Shaman

by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

  “So you’re suggesting we lay our goods out where we picked theirs up—in the middle of the supply dump?”

  Yoshi nodded. “We make a gesture of accepting the goods they brought and place our own on the exact spot where they were delivered.”

  Rhys glanced at Rick, whose nose was buried in his coffee mug. “What do you think, Roddy?”

  The other man shrugged. “I say anything’s worth a try. If we can’t prove any of the Bogies are sentient, this planet is going to become a big, soupy rock quarry.” He leaned closer to Rhys across the table and lowered his voice. “I’ve seen the geological reports Godwin’s been salivating over. There are so many rare-elsewhere minerals in the so-called crust of this mud ball that there’s virtually no place you can dig that you won’t unearth something marketable. And if you don’t think Godwin would cheerfully tear up every tree, siphon off every drop of standing water and dispossess every native lifeform to get it...”

  “Danetta would never allow that,” Rhys protested. “And she’s in the driver’s seat at Tanaka.”

  Rick gave him a wry glance. “Come on, professor. You know big business better than that. Even Danetta Price has to listen to the Board of Directors. And the Board of Directors listens to the shareholders, and a lot of shareholders listen to the siren song of the almighty credit.”

  “You’re right,” Rhys admitted, guiltily recalling that they, too, worked for Tanaka. “And Godwin’s been singing that song since we met him. He has a vested interest in our failure because our success would mean a substantial investment of time. And Tanaka Corp has traditionally favored investing financial resources over investing time. Whatever we determine about the lifeforms on Bog, we’ve got to be damn certain.”

  They pursued Yoshi’s idea, making a studied ritual out of accepting the native collection of goods and replacing the stash with one of their own. Then they settled down to watch. When no one and nothing put in an appearance by nightfall, they turned in for the evening and turned on the brace of monitoring holocams around the site.

  The pile of goodies was still there in the weak morning light. But something else was missing. All four of the stockpiles near the cache had been relieved of their bright blue coverings.

  While Pinski had his crew replaced the tarps with extras from their shuttle’s supplies, Rhys and company checked the recordings. It had been a foggy night, which is to say a normal one, and shapeless wings of mist trailed across the camera eye or rolled along the ground. Rhys began to realize that virtually anything could be concealed in that.

  “What’s that?” Rick asked, pointing a finger to what looked like a field of tiny stars in a slowly swirling nebula. “Fireflies?”

  Rhys squinted at them. “Or the local equivalent. We’ve seen them before.”

  “Sure. Over the bog. Never in camp.”

  “They may travel at night. They’re certainly not our traders.”

  Rick grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe if a whole bunch of them teamed up...”

  Rhys gave him a mock severe glare. “I suppose you’d like your signature to be on the report that identifies a local insect as the species Tanaka has to do business with?”

  Rick turned his attention back to the monitor screen. “Not a chance.”

  ‘Not a chance’ pretty much described their attempt to ferret any new visual evidence out of the video record. There was darkness, fog, more darkness and a flotilla of brightly lit insects. Rick hit on the idea of turning off the picture and focusing on the sound. That yielded little more—only the sound of plastic clips being sprung and tarpaulins being tugged from their mounts and dragged away through the primordial ooze.

  There was nothing for it but to attempt tracking the missing tarps. Under normal circumstances, following a drag trail would have been a simple task, but Bog’s springy soil and general sogginess made it a hit or miss game. There was nothing like a discernible spore, but only broken fern fronds and irregularly depressed patches of earth. They found the trail; they lost it; they found it again. Then they found a place where it appeared to fork.

  “It looks like they split up,” Rick observed. “One tarp was dragged off that way,” —he pointed northeast— “another toward the lake. And from the look of that...” He broke off to examine a third swathe of disturbed ground and foliage. “Two toward the eastern plateau.”

  Rhys straightened from his own perusal of the trails. “Roughly, one deeper into the forest, one toward the amphibian population and two toward the reptile village.”

  “Coincidence?” asked Yoshi.

  “Let’s find out. The simian tree houses are closest. Let’s try that direction first.” Rhys led on, following the on-again, off-again trail until they came within sight of the nearest tree village. He was scanning the foliage above and before when Rick gave a shout.

  “Pay dirt!”

  Rhys, Yoshi, and the several members of the site crew who had joined them, hurried in the direction of his voice. He had found one of the missing tarpaulins snagged over a small sapling and a couple of ferns. A handful of small avians bathed themselves in the water that had pooled in its draped folds.

  One of the site crew made a move to reclaim the tarp; the birds fled, chittering. Rhys put a hand up to stop the man. “Leave it. They paid for it, after all.”

  “But it’s just sitting here, gathering water.”

  Rhys dabbled a finger in the pool vacated by the birds, then glanced toward the village where a group of the simian inhabitants watched with mild interest. “Indeed. Yoshi... set up a monitor pack to take in the tarp and its immediate area. Then we’ll be on to the next site.”

  “Why bother, Doc?” Rick asked. “Doesn’t this pretty much prove that the simians are our sentients?”

  “There are two other trails to follow, Roddy. Trails that may lead to other conclusions entirely.”

  They took a couple of swamp buggies to the reptile colony next. Both of the missing tarps were located with ease, sheerly by contrast to the earth-toned surroundings. Like the first one, these had been draped in deceptive abandon over protruding objects so that fresh water from the humid atmosphere pooled in the low points. They found the first of the two roughly two-thirds of the way between their base camp and the reptile colony. The other was just outside the village at which Rhys had attempted to barter some time before. And this one was in use—a group of the reptilians were gathered about it, sipping in turns from the vivid puddles while one or two avian friends showered beneath drops of spillage. Rhys took notes, Yoshi made a video record, then they continued to the third site.

  It took longer to find the fourth tarp. Blazing blue notwithstanding, the lusher colors and foliage around the lake made spotting difficult. But spot it they did, near sunset. Once again, it appeared to have been set up to collect fresh water.

  The five-person team from the site crew took their buggy and returned to camp immediately, having no particular desire to bivouac in a true swamp overnight. Rhys hardly noticed their absence. Nor did he particularly notice the presence of Raymond Godwin, who, realizing the importance of recent events, thought it in his best interests to stay close by.

  By the time Rhys and his cohorts had set up camp, the rude water collection system had been in use several times by both amphibians and avians. Review of the monitor packs Yoshi had set up at the other tarpaulin sites showed similar use by both simians and reptiles.

  “Are they all sentient?” asked Godwin irritably as they sat in the twilight and watched the activity over the lake. “Have we stumbled onto some sort of... of alien co-op?”

  Rhys, watching the movements of aquatic life in and around of one of the waterlogged lodges, shook his head absently. “So it would seem. Damn! They communicate with each other—how do we get them to communicate with us?”

  Rhys fell silent, gazing out over the lake as the alien sun pulled in its green-tinted skirts, plunging the swampy glade into sudden dim twilight. He reached for a camp-light. Yoshi’s hand fell on his arm,
sending an inexplicable army of goose bumps marching up and down its length.

  “Rhys, look at this.”

  “This” proved to be billows of the tiny Boggian fireflies that, though nearly invisible by day, were anything but at dusk. It was as if someone had released a cloud of willful sparks; the fireflies danced over the face of the thick water and the water’s surface gleamed in reply. It was a rare and remarkable sight. The mass of insects was so bright the camp-light seemed superfluous.

  Rhys, unable to withdraw his arm, glanced at Yoshi’s face in the spectral glow. Her eyes were bright mirrors of wonder. His, suddenly captive, watched the glow of alien fire in them.

  “Bioluminescents,” she murmured, “never cease to amaze me. I’ve never seen so many all in one place.”

  “Oh, and here come a few more,” said Godwin dryly.

  A few more was a gross understatement. A small, compact fleet of the fireflies was flitting through the tall grasses and ferns that bordered the lake. They moved at a leisurely pace, taking time to spiral skyward now and again before coalescing into a puff of green-gold brightness.

  “That’s odd...”

  Yoshi’s sudden tension broke the odd spell that had momentarily held Rhys in thrall. As the hand that had lain across his forearm went to her field scanner, he blinked and followed her gaze. Below the cloud of approaching fireflies, the grasses waved and bobbed as if the beating of those tiny wings was creating a massive down draft. At the water’s edge, no more than thirty feet from where the Humans sat, the reeds parted.

  “Huh!” snorted Rick. “Mystery solved. I didn’t think those little sprites could create that much commotion.”

  Yoshi nodded, watching as two bogdillos slid into the water, their escort of fireflies commingling with the brilliant mist that hovered over the lake. “I forgot they were parasites.”

  Rhys stared at the bright water. “Parasites? Or pets?”

  “What?”

  Rhys was on his feet, keeping his voice low with an effort. “What was the one thing we did see on the security monitor the night the tarps were taken?”

  Yoshi had risen too. “Fireflies.”

  “And what do fireflies have in common with every one of our potentially sentient species?”

  Yoshi’s brow knit. “Bogdillos?”

  “Bogdillos?” Rick repeated. “But they’re scavengers. They sponge off everybody. They even horn in on the houses the amphibians build.”

  “They’ve got symbiotic relationships with not just one other species,” argued Rhys, making emphatic gestures with both hands, “but with three or more. They get fed, petted, and scratched—”

  “And in return” said Godwin, “they provide house plans?”

  “No. They provide water!”

  “Water?” echoed Rick. “I don’t —”

  “Remember the broad-leaf plants we couldn’t account for near the simian village? Good God, they were all over the ground in the reptile colony too, I only just realized. What if those are the bogdillos’ attempts to provide water to the other species? We came into town with a better system of trapping water, and the bogdillos—having observed what we found interesting—traded some of it for what they found interesting. Namely, big, blue ‘leaves’ that could be used to trap precious water in larger quantities.”

  “They’re a diurnal species,” added Yoshi, “yet they have adapted to nocturnal activity by—possibly—harnessing another lifeform to provide light.”

  “And just how do you propose to prove this marvelous construct?” Godwin asked, blinking up at them through the eerie faux-twilight. “We’ve heard not one murmur from those bugdillos of yours.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Rick objected. “They could communicate via species-specific telepathy, for all we know.”

  “We’ll offer further trade,” said Rhys decisively.

  Bearing another tarpaulin along with plant and mineral samples Tanaka had found most interesting, Rhys and Rick approached the shore of Brown Salt Lake. Yoshi monitored while Godwin stood by like bored royalty. With Rick behind him holding a tarp, Rhys hunkered at the water’s edge and smacked the surface lightly with the flat of his hand. He repeated this several times, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder to where he could see Yoshi with her holocam. She was nodding.

  “They’re there. Just out beyond that near lodge.”

  Glancing to where Yoshi had directed, Rhys could see them too, looking like nothing so much as a clump of giant chocolate marshmallows bobbing in a cup of hot cocoa.

  And there, for all of Rhys’s ministrations, they stayed. He had Rick wave the tarp. He laid out the samples of the goods the bogdillos (presumably) had brought them, trying to demonstrate that he would trade one thing for the other. He even left the tarpaulin on the shore and retreated. The marshmallows stayed right where they were, bobbing beneath their radiant canopy.

  “I think,” said Godwin, “that I am going to run, screaming, into the jungle. How do you manage to have so bloody much patience? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were all brain-addled.” He snorted. “Hell, I’m not sure I do know better. Are you all brain-addled?”

  “I was beginning to wonder, myself,” yawned Rick, gazing at the motionless dumplings.

  “They’re waiting for something,” murmured Yoshi. “I can feel it.”

  “Oh, now that’s scientific!” Godwin got up and went out to the shore to stare at the flotilla of bogdillos. “I say,” he addressed them. “Anyone in the mood for a spot of tea? Eh? How about some anchovy wine or something equally tasty?”

  He bent over then, and before Rhys could guess his intention, he had tossed a rock out into the water. It landed with a squishy smack! right in front of his alien audience. They dispersed immediately.

  Rhys was on his feet in an instant. “Godwin! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The other man turned on him, face red with frustration. “Trying to communicate.”

  “Communicate? You frightened them away!”

  “At least, my way got some result.”

  Rhys took a step toward the other man forcing him to withdraw to the other side of the swamp buggy.

  Twilight lingered for perhaps an hour. True darkness fell. Now no fireflies brightened the lake’s murky surface, no bogdillos plowed through the waist-high reeds. Rhys was thoroughly depressed and disgusted, convinced Godwin had ruined their chances of communicating with the Bogian denizens.

  He was sitting in the stygian darkness between an equally glum Yoshi and a dozing Rick when something thudded to the ground just out of reach. Startled, he leapt to his feet and reached for a palm torch, flipping on the diffuse beam. Yoshi echoed both movements, adding her light to his. Barely an arm’s length from where they had sat was a rock.

  “Are they attacking?” Yoshi whispered.

  “I don’t know. Kill your beam.”

  He matched action to word, flicking off his own torch and plunging them into darkness. When nothing else happened, he stepped to where the rock had fallen and knelt to examine it, switching on his torch again to do so. Almost immediately, a second object plopped to earth another three feet or so ahead of him. As he rose to find it with his eyes, the entire lagoon was lit up like the Christmas trees of yore.

  Rhys extinguished his torch. The alien insects went dark a heartbeat later. He felt Yoshi at his side and gave her a quick glance before stepping to the second projectile. It proved to be a large, soggy seedpod of some sort.

  “Your torch,” Yoshi whispered.

  He turned it on. The fireflies blazed in reply. Another missile fell midway between Rhys and the shoreline. He heard a soft exclamation from behind him, and realized Rick was awake. A fraction of his mind wondered what Godwin was doing just about now. He stepped to the next marker without turning off his torch.

  Yoshi flicked hers on as well. “I’ll get the goods.”

  She was gone for a moment, during which time Rhys responded to another invitation to c
ome closer. He was now a mere foot from the waterline and could see the lumpy shapes of the bogdillos out in the water. He waited, but they came no closer. When a full minute had elapsed, he bent, picked up the rock at his feet, and tossed it out into the little lagoon, so that it fell midway between shore and watchers. After a moment of hesitation, the bogdillos drew closer, moving as one.

  Rhys felt a chill sail up his spine. There was a moment in every first contact Rhys had known when he wondered if the other party would suddenly prove to be fanatically carnivorous xenophobes. In this case, the possibility presented itself that the bogdillos viewed the visiting Humans as a potential addition to their petting zoo.

  He cursed the forefathers of science fiction, chased the ridiculous thought away, and tossed out another rock, this time bringing the arthropods to just over a yard from where he stood. Signaling Yoshi to attend him, he squatted on the shore and began playing charades. He showed the bogdillos the tarpaulin, describing it (“tarp”) in case they could hear him, and demonstrating with a flask of water that he understood what they used it for. Then he displayed the several most valuable of the items they had left in the base camp cargo dump, and lastly, laid the tarpaulin on the shore and stepped back.

  During the brief wait, he was witness to what he could only call a conversation between the various members of the bogdillian group. There were dolphin-like squeaks, watery gargling sounds, a gamut of muted tones, and tiny, rhythmic slapping patterns executed with a foot or tentacle (he couldn’t see which) upon the stiff surface of the water. Most incredibly of all, the fireflies dancing above each bogdillo—for he could now see that each entity had its separate tribe—winked on and off and subtly altered color and direction during the exchange.