Diuturnity's Dawn

by Alan Dean Foster

  “While I am a firm believer in dynamic experimentation in the field,” Riimadu responded, “I did not feel it would be entirely ethical to utilize you for ssuch a purposse without firsst sseeking your conssent.” He hissed softly, an exhalation that Cullen had come to recognize as AAnn laughter. While the reptiloids were by nature more solemn than the thranx, and positively wooden alongside the Quillp, that they possessed and displayed a sense of humor could not be denied. It was the subject matter that was occasionally off-putting.

  “I appreciate the consideration,” he told the alien dryly. “My feet hurt plenty as it is.” The AAnn did not react, taking the comment at face value. Well, Cullen mused, one couldn’t expect every witticism to make the whimsical jump between species.

  The ability to espy hazardous camouflaged fauna was something he had come to expect from Riimadu. He told the AAnn so as he thanked him more directly.

  “You humanss are alwayss looking up, or ahead,” the exoarcheologist commented. “Anywhere but where you sshould. On a world like Vussussica you need to keep your attention focussed much more often on the ground in front of you.”

  Vussussica was the name the AAnn had given to Comagrave. It was rumored that certain elements among the Imperial survey services had never fully relinquished their claim to the distant world humans had begun to explore long before the first AAnn ships had arrived in orbit around its sun. Subsequent to the conclusive imprinting by both sides of the formal agreements regarding Comagrave’s future status, it was presumed that these dissident elements had been suppressed. Certainly no one had mentioned them to Cullen or to any of his staff. To Riimadu they were of no consequence. “A hisstorical footnote,” he had called them when asked to expound his own feelings on the matter.

  On an entirely practical level, Cullen did not know what he would have done without the AAnn’s help. It was Riimadu who had suspected that the eyes of the Mourners held a secret, and it was he who had triangulated the gazes of the twelve monoliths and chosen this site for excavation. That they had so far failed to find evidence of anything more significant than local subsurface life-forms like the spine shooter did not mean the site was barren of potential discovery, only that they had more work to do and deeper to dig. Certainly the preliminary subterranean scan had generated some interesting anomalies highly suggestive of the presence of unnatural stratification. Digging proceeded by hand only to protect the topmost layer of whatever they might uncover. Thereafter, once they knew what they were dealing with, more advanced excavation tools could be brought into play according to the fragility of the site. They knew they were onto something. They just did not, as yet, know what.

  Patience, he reminded himself.

  A thickly bundled figure was lurching clumsily along the western edge of the main excavation. Setting his hopes of discovery aside, Cullen spared a brief rush of sympathy for the awkwardly garbed Pilwondepat.

  Despite making use of all six legs for locomotion, the thranx scientist was still tottering. The humidifier that was wrapped around his b-thorax covered his breathing spicules completely. It was not quite silent and made him sound like he was wheezing even though the source of the sound was entirely mechanical. Though the device drew moisture from the air, there was not enough in the atmosphere of Comagrave to satisfy even the hardiest thranx. The humidifier’s draw had to be supplemented by the contents of a lightweight bottle that rode on the scientist’s back. Coupled with leg and body wraps that helped to retain body moisture, Pilwondepat resembled a child’s toy engaged in a clumsy and ineffectual attempt to break free of its packaging.

  Only the scientist’s head was completely unprotected, allowing him to observe without obstruction. The chafing of his chitin from the dryness of the air was plain to see, even though Cullen knew the exoarcheologist employed several specially formulated creams to maintain his exoskeleton’s shine and character. The site administrator had often wondered what awful blunder the thranx had committed to get himself assigned to Comagrave. He had been shocked to eventually learn that Pilwondepat had actually requested the assignment.

  “What are you?” he had asked in an unguarded moment. “Some kind of masochist?”

  Pilwondepat had clicked to the contrary. “The love of self-suffering is a human trait. I simply felt the opportunities here too intriguing to eschew. Like you, I want to know what happened to these people—to their cities, and to their dream of space travel that was never fulfilled despite their having apparently achieved an equivalent level of technology in all other aspects of science.”

  “But to volunteer for duty on a world so blatantly inhospitable to your kind . . . ,” Cullen had continued.

  The visiting scientist had responded with a cryptic gesture the human had been unable to access in his pictionary of thranx gestures. “This is the world where the Sauun lived. As a field researcher, you must know yourself that recordings and records are no substitute for working on site.”

  Cullen recalled the brief but instructive conversation as he watched the thranx totter to the edge of the excavation. If the eight-limbed academic’s dedication did not exceed his own, it certainly matched it. Despite the appalling conditions, his hard-shelled counterpart rarely complained. As he put it, the fascination of the Sauun enigma helped to moisten more than his curiosity.

  Advancing in front of Cullen, Riimadu approached the thranx from behind and addressed the scientist in his own language. “Srr!iik, you musst be careful here, or you will fall in.”

  Pilwondepat looked back and up at the AAnn, who loomed over him, though not by as much as would the average human. “I have six legs. Have a care for your own footing, and don’t worry about mine.”

  “I worry about everyone’ss footing on thiss world.” Leaning forward, Riimadu peered into the excavation. Neatly partitioned with cubing beams of light, the hole was now some thirty meters in diameter and seven deep. At the bottom, humans labored in thin, lightweight clothing, exuding salt-laden body water as they worked. Their skins, in a variety of colors, rippled unsettlingly in the light of Vussussica’s midday sun. Unlike AAnn or thranx, their epidermal layers were incredibly fragile. Why, even a feeble thranx could split them from neck to ankle with a single sharpened claw!

  They were very quick, though. Agility was their compensation for lack of external toughness. To an AAnn or thranx, the human body seemed composed of lumps of malleable material, stretching and squashing unpleasantly in response to the slightest muscular twitch. Their anatomy had no gravity, no deliberation. The AAnn would have found them amusing, had they not been both gifted and prolific. And dangerous. The Pitarian War had revealed their true capabilities. To the AAnn, who had remained neutral throughout the conflict, the war had been exceedingly instructive.

  Lurching forward, he leaned his body weight against the thranx’s right side. Pilwondepat’s foothands slid over the edge of the excavation, dirt and gravel sliding away beneath them as he scrambled to retain a foothold. Under such pressure, a biped would have taken a serious tumble into the open excavation. The thranx’s four trulegs kept him from falling.

  Turning his head sharply, the thranx’s compound eyes glared up at the AAnn. “That was deliberate!”

  “I kiss the ssand beneath your feet if it wass sso.” Gesturing apologetically, the AAnn exoarcheologist stepped back. Sharp teeth flashed between powerful, scaly jaws. “Why would I do ssuch a thing? Esspecially to a fellow sstudent of the unknown.”

  “Why do the AAnn strike and retreat, hit and retire?” As he regained his composure, Pilwondepat held his ground, determined not to give the AAnn the satisfaction of seeing him flee. “Always testing, your kind. Always probing for weaknesses—not only of individuals, but of worlds and alliances.” The thranx gestured with a truhand. “I don’t even blame you, Riimadu. You can’t help yourself—it’s your nature. But don’t push me again. I may not be as strong, but I have better leverage than you.”

  The AAnn was visibly amused. “Colleague, are you challenging me to a fig
ht?”

  “Don’t be absurd. We are both here as guests and on sufferance of the human establishment, crrllk. They are not fond of either of us, and must regard our presence here as an imposition and distraction from their work.”

  “Not the human Cullen.” With the tip of his highly flexible tail, the AAnn gestured to where the human in charge was descending the earthen steps that had been cut into the side of the excavation. “He knowss that it wass I who found thiss ssite, and I can assure you that he iss properly grateful.”

  Pilwondepat turned away. He knew the AAnn was right. The human Cullen Karasi owed the AAnn his gratitude. Pilwondepat possessed no such leverage with the human, or with any of his coworkers. Stumbling to and fro among them, weighed down by the humidifying equipment that kept him alive if not entirely comfortable, he noted their sideways stares and heard their murmurings of disapproval. The archeological team represented a cross section of humanity, though a well-educated one. There were among them some who actively espoused closer ties with the thranx. They were opposed by those who fervently desired that the two dissimilar species keep their distance from one another. The majority listened to the diverse arguments of their fellows and tried to make up their as-yet-undecided minds. Pilwondepat feared that his personal comportment under trying circumstances was insufficient to elevate the status of his people in the humans’ eyes. At every opportunity, he did his best to counteract the sorry image he was certain he was presenting.

  If only he could get rid of the awkward, encumbering survival gear! Within his private dome he could do so, and actually relax. But those few humans curious enough to pay him a visit did not linger. Coupled with the temperature on the plateau, the 96 percent humidity Pilwondepat favored within his living quarters soon drove them out. There was nothing he could do about it. If he lowered the humidity in the dome to a level humans would find comfortable, that would leave him miserable all of the time, instead of just when he was working outside.

  So he tried to learn their language, a form of communication as slippery and fluid as their bodies, and make friends where he could. Meanwhile he was forced to watch as Riimadu strolled freely about the site, interacting effortlessly with the humans, sharing the same basic body structure and single-lensed eyes, and positively luxuriating in what for the AAnn was an ideal climate.

  Had the reptiloid deliberately nudged him in an attempt to send him tumbling over the edge into the excavation, or had it been an accident? One could never be sure of anything except their innate cunning where the AAnn were concerned. They would gesture first-degree humor while cutting the ground out from beneath you. Yet he could not complain. The humans, who had far less experience of the AAnn than did the thranx, continued to remain ambivalent in their attitude toward them. Humans, Pilwondepat had noted in the course of his studies, had a tendency to react against assertions they themselves had not proven. Accuse the AAnn, insult them, insist on their intrinsic perfidy, and well-meaning humans were likely to leap to their defense.

  It was infuriating. The thranx knew the AAnn, knew what they were capable of. Humans did not want to hear it. So the insectoids had to proceed discreetly in all matters involving the scaled ones, whether in personal relationships or at the diplomatic level. Humans would have to learn the truth about the AAnn by themselves. Like others of his kind, Pilwondepat only hoped this education would not prove too painful.

  For their part, the AAnn were being more patient and proceeding more slowly in their developing relations with humankind than the thranx had ever known them to do with any newly contacted species. This knowledge allowed Pilwondepat to smile internally. Having to proceed with such unaccustomed caution must be causing the AAnn Imperial hierarchy a great deal of discomfort. He certainly hoped so.

  Meanwhile, he was but one representative of his family, clan, and hive, isolated on a world of great mysteries, dependent on the unpredictable humans for continued permission to work among them and, indeed, for his very survival. That many of them viewed his presence among them with suspicion and xenophobia he could not help. He could only do his work and try, when the opportunity presented itself, to make friends. For some reason he enjoyed greater sympathy from human females than from the males. This, he had been told before embarking on his assignment, was a likely possibility, and he should be prepared to take advantage of it.

  It had to do, he had been informed, with the thranx body odor, which nearly all primates found exceedingly pleasant. More than once, human workers had commented upon it, and he had been forced to resort to his translator to ascertain the meaning of strangely emollient words like jasmine and frangipani.

  With a sigh, he started around the edge of the excavation. It was time to do some work among the human field staff. That meant making his way to the bottom of the excavation. In the absence of a familiar ramp, he would have to cope with human-fashioned “steps.” It was uncivilized and awkward, but he dared not ask for help. Special treatment was the one thing he was determined not to request. Many humans did not realize that thranx, built low to the ground, were terrible climbers despite boasting the use of eight limbs.

  A young worker named Kwase saw the scientist struggling at the top of the first step. Putting down his soil evaporator, the young man turned and vaulted up the earthen staircase to confront the alien. Smiling encouragingly, he made a cup of both hands in front of his own legs. Quickly discerning the sturdy biped’s intent, Pilwondepat gratefully dipped both antennae in the mammal’s direction before carefully placing one foothand in the proffered fleshy stirrup and resuming his descent.

  Brr!!asc—we make progress! he told himself with satisfaction. The annoyed look on Riimadu’s glistening face as he observed the human voluntarily assisting the thranx was even worth a few deep breaths of inadequate, desiccated air.

  The bottom of the excavation was no familiar homeworld burrow, he mused when he finally hopped down off the last step, but it was far more calming than the wind-blown, lonely surface.

  4

  Fanielle watched the Hysingrausen Wall slide past beneath the aircar’s wings. Running east to west across this portion of the central continent, the immense, forest-fringed limestone rampart was interrupted only by a succession of enormous waterfalls that spilled over the three-thousand-meter rim. Despite the heavy flow, most evaporated before they reached the ground. Only a very few, the offspring of mighty rivers that arose in the northern mountains beyond the Mediterranea Plateau, thundered against rocks at the base of the wall.

  The majestic geologic feature had kept the thranx from making anything more than cursory explorations of the high tableland. Humans were delighted to be allowed to establish themselves in a sizable region the thranx had ignored, and many thranx were pleased to see humans making use of an uplifted portion of their planet that was to them the perfect picture of a half-frozen hell.

  She sealed her field jacket as the aircar, once clear of the strong downdrafts that raked the wall, commenced a gradual descent. The afternoon temperature at Azerick Station was sixteen degrees C. Bracing to a human, unbearably frigid and dry to a thranx. Azerick did not receive many visitors from the heavily populated lowlands. Most of the thranx who were assigned to help facilitate the station’s development stayed down in Chitteranx, in the rain forest, where the humidity and heat were pleasantly overpowering. A few unlucky souls were assigned permanently to the human outpost. Being thranx, they rarely gave voice to their displeasure. Only someone like Anjou, who had learned to interpret many of their gestures, could tell how unhappy they were.

  In less than two weeks she would have her meeting with the eint. She intended to be forceful but congenial. There were years worth of particulars that needed to be discussed, lists of individual items that needed to be addressed in detail. She would have to pick and choose carefully so as not to offend, or bore, or isolate her estimable audience. Haflunormet was a good soul, but during the time they had worked with each other he had been able to offer little more than sympathetic encourage
ment on issues of real import. Working at last with someone who could actually make decisions promised to be enlightening as well as effective.

  There was so much to prepare. She worried about overwhelming the eint with minutiae before paradigms could be agreed upon.

  The aircar set down gently amid the quasi-coniferous forest that covered the plateau. While the trees resembled nothing arboreal on Earth, at least they were green. Jeremy was waiting for her. They embraced decorously. Other moves would have to wait for greater privacy.

  He took her bag as they walked through the terminal. “I hear you finally got your meeting with a higher-up. Some of us were beginning to wonder if any of the diplomatic staff here ever would.”

  “You know the thranx.” They turned a corner, squeezing past chattering travelers outbound on the aircar that had just arrived. “Caution in everything.”

  He made a rude noise. “It’s more than that. It’s deliberate. They’re trying to stay friends, close friends, without committing themselves to anything definite. The Pitarian War was an exception, brought on by exceptional circumstances. Now they’ve reverted to the hive norm.” Outside, he placed her bag in the transport capsule. In seconds, they were racing along a grassy trail split by the glistening metallic strip of a powerguide.

  “I don’t think that’s the case at all, Jeremy.” Leaning back in the seat, she watched the forest whiz past. At this speed, details vanished in a green blur, and travelers could almost imagine they were speeding through the far more familiar woods of Canada or Siberia.

  He shrugged diffidently. “Well, if anybody should know, it’s you, Fannie. You’ve spent more time among them than anyone else on staff. Personally, I don’t see how you stand the climate and the crowding inside their hives.” Reaching out, he took one of her hands in his and with a fingertip began to trace abstract designs on the back. “I’d rather have you spend more time here, you know. It’s not real great for my ego to think that you prefer a bug’s company to mine.”