Hellspark. Part 16

She did not take her eyes from the arriving sprookje, but she felt Megeve's muscles relax and released his hands. Beside her, the others all turned cautiously to follow her gaze. Except for the sound of wind and distant thunder, everything was still as Buntec's sprookje pushed slowly toward them.

(Maggy,) Tocohl said, (record this.) The sprookje did indeed have something in its hand.

It stopped a scant two feet from Buntec and stared at her, its feathers ruffling in the wind. It seemed almost expectant. Then it came to Tocohl and, with a gesture identical to that with which Tocohl had pa.s.sed out the bits of moss cloak, it stretched out its arm and offered her a tuft of something red and velvety-looking.

Praying that the fragile moment wouldn't break, that no one in the group would shout and frighten the sprookje away, Tocohl leaned forward, not daring to step closer, and reached out to take the gift. She turned it over slowly in her hands, allowing Maggy a good steady view through the spectacles, felt its texture. It was as velvety to the touch as it was to the eye, and it was not merely red, but patterned in shades of red. It was definitely vegetable matter.

Maggy said, (Nothing on it in the survey files; shall I ask swift-Kalat-) (Later, Maggy,) said Tocohl. Aloud, she addressed the sprookje in Jannisetti. "Thank you," and on impulse, she held out her hand, just barely touching the feathery softness of the sprookje's wrist. Thesprookje's cheek-feathers puffed slightly but it did not move away.

Tocohl drew her hand back and stroked the bit of mosslike substance, then, as slowly and carefully as she had done it the first time, she again reached out and touched the sprookje's wrist. This time she made a light stroking motion. The sprookje's cheek-feathers smoothed.

Grinning with excitement, Tocohl brought her hand back and made a great show, for the sprookje's benefit, of placing their gift into the pouch at her hip.

Very softly, she said, "Buntec, I'd like to try an experiment."

Buntec said in the same tone, "You name it; I'll do it," and her sprookje agreed.

"Your knife, please, Om im." Tocohl brought the knife up under the cloak, thrust it outward just beneath her chin, and made a long cut down the lay of the cloak's foliage to its now-ragged hem. A long narrow strip of moss peeled away into her hand. Its tansy scent spiced the air about her.

Cheek-feathers puffed on every sprookje face. Buntec said, interpreting the look, "You're a rotten person, Tocohl, cuttin' something beautiful like that." Again her sprookje echoed her words.

"You could be right, Buntec. I hope they'll forgive a bit of expediency."

Om im did, for he accepted the return of his knife without the customary ceremony.

Taking the long strip of moss by either end, Tocohl spread her hands and gave it a gentle tug to demonstrate its strength. Then she held out one end to the sprookje, who took it. Still holding the other end of the strip in her left hand, she reached out again with her right to stroke the sprookje's wrist. The strip looped between them and remained even when she withdrew her right hand.

After a moment, the sprookje's cheek-feathers relaxed. Tocohl said, in the same soft voice, "Now, very calmly, one at a time, I want you all to get into the daisy-clipper. Megeve, if you're not coming with us, please go back into the hangar, out of sight."

He stared at her aghast. In the same hushed tone, he said, "But you've got an exchange of gifts!

You've got to tell the captain-that's more than we've gotten in these three years..." His sprookje too let its voice trail off as if in astonishment of its own.

"Good," Tocohl said, "but not enough, not for your captain."

"What more could you want?" Megeve and his sprookje demanded.

"Art, artifacts"-Tocohl glared at the sprookjes that refused to echo her and let the exasperation leak into her voice-"language. We're still going to look for those grafts, with a native guide if possible."

She indicated the sprookje at the other end of the strip of moss with a twist of her head; her grin returned.

For a long moment, Megeve regarded her in shocked silence. At last he found his voice. "Crazy like a h.e.l.lspark," he said, and his sprookje thought so too. "You'll need those microphones. Don't worry, I won't do anything to frighten off your sprookjes."

The tableau held as Megeve stepped cautiously away. He was gone from sight for a few moments only, and his sprookje did not follow him, choosing to remain behind and watch with great golden eyes. It only backed slightly away when Megeve returned to distribute microphone necklaces to the others.

Om im took his with a very broad grin. "We'll leave you the pleasure of telling the captain of the Ish shan's first success, Timosie."

"I wouldn't dream of it," the Maldeneantine grinned back. "It will keep until you get back. Buntec would... strip me naked and roll me through the razor-gra.s.s-" The sprookje paused on the same querying note, as Megeve glanced at Buntec, who doubled her fists and jerked her elbows back sharply to attest to the accuracy of his phrasing. "-If she missed seeing the expression on Kejesli's face," he finished.

"Absolutely," agreed Buntec and her sprookje. "And the minute we're gone he's gonna hightail it back to camp and shout his lungs out"-but despite her excitement, she kept her imaginary shout to a whisper-"The h.e.l.lspark swapped gifts! The h.e.l.lspark swapped gifts!" She exchanged a look with her sprookje and together they finished, "I know I would."

(He probably will,) Tocohl observed privately to Maggy. (If the arachne is available, try to record the expression on Kejesli's face for Buntec when he does.) (It's important?)(To Buntec, it is. Now, hush. I have to pay attention.) "Please be careful," Megeve was saying, "I don't trust that thing around my machinery." His own thing voiced the identical sentiments. He glared at it. "If you must take one, take mine." Then he vanished, scowling, back into the hangar.

"Okay, Buntec," said Tocohl, "you first." And each of the others in turn climbed into the daisy-clipper, leaving Tocohl alone with the three sprookjes. Flashgra.s.s danced and flickered around them.

She took a single step toward the daisy-clipper, allowing the strip of moss cloak to go taut, and then a second step. The sprookje let go.

Patiently, Tocohl picked up the fallen end of the strip and offered it again to the sprookje. The sprookje accepted it, and Tocohl took another step. This time the sprookje followed, although at the farthest extreme the length of moss permitted.

The other sprookjes came too, picking their way through the flashgra.s.s warily, as if the strip of moss gave Buntec's sprookje a shield that they did not have.

The strip loosened as the sprookje quickened its steps to keep pace a foot or two behind her. When Tocohl reached the daisy-clipper, she played out another foot of moss and climbed in, sliding well over in the plush seat to allow sufficient room for the sprookje, and began to reel in the moss strip. The sprookje did not move; the strip went taut and Tocohl tugged gently. The sprookje let go. Tocohl slid to the door, picked up the end of the strip, and offered it again to the sprookje. But before Buntec's sprookje could accept, the second sprookje, Megeve's, grabbed for the trailing end and caught it. Startled, Buntec's sprookje skittered back a few feet.

Megeve's sprookje took a single step toward the daisy-clipper.

Om im said quietly, "I think you've got a volunteer."

"We'll see," Tocohl said. With a slight frown of concentration, she slid back to her position next to Om im and, slowly but surely, began to reel in Megeve's sprookje.

And slowly but surely it followed. Through the door it came, its cheek-feathers fully puffed. Inside, it looked around slowly, taking everything in as carefully as Maggy's arachne might.

Its thigh to calf ratio was different from the human, but it sat, turning slightly to the side, to allow room for its knees. Aside from a few ruffled cheek-feathers, it did not look uncomfortable.

Tocohl fastened her seat belt with great deliberation, so the sprookje could see exactly what she was doing and how. She had hoped that the sprookje would follow suit, but she was disappointed. When the sprookje made no similar move, she leaned across it and, very gingerly, fastened its seat belt-snapped it open to rea.s.sure the creature-then fastened it again.

The sprookje watched her gravely, and snapped the seat belt open. "Okay," said Tocohl, "you've got that down."

When the sprookje made no further move, Tocohl patiently fastened its seat belt again, leaned farther across to close the door, and waited to see what the creature would do next. The sprookje looked at the seat belt, looked at the door, and sighed-as if resigned to its fate-and eased back into the seat.

"All right," said Tocohl, "now that we've got our trusty native guide, let's get this expedition off the ground, shall we?"

Buntec said, "I think you're crazy, h.e.l.lspark, but at least you picked one that doesn't talk back-not to us. You just made Timosie's day in more ways than one." She turned to her instruments, adding over her shoulder, "Give a holler if your fine-feathered friend gets too hopped up. I'll take this as slow and easy as I can."

Swift-Kalat was pleased. Within minutes after he had removed the wrappings from the corpses of the golden scoffers, the first sprookje to see them-his own, in fact-had nipped each of them in turn. The first it had bitten twice, each of the others only once, as if extrapolating from the first.

He placed the bitten corpses into sterile boxes. In a few days, he'd know whether or not the sprookjes themselves were the source of the garbage plants. Whether or not that datum would make a difference to the survey team, he had no idea.Layli-layli calulan's reasoning seemed farfetched but he was not one to ignore any theory without good cause. If the sprookjes were consciously injecting the garbage plants into all the human debris to cleanse their world of human-borne poisons, might they not also wish to cleanse their world of the human intruders as well?

Stacking the boxes, he paused to consider the sprookje and found it watching the arachne. The arachne, oddly enough, had skittered from one end of the table to the other. There it crouched, then suddenly shot up to its full height, crouched a second time, and skittered the length of the table once more. His first thought was that something had gone wrong with it but, no, its movements were too purposeful...

"Maggy... ?" he began; so did the sprookje.

The arachne sprang once more to full height, startling the sprookje back in mid-query.

"I wanted to see if I could get it to notice the arachne." The voice from the vocoder sounded pleased. "It did."

Swift-Kalat suddenly regretted that he had not called another surveyor to record for him. However well Maggy recorded the sprookjes, the film would not include her own behavior which, to him, was equally intriguing. Then he remembered that Tocohl was in constant communication with Maggy through her implant. He and the sprookje asked, "Did Tocohl suggest you try that?"

"No, she's busy. She told me to hush. I'll show her later." The arachne made another abrupt bob.

This time the sprookje only blinked at it. "I deduce that it considers the arachne harmless," Maggy said.

"Yes," he said, the sprookje seconding him. He picked up the boxes to carry them inside the cabin, pausing on the threshold to sc.r.a.pe some of the mud from his feet. The arachne sprang from the table to follow him. The sprookje did not; perhaps, like most of the surveyors, it was drying its feathers.

There was an odd sound behind him. He turned to look and found the arachne sc.r.a.ping its legs one against the other in imitation.

"Shall I enter the material in your files?" Maggy asked.

"Yes, please, Maggy," he said. "You are very useful to have around."

The arachne bobbed a bow. "Thank you." It p.r.i.c.ked its way on delicate feet to the console and stuck an adapter into one of the tiny receipt openings. The rest of its legs straightened to give it the height to reach the keyboard.

"Do you need help?" asked swift-Kalat, suddenly realizing how much he was taking for granted about the capabilities of this probe.

Implausibly, a chuckle came from the arachne. "No," it said, "my arm's not broken.-Did I say that correctly?"

Swift-Kalat laughed, as much from astonishment as from amus.e.m.e.nt. "Yes," he said, "I think so: you sounded very like Alfvaen."

"Good," said the arachne, setting about its task.

For a long moment, swift-Kalat watched; there was nothing to see. At last he remembered the sterile boxes he still held and crossed the room to put them in a safe place. When he returned, it was to draw up a chair and sit, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and the best possible view of the arachne.

His bracelets clashed down his arm to his elbow.

His expertise, he found, was being challenged by more than the sprookjes. By definition, an extrapolative computer was not sentient but, by definition neither were the sprookjes. The only difference seemed to be that Maggy responded to questioning.

When the arachne withdrew its adapter, he said "Maggy, are you sentient?"

There was a long pause. Whether it indicated deep thought-and Maggy's deep thought would be faster than human-or was merely supplied for aesthetic reasons, swift-Kalat couldn't judge.

At last, Maggy said, "I don't know. From what Tocohl says, none of the definitions of sentience in my memory is true and sufficient to cover all cases. Legally speaking, however-no, I'm not sentient.

Why do you ask?"

"In reaction to the extent of your curiosity."

"That's basic to an extrapolative computer. Curiosity is rather simple to program in: If the informationreceived doesn't gibe with other information I have stored, I seek additional information; if I don't have enough information, I seek additional information. In me that's called programming. In a human, that's called curiosity."

"Again, a matter of definition," swift-Kalat pointed out.

"I see what you mean. Yes, a matter of definition."

Swift-Kalat fell silent. If he were asked, he wondered, would he be able to say, as he had with the sprookjes, that he deduced sentience in an extrapolative computer? The question brought him full circle to the legal definition: art, artifacts, language. Language, Maggy certainly had. And given the proper waldoes, he did not doubt that she could produce an artifact if she chose to.

The computer console chimed an interruption to his thoughts and he rose absently to answer it.

The caller was Kejesli. "h.e.l.lo, swift-Kalat. Is Tocohl with you?"

"Buntec took her into the flashwood. I don't know how long they'll be gone."

"So she'll miss what she seems to have started. Well, you come then. It should be of interest to you as well: there'll be a brief lecture on landscaping in the common room starting about five minutes from now." With that, he signed off.

When swift-Kalat glanced down he saw that the arachne was already on its way. He followed.

"Curious?" he asked.

"Curious," she agreed as the two of them started across the compound. "Besides," she added, "I want to see the look on Kejesli's face."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I, but it's important to Buntec. If I record it for her, maybe she'll explain why," Maggy said, then added, "If she tells me, I'll tell you. I promise."

Edge-of-Dark skirted the barbed-wire perimeter to the main gate, her arms laden with stalks of flowers and leafy branches representing almost all of the local flora of the chlorophyll and rhodopsin families. She'd picked too many; she always did. Getting the gate open would probably require as much skill as arranging the flowers-and no less art.

She smiled to herself, thinking it wasn't often she'd been called upon to put her artistic talent to use on a survey. The chance gave her satisfaction of a kind she'd never before experienced.

The ground under the flashgra.s.s became uneven. Not having a very good view, she slowed, stepped cautiously. The intermittent sight of the green boots brought a second smile to her face and shoulders.

Amid the flicker of the flashgra.s.s they were wonderfully aesthetic. Perhaps she had been going about her clothing incorrectly; perhaps it should be taken as a whole with its surroundings... What the h.e.l.lspark wore was in some peculiar way more fashionable for Flashfever than her own carefully chosen garb.

Guessing that she'd neared her destination, she halted to shift her still-dripping burden enough to look for the gate. To her relief, Timosie Megeve stood beside it, waiting to hold it open.

"Thank you, Megeve," she began, then she peered again through the foliage. She was no expert on Maldeneantine expressions, but he seemed agitated. "Is something wrong? You look like a womble about to bite someone."

Even as it left her mouth she realized he probably wouldn't understand the expression, but before she could explain he said, "Nothing's wrong, Edge-of-Dark. At least, I hope not. h.e.l.lsparks are crazy, that's all." He swung the gate wide and went on, "They took a sprookje along with them-in the daisy-clipper!"

"Who else went?" And when Megeve told her, she smiled as broad a smile as was possible with her arms full and, to rea.s.sure him, she added, "I wouldn't worry. With Buntec piloting and a serendipitist along, they can hardly get into trouble."

Megeve started. "I hadn't thought about the serendipitist. Do you believe in that sort of thing?"

"I believe in anything that works, I suppose."

A stalk of penny-Jannisett fell from the crook of her arm; Megeve stooped to retrieve it. He held it out to her, but realizing she had no free hand, he said, "Shall I carry some of that?"

"Just the one you've got. If I try to divide it up, I'll drop it all, I'm afraid. It would be gracious of youto help me into my cabin."

"Of course." He swung the gate shut behind her and took a few quick paces to lead the way.

"What's all that for?"

"You missed our brilliant idea," she said, "Buntec's brilliant idea, in truth, although she is gracious enough to name me her collaborator..." And on the way to her cabin, she explained at length, her enthusiasm growing still more as she spoke.

"I see," he said, holding aside the membrane to her cabin to ease her entry. "It is a theory worth exploring, I suppose."

He watched as she maneuvered her plant cuttings onto a low table. When her hands were free, he held out the sprig of penny-Jannisett. "Edge-of-Dark," he said, "if you don't mind my asking-why did you start wearing boots all of a sudden?"