Marque of Caine

by Charles E Gannon

“What happens tomorrow?”

  “You shall witness our reproduction.”

  Riordan suddenly wished he was on Alnduul’s shuttle, which, thrusters glowing, was whispering up into the darkening teal sky. “Is that why Alnduul brought me here?”

  “He has not told me. Although I suspect that he wishes you to see our breeding traditions so that you may contrast what we were with what we have become.”

  They arrived at what looked like a cross between a hut and a cottage. Its doorway was over two meters in height. Clearly not for Dornaani. Thlunroolt gestured toward it. “You shall stay here. It has all the necessary amenities for your species.” He walked away without glancing back. “Do not be late rising tomorrow. We start at first light.”

  Chapter Twenty

  APRIL 2124

  ROOAIOO’Q, BD +66 582

  Riordan discovered Thlunroolt standing just outside the cottage’s door when he opened it in response to the first predawn glimmers.

  “Acceptable,” the old Dornaani mumbled and started down the path to the breeding pool. Once again, he set a surprisingly brisk pace, given his short stride and advanced years.

  Mists wound around and disappeared between the tapering black daggers that marked dense, shadowed stands of goldenrod trees. Beyond them, Caine heard distant, distempered grunting. A low, rattling challenge—part snarl, part growl—answered.

  Riordan turned toward Thlunroolt. “What was—?” Before he could complete his question, a sudden duel of furious hisses escalated into wild thrashing. A few roars that sounded like falsetto grizzlies, and then silence. Caine became acutely aware that he lacked anything that even vaguely resembled a weapon.

  Thlunroolt resumed walking. “It begins.”

  “W-what begins?”

  “They have caught the scent.”

  “Of us?”

  Thlunroolt’s slow, deliberate speech was that with which exasperated tutors address very young children. “The bearers entered the pool before first light. The first will have released their effusions by now.”

  “Effusions?”

  “Each bearer triggers the hatching of her eggs with a secretion: the effusion.”

  “And these animals can smell that from over a kilometer?”

  “It is but one of several distinctive breeding scents. The first hatching of the eggs releases wastes and unconsumed nutrients into the pool. That induces swarming and an imminent feeding frenzy in the pisciforms we call geel: the culling predators to which I referred yesterday. Collectively, these olfactory and auditory cues arouse the appetite of the carnivores we just heard.”

  “Appetite…for the spawn?”

  “No. But I should not speak further of this.”

  “Because there are some things I may not be told?”

  “No, because the carnivores might be close.” He turned to stare at Riordan in the gray gloom. “They prefer large prey. Let us finish our walk in silence.”

  Riordan concurred with Thlunroolt. Silently.

  * * *

  Arriving just before dawn, they discovered the surface of the breeding pool already stippled by small, ferocious eruptions. The accompanying sounds—irregular splashes and flops—reminded Riordan of schools of small fish snatching insects from the surface of a lake.

  Thlunroolt must have noticed the sideways tilt of Caine’s head as he listened. “It is the geel. They are catching the spawn.”

  “How many survive?”

  “Perhaps one in ten.”

  Riordan glanced in the direction of the old Dornaani’s receding voice: he was leading them into an overgrown thicket of what looked like immense broccolini. “How is one in ten enough to maintain your population?”

  “How is it enough for your terrestrial fish and frogs?” Thlunroolt tossed a desultory hand of loose fingers in Riordan’s direction. “Like them, we are evolved to it. And your frown tells me you have yet to jettison the prejudices of your own species’ evolutionary suppositions.”

  “And what would those be?”

  “That intelligence can only develop when a species’ pre-sapient reproductory rate decreases to allow proportional increases in the time available for the gestation and then nurturing of sapient offspring. This paradigm—that more time and complex socialization enables and accelerates the rise of intelligence—is a correct analysis of human evolution. But it is not especially applicable to the evolution of intelligence in other species.

  “Unlike you, our evolution did not involve collective hunting or fighting off rival species. We trapped fish cooperatively and retreated to a wide array of safe havens when threatened. Equally important, the higher reproductory rate made it normative for us to absorb significant losses and allowed slower, less adept offspring to be culled. Therefore, a comparatively high rate of casualties among our young actually aided our social stability, whereas it would have been disastrous to yours.” He seated himself. “You will see that evolutionary difference exemplified in what you witness today.”

  He pointed across the breeding pool, where there was growing motion in the brush lining those banks. “The bearers are leaving the water. Their part in reproduction is now over, after having been quickened six months ago.”

  Despite Thlunroolt’s casual tone, Riordan kept his own carefully respectful. “By quickened, I presume you are referring to fertilization? Mating?”

  Thlunroolt’s answering burble was exasperated. “Fertilization does not require ‘mating.’ Reproduction begins when the quickeners—whom you misleadingly deem ‘males’—release a scent indicating that they are nearing what you call estrus in females of various terrestrial species. This attracts bearers who are not already gravid. They signify their reciprocal interest by releasing a scent of their own. This stimulates the quickener to deposit a substance analogous to the milt released by your planet’s salmon. The bearers absorb these deposits through special vesicles which communicate it to the anatomical homologue of a terrestrial infundibulum. The milt stimulates the ovaries to release four to six eggs for fertilization.”

  The Dornaani seemed far more alien than they had only a minute before. “So once the bearers are gravid, does their behavior change?”

  “No. Unlike many of your vertebrates, gravid bearers have no nesting or hiding instincts, nor do they require that sustenance be delivered to them. If anything, they become slightly more aggressive, both in securing sustenance for, and protecting, themselves.”

  “And the males—I mean, quickeners—do not help them?”

  “No more or less than usual. I reiterate: our reproductory and gender paradigms have little overlap with yours. Quickeners tend to be slightly smaller and less aggressive. Gravid bearers are markedly more combative and dangerous to predators.

  “After four months, they make their way to a breeding pool and lay their eggs. They return two months later to secrete their effusion and so, start the hatching.” He looked out over the pond. There was no longer any motion or noise along the opposite bank. However, the surface of the water, now dull orange with the first glimmers of dawn, was alive with the constant, fitful feeding of the geel.

  Riordan suppressed an impulse to rush out into the water in an attempt to disrupt or chase off the tiny carnivores. It was a pointless reflex here, one that had been evolved for, as Thlunroolt put it, a different reproductory paradigm. But as unnecessary and inappropriate as it might be, it kept surging up whenever Caine was not consciously combatting it. At least conversation and questions were a distraction. “So how many eggs remain now?”

  “Almost all. They are hard-shelled, laminate structures, not unlike your ballistic armors. Few predators can breach them. Once they hatch, though, the spawn are completely vulnerable. To survive, they must swim across the pond to where the quickeners wait in the grottos.”

  “Do they fight off the geel?”

  “There is no need. The geel avoid the smell of mature Dornaani.”

  “Well, that’s convenient.”

  “No, it is a matter of e
volutionary balance.” Thlunroolt’s mouth—visible now—twisted slightly. “There is ironic reciprocity between the geel and my species. When we are but spawn, they eat us. But when we are mature, we eat them.” The once-placid surface of the pool was now thoroughly hazed and flecked by their frenzied feeding.

  “So, do the quickeners, um, just scoop up the spawn and—?”

  “Our young must demonstrate their own capabilities and their own choices. As I explained yesterday, they will choose among the quickeners that line this side of the breeding pool. But they will have to follow that quickener out upon the bank when he leaves his grotto at the end of this day.”

  “The spawn are already able to walk?”

  “Some. Most wiggle their way out and only then discover the use of their legs. But those which cannot are left behind for the waiting geel. This is our way.”

  “So even once they’ve reached the other shore, this is still a dangerous day for them.”

  Thlunroolt dangled a pair of noncommittal fingers. “Here among the First Calling grottos, it is more dangerous for the quickeners.”

  “Why?”

  The old Dornaani gestured into the thick vegetation at their backs. “The predators you heard earlier.” He raised his head, neck corded by long, wrinkled folds. “They lurk nearby.”

  Riordan shifted until his right flank faced the pool and his left, the tangled cluster of goldenrod trees and Day-Glo green tubules that screened them from the deeper forest. “In the early days, those predators must have taken a terrible toll on your quickeners.”

  “They still do.”

  Despite the warm air, Riordan felt a sudden chill. He examined his surroundings more closely. The breeding pool’s long use had smoothed or displaced any hand-sized rocks that might have once been there, and no weapon-worthy deadfall presented itself. “No one guards the quickeners while they’re dancing in the grottos?”

  “It could be arranged, of course. But it is not traditional, so they choose not to.”

  “‘They’?”

  “Those who come to reproduce in Rooaioo’q’s natural environment.” Thlunroolt waved a hand at the banks around them. “The quickeners and bearers are all here of their own accord. Many come from distant systems. I do not oversee their actions. Nor do I function as their mentor. I merely maintain the facilities and ensure the continuity of the tradition. Some of those who breed here stay on. Most depart.”

  “Okay, but why risk being eaten by predators?”

  “There are as many reasons for accepting this risk as there are those who come to experience it. Most have become so committed to the concept of this traditional experience that they are not willing to modify it in any way. Many others believe that lessening any of the risks in this process—to the spawn, the bearers, or the quickeners—changes the secretions released, and so, produces subtly altered younglings. They assert that making the process safer also makes the surviving spawn—and so, us—less resilient and vigorous than in ancient times.”

  So part of the reason they come here is to play some primal game of Russian Roulette? Riordan glanced into the brush: no sign of movement. But it was so thick that he probably wouldn’t have detected a creature hiding within leaping distance. “Any idea how close those predators are?”

  “I cannot say. They are patient, silent.”

  “But you still hear them?”

  “No, I smell their musk.”

  Close enough to smell them? Great.

  “They will not attack until the first of the spawn begin approaching the grottos and the quickeners begin their kinesthetic repetitions.”

  “And what about us?”

  “We are not in the water making the sounds that attract the predators. They will not be interested in us. Of course, if one of the qaiyaat is particularly ravenous, it may take a second opportunistic kill before starting to gorge. We would be a convenient second meal.”

  So the longer I sit here waiting like a respectful guest, the greater the chance that one of these qaiyaat is going to grab me before I find a weapon. Picking up a woefully inadequate rock in his right hand, Riordan parted the foliage with his left, gritting his teeth against the primal terror of pushing through a blind wall of dark, unfamiliar brush.

  A few meters on, enough light filtered through the goldenrod trees and tube bushes to illuminate the forest floor in rough patches. He found a promising arm-length piece of deadfall. It crumbled in his grasp, rotted through by the pervasive moisture. Shouldering his way deeper, he noticed a more sizable rock underfoot. He wrestled an obstructing fern aside with both his strength and body weight, but discovered that the stone was a completely useless shape. He peered into the thickening brush, wondered if it was worth going any furth—

  Behind him, there was a splash and then a keening wail that cut off as abruptly as it started.

  Damn it! Riordan, already smashing back along the path he had made through the brush, had never heard a Dornaani cry out in desperation. He was chilled by its similarity to a human child. He burst through the last tangle of bushes in a spray of leaves and tubules, squinting into a sudden flare of daylight. He saw a shape rising out of a crouch at the edge of the water, hauled back the rock in his right hand as he prepared to block with, and probably lose, his left forearm—

  The shape was Thlunroolt’s.

  Riordan’s pulse was still loud in his ears. “You’re okay?”

  Thlunroolt stared at him. “If I were not, I would no longer be here.” He shifted his stare to the rock in Riordan’s hand. His mouth twisted slightly.

  Riordan tossed it away angrily. Damned useless piece of— “What happened? I heard—”

  “A predator struck three grottos over. I suspect we have lost Glinheem, may his final enlightenment be full.” The old Dornaani looked after the discarded rock, then back at Riordan. “You are impetuous. But then again, you are human.” He turned back to the water, watching and listening.

  Listening for another of his own kind to be grabbed, like a wide-eyed frog plucked off a lily pad. Christ, how can he just sit there? Caine took a deep breath, reminded himself that this wasn’t his planet, wasn’t his species, and, most of all, wasn’t his fight. Because fighting was not what the Dornaani did in this situation. But that silent recitation of the facts didn’t still the urgent heartbeats straining against the back of his sternum, straining for release, for action—

  Thlunroolt had turned back, was staring at him. “You are…distraught?”

  Caine realized that his breathing had become faster, deeper, that he was leaning forward, toward the angular shapes of the huts and shacks that he had seen yesterday. He nodded toward them slowly. “Those buildings. Are there any…tools…in them?”

  “Yes, but not many.” Thlunroolt’s eyelids edged down a bit. “And none that you would find useful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am familiar with your species. You wish to fashion weapons.”

  Screw the subtle approach. “I do. Can you blame me?”

  “I do not blame you. I merely reiterate: those of my race who come to this place wish it to be as it was. This means eschewing any tools, and any actions, that separate them from that experience.”

  Riordan nodded. “And I will honor those constraints.”

  “The only constraint upon you is that you may not enter the breeding pool. Other than that, you may come and go as you please. There are no limits on your freedom of action.”

  Riordan’s field of focus tightened until he was only aware of the old Dornaani’s face. He carefully repeated the phrase. “There are no limits on my freedom of action?”

  “That is what I said, human. You are free to do what you will.” Thlunroolt turned away. Riordan looked back toward the huts. Their sides were fashioned from thick logs: useless. But where the thatched roofs protruded out past the doorways, they were propped up by sturdy, narrow shafts of wood set in the ground. Ready-made spears. Caine started to rise…

  And then sat again, s
lowly. No. He could leap up, fashion weapons, go hunting the qaiyaat who, unopposed, would no doubt kill many quickeners this day. But in so doing, he would also destroy the experience for which these Dornaani had traveled dozens of light-years: to breed as their first ancestors had. To ensure that their spawn would possess a greater measure of the vitality that was slipping swiftly from their race. To live a real experience, not some virtual imitation of one.

  Caine realized he was still sitting very erect, tense, poised for combat. He forced himself to exhale, to sink back into a sitting position and acknowledge that here, his instincts could only mislead him. He had been invited to observe, not intervene.

  If Thlunroolt heard his restlessness, or noticed the stillness that followed, he gave no sign of it.

  Leaving Riordan in silence as reason and reflex continued to struggle within him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  APRIL 2124

  ROOAIOO’Q, BD +66 582

  After three hours, Thlunroolt finally moved again, tilting his head upward to study the sun overhead. He picked up his walking stick, turned to look out over the breeding pool. The only sounds were faint and close at hand: the rhythmic movements of the quickeners in their grottos, sending the primal waves and shapes of their calling washing over the spawn who were soon to exit the water and, in that moment, become younglings.

  The old Dornaani tapped his stick lightly upon the ground. “It has been an unusually quiet day. The qaiyaat have taken only a few quickeners.” His mouth twisted. “Your scent probably disinclined them more than any weapons would have.” His gills popped lightly. “I suppose Alnduul has arrived by now. We should join him.” He stood, finishing on a disgruntled tone, “He will no doubt wish to gloat.”

  Riordan rose to follow him. “Gloat? Over what?”

  “Over my erroneous presumption that you would not be able to restrain yourself.”

  “You mean, control my instincts?”

  “No, most of your species can learn to do that. The true challenge is whether you can control your predisposition to presume moral equivalencies where none exist.” His gills fluttered. “For your species, this is a difficult test. Not only is your first reflex to fight back, to meet force with force, but your best moral education teaches you to defend the weak, the innocent. The predation by both the geel and the qaiyaat were sure to trigger both responses. Yet you suppressed them. You evinced the behavioral and mental discipline necessary to distinguish this morning’s events from superficially analogous situations on your own world, and to adjust your reactions accordingly.”