I woke slowly, to the sound of voice, and the rustle of the thatch overhead. Automatically, my fingers slid to my little recorder.
"Now that the rain's quit for a while, this breeze will have our stuff dry in no time!" Carmen felt the few spare garments we have with obvious satisfaction.
"I know," said Shirley. "And I'm going to replace this limp thing I'm wearing for that one with fewer stains. At least the sleeves are whole! And maybe it will save me a scratch or two on the on the trail—can't wait to start really exploring!"
"It makes a difference, doesn't it, knowing we're going to be here a long time," said Carmen thoughtfully. "In a way, it gives us a lot more freedom than thinking we'll be rescued."
Shirley agreed. "It's kind of a boost in a way, too, that George and the others seem to think we'll do all right on our own. They obviously didn't have any real worries about taking off and leaving us."
"We've got food, water, all the shelter we really need in this climate, plenty to explore, and all the time in the world to do it!" Carmen's voice had a new exultation in it, but then she was impossible to hear over the indignant bellow from the nearby beach. I rose to stroll down to the ripples with the others.
"George gone?" Little Red was very indignant. The flouwen had welcomed the lander enthusiastically, but had grown bored with the endless talking, and gone off on their own pursuits for some days. Cinnamon and Richard were taking turns, explaining our new situation to the flouwen.
"Not much difference, really," she reassured them. "You'll still explore the waters, and help us to find out what lives there."
"And have plenty of time for play," added Richard.
Cinnamon and I lingered, talking with the flouwen about the strange plant life on the surface, especially the giant walking tree we had been recently interviewing.
"You know the plants that grow underwater? Seaweed, we call a lot of them, but there are all different kinds in some oceans," Cinnamon was saying.
"Yes, plants underwater here, too," Little White said. "Different from Rocheworld, here. Got six of things, floating around them."
"What things?" Cinnamon was startled. "Floating how?"
I didn't follow her thought, but instead began to explain to the flouwen about the giant land "plant" we had met being capable of moving about, and doing things on its own. Little Purple was interested.
"Maybe these plants in the water can move too," he speculated. "I never watched them long enough to see. Now I will." His speech is growing more like our own, as he grows in size and intelligence. Obviously thriving in the strange water, the flouwen communicate with us daily now, but briefly, preferring to spend their time out in the open ocean.
"Do the underwater plants have . . ." I hesitated. "Hedges? Walls of plants around them?"
"No," was the answer. "They grow among rocks and cave edges, right up close. But floating things come out and wander around, as far as their . . .things will let them." He hesitated, hunting for the right word. "Tentacles?" he tried.
"Yes, I know tentacles," I said. "You mean like long strings, holding . . ."
"Yes!" interrupted Little Red. "Tasty things come on tentacles!"
Little White explained further. "The plants don't have many leaves, mostly stem with clingers at the bottom. But the tentacles come out, two different kinds: one kind has tiny bumps on the ends, feeling all around; the other kind has swimming things, with nets in front, that scoop in lots of water." This sounded like it might possibly be the filter-feeder fish Nels had received from the flouwen, our first day. I asked about that, and was answered affirmatively.
"Biggest ones taste best!" Little Red was proud. "We bring you nice big one!" It had indeed been a substantial specimen. By now we have all tasted it, and both Nels and Cinnamon had been impressed with the meatiness, as well as the simplicity of structure of the creature.
"Where do these plants grow?" I asked, hoping to be able to dive for some.
"Down deep where the water is hot," said Little White. "Like Rocheworld, where hot water comes out of holes in bottom of sea, that's where most plants grow, and that's best place to find food, too."
"Volcanic vents," remembered Cinnamon. "Interesting . . .I need to talk to Nels," she said abruptly, and waded ashore. I followed more slowly, after enquiring gently about the well-being of our watery allies. I find it pleasant to talk with them; in their new freedom they visit us only if they wish, and it is curiously thrilling to have the silence of a swim broken by their cheerful presence. I floated, face down, to watch them for a few minutes as they moved easily through the water. I noticed below them a goodly cluster of the six-legged clams we had all enjoyed, and lifted my head to mark where they were, for later collection. Carmen was on the shore, waving me in, and I went to join her.
A discussion had apparently been going on for some time around the fire. I obtained a cup of the brew they were drinking; Arielle has named it coffee, but privately I feel that is a misnomer, principally because it tastes better than any coffee I have ever experienced.
Wasting no time, Jinjur was applying herself to organizing our situation and making plans.
"Our mission remains the same. We planned it out before we got here, and I've always found that the decisions made when we've been thinking rationally are best stuck to even when the situation . . .deteriorates." The crisp voice broke, momentarily only, but I felt with a quick pang of sympathy her genuine sorrow. She and George had shared so much! Strongly, she went on. "Whether it is our mission or not, we've got to learn as much about this world as we can, for our own purposes.
"Especially . . ." and real interest grew in her voice, "especially now that we have discovered the Jolly!"
"I've got some ideas . . ." began Nels eagerly.
"Wait until I tell you . . ." interrupted Cinnamon.
"Now!" said Jinjur loudly, reclaiming full attention. "Unlike most castaways, we've got few survival problems, so far. The climate means we don't need much shelter, or special clothing . . ." (And we all, even I, have been gradually shortening sleeves and pantlegs, saving the precious scraps in a bundle.) "Food is available in such abundance we needn't worry about storage. And we've not met, yet, any threatening creatures. Not even mosquitoes!" True enough, although the defenses of the little clams had certainly been vigorous.
"Well, in general . . ." Jinjur stopped, and grinned at the mild pun. "That's the question, isn't it? How about it? Am I still to be The General? It looks to me like we are all, literally, in the same spot. In what manner shall we proceed?"
The question took us by surprise. We are so long accustomed to obeying orders! But our communal existence is already becoming more like that of a family, with comfortable familiarity the norm. Yet we are still individuals, desiring fairness and reasonable privacy. I was thankful that a few moment's thought brought us all to the same conclusion. It makes sense to have an acknowledged leader for the unforeseen situations we face; and Jinjur's good judgement, training, and automatic concern for the well-being of us all is something we can count on. But for our routine discussions and decisions? Do we simply expect each other's respect? Possibly . . .
"Reiki? How familiar are you with Roberts' Rules?" Jinjur's eyes were quizzical.
I took a deep breath. "Jinjur, there's a well-mannered precedent . . ."
"I knew it," she muttered.
"There was a group, similar in some few—very few!—ways to this, which operated successfully for quite some time on just two rules. One, nobody may interrupt. The other, nobody must remain around to listen! Perhaps that system, along with our general respect for you, may suffice. For instance, if you decide for some reason of your own that one of us needs washing—say, Shirley (obsessively clean Shirley!)—you may try to persuade us to do so. But you must obtain 100% agreement! Otherwise, we will waste our few resources in fruitless arguing. As you argue, and as we walk away, you will eventually give up the argument, and Shirley can go unbathed. In cases of emergency, and where there is limited time for discussion, it makes sense for our leader to have authority by our consent. It does follow," I added slowly, "that the system must be acceptable to all. No fair ganging up on Shirley in the shower."
The total lack of a shower here made Shirley smile, without diminishing the point of my plan, which of course was my goal. Peace between ourselves is more possible than amongst many shipwrecked unfortunates, because we were selected for compatibility so many years ago, and have been through so much together. But we all know how tenuous can be the hold of civilization in such straitened circumstances as we presently are in!
"Where did that system come from?" asked David idly. "Japan?"
I shook my head, smiling, but said only, "Any etiquette system is only invented to help us keep our humanity presentable." And I sincerely hope no one will plumb the secret of the society of which I spoke, with its "Tw' Rules"! I think it is sufficiently obscure, and I hope it serves us longer than it did its founders!
Jinjur continued to lead the discussio, as we considered the days ahead of us. The mood seemed lighter, more relaxed; I noted with secret pleasure that Jinjur, knowing no one would interrupt her, stopped talking frequently, looking around for suggestions or questions. And there were plenty of suggestions!
"I want to record, somehow, some medical evaluation of everyone, so I can keep track of our health," John announced. The statement made us all turn to look at each other, consideringly, and the changes of the last few weeks were suddenly discernible.
David has grown a sandy beard and mustache—he keeps the edges neatly squared with an obsidian blade, but seems almost proud of the thickness of the growth. His arms and legs are scratched by the tree trunks he climbs most days, but are firmly muscled. Arielle, too, shows marks and scratches, but her two belts fit no more loosely than before, and the big eyes are bright beneath the elfin cap of fair hair. Jinjur's uniform fits better now, not so clinging, and the trimmed edges are tidy and unfrayed. Carmen is slimmer too, and her rainwashed skin has a translucence that never showed under the heavy makeup. Shirley and Cinnamon look exactly the same as they always have, to me—I have noticed that they wander together along the beach every day, undoing their long braids, and talking cheerfully while the strands blow in the air before being replaited. In concession to the constant dampness, the braids are looser—not so tightly bound. The crisp coveralls favored by both women have softened considerably too, but they have sensibly refused to worry about lost buttons.
John and Nels look . . .tougher—their skins have darkened with exposure, and they swear companionably as they struggle to scrape their stubbly faces with obsidian—but they seem fit, moving easily with the heavy work that must be done, teeth gleaming in frequent laughter. I myself feel fine, although the black curls are becoming ominously long and seem to be developing an independent attitude which I deplore. At any rate, there doesn't look to be any need for medical concern among us.
"Check our belts," suggested Arielle. "See if they get tight or loose!" It sounds a practical and simple way to keep track. I had lost my belt in the crash, but Arielle handed over her regulation one with a grin, keeping her treasured one with the silver buckle. I took the firm fabric loop with inward trepidation, and was absurdly pleased when it fitted snugly.
Cinnamon and Nels were pleased with a private project of their own: "We sprouted some of Reiki's oats and barley," Cinnamon said happily. "We've been successfully propagating small batches on Prometheus for years, so it seemed worth a try."
"It's growing up along the ridge of that hill along with some of the native grains." Nels pointed. I remembered, now, seeing them examining those small sealed bags of grain so seriously some weeks before. "It's growing nicely, nothing seems to be trying to interfere with it, so we'll hope for another food crop."
"Great!" said Shirley. "From something the Jolly said, I gather it has some sort of food crop, too. Nels and I are going to spend today following that up." Several more voices offered to join her, and I was about to add my own when Jinjur said, questioning, "What's for dinner?"
"Soup," volunteered Arielle. "I make, using these roots."
"And I'll make those little cakes," added Cinnamon. I started involuntarily when she mentioned the cakes. Between them, Cinnamon and Carmen had devised a simple bread which had become a much-liked feature of our meals. Grinding some of the native seeds in primitive fashion between chunks of smooth stone, they experimented with the exact amount of water required to make a malleable dough. Both of them were adept at patting out thin, even little cakes which cooked beautifully on the open fire, acquiring a smoky flavor and a chewy consistency which we all enjoyed.
I had watched them carefully as they did this every night, and several days ago had resolved to try my own hand when I was alone. To my fury, it turned out to be much more difficult than I had expected! I had tucked the little pot of wet flour dough out of sight as David strolled into camp, and hurried to the shore to wash my hands of the sticky, uncontrollable mess before he saw. The little pot was still there—I could see it, under the bush, because I knew where to look—a cloth barely covered it. I decided quickly to find some other task for myself and return quietly later to dispose of that unfortunate experiment before its discovery.
"I spotted a nice bunch of those clams while I was talking with the flouwen this morning," I offered. "I'll get some to add to the soup, shall I?"
"Want some help?" Richard offered. I refused, I hoped politely, and as I headed for shore to collect a net and blade I noticed he did the same, but headed with long and silent strides up the hill into the forest.
I plunged happily into the warm salt water and swam strongly out to the area I had noted earlier. After so many years of not swimming at all, I find increasing pleasure in the support and caress of the water, and am steadily gaining in the speed and economy of my strokes. Now, nicely beyond the low breakers, I found a thick cluster of the six-sided clams and dove to them. The first few came away easily, but the next resisted, and I rose to the surface, gasping. They were lying deeper than I had realized, and I was exasperated at the time it took me to reach them. I knew what I needed, and headed back to shore, leaving my catch safely stowed in a shallow pool. Taking blade and net with me, I soon found some suitable thick leaves and slender vines, and returned to the shore to cut them into flippers. I cut a slot for my feet and fastened the things crudely to my ankles with the vine, and splashed into the water. It was soon obvious I had been much too lavish with my estimate, and I clambered awkwardly back out of the surf to trim the front edges. It took me many such trials and errors, but eventually I had formed a pair of very effective aids; uncomfortable to walk in, but enabling me to swim smoothly down through the water with only minimum effort behind the steady kicks. Further experimentation taught me the most efficient way to use this new tool, and by the end of the morning I had collected, with relative ease, enough of the shellfish to form a substantial part of a meal for the ten of us. I swam most of the way home, for further practice, and when I sat down to remove the flippers I was surprised to see Richard, grinning.
"Is that what you were doing, then!" he said. "I couldn't make it out—in and out of the water, splashing and whacking around in the surf, back into the ocean, swearing by the look of your shoulders . . ."
"I didn't see you!" I said.
"I was hunting. Can't spot me when I'm hunting, of course."
"Then why were you watching me?" I demanded.
"It was fun!"
Quickly I reviewed my own actions, but was relieved to remember I had done nothing silly, I'd simply been busy. "Always pleasant, watching other people work!" I murmured, politely. "I do hope your prey didn't escape whilst you were—superintending?"
"Nope." The answer was assured and cordial—too late I saw the bulging game bag swinging at his belt. I marched past him a trifle stiffly, and joined the bustle of camp.
"Great stuff from the Jolly!" enthused Shirley. "Nels and I enter it all in the recorder, Reiki, after we eat. He says . . ."
"After we eat," reminded Cinnamon, firmly.
"I'll just stir up those cakes. Where's that other little pot? It's just the right size . . ."
I had forgotten again! Quietly I tried to edge away as Cinnamon hunted with increasing determination for that missing pot, but I had not got to safety when she pounced upon it.
"Here! But what's this? What is this stuff!" She bent to smell the mess, and gasped. "Shirley! Carmen! Did either of you do this?" Both women reached for the pot, denying having done anything, and sniffed in turn.
"Sourdough?" said Carmen doubtfully. "Yes! It's sourdough! But we've no yeast—how could it be—unless it just sat long enough . . ." Shrinking, I felt three pairs of eyes turning to me.
"Reiki!"
I stepped forward, my face burning. "I'm sorry, I know it's a waste . . ."
"You've done it again! Sourdough's useful stuff. We can have biscuits and things now, Reiki, if I can remember how to keep the dough working!"
"There's another aspect I like," said John seriously. "If there's yeasts in the air which started that fermentation, maybe there'll be some of those complex B vitamins in the food—another nutrient we can use."
Nels and David looked at each other, an expression of unholy glee on each face. "Fermentation!"
I felt much better.
John has enjoined upon us all the most stringent demands for as much cleanliness as we can maintain. At his insistence, all of us scrub face and hands with water kept steaming at the side of the fire before every meal. Without soap, it's important to be thorough with these ablutions, and I not only enjoyed them but began to spend several minutes in a general sprucing up of my appearance at these times. Rather like a family of cats, we tidied ourselves vigorously and swiftly, before settling down.
But this time we were eager to share the interview with the Jollys. We hurried through the cleaning-up routine, which for the same hygienic reasons is never allowed to wait.
Nels began the report as I dutifully recorded it. Considering the vast differences between our life-forms, it is amazing how rapidly we are learning to communicate, and humbling to realize how much of the difference is being bridged by the giant plant. Most of the obtained data, of course, took much longer to hear and piece together than it took to relate, and I was impressed with the skill and tenacity of my fellow explorers.
"It appears the Jollys probably evolved from the same general plant structure that we first thought was the only one here—a main body with six outrigger plants," he said. "They're at the top of the local food chain, very intelligent, and very much aware of themselves and their environment. What's still difficult for me to comprehend is that, although they would still be classified as plants because they use photosynthesis, they are so active they need more food—in fact they're omnivorous—and in turn, they are able to get more food because they're so active!"
"Chicken and egg?" murmured David.
"Maybe." Nels shrugged. "They live, by choice, in those thorn thickets we've tried to get through, and they can make the thickets open up to them. I get the impression they're not afraid of anything, but they need to maintain a stable, upright position—you can see it'd be hard for them to get erect again if they toppled over!—and the thickets protect them from the wind as much as from any predator."
"How do they get other foods?" I asked curiously.
"It sounds to me like they have a sort of farm operation," said Cinnamon slowly. "The words are unclear still, and I keep thinking how unlikely that would be, but then I watch those thick roots pick up a knife . . ."
"And did you see that knife?" Carmen asked eagerly. "It's much better than anything I can make!"
"Yet the Jolly was really interested in my Mech-All," added Shirley. "After three or four of those gentle, pushy reachings for my belt-pouch, I got it out, switched it to a standard knife blade, and the Jolly examined every part of it."
"And did you notice how it did that examining?" said Jinjur. "I was fascinated—the root end felt it all over, like my fingers would, while one of those little owls hovered so close I could have touched it!"
"Those flying things really do appear to be eyes for the Jolly," Nels said. "But how they evolved into separate entities I can't figure out."
I remembered Cinnamon's curiosity about the underwater plants with their six mobile parts out on tentacles, and I glanced at her, but she said nothing, staring thoughtfully into the flames.
"As near as I can pronounce what the Jolly said, there is a creature called the jookeejook, which the Jolly controls, and uses for food," Shirley said. "I'm hoping I'll soon be able to ask to visit the thorn thicket this fellow calls home, if he does, and then we'll learn more."
"I'm taking it slow," she said to my quick question. "I think Reiki's right about the courtesy here, it just makes sense. We move so rapidly all the time, the Jolly might rightly feel threatened if we were anything other than calm and steady."
I was glad to hear this. I've seen how difficult it is for David, in particular, to move slowly, unless he is convinced of the necessity for it.
"How about those decorations?" I asked. "Did you get any explanation for them?"
"Not yet," Carmen answered. "It apparently has several different sorts, and uses them with obvious care, but they don't seem to serve any practical purpose. Like your laces, Reiki!" she added in surprise. I considered that—rather an appealing thought!
"Further," Nels went on, "I think that it's eating when the little animals bring stuff which goes into that hole in the trunk, and when it fetches out fruit and things from the pouches and puts them in the hole. The gurgly noises, for lack of a better term, rather indicate that. But the Jolly always covers the hole with that decorated cloth before the sounds begin—I've no idea why."
I gasped as a thought came to me, but my idea was too blatantly anthropomorphic to say aloud. But Shirley turned and gave me a quick and knowing grin.
"A napkin, Reiki?" she whispered.
"We did manage to ask a few simple questions about the trees and vines," she said aloud. "Mostly by showing them to the little owls, and letting David make interrogative sounds on the flute. It seems to know and use the fruit, when it can get it! But the interesting thing is the battle between the trees and the vines—I think the Jolly has a word that very definitely means war, and that it's going on all the time. We can't see it, or hear it, but it must be a bitter struggle—no holds barred!"
"Yes, I got that too," said Carmen. "They're all after the same thing, and I think it might be the treetop area."
"Yes," Nels agreed. "It looks like all the different sorts of trees live in family-type groups, and they're all struggling upward, probably to get as much light as they can. In Earth's rainforests, there's a polite sort of distance between the various treetops, but perhaps because the light is poorer here, that space is literally up for grabs. The trees are always sending out exploring vines, or roots, or both, hunting for better terrain, and attempting to kill any other vine or root it meets and take over its area. When you and Arielle go up the trees using the vines you don't notice it—and I don't think the trees are cognizant, not like the Jolly—but the tree and vine you are scrambling over are actually locked in combat with each other!"
"How can you tell who wins?" asked Jinjur.
"Ultimately, by which survives," Nels answered.
"Or, at least, by which remains in control of that area," said Cinnamon, thinking it out. "I bet that's what started the plants moving in the first place. The simpler ones do it by shifting their main growth to the best place. The Jollys have evolved a lot further than that."
"What about the little animals that gather food for the Jolly?" I asked.
"They seem to be . . .just little animals that gather food," said Jinjur. "I got between one of them and the Jolly by mistake, this morning," she admitted. "Neither the animal nor the Jolly made any move toward me, but there certainly was an increase in the sounds between the animal on the ground and the animals inside the hole in the trunk! And the little thing shifted constantly until I was out of the way, and then headed straight and fast for the hole in the trunk."
There was not much more to add to the information, and my day in the water has left me drowsy. It is a rare clear night, and I wander down to the beach to watch the stars coming out. What an incredibly beautiful sight! There are only a few high clouds in the sky, and as I stand in the warm wind I can see the light of more distant stars, thick in the sky. But what fills the heavens is the gigantic glowing orb of Gargantua hanging overhead, bigger than my hand, and in "full-moon" phase.
The night is peaceful—I might be in any tropical paradise but for the unearthly view above me. Hawaii, Pitcairn, Tahiti—but those places all have records of human violence. This place seems so innocent, and benign—perhaps it really is an Eden!
"Wha, do you think would make life here better?" I asked Richard, curious. He started to speak, then stopped. Slowly, he said, "I'd be very reluctant to add anything at all, just yet. Any ecology is incredibly complex, and fragile—and here, where we're so . . .ignorant!" I liked hearing that.
I look up again at Gargantua. The shadow of Zapotec is already moving across the face of the planet, and is soon followed by our moon's shadow. It's very pleasant to stand thus, the little waves whispering over my feet, talking quietly with Richard—but I'm too weary to remain. I shall go to bed.
We learned so much today about the creatures of this new world that I am exhilarated! Any period of time spent in making discoveries is stimulating, of course—when my mind is absorbing new data I experience neither fatigue nor hunger for hours, and today was just such a joyous delight! It reminded me of early days at school, when some hitherto unknown realm of knowledge was suddenly available—a new field of literature or experiment to explore—and I could plunge into it with single-minded intensity!
This day began early. Jinjur agreed to a long interview with the giant alien, including David, Cinnamon, and Carmen; we hoped to expand our vocabulary, and to begin to suggest a visit to its territory. How much more we discovered than we had anticipated! But then, none of the information sent early to us by our landers had even hinted at the amazing development—even civilization!—of these peculiar plants.
We made a very formal start to our dialogue. David played the visitor's initial greeting-tune with great care, and we listened closely as it was returned, exactly similar to our ears, by one of the little animals standing at the entrance to the hole in the Jolly's trunk. We indicated our own selves by name, and then we received the first shock. Although it had only been hours since our last talk with this being, it apparently had spent the time in thought as rapid as its movement is slow, for it had absorbed so much of our language and vocabulary that we can now communicate with ease!
I asked, in tentative fashion, if the Jolly was comfortable: "Have you eaten? And rested?"
"Yes, thank you very much, Reiki. May I sincerely hope that all is well with you and the others also?" whistled a second animal who replaced the first one. Although the reply had a whistling or breathy tone instead of the humming tone generated by human vocal cords, it was definitely human speech and quite intelligible.
This amazing reply left us speechless! The creature then began, on its own initiative, to describe itself and the things about us in a mixture of English and Jolly words. When it used a word new to us, we were usually able to understand its meaning by context, and as the pace was slow, Cinnamon interpolated the words we would have been likely to use. At each such suggestion, the intelligent mind with us repeated it thoughtfully, and thereafter used it as we would. Our discussion was thus able to increase in speed and understanding with breath-taking alacrity!
As we had suspected, the "owls" are indeed the eyes of the creature; they fly out to gather information and are completely separate entities, but they are still simply eyes that must return to the plant very soon. There they reattach themselves to the prehensile teat Cinnamon had glimpsed within the "nests" or sockets, and the information they have obtained is instantly fed into the intelligent center, while the eye itself is nourished and sheltered simultaneously. The small animals living in the hole in the trunk serve as gatherers, or extra hands; they are capable of swift movement, and are dexterous in their ability to climb or dig to obtain food, but they have little more intelligence than our own hands. The coexistence of these parts serves to make a single, smoothly functioning individual, to which we can relate, although it is difficult to imagine our own hands or eyes operating independently at a distance from us!
At this point I had a most distressing thought. "Do you remember," I reminded Cinnamon quietly, "that we caught—and ate!—one of its eyes and hands?"
Her eyes widened in horror. "Shall we mention that?" she wondered.
"I think we'd better," I said. "It's not, after all, the minor sort of solecism one intelligent being might reasonably overlook from another! It must know we were ignorant, but not deliberately cruel."
Choosing words with care, I began. "We understand, now, that many days ago, when we captured and ate what we thought was an animal, and what we thought was a bird, we were wrong. We made a mistake. We did not intend to hurt or harm you. Please accept our apology." I kept on explaining and apologizing for some time in as many different words as I could, and the Jolly said nothing until I stopped. Then we heard another of the ceremonial-sounding melodies, followed by recognizable words:
"Your apology is accepted. I now grow a new eye"—here, it indicated a smaller nest in the canopy that contained an eye that was now open, but not yet mobile like the others—"and a new gatherer." It indicated then the central opening in the trunk, and Cinnamon got a quick glimpse within, to report that the teats for the gatherers are similar to the ones in the nests, and there was an immature gatherer attached to one of the teats inside.
The Jolly now reintroduced the subject of fire, and Cinnamon and Carmen demonstrated their techniques for starting a fire. The Jolly was quick to understand how to produce fire with bow and drill or flint and steel, but soon realized that both methods require rapid motions which would be difficult for it to emulate with its root-hands, although with a great deal of practice it might be able to some day carry out the fearful procedure using its gatherers. The eyes fluttered, watching intently as Cinnamon nursed the tiny spark along with bits of fuel and tinder, until it was a fair size. The giant began to back away from the bright yellow flames until Cinnamon, observing its trepidation, extinguished the fire. Instantly, the intelligence spoke of the implications of having heat as a tool—and then revealed to us that the only fires it had observed heretofore were full-grown affairs caused by lightning and lava flows. We could well understand how such a phenomenon would be a terror to the slow-moving plants!
Cinnamon then began to ask about the creature's home. She is so instinctively empathetic with any form of life, it was interesting to watch her. Moving slowly about the plant, bending occasionally to touch, ever so lightly, some curious portion of it, she crooned, rather than asked, her questions.
"Where do you rest? Have you offspring? Have you shelter from storms? I am interested in knowing how you live!"
The reply was startlingly quick, from so slow-moving a creature: "Come! I will show you!"
The Jolly began to move, and we watched, mesmerized by the unique stride of the big roots. Then we realized what it had said. Our opportunity had come! After a hurried discussion, David and Carmen moved up on either side of the Jolly and kept even with its slow progress, never stepping in its way or impeding the constant flights of the eyes. Cinnamon and I sped to collect the others, assuming correctly that everyone wanted to see whatever the Jolly could show us. Jinjur automatically began to think about leaving someone on watch, but a look around at our exceedingly sketchy encampment made her realize the absurdity of that. And as Arielle said, cheerfully setting aside the kettle, "If thief wants raw beans, he's welcome!"
It was a curious—in every sense of the word!—procession we formed. As we paced slowly to the north, we had ample time to roam the forest thickets at our sides, and bring specimens to the Jolly for comment or explanation.
Thus, we learned that the large low banyan-like trees with the bamboo-like supports are peethoo trees. Nels had been right about their preferring leaf mass to trunk mass, and we had observed how their big spongy leaves, fragrant as cedar, soak up all the water that falls. But we had not appreciated fully their strengths. "Around the peethoo tree, taller trees can grow, and shade them from the light, and take the water from the sky. But the peethoo fight back! Roots hunt out invading roots, strangle and kill them."
The tentacle tree called the keekoo by the Jolly, whose root had attacked Shirley's braid, was another whose roots are warriors. In this case, they are specially developed and aggressive roots, always searching for food and running just under the surface of the soil for great distances. When the Jolly pointed out a keekoo root, Cinnamon attempted to entice it with the tip of her own braid, with Shirley standing by with the serrated blade on her Mech-All ready. The tentacle did begin to swell under the stimulus, and started to coil around the braid, but it moved so slowly Cinnamon easily avoided it. Such a runner could strangle other slower moving vines, or perhaps snare a slow-moving creature, but it's apparent now that Shirley's braid was ensnared on our first day only because she was motionless in her sleep.
The feebook plant, which we had referred to as "ivy," is ubiquitous on even the most barren-appearing soils, and has lemon-scented leaves which are virtually waterproof, collecting all the rain and funneling it to the central mass at the bottom of the creek beds. This dependence on rainwater for so many nutrients seems to bear out George's early speculations about the toroidal gas clouds that form in space around the orbits of Zouave and Zulu from the material that has escaped from their upper atmospheres. The gas drifts into Eden's orbit, is pulled in by Eden's gravity, and is enmeshed in the rains. All the storms and winds, which are only a hindrance to our activities are actually bringing vital elements to the native life—and ultimately to us, I suppose, if we continue to thrive here!
Through the upper canopies we occasionally glimpsed the gently smoking summit of the big volcano. I wondered aloud if the Jolly encompassed the mountains in the views with which its eyes supply it. The Jolly responded with great assurance that it knew a great deal about the Great Volcano Hoolkoor the Goundshaker and its sometimes violent habits. John listened to the Jolly's detailed explanation for some time.
"Sounds like a typical tribal interpretation of volcanic activity," he said. "Groundshaker's spear, Nightlight's insults . . ."
But Richard stated firmly, "Tribal interpretation or scientific analysis—they both describe what happens, with methods that can predict accurately, so what's the difference?"
I fell to thinking about the earthly coexistence of humans and volcanos, and how one result had been the formation of various taboos. Originally designed to protect human life, taboos often lost their purpose in the increasing complexities of daily routine over time, and unfortunately then became rigid limitations on individual freedom. As we shared our own views of the world around us with these strange natives, would we increase their appreciation of it? Certainly I hoped we would not disabuse them of any harmless beliefs!
We were now approaching a narrow but deep crevasse in the side of the volcano, down which a flow of still-smoking lava was moving sluggishly. The surface was crusted, but certainly impassable for either us or the Jolly.
"How will you cross this?" asked Jinjur curiously.
"I cannot cross here. I must move west until the flow is flat and not so hot." Patiently, the big plant set off.
"Wait!" cried Shirley. "How far must you go out of your way?"
"Sixth day march," came the answer. "And sixth day back to the route."
"But," protested Shirley, "It's not a wide crossing! A simple bridge . . ." The Jolly stopped, listening. While I explained the idea of a bridge, Shirley and the others quickly gathered some sturdy vines and planks.
Jinjur said, doubtfully, "Shirley, that giant must weigh a ton! Do you think this stuff will support it?"
"It'll be mostly rope mesh—or vine mesh, I mean!" explained Shirley. "These things are really tough, and we'll make it just wide enough for the Jolly's width, and put the planks along it for stability. We'll give it nice high "rails," draw the whole thing taut, and be on our way!"
I privately thought it would take as long to build a sufficiently sturdy bridge as to follow the lava stream to a fording place, but Shirley was excited at the chance to construct something. And, I must admit, with the skilled workers she had to hand and her own expertise, the project proceeded rapidly.
"I understand 'bridge,' " said the Jolly at my side, watching intently. The eyes were flying in an eager cloud above the workers, reporting back constantly. "But how to get over, to start?"
"Just throw a line!" called Shirley, swinging a long light vine competently from one strong hand. The end of the vine was tied to the taproot of a small tree base that had thick forked roots branching out from the sides to make a grappling hook.
"Throw?" The word was obviously baffling. Shirley's first toss lodged firmly in some stout bushes on the opposite bank. The thought flashed through my mind that if the bushes were as intelligent as those of our friend here, we might find the construction sabotaged with some speed! But, fortunately, most of the plants have a response time more like that of the plants with which we are most familiar. The Jolly seemed to be searching for words.
"What you do . . .that is new . . .send things through the air like eyes!" It dawned on me, then, that this must be the first thrown object the Jolly had ever seen.
After the far anchor of the line had been thoroughly tested with the combined weight of Richard and Shirley, Arielle crossed hand over hand, a safety line connected to a branch overhead tied around her waist.
Quickly, the construction was complete, and a short but extremely stout bridge crossed the hot chasm. We started across, and the bridge did not even quiver. It is not surprising, however, that the Jolly stood hesitantly on the brink, feeling the first few planks in very doubtful fashion.
"Richard, John, Nels—give the Jolly a helping hand there!" said Jinjur. The three men recrossed, and as their combined weight made the planks tremble I saw the Jolly's roots retreat to the firm land.
"It's okay, old man!" Richard's shout was meant to be reassuring.
"We'll keep you upright," said John more practically. "We won't let you fall."
Obviously, the big plant had good reason to be frightened. There was absolutely nothing in its former experience to guide it in these circumstances, nor had it any justification for trusting us. It had seen us all together on the bridge, but must have been very unsure of its own safety on such a thing.
Cinnamon, watching closely, said suddenly, "It's going to try, because it is proud!" Impossible to know, but I rather think she was right. There was an almost tangible straightness and tension forming along the length of the trunk, and while the fluttering eyes maintained a vigilant surveillance of the scene, the ponderous roots moved out along the surface before it. The men braced their large hands firmly about the woody girth, and together the oddly-assorted group moved slowly and steadily across the rude bridge. That strange picture is now one of the prized images in the memory of my recorder!
The crossing was uneventful, but the Jolly now spoke in different tones. I suspect it was pleased with itself! And its reaction was a friendlier feeling towards the creatures who had assisted it in the strange new adventure!
In any event, while we strolled our leisurely way, we continued to ask questions, and the answers came with not only increasing fluency but with more good will. The Jolly was picking up our language much more quickly than we were learning its own! But that made it easier, now, to praise the beauty of some of the tokens it had brought along as gifts. Among these were some irregularly shaped beads, strung along a length of vine. I fingered them, enjoying their warmth and color.
"What is this substance?" I asked.
"We find those in streams. Pretty. Easy to make holes in. Do not change color. Stay shiny." The answer was a sensible one, but John suddenly reached for the little strand, looked more closely at it, and hefted its weight in the reduced gravity.
"I think it's gold!" he said, in hushed tones.
Several heads lifted sharply, only to relax again as Jinjur said, with a laugh, "So what?"
I was glad to hear that. Unless we can think of a good, practical use for the metal, the little nuggets can remain as trinkets, and nothing more.
Carmen traced with a fingertip the intricate designs on the cloth which had also been a gift. "This is a perfect picture of the berry vine, isn't it, but how did you get the color?" The giant began to explain to her how the dye was made, from some sort of shell called the peekoo, but I was still puzzling over what purpose the cloth serves at all. The Jolly calls it a word meaning roughly mouthcloth, and it comes into use only when the plant is making eating noises, but it doesn't seem to be used to clean the mouth or hands, like a human napkin. It may very well be purely a cultural device.
The light was beginning to fade, indicating the approach of the midday eclipse. In our camp this was a pleasant hour of refreshment in the long day; the firelight is sufficient for a few things, but the intense darkness beyond it precludes any real activity. As the disk of Barnard set behind the black circle of Gargantua overhead, Shirley and Carmen found a pleasant site and quickly produced a small fire. Shortly after we had set out on this slow journey, John and David had gauged our speed, and returned to camp for a few foodstuffs. The Jolly watched the cooking process with great interest, its eyes steering carefully around the rising smoke. We offered it a bit of grilled fish, and some cooked vegetable. It accepted only tiny portions and politely refused more; we were similarly reluctant to sample much of the various items it proffered from its bulging travel net. There was one exception; a very tasty fruit indeed, according to Arielle, who was the designated taster. (We continue, understandably, to exercise great caution with unknown alien foods!) Arielle described the berry's sweetness enthusiastically, and our questions elicited the information that this is a crop which the Jolly harvests! It promised to show us the pens in which it keeps the plants which grow the fruit. The Jolly refers to them as jookeejook plants, and perhaps we too can use them as food. As we rested through the quiet darkness, we explained, as simply as we could, how we had arrived in this land, and why. The creature listened carefully, but I am sure—I think—it cannot comprehend the magnitude of our travels and differences, despite having seen and talked with the penetrator in our camp.
It said gravely, "When our fishing rafts drift far out to sea, they find strange plants floating in water. We never see these before. Perhaps you know them, and where they come from."
"I doubt it," Jinjur managed to convey. "What you describe are probably plants from another island, where they may have evolved in different surroundings . . .you understand how growing things can change from one generation to the next?"
"Certainly. Some jookeejook we grow for good fruit. Some jookeejook we grow for good meat. I show you jookeejook soon." The voice sounded a bit weary. "Then you understand."
For the last hour and a half of the darkness we relaxed, chatting idly among ourselves. The Jolly listened, but seemed to be resting also, for the eyes remained quiet in their nests, and the little gatherers were out of sight behind the mouthcloth.
When it was light enough to resume our slow but steady march, we did so. It was fascinating to see the small gatherers run ahead to the thorn thickets and signal our approach. With remarkable speed, considering their ordinary appearance, the spiky branches furled back upon themselves, and we all were able to pass through in a straight line as the gatherers lined our path, keeping the thorny coils back.
"The thook plants let us through, because we are members of their tribe," the Jolly remarked. "We help them, by cutting away any attacking vines or roots and keeping them supplied with water. We use them as protective walls around our sheds and workshops."
The mention of buildings was startling. We speculated briefly and fruitlessly on the possible nature of these things, and were soon to learn the reality; more fantastic, and yet simpler, than our imaginings!
The tedium of this journey was as hard on us as it was on the giant, I think. We could not help wishing for a faster pace, while the creature was making the best time of which it was capable. There was definitely relief in the Jolly's announcement that the thorn-thicket ahead of us was its home. The thorny walls rose higher and thicker than any we had seen, and we were glad to curb our impatience, and follow carefully into the central clearing. Here we stood silent, gazing around us at a scene of bizarre but sophisticated activity. There were indeed sheds, simple but very sturdy, containing shelves on which were stacked orderly piles of supplies. In front of one of them, another Jolly, smaller than our companion, was using those facile roots-hands to pressure flake a bit of obsidian in much the same manner Carmen employs, only, of course, much more slowly.
Ahead of us were pens made of flat stone, not unlike the Caithness flagstones that had kept the flocks of sheep penned in the fields in Scotland before the invention of barbed wire. We moved to look within these walls at the jookeejooks penned inside. I was intrigued at the sight of these—animals? Plants? I suppose, like the Jolly they resemble so much, they are both. They are much smaller than the Jolly, and they move about even more slowly, using all six legs. But their eyes! They are attached to long, stiff but flexible wire-like structures arcing up through the fronds, and so the eyes themselves flutter rather ineffectually about the canopy. The small gatherers are attached to them also, by something which resembles a vine, or possibly an umbilical cord, coming out of their mouth holes.
Like the Jolly gatherers, they seem to function as hands, and they move busily about the parent plant, but of course they cannot go far, and they seem content mostly to pick up bits of food from a long trough at one edge of their pen. It seems contradictory of us, but I think we have become so quickly accustomed to the sight of the Jolly's free-roaming eyes and gatherers that this more primitive form strikes us as stranger yet. Nels and I talked softly, exploring the idea that the fish we had eaten was an underwater version of this same structure. It seemed possible.
Another peculiarity of the small creature was the presence of globular growths, of various sizes, in clusters nestled among their fronds. While we watched, amazed, our host sent a gatherer to pluck one of these from the nearest jookeejook. It exhibited no distress, but went on placidly eating, while the Jolly offered us the fruit. It was the same sort Arielle had sampled previously, so with her encouragement, we tasted. The flavor was pleasant, and almost familiar, although I couldn't place it until Carmen exclaimed, "Strawberries!" She and Cinnamon began to ply the Jolly with questions about the cultivation and husbandry of these strange beings. I watched, in private mirth, Arielle studying the animals with hungry speculation—she looked like she was mentally carving! But Nels was totally enraptured, and reached a gentle hand to touch the strange growths on the jookeejook.
"I bet that's it!" he muttered. "The Jolly Giants must have evolved from a plant like this one, but their eyes and gatherers are intelligent enough to operate on their own and no longer need an attachment to the parent plant to function, although they still must return to the main plant periodically for life support."
The entire little village, if that is what it is, looks like a well-tended garden; the surrounding thorn bushes form a tidy wall, with no encroaching spines to brush against a passing Jolly, and the sheds and pens are connected by smooth and well-worn trails. Other Jollys nearby had instantly sent eyes to examine us rather closely, but no gatherers had approached.
I looked out through a thin patch in the thorn barrier where I could see the sparkle of water from a nearby lake, similar to the one near our camp, complete with sulfurous fumes rising from the center. Floating on the calm surface was a flat raft, and erect upon it were two Jollys. They were much slimmer than our acquaintance, and, between them, they were maneuvering a net much more finely woven than ours. However, I found I was paying little heed to the ponderous activities of the fishermen, my whole attention being fastened on the sturdy raft; and I realized I was coveting that awkward craft with surprising intensity! In honesty, I must admit I wanted such a thing not simply to improve my efficiency as a fisherman, but because I wanted to be out on the water with it.
I turned away reluctantly, and found Jinjur and Shirley still asking eager questions. Cinnamon was looking a trifle concerned, I thought, and in response to my question, she said, "I think the Jolly is a little tired of us, Reiki. The eyes keep starting off towards the sheds, only to come back reluctantly, it seems."
"I think you're right," I agreed. "I suspect we are in danger of overstaying our welcome—for a first visit! Jinjur . . ."
With some difficulty, I secured her attention, and suggested it was time to go.
"But we need to know . . ." she began. "But not necessarily all at once," she conceded right away. "I understand. These are not creatures we could control, even if we wanted to, but they surely do seem to be creatures with a great deal to teach us! So we'll keep it polite—you can ask if we can return!"
I called David to stand beside me, and we waited in silence for the Jolly to finish his last explanation. Then David blew the formal meeting tune we had learned, and I began a rather florid farewell. I had already observed that while the speech pouring from the gatherers is rapidly becoming ever more precise and understandable, there is also a genuine enjoyment of language for its own sake. Certainly the creature's answer to my speech was both courteous and benign, and a future welcome was assured us as the Jolly had one of its gatherers repeat back one of my more lengthy declarations in its whistling tone:
"I sincerely hope we will have many more mutually beneficial consultations"!
With that, we felt ourselves dismissed, and headed in good order back to our own camp, discussing the implications of what we had learned. Nels, thinking aloud, developed an hypothesis explaining the evolution of the Jollys, and I listened with interest as he struggled with the evolutionary complexity of the mobile roots. We all joined in, making objections and compiling a list of the most important questions to put forward on our next visit. I had recorded all our observations, and this evening I will take my recorder down to the penetrator and transmit what we have learned back to James and the others on the now distant Prometheus.
Carmen, oddly enough, seemed to be thinking of something entirely different, and she spoke only once on our rapid hike.
"Jinjur! It's beginning to look like we have a comfortable future, finally, doesn't it? I mean, there's plenty of food, everything we really need—we even can have some time for our own pleasure! Not a bad place to spend the rest of our lives, don't you agree?" This is unlike Carmen, whose usual interest centers in the moment. Jinjur considered the question thoughtfully, and finally spoke with tentative pleasure.
"I think it's a little too soon to say, conclusively, that we really have an Eden here. But I'm hopeful, I honestly am."
With those cheerful words, we arrived at our spring, and I stopped here, to fill the jugs we shall want this evening.