By means of Keff's contact button, Carialle focused on the antics of the natives. A few of the females were picking up the spilled dishes with a cautious eye on Keff, never venturing too close to him. The large, black-furred male and the elderly salt-and-pepper male examined a protesting Brannel. The slender male tried without success to wave them off.
«What is wrong with these people?»
«Mm-mm? I don't know. They're looking Brannel over for damages or marks or something. What did they expect to happen when I patted him on the back?»
«I don't know. Bodily contact shouldn't be dangerous. I wish you could get close enough to them so I could read their vital signs and do a chemspec analysis of their skin.»
Keff stood at a distance from the villagers, nodding and smiling at any who would meet his eyes, but the moment he took a step toward one, that one moved a step back. «They won't let me, that's obvious. Why are most of them so downright scared of me, but not surprised to see me?»
«Maybe they have legends about deities that look like you,» Carialle said with wry humor. «You may be fulfilling some long-awaited prophecy. The bare-faced one will come out of the sky and set us free.»
«No,» Keff said, thoughtfully. «I think the reaction is more immediate, more present day. Whatever it is, they're most courteous and absolutely cooperative: an ethnologists dream. I'm making real progress in communications. I think I've found the 'to be' verb, but I'm not sure I'm parsing it correctly yet. Brannel keeps grinning at me when I ask what something 'is.'»
«Keep going,» Carialle said encouragingly. «Faint heart never won fair lady. You're all getting along so well there.»
With every evidence of annoyance, Brannel fought free of the hands of his comrades. He smoothed his ruffled fur and glared at the others, his aspect one of long suffering. He returned to Keff, his expression saying, «Let's resume the language lesson, and pay no more attention to those people.»
«I'd love to know what's going on,» Keff said out loud in Standard, with a polite smile, «but I'm going to have to learn a lot more before I can ask the right questions about your social situation here.»
One of the other Noble Primitives muttered under his breath. Brannel turned on him and hissed out a sharp phrase that needed no translation: even the sound of it was insulting. Keff moved between them to defuse a potential argument, and that made the other Primitive back off sharply. Keff got Brannel's attention and pointed to the raydome water carrier. Listening to prompts from the IT program through his implant, he attempted to put together a whole sentence of pidgin Ozran.
«What are that?» Keff asked. «Eh? Did I get that right?»
From Brannel's merry expression, he hadn't. He grinned, giving the local man his most winsome smile. «Well, teach me then, can you?»
Emboldened by Keff's friendly manner, the Noble Primitive laughed, a harsh sound; more of a cackle than a guffaw.
«So,» Keff asked, trying again in Ozran, «what are yes?» He whispered an aside to Carialle. «I don't know even how to ask 'what's right?' yet. I must sound like the most amazing idiot.»
«What is that. What are those,» Brannel said, with emphasis, picking up one stone in one hand, a handful of stones in the other, and displaying first one and then the other. He had correctly assumed Keff was trying to ask about singular and plural forms and had demonstrated the difference. The others were still staring dumbly, unable to understand what was going on. Keff was elated by his success.
«Incredible. You may have found the only intelligent man on the planet,» Carialle said, monitoring as the IT program recorded the correct uses of the verb, and postulated forms and suffixes for other verbs in its file, shuffling the onomatopoeic transliterations down like cards. «Certainly the only one of this bunch who understands abstract questions.»
«He's a find,» Keff agreed. «A natural linguist. It could have taken me days to elicit what he's offering freely and, I might add, intelligently. It's going to take me more time to figure out that sign language, but if anyone can put me on the right track, it's Brannel.»
Having penetrated the mystery of verbal declension, Keff and Brannel sat down together beside the fire and began a basic conversation.
«Do you see how he's trying to use my words, too?» Keff subvocalized to Carialle.
Using informal signs and the growing lexicon in the IT program, Keff asked Brannel about the below ground habitation.
». . . Heat from . . . earth,» Brannel said, patting the ground by his thigh. IT left audio gaps where it lacked sufficient glossary and grammar, but for Keff it was enough to tell him what he wanted to know.
«A geothermal heating system. Its so cold out; why can't you enter now?» Keff said, making a cave by arching his finger and thumb on the ground and walking his other hand on two fingers toward it.
«Not,» Brannel said firmly, with a deliberate sign of his left hand. The IT struggled to translate. «Not cave day. We are . . . work . . . day.»
«Oh,» Carialle said. «A cultural ban to keep the slackers out on the field during working hours. Ask him if he knows what causes the power surges I'm picking up.»
Keff relayed the question. The others who were paying attention shot sulky glances toward Brannel. The dun-colored male started to speak, then stopped when an older female let out a whimper of fear. «Not,» he said shortly.
«I guess he doesn't know,» Keff said to Carialle. «You, sir,» he said, going over to address the eldest male, Alteis, who immediately cowered. «Where comes strong heat from sky?» He pantomimed arcs overhead. «What makes strong heat?»
With a yell, one of the small boys—Keff thought it might be the same one who had defied his mothers orders—traced a jagged line in the sky. The he dove into his mothers lap for safety. An adolescent female, Nona, Keff thought her name was, glanced up at him in terror, and quickly averted her eyes to the ground. The others murmured among themselves, but no one looked or spoke.
«Lightning?» Keff asked Alteis softly. «What causes the lightning, sir?»
The oldster with white-shot black fur studied his lips carefully as he spoke, then turned for help to Brannel, who remained stoically silent. Keff repeated his question. The old male nodded solemnly, as if considering an answer, but then his gaze wandered off over Keff's head. When it returned to Keff, there was a blankness in his eyes that showed he hadn't understood a thing, or had already forgotten the question.
«He doesn't know,» Keff said with a sigh. «Well, we're back to basics. Where does the food go for storage?» he asked. He gestured at the stone square and held up one of the roots Brannel had used as an example. «Where roots go?»
Brannel shrugged and muttered something. «Not know,» IT amplified and relayed. «Roots go, food comes.»
«A culture in which food preparation is a sacred mystery?» Carialle said, with increasing interest. «Now, that's bizarre. If we take that back to Xeno, we'll deserve a bonus.»
«Aren't you curious? Didn't you ever try to find out?» Keff asked Brannel.
«Not!» Brannel exclaimed. The bold villager seemed nervous for almost the first time since Keff had arrived. «One curious, all—» He brought his hands together in a thunderclap. «All . . . all,» he said, getting up and drawing a circle in the air around an adult male, an adult female, and three children. He pantomimed beating the male, and shoved the food bowls away from the female and children with his foot. Most of the fur-faced humanoids shuddered and one of the children burst into tears.
«All punished for one person's curiosity? But why?» Keff demanded. «By whom?»
For answer Brannel aimed his three-fingered hand at the mountains, with a scornful expression that plainly said that Keff should already know that. Keff peered up at the distant heights.