I stepped down out of the gunship.
I crossed to the wall of the camouflage dome and stepped through the netting.
FIFTY-SIX
THE BUNNYDOGS sat up straighter as I approached.
I stepped to the edge of the circle opposite the bunnies and sat down cross-legged. They needed the chance to study a human. The two larger bunnies began to chirp and gobble at each other. The littlest bunny sat up, yawned, stretched and scratched himself. He looked around and saw me-and jumped nearly a meter in the air in startlement. His eyes went impossibly round. He was probably only a child. He edged sideways until he was hidden behind the largest bunnydog. Then he peered around curiously and blinked at me.
I waved at him.
He pulled his head back quickly, disappearing again behind his-what, his papa? No, that was a human assumption. Maybe the females of this species were the larger.
The two adult bunnies ceased gobbling and reduced their conversation to a series of coos and chirps.
They reminded me of something I'd seen in the herd. There were two young women who liked to sit opposite each other, cooing and gobbling nonsense syllables. If you didn't know the language-or the lack of it-you could almost think that they were really talking. It looked like they were totally engaged in some happy casual chatter-and in one sense, they were. But there were no agreed-upon symbols, and there was no transmission of any experience at all beyond the shared one of sitting and gobbling.
If an alien didn't know human language, would it assume that they were communicating?
And then, having made that assumption, if it had turned and looked to the observers of the herd, Dr. Fletcher and myself, and studied our quiet sidewise exchanges, could that same alien have perceived a difference? If anything, the two gobbling women would have looked more in communication than Fletcher and myself. At least it was obvious that they were acting in relationship.
This was the real question.
If two creatures are sitting and gobbling at each other, how do you tell if they are talking-or just gobbling? Were these bunnydogs actually using a language? Or were they simply making noises at each other?
It sounded like a language. But then, so did the herd noises. Two more bunnydogs were hopping down the slope to join the three sitting opposite me. They bumped noses with Mama, Papa and baby bunnydog. They patted each other's fur. A greeting ritual? The two newcomers looked older and more cautious than Mama, Papa and baby. But they took up their places at the edge of the circle and waited also.
I felt a little like a guru. Naked. Patient. Mysterious. A sixth bunnydog joined the vigil.
There were other bunnydogs hopping and waddling toward the circle.
There were more up on the hill. Some were just sitting and watching. A few were advancing.
I waited until the gathering was complete-they gobbled and greeted each new arrival; there was much exchanging of nuzzlings and nose bumps, even a few pats and hugs before settling downand then I stood up.
The bunnydogs sat up alert.
I stepped to the exact center of the circle.
I could feel their eyes. This was the center of the world. Every bunnydog was watching me; so was every human. Everything I did was being monitored from the choppers hidden in the domes. Recorded. Photographed. Analyzed.
I stopped and waited. I allowed myself to feel the wind on my body. I let myself smell the grass and the scent of pine in the cool afternoon air. There was another scent on top of the pine. A sweet peppermint smell. The scent of the bunnies? It would be appropriate.
The bunnies were watching me attentively, but none of them had entered the circle yet.
They were waiting for me to do something.
I remembered what the bunnies had done before. They had danced.
I touched the transceiver at my neck and said, very softly, "I have a problem. I don't know how to dance."
Fletcher's voice, just as softly, replied, "They don't know that. They've never seen a monkey dance before. Whatever you do is the right way."
"Oh, yeah. Thanks for reminding me." I took a breath.
I started dancing.
I capered, I bounced, I shouted. I made Indian whooping noises with my hand over my mouth. I did a jig, a Charleston, a freddy, and a break. I jumped and hollered and shook.
The bunnydogs looked at each other curiously.
"Well, come on-!" I shouted. "Don't you want to dance?" Several of the bunnies took a hop backward. Oh, shit. I was going to lose them.
I dropped forward in a somersault, came up on my knees, hooked my fingers in my mouth, crossed my eyes, stuck out my tongue, and said, "Boola-boola-boola! Labber-labber-labber-"
Two of the bunnies started giggling. The littlest bunny came charging into the circle then. He stopped in front of me and shook his head rapidly back and forth. He let his floppy lips and tongue shake like an ape. "Lubber-lubber-lubber-" he said in a high squeaky voice.
In seconds, I was surrounded by bunnies, all of them making incomprehensible gobbling sounds. They were bouncing and hopping all around me, somersaulting and turning upside down, shrieking, bubbling and shouting. They danced and jerked like little spastic puppets. I looked up the hill and it was covered with fluffy pink bodies bouncing down toward the circle. They were coming to join the party too. We had won!
A bright red worm came over the crest of the slope. Two more followed after it. And then two more. And another-I didn't care.
The bunnies saw and began cheering and shouting. It was beginning to sound more and more like a language.
"I think we've done it!" I laughed. "We've done it! I don't know what we've done, but we've done it!"
The bunnies were all around me now, patting me and touching me affectionately. Their fingers were soft and furry. And they tickled.
I dropped to my knees. The bunnies came up close to inspect my face. Their tiny hands touched my cheeks, my nose, my hair. They were fascinated by the hairlessness of my body. They stroked me curiously. Their eyes were huge and round. They looked like little toy animals, pink and cuddly. But when they yipped, I could see that they had sharp white teeth. But then-so did puppies.
One of the bunnies took my hand and began licking my fingers. He put my middle finger in his mouth and sucked on it thoughtfully. Then he let go and looked at me and ... giggled. I reached over and tugged his ear gently and we both knew it was all right.
The new arrivals plunged into the circle and joined the curious crowd. All of them wanted to get as close as possible. I reached out and touched as many of them as I could reach. I began to tickle them and poke them affectionately. I patted their heads and skritched their ears-they really loved that. I even picked up the baby bunnydogs and gave them little hugs and kisses. They shrieked and giggled with delight.
My transceiver started beeping. The bunnydogs cocked their heads at it curiously. I held it up for them to see-a tiny little button on a chain around my neck. I said, "See, it's nothing. It just makes noises. Make a noise, button."
The button said, "Oh, great and powerful god of small pink things, look around you now."
The bunnies were fascinated. One of the babies sniffed the button. Another tried to put it into his mouth. I had to take it away from him.
I looked up, beyond the small pink bodies. There were worms here.
I was surrounded by worms.
Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-three worms.
All sizes. From the smallest I'd ever seen-about the size of a St. Bernard-to three huge monsters the size of Greyhound buses. "Well, hi guys..." I said. I stood up and looked at the worms.
The last worm was just being herded into place by three energetic little bunnies. Again I thought of a jumbo jet being directed to dock by the ground crew.
All right-assume that the bunnies control the worms. The question was why? What did the bunnies use the worms for? We were about to find out.
FIFTY-SEVEN
SOME OF the worms swiveled their eyes to study me. Some of them closed their eyes and looked like they were dozing.