Orphan Star

by Alan Dean Foster

“Means to carry thems instead of gems,” a deep voice snorted with mild contempt at Bluebright’s slowness. Flinx spun just in time to see the slightly phosphorescent form of Maybeso vanish into someplace else.

  “Understand now,” Fluff bubbled with satisfaction. “What do we do?”

  “Just stand there,” Flinx instructed, wondering as he walked up next to that brown wall if this was going to turn out to be such a clever idea after all. The big ursine head swung to watch him. “Now lie down on your stomach.”

  Fluff promptly collapsed with a pneumatic whump. Tentatively placing one foot against his left flank, Flinx reached up and grabbed a double handful of coarse hair and pulled hard. When no protest was forthcoming, he pulled again, hard enough this time to swing himself up on the broad back.

  “Okay, you can get on all fours again,” he told his jocular mount.

  Fluff rose with hydraulic smoothness, his mind smiling. “I see. This is a better idea.”

  “A new fun thing,” Moam agreed. She and Bluebright ambled over to Sylzenzuzex and spent a minute arguing over who should have the privilege of trying this new experience first. Moam won the debate. She moved next to the watching thranx and lay down next to her.

  Sylzenzuzex studied that muscular torso apprehensively, glanced across at Flinx. He nodded encouragement, and she climbed carefully onto Moam, dug her claws into the thick fur, and hung on firmly.

  They discovered now how patiently the Ujurrians had walked before, to enable their two pitiful friends to keep up with them. If either Fluff or Moam noticed the weight on their backs it wasn’t apparent, and the little group flew through the forest.

  They had only one further mishap, when Flinx was nearly thrown. He barely managed to maintain his seat when Fluff rose without warning onto his two hind legs. He ran on like a biped to the manner born, and at a pace which no Terran bear could have duplicated. With seven limbs to hold on with, Sylzenzuzex kept her perch much more securely when Moam likewise rose to match Fluff’s long two-legged stride.

  It was impossible to tell how long or how far they had traveled when they descended into the last valley. From the beginning of the real run until the end, none of the ursinoids slackened their pace, though by then they were puffing slightly.

  This third valley was dominated by the stream they’d run parallel to during their retreat. It broadened into another lake here, though one much smaller than that bordering the mining encampment now far behind them. A new variety of tree grew here among the quasi-evergreens. It had broad, yellow-brown leaves. Certain varieties, Flinx saw in the moonlight, held different kinds of berries, though these were scarce. Others boasted clusters of oval-shelled nuts, some big as cocoanuts.

  “You eat those?” Flinx asked, pointing at the burdened branches.

  “Yes,” Fluff informed him.

  “And you also eat meat?”

  “Only in snowtime,” his host explained quietly, “when the baiga and maginac do not bloom. Meat is no fun, and more work. It runs away.”

  They were moving toward a steep hillside now. In the soft moonlight Flinx saw that it was bare rock, devoid of talus. Several circles made dark stains against the gray granite.

  Ujurrians of many sizes, including the first cubs they had seen, gamboled between the dark shoreline and the cave mouths.

  “If one doesn’t eat meat for variety,” Fluff went on, “one begins to feel sick.”

  “Why don’t you like to eat meat?” Sylzenzuzex wondered.

  Flinx prayed she wouldn’t involve their impressionable hosts in some abstract spiritual dialogue.

  Fluff spoke as if to children. “Even the life of the najac or the six-legged ugly coivet is like a piece of the sun. When smothered, the warmth leaves it.”

  “We do not like to make bright things dark,” Bluebright elaborated. “We would rather make dark things bright. But,” he finished mournfully, “we don’t know how.”

  They slowed to a walk, finally came to a complete stop outside the first of the caves. Flinx observed that the exterior of the entrance was composed of neatly piled boulders, chinked together with smaller rocks and pebbles in the absence of ferrocrete. Motioning for Fluff to lie down, he started to slide off the ursinoid’s back.

  A glance behind him showed a long glass spear of moonlight broken into pieces by the ripples and eddies on the lake. A look into the cave ahead revealed nothing but blackness.

  “You said everyone shares the same cave, Fluff, but I see other openings in the mountainside.”

  “Is all same cave,” the native explained.

  “You mean they all connect inside the mountain somewhere?”

  “Yes, all meet one another.” A warm mental smile came to him. “Is all part of the game we play.”

  “The game?” Sylzenzuzex echoed, chilled despite the fact her thermal suit was set on high. When Fluff didn’t comment, she wondered aloud, “Do you think we could build a fire?”

  “Sure,” Moam said cheerfully. “What is building a fire? Is like building a cave?”

  Patiently, Flinx explained what was necessary, confident he would have to do so only once.

  “We will go and gather the dead wood,” Moam and Bluebright volunteered, when he had finished his explanation.

  “What is this game you play, the one involving your warren, Fluff?” Flinx inquired when the other two had departed.

  Fluff ignored the question, urged them into the cave where he silently exchanged greetings with another huge native.

  “This is Softsmooth, my mate,” he informed them in response to the question Flinx phrased in his mind. “You ask about the game, Flinx-friend? . . . Our parents’ parents’ parents many times over-and-dead worried that one day the cold would stay forever, and many lights among the family would vanish.

  “I wouldn’t call this a heat wave right now,” Sylzenzuzex commented.

  “The cold comes when the sun is smothered by the mountains,” Fluff explained. “Our many-times parents felt it was becoming colder each year. It seemed to them that each year the sun grew smaller than the year before.”

  Flinx nodded slowly. “Your world has an elliptical orbit, Fluff, but it’s not a regular orbit. According to the statistics I saw, it’s swinging farther and farther away from your sun every century—though how your ancestors realized this I can’t imagine.”

  “Many new concepts,” a frowning Fluff murmured. “Anyhows, our parents many times dead decided how to fix. Should move closer to sun in certain way.”

  “They were talking about regularizing Ulru-Ujurr’s orbit,” Flinx husked. “But how did they know?”

  “Have to ask ancestors,” Fluff shrugged. “Very difficult to do.”

  “I’ll bet,” Sylzenzuzex agreed readily.

  “Was a new way, though,” the big native went on. “Diggers . . .”

  “The people at the mine?”

  “Yes. They make their own caves very warm. We asked them how we could make warm, too.”

  “What did they suggest?” Flinx wondered.

  Fluff appeared confused. “They told us to dig big hole in the ground and then pull dirt in on top of ourselves. We tried and found it does make warm. But you can’t move, and one gets bored that way. Also no light. We did not understand why they told us to do this way. They do not do for themselves. Why they tell us to do that, Flinx-friend?”

  “That’s the AAnn excuse for humor at work,” he replied with quiet fury.

  “AAnn?” Fluff queried. Moam and Bluebright returned, each buried under enormous armloads of dead branches.

  “Some of the people at the mine,” Flinx explained, “the ones with—the ones with the cold minds.”

  “Ah, the cold minds,” Fluff echoed in recognition. “We did not see how such cold ones could give us knowledge on how to become warm. But we tried anyway.”

  Flinx couldn’t look at the amiable native. “How . . . how many of the experimenters died?”

  “Experimenters?”

  “The ones who
tried burying themselves?”

  “Oh, Flinx-friend worries wrongly. No one died,” Fluff assured him, feeling relaxation in the human’s mind at these words.

  “You see, we buried Maybeso. . . .”

  “Here is wood,” Moam said.

  “Do you need more?” asked Bluebright.

  “I think this is enough to last us at least a week,” Flinx told them. As he spoke Sylzenzuzex was arranging some of the broken wood in a triangular stack, delicate truhands making a sculpture out of twigs and thin trunks.

  Flinx eased himself up against the wall of the cave, feeling the coolness of the stone through the thermal suit. “How did your parents many times dead think you could regula—move closer to the sun?”

  “By playing the game,” Fluff told him again. “Game and making cave home is one.”

  “Digging caves is supposed to bring your world nearer its sun?” Flinx muttered, not sure he had heard correctly.

  But Fluff signaled assent. “Is part of pattern of game.”

  “Pattern? What kind of pattern?”

  “Is hard to explain,” Fluff conceded languidly.

  Flinx hesitated, voiced a sudden thought, “Fluff, how long have your people been playing the game of digging cave patterns?”

  “How long?”

  “How many of your days?”

  “Days.” Fluff decided it was time to consult with the others. He called Bluebright over, and Moam came with Bluebright. Softsmooth joined them and for a brief moment Maybeso winked into existence to add his comment.

  Eventually Fluff turned back to Flinx, spoke with confidence as he named a figure. A large figure. Exceedingly so.

  “Are you certain of your numerology?” Flinx finally asked slowly.

  Fluff indicated the affirmative. “Number is correct. Learned counting system at the mine.”

  Sylzenzuzex eyed Flinx speculatively as he turned away, leaned back against the wall and stared at the dark cold roof above. She paused prior to starting the fire. “How long?”

  There was a long pause before he seemed to come back from a far place, to glance across at her. “According to what Fluff says, they’ve been playing this game of digging interconnecting tunnels for just under fourteen thousand Terran years. This whole section of the continent must be honeycombed with them. No telling how deep they run, either.”

  “What is honey?” wondered Moam.

  “What is comb?” Bluebright inquired.

  “How far is deep?” Fluff wanted to know.

  Flinx replied with another question. “How long before this pattern is supposed to be finished, Fluff?”

  The Ujurrian paused, his mind working busily. “Not too long. Twelve thousand more of your years.”

  “Give or take a few hundred,” Flinx gulped dully.

  But Fluff eyed him reprovingly. “No . . . exactly.” Great glowing guileless eyes stared back into Flinx’s own.

  “And what’s supposed to happen when this pattern is complete, when the game is finished?”

  “Two things,” explained Fluff pleasantly. “We move a certain ways closer to the warm, and we start looking for a new game.”

  “I see.” He muttered half to himself. “And Rudenuaman thought these people were primitive because they spent all their time digging caves.”

  Sylzenzuzex hadn’t moved to light the fire. Her face was a mask of uncertainty. “But how can digging a few caves change a planet’s orbit?”

  “A few caves? I don’t know, Syl,” he murmured softly. “I doubt if anyone does. Maybe the completed pattern produces a large enough alteration in the planetary crust to create a catastrophe fold sufficient to stress space the right amount at the right moment. If I knew more catastrophe math—and if we had the use of the biggest Church computer—I could check it.

  “Or maybe the tunnels are intended to tap the heat at the planet’s core power, or a combination of it and the fold . . . we need some brilliant mathematicians and physicists to answer it.”

  Sylzenzuzex eyed Fluff warily. “Can you explain what’s supposed to happen, Fluff, and how?”

  The bulky ursinoid gave her a mournful look, a simple task with those manifold-souled eyes. “Is sad, but do not have the terms for.”

  It was quiet in the cave then until the pile of dry wood coughed into life. Several small flames appeared at once, and in seconds the fire was blazing enthusiastically. Sylzenzuzex responded with a long, low whistling sigh of appreciation and settled close to the comforting heat.

  “Is warm!” Moam uttered in surprise.

  Bluebright stuck a paw close to the flames, drew it back hastily. “Very warm,” he confirmed.

  “We can teach you—hell, we’ve already taught you—how to make all the fires like this you want. I’m not saying you should abandon your game, but if you’re interested Sylzenzuzex and I can show you how to insure your warmth during aphelion a lot sooner than twelve thousand years from now.”

  “Is easier,” Fluff conceded, indicating the fire. “And fun,” added Moam.

  “Listen, Fluff,” Flinx began energetically, “why do your people work so long and hard for the cold minds and the others at the mine?”

  “For the berries and nuts they bring us from far places,” Softsmooth supplied from a little alcove cut into the cave wall.

  “From far places,” Bluebright finished.

  “Why not travel there and get them for yourselves?”

  “Too far,” Fluff explained, “and too hard, Maybeso says.”

  Flinx leaned away from the wall, spoke in earnest tones, “Don’t you understand, Fluff? I’m trying to show you that the people at the mine are exploiting you. They’re working you as hard as you’re willing, at tremendous profit to themselves, and in return they’re paying you off with only enough nuts and berries to keep you working for them.”

  “What is profit?” asked Moam.

  ‘What is paying off?” Bluebright wanted to know.

  Flinx started to reply, then realized he didn’t have the time. Not for an explanation of modern economics, the ratio of work to value produced, and a hundred other concepts it would be necessary to detail before he could explain those two simple terms to these people.

  Leaning back again, he stared out the cave mouth past the flicker of the fire. A smattering of strange stars had risen above the rim of the mountains hugging the far side of the lake. For hours he remained deep in thought, while his hosts relaxed in polite silence and waited for him to speak again. They recognized his concern and concentration and stayed respectfully out of his thoughts.

  Once he moved to help Sylzenzuzex resplint her broken joint with a stronger piece of wood. Then he returned to his place and his thoughts. After a while the stars were replaced by others, and they sank in their turn.

  He was still sitting there, thinking, when he heard a sound like that made by a warehouse door mounted on old creaky hinges. Fluff yawned a second time and rolled over, opening saucerish eyes at him.

  In a little while, the sun was pouring into the cave, and still Flinx hadn’t offered so much as a good morning. They were all watching him curiously. Even Sylzenzuzex maintained a respectful silence, sensing that something important was forming beneath that unkempt red hair.

  It was Fluff who broke the endless quiet. “Last night, Flinx-friend, your mind a steady noise like much water falling. Today it is like the ground after water has fallen and frozen—a sameness piled high and white and clean.”

  Sylzenzuzex was sitting on her haunches. With truhands and her one good foothand she was cleaning her abdomen, ovipositors, great compound eyes, and antennae.

  “Fluff,” Flinx said easily, as if no time had passed since they had last conversed, as if the long night had been but the pause of a minute, “how would you and your people like to start a new game?”

  “Start a new game,” repeated Fluff solemnly. “This is a big thing, Flinx-friend.”

  “It is,” admitted Flinx. “It’s called civilization.”

&nbs
p; Sylzenzuzex stopped in mid-preen and cocked her head sharply at him, though there was far less certainty in her voice when she spoke her objections: “Flinx, you can’t. You know now why the Church placed this world Under Edict. We can’t, no matter how we may feel personally about Fluff and Moam and the rest of these people, contravene the decision of the Council.”

  “Who says so?” Flinx shot back. “Besides, we don’t know that the Edict was declared by the Council. A few bureaucrats in the right place could have made their own little godlike decision to consign the Ujurrians to ignorance. I’m sorry, Syl, but while I admit the Church is responsible for some good works, it’s still an organization composed of humanx beings. Like all beings, their allegiance is first to themselves and second to everyone else. Would the Church disband if they could be convinced it was in the Commonwealth’s best interests? I doubt it.”

  “Whereas you, Philip Lynx, are concerned first with everyone else,” she countered.

  Frowning, he started pacing the warming floor of the cave. “I honestly don’t know, Syl. I don’t even know who I am, much less what I am.” His tone strengthened. “But I do know that in these people I see an innocence and kindness that I’ve never encountered on any humanx world.” He stopped abruptly, stared out at the stars the morning sun made on the lake.

  “I may be a young fool, a narrow-minded idealist—call it anything you like, but I think I know what I want to be now. If they’ll have me, that is. For the first time in my life, I know.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “A teacher.” He faced the patient Ujurrians. “I want to teach you, Fluff. And you Moam, and you, Bluebright and Softsmooth, and even Maybeso, wherever you are.”

  “Here,” a voice grumbled from outside. Maybeso was lying on the low heatherlike growth before the cave entrance, rolling and stretching with pleasure.

  “I want to teach all of you this new game.”

  “A big thing,” Fluff repeated slowly. “This is not for us alone to decide.”

  “Others must be told,” Bluebright agreed.

  It took some time for everyone to be told. To be exact, it took eleven days, four hours, and a small basket of minutes and seconds. Then they had to wait another eleven days, four hours, and some minutes for everyone to answer.