Maya Bohnhoff - Marsh Mallow

They called the planet Bog for lack of anything nicer to say about it. The name was certainly appropriate if not 100 percent accurate. The entire planet was not a bog, but anyone set down in its narrow “temperate zone,” would find that hard to believe. The planet’s abundant supply of surface water brought to mind words like “sludge” and “morass”—even “bilge.” Not a drop of the stuff was drinkable. It contained salts and minerals in such concentration that, in some of the smaller bodies of water, you could float objects that would have sunk to the bottom on Earth or Pa-Loana or just about any other habitable planet Rhys Llewellyn could name.

Take that gently bobbing field lamp, for example. Rhys gazed at it in consternation as it was carried away on the sludgy currents of Brown Salt Lake, gliding serenely just out of his reach.

“See what I mean?” Roderick Halfax lobbed a flat rock at the lamp. It struck the metal casing with a muffled ping! and plopped into the water where it began the tedious and protracted process of sinking. A tiny cloud of native “fireflies,” already visible in the twilight, eddied above the flotsam, apparently attracted by the gleam of alien metal.

“I’d rather not have demonstrated it at the expense of our field supplies,” Rhys admitted, “but yes, I do see.”

Rick peered at the sludgy liquid. “You could probably walk out and get it… but I wouldn’t recommend it.” He turned back from the water to make his way up the newly constructed pier laid just last week by Tanaka Corp’s advance team of engineers.

After a last glance at the lost field lamp, Rhys fell into step beside his assistant. “I’ll bet you can build a boat out of just about anything here— wood, metal, stone—”

“Ah, but sir,” Rick countered, a frown puckering his brow, “the natives here don’t build boats, nor do they work wood, make metal or carve stone… sir.”

Rhys laughed; the younger man’s impersonation of his very earnest female assistant, Yoshi Umeki, was humorously accurate. And, of course, what he said was also true. The “natives” of Bog did none of those things, which posed the question of whether they were “natives” at all in the anthropological sense. There was nothing like alien/human contact to blur the lines between man and intelligent animal. Rhys could recall particular humans whose behavior blurred the lines even further. It was that sticky question of sentience that Rhys Llewellyn had been brought to Bog to answer.

“Ah, Yoshi!” He looked up and saw the girl making her way toward them through the stacks of tarp-covered trading goods and camp supplies that sat upon what passed for terra firma in this neck of the swamp. She was pecking at a notepad with one finger and frowning earnestly over the results of her work. Seeing Rhys and Rick, she paused and waved, oblivious to the admiring glances of a handful of Tanaka engineers who’d gathered around the mobile cantina.

Rhys lengthened his stride and covered the distance between them to give the girl a hearty hug. “So, Yoshi—any candidates for sentience among our Bogies?”

“Well, there appear to be several at this location.” She consulted her notepad. “The top candidates are a bipedal, brachiating mammalian reminiscent of a lemur, a burrowing reptilian form not unlike an iguana, and an amphibian that builds mud lodges in the swamp.”

“Ah, now that sounds promising.”

“I’m glad you think so, Professor. Personally, I find it all rather depressing.”

The voice, sporting a decidedly British accent, came from over Rhys’s shoulder, making him turn. He found himself face to face with an inappropriately well-dressed man of perhaps middle age. He was average in height, bland in coloring, and wore an expression of annoyed boredom. “And you are?” Rhys asked.

Yoshi jumped into the conversation. “I’m sorry, sir—I mean, Rhys. This is Raymond Godwin. From, um, Acquisitions. ”

Godwin extended his hand in Rhys’s direction, his eyes sweeping the younger man with urbane horror before lingering pointedly on his McCrae tartan kilt. “Director of acquisitions, this sector.” His upper lip twitched minutely.

Rhys, suddenly conscious of how itchy the woolen kilt was in the marsh’s thick sauna of an atmosphere, tried to make his smile sincere. “Rhys Llewellyn, acting Director of Trade and Cultural directions. Exactly what is it you hope to acquire, Mr. Godwin?”

“Mineral rights to this entire planet. And first shot at its other resources.”

Rhys frowned, trying not to twitch under the combined attack of wool, perspiration, and sudden unreasoning dislike. “I don’t understand…”

“The advance reports on Bog came into Corporate Acquisitions just over a week ago. I was immediately dispatched to make known to the powers that be that Tanaka Corporation wishes to possess mineral rights on Bog.”

“Did acquisitions also receive the advance reports on the native life-forms?”

Godwin nodded. “No signs of civilization.” The idea obviously delighted him.

“No sign of civilization as we know it,” Rhys cautioned. “Any of the creatures on Bog might be sentient.”

Godwin shrugged. “Fine. You find the sentients, I’ll negotiate for mineral rights.”

Oh, so simple. “Have you ever done anything like this before?” Rhys asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

“Dr. Llewellyn, acquisitions is my career. Of course, I’ve done this before.”

“What I meant, Mr. Godwin, is have you ever pursued an acquisition this early on—before a trade partner’s even been identified? Before a language has even been determined in which the parties can negotiate?”

“No. But you’re the expert in that department, Dr. Llewellyn. I’m counting on you to find the trade partners and their language.” He smiled. “After all, that’s what Tanaka pays you for, is it not?”

Rhys glanced sideways at Yoshi, whose expression, for once in her life, was blank. “It is. I’m merely surprised that the company is acting so precipitously.”

Godwin shrugged. “Bog is a mineralogically wealthy, if miserable, planet. We surely don’t want that wealth falling into someone else’s pockets… Bristol-Benz, for example.” He favored Rhys with a lopsided smile. “Frankly, I’m surprised Vladimir Zarber isn’t here already, breathing down your neck.”

At the mention of his arch-rival, Rhys grimaced. “Like you, Vladimir Zarber is used to working more… established prospects.”

“Well, Professor, I’m told that establishing prospects is your forte. I’m looking forward to seeing you in action.” He glanced about at the pallets of goods. “Now, I see you have a variety of merchandise. How do you plan to determine to whom it should be offered?”

“Shotgun, Mr. Godwin. We open up our little marketplace and see who shows up to shop.”

“And how long do you expect this process to take?”

Rhys smiled. “Why there’s no telling about that. Could take days… months…”

“Years,” murmured Yoshi.

Godwin threw her a subtly horrified glance. “You’d willingly spend that much time to determine sentience? Months in this godforsaken cow wallow?”

Yoshi’s mouth twitched. “Or years,” she repeated.

“That’s ridiculous. Tanaka doesn’t have that kind of time to invest in such a pursuit.”

“You’re always free to leave,” Rhys told him. “We’d gladly contact you when and if we had something positive to report.”