Rillas and Other Science Fiction Stories. A. R. Morlan
never seen before. The tribe was big—there must’ve been close to a hundred. Many of those nightly encampments occurred in a dark grove we’d never found, shelters piled against trees in spots. It was obviously permanent; many of the shelters centered around a neatly maintained cave entrance marked with the ten-slash symbol.
I wandered off with a few chittering pups in tow, one time when the ’lopers were all occupied with each other. Wandered off down the cave. I wasn’t exactly exploring, not in the normal sense of having direction and a goal. What I did was wander in and out of the cave entrance with no obvious purpose. Then it started raining—splashes all over the recorder lens—and I wandered deeper into the cave.
What the recorder caught was amazing. The light level fluttered as we went deeper in, until the recorder reached its limits. Must have been really dark, because I piled into the wall a few times, and the picture went dim. Then as I went down, things brightened as though we were nearing some source of light. Baby ’lopes cavorted happily around me. Cute little things, really.
The “cavern”—it was now apparent that the tunnel was dug by hand—widened out to abut a crusted metal wall relieved with a single open door. I wandered into a maze of narrow, round-walled metal corridors. They were all nearly clean of dirt and debris, as if some messy housekeeper lived here, but a housekeeper nonetheless. The technology I saw before me was baroque, surreal, with instrumentation set into the walls, and hanging down every where from the curved ceiling. The interior of this metal cavern reminded me of a spaceship’s gangways, but one which made our own seem ludicrously simple. Corridors meandered off in bizarre angles, totally unlike anything on-board the Sagittarius IV or any earth ship. But the alien design pleased me in ways I could never describe, leaving me full of a sense of wonder, for only creatures with a consistent and thorough aesthetic vision could’ve created this ship, with all of its mysteries intact.
Was it a buried ship or an old, very, very old building? If it was a building, then why hadn’t any other traces of civilization been found? There were the hillocks, but those were little more than hollowed earthen mounds, artificial caves. This was much more....
I remembered Reba going on about the “degeneration” of the ’lopers brain structure. Were they the builders of this ship, or fortress, or whatever it was? Or were they merely squatters?
I ran around touching everything and pressing keypads, until the little ’lopes dragged on my arms and legs, apparently to stop me. They seemed deadly serious for baby ’lopes. Even the ones not attached to my limbs were standing motionless. Then when I dropped my arms and backed away, they let go to begin playing again. There was something about this place that spooked them. Not a “child” among them went anywhere near the instrumentation, as though it were something...holy.
I wandered a while longer, sitting against a column. The room must’ve begun darkening then, because I caught the telltale flutter of the exposure control on the recording. New sounds began, rhythmic sounds, sounds other than the chittering of the children. Then the sounds changed, to become something like ’lope-speak, yet faster....
There was a screen up there on the wall. Not that I watched it much. I seemed no more aware of it than anything else, looking that way for a moment, and turning the next. But something was going on up there. The color was washed out, sometimes wavering hazy rainbow splotches, sometimes bleeding into black and white. Pictures of creatures like ’lopes facing out from the screen like news commentators, but with sharper eyes and none of the ’lopes’ fidgety habits. Different enough as to almost seem a different species, its image fuzzy, divided into crude horizontal lines like the earliest television images broadcast back in the first half of the twentieth century, a hundred lines or less, with only minimal definition.
The recorder tape doesn’t really carry many views of the screen. Like I say, I wasn’t paying attention. I had none to give to the screen. But I did look that way often enough that I can get the picture now. The creatures on the screen were similar in ways to the ’lopers, but smoother, with less hairy skin on the exposed face and gesturing hands. Large eyes, a sort of muddy green-tan, with the distinctive oval ’loper pupils. Longer hair on the head, like Homo sapiens, but much finer and flatter than my own. A more defined nose and lips on the mouth, thin lips, but not the furry slit of the current ’lopes. Teeth much more like these ’lopes, the canines even more pronounced, perhaps....A narrow, shallow-ribbed torso, a longer neck, and a bigger jaw-line.
For maybe five minutes the thing spoke into whatever device was used to record the footage. Then it was over.
What did it all mean? How long had all this been here?
Day 184:
Just what is there to do on this planet? I’m totally alone when I’m conscious. The ’lopes seem to know when I’m conscious, and they avoid me. All except Penti, who came up within a few meters yesterday while I was resting under a tree, nursing an agonizing headache and trying not to think.
Do the headaches come when I’m out and roaming? If they do, I don’t know about it, so it doesn’t matter, does it?
There’s none coming to save me....
Day 198:
It’s been a long spell this time. I came out two days ago, and I’ve been fast-forwarding through the recorder tapes ever since. Do you know, I think the ’lopes have been looking out for me, like a pet or a feeble child?
The last thing I remember back on the 184th day was sitting out under my favorite tree when suddenly the darkness reached out for me like oil gushing from a well. I dug until I found that spot on the tape. Suddenly the ground rushed up to meet the recorder, well, that was it. Forty minutes passed until I roused. The recorder flashed past Penti and another ’lope, each patiently looking my way. I don’t think I was aware of them even in the blackout state, because the recorder didn’t linger. They were still there, the next time I looked up.
What in the world did I mean to the ’lopers? I wasn’t one of them. Yet...they trusted me. And that time I was in danger of doing myself in, Penti saved me. Was life that sacred to them, like some kind of religion without the subtle rules? Was the ten-slash some kind of symbol of faith? Not that they could tell me.
Didn’t I see the ten-slash on the recording in the subterranean chamber? Quickly as I could, I scanned back to my last set of recordings. Yes! There it was, on the wall behind the ’loper gesturing on the screen. I’m going to call him a ’lope, if only because he almost looks like one.
I scanned back to the last recent set of recordings. There Penti stood, chittering softly to the other ’lope, stroking his arm. Her arm bore the sign as well. The same set of symbols one of them had once incised upon Jimmie’s arm....
Day 212:
I saw Reba today! It’s been so long! I woke up out in the Open an hour ago. My head was nearly splitting, but in my joy I hardly noticed. She stood there resplendent in a green dress, her red hair floating in the still air, a slight glow surrounding her whole body. I think the glow might’ve been just an illusion of tired eyes, though.
She was acting kind of odd; every time the ’lopes standing beside her moved, Reba would move the same way. When she opened her mouth to speak, she spoke to me in ’lope-speak, I wonder when she had the time to learn ’lope-speak? Maybe it was something espers could learn. I sure didn’t understand it....
I passed out for a few minutes more, and when I woke up, both Reba and the ’lopes were gone.
Day 245:
This is my third lucid day in a row. I’ve finished moving a record/playback system into the ’loper cavern. Oddly, the ’lopes don’t seem to mind—in fact, it really seemed like they were trying to help in their clumsy way. Every time I turned my back, a ’loper rushed in to mark the equipment with a ten-slash.
This is a landmark time, really. After I decided to do it, I retraced the old recording to find the cavern. When I burst in on the clearing suddenly, the ’lopes panicked. But they made some tentative attempts to retake their clearing soon enough. The place must be really important to them, for them to overcome their fear. They’re