Hal Clement: Cycle of Fire

Kruger saw the mangled plant leave his new acquaintance’s mouth after what seemed a long time and found himself wondering a little tensely what would happen next. He was not really afraid, since the native was so much smaller than he, but he was experienced — or openminded — enough to realize that size and potentiality for damage might not go quite hand in hand. He hoped, naturally, that some move would be made which he could interpret beyond doubt as a friendly one, but he could not, offhand, imagine what action could be so free of uncertainty. Dar Lang Ahn managed to find one, however.

With an effort that was obvious even to the human being and which nearly dropped the little messenger back into unconsciousness, he rose to his feet. Carefully, still keeping one eye on Kruger, he made his way out into the sunlight to a point some twenty yards from his protecting rock. Here he stopped for a moment and gathered strength, then bent over, wrenched another cactus free, sucked briefly at the oozing base to make sure it was the same sort as the one he had just used up, returned to the rock — and gave the plant to Kruger. The boy mentally took off his hat to a mind apparently quicker than his own, accepted the gift, and drank from it. Five minutes later the two were seated side by side trying to make sense out of each other’s sounds.

Each party, of course, had a few mental reservations about this developing friendship. Dar Lang Ahn could not forget the suspicion naturally engendered by his companion’s familiarity with lava-field vegetation; Kruger was trying to make fit together the other’s apparent ignorance of those same plants and what appeared to be an equally evident intelligence. It occurred to him that Dar was no more a native of this world than he himself, but he had seen the crash of the glider and spent some time examining the aircraft after the pilot had left it. It seemed beyond the pale of possibility that a visitor from another world would be traveling in such a conveyance; either he would be in his ship, or some auxiliary of it, or on foot like Kruger himself. There was a possibility on this line, though, at that. Perhaps this little manlike thing was a castaway like Kruger but had shown more ingenuity than the boy and managed to build the glider himself. That tied in with the speed of thought he — or she or it — had already shown, though it made Nils a trifle uncomfortable.

Human beings have a strong tendency to cling to whatever hypothesis they may evolve to explain some new situation. Hence, while the suggestion that Dar Lang Ahn was a member of a race foreign to this world and quicker-witted than his own hurt his pride, the notion stayed in Kruger’s mind — and grew, during the days that followed, to something like a certainty.

Dar had an advantage over his new acquaintance in this respect. His strongest prejudices were not those in favor of his own ideas but those the Teachers and their books had instilled into him. Neither had ever mentioned anything like Nils Kruger, so he was free to form idea after idea concerning the strange creature’s nature. He liked none of them. Therefore, he continued to think, while the strength flowed back into his muscles.

One thing was evident: this creature was intelligent and presumably had some natural means of communication. So far it had not shown evidence of possessing a voice, but that could easily be checked. Tentatively, Dar Lang Ahn spoke a few words to the larger being.

Kruger answered at once, producing a series of perfectly meaningless noises as far as Dar was concerned but at least showing that he did possess a language. This was one of the few experiences shared by the two which left them with the same impression; on this occasion they decided simultaneously that language lessons were in order and settled down to conduct them. It was too hot to travel, anyway, and Dar still needed to get some strength back.

The shadow of the rock ledge was growing narrower as the two suns separated — the near-eclipse had occurred during Dar’s wait for death — but it was still broad enough to shield both of them. Kruger settled down with his back against the ledge; Dar resumed his former position, using the pack for a pillow.

There are several ways to learn a language. Unfortunately, there was only one possible with the resources at hand and even for that the material was a trifle scanty. A lava field with an occasional cactus, a respectable number of shadows, and two suns shining on it furnishes demonstration material for very few nouns and practically no verbs. Plenty of adjectives may apply to it, but it is decidedly difficult to make clear just which one is being used at the moment.

Kruger thought of drawing pictures, but he had neither pencil nor paper and the sketches he made on the lava surface with a broken bit of rock didn’t look like much even to their author when he had finished. They certainly meant nothing to Dar.

Nevertheless a few sounds gradually acquired more or less the same meaning to both parties. To describe their exchange of ideas as a conversation would be rank deception, but ideas did get across. By the time the red sun had disappeared below the southeastern horizon it was mutually understood that they would proceed together to the edge of the lava field to find something more drinkable than cactus juice and more edible than the rather nauseating pulp of the plants.

Kruger was not too happy about this, as a matter of fact. In the months he had been on the planet he had walked some three thousand miles northward to get away from the periodically intolerable heat of the red sun, and in the last few hundred had realized that he was seeing progressively more of the blue one. The reason was obvious enough: the blue star was a “circumpolar” in the northern part of the northern hemisphere — or, as the Alphard ’s navigator would have to put it, its declination seen from this planet was at least several degrees north. The trouble was that Kruger had not the faintest idea of the motion of the planet relative to the blue star; he could not even guess whether it would produce a noticeable seasonal effect or not and if it did, how long the seasons would last.

He had been toying with the idea of heading southward again for several weeks before he had seen Dar’s glider in flight. That was the first intimation he had had, other than the rather doubtful cases of lights seen from space by the Alphard ’s observers, that there were people of any sort on the planet; he had set out in the direction the glider had been taking. It was sheer luck that he had been close enough to see Dar’s crash — or rather that the crash had occurred so close to the spot where Kruger had happened to be. He had followed the little pilot for several days; he had leaped the same crevasses as Dar had, taking an even deadlier risk with his greater weight and not-so-much-greater strength, but not daring to lose track of the being; and he had been shocked profoundly to discover his guide down and apparently helpless in the midst of the lava desert. He had hoped even then, somewhat illogically, that he could learn from the creature of some place to the south, out of the permanent glare of the blue sun, where he could find shelter and civilized company; after all, while the glider had been going north, it must have been coming from somewhere.

Still, if the pilot wanted to continue to the north there seemed nothing to do but string along. Presumably he was trying to reach a place where he would be comfortable; Kruger realized that he himself had no means of telling just what that would mean in terms of temperature, food, and water, but at least his companion did not enjoy the lava plain any better than a human being would. With that much in common the risk of staying with him seemed well worth taking.