Quofum (18 page)

Opposing the city’s defenders were tightly packed masses of the oddest beings she had yet seen represented on Quofum. They made the physiognomy of the stick-jellies look almost normal. Each of the invading creatures was composed of what appeared to be half a dozen pulpy, pale white balloons. Three tiny black pupil-less eyes were visible in the central balloon. In the absence of arms, fingers, tentacles, or other recognizable appendages, the outermost balloons held on to weapons and other devices by partially englobing them with elastic portions of their bodies. In the absence of legs and feet, the globular creatures advanced not by walking but by bouncing along the ground.

Larger scenes of battle were interspersed with ennobling portrayals of individual squat city folk (local heroes, she presumed) single-handedly fending off attacks by multiple balloon-beings. When pierced or otherwise wounded the urbanites bled blood while the invaders secreted a thick mucus. Instinctively and most unscientifically Haviti found herself siding with the city-dwellers. That was the human in her, inclined in the absence of knowledge to favor battling bipeds against assailants who were as nonhuman as could be imagined. The rationalist in her quickly assumed a neutral stance with regard to the ancient conflict.

She knew nothing of either defender or invader. For all she was aware the mucus-oozing balloon-folk were the righteous saviors of all that was good and noble while the bipedal urbanites were bloodsucking slave-takers. Ever since contact with the thranx, the human-Pitar war, and the subsequent Amalgamation that resulted in the forming of the Commonwealth, humans had learned never to judge an intelligent species on the basis of appearance.

While aesthetically beguiling and of unarguable historical interest, the extensive depictions of fighting were not what had drawn her to the panels depicting combat. It was the detailed portrayals of the combatants themselves. Here were two species that were not only far more advanced socially and technologically than those to the south, but utterly different from them. The squat urbanites were as unlike the stick-jellies as the stick-jellies were to the hardshells. The raiding balloon-beings bore no more relation to the fuzzies than she did to the lazy yet sentient river-dwellers.

Rather than adding any kind of clarification, her discovery only served to further magnify the mystery that was Quofum. Seven sentient species. Seven, existing on a relatively tiny corner of one continent. What would they find if they had the where-withal to explore the entire planet? Ten intelligent species? Dozens? Hundreds? On Quofum the laws of evolution and biology were as muddled as the surface of a comet-struck moon. What was responsible? Or, she mused as she thought back to discussions she’d had with her colleagues, who?

Magnifying the madness, it was the more advanced of the two new species who had apparently died out and left no local descendants. Though she lacked evidentiary proof, it was hard to imagine that the superior urbanites and balloon-folk had somehow given rise to fuzzies and spikers and stick-jellies. It was equally difficult to imagine the reverse. On Quofum it appeared that the normal process of evolution was as a bystander instead of a mover. What would she find as she traveled farther north? Intelligent arthropods? Cities of social bivalves? Cephalopods in spaceships? For a curious xenologist Quofum was a kind of nirvana.

Or hell.

12

The village of the seals offered a respite of sorts—if finding an eighth intelligent species could be called a respite. By this time Haviti had resigned herself, as a person if not as a scientist, to the fact that Quofum could be expected to yield up an entirely new sentient species or two every couple of hundred kilometers. Having stepped through the scientific looking glass, she saw no point in driving herself crazy struggling to make sense of the biological wonderland on the other side of the fantastical pane.

The coastal locale was as pleasant and inviting a venue as she or her colleagues had come across since their arrival. Compact homes and shops built of gathered stone and rough-hewn wood lined neatly cobbled streets at the bottom of a small canyon that swept gently down to the sea between heavily forested hills. The cove at the terminus of the valley was picture-pretty. Small single-masted fishing vessels, their purpose defined by the nets that draped them front and stern like discarded petticoats, rode at anchor.

By now indifferent to any and all Commonwealth regulations, she landed the skimmer right on the beach in front of the town and just to the north of its single pier. Her first sight of the creatures who came loping to greet her immediately reminded her of Terran pinnipeds who had forgone a water-dwelling existence in favor of living on land. They had large eyes, narrow laid-back ears, small black nostrils, and expressions she could only define as winsome. Except for their dark, slick-skinned faces, their heads, limbs, and the parts of their bodies that were visible outside their simple attire were covered by short brown, black, or gray fur. They were the first Quofumian sentients she or any of her colleagues had encountered in person who wore sewn clothing. Their legs were proportionately much longer than their arms. When they ran or walked they did so by leaping sideways with their heads turned in the direction they wanted to go, giving them the look of puppies skipping on stilts.

As she emerged from behind the skimmer’s canopy and started down the extended steps her right hand automatically went to her sidearm. She did not have to draw it. Inherently friendly, the seals (as she chose to call them, following the team’s procedure of giving each new intelligent species a preliminary colloquial name) slowed as they drew near. While not complex, their language was a good deal more elaborate than that of the cautious fuzzies, for example, or the raging spikers.

While a handful of the aliens could look her in the eye, most stood no taller than her chest. Keeping her hands at her sides, she let them gather around her. Instead of fingers their hands split into opposing halves, like soft claws. While incapable of fine work, these were perfectly adequate for grasping and lifting. Gaping round mouths revealed inner horny layers easily capable of masticating fish and probably a wide variety of other Quofumian edibles. She quickly realized that she could identify and remember individuals by noting distinctive patterns of coloration in their fur.

Behind her, several of them had cautiously begun to inspect the skimmer. With the canopy closed they could not get inside, but they could see through the transparency. Their babbling speech consisted primarily of long rolling sentences devoid of consonantal harshness.

This would be a good people to study in more depth,
she told herself. If they would allow it, of course. How to open negotiations? She was saved the trouble when the seals did it for her.

The crowd that had gathered on the beach parted to allow others to come forward. The advancing trio was better dressed than any of the natives she had seen thus far. They were neither especially imposing physically nor, insofar as she could tell, of advanced age, but it was immediately evident from the way the crowd made room for them that they were held in high regard.

They halted an arm’s length from Haviti, closer than any of the other sleek fisherfolk had dared to approach. Sexual dimorphism was not immediately apparent. Up close, she thought they might bear some superficial resemblance to the more primitive fuzzies. DNA and cell analysis would be necessary to reveal any actual connection. For the moment, though, she was content simply to stand and study the first land-based intelligent native species that did not greet strangers with undisguised suspicion and brandished weapons.

The difference in approach was more profound than she imagined. Lifting a necklace of perfectly transparent shells over its head, careful to avoid getting it hung on one of its narrow, extended ears, the nearest of the respected threesome had to extend itself to its maximum height in order to slip it over Haviti’s head. She inclined forward slightly to lessen the strain on the seal’s short arms. The gesture was then repeated by each of its companions, leaving her wearing three necklaces: one comprised of delicate shell-like transparencies, a second of small flowers, and a third of roughly but undeniably artificially polished pebbles. Following the presentation, two of the trio stepped back. The third began to speak.

Their speech was gently musical, occasionally rising and falling sharply in the middle of a sentence or phrase. Even in the absence of formal morphological analysis it was evident that their language was far more advanced than that of any previously contacted indigenous species. With the possible exception of the vanished city-dwellers, these were clearly the most advanced inhabitants of Quofum yet discovered.

Though she could understand nothing of their speech, certain gestures are universal among limbed intelligences. Chirping and beckoning for her to follow, they led her away from the pebbly beach and toward the town. She complied, tolerating the hesitant touches of the bolder among the crowd. Placid in lockdown, the skimmer would look after itself. Resistant as it was to penetration by many advanced tools, she was confident these people had nothing in their possession that was capable of forcing an entrance or doing damage to the parked craft.

Proper procedure demanded that she contact her companions and inform them of her latest finding. If she was in the mood, she decided, she might do so later. One of the first things that had been dropped following their abandonment on Quofum by the Qwarm Araza was any concern for or interest in proper procedure. Valnadireb went his way according to his interests and desires, N’kosi did pretty much as he pleased, and so did she. Maybe she would tell them about the jungle-reclaimed city and the village of the seals tomorrow. Maybe she would wait until she returned to the camp. Maybe both would remain her little secret. It was not as if she was exposing herself to official recrimination.

Strange, she thought as she found herself treading the first of the town’s well-maintained cobblestone streets. One of the first consequences of the loss of hope was complete freedom.

Unlike contact with the stick-jellies and the fuzzies, the hardshells and the spikers, neither restrained nor overt belligerence was manifested in her direction. Young and old, healthy and infirm, the seals welcomed her with open, highly modified flippers. She wondered how her dropping from the sky fit into their racial mythology or religion, assuming they had either one.

An empty house was opened and presented to her. The inference was clear: it was hers to use. How could she refuse such a touching gesture? Besides, studying the seals from within their community would offer opportunities likely to be missed if she isolated herself on board the skimmer.

Transferring gear from the craft allowed her to equip the small dwelling with adequate security. It was acceptable to like the seals—but not to trust them. The art of patient duplicity was not a skill reserved solely for humanxkind. Still, as the days passed, she grew progressively more comfortable in the company of her hosts and in sleeping among them.

While the shallow, wood-framed ovoid filled with dried and fluffed plant matter that was located in the rearmost room provided a tolerably restful bed, she preferred the expandable she brought from the skimmer. Though her own dwelling as well as every one she visited displayed an admirable level of hygiene, there was no telling what kind of parasites might inhabit the depths of such bedding. Insofar as she could tell, her hosts did not take this preference for her own sleeping platform as a slight. Indeed, they showed the same level of curiosity toward her tools and gear as she did to theirs.

Village society was as evolved as its technology. There were several schools for the young. In the absence of books, knowledge was inscribed on bound sheets of a large echinoderm that was collected by divers. Dried and pounded flat and thin, this organic material had the consistency of flexible cardboard. Paper, she had no doubt, would be the next step up in the advancement of seal writing technology. She did not show them the screen on her communit. Too much magic could overwhelm simple minds. Worse, the history of contact with less advanced species showed how such repeated revelations could lead to suspicion and jealousy.

There were bakeries, facilities for processing the wondrous variety of creatures netted in the depths and gathered from the shores of the cove and the deeper sea beyond, something akin to a restaurant, two gathering places that might on another world have qualified as taverns (a tavern on a world whose oceans were nine percent alcohol seemed decidedly superfluous), and shops for making and repairing clothing, utensils, and other goods. As her knowledge of the local language increased, abetted by relevant programs embedded in the skimmer’s AI, she was able to confirm that the villagers obtained the majority of their needs from the sea.

Most exciting of all was the information that there were other seal villages scattered up and down the coast and on offshore islands with whom her hosts engaged in regular trade and social intercourse. Truly, in the absence of the unknown species who had built the now deserted inland city, these congenial folk represented the apex of contemporary Quofumian society.

Occasionally her studies would be interrupted by a perfunctory query from base camp. So as not to unsettle or over-awe her hosts, she would reply only when by herself. Valnadireb informed her that he was hard at work in the forest and staying close to camp. Utilizing one of the expedition’s four small rechargeable scooters, N’kosi had chosen to range farther afield. Their respective work was going well. Each was making astonishing discoveries. Though their sporadic conversations were underscored by the kind of calm and composure that attends the condemned, they were devoid of despair or self-pity. Gloom had long since given way to resignation. While she could not speak for her colleagues, Haviti felt like someone who had contracted a terminal disease yet felt no physical pain. Their condition was one to be regretted, but not dwelled upon.

On the morning of the day in the middle of the fifth week she had planned to sit in on one of the local school’s most advanced study sessions in hopes of learning more about the history of the town. Instead, when she emerged from what she had whimsically dubbed Cove Cottage, she found herself confronting Ba-fel. Tall for his kind, the male was one of several villagers who had spent enough time in the presence of the pale-fleshed alien to become comfortable with her. Though Haviti’s command of the local language was still crude, she could now make simple concepts understood. Talking seal was easier than, for example, trying to speak High Thranx. Haviti likened the latter to gargling without liquid.

“Ti-ah-reh well morning today?” Ba-fel inquired politely.

“Ti-ah-reh well yes.” Better to keep exchanges simple and comprehensible than to strive for eloquence and fall on one’s linguistic face, Haviti had always firmly believed. Besides, there was little room for elaboration in the seals’ language. It was simple and straightforward and functional, which suited her mood just fine. High literacy could come later.

The native gestured. Not in the direction of the town and the school where Haviti was expected, but toward the cove. “Ti-ah-reh has ask often about other peoples. Ba-fel talk with friends. Believe Ti-ah-reh good person.” The attenuated, backward-facing ears flapped lazily back and forth, serving to pick up sounds while simultaneously cooling the speaker’s body. “Ba-fel and friends think time okay now show Ti-ah-reh place other people leave behind.”

Haviti’s heart skipped a beat. The chronicle of the town could wait. What the ingenuous Ba-fel seemed to be offering was a history lesson of a different sort.

She closed the cottage door behind her. There was no way to lock it, and no need to. “This place,” she asked her friend and guide, “is located in cove?”

“Not in cove.” Ba-fel’s long legs seemed to slip and slide over the cobblestones as they made their way toward the pier. “Beyond.” A short arm rose to gesture northwestward. “Other side Sharp Point. Must take boat.”

This would be a first, Haviti realized. Until now, all her time had been spent in the village and its immediate terrestrial surrounds—except for on those occasions when she had gone swimming. Her sporadic bathing excursions invariably drew a crowd, as curious about her method of aqueous locomotion as they were about her unclad form. But no one had offered to take her out on one of the double-prowed fishing craft. Having access to the skimmer, she had not thought to ask.

She had no compunction about making a short journey in one of the native boats. Though unbeautiful and strictly utilitarian in design and purpose, they were broad-beamed and solid. She had seen them riding storm waves, bobbing over big swells like corks as they ventured out in search of a catch or returned heavily laden with water-dwellers who were the equal in biological variety of anything she had encountered on land. Sturdy masts held single or double sails made from dried and treated animal hides. As none of the simple craft had sunk during the course of her visit she felt reasonably safe in anticipating that one would not sink while she was aboard.

She did detour to the shuttle to add a few additional items to her utility belt. Exiting and locking the canopy behind her, she indicated her readiness to the patient Ba-fel and followed him the rest of the way to the pier. The fishing boat that was waiting for them had its nets neatly rolled and stored, ready for deployment. Their presence caused her to smile to herself. While the seals clearly desired to show her something they felt was of significance, they were not about to waste the opportunity to do a little fishing.