“Not true!” Cheelo objected strenuously. “Blue with yellow, and you can’t prove otherwise!”
“But I can.” Holding out his scri!ber, Desvendapur gestured with the instrument. “I do not only record my compositions; where possible I also record their sources of inspiration. Would you like to see the flock in question? I can play it back for you, together with my notes for the stanzas I composed to accompany the flight.”
Caught. Cheelo snarled at the compact alien instrument. “Okay, so I can’t remember everything. So what? That proves nothing.”
“It proves that you are either the most extraordinary naturalist of your species, or the most indifferent. Any thranx claiming to hold such a position would carry instruments designed to take measurements, carry out analyses, and make records. I have not seen you utilize a single such device.” A truhand indicated the human’s pack. “Show them to me. Show me one. Now.”
Yet again, Cheelo found himself wondering why he was tolerating this aggravating alien’s company. Use the pistol, dump the body in the river, and be done with it, he thought. Still, he could not escape the feeling that there was money to be made here, and that the quantity would be greatly augmented if the subject of potential recompense was preserved in an animate as opposed to a defunct condition.
Besides, what was the thranx going to do? Report him to the nearest branch of the Global Association for the Advancement of Science? If he and his absent multilimbed companions were carrying out their observations under the umbrella of a special scientific dispensation, he could hardly go shooting off his mandibles about the status of a human who claimed to be doing essentially the same thing.
“Well, hoorah for you. You’ve found me out. So what? It means nothing.”
“On the contrary, it means a great deal.” The thranx was staring at him now, Cheelo was sure of it. “It means that if you are not a naturalist, as you have claimed, then you are something else.” Painfully, using foot- and truhand, he manually repositioned his injured leg.
“The question then becomes, What are you?”
18
Electric with the realization that the colony was in the fore-front of developing human-thranx relations, the terrestrial hive was an exhilarating place to work. The knowledge that it was also illicit, an operation whose very existence was unknown to all but a few enlightened members of the human government and scientific establishment, only added to the excitement. Rising to work every shift, one never knew when the operation might be discovered. Having been as thoroughly briefed on humankind and its peculiarities and distinctive foibles as was possible before their journey to the colony, every assigned thranx had been made fully aware of the inherent irrationality built into each individual human. If anything went wrong and they were subject to unforeseen exposure, there was no telling how the great mass of seething humanity might react to the presence of an unauthorized alien colony in its midst. Consequently, even as they went about their commonplace, everyday tasks, the colonists had to be ever vigilant and prepared for anything.
As weeks and months passed without discovery, a modest sense of security invariably settled over the colony. If even the apprehensive rogue humans who had cooperated and conspired in the secret establishment of the hive could relax, then certainly their thranx associates could do no less.
So it was that Jhywinhuran’s thoughts were far from such matters as she busied herself at the end of the day’s work, running a final check and chemical disbursement before signing off her station to her shift replacement. Instead of concentrating on the admittedly rote toil at hand, her mind strayed to remembrances of the time spent in the company of a particularly distinctive male. Somewhat to her chagrin, her thoughts had been repeatedly drawn in that direction for several days now.
Why she should have found an assistant food preparator so fascinating she could not quite explain. Certainly her attraction had nothing to do with his vocation, which was even more prosaic and mundane than her own. Within the bustling colony there were many unmated males who found her attractive, stridulating softly in her presence in an attempt to attract more than polite attention. Some she spent time with, chatting and disporting, but always her thoughts returned to a certain singular food preparator.
What it was about him that she found so distinctive proved elusive, no matter how often she tried to define it. Something in his manner, perhaps, or in the way he modulated communication: not only his vocalizations but the attendant clicks and whistles that were as much a part of thranx speech as strings of individual words. Maybe it was the way that when he became excited, exquisitely inflected snippets of High Thranx slipped into his conversation; something not to be expected from an assistant food preparator. There were other distinctions: the way he spoke of the alien world above, the animation that overwhelmed his gesturing when they attended a less-than-proficient performance by one of the colony’s official soothers, the indifference with which he acknowledged both praise and criticism of his own work.
There was something not quite right about the food preparator Desvenbapur, something simultaneously irresistibly enticing and edgily off-putting. Try as she might, she could not get him out of her mind. She considered visiting a senior matriarch for counseling but decided that her condition had not yet advanced from the merely affected to the obsessive. Until that line was crossed she would deal with the situation herself.
One way to do so would be to go and visit the object of her anxiety. As in any hive, the colonists had been assigned not only labor but living quarters and sectors. While with certain specific exceptions the length and breadth of the hive was open to all who dwelled within and no permit or permission was required to wander beyond those sections that had been individually apportioned subsequent to arrival, it was infrequently done. There was no reason to explore beyond one’s assigned territory. Everything a colonist needed could be found within an individually prescribed zone. It was a system that was traditional and efficient and that contributed mightily to the efficiency of every hive, whether on Hivehom, Willow-Wane, or the alien world known to its dominant inhabitants as Earth.
Humans, by contrast, the colonists had been told, were far less orderly. Superficially well organized, they tended to scatter and move about with considerably less regard for the effective organization of the whole. Life in their hives frequently bordered on the anarchic. Somehow, out of confusion and turmoil, they had succeeded in raising a civilization.
She determined to resolve the contradictions that were boiling within her. The very next off-period, she identified the location of the hive’s subsidiary food preparation facility and headed in its direction, following the directions provided by her scri!ber. As she entered unfamiliar parts of the colony she paused from time to time to converse with thranx never before encountered, and they with her. No one questioned her presence. While out of the ordinary, there was nothing unlawful about it.
She spent some time talking with sanitation workers who supervised the hive’s other waste terminus. The colony had been designed with at least two of everything in mind. If a critical component broke down, there was no hailing a neighboring hive for repairs or replacements. The nearest supplies lay parsecs away, and support could not be provided as soon as it might be needed. Between their incompatible technology and the restrictions placed on their movements, the hive’s allied humans could provide only limited help. Of necessity, the colony had to be as self-sufficient as possible.
Despite diversions both enjoyable and educational, she eventually found herself in the auxiliary kitchen area. From there it was a simple matter to obtain permission to visit food preparation. What she saw there was a duplicate of the station where Desvenbapur had worked previously, identical down to the individual appliances and utensils manipulated by its work force. At present they were engaged in cleaning and treating a variety of native plants, rendering them suitable for thranx consumption. Without the ability to digest terrestrial vegetation, the rapid growth of the colony would hav
e been greatly reduced.
She chatted amiably and casually with members of the staff, who were curious as to the presence in their midst of an unfamiliar representative of the sanitation division. No, an assistant preparator named Desvenbapur was not currently a member of their team. In fact, none of them had ever heard of him. Perhaps he worked exclusively on the night shift.
She knew she ought to make the journey back to her cubicle so she could get some rest before she had to report for the new day’s work. She was being foolish, letting an incidental interest grow into a dangerous fixation. Hadn’t Desvenbapur told her that he would be too busy establishing himself in a new zone and a new routine to welcome casual social contact? Hadn’t he told her that as soon as he was settled in and comfortable with his work in the new sector that he would return to visit her? He had specifically asked her to terminate contact until such time as he felt ready to take pleasure from it again. Despite that, here she was, forcing the issue, trying to initiate intercourse he had requested she avoid. What was the matter with her?
She started to leave, to return to her own sector. Certainly if he had any reciprocal feelings for her he would be in touch as soon as he felt at ease with his new surroundings. It might well be counterproductive, even damaging, to their relationship for her to pursue the matter so vigorously. Did they have a relationship? She knew that she desired one, and she thought that he did as well. A demonstration of excessive inquisitiveness on her part might spoil everything.
She considered her options. There was a way to at least partially satisfy her interest without much risk of damaging relations. Locating a private information terminal, she plugged her scri!ber in and ran a search. Relief was palpable when his name appeared on the roster of workers assigned to this zone, food preparation division.
That should have been enough to satisfy her. Instead, adding to her distress and confusion, it only made her that much more anxious to see him again. She stood before the terminal until a polite whistle roused her to the realization that two other hive members were standing behind her, waiting to make use of it themselves. Restless and preoccupied, she wandered off.
She would wait until the night shift, she resolved. Not to speak with Desvenbapur, but to assure herself that all was well with him. This she could do by speaking briefly with others who worked in his department. Even deprived of sleep, she was confident she could perform her duties tomorrow adequately, if not commendably.
She passed the remaining portion of the day shift exploring the immediate vicinity, finding it, as expected, a veritable duplicate of her own. As shifts began their switch, she made her way back to the kitchen area and lingered in its vicinity, randomly querying those arriving to begin work. None knew of an assistant food preparator who went by the name of Desvenbapur.
By the time the last worker had arrived she found herself growing concerned. What if the transfer had not worked out and he was ill? A check of medical records for the entire colony took only an instant. It did not show a Desvenbapur listed as being among the unwell.
This was senseless, she told herself. Obviously, today was an off-period, a rest time for her friend. He would return to work tomorrow. And she could not wait around and eschew her own labor simply to assure herself that he was all right.
But why hadn’t she been able to find at least one coworker who recognized his name? He had been assigned to this sector long enough to have established, if not intimate friendships, at least casual acquaintances. From what she knew and had seen of his work, an assistant food preparator did not function in a vacuum.
Perplexed, she waited until the terminal was free to again call up the rostering for food preparation in this zone. There was his name on the list, bold and unmistakable. Not being assigned herself to the kitchen division, she could not access individual shift assignments. But she could locate anyone’s place of habitation. This she proceeded to do.
There it was: Desvenbapur, habitat level three, cell quadrant six, cubicle eighty-two. She contemplated the readout for a long moment, wavering. Then, antennae set determinedly forward, she strode off along the appropriate corridor.
It did not take long to locate the living quarters in question. A pass with her scri!ber over the door ident revealed the occupant to be one Desvenbapur, assistant food preparator. Proof enough of his residence—but not of his health. Still, she hesitated. Request admittance, and she risked jeopardizing their consanguinity. Depart now, and she would preserve it, but without having achieved any personal satisfaction after having come all this way and spent all this time.
Perhaps she had acquired some of her friend’s intermittent hints of irrationality. Perhaps she was simply stubborn. In any event, she resolved to wait for him.
The following day shift passed without any sign of her quarry. By now her own shift supervisor would have marked her as absent and initiated a routine search to ascertain her location, health, and status. Her unauthorized absence would go down on her permanent work record, she knew, inhibiting opportunity for advancement and commendation. She did not care. The second night shift arrived, and still the door to cubicle eighty-two remained sealed.
What if he was inside, having suffered some serious harm? A dual coronary arrhythmia, perhaps, with both hearts beating out of cadence. Or a severe intestinal blockage. Curiosity turned to concern, which begat fear. Rising from the resting position in which she had been settled for more than a day, she struggled on stiffened legs to the nearest general accessway and called for a domicile supervisor.
The female responsible for this section of living quarters responded promptly, listened to Jhywinhuran’s weary concerns, and agreed that the situation she was describing demanded some sort of resolution. Accordingly, permission was obtained to make an unauthorized entry into private quarters. As she followed the supervisor down the corridor, Jhywinhuran was beset with conflicting emotions. If something grave had happened to Desvenbapur, she would be severely depressed. If, on the other truhand, there was nothing wrong, she would undoubtedly find herself on the receiving end of a well-deserved stream of imprecation.
She discovered that she could hardly breathe as the supervisor utilized an override to break the seal on the cubicle and slide back the door. They entered together. The interior of the compact living space was neat, clean, spotless; from the rest and relaxation chamber to the smaller area reserved for the carrying out of individual hygiene. In fact, it was more than spotless.
It had not been lived in for some time.
“There must be some mistake.” Her gestures were clumsy, her words hesitant as she surveyed the immaculate, obviously untouched quarters. “His ident is on the door.”
The supervisor checked her own scri!ber. Reflexively gesturing confusion, she checked it again. And a third time. When she looked up, the commingled movements of her limbs and antennae indicated more than simple puzzlement.
“You are right. There is a mistake. This living cubicle is unassigned.”
Mandibles moving slowly against one another, Jhywinhuran stared at the senior female. “But his full ident is imprinted on the entrance.”
“It certainly is. Be assured that I am no less curious than you to find out how and why it is there.”
Jointly, they ran detailed searches. No assistant food preparator of any name had been placed in cubicle eighty-two by residential assignment. Yes, one named Desvenbapur had been transferred to the subsidiary kitchens. No, he could not be located. Perhaps his scri!ber was turned off or had run down without being noticed. Follow-up queries of every single worker assigned to food preparation in this sector revealed no knowledge of a Desvenbapur. Nor could anyone by that name be located anywhere, in any sector.
“Something is very wrong here,” declared the supervisor as she concluded her searching.
Jhywinhuran was still working her scri!ber. “I agree, but what? He told me, told everyone he worked with, that he was being transferred to food preparation in this sector. His name is on the work roster.”
“Just as his name is on the door to these quarters.” The two females considered the situation. “Let me run one more search.”
Jhywinhuran waited while the senior female waltzed the delicate fingers of her truhands over her unit. Moments later she looked up again, her antennae aimed directly at her visitor. “There is no record of a transfer to this sector being authorized for anyone in food preparation, or specifically, anyone named Desvenbapur.”
“Then…he lied.” Jhywinhuran could barely muster the appropriate clicks to underscore her reply.
“So it would seem. But why? Why would this friend of yours, or any thranx, lie about being shifted from one part of the hive to another?”
“I do not know.” The sanitation worker stridulated softly. “But if he isn’t here, and he isn’t there, then where is he? And why is he wherever he is?”
“I do not know either, but unless something emerges to indicate otherwise, what we have here is unequivocal evidence of antisocial behavior. I am sure it will all become clear when he is located.”
When he was not, something akin to alarm set in not only among those thranx charged with locating the errant assistant food preparator, but among their human associates as well.
Jhywinhuran found herself waiting in an empty interrogation chamber. It was of modest size and in no way remarkable except for the presence among the usual resting benches of a trio of very peculiar sculptures whose purpose she was unable to divine. They looked like tiny benches, much too small to provide surcease and comfort to even a juvenile thranx. Instead of being open and easily accessed, one side of each of the squarish objects was raised above the rest, so that even if you tried to settle your abdomen across it, the stiff raised portions would make it next to impossible.
The hive had been turned upside down in the search for the missing assistant food preparator. When it was determined to a specific degree of assurance that not only was he no longer present in the hive, but that his body could not be found, a startled Jhywinhuran had found herself called away from her labor and ordered to this room. There she sat, and waited, and wondered what in the name of the lowest level of the supreme hive was going on.
Phylogenesis Page 24
