Rhythm of the Imperium

by Jody Lynn Nye

  Phutes hated to admit it, but humans terrified him. All the stories Yesa had told him of their pillaging through the motherworlds made him fear the worst. The Uctu wasn’t as bad. He seemed to be calm and thoughtful, but the black-topped creature was a thing of menace to him. If it suddenly lunged at him, he would feel as sick as Mrdus, then he would retaliate, probably killing the squishy creature.

  He knew he wouldn’t dare act on his impulses. Yesa would be furious.

  “I am concerned for the well-being of our brothers left behind,” Sofus said. “We hold greater safety in numbers.” Phutes made a soothing sound from deep in its vocal cone.

  “Nothing will harm them. Fovrates holds the controls. They won’t endanger themselves or their ship. We might survive in the vacuum, but they couldn’t.”

  “The Wichu are angry. They have means to take the rest of our siblings unaware.”

  The human erupted into an annoyed burble.

  “Too bad they couldn’t keep you in a box,” the translator emitted.

  Phutes glared at the servicebot at his side.

  “Stop telling the disgusting ones what we are saying. I will tell you when you can repeat our thoughts.”

  “Of course, Phutes,” the translator said, in soothing tones. “I am here to serve you. My brief is to act as your assistant while you are in Imperium space. In other words, I work for you, not for them. Instruct me as you wish.”

  “Good,” Phutes grunted. “Do not tell them anything any of us say unless I tell you it is to be said.” No answering blather sounded from NR-111’s speakers. The human and Uctu looked wary at the silence, tightening their upper excrescences on the weapons.

  “How can we avoid being taken prisoner when we are aboard the human ship?” Mrdus asked.

  “That is your task,” Sofus said. He made an impatient gesture with two of his arms. “Do as Fovrates instructed you. Interact with the electronics of the ship. Prevent it from locking us in anywhere.”

  “I am very sorry,” NR-111 said, turning to the largest Kail. “You will not be permitted access to the central computer system. That is a non-negotiable part of your agreement with the Imperium in order for you to come aboard and interact with the Zang.”

  “We must be able to speak with our siblings,” Phutes said, feeling the acids of his system bubbling up in indignation. He clenched his fists. “I will not allow us to be cut off from the Kail who are still on board the Wichu vessel!”

  “And you will be allowed communication privileges,” the translator said, in her soothing voice. “Any time you wish to speak with Fovrates or any of the other Kail, let me know, and I will obtain an open channel for your use.”

  “We want free and open signals!” Sofus said.

  “Please allow me to apologize again,” NR-111 said. The stalk full of lenses rose up so that it was on a level with Sofus’s face. “That would not be allowed even if you were a ship’s officer. Use of the communication channels is restricted and monitored. That is a matter of security. I regret if that inconveniences you. I can make sure you can call Fovrates or any of the others at any time you wish.”

  “Do so,” Sofus said, unable to keep the sulky tone out of his voice. “I want to make sure our siblings are safe.”

  The lenses bobbed. “Understood. I am sure they are in no danger from the Wichu, Sofus.”

  Phutes did not voice his concerns. He wasn’t convinced that those who remained behind would be safe. The Wichu were angry, and they had managed to catch him and his siblings unaware. Such a coup was less likely, now that Fovrates had converted some of the silicon-based mechanicals to their side. They would warn the Kail about communication between the long-furred organisms. It was still a mystery to Phutes how Fovrates had communicated with the inner beings of the mechanicals in a way that made them side with the Kail point of view. The engineer had taught Phutes to do it over the course of the last many rotations, but it was by rote. He scarcely understood the process, although he could do it.

  Because of their body structure and their keen hearing that picked up sounds from incredibly long wavelengths to impossibly short ones, the Kail had become very good at imitating the sounds of the galaxy. While Phutes was growing up, he learned to sing along with the music he could hear coming from the stars and other bodies in the void. They could hear in a range of incredibly long wavelengths down to incredibly short ones, and reproduce the sounds that they heard. Fovrates and many other elders had gone out among the more technological races of the galaxy. Using the skills gleaned from listening to the stars, they had discovered that they could hear the language that the LAIs used, and gradually picked up on the combinations that changed the way LAIs thought.

  Sofus wasn’t any better at it than Phutes, but Mrdus was a natural. With their help, they could make the LAIs serve them instead of their carbon-based employers.

  Apparently, they had not been as subtle as they thought they had been. The conversation with Melarides confirmed that the humans had found out about their partnership with some of the LAIs. No matter. The Kail would never be held prisoner again on any vessel occupied by the squishy ones. They, or at least Mrdus, could turn the LAIs to their side at any time. And the LAIs could make the computer systems do the Kail’s bidding.

  With their freedom secured, it was up to Phutes to persuade the Zang to achieve Yesa’s goal.

  He pushed the thoughts of what lay ahead to one side and made note of the terrain over which they were passing. The shuttle traveled with its translucent canopy facing the planet. Counterweight, the uncouth name humans gave this sphere, was a marvel, conducive to sustaining almost any form of life. Phutes marveled at the tossing blue oceans. So much water. If only it wasn’t polluted by organic compounds, this world would be a paradise for Kail. Someday, perhaps, they would return and rid its lovely body of the parasites.

  No one communicated during the remainder of the transference to the Imperium Jaunter. Phutes marveled at the size of the human vessel. It was nearly as large as a motherworld, or so it seemed. Small ships, gleaming metal and ceramic, circled around it like meteorites. Against his own will, he saw beauty in the dance they performed.

  Before and behind the Jaunter in its orbit floated two bristling masses of metal. Warships. They radiated power, the fierce energy glowing, as Fovrates had instructed him, from their drives and weapon emplacements. Again, too bad that all was infested with humans.

  The translatorbot buzzed to get his attention.

  “We are arriving soon. You will be given all that you require: clean water, purified elements, privacy in your quarters, and opportunities to meet with Proton Zang,” she said. “In exchange, you will not change or interfere with any of the processes on board this ship or any other ship under the human command.”

  Phutes, angered that his thoughts seemed to have been intuited, honked his disapproval. “I dislike being given orders!”

  “It is not an order,” NR-111 said, pleasantly. “I only spell out what you agreed to in order to obtain your needs. The humans are willing to make your meeting with the Zang a reality. You were a good passenger before on board the Whiskerchin. A worthy citizen of your homeworld. Maintain that behavior.”

  Phutes glanced at his siblings. Sofus swayed his thick upper torso from side to side. Mrdus cowered back into the nest of his many limbs.

  “It will do no harm, as long as the humans don’t provoke us. We will comply. How long until we arrive? We need to meet with the Zang as soon as we can!”

  “In 1111 minutes,” NR-111 said. A display lit up on its side. A dual chronometer began to count down in Kail-pulse as well as Imperium standard. “Please rest yourself for landing. There will be a slight bump. Please do not be alarmed.”

  “I am not afraid,” Phutes declared, though the rising tone of his voice belied that assurance.

  At that moment, the shuttle flew into a cavern, blotting out light from the planet’s flank and the surrounding stars.

  “Will it collapse on us?” Mrdu
s asked, squatting down close to the rocks on which he sat. “I was in a cave this big on Yesa and it fell in on me.”

  “No,” Sofus said, soothingly. “These ships seem to be well-piled.”

  The black-topped human let out a mocking whinny. Phutes felt disgust at its crude nature. He hoped that he would not have to interact with such humans for long.

  Once he had managed to convince the Zang to destroy the humans’ motherworld, he would be free to return to Yesa’s bosom.

  CHAPTER 16

  I waited in the docking bay as the Jaunter’s shuttle appeared through the force field. A wash of icy air, chilled by the proximity to open space, caused me to shiver through my thin costume, a long, deep red, flutter-hemmed tunic and trousers that fit tightly down to my knees, then belled out over my calves. I could feel the cold of the floor through my light dance shoes. The life-support system hummed into life and emitted blasts of warmth through grates set into the walls and ceiling on the innermost end. I squinted through the gale. The small ship slowed, threading its way among the myriad minor craft.

  “Are you certain that you would not prefer to wait with the rest of the welcoming committee in the day room, my lord?” Parsons asked me.

  “No, not a chance,” I declared. “They are content to wait to be introduced. I want to see these things now, in the stony flesh. My pilot, Oskelev, is a fearsome individual, bold and resourceful and quick thinking. I want to meet the creatures who held an entire ship of Wichu prisoner.”

  “They still hold it,” Parsons reminded me. “This detente is the beginning of a negotiation that will prompt the Kail to depart from the Whiskerchin and leave it safely under the command of its captain.”

  “I know, I know,” I said, waving away the diplomatic terms as though they were pesky flies. “I brought up the file you sent me on my viewpad while I changed from our tour. They are behaving as though they are the enemy of Wichukind, and possibly humankind. I have made up my mind to kill our visitors with kindness. The Zang’s benevolence has given me a good deal to consider about the eternal virtue of patience. These Kail shall know only welcome and good fellowship from me.”’

  Parsons gave me a most uneasy glance.

  “You are not going to dance for them, my lord?”

  “Well, of course I am!” I said. I brandished my viewpad. On it, a grand piece of music waited, cued and ready. I tucked the small device back into the pouch at my waist. Parsons’s usually stoic expression stiffened a trifle more than usual.

  “Please, my lord, this is a delicate matter. Special Envoy Melarides would prefer an atmosphere of decorum.”

  I set my chin to indicate the firmness of my resolve. “You told me I couldn’t dance for the Zang. Very well. Proton is bestowed in the hangar of a cabin that has been made up and Dr. Derrida—did you see what a fine person she is, Parsons?—without the least jete or jazz hands to give it an ill impression of humankind. But I have a pent-up need to perform, Parsons! The word has indeed reached me that the Kail find us to be horrific. We have the same impression of them! Perhaps we have never approached them in a way that they appreciate. Surely in a life form that lacks technological trappings, they have found many ways of sharing the beauty of the universe in some other means? Are they lovers of poetry? Do they have a musical tradition? I only want to share the beauty of fluid movement that is one of humanity’s greatest treasures.”

  Did I detect the smallest breath of an exasperated sigh?

  “Very well, my lord, if you must,” Parsons said, with resignation. “But it must be a very short performance. We do not want to provoke the Kail into attempting to subvert the ship’s systems because they were deterred from their goal of seeing the Zang.”

  “I have choreographed a triumphal march, no more,” I said, feeling that triumph welling up from my soul at his capitulation. I tapped the viewpad to choose the shortest excerpt of my prepared music. “I will lead the Kail into the ship and bow myself away at the feet of the envoy and her coterie. Once I reach her, my contribution toward their welcome will be at an end. Will that suit?”

  “It has the virtue of brevity, my lord,” Parsons said. I had remarked upon the slightly swollen nature of that otherwise smooth and epicene visage, though my attempts to gain enlightenment regarding that unusual quality had gone unrewarded. “I will also add that it will give me an inkling of how far their tempers will stretch before reaching the breaking point.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment,” I said, firmly, exercising my hands so they would be as supple as possible. “They shall see the extent of human expression.”

  The shuttle came to a gentle bump and slide on the landing pad. Covers slid over the ion drives’ housings with audible hisses. A host of guards in full helmet and padded suits and two securitybots marched and/or rolled to the side of the small ship. When they were in place, the ramp lowered itself. Nesbitt and Redius emerged, carrying sidearms of a design I had not seen before: plastic guns in neon yellow and orange. If I had not been certain such a thing was beneath their dignity, I would have identified the weapons as water cannons. They trudged to the bottom of the ramp and waited. And waited. I held myself poised, ready for what horrors might emerge.

  After what seemed an eon, a mobile mass appeared in the frame of the shuttle hatch. At first I could not tell if it was one creature or two. It seemed to have more limbs than were strictly necessary for locomotion and/or manipulation. It moved forward. The work lights fixed in the ceiling of the landing bay hit it.

  I admit that I recoiled. This thing was uglier than any living creature had the right to be. Its light gray skin, if I can call a vertical scree of pebbles skin, covered a body that had not been formed by Mother Nature as much as thrown or melded together. It looked more like an avalanche than a living being. As it perambulated down the ramp, it became evident that this collection of clumsy extremities was one single being with three hands and five legs. Its head had no symmetry. Three eyes, or flat, colorless semblances thereof, peered out from under a sheltering brow that would have protected it more than adequately from rain.

  Behind this monstrosity, a larger collection of random body parts collected by the same inexperienced hand emerged. Its shoulders tapered directly into a head without benefit of a neck in between. As a result, it turned its entire upper body to see what was behind it. It had four arms and four legs, the two behind thicker than the two before. As if by accident, its face had a strange beauty that reminded me of certain ancient sculptures on my homeworld. Its eyes were of a pleasing almond shape. Below it, a hole of a mouth gaped as though caught in a frightened scream.

  The third being that appeared came closer to the shape I associated with an upright carbon-based being in that it had only two arms, albeit rather long. It had three legs, none the same length as the others, giving it a rollicking, clumsy gait. Its eyes had been formed as deep holes in its face from which radiated suspicion and fear. To my surprise, I felt sympathy for this odd creature. I intended to offer my greatest efforts to this being to assure it that it had not landed among enemies, no matter what my personal misgivings. The manner in which the first two made way for it informed me that it was their leader. A tall, narrow, bronze cylinder of a servicebot with a cluster of video lenses at its top and the logo of the Diplomatic Service on its side trundled down the ramp and halted beside them.

  Parsons took a sedate step forward, hands spread. That was my cue.

  Switching on my music, I bounded forth ahead of him, my arms flung wide open in a gesture of welcome. All three of the Kail took a step backward. I bowed deeply, once, sweeping my arm across my outstretched foot. As I rose, I used my arms and hands to describe the expanse of the Imperium around us, gathered it together in the fashion that I had created the Universe for the good people of the House of Icari, and presented it to them as an invisible ball. The lead Kail looked down at my cupped hands with a puzzled look on its face.

  To stop to explain symbolism at that moment would have thrown me out
of the rhythm of the music. Instead, I puffed out my chest and held my body stiffly erect to express my connection to the throne of the Imperium. To my side, I described with graceful hand gestures my cousin, Emperor Shojan XII, whose dignity I encompassed. Running to points all around the enormous landing bay, I plucked pairs of hot, daring sparks that were my ancestors on my father’s side, and cool ones of stoic courage and intelligence that showed the importance of my mother’s descent from the ancient families, terminating in a pose of enormous dignity to depict her position as First Space Lord. Those I combined and placed them on my head to show that it was my honorable and ancient descent. The music segued from ponderous and stately to majestic. Once again, I bowed deeply to bid them welcome. As a representative of my cousin, I could do no more. After all, had he not dispatched his most illustrious, patient and diplomatic envoy to meet with them?

  No reaction from the Kail. Their gray, pebbled faces worked, as though absorbing the experience. They were undoubtedly overwhelmed by the honor I bestowed upon them.

  I launched into a series of energetic capers around them that expressed our joy at the arrival of potential allies in the galaxy. As the music rose to a crescendo, I leaped around to show the Kail the extent of the Imperium, bidding them welcome in this realm. With fluttering hands, I cultivated a garden of good wishes. Everywhere they turned, I showed them wonders. Exploding stars! Gentle birds. Affectionate cats. A waterfall tumbling into a rippling pool. Fireworks blooming into colored stars high overhead and raining fragrant perfume down upon our heads. I described each of these marvels with expressive, meaningful motions of my body, arms and legs.

  As I threw in my good wishes of how I hoped they would achieve the result they wished for from their meeting with the Zang, I led them toward the glass doors of the inner airlock. Parsons, several armed guards, Redius and Nesbitt followed in their wake. The Zang symbol was the very newest in my repertoire, and I was not certain if its import would be evident. I tried to express the silver-glass pillar’s majesty and power, and the way that its aura reached out far beyond its physical form. The sound of the door swishing open and the rush of air that followed it only added to the mystery. The Kail followed hesitatingly, their eyes fixed upon me. I could not tell if they were awed, or merely wary.