Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [47]
“From his clothing.” This time Des replied promptly and without hesitation.
The interrogators exchanged a glance and passing antenna contact. “Every effort was made to ensure the verisimilitude of the human’s appearance. What was wrong with its clothing?”
“There was nothing wrong with it. At least,” the poet hastened to add, “nothing that I, based on my own private studies of humans and their habits and accouterments, could see.”
“Then why did you react so calmly?” the male pressed him. “What about the appearance of the simulacrum’s attire told you that it could not be real?”
“There was too much of it.” Des felt safe in indicating mild amusement. “Humans thrive in a climate of considerably less heat and one-third the humidity that thranx enjoy. They can endure what we consider optimum living conditions, but they are not comfortable in them. And what we would regard as an excessive but tolerable climate could prove fatal to even well-adapted humans.” Feeling more confident, he shifted easily on the resting bench.
“The temperature in my quarters was, if anything, set slightly warmer and moister than usual to accommodate my personal sleeping preferences. The bipedal figure wore not less than two layers of heavy human clothing. According to my studies, no human—no matter how well acclimated to Willow-Wane or Hivehom or any thranx world—would voluntarily wear a fourth as much apparel. Its system could not tolerate it for more than a time-part or so without suffering serious overheating. Yet the figure that woke me from my sleep did not appear even slightly inconvenienced by the microclimate in my room. The characteristic cooling condensation known as sweat was not present on its skin at all.” He looked from his interrogators to his colleagues. “That’s how I knew it couldn’t be a real human.”
The examiners looked briefly to their scri!bers before the female replied. With a truhand she indicated not suspicion or accusation, but admiration. “You are observant beyond your station, Desvenbapur. It is no wonder you were chosen to participate in as significant an undertaking as this.”
He hastened to demur. “I have always tried to learn everything possible about any task I was involved with, whether it concerned food preparation or anything else. The simulacrum could have fooled me. It just happened that I was studying that section provided to us that deals with human physiology only last eight-day, and remembered it right away. It was at the front of my memory.”
“A fine memory,” she complimented him. “I would let you prepare my food anytime.” Indicating that their involvement in the meeting was concluded, she and her companion rose and left the room. Their place was taken by four new officials, one of whom had two full stars inset into her right shoulder.
Desvendapur leaned toward Jhy and whispered. “I wonder what we have done to deserve the attention of so much rank.”
“I don’t know.” She was grooming an antenna, bending it forward and down with her left truhand and running the sensory organ delicately through her mandibles. “You certainly elevated yourself in the project’s estimation with your actions last night.”
“I was lucky.” Using a surreptitious foothand, he stroked her upper abdomen. Her ovipositors reacted with a slight quiver. “Easy enough to be nonchalant in the presence of a projected simulacrum. Next time I will probably be the one who runs screaming.”
“Somehow I don’t think so.” She would have said more, but the first of the newly arrived ranking elders was speaking to them.
“You four will be joining and participating in what many eints have dubbed the most important social experiment in thranx history. As you know from your studies, ever since contact was first made we have found these bipedal mammals to be at once fascinating and frightening, refreshing and appalling, useful and dangerous. They are an aggressive, inventive species that exhibits a disturbing tendency