Quozl (23 page)

He hadn't planned on building a fire. His sleeping bag would keep him cozy-warm and fire-building was hard work. His tuna-fish sandwich supper required no heating. But he built a blaze anyway, hurriedly gathering bits and scraps of wood and dumping them atop a bed of pine needles. He sacrificed a dozen matches before the miniature pyre reached for the sky. The relief he felt in the presence of light was no less than that of early Cro-Magnon.

The fire was not big enough to make any truly dangerous animal hesitate, but it was sufficient to force the shadows back into the trees. They were the real threat.

The stream behind him ran fast and deep. It would shield him from any unnameable horrors trying to approach from that direction. Its watery roar was comforting. With the fire at his front and the water at his back he climbed into his sleeping bag and began skinning a Hershey bar. He would eat the sandwich next, deliberately reversing the usual order. The gesture of independence made him feel better.

It was a moonless night and he wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed. The shadows kept their distance. He tried to concentrate on the impossibly bright stars which spilled like sugar across the black velvet sky. After a while the brightness blurred and ran together to form a pale opalescent veil over his eyes.

The sound of splashing woke him. He blinked in the uncompromising light of morning, shooting up in bed so fast that he knocked the rain flap askew.

Turning to the river he saw nothing. The noise could have been made by a large rock tumbling downstream. The sun hurt his eyes and he blinked them clear, dizzy from waking up so quickly. Nothing came stomping through the stream toward him; no grizzly, no runaway elk. There was only the roiling glassiness of the water itself.

As he turned to check the smoking residue of his fire he heard it a second time.

Again he saw nothing, but this time he struggled determinedly out of his sleeping bag and into his jeans, walking toward the river until he was standing on a flat piece of granite that protruded into the water. The current had excavated a deep pool here. It would be a swell place to swim if you didn't mind the cold. Absently he bent to gaze into the depths.

With a shout he leaped backward. Then he cautiously returned to the edge. Whatever was down there wasn't coming after him, gave no sign of ascending. It lay on the bottom, staring back up at him while thrashing its limbs uselessly. Tiny bubbles rose from its small mouth in a steady stream. It looked almost familiar. No, he decided, it
was
familiar. He'd seen it once before, long ago, when he was just a kid. It was the creature he'd never quite been able to convince himself had been a figment of his imagination. Or else it was another one just like it.

“What are you doing down there?” He yelled at the top of his lungs in hopes of being understood above the river's roar. The creature continued bubbling at him. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? You're gonna freeze if you stay down there.” He felt no fear, only concern. “Well, if you just want to lie down there, that's okay with me.”

This statement resulted in many more bubbles and a rather more energetic waving of the slim, furry arms. Same as before, he noted: seven fingers on each hand.

“I'm not coming in after you.” Chad was insistent. “Do you want to come out? If you do, then why don't you start swimming?”

It struck him that perhaps the creature didn't know how to swim. At thirteen Chad didn't realize that another animal's lung capacity might be inadequate in relation to its weight to create natural buoyancy, something humans took for granted. It did occur to him that it might be injured and that its wounds might not be visible.

He knelt to splash river on his face, banishing the last vestiges of sleep. Steeling himself against the cold, he lay flat on the rock and shoved his arm as far into the water as he could. The chill raced up his shoulder.

Nothing made contact with his hand. Then he felt soft digits flailing against his own. Getting as good a grip as he could manage, he pulled. The creature rose slowly until a grimacing Chad was able to sit up and get his other fingers around the alien wrist.

The long-eared head burst the water like a leaping dolphin's, coughing and spitting and choking exactly as Chad would have if he'd been stuck underwater for too long. Chad realized that the creature hadn't been lying there on the bottom of the pool for fun and relaxation.

Clinging to the thin wrist, he started working his way across the rock toward dry land. Still expelling water, the creature dug at the surface with its right hand, trying to help.

Once clear of the water, Chad got both arms beneath the alien's and heaved. It was much slimmer than he was but surprisingly heavy. The tight clothing it was wearing left its arms and legs bare, with a reinforced slit in the back to permit the small tail egress. Heavy earrings dangled from the drooping ears. Brightly colored lengths of fabric hung soggily from thighs and upper arms. Its saturated fur made it heavier than normal.

“We gotta get you over by the fire.” Chad spoke between clenched teeth, struggling with the alien's weight. “Come on, help me. Stand up.”

The huge sandaled feet impeded their progress as Chad half dragged, half carried the creature through the grass to his campsite. He lay the heavy alien on his sleeping bag and left it there as he went to try and coax the remaining coals back to life.

Water continued to dribble from one corner of the creature's mouth. It lay with both arms at its sides, sucking air in a ragged, broken rhythm that gradually grew smoother. It was definitely alive and improving. The huge eyes remained shut. Lying there vomiting water it was not half so impressive as Chad remembered it, but then very little is as impressive at thirteen as it is at eight.

“Hang on.” He worked furiously with the fire. He was delighted and not a little surprised when the twigs and dry pine needles he kept adding burst into flame. He kept adding fuel until he could feel the heat. Then he took the bottom of his sleeping bag and dragged it and its load as close to the fire as he dared, turning it sideways so the alien would receive the maximum amount of heat. Unpacking a granola bar for breakfast, he sat and nibbled on it as he waited.

“I hope that makes you feel better.”

The huge eyes finally opened. “It does.”

“So you
can
talk, I didn't think I'd imagined that, either.”

“I've been studying your language for a long time. It's not difficult. Only the volume is hard to deal with.”

“Yeah, you do talk awful soft.” Chad immediately dropped his voice to a whisper. “I guess with ears like that you don't need to shout, huh?”

The alien's left ear kinked in a certain manner, but Chad was oblivious to the humorous significance of the gesture. “Thank you for lowering your voice.”

“You're welcome. You sure looked funny lying on the bottom of that pool, kicking like crazy and going nowhere. Why didn't you come up? Did you want to drown?”

“Drown?” The creature seemed to hesitate. “No, not drown. I was …” A long, slim arm lifted to gesture in the direction of the fire. “I saw your camp. You were sleeping and I intended to study and depart, but I thought I recognized you by the light of your fire.”

So it was the same one, Chad thought. He didn't know whether to be gratified or disappointed.

“I wanted to be certain,” the alien was saying, “so I tried to find a place where I could view you more clearly without exposing myself. I walked into shallow water, thinking to conceal myself within, but I failed to pay sufficient attention to where I was stepping.”

“Hey, don't feel so bad. I've done that a lot myself. But why didn't you float?”

“Float? We do not float as you Shirazians do. We sink. Our body density is such that in proportion to our air retention capacity we …”

“I get the picture.”

“It was a most peculiar sensation. As you can well understand we do not voluntarily immerse ourselves in water over our head unless we have at hand a means for instantly raising ourselves above the surface. We have studied your sport called swimming. It does not relate to us.”

“I'll bet. You called me what?”

“A Shirazian. That is our name for your world.”

“Kinda nice.” Chad rolled the alien sounds around his tongue. “Has more flavor than ‘Earth.'”

“You must not think very much of your world to call it dirt.”

“Hey,
I
didn't name it. Don't get on my case. Don't you guys ever take baths? You are a guy, aren't you?”

“I am male, yes. We have other means of cleansing ourselves.”

“You sure know a lot about us.”

“We've been watching your television broadcasts and listening to your radio for some time,”

Chad laughed and Runs-red-Talking drank in the peculiarly distinctive sound. “Mom's always telling me there's nothing educational on tv. I always knew that was a crock.”

“When I was lying on the bottom I tried to call to you.”

“All I saw was bubbles, and my ears aren't as big as yours.”

“Yet you correctly identified the situation and saved me. I am eternally in your debt. I will meditate many times for you.”

“Yeah, well, forget it. Look, I know you're from another world. Which one, huh? Not from the solar system, I bet. There's nothing habitable in the solar system. No matter how big your ears are.”

“Truth, I am from much farther away, but I cannot tell you exactly where.” Regardless of his savior's youth, Runs knew such questioning skirted dangerous territory. He made a weak attempt to adjust his attire.

“Are you alone, or are there more of you here?” Chad was looking past the sleeping bag and its half-drowned occupant, his eyes scanning woods and river beyond.

Runs-red-Talking was beginning to realize that despite the debt he owed this young Shirazian there was much more at stake here than an individual friendship. He would have to watch what he said from now on. Go cautiously, advised the Samizene. Go with care.

“I am the only one here now,” he replied truthfully. To change the subject he asked, “Why are you here alone?”

“I could ask you the same question. I think we might get the same answer.” Chad used a long branch to stir the fire. Bits of flame ascended to oblivion. “I like being on my own, exploring on my own.”

“Exploring?” The alien's ears twisted sharply. “You are right. I feel much the same way. My Elders, however, do not approve of such things.” He wasn't sure “Elders” was the proper word to use in this context but it was the best he could think of.

“Yeah, my ‘elders' aren't too hot on the idea either.”

“You must not tell them about me,” Runs said solemnly.

“I tried that before, the first time we ran into each other. They wouldn't believe me then and they wouldn't believe me now. So why should I tell 'em?”

The response was nearly too facile, Runs reflected, but what else could he do except believe and trust? He sensed no guile in the youth. He would have been more certain of his feelings if the Shirazian had been a tree. Trees never emitted false emotions.

“My name's Chad. Chad Collins.” He extended a hand. Runs studied the five fingers, hesitated, then reached for the boy's face with his own hand. Chad intercepted the gesture and shook entwined fingers.

“Don't look so weird. It's a greeting.”

“Slightly different.” The chill was slipping from the Quozl's bones as the fire continued to warm him. “But why do you display your teeth in a hostile gesture?”

Chad continued to grin. “It's not a hostile gesture. It's a smile.”

“Smile, yes. A concept I did not encounter except in the abstract. It is much more difficult to deal with in the flesh. Among my people the showing of teeth is considered a threat.”

“Like with dogs, huh? Okay, I'll try not to smile too much. What's
your
name?”

“I am called Runs-red-Talking, as near as I can translate into your tongue.”

“Weird.”

“No, what is ‘weird' is that none of your names appear to mean anything. How can you have a name that is just a sound, signifying nothing?”

“A name's just a name.” Chad shrugged indifferently. “What else can you do with those ears?” The organs in question bent forward sharply as Runs held them stiffly parallel to the ground. They then described a perfect pair of arcs, meeting behind his head and pointing directly backward.

“Rad. Where's your spaceship? Somewhere around here?”

“No. Not around here.” Traditional Quozl skills of verbal circumlocution served him well in his conversation with the native without forcing him to lie. Truthfully enough, the
Sequencer
wasn't “here” but several valleys and ridges to the west. “Here” had the virtue of being by its nature an imprecise geographical term.

“You live near here?” Runs inquired.

“Not really. We come up for a couple of months every summer. Nobody actually lives here. The government won't allow it. This is all wilderness area. Nobody's allowed to build a house or even bring in a car. Our cabin's an exception because my grandfather built it before the government declared this area wilderness, see?”

“Not really.” Runs was dubious. “You are going too fast for me. I have trouble enough with your language without having to comprehend complex concepts as well.” Besides which I must look horrible, he thought, untangling an earring.

“Sorry. Our home, the place where we live, is in Los Angeles. That's a big city way south of here.”

“I know Los Angeles.”

“You talk like a girl with a sore throat,” Chad commented unexpectedly. “What do you do? Are you in school?”

“Everyone is always in school.”

“I don't think I'd like living with you guys.”

“I work at repairing things that break.”