Some discoveries were as pleasing as they were surprising. The geology team located water in ample quantities at a modest depth, water of unmatched purity and taste. There would no need for the extensive and complicated pipeline which had been planned to tap the waters of the nearest lake.
While not especially rich, the rocks enclosing the burrow contained metals in quantities sufficient to supply the colony’s needs. It was also stable and dense enough to permit the excavation of tunnels and rooms without the need to add internal bracing or supports. This enabled the engineers to expand far more rapidly than would have been the case in softer terrain.
Artists resumed their work, often inspired by the images and recordings brought back by the small exploration teams. Farming expanded from the ship into surrounding galleries. Life was good, if tense. Above the buried ship the native fauna returned in numbers. It was as though the arrival had never been.
Caution remained the byword of the colony, however. The requests made by Looks-at-Charts and the other scouts and scientists for permission to travel farther afield on the surface were repeatedly denied. The continued safety of the colony required only knowledge of their immediate surroundings. It was far too soon to risk discovery merely for the chance to add to the sum total of general knowledge about the new world. The violent death of Burden-carries-Far was still fresh in many minds. That he was followed not long after touchdown by Walks-with-Whispers did little to alleviate the Council’s concerns. The mental confusion and depression brought on by the death of a colleague and the concomitant slaying of an intelligent native had in the end been more than the gentle geologist could handle.
So wide-ranging exploration was out of the question for now. Be content to live and expand First Burrow. Thus said the ship’s philosophical staff. Reckless surface expeditions could be left to future, more self-assured generations.
The colonials busied themselves turning Sequencer into an arcology. A year later when Looks-at-Charts and Flies-by-Tail decided to mate, the Burrow was firmly established.
They immediately applied for permission to birth and were as quickly turned down. It was expected. They would have to wait their turn and hope that their application found favor with the prognosticators. The speed with which new facilities were added determined the permissible rate of population growth. If controls were eliminated, the colony would find itself overrun with infants in less than two cycles.
The colony had been in place a year and not a single native had ventured close to the site. Meanwhile much was learned about the Shirazians from constant monitoring of their broadcasts. Knowledge expanded exponentially when they began experimenting with their first crude visuals.
Studies of these confirmed many of the theories first proposed by the xenologists. Continual intertribal conflict was the rule among the natives, though it was intermittent among the most powerful tribes. The latter maintained shockingly extensive stocks of weapons in the apparent belief that future conflict was inevitable. Even on ancient Quozl such a waste of resources was unheard-of. The philosophers risked madness in their arduous attempts to rationalize such bizarre behavior.
The Shirazians bred without restraint but their civilization was preserved by the fact that their rate of reproduction was much lower than that of the Quozl. Every study, every observation, only served to confirm what had been determined earlier. The natives’ sex drives ruled their lives and society, and not the other, proper way around.
Applying this principle made it possible to understand almost any native action, no matter how incomprehensible at first. It explained how an obviously technologically mature society could still engage in tribal conflict. Unable to understand and deal with their own psychosexual urges, the ruling males resorted to bloodletting and physical violence as a means of demonstrating dominance. No wonder Shirazian society was such a hopeless morass of misunderstandings and mutual tension. Endocrinologists and psychologists had not yet learned how to merge their disciplines. Chaos was the inevitable result.
As for the childbearing females, they were as confused as their mates, but unable to cope with a situation they instinctively sensed as counterproductive and immature. This was the result of their physical inferiority, a physiological imbalance that Quozl scientists decided must be the result of an aberrant evolutionary process. Since male and female Quozl were always nearly of similar size and strength, relationships between the sexes had proceeded from a position of equality. And since female Quozl carried their infants in pouches which did not restrict their physical activity, they had no need of continual male protection. It was clear that the Shirazians were more to be pitied their condition than feared.
Study of increasingly sophisticated visual emissions confirmed everything. Shirazian young were born directly into the world without having enjoyed the protection offered by a nurturing pouch. As the extensive musculature required to carry a nursing infant was not present or necessary in human females, they had not developed in the manner of their Quozl counterparts. This not only allowed but indeed demanded that the males establish dominance over the females, thus upsetting what otherwise would have been a natural balance between the sexes. Aberrant Shirazian society had its basis not in voluntary decisions but in genetic ones.
Nor was there any reason to hope for change, unless the females somehow managed to overcome their inherent physical disadvantage enough to assert themselves to the point of putting an end to the nonsensical intertribal wars, or the males matured enough to realize they had to gain control over their hormonal imbalances.
As if that wasn’t enough to complicate ordinary intraspecies cooperation, there was also the matter of the bewildering multiplicity of languages. As one xenologist put it, the wonder was that any Shirazians remained alive at all.
Looks-at-Charts followed the studies and viewed the many recordings with interest in the hope that one of the hasty expeditions he led might encounter a few less violent natives. That was unlikely, but he’d always believed in preparedness. Flies-by-Tail survived the demise of her profession and built a new career as a nursery attendant. Both survey ships had been placed in long-term storage. They would not take wing again for at least a hundred years lest they be observed by the natives.
Looks-at-Charts argued on behalf of his mate for one long-range night flight to observe the nearest urban native settlement. Each time the request was made it was turned down. It was too risky, and they could learn enough about such places by monitoring the Shirazian broadcasts. Secrecy was always more important than knowledge. Looks-at-Charts vehemently disagreed, but he was not a member of the Council. He thought them much too conservative.
Yet as everyone was to learn, the intelligent natives of Shiraz were not the only inhabitants of the new world who could pose a danger to careless Quozl.
VI.
IT WAS THE second year of burrowing. Looks-at-Charts had been permitted to take a study team slightly farther from the colony than had ever been allowed before. Two years it had taken to cross from the valley of the Burrow into the one to the south. It was just as Looks-at-Charts had feared: the second valley looked exactly like the first, differing only in topography.
They did find some new small fauna, however. Something also found them.
Looks-at-Charts heard the screams, the high-pitched desperate whistling, as he was watching the antics of one of the small arboreal quadrupeds. Native visual broadcasts had identified these as squir-rels. It blustered theatrically, bawling him out in its active nonlanguage.
It was the warm season, a beautiful day. Looks was glad Landing Command had relented enough to allow the occasional diurnal expedition. The continued absence of Shirazian presence had made the advisors a little bolder. Looks had taken to wearing a full complement of jewelry and scarves on such journeys. The scientists took little care with their appearance and so he felt it incumbent upon him to uphold the high Quozl standards.
There were also two attractive females among his charges and he wanted to look g
ood in the event their thoughts turned from study to coupling, even as he knew that Flies-by-Tail would be availing herself of similar opportunities back in First Burrow. Between the comical antics of the squir-rel, the warmth of the Shirazian sun, and his aroused thoughts, the last thing he expected by way of interruption was screaming.
The two geologists working nearby looked up from their excavation. Once they had completed their studies the hole would be carefully filled back in and the surface returned to as close an approximation of its original appearance as possible.
They had been camped on the slope for several days and in that time had seen nothing to differentiate it from terrain previously visited. Certainly they had encountered nothing threatening. But the screaming could not be mistaken. Looks-at-Charts instantly recognized the voices of the team’s botanist and its zoologist. As he listened the shrieks came again, echoing through the woods.
He turned and ran, his large, elongated feet carrying him uphill in great bounds. His every sense was alert, ears erect and aimed forward to catch the slightest unfamiliar sound. He felt the weight of his side arm at his belt. For one of the few times in his life he ignored the way he looked.
Now he could hear the other voice. The deep, throaty growl made his fur stand on end. It was far too massive to be made by a Quozl, or even a native. It was known from studying the emissions the Shirazians called “nature programs” that the planet was home to large carnivores, but the study teams had never encountered one.
A stream notched the slope. He cleared it in one bound, sending dirt flying from where he touched down on the other side. A single figure emerged from behind a large tree to intercept him. It was Dawn-stands-Blue, the botanist.
She was inhaling unevenly and he took a moment to steady her. In response to his questions she could only turn and point weakly, eyes full of fear.
“Show me,” he demanded, deliberately shocking her with impoliteness.
It worked. Her ears twisted as she pointed more carefully.
Leaving her behind he raced uphill in the direction she’d indicated. She watched him for a moment, then staggered off toward the camp.
Beside a large boulder he found the bleeding, torn corpse of the zoologist. It was not quite completely decapitated. A few ligaments still connected the head to the neck. As he stood over the body with drawn side arm, a new odor reached his nostrils. It was thick and musky and alien. He hesitated. As he did so, another boulder nearby suddenly rose to face him. It growled.
The creature was immense, many times the mass of a Quozl. Here was a real monster, the stuff of underspace nightmares. It hovered over the pitiful form of the dead zoologist and gazed at Looks-at-Charts out of intense brown eyes.
Then it lunged. Since it was clearly not a member of an intelligent species Looks did not hesitate. With those teeth and claws it did not need intelligence to protect it.
Taking careful aim, he fired repeatedly. His first shots only enraged the monster without visibly affecting it. Looks continued to fire as he dodged. The monster was faster than it looked. It could have run down a native, but not a Quozl. Still, Looks knew that if he allowed himself to be cornered against the rocks, or lost his footing for even an instant …
He was starting to worry about the charge in his side arm when his shots began to affect his attacker. The monster shook its head, then turned and shambled off into the trees. Looks expected it to take the body of the zoologist with it but was relieved when it did not.
Too confident, he told himself as he stood there trying to catch his breath. We grew too confident. Shiraz is still not home. Reciting a few stanzas from the Tragili Battle Epic helped to calm him. Because the surface study teams had never had any trouble didn’t mean there was no trouble to be had. The only consoling thought was that since this was the first hairy monster they’d encountered, they must not be common to this region.
Only when he was sure that the creature was not lying in ambush behind the trees did he bend to inspect the zoologist’s body. It looked like a whirlpool puzzle, its borders sound but the interior scattered every which way. He tried to remember some songs of parting, sang a few phrases in his wholly inappropriate voice, then turned to walk slowly back in the direction of the campsite.
It was his fault. Even though he’d been watching over the others and the camp itself, the death of the zoologist still fell on his shoulders. Their safety was his responsibility, and he’d failed. It was likely this would be his last surface expedition.
Because he felt that, he took the time despite his grief to drink in the beautiful blue sky, the massive clouds, the astonishing variety of tiny arthropods which populated the surface of Shiraz, knowing he might never see them again. Then he forced himself to walk straighter, to banish any suggestion of servility from his posture. Pridefully he adjusted his leg scarves.
There was no reason for him to grieve. He’d been far luckier than his fellow colonists, the great majority of whom could view the surface of their homeworld only in recordings made by the occasional surface expedition. They would never smell its air or its vegetation or observe its largely innocuous fauna in its natural habitat. Only a select few would ever have that privilege.
A privilege he would now have to forfeit.
The others were waiting for him. He saw the relief in their faces and posture when he emerged from the trees, simultaneously wondering why they still had any confidence in him.
“We know what happened.” The geologist gestured toward the slowly recovering but still traumatized botanist.
“Then you all know what must be done.”
It was painful and slow. The zoologist’s corpse could not be left to decompose because of the unlikely but still finite possibility the remains might be chanced on by a wandering Shirazian. Therefore, everything had to be packed and removed back to the colony for disposal and all traces of its existence expunged from the vicinity, including loose fur and any bloodstains.
They took turns trying to console him, explaining that there was nothing he could have done and that the zoologist bore the primary responsibility for his own demise because he’d wandered too far from the camp. Though he believed none of them, he accepted their condolences politely. It helped to reinforce his sense of community, which had been badly damaged by the accident.
Only when they topped the crest of the ridge that divided the valley they’d been exploring from the one that was home to the colony did they stumble across the corpse of the monster. They smelled it long before they saw it.
“You were a better shot than you thought,” said one of the geologists.
“I wish I hadn’t been.”
The geologist eyed him uncertainly. “I do not understand.”
Looks approached the massive body. “Now we have this body to move as well. Our weapons are different from those employed by the natives. If they were to find this corpse they would know immediately that it had not been slain by one of their own. They would become curious.”
“Unlikely,” commented another member of the party.
“I agree. Unlikely, yes—but not impossible. We can take no risks.”
“It is not a risk,” the geologist argued. “The evidence indicating manner of death will be obliterated by the local scavengers.” He looked around nervously. “They should be at work here already.”
“You do not understand. We are not allowed to make such judgments. Besides, do none of you see that here we have a biological specimen beyond value?”
“That may be,” another argued, “but it is of no use to us because we have not the means for dragging it back to the Burrow.”
“We must.” Looks-at-Charts was insistent. “Not because of its value to Bioresearch, but because it is a memorial to Sees-while-Dreaming.”
That took them aback. They could argue that trying to move the monstrous bulk was impractical, but Looks had outflanked that argument by tying the recovery of the corpse to the death of its discoverer, the dead zoologist. He’d trapped th
em. Now he tried to ease their practical concerns.
“We have the one lifter.”
“It might carry that,” agreed the botanist tiredly, “if handled with the skill of an artist.”
“The lifter is full,” another geologist pointed out unnecessarily.
“I know. You will have to dump all your specimens.” He gestured with both ears and a hand in the direction of the floating mass of rock and soil.
The geologists debated the matter among themselves. As a nonscientist, Looks-at-Charts had no vote in the matter. The botanist was in no condition to argue rationally and so excused herself from the argument.
It was finally decided that Looks was correct. The value of the animal outweighed the value of all their specimens. They would salvage the most important of these and carry them in their packs. The lifter would be used solely to support the monster and their unlucky companion.
And most importantly, the deceased zoologist would have a proper memorial. That was the unvoiced but unanimously accepted rationale.
They went about the business of dumping their laboriously gathered specimens and arranging them to blend with the immediate landscape. Then they loaded the monster and struggled to balance its bulk atop the lifter. It took all of them to manage it. One Quozl corpse did not disturb the balance.
Only then did they sing a final song of farewell to their mangled colleague and proceed in the direction of the Burrow.
The biologists’ ecstasy at receiving the corpse of the monster was boundless. The colony’s chief geologist made certain the origin of the gift was not forgotten in the general excitement.
“We left behind most of ours gains from this journey.”
The head biologist acknowledged the other department’s loss. “We will see that you are granted your fair share of our expeditionary time. It will be more than worth it.”
Quozl Page 10