There was a sandy beach. He started running along it, in the opposite direction from his fellow Massood, several of whom had been allowed to accompany him. He would meet them shortly, he knew. The island was small. But for a time he could be truly alone.
That was a luxury not to be imagined aboard ship. The objections of some squatty, hairy dwarfs were not about to keep him and his people from their first good run in months. Running was as vital to the Massood as sex. Besides, T’var would let him know if any native vehicles entered the area. That was unlikely, since research had confirmed the natives’ preference for diurnal travel. In any case there would be ample time to return to the shuttle.
Vatoloi bobbed in the calm water nearby, his equipment belt secured around his waist, watching the Massood dash madly around the tiny island. Idly he plucked a strand of water growth from his external gills and flicked it aside. He did not understand what the Massood were doing. The activities of Massood ranked high on the list of things he did not understand.
Their pace was impressive, one he knew none of his kind could come close to matching. They might continue for much of the night, he knew, running round and round in circles until they exhausted themselves, until their long tongues were hanging from the sides of their mouths. It was of great importance to them, but for the Life he couldn’t understand why. An immense amount of energy was being expended to no discernible purpose.
Perhaps it was a kind of joke, a humor. The Massood were fond of such, though they were not so incomprehensible as the S’van. Humor was something else Vatoloi did not understand. Of course it was not necessary that he understand. Enough to do his work, sleep, eat, reproduce.
As always there was the persistent feeling that he was missing something. It would help if he were as smart as the Massood, or the O’o’yan, or Life forbid, the S’van. While many races could make one feel inferior, only the S’van did it with empathy. That was a gift of the S’van. In a sense, Vatoloi thought, the structuring of an analogy giving him a headache as it always did, the S’van ran with words as the Massood did with their legs.
The Lepar possessed no such gifts. Nor did they have the technical skills of the Hivistahm or the delicate touch of the O’o’yan. They simply had the ability to work, steady and uncomplaining, so long as the task at hand was not too complicated and required no original thinking.
Ducking beneath the surface, Vatoloi’s body effortlessly made the transition from breathing air to extracting oxygen from the surrounding seawater. As always he marveled at the intense colors of the local marine forms, many of which generated their own light at nighttime. He had collected specimens for many of the scientists, bewildered by their comments. But they praised his efforts, and he felt warmth.
No time to gawk now. He had to help Haoupi, who was checking the gridwork above the shuttle’s antennae. Other Lepar swam by, and he acknowledged them with appropriate gestures and grins, his tail pushing him effortlessly through the clear water.
Haoupi was glad to see him. It was a great aid to one’s labors when a supervisor like Vatoloi was available to tell you what to do when you weren’t sure. The work was finished in good time. Because Vatoloi was so smart they did not even have to ask advice of the supervising Hivistahm. That pleased Haoupi because the Hivistahm were always impatient. They often said things that made you feel bad.
Making decisions was the hardest part of being a supervisor, but Vatoloi had accepted it because it had been asked of him. At least when you were a supervisor no one laughed at you or complained too loudly. But there were always the looks, the looks every Lepar had to live with. You dealt with them, as you dealt with the rest of existence.
This was a lovely place, he thought, the concept of beauty coming to him without struggle. And it was good to be able to go outside artificial walls. He preferred swimming to walking, no matter how many Hivistahm referred to it snidely as devolutionary.
He dove deeper, examining something crawling slowly across the sandy bottom. The first few days his tail had ached from lack of use, but now it was strong again.
They had heard the stories of the multiple languages and deformed geology of this world, but that did not mitigate its beauty for him. Of much more concern was the disappearance and possible destruction of the two survey remotes. Now crew had come to this place to try and find out what their machines had been unable to tell them.
Like everyone else, he was afraid of what might be out there. The Lepar were afraid much of the time. It was not an emotion so much as an endemic condition. They had come to this world, as they had gone to many other new worlds, in hopes of finding more help against the Amplitur. The Lepar feared the Amplitur far more than any of their allies, far more than the dark, lightless waters of their own world.
So they worked, kept working around the clock without complaint or objection or the quality of their work suffering, to help in their small way to defeat the Amplitur, who if not stopped would steal their selves. Smart the Lepar were not, but they were experts at enduring.
* * *
Chapter Seven
By the fifth day they were still on the floor of the lagoon, their craft now comfortably concealed by calcareous concretions. No native had come anywhere near. Viewed from above, the shuttle was merely an extension of the extensive reef system. The local marine life found it much to their liking.
The Wais made progress in language analysis. They had identified and isolated three additional languages, bringing the total to eighteen. By this time Caldaq and his companions had passed beyond linguistic amazement.
They had also decided they could progress no further without making one of two choices. They could raise the ship and move nearer an urbanized area.
Or they could acquire a specimen.
It was easy enough to choose the latter course. They needed to increase their store of knowledge about the inhabitants as rapidly as was feasible. Working with a live specimen instead of confusing visual recordings would aid them in doing so.
Examination of those recordings confirmed initial impressions: the dominant race was mammalian and bipedal, surprisingly varied in size and coloring. As yet researchers were unable to tell if the latter reflected biological structuring into distinct categories such as workers and drones, for example.
At least they were not utterly alien. The S’van and the Massood were mammalian bipeds. The Hivistahm, O’o’yan, and others were at least endothermic.
But each spoke one language. Given the astonishing multiplicity of languages on this world it was remarkable that the natives could communicate effectively with one another at all.
A S’van had spent some time with Pasüakilion, who had spoken of “geosociology.” To the best of Caldaq’s knowledge that was not a recognized discipline. The Turlog was struggling to find a way of describing the unique world they were studying.
They would try to isolate a healthy individual, a task which would require luck as much as care. If these people were as gregarious as the S’van, removal of an individual from its familiar social context could result in trauma or worse. Pity they weren’t like the Turlog, he mused. One Turlog cared not a whit if another of its kind lived nearer than a light-year away.
It would not matter if the specimen chosen was male or female. The biologists would want to examine both, but any isolated couple might prove to be a mated pair. In that case the attempt to acquire could conceivably arouse mutually protective instincts, something which would be interesting to observe but contrary to the greater object of trying to secure a specimen’s cooperation.
Four Massood would attempt the acquisition under cover of darkness, accompanied by a Wais to translate and a single Lepar to act as mechanic. The scientific staff protested at their exclusion, but not strongly. Memory of the disappearance of the remotes was still strong in everyone’s mind.
The small submersible was silent and efficient. It was also virtually unsinkable. This was a great comfort to the Massood, who were not good swimmers. The thou
ght of allowing Lepar to carry out the mission by themselves naturally occurred to no one.
It was decided to try to acquire a specimen from one of the native boats which occasionally passed close by the concealed shuttle. Infrequently, they actually entered the lagoon. The problem was that the smaller the craft, the more likely its crew was to notice the disappearance of someone in their midst.
It was decided first to try and find a vessel with three or fewer individuals aboard. To Caldaq the chances seemed slim. What fool would set him- or herself to sail a vast sea with so little companionship or assistance? But perhaps this close to land, in a small craft… It was worth a hopeful wait.
Days passed. A number of vessels entered and left the lagoon. All were crewed by a minimum of four beings. It was fascinating to observe their antics from the submersible instead of having to rely on recorded visual transmissions.
The natives wore little clothing, which made it easy to distinguish males from females. Their bodies were largely devoid of fur, an omission Caldaq and his fellow Massood found distasteful. In some ways the natives more nearly resembled the Lepar, though they had no tails and their skin was not slick. But they boasted similarly flat faces. Of course, so did the S’van.
There was no need to don heating packs since the temperature was quite warm even in the middle of the night. He lay prone atop the slightly curved surface of the submersible and studied the native vessel through a magnifier.
There were six of them, all gyrating beneath the oversized moon. Raucous modulations burst rhythmically from the vessel’s central cabin. Caldaq gazed in fascination at the muscular but crude dances they were performing, wondering at the origin of the ritual which gave rise to such exertions. Males and females changed pairings frequently.
It was all very impressive from a biosocial viewpoint. However, it did nothing to advance their aims.
They had much better luck the following night.
The vast lagoon was empty when the double-hulled craft entered and anchored, but what drew them to it initially was not its isolation so much as the music that began to emanate from it that first night. It but fitfully resembled the dissonant native sounds that had been previously recorded. The music emerged from the craft in irregular bursts and snatches that changed and shifted unpredictably. Barbaric and uncivilized, though somewhat less so than what they had heard before. Also, the volume fell within the tolerable range. The boat could be approached in safety.
Since there were no other native craft present in the lagoon at the time, it was decided that a preliminary inspection might be efficacious.
Visual scan showed an empty deck. The sail typically employed to propel native craft was fully reefed, and it was secured to the lagoon bottom. Artificial illumination brightened the large central cabin.
Caldaq had Denlaca execute a tightening spiral around the craft. The deck remained empty, a hopeful sign suggesting a small crew at most. Nor were the internal lights regularly occluded by the movement of people within. Their pickups continued to record music. The sequence of harmonic variations was unlike anything previously noted in native transmissions. It was as if those on board knew what they wanted to hear, but not how. Caldaq was anxious to have a look at the inhabitants. Anxious enough to discuss the situation with his fellow Massood.
“This is the first time in several time periods the lagoon has been occupied by only a single native craft. It presents us with an excellent opportunity, but first we must ascertain how many natives are on board.”
“If we wait until they show themselves, other craft may arrive and communicate with this one, thereby destroying its useful isolation, given that the natives often appear only in daytime, that is a real risk. As we cannot observe during the day because our submersible would be easily visible in this water, I propose to board the alien craft now, in hopes of securing a count without exposing ourselves.”
One of the soldiers proposed an alternative. “The Lepar can swim close to the craft.”
Caldaq’s nose twitched. “The ports are too high. He would not be able to see inside.”
There were no other suggestions. Caldaq took upon himself the distasteful task of being the first to make the short swim from the submersible to the native vessel. Dropahc volunteered to accompany him.
The natives tended to be at their most inert in the dark hours just prior to sunrise. The Massood waited on board the submersible, discussing alternatives that ranged from the benign to the disastrous.
Then it was time to proceed.
Caldaq and Dropahc removed their clothing. Each donned an expendable service belt that contained emergency supplies, communicator, translator pack including the new program for the dominant local language, and small sidearm. The latter was not for confronting natives. Large carnivores had often been observed feeding in the waters around the shuttle.
Once outside the submersible, both Massood slipped into the warm water. Swimming was an unnatural activity. The Hivistahm and O’o’yan could not do it at all. Caldaq’s lips drew back at the uncomfortable sensation. The native craft lay close by, motionless in the protected waters of the lagoon.
Muscles protested painfully but the distance involved was very short. Both soldiers soon found themselves clinging to the stern of one of the twin hulls, each of which had been fitted with horizontal slots to form a ladder. The vessel itself was of an interesting but not remarkable design, principles of primitive waterborne transportation being relatively universal.
Dropahc insisted on going up first. Water pouring off his fur, he turned to whisper back down to his captain.
“The back end is open and I can see into the central cabin. Nothing moves there. The music comes from the other hull.”
Fancying large meat-eaters swimming through the darkness beneath them, Caldaq hastened to join his companion on the deck.
Between the two hulls lay a large, raised cabin. Behind it was an open compartment dominated by a wheel-like device and some simple instrumentation. Caldaq advanced until he was able to step down behind the wheel and peer into the cabin.
The interior was well lit. An unseen device hummed softly, doubtless the machine which provided the craft with power. The door to the cabin was open, allowing the music emanating from within to assail his ears unobstructed. It was not as painful as he’d feared, but it was far from pleasant.
Inside he saw another wheel and more instrumentation, along with furniture and decorations whose functions he could only guess at. Keeping low, he turned to his companion.
“Come close. There is no one here. Only the music.”
Dropahc stepped down to join his captain. His ears lay flat against his head and his lips were drawn back, exposing his teeth. Whiskers quivered.
“The noise hurts my head.”
“Mine as well, yet it is easier to bear than similar sounds we have recorded previously.” He hesitated, then gestured at the open doorway. “We have to look inside.”
“Exercise caution, Captain.”
Caldaq turned in the opening. “We know what they look like. They are not physically imposing.”
“Many toxic creatures have innocuous appearances,” Dropahc pointed out.
“I will be careful.” Caldaq bent and entered the cabin.
The low ceiling required him to bend slightly at the waist. His nose twitched at the end of his snout. The room was ripe with alien scent, strong and strangely sweetish. There were openings on both sides, leading down into the twin hulls. He turned toward the one from which the music came.
Bending double, he looked warily to his left, then his right. At the far end of the long narrow chamber he saw the native. It was seated, its naked arms and hands working with multiple devices. The music emanated from twin boxes fastened to opposite walls. Its back was to the doorway and it was oblivious to Caldaq’s presence.
Personal observation confirmed what they had learned from their study of native visual transmissions. They had five bare digits on each hand, one more than
the Massood, two less than the O’o’yan, the same as the Hivistahm. Otherwise they resembled the Hivistahm not at all. Their skin was almost entirely hairless, soft-looking and fleshy, not hard-scaled like that of his best technicians.
Up close the discordant sounds were almost more than Caldaq could bear. How the native stood them he could not imagine. It must possess hearing organs of remarkable tolerance, he decided.
He retreated to the central cabin for relief. Dropahc emerged from the opening that led to the other hull.
“Deserted,” he murmured softly.
“I have found only one,” Caldaq replied. The painful chords lingering in the air served to mitigate his enthusiasm. A particularly dissonant eruption made Dropahc wince.
“How can anything sentient stand such sounds? No wonder it is alone.”
“It has kept its back to the opening, so I cannot tell the sex. Tell the others to come aboard, and bring the translator.”
Dropahc eyed him questioningly. “Is that necessary, Captain? Surely the two of us…”
“I do not take chances with the unknown. I want everyone present.”
Still Dropahc hesitated. “What if the Wais will not come? It cannot swim.”
“The others can carry it through the water. We may need its services. Vatoloi can help.”
Dropahc indicated acknowledgment and turned to go, hesitating in the doorway. “Who will watch the submersible?”
“Vatoloi.” In response to Dropahc’s questioning look he added, “The Lepar does not have to operate anything; just stay with it.”
Dropahc’s nose twitched and he vanished silently into the night. Caldaq did not even hear him slip back into the water.
He returned to the opening and gingerly peered back inside. The native was still sitting before its devices, generating sounds no sane being in a civilized setting would have tolerated for more than a moment. Caldaq flattened his ears, hoping Dropahc and the others would be quick.
A Call to Arms Page 9