by David Brin
The chim shook her head. “It’s not fighting, sir. It’s… it’s some chims just arrivin’ from Port Helenia.”
Robert frowned. New recruits from town had been arriving in small groups all along. What was all the excitement about this time? He heard Lydia stir as the talking disturbed her sleep. “Fine,” he told the chimmie. “We’ll interview them a little later—”
She interrupted. “Sir! It’s Fiben! Fiben Bolger, sir. He’s come back.”
Robert blinked. “What?”
There was movement behind him. “Rob?” a feminine voice spoke. “What is—”
Robert whooped. His shout reverberated in the closed spaces. He hugged and kissed the surprised chimmie, then caught up Lydia and tossed her lightly into the air.
“What… ?” she started to ask, then stopped, for she found herself addressing only the empty space where he had been.
Actually, there was little need to hurry. Fiben and his escorts were still some distance away. By the time their horses could be seen, puffing up the trail from the north, Lydia had dressed and joined Robert up on the escarpment. There dawn’s gray light was just driving out the last wan stars.
“Everybody’s up,” Lydia commented. “They even roused the major. Chims are dashing all over the place, jabbering in excitement. This must be some chen we’re waiting for.”
“Fiben?” Robert laughed. He blew into his hands. “Yeah, you might say old Fiben’s unusual.”
“I gathered as much.” She shaded her eyes against the glow to the east and watched the mounted party pass a switchback climbing the narrow trail. “Is he the one in the bandages?”
“Hm?” Robert squinted. Lydia’s eyesight had been bio-organically enhanced during her Marine training. He was envious. “It wouldn’t surprise me. Fiben’s always getting banged up, one way or another. Claims he hates it. Says it’s all due to’innate clumsiness and a universe that has it in for him, but I’ve always suspected it was an affinity for trouble. Never known a chim who went to such lengths just to get a story to tell.”
In a minute he could make out the features of his friend. He shouted and raised his hand. Fiben grinned and waved back, although his left arm was immobilized in a sling. Next to him, on a pale mare, rode a chimmie Robert did not recognize.
A messenger arrived from the cave entrance and saluted. “Sers, the major requests that you an’ Lieutenant Bolger come down just as soon’s he’s here.”
Robert nodded. “Please tell Major Prathachulthorn we’ll be right there.”
As the horses climbed the last switchback, Lydia slipped her hand into his, and Robert felt a sudden wave of both gladness and guilt. He squeezed back and tried not to let his ambivalence show.
Fiben’s alive! he thought. I must get word to Athaclena. I’m’sure she’ll be thrilled.
Major Prathachulthorn had a nervous habit of tugging at one ear or the other. While listening to reports from his subordinates, he would shift in his chair, occasionally leaning over to mumble into his datawell, retrieving some quick dollop of information. At such times he might seem distracted, but if the speaker stopped talking, or even slowed down, the major would snap his fingers, impatiently. Apparently, Prathachulthorn had a quick mind and was able to juggle several tasks at once. However, these behaviors were very hard on some of the chims, often making them nervous and tongue-tied. That, in turn, did not improve the major’s opinion of the irregulars that had only recently been under Robert’s and Athaclena’s command.
In Fiben’s case, though, this was no problem. As long as he was kept supplied with orange juice, he kept on with his story. Even Prathachulthorn, who usually interrupted reports with frequent questions, probing mercilessly for details, sat silently through the tale of the disastrous valley insurrection, Fiben’s subsequent capture, the interviews and tests by the followers of the Suzerain of Propriety, and the theories of Dr. Gailet Jones.
. Now and then Robert glanced at the chimmie Fiben had brought with him from Port Helenia. Sylvie sat to one side, between the chims Benjamin and Elsie, her posture erect and her expression composed. Occasionally, when asked to verify or elaborate on something, she answered in a quiet voice. Otherwise, her gaze remained on Fiben constantly.
Fiben carefully described the political situation among the Gubru, as he understood it. When he came to the evening of the escape, he told of the trap that had been laid by the “Suzerain of Cost and Caution,” and concluded simply by saying, “So we decided, Sylvie and I, that we’d better exit Port Helenia by a different route than by sea.” He shrugged. “We got out through a gap in the fence and finally made it to a rebel outpost. So here we are.”
Right! Robert thought sardonically. Of course Fiben had left out any mention of his injuries and exactly how he escaped. He would no doubt fill in the details in his written report to the major, but anyone else would have to bribe them out of him.
Robert saw Fiben glance his way and wink. I’d bet this is at least a five-beer tale, Robert thought.
Prathachulthorn leaned forward. “You say that you actually saw this hyperspace shunt? You know exactly where it is located?”
“I was trained as a scout, major. I know where it is. I’ll include a map, and a sketch of the facility, in my written report.”
Prathachulthorn nodded. “If I had not already had other reports of this thing I’d never have credited this story. As it is though, I am forced to believe you. You say this facility is expensive, even by Gubru standards?”
“Yessir. That’s what Gailet and I came to believe. Think about it. Humans have only been able to throw one Uplift ceremony for each of their clients in all the years since Contact, and both had to be held on Tymbrim. That’s why other clients Me the Kwackoo can get away with snubbing us.
“Part of the reason has been political obstruction by antagonistic clans like the Gubru and the Soro, who’ve been able to drag out Terran applications for status. But another reason is because we’re so frightfully poor, by Galactic standards.”
Fiben had been learning things, obviously. Robert realized part of it must have been picked up from this Gailet Jones person. With his heightened empathy sense, he picked up faint tremors from his friend whenever her name came up.
Robert glanced at Sylvie. Hmm. Life seems to have grown complicated for Fiben.
That reminded Robert of his own situation, of course. Fiben isn’t the only one, he thought. All his life he had wanted to learn to be more sensitive, to better understand others and his own feelings. Now he had his wish, and he hated it.
“By Darwin, Goodall, and Greenpeace!” Prathachulthorn pounded the table. “Mr. Bolger, you bring your news at a most opportune time!” He turned to address Lydia and Robert. “Do you know what this means, gentlemen?”
“Um,” Robert began.
“A target, sir,” Lydia answered succinctly.
“A target is right! This fits perfectly with that message we just received from the Council. If we can smash this shunt — preferably before the dignitaries from the Uplift Institute arrive — then we could rap the Gubru right where it pains them most, in their wallets!”
“But — ” Robert started to object.
“You heard what our spy just told us.” Prathachulthorn said. “The Gubru are hurting out there in space! They’re overextended, their leaders here on Garth are at each others’ throats, and this could be the last straw! Why, we might even be able to time it so their entire Triumvirate is at the same place at the same time!”
Robert shook his head. “Don’t you think we ought to give it some thought, sir? I mean, what about the offer that the Suzerain of Probity—”
“Propriety,” Fiben corrected.
“Propriety. Yes. What about the offer it made to Fiben and Dr. Jones?”
Prathachulthorn shook his head. “An obvious trap, Oneagle. Be serious now.”
“I am being serious, sir. I’m no more an expert on these matters than Fiben, and certainly less of one than Dr. Jones. And certainly I
concede it may be a trap. But on the surface, at least, it sounds like a terrific deal for Earth! A deal I don’t think we can pass up without at least reporting this back to the Council.”
“There isn’t time.” Prathachulthorn said, shaking his head. “My orders are to operate at my own discretion and, if appropriate, to act before the Galactic dignitaries arrive.”
Robert felt a growing desperation. “Then at least let’s consult with Athaclena. She’s the daughter of a diplomat. She might be able to see some ramifications we don’t.”
Prathachulthorn’s frown spoke volumes. “If there’s time, of course I’ll be happy to solicit the young Tymbrimi’s opinion.” But it was clear that even mentioning the idea had brought Robert down a peg in the man’s eyes.
Prathachulthorn slapped the table. “Right now I think we had better have a staff meeting of commissioned officers and discuss potential tactics against this hypershunt installation.” He turned and nodded to the chims. “That will be all for now, Fiben. Thank you very much for your courageous and timely action. That goes the same to you too, miss.” He nodded at Sylvie. “I look forward to seeing your written reports.”
Elsie and Benjamin stood up and held the door. As mere brevet officers they were excluded from Prathachulthorn’s inner staff. Fiben rose and moved more slowly, aided by Sylvie.
Robert hurriedly spoke in a low voice to Prathachulthorn. “Sir, I’m sure it only slipped your mind, but Fiben holds a full commission in the colonial defense forces. If he’s excluded it might not go down well, urn, politically.”
Prathachulthorn blinked. His expression barely flickered, though Robert knew he had once again failed to score points. “Yes, of course,” the major said evenly. “Please tell Lieutenant Bolger he is welcome to stay, if he’s not too tired.”
With that he turned back to his datawell and started calling up files. Robert could feel Lydia’s eyes on him. She may despair of my ever learning tact, he thought as he hurried to the door and caught Fiben’s arm just as he was leaving.
His friend grinned at him. “I guess it’s grownup time again, here,” Fiben said, sotto voce, glancing in Pratha-chulthorn’s direction.
“It’s worse even than that, old chim. I just got you tapped as an honorary adult.”
If looks could maim, Robert mused on seeing Fiben’s sour expression. And you thought it was Miller time, didn’t you? They had argued before about the possible historical origins of that expression.
Fiben squeezed Sylvie’s shoulder and hobbled back into the room. She watched him for a moment, then turned and followed Elsie down the hall.
Benjamin, however, lingered for a moment. He had caught Robert’s gesture bidding him to stay. Robert slipped a small disk into the chim’s palm. He dared not say anything aloud, but with his left hand he made a simple sign.
“Auntie,” he said in hand talk.
Benjamin nodded quickly and walked away.
Prathachulthorn and Lydia were already deep into the arcana of battle planning as Robert returned to the table. The major turned to Robert, “I’m afraid there just won’t be time to use enhanced bacteriological eifects, as ingenious as your idea was on its own merits. …”
The words washed past unnoted. Robert sat down, thinking only that he had just committed his first felony. By secretly recording the meeting — including Fiben’s lengthy report — he had violated procedure. By giving the pellet to Benjamin he had broken protocol.
And by ordering the chim to deliver the recording to an alien he had, by some lights, just committed treason.
71
Max
A large neo-chimpanzee shambled into the vast underground chamber, hands cuffed together, drawn along at the end of a stout chain. He remained aloof from his guards, chims wearing the invader’s livery, who pulled at the other end of his leash, but occasionally he did glare defiantly at the alien technicians watching from catwalks overhead.
His face had not been unblemished to start with, but now fresh patterns of pink scar tissue lay livid and open, exposed by patches of missing fur. The wounds were healing, but they would never be pretty.
“C’mon, Reb,” one of the chim guards said as he pushed the prisoner forward. “Bird wants to ask you some questions.”
Max ignored the Probie as best he could as he was led over to a raised area near the center of the huge chamber. There several Kwackoo waited, standing upon an elevated instrument platform.
Max kept his eyes level on the apparent leader, and his bow was shallow — just low enough to force the avian to give one in return.
Next to the Kwackoo stood three more of the quislings. Two were well-dressed chims who had made tidy profits providing construction equipment and workers to the Gubru — it was rumored that some of the deals had been at the expense of their missing human business partners. Other stories implied approval and direct connivance by men interned on Cilmar and the other islands. Max didn’t know which version he wanted to believe. The third chim on the platform was the commander of the Probie auxiliary force, the tall, haughty chen called Irongrip.
Max also knew the proper protocol for greeting traitors. He grinned, exposing his large canines to view, and spat at their feet. With a shout the Probies yanked at his chain, sending him stumbling. They lifted their truncheons. But a quick chirp from the lead Kwackoo stopped them in mid-blow. They stepped back, bowing.
“You are sure — certain that this one — this individual is the one we have been looking for?” the feathered officer asked Irongrip. The chim nodded.
“This one was found wounded near the site where Gailet Jones and Fiben Bolger were captured. He was seen in their company before the uprising, and was known to be one of her family’s retainers for many years before that. I have prepared an analysis showing how his contact with these individuals makes him appropriate for close attention.”
The Kwackoo nodded. “You have been most resourceful,” he told Irongrip. “You shall be rewarded — compensated with high status. Although one of the candidates of the Suzerain of Propriety has escaped our net somehow. We are now in a good position to choose — select his replacement. You will be informed.”
Max had lived under Gubru rule long enough to recognize that these were bureaucrats, followers of the Suzerain of Cost and Caution. Though what they wanted from him, what use he could be to them in their internal struggles, he had no idea.
Why had he been brought here? Deep in the bowels of the handmade mountain, across the bay from Port Helenia, there sat an intimidating honeycomb of machinery and humming power supplies. During the long ride down the autolift, Max had felt his hair stand out with static electricity as the Gubru and their clients tested titanic devices.
The Kwackoo functionary turned to regard him with one eye. “You will serve two functions,” it told Max. “Two purposes now. You will give us information — data about your former employer, information of use to us. And you will help — assist us in an experiment.”
Again, Max grinned. “I won’t do neither, an’ I don’t even care if it is disrespectful. You can go put on a clown suit an’ ride a tricycle, for all I’ll tell you.”
The Kwackoo blinked once, twice, as it listened to a computer translation for verification. It chirped an exchange with its associates, then turned back to face him.
“You misunderstand- — mistake our meaning. There will be no questions. You need not speak. Your cooperation is not necessary.”
The complacent assuredness of the statement sounded dire. Max shivered under a sudden premonition.
Back when he had first been captured, the enemy had tried to get information out of him. He had steeled himself to resist with all his might, but it really rocked him when all they seemed to be interested in were “Garthlings.” That’s what they asked him about again and again. “Where are the pre-sentients?” they had inquired.
Garthlings?
It had been easy to mislead them, to lie in spite of all the drugs and psi machines, because the enemy�
�s basic assumptions had been so cockeyed dumb. Imagine Galactics falling for a bunch of children’s tales! He had had a field day, and learned many tricks to fool the questioners.
For instance, he struggled hard not to “admit” that Garthlings existed. For a while that seemed to convince them all the more that the trail was hot.
At last, they gave up and left him alone. Perhaps they finally figured out how they’d been duped. Anyway, after that he was assigned to a work detail at one of the construction sites, and Max thought they’d forgotten about him.
Apparently not, he now knew. Anyway, the Kwackoo’s words disturbed him.
“What do you mean, you won’t be asking questions?”
This time it was the Probationer leader who replied. Irongrip stroked his mustache with relish. “It means you’re going to have everything you know squeezed out of you. All this machinery” — he waved around him — “will be focused on just little ol’ you. Your answers will come out. But you won’t.”
Max inhaled sharply and felt his heart beat faster. What kept him steady was one firm resolve; he wasn’t going to give these traitors the satisfaction of finding him tongue-tied! He concentrated to form words.
“That… that’s against th’… the Rules of War.”
Irongrip shrugged. He left it to the Kwackoo bureaucrat to explain.
“The Rules protect — provide for species and worlds far more than individuals. And anyway, none of those you see here are followers of priests!”
So, Max realized. I’m in the hold of fanatics. Mentally he said farewell to the chens and chimmies and kids of his group family, especially his senior group wife, whom he now knew he would never see again. Also mentally, he bent over and kissed his own posterior goodbye.
“Y’made two mistakes,” he told his captors. “Th” first was lettin’ it slip that Gailet is alive, an’ that Fiben’s made a fool of you again. Knowin’ that makes up for anythin’ you can do to me.”
Irongrip growled. “Enjoy your brief pleasure. You’re still going to be a big help in bringing your ex-employer down a few pegs.”