The woman had been watching from the entrance to the tunnel and was wildly indignant, but resisted the impulse to rush out and tear the fruit and meat from the thieves. Even the little one was probably stronger than she. Where were the regular attendants?
There was only one answer to that; the plant shelf extended well to the west. To keep out of sight of the intruders she would have to go back into the tunnels and take a roundabout way in that direction.
Neither Earrin nor smaller-Bones had noticed her arrival, and they did not see her departure. They were wondering why so many of the plants in sight appeared to be poorly nourished, though none seemed actually infected.
Earrin knew, of course, that the population of Great Blue Hill was below its planned figure, but could never have believed that the air units would have been allowed to get so badly out of balance with the demand.
Two hundred meters to the west, the elderly woman emerged onto the shelf from another tunnel and found herself fairly close to a group of air attendants. To her delight, two of them were adults, and she rushed up to these blurting out her story. Both of them knew her and were able to make sense out of her rapid speech; some of the children had more difficulty.
“Slow down, Genda,” one of the teachers said soothingly. “You’re saying that there’s a Nomad in the air center, and he has one of the outside animals with him? You needn’t be so excited. If it’s the Nomad I think it is, he’ll pay for his air if he hasn’t already, and the animals don’t breathe.”
“That’s what he tried to tell me, but I don’t believe it. How can anything live without breathing? Try it yourself!”
“Let’s not go into that,” the other teacher interjected. He knew the futility of trying to reason with Genda on any subject connected with air. “If the Nomad said it — ”
“But this Nomad lies!” exclaimed the older woman. “He said he didn’t know there was an animal following him, and then a few minutes later I saw him talking to it!”
“I don’t see what that proves — did you say talking? To one of the — ” the teacher, a tall woman of about twenty with hair short enough for outdoor work but no sign of acid stain on her skin, broke off her question and turned to her companion eagerly. “Mort, do you suppose — ”
Genda cut in. “Yes, talking to it, like Doctor Doolittle. He said he didn’t know the thing, when he must have trained it!”
Mort, rather to his own surprise, managed to silence her with a gesture. “Zham, do you suppose she’s right? That a man can actually talk to those things? I’ve heard stories, of course — we all have — of Nomads associating with those things and getting them to be helpful. Like Genda, I’ve always supposed it must be training if there were any truth in the stories at all; but — talking? This could be important.”
“Talking.” Genda was positive, and indifferent as usual to the fact that the man’s remark had not been directed to her. Neither teacher responded.”It’s hard to believe, but we’ll have to find out,” Zhamia conceded. “Where are they, Gen?” The excited woman pointed. “All right, let’s go see.”
“And get them out of here?” asked Genda eagerly.
“Eventually. We’ll have to find out more, first. They might have something really important to tell us.”
“We know all that’s important. Have you been listening to those Hemenway delinquents?”
“Don’t be insulting. Of course not. But think, Gen — those youngsters are preaching that man and his way of life didn’t destroy the world’s air; they claim these creatures did. You know that.”
“I pay no attention to the stupid children. They refuse to listen to — ”
“But think, Gen. If someone can talk to these — these animals, we could find out the truth!”
“We know the truth.”
“All right, but if these creatures can tell us that they didn’t have anything to do with the change, and actually supply evidence that would make the Hemenway crowd see they were wrong and have to admit it, just think how it will quiet them down. Don’t worry — we’ll get payment from the Nomad for the air he’s using if he hasn’t paid already. Do you want to come and listen?”
“Yes!” exclaimed half a dozen children’s voices at once.
“I meant Gen,” Mort grinned, “but you young ones can certainly come, if your trays are all right.
Keep your brains open — there are a lot more facts of life than air plants.”
Earrin and his companion were not exactly surprised to see the group approaching them, but were very uncertain what to do about it. Their experience with the Hemenway group had seriously undermined their earlier beliefs about the non-violent nature of human beings in general and Hillers in particular, and the man’s belief that Bones had been subjected to some mysterious treatment to reduce his bulk by nearly ninety percent was disquieting. Such an action had to be scientific in nature in spite of the Hill religion, and while Earrin was not nearly as religious as a typical city-dweller he had a very low opinion of hypocrisy.
For one thing, it implied unpredictability, one of the least acceptable of human qualities from the Nomad viewpoint. What would this Hiller crowd do?
Its members didn’t look particularly menacing, especially the children. If facial expressions could be trusted, their chief motive was curiosity. Even the two new adults showed no sign of the indignation and resentment so clearly displayed by the other woman; they, too, seemed curious. Their first words were both friendly and courteous.
“I’m Zhamia McDermott, this is Mort Dremm. You’ve met Genda, I understand, but she didn’t give us your name.”
“She never asked for it,” Earrin replied. “I’m Earrin Fyn. I delivered some material you asked for a day or so ago, and am waiting for my pay and, I hope, more orders. This is Bones.”
The Hillers were clearly excited.
“He has a name? He’s really a person?” asked Mort. “We’ve heard stories, but never knew — we thought they were just — ”
“Is Bones he or she?” asked Zhamia rather pointedly.
“I’ve never known,” Earrin admitted. “My wife always refers to him as she. We’ve never been able to find out from him. He doesn’t answer questions about that; acts as though he didn’t understand them.”
“But you can talk to — her?”
“Yes. He can hear, but not very well, and can’t make sounds at all; doesn’t have a voice. We’ve worked out a pretty good signal system over the years; I think we understand each other pretty well most of the time.”
“Why Bones?” asked Mort. “Is it his real name that he told you, or one you gave him?”
“How could she have told them, with no voice? asked Zhamia. Dremm blushed.
“It was my wife’s idea,” Earrin admitted. “As far as we can tell, he doesn’t have any. Certainly not in the fins or tentacles, and we’ve seen the rest of his body squeeze into pretty strange shapes. It’s hard to believe there’s anything solid inside.”
Neither of the teachers quite grasped this sort of humor, but both were too polite to ask for further explanation. Neither really had a chance, as Genda cut in angrily.
He’s a liar. I told you how I know.” Mort explained the older woman’s reasoning as she had given itto the teachers. Earrin explained, keeping his own feelings under better control.
“The last time I saw Bones, he was the best part of a meter taller than I am. When I first saw him today I thought it was someone else — another of his people I’d heard was being kept a prisoner here. I didn’t know it was really Bones until he recognized me and began talking to me in our own sign language.”