Phylogenesis

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  Yet again, Cheelo found himself wondering why he was tolerating this aggravating alien's company. Use the pistol, dump the body in the river, and be done with it, he thought. Still, he could not escape the feeling that there was money to be made here, and that the quantity would be greatly aug­mented if the subject of potential recompense was preserved in an animate as opposed to a defunct condition.

  Besides, what was the thranx going to do? Report him to the nearest branch of the Global Association for the Advance­ment of Science? If he and his absent multilimbed compan­ions were carrying out their observations under the umbrella of a special scientific dispensation, he could hardly go shoot­ing off his mandibles about the status of a human who claimed to be doing essentially the same thing.

  "Well, hoorah for you. You've found me out. So what? It means nothing."

  "On the contrary, it means a great deal." The thranx was staring at him now, Cheelo was sure of it. "It means that if you are not a naturalist, as you have claimed, then you are some­thing else." Painfully, using foot and truhand, he manually repositioned his injured leg.

  "The question then becomes, What are you?"

  Chapter Eighteen

  Electric with the realization that the colony was in the fore­front of developing human-thranx relations, the terrestrial hive was an exhilarating place to work. The knowledge that it was also illicit, an operation whose very existence was un­known to all but a few enlightened members of the human government and scientific establishment, only added to the excitement. Rising to work every shift, one never knew when the operation might be discovered. Having been as thor­oughly briefed on humankind and its peculiarities and dis­tinctive foibles as was possible before their journey to the colony, every assigned thranx had been made fully aware of the inherent irrationality built into each individual human. If anything went wrong and they were subject to unforeseen ex­posure, there was no telling how the great mass of seeth­ing humanity might react to the presence of an unauthorized alien colony in its midst. Consequently, even as they went about their commonplace, everyday tasks, the colonists had to be ever vigilant and prepared for anything.

  As weeks and months passed without discovery, a modest sense of security invariably settled over the colony. If even the apprehensive rogue humans who had cooperated and con­spired in the secret establishment of the hive could relax, then certainly their thranx associates could do no less.

  So it was that Jhywinhuran's thoughts were far from such matters as she busied herself at the end of the day's work, run­ning a final check and chemical disbursement before signing off her station to her shift replacement. Instead of concen­trating on the admittedly rote toil at hand, her mind strayed to remembrances of the time spent in the company of a particularly distinctive male. Somewhat to her chagrin, her thoughts had been repeatedly drawn in that direction for sev­eral days now.

  Why she should have found an assistant food preparator so fascinating she could not quite explain. Certainly her attrac­tion had nothing to do with his vocation, which was even more prosaic and mundane than her own. Within the bustling colony there were many unmated males who found her at­tractive, stridulating softly in her presence in an attempt to attract more than polite attention. Some she spent time with, chatting and disporting, but always her thoughts returned to a certain singular food preparator.

  What it was about him that she found so distinctive proved elusive, no matter how often she tried to define it. Something in his manner, perhaps, or in the way he modulated communi­cation: not only his vocalizations but the attendant clicks and whistles that were as much a part of thranx speech as strings of individual words. Maybe it was the way that when he be­came excited, exquisitely inflected snippets of High Thranx slipped into his conversation; something not to be expected from an assistant food preparator. There were other distinc­tions: the way he spoke of the alien world above, the anima­tion that overwhelmed his gesturing when they attended a less-than-proficient performance by one of the colony's offi­cial soothers, the indifference with which he acknowledged both praise and criticism of his own work.

  There was something not quite right about the food pre­parator Desvendapur, something simultaneously irresistibly enticing and edgily off-putting. Try as she might, she could not get him out of her mind. She considered visiting a senior matriarch for counseling but decided that her condition had not yet advanced from the merely affected to the obsessive. Until that line was crossed she would deal with the situation herself.

  One way to do so would be to go and visit the object of her anxiety. As in any hive, the colonists had been assigned not only labor but living quarters and sectors. While with certain specific exceptions the length and breadth of the hive was open to all who dwelled within and no permit or permis­sion was required to wander beyond those sections that had been individually apportioned subsequent to arrival, it was infrequently done. There was no reason to explore beyond one's assigned territory. Everything a colonist needed could be found within an individually prescribed zone. It was a sys­tem that was traditional and efficient and that contributed mightily to the efficiency of every hive, whether on Hivehom, Willow-Wane, or the alien world known to its dominant in­habitants as Earth.

  Humans, by contrast, the colonists had been told, were far less orderly. Superficially well organized, they tended to scat­ter and move about with considerably less regard for the effective organization of the whole. Life in their hives fre­quently bordered on the anarchic. Somehow, out of confusion and turmoil, they had succeeded in raising a civilization.

  She determined to resolve the contradictions that were boiling within her. The very next off-period, she identified the location of the hive's subsidiary food preparation facility and headed in its direction, following the directions provided by her scri!ber. As she entered unfamiliar parts of the colony she paused from time to time to converse with thranx never before encountered, and they with her. No one questioned her presence. While out of the ordinary, there was nothing un­lawful about it.

  She spent some time talking with sanitation workers who supervised the hive's other waste terminus. The colony had been designed with at least two of everything in mind. If a critical component broke down, there was no hailing a neigh­boring hive for repairs or replacements. The nearest supplies lay parsecs away, and support could not be provided as soon as it might be needed. Between their incompatible tech­nology and the restrictions placed on their movements, the hive's allied humans could provide only limited help. Of ne­cessity, the colony had to be as self-sufficient as possible.

  Despite diversions both enjoyable and educational, she eventually found herself in the auxiliary kitchen area. From there it was a simple matter to obtain permission to visit food preparation. What she saw there was a duplicate of the station where Desvendapur had worked previously, identical down to the individual appliances and utensils manipulated by its work force. At present they were engaged in cleaning and treating a variety of native plants, rendering them suitable for thranx consumption. Without the ability to digest terrestrial | vegetation, the rapid growth of the colony would have been greatly reduced.

  She chatted amiably and casually with members of the staff, who were curious as to the presence in their midst of an unfamiliar representative of the sanitation division. No, an assistant preparator named Desvendapur was not currently a member of their team. In fact, none of them had ever heard of him. Perhaps he worked exclusively on the night shift.

  She knew she ought to make the journey back to her cu­bicle so she could get some rest before she had to report for the new day's work. She was being foolish, letting an inci­dental interest grow into a dangerous fixation. Hadn't Des­vendapur told her that he would be too busy establishing himself in a new zone and a new routine to welcome casual social contact? Hadn't he told her that as soon as he was settled in and comfortable with his work in the new sector that he would return to visit her? He had specifically asked her to terminate contact until such
time as he felt ready to take pleasure from it again. Despite that, here she was, forc­ing the issue, trying to initiate intercourse he had requested she avoid. What was the matter with her?

  She started to leave, to return to her own sector. Certainly if he had any reciprocal feelings for her he would be in touch as soon as he felt at ease with his new surroundings. It might well be counterproductive, even damaging, to their rela­tionship for her to pursue the matter so vigorously. Did they _have_ a relationship? She knew that _she_ desired one, and she thought that he did as well. A demonstration of excessive inquisitiveness on her part might spoil everything.

  She considered her options. There was a way to at least partially satisfy her interest without much risk of damag­ing relations. Locating a private information terminal, she plugged her scri!ber in and ran a search. Relief was palpable when his name appeared on the roster of workers assigned to this zone, food preparation division.

  That should have been enough to satisfy her. Instead, add­ing to her distress and confusion, it only made her that much more anxious to see him again. She stood before the terminal until a polite whistle roused her to the realization that two other hive members were standing behind her, waiting to make use of it themselves. Restless and preoccupied, she wandered off.

  She would wait until the night shift, she resolved. Not to speak with Desvendapur, but to assure herself that all was well with him. This she could do by speaking briefly with others who worked in his department. Even deprived of sleep, she was confident she could perform her duties to­morrow adequately, if not commendably.

  She passed the remaining portion of the day shift exploring the immediate vicinity, finding it, as expected, a veritable du­plicate of her own. As shifts began their switch, she made her way back to the kitchen area and lingered in its vicinity, ran­domly querying those arriving to begin work. None knew of an assistant food preparator who went by the name of Desvendapur.

  By the time the last worker had arrived she found herself growing concerned. What if the transfer had not worked out and he was ill? A check of medical records for the entire colony took only an instant. It did not show a Desvendapur listed as being among the unwell.

  This was senseless, she told herself. Obviously, today was an off-period, a rest time for her friend. He would return to work tomorrow. And she could not wait around and eschew her own labor simply to assure herself that he was all right.

  But why hadn't she been able to find at least one coworker who recognized his name? He had been assigned to this sector long enough to have established, if not intimate friend­ships, at least casual acquaintances. From what she knew and had seen of his work, an assistant food preparator did not function in a vacuum.

  Perplexed, she waited until the terminal was free to again call up the rostering for food preparation in this zone. There was his name on the list, bold and unmistakable. Not being assigned herself to the kitchen division, she could not access individual shift assignments. But she _could_ locate anyone's place of habitation. This she proceeded to do.

  There it was: Desvendapur, habitat level three, cell quad­rant six, cubicle eighty-two. She contemplated the readout for a long moment, wavering. Then, antennae set determinedly forward, she strode off along the appropriate corridor.

  It did not take long to locate the living quarters in question. A pass with her scri!ber over the door ident revealed the occupant to be one Desvendapur, assistant food preparator. Proof enough of his residence-but not of his health. Still, she hesitated. Request admittance, and she risked jeop­ardizing their consanguinity. Depart now, and she would preserve it, but without having achieved any personal satis­faction after having come all this way and spent all this time.

  Perhaps she had acquired some of her friend's intermittent hints of irrationality. Perhaps she was simply stubborn. In any event, she resolved to wait for him.

  The following day shift passed without any sign of her quarry. By now her own shift supervisor would have marked her as absent and initiated a routine search to ascertain her lo­cation, health, and status. Her unauthorized absence would go down on her permanent work record, she knew, inhibiting opportunity for advancement and commendation. She did not care. The second night shift arrived, and still the door to cubicle eighty-two remained sealed.

  What if he was inside, having suffered some serious harm? A dual coronary arrhythmia, perhaps, with both hearts beat­ing out of cadence. Or a severe intestinal blockage. Curiosity turned to concern, which begat fear. Rising from the resting position in which she had been settled for more than a day, she struggled on stiffened legs to the nearest general accessway and called for a domicile supervisor.

  The female responsible for this section of living quarters responded promptly, listened to Jhywinhuran's weary con­cerns, and agreed that the situation she was describing de­manded some sort of resolution. Accordingly, permission was obtained to make an unauthorized entry into private quarters. As she followed the supervisor down the corridor, Jhywinhuran was beset with conflicting emotions. If some­thing grave had happened to Desvendapur, she would be se­verely depressed. If, on the other truhand, there was nothing wrong, she would undoubtedly find herself on the receiving end of a well-deserved stream of imprecation.

  She discovered that she could hardly breathe as the super­visor utilized an override to break the seal on the cubicle and slide back the door. They entered together. The interior of the compact living space was neat, clean, spotless; from the rest and relaxation chamber to the smaller area reserved for the carrying out of individual hygiene. In fact, it was more than spotless.

  It had not been lived in for some time.

  "There must be some mistake." Her gestures were clumsy, her words hesitant as she surveyed the immaculate, obviously untouched quarters. "His ident is on the door."

  The supervisor checked her own scri!ber. Reflexively ges­turing confusion, she checked it again. And a third time. When she looked up, the commingled movements of her limbs and antennae indicated more than simple puzzlement.

  "You are right. There _is_ a mistake. This living cubicle is unassigned."

  Mandibles moving slowly against one another, Jhywinhuran stared at the senior female. "But his full ident is im­printed on the entrance."

  "It certainly is. Be assured that I am no less curious than you to find out how and why it is there."

  Jointly, they ran detailed searches. No assistant food preparator of any name had been placed in cubicle eighty-two by residential assignment. Yes, one named Desvendapur had been transferred to the subsidiary kitchens. No, he could not be located. Perhaps his scri!ber was turned off or had run down without being noticed. Follow-up queries of every single worker assigned to food preparation in this sector re­vealed no knowledge of a Desvendapur. Nor could anyone by that name be located _anywhere,_ in any sector.

  "Something is very wrong here," declared the supervisor as she concluded her searching.

  Jhywinhuran was still working her scri!ber. "I agree, but what? He told me, told everyone he worked with, that he was being transferred to food preparation in this sector. His name is on the work roster."

  "Just as his name is on the door to these quarters." The two females considered the situation. "Let me run one more search."

  Jhywinhuran waited while the senior female waltzed the delicate fingers of her truhands over her unit. Moments later she looked up again, her antennae aimed directly at her visi­tor. "There is no record of a transfer to this sector being authorized for anyone in food preparation, or specifically, anyone named Desvendapur."

  "Then ... he lied." Jhywinhuran could barely muster the appropriate clicks to underscore her reply.

  "So it would seem. But why? Why would this friend of yours, or any thranx, lie about being shifted from one part of the hive to another?"

  "I do not know." The sanitation worker stridulated softly. "But if he isn't here, and he isn't there, then where is he? And why is he wherever he is?"

  "I do not kno
w either, but unless something emerges to in­dicate otherwise, what we have here is unequivocal evidence of antisocial behavior. I am sure it will all become clear when he is located."

  When he was not, something akin to alarm set in not only among those thranx charged with locating the errant assistant food preparator, but among their human associates as well.

  Jhywinhuran found herself waiting in an empty interroga­tion chamber. It was of modest size and in no way remarkable except for the presence among the usual resting benches of a trio of very peculiar sculptures whose purpose she was un­able to divine. They looked like tiny benches, much too small to provide surcease and comfort to even a juvenile thranx. In­stead of being open and easily accessed, one side of each of the squarish objects was raised above the rest, so that even if you tried to settle your abdomen across it, the stiff raised por­tions would make it next to impossible.

  The hive had been turned upside down in the search for the missing assistant food preparator. When it was determined to a specific degree of assurance that not only was he no longer present in the hive, but that his body could not be found, a startled Jhywinhuran had found herself called away from her labor and ordered to this room. There she sat, and waited, and wondered what in the name of the lowest level of the supreme hive was going on.

  She did not have to wait long.

  Four people filed into the chamber. Two of them between them had only as many limbs as she did. She had seen hu­mans around the hive before, but not often. They did not fre­quent the section of the colony where she worked, and she had had no actual contact with them herself. From her predeparture studies she was able to discern that both genders were represented. As was common among humans, their skin and single-lensed eye color varied markedly. These and other superficial physical variations she expected. She also was not surprised when they sat down in two of the peculiar con­structs whose function had so puzzled her. She winced in­wardly, unable to see how any being, even one as flexible as a human, could call "relaxing" a posture that required the body to almost fold itself in half.