The Galactic Gourmet

CHAPTER 19

Rhabwar went sub-orbital and subsonic on its approach to the north temperate zone site where, according to Williamson, there was a Wem settlement that might not be as proud and hostile as the others. Gurronsevas was being given the opportunity to view directly a large tract of Wem landscape, not because Captain Fletcher thought that they would enjoy a slow, low-level pass over a planetary surface that was new to them, but because it was considered bad practice to drag a sonic shockwave over an area where one hoped to make a good impression on the natives.

The minor scars and blemishes concealed by orbital distance and overlying clouds, showed as major lesions at Rhabwar’s present altitude of five thousand feet. A procession of low, wooded mountains unrolled below them, their slopes and peaks softened by greenery streaked with yellow and brown, and great, flat tracts of mottled green and brown grasslands. On another world the color variation might have been due to seasonal changes, Gurronsevas thought, but Wemar had no axial tilt.

Once they overflew a long, narrow, blackened area that paralelled the line of the prevailing winds, where a lightning strike or a careless native had started a fire that had quickly become uncontrollable in the near-desiccated vegetation. Often they passed close to the ruins of Wem cities that rose into the sky like great, grey, dried-up sores. Their streets and buildings were overgrown by sickly yellow weeds, untended, undamaged, and populated only by ghosts. He was glad when the Captain’s voice interrupted his morbid imaginings.

“Control. We are estimating the Wem settlement in fifteen minutes, Doctor.”

“Thank you, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla. “Please maintain the present altitude and circle the site so as to accustom them to the sight of the ship. While you are doing that, drop a two-way communicator and translator unit beside the one they destroyed. Hopefully they will consider us forgiving and persistent rather than stupid and wasteful. Land while we still have full daylight, as close as you can without inconveniencing them.”

“Security, Doctor?”

“Deploy the meteorite shield to minimum distance,” Prilicla replied. “Set for repulsion only — no shocks — with a visible perimeter so that they won’t collide with it by accident. We will discuss individual security requirements before leaving the ship.”

The Wem settlement comprised a few wooden outbuildings and a cliff-face mine of unknown depth above the floor of a deep valley that ran north to south. So steep were the valley sides that the sun shone into it for only a few hours every day, but the vegetation growing on the lower slopes and bottomland looked as healthy as any they had seen at the equator. Several small areas, which looked like gardens rather than fields, were under cultivation. There was one large ground-level entrance to the mine and three smaller openings on the cliff face, but without information on the extent of the hidden tunnel network and chambers it was impossible to estimate the number of inhabitants.

Rhabwar was incapable of making a quiet approach and, even though the upper slopes of the valley were still in sunlight, it further advertised its presence by switching on all of its external lighting so that the entire hull and wide, delta wings illuminated the mine entrance like a dazzling white triangular sun. As yet the line of emblems decorating its wings — the Red Cross of Earth, Illensa’s occluded sun, the yellow leaf of Traltha, and the many other symbols representing the concept of assistance freely given throughout the Federation — meant nothing to the Wem; but hopefully that situation would soon change.

The flood of highly-amplified reassuring words pouring from the two-way communicators soft-landed before Rhabwar’s arrival, Gurronsevas thought, were not having any immediate effect.

“Do not feel disappointed, friend Gurronsevas,” said Prilicla. “I sense feelings of curiosity from many beings, and of caution from a few, but their emotional radiation is tenuous and close to the limits of my—”

“Control,” said Captain Fletcher, breaking in. “You are right, Doctor. Our sensors show a large number of Wem pushing into the mouth of the entrance tunnel. They are crowded together too tightly for an accurate estimate of sizes or numbers but we think there are at least one hundred of them. There are no indications of metal, so none of them are carrying tools, implements or weapons. Three of them, who must be the cautious ones you mentioned, are positioned just inside the tunnel mouth and appear to be restraining the others. Orders?”

“None, friend Fletcher,” said the empath. “For the present you may join us in waiting and listening.”

They stood or sat or in one case hovered around the direct-vision panel facing the mine entrance, which to their unaided eyes looked empty, and listened to the prerecorded message that was going out to the Wem. The words were simple, spoken slowly and clearly so that the echoes bouncing back from the cliff-face did not distort their meaning. They were also, Gurronsevas thought after the first interminable half-hour of listening to them, unutterably boring.“… We are friends and will not harm you,” the communicator-translator was blaring. “Our vessel may seem strange and perhaps frightening to you, but our intentions are peaceful. We are here to help you, and especially to help your children, if we are able and if you allow it. We are not like the others who spoke to you. Ours is a small vessel which contains only enough food for its crew with a small reserve, so we will not risk offending you by offering food unless it is with your permission. We do not know if we can help you. But we would like to speak with you, and learn from you, so that we will know whether or not we can help.

“We are friends and will not harm you …”

“Senior Physician, while we are waiting I have a question,” said Gurronsevas suddenly, in an attempt to relieve both his boredom and his intense curiosity since the original remark had been made. “Earlier it was suggested that I had been appointed to the medical team as a nutritional advisor of some kind. If so, it was without my knowledge or consent. But if I am not a mere stowaway, hiding from the hospital authorities, and your earlier words to the Captain a lie aimed at concealing that fact, can you please tell me why O’Mara sent me here?”

Prilicla did not speak for a moment. Its fragile limbs and body were trembling, but Gurronsevas did not think that his own feelings of curiosity and irritation were strong or unpleasant enough to cause it. Perhaps the emotional radiation was coming from someone else or, as sometimes happened when the empath wished to avoid an emotional unpleasantness, it was preparing to tell a lie.

“Friend O’Mara radiates many and complex feelings,” it said finally. “Whenever you have been mentioned I have detected feelings of approval mixed with irritation, and a desire to help you. But I am not a telepath, so the feelings were clear but the thoughts were not. If friend O’Mara intended you to join the medical team …”“… It must have been really desperate,” said Naydrad suddenly, its fur rippling with excitement. “Look, they’re coming out!”

The Wem were pouring out of the mine opening as if someone had turned on a faucet, running and tail-bouncing and making loud, untranslatable noises as they charged towards Rhabwar. Apart from the three adults who were standing to one side of the tunnel mouth, and who had presumably been responsible for holding the others back, they were all young Wem. Some of them were so small and awkward that often they fell over sideways while trying to jump with their tails. But the falls did little to impede their progress and soon they had joined their friends who were shouting, running and tail-jumping in a continuous circle just beyond the meteor shield.

Murchison laughed suddenly. “I have the feeling,” it said, “that they should be waving bows and tomahawks at us.”

“My own feeling,” said Prilicla, “is that they are all curious and excited, and noisy as are most children in that emotional condition, and they are not a threat.”

“I’m sorry,” said Murchison. “That was a non-serious Earth historical reference, and not funny enough to be worth explaining. But the adults are moving closer now, two of them, anyway.”

They were moving slowly and more carefully than the young Wem, and except for one who was carrying a wooden staff, their hands were empty of weapons. Two of them were approaching in a slow succession of tail-jumps with short pauses between. The third one was moving even more slowly, on its hind limbs only and using the staff to help support its weight. Murchison spoke the thoughts that were already going through Gurronsevas’s mind.

“Physically they appear to be very weak,” said the pathologist, “and display extreme caution in their limb and tail movements. But I have the feeling this may be due to the frailty of age rather than illness. All three are females in a state of serious debilitation and …The one with the staff is heading for the communicator!”

“Your feeling is accurate, friend Murchison,” said Prilicla, “but your unspoken concern regarding, I suspect, the possibility of the staff being used to damage the communicator is unwarranted. The aged Wem female is radiating curiosity and minor irritation rather than anger and an urge to destroy.”

“It would take more than a walking-stick,” the Captain’s voice broke in, “to damage that unit.”

“True, friend Fletcher,” said the empath. “But as soon as the Wem reaches it, cancel the broadcast and switch to two-way communication mode. I have a feeling that it wants to talk.”

“And how long has it been,” said Danalta, speaking for the first time, “since one of your feelings was wrong?”

Outside the ship the crowd of young Wem were growing tired but not quiet. Instead of running and tail-jumping they had stopped to collect in small groups around the meteor screen, pushing at the resilient, near-invisible barrier or leaning against it at forty-five degree angles and shouting excitedly to each other when they did not fall over. A few of the more daring ones ran and jumped against the shield, shouting in excitement when they were bounced back. The two adults had joined them and were talking quietly together, but there were too many louder conversations going on at once for the ship’s translator to separate them, and the third adult had stopped beside the communicator which immediately ceased broadcasting.

“The silence, at least, is welcome,” said the Wem without any sign of hesitation. It went on, “Do you think we are all deaf? Or of retarded intelligence since the same message was repeated over and over? Don’t you people know that shouting reassurances at us, loudly and continually, angers more than it reassures? From beings who must have come from the stars, I expected more intelligence. Can this stupid machine listen as well as shout? What do you want of us?”

“Sound level reduced by two-thirds,” said the Captain quietly. “Go ahead, Doctor.”

“Thank you,” said Prilicla. It drifted closer to the communicator and tapped the transmit stud before going on, “We are sorry that the device was too noisy and that it angered you. The offense was not intended and neither was there any implication that your hearing or intelligence is defective. It was simply that we wished to be heard over a wide area.

“We want to talk with you and your friends,” Prilicla continued, “and to learn from you and to help you in whatever way is possible. You are as strange to us as we will be to you when you see us. We will answer questions about ourselves and we would like to ask questions of you. Provided there are no personal or cultural reasons for not giving the information and you are willing to give the answer to a stranger, the first question is what is your name. My name is Prilicla and I am a healer.”

“That’s a ridiculous name,” said the Wem. “It sounds like a handful of pebbles being rattled together. I am Tawsar, the First Teacher. I leave healing and preservation to others. What is your second question?”

“Are the young Wem safe where they are,” asked Prilicla, “so far from the shelter of your mine? They are in no danger from us but, now that it will soon be dark, is there a risk to them from night predators?”

Gurronsevas’s first thought was that there were more important questions that Prilicla could have asked, but his second thought was that expressing an early concern for the safety of the young displayed consideration and friendliness that would reinforce its words of reassurance more than anything else it could have said.

“It is our practice,” Tawsar replied, “to allow the children to escape from the mine for a few hours every day when the sun will not blight their young skins or work changes in the offspring they may one day bear. It also releases the energy that would otherwise make them unruly and noisy in class and keep them and their teachers from going to sleep. In the mine they cannot run freely or tail-jump, which is an unnatural situation for the very young. But they are in no danger from predators because all such creatures, be they large and dangerous or tiny rodents, have long since been hunted to extinction in this area. Your ship has provided a new experience for them as well as an outlet for their surplus energy. How long will your ship remain here?”

A school, thought Gurronsevas, was the ideal place to find curious and flexible minds. He could sense the medical team’s growing excitement.

“As long as you allow us to stay,” said Prilicla quickly. “But we would like to meet you and your friends in person instead of speaking through this device. Is that possible?”

Tawsar was silent for a long moment, then it said, “We should not waste time talking to you. Our behavior will be publicly criticized. No matter, we are curious and too old to care. But you must leave before the return of our hunters. This you must promise me.”

“We promise it,” said Prilicla simply, and there was no doubt in the minds of the medical team that the promise would be kept. “But there may be a problem when we show ourselves to you. Physically we differ greatly from the Wem. The young, perhaps you yourself, might find us visually horrendous and repulsive.”

Tawsar made a sound that did not translate, then said, “We have not seen the creatures from the other starship, but they have given us word-pictures of themselves. They are strange, upright creatures without a balancing tail, some of them covered in fur and others with fur only on their heads. But they wanted to change our ways, so our hunters smashed their speaking devices before leaving. As for frightening the children, I doubt that you could appear more horrendous than the creatures with which their imaginations have already populated your ship.

“Upon consideration,” it went on before Prilicla could reply, “it would be better if you didn’t show yourselves now. The young are excited enough as it is, and if they were to see you we would have difficulty making them return to the dormitories, much less getting them to sleep. If you are to stay with us for a time, it would be more convenient for us and safer for you if we introduced you during class.”

“You do not understand, Tawsar,” said Prilicla carefully. “The beings who described themselves were Orligians and Earth-humans. We have five Earth-humans, they are the ones with head fur, on board, and four others who will appear even stranger to you. One is a Tralthan, a being with six legs and with a body mass at least three times greater than an adult Wem. Another is a Kelgian, who is half your size and weight, has twenty sets of walking limbs and is covered by silver, mobile fur. There is a shape-changer who can make itself appear as ferocious or friendly as the situation requires. And lastly there is a large, flying insect, myself. If the thought of meeting one of these beings distresses you, then that person will remain out of sight on the ship.”

“Your shape-changer is, is …” began Tawsar, then went on firmly, “It is a creature out of a story told to children, to very young children. Adults are not gullible enough to believe in such things.”

The empath, plainly hoping to minimize Tawsar’s future embarrassment, did not reply. And on the deck below the hovering Prilicla, Danalta writhed and flowed briefly into the shape of a scaled-down, aged Wem female and said quietly, “No comment.”