Fossil Hunter

*33*

Toroca tried to maintain a relationship with each of his siblings. Some of them seemed more interested in acknowledging kinship than others. He never forced the issue, but he did enjoy spending time with those who didn’t seem to mind.

There was an exception, though. His brother Drawtood appeared to be uncomfortable around people. In some strange way, that made Toroca even more interested in seeing him, for Drawtood seemed as lonely as Toroca. Toroca’s loneliness came from no one sharing his desire for intimacy. Drawtood’s, on the other hand, seemed self-imposed, as if he went to special lengths to distance himself from the rest of society.

Beyond that, though, there was another reason for the separation between them. Toroca was a geologist. His sister Dynax, a doctor. Brother Kelboon was an authority on mathematics. But Drawtood had never done well academically. He worked on the docks of Capital City, helping to load and unload boats. If it hadn’t been for their shared blood, their lives would probably not intersect at all. Still, each time he came to the Capital, Toroca visited several of his siblings, including, always, Drawtood.

Drawtood’s home was so close to the harbor that the sounds of ship’s bells and drums and the high-pitched calls of wingfingers circling above the docks were a constant background. Toroca entered the vestibule of the adobe building and drummed his claws on the copper signaling plate. Drawtood answered, expressionless as always, and swung the door aside to let Toroca in.

“I brought you a small gift,” said Toroca, fishing in the hip pouch of his sash. “Here.”

The proper way to give a gift was to set it on a tabletop or some other piece of furniture, then to back away so that the recipient could easily fetch it. But Toroca simply held the object out in his palm. He did demand a small price for his presents, and that was that the recipient actually take them from his hand. Drawtood shuffled forward, took the object, his fingers briefly touching Toroca’s hand as he did so, and then scurried to the opposite side of the room.

It was a gemstone polished in a cabochon shape. The material was golden brown and seemed to have a white four-pointed star embedded in its center. The stone was quite lovely, thought Toroca, and although common at traders’ tables in western Land, it was rare here. For Afsan and Novato and his other siblings, he usually brought something that was interesting—a curiosity of some sort, an unusual crystal or intriguing fossil. But Toroca reckoned that such things would hold little appeal for Drawtood, although the laborer did seem to enjoy pretty rocks.

“Thank you,” said Drawtood, shifting the gem back and forth in his hand, watching the way light played across its surface.

“It’s from Arj’toolar,” said Toroca. “Not far from where Afsan was bom.”

“Afsan,” repeated Drawtood. By mutual consent, they never referred to him as their father. “I don’t see him very often.”

“I’ve just come from a meeting that he was at. An update on the Geological Survey.”

Drawtood nodded. “Of course.” A pause. “Does he ever mention me?”

“He speaks fondly of all his children,” said Toroca.

Drawtood looked at the floor. “I’m sure he does.”

Toroca couldn’t determine its cause, but there seemed to be a melancholy air about his brother. “Are you well, Drawtood?” he asked at last.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“And—happy?” Toroca surprised himself with the question.

“I have my job. I have this little place to live in. Why should I not be happy?”

“I don’t mean to pry,” said Toroca. “It’s just that I worry about you.”

“And I about you, brother.”

Toroca was taken aback. “You do?”

“Of course. Your job takes you far away, to dangerous places.”

Toroca looked out the window. “I suppose that’s true.” A beat, then: “What’s new since the last time we met, Drawtood?”

“New with me? Nothing is ever new with me. You’re the one who leads the interesting life.” There was no trace of malice, or any emotion, in Drawtood’s tone. “You tell me what’s new with you.”

Toroca opened his mouth, but then, after a few moments, closed it without saying a word. What could he talk to Drawtood about? Superposition? Fossils? The strange lifeforms of the south polar cap? His new theory of evolution? Drawtood didn’t have the schooling to appreciate any of those topics. Finally: “I’ve made a new friend.”

This did seem to interest Drawtood. “Yes?”

“A female. Her name is Wab-Babnol. We work together.”

“ ‘Babnol.’ An unusual name. It means ‘loner,’ doesn’t it?”

Toroca was surprised. “Does it? I’ve never encountered the name before.”

“Yes, I’m sure—’loner.’ Or maybe outcast. Funny name for the creche masters to have given her.”

“In a way,” said Toroca, “it’s fitting.”

Drawtood nodded politely, not understanding.

“You’d like her,” said Toroca.

“I’m sure I would,” replied Drawtood. “How old is she?”

Toroca felt a slight tinge of embarrassment. “Eighteen kilodays.”

Drawtood clicked his teeth. He understood the significance of the figure. “I see.”

Toroca thought to feign shock, to take mock offense at the innuendo, but then, after a moment, he clicked his teeth also. “You know me well, Drawtood.”

The dockworker nodded. “Of course,” he said simply. “We’re brothers.”