Quozl

by Alan Dean Foster

  The hardest thing Looks-at-Charts had ever done was to restrain himself while the necessary preliminary checks were run. Long-range measurements and estimates had to be confirmed, new tests done. Though it seemed to take an eternity, the first results appeared on the ship’s instrumentation in rapid succession.

  The air was breathable, the temperature tolerable. They would not have to wear cumbersome equipment. Flies-by-Tail looked longingly at the lake, wondering what the water of Shiraz might taste like—and what potentially upsetting microorganisms it might harbor.

  The second disappointment was personal. As had been prearranged, he and Burden-carries-Far spun a random-numbers disc, and Looks lost. He did his best to conceal his unhappiness, congratulating his colleague, who was appropriately apologetic for having won. Burden offered the honor to Looks, who formally declined, whereupon the joyful Burden sorrowfully prepared to open the hatch door and be the first to set foot on the Shirazian surface.

  They donned side arms, a necessary precaution which had been learned the hard way on hostile Mazna. Such fears and worries as they held, however, vanished the moment the hatch was opened and the descent ramp extended itself.

  The air was thick and warm, full of the scent of living things. They had to paused lest it overwhelm them, like a dozen rich desserts consumed without pause. The air was alive with whistling sounds, not akin to the noise the Quozl made among themselves but sweeter. Clicks and burrps came from deep within the high green plants that lined the sides of the lake. Looks-at-Charts studied the stream which ran almost directly beneath the descent ramp.

  “Water. Fresh, not recycled.”

  “Water is water, I guess.” Burden-carries-Far marched unceremoniously down the ramp and into the shallow stream, letting it flow over his sandaled feet and soak his fur. “Cold,” he informed them, promptly violating every procedure in the texts by bending to scoop up a handful and conveying it to his mouth.

  Looks heard Walks-with-Whispers gasp behind him, felt Stands-while-Sitting push against his back. “Don’t do that!”

  The scout flung droplets from his fingers and eyed her amusedly. “Nice taste.” He turned and jumped the rest of the stream. “Let’s get moving.”

  Looks-at-Charts hurried down the ramp, followed by Stands-while-Sitting. Flies-by-Tail watched enviously from the pilot’s chair. She could not leave the ship until the scouts declared the immediate vicinity secured. Breathes-hard-Out would remain aboard to continue her atmospheric studies.

  Walks-with-Whispers was a different matter. Neither scout particularly desired the geologist’s company while they made their initial observations, but since there was no visible danger they could not insist he remain on board. After a good deal of verbal posturing and feinting it was decided that he could come and go as he required so long as he stayed within view of the pilot’s chair. He agreed reluctantly but was soon so busy gathering rock and soil samples he’d completely forgotten the disagreement.

  That left the two scouts and their senior xenologist free to tramp through the forest as they pleased.

  It was a wonderful environment, Looks-at-Charts thought. Better than they could have hoped for. No wonder it had nursed intelligent life. The strange furry trees towered around them on all sides, their blood the source of heavy, pungent odors that managed to be simultaneously alien and reassuring.

  It didn’t take long to locate the source of the high whistling sounds they’d heard immediately upon arrival. They issued from small winged creatures that darted between the trees on lithe, dark wings. While the calls of the larger aerials sometimes resembled higher-pitched Quozl speech it was obvious they could not be the dominant species.

  “I don’t think anything so small and fragile could develop intelligence,” was Burden-carries-Far’s evaluation. Their opinion was confirmed when they saw a pair of the creatures settle into a mud and stick bowl atop one large branch. It was clear the structure was not the product of advanced technology.

  More impressive than the flitting, mysterious noises that filled the alien woods were the smells. Shiraz was an aromatic paradise. There seemed no attempt by either the flora or fauna to disguise their identifying odors, as there was on Quozlene. Perhaps animals here did not feed as often by smell, or perhaps a different mechanism was at work. That was for Stands-while-Sitting and the scientific teams aboard Sequencer to decide. All he had to do was enjoy it. He almost forgot to monitor his appearance.

  You could suffer sensory overload on Shiraz simply by standing in one place and letting the fragrances and sounds come to you, he decided. But they were instructed to cover as much ground as possible. Looks-at-Charts had chosen this direction for a reason, because of something he thought he’d glimpsed just prior to touchdown. It was a reason Lifts-with-Shout might not have agreed with, but they were out of touch with the Sequencer now and on their own until they returned. Besides, a scout was supposed to employ initiative when he thought the occasion demanded it. That was all he was doing.

  Burden-carries-Far did not comment on his colleague’s choice of direction. Stands-while-Sitting might have overruled him, but she said nothing, apparently quite content to let the two younger scouts take the lead while she immersed herself in examining their extraordinary surroundings.

  Sweet old tail, thought Looks-at-Charts. She’s as anxious to find answers to all our questions as any of us.

  Though their suits contained emergency supplies sufficient to keep them going for several days, Looks had no intention of being away from the scout vessel that long. They would make their preliminary survey and then return. Flies-by-Tail would not be alarmed, however, if they kept out of touch for a while. They were supposed to use their hand communicators to contact her only in an emergency situation.

  He had no intention of studying only trees and flying creatures on this visit. They had to find out more than that, no matter the caution of the Captain or Lifts-with-Shout or the Council of Seven. They had to learn something of what they were up against, of what they might have to deal with if events didn’t proceed as planned. That was what he intended all along. He sensed that Burden-carries-Far would go along with him if the opportunity he hoped for arose. If not there would be a power dance to end all power dances.

  Meanwhile he could delight in their new surroundings, knowing that all immediate decisions were up to Stands-while-Sitting. In a sense, he and Burden were along solely to convoy and protect her, though their own observations would of course also be of inestimable value to those anxiously awaiting their reports back on the Sequencer.

  “See.” Burden-carries-Far knelt to recover a sharp-edged, fist-sized brown object. He pointed to several identical modules hanging from the branches of a nearby tree. “Some type of seed pod.”

  “Or botanical defense mechanism,” said Stands-while-Sitting dryly.

  The scout half dropped it but at the last instant decided to hang on, unsure whether their experienced colleague was joking or quite serious. In any event the object did not explode in his hand or bleed toxic sap. He inspected it closely, then tied it to one of the scarves attached to his left leg. It bounced decoratively with each long stride.

  Not to be outdone, Looks-at-Charts found some delicate bright flowers and secured them to the shoulder strap of his suit. He could smell them without having to turn his nose in their direction. Everything on Shiraz seemed more intense than on the ship: the colors, the aromas, the clarity of the air, everything. This new world glowed and stank with beauty. It would take olfactory specialists years just to catalog the local range of smells. What other wonders lay ahead, just around the next tree or slight hillock?

  A while later they paused for a brief meal. Everything was proceeding according to plan, both that designed for them and Looks’s own private one. They’d encountered no hostile fauna or natives, only beauty in abundance. An easy place in which to be seduced, he reflected. That would not happen. It was one reason why he and Burden had been chosen for this singular honor. They could not
and would not be distracted from their duty.

  They encountered plenty of active diurnal fauna as they made their way through the forest. In particular they saw many small furry creatures who made their homes high up in the trees and bombarded them with irritated chittering sounds. They bore a comical but only passing resemblance to tiny Quozl. There was also a slightly larger ground-dwelling creature whose ears superficially resembled those of the Quozl, though they were incapable of twisting and moving in the intricate signing patterns that were second nature to the visitors.

  A larger quadruped provided considerably more excitement when they chanced across it in a small clearing. Both scouts instinctively reached for their weapons only to be stopped by Stands-while-Sitting.

  “Use your eyes and your studies,” she whispered to them as she recorded the encounter with her imager. “It’s clearly no carnivore. No cutting teeth or claws.”

  The delicate brown creature stared at them for a long while before turning to trot off into the brush. “See! There’s another,” said Burden, gesturing with both ears. A smaller, spotted version of the first animal followed close behind, provoking debate among the trio of travelers as to whether it was the young or a completely different species.

  The argument had not been resolved by the time they reached the edge of the forest, right where Looks-at-Charts had guessed it would be. A broad open plain stretched out before them. The ground had been sliced with parallel grooves. Clearly machinery and not natural erosion had been at work here.

  Stands-while-Sitting hesitated. “We should return to the forest.”

  “Nonsense!” Looks-at-Charts advanced confidently toward a fence fashioned of wooden stakes linked together by metal wire. “There’s no danger here.” He fingered one of the pointed barbs attached to the wire. “Look how primitive. Much simpler and more effective to pass a field between posts. They must not have that technological capability.”

  “Or perhaps each barb is tipped with a toxic substance,” said Stands-while-Sitting thoughtfully.

  Looks lost a good portion of his confidence, quickly inspected his finger. The barb had not penetrated through his fur to the skin. He inhaled deeply, then turned and made a gesture of abasement to his Senior.

  “You’re right. It was a foolish thing to do. I am unworthy of my training.”

  “None of us is perfect.” Stands had come up beside him to study the fence. “So much newness is overwhelming. We do not always think before we act.” Her gaze rose and she gestured to her left. “Since you are evidently bound to advance, let us do so over there.”

  A small stream had cut away the earth beneath the fence and they were able to crawl through without touching the lowermost strand of armed wire. Then they were strolling through the recently plowed field.

  “I wonder what they grow here,” murmured Looks-at-Charts.

  Burden-carries-Far kicked at the hard earth. “From the looks of it I’d say not much. See how tough the soil is, how poorly mulched.”

  They continued to the top of a slight rise, whereupon at Burden’s signal they all dropped to their bellies.

  A structure stood in a clump of trees not far away. No, several structures, Looks saw at second glance. The largest had an arched roof and unsealed openings. The nearest was marginally more elaborate in design and execution. Sunlight reflected off windows or ports.

  A cleared path ran from the east end of the building to connect to a much larger path that ran from south to north, vanishing over both horizons. There was no sign of movement.

  Feeling the blood pounding through his veins, Looks forced himself to recite several passages from the Eighth Book of the Samizene. It calmed him sufficiently to rationally consider their situation. Clearly they were looking at a native dwelling, perhaps several of them.

  “I wonder what to do.” Stands-while-Sitting was torn between her innate conservatism and a desperate desire to have a look inside the structures below. Were any natives present their course would be clear: avoid contact at all costs. But the grounds appeared deserted.

  They observed for a long time but the only movement came from small quadrupeds and fowl who clearly belonged to nonsentient orders.

  “Perhaps it has been abandoned,” suggested Burden hopefully.

  “It appears too well maintained.” Stands backed away from the crest of the little hill and considered. “Yet it seems the inhabitants are not present. We will return to the woods and spend the night there,” she decided, “and come back in the morning. If after adequate observation we still sight no natives, then it might be propitious to proceed.”

  Looks-at-Charts was all for dashing down the opposite slope immediately, but without a valid reason to do so it was Stands-while-Sitting’s decision that would prevail. She was Senior. And in this he was properly obedient.

  IV.

  THEY SPENT A restless night, not because of the alien nocturnal noises but because of the thought of what they might see tomorrow. Burden was up before the Shirazian sun, waking his companions and breaking camp.

  They marched back to the top of the rise and waited and watched from there until the two scouts were writhing in an agony of impatience. Finally even Stands-while-Sitting had to admit that the place seemed deserted. They had to restrain themselves from running down the opposite slope once she gave permission to advance.

  Up close, the structure did not appear nearly so solidly built as it had from a distance, in spite of having been fashioned of that noble material, wood. The base was constructed of rough-hewn stone.

  As they cautiously made their way around to the front of the building they were surprised by the presence of several small feathered creatures busily scratching and kicking at the dusty soil. They ignored Stands-while-Sitting as she recorded their activities, even when she came quite close. This behavioral pattern was quite different from that which had been observed among the small inhabitants of the deep forest.

  “Tamed,” commented Looks-at-Charts, “but for what purpose? Do you suppose the natives eat them?”

  “They certainly don’t maintain them for protection.” Burden-carries-Far gave a desultory flick of his left ear.

  To no one’s surprise they discovered that the doorway was sealed. Careful study suggested that the only thing holding the barrier closed was a simple metal lock. This was easily subverted. They entered with Burden in the lead and Looks bringing up the rear, the two younger scouts convoying their Senior.

  At first the feeling of alienness was overwhelming, but as they walked around the outer room Looks-at-Charts began to relax. There were structures and artifacts whose purpose was easily divined. A soft mat covering the floor was intended to provide a more comfortable walking surface. There were objects to sit upon, which while not built to Quozl proportions were still usable for that purpose. These creatures, Looks mused, must have very short legs and no feet at all.

  When they had completed a quick, cursory inspection of all the rooms in the building and had satisfied themselves that it was unoccupied, they began to examine specific artifacts in more detail. Small switches set in the walls produced light in glass bulbs. Other, larger bulbs contained smelly liquid which Stands-while-Sitting suggested could be ignited to produced additional light.

  The food preparation area contained a large metallic structure which kept food cool. Burden-carries-Far was all for sampling some alien edibles, but his intention was firmly vetoed by their xenologist. It was one thing to be adventurous, quite another to act in foolhardy fashion.

  “It smells quite palatable,” Burden argued.

  “That means nothing. They may contain all kinds of potentially lethal bacteria.” Stands-while-Sitting did consent to letting them drink the water which was provided by a small spigot, as Burden had already sampled some in the wild and had as yet shown no ill effects from the reckless consumption.

  They returned to the main room, where Looks let out a sharp whistle at the most important discovery so far. His companions rushed to join h
im in studying the flat images attached to the back wall.

  The means of reproduction used was primitive and two-dimensional, but it was sufficient to give them their first look at the natives of Shiraz.

  “They look like us and yet they don’t.” Burden’s gaze moved in slow fascination from one image to the next. He shuddered slightly. “They’re furless. That, or they shave their whole bodies right down to the skin.”

  “Look at all that clothing.” Looks pointed to the nearest picture. “Perhaps they only shave their exposed parts and are properly furred underneath.”

  “I think Burden is correct,” said Stands. “They may need the extra garments to protect them from the weather if they are naturally hairless on their bodies.” She tapped one glass-covered image. “Yet they have some fur on their heads. Look how long it grows!”

  “Perhaps it is a mating attractant,” Looks suggested.

  The faces were more alien than the bodies. There were two eyes, true, but they were much smaller than those of the Quozl. Instead of lying close to the face, the nostrils protruded in a long, bony structure and were the same color as the rest of the bare skin. Only the mouths were reasonably similar, though those of the aliens were slightly wider. In several of the images the natives displayed their teeth in hostile gestures.

  As for ears, Looks thought the natives possessed none at all. It was left to Stands to identify the tiny, wrinkled structures located (of all places) on the sides of the skull as possible organs of hearing. Looks had thought them simply ornamental fleshy growths. They appeared far too small to serve any useful function.

  “That can’t be,” muttered Burden-carries-Far. “How could they hear anything with ears like that?”