THE TESTAMENT OF GEOFFREY

J. BRIAN CLARKE






Expediters
Office of the Director
Aug 6, 2481

The Phuili do not acknowledge heroes. Even now. as humans and Phuili together probe the mysteries of the galaxy. the Phuili cling to their ancient dictum that the joy of accomplishment is and must be its own reward; that all else is demeaning.
So the document which was delivered to this office after the sad passing of one who truly played a special role at that critical juncture of history known as First Contact, turned out to be a delight as well as a revelation. Geoffrey was before my time of course, but the records corroborate the main facts of the encounter as he describes them. However facts are not feelings, as I am sure people who have read the various personal accounts published at the time have realized (I recommend 'The Meeting' by K C. Alcorn).
But never before have we humans had the opportunity to understand this event from the Phuili perspective, which is why I unhesitatingly offer this document to the public domain. In fairness it must be said that it was only with extreme reluctance that the Phuili ambassador granted permission. As his Excellency put it. "It is not customary for any Phuili to place himself apart from the achievements of his people." Well, Geoffrey is gone now, and cannot suffer for what he has done. But I prefer to believe that the more humans and Phuili understand each other, the better it will be for both races. It is also good that human children can at last see our fellow cosmic explorers as something more than dog-like beings with sad eyes. Thai a Phuili can, in fact, be a giant.
Or even a hero.
Gia Mayland



I have interjected a few comments to assist the reader with some of the obscurer references. If I am belaboring the obvious. I make no apology. Nothing must be left to chance in this heaven-sent opportunity to strengthen the perilously fragile relationship between our two species; a relationship which too often, and sometimes for the most trivial of reasons, has threatened to break apart.
GM.



I am Phuili
My name is Gefapronikitafrekazanzis, or Geoffrey to the humans who knew me. Now I am old, with not much time remaining before I must leave this sequence and enter the next. However I still have modest notoriety as the one who made first contact with members of your species. Much has happened since that moment of my youth; the gates have been opened to the universe, and together we are exploring the mighty system of suns known so unappropriately by humans as the Milky Way.
I know however that a great curiosity still exists about that pivotal meeting so long ago. So to please my human friends, I now record what this Phuili did and saw when the long strangers first came to The Shouter.
The Phuili had been on that small world for many turns when the humans came. The Shouter is a desert planet with a thin atmosphere which is frequently obscured by windblown dust. Much like your Mars, I am told. Normally our explorers would have passed it by like hundreds of other worlds we had seen of its kind, if it was not for the artifacts which cover its surface in many thousands. Now, of course, we know the purpose of those artifacts. But until the humans came, the mighty structures had remained one of the universe's more spectacular mysteries.



The artifacts, or "AAs" as they are now known, are the terminals of an instantaneous galactic transport system, creations of a race long since departed from the known universe. The "Shouter" is so named because of the extraordinary radiations poured into spate by the AAs—emissions undetectable from Earth because of the shielding effect of the nebulosity surrounding the Pleiades Star Cluster.



The arrival of the strange space craft into orbit above the Shouter would become an event with catastrophic implications for the Phuili. The beliefs and traditions of ten thousand generations had taught us that under the Maker we are the only beings in the universe who are self-aware, who have the ability to think and create. It is an ancient concept of ourselves which made us extremely vulnerable against something we knew could not and did not exist.
I remember very clearly the messenger who told me about the strange ship. "What do you mean?" I asked. "How can there be such a thing?"
"No one knows. But it is there, and it has been seen."
"What is it like"
"Smaller than a Far-Explorer, with some kind of primitive ion propulsion system. It was detected when it phase-shifted into normal space outside the orbit of Planet Seven, but was not reported until it penetrated the ComNet."
That was understandable. Although ships from the home world arrived and departed according to rigid schedule, Far-Explorers could not of course be bound by such restraints. Which explained why at first detection it had been assumed that the stranger was in fact a returning Far-Explorer whose crew could have no knowledge of schedules which had been in place for less than a generation. The strange nature of the ship would consequently not have become evident until it activated one of the robots which, at twenty diameters, form the Shouter's communications and detection network
Not that immediate realization came to us. Even as I was being informed, it had already been presumed that by some combination of errors which in any other circumstance would have been deemed close to a statistical zero, the entire net had somehow misidentified a returning Far-Explorer.
To state that I was surprised when I was called into the First's presence and told to investigate a reported sub-craft landing is, I suppose, an exaggeration. I was after all the most junior as well as the youngest at the station, so was therefore the most expendable. Naturally, that was not mentioned as the First pointed at the map.
"It landed here, at Artifact nine thousand and three. You may take a wingship, but I suggest you do not overfly the site. Instead, land beyond that ridge so that they will not suspect your presence."
"You wish me to approach on foot?"
"I believe it would be prudent. If, as seems most logical, the crew of a lost Far-Explorer have returned in a ship they have had to build from the wreckage of the old, it explains the strangeness of the ship. It is also why I advise caution. We do not know how such a long separation from the home world will have affected these lost children."
"Rationalization" has no equivalent in the Phuili language. The human concept of Occam's Razor similarly has no place in our philosophy. Which is why I did not doubt that the First's unwieldy explanation—which did at least avoid the statistical improbability of a ComNet error—was the true one. Because the lost ones had probably forgotten much of the ancient wisdom, it was only fitting that I take great care.
How do I explain what happened to me when I first saw the long strangers? Frankly, it is difficult. How would a human react if he saw a crab write a mathematical equation in the sand? Perhaps that will help you partially understand, but it is far from enough. A human would be shocked, he would deny, but ultimately he yields to even the most unpalatable truth. That is your flexibility.
That is not. unfortunately, the way of the Phuili. Before we yield, we break.
I had dutifully landed the wingship far enough away that the strangers could have no advance warning of my presence. With pride that I had been selected for this delicate mission, and rehearsing in my thoughts how I would address these lost ones if circumstance made it proper for me to approach them, I ascended the back of the dune which overlooked the place of landing and eased myself into a clear viewing position at the top.
Impossibly huge, a symbol of ancient mystery, the artifact towered over me. The great horizontal bowl blocked half the sky. its supporting pylon so slender it seemed no more than a heavy line joining the base of the bowl to the ground. The artifacts shadow resembled a black lake in the desert, and on the lake's nearer shore stood a four-legged craft of strange design. At first glance the craft seemed totally primitive, clearly designed for no other purpose than to transport a bare minimum of payload with what was probably an equally primitive system of propulsion. But if the thought crossed my mind that the crew of a wrecked Far-Explorer could only have survived if they had the use of functioning sub-craft which were incomparably more advanced than the frail construct on the desert, then I promptly dismissed that thought as a flight of fancy inappropriate to the solemnity of the moment
I felt tempted to move down, but caution held me back as I looked for those I had come to find. Because it is difficult for unaided vision to adjust to the brilliant contrasts of light and shade which are normal on the Shouter. I did not at first see those who were still within the artifact's shadow. But when they suddenly emerged into the light, casting long shadows which rippled over the uneven ground like writhing fingers pointed in my direction, I think it was then I began to break.
For a few moments I was in mental stasis; not understanding, not even caring about this thing which could not be. And then as control returned, so did an almost irresistable urge to go back to the wingship and return home. It would bring great shame of course, perhaps to the extent I might have to consider an early termination of myself from this sequence. But even as I considered this terrible denial of proper function, I found I could not move because stronger than my fear was my sense of duty; the knowledge that if the powers beyond the end and the beginning had intended that I should not be here, then I would not be so. Forcing my unwilling hand into action. I unclipped the far-viewer from my equipment belt and attached it to the visor of my helmet. Looking back on that moment, knowing what I thought I had just seen with my unaided eyes. I now marvel at the extreme of madness which made me expose myself to the incomprehensibility of a close-up of those beings. If it was duty, then that stern aspect of my being was guiding my muscles without recourse to my frightened brain.
Focusing was automatic, so I had no control over the rapidity with which the image snapped into crystal clarity. At first, I tried to close my eyes. Then I tried lo turn away. I even wished I had the ability to turn off my mind like a lamp. Instead. like an innocent staring unwinking into the sun's burning eye, I looked.
And I shattered.



I suppose a human physician would say I experienced a mental overload and withdrew from reality. Perhaps that is possible, even for a Phuili, although such a condition is unrecorded in our Archives of Medical Science. I do know however, that when I finally recovered my senses the sun had moved half way down the sky, a measure of at least two hours. It is also certain that something had changed within me during that time, as if my horror had triggered the formation of a psychic shield. It was with no hesitation at all that I again activated the far-viewer and looked down at the strange sub-craft.
The three beings were no longer visible, so I presumed they had returned inside their vehicle. The ground about was heavily scuffed with their foot marks, and I saw several pieces of equipment linked by cable to a small solar collector.
Humans have said that what I did next was an unparalleled act of courage. It is not true of course, because I am Phuili and not human. I did what was necessary, and even that was only possible because of the protection my previously vulnerable mind had put about itself.
It was almost as if I had split into two halves, as part of me stood apart and watched with interest while I went down the slope to where the ungainly machine stood on a flat area of rocky ground. At first I walked around, stooping low under the twin windows which looked like the eyes of an enormously magnified insect. To my amazement, the energy of propulsion was entirely chemical. The two big reaction nozzles at the base and the smaller steering thrusters in the upper hull, were of designs we had discarded in a past so distant it was almost forgotten. But there was a clear contradiction—to fly and land such an unstable configuration was far beyond the capabilities of even the most experienced pilot. Which implied a sophistication of automatic control quite remarkable by any standard.
It seemed my briefly aquired impartiality was being sundered by a gamut of unfamiliar emotions: fear, contempt, wonder, and puzzlement being only a few. What was I to do? Report what I had found and be judged insane by my friends and colleagues? Or continue what I had started, to an end I could not see and dared not think about?
Logically, for me there was no choice. These strangers, whoever or whatever they were, were on the Shouter and could not be ignored. Somehow my colleagues would have to be convinced of their existence, which would seem to involve—for every one of the 130 who currently staffed the base—a traumatic shock similar to what I had already experienced. Whether or not any or all of them had the necessary flexibility to accept and then to adapt to this new shape of the universe, was something I did not know. It had become terribly clear that I was burdened with a responsibility even the greatest of the Elites would hesitate to accept.
Again that impartial side of me watched as I walked in front of the machine and stood in a position from where I could be seen through its windows. The reaction from those inside was almost immediate. First I saw a vague movement within the darkness behind the transparent panels, followed by a sputtering in my helmet phones which evolved into a series of harsh syllables as my receiver found and locked in on the transmitting frequency. Not being sure how I should respond. I simply said "I do not understand." and lifted my arms in the accepted gesture of welcome.



The tapes of that famous moment have been played and replayed so many times, it is a wonder people are still interested. I suppose the "we are not alone" syndrome has been around since our shaggy ancestors first wondered about the lights in the sky, which perhaps explains the totally different human reaction to First Contact. As far as Schendist. Alcorn, and Devany were concerned, the appearance of the little alien before their lander was an inevitability which was bound to happen sooner or later. It was simply a matter of fantastic good luck that it had happened to them. So what they did next had already been rehearsed countless times in countless imagined circumstances. Unlike the Phuili, this was an event humanity had long prepared for.
Let Geoffrey continue his story . . . .



When a door opened and one of the creatures descended a metal ladder, I stood my ground like an expendable remote which was being controlled from a safe distance. My second self was still observing dispassionately as the Phuili organism waited for whatever was about to happen.
After it reached the ground, the being did not immediately move from the base of the ladder. Instead it faced me with its upper limbs lifted. The being's pressure suit was a clumsy affair which to a large extent concealed its true appearance. Nevertheless it was clearly of what we now know as the "humanoid" form, although it was at least half a height taller than I was, and with a narrower body. It was difficult to see what was behind the front transparency of the helmet, but I gained the impression of flattened features and a slit of a mouth. It pointed at itself and made a single sound.
"Uman?" I said.
The strange head bobbed vigorously "Human." it repeated, again pointing at itself.
I considered. Either its name was "Human," or it was of a race called "human." I decided the latter and pointed at myself. "Phuili."
"Fooli?" It took one step in my direction.
"Phuili." I said again, and took a countering step forward.
"Human. Barry." The being looked at me expectantly.
I was nonplussed. Although my altered mental state had enabled me to accept the existence of this "human," it was not willing to acknowledge any initiative other than my own. That it had seemed to be initiating communication with me was, I decided, an illusion born of my own confusion. Nevertheless, if communication was possible at all. I had to find out just how far this strange exchange could take us.
It had added the sound "Barry" to "human " So in turn, I said. "Phuili. Gefapronikitafrekazanzis."



As Barry Devany later explained, that explosion of consonants sounded more like a threat than simple information. It is why Devany abruptly retreated back to the lander's ladder and prepared to get up to shelter in a hurry. It was a misunderstanding which has the dubious distinction of being the first of many that have since plagued human-Phuili relations.



Of course I did not know the true reason for the human's nervous behaviour, but I did not think I needed to. Obviously my appearance had created an unexpected flaw in its concept of the universe, as the fact of its own existence created a flaw in mine. However, the overwhelming question still remained. How to explain this new reality to the one who had sent me here? The more I considered the problem, the more I began to realize that in this matter at least, communication with humans would entail considerably less difficulty than communication with my own kind.
I activated the First's frequency. "I am at the place of landing," I reported. "The creatures aboard this craft are not Phuili." There was no immediate response. Either the message had been recorded for later playback, or the First had heard and was deliberating the state of my sanity.
The Barry human reluctantly moved away from the ladder as another human emerged and came down. The third human remained inside their machine. The Barry human spoke at length to the newcomer. I found the harsh syllabic speech irritating, so I turned down the gain. Finally the new human turned and pointed at itself. "Katherine." Its voice was lighter and less unpleasant.
"Gefapronikitafrekazanzis." I repeated.
This time, I think they understood. They both walked half the distance to me and stopped. "Gefaproni—" the Katherine human began and stopped. It seemed to be having difficulty with consonantal speech. Then, triumphantly. "I know. I will call you Geoffrey!"
I wanted to be angry. To be addressed by any shortname is an insult worthy of trial and consequent compensation. But because these humans could hardly be faulted for the limitations of their speech organs, it seemed they were more to be pitied than condemned.
Limitations—
It was then I had the germ of an idea.



The notion of humans being "intelligent animals" was conceived by Geoffrey as much to protect his own people from traumatic shock, as it was as an excuse to bring two of these strange creatures to the Phuili base. Pride forces me to admit that was an unfortunate beginning for us humans, although it is apparent Geoffrey had little choice. What he experienced and survived was perhaps possible for a single individual, but not for an entire race. The tradition of Phuili uniqueness had been around for too long; it was not so much learned as inherited as part of their psyche. Consider the degree of convoluted rationalizing which allowed for the existence of an animal that can build spaceships, and the extent of that conditioning can perhaps be better appreciated. Fortunately a newer generation of Phuili are currently emerging who are not afraid to acknowledge humans as friends. In that sense. Geoffrey was undoubtedly ahead of his time.



Three days later, with the Kurt human remaining aboard the lander, the Barry and Katherine humans accompanied me in the wingship back to the base. An empty ground car was waiting for us as arranged, and I immediately drove my guests to the building which had been set aside for us. The humans expressed surprise at the base's extent and obvious permanence, and wondered why they had not seen it from orbit. I pointed at the flickering haze which hemisphered the base. "Shield diverts dust around and over," I explained in their language. "From top, softens outlines. Not see."
"You mean the concealment is only a byproduct? Not intended?"
"Of course." I replied. "Why we want to conceal?"
My facility with the human language should not be surprising. The language is simple and completely without subtlety, and with the aid of a radio link to the Computer Core I had become conversant with meanings in less than two days. Unfortunately I doubt any human will master Phuili talk. Not only is the human jaw ill constructed for its use and the human ear equally deficient, but because at birth the human mind is virtually empty and needs to be fed everything it must know, it can never benefit from the reservoir of instinctive knowledge which our Phuili young already possess when they enter this sequence.
The First joined us after the supplies had been unpacked. The humans (their sleep cycle was only slightly longer than our own) had placed their mattresses in a small alcove, their food containers close by. Although it was reasonably certain our sustenance needs were mutually compatible, it had been decided we would wait for a full analysis before the humans would be allowed to sample any Phuili foodstuff. It had also been agreed that the First would determine if full quarantine would he maintained, or if the humans would be allowed access to the base and its personnel. To a large extent that depended on the First's powers of persuasion. Although he himself had accepted my description of the humans as tool-using animals, there remained some doubt that everyone would accept this lesser yet still mind-twisting concept and remain fully sane.
When Averponekatupenaviziz finally entered, I knew he had already been observing the humans for some time. Nevertheless the signs of strain were evident as he stayed at the far side of the room and fixed his gaze on me rather than the vistors. He was aware of the limitations of the human tongue, so did not object when he heard himself called Avery. He had also tapped into what I had fed into the Computer Core, so was able to communicate with the humans without my assistance. But as he exchanged verbal data with them, his eyes remained steadfast in my direction.
"I am called the First because I am the first of equals." he replied to the initial question. "It is my function to point the way."



The Phuili have an odd form of hierarchy. Although there is a hereditary-ruling class known as the Elites, who number less than one percent of the population, there is nothing equivalent to the formal selection of a single leader in the human sense. Instead, there is an "instinct" which in any group situation allows the will of many to be expressed through one. It is certainly true that the Phuili have an amazingly strong empathetic sense, which on occasion can even reach out to humans.



It was difficult for us all. although I think less difficult for the humans. They had always accepted the possibility of other intelligences in the universe, so had been stimulated rather than demoralized by my unexpected appearance. For us Phuili however, the mere existence of the humans threatened a crisis of first magnitude. And that was an unaccustomed burden for Averponekatupenaviziz, who was forced to bear this responsibility totally alone, without the support which is normally a First's right. As I watched and listened, I tried to aid him with my own humble singularity, sadly with little effect. I supposed fatigue and the unprecedented excitements of the last few days had temporarily reduced my ability to empath. But in desire if not ability, I remained with Averponekatupenaviziz as he continued.
"What is your planet?"
"It is called Earth."
"Humans are the premier species?"
"Yes."
"How long have humans been traveling space?"
The Barry human named a number which I translated to Phuili units. "About three hundred years."
"But that is only—" Averponekatupenaviziz turned to me. "Gefapronikitafrekazanzis, three centuries ago is but yesterday. Can a seed become a forest in only a day?"
"Ask them when they built their first star ship," I suggested. I was being cruel, but I knew it was necessary.
"Fifty years ago," was the Katherine human's reply to that question.
Averponekatupenaviziz agitatedly ushered me into the next chamber. His distress showed on his features, his shaking hands. "I cannot believe such a thing. Yet they are telling the truth. I know it!"
"You can tell?"
He looked at me with surprise. "Of course. The sense was very strong."
"But they are aliens!" I protested. "Their emotions, their ideas—" Then words faltered, as I understood the terrible price I had paid for becoming adjusted to the humans.
"What is it? Do you have a problem, my friend?"
Averponekatupenaviziz was concerned. The signs were in his words and physical reactions; the flexing of his jaw, the lift of his hands. But the important signals, those of mind to mind, were missing. The confirmation of my worst fear came as he added. "Gefapronikitafrekazanzis, you are blank. In my mind you are not there. What has happened to you?"
I lied. For the first time in my life I told a deliberate untruth, and it cost me dearly. But he already had problems no First should ever be called upon to bear, and I doubted he could carry more. In any case, I was suddenly in the unique position of being the only Phuili who could conceal an untruth, which perhaps had potential as a useful talent as well as being a curse. "Nothing is wrong." I replied. "I believe we are both fatigued."
Again I was in that peculiar mode in which I stood apart from myself as I rationalized the possibilities. I had prepared "Avery" in advance, and he had not broken. Neither. I now believed, would any Phuili if he or she was similarly prepared. But I was not so sure how the humans would react to an official proclamation of their inferiority. In my clumsy fashion I had explained, and I think they had understood, the "intelligent animal" aspect of their introduction to the First. But would they accept a permanent relationship based on an acknowledgement of Phuili superiority? I did not know. I only sensed we were all poised on an uneasy fulcrum, that at this moment the choice between two very dissimilar futures was more in human hands than Phuili.
So I felt a great lightening of spirit as Averponekatupenaviziz, anticipating a large part of the problem, said flatly, "The others must be informed. But it will have to be done gently, in the same manner you led me to the knowledge." He touched my arm. "I am grateful for your caution, Gefapronikitafrekazanzis."
I inclined my head. "It is a difficult knowledge."
"Very difficult. So I am puzzled. How did you manage to come through this experience so unchanged? After all, there was no one to prepare you for what you found out there."
"I do not know," I replied, amazed at the ease with which I was learning to deceive. I added. "Perhaps it was meant to be, for whoever was the one to contact the humans."
I knew Averponekatupenaviziz was of somewhat a mystical nature, so it did not surprise me as he nodded thoughtfully. "I will assemble our colleagues and prepare them. Some may already have seen our guests from a distance, so it is better they know the truth before their imaginations conjure something worse. You and the humans will remain concealed until I tell you otherwise."
I acknowledged silently, then returned to the humans. I did not know enough of their language to be subtle, so instead I decided to use an analogy. "You breathe our air," I said. "It is difficult?"
The Barry human replied. "It sustains us But it does have an unpleasant odor."
That was logical. The odds against their native atmosphere being precisely the same as ours were astronomical. So what was "different" to their organs of smell could be, I supposed, unpleasant. I pointed at the cylinders they had brought with their other supplies. "Why do you have those?"
"They are for emergency use. Otherwise, in time we expect we will get used to—" His face wrinkled. "—your gases."
"Because it is necessary.'"
He nodded. I was learning not to be surprised at the similarity of body gestures; for instance the nodding for acquiescence, the sideways shaking of the head for a negative. Even the lifting of both corners of the slit-like mouth was clearly a smile, although the barking humans refer to as "laughter" would probably be accepted by my colleagues as proof of their animalistic nature.
I said. "If you or any of your species wish to continue your presence on this world, it will be necessary that you accept other unpleasant but necessary things."
"What things?"
"Most important, that you continue to recognize that the Phuili are a superior species. But also that you accept limitations of your numbers and activities on this world, as well as permanent status as subjects for Phuili scientific study."
They stared at me. I knew my use of their language was still inadequate, that I had difficulty with many of the sounds. But I also knew they understood the content if not the details of my message, and that the rising pink flush on their exposed areas of flesh was probably resentment.
"Why?" the Barry human asked at last. "What gives you the right—" The female stopped him with a sharp word.
I tried to explain. Much of what I said was relative to what I had learned about the human species, which made it new even to me—and consequently difficult.
"The Phuili are an ancient people. Much of what we are is therefore ours from the moment of birth, and is not learned as you know learning. Therefore we have certain beliefs about ourselves which cannot be changed without risk of insanity You humans may be what you think you are. but to the Phuili that can never be."
The Katherine human said shrewdly. "Forgive me if I am wrong, hut I have the feeling you believe we are more than inferior. Geoffrey, doesn't that conflict with what you have just told us.?"
She had made a painful point, one I knew I had to answer "There is no conflict. You see. this Phuili is insane "
They looked at each other. Then. "I don't understand." the Barry human said puzzledly "You seem rational to me."
I tried to explain. Using what I knew of their language was like trying to describe sight to one without eyes. "We have a sense. It is like—" I struggled, continued, "Imagine being able to perceive between hot and cold without having to know the degree of hot or cold. Or recognizing the optical band from the radio band, but not individual frequencies." I tried to think of other similies, but was forestalled as the human female said with a smile,
"I am guessing of course, but I think you are talking about empathy: The ability to sense mood as distinct from individual thoughts. Am I right?"
I marveled at this one's powers of discernment. "Yes, you are right. Do humans have it?"
"Not to the extent it can be trusted. Not without some physical signs, at any rate. As far as the mind-to-mind part of it is concerned—" The small, strange eyes opened wide. "Is that what you have? Like telepathy?"
The word was unfamiliar, but I thought I understood. "The method of transmission is not important. It is the content. For the Phuili, words are the embedded fruit in a cake. It is the cake's whole taste which is the message, not merely the sum of the fruit it contains.""
"I think—" The female came closer to me. There was sympathy on the strange face, in the moistened eyes. "You have lost the taste, haven't you?"
I sighed. "Yes. At first I thought it was fatigue. But I knew otherwise when Averponekatupenaviziz told me he had no problem reading your sincerity. I had sensed nothing."
That seemed to disturb the Barry human. "Are you telling us he—?" His oddly articulated fingers clenched and unclenched. "Dammit Kath, we won't be able to keep anything from these people!"
The Katherine human nodded. "It certainly seems that way. And if the Phuili know when we lie, then there is obviously no point continuing the charade of inferiority. Not when any one of them can sense it is only an act."
"Ah, but in that case what is sensed is not important." After a moment of hesitation, I added solemnly, "Does it matter, if in its ignorance the leaf thinks it is equal to the flower?"



It is ironic that as the Phuili increasingly acknowledge that perhaps the leaf IS equal to the flower, they must necessarily also come to terms with the fact of human hypocrisy. Because in the psychic sense we are insulated from each other, even the best of us practice deceits which to the empathetic Phuili are impossible to ignore, vet almost equally impossible to accept. So which will come first, I wonder? That the Phuili will accept what we say? That we humans will MEAN what we say? Or that crabs will write equations in the sand?
I would not be overwhelmingly surprised if, before anything else changes, there are reports of mathematical crustaceans.



It would have taken ninety-three minutes, as humans measure time, to fly to the location of the human lander at Artifact 9003. But at sixty minutes. I had to crash land the wingship.
It was a bad place for such an emergency, in a depression criss-crossed with gullies and littered with boulders. But somehow the four of us survived, although we were all injured. Pakegoknerfronakipilasis was the worst, with a crushed leg. Least injured was the Barry human, with cracked ribs. Fortunately we had enough sealant to restore the integrity of our pressure garments, although much of our air supply was gone before the last rent was sealed. We were alive, but our situation was not good. The wingship was damaged beyond repair, the communications module had been torn out at first impact, and we were considerably off course because I had diverted to avoid a dust storm.
"It is unheard of," the one the humans called "Packer" said peevishly. "There has never been a failure like this." His look, as he glared at the humans, was accusing.
The Barry human moved uncomfortably. "What did he say?"
"He believes you humans are to blame."
The Barry human shrugged. "So he doesn't like us It's why he came, isn't it?"
There was no need to reply. When Averponekatupenaviziz had failed to gain acceptance for the humans, it was inevitable that the successful spokesman for the opposition accompany us to make sure the humans left the planet. I was wary of Pakegoknerfronakipilasis. Whatever emotion had been powerful enough to overcome his loathing of these beings to the extent he would tolerate their close proximity, made him unpredictable. He knew of my insanity. so was aware I could not read his intentions Neither, of course, could he read mine. Not that either advantage counted for much, especially considering the unexpected nature of the terrain and our injuries.
The Katherine human made a noise of pain as she lifted her upper body to an upright position against a boulder. Although the injuries to her lower limbs were not as severe as the damage to Pakegoknerfronakipilasis, she was equally as imobile. "We must take stock," she announced.
My own damage was that of a dislocated upper limb which was also fractured. Although the pain was severe, i disciplined it to a lesser status as I asked interestedly, "What is stock?"
"A list of everything that affects our situation. What we can use to improve it."
I translated for Pakegoknerfronakipilasis. "An illogical hope." he said. "It is merely further proof of what we already know; that the humans are primitive beings who are not intelligent enough to know they will soon die."
Despite her pain, the human female made a laughing noise. "If hope makes us primitive, then by golly we are primitive!" She looked at the other human. "How is our air supply?"
"Not good." He gestured at the single cylinder he had pulled from the wreckage. "With that and what we have on our backs, four or perhaps five hours at the most."
"Much less for us," I said sadly. "Phuili do not allow for what we believe will not happen."
"How long can you keep going with what you have?"
"By your time, three hours. No more."
The Katherine human changed the subject. "Communications?"
"We're communicating, aren't we?" the male retorted. I was learning a little more about that strange type of speech humans call sarcasm.
"Yes dear, but unfortunately only with each other." The Katherine human turned to me. "Geoffrey, how powerful is your suit radio?"
"The equipment we carry is very limited," I informed her. "Always, we relay through the long range sets in our vehicles."
"My god. talk about bare bones! Don't you people have emergencies?"
"It is not efficient to design for anything more than an intended use." I told the Barry human. I pointed at the slender rod which extended above his shoulders. "Can you talk further?"
"It depends—" he began, then stopped. He carefully got to his feet and turned toward a high promontory which extended into the depression southwest of us. "How far are we from the lander?"
I told him.
"Hmm. About two hundred klicks."
The Katherine human was also staring at the promontory. "Do you think it is possible? That is a tough climb."
"With no guarantee there will be line-of-sight when I get there." The Barry human shrugged. "But it's all we've got."
Now I understood. "It will take much energy. You will need more oxygen than you have."
We looked at the spare cylinder.
"What are the beasts planning?" Pakegoknerfronakipilasis asked me. "Be careful, or they will take what little of life remains to us."
I felt an illogical annoyance at my Phuili colleague, although I knew his warning was proper and should be heeded. But my insanity was making me consider both sides; a broadened vision as remarkable in its own way as the perception I had lost. "That one." I said, pointing at the human male, "will climb to that high point, and from there will attempt to communicate with the human who waits in the lander at Artifact nine thousand and three. It is the only way help can be brought to us in time."
"In time for what, Gefapronikitafrekazanzis? If the beast takes the extra air container. I agree he may survive long enough to make his signal. But for the rest of us, including the female, it answers nothing."
His argument, although hostile, was logical. I translated for the humans.
The Katherinc human said. "There is still a way."



"Beasts" are programed for self survival. If danger threatens, they try to avoid it. They certainly do not put themselves into increasing jeopardy merely to increase the chances for survival of creatures of other species who happen to share the same predicament.
Geoffrey was sure in his own mind that humans are more than beasts. Even more than "intelligent animals." although he was willing to accept the lesser status if only to gain for humans some kind of official Phuili acceptance.
Unfortunately. Packer and the other hard liners had successfully forced a denial of that acceptance. But of all the Phuili, if Packer could be persuaded otherwise, success could still literally be snatched from the jaws of failure.
I do not know if Geoffrey's thoughts were running along those lines as he piloted the wingship which also carried Packer and the two humans. But I suspect there is a clue in his comment about the "unexpected" nature of the terrain.
Consider.
If, before the humans were gone forever, they could be presented with an opportunity to demonstrate unbeastlike compassion and inventiveness, even an extremist such as Packer might be persuaded to change his mind. An emergency landing, at a place where in any case they would be "found" after a decent interval of time, could perhaps stimulate such a demonstration. But even the most contrived scenario can be overtaken by events.
Such as a dust storm and an unplanned course correction . . .



The First summoned me as soon as I was sufficiently recovered. "You are well," he said without preliminary. "Pakegoknerfronakipilasis is not. Do you know why that is so?"
I inclined my head. "He is ill for the same reason I am insane."
"The humans?"
"It has to do with them."
"I see." He considered a moment. "I am not insane. Neither am I ill. Yet I also had contact with those beings."
"You were prepared. Also, you are the First."
He looked a question.
"The unexpected is difficult. Yet the unexpected does happen. You hold your office because of all of us. you are the most—" I struggled to find a word. "—flexible."
"An interesting concept. You learned it from the humans?"
"I believe it is what makes them successful as a species. However, there is a strange side to their character which seems to counter that advantage."
"Explain."
"Logically, by eliminating the two Phuili, the humans could have gained enough extra air to guarantee their own survival. It would have been, after all, a clear case of an invocation of the law of necessity."
"An ancient and honorable law," Averponekatupenaviziz agreed. "So why wasn't it invoked? Compared with you and Pakegoknerfronakipilasis, the Barry human was relatively undamaged. So surely he could have done what was necessary."
"That is true. And if the choice had been an absolute one—such as, for instance, matching the certain death of four against the probable survival of two—then I do not doubt the Barry human would have properly invoked the law. But because he and the female perceived a statistical possibility that all four of us could survive, they selected a course of action which not only reduced their own chances, but which also placed the human female into a greater jeopardy than before."



I will go to sleep, the Katherine human had said after the male departed with his own tanks replenished from the spare. She then did something with the control unit on the front of her pressure garment, and promptly lapsed into an unconscious state.
Pakegoknerfronakipilasis and I were completely mystified. Finally, his contempt suggested an answer. "She has turned off her mind because she fears the pain of death. For her kind, there is clearly no next sequence. Their end is a terrible finality."
There was a logic in his pronouncement which chilled me. But if he was correct, then why were we still alive while the Barry human was a distant speck plodding toward a doubtful destiny?
I went to the Katherine human and touched the chest area. Her breathing was slow. "There is possibly another explanation."
"Be brief. Talk uses air."
"It has to do with the air." Using my sound arm. I dragged the spare cylinder to Pakegoknerfronakipilasis's side. Then I produced what remained of the pressure-sealant. "With your two good arms. I think it may be possible to adapt this alien fitting to replenish our own containers."
Although his prejudice was extreme. "Packer" was too intelligent not to realize this life-extending opportunity. He accepted the sealant without comment and worked painstakingly until at last the extra gas was feeding into our helmets. Then, as he returned his attention to our situation, his attitude seemed to change. "Because the female is unconscious." he announced, "she therefore breathes less."
It was. of course, a statement of fact. It was also an uncharacteristic concession which hinted that perhaps my gentle prodding had turned him in a direction his rigid inflexibility of nature would not otherwise allow. Fearing to disturb this new chain of reasoning. I remained silent as he continued.
"The male took some of the air. because without it he will certainly exhaust his own supply before he reaches his destination on that height. Although he could have taken the entire container and left us nothing, he chose not to."
I was greatly tempted to lead him further toward consideration of the unthinkable. However. I restrained the impulse and instead said simply, "That is true."
"That the female turned herself off. or that the male did not take or exhaust the container—each by itself can be considered a fortunate coincidence from which you and I have benefited. Taken, however, together—"
Pakegoknerfronakipilasis was suffering. His speech had become irregular, his vocal chords hoarse as if from too much use. I had been through a similar experience, so was aware of the schizophrenic turmoil of his thoughts —caused, in his case, by the extremes of his innate conservatism versus his machinelike ability to gather and analyze facts. Because humans were irrefutably inferior, it was equally certain that they were incapable of behavior beyond that dedicated to simple self preservation—although there was a slight statistical probability that the behavior of a single human might be misinterpreted as compassion for others not of its kind. Unfortunately, the impossible juxtaposition of two of the creatures simultaneously displaying such altruism, represented an insane conflict of absolutes that Pakegoknerfronakipilasis's own implacable logic was forcing him to confront without hope of justification or compromise.
In a similar situation. I had shattered. But his was a different, more deliberate personality. He withdrew like a threatened flex-snake shrinking itself into insignificance.
Pakegoknerfronakipilasis crumpled.



After I had finished describing the events in the desert, the first lapsed into a deeply contemplative silence. Sharing the silence but not the contemplation. I waited. Although I was learning to accept the gulf which for the rest of my life would isolate me behind the lesser senses of touch and sight and hearing, moments like this would always be a painful reminder of my handicap—and there would necessarily be many such moments, as long as I continued to serve the cause I had precipitated. Which I knew I must.
Finally. Averponekatupenaviziz sighed and looked up. I think he grieved for me. even as we both knew my loss was as nothing compared with (he future waiting to be born within this austere room deep in bedrock. "Pakegoknerfronakipilasis endlessly repeats the argument which destroyed him." he mused, half to himself.
I nodded. "It is a sad thing."
"He is apparently not aware of what is happening. So he does not suffer as you do. my friend "
I bowed my head. "I have a consolation. I still function."
"Gefapronikitafrekazanzis. what you have is more than that. You are unique among Phuili in that you are restricted to sensing the external world as humans sense it. That may be of great value."
It was like a ray of light through storm clouds "We are to continue a relationship with humans?"
"We must. Unfortunately, they share our universe."
"It will be difficult to change what is already decided. Pakegoknerfronakipilasis has many supporters."
"Exactly."
If I had been normal. I would have immediately recognized the First's meaning. But already I was using deductive reasoning to an extent I would have thought impossible before the humans came, and alter only a slight hesitation I asked. "Are you sure exposure to his words will not push others over the edge?"
"They will be prepared. They will be reminded of their mentor's rigidity. of the fact that proof of anything contrary to his beliefs would in any case have sufficed to destroy the foundations which supported his concept of reality."
Despite the tragedy we were discussing, it was difficult not to be heartened by its positive implications. "Instinct being proved as intelligence." I said, "must have been as shattering as black being proved white."
"You remain perceptive, Gefapronikitafrekazanzis. despite your sickness. Of course, you and I know the truth is somewhere between, and I am certain our colleagues will accept that truth when they realize humans represent a new classification of being. For most of them, I suspect the scientific challenge will be irresistable."
"The humans are proud. I am still not sure they will accept a lesser role."
"You have already told me they are an adaptable people. They are also realists, as we must be. In other words, it will be your function to prepare the humans for that lesser role—as I must prepare our own people for what is, I believe, a new universe."



Thus, quite abruptly, the document ends. It is, of course, a matter of record that Barry Devany did finally contact the lander, although by the time he was picked up he was almost dead from oxygen deprivation and took months to recover. On the other hand, Katherine Alcorn's fast recovery so impressed the Phuili, that "stasis" drugs and the means to administer them are now as much a part of their survival equipment as of ours—which has a further significance in that it implies a Phuili admission that even their advanced technology can be prone to error. Geoffrey, as the official Phuili representative, was assigned to the Permanent Earth Unit which was ultimately established on the Shouter, and it was only because of his ceaseless activities as mediator—on Phuili itself as well as on the Shouter—that PERU survived its initial growning pains. Even long after that critical first decade, humans and Phuili alike still refer to his records to resolve disputes.
Perhaps Geoffrey should have the final word. What follows is from a letter to Clarence Van Standmeer, PERU'S Assistant Research Administrator during that period. It was written shortly after Geoffrey returned to his home world for the last time.
Read it. I suggest all of us can learn from the vision of this great soul.
We will not meet again. But that is as it should be. because change is after all a vital component of the living universe. Nevertheless, the problems will remain. Our successors will have to resolve those problems as they arise, or all that you and I have worked for. for so long, will be as nothing.
We are so few, those of us of both races who seek to unify our thrust into the universe. But I sincerely believe there are forces which have already predetermined that unity of purpose. Surely it is no coincidence that the Shouter, our gateway to the galaxy, is located almost precisely equidistant between your homeworld and mine. And although we are so different, what are those differences except images on both sides of the same coin? Together, humanity and Phuili are greater than their separate parts. Apart, we are less than that sum.
Much less.
My friend. I need hardly remind you of the continuing threat to your species from uncontrolled misuse of its profligate technology And I know you have studied the Phuili enough to suspect, as I do, that our fate is the ultimate stagnation of an inflexible heritage. That two such self-destructive extremes can be melded into a vital new force, may seem impossible. But it is necessary, if only for survival's sake. Although I am sure there is more to a unified future than mere survival.
To paraphrase what a wise human once said, this Phuili has "walked a mile in human mocassins." Perceiving the universe as humans perceive it, I discovered to my astonishment that I had gained more than I had lost.
So should it be for all of us. Because only then will every Phuili and human at last realize that in all things essential, we are the same.
Your friend,
Geoffrey