Mayor Herd's hands twitched, and two fingers tapped her leg five or six times before she could quiet them. "Mining allegiances," she said, her voice clipped. "Red for Groper, blue for Simon, green for Crowder."
Hugh nodded, suspicions confirmed. The mayor was a pomum addict. She was wealthy enough to afford the whitening treatments to keep the orange out of her eyes, but no amount of money could hide the small, spastic reactions'the shaking hands and jerking eyes. Still, he'd have missed the signs if he hadn't been trained to watch for them. Pomum was foreign to Earth, a strange hallucinogen that lowered inhibitions in odd ways. The psychologists had told Hugh enough about it to help recognize the signs of addiction. And to convince him to stay as far away from addicts as possible.
His accommodation was in a small, three-story Federal homestead'the kind of plain, efficient housing that Hugh had seen on every planet in the Solar System. Every planet he'd been to, anyway. There were no protesters, and several buildings nearby flew Federal flags, as was proper when a Federation scientist was present. The town wasn't completely against him.
He thanked the mayor and assured her he would call if he needed additional transportation. She nodded and climbed back into the transport cab'too quickly, stumbling a bit on the cab steps.
Not good.
Hugh let himself be led away by the porter, a solid, brown-eyed woman with a kind smile. The room she showed him was small and white, with an equally small, white bed. The mattress was hard, the pillows harder, and the blankets rough and thin.
Hugh fell asleep within minutes.
He awoke in darkness, his tablet telling him he'd been asleep ten hours. He wanted to fall back asleep again, but made himself wash and go downstairs.
The same smiling porter was on duty. She poured him a cup of a hot, sweet beverage she called cider. He drank it gratefully.
"Is there a how here?" he asked.
"How what now?" the porter replied, looking confused.
"A house of worship. We call them hows where I'm from. I'm not sure what the word is here. Sacristy? Church?"
"Oh, you mean an aedis. " She looked pleased that he had asked. "Local or Federal?"
"Federal, please."
She gave him directions. He walked through the gathering gloom, the soft glow of the streetlights popping on around him, one by one. The city was all red and gray, red from the iron clay of the surrounding hills, gray from the last of the Sun's rays filtering softly through the methane and water vapor clouds that constantly chased each other across the sky. He had changed out of his uniform, but he still drew a lot of looks, the men fingering the self-defense shock sticks that hung on their belts. A few of them had the same jerky movements as the mayor, though these showed the bright orange sclera common to pomum addicts. Hugh was particularly cautious around them. One of the effects of po-mum was an overestimated sense of power, a penchant for believing that one was a sort of god, capable of anything. Like killing a Federal Ecologist in full view of the town.
Luckily, he didn't have to endure their looks for long. The how was a small building, decorated in a traditional style, and deserted save for the overseer—a portly, blunt-nosed man who embraced Hugh and offered him some mint. Hugh accepted gladly. It was a relief to see dark skin again.
Hugh sat along the east wall and settled in to pray, singing softly to himself. His tablet began suggesting a number of new Federal standards, but Hugh liked to sing from memory, the old hymns Dad had taught him. They comforted him, made this strange place feel almost like home. He felt himself shrink down into insignificance, and all his problems shrank down with him—the insulting signs, the foul looks, the upcoming investigation—everything that had seemed so important and worrisome became nothing more than a pinprick of light in the vastness, muttering and flickering at him, but leaving most of his mind calm, at peace. All thought of tomorrow slipped away, and Hugh lost himself in the rising echoes of the song.
After a time, he heard the muted steps of someone else entering the sanctuary. Hugh turned and looked up into the eerie green eyes of Boss Crowder. He was not surprised to see him. Crowder gestured toward one of the private speaking booths. Hugh nodded and turned back to the wall, continuing to sing. Smart. Speaking booths were one of the few places in the Federation that were impervious to all sound and spy equipment. Only God could hear them inside one of those.
When the last chorus faded away, Hugh stood up, made his bows, and found Crowder waiting for him in the booth, his hands clutching a small, silicon card.
"Boss Crowder," Hugh said, shutting the door behind him. "It's nice to see someone of your position paying his respects here."
"I wanted to talk to you," Crowder said.
"You didn't seem interested in speaking this morning," Hugh said, crossing his legs.
"I didn't want—" Crowder stopped, suppressing a frown. He didn't want to speak in front of the others. He also didn't want to say that to Hugh. "It was a mistake for you to come here," Crowder continued.
Hugh blinked. "You know that I came here at your mayor's request, to resolve an ecological crisis of interest to the Federation—"
"I know that's what she told you."
Hugh quoted his briefing from memory.
"Groups of Hydrocoloeus majorus, locally know as the peak gull, have recently begun to attack the residents of Larus without explanation, causing injuries, deaths, and significant delays in mining operations. Their federally protected status as a subhuman species of high intelligence prohibits elimination or relocation by direct means. Requesting assistance from a federally trained and licensed ecologist. Please advise."
"I know all that—" Crowder broke in.
"Are you saying that this message is a lie, that these attacks are not occurring?"
"No, the attacks are happening—"
"Then their impact is exaggerated."
"No, actually, it's worse than—"
"Then you think my presence unnecessary, that the situation could have been resolved without Federal interference."
"Damn it, man!" Crowder finally barked out, his blank expression breaking. "I'm trying to help you."
Hugh said nothing. So there it was. The psychologists had been right. Hugh squashed a small worm of fear and waited for more.
Crowder looked sick, like he had said too much. "I just mean..." he trailed off again, sweat beading on his forehead. Hugh felt a surge of sympathy. Crowder obviously suspected some plot against Hugh, but he just as obviously had no proof. If he made a direct accusation, Hugh would have to report it to Federation central. But an accusation of treason without evidence was, itself, punishable by death. Crowder was trying to walk a knife edge, warning Hugh of danger without saying what the danger was.
Hugh chose his next words carefully. "Boss Crowder, when I traveled into town, I saw many people wearing red and blue arm bands, but very few wearing green. Do you think this is a coincidence?"
Relief flooded across Crowder's face. "No, not a coincidence at all," he replied.
"And when we walked together this morning, the mayor and Bosses Simon and Groper were making plans for dinner, but you were not included in those plans."
Crowder nodded, encouraging Hugh to go on.
"And it's probably reasonable to assume that they make other plans you are not a part of."
"In fact," Crowder said. "I often dislike their plans and try to ruin them whenever possible."
"I understand," Hugh said. He tried to keep his voice calm, noncommittal. Crowder was taking a great risk to talk to him, but Hugh still didn't know how far he could be trusted.
"This may surprise you, but I am not unaware of the general sentiment in Larus toward the Federation, especially among certain key people."
"You knew they..." Again Crowder stopped. "You knew they were making... dinner plans? Then why did you come?"
"I knew of the sentiment, and sentiment is not a crime," Hugh said. "A Federation planet asked for our assistance, and it's my duty to provide that assist
ance. As for their plans... we shall see. I am no diplomat. And no solider," he added.
"Then you're still conducting the investigation?" Crowder asked, surprised. "Touring the mines?"
Hugh nodded. "That's where the gulls' habitat is. The mines are the most logical place to start."
"Then stay within my claim," Crowder said. "You'll be protected there, and when you're in town I can lend you a security detachment."
"No," Hugh refused. "I can't be burdened by a security detachment, especially such a clearly partisan one. However," he raised a hand to silence Crowder's objection. "Your willingness to help is appreciated. I will start the investigation in your mines. And if a few of your friends would like to follow me around at a discrete distance while in Larus, just to insure I wasn't unduly harassed..." Hugh shrugged.
"One thing more," Crowder said. He held out the small silicon card. "A token of my appreciation, for coming here to help us."
Hugh took the card and examined it in the muted light. He noticed a small "L" engraved on one side and nearly choked. "Is this really—?"
"Library," Crowder nodded, clearly pleased to see Hugh so surprised.
"I've never seen one this big," Hugh said, marveling. "It must be over a billion volumes."
"A hundred thousand billion," Crowder said. "There's plenty of information on the gulls, I'm sure." His face grew troubled. "Dinner plans aside, I do hope you can solve that problem. We've always had to be careful around the gulls, especially when they're nesting. But now—I saw what they did to one of the boys who was attacked...." He shuddered and shook his head.
"I'll do what I can," Hugh said.
"Good," Crowder said. He stood up, touching hand to heart. "I must go. I've been here too long already. I'm sure Simon set men to watch you, if no one else. Well, they'll have company. Look for my car in the morning."
Hugh watched Crowder's bony shoulders disappear out the how exit. He felt the smooth edges of the library. It was an incredible gift; a hundred thousand billion volumes was likely the bulk of the intellectual output of Ceres's inhabited history. No doubt there was a tracking device inside it, too. A loyal Federalist, Boss Crowder, but Hugh suspected he had his own plans.
Hugh sighed. The peace he had felt in prayer was gone. He waited in silence for another hour, but it did not come back.
Early the next morning, Hugh found himself sitting in Crowder's chrome green transport, headed for the mines. He busied himself with the library, shuff ling through information about the gulls on his tablet and sipping a canteen of hot cider the porter had given him. She really was a kind woman, with sensibly brown eyes. If the circumstances had been different...
He shook his head. No sense thinking of that.
The library was helpful; though there was little he hadn't already seen in the Federal logs. The gulls were an unusual species, even by Solar System standards. They were extremely intelligent, scoring slightly above most Earth primates, with a complicated social order that was not well understood. The various reports were confusing and often contradictory, and Hugh muddled through with difficulty, learning what he could.
He was startled when Crowder tapped him on the shoulder. They had arrived. Hugh stepped out of the cab, looked up, and momentarily forgot how to breathe.
Above him rose a single, towering cliff, unbroken by major ravines or gullies, rising up and up and up into the sky, its top hidden somewhere in the clouds, its ends stretching over the horizons, as if some race of giants had built a castle wall out of the earth itself. The face of the cliff was pockmarked everywhere with tunnel entrances and strung with metal and rope walkways, upon which hundreds of miners in tan and white went scurrying about at breakneck speed. Hugh saw one miner leap an eight foot gap between two different walkways, flying over a sheer fall of at least thirty meters, and land neatly at a run on the far side, the walkway swinging wildly from side to side, yet not seeming to slow him a step. And everywhere too, there were gulls, tall and thick-bodied, flying and running along the walkways themselves, all of them moving nearly as fast as the miners and looking much the same, in thick layers of tan and white feathers.
Hugh realized that Crowder had said something to him, and reluctantly tore his gaze away. "I'm sorry," Hugh said. "You'll have to repeat that. I like to take time to be amazed by amazing things."
Crowder chuckled. "I'm told the cliffs are a legacy from the Federation's world-building days. Marvelous things the old scientists did, then. Where would you like to start?"
"Is there a nest nearby?" Hugh asked.
Crowder nodded. "Up near the cliff summit. Follow me."
They stepped into the mines, Crowder exchanging greetings with his workers as they went. Hugh got a few dirty looks, but most of the miners seemed to share Crowder's loyalty to the Federation, and many inclined their heads respectfully. Crowder led him to a small, mag-lift elevator, and the two began to rise at a rapid pace, Hugh's ears popping from the changing pressure.
Then the two men stepped out into a smaller, rougher corridor, lit dimly by phosphorescent globes strung along the ceiling. A few security officers waited at a checkpoint nearby.
"This level is reserved exclusively as nesting area for the gulls," Crowder explained, as the guards checked his identification. "As specified by Federal rules. Miners are only allowed in here as part of their initial orientation, and not at all during nesting season."
"You expect an attack?" Hugh asked, flipping his tablet into recording mode. The guards had handed Crowder a riot-grade shock stick before waving them through.
"A year ago I would have said no," Crowder replied. "But Groper and Simon have lost a dozen men each, and there's been another dozen or so in town. There've been no attacks here..." He clicked the safety off the shock stick, which started a low hum. "But it's best to be prepared."
The two men walked abreast down the tunnel, silent, traveling steadily upward. Then Hugh saw a doorway up ahead, and the two stepped through it. For the second time that hour, Hugh forgot to breathe.
The nesting ground opened up below them like an underground coliseum, deep and broad. Row upon row of wide clay "steps" marched down toward the bottom of the bowl, which Hugh guessed was probably a hundred meters below them. Sunlight filtered through openings in the rock, falling softly on the shuffling beaks and feathers of thousands upon thousands of gulls, all in a rush of activity, eating and fighting and running from place to place.
The two men were noticed immediately. Four large gulls bobbed up to them, black eyes inquisitive. Hugh remained still, letting the tablet record visuals. They certainly seemed intelligent; after a short investigation, three of the gulls went back to the tunnel entrance while the fourth walked behind them, keeping guard.
Hugh took the lead now, pacing the perimeter of the bowl, tapping on his tablet. Crowder gripped the shock stick with white knuckles, his face blank and pale.
"You needn't be worried," Hugh reassured him. "We're not in any danger."
"How can you be sure?" Crowder asked.
"I'm an ecologist," Hugh said, smiling. "Spotting aggression in an animal is something we have to do pretty well to survive. Besides, the first thing you learn about field work is FCP."
"FCP?" Crowder asked.
"Fierce, calming presence," Hugh replied. "It's a certain way of behaving around animals, a technique that makes it unlikely for them to see you as a threat. Or as dinner."
"How do you do it?"
"It's difficult to teach in one day," Hugh said. "Or in one decade. The method includes everything from the way you trim your fingernails to the way you stand to the way you think about the animals around you. My instructors always said learning FCP was a lot like learning how to handle a rambunctious niece. Authority without pride. Love without subjection."
"What's a niece?" Crowder asked.
"Culturally specific term," Hugh said. "A young girl of moderate relation."
Talking seemed to help Crowder relax, so Hugh kept up a fairly constant stream
of chatter, losing himself in the work. The cavern was strangely silent, save for the rustle of wings and the scratching of gull steps. Hugh flipped through the sonic frequencies on his tablet.
"Look at this," Hugh said, showing Crowder the readout. "You've noticed the gulls don't call?"
"They do sometimes," Crowder said. He pretended to be interested in the readout, but Hugh could tell he didn't understand any of it. "Especially when they're attacking something."
"That's all we can hear, yes," Hugh said. "But see this spike, the red one? That's infra-sound, below the level of human hearing. Earth elephants communicate the same way. Infrasound travels well over long distances and through rock and soil, which is beneficial for a species with a large, subterranean habitat like this." Hugh set the tablet to record and analyze the spikes more thoroughly, isolating individual calls.
"How do—" Crowder's question was cut off by a sudden flurry of movement on the steps directly below them. Three large gulls stalked toward them, hissing, their beaks open and wings spread. Hugh faced them and straightened, preparing a few defense sequences to scare them off, when he noticed that five small, furry creatures had emerged from the ground a few feet down slope. The furry creatures were colored a dusky red and blended in almost perfectly with the clay, their bulbous bodies splayed out on seven oddly jointed limbs.
"Ground spiders," Crowder said. "Hunting. They'll be after the chicks."
What happened next was not so much a hunt as an assault. Hugh saw movement all over the cavern, the ground erupting in tiny fountains of clay as more spiders emerged. Dozens at first, and then hundreds, skittering across the ground in packs of three and five and ten, trying to slip past the gulls' darting beaks and slashing feet. The infrasound sensors went ballistic, alarm calls awakening the whole nest in seconds, though there were plenty of audible screeches from the gulls too. Within minutes, more gulls began pouring through the openings in the ceiling, coming to the nest's aid, and Hugh realized the infrasonic calls had traveled through the rock to alert those outside of the attack. Soon there were so many gulls coming in that the sunlight was blocked, shrouding the nest in near total darkness, nothing but the hissing and scratching and dull wet thumping of bodies to fill their senses. There was nothing they could do but wait, silent and motionless, hoping a stray, razor-sharp claw wouldn't accidentally open up a major artery.
Analog Science Fiction and Fact - Aprli 2014 Page 10