He had detected the scorching smell of disagreement. "Inability to concur in statement," the TWorlie chirped mildly. "No language 'extinct' if population speaking or affected by it survives."
"Well, right, that's true enough. I didn't mean it was wholly gone, but the only record we had was in conventionalized pictures. What happened in the long run was that this linguist found a stone—it's called the Rosetta stone— on which the same message was carved in the unknown language and a known one. If we only had something like that, we might have some hope."
"Estimate probability high that such or analogous breakthrough will occur, Jen Babylon."
Babylon grinned and brushed his hair back. "Well, let's get back to it." He stared around the room. "We've made a mess of this place, haven't we?" There was a litter of hard work in the chamber, half-dismantled Pmal translators, sound tapes and spheres, optical records in a dozen physical forms, frequency analyzers, and all the other tools of their trade. "Well, let's play the audio tapes again. If we can spot any phonemes that look like inflections maybe we can subtract them and get down to root words, at least— but I'd still like a Rosetta stone."
"Dear friend," piped a familiar chatter from the door, "perhaps this old monkey has brought you one—though you may not like the way it looks!"
It was Doc Chimp, of course, clutching a handhold with one long, skinny arm as he floated easily in the entrance. There was nothing easy about his expression, however. His head was cocked as though listening, and he darted glances back over his shoulder as he spoke. He said hurriedly, "He's coming. He's a little, uh, unusual, Dr. Babylon, but I think he may be able to help you. —Ah, here he is!" And he swung inside the entrance to give the next creature a wide berth. From safety at the side of the wall Doc Chimp piped nervously, "Allow me to introduce our guest, from the distinguished, and possibly autochthonous, race of Watchers."
The words were not necessary. The smell was introduction enough. The TWorlie whistled feebly and fluttered over to the air vent, but Babylon had no such escape.
The creature that came slowly through the door, handing itself carefully from one holdfast to another, was as evil in appearance as anything Jen Babylon had ever imagined. Its top was black, its belly red, both fused out of shiny chitin armor. It had small leathery wings that looked useless but in fact were ample within the orbiter, or on Cuckoo itself. It had a parrot beak, with its ears queerly set beside it; the eyes were farther back on the head, like a squirrel's. And it stank.
It squeaked peremptorily, and all of the working Pmals near Babylon translated its words: "I will assist you inferior races, but you must respond quickly. Now! What can you tell me of your problem?"
Babylon's one previous glimpse of a Watcher, at the strangely inconclusive meeting he had been summoned to, had been so diluted by the presence of a dozen other strange creatures that the Watcher had been little more than one additional horror in a saturating sufficiency of them. All by itself, it was something special. It was one of the few Cuckoo creatures that did not seem to have some analog on one of the galactic planets—because it was native? Or simply because its home planet had not been integrated into the galactic web? That was a good possibility! Who would want to include these things in any possible congeries of cultures?
"I instructed you to be quick!" the Watcher squealed dangerously, and Doc Chimp nervously cleared his throat "If you will, Dr. Babylon," he pleaded. "I know our, uh, guest is somewhat, ah, disconcerting"—the Watcher squealed a disdainful laugh—"but his entire race maintains some sort of contact with the oldest, maybe vanished cultures on Cuckoo. The ones who built the other orbiters, maybe; maybe even the wrecked ship. And his language has not been entered in the databanks in any complete way, because of the, uh, lack of social accommodation—" "Be quiet, animal!" the Watcher commanded. "You other animals are investigating matters that concern me greatly. I will exchange information, but begin!"
From its position beside the air vent the T'Worlie gasped: "Recommendation: comply. Alternative: terminate dialogue."
Babylon nodded, and bent to the instruments. "Very well," he said, searching for the datastores he needed—any help was worth having, at this stage! "These are the sound sections of our records from the ship, and they seem to be associated with certain visuals." He slipped two of the hexagons into the reader and started the playback, and at once the raucous noises he had heard under such terrifying circumstances filled the chamber. The Watcher thrust itself across the chamber to remove itself as far as possible from the lesser breeds and settled down to watch and listen. The smell was nearly strangling Babylon, and something was buzzing annoyingly around his ear. He swatted irritably at it—a floating mote of silver, just hovering—and stung his hand. It was like slapping a sharp flint.
Doc Chimp cried, "Oh, Dr. Babylon, it's a Boaty-Bit! Don't hurt it!" He thrust himself toward the spinning fleck of diamond brightness, then sighed in relief. "Ah, there's another"—as a quicksilver gleam darted toward its comrade—"and it seems all right You don't usually see them in ones and twos like this. The more they are the smarter they are, you see—collective intelligence. Ah, they're flying off. I'm glad you didn't damage it, Dr. Babylon. You don't want the Boaty-Bits mad at you—oh, no!" The two little midges had drifted too close to the Watcher, who had flashed out a pink, slimy tentacle and whipped one of them into its mouth. The other darted away furiously, hesitated, then streaked out and down the corridor. "Cannibal!" Doc Chimp cried. "That's an intelligent creature, Watcher!"
Astonishingly, the Watcher laughed, a raucous bark that was unmistakable regardless of language. He whistled a series of short, sharp sounds, and the Pmal rendered it into English for Babylon:
"True I eat flying Bits and even Earth bipeds," he said contemptuously. "Untrue to call it cannibalism. Not my species! But I give you assurance I will not eat anyone here in this room now."
"Kind of you," Babylon murmured, resisting the impulse to edge away. The Watcher laughed again.
"Spoken with humor. Good. We Watchers appreciate courage, even from lower forms such as yourself. Now maintain silence while I inform you. We Watchers are subject to certain behavior constraints, acting on behalf of another species that you have never seen. I myself have never seen them, receiving instructions only at second remove. I now desire to complete study of your records, to shed light on matters concerning wrecked ship that do not concern you, therefore be silent while I listen."
As time wore on the smell dwindled in Babylon's nostrils, though it never became tolerable. Still, he almost forgot it, for the Watcher almost at once reacted. "Stop!" he commanded. "Reverse! Play again— Yes, now stop there!" And he switched from the painful squeals to a deeper, rumbling sound very like the sounds from the hexagons themselves.
The Pmal hesitantly rendered his new language as, "Display . . . graphics."
And the whirling images on the visual track suddenly settled down and revealed a mottled red scene, evidently the surface of Cuckoo, with curious markings that called attention to two points on the chart. Doc Chimp squealed faintly. "That—that's where the wrecked ship is!" he cried.
"And that other—I don't know, except I recognize that mountain. They call it Knife-in-the-Sky."
The Watcher commanded in his own language: "Be still, animal. It is where the ship should have been, of course."
"Of course," the chimpanzee said finally. "Listen, Dr. Babylon. I'd better go check, see if the Boaty-Bit that got away is all right. I'll be back—"