Strange Music

by Alan Dean Foster

  “It’s really all right, Syl. The weather is fine and we’re completely stable here.”

  “I know. I know it’s safe here and that I’m not going to drown. I’m being irrationally fearful.”

  To her credit, Clarity, who had always been slightly jealous of Flinx’s emotional bond with the thranx, chipped in with her own attempt at reassurance.

  “No more so than if your average human was made to stand exposed on the top of a thousand-meter-high spire.”

  Flinx frowned. “Why would that make someone afraid?”

  She made a face at him. “I said ‘average’ human.” They had been together long enough that she could joke about such things. She smiled encouragingly at their visitor. “Can I offer you something to drink? To eat?”

  Sufficiently composed by now to release her foothands’ grip on the floor, Sylzenzuzex sat back on her four trulegs and held the remaining four limbs out in front of her. Muskier than that of most thranx, her personal physical bouquet suffused the room’s cooled, recycled air. Rose, honeysuckle, huckleberry, and frangipani. How could anyone draw back in fear from a creature that smelled like that? Flinx wondered as he reflected on the sometimes fractious history of early human-thranx contact.

  “I’d like to think this a social visit.” At his gesture, a chair comprised of padded netting obediently ambled forward to position itself beneath him. “But I have a feeling I’d be wrong.” Spreading her wings, Pip rose from his neck and shoulders to join Scrap in investigating something small, bright red, and many-legged that had crawled out of the sea and somehow made its way into the residence. Backed into a corner, it confronted the two minidrags with formidable extensible claws as they play-struck at it repeatedly.

  There was no thranx furniture in the humans’ residence since there was no reason to expect a thranx to visit Cachalot, but their guest made herself comfortable by straddling the back of a netting couch. Both truhands moved as she spoke, punctuating her terranglo with thranx gestures that were simultaneously complimentary and eloquent. Flinx knew their meaning as well as he knew his own language.

  “Call my presence here semi-official,” she told him. “Those who know of it know that I know you. Technically, in this particular situation, the Church cannot call on you for assistance.”

  Uh-oh, he thought. “Doesn’t the Commonwealth government still ‘technically’ want me dead?” Shoving his arms sharply out in front of him, he opened his palms and twisted both wrists in opposite directions: it was the thranx gesture of ac phatev, indicating maximum, or fifth-degree, emphasis. Returning with refreshments, Clarity didn’t bat an eye at either his words or the two-armed gesture. She had been through too much with the tall redhead to be surprised by anything that was said or signaled.

  Sylzenzuzex responded by raising her left truhand with the first finger up and the other three closed together: the tan wreix used to indicate negativity. At the same time both foothands rose with elbow joints out and foothands extended horizontally: te phatev for fourth degree. She had replied to his query by indicating that she was pretty strongly pessimistic—all without saying a word. Had she added the usual thranx click-and-whistle vocalizations, her response would have been aurally as well as visually complex.

  Low Thranx was difficult. High Thranx, for anyone not of that particular species, was near to impossible to comprehend, let alone “speak,” except by experts.

  He turned somber. “So in the corridors of power I’m still considered nothing more than a dangerous freak? The mutated renegade offspring of a banned genetic experiment by the outlawed Meliorare Society? In case anyone’s forgotten, I recently saved not only civilization but the entire galaxy.”

  “That was last week.” She shifted her horizontal position on the couch. It was a matter of balance, not comfort. There were few nerve endings in her chitinous exoskeleton. “A very, very few know your true self and the nature of the remarkable things you have done. Which is why, after careful consideration, it was decided that the Church—the Church, not the Commonwealth government—should be the entity to ask for your help.”

  “Which is why they sent you,” he muttered. “Instead of a stranger.”

  “Knowing as you do of my kind’s aversion to any body of water deeper than the length of a fingertip,” she replied, “it was determined that my very presence here would be enough to convince you of the importance of this matter, arr!ilk.”

  “Another matter.” On the other side of the room, Clarity was fussing with a suspended collage of preserved pseudocoral. She radiated unhappiness, and she knew he would know. “Always another matter. One time you had told me there was an end to the ‘matter.’ ”

  “Clarity.” His tone asked for understanding. “Syl’s come all this way, at considerable personal discomfort to herself. The least we can do is hear her out.”

  “What about my discomfort?” she murmured. Knowing that he could perceive her emotions but that his hearing was no sharper than anyone else’s, she had taken to expressing her feelings aloud but too softly for him to actually hear.

  Sylzenzuzex spoke before he could respond. “I asked to come. As I said, only a few others know of you. Fewer still know you.”

  Memories came flooding into him. “How is your uncle? And his companion, Bran Tse-Mallory?”

  She made a gesture of third-degree contentment. “Truzenzuzex is as ornery—I think that is the right terranglo word—as ever. Bran Tse-Mallory is slowed by age, but defiant of it.” All four upper limbs contorted in a complicated gesture even Flinx could not quite interpret. “As a fully vested Church security officer, I am allowed even more operational leeway than the last time we met. I have to confess that it was I who ultimately proposed that you be solicited to assist in this small but significant matter.”

  He exhaled slowly. A quick glance at Clarity showed that she was not looking in his direction. She was also, he knew for a certainty, missing none of the conversation.

  “I saved civilization. One would think that was enough. But—some time has passed since then. I suppose I can at least listen to the details of a small matter.”

  A gesture of fourth-degree gratitude preceded Syl’s reply. “Do you know a world called Largess?”

  He considered a moment, then shook his head: a simple human gesture the thranx understood so well that many had adopted it. “Never heard of it.”

  “It lies on the outer edge of the Commonwealth, facing the unclaimed region between us and the AAnn Empire. A Class IVb world whose inhabitants are struggling to rise from clan and regional relationships long enough to forge a government sufficiently wide-ranging to qualify for greater Commonwealth assistance. There is a single, fairly substantial Commonwealth base there. Some limited but worthwhile trade goes on, primarily involving unsynthesizable local organics.”

  “Why is the Church concerned?”

  “As with any Class IVb world, trade and the exchange of advanced information is highly restricted. There is evidence that someone is violating those restrictions.”

  To Flinx’s relief, Clarity was apparently interested in spite of herself. “Sounds like a fairly straightforward enforcement matter. Why would you need someone like Flinx to become involved?”

  Another complicated multilimbed gesture tied Flinx’s analytical knowledge of thranx truhand and foothand movements in knots, until he realized that that was exactly what she was trying to communicate: confusion and uncertainty.

  “It has to do with the nature of the native Larians themselves,” Syl said slowly, unavoidably having to add a click and two whistles to fully clarify her meaning. “They are not so much hostile to outsiders as they are indifferent to them. It is an indifference that among some of them rises to the level of bordering on contempt for the way they believe we feel. Or rather, do not feel.”

  “I don’t understand.” Flinx made no effort to hide his confusion.

  “Humans talk to one another in terranglo. Thranx use both Low and High dialects. Different Commonwealth sp
ecies converse via symbospeech. The Larians communicate with what we might call singspeech. Essentially, if you can’t sing, you can’t talk.” A simpler gesture punctuated her concluding thoughts. “My kind can whistle. Indeed, a thranx would have difficulty communicating properly with another if it lacked such an ability. But we cannot sing. Our vocal system is not sufficiently flexible.” Golden compound eyes switched from Flinx to Clarity. “Humans, on the other hand, possess this ability in quantity.”

  Flinx coughed meaningfully. “Not all of us. Clarity is a fine singer. Much better than I am.”

  “That’s true.” There was no hesitation in Clarity’s reply. “But,” she finished reluctantly, “you’re not bad, my man. You can carry a tune. I’ve heard you do it.”

  “There is more to it than just that.” Sylzenzuzex gave no hint of appreciating her hosts’ verbal byplay. “The Larians are also a very emotional species. Their singsong communication is intimately connected with and to how they feel. It seems that they can sense when someone is singing, or communicating, honestly.” She was staring at her old friend. “It is an ability akin to Flinx’s, but on a much lower, more primitive level. What it means is that someone able to perceive what a Larian is feeling would be able to tell whether they are being honest, evasive, lying, or secretly hostile. Such an individual would be able to track down whoever is violating Commonwealth strictures on Largess far more easily and quickly than anyone else. Provided they can sing, of course.”

  “A universal translator isn’t sufficient?” Clarity asked.

  Sylzenzuzex gestured third-degree negativity. “The words would be translated, but deprived of any musicality the Larians would hear them as ‘dead language’ and pay no attention to whatever was being said. Universal translators are too literal. They work only with words and cannot interpret or simulate musical accompaniment.”

  “I still don’t see why this is anything more than a minor local matter,” Clarity replied, struggling to contain her exasperation.

  The thranx responded with a second-degree gesture of understanding.

  “Some of the Larian clans and towns are trying to organize themselves into a large, stable federation. If they can do so, they would qualify to petition for a status upgrade within the Commonwealth: a first step on the path to a proper world government representing their entire species. The illegal introduction of advanced technology coupled with advice and guidance from an outsider, or outside interests, threatens to distract and unsettle the most far-sighted and important of the local clans that are in favor of such unification. It endangers all the good work that the more enlightened Hobaks, as the clan leaders are called, have done. While the Larians are generally polite and welcoming to outsiders, among themselves they have a volatile history.

  “The Church frowns on such setbacks to potential unity and species advancement and, where and whenever possible, seeks to ameliorate them—without violating Commonwealth policy, of course.”

  Flinx was nodding knowingly. “Whereas an unattached outside interest could do so without compromising the Church itself.”

  “Benign outside interest set to counter an inimical outside interest. Precisely.”

  “And,” Clarity put in tersely, “if said ‘benign outside interest’ happened to find himself compromised, the Church would of course disavow any knowledge of or interest in said interest’s activities.” Picking up on her increasingly strong feelings on the matter, a concerned Scrap immediately looked over from where the red-shelled oceanic intruder had just about given up trying to fend off the two persistent minidrags.

  “Policy.” Sylzenzuzex was apologetic. “As I said before, I have some leeway in certain things. But not in everything.”

  A frustrated Clarity ceased pretending that she was fiddling with the pseudocoral sculpture and turned to face the thranx directly. “Why should Flinx risk himself, however slightly, on behalf of the Commonwealth? Or the United Church? He’s been hounded ever since he was a boy! Hasn’t he done enough already for an ignorant population that would see him mindwiped without raising so much as a halfhearted objection?”

  Now visibly upset, Scrap spread his wings, soared across the room, and landed on his mistress’s shoulder. A pointed tongue began licking her left cheek and she brushed at it absently. It was not lost on Clarity that Pip continued her pursuit of the local crustacean. That told her that Flinx, whatever he was thinking, was not nearly as upset by the thranx’s implied request as she was.

  Heightened emotional perception does not always require direct physical manipulation at the genetic level. Sometimes marriage is sufficient.

  “I’d like to help,” he said carefully. “It sounds like an interesting set of circumstances, and Largess sounds like an engaging world. But…”

  Clarity turned away in a huff. “Oh, go on. Fishing bores you. Home improvement bores you. Diving bores you. I suppose I bore you.”

  Rising from the net chair, he moved quickly to put his arms around her from behind. When he bent to kiss her neck, she twisted away. But slowly.

  “I can count on one hand the things that have never bored me, Clarity. Pip, new worlds, and above all, you. If not for you I’m pretty sure I’d be dead, somewhere.”

  “At least you wouldn’t be bored.” Turning back to him, she briefly scanned his face before letting out a resigned sigh. “Oh, go on.” A hand gestured in Sylzenzuzex’s direction. “Run off with your bug girlfriend. Maybe you’ll come back with a better appreciation for what you have here.”

  “I am sorry?” Sylzenzuzex’s gesture with both truhands indicated fourth-degree confusion. “ ‘Bug girlfriend’?”

  Flinx cast the thranx a hasty smile. “Nothing. Standard banter between mated humans. Very traditional.”

  “Ah, chir!!k.”

  “I’ll fix this problem quickly, Clarity. Be back before you know it. It’ll be useful to have another positive entry in my Church file.”

  She sniffed derisively. “Doesn’t mean the government won’t keep trying to reel you in to ‘rehabilitate’ you.”

  “I’ll be careful.” He released her and stepped back. “I’m not a novice at avoiding unwanted attention, you know.”

  “Is that so? For someone who’s spent his whole life trying to avoid it, you sure draw a lot of it.” Looking past him, she stared hard at Sylzenzuzex. “Traveler identity?”

  “New one,” the thranx replied. “Already prepared.”

  “You were very certain he’d go.”

  “No.” The thranx underlined her reply with a firm gesture of all four upper limbs. “But I have always believed in being proactive, especially where humans are concerned.”

  2

  ■ ■ ■

  “It is understood,” Sylzenzuzex repeated carefully, “that the use of advanced technology would violate the very protocols we are trying to preserve, and therefore cannot be employed under any circumstances.”

  A smiling Flinx nodded toward the far corner of the room, where a thrashing of iridescent scales indicated that unlike Scrap, Pip was still fully involved in tormenting the small uninvited denizen of Cachalot’s seas.

  “She’s all the help I need. We’re not dealing with powerful ancient relics of the Tar-Aiym or the Hur’rikku. It’s just one troublemaker on a minor world, right?”

  “That is the assumption,” the thranx confirmed.

  “I don’t like assumptions.” Clarity was already regretting having given her consent to Flinx’s participation. “They have a nasty way of turning out differently from what you expect. Like the really nice people who made up the Order of Null.”

  “Which no longer exists,” Flinx hastened to point out. “Pip and I will be fine. You sound like Mother Mastiff. She wouldn’t stop me from doing this.”

  “No,” Clarity admitted. “But if we’re going to reference relics, then I have to add that that half-crazy old woman wouldn’t stop you from confronting a Demichin devilope naked and weaponless. She’d just shake her head in resignation at your st
upidity and get on with her own life.” Once more she eyed the quietly watching thranx. “I, on the other hand, prefer to be ‘proactive.’ ” She sighed heavily. “Do you at least have some idea who this lawbreaker is that’s causing this trouble on—what world was it? Largess?”

  The gesture for apologetic uncertainty was as nimble as it was elaborate. “As I mentioned, Largess has much to offer in the way of tradable unsynthesizable organics. A number of species that engage in wide-ranging commerce have taken advantage of the relevant opportunities, though thranx are not among them. The largest contingent of visitors consists of humans. Therefore it is not unreasonable to assume that our troublemaker is of your kind, though we as yet have no conclusive proof of this.” She turned her attention back to Flinx, both feathery antennae dipping slightly in his direction. “Still, it presents another reason for requesting Flinx’s assistance.”

  “Haven’t you checked it out for yourself?” Clarity’s tone was mildly accusatory.

  Not only both antennae, but all four upper limbs went straight up. Though the thranx face was inflexible, Sylzenzuzex nonetheless managed to convey her horror at her hostess’s suggestion.

  “Me? I spent only a little time on Largess. As little as possible. Just what was minimally necessary for me to carry out my assignment. No thranx is permanently posted to that world. Humans find it chilly; we find it frigid. The topography is dominated by low-lying land, truncated vegetation, and far too much open water. To be posted there would constitute punishment of the worst imaginable kind, chir!!!tt!”

  “Sounds inviting.” Clarity flashed Flinx a sardonic smile. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”