by David Brin
“Think, Lark. What are the odds against another race seeming as gloriously beautiful to human eyes as our patrons appear? Oh, part of their attraction surely dates back to early stages of uplift, on Old Earth, when they raised our apelike ancestors almost to full sapiency, before the Great Test began. It may be ingrained at a genetic level … the way dogs were culled in favor of craving the touch of man.
“Yet, we are still unfinished creatures. Still crudely emotional. Let me ask you, Lark. If your job were to uplift flighty, cantankerous beings, and you found that wearing a cosmetic symbiont would make your role as teacher easier, wouldn’t you do it?”
Before Lark could answer an emphatic no, she rushed ahead.
“Do not some members of your Six use rewq animals for similar ends? Those symbionts that lay their filmy bodies over your eyes, sucking a little blood in exchange for help translating emotions? Aren’t rewq a vital part of the complex interplay that is your Commons?”
“Hr-rm.” Lark throat-umbled like a doubtful hoon. “Rewq don’t help us lie. They are not themselves lies.”
Ling nodded. “Still, you never faced a task as hard as the Rothens’—to raise up creatures as brilliant, and disagreeable, as human beings. A race whose capability for future majesty also makes us capricious and dangerous, prone to false turns and deadly errors.”
Lark quashed an impulse to argue. She might only dig in, rationalizing herself into a corner and refusing to come out. At least now she admitted that one Rothen might do evil deeds — that Ro-kenn’s personal actions might be criminal.
And who knows? That may be all there is to it. The scheming of a rogue individual. Perhaps the race is just as wonderful as she says. Wouldn’t it be nice if humanity really had such patrons, and a manifest greatness waiting, beyond the next millennium?
Ling had seemed sincere when she claimed the Rothen ship commander would get to the bottom of things.
“It’s imperative to convince your sages they must release the hostages and Ro-pol’s body, along with those photograms’ your portraitist took. Blackmail won’t work against the Rothen — you must understand this. It’s not in their character to respond to threats. Yet the ‘evidence’ you’ve gathered could do harm in the long run.”
That was before the stunning news — that the Rothen ship was itself captured, encased in a prison of light.
Lark mused over one of the mulc spider’s golden eggs while Ling spoke for a while about the difficult but glorious destiny her masters planned for impulsive, brilliant humanity.
“You know,” he commented. “There’s something screwy about the logic of this whole situation.”
“What do you mean?”
Lark chewed his lip, like an urs wrestling with uncertainty. Then he decided — it was time to bring it all in the open.
“I mean, let’s put aside for now the added element of the new starship. The Rothen may have feuds you know nothing about. Or it may be a different gang of gene raiders, come to rob Jijo’s biosphere. For all we know, magistrates from the Galactic Migration Institute have brought Judgment Day as foretold in the Scrolls.
“For now, though, let’s review what led to the Battle of the Glade — the fight that made you my prisoner. It began when Bloor photo’d the dead Ro-pol without her mask. Ro-kenn went livid, ordering his robots to kill everyone who had seen.
“But didn’t you once assure me there was no need to delete local witnesses to your team’s visit? That your masters could handle it, even if oral and written legacies survive hundreds or thousands of years, describing a visit by human and Rothen gene raiders?”
“I did.”
“But you admit gene raiding is against Galactic law! I know you feel the Rothen are above such things. Still, they don’t want to be caught in the act.
“Let’s assume credible testimony, maybe even photos, finally reach Migration Institute inspectors next time they visit Jijo. Testimony about you and Rann and Kunn. Human gene raiders. Even I know the rule—‘police your own kind’—prevails in the Five Galaxies. Did Ro-kenn explain how the Rothen would prevent sanctions coming down on Earth?”
Ling wore a grim expression. “You’re saying he played us for fools. That he let me spread false assurances among the natives, while planning all along to strew germs and wipe out every witness.”
Obviously it was bitter for her to say it.
Ling seemed surprised when Lark shook his head.
“That’s what I thought at first, when qheuens fell sick. But what I now imagine is worse yet.”
That got her attention.
“What could be worse than mass murder? If the charge is proved, Ro-kenn will be hauled off to the home sites in dolor chains! He’ll be punished as no Rothen has been in ages.”
Lark shrugged. “Perhaps. But stop and think a bit.
“First, Ro-kenn wasn’t relying on disease alone to do the job.
“Oh, he probably had a whole library of bugs — infectious agents used in past wars in the Five Galaxies. No doubt starfaring qheuens long ago developed countermeasures against the germ raging through Uthen’s lymph pipes right now. I’m sure Ro-kenn’s concoctions will kill a lot more of us.”
Ling started to protest, but Lark forged ahead.
“Nevertheless, I know a thing or two about how pestilence works in natural ecosystems. It would be a complete fluke for even a string of diseases to wipe out every member of the Six. Random immunities would stymie the best-designed bugs. Furthermore, the sparser the population got, the harder it would be to reach and infect dispersed survivors.
“No, Ro-kenn needed something more. A breakdown of the Commons into total war! A war that could be exploited, pushed to the limits. A struggle so bitter that each race would pursue its victims to the farthest comers of Jijo, willingly helping to spread new parasites in order to slay their foes.”
He saw Ling struggle to find a way around his logic. But she had been present when Ro-kenn’s psi-recordings were played — sick dream images, meant to incite fatal grudges among the Six. Those present weren’t fooled because they were forewarned, but what if the messages had been broadcast as planned … amplified through the compelling wave forms of the Holy Egg?
“I will tell of this, back home,” she vowed in a low, faint voice. “He will be punished.”
“That’s gratifying,” Lark went on. “But I’m not finished. You see, even by combining plagues with war, Ro-kenn could never guarantee annihilation of all six races, or eliminate the off chance that credible testimony might be passed down the generations — perhaps stored in some cave — to finally reach Institute prosecutors. On the other hand, he could influence which race or sept would be left standing at the end, and which would perish first. There is one, in particular, whose fate he knows well how to manipulate. That one is Homo sapiens.
“The way I see it, Ro-kenn’s plan had several parts. First, he had to make sure Earthlings were hated. Second, he must weaken the other five races by releasing diseases that could then be blamed on humans. But the ultimate goal was to make sure humans went extinct on Jijo. He didn’t give a damn if others left a few survivors to tell the tale.”
Ling stared. “What good would that do? You said testimony might be passed down—”
“Yes, but with Earthlings on Jijo only a hated memory, all history will tell is that once upon a time a ship full of humans came down, stole genes, and tried to kill everybody. No one will bother emphasizing which humans did these things.
“In the future — perhaps only a few centuries, if someone plants an anonymous tip — Galactic judges would arrive and hear that people from Earth did these dreadful things. Earth will bear the full brunt of any sanctions, while the Rothen get off scot-free.”
Ling was silent for a long moment, working her way through his logic. Finally, she looked up with a broad grin.
“You had me worried a minute, but I found the defect in your reasoning!”
Lark tilted his head. “Do tell.”
�
�Your diabolical scenario just might make sense, but for two flaws—
“First—the Rothen are patrons of all humanity. Earth and her colonies, while presently governed by Darwinist fools on the Terragens Council, still represent the vast majority of our gene pool. The Rothen would never let harm come to our homeworld. Even in the current galactic crisis, they are acting behind the scenes to ensure Earth’s safety from the enemies besetting her.”
There it was again … a reference to dire events happening megaparsecs away. Lark yearned to follow that thread, but Ling continued with her argument.
“Second — let’s say Ro-kenn wanted all blame shifted to humans. Then why did he and Ro-pol emerge from the station and show themselves? By walking around, letting artists sketch them and scribes take down their words, weren’t they jeopardizing the Rothen to the same eyewitness accounts you say could damage Earth?”
Ling seemed ready to accept that her immediate boss might be criminal or insane, but with bulwarks of logic she defended her patron race. Lark had mixed feelings about demolishing such faith. He, too, had his heresies.
“I’m sorry, Ling, but my scenario still stands.
“Your first point only has validity if it is true that the Rothen are our patrons. I know that’s the central premise around which you were raised, but believing does not make it so. You admit your people, the Daniks, are small in number, live on an isolated outpost, and see just a few Rothen. Putting aside mythic fables about ancient visitors and Egyptian pyramids, all you really have is their word regarding a supposed relationship with our race. One that may simply be a hoax.
“As for your second point, just look back at the way events unfolded. Ro-kenn surely knew he was being sketched when he emerged that evening, using his charisma on the crowd and planting seeds of dissension. After living so long together, all six races are affected by each other’s standards of beauty, and the Rothen were indeed beautiful!
“Ro-kenn may even have known we had the ability to etch our drawings onto durable plates. Later, when he saw Bloor’s first set of photographic images, he hardly batted an eye. Oh, he pretended to dicker with the sages, but you and I could both tell he was unafraid of the ‘proof’ being used to blackmail him. He was only buying time till the ship returned. And it might have worked — if Bloor hadn’t uncovered and recorded Ro-pol’s corpse, bare and unmasked. That’s when Ro-kenn went hysterically murderous, ordering a massacre!”
“I know.” Ling shook her head. “It was madness. But you must understand. Disturbing the dead is very serious. It must have pushed him over the edge—”
“Over the edge, my left hind hoof! He knew exactly what he was doing. Think, Ling. Suppose someday Institute observers see photos showing humans, and a bunch of very humanlike beings nobody ever heard of, committing crimes on Jijo. Could such crude pictures ever really implicate the Rothen?
“Perhaps they might, if that’s what Rothen looked like. But till Bloor shot Ro-pol’s naked face, our crude images posed no threat to Rothen security. Because in a century or two those facial disguise symbionts won’t exist anymore, and no one alive will know that Rothen ever looked like that.”
“What are you talking about? Every Danik grows up seeing Rothen as they appear with symbionts on. Obviously there will be people around who know …”
Her voice faded. She stared at Lark, unblinking. “You can’t mean—”
“Why not? After long association with your people, I’m sure they’ve acquired the necessary means. Once humans are of no further use as front men for their schemes, your ‘patrons’ will simply use a wide spectrum of tailored viruses to wipe out every Danik, just as they planned to eliminate humans on Jijo.
“For that matter, once they’ve tested it on both our peoples, they’ll be in a good position to sell such a weapon to Earth’s enemies. After all, once our race goes extinct, who will protest our innocence? Who will bother to look for other suspects in a series of petty felonies that were committed, all over the Five Galaxies, by groups of bipeds looking a lot like—”
“Enough!” Ling shouted, standing suddenly, spilling gold cocoons from her lap. She backed away, hyperventilating.
Unrelenting, he stood and followed.
“I’ve thought about little else since we left the Glade. And it all makes sense. Even down to the way the Rothen won’t let your kind use neural taps.”
“I told you before. It’s forbidden because the taps might drive us mad!”
“Really? Why do the Rothen themselves have them? Because they’re more highly evolved?” Lark snorted. “Anyway, I hear that nowadays humans elsewhere use them effectively.”
“How do you know what humans elsewhere—”
Lark hurriedly cut her off.
“The truth is, the Rothen can’t risk letting their pet humans make direct mind-computer links, because someday one of you Daniks might bypass sanitized consoles, draw on the Great Library directly, and figure out how you’ve been pawns—”
Ling backed away another pace. “Please, Lark … I don’t want to do this anymore.”
He felt an impulse to stop, to take pity. But he quashed it. This had to come out, all of it.
“I must admit it’s quite a scam, using humans as front men for gene theft and other crimes. Even two centuries ago, when the Tabernacle departed, our race had a vile reputation as one of the lowest-ranking citizen tribes in the Five Galaxies. So-called wolflings, with no ancient clan to stand up for us. If anybody gets caught, we’ll make perfect patsies. The Rothen scheme is clever. The real question is, why would any humans let themselves be used that way?
“History may hold the answer, Ling. According to our texts, humans suffered from a major inferiority complex at the time of contact, when our primitive canoe-spacecraft stumbled onto a towering civilization of star gods. Your ancestors and mine chose different ways of dealing with the complex, each of them grasping at straws, seeking any excuse for hope.
“The Tabernacle colonists dreamed of escaping to some place out of sight of bureaucrats and mighty Galactic clans — a place to breed freely and fulfill the old romance of colonizing a frontier. In contrast, your Danik forebears rushed to embrace a tall tale they were told by a band of smooth talkers. A flattering fable that indulged their wounded pride, promising a grand destiny for certain chosen humans and their descendants … providing they did exactly as they were told. Even if it meant raising their children to be shills and sneak thieves in service to a pack of galactic gangsters.”
Tremors rocked Ling as she held up one hand, palm out, at the end of a rigid arm, as if trying physically to stave off any more words.
“I asked … you to stop,” she repeated, and seemed to have trouble breathing. Pain melted her face.
Now Lark did shut up. He had gone too far, even in the name of truth. Raggedly, trying to maintain some remnant of her dignity, Ling swiveled and strode off to the acrid lake that lay below a boulder field of tumbled Buyur ruins.
Does anybody like having their treasured worldview torn away? Lark mused, watching Ling hurl stones into the caustic pond. Most of us would reject all the proof in the cosmos before considering that our own beliefs might be wrong.
But the scientist in her won’t let her dismiss evidence so easily. She has to face facts, like them or not.
The habit of truth is hard to learn, and a mixed blessing. It leaves no refuge when a new truth comes along that hurts.
Lark knew his feelings were hardly a testament to clarity. Anger roiled, mixed with shame that he could not hold on to the purity of his own convictions. There was childish satisfaction from upsetting Ling’s former smug superiority … and chagrin at finding such a motive smoldering inside. Lark enjoyed being right, though it might be better, this time, if he turned out to be wrong.
Just when I had her respecting me as an equal, and maybe starting to like me, that’s when I have to go stomping through her life, smashing idols she was raised to worship, showing off the bloodstained hands of her gods.
You may win an argument, boy. You may even convince her. But could anyone fully forgive you for doing something like that?
He shook his head over how much he might have just thrown away, all for the torrid pleasure of harsh honesty.
Ewasx
DO NOT BE AFRAID, MY LESSER PARTS.
The sensations you feel may seem like coercive pain, but they convey a kind of love that will grow dear to you, with time. I am part of you now, one with you. I will never do anything to cause us harm, so long as this alliance serves a function.
Go ahead, stroke the wax if you wish, for the old ways of memory still have lesser uses (so long as they serve My purpose). Play over recent images so we may recall together events leading to our new union. Re-create the scene perceived by Asx, staring up in awe, watching the great Jophur warship, Polkjhy, swoop from the sky, taking the pirates captive, then landing in this tortured valley. Poor, loosely joined, scatterbrained Asx — did you/we not stare in tremulous fear?
Yes, I can stroke another driving motivation. One that kept you admirably unified, despite swirling dread. It was a cloying sense of duty. Duty to the not-self community of half beings you call the Commons.
As Asx, your stack planned to speak for the Commons. Asx expected to face star-traveling humans, along with creatures known as “Rothen.” But then Jophur forms were seen through our ship ports!
After some hesitation, did you not turn at last and try to flee?
How slow this stack was before the change! When knives of fire lanced forth from this mighty vessel, how did you react to the maelstrom of destruction? To hot ravening beams that tore through wood, stone, and flesh, but always spared this pile of aged rings? Had you then possessed the bright new running legs we now wear, you might have thrown yourselves into that roaring calamity. But Asx was slow, too slow even to shelter nearby comrades with its traeki bulk.
All died, except this stack.
ARE YOU NOT PROUD?
The next ray from the ship seized this multistriped cone, lifting it into the night air, sweeping the fatty rings toward doors that gaped to receive them.