“ Other beings?” The room fills with commotion.
“Yes. According to the Builders, these Squatters originate within a different sphere beyond the ice. They are in conflict for some reason—I do not completely understand how or why.”
“I think we need to know,” says Longpincer.
“I agree,” says Broadtail. “But please allow me to finish. The Builders claim they are the makers of a large shelter, off in cold water along the dead vent line downcurrent of Bitterwater. They describe the Squatters arriving and forcing them to leave. Upon their taking refuge in a smaller shelter—I’m sure you all remember our visit to them—the Builders are again attacked and their shelter destroyed.”
The room is quiet. All the Bitterwater scholars are house holders. Even Broadtail still thinks of himself as one despite the loss of his property. Monsters coming out of the cold to seize one’s house is the essence of dread for all of them.
“Is this claim accurate?” asks Sharpfrill at last. “I do not wish to doubt anyone’s honesty, but perhaps you do not understand everything they tell you. Is it possible they have some kind of, oh, I don’t know, maybe an inheritance dispute with these other beings? Or something of that kind?”
“Let us ask them again,” said Broadtail. Loudly, so that all the Company could hear, he tapped out a message to Builder 1. “Squatters construct shelter, yes?”
Some discussion among them in faint swishing noises and barks. Then Builder 1 replies. “No. Shelter build action Builders shelter. Two place shelter Builder two shelter. Squatters large grasp shelter. Squatters two shelter separate.”
“His words are sharp and strong,” says Broadtail. “The shelters are the work of his people. These others force them to leave. As I recall saying, a horrible crime.”
“What do these Squatters want?” demanded Longpincer. “Where do they plan to strike next?”
“I am unsure. Let me ask.” Broadtail taps another message to Builder 1. “Squatters grasping object?”
More discussion. Builder 1 eventually replies, “Squatters grasp Builders.”
“I believe the Squatters only wish to remove the Builders,” Broadtail explains to the Company.
“Let them,” says Sharpfrill. “It is not our quarrel.” The room echoes with murmurs of agreement.
“The Builders are here now,” says Broadtail quietly. “They are Longpincer’s guests. As are we all.”
That creates a long uncomfortable silence. Everyone waits for Longpincer to say something. He takes a little while to respond, and Broadtail realizes he is enjoying the attention. Lately Broadtail is making a bigger noise. It could be awkward: though this is Longpincer’s home, it is Broadtail who brings the Builders here into the house. Longpincer could disavow them. And who could blame him? They are not adults. Longpincer would be within his rights to kill and eat them.
Longpincer elevates himself on his legs so that his words are not distorted. “They are my guests,” he says clearly. “Within my boundaries they are under my protection. Their enemies are mine.” He quotes the way it is written in old laws. Saying it that way, Longpincer is reminding his other guests of their duty. By accepting his hospitality they make themselves his allies in battle. In any vent town the vote of the community replaces ancient codes, but Bitterwater is alone, surrounded by cold water. Longpincer must take such things seriously.
Broadtail translates for the Builders. “Builders may stay here. We adults fight any Squatters who try to take you.” He feels tremendous relief. With Longpincer’s consent the Builders can remain at Bitterwater. Broadtail can study them all the time and learn everything there is to know.
“Humans stand [unknown]. Ilmatarans stabbing motions [unknown] reaching out toward humans,” said Rob. “I think that means they’re offering to protect us.”“From the Sholen? Are you certain?” said Alicia.
“No, but that’s what it sounds like. I think our broad-tailed friend talked the others into it.”
“But we have not asked them to do this—Robert, tell them it is not their fight.”
Rob tried. “Ilmataran folds pincers.”
“Ilmatarans make stabbing motions,” Broadtail replied. “Humans and Ilmatarans make stabbing motions.”
“Alicia, I think they’ve made up their minds.”
“Should we leave, then?”
“Sound like you hope we persuade you not to,” said Josef. “Stay.”
“Robert?”
“You’re the one who wants to gather more data, right? At least with them helping us maybe we can figure out how to survive longer. And we’ll be right in the middle of an Ilmataran community! So I take it we’re staying? I’ll tell him.”
He tapped out the message, then made himself as comfortable as he could in the low room while the Ilmatarans argued things out. With so many of them pinging and clicking together it sounded like some kind of bizarre concerto for harpsichord and castanets.
Broadtail was translating bits and pieces of the discussion into number code for Rob’s benefit, so that he understood at least vaguely what was happening. They were trying to decide where the humans could stay and how to protect them. Some of the Ilmatarans wanted to move them elsewhere. And then, quite suddenly, they all apparently came to an agreement because the pinging quieted down.
Broadtail tapped a new message to Rob. “Humans many food, yes?”
“No,” Rob replied. “Humans twenty food.”
This prompted one of the Ilmatarans to go to the doorway and make some loud noises. After a bit, a parade of others came in carrying bundles and jars of stuff that they set out on the floor in the center of the room.
“Eat,” Broadtail signaled.
“Oh, crud,” said Rob. “Alicia, how can we tell them we can’t eat their food?”
“Show them,” she said, and took out one of the emergency bars.
Rob spent some time going through his Ilmataran lexicon, and them tapped out “Human eat zero food.” He held up the food bar and unwrapped it. “Human eat object.”
This caused something of a commotion. Rob finally had to slip a bit of the food bar through the little self-sealing adaptive plastic port in the helmet faceplate. It was supposed to allow one to eat while outside the station—but in practice it always leaked. Icy water trickled down Rob’s neck, soaking his suit liner, but he got the morsel into his mouth. Its brief immersion in Ilmatar’s ocean gave it a flavor of over-salted egg, which wasn’t much worse than the way the bars normally tasted. The Ilmatarans crowded around, listening and feeling him as he chewed and swallowed.
Broadtail was brave enough to take a bit of the bar in his feeding tendrils. Watching him eat was almost as fascinating for Rob as his own performance had been for the Ilmatarans. The inner side of each tendril was ridged like a file, and Broadtail basically abraded his food, pulling the tendrils into his mouth to swallow what they scraped off.
“He’s eating it! Should I stop him?”
Alicia was busy calling up files on her helmet faceplate. “Yes! Tell him to stop! The sugars ought to be all right, but the fats and proteins may taste unpleasant or cause an allergic reaction.”
“Too late,” said Rob as Broadtail paused and expelled a cloud of food particles from his mouth.
“Not food,” said Broadtail after a moment.
“Builder food not Ilmataran food,” Rob tapped out.
That prompted a lot more discussion among the Ilmatarans, during which some of them apparently decided there was no sense letting all the stuff on the floor go to waste. They began stuffing themselves and passing things around. Since their sound organs were entirely separate from the feeding mouthparts, the Ilmatarans could chatter as much as they liked while eating.