Quofum

  “I’ve certainly never seen anything like them.” When possibly hostile stick thrusts were not followed by an attack, Tellenberg began to relax. Their ear-mounted recorders continued to document every aspect of the encounter, from the natives’ physical appearance to internal heat and anything else their bodies might be emitting. “I suggest we leave now and try to reconnect tomorrow, after both sides have had time to digest their reactions to first contact.”

  “Also, we can come back with the others, and with trade goods and other gear,” N’kosi concurred. “What a fabulous first day!”

  They continued to back up until they were out of what they guessed to be stick-throwing range. At that point the gelatinous natives turned and slid away into the forest. Tellenberg noted that throughout the course of the entire encounter the natives had not made a sound. It left him wondering if the indigenes were not capable either physically or intellectually of verbal communication. With luck, they would find out tomorrow. He could not wait to share the discovery with Haviti, Valnadireb, and the others.

  But as he and N’kosi retraced their steps back toward the beach, he still could not escape the nagging, irksome feeling that despite everything they had seen and accomplished in the course of a single day, something was not quite right.

  Valnadireb stood frozen halfway between the forest’s periphery and the river’s edge, staring out of glistening, attentive compound eyes at the same sight that had caught his human colleague’s attention. There were four—no, five—of the natives. Each was as tall as Tellenberg, who was the biggest member of the science team. All five were slim of body and covered from head to foot in fine gray fur. Bipedal and bisymmetrical, their attenuated torsos left little room for legs and necks. Proportionately short arms terminated in hands that boasted opposing thumbs but no fingers. Aside from these limbs they had no tails, horns, or other outstanding appendages. The eyes were small but with disproportionately large, round pupils. Pencil-shaped tongues flicked rapidly in and out of small, round mouths. The function of an oval fur-rimmed crater that dominated the center of each forehead was not immediately quantifiable. Ragged attire fashioned from various plant materials hung from high, bony shoulders while their twin-toed feet were shod in thicker, tougher floral shavings.

  Observing the two aliens gazing back at them, one raised the stone-tipped club it was holding and shook it in Haviti’s direction. This action inspired a chorus of modulated squeals from the others.

  “Primitive, but they cooperate.” Her voice was calm and composed as she panned her head from left to right to ensure that the recorder clipped to her ear took in the entire display. “Mastery of language is questionable, but they have advanced as far as clothing and tool-making.”

  Valnadireb’s equipment was also recording the confrontation for posterity as well as for future study. “Interesting sensory equipment. I recognize organs of sight and hearing, possibly also of smell. Except for the hole visible in the upper portion of the cranium one might almost classify them as primates.”

  She glanced over at her colleague. “These are no relatives of mine, Val. Take away the bifurcation and everything else, from the shape of the ears to the limited number and size of digits, is radically different from humankind.” She took a step back. “Careful….”

  Three of the natives were advancing toward the visitors. One of them hefted a kind of rock-loaded sling while the other two brandished stone-tipped clubs. Opening their mouths to reveal hard palates devoid of teeth, they issued a series of louder, higher-pitched squeals. Valnadireb and Haviti had no way of knowing if these constituted challenges, insults, welcomes, or queries. In the absence of any specific knowledge, they had no choice but to exercise caution. Both human and thranx unenthusiastically drew their weapons.

  Instinct shouted at Haviti to flee. Education and experience countered by telling her to hold her ground. The latter won out. Besides, the river was close behind them and while retreating into it might offer some measure of protection to her, Valnadireb did not have that option. She edged a little closer to her companion, both for strategic reasons and to show the natives that despite radical differences in appearance, the two visitors were indeed together.

  More squeals were forthcoming, accompanied by further flourishing of primitive weapons. Refusing to be cowed, human and thranx held their ground. Recognizing this, one of the indigenes who had held back now ambled forward on too-short legs, ejected something from its mouth, and gibbered in low tones at the trio who had advanced. Despite their greater size and superiority of numbers, they waddled backward.

  Among humans, the deliberate discharging of spittle in another’s direction was usually taken for an insult or a challenge. Trained xenologist that she was, Haviti knew that on this world and among these natives it might mean something entirely different. Clutching her pistol, she did not react. To her right, Valnadireb raised both foothands and truhands to execute a thranx gesture of friendship. Speaking formal High Thranx, he directed whistles, words, and clicks in the direction of the indigenes.

  It could have been something in the complex four-limbed gesture. Or perhaps the natives were put off by the flow of strange sounds and syllables that issued from the thranx’s mouth. Whatever the cause, their pale oval pupils got very wide. Squealing like a posse of panicked piglets, they whirled as one and disappeared back into the forest as fast as their stumpy legs would carry them. In their wake they left behind a pair of exhilarated, if somewhat bemused, xenologists.

  “Not bad for a first contact.” A relieved Haviti reholstered her unfired hand weapon.

  Next to her Valnadireb turned away and back toward the swiftly flowing river. “They did not attack, and we did not have to respond. Words—we may presume for now they were words—were exchanged.” Bending his head, he reached up with a truhand and began to groom his left antenna. “I do wonder why my greeting caused them to flee so precipitously.”

  Haviti grinned. “Maybe they were just surprised to see a big bug talking back to them. If you remember your history, something of the same reaction afflicted my kind when we first encountered your species.”

  “The shock was no less among my kind when it finally had to be acknowledged that stinky soft-bodied creatures with internal skeletons had actually developed intelligence.” Pivoting on four trulegs, he looked back at the forest. “Quite an eventful afternoon.” Tilting back his head, he considered the alien sky. “We should be getting back.”

  Removing a collecting net of fine mesh from her backpack, Haviti headed for the water. “Not until I’ve taken some samples of aquatic life-forms. If the terrestrial fauna is any indication, they should be plentiful and fascinating.” Reaching the water’s edge and wading out into the cool liquid until it was halfway up to her knees, she paused to look back. “Aren’t you going to help?”

  “Very funny.” Extracting a soil sifter from his own pack, Valnadireb commenced a search for a suitable patch of ground from which to take samples. “I’ll restrict my efforts to sensibly dry land, thank you.”

  As they worked, this or that new discovery would occasion a cry of delight from Haviti or a whistle of pleasure from her colleague. Even as they labored to satisfy their intellectual needs, however, they would periodically engage safety and security equipment to scan the looming wall of green and orange forest.

  They were focused on their science, but they were not stupid. Wielded skillfully and with strength, a rock on a stick could end a life as effectively as the most sophisticated pistol.

  Wiping perspiration from his forehead as he considered the rapidly darkening sky, Boylan struggled to contain his irritation. Here he and Araza and the automatics had worked their tails off to get the camp in some kind of shape for the science team and they did not even have the courtesy to return on time. Was it going to be like this every day they went out into the field? he wondered. It could not be allowed. Words would have to be spoken. As commander of the expedition both on board and off the ship, security was ultimately
his responsibility.

  He knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Having worked with scientists before, he was aware that when they were working in the field they believed that every day consisted of twice twenty-four hours—irrespective of the rate of revolution of the particular planet they happened to be on at the time. He understood, even if he did not sympathize, with their desire to accomplish as much as possible in the limited time allotted to an expedition. But having seen on one unfortunate occasion that death had a way of putting a serious crimp in one’s research, he knew he would have to be steadfast. Everyone back in camp at the prearranged time and no night work until they had a much better idea of their surroundings and any potential hazards.

  Not that the prescribed hourly report-backs had revealed anything other than excitement at each new discovery. At least his current quartet of highly intelligent but frequently preoccupied charges had had the courtesy to call in on schedule. Wholly engaged in supervising the camp’s fitting-out, he’d had no time to listen to the details, replete as they were with often incomprehensible scientific jargon. It was enough for him to know that no one had suddenly dropped dead or been consumed by some fascinating new local predator.

  Tomorrow would be better, he told himself. With the camp now complete except for the final fill-ins and last adjustments, there would be time for occasional relaxation and the enjoyment of small luxuries. He would lecture them sternly on the importance of returning to the camp on time. With luck he would not have to mention it again.

  Movement off to his left drew his attention. “Salvador—that type of processor is for specimen analysis. It goes in the laboratory module, not the kitchen.”

  The technician responded with an indifferent shrug. “Blend food, blend specimens—what is the difference?” But he obediently turned the lifter on which the equipment in question was presently balanced in the direction of the correct corner of the camp.

  Araza was a strange bird, Boylan thought. Excellent worker, never talked back, versatile as hell. Except that when his expertise was not required he had kept largely to himself throughout the entire voyage. Which was alright, since it was all too easy for such a small number of travelers to get on one another’s nerves when crammed together on a comparatively small interstellar craft. By removing himself from the social equation at every opportunity, Araza reduced the potential ingredient for intrasocial conflict by one. Boylan might not praise the technician, but neither could he find any real cause for complaint.

  In addition to the man’s natural reclusiveness, only one other personality trait of the technician stood out in Boylan’s mind. Araza showed absolutely no interest in Tiare Haviti. Even Boylan, who being in a position of dominant authority had to be extra careful in such matters, could not keep his eyes off the xenologist or his mind from pondering highly unscientific possibilities. This was perfectly natural. The hormonally driven stance was similarly evinced by Tellenberg and N’kosi. Whatever Valnadireb might think or feel had no relevance, of course. But one would have expected at least the occasional glance or comment from Araza. Nor had the tech, taking the topic to its logical extreme, shown any inclination toward or interest in any of the other xenologists, either. Where such matters were concerned, he appeared utterly indifferent.

  Boylan shrugged inwardly. So long as it did not affect the technician’s job performance, it was not really a captain’s province to worry about the other.

  As sunset approached, his discomfort increased along with the gathering darkness. He did not fully relax until the last pair of researchers were safely back in camp. They hardly listened to the stern admonition he had prepared that chided them for their respective late returns. They were too busy comparing notes on the day’s discoveries. One in particular dominated the discussion over the dinner table as they took turns calling up meals from the camp food preparation equipment. Conversation was lightning-fast and overlapping. Feeling lost and left out, Boylan felt that if he could not participate he could at least referee.

  “If you will slow down and let each other finish, you might actually be able to communicate something,” he bellowed reprovingly.

  The immediate result of this loudly voiced suggestion was an awkward moment of total quiet. Staring in dead silence at one another after jabbering nonstop resulted in some self-conscious laughter. It was left to Haviti to restart the conversation. To Boylan’s relief, when it resumed it was at a more measured and comprehensible pace. Off to one side and apparently indifferent to the general excitement, a tool-laden Araza was fine-tuning the camp’s climate-control instrumentation. He would eat later, when everyone else had finished. Boylan considered ordering the tech to join the evening meal but finally decided against it. If the man wanted to work through dinner, let him work.

  “As we said via the general comm channel, we had a confrontation, a first contact,” Haviti was declaiming breathlessly. “Definitely sentient, though of a low order. Simple tool-making skills in evidence, substantiation of interpersonal communication, clear signs of internal hierarchy—one would assume they have reached the tribal level.”

  N’kosi and Tellenberg exchanged looks. “We also encountered the natives, though we saw no evidence of tool-making skills. Hierarchy perhaps, person-to-person communication certainly.”

  Relaxing prone on his narrow horizontal lounge, Valnadireb provided confirmation as well as explication. As the thranx spoke, his truhands described delicate arcs through the air that even the most knowledgeable of his human colleagues could follow only imperfectly. In any case, the digital punctuation was more reflexive than necessary, as the xenologist’s terranglo was virtually devoid of any accent.

  “It was very interesting. The five of them watched us for a while. Then three, presumably the boldest of the group, came toward us. When I addressed them, they turned and ran. My appearance startled them, perhaps, or something in my voice. One of them expectorated in our direction and—”

  N’kosi interrupted, “One of them spat at you?”

  The thranx xenologist nodded. “Hard to tell if it was a gesture of defiance, an insult, an attempt to open some kind of non-verbal communication, or simply a natural reflex. The forming of the mouth—”

  This time it was Tellenberg’s turn to break in. “Mouth?” Glancing over at N’kosi, he was met by equal bewilderment. “What mouth? From what little we were able to observe, the semifluid, gelatinous nature of the natives’ bodies would seem to preclude—”

  “Semifluid? Gelatinous?” Her appetite beset by her intellect, a confused Haviti pushed the rest of her meal aside. “Are we talking about the same natives here?” Removing her communit from its belt pouch, she thumbed open the tiny integrated tripod and set it on the dining table. Across from her, Valnadireb did likewise.

  “Of course we are talking about the same natives.” Valnadireb hesitated. “Aren’t we?”

  Responding to Haviti’s directions, the compact device she had activated played back the recording it had made earlier. The imagery automatically synched with Valnadireb’s footage. As yet unedited or modified, the encounter at the river was shown in full detail complete with sound. As three-dimensional images materialized above the center of the table, it was as silent in the dining area as it had been noisy and excited only moments earlier. Everyone’s attention was focused on the pooled projection that now dominated the room. Even Araza had paused in his never-ending work to glance in its direction.

  Chosen by integrated AIware, the point of view alternated between thranx and human. In bright sunshine was revealed the river, the forest, the taking of specimens. Then the appearance of the native quintet, their brandishing of primitive weapons, followed by advance and bluster and then retreat. When it was over, the dimensional projection winked out. Picking up and refolding her unit, Haviti looked first at N’kosi, then Tellenberg.

  “Well? The only thing that I can see in the entire combined recording deserving of the designation ‘semifluid’ would be the spittle that the one native spat in our
direction.”

  N’kosi was already setting up his communit. Next to him Tellenberg was doing the same. “Have a look at this.” He flicked his device to life. The two playbacks combined.

  Everyone seated at the table was treated to a hovering view of the alien seashore, the pink sky, and the specimens the two xenologists were collecting. Then the scene shifted to the forest’s edge. The trio of stick-jellies emerged. Confrontation was brief but unmistakable, leaving both men stunned by the experience.

  No more stunned than Valnadireb and Haviti as Tellenberg and N’kosi resecured their gear.

  “I think the explanation is as clear and unavoidable as it is hard to believe.” Valnadireb’s truhands were now very active indeed. “Living in close proximity to one another and in a small corner of this world, we have encountered not one but two sentient species. Most remarkable.”

  “That’s not the half of it.” N’kosi was checking his unit to make sure it had copied the information previously displayed by his colleagues. “Not only are we presented with the prospect of two native intelligences, physically they are as different as can be imagined. It’s as if worms on Earth achieved sentience alongside humans, and at the same rate.”

  “Perhaps not the same rate,” argued Haviti. “Your natives brandish more primitive weapons and show no sign of clothes-wearing.”

  “You saw them.” Tellenberg eyed her challengingly. “Why would they need clothes?”

  “They might as well come from two entirely different worlds.” N’kosi was turning philosophical. “They’ve apparently evolved here. It’s not a situation like on Fluva, where you have two sentient species living side by side but one consisting of long-term immigrants.”

  “Still, we can’t be certain that both are native to this world until we have more information.” Haviti was insistent. “If such proves to be the case, it will be a fascinating development.” Her gaze roved around the table. “The next question is, which species do we first pursue contact with? I would vote for the fuzzies.”