III
Our sessions with the envoys had given us some insight into the workings of their society. They had no great aggregations that could be termed cities, for why should creatures who are so vulnerable choose to live close to their potential predators? Instead, each one who grew to adulthood built a secretive cave whose entrance was carefully hidden. Here they could shed their shells in security when the time came. Here they could hide from those who would use them.
With some shock I discovered that none of the envoys knew of their parentage. Sex for them was a spurt of eggs or semen in the springtime response to the tides. They had no emotional attachment to the free-swimming young homaroids that they used so abominably. Only those young who had achieved an educatable size and proven intelligence were brought into servitude.
It was likely then that these civilized beings preyed equally upon their own genetic heirs as well as others, using them as beasts and as food. It was Bentham’s worst nightmare come to life.
I also discovered that they had no concept of religion, no spiritual center to their life. My dialogue with Ttch*lok each evening became a ritual that followed his feeding. But now there was a purpose in my discussions, for, through him, I believed that I could regain the faith that I had lost. If I could have God speak to this creature then there was still grace in the Universe. And there was still hope for me.
I began to tell Ttch*lok of a spirituality through which he could hope to surmount the tether that bound him. I spoke of the virtues of a faultless life, and the certain rewards of the afterlife after the release of his soul. I spoke of a kind God and how he would reward those whose life was free from sin.
In time I believed that Ttch*lok began to comprehend and understand the possibility of his own salvation. I baptized him one night with a cupful of water from the nearby sea, as seemed appropriate at that time and place. “My friend,” I made him repeat in Italian as I held his claw and arm upraised, “We are reborn.”
We prayed together, there on the damp, green mud; a strange crustacean and a failed priest, repeating words whose origins were centuries old and hundreds of light-years distant.
I rejoiced in my eager convert, imagining that he would carry religion back to the godless civilization that spawned him. I fantasized that Ttch*lok would be my first missionary; that he would carry the message of redemption and spirituality to the needful and unknowing souls of this horrid world.
I would have a flock of believers at last! Strange though they might appear to others of my faith. I relished the souls that were to be saved.
One evening I noted that the pail seemed rather full to overflowing. Choice scraps were evident. “Was this a reward?” I asked innocently for today’s session had gone extremely well, with hardly an error in understanding.
“No,” Ttch*lok responded with no hint of sadness. “They are feeding me to make sure that I am full when my time comes.”
“I don’t understand. What time is this? Are you going to return to your masters?” The emissaries had mentioned nothing of their departure.
Ttch*lok clicked his feelers together nervously. “I am at my limit, father. I have learned so much that I feel that I will burst if relief does not come soon.”
Startled at his remark I peered closer. Yes, the signs were unmistakable; there was a cloudy appearance in the eyes, the shell had taken on a milky sheen, and the movement of all appendages were languorous and weak. “The softening is coming,” I said in sudden understanding.
“Yes,” Ttch*lok replied. “And they will eat me for my knowledge when that happens.”
I was rocked back on my heels. Eat their translator? Why would they… Then it dawned on me: By eating him they would gain facility with our language. With that core of knowledge they could more easily gain fluency. Yes, and then they would no longer have to suffer the laborious and demeaning process of translation through a captive animal.
It made perfectly good sense. Ed would no doubt think it a “clever ploy.”
I thought that it was horrible.
All through the night I tossed and fidgeted in my bunk, wondering what my moral obligation was in this case. On the one hand the feeding of Ttch*lok to the three emissaries would materially enhance our process of learning more about their civilization and this world. I had a sworn obligation to aid and support that process.
On the other hand, if I did nothing I would lose my single convert. I would allow a Christian to be sacrificed on the altar of expediency. Not only that, but a living, thinking, feeling being of no little intelligence would be consumed as fodder, with little ceremony or remorse on the part of his masters. To them he was simply a convenient animal whose substance could be harvested with dispatch.
Did I not have a higher obligation to save his soul, if not his material being? I had baptized this child and therefore had a debt to protect him.
The conflict of the two obligations wore on me through the long night hours.
In the steamy dawn I crept from the dome to where Ttch*lok lay sleeping. “Quiet,” I whispered as I cut the tether that bound him to the staff. The line was surprisingly weak. Ttch*lok could have sundered it in a moment with his claw, had he so chosen.
“Come with me, my friend,” I said and led him away from the dome and into the dark vegetation surrounding the campsite. He resisted weakly at first, as if unwilling to move. I assumed he was early in the stage of stupor that preceded the softening.
Finally he stirred, albeit slowly. I had momentarily feared that the progression of the softening had already reached the point where he was unable to move. That would be a serious problem since I doubted that I could bear his weight in addition to the hard suit.
For hours we trudged through the dark foliage and sucking mud, ever away from the dome and those who would misuse Ttch*lok. When gray dawn lay upon the sky we were kilometers away, heading up the peninsula toward the swamps of the mainland.
Ttch*lok stumbled frequently as if his limbs were not strong enough to maintain the pace. I gave him such help as I could, supporting his weight whenever it seemed he was losing strength.
The signs of his forthcoming change were more apparent in the morning light. A small crack had formed, extending from the base of his tail to a point halfway along his back. It had not yet separated, for I could see no white flesh between the sides of the crack.
I prayed that there was still enough time for us to find a safe place to hide.
“Non posso continuare. I tire,” he said finally and slumped to the ground. He could go no farther and, I must admit, my own resolve to continue had faded in the reality of the forced march and my inability to drag his weight any longer.
I discovered a sheltered spot. It was a simple overhang of dirt on the side of a ridge covered with feathery shrubs. I dragged him in as far as I could and lay beside him, exhausted.
We could not be spotted from the outside, I was certain of that.
“Is there anything that I can do?” I asked, wondering what needs Ttch*lok might have and if I were capable of providing whatever might be requested.
“You should not have taken me,” he whispered so softly that I strained to hear him. “I was not made to live beyond my purpose.”
“Nonsense,” I responded at once. “No one deserves to die needlessly. I have an obligation to save you for your own sake, for the sake of your soul.”
“I have no need for this body, father,” he responded weakly. “My soul will go on.”