A Call to Arms

by Alan Dean Foster

  “These people do not have to force themselves. They enter into combat with positive delight.” Her reptilian visage seemed almost to contort into a true expression of amazement. “Do you know that we actually had to employ force to extricate them from the field? They wanted to remain and fight on.”

  “That is absurd,” Caldaq insisted. “No one wishes to fight when one can withdraw without sacrifice.”

  “Truly you have not observed these creatures in combat. More astonishing it was than you can imagine. The unobtrusive administration of medication was required several of the younger specimens to calm.”

  “And this is what the Weave wants to encourage?” Caldaq threw a shell into the water. “Does everything we have learned here carry no weight? What of our studies that show Humans as serene and peaceable, on the verge of true civilization?”

  “Our own civilization we must preserve before we can theirs assist. Remember that none of the specimens were compelled to fight. All volunteered willingly: indeed, enthusiastically.”

  “Because they were not made aware of alternatives, of the duality of their nature which they do not yet fully understand themselves,” Caldaq argued.

  Chief-of-Project’s voice turned cool, as though she was tired of debating the matter. “A duty we have here, Captain. Curious I am to know how this Dulac has influenced you.”

  “He has not influenced me.” Not for the first time Caldaq felt the urge to strike a Hivistahm. A S’van could argue with humor and disarming wit whereas a somber, remorseless Hivistahm speaking to the same point usually came off as insufferable. He forced himself to relax clenched fingers.

  “I am a captain of the Massood, commander of a Weave vessel. We fight a common enemy, but they have yet to make enemies of these people. That is an issue not easily to be dismissed.”

  “Truly ten of them they now have as enemies,” Chief-of-Project pointed out.

  “Ten individuals do not constitute a representative sample.”

  The elder gestured agreeably. “This is why we have with the supplies and equipment necessary to expand your base here returned.”

  “Expand? But if the Council has already made its decision…”

  “The Science Council only,” Chief-of-Project reminded him. “You are not the only one of the moral ambiguities of the situation aware, Captain. Or of the dangers. The Council desires more information, additional studies.”

  “For reasons of which I was not completely informed they do not feel the time is right to make a wholesale appeal for assistance to the people of this world. Partly it is felt that their uniquely suspicious nature against their cooperation might mitigate.”

  “Then what is to be done?” Commander or not, Caldaq was confused. He had landed on this world thinking one way, only to find himself convinced otherwise by Will Dulac and by what he had seen and learned this past year. Now other studies contradicted what he had come to believe, yet this caution on the part of the Council seemed to contradict its own findings. What did they want of this world? And of him?

  Jaruselka was comfortingly close. “I know it is difficult, life-mate. We must trust in the wisdom of those more highly trained than ourselves.”

  “They have not seen these creatures, as I have, in their natural environment.”

  “Who is to say what constitutes their ‘natural environment’?” Chief-of-Study was remorselessly self-assured. “There is nothing natural about this bizarre world of theirs. Perhaps their proper environment lies elsewhere.”

  “Do we have the right,” Caldaq reiterated intently, “to influence these people in such a fashion?”

  “That is a question to philosophers best left.” The elder Hivistahm was relaxed now. “It need not those most involved in military matters concern.”

  The Military High Council was composed largely of Massood and S’van. Caldaq gazed at his mate. “What do our immediate superiors think of all this?”

  She responded without hesitation, her whiskers all but motionless. “They are aware of the possible moral contradictions but believe it to be in the best interests of the Weave as well as these people that they be engaged as allies in order to alleviate some of the burden of actual fighting that at present rests almost exclusively on the shoulders of the Massood and the Chirinaldo.”

  “The Chirinaldo do not have shoulders.” Caldaq’s ears were in rapid motion. “Whatever personal reservations I hold, as the commander on site I must carry out the orders of the Council.”

  Chief-of-Project tried to ease his anxiety. “Truly you will have much to say as to the manner of their actual execution.”

  “I will not,” the captain added, more for his own benefit than that of his mate or the Hivistahm, “employ any orders as cover for the abrogation of my own moral principles.”

  “Truly no one is expecting that you would.”

  “Then what does the Council wish here? How can we make allies of these people without requesting their help?”

  “Impossible that is not.” Chief-of-Project deferred to the captain’s mate.

  “The ten specimens,” she explained, “often exhibited those inexplicable contradictions that were noted here during our initial studies. Their enthusiasm for combat may yet prove transitory. If they were committed in large numbers to an important battle and suddenly lost their taste for conflict it could prove disastrous.”

  “Therefore studies are to continue while we expand recruitment.” She nibbled the side of his snout in an effort to relax him. He snapped at her, but affectionately. “Not by the usual means of announcing ourselves to the world at large. That cannot be done here anyway because these people have no one capital, no center of power.”

  “Since Humans exist in a fragmented society, we are to deal with those fragments on an individual basis without alarming or involving the populace as a whole. This has never been done before, but if one disregards the inherent inefficiencies there is no reason why it cannot be pursued adequately.”

  Caldaq regarded her narrowly. “So we are to continue to study and analyze and observe while simultaneously attempting to integrate them into the war effort on an individual basis? What is there to motivate individuals to fight?”

  Chief-of-Study spoke up. “Some seem to find worthwhile the cause itself, belying their apparent immaturity. Others on the excitement of combat appear to thrive.”

  “That is sick,” Caldaq murmured.

  “Then truly it is a useful sickness. If you think that alien, consider that there are also those willing to fight in return for mere medium of exchange.”

  It was almost too much to accept. Yet his mate was beside him, confirming everything the Hivistahm said. “You mean they are willing to degrade themselves as sentients, to risk their actual existence for something as insignificant as—”

  “I know incredible it is, but do not forget that they are uncivilized in the Weave sense, that not only their personalities and biology but their environment and geology is skewed. If you promise them enough metallic gold it seems they will almost anything do.”

  “How widespread this unbelievable phenomenon may be is for additional study another matter. From our observation of the selected specimens it appears widespread to be but not all-inclusive. As you have so deftly pointed out, the sample too small to be representative is.”

  Suddenly the moist night air struck Caldaq as foul. “If they fight for something other than the cause how can we be sure of them?”

  “We cannot.” Chief-of-Study was full Hivistahm somber as she scratched behind an ear opening. “All we can do is make the best use of them that we can while we their activities and reactions closely monitor. To gain the aid of instinctive fighters to take certain risks we must be prepared. Truly.”

  “I am still not convinced they are that.”

  “Believe it, lifemate,” said Jaruselka. “Because the high command does. We are to recruit even as we seek answers, something that has never been done before. But then, there has never been a world like t
his, sentients like this.” When her mate did not comment she continued.

  “There was a report.” She nipped lightly at his cheek. “Three of the specimens—two of the dark ones and one of the light—took sidearms and without waiting for orders or directive entered an area that the Crigolit had been monitoring. Against all common sense they rushed from behind totally inadequate armor to obliterate an entire enemy squad. Believing themselves safe, the Crigolit hardly had a chance to respond. By civilized standards they were safe. But not against Humans.”

  “That is not the most amazing thing. What is most astonishing is that the report claims the Humans involved enjoyed the experience.”

  “These creatures,” said Chief-of-Project, “have less regard for personal safety than any sentients known.”

  “Surely,” Caldaq mumbled, overwhelmed by repeated revelations, “their lives are important to them?”

  “Truly. But when they in the grip of this fever are, this endocrine imbalance which makes them such superb fighters, they lose control completely. It is as if in their brains is suddenly thrown a switch which turns off logic, reason, and common sense except insofar as those values relate to combat. It is regrettable they were not fitted with instrumentation able to fully monitor the neurochemical changes that within their systems took place while under fire they were. That oversight will with future specimens be corrected.”

  “Bravery,” Caldaq said weakly, “is a useful trait.”

  “It is more than bravery, lifemate,” Jaruselka told him. “More akin to controlled insanity. The Amplitur can override the instinct for self-preservation in their clients by means of mental projection. These creatures do it instinctively, as part of their physiochemical makeup.”

  “Is needed more study.” Chief-of-Project turned to face the sea. “I need to know if you feel that your personal reservations your ability to carry out council directives here will compromise.” It was a typical Hivistahm inquiry: straightforward and tactless.

  “No. Our friend Will Dulac will disagree with the study group’s conclusions. He will continue trying to convince us otherwise.”

  “Let him. His objections as well as his cooperation instructive are, and it is very useful the assistance of a native to have who is familiar with us. Keep him comfortable, Captain.”

  “I am a ship Commander.”

  “The Council requires that you operations here continue to supervise.”

  Caldaq’s lips curled back. “Which I will do, under protest.” He shook off Jaruselka’s attempt to mollify him. He was angry as well as confused and wanted to be certain Chief-of-Project understood.

  The elder Hivistahm regarded him thoughtfully out of bright, bulbous eyes. “I presume you have noted that in one area Human technological achievement has far surpassed itself?”

  “In the development of arms. Do not worry. Our presence here remains secure. I am more concerned about my ship.”

  “We have brought advanced masking instrumentation back with us. It will your security here enhance and that of the ship insure.”

  “Then my professional concerns are satisfactorily addressed,” Caldaq conceded stiffly.

  Decisions had been made without him. Even though he knew it would have taken too long to consult with him, the oversight still rankled. He could not let it trouble him, however, and the council could hardly be blamed. Not if half of what his lifemate and Chief-of-Project had told him was true.

  Will Dulac reacted to the same information much as Caldaq expected. As he listened to the Human protest, the captain found himself noting the violence of the man’s words and gestures.

  They were in one of the new assembly chambers which had been added to the base. Construction was proceeding energetically in four directions, spreading out beneath the floor of the lagoon as well as into surrounding islands. Multiple levels were being added with large areas earmarked for research, for communications, for training. Above it all fish swam and crustaceans crawled, blissfully unaware.

  Work halted only when the occasional yacht or fishing boat entered the lagoon. None possessed even the simplest detection equipment. When they moved on, work resumed. At night shuttles ferried equipment and personnel from the great ship floating in space down to the languid reef.

  Caldaq let T’var do most of the talking, a talent the captain envied no less than any Massood.

  “These things are true,” T’var was saying. “You must accept them.”

  “I can’t. I won’t.” Will popped one of the decorative rose-hued bubbles rising from a floor spigot. It burst, leaving a tremulous E-flat lingering in the air. “I don’t know what happened to those ten people out there. Maybe it had to do with the fact that they were far away from Earth, isolated among aliens. Maybe they felt they had no choice but to try and please their hosts by showing that they could fight if they had to.”

  Z’mam had returned with the ship. He’d been on Vasarih. “There was no coercion, Will Dulac. When reality was explained to them, they saw the universe in its true light and were eager to help.”

  “Then I chose the wrong bunch.” At his touch burst bubbles burbled a rising cadenza.

  “I tried to choose people who had little to lose by going, people who seemed to be drifting through life. I guess you gave them something, though I don’t understand the completeness of the transformation. In any case, they weren’t as average as I thought. Those were the kind of people I tried to recruit for you, but I guess the very fact that they went along stamps them as atypical.”

  “If you study happier people, prosperous citizens, people with an appreciation for the finer things of civilization like art and music, people in love with their work and their lives, you’re going to find that they’re much more interested in peace and contentment than in taking off to fight a bunch of aliens they don’t know exist and could care less about.”

  “All that you say may be true,” T’var responded soothingly, “which is a major reason for the expansion of our facilities here.”

  “I thought you were expanding to make room for more Human recruits,” Will said bitterly. He slashed a whole column of bubbles with the edge of his hand, releasing perfumed discord.

  “We hope for some response,” T’var admitted, “but study will also intensify. It may be that your thesis will be proven and that Humans as a species are unsuited to wider participation in the conflict. This is after all the main reason why we are here. Should it be determined that you are correct, then our facilities here both new and old will be obliterated or returned to the ship and we will depart in silence, leaving you to the isolation you desire.” The two S’van exchanged a glance, eyes flashing beneath dense black brows.

  “Your personal presence can only accelerate our learning curve.”

  Will turned away from the decorative bubble generators. “I won’t have anything to do with the recruitment of mercenaries.”

  “No one is asking you to,” said Z’mam cheerfully.

  Will’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t tell me the S’van are going to go ashore and set up an enlistment booth?”

  “Not at all. Several members of the group we have already trained are more than anxious to assist us in this.”

  Will shook his head. “Won’t work. They’re not sophisticated enough.”

  “I think you underestimate your own people. The older Human of the peculiar headgear, the couple of contrasting color, and our three Vasarih heroes strike me as sufficiently intelligent for the task.”

  “Maybe.” Will saw clearly now that if he was going to stop this he was going to have to convince the Weave scientists and not its administrators. He couldn’t do that by running away.

  “All right. I’ll continue to help you with your research. But only because I still have to convince you how futile it all is.”

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll find some people you can use, but there are always exceptions. Individuals and couples. You can buy people who have nothing, but there’s a world of difference between that and
recruiting all of mankind to your cause.”

  They expressed their gratitude, then left him to the bubbles. He toyed with them absently, the sounds they generated as they burst washing over him as he sat by himself and pondered.

  He would continue to work on his music. Anything to relieve the increased pressure brought about by their revelations. He had no choice but to stay on. The more he cooperated, the more frequent the opportunity to persuade.

  Had he refused to help they would simply have gone on without him. Somehow notifying the authorities did not seem the best way to convince them of mankind’s peaceful nature. He would have to rely on example.

  The task ahead was not impossible. After all, he was a professor, an educated, sophisticated man. The so-called recruiters the aliens intended to use consisted of an old drunk, an ignorant fisherman, and some poor boys taken literally off the streets. The rest were little better. Whose influence was most likely to persuade: theirs or his?

  And this was Belize, Central America. Hardly the most efficacious recruiting ground for imaginative individuals.

  Yes, the aliens would find a few Humans willing to fight for them, to do anything for a little gold. But their commitment would be shallow, temporal. They would soon tire of the exoticism of travel to another world, of the need to actually participate in combat. The ingrained Human wish for peace and tranquillity would soon lead them to demand they be returned home, thus conclusively demonstrating mankind’s unreliability to the dedicated peoples of the Weave. He felt much better after he’d convinced himself.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  A distressingly steady stream of recruits poured into the base: poor cane cutters from Guatemala, surplus oil-field roughnecks from the Yucatan, subsistence farmers out of Honduras and El Salvador spiced with the occasional tourist couple or trekking European.