Decision at Doona

by Anne McCaffrey

  “So, we must first apprise Codep of the existence of these natives by homing capsule. Even at faster-than-light speeds, it will take four and a half days to reach Earth . . .”

  “And probably four and a half weeks while Codep fumbles to any decision,” Lee interjected.

  “And another four to five days before we receive an answer. In the meantime, the Phase IV ship will have arrived with our families.” Hu Shih paused, exhaled deeply. “It is impossible to leave this site until they do arrive, otherwise we could simply pack up right now and eliminate the danger of contaminating this species with a premature contact with us. No, we are constrained to stay. We must also prevail upon the captain of the Phase IV ship to remain, pending subsequent removal orders.”

  “Shih,” Gaynor interrupted, “those transport ships are so tightly scheduled, they can't lay over any longer than it takes to unload.”

  “In an emergency of this nature, I'm certain discretion will override commercial interest,” the colony leader replied. “The captain will certainly understand the delicate situation at a glance and adjust to necessity.”

  “What about the livestock?” Ben asked. “There would be only fodder enough for the outgoing trip.”

  “That is why we must wait for instructions. I think you must agree with me, then, that we will have at least a nine day interlude, during which time the natives are certain to discover us.”

  “How in hell did they manage to camouflage that village, Shih?” Ken demanded. “Where have they been all winter?”

  “Nomads?” Lawrence suggested. “There's an easy route from the southern part of the continent, come to think of it, beyond the range.”

  "Where they came from is not as important as what to do now they are here," Hu Shih reminded Lee gently. "Consider the relevant problem, please.

  "Undoubtedly, if someone from Alien Relations Department had been included in our number, he would know exactly what course of action should be, must be taken. But unfortunately, Codep did not see fit to include someone with any xeno training in our number, and he smiled less tentatively now. "Besides, we have natives, not aliens, to deal with and there is nothing in our copious instructions to cover this contingency."

  Lee Lawrence choked on a burst of derisive laughter while Gaynor glared at him savagely. It had become axiomatic that whatever manual of procedure was consulted, the guidebook failed to cover the major emergencies encountered on this non-mining world. There were also large areas in which theory fell far short of practical need. The 'experts' who had compiled the guides had no actual colonial experience and were far too conditioned to stocked storerooms, planetwide resources or frequent supply ship runs.

  «It does seem reasonable to me,» Hu Shih continued, «to try to communicate with our – landlords – in an effort to cushion their cultural shock . . .»

  “Their cultural shock?” Lee cried out.

  “They may well be nomads.”

  “With houses like that?” Gaynor protested.

  Hu Shih held up his hand for order. «As I mentioned, we cannot ignore them; they are just across the river We are the trespassers, against the law of our own home world.» 'Home' had been delicately stressed. «In all conscience we must do what we can not to compromise their cultural evolution, or worse – precipitate another Siwannah. Once we have established in our own minds their level of civilization, we can continue intelligently. Therefore, since Ken is the only one among us with any semantic training, he will make the initial contact.»

  “Now wait a minute,” Sam protested. “They carried knives. And big cats on Terra used to be carnivores, didn't they, Dautrish?”

  “Well, yes,” the botanist agreed

  Ezra Moody raised his hand. «Judging from the lack of protruding eyeteeth – or fangs, I'd hazard that they have evolved beyond the chase-hunt level. Here, Ben,» and Ezra indicated one particular photograph to the veterinarian, «look at this jaw. Don't you agree?»

  Ben nodded cautiously.

  “Fangs don't indicate temperament,” Lawrence said.

  “True,” Moody agreed seriously, “but you'll notice the absence of anything more lethal than a knife in their belts. No clubs or . . .”

  “A knife is lethal enough,” Ken said. “And I plan to carry one too,” he asserted, turning to Hu Shih.

  “Oh, that's definitely in order,” Lawrence agreed. “Lack of a knife might mean emasculation. Ritual, of course,” he added hastily with a laugh as he caught Ken's startled glance.

  “Exactly what do you want me to do, Shih?” Ken asked.

  “Mainly, tape as much of their language as possible. Alreldep is sure to want it as a basis for their own investigations. We ought to sleep-learn as much as we can synthesize in order to deal with the natives.” He sighed. “Of course, it's not the best way to learn a language, for no adult ever learns another's tongue properly, but we must somehow get across to them that our stay will be brief; that we did not know we had trespassed . . .”

  “And you want Ken to walk in there armed with a lousy knife and a tape recorder?” Sam exclaimed. “Those cats are six feet, Hu Shih . . .”

  “Christ's sake, Sam, take it easy,” Ken said, though he appreciated Sam's solicitude. “You're spoiling for a fight.”

  “Fight? No! But common sense tells me those babies can be dangerous. And for you to walk in among fifteen-twenty of those males?”

  “One unarmed man constitutes no threat,” Hu Shih replied firmly.

  “And leaves ten to defend our position here,” Sam interjected.

  Hu Shih regarded him with mild reproof for a moment before continuing. “And one man can tape sufficient language and shoot enough additional film for the departments interested to have some foundation on which to base their assessments of the damage we have inadvertently done to a less advanced species.”

  "If they are not advanced, is there a chance we could cohabit?" With their permission?" Lee suggested softly.

  Hu Shih held up his hand to dispel such false hope.

  “We are bound by the Principle of Non-Cohabitation, gentlemen. This is our first consideration.”

  “It wasn't our fault!” Ramasan said, his dark eyes sparking.

  “What were those Phase II buggers using for eyes?” Vic Solinari demanded, slapping the table with the flat of his hand.

  “All true,” Hu Shih agreed. “However, it is useless to waste time in idle recrimination. We will go back to Earth but we do not need to return empty-handed.” The remark gained instant attention and Shih was inwardly relieved Obviously none of them had thought beyond the immediate problem. “Doona is full of treasure long since lost on Earth: the fragrant bark of the porous wood tree, the wood itself which polishes to brilliance; the translucent river pebbles, the . . .”

  “He's right!” “No sweat, man, we could buy our way anywhere with a handful of that quartzite.” “Ben, where'd you find those silver traces?” “Those berries . . .”

  The sudden possibilities turned the men from despair to constructive planning, each vying with the other as to what would command the highest credits back on Earth.

  When Hu Shih reluctantly left them, to compose the formal message he must speed to Earth by homing capsule, he knew that they would be able to salvage something from this disaster. And they would have at least eight or nine days, even with the faster-than-light speed of the capsule, before Codep could instruct him on procedures. Yes, there would be time to gather enough of Doona's treasure to ease some of the problems of their return.

  Chapter IV. CONTACT

  KEN REEVE reached the top of the rocky saddle above the valley where he and Gaynor had seen the catmen's settlement. He paused for a moment to hitch the recorder to a more comfortable position on his shoulder. Like most burdens, it had seemed to gain weight with every mile. With a shrug he swung it off and, striding to a reddish boulder, sat down in the shade of the stately ribbed porous wood trees.

  I'll need a break before the show starts, he told himself, remo
ving his wide-brimmed hat and wiping his moist forehead. After nearly a year, he was still as unused to the pressure of the headband as he was to the smell of sweat. He squinted up at the warm spring sun, orange against the green-blue sky.

  Gazing back the way he had come, Reeve grunted when he realized that their own settlement, nestled in an outcropping of trees, was no more visible to him than that of the natives. Far below in the river valley, beyond the second loop, the rising heat haze hid the slim metal spire of the homing beacon, despite the fact that it occupied dead center of the landing site.

  The foothill of red-grained rock formed an additional barrier to mutual discovery. No smoke came from the Terran encampment because they still had converted heat His eyes swung to the natives' valley and only because he looked carefully and long was he able to detect the faint gray plume of smoke, like a vague tentacle against the deep olive of the porous-tree needles.

  He grunted again, confounded that the preceding two phases of allegedly meticulous survey could have missed such evidence. Now, if this were a hibernating race, he conceded grudgingly, perhaps they had been in their burrows or caves by late fall. But it hadn't been late fall when the orbiting robot had photographically mapped the planet. He sniffed and the aroma of burning wood touched his senses faintly. Faintly but unmistakably, burning wood. The two human scouts shouldn't have missed that in thirty days, Reeve argued. They were in our valley and, unless they goofed off in their reports, in this one too, because a description of this stand of wood was mentioned.

  Late fall, though, Reeve mused, that's cold here. But, if they use fire in the spring, they surely use it in late fall. So how come? How come? Reeve swore softly to himself and sighed deeply.

  He could barely accept the unalterable facts intellectually, let alone emotionally. Whatever the diplomatic repercussions, he was rebellious. And grateful that Pat and the kids would at least be able to touch down. God, it had been such a long time since he had had Pat. And a year made such differences in a child. Would his Ilsa be the same grave-faced, girl-woman he had left, so determined not to upset her daddy with tears? And Todd – well it was odds to even that he'd probably shriek; from five to six was a long time for a kid to remember his father. Reeve smiled as he pictured the reunion.

  Then the injustice of his situation closed in on him again. He still couldn't see how Spacedep and Codep could have slipped so badly. And we're left holding the bag! He picked up a piece of the red shale examined it closely in sudden interest. A bag of rocks! He skipped the shale across the ground, watching the puff of dust it kicked up as it ricocheted off the rock wall.

  You wait and you wait and you hope, and bribe, and cajole, and suck up; all for a chance to get out of the man-run on Earth. You get the chance, by taking the long-shot gamble of specializing in nothing and everything, and by the grace of adroit maneuvering and the proper slots on the IBM card. Then some nearsighted, stinking, half-assed Scouts – they probably never moved from their damned ship for fear of a purple fungus – report unoccupied a world very obviously too well occupied.

  Savagely Ken launched another rock after the first.

  He was examining another stone, a white one with lavender flecks, when a distant sound caught his ear. He paused but heard nothing more than the sound of the winged life in the trees, cackling and chirruping with complete freedom. Slowly he rose, slinging the recorder to his back. As the searching tongue prods again and again at the aching tooth, Reeve looked back over the valley where he had hoped to live his life and raise his children. He sighed and settled his hat on his head, well back so his face was fully visible. Then he turned back to the forest.

  I cannot give this up, Ken vowed as he started resolutely down from the ridge. A memory of the greenless, treeless, granite and aluminum jungle of his home Sector superimposed itself on the forested slope. I want this for my children. And, God damn it, I want it for myself.

  The forest enveloped him coolly. He kept his eyes open for any other sign of life. The porous wood trees grew to sixty or seventy feet, branching out twenty feet above the ground with widespread limbs, twig ends tufted by green, three-sided needles. Survey pictures showed that in fall the needles turned a deep red-purple. The ground was covered by the yearly droppings, now a rich reddish-brown, making a springy mulch. Grass and seedlings would find it hard to push their way up through the dense cover, so the forest had an uncluttered, parklike look to it.

  The houses of the village (Gaynor had counted fifteen while Reeve was busy snapping shots), were not yet visible. They were closer to the river in one of the natural clearings where an outcropping of the red rock had made rooting difficult. Aerial maps of that area, again showing not a single habitation, indicated that the river, dropping a sudden five feet, created a natural fall thirty feet across, flanked by great slabs of rock, flat, gently sloping up to the forest edge.

  If the cats wore clothing, Reeve smiled, an excellent place for women to wash and spread things to dry or for fishermen to spread their catch to cure If, he added to himself, their culture was advanced enough.

  The fish – and Reeve ran his tongue around his teeth at the thought of the succulent red flesh edible without a hint of the aftertaste of artificial origins. On his father's salary, real food had been an impossibility. Pat had tasted honest beef meat once, but she had found it tough to chew. She wouldn't find the well hung game here tough, Reeve vowed to himself smugly. He'd become quite adept as a butcher and was trying his hand at smoking and quick freezing meats.

  A flurry of birds drew his eyes upward and he stopped, looking to see if any feathers dropped. You could bring back hundreds of feathers. Wait a minute. Had his passage set them in flight or something else? Were the catlike natives aware of his presence, and watching him secretively?

  It makes little difference when we meet, Reeve told himself, so long as I have a chance to get enough of their language on tape so we can communicate. If I can only talk to them and tell them how much it means to be able to . . .

  He had rounded a cluster of trees when a sphere, in an all too homey shape, bounced off a tree trunk and rolled to a halt at his feet. Instinctively he bent to pick it up as two small bodies came bounding toward him and skidded to a stop. The two species froze and regarded each other with surprise.

  Reeve picked up the ball and the other two, eyes wide, moved closer together as if for support in confronting the unknown quantity before them.

  Close up, the resemblance to cats was uncanny, Reeve thought, returning the solemn stares solemnly.

  The great green eyes regarded him from under straight wide brows, dark pupils narrowed against the orange sun. Flattish noses were broad at the nostril over the lipless wide mouths. The chins were short bridges in the middle of the wide hinged jaw. The lobeless ears had tufted tips Each child – for their very appearance and attitude cried youth to Reeve – wore a belt around his middle. A short sheathed knife hung from it without covering their obvious maleness. Their skins were a light fawn, like a soft velour, but their heads were covered with a darker tan mop of hair that hung to their ear tips. Visible between their spraddled legs were short tufted tails, stuck straight out behind them in surprise.

  Careful not to smile for fear a smile might mean hostility to them, Reeve made several one-handed catches. He pointed slowly to the taller of the two cubs, then indicated that he wished to return the ball to him. With an easy, underhand throw, he returned the ball. Solemnly the cub, ears twitching briefly, caught the ball, holding it in both hands without looking at it. Reeve saw the retractable claws unsheath just long enough to secure the catch.

  “That was a good catch, fellow,” Reeve said quietly, putting all the approval he could into his tone.

  Both sets of ears twitched rapidly. The two looked at each other a moment, then turned their attention quickly back to Reeve. He held up his hands suggestively and crouched like a catcher. Two pairs of round green eyes widened further. The taller cub, keeping careful hold on his ball, blinked and nod
ded hesitantly. Reeve sensed it was gratitude for the return of the ball. Neither cub appeared afraid of him but clearly they had never seen his like. Reeve had the impression of two well-brought-up young men waiting for the adult to speak.

  He straightened up and pointed toward the village.

  “Could you boys take me to your father?”

  The taller cub turned to his companion and Reeve hastily thumbed on the recorder. He caught the last part of a growled collection of sounds. The smaller cub shrugged and made a grimace that suggested, “How should I know what to do next?”

  The tall cub growled out another phrase, his wide mouth in profile open almost to his ear.

  The other shrugged again and turned around, starting off toward the forest. The tall one regarded Reeve seriously for one more moment. Then, inclining his head toward Reeve, turned, leaving Ken to follow him.

  Chapter V. RETURN

  REEVE WONDERED if the homeward trek seemed shorter because the agile native led him to a lower saddle of the ridge or because he was so elated by the initial contact. God knows the stinking recorder felt no lighter and, in the hot midday sun, both he and Hrrula were becoming fragrant. The native smelled – different: a not unpleasant difference, Reeve decided, though the odor brought no comparison to mind.

  Hrrula's narrow feet with their vestigial webbings and claws gave him a springy step and more purchase in the slippery shale and the thick ground cover than Reeve's boots. A tail would be a handy thing in mountain climbing, Reeve thought inconsistently as he panted up the slope behind Hrrula. You could do without body ropes, maybe. How much pull would a tail take, he wondered, resisting an all but uncontrollable urge to grab the appendage as an assist to the top of the ridge.

  Hrrula fortunately stopped at the summit, looking questioningly at Reeve. Ken wondered if the Hrrubans might possibly be telepaths and that Hrrula had caught his thought.

  “Our colony is down there, across the river,” Reeve began briskly to cover his momentary embarrassment. He pointed, watching with fascination as the Hrruban's eyes narrowed to slits. The houses in their grove, similar to the Hrrubans' village, were invisible through the trees.