As was so often the case with primitive species, he heard the village before he saw it, and smelled it before he heard it. The pungent odor was not unpleasant, however, and a few deep breaths sufficed to familiarize him with it. Between the cultivated gardens and the surrounding rain forest there were so many flowering plants in the immediate vicinity that the thick musk of the community was somewhat masked by a rush of natural perfume.
Fawn made a sweeping gesture. "This is Torrelauapa. Largest village on the island, though by no means the only one."
"How many are there?" he asked.
"Not sure. You have to delineate the number of houses and their proximity to one another that you want to use to- define a `village.' I'm still working on a definitive census."
It was hard to get a feel for the size of the community because the various structures were scattered among numerous tall shade trees. These were very different from the blue-barked growths he'd first encountered at the touchdown site and the beach. They had thick trunks of brown or yellow and dense overarching clusters of spatulate leaves. Clumps of maroon flowers burst like frozen fireworks from among the leaves. Obviously well tended, the trees served to shield the buildings and their occupants from sun and rain.
A narrow but fast-flowing stream wound its way through the village, drawing volume and energy from the high mountains in the distance. Upon leaving the last of the houses it tumbled, not into a freshwater pool, but over a fifteen-meter-high cliff directly into the ocean below. The watery finger of the steep-sided cove now visible off to the visitors' right was much narrower than the bay Fawn had used to access the station. Thousands of green, blue, and red growths clung to the sheer rock walls, overhanging the water.
The shallow cove was alive with a circus of sea creatures, clearly visible as they swam back and forth in the transparent water. As well as being safe from large oceangoing predators, they could enjoy the mix of fresh and salt water in the aerated environment at the waterfall's base.
On the far side of the cove, he could see where narrow switchbacks had been cut into the side of the cliff. At the water's edge, where several large rocks protruded from the shallow inlet, a simple floating dock had been constructed of stripped small trees and reeds. Secured to this were several of the sturdy outriggers common to all of Senisran.
Each boasted double masts inclined forty-five degrees from the water and from one another. Not one or two outriggers, but a whole sequence splayed from the sides of each craft. The largest was attached to the side of the boat, the smallest the farthest distance away. The larger the craft, the greater the number of outriggers it deployed. When taken together, winglike sails and outriggers gave the boats the appearance of water birds at rest.
The village was comprised of elongated huts fashioned from local materials. All had thatched roofs while several could boast of raised stone foundations. None was more than ten meters in length, and each was a riot of color thanks to the brilliantly hued materials of which they were composed. The Parramati fondness for weaving was evident in the intricate patterns that decorated every wall and roof. It looked more like a circus encampment than a native community. The naked, bare, beige-colored flesh of the Parramati themselves was plain and dull beside their dwellings.
But the sight that literally took Pulickel's breath away, more than the magnificent little waterfall or the explosively tinted longhouses, were the wonderfully intricate gardens that climbed the terraced mountain slopes on the far side of the village. Now he understood what Fawn had been talking about when she had referred to them as an art form. The growing of food seemed incidental to the elaborate aesthetics that had been employed.
The few images that had been included in the research recordings came nowhere near doing the Parramatis' agricultural accomplishments justice. The actual terracing was comparatively unspectacular and, as expected, followed the natural contours of the mountainside. What distinguished them were the exquisitely carved and entwined trellises and arbors that protected them from damage by direct sun and wind. It looked as if the entire mountainside had been clad in a single gigantic, interlinked wooden sculpture. In intricacy and. purity of design, it reminded him of the skeletons of microscopic foraminifera. In addition to the wondrous carving, every centimeter of the huge, rambling construction had been painted in delicate hues and designs.
Not merely decorative, the trellises provided protection for new, young plants and support for those maturing. Water lines hand fashioned from hollow stems and branches irrigated the ascending gardens. Each as deeply carved as the trellises and arbors, they were perfectly integrated into the overall design.
From a distance Pulickel could make out large figures woven into the upper reaches of the vast, rambling structure. In all his years of study, he'd never seen anything quite like it.
'`It's something, isn't it?" Fawn shouldered her pack higher on her shoulders. "Every pattern has traditional meaning, every outlined figure its own story. Once you know the Parramati, you can identify any family or clan by its piece of the communal garden. Kusum is right there, for anyone who knows how to read it. So are the roads."
"Roads?" He squinted. "I don't see any paths wider than the trail we're on now."
She looked back at him and smiled. "When the Parramati speak of roads, they're not talking about cleared strips of land. You'll find out. What do you think of Torrelauapa?"
"Very impressive. You were right. The few official recordings don't come close to doing it justice. These gardens must represent hundreds of years of work."
"And they keep adding to the artistic quotient every day. A section of carving here, a little paint there." She stepped over a dislodged rock. "The Parramati are quite a people."
As they entered the village outskirts, she began searching individual Parramati faces. "We're looking for a male named Jorana."
"Is he the chief? No," he hastened to correct himself, "you said there were no chiefs."
"That's right. He's just one of many Torrelauapa big persons. Someone who's respected by his fellows for any number of possible achievements. A big person isn't necessarily smarter than anyone else, or stronger, or a better fisherman. They just have respect. Remember, no big person ranks another. Technically, they don't even rank the lowliest citizen. This isn't Ophhlia or Nalauevu.
"That's one reason why we're having so much trouble forging any kind of formal alliance with these people. Jorana could agree to put his name to a treaty, but Osiwivi or Massapapu might not. Since no one can compel anyone else, you practically have to sign a separate treaty with each adult Parramati. "
Pulickel was nodding to himself. "I begin to see the scope of your problem here. Securing a treaty isn't impossible; it's just going to take time. Time and patience."
"That's right. And meanwhile, the AAnn are working just as hard to convince individual Parramati to bond with them."
"Controlled anarchy," he murmured.
"Isn't that a good definition of Athenian democracy?" She pointed. "There he is. Jorana's a famous carver."
The Parramati big person was seated at a simple bench whose upper surface consisted of the fiat side of a split log. Shade was provided by an open-sided thatched roof, a shed without walls. Limber three-fingered hands worked with tools of bone, shell, beak, and stone. At the moment the native was working on one of three table legs. Each was roughly a meter in length and magnificently incised. One had already been inlaid with carved shell and bone and rubbed to a high polish.
Technology the Parramati might not have, but their culture was clearly of a high order. Pulickel knew the table legs alone would fetch a good price in Ophhlia. He couldn't imagine what the intact, completed table might bring from a collector on Earth or New Riviera. Aboriginal alien artifacts were one product modern technology couldn't synthesize, hence their continuing value to the cognoscenti.
And the art of each island group, each archipelago, was unique and different. Based on what he'd seen so far, that of Parramati could stand with the best of it.
Noticing their approach, the elderly big person put down his tools and rose from his working crouch. Placing his head upon the ground and flattening his ears, he executed a simple backward roll.
"Jorana can't do the flip anymore," Fawn informed her companion.
"What do I do? If I do the somersault will he be insulted?"
"You don't have to do anything," she assured him. "Jorana's used to my lack of acrobatics. It's not expected of humans." Raising her voice, she switched to the lilting singsong dialect of Parramat.
"Hello, Jorana! May your road be straight and clear."
"As may yours, F'an." Despite the slight quaver in his speech, Pulickel had no trouble understanding him.
"This is the coming of the other human I told you about." She indicated her attentive companion. "He is called Pulickel."
The old one's jaws ground slowly from side to side as if he was grinding bone. "Pu'il. A difficult name."
"I am sorry," Pulickel replied fluently. "Pu'il will be perfectly satisfactory."
"But your real name is longer. Will it satisfy you to be so identified?" Long cat-eyes gazed speculatively at the xenologist.
"So long as you don't confuse it with one belonging to one of your wives." Pulickel knew alien humor was always a difficult proposition, but he'd never been cautious where language was concerned.
A gargling sound came from the Parramati's throat, signifying not only acceptance and understanding but appreciation. Fawn looked on admiringly.
Jorana turned to her. "Is Pu'il a big person among your kind?"
"Bigger than I. Big enough to talk about things I cannot talk about."
The alien turned back to his work. "Well, it is always good to talk," he commented noncommittally. "Come and sit. I am working on a Pr'ithma ceremonial table."
The two xenologists accepted the invitation, settling themselves crosslegged close to the Parramati and beneath the shade of the thatched shelter. This left the alien squatting on its haunches, looking down at them. The seni used tables and beds, but not chairs. With their powerful hind legs, they could remain in a squatting/sitting position for hours at a time.
They watched quietly while their host used a wooden block lined with tiny sharp-edged shells to sand a rough section of tabletop. "One cannot reduce the beauty of the wood," he murmured. "But one can transform it." A slitted eye glanced at Fawn. "Ascela was asking for you."
"Who's Ascela?" Pulickel inquired.
His companion reverted to terranglo for the explanation. "Another Torrelauapa big person. Much younger than Jorana, not as big or as strong, but maybe smarter."
"But that doesn't mean he ranks Jorana."
She smiled approvingly. "Now you're getting the hang of it. And Ascela is female. " Turning back to the woodworker, she swung her pack off her back and resumed speaking in the local tongue. "I have something for you, Jorana." Reaching into the carryall, she brought out a glassine envelope containing a dozen colorful titanium fishhooks. Pulickel was quick to note that the smallest was the size of his little finger. Apparently the Parramati diet included some fairly sizable denizens of the deep.
Taking the bag, Jorana made a show of inspecting the contents. Then, with a regretful yip, he handed it back. "I am sorry, F'an, but I cannot accept these."
Her expression fell. "Why not?"
"Because we hunt the waters with straight points, not curved ones."
"I know, but what you do with these is put a little bait on them and tie them to a line. The coliat or metikim smell the bait and try to eat it. They catch themselves on the hook."
"But why wait?" Jorana was genuinely curious, his long, pointed ears arched sharply forward. "Any decent fisherman can go out on a boat, look into the water, and spear his quarry."
"But you don't always come back with something that way," Fawn argued. "Sometimes the spears miss and the boats come back empty."
"That is true." The carver scrutinized the package and its gleaming, high-tech contents. "And this works every time?"
"Well, no. The quarry has to take the bait and the fisherman has to make sure the hook is set before he tries to pull it in."
"I see." As Pulickel winced, the native emptied the bag's sharp contents into his open palm. Apparently that smooth, beige-hued skin was tougher than it looked. Jorana returned them to the gift-giver by placing the hooks on the ground in front of her. Then he held up the empty bag.
"This, however, is another of your wonderful carrying containers, and for this gift I thank you."
"See?" Fawn spoke again to her companion in their own language. "Any other seni society would have been glad to have the hooks, if only to trade with another island group. Not the Parramati. Here, a gift must be deemed immediately useful or it's refused."
"You should have this." Digging through a pile of wooden shapes, Jorana extracted an exquisite carving a little larger than Pulickel's palm. Finely polished, the wood was jet black streaked with red. The carver had fashioned it into the likeness of a local animal with four legs, a stubby body, and two eyes protruding on stalks. The eyes had been carved so that they contained only the red grain, and a double set of external gills appeared made of lace, though they were also part of the single piece of hardwood.
Fawn was taken aback. "I can't accept that," she protested. "Not in exchange for a lousy plastic bag."
"Please." The native pushed the sculpture at her. "It is a fair exchange. I have many, many carvings and they are easy for me to make."
Professional considerations aside, Pulickel could see that Fawn wanted the delicate carving. Hell, he wanted it himself.
"Very well," she agreed reluctantly, "but to make it fair I must bring you more bags."
"Done." Pleased, the native handed her the little sculpture. Pulickel found himself wishing he'd brought along a few spare bags himself.
According to the information in the slim manual that had been prepared for him, now that official greetings, introductions, and gift-giving had been concluded, the conversation was open to any topic any of the participants might choose to introduce. Edging a little closer to the big person and avoiding something that scuttled along the ground on far too many legs, he watched appreciatively as the Parramati used a sharpened palm size shell to etch traditional spirals and whorls into one table leg.
"I have come from my home, from my island in the sky, to..."
The native interrupted him with an expression that at the very least was suggestive of a smile. "It is not necessary, Pu'il, to explain. F'an has told us many things. Besides, the Parramati have always thought of the lights in the night sky as other islands, whose people set torches at night to show travelers the way through the ocean of darkness."
"Then I won't go into a lot of background. I know that my friend Fawn has already spoken to you about signing a treaty of friendship and commerce with our people. One that would allow us to move and trade freely among the islands of the Parramat and to search for and remove certain rocks from the ground. Such a treaty would greatly benefit the Parramati. You would be given access to many wondrous tools and learning devices.
"For example, you could learn how to better farm your gardens, how to produce more with less work. You would acquire weapons that would let you fight not only the forest animals that menace you but even the dangerous creatures of the sea. We can give you boats that would not sink in a storm and that could tell you always where you were, even in thick fog."
Jorana did not look up from his work, though both ears stayed turned in his guests' direction. His long snout twitched. "Why would one want to know where he is at all times?"
Pulickel smiled patiently. "If one knows where one is at all times, it is impossible to become lost."
"No Parramati is ever `lost.' " Jorana knocked a shaving off the top of the table leg.
The xenologist frowned. "I don't understand. If a fisherman sails far, far out to sea, farther than he or any other Parramati has ever traveled before, could he not become lost among unfamiliar islands and places?"
"He would not be lost," the carver explained, "because he would know exactly where he was. Wherever he happened to be, he would be there. `There' is always a place, and as long as one is in a place, one cannot be lost."
Pulickel fought down his impatience. He hadn't expected quite so sophisticated a rejoinder to what seemed the blatantly obvious. "But he would be lost in relation to his home, and night not know how to return."
"Nonsense. He would simply return the way he had traveled."
The xenologist decided to try another approach. "You've seen some of our kind's tools." He patted the sidearm snugged at his hip. "Our weapons, the boat that flies in air, our clothes. You've' seen how they last. Wouldn't you like to have these things for yourself and for your people?"
"Not so very much." Wood chips spiraled lazily to the ground. "They are your weapons, your boat, your clothing. If we were to make use of so many of your things, it would mean that ours would be neglected. That would mean neglecting tradition, which is the same as neglecting kusum."
"Not in the least," Pulickel argued. "You could still use your traditional things. You would just have more choices."
The shell planer paused in mid-scrape. Bright, intelligent eyes peered directly into Pulickel's own. "Sometimes it is not a good thing for a people to have too many choices." Double eyelids blinked slowly. "People with too many choices night forget their kusum. We know that this has happened on other islands. The people there have changed and cannot go back. From what we hear, I do not know that they are any happier for this." He raised a three-fingered hand.
"We cannot talk through the air as F'an does, but neither are we ignorant of what happens elsewhere. Talk travels quickly enough, Pu'il. We have heard of what has happened to some who have accepted the big gifts from your people and from the shiny-skinned ones. We have heard what has happened to the Jimeri, the Corchosi, and the Trefaria. They have traded away their kusum, which is a bigger thing than trading bags and carvings."
Pulickel searched his memory. "There was an epidemic of food poisoning on Corchos. Commonwealth medicine saved many lives there."
Ears flicked, indicating that Jorana was not impressed. "There were too many Corchosi. Some must die so that others may live. The Corchosi who survive do so without their kusum. They are alive, but they are no longer Corchosi. Now they must rely on their trade to feed and support them. They have become wards of your kusum. This is bad for the spirit."
"I don't know that that's the case," Pulickel responded doubtfully.
"We do. Understand," the native continued gently, "I do not mean to criticize the decisions of the Jimeri, the Trefaria, or the Corchosi. They have done willingly what they have done. They have made their choices. But the Parramati choose the same road we have always chosen. Our kusum will stay pure. You may keep your boats that fly in air and bows that kill without arrows."
"I'm sorry you feel that way." Pulickel was not discouraged. After all, this was his first attempt. "Perhaps other big persons will feel differently." At this, Seaforth shot him a warning look, but he ignored her. It had been his experience that alien aboriginals of whatever intelligence favored directness.
Jorana was not offended. "You may talk to any of the Parramati that you wish." His left arm came up and three fingers spread wide in an eloquent gesture. "Some will not listen to you, but all will be polite. It may be that you will find one who can be swayed by what you have to offer. But it will be only one. Even if it is another big person, it will be only one."
"I understand. I, too, can be patient." To Fawn he added in terranglo, "How the hell are we supposed to achieve a viable consensus here? Are they all going to be this stubborn?" As he spoke he continued to smile at the alien, who had returned to his carving.
"I hope not. I've had luck with some of the younger Parramati," she told him. "Maybe with your skills we'll be able to secure some firm commitments. I'm hoping for a snowball effect, especially among the younger and middle-level big persons, but I've had to learn patience."
He nodded. "That's the ticket. Get a fair number to come around to our way of thinking and let them do the convincing of the others. I can see why you wanted me to meet this Jorana: he's clearly an exceptional individual among his kind. But I agree that we might do better to concentrate the majority of our efforts on the younger, more flexible members of the tribe."
She nodded. "We can still try to convince Jorana and Ascela and the other elders. I have to confess that part of the reason I've spent so much time working with them is that I enjoy listening to them."
"That's okay," he replied. "We need to learn all we can about their society and culture, and for that you have to speak with the local elders. But I can see already that a political solution to our problem will have to be found in working with the more malleable islanders. We'll keep trying Jorana here and his counterparts; we just won't rely on them." He addressed himself anew to the alien.
"I am curious, Jorana. Do you think we offer you these things because it is our intention to harm you, or because we want to make you forget your kusum?"
The elder paused in his carving. "No, Pu'il. I am sure your people wish to do us good. That is part of your kusum. It means that you believe your kusum to be stronger than ours."
"Not stronger," the xenologist objected. "I choose to see them as different but compatible."
"You imply otherwise when you suggest that your weapons, your tools, and your learning should replace ours."
"Not replace. Supplement."
Jorana's ears twitched and his upper lip rippled like a wavelet on a shallow beach. "Listen well to me, Pu'il. The Parramati have their own weapons, their own tools, their own boats, and their own ways. Each has its own power, its own magic. The trees behind you, the bench you sit upon, the ground beneath your feet. It takes time to learn to know these powers and magics, to see the best way of using them. We have ours, you have yours. Ours does not need to be supplemented, not even by those good of heart and intention."
"Hierophanes," Fawn murmured.
Pulickel frowned at her. "What did you say?"
"Parramati society is based on hierophanes. Everything in the world is seen as a manifestation of the sacred. Each is a hierophane and each has power. With access to so much power, they see no need to invite in outside influences."
He nodded disappointedly. "It makes it difficult to convince a people to give something up if everything controls something else. But I still think that when some of the younger villagers accept access to advanced technology, Jorana and the others will come around." He switched back to the local dialect.
"I agree with you, Jorana. Everything in the world has a certain amount of power. Some have more, some less. Certain minerals that lie beneath the Parramat have very much power. My people have spent a lot of time learning how to make use of these, while the Parramati have not. So you see, our kusums are not so very far apart."
The old carver considered. "F'an has spoken of such. As you say, I would not know of such powers. I am a wood person, not an earth person. My road leads through the forest. To learn the value of certain rocks you would have to talk to someone whose road is of the earth."
"But if no one is using these minerals, why would the Parramati object to my people doing so?"
Jorana blinked double lids. "If the earth is turned up too much, it is bad for growing things."
The xenologist had had enough. "I think that's plenty for one day. We don't want to tire the old fellow, or irritate him. I'm happy with the progress we've made. Let's leave him to consider what has been said." He brushed wood dust from his shorts as he rose.
Fawn straightened. "You don't want to talk to anyone else in the village?"
"Not today. I don't want to get a reputation for being insistent or demanding. Nothing puts primitive peoples off more quickly. Better they should grow curious about me. That way, hopefully the next time they'll be anxious to see me, instead of simply polite."
Stretching, he bid the elder big person a polite farewell. "It has been good to talk with you, Jorana."
"And with you, Pu'il. F'an, I am always warmed by your presence." He bent low until his nostrils skimmed the ground. It was as close as he could come to performing the traditional flip.
"I am pleased by your happiness." She duplicated the elder's motion, bending double at the waist.
"Then I will see you both again?" Vibrantly colored alien eyes regarded them both.
"Very soon, I hope." With a hand gesture, Fawn turned to leave.
They headed out of the village and back toward the forest. A clutch of boisterous, barking juveniles escorted them. With powerful legs and feet too big for their still immature bodies, they tumbled and fell over one another in their eagerness to accompany the strange visitors. Only when dense vegetation closed in around the humans did the pack fall back, in twos and threes, toward their home. Their playful, high-pitched singing followed Pulickel and Fawn for long moments thereafter.
"You did pretty good for a first encounter." She stepped over a hollow that had filled with rainwater. "Just the right mix of conviction and understanding. I was afraid the stiffness and formality of your character would carry over into your fieldwork."
"But it didn't," he responded, "which means I'm just stiff and formal the rest of the time, right?"
"Not exactly," she demurred, trying to backtrack.
"It's all right. I know that I'm something of a cold fish. Like I said before, I relate much better to aliens. There are no preconceptions on either side."
She changed the subject. "I know it's premature, but do you have an opinion of the situation so far?"
He shrugged. "If this Jorana is a typical big person, then I don't foresee any further extensive delays. They're stubborn, but they seem to enjoy debate. Any creature that will talk with me is one I can eventually persuade to see reason. I sense exploitable openings already. Conclusion? It will take more time than I'd hoped but less than I'd feared."
She shoved a branch out of her way. It promptly exuded a cloud of perfumed dust. Since she walked right through it, Pulickel saw no harm in doing likewise. For a delightful moment, the world smelled of sandalwood and myrrh.
"Jorana's right, of course. If the Parramati give their consent to a full treaty, much of their traditional kusum will eventually be overwhelmed."
"I know that." He stumbled awkwardly down a slight slope. "But the alternative is for them to fall under the influence of the AAnn. Better the Commonwealth than the Empire."
"Certainly. Unless they choose the third option and elect to remain unallied with either side."
He moved up alongside her and gazed flatly into her face. "There is no third option, Fawn. Not for primitive aliens. I'm not sure there ever was."