Bringing up the rear, still dressed outrageously, came his uncle Maran, the family Herald, younger brother of Salex and new Clan Coordinator for all the Horem. It seemed as if some of the jauntiness had left his step.
Grethel and Lorilen stopped beside the pool, followed by the rest.
“Hello, brother,” Grethel said, dropping her toga and slipping into the pool waters beside Bethrin. “When are you going to come see my twins? They have grown nicely.” Aunt Lorilen smiled slightly, then also dropped her toga and stepped into the atrium pool.
Sargon pulled Bethrin’s floating form back to the edge to give them all room to fit in. “Soon. I promise. But Command refresher courses chew up my free time. Bethrin takes the rest.”
Maran laughed as he too climbed into the pool. “I don’t blame you! She is even more beautiful than when I first saw her.”
Bethrin chuff-laughed modestly. His mother Peilan and father Salex also shed clothes and entered the pool on the opposite side, sitting beside Maran. Water came up to everyone’s shoulders. Heads rested back on the stone pool rim. Headcrest feathers lay mostly relaxed.
Salex looked at him expectantly. “Well, Watch Commander? Are you going to roll over and let some damned flyer overturn your Command decision?” he asked. “Or are you going to fight?”
“Salex!” admonished Peilan.
“Father—try to be a help,” said Grethel, looking distressed.
“I am helping.” His father glanced at Lorilen, widowed but with two fine sons and one daughter. “Sister, you tell him—you remember the Horem way better than some.”
Lorilen sat up, cupped warm water, lifted it, poured it over her head, then cupped water once again. “I do. This comes first. Join me.”
Sargon and Bethrin also sat upright, cupping pool water in their hands. Grethel, Maran, Peilan and his father did the same. He looked to Lorilen.
She looked up at the radiant white light of Horem streaming in through the atrium skylight, and began to chant-sing an old wakan-woman song.
“From water comes life.
“From the land comes food.
“From the Clan comes family.
“From Horem comes all things.
“To Horem we return all things.
“Rejoice, for life is good.
“Rejoice, for the Way is Trade.
“Rejoice, for the benefit of the other is your benefit also.”
They chanted together, pouring water over their heads. One family. One Clan. One heritage. Reminding themselves of all that the Remembrance teachings taught and all their lives had meant in the living. Lorilen looked tellingly at Salex.
“Elder brother, you talk of winning over the Arrik. Our heritage talks of everyone benefiting by common decision. Do you wish to revise your question to Sargon?”
For one of the few times in his life, Sargon saw his father look embarrassed. There was n mistaking the cant of his headcrest. Peilan smiled slightly, then laid her own head on Salex’s shoulder, comforting him. His father looked at him, somewhat chagrined.
“Your aunt has a point, Sargon. How do you plan to preserve your Command decision while seeking common ground with the Arrik?”
He felt like groaning. Impossible assignments came with Command. But this was more impossible than most. Beside him, his family—Grethel, Lorilen, Maran, Salex and Peilan—awaited his decision.
Sargon recalled the early histories of Contact. He recalled the Remembrance of Noren and the Call of Acherex. The Compact had succeeded time and again in joining the unjoinable. Why? How?
“Father, the Arrik do have a point.” Salex’s headcrest fluttered. “The Humans have the potential to harm Hekar. And this recent outbreak of nuclear weapon use, long decades after the first use in Human year 1945, upsets me like it does anyone else.” Sargon looked around the pool at his Clan family, giving each of them the respect due. “But, the Humans have reduced their nuclear weapon stockpiles, a few nation-Clans have given up such weapons and their United Nations unity group is working for the benefit of all. I believe this small nuclear war is an aberration. It will remind all seven billion Humans why their Cold War achieved mutual peace. Use of such weapons on a planetary surface contaminates the bed they all sleep on.” His father Salex blinked slowly, a sign of thoughtful contemplation. “Yes, the Humans have too many nation-Clans for unified decision-making. Yes, some nation-Clans are aggressive and territory seeking. And yes, the non-rational jihadist subgroups seek to control all of Earth. But we Horem and the Strelka and the Zik all waged war in our pasts. Which is why we have a Military Compound and directed energy weapons to protect the ship. And fighter squadrons to defeat any hostile spacecraft. The Humans are still growing toward maturity as a species. I believe, by the time we arrive, they will not be a threat to Hekar.”
His uncle Maran looked up from dipping fingers into the warm ripples of the pool. “All good points. But Sargon, the Humans aren’t Horem—even though their females are attractive.” Lorilen poked her younger brother with one clawfinger. “Your analogy lacks consistency of factors.”
Peilan sat up, exposing her upper breasts. “True, Maran. But they live a life not unlike ours. They have farms, libraries, cities, personal homes, universities and factories. They care for their young and old. They—”
“Let millions starve and kill too many in wars,” Grethel interrupted. “I want them to be like us—but are they?”
Lorilen raised her hand. “No! They can never be identical to us. There is too much history and too much difference in evolutionary pathways. But,” Lorilen looked around the circular pool, eyeing them one by one, “they can be newfound helpmates as helpful to us as the Strelka. They can be . . . the mirror-Horem we might have been, given a different time and place.”
“How?” Salex asked, sounding skeptical.
Lorilen crossed arms over her lower breasts. “Simple. Find out what they’re really like. Live among them for awhile. It would also reduce the Arrik paranoia.”
Maran looked intrigued. “Sister, do you suggest we enter their home system covertly, monitor them, send down an observer team and then decide on whether to Contact them or not?”
“Exactly,” Lorilen growled low. “We look enough like them to make it work. All it takes to hide our fur is plenty of this clothing they seem to fixate on in their Trade speech.”
Sargon smiled. “We may need to add a tall hat or hood to cover our headcrests!” Many minds were far better than one. Bethrin smiled up at him, her expression happy.
“The team could gather plant samples for the Farms!” Grethel said eagerly, leaning toward Lorilen.
“It would be one way to deflect the Arrik paranoia,” mused Maran. “And gaining a feel for their sense of community, their families, what they hold precious, will be vital to later Trade discussions.”
“I wish I were young enough to go,” said his mother Peilan quietly.
“No!” said Salex, looking concerned. “Peilan—I need you here, not on a dangerous Probe expedition.”
Sargon’s mother smiled up at his father, love showing clearly. “Salex—I am never apart from you, nor you from me. Even in Suspense. Be calm.”
This was a side of his parents he’d rarely seen. To see them still in love, the way he and Bethrin still were. The way Grethel and her Toren were. The way Maran had been with his wife Salem, now passed away. It gave him an idea.
“Family, do you think humans . . . feel as we do?”
Salex looked puzzled, his hand now cupping Peilan’s chin. “Feel what? How?”
“This,” Sargon said, nodding around to his gathered family. “Caring. Joy. Love.”
Lorilen chuff-laughed. “Of course, Sargon. Don’t the Strelka? Don’t the Gosay? Doesn’t every bisexual species?”
“Probably,” he said. “My point is this. Use a Probe team, yes. Use a covert approach, yes. But also we should look at ways to make Humans care for us. Care for us as they would care for themselves.”
His father Salex f
lared his headcrest in approval. “Good point, young Watch Commander. That is the long-term solution to this Contact. Now, your mother and I have unfinished business in our bedroom. Come, Peilan.”
His mother and father stood up and left, not bothering to dry off, arms around each other’s back.
Grethel giggled. Uncle Maran looked pleased, and envious. Lorilen looked wistful. Bethrin moved one of her hands below water to Sargon’s groin, touching him, suggesting their own retreat. Grethel noticed.
“Like father, like—”
“Shut up!” Sargon said, smiling with strain as Bethrin’s hands awoke him. “Uh—Maran, Grethel, Lorilen, would you excuse us?”
Wise Lorilen smiled indulgently at him and Bethrin.
“Of course. Depart. Enjoy your Awakening,” Lorilen said as Maran and Grethel laughed openly. “Your uncle and I have some names of old acquaintances to trade. Perhaps we’ll each find our own celebration of life. And Grethel has Toren to return to.”
Sargon followed Bethrin out of the family bath, not minding that her touch caused his excitement to be easily visible to his Clan family. Among family, among the Horem, nearly all things were accepted and permitted.
Hand-in-hand with Bethrin, Sargon looked forward to their love sharing. And to her help in figuring out how to make Humans care for Horems as much as Horem cared for each other.
♦ ♦ ♦
One day later Sargon joined Life-Who-Is-Song in one of the outer skin observation blisters located amidships on Hekar. Consisting of a small, armor-glass dome, cushioned floor and refreshment outlets, the observation blisters were the most popular part of the ship, next to the planetary ecosystem domes. There was nothing that equaled lying on one’s back in the quietness and watching the multi-colored glow of the stars outside. Or seeing, near the forend of Hekar, the speed-compressed light spectra of stars whose spectrum was shifted into higher, bluer frequencies the closer Hekar approached the speed of light. The immensity of the universe became very real and very true here, with only a thin skin of armor-glass separating him from the cold merciless dark of vacuum.
What did a Strelka really see? Did they feel as much as he felt? He turned sideways, eyeing the supine form of Life-Who-Is-Song.
“Well, friend?” he asked, emoting his question as best he could.
Life lifted his sensorium strip up a bit, swaying softly. “How do we feel about this, you ask?” Silence lasted long moments. “In ways you know little of, but could understand. We feel this inside ourselves, as you do. We feel this . . immensity of flickering radiation impulses much as we feel the standing wave-field of the Race. This too is our identity. This too is our . . . home nest. This too is our destiny.”
How does a non-empath understand the standing wave empath field of five billion Strelka? The same way, Sargon mused, that the unsighted can see as well as the sighted.
“Just so, Compact mate,” said Life.
Sargon chuff-laughed. “Are you reading my thoughts too?”
Life tapped several walkfeet against the blister’s cushioned floor. “No. But empaths do have insight. From emotions come many thoughts. And many emotions are never spoken. Such as the fact you wonder if we Strelka will support the Horem in the Council over this Human matter.”
Sargon sighed. “True. I do wonder. What will your Brothers do?”
Life held silent a moment. “Don’t you already know the answer to that?”
He sat up, somewhat irritated. “I wouldn’t ask if I did.”
Life curled his lower body segments into a coil, raising his head and upper body above the blister’s floor. “You should visit one of our Food Games sometime—then you would know us better.” Life lifted his sensorium strip upward to drink in the starshine of the galaxy. “When the Race makes a Compact, it stays made. When we choose Hunt partners, they stay chosen. When we find new Brothers-In-Thought, they are permanent Brothers. We will support you and all Horem.”
Sargon felt relief. He looked down the long, meteorite-pitted surface of Hekar’s outer skin, past the shallow craters and gullies made by impacts and cooling of the original mass. He wondered again at the fragile bubbles of life stuck to its outer skin and carved within its rocky embrace. And he marveled at the nature of friendship.
“Thank you, my Friend,” he emoted, sharing his emotions fully, openly with his friend and colleague. “What do you think the Contact will be like?”
“Assuming the Council approves Contact?”
“Yes,” Sargon said, feeling impatient.
Life-Who-Is-Song stretched out and rolled onto his back, exposing his soft underbelly to the starshine. “I think it will be delicious. A most vibrant life planet. With so many predators!”
Sargon laughed. “You people do love strong emotions.”
Life hooted in laughter. “And you Horem don’t? What about last night with Bethrin? What about that time 43 ship years ago when you went bathing with three females—and they exhausted you? What about—”
“Enough!” Did all of his emotions have such obvious tags? “Sex isn’t our only strong emotion.”
“True,” Life hummed. “Your other strong emotions include Trade, jealousy, anger, fear and many such core matters of your being.”
“So do you Strelka.”
“True.” Life flipped over onto all twenty-two walkfeet. “But among the Race all is understood and accepted.”
“So with the Clan.”
They stayed quiet the remainder of their rest period, having no need for speech. Two friends, together after years apart in Suspense, needed time together to share.
The future held much challenge for them both and Sargon knew this might be one of their last quiet times together for a long while to come.
♦ ♦ ♦
Looseen, Maker-of-Eggs and brood-ruler of all Ziks, played hostess to her guests.
Gathered beside her in the low surf of the Zik habitat’s shallow sea were Mother Esay of the Sliss, suspended in the salty waters, her float-bag and single eye rising above the water, all eight tentacles stretched outward in a radial pattern, an All-Hailer buoy floating beside her. Nearby was Lady Essene of the Gosay, her massive black body settled into the soft brown sand of Looseen’s beach. Close by Eeess the Thoranian floated in his quartz globe. Last on the beach was Arix Maran Arax, new Clan Coordinator of the shipboard Horem. The biped was dressed in some peculiarly colored clothing that did not illuminate well in infrared light. Looseen didn’t care—she had more important things on her mind. Such as the upcoming Council meeting when the decision would be made on whether and how to have Contact with the Humans.
Looseen looked around, making certain her Defender guards kept the lower castes of her children away from her meeting. And yet present enough to register on her guests. Looseen raised her perceptor stalks, feeling alert. She clacked her palps.
“Coordinator Maran, you have news to share with us?”
The Horem flared his headcrest. She wished she understood that part of Horem body language.
“Yes, Eminence,” Maran said. “It seems the Strelka will support Contact with the Humans—subject to reasonable precautions such as a distant parking orbit, a Probe venture and a defensive picket line of Compact fighter ships.”
“Good. It has been too long since I and my brood tasted the waters of a true ocean.” Looseen turned two perceptor stalks toward her friend. “Mother Esay, have you heard anything from the Thix-Thet?”
Her Sliss guest bobbed in the shallow waves of the sea. “Contradictory things. They seem interested in the gas giants of this new system and wish to explore their cold moons for lifeforms similar to their own. But they also seem . . . uninterested in this Human aggressiveness issue.”
“Why?” asked Lady Essene. “Don’t they care about their personal safety?”
The All-Hailer squealed with Esay’s reply. “Of course they do. They just have a hard time relating to our kind of life. They call us Hot Ones. They expect us to be . . . excessively emotional.”
<
br /> “Will they support Contact?” asked Maran, impatient.
“Probably,” Mother Esay said, looking to Looseen. “Sister, are you sure you can convince these Humans to assist in a local colonization effort for your progeny?”
Looseen smiled inside. “Convince them? We Zik have long practice at convincing people to do things we want them to do.” Maran looked up, his manner curious. “Ask Lady Essene.”
Her Gosay guest swiveled all four black eyes her way. “Your role in helping us overcome our individual aversion to crowds is well-known, Looseen. Let it pass.”
Looseen acquiesced with a flare of her primary manipulator palps. “As you wish, Lady Essene. Eeess, you’ve been unusually quiet. Will the MIND join with us in support of Contact?”
The Thoranian’s floating globe drifted slightly on the air currents. “Yes.”
Looseen felt intrigued. “Good. Why?” She noticed Maran looking at her sharply.
Eeess’ green crystals sparkled in the red sunlight. “Two reasons. First, visit of Watch Commander Arix Salex Arax, many logic puzzles exist in irregular organic mindsets, remind us. Second, new star system, planet Mercury, similar, our home, is. MIND, new colony, chance desired is. “
Ah, now Looseen understood the Thoranian support. “All things are possible. Would you wish such . . . unpredictable and non-crystalline neighbors as these Humans?”
Eeess’ capsule bobbed once more. “Why not? Humans, apt subject for our theorists in the mathematics of chaos, are. Pattern-seeking, where none seem likely, favorite past-time is.”
Lady Essene stood up, shaking sand off her hide. “Fine for you. Me, I can’t eat puzzles. I like meat—raw—that runs away from me. Some of the herd animals on this Earth have appealing bodies. Looseen, are these Earth lifeforms based on dextromolecular sugars and levomolecular amino acids? We’re a D-L lifeform and I ache for a nice food chase in some out-of-the-way savannah.”
“They and all life on their planet are D-L based, according to an organic chemistry lesson broadcast by their Internet,” Looseen said. “As are the Arrik, the Horem, we Zik and the Strelka—we can all eat the same foods without making each other sick, or poisoned.”
Retread Shop 1: First Contact Page 11