Quozl (28 page)

The rest of the day he tried to relax by viewing the most depraved, violent recordings he could obtain from the central library. Only afterward did he feel calm enough to return to his assigned work. Sensing that something was different his friends eyed him curiously, but asked no questions. If he wished to impart information he would do so freely. None would be impolite enough to force inquiry. He might be acting the way he was for personal reasons, in which case the questioner would find himself embarrassed by persistence.

Surely nothing would be done without him first being informed of what had been decided, he thought. He was too central to the matter. But no contact came the following day, nor the next, or the one after. Life went on shrouded in a fog of uncertainty.

So much time passed that he was actually surprised when the summons finally came: a request slotted indifferently atop his morning schedule. No guards came to escort him. They weren't needed. He went quietly and of his own volition though he knew he might be going to his death. That was to be expected. Had he tried to run or hide he would have shamed those who had requested his presence, and though they might be his executioners he could not do such a thing. It would cost him status. Different he might be from those who sat in judgment of his actions, but he was still Quozl.

There were fewer in the room this time and their composition had changed: only three Burrow Masters and greater representation from the scientific community. It puzzled him but he had no time to ponder it. The change could be either to his benefit or detriment. Scientists would not react as emotionally as administrators, but neither would they exhibit any sympathy on the personal level. They were permanently outside his Sama. There were also two philosophers present instead of one: To plead tradition, or to justify his execution?

As he squatted on the central mat he tried to divine something of their intentions by studying individual postures. The atmosphere seemed less hostile. Or was that only wishful thinking on his part?

The senior member of the surface study team spoke first. That indicated that the scientific staff was in charge of this meeting, not the administrators. It did not make him feel much better.

“By all rights and laws you should be excised from the community,” she began. Runs-red-Talking thought he had composed himself but at her words a chill still rattled his spine. Her tone was as black as the inside of her pouch. “However, the situation is akin to a complex molecule. Remove one part and the entire structure collapses.

“If you were removed you would be missed by your human contacts. If they are removed they will be missed by their parents. If the parents are removed they will be missed by their friends. And so on unto cataclysm.” She bent both ears to the sides, one long finger tracing a thin spiral shaved into her left forearm.

“The inescapable result is that if we break any link in this chain of awkwardness you have forged, we may draw more attention to this region than we dare risk. Then again we might not, but we have no reliable scientific model on which to base predictions. The alternative to breaking the chain is to keep it as short as possible. That means you, unfortunately, and your two young human friends.

“I wish only that we could peer into their minds and hearts to learn if they truly mean to guard the secret of our presence.”

It didn't take Runs long to digest this declamation. What the senior was saying, basically, was that they all hated him for what he'd done, they'd much rather see him dead, but that they risked cutting their own throats were they to do so. Therefore, not only was he going to be spared excision, so were Chad and Mindy. And perhaps even more than that. He remembered the promising if reluctant words of the Burrow Master Leader.

He spent several minutes apologizing elaborately, several more humbly requesting permission to speak. “They will say nothing of us to any other humans. I am certain of it. I would wager my life on it.”

“You already have,” said the senior scientist. “You have not yet won, neither have you lost. Your wager hangs perpetually in the balance, defying gravity and reason. A puff of indecision either way could topple you.”

“I have known the young male for more than four cycles. The elder female sibling I do not know as well but she is eager and insistent.”

“It matters not,” said one of the Burrow Masters. “The philosophers and the logicians have made the choice for us. Personally I disagree, but I bow to the intellect of those who know better.” That was what the Burrow Master's words said. His posture suggested that he felt quite differently. Runs would have to be very careful. He had made enemies.

But they can't do anything to me, he thought with wild excitement! I am the first link in the chain they dare not break.

“What, gracious peers, am I to do?”

“You will go back.” Everyone turned to another member of the surface study team. “You will maintain your two contacts. You will
not
expand on them. You will pay particular attention to anything that even suggests either of your friends has spoken of us elsewhere, at which point we will be compelled to consider additional steps. It is hoped that your evaluation is correct and that such steps need never be implemented.

“The colony has acquired a disease which cannot be cured but which hopefully can be contained. You will at every opportunity reinforce and re-emphasize the need for strictest secrecy, reminding these young humans that our very survival here is in their hands.”

“How shall I respond when they question me about us?”

A younger member of the scientific staff rose in his chair. “Tell them as little as possible about our level of technology and the size of the colony. As to our art and social system you may answer freely. Tell them nothing of our military posture.”

“We don't have a military posture.”

“They may infer otherwise. Correct this if necessary. We are peace-loving, harmless, exhausted refugees who wish only to live out our lives in tranquil isolation. We are incapable of fighting.”

“Your pardon, Honored Elders and peers, but I do not understand.”

“It is not for you to understand,” said the Master of Burrow Six. “It is for you to comply.”

“No, he will react more effectively if it is clear to him.” This from the senior member of the study team. She looked over at Runs. “We must make contact with the natives of Shiraz sooner or later. History, reason, logic dictated that it be later. Runs-red-Talking decided it should be otherwise.” He looked properly ashamed.

“As we cannot go back and alter what has occurred, we must try to make the best of it that we can. You have made contact with two young humans. Very well. If they keep our secret the damage is minimal. It may be that we will now be forced to reveal ourselves sooner than planned. In that event it would be useful to have two humans available to act as intermediaries. That they are not trained in such matters is evident from the information you have supplied. That they might be trained in such matters is a thought worth meditating on.

“Hopefully all of us—myself, you, your humans—will expire of old age with the secret of the colony still intact. Should that not come to pass it would help to have at least two humans who could testify to our nonthreatening posture.”

“There is good in everything,” opined one of the two philosophers present. “From now on you will record your meetings. These recordings will provide much useful information. You will be given questions to ask. Here there may be despair, but there is also opportunity.

“Let these two young humans learn about us while we learn about them. When open contact comes in the future we will not have to rely on interpretations of human entertainment transmissions to tell us how humans react in specific situations. We can try out actual scenarios on real specimens.”

Runs balked at hearing his friends described as “specimens” but was in no position to express moral outrage. At the same time he saw the barely repressed eagerness in the members of the scientific staff. They understood the need for secrecy but at the same time they were desperate for accurate information about humans and how they lived. Here was an opportunity, albeit unexpected, to learn about the natives of Shiraz without revealing the existence of the colony.

With a start he realized that as deeply as they espoused secrecy, a few hungered for contact as much as he had.

“I will do the best I can,” he informed his inquisitors. “I am a repair technician, not a trained observer, but I …”

Apparently there was no end to the morning's surprises.

“You will not go back alone. Members of various study groups will accompany you. They will be few, as we do not wish to alarm the humans. If what you have told us is true they will be delighted to meet other Quozl. They know there is a colony. It does no more risk to our existence for them to encounter others, and may even reinforce in some way in their minds the need to keep our presence a secret.”

Rationally Runs had no reason to object. Emotionally it was different. He had done something unique. Chad and Mindy were
his
friends. He had done the difficult work.

Better to share than to die, he reminded himself. It would be stupid to try and keep the humans to himself. Why should he be jealous of other Quozl? Didn't he want increased contact and exchange of ideas? Not only was he to be spared, his contacts were to continue. What more could he hope for?

“We must hurry,” he found himself saying. “The warm season is drawing to a close. Soon my friends will be leaving this region with their parents, not to return until the next cycle. If they are worried about me they may decide to begin a search.”

“Never fear,” said the senior staff member. “You will go to meet them soon. Remember as you do so that you are now acting in an official capacity on behalf of all Quozl. You will receive instruction and training for your new task. You will be provided with an innocuous new title and job description that you can mention to your relatives.

“You have betrayed them as you have betrayed all of us. The continued safety of the entire colony lies loud in your ears.” She bent hers to emphasize her words.

“You all worry needlessly. Once some of you have met and talked with my two humans you'll see how groundless are your fears.”

“You have not studied their transmissions,” said another member of the study team somberly. “If there is one thing certain about humans it is their unpredictability. I do not see why your pair should be any different. Unlike Quozl they frequently act in an irrational manner.”

“Make no claims of absolutes for us,” said the Senior reprovingly. “Remember the tale of High-red-Chanter and Thinks-of-Grim before you credit us with what we may not deserve.”

Like everyone else in the Burrows, Runs-red-Talking knew the story of the two Quozl who had disappeared on the surface many cycles ago. It was an accepted fact that their bones lay decomposing somewhere not far from the colony site, if they hadn't been devoured by Shirazian scavengers.

“I do not think that this one,” she was saying in reference to Runs, “is irrational in that fashion.”

“My profoundest gratitude be yours, Honored Elder.” At that moment Runs would have laid all his jewelry at her feet.

“No, not irrational,” she concluded. “Merely stupid.”

Her closing comment did nothing to restrain his joy as he was dismissed. No more hiding in the woods or risking his life to cross the ventilation shaft. The next time he went to meet with his friends he would do so via one of the official exits, in the company of other important Quozl. They might be empowered to kill him if they believed the situation required it, but he would see to it that he did nothing to alarm anyone. He and Chad and Mindy would talk as they always had while others listened and recorded.

As he strode rapidly toward his living quarters he took time to enter an aggression chamber and demolish a number of armored Quozl images, sending blood and viscera flying. When he emerged he felt confident and refreshed, kowtowing to Elders and favoring passing youths with a generous eye. Only one thing had come out of the meeting that mattered.

He was going to be able to see his friends again.

XIII.

“W
E'RE NEVER GOING
to see him again.”

Chad turned away from the water to watch his sister as she shook the thermos bottle containing water and fruit-mix powder. There was a spark of fall in the air today, an intimation of severe storms to come. Soon they would have to leave the mountain fastness for the balmy ozone of L.A.

“He wouldn't just vanish forever without saying goodbye.” Chad was insistent on that point without knowing why. How did he know what a Quozl would do. “He's pretty resourceful. He'll get in touch with us somehow.”

“Something's happened to him for sure.” Mindy set the thermos on the picnic table. “What if he finally miscalculated and fell down that shaft?”

“I just don't see that happening to Runs.” Chad came toward the tent, avoiding those rocks that were clad in slippery moss and algae.

Or maybe I refuse to see that happening, he told himself.

His sister suddenly looked up at him. “Do you suppose it's me?” She was doodling on her sketch pad. In addition to her writing skills, Mindy was an artist of middling ability. And I can't create a decent birthday card, Chad thought ruefully.

“I don't think so, Mindy. If he had second thoughts about you, after all these years, I think he would have said something before now.”

“That's what I thought, but I wanted your opinion.” She studied the afternoon sky. “We're due back the day after tomorrow. Dad's talking about packing up in a couple of weeks. He's been talking to the old-timers in Boise who say it's going to be an early winter. They say that every year, but Dad's getting older. He's afraid of getting caught in a fall snowstorm.” She looked upriver. “What if he never shows up again? What will you do?”