Humans had not had the finished product to look at, Ofelia thought. How long had it taken the humans who didn’t invent the new things to learn to use them? To make and repair them?
Bilong spoke up. “I don’t understand, Sera, how you know all this. You haven’t really studied the language—”
“I have lived with them longer,” Ofelia said. “They want to talk to me.”
“Yes, but you can misunderstand so much,” Bilong said. “For instance, that word I’ve heard you say . . . I did an acoustic analysis, and you don’t say it anything like they do.” Bilong took a breath and produced a “click-kaw-keerrr” that sounded right to Ofelia. “That’s how they say it, and what you do is—’click-kaw-keerrr’—can you hear the difference?” Ofelia couldn’t. She wasn’t sure there really was any difference; Bluecloak understood her well enough when she said it.
“My point is,” Bilong said, leaning on the table with both elbows, “you don’t really understand them; you just think you do. And they came when you were all alone, probably even psychotic from the solitude, and you think of them as friends. They aren’t friends; they’re aliens. Indigenes, I mean,” she added with a quick glance at the others.
Ofelia looked out the window. It was dark outside, the brief tropical twilight was over. If she knew anything about humans, the two military advisors and the pilot, sure that their nominal bosses would be away for hours, would have accompanied their lesser feast with whatever illicit drink they had offered her the day before. If they had any form of amusement, entertainment cubes or hardcopy, they would be gathered around it now. It was too early to worry, too early for “anything to happen.” They would be more alert later, when they might be expecting their boss to return.
What she could not know was what kind of safeguards might be on the shuttle itself. She had explained to Bluecloak the kinds she knew about, the little beams of light or sound that reacted if interrupted, the pressure plates, the locks that required known palmprints or retinal patterns. Bluecloak had not seemed concerned. And that was not her problem now. “They are very intelligent,” Ofelia said. “They learn very fast, even as babies.”
“Babies! What do you know about their babies?” Kira sat up straight, and put down the pie she had held.
This was the part that scared Ofelia most. She had not wanted to admit that the People had babies here, but Bluecloak and Gurgle-click-cough had insisted. She must tell her people about the babies; they must see the babies.
“They have cute babies,” Ofelia said. “Very affectionate, very quick to learn.”
“You’ve seen their babies?!” all of them at once, practically. “There are babies here?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Kira asked.
“You didn’t ask me,” Ofelia said, with great satisfaction. Just as anger flowered from the remains of surprise, she stood up. “Come along, if you want to see them.”
Nothing would have stopped them. They crowded her heels across the lane to the center, where Ofelia knocked on the closed door. Bluecloak opened it; she winked at Bluecloak and led the others in. When they were all inside, she shut the door behind them.
“Why are you shutting the door?” Likisi asked.
“We don’t want the babies to run out in the street,” Ofelia said, as she led them down the passage to the schoolroom. She could hear the others following her. Ahead, light spilled out the schoolroom door, and she could hear the squeaky voices of the babies.
TWENTY
Ofelia did not know herself exactly what Bluecloak had planned in the way of demonstrations. What she saw—what they all saw—exceeded anything she had imagined. One of the babies, perched on Gurgle-click-cough’s lap, poked at the controls of a classroom computer. On the display, colored patterns swirled. Two of the adults were hunched over a couple of gourds, fiddling with wires that connected to . . . Ofelia blinked . . . they had connected half the room’s electrical demonstrations to their gourds. The other two babies played on the floor with models of gears and screws, constructing something intricate. Ofelia wondered what it was, and if it would work when it was done. “Oh . . . my . . . God.” That was Likisi; Ofelia had not suspected him of any religious beliefs. “They’re—they’re using a computer?”
Bluecloak came forward; he had shut the door behind them, silently. “Iss dun.”
“But how did he learn—did you teach them? After we warned you?” Likisi glared at Ofelia. Bluecloak stepped between them, forcing a confrontation.
“Huhooaht hooeee sssee, hooeee aaak.” Bluecloak said, waving its arm to encompass everything in the room.
“It means,” Bilong said to Likisi, “what we see, we make. They do, I mean. He says they can make anything they’ve seen. They can’t really, but—”
“Aaakss zzzzt!” Bluecloak said, and spoke in his own language to the creatures with the gourds. Ofelia held her breath. She could hardly believe it would work again; it had seemed too much like magic the first time.
The lights went out, and before the startled humans could exclaim, a string of smaller bulbs flared in the center of the room. The room lights came back on, and the one beside the gourds puffed its throat-sac twice at the humans, then moved a switch and the little lights went off.
“That’s impossible!” Likisi said. “They’ve used an extension cord—a hidden battery—”
“The battery is the gourds,” Ofelia said. Bluecloak had explained it to her. “They brew some stuff that works like the acid in a liquid battery—”
“They can’t do that—there’s no way—”
“It could be.” Kira went over to look. “If they’ve come up with an acid—”
“They make explosives, you know,” Ofelia said. “That shuttle—”
“Zzzzt inn ssky,” Bluecloak said. “Sssane zzzzt inn ires, aaakss lahtt, aaakss kuhll, aaakss tuurn . . .”
“You told them!” Likisi rounded on Ofelia. “You had to tell them this; they couldn’t have figured it out. They don’t even have a government—!”
“Government and science aren’t mutually necessary,” Ori said dryly. He looked more amused than alarmed now, and clearly he enjoyed Likisi’s distress. “Frankly I don’t think Sera Falfurrias has the background to set up this demonstration.” He turned to Ofelia. “Tell me, Sera, what kind of ‘brew’ would it take to generate electricity chemically—do you know?”
“Batteries use acid,” she said. “It’s dangerous, and it makes fumes.”
“Yes. As I thought. And I suspect, Vasil, if we analyze what the indigenes have in their flasks, it will not be the same as the acid Sera Falfurrias may have seen in batteries. As I’ve tried to tell you several times since we came, these indigenes are quite unlike other cultures I’ve studied.”
“Well, they’re aliens!” Likisi said. “Of course they’re different.”
“Excuse me.” Ori turned away from Likisi and went over to Kira. “Have you any idea what’s in there?”
“This plant—I have no idea what it is, or where they got it—” She held out a handful of leaves and some orange-red globes smaller than plums. “I have no idea how they make the liquid from it—”
“It doesn’t matter how they do it,” Likisi said. “It only matters that they’re aliens, and they didn’t have electricity when they met up with Grandma here, and now they do. It’s her fault—”
Ofelia flinched away as he loomed over her; perhaps he didn’t mean to hit her, but she knew that tone, that attitude. Then long, hard fingers closed around his arms, and two of the People held him . . . not so much still, as unable to break free. The other humans froze, staring, then their eyes slid to Ofelia’s face.
“Bluecloak is the singer for most of the nest-guardians of the hunting tribes,” Ofelia said, ignoring Likisi’s struggles and the others’ expressions. She hoped she was using the right human words for the concepts Bluecloak had conveyed so carefully. “Singers are not ‘entertainers’—” That with a pointed look at Ori. “Singers make contact between the
nest-guardians who want to make agreements about nesting places or hunting range; they are what we would call diplomats. Nest-guardians are the only ones who can make agreements binding on the People.”
“The . . . rulers?” Ori asked. Give him credit; he was more curious to know the truth than annoyed that he had been wrong.
“No. Not rulers . . . exactly. They are in charge of the young—from the nest to the stage where they begin roaming with the People—and so they are the ones who decide what is important, what must be taught, what agreements must be kept.”
“I don’t see how that works,” Kira said, frowning. “If they stay behind, at the nests with the babies, how can they know what the others decide?”
Ofelia had no idea how they knew, or if they knew. She went on as if Kira had not interrupted. “Bluecloak came when the first ones here reported that I was the same kind of animal as those they’d killed, but also different. Because I am old, and have had children, and because I stayed behind when my people left, they think of me as a nest-guardian for humans. For my humans.”
“I suppose that’s reasonable,” Ori said. “In their terms, anyway . . . they had to fit you into some category.”
“And now I’m a nest-guardian for them as well,” Ofelia said.
“What? How?”
“When these babies were born, I was there; they accept me as click-kaw-keerrr—” At this, the babies all looked at Ofelia and squeaked; the ones on the floor ran to her and leaned against her legs. She squatted slowly, her knees creaking, and they grasped her hands. She felt the now-familiar touch of their tongues on her wrist.
“Imprinting . . . chemotaxis . . .” Kira said softly. “They’ve imprinted on her.”
“Which is why I can’t leave,” Ofelia said. “I’m their click-kaw-keerrr, the only one they have. Ordinarily, they’d have had several, but it’s too late for them to get another—”
“But these others could have—” began Kira. Ofelia shook her head.
“No. Only the mothers past nesting can become nest-guardians; no one else. I was the only one available, and they asked me . . . I agreed. Who wouldn’t want to care for these—?” She smiled down at the big-eyed babies who looked back at her with the trust and eagerness she remembered so well from her own children. She would do better by these, she promised herself. And them.
She looked over at Likisi, red-faced and sweating; though he no longer struggled, every line of his body expressed resentment and anger.
“I’m sorry, Ser Likisi, for your embarrassment, but you see I had to tell you this, convince you. I cannot leave, even if I wanted to leave, and I don’t. These babies need me; I’m the only one who can do for them what the click-kaw-keerrr must do.”
“They’re aliens,” he said hoarsely. “You can’t do whatever it is—you’re only an ignorant, interfering old woman.”
The ones holding him expanded their throat sacs and throbbed. Likisi paled; Ofelia could see the sweat break out on his face.
“They respect and trust nest-guardians, Ser Likisi,” Ofelia said. “They do not like those who don’t.”
“But—”
“Be quiet, man,” Ori said. “You’re messing this up.” He sat down where he was, by the tangle of wires and little bulbs, then looked at Ofelia. “Please go on.” Likisi said nothing; Ofelia felt the shift of power within the team, and hoped it was final.
Her knees hurt too much to keep squatting like this; she sat down, and the babies crawled into her lap. “What they said—what Bluecloak told me—is that they accept me as the nest-guardian for them as well as for humans. That means I’m the one who can make the agreements. But I have to stay here.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Ori said. He didn’t even glance at Likisi. “We can explain it to you, and you can explain it to them . . .”
He still did not understand. Ofelia hoped he would stay this calm when he did understand it. “I’m sorry, Ser, but it goes the other way. They explain it to me, and I explain it to you.”
“Yes, of course . . . but I meant the terms of the agreement.”
“So did they,” said Ofelia. He stared at her a long moment, his face expressionless as he worked it out.
“The . . . terms of . . . their agreement.”
“Yes, Ser.” She tried to sound unthreatening.
“I . . . see.” Ori looked up at the other three, who were still standing, Likisi still held by two of the People. “I think we need to go talk about this. With all respect, Sera Falfurrias, without you. You are too . . . involved . . . to have a completely open mind.”
“Nnno.” That was Bluecloak, who had let Ofelia carry the basket this far.
“Don’t be silly,” Kira said, heading for the door. No one stopped her. She grabbed the handle and pulled, but it didn’t open.
“It’s locked,” Ofelia said, unnecessarily. She felt a wicked glee at the look on Kira’s face. Had the women she thought bad felt this way? She had seen such looks as she felt inside on others’ faces. “So is the main door. You will have to discuss it here.”
Their hands reached for pockets, for belts, and only then did they remember that they had not brought their working tools, their handcomps and shirtcoms, to a quiet dinner in the small house of an ignorant old woman who could after all do them no harm.
Power, Ofelia realized, could indeed beget wickedness; her old voice scolded her soundly for the laughter that wanted to break out as she saw their expressions shift, and shift again.
“No harm will come to you,” Ofelia said. “But you will have to listen, and you will have to make up your mind to what is necessary.”
“Do you know what they want?” Ori asked. Practical, that one, and still calm. She hoped he would stay, later.
“They want to learn,” Ofelia said. “It is their greatest joy.” She pushed the babies in her lap gently, and Gurgle-click-cough murmured to them. They tumbled out onto the floor, and skittered over to their abandoned creation. “Watch them,” she said.
“Rready,” said Bluecloak, and one of the People picked up the contraption and set it on a display table. The babies squeaked; Ofelia could not quite distinguish the words, but by the way the elders were listening, they were making sense. The adult picked the thing up again and put it into the schoolroom’s deep sink. Bluecloak offered Ofelia an arm, and helped her up so that she could see. More urgent squeaks from the floor, and Bluecloak picked up all three babies; one scampered up its arm to the shoulder. Another reached out to Ofelia, who took it and cradled it.
When the adult turned the water on, and adjusted the faucet, everyone could see that the babies had contrived a water-driven machine that turned geared wheels faster and faster . . . “Zzzzt!” cried a tiny voice. “Aaaaksss zzzzt!”
“Impossible,” breathed Likisi, but this time with no anger in his voice, only awe. “Let me go,” he said to those holding his arms. “I want to see . . .” They let go at once, and he walked over to the sink, peering in. “They can’t—there’s not a water-driven generator for light-years in any direction . . . and yet . . . this might actually work.” He put out a finger, drew it back.
“Do you want them for friends, for nest-guardians, or as enemies?” Ofelia asked. She still didn’t understand the thing the babies had built, although if they said it would make electricity, she believed them. “If you try to stifle them—you can’t do it, you can only make them angry. That’s your choice.”
“But it’s too fast—they’re so . . . so smart . . .” Likisi looked around at the adults, then at the babies, then at her.
Ofelia tried not to sound impatient. “The choice is between smart and friendly, or smart and angry. They believe that good nest-guardians—good teachers, good friends—help the young ones grow and learn . . . everything.”
“I wonder what their Varinge score would be,” Likisi said, with envy in every syllable.
“Higher than ours,” Kira said. “We’ll need larger samples, but if this group’s representative, then thei
r population mean is a good twenty points above human. And they’ve had these textbooks, these computer manuals . . . their development’s already explosive, and with this—I’d say starflight in less than a hundred years. Without our help.”
“And aggressive in defense of nesting territory,” Ori added. “Aiee. It’s scary.” He didn’t sound that scared; he sounded eager.
Ofelia stroked the baby’s knobbly back. “Not that scary, Ser . . . here . . .” She held out the baby. They had discussed this; Ori had been the gentlest of the humans on the team, when trying to observe and interact with the People, and the People thought he should be given a chance to hold a baby. Ofelia still thought it wasn’t safe, but . . . but it was hard to fear and hate anyone whose baby you had cuddled. Now Ori stared at her . . . then reached out gingerly. The baby went into his hands eagerly—a chance for something new—and licked his wrist. Then it looked back at Ofelia and squeaked. Not the same flavor—she didn’t need to hear all the sounds to know that’s what it meant. It focussed those remarkable eyes on Ori’s face, and stretched up to lick his chin. His expression softened, and Ofelia relaxed. Kira grinned, a wide natural smile of pleasure; so did Bilong.
In that moment when everyone else relaxed, Likisi grabbed. Not the baby in Ori’s arms, but the one on Bluecloak’s shoulders, when Bluecloak turned to watch Ori. The baby hissed, and clawed at Likisi’s wrist, but he had it by the neck, and the baby was choking.
Ofelia lunged at him, but he pushed her away easily and backed to the door.
“They have tails,” he snarled. “Trained animals—smart lizards—I can’t believe you’re falling for this. A whole rich world, for a lot of little scaly lizards and a crazy old woman who wants to rule it? I don’t think so.” The baby writhed, the stripes fading, the eyes dulling. “Don’t come closer, or I’ll wring its filthy neck.” For a breathless instant no one moved. Then he pointed at Ofelia with his free hand. “You. Crawl over here and get this door open . . . don’t tell me you don’t know the lock-code. Don’t stand up—crawl. Or this baby’s dead.”
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