Quofum

by Alan Dean Foster

  Slowly and carefully the surviving spikers and hardshells began working their way southward, maintaining a rudimentary defensive formation as they did so. A few of the most energetic defenders followed them, slinging the intermittent stone, throwing the occasional sharpened stick. Once the ongoing battle moved back into the dense vegetation, the pursuing defenders’ advantage in numbers was reduced. The chase broke off and the remaining attackers were allowed to disappear into the brush.

  In their wake, noncombatant stick-jellies and fuzzies worked together in a cooperative effort to put out the fires that continued to consume the surviving huts. Water carried from the river in crude pots and tightly woven baskets was thrown on the crackling flames. Native intelligence had not risen to the point where someone thought to organize a simple bucket brigade.

  Limited in quantity though it was, there was fire-suppressant equipment on the boat that could have put out the remaining blazes in a couple of minutes. Looking over at N’kosi, Tellenberg saw that his colleague was thinking the same thing. He swallowed, his throat unexpectedly dry.

  “We can’t,” he muttered. “We can’t interfere.”

  “I know.” N’kosi summoned up a wan smile. “Contact regulations. We can only observe.”

  Fortunately, there was no fuzzy or stick-jelly equivalent of human children running screaming through the flaming village, no limbless thranx larvae squirming helplessly on the ground. Had that been the case, a sympathetic Tellenberg might have found himself hard-pressed not to interfere in the fight with technologically advanced gear a good deal more proactive than just fire-suppressant equipment.

  Take a step back, he told himself. For all they knew the brutal assault that had been mounted by the spikers and the hardshells was payback for some earlier, even worse offense that had been committed by the fuzzies and the stick-jellies. For a second time he found himself reflecting on the unsuitability of relying on first impressions.

  Odd. The boat seemed to be pitching slightly under his feet. Cruising down the middle of the river with the current due aft there was no reason for a sudden swing in stability. If any of his colleagues noticed the subtle pitching they did not remark on it. A moment later he chanced to glance around. As soon as he did so the reason for the rocking became immediately apparent.

  Having drifted downstream silent and unseen while fleeing the aftermath of the battle for the village, three hardshells were struggling to clamber into the boat.

  Scientific detachment tends to fall rapidly by the wayside when a croaking, dark-eyed, angry alien suddenly appears within arm’s length brandishing a lethal weapon in one’s face. To their credit, none of the researchers panicked. All of them had spent time on other worlds; some inhabited by primitive sentients, others not. Perhaps because his kind lived under interminable threat of attack from their traditional enemies the AAnn, Valnadireb was first to draw his sidearm. Up on the bow, Haviti followed him in close order despite the awkwardness of her position.

  By the time a slightly rattled but responsive Tellenberg and N’kosi had joined them in taking aim at the intruders, the latter had halted their attempt to climb aboard. Maybe they expected the strange floating object to be full of loathsome stick-jellies and stone-wielding fuzzies. The sight of three soft-bodied, multicolored bipeds and one very large golden-eyed arthropod must have been as unsettling to them as their sudden appearance was to the occupants of the boat. Whatever the reason, it was sufficient to halt potentially lethal stone axes in midswing. Following this first confrontation, formal first contact between the official representatives of the Humanx Commonwealth and the indigenous hard-shelled natives of Quofum progressed swiftly and not at all according to preferred protocol.

  Emerging from the state of shock into which sight of the creatures on board the floating vehicle had sent it, the hardshell nearest Tellenberg took one step forward and one roundhouse swipe with the axe it gripped in its right pseudopod. Stepping easily back out of range of the powerful but short-reached swing, Tellenberg uttered a startled “Hey!” and promptly tripped over a supply canister that was lying on the deck. Both actions set the other pair of hardshells in motion.

  Deciding that this was not the appropriate time to consult the applicable portion of the relevant file, N’kosi proceeded to drill the advancing hardshell directly between its dark, pupil-less eyes. Toppling forward and dropping the axe, it struck the deck with a resounding thump. Observing this, the other hardshells reconfirmed the principle that primitiveness was not equal to stupidity by turning and throwing themselves (their physiology rendering them incapable of jumping) overboard. Rushing to the slightly flexible gunwale, Haviti and N’kosi made sure the pair of would-be boarders continued to drift away as Valnadireb rushed to help Tellenberg stand.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Embarrassed by his gaucherie, Tellenberg stepped away from the thranx.

  Valnadireb looked his friend over. “You sure? From where I was standing I couldn’t see if it hit you or not.”

  Tellenberg gave an irritable shake of his head. “It missed me. They have short swings. The only damage is to my dignity.”

  The thranx responded with a whistle of sympathy. “What scientist in the field holds on to that for more than a day?”

  “Well, this is just great.” Having seen off the intruders, Haviti returned to the center of the craft and slumped down onto the top of a half-full storage purifier that was busily rendering river water safe for humanx consumption. “Less than a week we’ve been here and not only have we managed to bungle contact with all four native sentient species, but we may have made outright enemies of at least one.”

  “We don’t know that.” Valnadireb preferred to view the circumstances, as well as the corpse of the dead hardshell, in a more positive light. “Our initial contacts were brief and inconclusive, it is true, but except for that which occurred between myself, Tiare, and the fuzzies, nothing resembling open hostility ensued.” Both truhands indicated the alien body lying in the center of the boat. “Until now, of course. While regrettable, this incident may have no lasting effects. Even if the two hardshells who returned to the river survive the attentions of patrolling fuzzies and stick-jellies, by the time they return to their own people they may remember very little of this particular encounter. Even if they do, it is very likely that their story will not be believed. Such generalized aggression may be unexceptional among their kind and in no wise a clarion call to wider hostilities. We know nothing of their culture.”

  “We know that they like to fight stick-jellies and fuzzies,” N’kosi countered. He gestured at the lumpy form lying motionless on the deck. “If nothing else, we have acquired our first specimen of a second of the four dominant social species.”

  Having recovered fully from his embarrassing fall, Tellenberg had moved to the starboard gunwale and was studying the efforts of the surviving fuzzies and stick-jellies to put out the raging fires that had been set by their assailants. Despite the fragmented nature of the attempt, sheer determination and persistence found them having some success.

  You had to admire them, he mused. You also had to admire the ruthlessness and fighting abilities of the spikers and the hardshells.

  “What makes you think there are four?” He put the question to the thranx without taking his gaze from the dying conflagration on shore.

  Pivoting on all six legs, Valnadireb came close. “We have encountered four. We have documented four. Do you have some reason, Esra, to dispute these findings?”

  “No, no.” Turning, he looked down into the thranx’s jewel-like, gold-hued, crimson-banded compound eyes. “What I meant was, how do we know there aren’t more?” Raising his gaze, he met the curious stares of his other colleagues.

  Haviti wrinkled her nose. “How could there be more than four separate and distinct sentient species on one world?”

  Tellenberg shrugged. “Eight is no more improbable a number to encounter than four. Or ten. Or twenty. From an evolutionary standpoint, my friends, and asi
de from its astronomical peculiarities, this world is seriously out of whack. I’ll find a way to render that in proper biological terminology once we’re back in camp.”

  No one argued with him. It was possible, even likely, that similar thoughts had occurred to them independently. Tellenberg was just the first to give voice to the scientifically tantalizing. That did not stop them, nor mitigate their eagerness, as they set about dissecting the dead hardshell on the way downriver—it having been mutually agreed that for the immediate future formal second contact with the fuzzies and the stick-jellies would best be deferred.

  Among the many characteristics of sentient culture that the history of xenology had determined to be universal was the axiom that irrespective of species, a people who had just suffered massive death and destruction was rarely in the mood to sit down for a friendly chat no matter how benign or innocent the intentions of prospective third-party visitors.

  5

  Though marred by the inescapable memories of the intra-indigenous carnage they had witnessed earlier in the day, night on the river once again brought forth a farrago of alien beauty and diversity. If anything, nocturnal life-forms appeared in even greater variety than they had the night before.

  Sweeping low over the glassy surface of the river, membranous-winged fliers trailed glowing tail-tips in the water. These fireflylike lights caught the attention of feeding water-dwellers, who were promptly snapped up by the next flier in line. In this cooperative feeding frenzy, a carnivore’s success depended not only on its own skills but equally on those of the fellow flock member gliding and tail-fishing in front of it. As the flock soared silently downriver, Tellenberg saw that a pair of fliers in the lead would ascend, slow down, and take up the position at the rear. By rotating leaders in this fashion the flock assured that every member of the group got the opportunity to feed.

  Lights shined over the side of the boat revealed a cluster of large bubbles rising from below. Each contained a small struggling arthropod or frantically signaling silicate life-form. Imprisoned on the surface within their globular containers, they drifted with the current until the school of striped cephalopodian creatures that had thus entrapped them ascended. One by one the caging bubbles were popped and their wriggling contents consumed.

  The river seemed to boast almost as many new methods of predation as there were predators to demonstrate them and prey to fulfill the necessary destinies. Occupying the seat in the bow, N’kosi occasionally dipped a collecting net into the water. This straightforward method of securing specimens was as effective as it was ancient. Working carefully so as not to damage them, the xenologist would transfer the frequently fluorescing samples of local aquatic life-forms into the portable holding tank that was secured just aft of his position. In the morning, they would transfer the tank to the lab. There, the hundreds of specimens they had collected could be better preserved and studied.

  Upon leaving the arena of aboriginal conflict, Tellenberg had taken his own turn with net and siphon. Now he sat on the port side of the boat, mulling strange stars and the electric panoply of lambent alien life-forms that filled the night sky and the surreal forest beneath. So preoccupied was he that he did not even bother to check if his cap-mounted recorder was operating.

  A shape idled over alongside him. Its tone reflected concern.

  “Still thinking about this afternoon’s butchery?”

  Given the evenness of her voice, Haviti might as well have been describing the presentation of some dull academic paper at a scientific conference. Tellenberg felt her attitude stemmed from a need to keep herself emotionally divorced from what after all had been fairly bloodthirsty proceedings. He completely understood because he felt exactly the same way.

  “Yes and no,” he murmured. Lit only by the distant faint light of stars that pointed back to the familiar spatial realm of the Commonwealth and by the nighttime running lights that were embedded in the fabric of the boat, the rounded curves of her face reflected her Polynesian ancestry. Muted as it was, the craft’s interior illumination still picked up the highlights of her smile.

  “Well, that’s settled,” she quipped.

  He shifted his position on the bench that emerged from the inner wall, turning toward her and away from the glittering alien cavalcade parading through the forest beyond. “I was thinking about the natives, but not especially in relation to the internecine battle we witnessed. It’s something else. The same thing has been bothering me ever since we set down and first began to make contact with them.”

  “Aspects of one particular species troubling you?” she inquired.

  Quofum had no moon, he mused, until Tiare Haviti had arrived. He pushed the thought aside. “Aspects of all four of them have been troubling me. In fact,” he went on, warming to the subject now that he had a knowledgeable and responsive audience, “I’d be surprised if the same conundrum hasn’t been bothering you, too. And N’kosi, and Valnadireb as well.”

  “Maybe it has.” Sitting back, she drew up one leg and clasped both hands around her knee. “But I can’t confirm or deny it until you’ve told me what it is you’re talking about.”

  He sat up straighter. “Alright, look. We’ve been here less than a week. In that time we’ve encountered not one, not two, but four distinct sentient native species living almost side by side. My knowledge of such things isn’t absolute, but I’m pretty sure that’s unprecedented.”

  “I think it is, too. That’s what’s troubling you?”

  “Partly.” He glanced back out at the river as something the size of a crocodile briefly broke the surface before submerging once more. Resembling a kinked tree trunk, it displayed one eye on the back of each of its segments. From the quick look he could not tell if it was a single creature or several that were linked front to back.

  “What’s really troubling me, Tiare, what’s been bothering me ever since we began standardized exploration of this place, is not that there is too much of everything. Earth itself is famous for its species diversity. But everything on Earth is related in some way to everything else. You can use evolutionary principles, cladistics, and other means and methods to link worms to whales.” Raising an arm, he waved at the shimmering alien spectacle on shore.

  “Instead of relationships here, I see chaos. Just when I think I might have confirmed two or three species that relate to one another, something completely fantastic comes ambling or slithering or soaring or swimming along that bears absolutely no relationship to anything that’s ambled or slithered or whatevered before it. We have carbon-based life-forms living alongside silicate-based life-forms living next to sulfate-based life-forms living among organisms whose biology we haven’t had time to even guess at. It’s evolution gone amuck. Pure biological anarchy.” He paused to catch his breath.

  “And the natives only take it to an extreme. It’s absurd enough that we encounter four different intelligent native species in less than a week. But I think I could deal with that, intellectually, if they bore some relation to one another.” He leaned toward her. “You tell me, Tiare. Am I overwrought, or worse? Has this place overwhelmed my ability to make rational scientific assessments? Do you see any biological, evolutionary relationship between, say, the spikers and the fuzzies? Not to mention the stick-jellies and the semi-aquatic hardshells. Am I missing something here?”

  His earnestness was palpable. She was not taken aback, perhaps because, as he suspected, she had considered similar conclusions independently. As he waited, she inhaled deeply and slid her foot off the bench.

  “I’d be lying, Esra, if I said that something along the same line hadn’t occurred to me.”

  He rolled his eyes skyward. “Thanks be to Herschel. I was starting to question my ability to look at all this objectively.”

  Standing up, she turned to look out at river and forest. “How could anyone with even a limited scientific education not wonder how sentients like the stick-jellies could evolve alongside and, presumably, simultaneous with the spikers? The xenolo
gical record is consistent. One intelligent species evolves and spreads out to dominate a world. On very rare occasions two may appear more or less simultaneously, usually on opposite sides of a planet. In the case of a world like Horseye, that the natives all call Tslamaina, you might get three.” She turned back to him.

  “But the three native species that inhabit Horseye can all be traced back to a common ancestry. Anyone can study the breakdown of a Tsla and see its biological relationship to the other species, the Mai and the Na.”

  He nodded, idly brushing something like a gilded snowflake off his right forearm. It took wing and fluttered off into the night, a golden speck adrift in the starlight. “I defy anyone to find a close structural relationship between a spiker and a stick-jelly. Or even a hardshell and a fuzzy.”

  She considered. “Well, we have a dead hardshell to work with now, and spiker corpses aplenty back at camp. If we can find an authorized way to obtain specimens of representatives of the other two sentient species, we can do some serious dissection and evaluation. Even with the inadequate equipment we have, making a comparison on that level should prove relatively quick and easy.”

  He offered a thin smile in return. “And what if there is no relationship to be found? How do we explain the simultaneous evolution of four distinct, unrelated alien species on one world?”

  It was silent on the boat. From his position behind the control console, Valnadireb’s voice reached them. “Myself, I regret that I have no brilliant explication to propose.”

  Haviti turned toward him. “You were listening.”

  Both the thranx’s words and multiple arm gestures were un-apologetic. “It’s a small boat. Anyway, I concur with everything you have both been saying. While I am as reluctant as you to venture generalizations based on less than a week’s observations, I have to agree with Esra that according to what we have seen thus far, the biology of this planet makes no sense whatsoever. Based on preliminary observations, the four sentient species we have encountered might as well have come from four different planets.”