And that was it.
They stayed outside the circle. Why? Did that mean something? Or not-?
Most of the bunnydogs were ignoring the worms. They were here to party. The worms were just... wallpaper. Or protection. Or ... what? I couldn't even guess.
Several of the bunnies were tugging at me. I allowed myself to be turned away from the worms. They wanted to play some more. I let myself be pulled into a cluster of them. I grinned. I giggled. I laughed out loud.
The bunnies laughed with me. They bounced and hugged and fell all over me, screaming and giggling like children. They seemed to be asking for something. They tugged at me and made little begging noises. I had the weirdest sense that they were wondering where the rest of my ... family was.
I touched the button at my throat and laughed. "I think there's room in this circle for a few more monkeys."
The button didn't respond.
I repeated my request. "I think we need some more monkeys out here."
"It's not part of the mission-"
"But it's appropriate," I said. "It's what's needs to happen next. We need to prove we're safe-as a species."
The button was silent.
I chuckled a bunny under his chin. We giggled together and made funny growling noises. I batted him gently, and he rolled and somersaulted backward like a happy little croquet ball. He scampered back for more.
I said to the button, "Come on, guys. I think, if a few more monkeys don't join us, it might be an insult to our guests."
The button said, "Hold your shorts on, jasper. We're picking volunteers-"
I stayed with the bunnies. I started talking to them, seeing if I could create the beginnings of a common language.
"Jim-" I said, and pointed to myself. "Jim-"
"Ch'ch'ch-" chittered one of the bunnies, and that was as close as we got. There simply was no interest here in exchanging concept-symbols.
The bunnies were sitting up now, turning to look at the domes. I turned to look too.
Six more apes were coming out to join us. I recognized Jerry Larson and Roy Barnes, and two of the observation team, though I didn't know their names. And Fletcher. All had stripped to their underwear.
The bunnydogs welcomed them into the circle, touching the newcomers as curiously as they had touched me. One of them tugged at Larson's shorts, sniffing and even biting. Another reached up and touched Fletcher's breast. She laughed and squatted down so the creature could examine her close up. She examined it right back. There was no modesty here.
I called to her, "They must be mammals-"
She grinned and called back, "Don't bet on anything yet-" The bunnies circled around all of us, clustering and gobbling and petting and touching. I looked to the worms-they looked bored. I felt curiously exultant. This was it! The breakthrough! We didn't need to be at war-!
I noticed that the bunnies were calming now, turning and also nolicing the worms.
And then they began to-sing.
It was in eerie sound, but high-pitched and sweet. No two of the little creatures were singing in unison, yet the effect of the whole crowd of them singing all at once was that of a chorus. Their voices blurred in a way that was distinctly otherworldly and oddly pleasant.
I looked to Larson, to Fletcher, and to the others. Their eyes were bright with wonder. They were as enchanted as I was by this little miracle.
"It's just like the herd!" I called.
Fletcher laughed back, "I know-I can feel it!"
Now, the bunnies began turning back and forth in little quick hops. They bleated as they bounced. They cooed and bubbled and chirruped at each other. It sounded like song, like a conversation, like a bubble of delighted laughter.
I turned around in the middle of it all, turning to get a sense of the entire group. As I did, I noticed the bunnies picking up my motion. They were turning too. The gathering was a reflection of myself.
I noticed the other monkeys, humans, turning too-all smiles and delight. A couple of them were humming lightly.
We turned together. Individual bunnydogs circled to me, then swirled away. There seemed to be no pattern at all to their movements, and yet there was a sense of harmony and wholeness in this gathering. I could feel it enveloping me like a big warm fizzy bubble bath.
It felt like home.
The bunnies were moving out of the circle now-moving to the worms.
They began climbing on the worms and patting them, grooming them, nuzzling them. Even the largest of the worms was covered with little pink shapes, patting and stroking at its dark purple fur. The fur seemed to shimmer with color as I watched; its stripes rippled and flowed along its sides. The movement was clear and distinct.
I realized that the humans were being left alone in the circle. Were the bunnies abandoning us-?
No-one of the bunnies had grabbed my hand and was stamping its feet impatiently. It tugged at my arm, and looked at me with its large cookie-button eyes. Its expression was expectant.
I said to the other humans, "I think they want to introduce us to the worms-"
"You go first-" called Barnes. He was grinning, but he also looked terrified. Fletcher shushed him.
I let myself be tugged toward the edge of the circle.
I looked to the worms. Most of them were preoccupied with their attendants. Were the bunnydogs grooming the worms? Or were the worms mothering the bunnydogs?
What was happening here? Had the bunnydogs rode in on their worms like cowboys riding to a square dance? Or had the worms brought their bunnies out to play, like nannies in Central Park?
I looked around the circle. Some of the bunnies were staring into the worms' great eyes. One of them tapped a worm on the side and it lowered a hand and lifted the bunny up before its face. Was it that simple? Eye contact?
One of the worms was studying me now. It was a medium-sized creature, only three meters long. Its fur was bright red, striped with shades of pink and purple. Its giant black eyes-were focused right on me.
The worm goggled its eyes sideways, the inevitable expression of curiosity. Those eyes must have been a third of a meter across. They were hypnotic.
I took a step toward the worm. And another.
The worm straightened its gaze. It studied me head-on. It shifted its arms.
I took another step toward it, and another. There were less than three meters between us now.
I stood before the worm and looked deeply into its eyes. The creature was fantastic.
For just a moment, I felt as if I could hear its thoughts. It blinked. Sput-phwut.
How odd. I felt perfectly safe looking into its gaze like this. I lifted my arms and spread my hands out before me.
The worm unfolded its arms. They were jointed like wings and attached to the sides of the bony brain case behind the eyes. The arms came over the creature's eyes and then downward. I was reminded of a scorpion's tail.
The worm opened its hands toward me. It was echoing my gesture.
"It's intelligent," I said. "I don't know how I know, but I know. It's intelligent. Too intelligent to be just a domestic creature. . . ." I took a step forward, my hands still out.
The worm hunched toward me.
Our fingers touched. The worm took my hand in its claw and turned my hand this way and that, studying it. It dipped its eyes close, refocusing. It saw me studying the way its eyestalks moved and peered into my face. Then it turned its attention back to my hand.
When it finished, it let go of my hand, but it left its claw in front of me. It was offering itself for mutual inspection. I took the claw in my hands and lifted it up to my face. I turned it over, back and forth, and studied it as the worm had studied mine. There were three digits, all opposed. There were three joints to each digit. I moved the fingers around. The worm could use any of its digits as a thumb opposed to the other two. Convenient.
I let go of the worm's hand. I met its eyes again and said, "Thank you."
The worm dipped its eyes-that gesture, it was an acknowledgment of some kind-and made a burping sound. "Ctrlp?"