To which all five of them were in traditional agreement.
Such observations rendered the Shirazians no less alien, but helped to make their alienness more comprehensible. It was becoming clear that while technologically advanced, they were emotionally, sexually, and spiritually immature. What could result from such racial anomalies except constant frustration and hormonal-induced conflict? The pessimists among the Quozl researchers felt that cooperative contact would never be possible, that the secret of the colony’s existence would have to be kept from the natives forever.
But they kept this opinion to themselves.
VII.
RUNS-RED-TALKING DELIGHTED IN instruction, especially the coupling sessions. He always had more energy than he knew what to do with anyway. Despite this his attitude during such classes was as serious and constrained as those of any respectful young Quozl. Coupling was serious business the intricacies of which could not be left to chance. So he paid close attention to the lectures and demonstrations and tried to envision what it would feel like to be sexually mature.
There were some things difficult to envision, information he was able to comprehend intellectually but not emotionally as he trained for adulthood. An instructor could only explain so much. Analogies helped but they were not reality. It wasn’t like trying to imagine levitating or seeing through walls. There was more than mere philosophy at issue because his own body was involved. Still, no matter how hard one tried or studied the references there was still much missing. One could learn how to do anything, but you could not will the body to do something it was not yet capable of.
At least he was convinced it would not be painful.
As he left the meditation chamber he inspected himself thoughtfully. He was proud of the single half swirl with attendant stars that had been shaved into his upper right arm, of the bright gold and purple scarf that trailed from his left leg. Earrings were not permitted, not for several years yet. He longed for their weight and jingle. All part of the maturation right he had not yet achieved.
Meanwhile he and his companions could only admire the intricate designs etched into the fur of the adults, the blaze of color and jewelry they wore. Young Quozl lived on energy and envy. He’d already chosen and discarded in his mind a thousand earrings and scarves and other forms of bodily decoration. This was encouraged by his elders. It was good practice.
He was third-generation Shirazian. Easier to say that than to use the ridiculous native word for the planet. The natives were as dull and unaesthetic as they were warlike. So why had he always found them so fascinating? When a study session had ended he would run and rerun recordings of the natives and their incomprehensible activities long after his friends had fled in pursuit of more pleasurable activities.
Rains-cross-Grain and Appears-go-Over spotted him shuffling along solo and altered their paths to intercept him. Though they knew each other well they still took the time to perform the traditional greeting and Sama-sharing ritual. It was good practice and a lot of fun, especially when someone made an embarrassing mistake or left out something important.
No one forgot anything this time, however, and they continued their walk together.
Rains-cross-Grain was his closest female friend while Appears-go-Over was male and larger than either of them. He stood out because physical disparities were uncommon among the Quozl. How the natives coped with such variety among themselves was a source of unending wonder to those who studied such matters. It offered another rationale for their barbaric combativeness. Male and female Quozl, Runs knew, were always of more or less equal stature. Exceptions like Appears-go-Over were rare. Conscious of his differentness, Appears always walked hunched over to try and minimize his size.
They were taking a walk through First Burrow, which was centered on the entombed hulk of the Sequencer. The mother ship which had safely carried their ancestors through underspace to Shiraz was a fascinating place to explore, full of chambers and machines that no longer functioned because their work was now obsolete. Once it had been the entire settlement. Now it was only the axis from which the colony expanded.
Work was proceeding apace on Burrows Three, Four, and Five. Two had been completed the previous cycle. The tunnels which would link the new Burrows with the first two were finished while Four was in the process of receiving population. These were what young Quozl thought about, not the Sequencer and the long crawl and touchdown. Consideration of those was best left to historians. Runs and his friends were intent on their future.
As for the natives, they were no more aware of the colony’s presence now than they’d been the day the Sequencer had entered their atmosphere. The country in which the Burrows were located was as little visited as ever. With luck life might continue in this fashion for hundreds of years, until the Quozl were so firmly established on Shiraz that nothing could threaten their survival.
So well was the colony doing that it was rumored plans were afoot to send several hundred well-equipped settlers on a nocturnal march to settle the valley to the north. This was territory familiar to the colony, having been visited many times by exploration teams.
Some philosophers wondered why the natives shunned this region. It was true that the climate was severe, but transmissions showed Shirazians dwelling in more hostile climes. They were adaptable, like the Quozl. Possibly it had something to do with the lack of farming land on the sharp-sided mountains. Apparently the natives had not yet learned how to grow all the food they needed underground.
They could have learned from Quozl agronomists, who made good use of the pure, clear water available to them and the artificial light provided by the engineers. New tools and machinery were fashioned from metal and hydrocarbon deposits the geologists found in abundance beneath Shiraz’s surface. Food for growth and material for expansion were not lacking. Shiraz was a rich world.
“Personally,” Rains-cross-Grain was saying, “I have no desire to visit the surface myself. It looks cold and dirty.” She brought both ears flat against the sides of her head to emphasize her feelings. “We have everything we need right here, just as our ancestors did. Besides, the surface is home to terrible creatures.”
Indeed, everyone knew the tale of the monster which had killed the hapless zoologist only to be slain in turn by the great explorer Looks-at-Charts. Runs-red-Talking always felt a surge of pride whenever his famous if distant relative was mentioned. Several times he had heard Looks-at-Charts lecture before he finally managed sufficient courage to approach and introduce himself. He did so acutely conscious of his inferior status and attire.
Looks-at-Charts had been gruff and distant, as was only proper, but he had corkscrewed an ear once when no one else was looking, and Runs had all but levitated with delight as a result of the acknowledgment. He’d bragged about it for days afterward. He knew he was unworthy of any special attention or consideration but felt singled out anyway.
“I wonder how I might react were I to encounter such a creature,” mused Appears-go-Over.
“You’d run,” said Runs-red-Talking with assurance. “It would only be the sensible thing to do. Haven’t you studied it down in the surface museum? The size of the animal! All teeth and claws and voracity.”
Actually Runs had always wondered if the monster slain by Looks-at-Charts was all that ferocious, or if it had simply been stuffed and mounted that way to frighten adolescents and infants. It wasn’t necessary. Most Quozl had no desire to visit the surface. The weather was often terrible: freezing in the cold season, too dry in the hot, and there was always the danger of meeting one of the homicidal natives and getting yourself killed.
He found himself saying unexpectedly, “I wouldn’t be afraid of a visit to the surface.”
Rains-cross-Grain looked at him sideways. “Then you’re as crazy as the natives.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Looks-at-Charts says otherwise, and he ventured out with proper equipment and backup support,” she argued. “You’re not a scout and
you have no access to anything.”
“You don’t need anything.” To his shock he sounded almost belligerent. “Everyone knows what the surface is like. I know I couldn’t use any equipment, or even one of the restricted survey maps, but there’d be no danger so long as you stayed in the Burrow valley and memorized your exit location.”
“You’d die up there.” Rains-cross-Grain gestured conclusively with both ears, pointing them straight up.
“I think not,” he replied haughtily. “Why should walking across real soil be any more dangerous or difficult than walking a tunnel? You simply have to remember reference points and landmarks.”
“I still say it can’t be done without the right equipment.”
Runs moved very close, until he was just outside her psychological imperative. “Are you challenging me?”
His straightforward response upset her. She looked to Appears-go-Over for support. “I was merely postulating a scenario, not seriously suggesting it be tried.” He backed away and together the three of them turned a corridor corner. By way of apology he adjusted her scarves.
They passed two adults, and three pairs of ears dipped and bobbed in simultaneous genuflection as a sign of respect. The adults ignored them, though they would have reacted immediately had the strolling adolescents not been properly deferential.
Rains-cross-Grain had recovered from the abruptness of her friend’s reaction. “Though I still have to believe that anyone who ventured outside without appropriate support and supplies couldn’t possibly survive”—she hesitated, said finally—“overnight.”
“Of course they could.” Runs spoke analytically now and without his earlier passion. “The same water we drink in the Burrows runs freely across the surface, there are edible native foods, and for an overnight stay you wouldn’t have to eat anything anyway. I think you could stay out on the surface for many days all by yourself.” Even as he finished the statement he wondered if perhaps he hadn’t overdone it a bit.
He had. That was too much for the tolerant Rains-cross-Grain.
“No one could do that. Not Looks-at-Charts himself would dare such folly.”
Runs gazed unwaveringly into her pale lavender eyes, a wild, jaunty tone in his voice. “I would.”
“Don’t talk like that. This is a ridiculous conversation.” Appears-go-Over was clearly upset with both of them. “Talking nonsense is a waste of time. You speak like you’d really try it. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t.”
Runs-red-Talking knew whereof his friend spoke. It wasn’t a matter of avoiding the guards. There were no guards posted at any of the exit tunnels. There was no need for them. Anyone who left the colony without authorization and thereby risked exposing himself to the natives risked the most extreme discipline. Only camouflaged, experienced, properly equipped exploration teams were permitted to go outside. The thought of embarking on a casual stroll touched on the sacrilegious. No one had ever tried such a thing.
That was precisely what so intrigued Runs-red-Talking. You didn’t need special training or equipment to go outside. All you needed was the will.
Appears-go-Over wasn’t through. “You mustn’t speak of such matters.”
“Why not?” wondered Runs. “If I went would you expose me?”
“Of course not.” Appears made it clear that betrayal was not a word in his vocabulary.
Rains echoed him, but her assurance was glazed with sarcasm. “We’d dare not make a report because we might be held partly responsible for your madness.”
“You’re right anyway.” Runs laughed it off. “It would be a stupid thing to even consider. I wonder why we’ve wasted so much time discussing it.”
“Because you wouldn’t shut up about it,” Rains reminded him.
He lunged playfully in her direction and she darted out of his way. They laughed freely in the absence of adults, dancing and making bold gestures they were as yet physically incapable of concluding. The absurd business of taking a stroll on the surface was quickly forgotten.
Runs believed his friends when they said they would not betray him, but it was best to be prudent in such matters. If he went ahead and did what he’d almost decided to do, there was always the chance that one of them might tell and that as a result a group of adults would appear to drag him back home before he had the chance to see or hear much of anything. So he carried on quietly, pretending to have put the whole matter out of his mind.
He planned carefully, waiting awhile to make certain his friends had forgotten the conversation, casually monitoring the surface weather reports when no one was looking, preparing himself as best he could so that no one would suspect what was growing in his mind.
So long as they were polite and properly respectful of their elders, young Quozl were indulged to excess by the adults. They had free run of the colony. Friends often stayed for days with other friends, informing their natural parents and supervisors only upon their return. For such excursions they were sometimes chided, but never disciplined.
Given such lax supervision it was not difficult for Runs-red-Talking to accumulate a tiny store of supplies. They were not designed to encourage surface exploration and they were not what a properly equipped expedition would have carried, but they would have to suffice.
He had a small container for carrying water, concentrated vegetable tablets to sustain him in the event that edible surface growths proved scarce, and an extra oversuit. The surface could be cold at night in this first part of the second half of the year. He also took his school recorder so he could make notes. Why, there was no telling what great discoveries he might make. Looks-at-Charts might honor him personally.
He was not in the least worried about encountering natives. The colony had been in existence for three generations and in all that time only a single quartet of Shirazians had come close to the Burrows. He was, however, mildly worried about dangerous animals. Studies of native transmissions had identified the monster mounted in the surface museum as a grizzly bear and he did not want to meet one behind a tree. The bear was no figment of an overly active meditation session. It was very real, and the surface might be home to other, even worse horrors.
But if you wanted to be an explorer you had to take risks. Besides, what he was planning was nothing compared to what Looks-at-Charts and the first survey team had chanced. In contrast to them he knew what the terrain was like in the immediate vicinity of the Burrows, having intently studied the records made by numerous expeditions. He knew something about the flora and fauna as well. If the first team had advanced in ignorance, could he not follow in their footsteps steeped in knowledge?
He began in the midst of sleeptime, walking quietly, slipping past preoccupied night workers, passing through the shadows cast by encounter room sculptures, ascending into the upper tunnels. Study chambers and living quarters fell behind, as did workshops and industrial warrens. On past the towering cylindrical shafts which hummed softly as they inhaled air through camouflaged vents and compressed it for injection into the colony’s extensive respiration system. Until at last he stood before An Exit.
It was just a door. Its exterior, he knew, would perfectly duplicate its surface surroundings, be they solid, liquid, or even gaseous. There was no alarm, there were no guards. There was no need for either since no Quozl would dare to defy the law which prohibited unauthorized surface excursions. No responsible, informed, adult Quozl, that is.
But I am just a juvenile, Runs told himself. I am not old enough to fully comprehend such matters, therefore I cannot be severely punished for my lack of understanding.
In any event it would not matter, for he quite intended to return before his absence could be discovered or traced.
Working furiously and earning the admiration of his relatives and friends for his relentless industry, he completed all necessary preparations well in advance, so as to be ready the instant the right moment presented itself. His natural parents thought he was visiting with a distant uncle. His uncle was convinced he was s
taying with a cousin. The cousin believed Runs was sojourning with friends and the friends knew for a fact he was meditating. By the time anyone could trace that carefully constructed circle of deception he would be back wondering what all the talk was about, insisting all the while that he’d done no more than go for a stroll through the botanical collection in Burrow Four.
To prevent accidental openings the door was secured manually. Runs took hold of the control wheel and twisted. Nothing happened and for an instant he experienced a delicious irony. Were all his elaborate preparations to come to naught simply because he wasn’t strong enough to manage the door? It was the one thing he hadn’t considered.
He was on the verge of despair when the wheel creaked and turned. A panel moved aside, revealing a sequence of brightly lit buttons behind. He fingered them in the sequence he’d memorized. That was very helpful of the study team which had made the recording. It showed the team departing on a meteorologically intensive mission to the surface. All one had to do was freeze the recording to study the correct lock sequence. There was no reason why anyone would want to, of course, so no one had thought to expunge the sequence from the recording, for which he was very grateful.
Counterlifts whispered metallically as the barrier rose on concealed hinges to reveal the forbidden world outside. All he had to do was step through.
It took him a long time to locate the hidden external switch. It looked for all the world like a twig growing from a real tree.
It took a moment for the door to close, swinging down silently to blend perfectly with the surrounding rock and vegetation. It looked no different from its surroundings and to make sure he could find it again he marked the place with his spray, a primitive but efficient method. No native would notice it. They were decidedly lacking in matters of olfactory sensitivity.