The Crystal Demon: 11/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
They found another body that evening. The man's helmet and blaster were gone, and scavengers had obviously visited the body during the past few days. They did not disturb it after a perfunctory examination, but went on.
"I wonder if he was after the Lemke," Julia said, in a whisper.
Mark shrugged. "No way o' tellin'. He's been dead a week, at least."
Alan extended his psychic probe toward Lyn's mind. They were nearer now, and he tried again to contact her through telepathy. "Lyn? Answer me."
For an instant, he thought he had succeeded. Her mind was suddenly alert, and he knew she had heard his voice. Then she began to cry -- little hopeless sobs of fatigue and terror.
"Lyn!" he called again. "It's Alan! Listen to me!"
Nothing but sobs. Alan tried a third time and gave it up. Lyn had been repressing her abilities for too long. She couldn't suddenly begin using them now. It just wasn't going to work unless they could find her. If they could, he could try a little tutoring and see if it worked.
The unseen presence still followed them. Alan had grown used to it. Apparently, the natives didn't intend to attack them yet. He had formed another opinion now about these silent, secretive, but very deadly beings. They wanted something from the Terrans -- something that they were too shy or scared to ask for. The fact that the creatures continued to follow them, ruthlessly slaying all patrolmen, and even a Jilectan, but sparing Alan, Julia and Mark, spoke of a purpose -- a goal.
Twilight fell, and a cold wind rustled through the trees overhead. A strange quiet pervaded the forest as they settled down to make camp. A small stream rippled past the spot they had chosen: an offshoot of the river they had crossed that morning. Mist rose off the water, clammy and cold. Alan sighed wistfully, knowing it would be foolish to make a fire in the darkness, but wishing for the light and warmth that a small blaze would give them. Julia also sighed faintly, choosing a spot where she could lean back against a tree trunk for support. Alan picked a spot with his back against a similar support and pulled the cape he had made of his emergency blanket around him for warmth, watching the stars appear against the patches of sky visible next to the stream. As usual, the nightly display of shooting stars had already begun.
"Our people should be here by now," Julia remarked. "Eric should be tracing us. Have you picked up any signs of them, Alan?"
"Not yet," he said. "I wish they'd come, though. I'm getting awfully tired of playing pioneer."
"Me too," Mark said. He dug through his pack and produced ration cakes. "Dinner, folks. Gourmet rations by the best dieticians on Terra. Anybody hungry?"
Alan was no longer listening. He was suddenly very aware of the creature that had followed them since their arrival. It was drawing nearer, and the hopeful anticipation he had sensed earlier now seemed the dominant emotion. Alan's hand shot out and closed like a vise on Linley's wrist. He faintly heard Julia's sharp query but ignored it. Tense and alert, he waited as the creature approached, its shields gradually relaxing.
He reached toward the other mind, his own shields open, trying to make no sudden, frightening moves. The creature started, its shields beginning to close again.
*No!* Alan flung the word at the unseen presence. *Don't run away! Tell us what you want!*
Surprise and relief. The creature's shielding relaxed again, and Alan had a fleeting impression of bright, intelligent eyes. The presence came closer. He could almost touch it. Then, abruptly, the familiar blurring sensation, and the being departed.
Alan sighed, releasing Mark's wrist, and became aware of deep silence all around him. Mark and Julia were watching him with unconcealed interest.
"What was it?" Julia inquired eagerly. "The natives again?"
He nodded slowly. "They're beginning to come closer. I think they want to make contact but something's holding them back: fear, or maybe shyness."
"Could you see what they looked like?" Mark asked.
"Not really. Just the eyes. They're intelligent, that's for sure, and I think they have something they want to tell us. I keep sensing ... I don't know ... a need of some kind." He blew out his breath. "I keep saying 'they', but I don't know. All I've definitely sensed is one creature."
Julia leaned back against her tree and took a bite of her ration cake. Mark swore under his breath. "If Kaley don't come soon, all they're gonna find is bleached bones. This is the last of the food."
"There's always fish," Alan said, smiling a little.
"Yeah, I know, but fish is gonna get old after while. Ah hell, kid, I'm just grousin'. I know we won't starve, but things are gonna get kinda tight if the good guys don't show up soon."
"They may run into resistance," Julia said. "The Patrol's obviously still looking for us, and they probably blame us for the dead Jil, too, you know."
"Yeah, probably," Mark said. "They probably really called the troops in after that." He glanced at the band on his wrist and adjusted the setting. "We're still about a hundred and twenty kilometers from the base, too."
"I think we're doing all right, considering how the other people we've seen have done," Julia said quietly. "Don't you?"
"When you put it like that, definitely," Alan said. "We shouldn't complain." He stuffed the remainder of the food cake into his mouth. "I could do with a cup of coffee."
"Next 'trol we find, we'll raid his pouches," Mark said. "He oughtta have some coffee tabs in 'em. When I was a 'trol, I never went without 'em. You don't think the natives will kill us for takin' the coffee tabs, do you?"
"Probably not," Alan said. "Unless they kill anyone who smells like coffee."
Mark laughed. "Can't be, kid. They killed that Arcturian, an' Arcturians never drink coffee. Caffeine's poisonous to 'em."
"That's true."
Mark scratched and yawned. "I'm shot." He glanced at Julia, whose head was drooping forward. "Better lie down, honey. You'll get a crick in your neck that way."
She obeyed, curling up in the thick weeds at the base of the tree and pulling her blanket around her. Mark yawned again. "Man, I'm about shot."
"I'll take first watch, tonight," Alan said.
Linley shook his head. "You don't hafta. I'll be okay."
"I don't mind," Alan said. "I don't feel all that sleepy."
Mark grinned. "You psychics! You bounce back too easy. Most guys who'd been through what you've been through would be out on their feet." The grin changed to a frown. "Don't try to be a hero an' stay up all night. Got it?"
"Yessir," Alan said.
"Word of honor?"
Alan raised his right hand. "Scout's honor."
"Well, all right then." Mark settled down on the ferns beside Julia and pulled his own blanket around him. "G'night."
"Good night, Mark."
Alan leaned back against his chosen tree, pulling his own blanket tighter around him against the mist that rose off the stream. Except for the babble of the water, all was quiet. After several seconds, he closed his eyes and tried to contact Lyn.
She was closer than before, and still awake from the feel of her mind. Alan concentrated, forming her name in his mind and trying to will her to answer. For a second, he touched her and felt her frightened response. Her shields started to close.
*Lyn!* He called the name desperately. *Answer me!*
There was a startled pause, then, very tentatively, Lyn's voice formed in his mind. *Is that you, Alan?*
The reply was amazingly clear, almost as though they were psychic partners. Alan shook off the thought. Lyn was a powerful psychic. That had to explain the sharp communication. He didn't want Lyn Parnell for a psychic partner. She was a spoiled little brat, and he didn't like her a bit.
Did he?
Well, maybe he didn't really dislike her, but he sure didn't like her much. She was a snob, and stupid into the bargain, but right now she needed them, and they needed her in order to find out what had happened. If she knew.
*Yes, it's Alan,* he answered. *We're trying to find you. Come toward us.*
*No!* She was crying again. *This is a dream! A hallucination! No one can do this!*
"*It's *not* a dream! Listen to me, Lyn!*
*My god! I'm going crazy!* Her shields closed, blocking him out.
*Lyn! Answer me, Lyn!*
Nothing.
Alan sighed in frustration and sank down on the ground, his back against the rough bark of the tree. Around him, the night insects buzzed, chirped and strummed.
And suddenly, he sensed the watcher again, and was aware that the being had heard his exchange with Lyn. So the creature understood telepathic communication, for Alan could sense no surprise in its mind. It was closer than before, perhaps lulled into a sense of security by Alan's preoccupation with Lyn's mind. It had relaxed its shields even more than before, for he could sense it clearly. Again, he caught the impression of bright, intelligent eyes, watching, acutely aware that it was in contact with another psychic's mind and undisturbed by the knowledge.
Very cautiously, he reached toward it, trying to put all the good will and friendship he could into the mental images. *Hello?*
No response, but still he could sense the other mind clearly. He tried again. *Please show yourself. We won't hurt you. We'll try to help you, if you'll just let us know what you need.*
Nothing. No flicker of response. The other had heard him. He was sure of that, but it made no acknowledgement. Very carefully, he tried to extend his probe further.
The creature's half-formed shields parted beneath his probe before he realized what he had done. He sensed intense surprise, then blind terror. There was a blur of motion and the shields snapped closed, shutting him out.
Alan grimaced and gave it up.
The rest of his watch passed without incident and he woke Mark after three hours. His partner groaned and wiped sleep from his eyes. "Man, I feel like I just laid down. All quiet?"
"Yes."
"Good. Lie down an' sleep. You look like you need it."
Alan obeyed and was asleep almost at once.
It was the aroma of cooking food that woke him. He sat up, knuckling his eyes and looked around. Julia was still on watch, and day must have broken, but the forest around him was shrouded in a grey, clinging mist, so thick he could scarcely distinguish the trunks of nearby trees. In the center of their little clearing, Julia had kindled a small fire, and was grilling strips of meat over the flames. The smoke blended with the mist and was barely distinguishable from it.
She smiled brilliantly as he came over to kneel beside the fire. "Hi, Alan, are you the great hunter?"
"The what?"
"Did you kill these things for breakfast? No, I guess not. You even had trouble with the fish."
Alan laughed. "It must have been Mark."
"I guess so." She sniffed. "Smells good, doesn't it?" Julia handed him the sticks and turned to slice another slab of meat from one of the two small, skinned carcasses at her side. "The taster says they're fine, but of course Mark must have checked them over after he killed them."
Alan turned the sizzling steaks. "It'll be a nice break from the fish, anyway. Mark always was pretty good at survival."
"Yes," Julia said shortly. "At the expense of others, if necessary."
"Hey!" Alan found himself bristling. "That's not fair and you know it! Mark's risked his neck to save me more often than I like to remember!"
"He didn't have any choice. He's your partner."
Alan stood up. "Watch it, Julia. Partner or not, Mark's my best friend, and no one, not even you, insults him behind his back."
She glared at him. "Maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do."
"I know him better than you do, Lieutenant!"
He saw tears flood her eyes. "I know," she whispered.
Instantly, he was sorry. "Julia, please don't cry."
She wiped her eyes. "I'm not crying. Don't be silly."
Mark's snores ceased and he sat up. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Julia said, her voice not quite normal again. "Here, Mark, the first steak goes to you."
"Hey, thanks!" Mark strode over to the fire and sat down on a fallen log, accepting the meat from her hand. She turned away at once, beginning to slice strips from the carcass again. Alan could see her hands trembling and regretted his outburst. It was silly to become involved in a lovers' quarrel. All psychics knew that. "In matters of the heart, depart!" was Leroy Burke's motto, one which he impressed on all his students. It was too easy to get hurt, or to hurt someone else unintentionally.
Mark chewed appreciatively on a bite of steak. "Man, this is really good! Who did the huntin'?"
It was several seconds before the impact of Mark's question hit him. He and Julia gaped at Mark in horror, then Alan moved, snatching the stick from his partner's hand just as he was about to take a second bite. Linley swore. "What th' --"
Julia's face had gone white. Mark stared at his companions in bewilderment. "What's wrong?"
"You mean --" Alan's throat clogged and he had to try again. "You mean, you didn't kill these things?"
"Me?" Linley stared back at him, blankly.
"They were just lying there." Julia's voice shook. "All skinned and cleaned and everything. I never dreamed ..." She broke off on what sounded like a sob. "Oh, Mark!"
"The natives," Alan said. "They must have left them while we weren't looking."
Mark was stark white. "D'you think it was poisoned?"
"Would the taster show it if the stuff had been intentionally poisoned?" Julia whispered.
"I think so." Alan tried to calm his racing heart. "It's not meant to be used for that purpose, but it should show the presence of a toxin."
"You only ate one bite," Julia said.
"Plenty to do the job if the poisoner understands poison," Mark said. "An' I got the feelin' that these natives do."
Alan stood up, trying to speak calmly. "Let's not panic. I don't think the meat was poisoned."
"An' why not?" Mark said. "Natives don't know about tasters. It's an easy way to get rid of an enemy --"
"Quiet!" Alan whispered, sharply.
A figure was approaching, seeming to materialize from the mist around them. It was tiny -- the figure of a child, for it stood less than a meter in height, and its form was delicately small, matching its diminutive stature. But this was no child. The thick pelt of hair crowning its head was grey, and the small face was seamed with wrinkles. It advanced slowly toward their fire, its large, dark eyes fixed unmistakably on Alan's face. Behind it came a second figure, younger and slightly larger than the first, and through the mist, Alan could see the forms of at least three more.
From their appearance, they were all males, and the tallest was perhaps a full meter in height. Although humanoid in appearance, their eyes were disproportionately large and wide-set in their small, thin faces. They were dressed in skins, stitched together to form tight breeches, and their chests were bare. Hair covered their heads, with no sign of thinning, even in the older members, who wore it in thick manes to their shoulders, while the more youthful ones wore it just above their large, protruding ears. Small devices, which must be weapons of some sort, hung from their waists.
"Don't touch your blasters," Alan said in a low voice.
"You think we're crazy?" Mark's return whisper was strained. "What'll we do now?"
"Just wait," Alan replied. "No sudden moves."
The foremost figure had paused during the exchange, watching them. Then, very slowly, it extended a hand, voicing three shrill, piping words. Alan shook his head. "I'm sorry. We don't understand."
The words were repeated, followed by a second phrase that paused obviously on a question. Alan shook his head again. "I'm sorry," he repeated.
The little native regarded him in silence. One of his comrades spoke softly from behind him, where they were congregated in a small group. The leader turned and also spoke, the reply swift and shrill. The other answered, then turned toward the trees, voicing a soft, piping cry, which sounded like, "Meekee!"
Another figure emerged from the mist, and Alan had the impression that this one had remained hidden because of orders from his superior only to show himself if summoned. He wondered uncomfortably how many more of the little natives were watching from the concealment of the trees.
The newcomer approached his elder quickly and spoke with obvious respect. He was young, Alan realized -- obviously much younger than any of the other natives in the group. Was that the reason he had been kept out of sight until summoned? It was clear that he wasn't full grown, for the others, small as they were, topped him by a good ten centimeters. Perhaps this tribe did not allow their younger members to be seen without good reason. But what was the reason now?
The newcomer glanced sideways at him, shyly, like a child sneaking a glance at a stranger, and suddenly Alan knew him. A small, round head, dark, soulful eyes, pug nose and black, tousled hair. It was the face in the trees that he had seen upon awakening the day they had arrived on Kasal.
Then, like a curtain falling, the other's shields dropped, and Alan knew why the little native had been summoned. Psychic energy flowed from his mind like a living aura -- energy quite as powerful as many of the Terran psychics back at the base. He smiled suddenly, showing two rows of white, perfect teeth. The older native took the younger by the hand and turned toward Alan, presenting him proudly, as one might present a prize animal at a fair. "Rassa!" he said clearly. "Por fan."
"Okay," Alan said. "I'll try."
The older native stepped back, leaving the two psychics facing each other. Alan reached for the other's mind and felt it connect at once. The little alien moved, extending a small, four-digited hand, palm foremost. He pressed it flat to Alan's hand, and Alan felt the images in his mind form into words with surprising ease.
*I am Miki.* The alien pronounced it MEEKEE. *We are the Shirva. Who are you?*
*I'm Alan, and these are my friends, Mark and Julia.*
*Mark is not Patrol?*
"*He is not. He is my friend.*
Alan sensed relief. *That is good. My people wanted to kill him, because he looks like Patrol, but I told them I think he is not.*
*Thank you very much, Miki. It was your people, then, who killed the patrolmen?*
*Yes.*
*Why? Have they hurt you?*
*They are killing us.*
Alan knew a sense of horror, but not surprise. *How?*
There was a hesitation. The Shirva turned toward his leader, speaking quickly. The leader hesitated, then replied. Miki turned back, touching Alan's palm with his own again. *We are dying because they take the Lemke plants. Without them, we cannot survive. At first, when they came, we tried to stop them, but they killed those who tried with their blasters.* A pause. *They do not use their blasters now. We kill them before they can see us, but still they come and take it, and there are too few of us now to prevent them.* He stopped, his eyes looking disconcertingly into Alan's. *Why are they doing this? Whey do they need the plant?*
*They don't,* Alan replied. *They give it to the Jilectans. It's a wonder drug. It is used for medicine for both Jilectans and Terrans -- that's us. But neither Terrans nor Jilectans need it to survive.*
*Then they should not take it! We must have it, or we die!* He stopped.
*Go on," Alan prodded gently.
*If we do not eat some every day, we weaken. Without it, our children die quickly, and our women bear no children.*
"What's he sayin'?" Mark asked.
"Tell you in a minute," Alan said. "It's kind of complicated."
Miki was continuing. *There are very few of us left now, and soon there will be none at all unless they stop taking the Lemke.* The telepathic communication had become pleading. "*You are like them! You are Terrans! You must tell them what they are doing to us! You must stop them!*
Alan bit his lip. *You must understand something, Miki. I'll help you if I can, but it won't do any good to talk to the patrolmen. I'm a criminal in their eyes. They aren't going to listen to me.*
*A criminal?* Plainly the concept had no meaning to the Shirva.
*Someone who has done something against their rules. You're a criminal, too, because you've killed patrolmen. They call me a criminal because I've killed patrolmen, and Jilectans -- and because I'm a psychic.*
"*A psychic -- like me?*
*Yes. According to the Jilectans, that makes me a criminal. If they catch me, they'll kill me.*
*But you cannot help being a psychic, can you?*
*No, I was born a psychic. But most Terrans aren't psychics. Jilectans are all psychics, and they don't want any other species to have the powers except them. That's why I'm a criminal.*
*But that is not fair!* Miki's reply was indignant.
*The Jilectans don't care about fairness,* Alan said. *I'm a psychic, and so are you. Are all the Shirva psychics?*
*No. There are very few of us. I am the only one in my tribe.* He hesitated, and Alan sensed chagrin. *That is why I am still alive. They give me the Lemke, although there is little to spare. All the children in my tribe are dead, except me. But I am nearly grown. In three, maybe four seasons, I will reach full size. Then I will not need so much.*
Alan found that his hand had closed tightly about that of the little alien before him. *All of the children have died?*
*All except me,* Miki repeated, dully. *But we have many young women. If we can get more of the Lemke, our women will recover, and more children will be born. Without it, there is no hope. My people thought that perhaps you would be able to stop the patrolmen.* Despair filled his thoughts. *But you say that you cannot.*
*Just a minute, Miki. I didn't say there was nothing we could do to help.* Alan paused, trying to digest what the little alien had told him, feeling helpless anger toward the Jilectans. They wouldn't care that they were destroying this struggling race. All they cared about was their own well-being, as usual. If the Shirva died because they took what the race needed to survive, that was just too bad.
Miki was watching him, his small fact the picture of despair. Alan squeezed his hand again. *Let me talk to my friends. Together, we may be able to think of a way to help you.*
*Without the Lemke, there is no hope, Alan.*
*Don't be too sure of that. Mark's very smart, and so is Julia. Let me tell them about it. Wait for a minute.* He broke contact and turned to his companions.
Mark was grinning at him. "Guess I'm not gonna die, huh?"
"It was a peace offering," Alan said. "They need our help pretty badly."
"We ain't in no shape to help anybody right now," Mark said. "What's li'l King Jupiter's problem? I take it this *is* li'l King Jupiter, himself?"
"He's the one I told you about, yes." Alan smiled briefly. "They've got an awful problem, too. See what you think." Quickly, he outlined what the Shirva had told him.
Julia looked horrified. "That's awful! -- but no more than I'd expect from the Jils. There must be something we can do, though."
"What?" Mark demanded unreasonably. "Send a written petition to Lord Lanthzor? I'm sure he'd be impressed."
Julia made a face at him, then spoke to Alan again. "So they need the Lemke to survive, and the Patrol is taking it and killing off the race. What is it in the leaves that's so essential, do you suppose?"
Alan brightened. "Hey! I never thought of that! It could be something simple -- some vitamin, or something, that simply isn't found in the native plants."
"Just a minute," Mark said warningly. "You ain't thinkin' what I think you're thinkin', are you?"
Alan frowned. "We have to help them, Mark. They don't have much time left."
"But we're sorta in a spot, ourselves," Mark pointed out. "We gotta get on that Patrol base somehow an' steal a ship. That ain't gonna be a picnic, even without draggin' along some little character like these guys."
"We *have* to bring one of them," Alan said. "How are our scientists going to figure out what the problem is if they don't have a Shirva to examine?"
"Look," Mark said, "you're not thinkin' straight, kid. These natives don't know nothin' about the big, nasty Sector out there. I don't want no one along who's gonna panic at the first blaster shot."
"Strike Commander Linley speaks the truth," Julia said acidly. "Let's forget the whole thing and let the Jils do as they please. It's none of our business whether this species survives or not."
Mark turned furiously on her. "Shut up, Lieutenant! That's an order!"
"Yes *sir*, Strike Commander Linley, *sir!"
Alan intervened. "Please don't fight, you two. Mark, listen to me and try to put yourself in their shoes for a minute."
"They don't got no shoes, kid."
"Mark, *please*! They're begging us to help them! They thought that maybe, since we look like the 'trols, that we might have a say in the matter, and Miki sensed through me that we weren't unfriendly. They let us live because of that, and because they were nurturing a desperate hope that we might somehow be able to stop the Patrol from taking any more of their Lemke leaves."
Mark gave a short laugh.
"I told them that we couldn't stop the 'trols, but that we might be able to help them some other way."
"How? There ain't no way, right now!"
"We can take one with us, like Julia suggested, find out what the nutrient is --"
"Onto a Patrol base? They're gonna be watchin' for us, you know."
Alan sighed. "I know, but --"
"All right, Alan," Julia said. "Tell Miki, there, that there's nothing we can do." She turned to Mark. "They don't even know us, Major Linley, but they've come to us for help. Obviously, they're desperate, or they wouldn't have done that. They could have killed us at any time, but they didn't. In fact, I seem to recall that they actually saved us from capture at one time, remember? Now you're saying that we should just walk away and leave them. How do you think they're going to feel about that? They don't think much of Terrans right now -- that's obvious. If we desert them now, their opinion will be confirmed, and they won't care what happens to us. Besides, in case it's escaped your attention, this species appears to have psychics in its ranks. I think Kaley's going to be very interested in that."
Linley was silent. He glanced at Alan.
Alan nodded. "We've *got* to help them, Mark. There has to be a way."
Linley sighed in defeat. "I know. You're right, but I sure don't see how."
"We'll figure something out." Alan turned back to Miki and re-established the mental contact. *It's all right, Miki; we're going to help you, but we'll need your cooperation.*
*Yes?* The reply was dubious.
*Julia, Mark and I are heading for the Patrol base here. Do you know where it is?*
*Yes.* The reply was prompt. It is a very bad place. My people never go there.*
*Well, we must go there if we're going to get back to our own people. We have to have a ship, and that is the only place to get one. If we can get back to our people and tell them your problem we think they can figure out a way to help you.*
*How?*
Alan decided to postpone the lesson on vitamins and minerals for a later date. "Never mind that now. I'm pretty sure they can do it. Will you trust me?*
A hesitation. Then: *I will trust you. What must we do?*
*One of your people will have to come with us to our world. It would be best if it were you, Miki, since we can communicate easily.*
*You mean, to come with you in one of your ships?*
*Yes. Is it okay?*
*I am not sure if the chief will permit it.* Miki's reply sounded dubious. *My people need me. I am the only psychic left since my young sister died.*
*Ask your chief,* Alan said. *Make sure he realizes how important it is. Tell him we'll take good care of you.*
A faint smile quirked the Shirva's mouth. He turned back to his fellows, trilling softly in his own language.
"Well?" Mark asked.
"Miki's going to try to talk the leader into letting him come with us. I promised to keep him safe. He's the only psychic they have left, and I guess the chief sort of prizes him because of it. I get the impression that Miki has nothing to say in the matter. It rests with the chief."
Mark groaned. "Terrific! An' what happens to us if their star member, the high chief's golden boy, dies while he's in our custody? He don't look all that lusty t'me."
"That's because he's not full grown," Alan said. "He's the equivalent of about a ... a fifteen or sixteen-year-old Terran kid. The kids are the ones who suffer the most from not getting enough of the leaves. Miki's the youngest member of the tribe, and they give him more because he's a psychic, and they need him. It's the only reason he's survived this long. His younger sister was a psychic, too, but she couldn't get enough. She died a few months ago." Alan hesitated. "He's the best possible specimen for us to take along -- if the chief will let him go, that is."
Mark sighed. "What th' hell. Go for it."
Miki had turned back to face them, his expression very sober. The other members of the tribe moved forward, surrounding him protectively.
"Uh oh," Mark said. "They ain't lookin' too friendly."
Alan didn't think so, either. He sensed resentment and anger, although he wasn't sure why. Miki's voice spoke in his mind, the words stilted, like someone reciting from memory. *My chief accepts your terms. If you can do what you say, you may have whatever you ask, including our last psychic.*
*Hey, wait a minute!* Alan suddenly understood the reason for the resentment. *I didn't mean forever! We only need you for a little while. Then you can come home again!*
Miki's eyes searched his, and Alan sensed puzzlement. *You do not want me, then?*
*Just for a little while,* Alan repeated patiently. *Just until we do some tests. Afterwards, I promise to bring you back.*
*But if you do not want me, what *do* you want? How can my chief pay you back for your help?*
Alan felt his cheeks growing warm. *We don't ask for anything right now, except your friendship. Don't worry about it, okay?*
Dark, luminous eyes looked steadily into his, and Alan knew he was blushing to his hairline. He wasn't sure what the little alien was thinking, and he was afraid to probe for fear of offending the little guy. Then the Shirva turned and spoke to his people once more. There was silence for the slow count of ten. Mark shifted uncomfortably.
"What's goin' on, kid?"
"I'm not sure," Alan said.
Miki turned back, smiling a little warily. "Okay, Alan," he piped in Basic.
One of the other tribe members voiced a strange, trilling call, and suddenly from the underbrush around them and the trees, overhead, more Shirva appeared -- dozens of them. They approached hesitantly, some smiling shyly, like children greeting adults, others with downcast eyes. Two of them took Alan respectfully by the arms and he was seated on a log by the fire. More of the little people appeared, and he saw females of the species, tiny and shockingly frail in appearance. More wood was thrown on the fire, and two of the females knelt beside him, one of them offering a bowl of what appeared to be mush, the other a thick plate of grilled meat. The smell was ambrosial, and Alan realized abruptly how hungry he was. Across the leaping flames, he saw Mark and Julia being treated in a similar fashion. Another tiny female was offering Linley a carved, wooden flask of some beverage, smiling cautiously at the same time. Mark winked at her and accepted it.
"Thanks, honey. You don't mind if I check it out first, do you?" He employed the taster. "Looks okay." He took a swallow and gasped. "Man! You gotta try this stuff, Alan!"
Alan took a flask offered by another female. "Thanks." He sipped, and also gasped as the liquid caught at his throat. "It tastes like brandy!"
"Yeah." Linley took a healthy swallow and sampled a piece of meat from another platter. "Try this stuff," he said to his partner. "Tastes like the best sirloin I've ever had."
Alan did. "This is great. Julia, are you getting enough?" He couldn't see her for all the natives in between them.
"Plenty," came the muffled reply. "What did you say to them, Alan? This is V.I.P. treatment if I've ever seen it."
"Just that we wanted to be friends and that we'd help them." Alan frowned at the silent natives gathered in the clearing. They were all watching the strangers, and Alan couldn't read their expressions. "They seem a bit restrained, though, don't they?"
"Some," Julia agreed. "But then, I suppose they haven't got much to laugh about."
"You know, these little characters are okay," Mark said. He took another swig of the native brandy. "Try that mush. We should hire a couple of these little guys to cook for us at the base. They could teach our chefs a thing or two."
Alan tried the mush. It was spicy and delicious, although like nothing he had ever tasted before. He smiled at the little native female who had offered him the bowl. "Thanks. That's great."
She smiled tentatively in return. Another female appeared, a pair of small, shapeless, brightly colored objects in her hands. She knelt before Alanl, beginning to carefully remove his tattered boots. Involuntarily, Alan drew his foot back. "What are you doing?"
The chief spoke sharply to the girl and she scrambled swiftly to her feet, eyes downcast. With a quick, humble apology, she turned, leaving the objects on the ground before him, and scurried away.
Another patriarchal society," Alan thought resignedly. He should have expected it in a culture like this one. Feeling miserable, he rose to his feet. "Hey, it's okay! You can come back." He glanced around. "Miki?"
Instantly, the Shirva was beside him. "Yes, Alan?" he said in Basic.
It was amazing the way the little guy was picking up the language, he thought abstractedly. Quickly, he established mind contact. "It's all right. Tell her she can come back."
Miki turned and trilled something. The girl reappeared, her eyes fixed on the ground before her. Alan seated himself on the log again. "It's all right. Finish what you were doing."
Miki trilled again, and the native approached and finished removing his tattered boots. She was crying, he realized, unhappily. The shredded boots were laid carefully aside, and the girl began gently pulling the objects over his feet. Moccasins of some sort, he realized. The material was like soft leather, but it stretched so well that they covered his feet quite adequately, although they had obviously been made for a much smaller being. The native girl rose gracefully, still not looking at him. Alan started to speak, but she was gone, vanishing into the crowd.
**********
tbc
