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The expressions of glee on the humans’ faces were everything Hubcap could have wanted. They huddled around the tiny camera screen, then demanded to see the underwater city for themselves.
After some quiet searching, a section of rock around the corner was picked for climbing. The least clumsy humans went first. Hubcap stood below to hoist them up one at a time. It wasn’t an ideal climbing path, but it would have to do. The videographers went up with their cameras safely in backpacks, though an extra camera had to be handed up to them. Everyone hurried.
Hubcap was the last to arrive at the top this time. He found the rest of the crew gathered at the drop-off, looking down at the water and whispering in excitement. Most had gathered around the cameras, watching the viewscreens for details that they couldn’t make out themselves.
“This is amazing!” Owen breathed. “What a find!”
“Look at that arch over there!” whispered Elliot. “It looks like it’s inlaid with gemstones!”
“Do you think they can throw those spears very far?” asked a woman. “What about out of water?” Hubcap recognized her as the Amazon warrior who’d fought off the anklebiters.
“We’re pretty high up,” said another woman with darker skin and a sharp nose. “If they live in the water all the time, maybe they only use them for stabbing. The water might slow down projectiles to where they’re useless.”
A pale guy with white-blonde hair spoke up from farther along the edge. “Ever seen anyone spear-fish? Projectiles go plenty fast.”
Several people hushed him while the Amazon pointed out that human spear-fishers generally threw from outside the water.
Sir Sunscreen-A-Lot mumbled something about harpoons, but he kept quiet.
“Anyway,” she said, “My question is whether they can huck those spears high enough to give us problems.”
“Naw,” said a man with more melanin.
“Probably not,” agreed Lady Sharpnose.
Hubcap snorted an electronic snort. “What are you fleshies talking about? I could do it. Just because you tender things lack the strength, don’t assume they can’t.”
There was a momentary silence. “The robot has a point,” the Amazon said. “Let’s make sure not to bother them, shall we?”
The others agreed and crouched lower against the rock, watching silently.
Tarja pointed past her camera. “Hey, look!”
Another mating pair had just danced out of the bushes, heading for the shallows. The humans with cameras aimed at the pair, occasionally straying to focus on the small welcoming party in the water.
Hubcap did his part by making sarcastic remarks about invasions of privacy. Someone had to do it.
“Don’t be a hypocrite, metal head,” Elliot replied. “You just filmed the whole thing a minute ago.”
“That was different,” Hubcap said. “I was documenting a rare find, so that I could share it with all of you. There’s no need to document the same thing now, so let the poor things have their private happy time.”
Owen gave him a look. “Which they are having in broad daylight, out in public, in view of those in the river,” he said. “Stop arguing just to be contrary.”
“Fine, take all the fun out of it.” Hubcap subsided, resting his chin on his hands and watching the proceedings. Everything happened the same as before.
“So what do you make of the water-based ones?” Elliot asked Owen. “Are they a subspecies? Any idea what they’re doing with the eggs?”
Hubcap piped up. “I think they’re going to eat them, as you fleshy things tend to do.” He pointed to the baskets. “See, they’re storing them for later.”
Elliot sighed. “Orrr...”
“Or,” Owen said. “They could be taking them away to care for properly.”
“That’s a nice thing to do if they’re a different species,” Elliot said. “What do they get out of the deal? Do the land-based ones keep predators away or something?”
Owen was visibly thinking. “I suppose that’s possible,” he said. “But the more obvious — and interesting — answer is that these are all members of the same species. They are the same size, and largely similar. Either some are hatched to be aquatic while others are land-based — this would be like an ant colony, with drones, soldiers, and breeders — or they start out in the water, and it’s only when they reach their adult forms that they move to land.” He leaned back, pondering. “I think the second option might be more likely, since all of the eggs seem to be laid underwater, so it would make no sense to expect some of those eggs to hatch into air-breathers.”
“That would be really cool,” Hubcap said with exaggerated sincerity, while the other biologists burst into hushed conversation. “How do you expect they do this magical shape-changing from mermaids to dragons?”
“Oh, probably much like frogs,” Owen said, unfazed by Hubcap’s analogy. “A little bit at a time. Or maybe even in cocoons like the insects, though I haven’t seen a sign of any. Still, that wouldn’t mean much; if they’re this civilized, then they would surely spend their vulnerable metamorphosis time indoors. They have the space, it looks like.”
“Fascinating,” Hubcap said.
While Owen nodded, Elliot agreed. “It really is.”
Then Elliot slapped his hand toward the rock in sudden realization, stopping short of making a loud noise. “This is why the intelligence scanners didn’t find them on the first go-round,” he exclaimed in a loud whisper. “They were all underwater! Do we have the tech to detect brainwaves underwater?”
Owen’s eyes were wide. “That must be it,” he murmured. “How long do their life cycles last, to be missed so completely? I assumed it to be a yearly thing like most animals on Earth, but maybe it’s more like cicadas, with their seventeen years underground!” He went off on a ramble.
Hubcap stared down at the underwater city. “We should ask them. Y’know, as soon as we figure out the whole communication business.”
Elliot huffed a laugh. “Yeah, that minor detail. Somehow I doubt it’ll be simple, more’s the pity. I’d love to talk to them. And see those buildings up close!”
“I have always wanted to swim in a window,” Hubcap agreed. “You know, one that’s not attached to a sunken car.”
“Of course,” Elliot said.
“Is that floating thing a garden?” Owen asked no one in particular, squinting upstream. “It must be. That’s incredible.” The collective attention turned to this new marvel, cameras filming away and biologists muttering.
It was Dale who saw the fringe of knotted strings that one of the aliens was carrying. “Hey, look!” he said, pointing at his viewscreen. “Weren’t people finding seaweed tied in knots, and they thought one of the scientists did it? I think it was these guys!”
Hubcap scrambled to peer over his shoulder. One of the warrior aliens in mostly-yellow armor had tucked their spear under one arm to hold the knotwork with both hands. An unarmored civilian treaded water nearby, long tail lashing and colors dancing in a purple-orange conversation that meant nothing to the robot. This one pointed to a knot, and the other alien said more color-words in response.
Hubcap patted the camerman on the shoulder. “That does look pretty clear. Good catch, Dale! We might just pay you after all.”
“Gee, thanks,” Dale muttered while everyone else searched for knotwork. They found it in several places: on a restaurant table, on a wall of the plant shop, and held by passers-by. One slender civilian rested atop a building with a basket of water weeds at the ready, weaving what looked like the world’s longest beaded necklace.
Elliot beat Owen to the conclusion: “Guys, that might be a form of writing. It’s something that won’t wash off underwater, and it’s portable.”
Owen beamed at him. “I was just thinking that! There have been cultures on Earth that use knots to keep track of numerical things. I’m not sure if they ever decoded anything more abstract, though it’s certainly possible.”
“I wonder if we can find those pieces back at base?” Elliot said. “Not that we can read them yet.” He gestured vaguely at the alien society below. “But give it time!”
Then something occurred to Lady Sharpnose. “Hey,” she said with a smile. “What are we going to call them? Did anyone ever come up with something?”
Heads turned.
“No, they did not,” Owen said in excitement, a bit louder than he should have.
It wasn’t the first time Hubcap had seen the crew chief forget himself in favor of scientific interest. He would have bet someone else’s money that it wouldn’t be the last.
“So far it’s been ‘alien’ this and ‘native’ that,” Owen continued. “‘Organism’ if we’re lucky. I’m sure these very foreign people have their own name for themselves, but it may be a while before we can communicate well enough to ask. What should we call them? Perhaps something scientific — based on the classification for cuttlefish, maybe. Cephalopeople?”
He was immediately voted down, and the other biologists weren’t quiet either. Hubcap glanced at the surface of the river and decided that the aliens probably couldn’t hear them. Probably.
“No, it should be something that regular people can say!” the Amazon exclaimed. “Like kaleidocritter.”
“Oh, now that’s just silly,” Sharpnose said.
“You do better, then!”
“Skinspeakers,” she suggested. “Or wordscales.”
Dale jumped in eagerly. “What if we name them after the planet?”
The biologists weren’t impressed. “You’d call them ‘the natives of planet IGN-47’?” asked the Amazon.
“Oh,” Dale said. “Right.”
“That’s not wholly bad,” Hubcap said, taking pity on the cameraman. “Just a bit of a mouthful. What about something color-related, like spectrumspeakers?”
“That just sounds like a brand name for music equipment!” laughed Sunscreen-A-Lot.
“Guys, keep it down,” Owen finally said. “Let’s shelve the conversation for later, when we’re not in earshot.”
The humans quieted, agreeing to call the aliens “colortalkers” for the time being. They settled back to watching.
Hubcap broke the silence. “Owen,” he said with false casualness. “Do you think the ones in the water have any influence over the ones on land? Can they summon air-breathing assistance?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Owen said. “Why do you ask?”
Hubcap pointed at the armored aliens in the water below them. “Because it appears that we are no longer being stealthy,” he said. They were gathering beneath the cliff, looking upwards and hefting spears.
“Annnnnd back we go,” Vic announced, sliding out of sight. “Come, camera crew.” They followed her while the biologists still clustered at the edge.
Owen shook his head. “Surely they’re not going to throw — Ack!” He broke off as a spear flew past his face.