by David Brin
Anyway, now that he looked back upon it, Uthacalthing remembered something he hadn’t noticed at the time.
That evening had been one of great tension. Hours beforehand he had felt disturbing waves of energy, as if ghostly half-glyphs of immense power were throbbing against the mountains. Perhaps that explained why his daughter’s call had carried such strength. She had been tapping some outside source!
And he remembered something else. In the s’ustru’thoon storm Athaclena triggered, not everything torn from him had gone to her!
Strange that he had not thought of it until now. But Uthacalthing now seemed vaguely to recall some of his essences flying past her. But where they had actually been bound he could not even imagine. Perhaps to the source of those energies he had felt earlier. Perhaps…
Uthacalthing was too tired to come up with rational theories. Who knows? Maybe they were drawn in by Garth lings. It was a poor joke. Not even worth a tiny smile. And yet, the irony was encouraging. It showed that he had not lost absolutely everything.
“I am certain of it now, Uthacalthing.” Kault’s voice was low and confident as the Thennanin turned to face him. He put aside the instrument he had constructed out of odd items salvaged from the wrecked pinnace.
“Certain of what, colleague?”
“Certain that our separate suspicions are focusing in on a probable fact! See here. The data you showed me — your private spools regarding these ‘Garthling’ creatures — allowed me to tune my detector until I am now sure that I have found the resonance I was seeking.”
“You are?” Uthacalthing didn’t know what to make of this. He had never expected Kault to find actual confirmation of mythical beasts.
“I know what concerns you, my friend,” Kault said, raising one massive, leather-plated hand. “You fear that my experiments will draw down upon us the attention of the Cubru. But rest assured. I am using a very narrow band and am reflecting my beam off the nearer moon. It is very unlikely they would ever be able to localize the source of my puny little probe.”
“But …” Uthacalthing shook his head. “What are you looking for?”
Kault’s breathing slits puffed. “A certain type of cerebral resonance. It is quite technical,” he said. “It has to do with something I read in your tapes about these Garthling creatures. What little data you had seemed to indicate that these pre-sentient beings might have brains not too dissimilar to those of Earthlings, or Tymbrimi.”
Uthacalthing was amazed by the way Kault used his faked data with such celerity and enthusiasm. His former self would have been delighted. “So?” he asked.
“So … let me see if I can explain with an example. Take humans—”
Please, Uthacalthing inserted, without much enthusiasm, more out of habit.
“—Earthlings represent one of many paths which can be taken to arrive eventually at intelligence. Theirs involved the use of two brains that later became one.”
Uthacalthing blinked. His own mind was working so slowly. “You… you are speaking of the fact that their brains have two partially independent hemispheres?”
“Aye. And while these halves are similar and redundant in some ways, in others they divide the labor. The split is even more pronounced among their neo-dolphin clients.
“Before the Gubru arrived, I was studying data on neo-chimpanzees, which are similar to their patrons in many respects. One of the things the humans had to do, early in their Uplift program, was find ways to unite the functions of the two halves of pre-sentient chimpanzee brains comfortably into one consciousness. Until that was done neo-chimpanzees would suffer from a condition called ‘bicamerality.’…”
Kault droned on, gradually letting his jargon grow more and more technical, eventually leaving Uthacalthing far behind. The arcana of cerebral function seemed to fill their shelter, as if in thick smoke. Uthacalthing felt almost tempted to craft a glyph to commemorate his own boredom, but he lacked the energy even to stir his tendrils.
“. . .so the resonance appears to indicate that there are, indeed, bicameral minds within the range of my instrument!”
Ah, yes, Uthacalthing thought. Back in Port Helenia, at a time when he had still been a clever crafter of complex schemes, he had suspected that Kault might turn out to be resourceful. That was one reason why Uthacalthing chose for a confederate an atavistic chim. Kault was probably picking up traces from poor Jo-Jo, whose throwback brain was in many ways similar to fallow, non-uplifted chimpanzees of centuries ago. Jo-Jo no doubt retained some of this “bicame-rality” characteristic Kault spoke of.
Finally Kault concluded. “I am therefore quite convinced, from your evidence and my own, that we cannot delay any longer. We must somehow get to and use a facility for sending interstellar messages!”
“How do you expect to do that?” Uthacalthing asked in mild curiosity.
Kault’s breathing slits pulsed in obvious, rare excitement. “Perhaps we can sneak or bluff or fight our way to the Planetary Branch Library, claim sanctuary, and then invoke every priority under the fifty suns of Thennan. Perhaps there is another way. I do not care if it means stealing a Gubru starship. Somehow we must get word to my clan!”
Was this the same creature who had been so anxious to flee Port Helenia before the invaders arrived? Kault seemed as changed outwardly as Uthacalthing felt inwardly. The Thennanin’s enthusiasm was a hot flame, while Uthacalthing had to stoke his own carefully.
“You wish to establish a claim on the pre-sentients before the Gubru manage it?” he asked.
“Aye, and why not? To save them from such horrible patrons I would lay down my life! But there may be need for much haste. If what we have overheard on our receiver is true, emissaries from the Institutes may already be on their way to Garth. I believe the Gubru are planning something big. Perhaps they have made the same discovery. We must act quickly if we are not to be too late!”
Uthacalthing nodded. “One more question then, distinguished colleague.” He paused. “Why should I help you?”
Kault’s breath sighed like a punctured balloon, and his ridge crest collapsed rapidly. He looked at Uthacalthing with an expression as emotion-laden as any the Tymbrimi had ever seen upon the face of a dour Thennanin.
“It would greatly benefit the pre-sentients,” he hissed. “Their destiny would be far happier.”
“Perhaps. Arguable. Is that it, though? Are you relying on my altruism alone?”
“Errr. Hrm.” Outwardly Kault seemed offended that anything more should be asked. Still, could he really- be surprised? He was, after all, a diplomat, and understood that the best and firmest deals are based on open self-interest. “It would … It would greatly help my own political party if I delivered such a treasure. We would probably win government,” he suggested.
“A slight improvement over the intolerable is not enough to get excited about.” Uthacalthing shook his head. “You still haven’t explained to me why I should not stake a claim for my own clan. I was investigating these rumors before you. We Tymbrimi would make excellent patrons for these creatures.”
“You. You… K’ph mimpher’rrengi?” The phrase stood for something vaguely equivalent to “juvenile delinquents.” It was almost enough to make Uthacalthing smile again. Kault shifted uncomfortably. He made a visible effort to retain diplomatic composure.
“You Tymbrimi have not the strength, the power to back up such a claim,” he muttered.
At last, Uthacalthing thought. Truth.
In times like this, under circumstances as muddy as these, it would take more than mere priority of application to settle an adoption claim on a pre-sentient race. Many other factors would officially be considered by the Uplift Institute. And the humans had a saying that was especially appropriate. “Possession is nine points of the law.” It certainly applied here.
“So we are back to question number one.” Uthacalthing nodded. “If neither we Tymbrimi nor the Terrans can have the Garthlings, why should we help you get them?”
Ka
ult rocked from one side to the other, as if he were trying to work his way off a hot seat. His misery was blatantly obvious, as was his desperation. Finally, he blurted forth, “I can almost certainly guarantee a cessation of all hostilities by my clan against yours.”
“Not enough,” Uthacalthing came back quickly.
“What more could you ask of me!” Kault exploded.
“An actual alliance. A promise of Thennanin aid against those now laying siege upon Tymbrim.”
“But—”
“And the guarantee must be firm. In advance. To take effect whether or not these pre-sentients of yours actually turn out to exist.”
Kault stammered. “You cannot expect—”
“Oh, but I can. Why should I believe in these ‘Garthling’ creatures? To me they have only been intriguing rumors. I never told you I believed in them. And yet you want me to risk my life to get you to message facilities! Why should I do that without a guarantee of benefit for my people?”
“This… this is unheard of!”
“Nevertheless, it is my price. Take it or leave it.”
For a moment Uthacalthing felt a thrilled suspicion he was about to witness the unexpected. It seemed as if Kault might lose control… might actually burst forth into violence. At the sight of those massive fists, clenching and unclenching rapidly, Uthacalthing actually felt his blood stir with change enzymes. A surge of nervous fear made him feel more alive than he had in days.
“It… it shall be as you demand,” Kault growled at last.
“Good.” Uthacalthing sighed as he relaxed. He drew forth his datawell. “Let us work out together how to parse this for a contract.”
It took more than an hour to get the wording right. After it was finished, and when they had both signified their affirmation on each copy, Uthacalthing gave Kault one record pellet and kept the second for himself.
Amazing, he thought at that point. He had planned and schemed to bring about this day. This was the second half of his grand jest, fulfilled at last. To have fooled the Gubru was wonderful. This was simply unbelievable.
And yet, right now Uthacalthing found himself feeling numb rather than triumphant. He did not look forward to the climb ahead, a furious race into the steep towers of the Mukm range, followed by a desperate attempt that would, no doubt, result only in the two of them dying side by side.
“You know of course, Uthacalthing, that my people will not carry out this bargain if I turn out to be mistaken. If there are no Garthlings after all, the Thennanin will repudiate me. They will pay diplomatic gild to buy out this contract, and I will be ruined.”
Uthacalthing did not look at Kault. This was another reason for his sense of depressed detachment, certainly. A great jokester is not supposed to feel guilt, he told himself. Perhaps I have spent too much time around humans.
The silence stretched on for a while longer, each of them brooding in his own thoughts.
Of course Kault would be repudiated. Of course the Thennanin were not about to be drawn into an alliance, or even peace with the Earth-Tymbrimi entente. All Uthacalthing had ever hoped to accomplish was to sow confusion among his enemies. If Kault should by some miracle manage to get his message off and truly draw Thennanin armadas to this backwater system, then two great foes of his people would be drawn into a battle that would drain them … a battle over nothing. Over a nonexistent species. Over the ghosts of creatures murdered fifty thousand years ago.
Such a great jest! I should be happy. Thrilled.
Sadly, he knew that he could not even blame s’ustru’thoon for his inability to take pleasure out of this. It was not Athaclena’s fault that the feeling clung to him… the feeling that he had just betrayed a friend.
Ah, well, Uthacalthing consoled himself. It is all probably moot, anyway. To get Kault the kind of message facilities he needs now will take seven more miracles, each greater than the last.
It seemed fitting that they would probably die together in the attempt, uselessly.
In his sadness, Uthacalthing found the energy to lift his tendrils slightly. They fashioned a simple glyph of regret as he raised his head to face Kault.
He was about to speak when something very surprising suddenly happened. Uthacalthing felt a presence wing past in the night. He started. But no sooner had it been there than it was gone.
Did I imagine it? Am I falling apart?
Then it was back! He gasped in surprise, kenning as it circled the tent in an ever-tightening spiral, brushing at last against the fringes of his indrawn aura. He looked up, trying to spot something that whirled just beyond the fringe of their shelter.
What am I doing? Trying to see a glyph?
He closed his eyes and let the un-thing approach. Uthacalthing opened a kenning.
“Puyr’iturumbul!” he cried.
Kault swiveled. “What is it, my friend? What… ?”
But Uthacalthing had risen. As if drawn up by a string he stepped out into the cool night.
The breeze brought odors to his nostrils as he sniffed, using all his senses to seek in the acherontic darkness. “Where are you?” Uthacalthing called. “Who is there?”
Two figures stepped forward into a dim pool of moonlight. So it is true! Uthacalthing thought. A human had sought him out with an empathy sending, one so skillful it might have come from a young Tymbrimi.
And that was not the end to surprises. He blinked at the tall, bronzed, bearded warrior — who looked like nothing but one of the heroes of those pre-Contact Earthling barbarian epics — and let out another cry of amazement as he suddenly recognized Robert Oneagle, the playboy son of the Planetary Coordinator!
“Good evening, sir,” Robert said as he stopped a few meters away and bowed.
Standing a little behind Robert, the neo-chimpanzee, Jo-Jo, wrung his hands nervously. This, certainly, was not according to the original plan. He did not meet Uthacalthing’s eyes.
“V’hooman’ph? Idatess!” Kault exclaimed in Galactic Six. “Uthacalthing, what is a human doing here?”
Robert bowed again. Enunciating carefully, he made formal greetings to both of them, including their full species-names. Then he went on in Galactic Seven.
“I have come a long way, honored gentlebeings, in order to invite you all to a party.”
83
Fiben
“Easy, Tycho. Easy!”
The normally placid animal bucked and pulled at its reins. Fiben, who had never been much of a horseman, was forced to dismount hurriedly and grab the animal’s halter.
“There now. Relax,” he soothed. “It’s just another transport going by. We’ve heard ’em all day. It’ll be gone soon.”
As he promised, the shrieking whine faded as the flying machine passed quickly overhead and disappeared beyond the nearby trees, traveling in the direction of Port Helenia.
A lot had changed since Fiben had first come this way, mere weeks after the invasion. Then he had walked in sunshine down a busy highway, surrounded by spring’s verdant colors. Now he felt blustery winds at his back as he passed through a valley showing all the early signs of a bitter winter. Half the trees had already dropped their leaves, leaving them in drifts across meadows and lanes. Orchards were bare of fruit, and the back roads devoid of traffic.
Surface traffic, that is. Overhead the swarm of transports seemed incessant. Gravities teased his peripheral nerves as Gubru machines zoomed past. The first few times, his hackles had risen from more than just the pulsing fields. He had expected to be challenged, to be stopped, perhaps to be shot on sight.
But in fact the Galactics had ignored him altogether, apparently not deigning to distinguish one lonely chim from others who had been sent out to help with the harvest, or the specialists who had begun staffing a few of the ecological management stations once again Fiben had spoken with a few of the latter, many of them old acquaintances. They told of how they had given their parole in exchange for freedom and low-level support to resume their work. There wasn’t much to be done, of c
ourse, with winter coming on. But at least there was a program again, and the Gubru seemed quite satisfied to leave them alone to do their work.
The invaders were, indeed, preoccupied elsewhere. The real focus of Galactic activity seemed to be over to the southwest, toward the spaceport.
And the ceremonial site, Fiben reminded himself. He didn’t really know what he was going to do in the unlikely event he actually made it through to town. What would happen if he just marched right up to the shabby house that had been his former prison? Would the Suzerain of Propriety take him back?
Would Gailet?
Would she even be there?
He passed a few chims dressed in muffled cloaks, who desultorily picked through the stubble in a recently harvested field. They did not greet him, nor did he expect them to. Gleaning was a job generally given the poorest sort of Probationer. Still, he felt their gaze as he walked Tycho toward Port Helehia. After the animal had calmed a bit, Fiben clambered back onto the saddle and rode.
He had considered trying to reenter Port Helenia the way he left it, over the wall, at night. After all, if it had worked once, why not a second time? Anyway, he had no wish to meet up with the followers of the Suzerain of Cost and Caution.
It was tempting. Somehow, though, he figured that once was lucky. Twice would be simple stupidity.
Anyway, the choice was made for him when he rounded a bend and found himself staring at a Gubru guard post. Two battle robots of sophisticated design whirled and focused upon him.
“Easy does it, guys.” Fiben said it more for his own benefit than theirs. If they were programmed to shoot on sight, he never would have seen them in the first place.
In front of the blockhouse there sat a squat armored hover craft, propped up on blocks. Two pairs of three-toed feet stuck out from underneath, and it did not take much knowledge of Galactic Three to tell that the chirped mutter-ings were expressing frustration. When the robots’ warning whistled forth there came a sharp bang under the hover, followed by an indignant squawk.