reason that he hadn't felt like talking about anything.

"But why? It doesn't seem like they've gotten anywhere. We're running out of time."

"That's why I shouldn't step in anymore. The plan from the beginning was for me to set them thinking in the right direction—let them know they kinds of things they need to find out. The most important part is after all that, and it's more emotional than intellectual or technical. They need to…click with the 'mons, I guess. In my case it meant being an angry maniac twenty-four/seven, but that was with the Gazimon. They need to be in tune with Greymon and Garurumon in their own way, and my being around won't help with that."

"I hate listening to you if you're like this."

Ross couldn't suppress going, "Huh?" What did she mean? She couldn't stand listening to him being calm and reasonable?

"You're talking around the part you know I won't agree with," said Joanie. "You think you need to stay away from them because they hate you and won't get it right if you're there. But you're wrong. They don't hate you, they need you. They need you the way you were before…before…"

Ross's nails dug into his skin. "You can stop right there."

"No, I won't! Why are you taking it for granted that they'll be mad at you forever? If you give them a chance, they'll see you're still—"

"They know better." Ross was ready to say almost anything to shut her up. It was like she was jamming pliers into his heart and trying to pull out a piece of shrapnel, but she didn't realize that she had grabbed all the muscle along with it. "It doesn't make sense to say they need me because whatever picture of me was in their heads is ruined. You can try to glue together a glass that's broken into a million pieces, but it's never going to hold water again. If I spend any more time with them they're just going to stay scared and angry, and then they won't be able to focus. Especially not Michael, he's worse than ever. And even if Tatiana seems fine that's only because I'm keeping my distance. And if I throw them off, we're dead."

Joanie's upper lip was starting to quiver, but Ross wasn't done. "I blew it, okay? I did stuff that should have landed me a life sentence or the chair, and I can't take it back. So stop pretending things will ever be like they used to be, because they won't. You shouldn't give the time of day to someone who's done what I've done, and the kids know it."

Joanie looked like she was about to snap, but rather than argue she just stood up and walked away. Ross thought her eyes might have been welling up, too. He didn't know what exactly had set her off, but he didn't waste much time trying to guess. After all, in a week and a half none of this would matter.

It was late in the afternoon, and Michael was starting to worry about another wasted day. He and Garurumon had settled into a worrisome routine. They would talk for an hour in the morning about how one might induce evolution, and when this inevitably yielded no results they would stray into idle conversation. After that they would go for a walk in the hopes of resetting their heads, but it never worked.

"Garurumon, do you have music in your world?" asked Michael when they were done with their walk. "I haven't heard any Vaccine sing." More meaningless chatter. Michael supposed it was better than doing literally nothing all day.

"I know we used to, but I haven't heard any in decades, and certainly never from a Vaccine. I'm surprised you know about it. I suppose they have shrill and frivolous things in your world as well." Garurumon's voice was calm and measured, just as it almost always was. He hadn't seemed remotely worried for a minute since their encounter with WaruPiximon. His voice was so consistent that Michael had to wonder if it was just an act, or if Garurumon in fact was so sure they were going to succeed. Michael couldn't imagine that the latter was the case because it was obvious that their chances were slim to none, so he supposed it was the former.

And since their odds were so bad, Michael decided he might as well keep talking about nothing. "You don't like music at all? Not even one kind?"

"If you'd met the Gekomon and listened to them for five seconds, you wouldn't be surprised. To my knowledge that's the only kind, and it's not something you forget soon."

"What do they sound like?"

"Hmm…if I had to say, they sound like immortality."

Michael didn't have the slightest idea what Garurumon meant, and he let it show on his face.

"To be more specific," Garurumon continued, "They sound like something that can't die attempting to do so regardless and sustaining that last squawk indefinitely. Mix that with the sound of escaping intestinal gas, and you have the idea."

Michael laughed. In his head he pictured his old third grade class's orchestra concert, and then imagined their music teacher/conductor making an inadvertent and hilarious contribution to the noise. "I don't think I've ever heard you tell a joke before."

"Well, it seemed like you could use one." Garurumon's expression hadn't changed even a little, giving the impression that it had been a tactical and deliberately calculated fart joke. As for Michael, his smile disappeared.

"I've been kind of a pain lately, haven't I?"

"I wouldn't say you've been a pain. You just haven't tried at all to hide your frustrations, and that has an effect on those around you. It's a skill you'd do well to learn."

Michael sort of agreed, but still didn't like the criticism. "Will it help?"

"Of course. The officers must set the emotional tenor for the army. If you are to be an officer, mastery over your spirits is essential."

Michael frowned. "I meant will it help in the next week and a half."

Garurumon sighed. "Why don't you tell me about the jokes from your world?"

Michael knew he shouldn't have said anything. It couldn't have felt good for Garurumon to know that he didn't think they would pull it off. For this reason, Michael had no problem with keeping the subject on jokes and things. "What do you want to know?"

"Just what sorts of jokes are told, and who are the sorts who tell them. When I joke, for example, it's verbal, but when a Gazimon jokes it is physical, and typically they draw blood in the process."

In honesty, Michael considered himself one of the worst possible authorities on the subject of jokes. He didn't know many of them, and when he told them they rarely drew laughter. He was as likely as not to mess things up part-way through, whether by accidentally revealing some information that was supposed to be revealed in the punchline or by getting bogged down in details that had nothing to do with the punchline at all. So to answer Garurumon's question, he decided to lean on a better authority.

"Well, my English teacher always started class with a joke. He told a lot of puns, and they were usually really dumb."

"What do you mean by 'puns'?"

This was a lucky break for Michael: something simple enough in the world of jokes that even he could explain it. "You know, jokes about words. Like when you say one thing and it sounds like a different thing so it's funny, kind of."

"Can you give an example?"

Michael was never ready to give examples of jokes. He frantically tried to remember something that he thought was funny but also clearly illustrated what he was talking about. To most people this would be as simple as saying 'Cats think puns are purrrr-fect,' or any number of other short sentences with syllables that related to animals in some tortured way. But Michael had a habit of deliberating over everything he thought was required of the best answer when it would be much faster to think of any old answer and seeing if it was good enough. Fortunately Garurumon showed no signs of impatience as Michael spent the next two minutes trying to think of a pun.

Finally, Michael had the best answer, or at least it was lucky he actually started saying it before he could think of a reason why it wasn't the best. "So here's one my teacher told us to teach us better grammar. First he writes on the board 'A panda eats shoots and leaves,' and then he puts in commas so it says 'A panda eats, shoots, and leaves.'" Michael made sure to put in the necessary pauses where the commas would be in written form. Surely his delivery was flawless and hilarious for once.

Garurumon stared at Michael for an uncomfortable stretch of time. "I must be missing something," he said.

It was then that Michael realized why this example maybe wasn't perfect: Since most Adult-level 'mons could barely read if at all, they might not know what commas are. 'I knew I should have gone with cats and "purrrr-fect." Stupid, stupid, stupid,' he thought. It was time for a salvage operation. "So…um….it means something different depending on how you write the sentence. Or say it I guess. But mostly write it…yeah. Anyway first it means that a panda…oh, a panda's an animal. It's like this big…whatever, what I mean is…uh…"

"Take your time."

"Right. Yeah." Michael took his time. "So first it means the panda eats shoots and leaves, but next it means the panda eats, shoots—wait no that's not how I should… Next it means the panda eats then shoots then leaves. Get it?"

Garurumon made a low noise in his throat. "If you mean do I grasp the semantics of the two phrases, I suppose. What I don't see is the joke element."

Rock bottom. Michael had to explain the joke. Why did this always happen when he tried to tell a joke? "Well, it's sort of funny because a panda can't shoot a gun…oh, so a gun is—"

"I'm sure that whatever it is, it's hysterical, but then you might as well just say 'A pan-duh eats, shoots, and leaves' and leave it at that. How does the first part contribute anything to the second?"

Michael didn't know what to say. It was like being asked what water had to do with ice. "Well…it's because they're both…the same?"

"Clearly they're not."

"Well, no, they're not the same sentence, but they're the same words, just…"

"What are you talking about?"

This was getting to be too much for Michael. He didn't think anyone should have to explain the fundamental theorem behind wordplay. "They sound the same. The words have two different meanings…or, no, the words are different but they sound the same. They're syno—no, sorry, homophones."

Once again there was a long pause. "You've completely lost me."

Michael felt stupid. He knew he probably shouldn't because Garurumon was apparently the one who didn't understand puns, but he still felt stupid. "Look, it's 'leaves' and 'leaves.' Like…more than one leaf…and the other one means leaving."

"Michael, you have to explain what you mean or no one will understand you. You can't just say that two different things are the same thing and expect everyone to follow along."

Michael put his hands to his temples and groaned loudly. This was like a bad dream. He needed a new tactic or he would lose it. Then he remembered that they were in a forest, and saw an opportunity to have Garurumon make the connections himself. He pointed up and all around. "Okay, what grows on trees?"

"Leaves."

"Yeah. Now, if someone was in one place, and now he's going to another place, you don't say 'he stays,' you say 'he…'"

"Leaves."

"There! See! They sound exactly the same but they don't mean the same thing! Get it?"

Garurumon closed his eyes. "Let's drop it. I said two completely different things, and apparently you heard the same thing twice. Maybe we can talk about this again when you're less tired."

Michael stamped his foot. "I don't want to drop it! None of this makes any sense, and I want to know why!"

"We're from different worlds. Some confusion is to be expected, so it's not worth getting put out of shape over."

"Not confusion like this though! Urrgh, this is just like how Agumon…I mean Greymon…or whatever, Agumon couldn't hear the word 'wizard' in 'Wizardmon.' I can't stand it! It's like we're not even speaking the same language!"

"What do you mean by 'the same language'?"

The way things were going, Michael thought he would have gone into conniptions at this question, but he didn't. Instead he was thinking carefully, because he had said it was like they weren't speaking the same language before he realized what he really meant. The actual thought in his head was something more insightful, more consequential, and more literal.

"…We," he started with a stutter, "We shouldn't be speaking the same language."

"Hmm?"

"The words. The words we say shouldn't be the same. You shouldn't be able to understand anything I say, and I shouldn't be able to understand anything you say."

Garurumon looked intrigued but skeptical. "Why would that be case?"

"That's how it is in our world. People in different places use different words for the same things, and you can't understand them unless you learn their language. I never noticed here because everything already seemed like magic. There's no reason for anyone in another world to speak English."

"We understand each other, so clearly in this world we do speak 'Ing-glish' as you say, and so there must be a reason. If I had to guess, the reason is that it wouldn't do for us not to understand the words of the Creators."

Michael shook his head. There was more to this, and he wouldn't take an explanation that didn't dig deeper. "That's a reason why it'd nice to speak the same language, but that doesn't explain how we understand each other. My dad told me that languages have to spread and grow and mix. They don't just appear out of nowhere."

"Then you mean our 'language' must have originated in your world and come here. So a plausible explanation could be…" Garurumon took on a grim expression. "The human who made the Virus. He would have brought his language with him."

Michael spotted the flaw in Garurumon's theory immediately. "That wouldn't make sense either. If that was thousands of years ago, then your English wouldn't sound like our English. You'd have a bunch of different words and a totally weird accent. My dad showed me a Shakespeare book once, and you can barely understand a thing even though it's also English." Michael was more focused than he had been in months. He felt that if he could stay in this mood long enough he could work out the exact answer to any problem you could name.

"My hypothesis," he continued, "Is that we don't actually speak the same language, and something else is making it seem like we do. That's why 'leaves' and 'leaves' don't sound the same to you. It's because you're hearing what I mean, but in your own language."

"It's an interesting hypothesis, but how do you propose to test it?"

Michael didn't have an answer right away, but for once he didn't worry or lose his train of thought. He quickly settled on the basic principle. He had to make something happen that couldn't happen if they perceived the words the same way. This idea came from another thing he had learned from his dad, which was that you could prove to someone that an idea is wrong if you can show how it leads to something you both agree is wrong. He thought of potential experiments quickly, and he didn't panic when they had flaws but instead used his realizations to come to new ideas. He wouldn't rely on how the words sounded because it was too subjective. He needed concrete side effects of their differing perceptions: side effects that they couldn't possibly interpret differently.

Garurumon let him think on his own like this for ten minutes. At length Michael found the experiment that had the fewest problems and was still possible to perform with the materials available. He said, "One more minute," to Garurumon, and gathered as many pebbles as he could find. He divided them into two groups, and each group he arranged on the ground as vertical lines lying in a row.

"Okay, here's my experiment. We're each going to write the word 'leaves' in the ground with our fingers or claws at the same time. You have to write through the lines of pebbles. Act as if they're not there, and just push the pebbles aside whenever they're in your way. Also, you have to write the word as close to the same size that I do as you can. If you don't break the same number of lines that I do, then your word's not the right size and we start over."

Garurumon stared at the rows of rocks. He seemed apprehensive, but Michael didn't know why until Garurumon said so. "I'm afraid I've never written before."

"That's okay, just copy me. Actually, that's better."

"Very well."

They each sat before their row of pebbles, and without warning Michael's usual anxieties returned and his focus was gone. As he began to sweat, it dawned on him what might happen if they made something impossible happen. It could show that this was all a dream, and who knew what would happen if the dream broke? Would he simply wake up, or would the dream suddenly lose all of the rules that were still in place? What if it sent him to a new dream where Garurumon, Tatiana, Joanie, and everyone else weren't there? The new dream might be far worse.

But he set all that aside. He was so close to making an actual, serious discovery on his own. He might never think as well as he just did again, so he couldn't lose this chance. And if it really was all a dream, then he would have fun telling Tatiana all about it when he woke up. It didn't occur to him that telling her might be impossible because there was no way of knowing if she wasn't just part of the dream and nothing more.

Michael swallowed hard, put down his finger, and began to trace the letter 'L' in the dirt. Garurumon followed his lead, and his letter was the same as Michael's only rougher. This was within the realm of possibilities that Michael had explored, and he continued writing. He broke through the first line of pebbles and Garurumon broke through his own in the same way. Michael shook his head so that he wouldn't get ahead of himself, and concentrated on writing cleanly and slowly enough for Garurumon to copy. He made very sure to write through individual pebbles instead of between pairs of them so that they would move as much as possible.

When he finished the 's' at the end he took a deep breath. Garurumon had written the same word and had taken up approximately the same amount of space. Michael could feel his shirt stick to his skin when he said to Garurumon, "All right. Now, how many lines did you break while writing the word?"

To the naked eye the answer was obvious, but Garurumon seemed to take it for granted that Michael's question was serious and worthwhile. "Two."

Michael's throat contracted, and his eyes watered. He could barely believe his ears, and asked, "Say that again?"

"Two. Two lines of pebbles broken. First one, then another, then none after."

Michael's teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, but he managed to say, "I broke four." He felt that he might wake up at any second and nearly collapsed from fear and excitement.

Even Garurumon appeared to have been moved slightly by Michael's claim. "You are sure? I see two broken lines on each side, and the words are the same."

They agreed on everything except the number. With shaking knees, Michael stood up and motioned to Garurumon that they should switch places. He had almost done it. When they both sat before the other's writing, Michael gave the final instructions for the experiment. "I want you to touch the fourth pebble from the top on my fourth line. According to you it hasn't moved, right?"

"Correct."

"Good. Then I'm going to touch the same pebble on your fourth line. To me it looks like it's moved a few inches. We'll do it at the same time."

Michael pointed to the stone he had in mind, and Garurumon likewise pointed his claw. They were still for several seconds until Garurumon asked, "When?"

Michael grew a little embarrassed, but he was still mostly eager and worried. "Oh…right, on three."

Michael counted, and then they both touched the ground. Michael's finger went right through the pebble, which was no longer there. It was back in line, and it stood directly on top of the lettering.

"What…is this?" said Garurumon. His claw was resting in the gap that Michael had known was there, but Garurumon was just as awestruck as Michael was.

Michael stared at Garurumon. He didn't know if he was waiting for the Vaccine officer to say something else or simply disappear. One impossible thing had already happened, so anything could happen now. At length Garurumon did speak again. "I can't read it anymore."

"What?"

"Your word. It looks like random lines and curves now."

He was afraid to, but Michael looked down again at Garurumon's word. It had changed. It now consisted of two dense characters that barely spanned two lines of pebbles.

"Astounding," said Garurumon. "You were right all along. Our 'languages' are not the same. Something makes them seem so, but it falls apart in the face of contradiction. I could have gone my entire life talking with humans and never known. You found it."

Michael thought again of the magic Wizardmon had performed with the word 'fish,' how he had used the print to summon most of a real fish. Wizardmon hadn't succeeded, but if Michael could expose the secrets hidden in written words in this world using experimentation and reason, maybe he could go further than Wizardmon had. He took more deep breaths. There was still more to do.

Michael ran his fingers gently over the rest of the pebbles in Garurumon's row. He did his best not to anticipate where any of them would be, but rather tried to compare and contrast what his fingers touched and what his eyes saw. He was testing, not just reaching and feeling. As he stared and stared at the foreign word, he concentrated as hard as he could on seeing the word as it actually was, not as what he expected it to be.

And then something happened to his eyes. His peripheral vision blurred as if he had put on his dad's glasses, but the word remained clear. It was clear, but at the same time unstable. It was at times Garurumon's script, at others English. Then it was something entirely different, and Michael felt that this new writing was closer to the truth than either of the others. He saw the script turn into thousands of lines of many letters that he could mostly read. There was far too much of it for him to take in, but what he caught looked sort of like English.

Then he blinked, and his vision was normal again and Garurumon's word was flat and unchanging. He didn't know what to make of this yet, but he was still here and so was the rest of the world. He didn't think it was a dream, and the reality was far more incredible than anything he could have dreamed up himself.