by David Brin
Anyway, deferred gratification was an important lesson. You learned it early in Japan. Failure to understand the importance of patience and hard work had brought down other great powers that once towered over Minoru's homeland. Now the Land of the Rising Sun stood as the greatest of nations, and its reach extended to faraway stars.
The work was going so well, Minoru had even trained some of the smaller, male Genjians to dissect and prepare animal specimens, spreading organs and skeletal features under the recording cameras. One venerable brood-father named Phs'n'kah seemed fascinated and enthusiastic to learn more.
It was Phs'n'kah who nudged Minoru as the steady drone of the treadmill lulled him. "I have brought more samples for study," the translator announced primly, though Minoru thought he understood the hissing trills standing for "I" and "sample." He saw that Phs'n'kah had laid a reed mat across the mud, arraying thereon several score tiny animals, all with their necks neatly wrung. "These were gathered within a single patch, one meter on a side?" Minoru asked.
"Yes. The very *** you marked off. I made sure to ***"
The last part dissolved in static as the translator tried guessing, then gave up.
"You sealed off the sample area as I showed you?"
"As you showed me . . . I *** down to one meter depth. I am sure nothing *** escaped. Nothing *** than the holes in your *** sieve screen."
Minoru peered at the samples. You could learn a lot just by seeing how the Genjian had sorted them. Not by size or color. Nor, apparently, by species relatedness. It seemed Phs'n'kah had put all the obligate carnivores on one side, all obvious leaf-cutters in another corner, and so on. You are what you eat.
Phs'n'kah's snorkel waved as he gathered up the samples and the reed mat. "Have we found any *** yet that the *** humans can honorably eat?"
Minoru started. How did Phs'n'kah know that ulterior motive for Minoru's fevered sampling of flora and fauna? Of course, he realized. They have no real concept of science. But eating, cooking, the search for something new and good . . . he probably thinks that's the main purpose of all this collecting!
Perhaps this explained why it was males, the gatherers and tenders of hearths, who were most enthusiastic about helping Minoru, while females preferred Emile, with his endless appetite for words.
"No, my friend. Nothing good to eat yet. But we can still hope."
"Hope is ***. Hope can even be ***."
As Phs'n'kah turned and waddled up the path to the science dome, Minoru wondered. That had sounded like an aphorism, a wise-saying. It might be a good idea to store it for Emile.
"That's enough," he told the workers turning the corer. The translator barked and they squatted back, panting. Occasionally one of them would open its mouth to pick its teeth with one of the slender tentacle arms. Only at times like that was Minoru able to tell for absolute certain which was male and which female. Besides being generally smaller, the males had tongues that were longer and raspier for some reason, ending in a sort of bulbous fixture. Curiously, it did not seem to affect their speech—at least to his untutored ears.
The latest core sample came up slickly . . . a tube of history sheathed in electro-stiffened plastic. His helpers were by now well rehearsed at loading the five-meter-long tube onto the disassembler-reader. As the core passed through, layer after sedimentary layer was atomized. A fine dust of ages came out the other end, while all the information formerly locked in ordered patterns of mud and ancient fossils flowed into the capacious computer back at the dome. Gradually, a database was forming. It would take years, probably decades, to comprehend more than a cursory view of life on Genji—its complex chemistry and interlaced ecologies. Still, some pieces were already falling into place.
For one thing, life here was as old as on Earth. Evolution had progressed at a similar pace, despite less radiation-induced mutation. Instead, a built-in diversity driver came from half-a-dozen extra amino acids in the protein code.
One of Minoru's workers performed something akin to a gaping yawn, and Minoru blinked, stepping backward in surprise. Apparently the other natives were as shocked by the gesture. Several hissed, and one even tried to nip the offender's tail. She snarled back.
Then, abruptly, the altercation was forgotten. Almost as one, the natives lifted their heads and turned. Minoru followed and saw a darkness rapidly approach from the east. The deck of low-lying clouds dimmed along a sharp border that neared rapidly, casting a moving shadow across the hillsides and the fog-draped sea. A low moan rose from the Genjians as they reared to gape in the direction of Chujo—even though the sister world was covered by clouds. The shadow rushed over them, and translucent sunlight faded by half as Genji's twin-world passed in front of Murasaki's Star, commencing the noon eclipse.
Time to down tools. For this culture, on this archipelago, it was a holy interval, lasting about twenty minutes, during which one might speak or rest, but never work or fight. Minoru took what he hoped the natives considered a stance of respect.
As soon as the Genjians' keening song of greeting was finished, one of the largest females approached Minoru in a slow, tail-swishing undulation. He recognized Ta'azsh'da by several scars along her left flank, which she had told Emile she'd acquired in a raid, during her youth on another island. Females were the wanderers and warriors in this species, a fact that still had sociobiologists at Okuma Base puzzled.
"You *** our Rites of *** and Shadow," the translator said, struggling with her words. It had more trouble with some topics than others. "If we are *** will you convey our *** to ***?"
"I'm sorry . . . I . . ." Minoru gave up. "Connect to Emile," he said, and almost without pause his partner's face lit up the left quadrant of his visor.
"Minoru. I'm kind of busy." Minoru could see three of Emile's language helpers, squatting in the shirtsleeve environment of the halfway dome . . . set to an atmospheric pressure midway between sea level and what was comfortable for humans. Emile's skin pallor didn't look good, and his eyes were droopy, but at least he didn't have to wear a stinking suit all the time. Minoru envied him.
"Just a quick one. Give me a read on this, will you?" And Minoru squirted over Ta'azsh'da's question. Emile puzzled for a moment; then he laughed. "Oh, she's just asking to hitch a ride to Chujo."
"To Chujo!"
Emile lifted one eyebrow. "You hadn't heard? It seems, according to their mythology, Chujo is the home of the angels. Many of them think that's where we came from."
"No wonder they're so cooperative! But what will happen when they find out—"
"Relax. There's no religious hysteria about it. At least not among this group. Anyway, I've already explained the situation to several of their traveling monks, or rabbis, or holy whatevers.
"Here, let me give you a nice, diplomatic answer for Ta'azsh'da." Emile muttered a command, and Minoru's translator conveyed a string of Genjian words directly from his helmet speaker. Ta'azsh'da took a couple of steps back at one point, then rocked her head in an expression Minoru thought might mean perplexity.
At last she seemed satisfied. Or at least turned and wandered away. Emile's picture disappeared without a sign-off, and Minoru tried not to be offended. He himself must sound just as curt when experts from other teams called him, demanding quick biological answers while he was still flailing around, looking for the big picture.
Sometimes, indeed, it all seemed almost too much, and he longed for crowded, comfortable Osaka, back home on Earth.
I'm doing my life's work, Minoru recalled at those moments. No one could be happier.
That was true, as far as it went. Only occasionally Minoru wished he were a different sort of person altogether . . . one born with simpler tastes and more mundane interests, who was not the type to volunteer at age fifteen to be sent hurtling toward such a heavy, sweaty world. Weren't there less exhausting roads to happiness?
Alas, those roads were not in his dharma to tread.
GENJI EXPEDITION DATABASE:
SUMMARY ON GENJIAN SAPIENTS
by Shigei Owari, Chief Xenologist
The intelligent beings we call Genjians bear some resemblance to Earths amphibian life-forms. Such comparisons can be misleading, however, since there is nothing at all primitive about this planets autochthones. It is true that they have not spread to as many ecological niches as humans had, at similar levels of technological development. (By the Iron Age human beings occupied even mountain-tops and arctic wastes, while the natives of this world seem almost exclusively to inhabit coastlines and alluvial basins.) Nevertheless, it should be noted that in all other indicators we seem to have met peers.
. . . the Linguistic Group has decided to adopt as generic the species's self-name used in this archipelago by the autochthones. In future documents, therefore, sentient Genjians shall be referred to as "Irdizu."
Another word for balance was "equilibrium." Minoru contemplated this as he sat naked under a sunlamp in padmasama position, on a reed mat donated by the village elders. The little habitation dome hissed as it fed the produce of his respiration—and his previous meals—into wall panels that used sunlight and algae to recycle human wastes. At the output end there accumulated an all-too-familiar green paste that, despite its blandness, would keep his body going, enabling him and Emile to extend their visit at least several months.
The dome-recycler seemed a perfect example. At first sight it appeared to be a balanced system. But it wasn't in equilibrium, not really. The pallid glow of Murasaki's Star was barely adequate to drive the process. Anyway, at best the return was less than 30 percent efficient.
Minoru often dreamed he was back aboard the Yamato, where, despite the ennui of ten years' subsistence on hydroponics, there was at least some variety. Once a month the chef would prepare delicacies from that exclusive, locked chamber where fish were kept in special tanks, and licentious amounts of power and resources were spent nurturing rare herbs.
Tomorrow the supply plane was due with provisions for the two of them. If it failed to arrive, the clever recycler would keep Minoru and Emile alive for some time. But without replenishment they would waste away on a diet of ever-declining value.
There was a parallel in his mission here, which was only partly to help Emile and other xenology teams make friends with the Irdizu. Over the months and years ahead, Minoru's principal job would be to find out what kept this world from toppling over to catastrophe.
Catastrophe such as we experienced on Earth, he thought. Only in his parents' lifetime had a chain of ecological crises abated enough for nations to contemplate deep exploration again. Although heroic intervention had finally stopped the spreading deserts, Minoru knew those rosy-eyed propagandists in the press were wrong. Earth would never be "just as good as before."
The timer on the sunlamp rattled to a stop, and the warm glow tapered. These daily sessions were necessary to stave off Sunlight Deficiency Disorder, but they also reinforced his sense of being on an alien world.
Wrapping a robe around himself, Minoru went to the east-facing window and watched high tide inundate the natives' trapping ponds, depositing the sea's bounty to be left high and dry when the waters receded again. Tending these basins took up half the labor force, and their ownership was subject to fierce inheritance rules . . . sometimes enforced by nasty local feuds.
Minoru went to the computer deck and surveyed his latest composite of this island's biological history. Slowly, out of his deep cores and animal dissections, a picture was resolving. The family tree of local species was just 2 percent filled in. Yet a shape was taking form, and he was beginning to suspect all was not as it appeared on Genji.
My supervisor won't like this report, he thought, popping a memory-cube with his monograph on it, to be sent back to Okuma Base.
Nevertheless, he looked forward to tomorrow's lander. Yukiko might be the pilot.
If only I had something to offer her.
STARSHIP YAMATO CREW DATABASE:
GENJI EXPEDITION: With deployment of the big antenna in high orbit, a report has been prepared for beaming back to Earth. Unlike prior data-clusters, this one shall be designed specifically for public consumption. It has been decided to focus this first show on the harmonious, cooperative nature of Irdizu society. Although violence does play a small role in life among the inhabitants, their traditions of serenity appear to have much in common with those that we have managed to maintain in Japanese society.
Chief Ecologist Seigi Sato reports—"From orbit we see clear evidence that the Irdizu have been industrialized in some locales for a much longer period than humans were on Earth—although at a lower technological level—yet they appear to live without significant environmental degradation, such as erosion or desertification. I am now convinced we have found here proof of what Japan has contended all along, that the environmental disturbances suffered by Earth during recent generations were the product of natural forces, and not the result of so-called human mistreatment of our home world.
Dust rose around the jet outlets of the lander as its engines turned on idle. Near the ramp Emile Esperanza went over an inventory list next to a stack of fresh supplies, while Minoru escorted the pilot back to her craft. At the bottom of the ramp he handed her the data cube containing his report, which she pushed into a pocket of her provocatively snug pressure suit.
"You're sure you can't stay?" he asked Yukiko, unable to keep disappointment out of his voice. She shook her head. "I can't, Minoru-san. I promised to drop in at Purple Cliffs Station for dinner." With a light in her eyes she leaned toward him and whispered, "They say they found a local berry with low toxicity levels, and what they call a 'tart but pleasant' taste."
"Lucky bastards," Minoru commented, meaning the remark more ways than one. He knew full well what Todo and Shimura were trying to accomplish by inviting Yukiko to a "feast."
She smiled—dimples under her brown eyes made him want to reach out and touch her smooth skin. Propriety, and her helmet faceplate, prevented him.
"I'll let you know how it tastes, Minoru," Yukiko said. "If it's any good, I'll bring you some next time I drop by."
"Just so." Minoru looked away. He sometimes wished this expedition had been run in a somewhat less Japanese way. For unmarried women chastity had been the rule for ten time-dilated years. Now that they had landed, though, larger living quarters would soon be available in the high, altiplano freshness of Okuma Base. Boom for new couples to set up house, and even start families. He and Yukiko, like many others, had set out from Earth as teenagers. Yet he was still looked on as an awkward youth, while she was considered the most beautiful and desirable woman among those left unattached. Clearly she was in the process of looking, sampling, making up her mind. Underneath his outwardly impassive shell, Minoru felt helpless and, to a growing degree, desperate.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Yukiko said, turning at the top of the ramp. She reached inside the ship and brought down a slim lacquered box, crafted delicately out of hardwood. This she handed to Minoru. "A present, since you miss the cooking at Okuma."
Under the wood veneer a cooling unit purred delicately. His mouth watered. "Is it . . .?"
"Sushi. Yes. Cultured hamachi and uni. I hope you like it."
Her smile filled Minoru with wonder, encouraging imagined possibilities he had all but given up. "Will I see you again soon?"
"Maybe." Then, impulsively, she touched her helmet to his for an instant. "Take care."
Soon the lander rose on its column of heated steam . . . watched by a crowd of Irdizu gaping from behind a safety line scratched in the sand. Minoru watched the flying machine peel away, and followed it across the sky until it disappeared. Then he went to help Emile move the supplies.
"You've got hopes," Emile commented succinctly, perhaps dubiously.
"Come on," Minoru grumbled. "I still have the east-slope cliffs to cover before nightfall. And haven't you got work to do, too?"
He hoisted a crate that should have called for two in this gravity, and moved awkwardly but happily toward the stor
age dome, away from Emile's knowing smile.
The laser played across the cliff face in double waves. First a gentle scan lit every millimeter of the sheer sedimentary surface, while recording devices read every microscopic contour and color variation. Then the machine sent forth a much more powerful beam, which seared away a thin layer. Monitors recorded glowing spectra from these vapors.
Minoru always made certain few Irdizu were present to watch this process. He didn't want superstitious awe of humans spreading even faster. A certain amount meant he and Emile were probably safe from receiving the pointy end of a trident in some future labor-management dispute. On the other hand, he had no wish to be mistaken for a god.
Perhaps I'd have been tempted, were the natives more attractive, Minoru admitted wryly. Even on shipboard—especially on shipboard—fantasy had been a way to swim against the tide of ennui. He recalled one mural—painted on the lower decks by some frustrated engineers—which depicted green-skinned but nubile alien beauties catering to the desires of noble Earthling demigods. Minoru had thought the notion childish and unlikely, given reports on Genji sent by the robot probe.