The Sails of Tau Ceti (20 page)

He grinned and shrugged. “If they saved a large enough gene pool to start over, what difference how many individuals were saved?”

Kit continued. “At least we know the Phelan aren’t keeping things from us.”

“How do we know that?” Garth asked. He had been looking dour throughout the meal. Tory had put it down to the effect of the day’s history lesson.

“Because if they were going to hide something, the Time of Troubles would be a damned good place to start.”

“I wonder.”

“Care to expand on that comment, Captain?”

“It’s nothing I can put my finger on. Still, don’t any of you find it strange that the Phelan are so like us? How can two races separated by twelve light-years of vacuum be so similar?”

Eli shrugged again. “Similar environments produce similar solutions.”

“Right down to overlapping senses of humor?”

“What do you mean?”

“The other evening, Faslorn and I were telling dirty jokes. I told him the one about the Mother Superior and the Blind Man. He got it!”

“He was, of course, simulating his laughter,” Eli said. “The Phelan sense of humor is considerably skewed from ours.”

“How do you know that?”

“From their language. I am beginning to get a glimmer of the underlying structure. Faslorn is right. Learning it is quite difficult. It is nothing like any Earth tongue I have ever studied.”

“What has that to do with their sense of humor?”

“Language is a window into the brain. All human languages have certain characteristics in common because all human brains are constructed along identical lines. If the Phelan brain structure were similar to ours, their language would be similar, at least in its most basic structure.”

“Then why do they
seem
so human?” Tory asked.

“Because they go to great lengths to leave that impression. That is the purpose of the human gestures they use and the colloquialisms with which they pepper their speech. They know that we have a strong tendency to anthropomorphize everything, even inanimate objects. They are playing on this defect in our character to make us like them. Their motives are obvious.”

“You’ve picked this up in only a few days?” Garth asked.

The linguist shrugged. “It’s my job. Besides, most of my conclusions are highly preliminary. I may change my mind tomorrow.”

“Then keep at it. It might be important when we make a recommendation concerning whether we will allow them colonies.”

“How can we
not
allow them?” Tory blurted. “Where else can they go?”

“A point not lost on the politicians back home. They’ve been peppering me with demands for more information about Phelan military capabilities.”

“Does that mean they plan to refuse the Phelan request?” Kit asked.

“No, just that they’re being cautious. The more we learn, the better off everyone will be. That includes the Phelan. We need more information, if for no other reason, than to put a fair price on our services.” Garth turned to Tory. “How is the implant work going?”

“Slowly. They managed to produce a carrier wave I could detect on their last attempt. When I attempted to synchronize, though, I developed a splitting headache.”

“It’s nice to know there are a few things we’re better at. I was beginning to develop an inferiority complex.”

“I know what you mean. I thought they’d whip up a link as soon as I provided them with specifications.”

“Well, keep trying. It’s damned inconvenient to have you go up to the hangar bay every time you want to use the computer.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Anything more we need to discuss?” When no one spoke, he suggested that they all turn in. Between the education and entertainment, the Phelan were running them ragged. One by one, they drifted to their individual apartments. Tomorrow was going to be another busy day.

#

Over the next several weeks, the education sessions became less formal and more a matter of individual instruction. As Garth had suggested, Eli Guttieriz threw himself into his study of the Phelan tongue. Kit Claridge spent most of her time soaking up Phelan medical knowledge. All four humans submitted to extensive medical examinations while several Phelan spent hours allowing Kit to prod and poke them.

Garth Van Zandt continued receiving demands from Earth that he provide information on the Phelan request for colonies. They had been aboard the Phelan ship seven weeks, and were just receiving requests generated shortly after the first contact report had reached Earth. The speed-of-light communications delay was aggravating for parties on both ends of the microwave link. Mostly, they blindly transmitted everything of interest home, with the preparation of reports often absorbing more than half each day.

With Kit and Eli absorbed in their respective specialties, and Garth engaged in negotiations with the Phelan, Tory was assigned the job of becoming the expedition’s synthesist. It was her task to learn all she could, then correlate it with everything in the ship’s computer, and hopefully, to come to useful conclusions. Mostly she wandered around the ship with Maratel, taking in the sights.

In the long weeks since their arrival, they had sampled a variety of Phelan activities. One of Tory’s most memorable visits had been with Maratel to a symphony orchestra practicing for a concert they would be giving in the humans’ honor. Tory noticed with some amusement the modifications they had made to the traditional instruments. The entire brass section, for instance, had appended intricate bits of plumbing to their mouthpieces. With their snouts and lack of lips, it was impossible for a Phelan to blow a trumpet. The string adaptations were equally interesting.

As Tory and Maratel lolled on a grassy knoll beneath the sun tube (it was to be an “open air” concert), they listened to the orchestra practice Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in short spurts. Between sections, the conductor would call a halt and critique the performance. Tory noted that there were advantages for a conductor to have four arms rather than two.

During a lull in the rehearsal, Tory turned to Maratel and asked, “Why do you do this sort of thing?”

“What sort of thing?”

“
This!
” Tory said, letting her hand sweep the orchestra. “We’re honored, of course, but why should you try to emulate our music, let alone adapt our instruments so that you can play them?”

“Why do your people hold concerts, Tory?”

“Because they enjoy music.”

“So do we.”

“But surely you have music of your own. Why not play that instead and honor your own culture?”

“I thought we had explained that,” Maratel replied. “If we are to make our homes among humans, we must learn to fit in. Your culture is now our culture.”

“It isn’t necessary for you to paint yourselves gray. If your ways differ from ours, we’ll respect them.”

Maratel got that sorrowful look on her face that she adopted whenever she had to disagree with Tory. “I believe you are wrong, my friend. We have studied your race most carefully. You have an inbred instinct for conformity. As one of your wags once put it, ‘that which is not illegal shall be compulsory!’”

“He was joking.”

“In jokes often lie deeper truths. One of the most constant of all human traits is your intolerance for those who are different. One must therefore conclude that fitting in requires that we be as like you as possible. Since there is nothing we can do to change our physical form, we must strive to be ‘more human than human’ in other ways.”

“I think you underestimate us.”

“I don’t believe so. Have not those who are different been persecuted throughout your history?”

“We’ve outgrown such prejudices.”

“You have covered them up with a thin veneer of civilization. You have not outgrown them. We once prided ourselves that we had outgrown our passions, too. The Time of Troubles taught us otherwise.”

“But you aren’t human and can never be human.”

“Nevertheless, we have freely embraced human culture. We have done so because it is a matter of survival.”

“But you’re faking it!”

“Not at all. Are you faking your beliefs?”

“That’s silly.”

“Is it? Why do you believe what you do?”

“I don’t know,” Tory replied, suddenly uncomfortable with the way the discussion was going. “I just do.”

“You acquired your beliefs at an early age from your parents. They inculcated you with all their prejudices, preferences, superstitions, and values.”

“I think you are being a little harsh.”

“Not at all. Would you like an example?”

“All right.”

“Like most humans, you are an adherent of what was once called ‘western civilization.’ Overlaying those basic beliefs is another set that you inherited from the period of Martian Independence. You believe in the rights of the individual, the benefits of democracy, the superiority of science over all other methods for gaining wisdom. Deep down, you truly believe that every problem has a technological solution. Need I comment on how different these attitudes are from those of a Confucian scholar of a thousand years ago?”

“What’s your point?”

“Simply that I, too, have been programmed with those same values. Alien though I may be, I am also an adherent of ‘western civilization.’ I believe in all these things no less than you do.”

“But you’re an alien!”

“So what? Are not canines able to learn human values of right and wrong, at least in a limited sense?”

“I think it’s more a matter of learning what will get them rewarded and punished.”

“Does that differ so from the way most human beings go through life? Do people obey laws because they are right, or because to break them will bring punishment?”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that. I have some thinking to do. Meantime, how about introducing me to the conductor? I’d like to complement him on his skill with a baton…”

#

Rosswin sat across the table from Eli Guttieriz and listened as the linguist practiced his Phelan vocabulary. The human’s accent was atrocious, but he was picking it up slowly. Rosswin was impressed. For, despite the cover story that Phelan had little trouble learning human speech, he remembered his own struggles many cycles earlier. It had seemed as though he would never utter an intelligible sentence.

“Very good, Professor,” he said when Guttieriz finished the exercise. “We will have you giving the oration before the next meeting of the ship’s council if you keep improving this way.”

Despite his attempt to appear blasé, Eli was obviously pleased by the complement.

“I believe that is sufficient for one session,” Rosswin said. “Shall we get to the next item of business, the seemingly endless series of questions your people at home have asked you to answer?”

Guttieriz laughed. He was normally cold and stiff with people, but he liked the old Phelan. They were kindred spirits in many ways. “Not
seemingly
endless, Rosswin. Endless in fact! I shudder when I think of how many more questions are in the data stream winging their way toward us.”

“Yes, curiosity is the most human of all traits. Well, if we are to keep our snouts above flood tide, we had best eliminate a few.”

Eli reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a recorder along with a printout of the numerous questions the specialists at home were asking. Rosswin spent twenty minutes answering queries ranging from how the Phelan economy was organized to the fertility rate among Phelan females of childbearing age.

Finally, as their allotted time was nearly up, Eli said, “Here’s one from Professor Pierce. He’s the astrophysicist who built S
tarhopper
.”

“Yes,” Rosswin replied, “I am familiar with Professor Pierce’s accomplishment. What does he wish to know?”

“He’s asking for data on the Tau Ceti nova and wants to know if you understand what caused it?”

Rosswin raised his upper hands palms up. “We were hoping that your astronomers might have progressed to the point where they could explain it to us.”

“Not much chance of that,” Eli said as he checked off the question and scanned the list preparatory to putting it away. It was then that he noticed that Pierce’s question had included a second query. “Uh, another thing. Our astronomers recorded a 2.5 percent deficit in the light curve from the nova during the first several hours. After that, it conformed precisely to theory. Pierce asks if your own observations might throw some light on the discrepancy.”

Rosswin considered the question for nearly five seconds before responding, “I am not an astronomer, Professor Guttieriz. However, I will make inquiries. Now then, I must attend a conference, while you, I believe, are scheduled at one of our schools that teach Standard.”

Eli gathered up the printouts he used to study Phelan vocabulary, and made his farewells. After he left, Rosswin sat where he was. Only another Phelan would have detected his agitation.

“Did you hear?” he asked thin air.

“I heard,” Faslorn replied. The ship commander had been summoned by Rosswin’s emergency signal via a method the humans did not suspect. He had replayed the recording of Rosswin’s discussion with Eli, listening carefully to the incriminating question and Rosswin’s noncommittal answer.

“Do you understand the significance?”

“Only too well. Do you think they suspect?”

“I do not. I believe it was just what Professor Guttieriz said it to be, a routine question from Earth that requires an answer. Still, I think it best that we move up our timetable. Do we have sufficient information to make the selection yet?”

“Not yet. We have a candidate, but the psychologists want several more watches to evaluate the observations.”

“Tell Raalwin to expedite his analysis. If they ever realize the significance of what they just asked me, we will be in serious trouble.”

“What answer will you eventually give?”

“That we have no data concerning any luminosity deficit of the nova. Perhaps their instruments malfunctioned.”

CHAPTER 15

Maratel was especially cheerful ten days later as she glided into the commons after breakfast one morning. “How would you like to see the light sail attachment?”