Interference Page 22

  Pollux smiles and extends a hand in greeting. “Welcome to Pax,” he says out loud.

  “It’s about time.” Darius stumbles as he reaches for Pollux. “Gravity. Not used to it yet.”

  Another member of the team descends from a ladderlike stairway, walks from it as if trudging through mud, approaches Darius, and speaks quietly to him.

  “What? Those useless idiots!” He turns to Pollux. “They didn’t exercise.”

  After an angry discussion, it turns out that of the ten team members from orbit, only four can walk somewhat well, including Darius. The rest suffer from greater or lesser muscle atrophy due to lack of exercise, although exercise was required. They thought their suits would be enough to handle the planet’s gravity. Despite Darius’s aversion to the presence of Glassmakers, Karola and Scratcher enter the ship to assess the situation, then Scratcher dashes to the city to organize stretcher teams. Pacifist reactions vary from annoyed to mocking, and they offer little sympathy. Most have already concluded that even if the Earthlings are smart, which is debatable, they are lazy.

  Pollux is angry. “You have to discipline people. They won’t do it themselves. Now what are we going to do?”

  “We’ll recover quickly.” As Darius walks to the city, he must stop and rest often, although he refuses help. Jose, Karola, and the major are helping those who can to walk, and the rest are borne on a parade of stretchers.

  Ladybird and Geraldine have created a welcome with food and refreshments for the ambulatory Earthlings in the house the anthropologists use. Darius enters and sits, exhausted. Although he knows that Ladybird is the leader, he treats her and Geraldine like servants, ordering them to fetch him food and cups of tea and speaking only with other Earthlings.

  “She’s in charge here,” Karola sends him. “She should be treated nicer.”

  “She can’t even talk intelligibly,” he answers. He adds, “Go see how the idiots in the hospital are doing, if the natives can do anything resembling medical care here.”

  “We’ve been impressed by what they can do.” She leaves, dawdling at a screen to watch the feed from the exploration team as it approaches the far shore. Outside, she complains to Honey, who hugs her and makes jokes.

  Geraldine also leaves, after quietly but clearly expressing her disgust over the Earthlings to Ladybird. She nods and asks Geraldine to send Ladybird’s worker assistant to come and take over for her.

  “We’ll see,” Ladybird murmurs, “if they like Glassmakers better than us.”

  Darius and Pollux soon realize that no one can leave today. The other pilot could barely crawl out of the cockpit seat and onto a stretcher. Mosegi, the third pilot, is still hospitalized. And the fourth pilot is in Laurentia, searching for a landing site. No one can pilot a plane back to orbit.

  Pacifists are eating lunch in the Meeting House to watch the exploration. The atmosphere is festive, especially for a few when they discreetly learn that Pollux’s plan will not work, at least not today. I am enjoying the midafternoon sun.

  So much for the invasion from orbit. But these new Earthlings will recover quickly, the medics say, so the problem is delayed, not solved. Will it fester, or will it fade away like exhausted chlorophylls, allowing hidden pigments to be revealed?

  During the flight, Arthur and Cawzee insist on reviewing all the survey information available, looking for habitats of known animals and plants and clues to surprises.

  “The campfires could be eagles,” Arthur says.

  “Eagles don’t use weapons,” Haus says. “No problem.”

  “A pack of forty once attacked the city,” Arthur says, “working together with a plan. And they can speak, at least to each other. I’ve been taught a few words.”

  “Camouflaged, eagles are,” Cawzee says. “Look like dead brush, like many other birds but big. Dangerous. Also dangerous to us are fitch. Fitch have no fire, but they live in areas of bamboo. Big, furry, four legs, smell bad, big claws and teeth. They kill lions and eagles.”

  “Really?” Haus says. “I saw a pelt of one. They seem kind of small.”

  “They’re strong.” Arthur imitates shooting an arrow. “I killed that one, and it tore the arrows out of its own flesh to try to escape. Sometimes they just sink a fang into your brain so you stay alive, or half-alive at least, until they’re hungry again. Fresh meat waiting to be eaten alive.”

  Haus shrugs, then looks at the map projected on a screen. The forested area stretches from the seashore to the interior, mostly mixed trees, with irregularly spaced groves of bamboo. The larger groves form near perfect circles with a clearing in the center.

  The pilot puts careful attention into selecting a landing area, suggesting a large field not far from a bamboo grove but far from any remains of a firepit. Mirlo sees signs that the field is the result of a large fire a year ago. “Those are interesting ecological zones.”

  “What caused the fire?” Arthur asks.

  “Could be lightning. A campfire gone out of control. Hard to say. Still, it can’t be as bad as the Coral Plains.”

  “Let’s be happy about that,” Arthur says.

  The heli-plane descends for a smooth landing. Haus, Arthur, and Cawzee exit first, weapons ready, Haus’s visor down, wading through knee-high lush grass. They quickly give Ernst the all clear to descend halfway down the ladder and scan the area with cameras, looking for heat signatures from animals and listening for sounds. Velma monitors inside.

  They all listen: rhythmic chirps, melodious hoots, and irregular squawks, nearby as well as distant. I recognize most of them but not all. The explorers are entering a well-inhabited place with some new species. Jose offers some advice to Arthur by radio, and in the Meeting House, people murmur with excitement.

  Om records, A new land and yet quite familiar, where we arrive knowing the wonders and familiar dangers: we land with a caution that can barely constrain curiosity.

  It is already midafternoon. They decide to head for the rainbow bamboo grove first, each for a different reason.

  “I smell come and welcome,” Cawzee says with his radio.

  Arthur sniffs. “I don’t, but I wouldn’t.”

  “What does that smell like?” Haus says.

  The answer comes from the plane, from the assistant physician. “Alcohol. Methyl and ethyl. Pretty much scentless to us. I’m not reading it, but maybe my equipment isn’t sensitive enough.”

  “I’m not enhanced for smelling,” Haus says, almost as a complaint.

  “I ask-me, I ask-us, who speaks Glassmade here?”

  Arthur freezes, then he, Cawzee, and Haus begin to scan the area more carefully than ever. They assume it comes from other Glassmakers. But any plant can make those chemicals. I make them myself when I wish to communicate with Glassmakers.

  The assistant physician says, “Well, they’re basic, common chemicals. It might not be a message.”

  “We landed in a big, noisy machine,” Arthur says. “Even if it’s not a message, everyone heard us and saw us. If anything here can think, it’s thinking about us.”

  “Should we wait for a welcome committee?” Haus takes a few steps toward what seems like a hillock, but when he gets close, it erupts into screeching. Haus jumps and snaps his gun to point at it.

  “Bluebirds,” Arthur says. “Or something a lot like it. It’s a bird reef.”

  In the Meeting House, people laugh.

  “Bluebirds mean slugs, don’t they?” a Mu Ree in the expedition says.

  “Probably, so wear your boots,” Arthur answers. “You know, I wonder if there are corals here?”

  “Yes,” Mirlo says. “Great question. Can we come out now? I’d like to dig a little.”

  “Send out the farmer,” Arthur says.

  Snow climbs out of the plane, like Arthur with a spear and a bow and arrows, perhaps not as powerful as Haus’s weapons, but hers have worked on this planet for generations, and she knows how to use them. She, too, has been fitted with a radio. She is relatively young, and her b
est skill is working plots newly reclaimed from the forest, which are often subject to incursions, so she is in a certain sense a hunter.

  “Let me walk the perimeter,” she says. Cawzee accompanies her. They search for spoor, tracks, and signs of grazing, and they find evidence of large and small crabs, spot several small birds and a variety of lizards, and even a tree-kat, which fascinates Cawzee. The team in the heli-plane fidgets.

  Finally, Snow and Cawzee concur:

  “Nothing special. But there are paths, probably deer crabs, so this area gets regular use. And something has been grazing, maybe kats. No apparent corals.”

  Cawzee nudges her and murmurs.

  “Vegetarian kats,” she adds as a correction. “Which way are we going?”

  Arthur points, but Haus has sent a message to Om, and he repeats it as if it were his own idea.

  “Let’s consolidate this place as a camp before we move out. There’s a lot we can do here.”

  And so they climb out of the plane and begin work. Mirlo tours the area with the farmer, often pausing to examine individual plants or, with gloved hands, to push them apart and study the ground or dig a little, supposedly looking for corals, which he does not find, so he can plant my seeds. In the Meeting House, Geraldine is among those who watch and comment with the most excitement. Pollux, who is watching the feeds in the anthropologists’ house, complains to Darius.

  I am now in another continent, at least in some sense. I feel bigger and satisfied. These new bamboo and my seedlings will meet someday soon.

  The Mu Rees and Velma record sounds. The pilot inspects the plane and secures it. Zivon stands around uselessly. The rest unload equipment and try to help.

  The entho-engineer and Ernst record the view from the clearing: in the distance, the unmistakable graceful branches of tall bamboo rise over the forest, clothed in healthy green leaves. They turn the camera to record more sights, but I freeze my feed to gaze at it. I have never seen anything as beautiful. I am eager for the crew to approach, although I can appreciate their caution.

  Finally, after an hour of establishing themselves and a half hour of preparation, they begin to walk toward the grove, leaving the pilot, a Mu Ree, and Zivon at the plane. They move slowly because they are a large group and they continuously find things: a new flowering plant, a new kind of gecko, miscellaneous lizards, tracks, spoor, and crabs in trees. Mirlo pauses occasionally, examining the soil, surreptitiously planting seeds.

  Then a swirl of moths descends and flies in intricate looping patterns, which captivates the Mu Ree and Velma. The deer crab path meets a wider, well-traveled path that brings them to a bamboo grove, and there seems to be an entrance into the circle. The space inside is large enough that the entire party could fit inside more than comfortably, but Ernst insists on entering first to record the sight.

  Ernst’s camera transmits an enchanting scene. Bamboo stalks grow all around like a palisade, each about the same size, ringed with colors and bare of leaves. Higher up branches arc toward the center, but they do not meet, leaving an open space for a shaft of sunlight. Ernst slowly turns, capturing the sight.

  In the doorway, Arthur says, “It reminds me of a house.” His voice holds a touch of awe, a rare thing for him. The sight is beautiful. There are gasps and murmurs in the Meeting House.

  When Ernst is through, the rest enter. Mirlo examines the ground, which shows signs of disturbance.

  “Someone was digging,” he says.

  “Anyone bring a shovel?” Snow says.

  Mirlo sends to me, “Should we bury a seed here, Stevland?”

  I think a moment. “No. This is someplace significant and carefully constructed, but we do not know for what purpose. We could be violating a social function.” He nods and searches for ripe fruit with seeds to stuff into a specimen bag.

  Cawzee sniffs. “It be-it a cemetery.”

  Arthur looks at where he is standing with concern. “So someone’s burying dead bodies. Eagles bury their dead.”

  “You and your eagles,” Haus says.

  Arthur fingers his lion-claw necklace. “We’re not alone. We know that. Who knows what’s here?”

  Back in the Meeting House, people call out possibilities, but they are not conveyed to the exploration team. I reflect that this planet has many dangers, especially for animals.

  “Let’s continue to explore a bit,” Om says.

  “Scent says we should stay,” Cawzee says. “I agree to explore, but I repeat what I smell so you know. I know not where scent comes from.”

  So they leave, but as a group they fidget with anxiety. They find another bamboo circle a short walk away, this one smaller but otherwise the same. Arthur and Haus search for tracks in some bare ground. They spot something.

  “Glassmaker,” Haus says.

  “I not be there,” Cawzee responds, and leaps over to look. Arthur kneels, and he peers over Arthur’s shoulder. “It be not clear.”

  “Old,” Arthur says.

  “What would eagles look like?” Haus says, mocking.

  “Bigger, with claws.”

  Cawzee sniffs. “Perhaps be a scent here.”

  “You stink,” Haus says.

  Arthur pats Cawzee’s shoulders. The scent is likely fear, which is unpleasant to humans.

  In the Meeting House, Jose sends to Arthur: “Look for more tracks five paces to the west.”

  Arthur goes there and kneels. “Hey, Ernst, bring the camera. Look, that’s two for sure. A major. Old tracks, though.”

  The camera reveals dry ground that had once been a small puddle. Dried mud clearly shows the double-hoof marks of a Glassmaker.

  Silence falls all around. Finally Om speaks.

  “What do we know about Glassmaker history?”

  “Very little,” Zivon sends. “They were here before Earthlings landed. Very high technology, at least at first.”

  “Did they land in only one spot?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Anyone back in the city know? Any queen?”

  Queen Thunderclap is watching, motionless with surprise. She mutters, “No.” Her answer is sent to the exploration team.

  Earthlings begin sending each other information about Glassmakers. Zivon emphasizes that they had created a beautiful city, which is a clue to their character. Haus describes their ability to hunt. An anthropologist says they consider themselves natural nomads.

  Om gazes up at the grove. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. But we could be seeing a new form of Glassmaker culture.”

  Arthur gives Cawzee a hug. “You can meet new Glassmakers.”

  “Be it job for queen.”

  In the Meeting House, the queens agree, distressed.

  After a little more exploration, they return to the plane and arrive just before sunset. They plan to stay for a total of three days, and although sleeping in the plane will be cramped, no one suggests otherwise.

  Meanwhile I think about Glassmakers. I remember how they had attacked the city a century ago, and how some families joined the city, and how the rest, unruly orphans, wreaked murderous havoc on the inhabitants until I was able to lure them out of the city to their death by manipulating scents. To spend the night thinking about that would be a nightmare of blood and killing, so instead I search the network for information about the oceans and find enormously more than I can learn in one night.

  At times during the night, static interrupts the network. Abacus tells me it is likely from natural causes, and a technician will be notified. I wonder about Pollux and his schemes.

  * * *

  The technicians of the exploratory team had set up many kinds of devices to record anything that might approach the plane during the night. They discover three kinds of crabs, a pack of kats of a new species, various birds, and no Glassmakers.

  Armed with shovels, a map, recording equipment, weapons, food, water, and specimen bags, the explorers leave as soon as possible after dawn in a new direction, this time toward the largest bamboo ring in the a
rea, about an hour away by a fast walk, but they walk slowly. They stop often to gather all manner of samples, sometimes digging, and Mirlo plants seeds whenever he can. They record the calls of birds, investigate some smaller circular groves, and observe every animal that crosses their path.

  Meanwhile Arthur sticks close to Cawzee, and they both look continuously for evidence of Glassmakers, which they do not see.

  In the city, the newcomers from orbit awake to aches, thirst, and a tendency to drop things. They monopolize the time of the physician, and they seem unlikely to cause trouble today, other than being nuisances.

  Most Pacifists must go to work, but a few remain to watch the feed, and Glassmakers call out the news across the city and fields as it happens. “Be there nothing yet in exploration.”

  Finally the explorers reach the large ring. It is almost identical to the smaller ones. Ernst records their activities.

  “Things be-them buried here,” Cawzee says.

  Snow sniffs. “Recently buried, I’d say.”

  “What things?” Haus says.

  “Give me a shovel and we’ll find out.”

  Haus scowls. He has been in a bad humor all morning.

  “I can outdig an owl,” she says.

  She digs quickly and efficiently at the spot that seems most recently disturbed. She uncovers a mostly decomposed deer crab of some sort.

  “Crabs don’t bury their dead,” Arthur says.

  “They’re good eating.” Snow leans on the shovel. “Glassmakers like them. It wasn’t buried whole. Look, the best meaty parts are gone.” She fills in the hole. “Let’s try over there.”

  She discovers, to her disgust, a pit of rotting slugs. She backs off, cursing the stink, and quickly covers the pit. “One more time. Over there.”

  She digs again, and soon she says, “Oh, look, a beak! It’s an eagle.” She covers her nose. “Not long dead.” She reaches into the pit to pluck a feather. “I earned this.”

  “How did it die?” Arthur asks.

  She hands him the shovel. “Find out for yourself. Hey, Mirlo, let’s look at the vegetation.” He already carries a bag with plenty of bamboo fruit.

  They leave the circle, and Cawzee goes with them. “I still smell messages,” he says before he goes. “All friendly. We can drum like eagles, maybe eagles learn to scent like us.” He is bearing every single weapon he can, and carries a bow ready for use.