Phylogenesis

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  Huudra indicated his irritation. He ranked Keekil, but not by enough to intimidate the other noble. "Then what are we to do?"

  "Have patience, I am told. The most convinced human iss one that hass convinced itsself. Wait for them to entreat _uss._ When that happenss, it will make for a sstronger alliance be­tween uss, as well as one in which we remain the dominant component." The baron sipped at his refreshment. "There iss only one problem: otherss who have the ssame hope."

  "The benighted, dirt-loving insectiles." Huudra added a general curse notable for its grace of understatement.

  "Truth. They have had only the most modesst ssuccess thuss far in overcoming the humanss' natural antipathy toward them. For that matter, a great many thranx find the appear­ance, habitss, and activitiess of humanss detestable. Thiss mutual abhorrence iss of coursse greatly to our benefit."

  "Then nothing hass changed." Huudra prepared to depart. The administration of his own fief awaited, and decisions waited on no AAnn.

  "That iss not entirely true, honored friend, if certain re-portss are to be believed."

  Huudra hesitated. "What reportss? I have heard nothing to indicate that the relationsship between human and thranx hass changed. Certainly not for the better."

  Keekil gestured apology mixed with slyness. "Perhapss that iss becausse my ssources are more penetrating than yourss." He was unable to resist the dig.

  Huundra scowled. "I will grant you the ssmall triumph of esspionage-if you have ssomething worth hearing."

  "There iss ssomething very ssecret afoot. Information sspeakss to a great rissk the thranx are taking, in concert with a few sselect human alliess."

  The lord of the Southern Fief spat his disbelief. "The thranx do not gamble. They are cautiouss, calculating, and predictable. They do not take 'risskss,' esspecially on matterss of ssuch importance."

  Keekil refused to be put off. "Nevertheless, the report iss there, for any who care to read it. It claimss that the inssectiless have embarked on a rissky coursse of action that, if ssuccessful, would greatly accelerate the improvement of their relationss with the humanss."

  Huudra's instinctive inclination led him to shrug off this outrageous claim. The thranx did not gamble, and any at­tempt to rush humans into a decision, as experience had al­ready shown, usually had the opposite effect. The insectiles knew this as well as the AAnn, and whatever else the eight-limbed might be, they were not stupid.

  "I would deign to perusse ssuch a report," he replied ab­sently, thus presenting a formal request to see the analysis in question. "I do not dissmiss it out of hand. I ssimply find it difficult to countenance."

  "As do I." Finishing the last of his drink, Keekil held the utensil high over his head. A cleaner swooped down to pluck it painlessly from his fingers. "Yet to ignore it sshould the information it containss mature to fruition could prove perilouss."

  It was a diplomatic way of saying that their titles, not to mention their tails, might be at stake. Buried as he was in ad­ministrative work, Huudra knew he could not ignore any re­port that commented upon human-thranx relations, no matter how seemingly ludicrous. Not when he and Keekil had been charged with keeping the emperor's council informed of the matter. He hissed soft resignation.

  "I will read it through, of coursse. Tell me, honored col­league: Sshould the leasst of it prove to have a basiss in fact, iss there anything we can do about it?" The thought of frus­trating the aims of the pedantic but indomitable thranx raised his spirits.

  Keekil blinked slyly. "Jusst possibly, honored associate. Jusst possibly. The thranx are not the only sspeciess capable of ssubtle interference in the affairss of other sspeciess of ssig-nificance. It iss amazing how with a little imagination and careful planning, one ssecret can be turned againsst another."

  Caucusing quietly, they exited the room as the rest of the assembly trickled out behind them. The more Huudra heard of Keekil's intentions, the greater his professional admiration for his colleague. In the shifting sands where cunning slith­ered, none traveled more subtlely than the AAnn.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cheelo knew he probably should have seen the anaconda. What such a big snake was doing in so small a stream he could not imagine, but the serpent's motivation was not im­portant. What mattered was that it was there, that it had beenaroused by their passage, and that it struck.

  Not him, but his unwary companion.

  When the snake hit, the thranx emitted a loud, startled stridulation, the wing cases on its back vibrating like

  cellos. The blunt, reptilian head grabbed a middle leg, biting down hard, the small, sharp teeth gaining an immediate purchase without completely penetrating the chitin. Coil after coil emerged from beneath the cola-colored, tannin-stained wa­ter to wrap around the thranx's rear legs and abdomen. It struggled, antennae and upper limbs flailing wildly, but it could no more break that steel-cable grasp than its vestigial wings could carry it aloft.

  The mass of writhing alien limbs and constrictor coils went down in a heap. A loud, distinct crack split the humid, still air and the alien screamed a sharp, high-pitched whistle. Cheelo stood off to one side, wary and watching.

  Doesn't look like a very superior body now, he found him­self thinking.

  The alien was going to die. That much was clear. Whether the anaconda was capable of swallowing it was another mat­ter, but it would quickly suffocate the thranx no matter how many lungs it had. The huge constrictor would continue to tighten its grip until its prey could no longer exhale. Cheelo wondered if the brilliant compound eyes would dim in death.

  "Do something!" the alien was gasping. "Get it ... off. Help me!"

  Did he want to do that? Montoya mused. He had lived a long time without knowledge of or the company of aliens of any kind. He could certainly continue to exist in that same fashion. If he got too close, the snake might decide to for­sake its present cumbersome, hard-shelled prey for some­thing softer and more familiar. Why take the chance? He owed this garrulous representative of a race from a distant world absolutely nothing. _It_ had intruded on _his_ privacy, and he had graciously consented to allow it to accompany him. That did not imply in any way that he took any kind of re­sponsibility for it. Besides, he had an appointment to keep.

  If they happened to stumble across its indigestible, ex­truded remains, no searchers, human or thranx, could con­nect Cheelo Montoya to the fatality. More likely than not, the bug's own people would come to the conclusion that their wayward associate had received exactly what he deserved for wandering off on his own. Its death meant nothing to Cheelo, meant less to him than the passing of a bird or monkey. Be­sides, if their situation was reversed, there was no reason to assume that the alien would do anything for him.

  "Ah, _shit,"_ he muttered as he reached into his pocket holster for the compact pistol.

  Edging closer to the combatants, one of whom was tiring rapidly, he tried to draw a bead on the snake's blunt, shovel-shaped skull. Initially impossible, it became easier to aim as the thranx's struggles steadily weakened. Sensing the immi­nence of its prey's demise, the serpent began to relax. Though he wasn't sure he had a clean shot, Cheelo's finger tightened on the trigger. It wouldn't do any good to wait until the snake stopped moving completely, because by then the thranx would be dead.

  When the full charge struck, the constrictor's head jerked sharply. The tiny anacondan eyes made it hard to tell how ef­fective the shot had been. Risking contact, Cheelo put the pistol as close to the snake's skull as he could and fired a second time. This time the resultant spasmodic twitch was purely reflexive.

  Pocketing his weapon, he began struggling with the weighty mass. It took more than a few minutes to unwind several hun­dred pounds of solid, limp serpent from the thranx's body. "How're you doing?" he queried the alien. "Talk to me, bug. Let me know I'm not wasting my time here."

  "You're not." The Terranglo was more heavily accented than usual as the injured thranx strained to mouth the hu-manoid phrases. "I am alive, but I'
m afraid that one of my legs is broken."

  "Ay, I heard it snap." With a grunt, Cheelo heaved a center length of snake aside. "You hurting?"

  "Of course I am hurting!" Freed from the imprisoning coils, a shaken Desvendapur turned to look back at the hu­man who had saved him. "Do you think I'm made of metal?"

  "No, I think you're made of crab shell and bug guts. Par­don me for asking."

  Aware that his artless declaration of fact might have been misinterpreted by his savior, a grateful Desvendapur has­tened to soothe any misconceptions. "I meant no scorn. It is just that I would think it obvious to anyone that a broken leg would be found to be painful."

  "I don't know bullcrap about your internal makeup, or how your nervous system works." Under Cheelo's strong fingers, a last span of solid muscle sloughed away from the thranx's upper abdomen.

  "Then listen and learn: We feel pain as surely as do you."

  "But not in the same places, or to the same degree." Kneel­ing, Cheelo examined the section of leg where the anaconda's jaws remained locked, even in death, on the chitin of one foreleg. "If you did, this would have you screaming in pain." He glanced up, meeting compound eyes, and with both hands wrenched sharply on the snake's neck. "That hurt?"

  "Only slightly. Few nerves run through our outer covering. We are not as tactilely sensitive as you."

  "I'm not sure if that's a good thing or bad. In this case, though, it's for sure good. Stay there."

  With a truhand and a foothand Desvendapur gestured down at himself. "I have a broken leg. Where would I go?"

  "Beats me. A while ago you were boasting about hav­ing four or six legs as opposed to my lousy, inadequate two and how much better the arrangement was for getting you around."

  Sliding his pack off his back he searched inside until he found the multitool. Returning to the alien's side, he deployed a pliers configuration to remove the great constrictor's teeth, one by one, from the thranx's foreleg. Only when the last tooth had been forcibly extracted did the dead snake's head fi­nally slide away from its would-be prey.

  Though he was ready to apply disinfectant and appropriate follow-ups, Cheelo saw that the wound was beyond his simple knowledge of first aid. The chitin was bleeding profusely. A double line of small holes showed where the snake's teeth had sought and found a grip.

  "Can we do anything with this?" he asked curiously.

  "With time and the proper dietary supplements, yes." Look­ing back and down, Desvendapur examined the wounds. "Though they testify to impressive jaw strength, the punc­tures are fortunately not too deep."

  "What about applying a sterile covering or spray?"

  "The necessary materials for sealing the wounds are in my pack. Once treated, the internal perforations will heal on their own." His abdomen shifted. "The break is another matter."

  Cheelo sighed. Why he didn't just offer a final salute and farewell and return to the solitary depths of the rain forest on his own he didn't know. Perhaps it was because it was begin­ning to occur to him that there might, just might, be a way to realize some profit from his unexpected encounter. Experi­ence had taught him that there was always money to be made from the new and the different, and if the alien wasn't new and different, why then, nothing qualified.

  "Let's have a look."

  It was the lower portion of the middle right limb that had been snapped. Blood poured from the split more freely than it would have from any human. Under Desvendapur's direction, Cheelo applied sealants and dressings from the thranx's kit to freeze and close the wound, binding it shut with a pastelike composite that would set the fracture firmly. Derived from a synthetic chitin, it would become as much a part of the alien's body as his natural limbs.

  It did not set instantaneously, however. They would need to move slowly for several days. Additionally, the broken limb required supplementary support. Demonstrating a dexterity that surprised the poet, Cheelo fashioned a makeshift double splint from available wood, securing it to the mended limb with multiple twists of tough vine.

  "That should do you." He stepped back to admire his handiwork.

  "It will suffice very well," the thranx agreed. "But then, it's only natural that someone who spends his time working alone in vast tracts of jungle should have mastered such necessary survival skills."

  "That's right." Cheelo did not go on to explain that the jungle whose survival skills he had mastered consisted of dark streets and back alleys, shadowy business enterprises and their glowering associates. On reflection, it was not sur­prising how many of the abilities that allowed someone like himself to survive the threats and dangers of the urban jungle were applicable to survival in the natural world as well.

  In lieu of a suitable couch, Desvendapur settled himself across a broken stump padded with thriving fungi, resting as much of his abdomen as possible on the wooden brace. "Now that immediate problems have been dealt with, I was won­dering if you could answer a question or two for me?" His human companion was not surprised to see that the alien's scri!ber was out and activated.

  More in an endless succession of queries about human­kind, Cheelo grumbled silently. For someone who had de­veloped a healthy dislike of questions, he found himself answering an awful lot of them lately.

  "Okay, as long as we don't waste the rest of the day playing Who's Got the Answer. I'm working on a schedule. What do you want to know this time? How our 'hives' are organized? What our hobbies are? Why we keep other animals as pets? Details of our mating habits?" His face broke into a wide smirk. "Ay, yeah?let's talk about mating habits. Only this time, for every one of your questions I answer, I get to ask one of my own."

  "For the moment I would prefer not to delve into matters so intimate, though in a way my first question might be consid­ered even more personal." The thranx was staring at him. Leastwise, Cheelo thought it was staring at him. Given the amorphousness of those multiple compound lenses, it was hard to tell.

  "Like what, for instance?" The human was still grinning. It pleased him to think that his directness might have unsettled the alien.

  "Like, for instance, why have you been lying to me?"

  Cheelo tensed. There was no reason for him to do so, not with the only other intelligent creature for kilometers around an alien-and one that was reduced to hobbling on a busted wheel to boot. His reaction was pure reflex.

  "Lying to you- _Who's_ been lying to you? Not me. What makes you say that?" He was watching the insectoid closely. "What are you-telepathic or something?"

  "I am nothing of the kind. There is no such thing as telepathy. At least, its existence has not yet been formally verified. I don't need to be able to read your mind, Cheelo-person, to know that you have been lying."

  "You've got some nerve, bug. I save your life and fix up your leg real good, and the first thing you can think of to say to me afterward isn't 'Thank you very much, man, for saving my life,' it's 'Why have you been lying to me?' "

  "Thranx are very forthright-and you are being deliber­ately evasive."

  Cheelo shrugged diffidently. "1 got nothing to hide. So if I'm lying, give me an example. Catch me out with one." Sneering, he leaned forward and made beckoning motions with both hands. "Come on, big-eyes. Hand me back one of my own lies."

  "Very well. You are not a naturalist."

  Cheelo looked up sharply. Why was he wasting his time on this nonsense? "You're new to this planet, I'm the first native you've spent any time with, and already you can tell when a human is telling the truth or not? Sorry, but I don't think you're that smart."

  "It is merely a matter of analyzing causal observations made during the time we have spent together." Desvendapur was neither intimidated nor angered by the human's attitude. "We have shared each other's company for a number of days now. In all that time I have not seen you perform a single act of scrutiny that might justify your presumed appellation. You have examined nothing, identified nothing, collected noth­ing. You have utterly ignored the 'natural' world around you except when it thre
atened to impede your progress or compli­cate your movements.

  "While I am willing, indeed am forced, to assume the exis­tence of significant differences in our cultures, science is not nearly so variable. Body shape, size, and perceptive abilities may vary, but certain things remain constant throughout the galaxy.

  "One is that all science is based on observation. In the time I have spent in your company, you have made none. Not one. Nor have you taken notes, or made visual recordings, or done anything else to indicate that you are in the profession of gathering and analyzing information."

  "See these? These are my cameras!" Using forked fingers, Cheelo indicated his eyes. "And these are my scri!bers-my recorders." He pointed to his ears. "I've got a good memory, and I remember everything I see."

  Desvendapur gestured comprehension, then remembered to follow it with a head nod so that the human would under­stand. "Do you? Yesterday a flock of most interesting avians flew past overhead, visible through a fortuitous gap in the forest canopy. Both of us remarked on their appearance. Can you tell me what color they were?"

  Cheelo fought to remember. "Blue!" he announced finally. "They were bright blue, with touches of yellow." He smirked triumphantly at the multilimbed alien. "How's that for an example of a naturalist's memory at work?"

  "More than sufficient to diminish his standing, if he were thranx. They were green, not blue, and their beaks were red."

  "Not true!" Cheelo objected strenuously. "Blue with yel­low, and you can't prove otherwise!"

  "But I can." Holding out his scri!ber, Desvendapur gestured with the instrument. "I do not only record my com­positions; where possible I also record their sources of inspi­ration. Would you like to see the flock in question? I can play it back for you, together with my notes for the stanzas I com­posed to accompany the flight."

  Caught. Cheelo snarled at the compact alien instrument. "Okay, so I _can't_ remember everything. So what? That proves nothing."

  "It proves that you are either the most extraordinary naturalist of your species, or the most indifferent. Any thranx claiming to hold such a position would carry instruments de­signed to take measurements, carry out analyses, and make records. I have not seen you utilize a single such device." A truhand indicated the human's pack. "Show them to me. Show me one. Now."