Nor Crystal Tears Page 14

  “My people, the Thranx, certain type.” He tapped the chiton of his thorax, then a leg, then his head. “On this world, on other my people Thranx worlds, many creatures like you.” He pointed to each of them in turn. “Such creatures eat Thranx.”

  It took them a moment to digest this. Ryo had learned to recognize some of their emotions, which were transmitted not by distinctive gestures but by certain positioning of their flexible face parts. He saw that instead of being angry they were confused.

  The she-monster said, “On our worlds, my people afraid of creatures like you Thranx people, only much smaller.”

  “Eat your people?” Ryo wondered.

  “Not people. Eat our people food. For long time. Very long time. History.”

  “Mine also, all history fear of your creature kind.”

  They walked on in silence. After a while he thought it safe to continue. He touched his antennae with a truhand. “Other things, too. You people smell not good.”

  The smaller monster made the gesture of apology, without adding degree.

  “Not your fault,” said Ryo.

  “You,” she replied, “smell not like little Thranx kind all history trouble our people. You smell very good.” She halted, drew in the mud. Ryo did not recognize the species, but the flower outline was unmistakable. “Like that.”

  “Your color also,” the he-monster added. “Very pretty.”

  “Thank you,” he replied. “Your colors not so pretty but not so bad as your smell.”

  “Your feel …” The smaller monster reached out slowly. Ryo flinched, forced himself to hold his ground. He’d touched them while demonstrating proper gestures, but neither of them had touched him since Loo had clamped five massive fingers around Ryo’s mandibles.

  “Just want to touch,” Bonnie said.

  Feeling like a museum exhibit, Ryo stood motionless while the monster ran its fingers under the byorlesnath fur and along his body.

  “My turn now,” he said.

  The monster opened its clothing, exposing itself to the air. The sight made Ryo shudder, and he had to remind himself of the creature’s extraordinary tolerance for cold. He ran a delicate truhand along the exposed surface, wondering how closely their bodily divisions and internal organs would match up. Too much botany, he told himself, and not enough zoology. Though alien design would not necessarily conform to similar Willow-wane shapes, he reminded himself.

  The most remarkable thing about the body was its flexibility. He pressed in lightly. The monster did not complain or pull away. Fascinated, he watched the tip of his finger sink into the flesh. When he pulled his hand away the covering sprang back.

  Such a reaction was normal for plastics and artificial fibers. On the exterior of a living creature it was stomach-turning. He pressed again, a little firmer. The exoderm changed color slightly. He could even see bodily fluids moving beneath it. Utterly remarkable, he thought. The more so when one realized that the beings inhabiting that thin envelope were intelligent.

  “Strange, so strange,” he murmured. “Skeleton inside, flesh outside.”

  “We find you same,” Bonnie said. “Skeleton outside, flesh inside. Very different.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, “very different.”

  • • •

  The monsters ate three times a day instead of twice. As they were finishing their odd midday meal Ryo thought to ask a question that had been lost in the excitement of mutual education.

  “Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

  They looked at each other. “I do not know, Ryo,” Loo said. “We thought you were those who had attacked our ship. We thought you enemies. We were treated like prisoners.”

  “Remember,” Ryo reminded them, “my people think you are allies of the AAnn. How then should they treat you but as enemies?”

  “But we’re not,” Bonnie said. “Especially if you tell truth when you say it was AAnn who attacked our ship.”

  The challenge to his veracity was cause for combat. He calmed himself. Remember, he told himself, these creatures have but primitive notions of courtesy and common etiquette. They will for some time be as clumsy in their perceptions as they are in their speech.

  “Big mistake,” he said. “Cosmic mistake. You must do something. Out here,” and he gestured at the surrounding forest, “you will die.” He did not include himself in that prediction. It was self-evident.

  “Better to die here,” Loo said roughly, “than in captivity, poked and prodded at like an exhibit in a zoo.”

  “No need for that,” Ryo said encouragingly. “Silly mistake. Silliness in proportion to size. We must go back. I can explain everything. I can interpret for you. When mistake explained by me, will be clear to all. We will be friends, allies. Not enemies.”

  “I don’t know …” Loo made a gesture of third-degree indecision. “The way we were treated …”

  “Were you killed? Are you dead?”

  “No, we’re not dead. We’ve been reasonably well fed.” He made a face gesture of mild disgust.

  “More mistakes. Must return and explain all mistakes.” Ryo implored them with gestures. “Trust me. I will explain everything.”

  “We would wander this place forever to keep our freedom,” Loo told him.

  “Not a logical end of itself,” Ryo countered. “Also another factor.” Maybe, he thought, it wasn’t self-evident. “I … my people—Thranx—cannot tolerate long cold weather.” He’d felt his circulation slowing the past several nights. “I will surely die. Will you kill me to preserve your freedom, which has no logical end of itself?” There, he thought as he leaned back against the log. There is the real test. Now he would learn just how civilized they were.

  “Most of what you say is truth,” Bonnie declared finally. “We would not like to be responsible for your death. We have been careful not to kill. Yet. You have been friend. There are misunderstandings here, on both sides.” She looked up at Loo and for a moment Ryo thought they might also be telepathic.

  “Friend speaks truth,” she restated. “We’ll go back with you.”

  “Next problem,” said Loo. “Can we find our way back?”

  “I think so.” Ryo gestured skyward. “In any case, if we make our presence known when a search ship flies over, we will be found.”

  The hoverer set down nearby. There was a tense confrontation between Ryo and a group of net- and stinger-wielding soldiers. Disbelief gave way grudgingly to guarded astonishment. The two monsters were conducted to the base under watchful eyes instead of netting. There they descended via a heavily sealed entryway to a section Ryo had visited before. The gestures of complete amazement performed by the officer who’d previously refused him admittance were lively to behold.

  Torplublasmet was not present to greet him, having been questioned and allowed to return to his burrow, but Wuu was. “My boy.” He spoke while looking past Ryo at the two monsters towering nearby. “I’d given you up days ago. I’ve been asked many questions, which I answered sorrowfully and freely. How we came to be here, and why. But you appear whole and healthy. I thought they would have consumed you by now.”

  “Not at all. That would have been impolite, and these are civilized creatures. They can’t help their appearance. Their ship was attacked by the AAnn. They thought we were responsible.

  “If we can overcome the unfortunate beginning our respective species have managed to make, they may prove to be strong allies. There has been mutual misunderstanding of colossal proportions.”

  “What are you saying, Ryo?” Loo asked.

  Wuu and the other Thranx looked properly shocked. “By the central burrow, they can talk!”

  “Sometimes situation and precedent can combine to blunt, rather than facilitate communication,” Ryo explained smoothly. He looked up at Loo. “This friend of mine,” and he pronounced the alien name, “is a he, the other a she.” He then gestured at Wuuzelansem, gave his name, and tried to explain what a poet was.

  The monsters soon
deciphered the gestures and clicks. Then they shocked the assembled researchers, guards, and Wuu alike by simultaneously gesturing at the poet with a movement indicative of third-degree respect mixed with mild admiration.

  “They may be monsters,” Wuu decided, “but they display an unarguable ability to recognize higher intelligence when it is presented to them.”

  “Come, let’s go in,” Bonnie said to Ryo. “We want you to meet our companions.”

  Ryo followed, Wuu hanging back just a trifle. The guards hesitated but the Thranx scientists and researchers in the group gestured them aside.

  The party passed through several corridors, the monsters having to bend to clear the ceilings. Eventually they entered a large chamber. The saddles inside appeared unused, for obvious reasons of physiology.

  Six monster males and four females lay alone or in small groups on the floor. To Ryo’s untrained eye, half of them looked damaged.

  As he watched, the aliens suddenly recognized Loo and Bonnie. A great deal of noise and physical contact resulted. Alien greetings, he explained to the enraptured scientists, who stood clustered in the open doorway, recorders running at maximum speed.

  When the greetings were concluded, Loo and Bonnie turned to Ryo. “Well, it was good to be outside for a while, anyway,” said Loo.

  Ryo responded with a gesture of mild negativity. “Good to be back inside.” He added a whistling laugh while the two monsters made their own laughter noises. It was difficult to tell who was more flabbergasted; the Thranx scientists or the other monsters in the chamber.

  “Different preferences,” Bonnie said, running a hand through her cranial fur.

  “Yes,” Ryo agreed. He gestured past her. “How are your friends?”

  “Pleased to see us alive,” Loo said. “Disappointed that we could not do more. I explained to them that we now have a friend. This they understood, for a friend can often be worth more than freedom.”

  “I am sure it will be so,” Ryo replied confidently. “I will explain all to these authorities.” He indicated the rows of busy Thranx crowded around them. “This mistake will be straightened out soonest. There is much to do between our peoples.”

  “Yes,” Bonnie said. “There is nothing like a mutual enemy,” and she made the gesture for the AAnn, “to produce understanding among potential friends.”

  One of the officials was gesturing urgently to Ryo. He turned back to his friends. “They want to talk to me now and I am equally anxious to talk with them. Will you be well?”

  “Well enough,” Loo replied.

  “Then all is calm for now. I will return as soon as I am able. Burrow deep and warm.” He inclined his head slightly and extended his antennae.

  “Be warm,” Bonnie said, reaching out to touch the tips of the delicate organs.

  Several of the Thranx guards turned away or otherwise indicated their disgust. Of sterner stuff, the researchers and scientists simply recorded the exchange with cool detachment. Then Ryo turned and joined Wuu and the little cluster of specialists gathering around him. The two aliens rejoined their own companions, who crowded excitedly around them.

  Ryo was escorted to a nearby chamber and promptly sat down in a comfortably padded saddle. The scientists who’d packed in around him immediately threw a barrage of questions at him.

  “What was it like? … What did they do out there? What did they do to you out there? … How did you learn the language so quickly? … How did they learn ours so quickly? … How did they avoid the search parties for so long? … How? … Why? … When? …”

  “Slowly, gentlesirs. I will—” He paused, suddenly dizzy.

  Wuu stepped close. “Leave the youth alone for now. Can’t you sense his exhaustion? Doubtless he is weak from hunger as well.”

  Ryo looked gratefully up at the poet, made a third-degree gesture of assent. “I am far from starving, though it would be wonderful to have a good soup. I’ve had little but meat and raw greens for a month.”

  “Then they are omnivorous like us?” one scientist inquired anxiously. “It seemed thus because they ate much of what we supplied them, but it is helpful to have it confirmed by nonlaboratory experience.”

  “I said, no questions,” Wuu broke in firmly.

  But Ryo gestured his confirmation. “Yes, though they take their meat largely in burnt chunks and not in proper soup or stew.”

  There was muttering among the assembled researchers at this fresh assurance of alien oddity.

  “They don’t boil it or cook it with any other liquids?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “But they eat soups and stews here,” another pointed out.

  “It may not have been by choice,” Ryo told her. “When one is in prison, one eats what is supplied.” There, let them ponder that one, he thought.

  After a few additional questions Wuu began to shove officials from the chamber. A hot meal was delivered that was among the finest Ryo had ever enjoyed. Upon devouring it he had a second and then a third serving. Following that he lay down on the sleeping lounge provided, the warm feeling induced by the food overpowering his excitement, and fell into a deep sleep from which he did not awaken for over a full day.

  X

  After rising and performing hygiene he was ready to face his interrogators. Apparently someone had decided that it would be better not to swamp the unfortunate wanderer with a hundred questioners at once, so only a half-dozen assembled opposite Ryo in the discussion chamber. Each brought audio and video recorder units integrated with autoscrolls. Two were not much older than he, while the other four were clearly experienced elders. Wuu was present at his own insistence.

  “It’s not necessary,” Ryo had argued. “I can handle things.”

  “If not for me you wouldn’t be here,” the poet had replied. “I feel it my responsibility to see that you are not intimidated.”

  “If not for me, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I have acquired sufficient material to keep me composing for the remainder of my life,” Wuu declared. “Such heady rhythms and couplets and stanzas as have never been heard. They will shock the civilized worlds. I owe you that. Time enough to work later.” He gestured toward the saddled group. “These sirs and ladies wait patiently, yet their brains fester with curiosity.” A couple shifted uneasily at the poet’s words but waited their turn. “I would not let them wake you.”

  “For which I am very grateful,” Ryo admitted. “I am awake and ready now, so let them ask what they will.”

  Ryo accepted the questions slowly, sharing his knowledge of the aliens freely and imparting it with as much pleasure as the scientists seemed to feel in receiving it.

  “The business of communication came about almost accidentally,” he informed them. “Furthermore, if you use lungs, mandibles, and spicules carefully, you can duplicate their language quite well.” He demonstrated with a few words that he was especially good at, and was rewarded when a couple of the researchers who’d been inscribing information suddenly looked up as startled as if one of the aliens had just strode into the room.

  “Do that again,” one of them requested.

  They listened while Ryo repeated the phrase and added several others. “It is difficult, but by no means impossible,” he said. “They do seem, however, better able to master our language than we theirs. Yet I venture to say it can be done. I’ve no doubt an experienced linguist such as yourself,” and he gestured at the Thranx who’d asked him to repeat the sounds, “could do far better.”

  “Let me try.” The researcher listened. On his second attempt he made the noise comprehensible. It had taken Ryo many more attempts than two to voice the term that clearly, but communication was the elder’s specialty. He should have thrown away his machines.

  The others had to break in or the discussion would have quickly been monopolized by an impromptu language lesson.

  “Pressure of circumstances,” the elder commented. “Foolish of us not to realize it.”

  “They are mam
malian,” said one of the younger scientists, whose name was Repleangel. “We’ve already established that. However, they are almost completely bare of fur. Most extraordinary.”

  “We thought at first,” one of the other scientists said, “that it might be due to a seasonal variation.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ryo said. “I saw no evidence for it. Devoid of fur or not, their ability to withstand extreme cold is unarguable.”

  “From our point of view, not necessarily theirs,” said Rep.

  “They were always cold, but never dangerously so,” Ryo continued. “I often saw them remove portions of their extensive clothing to expose their naked, furless bodies to the air while they cleaned themselves. I would guess that the climate they would consider ideal must average some ten to twenty degrees cooler than our own. Furthermore, they seem to have no need whatsoever for moisture in the air. They must therefore find the environment you have produced in their room both overly hot and humid.”

  “Are you certain of this lack of need for humidity?”

  “All I can say is that in this polar region my lungs would have cracked without the moisture pack I wore. The monsters had no such device and seemed to thrive. I still shudder to think of their breathing that untreated air. I venture to say they could even survive on the worlds of the AAnn, which are notoriously dry if pleasantly warm. That is another factor which makes them valuable allies.”

  As he said the last his gaze went sideways to the sixth questioner. So far the military representative had asked nothing. He did not react visibly to Ryo’s last comment any more than he had to any of the previous ones. He simply sat in his saddle and monitored his instruments.

  Ryo let it pass. At least the thought had been planted.

  The questions went on and on. “How many sexes do they have?”

  “Two, like us.”

  “Male and female?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do they lay eggs or bear their young alive?”

  “I have no idea. That wasn’t a question that entered into general conversation.”