by John Norman
“Why not?” asked Rodriguez.
“It is terrible!” said Brenner.
“It is all in the interest of science,” said Rodriguez.
“You should not have done it,” said Brenner, angrily.
“It is not like removing the clothing of a free female of our own species,” said Rodriguez.
“That is not the point,” said Brenner.
“And even there,” said Rodriguez, “once they understand there are no two ways about it, and feel the lash once or twice, they are quick enough to comply.”
“I see,” said Brenner.
“No longer then do they waste your time.”
“I do not wish to hear this,” said Brenner.
“Surely scientists of other species have seldom hesitated to subject members of our species to such examinations.”
“That is irrelevant,” said Brenner.
“It makes the point about the interests of science,” said Rodriguez. It was true, of course, that the members of Rodriguez and Brenner’s species, as being life forms, were of interest, along with other sorts of species, to various forms of scientist. Members of Rodriguez’ and Brenner’s species, as we have indicated earlier, were usually held in low esteem, and often actually in contempt, throughout the galaxy. There were many reasons for this, which it would be tedious to recount. They were occasionally removed from vessels for purposes of study. On some worlds they were kept as pets. It was not unusual, either, to find them in zoological gardens.
“What did you find?” asked Brenner.
“Minimalistic, but distinctive, sexual differentiation,” said Rodriguez.
“Interesting,” said Brenner.
“It seems almost of a vestigial nature,” said Rodriguez.
“Interesting,” said Brenner.
“You have not noted any difference on the part of the females toward you lately?”
“In maintained distances, or something?” said Brenner.
“In anything,” said Rodriguez.
“No,” said Brenner.
“I am probably mistaken,” said Rodriguez.
Rodriguez and Brenner were now at some distance from the palisade.
Brenner noted that Rodriguez had with him the Naxian rifle, disguised as an optical instrument. That made sense, of course, as they were now in the forest.
“Why are you turning about?” asked Brenner. “I thought we were going southwest?”
“We are going to the northeast,” said Rodriguez.
“To see some pretty rocks?” asked Brenner. He seemed to recall that that was what Rodriguez had wanted to show him.
“Don’t be silly,” said Rodriguez.
“What is it then?” asked Brenner.
“You will see,” said Rodriguez.
Brenner brushed aside a low-hanging lantern fruit.
“Is it far?” asked Brenner.
“No,” said Rodriguez.
“It could have been reached much more easily from the village,” said Brenner.
“Of course,” said Rodriguez.
“I do not like keeping things from the Pons,” said Brenner.
“I have no objection to doing so,” said Rodriguez.
“This is not the way to win their trust.”
“Do not concern yourself,” said Rodriguez. “They are no more capable of trust than a git.”
“I do not believe that,” said Brenner.
“They are sly, sneaky, secretive little bastards,” said Rodriguez.
“No,” said Brenner. “They are simple, innocent, loving, and childlike.”
“And they are thieves,” said Rodriguez.
“But only like children,” said Brenner.
“Or gits,” said Rodriguez.
“If we are going to go this way, we should let them know,” said Brenner.
“Nonsense,” said Rodriguez.
“I do not think this is in the best interests of the study.”
“That may be better judged later,” said Rodriguez.
They continued on their way. Some minutes later, they were northeast of the village.
“What is it you are looking for?” asked Brenner. “There,” said Rodriguez, stopping, pointing. “There it is. I must have passed it a dozen times in the past weeks and not noticed it.”
“Where? What?” asked Brenner.
“There,” said Rodriguez.
“That?” asked Brenner.
“Yes,” said Rodriguez.
“What is its meaning?” asked Brenner.
“I don’t know,” said Rodriguez.
“How far does it go?”
“I don’t know,” said Rodriguez.
“You intend to follow it?”
“Certainly,” said Rodriguez.
“How did you find it?” asked Brenner.
“It became clear to me almost from the first that the Pons did not want me to explore in this direction. Accordingly, I determined to find out why. Again and again I returned to this area, usually, as today, by a circuitous route. I only located this yesterday.”
“What do you make of it?” asked Brenner.
“Be careful of it,” said Rodriguez.
“What do you make of it?” asked Brenner.
“It marks some sort of trail,” said Rodriguez. “I am sure of it.”
“I don’t want to be out of the village after dark,” said Brenner.
“Nor do I,” said Rodriguez. “I am not insane.”
“What do you want to do?” asked Brenner.
“We will return to the village, approaching it from the southwest. In the morning we will return, again by a circuitous route.”
“I have one amendation,” said Brenner.
“What is that?” asked Rodriguez.
“We will do this openly. We will not betray the trust of the Pons. I seriously think that an attempt to deceive them in this matter might doom the study. One of them might see. Everything might be ruined.”
“I am going to follow it,” said Rodriguez. “I will do it with you or without you.”
“And with or without the approval of the Pons?”
“Yes,” said Rodriguez.
“Regardless of their wishes, their attitudes, or feelings?”
“Certainly,” said Rodriguez.
“You think this is important?”
“Yes.”
“I will come with you,” said Brenner.
Rodriguez nodded.
“But we must do this openly.”
“As you wish,” said Rodriguez.
“It is almost as though it were not there,” said Brenner.
“It is there,” said Rodriguez.
“It is hard to see,” said Brenner.
“Do not break it,” warned Rodriguez.
Brenner fingered the string, stretched between the trees. It was not easy to see, but it was there, the string.
The Pon who had followed them returned first to the village. Rodriguez did not notice the small prints of its feet on their backtrail.
Chapter 20
“Perhaps it is here that they celebrate the Festival of the Harvesting of Seed,” said Brenner.
“It is far from the fields,” said Rodriguez.
“They might celebrate it here,” said Brenner.
“It would be more likely, I would think, to do it in the village, or near the village,” said Rodriguez. “Perhaps it is done in the temple.”
“Why not here?” asked Brenner, putting out his hand, to the surface of the platform.
“This place does not look used,” said Rodriguez. “It could be dangerous here, too, this far from the palisade. There have been beasts about. Look there. There are claw marks on the surface of the platform.”
Brenner was not pleased with what he saw. Some of the furrows on the platform were better than a half inch deep. Similar furrows defaced a nearby post.
“Surely this place must have some purpose,” said Brenner.
“Or once had,” said Rodriguez. “Look at the a
ge of these timbers, the weathering of them.”
“You do not think anything occurs here now?”
“No,” said Rodriguez. “This place is deserted, forgotten. The Pons may not even know it is here.”
“It may belong to their history,” said Brenner.
“Possibly,” said Rodriguez.
“The string led here,” said Brenner.
“That is true,” said Rodriguez.
“And surely that is not as old as the platform.”
“That is true,” said Rodriguez. “But it could be kept up as a matter of tradition, that the string be there, that it lead here, perhaps for no reason even remembered now.”
“Such things are not unknown amongst primitive peoples,” said Brenner.
“Nor even amongst others,” said Rodriguez.
Rodriguez and Brenner had followed the string, that gray, frail, worn, dried strand, strung between trees, to a sort of hemispheric amphitheater, floored with flat stones, carefully fitted together, at one end of which was which was a low, broad, sturdy platform. This platform was apparently very old, and it was surely muchly worn and weathered. Here and there traces of paint were detectable on its surface, these suggesting it had once been the object of careful decoration.
“Why is the platform not of stone, like the amphitheater?” said Brenner.
“I don’t know,” said Rodriguez.
“Those claw marks are frightening,” said Brenner.
“Yes,” said Rodriguez.
“This place seems eerie,” said Brenner, “with the cliffs behind the platform.”
“We might be able to see the village from the cliffs,” said Rodriguez.
“You were wrong about one thing,” said Brenner.
“What is that?” asked Rodriguez.
“We set off quite openly in this direction this morning,” said Brenner, “and no one attempted to dissuade us.”
“I assure you they were clear in their attempts to deter me in the past,” said Rodriguez.
“You were surprised then this morning?”
“Yes,” said Rodriguez.
“There was no interference.”
“No,” said Rodriguez.
“Nor even, if I am not mistaken, any sign of particular interest.”
“No,” said Rodriguez.
“You were then mistaken about things before.”
“I do not think so,” said Rodriguez.
“What is the difference then?” asked Brenner.
“I do not know,” said Rodriguez.
“Perhaps they wanted us out of the village, so they could celebrate the Festival of the Harvesting of Seed,” mused Brenner.
“No,” said Rodriguez. “That much I know.”
“How so?” asked Brenner.
“It was apparently celebrated some days ago,” said Rodriguez.
“I did not know that,” said Brenner.
“They are sneaky little bastards,” said Rodriguez.
“It would not be surprising if the rituals, having to do with things of importance to their very survival, the harvesting of seed, and such, were secret. They might fear the presence of strangers might profane their mysteries, or impair their efficacy. Such fears are common with simple peoples.”
“There does not seem to be much here,” said Rodriguez. His voice, as he spoke toward the cliffs, had an extra ring.
“Rodriguez,” said Brenner.
“What?” asked Rodriguez.
“I have an idea, said Brenner.
“What?” asked Rodriguez.
“The Pons did not wish you to explore to the northeast?”
“No,” said Rodriguez. “But I did so often enough. I merely took a different route, and then circled about. They are stupid.”
“They did not object today.”
“No,” said Rodriguez.
“Why not?” asked Brenner.
“I do not know,” said Rodriguez.
“What was the difference?” asked Brenner.
“I do not know,” said Rodriguez.
“I am the difference,” said Brenner.
“I do not understand,” said Rodriguez.
“Don’t you see?” said Brenner, delightedly.
“No,” said Rodriguez.
“They trust me.”
“I don’t understand,” said Rodriguez, slowly.
“We are successful,” said Brenner. “My efforts, my attention, my kindness, the simple decency of my intentions, my interest in them, my concern for their well-being, my solicitude for their happiness, my desire to be of service to them, to help them, to care for them, have been recognized, and appreciated, and accepted.”
“What are you saying?” asked Rodriguez.
“I think they like me,” said Brenner.
“Do not be sure of it,” said Rodriguez. “They may not be capable of liking anything.”
“I have, if I am not mistaken,” said Brenner, “earned their respect and trust.”
“Do not count on it,” said Rodriguez.
“I think this is a day for which I have long striven,” said Brenner. “I think I am important to them. I think they will listen to me. I think that I have at last won their confidence!”
“That, if true, may be useful in our inquiries,” said Rodriguez.
“It goes far beyond that,” said Brenner, angrily. “It is a victory of trust, of emotion, of civilization.”
“I think I will climb these cliffs,” said Rodriguez, looking up to the steepnesses behind the platform.
“Don’t you understand?” asked Brenner. “I may be able to help them.”
“They can’t understand the concept of “three,”” said Rodriguez.
“Why do you hate them?” asked Brenner.
“They are monkeys,” said Rodriguez.
“You said they were at the “beginning”!”
“That is what makes them important, not lovable,” said Rodriguez.
“There is more to them than you understand,” said Brenner.
“You do not even know what they are,” said Rodriguez.
“I do not understand,” said Brenner.
“You are romanticizing them,” said Rodriguez. “You are reading your own mentality, and interests, and such, into them. You are committing the anthropomorphic fallacy.”
“They are on the brink of civilization,” said Brenner.
“They are subrational.”
“We can help them!”
“Do not interfere with them,” said Rodriguez. “You are here to study them, not change them.”
“You are cruel,” said Brenner.
“You do not even know what they are,” said Rodriguez.
“I understand them, and you do not,” said Brenner.
“You could as easily understand a git,” said Rodriguez.
“And you are good for only Heimat and weed!” cried Brenner.
“There is a sort of path, or trail, here,” said Rodriguez.
“I am sorry, Rodriguez,” said Brenner.
“I wish I did have some Heimat and weed,” said Rodriguez.
“They are totemistic,” said Brenner.
“And so are thousands of other life forms, far more advanced,” said Rodriguez.
Brenner leaped lightly to the surface of the platform. Its surface, here and there, was deeply, widely scarred, apparently from having been torn at with claws. He stood there for a moment, in something like awe. He had not appreciated the full extent or depth of these things before, as they had not been so evident from his former angle of vision.
“Come along,” invited Rodriguez.
“Have you seen the markings on the platform?” asked Brenner.
“Yes,” said Rodriguez.
“From up here?”
“Yes,” said Rodriguez.
“What could make such marks?” asked Brenner.
“I know something that could,” said Rodriguez. “But it is impossible.”
“Do you hear something?” asked Brenne
r.
“No,” said Rodriguez. “Come along.”
Brenner scrambled up a yard or so behind Rodriguez.
“Do not put your hand anywhere you cannot see,” said Rodriguez.
Brenner knew enough not to do that. On ledges, sunning themselves, soaking up the sunlight, even now, in the late fall, there might be various snakes, some of them poisonous. There was the possibility of unpleasant arachnids, as well, tarantulas, in particular, occasional scorpions, and such.
“I hear something,” said Brenner.
“I am now sure of it,” said Rodriguez.
“You hear it?” asked Brenner.
“Consider the height,” said Rodriguez.
“What?” asked Brenner.
“That we will be able to see the village from the top,” said Rodriguez. “It is almost certain that these are the cliffs which are visible from the village.”
The path up the cliff, while it was rather steep, was not precipitous. Indeed, here and there there was the clear sign of a carved step. Something, at one time, at any rate, doubtless in the distant past, had used that path.
“Ah!” said Rodriguez, hoisting himself to the height of the cliff.
“I hear it quite clearly now,” said Brenner, stopping on the ascent, looking about.
“Come up,” said Rodriguez.
In a moment Brenner had attained the level and was beside Rodriguez.
“There is the village,” said Rodriguez, pointing.
“Yes,” said Brenner uneasily. He could see the palisade, and the village within, tiny, thatched, with smoke from cooking fires ascending into the sky, located in the center of a large, environing clearing.
“What is wrong?” asked Rodriguez.
“Surely you can hear it now?” said Brenner.
“You have excellent hearing,” said Rodriguez.
“Listen,” said Brenner.
Yes!” said Rodriguez.
The sound was faint, but it was clear now. It was a bit difficult to interpret, of course. Something in it sounded like a pack, except that there was no baying, no barking. There were, in it, the sounds of more than one organism. One thing was clear. They were not silent runners, one of the forms of life in the forest, humped, crested quadrupeds which, in groups of five to ten, were wont to pursue a quarry in deadly silence, if necessary, for hours at a time.
“It is Pons,” said Brenner.
“Yes,” said Rodriguez.
There was no mistaking the sounds of Pons, that particular vocal timber, that special quality of sound produced by their tiny throats, but these noises, though doubtless of Pons, seemed somehow anomalous emanating from such small, gentle creatures. These sounds seemed unusually shrill, angry, hysterical, even vengeful.