made fearful and wanted to conceal themselves lest these faint touchings indicated the pressure of other beings with the strange extra sense, beings more powerful and dangerous than the predators of their own world.
All things considered, Martin thought, it was a good reason for hiding; good enough to satisfy a Federation which normally had no time at all for people who treated others with fear and distrust. More than any other race in his experience, these burrowers needed Federation help. He was not out of trouble himself yet, but already he was considering methods of assessing their suitability for citizenship.
“You have a most unusual and interesting feel,” said the burrower, who was working above his lower legs. “I assume, from earlier touchings felt while you were on the surface, that these are the limbs on which you balance when you move quickly over the ground. On that occasion you were accompanied by a lighter being whose presence I no longer feel.”
Martin kept quiet so that Beth could speak for herself.
“I am the being whose presence you felt earlier,” she said, and went on to give a brief, simplified description of the two-way translation system which was converting the burrower’s stubble touchings into sounds which the visitors could understand, and the visitors’ words into a form which the burrower could feel. She went on, “I thank you for your efforts to rescue my life-mate, and I apologize for the irritation caused by the devices we must use to touch you underground. Solid material is impassible to our extra sense, and your own species’ highly developed sense of touch is truly unique.”
“Uniquely unfortunate, I fear,” Cromonar replied, and even in translation the anger was apparent in its voice. “It seems that every sentient and non-sentient creature in existence has the ability to accurately navigate over long or short distances without needing to feel the touch of sun or wind or sea currents or vibrations bouncing off distant objects. We are cripples, beings lacking vital organs, and we know not what it is that we lack.
“The sensitivity of our long-range touching systems,” it went on more calmly, “made us aware of the many and complex vibrations reaching us from beyond our world. These touchings were not natural occurrences, and we hoped that, some day, beings much more advanced than ourselves would visit us and perhaps help us attain that ability which we alone lack. Your presence and actions here demonstrate that my people need no longer fear everyone and everything above the surface. More, it proves to us that there are other planetary surfaces and subsurfaces warmed by countless numbers of suns whose touchings we can barely detect, but whose soil and creatures we may one day like to feel around us. Believe me, your gratitude is appreciated, but it is we who are in your debt.”
Martin gave an involuntary shiver which caused the burrower to renew its warning against unnecessary movement. When Beth spoke she bypassed the translator so that only he could hear her.
“This Cromonar,” she said, “is giving me goose-bumps. It’s blind, dammit, and still it wants to go to the stars!”
“The ends of your rear limbs have awkward, angular projections,” the burrower went on, “which were responsible for the original cave-in. My body is arched across these limbs to support the tunnel, which is about to collapse again. Move forward carefully, but with speed.”
Straining to kept his toes pointed backward, Martin used his elbows and forearms to drag himself clear of the fall. But he had moved less than three yards when there was a sudden, heavy pressure on his feet. For a heart- stopping moment he imagined that the whole roof was collapsing on top of him, but he was able to pull his feet free without bringing down any more soil.
“Are you all right, Martin?” Cromonar said. Before he could reply it went on, “I can feel that you are. But there is instability in the whole tunnel. Keep moving.”
Martin kept moving and the burrower kept on talking. Maybe it liked talking, or perhaps it was still trying to take his mind off his present predicament.
“The majority of my people are unwilling to take risks,” it went on, “whether physical or philosophical. They tend to ignore challenges until the challenger has either died of old age or… Can you move faster, Martin?”
Martin did so, feeling the other’s body nudging at his feet when they threatened to dig into the side walls. He said, “By challenger do you mean a person among you who issues challenges? Do these people influence or control others by means of a greater physical strength or other forms of coercion? Do such individuals indulge in conflict, either directly or by proxy? Do the leaders of your culture achieve their high positions as a result of such conflicts?”
He had almost forgotten that his life could end at any moment, and for that he was deeply grateful to the fat, animated pancake which was following him along the tunnel. It had reminded him of his job.
“We try to coerce people,” the burrower replied, “by argument and debate and warnings of impending trouble, but their mental inertia and innate conservatism is such that we have little success. But stranger, are you suggesting that there are beings out there who impose their wills violently on other sentient people? Surely that is inconceivable. It would be the action of an intelligent predator, if that were not a contradiction in terms. Violence must only be offered toward non-sentient animal and vegetable life in the interests of food provision.
“You worry me, Martin,” it concluded. “Are there beings out there who practice such insanity?”
And with those words, Martin knew, his preliminary assessment of the burrower culture was complete, and entirely favorable.
Reassuringly, he said, “There are a few such individuals, but they are not allowed to influence normal people. However, if others like myself were to come here, could we talk to the whole population and ask questions of them?”
That would be the final stage of the assessment, the examination of the individual candidates for citizenship.
“Yes, Martin,” the burrower replied, “but there is no guarantee that they would listen. My friends took a grave risk in making themselves known to you. Had the outcome been different, we would have been ostracized for life. But the areas of this world which can support my people are fast being eaten out, and if there was the slightest chance of finding an answer to the problem, or of finding someone with the answer, the risk had to be taken. Soil, living space, is our most urgent need.”
Martin thought that it was grossly unfair that he had to conduct this discussion while crawling along a low and dangerously unstable tunnel on his stomach, but he tried to choose his words with care.
He said, “Soil can be provided, on another world. There would be no limit to the area or depth you would inhabit, and there would be no predators other than those you might wish to bring along to make you feel at home.”
Cromonar was silent for so long that Martin wondered if he had seriously misjudged the situation. Removed from what was literally their native soil, the burrowers might be helplessly disoriented, and Cromonar was intelligent enough to realize that. But still, they dreamed of traveling to the stars.
“Another world?” Cromonar asked finally. “For us? Empty?”
“Not empty,” Martin said dryly, thinking of the teeming populations already living within the Federation World. “But there would be more territory than you would ever need if your species lives and grows for a thousand generations. It is difficult to explain while I’m crawling on my…”
“My apologies, Martin,” Cromonar broke in. “You do not feel your surroundings as I do, and are unaware of the solid rock above us and that the cavern is but a short distance away.”
“Confirmed,” Beth said. “I’m sorry, I was too busy listening to tell you.”
“Travel in the emptiness above the air was only a theoretical possibility until your first vehicle arrived,” Cromonar went on, “and I find it difficult to believe that you have vessels capable of moving an entire planetary population.”
“It can be done,” Martin said, moving more slowly. “But the people who go must want to go. And they must satisfy my superiors that they would not be disruptive influences, or be capable of deliberately harming any being of their own or any other species they might meet.
Having satisfied these requirements, they can be moved whenever they wish.”
“It is probable,” the burrower said after another long silence, “that my people are too backward and… unsuitable.”
Chapter 17
