The Ship Who Won (37 page)

"Lets chat."

A few hours later, Keffs door opened, and the brawn

emerged, yawning, wearing only uniform pants. Plenna,

wrapped in his bathrobe, followed him, trailing a lazy finger down his neck.

"Good morning, young lovers," Carialle said brightly.

"We have guests."

Red lights chased around die walls and formed an arrow

pointing down at the two globe-frogs huddled together in

the comer nearest the airlock corridor. Keff goggled.

"But how did they get past Plennas barrier? She told

me she warded the area. Any intrusion should have set off

an alarm."

"We're protected against magic only," Plenna said, eye-ing the marsh creatures with distaste. "Not vermin."

'They aren't vermin and they're aware you don't like

them," Carialle said indignantly. "We've been exchanging

compliments."

On her main screen she displayed an expanded image of

the small creatures staring at a strange-looking frog on the

wall.

'That's my computer-generated envoy," Carialle

explained. "Now, watch," The image made a gesture, to

which the native creatures responded with a similar movement. As the complexity and number of signs increased,

the frogs became excited, bumping into one another to

respond to their imaginary host.

Keff watched the data string, glancing once in a while at

the frogs.

"Monkey see monkey do," Keff said, shaking his head.

'They observed the Ozrans making signs and copied them.

This litde performance is without meaning."

"Beasts Blatisant," Carialle countered. Keff grimaced.

"Keff, I didn't make a subjective judgment on the

frequency and meaning of these symbols. Check ITs function log. Read the vocabulary list."

When Keff lifted his eyes from the small readout

screen, they were shining.

"Who'd have thought it?" he said. "Cari, all praise to

your sharp.wits and powers of observation."

Plennafrey had been listening carefully to the IT box's

translation of Carialles and Keffs conversation. She

pointed to the frogs.

"Do you mean they can talk?" she asked.

"More than that," Keff said. 'They may be the founders

of your civilization." Plennas jaw dropped open, and she

stared at the two amphibioids. "Your belt buckle-may I

borrow it?"

The belt flew out of Keffs room and smacked into

Plennas hands. She started to extend it to him, then with-drew it. "What for?" she asked.

'To see if they know what to do with it. Er, take it off the

belt. Its too heavy for them." Obligingly, Plenna detached

the buckle and handed it to him.

Very slowly, Keff walked to where the frogs stood. They

waited passively within their globes, kicking occasionally at

the water to maintain their positions and watching him

with their beady black eyes. Keffhunkered down and held

out the buckle.

Wearing a startled expression on its peaky face, the

larger frog met his eyes. Immediately, the case opened,

splitting into two halves, splashing water on the cabin floor,

and the frog stretched out for the power item. Its skinny

wrist terminated in a long, sensitively fingered hand which

outspread was as large as Plennafrey s. The ends of the digits slid into the five apertures. There was a nearly audible

click.

"It is connected to the Core of Ozran," Plennafrey said

softly.

The water that had been inside the plastic ball gathered

around the frogs body as if still held in place by the shell.

Thus sheltered, the amphibioid rose on surprisingly long,

skinny legs and made a tour of the cabin. Its small face was

alive with wonder. Keff directed it to the astrogation tank

showing the position of Ozran and its sun. The frog looked

intelligently into the three-dimensional star map, and studied the surrounding control panels and keyboards. Then it

returned to Keff.

"Help us," it signaled.

"You win, lady dear. Here're your Ancient Ones," Keff

said, turning to Plennafrey with a flourish. 'They were

among you all the time." The young magiwoman swallowed.

"I . . ." She seemed to have trouble getting the words

out. "I do not think that I can respect frogs."

Chaumel was more philosophical when confronted by

the facts.

"I refuse to be surprised," he said, shaking his head. "All

in the space of a day or so, my whole life is thrown into

confusion. The fur-faces turn out to be our long-lost brothers and we have cousins in plenty among the stars ready to

search us out. Some of them live inside boxes. Why should

we not discover that the Ancient Ones exist under our

noses in the swamps?"

'Try talking to one of them," Keff urged him. Doubt-fully, Chaumel looked at the three globe-frogs Keff and

Plenna had brought to his stronghold. They were rolling

around the great room, signing furiously to one another

over an artifact or a piece of furniture.

"Well..." Chaumel said, uneasily.

"Go on," Keff said. With a few waves of his hands, Keff

got their attention and signed to them to return to him.

Once or twice the "courtiers" turned all the way over,

trying to negotiate over the slick floor, but the biggest

maintained admirable control of his sphere.

After the initial attempts at communication, Keff had let

Carialles two subjects go, asking them to send back one of

their leaders. Within an hour, a larger frog speckled with

yellow to show its great age had come up the ramp, rolling

inside a battered case. A pair of smaller, younger frogs,

guards or attendants, hurtled up behind it. The first

amphibioid rolled directly over to Plenna and demanded

her belt buckle. For his imperious manner as well as his

great size, Keff and Carialle had dubbed him the Frog

Prince. From the two symbols with which he designated

his name, Keff decided he was called something like Tall

Eyebrow.

"I'm sure it loses something in the translation," he

explained.

Chaumel knelt and made a few signs of polite greeting.

He was unsure of himself at first, but grew enthusiastic

when his courtesies were returned and expanded upon.

'These are not trained creatures," he said with delight.

"It really understands me."

'Tall just said the same thing about you," Keff noted,

amused.

"It has feet. What are the globes for?"

"Ozran used to have much higher humidity," Keff said.

'The frogs' skins are delicate. The shells protect them from

the dry air."

"We cannot tell the other mages about them until we

have negotiated the 'cease-fire,'" Chaumel told him seriously. "Already Nokias regrets that he said he will

cooperate. He suspects Femgal of sending those spy-eyes

the other night and I have no reason to doubt him. If we

present them with speaking animals who need bubbles to

live, they will mink we are mad, and the whole accord will

fall apart."

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^Neither Keffnor Carialle, listening through the implant

contacts, argued the point.

"Its too important to get them to stop using power,"

Keff said. "It goes against my better judgment, but it'll

help the frogs' case if we don't try to make the mages

believe too many impossible things before breakfast."

During the successive weeks, the brawn and the two

magifolk traveled to each mage's stronghold to convince

him or her to join with them in the cause of environmental

survival.

Keff spent his free time, such as remained of it, divided

between Plennafrey in the evenings and the frogs in the

early morning. He had to leam another whole new language, but he had never been so happy. His linguistic skills

were getting a good, solid workout. Carialle's memory

banks began to fill with holos of gestures with different

meanings and implications.

Since the mages had always used the signs as sacred or

magical communion, Keff had to begin all over again with

the frogs on basic language principles. The mages had

employed only a small quantity of gestures that had been

gleaned from the Old Ones in their everyday lives, giving

him a very limited working vocabulary. Chaumel knew

only a few hundred signs, Plenna a few dozen. Keff used

those to build toward scientific understanding.

Mathematical principles were easy. These frogs were

the five-hundredth generation since the life-form came to

this world. That verified what Keff had been coming to

believe, that none of the three dominant life-forms who

occupied Ozran were native to it.

Knowledge of their past had been handed down by rote

through the generations. The frogs had manufactured the

life-support bubbles with the aid of the one single item of

power that remained to them. The other devices had all

been borrowed, and then stolen by the Flat Ones, by

whom Keff understood them to mean the Old Ones.

For a change, IT was working as well as he had always

hoped it would. An optical monitor fed the frogs' gestures

into the computer, and the voice of IT repeated the meaning into Keffs implant and on a small speaker for the

benefit of the others. Keff worked out a simple code for

body language that IT used to transcribe the replies he

spoke out loud. Having to act out his sentence after he said

it made the going slow, but in no time he picked up more

and more of the physical language so he could use it to

converse directly.

He was however surprised at how few frogs were willing

to come forward to meet with the Ozrans and help bridge

the language barrier. The Frog Prince assured him it was

nothing personal; a matter of safety. After so many years,

they found it difficult to trust any of the Big Folk. Keff

understood perfectly what he meant. He was careful never

to allude to the frogs when on any of his many visits to the

mages' strongholds.

On his knees at the end of another dusty row of roots,

Brannel observed Keff and Plennafrey returning to the silver ship. Scraping away at tile base of a wilted plant as long

as he dared, he waited for Keff to keep Carialle's promise

and come get him. It seemed funny they couldn't see him,

but perhaps they hadn't looked his way when he was standing up. He knew he could go up to the door and be

admitted, but he was reluctant to do so until asked as they

seemed disinterested in asking him. Weighing the question

of waiting or not waiting, he pushed his gathering basket

into the next row and started digging through the clay-thick soil for more of the woody vegetables.

His thoughts were driven away by a stunning blow to

the side of the head. Brannel fell to the earth in surprise.

Alteis stood over him, waving a clump of roots from his

basket, spraying dirt all over the place. Some of it was on

Brannel s head. A female with light brown far stood beside

the old leader, her eyes flashing angrily.

"You're in the wrong row, Brannel!" Alteis exclaimed.

'This is Gonna's row. You should go that way." He pointed

to the right and waited while Brannel picked up his gear

and moved.

'Tour mind in the mountains?" Fralim chortled from his

position across the field. What traces of long-term memory

the others retained came from rote and repetition, and

they had been witness to Brannels peculiarities and ambi-tions since he was small. Everyone but his mother scorned

the young males hopes. "We saw the Mage Keff and the

Magess Plennafrey fly into the tower. You planning to set

yourself up with the mages?" He cackled.

Another worker joined in with the same joke he had

been using for twenty years. "Gonna shave your face and

call yourself Mage, Brannel?"

Brannel was stung. "If I do, I'll show you what power

the overlords wield, Mogag," he said in a voice like a growl.

Alteis walked up and slapped him in the head again.

"Work!" the leader said. 'The roots won't pull themselves."

The others jeered. Brannel worked by himself until the

sun was just a fingertips width above the mountain rim at

the edge of the valley. Any time, food would arrive, and he

would be able to sneak away. Perhaps, if no one was looking, he might go now.

It was his bad luck that Alteis and his strapping son were

almost behind him. Fralim yanked him back by the collar

and seat of his garment from the edge of the field, and

plunked him sprawling into his half-worked row.

"Stay away from that tower," Alteis ordered him. "You

have duties to your own folk."

Moments crept by like years. Brannel, faming, finished

his day's chores with the least possible grace. As soon as the

magess kept her promise to teach him, he would never

return to this place fuU of stupid people. He would study

all day, and work great works of magic, like the ancestors

and the Old Ones.

At the end of the day, he hung back from the crowd

hurrying toward the newly materialized food. With Alteis

busy doing something else, there was no one watching one

discontented worker. Brannel sneaked away through the