The Light-Years Beneath My Feet

by Alan Dean Foster

  “I’m afraid I don’t get any of this.” At once fascinated and horrified, Walker spoke without taking his eyes from the roll-up screen. “How are these images being broadcast?”

  “I not technically educated myself in physics of broadcast apparatus,” Viyv-pym told him. “Can obtain for you if you like expert in such matters to—”

  “No, no,” he said, hastily interrupting her. “I mean, some of these images are being sent from right in the middle of the fighting. Isn’t that dangerous for the broadcast operator?”

  “‘Operator’?” She eyed him quizzically. “Images are relayed by advanced instrumentation that operate under all conditions.” As she grasped the deeper implications of his question, her ears quivered. “Operators on battlefield are clearly identified. No soldier of any realm dare harm media representative! Accidentally might happen, but that only possible way.”

  Her sincere shock at the possibility that a live image relayer might be injured in the course of reporting on the conflict did not square with the very real carnage he and George were witnessing on the screen. It appeared that the skirmish was dying down. Fighters on both sides were retreating—the soldiers of Kojn-umm falling back to the fortress, their attackers withdrawing to some unseen bivouac. Both sides took their wounded with them. The rocky slope they abandoned was littered with bodies. Clearly visible were many body parts that had been forcefully divorced from their owners, and a copious amount of blood.

  Peering around Walker, Viyv-pym stole a glance at the flexible screen. “Today’s fight most substantial. I believe is standoff. For nows, anyway. If fortress can hold several days longer, I think Toroudians will go home. Kojn-umm will move up in preferential trade rankings.”

  Walker gaped at her. “Trade rankings?” He shook the screen, which flexed easily but did not sacrifice its image. “This hack-and-slash mayhem is about trade rankings?” While he was not exactly sure as to the significance of a Niyyuuan trade ranking, it did not sound like the sort of thing people ought to be dying over.

  She indicated in the affirmative, her golden pupils expanding and contracting. “Saluu-hir-lek is fine leader. Sure he pursue dispute to conclusion that favors Kojn-umm.”

  “Just suppose the military situation is a stalemate, for now,” Walker hypothesized. “But what if this enemy, these Toroud-eed, try a flanking movement or something? What if they attack the city itself?”

  She inhaled so sharply and drew away from him so abruptly that for a moment he thought she had tripped over some unseen crevice. The Vilenjji implant conveyed her disgust at his words in no uncertain, and highly unflattering, terms. When she realized that his bewilderment, as well as that of his three companions, was genuine, she did her best to try to explain.

  “Yous know still so little of Niyyuu society. So I try quick explain yous. Toroud-eed soldiers not never attack anything but Kojn-umm soldiers and recognized, long-established, traditional military targets. What you suggest is not conceivable.”

  “Just for the sake of argument,” George put in, “what if they did?”

  As she peered down at him, her tails were entwining in a clear sign of agitation. “Aside from fact such action unthinkable and unprecedented, every other realm on Niyu would gang up on them and raze entire territory of Toroud-eed to bare soil. Committing violence against a nonmilitary target would violate every law of civilized Niyyuuan behavior. General population, civilian population, is never involved in traditional fightings.” A soft sighing escaped her round mouth as she resumed walking. Today that orifice was edged in paint the color of sliced limes and granite.

  “Was different in primitive times, of course. As Niyyuu become civilized, organize into many thousands small warring states. Resultant general chaos retards development of progressive society. Each state ruled by warlord, military chieftain. People gradually come to recognize problem. Even warlords recognize problem—but not want give up individual privileges, respect, power.

  “Decision made between Sixth and Seventh Interregnums to divide functions of state. Civilian peoples form administrations, governments, to deal with everyday livings. Warlords retain small armies to settle differences. But civilian governments never interfere in fightings, and warlord armies never touch civilians. So civilization grows and prospers, but many disputings still settled by combat. Today’s armies entirely whole composed of honored volunteers.” She straightened proudly. “I tell you before, I earlier participate in such myself.”

  Walker tried to picture the poised, lissome Viyv-pym tricked out in full body armor, slim bloody sword dangling from one two-fingered hand, jewel-like lightweight helmet steady upon her head. Somewhat to his surprise, it was not difficult to make the imaginary leap. He hurriedly pushed the image out of his mind.

  Sque was less forbearing. “This local tradition of constrained violence is nothing more than another take on typical primitive means of avoiding the use of reason.”

  George was more openly forgiving as he addressed himself to Viyv-pym. “So what you’re saying is that the general population isn’t involved in these recurring fights at all. That these traditional warlord groups act as proxies for societal disputes while the general population goes merrily about its everyday business, blissfully free of any need to participate in actual combat.” The dog eyed her intently. “But what happens when one side’s army wins? What happens if you lose?”

  “Then dispute that provoke it is considered settled,” she told him, as if explaining the obvious to a child.

  George still wasn’t satisfied. “The victorious army doesn’t come marching in? There’s no sacking and pillaging and burning?”

  Having dealt with previous outrageous statements, this time she was better prepared to respond to more of the same. “I tell you second time: warriors not think of attack civilians, and civilians not think of not supporting warriors. Besides being inviolable custom, is civic and moral duty of all concerned.”

  Sort of the antipode of Tibetan Buddhism, Walker found himself supposing. In that distant mountain land, people believed themselves obligated to provide food and drink for wandering priests so that the latter could properly perform their duties. Meanwhile, the priests prayed for the people. The lamas didn’t try to tell the local electric company how to supply power, and the officials of the local utilities stayed out of the lamaseries. It was all very civilized.

  Except that in the Niyyuuan version people died.

  “Everyone respect results, of traditional ongoing killing, without argument?” Instead of bending to clear a low archway, Braouk contracted his four treelike walking tentacles and lowered himself by a foot.

  “Argument is settled by winning of fight,” Viyv-pym told him. “After fighting over, no argument left. Anyone with personal feelings about subject matter of dispute is always given place in army. Ample room then for letting deep feelings be known.”

  A wonderful way for society’s disgruntled to blow off steam, Walker realized. Pick up a sword or spear and hack away at your frustrations.

  As they entered one of the building’s internal transports and were conveyed swiftly and silently to another linked structure, the juxtaposition of the advanced method of getting from one part of the government complex to another with what he continued to see on the roll-up visual prompted a question of a different sort. He hoped Viyv-pym’s translator was capable of handling the same terms and referents as his own.

  “I saw plenty of swords and spears, knives and slings, and in the background a few larger devices that looked like catapults and other primitive war machines.” He indicated the high-speed, climate-controlled, virtually vibrationless capsule that was presently carrying all of them, including Braouk, in comparative comfort. “Your people have vessels capable of interstellar travel, complex translation devices that function even between species, machines that can synthesize many varieties of food from basic nutritional components, and communications equipment like this.” He held up the flexible receiver. “But I didn’t see one gun
of any size, shape, or style in use during that battle. No explosives of any kind, nothing.”

  Behind him, Sque commented on his query with a rude bubbling noise. He ignored the K’eremu’s snide remark, a typical reference to his manifest stupidity. Maybe the explanation was obvious—but it wasn’t to him. At least George had nothing to say. The dog’s attentiveness showed that he was as interested in the answer as was his bipedal companion.

  “When original concord forged by all warring realms,” Viyv-pym explained patiently, “it decided then and there to freeze means of disputation at technological level existing at time of final accord. Has not changed ever since. Permissible weaponry still same as that used during mid Seventh Interregnum.”

  Walker persisted. “But what’s to keep someone on the verge of having their head cut off from pulling out a pistol, just that one time, and blowing their assailant away?”

  “Same steadfast compact that keep military from attacking noncombatants.” Viyv-pym put a gentle arm around his shoulders. “Must try to see state of affairs from Niyyuu point of view, Marcus.” He wasn’t sure which was more unsettling: the arm resting on his shoulders and neck, or her use of his first name. “Ancient accord sustains harmony of all Niyu. If one realm breaks tradition, all other realms combine to punish it. If individual breaks with custom, own comrades would provide punishment. Accord has lasted thus for thousands of forty-days.” Inclining toward him, she brought her face close to his own. He had to fight not to lose himself in the flaxen depths of her eyes.

  “Is not same with you’s culture?”

  “Not exactly.” He swallowed. “We have wars—we do fight—but we’re not as . . . polite, about it as the Niyyuu.”

  A soft barking nearby caused him to glance sharply downward. George was visibly amused. “I can see trying something like this on Earth. Might work with higher beings, like dogs. But humans? You can’t even keep from using advanced weapons between mates. There’s civilized behavior, and then there’s human civilized behavior. Seems like out here there’s different degrees and definitions of war, too.”

  As the transport capsule began to slow, Walker felt moved to defend his species. “At least we’re different when it comes to broadcasting the horrors of actual warfare.” He handed the roll-up screen back to Viyv-pym. “When it comes to that, the Niyyuu apparently aren’t nearly as appalled by it as we are.”

  “Give me a break, man. You’re not appalled at all. I’ve spent plenty of time on the street. Watched humans at fights. Street gangs versus bikers. Cops against lawbreakers. Always draws a crowd. Maybe their speech is full of horror, but their expressions tell it all. You want to know how your own kind really reacts to combat and violence, study their respiration and pulse and sweat glands, not their language.”

  “Appalled?” As the transport’s door slid aside, Viyv-pym looked from human to canine. “Niyyuu not appalled by fighting. Wars keep the peaces. Combat sustains the concordance.” She held up the screen. “Everyone follow each conflict with much interest. War is politics. Is Niyyuu culture, commerce, entertainment.”

  “Entertainment?” Walker was aghast.

  She confirmed his dismay “Anyone can quote yous history of famous battles, involving many realms. Names of famous soldiers, officers and common. You spend more time on Niyu, you see. Battles broadcast all times. Pick favorite realm, favorite soldiers, favorite fightings. Much to see, much to learn. Much to admire.”

  Like the gladiators who became media stars in ancient Rome, Walker told himself unhappily. Watch them slice and dice each other, have a few laughs, then go home to the wife and kids. That is, if you didn’t bring the wife and kids to the show with you. Today’s special: murder and slaughter. Family packages available. All in the name of righteous service and maintaining a widespread, functional peace between competing territories. All without having to resort to the risk of general devastation and the imposition of impoverishing military budgets on a disinclined populace.

  Probably the system also worked wonders for the racial psyche. Those who wanted to fight could do so without suffering any social opprobrium. In the absence of advanced weaponry, each individual was guaranteed some chance of surviving combat based purely on the development of individual skills. Those who wanted nothing to do with such old-fashioned violence could not only avoid it, they could participate vicariously through the actions of volunteer armies: others as well as their own. Sure, Walker rooted for the Bears and the Bulls, but back home he and his friends watched other games as well, where they also chose sides. Superficially, the only difference between the sociopolitical situation on Niyu and the National Football League was that the latter involved the spilling of less blood while the former doubtless resulted in more far-reaching eventual consequences than a Super Bowl championship.

  Though initially revolted, he had to admit the system had its attractions. Too bad it would never work on or be imported to Earth. For one thing, the necessary cultural background and referents were as different as the two species. War, even limited war, was not a game to be played out on a grassy field. At least not among loutish humans.

  As George had so indecorously pointed out, humans were not sufficiently polite.

  Eager to initiate the visitors into the intricacies of Niyyuuan society, Viyv-pym kept up a running commentary on the battle as soon as it resumed, pointing out eminent individual warriors and officers, commenting on tactics, remarking knowledgeably on battlefield conditions. Watching and listening to her, a disconcerted Walker found himself wondering if rain would be considered grounds for a bad-weather postponement of the battle. Thus far there had been nothing on the flexible screen to indicate the presence of referees. In their absence, it had to be assumed that the combatants policed themselves. A kind of “call your own fouls” conflict, where intentional tripping was supplanted by maiming and unnecessary roughness was a contradiction in terms. He wondered if there was a Niyyuuan battlefield equivalent of illegal use of the hands, and doubted it.

  Then she was rolling up the screen and slipping it back inside her double-wrapped costume. They had arrived at the food preparation area.

  The half dozen or so Niyyuu lined up to greet them eyed him eagerly. His reputation having preceded him, Walker did not need to identify himself. More problematic was the matter of what role to assign to his companions. He was disappointed when Viyv-pym drew them off to one side to consult with an elderly local, leaving him to deal with the nutrition technicians alone.

  They were enthusiastic enough. His requests for specific equipment were met with a chorus of ready responses, the combined harshness of half a dozen Niyyuuan voices all attempting to answer at once leaving him wishing that his first ingredient was a hearty dose of acetylsalicylic acid. Occasionally putting his hands over his ears he persevered, however, and soon the basic outlines of his demonstration began to take shape. This first performance should be a defining one, he knew. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint, lest he and his companions find themselves unceremoniously shipped back to Seremathenn. They had come too far to waste time and effort in backtracking.

  “This hot-air spinner,” one of the younger assistants inquired, “what it be use for?”

  “Carelth,” Walker informed her. Among the many gourmet Niyyuuan dishes whose constituents he had memorized during the journey from Seremathenn to Niyu, carelth was one basic foodstuff that seemed to offer excellent opportunities for customization.

  “But carelth is baked, not hot spun,” remarked an older male.

  “Not my carelth,” Walker told him firmly.

  After that surprise, he had them firmly in the grasp of his gastronomic vision. They were not quite sure what he was going to do, but every one of them looked forward keenly to seeing him do it.

  6

  Where you come from?” the tall, slender, razor-voiced official inquired.

  The silvery metallic eyes of the K’eremu gazed out at the assembled, seated governmental elite of Kojn-umm. Like most uncivi
lized beings, they chose to gather together to eat. Well, she could do nothing about that. Anymore than she could do anything about the mortifying circumstances in which she presently found herself. Thrown together with a primitive if well-meaning biped, his smaller and slightly more developed shaggy companion, and a monstrous contradiction of a representative of another unknown world who was given to speaking in morose poeticisms, she was forced to rely on them for help in getting home. There being some doubt that even someone as gifted as herself would be able to accomplish that feat on her own, she had resigned herself to an inescapable sequence of successive demeanings—such as the one she was being compelled to suffer presently.

  As the simple but earnest human Walker had warned her, “Please, please, try and be polite to these people tonight, Sque. We’ve got to have their help if we’re going to get any closer to home than Niyu.”

  So she adjusted her own flashy accoutrements, eyed the lean, exceedingly lavishly dressed male Niyyuu, and replied, “My world, whose comforting clouds and dampness and isolation I long for more and more each day, is called K’erem.” Two tendrils rose. “It lies some distance farther out in the swarm of stars that is, hopefully, this galactic arm. My companions and I have come to Niyu in the hope that it has brought us nearer K’erem and their own homeworlds. Whether that is the case we do not yet know. In the meantime, we are reliant upon your good nature and hospitality, twin traits that are the hallmark of the most basic civilization.”

  It was a longer reply than the questioner had expected, but it appeared to satisfy him. The other eminent Niyyuu in the room seemed equally content with the K’eremu’s response, though one or two bridled slightly at the implication their civilization might somehow be classified as “basic.”

  Still, Walker decided as he and his Niyyuuan assistants continued to prepare the equipment and ingredients for his effort, for Sque the reply could be counted as exceedingly diplomatic. He tensed slightly when he heard someone among the assembled follow the first question with, “I was told you supposedly very smart species. Do something to impress us with you intelligence.”