“So?”
“So you see that as a sign of intelligence. To me, it’s also a sign of arrogance.”
“Arrogance?”
“Of course. Only an arrogant creature thinks it understands the universe. Like a cocky biologist from the streets of Noo Yawk.”
She smiled sweetly. “That’s why you’re so often astonished and amazed, dear.”
Julius’ face twisted into a rueful grimace.
“Skewered again, damme. But what are you trying to say, Indira? You don’t really think the owoc are as intelligent as we are, do you? Or as intelligent as the gukuy?”
She shrugged. “What’s intelligence? To you, it means the capacity for rational, linear thought. Problem solving. In that sense, no—the owoc are like retarded children. But if you use the word `intelligence’ in a broader sense, who’s to say? The only thing I do know, after years of living with them, is that the owoc view reality in a totally different manner than we do. We think in terms of truth and falsehood. Things are, or they are not. But with the owoc—”
She paused, then continued.
“Do you realize, Julius, that there is no equivalent in the owoc language for the concept of `falsehood’—or `lying.’ ”
“Hey, lady, give me a break. I never denied the sweet critters are as honest as the day is long. I’d trust `em with my piggybank in a minute, if I still had one.”
She shook her head. “You’re missing my point. Perhaps I put it badly. In the owoc language, Julius, there is no such idea as the truth.”
“What? But how—”
She smiled. “You can’t imagine that, can you? The concept of `truth’ is at the very bedrock of human consciousness. That’s why”—the smile became a broad grin— “you are amazed at the idea that another species could even think at all without the idea of `truth’ at the center of their thoughts.”
The expression on Julius’ face caused her to laugh.
“Dear Julius! Did you ever read the poetry of Keats? `Ode On a Grecian Urn’?”
He shook his head.
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
She stared into the distance. “Perhaps that ancient poet understood the way of the owoc. We never will. But do not sneer at it, Julius. If I might quote from another great English poet:
“There are more things in heaven
and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
The next several months were a busy time in Julius’ life, however, so he rarely had time to think about Indira’s ideas. In truth, he saw very little of his lover. Indira, as she had years before with the owoc, insisted on living with the gukuy. Total immersion, she explained, was the only efficient way to learn a new language.
He missed her company, of course, but he was engrossed in his own work. Exploring expeditions were out constantly now, bringing back a steady stream of reports. The topographic model of the mountain steadily took shape and detail, until it was finally finished.
“I’ve decided to call the mountain Mons Ishtar,” he announced to Indira proudly that night.
“That’s nice, dear,” she replied absently. “But the mountain already has a name. The gukuy were here first, and they call it the Chiton.”
Julius was disgruntled, but he accepted the change in names. By way of obscure linguistic revenge, however, he began referring to the map hut as “the Pentagon.”
The youngsters acquiesced in the name, although they didn’t understand it. In truth, they thought the name was silly—the hut was obviously square, not five-sided. Indira understood the name, of course. She did not think it was silly; she thought it was grotesque.
But the next morning, when Julius examined the model, he admitted to himself that the name change was appropriate. Especially from the south, where all the gukuy seemed to come from, the canyons which were regularly spaced along the mountain’s flank would give it the appearance of a ridged, flattish shell. Rising from the plain like a gigantic chiton, moving from east to west.
The view from the north would seem different, of course. There the long crest of the mountain broke sharply into a talus slope that, for the uppermost hundred meters, was almost a sheer cliff. From the north, the mountain would look like an enormous granite iceberg. (If there were such a thing as an iceberg on Ishtar, which Julius doubted.) But it was unlikely that many gukuy had ever seen the mountain from that angle. Beyond the base of the talus slope stretched a vast broken badlands, as far as the eye could see. By the verdant standards of Ishtar, the region to the north was a barren wasteland.