Some of them did not cooperate. The Shellbacks in particular did not match his classification. Elbert Tiggens stayed on and on, forcing round pegs into square holes. After a few months he noticed a curious fact about Shellback behavior. He had been using them for food, so he was very familiar with their daily rituals. Every morning they went down to the Dreamsea margin, waded in, and disappeared. Every evening they came ashore. But they did not travel directly toward plants or water. Instead each animal followed a peculiar and well-defined curve, different every morning and evening. At certain points they would even stop, describe a full circle, and continue to lay out a visible trail on the dusty ground.
Their bizarre behavior clearly had nothing to do with species classification, but Tiggens was a conscientious and well-trained xenologist. He photographed the tracks, noted in his record the theory that this might be part of some odd mating ritual, and went on with the fascinating but frustrating taxonomy.
After six months he ran out of a few staple supplies. He was also becoming a little tired of Shellback meat, boiled, baked, fried, sautйed, steamed, smoked, pickled, fricasseed and grilled. He hitched a ride with a commercial Shellback harvester to Barchan’s only space facility, to buy a good meal and the supplies he needed. Sitting near him in the cafeteria was a Pipe-Rilla astronomer, about to leave Barchan en route to the Eta Cass ring system.
Tiggens was starved of company, human or otherwise. He explained his reason for being on Barchan, his notions of taxonomy, and his observations of the Shellbacks. The Pipe-Rilla listened in polite and baffled silence. Finally Tiggens produced some of his pictures of the Shellback shoreline patterns of movement.
The Pipe-Rilla glanced, looked, stared, and snatched the pictures from Elbert’s hands.
“Mating rituals?” asked Tiggens. Every species had its own ideas on the nature of pornography.
The Pipe-Rilla shivered, telescoped her limbs, and rose fourteen feet high. “Planetary orbits and positions! For the Eta Cass system!”
And suddenly the Shellbacks were no longer a food crop, not even a prized and preserved one. Dreamsea was declared a protected area. The Shellbacks became a protected species. They had enough understanding of astronomy, mathematics, and celestial mechanics to know (or compute) the positions of the major bodies of the Eta Cass system, regardless of their visibility or the time of year. The Shellbacks worked cooperatively, no one duplicating the efforts of another. But — maddeningly — the mode of cooperation was a mystery, and they refused to show any other sign of intelligence.
The rules of the Stellar Group were explicit and rigorously enforced: The Shellbacks were an intelligent species, even though the nature of their intelligence was not yet understood. Therefore, their protection was guaranteed. They could not be hunted. Their environment, which included the whole of Dreamsea and the land area around it, was off limits for anyone — including Chan and his pursuit team.
After Shikari’s disassembly, the others had to sit and wait until the Tinker slowly regrouped and re-formed its speaking funnel. Chan had time for his own thoughts.
The location of this Simmie Artefact was no accident. It had been planned, he felt sure, by the three non-human ambassadors to the Stellar Group. They wanted the rogue Morgan Construct destroyed, but it had to be done in a way that did not violate the moral sense of Pipe-Rillas, Tinkers, and Angels. Somehow the team had to disable the Simmie, without killing the Shellbacks or ruining their environment.
An impossible constraint.
Chan waited, while Shikari’s speaking funnel went through the preliminary whistles that meant the Tinker was preparing to speak.
“Well?” said Shikari at last.
Chan stared at the Tinker. The speaking funnel was facing him, and seemed to be addressing him alone. He glanced across at S’greela and Angel. They were doing the same — Angel had even moved the arm-like branches on its lower section to bring the microphone closer to Chan. The Pipe-Rilla was angled over, leaning right above him.
“Well?” repeated S’greela. “We are waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” Chan felt defensive, but he didn’t know why.
“Waiting to hear your plan,” added the dry tones of Angel’s computer voice. “Now that we know the situation, how do you propose that we will capture and destroy the Simulacrum? It is clear that the protected area around Dreamsea must remain sacrosanct. We await with interest your proposal, since this is at first sight a quite impossible task.”
“Don’t look at me.” But they were, all three of them.
“Believe me, I have no plan. You were the ones who did the reconnaissance, you were the ones who came up with the Simmie’s location. You know the Dreamsea area. So why do you expect me to suggest a plan?”
Part of Shikari’s lower grouping had rippled out into a long tentacle of components. They fluttered over to nestle around Chan’s legs. He recognized it as the Tinker’s way of showing support and sympathy. “We look to you because you are a human,” said Shikari’s whistling voice.
“Because you can do it,” added S’greela. “And we cannot. We always knew that it would come to this when the Simmie was found. You alone have the gifts that will allow us to proceed.”
“We have discussed this among ourselves,” continued Shikari, “when you were not with us. We are in complete agreement. Except in our largest composite form, we Tinkers do not have the intellectual power of Angels or Pipe-Rillas. But we are certain that all three forms have mental abilities that greatly exceed those of you humans. And yet we face a situation where logic, mental speed, and creativity are not enough. There is some other dimension to human thought, one that we all three lack. It is a dimension that we are normally more than happy to do without. We cannot plan a military activity, or organize a war, or fight a battle. Those very words are unique to human language.”
“And to human thought,” added Angel’s metallic voice. “This is one area in which the Angel emulation function for other intelligences is not adequate. And so we say it again, Chan: Tell us your plan.”
“You don’t understand. Was he being insulted, or complimented? “Maybe humans are an aggressive species, but I’m not an aggressive individual. Can’t you see the difference? I have no experience of war, no idea how it is conducted. I have never been involved in a battle, never even taken part in individual combat. I wouldn’t know how to begin a military action.”
He was not getting through. The silence of the others was like reproof.
“Before a Pipe-Rilla mates,” said S’greela at last. “She cannot imagine how such a thing could be possible. The joining of bodies, the twisting limbs, the shrills and squeaks and groans — they are grotesque, disquieting, and disgusting. But when the time arrives, and the partner is there … she mates. It happens. Without thought. And after it is finished it is again bizarre, again incredible. The action does not come through analysis or experience. It comes from some somatic memory, stored within brain and body.”
“And so it must be with you,” said Angel. “Make us a plan to destroy the Simulacrum. It is within you, because you are human. You are large, you contain multitudes. You can create a plan.”
Chan’s guilt was turning to anger. They were refusing all responsibility! He glared around him at the others, the impassive bulk of Angel, the nervous stoop of S’greela, the restless fluttering of the Tinker. “When I was sent here to Barchan, I was told that I would become part of a team. It was made clear to me that we would all be equal partners, and we would all contribute to solving our problems. There was never a suggestion that three of us would sit around and expect the fourth one to do the thinking and give the orders. You keep telling me to make a plan. What are you going to do? What do you think you are here for?”