Quozl (10 page)

“Barbarians whose technology has exceeded their social maturity,” was Stands-while-Sitting's opinion. “They have not yet learned how to sublimate their violent tendencies in art and other forms of social discourse as have we. They operate sophisticated machinery with unsophisticated minds. Socially that creates a volatile situation. I wish we could learn something more of their psychology. That will have to wait until the philologists can decipher their language. One thing is clear: their violent tendencies are reflected in their behavioral responses. That's why they are so loud. The very volume of their speech is an indication of their unrestrained primitiveness.”

“We know so little about them. How can we learn enough to cope without exposing ourselves?”

“Leave that to the experts. All I know is that the
Sequencer
cannot stay up, therefore it must come down. We are going to have to live here.”

It was growing dark once again, the short Shirazian day springing dusk upon them like a fisher's net. They found a place to camp beneath one of the largest furred trees. The two-wheeled platform holding the bodies of Burden-carries-Far and the dead native stood outlined against the dimming light, a mobile icon of failure.

“There was no female present at the dwelling,” Looks-at-Charts commented. “How can that be possible? Surely the native was sexually mature?”

“Perhaps their frequency of coupling is somewhat less than ours.” Stands-while-Sitting was contemplating the alien woods, toying with one of the sharp green prongs that served these trees in place of proper leaves. “They might skip a day or two. Possibly that is where the native had been.” She turned sharply to face him. “Speaking of which …”

It struck Looks that because of their preoccupation with the events of the last couple of days neither of them had remembered to take their daily suppressants. The familiar Quozl trill rushed through him unbidden.

There was no need for words in this strange forest. They comforted each other eight times that night. When morning arrived he felt much better than he would have if they'd spent the time reciting Samizene verses to one another.

The shock felt by those who'd remained with the survey ship was as great as if they'd witnessed the double killing in person. Walks-with-Whispers fainted and it required some effort to revive him. Flies-by-Tail and Breathes-hard-Out both needed treatment to settle their digestive systems and steady their respiration. It took some time before any of them could examine the two bodies in person without hyperventilating. Such was the Quozl reaction to the murder of two intelligent beings.

And his companions had all received training, Looks-at-Charts thought. How would an ordinary colonist react? With a cataleptic seizure? Stands-while-Sitting was right. They could not even think of fighting. Even if they managed to win a few fights, the victors would be mentally impaired beyond repair.

Having recovered enough to argue, Walks-with-Whispers insisted, “We can't return to the ship already. I've barely begun my studies.”

“He's right,” agreed Breathes-hard-Out. “I've just begun to chart the basics of atmospheric movements here.”

“None of that matters anymore.” Stands-while-Sitting spoke with the full Elder's intonation. “We cannot remain here.” She indicated the body of the native. “This individual may be missed by his burrow-mates. While it was not our intention to secure a specimen, events have provided us with one. The facilities for study and preservation exist only on the
Sequencer
. If we delay returning, this invaluable repository of information will start to decompose.”

Flies-by-Tail wrinkled her black nose. “It's already begun to decompose.”

“My point exactly. We cannot risk being discovered here and we have already learned more than we expected to. More,” she said solemnly, “than we wanted to. If this native's reaction to our presence was typical of what can be expected from others of its kind then we are all in danger even as I speak. Our presence on Shiraz is still a secret. Right now preservation of that secrecy is our primary task. We must leave unnoticed while we still have the chance.” She took a moment to preen importantly, underscoring her determination.

The geologist and meteorologist continued to argue against an abrupt departure but it was not a question for serious debate. In an emergency Stands-while-Sitting had command. She was backed up by Looks-at-Charts and Flies-by-Tail. The scientists continued to grumbled even as rapid preparations were made to depart.

There was some discussion about when to leave. It was decided to lift during the darkest part of the night to render visual observation from the surface as difficult as possible. Except they were not leaving, not departing, thought Looks-at-Charts as he secured his harness. They were fleeing with their dead, leaving whatever optimism they'd brought with them in their wake. They were running away to preserve the secrecy of their existence.

It was not how he'd planned to return to the
Sequencer
. There would be no quiet glory, no solemn triumph. One of his best friends was dead and Shiraz was worse than they'd imagined. He would have a different place in the history texts than he'd envisioned.

If the burrow survived long enough to fashion any history texts, he told himself.

Because of the development of Mazna there was ample information in the texts on how to deal with inimical primitive lifeforms. There was nothing on how to cope with a hostile intelligence, not even theories. They would have to develop a plan as it was implemented, knowing that one wrong move could result in annihilation.

His pride surged along with the hovering jets as Flies-by-Tail lifted them off the moist earth and pivoted the little vessel. They were Quozl. He ought to have more confidence in his seniors, in Stream-cuts-Through and Lifts-with-Shout and the others. They would cope because they had no other choice. He found himself reciting the first part of the Ninth Book as they emerged from the forest and Flies-by-Tail activated the drive, sending them soaring into the night sky.

There is no end
.

There is no beginning
.

There is only the middle
.

For such small favors are we thankful

Now is hard enough to comprehend
.

The decon crew that sprayed and checked them for alien bugs were bursting with questions they knew could not be answered. So were the ordinary colonists the survey team encountered in the corridors upon their release from quarantine. Only a few stared impolitely, insultingly. Most managed to keep their eyes on their business and not intrude on the surveyors' spaces, though there were some uncivil eye contacts. By mutual consent the survey team ignored these. No one wanted to deal with matters of common courtesy now. Other outrages were uppermost in their minds.

There had been communication with the
Sequencer
on the way back, however, and despite every safeguard it was impossible to keep all that had happened secret. So there was a perception, a feeling among the thousands on board the ship that something on Shiraz was not quite right, that their new home was not a garden world like Azel. No one knew precisely what was wrong. They only sensed that something was.

The worst rumors about Shiraz could not compare to the reality he and his colleagues had encountered, Looks knew. He ignored the soft-voiced queries of the escort that was supposed to shield him from questions as they convoyed him to the conference chamber. The Captain was there, of course, and Lifts-with-Shout, and Senses-go-Fade, and the rest of the command staff.

When it was his turn he delivered his report as unemotionally as possible. It wasn't easy to ignore the shocked expressions that stole over the faces of his seniors as he described the circumstances of Burden-carries-Far's death and the subsequent killing in self-defense of the Shirazian. It was with immense relief that he concluded, sat down, and listened dully while Stands-while-Sitting presented her report in concert with the audiovisual recordings she'd made while on the surface. The delight the senior staff would ordinarily have experienced at the sight of the true clear sky, the great fur-needled trees, the fascinating alien flora and fauna, was mitigated by what they had already been told. Thus the perceptible air of apprehension that came over the room when the first images of the native dwelling appeared on the projection wall.

Looks had prepared them as best he knew how, but the room was still filled with uncharacteristic expressions of shock and dismay as the interlude with the native unfurled. Stands-while-Sitting's recorder had been running constantly since they'd entered the native dwelling, and while the image skewed wildly with her movements, the recorder's stabilizer still held it steady enough to show the advancing Burden-carries-Far, the explosion at the end of the metal tube, and Looks's response.

Several of the Seniors required immediate medical treatment. There was a pause before the recording resumed, but the journey back to the survey site was all anticlimax.

When everyone had recovered sufficiently from the initial shock, the encounter sequence was replayed at normal speed, then slowly, and then was rotated to provide as many different perspectives on the action as possible. Only then did Lifts-with-Shout lean toward his pickup and speak.

“You are certain there were no other natives in the vicinity? That neither you nor the ship was observed?”

“We cannot be certain of anything,” Looks-at-Charts pointed out, “but we have discussed the matter and believe that except for the single Shirazian we encountered the area was uninhabitated. It was a solitary encounter that took place in a solitary dwelling out of line of hearing and sight of any other Shirazian habitation. In that respect we were fortunate.”

“What of the world itself?” The Captain's voice was a grim whisper.

Stands-while-Sitting rose. “The water is mineral-rich but drinkable. The air is fresh and clean and the proportions conform to measurements made from orbit. As you saw, the smaller native flora and fauna appear harmless enough. The trees are unique, but they are true trees, as true as any on Quozlene. They are soothing to touch and to smell. This is a world worthy of worship. A world meant for Quozl.”

“Except we didn't get here first,” muttered Lifts-with-Shout. He stared at Looks-at-Charts. “You didn't by any chance bring the alien weapon back with you?”

“No.” Wondering if they'd made a serious mistake, he glanced over and down at Stands-while-Sitting for support. One ear flicked briefly in his direction and he relaxed a little. “We thought it important to leave the native's dwelling as undisturbed as possible.”

“It is unlikely that anyone,” Stands-while-Sitting added, “would connect the native's disappearance with the presence of off world visitors, but we thought it best not to leave reason for speculation.”

“You did the right thing.” Both of the Landing Supervisor's ears drooped sadly. “But in this instance I wish you'd done the wrong thing.”

Looks-at-Charts replied calmly. “I had time to make a thorough inspection of the device. It hurls small metal projectiles with penetrating force. Primitive, but it kills as efficiently as any modern weapon. The devices the natives employ against one another are, I am told by staff, similiar except in scale.”

“Horrible,” muttered one of the senior staff members.

“Uncivilized,” sniffed another.

“Once we called such actions part of our own civilization, until we gained the wisdom of the Samizene and matured.” Stream-cuts-Through surveyed the chamber. “This is the first non-Quozl intelligence that has ever been encountered. Let us try not to judge them by our own standards.” There was silence in the chamber, polite silence as they waited.

“Obviously there can be no violence. That violence has already occurred is regrettable. Two intelligent beings have been slain.” Looks-at-Charts had already apologized profusely. He did so anew, and the staff waited approvingly until he'd concluded.

“We cannot fight and we cannot run.” The Captain turned her attention to Flies-by-Tail. “Were you able to tell if you were tracked either on arrival or upon departure?”

“We observed no natives in our immediate vicinity,” the survey pilot replied, “and none of our sensing devices was activated. That is not proof, but it is encouraging. The area we visited was as isolated as the ship's survey staff believed it to be. We came close to no urbanized regions.”

The Captain gestured with both ears. “Before setdown we need to learn more about their aircraft. Are any extra-atmospheric, what kind of fuel do they utilize, what is their speed and range, and how are they armed? We must ensure that the path to the burrowsite is not normally overflown and that the natives can pose no serious threats to the
Sequencer
so long as it remains our whole world.”

A member of Lifts-with-Shout's landing group rose deferentially. “That can largely be ascertained from orbit, Honored Captain. If they are fighting one another they will have their most advanced weapons in frequent use. We can learn where they are being employed and study them with high-resolution instrumentation.”

“Do so,” said Stream-cuts-Through curtly. “We will study your findings and make a determination as to how to proceed.” Her gaze rose as she surveyed the tense assembly. “You will all be provided with any new information as it is acquired, and will make yourselves available individually and as groups for short-notice consultation. I will explore actual options with Senses-go-Fade and his philosophers. Proceed we will, but only in accordance with the precepts of the Samizene.” A unified murmur of approval rose from the assembled staff.

Lifts-with-Shout half stood. “What should be done about preparations for touchdown and inburrowing? The colonists grow anxious. The less they hear, the more concerned they become.”

“And the more wild the rumors that circulate among them.” The Captain acknowledged the Landing Supervisor's concerns with wide-spread ears and a double blink of the nictitating membranes that covered her eyes. “First your people can assure everyone that Shiraz does not have an atmosphere of methane and argon, which is one rumor that seems to have circulated widely.” A few amused whistles lightened the air in the chamber.