H.M. Hoover - Lost Star (16 page)

The recording ended. There was silence in the dome, and then scattered pockets of hushed conversation broke out. Lian sat on the floor, hugging her knees, tears still running down her face, thinking of mad lost lumpies wandering this hostile world. She was almost sure that it had been one of those who climbed up on her wrecked aircar that night. As a telepath it might have been attracted by her own fears or lonely thoughts, maybe seeking a kindred mind?

Dr. Farr came out of deep thought and cleared his throat. "How tragic—but how absolutely fascinating," he said. "How did you get the computer working? Did you find a switch?"

"No," said Zorn.

"It—uh—volunteered," said Scotty. "Like it did before."

"But how could it know our language? We can't understand a word of theirs. Correct?"

"Correct," said Scotty.

"Computer records every sound," said Zorn, and pointed. "Cameras work. Why not rest of unit?"

"Can we ask them questions?" Dr. Farr addressed this to Lian. "Can we speak to the—uh—Toapa through it?"

"We can try."

The Counter listened to this exchange and to the thoughts of the aliens as it analyzed what it had just translated. Like the aliens, the Counter was surprised —if not to the same degree. It had been unaware of all the hardships its people had faced, had not realized how unobservant it had become as it lost power. It felt new grief, and new respect for them.

Some of the aliens could not yet truly comprehend

or accept the meaning of what they had heard. They now verbalized to cover lack of understanding. Other thoughts were of pity and guilt; a few were empathetic, some angry and resentful; some were very frightened. One human left the room. The Counter noted with approval the Guardian seemed least surprised of all; her mind was weaving facts together, calculating. The white-furred one was disappointed with itself because it had failed to understand and now took refuge in incidental questions of mechanics. They were, the Counter concluded, a relatively primitive lot.

It had told them—-and more importantly, told the Guardian—what its people wanted known about themselves. The people had omitted much. The Counter would respect this. It might not be wise to expose the aliens to the further shock of learning, for example, just what the Counter was: the essence of the best minds of seven generations of Toapa. Some of these alien minds might try to destroy the Counter or the people out of fear, and the Counter would have to stop them. Better to remain the aliens' conception of a computer ... to emulate a lumpie ....

They tried, but the Counter did not answer
questions. Nor would the lumpies say more. Before ten minutes had passed, some of Dr. Farr's staff recalled how much the computer's voice had sounded like Lian's. They began to wonder if they had been hoaxed. They left for lunch, discussing their suspicions as they went. The cameras watched them go.

"I
'm sorry." Dr. Farr apologized for some of the less kind remarks.

Lian shrugged. "In their place I might be suspicious, too," she said, and thought how little it would take to change their attitudes. If the lumpies and their Counter wanted these people to know the rest of the ship was now accessible, they would do so. They had not, and so she would keep that secret.

"Humans are not smart," Zorn declared. "This is not machine as tolats know machines, not simple as tolats know simple"—the creature hissed and raised its rodlike eyes—"but as gray people once knew simple. ..

Something about Zorn's sudden interest made the three lumpies back away. The tolat turned and pointed a claw at Lian. "You said computer pulled you in?"

"Yes. The first time I came in here."

"You learned something in there?"

"Yes, but—"

Zorn did not listen but raced to the end of the computer and disappeared inside. Lian held her breath, remembering. Not quite a minute passed; there was a whisked sound, and Zorn was shot out, bowled halfway across the shiny floor.

Everybody ran to help the tolat. The crowd of lumpies stared wide-eyed, then, seeing him unharmed, exchanged glances. Their round gray stomachs began to shake, and they left the dome to hide their laughter. Only the trio stayed behind.

Still on the floor, Zorn told a fellow tolat, "You try!" The other's eyes shot straight up, and Lian imagined she could see its indignation. "No!" it said. The rest of the tolats suddenly had business elsewhere.

"I'll try," said Dr. Farr, and walked into the darkness with one hand outstretched to feel the way. His fingers buckled against a solid wall. "It's closed!" He sounded both disappointed and relieved as he patted the barrier. "I can't get in. What did you learn, Zorn?"

"This tolat felt one mind," said Zorn, "but not for long. It does not trust us. Only Tsri Lian and its own people."

"You're right," said Dr. Farr. "That's a very wise machine."

"But of us all, tolats would be the only ones who might be able to fix it if it needs repairs," said Scotty.

The Counter had already considered that. It was for that reason it had expelled the clever alien. It feared being merely chemically or mechanically understood by them, tampered with into insanity or paralysis, and then, perhaps, remade immortal. It thought the tolats might try to do that with the best of intentions, unaware of what they were destroying.

"I think we're trying to hurry things," Dr. Farr de

cided. "We haven't begun to consider what we've just been told, and we're looking for more. Klat, what is your opinion?"

"That we discuss things while we feed," said Klat.

Lian was not hungry, nor did she feel like listening to people. Scotty volunteered to- bring her back a sandwich. When they had gone, Lian wandered over to stare at the Counter. She was sorry it would not translate. There were so many questions she wanted to ask the lumpies about the things they'd seen this morning, about their history—and what were their real names? When they could communicate totally, she thought, how was she going to explain the names she'd given them? Could she say, "I looked upon you as pets, large but good-natured and affectionate"? Then the thought occurred to her that if they were as smart as she suspected they were, they might call her the Toapa equivalent of. Fido. . .. What did the word "guardian" mean to them . . . ?

She looked over and saw the three of them still sitting there, not smiling now but watching tolats trying to test the floor. Since they weren't going to hide any more, they should move out of the ship, she thought. They would need houses, water, and waste recycle systems—education. The strip of land between ship and river was good soil for gardens. Maybe she could teach them ....

She helped herself to one of Scotty's sketching pads and a pen. "Let's design you a home," she suggested to the trio. "We could build it on the bluff where the camp is now. There's a beautiful view—" Poonie picked up the pad and examined it minutely before giving it back to Lian with a mental question mark.

"Paper. To draw and write on. See." Lian began to sketch the kind of house she would like to live in, the Idnd of house she remembered. As she drew, the trio watched and whispered to one another. When she had finished, Cuddles reached for the pen. He made a few awkward experimental strokes; then Poonie took the pen and turned to a fresh page.

Soon all four of them were stretched on the warm floor, engrossed in house design, oblivious to all around I them. Raindrops beaded on the roof overhead, flattened, and made rivulets down the glass. The dome was quiet except for the click of tolat claws and the murmur of voices in the corridor outside.

The house Poonie drew somehow looked like the gray people. It was large and nicely rounded with a garden and a moongate. It stood by itself on the side of a wooded hill.

"Where does everybody else live?" said Lian.

Cuddles got up and padded over to the table and got another pen. He and Naldo collaborated on a village. Their drawing, like Poonie's, had a sense of humor to it, Lian thought. Small furry things like Buford were given a guest house. Allowance was made to avoid wortle burrows and paths in the cliff above the river.

A passing tolat stopped to study the sketch. "Nice," it decided. "But fountain should be here." A claw pointed. "Here we can bring waterfall down to pool in center. Stream can recycle down to river."

"Can we make the pool deep enough for them to swim?"

"Tolats can do anything If they have right tools," said the tolat, and elbowed in to join the party.

Dr. Farr and Scotty wandered in and stood over them. The group worked on, unaware of their audience until Lian said, "Somebody's blocking the light," and looked up to see the two staring openmouthed at the sketches.

"They drew that?" Dr. Farr whispered, as if he didn't want to break a spell. Lian nodded. "So they
do
retain Images from the past. ... I wondered what that line meant. As telepaths they can pass along from generation to generation how things truly were. Oral historians were quite common among Earth's tribes, but to find a culture like this!" For a moment he looked as if he'd like to shout for joy, and then he visibly regained self-control. "Yes, well . ,, „ are the towers an abstract fountain?"

"That's the waste recycle system," Lian explained. "The tolats are going to build it. Look at the foliage on the trees. It's not leaves; it looks like tiny script. And there, see a pattern on the cliff road? It's more notes." At that Scotty went over to get her note pad and joined them.

Dr. Farr put on his glasses and knelt down. "Amazing!"

"That they can write?"

"At this point that doesn't surprise me at all," he said. "Perhaps it would if I thought about it. What amazes me is that I missed the advance of several centuries by going to lunch."

A commotion broke out in the corridor. Faint shouting could be heard, then running footsteps.

"Dr. Farr? Dr. Farr?" The man Lian thought of as the little professor came running down the ramp into the dome. He was soaking wet, and his face was sickly pale. She sat up, alarmed before he spoke. "Dr. Farr! You've got to come!" He was panting with exertion. "You too, miss. They trust you. Hurry! They might kill him!"

Lian was up and running, the lumpies ahead of her. The corridor had never seemed so long. She dodged the curious staffers, never heard them speak. What had that stupid person done to make her gentle lumpies threaten him? Behind her she could hear the others coming, Scotty calling for her to wait.

Outside she paused. No one was in sight. It was raining hard. The three lumpies never hesitated but scrambled up over the earthwork, their feet slipping in the wet ground and leaves. She took a great gulp of fresh, sweet air and followed them. She didn't have far to go.

On the opposite side of the earthwork, in the hollow of a fallen tree, stood Vincent, his back against the roots. He was encircled by lumpies. They stood shoulder to shoulder, hands folded on their chests, watching him. He looked terrified.

"Call them off!" he yelled when he saw Lian.

"Coward," she said. "What's under your jacket?"

He glanced down and tried to flatten the bulges around his middle. Failing, he shoved his hands Into his pockets.

"What did you steal?"

"Nothing! Just get them away from me!"

Cuddles called something, and all the lumpies stood erect. Vincent took one look, turned, and tried to scramble up over the tangled roots of the stump. A tall lumpie caught him by the armpits, lifted him up and held him like a flailing insect, then gave him a vigorous shake. It was a very impressive display of strength.

"Stop! You're crazy!" Vincent got another shaking. "Stop it! It'll break! Stop!" There was a flash of color. Objects began to fall from the man's clothing into the mud below, and the lumpies retrieved them. A final shake and a small oblong panel fell. The lumpie turned and put him down outside their circle. He ran in panic, straight into Dr. Farr at the top of the slope.

"You've got to take some security measures, Fair!" The man grasped the archaeologist's arms to keep from falling. "Those animals tried to kill me! Look at this!" He showed them the dirt on his clothes. Dr. Farr was not impressed. Without commenting, he freed himself and came down to where Lian and the lumpies stood.

"Is that what was taken?" he asked Lian, looking at the enamel picture of a flower from a lost planet, a jeweled armpiece, an engraved something, and two drinking bowls held by the lumpies. "Beautiful!"

"I was only going to photograph the stuff," said Vincent. "I wasn't going to take it. I was . . ."

Dr. Farr looked at him now for the first time. "Of course you were," he said mildly.

Vincent flushed. "I get attacked and you get sarcastic."

"You weren't attacked—you were caught," said Lian. "They didn't hurt you. They just took back what was theirs."

There was finger talking among the lumpies, and then those holding the objects in question stepped forward and held them out to Dr. Farr. "For safekeeping? Surely—" There was more rapid discussion and then head shaking.

"Gifts?" Lian was guessing. The lumpies nodded.

The photographer said a nasty word. "If they don't want it anyhow, what difference did it make if I had it?"

"Some of us are particular about who we want to own our things," said Lian, and Scotty laughed.