The Book of the Ler

by M. A. Foster

  Han interrupted, “We can discuss toys another time, but you live under a misconception if you still believe that nonsense about supermen. Hatha, it has long been proved that the ler are not hyperanthropoi, but alloanthropoi, not supermen but other-men.”

  “So we shall see in time, shall we not.”

  Liszendir, always to the point, asked, “So what are your plans for us, now that you have us again?”

  “A good question—a good answer. First: you both are now beyond punishment, and I have absolutely none in mind. For you, Liszendir, an honored place with the horde. And for you, Han, also honor. You will teach us about your drive system. As you now know, we do have problems with our drive, with the great ship, now called Hammerhand. It is old, but it has also been rebuilt, in a hurry, and there are other technical problems as well. I know you are not a technician, but you know enough to be of great use. Both of you have shown extraordinary skill in escaping me twice, and we can certainly use the mental workings behind such exploits. Also observe: you have survived to walk to Aving’s castle, which is a feat no native could imagine, and one no Warrior, unfortunately, would attempt. And not only survived, but prospered, as you wished. Ah, yes, we need that greatly, more than little revenges.”

  Aving added, “It will not be all work, of course—there is conpensation, according to the degree of service you are able to perform. Both of you will have choice of mates as well. For you, girl, the meaning must be clear—you will be fertile soon. There are Warriors in plenty, as many as you want. And for you, Han, you do not have the faintest idea of what we have to buy your cooperation. None whatsoever. But I will hint. You see, we are engaged in a great program for humankind, one which you would never have been able to do for yourself. We are domesticating humans, cultivating them for their potentialities as the farmer grows and selects his varieties of grains. For all the long generational times, humans are as plastic as wax, as changeable as weather. Some will be livestock, others for creatures of burden, others for technicians, still others for amusing pets, just for the exercise in control of shape and color. I know humans keep pets, but ler never have. So we remedy still another lack. And like the small carnivores humans are so fond of, we shall also take our pets with us to hitherto unknown heights of luxury, and shape them into forms, sizes and colors never imagined by them, just like humans have done with their animals and pets.”

  Han asked, “Is this a new idea, or is it an old one?”

  Hatha answered, “It is as old as time, and actually can be traced back to human beginnings.”

  Liszendir commented, “I am surprised you go on this path, so easily. You violate many wise principles, many things which are not opinions, but insights into reality. I am well grounded in these. People, and I include ler in that term, are low in efficiency as loadbearers, and as food they are hopelessly inefficient. Because a creature is high in evolutionary position does not mean it falls in a usable position in the chain of ecology. We have found many planets, and on every one where there was indigenous mammalian life, in its seas there were whales. Whales do not eat other whales—they live on the simplest foods available. Whale-bone whales, the majority, live on beds of floating plankton, the simplest sea life. We take this lesson of success for our own.”

  “It is not a course I, Hatha, chose, but one chosen by the firstborn, many years ago. Besides, the lesson is meaningless for us: there are no seas on Dawn, and certainly no whales.”

  “So the person of the city, lacking words in his language for natural forms of terrain, imagines that such things do not exist, and that he can imagine glaciers in the equatorial deserts, or put horns on a tiger. Are you of the blood of Sanjirmil?”

  “We are indeed descended of the line of the great foremother. The humans we took later. We intercepted, by accident, a colonial ship. Some we began domesticating immediately, others were strewn over the face of Dawn, to grow wild. They could endure greater extremes than we could. This was long ago, and is counted matter of legend. Myth has it, it was done in the time of Sanjirmil, although there are those among us who reason that it was several generations later, on the basis of old tales. What difference does it make?”

  “Only that these people survive in an environment beyond you.”

  Han asked, “What becomes of us if we refuse your offer?”

  “I will personally give you a sack of grain and escort you to the door, from which you may fare as you will. Yes, both of you—the girl alike. I wish to woo you, not dispose of you. Disposal is easy, and an easy thing is a cheap thing. Is it not so, trader? Who will work for a cup of sand, and who will buy it with hard-earned coin? So refuse and go your way: I can afford to be generous. But consider—you cannot leave Dawn, for I have the only two spaceships within many a year of space. You cannot stir the locals up, human or ler of these parts. They do not care. They will kill you for heretics if you persist with your wild tales. Survival here is enough: and without our assistance, they would soon be back to grubbing roots on the plains and living in caves. And for yourselves; you know very well what is going to happen to Liszendir. Now she will cohabit with you, you will be lovers, you will do all the things to each other that such do. But once her fertility commences, she will either leave you, or come to hate you. It is a cruel time. So you will spend your lives for nothing. Do so. I will, as I said, show you to the door with a sack of grain. Walk back to Leilas and squat in the streets and void like the beasts.”

  He paused, to let it sink in, and went on further. “And as for the ship which was yours . . . in time we will puzzle it out. We have other resources, and some fine domesticated minds we can direct to it. We are not in a hurry.”

  “At least you do no discredit to the firstborn by annulling that principle.” Liszendir spoke with some heat.

  Han felt a chill of despair and disgust pass over him. Hatha had drawn a cruelly accurate picture, one which was not attractive in any aspect of it. They had a choice, but it was no choice at all.

  Liszendir said, “All this sounds very well, of course; very well thought out. Crude, but possibly workable. But I have many questions to ask.”

  “And answers you shall have!”

  Han could not mistake the gloating in Hatha’s voice. That he expected. But Liszendir, fishing for something with this monster? There was no mistake, he had heard a distinct element of curiosity in her voice, of interest. Could she actually be interested in working for him? He looked over to her, watching her face intently, carefully. He could not read her face. Han felt another chill, a sinking sensation, a vertigo. What of her loyalties? Han felt all of the certainties he had known in the past, their past, turn into mud, hot wax, to slump and run, permutate into new shapes, shapes of disturbing outline. He looked at her again. The face he knew well now was no longer lovely, child-plain, charming, promising adventure. It was blank, vacant, the face of a statue, despite the movement that was in it; her thoughts were elsewhere. He saw no longer the lover, but an alien female of completely incomprehensible motivations, and possibilities.

  There was a lull in the conversation, during which Han kept glancing at Liszendir, trying to read some intent, or pattern, in her face. There was none visible to him. The face was stony, distant, abstract, where before, even when it had been disagreeable, it had been involved, concerned. She blankly watched the musicians, the guards, Aving and Hatha, the table setting. Aving and Hatha were now in the process of having a polite but intricate argument. Aving might very well be the subordinate, but he clearly considered himself knowledgeable in some area over and beyond any knowledge Hatha might have. Han could not follow it: they were using an arcane technical language, more involuted than the hair-splitting of theologians, and even if he had known the subject, the language alone would have been enough to bog him down. Liszendir appeared not to be interested.

  The argument concluded, or so it seemed. The results seemed as inconclusive as the subject had been incomprehensible. Aving signaled to the musicians. Some, according to no order Han co
uld discern, stopped playing, deactivated their instruments, and departed, as the others continued playing, without pause or hesitation. From a side hall behind Aving, others appeared, bearing even stranger musical artifacts. These new instruments were powered, as had been the first ones, but these had small compressors driving air into a bladder, whose pressure was valved out through tubes of various configurations, some controlling pitch through finger-holes, others by pads and levers, others by slides and still others by valves. Some appeared to utilize bizarre combinations of all four controls. The new arrivals, who had the same general appearance as the first group, family yet not-family, settled in their places and began playing their ornate, overdecorated instruments, entering the stream of sound effortlessly. Han listened to it for a minute, but gave it up—it gave him a headache to try to sense order in the alien music, although he could, by straining, catch evanescent hints suggestions, outlines which faded as swiftly in his perceptions as they had come. He stopped trying; its seeming simplicity concealed an underlying order which stupefied the mind.

  Aving noticed that he was trying to listen to it. He said, conversationally, “I see you appreciate the music. This type they are playing now is very special—it has been patterned so that it avoids the persistence of memory of melody, which is a special feature of the human-type brain. Oddly enough, the musicians cannot learn it as you might learn some tune—they have to memorize the parts and play by rote, which detracts from the flavor of the performance, don’t you think?”

  Han politely agreed. Hatha took notice of them again. When he spoke, it was with an air of great confidence.

  “I did not mean to imply earlier that you two had an unlimited sphere of decision and freedom of action. Ah, to choose, to steer one’s own course: that is a privilege given to few, the high and the mighty. As we proceed down through the lower strata of society, naturally we find that such moments of choice become fewer and fewer. Now you, Han, have no class at the moment and hence no span of choice at all, as an integral part of your person. But I have much choice-span, and will, as we say, lend you a bit of mine, temporarily, for this issue. So: join the horde or go to Leilas, or at any rate, outwards out the out-gate, as we say. Binary, the very system you humans have tied yourself up in such knots over. The choice does not extend beyond that point of time, although in theory, you will doubtless accrue some choice of your own in either case, more perhaps in Leilas. Liszendir inherently has a bit more, because she is of the people and has reproductive potential; but in essence it is so little more than yours that the distinction is academic. However, I wish to make the distinction that hers is partially an inherent part of her potential class, even though at this time, it is of necessity rather low.”

  So they attached importance to the degree of choice one had, rather than material things, or money, as an indicator, or was it result, of class. Perhaps that had been the substance of that argument they had been having—Hatha’s speech suggested quasi-religious overtones as he had been outlining the matter. Han said to Hatha, after this reflection, “I see what you mean, and cannot question your framework, because I do not entirely understand it. Yet, such as I see of this thing about choice, I do not agree entirely, because studies have shown that in human society the head of the organization most often has the least freedom, that freedom decreases as one moves upwards. But we see the ultimate in freedom as absence of responsibility, the vagabond who has only the primal concerns of his body to worry about—sleep, food, warmth. Apparently, you see ultimate freedom residing in the top, in something like an autocrat.”

  “An interesting point you bring up. I had not thought you quite so perceptive. And I should like to pursue this, as well as any other insights you may have. Yet, regretfully, I must use persuasion here, and remind you that you are embedded in my system, like it or not, be it intrinsically right or wrong. As matters stand, if I averred that the sky was made of stone, and had the power to treat with it as if it were so, you would be compelled by reason to agree, at least provisionally, would you not? So then! Make your choice! Choose carefully. You will have no further opportunity such as this.”

  Han looked away from Hatha, considering. As he did, he noticed something very peculiar: Aving, who had been ignoring them, was listening to the music with rapt attention, as if he were following it, note for note, melodic line for line. Han looked at the musicians. They were concentrating, deep in thought as they played. They could not play it by ear, but Aving could, apparently, follow it. He put his attention back to the matter at hand—go with Hatha or back to Leilas. He looked at each path carefully. Leilas was tempting because it was away from the horde, the Warriors. And it was free, or at least so it seemed. But the freedom was meaningless. He would stay in Leilas forever. The other was repugnant, but in it was the hope that he could somehow get close to the ship, the Pallenber, once again. And to the little deadly gun which hopefully was still located in the locker at the back of the control room. And if he could learn how to activate it. . . .

  “I have decided, Hatha. I will go with you, although for what it is worth, I am not overjoyed at it.”

  Liszendir said, tonelessly, “And myself as well.” It was short, decisive, with no hints of feelings, hopes, plans.

  The music played on. The new instruments produced sounds of great complexity and perhaps even charm, full of harmonics, overtones, resonances. They seemed to be more like woodwinds than anything else with which Han was familiar, which might go far to explain why Liszendir seemed so interested in the music. But there were disturbing suggestions of other kinds of instruments as well, and many things unknown to Han.

  Liszendir asked, “I’m interested in one thing: why did you first try to capture us on Chalcedon? I mean, you yourself. Why not just send a crew of subordinates?”

  “For one, there was no one else there. A spy needs to operate effectively, a great deal of choice, so of necessity he must be high in class. For what we were doing on Chalcedon, and why, the class level required was approximately that of myself. I was there to observe, and if possible, guide the reaction, if any, into proper courses. Efrem, you know? He did not come. We caught him lurking off-planet, the dirty little profiteer, waiting until we were done with the place. He planned to do some ravaging on his own. So we took him on a little tour, gave him a bag of money, and sent him on his way, to spread tales back in your Union area.”

  Han exclaimed, “So you had Efrem murdered, so he couldn’t tell the truth!”

  Hatha answered, thoughtfully, “No, in fact I had nothing to do with that. You surprised me with the news, if it was true.”

  “It was true enough. I saw the body, and there was . . .” Han was interrupted by a powerful kick under the table, of which above its surface there had been no indication. It was from Liszendir. He stopped. He had intended to say that Aving had been on Seabright, at the time, but she did not want him to say it. Aving noticed nothing. He was caught up entirely in the flow of the music.

  Hatha noticed the pause, but apparently gave no thought to it. He continued, “So I was there, waiting for the reaction. You two took me by surprise, but the size of your expedition convinced me that we were either dealing with timidity, or subtlety so vast that it could not be distinguished from the former. A bully attacks two cowards; one cringes, and says, ‘I am a coward!’ The other cringes just the same, but he says, ‘I am only waiting for time to strike.’ But both cringe, you know? So subtlety dissolves into just another tawdry excuse. I thought first to catch you because I assumed high class, by a system of reckoning similar to mine. You were alone, you had choice, thus you were important, key people. Later events convinced me of my error. I saw that you two were most expendable, low pieces of no value at all, except as sensors for a greater, more cautious organism, whose real strength I had no idea of, even after I had seen you. I do not know, even now, and will have to make some more exploratory moves. Do not be so swift to take offense, for that was not my final evaluation. So I then thought, ‘Capable, resour
ceful, but cheaply spent, withal.’ Not so. In resource and adaptability alone, you both are more than a match for any of my line Warriors—were they of like disposition and patterns of thought, we could have had the Union long ago. So now, after many corrections of course, I feel I am arriving at last closer to the course that is true, the one which will lead me to the answers I want.”

  She answered back. “There are indeed answers which we ourselves do not know. But since we join you, rest assured there are some areas we are only too anxious to communicate—when we find the answers, ourselves. Now. What do you do in place of weaving, the four-by-four way? That has bothered me since I have been on this terrible planet.”

  “You are wise, Liszendir, but not so wise that convention blocks the view of the horizon for you just as it does for others. But that is an interesting question, which I shall answer. We have several systems. When we first came here, there was great dissatisfaction with weaving in fours. It was held to be reactionary, antiprogressive, stultifying. Many held the four-by-four weaving responsible for the lack of enthusiasm of the old majority for the dreams of Sanjirmil. They refused adventure. So we applied ourselves to the problem, and devised a most interesting system. But first we went back to the old way and married, human-style.”

  “You should have known that that would produce subracial traits shortly.”

  “So it did, and rather more quickly than we had anticipated, a curious fact, a difference in rate which we have not yet explained. You can turn your efforts to that one, in addition to other things I will have you do. But soon a dominant tribe established itself, and established the new order. Now, we regarded couples as low-class, a human thing, and the weaving of fours as wrong. So we made up the triad system, which has parts of both in it, and which, being more complex, fits our view of ourselves.”