It was being done by a salesman, himself. By a teacher who was as gentle and considerate a human as he’d ever met. By a reclusive giant who was something more than a cabinet minister and less than a saint. These three were committed to helping the Tran, and the Tran were now committed to helping themselves. If many more meetings like the one which had joined Moulokin and Sofold took place, their personal decisions would all be justified.
Such lofty thoughts kept away the brutal alien cold outside his survival suit, kept him from musing on another likely possibility—that he might die in a lost cause on this distant, unnoticed, and wholly inhospitable world.
XIV
THE ICE RIVER HAD long since vanished behind them, and the sailors of the Slanderscree continued to exclaim in wonder at the thickness of the mists. They were familiar enough with the phenomenon. Volcanic foundries were located atop the mountain crests dominating their home isle of Sofold. But not in such profusion as this. Boiling pools and streams ran downslope wherever they looked. The quantity of freely flowing water was as alien to the Tran as a river of liquid oxygen would have been on Terra.
To everyone’s relief, the terrain, which proved the least of their problems, continued to incline gently upward, smooth earth and gravel interrupted only by the occasional pool or stream. The broadest volcanic fissure they had to cross was less than a meter wide. There were no crevasses or secondary canyons.
As if to compensate for the unexpectedly regular topography, obstacles were provided in the form of occasional trees too massive for the slowly advancing icerigger to push down. These grew thickly enough so that at least twice a day the raft would be forced to halt while a crew went overboard to cut down the upcoming barriers. At least the bottom of the hull was high enough to clear even the broadest stump.
They also either passed over or ground inexorably through a profusion of ground cover as foreign to the Sofoldian Tran as was the running, steaming water. Bushes and small trees, ferns and bromeliads smothered the surface wherever sufficient soil had collected to support extensive root growth. These were the strange plants of which minister Mirmib had spoken to Ethan when they’d first entered Moulokin harbor.
Such vegetation could exist in this place solely because of the heat and humidity furnished by the volcanic springs. Ethan and Williams debated extensively on the origin of the grotesquely anomalous tropical vegetation, as to whether it originated because of the conditions existing in this region, or was some holdover from a warmer climate in Tran-ky-ky’s distant past.
Great wheels plowed through rotted, fallen logs, scattering hordes of tiny crawling things and sending pulped fungi flying. Twelve wheels kept the raft from bogging down in the occasional softer areas.
Williams tried to estimate how much altitude they’d gained, but discovered that the mist and steam made accurate calculation impossible. His guesses at linear distance traveled were more precise. The fog made standard navigation impossible. Ta-hoding simply kept them headed eastward and hoped they were still traveling up the main canyon.
In places where the terrain leveled, out they encountered not only bushes and ferns, but berries and the first flowers Ethan had seen on Tran-ky-ky. Though the blooms fascinated the Tran, Ethan thought them pretty but familiar. Williams was utterly absorbed in speculation on how they were pollinated, not to mention explaining the process itself to the Tran wizard Eer-Meesach.
“It is the heat which makes such growth possible,” the teacher explained to the elderly Tran.
“So you have insisted. Tell me more about this pollination. You still have not fully explained what is a bee?”
As he spoke, the wizard removed his last vestige of clothing. Nakedness had become the norm on board, a general divesture of attire to which crewmembers male and female ascribed without comment. It had become not a question of modesty, but of survival.
In fact, the temperature had now risen to a point where the three humans could move about without their survival suits, which were given a much overdue airing-out. Moving about in underclothing was a pleasure for Ethan and his companions, but the heat was becoming a matter of concern for the crew.
Some of Ta-hoding’s sailors began experiencing an affliction with which they were completely unfamiliar: heat prostration. Ta-hoding himself ceased his cooling panting only when he had to speak, and then he kept his orders to a minimum. As one sailor after another had to reduce his work time, schedules were juggled until the Slanderscree was operating with a dangerously small crew. If they did not enter a region of cooler weather soon, the time might come when they would not have enough active bodies to control the ship properly.
When the weak cry sounded forward, Ta-hoding and everyone else at first ignored it, thinking it only the frustrated shout of another overheated crewmember. But the second yell: “Ahoy the helmdeck!” was insistent. It was definitely not just the voice of a fractious, heat-logy crewman.
A midshipmate, tongue lolling, relayed the message. Dehydration could not keep the amazement from his voice. “Captain, bowsprit lookout reports there are people to port.”
Ta-hoding ordered all sails furled; Grumbling sailors aloft struggled drunkenly to comply. Ethan had heard the report, too. Soon a modest crowd had assembled above the first axle, just above the portside wheel.
Standing on the ground below and gazing up with casual interest at the gaping faces lining the ship’s rail were three of the Golden Saia. Ethan stared at them without thought of politeness. He was no less fascinated than Ta-hoding, Hunnar, or any of the other Tran.
It put him in mind of their first meeting with Hunnar and his scouting party, after the lifeboat had crashed on Tran-ky-ky. Hunnar had believed Ethan and his fellow humans to be some peculiar, hairless variant of the Tran norm. And here, where they had no right to exist, were those very variants Hunnar had speculated upon.
For while the three bipeds below resembled the standard Tran in most respects, the differences were significant and striking.
All were males, built much as any member of the Slanderscree’s crew. But instead of the longer, steel-gray fur sported by Hunnar and his brethren, the Saia were cloaked in short, thin fur sparse enough to let bare skin show through in places. The lighter coats were buttery-yellow instead of gray, with isolated spottings of brown and amber.
When one raised a spear and then leaned on it for support, there was a simultaneous exhalation from the Tran lining the rail. These creatures had no dan! The wind-catching membrane all other Tran sported between lower hip and wrist was totally absent. Such a shock made the next discovery seem almost anti-climactic. The Saia stood on sandaled feet. That was an impossibility for normal Tran because of their extended chiv. Instead of the long, powerful skate-claws, the three natives below showed claws on their feet no longer than those on their hands.
Yellow and black cat eyes were identical, as were the pointed, nervously shifting ears atop the head. But the absence of chiv and dan coupled with the short, light-colored fur seemed to suggest a variety of Tran as different from the average as a Neanderthal from Cro-Magnon man.
“Quite astonishing, friend Ethan.” The salesman looked uncertainly at the teacher standing next to him. Williams thought a moment, then looked embarrassed; He’d spoken in Trannish, out of habit, and in so doing had used the formal familiar honorific in referring to Ethan.
“They appear to be a specialized variant of uncertain age,” he hurried on, “adapted specifically to existing in this hot, thermal region. This may be the only tribe so modified on all of Tran-ky-ky.”
Conversation on board was stilled as one of the three below said, loudly but not clearly, “Greetings.” The accent was radically different from any Ethan had yet heard, so much so that the word verged on incomprehensibility. It was less guttural, closer to Terranglo than to Symbospeech, than was usual Trannish.
The Moulokinese had not exaggerated the special qualities of the Saia, he mused, as he prepared to climb down a boarding ladder to confront the triumvirate w
aiting patiently below. Mentally, he scoffed at the suggestion that they might possess mystic powers or knowledge. They were less hairy and less mobile, but that was all.
Even so, Ethan felt better when he touched ground and could turn to face them. Sir Hunnar and Elfa, who followed behind, were less comfortable, though it was the solid ground and not the presence of the Saia that was responsible.
Hunnar walked toward the three, moving like a clumsy newborn on the springy grass. It smashed and ran beneath his sharp chiv, staining them with green juice and giving him a crawly feeling he was hard pressed not to show. When the three offered nothing at his approach, he turned and looked expectantly at Ethan.
Speaking slowly so as to be understood, Ethan ventured the traditional Tran greeting. “Our breath is your warmth.” This struck the three onlookers as amusing. They murmured among themselves like people at a party sharing a private joke.
“We come from a far place,” Ethan continued firmly, ignoring the local levity he had produced. “We come with the blessings of the Moulokinese, our good friends. They say that you are their friends, and hope you will extend this friendship to us.”
All three Saia stared quietly at Ethan out of black pupils that seemed somewhat narrower than those of normal Tran, though it was probably only Ethan’s imagination that made them appear so.
Eventually the one in the middle turned to his right-hand companion and said audibly, “What a strange being that one is. So small, and with less hair even than ourselves.”
“Yes, and there are two others.” The second speaker pointed in the direction of Williams and September, who were among those clustered along the ship’s railing. “And how different they are! That one,” and he had to be indicating September, “is of proper size, but equally hairless. The other is even smaller than the one who speaks to us, yet his covering is dark brown instead of gold or gray.”
It was the last of three who stepped forward. “We welcome you as friends of our friends in Moulokin,” he said to Ethan and Hunnar, then glanced disapprovingly back at his companions. “Have you no manners?” He placed both golden-furred paws on Ethan’s shoulders, but did not breathe into his face as was customary.
“In many ways,” he said, dropping his paws and studying Ethan curiously, “this one resembles us more than our cold brothers.”
With a start, Ethan realized the truth of the other’s words. Lacking dan and chiv, and with a coloring closer to gold than gray, he and September did look much like the Saia. At first glance, a new observer might take Saia and humans as relatives rather than Saia and Tran. Not that the Saia were anything but a hothouse version of the inhabitants of this world. The duplication of eyes and ears, of body and extremities, proved that.
“We come,” Ethan began easily, launching into a by-now familiar tale, “from a world other than this one.” The loquacious Saia’s immediate response was anything but familiar.
“That is obvious.” As if he were discussing something quite ordinary, he leaned on his spear and rubbed idly at the finely woven vest he wore. “From which star, and how far away?”
It was not lack of vocabulary that rendered Ethan momentarily speechless. When his thoughts stopped whirling he thought to gesture at the billowing steam. “Your land must always be like this. How do you know of other stars when you can’t even see the sky? And what makes you think other people live out among them?”
“Legends.” The Saia shifted his position slightly. “We have many legends. They are our heritage. We regard them properly.”
There was truly, Ethan thought, something of a vanished grandeur about these people. They carried themselves differently than the average Tran, as if conscious of their specialness, of a uniqueness that extended beyond mere physical differences.
Had high civilizations once existed on Tran-ky-ky? If so, were these Saia remnants of such civilizations? Or were they perhaps simply recipients of knowledge handed to them by other peoples, now extinct or else from offworld? Did that make Hunnar and his people—and all other Tran—degenerate offshoots of a higher species instead of the pinnacle of Tran evolution?
Manner and alterations in form were not sufficient proof of superiority, however. Hunnar and his companions probably regarded the absence of long fur, dan and chiv as deformities, not as evidence of advanced evolution. And what of the attire of these Saia? Simple vests and skirts, a well-formed but basic metal axe slung at one hip, spears—nothing to hint at knowledge of advanced technologies. They seemed as barbaric in achievement if not attitude as any other Tran.
It was only that—Ethan hunted for the right concept-—that they appeared more advanced psychologically. They were open and friendly, instead of as withdrawn and suspicious as other Tran. Many primitive peoples refined the characteristic of seeming to know more than they actually did. It would be to their advantage, especially if they were numerically weak, to cultivate such an impression. Claims of supernatural abilities or lineage to powerful ancestors would help them awe more warlike relatives such as the Moulokinese. Protective coloring can be verbal as much as physical, he reminded himself, without losing its effectiveness.
Not that they were weak and helpless. The axe and metal-tipped spears looked efficient if not advanced. At least their metallurgical skill hadn’t been exaggerated by the worshipful folk of Moulokin.
“Whither do you go, strangers?” the middle Saia inquired, after efforts to identify a Commonwealth star or two met insurmountable semantic barriers.
Ethan pointed south westward. “To the interior of this land, and further. To explore and hopefully find another canyon similar to this one.”
“Do you know of such a place?” Hunnar sounded harsher than he intended. Alongside these graceful, confident people he felt inexplicably clumsy and overbearing.
“We know of no such.” The center Saia was apologetic. “We can travel no more than a few kijat outside our lands. The cold affects us faster than the heat subdues our thick-furred brothers.” Ethan noted that they employed the same units of measurements as other Tran.
“We are not equipped to live elsewhere than here. We know naught of the interior by sight of our eyes. By legend we know it to be haunted.” At a questioning glance from Elfa, he added, “Foul spirits of the long dead, who died unclean. Did you not know?” He looked in amazement from one companion to the other, then back to the visitors. “Where do you think the spirits of the dead go when they die?”
“Our legends,” explained Elfa firmly, “say they go to the lands of the dead, where they exist in peace forever. A place of singing and gentle winds.”
“Perhaps that is true.” Whether the Saia genuinely believed this or was merely being polite, Ethan couldn’t say. “If so, it is true only when such peace is not disturbed by the living. That is why we would not venture into the interior even were we able.” He regarded them warningly.
“When they are disturbed, the vengeance of the dead is unimaginable.” He raised his spear, gestured inland. “Go that way, to the land of the unclean dead where spirits dwell in aimless, milling anger. They may focus on you, the living. Or they may not. We will not stop you. We would not if we could. But we will lament your passing as friends.
“They will not,” he concluded significantly, “like being disturbed. Every Tran may choose his or her own death. As for ourselves, the day has light to spend and we have hunting to do. Farewell.” He smiled a Trannish smile at Ethan. “Farewell, furless friend. Our legends lie not.”
Back on the raft, they were surrounded by excited sailors and knights who had been unable to hear the conversation. When Ethan concluded his brief resume of what had transpired, Williams danced about like a man possessed by a vision—which in a sense, he was. “We’ve got to follow them! I must have a look at their village, learn how they’ve adapted to a climate so radically different from the rest of this world. We must record their legends, and interpret—”
“We have to,” September interrupted him in no-nonsense tones, “get inlan
d and find another way off this plateau as fast as we can, Milliken. This isn’t a scientific expedition.”
“But a discovery of this magnitude! …” Williams wailed. Abruptly, he killed the pleading in his voice. “I must formally protest, Skua.” He put his hands on hips, glared defiantly up at the giant.
September weighed more than twice as much as the diminutive schoolteacher. Ignoring the other’s belligerence, a product, no doubt, of a year’s survival on Tran-ky-ky, September replied humorlessly.
“Okay, now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, we’ll be on our way.” When it looked as if the teacher’s rising blood pressure might do him more harm than September ever would, the giant added consolingly, “Milliken, I’m ’bout as curious as you are concernin’ these folks, but we’ve considerable more people to try and help, remember?”
“ ’Tis true, friend Williams,” Sir Hunnar added. “We should be on our way.” The teacher turned desperately to Ethan, who half-shrugged.
“They’re right, Milliken. You know we—”
“Barbarians. I am surrounded by barbarians. Where’s Eer-Meesach?” He stormed away in search of his only intellectual colleague, mounting to the doorway of a second-story cabin like a hyperactive sloth.
Ethan smiled as he watched the teacher ascend the steep rampway paralleling the wider icepath. When they’d first crashed on this world, the smaller man’s muscles would have strained to mount that ramp at all, let alone propel him upward at such respectable speed. Tran-ky-ky hadn’t done much for their credit balances, but they’d built up other assets.
He had to think thus because the cloying mists, the rich greenery surrounding them here, were all too reminiscent of lands and worlds more receptive to human life. This place was too friendly. Go a few thousand meters or so in any direction, he knew, and the ambient temperature would drop a hundred degrees or more.
“Our friend classes us with you, Hunnar.” September regarded the knight expectantly. “Let’s be on our way, then. Or are you afeared of these spirits and night-creeps the Saia seem so fond of?”
The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers Page 57
