by H. M. Hoover
But what were they? Masters—or servants of a superior race? None had been in here in—how long? Or maybe the configuration of this switch that fit a lumpie
touch was only circumstance and she had not only jumped but made a quantum leap to conclusions.
In the background the speakers still repeated those eight notes, and absentmindedly she whistled them. The speaker shut off in mid-note. "I will talk and you can all smile. It will be just like home!" She whirled around. It was a computer's voice, not a reply of a recording of her own speech, but the unit's eerie mimicry without understanding. "I will talk and you can all smile," it repeated. She walked over for a closer look.
"Go ahead and talk," she said, but the computer did not.
The central unit was sheathed in anodized gold and for most of its length was covered by a domed transparent housing. Its design was more elegant than the newest of tolat computers, yet Lian suspected this unit had been functioning since long before the first tolat computer existed. There was a distinct wheeze as its air-intake ducts came on, but what appeared to be a spectrograph was analyzing the chemical components of something. The ratios looked familiar, and she wondered if it was analyzing her breath.
She wondered, too, if it contained a translator. If the race which had built it came from another planet, as Dr. Farr had said they might . . . Turning to face a camera eye, she held up the appropriate number of fingers and began to count. "One, two, three, four—" and then stopped. This was a silly waste of time. If the computer could translate, she would need a year to program it verbally. The tolats would figure it out and translate the language on their own units.
She decided she had better head back to the dig to report before Dr. Farr decided she was lost again. Besides, this was all a little too much to take in and comprehend at one time. She yawned, a wide yawn, half from fatigue and half from nerves. The snake's head of a camera focused on her mouth and lurched sideways as she politely covered the yawn with her hand.
"I'm an omnivorous mammal, sentient, and in an adolescent stage," she said, "if you really care." Then, noticing her sleeve was dirty, she began to brush it off as she circled the computer for a total view of it before leaving. At the far end was an oddly shaped opening, wide and black as a cave mouth into the computer's interior. Without slowing her pace, she detoured closer to look inside.
It sucked her in as a black hole pulls in the mass of a star orbiting too near. Only half of her scream escaped.
The Counter could not remember such an in-tractable specimen. Even though its appendages were held immobile, it persisted in ordering them to act, wasting valuable time. It was difficult to do a proper analysis.
The specimen's first reaction was fear, an emotion familiar to the Counter from past experience with the people. Its next emotion was anger. That was new and very interesting. This thing totally resented being analyzed, considered it in some abstract way a violation of its entire unit, and at the same time, helpless though it was, it counted on release and planned retribution to the violator.
The Counter paused to consider this factor. It found it illogical but perhaps useful for the unit's ultimate survival.
The unit was partially encased in synthetic fibers, acidic long-chain monomers. Its natural covering was far more complex. The Counter took cell samples and noted the puncture of this covering to obtain a liquid
sample of the interior was met with new anger by the specimen.
The Counter's low power source was rapidly being drained by the specimen's struggles. The Counter administered a relaxant charge; the mind responded with more or less rational thought images. Could the Counter have smiled, it would have, for it found this mind's current overwhelming urge was to find a way to communicate with the Counter.
The Counter did a thorough search of the memory banks of the alien mind, recorded this data for later analysis, paid particular interest to its data on astrophysics, noted the unit's prolonged sense of isolation from its own kind, and its seemingly resultant affection for other living creatures.
Before releasing the specimen, the Counter assimilated its language codes. It was possible the specimen could be taught a basic understanding of the people's language ... if the Counter could get the people to speak again. The specimen could not be reprogrammed to adequately absorb and convert radiant impulses; its existing equipment transmitted but only partially received. The Counter regretted this; it would have greatly simplified communication.
Once it could have transposed, translated, and speaker-communicated with this alien in a matter of hours. Now, in this aged and diminished state, with not even a fraction of its normal power, that seemed beyond the cells' capacity. Still, if given time to think it over, perhaps, like its people, the Counter could talk again.
One moment she was wrapped in blackness, dreaming; the next she was out and standing some distance from the computer. The three lumpies were beside her, patting her hands and peering over her, as if to make sure she was unharmed. She let them pat as she tried to remember what had happened, why she had dreamed all those things forgotten years ago. That computer thought . . . talked . . . ? Was it a medical unit fifty generations advanced? Or more . ..
The largest luxnpie made a moaning noise and touched her left arm. She glanced down and saw a very neat hole in her white sleeve. Beneath the hole blood was beginning to clot on a deep and sore abrasion.
"It took a sample of me!" She was indignant, then something else occurred to her. "What are you three doing in here? You were too scared to come beyond the ramp before. Did you come to help me?"
They did not answer, but the smallest one took her wounded arm, splayed its fingers around the biceps and applied gentle pressure. As it did so, she watched its face. The eyes narrowed as it concentrated on the wound; the face lost its clownlike expression and became still with some kind of knowing. The soreness went away, and as she watched, the discoloration around the wound cleared.
"Hypnosis?" she said as the lumpie released her. "Or are you an empathist? If you can do that . . ." She pointed to her black eye. "That hurts, too."
The trio studied her face, and there was a rapid exchange of finger signaling. The small lumpie pointed to her eye, then to her cheek and lip, and then to the left eye. There was more finger waving.
Lian felt her knees beginning to shake in a delayed reaction from the fear of being trapped by the computer. "If you'll excuse me," she said, staggered a few steps past them, and sat down on the floor.
The consultation ended. All three dropped to their feet and padded over; the self-appointed healer explored the left side of her face with its fingers. It was like being touched by tiny soft erasers. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The erasers hesitated, then continued. After a few seconds she tried to open her eyes, and fingers gently pushed the lids down again.
She sat there, not really thinking, yet with a dozen different impressions going through her mind. Why did she trust the lumpies like this when she would not have allowed a similarly strange human to touch her? They needed names; she could not continue thinking of them as big and small and medium. And why did that thing want her language if it wasn't going to talk? Perhaps she was going mad and none of this had happened.
"That's enough, thank you," she said, and opened her eyes. "I want to get out of here now. I have had quite enough for today. I am an astrophysicist, not a guardian. . . ." She paused, wondering why she had used the word "guardian" when they were attempting to take care of her.
She stood up rather unsteadily and began to walk out. The lumpies followed, still looking anxious. The
cameras watched them cross the floor and exit up the ramp. At the gate she paused, then stopped to tug the wedge away from the track. Without a word, a lumpie touched the switch and the gate slid shut behind them.
"Perhaps you already have names," she said as they retraced their route through the ruined hallways. "But I don't know them. So please don't be insulted ... if you understand. . . . You are Cuddl
es, because you do that a lot," she told the largest of the three. "You, my small healer, are Poonie. And our switch operator is Naldo."
They padded along beside her, their stubby gray feet almost noiseless compared to her two booted heels, their eyes sure in the dimness that made her stumble. When she repeated their names, touching the shoulder of each one as she did so, they smiled up at her, sweet, vacuous smiles, all the knowing that had briefly appeared before now lacking. Lian felt a great urge to cry without knowing quite why. She decided it was nervous exhaustion from being so frightened.
It felt very good to emerge into the sunlight again. From the bottom of the hill, looking back at the vine-covered cliff, she found it hard to believe what lay behind it. The sun's position told her it was long past noon. She headed back toward the dig, thinking of all she had to report.
"Dr. Farr is going to be so excited!" she said, remembering the undisturbed dust on that floor. Suddenly she noticed there were no footsteps behind her. She turned. The lumpies were nowhere in sight.
"Poonie?" she called. "Naldo?"
"Lian? It's Scotty. Lian? Is that you?" Dr. Scott came hurrying along the path, looking worried. "Who were you calling?"
"Lumpies. They were right behind me. . . ."
"Where did they go?" Then without waiting for an answer, "And where did they get those names?"
Lian shrugged, half embarrassed. "Me."
"Why not?" Dr. Scott was staring at Lian's face. "Forgive me, but you heal very quickly! The swelling's gone from your eye since this morning. There's only a little bruise left on the comer."
"I thought it felt better," Lian said, not wanting to explain it all at the moment, not wanting to betray. "Did you think I was lost? Is that why you were looking for me?"
"Oh, no. It's lunchtime, and we thought maybe your watch was broken in the crash. Did you see anything interesting this morning?"
"I've been ... all over." Lian hardly knew where to begin, and she no longer was sure she wanted to. It wasn't that she didn't like Dr. Farr or Dr. Scott, but none of this was really her responsibility—not the dig or the lumpies.... She would be here less than a week, and then she would never see any of them again. She would go back to the observatory, back to working and studying alone, back to where, if she was late, nobody noticed she was missing. Not even a lumpie.
"Dr. Scott—uh—Scotty, how much do you know about lumpies?"
"Why?"
"I want to know. Actual facts. Not feelings."
"They can weave—I told you that. They seem friendly. None of them bite." She paused to think. "They eat fruits and berries and roots. They are very clean. They go swimming in the river in the morning and again before dark. If they weren't so large, they would make perfect pets. As you probably have decided, judging by the names you've given them."
"Do they hunt?"
"I don't think so. I don't think they like meat. Or perhaps they're afraid to kill things. When the bider-necks—they're ugly little batlike—"
"I've seen them."
"Well, sometimes they go after a lumpie."
"They eat them?" Lian was horrified.
"No. The odd thing is, they don't. They just seem to like to torment the lumpies. A whole flock will land
on one animal, crawl all over it, making a screeching fuss. But they won't bite it more than once, and then only slightly. The other lumpies will drive them off and then stand there with tears running down their faces. It's a very pathetic sight. I saw it happen twice, and I'm not sure, because it's hard for me to tell the animals apart, but I don't believe I've seen either victim of the harassment afterward."
Lian thought that over. "Maybe those two lumpies were dying?"
"Why would you think a thing like that? They died of J trauma from being attacked, you mean?" She frowned. "Do you think lumpies are that sensitive?"
"No. Well—maybe? Bidernecks frightened me."
She didn't want to say what she really thought and what suspicions of hers this story might confirm. As scavengers the bidernecks could smell illness in a creature—the scent of a fever, the sweetness of hemorrhage. They were genetically coded to recognize weakness, anticipate death. But they could not digest species alien to their world. If the lumpies knew this ... it was possible they had come to recognize an attack by bidernecks as a sign of approaching death and wept to see it.
It was also possible that the lumpies were timid and cried because the bidernecks frightened them. Still, the lumpies had come to help her. . . .
"Have you ever heard anything sing around here?"
"Have you?"
"Yes, today," Lian said. "Have you?"
Dr. Scott didn't answer right away, and when she did, her words seemed very deliberate. "There is a place in these woods, beyond the spot where we met back there ... I was walking alone one evening . . . the first day we were here. I was watching the sky, glad to be out of it . . . glad to be alone for a change. . . She stopped and they walked in silence for a bit.
"And?" Lian prompted her after a polite interval.
"I don't know what. A low, mournful song, very long, with infinite variations on a single involved theme.
It made sense—mathematically, anyway . . . the moons were up, the shadows were dark. When the wind made the trees move, the shadows changed."
"Were you scared?"
"I was terrified," Dr. Scott said. "And I don't know why, Lian, but it seemed to me then—and it still does now that I think about it—that the song was sung by something at least as intelligent as ourselves. Perhaps that is what frightened me—that idea." She shook her head and smiled apologetically. "I don't like to remember that. Did it affect you the same way?"
"Is that why you came out to find me? Because you were frightened here?"
"No . . . well, maybe a little. But did you hear a song like that?"
"No," Lian said. "But I heard a song. Like a greeting, or maybe just an everyday song. Has anyone else heard singing out here?"
"If they have, no one has mentioned it, and I didn't want to bring it up for fear of scaring people unnecessarily. It's an unknown . . . what do you think it was?"
Lian shrugged. "A lumpie?" Her voice was almost wistful with hope.
Dr. Scott started to laugh and then saw Lian was serious.
"Why?" she said, too gently, a small worry entering her eyes.
"Because." Lian wasn't going to risk being laughed at again. "I . . . just do. Is Dr. Farr still at the dig?"
They arrived back at the dig in time to hear a chorus of "ahs!" Dr. Farr and the others stood on the bank watching two tolats in the pit below. They were trying to cut a hole in the wall of one of the two square structures they had unearthed.
They were using torches designed to cut through the most exotic and resistant of metals or metallic plastics. But whatever this particular substance was, it not only was not cutting, it was deflecting beams so powerful their heat made the exposed red clay boil like magma.
It was hard to tell who was most excited: Dr. Farr, who saw in this indication of an ancient race with a highly advanced technology and possibly a civilization to match; Klat, who immediately wanted the substance analyzed to learn if it was derived from amalfi technology; or the tolats, who looked upon this resistant substance as an engineering problem to be analyzed, solved, and forgotten.
Lian had come back with the full intention of telling 53
Dr. Farr all about her discovery. But now as she stood there listening to all the divergent opinions, she realized that to tell Dr. Farr would be to tell the entire staS. Diplomat that he was, he would include everyone to avoid bitter professional jealousies and general ill feelings among staff members. And that would be not only right but necessary for the harmony of the expedition.
She trusted him but not all the expedition crew. She knew nothing about them. If she talked too much . . • suppose the tolats decided to analyze a lumpie by testing its mental and physical capabilities or even dissecting one or more. This was legally a Cla
ss Five world; the lumpies were officially "wildlife," vulnerable animals. They could be hunted, by permit, or collected for zoos.
There was no way she could report what she found without involving the lumpies. If she omitted all mention of them, one look at the interior of the place, with lumpie tracks and finger marks all over, would show they had entered there. The staff might think nothing of that if it were not for the switch plates and, above all, how she gained access to the dome. These were all educated people; if it was obvious to a complete amateur that the buildings showed a link between lumpie and ruin, it would be more obvious to an expert.
They are going to find out sooner or later, her common sense reminded her, but not because I betrayed the lumpies or their old computer.
"Lian! There you are," Dr. Farr called, and she jumped as if he could read her mind. He came up the walkway to join her. "Did you find the site interesting?"
"Very. I walked quite a distance."
"Find any artifacts on the surface?"
"No," she said honestly.
He nodded. "That's the curious thing about this place. There are no artifacts. No middens. Just structures. It's almost as if it were a model city. As if no one ever lived here. Fascinating, but"—he stared off into the pit—"a bit discouraging at times."
Lian thought how easy it would be to cheer him up and how much of a relief. "Dr. Farr?" she began, then stopped. If the lumpies had wanted to tell somebody else, they would have.
Something in her expression made him regard her more closely. If she told ... it would be to please him and to ease her own sense of responsibility toward the lumpies—hardly admirable motives. "I—uh—would you please tell Scotty I've gone up to camp to have my lunch?"
One of the man's eyebrows raised questioningly, but all he said was, "Certainly." She had the feeling he was watching her halfway up the road.
Before eating, she went to her quarters to shower and change. Her clothing had become dusty and grass stained during her morning jaunt, and she was unaccustomed to grime of any sort. Observatories were almost surgically clean places. En route to the dining hall, she put the soiled garments into the autocleaner and paused for a moment to watch them writhe.
