The Companions (12 page)

Remembering Scarlet, I said, “If we are not, then we cannot say the dog is ours. We…love one another, and sometimes dogs adopt children, as if we were puppies. Or sisters, maybe. Of course, on Mars, I only had pretend dogs…”

“And then, in time, you met real dogs.”

“Yes. I met real dogs I could help and do things for. It
made me feel…more…complete.” I struggled, trying to find the right words, the truthful words. “I loved them because they weren't like people. They were different. We need things to be different. If everyone is alike, it narrows our world down, it makes us narrow, too. It makes us think human things are the only things, human ideas the only ideas…”

“But I have heard it said that humans believe each human is uniquely different, is this not true?”

“It's true that it's said,” I replied. “But it's actually true only in the way any two leaves on a huge tree are different. Some live high, some low, some are healthy, some aren't, some drop before their time, others linger on the tree, but they're all the same kind of leaf. Difference is more a label than a fact.”

“You feel you are all alike?”

She asked the question with a peculiar intentness, so I forced myself to concentrate on an answer. “We have different ideas,” I said at last. “There's a man named Evolun Moore who is the head of iggy-huffo—do you know about iggy-huffo?” She nodded, and I went on. “He sees humankind as the God-chosen occupiers of the galaxy. He preaches this to people who have difficult and unpleasant lives, and it makes them feel good, so they follow him. He insists they obey him, and that makes them feel good, since it gives them a…a position, a place, a particular status. It means he's paying attention to them. They'll lie down and let him walk on them if he wants to, because he's important and if they follow him, they're important, too…”

“But not all of you follow him,” she said, insistently.

“No. Not all of us.”

“Then you differ.”

I considered this. “As I said, in ideas. We struggle with identity. If we aren't worrying about who we are, we are busy telling everyone what we aren't. We fret about our mortality. If we aren't grieving over the fact we're eventually going to die, we're courting death because life doesn't please us. I have
heard people say that if it weren't for the afterlife promised by their particular religion, they couldn't bear to go on living.”

“That must be confusing,” whispered the Phaina. “If they can't bear life, why would they want more of it?”

“It is confusing, yes. Mankind pretends to love nature but destroys it wherever he goes. We claim that life is sacred, but we leave it no room in which to exist. Not long ago, even when we said every human is unique and holy, our children were taught which types of unique and holy humans were the best and which they should hate.”

“Not long ago?”

“Before we met outsiders, people not of Earth. Now we don't learn to hate humans anymore.”

“Just outsiders, eh?” She laughed, a truly amused sound. “You. How are you different from most?”

“I'm an arkist. We're suspicious of following anyone. We like to figure things out for ourselves. When we look at ourselves in the mirror, we know we aren't the wisest or best creatures in the galaxy; we also know we aren't nothing. When we consider that we will die, we struggle to do something with the time we have. We don't confuse heedless and selfish proliferation of our race with reverence for life. We know that other creatures are sometimes better than we are. We try to learn from them.”

She nodded to herself, eyelids flickering. “We find you puzzling, you humans, for we have never seen a race quite like yours. Dogs, now, are a different thing. We do know of a race that much resembles this representation of dogs.”

“Really! Where are they? What are they called?”

“They are called the Simusi, and they live a great distance from here, near my Guardian House…”

Her voice trailed off, and I actually blurted, without thinking, “What's a Guardian House?”

Her upper arms rippled. “Certain areas of the galaxy are…protected by the elder races from incursion by marauders or vandals. Those of us who guarantee the defense of such places—the Phain, the Yizzang, among others—
maintain Guardian Houses in the neutral zones between these areas and occupied space. Most Phaina grown past childhood are assigned to spend one time out of ten at a Guardian House.”

She hummed again, a very thoughtful, quiet hum, then asked me a whole string of questions. What were my favorite animals next to dogs? What had the arkists done to save elephants? Whales? Foxes? I probably said a good deal more than I needed to, for she kept finding things to ask. When she ran out of questions, which she did, eventually, she asked if I would like to see Phainic animals, and I said yes, I would very much enjoy that. She set a date in five days' time.

I, meantime, went back to the garden, uprooted the rest of the Earth plants that no one ever looked at, and planted the seeds that had been identified for me. They grew with great vigor, breaking the surface of the soil overnight and springing upward over a foot a day thereafter. As I was going into the garden a couple of days later, just to see how much they had grown, I noticed a Phaina standing at the gate, looking in and immediately decided she was “my” Phaina, coming to see how the garden grew. I went to the gate, but by the time I reached it, she had gone.

She did, however, come for me on the appointed day, and I went with her to meet the animals of their world. Since she had no “name” as we think of names, I addressed her as Sannasee, which means honored female, and she called me the same—very much nicer than vermin, acceptable or otherwise. We walked down the street, around a few curves, and entered a park. It may have been the same park as the one across the road from the embassy, or perhaps just a stretch of natural forest, which was what it looked like.

“You spoke of your relationship with dogs,” she said. “These coming to meet us are the same friends for us as dogs for you.”

Through the woods came a monstrous furry mass, a great fanged and clawed six-legged beast which reared upon its
hind legs and extended the other two pair as if in greeting, and whuffed at us. He was much larger than any dog I had ever seen, about the size of a big bear, but he smelled doggish, so I greeted him as I would have one of the sanctuary dogs, using my sparse Phain-ildar vocabulary to say something like, “I greet you and wish you well.”

Beside me, the Phaina stirred. I thought perhaps she was going to correct my accent or tell me it was inappropriate to speak to animals, but she didn't. Instead, she also greeted the creature, using almost the same words I had used. The beast, which she told me was a P'narg, purred at her, then at me—a noise like a large engine turning over—turned around and lumbered off in a six-legged waddle, while from another direction a collection of brightly colored scaled, winged creatures descended upon us. These were only the first of many encounters during the afternoon. At first slightly apprehensive, I grew steadily more comfortable with the creatures, who seemed to have no fear of me or of the Phaina, and to be perfectly at home with our two species.

The Phaina, several of whom I saw moving among the animals, were equally at ease. Through the 'pute, I asked my guide if this was a special place or if the animals lived here naturally. She said it was just a part of nature, that all Phain dwelling places (which is how the 'pute translated it) had nature flowing through and around them. I asked how many centuries it had taken to establish this balance, and the Phaina, after a moment's hesitation, said, “On this world, after many maraquar, it is still being established. You are perceptive to realize it is purposeful. We remain uncertain how many Phain may be allowed to be born on this world to live in harmony. It is possible we are already too many, and some of us must make the difficult choice.”

“To leave,” I said sadly, even then reluctant to leave their world myself. “That would be very difficult.”

“Or to die,” she said, “which is often less so.”

I was shocked, though I hoped I did not show it, and I re
membered the remark. On the way home, staring at my feet in order not to step on the creepers, I realized that the street wasn't paved with stones. The stones were of an exposed layer of lava that had cracked over time. They had, so to speak, grown there. When I got back to the embassy, I looked up
maraquar.
It means something like era, or age, anything from a few dozen years to a few hundred thousand.

The Phaina's use of the word
harmony
had inspired me to ask about music, and she invited me to hear some. From that time on, though I continued to work in the embassy garden, I spent a great deal of time with the Sannasee, listening to music, talking with animals, learning about trees, and watching processions and rituals. It was always the Phain who took part in them.

“Would it be impolite to ask what they are doing?” I asked one day while we were watching several groups of Phain make their cadenced and chanted way along a road.

“They are praying,” she said.

Without thinking, I asked, “What do they pray for?”

“Since your people were allowed to come here, they pray for you,” she said. “For your people.”

I could not think of anything to ask at that point that would not have seemed rude, but her words joggled something in my mind, and it occurred to me in that instant that in all our walking about, I had not seen a single wall that shut off one open space from the general space. There were no walled gardens in any place I had gone except the embassy itself. When I returned to the embassy, I went to the ambassador's office and asked to speak to him privately for a few moments. I felt strongly that I must do so, though without any clear idea why. I told him the Phaina who had met with me had showed me their town or city or settlement, that I thought the exhibit was purposeful, not casual. I said she had identified plants for me. I said she had come to the gate to observe what was happening to the garden. I said, “Ambassador, I urge you to get a permanent staff member in here
who is interested in plants and animals, and do everything you can to make the space around this embassy bloom. Also, you should tear down the garden wall.”

He smiled at me in a condescending way, and with a flash of insight I realized Paul had spoken to him about me, as Paul often did, explaining that I was useful though not very bright.

“Dear Madam Delis,” he murmured in a kindly, avuncular voice, “when I was sent here, I was given priorities by Worldkeeper, oh, such a great list of priorities that it would bore you to even look at it! I'm terribly sorry, but gardening is not even on the list. And as for the wall, we have no authority to tear it down. It was built for security reasons.”

“I apologize for wasting your time,” I said stiffly. “I had assumed you wanted the Phain to look on us with respect.”

“Respect,” he said. “Respect? Are you saying that they will not respect us unless we become diggers in the soil? Unless we open ourselves to attack?” He laughed, a complacent, avuncular laugh.

Despite his manner, I answered his question. “It seems extremely likely that their respect turns on exactly such a decision.” I honestly wasn't sure, though I would have bet my own life on it.

He smiled at me kindly, patted my hand, and bid me have a nice day.

It was a nice day, as were those that followed. I saw the Phaina several times more. On the day before we were to leave, I thanked her for her time and courtesies.

“It is the least we can do,” she said. I thought she sounded quite sad about it. “A way of atonement to one with exceptional dalongar.”

I didn't know the word, but I let it go by. “You have nothing to atone to me for. You have been kindness itself.”

She started to say something, then turned away, leaving me no more confused than I had been most of the time on her planet. That time on Tsaliphor was the best and loveliest
time I have ever had, anywhere, and that world is the only planet I had visited that I wept to leave.

Several months later, back on Earth, Paul and his coworkers finished their work on the Phain language and issued a report that included, in an appendix at the back, the statement that the Phain language was replete with words and phrases referring to “dalongar” of persons, situations, places. Some of these words and phrases were applied to the names of worlds and people, identifying degrees of “dalongar.”

I remembered the Phaina using the word, so I looked it up in the Phain-ildar glossary. The word dalongar was sometimes used as a prefix or word root, signifying places or peoples with whom the Phain would trade. Paul had translated
dalongar
as
protocol
or
custom,
which made no sense to me at all. At a meeting of arkists, after the report was issued, a man associated with the diplomatic corps told me I had been among the last human persons to be allowed on Tsaliphor. The Phain had severed any formal relationships with Earth as well as any Earth-settled planet because of human “discourtesy.” After hearing that, I stayed awake night after night, wondering what I'd done wrong while I was there, talked to the wrong animal or planted the wrong thing in the wrong place. It seemed to me that I'd walked on eggs to be polite.

I confessed to Gainor that the whole thing might be my fault. Gainor, however, had recently spoken to his friend, the Tharstian who kept trying to convert him to Mahalusianism. (I should remark here that Tharstians were not quite an old race, but getting there, though they still went about meddling in others' affairs and making gratuitous suggestions as to how we might improve ourselves.) The Tharstian had friends among the Phain and was told by some of them that the Earthian ambassador had been warned about his discourtesy, and the ambassador hadn't paid attention.