Quozl by Alan Dean Foster
“Where did you get these and what are they?”
“Human food.” Runs did not answer the first half of the question.
It was a feeble attempt at delay. “Which you found in your travels, I suppose?” Runs did not reply. If they would deal in their own assumptions he might yet be saved.
One did not become a Burrow Master by proceeding on assumptions. “We have run some preliminary correlations with the surface study section.” He carefully placed the bags of potato chips and cheezos to one side. “It is just possible that such perishables might remain undisturbed on the surface long enough for you to find them untouched.” He displayed a cluster of globular fruits attached to a complex set of stems.
“These, however, were found unprotected by artificial vacuum. Through exhaustive study of Shirazian lifeforms we are familiar with these. I am told they are called grapes. Our specialists assure me that if anything like this was to be left exposed on the surface for more than a few moments the local fauna would rapidly consume it. Yet these are untouched.” He placed the grapes alongside the three bags of junk food.
“Each of these flexible containers is stained with oils acquired from recent contact with human skin. Are you going to ask us to believe that you simply wandered into an unoccupied native camp and helped yourself? You have been careful, but everything you were wearing at the time of your apprehension has been subjected to the most intense scrutiny. Similar oils were found on the straps of your shoulder pack. These were compared chemically to the oils on the packaging. They match.
“From this we must infer that you have had a personal encounter with humans. I would give away all that I possess including my life to be told this is not so.” Still Runs held his peace, forcing the Burrow Master to proceed to the inevitable. “You may tell us the truth now, for what that may be worth to you. If we doubt, you will be subjected to encouraging varieties of sedation.”
That was it, then, Runs knew. If they didn’t believe him they would inject him with drugs under whose influence he would tell all. By doing so voluntarily now he might retain a minimal amount of status. Self-consciously he adjusted his attire. It would not do to look bad while confessing.
“There were two humans involved.”
“Only two?” inquired another Burrow Master quickly.
“Only two. Both young adults, male and female siblings.”
“Two young adults traveling by themselves so near our valley?”
Runs acted to defuse their skepticism. “They do not travel alone, and they have come nowhere near the colony site. I meet with them three valleys to the east. I can show you the place on a surface map.
“There is one native family, two parents and these two offspring, who,” he struggled to translate a unique human concept, there being no Quozl word for “vacation,” “regularly visit this region in the warm season for an annual meditation time. The same four come every cycle. The same four, and no others.”
“How can you be certain of that?” asked someone Runs did not know.
“Because I am assured of it by my human friend Chad.”
“And you believe him?” inquired another.
“Through four cycles of contact I have had no reason to doubt anything he has told me, so I see no reason to doubt this.”
“You have then engaged in contact for four cycles?”
“Longer than that.” Why hold anything back now? Runs asked himself. “Chad and I first met when we were both juveniles. That was ten cycles ago.”
“Yes, that incident is recorded. Surveillance on you should never have been relaxed, but you gave every indication of having been healed. That mistake cannot be rectified. See what the cost has been!”
“You are all so afraid.” Runs kept his head up. They could not think less of him no matter how he acted now.
Someone else he didn’t recognize spoke, ignoring the challenge implicit in his posture.
“So you have had annual contact with two humans via your own illegal exit—which of course has been permanently sealed—for four cycles?”
“I was meditating on the surface instead of in chambers.”
“Your comparison fails. What have you and your humans talked of?”
Runs saw that the speaker held high status with the surface studies section. She was leaning forward intently, both ears pointed straight at Runs.
“What do they know of the colony?”
“Very little. They know of its existence and that it is home to more than one Quozl. They know we live underground but not where.”
“It is enough,” mumbled another representative of the scientific community. “Since first we settled on Shiraz the natives have made many advances. If they know we are in this vicinity they now possess instruments capable of locating us.”
“No,” a colleague objected politely. “We can build devices which will fool their detection equipment.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Runs spoke hastily. Let them think him lacking in the social graces. They could not think worse of him than they did already. “Both young humans are sympathetic as well as intelligent. My relationship with the young male in particular is very close. I have spoken often of the need for maintaining secrecy about our existence here and they concur. They will not speak of us to anyone else. In that I am confident.”
“Well, then,” declared the Master of Burrow Two, “we can all relax, can’t we? If the renegade Runs-red-Talking is confident, what have we to worry about?”
“Nothing is certain,” Runs countered.
“Do not quote the Samizene to me, you pouchless worm!” The Burrow Master half rose in her seat. Taking note of the aghast expressions on her colleagues’ faces she slowly sat back down. “I apologize. Forgive me my outburst. I am ashamed.”
It was not her feelings she was ashamed for, of course. Everyone else in the room harbored similar feelings toward Runs-red-Talking. But she had spoken violently, had let the primitive Quozl within take momentary control. When proceedings resumed, the atmosphere in the room was more solemn than ever.
“I can only say,” Runs told them, “that my friend Chad has revealed nothing of our existence in the four cycles I have spoken with him. His parents do not know, nor do his friends, much less the authorities.”
One of the other Burrow Masters commented emotionlessly. “If that is truth, then could we not ensure our future safety by eliminating these only two humans who are aware of us.”
The highest-ranking philosopher present spoke quickly, preempting Runs’s ready reply. Runs had previously considered the same argument, but it was better to have one of his peers deal with it instead.
“Morality aside,” the Elder Quozl said firmly into the attentive silence, “we would be murdering two intelligent, warm-blooded beings who have done us no harm. They are guilty of nothing. Potential for damage is insufficient reason for killing. Were they to disappear they would surely be sought after by their parents. This is an abomination that cannot seriously be considered.”
“Their sire pilots aircraft. He would surely be missed,” Runs added. “The location of their meditation site is well known to friends and relations.”
“I would consider it nonetheless.” Burrow Master Leader spoke for the first time. “If we could be certain beforehand of complete success. But as our insane citizen so astutely reminds us, nothing is certain. Against that we have his insistence that these two young natives will not speak of us to others of their kind. Consider also: if we somehow succeeded in carrying out their elimination and it was discovered by the natives that we had committed such a deed, how would they react? Among themselves they sometimes tolerate murder, but I do not think they would react favorably to the knowledge that we had done so. I firmly believe that under such circumstances we could never make peace with them.” He gazed down at Runs.
“What will happen if you never meet with these two humans again? Will they grow discouraged and forget you?”
“They might. They may also try to find
Burrow Master Leader picked at something in his fur. “I was afraid you would say that. Humans are curious. Their persistence is still a matter of some debate. Regardless, we must deal with the fact that there are two of them who know of the colony’s existence. I wonder how long they will refrain from telling others what they know without you to constantly remind them of the need for continued silence?”
“Are you suggesting, I ask this with utmost respect,” said one of the other Burrow Masters, “that we permit this contact to continue?”
“While we decide how to deal with it, yes. Make no mistake: I disapprove of what has occurred as strenuously as anyone. But it has happened. That is fact. We must cope with the consequences. Wishes are fulfilled only during meditation. This is reality. It is a critical moment in our time on Shiraz and we must deal with it through reason, not desire.” He looked back at the center of the room and said, utterly unexpectedly, “While we do that, you may leave.”
Runs-red-Talking blinked. “Leave? Just—leave, Honored Elder?”
“Return to your work. Engage in some true meditating, at which you are sadly deficient. I do not need to speak of what will happen to you if you attempt to reach the surface.”
The disbelieving Runs sat a moment longer, wondering if he ought to compose a speech of thankfulness. Then he realized he was not being exonerated, only excused until such time as final decisions were made. In some respects that was harder for him to deal with than an actual sentence. Possibly, he thought as he rose to depart, this was to be part of his punishment, leaving him to go on living as normally as possible knowing all the while that at any time his life might be forfeit.
But the Burrow Master Leader had talked of letting him continue contact. Could he live on hope if nothing else?
As he rose, the Elders and Burrow Masters and representatives of the scientific staff continued to argue among themselves. He was ignored completely, a sure sign of dismissal. Dismissed to return to work, to friends, to coupling and meditation. He departed in a daze.
Of his earlier escort there was no sign, but he did not delude himself. Dismissed he’d been, but hardly forgotten. He knew he was being watched. Let him stray however honestly near a ventilation shaft and his perilous freedom would come to a rapid end.
Humans would have treated one of their own who’d done such a thing very differently. They were never able to live up to their own ideals. A vast gap existed in human civilization between what they believed and how they acted. It was a gap that Quozl could help fill, if someday that was permitted.
Human history suggested that they tended to exterminate their own best thinkers. It was as if they could not stand the beauty inherent in their own thoughts. Compared to the average human, Runs-red-Talking was stable.
His hopes were certainly premature. The Council might still opt to find a mechanism whereby they could justify killing him and his human friends. He prayed for the Burrow Masters and the Elders, with whom any final decision would rest, to spend much time in meditation.
The rest of the day he tried to relax by viewing the most depraved, violent recordings he could obtain from the central library. Only afterward did he feel calm enough to return to his assigned work. Sensing that something was different his friends eyed him curiously, but asked no questions. If he wished to impart information he would do so freely. None would be impolite enough to force inquiry. He might be acting the way he was for personal reasons, in which case the questioner would find himself embarrassed by persistence.
Surely nothing would be done without him first being informed of what had been decided, he thought. He was too central to the matter. But no contact came the following day, nor the next, or the one after. Life went on shrouded in a fog of uncertainty.
So much time passed that he was actually surprised when the summons finally came: a request slotted indifferently atop his morning schedule. No guards came to escort him. They weren’t needed. He went quietly and of his own volition though he knew he might be going to his death. That was to be expected. Had he tried to run or hide he would have shamed those who had requested his presence, and though they might be his executioners he could not do such a thing. It would cost him status. Different he might be from those who sat in judgment of his actions, but he was still Quozl.
There were fewer in the room this time and their composition had changed: only three Burrow Masters and greater representation from the scientific community. It puzzled him but he had no time to ponder it. The change could be either to his benefit or detriment. Scientists would not react as emotionally as administrators, but neither would they exhibit any sympathy on the personal level. They were permanently outside his Sama. There were also two philosophers present instead of one: To plead tradition, or to justify his execution?
As he squatted on the central mat he tried to divine something of their intentions by studying individual postures. The atmosphere seemed less hostile. Or was that only wishful thinking on his part?
The senior member of the surface study team spoke first. That indicated that the scientific staff was in charge of this meeting, not the administrators. It did not make him feel much better.
“By all rights and laws you should be excised from the community,” she began. Runs-red-Talking thought he had composed himself but at her words a chill still rattled his spine. Her tone was as black as the inside of her pouch. “However, the situation is akin to a complex molecule. Remove one part and the entire structure collapses.
“If you were removed you would be missed by your human contacts. If they are removed they will be missed by their parents. If the parents are removed they will be missed by their friends. And so on unto cataclysm.” She bent both ears to the sides, one long finger tracing a thin spiral shaved into her left forearm.
“The inescapable result is that if we break any link in this chain of awkwardness you have forged, we may draw more attention to this region than we dare risk. Then again we might not, but we have no reliable scientific model on which to base predictions. The alternative to breaking the chain is to keep it as short as possible. That means you, unfortunately, and your two young human friends.
“I wish only that we could peer into their minds and hearts to learn if they truly mean to guard the secret of our presence.”
It didn’t take Runs long to digest this declamation. What the senior was saying, basically, was that they all hated him for what he’d done, they’d much rather see him dead, but that they risked cutting their own throats were they to do so. Therefore, not only was he going to be spared excision, so were Chad and Mindy. And perhaps even more than that. He remembered the promising if reluctant words of the Burrow Master Leader.
He spent several minutes apologizing elaborately, several more humbly requesting permission to speak. “They will say nothing of us to any other humans. I am certain of it. I would wager my life on it.”
“You already have,” said the senior scientist. “You have not yet won, neither have you lost. Your wager hangs perpetually in the balance, defying gravity and reason. A puff of indecision either way could topple you.”
“I have known the young male for more than four cycles. The elder female sibling I do not know as well but she is eager and insistent.”
“It matters not,” said one of the Burrow Masters. “The philosophers and the logicians have made the choice for us. Personally I disagree, but I bow to the intellect of those who know better.” That was what the Burrow Master’s words said. His posture suggested that he felt quite differently. Runs would have to be very careful. He had made enemies.
But they can’t do anything to me, he thought with wild excitement! I am the first link in the chain they dare not break.
“What, gracious peers, am I to do?”
“You will go back.” Everyone turned to another member of the surface study team. “You will maintain your two contacts. You will not expand
“The colony has acquired a disease which cannot be cured but which hopefully can be contained. You will at every opportunity reinforce and re-emphasize the need for strictest secrecy, reminding these young humans that our very survival here is in their hands.”
“How shall I respond when they question me about us?”
A younger member of the scientific staff rose in his chair. “Tell them as little as possible about our level of technology and the size of the colony. As to our art and social system you may answer freely. Tell them nothing of our military posture.”
“We don’t have a military posture.”
“They may infer otherwise. Correct this if necessary. We are peace-loving, harmless, exhausted refugees who wish only to live out our lives in tranquil isolation. We are incapable of fighting.”
“Your pardon, Honored Elders and peers, but I do not understand.”
“It is not for you to understand,” said the Master of Burrow Six. “It is for you to comply.”
“No, he will react more effectively if it is clear to him.” This from the senior member of the study team. She looked over at Runs. “We must make contact with the natives of Shiraz sooner or later. History, reason, logic dictated that it be later. Runs-red-Talking decided it should be otherwise.” He looked properly ashamed.
“As we cannot go back and alter what has occurred, we must try to make the best of it that we can. You have made contact with two young humans. Very well. If they keep our secret the damage is minimal. It may be that we will now be forced to reveal ourselves sooner than planned. In that event it would be useful to have two humans available to act as intermediaries. That they are not trained in such matters is evident from the information you have supplied. That they might be trained in such matters is a thought worth meditating on.