by David Brin
She nodded, looking up at him with that same light. Fiben smiled. “Okay,” he said. “Pretty damn okay.”
Together they started out, limping toward the glowering dark hummocks to the east.
PART FIVE
Avengers
In ancient days, when Poseidon still reigned and the ships of man were as weak as tinder, bad luck struck a certain Thracian freighter, who foundered and broke apart under an early winter storm. All hands were lost under those savage waves, save one — the boat’s mascot — a monkey.
As the fates would have it, a dolphin appeared just as the monkey was gasping its last breath. Knowing of the great love between man and dolphin, the monkey cried out, “Save me! For the sake of my poor children in Athens!”
Quick as a streak, the dolphin offered its broad back. “Thou art very strange, small, and ugly for a man,” the dolphin said as the monkey took a desperate grip.
“As men go, I might be quite handsome,” replied the monkey, who coughed, holding on tightly as the dolphin turned towards land. “You say you are a man of Athens?” the wary sea creature asked.
“Indeed, who would claim it were he not?” the monkey proclaimed.
“Then you know Piraeus?” the suspicious dolphin inquired further.
The monkey thought quickly. “Oh, yes!” he cried. “Piraeus is my dear friend. I only spoke with him last week!”
With that the dolphin bucked angrily and flung the monkey into the sea to drown. The moral of the story, one might suppose, is that one should always get one’s story straight, when pretending to be what one is not.
M. N. PLANO
68
Galactics
The image in the holographic display flickered. That was not surprising, since it came from many parsecs away, refracted through the folded space of the Pourmin transfer point. The muddy picture wavered and occasionally lost definition.
Still, to the Suzerain of Propriety the message was coming in all too clearly.
A diverse collection of beings stood depicted before the Suzerain’s pedestal. It recognized most of the races by sight. There was a Pila, for instance — short, furry, and stubby-armed. And there was a tall, gangling Z’Tang who stood beside a spiderlike Serentin. A Bi-Gle glowered lazily, coiled next to a being the Suzerain did not immediately recognize, and which might have been a client or a decorative pet.
Also, to the Suzerain’s dismay, the delegation included a Synthian and a human.
A human!
And there was no way to complain. It was only appropriate to include a Terran among the official observers — if a qualified human were available — since this world was registered to the wolflings. But the Suzerain had felt certain that there were none employed by the Uplift Institute in this sector!
Perhaps this was one more sign that the political situation in the Five Galaxies had worsened. Word had come from the homeworld Roost Masters telling of serious setbacks out between the spiral arms. Battles had gone badly. Allies had proven unreliable. Tandu and Soro fleets dominated once profitable trade routes and now monopolized the siege of Earth.
These were trying times for the great and powerful clan of the Gooksyu-Gubru. All now depended on certain important neutralist patron-lines. Should something happen to draw one or two of them into an alliance, triumph might yet be attained for the righteous.
On the other side of the wing, it would be disastrous to see any of the neutrals turn against the Great Glan!
To influence such matters had been a major reason, back when the Suzerain of Propriety originated the idea of invading Garth in the first place. Superficially this expedition had been intended to seize hostages for use in prying secrets out of the High Command of Earth. But psychological profiles had always made success in that seem unlikely. Wolflings were obstinate creatures.
No, what had won the Roost Masters over to the priest’s proposal was the possibility that this would bring honor to the cause of the clan — to score a coup and win new alliances from wavering parties. And at first all seemed to go so well! The first Suzerain of Cost and Caution -
The priest chirped a deep note of mourning. It had not before realized what wisdom they had lost, how the old bureaucrat had tempered the rash brilliance of the younger two with deep and reliable sense.
What a consensus, unity, policy we might have had.
Now, though, in addition to the constant struggles among the still disunited Triumvirate, there was this latest bad news. A Terran would be among the official observers from the Uplift Institute. The implications were unpleasant to consider.
And that was not to be the worst of it! As the Suzerain watched in dismay, the Earthling stepped forward as spokesman! Its statement was in clear Galactic Seven.
“Greetings to the Triumvirate of the Forces of Gooksyu-Gubru, now in contested occupation of the limited-leasehold world known as Garth. I greet you in the name of Cough’Quinn*3, Grand High Examiner of the Uplift Institute. This message is being sent ahead of our vessel by the quickest available means, so that you may prepare for our arrival. Conditions in hyperspace and at transfer points indicate that causality will almost certainly allow us to attend the proposed ceremonies, and administer appropriate sapiency tests at the time and place requested by you.
“You are further informed that Galactic Uplift Institute has gone to great lengths to accommodate your unusual request — first in exercising such haste and second in acting on the basis of so little information.
“Ceremonies of Uplift are joyous occasions, especially in times of turmoil such as these. They celebrate the continuity and perpetual renewal of Galactic culture, in the name of the most revered Progenitors. Client species are the hope, the future of our civilization, and on such occasions as this we demonstrate our responsibility, our honor, and our love.
“We approach this event, then, filled with curiosity as to what wonder the clan of Gooksyu-Gubru plans to unveil before the Five Galaxies.”
The scene vanished, leaving the Suzerain to contemplate this news.
It was too late, of course, to recall the invitations and cancel the ceremony. Even the other Suzerains recognized this. The shunt must be completed, and they must prepare to receive honored guests. To do otherwise might damage the Gubru cause irrevocably.
The Suzerain danced a dance of anger and frustration. It muttered short, sharp imprecations.
Curse the devil-trickster Tymbrimi! In retrospect, the very idea of “Garthlings” — native pre-sentients that survived the Holocaust of the Bururalli — was absurd. And yet the trail of false evidence had been so startlingly plausible, so striking in its implied opportunity!
The Suzerain of Propriety had begun this expedition in a lead position. Its place in the eventual Molt had seemed assured after the untimely demise of the first Suzerain of Cost and Caution.
But all that changed when no Garthlings were found — when it became clear just how thoroughly Propriety had been tricked. Failure to find evidence of human misuse of Garth or their clients meant that the Suzerain still had not yet set foot upon the soil of this planet. That, in turn, had retarded the development of completion hormones. All of these factors were setbacks, throwing the Molt into serious doubt.
Then, insurrection among the neo-chimpanzees helped bring the military to the fore. Now the Suzerain of Beam and Talon was rapidly growing preeminent, unstoppable.
The coming Molt filled the Suzerain of Propriety with foreboding. Such events were supposed to be triumphant, transcendent, even for the losers. Moltings were times of renewal and sexual fulfillment for the race. They were also supposed to represent crystallization of policy — consensus on correct action.
This time, however, there was little or no consensus. Something was very wrong, indeed, about this molting.
The only thing all three Suzerains were in agreement about was that the hyperspace shunt must be used for some sort of Uplift ceremony. To do otherwise would be suicidal at this point. But beyond that they parted compa
ny. Their incessant arguing had begun affecting the entire expedition. The more religious Talon Soldiers had taken to bickering with their comrades. Bureaucrats who were retired soldiers sided with their former comrades over logistical expenditures, or turned sullen when their chief overruled them. Even among the priesthood there were frequent arguments where there should already be unanimity.
The priest had just recently discovered what factionalism could do. The divisiveness had gone all the way to the point of betrayal! Why else had one of its two race-leader chimpanzees been stolen?
Now the Suzerain of Cost and Caution was insisting on a role in choosing the new male. No doubt the bureaucrat was responsible for the “escape” of the Fiben Bolger chimp in the first place! Such a promising creature it had been! By now it no doubt had been converted to vapor and ashes.
There would be no way to pin this on either of the rival Suzerains, of course.
A Kwackoo servitor approached and knelt, proffering a data cube in its beak. Given assent, it popped the record into a player unit.
The room dimmed and the Suzerain of Propriety watched a camera’s-eye view of driving rain and darkness. It shivered involuntarily, disliking the ugly, dank dinginess of a wolfling town.
The view panned over a muddy patch in a dark alley… a broken shack made of wire and wood, where Terran birds had been kept as pets … a pile of soggy clothing beside a padlocked factory… footprints leading to a churned up field of mud beside a bent and battered fence… more footprints leading off into the dim wilderness…
The implications were apparent to the Suzerain before the investigators’ report reached its conclusion.
The male neo-chimpanzee had perceived the trap set for it! It appeared to have made good its escape!
The Suzerain danced upon its perch, a series of mincing steps of ancient lineage.
“The harm, damage, setback
to our program is severe.
But it is not, may not be
irreparable!”
At a gesture its Kwackoo followers hurried forward. The Suzerain’s first command was straightforward.
“We must increase, improve, enhance
our commitment, our incentives.
Inform the female that we agree,
accept, acquiesce to her request.
“She may go to the Library.”
The servitor bowed, and the other Kwackoo crooned. “Zoooon!”
69
Government in Exile
The holo-tank cleared as the interstellar message ran to its end. When the lights came on, the Council members looked at each other in puzzlement. “What. . . what does it mean?” Colonel Maiven asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Commander Kylie. “But it’s clear the Gubru are up to something.”
Refuge Administrator Mu Chen drummed her fingers on the table. “They appeared to be officials from the Uplift Institute. It seems to mean the invaders are planning some sort of Uplift ceremony, and have invited witnesses.”
That much is obvious, Megan thought. “Do you think this has anything to do with that mysterious construction south of Port Helenia?” she asked. The site had been a topic of much discussion lately.
Colonel Maiven nodded. “I had been reluctant to admit the possibility before, but now I’d have to say so.”
The chim member spoke. “Why would they want to hold an Uplift ceremony for the Kwackoo here on Garth? It doesn’t make sense. Would that improve their claim on our leasehold?”
“I doubt it,” Megan said. “Maybe… maybe it isn’t for the Kwackoo at all.”
“But then for who?”
Megan shrugged. Kylie commented. “The Uplift Institute officials appear to be in the dark as well.”
There was a long silence. Then Kylie broke it again.
“How significant do you think it is that the spokesman was human?”
Megan smiled. “Obviously it was meant as a dig at the Gubru. That man might have been no more than a junior clerk trainee at the local Uplift Institute branch. Putting him out in front of Pila and Z’Tang and Serentini means Earth isn’t finished yet. And certain powers want to point that out to the Gubru.”
“Hm. Pila. They’re tough customers, and members of the Soro clan. Having a human spokesman might be an insult to the Gubru, but it’s no guarantee Earth is okay.”
Megan understood what Kylie meant. If the Soro now dominated Earthspace, there were rough times ahead.
Again, another long silence. Then Colonel Maiven spoke.
“They mentioned a hyperspace shunt. Those are expensive. The Gubru must set great store by this ceremony thing.”
Indeed, Megan thought, knowing that a motion had been put before the Council. And this time she realized that it would be hard to justify holding to Uthacalthing’s advice.
“You are suggesting a target, colonel?”
“I sure am, madam coordinator.” Maiven sat up and met her eyes. “I think this is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”
There were nods of agreement up and down the table. They are voting out of boredom, and frustration, and sheer cabin fever, Megan knew. And yet, is this not a golden chance, to be seized or lost forever?
“We cannot attack once the emissaries from the Uplift Institute have arrived,” she emphasized, and saw that everybody understood how important that was. “However, I agree that there may be a window of opportunity during which a strike could be made.”
Consensus was obvious. In a corner of her mind, Megan felt there really ought to be more discussion. But she, too, was near filled to bursting with impatience.
“We shall cut new orders to Major Prathachulthorn then. He shall receive carte blanche, subject only to, the condition that any attack be completed by November first. Is it agreed?”
A simple raising of hands. Commander Kylie hesitated, then joined in to make it unanimous.
We are committed, Megan thought. And she wondered if Hell reserved a special place for mothers who send their own sons into battle.
70
Robert
She didn’t have to go away, did she? I mean she herself said it was all right.
Robert rubbed his stubbled chin. He thought about taking a shower and shaving. Major Prathachulthorn would be calling a meeting sometime after it reached full light, and the commander liked to see his officers well groomed.
What I really should be doing is sleeping, Robert knew. They had just finished a whole series of night exercises. It would be wise to catch up on his rest.
And yet, after a couple of hours of fitful slumber he had found himself too nervous, too full of restless energy to stay in bed any longer. He had risen and gone to his small desk, setting up the datawell so its light would not disturb the chamber’s other occupant. For some time he read through Major Prathachulthorn’s detailed order of battle.
It was ingenious, professional. The various options appeared to offer a number of efficient” ways to use limited forces to strike the enemy, and strike Rim hard. All that remained was choosing the right target. There were several choices available, any of which ought to do.
Still, something about the entire edifice struck Robert as wrong. The document did not increase his confidence, as he had hoped it would. In the space over his head Robert almost imagined something taking form — something faintly akin to the dark clouds that had shrouded the mountains in storms so recently — a symbolic manifestation of his unease.
Across the little chamber a form moved under the blankets. One slender arm lay exposed, and a smooth length of calf and thigh.
Robert concentrated and erased the nonthing that he had been forming with his simple aura-power. It had begun affecting Lydia’s dreams, and it wouldn’t be fair to inflict his own turmoil upon her. For all of their recent physical intimacy, they were still in many ways strangers.
Robert reminded himself that there were some positive aspects to the last few days. The battle plan, for instance, showed that Prathachulthorn was at last taking some
of his ideas seriously. And spending time with Lydia had brought more than physical pleasure. Robert had not realized how much he missed the simple touch of his own kind. Humans might be able to withstand isolation better than chims — who could fall into deep depression if they lacked a grooming partner for very long. But mel and fern humans, too, had their apelike needs.
Still, Robert’s thoughts kept drifting. Even during his most passionate moments with Lydia, he kept thinking of somebody else.
Did she really have to leave? Logically there was no reason to have to go to Mount Fossey. The gorillas were already well cared for.
Of course, the gorillas might have been just an excuse. An excuse to escape the disapproving aura of Major Prathachulthorn. An excuse to avoid the sparking discharges from human passion.
Athaclena might be correct that there was nothing wrong with Robert seeking his own kind. But logic was not everything. She had feelings, too. Young and alone, she could be hurt even by what she knew to be right.
“Damn!” Robert muttered. Prathachulthorn’s words and graphs were a blur. “Damn, I miss her.”
There was a commotion outside, beyond the flap of cloth that sectioned off this chamber from the rest of the caves. Robert looked at his watch. It was still only four a.m. He stood up and gathered his trousers. Any unplanned excitement at this hour was likely to be bad news. Just because the enemy had been quiet for a month did not mean it had to stay that way. Perhaps the Gubru had gotten wind of their plans and were striking preemptively!
There was the slap of unshod feet upon stone. “Capt’n Oneagle?” a voice said from just beyond the cloth. Robert strode over and pulled it aside. A winded chim messenger breathed heavily. “What’s happening?” Robert asked.
“Urn, sir, you’d better come quick.”
“All right. Let me get my weapons.”