As Dan retreated, Praedar joined the diggers. He relieved a fellow Whimed, who flopped down to catnap in the shade of the portable canteen. Changing of the guard.
None of the scientists looked at Dan or told him “See you later.” They’d barely been aware of his presence while he was on the site and didn’t seem to notice him now that he was leaving. A N’lac elder sat on the refuse pile, and he scowled at the pilot. The wrinkled little e.t. reminded Dan of the old codgers lounging on benches fronting many Settlement municipal squares. Did this N’lac gossip with his cronies and gripe that the younger generation was going to hell, too? Maybe. At any rate, he was the only being here who paid any attention to a departing Terran.
Dan kicked at pebbles, feeling grumpy. He was an outsider with no training, just in the way. Okay! He’d teach himself, starting with an educational walk through the entire valley.
It would be a lonely walk. Kat was busy on the dome dig today. So were most of those scientists Dan had met on the trails yesterday.
He set off on the same path Kat had shown him, then branched off, exploring, drawing additional maps in his mind’s eye. It was the same method he’d used to pass his pilot’s regs, so it ought to work in this situation, as well. He built on the scraps he’d acquired from the ed-vids, soaking up info and getting a feel for Praedar’s world.
Bright orange insects clicked and hovered about his head.
Boomer lizards sprang between the rocks. A furry quadruped moved stealthily through a copse of purple “trees” beyond one of the larger soil dumps. Dutos, those leather-winged predators, drifted in lazy circles overhead, riding thermals and seeking prey. Several times Dan was startled when bushes made a loud snapping sound. The effect was that of immense jaws closing. After a while, he got used to the peculiar natural phenomenon.
The air was a thirsty sponge. He stopped often in the shadow of a ruined building, a “tree,” or a flood-dumped boulder. The path hadn’t been this tough yesterday. But then the sun had been well past the zenith. Now it was climbing, and so was the temperature.
As he reached the far turn of the trails, near the disabled dredge, he found he wasn’t alone out here, after all. Ruieb-An and another Vahnaj were fussing with the big rig. Dan watched them with a critical eye. The lutrinoids were as inept at this job as he would have been attempting an advanced xenoarchaeological technique. Squirming, he said, “Uh... honored persons, Ruieb-An, may I offer my assistance?”
The Vahnajes regarded him owlishly. Ruieb-An said, “Most honored Dan-iel McKel-vey. Good mom-ing. Wel-come. Most kind of you. Urr.”
Dan bowed and bobbed.
The Vahnajes bowed and bobbed.
The courtesies went on and on, until Dan realized the aliens were deliberately stalling. Burying him in an avalanche of politeness. Their expressions were serene. Pointy-toothed smiles shone in their flat, gray faces. But their nostrils were pinched shut and their sideburns were flattened. Those were emotional barometers, like a Whimed’s crest. Ruieb-An and his companion were annoyed by Dan’s offer, and refused to accept it.
“The hell with it,” he muttered. “Do it your way. But I’ll warn you—that thing will chew you to pieces if you align it wrong, the way you’re doing it.”
The Vahnajes bowed and bobbed a bit more, then turned back to their tinkering. Dan jammed his hands in his pockets and stomped off on the eastern leg of the trail.
There were fewer marker stakes near the cliff and less for him to look it. The path did give him respite from the sun, and Dan walked in the shade of a rocky overhang wherever he could. A few times he sat on a stone shelf and rested and boosted his meds.
Getting his second wind, he headed northward, still compiling his mental map. The trails formed a rough triangle. One leg went past the dome to the dredge, then took a sharp angle eastward there. A return leg followed the sheer cliff wall as far as the N’lacs’ village. Then another major trail cross-connected at that point with the insta-cell complex.
At the spot where the path swung west, he came out from under an overhang and stopped, staring up apprehensively. The cliff was particularly steep here, and an enormous boulder perched on its summit. The thing was an ominous giant.
To Dan’s left, a deep, narrow excavation gaped. He couldn’t see the bottom. Rickety brushwood ladders leaned against one of the sides. A canvas sun shelter sat close to the rim. Dr. Chen, the pot-bellied joker, was sorting through a tote box of small objects he’d brought up from the pit. Joe Hughes and one of the N’lacs looked on interestedly as Chen assembled his finds.
Hughes glanced around at Dan and smiled. “Admiring our landmark? Don’t worry about Hanging Rock. It’s the camp pet. According to Baines, our geologist, it’s stood there for ages. Hasn’t moved a millimeter in all that time. Perfectly safe.”
Dan still didn’t feel easy about the landmark. He tried not to stare up at it as he made his way to the sun shelter. The N’lac squinted at him and suddenly brightened, crying “Kelfee! He Kelfee!”
“That’s right, Meej,” and Hughes patted the youngster’s bald head. “Him fellow McKelvey. Your brother fellow Chuss meet him last sun time.”
Meej thrust out a paw. Dan took the childike hand. The webbing between Meej’s tiny fingers was less obvious than that on other N’lacs’. Meej was on tiptoe, studying the pilot with a wide-eyed, nearsighted gaze.
“Now that you’ve been introduced, you’ll have to shake hands with him every time you meet,” Hughes warned. “With the other N’lacs, too, once they get to know you. They love to shake hands. It’s a Terran custom they’ve adopted with a vengeance. Why don’t you come into the village and I’ll show you the drill? I’ve got work to do there, and I’d appreciate the company.”
“Sure. Thanks. You’re the first person who hasn’t told me to scram today.”
“They’re wrapped up in the dome dig right now,” the black man said. “On top of that Sleeg, the shaman, objected to the excavation on religious grounds, and they had to placate him.”
“Hah! Praedar smoothed his feathers,” Chen exclaimed. “Good boy. Taught him everything he knows. Smart kid, for a Whimed.”
Dan certainly hadn’t thought of charismatic Praedar Effan Juxury as a kid!
Chen sealed his specimens into the tote, reserving one chunk of pottery, and stumbled toward the trail junction. Hughes, Meej, and Dan followed him. The Oriental held the potsherd scant centimeters from his eyes, poring over it, heedless of where he put his feet.
“Can I help you, Doctor?” Dan asked.
The scientist turned his head in Dan’s direction. His stare was even more myopic than Meej’s. “Dunno. How good’s your eyesight, boy?”
“I’m a pilot,” Dan replied, believing that was sufficient answer.
It was. “Then you can see too damned good for my purposes. You’d be as bad at examining these little bitty museum treasures as Praedar is. All those Whimeds are farsighted. Can’t see worth a damn without a ton of expensive gadgets. Me, I carry all my equipment right here.” Chen tapped a forefinger on his orbital ridge. His grin widened. “Nice of you to make the offer, though. I knew you were the right sort, boy. Don’t let anybody here bluff you. Hear?”
They had reached the trail junction. Chen veered left toward the insta-cell complex. He continued to examine the potsherd, weaving all over the path as he did. Hughes shook his head in amusement. “He’ll break his neck one of these days, doing that. Crazy eccentric!”
As he followed Hughes into the N’lac village, Dan said, “He’s a real character, okay. I like him.”
“Everyone does. That’s why we play his old curmudgeon game with him. Chen particularly enjoys treating Praedar like an apprentice, and Praedar doesn’t seem to mind. I suppose Chen’s entitled to take that stance. He and Praedar have worked together for years. Praedar actually started as one of Chen’s students. That’s unusual, for a Whimed. Of course, Praedar’s long since surpassed his mentor...”
“Is Chen really nearsighted?” Dan wondere
d. The concept was strange, in these modem times. Prenatal engineering and postnatal adjustments, including corrective surgery, eliminated most of the physical glitches that had plagued humanity in the past centuries.
“Oh, yes, and proud of it. His personal design, having his eyes converted to acute myopia.” Dan’s jaw dropped. Hughes nodded and went on. “Had it done when he was an undergrad. One of his heroes was Sir Arthur Evans, a Terran archaeo who excavated in the Mediterranean in the early 1900s. Evans was profoundly nearsighted, and famous for using his eyes as a microscope. In Chen’s case, it’s a stunt, but a useful one. He truly doesn’t need any sophisticated gear to analyze the stuff he’s bringing up from that ancient N’lac museum basement.”
Dan, Hughes, and Meej made their way through draperies of tendrilled trees into the N’lac community. Round-roofed, mud-brick huts nestled under the cliff’s overhang. Women tended crops in tiny garden patches. Naked children played in the dirt. Clay pots clustered around a communal firepit. Stretched hides were drying in the sun. Village elders squatted in the shade, swapping yams. It was a textbook version of those aboriginal habitats depicted in the ed-vids.
When the villagers saw the Terrans, all of them retreated briefly toward the huts, then turned and waved exaggeratedly, as if just that moment discovering their guests. Their actions had the look of an elaborate social ritual.
Hughes waved back at them while telling Dan “About the crew snubbing you this morning—don’t take it personally. As soon as Ruieb-An gets that dredge repaired
“Don’t hold your breath for that,” Dan warned. “He doesn’t know straight up about the rig.”
“Hmm. Sorry to hear that. Ruieb was indulging in Vahnaj braggadocio, I guess...” Then Joe Hughes broke off as villagers huddled around them, grabbing his hands. He introduced Dan. True to his prediction, each N’lac then had to shake the pilot’s hand. He noticed most of their fingers were- extremely club-tipped, unlike Chuss’s and Meej’s.
It was Dan’s first close-up view of the e.t.s They were redfaced, wrinkle-skinned, and panting, mouths open wide, revealing bright red tongues and mucous membranes. The N’lacs sweated so profusely the desert air couldn’t evaporate their perspiration fast enough. Except for Meej, they were all very paunchy. And all of them except Meej moved in apparent slow motion, as if action lagged behind thought. They plucked at Dan’s clothes and gawked at his hair, several muttering in pidgin that he was like “Sheila fellow on head top.”
Meej flapped his skinny arms and yelled, “He fellow Kelfee! Come fly-fly. Zwoop! Down quick! Skirsh! Chuss see him. Kelfee come out. Come Praedar’s camp. Come from high-high.” The N’lacs giggled, delighted with the account.
“That makes you all right,” Joe said. “N’lac legends claim that only bad strangers come out of places in the ground. They think we offworlders are great, since we came from the sky.”
“But their houses,” Dan argued, pointing to the half-circle of miniature domes. “The floors are below the doorsills. They live underground themselves.”
“Nobody ever said myths are logical.”
The edge taken off their curiosity, the N’lacs drifted back to whatever they’d been doing before the Terrans arrived. Women returned to gardening. Bigger kids picked berries. Babies played in the puddles around a well spout. The codgers resumed swapping lies. Dan saw no able-bodied males. He assumed they were all out hunting or helping at the dome dig.
It was a textbook village, a living museum. No wonder the Terran-Whimed Xenoethnic Council had licensed Praedar’s expedition to protect these people. Few primitive species enjoyed that privilege. Most of the aborigines shown in the pop science ed-vids were now extinct, victims of conquest, disease, or both.
Kat said the team supplied medicine, food, and a reliable water source. The last was very apparent. In fact, it was the center of village activity. A shiny, automated, windmill-driven pump filled pots and its overflow provided those puddles for the babies’ play. But the well was a jarring anomaly in the simple scene.
“Thinking that’s an intrusion, a tampering with local ecology?” Joe asked, shrewdly assessing Dan’s reaction. The pilot nodded and followed as Hughes went to check the pump’s readouts. “This well is a major reason these people are still alive. When Praedar landed, they were in the grip of a severe drought. Praedar imported this pumper. The N’lacs’ ancestors used to make windmills, so they accepted a new one without any culture shock. Sometimes they even try to make their own windmills, but without much success. They’ve long since lost the technology. See?”
Dan looked where Hughes pointed and saw several wooden towers half hidden in the purple foliage. The structures were pathetic toys, imitations of the real thing. They couldn’t turn, could never pump water for this thirsty tribe. Dan conceded, “They sure need a well. I lived on Asita Hosi for a while, and I know how it is. Without water, a desert settlement is dead.”
“Meej? Dooch? Where’s Soong?” Joe counted noses, rounding up three N’lac children. “Ah! There you are, sweetie. Come along, kids. Time for your boosters.”
The youngsters eagerly trailed Hughes to one of the huts. The villagers watched the parade with blank-faced disinterest. Dan puzzled over the differences between them and these bright-eyed kids and Chuss. It didn’t make any sense. Damned near an entire community of retardates?
Joe steered the three kids through the hut’s door. They jumped down across its threshold, calling out to someone inside. Then the man cued controls and the door shut behind them with a heavy thunk.
Dan started. This looked like the other mud-brick homes, but the walls were plasticrete. “What the hell?” he exclaimed, and touched a porthole-shaped window, checking its thick glassene. “A... a pressure chamber?”
“Hyperbaric,” Joe Hughes said. “Standard issue medical. I did my best to blend it in with village housing. Not bad, huh?” he added proudly. Hughes peered through the window and waved at the hut’s occupants. Dan stared over the scientist’s shoulder. An exceedingly pregnant N’lac woman was stirring a cook pot hanging over a firepit—a pseudofire, an artificial hearth. The kids clustered around her as the women filled their bowls. Baskets and simple furnishings were scattered around the room. The interior was exactly what Dan would have expected to see—except that the N’lac family was locked in and their “fire” was a sophisticated copy of the real thing.
He confronted Hughes angrily. “That’s a test lab. You’re using them as guinea pigs!”
Hughes didn’t deny it. “In a manner of speaking, yes. But before you slug me, you ought to remember that I warned you not to go too fast when you don’t know the trail.” He waited for Dan to digest that, then went on. “I assure you, everything you see is both legal and benign. Do Loor and her kids look tortured? In pain? Did I force them into that hut? And do you notice anything different about them, compared to the rest of the N’lacs?”
The last question, in particular, made Dan backpedal. “They’re a lot brighter.”
“In all ways. More intelligent. More alert. Healthier. More adaptable. And they’ll reproduce more easily and more safely than their playmates. On Loor, the mother, the effect is modest. She was an adult when this experiment began. Hyperbarics has a dramatic effect on her kids, though.” Joe wanned to his topic, his dark eyes sparkling. “They’re so damned smart we really have to hustle to teach them. Chuss is the eldest, not quite an adult, in N’lac terms. Yet he’s already the village leader in many respects. The N’lacs recognize his abilities and are willing to follow him. They know Chuss and his siblings are.
“Freaks?” Dan had visions of the Frankenstein monster and all-too-real Earth history—mutant warfare labs and the genetic purity leagues of the first decades of the twenty-first century.
“No. They’re normal. The way the N’lacs should be.” Joe waited for that to soak in and penetrate Dan’s revulsion and outrage. “Loor volunteered to participate when we told her what the chamber might accomplish. She hatched each of those kids and Chus
s in there and is about to hatch another. We’ve got other N’lac women clamoring for their own hyperbaric houses now. They want to have smart, healthy kids, too. I won’t go into the biomechanisms. Suffice to say that pressurized gestation enhancement won’t work with Homo sapiens, Vahnaj lutrinis, or Lannon. It does work with certain primitive relatives of the Whimeds. Praedar spotted the similarities between felinoid and N’lac morphology, and we decided it was worth a try.”
“Slow throttle,” Dan said. “All I see is that you’re tampering with these people, playing deity.”
“Nothing new in that. Humanity saved the cetaceans and great apes and made partners out of them. We manipulated their genes to boost intelligence and break through communications barriers. Was that so bad? The results are their own vindication, wouldn’t you say?”
“I... I don’t know,” Dan said slowly.
Hughes grunted. “But Praedar and I do, and so does the Xenoethnic Council. They support this experiment, and they wouldn’t, if it hurt the N’lacs.”
Still troubled, Dan asked, “How long do they... ?”
“Stay in the hut? Six hour boosters a day, for the kids. Twelve for Loor, though she often opts to stay in much longer.”
“Hyperbaric pressurization accelerates her fetus’s development?”
“Right! I’d be glad to take you on as a xenobiology trainee.” Hughes checked the hut’s controls and waved again at his test subjects.
Dan was tom. Was Joe conducting cruel experiments or rescuing the N’lacs from a life of dull-wittedness? And did a Council light-years from T-W 593 have the right to choose what happened to these e.t.s?
“Coming along nicely,” Joe said. “So I think I’ll have lunch. Care to join me?”
Juanita Coulson - Children of the Stars 04 Page 6
