His only confrontation, however, came not from an angry cluster of Servitors or any of the jungle's omnipresent carnivores, but from several armed humans who materialized magically from among the trees and surrounded the harvester. It was interesting to note that they had shed the majority of their clothing.
Greetings were exchanged and weapons lowered. A couple of the humans gazed dumbly back into the jungle along the path restored by the harvester. They could not believe Ryo had brought off the most difficult part of the experiment.
"You're sure no one's following you?" a beefy male asked. His body fur was black and full of tight curls.
"It proceeded with admirable smoothness," Ryo said. He was glad no one challenged him. He was not ready to explain about Fal. That incident was still painful to recall.
They escorted him to the glade. As the harvester emerged from the trees Ryo had to struggle before locating the exquisitely hidden shuttle. It seemed to have sprouted grass, bushes, and yellow flowers.
Other hills marked the sites of the portable buildings the expedition had brought with them. There would be the section for housing his six immobile charges, there one for their human counterparts. Most of the adults would bivouac aboard the shuttle.
Since shuttle and structures were nearly invisible from the ground, Ryo had no doubt that from the air the illusion would be complete. In addition to confusing any visual search, the humans also possessed sophisticated instruments for harmlessly dispersing heat and restricting sound. They would have privacy and time. That was more than he'd hoped for.
A violent squalling in the form of a rising and falling whistle sounded from the rear of the harvester. Ryo brought it to a halt. Several other humans had joined the intercepting forest guards and were peering into the cargo hold.
Ryo nearly broke a leg as he rushed to get there. In the excitement of the moment the humans had not considered the effect their appearance might have on his intelligent and impressionable passengers.
He had not intended that the children confront their nightmares so soon.
Matthew remembered the first times.
He wasn't sure why he'd been chosen, but he was glad that he had been. The world they were visiting was a neat place, full of brightly colored bugs and flying things, and interesting creepy crawlies to poke sticks at through the clear surfaces of shallow ponds.
He didn't have much time to do that, since they kept him and the others playing with the funny shaped kids. They were nice, so he didn't mind not being allowed outside so much.
Bonnie and the big bug, Ryo, had told him that his new friends were children just like him, only of Ryo's people. But they didn't look anything like little Ryos at all. In fact, when Matthew first saw them his initial reaction and that of his friends had been one of pity. They had no arms or legs. How could anyone play without arms or legs?
They had huge wormlike bodies. That was kind of icky at first, but they also had pale colors running just under their skins that were awful pretty. It was funny to see these colors change from green to blue, from red to yellow and back again. Matthew wished he could change color like that.
They smelled real nice, too. Like a field of cut grass, or the hem of his mother's dress, or the laundry when it was new. The grown ups were afraid at first that he and his friends would be frightened of the larvae, as they called them. That was silly. How could anyone be afraid of some one who smelled so nice and didn't have arms to hit you with or legs to kick you with? The larvae, like his best friend Moul, were a lot more afraid of Matthew and the other human children than the human children were of them.
On the ship he'd learned to recognize a lot of the funny whistlewords and click talk. That was good, because the Thranx kids didn't know any real speech at all. Matthew was the best of the bunch and he was proud when the other kids asked him to translate. As the weeks went by, however, both groups learned from their counterparts. Because the larvae had flexible mandibles, it turned out they could talk human even better than Ryo.
This seemed to surprise the grown ups as much as it pleased them. Matthew shook his head. Some grown ups were just plain dumb. After all, a stick is a stick whether you call it a stick or a whistleword.
It surprised him to learn that Moul and the other larvae felt sorry for him. Sure, Moul didn't have arms and legs, but he didn't run into things, either, or stick himself with thorns. That embarrassed Matthew and made him a little bit angry. Sometimes he thought of hitting Moul to show him what hands were good for.
But no matter what he said or how he said it, neither Moul nor his companions ever seemed to get mad. Pouty sometimes, but never mad. You couldn't go around hitting someone like that. And when Moul explained things to him, Matthew lost a lot of his own mads, too. It was funny the things grown ups got excited about.
Matthew had lots of friends back in school on Earth. A couple of them had also qualified for the trip. One was a bigger boy named Werner, and Matthew couldn't understand how he'd made it. He'd beaten Matthew up a couple of times.
Moul was sorry to hear that when Matthew told him about it.
"I betcha Werner wouldn't try and beat you up," he told Moul one day as they were sitting in what the grown ups called the Interaction Room. "You're too big."
"For now," Moul agreed, "but as he matures he'll outgrow me, and after metamorphosis I'll be slightly smaller than I am now."
"That's weird," Matthew said. "Getting smaller as you become a grown up. But getting a whole new body; that sounds neat. I wish I could metamorphose." He added another magnetic span to the building he and Moul were designing. It was a curved one this time. Moul might not have any hands, but his suggestions were swell.
"Anyway," Moul wondered aloud, "if Werner is bigger and stronger than you, then why does he feel the need to beat you up? If he's bigger he ought to be smarter and realize how counterproductive such antisocial activity is."
"Yeah, well," Matthew muttered, "just once I'd like to pop him back a good one." He brought one fist into an open palm to produce a smacking sound.
"But why, would you want to do that?" the studious Moul asked.
"To get even with him." Sometimes even Moul could say the dumbest things.
"For what?"
"For beating me up." Matthew put his hands on his hips and then made the Thranx sign for mild exasperation. "Boy, you're awfully smart most of the time, Moul; but now and then you're awful stupid, too."
"I'm sorry," the larva replied. "I'm just ignorant of your ways. It all seems so silly to me. Wouldn't it be better for the two of you to be friends?"
"Well, sure it would, I guess," Matthew reluctantly admitted, "but Werner is a bully. He likes to beat people up."
"Larvae who are smarter than he?"
"Well," the boy thought a moment, "yeah, I think so."
"That's what a `bully' is someone who beats up someone physically weaker than himself?"
"That's right, I guess." Actually Matthew hadn't given the subject much consideration. To him, a bully was someone who beat Matthew Bonner up. The definition need extend no further than that.
"Then he doesn't seem very big to me at all. It sounds to me like he has a very small mind."
"Yeah, I guess he must. Yes, that's it." Matthew smiled hugely. "A small mind. A small mind." He burst into delighted laughter at having discovered a gratifying corollary. At the same time he picked up another span.
"No, not a curved one this time," Moul advised him. "A double straight. It will give more support to the tower there."
Matthew studied the growing monument only briefly. Moul was rarely wrong. "I think you're right." He set the span in place, watched as it annealed to the nearby side panels. The structure was over a meter high and still growing. The two youngsters had been working on it off and on for several days. The adults found it most interesting.
He selected a ridge ellipsoid, moved to emplace it.
"Also on the top, don't you think?" Moul asked.
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This time Matthew objected, holding it over the windowpanes two thirds of the way up the left hand tower. "Don't you think it would look better here?"
"Look better." Moul considered. He envied his friend's ability to see in colors more than he envied him his limbs. "Yes. Yes, I think you are right, Mattheeew. That is a most intriguing composition."
"We can use two of them." The boy chose a second, matching ellipsoid. "One here and one up top, where you suggested."
"An excellent suggestion, Mattheeew. Then I really think we'd better start working on the other side again or we'll overbalance the towers."
"Yeah, that's right." Then he frowned and set the two units back in their box.
"Is something wrong?"
"I'm bored," Matthew announced, sighing deeply. "I wish they'd let us go outside by ourselves. I get tired of having grown ups around."
"I don't," said Moul. "In any case, you know I couldn't go out with you."
"Why not? Oh yeah, your skin would burn."
"During the day it would," the larva admitted mournfully. "Anyway, I think the adults don't want us to go outside much."
"They sure don't. I wonder why."
"I'm not sure," Moul said thoughtfully. "I respect adults, of course, but sometimes it seems to me they are capable of mistakes as obvious as our own."
"Yeah, they're not as smart as they think. I bet I could get you outside at night." His voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper. "We could fool 'em. Your skin wouldn't burn at night."
"No, it wouldn't," Moul agreed. "I can't get around by myself very well, though."
"Aw, we'd figure something out. I'd help you."
"And I'd help you. I can see almost as well at night as I can during the day," the larva told him. "I was informed that you cannot."
"You can see in the dark?" Matthew's eyes went wide.
"Quite well. Not as well as my ancestors, but well enough."
"Wow." Matthew could not conceal his awe. "I sure wish I could. Sometimes back home I wake up at night and can't find the light panels in the floor and bump around in the dark trying to find the bathroom."
"Bathroom?" Moul echoed, and the conversation shifted easily from the aesthetics of architecture and plans for nocturnal excursions to another tack altogether.
Weeks passed. The adults were delighted at the children's progress, much of which originated with the experimental subjects themselves.
"Want to play Cowboys and Indians?" Matthew asked his friend. It was raining hard outside the Interaction Room. There could be no thought of venturing outside, even by oneself.
"I don't know," Moul said curiously. "What's `Cowboys and Indians?' "
"Well, once upon a time on Earth there was a noble, intelligent, handsome, and just generally sort of neat people called Indians." Matthew enjoyed being the one to explain for a change. He didn't for a moment doubt that Moul was smarter than he was, but somehow the usual resentment he felt toward smarter kids didn't apply to the larva. After all, Moul had received a lot more education and was perhaps a Terran year older than he.
"Anyway, their lands were invaded one day by a bunch of people called the Cowboys. The Cowboys were real nasty. They burned and slaughtered and stole and lied and all kinds of bad things until finally there were only a few Indians left. Eventually, though, the Indians got even because times changed and the life force that kept the Cowboys going faded away from their economy and they all died out. But the Indians kept their traditions and beliefs and lived happily ever after in the end."
"That doesn't sound like a very nice story," murmured Moul doubtfully, "despite the happy ending. I'm not sure I want to play ... but if you really want to ...
"Yeah, sure." Matthew climbed to his feet.
Moul rippled back from the human. "It sounds awfully violent, Matthew. I don't like violent games."
"It won't be bad," the boy assured him. "Now, I'm going to be the Indians and you can be the Cowboys."
Moul considered. "I think I'd prefer to be the Indians."
"No. I suggested the game," Matthew was a mite belligerent, "and I'm going to be the Indians."
"All right. You can be the Indians."
Matthew frowned at him. "What do you mean, I can be the Indians? Just like that?"
"Well, of course. Why not?"
"But you said you wanted to be the Indians."
"I do," Moul admitted, "but you obviously want to be them more than I do. Therefore, it is only sensible to let you be the Indians."
Matthew mulled over this development, which tumbled around in his brain like a rough gem in a polishing unit. "No," he finally decided, "you can be the Indians."
"No, no. I understand thoroughly your desire, Mattheeew. You can be the Indians. I'll be the Cowboys."
"I've got an idea," the boy said suddenly. "Why don't we both of us be the Indians?"
"Then who'll be the Cowboys?"
Matthew turned and called across the room. "Hey Janie, Ahling, Chuck, Yerl!"
They entered into involved negotiations, but it developed that no one really wanted to be the Cowboys. They all wanted to be Indians.
In the observation booth behind the one way, Dr. Jahan Bhadravati turned to his companions, who at that moment included Bonnie, Captain Sanchez of the Seeker, and a leading representative of Earth's government. Handshakes were exchanged all around, but the children in the room beyond would have found the adults' enthusiasm at a display of the commonplace very puzzling.
Chapter Sixteen
Bonnie was chatting with Ryo as they strolled from the shuttle toward the laboratory complex when the first rising thunder reached the camp from overhead. It arose in the north and grew steadily louder until a pair of quadruple winged ships roared by, rattling the trees fringing the glade and scaring hell out of the arboreals.
The two walkers pressed themselves back beneath a canopy of chamelo cloth. So did the other humans who'd been out in the comparative cool of early morning.
After a decent wait Bonnie leaned out to squint toward the southwest. "Think they saw us?"
"I don't know," said one of the shuttle's crew from beneath the overhanging limbs of a nearby tree. He too was staring worriedly southward. "They were awfully low and moving damn fast." He emerged from concealment. "I'd better get to my station, just in case."
Bonnie was about to join him when she felt restraining pressure on her arm.
"I do not think we were observed," Ryo told her. "You see, I am almost positive they were not looking for us."
"Then what were they doing out here, at that altitude?" She noticed his oddly rigid posture. "Is something else wrong?"
"Very wrong." Memories rose up, threatened to submerge all other thoughts. Fear and anger mixed inside him. "Those weren't Thranx ships. Those were AAnn warshuttles. I know, because I've seen them before."
"We've got to help." Sanchez glared around at the hastily assembled conference. They were in the shuttle's cargo hold, which had been converted to a conference chamber, among other things.
"It's not our business to get involved in local squabbles," the military attache reminded them perfunctorily. "We're here uninvited. Our presence constitutes a dangerous provocation to the Thranx government. There is also the Project to consider. We could not assist the local colonists without revealing our presence, and that in turn would surely spell an end to our highly promising experiments here." He gazed coolly down toward Ryo.
"Personal feelings must not be allowed to divert us from our principal reason for being here. We have no formal relations with the Thranx. The same is true for the AAnn. I have no basis for initiating hostilities against a neutral and uncontacted alien race."
"You'll pardon me if I disagree with that." Sanchez gave him a wan smile. "I've established to my satisfaction that it was the AAnn who, deliberately and unprovoked, attacked the Seeker. I had many killed and several wounded. I'd call that ample provocation for, at the minimum, an instructive reprisal."<
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"The attack on your ship could have arisen from misunderstanding," the attache argued. He didn't enjoy the position he was forced to take, but he defended it admirably. "We could be jeopardizing any future relationships with the AAnn race."
"Your pardon, sir." One of the xenologists at the far end of the room raised a timorous hand. "If these AAnn conform to the psychosocial pattern diagrammed by my programming, then we stand the best chance of making a peace with them by showing a willingness to fight."
"That's crazy," the attache snapped.
"An apt AAnn adjective," said Ryo, whose knowledge of Terranglo speech had progressed to an appreciation of alliteration.
"Their profile fits, however," the quiet specialist said with some conviction.
The attache, outgunned, withdrew into silence.
"You must, of course, make your own decision based on the knowledge you have and your own customs," Ryo said gently. "I am under no such restraints. I must take my harvester and render whatever assistance I can, regardless of personal risk. Besides, there is little you could accomplish. For one thing, you have no satisfactory ground transportation. For another, you do not have-'
"I'm afraid that we do, Ryo," Sanchez informed him. The Thranx made an instinctive gesture of fourth degree astonishment.
"I know this was designed to be a wholly peaceful mission," she continued, "and it should remain so with regard to human Thranx relations. But considering our former imprisonment, surely you can understand that we wouldn't set down on a Thranx planet unarmed."
"No." Ryo tried to conceal his considerable upset. "I do not understand that."
The captain shrugged. "I'm sorry. Regardless, it remains that we have weapons." She gazed around the room. "I propose that we use them to demonstrate our mental constitution to the AAnn, and to aid our newfound friends. Informally, it would seem." She focused her attention on the attache. "of course, I cannot give the order to release weaponry for use here."
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