"Just in time," Dlee Raftan Saon exclaimed. "Estrellita asks after the biology of your species, with an eye toward learning what constitutes a motive for murder among the Elders."
The limb wheeled to the table, taking a position between them. "Aside from wealth," it asked, "the universal motive? I'll be of what assistance I can, Raftan. What would you like to know, Colonel?"
She shook her head. "I'm poking around at random, satisfying personal curiosity. Biology seemed the best place to start. You might tell me more about the nautiloid separable tentacle."
"As you wish, Colonel." The extension of Mister Thoggosh made up and down motions at its small end, nodding, as it explained unabashedly, "In primitive species of cephalopods, it was a sexual organ, which swam away from the male, carrying sperm to the female."
"This, too," added Dlee Raftan Saon, "is true of species familiar to humans. The `Stone Age' precursors of Mister Thoggosh's people, for some reason, altered their sexual practices rather late in evolutionary history, to direct fertilization, rather than"
"Doctor, I"
"Just," Mister Thoggosh pointed out, "as happened with ancestors of human beings. Shortly after being driven out of the increasingly scarce trees by bigger, stronger monkeys, in an Africa going through a prolonged drought cycle, they, too, switchedfrom rear to frontal cop"
"Mister Thoggosh, I"
"You're discomfitted, Colonel, yet you did ask. But then your species is rather easily embarrassed. Your own Mark Twain observed that you're the only organisms who blushor need to. Or was that H. L. Mencken? Do I fail to employ the language with sufficient clinical detachment?"
"You're both doing fine." She rubbed her hands over her face. "It's just me; too many surprises, too close together. Please go on."
"Very well," replied the physician, pouring himself more coffee. "With prehumans and their molluscoid equivalent, this small change caused greater changes, behavioral and physical, either accelerating development of speech in both species or being greatly influenced by it."
"Students of evolution," the tentacle offered, "have never been entirely certain which. Raftan, I wish I'd attended this lecture in person. That coffee smells good."
The doctor nodded. "Next time, you'll know better." He turned to Reille y Sanchez. "It's one of those aphid-and-egg things, Estrellita, impossible to say which came first. The result was the same in both instances. Intimate personal relations became, well, more intimate and personal, because they became more verbal. Thus, with the ancestors of the Elders, the sperm-bearing tentacle became an evolutionary redundancy."
"As you see," the tentacle gave a ripple, showing itself off, a display that struck her as somewhat obscene, considering the topic, "it didn't atrophy away. Evolution's conservative. Instead, it underwent metamorphosis, changing relatively quicklyin the geological scheme of things."
"By stages," explained Dlee Raftan Saon, "it became a remote-controlled general-purpose manipulator. Needing something to be controlled by, its existence encouraged the evolution of greater intelligence, as speech or the possession of thumbs may have done with your species."
Mister Thoggosh, or his general-purpose manipulator, went on: "Its first new function, paleobiologists believe, was as a decoy, expendably sent into harm's way to appease predators, as a lizard's tail is sacrificed. The theory derives from the fact that, among the primitive species, it grows back in time for the next mating season. In later species found in the fossil record, that process was accelerated."
If I stop for a second, thought Reille y Sanchez, her attention momentarily wandering, to consider how weird this conversation really is, I'll end up running through the woods like Richardson.
" . . . confers survival advantages," the doctor was saying, "and would never have evolved had the species from which the Elders sprang not been unique in another"
"Raftan," the tentacle waved an admonitory tip, "I believe we stray from the immediate interests of the colonel."
Dlee Raftan Saon saw her expression. "I'm afraid we have. What else should we discuss, my dear?"
She cleared her throat. "Tell me about Eichra Oren. It was a surprise, meeting another human here. Where does he come from?"
Something, not the table, began beeping. "If you'll both excuse me," the doctor declared, rising, "it's back to indentured servitude. Estrellita." He bent over her hand and brushed it with his complex mouth-parts. It gave her a chill, not because he was an insect, but because the gesture, although she'd never seen the late geologist do it, somehow reminded her of Kamanov. "I've savored, to put it Remaulthiek's poetic way, the sweet scent of your naming. Come see me any time you wish, as long as you make it soon."
She felt herself blush like Toya. "Thank you, Dlee Raftan Saon, I will." Making his way among the crowded tables, he departed. She turned to the tentacle, which left the wheeled contraption to twine itself around the seat abandoned by the doctor. "You were telling me about Eichra Oren."
"So I" Part of the noise she'd noticed must have been recorded music, for now they heard, all about them, Paul McCartney's "Yesterday," presumably sorted from a welter of signals received from Earth. It was good to hear, but must have been a South African or Swiss broadcast, possibly NeoIsraeli or PRC, because such music had been illegalwhich didn't mean she hadn't enjoyed it all her lifebefore she was born. "Someone's noticed your presence, Colonel, and altered the entertainment program in your honor. I suppose we'll have to sit and listen politely to that outlandish racket. Then I suggest we find a place to converse without so much interference. You're aware that Eichra Oren's descended from ancient Antarcticans in your own continuum."
"Yes." Outside, morning had begun acquiring tints of jungle afternoon. Exotic birds fluttered from branch to branch amid giant orchids. Mosses and ferns filled the area between the great trees. She fought back tears evoked by the "outlandish racket." Was it possible that she, of all people, was homesick? "That's what he told the general, something about a great seafaring people wiped out by a sudden change of climate."
"Indeed," the Proprietor replied, apparently unaware of her struggle. "In their time, thousands of years ago, the Antarcticans built complex, efficient ocean-going ships, constructed, if you'll believe it, entirely of wood. Some boasted hundreds of sails, on masts of sixty or seventy meters. Often they had crews consisting of several hundred men and womenthere, it's over with at last. Shall we leave, Colonel, before they honor you once more with something even more unbearable?"
Reille y Sanchez raised her eyebrows. "Women?"
The tentacle somehow conveyed a shrug. "A wise arrangement for those planning voyages lasting years. They knew the compass and sextant, although they were still at something of a loss regarding the calculation of longitude at sea. In this respect they were rather like the navies of your own civilization, well into the nineteenth century. I suggest we go to my office for further discussion. I'll have the rest of me meet us there."
Reille y Sanchez wasn't looking forward to her first dip in fluorocarbon. They followed Dlee Raftan Saon's footsteps out, the sound system blaring Sousa's "Stars and Stripes Forever." "That's more to my liking," exclaimed the tentacle wheeling beside her. "The subtleties! The intricacy! You people can produce real music, after all!"
"What was that," she had to shout, "about nineteenth-century navies?"
"Without offense," the voice suggested, "it occurs to me that you're unschooled in your own history. Mind you, I shouldn't want to give you the impression the Antarcticans were supernaturally skilled mariners. They did attain estimable heights of navigational proficiency, exploring and mapping most of what was then the Earth's surface. It's in this respect, although you may not be aware of it, that they were like the navy of your own British Empire at about the time of the Napoleonicexcuse me."
One of the lobster people stopped them just outside, apparently to talk business. Wondering if it was Tl*m*nch*l, Reille y Sanchez tried not to be conspicuous as she also tried to hear what was being said.
"Yes, Subbotsirrh, what is it?"
"English? Very welland it's pronounced S*bb*ts*rrh. About these drilling equipment invoices . . ." Whatever S*bb*ts*rrh needed, it didn't take long. Mister Thoggosh and Reille y Sanchez were soon strolling down the corridor again, in the direction, she assumed, of his office.
"Now, what was it we were discussing? Navigation?"
"My British Empire," she replied. "Mister Thoggosh, I'm just a soldier. An American soldier. You know more about my world than I do. You even speak the language better. Everybody here does."
"My dear Colonel, unlike stupidity, ignorance is a curable condition. And unlike British mercantilists, the Antarcticans were basically free traders. As with many another such culture throughout sapient history, they welcomed innovation, and were in the initial stages of inventing mass production and the steam engine. Yet for all that, they were helpless when an incredible worldwide disasteryes, what is it, Nellus?"
Again he was interrupted, this time by a furry animal which would have been taller than Reille y Sanchez had it not walked with a stoop. Its long, whiskered muzzle ended in a restless nose. Behind it lashed a hairless tail. It spoke a language consisting of squeaks and whistles.
"Colonel, this is Nellus Glaser, proprietor of the restaurant we just left. He wishes to know if you found your meal satisfactory."
Preoccupied with other matters, she had to think to remember what she'd just eaten. "I had no idea it was a private establishment. I assumedI didn't see any signs. But yes," she grinned, "absolutely the best burger and fries I've ever had on another planet."
The tentacle emitted whistles and squeaks. So did Nellus Glaser, passing a handful of something metallic to it. It extended and dropped coins in her palm. "The signs are in radio frequencies you aren't equipped to perceive. Your fellow mammal wishes you to accept lunch as his guest. He asks whether he may quote you about the food."
"I guess it won't do any harm." She looked at the money in her hand, the amount Dlee Raftan Saon had fed into the table. "This is the doctor's. But ask him not to mention it to the general or Mr. Empleado."
"I wondered," replied the tentacle, "whether KGB officers made a habit of commercial endorsements. Keep the coins as souvenirs. Raftan would be pleased." More shrill communication took place. The cafeteria owner shook hands with Reille y Sanchez, and they were on their way down the corridor again. "I'm not certain what you assumed, but I refuse to attempt explaining the complex division-of-investment economy we've brought to 5023 Eris, until you understand more basic facts about us. What were we talking about?"
"Worldwide disaster. Shifting poles and the change in climate."
"Someone's been curing your ignorance already. Yes, the Earth precessedwobbled in orbitand the treacherous poles began wandering again."
"Again?"
"They've done so on many previous occasions. As long as continents drift, they'll do so again. Timingwhether or not a people has achieved sufficient sophistication to withstand such an eventhas made all the difference in the survival or extinction of many sapient species. The poles' inconstancy is written in alternating magnetic patterns laid down, like your ferromagnetic musical recordings, in the great stone pillows of extruded lava at the bottommost abysses of Earth's deepestwhat is it, this time?"
In that moment she came closest to imitating Richardson, paralyzed by primordial fear, even her saw-backed knife and Witness forgotten on her hips. Before them, on eight legs, not six, was a hairy presence the size of the proverbial Buick. Its overall color was straw gold, mottled with black which ran in stripes down its flying-buttress legs. The legletsshe couldn't remember what they were calledguarding the mandibles looked like a pair of brooms. The facefour visible eyes set in a horizontal line, two large between two smallerwas a painted-looking red. The giant spider hissed and bubbled at the Proprietor's surrogate.
"Moltchirtber," Mister Thoggosh told her, "my friend and chief engineer. Moltchirtber, forgive my snapping at you, dear. My talk with this lady's been much interrupted. May I present Col. Estrellita Reille y Sanchez?"
Please, God, she thought, or whoever has the duty, don't let it want to shake hands.
"Kindly accept apologies," the spider replied in an impatient but human-sounding voice, "for not beginning this in English. All of you vertebrates look alike to mea bit frightening, actuallyand I wasn't aware you were one of our recent guests. Mister Thoggosh, your integrated presence is urgently required at Shaft Thirteen, where we've experienced an equipment breakage. No casualties, this time, thanks be to Aelbraugh Pritsch's Cosmic Egg, but when we return home, a drilling manufacturer I know will be consulting his debt assessor, or my name's not Moltchirtber!"
"Tell them I'll be there, at once," he answered as the spider turned and sped away. "Colonel, we must alter our plans. We can continue to converse, if you care to accompany me." Reversing directions, they hurried along the corridor until they came to a spot on the wall which let them outside where an aircraft was waiting. As they climbed inno pilot, no visible controlsReille y Sanchez was out of breath. The machine lifted them a hundred meters and zoomed forward. Mister Thoggosh went on as before.
"As far as the Antarctican disaster's concerned, on a planetary scale, the degree of shift was small, probably not noticeable to an observer on some neighboring world. For Earth's inhabitants, it was a cataclysm. One day it began snowing in what had been the semitropics. It didn't stop again, winter or summer, for two hundred years. The first snowfall compressed under a load of new precipitation into steely ice which crushed their greatest artifacts to powder, destroying every trace of their once-great civilization. Dying of the cold or fleeing from it, they were decimated, scattered. The little remaining evidence of their existence was scraped, by the slowly flowing glaciers, off the edges of the continent, into the surrounding oceans."
The craft tilted, giving them a view of the human encampment. She waved at Toya, at the center, but the machine was silent, and the girl didn't look up. With its stale wood smoke and latrine smells, the place was hardly a model of rustic charm. Surprised when he didn't land to let her off, she thought Mister Thoggosh was polite not to mention it. "Surely," she asked a question which had puzzled her, "archaeologists would find something left."
"Outside their cities, Colonel, lost forever beneath milespardonkilometers of ice, they worked primarily in wood, again much like nineteenth-century Britain. After all these millennia, little remains. From time to time, an inexplicable bit of stone or glasswork may show up, like an orphan, among the remnants of later civilizations, no more than a token of its creators' former greatness.
"There, if you look closely, you may see our destination, that deforested rise and a cluster of low buildings.
"The question naturally arises, could such a disaster repeat itself? If so, how much of today's human civilization would be left after fifteen thousand years? Certainly nothing identifiable of nineteenth-century Britain will survive. What would, neglected for a period of a hundred fifty centuries? Brace yourself for landing, Colonel. Out in the countryside, this thing believes it's a jeep."
"But something survived. What about Eichra Oren?"
"People being sturdier than artifacts, some Antarcticans escaped. For a variety of reasons, their choice of avenues appeared more limited than it was. They falsely believed Australia an uninhabitable wasteland. It's said they had enemies in Africa, on whom a superstitious few among them blamed the catastrophe. If it ever truly existed, which I myself doubt, that culture also perished, for no trace of it remains. Thus it was to the southern tip of India the refugees came, with little more than the clothing they wore."
Mister Thoggosh had been correct about the landing. They bumped down in a trampled field sloping upward to become the ridge he'd mentioned. Aelbraugh Pritsch met them, comically attired in a workman's hard hat, a fireman's heavy coat, and a pair of odd boots, all of it, including what parts of him were visible, covered with dirt as if he'd been doing demolition work. Before the voluble avian could get a word out, another aircraft landed virtually on top of them. Mister Thoggosh climbed out. His tentacle slithered over the side of the machine Reille y Sanchez sat in, and integrated with its owner.
"Regrettably, we lack data," he went on as if he'd been with her all along, "for the next fifteen thousand years. Our ethnographers base their surmises on legends and linguistics. The Antarcticans may have been ancestral to certain wanderers who, migrating north and westward, perhaps for fear of something they no longer remembered clearly, came to dominate Europe, North America, and your modern world. Now, my dear, I must hand you off, in a manner of speaking, to my assistant, and attend a smaller disaster of my own."
"But you haven't explained Eichra Oren!"
"So I haven't. One thing we know with certainty: by coincidence, during this period, interdimensional translation was being invented by those among us who called themselves `natural philosophers.' Conducting a monumental cross-probability survey of your Earth and several others, they `collected' and saved a single shipload of glacial refugees.
"Eichra Oren's a descendent of these so-called `Appropriated Persons.' "