Shaman

by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

  “My God.” The exclamation was in starchily accented English. Raymond Godwin had come down to the shore to watch.

  “Don’t you dare,” growled Rhys, “throw anything.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  The bogdillos had obviously come to some sort of decision, for some of their number dispersed, some withdrawing to the shore and into the tall grasses, others disappearing into the amphibian lodges, still others seeming to dive beneath the water—an amazing feat considering its native buoyancy. Two of the remaining individuals glided right to Rhys’s feet and emerged to face him.

  After each had appraised him via a trio of eye stalks, they proceeded to handle the tarpaulin with what appeared to be fins... or tentacles... or flabby pincers, depending on the use to which they were put—lifting, poking or pulling.

  Rhys sucked in a long awe-filled breath. Now, that was adaptability. Even so, he noticed that one of the bogdillos was having a little trouble folding back a corner of the thin but durable fabric. Noticed, too, how it kept changing the shape of its pseudo-hand to gain a better purchase. On a whim, Rhys lowered his own hand to where the bogdillo could see it and slowly, carefully peeled the corner back. He left his hand in plain view—the eye stalks took note. After a few permutations, the bogdillo had approximated a hand (albeit, without digits it looked like a hand in a sleek, shiny mitten) and had satisfactorily manipulated the thin folds. Rhys sat back in amazement.

  In short order, the missing bogdillos returned and, after a very brief and bright consultation with their confreres, deposited an array of goods on the silty squelch of beach. Rhys heard a scanner’s metallic purr to his right.

  “Lord,” said Godwin. “What a treasure trove.”

  The two arthropods in possession of the tarp made a show of removing it from the beach, then returned to gesture very pointedly at their own pile of offerings, now at Godwin’s feet.

  Rhys glanced at the Acquisitions director. “Fair trade?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’d say so.”

  “Then make a show of picking it up.”

  “Me? You want me to take part in this... negotiation?”

  “It seems you may have started it. What could be more appropriate than for you to close it?”

  Godwin bent and picked up an armful of ores and plant stuffs. He stepped back a stride for good measure. The bogdillos seemed satisfied. They took their tarpaulin and departed, fireflies blazing. The lagoon returned to a deep green sort of twilight as the alien light receded further into the lake.

  “Well,” breathed Godwin. “That was something, wasn’t it? Did I really start all that, do you think?”

  “I’m pretty sure of it.” Rhys chuckled. “When I think of all the clues we got—lakeside foliage turning up in relatively faraway places, bogdillo-shaped constructs, the simians tossing food at them...” He trailed off, a strange expression flitting across his face.

  “They were aping the bogdillo trading methods, you mean?”

  Rhys nodded, his eyes apparently on some fourth dimension only he could see. “So it would seem. And while we were being pleased with ourselves for all our neat efforts toward trade in the villages, what probably convinced the bogdillos to give us that first cache of goods was the cargo crew lobbing seed cones at them.”

  Yoshi waggled her palm torch. “Now they know we can harness light... just like they do.” She grinned. “I guess that makes us bogdillos, too.”

  “I’m willing to bet they’ll suspend coming to any firm decision until they’ve known us longer, but this,” said Rhys, “is where we step out, Mr. Godwin.”

  The Englishman did a double take. “I beg pardon?”

  “We have found you a sentient lifeform. I will even recommend the experts necessary to continue working with them. But they will have to determine if the bogdillos can lay claim to the mineral resources of this planet on a scale necessary to cede them wholesale to Tanaka.”

  “Now wait just a moment. You’ve found a sentient, now you’re supposed to recommend that I negotiate with them for Bog’s resources?”

  “A sentient, yes, but I’ve not proven them to be the representatives of a civilization. All I’ve shown you is a race of clever natives, which you wish to deal with as necessary, or so you said. The Collective takes a dim view of people—or even major corporations—dealing with native populations according to expediency. This is a culture, Godwin. There is potential for trade, potential for communication. But are these people in a position to barter away the mineral rights for their entire world? Would they even understand what they were bartering away? Until we know those things, we can do more than deal with them on a purely local basis.”

  “Like this, you mean?” asked Godwin incredulously. “Beads and trinkets for ores and botanicals?”

  “Not trinkets. An exchange of useful commodities. But yes, just like what we did here. A little at a time—while we establish communications... and search for other possible contacts.”

  “Ah. Other contacts which could negotiate mineral rights for Bog.”

  Rhys shook his head. “You’re forgetting a fine point of Collective law, Mr. Godwin. If the bogdillos are not the only race of beings on Bog, neither party would be allowed to barter away planetary resources. I believe you have jumped the gun. There is nothing here for you to acquire... yet. Only trinkets, as you call them.”

  Godwin, crushing his armful of ores to his chest, brought himself stiffly upright. “You sir, have forgotten who pays your salary. I intend to tender a full report to Corporate as soon as I return to headquarters. I’ll call in the requisite experts—”

  “I’ll give you my recommendations.” Godwin opened his mouth to retort, but Rhys cut him off. “They’ll get the quickest results, Godwin. Don’t sabotage yourself out of dislike for me.”

  “Take me back to the base camp.”

  “With pleasure.”

  “He’ll try to find a work-around, you know,” said Yoshi, her eyes following the stiff column of Godwin’s back. “He’ll try to find a way to get more sooner.”

  “Of course he will,” Rhys acknowledged. “But fortunately there are saner heads at Tanaka. And there are the laws of the Collective. Until he can prove the bogdillos have the knowledge and authority to negotiate for such vast resources, those laws will force Tanaka to be content with limited commodities—still worth having, if our advance surveys are any indication.”

  “Until?” Yoshi turned off her palm-torch, plunging them into moist darkness. “What if he never can prove it? What if the bogdillos are not world-aware enough to negotiate and no other sentients turn up?”

  She could feel his smile even in the darkness. “Oh, I think there may be other sentients here, all right. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “The bogdillos provide water to at least three other species—species capable of community existence and lodge building. Species also capable of a high degree of mimicry. After all, we saw them throw things at the bogdillos, and we saw the bogdillos throw them back.”

  Yoshi sucked in a deep breath. “You think the bogdillos are trying to get the other species to barter?”

  “Maybe it’s that simple. Maybe it’s not. Consider this: What if the bogdillos are trying to teach the other species barter? What if they’re trying to help them take an evolutionary step?”

  “Is that possible?” Her voice came out in an awed whisper.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t around when our ancestors learned these things. But I do know this—Mr. Godwin will have to acquire someone else’s resources.”

  “Rhys, do you hear yourself? It’s not just Godwin. It’s Tanaka Corp. Most employers take a very dim view of an employee who feels he’d scored a moral victory in keeping them out of a multi-billion credit deal.”

  Rhys grimaced. “You’re right. And one of these days I expect my scruples will catch up with me. Unless my conscience gets there first.”

  “Your conscience?
” She shifted closer to him in the dark to peer up into his face. “What would you have to feel guilty about? You’ve always conducted yourself ethically. I should know. I’ve always been there.”

  He turned to look at her, realizing that she had, indeed, always been there. He could just see the pale moon of her face, the glitter of her eyes. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like,” he asked, “not to serve a corporate master? To be a scientist, pure and simple?”

  “I know what it’s like. So do you. When we were on sabbatical—”

  “Not just when we’re on sabbatical, Yoshi. But every day. You saw what happened on this assignment. The same thing that always happens. We serve two masters—Tanaka and science, in that order. And sometimes, like this time, their aims are mutually opposed. Science doesn’t care if it takes a century to establish meaningful contact with the denizens of Bog. Tanaka most certainly does. And that puts us in an untenable position.”

  “You’ve thought about resigning before.” It was a bald statement of fact.

  “Aye, but I don’t recall discussing it with you.”

  He could see the flash of white as she smiled. “I know things.”

  “Ah, now don’t go all inscrutable on me, Yosh. In this frame of mind, I don’t think I can take it.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. We’d best get Godwin back to his tidy corporate shuttle before he starts throwing things again. I’d be dreadfully embarrassed if he accidentally started another round of negotiations and us with nothing to trade.”

  “You do have to give him credit for that,” Yoshi acknowledged as they picked their way back to the swamp buggy, leaving their torches dark in silent mutual consent.

  “I do? Well, I suppose you’re right. After all, he’s leaving. I can afford to be charitable.”

  “Aren’t we leaving, too? I thought you were going to recommend some experts to take the post.”

  Rhys scratched his cheek. “Yes, well. Actually, I thought I’d recommend us. After all, we’re already here, aren’t we? Godwin wants expediency—how much more expedient can you get? Besides, if what I think’s going on here is going on here, I surely don’t want to miss it.”

  “And your resignation?”

  “Can wait. A wee bit longer.”

  They had reached the swamp buggy by now and could hear Godwin, already within, haranguing Rick Halfax about his superior’s complete lack of company loyalty. Rhys sighed. Well, perhaps a very wee bit.

  Simple Gifts

  This story is based firmly in one of my favorite propositions about reality: that things are not always as they seem. ’Nuff said.

  o0o

  “Simple,” Rhys Llewellyn repeated.

  “Yes, I know you hate the word, but in this case it applies—oh, stop looking at me like that.”

  Rhys did stop looking at the woman seated across from him in the crew’s commons of his temporal “schooner” Ceilidh. He got up and moved into the galley to pour a calming cup of tea.

  “By simple, I simply mean,” said Danetta Price-Bekwe doggedly, “that they’re not sophisticated enough to have a concept of capitalism beyond barter. You know: ‘Here, I’ll give you this; you give me that.’ The first contact team was at a loss to know how to convey what we want—new Lingua Franca units notwithstanding. Those machines are fine for words, but they’re not so good at body language and subtext. Alas, neither are our advance guys. They’re businessmen and geologists, not cultural anthropologists.”

  “Ah,” said Rhys, grimacing less at this admission than at the taste of his tea.

  They possessed the technology to fly great (if measured) distances back and forth in time and space, and yet could not program a ship’s galley to brew an acceptable cup of tea. Rhys abandoned the Ceilidh’s substandard offering and poured a pot of hot water. He would have to dig into his dwindling supply of Taylor’s of Harrowgate Ceylon.

  “So,” he said as he extracted a pair of tea bags from his stash and plopped them into the pot, “Tanaka Corp wants a cultural anthropologist to decipher the subtext.”

  Danetta—pretty, petite, blonde and sharp as a slice of Bute cheddar—looked only moderately uncomfortable. “Correct. They want you to go to Furry’s World and figure out how to negotiate with the native population.”

  “Furry’s World?”

  Danetta grimaced. “Fourier’s World, actually. After the gentleman who made first contact. We haven’t nailed down what these particular natives call it just yet. The natives are a little... furry, so...” She shrugged.

  “Delightful,” Rhys said, without the least bit of delight.

  “Oh, don’t take that tone with me, Professor. It’s an affectionate mispronunciation and nothing more.”

  “Need I remind you, Danetta, that I don’t work for you any longer? Or, more accurately, for the Tanaka Corporation.”

  Some emotion Rhys could only guess at flitted behind her eyes before the cool businesswoman said, “I’m more aware of that than you can imagine, Rhys. I’ve been authorized to offer your team a hefty consultant’s fee. Obviously Yoshi’s linguistic talents will be especially valuable.”

  “Oh, aye. They would be, but I’m not interested in the job.”

  She got up from her lounge seat and strode across the cabin to face him over the galley counter. “Please, Rhys. As a special favor to me?”

  “A special favor? Why in God’s several million names should you call in a favor for Tanaka? I’ve heard nothing but complaints from you since Vince Tanaka retired.”

  She put both her hands on the counter as if the ship were pitching. It wasn’t—they rode serenely at anchor in a carefully chosen Shift layover midway between her home planet and his current dig. The no-nonsense business maven disappeared, and Rhys found himself facing his old friend Danetta, not a Tanaka Corp Acquisitions Veep.

  “Actually, that’s the problem, Rhys. Vince’s retirement. Ever since Harry Reinhold ascended the ‘throne,’ I’ve thought more often about resigning. In fact, I thought about it when you quit, but—I don’t know—I guess I thought I could still do some good.”

  “I’m sure you have,” Rhys said, slightly chastened.

  “Maybe. But without you to keep the operatives honest...”

  “That was your job, wasn’t it?”

  She actually blushed. “It is, but I’m not nearly as clever as you are at managing the situation on the ground. In fact, Reinhold won’t allow me to manage the field teams directly at all.” She paused, then said, “I told you about the Shivolti.”

  She had. The Shivolti inhabited the largest island on a watery world dubbed (predictably) Atlantea. Their civilization had just passed into the serious core of an industrial period. Technology was changing so rapidly that Danetta had seen fit to insert a clause into the Shivolti’s contract with Tanaka that allowed for an independent arbitrator to examine the terms every five years to make certain its provisions remained fair for both parties. It had been a proud moment for Danetta Price and protected the Shivolti from the unforeseeable.

  “I thought you handled that beautifully,” Rhys told her.

  “You thought I handled it beautifully. Reinhold and his board thought I bungled it. I had not, as he put it, ‘guarded Tanaka’s long-term interests adequately.’ He later informed me that my expertise was best used post-fix to ensure the interests of the company were served. Every time I try to adjust a contract to distribute the benefits more fairly, Napoleon and Josephine override me.”

  Rhys raised ginger brows.

  “Reinhold’s trained attack lawyers, French and Josephson.” Her lip curled. “They came in with Reinhold. My hands are tied. Now I’m mandated to let the advance teams operate without influence from my office.”

  “Why the change in management style? Tanaka was a successful company—if it wasn’t broke...”

  “The change of style has been a big surprise to all of us. Reinhold came highly recommended. Apparently, when they looked at his track record, they failed to examine his me
thods.”

  “I’d’ve thought you were in line for the board of directors.”

  She shrugged. “Vince backed me, but the board wanted ‘fresh blood.’ Anyway, as I said, the Furries are... pretty innocent when it comes to trade. We’re interested in their mineral resources. Specifically, deposits of fool’s tungsten.”

  “Fool’s tungsten? That’s a new one on me.”

  “It’s an unusual but naturally occurring alloy with some properties of tungsten—a fairly high melting point, for one—and some properties of the second metal, titanium.”

  “Titanium and tungsten? That is unusual.”

  “Needless to say, our mineralogists are excited. It’s lightweight and strong with a high melting point... they’re practically salivating. Fool’s tungsten looks like a win-win for spectral shift core chambers. “

  Rhys nodded. “A subject on which I am lectured daily. Roddy has taken a keen interest in temporal shift technology of late.”

  Danetta blinked. “Rick hates shifting.”

  Indeed he did. Rhys’s assistant, Roderick Halfax, got violently ill if not sufficiently tranquilized during a time shift in either direction.

  “He’s taken Yoshi’s philosophy to heart. According to her Asian forebears, to overcome fear one must ‘make the monster beautiful.’ Or at least make it fascinating. Roddy has set out to know everything about the technology that he can, hence I have become a second-hand expert on core chambers.”

  Rhys poured two cups of tea and pushed one of them across the counter to Danetta. “So you want to be sure that the Furries—as you call them” —he wondered what they called themselves— “have enough fool’s tungsten to meet their own needs.”

  “That’s just it: as of now, they have no significant needs. If they did, this would be simpler. We could project based on current usage. Even Reinhold would have to respect that. But they don’t have the technology to process the mineral in significant quantities. Their usage amounts to setting its crystals in jewelry and hand-working the metal into cooking pots.”

  “Of course, you’ve argued that they might develop the technology to exploit the resource in the future.”