"Okay," Nnamdi said after a moment. "It says, 'Krisjaw hunts this month: the 8th and 22nd at 1O'." Today's the eighth, I think, if the numbers we've seen elsewhere are accurate. Wonder why they bother to post a sign with the other comm lines they have."
"Maybe a village this small doesn't have the same wiring as Sollas does," Joshua suggested. It looked at like Cerenkov and the Qasamans had about finished the preliminaries; Mayor Ingliss was gesturing toward the an open car of the sort they'd used in Sollas all week. "I'll try to find out," he added and let his hand fall to his side.
Its mike open again, the translator came back online. "-will be able to visit the farming areas later," Ingliss was saying. "At the moment many of the workers are out hunting, so there would be little to see."
"Is that the krisjaw hunt?" Joshua spoke up.
Ingliss focused on him. "Yes, of course. Only krisjaws and bololins are worthy of mass hunts, and you would have heard a warning siren if a bololin herd were approaching."
"Yes, Moff has mentioned krisjaws once or twice," Cerenkov said. "I get the impression they're dangerous, but we don't know anything more."
"Dangerous?" Ingliss barked a laugh. "Immensely so. Two meters or more in length, half that from paws to shoulder, with wavy teeth that can shred a man in seconds. Savage hunters, they threaten both our people and our livestock."
"Sounds a little like our spine leopards," Rynstadt commented grimly. "Native
Aventinian predators that we've been fighting ever since we landed."
"It wasn't always that way here," Ingliss said, shaking his head. "The old legends say that krisjaws used to be relatively peaceful, avoiding our first settlements and willing to share the bololin herds with us. It was only later, perhaps as they realized we intended to stay, that they began to turn on us."
"Or as they found out humans were good to eat," York suggested. "Did this happen all at once or gradually?"
Ingliss exchanged glances with Moff, who shrugged. "I don't know," the latter said. "Records of those early years are spotty-the malfunction that stranded us here ruined much of our electronic recording equipment, and interim historical records did not always survive."
Nnamdi's voice clicked in on the circuit. "Pursue this point, Yuri; everyone," he said. "If the krisjaws are really showing signs of intelligence we need to know that."
"The reason I asked," Cerenkov said, "was that if they really did 'realize' you were settling here, they might be a sentient species."
"Our own biologists have studied that question," Moff said, "and they think that unlikely."
"They don't show any great ability to learn, for example," Ingliss offered. "All the villages-and some of the cities, too-hold periodic hunts in which often as many as fifty villagers and visitors participate. Yet the krisjaws haven't learned to stay away from civilized areas."
The light dawned. "Ah-so that's why you post a krisjaw hunt notice by the gate,"
Joshua said. "So anyone passing through will know about it, as well as just the local population."
Ingliss nodded. "Yes. It's an opportunity to practice the human predator's own hunting skill, and all who wish to come are welcome. Krisjaw hides are also very prestigious, and many people find the meat superior to that of bololins. If you'd arrived an hour sooner-but, no, you haven't got mojos, of course. Nor weapons, I see."
"Sounds like you should be close to wiping the things out by now," York grunted.
"Actually, we are," Ingliss nodded, "at least in the inhabited regions of
Qasama. I speak of them as dangerous and numerous, but in fact a 50-man hunting group is fortunate to return with one or two trophies. In the days when Huriseem was first built a man could stand atop the wall and shoot one each hour."
"You're lucky any of you survived," York said.
Ingliss shrugged, a more deliberate gesture than the Aventinian version. "As I said, we were fairly well established before they began threatening us in earnest. And by then our adoption of the mojos as bodyguards was also well underway. Ironically enough, that program was stimulated in large part by concerns over the krisjaws."
"But that's enough about ancient history," Moff put in. "We have a limited amount of time; if you wish to observe the village we'll need to begin at once."
For just a second Joshua thought he saw something odd in Moff's face. But then the Qasaman had turned away toward the open car pulled up behind Ingliss and his companions, and Joshua decided he'd imagined the whole thing.
Looking around curiously, he followed the others to the car.
It had been literally decades since Telek had pulled the kind of all-night lab work she'd done the previous night-and never had she done it via the waldoes of a remote analyzer. Clumping into the Dewdrop's lounge around noon, she felt like a good computer simulation of death. "What's happening?" she asked Nnamdi, heading immediately for the cahve dispenser in the corner.
"What're you doing here?" he frowned up from the displays at her. "You're supposed to be in bed doing some REMs."
"I'm supposed to be running a mission," she growled back, bringing her steaming mug over and dropping into the seat beside his. "I can sleep next year. Bil still down?"
"Yes. Left a call with the bridge for four o'clock."
And Christopher had done little except watch and make occasional suggestions.
Amazing how tiring it can be to kibitz, she thought acidly, then put him from her mind. "Is this the village Moff promised us?"
"Yes; Huriseem. The stately fellow screen left is Ingliss, the mayor. This seems to be their version of the marketplace we saw in Sollas. Minus the bololins."
"Then the place is walled?"
"Solidly. And Joshua brought up an interesting point about Sollas's wild color scheme a while ago."
Telek listened with half an ear as Nnamdi described Joshua's idea about the cities seeming like clumps of forest to the bololins, the remainder of her attention on the scent and taste of her cahve and on the organized chaos on the displays. With the smaller marketplace of the village, she realized for the first time that services as well as goods were on display. One booth seemed to be manned by a builder, with wood and brick samples on a back table and what looked like a floor plan on a computer display screen set on the front counter.
So why don't they do the whole thing via computer? she wondered. They like the personal contact? Could be.
Nnamdi finished his recitation and she shrugged. "Could very well be. I'll check later and see if the computer can make an estimate of the bololins visual resolution. Sure seems stupid to help the bololins stampede your city, though."
"That's almost exactly what Joshua said," Nnamdi nodded. "Could there be something we're missing here? About the bololins and people, I mean?"
"I don't think we've got the whole society figured out after a week here, no," she said dryly. "What exactly did you have in mind?"
"Well..." He waved a hand vaguely. "I don't know. Some symbiotic relationship, like the people have with the mojos."
"I'd call the mojos more pets than symbionts, myself, but given the bololin-tarbine arrangement the point is well taken." Telek frowned into space, trying to remember all the forms of symbiosis that existed on the Worlds. "About the only possibility I can think of is that banging away at the bololins helps drain off the city-dwellers' aggressions. Keeps them peaceful."
"Oh, their aggressions aren't drained off, just rerouted," Nnamdi snorted, gesturing toward the display. "You missed the bargaining session at a jewelry store half a block back. These guys would put Troft businessmen to shame."
"Hmm. Probably a logical avenue to channel it into, given the mojo ban on fighting. That and politics, maybe...."
She trailed off. "Something wrong?" Nnamdi asked.
"I'm not sure," she said, picking up the mike. "Joshua, do a slow three-sixty, would you?"