The Anomalous Press

Author: Anomarilius 

Challenge:

Write a creative essay using 18 multiple-meaning words/homonyms. It must be 500 to 1000 words in length and the story cannot take place on Earth.

Word Key

1. Matter

– A subject or situation that must be considered.

– Physical substance from which objects are formed.

2. State

– The condition that someone or something is in.

– A politically organised country.

– To express something formally or clearly.

3. Fault

– Responsibility for a mistake or problem.

– A crack or weakness in rock beneath the planet’s surface.

– A defect that prevents something from working correctly.

4. Pressure

– Physical force placed upon a surface or substance.

– An attempt to persuade or compel someone.

– The stress created by difficult expectations or circumstances.

5. Current

– Belonging to or happening in the present time.

– A continuous movement of electricity, water or air.

6. Charge

– Electrical energy carried by a substance or object.

– Responsibility for controlling or caring for something.

– To accuse someone or something of wrongdoing.

– An amount of money requested for a service.

7. Core

– The central part of a planet or other object.

– The most important or essential part of a subject or problem.

8. Field

– A particular subject or area of study.

– An area in which a physical force, such as magnetism, has an effect.

– An open area of land.

9. Rise

– To move upwards from a lower position.

– To increase in amount, level or strength.

– To stand after sitting or lying down.

10. Fall

– To move unintentionally towards the ground.

– To decrease in level, amount or value.

– A decline, defeat or loss of power.

11. Break

– To damage or separate something into pieces.

– An interruption in a connection, pattern or activity.

– A short period of rest.

12. Present

– A gift given to someone.

– The current time.

– To show information for others to consider.

– To be located or attending somewhere.

13. Interest

– A desire to learn about or pay attention to something.

– A feeling of attraction towards someone.

– A personal benefit or concern.

– Money paid on borrowed or invested funds.

14. Engaged

– Busy or involved in an activity.

– Having formally agreed to marry someone.

– Being in use or occupied.

15. Match

– A person or thing that is suitable for another.

– To be equal, similar or corresponding.

– A competition between people or teams.

– A small stick used to produce a flame.

16. Point

– The purpose or main idea of something.

– A precise place, stage or moment.

– A sharp end.

– An individual item of information or measurement.

17. Case

– A particular situation or set of circumstances.

– An argument supported by evidence.

– A container designed to hold or protect something.

– A matter investigated by a court or authority.

18. Close

– To shut an opening or entrance.

– Near in distance or time.

– Having an intimate or affectionate relationship.

– The ending of an event or period.

19. Mean

– To signify or represent something.

– To intend to communicate something.

– The numerical average of several values.

– Unkind or ungenerous.

20. Order

– The arrangement of people, information or objects.

– An instruction given by someone in authority.

– A request for food, goods or services.

– A controlled condition in which rules are followed.

The Matter of the Fault

I had never admired ambiguity. A word ought to know its purpose, fulfil it and resist acquiring several unrelated duties merely because its speakers found precision inconvenient. Elliot disagreed. As Krypton’s first human exchange student, he regarded every weakness in Earth language as evidence of flexibility which was a generous interpretation and, therefore, a very human one. Our disagreement had become the subject of a presentation to the Science Council at the House of Van. My mother considered the event academically useful. Van-Ex, our service robot, considered it socially significant.

Elliot arrived beneath the red evening light carrying a narrow crystal case. Van-Ex announced him before the doors had fully opened, then informed me that I had checked the entrance seven times in twelve minutes.

“I was monitoring punctuality,” I said.

“Master Elliot is six minutes early,” he replied.

“Your monitoring appears unusually thorough.”

The case contained an Earth fountain pen, offered as a present for my assistance during his term. It was dark blue and heavier than it looked. I liked it immediately. This was inconvenient. Elliot said he had chosen something old-fashioned because the House of Van appeared fond of preserving difficult things. I informed him that this could be interpreted as an insult.

“That is the risk of language,” he said.

Councillor Tor-Vek arrived soon afterwards, with the air of confidence of a man whose position had spared him the labour of wondering whether he might be wrong. During the first course, he asked whether Elliot and I were to be engaged after the exchange term. My mother looked at me. Elliot looked at his plate. Van-Ex replied that no formal engagement had been recorded although our joint calendar contained nine future appointments. Tor-Vek clarified that he meant academically engaged. Van-Ex observed that this was not what he had asked. The silence that followed was almost certainly the finest work our robot had produced all week.

Our presentation was concerned with twenty Earth words whose meanings changed with context. Comparative language was my field; ambiguity was Elliot’s preferred method of proving that the field contained hidden traps. We had reached the word “state”, a word capable of naming a political community, describing a condition or introducing a formal declaration, when Van-Ex interrupted us. A current report from the planetary monitoring network had detected unusual electrical activity beneath the western continental plate. Pressure was rising along a known fault, while a charged field had formed near the upper core. No immediate break had occurred. Conditions remained within the accepted mean.

Tor-Vek read the report once and dismissed it as routine. Krypton’s core produced unstable matter at intervals, he said, while the network remained in charge of assessing danger. Elliot studied the display.

“This may be routine, but the present report is not reassuring.”

Tor-Vek’s expression suggested that Earth had sent Krypton a guest without sufficient instructions. I felt the pressure of the Council’s attention settle upon me which was less measurable than the pressure beneath the crust and no less real.

I asked Van-Ex to present the earlier reports. He projected the data in order, every reading arranged with the confidence of figures that had not yet been questioned. The pressure had continued to rise while the magnetic field weakened. Small breaks appeared in the transmission record at the same point each day, and the average had been calculated after those gaps were removed.

“Then the accepted mean does not mean what the Council assumes,” Elliot said.

Tor-Vek replied that a numerical mean possessed one definition.

“The number does,” Elliot answered. “Its significance does not.”

I disliked the disorder of his argument. I disliked more that it had a point.

Tor-Vek ordered us to continue while the network completed another cycle. An order from the Science Council was not easily refused although it could be obeyed without enthusiasm. I resumed with “fault”, explaining its use for both a geological fracture and responsibility for an error. Elliot remarked that if the readings proved dangerous, the fault would exist beneath the crust while blame might sit comfortably above it. My mother lowered her cup to conceal what may have been amusement. Authority often protects a person from noticing when others find him ridiculous.

A vibration of electrical current travelled through the floor. The lights fell, rose and settled at half strength. Van-Ex reported a break in the western sensor line, then advised the Council to take a break from dining until the household field stabilised.

Tor-Vek called the timing melodramatic.

“I do not possess a dramatic setting,” Van-Ex replied.

Elliot rose too quickly, nearly fell against the table and recovered with the expression of a man hoping dignity could be restored by pretending nothing had happened. We went to the lower observatory because remaining at dinner had ceased to serve any point.

The receiver stood inside a circular chamber, surrounded by suspended points of blue light. Each of them represented a deep-core sensor; seven had gone dark. Elliot opened the maintenance case while I matched the missing signals against the earlier gaps. The pattern formed a narrow line across the western plate. It was not interference but a fault widening in stages. The network had treated every fall in signal as damaged equipment and every rise in pressure as a separate event, therefore, creating a stable average from unstable parts. Krypton had not been given false information. It had been given facts in an order that made the truth easier to ignore.

Elliot and I had been selected as a match for the project because our methods opposed one another without becoming useless. I preferred evidence to remain within its proper case; he preferred to test whether the case had been built around a mistaken assumption.

“We should state the conclusion plainly,” he said. “Tor-Vek will demand certainty.”

“You do not have certainty?”

“I have enough concern to act.”

His answer was unsatisfactory by Kryptonian standards and sensible by nearly every other measure. The core of the matter was not whether the planet would fail that evening. It was whether our confidence had become more important than the evidence. I had spent months examining the defects of human ambiguity without considering the opposite danger: language so precise that it allowed no room for doubt after an official meaning had been selected.

We returned and made our case. I stated that the physical state of the fault could no longer be called routine, that the pressure pattern required review and that the missing points had distorted the mean. Tor-Vek asked whether I was prepared to charge the network with failure.

“I am prepared to question the people in charge of interpreting it,” I replied.

Elliot remained close beside me, silent for once. He had already made the same point with less diplomatic success.

The Council agreed to open an inquiry, a phrase designed to sound active while promising very little. Before leaving, Tor-Vek advised me not to permit personal closeness to an off-world student to affect my judgement. I informed him that my interest in Elliot concerned comparative language. Elliot waited until the doors closed before asking whether that was the only meaning I intended. I looked at the blue pen beside my notes, at the seven dark sensors and at Van-Ex, who had turned towards us with the attention of a machine pretending not to listen.

“I am still considering the matter,” I said.

Van-Ex closed the doors and dimmed the room.

“For the present moment,” he observed.

Elliot smiled. The fault beneath Krypton continued to widen, the Council continued to deliberate and I discovered that ambiguity was not always a failure of language. Occasionally, it was the only civilised place to keep an answer until one was ready to state it.Paste this into the WordPress block editor. The headings should separate the assignment, word key and essay cleanly.