The Murdered Sun - Christie Golden [36]
"And Chief Engineer Torres, this is our chief engineer, Anahu."
In contrast to Kaavi's brusque, almost rude acknowledgment, Anahu dipped his long neck in a graceful gesture of welcome. "Your presence here gives us new hope, Chief Engineer Torres." The comm badges translated the voice as masculine.
"Commander Chakotay, your captain told us that you were interested in our culture. Such interest honors our people. I myself will do my best to familiarize you with our ways."
Chakotay bowed, almost as graceful as Anahu. "I hope by learning about your people to learn how best to help you."
While the introductions were going on, Paris felt Kaavi's eyes drilling into him, as if she thought she could read his soul if she looked at him hard enough. It was very uncomfortable. He feigned unawareness of her perusal and glanced about the beamdown site, trying to ignore the trickle of wetness already starting to form beneath his armpits in response to the almost overwhelming heat and humidity of the place. He activated his tricorder and began to take readings.
At first glance, the Verunans were an extremely simple--one might say "primitive"--race. Nothing about Viha Nata's garb or ordinary manner of speaking displayed any knowledge about faster-than-light spaceship travel, electronic communication, or anything beyond the knowledge of a simple village elder. The little area to which they had beamed down also gave that impression. In the immediate vicinity at least, nothing other than organic materials registered on the tricorder.
They stood in a large, flat area. A few meters to their right was an open, bubbling pit of hot mud. This seemed important to the Verunans, for they had erected some sort of shelter over the pit.
Smooth-surfaced and curving, displaying no harsh edges, it resembled a canopy made out of shiny brown stone. The heat emanating from that area was almost intolerable.
Leading off from the pit, in four regimented lines, were smaller huts apparently constructed of the same glossy stone. They were little more than token protection against the elements. Through the open doors, Paris could see flat, woven mats; a few bowls and pitchers of the ubiquitous brown stone; and small, shadowy shapes--their young, perhaps?--moving back and forth. These individual huts stretched off several more meters, each line ending in a larger, closed hut.
There was a movement, and a miniature version of the adult Verunans poked its head out. He'd been right; the shapes he'd glimpsed in the shadows had been children. The young Verunan was only about two feet tall, and it stared at Paris, wide-eyed, for a second or two before ducking back into the shadows. Like all young things, it was more appealing than the adults.
Paris turned his eyes back to the churning, foul-smelling mud.
He wondered why in the world the Verunans would choose to set their camp around such a, well, unpleasant natural formation.
Casually, he glanced down at the tricorder, and his pulse suddenly jumped.
"Commander, something alive is trapped in there!" he cried, already moving toward the pit.
The harsh rasping that he was learning to recognize as Verunan laughter stopped him. Puzzled, still tense, he glanced questioningly at Viha Nata.
"Of course there is something alive in the pit," chuckled the elder.
"The day that there is not will be a day of great mourning. That is one of our hatching pits."
Paris stared. "Hatching pit?" he repeated stupidly.
"You... you put your eggs in that?" asked Torres, a trifle indelicately.
The Viha nodded. "The heat incubates our eggs. Whenever a female is with child, she enters the hatching pit and deposits her eggs there.
And whenever a mated pair is desirous of a child, they come to the pit and wait for a hatchling to choose them."
"So, there is no way of determining actual parentage?" asked Chakotay.
Paris stared at the steaming pit of hot mud, slightly incredulous.