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babies here." He looked thoughtful. "Usually takes the kids about four years to get the
humanoid body pattern down pat. That's why the youngsters and adolescents here look
just like miniature versions of the adults."
"The young of many species are like that," Simna argued weakly.
"Are you trying to tell us that the Xicans are shape-changers?" Cedric Carnavon stared at
the old man. By now Halstead had joined them. He stood behind Prentice, listening
intently, the sweat pouring down his face.
Old Cone didn't hesitate. "Not just the Pendju and Quwanga. Every soft-skinned, mobile
life form on Xica."
"There's no such thing as shape-changers," Prentice replied carefully. "It's a physical
impossibility."
Lejardin was murmuring to herself. "Nothing here is what it seems."
"Impossible, is it?" The old man was not chuckling now. His manner was somber and
disturbed. "Certain cephalo-pods on Earth possess pliant chromophores, epidermal cells
that allow them to radically adjust their skin color and sur-face pattern. Except for internal
organs and cartilaginous pseudo-skeletons, the solid parts of all the fauna on Xica I've
been able to study are comprised of thixotropophores. In other words, physiologically
they're quasi-thixotropic."
"What?" In such circumstances Lejardin turned instinctively to Simna, as did the others.
He replied carefully. "Thixotropy is a property possessed by certain solids that when
subjected to physical stress become liquid or gelatinous. When the stress is removed they
solidify again."
"Not bad, sonny-boy." The old man nodded appreciatively. "Excepting the hard-shelled
arthropods, most Xican animals have the ability to alter from one shape to another. It's an
instinctive, evolved metamorphosis. Carnivores can sprout longer legs, or bigger teeth, or
sharper claws. Herbivores respond by adopting a defensive shape radically different from
their usual inoffensive browsing forms."
Carnavon started. "The Puffball?"
Cone nodded. "Threaten it and it swells up, changes shape. The body hairs become poison-
filled spines that the animal is capable of firing at a predator. I suspect gas pressure builds
up in special sacs under the skin. Other apparently equally harmless critters have evolved
comparable defense mechanisms, some of 'em so exotic you wouldn't believe."
Prentice was not satisfied. "That doesn't explain the Pendju and the Quwanga."
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"No, it don't. See, they were so pitiful they never even evolved a decent defensive shape.
Being intelligent, they can control the process to a certain extent, but because they didn't
have a clue what to do, that ability didn't help them at all until I came along. I supplied
them with a humanoid model. At first they had to try to copy me. Then I made
modifications, gave them their distinctiveness, showed them how to customize differences
among individuals. You don't want to know what they really looked like."
That prompted Simna to peer past the gathering, into the native assemblage. "Anybody
seen Frank?" All responses were in the negative.
"He'll be all right," the old man assured them. "He got a glimpse of something he wasn't
meant to see. Under trying circumstances, too." He laughed uproariously.
"So every soft-skinned creature on Xica has two shapes," Simna concluded.
"That's it. Makes for tricky taxonomy, sonny."
Lejardin framed her question carefully. "If I asked a Pendju to show me its natural form,
would it do so?"
"Hard to say. I'm telling you, missy, you don't want to bother. They're much prettier to
look at as they are now. They think so, too. I think you'd have a tough time getting a
positive reply to that one. But far be it from me to try to stop you. The older they get, the
easier it is for them to maintain these shapes. They're very proud of their
accomplishments."
"Your accomplishments," Simna insisted glumly.
"Not me, sonny. Don't give the teacher all the credit. They're apt pupils."
"We've only your word for this." Prentice was diplomatic, but firm.
The old man shrugged. "Don't take my word for it. Ask the Xicans."
"What if you've ordered them to lie to us?"
He shook his head sadly. "I'm just a teacher here, not a god. They appreciate what I've
done for them, but they have minds of their own. Again I say, ask your captain." He
chuckled. "If you can find him."
More than their months of work among the Pendju had been rendered instantly invalid,
Prentice knew. The presence on Xica of this remarkable and eccentric old man meant that
the crew of the James Cook were not the first from Earth to set foot on the planet. It
seemed that honor, too, was to be denied them. Their triumphs and achievements were
shriveling before their eyes. The glory of discovery rightfully belonged to this half-mad old
man.
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Who would and could make the effort to travel, apparently alone, to a place as distant and
unexplored as Xica? Whatever else he was, this Old Cone character was no scientist. So
why, then, had he come, and how had he managed it? In secret, no less.
The tribes continued to celebrate, but by now several of the Pendju and Quwanga had
paused to turn in their direction. Prentice continued with his questioning despite a
growing unease, trying to keep himself between the old man and the cavorting natives to
prevent any signals from passing between them. Given his age and precarious mental
state, there was no telling what the oldster might do next.
If he had taught them how to fight and they had willingly complied, could he not also
instruct them to fall upon the visitors? There was no doubt in Prentice's mind that despite
the friendships they had cultivated with the likes of Mahd'ji and Silpa, the natives would
respond to any command Cone chose to give them. For the first time in a long while, he
was glad of the solid presence of the cutter-welder that was fastened to his belt.
Not that the old man was hostile. Gruff, certainly, and less than pleased by their presence, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]