by David Brin
Actually, Uthacalthing had been pretty certain he knew the reason for the frantic flurry of activity on the part of the Gubru. From what the two of them had been able to piece together, it seemed the invaders were very anxious to find something up in the Mountains of Mulun. They had thrown soldiers and scientists into the rough range with apparent reckless energy, and appeared to have paid a heavy cost for the effort.
“Can you think of a reason why the fighting has ebbed?” he asked Kault.
“I am uncertain from what I can decipher. One possibility is that the Gubru have found and captured the thing they were so desperately looking for—”
Doubtful, Uthacalthing thought with conviction. It is hard to cage a ghost.
“Or they may have given up searching for it—”
More likely, Uthacalthing agreed. It was inevitable that, sooner or later, the avians should realize they had been made fools of, and cease chasing wild gooses.
“Or, perhaps,” Kault concluded, “the Gubru have simply finished suppressing all opposition and liquidated whoever was opposing them.”
Uthacalthing prayed the last answer was not the correct one. It was among the risks he had taken, of course, in arranging to tease the enemy into such a frenzy. He could only hope that his daughter and Megan Oneagle’s son had not paid the ultimate price to further his own convoluted hoax on the malign birds.
“Hmm,” he commented. “Did you say there was something else puzzling you?”
“This,” Kault went on. “That after five twelves of planetary days, during which they have done nothing at all for the benefit of this world, suddenly the Gubru are making announcements, offering amnesty and employment to former members of the Ecological Recovery Service.”
“Yes? Well, maybe it just means they’ve completed their consolidation and can now spare a little attention to their responsibilties.”
Kault snorted. “Perhaps. But the Gubru are accountants. Credit counters. Humorless, selfish worriers. They are fanatically prim about those aspects of Galactic tradition that interest them, yet they hardly seem to care at all about preserving planets as nursery worlds, only about the near-term status of their clan.”
Although Uthacalthing agreed with that assessment, he considered Kault less than an,impartial observer. And the Thennanin was hardly the one to accuse others of being humorless.
Anyway, one thing was obvious. So long as Kault was distracted like this, thinking about the Gubru, it would be useless to try to draw his attention to subtle clues and footprints in the ground.
He could sense movement in the prairie all around him. The little carnivores and their prey were all seeking cover, settling into small niches and burrows to wait out midday, when the fierce heat of summer would beat down and it would cost too much energy either to give chase or to flee. In that respect, tall Galactics were no exception. “Come,” Uthacalthing said. “The sun is high. We must find a shady place to rest. I see some trees over on the other side of the water.”
Kault followed without comment. He appeared to be indifferent about minor deviations in their path, so long as the distant mountains grew perceptibly closer each day. The white-topped peaks were now more than just a faint line against the horizon. It might take weeks to reach them, and indeterminably longer to find a way through unknown passes to the Sind. But Thennanin were patient when it suited their purposes.
There were no blue glimmerings as Uthacalthing found them shelter under a too-tight cluster of stunted trees, though he kept his eye “peeled” anyway. Still, with his corona he thought he kenned a touch of feral joy from some mind hiding out there on the steppe, something large, clever, and familiar.
“I am, indeed, considered to be something of an expert on Terrans,” Kault said a little later as they made conversation under the gnarled branches. Small insects buzzed near the Thennanin’s breathing slits, only to be blown away every time they approached. “That, plus my ecological expertise, won me my assignment to this planet.”
“Don’t forget your sense of humor,” Uthacalthing added, with a smile.
“Yes,” Kault’s crest puffed in the Thennanin equivalent of a nod. “At home I was thought quite the devil. Just the sort to deal with wolflings and Tymbrimi pixies.” He finished with a rapid, low set of raspy breaths. It was obviously a conscious affectation, for Thennanin did not have a laughter reflex as such. No matter, Uthacalthing thought. As Thennanin humor goes, it was pretty good.
“Have you had much first-hand experience with Earth-lings?”
“Oh, yes,” Kault said. “I have been to Earth. I have had the delight of walking her rain forests and seeing the strange, diverse lifeforms there. I have met neo-dolphins and whales. While my people believe humans themselves should never have been declared fully uplifted — they would profit much from a few more millennia of polishing under proper guidance — can admit that their world is beautiful and their clients promising.”
One reason the Thennanin were in this current war was in hopes of picking up all three Earthling species for their clan by forced adoption — “for the Terrans’ own good,” of course. Though, to be fair, it was also clear that there were disagreements over this among the Thennanin themselves. Kault’s party, for instance, preferred a ten-thousand-year campaign of persuasion, to try to win the Earthlings over to adoption voluntarily, with “love.”
Obviously, Kault’s party did not dominate the present government.
“And of course, I met a few Earthlings in the course of a term working for the Galactic Institute of Migration, during an expedition to negotiate with the Fah’fah’n*fah.”
Uthacalthing’s corona erupted in a whirl of silvery tendrils, an open show of surprise. He knew his stunned expression was readable even to Kault, and did not care. “You… you have been to meet the hydrogen breathers?” He did not even know the trick of pronouncing the hyper-alien name, not part of any sanctioned Galactic tongue.
Kault had surprised him once again!
“The Fah’fah’n*fah.” Again Kault’s breathing slits pulsed in mimicry of laughter. This time, it sounded much more realistic. “The negotiations were held in the Poul-Kren sub-quadrant, not far from what the Earthlings call the Orion sector.”
“That’s very close to Terra’s Canaan colonies.”
“Yes. That is one reason why they were invited to take part. Even though these infrequent meetings between the civilizations of oxygen breathers and hydrogen breathers are among the most critical and delicate in any era, it was thought appropriate to bring a few Terrans along, to show them some of the subtleties of high-level diplomacy.”
It must have been his state of confused surprise, but at that moment Uthacalthing thought he actually caught a kenning from Kault … a trace of something deep and troubling to the Thennanin. He is not telling me all of it, Uthacalthing realized. There were other reasons Earthlings were involved.
For billions of years, uneasy peace had been maintained between two parallel, completely separate cultures. It was almost as if the Five Galaxies were actually Ten, for there were at least as many stable worlds with hydrogen atmospheres as planets like Garth and Earth and Tymbrim. The two strands of life, each supporting vast numbers of species and lifeforms, had almost nothing in common. The Fah’fah’n*fah wanted nothing of rock, and their worlds were too vast and cold and heavy for the Galactics ever to covet.
Also, they seemed even to operate on different levels or rates of time. The hydrogen breathers preferred the slow routes, through D-Level hyperspace and even normal space between the stars — the realm where relativity ruled — leaving the quicker lanes among the stars to the fast-living heirs of the fabled Progenitors. ^
Sometimes there were conflicts. Entire systems and clans died. There were no rules to such wars.
Sometimes there was trade, metals for gases, or machinery in exchange for strange things not found even in the records of the Great Library.
There were periods when whole spiral arms would be abandoned by one civi
lization or the other. The Galactic Institute of Migration organized these huge movements for the oxygen breathers, every hundred million years or so. The official reason was to allow great tracts of stars to “go fallow” for an era, to give their planets time to develop new pre-sentient life. Still, the other purpose was widely known… to put space between hydrogen and oxygen life where it seemed impossible to ignore each other any longer.
And now Kault was telling him that there had been a recent negotiation right in the Poul-Kren sector? And humans had been there?
Why have I never heard of this before? he wondered.
He wanted to follow this thread, but had no opportunity. Kault was obviously unwilling to pursue it, and returned to the earlier topic of conversation.
“I still believe there is something anomalous about the Gubru transmissions, Uthacalthing. From their broadcasts itis clear that they are combing both Port Helenia and theislands, seeking out the Earthlings’ ecology and uplift experts.”
Uthacalthing decided that his curiosity could wait — a hard decision for a Tymbrimi. “Well, as I suggested earlier, perhaps the Gubru have decided to do their duty by Garth, at last.”
Kault gurgled in a tone Uthacalthing knew denoted doubt. “Even if that were so, they would require ecologists, but why Uplift specialists? I intuit that something curious is still going on,” Kault concluded. “The Gubru have been extremely agitated for several megaseconds.”
Even without their small receiver, or any news over the airwaves at all, Uthacalthing would still have known that much. It was implicit in the intermittent blue light he had been following since weeks ago. The flickering glow meant that the Tymbrimi Diplomatic Cache had to have been breached. The bait he had left inside the cairn, along with numerous other hints and clues, could only lead a sapient being to one conclusion.
It was apparent his jest on the Gubru had proved very expensive for them.
Still, all good things come to an end. By now even the Gubru must have figured out that it was all just a Tymbrimi trick. The avians weren’t exactly stupid. They had to discover sooner or later that there really weren’t any such things as “Garthlings.”
The sages say that it can be a mistake to push a joke too far. Am I making that error trying to pull the same jest on Kault?
Ah, but in this case the procedure was so totally different! Fooling Kault was turning into a much slower, more difficult, more personal task.
Anyway, what else have I to do, to pass the time?
“Do tell me more about your suspicions,” Uthacalthing said aloud to his companion. “I am very, very interested.”
56
Galactics
Against all expectation, the new Suzerain of Cost and Caution was actually scoring points. Its plumage had barely even begun to show the royal hues of candidacy, and it had started out far, far behind its peers in the competition. Nevertheless, when it danced the other Suzerains were forced to watch closely and pay heed to its well-parsed arguments.
“This effort was misguided, costly, unwise,” it chirpedand whirled in delicate rhythm. “We have spent treasure,time, and honor
seeking,
chasing,
hunting
achimera!”
The new chief bureaucrat did have a few advantages. It had been trained by its predecessor — the impressive deceased Suzerain of Cost and Caution. Also, to this conclave it had brought an equally impressive, indicting array of facts. Data cubes lay scattered across the floor. The presentation by the head civil servant had, in fact, been quite devastating.
“There is no way, no possibility, no chance that thisworld could have hidden upon it a presentient survivor ofthe Bururalli! It was a hoax, a ruse, a fiendish wolfling-and-Tymbrimi plot to get us to
waste,
squander,
throw away
our wealth!”
To the Suzerain of Propriety this was most humiliating. In fact, it was not much short of catastrophic.
During the hiatus, while a new bureaucratic candidate was being chosen, the priest and the admiral had reigned supreme, with no one to hold them in check. They had well known that it was not wise to act so, without the voice of a third peer to restrain them, but what being always acted wisely when opportunity beckoned seductively?
The admiral had gone on personal search and destroy missions in pursuit of the mountain partisans, seeking gloss to add to its personal honor. For its part, the priest had ordered expensive new works built and had rushed the delivery of a new planetary Branch Library.
It had been a lovely interregnum of two-way consensus. The Suzerain of Beam and Talon approved every purchase, and the Suzerain of Propriety blessed every foray of the Talon Soldiers. Expedition after expedition was sent into the mountains as closely guarded scientists eagerly sought out a prize beyond price.
Mistakes were made. The wolflings proved diabolical in their ambushes and animal elusiveness. And yet, there would never have been any carping about cost had they actually found what they were looking for. It all would have been worth it, if only…
But we were tricked, fooled, made fools of, the priest thought bitterly. The treasure had been a lie. And now the new Suzerain of Cost and Caution was rubbing it in for all it was worth. The bureaucrat danced a brilliant dance of chastisement of excess. Already it had dominated several points of consensus — for instance, that there would be no more useless chases into the mountains, not until a cheaper way was found to eliminate the resistance fighters.
The plumage of the Suzerain of Beam and Talon drooped miserably. The priest knew how much this must gall the admiral. But they were both held hypnotized by the righteous correctness of the Dance of Chastisement. Two could not outvote one when that one was so clearly in the right.
Now the bureaucrat had launched into a new cadence, leading into a new dance. It proposed that the new construction projects be abandoned. They had nothing to do with defending the Gubru hold upon this world. They had been begun on the assumption that these “Garthling” creatures would be found. Now it was simply pointless to continuebuilding a hyperspace shunt and a ceremonial mound!
The dance was powerful, convincing, backed up with charts and statistics and tables of figures. The Suzerain of Propriety realized that something would have to be done and done soon, or this upstart would end the day in the foremost position. It was unthinkable that such a sudden reverse of order should happen just as their bodies were starting to give them twinges preliminary to Molt!
Even leaving out the question of molt order, there was also the message from the Roost Masters to consider. The queens and princes back home were desperate in their queries. Had the Three on Garth come up with a bold new policy yet? Calculations showed that it would be important to have something original and imaginative soon, or else the initiative would pass forever to some other clan.
It was intimidating to have the fate of the race riding in one’s slipstream.
And for all of its obvious finesse and fine preening, one thing was readily apparent about the new chief bureaucrat. The new Suzerain of Cost and Caution lacked the depth, the clarity of vision of its dead predecessor. The Suzerain of Propriety knew that no grand policy was going to come out of picayune, short sighted credit-pinching.
Something had to be done, and done now! The priest took up a posture of presentiment, spreading its brightly feathered arms in display. Politely, perhaps even indulgently, the bureaucrat cut short its own dance and lowered its beak, yielding time.
The Suzerain of Propriety started slowly, shuffling in small steps upon its perch. Purposely, the priest adopted a cadence used earlier by its adversary.
“Although there may be no Garthlings, there remains achance, opportunity, opening, for us to use the ceremonialsite we have
planned,
built,
dedicated
at such cost.
“There is a plan, scheme, concept, which may still yet
win
glory,
honor,
propriety
for our clan.
“At the center, focus, essence of this plan, we shall
examine,
inspect,
investigate
the clients of wolflings.”
Across the chamber the Suzerain of Beam and Talon looked up. A hopeful light appeared in the dejected admiral’s eye, and the priest knew that it could win a temporary victory, or at least a delay.
Much, much would depend in the days ahead upon finding out whether this bold new idea would work.
57
Athaclena
“You see?” he called down to her. “It moved during the night!”
Athaclena had to shade her eyes as she looked up at her human friend — perched on a tree branch more than thirty feet above the forest floor. He pulled on a leafy green cable that stretched down to him at a forty-five-degree angle from its even higher anchor.
“Are you certain that is the same vine you snipped last night?” she called.
“It sure is! I climbed up and poured a liter of chromium-rich water — the very stuff this particular vine specializes in — into the crotch of that branch, way up there above me. Now you can see this vine has reanchored itself to that exact spot!”
Athaclena nodded. She felt a fringe of truth around his words. “I see it, Robert. And now I believe it.”
She had to smile. Sometimes Robert acted so much like a young Tymbrimi male — so quick, impulsive, puckish. It was a little disconcerting, in a way. Aliens were supposed to behave in strange and inscrutable ways, not just like… well, boys.
But Robert is not an alien, she reminded herself. He is my consort. And anyway, she had been living among Terrans for so long, she wondered if she had started to think like one.
When — if — I ever get home, will I disconcert all around me, frightening and amazing them with metaphors? With bizarre wolfling attitudes? Does that prospect attract me?
A lull had settled over the war. The Gubru had stopped sending vulnerable expeditions into the mountains. Their outposts were quiescent. Even the ceaseless droning of gasbots had been absent from the high valleys for more than a week, te the great relief of the chim farmers and villagers.