Slowly, painfully, Brad learned the Gammans’ language. And their ways. Some of their behaviors were almost human; others, utterly alien.
They were sexless farmers who spent virtually all their waking hours tending the crops they grew. Every member of the village worked in the fields, even Drrm, the one Brad thought of as their chief.
Brad spent his days with them, watching their unending toil along the rows of their farmland. He sat with them at their evening meal, when they gathered around fires cooking their usually meatless stews. He even grew accustomed, almost, to their mouths being in their midsections, fringed with wormlike appendages that turned Brad’s own stomach, no matter how many times he watched the aliens shoveling their food into their shiver-inducing maws.
After the evening meal Brad would leave the village and walk back to his shelter for the night. The Gammans showed practically no curiosity about where Brad came from or why he had appeared among them.
Strange, Brad thought. But then he reminded himself that these were alien creatures: intelligent, but the products of a different evolution on a different world. The traits that appeared almost human to him were coincidences, nothing more.
They weren’t exclusively vegetarians, he saw. Every few days Drrm, the village chief, would pick three or four of them to go out beyond the edge of their fields and hunt for small game, which went into the stewpots that night. Brad learned that the animals he had given them had become meals—after being ritually sacrificed and cooked.
Once he returned to his shelter, Brad spent his evenings talking with Emcee, Kosoff, and Littlejohn, reviewing the day’s events, preparing for the next day’s observations. He spoke with Felicia every night, of course, before going to sleep. She told him the linguistics team was expanding their understanding of the Gammans’ language.
“Thanks to you, dear,” Felicia said happily, her warmly smiling face filling his comm screen.
“How are you?” he asked, stretched out alone on his bedroll.
With obvious excitement, Felicia answered, “Steiner has assigned me to studying the octopods! She talked it over with Kosoff and he okayed my request. He even seemed happy about it, she told me.”
Brad muttered, “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.”
“You’re jealous!”
“Just looking out for your welfare,” he replied, feeling nettled. “You’re important to me.”
“I miss you,” she answered. “It’s lonely here without you.”
“Virtual reality’s not the same, is it?”
“It’s better than nothing,” she said.
Trying to put up a brave front, Brad said, “Well, I’ve got plenty of new friends down here.”
Felicia’s expression went somber. “We’ll be moving to an orbit around Alpha in two days.”
Even though he knew it was scheduled, her words jolted Brad. “Two days?”
“That’s what Captain Desai told us.”
Brad nodded, his spirits flagging.
“We’ll only be three minutes away,” Felicia said quickly. “We can still talk together every night.”
“Yes,” said Brad. “I know.”
“It’s going to be a dangerous time for you, down there.”
He tried to make light of it. “If the Gammans can get through it, I’ll get through it.”
“Yes,” Felicia said. “That’s right.”
But Brad thought she didn’t look at all sure about it. And neither was he, he realized.
* * *
The following evening, Brad saw Mnnx standing alone on the edge of the village, staring at the looming crescent of Beta, bigger and brighter than ever.
“Death time coming closer,” said Mnnx, flatly, emotionlessly.
Brad saw that he was carrying a freshly skinned lizard in one ropy hand. Without another word he trudged to the house he shared with four other Gammans.
Brad watched him toss the animal into the cook pot, after swiftly chanting the proper prayer of sacrifice. Like prehistoric hunters on Earth, the Gammans believed the prey animal came to them willingly and allowed itself to be caught and killed. The prayer was one of atonement, and thanks for the creature’s sacrifice.
Once the game was cooking in the bubbling pot Mnnx sat in the circle around the fire. Brad hunkered down beside him, still awkward in his biosuit.
“Tell me about the death time,” Brad said.
Mnnx’s eye slid upward, toward the starlit sky, then focused again on Brad.
“Beta brings monsters.” He didn’t say “Beta,” of course. That was the computer’s translation for the low, humming sound that represented their name for the approaching planet.
“Monsters?” Brad asked.
“Terrible monsters. They kill.”
“From Beta?”
Mnnx bowed his domed head. “They bring death.”
“What are they like?” Brad asked.
“Big. Fast. Kill everyone.” The computer could not convey sadness or fear, of course, but Brad felt both emotions. Monsters that kill everyone. Monsters from Beta.
“It must be part of their mythology,” said Littlejohn later that night as Brad told the anthropologist about his conversation with Mnnx.
Shaking his head, Brad replied, “It sounded awfully real to me. Not some fairy tale.”
Littlejohn smiled patiently. “Mythology is real to those who believe in it. My people believed that songs can guide you across the outback, for god’s sake.”
Brad wondered if “for god’s sake” was Littlejohn’s idea of a pun.