H.M. Hoover - Lost Star (7 page)

When the sun almost touched the horizon, the lumpies began to leave the beach in groups of three or four. The last of the swimmers came ashore and stood looking at the water, as if making sure everyone was safely out. One small lumpie turned to observe the observers, then reached over to touch a friend and pointed toward their audience. Too quickly, as if to cover the gesture, Lian thought, the friend or parent caught the other's hand and they hurried off together into the woods with the rest of the group.

"Wasn't that cute?" someone said, and there was nervous laughter from the staff; they had not enjoyed being observed.

Why was that funny? Lian wondered, her glance flicking over her companions. Of all the species she might encounter in the twilight, any but the humans would terrify her. And she wasn't sure about the humans.

No matter who or what they were, lian thought, most sentient creatures felt the need to feel superior to the others. She never understood why. Her father said it was a question of dominance; her mother said Lian was being unfair and would understand when she was older and had the responsibility of a staff of her own. But this was one of those things lian did not want to understand because she suspected that when she did, it would make her very sad. Without waiting for the others, she slid off the rock and started up the path.

Dew was rising. Among the shrubs night-blooming flowers were opening and scenting the air. The wortles were muttering in their dark burrows. Insects sang. From across the river something called three flute notes and liked them so well it repeated them over and over.

"There's a big star!" a human voice called, and the hills echoed, "Star—star—star." The line of people ascending the path stopped, and faces turned to the north to look at this beauty, coolly glittering high above the horizon.

"Make a wish."

"It's a good omen."

"It must mean a successful expedition." Dr. Farr's remark was greeted with appreciative murmurings.

Lian looked and with an odd little twinge of pain recognized the beautiful star for what it was—the supernova, the fiery death of a distant sun. She was going to tell them that, then decided not to. People did not always appreciate raw facts—especially when they were engaged in making wishes.

"You must have wished something important," said Scotty. "You look so serious."

"I was wishing I had a telescope," she said, and gave her a lumpie smile.

ID

"I
'm afraid you're going to find your visit with
us rather dull," Dr. Farr said at dinner that evening. "Especially so compared to what you're missing by being away from the observatory. That must be very disappointing to you."

"It's disappointing," Lian said, thinking disappointment was not the right word, and feeling guilty. The truth was that, from the time she heard the lumpie sing, she hadn't thought of the supernova until she saw it from the river path. "But being here is very nice. Being
alive
is very nice. Until I started to crash I never (thought about . . . not being." It gave her an odd feeling to think of her own death, and she quickly changed the subject. "Did you ever find a way into the buildings you dug up?"

"Not yet. The engineers took sonar photos this afternoon. Penetration was poor. The structures seem to house equipment of some sort."

"That must have excited the tolats," said Lian.

Scotty laughed. "You've noticed they like that sort
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of thing, have you? They loved it, but it rather discouraged the rest of us."

"I think we'll spend another day at our present dig, and if it continues to be unproductive, we'll move to the center of the eye," said Dr. Farr. "I can't help feeling the design of this place may have served some ritual purpose and that, if we are to discover what it was, we should work in that area."

"Really?" said Lian carefully, as she forked up mashed turkey. "Why didn't you start digging there first?"

"Several reasons. Our initial aerial tests indicated the big mound was solid. Now that we've seen the actual construction of one of their buildings, we know our testing equipment may be completely inadequate, that the hill may well be hollow. Another reason is that religious ritual holds very little interest for our non-human colleagues. Because their cultures include no form of superstitution or faith, they accord it no importance."

"You think the hill is a temple?" said lian.

"Perhaps, in some aspects, if the shape of the eye holds any ritual significance. Or it might be a sports arena. In any case, I hope it's roofed with less durable material than that we've already found."

"Tomorrow," said Scotty, "if we dig down to street level and find nothing, what are we going to do?"

"At the present site, nothing. We don't have the time or budget to waste."

"Then in the afternoon I think I'll take Lian to see the lumpie colony."

"Of course. Do you find them of particular interest?" he asked Lian.

"I think they are . . . very endearing."

He thought that over. "Yes. I suppose so. Animals have never had much appeal for me. They are so physical. One spends a great deal of time averting one's gaze from the more intimate details of their lives. Though I must admit your lumpies are more circumspect than the average animal."

"Including most humans," said Scotty, and won Lian's full approval.

The supernova was the brightest star framed by her round window that night. She lay with hands clasped behind her head and stared up at the stars with unseeing eyes. The strangest night sounds went unheeded. Her feet were cold; she raised them, stiff-legged, and tucked the blanket under them.

Should she continue to gamble on the slim chance that they would never find the door into the ruin? They had been here six weeks without finding it. If the ruin did belong to the lumpies and the lumpies wanted to be "discovered," surely they would have managed to attract the archaeologists' attention.

But then she reasoned, if a gentle gorilla took a human by the arm and signed, "Come see my house," the human would run screaming—as much afraid of the unsuspected and unwanted intelligence as of the gesture of familiarity. It was probable that lumpies had attempted to establish contact with humans and had been rebuffed.

She was thinking of the cargo men at Limai talking about the lumpies when she suddenly remembered a sofa in the Port Director's office, a sofa upholstered in fine gray leather. "One of my men made it for me," the Director had said. "Beautiful, Isn't it? All local stuff."

If that leather was what she now suspected it to be, no laws had been broken. Balthor was a Class Five world; hunting was allowed. To prove lumpies were an intelligent species would grant them automatic protection under Federation law. But Balthor was a frontier world, Limai a frontier outpost-—a place that appealed to people who could not conform to normal societies: misfits, drifters, men searching for alien wealth in any form. Who could enforce those laws out here if anyone decided to violate them? Yet, if the lumpies were discovered now, and they probably would be, those laws and common decency would be their only chance.

By her silence she had assumed responsibility. Time
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was short. She had to find some definite proof of lumpie intelligence—anything that would place them in the sentient being category. Art, tools, furniture— something had to be there, something that gave the creatures legal protection and ownership to what she felt was theirs. If she found that, then in good conscience she could tell Dr. Farr and the others of her discovery.

Thoughts sank deeper into dream, and in sleep she pulled her numb arms beneath the blanket and curled up into comfort.

Her wrist alarm went off at six, and she was awake. The smallest of Balthor's four moons was a lemon sliver in the north, the sua was almost up, and the wortles were out. The beach by the river was deserted; either it was too chilly or lumpies were not early risers.

There were only a few tolats in the dining room. None acknowledged her greeting, but then neither did they speak to one another. She was going to take her food outside to eat, then remembered the wortles and sat at the table facing the window. On her way out she stopped at the message board by the door and wrote: "Dr. Farr, have gone exploring. Will be back for lunch. Lian."

At the dig the tolats were already at work. The chatter of their jackhammers echoed through the woods. Lian stopped to watch; the bit couldn't chip a fragment out of the wall. In a lull in the noise she heard them explode into hissed sibilants and wondered if they were swearing in frustration.

The racket resumed and followed her down the path, muffled only slightly by trees or distance. If anything was being broadcast by the computer, she failed to hear it as she passed the dome. The whole site seemed deserted by wildlife, driven off by the angry throb of the drill.

Perhaps because of the noise, she saw them first. They were waiting for her by the end of the long meadow—Naldo, Poonie, and Cuddles, sitting on the

grass, smiling and nodding at one another. Each time the distant jackhammers chattered, they jumped.

Lian was surprised, not so much by the fact that they were there as by the degree of her own pleasure in seeing them. She was wondering why that was, when they turned, saw her, and came to meet her in a glad hustle.

"Where did you go yesterday?" she asked without expecting an answer, touching fingertips with them in greeting. "Scotty wouldn't hurt you."

Poonie stood up and peered at her face, examining the faint traces of the black eye and the healing lip, then pointed to her arm. Lian noticed this smallest one was shivering.

"My arm's fine," she said, and took off her jacket
to
show them.
"You
are a very good healer. Don't be afraid now." She slipped the white jacket over Poonie's shoulders, and the creature trembled. "It will keep you warmer."

Poonie's neck was too thick for her to fasten the top button so Lian tied the hood strings loosely. Cuddles and Naldo looked downright disapproving. The effect of a human jacket on a lumpie was not becoming to a lumpie. Poonie untied the strings and handed the jacket back to Lian.

"O.K.,"
said
Lian.
"I meant well." They all smiled at her, and as
if
by unspoken agreement, set off together for the halls.

After the brightness of the morning the hall
seemed very dark as she followed the three of them inside. The air smelled of grass and wild mustard, scents she had come to associate with lumpies. Perhaps they slept in here when the night was cold. Hearing a rustling movement, she turned on her pocket torch and gave an "Oh!" of surprise.

In the hallway, assembled as if for a group portrait, was the entire lumpie colony. They posed in a semicircle, smallest seated in front, next size standing, and adults erect in the two back rows. Sixty pairs of big eyes stared as she stood openmouthed.

They weren't frightening even in this number, but disconcerting. She didn't know what, if anything, they expected of her. Maybe they were simply frightened of the noises and were hiding in here.

"I came to look around," she said. They watched her mouth closely as she spoke. "Dr. Farr is going to start working on the dome tomorrow. . .

Then she remembered that, as she came down the

path, she had been thinking of pictures on these walls, hoping she could find images of grouped lumpies . . . and here were the lumpies, assembled for a picture.

"You
are
telepaths!" she whispered in awe, and felt a wave of helplessness because she could not understand them. Yet they didn't comprehend humans completely; she remembered Billy's offering her the beetle for breakfast. It was as if they understood out of context. Like knowing she wanted to see them in a picture, but not . . .

"Cuddles, I want to see old pictures on the walls." She pointed. "To study them. Come." She set off on the route they had taken yesterday, and the rest followed the V of fight from her torch.

She moved slowly, checking every spot on the walls that could possibly be decorative. Finally Cuddles caught her hand, led her into an alcove, and pointed. On the wall, behind layers of dirt and grime, the pocket light revealed a dim group of forms.

"Yes!" She nodded to Cuddles. "Exactly!"

As she removed the tube of liquid soap and the washcloths she had concealed in her jacket, the lumpies gathered around to watch. Ignorant of the medium used and not wanting to damage the picture, she lightly brushed a corner with a rag. Dirt crumbled away. She stepped back to look, then began to work more rapidly. The image was embedded in hard panel. There was a fringe of what looked like filthy fur around it. When she had cleaned less than a third of the picture, the lumpies were crowding behind her, trying to peer over one another's shoulders.

The creatures in the pictures looked like them, but like them as reflected in the most flattering of mirrors. Or idealized by an artist. Larger, more slender, faces bright with intelligence, the subjects were grouped around what appeared to be a model of some sort of machine.

After she had studied the mural for a time, Cuddles took Lian's hand and pulled her away. As he did so,