Shaman (37 page)

Rhys, unable to withdraw his arm, glanced at Yoshi's face in the spectral glow. Her eyes were bright mirrors of wonder. His, suddenly captive, watched the glow of alien fire in them.

“Bioluminescents,” she murmured, “never cease to amaze me. I've never seen so many all in one place.”

“Oh, and here come a few more,” said Godwin dryly.

A few more was a gross understatement. A small, compact fleet of the fireflies was flitting through the tall grasses and ferns that bordered the lake. They moved at a leisurely pace, taking time to spiral skyward now and again before coalescing into a puff of green-gold brightness.

“That's odd...”

Yoshi's sudden tension broke the odd spell that had momentarily held Rhys in thrall. As the hand that had lain across his forearm went to her field scanner, he blinked and followed her gaze. Below the cloud of approaching fireflies, the grasses waved and bobbed as if the beating of those tiny wings was creating a massive down draft. At the water's edge, no more than thirty feet from where the Humans sat, the reeds parted.

“Huh!” snorted Rick. “Mystery solved. I didn't think those little sprites could create that much commotion.”

Yoshi nodded, watching as two bogdillos slid into the water, their escort of fireflies commingling with the brilliant mist that hovered over the lake. “I forgot they were parasites.”

Rhys stared at the bright water. “Parasites? Or pets?”

“What?”

Rhys was on his feet, keeping his voice low with an effort. “What was the one thing we did see on the security monitor the night the tarps were taken?”

Yoshi had risen too. “Fireflies.”

“And what do fireflies have in common with every one of our potentially sentient species?”

Yoshi's brow knit. “Bogdillos?”

“Bogdillos?” Rick repeated. “But they're scavengers. They sponge off everybody. They even horn in on the houses the amphibians build.”

“They've got symbiotic relationships with not just one other species,” argued Rhys, making emphatic gestures with both hands, “but with three or more. They get fed, petted, and scratched—”

“And in return” said Godwin, “they provide house plans?”

“No. They provide water!”

“Water?” echoed Rick. “I don't —”

“Remember the broad-leaf plants we couldn't account for near the simian village? Good God, they were all over the ground in the reptile colony too, I only just realized. What if those are the bogdillos' attempts to provide water to the other species? We came into town with a better system of trapping water, and the bogdillos—having observed what we found interesting—traded some of it for what they found interesting. Namely, big, blue ‘leaves' that could be used to trap precious water in larger quantities.”

“They're a diurnal species,” added Yoshi, “yet they have adapted to nocturnal activity by—possibly—harnessing another lifeform to provide light.”

“And just how do you propose to prove this marvelous construct?” Godwin asked, blinking up at them through the eerie faux-twilight. “We've heard not one murmur from those bugdillos of yours.”

“That doesn't mean anything,” Rick objected. “They could communicate via species-specific telepathy, for all we know.”

“We'll offer further trade,” said Rhys decisively.

Bearing another tarpaulin along with plant and mineral samples Tanaka had found most interesting, Rhys and Rick approached the shore of Brown Salt Lake. Yoshi monitored while Godwin stood by like bored royalty. With Rick behind him holding a tarp, Rhys hunkered at the water's edge and smacked the surface lightly with the flat of his hand. He repeated this several times, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder to where he could see Yoshi with her holocam. She was nodding.

“They're there. Just out beyond that near lodge.”

Glancing to where Yoshi had directed, Rhys could see them too, looking like nothing so much as a clump of giant chocolate marshmallows bobbing in a cup of hot cocoa.

And there, for all of Rhys's ministrations, they stayed. He had Rick wave the tarp. He laid out the samples of the goods the bogdillos (presumably) had brought them, trying to demonstrate that he would trade one thing for the other. He even left the tarpaulin on the shore and retreated. The marshmallows stayed right where they were, bobbing beneath their radiant canopy.

“I think,” said Godwin, “that I am going to run, screaming, into the jungle. How do you manage to have so bloody much patience? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were all brain-addled.” He snorted. “Hell, I'm not sure I do know better. Are you all brain-addled?”

“I was beginning to wonder, myself,” yawned Rick, gazing at the motionless dumplings.

“They're waiting for something,” murmured Yoshi. “I can feel it.”

“Oh, now that's scientific!” Godwin got up and went out to the shore to stare at the flotilla of bogdillos. “I say,” he addressed them. “Anyone in the mood for a spot of tea? Eh? How about some anchovy wine or something equally tasty?”

He bent over then, and before Rhys could guess his intention, he had tossed a rock out into the water. It landed with a squishy smack! right in front of his alien audience. They dispersed immediately.

Rhys was on his feet in an instant. “Godwin! What the hell do you think you're doing?”

The other man turned on him, face red with frustration. “Trying to communicate.”

“Communicate? You frightened them away!”

“At least, my way got some result.”

Rhys took a step toward the other man forcing him to withdraw to the other side of the swamp buggy.

Twilight lingered for perhaps an hour. True darkness fell. Now no fireflies brightened the lake's murky surface, no bogdillos plowed through the waist-high reeds. Rhys was thoroughly depressed and disgusted, convinced Godwin had ruined their chances of communicating with the Bogian denizens.

He was sitting in the stygian darkness between an equally glum Yoshi and a dozing Rick when something thudded to the ground just out of reach. Startled, he leapt to his feet and reached for a palm torch, flipping on the diffuse beam. Yoshi echoed both movements, adding her light to his. Barely an arm's length from where they had sat was a rock.

“Are they attacking?” Yoshi whispered.

“I don't know. Kill your beam.”

He matched action to word, flicking off his own torch and plunging them into darkness. When nothing else happened, he stepped to where the rock had fallen and knelt to examine it, switching on his torch again to do so. Almost immediately, a second object plopped to earth another three feet or so ahead of him. As he rose to find it with his eyes, the entire lagoon was lit up like the Christmas trees of yore.

Rhys extinguished his torch. The alien insects went dark a heartbeat later. He felt Yoshi at his side and gave her a quick glance before stepping to the second projectile. It proved to be a large, soggy seedpod of some sort.

“Your torch,” Yoshi whispered.

He turned it on. The fireflies blazed in reply. Another missile fell midway between Rhys and the shoreline. He heard a soft exclamation from behind him, and realized Rick was awake. A fraction of his mind wondered what Godwin was doing just about now. He stepped to the next marker without turning off his torch.

Yoshi flicked hers on as well. “I'll get the goods.”

She was gone for a moment, during which time Rhys responded to another invitation to come closer. He was now a mere foot from the waterline and could see the lumpy shapes of the bogdillos out in the water. He waited, but they came no closer. When a full minute had elapsed, he bent, picked up the rock at his feet, and tossed it out into the little lagoon, so that it fell midway between shore and watchers. After a moment of hesitation, the bogdillos drew closer, moving as one.

Rhys felt a chill sail up his spine. There was a moment in every first contact Rhys had known when he wondered if the other party would suddenly prove to be fanatically carnivorous xenophobes. In this case, the possibility presented itself that the bogdillos viewed the visiting Humans as a potential addition to their petting zoo.

He cursed the forefathers of science fiction, chased the ridiculous thought away, and tossed out another rock, this time bringing the arthropods to just over a yard from where he stood. Signaling Yoshi to attend him, he squatted on the shore and began playing charades. He showed the bogdillos the tarpaulin, describing it (“tarp”) in case they could hear him, and demonstrating with a flask of water that he understood what they used it for. Then he displayed the several most valuable of the items they had left in the base camp cargo dump, and lastly, laid the tarpaulin on the shore and stepped back.

During the brief wait, he was witness to what he could only call a conversation between the various members of the bogdillian group. There were dolphin-like squeaks, watery gargling sounds, a gamut of muted tones, and tiny, rhythmic slapping patterns executed with a foot or tentacle (he couldn't see which) upon the stiff surface of the water. Most incredibly of all, the fireflies dancing above each bogdillo—for he could now see that each entity had its separate tribe—winked on and off and subtly altered color and direction during the exchange.

“My God.” The exclamation was in starchily accented English. Raymond Godwin had come down to the shore to watch.

“Don't you dare,” growled Rhys, “throw anything.”

“Wouldn't think of it.”

The bogdillos had obviously come to some sort of decision, for some of their number dispersed, some withdrawing to the shore and into the tall grasses, others disappearing into the amphibian lodges, still others seeming to dive beneath the water—an amazing feat considering its native buoyancy. Two of the remaining individuals glided right to Rhys's feet and emerged to face him.

After each had appraised him via a trio of eye stalks, they proceeded to handle the tarpaulin with what appeared to be fins... or tentacles... or flabby pincers, depending on the use to which they were put—lifting, poking or pulling.

Rhys sucked in a long awe-filled breath. Now, that was adaptability. Even so, he noticed that one of the bogdillos was having a little trouble folding back a corner of the thin but durable fabric. Noticed, too, how it kept changing the shape of its pseudo-hand to gain a better purchase. On a whim, Rhys lowered his own hand to where the bogdillo could see it and slowly, carefully peeled the corner back. He left his hand in plain view—the eye stalks took note. After a few permutations, the bogdillo had approximated a hand (albeit, without digits it looked like a hand in a sleek, shiny mitten) and had satisfactorily manipulated the thin folds. Rhys sat back in amazement.

In short order, the missing bogdillos returned and, after a very brief and bright consultation with their confreres, deposited an array of goods on the silty squelch of beach. Rhys heard a scanner's metallic purr to his right.

“Lord,” said Godwin. “What a treasure trove.”

The two arthropods in possession of the tarp made a show of removing it from the beach, then returned to gesture very pointedly at their own pile of offerings, now at Godwin's feet.

Rhys glanced at the Acquisitions director. “Fair trade?” he asked.

“Oh, I'd say so.”

“Then make a show of picking it up.”

“Me? You want me to take part in this... negotiation?”

“It seems you may have started it. What could be more appropriate than for you to close it?”

Godwin bent and picked up an armful of ores and plant stuffs. He stepped back a stride for good measure. The bogdillos seemed satisfied. They took their tarpaulin and departed, fireflies blazing. The lagoon returned to a deep green sort of twilight as the alien light receded further into the lake.

“Well,” breathed Godwin. “That was something, wasn't it? Did I really start all that, do you think?”

“I'm pretty sure of it.” Rhys chuckled. “When I think of all the clues we got—lakeside foliage turning up in relatively faraway places, bogdillo-shaped constructs, the simians tossing food at them...” He trailed off, a strange expression flitting across his face.

“They were aping the bogdillo trading methods, you mean?”

Rhys nodded, his eyes apparently on some fourth dimension only he could see. “So it would seem. And while we were being pleased with ourselves for all our neat efforts toward trade in the villages, what probably convinced the bogdillos to give us that first cache of goods was the cargo crew lobbing seed cones at them.”

Yoshi waggled her palm torch. “Now they know we can harness light... just like they do.” She grinned. “I guess that makes us bogdillos, too.”

“I'm willing to bet they'll suspend coming to any firm decision until they've known us longer, but this,” said Rhys, “is where we step out, Mr. Godwin.”

The Englishman did a double take. “I beg pardon?”

“We have found you a sentient lifeform. I will even recommend the experts necessary to continue working with them. But they will have to determine if the bogdillos can lay claim to the mineral resources of this planet on a scale necessary to cede them wholesale to Tanaka.”

“Now wait just a moment. You've found a sentient, now you're supposed to recommend that I negotiate with them for Bog's resources?”

“A sentient, yes, but I've not proven them to be the representatives of a civilization. All I've shown you is a race of clever natives, which you wish to deal with as necessary, or so you said. The Collective takes a dim view of people—or even major corporations—dealing with native populations according to expediency. This is a culture, Godwin. There is potential for trade, potential for communication. But are these people in a position to barter away the mineral rights for their entire world? Would they even understand what they were bartering away? Until we know those things, we can do more than deal with them on a purely local basis.”