Marooned on Eden

by Robert L. Forward

  It said gravely, "When our fishing rafts drift far out to sea, they find strange plants floating in water. We never see these before. Perhaps you know them, and where they come from."

  "I doubt it," Jinjur managed to convey. "What you describe are probably plants from another island, where they may have evolved in different surroundings . . .you understand how growing things can change from one generation to the next?"

  "Certainly. Some jookeejook we grow for good fruit. Some jookeejook we grow for good meat. I show you jookeejook soon." The voice sounded a bit weary. "Then you understand."

  For the last hour and a half of the darkness we relaxed, chatting idly among ourselves. The Jolly listened, but seemed to be resting also, for the eyes remained quiet in their nests, and the little gatherers were out of sight behind the mouthcloth.

  When it was light enough to resume our slow but steady march, we did so. It was fascinating to see the small gatherers run ahead to the thorn thickets and signal our approach. With remarkable speed, considering their ordinary appearance, the spiky branches furled back upon themselves, and we all were able to pass through in a straight line as the gatherers lined our path, keeping the thorny coils back.

  "The thook plants let us through, because we are members of their tribe," the Jolly remarked. "We help them, by cutting away any attacking vines or roots and keeping them supplied with water. We use them as protective walls around our sheds and workshops."

  The mention of buildings was startling. We speculated briefly and fruitlessly on the possible nature of these things, and were soon to learn the reality; more fantastic, and yet simpler, than our imaginings!

  The tedium of this journey was as hard on us as it was on the giant, I think. We could not help wishing for a faster pace, while the creature was making the best time of which it was capable. There was definitely relief in the Jolly's announcement that the thorn-thicket ahead of us was its home. The thorny walls rose higher and thicker than any we had seen, and we were glad to curb our impatience, and follow carefully into the central clearing. Here we stood silent, gazing around us at a scene of bizarre but sophisticated activity. There were indeed sheds, simple but very sturdy, containing shelves on which were stacked orderly piles of supplies. In front of one of them, another Jolly, smaller than our companion, was using those facile roots-hands to pressure flake a bit of obsidian in much the same manner Carmen employs, only, of course, much more slowly.

  Ahead of us were pens made of flat stone, not unlike the Caithness flagstones that had kept the flocks of sheep penned in the fields in Scotland before the invention of barbed wire. We moved to look within these walls at the jookeejooks penned inside. I was intrigued at the sight of these—animals? Plants? I suppose, like the Jolly they resemble so much, they are both. They are much smaller than the Jolly, and they move about even more slowly, using all six legs. But their eyes! They are attached to long, stiff but flexible wire-like structures arcing up through the fronds, and so the eyes themselves flutter rather ineffectually about the canopy. The small gatherers are attached to them also, by something which resembles a vine, or possibly an umbilical cord, coming out of their mouth holes.

  Like the Jolly gatherers, they seem to function as hands, and they move busily about the parent plant, but of course they cannot go far, and they seem content mostly to pick up bits of food from a long trough at one edge of their pen. It seems contradictory of us, but I think we have become so quickly accustomed to the sight of the Jolly's free-roaming eyes and gatherers that this more primitive form strikes us as stranger yet. Nels and I talked softly, exploring the idea that the fish we had eaten was an underwater version of this same structure. It seemed possible.

  Another peculiarity of the small creature was the presence of globular growths, of various sizes, in clusters nestled among their fronds. While we watched, amazed, our host sent a gatherer to pluck one of these from the nearest jookeejook. It exhibited no distress, but went on placidly eating, while the Jolly offered us the fruit. It was the same sort Arielle had sampled previously, so with her encouragement, we tasted. The flavor was pleasant, and almost familiar, although I couldn't place it until Carmen exclaimed, "Strawberries!" She and Cinnamon began to ply the Jolly with questions about the cultivation and husbandry of these strange beings. I watched, in private mirth, Arielle studying the animals with hungry speculation—she looked like she was mentally carving! But Nels was totally enraptured, and reached a gentle hand to touch the strange growths on the jookeejook.

  "I bet that's it!" he muttered. "The Jolly Giants must have evolved from a plant like this one, but their eyes and gatherers are intelligent enough to operate on their own and no longer need an attachment to the parent plant to function, although they still must return to the main plant periodically for life support."

  The entire little village, if that is what it is, looks like a well-tended garden; the surrounding thorn bushes form a tidy wall, with no encroaching spines to brush against a passing Jolly, and the sheds and pens are connected by smooth and well-worn trails. Other Jollys nearby had instantly sent eyes to examine us rather closely, but no gatherers had approached.

  I looked out through a thin patch in the thorn barrier where I could see the sparkle of water from a nearby lake, similar to the one near our camp, complete with sulfurous fumes rising from the center. Floating on the calm surface was a flat raft, and erect upon it were two Jollys. They were much slimmer than our acquaintance, and, between them, they were maneuvering a net much more finely woven than ours. However, I found I was paying little heed to the ponderous activities of the fishermen, my whole attention being fastened on the sturdy raft; and I realized I was coveting that awkward craft with surprising intensity! In honesty, I must admit I wanted such a thing not simply to improve my efficiency as a fisherman, but because I wanted to be out on the water with it.

  I turned away reluctantly, and found Jinjur and Shirley still asking eager questions. Cinnamon was looking a trifle concerned, I thought, and in response to my question, she said, "I think the Jolly is a little tired of us, Reiki. The eyes keep starting off towards the sheds, only to come back reluctantly, it seems."

  "I think you're right," I agreed. "I suspect we are in danger of overstaying our welcome—for a first visit! Jinjur . . ."

  With some difficulty, I secured her attention, and suggested it was time to go.

  "But we need to know . . ." she began. "But not necessarily all at once," she conceded right away. "I understand. These are not creatures we could control, even if we wanted to, but they surely do seem to be creatures with a great deal to teach us! So we'll keep it polite—you can ask if we can return!"

  I called David to stand beside me, and we waited in silence for the Jolly to finish his last explanation. Then David blew the formal meeting tune we had learned, and I began a rather florid farewell. I had already observed that while the speech pouring from the gatherers is rapidly becoming ever more precise and understandable, there is also a genuine enjoyment of language for its own sake. Certainly the creature's answer to my speech was both courteous and benign, and a future welcome was assured us as the Jolly had one of its gatherers repeat back one of my more lengthy declarations in its whistling tone:

  "I sincerely hope we will have many more mutually beneficial consultations"!

  With that, we felt ourselves dismissed, and headed in good order back to our own camp, discussing the implications of what we had learned. Nels, thinking aloud, developed an hypothesis explaining the evolution of the Jollys, and I listened with interest as he struggled with the evolutionary complexity of the mobile roots. We all joined in, making objections and compiling a list of the most important questions to put forward on our next visit. I had recorded all our observations, and this evening I will take my recorder down to the penetrator and transmit what we have learned back to James and the others on the now distant Prometheus.

  Carmen, oddly enough, seemed to be thinking of something entirely different, and she spoke only once
on our rapid hike.

  "Jinjur! It's beginning to look like we have a comfortable future, finally, doesn't it? I mean, there's plenty of food, everything we really need—we even can have some time for our own pleasure! Not a bad place to spend the rest of our lives, don't you agree?" This is unlike Carmen, whose usual interest centers in the moment. Jinjur considered the question thoughtfully, and finally spoke with tentative pleasure.

  "I think it's a little too soon to say, conclusively, that we really have an Eden here. But I'm hopeful, I honestly am."

  With those cheerful words, we arrived at our spring, and I stopped here, to fill the jugs we shall want this evening.

  CHANGING

  This day began so pleasantly, and ended in such a storm! I had thought our future, insecure and primitive as it has appeared these last weeks, to be reasonably under our own control, but Carmen, of all people, has unleashed feelings and ideas that threaten our very existence. I am resolved to combat these wild schemes and notions with every bit of my intelligence and strength—I hope desperately that I will succeed!

  I had gone early to the shore, intending to fish, and was soon engaged in the work. My routine involves swimming slowly out to a likely area and surveying the bottom through the faceplate of a spacesuit helmet that the flouwen had salvaged from the Beagle. When I find a spot which seems to contain plants or shells, I mark it, return to shore to leave the helmet, and swim out again with knife and net and flippers. After a few deep breaths, I dive until I am tired or the net is full. The tenacious clams are so delicious I usually try to collect as many as I can of them first, for the curious filter-feeder fish are both easier and meatier; it is simply a question of locating the parent plant along a vent, and then harrying the attached "fish" until I can break it free and net it. I enjoy the work, but my mind continued to play with the idea of a simple boat from which to dive—it would save me the effort of swimming back and forth, and give me a place to rest between dives.

  I resolved to discuss the project with Shirley at the first opportunity. I knew she would enjoy such a task, and I shall have to be firm about keeping the craft both light and simple; I hope this will be my own boat, and I shall want it to be of a size I can handle alone. I had begun to tire, and my thoughts veered off to the dreamy possibility of exploring other shores in my little boat, when I heard voices.

  Little Red's shouts, as usual, came to my attention first, and, lifting my head from the water, I saw several people talking with the flouwen. It seemed a good time to stop work, and drift over to listen to the talk.

  Nels was attempting to explain the nature and appearance of the Jolly Giants to the incredulous flouwen. After their own experiences on earlier expeditions, I would have thought the flouwen would have been more open-minded about unique new life-forms, but then I recall my own total disbelief at the sight of that moving plant, and I am more sympathetic.

  "Plant has eyes that fly like Pretty-Smells?!" Little Red exclaimed, at his customary volume. Little Purple sounded rather wistful: "That sounds very strange, but very good too. That means they can look at things far away, without themselves having to move."

  "We think that's how they see," Nels said. "But the idea is too new for us to understand fully, ourselves. There's a big gap between having eyes on your body, and having them free-moving."

  "Want to see! Where is Jolly?" Little Red asked.

  "Inland," said Cinnamon briefly. "They live near a big lake, so they can fish too, but they don't seem to care much for the ocean. And quite sensible that is, too," she added thoughtfully. "As slow-moving and top-heavy as they are, they'd have a lot of trouble coping with the waves, so they probably just avoid them altogether."

  "We must arrange a meeting between the Jollys and the flouwen sometime, though," said Jinjur. "I'm all for expanding horizons between sentient beings!"

  Privately, I hoped we took the time for considerable explanation to both parties before such a meeting; the Jollys had obviously found us interesting, but something of a disturbance.

  At this point I waded out of the water and returned to camp, bearing my catch to what Arielle grandiloquently calls the "kitchen." We had indeed improved the cooking area with work surfaces, and here I found Shirley, grinding meal. She has already devised a more efficient mill, and is continually adjusting our crude tools for the better. As I expected, my new project captured her interest instantly.

  "Yes! We can fasten those peethoo bamboo supports together, stop the ends with plugs of leaves—wait! Maybe a better idea would be to cut down one of those palms, and hollow it out! Make a dugout canoe!"

  "Put in mast, and make sail? Then go farther, faster!" suggested Arielle. I was intrigued, myself, with the idea of a sail, but a little sorry to see my idea being so swiftly carried away from me.

  "Could we start with just a little raft, please?" I requested. "It really would be a help in getting to good fishing spots."

  "Okay, we'll do that tomorrow," agreed Shirley. "But a real boat, maybe an outrigger type, would be great for lots of other things too. I'll have to take a good look at that palm trunk—see what I can do with it." The palms are called boobaa by the Jollys, and bear the tough but useful fruits Arielle and David are so skilful in obtaining. Like so many other plants here, they grow in a sort of family arrangement. The attacking vines, reaching for the canopy space, are beautifully dealt with; in essence, the victim tree being climbed by the vine "retreats." It shrinks and transfers its energy to its allies. The vine thus uses its own strength in an unsuccessful attempt, because it is soon shaded out of any way to exist. The boobaa trunks are certainly wide enough for canoes, and if that is possible I hope we can do it! Discussion of various schemes for boatbuilding began our evening session, and by then Shirley had progressed to a scheme to build a fine dock out from Flouwen Beach.

  We have all succumbed to the human tendency to name things, and Flouwen Beach marks not only our first landing place, but also the area where the water is deep enough for the friendly creatures to come close enough to hail us. I chuckled at Shirley's enthusiasm for a dock; the boulder on the beach where we had so unceremoniously draped Richard's half-drowned body was quite adequate to moor the modest craft I envisioned, but Shirley was already planning a ship the size of a young ocean-liner. It was easy to become excited at the prospect of a boat, however!

  "With the boat, and guided by the flouwen, we can begin to do some real exploring," said Jinjur dreamily. "See if any nearby islands have these same plant forms, or different ones entirely."

  "Bound to have some of the same, don't you think?" asked David. "The tides and currents would have transferred seeds and shoots."

  "Unless the ones on each island are as aggressive and territorial as these seem to be," speculated Richard. "We might discover a regular beach patrol, resisting invaders!"

  "We ought to survey the beaches around this island for that sort of thing," suggested Nels, half-seriously. "Although I'm not sure just what to look for. How does one spot a plant on guard duty?"

  I was not listening too closely to this, because I was considering the problem of navigation under these unfamiliar skies. I remembered having to relearn during the summer I spent on the schooner in Australian waters.

  "Do any of you remember the charts on Prometheus well enough to steer by these stars?" I asked abruptly. To my surprise, Arielle answered.

  "Never tried to learn them. But I spend watch, watching stars. I know how these move, I could steer by them. You want to learn?"

  "Yes!" I declared. "Let's start tonight!" Arielle shook her head, her dark eyes somber. "Too cloudy. That always going to be big problem, here." From her remarks about making a sail for our proposed boat, I knew she too wants to set forth—the loss of the aerospace plane at the bottom of the lagoon means her own figurative wings are sadly clipped.

  "We'd just have to wait for clear weather to set out . . ." I began.

  "And clear weather to return," Jinjur reminded. "It might be a long time before you go
t . . .home."

  There was a long silence.

  "Is this home?" asked Cinnamon quietly. "For the next twenty-five years, are we going to wander, together or separately, or settle here?"

  " 'Here' being right here?" asked John. "Right here in Town Square?" The term made me smile—anything less square than this sloping, uneven pile of rock has seldom been seen.

  "What'll we call 'here,' then?" asked Shirley, avoiding more talk of plans. "Camp One? Base Camp? We've done an awful lot of talking, sitting around here—maybe . . ."

  "Council Rock," said David definitely. Shades of Kipling! But it sounded rather pleasant. Jinjur's reference to this planet being an Eden returned to my mind. Perhaps it was more flattering a term than a truthful one, but civilizations have certainly been founded in more unpropitious surroundings.

  And then it happened. Carmen, with a few brief words, shattered completely any prospects of tranquillity. Without preliminary, she announced calmly, "I want to have my home here. We've learned we can live comfortably right here, and I want to stay. And I want a child."