by David Brin
In one place, however, a multi-hued gaggle of fluttering Gubru displayed that some communication remained among the factions. There was much head ducking and preening and gesturing toward floating holographic displays, all apparently as much ritualistic as based on fact and reason.
As Gailet hurried by, several of the hopping, chattering birds turned to stare at her. Pointing talons and beak gestures made Gailet guess that they knew exactly who she was, and what she was supposed to represent.
She did not hesitate or linger. Gailet’s cheeks felt warm.
“Is there any way I can be of service to you, miss?”
At first Gailet thought that what stood at the dais, directly beneath the rayed spiral of the Five Galaxies, was a decorative plant of some sort. When it addressed her, she jumped slightly.
The “plant” spoke perfect Anglic! Gailet took in the rounded, bulbous foliage, lined with silvery bits which tinkled gently as it moved. The brown trunk led down to knobby rootlets that were mobile, allowing the creature to move in a slow, awkward shuffle.
A Kanten, she realized. Of course, the Institutes provided a Librarian.
The vege-sentient Kanten were old friends of Earth. Individual Kanten had advised the Terragens Council since the early days after Contact, helping the wolfling humans weave their way through the complex, tricky jungle of Galactic politics and win their original status as patrons of an independent clan. Nevertheless, Gailet restrained her initial surge of hope. She reminded herself that those who entered the service of the great Galactic Institutes were supposed to forsake all prior loyalties, even to their own lines, in favor of a holier mission. Impartiality was the best she could hope for, here.
“Um, yes,” she said, remembering to bow. “I want to look up information on Uplift Ceremonies.”
The little bell-like things—probably the being’s sensory apparatus—made a chiming that almost sounded amused.
“That is a very broad topic, miss.”
She had expected that response and was ready with an answer. Still, it was unnerving talking with an intelligent being without anything even faintly resembling a face. “I’ll start with a simple overview then, if you please.”
“Very well, miss. Station twenty-two is formatted for use by humans and neo-chimpanzees. Please go there and make yourself comfortable. Just follow the blue line.”
She turned and saw a shimmering hologram take form next to her. The blue trail seemed to hang in space, leading around the dais and on toward a far corner of the chamber. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
As she followed the guide trail she imagined she heard sleigh bells behind her.
Station twenty-two was like a friendly, familiar song. A chair and desk and beanbag sat next to a standard holo-console. There were even well-known versions of datawells and styluses, all neatly arranged on a rack. She sat at the desk gratefully. Gailet had been afraid she would have to stand stiltwise, craning her neck to use a Gubru study station.
As it was, she felt nervous. Gailet hopped slightly as the display came alight with a slight “pop.” Anglic text filled the central space. PLEASE ASK FOR ADJUSTMENTS ORALLY. REQUESTED REMEDIAL SURVEY WILL BEGIN AT YOUR SIGNAL.
“Remedial survey …” Gailet muttered. But yet, it would be best to begin at the simplest level. Not only would it guarantee that she had not forgotten some vital fundamental, but it would tell her what the Galactics themselves considered most basic.
“Proceed,” she said.
The side displays came alight with pictures, displaying images of faces, the faces of other beings on worlds far away in both space and time.
“When nature brings forth a new pre-sentient race, all Galactic society rejoices. For it is then that the adventure of Uplift is about to begin.…”
Soon the old patterns reasserted themselves. Gailet swam easily into the flow of information, drinking from the font of knowledge. Her datawell filled with notes and cross-references. Soon she lost all sense of the passage of time.
Food appeared on the desktop without Gailet ever becoming aware of how it arrived. A nearby enclosure took care of her other needs, when nature’s call grew too insistent to ignore.
During some periods of Galactic history, Uplift Ceremonies have been almost purely ceremonial. Patron species have been responsible for declaring their clients suitable, and their word was simply accepted that their charges were ready. There have been other epochs, however, in which the role of the Uplift Institute has been much stronger, such as during the Sumubulum Meritocracy, when the entire process was under direct Institution supervision in all cases.
The present era falls somewhere in between these extremes, featuring patron responsibility but with medium to extensive Institute involvement. The latter participation has increased since a rash of Uplift failures forty to sixty thousand GYUs ago* resulted in several severe and embarrassing ecological holocausts (Ref: Gl’kahesh, Bururalli, Sstienn, Muhurn8.) Today the patron of a client cannot vouch alone for its client’s development. It must allow close observation by the client’s Stage Consort, and by the Uplift Institute.
Uplift Ceremonies are now more than perfunctory celebrations. They serve two other major purposes. First, they allow representatives from the client race to be tested—under rigorous and stressful circumstances—to satisfy the Institute that the race is ready to assume the rights and duties appropriate to the next Stage. Also, the ceremony allows the client race an opportunity to choose a new consort for the subsequent Stage, to watch over it and, if necessary, to intercede on its behalf.
The criteria used in testing depend upon the level of development the client race has reached. Among other important factors are phagocity type (e.g., carnivore, herbivore, autophagic, or ergogenic), modality of movement (e.g., bipedal or quadrupedal walker, amphibious, roller, or sessile), mental technique (e.g., associative, extrapolative, intuitive, holographic, or nulutative) …
Slowly she worked her way through the “remedial” stuff. It was fairly heavy plodding. This Library branch would need some new translation routines if the chim-on-the-street in Port Helenia was going to be able to use the vast storehouse of knowledge. Assuming Joe and Jane Chim ever got the opportunity.
Nevertheless, it was a wonderful edifice—far, far greater than the miserable little branch they’d had before. And unlike back at La Paz, there was not the perpetual hustle and bustle of hundreds, thousands of frantic users, waving priority slips and arguing over access timeslots. Gailet felt as if she could just sink into this place for months, years, drinking and drinking knowledge until it leaked out through her very pores.
For instance, here was a reference to how special arrangements were made to allow Uplift among machine cultures. And there was one brief, tantalizing paragraph about a race of hydrogen breathers which had seceded from that mysterious parallel civilization and actually applied for membership in Galactic society. She ached to follow that and many other fascinating leads, but Gailet knew she simply did not have the time. She had to concentrate on the rules regarding bipedal, warm-blooded, omnivorous Stage Two clients with mixed mental faculties, and even that made for a daunting reading list.
Narrow it down, she thought. So she tried to focus on ceremonies which take place under contention or in time of war. Even under those constraints she found it hard slogging. Everything was all so complicated! It made her despair over the shared ignorance of her people and clan.
… whether an agreement of co-participation is or is not made in advance, it can and shall be verified by the Institutes in a manner taking into account methods of adjudication considered traditional by the two or more parties involved …
Gailet did not recall falling asleep on the beanbag. But for some time it was a raft, floating upon a dim sea which rocked to the rhythm of her breathing. After a while, mists seemed to close in, coalescing into a black and white dreamscape of vaguely threatening shapes. She saw contorted images of the dead, her parents, and poor Max.
“Mm-mm, no,
” she muttered. At one point she jerked sharply. “No!”
She started to rise, began to emerge from slumber. Her eyes fluttered, fragments of dreams clinging in shreds to the lids. A Gubru seemed to hover overhead, holding a mysterious device, like those which had probed and peered at her and Fiben. But the image wavered and fell apart as the avian pressed a button on the machine. She slumped back, the Gubru image rejoining the many others in her disturbed sleep.
The dream state passed and her breathing settled into the slow cycle of deep somnolence.
She only awoke sometime later, when she dimly sensed a hand stroke her leg. Then it seized her ankle and pulled hard.
Gailet’s breath caught as she sat up quickly, before she could even bring her eyes to focus. Her heart raced. Then vision cleared and she saw that a rather large chim squatted beside her. His hand still rested on her leg, and his grin was instantly recognizable. The waxed handlebar mustache was only the most superficial of many attributes she had come to detest.
So suddenly drawn out of sleep, she had to take a moment to find speech again. “Wh … what are you doing here?” she asked acerbically, yanking her leg away from his grasp.
Irongrip looked amused. “Now, is that the way to say hello to someone as important as I am to you?”
“You do serve your purpose well,” she admitted. “ ‘As a bad example!” Gailet rubbed her eyes and sat up. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you bothering me? Your incompetent Probies aren’t in charge of guarding anybody anymore.”
The chen’s expression soured only slightly. Obviously he was relishing something. “Oh, I just figured I ought to come on down to th’ Library and do some studying, just like you.”
“You, studying? Here?” She laughed. “I had to get special permission from the Suzerain. You’re not even supposed—”
“Now those were the exact words I was about to use,” he interrupted.
Gailet blinked. “What?”
“I mean, I was gonna tell you that the Suzerain told me to come down here and study with you. After all, partners ought to get to know each other well, especially before they step forward together as race-representatives.”
Gailet’s breath drew in audibly. “You …?” Her head whirled. “I don’t believe you!”
Irongrip shrugged. “You needn’t sound so surprised. My genetic scores are in the high nineties almost across the board … except in two or three little categories that shouldn’t ever have counted in the first place.”
That Gailet could believe easily enough. Irongrip was obviously clever and resourceful, and his aberrant strength could only be considered an asset by the Uplift Board. But sometimes the price was just too great to pay. “All that means is that your loathsome qualities must be even worse than I had imagined.”
The chen rocked back and laughed. “Oh, by human standards, I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. “By those criteria, most Probationers shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near chimmies and children! Still standards change. And now I have the opportunity to set a new style.”
Gailet felt a chill. It was just sinking in what Irongrip was driving at.
“You’re a liar!”
“Admitted, mea culpa.” He pretended to beat his breast. “But I’m not lying about being in the testing party, along with a few of my fellow donner boys. There’ve been some changes, you see, since your little mama’s boy and teacher’s pet ran off into the jungle with our Sylvie.”
Gailet wanted to spit. “Fiben’s ten times the chen you are, you, you atavistic mistake! The Suzerain of Propriety would never choose you as his replacement!”
Irongrip grinned and raised a finger. “Aha. There’s where we misunderstand each other. You see we’ve been talking about different birds, you and I.”
“Different …” Gailet gasped. Her hand covered the open collar of her shirt. “Oh Goodall!”
“You get it,” he said, nodding. “Smart, aristophrenic little monkey you are.”
Gailet slumped. What surprised her most was the depth of her mourning. At that moment she felt as if her heart had been torn out.
We were pawns all along, she thought. Oh, poor Fiben!
This explained why Fiben had not been brought back the evening he took off with Sylvie. Or the next day, or the next. Gailet had been so sure that the “escape” would turn out to have been just another propriety and intelligence test.
But clearly it wasn’t. It had to have been arranged by one or both of the other Gubru commanders, perhaps as a way to weaken the Suzerain of Propriety. And what better way to do that than by robbing it of one of its most carefully chosen chim “race-representatives.” The theft couldn’t even be pinned on anybody, for no body would ever be found.
Of course the Gubru would have to go ahead with the ceremony. It was too late to recall the invitations. But each of the three Suzerains might prefer to see different outcomes.
Fiben …
“So, professor? Where do we start? You can start teaching me how to act like a proper white card now.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Go away,” she said. “Just please go away.”
There were more words, more sarcastic comments. But she blocked them out behind a numbing curtain of pain. Tears, at least, she managed to withhold until she sensed that he was gone. Then she burrowed into the soft bag as if it was her mother’s arms, and wept.
* GYU = Galactic year unit (approximately fourteen Earth months)
75
Galactics
The other two danced around the pedestal, puffing and cooing. Together they chanted in perfect harmony.
“Come down, come down,
—down, come down!
Come down off your perch.
“Join us, join us,
—us, join us!
Join us in consensus!”
The Suzerain of Propriety shivered, fighting the changes. They were completely united in opposition now. The Suzerain of Cost and Caution had given up hope of achieving the prized position—and was supporting the Suzerain of Beam and Talon in its bid for dominance. Caution’s objective was now second place—the male Molt-status.
Two out of three had agreed then. But in order to achieve their objectives, both sexual and in policy, they had to bring the Suzerain of Propriety down off its perch. They had to force it to step onto the soil of Garth.
The Suzerain of Propriety fought them, squawking well-timed counterpoint to disrupt their rhythm and inserting pronouncements of logic to foil their arguments.
A proper Molt was not supposed to go this way. This was coercion not true consensus. This was rape.
For this the Roost Masters had not invested so much hope in the Triumvirate. They needed policy. Wisdom. The other two seemed to have forgotten this. They wanted to take the easy way out with the Uplift Ceremony. They wanted to make a terrible gamble in defiance of the Codes.
If only the first Suzerain of Cost and Caution had lived! The priest mourned. Sometimes one only knew the value of another after that one was gone, gone.
“Come, down come down,
Down off your perch.”
Against their united voice it was only a matter of time, of course. Their unison pierced through the wall of honor and resolve the priest had built around itself and penetrated down to the realm of hormone and instinct. The Molt hung suspended, held back by the recalcitrance of one member, but it would not be forestalled forever.
“Come down and join us.
Join us in consensus!”
The Suzerain of Propriety shuddered and held on. How much longer it could do so, it did not know.
76
The Caves
“Clennie!” Robert shouted joyfully. When he saw the mounted figures come around a bend in the trail he nearly dropped his end of the missile he and a chim were carrying out of the caves.
“Hey! Watchit with that thing, you … captain.” One of Prathachulthorn’s Marine corporals corrected himself at the last second. In recent
weeks they had begun treating Robert with more respect—he’d been earning it—but on occasion the noncoms still showed their fundamental contempt for anyone non-Corps.
Another chim worker hurried up and easily lifted the nose cone out of Robert’s grasp, looking disgusted that a human should even try lifting things.
Robert ignored both insults. He ran to the trailhead just as the band of travelers arrived and caught the halter of Athaclena’s horse. His other hand reached out for her.
“Clennie, I’m glad you …” His voice faltered for an instant. Even as she squeezed his hand he blinked and tried to cover up his discomfiture. “… um, I’m glad you could come.”
Athaclena’s smile was unlike any he remembered her ever wearing before, and there was sadness in her aura that he had never kenned.
“Of course I came, Robert.” She smiled. “Could you ever doubt I would?”
He helped her dismount. Underneath her superficial air of control he could feel her tremble. Love, you have gone through changes. As if she sensed his thought, she reached up and touched the side of his face. “There are a few ideas shared by both Galactic society and yours, Robert. In both, sages have spoken of life as being something like a wheel.”
“A wheel?”
“Yes.” Her eyes glittered. “It turns. It moves forward. And yet it remains the same.”
With a sense of relief he felt her again. Underneath the changes she was still Athaclena. “I missed you,” he said.
“And I, you.” She smiled. “Now tell me about this major and his plans.”
Robert paced the floor of the tiny storage chamber, stacked to the overhead stalactites with supplies. “I can argue with him. I can try persuasion. Hell, he doesn’t even mind if I yell at him, so long as it’s in private, and so long as after all the debate is over I still leap two meters when he says ‘Jump.’ ” Robert shook his head. “But I can’t actively obstruct him, Clennie. Don’t ask me to break my oath.”