Diuturnity's Dawn

by Alan Dean Foster

  “It has been proposed, and preparations are being made to announce, a formal union between our two governments. The resulting Grand Hive is to be known as the Humanx Commonwealth. There is to be full integration of all administrative functions, first on the interstellar level, later on the local. This is not an alliance; it burrows far deeper.” Having delivered himself of this extraordinary pronouncement, he took a sip of the sugary liquid that half filled the translucent green container standing by his side. “Nothing else like it exists in this part of the Arm. Once integration is complete, other species will be invited to join. An official Commission of Interest to the Quillp has already been drafted, though it is considered unlikely the ornithorps will wish to confederate. Nevertheless, it will be extended out of courtesy.”

  Haflunormet and Fanielle hardly knew how to react. Desiring to hear that relations between their respective species were on the upswing, Lyrkenparmew had unloaded on them the culmination of hopes that heretofore both diplomats had only dared to dream about. Until now, neither of them had ever heard of a proposed “Humanx Commonwealth.” Haflunormet said as much.

  Lyrkenparmew gestured apologies. “As you know, the friends of the committee have had to function on multiple levels in order to escape potentially injurious scrutiny on all those worlds where we are active. I assure you, this is not some wild rambling on the part of our mutual friends. It’s quite real. The details have been carefully worked out, debated, refined, and prepared for general dissemination on all thranx- and human-occupied worlds. A small band of especially adept agents have been working on the minutiae ever since we entered the Pitarian War on the human side.”

  “I hardly know what to say.” Haflunormet’s antennae were waving about as if in a dream. “This is more than I, than any of us here on Hivehom, dared to hope for.”

  Fanielle scrutinized their surroundings. A few miners were staring in their direction. In her direction, she corrected herself. But they appeared to be no more than what they were, and after a while they departed aboard a battered transport. She was determined not to let paranoia get the best of her. Not now, after receiving news of such import.

  “How is this proposal going to be presented to the public?” she finally managed to ask their guest.

  Lyrkenparmew employed all four hands for emphasis. “If the proponents did not do it themselves, it would never be brought up for consideration by our respective dominions. The intention is to spring it on both governments simultaneously, and bring it to a vote in yours and to a mass closing in ours as quickly as possible, thereby catching our xenophobic opponents by surprise. Continued secrecy is obviously therefore of utmost importance.”

  Haflunormet whistled for attention. “Presentation before council is one thing; adoption something else entirely. Does this astounding concept have any real chance of being affirmed?”

  Now it was the otherwise academically inclined Lyrkenparmew’s turn to manifest excitement. “In all seriousness, three cycles ago I would have laughed at such a notion. Two cycles and I would have responded to you with an unequivocal no. This last cycle past I might not have replied at all, foundering deep in contemplation of the previously unthinkable. Tomorrow . . .” He finished with an unexpectedly emphatic gesture and a particularly piercing click of his two vertical mandibles.

  “There has been a recent and unexpected upsurge of support on both sides from a number of previously disinterested clans. Coupled with those important individuals who have already previously espoused these sentiments—influential politicians of Earth and tri-eints and others here on Hivehom—it is believed that there may exist on both capital worlds sufficient votes to just barely pass the proposal. I am also assured that we can count in council on the voting bloc that dislikes humans but desperately wishes for such an alliance.”

  Fanielle frowned. “Isn’t that a contradiction?”

  Lyrkenparmew gestured ironic amusement. “Indeed—a very useful one. Among the military, there are those who will agree to anything if it will secure the promise of human intervention against the AAnn. These high-ranking eints have a positive affection for humans as—what is your colorful term?—cannon fodder. They seek allies who can be placed between the hive worlds and the Empire. If humans desire to occupy such a position voluntarily, why, there are many semixenophobes among my kind who are ready to welcome them.”

  “Strange,” Haflunormet mused aloud. “To think that those who may support this proposed Commonwealth the most enthusiastically may also intensely dislike the people to whom they are about to surrender a portion of their sovereignty.”

  “It’s not important.” Fanielle was confident in her reply. “All that matters is the final, irrevocable cementing of relations and melding of our two societies. In the service of that end, we’ll take what help we can get.”

  “So we shall,” Lyrkenparmew agreed readily. “Once it becomes clear that ratification is not only possible but probable, I have been assured that others who would like to declare for a Commonwealth but who for reasons of provincial politics or hive affiliation have not yet been able to do so will announce their support.” He gesticulated urgency. “But the proposal must pass on the first inclusive stridulating. After that, our opponents will be able to muster their objections and quite likely defeat any reconsideration.”

  “This is grand news.” Haflunormet was struggling to find something to do with all his hands. “When you return to Earth, you may inform our mutual acquaintances that their friends here in the capital will be ready to move the instant their support is required.”

  “I can’t vouch for what will happen in the Terran Congress,” Fanielle added, “but as you know, I am not alone in my sympathies at Azerick Outpost. We’ll be ready to offer what help we can from here.”

  “As will your counterparts on your homeworld, in the Reserva Amazonia, and elsewhere.” Having delivered himself of the most critical news, the envoy finally began to relax. His trulegs were no longer clasped tensely against the padded flanks of the bench he was straddling, and his antennae inclined forward in a more natural resting position instead of being held vertically by the muscles in his forehead.

  “Everything—hopes, dreams, and much effort—is building to a peak. The timing has been very carefully worked out. The sometimes bumpy relations between our species are about to crest at a high point. There are at present no major disagreements in dispute. The controversy over exploration rights on Comagrave has been settled in return for reciprocal rights on Drax Four. Ongoing commercial disputes of note have at last found a home in the binary-staffed commission that has been designated to review and settle such matters. The intercultural fair on the human colony world of Dawn is, by all accounts, performing to large crowds and great acclaim among those of both our peoples who have attended. Unless some unforeseen catastrophe of major proportions occurs within the next several weeks, the relevant edicts should be presented and the appropriate votes called for.” He took a long, throaty swig of his remaining drink.

  “This is a most momentous time in the history of our respective species. It will go down as such in the history scrolls—or else be memorialized as one of the great lost opportunities in this sentient part of the galaxy. Though you and I are but insignificant players in the sublime drama, we must each of us strive at the moment of truth to maximize our whistling.”

  It was a fine sentiment, Fanielle felt. There was a nobility to it that calmed her anxieties. Very rarely are individuals actually aware of balancing on the crux of history. She hoped she would live long enough to see come to pass all that the glittering-eyed Lyrkenparmew had described. For that matter, painfully recalling what had happened to Jeremy, she hoped she would just live long enough to see the actual voting on the proposal take place.

  Lyrkenparmew had set his drinking utensil aside. His manner had grown more somber. “There are other threats besides the declared intention of our opponents on both councils to vote no on any such proposition. While our people have been hard at
work behind the scenes, lobbying human politicians and thranx eints alike, the AAnn have not rested. They are ever active, making mischief.” He glanced in Fanielle’s direction. “As I have been informed you know from more than merely speculative experience.”

  She nodded slowly, a gesture both thranx would recognize. “As you know, I lost . . . I lost the father of my child.” She swallowed hard. Though she had been down this road many times since Jeremy’s death, remembering was still agonizing. Only her work, into which she had thrown herself with more intensity than ever, kept her from seeing his face in familiar places and from crying uncontrollably.

  Something hard and unyielding brushed softly against her right side. Eight of Haflunormet’s fingers grazed her ribs in a particular ellipsoidal motion, a soothing motion designed to show sympathy for both egg-layer and prospective offspring. She sniffed only once as she returned his touch with a smile. Surrounded though she was at residence and on the job by fellow humans, it took a bug’s caress to put her at ease.

  “Surely,” she observed, collecting herself, “the AAnn can’t hope to match this flowering joint effort with one of their own?” Around them, clusters of miners came and went, toiling at flexible shifts. Whenever a new group lay down on benches nearby, the diplomats’ conversation shifted to innocuous, generalized topics until the diggers departed. The information being discussed at the small table in the back was too sensitive for general dissemination. It would have to remain so until the grand proposition had been announced to the public.

  Lyrkenparmew indicated mild distress. “They’ve been very busy, the scale-skinned ones. In the area of commercial treaty making they have been especially active. The accumulation of individual wealth occupies greater status among the AAnn and humankind than it does among my people. This similar outlook affords a kind of instant rapport among certain of your kind and many of the AAnn.” His truhands were in constant motion, making it difficult for Fanielle to follow every subtle overtone of the conversation.

  “Many covenants have been proposed between AAnn and human, and several adopted, but nothing like the Commonwealth. The AAnn would never contemplate such an intimate union with anyone.” He let out a series of shrill clicks. “They are too enamored of their own imagined destiny as rulers of this part of the galaxy to ever surrender any real control to another species. But beyond that, they are quite willing to consider all manner of agreements.”

  “The problem,” Haflunormet continued, “is that too many humans are easily blinded by promises of the riches to be gained from trade with the scaled ones, who are not above bribing your people to secure support, special treatment, and whatever other perks they believe they can so acquire.”

  Fanielle was embarrassed for people she did not know and would never meet. “My kind have come a long way from the time when we used to beat one another’s heads in for the most insignificant reasons. But there still exist those who crawl through life as ethical hemophiliacs.”

  “What they don’t realize,” Lyrkenparmew went on solemnly, “is that opportunism is ingrained in the AAnn social structure. They will treat fairly when it best suits their needs, and break legs when it does not. The grief arises from their skill. They have made a science of duplicity. I am not saying that humans are naÏve, but there is no sentient in the known universe as crafty, sly, and cunning as a mature, experienced AAnn.” He gestured mild apology of oversight. “But then, there is no need for me to tell you this. You have already met one such.”

  She nodded. “The emissary in question could charm a sifla out of its morgewout. When not tearing out your throat.”

  Haflunormet whistle-clicked concurrence. “His reputation spreads wider than does his water.”

  “I know he charmed a colleague of mine back at the compound.” She looked straight at Haflunormet. “Mind the name ‘Jorge Sertoa.’ He’s a very clever fellow, but a bit of cold plasma. Has dark matter in place of a backbone.” At the dual gestures of bemusement from her companions, she hurried to modify the simile. “Sorry—in place of his predominate dorsal chitin.” At this clarification, they gesticulated knowingly.

  “And he’s not alone in his sympathies for the AAnn. There are others at the settlement who feel similarly, though I’m happy to say they’re in the minority. When the proposal is announced, I think you’ll be able to count on the support of the majority of the staff, diplomatic and support personnel alike, at Azerick.” Her expression hardened. “I’ll arrange to keep an eye on Jorge and the others so they don’t cause any trouble.”

  Lyrkenparmew indicated understanding. “Everything is suddenly starting to move very rapidly. There is a sense of great events having been set inexorably in motion. I hardly need tell either of you that if this proposal goes down to defeat, it could be fifty or a hundred cycles before anyone dares to bring it up again. Failure carries with it the concurrent risk that the opponents of unification, alarmed by the boldness of the proposition, will unite in even more formidable leagues to oppose any reconsideration.” His voice lowered as his clicking subsided to the intensity of pins landing on a metal sheet.

  “I’m not trying to alarm you, but this is the way the gist is seen. Our first chance may very well prove to be our best chance, if not necessarily our last.”

  “I wonder if it’s too soon.” Fanielle almost leaned back on her bench before she remembered that it had no back. “I wonder if we’re pushing too much too fast.”

  The genial twisting of Lyrkenparmew’s truhands insinuated inevitability. “Those in charge of making such decisions feel they have no choice but to press for the establishment of the complete Commonwealth. Now that the concept has been brokered, it has gained a momentum all its own. It is like entering into a burrow that has been slimed. Once you’ve started downward, there’s no stopping until you reach the bottom.”

  Haflunormet drained the last of his drink. It was nearing time to leave, lest they become too conspicuous. “This will be the cycle that the progeny of our clans will venerate forever.”

  “If our designs are fulfilled.” Lyrkenparmew slipped sideways off his bench while Fanielle straightened and stretched. Her back was stiff from sitting so long in one place without any support.

  “I suppose I’ll be heading back to the plateau in a few days.” She checked her comm unit. “They won’t be expecting me so early, but no one will question the timing of my return.” She smiled wryly. “After all, what right-minded human could stand more than a couple of days of vacation in a place like Daret?”

  “We are all of us hoping,” Lyrkenparmew commented quietly as they left the table behind and headed for the transport platform, “that it is individuals like yourself who are the right-minded humans.”

  Reaching out, she momentarily rested the flat of her hand against the back of the envoy’s abdomen, feeling his upper set of wing cases vibrate against her palm. “I’m not alone in liking your kind, Lyrkenparmew, and not just for the ever-amazing variety of wonderful fragrances you emit, or for your aid in the Pitarian War. There are plenty of us who are fond of thranx culture, and philosophy, and your way of looking at the universe. It’s minds we seek in common, not shapes.”

  “How fortunate.” The widely spaced nerve endings in Lyrkenparmew’s exoskeleton conveyed to him the warmth of the barely insulated mammalian flesh. Such a strange sensation it was, to be accompanied by a creature that was little more than a loose sack of fluids wrapped around a barely balanced upright bony framework held together by fragile bonds of stretched protein. That this female’s often erratic kind might be the ones to at last put an end to centuries of AAnn depredations was scarce to be believed. Many thranx, in fact, would not believe it.

  They would have to be convinced.

  17

  Conversation in the room was subdued. Skettle let them talk. It helped to relieve the tension. As Nevisrighne and Botha, Pierrot and Davies and the others chatted quietly, the old man looked on with pride. In a stern, paternal fashion he was as proud of them as if they
were his real children. Very soon now they would join gloriously together, patriarch and progeny, to sow destruction in order to prevent an onslaught of racial commingling of a kind their virtuous ancestors could never in their wildest dreams have imagined.

  Walking over to where Botha was seated poring one last time over his beloved charts, he put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “The special explosives are ready?”

  The other man adjusted his multifunction lenses and nodded. “It’s a shame we couldn’t disguise them the way we did the smaller stuff and just bring them in with us. I’d feel better knowing the full provenance of the ingredients.”

  “I know. But even a couple of small tanks of highly sensitive reactant would have set off alarms in customs. How fortunate that you and our other equally brilliant technical people have been able to devise a liquid explosive that can be produced from widely available materials.”

  Botha allowed himself a rare grin. “Catalyzed right here in their own city, too. Anyone reviewing the purchases would think one group was going to mix up some lacquer to paint a house, and the other a few crates of home brew.”

  “Home brew it is,” Skettle replied, “only this blend is not for drinking.” He raised his gaze to the far corner of the hotel’s reserved and shielded conference room. The pair of trivarium tanks standing upright on the floor near the window—through which they could be hastily chucked in the event of a lightning raid by the authorities—were small, light, exceptionally strong, resistant to the caustic liquids they were originally designed to hold, and of a familiar commercial design that would spark no alarms in the minds of anyone who happened to see them. For all anyone espying them might know, they could easily contain cold-drink concentrate destined for delivery to one of the fair’s numerous food concessions.