"Reiki? How familiar are you with Roberts' Rules?" Jinjur's eyes were quizzical.
I took a deep breath. "Jinjur, there's a well-mannered precedent . . ."
"I knew it," she muttered.
"There was a group, similar in some few—very few!—ways to this, which operated successfully for quite some time on just two rules. One, nobody may interrupt. The other, nobody must remain around to listen! Perhaps that system, along with our general respect for you, may suffice. For instance, if you decide for some reason of your own that one of us needs washing—say, Shirley (obsessively clean Shirley!)—you may try to persuade us to do so. But you must obtain 100% agreement! Otherwise, we will waste our few resources in fruitless arguing. As you argue, and as we walk away, you will eventually give up the argument, and Shirley can go unbathed. In cases of emergency, and where there is limited time for discussion, it makes sense for our leader to have authority by our consent. It does follow," I added slowly, "that the system must be acceptable to all. No fair ganging up on Shirley in the shower."
The total lack of a shower here made Shirley smile, without diminishing the point of my plan, which of course was my goal. Peace between ourselves is more possible than amongst many shipwrecked unfortunates, because we were selected for compatibility so many years ago, and have been through so much together. But we all know how tenuous can be the hold of civilization in such straitened circumstances as we presently are in!
"Where did that system come from?" asked David idly. "Japan?"
I shook my head, smiling, but said only, "Any etiquette system is only invented to help us keep our humanity presentable." And I sincerely hope no one will plumb the secret of the society of which I spoke, with its "Tw' Rules"! I think it is sufficiently obscure, and I hope it serves us longer than it did its founders!
Jinjur continued to lead the discussio, as we considered the days ahead of us. The mood seemed lighter, more relaxed; I noted with secret pleasure that Jinjur, knowing no one would interrupt her, stopped talking frequently, looking around for suggestions or questions. And there were plenty of suggestions!
"I want to record, somehow, some medical evaluation of everyone, so I can keep track of our health," John announced. The statement made us all turn to look at each other, consideringly, and the changes of the last few weeks were suddenly discernible.
David has grown a sandy beard and mustache—he keeps the edges neatly squared with an obsidian blade, but seems almost proud of the thickness of the growth. His arms and legs are scratched by the tree trunks he climbs most days, but are firmly muscled. Arielle, too, shows marks and scratches, but her two belts fit no more loosely than before, and the big eyes are bright beneath the elfin cap of fair hair. Jinjur's uniform fits better now, not so clinging, and the trimmed edges are tidy and unfrayed. Carmen is slimmer too, and her rainwashed skin has a translucence that never showed under the heavy makeup. Shirley and Cinnamon look exactly the same as they always have, to me—I have noticed that they wander together along the beach every day, undoing their long braids, and talking cheerfully while the strands blow in the air before being replaited. In concession to the constant dampness, the braids are looser—not so tightly bound. The crisp coveralls favored by both women have softened considerably too, but they have sensibly refused to worry about lost buttons.
John and Nels look . . .tougher—their skins have darkened with exposure, and they swear companionably as they struggle to scrape their stubbly faces with obsidian—but they seem fit, moving easily with the heavy work that must be done, teeth gleaming in frequent laughter. I myself feel fine, although the black curls are becoming ominously long and seem to be developing an independent attitude which I deplore. At any rate, there doesn't look to be any need for medical concern among us.
"Check our belts," suggested Arielle. "See if they get tight or loose!" It sounds a practical and simple way to keep track. I had lost my belt in the crash, but Arielle handed over her regulation one with a grin, keeping her treasured one with the silver buckle. I took the firm fabric loop with inward trepidation, and was absurdly pleased when it fitted snugly.
Cinnamon and Nels were pleased with a private project of their own: "We sprouted some of Reiki's oats and barley," Cinnamon said happily. "We've been successfully propagating small batches on Prometheus for years, so it seemed worth a try."
"It's growing up along the ridge of that hill along with some of the native grains." Nels pointed. I remembered, now, seeing them examining those small sealed bags of grain so seriously some weeks before. "It's growing nicely, nothing seems to be trying to interfere with it, so we'll hope for another food crop."
"Great!" said Shirley. "From something the Jolly said, I gather it has some sort of food crop, too. Nels and I are going to spend today following that up." Several more voices offered to join her, and I was about to add my own when Jinjur said, questioning, "What's for dinner?"
"Soup," volunteered Arielle. "I make, using these roots."
"And I'll make those little cakes," added Cinnamon. I started involuntarily when she mentioned the cakes. Between them, Cinnamon and Carmen had devised a simple bread which had become a much-liked feature of our meals. Grinding some of the native seeds in primitive fashion between chunks of smooth stone, they experimented with the exact amount of water required to make a malleable dough. Both of them were adept at patting out thin, even little cakes which cooked beautifully on the open fire, acquiring a smoky flavor and a chewy consistency which we all enjoyed.
I had watched them carefully as they did this every night, and several days ago had resolved to try my own hand when I was alone. To my fury, it turned out to be much more difficult than I had expected! I had tucked the little pot of wet flour dough out of sight as David strolled into camp, and hurried to the shore to wash my hands of the sticky, uncontrollable mess before he saw. The little pot was still there—I could see it, under the bush, because I knew where to look—a cloth barely covered it. I decided quickly to find some other task for myself and return quietly later to dispose of that unfortunate experiment before its discovery.
"I spotted a nice bunch of those clams while I was talking with the flouwen this morning," I offered. "I'll get some to add to the soup, shall I?"
"Want some help?" Richard offered. I refused, I hoped politely, and as I headed for shore to collect a net and blade I noticed he did the same, but headed with long and silent strides up the hill into the forest.
I plunged happily into the warm salt water and swam strongly out to the area I had noted earlier. After so many years of not swimming at all, I find increasing pleasure in the support and caress of the water, and am steadily gaining in the speed and economy of my strokes. Now, nicely beyond the low breakers, I found a thick cluster of the six-sided clams and dove to them. The first few came away easily, but the next resisted, and I rose to the surface, gasping. They were lying deeper than I had realized, and I was exasperated at the time it took me to reach them. I knew what I needed, and headed back to shore, leaving my catch safely stowed in a shallow pool. Taking blade and net with me, I soon found some suitable thick leaves and slender vines, and returned to the shore to cut them into flippers. I cut a slot for my feet and fastened the things crudely to my ankles with the vine, and splashed into the water. It was soon obvious I had been much too lavish with my estimate, and I clambered awkwardly back out of the surf to trim the front edges. It took me many such trials and errors, but eventually I had formed a pair of very effective aids; uncomfortable to walk in, but enabling me to swim smoothly down through the water with only minimum effort behind the steady kicks. Further experimentation taught me the most efficient way to use this new tool, and by the end of the morning I had collected, with relative ease, enough of the shellfish to form a substantial part of a meal for the ten of us. I swam most of the way home, for further practice, and when I sat down to remove the flippers I was surprised to see Richard, grinning.
"Is that what you were doing, then!" he said. "I could
n't make it out—in and out of the water, splashing and whacking around in the surf, back into the ocean, swearing by the look of your shoulders . . ."
"I didn't see you!" I said.
"I was hunting. Can't spot me when I'm hunting, of course."
"Then why were you watching me?" I demanded.
"It was fun!"
Quickly I reviewed my own actions, but was relieved to remember I had done nothing silly, I'd simply been busy. "Always pleasant, watching other people work!" I murmured, politely. "I do hope your prey didn't escape whilst you were—superintending?"
"Nope." The answer was assured and cordial—too late I saw the bulging game bag swinging at his belt. I marched past him a trifle stiffly, and joined the bustle of camp.
"Great stuff from the Jolly!" enthused Shirley. "Nels and I enter it all in the recorder, Reiki, after we eat. He says . . ."
"After we eat," reminded Cinnamon, firmly.
"I'll just stir up those cakes. Where's that other little pot? It's just the right size . . ."
I had forgotten again! Quietly I tried to edge away as Cinnamon hunted with increasing determination for that missing pot, but I had not got to safety when she pounced upon it.
"Here! But what's this? What is this stuff!" She bent to smell the mess, and gasped. "Shirley! Carmen! Did either of you do this?" Both women reached for the pot, denying having done anything, and sniffed in turn.
"Sourdough?" said Carmen doubtfully. "Yes! It's sourdough! But we've no yeast—how could it be—unless it just sat long enough . . ." Shrinking, I felt three pairs of eyes turning to me.
"Reiki!"
I stepped forward, my face burning. "I'm sorry, I know it's a waste . . ."
"You've done it again! Sourdough's useful stuff. We can have biscuits and things now, Reiki, if I can remember how to keep the dough working!"
"There's another aspect I like," said John seriously. "If there's yeasts in the air which started that fermentation, maybe there'll be some of those complex B vitamins in the food—another nutrient we can use."
Nels and David looked at each other, an expression of unholy glee on each face. "Fermentation!"
I felt much better.
John has enjoined upon us all the most stringent demands for as much cleanliness as we can maintain. At his insistence, all of us scrub face and hands with water kept steaming at the side of the fire before every meal. Without soap, it's important to be thorough with these ablutions, and I not only enjoyed them but began to spend several minutes in a general sprucing up of my appearance at these times. Rather like a family of cats, we tidied ourselves vigorously and swiftly, before settling down.
But this time we were eager to share the interview with the Jollys. We hurried through the cleaning-up routine, which for the same hygienic reasons is never allowed to wait.
Nels began the report as I dutifully recorded it. Considering the vast differences between our life-forms, it is amazing how rapidly we are learning to communicate, and humbling to realize how much of the difference is being bridged by the giant plant. Most of the obtained data, of course, took much longer to hear and piece together than it took to relate, and I was impressed with the skill and tenacity of my fellow explorers.
"It appears the Jollys probably evolved from the same general plant structure that we first thought was the only one here—a main body with six outrigger plants," he said. "They're at the top of the local food chain, very intelligent, and very much aware of themselves and their environment. What's still difficult for me to comprehend is that, although they would still be classified as plants because they use photosynthesis, they are so active they need more food—in fact they're omnivorous—and in turn, they are able to get more food because they're so active!"
"Chicken and egg?" murmured David.
"Maybe." Nels shrugged. "They live, by choice, in those thorn thickets we've tried to get through, and they can make the thickets open up to them. I get the impression they're not afraid of anything, but they need to maintain a stable, upright position—you can see it'd be hard for them to get erect again if they toppled over!—and the thickets protect them from the wind as much as from any predator."
"How do they get other foods?" I asked curiously.
"It sounds to me like they have a sort of farm operation," said Cinnamon slowly. "The words are unclear still, and I keep thinking how unlikely that would be, but then I watch those thick roots pick up a knife . . ."
"And did you see that knife?" Carmen asked eagerly. "It's much better than anything I can make!"
"Yet the Jolly was really interested in my Mech-All," added Shirley. "After three or four of those gentle, pushy reachings for my belt-pouch, I got it out, switched it to a standard knife blade, and the Jolly examined every part of it."
"And did you notice how it did that examining?" said Jinjur. "I was fascinated—the root end felt it all over, like my fingers would, while one of those little owls hovered so close I could have touched it!"
"Those flying things really do appear to be eyes for the Jolly," Nels said. "But how they evolved into separate entities I can't figure out."
I remembered Cinnamon's curiosity about the underwater plants with their six mobile parts out on tentacles, and I glanced at her, but she said nothing, staring thoughtfully into the flames.
"As near as I can pronounce what the Jolly said, there is a creature called the jookeejook, which the Jolly controls, and uses for food," Shirley said. "I'm hoping I'll soon be able to ask to visit the thorn thicket this fellow calls home, if he does, and then we'll learn more."
"I'm taking it slow," she said to my quick question. "I think Reiki's right about the courtesy here, it just makes sense. We move so rapidly all the time, the Jolly might rightly feel threatened if we were anything other than calm and steady."
I was glad to hear this. I've seen how difficult it is for David, in particular, to move slowly, unless he is convinced of the necessity for it.
"How about those decorations?" I asked. "Did you get any explanation for them?"
"Not yet," Carmen answered. "It apparently has several different sorts, and uses them with obvious care, but they don't seem to serve any practical purpose. Like your laces, Reiki!" she added in surprise. I considered that—rather an appealing thought!
"Further," Nels went on, "I think that it's eating when the little animals bring stuff which goes into that hole in the trunk, and when it fetches out fruit and things from the pouches and puts them in the hole. The gurgly noises, for lack of a better term, rather indicate that. But the Jolly always covers the hole with that decorated cloth before the sounds begin—I've no idea why."
I gasped as a thought came to me, but my idea was too blatantly anthropomorphic to say aloud. But Shirley turned and gave me a quick and knowing grin.
"A napkin, Reiki?" she whispered.
"We did manage to ask a few simple questions about the trees and vines," she said aloud. "Mostly by showing them to the little owls, and letting David make interrogative sounds on the flute. It seems to know and use the fruit, when it can get it! But the interesting thing is the battle between the trees and the vines—I think the Jolly has a word that very definitely means war, and that it's going on all the time. We can't see it, or hear it, but it must be a bitter struggle—no holds barred!"
"Yes, I got that too," said Carmen. "They're all after the same thing, and I think it might be the treetop area."
"Yes," Nels agreed. "It looks like all the different sorts of trees live in family-type groups, and they're all struggling upward, probably to get as much light as they can. In Earth's rainforests, there's a polite sort of distance between the various treetops, but perhaps because the light is poorer here, that space is literally up for grabs. The trees are always sending out exploring vines, or roots, or both, hunting for better terrain, and attempting to kill any other vine or root it meets and take over its area. When you and Arielle go up the trees using the vines you don't notice it—and I don't think the trees are
cognizant, not like the Jolly—but the tree and vine you are scrambling over are actually locked in combat with each other!"
"How can you tell who wins?" asked Jinjur.
"Ultimately, by which survives," Nels answered.
"Or, at least, by which remains in control of that area," said Cinnamon, thinking it out. "I bet that's what started the plants moving in the first place. The simpler ones do it by shifting their main growth to the best place. The Jollys have evolved a lot further than that."
"What about the little animals that gather food for the Jolly?" I asked.
"They seem to be . . .just little animals that gather food," said Jinjur. "I got between one of them and the Jolly by mistake, this morning," she admitted. "Neither the animal nor the Jolly made any move toward me, but there certainly was an increase in the sounds between the animal on the ground and the animals inside the hole in the trunk! And the little thing shifted constantly until I was out of the way, and then headed straight and fast for the hole in the trunk."
There was not much more to add to the information, and my day in the water has left me drowsy. It is a rare clear night, and I wander down to the beach to watch the stars coming out. What an incredibly beautiful sight! There are only a few high clouds in the sky, and as I stand in the warm wind I can see the light of more distant stars, thick in the sky. But what fills the heavens is the gigantic glowing orb of Gargantua hanging overhead, bigger than my hand, and in "full-moon" phase.
The night is peaceful—I might be in any tropical paradise but for the unearthly view above me. Hawaii, Pitcairn, Tahiti—but those places all have records of human violence. This place seems so innocent, and benign—perhaps it really is an Eden!
Marooned on Eden Page 21