Phantasm 2: In the Shadow of Iniquity (two)

"I' m not so sure they' re quite as defenceless as you think," said Laura, looking round, ideas forming in her mind. "They just need to learn to use what they have as effectively as they can. But that doesn' t matter. You have the technology to help them, why don' t you use it?"

"You mean the sprays and things like that?" Malcom queried. She nodded. "As a rule we try not to interfere with their society. We' re interested in watching them develop on their own, not in changing them. Even in situations like this." He released a small sigh. "What you have to understand about the Minarthans is that their culture has evolved around their world. They might seem primitive but that' s the way they are and we don' t want to change that. Without the conditions just the way they are, the Minarthans would not be what? they wouldn' t be who they are. Their beliefs are at the heart of their society. It' s all they have left. They don' t have technology, so instead they have dance and ritual. Change that and they won' t be the same."

Laura understood, her bond with the phantasms had revealed the essence of their civilisation in the forms of images and pictographs, which was how they communicated and was itself descriptive of them, of how they perceived things and how they must have once lived. The same appeared to be true with the Minarthans. There were some things which just weren' t worth sacrificing. If they interfered with them then the Minarthans would never be the same, not as they were, not as they had been. Interference would destroy their culture for they would become something different, not necessarily something better. They were condemned to a life of non-advancement, but they knew nothing else and so it had become a part of their social fabric, a part of their cultural identity and history, a part of who they were. To change them would be the same thing as killing them. The anthropologists could not do that and now that she had seen them, now that she could no longer deny their existence as a people rather than just as a thought existing somewhere in the back of her mind, neither could she. And as she realised that Laura knew that she too could not abandon them. Their society was indeed too rich, too precious, too important to sacrifice. She still didn' t agree with the children being involved, but now she knew why the anthropologists would not leave. Just as Laura knew she would not either.

She said none of this to Malcom.

They began to move again, following the gentle turns of the rocky road. It was cool here, sheltered, and when she paused by one of the homestead Laura found that it was as cold as ice, the texture rough through her coverings, and she thought it would crumble easily enough if she applied too much pressure. Their creation must have been incredibly difficult and they seemed to be works of art as much as anything else. She studied the Minarthan structure and discovered that that was actually a more than adequate description. There were definite patterns etched into the rock, engravings and images that flowed smoothly, granting the homestead character. She looked at a few more and noticed spirals on those as well, though none possessed the same pattern - each was distinctive, personal, no doubt engraved by the person (or maybe persons, individuals) who lived there. It was artwork inscribed into the very fabric of their lives, another piece of the tapestry that defined their culture. They had no paper, no canvas, so they used what they had to create something, to draw, to write, to record their history, to express themselves. As the ancestors of humans had done on the walls of caves, the Minarthans did the same, though the means they employed were more elegant and descriptive than those of Neanderthals and cavemen.

Scott and Malcom had continued onwards while she had paused. Laura hurried to catch up with them, moving as quickly as she could without causing a lot of noise.

They traversed the rock-road for a few more minutes before they emerged into a reasonable sized clearing. Running through the centre of this was a channel of water, a stream; the water was clear but she could see where the channel had been carved and could follow its path. She strained her head back so she could look upwards and trace it back to its source. She followed it to a far wall which she hadn' t seen from the platform. The channel vanished from view halfway in the rock, indicating it might lead to either the surface or to a larger body inside the rocks elsewhere. She returned her gaze to what she could see before her. There were perhaps a dozen or more Minarthans by the stream, stooped over, drinking. It was strange watching that; as they had no mouth it was just absorbed through their skin, literally swallowed by every pore of their bodies. Some of them were bathing in the channel and when they emerged they were bone dry, without a drop on them. Laura thought that it raised some interesting questions as to just how they ate.

"Doesn' t the water hurt them?" Scott said quietly, his voice dropping to a whisper because of their close proximity to the Minarthans.

Malcom shook his head. "They' re tolerant like all other living things here, shielded at the genetic level. They need it to live."

"Oh. Right. I forgot about that."

Laura touched the water with her fingers, knowing she would be protected by her environmental suit. It was pleasantly warm, which was strange considering the cool atmosphere. There must have been a natural spring or something which warmed it. She removed her hand, bringing with it droplets of water, leaving ripples on the surface. The Minarthans all froze as one and stared at the water. The droplets from her hand hit the body of water, creating more disturbances. Their reaction was to shrink back in terror, which was quite understandable; they saw only droplets in the air, nothing to cause the disturbances. To them it must have seemed like some horrible act of sorcery, black magic.

Realisation dawned on her then. Anger grew quickly inside her. "They don' t know at all, do they? They don' t know anything about the cloaks, they don' t know you are studying them like this. Do they?"

"No, you' re right, they don' t."

"Jesus, Malcom, that' s an invasion of their privacy. Why didn' t you say anything?"

"It didn' t concern you," Malcom said. "We' ve done this for a long time now. We don' t like doing it much either, we don' t derive any kind of perverse pleasure from tricking them believe me, but the truth of the matter is that it' s easier to learn about them by walking amongst them. Quicker, too. We get to observe them in their natural habitat. They don' t know. It doesn' t hurt them. We don' t hurt them."