by David Brin
Millchamp growled. “I mean what good do our forces do down here?” he demanded. “We’re all going slowly stir-crazy. Meanwhile, at this very moment, Earth herself may be fighting for her life!”
“There’s no such thing as this very moment across interstellar space,” Commander Kylie commented. “Simultaneity is a myth. The concept is imbedded in Anglic and other Earth tongues, but—”
“Oh, revert the metaphysics!” Millchamp snapped. “What matters is that we can hurt Earth’s enemies!” He picked up the tree-bark leaves. “Thanks to the guerrillas, we know where the Gubru have placed many of their major planet-based yards. No matter what damned Library-spawned tricks the birds have got up their feathers, they can’t prevent us from launching our flicker-swivvers at them!”
“But—”
“We have three hidden away — there weren’t any used in the space battle, and the Gubru can’t know we have any of ’em. If those missiles are supposed to be good against the Tandu, damn their seven-chambered hearts, they’ll surely suffice for Gubru ground targets!”
“And what good will that do?” Lieutenant McCue asked mildly.
“We can bend a few Gubru beaks! Ambassador Uthacal-thing told us that symbols are important in Galactic warfare. Right now they can pretend that we hardly put up a fight at all. But a symbolic strike, one that hurt them, would tell the whole Five Galaxies that we won’t be pushed around!”
Megan Oneagle pinched the bridge of her nose. She spoke with eyes closed. “I have always found it odd that my Amerindian ancestors’ concept of ‘counting coup’ should have a place in a hypertechnological galaxy.” She looked up. “It may, indeed, come to that, if we can find no other way to be effective.
“But you’ll recall that Uthacalthing also advised patience.” She shook her head. “Please sit down, Colonel Millchamp. Everybody. I’m determined not to throw our strength away in a gesture, not until I know it’s the only thing left to do against the enemy.
“Remember, nearly every human on the planet is hostage on the islands, their lives dependent on doses t›f Gubru antidote. And on the mainland there are the poor chims, for all intents abandoned, alone.”
Along the conference the officers sat downcast. They’re frustrated, Megan thought. And I can’t blame them.
When war had loomed, when they had begun planning ways to resist an invasion, nobody had ever suggested a contingency like this. Perhaps a people more experienced in the sophistications of the Great Library — in the arcane art of war that the aeons-old Galactics knew — might have been better prepared. But the Gubru’s tactics had made a shambles of their modest defense plans.
She had not added her final reason for refusing to sanction a gesture. Humans were notoriously unsophisticated at the game of Galactic punctilio. A blow struck for honor might be bungled, instead giving the enemy excuse for even greater horrors.
Oh, the irony. If Uthacalthing was right, it was a little Earthship, halfway across the Five Galaxies from here, that had precipitated the crisis!
Earthlings certainly did have a knack for making trouble for themselves. They’d always had that talent.
Megan looked up as the small chen from the mainland, Robert’s messenger, approached the table, still wearing his blanket. His dark brown eyes were troubled.
“Yes, Petri?” she asked.
The chim bowed.
“Ma’am, th’ doctor wants me to go to bed now.”
She nodded. “That’s fine, Petri. I’m sure we’ll want to debrief you some more, later… ask you some more questions. But right now you should rest.”
Petri nodded. “Yes’m. Thank you, ma’am. But there was somethin’ else. Somethin’ I’d better tell you while I remember.”
“Yes? What is it?”
The chen looked uncomfortable. He glanced at the watching humans and back at Megan. “It’s personal, ma’am. Somethin’ Captain Oneagle asked me to memorize an’ tell you.”
Megan smiled. “Oh, very well. Will you all excuse me , for a moment, please?”
She walked with Petri over to the far end of the room.
There she sat down to bring her eyes level with the little chim. “Tell me what Robert said.”
Petri nodded. His eyes went unfocused. “Captain Oneagle said to tell you that th’ Tymbrimi Athaclena is actually doin’ most of the organizing for th’ army.”
Megan nodded. She had suspected as much. Robert might have found new resources, new depths, but he was not and never would be a born leader.
Petri went on. “Cap’n Oneagle told me to tell you that it was important that th’ Tymbrimi Athaclena have honorary patron status to our chims, legally.”
Again, Megan nodded. “Smart. We can vote it and send word back.”
But the little chim shook his head. “Uh, ma’am. We couldn’t wait for that. So, uh, I’m supposed to tell you that Captain Oneagle an’ th’ Tymbrimi Athaclena have sealed a … a consort bond … I think that’s what it’s called. I…”
His voice trailed off, for Megan had stood up.
Slowly, she turned to the wall and rested her forehead against the cool stone. That damn fool of a boy! part of her cursed.
It was the only thing they could do, another part answered.
So, now I’m a mother-in-law, the most ironic voice added.
There would certainly be no grandchildren from this union. That was not what interspecies consort marriages were for. But there were other implications.
Behind her, the council debated. Again and again they turned over the options, coming up dry as they had for months now.
Oh, if only Uthacalthing had made it here, Megan thought. We need his experience, his wry wisdom and humor. We could talk, like we used to. And maybe, he could explain to me these things that make a mother feel so lost.
She confessed to herself that she missed the Tymbrimi Ambassador. She missed him more than any of her three husbands and more even, God help her, than she missed her own strange son.
51
Uthacalthing
It was fascinating to watch Kault play with a ne’ squirrel, one of the native animals of these southern plains. He coaxed the small creature closer by holding out ripe nuts in his great Thennanin hands. He had been at it for over an hour while they waited out the hot noonday sun under the cover of a thick cluster of thorny bramble.
Uthacalthing wondered at the sight. The universe never seemed about to cease surprising him. Even bluff, oblivious, obvious Kault was a perpetual source of amazement.
Quivering nervously, the ne’ squirrel gathered its courage. It took two more hops toward the huge Thennanin and stretched out its paws. It plucked up one of the nuts.
Astonishing. How did Kault do it?
Uthacalthing rested in the muggy shade. He did not recognize the vegetation here in the uplands overlooking the estuary where his pinnace had come down, but he felt he was growing familiar with the scents, the rhythms, the gently throbbing pain of daily life that surged and flowed through and all around the deceptively quiet glade.
His corona brought him touches from tiny predators, now waiting out the hot part of the day, but soon to resume stalking even smaller prey. There were no large animals, of course, but Uthacalthing kenned a swarm of ground-hugging insectoids grubbing through the detritus nearby, seeking tidbits for their queen.
The tense little ne’ squirrel hovered between caution and gluttony as it approached once more to feed from Kault’s outstretched hand.
He should not be able to do that. Uthacalthing wondered why the squirrel trusted the Thennanin, so huge, so intimidating and powerful. Life here on Garth was nervous, paranoid in the wake of the Bururalli catastrophe — whose deathly pall still hung over these steppes far east and south of the Mountains of Mulun.
Kault could not be soothing the creature as a Tymbrimi might — by glyph-singing to it in gentle tones of empathy. A Thennanin had all the psi sense of a stone.
But Kault spoke to the creature in his own highly inflect
ed dialect of Galactic. Uthacalthing listened.
“Know you — sight-sound-image — an essence of destiny, yours? Little one? Carry you — genes-essence-destiny — the fate of star-treaders, your descendants?”
The ne’ squirrel quivered, cheeks full. The native animal seemed mesmerized as Kault’s crest puffed up and deflated, as his breathing slits sighed with every moist exhalation. The Thennanin could not commune with the creature, not as Uthacalthing might. And yet, the squirrel somehow appeared to sense Kault’s love.
How ironic, Uthacalthing thought. Tymbrimi lived their lives awash in the everflowing music of life, and yet he did not personally identify with this small animal. It was one of hundreds of millions, after all. Why should he care about this particular individual?
Yet Kault loved the creature. Without empathy sense, without any direct being-to-being link, he cherished it entirely in abstract. He loved what the little thing represented, its potential.
Many humans still claim that one can have empathy without psi, Uthacalthing pondered. To “put one’s self into another’s shoes,” went the ancient metaphor. He had always thought it to be one of their quaint pre-Contact ideas, but now he wasn’t so certain. Perhaps Earthlings were sort of midway between Thennanin and Tymbrimi in this matter of how one empathized with others.
Kault’s people passionately believed in Uplift, in the potential of diverse life forms eventually to achieve sapiency. The long-lost Progenitors of Galactic culture had commanded this, billions of years ago, and the Thennanin Clan took the injunction very seriously. Their uncompromising fanaticism on this issue went beyond being admirable. At times — as during the present Galactic turmoil — it made them terribly dangerous.
But now, ironically, Uthacalthing was counting on that fanaticism. He hoped to lure it into action of his own design.
The ne’ squirrel snatched one last nut from Kault’s open hand and then decided it had enough. With a swish of its fan-shaped tail it scooted off into the undergrowth. Kault turned to look at Uthacalthing, his throat slits flapping as he breathed.
“I have studied genome reports gathered by the Earth-ling ecologists,” the Thennanin Consul said. “This planet had impressive potential, only a few millennia ago. It should never have been ceded to the Bururalli. The loss of Garth’s higher life forms was a terrible tragedy.”
“The Nahalli were punished for what their clients did, weren’t they?” Uthacalthing asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Aye. They were reverted to client status and put under foster care to a responsible elder patron clan. My own, in fact. It is a most sad case.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the Nahalli are actually quite a mature and elegant people. They simply did not understand the nuances required in uplifting pure carnivores and so failed horribly with their Bururalli clients. But the error was not theirs alone. The Galactic Uplift Institute must take part in the blame.”
Uthacalthing suppressed a human-style smile. Instead his corona spiraled out a faint glyph, invisible to Kault. “Would good news here on Garth help the Nahalli?” he asked.
“Certainly.” Kauh expressed the equivalent of a shrug with his flapping crest. “We Thennanin were not in any way associated with the Nahalli when the catastrophe occurred, of course, but that changed when they were demoted and given under our guidance. Now, by adoption, my clan shares responsibility for this wounded place. It is why a consul was sent here, to make certain the Earthlings do not do even more harm to this sorry world.”
“And have they?”
Kault’s eyes closed and opened again. “Have they what?”
“Have the Earthlings done a bad job, here?”
Kault’s crest flapped again. “No. Our peoples may be at war, theirs and mine, but I have found no new grievances here to tally against them. Their ecological management program was exemplary.
“However, I do plan to file a report concerning the activities of the Gubru.”
Uthacalthing believed he could interpret bitterness in Kault’s voice inflection*. They had already seen signs of the collapse of the environmental recovery effort. Two days ago they had passed a reclamation station, now abandoned, its sampling traps and test cages rusting. The gene-storage bins had gone rancid after refrigeration failed.
An agonized note had been left behind, telling of the choice of a neo-chimpanzee ecology aide — who had decided to abandon his post in order to help a sick human colleague. It would be a long journey to the coast for an antidote to the coercion gas.
Uthacalthing wondered if they ever made it. Clearly the facility had been thoroughly dosed. The nearest outpost of civilization was very far from here, even by hover car.
Obviously, the Gubru were content to leave the station unmanned. “If this pattern holds, it must be documented,” Kault said. “I am glad you allowed me to persuade you to lead us back toward inhabited regions, so we can collect more data on these crimes.”
This time Uthacalthing did smile at Kault’s choice of words. “Perhaps we will find something of interest,” he agreed.
They resumed their journey when the sun, Gimelhai, had slipped down somewhat from its burning zenith.
The plains southeast of the Mulun range stretched like the undulating wavetops of a gently rolling sea, frozen in place by the solidity of earth. Unlike the Vale of Sind and the open lands on the other side of the mountains, here there were no signs of plant and animal life forms introduced by Earth’s ecologists, only native Garth creatures.
And empty niches.
Uthacalthing felt the sparseness of species types as a gaping emptiness in the aura of this land. The metaphor that came to mind was that of a musical instrument missing half its strings.
Yes. Apt. Poetically appropriate. He hoped Athaclena was taking his advice and studying this Earthling way of viewing the worM.
Deep, on. the level of nahakieri, he had dreamt of his daughter last night. Dream-picted her with her corona reaching, kenning the threatening, frightening beauty of a visitation by tutsunucann. Trembling, Uthacalthing had awakened against his will, as if instinct had driven him to flee that glyph.
Through anything other than tutstmucann he might have learned more of Athaclena, of how she fared and what she did. But tutsunucann only shimmered — the essence of dreadful expectation. From that glimmer he knew only that she still lived. Nothing more.
That will have to do, for now.
Kault carried most of their supplies. The big Thennanin walked at an even pace, not too difficult to follow. Uthacalthing suppressed body changes that would have made the trek easier for a short while but cost him in the long run. He settled for a loosening in his gait, a wide flaring of his nostrils — making them flat but broad to let in more air yet keep out the ever-present dust.
Ahead, a series of small, tree-lined hummocks lay by a streambed, just off their path toward the distant ruddy mountains. Uthacalthing checked his compass and wondered if the hills should look familiar. He regretted the loss of his inertial guidance recorder in the crash. If only he could be sure…
There. He blinked. Had he imagined a faint blue flash?
“Kault.”
The Thennanin lumbered to a stop. “Mmm?” He turned around to face Uthacalthing. “Did you speak, colleague?”
“Kault, I think we should head that way. We can reach those hills in time to make camp and forage before dark.”
“Mmm. It is somewhat off our path.” Kault puffed for a moment. “Very well. I will defer to you in this.” Without delay he bent and began striding toward the three green-topped mounds.
It was about an hour before sunset when they arrived by the watercourse and began setting camp. While Kault erected their camouflaged shelter, Uthacalthing tested pulpy, reddish, oblong fruits plucked from the branches of nearby trees. His portable meter declared them nutritious. They had a sweet, tangy taste.
The seeds inside, though, were hard, obdurate, obviously evolved to withstand stomach acids,
to pass through an animal’s digestive system and scatter on the ground with its feces. It was a common adaptation for fruit-bearing trees on many worlds.
Probably some large, omnivorous creature had once depended on the fruit as a food source and repaid the favor by spreading the seeds far and wide. If it climbed for its meals it probably had the rudiments of hands. Perhaps it even had Potential. The creatures might have someday become pre-sentient, entered into the cycle of Uplift, and eventually become a race of sophisticated people.
But all that ended with the Bururalli. And not only the large animals died. The tree’s fruit now fell too close to the parent. Few embryos could break out of tough seeds that had evolved to be etched away in the stomachs of the missing symbionts. Those saplings that did germinate languished in their parents’ shade.
There should have been a forest here instead of a tiny, scrabbling woody patch.
I wonder if this is the place, Uthacalthing thought. There were so few landmarks out on this rolling plain. He looked around, but there were no more tantalizing flashes of blue.
Kault sat in the entrance of their shelter and whistled low, atonal melodies through his breathing slits. Uthacalthing dropped an armload of fruit in front of the Thennanin and wandered down toward the gurgling water. The stream rolled over a bank of semi-clear stones, taking up the reddening hues of twilight.
That was where Uthacalthing found the artifact.
He bent and picked it up. Examined it.
Native chert, chipped and rubbed, flaked along sharp, glassy-edged lines, dull and round on one side where a hand could find a grip. …
Uthacalthing’s corona waved. Lurrunanu took form again, wafting among his silvery tendrils. The glyph rotated slowly as Uthacalthing turned the little stone axe in his hand. He contemplated the primitive tool, and lurrunanu regarded Kault, still whistling to himself higher up the hillside.
The’ glyph tensed and launched itself toward the hulking Thennanin.
Stone tools — among the hallmarks of pre-sentience, Uthacalthing thought. He had asked Athaclena to watch out for signs, for there were rumors… tales that told of sight-ings in the wild back country of Garth…