“I can perceive what others are feeling.” He gestured with the translator as Pip stirred in his lap. “Just now, you two were expressing the warmest sentiments toward one another.”
While making no effort to hide her astonishment, Storra was also suddenly wary of this creature. She brushed two hands across her head, pressing her antennae gently back against her smooth skull. “If you can comprehend what we are feeling, and without Sensitives, then how can we be sure without any kind of physical contact between us that the emotions we are receiving from you are a genuine expression of your own feelings?”
Flinx started to rise, grimaced, and sat back down. “I’d be happy to make physical contact, but I can’t stand up.” Once again, he indicated his right leg. “I told you; I’ve injured my ankle.”
“And with only two instead of four to call on for support.” Despite the exhibition of unimaginably advanced technology he had observed the night before, Ebbanai was moved to sympathy for the creature. When it came to a proper number of limbs, its ancestry was decidedly shorted.
“Storra, I’m sure there’s no deception here.” His Sensitives flicked toward her but did not reach for contact. “Touch or no touch, I’m confident the emotions we are receiving from this—visitor—are authentic. It’s no threat to us, and it’s hurt.” All four fingerless, flange-tipped hands gestured toward the seated figure of Flinx. “It makes no threats, though I suspect that if it wished to do so, it could. It shows no fear. In fact, the only concern I feel from it is for us and for our state of mind—not for itself.”
Ebbanai had voiced exactly what Storra was feeling, though she was reluctant to admit it. As the one who did all the trading and bargaining in the marketplace, it was natural that she should be the more suspicious of the pair. Staring down at the Sensitive-less being, she found her eyes drawn to the device it held that allowed them to communicate, then down to the belt it wore. All manner of interesting devices were visible there. If half of what her mate had told her was true about gargantuan machines dropping from the sky and turning themselves into sand dunes, what other possibly useful wonders might this visitor command? What miraculous devices did it possess? And how could she, and Ebbanai, possibly profit from them, and from the presence of their visitor?
It was a tried and trusted tenet that an injured traveler should be given succor. If they helped this creature, would it not be grateful? It certainly struck her as completely civilized. Though they knew nothing of its ethics or those of its kind, its comments were not those of a hostile barbarian. What did they have to lose by showing a little compassion? If it wanted to harm them, surely it would have done so by now, out of fear of what they might do to it. She still could not get over her amazement at its ability to project and receive emotions in the absence of Sensitives or, for that matter, any kind of physical contact. Thus far it had projected nothing but calmness and concern for their reaction.
She came to a decision.
Flinx knew about it before either of the Dwarra could say anything. He felt the subtle shift in their feelings toward him; from initial fear, to amazement, and now to concern.
“Up, Pip.” As the minidrag, on command, took to the sky, Flinx extended an arm toward the two natives.
After a quick glance at one another, they cautiously approached. Ebbanai slipped all four forearms underneath the alien’s right arm while Storra did the same on the other side. “Together now,” he urged the creature. Bracing himself against the support of the two natives, Flinx clenched his teeth and pushed himself upward.
All three of them nearly went down. Though no taller than the locals, Flinx was considerably heavier. Furthermore, the disparity in weight reflected more than just a difference in bodily proportions. Evolved to cope with heavier gravity, his muscles and bones were significantly denser than those of the Dwarra.
“Freint!” Storra exclaimed as she struggled to keep all four feet under her and the hundreds of skin flaps that lined her body untensed. “Are your people made of stone?”
“I’m sorry.” Flinx tried to place more of his weight on his good leg as he hopped along between them. “My world is different from yours. Higher gravity there means living things have to develop dense muscles and heavier, thicker bones just to support themselves.”
“What’s gravity?” a curious Ebbanai asked, when no equivalent was forthcoming from the translator device hanging around the alien’s neck.
For the first time, the initial Commonwealth survey’s designation of this world as one supporting no more than Class IVb technology was confirmed in person. Flinx did his best to explain.
“It’s a force that one object exerts on another,” he told the male Dwarra. “It’s what keeps everything fixed to the surface of the world and prevents it from flying off into space.”
Bent under her share of the burden that was their guest, the female made a gargling noise in her throat. “I won’t argue with alien notions of how things work because I’m not familiar with them, but everyone knows that weight is what keeps things fixed to the ground. When you drop something, weight is what makes it fall.”
While the two explanations were not irreconcilable, Flinx decided that now was not the time to begin lecturing his amiable hosts on the finer points of elementary physics. He needed to concern himself with more prosaic matters: such as where they were taking him.
“To our home, of course,” Ebbanai informed him when he voiced the question. “To a place where you can heal.”
Flinx did not counter that better facilities for speeding his recovery were available on board his ship. He thought it unlikely these remarkable folk would willingly board his craft. They might be bold, but if confronted by something as intimidating and alien to them as the Teacher, their resolve was likely to shrivel. Better to engage them on ground and terms they found familiar.
As the trio made their way northward through the dunes, with Pip patrolling lazily overhead, it became clear to him that these creatures were not true empaths like himself. Whereas he could perceive their emotions effortlessly, they could not tell what he was feeling unless he worked to project his emotions directly onto them. Moreover, they could only recognize each other’s feelings when physical contact was made through the cerebral transmitter/receivers they called Sensitives.
That aside, with the exception of Pip, with whom he shared a unique mental connection, they were more like him in their emotionally perceptive abilities than any species he had ever encountered. The feelings he received from them were as clear and pure and easy to interpret as words on a screen. He felt an instant rapport with these simple sentients of a kind he had never experienced before, not even with another human being. Well, with the exception of perhaps one or two human beings, he corrected himself. And a certain thranx.
It was as if, after searching for uncomplicated, straightforward empathetic connections all his life, he had finally stumbled on a situation where they were not only not special, but a natural component of everyday person-to-person existence. The realization left him more than a little overwhelmed.
Careful, he admonished himself. Thus far, he had only met two of the natives. Their mental condition might be as unique as it was isolated. He knew nothing of the rest of the population. He needed to reserve judgment concerning the abilities of the species as a whole until he had experienced a substantially greater number of encounters. Appearances, even mental ones, could be deceiving.
He nodded toward the native on his right. Though the representatives of the two sexes were approximately the same height, the limbs of the male were larger in diameter than those of the female, while the lower torso of the latter was wider. He recalled the unique birthing process described by the Teacher, but saw no sign that the female was carrying pouched young.
A slight misstep sent an electric sting up his right leg, and he winced. “Is it much farther?” he asked via the translator swaying on the retractable cord around his neck.
“Not so far.” He found himself looking
into the large, inquisitive round eyes of the female. “Why didn’t you just fly there? Ebbanai said that you arrived here in a great flying machine.”
“That’s just it,” he told her, sidestepping mention of the shuttlecraft and skimmer snugged in the Teacher’s support bay. “It’s not feasible to have a large vessel engage its engines to travel such a short distance.”
Ebbanai freed one double-flanged forehand long enough to make a crisp gesture. “What powers your craft, Flinx? I would say that maybe it is like one of the wondrous new steam devices one hears about, though I saw no evidence of such.”
More indications of the level of local technology. “Not steam,” he replied as they followed a well-trodden path through a pair of dunes thickly clad in tall, single-stemmed vegetation. “A kind of energy that would be hard for me to explain to you.”
The Dwarra accepted the demurral—for now. Time enough later to seek more detailed explanations. As the initial shock of the creature’s reality continued to fade, other ideas, other notions, began to fill the empty space in his head. Especially the portion that was devoted to contemplation of future possibilities. Looking past the struggling, limping alien, he could see that his mate’s thoughts were running along similar lines.
Not every successful voiceless communication required the entwining of Sensitives.
The home of Flinx’s new friends was not properly a farm. There were only two buildings, both dome-shaped. The smaller featured tall, narrow windows, a single door, and a slender clay pipe chimney. The other was somewhat larger with no chimney or windows, but it boasted a much larger set of double doors.
“That’s where we keep our wagon and overnight the baryeln,” Ebbanai explained in response to his query.
“What’s a baryeln?” Flinx asked via the translator. The sounds of Dwarrani were not complex. Already he found himself beginning to recognize simple words. Always good at languages, he had no doubt that with a little effort and practice, he would soon be able to manage basic phrases. The translator would always be available to back him up.
Ebbanai looked again at his mate. It was clear that this creature, for all its impressive technology and physical stature, was ignorant of a great many basic things.
“We’ll show you,” Storra told him. Her right hands indicated his bad leg. “Unless you are too tired and wish to rest first.”
Flinx tested his ankle. There was no way he could walk on it, but the worst of the pain seemed to be ebbing somewhat. After the assisted hike across the dunes, rest was certainly in order. But he knew that once he sat down he would not feel like getting up again for a while. Better to view the enigmatic baryeln first, then relax.
Interestingly, there was no fence around the buildings, or anywhere that he could see. “How do you define your property limits?” he asked.
“There are stone markers,” Ebbanai told him.
“And the baryeln don’t wander off if you let them out of their enclosure?” Overhead, Pip soared effortlessly on a mix of sea breezes and lighter gravity.
“You will see,” Storra told him. This alien was going to need much education, she thought, if she and her mate were going to pursue some of the ideas that were just beginning to coalesce in her mind.
Hinged at the sides—the Dwarra had advanced far enough to smelt metal, Flinx noted—one of the double doors was pulled aside by Ebbanai while Storra fought to assist Flinx in remaining upright. As the two of them helped him hobble inside, he saw that individual pens held what at first appeared to be decapitated creatures. They were not headless, however, and he eventually found the fore end of each animal by seeking out the now familiar pair of Sensitives that protruded from the skull of every higher-order land-dweller on Dwarra.
The baryeln were so rectangular in shape that except for their four legs—which underwent the standard Dwarran subdividing to form a total of eight forelegs—they might be shipped by being stacked one atop another as neatly as crates of comparable size. Tail-less and virtually featureless except for their Sensitives, they stood motionless in their stalls, the only sound in the stable or barn the sound of hundreds of flat mouthparts masticating kilo after kilo of harvested verdure.
Walking over to the nearest enclosure, Ebbanai opened the simple but sturdy gate and beckoned Flinx come closer. He did so, hopping on his one good leg and using the solidly built fencing for support. Up close, the baryeln were as dull in appearance as they were from a distance. Their bulky, squarish bodies were adorned with dozens of small, pyramidal nodules. In color they ranged from a pale blue to a deep violet. Some featured horizontal streaks of white or beige. As they ate, their Sensitives bobbed up and down like paired metronomes. Placid and bovine, it seemed they would be easy to care for.
“The baryeln are our life,” Storra explained. “They provide us with meat, gryln, and transportation.”
One word had failed to translate. “What’s gryln?” Flinx asked innocently.
“Watch.” Moving to one fence, Ebbanai removed what appeared to be a long, narrow funnel and a feather-tipped stick from among a cluster of identical utensils. Approaching a baryeln, he selected one of the many nodules on its back and began to stroke the area around it with the feather-stick. In less than a minute, a glistening, pink-tinged fluid began to ooze from the tip of the nodule. It flowed slowly, gleaming with a consistency like glycerine. After a few teaspoons had issued from the spot, the flow stopped.
Bringing the funnel-like collection device over to where Flinx stood propped up against the fence, Ebbanai held it up to the visitor. “Gryln is refined in many ways, and used in many different forms, but those of us who are fortunate enough to own our own baryeln enjoy it fresh.” He held it out to the human. “Please, try some.”
They were both watching him carefully. Fortunately, they did not possess sufficient cultural referents with which to allow them to interpret the expression on his face. He swallowed hard. Removing the analyzer from his belt, he carefully pushed the sampling probe into the viscous fluid. Unfortunately, the device promptly pronounced the amalgam of alien proteins and sugars perfectly harmless to his system. It did not, of course, reference something as subjective as taste. His principal excuse for not accepting the offering now demolished, he smiled wanly and took the funnel from the eager Ebbanai’s gripping flanges.
The thick liquid was warm, which did not surprise him. The taste, however, did. His face rapidly unwrinkled. The viscous fluid was simultaneously sweet and sharp, like honey doused with pepper. Though perplexing to his palate, it was anything but unpleasant, despite the immediate and unsettling proximity of its ambulatory alien origins. He handed the funnel back to his host. Moments passed and his stomach did not rebel.
Storra’s mouth was flexing in a series of expanding ripples. The local equivalent of a smile, perhaps. “Welcome,” she declared heartily. “Wherever you have fallen from, Flinx, you are welcome in this house.”
“Where our tired and sore guest should be resting,” Ebbanai chided them both. He had to admit that it had been interesting to see the alien drink gryln fresh from the baryeln. Perhaps they were more alike than not.
Their visitor chose that moment to remind them that the gap between them was also defined by things that could not be observed.
“That baryeln there.” Halting on the way out of the building, Flinx halted and pointed at one of the creatures in a stall opposite.
Storra looked at the animal and wondered why the alien was singling it out. “That is orv-six. Something about it draws your attention?”
Flinx did not bother to nod, knowing that the gesture would pass unrecognized. “Something’s wrong with her. She’s in pain.”
Eyes contracting slightly, Ebbanai walked over to the stall in question. Entering, he studied the nearly motionless animal, walking all around it, collapsing his upper body into the lower in order to peer beneath the stolid creature. All the while it ignored him, making no sound beyond a soft humming noise.
“I see no injury, or s
ign of difficulty.” He peered at his alien guest. “What leads you to suspect such a thing?”
“I perceive it,” Flinx told him. “That’s all I can tell you.” On his shoulder, Pip stirred slightly.
Now both Dwarra were staring at him. “It is not possible.” Like individual flower petals caught in a stiff breeze, Storra’s skin flaps slowly rose and fell against her body. “People are advanced enough to transmit their feelings to the lower animals, but they cannot read the emotions of the lower orders, no matter how tightly they might try to entwine their Sensitives with them.”
Lest unflattering conclusions be drawn, Flinx held back from pointing out that even in the complete absence of the sensitive cranial protrusions, he could easily read her emotions. “Check again,” he urged his hosts. The pain from the creature was sharp and clear, the mental equivalent of pouring lime juice into an open cut.
Once more Ebbanai moved to examine the animal called orv-six. This time, he used the eight gripping flanges at the ends of his forearms to prod and press against different parts of the animal. Nothing happened—until one firm inward thrust caused the creature to bark crisply, lean forward, and strike out sharply with all four of its rear legs. Only by scuttling swiftly to one side did Ebbanai avoid a nasty kick.
Keeping a wary eye on the now visibly disturbed baryeln, Ebbanai rejoined the alien and his mate. “Some kind of severe upset of the third digestive tract. A purgative may be in order, or a change in diet. Unquestionably, something is wrong.” Turning, he regarded his singular guest with something approaching awe. “Devoid of Sensitives,” he commented aloud, as if the alien were not present, “yet it can identify emotions not only in Dwarra, but in simple animals. Remarkable!”
“And useful,” the ever-practical Storra observed. With both left hands, she indicated the other stalls. “What of the rest of our pack? Can you probe their feelings as well?”
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