Phylogenesis (6 page)

He knew he would be watched while his work was being evaluated. It would not do to inquire too quickly into rumors about a nearby mysterious project, or to ask frequently about clandestine government operations in the area. Honydrop was located a respectable distance away from and on the opposite side of a high, sharp mountain ridge from Geswixt, the hive that would be the support base for any eccentric out-world operations. Somehow he would have to find a way to pay the place a visit without arousing any suspicions. Honydrop was a typical agricultural community, albeit a markedly isolated one. Its inhabitants went about their business free of immoderate surveillance. Geswixt could be different.

If it wasn’t, then he had come all this way and gone to all this trouble—not to mention sacrificing two levels in status—for nothing.

As the weeks passed he found himself settling in among his fellow workers. They were a hardy lot, the thranx of Honydrop. They appreciated every word of his poetry, every mannered gesture, dip of head, and spiral of antennae. Even the less inspired of his workmanlike refrains drew praise. His success, he felt, was due more to the ardor he emanated while performing than to any brilliance of invention. As a soother, he was inescapably impassioned. This additional emotional warmth was gratefully embraced by the citizens. Unsolicited commendations piled up in his record. There was talk of recommending him for an embedded shoulder star.

At any time, he could have requested a transfer to a larger, more rewarding venue. Promotion within his calling also beckoned. He made no effort to procure either.

What he did do was strive to make friends with anyone engaged in transportation, be it the operator of one of the loaders that gathered the plump fruit from the scattered fields, the drivers of internal individual transports, or the occasional visiting cargo pilot. A check of maps showed that it would be futile to attempt to walk overland to Geswixt or anywhere in its vicinity. Without a full environment suit he would never get across the intervening ridge, and there was no viable reason why a poet should need to requisition that kind of extreme-weather gear. It left him no choice but to try and hitch a ride some day.

The difficulty was that despite their geographic proximity, there was little interchange between Honydrop and Geswixt. The produce harvested by Honydrop hive went directly out of the mountains and down to processing plants in the nearest city. Nothing was shipped from Honydrop to Geswixt, and all necessary supplies came straight up from the lowlands. For all the formal intercourse that took place between the two hives they might as well have been on opposite sides of the planet.

He was sitting in one of the two community parks, surrounded by supplementary humidity, dense tropical growth, and edible fungi, basking in the artificial light that filtered hazily down from the ceiling, when he was approached by Heulmilsuwir. A logistics operator who, like many, admired his work, she had become a good if casual friend.

“Sweet tidings to you, Desvendapur.”

He set his scri!ber aside, mildly irritated at having been interrupted in midcomposition. “Good day, Heul. Are you on off-time?”

“For a little while.” She settled herself on the bench next to his, straddling it with her abdomen, her trulegs splayed out to either side. “You’re still working, even here?”

“The curse of creativity.” He made a soft, humorous gesture to take the edge off his tone. “Even a soother needs soothing. I find that in all of Honydrop, this place does that for me.”

“Only this place?” Reaching out with a truhand, she stroked his slick, blue-green thorax just below the breathing spicules.

Idly, he mused on the slenderness of her ovipositors, curled up over her lower abdomen. “There are others,” he conceded with grudging warmth.

They made inconsequential but diverting chatter for a while. Then her tone changed. “Am I wrong, or in the intervals when we were talking days ago did you mention that you would like to visit Geswixt?”

He fought to suppress his initial reaction. While his face was inflexible, his limbs were not. He felt he largely succeeded in hiding from this female what he was feeling. “A change of scenery, however transitory, is always a welcome diversion.”

She indicated disagreement and clicked her mandibles sharply for emphasis. “Not if it means going outside. Personally, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to go to the trouble of visiting Geswixt. Everything I’ve heard about the place suggests that it’s a grim, spare little mining station, with nothing in the way of amenities.” She gestured with a truhand. “Less so even than Honydrop.”

“What do they mine there?” he asked absently. “What kind of ore?”

She gestured uncertainty. “I do not know. I think I remember hearing something about an ongoing dig for nonferrous materials, but I don’t believe they’ve actually hit an ore body yet. They’re still searching.”

“And tunneling a lot, I imagine. A mine would mean many tunnels. A great deal of earth and rock would have to be moved.”

She eyed him curiously. “Why, yes, I suppose so.” Light flashed off the multifarious golden mirrors that were her eyes. “Anyway, if you really want to go there and have a look around, I’ve found someone who might take you.”

His hearts pounded a little faster. “That is interesting. Would I know this person?”

“Perhaps. Her name is Melnibicon. She’s a driver.” When Des indicated his ignorance, Heulmilsuwir elaborated. “We’ve met a number of times, in the course of checking her manifests. It seems that there is a need for a certain medicine in Geswixt. A small quantity of a little-used enzymatic catalyst. Rather than wait to have it shipped from Ciccikalk, our department is sending some over the mountains to Geswixt. A quick courtesy run. Melnibicon is taking it. Since her transport will be pretty much empty except for a single package of medication, I thought she might have room for a passenger.”

“You asked her on my behalf?” Had he not made a conscious effort to suppress it, Desvendapur might have been moved to affection.

“I knew you were interested, and I have enjoyed your recitals so much—and your company.”

“I thought travel was prohibited between Honydrop and Geswixt.” He watched closely for any reaction.

“Restricted. Not prohibited. Otherwise, clearing the requisite bureaucratic strictures would prevent Melnibicon from making the trip. Officially, casual travel is not supposed to take place. But now and again, people do make the journey.” Leaning forward, she reached into a beautifully embroidered, hand-woven abdominal pouch and handed him an embossed plastic rectangle.

“This is where you will find her. She’s leaving mid-midday so she can make it back before dark. It is better to do these things on the cusp of the moment. Too much planning can lead to exposure. Are you going to meet with her and try to do this?”

Gathering all four trulegs beneath him, he slid off the bench. “I don’t know,” he lied. “I’ll have to think about it. If I am found out, it could mean trouble for me.”

“I won’t tell.” The logistics officer flexed her ovipositors coquettishly. “You will get there, have your little look around and visit, and be back before anyone in a position to object realizes that you’ve gone. Where is the harm in that?”

No harm indeed. Eventualities cascaded through his mind like logs swept before a spring monsoon. “I will be back tonight,” he declared flatly.

“Of course you will.” She abandoned her own bench to stand alongside him. “And I will be waiting to greet you, to hear all about your furtive visit to exotic Geswixt.” She gestured amusement.

He started to leave, composing the necessary preparations in his mind. Then he hesitated and looked over at her. “Heul, why this interest in me? Why the persistence on my behalf?”

“You’re a poet, Des. You conform so differently.” With that she was gone, scampering off in the direction of one of the south tunnels. He watched her depart, then headed for his modest quarters. There were several small items he wanted to be sure and take along with him—just in case.

If he was lucky, the opportunity might arise not to come back.

Melnibicon was an older, taciturn thranx whose ovipositors had long since lost their resilience and collapsed against her wing cases. After assuring herself that Desvendapur had come alone and had not been followed, she directed him into the back of the cargo lifter’s cramped cockpit. No one saw him board, the rest of the warehouse facility’s crew being fully occupied with tasks of their own.

Granted clearance, the lifter trundled out through the weather-tight double doors onto a small, spotless landing area. Des was jolted when the craft took off straight up, rising to a height of several hundred feet before leveling off and accelerating eastward.

“Sorry about that.” Melnibicon grunted a terse apology as she kept a careful watch on her instrumentation, occasionally glancing up to take in the daunting view forward. “I’m used to hauling cargo and produce, not sightseers.”

“It’s all right.” Settling himself onto the narrow, empty bench alongside her, he studied the view outside. Rugged peaks and jagged ridges saddled with rilth separated the fertile but cold valley beneath which Honydrop lay from the higher vale that was home to Geswixt. Once again, he saw that attempting to cross between the two on foot in anything less than full environmental gear would have brought a quick death to the hardiest thranx. In contrast, the lifter would make the trip in less than an hour.

He felt some sort of thanks was in order. “This is very good of you.”

A reply that was more grunt than whistle assailed his ears. “This job is boring enough. A little risk is worth it for a little company. Talk to me, poet. Tell me about yourself, and the world beyond this cold hell. How goes life in Ciccikalk?”

“Why ask me? You have pictures, images.”

“That’s not the same as hearing it from someone who’s recently been places. Use flowery language, poet. I like being soothed in High Thranx.”

He complied as best he was able, resorting to improvisation when knowledge and experience failed, and all the while doing his best not to look outside. Doing so reminded him of the cold death that awaited below.

In spite of his nervousness he found that the time passed quickly. When Melnibicon indicated that they had crossed the ridge and were descending into Geswixt, he forced aside his unease and pressed his face and antennae to the port.

The view was less than instructive. Not having any idea what to expect, he was still disappointed. The panorama was less than inspiring. Certainly it dispensed no revelations.

Below them, a long, narrow valley stretched from the impossibly inhospitable high mountains that lay to the north off in the direction of the distant sea. A fast-flowing river ran down the center of the valley. Unlike the country above and around Honydrop, the land showed no signs of cultivation. Only the rubble-free disc of the landing platform indicated the presence in the valley of intelligent inhabitants. They were flying over one of the most remote regions on Willow-Wane. Geswixt, like Honydrop and every other thranx hive built in a less than ideal climatic zone, would of course be located entirely underground.

What did you expect? he admonished himself as the lifter hummed through a pass between two rilth-clad crags. Hordes of humans dashing about in all directions, or genuflecting at the approach of every craft making an arrival? The absence of any visible indication that the bipedal mammals were present was hardly conclusive proof of their absence.

Neither, however, was it encouraging.

After an uneventful descent, Melnibicon set the lifter down gently on the landing disc and taxied forward until they were once more within a sheltering enclosure and surrounded by other vehicles. The assortment of battered, weather-scoured craft parked in the Geswixt terminal betrayed no hidden uses. The terminal looked exactly like the one in Honydrop, only larger. Cargo was being unloaded from one aircar while a small lifter was being filled with an assortment of crates and barrels from a pair of container transports. There was no evidence of unusual activity or exceptional security.

If it was after all nothing but rumor, he thought disappointedly, then he had wasted not just an afternoon but the past several seasons of his life on a quixotic, futile quest.

The muted hum of the lifter’s engine died. Slipping free of the pilot’s bench and gear, Melnibicon turned to look back at him. “Welcome to Geswixt. Is it what you expected?”

He gestured noncommittally. “I haven’t seen anything yet.”

She generated the high-pitched whistle that was thranx laughter. “Have a look around. I need to make delivery of that medication. They’re waiting for it, so it shouldn’t take long. Then I am going to take a little break for myself, chat with some fliers I know here.” She spoke to the lifter and it replied with the correct time. “Be back in four time-parts. I’d rather not fly through these mountains after dark, even if the lifter does most of the flying itself. Just because the route is preprogrammed doesn’t mean I don’t want to be able to see where we are going.”

Disembarking, he found himself alone in the spacious terminal. With no specific destination in mind, he wandered from craft to craft, observing handlers at work and asking what he hoped were innocuously phrased questions that would give the impression he knew about something that might or might not actually exist. The replies he received varied from the bemused to the straightforwardly indeterminate. In this manner he passed most of the remainder of the afternoon, at the end of which period he was no more enlightened than he had been prior to leaving Honydrop.

One young male in particular was having a difficult time shifting a stack of six-sided containers from an off-loading platform onto the back of a small transport vehicle. The machinery he was using to perform the work was balky and uncooperative. It was a rare example of thranx patience wearing thin. Having nothing else to do and already resigned to returning to Honydrop devoid of the edification he sought, Des wandered over and offered his help. If there was nothing here to stimulate his mind, at least he could exercise his body.