Bubbacub finally placed both little hands behind his neck and sat up. He looked at Jacob for a moment.
“Good sto-ry,” he snapped, finally. “I will ask you to rec-ord it for me, when we get back. It has good les-son for Earth folk.
“There are some ques-tions I would ask, though. Now or la-ter. Some things I do not un-der-stand.”
“As you wish, Pil-Bubbacub,” Jacob bowed, trying to hide his grin. Now to change the subject quick, before Bubbacub could get started asking about pesky details! But how?
“I too, enjoyed my friend Jacob’s story,” a whistling voice fluted from behind them, “I approached as silently as I could, when I came into range to hear it. I am pleased that my presence did not disturb the telling.”
Jacob shot to his feet with relief.
“Fagin!” Everyone rose as the Kanten slithered toward them. In the ruby light, he looked jet black. His movements were slow.
“I wish to offer apologies! My absence was unavoidable. The Commandant graciously assented to allow more radiation through the screens so that I could take nourishment. But, understandably, it was necessary that she do so only on the unoccupied reverse side of the ship.”
“That’s true,” Martine laughed. “We wouldn’t want any sunburn here!”
“Quite so. And yet it was lonely there, I am glad to have company again.”
The bipeds sat down and Fagin settled himself onto the deck. Jacob seized the opportunity to get out of his fix.
“Fagin, we’ve been exchanging some stories here, waiting for the surfing to start. Maybe you can tell us one about the Institute of Progress ?”
The Kanten rustled its foliage. There was a pause. “Alas, Friend-Jacob. Unlike that of the Library, the Institute of Progress is not an important society. The very name is poorly translated into English. There are no words in your language to represent it properly.
“Our small order was founded to fulfill one of the least of the Injunctions that the Progenitors placed upon the oldest of races when they left the galaxy so long ago. Crudely stated, it imposed upon us the duty to respect ‘Newness.’
“It may be hard for a species such as your own, orphans so to speak, who have until recently never felt the bittersweet bonds of kinship and patron-client obligation, to understand the inherent conservatism of our Galactic culture. This conservatism is not bad. For admidst so much diversity a belief in the Tradition and in a common heritage is a good influence. Young races heed the words of those older, who have learned wisdom and patience with years.
“You might say, to borrow an English expression, that we hold a deep regard for our roots.”
Only Jacob noticed that Fagin shifted his weight slightly at that point. The Kanten was folding and unfolding the short knotty tentacles that served as his feet. Jacob tried not to choke as a swallow of orange juice went down wrong.
“But there remains a need to face the future, as well,” Fagin continued. “And in their wisdom, the Progenitors warned the Oldest not to scorn that which is new under the Sun.”
Fagin was silhouetted against the giant red orb, their destination. Jacob shook his head helplessly.
“So when word got out that somebody’d found a bunch of savages sucking at a wolfs teat, you came running, right?”
More rustling foliage. “Very graphic, Friend-Jacob. But your surmise is essentially correct. The Library has the important task of teaching the races of Earth what they need to know to survive. My Institute has the humbler mission of appreciating your Newness.”
Dr. Martine spoke.
“Kant Fagin, to your knowledge, has this ever happened before? I mean, has there ever been a case of a species which has no memory of Ancestral Upbringing, bursting into the galaxy on their own like we did?”
“Yes, respected Doctor Martine. It has happened a number of times. Space is large beyond all imagining. The periodic migrations of oxygen and hydrogen civilizations cover great distance, and rarely is even a settled area ever full explored. Often, in these great movements, a tiny fragment of a race, barely raised from bestiality, has been abandoned by its patrons to find its way alone. Such abandonments are usually avenged by civilized peoples…” The Kanten hesitated. Suddenly Jacob realized why with a shock as Fagin hurried on.
“But since it is usually at a time of migration that these rare cases occur, there is an added problem. The wolfling race may develop a crude spacedrive from the dregs of its patron’s technology, but by the time it enters interstellar space, its part of the galaxy might be under Interdict. Unknowingly it might fall prey to hydrogen breathers whose turn it may be to occupy that cluster or spiral arm.
“Nevertheless, such species are found occasionally. Usually the orphans retain vivid memories of their patrons. In some cases, myth and legend have taken the place of fact. But the Library is almost always able to trace the truth, for that is where our truths are stored.”
Fagin lowered several branches in Bubbacub’s direction. The Pil acknowledged with a friendly bow.
“That is why,” Fagin went on, “we await with great expectation the discovery of the reason why there is no mention of your Earth in that great archive. There is no listing, no record of previous occupation, in spite of five full migrations through this region since the Progenitors departed.”
Bubbacub froze in his bow. The small black eyes snapped up to bear on the Kanten with narrowly focused ferocity, but Fagin appeared not to notice as he continued.
“To my knowledge, mankind is the first case in which there exists the intriguing possibility of evolved intelligence. As I am sure” you know, this idea violates several well-established principles of our biological science. Yet some of your anthropologists’ arguments possess startling self-consistency.”
“It is quaint idea,” Bubbacub sniffed. “Like per-pet-ual motion, these boast-ings by those you call ‘Skins.’ The theories of ‘natural’ growth of full sent-ience, are great source of good-natured jokes, human-Jacob-Dem-wa. But soon the Lib-rar-y give your troub-led race what it needs; the com-fort of knowing where you came from!”
The low hum of the ship’s engines grew louder, and for a second Jacob felt a slight disorientation.
“Attention everybody,” the amplified voice of Commandant deSilva carried throughout the ship. “We’ve just crossed over the first reef. From now on there will be momentary shocks like that one. I’ll inform you when we near our target area. That is all.”
The Sun’s horizon was now nearly flat. On all sides of the ship, a sparse red and black tangle of curling shapes stretched away to infinity. More and more of the highest filaments were coming even with the vessel to become prominences against what remained of the blackness of space, and then to disappear into the reddish haze that grew over their heads.
The group moved, by mutual consent, to the edge of the deck where they could look straight into the lower chromosphere. They were quiet, for a while, watching as the deck quivered from time to time.
“Dr. Martine,” Jacob said. “Are you and Pil Bubbacub ready with your experiments?”
She pointed to a pair of stout space-trunks on the deck next to Bubbacub’s station and her own.
“We have all we need right here. I’m bringing along some psi equipment I used on earlier dives, but mostly I’m going to help Pil Bubbacub in any way I can. My brain wave amplifiers and Q-devices are like knucklebones and tea leaves next to what he’s got in his case. But I’ll try to be of assistance.”
“Your help be take-en with glad-ness,” Bubbacub said. But when Jacob asked to see the Pil’s psi-testing apparatus he held up his four-fingered hand. “Later, when we are ready.”
The old itchiness returned to Jacob’s hands. What does Bubbacub have in those trunks? The Branch Library had next to nothing on psi. Some phenomenology, but very little on methodology.