The Collected Stories of Frank Herbert (54 page)

“I can't tell one from the other,” said Laoconia. “They all look alike and sound alike. Monsters.”

“They do look alike,” agreed Marie, “but the sound is quite individual.”

“Let's not harp on my tone deafness!” snapped Laoconia. She joined Marie at the door. “If they'll only let us attend their Sing…”

A six-foot Easter egg ambled toward them on four of its five prehensile feet.

The crystal glistening of its vision cap, tipped slightly toward the field hut, was semi-lidded by inner cloud pigment in the direction of the setting sun. Blue and white greeting colors edged a great bellows muscle around the torso. The bell extension of a mouth/ear—normally visible in a red-yellow body beneath the vision cap—had been retracted to a multi-creased pucker.

“What ugly brutes,” said Laoconia.

“Shhhh!” said Marie. “You don't know how far away he can hear you.” She waved an arm. “Gaaafkaa!” Then: “Damn!”

“What's wrong?”

“I only made eight notes out of his name instead of nine.”

Gafka came up to the door, picking a way through the stubble spikes. The orange mouth/ear extended, sang a 22-note harmonica passage: “Maarrriee Mmmmmmedillll.” Then a 10-second concerto: “Laoconnnnia Wiiilkinnnsonnnn!”

“How lovely!” said Marie.

“I wish you'd talk straight out the way we taught you,” said Laoconia. “That singing is difficult to follow.”

Gafka's vision cap tipped toward her. The voice shifted to a sing-song waver: “But polite sing greeting.”

“Of course,” said Laoconia. “Now.” She took a deep breath. “Do we have permission to attend your Big Sing?”

Gafka's vision cap tipped toward Marie, back to Laoconia.

“Please, Gafka?” said Marie.

“Difficulty,” wavered Gafka. “Not know how say. Not have knowledge your kind people. Is subject not want for talking.”

“I see,” said Laoconia, recognizing the metaphorical formula. “It has to do with your breeding habits.”

Gafka's vision cap clouded over with milky pigment, a sign that the two women had come to recognize as embarrassment.

“Now, Gafka,” said Laoconia. “None of that. We've explained about science and professional ethics, the desire to be of real help to one another. You must understand that both Marie and I are here for the good of your people.”

A crystal moon unclouded in the part of the vision cap facing Laoconia.

“If we could only get them to speak straight out,” said Laoconia.

Marie said: “Please, Gafka. We only want to help.”

“Understand I,” said Gafka. “How else talk this I?” More of the vision cap unclouded. “But must ask question. Friends perhaps not like.”

“We are scientists,” said Laoconia. “You may ask any question you wish.”

“You are too old for … breeding?” asked Gafka. Again the vision cap clouded over, sparing Gafka the sight of Laoconia shocked speechless.

Marie stepped into the breech. “Gafka! Your people and my people are … well, we're just too different. We couldn't. There's no way … that is…”

“Impossible!” barked Laoconia. “Are you implying that we might be sexually attacked if we attended your Big Sing?”

Gafka's vision cap unclouded, tipped toward Laoconia. Purple color bands ran up and down the bellows muscle, a sign of confusion.

“Not understand I about sex thing,” said Gafka. “My people never hurt other creature.” The purple bands slowed their upward-downward chasing, relaxed into an indecisive green. The vision cap tipped toward Marie. “Is true all life kinds start egg young same?” This time the clouding of the vision cap was only a momentary glimmerwhite.

“Essentially, that is so,” agreed Laoconia. “We all
do
start with an egg. However, the fertilization process is different with different peoples.” Aside to Marie, she said: “Make a note of that point about eggs. It bears out that they may be oviparian as I suspected.” Then: “Now, I must know what you meant by your question.”

Gafka's vision cap rocked left, right, settled on a point between the two women. The sing-song voice intoned: “Not understand I about different ways. But know I you see many thing my people not see. If breeding (glimmerwhite) different, or you too old for breeding (glimmerwhite) my people say you come Big Sing. Not want we make embarrass for you.”

“We are scientists,” said Laoconia. “It's quite all right. Now, may we bring our cameras and recording equipment?”

“Bring you much of things?” asked Gafka.

“We'll only be taking one large floater to carry our equipment,” said Laoconia. “How long must we be prepared to stay?”

“One night,” said Gafka. “I bring worker friends to help with floater. Go I now. Soon be dark. Come moonrise I return, take to Big Sing place you.” The trumpet mouth fluted three minor notes of farewell, pulled back to an orange pucker. Gafka turned, glided into the forest. Soon he had vanished among reflections of glasswood boles.

“A break at last!” barked Laoconia. She strode into the hut, speaking over her shoulder. “Call the ship. Have them monitor our equipment. Tell them to get duplicate recordings. While we're starting to analyze the sound-sight record down here they can be transmitting a copy to the master computers at Kampichi. We want as many minds on this as possible. We may never get another chance like this one!”

Marie said: “I don't—”

“Snap to it!” barked Laoconia.

“Shall I talk to Dr. Baxter?” asked Marie.

“Talk to Helen?” demanded Laoconia. “Why would you want to bother Helen with a routine question like this?”

“I just want to discuss…”

“That transceiver is for official use only,” said Laoconia. “Transmit the message as I've directed. We're here to solve the Rukuchp breeding problem, not to chitchat.”

“I feel suddenly so uneasy,” said Marie. “There's something about this situation that worries me.”

“Uneasy?”

“I think we've missed the point of Gafka's warning.”

“Stop worrying,” said Laoconia. “The natives won't give us any trouble. Gafka was looking for a last excuse to keep us from attending their Big Sing. You've seen how stupidly shy they are.”

“But what if—”

“I've had a great deal of experience in handling native peoples,” said Laoconia. “You never have trouble as long as you keep a firm, calm grip on the situation at all times.”

“Maybe so. But…”

“Think of it!” said Laoconia. “The first humans ever to attend a Rukuchp Big Sing. Unique! You mustn't let the magnitude of our achievement dull your mind. Stay cool and detached as I do. Now get that call off to the ship!”

It was a circular clearing perhaps two kilometers in diameter, dark with moonshadows under the giant glaze trees. High up around the rim of the clearing, moonlight painted prismatic rainbows along every leaf edge. A glint of silver far above the center of the open area betrayed the presence of a tiny remote-control floater carrying night cameras and microphones.

Except for a space near the forest edge occupied by Laoconia and Marie, the clearing was packed with silent shadowy humps of Rukuchp natives. Vision caps glinted like inverted bowls in the moonlight.

Seated on a portable chair beside the big pack-floater, Laoconia adjusted the position of the tiny remote unit high above them. In the monitor screen before her she could see what the floater lenses covered—the clearing with its sequin glitter of Rukuchp vision caps and the faintest gleam of red and green instrument lights between herself and Marie seated on the other side of the floater. Marie was monitoring the night lenses that would make the scene appear as bright as day on the recording wire.

Marie straightened, rubbed the small of her back. “This clearing must be at least two kilometers across,” she whispered, impressed.

Laoconia adjusted her earphones, tested a relay. Her feet ached. It had been at least a four-hour walk in here to this clearing. She began to feel latent qualms about what might be ahead in the nine hours left of the Rukuchp night. That stupid warning …

“I said it's a big clearing,” whispered Marie.

Laoconia cast an apprehensive glance at the silent Rukuchp figures packed closely around. “I didn't realize there'd be so many,” she whispered. “It doesn't look to me as though they're dying out. What does your monitor screen show?”

“They fill the clearing,” whispered Marie. “And I think they extend back under the trees. I wish I knew which one was Gafka. I should've watched when he left us.”

“Didn't he say where he was going?”

“He just asked if this spot was all right for us and if we were ready to help them.”

“Well, I'm sure everything's going to be all right,” said Laoconia. She didn't sound very convincing, even to herself.

“Isn't it time to contact the ship?” asked Marie.

“They'll be calling any—” A light flashed red on the panel in front of Laoconia. “Here they are now.”

She flipped a switch, spoke into her cheek microphone. “Yes?”

The metallic chattering in Laoconia's earphones only made Marie feel more lonely. The ship was so far away above them.

“That's right,” said Laoconia. “Transmit your record immediately and ask Kampichi to make an independent study. We'll compare notes later.” Silence while she listened, then: “I'm sure there's no danger. You can keep an eye on us through the overhead lenses. But there's never been a report of a Rukuchp native offering violence to anyone … Well, I don't see what we can do about it now. We're here and that's that. I'm signing off now.” She flipped the switch.

“Was that Dr. Baxter?” asked Marie.

“Yes. Helen's monitoring us herself, though I don't see what she can do. Medical people are very peculiar sometimes. Has the situation changed with the natives?”

“They haven't moved that I can see.”

“Why couldn't Gafka have given us a preliminary briefing?” asked Laoconia. “I detest this flying blind.”

“I think it still embarrasses him to talk about breeding,” said Marie.

“Everything's too quiet,” hissed Laoconia. “I don't like it.”

“They're sure to do something soon,” whispered Marie.

As though her words were the signal, an almost inaudible vibration began to throb in the clearing. Glaze leaves started their sympathetic tinkle-chiming. The vibration grew, became an organ rumble with abrupt piping obbligato that danced along its edges. A cello insertion pulled a melody from the sound, swung it over the clearing while the glazeforest chimed louder and louder.

“How exquisite,” breathed Marie. She forced her attention onto the instruments in front of her. Everything was functioning.

The melody broke to a single clear high note of harmonic brilliance—a flute sound that shifted to a second phase with expanded orchestration. The music picked up element after element while low-register tympani built a stately rhythm into it, and zither tinkles laid a counterpoint on the rhythm.

“Pay attention to your instruments,” hissed Laoconia.

Marie nodded, swallowing. The music was like a song heard before, but never before played with this perfection. She wanted to close her eyes; she wanted to submit entirely to the ecstasy of sound.

Around them, the Rukuchp natives remained stationary, a rhythmic expansion and contraction of bellows muscles their only movement.

And the rapture of music intensified.

Marie moved her head from side to side, mouth open. The sound was an infinity of angel choirs—every sublimity of music ever conceived—now concentrated into one exquisite distillation. She felt that it could not possibly grow more beautiful.

But it did.

There came a lifting-expanding-floating … a long gliding suspenseful timelessness.

Silence.

Marie felt herself drifting back to awareness, found her hands limply fumbling with dials. Some element of habit assured her that she had carried out her part of the job, but that music … She shivered.

“They sang for 47 minutes,” hissed Laoconia. She glanced around. “Now what happens?”

Marie rubbed her throat, forced her attention onto the luminous dials, the floater, the clearing. A suspicion was forming in the back of her mind.

“I wish I knew which one of these creatures was Gafka,” whispered Laoconia. “Do we dare arouse one of them, ask after Gafka?”

“We'd better not,” said Marie.

“These creatures did nothing but sing,” said Laoconia. “I'm more certain than ever that the music is stimulative and nothing more.”

“I hope you're right,” whispered Marie. Her suspicion was taking on more definite shape …
music, controlled sound, ecstasy of controlled sound
 … Thoughts tumbled over each other in her mind.

Time dragged out in silence.

“What do you suppose they're doing?” hissed Laoconia. “They've been sitting like this for 25 minutes.”

Marie glanced around at the ring of Rukuchp natives hemming in the little open space, black mounds topped by dim silver. The stillness was like a charged vacuum.

More time passed.

“Forty minutes!” whispered Laoconia. “Do they expect us to sit here all night?”

Marie chewed her lower lip.
Ecstasy of sound,
she thought. And she thought of sea urchins and the parthenogenetic rabbits of Calibeau.

A stirring movement passed through the Rukuchp ranks. Presently, shadowy forms began moving away into the glazeforest's blackness.

“Where are they going?” hissed Laoconia. “Do you see Gafka?”

“No.”

The transmission-receive light flashed in front of Laoconia. She flipped the switch, pressed an earphone against her head. “They just seem to be leaving,” she whispered into the cheek microphone. “You see the same thing we do. There's been no movement against us. Let me call you back later. I want to observe this.”