Analog SFF, December 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "The benefits are greater than you can imagine, and the cost is moderate."

  "Cost?"

  "It is the same as we taught on our first visit to this planet."

  Pascual's eyes widened. His jaw worked slowly up and down, but he said nothing.

  Aranead cocked his head at Pascual's silence, “Do you not still practice sacrifice?"

  "Well, yes, some people do. It isn't common."

  "How many Earth men a year are offered?"

  "None. No men. Those of us who sacrifice offer livestock."

  "How can livestock be a sacrifice? Aren't they eaten? All creatures kill for food."

  "They are killed in a ceremonial way. The blood is offered to the gods."

  "The Universal Council demands the blood must be your own, of conscious creatures. It's been decided that one hundred and twenty humans a year should be offered from Earth, twenty from each of your six populated continents. The Charter provides guidelines for how these people should be selected and the Cheorka would audit each offering."

  "Why do you need human sacrifice? It will be a very difficult decision for us. Most human cultures hold life sacred. I don't think many would agree to send innocent people to be killed."

  "But isn't that what war is? Fewer people will be lost to sacrifice than if you continue to war."

  Pascual thought on this. He'd been eighteen the year the second Gulf War began. Many of his classmates enlisted so they could get money to go to college. Pascual had worked hard to win a scholarship so he wouldn't have to go. They weren't exactly innocent in those days, but they were somewhat naive.

  Aranead continued. “The Universal Council's Charter holds that life is sacred. It also acknowledges that life and growth require death. When the two aren't equal, imbalances occur in technological cultures. When life must be offered voluntarily, it highlights its value. The decision to create a life becomes as important as the decision to take one away."

  Pascual shook his head. “It will take years for the people of Earth to debate and decide this issue. Observation at your council and descriptions of the technologies we could share will help us decide."

  "Before any human can observe at Council, there must be a sacrifice."

  Pascual stepped back from Aranead, panic tensing every muscle.

  "No, my friend, you could not offer yourself. We require it be a leader. Perhaps your president?"

  Pascual's legs wobbled. He grabbed the control console's edge. “It will be her choice, won't it, to offer herself or not?"

  "Of course, it has to be. If she declines, we will visit other world leaders to offer them the opportunity."

  "It will take time for anyone to decide."

  "Time is offered. We have found, in past first contacts, the continent offering the first sacrifice enjoys prestige among the others for many years afterward."

  "It's lucky, then, that the American president gets this opportunity first.” Pascual nodded slowly.

  "It is lucky you met me, and that you take me to her. It wasn't luck that allowed you to approach me first, it was courage."

  "Maybe, maybe it was courage, but it felt more like fate to me."

  * * * *

  Aranead considered the meaning of the word fate in his own language. He found it similar to the agencies that chose him for this mission.

  "We are of the same clutch, Pascual."

  "What do you mean?"

  "We are related in our service to fate, but we can determine some parts of the path before us. I want to offer you a place on the observing team. It is my right to appoint one of the members."

  "I could go to the Council? I could visit the libraries and speak to the scientists myself?"

  "If you accept."

  "How long does it take to get there, and to get back?"

  "About two years, relative time, each way."

  "Would I be able to use the sensorium, to keep in touch with my family?"

  "No,” Aranead chuckled, “Humans will have to invent their own sensorium, one matched to your own senses. You would be able to exchange sound and image files."

  "How long would I have to stay?"

  "As long as you like. It's of no use to the Council to have observers who don't wish to be there."

  "I need to think about it. It's a long time to be away from home. When do you need my answer?"

  "When I ask you for it."

  Aranead breathed deeply and took the carved hand. Opening the drawer, he removed a long blade from the cradle inside. It was slightly longer than the width of his neck. The handle was wrapped in pink leather.

  "The Cheorka offer a rare symbol of good faith to Earth mammals. I am chosen to be sacrificed to gain your trust. My blood on this knife will signal that I have chosen an observer. My clutch is in orbit now, waiting for the answer. If you let my blood, it will signal your respect for me and your willingness to honor other races’ traditions. It would make a positive start on Earth's relations with the Universal Council."

  "I don't know if I could do it. I've never killed anything bigger than a chicken."

  "Can you hold this blade?” Aranead held the sword out to Pascual.

  The man did not reach for it. He shook his head and asked, “Aren't you afraid?"

  Aranead breathed in, expanding his breast fully. “Of course I am. Cheorka are accustomed to taking life, but it is rare we ourselves have to offer it."

  "Why do you have to offer it this time?"

  Aranead cocked his head to look at Pascual with both eyes and was quiet for a while. “Do you remember the glyphs and recordings I showed you earlier? You may have noticed that all the creatures in the Council chambers were saurid, similar to Cheorka, or reptilian."

  Pascual remembered the creatures who occupied the Council seats in the video. There were none with fur, none resembling humans at all.

  "Pascual, the humans of Earth, alone, represent mammalian intelligence in the universe. On every other world, saurids or reptiles evolved into consciousness and higher intelligence. The meteoroid hit Earth at a critical time in archosaurid development here. Mammals were given an advantage that allowed them to develop in a way found nowhere else in the universe."

  "Cheorka threw that meteoroid. My lineage threw it and remembered through a song sung for millions of years. The time has arrived for us to make amends to Earth's conscious beings and to the universe. This nursery's destruction opened our minds to the senselessness of war. The Long Peace started here has lasted sixty-five million years. The Universal Council and the Cheorka both are in debt to the humans of Earth."

  Pascual was speechless. Observing at the Universal Council would mean living among creatures from the worst human nightmares, like the Cheorka. He'd already traveled far from his upbringing as a Catholic Mayan in Florida. This would be a much longer and stranger journey.

  "It isn't required that you perform my sacrifice. I can let my own blood and your decision to observe at Council will remain your own. If you don't wish to go, you can appoint another person in your place."

  Aranead balanced the sword in one hand, swung it toward himself, and drew it in front of his own neck. The feathers at his nape stood on end. He practiced the motion several times, until it was fluid and natural. Pascual watched the pantomime, feeling helpless as a child.

  * * * *

  President Laura Stewart's face filled a huge screen mounted on the back of a flatbed truck parked near Aranead's ship.

  "Pascual, could you exit the ship before me? It will signal that I am not threatening."

  Pascual nodded, went to the hatch, and stopped. “I can't. It's too far for me to jump down."

  "I will pick you up.” Aranead reached for him. Pascual winced as the giant hands came close.

  Aranead picked him up with both hands, clearing his mind of the khulon he'd picked up in almost this same way not so long ago. Pascual stared at the slash talons, and then closed his eyes. When his feet left the floor, he grabbed onto the two huge fingers just below his c
hest. They stepped to the grass, and Aranead set Pascual down.

  "Welcome to our city, our country. My name is Laura Stewart, President of the United States of America. How should I address you?"

  "You may call me Aranead, diplomat of the Cheorka."

  Pascual remained standing as Aranead explained the offer and its price to the president. She had many questions. Most interesting to her was that if she refused, Aranead would make his request to leaders of other continents. Finally, she asked for time to consider, and Aranead agreed.

  * * * *

  As the screen darkened, Pascual sat down, breathing in the smell of crushed grass. The gathered news crews cautiously stayed shouting distance away. The police were setting up a line in front of them. He could hear their questions, but didn't want to speak right now. Aranead came to stand next to him.

  "When you stand so close, I'm reminded you could crush me with one foot.” Pascual smiled up at Aranead.

  "And I am reminded I would not crush you.” Aranead looked around at the throng of reporters and onlookers filling the Mall's grassy expanse. The long steps up to a large, white-domed building in the near distance were filled with people.

  "Those devices carried by the people closest to us, they take and transmit sounds and images?"

  "Through them, everyone in the world is watching us.” Pascual answered, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

  Aranead crouched down next to him, bare blue legs standing out next to the black feathers on his haunches. Pascual scooted closer and placed his hand on Aranead's toe. The skin felt soft and pebbly. They sat together, watching the crowd.

  Four monks in saffron robes broke out from the line of reporters and crossed the grass toward them.

  The oldest monk approached them most closely and spoke. “I am certain that the Dalai Lama would offer his life for this purpose. Please give us time to contact him and make the arrangements."

  "The offer will be considered by my clutch. They will make the decision as to whether this person meets our requirements as a leader. I will note that this offer was the first."

  The monks bowed. “We will contact him right away.” They backed away and disappeared into the crowd. The police line was completed as they passed.

  Pascual wondered how long they would have to wait. Would he and Aranead sit here for days, or weeks? He looked around. It was his first time in Washington, D.C., and the buildings’ scale surprised him. They were huge.

  "The steps leading up to the Capitol building, they look like the pyramids my ancestors built."

  "They are similar to what I saw in the old pictures."

  "If I accept your offer to become an observer, will I be able to see your pictures, the ones you took when you visited so long ago?"

  "Of course.” Even sitting down, Aranead looked over the crowd. “Is there a terrace at the top of those stairs?"

  "I would guess so...” Pascual broke off, an electric chill spread through his body as he realized what his friend was thinking about.

  "Aranead, diplomat of the Cheorka,” the president's voice boomed from the truck-mounted screen, “and my fellow Americans, I have often spoken of sacrifice and counseled you on the sacrifices that we all must make. Today, I am faced with a decision involving the ultimate meaning of the word. Our great country has done more than any other to advance the world toward the future. My sacrifice would follow in that tradition."

  Aranead stood to face the screen, and Pascual backed away from him.

  The president continued, “However, my advisors recommend I do not make this decision in haste. We must gather more information about the Cheorka and Universal Council before I make any commitment. We urge you, Aranead, to remain in the United States, as our guest, as we deliberate."

  A sudden boom caused the crowd to crouch and cringe. Four fighter jets passed close overhead. Aranead watched them as they circled the airspace above his shuttle. He could see the human pilot's helmeted heads in each cockpit as well as he could see the faces of the people gathered on the Capitol steps. It was clear they would restrict him from traveling. He spoke to the crowd of reporters.

  "I'm here to deliver my message to all Earth's continents. Our offer is not exclusive to this political entity. A leader from any continent can appoint a member to Earth's observing team upon their own sacrifice. My diplomatic clutch waits in orbit now to verify and audit these sacrifices. You will propose each sacrifice to them and complete it only when the clutch deems it acceptable."

  A black-suited man pushed his way out of the crowd of reporters and shouted, “Senor! The president of Venezuela would offer his life for this purpose! As ambassador, I'm delegated to complete whatever application..."

  He was interrupted by an Asian man, shouting, “The Republic of China will offer a life! It is the largest nation on Earth!"

  Aranead faced the president. “The Universal Council offers Earth membership in good will and with good faith. To demonstrate good faith to all Earth humans, I will sacrifice myself here today. I appoint Mr. Pascual Teotalco, my only Earth advisor, to fill one of the seats, if he chooses to accept it. I offer him the honor of conducting my sacrifice. If you will not let the blood, Pascual, I beg you to accompany me as I let it myself."

  * * * *

  Aranead turned from the president and went to the shuttle to retrieve the sword. Through the hatch, Pascual saw Aranead step, for just a moment, into the sensorium behind the control console. He was actually going to do it, sacrifice himself here, right now. Pascual jerked his gaze back to the screen. The president's eyes had gone wide, and she spoke off microphone to someone on her right. The crowd continued to shout offers. It sounded like every country on Earth had an ambassador in the crowd.

  Aranead jumped down from the hatch and returned to Pascual's side, feathered chest moving in and out rapidly. The giant predator from the stars feared his own death as much as any human would.

  The president spoke, “Please, sir, could I request that an American perform the sacrifice? It would be symbolic for us.” Two men dressed in dark suits and sunglasses stepped forward from the rear end of the truck bearing the screen.

  Pascual stared at the president in disbelief, then stepped forward, “I am an American, Ms. President, a Mayan American."

  Aranead stretched his hand out to Pascual. At the same time he tossed his head toward the crowd, offering Pascual the option of walking away. Pascual saw the chance given. Raising his arms, he rejected it, inviting the huge hand to grab him. Aranead picked him up with one hand and held him to his chest, cradling him with his wing. The sword looked the size of a kitchen knife in his other hand. They walked down the mall, the crowd separating before them, then up the Capitol steps to the terrace. Aranead's toe talons clicked on the white marble as the crowd backed off, leaving them alone.

  "I will do this, my friend; there will be no honor lost for you.” Aranead lay down on the stone at the top of the stairs and raised the knife. His feathered arm blocked Pascual's view of the crowd filling the mall. Aranead's pupils dilated, as wide and black as Pascual had seen them yet. The raised arm trembled and paused for what seemed like many minutes. Finally, the knife began to fall. Pascual closed his eyes.

  The blade clattered on stone.

  There was no blood. Aranead's entire body trembled. His arm had fallen across his chest and the knife lay on the marble next to him.

  "Rass-qual,” Aranead spoke, not through the translator, but in his own voice. His mouth hung open, showing the spiky teeth lining his jaw. Terror jerked Pascual's gut. He grabbed the blade off the ground. It was slightly heavier than the pickax he'd used over the summers he'd worked the groves with Papa.

  As Uncle Tomás had taught him, he murmured a prayer to the sacred mountains of Guatemala, asking for the favor in their names. The same moment of fear and hesitation he always felt before cutting a chicken's neck came over him. He had to push past it. He could not say good-bye. Pascual swung the blade over his right shoulder and brought it down hard o
n Aranead's neck. As his father taught him, he kept momentum and swung twice more, each blow harder than the last, until the blade rang on stone.

  The blood coursed over Pascual's arms. Aranead's face twitched. Pascual opened his mouth to say he was sorry, to say it while Aranead could still perhaps hear. Before any words could come out, he realized that Aranead wasn't sorry. He shouldn't be either.

  * * * *

  The three Cheorka sat on the floor, their abandoned perches at their backs. They sat on the floor as a courtesy to Pascual. If they'd sat on the perches, their talons would grip the padded bars at eye level. He had to gather his wits. They were diplomats, like Aranead. They weren't going to disembowel him or rip his arms off. He shook his head, suppressing the ancient prey-panic rising within him. They only wanted his attention.

  "Will you come to observe at the Universal Council? We are eager to announce the first member of the Earth's delegation.” The one named Wa'akon spoke.

  Pascual found his voice. “I would like to call home, please, to consult with my family, my clutch.” He reached for his phone. His hands were still covered with Aranead's blood.

  "Wa'akon, is there a way to clean my hands?"

  The three Cheorka looked at each other, their red crest feathers rising up. The one named Deekor said, “You would not lick them clean? It would not harm you. It is good blood, very honorable."

  Pascual's stomach turned at the thought. It was important that he demonstrate trust in them and respect for their customs. The idea wouldn't have repulsed his ancestors, but they had been gone for a thousand years. The Cheorka stared at him now, their irises noticeably narrowed, crests raised.

  "It would not poison,” said Wa'akon.

  Pascual thought of his first American barbeque. Dr. Colby had invited his new graduate students home for hamburgers. Pascual was walking through the kitchen after dinner when he saw the professor's wife throw away six cooked hamburger patties.

  "Mrs. Colby, you couldn't share them with your neighbors?"

  "Honey, we hardly know our neighbors!” She'd laughed and continued washing dishes.

  He wasn't sure what disturbed him more, wasting good food or not knowing your neighbors. The quality of his respect for the Colbys was changed in that moment, in a way that made it difficult to connect with his advisor.