"My old granny taught me to knit," he explained. "Both of us hated to wait, and it helped to have something to do with our hands. We had to do a lot of waiting." He grimaced. "Politics."
I know he never shared his famous family's fondness for the political arena—it must have been dreadfully boring for his young mind to watch.
"I'm going to see if this stuff can work up into a net, of sorts," he went on. "Might be useful." It would indeed! I watched his hands move along the vine, slowly, but with rapidly increasing speed and sureness. To my admiration, a widening strip of mesh began to drop from the flying sticks! I was quick to praise this accomplishment—not only were the nets going to be practical, the creation of them put me in mind of my precious laces—perhaps I can learn a useful skill? I sincerely hope so, because, to my intense chagrin, I find myself a perfectly dreadful cook. One of the few fields in which I have never felt any interest whatsoever is that of culinary preparation. But, I reasoned, when it was my turn to tend the pot, what could be simpler? Simply a question of time and heat, was it not? Much to my dismay it turns out to be more complex than that. Covertly I began to study the others at the same job—even timed them!—and tasted and tasted, only to discover that my own efforts tasted as bad to me as they obviously did to the others. With outward resignation and secret shame, I excused myself all but the simplest cooking duties—not the least reason being that I simply could not manage the fire. Either I was overzealous and produced a conflagration that turned food to coal, or I forgot the thing entirely, and we were all reduced to raw dinners. It was humbling to see David, or even John, produce a meal we all relished, while my own best efforts were treated with the wicked ever-so-politeness that has such a sting. I found I even preferred Richard's roaring insults: "Wow! A good big drink of this . . .roast?—and I'm a new man!"
However, today has produced a change. Last night we consumed the last of the thawed food that was remotely edible. In the interests of health and safety we simply incinerated the rest, and it smelled vile for a mercifully brief time, and then vanished.
This morning, Jinjur made her pronouncement.
"It's time," she began rather grimly. "I don't want to wait until we're hungry enough to be desperate, as we were for fresh water. We've got to find out if there's anything here we can eat, and we're going to do it systematically and safely. To begin with, we'll stay in pairs. Keep track of where you are and how far you've traveled, because we won't expect everyone back for . . ." a spasm of irritation crossed the brown face. None of us can keep accurate time, except me! " . . .several hours," she finished rather lamely. "And another thing; you must not taste anything—not once!—until we're all back. I'm not taking any more chances, and it'll be me who does the testing."
This was disturbing. "But, Jinjur," protested John, "If you taste more than one item a day, and get sick . . .or something, we won't know which item was the culprit. And we ought to try things more rapidly than that. Let's divide them up."
Cinnamon agreed, adding, "I'm quite sure we'll find at least ten very different things to try—I've been watching some fruits that seem to be ripening—and if we each sample one, we'll know pretty soon if any of them are toxic."
"How about cooking everything? Isn't that safer? Carmen wanted to know.
"Yes." Nels was definite. Some things may taste better raw—like oranges—but we must go slow trying that." Accordingly we split up, and set forth.
With an eagerness that indicated they had been longing for just such an opportunity, David and Arielle headed for the tallest nearby trees, around which long vines are wrapped. There are vaguely globular objects half-hidden in the high branches, which we have seen, but none of them have fallen to the ground. I had forgotten how agile the two are, until I saw them leap upwards in the low gravity, David only fractionally behind the lithe woman, and they began to climb swiftly, testing the vines for support but using them mostly for balance.
The skin on all of our hands has toughened with the rough work, and the two called cheerfully to each other as they climbed.
"Did you bring knife, David? I forgot!"
"Yup, got it in the last of my pockets—hope it doesn't cut through!"
"Getting stuff down be tricky, maybe!"
"Just shout, and drop 'em, if they're tough. If not, well . . ." The voices dimmed, and they disappeared from sight.
With equal determination, Richard seized a pouch of stones from a private cache; obviously, carefully selected stones, gathered over several days' time—smooth and round, and uniformly sized.
"C'mon, Cinnamon," he said. "Let's go hunting." Several times, overhead, we have spotted flying creatures. They seem to be curious about us, because they fly directly over, surveying us with an enormous dark eye, and then fly off on blue-green wings. I suspect they, as well as the little creatures who find our discarded food so interesting, are now considered Richard's prey.
Jinjur determined otherwise, however. "I want to know more about these animals," she said as we prepared to move. "I'm going to set a few traps along those faint trails into the undergrowth. But anything we capture must not be harmed!" she added firmly, glaring at Richard. "We're not in any hurry to start eating the natives!"
She and Shirley conferred briefly, before selecting a few of John's nets, and some other containers, and then moved quietly into the forest. I watched with approval. As a child, intrigued by stories of the American Wild West, I had practiced the art of moving silently over any terrain, and it had long since become a habit with me; I was glad to see Jinjur and Shirley could be reasonably quiet also.
Carmen and John headed for the thickest parts of the forest. As we've moved around, looking for fuels among the vegetation, we have all been struck by the diversity to be found. When we were exploring by remote-controlled robots, the impression received by all of us (except David!) had been that the plant population was all very similar. Now that we can look more closely, we see infinite variations. There are a great many thorny bushes, some very large, and while they are apparently individual plants, as we can see their trunks growing into the soil, they tend to grow in dense thickets, and we get tantalizing glimpses of quite different plants in the centers of these hedges. Some of the inner ones are tall, with an upper canopy of rather pretty blue-green fronds. The thorns prevent us effectively from entering the interiors, but the views are enticing.
It is peculiar how one's viewpoint changes! Up until now, I had regarded this landscape as alien and fascinating, when I didn't feel it to be bleak and hostile. Now, I found myself solely concerned with its edibility!
Nels and I were preparing to head for the tidepools. There are several of them which contain quantities of some sort of large shellfish. However, we had barely outfitted ourselves with containers and some sturdy chunks of obsidian when we heard a triumphant shout from Richard, quite nearby, and moved quickly to see what had happened.
He had caught one of the flying animals! He was holding it in a firm embrace, as it struggled. It put me in mind of an owl, because of the one large dark eye regarding us with silent astonishment. It seemed to have no legs at all! Cinnamon reached to assist Richard, and they spread out the strong bony wings between them, displaying the three skeletal supports in each. The little creature struggled even more frantically in their grasp, and then went suddenly limp. Although it's appearance didn't change, its whole attitude was lifeless. Nels took the animal in careful hands, and turned it about slowly. On the back of the little body, if the eye was on the front, was a small hole, an apparent sphincter. That, and the eye, were the total of its features!
"Most incomplete animal I ever saw," muttered Nels. He made a tiny, tentative cut in the covering fuzz. There was no change in the flaccidity of the specimen, and he proceeded with a deft dissection. The creature was quite dead, and the simplicity of its structure was amazing.
"It's like it's only part of an animal!" Nels was truly puzzled. "There is the large eye, and quite a large brain behind it. But see, no lower
limbs, only a minimal gut, and if that's a mouth in back of the eye, it has neither teeth nor tongue! What can the thing live on? I can't figure it out."
Richard laid the little carcass gently on the stones near the fire. Although there seems little flesh to the animal, it will only be practical to consider its food value. I hoped fervently it would not fall to my lot!
We left camp again, Nels and I retrieving our collecting tools and heading for the shore. I had been admiring, without attempting to touch, the clustered shells in the tidepools; the prettiest among them were deeply rounded inverted cups, vaguely hexagonal in outline, and in every possible variation of the color pink. There were wild designs of stripes and patches, dainty borders and neat plaids, all in tone on tone striations of palest pearl to deepest maroon, and gaudy others nearly scarlet. The tiniest ones were particularly lovely, making the floor of the pool look like a thickly flowering rosebush. Now, however, we were after the larger specimens so, selecting a fine neatly striped one, Nels inserted an obsidian blade beneath its rim and lifted, gently. To our amazement, the creature rose and fled from us at great speed on six pink legs.
"Catch it!" shouted Nels, grabbing unsuccessfully at the scurrying little animal. I made a frantic, splashing jump and felt my hands close around it, only to recoil, and drop it immediately.
"It's got claws! I gasped. "Scratchy, horrid, wiggly . . ."
"O,h hell! said Nels. "Are you hurt?"
I considered my fingers hastily. "No," I had to admit. "Let's try again."
Warily we approached another tidepool, and probed the knife blade swiftly under a likely subject, ready for its dash for freedom. I clamped my hand down firmly over the upper shell and lifted it swiftly into the air, avoiding the wildly waving legs and holding it so that we could see it clearly. It was actually a delightful creature—the upper cup, so shiny in its glowing colors that it looks like an enameled paperweight, fits snugly to the flattened lower plate, leaving only room for the extension of the legs. These are long, jointed, and of a bright salmon color, armed at the tips with quite serviceable pincers. Enchanted, I observed the row of gleaming tiny dots along the rim of the upper shell; they were regularly spaced, and of a deep and glowing coral.
"Look, Nels! Those must be its eyes, like a scallop's!"
He grunted, tentatively agreeing it might be so. The animal regarded us with what I considered very reasonable malevolence, continuing to brandish its weaponry in our direction; but we disregarded that, and stowed it securely away. Then we began to develop a simple technique. We found, very quickly, that it helped to examine each pool quietly for some minutes, staying out of the direct light. Then, a quick and decisive push and flip with the blade and we had success. If we were slow, or tentative, the little creatures were able to grasp the rocks so firmly we could not reach under the shell to scrape them loose.
We worked steadily up the beach, with mixed results, until our backs ached. At least mine did! Nels seemed tireless, and his big hands were still quick with the knife long after mine were sore and scratched. At last we stopped to rest, and looked out to the open water. The flouwen were nearby—they had been observing us quietly for some time. "What you do?" Little Red was curious as usual.
"Hunting food." That, of course, was instantly understood.
"You like those?" Little White flowed a white pseudopod into one of our containers and inspected our catch with interest.
"We don't know. We'll taste them and see." Nels explained.
"They okay," said Little Purple critically, "But too small. Big ones better."
"Yes!" Little Red shouted. He proceeded to rattle off what I presumed was a list of various creatures he had found to his liking.
"They sound delicious! Do you think you could catch one and bring it to us to taste, please?" My polite request was apparently startling.
"Humans eat fish?"
"Well, we'd rather like to try, if you can help us. We'd like any help you can give us!"
The flouwen hovered together in the water for a few seconds, and then apparently decided to cooperate. They swam away, and we stood, up to our middles in the warm sea, waiting patiently to thank them, when and if they returned with fish. Finally tiring of the delay, I waded back to the tidepools, and was busy retrieving a large shellfish which had elected to run rather than cling, when the flouwen returned to Nels. I stood to watch, for they had indeed brought him a slippery-looking creature which he was struggling to confine in his net, rather hampered than otherwise by Little Red's shouted advice, apparently. I was too far away to hear their talk, but various explanations were obviously in progress. Suddenly, from the flouwen, there came a squeal—of apparent delight—and then much more talk ensued. Intrigued, I stood watching as Nels turned away and came up to the shore. He clutched the closed net with both hands, while the fish within flopped about. To my surprise, I saw that he was deeply flushed.
"Are you all right, Nels?" I asked. "You look badly sunburned!"
"'S all right," the big man muttered. "Nothing to worry about. Look at this fellow! What do you make of him?" We supported the net between us, so that we could more closely examine the captive.
"It looks like a whale!" I said. "What makes me think that?"
"The shape is whale-like," Nels said slowly. "But there's more to it than that. Funny shape to the flippers, isn't it, and no blowhole on top of the head, but the mouth . . ."
"That's it," I said. "Look at the width of the mouth and the shape!" Upon close examination it became apparent that our prize had a toothless mouth. Instead of teeth there were well-developed bands of very flexible strands, which together formed an effective sieve. It looks like the creature takes in water and strains out food from it.
"Nuts," said Nels, disappointed. I was surprised. "It's a filter feeder. Means no fishing with a line, or bait," he explained. "We'll have to net 'em."
The little recorder's alarm rang, not long after, and we gathered up the various containers we had stowed along our way with their precious contents, and headed back to camp, to add them to the collections of the others.
It was a most unappetizing buffet, spread out on the flat rocks. There were more than we could divide for one "meal," and we put aside, for the morrow if all goes well, a number of seeds and grains which are dry. David and Arielle had obtained several objects which might be fruit from the tall treetops—they are soft and spongy, but have no aroma to us. They had also gathered a lot of long pods of sorts from the hanging vines. When opened, they turned out to be full of fat little things like beans. John and Carmen had found some fruits and several varieties of nuts and grains, and with commendable patience had kept them carefully separated. In addition, they had managed to pull up some thick roots and bring them along. Dubiously we surveyed this assortment, while Arielle and Carmen brought containers of water to simmer close to the fire.
"It's really hard, knowing so little!" sighed Shirley. "For all we know, these might be absolutely delicious, toasted ever so slowly and then fried, or something. And don't they bury some delicacies in Japan for years before they're ready to eat?" This to me—but I had to confess my ignorance. "Cheese, now, that has to age, doesn't it?" I suggested.
"No matter," Jinjur said firmly. "Before we begin boiling stuff, I want to take a quick look at our trap, Shirley." They hurried off, and returned almost instantly from the thicket. The trap had succeeded! Together we inspected the struggling animal, holding it by the strong and scrabbling legs. Covered with not unpleasantly blue-green furry fluff, it had a single large eye on the front of the head, and a small toothless opening on the back. Nels grasped on of the upper limbs and looked closely. "Look at that! These digits are opposable! That's how it manages to hold stuff and carry it off."
"And look at the long claws," added Cinnamon. "I've noticed them digging, and pulling things up to take. But I've never seen them actually "eating" anything!"
Surprised, we all thought back carefully. None of us has seen these creatures do anything other th
an retrieving. At this instant, without making a sound, the little animal collapsed, and with dismay we realized that it, too, had died.
"Certainly low tolerance for shock," Nels said grimly. "Or restraint," I added, thinking. Once again Nels performed the necessary explorations. He and Cinnamon are seriously puzzled; the little creatures have no digestive system beyond the very minimal; it seems certain they are incapable of eating the things we have seen them take with so much enthusiasm. Unlike the "owls," these little beings have tiny brains. Reluctantly, we added the scrawny carcass to our assortment. Operating strictly by guess, Arielle arbitrarily began the cooking of each, sniffing cautiously at the vapors beginning to emerge from the pots, and commenting occasionally.
"Beans and roots probably need more time," she decided, prodding the things with forks which she kept separate in each pot. "And I think meat and fish better grilled." The shellfish she cooked quickly, and removed when their shells opened. The bits of flesh from the animals and the gift from the flouwen she skewered on sticks, and cooked over the coals. This was a peculiar feast before us! And while we prepared to sample them, I thought with private relief of the remaining dry food from the lander; we will not have to rely entirely on these odd items just yet.
"Now," instructed John, "The safest thing we can do is rely on our own bodies. If your particular item really tastes awful, spit it out. Don't eat a lot, and tell us everything you can about each thing. Ready? I'll start." Resolutely, he spooned up some of the long-simmered beans. They had a rather pleasant, oniony aroma, and he pronounced them rather like boiled beans at home.
"They taste like . . .a . . .vegetable," he concluded somewhat lamely. We watched him eat with an intensity which would have been funny if it were not so critical.
One by one, we took our turns. Carmen thought the fruits, which were her allotment, had possibilities, but that boiling had not been the best treatment for them. The tubers which fell to my share proved to be very bland in taste, mildly and surprisingly rather sweet, but of an agreeable consistency. I reported as well as I could, and hope the things do turn out to be harmless—not only for my own comfort!—but also because I have a feeling they might be very good, if our cooks can experiment with them. The grilled meats were quite good to their tasters, although the land animals provided scanty fare. All of us watched, repelled yet fascinated, as Jinjur grimly opened the shells of one of the shellfish, looked inside, and gulped audibly. I have seen her do many brave things, but nearly the bravest was the firm way she squared her shoulders and downed the shell's pink occupant. Then her look of determination was replaced by a startled expression.
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