A Call to Arms

by Alan Dean Foster

  He was climbing into the driver’s seat when an old woman confronted him.

  “Excuse me, sir.” Her voice was soft, her English good, and she was overdressed in broad-beamed hat and clean white dress, as if for church. Beneath one arm she carried a large wicker basket.

  “Can I help you, granny?”

  She smiled, a gentle upcurving of the corners of her mouth. “There are stories in the city of a white stranger who carries gold.”

  Will looked around, suddenly wary. It was dark out and even here, in front of the hotel, sufficiently desperate men would not hesitate if they thought the prize commensurate with the risk.

  “Belize City is full of stories.” Even in the poor light he could see that she was missing all four front teeth.

  “It’s not drug money, is it? That would be an offense against God.”

  “I’ve nothing to do with drugs.”

  “Good,” she said firmly, hefting her basket. “I hear also that this stranger wants people to go with him for some mysterious purpose, and that for this he pays handsomely.” She indicated the van and its noisy inhabitants.

  He did not wonder where or how she had heard. The Human telephone in Belize City was far more reliable and accurate than its electronic counterpart.

  “I already have enough people.”

  “I don’t take up much space,” she said, a plaintive note in her voice. “I want to go, too, if there is any chance to make some money.”

  What would the Hivistahm scientists make of this one? Will mused. Still he hesitated, studying her carefully. He didn’t want anyone to die on him.

  “Excuse me for saying so, but you don’t look very—” He hunted for a polite word. “—strong.” He checked his watch. Still ample time to make the rendezvous.

  “I’m stronger than I look, sir. I’ve worked all my life. Just because I’m small and old don’t think I’m not strong. I do not know what it is you have in mind for your people, but I can tell you that I am a widow. My husband passed away two years ago. I have a son who works in San Pedro and he has a wife. By them I have, God be praised, two grandchildren, a boy and a girl. A third died last year.”

  “They cannot visit me because they have no money. I have no one in this city. I want to go with you, sir.”

  Will softened. “Do you understand what we’re going to do? We’re going to meet people from another world and travel on their ship to a much bigger ship that waits in space halfway between here and the moon, where they will look at you and ask you questions.”

  “Sir, I do not care what it is you want of me, if there is some money involved. I have never been out of Belize City in all my life, save for two trips to the capital. I want to make enough money to live close to my son and my grandchildren. I will do whatever you ask.”

  Some good was going to come of this after all, he thought. “See if you can find room in back.” He looked into the night. “What about your luggage?”

  She held up the basket. “I have everything I own in here. What else would I need?”

  What else indeed, Will thought.

  She started around to the other side, paused to look back at him. “Bless you, sir.”

  Feeling better, he climbed in and shut the door behind him. “Don’t say that until you see what you’re getting yourself into.” In her own way, he knew, she was as blind to the reality of what was happening as the Rastafarian and the teenagers.

  Gunning the engine, he turned around and abandoned the waterfront for a main road, trying to find his way to the central highway in the dark. Behind him his charges nattered away meaninglessly, ten Human beings chosen at random who would unwittingly do their part to convince Caldaq and his Hivistahm xenopsychs of mankind’s unsuitability as potential allies.

  The half-drunk teacher expounded on irrelevancies to the Australian students while Markowitz snapped meaningless pictures like mad. The Rastafarian mumbled to himself, oblivious to the jokes the two teenagers made at his expense, while the dark fisherman stared silently out a side window.

  It was late and they encountered very few oncoming lights. There had been none at all for more than half an hour by the time Will spotted the big tamarind tree he’d chosen for a landmark and pulled off the highway onto a dirt road. A bumpy mile beyond, the track ended in a shallow swamp. Of the tender’s previous touchdown there was no sign, the resurgent muck and resilient water plants having obliterated all evidence of its earlier visitation.

  Will killed the engine and stepped out. “This is it.”

  The eldest of the two teenage boys confronted him. “This isn’t it, mon. Where’s the gold you promised us?”

  “Don’t you want to see the aliens first?”

  The younger boy walked to the water’s edge, his tone more credulous than his brother’s. “Where are they?”

  Will tilted his head back, scanning the dark cloud-filled sky. “They’ll be here. So will the gold.” He looked over at the older boy, whose expression eloquently declaimed that the whole world had conspired against him since the day of his birth. “Why don’t you give me a hand with the luggage?”

  “Hey, mon, do it yourself, you heah? My bro and I, we already got ours.” He held up a package secured with twine.

  Ken Woods gave Will a hand. So did the silent fisherman, whose body seemed fashioned of black rebars welded together.

  When the pile of luggage had been unloaded Will checked his watch again. Things could get interesting if the tender failed to materialize. He didn’t look forward to spending the night at the edge of the swamp, fielding accusations and indignant inquiries while watching nervously for patrolling fer-de-lance.

  As time passed complaints filled the air with increasing frequency. He knew he couldn’t hold them much longer. Eventually he would have to pass out the gold in the toolbox, turn the van over to his disgruntled recruits, and remain behind to greet his alien acquaintances with confessions of failure instead of the promised specimens.

  Then suddenly, without any warning, there it was: a massive dark outline suspended in sky, slowly lowering toward them. It sang like a troll humming its babe to sleep, a deep-throated mechanical counterpoint to the oohs and aahs that now began to rise from his companions.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  The expatriate stumbled and lost his Panama hat, while the old woman from Belize City crossed herself. Elevating his mumbling to a higher level, the Rastafarian gaped at the silently descending tender. The fisherman stood nearby, staring, silent as when Will had first set eyes on him.

  The suddenly sobered British schoolmaster staggered over to stand next to Will. He held his recovered chapeau tightly in one hand, running the other through what remained of his graying hair.

  “I…I thought it was a joke, what you said. You know, an evening’s entertainment. Something to tell the friends back in Tunbridge Wells someday.”

  “I think you’ll find it entertaining enough,” Will told him, “but it will involve more than an evening. As I said.” He eyed the older man thoughtfully. “You can run if you want to. No one will try to stop you.”

  The expatriate did not take his eyes from the descending vessel. “No. No, I think I will stick around for a while yet.”

  A slight puddling of water marked the tender’s touchdown. A ramp extended from its flank to dry land, and the door above retracted. Figures appeared in the opening.

  Will overheard the Australian girl questioning her male companion. The tall, freckled redhead had a voice like a Dickensian waif.

  “How come they’re different sizes?”

  “They’re not just different sizes, luv. They’ve got to be different species. Say, have a look at that tall one in the back. That’s a sheila for sure, even if she is hairy as a possum.” He pointed to the advancing Wais. “I don’t know what that is.”

  Caldaq and the S’van assistant captain Will knew as T’var were accompanied by three Massood soldiers and a Wais translator. As greetings were exchanged Will saw th
at Caldaq’s attention was not on him but on his recruits.

  The latter stared and mumbled among themselves as the realization that this was not a joke, not a set piece being staged for unseen television cameras, began to take hold. None of them broke and ran. Somehow Will wasn’t surprised when the old lady, the one he’d allowed to come along as an afterthought, was the first to walk up to the towering Massood and extend a wrinkled black hand.

  “I am pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Annalinda Mason.” She whispered to Will, “He is a ‘sir,’ is he not?”

  “He is,” said Will, simultaneously realizing that despite all he’d been through he had yet to explain the meaning of a handshake to the aliens. He proceeded to rectify that omission, watching as the captain’s long, slim fingers enveloped those of the elderly woman.

  At the same time, Caldaq’s gaze roved over the edgy onlookers. “This is the best you could do?”

  Will had determined to stick to his guns. “You wanted a representative sample, remember? No professional soldiers, not even any soldier-types. Just plain folks, so you could determine what kind of people Humans are. Well, I’ve brought you ten representative Human beings.”

  The irrepressible T’var did not sound half as discouraged as his captain. Come to think of it, Will had yet to encounter a depressed S’van.

  “That is what we wanted and that’s what you have brought us. We must learn from what is made available to us.”

  The group watched his approach with interest. As he was nearly two feet shorter than the shortest of them, in addition to being the most nearly humanoid of all the aliens, no one was intimidated by his inspection.

  “The variance in coloration is interesting. It is more substantial than your visual transmissions suggest.”

  “Our visual transmissions,” Will told him, “very rarely reflect the true nature of our society. That’s what I’ve been trying to get across to you all along.”

  “This is for real, isn’t it?” Ken Woods was muttering.

  “As real as the gold.” Will kept expecting someone to break and run, but their fascination with the aliens continued to exceed their concern. Perhaps, he thought, society had been so conditioned by now by the deluge of speculative fiction and films to the possibility of intelligent visitors from other worlds that the reality no longer had the power to shock. Certainly the tall, polite Massood and the feathery, supremely elegant Wais were far less intimidating figures than some of the ravening creatures which had appeared in popular movies.

  T’var was peering up at the Australian couple. They in turn gazed down at him, intrigued by his bright eyes and bear fur. The young man looked over at Will.

  “What’s with the goofy-looking midget, mate?”

  Will winced. “That’s T’var, one of the assistant captains.”

  He needn’t have worried. If anything, T’var was equally amused by the confrontation. “I am not offended,” he said through his translator. “S’van are not easily insulted. We have made not being offended a survival trait. Others are envious enough of us as it is.”

  “Yeah?” said the youth challengingly. “Why would anyone be envious of you?”

  “See,” murmured one of the escorting soldiers behind Caldaq, “the staff rumors are true. Even in manners and speech they are belligerent.”

  Will’s earplug conveyed the soldier’s words and he hastened to correct her. “No, no. They’re just curious, is all.”

  “I am called Caldaq.” The captain stepped forward. “I command a vessel that is presently located halfway between here and your moon. If you agree, all of you will soon have the opportunity to see it for yourselves.” He went on to deliver a capsule explanation of everything Will had been told about the Weave, the Amplitur, and the great war, concluding with an explanation of why they were on Earth and what they hoped to gain from their visit.

  “For us to properly determine if you can be of real assistance to us will involve a journey outside your own solar system. You will be well treated, properly cared for, and amply supplied upon your safe return home with the gold you value so highly. No harm will come to you, and you will have experienced things your kind has not yet imagined.” Showing how much he had learned, he added with visible effort, “We would not force any of you to do this against your will. If you choose not to accompany us, you may depart whenever you wish.”

  The fisherman picked up his simple pack and strode wordlessly forward, followed by the Australian students and the old woman. The others followed en masse.

  Will inhaled deeply, took a last look at the familiar night sky, put the keys to the van on the driver’s seat, and strode up the ramp into the hovering transport.

  The tender returned to the reef and was secured aboard the shuttle. As preparations were being made to depart, Caldaq confronted Will.

  “You are not going with them, Will Dulac.”

  Will nodded knowingly. “I hadn’t planned on it.”

  “And neither am I,” the Massood continued, surprising him.

  “What do you mean, you’re not going?”

  “I sense your confusion. The speci… the people you have brought to us will be taken to the nearest Weave world equipped with appropriate study facilities. That work must be complemented by continued research here.”

  “Because of your world’s extreme contradictions and unusual potential it has been decided to expand our present base here. It will be small but well equipped and will consist of a shuttle and whatever facilities we can build around it. It is my option to go with the ship or continue work here. I have chosen to remain. It is my personal request that you continue to help us with our observations.”

  Will was shaking his head slowly. “You can’t just throw up some big complex and expect the locals not to notice it.”

  “Everything will be concealed as effectively as our shuttle was when first you encountered us.”

  “You’re going to stay here in the lagoon? This strikes me as a pretty isolated place from which to begin a study of all mankind.”

  “Our instrumentation is sophisticated. We will manage. The isolation will allow us to make occasional onshore forays when required. We will have the use of the tender, which as you have seen can travel partially masked.” Cat eyes stared hard at Will.

  “Your continued assistance and cooperation, of course, would be of inestimable value to our labors.”

  Will considered. He’d had it all worked out. As soon as the aliens had departed with the recruits he was going to put on sail and start back to New Orleans, washing his hands of the whole business and resuming work on Arcadia. The remaining gold in his toolbox would allow him to take a nice, long sabbatical from teaching, something he’d dreamed of for years. He’d be able to finish the tone poem, do some short stuff, maybe try a couple of chamber pieces, and get a start on the cantata.

  If he stayed to help Caldaq, there might not be much time for composing. Contrariwise, he would be able to study and absorb a wealth of alien musical influences.

  “The composition of the study team has yet to be finalized,” Caldaq told him in reply to his next question. “There will be Massood additional to myself, Hivistahm and S’van technicians, probably a few Lepar. No Chirinaldo.”

  “I’ve noticed that your people aren’t as technically oriented as, say, the Hivistahm.”

  “It is not that so much as the fact that the Weave includes many skilled sentients but few fighters. The Massood fight because they can, not because they want to. We do this for the good of the Weave. Until the Amplitur forced combat upon us, Massood society was as sedate as that of the S’van.”

  Will felt a tug at his waist. “I’ve requested to stay also,” T’var told him.

  “Captain and assistant captain? Who’ll run your ship?”

  “Two other assistant captains,” Caldaq explained. “Soliwik, who is actually more experienced than I, and Z’mam. Except in matters of actual combat, the Weave possesses great flexibility in matters of organization.”<
br />
  “How long do you expect them to be gone?”

  “As long as it takes to learn what must be learned. I am not concerned. My mate will return with them. Meanwhile there is much to be done on your world.” Something on his instrument belt beeped softly.

  “We have to go now. As soon as you have returned to your boat we will ascend. In several days time we will be back to begin our work here.” He hesitated.

  “You may not be a fighter, Will Dulac, but you are strong of opinion. The Massood respect that. I hope you will be here when I return. We could continue our research without you, but you know something of us and our aims. It would be far easier to work with you than to begin anew with another of your kind, who might not be as intelligent or understanding.”

  But I’m against everything you’re after here, Will thought. Aloud he said, “I’ll think about it.”

  Just before departure the teacher handed him a hastily scribbled letter to friends back in England. The couple from Connecticut passed along a similar message. Will promised to mail both at the first opportunity.

  From the cockpit of his cat he watched the darkened shuttle rise above the mirrored sea, turn slightly, and begin its silent climb heavenward.

  Caldaq stared out one of the shuttle’s ports until the view of the Human’s watercraft was obscured by dark clouds. In another part of the shuttle, he knew, ten Humans were doing likewise, chattering excitedly as they clustered together to get a glimpse of their world receding beneath them.

  “Who do you think is right?” he asked T’var. “The Human Will Dulac or the xenopsychs?”

  “If I could answer that there would be no need for extended study. Personally, I don’t think these people understand themselves.”

  “How can a race not understand itself?” Caldaq straightened. “That is a contradiction in terms.”

  “Which is just what we have on this world: a biological contradiction in terms. Are these people civilized or not? We may have to invent new terms to describe them. Our studies here must proceed on the assumption that the abnormal is the norm and that we’ll encounter only the unexpected.”