Seaforth swung the skimmer around a wave-swept point of rocks and into an exquisite natural harbor. Walls of green closed in on both sides. The fjordlike inlet would easily have accommodated a large cargo boat, but it was deserted save for their comparatively tiny craft. The cries of alien fauna rose from the surrounding forest.
"I understand," he said absently as he studied the dense foliage, "that the Parramati show little interest in contemporary technology. Whereas elsewhere on Senisran, the natives have taken to trading for simple Commonwealth manufactures with enthusiasm."
She nodded. "Not here they haven't. They say it goes against their kusum. Also, they think magic is better. Of course, they don't really use magic. Everything they do, everything that happens in Parramat has a logical and rational exegesis. I just haven't had time enough to study it. I've been too busy trying to get them to make treaty with the Commonwealth." She smiled up at him. "I'm expecting you to explain it all to me."
"I'll do my best," he replied without a hint of guile. "But as you say, a treaty is paramount. The section in my study guide on Parramati customs was slim. I expect you to warn me where not to step, what not to say, and how not to act."
"Don't worry, Pulickel. I'll take good care of you."
He tensed, but she didn't reach over to pat him on the head. Intellectual condescension he could handle, but not the physical kind. Especially not frown an attractive woman. If that was irrational, so be it.
The skimmer slowed as they approached a narrow stretch of yellow-white beach at the head of the inlet. Beyond the sand he could see where jungle had been cleared away, leaving a wide path through the forest. Something in shades of blue equipped with multiple legs scurried piglike across the clearing and into the trees.
She drove the skimmer off the water and up onto the beach, rising to clear a large berm that was anchored in place by a peculiar, corkscrewing green-red vine. Purple fruiting bodies burst from conelike structures that emerged at random from each shiny coil. Without being obvious, he paid careful attention to everything she did. Unbeknownst to her, one of his ancillary tasks in accepting the Parramat assignment was to render and report a formal job evaluation on one Fawn Seaforth.
It was early, but so far his opinion was equivocal. Not that he was grading out at the top of his form since his arrival, either. How could he have known about the apapanus? Senisran was rich in unknown and undescribed inimical species. He was confident only in what he knew. He decided that her lapses in protocol could be overlooked in view of the fact that she'd saved his life-and might well do so again.
Of one thing he was already certain. This assignment could go one of many ways--but "by the book" wasn't going to be one of them.
Well, he'd improvised before. Adaptability was the hallmark of the truly successful.
A hundred meters from the water's edge, the skimmer hangar came into view. It was a large, unlovely, wholly functional structure: a roof, three walls, and a sliding barrier. Fawn pulled inside, cut the engine, and monitored instrumentation as their vehicle settled onto its mounting pad.
"The station's just up ahead." She jumped over the side. "Pass down your case and we'll walk the rest of the way."
Using .the integrated hoist to control the heavy baggage, they walked the remaining meters along a narrower path that ran in a straight line through the trees. Pulickel was enveloped by the rich, musky aroma of growing things. Alien odors assaulted his nostrils. The majority, though not all, of them were pleasant.
Ideally, a contact station should blend harmoniously with its alien environment without challenging the position or preeminence of native structures or religious icons. This was not a problem on Torrelau since the nearest Parramati village was located several kilometers distant, over an intervening ridge.
It was important that the installation reflect the technological superiority of its builders without being overawing. The idea was to impress without terrifying. Nor could it be too elaborate or expensive; not with a world like Senisran requiring dozens of such installations. It should also be relatively quick and easy to assemble.
Therefore it wasn't surprising that Seaforth's habitation was of a design Pulickel recognized. It looked like a fat wheel mounted on an axle that had been shoved into the ground, with the body of the wheel parallel to the earth. Ascent to the main body of the station, whose rim was ringed with windows and observation ports, was via a lift located in the supporting axle. In the event of power failure, a spiral stairway encircled the elevator shaft.
With the wheel-shaped body of the station ten meters above the ground, it offered occupants safety as well as a pleasant view of the encroaching forest. The main work areas faced the exquisite, narrow bay, muting instead of encouraging hard work. A circular defensive perimeter consisting of charged posts that would deal unpleasantly with any living thing that attempted to pass between them ensured a safe outside working zone beneath the overhang of the station itself.
With its prominent reds and blues, the surrounding jungle was more colorful than its relentlessly green Terran counterparts. Pulickel recognized variations of the star-crowned trees beneath which Fawn had awaited the arrival of the transport. Among the other botanical standouts was a medium-size bush armed with scythelike spines. It looked like a refugee from some desert clime but was obviously happy to be growing deep within the forest. Flowers flared in abundance and in odd places.
Beneath the shady wheel of the station and within the defense perimeter was a junkyard of empty packing crates, storage containers, and unidentifiable debris. It stained the ground just as grease and soil marred Seaforth's overshirt. Its presence was strictly against general regulations and guidelines for the maintenance and operation of such an outpost. All nonrecyclable trash was supposed to be properly disposed of or neatly packaged for removal at some future date.
As they drew near, half a dozen small scavengers of unknown type burst from the mess and scattered into the trees. He could hear them banging through the underbrush. Several had neither feathers nor scales and appeared to be little more than fleshy blobs on legs.
He found himself gesturing. "It would appear that the station's defense system is not turned on."
She nodded slowly. "So it would appear."
"That is a violation of regulations." He gestured at the flagrant pile. "What do you call that disgusting mess?"
"Convenient. The Parramati get a kick out of poking through it. They use some of the smaller discarded packaging to store water or carry pickings. Impermeable plas tic leftovers are highly regarded here."
"Letting natives scavenge a station's trash is counter to proper procedure." He eyed her disapprovingly.
She paid no attention. "I don't think letting them have a few scraps is going to disrupt their cultural equilibrium. The Parramati are a pretty stable society. Besides, I've found that trash can make you a lot of friends." She waved casually at their surroundings. "Welcome to Torrelau. It means `the land' in Parramati."
"I know." The local dialect was one thing he had mastered during his studies. An accomplished linguist and a natural mimic, he believed firmly that you couldn't really convince an alien of anything unless you could speak to it in its own language. Whether they required chatting, whistling, clicking, harsh glottal stops, or signs, he'd been able to master them all. In fact, it was much easier for him to converse with aliens than with his own kind. Take the speech of frigid Tran-ky-ky, where he'd been stationed for a while. Rigid in inflection and boasting a highly formal grammar, it had been easy for him to master. Neither fluid, conversational seni or the local Parramati dialect had posed a problem for him.
Something induced him to look sharply to his left. "I get the feeling we're being watched."
"We are. They'll introduce themselves in due time. The Parramati aren't fearful, but they're cautious. You're new to them. Not that you're the second human they've ever seen. There was the crew that erected the station, though they never had any contact with the locals. Among other features, they're fascinated by our individual size variations. Mature seni are all pretty much the same height."
How tactful of you to mention the subject, he thought, then realized she probably meant nothing by it. He was far too sensitive on the subject.
Something that looked like a purple boa constrictor with feathery external gills running half the length of its body emerged from the trash pile and slithered out of their path as they approached the support cylinder. An irrational feeling, perhaps, but Pulickel felt more secure once they stood beneath the circular shadow of the station's bulk.
Fawn had to yell at the door several times before it would open. Whether the delay was due to an internal fault or poor maintenance he couldn't tell. She grinned apologetically back at him. It would not be so amusing, he thought, if something was chasing them. He wondered what else needed fixing.
"Been meaning to work on that," she told him as the door finally slid aside. At least, he mused, it did not make a grinding noise as it did so.
"Station upkeep is the responsibility of those working on site," he reminded her, "irrespective of specialty."
"Hey, I do what I can. The climate here is rough on electronics. My priority is the treaty, not janitorial work."
Not wishing to start another argument, he withheld the continent that was teetering on his lips and followed her into the lift. It was just big enough to accommodate the two of them and Pulickel's self-hoisting travel case. The door closed smoothly behind them.
The interior of the station was a revelation, but not the kind that inspires. Clothes were scattered about both the living and work areas. A few hung from the ceiling. Empty food containers clung to furniture like giant, brightly colored fungal spores. The tiny carcasses of dead arthropods spotted the softfloor. Fashioned of native fibers, a hammock hung suspended in the portal that separated the main living area from kitchen and sleeping quarters. Several water bottles in various stages of consumption occupied unlikely-and in at least one instance, unsanitary locations within the room.
Lining the sweeping windows that ran around the station's circumference was a small jungle of native plants. Each chosen for its beauty or uniqueness, they flourished in improvised pots that were as much a product of Fawn Seaforth's imagination as they were of her resourcefulness. Empty food containers, cut-down powercell packs, cleaning and maintenance tubes: all had been ingeniously pressed into service. Alien perfume and color filled the room.
Pulickel found himself drawn to what looked like a longitudinally sliced water carrier potted with miniature black roses. It was beautiful to look at, but the streamers and leaves and tendrils blocked windows and dirtied the floor. A thick mass of aerial roots threatened to overwhelm an atmospheric monitoring panel. Fawn noted the direction of his gaze.
"Have to trim that back." She bent to smell of something blue and gold. "What do you think of my collection? I cleaned the place up especially for you."
"Just for me? You shouldn't have."
"Yeah, I know, but I did anyway."
"Seaforth ..." he began sternly.
"Come on: it's Fawn. We're going to be working together too long for last names. Especially last names as long as yours."
“All right, Fawn.” With a sweeping gesture he encompassed the room and what he could see of rooms beyond. "How can you live and work in this squalor?"
"Squalor?" She made a face. "There's no squalor here, Pulickel. Just comfort. Don't you like flowers?"
"I love flowers, and houseplants, but I don't relish the idea of sharing my living quarters with alien species. Especially new ones whose properties and characteristics haven't been thoroughly cataloged."
"Relax." She moved to another plant. "I put each one through a rigorous quarantine and check before I bring it into the station. Make sure that they're all free of parasites and hangers-on. I even check pollen and spores for possible serious contamination. Sure there's dangerous flora on Senisran, but these here are all harmless to both human and thranx."
Carefully avoiding the debris that made passage difficult, he worked his way across to the outer wall and its bank of indigenous foliage. "I can understand a small collection, but these are taking over. They could get into equipment, clog filters, no telling what."
She spread her arms and performed a slow pirouette. "Honestly, Pulickel. Do I look in any way unhealthy to you?"
In point of fact, she looked healthier than any human being he'd ever seen in his life, but that wasn't the point. There were procedures that had to be followed, strictures that needed to be observed.
It suddenly occurred to him that he was more than a little tired. "Could you just show me my room, please? We can discuss all this later."
"Sure. I know you must be exhausted."
"I'm not exhausted," he replied irritably as she unhooked the hammock that was blocking the doorway.
"Sorry. This was the best place I could find to put it up. There's a lovely view of the inlet from here. You can lie here at night, open the windows, and watch the moons come up."
His eyes widened. "Open the windows? You mean, you consciously and willingly violate the atmospheric integrity of the station?"
"Frequently. I like the feeling of freedom."
"I'm sure that the native species that fly in and out at such times do, too."
"You are a worrier, aren't you? If it'll make you feel safer, I'll arm the external defenses. As for the open windows, I happen to like fresh air. When it gets too hot and humid inside, I close everything up again. Nothing really dangerous ever intrudes. In the morning, I go around and add to the station's collection of small flying arthropods."
He twitched at the thought of something small, alien, and buggy landing on his face while he slept. "I'll keep my quarters sealed, if you don't mind."
She shrugged. "Suit yourself. Makes me claustrophobic."
Thankfully, she hadn't even bothered to inspect either of the two unused sleeping areas. The standard room was typical in nearly every aspect, its familiarity a great comfort to the weary and troubled xenologist. It was a little musty from disuse, but everything was where and as it should be, and there were no extraneous decorations of either Senisran's or Seaforth's making. He reveled in its reassuring sterility.
He hastened to shut the door behind him to keep out any small uninvited locals that might be crawling about. "It looks fine. Let's get my case."
"After you, my honored guest." As her left hand swept out in a gesture of invitation, she executed a mock bow.
He forced himself to smile at the harmless, mild sarcasm. The bow took his mind off her words anyway.
He spent the remainder of the day unpacking and putting up his equipment and personal gear. Several times he paused to ensure that the door was still tightly sealed against intrusion by anything larger than a human hair He also carried out a personal inspection and cleaning of the room's overhead air filters. The curving window offered a view only of surrounding forest, but he was pleased with it nonetheless. Claustrophobic, indeed! Rather than closed-in, the room gave him a feeling of security.
As he put away the last of his gear he wondered why he couldn't have been sent to Miramilu. The largest and most important of the island groupings thus far contacted by Commonwealth representatives, it lay only three hundred kilometers from Ophhlia. Conscious of their status, its citizens had held off allying themselves with either humans or AAnn, sensibly evaluating the offers of assistance that both sides regularly presented to its chiefs. Already they were utilizing simple Commonwealth and Empire technologies to improve their everyday lives, advantages gained without committing themselves to either side. The Miramiluans were playing it smart instead of stubborn.
The station there consisted not of a single prefab structure unceremoniously planted into the ground but of a growing complex that in size and sophistication threatened to rival Ophhlia itself in importance. In such surroundings he knew he could make an immediate difference. The research that would result would be important and prominently featured in The Journal of Xenological Contact.
Instead, they'd sent him here. Because, it had been explained to him, Parramat was more of a trouble spot, more of an insoluble problem. Less insightful xenologists could be counted on to deal with Miramilu's more comprehensible recalcitrance. Despite one mild protest, he'd been sent where they needed him most-not where he'd wanted to go.
Well, it wouldn't take him long to compile a report on Fawn Seaforth. That part of his work here was already well on its way to completion.
His own personal computing facilities integrated seamlessly with those of the base. He was greatly relieved to see that save for a few minor glitches, that portion of the station was operating properly. As a test, he ran through a few basic setup programs, talking softly to the vorec and making sure the more powerful station unit responded readily to his stock inquiries. By the time he was finished, it was growing dark outside. The onset of alien evening arrived on sky streamers tinged with pink and gold.
His door chimed, using the musical quote from Brian's "Jolly Miller" that he had programmed into it.
"I'll be out in a minute," he told the door. He didn't want Fawn Seaforth in his room any more than was necessary. She might bring passengers along with her. Visitors from outside. He intended to preserve the sanctity of his quarters for as long as was practicable.
Setting the room on "constant clean" and his personal facilities on standby, he stepped out to join her, closing the door behind him as quickly as possible. They passed through the general living area and into the small dining facility. The same curving windows offered a view of rapidly darkening forest. Moments later, powerful lights on the rim of the station came to life, illuminating the vegetation and startling the early risers among the forest's nocturnal fauna. Unrecognizable creatures with large, glowing eyes vanished swiftly into the concealing treetops.
"Very little work's been done on Senisran's night life." Fawn was busying herself with the food processor. She had traded in her nonexistent swimsuit and dirty overshirt for clean shorts and blouse. A part of Pulickel was pleased, while the rest was gravely disappointed. This mental disagreement represented an internal conflict he would have to somehow resolve, he told himself.
"There's so much to study and catalog during daylight hours," she continued, "that none of the resident biologists on Senisran have had much time to devote to studies of life after dark."
He took a seat at the small oval table. "Anything dangerous around here?"
"You saw the revavuaa? The purple snakelike creature that slid from cover when we were approaching the lift shaft? That's got a real bad bite, but it's not exclusively nocturnal. As for the local diurnal life-forms, I've put together a small but necessary list of critters to watch out for. You can download the relevants into your files anytime."
"You let it hang around the station?"
"That's where it wanted to hang around. It may be poisonous, but it's not aggressive. You saw it slither off when we approached. I can't be shooting everything that comes poking through, and there's not enough power to run a full defensive screen around the clock. Besides which, the screen is a pain in the butt. It wasn't on when we arrived because I get tired of having to continually turn it on and off. Regulations or no regulations." She removed several plates and bowls from the processor and set them on the table.
"Don't expect me to wait on you like this every night. It's just that it's your first day and I know you're tired-."
He studied the platters hungrily. "I'm perfectly willing to do my share of the domestics. These aren't native foods, I hope?"
She grinned. "I wouldn't hit you with that on your first day here. No, tonight we're having good old imported reconstitutibles. Local cuisine can wait, though I promise you, besides the fruits and vegetables there are some wonderful things the Parramati pull out of the ocean. In particular, there are some soft-shelled burrowing pseudomollusks that taste heavenly when they've been steamed and basted in butter."
"I look forward to it." He started helping himself from the assembled plates. "Could I just have some water?"
"Sure." Reentering the processing area, she returned moments later with a self-chilling pitcher and sat down opposite him.
"I'll try whatever you think I might like," he promised her as they ate. "The local foods certainly haven't done you any harm."
She smiled. "Why, Tomochelor, thank you for the compliment."
"I didn't mean-" He stopped, flustered, considered beginning again, and gave it up in favor of chewing his food. "I'll try them a little bit at a time, until my system becomes used to the local tastes and consistencies."
"That's the way I did it." She ate actively from her own plate, but with care.
He thought about complimenting her on her change of clothing, decided that anything he might say could be misconstrued, and determined that where she was concerned, it would be safer to avoid the topic of attire entirely. When they did speak, he forced himself always to meet her eyes. When there was silence, he struggled to look anywhere but at the rest of her. Clearly, being stationed on Torrelau was going to involve challenges for which he had not been able to prepare himself in the usual manner.
The dinner was excellent, the familiar reconstituted foods reassuring as well as nourishing. Near the end, he broke his own resolve and tried a sample of each of the three native fruit juices she had placed on the table. All were superb. He wondered if she gathered the fruits herself or traded with the natives for them. He could see her climbing the local trees, crawling out on limbs, her incredible legs twisting and dangling . . .
Resolutely he returned his attention to the meal. Tree climbing was not in his job description. Mildly amazed, he watched her pack away an astonishing amount of food.
"If you have work to do, don't worry about keeping me up," she told him in response to a question he hadn't planned to ask. "I sleep like a rock here and the soundproofing between partitions is excellent. Plus, there's a vacant room between yours and mine. Whatever you're doing, I won't hear you."
"I'm pretty quiet, though I do like to play music rather loudly on occasion. Contemporary inventions."
"Really? Have you heard the latest from Chikareska or Mattuzh?" Before he could reply she rushed on. "I can download via relay from Ophhlia, but they're not exactly up on what's new there either."
"I don't know Mattuzh that well," he replied, "but Chikareska is a favorite of mine. Do you know the Blue Collage?"
"You've heard the Blue Collage?" Her excitement was palpable. "I've heard about it, but I can't get the philistines in charge of imports to shell out the necessary royalty."
Having unintentionally struck a topic of mutual nonprofessional interest, they engaged in an animated discussion of music imaging, both human and thranx. It made the rest of the evening pass very smoothly.