The Book of the Ler

by M. A. Foster

  But after several passes around the planet, which was about ten thousand miles in diameter, they believed what the ship’s senses told them: Chalcedon was early in the colonization stage, and only one continent was inhabited to any degree. And not being near any known line of commerce, the locals below were proceeding at their own rate, which was the slow-time of almost complete isolation. They decided to land at what their charts indicated to be the capital city.

  As they settled to their landing site, which was an open field some distance from the capital, they were neither hailed nor intercepted. It gave Han an eerie feeling; they had flown over the city, which was not large, so he knew whoever lived in it could see him, but they didn’t seem to care. He had been trained for space flight in an area where ships were monitored every instant. But with no one to tell him not to, he hovered momentarily, then settled and grounded the ship. They shut it down, and debarked to an empty field. Apparently there were no customs procedures either. So they locked the ship and started walking in the direction of the capital, which could be easily found by noting a plume of dust above the trees.

  As they walked down a dusty road which did not seem to be heavily traveled, he said, “It gives me a strange feeling to come as far as we have, all to walk down a country road at noon, as if we’d never even seen a spaceship. And so unprotected! You’d think they would be alert as bees after someone robbed the hive.”

  Liszendir answered by flinging off her soft boots and turning a cart-wheel in the road. Then she dusted herself off, retrieved her boots, but did not put them on, and said, “I care only now that I have honest earth under my feet again.”

  As she walked on, barefoot, Han noticed her feet; like the hands, here also was a divergence from the human original. There were four toes, instead of five, and they were short. The ball of the foot was wider, in proportion, but back toward the heel, it was more slender. It was a foot that was a degree more adapted to walking rather than holding. Her footprints in the dust of the road showed that she put little weight on the heel.

  They walked for some distance before they saw anyone, although there were signs of settled life all around them—cultivated fields, some grazing animals of recognizable shape but curious detail, an occasional house in the distance. In fact, they were almost to the capital itself when they saw, coming down the road towards them, two persons who waved from the distance. On closer sight, the two resolved into a human and ler, both male, and seemingly overworked to the point of exhaustion. The human, tall and gaunt, introduced himself as Ardemor Hilf, the mayor of the Capital. He apologized for the name—they never had taken the trouble to name it, so it was called simply “the Capital.” The ler with him appeared to be a somewhat overweight elder with long hair woven into a single braid. He called himself Hath’ingar.

  Hath’ingar was not bashful. Immediately he said, “And never mind all that tlanh and srith crap. We scarcely have the time here, especially now, to be civil enough to shout ‘Hey, you’ at one another.”

  Hilf stayed only long enough to find out who they were and what they had in mind. Then he took his leave, asking Hath’ingar to see after them. The shorter ler patted Hilf familiarly on the shoulder and told him to be off. Then he turned to Han and Liszendir.

  “I’m the deputy mayor, here and now. Before that, I was an honest farmer north of here, growing radishes.” He displayed strong, callused hands. “When we were raided, the Capital was struck quite bad; so I wanted to come down here to see what I could do. I was drafted. But what we have done is not enough.” He gestured at the roiling dust clouds. “Not enough.”

  Liszendir waited quietly, somewhat startled by Hath’ingar’s brusque manners coupled with some startlingly human habits. He, in turn, favored her with an evil leer almost as obvious as an expression on a stage performer. “Ah, were I thirty years younger! A young civilized ler adolescent girl, ripe as a berry and body-knowledgeable as a professor of erotic arts! And all-atravel with this young primate, eh?” He dug her rudely in the ribs. But immediately he returned, mercurially, to his previous mood, a blend of fatigue, melancholy and overwork. There was a large amount of meaning in these gestures, but neither Han nor Liszendir could determine if it, any of it, was the meaning they were looking for.

  “Well. The unwoven rascals, the shaven-headed apes, at the least left us with a tavern.” And motioning them to follow, he led the way towards a shabby wooden hut which apparently served the neighborhood as a beer hall. At this hour, most of the patrons were away, as he explained, stepping down into cool darkness. The floor of the establishment was of packed earth and gave off an aroma redolent of wet ground and old beer. Liszendir fastidiously put her boots back on before venturing completely into the dive. After securing a single pot of ale from behind the bar, where a human woman slept soundly, snoring faintly, Hath’ingar led them to one of the cleaner tables and invited them to be seated. He took a healthy swig of the brew, wiped his lips, sat the pot down, and waited.

  Han began, “We are traders, financed by a group on Kenten. I heard of your plight, here on Chalcedon, and so set out as soon as Liszendir and I could get free of Trader Efrem. Do you remember him?”

  “Ah, yes. Efrem. The rascal, a first-class robber and for all I know, a bugger as well. Such was his disposition towards money, at any rate. He was almost as hard to endure as the robbers, but by some shrewd trading we did manage to get some good stuff out of him before he headed back to civilization.”

  “Why did he leave, then? For money? He told us he wanted to get off Chalcedon to get some credits for some things he dropped off for free.” Han fabricated as he went along.

  “I’d expect such a tale of Efrem. No, we paid hard cash for the goods we bought, platinum, thorium and gold bullion, if you please, and a hard bargain it was, too. No, indeed. He left because we were going to put him to work here. I’ll wager he’s swanking it now at some human-planet resort town, right in the very jaws of civilization.”

  “No. He’s dead. Somebody murdered him the day we left.”

  Hath’ingar raised an eyebrow, which, as Han observed, was singed. “Murder, now, was it? Hm. I’m sorry to hear it. He robbed us, Efrem did, true enough, but I would not have deemed it a life’s-worth, even before the Kenten judicistrators.” Here, he turned to Liszendir. “And you, my lady, do you not speak as well?”

  She answered, seemingly in a retort, but the language was not anything Han had ever heard before. It seemed to be a singsong clipped dialect. One of the Multispeech modes, he thought. But before she could get very far, the deputy spread his hands, palm outwards, in a gesture of negation.

  “None of that, here. We all speak Common alike, here on Chalcedon, or do now, at any rate.” He looked oddly disturbed by the incident. “We have all had to pitch in here. There was a lot of mistrust. And the Warriors were ler.” He made a small pause, and added, as an afterthought, “And may they couple with scavengers.”

  Liszendir said, “I came to see. I heard of this voyage, and being nerh, I was superfluous to both parents and insiblings. I am to learn trade, and could not have a better opportunity. We suspected that Efrem had been murdered for his money, which was never found, and that being so considerable and a probable motive, another could be made. We,” she gestured at Han, “are temporary partners. I own half, and answer for the registry of our ship.” Han was astounded. A liar as well. But he watched her closely. He did not know if she was suspicious of this strange creature before them, or was merely being cautious.

  Hath’ingar quaffed another mouthful of the sour ale and passed the jug to Liszendir. She sniffed at it, dubiously, then sipped daintily. She turned aside, sneezed quickly like a cat, and made a wry face. Then she passed the jug to Han, who was thirsty and accepted it with relish, guzzling gratefully.

  “Well, well,” said the deputy mayor. “What won’t we have next, out here on the frontier? But I suppose we’ll see more of this as time goes on. But it was not so when I was a young buck.” He became serious. “B
ut I understand all too well about your outsiblingdom, your nergan. In my own braid I was thes. Here on Chalcedon. And a fine lot I got. ‘Hewer of Wood and Drawer of Water,’ so I believe the ancient human tale has it. So I ran away from the yos and found some boon comrades of these parts, and we started up our own braid. I was forefather, and those were certainly the days. Myself, and Kadhrilnan, Jovdanshir and Merdulian, so we were; tried and true! But I digress. You must tell me more.”

  They replied that the first thing they needed was a place to stay while they were arranging for sales. It had been a long voyage out to Chalcedon, and they were tired of the ship. They realized that housing was probably scarce because of the raid, so they would take anything reasonable. After that, the local merchants could come and they could start trading in earnest. Hath’ingar agreed, and arose to leave, saying he was off to see what could be found. Then they were alone in the beer hall.

  Han and Liszendir sat alone, except for the snoring woman, who was still behind the bar, and said nothing to disturb the cool darkness or their thoughts. They were also thinking about disposing of the ostensible trade goods, for they certainly would have to keep up a front here.

  He asked her, half joking, half serious, “What’s the matter with the ale? Don’t you drink?”

  She made another wry face. “We are as fond of our tipple as the next, although we fear spirit greatly. Our tolerance to it is lower than yours. But this stuff! It is terrible! It is stumpwater! Ugh.” She returned to her musing, and Han did not disturb her again.

  Presently Hath’ingar returned, bearing a key ostentatiously, which seemed to be of dubious appearance for locking doors. Still, a room was a room, and they followed him out of the beer hall without protest or comment.

  Outside, the light of day had mutated somewhat to an air of afternoon; shadows were lengthening. For the first time, Han began to look around him at the world on which they had landed. Notwithstanding the considerable destruction caused by the raid, Chalcedon, or at least this part of it, appeared to be a relaxed and lovely place. It seemed to be a rather flat world, with clear air which faded gradually into the blues of distance, marked with no hills or mountains, but with gently rolling ridges. He observed as much to Liszendir, who agreed. Her own world, Kenten, had no really high mountains, but it was hilly and precipitous all over. Hath’ingar, hearing the remark, spoke somewhat boastingly on the charms of Chalcedon.

  “Ah, yes. You notice the fine afternoon sun slants, the openness, the quiet, the grace of the feather-trees.” He pointed towards an exquisitely tall tree nearby of great charm. It had a smooth, off-white bark, hanging boughs, and long drooping cascades of shiny, scimitar-shaped leaves. A pungent, aromatic odor wafted from it, which teased the sense of smell rather than offending it. Han looked again; it was tall, over three hundred feet. As his eye became more accustomed to the background, he saw more of the feather-trees, scattered here and there. Some of them appeared to be even taller.

  “You marvel? But Chalcedon is a quiet world. No great winds, storms, earthquakes. And we have no seasons as we have a regular orbit and virtually no axial tilt. So the trees grow tall. Of course. I find it too quiet, too orderly, if you know what I mean; but never mind that. A mild climate, and plenty of wealth, all for a little harmless grubbing. But how I ramble on! Here we are!”

  They rounded the tall feather-tree, under which huddled a small wooden house of dilapidated rustic appeal. It looked abandoned and rather dusty, but at the same time sturdy and solid. Liszendir observed quietly to Han that it was not to her taste, but that it would do if that was all there was. There was no ceremony: Hath’ingar, on hearing her comment, handed her the key, announced he was off to gather in the local merchants, and departed.

  As he left, from the distance, his voice drifted to them; “I will bring them here at dark, on the very instant.” He gave a great flourish, and faded into the dusts of the road.

  The little house was very dirty, so they were first occupied with cleaning it up so they could bear to stay in it. It seemed to have stood empty for years. Thus they spent the long Chalcedon afternoon. When Liszendir asked Han how long the day was in standard hours, he was forced to admit that he had neglected to look it up, or reset his variable-rate watch to conform to the rate of local time, but he could recall something like thirty standard hours. Towards evening, after they had finished as much as they were going to do, Liszendir went out for food to last them at least a few days.

  After a while, she returned, waking Han up from the nap he was taking on the front porch. She had bread, sausages, cheeses and smoked meats, plus a few fruits. She brought the provisions in the house, and as soon as it was laid out, they both fell to it. It had been a long day and they were both starved, Liszendir especially. Her metabolism ran at a higher rate than Han’s. Soon after they had satisfied the most immediate part of their appetite, she began talking again, in a low voice.

  “While I was out, I rummaged around to see what I could find out. Believe me, I have been cautious! There is something going on here I cannot measure; and the ler here are very strange—like none I have ever seen before. It is a beautiful and prosperous world, all over very much like this around here, so they say, but it abounds with the oddest rumors.”

  She reflected on something for a moment, and then continued, “I was unable to ever get any kind of description of the weapons used by the Warriors. Nobody seems to know. They always used the same pattern—bombardment from the air, then they would come in. But the explosions! All people knew was there would be a tremendous explosion, followed by a crater. You are deep in these things; what kind of device could do that with no warning? Others spoke of streaks in the sky afterwards, and fireballs. It is all very confusing to me.”

  Han thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Except for the craters, it sounds like coherent-radiation beams, lasers, or masers, at any rate outside the frequency response of either ler or human eyes. On the other hand, beams don’t leave impact craters. And they start fires. We detected no gross radioactivity when we landed, I checked it for that reason. If we had some reading, there, it would tell us something, too. Total conversion at distance? I doubt it. TCD has been demonstrated theoretically, but it’s the devil to control in the real world. And I rule TCD out for the same reason I rule out nuclear weapons—we’d see evidence of fallout, which you always get with the kind of ground burst that leaves a crater. And we’d also, see flash burns on the buildings and a lot of people. None of that. It completely baffles me. But whatever it is, they must have a lot of control over it.”

  “It is true that very few were killed. They avoided the residential areas entirely.”

  “So they were not strategically destroying supplies, or killing people, but making an impression.”

  “I agree, Han. But for what?”

  “For the captives.”

  “Yes. Efrem said, only humans of a certain kind, and a few ler as well. But those were at random, or so it seemed.”

  “So we don’t know any more?”

  “Not really. But I know what I heard at the market: they think the Warriors haven’t left, that they’re lying off-planet somewhere, perhaps hoping to ambush a battlecraft when it comes in.”

  “Did they cite any evidence to support that?”

  “No. But they all seemed sure. And they were scared.”

  But however, it was, they were given no more time to speculate on the problem that evening, for the sun had finally set, A VILA 1381 moving infinitely slow across the wavy horizon in a slow demonstration of old gold. And Hath’ingar was in the yard under the feather-tree with an unruly crowd of local merchants, just as he had promised earlier.

  During the remainder of the long night, until quite late, past midnight, they argued and haggled, made proposals and counterproposals, some of which were met with derisive laughter, some with hoots of scorn. And they wheedled, extolled, told various atrocity stories, and rarely made a deal. It seemed to Han that if Efrem had had to put up with mu
ch of this, he got out well. The merchants of Chalcedon were hard-nosed, unyielding, and taletellers of incredible abilities. He used all the tricks he had learned and practiced at the Traders’ Academy in Boomtown; he sulked, he threatened, he made allusions to parents, he looked disdainfully over his nose, hoping he had the professional sneer just right, and he seemingly ignored the horrendous fates of, so it appeared, thousands of women and children who were simultaneously ravished, singly and multiply, violated, buggered and burned many times over. Liszendir said nothing, beyond the disclaimer of looking after her interests. But Han could tell now that he could read some of her facial expressions that his performance must be having some effect—she winced from time to time.

  One thing became clear, as they digested the meat out of all the stories they heard. The people on Chalcedon had indeed had their wits scared out of them, but all things considered, they had gotten off remarkably well. Very few had actually been killed or injured. And the stories confirmed that the Warriors took only certain types of humans with them, and they were not picking at random; they knew their business well, and knew exactly what they were looking for. After several sessions of small talk during impasses in the haggling, Han was able to determine that, for instance, the Warriors had cleaned the Capital district completely out of redheads of any shape below a certain age; also, those with the odd combination of blond hair and dark complexions. In other groups or classifications they had been more selective, seemingly picking by individuals.

  One of the merchants said, “Oh, absolutely, absolutely.” He waved his hand around in an ostentatious maneuver which Han, despite a great deal of tolerance, found personally disturbing. “The Warriors would arrange the people in a line, and then groups of threes of them would come along, prodding and poking, for all the world as if they were at a livestock auction. But you could see some order in it; they—that is, the threes—were each looking for a certain type. By type, I mean the degree of likeness that you see among people in a large crowd, or when you see a stranger and he reminds you of someone you knew before. Someone has said that basically there are only about a hundred kinds of combinations of face and build, you know. They were not interested in sex, nor in beauty, but in youth; they assembled great wads of uglies as readily as any other standard, or so it seemed to me. Then they would visit each other’s groups of prisoners and crow over the size of the take. The ler folk here said they were speaking Singlespeech, but it was very distorted, and with a lot of special terminology thrown in. We couldn’t understand a word of it. And of course they were proud as peacocks over what they had gotten, every one of them.”