by David Brin
As the attack collapsed and their communications unraveled, Gailet had only become more frantic for information. Frankly, he couldn’t blame her. He, too, wanted to know what was happening. He had friends out there! But right now it might be better to think of their own skins.
And it all started so well, he thought as his craft slowly descended. The uprising had begun when chim workers employed at Gubru construction sites set off explosives carefully emplaced over the last week. At five of the eight target sites, satisfying fiery plumes had risen to meet the dawn sky.
But then the advantages of technology began to be seen. It had been mind-numbing, witnessing how quickly the automated defense systems of the enemy responded, scything through advancing teams of irregular fighters before their assaults could barely begin. To his knowledge not a single of the more important objectives had been taken, let alone held.
All told, things did not look good at all.
Fiben was forced to luff the kite, spilling air as the crude glider dropped. The ground rushed up, and he gathered his legs for the impact. It came with a jarring thud. He heard one of the wooden spars break as the wing took up most of the shock.
Well, better a spar than a bone. Fiben grunted as he undid his harness and wrestled free of the heavy homespun fabric. A real parasail, with composite struts and duracloth wings, would have been an awful lot better. But they still didn’t know what it was about some manufactured goods that the invader was able to home in on. So he had insisted on homemade—and clumsy—substitutes.
The big, scarred chim named Max stood watch nearby, a captured Gubru laser rifle in one hand. He offered a hand. “You okay, Fiben?”
“Yeah, Max, fine. Let’s get this thing broken down.”
His crew hurried to disassemble the kite and get it under the cover of the nearby trees. Gubru floaters and fighters had been whistling overhead ever since the ill-fated foray had begun before dawn. The kite was almost insignificant, virtually invisible to radar or infrared. Still, they had surely been pushing their luck using it in daylight like this.
Gailet met them at the edge of the orchard. She had been reluctant to believe in the Gubru secret weapon—the enemy’s ability to detect manufactured goods. But she had gone along partway at his insistence. The chimmie wore a half-length brown robe over shorts and a homespun tunic. She clutched a notebook and stylus to her breast.
Getting her to leave behind her portable data screen had taken a major effort of persuasion.
If Fiben had imagined for a moment that he saw relief on her face when he picked himself out of the wreckage, he stood corrected. She was all business now.
“What did you see? How heavy were the enemy reinforcements from Port Helenia? How close did Yossy’s team get to the skynet battery?”
Good chens and chimmies have died this morning, but all she seems to care about is her damned data!
The space-defense strongpoint had been one of several targets of opportunity. Until now the few piddling ambushes in the mountains had hardly been enough to raise the enemy’s notice. Fiben had insisted that the first raid would have to count big. They would never find the enemy so unprepared again.
And yet Gailet had planned the operation in the Vale of Sind around her observers, not the fighting units. To her, information was more important than any harm they might do to the enemy. And to Fiben’s surprise the general had agreed.
He shook his head. “There’s a lot of smoke over in that direction, so I guess maybe Yossy accomplished something.” Fiben dusted himself off. There was a tear in his homespun overalls. “I saw plenty of enemy reinforcements moving about. It’s all up here.” He tapped his head.
Gailet grimaced, obviously wishing she could hear it all right now. But the plan had been to be away well before this. It was getting awfully late. “Okay, we’ll debrief you later. By now this rendezvous must be compromised.”
You gotta be kidding, Fiben thought, sarcastically. He turned. “You guys got that thing buried yet?”
The three chims in the kite team were kicking leaves over a low mound under the bulging roots of a fook sap tree. “All done, Fiben.” They began collecting their hunting rifles stacked beneath another tree.
Fiben frowned. “I think we’d better get rid of those. They’re Terran-make.”
Gailet shook her head emphatically. “And replace them with what? If we’re stuck with just our six or ten captured Gubru lasers, what can we accomplish? I’m willing to attack the enemy stark naked if I have to, but not unarmed!” Her brown eyes were hot.
Fiben felt his own anger. “You’re willing to attack. Why not go after the damn birds with a sharpened pencil then! That’s your favorite weapon.”
“That’s not fair! I’m taking all these notes because—”
She never finished the remark. Max interrupted, shouting, “Take cover!”
The sudden whistle of split air became a rocking boom as something white flashed past nearly at treetop level. Fallen leaves whirled and floated out upon the meadow in its wake. Fiben did not remember diving behind a knotted tree root, but he peered over it in time to see the alien craft rise and come about at the crest of the far hill, then begin its return run.
He felt Gailet nearby. Max was to the left, already high in the branches of another tree. The others had flattened themselves over to the right, closer to the verge of the orchard.
Fiben saw one of them raise his weapon as the scoutcraft approached again.
“No!” he shouted, realizing he was already too late.
The edge of the meadow erupted. Gobbets of earth were thrown skyward, as if by angry demons. In the blink of an eye the maelstrom ripped through the nearest trees, propelling fragments of leaves, branches, dirt, flesh, and bone through the air in all directions.
Gailet stared at the chaos, slack-jawed. Fiben threw himself onto her just before the rolling explosion swept past them. He felt the wake of the white fighting craft as it roared past. Surviving trees rattled and shook from the momentum of displaced air. A steady rain of debris fell onto Fiben’s back.
“Hmm-mmmph!”
Gailet’s face emerged from under his arm. She gasped. “Get friggin’ offa me before I suffocate, you smelly, flea-crackin’, moth-eaten …”
Fiben saw the enemy scout plane disappear over the hill. He got up quickly. “Come on,” he said, hauling her to her feet. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Gailet’s colorful curses ceased abruptly as she stood up. She gasped at the sight of what the Gubru weapon had done, staring as one does at what is too horrible to believe.
Bits of wood had been stirred vigorously with the grisly remains of three would-be warriors. The chims’ rifles lay scattered among the wreckage.
“If you’re plannin’ on grabbing one of those weapons, you’re on your own, sister.”
Gailet blinked, then she shook her head and mouthed one word. No. She was convinced.
Then she whirled. “Max!”
She started toward where they had last seen her big, dour servant. But just then there came a rumbling sound.
Fiben stopped her. “Troop transports. We haven’t got time. If he’s alive and can get away he will. Let’s go!”
The drone of giant machines drew closer. She resisted, still. “Oh, for Ifni’s sake, think of saving your notes!” he urged.
That struck home. Gailet let him drag her along. She stumbled after him for a few paces, then caught her stride. Together they began to run.
Some girl, Fiben thought as they fled under the cover of the trees. She might be a pain in the ass, but at least she’s got spunk. First time she’s ever seen anything like that, and she doesn’t even throw up.
Yeah? Another little voice seemed to say inside him. And when did you ever see such a mess, either? Space battles are neat, clean, compared to this.
Fiben admitted to himself that the biggest reason he had not puked was that he’d be damned if he’d ever let himself lose his breakfast in front of this particular chimmie. He’d never
give her the satisfaction.
Together they splashed across a muddy stream and sought cover away from there.
47
Athaclena
It was all up to Benjamin now.
Athaclena and Robert watched from cover up on the slopes as their friend approached the grounded Gubru convoy. Two other chims accompanied Benjamin, one holding high a flag of truce. Its device was the same as the symbol for the Library—the rayed spiral of Galactic Civilization.
The chim emissaries had doffed homespun and were now decked out in silvery formal robes, cut in a style appropriate for bipeds of their form and status. It took courage to approach this way. Although the vehicles were disabled—there had not been a sign of activity for more than half an hour—the three chims had to be wondering what the enemy would do.
“Ten to one the birds try using a robot first,” Robert muttered, his eyes intent on the scene below.
Athaclena shook her head. “No bet, Robert. Notice! The door to the center barge is opening.”
From their vantage point they could survey the entire clearing. The wreckage of the Howletts Center buildings loomed darkly over one still smoldering hover tank. Its sister, useless barrels drooping, lay canted on its shattered pressure-skirts.
In between the two wrecked fighting machines, from one of the disabled barges, a floating shape emerged.
“Right,” Robert sniffed in disgust. It was, indeed, a robot. It, too, carried a flapping banner, another depiction of the rayed spiral.
“Damn birds won’t admit chims are above the level of groundworms, not unless they’re forced to,” Robert commented. “They’ll try to use a machine to handle the parlay. I only hope Benjamin remembers what he’s supposed to do.”
Athaclena touched Robert’s arm, partly to remind him to keep his voice down. “He knows,” she said softly. “And he has Elayne Soo to help him.” Nevertheless, they shared a formless feeling of helplessness as they watched. This was patron-level business. Clients should not be asked to face a situation such as this alone.
The floating drone—apparently one of the Gubru’s sample collection ’bots, hastily adapted to diplomatic functions—came to a halt four meters from the advancing chims, who had already stopped and planted their banner. The robot emitted a squeal of indignant chatter that Athaclena and Robert could not quite make out. The tone, however, was peremptory.
Two of the chims backed up a step, grinning nervously.
“You can do it, Ben!” Robert growled. Athaclena saw knots stand out in his well-muscled arms. If those bulges had been Tymbrimi change glands, instead … She shivered at the comparison and looked back to the scene below.
Down in the valley, Chim Benjamin stood rock still, apparently ignoring the machine. He waited. At last its tirade ran down. There was a moment of silence. Then Benjamin made a simple arm motion—exactly as Athaclena had taught him—contemptuously dismissing the nonliving from involvement in sapient affairs.
The robot squawked again, this time louder, and with a trace of desperation.
The chims simply stood and waited, not even deigning to answer the machine. “What hauteur,” Robert sighed. “Good going, Ben. Show ’em you got class.”
Minutes passed. The tableau held.
“This convoy of Gubru came into the mountains without psi shields!” Athaclena announced suddenly. She touched her right temple as her corona waved. “That or the shields were wrecked in the attack. Either way, I can tell they are growing nervous.”
The invaders still possessed some sensors. They would be detecting movement in the forest, runners drawing nearer. The second assault group would arrive soon, this time bearing modern weapons.
The Resistance had kept its greatest power in reserve for the sake of surprise. Antimatter tended to give off resonances that were detectable from a long way away. Now, though, it was time to show all of their cards. By now the enemy would know that they were not safe, even within their armored craft.
Abruptly, and without ceremony, the robot rose and fled to the center barge. Then, after a brief pause, the lock cycled open again and a new pair of emissaries emerged.
“Kwackoo,” Robert announced.
Athaclena suppressed the glyph syrtunu. Her human friend did have a propensity for proclaiming the obvious.
The fluffy white quadrupeds, loyal clients of the Gubru, approached the parlay point gobbling to each other excitedly. They loomed large as they arrived in front of the chims. A vodor hung from one thick, feathery throat, but the translator machine remained silent.
The three chims folded their hands before themselves and bowed as one, inclining their heads to an angle of about twenty degrees. They straightened and waited.
The Kwackoo just stood there. It was apparent who was ignoring whom this time.
Through the binoculars Athaclena saw Benjamin speak. She cursed the need to watch all this without any way to listen in.
The chim’s words were effective, however. The Kwackoo chirped and blatted in flustered outrage. Through the vodor came words too faint to pick out, but the results were nearly instantaneous. Benjamin did not wait for them to finish. He and his companions picked up their banner, turned about, and marched away.
“Good fellow,” Robert said in satisfaction. He knew chims. Right now their shoulder blades must be itching terribly, yet they sauntered coolly.
The lead Kwackoo stopped speaking. It stared, nonplussed. Then it began hopping and giving out sharp cries. Its partner, too, seemed quite agitated. Now those on the hill could hear the amplified voice of the vodor, commanding “… come back! …” over and over again.
The chims continued walking toward the line of trees until, at last, Athaclena and Robert heard the word.
“… come back … PLEASE! …”
Human and Tymbrimi looked at each other and shared a smile. That was half of what this fight had been about.
Benjamin and his party halted abruptly. They turned around and sauntered back. With the spiral standard in place once more they stood silently, waiting. At last, quivering from what must have been terrible humiliation, the feathered emissaries bowed.
It was a shallow bow—hardly a bending of two out of four knees—but it served. Indentured clients of the Gubru had recognized as their equals the indentured clients of human beings. “They might have chosen death over this,” Athaclena whispered in awe, though she had planned for this very thing. “The Kwackoo are nearly sixty thousand Earth years old. Neo-chimpanzees have been sapient for only three centuries, and are the clients of wolflings.” She knew Robert would not be offended by her choice of words. “The Kwackoo are far enough along in Uplift that they have the right to choose death over this. They and the Gubru must be stupefied, and have not thought out the implications. They probably can barely believe it is happening.”
Robert grinned. “Just wait till they hear the rest of it. They’ll wish they’d chosen the easy way out.”
The chims answered the bow at the same angle. Then, with that distasteful formality out of the way, one of the giant avioids spoke quickly, its vodor mumbling an Anglic translation.
“The Kwackoo are probably demanding to speak with the leaders of the ambush,” Robert commented, and Athaclena agreed.
Benjamin betrayed his nervousness by using his hands as he replied. But that was no real problem. He gestured at the ruins, at the destroyed hover tanks, at the helpless barges and the forest on all sides, where vengeful forces were converging to finish the job.
“He’s telling them he is the leader.”
That was the script, of course. Athaclena had written it, amazed all the while how easily she had adapted from the subtle Tymbrimi art of dissemblement to the more blatant, human technique of outright lying.
Benjamin’s hand gestures helped her follow the conversation. Through empathy and her own imagination, she felt she could almost fill in the rest.
“We have lost our patrons,” Benjamin had rehearsed saying. “You and your masters have ta
ken them from us. We miss them, and long for their return. Still, we know that helpless mourning would not make them proud of us. Only by action may we show how well we have been uplifted.
“We are therefore doing as they have taught us—behaving as sapient creatures of thought and honor.
“In honor’s name then, and by the Codes of War, I now demand that you and your masters offer their parole, or face the consequences of our legal and righteous wrath!”
“He is doing it,” Athaclena whispered half in wonder.
Robert coughed as he tried not to laugh aloud. The Kwackoo seemed to grow more and more distressed as Benjamin spoke. When he finished, the feathery quadrupeds hopped and squawked. They puffed and preened and objected loudly.
Benjamin, though, would not be bluffed. He referred to his wrist chronometer then spoke three words.
The Kwackoo suddenly stopped protesting. Orders must have arrived, for all at once they bowed again, swiveled, and sped back to the center barge at a gallop.
The sun had risen above the line of hills to the east. Splashes of morning light blazed through the lanes of shattered trees. It grew warm out on the parlay ground, but the chims stood and waited. At intervals Benjamin glanced to his watch and called out the time remaining.
At the edge of the forest Athaclena saw their special weapons team begin setting up their only antimatter projector. Certainly the Gubru were aware of it, too.
She heard Robert softly counting out the minutes.
Finally—in fact nearly at the very last moment—the hatches of all three hover craft opened. From each emerged a procession. The entire complement of Gubru, dressed in the glistening robes of senior patrons, led the way. They crooned a high-pitched song, accompanied by the basso of their faithful Kwackoo.
The pageantry was steeped in ancient tradition. It had its roots in epochs long before life had crawled ashore on the Earth. It wasn’t hard to imagine how nervous Benjamin and the others must feel as those to be paroled assembled before them. Robert’s own mouth felt dry. “Remember to bow again,” he urged in a whisper.