Anne McCaffrey - Decision at Doona

Hrrula fortunately stopped at the summit, looking questioningly at Reeve. Ken wondered if the Hrrubans might possibly be telepaths and that Hrrula had caught his thought.

“Our colony is down there, across the river,” Reeve began briskly to cover his momentary embarrassment. He pointed, watching with fascination as the Hrruban's eyes narrowed to slits. The houses in their grove, similar to the Hrrubans' village, were invisible through the trees.

What was obvious from this angle was the plowed field in which various forms of Terran grains were already planted. Beyond that were the fenced pastures awaiting the arrival of the precious farm livestock on the colony ship.

The Hrruban gazed out over the valley, his sensitive ears twitching. He turned his head, its dark mane cropped close to the skull in the manner in which most of the natives Reeve assumed to be young wore their mane hair. Hrrula's yellow-green eyes glowed with the first trace of excitement or interest Reeve had detected. All the Hrrubans seemed possessed of superb dignity and poise Reeve hoped he had been able to mask his own nervousness. A guy's sweat got sour with nervousness. The Hrrubans' noses twitched so frequently, they must be sensitive to odor.

Hrrula now nodded at Ken and the two resumed their trek.

Reeve was not sure whether he was pleased or annoyed at Hrrula's walking language exercise. The native stopped to name each new bush or tree they passed. He would frequently point to one he had already identified, look questioningly at Reeve to see if he remembered. It kept Reeve alert, not alone trying to retain the mass of new information but looking ahead in order to see which specimen might be indicated next. But he remembered to get all of it down on tape.

That Hrrula insisted Reeve learn the native name for everything caused a complex reaction in the Terran. Dautrish, the colony's botanist, had already lovingly catalogued each new species. Well, maybe Dautrish could sell that catalogue for its esoteric value. Reeve's respect for the Hrrubans, however, increased with this insistence on the use of their own words. Of course, there wouldn't be time to learn much Hrruban but the practice might just help Reeve wangle a transfer to Alreldep. Ken shook his head, those rolled 'r's were hell to get and he was sure this was a pitched language as well, like the old oriental dialects. One misplaced inflection and you had delivered a gross insult back to the first generation.

There, again, was incongruity. A pitched language is the mark of a very old civilization, with plenty of time for shadings and nuances in expression of ideas.

Hrrula had stopped by one of the ironwood trees on which grew an immense parasitic vine. Reeve recognized it immediately as the one that had given Dautrish violent cramps from a simple smear-sampling.

“Rroamal. Rroamal,” Hrrula said, very soberly shaking his head from side to side. He made as if to touch it and drew his hand back quickly, shaking it as if it hurt.

“Bad? Rooamall,” Reeve tried, then grabbed his belly as if he had a case of Dautrish's cramps. He added a realistic groan.

Hrrula's mouth widened and he nodded appreciatively.

Another item of information to add to my list, Ken thought. Our body chemistries react similarly to at least one common irritant.

Hrrula held up one digit and repeated the word for the vine carefully. Inwardly Ken groaned again and motioned Hrrula to repeat the word once more. The native did and Ken made another attempt to get what he thought he heard as a rising inflection on the second vowel sound. Hrrula, listening attentively, approved the result and they moved on. In his mind, Ken kept practicing the sound, trying to impress on himself the correct inflection.

By the time they reached the river and the plastic skiff moored there, he had a variety of useful words, three with similar sounds but different inflections. With what he had on the recorder, this was a good start. Hu Shih ought to enjoy it, Reeve thought

Hrrula knelt by the boat, oblivious both to Reeve and the sudden appearance of Gaynor and McKee on the opposite shore. Hrrula carefully got into the skiff, looked at the far side, felt on the coamings and then spread his hands wide, questioningly.

He is used to a paddle, Reeve decided, smiling to think how surprised Hrrula would be when he started the tiny motor. The river current was too swift for a paddle-propelled vehicle.

Instead of a surprised or fearful reaction, Hrrula nodded approvingly as the engine took hold and the skiff cut the current efficiently. Hrrula hunkered down quietly, curling his tail around his toes, folding his arms around his knees, facing the Common.

Reeve threw the mooring line to Gaynor and stepped off quickly.

“By God, they are cats,” Gaynor said. “And he stinks!”

“Watch it,” Reeve said, keeping his face and voice pleasant. He turned a bit so that he could dig Gaynor warningly in the ribs. “This is Hrrula who seems to have some position in the village and was sent with me by the chief, Hrrestan.”

Hrrula debarked and stood, completely at ease, his eyes on the trio. Although Hrrula now had a clear view of the buildings, the experimental greenhouses, the park-like Common, he displayed no overt interest.

The guy's got innate manners, Reeve found himself thinking.

“Hrrula, this is Gaynor,” Reeve said slowly, pointing to Sam. “Sam, this is Hrrula. They greet by touching palms, extend yours palm down.”

«That character's got claws,» Gaynor said, returning the greeting. «I could get used to that – but not the stench.»

“If he likes you, I gather he keeps his claws sheathed,” Reeve remarked drily.

“Yeah, but when does he turn off that stink?” And Sam turned his head away to sneeze lustily.

McKee hastily stepped forward and touched palms with Hrrula.

“I've got a recorder full of their sounds for us to parse,” Reeve told his colleagues, “plus a walking language lesson on the dangerous flora of the planet.”

Is that why this Ha-rula came?" demanded Gaynor, stumbling over the rolled 'r'. Before Reeve could answer, Sam convulsed again into multiple sneezes.

“I couldn't prevent him from coming if we're keeping the friendly image intact,” Ken replied.

''How long's he staying?"

“Beats me.”

McKee grinned at Hrrula. “Well, let's get conjugating or declining or whatever is necessary to purr.”

"Sounds more like growls to me," Gaynor remarked. ''I'm no linguist. I'll go feather my bed," and he jerked his forefinger under his nose to prevent another of his body-jolting sneezes. "You'd be smarter to come along, Macy. We haven't got that much time here, you know."

McKee waved him to go on and turned to accompany Reeve and Hrrula to the mess hall.

Late that night, when Ken Reeve decided to take a break from his language dissection and endless playback of the recorder, he found Lawrence holding the floor in the mess hall.

“These Hrrubans are civilized,” Lee was insisting vehemently, his argument directed at a glowering Sam Gaynor. “And I don't mean stand-erect, thumb-opposed civilized. I mean, a mannered sophistication. You saw him at dinner; he knew the purpose of utensils and used his own knife to cut meat”

“He ought to. It was sharper,” Gaynor retorted.

“Speaking of knives,” McKee put in, “notice the work-manship on the handle of his knife? I wonder where he got the stones; that pink-purple one is a beauty. And I've seen nothing like it around here.”

“Must come from another section of the planet. They are nomads,” Abe Dautrish said thoughtfully.

“I wouldn't ask to see that private knife, not just yet,” Lawrence cautioned McKee.

“And let's be cautious in the gemstone field,” Reeve suggested as he poured himself coffee. “Some early tribes attach special significance to stones and metals belonging to their gods.”