Free Balance of Power by Brian Stableford Page B

Mariel watched. I didn’t expect her to begin picking up the language until they actually began to teach us, but I knew that when that time came she’d be all geared up to master it at superhuman speed. She’d know all the sounds, and she’d know the tones and the rhythms. It all came naturally to her. And learning it wouldn’t be just a matter of memorizing the labels—not for her. She’d actually get to grips with the feelings behind it, the ways of thinking implicit in it. She had a very flexible world view, an elastic mind. It was the necessity of keeping that elasticity which really set the limit on her ability. Talents dwindle not for any of the quasi-supernatural reasons she’d quoted aboard the ship, but for the simple reason that children growing up inevitably settle into the world view of their own kind. Their minds crystallize out, their ways of thinking become fixed. If Mariel hadn’t come out with the Daedalus she might already have lost her “gift of tongues.” A ceaseless supply of new worlds and new cultures is one way to help maintain elasticity.
    Despite the fact that the situation as a whole was clouded by every possible uncertainty, I couldn’t help feeling glad that she had, whatever else might happen, got her chance with the natives of Delta.

CHAPTER TEN
     
    We reached the village late in the day. It was in a little gully between two slopes, one of which was steep enough for bare rock to show through here and there. The rock had been worked by metal tools. There was a stream cutting through the gully, and they had built a small dam to contain a sizable pool at the lower neck of the cleft. There were about forty huts, made mostly from thin laths of wood, matted leaves that resembled fern or bracken, and mud-caked straw. There were a lot of small children and a lot of small animals running loose between the huts on the cleared, stony ground. The burnt-out enclaves where the various families cultivated their plots were scattered on both sides of the stream downstream of the village itself. There were two or three fires set close together in the center of the living area.
    A great deal of curiosity was aroused by our arrival, but not much commotion. Everyone stared, but no one crowded close to get a better look at us. We went first to the pool, where our escorts drank their fill after a thirsty day’s marching. We drank too, a little more modestly. The leader of our little group was approached by a group of natives his own size, and they indulged in an animate conversation. They were obviously discussing us, but there was no attempt at formal introduction.
    “The one who made friends with us is trying to explain himself,” said Mariel. “There doesn’t seem to be one among the others who has special authority. If they have a chief, he’s not out here. One or two of the others don’t seem very pleased with him, but our friend is trying to mollify them. They don’t seem particularly hostile to us—if I had to guess I’d say they want to know why he didn’t follow through with whatever the original purpose of his expedition was. He’s trying to tell them that we’re more important.”
    As running commentaries go, it seemed fairly adequate.
    Eventually, the one who’d brought us here came back, and began ushering us forward again. He took us to one of the huts and invited us inside. He made signs at us, which even I had no difficulty interpreting as instructions to stay put. Then he went back to his discussion group, to argue a bit more. I peered out of the doorway for a few minutes, watching the villagers, but after a while I got tired of being watched in turn. I went inside.
    There wasn’t much in the hut—two long mounds of straw, presumably used for sleeping; a few bowls carved out of wood—all empty and quite clean; a pot full of some greasy substance rather like soap. One of the inner walls, though, was sown with the colored feathers of a dozen different species of bird—just