by David Brin
Even Lieutenant Lydia McCue and her wary corporal could not help but laugh when a gorilla baby danced past the cameras, wearing necklace made of broken Gubru psi-globes. They caught a glimpse of little April, riding in triumph through the streets, and the sight of a human child seemed to galvanize the crowds.
By now the glade was saturated with her glyphs. Athaclena turned and walked away, leaving the others to resonate in the wry joy. She moved up a forest trail until she came to a place with a clear view of the mountains to the west. There she stood, reaching and kenning with her tendrils.
It was there that a chim messenger found her. He hurried up and saluted before handing her a slip of paper. Athaclena thanked him and opened it, though she thought she already knew what it would say.
“W’ith’tanna, Uthacalthing,” she said, softly. Her father was back in touch with the world again. For all of the events of the past few months, there was a solid, practical part of her, still, who was relieved to have this confirmation by radio.
She had had faith that Robert would succeed, of course. That was why she had not gone to Port Helenia with Fiben, or after that with the gorillas. What could she accomplish there, with her poor expertise, that her father could not do a thousand times better? If anyone could help turn their slim hopes into more and still greater miracles, it would be Uthacalthing.
No, her job was to remain here. For even in the event of miracles, the Infinite expected mortals to provide their own insurance.
She shaded her eyes. Although she had no hope of personally sighting a little aircraft against the bright clouds, she kept looking for a tiny dot that would be carrying all her love and all her prayers.
86
Galactics
Gay pavilions dotted the manicured hillside, occasionally billowing and flapping in the gusting breeze. Quick robots hurried to pluck up any debris brought in by the wind. Others fetched and carried refreshments to the gathered dignitaries.
Galactics of many shapes and colors milled in small groups that merged and separated in an elegant pavane of diplomacy. Courteous bows and flattenings and tentacle wavings conveyed complex nuances of status and protocol. A knowledgeable observer might tell a great deal from such subtleties—and there were many knowledgeable observers present on this day.
Informal exchanges abounded as well. Here a squat, bearlike Pila conversed in clipped, ultrasonic tones with a gangling Linten gardener. A little upslope, three Jophur ring-priests keened in harmonious complaint to an official from the War Institute over some alleged violation out among the starlanes.
It was often said that much more practical diplomacy was accomplished at these Uplift Ceremonies than at formal negotiation conferences. More than one new alliance might be made today, and more than one broken.
Only a few of the Galactic visitors spared more than passing attention to those being honored here today—a caravan of small, brown forms which had taken the entire morning to labor halfway up the mound, circling it four times along the way.
By now nearly a third of the neo-chimpanzee candidates had failed one test or another. Those rejected were already trooping back down the sloping path, in downcast ones and twos.
The remaining forty or so continued their ascent, symbolically reiterating the process of Uplift that had brought their race to this stage in its history, but ignored, for the most part, by the bright crowds on the slopes.
Not all of the observers were inattentive, of course. Near the pinnacle, the Commissioners from the Galactic Uplift Institute paid close attention to the results relayed up by each test station. And nearby, from beneath their own pavilion, a party of the neo-chimpanzees’ human patrons watched, glumly.
Looking somewhat lost and helpless, they had been brought out from Cilmar Island only this morning—a few mayors, professors, and a member of the local Uplift Board. The delegation had put forward a procedural protest over the irregular way the ceremony had come about. But when pressed, none of the humans actually claimed a right to cancel it altogether. The possible consequences were potentially just too drastic.
Besides, what if this were the real thing? Earth had been agitating to be allowed to hold just such a ceremony for neo-chimpanzees for two hundred years.
The human observers definitely looked unhappy. For they had no idea what to do, and few of the grand Galactic envoys present even deigned to acknowledge them amid the flurry of informal diplomacy.
On the opposite side of the Evaluators’ pavilion sat the elegant Sponsors’ Tent. Many Gubru and Kwackoo stood just outside, nervously hopping from time to time, watching every detail with unblinking, critical eyes.
Until moments ago, the Gubru Triumvirate had been visible also, two of them strutting about with their Molt colorings already starting to show and the third still obstinately perched upon its pedestal.
Then one of them received a message, and all three disappeared into the tent for an urgent parlay. That had been some time ago. They still had not emerged.
The Suzerain of Cost and Caution fluttered and spat as it let the message drop to the floor.
“I protest! I protest this interference! This interference and intolerable betrayal!”
The Suzerain of Propriety stared down from its perch, totally at a loss. The Suzerain of Cost and Caution had proved to be a crafty opponent, but never had it been purposely obtuse. Obviously something had happened to upset it terribly.
Crouching Kwackoo servitors hurriedly plucked up the message pellet it had dropped, duplicated the capsule, and brought copies to the other two Gubru lords. When the Suzerain of Propriety viewed the data, it could scarcely believe what it saw.
It was a solitary neo-chimpanzee, climbing the lower slopes of the towering Ceremonial Mound, passing rapidly through the automatic first-stage screens and gradually beginning to close the wide gap separating it from the official party, higher on the hillside.
The neo-chimp moved with an erect determination, a clearness of purpose that could be read in its very posture. Those of its con-specifics who had already failed—and who were spiraling slowly down the long trail again—first stared, then grinned and reached out to touch the newcomer’s robe as he passed. They offered words of encouragement.
“This was not, cannot have been rehearsed!” the Suzerain of Beam and Talon hissed. The military commander cried out, “It is an interloper, and I shall have it burned down!”
“You should not, must not, shall not!” the Suzerain of Propriety squawked back in anger. “There has not yet been a coalescence! No complete molting! You do not yet have a queen’s wisdom!
“Ceremonies are run, governed, ruled by traditions of honor! All members of a client race may approach and be tried, tested, evaluated!”
The third Gubru lord snapped its beak open and shut in agitation. Finally, the Suzerain of Cost and Caution fluffed its ragged feathers and agreed. “We would be charged reparations. The Institute officials might leave, depart, lay sanctions.… The cost …” It turned away in a downy huff. “Let it proceed, then. For now. Alone, solitary, in isolation it can do no harm.”
But the Suzerain of Propriety was not so sure. Once, it had set great store in this particular client. When it seemed to have been stolen, the Suzerain of Propriety suffered a serious setback.
Now, however, it realized the truth. The neo-chimp male had not been stolen and eliminated by its rivals, the other Suzerains. Instead, the chimp had actually escaped!
And now it was back, alone. How? And what did it hope to accomplish? Without guidance, without the aid of a group, how far did it think it could go?
At first, on seeing the creature, the Suzerain of Propriety had felt joyful amazement—an unusual sensation for a Gubru. Now its emotion was something even more uncomfortable … a worry that this was only the beginning of surprise.
87
Fiben
So far it had been a piece of cake. Fiben wondered what all the fuss was about.
He had feared they would ask him to solve c
alculus problems in his head—or recite like Demosthenes, with marbles in his mouth. But at first there had only been a series of force-screen barriers that peeled back for him automatically. And after that there were only more of those funny-looking instruments he had seen the Gubru techs use weeks, months ago—now wielded by even funnier-looking aliens.
So far so good. He made it around the first circuit in what had to be record speed.
Oh, a few times they asked him some questions. What was his earliest memory? Did he enjoy his profession? Was he satisfied with the physical form of this generation of neo-chimpanzee, or might it be improved somehow? Would a prehensile tail be a convenient aid in tool use, for instance?
Gailet would have been proud of the way he remained polite, even then. Or at least he hoped she’d be proud of him.
Of course the Galactic officials had his entire record—genetic, scholastic, military—and were able to access it the moment he passed a group of startled Talon Soldiers on the bayside bluffs and strode through the outer barriers to meet his first test.
When a tall, treelike Kanten asked him about the note he had left, that night when he “escaped” from imprisonment, it was clear that the Institute was capable of subpoenaing the invaders’ records as well. He answered truthfully that Gailet had worded the document but that he had understood its purpose and concurred.
The Kanten’s foliage tinkled in the chiming of tiny, silvery bells. The semi-vegetable Galactic sounded pleased and amused as it shuffled aside to let him pass.
The intermittent wind helped keep Fiben cool as long as he was on the eastward slopes, but the westward side faced the afternoon sun and was sheltered from the breeze. The effort of maintaining his rapid pace made him feel as if he were wearing a thick coat, even though a chim’s sparse covering of body hair was technically not fur at all.
The parklike hill was neatly landscaped, and the trail paved with a soft, resilient surface. Nevertheless, through his toes he sensed a faint trembling, as if the entire artificial mountain were throbbing in harmonies far, far below the level of hearing. Fiben, who had seen the massive power plants before they were buried, knew that it was not his imagination.
At the next station a Pring technician with huge, glowing eyes and bulging lips looked him up and down and noted something in a datawell before allowing him to proceed. Now some of the dignitaries dotting the slopes seemed to have begun to notice him. A few drifted nearer and accessed his test results in curiosity. Fiben bowed courteously to those nearby and tried not to think about all the different kinds of eyes that were watching him like some sort of specimen.
Once their ancestors had to go through something like this, he consoled himself.
Twice Fiben passed a few spirals below the party of official candidates, a gradually dwindling band of brownish creatures in short, silvery robes. The first time he hurried by, none of the chims noticed him. On the second occasion, though, he had to stand under the scrutiny of instruments held by a being whose species he could not even identify. That time he was able to make out a few figures among those up above. And some of the chims noticed him as well. One nudged a companion and pointed. But then they all disappeared around the corner again.
He had not seen Gailet, but then, she would likely be at the head of the party, wouldn’t she? “Come on,” Fiben muttered impatiently, concerned over the time this creature was taking. Then he considered that the machines focused on him might read either his words or his mood, and he concentrated on preserving discipline. He smiled sweetly and bowed as the alien technician indicated a passing score with a few terse, computer-mediated words.
Fiben hurried on. He grew more and more irritated with the long distances between the stations and wondered if there wasn’t any dignified way he could run, in order to cut down on the gap even faster.
Instead though, things only started going slower as the tests grew more serious, calling for deeper learning and more complex thought. Soon he met more chims on their way back down. Apparently these were now forbidden to talk to him, but a few rolled their eyes meaningfully, and their bodies were damp with perspiration.
He recognized several of these dropouts. Two were professors at the college in Port Helenia. Others were scientists with the Garth Ecological Recovery Program. Fiben began to grow worried. All of these chims were blue-card types—among the brightest! If they were failing, something had to be very wrong here. Certainly this ceremony wasn’t perfunctory, as that celebration for the Tytlal, which Athaclena had told him about.
Perhaps the rules were stacked against Earthlings!
That was when he approached a station manned by a tall Gubru. It did not help that the avian wore the colors of the Uplift Institute and was supposedly sworn to impartiality. Fiben had seen too many of that clan wearing Institute livery today to satisfy him.
The birdlike creature used a vodor and asked him a simple question of protocol, then let him proceed.
A thought suddenly occurred to Fiben as he quickly left that test site. What if the Suzerain of Propriety had been completely defeated by its peers? Whatever its real agenda, that Suzerain had, at least, been sincere about wanting to run a real ceremony. A promise made had to be kept. But what of the others? The admiral and the bureaucrat? Certainly they would have different priorities.
Could the whole thing be rigged so that neo-chimps could not win, no matter how ready they were for advancement? Was that possible?
Could such a result be of real benefit to the Gubru in some way?
Filled with such troubling thoughts, Fiben barely passed a test that involved juggling several complex motor functions while having to solve an intricate three-dimensional puzzle. As he left that station, with the waters of Aspinal Bay falling under late afternoon shadows to his left, he almost failed to notice a new commotion far below. At the last moment he turned to see where a growing sound was coming from.
“What in Ifni’s incontinence?” He blinked and stared.
He was not alone in that. By now half of the Galactic dignitaries seemed to be drifting down that way, attracted by a brown tide that was just then spilling up to the foot of the Ceremonial Mound.
Fiben tried to see what was happening, but patches of sunlight, reflected by still-bright water, made it hard to make out anything in the shadows just below. What he could tell was that the bay appeared to be covered with boats, and many were now emptying their passengers onto the isolated beach where he had landed, hours before.
So, more of the city chims had come out to get a better look after all. He hoped none of them misbehaved, but he doubted any harm would be done. The Galactics surely knew that monkey curiosity was a basic chimp trait, and this was only acting true to form. Probably the chims’d be given a lower portion of the slope from which to watch, as was their right by Galactic Law.
He couldn’t afford to waste any more time dawdling, though. Fiben turned to hurry onward. And although he passed the next test on Galactic History, he also knew that his score had not helped his cumulative total much.
Now he was glad when he arrived on the westward slope. As the sun sank lower, this was the side on which the wind did not bite quite as fiercely. Fiben shivered as he plodded on, slowly gaining on the diminishing crowd above him.
“Slow down, Gailet,” he muttered. “Can’t you drag your feet or somethin’? You don’t haveta answer every damn question the very second it’s asked. Can’t you tell I’m comin’?”
A dismal part of him wondered if she already knew, and maybe didn’t care.
88
Gailet
She found it increasingly hard to feel that it mattered. And the cause of her depression was more than just the fatigue of a long, hard day, or the burden of all these bewildered chims relying upon her to lead them ever onward and upward through a maze of ever more demanding trials.
Nor was it the constant presence of the tall chen named Irongrip. It certainly was frustrating to see him breeze through tests that other, better chims faile
d. And as the other Sponsors’ Choice, he was usually right behind her, wearing an infuriating, smug grin. Still, Gailet could grit her teeth and ignore him most of the time.
Nor, even, did the examinations themselves bother her much. Hell, they were the best part of the day! Who was the ancient human sage who had said that the purest pleasure, and the greatest force in the ascent of Mankind, had been the skilled worker’s joy in her craft? While Gailet was concentrating she could block out nearly everything, the world, the Five Galaxies, all but the challenge to show her skill. Underneath all the crises and murky questions of honor and duty, there was always a clean sense of satisfaction whenever she finished a task and knew she had done well even before the Institute examiners told her so.
No, the tests weren’t what disturbed her. What bothered Gailet most was the growing suspicion that she had made the wrong choice after all.
I should have refused to participate, she thought. I should have simply said no.
Oh, the logic was the same as before. By protocol and all of the rules, the Gubru had put her in a position where she simply had no choice, for her own good and the good of her race and clan.
And yet, she also knew she was being used. It made her feel defiled.
During that last week of study at the Library she had found herself repeatedly dozing off under the screens, bright with arcane data. Her dreams were always disturbed, featuring birds holding threatening instruments. Images of Max and Fiben and so many others fingered, thickening her thoughts every time she jerked awake again.
Then the Day arrived. She had donned her robe almost with a sense of relief that now, at least, it was all finally approaching an end. But what end?