Maya Bohnhoff - Marsh Mallow

During the brief wait, he was witness to what he could only call a conversation between the various members of the bogdillian group. There were dolphin-like squeaks, watery gargling sounds, a gamut of muted tones, and tiny, rhythmic slapping patterns executed with a foot or tentacle (he couldn’t see which) upon the stiff surface of the water. Most incredibly of all, the fireflies dancing above each bogdillo—for he could now see that each entity had its separate tribe— winked on and off and subtly altered color and direction during the exchange.

“My God.” The exclamation was in starchily accented English. Raymond Godwin had come down to the shore to watch.

“Don’t you dare,” growled Rhys, “throw anything.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

The bogdillos had obviously come to some sort of decision, for some of their number dispersed, some withdrawing to the shore and into the tall grasses, others disappearing into the amphibian lodges, still others seeming to dive beneath the water— an amazing feat considering its native buoyancy. Two of the remaining individuals glided right to Rhys’s feet and emerged to face him. After each had appraised him via a trio of eyestalks, they proceeded to handle the tarpaulin with what appeared to be fins… or tentacles… or flabby pincers, depending on the use to which they were put—lifting, poking or pulling.

Rhys sucked in a long awful breath. Now, that was adaptability. Even so, he noticed that one of the bogdillos was having a little trouble folding back a corner of the thin but durable fabric. Noticed, too, how it kept changing the shape of its pseudohand to gain a better purchase. On a whim, Rhys lowered his own hand to where the bogdillo could see it and slowly, carefully peeled the corner back. He left his hand in plain view— the eyestalks took note. After a few permutations, the bogdillo had approximated a hand (albeit, without digits it looked like a hand in a sleek, shiny mitten) and had satisfactorily manipulated the thin folds. Rhys sat back in amazement.

In short order, the missing bogdillos returned and, after a very brief and bright consultation with their confreres, deposited an array of goods on the silty squelch of beach. Rhys heard a scanner’s metallic purr to his right.

“Lord,” said Godwin. “What a treasure trove.”

The two arthropods in possession of the tarp made a show of removing it from the beach, then returned to gesture very pointedly at their own pile of offerings, now at Godwin’s feet.

Rhys glanced at the acquisitions director. “Fair trade?” he asked.

“Oh, I’d say so.”

“Then make a show of picking it up.”

“Me? You want me to take part in this… negotiation?”

“It seems you may have started it. What could be more appropriate than for you to close it?”

Godwin bent and picked up an armful of ores and plant-stuffs. He stepped back a stride for good measure. The bogdillos seemed satisfied. They took their tarpaulin and departed, fireflies blazing. The lagoon returned to a deep green sort of t wilight as the alien light receded further into the lake.

“Well,” breathed Godwin. “That was something, wasn’t it? Did I really start all that, do you think?”

“I’m pretty sure of it.” Rhys chuckled. “When I think of all the clues we got—lakeside foliage turning up in relatively faraway places, bogdillo-shaped constructs, the simians tossing food at them…” He trailed off, a strange expression flitting across his face.

“They were aping the bogdillo trading methods, you mean?”

Rhys nodded, his eyes apparently on some fourth dimension only he could see. “So it would seem. And while we were being pleased with ourselves for all our neat efforts toward trade in the villages, what probably convinced the bogdillos to give us that first cache of goods was the cargo crew lobbing seed cones at them.”

Yoshi waggled her palm torch. “Now they know we can harness light… just like they do.” She grinned. “I guess that makes us bogdillos too.”

“I’m willing to bet they’ll suspend coming to any firm decision until they’ve known us longer, but this, ” said Rhys, “is where we step out, Mr. Godwin.”

The Englishman did a double-take. “I beg pardon?”

“We have found you a sentient life-form. I will even recommend the experts necessary to continue working with them. But they will have to determine if the bogdillos can lay claim to the mineral resources of this planet on a scale necessary to cede them wholesale to Tanaka.”

“Now wait just a moment. You’ve found a sentient, now you’re supposed to recommend that I negotiate with them for Bog’s resources.”

“A sentient, yes, but I’ve not proven them to be the representatives of a civilization. All I’ve shown you is a race of clever natives, which you wish to deal with as necessary, or so you said. The Collective takes a dim view of people—or even major corporations—dealing with native populations according to expediency. This is a culture, Godwin. There is potential for trade, potential for communication. But are these people in a position to barter away the mineral rights for their entire world? Would they even understand what they were bartering away? Until we know those things, we can do no more than deal with them on a purely local basis.”

“Like this, you mean?” asked Godwin incredulously. “Beads and trinkets for ores and botanicals?”

“Not trinkets. An exchange of useful commodities. But yes, just like what we did here. A little at a time—while we establish communications… and search for other possible contacts.”

“Ah. Other contacts which could negotiate mineral rights for Bog.”

Rhys shook his head. “You’re forgetting a fine point of Collective law, Mr. Godwin. If the bogdillos are not the only race of men on Bog, neither party would be allowed to barter away planetary resources. I believe you have jumped the gun. There is nothing here for you to acquire… yet. Only trinkets, as you call them.”

Godwin, crushing his armful of ores to his chest, brought himself stiffly upright. “You sir, have forgotten who pays your salary. I intend to tender a full report to Corporate as soon as I return to headquarters. I’ll call in the requisite experts—”

“I’ll give you my recommendations.”

Godwin opened his mouth to retort, but Rhys cut him off. “They’ll get the quickest results, Godwin. Don’t sabotage yourself out of dislike for me.”

“Take me back to the base camp.”

“With pleasure.”

“He’ll try to find a work-around, you know,” said Yoshi, her eyes following the stiff column of Godwin’s back. “He’ll try to find a way to get more sooner.”

“Of course he will,” Rhys acknowledged. “But fortunately there are saner heads at Tanaka. And there are the laws of the Collective. Until he can prove the bogdillos have the knowledge and authority to negotiate for such vast resources, those laws will force Tanaka to be content with limited commodities—still worth having, if our advance surveys are any indication.”

“Until?” Yoshi turned off her palm-torch, plunging them into moist darkness. “What if he never can prove it? What if the bogdillos are not world-aware enough to negotiate and no other sentients turn up?”

She could feel his smile even in the darkness. “Oh, I think there may be other sentients here, all right. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

“I don’t get you.”

“The bogdillos provide water to at least three other species—species capable of community existence and lodge building. Species also capable of a high degree of mimicry. Alter all, we saw them throw things at the bogdillos, and we saw the bogdillos throw them back.”