Had humankind contacted the next intelligent race they encountered prior to formalizing relations with the thranx, the Commonwealth might very well never have come into existence. As for the duplicitous AAnn, their upset verged on outrage as they saw their traditional competitors for habitable worlds forge an ever-deepening relationship with the militarily strong but mentally unpredictable humans. Bereft of stratagems for countering the seemingly inevitable alliance, the government of the emperor sought the advice of any who might have an efficacious solution to propound.
As it happened, Lord Huudra Ap and Baron Keekil YN stood ready to supply one.
NEXT—DIRGE
Don’t miss the second book in the Founding of the Commonwealth series:
DIRGE
by Alan Dean Foster
Published by Del Rey books.
Look for it at your local bookstore.
For an exciting preview
please read on….
Surrounded by members of the Chagos’s staff, Burgess was staring intently at the tridee. Magnification was visual, not schematic, so he was able to observe the craft that had just joined them in orbit in all its alien glory. It was an impressive ship, at least twice the size of the Chagos. While the prevalent configuration was similar to that of the Chagos and all other vessels equipped with the universal variant of the KK-drive, its design and execution differed in a multitude of significant respects.
“Not ours,” one of the techs seated nearby murmured unnecessarily.
“Not thranx, either,” the first officer added. “Unless they’ve been hiding something from us. Could it be one of those AAnn ships the thranx are always trying to warn us about?”
Burgess looked doubtful. “I’ve seen the AAnn schematics the thranx have provided. This design is much too sleek. Could it be Quillp?” Burgess longed for expertise in an area his crew, through no fault of their own, did not possess.
“I don’t think so, Captain.” Though far from positive, the first officer felt secure in hazarding a guess. If he was proved wrong, he would be delighted to admit the mistake. He hoped he was wrong. The inherent pacificity of the Quillp was well known.
Looking sharply to his left, Burgess snapped a question. “Any response to our queries, Tambri?”
The diminutive communications officer glanced over at him and shook her head. Her dark eyes were very wide. “Nothing, sir. I’m trying everything, from Terranglo through High and Low Thranx to straight mathematical theorems. They’re chattering noisily among themselves—I can pick up the wash—but they’re not talking to us.”
“They will. Keep trying.” Burgess turned back to the three-dimensional image floating in the air of the ship’s bridge. “Who are they and what the blazes do they want here?”
“Maybe they’ve already claimed this world.” The observation no one had wanted to voice come from the back of the command section. “Maybe they’re here to inform us of a claim of prior rights.”
“If that’s the case,” declared the first officer, “they’ve been mighty subtle about advertising any prior presence here. There isn’t so much as an artifact on the planet, much less an orbital transmitter. There’s nothing on either of the two small moons, or anywhere else in the system.”
“That we’ve found yet, you mean.” Having stated a contention, the dissenter felt bound to defend it. “We’ve only been here a couple of months.”
“Okay, okay,” Burgess muttered. “Let’s everybody keep calm. Whatever the situation, we’ll deal with it. We didn’t expect to encounter sapience here, much less evidence of another space-traversing species. They’re probably taking our measure as carefully as we are theirs.” But I wish they’d respond to our communications, he thought tensely.
“Look there!” someone in the growing crowd pointed.
A second, much smaller vessel was emerging from the side of the first. Winged and ported, obviously designed for atmospheric travel, it began to recede swiftly from the flank of its parent vessel. Its immediate purpose was self-evident. Anything else those aboard might intend could not be divined from tracking its progress.
“Get on to Pranchavit and the rest of the landing party,” Burgess barked at the communications officer. “Tell them they’re probably going to have company.”
Once again the officer looked up from her instrumentation. “They’ll want to know what kind of company, sir.”
Burgess glanced over at the tridee holo. “Maybe they can tell us.”
By the time Kairuna and his companions arrived at the camp, it was alive with questions and concerns, anxiety and confusion. No one seemed to know what was going on, including those who had recognized the audible signal for what it was. Now they troubled themselves with unsupported inferences and paranoid suppositions. In such company, Alwyn was in his element.
Pushing and shoving their way into an already crowded mess hall, the three late arrivals found themselves confined to the narrow remaining open space next to the rear wall. Up by the service door that led to the main stockroom, Jalen Maroto was waving his arms for quiet. When that didn’t work, he put a compact amplifier to his lips and simply shouted everybody down.
“Shut up! If you’ll just shut up, I’ll tell you what’s going on.” As the crowd noise subsided he added apologetically, “Or at least, what we know.”
“I know!” Shy as always, Alwyn was not afraid to proclaim theories where others were hesitant to venture facts. “Something local’s finally showed up to cause trouble. What is it?” he demanded to know. “A herd of predators? A fast-mutating plague?”
“There’s a plague, all right,” the team leader declared through the amplifier, “but it’s one we brought along with us.” Delighted to take advantage of the emotional release, a number of the assembled turned their laughter in the specialist’s direction. Unrepentant but temporarily subdued, he tried to meet the ridicule of each and every one of them with a defiant glare of his own.
“ A ship has gone into orbit near the Chagos,” Maroto informed scientists and support personnel alike. “We don’t know where it’s from, what species built it, or what their intentions are. So far nobody on the Chagos, including the people who are supposed to know about such things, has been able to pull a fact out of a big basket of ignorance.”
“They’re not thranx?” someone in the crowd wondered loudly, referring to the intelligent insectoid race with whom humankind had been cautiously developing relations over the past thirty years.
“We don’t know who or what they are,” Maroto replied, “because they’re not responding to the Chagos’s repeated queries to identify themselves. If they’re thranx, they’re being mighty close-mouthed about it.”
“The bugs may be ugly, but I’ve never heard of them going mute,” Idar murmured softly.
“I know what they are.” When no one reacted to his latest assertion of certitude, Alwyn assumed a plaintive tone. “Well? Doesn’t anyone want to know what I know?”
“Nobody wants to know what you know, Alwyn, because you never know half of what you claim to know.” Unlike his companions Kairuna had the advantage of being able to see over the heads of just about everyone in the crowd.
“Go ahead and mock.” Alwyn was confident as ever. “These are the hostile, rampaging, bloodthirsty aliens we’ve always feared encountering as we extend our sphere of influence.”
“I thought the AAnn were supposed to be the hostile aliens,” Idar pointed out.
“That’s what the thranx claim, but so far we’ve only the bugs’ word for AAnn hostility. No, these are something new. New and hostile,” he concluded with an assurance that regrettably was not born of proof.
“If they’re hostile,” a contrary Kairuna argued, “why are we still standing here talking? Why haven’t they turned this site and all of us to dust?”
“Just you wait.” Secure in his latent mistrust, the specialist glanced knowingly skyward.
Aside from the fact that scattering into the trees could be misinterprete
d by those aboard the rapidly descending alien shuttle as a hostile gesture, there was (the feelings of a certain suspicious support specialist aside) no overwhelming reason to do so. The parent ship continued to swing in low orbit within viewing distance of the Chagos, moving neither toward nor away from the human vessel, its communicators silent, the identity of its occupants still a mystery. No one on board the Chagos was surprised when the alien shuttle braked atmosphere and began a swift, calculated curve that would put it on the surface directly in the midst of the survey team’s encampment. Indeed, given the on-going proximity of the two KK-drive craft, Burgess and his fellow staff officers would have been perplexed had the alien shuttle chosen to set down anywhere else.
At first nothing more than a distant point of light sifting down through an azure sky, the alien landing craft grew rapidly in size and dimension until its descending silhouette differentiated sharply from the framing clouds. Assembled between field and forest, fewer than a hundred human faces strained to make out the lines and design of the unknown vessel.
The landing was smooth and almost silent, as if the pilots had been practicing on similar open fields for years. As the whine of multiple engines became tolerable, hands fell from ears to shade eyes as the craft turned to approach the crowd. There being no need for ceremony while engaged in survey, Pranchavit and Morobe were reduced to greeting the visitors in clean duty clothes. Kairuna smiled to himself. The prim head of the Argus scientific team, at least, was no doubt regretting the absence of his fancy dress uniform.
There was a stirring as the landing craft maintained speed during its turn, and a few of those gathered in front found themselves wondering if perhaps their desire for a good view of the proceedings might not be misplaced. But the many-winged alien lander pivoted neatly on its double set of nose wheels and lined up parallel to the crowd. Those in front relaxed. Nothing of an overtly offensive nature was in evidence. Kairuna knew of several researchers and techs who had armed themselves in defiance of directives. Pistols remained concealed by multiple layers of cold-weather clothing and bulky jackets.
Eagerness filled the air like a cool fog. What would the aliens look like? Would they be atavistically alarming like the thranx? Elegantly handsome and yet vaguely sinister like the AAnn? Or quaintly charming like the Quillp? Humankind had yet to voyage sufficiently far, had still to encounter enough intelligent species, to be blasé at the prospect of meeting still another.
Perhaps they would look like nothing the smooth-skinned simians in their glistening new KK-drive starships had yet met. They might be towering horrors, or diminutive pacifists. Or diminutive horrors or towering pacifists. No one knew. Kairuna and the rest of the survey team would be the first to gaze upon these new, previously unencountered alien countenances. He and his associates were acutely conscious of the singular privilege that was being accorded them.
Everyone had been thoroughly, if hastily, briefed. No matter what the aliens looked like, no matter how repulsive, or absurd, or disconcerting, or surprising, all reaction was to be kept to a minimum. There was to be no cheering lest sudden noises upset the visitors. No wrinkling of faces, no distorted expressions that might be misinterpreted in the event the visitors communicated by similar means. No expansive gestures in case they asserted themselves in a manner akin to the highly gesticulatory thranx. Response to any overtures and all expressions of greeting would be made by Pranchavit and Morobe. Everyone else was welcome to watch, but in stillness and silence.
That did not prevent Idar from nudging Kairuna in the side as an opaque cylinder slowly and silently descended from the belly of the alien craft. It looked as if a particularly sleek bird was laying an oblong egg. Nearby, a grim-faced Alwyn patted his side.
“Not to worry. I’m carrying a regulation sideshot with a full clip.”
“It won’t be much use to you in the brig,” Idar hissed at him.
“Both of you, be quiet.” Kairuna nodded. “They’re coming out. Or something is.” The possibility that the aliens might choose to make first contact through intermediaries such as mechanicals could not be discounted.
There were no mechanicals, however. The aliens had chosen to greet the tightly packed crowd of anxious bipeds in person. There were three of them. Nitrox breathers themselves, they were clad only in lightweight clothing of some unfamiliar fabric that shimmered in the bright, cold air, and no helmets or other headgear whatsoever.
The reaction to their appearance was a uniform gasp on the part of the assembled humans. Kairuna was unaware that his lower jaw dropped slightly, leaving him standing in full defiance of orders with a mock-stupid expression on his face. Idar stood wide-eyed but with more presence of mind as well as person. Alwyn, whose left hand had been hovering in the vicinity of his concealed weapon, was moved to comment, but mindful of the general directive to keep quiet, held his peace.
It was a good thing he had the forbearance to keep from drawing the gun. The aliens might not have reacted immediately to its emergence, but his erstwhile fellow humans surely would have. It was not that his naturally suspicious nature was in any way mollified by the aliens’ utterly unexpected and novel appearance. Only that he was for once, no less shocked than his companions.
DIRGE
by Alan Dean Foster
Available at bookstores everywhere.
To find out more about the Commonwealth and other worlds of Alan Dean Foster visit www.alandeanfoster.com
By Alan Dean Foster
Published by Ballantine Books:
THE BLACK HOLE
CACHALOT
DARK STAR
THE METROGNOME and Other Stories
MIDWORLD
NOR CRYSTAL TEARS
SENTENCED TO PRISM
SPLINTER OF THE MIND’S EYE
STAR TREK® LOGS ONE–TEN
VOYAGE TO THE CITY OF THE DEAD
…WHO NEEDS ENEMIES?
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE…
MAD AMOS
PARALLELITIES
THE HOWLING STONES
The Icerigger Trilogy
ICERIGGER
MISSION TO MOULOKIN
THE DELUGE DRIVERS
The Adventures of Flinx of the Commonwealth
FOR LOVE OF MOTHER-NOT
THE TAR-AIYM KRANG
ORPHAN STAR
THE END OF THE MATTER
BLOODHYPE
FLINX IN FLUX
MID-FLINX
REUNION
FLINX’S FOLLY
SLIDING SCALES
RUNNING FROM THE DEITY
The Damned
Book One: A CALL TO ARMS
Book Two: THE FALSE MIRROR
Book Three: THE SPOILS OF WAR
The Founding of the Commonwealth
PHYLOGENESIS
DIRGE
DIUTURNITY’S DAWN
The Taken Trilogy
LOST AND FOUND
THE LIGHT-YEARS BENEATH MY FEET
More praise for Phylogenesis
“Foster does a fine job with his misfit heroes and even with his minor characters (such as the reptilian Aann). He shows his usual mastery of narrative pacing and slips in a great deal of wry wit. The novel will be a treat for those who have followed Foster’s tales of the Humanx Commonwealth.”
—Publishers Weekly
“One of the premier writers of fantasy and science fiction…Foster presents the reader with a science fiction spectacle that is a quest for both inspiration and redemption, beginning with the love of poetry and ending with the mutual respect and union of two worlds. Narrative threads of adventure and well-done characterization twine together to form a profound tale of conflict, interplanetary fellowship, and poetry’s place in an always unpredictable and dangerous universe…A perfectly wrought and intriguing novel, with a multifaceted narrative vision that allows the reader a greater understanding of the magnitude of such sprawling, poignant, and soulful SF elements.”
—BarnesandNoble.com
“The Thranx are a
most appealing creation, and their interaction with humans provides seemingly countless opportunities for philosophizing and adventure…Reliable Foster fare that should stimulate high demand.”
—Booklist
A Del Rey® Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 1999 by Thranx, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Del Rey Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
www.delreybooks.com
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-190318
eISBN: 978-0-345-49427-6
v3.0
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