H.M. Hoover - Lost Star (12 page)

"Or to the videocom to be the first to report the discovery and take credit for the story?"

"Oh, they wouldn't do that—" His eyes locked hers. "We'd have half of Limai here by dawn! Every fortune hunter—" He turned and looked over the group. "Zorn? May I talk to you a minute?"

The tolat scurried over.

Dr. Farr led them a discreet distance away from the others and explained the situation. "If anyone talks to Limai and tells outsiders we have a starship here, we may attract visitors we can't handle. People might be hurt."

"This is probable," agreed the tolat, and added, "We will fix videocom. Also airtrucks. Isolate camp."

"Can you do it before those men get there?" said Lian.

"Can tolats jump?" replied Zom, and left them. They watched him hissing to several of his people, and then four tolats hurried from the dome

"What made you think of that so quickly?" Dr. Farr asked as they walked back to where they could see the screen.

lian shrugged. "I guess I've been worrying about what would happen to the lumpies ever since I suspected this place was theirs."

"Speaking of the lumpies, is it my imagination or do they look somehow different?" he asked.

Lian studied them for a moment. "Their faces have expression now," she said. "They aren't pretending. . . ." She faltered for lack of words to explain it. "Suppose you had to pretend to be stupid to survive— so that you didn't threaten anyone who could hurt you. What sort of look would you wear on your faces."

Dr. Farr immediately crossed his eyes and let his jaw hang slack. "Perhaps drool a bit," he added.

"You couldn't keep up that pose for long," said Scotty as she joined them. "If you were intelligent, you'd do what the lumpies do—deadpan."

"But
why
did they do it?" the man persisted. "They had the technology here to sustain them on arrival, give them time to acclimate before moving out. Yet they built nothing, did nothing. I don't understand it."

"I think well find out soon," said Lian. "The computer is talking to them. Whatever it's saying . . ."

Like a person long deprived of fellowship, the Counter could not stop talking once it started. There was so much to tell, so long a time to make up for, so many things it wanted its people to know. With each passing hour of sunlight, the Counter thought of more and more information it needed to impart.

One by one the smallest lumpies fell asleep on their feet, arms folded over their chests, heads resting on the legs or side of whoever was nearest to them. Some of the adults were staring too fixedly at the screen. Lian checked her watch. More than three hours had passed since the film began. No wonder they were glassy-eyed.

She tried to pay attention, but her mind was wandering. What was going to happen to the lumpies? Why did her mother make her feel as if she were six years

old sometimes? This dome was much too dirty to house a computer; there was a haze in the still air. Dust motes danced in the light cone focused on the computer housing. And it was too hot in here. Lian opened her jacket, unsnapped the cuffs, and yawned. There was a camera watching her; she stared up at it, thinking, Why don't you take a break so we can all go and eat?

The Guardian was turning off; the Counter could not pinpoint why. The Guardian's thought processes seemed almost totally occupied by images of airborne particles and edibles. The Counter's own people were similarly preoccupied. The Counter fell quiet to reflect on this new input With one minute portion of its mind it tested long-unused connections and found them responding.

To its great surprise, no sooner had the Counter stopped talking than its entire audience rose to leave. In less than two minutes the dome was empty, the gate closed. The Counter was alone again. It thought it over. In human terms its analysis could have been summarized as, "It must have been something I said."

Like children released from school, the lumpies
ran out into the sunshine. Although they didn't seem to be talking, their eyes, their smiles, their very gait gave the impression of ebullience. By the time Lian, Scotty, and Dr. Farr reached the outer door, the last of the lumpies could be seen romping up the earthwork and down into the thick woods on the other side.

"Do you think we should follow them?" asked Scotty. "They look so happy ... as if they were going off to celebrate." She looked rather wistful.

"I don't think it would be polite," Dr. Farr said.

"Probably not," she agreed with a sigh. "We don't know their customs. They might feel we were intruding on a family gathering."

"I think they're just hungry and went to find lunch," said Lian.

"Something so mundane?" asked Dr. Farr.

Lian returned his grin, then looked at the door. "I don't feel like going back today. I spend almost all my time indoors at home."

"At your age? Why?" Dr. Farr obviously did not approve.

"Because we're up most nights working, and we sleep during the day. Besides, there's no place to go. Just a road between the telescope domes. Half the time the weather is too cold to go out." By mutual unspoken consent, they began walking back to camp.

"But you're so close to the best climate on Balthor,'
⁹
the man said. "Don't you ever go on vacation? Perhaps fly to the coast, or down here? We've been here only six weeks, and I know a dozen scenic places where you could camp."

"No," said Lian, and seeing him frown, explained. "Most of our staff, and my parents, too, prefer being indoors. They come from cities or colonies; they've spent most of their lives on spaceships or observation satellites. Always enclosed. Large open space frightens them. Insects and animals terrify them; they think everything is going to bite. They like walls around them and floors below, rooms preferably carpeted and climate-controlled. They are children of the Container Generation."

The man gave her an appraising look. "You've observed all this? Or did they tell you how to feel?"

"No one admits things like that. They don't even think about them."

"But you do?"

"I get very restless. That's why I make the supply runs, just for an excuse to get outside, to get away, to see trees and water. Limai isn't scenic, but at least—"

"It's a change of scene?" he said, and frowned thoughtfully. "Your parents, Lian—what do they plan for you? What was their purpose—"

"What was that?" Scotty raised her hand for quiet. From somewhere deep in the woods came a cascade of sounds. They stopped and held their breath to listen, and the sound came again. "It appears to be a song."

"Or lumpies talking," whispered Lian. "Listen to

the short phrases. The computer must have convinced them it was safe to talk."

"Do you think so?" Scotty's eyes lit up. "Let's see if we can find them? We don't have to intrude. We could stay hidden and watch."

"You must excuse me," whispered Dr. Farr. "I must get back to camp to call Tsri Zahr," and he left them with a wave. Scotty and Lian hardly saw him go.

It was like following elusive birds through the woods. Either the lumpies didn't want to be seen or their voices carried much farther than was normal. A flutelike call would sound, seemingly from behind the next bush. It would be answered by a warble from a nearby tree. But when they reached the tree, there was no one there. For large creatures, they moved with great stealth. No snapping twigs or rustling leaves betrayed them. They left no tracks the two humans could read.

They followed for twenty minutes or more, always within earshot but never sighting them. The farther they got from the site, the more the character of the forest changed. Thicket, vines, and second growth gave way to larger and larger trees, spaced in almost parklike order with enough sunlight to allow grass to grow beneath the leaf canopy.

Lian temporarily lost interest in the chase. "Does this look natural to you," she asked, "the way these trees are growing?"

"I hadn't noticed. Actually I don't know much about trees. How should they grow?"

"At random. Not in arrangements. Not all the same kind. I think this is an orchard."

"If the lumpies planted it, then they haven't totally regressed," Scotty said vaguely. "I wonder what kind of trees they are." Her main attention was still on the distant voices.

Lian shook her head; she didn't know. The trunks were thick, the leaves broad and shiny. As she walked, staring up at the branches, she stepped on something hard. Thinking it was a stone, she ignored it, only to

step on another and trip, falling onto the grass. She rubbed her ankle and reached for the offending stone, wanting to throw it with that same illogic that makes a person kick a chair after stubbing a toe. The object her hand closed over was not a stone but a green gourdlike fruit.

Dr. Scott hurried over and knelt beside her. "Are you hurt?" Lian shook her head and handed her the fruit.

"I've seen the lumpies eating these, but they were yellow," Scotty said, and detached a small sheathed knife from her belt.

Once through the outer rind, it was like cutting bread dough; the fruit split with reluctance to reveal a pale gold interior and five brown seeds. Lian took the half offered for examination. Where her fingers gripped, the fruit crushed to juice. The odor was winy, vaguely sickening with fermentation.

"I think these are windfalls," Lian said. The word "windfalls" evoked a memory, and for a moment she was in an orchard on Earth, smelling the scent of ripe peaches, feeling the warmth of Earth's sun on August-bare skin.

Dr. Scott had risen and wandered over to the nearest tree, where she found several yellowish fruit and picked them. Lian saw her cut one open and comment on it without really hearing what she said.

"Lian?" Scotty was holding a chunk of fruit on the knife blade.

"What?"

"This is more like the fruit I saw the lumpies eating, and . . ."

"De leep," said someone so close by that they both started. A small lumpie was standing behind them. "De leep," it said again. It stood erect and reached between them. Its little gray fingers closed deftly over the chunk, slid it off the blade, and popped it into its mouth. Then with both hands it took the whole fruit from Dr. Scott and walked off. As they watched the lumpie go, Cuddles, Poonie, and Naldo walked into

view partway down the orchard and stood watching them.

"It was hungry," said Lian, and laughed to see the infant march away.

"It talked!" Scotty said. "It talked to us! Maybe the others will talk now."

"Maybe . . ." said Lian, trying to remember what it was she had known while in the black hole of their computer. She suddenly glanced down to see a large gray beetle positioning itself to feed on the rotten fruit they had tossed aside. Her lip curled in disgust, and she stepped away. At that Scotty noticed it and gave a little "ugh!" of alarm. From the lumpies came a trill of sounds, and Cuddles came running.

The lumpie looked at the beetle-crowned fruit and then at Lian with an expression of puzzlement, as if to say,
"This
bothered you?" To illustrate the commonplace quality of beetles, he pointed to several more of the insects plowing about among the windfalls.

"I really don't care for beetles," Lian said sheepishly, "especially so close to me."

Cuddles smiled, shook his head in an almost human gesture, said something that sounded like "orakani saroo," and hurried off to rejoin his friends.

"He said, 'They're only fruit bugs.'" Lian frowned. "But not because I understand the words. I just know . . . from the computer. . . ."

"How could you know that?" Scotty paused to think. "There's something about that computer you haven't told us, isn't there? I wondered why it conveniently showed us where they came from—and that was the only thing it showed us that we could understand. . . ." When Lian didn't answer right away, the woman said, "O.K. But if it can do what I suspect now it can, if it can scan our minds . .. that's frightening."

"Not unless someone plans to harm it," said Lian, and then half-grinned. "You're the one who hinted the first day I was here that lumpies might be telepathic."

"And their ancestors built the computer—" Scotty

shivered and rubbed the goose bumps that rose on her arms. "I don't want to think too much about that now. Let's go find the tolats and see how they're doing on translating."

The three lumpies looked at one another as the

humans left the orchard. There was a brief exchange of ideas; their decision was shared with the rest of the family to let them know where the three were going. As an afterthought, Naldo added the location and solitary status of Payta minor, still eating fruit. Then they set off to find the tolats with the recording devices.

En route they discussed how strange it was that the appearance of the beetles revolted Lian-Guardian when

the appearance of the tolats was so much more frightening.

It was that quiet time of day between work's
end and dinner when the staff was occupied with naps or laundry or other personal matters. Lian had spent part of the afternoon watching the tolats strip all the grass and soil off the meadow to expose a section of hull made of a substance that appeared to swallow light. It looked and felt like black jade, oily-smooth. For all its luster, it gave back no reflection.