The foothill of red-grained rock formed an additional barrier to mutual discovery. No smoke came from the Terran encampment because they still had converted heat His eyes swung to the natives' valley and only because he looked carefully and long was he able to detect the faint gray plume of smoke, like a vague tentacle against the deep olive of the porous-tree needles.
He grunted again, confounded that the preceding two phases of allegedly meticulous survey could have missed such evidence. Now, if this were a hibernating race, he conceded grudgingly, perhaps they had been in their burrows or caves by late fall. But it hadn't been late fall when the orbiting robot had photographically mapped the planet. He sniffed and the aroma of burning wood touched his senses faintly. Faintly but unmistakably, burning wood. The two human scouts shouldn't have missed that in thirty days, Reeve argued. They were in our valley and, unless they goofed off in their reports, in this one too, because a description of this stand of wood was mentioned.
Late fall, though, Reeve mused, that's cold here. But, if they use fire in the spring, they surely use it in late fall. So how come? How come? Reeve swore softly to himself and sighed deeply.
He could barely accept the unalterable facts intellectually, let alone emotionally. Whatever the diplomatic repercussions, he was rebellious. And grateful that Pat and the kids would at least be able to touch down. God, it had been such a long time since he had had Pat. And a year made such differences in a child. Would his Ilsa be the same grave-faced, girl-woman he had left, so determined not to upset her daddy with tears? And Toddwell it was odds to even that he'd probably shriek; from five to six was a long time for a kid to remember his father. Reeve smiled as he pictured the reunion.
Then the injustice of his situation closed in on him again. He still couldn't see how Spacedep and Codep could have slipped so badly. And we're left holding the bag! He picked up a piece of the red shale examined it closely in sudden interest. A bag of rocks! He skipped the shale across the ground, watching the puff of dust it kicked up as it ricocheted off the rock wall.
You wait and you wait and you hope, and bribe, and cajole, and suck up; all for a chance to get out of the man-run on Earth. You get the chance, by taking the long-shot gamble of specializing in nothing and everything, and by the grace of adroit maneuvering and the proper slots on the IBM card. Then some nearsighted, stinking, half-assed Scoutsthey probably never moved from their damned ship for fear of a purple fungusreport unoccupied a world very obviously too well occupied.
Savagely Ken launched another rock after the first.
He was examining another stone, a white one with lavender flecks, when a distant sound caught his ear. He paused but heard nothing more than the sound of the winged life in the trees, cackling and chirruping with complete freedom. Slowly he rose, slinging the recorder to his back. As the searching tongue prods again and again at the aching tooth, Reeve looked back over the valley where he had hoped to live his life and raise his children. He sighed and settled his hat on his head, well back so his face was fully visible. Then he turned back to the forest.
I cannot give this up, Ken vowed as he started resolutely down from the ridge. A memory of the greenless, treeless, granite and aluminum jungle of his home Sector superimposed itself on the forested slope. I want this for my children. And, God damn it, I want it for myself.
The forest enveloped him coolly. He kept his eyes open for any other sign of life. The porous wood trees grew to sixty or seventy feet, branching out twenty feet above the ground with widespread limbs, twig ends tufted by green, three-sided needles. Survey pictures showed that in fall the needles turned a deep red-purple. The ground was covered by the yearly droppings, now a rich reddish-brown, making a springy mulch. Grass and seedlings would find it hard to push their way up through the dense cover, so the forest had an uncluttered, parklike look to it.
The houses of the village (Gaynor had counted fifteen while Reeve was busy snapping shots), were not yet visible. They were closer to the river in one of the natural clearings where an outcropping of the red rock had made rooting difficult. Aerial maps of that area, again showing not a single habitation, indicated that the river, dropping a sudden five feet, created a natural fall thirty feet across, flanked by great slabs of rock, flat, gently sloping up to the forest edge.
If the cats wore clothing, Reeve smiled, an excellent place for women to wash and spread things to dry or for fishermen to spread their catch to cure If, he added to himself, their culture was advanced enough.
The fishand Reeve ran his tongue around his teeth at the thought of the succulent red flesh edible without a hint of the aftertaste of artificial origins. On his father's salary, real food had been an impossibility. Pat had tasted honest beef meat once, but she had found it tough to chew. She wouldn't find the well hung game here tough, Reeve vowed to himself smugly. He'd become quite adept as a butcher and was trying his hand at smoking and quick freezing meats.
A flurry of birds drew his eyes upward and he stopped, looking to see if any feathers dropped. You could bring back hundreds of feathers. Wait a minute. Had his passage set them in flight or something else? Were the catlike natives aware of his presence, and watching him secretively?
It makes little difference when we meet, Reeve told himself, so long as I have a chance to get enough of their language on tape so we can communicate. If I can only talk to them and tell them how much it means to be able to . . .
He had rounded a cluster of trees when a sphere, in an all too homey shape, bounced off a tree trunk and rolled to a halt at his feet. Instinctively he bent to pick it up as two small bodies came bounding toward him and skidded to a stop. The two species froze and regarded each other with surprise.
Reeve picked up the ball and the other two, eyes wide, moved closer together as if for support in confronting the unknown quantity before them.
Close up, the resemblance to cats was uncanny, Reeve thought, returning the solemn stares solemnly.
The great green eyes regarded him from under straight wide brows, dark pupils narrowed against the orange sun. Flattish noses were broad at the nostril over the lipless wide mouths. The chins were short bridges in the middle of the wide hinged jaw. The lobeless ears had tufted tips Each childfor their very appearance and attitude cried youth to Reevewore a belt around his middle. A short sheathed knife hung from it without covering their obvious maleness. Their skins were a light fawn, like a soft velour, but their heads were covered with a darker tan mop of hair that hung to their ear tips. Visible between their spraddled legs were short tufted tails, stuck straight out behind them in surprise.
Careful not to smile for fear a smile might mean hostility to them, Reeve made several one-handed catches. He pointed slowly to the taller of the two cubs, then indicated that he wished to return the ball to him. With an easy, underhand throw, he returned the ball. Solemnly the cub, ears twitching briefly, caught the ball, holding it in both hands without looking at it. Reeve saw the retractable claws unsheath just long enough to secure the catch.
That was a good catch, fellow, Reeve said quietly, putting all the approval he could into his tone.
Both sets of ears twitched rapidly. The two looked at each other a moment, then turned their attention quickly back to Reeve. He held up his hands suggestively and crouched like a catcher. Two pairs of round green eyes widened further. The taller cub, keeping careful hold on his ball, blinked and nodded hesitantly. Reeve sensed it was gratitude for the return of the ball. Neither cub appeared afraid of him but clearly they had never seen his like. Reeve had the impression of two well-brought-up young men waiting for the adult to speak.
He straightened up and pointed toward the village.
Could you boys take me to your father?
The taller cub turned to his companion and Reeve hastily thumbed on the recorder. He caught the last part of a growled collection of sounds. The smaller cub shrugged and made a grimace that suggested, How should I know what to do next?
The tall cub growled out another phrase, his wide mouth in profile open almost to his ear.
The other shrugged again and turned around, starting off toward the forest. The tall one regarded Reeve seriously for one more moment. Then, inclining his head toward Reeve, turned, leaving Ken to follow him.
Chapter V. RETURN
REEVE WONDERED if the homeward trek seemed shorter because the agile native led him to a lower saddle of the ridge or because he was so elated by the initial contact. God knows the stinking recorder felt no lighter and, in the hot midday sun, both he and Hrrula were becoming fragrant. The native smelleddifferent: a not unpleasant difference, Reeve decided, though the odor brought no comparison to mind.
Hrrula's narrow feet with their vestigial webbings and claws gave him a springy step and more purchase in the slippery shale and the thick ground cover than Reeve's boots. A tail would be a handy thing in mountain climbing, Reeve thought inconsistently as he panted up the slope behind Hrrula. You could do without body ropes, maybe. How much pull would a tail take, he wondered, resisting an all but uncontrollable urge to grab the appendage as an assist to the top of the ridge.
Hrrula fortunately stopped at the summit, looking questioningly at Reeve. Ken wondered if the Hrrubans might possibly be telepaths and that Hrrula had caught his thought.
Our colony is down there, across the river, Reeve began briskly to cover his momentary embarrassment. He pointed, watching with fascination as the Hrruban's eyes narrowed to slits. The houses in their grove, similar to the Hrrubans' village, were invisible through the trees.
What was obvious from this angle was the plowed field in which various forms of Terran grains were already planted. Beyond that were the fenced pastures awaiting the arrival of the precious farm livestock on the colony ship.
The Hrruban gazed out over the valley, his sensitive ears twitching. He turned his head, its dark mane cropped close to the skull in the manner in which most of the natives Reeve assumed to be young wore their mane hair. Hrrula's yellow-green eyes glowed with the first trace of excitement or interest Reeve had detected. All the Hrrubans seemed possessed of superb dignity and poise Reeve hoped he had been able to mask his own nervousness. A guy's sweat got sour with nervousness. The Hrrubans' noses twitched so frequently, they must be sensitive to odor.
Hrrula now nodded at Ken and the two resumed their trek.
Reeve was not sure whether he was pleased or annoyed at Hrrula's walking language exercise. The native stopped to name each new bush or tree they passed. He would frequently point to one he had already identified, look questioningly at Reeve to see if he remembered. It kept Reeve alert, not alone trying to retain the mass of new information but looking ahead in order to see which specimen might be indicated next. But he remembered to get all of it down on tape.
That Hrrula insisted Reeve learn the native name for everything caused a complex reaction in the Terran. Dautrish, the colony's botanist, had already lovingly catalogued each new species. Well, maybe Dautrish could sell that catalogue for its esoteric value. Reeve's respect for the Hrrubans, however, increased with this insistence on the use of their own words. Of course, there wouldn't be time to learn much Hrruban but the practice might just help Reeve wangle a transfer to Alreldep. Ken shook his head, those rolled 'r's were hell to get and he was sure this was a pitched language as well, like the old oriental dialects. One misplaced inflection and you had delivered a gross insult back to the first generation.
There, again, was incongruity. A pitched language is the mark of a very old civilization, with plenty of time for shadings and nuances in expression of ideas.
Hrrula had stopped by one of the ironwood trees on which grew an immense parasitic vine. Reeve recognized it immediately as the one that had given Dautrish violent cramps from a simple smear-sampling.
Rroamal. Rroamal, Hrrula said, very soberly shaking his head from side to side. He made as if to touch it and drew his hand back quickly, shaking it as if it hurt.
Bad? Rooamall, Reeve tried, then grabbed his belly as if he had a case of Dautrish's cramps. He added a realistic groan.
Hrrula's mouth widened and he nodded appreciatively.
Another item of information to add to my list, Ken thought. Our body chemistries react similarly to at least one common irritant.
Hrrula held up one digit and repeated the word for the vine carefully. Inwardly Ken groaned again and motioned Hrrula to repeat the word once more. The native did and Ken made another attempt to get what he thought he heard as a rising inflection on the second vowel sound. Hrrula, listening attentively, approved the result and they moved on. In his mind, Ken kept practicing the sound, trying to impress on himself the correct inflection.
By the time they reached the river and the plastic skiff moored there, he had a variety of useful words, three with similar sounds but different inflections. With what he had on the recorder, this was a good start. Hu Shih ought to enjoy it, Reeve thought
Hrrula knelt by the boat, oblivious both to Reeve and the sudden appearance of Gaynor and McKee on the opposite shore. Hrrula carefully got into the skiff, looked at the far side, felt on the coamings and then spread his hands wide, questioningly.
He is used to a paddle, Reeve decided, smiling to think how surprised Hrrula would be when he started the tiny motor. The river current was too swift for a paddle-propelled vehicle.
Instead of a surprised or fearful reaction, Hrrula nodded approvingly as the engine took hold and the skiff cut the current efficiently. Hrrula hunkered down quietly, curling his tail around his toes, folding his arms around his knees, facing the Common.
Reeve threw the mooring line to Gaynor and stepped off quickly.
By God, they are cats, Gaynor said. And he stinks!
Watch it, Reeve said, keeping his face and voice pleasant. He turned a bit so that he could dig Gaynor warningly in the ribs. This is Hrrula who seems to have some position in the village and was sent with me by the chief, Hrrestan.