by neetha Napew
“Which only you can interpret?”
Scan shook his head. “You and I had the same experience there in the cavern, Fiske. You can interpret it as well as I can, if you just stop trying to deny what you felt. You can’t deny what you personally experienced, can you? If you had rejected it as completely as you’re trying to, you’d be in the same shape as Frank Metaxos. All I did-all any of us did-was to try to protect you from your own stubborn idiocy and put the right people in the right place at the right time for Petaybee to deliver its own message. It did that in the cave.”
“And what, exactly, was the message that we both received, as you understand it?” Whittaker Fiske asked, his face full of lively curiosity rather than challenge.
“The message is that Petaybee is a living and sentient entity, Dr. Fiske,” Scan answered imperturbably. “It does not wish to have its skin blown open, its flesh dug and taken away, its substance reduced, its children hunted, harried, or removed against their will. It is pleased to have been awakened, and it is more than willing to share itself: including, I might add, some valuable processes, which can benefit you and your superiors, that you’re not even aware exist on this planet.”
“Like Clodagh’s medicines,” Yana chimed in. “I’d think the company would have a lot of use for a cough medicine that can actually heal lungs as badly damaged as mine were.”
Torkel regarded her with surprise, then turned thoughtful while his father nodded sagely.
“Not to mention that boneset stuff,” Dr. Fiske added, running his fingers across the hardened cast. “Simple things that have multiple applications and no side effects. Go on, Shongili.”
“Petaybee has been particularly distressed,” Sean said, “by the increase of traffic at the SpaceBase. The planet was able to buffer the area under SpaceBase to allow a certain amount of necessary comings and goings, but that amount has now exceeded the safety margin and must cease. Petaybee does not wish to have to feed and supply the numbers now massing in the SpaceBase, as these numbers would be a burden on its resources, especially this time of year, before the growing season.”
“It was glad to see that some of us who left here as kids have come home, at least to visit, though,” John Greene said. He and O’Shay had been wolfing down a casserole Aisling brought over earlier. “I was given a real welcome in the cave. Didn’t know it remembered me.”
“You and O’Shay have a lot to answer for, Captain,” Torkel said. “Like why you didn’t place everyone under arrest when you saw that we were being detained in the cavern.”
O’Shay shrugged. “Like the man says, Cap’n, we’re native-born. We got more sense than to interfere when a latchkay’s starting.”
“You’re natives?” Torkel stared at them. “No wonder I didn’t get the support I required.” He rounded on Sean then with a resurgence of his old belligerence. “Did you arrange that, too, Shongili?”
Sean shrugged. “You give me more credit than I deserve. The presence of Captains Greene and O’Shay is pure serendipity, Fiske. No harm’s come to you, so I don’t see that the personnel involved matters.”
“I don’t put anything past you, Shongili,” Torkel said, and striding to the door, he opened it and beckoned a guard inside. “I want one of those portable comm links from headquarters. Bring it here on the double. We’ll just check out a thing or two about the disposition of Petaybeans on this project.”
The guard snapped a salute, and Yana thought she saw a little smile playing at the edges of his mouth. Yana wondered about that, and began to suspect what Torkel would find about the disposition and composition of Intergal troops currently on duty in Petaybee. She noticed that Steve Margolies was looking exceedingly thoughtful: he kept glancing from Torkel to Sean to Dr. Fiske, but whatever was worrying him he kept to himself.
“You keep speaking of these adaptations, son,” Dr. Fiske said to Sean, with an air of getting back to important matters. “Just what do they consist of?”
“The most important,” Sean said, his voice filled with the sort of excitement that the other two scientists, more than anyone else in the room, were best equipped to understand and share, “is how Petaybee-not I or my grandfather-improved, beyond their previous capabilities, the perceptions of some of the more intelligent species.”
“Like the pussycats here with Frank?” Steve Margolies asked.
“Yes, and like this,” Scan said, and lifted his hand and closed his eyes. In a moment there was a scratching at the window and a whining at the door. One of the guards opened the door to admit Dinah, who was leading a weakly smiling Francisco Metaxos, followed by Aisling. Clodagh opened the window to admit Nanook, who jumped down across the sill in one fluid motion, walked calmly over to Whittaker Fiske, put one saucer-sized paw on the man’s uninjured arm, and said “Meh,” quite clearly.
“My word!” Dr. Fiske leaned away, staring at the cat. “You asked it to come and do this?”
Scan nodded while Nanook gave a burst of purr, marched to Torkel, and repeated the performance.
Torkel started to shove Nanook away but stopped, giving Sean a puzzled look. “It’s telling me that Giancarlo is resting well, thanks to it.”
“Him,” Sean said. “Nanook is male. And he likes his ears scratched. Most of the felines here have the ability to soothe troubled, or sick, minds. They’ll carry messages, lead people across dangerous terrain, and hunt when that’s necessary.”
Dinah, tongue lolling from her open mouth, waited until Metaxos was safely deposited in a chair between Diego and Steve, then pranced up to Fiske. She gave a bit of a whine before she pushed her nose at his arm and held it there a moment.
“Talking cats and dogs?” Dr. Fiske asked, eyes round with amazement.
“Telepathic, actually,” Sean said. “When they choose to be. Dinah, as a lead dog, had no trouble communicating about trail conditions and finding her way across frozen wastes. She had bonded most effectively with Lavelle, the woman who died when
Captain Fiske and Colonel Giancarlo had her removed from Petaybee. Nanook has a close bond with me, but is actually a pretty |j| social creature.”
“And Clodagh’s cats-“ Yana began, but Clodagh shot her a look and she subsided. No need to tell the offworlders everything. Not more than they needed to convince them. Not just yet. So Yana made no mention about unicorned curly stallions, intelligent seals, and trained ravens. Scan’s hand dropped to the back of her neck and kneaded it gently as he watched the reaction of the Fiskes and Margolies.
“Telepathic sled dogs and felines .. .” Dr. Fiske said, shaking his head.
‘Tour granddad was one busy guy.” Torkel snorted. Nanook dug his claws into Torkel’s leg, ever so slightly. “Ouch!”
“Grandfather developed several types of large felines and canines suitable to this icy climate, but, as I said, Petaybee improved on his work many times over the years. Give Petaybee a chance, and it will improve on anything you ask it to. Isn’t that much better than blasting the planet apart for mere minerals and ores which the company can surely find on lifeless asteroids and planets?”
Dr. Fiske sighed. “Ah, now I suppose we come to the crux of all this. If I understood it correctly, Petaybee is extremely grateful for its life, but not grateful enough to endure our resource development plans? That’s why the teams have disappeared or been killed?”
Frank Metaxos cleared his throat and said in a rusty voice, “It wasn’t intentional, Whit. I-freaked out, as Diego would say, what with the blizzard followed by that intense psychical input. I understand now that what I sensed in the cave was only this same explanation. And-incredible as it seems-something of an apology. Perhaps Petaybee could adjust its climate a bit for those of us who aren’t used to such extreme conditions.”
“Actually, Petaybee’s extremely hospitable, if you’re willing to take the hospitality on its own terms,” Clodagh told him. To Dr. Fiske she added, “Petaybee offers you more than you could ever take from it by force. This doesn’t have to be a fight.”
“That’s right,” Yana said, leaning forward and talking with all the persuasion at her command. “The company’s just been trying to develop the wrong things so far. This planet offers absolutely unique opportunities to study its inner life-providing you can find some extremely dedicated people able for the challenge. And that’s the resource the company most needs to develop-the people.”
“I suppose we could send scientists down to instruct them in the proper procedure,” Dr. Fiske said slowly.
“You send them,” Clodagh said, nodding. “We’ll teach proper procedure. But you’ll see, it will work.”
“We’ll send equipment-comm units, computer linkups.”
“Some maybe,” Clodagh said. “But not too many. Too noisy. Petaybee wouldn’t like it. Just send a couple of teachers who don’t mind the cold and can teach us reading and writing. That’s quieter.”
Just then the guard returned with the comm link Torkel had sent for. Torkel accepted the equipment and set it on his knees.
“Now then, we’ll see what’s going on here,” he said. “Computer, I want files on O’Shay . . .”
“Richard Arnaluk, sir,” O’Shay helpfully provided.
“And Greene . . .”
“John Kevin Intiak Greene the Third, sir,” Greene told him. “My crew members were Corporal Winona Sorenson, deceased, Specialist Fourth Class Ingunuk J. Keelaghan, deceased, Lieutenant Michael Huyukchuk, wounded in action-“
“Wait a minute,” Torkel said. “These names sound Petay-bean.”
O’Shay shrugged. “They are-native-born or Petaybean stock. Same’s true, I think, for most of the replacement troops shipped down with me. And the survivors we picked up near the volcano.”
“Computer, access personnel list for troops transferred to planet Petaybee, code name Operation Mop-Up. Cross-reference by planet of origin or descent and provide statistical data of composition of total numbers.”
After a moment of frantically scanning the screen, Torkel looked up suspiciously at Scan. “This can’t be right. Unless your planet can manipulate troop movements by remote control.” “Why? What does it say?”
“Eighty-eight percent of the troops deployed here for Mop-Up are of Petaybean origin.”
Scan gave a low whistle. “Imagine that. I didn’t know we’d sent so many people away. Did you, Clodagh?” “I sure didn’t.”
“Computer, audio, please. Explain how such a large percentage of personnel assigned to Operation Mop-Up are of local origin.”
“This system cross-indexed physical and psychological requirements necessary for ground duty on an arctic-type planet. The personnel selected were the best qualified to function at appropriate levels on such a planet.”
“Torkel,” Yana said, leaning forward and slightly to the side to watch the screen. “While we’re on the subject of the quantity of Petaybean troops involved, why don’t you check statistical data concerning the service records of those with Petaybee as planet of origin as compared to those of the corps as a whole?”
“Computer?” Torkel asked, and gave it the data request.
“Petaybean personnel on the average receive seventy-five percent more commendations, sixty percent more bonuses, and eighty-nine percent more decorations than troops of other places of origin. However, they are promoted through the ranks ten point five times slower than other personnel, and only twenty-one point eight-nine-five percent of Petaybeans become senior officers.
Yana lifted her eyebrows at Torkel and permitted herself a small, smug smile. “See? These people are definitely worthwhile to the company, and definitely worth developing.”
Torkel raised an eyebrow back at her. “As long as they’re never removed from the planet to do what they’re worth developing for?”
Sean broke in. “Many of our people are perfectly happy to serve the company and see the universe. You just have to recruit them early.”
“And I think if the company worked with Petaybeans on the research, compensatory devices could be used to offset the incompatibility between Petaybean adaptive characteristics and space travel,” Yana said. “That is what I was trying to tell you before.”
Torkel shut down the comm link with a snap, and Sean grinned broadly.
“It’s okay, son,” Dr. Fiske told Torkel.
But Torkel shook his head uneasily. “It’s not okay, Dad. We’re in an intolerable situation, disadvantaged. There’re not only more of them, they’re the company’s best troops but, being here, their loyalty is compromised. We’re at their mercy.”
“Fortunately for you, Captain,” Clodagh said, handing him a cup of hot drink and a hunk of bread, “we’re extremely merciful around here. Sprinkle a little of this on your bread. You’ll see how tasty it is.” She passed over an herb jar and, unusually compliant, Torkel shook it over his bread.
Dr. Fiske smiled at his son as one of the marmalade cats jumped into Torkel’s lap and began purring. For a moment, Torkel stiffened, wavering briefly between rejection and acceptance. He took a sip of the drink and a bite of the bread. After several more sips and bites, he gave a deep resigned sigh and finally relaxed, leaning back in his chair, the cat firmly in charge.
“Look here,” O’Shay began tentatively, appealing to Clodagh, “if there’re that many Petaybeans come home to roost, d’you think we could have a latchkay to celebrate?”
“The very thing,” Aisling agreed happily.
“Now that,” Scan said, “is one of the best ideas I’ve heard in days. It would undoubtedly settle a lot of qualms and answer some of the questions you haven’t thought of yet, Dr. Fiske, Steve.”
“Well,” Yana said, rising, “since confusion has died down to mere chaos, I’d really appreciate a decent bath and change of clothes.” She looked askance at the riddled remainder of her shirt.
“I’m not exactly as clean as I’d like to be either,” Scan said. Also rising, he took Yana by the arm and began leading her to the door. Then he stopped. “You wouldn’t mind dismissing that guard now, would you, Captain Fiske?”
“I will,” said Whittaker Fiske, rising and doing exactly that.
Yana could not believe the relief that washed over her as she and Sean stepped out into the fresh air. The whilom guard had dispersed like snowmelt on a hot day. She inhaled, half expecting the previous days’ exertions to result in a paroxysm of coughing.
“You won’t have that trouble ever again,” Sean said as he guided her toward the path to the hot springs.
“Wait, I’ll need clothes,” she said, half towing him in the direction of her house.
“There’s always something left about at the springs,” he said, and pulled her back to his side, grinning with a boyishness that surprised her.
Laughing, she let herself be held. “Is it wrong of me to want to wash some of Petaybee off?” She asked, buoyant with relief and with his presence.
“You can never wash Petaybee off completely, Yanaba Mad-dock. Not now! You’re stuck with us, love.” And then he threw back his head and gave an odd call.
Two curly-coats broke out of a nearby copse and trotted up to them.
“Local transport,” Scan said. When the curlies stopped beside them, he lifted Yana to the back of one before he vaulted astride the other.
“You just called and they came?” Yana asked, bubbling with laughter, as she laced her fingers tightly into the mane. She knew little about riding, but she felt no fear.
“Sure thing,” Scan said, grinning like a fool. “Let’s go!”
To her surprise and delight, Yana found the curly-coat’s rocking gait to be extremely comfortable, its fur soft on bare skin. She tried not to see how fast the terrain sped by as they went hell-for-leather down the forest track to the hot springs.
They reached their destination in moments, sliding off the mounts, who then wandered away as amiably as they had come. Sean was discarding his clothing and stood before her, sleek, faintly silvery-tan, waiting for her to shuck off the tatters she wore. Then she held ou
t her arms toward him.
Smiling with luminosity to his silver eyes that made her breathless, he enfolded her in his arms, pressing her head into his chest so that she could hear the beating of his heart.
“You’ve heard what Petaybee had to say. Now hear what I have to say to you, Yanaba Maddock.” He tipped her head back to look at him. “You are courage, you are beauty, you are honor, you are strong and kind. You are also loved. By more than I.” He bent to kiss first one eye and then the other, then her forehead. “Petaybee healed you because it had need of you. I have my own need of you, and of the child you carry for both of us.” He touched her breast then, gently but as if in benediction.
“Child?” She tried to struggle free, appalled and aching with hurt and disappointment. If he wanted a mother for his children, he would have to find someone else and she couldn’t bear that thought. “Sean, I’m past all that. It may have escaped your notice, but a person doesn’t become a senior company officer until middle age. My body is just not-“
“Well, love, as long as we’re talking about what bodies are and are not, I think you should be aware of a thing or two about mine. So much has happened, I didn’t want to spring it on you all at once, but back in the cavern, when we were all joined with Petaybee, I knew . . .”
“Knew what? Sean? Scan!”
But he dove into the water, and as it sluiced over his skin, instead of the gray-brown ashy color subsiding, it deepened, blurring his skin so that she felt she was looking at him through mist. Sean rolled himself into a ball, dove under the water, and when he surfaced again, his silver-brown hair covered not just his scalp but his face-and his form had changed!
Before she could say anything, the seal who was Sean climbed back out, playfully flipped her with the water on his sleek hide, and unfolded once more into her lover.
She took one involuntary step backward, then stepped toward him. “What-exactly-happened there?”
“My grandfather did, as Torkel suggested, go a little far. Actually, a lot far. There are some special notes in his personal diaries, which I have hidden in a safe place. He was fascinated by old Native American and Celtic tales of men who could change their shapes to protect themselves and suit their environment-of course, these were magical tales, but he always maintained they were just an extreme form of adaptation. Of course, he wasn’t supposed to experiment on people at all-he didn’t realize at the time that the planet was already producing substantial adaptive alterations in us-but he did do a bit of manipulation on himself that has carried down in my chromosomes, so that I, at least, adapt-er, quite a lot more drastically-than others on the planet. I ‘adapt’ or actually, in most ways, transform, at times into the marine animal most suited for this climate. I’m what they call in the old Celtic folklore a selkie; a man on land, a seal in the sea, or in my case, in the water.”
