The Uplift War u-3

by David Brin

  “Mm-mm, no,” she muttered. At one point she jerked sharply. “No!”

  She started to rise, began to emerge from slumber. Her eyes fluttered, fragments of dreams clinging in shreds to the lids. A Gubru seemed to hover overhead, holding a mysterious device, like those which had probed and peered at her and Fiben. But the image wavered and fell apart as the avian pressed a button on the machine. She slumped back, the Gubru image rejoining the many others in her disturbed sleep.

  The dream state passed and her breathing settled into the slow cycle of deep somnolence.

  She only awoke sometime later, when she dimly sensed a hand stroke her leg. Then it seized her ankle and pulled hard.

  Gailet’s breath caught as she sat up quickly, before she could even bring her eyes to focus. Her heart raced. Then vision cleared and she saw that a rather large chim squatted beside her. His hand still rested on her leg, and his grin was instantly recognizable. The waxed handlebar mustache was only the most superficial of many attributes she had come to detest.

  So suddenly drawn out of sleep, she had to take a mo-ment to find speech again. “Wh… what are you doing here?” she asked acerbically, yanking her leg away from his grasp.

  Irongrip looked amused. “Now, is that the way to say hello to someone as important as I am to you?”

  “You do serve your purpose well,” she admitted. “As a bad example!” Gailet rubbed her eyes and sat up. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you bothering me? Your incompetent Probies aren’t in charge of guarding anybody anymore.”

  The chen’s expression soured only slightly. Obviously he was relishing something. “Oh, I just figured I ought to come on down to th’ Library and do some studying, just like you.”

  “You, studying? Here?” She laughed. “I had to get special permission from the Suzerain. You’re not even supposed^—”

  “Now those were the exact words I was about to use,” he interrupted.

  Gailet blinked. “What?”

  “I mean, I was gonna tell you that the Suzerain told me to come down here and study with you. After all, partners ought to get to know each other well, especially before they step forward together as race-representatives.”

  Gailet’s breath drew in audibly. “You… ?” Her head whirled. “I don’t believe you!”

  Irongrip shrugged. “You needn’t sound so surprised. My genetic scores are in the high nineties almost across the board… except in two or three little categories that shouldn’t ever have counted in the first place.”

  That Gailet could believe easily enough. Irongrip was obviously clever and resourceful, and his aberrant strength could only be considered an asset by the Uplift Board. But sometimes the price was just too great to pay. “All that means is that your loathsome qualities must be even worse than I had imagined.”

  The chen rocked back and laughed. “Oh, by human standards, I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. “By those criteria, most Probationers shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near chimmies and children! Still standards change. And now I have the opportunity to set a new style.”

  Gailet felt a chill. It was just sinking in what Irongrip was driving at.

  “You’re a liar!”

  “Admitted, mea culpa.” He pretended to beat his breast. “But I’m not lying about being in the testing party, along with a few of my fellow donner boys. There’ve been some changes, you see, since your little mama’s boy and teacher’s pet ran off into the jungle with our Sylvie.”

  Gailet wanted to spit. “Fiben’s ten times the chen you are, you, you atavistic mistake! The Suzerain of Propriety would never choose you as his replacement!”

  Irongrip grinned and raised a finger. “Aha. There’s where we misunderstand each other. You see we’ve been talking about different birds, you and I.”

  “Different …” Gailet gasped. Her hand covered the open collar of her shirt. “Oh Goodall!”

  “You get it,” he said, nodding. “Smart, aristophrenic little monkey you are.”

  Gailet slumped. What surprised her most was the depth of her mourning. At that moment she felt as if her heart had been torn out.

  We were pawns all along, she thought. Oh, poor Fiben!

  This explained why Fiben had not been brought back the evening he took off with Sylvie. Or the next day, or the next. Gailet had been so sure that the “escape” would turn out to have been just another propriety and intelligence test.

  But clearly it wasn’t. It had to have been arranged by one or both of the other Gubru commanders, perhaps as a way to weaken the Suzerain of Propriety. And what better way to do that than by robbing it of one of its most carefully chosen chim “race-representatives.” The theft couldn’t even be pinned on anybody, for no body would ever be found.

  Of course the Gubru would have to go ahead with the ceremony. It was too late to recall the invitations. But each of the three Suzerains might prefer to see different outcomes.

  Fiben …

  “So, professor? Where do we start? You can start teaching me how to act like a proper white card now.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Go away,” she said. “Just please go away.”

  There were more words, more sarcastic comments. But she blocked them out behind a numbing curtain of pain. Tears, at least, she managed to withhold until she sensed that he was gone. Then she burrowed into the soft bag as if it was her mother’s arms, and wept.

  75

  Galactics

  The other two danced around the pedestal, puffing and cooing. Together they chanted in perfect harmony.

  “Come down, come down,

  — down, come down!

  Come down off your perch.

  “Join us, join us,

  — us, join us!

  Join us in consensus!”

  The Suzerain of Propriety shivered, fighting the changes. They were completely united in opposition now. The Suzerain of Cost and Caution had given up hope of achieving the prized position — and was supporting the Suzerain of Beam and Talon in its bid for dominance. Caution’s objective was now second place — the male Molt-status.

  Two out of three had agreed then. But in order to achieve their objectives, both sexual and in policy, they had to bring the Suzerain of Propriety down off its perch. They had to force it to step onto the soil of Garth.

  The Suzerain of Propriety fought them, squawking well-timed counterpoint to disrupt their rhythm and inserting pronouncements of logic to foil their arguments.

  A proper Molt was not supposed to go this way. This was coercion, not true consensus. This was rape.

  For this the Roost Masters had not invested so much hope in the.Triumvirate. They needed policy. Wisdom. The other two seemed to have forgotten this. They wanted to take the easy way out with the Uplift Ceremony. They wanted to make a terrible gamble in defiance of the Codes.

  If only the first Suzerain of Cost and Caution had lived! The priest mourned. Sometimes one only knew the value of another after that one was gone, gone.

  “Come, down come down,

  Down off your perch.”

  Against their united voice it was only a matter of time, of course. Their unison pierced through the wall of honor and resolve the priest had built around itself and penetrated down to the realm of hormone and instinct. The Molt hung suspended, held back by the recalcitrance of one member, but it would not be forestalled forever.

  “Come down and join us.

  Join us in consensus!”

  The Suzerain of Propriety shuddered and held on. How much longer it could do so, it did not know.

  75

  The Caves

  “Clennie!” Robert shouted joyfully. When he saw the mounted figures come around a bend in the trail he nearly dropped his end of the missile he and a chim were carrying out of the caves.

  “Hey! Watchit with that thing, you… captain.” One of Prathachulthorn’s Marine corporals corrected himself at the last second. In recent weeks they had begun treating Robert with more r
espect — he’d been earning it — but on occasion the noncoms still showed their fundamental contempt for anyone non-Corps.

  Another chim worker hurried up and easily lifted the nose cone out of Robert’s grasp, looking disgusted that a human should even try lifting things.

  Robert ignored both insults. He ran to the trailhead just as the band of travelers arrived and caught the halter of Athaclena’s horse. His other hand reached out for her.

  “Clennie, I’m glad you …” His voice faltered for an instant. Even as she squeezed his hand he blinked and tried to cover up his discomfiture. “. . . urn, I’m glad you could come.”

  Athaclena’s smile was unlike any he remembered her ever wearing before, and there was sadness in her aura that he had never kenned.

  “Of course I came, Robert.” She smiled. “Could you ever doubt I would?”

  He helped her dismount. Underneath her superficial air of control he could feel her tremble. Love, you have gone through changes. As if she sensed his thought, she reached up and touched the side of his face. “There are a few ideas shared by both Galactic society and yours, Robert. In both, sages have spoken of life as being something like a wheel.”

  “A wheel?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes glittered. “It turns. It moves forward. And yet it remains the same.”

  With a sense of relief he felt her again. Underneath the changes she was still Athaclena. “I missed you,” he said.

  “And I, you.” She smiled. “Now tell me about this major and his plans.”

  Robert paced the floor of the tiny storage chamber, stacked to the overhead stalactites with supplies. “I can argue with him. I can try persuasion. Hell, he doesn’t even mind if I yell at him, so long as it’s in private, and so long as after all the debate is over I still leap two meters when he says ‘Jump.’ ” Robert shook his head. “But I can’t actively obstruct him, Clennie. Don’t ask me to break my oath.”

  Robert obviously felt caught between conflicting loyalties. Athaclena could sense his tension.

  His arm still in a sling, Fiben Bolger watched them argue, but he kept his silence for the time being.

  Athaclena shook her head. “Robert, I explained to you that what Major Prathachulthorn has planned is likely to prove disastrous.”

  “Then tell himl”

  Of course she had tried, over dinner that very evening. Prathachulthorn had listened courteously to her careful explanation of the possible consequences of attacking the Gubru ceremonial site. His expression had been indulgent. But when she had finished, he only asked one question. Would the assault be considered one against the Earthlings’ legitimate enemy, or against the Uplift Institute itself.

  “After the delegation from the Institute arrives, the site becomes their property,” she had said. “An attack then would be catastrophic for humanity.”

  “But before then?” he had asked archly.

  Athaclena had shaken her head irritably. “Until then the Gubru still own the site. But it’s not a military site! It was built for what might be called holy purposes. The propriety of the act, without handling it just right …”

  It had gone on for some time, until it became clear that all argument would be useless. Prathachulthorn promised to take her opinions into account, ending the matter. They all knew what the Marine officer thought of taking advice from “E.T. children.”

  “We’ll send a message to Megan,” Robert suggested.

  “I believe you have already done that,” Athaclena answered.

  He scowled, confirming her guess. Of course it violated all protocol to go over Prathachulthorn’s head. At minimum it would seem like a spoiled boy crying to mama. It might even be a court-martial offense.

  That he had done so proved that it wasn’t out of fear for himself that Robert was reticent about directly opposing his commander, but out of loyalty to his sworn oath.

  Indeed, he was right. Athaclena respected his honor.

  But I am not ruled by the same duty, she thought. Fiben, who had been silent so far, met her gaze. He rolled his eyes expressively. About Robert they were in complete agreement.

  “I already suggested to th’ major that knocking out the ceremonial site might actually be doin’ the enemy a favor. After all, they built it to use it on Garthlings. Whatever their scheme with us chims, it’s probably a last ditch effort to make up some of their losses. But what if th’ site is insured? We blow it up, they blame us and collect?”

  “Major Prathachulthorn mentioned your idea about that.” Athaclena said to Fiben. “I find it acute, but I’m afraid he did not credit it as very likely.”

  “Y’mean he thought it was a cuckoo pile of apeshi—”

  He stopped as they heard footsteps on the cool stone outside. “Knock knock!” A feminine voice said from beyond the curtain. “May I come in?”

  “Please do, Lieutenant McCue,” Athaclena said. “We were nearly finished anyway.” The dusky-skinned human woman entered and sat on one of the crates next to Robert. He gave her a faint smile but soon was staring down at his hands again. The muscles in his arms rippled and tensed as his fists clenched and unclenched.

  Athaclena felt a twinge when McCue placed her hand on Robert’s knee and spoke to him. “His nibs wants another battle-planning conference before we all turn in.” She turned to look at Athaclena and smiled. Her head inclined. “You’re welcome to attend should you wish. You’re our respected guest, Athaclena.”

  Athaclena recalled when she had been the mistress of these caverns and had commanded an army. I must not let that influence me, she reminded herself. All that mattered now was to see that these creatures harmed themselves as little as possible in the coming days.

  And, if at all possible, she was dedicated to furthering a certain jest. One that she, herself, still barely understood, but had recently come to appreciate.

  “No, thank you, lieutenant. I think that I shall go say hello to a few of my chim friends and then retire. It was a long several days’ ride.”

  Robert glanced back at her as he left with his human lover. Over his head a metaphorical cloud seemed to hover, flickering with lightning strokes. I did not know you could do that with glyphs, Athaclena wondered. Every day, it seemed, one learned something new.

  Fiben’s loose, unhinged grin was a boost as he followed the humans. Did she catch a sense of something from him? A conspiratorial wink?

  When they were gone, Athaclena started rummaging through her kit. I am not bound by their duty, she reminded herself. Or by their laws.

  The caves could get quite dark, especially when one extinguished the solitary glow bulb that illuminated an entire stretch of the hallway. Down here eyesight was not an advantage, but a Tymbrimi corona gave quite an edge.

  Athaclena Grafted a small squadron of simple but special glyphs. The first one had the sole purpose of darting ahead of her and to the sides, scouting out a path through the blackness. Since cold, hard matter was searing to that which was not, it was easy to tell where the walls and obstacles lay. The little wisp of nothing avoided them adroitly.

  Another glyph spun overhead, reaching forth to make certain that no one was aware of an intruder in these lower levels. There were no chims sleeping in this stretch of hallway, which had been set aside for human officers.

  Lydia and Robert were out on patrol. That left only one aura beside hers in this part of the cave. Athaclena stepped toward it carefully.

  The third glyph silently gathered strength, awaiting its turn.

  Slowly, silently, she padded over the packed dung of a thousand generations of flying insectivore creatures who had dwelt here until being ousted by Earthlings and their noise. She breathed evenly, counting in the silent human fashion to help maintain the discipline of her thoughts.

  Keeping three watchful glyphs up at once was something she’d not have attempted only a few days ago. Now it seemed easy, natural, as if she had done it hundreds of times.

  She had ripped this and so many other skills away from Uthac
althing, using a technique seldom spoken of among the Tymbrimi, and even less often tried.

  Turning jungle fighter, trysting with a human, and now this. Oh, my classmates would be amazed.

  She wondered if her father retained any of the craft she had so rudely taken from him.

  Father, you and mother arranged this long ago. Yo« prepared me without my even knowing it. Did you already know, even then, that it would be necessary someday?

  Sadly, she suspected she had taken away more than Uthacalthing could afford to spare. And yet, it is not enough. There were huge gaps. In her heart she felt certain that this thing encompassing worlds and species could not reach its conclusion without her father himself.

  The scout glyph hovered before a hanging strip of cloth. Athaclena approached, unable to see the covering, even after she touched .it with her fingertips. The scout unraveled and melted back into the waving tendrils of her corona.

  She brushed the cloth aside with deliberate slowness and crept into the small side chamber. The watch glyph sensed no sign that anyone was aware within. She only kenned the steady rhythms of human slumber.

  Major Prathachulthorn did not snore, of course. And his sleep was light, vigilant. She stroked the edges of his ever-present psi-shield, which guarded his thoughts, dreams, and military knowledge.

  Their soldiers are good, and getting better, she thought. Over the years Tymbrimi advisors had worked hard to teach their wolfling allies to be fierce Galactic warriors. And the Tymbrimi, in truth, often came away having learned some fascinating bits of trickery themselves, ideas that could never have been imagined by a race brought up under Galactic culture.

  But of all Earth’s services, the Terragens Marines used no alien advisors. They were anachronisms, the true wolflings.