that sound: Sharn, a rising protracted noise like a musical saw, overlaid with white hiss; igon, a staccato double drumbeat dropping down to the tonic again. It was not just Sharn-igon.
All the Krinpit were constantly making their basic name-sounds when they were not making others. It was not just the Krinpit. Their environment sang to them. Each of the enclosures was marked by wind-powered sound-making machines. Nearly all of them had ratchets or droning pipes or bull-roarers or circle-bowed strings clamoring out their own particular recognition signal.
So to a human eye Sharn-igon was a lopsided crab scuttling in a clattering mass of others, in hellish red gloom, with an inferno of raucous sound coming from every direction.
Sharn-igon perceived it quite differently. He was strolling aimlessly along a well-remembered street. The street had a name; it translates rather closely as "the Great White Way."
At the intersection of the Breeders' Wallow Sharn-igon fell into conversation with an acquaintance.
"Do you have knowledge of whereabouts of Cheee-pruitt?"
"Negative. Conjecture: statistically probable that he would be by lakeside of village."
"Why?"
"Some persons hurt or ill. Many onlookers. Several Anomalous Ghosts reported."
Sharn-igon acknowledged the statements and turned toward the lakefront. He recalled that there had seemed to be a ghost near Cheee-pruitt's residence some time before. And it was anomalous. Basically there were two kinds of ghosts. The Ghosts Above were common and easily "visible" (because they made so much noise) but returned no echo signal to speak of to a Krinpit's sonar. They were good eating when they could be caught. The Ghosts Below were almost invisible. They seldom made visible sounds and returned not much echo; they were mostly observed when their underground digging damaged a Krinpit structure or farm. They too were good eating and were systematically hunted for that purpose when the Krinpit were lucky enough to locate a nest of young.
But what were the anomalous ones, neither Ghosts Above nor Ghosts Below?
Sharn-igon scuttled through the Breeders' Wallow to the Place of Fish Vendors, and along the lakefront to the bright commotion at the Raft Mooring. There was something almost invisible bobbing in the gentle roll of the bay. Though the Krinpit used metal only very sparingly, Sharn-igon recognized the brightness of it; but the bright metal seemed to float over something so soft and immaterial that it returned no real reflection to his sounding. The bright part, though, not only reflected Sharn-igon's sounds almost blindingly, it generated sound of its own: a faint, high, steady whine, an irregular dry-sand rustle. Sharn-igon could not identify the sounds; but then, he had never seen a TV camera or a radio transponder.
He stopped one of the Krinpit moving irritably away from the group and asked what was happening.
"Some Krinpit attempted to eat the ghost. They are damaged."
"Did the ghost harm them?"
"Negative. After eating, they became damaged. One ghost is still there. Advise against eating."
Sharn-igon bounced sounds off the stranger more carefully.
"Have you too eaten of the ghost?"
"A very little, Sharn-igon. I too am damaged."
Sharn-igon touched mandibles and moved on, concerned about Cheee-pruitt. He didn't hear him anywhere in the crowd, but the din was blinding. At least two hundred Krinpit were scratching and sliding over each other's carapaces, milling around the bloody mass that had been one of the "ghosts." Sharn-igon halted and sounded the area irresolutely.
From behind him he thought he heard his own name, badly spoken but recognizable: Sharn-igon. When he turned, his highly directional sound sense identified the source. It was the ghost. The one that had seemed to speak his name. Sharn-igon approached it cautiously; he did not like its smell, didn't like its muffled, shadowy sound. But it was a curiosity. First his own name: Sharn-igon. And in
All the Krinpit were constantly making their basic name-sounds when they were not making others. It was not just the Krinpit. Their environment sang to them. Each of the enclosures was marked by wind-powered sound-making machines. Nearly all of them had ratchets or droning pipes or bull-roarers or circle-bowed strings clamoring out their own particular recognition signal.
So to a human eye Sharn-igon was a lopsided crab scuttling in a clattering mass of others, in hellish red gloom, with an inferno of raucous sound coming from every direction.
Sharn-igon perceived it quite differently. He was strolling aimlessly along a well-remembered street. The street had a name; it translates rather closely as "the Great White Way."
At the intersection of the Breeders' Wallow Sharn-igon fell into conversation with an acquaintance.
"Do you have knowledge of whereabouts of Cheee-pruitt?"
"Negative. Conjecture: statistically probable that he would be by lakeside of village."
"Why?"
"Some persons hurt or ill. Many onlookers. Several Anomalous Ghosts reported."
Sharn-igon acknowledged the statements and turned toward the lakefront. He recalled that there had seemed to be a ghost near Cheee-pruitt's residence some time before. And it was anomalous. Basically there were two kinds of ghosts. The Ghosts Above were common and easily "visible" (because they made so much noise) but returned no echo signal to speak of to a Krinpit's sonar. They were good eating when they could be caught. The Ghosts Below were almost invisible. They seldom made visible sounds and returned not much echo; they were mostly observed when their underground digging damaged a Krinpit structure or farm. They too were good eating and were systematically hunted for that purpose when the Krinpit were lucky enough to locate a nest of young.
But what were the anomalous ones, neither Ghosts Above nor Ghosts Below?
Sharn-igon scuttled through the Breeders' Wallow to the Place of Fish Vendors, and along the lakefront to the bright commotion at the Raft Mooring. There was something almost invisible bobbing in the gentle roll of the bay. Though the Krinpit used metal only very sparingly, Sharn-igon recognized the brightness of it; but the bright metal seemed to float over something so soft and immaterial that it returned no real reflection to his sounding. The bright part, though, not only reflected Sharn-igon's sounds almost blindingly, it generated sound of its own: a faint, high, steady whine, an irregular dry-sand rustle. Sharn-igon could not identify the sounds; but then, he had never seen a TV camera or a radio transponder.
He stopped one of the Krinpit moving irritably away from the group and asked what was happening.
"Some Krinpit attempted to eat the ghost. They are damaged."
"Did the ghost harm them?"
"Negative. After eating, they became damaged. One ghost is still there. Advise against eating."
Sharn-igon bounced sounds off the stranger more carefully.
"Have you too eaten of the ghost?"
"A very little, Sharn-igon. I too am damaged."
Sharn-igon touched mandibles and moved on, concerned about Cheee-pruitt. He didn't hear him anywhere in the crowd, but the din was blinding. At least two hundred Krinpit were scratching and sliding over each other's carapaces, milling around the bloody mass that had been one of the "ghosts." Sharn-igon halted and sounded the area irresolutely.
From behind him he thought he heard his own name, badly spoken but recognizable: Sharn-igon. When he turned, his highly directional sound sense identified the source. It was the ghost. The one that had seemed to speak his name. Sharn-igon approached it cautiously; he did not like its smell, didn't like its muffled, shadowy sound. But it was a curiosity. First his own name: Sharn-igon. And in
Similar Books
