Phylogenesis (4 page)

“I take it they don’t have anything to do with biochemical research.” Des desperately wanted to leave, to flee surroundings that had become suddenly oppressive.

Broud implied concord, but left it to his companion to continue with the explanation. “Maybe a little, but if so and if the stories are true, then such research is peripheral to the central purpose of the Geswixt facility.”

“Which is to do what?” Des inquired impatiently.

She glanced briefly at Broudwelunced before replying. “To watch over the aliens and nurture a growing relationship with them.”

“Aliens?” Des was taken aback. This was not what he had expected. “What sort of aliens? The Quillp?” Refusing to ally themselves with either thranx or AAnn, that race of tall, elegant, but enigmatic creatures had long been known to the thranx. And there were others. But they were well and widely familiar to the general populace. Why should any of them be part of some mysterious, secretive ‘project’?

But then what did he, bard to fruits and vegetables, know of covert government undertakings?

“Not the Quillp,” Nio was telling him. “Something even stranger.” She edged closer, so that their antennae threatened to touch. “The intelligent mammals.”

This time, Des had to pause before replying.

“You mean the humans? That’s an absurd notion. That project was shifted in its entirety to Hivehom years ago, where the government could monitor it more closely. There are no humans left on Willow-Wane. No wonder it’s the basis for rumor and speculation only.”

Nio was clearly pleased at having taken the notoriously unflappable Desvendapur aback. “Bipedal, bisexual, tailless, alien mammals,” she added for good measure. “Humans. The rumor has it that not only are they still around, they’re being allowed to set up a colony right here on Willow-Wane. That’s why the Council is keeping it quiet. That’s why they were moved from the original project site to the isolated country around Geswixt.”

He responded with a low whistle of incredulity. Mammals were small, furry creatures that flourished in deep rain forest. They were soft, fleshy, sometimes slimy things that wore their skeletons on the inside of their bodies. The idea that some might have developed intelligence was hardly to be credited. And bipedal? A biped without a tail to balance itself would be inherently unstable, a biomechanical impossibility. One might as well expect the delicate
hizhoz
to fly in space. But the humans were real enough. Reports on them appeared periodically. Formal contact was proceeding at a measured, studied pace, allowing each species ample time to get used to the existence of the fundamentally different other.

All such contact was still ceremonial and restricted, officially limited to one project facility on Hivehom and a humanoid counterpart on Centaurus Five. The idea that a race as bizarre as the humans might be granted permission to establish permanent habitation on a thranx world was outlandish. There were at least three different antihuman groups that would oppose such a development, perhaps violently. He said as much to his friends.

Nio refused to be dissuaded. “Nevertheless, that is what the rumors claim.”

“Which is why they are rumors, and why stories imaginative travelers tell so often differ from the truth.” For the second time he started to turn away. “It was pleasant to speak with you both.”

“Des,” Nio began, “I…we both have thought about you often, and wondered if…well, if there is ever anything either of us can do for you, if you ever need any help of any kind…”

He stopped, turning so suddenly that her antennae flicked back over her head, out of potential harm’s way. It was an ancient reflex, one she was unable to arrest.

Preparing to leave, he had been struck by a thought pregnant with possibility. Bipedal, tailless, intelligent mammals were an oxymoron, but no one could deny that the humans existed. Tentative, restricted contacts between humankind and the thranx had been taking place for a number of years now. There were not supposed to be any humans on his world. Not since the project begun on Willow-Wane had been shifted to Hivehom. But what if it were true? What if such outrageous, fantastic creatures were engaged in building not a simple research station, but an actual colony right here, on one of the thranx’s own colony worlds?

It was what the AAnn had sought to do by force, in their repeated attacks on the Paszex region. It was extraordinary to think that the Grand Council might actually have granted equivalent permission to another species, and to one so alien. What possibilities might such an unprecedented situation present? What wonders, however inherently appalling, did it conceal? What promise would such an outlandish discovery hold?

The promise, just possibly, of the inspiration his muse and life had thus far been lacking? The thought simultaneously terrified and intrigued him.

“Broud,” he said sharply, “you work for the government.”

“Yes.” The other young male wondered what had happened to transform his former colleague’s manner so dramatically. “I am a third-level soother for a communications processing division.”

“Near this Geswixt. Excellent.” Desvendapur’s thoughts were churning. “You just offered me help. I accept.” Now it was his turn to lean forward, as the members of the commemorative funeral crowd began to disperse. “I am experiencing a sudden desire to change my living circumstances and go to work on a different part of the planet. You will recommend me to your superiors, in your best High Thranx, for work in the Geswixt area.”

“You ascribe to me powers I don’t possess,” his age-counterpart stammered, truhands fluttering to indicate his distress. “Firstly, I don’t live as near this Geswixt as you seem to think. Neither does Nio.” He glanced at the female for support, and she gestured encouragingly. “Rumors may alert and influence, but they weigh little and travel without effort. Also, as I told you, I am only a third-level soother. Any recommendations I might make will be treated by my superiors with less than immediate attention.” Antennae dipped curiously forward. “Why do you want to uproot your life, shift tunnels, and move nearer Geswixt?”

“Uproot my life? I am unmated, and you know how little family remains to me.”

His friends gesticulated uncomfortably. Broud was beginning to wish Des had never come over to talk with them. His behavior was uncouth, his manner unrefined, and his motives obscure. They should have ignored him. But Nio had insisted. Now it was too late. To simply turn away and leave would have been an unforgivable breach of courtesy.

“As for the reason, I should think that’s obvious,” Des continued. “I want to be nearer to these bizarre aliens—if there is any basis to these rumors and if there actually are any still living on Willow-Wane.”

Nio was watching him uneasily. “What for, Des?”

“So I can compose about them.” His eyes gleamed, the light reflecting gold from intricately interlocking lenses. “Wuuzelansem did. He was a frequent contributor to the original project, composing for as well as about humans. I personally attended at least three performances during which they were mentioned.” His antennae twitched at the remembrance. “Difficult as it may be to believe, he always claimed that despite the absence of appropriate cultural referents, they appreciated his poetry.”

“What if there are no humans near Geswixt?” Broud felt compelled to point out. “What if the rumors of this implausible, unlikely, alien colony in the making are just that and nothing more? You will have embarked upon a radical change to your life for nothing.”

Des turned to look at his colleague. “Then I will meditate on my impulsiveness and try to salvage illumination from the depths of quandary. Either way it will be an improvement over my present circumstances.” He gestured with a truhand in the direction of the nearest tunnel entrance to the city below. “There is nothing for me here. Comfort, shelter, familiar surroundings, daily work, ritual compliments, intimacy with familiars. Nothing more.”

Nio was openly shocked. Desvendapur was even more maladjusted than she had ever supposed. “Those things are what all thranx desire.”

Des whistled sharply and clacked his mouthparts together in a particularly offensive manner. “They are the enemies of poetry. My mind embraces all, but with them my aesthetic is eternally at war.”

“Poetry should reassure, and comfort, and soothe,” Broud was moved to protest.

“Poetry should explode. Stanzas should burn. Word sounds should cut like knives.”

Broud drew himself up on all four trulegs. “I see that we suffer from a serious difference of philosophy. I believe that my job as a poet is to make people feel better, about both themselves and their surroundings.”

“And mine is to make them uncomfortable. What better source of inspiration than beings so grotesque they are scarcely to be believed? What rationale could the government possibly have for allowing them to set up a colony here?” He gestured emphatically with both truhands. “A small, official contact station to which access is severely restricted is one thing—but an actual colony of the creatures? If this is true, no wonder it is being carried out in secret. The hives would never stand for it.”

Nio gestured uncertainly. The crowd was continuing to thin around them, the park emptying as attendees vanished down a handful of subsurface accessways. “If colonization is actually being carried out, there could be other reasons for the government wanting to keep things quiet. We are not privy to the rationale that underlies the Grand Council’s inner decisions.”

Des indicated understanding with a flip of his antennae. “What other reasons? They’re afraid that hasty exposure of these aliens’ intentions might enrage the populace, especially with the AAnn’s repeated attempts to establish and enlarge their presence here by force. It would make sense to keep a second alien presence among us quiet for as long as possible.” He stridulated wistfulness. “I have heard recordings of their voices. They can communicate, these mammals, but only with difficulty.”

“I know nothing about them,” Broud protested. “Remember, at this point their continued presence on Willow-Wane is only a rumor. Officially, they were all moved to Hivehom years ago. To find out if the rumor has any basis in fact you would have to speak with someone directly connected to this new project. If there
is
a new project.”

Des pondered furiously. “That should be possible. Surely these colonizing humans, if they exist, must be supervised and attended by specialists of our own kind, if only to see that their activities remain unknown to the population at large. Aliens can be isolated, but not their supervisors. Every thranx needs the camaraderie of the hive.”

Nio whistled amusement. “Why, Des, you hypocrite.”

“Not at all,” he shot back. “I need the hive around me as much as anyone. But not at all times, and not when I’m in search of inspiration.” He looked up and past her, to the north. “I need to do something wonderful, something unique, something extraordinary, Nio. Not for me is the comfortable, easy life we usually aspire to. Something inside me pushes me to do more.”

“Really?” Broud had had just about enough of their pretentious and probably unbalanced colleague. “What?”

Eyes full of reflected sunlight focused on his. “If I could explain it away, my friend, I would be assembling appliances and not words. I would be like a worker and not a poet.”

Broud shifted uncomfortably. Without actually coming out and saying so, or directly denigrating Broud’s profession, the other male had made him feel a bit like a lowly line worker himself. Des did not give him time to ponder the actuality of any deeper meaning hidden in his comment, however.

“Can you help me, Broud?
Will
you help me?”

Caught between Desvendapur’s unwavering stare and Nio’s curious one, Broud felt trapped into assenting. “As I’ve said, there is little I can do.”

“Little is what I have here. Your help is more than I could hope for.”

All four trulegs shifted beneath Broud’s abdomen. “If it will make you happy…” he clicked lamely.

“I’m not sure that anything will make me happy, Broud. There are times when I would welcome death as an end to all this purposeless striving and futile activity in search of newness. But in lieu of an incipient demise—yes, it would make me less miserable.”

“Then I’ll see what I can do for you. I do not know how close I can get you to this mythical colony site. It is possible that I am already the nearest artist within our classification, and as you know, a little poetry goes a long way.”

“Do the best you can.” Advancing almost threateningly, Des dipped his antennae to entwine them tightly with the other male’s. “After inspiration, hope is the best any poet can wish for.”

“Just how close to these creatures are you hoping to get?” Nio asked him.

Desvendapur’s tone, his whistles and clicks, were charged with excitement. “As close as possible. As close as you and I are now. I want to see them, to look upon their deformities, to smell their alien odor, if they have one. I want to peer into their eyes, run my truhands over their soft, pulpy skin, listen to the internal rumblings of their bodies. I will incorporate my reactions in a dramatic narrative suitable for distribution across all the thranx worlds!”

“What if, assuming any are present, they’re simply too hideous, too alien to study at close range?” she challenged him. “I’ve seen the pictures of them, too, and while it is nice to think that we might have some new intelligent friends in this part of the Arm, I’m not sure I would want to spend any time in their actual company. That may be a matter best left to contact specialists.” One foothand contorted in a gesture of mild distaste. “It is said that they have a vile odor.”

“If specialists can sustain contact and survive, so can I. Believe me, Nio, there is little in reality that can exceed the warped imaginings of my mind.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Broud muttered. Already he was regretting his compliance, his offer to assist his colleague in his inexplicable efforts to get close to the aliens. Of course, it was very likely that there were no humans on Willow-Wane and that Desvendapur would be wasting time and energy looking for them. The thought made him feel better.