Decision at Doona

by Anne McCaffrey

  Third insisted that all minors were to be taught high formal Hrruban as well as middle. Sumitral agreed, if Terran were taught and if middle Hrruban was considered the official language of Rrala.

  Sumitral pointed out that the Hrrubans had five village sites on Rrala at this point whereas the Terrans had only one, causing a disparity of population. He requested that sufficient Terran family units be added to equalize the inhabitants from each planet. Third adamantly insisted that no more adults could then emigrate to Rrala. Unless there is a vacancy caused by an exile, Sumitral countered.

  By now Todd was showing unmistakable signs of strain, stammering and fumbling for words, but struggling gamely along. Hrruna began to frown with concern. At this point Landreau's wrist unit beeped and he looked around for permission to answer it just as a Hrruban technician stepped forward to whisper to Hrruna's first assistant.

  “A ship comes.” Todd announced the obvious with unadulterated relief as he saw a reprieve.

  Third half-rose, his eyes starkly apprehensive. Todd gave him a faintly contemptuous look. Ken pinched the boy's leg under the table and Todd subsided with a sullen glare at his father. The Hrrubans were conferring in low undertones. Then the homing beacon lit.

  “Are we expecting anyone else?” Ken demanded in a whisper of Sumitral, who shrugged and glanced toward Chaminade.

  “An evacuation order was issued for you people,” he remarked softly, flicking his eyes toward Ken and smiling slightly. “Of course, in the light of today's proceedings, it will be canceled. Unless, of course,” and the grin widened maliciously, “you elect to return home?”

  “You gotta be kidding,” Ken exclaimed far louder than he intended.

  Chaminade leaned back in his chair, his expression smug although his round belly appeared afflicted with a curiously rhythmic inner motion. In that moment, Reeve mellowed toward the Codep man in a way he would not have thought possible even three hours earlier. It occurred to Ken that if Landreau had been thoroughly frustrated, Sumitral stymied, Chaminade had come off rather well. Although now a separate entity, his colony was still in residence and sanctioned. Landreau's department would have to take official reprimands for his actions, but Chaminade might now move on to bigger and better things. Well, Ken decided, not until Chaminade had compensated the colonists-in minor but vital ways – for his earlier condescension.

  “Toddy,” Sumitral was saying, “please tell them that the ship is a transport vessel ordered here to prevent further violation of the Principle we both uphold.”

  Toddy frowned. “But we don't need the ship. We don't have to go. Isn't that what this is all about?”

  “Oh, don't worry, you're staying, lad. You deserve it!”

  Toddy glanced skyward again and then grinned. He couldn't stop grinning even as he translated.

  Abruptly, Hrruna rose to his feet. Everyone scrambled hastily to theirs as the First Speaker adjourned the meeting – over Third's spluttered objections – and arbitrarily nominated certain members to pursue minor details with their Terran counterparts at another time. He trusted that a finished document would be presented to himself and Sumitral within three days, Hrruban time; no significant changes to be contemplated or acceptable on matters already discussed. He then bowed ceremoniously to everyone and, beckoning to Todd, stepped away from the table.

  Instantly the Second Speaker, dressed in deep gray, left the Council table to say a few quiet words to his first assistant, who immediately approached Sumitral and Landreau.

  “We may leave now,” Hrrula murmured to Ken. “They'll be transmitting those who do not care to remain for the rest of the day.”

  “Should Todd be left with the First Speaker?”

  Hrrula grinned broadly, wheezing a little as he flexed muscles stiff from long standing.

  “Intimate pitch is being used. It would be an insult to interrupt without invitation.”

  “Got acquainted, I see.” Kiachif's booming tones penetrated the still subdued conversation. Ken turned to see the inimitable captain, followed by his supercargo, striding toward them across the Common. “Seems to me, though,” he growled, glaring in Chaminade's direction, “that my ship's a bit superfluous with all that sitting idle on its tails. How do, sir?” and he nodded affably to Hrrula.

  "Chaminade will cancel that order personally, Kiachif," Ken assured him. "We drew up a Treaty today with the Hrrubans and we're staying.

  “Did right to disappear then, didn't I?” Kiachif grinned expansively, winking at Ken. “Having another one of those dry do's of yours?” He jabbed his pipe stem toward the groups setting up tables under the trees of the Common.

  “You do get here at feast time, don't you?”

  Kiachif eyed him speculatively, rubbing a grimy hand through his beard. «Seeing as how you're friends with the cats now you haven't by any chance discovered if they've a – I mean . . .»

  “An alcoholic beverage? No. Things have been a little confused here lately.”

  Hrrula wheezed.

  “He understand Terran?” Kiachif asked in mild surprise, favoring Hrrula with a thoughtful look.

  “If I listen hard,” Hrrula purred.

  “Say, Haroola, do you folks happen to have any happy juice? Party drink? Alcoholic drink?” Kiachif pulled Hrrula cozily off to one side.

  Ken glanced down to see Hrrula's tail tip describing a gentle arc. Suddenly Kiachif froze, staring at the Council table. Three Speakers remained seated, Third immobile with disapproval, the other two arguing with amiable intensity. They looked up in mild surprise at the mist closing over them before returning to their argument.

  There'd be four important guests then, Ken decided, automatically checking the whereabouts of each. Hrruna, who was now accompanied by Hrriss as well as Todd, strolled back toward the grid. No sooner had it cleared of one mist than another formed. Ken became aware now of the increased noise and activity on the Common; of groups of Hrrubans in vivid colors arriving from the woods. He could smell delicious odors and realized that he had had very little to eat since that pre-dawn stale bread and coffee. Land vehicles slowly drove up from the field, huge cylinders of fifty-gallon coffee makers lashed to their cargo beds.

  The transmitter grid cleared to disclose a group of elegantly gowned Hrruban women. One good thing about rigid courtesy, Ken decided, was that females had to be on time. Hrruna had stepped forward with the vigor of a narrow Stripe, taking the hand of one slender lady – his mate. Hrriss doubled up in a deep bow, his tail lashing out to swat Todd promptingly on his unprotected legs. Then the group moved off toward the barn, while unobtrusive guards, three Hrruban and one Alreldep, ambled behind in a satellite course.

  “Oh, Ken, did Todd behave himself?” Pat cried, rushing up to him. Her hair was damp-curly, her face flushed, her make-up and clothes fresh. “Who's he going off with? Oh, isn't that the First Speaker? Is that his wife? They say we're staying and that you'll be named Spokesman with Hrrula. Is that good? Is that what you wanted?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, and yes, honey,” Ken laughed, hugging her. “Todd has redeemed the family name for all time.”

  “Thank God!”

  “Where've you been since I woke you this morning?”

  Pat's face clouded and her mouth thinned with irritation.

  "I had to explain to four hundred Hrrubans how to cook Terran style. Oh, for one lousy button to punch. There are times when automation had certain undeniable advantages – " She broke off with an accusing expression on her face. "Do you realize that Mrrva is a physical health Specialist – that's equivalent to having five Technical degrees on Terra. She's a full fledged doctor, a biochemist and she was playing house on Rrala! She was up all night planning the banquet and she admitted to me that she'd used Todd as a guinea pig to see what Hrruban foods we can tolerate. And she and Phyllis have been going on at . . ."

  “And so are you,” he teased. “Hey, what's the matter?” for Pat suddenly burst into tears and buried her face in his chest. He pulled her around to the
back of the mess hall, away from the crowds. “Pat, darling, what's wrong?” He tipped her head up.

  «It's just – it's just too much,» she gulped back her sobs. «I'm all right, really. Nerves.» But she couldn't stop crying. «And I think I'm pregnant and I've been so scared and all with the snakes and the mining planet and . . .»

  Ken just held her tightly to him, gently stroking her hair. If he hadn't been so roaringly happy inside – well, women cry because they're happy, too. It was almost a relief to Ken to stand here, holding his wife in his arms. It gave him a chance to catch up too. He was having a little difficulty himself, adjusting to the fact that they were safely ensconced on Rrala, and that the Hrrubans were back for good.

  He looked down the sweep of the greensward to the barn. Hrrula was showing off the paces of the black stallion to Hrruna and his lady while Hrriss and Todd perched on the corral fence, cheering him. The guards lounged by the water trough, the Terran offering the Hrrubans a drink from the dipper. Beyond the barn, toward the plain, he could clearly see the black smudges where the snakes had been lasered away by the launch guns the day before. There was the faintest trace of stink when the wind blew from that direction. Far, far away he could see the dots of the urfa grazing. To his right, nearer the river, stood the four vari-sized ships, silver-green in the westering sun.

  Pat had quieted in his arms, comfortable against him, warm and soft and his. As Rrala was his – and his children's

  Pat looked up at him with a tremulous smile, her lips soft and inviting. He kissed her tenderly, for her hard work today, her courage yesterday, and the promise of tomorrow. Arm in arm they returned to the Common.

  L'ENVOI

  THE LAST OF THE GUESTS returning to Hrruba waved good night through the transmission veil. With a deep sigh, Ken turned to check the dark Common. The barbecue pits still glowed ruddily, striking the master grid at his feet with red fingers, flaring occasionally to light the deserted tables, the overturned benches. Above him the open sky of Rrala was star-dazzled but moonless. The last of the villagers were crossing the bridge, their way lit by yellow power beams instead of torches. Ken chuckled to himself. A race that had matter transmission carrying torches to confuse their unexpected guests!

  “Rrev,” purred a tired voice and Hrrula emerged from a dark splotch of shadow, Hrrestan right behind him, “we can find neither Hrriss nor Todd. Any ideas?”

  “Where've you looked?”

  “All over the Common, under the table, in the mess hall, at the bridge, the river,” Hrrula enumerated wearily. “All the Likely places,”

  “C'mon. We'll try the unlikely” and Ken led them toward his cabin.

  They found the two boys fast asleep in Todd's bed. And chuckled at the sight. Arms around each other, heads tilted as if they had fallen asleep midsentence, it was obvious that this pair worked hard at good interracial relations. Todd wore his mda vest and a pair of pants, his rope tail stuffed down one pant leg. Hrriss's nether regions, too, were trouser clad, and his tail had worked down a leg, thereby equalizing the appearance of the two friends.

  Hrrestan smiled at Ken over their sleeping sons. “We do not need to part such friends tonight, do we?” and the two fathers covered the boys.

  “Pat must be finished at the mess hall now,” Ken said and walked them back toward the bridge. They were halfway there when Kiachif's deep belly laugh broke the still night like a sonic boom. He lurched out of the shadows in front of them.

  "I knew it, Reeve, I knew it," he bellowed jubilantly, swaying slightly on his feet. "Y'see this little flask? It's got spirits in it, it has," he crowed. "Every race that's got skin to cover it, hair to braid, loins to clad, if y'get what I mean, has some way to relieve the tensions of the weary weary world they live on. I knew your pussycat people were no exception, bless their velvety hides. Praise be to the everlasting stars, may they multiply forever.

  The flask was tendered Ken but Hrrula stayed Kiachifs hand and sniffed delicately at the mouth of the bottle. His lips curled with distaste and he released Kiachifs hand abruptly.

  “Mlada,” he hissed.

  “Mlada it is, and a melodic name for a distillation of sheer delight,” Kiachif replied at drive-room volume. “This planet's a joy to visit, if you get what I mean,” and roaring with laughter, he reeled away toward the landing field.

  “He'll not be so glad tomorrow,” Hrrestan remarked drily.

  The terrain dipped down from the Common to the field so they had a last look at his retreating figure outlined against the night sky, one arm holding the bottle high, like a salute.

  “You don't approve of mlada?” Ken asked, trying to suppress his amusement over Kiachif's minor victory.

  Hrrula's answering growl defied imitation but made clear his opinion of mlada.

  “The herd drink it by the Iva,” he remarked scornfully. “Makes them sleep for hours.”

  “It occupies them with something,” Hrrestan said.

  “There is something here to keep them occupied,” Hrrula replied crisply, gesturing broadly at the quiet scene. “Something new and vital and stimulating, with a whole new set of experiences and problems.”

  “Yes, it will not always be easy,” Hrrestan said thoughtfully, catching Ken's eyes.

  Quickly Ken held his hand out, felt Hrrestan's furry palm touch his; extended his left hand to meet Hrrula's.

  “We will always understand each other,” Ken vowed, his voice rough with feeling, “if we listen very hard.”

  “I get what you mean,” Hrrula purred.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To be born as I was on April first imposes a challenge. In writing speculative fiction, I feel I have not failed the auspices of my natal day.

  However, being 99 percent Irish indicates a certain perversity, so I tried out many other things before I settled down to write. I dabbled in the Theatre Arts, studied voice production for nine years before arriving at the horrifying conclusion that I was a better stage-director of opera than a singer. I capped off that facet with the production and stage-direction of the American premiere in Wilmington of Carl Orff's Ludus de Nato Infante Mirificus, which is not as far from speculative fiction as you might imagine.

  I balance indifferent housekeeping with superb cooking, sew for anyone but myself, knit well and (would you believe?) embroider; am currently raising three children, five cats, and a french poodle; swim, sail ride horseback – western style by preference – collect Graustarkian romances, and resent being kept away from my typewriter by any one of the above-mentioned diversions.

  My eyes are green, my hair is silver, and I freckle. The rest is subject to change without notice.

  Anne McCaffrey, 1968

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