Quofum (10 page)

This gesticulating exchange continued until dusk. At that point the river-dwellers gestured their farewell and dove. N’kosi spotted all three of them swimming back upriver in the wake of the boat. As the interior of the vessel’s hull began to glow softly, providing illumination in response to the fading daylight, three of its passengers gathered near the stern. It being Haviti’s turn to handle the controls, she participated from where she sat behind the console.

N’kosi spoke up first, voicing the conclusion they had all already reached independently.

“No mouths. No visible or audible means of modulating air. Instruments found nothing unusual in the way of electrical discharge. No nonvocal vibrations of any kind were detected, subsonic or otherwise.” Using his right hand he brushed sweat from his forehead. “Communication was strictly via gestures.”

“A certain minimal amount of body language may also be involved,” Haviti declared from her position behind the console. “We can’t say that all that twisting and rolling was not involved.”

“Physical punctuation.” Tellenberg was shaking his head in disbelief. “I guess none of us ought to be surprised. We’d already agreed that the biology of this world was insane.”

In the dim light Valnadireb’s feathery antennae bobbed forward. “So now we are faced with the reality of a fifth indigenous sentient race. As if intended to drive us mad, it bears even less evolutionary relationship to the four other intelligence species we have previously encountered than any of them do to one another.”

“They could be related to the stick-jellies.” N’kosi’s halfhearted conjecture sounded feeble even to him. Whether comprised of possibly mating pairs or bizarrely designed individuals, the dexterously gesticulating water slugs were like nothing else the team had encountered so far.

Tellenberg let out a quiet sigh. “I wonder what we’ll come across tomorrow. Artistic air bags? Literary forminifera? Intelligent rocks?”

“Now you’re being silly,” Haviti chided him.

He looked back sharply. “Am I? Am I the only one who thinks we’ve stumbled onto some vast cosmic joke?” Spreading his arms, he gestured at the nearest shore, sliding past in silhouette. The sounds that emanated from its trees and bushes and other as yet undefined growing things were epidemic with aural absurdities.

“The more we learn about this world, the more unarguable it becomes that what we’re encountering here is not natural. Biology and evolution simply don’t work this way. The Commonwealth consists of dozens of habitable worlds whose biota have been studied, catalogued, and researched in depth, plus dozens of others that have at least been cursorily surveyed. Some of them are home to flora and fauna more outrageous than imaginable. But all of it, everywhere, regardless of whether it’s carbon-or silicon-based, regardless of whether it’s fueled by oxy-nitro or methane, liquid or dissolved sulfates, reactive organic hydroxides or reverse protein electrophoresis, follows certain laws.” Rising, he moved to starboard and leaned his hands on the rail as he stared at the dark, raucous, unfathomable Quofumian forest.

“Mushrooms do not evolve from starfish. Gorillas do not arise from liverworts. Birds do not develop from sequoias.”

“Thranx do not develop from tegath,” Valnadireb put in solemnly, to fully emphasize the point.

Tellenberg turned back to his colleagues. “So what do we have here? External intervention for purposes of amusement, as was suggested earlier? A globular zoo whose keepers we have yet to contact? The hand of a deity, albeit a mighty capricious one? Or am I missing a conclusion that should be obvious?”

“I hope so,” muttered Haviti. “Anarchy is bad for biology. It complicates the classifying of reports.”

“Something unique is going on here.” Pulling a drink tube from a storage container, N’kosi popped the top, waited a few seconds for the contents to cool, and swallowed thirstily. Lightly smacking his lips, he turned to study the slowly passing forest. “Maybe we aren’t coming up with the right explanation because we simply don’t possess the proper reference points. If what we’re encountering lies outside the body of accepted biological knowledge, perhaps we have to find a way to step outside existing wisdom in order to explain it.”

“A neat trick.” Taking the tube from his friend, Tellenberg chugged down the rest of the contents. “When you figure out how to do it, please let me know.”

“You’ll be among the first.” N’kosi smiled.

“We could all get drunk,” Haviti suggested. “My ancestors recommended kava. I think the camp’s synthesizer could manage the necessary molecular chains.”

“Comforting, if not enlightening.” Tellenberg tried to imagine the brilliant and insightful Haviti stumbling around the camp dining area stone blotto. Half the vision was appealing, the other half oddly unsettling. Having no idea how he might cope with such a reality he put it resolutely out of his mind. Faced with an entire world of unreality, he really had no time for personal adjuncts.

Other drink tubes were brought out and their contents sipped or chugged after first being heated or chilled, depending on individual thirst preferences. Food joined fluids in being consumed as the boat continued its way downstream. As they proceeded they were serenaded by flanking forest and star-filled sky and even gurgling, burbling river with a chorus of sounds as riotous and lunatic as the organisms that must be generating them. Others might have found the nocturnal refrain vaguely disturbing. To the quartet of slightly giddy researchers drunk on speculation it was an auditory carnival marred only by the lack of time available for study and their inability to identify the source of each and every shriek, scream, squeal, and screech.

There had to be an explanation, Tellenberg mused furiously as he gnawed on his rehydrated food wrap. There had to be a conjoining link. It couldn’t all be random. Nature was diverse. She could be passionate, even wildly eccentric. But she was never, not ever, arbitrary. It was the same on every world humanxkind had ever explored. Until now. Until Quofum.

Tilting back his head, he peered out from beneath the craft’s protective canopy. The stars were different from those viewable on the world of his birth. But they were still stars. The spaces between them were filled with a largely understood quotient of particles and energy. Natural laws were in place, even if some still remained to be discovered and quantified. The clock that was the universe ticked onward.

Where, in that vast panoply of organized matter, was the key to the irrational world on which they had landed?

7

It was no slight to Araza that Boylan was unwilling to take his word for it that the condenser was once again in full working order. The captain no more trusted his own observations than he did those of his technician. For Boylan, proof of accomplishment resided in reality, not words.

He had visited all three main modules plus checking on Irrigation and had spoken to dozens of separate spigots before he was satisfied that the camp’s water delivery system was functioning properly once again. A casual observer might have deemed such behavior obsessive. Boylan would not have bridled at the designation. Alone on an alien world parsecs from the nearest help, obsessiveness might prove detrimental to social interaction, but it might also save the lives of those who thought they were being treated with condescension.

Better to have lots of running water, he felt, than a few cozy friendships.

The afternoon wound down without incident. That is, if one discounted the attacks made by three entirely new and totally unrelated species of flying predators, the several efforts by terrestrial organisms of varying size and strength to frontally breach the charged perimeter, and at least one attempt to burrow beneath it. The latter two did not escape the lethal effects of the fence. As for the aerial carnivores, their repeated and misguided efforts to penetrate the convex plexalloy and nanofiber roof of the compound gained them nothing more than broken teeth, split talons, and bruised egos. At its worst, the banging and scratching they caused was no more than distracting.

Have to get together with Araza to rig up some kind of motion-activated fright lights or something
, Boylan decided. It wouldn’t do to have large predators continuously slamming into and banging off the roofs. If nothing else, the constant clamor would disrupt work inside the lab module.

A mist-laden evening was clothing the surrounding forest in gray gossamer when he finally found time to check the main storage bay for gear that might be used to improvise the crude equivalent of an alien scarecrow. Located at the rear of the lab module, the large chamber contained equipment and supplies that had been brought down via the shuttle but had yet to be sorted out and put in its proper place. There was no lock or security seal on the door. No one would steal supplies to which they already had legitimate access, and no natives could get in. So Boylan was more than a little surprised to find the small room a mess.

Everything should have been sorted by department, individual researcher, predetermined experiment, and stacked neatly on the floor or placed on the integrated shelving that protruded from the module’s inner wall. What he found instead were opened cartons with their contents exposed to the air, smaller containers piled haphazardly in one corner, boxes of supplies that had been accessed but not resealed, a jumble of organic materials marked
FRAGILE
that ought not to have been stacked at all, and loose bits and pieces that should have been returned to their original packing instead of being left where they had been unpacked. There was no getting around it: the storage room was a disaster area. It had not been one when the science team had departed upriver. Therefore the scientists could not be responsible for the storeroom’s current intolerable condition. And since he himself had not visited it for days, the only possibility remaining was…

“Araza!”

Boylan could have raised the tech on his communit, could have located him in an instant, but he wanted to confront his subordinate in person and without warning. How could someone charged with maintaining the camp treat a critical portion of its supplies so cavalierly? While carrying out assigned tasks with reasonable efficiency, Araza had always been somewhat indifferent to orders. But until now there had been no reason for Boylan to accuse him of abject carelessness. Handling vital materials and important equipment in such a slipshod fashion not only threatened to ruin important experiments before they could be run, it posed a danger to far more significant stores such as medicinal supplies.

He found the technician in the dining area, eating his evening meal. Araza looked up as the captain entered. If the tech noticed anything amiss, it did not affect his appetite. After an acknowledging glance and nod, he looked away and returned to his food.

With exaggerated deliberation, Boylan sat down in the seat opposite, on the other side of the thin but sturdy table. “Enjoying your supper?”

Araza forked up another mouthful, chewed, swallowed, shifted his attention to the side dish of reconstituted pasta with its improvised alfredo sauce. “Yes, thanks.” When this reply produced no response, he added politely, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“In due course.” Boylan leaned back in his chair. “I don’t like eat until after I’ve assured myself that everything is done for the day and that camp is in optimal run condition for following morning.”

The next forkload paused halfway to the technician’s mouth. “Isn’t it?”

“Not quite. Not exactly.” The captain’s stare was, if not exactly murderous, at least accusatory. “There a certain storage room whose contents could use modicum of professional attention. In fact, if I did not know better, from looking at it just now I would think it had been vandalized.”

Araza unhurriedly put down his fork, picked up a hand wipe, cleaned his fingers, and set the soiled wipe aside for recycling. “The camp perimeter is intact. Nothing has been inside that could do such a thing.”

“I know.” Sarcasm and satisfaction in equal measure now poisoned Boylan’s tone. “That reality would seem to lead us to an incontestable conclusion: that present condition of storeroom in question is responsibility of someone already inside perimeter. Pardon if I exclude myself.”

For the first time Araza appeared to show a reaction beyond mere annoyance. “With the scientific team away, the contents of the storeroom are not presently being utilized.” He hesitated. “I realize that there is some disarray.”

“‘Disarray’?” Boylan eyed the technician in mock disbelief. “You mean, as if everything in room had been sucked into a black hole only to be spit out again?”

Pushing his plate aside, Araza started to rise. “Since it upsets you so much, I will stack and organize everything in the morning.”

“Sit—down,” Boylan growled tersely.

For an instant Araza appeared to freeze. His expression did not change. Only after a noticeable pause did he finally comply and resume his seat. Boylan was neither intimidated nor slowed. “I want it fixed now. I want everything back in its proper place, on its indicated shelf, with appropriate labels and spacing. Tonight.”

Unruffled as ever, Araza eyed his superior. “Why? I will have everything back in place before the researchers return. Right now there is no one else to see the room except you and I.”

“Well, ‘I’ want it put right tonight.” Boylan smiled thinly. “I’ll sleep a lot better knowing that the necessary work has already been done. It benefits both of us. You will have a lighter workload tomorrow. We’ll both need the rest. The team will have crates and bottles full of specimens to be unloaded, brought to camp, and stored.”

“Tonight.” Araza checked his chronometer.

“Tonight,” Boylan told him. “Now would be good time to start.” Again the smile. “So that you don’t forget.”

“All right. You are correct, Captain Boylan. If I get everything that needs to be done out of the way tonight, the workload tomorrow will be lighter.”

“That’s the spirit!” Pleased with the result of their little confrontation, Boylan rose. “You don’t have to rush off. Just get on it soon.”

“No.” Pushing back his chair, Araza stood and stepped away from the table. “I have finished my meal. Perhaps when I have performed the remainder of this evening’s work I will pause for a drink and something else to eat, and to take time to relax. You know that I am not much of a dessert person.”

“Me, I love the sweets too much.” Patting his stomach as he headed toward the food prep unit, Boylan started around the table. “If I’m still up, I’ll join you for that drink.”

“There should be time,” Araza murmured as he walked away, heading in the direction of the lab module.

Boylan had finished his main courses and was scooping up last of the cupuraçu sundae from a self-chilling bowl when the technician returned. The captain frowned.

“That was quick. I know you can work fast when you want to, Salvador, but that was too fast. Surely you haven’t finished the job yet?”

“No.” Araza’s voice was even softer than usual. Not like that of a man dead, but like that of one for whom the other half of a conversation had little meaning. “I have only prepared myself to do the work.”

“Well, damn it then—and damn you, too, man!” Boylan pushed the empty bowl toward the center of the table and wiped his mouth with a cloth. “Is this some kind of joke? Did you think I wasn’t being serious when I told you to clean up the storeroom
tonight
?”

“I do not think this is some kind of joke,” the technician replied evenly. “Before I can think of doing the work you specified, one other matter must be dealt with first.”

Boylan’s sarcasm was in full flower. “Wonderful! What is it this time? You have dirty underwear that need emergency cleaning? There is chapter in a book you need to finish reading? Serious ear wax buildup that desperately need attention, perhaps?”

Unexpectedly, Araza smiled. There was no humor in it. “You have a voice, Nicholai Boylan, that is deserving of both respect and contempt. It serves you well in your chosen profession. It is to be regretted that your ability to manipulate timbre and words is not matched by an equal skill with numbers.”

What’s going on here
? Boylan wondered to himself. Something was not right. Most obviously, something had gifted the normally taciturn technician with uncharacteristic articulateness. What had suddenly inspired in him the power of speech? And not just minimally comprehensible speech, either. Then there were his eyes. Normally distant or disinterested, they had acquired a new and disturbingly intense focus that had not been there before. It was as if during the transition from dinner to dessert the tech had suddenly become a different person.

Or was it possible, the captain mused, that this was the real Araza, and the persona of shambling, competent, minimally communicative technician they had known all along was the false one? If that was the case, then what was he dealing with here? In the absence of information it was no disgrace to plead ignorance.

“I don’t know what you talking about, Salvador. But I do know that I don’t like you attitude.”

“Only the guilty find detachment threatening.” Araza’s gaze bored into the captain’s.

In the course of a long career Boylan had been compelled to stare down many men, some women, and not a few aliens. It was therefore hard for him to admit to himself how badly the mechanic was unsettling him.

“Do you recall,” Araza continued, “a loan of some sixty thousand credits, advanced to you by one Char-pesh Hambilah-ah-Salaam, in the city of Barragath, on Thalia Major?”

The captain blinked. Corroded bits of memory bestirred themselves and linked together to form coherent thoughts. “Good God, that was twelve years ago!”

Araza nodded once. “Your recollection is correct. A ship captain and expedition commander is required to have some small command of figures. Therefore you should be able to roughly calculate the interest that has accrued.”

Boylan gaped. He started to laugh, stopped when he saw that the technician was dead serious. “I can’t believe this. A minor but still important scientific expedition, with much at stake and already a great many new discoveries made, and I am expected to take the time to explain a prehistoric personal fiscal misunderstanding to mission technician? I don’t know how you know about this or what misleading and outright wrong tales you have been told, but is no concern of yours. Especially not now, not here, on this world and in this place.” Slowly, he pushed his chair back from the table. The last remnants of his sundae formed a streaky puddle in the bottom of the serving bowl.

“It is a concern of mine, Nicholai Boylan, as I have been charged with extracting recompense.” Araza stared solemnly across at the captain.

Now Boylan did laugh. How could he not? The situation was so preposterous, so outrageously absurd. “A bill collector! Someone go to trouble of engaging a highly competent, if often slothful technician to collect an outdated credit advance while in the course of an expedition to a new and potential hazardous habitable world. It beggar belief.”

It was plain that the man standing on the other side of the table did not see the same humor in the situation. “The loan is not outdated. There is no statute of limitations on the payback of monetary advances from this particular source.”

Boylan took a deep breath. “You have been misinformed, my friend. Misinformed and deceived. When it was made, no time limit for repayment was placed on that old loan. Not by Hambilah-ah-Salaam nor by his associates nor by their company. It will be repaid, I imagine, in due course.”

“Twelve years.” Araza’s gaze had not wavered. It occurred to Boylan that the technician seemed to have stopped blinking. An unusual and curious skill. “Plus interest. Due on demand. Due now.” The faintest of smiles reappeared to mar an otherwise fixed expression. “Tonight.”

“Now?” The captain had moved beyond laughter. He was starting to get angry. He had an expedition to supervise, four eager and excited scientists returning to camp in the morning, hostile flora and fauna to deal with, several species of belligerent native sentients to somehow simultaneously study and keep at arm’s length, and—no time for this.

“There are details involving this financial transaction of which you are obviously ignorant. Maybe I’ll discuss its history with you tomorrow. Or next week. When I can find the time. There is no time now. We both have much to do.” Rising, he glared across the intervening table at his obdurate subordinate. “I have a responsibility to my team and to the Commonwealth.”

“You have a responsibility to your creditors.” Araza was quietly implacable.