The Candle of Distant Earth

  A stirring in the crowd of officials and police caused him to tense. He did not have to look far for the source of the unease. A vertical gash had appeared in the side of the landing craft. Like a tongue from the mouth of hungry dyaou, a ramp was descending silently from its base.

  The figures that emerged were tall, exceedingly so. Well-formed and comfortingly bipedal, they hurried down the freshly extruded rampway in a manner suggestive of disciplined chaos. Those officials standing close around him chittered nervously and shrank back as the big-eyed aliens raised an assortment of unfamiliar tiny devices. The short, stubby fingers of the Hyfftian police tightened grimly on their weapons.

  But if the devices the swiftly descending aliens wielded were weapons, they were quickly trained not on the crowd of greeters but on the very same opening from which their manipulators had just emerged. What peculiar manner of Iollth protocol was this? Ussakk found himself wondering. Surely they were not preparing to shoot their own kind? Perhaps the instruments they were so energetically fingering were not weapons after all, but instead served some other as yet unknown purpose. Signs of further movement appeared in the dark recesses of the alien craft. He inhaled sharply. More figures were emerging from within. Shapes that were far more impressive, regimented, and threatening than the group that had preceded them outside.

  Unlike the group that had exited first, these newcomers exposed very little bare flesh. They were almost completely encased in formfitting, nonreflective material of gray and brown. It looked soft, but Ussakk suspected it was designed to repel all manner of hostile intent. While most of the marchers carried long metallic/plastic devices, two advanced slowly under the burden of large backpacks whose contents were a mystery. The astronomer decided he would be quite content if they were to remain so. He cast a glance in the direction of the police. His own escort was already clearly intimidated, and not a shot had been fired.

  Not that he blamed them. The shortest of the arrivals was more than twice the height of the average Hyfft. Though slim of build, they had long, no doubt powerful limbs. Surprisingly, each of these terminated in only two digits while the Hyfft could boast four on each hand and three on each foot. He smiled wryly to himself. A small claim to superiority somewhat mitigated by the fact that the newcomers could each boast of four longish tails to the Hyfft’s short, stubby one.

  The Hyfftian delegation and the new arrivals faced one another uncomfortably across the narrow stretch of flat pavement. One of the few armored invaders who was not carrying one of the ominous-looking long instruments stepped forward. After surveying the half-paralyzed, half-fascinated delegation, each of whom had mentally and emotionally prepared to have his or her life extinguished at any moment, the visitor removed a small, oblong device from its waist and raised it to mouth level. Proceeding to speak into it, visitor and machine delivered a rising and falling stream of incomprehensible gabble to the bewildered crowd.

  Without a doubt it was an attempt at communication. It was also a failure, as none of the specialists in the crowd of onlookers recognized so much as a single word. Even the speech patterns were unfamiliar, the cadences jagged and unfathomable.

  As the futile effort continued, Ussakk moved to stand close to Yoracc the Historian and dared to essay a whisper. “Tell me, venerable one: Do you have any idea what the creature is saying?”

  The historian replied without hesitation. “Not only do I have no idea what the creature is saying, I must confess that I have no idea what the creature is.”

  To show his confusion, Ussakk blinked speedily several times in succession. He would have accompanied the rapid-fire eye gesture with a sharp chirp-bark of uncertainty, except that it would not be appreciated by those near him and might also be misconstrued by the visitors.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Do you mean you are unsure if it is a male or female Iollth?”

  “I mean,” replied the historian testily and a bit too loud, “that I don’t know if it’s an Iollth. In fact, I am fairly certain it is not.”

  Ussakk eyed the towering, menacing armed and armored figures arrayed before them. “That makes no sense, honored elder.”

  “I quite agree, querulous youth. In their weapons and bearing they have the general aspect of Iollth, but I am not senile. I remember quite well the imagery that survives from their previous visits, and while there may be some superficial similarities of size and shape, there is much else that does not conform. To begin with, these are tall and slender, while images of the Iollth show them to be shorter and much more thickly built through the lower portion of their bodies, their legs, and especially their feet.”

  Ussakk’s thoughts were crackling like betimp leaves in cooking oil. “Then if they are not Iollth, what can they be?”

  “The possibilities are as wide ranging as they are worrying, my young star-gazing friend.” The dour historian scratched under his chin, where the hairs had turned as white as his long whiskers. “My first thought, I am afraid, is that they may be something worse than the Iollth.”

  The astronomer swallowed hard and tried to keep from trembling. “How could that be?”

  The older scientist was unrelenting in his speculation. “It could ‘be’ in many forms. For example, these intimidating visitors could be friends of the Iollth, sent to prepare the way for a later arrival of the Iollth themselves. Or perhaps,” he continued morbidly, “the Iollth have informed allies of theirs of the gentle nature of Hyff, have told them what a rich world awaits and how defenseless are its inhabitants.”

  Accustomed to being surrounded by friends and family, Ussakk found himself being dragged down into the mire of despair by his knowledgeable yet pessimistic companion. Hyfft were by nature buoyant and cheerful. Yoracc was an exception, and not a pleasant one: a grim, brooding, almost bitter store of remembrance. He was also, unfortunately, a realist, Ussakk appreciated. That did not make the elder’s listing of possible catastrophes any easier to take.

  As if to confirm Yoracc’s view of the situation, the lines of heavily armed aliens parted to make way for still more visitors. Though apparently unarmed, they included among their number two creatures who were as different from their predecessors as they were from the Hyfft. One of them was slightly shorter than the alien average, but much, much heavier of build. Other than being bipedal and bisymmetrical, it differed in a bewildering variety of ways from its companions. Interestingly, it displayed five digits on each hand instead of two.

  Even more captivating was its companion: a short, quadrupedal, unclothed being covered in ragged fur. Its most notable features were bright black eyes that seemed to miss nothing, and a flat pink appendage that hung loosely over one side of its parted jaws. It too did not appear armed, though its open mouth revealed a set of sharp teeth. Among the Hyfft, intelligence tended to favor slightly smaller individuals. Ussakk wondered if this could be true among the aliens as well.

  Then he felt himself being urged forward. Looking to his left, he saw that Yoracc the Historian was also being pushed and shoved in the direction of the alien craft. They were the unhappy recipients of a traditional and concerted community push. In pre-civilized times, such mass compellings were intended to sacrifice those on the outside of a Hyfftian multitude to whatever carnivore happened to be assailing the communal warren. Over time, it had evolved into a time-honored means of thrusting to the forefront those the community felt best qualified to address a particular problem, be it a rampaging untamed carnivore or something more problematical.

  In addition to himself and Yoracc, a third individual was being carried forward on the crest of the insistent Hyfftian wave. Fighting to stay on his feet (in ancient times he might have been trampled), Ussakk proffered a hurried introduction.

  “I am Mardalm the Linguist,” she replied to him over the susurration of shoving and encouraging soft whistling. As she spoke, she fussed with her translator gear, a wearable setup that was far more elaborate than the hastily provided ear-and-chestpiece arrangement that had been g
iven to Ussakk and to the historian. “They expect me to talk to these creatures.” With her free hand, she gestured at the aliens they were nearing all too rapidly. “My department was unable to understand their attempts to communicate from orbit. Now they somehow expect me to talk to them in person.”

  “I know what to do,” declared Yoracc blithely from the other side of Ussakk. “Don’t make them mad.”

  Since the historian seemed disinclined to introduce himself to the linguist, Ussakk performed the necessary service. Even in such moments of dire peril, he believed Hyfftian courtesy should remain in force. They might not know who their visitors were, but they should not forget who they were, he felt.

  Then they were almost upon the first of the creatures, and there was no time left for comforting thoughts.

  Close up, the aliens were even more intimidating than they had been from a distance. Stood on end, the weapons many of the creatures carried would be taller than himself. Visitors and Hyfft stood staring at one another. Clearing her throat with a polite chuff, Mardalm began speaking through the equipment draped around her upper body. A bizarre assortment of sounds came out of an aural projector. None of them made the slightest sense to Ussakk. Nor, apparently, to the aliens, several of whom exchanged glances while commenting in their own incomprehensible and incredibly harsh-sounding language.

  Feeling something against his leg, Ussakk looked down and nearly jumped out of his fur. The undersized, four-legged alien was methodically passing its nostrils over his lower body, sniffing with unconcealed interest. Ignoring the nose, Ussakk remembered the teeth. After analyzing his smell, would this peculiar yet strangely affable creature next decide to sample his taste? And if so, how would, how should, he react? There was something oddly unthreatening about the activity, though Ussakk knew he could not attribute Hyfftian characteristics to a being so utterly alien.

  The other singular visitor came forward. Unlike the small quadruped, however, this individual was far more menacing. It loomed over the three resolute if apprehensive Hyfftian scholars, its mass nearly blocking out the sun. When it knelt, they instinctively retreated several steps backward. But it was not reaching for them. Instead, it placed a hand (all five digits were triple-jointed, Ussakk noted) on the spine of the quadruped and began to stroke. Some form of nonverbal communication, the astronomer quickly decided. Was the kneeling creature somehow deciphering the quadruped’s observations, or urging it to continue with its examination? A frustrated Ussakk no more knew how to interpret the aliens’ gestures than he did their language.

  The second alien rose to its full, intimidating height and looked back toward the opening in the vessel from which it had come forth. Ussakk followed its stare, as did his companions. Two more aliens were emerging.

  At the sight of them, a number of the assembled dignitaries cast aside any and all pretense at dignity and the need to present a united front in the face of alien challenge. Chittering unashamedly, they broke and ran for the perceived safety of the nearest terminal. Shaken by the sight of what was advancing toward them, the rest of the crowd wavered. Mouth agape, Ussakk could only stare in shocked silence. Mardalm the Linguist reacted similarly. Then, without any warning, Yoracc the Historian broke from his position and ran, too.

  Straight toward the newly emerging aliens.

  Had he not been frozen to the spot, Ussakk might have tried to reach out and grab the crazy old historian. By the time the notion that he ought to do so bloomed in his brain, the elder was already out of reach, having scrambled forward past both the quadruped and its massive companion. Expecting Yoracc to be squashed flat on the spot, if for no other reason than because he had violated some unknown alien protocol, Ussakk and Mardalm looked on in horrified fascination as the historian came to a halt at the bottom of the access ramp.

  Looming above the elder like a monstrous mechanical excavator was something like a nightmare out of an infant’s worst dreamings. Two nightmares, if one counted the second creature that rode like a hereditary potentate atop one of the giant’s four flexible, tree-like limbs. Both gazed somberly down at the single elderly, diminutive, bewhiskered native biped who had halted before them. Then, without a sound, they resumed their descent.

  If anything, the already diverse gathering of aliens appeared as confused and uncertain by this improbable confrontation as did Yoracc’s fellow Hyfft. There was much stirring on both sides, but neither intervened. The aliens were hardly fearful of anything the lone Hyfft might do, while the assembled dignitaries and representatives of the collective Overwatches of Vinen-Aq could only alternately marvel and gape at the manic boldness of one of their own. The unspoken consensus was that the historian had gone mad. A consequence, perhaps, of advanced age. Or possibly by his exhibition of untenable bravado he was sacrificing himself in a futile attempt to show these allies of the Iollth, or whoever they were, that his kind could not be easily intimidated. A few hands within the crowd fingered weapons, but no more. There was no point in firing until the venerable historian was directly threatened, and by then it might well be too late.

  The two monsters—one immense, the other a mass of squirming limbs—halted at the bottom of the ramp. If it was so inclined, the gigantic alien could kill the unmoving, staring Yoracc simply by stepping on him. Instead, it sank down on its four supporting limbs, the better to bring its frightening tooth-lined vertical jaws closer to the historian. The better to converse, an edgy Ussakk wondered tensely, or to consume?

  Yoracc proceeded to sputter something in a strange singsong voice. The giant’s reaction was immediate. In a far deeper voice, it responded. At the same time, the bizarre being it held aloft with one upper limb writhed its own coils. After several dumbfounding moments of this mystifying vocal byplay, the historian turned and shouted to Mardalm. Despite Ussakk’s hurried attempt to restrain her, she responded by rushing forward to join the historian. Revealingly, her attitude was one not of fear but of expectation and even delight.

  More impenetrable droning ensued between the two Hyfft and the two aliens. All of it without, a captivated Ussakk noted, the use of Hyfft translators. If the aliens possessed similar devices, they were so small as to not be visible. This went on for some time until the visiting Delineator of the northern city of Andatt spoke up from within the depths of the thoroughly mesmerized crowd.

  “If it would not be too much trouble,” she blurted loudly, “could the honorable historian and noted linguist let the rest of Hyff know what is going on?”

  Yoracc turned while Mardalm continued the animated conversation, for that surely was what was taking place. “Hyfft! Know that this imposing organism standing before you is not Iollth, nor an ally of the Iollth, nor even a passing friend of the Iollth. Neither it nor its associate being nor any of their consorts has ever even heard of the Iollth. Or, for that matter, of Hyff. I myself only finally recognized it from old records. It is a representative of a species that has previously visited our world. Only once, and then many year-days ago. His kind, and it is a he, came this way as explorers and traders. Visitors with whom our ancestors exchanged kind words. That visit took place well before this one’s time as well as before yours and mine, so just as we did not immediately recognize him, he did not recognize us.” He gestured to his left, where Mardalm hardly paused to look away from her conversation.

  “Mardalm the Linguist has the record of their language. But there is only one of these creatures, a Tuuqalian, among the crews of the three vessels that currently orbit Hyff. Those who dominate them are called Niyyuu, a race that until now has been unknown to us. And until recently, I am informed, the Tuuqalia were unknown to them.” As he spoke, he was gesturing energetically with both short arms. “Therefore, in all their attempts to contact us from space, the Niyyuu never thought to try the language of Tuuqalia. Never having visited here himself, and not knowing that his own kind had done so long ago, this lone Tuuqalian saw no reason to suggest that the Niyyuu do so.”

  Pivoting, Yoracc turned away from the
intimate conference and back toward the milling crowd. As they slowly digested the historian’s knowledgeable and reassuring words, their fear began to give way to curiosity.

  “Your translator units are all interleafed with one another as well as with the omnipresent broadcast control. If you will set them so”—and he proceeded to detail the very simple, basic instructions—“the indicators to allow you to receive and speak through your devices in the language of Tuuqalia will be provided.” He looked back toward the busy Mardalm. “I am certain that the means to do so in Niyyuuan also will be forthcoming.”

  Even as he worked to adjust his own equipment, Ussakk was advancing toward the historian, gesturing as he did so. “What then of these other aliens? They are manifestly neither Niyyuu nor Tuuqalia. Nor for that matter is the many-limbed creature the Tuuqalian carries.”

  Yoracc chirped acknowledgement. “One is called a human; the small quadruped a canine, or dog. They are citizens of still another world that is unknown to us, as is that of the K’eremu that rides high upon the Tuuqalian’s limb.” Black eyes gleamed. “I am as curious as you to know why there is only one of each of them among this general crewing of Niyyuu. Unless, of course, there are more of them aboard the ships in orbit.”

  A wave of sound made them both turn. Unlike anything either of them had ever heard, it was at once sonorous and soothing. It boomed and rolled across the tarmac, washing over the assembled luminaries of Vinen-Aq in waves of deep, droning noise. Having set his translator unit according to Yoracc’s instructions, Ussakk found he could understand the words contained within the drone. Braouk had chosen that moment to recite part of a saga, and it left his newest audience simultaneously stunned and rapt.

  Those who did not cover their ears or disconnect their translators, that is.

  It was quite a sight to see Braouk lumbering toward the terminal building, surrounded by locals above whom he towered like Godzilla over Tokyo. Walker had to smile. Several of them chattered concurrently at him as he and George trailed in the wake of the big Tuuqalian and the leaders of the Niyyuuan landing team. Who would have thought, he mused as he strode along, that the one language visitors and locals would stumble upon as a commonality for conversation would be Tuuqalian? If the price of mutual understanding was having to listen to Braouk repeatedly recite, it was one he and his companions would have to pay.