The Light-Years Beneath My Feet

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Ah, the famous small-ear food presenter!” The general glanced downward. “And his irrepressibly cuddly companion.” George made a rude noise that was not translatable. “It wonderful see you again. I am pleased to be yous guide and interpreter this aspect of Niyyuuan culture.”

  The general was much smaller than the average Niyyuu, Walker noted, though far from Napoleonic in stature. Alien and human regarded each other eye to eye. Other than being half a foot shorter than Viyv-pym or the other officers in the strategy room, and noticeably older, Saluu-hir-lek was little different in appearance from the majority of Niyyuu Walker and George had previously encountered. His uniform consisted of a simple brown tunic and the long, wide shoes favored by his kind. Only the three emblems heat-sealed to the center of his shirt indicated his rank. Whether this sartorial simplicity was a reflection of the individual himself or standard-issue attire for general officers Walker did not know.

  “I great admirer of you work,” the general was saying as Walker studied him. “Never seen such skill. But of course, you learn on Seremathenn.” His voice took on the Niyyuuan equivalent of a bittersweet tone, the round mouth contracting. “Someday I like very much visit Seremathenn. But always duty to Kojn-umm calls. Whenever Toroud-eed or Faalaur-oor make trouble, responsible sources come deliver to me their insistence. ‘Take command of forces, Saluu-hir-lek! Protect us from evil! Save us from attack!’” One twin-digited hand waved diffidently. “Protect commercial contracts, they mean. Traditional warring is for obtain business advantage, or water port, or favorable trade terms. I understand such local foolishnesses no longer apply on more advanced worlds.”

  “That’s not always the case,” Walker told him, thinking of Earth. “Sometimes a culture’s technology far outpaces its social development.” He indicated their surroundings. “I think the Niyyuu have made an interesting accommodation with their traditional way of settling disputes between neighbors.”

  “It is kind of you say so. Kind of you think such of Niyu, when you find yourself so far and so lost from your own world.”

  Sympathy from a general. Well, Walker would take it where he could get it. It boded well for his original rationale in agreeing to this visit. Idly, he wondered how much pull Saluu-hir-lek might wield in the same local corridors of power that wished to keep him and his friends resident on Niyu.

  The general gestured toward the doorway through which they had just entered. “Would you like to see some more of fortress of Jalar-aad-biidh? It has served as gateway and protector of capital for many thousand-days.”

  Why not? Walker thought. “That would be very nice.” Near his feet, George nodded assent. The dog was less interested in a tour of traditional alien military fortifications than he was in fresh air. The war room had no windows.

  “Excellent!” Saluu-hir-lek moved to lead them. “There small battle for main gate going on right now. Hope is not inconveniencing for you.”

  Before Walker could raise question or objection, the general was showing them the way out the door, leaving neither time nor discreet opportunity for the human to object.

  8

  Bound together and launched by some unseen and unfamiliar alien mechanism, the three sharpened shafts spun around a central axis as they flew toward him—the spinning, barbed points clearly designed to do maximum damage to anyone they struck. Walker ducked behind shielding stone as they whizzed past to shatter themselves against the wall behind him in a spray of broken metal tips and splintered wooden shafts. All around him was shouting, screaming, and the “nails scraping on blackboards” Niyyuuan equivalent of bloodthirsty cries. Given the inherent raspiness of the native speaking voice, the latter made up in ear-grating harshness what they occasionally lacked in volume.

  Huddled at the base of the stone rampart and Walker’s feet, George glanced up sullenly. “So much for having a quiet meeting and making polite inquiries.”

  “Just stay down,” Walker advised him. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Sure. Unless the fortress is overrun. Then I’ll be fine barbeque.”

  “What makes you think any local with any sense would try eating something as alien-looking as you?”

  The dog turned his face to the wall. “I can’t imagine why that thought doesn’t make me feel completely secure. Incidentally, you might give it a tumble yourself.”

  It had not occurred to Walker that the assaulters of Jalar-aad-biidh might regard him as a fit subject for nibbling. As a newly skilled cook, he was not used to regarding himself as a potential cookee. While Saluu-hir-lek—displaying commendable, or foolish, disregard for his own personal safety—rallied his forces, Viyv-pym leaned against Walker to reassure him.

  “That arthret that just miss you was an aberration, a lucky launching. See?” She tugged gently on his arm. Not wanting to appear fainthearted in her company, he allowed himself to be pulled forward for a better view.

  The panorama spread out before him very much resembled paintings he had seen of ancient medieval battles. The participants were alien, their accoutrements foreign, and the design and layout of the fortress itself different in a number of aspects from what humans would have constructed, but hand-to-hand fighting was fairly similar regardless of body size, shape, and the number of digits on weapons-wielding hands.

  He was struck once again by the slenderness of both the combatants and their weapons. The tall, slim Niyyuu swung or stabbed with spears, pikes, and narrow-bladed swords. There was nary a battle-axe or mace in sight. Absent the need to protect barrel-chested warriors, shields were similarly slim and lightweight. Unexpectedly, he almost laughed. In spite of the fact that blood was being spilled in copious quantity, assorted body parts were being carved from torsos, and individuals were dying, the crowded battlefield that spread out in front of the fortress’s outer wall appeared populated by clashing armies of heavily armed, heavily armored, high-couture models. Despite the very real death and destruction, a part of him couldn’t help thinking Vogue/Cosmo rather than Soldier of Fortune.

  That somewhat risible image vanished instantly when a sling-boosted short spear went right through the neck of a bolt-firing Kojn-umm soldier standing atop an elevated platform off to Walker’s left. Dropping her weapon, the female warrior grabbed reflexively at the protruding shaft of the lance as she toppled over and plunged into the swirling throng of fighters below. No more laughter bubbled up in Walker’s throat.

  Saluu-hir-lek remained in the thick of the fighting: ranging back and forth along the wall, urging on his soldiers, altering defensive strategy in response to shifts in the enemy’s plan of attack, shouting commands, all the while doing serious damage with his own sword. Walker could see why the general was lionized by Kojnumm society. Whether it was tactically wise for him to place himself in such danger was not a matter for visitors to question. Walker hoped the general would survive the battle. While other Niyyuu had been of little help to him and his friends in their quest to get home, dead ones would be of no use whatsoever.

  Bobbing up and down in the midst of the ferocious skirmishing like so many electronic imps were representatives of the media from both Kojn-umm and Toroud-eed. They were easily recognizable by their bright orange attire and the fact that they wielded recording and broadcasting equipment, not armor and weapons. Amazingly, they moved with ease among the combatants, who largely ignored their presence.

  Walker pointed out the nearest. “Surely the media must suffer the occasional casualty. A stray spear, or short bolt?”

  Today painted half blue and half crimson, Viyv-pym’s mouth expanded as if she was simultaneously shocked and amused by the notion. “Only rarely. At such times, they become news themselves. No soldier wants injure correspondent. Is bad for career. Soldiers want be interviewed. Good for career. Injured correspondents cannot conduct interviews.”

  Made sense, Walker knew. A warrior, or an entire army, would not want to be on the receiving end of the unfavorable press the maiming or killing of a correspondent would bring. Mindful of
the ramifications, he pressed her further.

  “The battlefield reporting—is it honest? I mean, is it straightforward? No picking and choosing of scenes for propaganda purposes?”

  “Oh, no,” she insisted. “Citizens want, citizens need, to see everything. Good and the bad.” She indicated another pair of orange-clad figures moving effortlessly among the combatants. “Communications facilities of Kojn-umm and Toroud-eed share field pickups of both sides. Also others present, reporting back to realms not involved in fighting.”

  Once again, the sports analogy reared its bloody head. Was there a special global media feed for all of Niyu? The round-the-clock, “all war all the time” channel? Sadly, he realized such an innovation was also possible on Earth.

  The fighting was beginning to wind down. “What happens if the Toroudians win? If they were to overrun and take the fortress?” Given what he had already learned about the conventions of Niyyuuan combat, somehow he did not think such a result would result in widespread rapine and looting.

  He was right. “Since Jalar-aad-biidh defends capital city,” she told him, “Kojn-umm would have to formally surrender to Toroud-eed. In such unlikely happenstances, Kojn-umm would probably pay compensation—indemnity—to victors. Possibly also trade concessions. In extreme case, loss of territory.”

  “What about a triumphant Toroud-eed taking over your realm completely?”

  “It happens, but such a thing is rare in our history.” Watching her watching the fighting, Walker could sense that she would rather have been down on the battlefield swinging a sword instead of watching from the comparative safety of the high battlements nursemaiding an alien chef and his small companion.

  The latter looked up from where he had squeezed himself into as small and protected a place as possible. “What’s to keep a few realms from taking over everybody else and controlling the whole planet?”

  Viyv-pym peered down at the dog. “If one realm get too big, too powerful, is inevitably attacked by allied forces of many others and so reduced in size and strength.” She spoke with considerable conviction, Walker noted. “That also happens—and is also rare in our history.” One long, willowy arm rose to point over the wall. “Not happen here, this day. See!”

  The campaign was beginning to slacken as the forces of Toroud-eed, fought to a stalemate if not actually defeated, began to retreat. Their siege engines having failed to breach Jalar-aad-biidh’s massive outer stone wall and their swarms of attacking soldiers having been repeatedly forced from its ramparts, they started to pull back. Given the ferocity of the fighting he had witnessed, Walker was surprised as he surveyed the field of battle that it was not littered more profusely with dead bodies. Perhaps, he decided, the Niyyuu cultural dichotomy of war allowed for the application of modern medicine to the wounded. He made a mental note to ask Viyv-pym about it later. Meanwhile, he fought to compose suitable congratulations for the general who was now striding toward them.

  Saluu-hir-lek’s armor was dented as if he had been run over by a large vehicle, and it was actually cut clear through at one leg. But the general himself appeared to be physically uninjured. His round mouth was expanded to its maximum diameter, while his huge eyes shone with an inner glow. Quadruple tails switched sharply back and forth, and blood stained him from head to toe.

  “That should slow them, those effing offspring of Eed!”

  Persuaded that the fighting was done with, George rose from where he had been lying. “You mean, they won’t attack again?”

  Saluu-hir-lek turned to peer over the ramparts and follow the attackers’ retreat. “Too soon say for certain. Have better idea tomorrow, when scouts make morning report on enemy disposition. Disposition of forces, disposition of mind!” The general was in a very good mood indeed.

  An excellent time, Walker felt, to hit him up for support.

  “Come!” Lightly dragging a bloodstained finger down Walker’s chest in friendly Niyyuuan fashion, Saluu-hir-lek bade his visitor accompany him. “I must clean up for presentation tonight. Then we talk more.” From within the lightweight but sturdy helmet, vast yellow-gold eyes regarded the human. “Maybe I can persuade you cook for me and my staff.”

  “Kind of short notice, but it might be arranged,” a thoughtful Walker told him. “When someone is in a position to provide a special service to a friend, it’s always nice to be able to help out.”

  Any secondary meaning inherent in Walker’s response flashed right past the general. Perhaps their respective translators had mangled the verbalization. But from what he had seen of Saluu-hir-lek, Walker was sure the general would remember it.

  There wasn’t much to work with. While the great fortress of Jalar-aad-biidh was amply stocked for war and for the fulfillment of the basic needs of its defenders, there was a decided dearth of advanced, nonessential material. Even its commanding officer had limited access to luxury goods. Walker was relieved to discover that the food preparation equipment, like the medical facilities, was apparently exempt from the cultural restrictions that were placed on any modern technology related to combat requirements.

  In concise terms, what that meant was that he had the apparatus with which to exercise his gastronomic skills. Though raw material was lacking, he took its absence as a challenge. The eventual results showed off his innate creativity and talent in ways that swapping raw rubber futures on the Chicago Exchange could not have come close to duplicating.

  Certainly Saluu-hir-lek and his staff were more than pleased, if not outright overwhelmed. Following the dramatic culinary presentation and the expansive meal that was its outcome, the general once again invited George and Walker outside. This time they found themselves higher up than before. To the right, the private balcony overlooked the distant, rambling metropolis of Ehbahr, Kojn-umm’s wholly contemporary capital city. Straight ahead, a gradually descending slope glittered with splotches of illumination that marked the location of the bivouac of Toroud-eed’s troops.

  “Wonderful meal, simply wonderful!” the general declaimed to the cool, indifferent night. His round mouth was contracted, sphincterlike, around a transparent tube that dispensed measured quantities of tartly flavored alkaloids. While the slowly dissolving powder produced a pleasant taste and mild rush in the Niyyuu, it would have wreaked serious havoc on Walker’s more sensitive digestive system. He had long since learned which local molecular combinations he and George could tolerate and which, harmless though they might be to the natives, man and dog should at all costs avoid. These personal limitations did not hinder his practice of performance gastronomy.

  “Glad you enjoyed it.” Resting both arms on the high, solid-metal barrier, he let his gaze wander over the ranked lights below. At a distance, they reminded him of so many stars fallen to Earth. Silent soldiers patrolled the walls of the fortress, alert for any inimical nocturnal intrusion. Music, nearly as harsh as Niyyuuan speech, scratched and clawed its way up from the ancient courtyard below. The smaller of Niyu’s two moons, irregular of shape but bright of albedo, hung high in the night sky.

  “I hope you don’t mind my saying,” he continued, “that while my friends and I have enjoyed the time we’ve spent here on your world, like anyone else cut off and long away from their home, we’re anxious to be on our way.” Nearby and unable to see over the railing, George sniffed meaningfully.

  “That only natural,” the general responded encouragingly.

  “The problem is that we don’t have any idea which way, out of an infinity of possible ways, to go from here, and the Kojn-umm government and its allies won’t send a ship outward on our behalf until we can choose a reasonable course.”

  “Also natural, I imagine.” Saluu-hir-lek was studying the now-silent field of battle. Distant lights were reflected in his wide eyes.

  “It would be helpful,” Walker went on, “if someone, someone in a position of real power, could use their influence to persuade the government to initiate on our behalf a real, serious search of the surrounding starfield, with a
n eye toward locating our homeworlds. We certainly aren’t in a position to do it. We’ve filed repeated requests, only to be told to be patient and that the appropriate resources are being employed on our behalf. But this has been going on for some time now, and so far we’ve heard nothing.”

  Saluu-hir-lek did not look at him. That was not encouraging. “I faintly aware of yous’ situation. Such searches, I understand, can take long time. Sometimes very long time.”

  “We understand that.” Walker tried not to sound impatient. “It’s just that we’ve heard nothing at all. Possibly if someone like yourself looked into the matter, or used their influence, the relevant government agencies might be more . . . forthcoming.”

  Their round, muscular mouths did not allow the Niyyuu to smile. Instead, Saluu-hir-lek tried to offer a sympathetic apologia by means of gestures. “Cannot do. Too much responsibility already, being charged with traditionally defend all of Kojn-umm. I sorry, but can do nothing for you.” His tone brightened. “I thank yous for staying night. Perhaps following sunbreak, can prepare small morning meal?”

  With a heavy sigh, Walker turned away. “Yes, of course I’ll conjure breakfast.”

  “A strange, untranslatable term. Understanding is clear, though. I thank you in advance.” He started toward the open portal behind them. “Now is retire time. Soldier needs good sleep as much as sharp sword. Maybe cook as well.”

  “Whatever.” The dog had his head down as he moved to follow the general. The private nocturnal meeting had not produced the results he and Walker had hoped for.

  “Is okay yous share habitation? Not much free-spare space in fortress.”

  Walker glanced down at the dog and mustered a sliver of a smile. “We’ll manage. George and I have shared a lot more than a room together.”

  Tonight they would also, he reflected as he followed their host, share their disappointment.