Have to learn too much too soon too well and all the time? said Cleiti with such an exaggerated sigh of resignation that Varian chuckled.
And change half of what you learn when the info gets up-dated, she added, sympathetically. The main advantage humans have is that they do learn, are flexible and can adapt. Adapt to some pretty weird conditions . . .
Like the stink here, put in Bonnard.
So that's why I'm curious about the maturity of the fliers at birth.
They'd be oviparous, wouldn't they? asked Bonnard.
More than likely. I don't see that they'd be ovoviviparous . . . too much weight for the mother if she had to carry her young for any length of time. No, I'd say they'd have to be oviparous, and then the eggs would hatch fledglings, unable to fly for quite some time. That might account, too, for the fishing. Easier to supply the hungry young if everyone cooperates.
Hey, look, Varian, cried Bonnard who had not left off watching through the screen, There's a change-over on the net carriers. Bells! but they're organized. As neat a change-over as I've ever seen. I'll bet the fliers are the most intelligent species on Ireta.
Quite likely but don't jump to any conclusion. We've barely begun to explore this planet.
Are we going to have to go over all of it? Bonnard was briefly dismayed.
Oh, as much as we can while we're here, she said in a casual tone. What if they had been planted? Apart from its odour, Ireta isn't too bad a place. I've been in a lot worse.
I don't really mind the smell . . ," Bonnard began, half in apology, half in self-defence.
I don't even notice it anymore, said Terilla.
I do mind the rain . . . Bonnard continued, ignoring Terilla's comment. And the gloom.
At which point the sun emerged.
Can you do that again whenever we feel the need of sunlight? asked Varian as the girls giggled over the opportuneness.
I sure wish I could!
Once again the angle of the sun projected a distorted shadow of the sled on the water and the fish, large and small, shattered the surface in vain attempts to secure the reality of that shadow. Varian had Bonnard tape the attacks for later review. It was an easy way to catalogue the submarine life, she said.
I sailed once on shore leave at Boston-Betelgeuse, said Bonnard after the sun, and the predatory fish, had deserted them.
You wouldn't catch me sailing on that! said Cleiti, pointing to the water.
I wouldn't, but something else would, wouldn't it?
Huh?
Catch you, silly face!
Oh, you're so funny!
Additional fliers emerged from the clouds to relieve the net carriers who sped up and away, as if pleased to be free of their chore. The convoy, strengthened by the reinforcements, picked up speed, veering slightly east, towards the highest of the prominences. They were not, as Varian had assumed, going to have to cross the entire sea to reach a home base.
Hey, That's where they're heading. I can see other fliers on the cliff top, and the front is all holey, with caves! cried Bonnard, delighted.
"They live in caves to keep their furs dry, and their fledglings safe from the sea creatures," said Terilla with unusual authority." Birds have feathers, stupid."
Not always, Varian replied. And those fliers appear to have fur which is, sometimes, a variation of a feather, in some beasts.
Are we going to land and find out for sure? asked Bonnard in a ponderous tone of voice so everyone caught his pun. Cleiti swatted at him and Varian groaned, shaking her head.
No, we're not landing now. It's dangerous to approach animals when they're feeding. We know where the fliers live now. That's enough for one day.
Couldn't we just hover? That won't disturb them.
Yes, we could.
More of the golden creatures emerged from crevices and caves in the cliff, and gracefully swooped up to the summit which Varian could see was relatively flat for about five hundred metres where it dropped off into very rough and boulder-strewn slopes.
What're they going to do now? asked Bonnard. That net's too big to get in any one of those cave entrances . . . Oh . . . Bannard's question was answered as the entire group of fliers now carried the net up over the edge of the cliff and suddenly dropped one side, spilling the fish onto the summit plateau.
From every direction fliers converged on the catch. Some landed, wings slightly spread, to waddle in an ungainly fashion towards the shimmering piles of fish. Others swooped, filled their throat pouches and disappeared into their cliff holes. For all the varied approaches, the dispersal of the catch occasioned no squabbling over choice fish. As the four watched, there were periods when no fliers were picking over the fish. They did seem to be selective.
"Sharpen the focus on the viewer, Bonnard," said Varian." Let's get some frames of what they didn't eat . . ."
Those fringe things, the small ones.
Maybe That's why the fringe fliers were after us. They'd taken their young . . . said Terilla.
Nah! Bonnard was contemptuous. The fringies hadn't eyes, much less brains, so how could they be sentimental about their young?
I dunno. But we don't know that they aren't. Fish could have emotions. I read somewhere that . . ."
Oh you! Bonnard gestured her peremptorily to silence.
Varian turned, worrying that his attitude might bother the child since his tone was unwarranted but she seemed unperturbed. Varian promised herself a few choice words with Bonnard. And then vetoed the notion. The young of every species seemed to work things out among themselves fairly well.
She peered into the viewer herself, to see the rejects. Some aquatic creatures are capable of loyalties and kindness to their own species, but I'd say that the fringe organism is too primitive yet. They probably spawn millions of eggs in order for a few to survive to adulthood to spawn again. Our fliers don't include them in their diet, though. Nor those spiny types. Bonnard, you've been helping Trizein and Divisti: take a good look! Seen any of those in the marine samples we've given them?
No. New ones on me.
Course, we sampled from the main oceans . . . Most of the fliers had disappeared now and only the rejected specimens were left, to rot on the stone.
Varian, look! Bonnard, again at the screen, gestured urgently. I've got it lined up . . . look!
Varian pushed his hand aside as he was so excited he was obscuring the view. One of the small fringers was moving, in that strange fashion, collapsing one side and flipping over. Then she saw what had excited Bonnard: unsupported by water, its natural element, the internal skeleton of the creature was outlined through its covering. She could plainly see the joints at each corner. It moved by a deformation of parallelograms. It moved once, twice more and then lay still, its fringes barely undulating, then not at all. How long had it survived without water, Varian wondered? Was it equipped with a dual set of lungs to have lived so long away from what was apparently its natural element? Was this creature on its way out of its aquatic phase, moving onto land?
You got all that on tape, didn't you? Varian asked Bonnard.
Sure, the moment it started moving. Can it breathe oxygen?
"I hope it can't," said Cleidi. I wouldn't want to meet that wet sheet in a dark dripping forest." She shuddered with her eyes tightly shut.
Neither would I, said Varian, and meant it.
Couldn't it be friendly? If it wasn't hungry all the time? asked Terilla
Wet, slimy, wrapping its fringes around you and choking you to death, said Bonnard, making movements like his horrifying image.
It couldn't wrap around me, Terilla said, unmoved. It can't bend in the middle. Only on the edges.
It isn't moving at all now, Bonnard said, sounding disappointed and sad.
Speaking of moving, said Varian glancing toward the one bright spot in the grey skies, that sun is going down.
How can you tell? asked Bonnard sarcastically.