“Because we are both hungry.”
She is quiet as they drop a couple of cables, then asks, “Whyshare?”
Broadtail feels his pincers ready for a stab before he carefully folds them. “Which of us is bigger?”
“You are.”
“If we fight over food, who wins?”
“You do,” she says very softly.
“Exactly. If we don’t share, we fight. I don’t want to fight. Sharing means we both get food and nobody gets hurt. We can rest and take turns listening for danger.”
More silence, and then: “Why don’t you want to fight? You’re bigger.”
He waits until they set down on the rocks. No swimmers or bottom-crawlers, but some of the stones have a good thick growth mat. He shows Holdhard how to scrape the growth, and savors the weak flavor for a bit before answering her. “Holdhard, when we fight we can’t do other things. We can’t build, or hunt, or even search for mats like this. When we share, we get more than when we fight. You and I can scour these rocks because we are not fighting. Do you remember visiting a vent settlement? Perhaps as a hatchling?”
“I remember—there are many little ones like me and we are eating wonderful food, but an adult drives us away.”
“Vent farms have all kinds of wonderful food, because the landowner and the apprentices work together and protect the farm against bandits. They build pipes and shelters, and are stronger than all but the biggest bandit gangs. They are rich because they can work instead of fighting. Do you understand?”
“Working makes food?”
“Exactly! Fighting only steals food, but working makes more.”
“You work? You make food?”
“I remember being a landowner and making much food. And I remember fighting, and losing all my wealth. Now I suggest eating and resting before talking.”
They eat until several stones are quite clean, then find separate niches for resting. As he feels himself drifting into unconsciousness, Broadtail briefly worries about Holdhard. Why is she still with him? Does she intend attacking him by surprise in order to steal his things and devour his corpse?
No, he decides. She is too clever for that. In effect, she is his apprentice. It is odd to have an apprentice with no land or flow rights. He has nothing for her to inherit, except what he knows. Very well, then, Holdhard can be his science apprentice. A curious idea, but it puts an end to his fretting and he sinks into sleep.
Broadtail wakes. Someone is tapping his shell. It is Holdhard. He tries to make sense of what she is tapping, then remembers she doesn’t know the dictionary. “What is it?”
“Food!” she says. “Come catch it!”
He follows her downcurrent to a spot where the two of them can hide amid rocks and mud. They listen, and he hears it: a large creature swimming. It must be nearly his own size. It sounds familiar.
Then Broadtail remembers, and his pincers stiffen as if he’s going into battle. This is one of the odd creatures! The sound it makes while swimming is unmistakable.
“Holdhard,” he says quietly. “That is not food. But we must follow it as quietly as we can.”
“It is not good to eat?”
“No. I remember tasting one—the flesh is awful. We do not eat them. However, I do want to learn about it. Come along.”
The two of them follow the four-limbed animal as it swims awkwardly downcurrent. It slows as it reaches a large object. The object is as big as a large house, but sounds like soft mud. It is difficult for Broadtail to get a good impression of its shape or what it is made of.
He can barely contain his excitement. So much to learn! He speaks quietly to Holdhard. “Do you wish to be my apprentice?”
“Yes,” she answers without hesitating.
“Good. Then we begin the task at once. We stay here and listen and take notes. We learn everything about these creatures.”
“What do we eat?”
“Eat? We have rocks to scour. This is more important than food. This is science!”
Nine
Broadtail listens to the creatures constantly, stopping to eat or rest only when his feelers are so tired he can no longer tie knots in his line to make notes. He cannot remember ever being so happy and excited. Not even his memories of becoming the master of the Sandyslope property can compare with this feeling.
Holdhard comes and goes. She listens with him for a time, then goes off to eat or rest. He shows her how he takes notes, and she is fascinated by how he knots the cord to represent words. But she lacks his patience and prefers not to go hungry. When she finds extra food she leaves him some.
The creatures’ behavior is complex. They have a shelter and seem to be using tools. They do not hunt, or gather food, but now and then go inside their structure and return with what sounds like solid material in what must be a stomach. To Broadtail this suggests that they have a food cache, which in turn implies a high degree of planning and forethought.
The creatures communicate. Of that Broadtail is certain. They call to one another often, although Broadtail finds it odd that the calls are only when there is some obstacle between the communicating pair. At close quarters they are silent. The calls are long and complex, with little or no repetition. They are not sending each other echo-patterns; it is more like long strings of simple tones.
Like a reel of knots, he thinks. They are writing with sound. He makes a note, but his feeding tendrils feel thick and clumsy and he falls asleep still holding the cord.
He wakes with a tremendous hunger. He eats a couple of floaters Holdhard leaves for him. The flesh is pulpy and unsatisfying, but better than nothing. He listens. No activity. Perhaps the creatures are resting. He goes over his last notes; he remembers being too tired to think clearly.
“Sound writing,” is what his last note says. He remembers his thoughts now.
And suddenly, as if his mind has molted and is kicking aside the old shell, he understands. The creatures are intelligent beings. Like adults! They build and plan and speak. They use tools, which they either make themselves or get from others. Which implies an entire society!
Broadtail is thinking so fast his tendrils can barely keep up. His notes are little more than place-markers for his ideas. Where do these things come from? Are there any rec ords of them? What do they eat? How does their anatomy compare with any—
He stops, and his excitement turns to fear. He remembers the captive specimen struggling and making noises during Longpincer’s dissection. Longpincer would not do that to an adult, or even a juvenile.
It is not murder, he thinks. He distinctly remembers capturing the creature near an unclaimed vent. A fair fight. And he remembers the dissection taking place in Longpincer’s house, on Longpincer’s property. All legal. That is reassuring. But dissecting a stranger is still a terrible blunder. They may hold grudges, or demand recompense. Broadtail hopes to persuade Longpincer to apologize to them.
He hears a sound from the shelter and listens. One of the creatures is emerging. A second follows. Sounds of hammering and digging.
What is proper behavior? Broadtail imagines several courses. He can pack up his reels and make for Longpincer’s house. Inform Longpincer and the other scholars—and incidentally establish his own claim to this new discovery.
Or he can go hunt for food, to keep himself from getting hungry as he continues his monitoring. After all, his notes are very rough. A complete monograph requires much more information about the creatures. Holdhard can help.
Or… he can approach them. Speak to them. Do they understand the speech of adults? He imagines them vindictive, dissecting him in revenge for the specimen at Longpincer’s, or to protect their property.
He remains undecided. His mind is like a stone held up by the flow of water from a pipe. When he does decide, it is a simple practical matter that determines his course: he has only one empty reel left. He expects it will take a netful of reels—a whole convoy’s cargo of reels!—to record all he wishes to know about the creatures. Getting more means telling Longpincer, and Broadtail discovers that he simply doesn’t want to share the creatures with anyone.