I’ve got to be very careful about this, Brad told himself. Like walking on eggshells. Or through a minefield.
He and Felicia entered the cafeteria. Even though the hour was late, the place was more than half filled with talking, laughing, gesticulating men and women. The huge room clattered with dishware and eating implements.
Chattering apes, Brad thought. That’s what we are. I wonder if there’s a race of intelligent reptiles somewhere among the stars. I bet they’d be a lot quieter.
Felicia broke into his thoughts. “There he is, waving to us.”
Brad saw the man, a short but solidly built black, wearing a bright red tunic over grayish slacks. As he and Felicia walked through the crowded tables, she reminded him, “Gregory Nyerere, philologist.”
“Who’s the woman with him?” Brad asked.
“I don’t know her name, but I’m pretty sure she’s a linguist, too.”
“Hello, Filly,” Nyerere said as they got within speaking distance. He was smiling broadly, his dark face full of good cheer. But Brad noticed Felicia’s wince at the nickname.
“Brad, this is Greg Nyerere,” she said. “Greg, Brad MacDaniels.”
“The guy who brought back all that good data from Alpha,” said Nyerere, sticking out his hand. Brad took it in his: the man’s grip was firm, strong. He must work out a lot, Brad thought. But his voice was a high, sweet tenor. Brad found it strangely inconsistent with his burly physique.
“Kids, meet Estela Waxman,” Nyerere introduced. The young woman was plain-looking, Brad thought, her nose a trifle too large for her roundish face. She was slightly taller than Nyerere, her figure on the chubby side, skin a golden toast color. Her green eyes sparkled pleasantly, though; her smile was warm.
“Estela’s a nurse,” Nyerere said as they all sat down at the small table. “Sort of my personal medic, nowadays.”
Felicia asked, “You need a personal nurse?”
His smile growing even wider, Nyerere explained, “We met when I pulled my back in the gym. Now Estela hangs out with me, to make sure I behave myself.”
“Within limits,” the woman said.
The dinner hour was long past, but the cafeteria was still offering desserts and coffee or tea. Estela volunteered to get drinks and desserts for them all, and Felicia went with her to the dispensing machines lined up along the far wall.
“You watch,” Nyerere said to Brad as the two women headed for the dispensers. “By the time they get back here they’ll know every detail of each other’s lives. They’ll do a complete data dump in less than five minutes.”
Brad could only manage to say, “Really?”
“Really. Our computer geeks ought to learn how women exchange information.”
Nyerere was grinning, but Brad thought he was serious.
“So, you’re the bird that Kosoff banished to Alpha,” Nyerere said.
With a nod, Brad said, “That’s me.”
“How’d you put up with it? All alone for three months. I would’ve gone ’round the bend.”
Feeling embarrassed, Brad replied, “I talked with Felicia every day. And trying to record the octopods’ chatter kept me pretty busy.”
Looking unconvinced, Nyerere murmured, “Still, all alone out there.”
Eager to change the subject, Brad said, “I hear you’re working on the octopods’ language.”
“Yeah. Dr. Chang’s assigned three of us to try to decipher the data you brought back. Interesting stuff.”
“How’s it coming along?”
Nyerere’s grin dissolved slowly. “The computers are grinding through the data, finding correlations.” He made a high-pitched squeak. “That means ‘tasty.’” Another squeal. “That means ‘Follow me.’ That sort of thing.”
“Then they have a language.”
“Looks that way. Unless we’re totally fooling ourselves.”
Felicia and Estela returned with two trays laden with pastries, coffee, and tea. Brad stopped his probing and the conversation moved to more personal subjects. Soon they were gossiping about who was sleeping with whom.
And Felicia blurted, “Brad’s asked me to marry him.”
“Really?” Estela’s face blossomed into a brilliant smile.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Nyerere warned her.
“Who’d want to marry you?” she taunted. “You’re already in love with yourself.”
They chatted on about marriage and romance until Felicia abruptly said, “Greg, you know what would be a very generous thing for you to do?”
“I’m not getting married.”
Estela jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “Who’d have you? I’d have to be crazy.”
Laughing, he asked Felicia, “So what would be a very generous thing for me to do?”
“Let Brad see what you’ve accomplished. Let him see how much of the octopods’ language you’ve deciphered.”
“It’s just scraps and fragments,” Nyerere said. “The only phrases we can understand represent physical actions. If they have deeper thoughts, we can’t translate them because there’s no action connected to them.”
“But you have the brain scans,” Brad pointed out.
Nyerere made a sour face. “So we see parts of their brains lighting up. So what? That doesn’t tell us what it means to them.”
“Suppose we gave them a stimulus. Then we could see how they react to it.”
“A stimulus?”
“Like saying hello.”
Nyerere’s brows climbed almost to his scalp. “That’s a no-no! We’re not supposed to make contact.”
Brad said, “But we’ve already made contact. We’ve plopped the probes into the ocean alongside them.”
Brows knitting now, Nyerere countered, “That’s a passive contact. Speaking to them would be an active contact. Strictly verboten.”
Brad said, “Just one word. Just to see how they react. What harm would it do?”
Nyerere stared at him. “You’re supposed to be an anthropologist. Didn’t they teach you about contacting primitive tribes? How contact ruins their culture?”
“Yes, but—”
“No ‘buts,’ mister. Kosoff would make us walk the plank if we tried anything like that.”
“Kosoff,” Brad growled.
“He’s in charge.”
Felicia spoke up. “Then why don’t you go over his head?”
“Ask the World Council? Back on Earth?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Ask Emcee.”