Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [30]
“What is the opinion of our perceivers?” Joshumabad matched her stride for stride while Nilwengerex wandered off to inspect the gelatinous mass of some tentacled creature that the sea had regurgitated onto the shore.
“Inconclusive. Contact is too recent and infrequent to reach any formal conclusions.” She glanced sideways at him. “The council has been kept fully informed by space-minus communications. They know all this. Why are you asking questions to which answers have already been given?”
Feeling a chill, Joshumabad found himself longing for the low-lying clouds of Hivehom. “I wanted to hear it directly from you. Oftentimes official reports inadvertently leave out the most significant particulars. Even visual transcripts can neglect information that is inherent in person-to-person gestures and glances.” He turned his attention back to the cultural specialist, who had concluded his examination of the dying jellyfish and hurried to rejoin them.
“I am interested in your informal opinion, Nilwengerex. What do you, personally, think of these Pitar? Beyond what you have contributed to the official reports.”
Nilwengerex pondered a reply. The sky was very blue, and beyond it, Hivehom very far away. Yet he did not feel as estranged on this world as he had on Trix, for example, or even at his first posting, on the benign globe known as Willow-Wane.
“I haven’t made up my mind. Nor have any of my colleagues. We felt that we were just beginning to comprehend these humans, to come to some understanding of how their very different minds work, when one of their deep-space exploration teams returned with these Pitar in tow. Their unannounced appearance was as much of a shock to us as it was to the rest of humankind. So we have been forced to adjust our work and reallocate our resources to study not one but two new alien, mammalian species. It has been something of a strain. Under such circumstances, you and the council will have to learn to be patient. We are learning as much as we can as fast as we can.
“Unfortunately, access to the Pitar is restricted. More than restricted: It is virtually unattainable. Constantly attended and surrounded as they are by ardent humans, it is almost impossible to procure unescorted contact with them.”
“They are willing enough to talk to us,” Yeicurpilal put in, “but reluctant to insist lest they irritate the humans. After all, it is their world on which we all are visitors. A polite guest does not make demands that might displease their hosts.”
“I know that the Pitar claim to occupy only two worlds, in conjoining orbits in the same system. Though they possess vessels capable of journeying in space-plus they are not eager colonizers. By way of contrast, we have to date settled five worlds and the humans seven. Population disparities aside, do you think they are dangerous, these Pitar?” It was a question Joshumabad had put off asking until he felt more comfortable in the cultural specialist’s presence.
A sharp, high whistle sounded from Nilwengerex. Startled by the unnatural alien sound, several small, rainbow-colored lorikeets burst from the cover of nearby brush and took wing. When the whistling laughter finally died down, the smallest of the three strolling thranx readily replied.
“We do not know enough about them to say, but one thing I do know: They can’t be any more dangerous than these humans.”
It was not the kind of response Joshumabad had expected, and his responsive gestures showed clearly that he was taken aback. “How can you avow such a thing? We have not only many representatives on this world, but an expanding, functioning colony. If what you say now is true, then there are lives at risk.”
“I do not deny it.” The dour attaché appeared engrossed in the pale blue sea, as though he had a death wish of his own. Joshumabad did not like him very much, but he respected the other male’s knowledge. “Yet