“You can’t lose what you never had in the first place,” she’d explained. Croma reminded Erik somewhat of that — of a people who never got angry because they were always angry, buried somewhere under that cool, hard exterior.
“Croma’Dokran scientists find something to interest Phoenix and Makimakala,” Sho’mo’ra said then. “Maybe a clue to what you seek. Interesting person for you to meet. Croma’Dokran will take you to him.”
15
The five guests flew by cruiser, beyond the Ro’Gana outskirts to where the mountains rose without sign of urban habitation, wild forests thick upon their rugged flanks. It was late afternoon now, the sun on this pleasant world sinking low, casting rumpled shadows across the landscape.
The cruiser was a large, overpowered thing, vibrating as it flew but high-tech enough for that. Croma seats were too big, and the windows a little too high for convenient viewing, making Erik crane his neck to peer at the ground below. Neither Staff Sergeant Kono nor Second Lieutenant Karajin had been pleased to see Erik and Trace depart on a croma vehicle for parts unknown, despite assurances that it would not be far, and that coms would remain open at all times. Phoenix was a guest of the croma in coming to croma space at all, and whether he was sitting on his heavily armed warship, or alone without guard, the Captain would be equally vulnerable if the croma decided to harm him. There was no choice but to trust that the croma were as straight forward and honourable as they appeared, and go where their hosts suggested.
The same young croma who had escorted them from the mountain meadows sat with them here, facing opposite across the large interior space, designed for larger, older members of his kind. The youngster’s name was Tul’do, and both Romki and Pram made halting conversation with him as they flew, mostly about his job, his service to Sho’mo’ra, and facts about local politics. As far as Erik could make out, there were no elections nor anything that might suggest ‘democracy’ to a human. Croma consisted of clans, meaning families, though confusingly not everything was direct succession — sometimes outsiders could elbow their way in. Whether that occurred by marriage, or by some other mechanism, Erik hadn’t yet managed to figure.
Croma social dynamics seemed intense, but rarely violent or unstable. Erik thought the emerging pattern was that they valued stability too much to ruin it with the constant turmoil of democracy. The problem with an absence of democracy was the prospect of tyranny, but croma did not seem to have much of that either — their rulers mostly left their subjects alone, and freedom was a concept valued even as political liberalism was not. A solid people, Erik thought. Reliable. Predictable. Slow-moving, slow-changing, but far from stupid. Not prone to wild flights of fancy, or revolutions, or any of the things that had plagued human civilisation before the krim had hit that giant reset button. Even their arts and culture, Romki was learning with careful question after question, were largely unchanged for the past few thousand years. Croma liked what they liked, and found little need for anything different. Erik wondered how, with that attitude, they’d found the inspiration to get into space at all.
The cruiser began to sink, repulsors throbbing, a long descent toward a green valley. Tree-covered ridges rose about them, then they settled onto a grassy field. Doors opened and all unbuckled and dismounted. Erik and Trace, Pram and Naki had left their armour back at the shuttles — it had been for display only. Trace and Naki had kept their rifles, however, and the croma had made no objection.
Erik looked about at the valley. It was small and intimate, with a road winding past the grassy field, headed up-valley. The afternoon sun fell bright upon one side, and birdlife sang. He caught a glimpse of something bright-feathered, then a fast movement and some commotion in the branch-tops. Wildlife, yet another alien ecosystem, teeming with species unknown to humans. A few times in recent months he’d come almost to despair for the galaxy. Then he saw a place like this, and smelled the crisp mountain air, and was reminded all over of everything that was worth fighting for.
“Come,” said Tul’do, beckoning them to follow. “No vehicle. We walk.” Erik could have hugged him. How long had it been since he’d gone for a walk in a wilderness? Well, he knew exactly how long — it had been Stoya, after he’d been shot down near the Doma Strana with Trace and Private Krishnan. That hadn’t been exactly a pleasant walk, as his shoulder had been dislocated then painfully put back in, and some disagreeable parren had been trying to kill them. After a year in space he missed greenery with an almost physical pain.
They set off after the ‘small’ croma, who nonetheless loomed above them all, even Erik. “Protected place,” said Tul’do, touching some invisible icons in the air before him, probably informing local security exactly where he was. “No vehicles, small technology. Few visitors.”
“Like a national park,” said Romki, peering at a stone pillar by the side of the road as they passed. It had alien writing on it, and symbols. “Tul’do, what is this? Is this telling us the distance from something?”
“Distance, yes,” Tul’do agreed. “Very old. Come, not far.”
Erik hoped the croma’s understanding of the word ‘far’ was different from his. The road was beautiful, bending about contours in the valley side, flanked by tall, straight trees. Even Trace peered up at them with wonder. “Looks like conifer,” she observed. “Not too different from the McCormick Ranges on Homeworld. We climbed there in Academy training.”
“Amazing how similar everything is, really,” Erik mused. “We’re on another new planet, nearly a thousand lightyears from Homeworld, but we could be anywhere. Trees, birds.”
“Sentient species are selective,” Pram reminded him. “Worlds like this are one in ten thousand systems or less. But jump technology allows us to pass all the mostly inhospitable worlds by. And so we congregate on worlds that are actually very rare, yet it seems to us that those similar worlds are everywhere.”
“And evolution’s practical,” Trace added. “From a physics point of view, there’s only so many ways to do things efficiently. If you want to fly, there’s only a couple of ways to do that in atmosphere and gravity. Any life form doing it the less effective way will be out-competed by the more efficient, and so you get flying things that look similar anywhere in the galaxy. Similar environments will produce similar life, it’s just physics.”
Erik knew better now than to be surprised by Trace’s occasional deeper, non-military thoughts. She did have them, she just didn’t volunteer them often, mostly because her dedication to her life’s profession left very little space for rumination. But lately, he thought, she’d been changing. Considering ideas that she’d have previously ignored, or shut off with the slamming steel doors of that impossibly disciplined brain of hers. Recent events had left some of those doors ajar… or Trace, perhaps, had chosen to open them a little.
To Erik’s delight, twenty minutes later they were still walking, slightly uphill all the way. His legs ached a little from the higher gravity but one-point-two Gs was peanuts for a spacer accustomed to bone-crushing forces, and he did enough in the gym to welcome anything that worked his legs a bit harder.
Then from amongst the trees he began to see glimpses of vast stone walls rising ahead. As they drew closer, the walls became more obvious — a great line across this ridge atop the valley side. The wall was punctuated with towers, and the road seemed to arrive at where a building was joined, square and heavy like an old Earth castle from medieval times.
“Tul’do,” said Romki with intrigue, “croma settled this world as spacefaring people. Yet you build this old building?”
“The old ways are not forgotten,” said Tul’do, vague and cryptic as Erik was coming to anticipate. “Come, you will be guests of our guests. You are expected.”
They were being taken to see the corbi, they’d been told. The corbi were from reeh space, on the far, unfortunate side of the croma wall. For all that croma did not welcome visitors, these corbi had been allowed to stay, and were made guests among the Croma’Dokran.
Enquiries as to why and for how long had met with the usual vague replies.
The road led past the castle fortress, where stone pavings made the form of a garden, and beautiful small plants and bushes grew about colourful beds of flowers. As they walked through the garden, Erik saw some kind of tortoise strolling by a lily-covered pond. Pram and Naki exchanged commentary in Togiri… much more their kind of wildlife, Erik thought, than tall trees and mountains.
They were just passing the fortress corner when down the other side of the building, he saw a pair of small figures gambolling on the grass past an obscuring tree. They stopped and stared at the newcomers — figures unlike anything Erik had seen before on a sentient being, short and stocky, with broad shoulders and long arms nearly down to the ground even while standing. An urgent shout turned their heads, and they set off racing on all fours toward some unseen door.
“You see that?” Erik asked the others as they walked on.
“Corbi,” Tul’do confirmed. “You will meet. Come.”
“I’m pretty sure those were kids,” said Trace. “How long have these corbi been here?” And why are they living in a deserted monument in a national park, Erik could have asked further.
The road did a circle through the gardens, and a tall gateway went through the big fortress wall. Looking right, Erik could see all the way down its length, along the top of this ridge. Symbolising what, he wondered? The old fortifications from the croma homeworld? Why build them out here, lightyears away? Perhaps this was a sort of museum piece, built by croma determined not to forget their heritage?
Tul’do led them through the gate, and the dark stone gave way to an open, grassy hillside. The nearest tree line was several hundred metres further down the slope — all artificially cleared a long time ago, Erik thought. On the slope galloped what he thought at first glance was some kind of large deer… only there was a rider on its back, pulling expertly at the reins. A short, stocky rider with broad shoulders. Several others followed, negotiating obstacles, and now jumping over one with delighted shouts.
“Riding animals called ‘chu’,” said Tul’do, pointing. “You have chu on human worlds?”
“Some,” said Erik, watching with faintly heartsick delight. Here was the picture of his childhood holidays at GreenOaks on Homeworld, friends and family galloping, with beautiful views across the rolling countryside. “There were new animals discovered, but none were better than the ones we brought with us from Earth. We call them horses.”
“Not all animals die on Earth?” Tul’do asked. It was the first instance of curiosity Erik had seen from him, but expressed with the same flat, inflectionless tone.
“Nearly all. We took all genetic material. We cloned a lot of what we lost, on other worlds.”
“Forget it,” Trace murmured at his side. “You’re not riding one. I didn’t get you all this way in one piece so you could snap your neck riding an alien horse.”
The corbi saw them and turned their way, galloping hard. The chu pulled up, much leaner than any horse Erik had ever seen — a little taller and more sinewy, plus there were those great, backward-curved horns. They blew hard and snorted, covered in sweat and looking happy for the exercise in the way of animals who loved to run. There were five in all, and the corbi, who had previously been chatting in light, chirpy tones, now spoke to Tul’do in the muffled grunts of the croma tongue.
They were hairy, Erik saw. Simian would be the simple description. Ape-like, an evolutionary strand well recognised within the Spiral, of which humans were lately the most successful variant. Broad shoulders, long arms and short legs, they had wide faces and big, intelligent eyes. Now they gazed at the new arrivals with thoughtful fascination.
“Hello, I’m sorry,” Romki interjected, drawing their attention. He held up his AR glasses, and pointed to his earpiece. “Translator? Sho’mo’ra uploaded the relevant translator, apparently it cross-referenced well enough with the English translator…”
“Sho’mo’ra,” the lead corbi agreed, recognising the name and reaching quickly for his saddlebags to withdraw an earpiece with a single monocle, attached to a small reader. He touched a few buttons, then some invisible icons before him. Erik’s earpiece crackled. The corbi spoke some more, and the translator followed. “Hello? You understand me?”
Erik smiled and nodded. “Yes, I understand you. My name is Erik Debogande, I am the Captain of the warship Phoenix, and this is Major Thakur.” He pointed to the tavalai. “This is Captain Pram of the warship Makimakala, and Major Naki. And this is Phoenix’s resident expert on alien civilisations, Stanley Romki.”
The corbi tapped himself rapidly on the chest with those long, agile fingers. “I am Dega. These are my sons, Fula and Sora, and my daughter Tili, and cousin Roga. This is our home, its name is Do’la’bod Sha’dero. But come, you are guests! Welcome, humans and tavalai. I will show you my home.”
Dega sprang from the saddle with great agility and grasped the reins of his mount, beckoning his guests to follow. His children and cousin galloped ahead, while Erik fell in at his side, Tul’do on the other. Dega saw Erik looking with more fascination at the chu than at Dega himself, and grinned, offering Erik the reins. Erik took them gratefully, and patted the snorting animal’s nose. Dega only came up to Erik’s mid-chest standing, much the same height in relation to humans that humans were to croma like Tul’do. The corbi walked with a loping style, knuckles down by his knees and powerful at the shoulders. Erik had seen photographs of Earth’s great apes, and video from cloned specimens in various zoos, and while Dega’s body shape was similar, the face was all different — the eyes far too large and wide, the mouth and jaw smaller, more human-proportioned. An unruly fringe became nearly a mane, tossed by the light wind.
“You have come a long way,” Dega suggested. “What did our Croma’Dokran friends suggest we might tell you?”
“Humans and tavalai are facing a threat,” Pram told him from Erik’s side. “From a species we thought extinct, but may instead have found refuge on the corbi side of the croma wall. Long ago, more than twenty thousand local years.”
“I was informed,” Dega said solemnly. It sounded to Erik as though he was speaking the croma tongue rather than his own. “The deepynines were in croma space as well, long ago, and other machine races before them. Croma did not suffer so badly, they were not in space at the time and the machines were not interested in planets.”
“Sho’mo’ra suggested that your people on the other side of the Croma Wall might be knowledgeable of reeh technology,” Erik suggested. “Sho’mo’ra insists his scientists know little.”
Erik did not miss the wary glance that Dega flicked in Tul’do’s direction. The croma walked, fists thrust deep in the pockets of his long coat, listening impassively. The corbi were guests here, on Sho’mo’ra’s forbearance. Obviously Dega had to be careful what he said.
On this side of the fortress building the gardens continued, though more subdued, with wide ornamental paths between manicured bushes and small trees. Beyond, Erik glimpsed what looked like a stable, opening onto a soft-earth courtyard, then the grassy down-slope beyond.
“My people are at war with the reeh,” Dega said sombrely. “Our homeworld is not far from croma space. For many thousands of years we fought with the croma, and reeh found it difficult to gain a foothold in our region. But the croma have retreated for a long time, as the reeh have gained ground…”
Tul’do made a loud rumbling sound, and Dega broke off to glance at him. About to protest, Erik thought, before deciding against it. The croma did not like corbi guests speaking of croma retreats.
“We lost,” Dega said shortly. “The reeh overwhelmed us. We were new to space, we had some settlements and knowledge of how to survive in space. The homeworld is occupied, the people are scattered. The cities are largely destroyed. Many resist.” The anger and despair were clear in his voice, past the translator. “We ask the croma for help. Some would assist, like the fearsome Croma’Dokran. But most crom
a say not. Croma fight hard, but the Croma’Rai fight only for croma.”
The Croma’Rai, Erik had been briefed, were the ruling clan that commanded all croma. “You have appealed for assistance elsewhere?” Pram asked.
“Everywhere,” said Dega, with feeling. “Many envoys were sent. The croma do not allow passage through their space. Ships caught are taken, their crews returned to corbi space. We have limited resources, we cannot afford to lose ships.”
“Croma have this policy?” Erik pressed, whatever Tul’do’s potential displeasure. “To refuse corbi to meet other species in the Spiral?”
“No,” said Dega. “Your Spiral has this policy. Tavalai, parren, humans, chah’nas, all alike. Assistance is given to the croma. The croma fight, and they prevent any passage from the reeh side to pass through the croma wall. There is an agreement, between croma and the Spiral, to keep reeh trouble with the reeh.”
Erik shot a look at Pram. It sounded plausible. “Tavalai are largely to blame,” Pram rumbled. “State Department again.”
“Of course,” Erik muttered. “But not humans. Humans have little contact with croma, if any. When I first proposed to come here, I thought that Phoenix might even be the first.”
“Humans are new to space,” Dega agreed. “Tavalai, parren and chah’nas are old. I was wrong to include humans in blame. I apologise.” Erik thought he sounded evasive, and wondered if he knew more than he was saying. Almost certainly, he decided… the only question was ‘about what?’
Romki cleared his throat. “I think it’s a little simplistic for tavalai to blame all past mistakes on State Department,” he ventured. “Many tavalai institutions that now profess themselves horrified by State Department actions were aware of them at the time, yet saw no reason to object.” Like with support for the krim, he could have said. But all the humans present valued good relations with Makimakala too much to mention it.
Croma Venture: (The Spiral Wars Book Five) Page 28