The Uplift War

by David Brin

  “I shouldn’t worry about it,” he suggested. “We’ve got a good head start.”

  Before the Thennanin could reply, Uthacalthing bent forward and spoke rapidly in GalSeven, causing one of the screens to expand its image.

  “Thwill’kou-chlliou!” he cursed. “Look at what they are doing!”

  Kault turned and stared. The holo-display showed giant cruisers hovering over the capital city, pouring brown vapor over the buildings and parks. Though the volume was turned down, they could hear panic in the voice of the news announcer as he described the darkening skies, as if anyone in Port Helenia needed his interpretation.

  “This is not well.” Kault’s crest bumped the ceiling more rapidly. “The Gubru are being more severe than the situation or their war rights here merit.”

  Uthacalthing nodded. But before he could speak another yellow light winked on.

  “What is it now?” Kault sighed.

  Uthacalthing’s eyes were at their widest separation. “It means we are being chased by pursuit craft,” he replied. “We may be in for a fight. Can you work a class fifty-seven weapons console, Kault?”

  “No, but I believe one of my Ynnin—”

  His reply was interrupted as Uthacalthing shouted, “Hold on!” and turned on the pinnace’s gravitics. The ground screamed past under them. “I am beginning evasive maneuvers,” he called out.

  “Good,” Kault whispered through his neck vents.

  Oh, bless the Thennanin thick skull, Uthacalthing thought. He kept control over his facial expression, though he knew his colleague had the empathy sensitivity of a stone and could not pick up his joy.

  As the pursuing ships started firing on them, his corona began to sing.

  19

  Athaclena

  Green fingers of forest merged with the lawns and leafy-colored buildings of the Center, as if the establishment were intended to be inconspicuous from the air. Although a wind from the west had finally driven away the last visible shreds of the invader’s aerosol, a thin film of gritty powder covered everything below a height of five meters, giving off a tangy, unpleasant odor.

  Athaclena’s corona no longer shrank under an overriding roar of panic. The mood had changed amid the buildings. There was a thread of resignation now … and intelligent anger.

  She followed Benjamin toward the first clearing, where she caught sight of small groups of neo-chimps running pigeon-toed within the inner compound. One pair hurried by carrying a muffled burden on a stretcher.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go down there after all, miss,” Benjamin rasped. “I mean it’s obvious the gas was designed to affect humans, but even us chims feel a bit woozy from it. You’re pretty important …”

  “I am Tymbrimi,” Athaclena answered coolly. “I cannot sit here while I am needed by clients and by my peers.”

  Benjamin bowed in acquiescence. He led her down a stairlike series of branches until she set foot with some relief on the ground. The pungent odor was thicker here. Athaclena tried to ignore it, but her pulse pounded from nervousness.

  They passed what had to have been facilities for housing and training gorillas. There were fenced enclosures, playgrounds, testing areas. Clearly an intense if small-scale effort had gone on here. Had Benjamin really imagined that he could fool her simply by sending the pre-sentient apes into the jungle to hide?

  She hoped none of them had been hurt by the gas, or in the panicky aftermath. She remembered from her brief History of Earthmen class that gorillas, although strong, were also notoriously sensitive—even fragile—creatures.

  Chims dressed in shorts, sandals, and the ubiquitous tool-bandoleers hurried to and fro on serious errands. A few stared at Athaclena as she approached, but they did not stop to speak. In fact, she heard very few words at all.

  Stepping lightly through the dark dust, they arrived at the center of the encampment. There, at last, she and her guide encountered humans. They lay on couches on the steps of the main building, a mel and a fem. The male human’s head was entirely hairless, and his eyes bore traces of epicanthic folding. He looked barely conscious.

  The other “man” was a tall, dark-haired female. Her skin was very black—a deep, rich shade Athaclena had never encountered before. Probably she was one of those rare “pure breed” humans who retained the characteristics of their ancient “races.” In contrast, the-skin color of the chims standing next to her was almost pale pink, under their patchy covering of brown hair.

  With the help of two older-looking chims, the black woman managed to prop herself up on one elbow as Athaclena approached. Benjamin stepped forward to make the introductions.

  “Dr. Taka, Dr. Schultz, Dr. M’Bzwelli, Chim Frederick, all of the Terran Wolfling Clan, I present you to the respected Athaclena, a Tymbrimi ab-Caltmour ab-Brma ab-Krallnith ul-Tytlal.”

  Athaclena glanced at Benjamin, surprised he was able to recite her species honorific from memory.

  “Dr. Schultz,” Athaclena said, nodding to the chim on the left. To the woman she bowed slightly lower. “Dr. Taka.” With one last head incline she took in the other human and chim. “Dr. M’Bzwelli and Chim Frederick. Please accept my condolences over the cruelty visited on your settlement and your world.”

  The chims bowed low. The woman tried to, as well, but she failed in her weakness.

  “Thank you for your sentiments,” she replied, laboriously. “We Earthlings will muddle through, I’m sure.… I do admit I’m a little surprised to see the daughter of the Tymbrimi ambassador pop out of nowhere right now.”

  I’ll just bet you are, Athaclena thought in Anglic, enjoying, this once, the flavor of human-style sarcasm. My presence is nearly as much a disaster to your plans as the Gubru and their gas!

  “I have an injured friend,” she said aloud. “Three of your neo-chimpanzees went after him, some time ago. Have you heard anything from them?”

  The woman nodded. “Yes, yes. We just had a pulse from the search party. Robert Oneagle is conscious and stable. Another group we had sent to seek out a downed flyer will be joining them shortly, with full medical equipment.”

  Athaclena felt a tense worry unwrap in the corner of her mind where she had put it. “Good. Very good. Then I will turn to other matters.

  Her corona blossomed out as she formed kuouwassooe, the glyph of presentiment—though she knew these folk would barely catch its fringes, if at all.

  “First, as a member of a race that has been in alliance with yours ever since you wolflings burst so loudly upon the Five Galaxies, I offer my assistance during this emergency. What I can do as a fellow patron, I shall do, requiring in return only whatever help you can give me in getting in touch with my father.”

  “Done.” Dr. Taka nodded. “Done and with our thanks.”

  Athaclena took a step forward. “Second—I must exclaim my dismay on discovering the function of this Center. I find you are engaged in unsanctioned Uplift activities on … on a fallow species!”

  The four directors looked at each other. By now Athaclena could read human expressions well enough to know their chagrined resignation. “Furthermore,” she went on, “I note that you had the poor taste to commit this crime on the planet Garth, a tragic victim of past ecological abuse—”

  “Now just a minute!” Chim Frederick protested. “How can you compare what we’re doing with the holocaust of the Burur—”

  “Fred, be quiet!” Dr. Schultz, the other chim, cut in urgently.

  Frederick blinked. Realizing it was too late to take back the interruption, he muttered on. “… th’ only planets Earthclan’s been allowed to settle have been other Eatees’ messes.…”

  The second human, Dr. M’Bzwelli, started coughing. Frederick shut up and turned away.

  The human male looked up at Athaclena. “You have us against the wall, miss.” He sighed. “Can we ask you to let us explain before you press charges? We’re … we’re not representatives of our government, you understand. We are … private criminals.”

 
Athaclena felt a funny sort of relief. Old pre-Contact Earthling flat movies—especially those copsandrobbers thrillers so popular among the Tymbrimi—often seemed to revolve around some ancient lawbreaker attempting to “silence the witness.” A part of her had wondered just how atavistic these people actually were.

  She exhaled deeply and nodded. “Very well, then. The question can be put aside during the present emergency. Please tell me the situation here. What is the enemy trying to accomplish with this gas?”

  “It weakens any human who breathes it,” Dr. Taka answered. “There was a broadcast an hour ago. The invader announced that affected humans must receive the antidote within one week, or die.

  “Of course they are offering the antidote only in urban areas.”

  “Hostage gas!” Athaclena whispered. “They want all the planet’s humans as pawns.”

  “Exactly. We must ingather or drop dead in six days.”

  Athaclena’s corona sparked anger. Hostage gas was an irresponsible weapon, even if it was legal under certain limited types of war.

  “What will happen to your clients?” Neo-chimps were only a few centuries old and should not be left unwatched in the wilderness.

  Dr. Taka grimaced, obviously worried as well. “Most chims seem unaffected by the gas. But they have so few natural leaders, such as Benjamin or Dr. Schultz here.”

  Schultz’s brown, simian eyes looked down at his human friend. “Not to worry, Susan. We will, as you say, muddle through.” He turned back to Athaclena. “We’re evacuating the humans in stages, starting with the children and old folks tonight. Meanwhile, we’ll start destroying this compound and all traces of what’s happened here.”

  Seeing that Athaclena was about to object, the elderly neo-chimp raised his hand. “Yes, miss. We will provide you with cameras and assistants, so you may collect your evidence, first. Will that do? We would not dream of thwarting you in your duty.”

  Athaclena sensed the chim geneticist’s bitterness. But she had no sympathy for him, imagining how her father would feel when he learned of this. Uthacalthing liked Earthlings. This irresponsible criminality would wound him deeply.

  “No sense in handing the Gubru a justification for their aggression,” Dr. Taka added. “The matter of the gorillas can go to the Tymbrimi Grand Council, if you wish. Our allies may then decide where to go from there, whether to press formal charges or leave our punishment to our own government.”

  Athaclena saw the logic in it. After a moment she nodded. “That will do, then. Bring me your cameras and I shall record this burning.”

  20

  Galactics

  To the fleet admiral—the Suzerain of Beam and Talon—the argument sounded silly. But of course that was always the way of it among civilians. Priests and bureaucrats always argued. It was the fighters who believed in action!

  Still, the admiral had to admit that it was thrilling to take part in their first real policy debate as a threesome. This was the way Truth was traditionally attained among the Gubru, through stress and disagreement, persuasion and dance, until finally a new consensus was reached.

  And eventually …

  The Suzerain of Beam and Talon shook aside the thought. It was much too soon to begin contemplating the Molt. There would be many more arguments, much jostling and maneuvering for the highest perch, before that day arrived.

  As for this first debate, the admiral was pleased to find itself in the position of arbiter between its two bickering peers. This was a good way to begin.

  The Terrans at the small spaceport had issued a well-written formal challenge. The Suzerain of Propriety insisted that Talon Soldiers must be sent to overcome the defenders in close combat. The Suzerain of Cost and Caution did not agree. For some time they circled each other on the dais of the flagship’s bridge, eyeing each other and squawking pronouncements of argument.

  “Expenses must be kept low!

  Low enough that we need not,

  Need not burden other fronts!”

  The Suzerain of Cost and Caution thus insisted that this expedition was only one of many engagements currently sapping the strength of the clan of Gooksyu-Gubru. In fact, it was rather a side-battle. Matters were tense across the Galactic spiral. In such times, it was the job of the Suzerain of Cost and Caution to protect the clan from overextending itself.

  The Suzerain of Propriety huffed its feathers indignantly in response.

  “What shall expense matter,

  mean,

  signify,

  stand for, if we fall,

  topple,

  drop,

  plummet from grace

  in the eyes of our Ancestrals?

  We must do what is right! Zoooon!”

  Observing from its own perch of command, the Suzerain of Beam and Talon watched the struggle to see if any clear patterns of dominance were about to manifest themselves. It was thrilling to hear and see the excellent argument-dances performed by those who had been chosen to be the admiral’s mates. All three of them represented the finest products of “hot-egg” engineering, designed to bring out the best qualities of the race.

  Soon, it was obvious that its peers had reached a stalemate. It would be up to Suzerain of Beam and Talon to decide.

  It certainly would be less costly if the expeditionary force could simply ignore the insolent wolflings below until the hostage gas forced them to surrender. Or, with a simple order, their redoubt could be reduced to slag. But the Suzerain of Propriety refused to accept either option. Such actions would be catastrophic, the priest insisted.

  The bureaucrat was just as adamant not to waste good soldiers on what would be essentially a gesture.

  Deadlocked, the two other commanders eyed the Suzerain of Beam and Talon as they circled and squawked, fluffing their glowing white down. Finally, the admiral ruffled its own plumage and stepped onto the dais to join them.

  “To engage in ground combat would cost,

  would mean expense.

  But it would be honorable,

  admirable.

  “A third factor decides,

  swings the final vote.

  That is the training need of

  Talon Soldiers.

  Training against wolfling troops.

  “Ground forces shall attack them, beam to beam, hand to talon.”

  The issue was decided. A stoop-colonel of the Talon Soldiers saluted and hurried off with the order.

  Of course with this resolution Propriety’s perch position would rise a little. Caution’s descended. But the quest for dominance had only just begun.

  So it had been for their distant ancestors, before the Gooksyu turned the primitive proto-Gubru into starfarers. Wisely, their patrons had taken the ancient patterns and shaped and expanded them into a useful, logical form of government for a sapient people.

  Still, part of the older function remained. The Suzerain of Beam and Talon shivered as the tension of argument was released. And although all three of them were still quite neuter, the admiral felt a momentary thrill that was deeply, thoroughly sexual.

  21

  Fiben and Robert

  The two rescue parties encountered each other more than a mile into the high pass. It was a somber gathering. The three who had started out that morning with Benjamin were too tired to do more than nod to the subdued group returning from the crash site.

  But the battered pair who had been rescued exclaimed on seeing each other.

  “Robert! Robert Oneagle! When did they let you out of study hall? Does your mommy know where you are?”

  The injured chim leaned on a makeshift crutch and wore the singed remains of a tattered TAASF ship-suit. Robert looked up at him from the stretcher and grinned through an anesthetic haze.

  “Fiben! In Goodall’s name, was that you I saw smokin’ out of the sky? Figures. What’d you do, fry ten megacredits’ worth of scoutboat?”

  Fiben rolled his eyes. “More like five megs. She was an old tub, even if she did all right by me.”
<
br />   Robert felt a strange envy. “So? I guess we got whomped.”

  “You could say that. One on one we fought well. Would’ve been all right if there’d been enough of us.”

  Robert knew what his friend meant. “You mean there’s no limit to what could’ve been accomplished with—”

  “With an infinite number of monkeys?” Fiben cut in. His snort was a little less than a laugh but more than an ironic grin.

  The other chims blinked in consternation. This level of banter was a bit over their heads, but what was more disturbing was how blithely this chen interrupted the human son of the Planetary Coordinator!

  “I wish I could’ve been there with you,” Robert said seriously.

  Fiben shrugged. “Yeah, Robert. I know. But we all had orders.” For a long moment they were silent. Fiben knew Megan Oneagle well enough, and he sympathized with Robert.

  “Well I guess we’re both due for a stint in the mountains, assigned to holdin’ down beds and harassing nurses.” Fiben sighed, gazing toward the south. “If we can stand the fresh air, that is.” He looked down to Robert. “These chims told me about the raid on the Center. Scary stuff.”

  “Clennie’ll help ’em straighten things out,” Robert answered. His attention had started to drift. They obviously had him doped to a dolphin’s blowhole. “She knows a lot … a lot more’n she thinks she does.”

  Fiben had heard about the daughter of the Tymbrimi ambassador. “Sure,” he said softly, as the others lifted the stretcher once again. “An Eatee’ll straighten things out. More likely’n not, that girl friend of yours will have everybody thrown in the clink, invasion or no invasion!”

  But Robert was now far away. And Fiben had a sudden strange impression. It was as if the human mel’s visage was not entirely Terran any longer. His dreamy smile was distant and touched with something … unearthly.