Phylogenesis (22 page)

“To tell you the truth, I’m sort of here illegally myself. Access to this part of the Reserva is restricted. Not everyone can get a permit to do work in the Manu. And I needed to be here.” Oh, how I needed to be here, he thought. “So I just kind of slipped in, quietly and on my own. It’s not hard to do, if you know how to go about it. The Manu is big, and ranger outposts hereabouts are isolated and lightly staffed.” He drew himself up proudly.

“Not many people would think of exploring this region on their own, much less actually try to do so. You might say that I’m an exceptional person.”

“Yes, I can sense that.” Were humans, too, vulnerable to praise and flattery? It was another similitude, but this time one that Desvendapur chose not to expound upon. Such knowledge could prove valuable in the days ahead.

“Well, this has been fascinating, really fascinating, but I have to get on with my work, and I’m sure you feel the same about your own.” Demonstrating astonishing balance, the biped pivoted and turned to leave. In so doing, Desvendapur saw the wrenching, intense inspiration he had worked so long and hard to access disappearing with it.

By taking several steps forward, he induced the human to turn back once again. Rather abruptly, the poet came to a decision. “Your pardon.” He fought down the churning in his stomachs that was induced by proximity to the creature. “But if you would not object, I would just as soon adapt my route so that it coincides with yours.”

14

W
ords had never been Cheelo Montoya’s forte. Needing some to cope with an unexpected moment deep in the rain forest was no exception. He found himself fumbling for an appropriate response.

The last thing he wanted was company. The more alone he was, the better his chances of avoiding the attention of local authorities. He saw no advantage to having his tracks shadowed by a curious artist, be it human or alien.

Unable to think of an all-inclusive reply, he stalled. “Why would you want to tag along with me?”

“I am—I have been interested in your kind ever since I learned of the inaugural project that was set up on Willow-Wane to try and facilitate communication and understanding between our species. Long ago I resolved to thrust myself, with only my studies and my wits, into direct confrontation with your kind, seeking in it a source of inspiration as new to me as it was forbidden to my brethren.”

Cheelo could not help but respond with a short, derisive snort. “If it’s inspiration you’re looking for, you won’t find it in my company.”

“Allow me to be the judge of that.”

Formal sort of bug, Cheelo found himself thinking. He wondered if they were all like this. “I travel alone.” He indicated the surrounding rain forest. “Isn’t this enough alien inspiration for you? A whole new world to explore?”

“It is wonderful,” Desvendapur agreed, “but better I see it through your eyes, peculiar as they are, than only through mine. Don’t you see? In your company I experience everything twice: as I apperceive it, and as you do.”

“Well, you’re going to have to damn well apperceive it by your lonesome. I don’t like company.” For the second time he turned away.

“If you do not allow me to travel with you, I will expose you to the local human authorities,” the poet declared rapidly.

This time Cheelo grinned wolfishly. “No you won’t. Because you’re not supposed to be here, either. Your little research expedition is poking its antennae way, way outside established perimeters for alien visitors. Even I know that much. You don’t belong here. In fact, I ought to be the one threatening to expose you!”

Desvendapur deliberated. “Then why don’t you?”

“You already know. Because to do so would mean revealing my own unauthorized presence here. I don’t belong, and neither do you. So neither guy can risk exposing the other. But that doesn’t mean I have to let you follow me around.”

“I would rather have your cooperation.” The thranx’s antennae were never entirely still, Cheelo noticed. “But if necessary, I will follow and observe you and your interactions with the environment at a distance.”

“No you won’t.” The lanky human patted his holster. “Because if you do, I’ll splatter your bug guts all over the forest.”

The valentine-shaped head dipped slightly to allow compound eyes to focus on the weapon. “That is a very belligerent attitude for a professed naturalist to take.”

“We all have our little character flaws.” Cheelo’s lips were set in a thin, tight line.

The human’s expression had no effect on the contemplative Desvendapur, but his words did. Did he realize how deep the truth of his observation ran? The poet suspected the biped did not.

“You won’t shoot me. If I do not report in according to a prearranged schedule, my hive companions will come looking for me. When they see how I died, they will come looking for
you
.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Cheelo’s fingers twitched in the vicinity of the holster. “If your compadres can identify your remains after the caimans and the piranhas have finished with them, then they’re better forensic pathologists than any I’ve ever heard about.”

Desvendapur did not have to ask for elucidation. From his studies he was familiar with both varieties of local predators. “What makes you think your native carnivores will find my body palatable? They will ignore me. My corpse will drift until it is found. Then those who will come looking for me will react in a relentless and savage fashion.”

They would do no such thing, he knew. Their only concern would be to remove the body lest it be found by other humans, thereby giving rise to awkward inquiries. But the biped did not know that. All he knew of the thranx, Desvendapur suspected, was what the poet chose to tell him.

Man and thranx regarded one another speculatively, each as ignorant as to the true motives of the other as they were to those of their respective kind. Neither had any training in interspecies contact. Operating from mutual nescience, they were making it up as they went along.

“All right.” Cheelo’s fingers reluctantly drifted away from the gun. “So maybe I won’t shoot you. But that still doesn’t mean I want you following me.”

“Why not? If you choose, I will not intrude on your solitude. You may continue to conduct your research as if I was not there. I only wish to observe, and record, and compose.”

My
research
, Cheelo thought. All he was doing was researching a way to keep one step ahead of the police. He did not see how an eight-limbed insectile alien could assist in that end.

Yet despite his otherwordly origins, the hard-shelled poet seemed to know a great deal about their surroundings. It had spoken of studying the area. If not an advantage, maybe it at least wouldn’t be a burden. Come to think of it, if the police did manage to track him down, Cheelo could always claim—after first blowing the bug’s head off, of course, so it couldn’t contradict his story—that he had uncovered an illicit alien outpost. If he could not get rid of it, either by threat or inducement, he would have to find a way to turn the creature’s persistence into an advantage. That was something Cheelo Montoya had always been good at.

“You’re right, as far as it goes,” he snapped. “I can’t keep you from following me, and even though I’m not sure I believe all your chatter about your buggy friends coming looking for revenge, I’m not going to risk it by killing you. Not right away, anyhow. Just stay out of my way and do your recording, or composing, or whatever the hell it is that you’re doing, quietly.”

“I will become a veritable nonentity,” a pleased and much relieved Desvendapur assured him.

Too bad you couldn’t become a real one, Cheelo mused. Maybe the alien would drown in a river or break a couple of legs and fall behind. Then no one could be blamed for the consequences. Given the right place and time, he might even be able to hurry the process along. If not, well, hadn’t the bug said that he only had a month to do his work? Before then Cheelo would be ready to quit the forest himself in order to make the journey back to Golfito.

How fast was a thranx? How durable? After a day or two of trying to follow and keep up with the agile, hardened thief, the many-limbed poet might decide that it was a good idea to seek inspiration from less wearisome sources. Cheelo would lead him a chase, all right!

“Come on, then.” Turning, he gestured with a hand—and paused. Head back, expression reflecting uncertainty, he found himself sniffing the air. To Desvendapur, who sensed odors through his antennae, it was a fascinating display worthy of several original and elaborately bizarre stanzas.

“What is it? What are you doing?”

“Smelling. Can’t you see that?” Noting the absence on the alien’s face, or for that matter anywhere else on its body, of anything resembling nostrils, Cheelo added tersely, “No, I suppose you can’t. I’m sampling the air for odors. For one particular odor, actually.”

The feathers that lined Desvendapur’s antennae flexed to allow as much air as possible to pass between them. “What particular odor?”

Turning, Cheelo found himself inexorably drawn to the exotic exoskeletoned alien. There was no longer any doubt as to the source of the subtle, suggestive aroma. “Yours.”

The thranx regarded the tall biped warily. “And what does mine remind you of?”

As Cheelo sniffed, Desvendapur watched the pair of openings in the middle of the human’s face expand and contract obscenely. “Roses. Or maybe gardenia. I’m not sure. Could be frangipani. Or bougainvillea.”

“What are these things?” None of the names the human was reciting were familiar to Des from his studies.

“Flowers. You smell like flowers. It’s a strong fragrance, but not overpowering. It’s not…it’s not what I expected.”

Desvendapur remained on guard. “Is this a good thing?”

“Yes.” The human smiled, though his attitude suggested that the expression was dragged forth involuntarily. “It’s a good thing. If I seem surprised, it’s because I am. Bugs aren’t supposed to smell like flowers. They never smell like flowers. They stink.”

“I am not a ‘bug,’ which I believe is a generic colloquial human term for insects. Thranx and terrestrial insects are an example of convergent evolution. Yes, there are many similarities, but there are significant differences as well. Carbon-based life forms that have evolved on planets with similar gravity and within stable atmospheric and temperature parameters frequently display many recognizable characteristics of form. But do not mistake body shape for species relationship.”

Cheelo’s gaze narrowed slightly. “You know, for a cook’s helper, or whatever the hell it is exactly that you do, you seem awfully smart.”

Desvendapur could not give himself away with a startled expression, and the human was untutored in the subtle meanings of thranx hand movements. “The position I occupy requires more intelligence than you might suspect. All members of my expedition were chosen from the elite within their respective categories of expertise.”

“Yeah, right.” Cheelo was unconvinced. He had known the alien for only a short while, but unless the nature of thranx-kind differed greatly from that of humans (a possibility that could not be discounted), he almost felt as if the bug was hiding something.

He sniffed again. Orchids this time—or was it hibiscus? The distinctive scent seemed to change with each successive sampling, as if the alien’s shiny blue-green body was emitting not one but a complex, ever-changing bouquet of fragrances. He was surprised it was not being swarmed by rain forest nectar eaters, from hummingbirds to bees. But while it exuded a strong natural perfume, it did not look very much like a cluster of blossoms. Also, birds and bees were more sensitive to odors than any human. It was likely that they could detect subtle alien overtones to the thranx’s body scent that his cruder sense of smell missed completely.

What other surprises did the bug have in store? “What about me?” he asked curiously. “How do I smell to you? You
can
smell, can’t you?”

Desvendapur dipped his antennae forward, but not before compacting their sensitive feathering to shutter his perception of the biped’s odor as much as possible. “I can. You are…pungent.”

“‘Pungent,’” Cheelo repeated. “Sure, okay.” Turning, he climbed back up into the tree to get his pack. Desvendapur observed the process with fascination, composing avidly as he watched. Not even the most gymnastic of thranx could match the flexibility of the human’s body and limbs. Nor would they want to, he reflected. His reaction was similar to what a human would feel watching an octopus unscrew the lid of a sealed jar to get at food left inside.

Cheelo started to toss his pack down, considered, and then called out, “Here, make yourself useful. Catch this.” He held the tough, lightweight material out over the branch.

It was not a significant drop, but Desvendapur knew nothing of the bag’s contents. Still, based on what he knew of human physiology he did not think it could be dangerously heavy. Obediently advancing until he was beneath the branch, he extended both foothands, taking care to ensure that his smaller, more delicate truhands were folded tight against his body and out of the way.

“Ready? Catch.” Cheelo let the pack fall.

The thranx caught it easily in both outstretched foothands, then used all four manipulative limbs to place it gently on the ground. Satisfied, Cheelo rolled up his blanket and tossed it over next, then climbed down to join his implausible companion. Desvendapur watched silently as the human bundled his equipment together, straightened, and slipped the pack-and-strap arrangement onto his back. It was difficult to understand how and why the additional weight did not cause the biped to fall over backward. Though smaller and lighter, with a minimum of four legs and a maximum of six to support its slim body, an adult thranx could carry more than even a very large human. This knowledge led him to make an offer that was in the nature of a painless gamble.

“Want me to carry that for you? It has to hurt your upper body, trying to support it that way.”

Cheelo eyed the shorter creature in surprise. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you packing enough gear of your own?”

“I can manage the extra mass easily. If we are going to travel together we should each make use of the other’s natural strengths. I could not climb into that tree without help, as you did, but I can carry a good deal of weight. Your pack would not inconvenience me.”

Cheelo found himself grinning. “That’s real nice of you.” He started to reach up and around to slide the pack off his back. Abruptly, his smile faded. “No, on second thought, I think I’ll hang onto my own stuff for a while longer. But thanks for the offer.”

Desvendapur automatically gestured an appropriate response. The rapid hand and finger movements meant nothing to the human. “As you wish.”

It might have been an honest offer, Cheelo thought as he turned and strode off into the trees. But what did he know of alien motivation? Suppose the thranx was operating from ulterior motives. At an opportune moment it might decide to take off with a nice, prepacked grab bag full of terrestrial souvenirs, graciously supplied by one trusting, half-witted Cheelo Montoya. He knew next to nothing about the big bugs, including how fast they could run. It had confessed to being a poor climber, but it didn’t look clumsy or lumbering. He was willing to bet that when it utilized all six legs it could move over the ground at a respectable clip.

The thought of allowing someone else to haul his gear through the hot, steamy rain forest was a tempting one. His back and legs were wholly in favor of the notion, but his brain vetoed it outright. Surviving alone in the vast rain forest was hard enough. Trying to do so without blanket, electronic insect repeller, food supplements, water purifier, and other gear might prove well nigh impossible. So he would suffer on. Time enough to figure out if he could trust something with eight limbs, twin antennae, and eyes like shattered mirrors.