by M. A. Foster
That thought led Han onwards to the anomaly his instruments had suggested in the Dawn system. That, too, smelled. But it had been a subtle indication, possibly questionable, unlocatable. And the instruments could have been decalibrated by some inadvertent act of Hatha’s when he was flying the Pallenber manually. But for a moment, he could have been almost sure that there was something. It was true—it would take years of measurements to pinpoint the location, and actually find out what was causing it. By then, it would be too late, of course. Hatha now had two ships, and two ships was a fleet, in these parts. It was very slick, if the anomaly was, as Han suspected, another ship, hiding in the Dawn system somewhere with drives on standby and highly shielded. Han saw it as a problem in cryptology, with which he as a trader was familiar, at least with commercial applications of the arcane science. And he knew very well that the first principle of cryptology was that no system is secure perfectly, nor is it intended to be; the purpose of a system of concealment is to slow detection down until the moment of exposure is well after the actions concealed by the system. So cryptosystems slowed eavesdropping down, and then you could run an operation, capture a market, get in and get out before anyone else knew about it, or could take advantage of it. And the same principle applied here. It was hidden, well enough, and by the time anyone could read the truth in it, it would be much too late.
There were more mysteries. Dawn had a powerful magnetic field, which was good in view of the radiation being put out by the hot star that was Dawn’s primary. Otherwise, Dawn, even with a mild climate and normal rotation, would be quite uninhabitable. But planets with measurable magnetic fields switched polarity periodically, and by Kahn’s Law, the stronger the field, the greater the rate of change of polarity. Neither the ler nor the humans on Dawn would ever be aware of it, because they did not have compasses. And he didn’t know if they understood electricity or not. He suspected not. But the rate for Dawn! It must switch poles on the order of every few thousand years, or possibly even on the order of every few hundred. Han saw what had been happening on Dawn, from that.
It went approximately like this: Sanjirmil’s followers stole the ship, and fled to the edge, looking for a planet where they would not be located for many years, years beyond counting. They happened on the world Dawn, and settled on it. Some years later, cruising about, probably on the lookout for other planets, they detected a human colony ship bound somewhere. This they captured, probably with the motive of slave-taking in mind, and nothing more than that. It would not have attracted much notice—many of the early ships were lost, and never seen again; a certain attrition rate was part of the risk. They returned to Dawn, to institute their new slave-based society. Then perhaps the original ship malfunctioned, or they forgot how to fly it. Individual ler would probably not forget, but the society could over a few negligent generations. So the ship became a holy relic, and a period of long quiet ensued. The humans were either enslaved and domesticated, or turned loose on Dawn to fare as they could. Who would care? They couldn’t get off the planet, even if they thought such a thing were possible. And every few generations, the human and ler populations of Dawn would get a massive dose of radiation from their primary, when the planet’s magnetic field was switching, and all barriers were down to charged particles. Effects of this would show in the humans, but the ler would begin to show effects immediately. It would probably run their already-high mutation rate completely off the scale. And long before, they had abandoned the wide-pool braid system, which would certainly have delayed any change, and might have saved them. So instead of advancing, or maintaining certain superior traits, they were devolving, and as far as Han could tell, were actually below the human norm in abilities. That, of course, would make no difference to the slaves—they had been conditioned to believe in ler superiority for thousands of years, and would have never had the opportunity to see anything different. But for the ler, they were back to city-states and bands of nomads, and they had apparently lost the ability for Multispeech. A few more thousand years and they would be back to body language, grunts and squeals, and would lose what little civilization they had. That would have been bad enough on a planet which had run its own evolutionary sequence through time to the point where complex organisms like man could survive, even in the wild state, but this was not possible on Dawn—the ecology was simply too primitive, and very likely wouldn’t improve much, even in the very long run. There was potential for a circular, man-only system, but that wasn’t a very pretty one any way you figured it. And what was happening to the humans, while the Dawn ler were devolving?
But now there was a kink in the program: the ler on Dawn, a culture hardly above the ability to forge spears, were operating a monster warship which dropped meteors as weapons. All this very definitely pointed to an agency or persons standing behind the Warriors and using them as a screen. But who were they, if it was indeed a “they.” and what was the underlying purpose, the one which was being screened, not the screener? Han, since Chalcedon, had wanted to hurry back to Seabright, and tell Hetrus that his suspicions were wrong. Now he felt an even more urgent need to hurry back and tell him that he had been, in essence, right. But, as it appeared, there was for the present little chance of telling Hetrus anything.
In the afternoon, Hatha and Liszendir arrived from wherever they had been, and both of them seemed pleased with themselves. Hatha disappeared again, almost immediately, but Liszendir hurried over to Han. She spoke in a low tone, very fast.
“I can’t say this except quickly, nor can I explain much. You will have to take it on faith. He will be back—he is not gone for long. Three things: one, this triad-oversex thing is a nightmare. They have no sex as adolescents, and in fertility, the offspring are raised by the predominantly female triads. They think no sex increases your strength. Vital-fluids doctrine, if you can believe it. Even the worst humans have given that cult up in disgust. Second: if Hatha offers you a female human, or offers you a choice of one, take what choice you can. He thinks that what we did was mere hunger, sensual gratification. He must not suspect anything more than that. Act like some barbarian lord: he will approve. And you must not think in reference to me or what we have done. Think of it as if I were helping you become woven, as you will do for me someday, I hope. You must remember that she will, however strange, be of your own kind, and I wish it of you. Understood? Good. Third: there is something very wrong here. What is the word you use? Synchronization? They do not have it here. Things are badly distorted somehow. I do not understand what I have seen, but it is coming. And I do not like the outline that is taking shape.”
Han knew he had to make his decision with her now, no second thoughts, no turning back. And what they had done, what they had been, would never be again. It was like the conditions which set up a total eclipse: they approached maximum, they culminated, the bright spot of the returning sun appeared, and the eclipse was over. They had, now, only the residue to live with: memories and commitments, to be discharged in ways outside the body and beyond the heart. He answered, “One—it figures. Two—I will do what I can, but if I have changed you, you have changed me, too. Three: I know.” They had no more time: Hatha could be heard approaching around the corner. He came into the room.
“We have had a most interesting tour. I must say that this girl is flexible and alert far beyond her years and sex. I will be overlooking much for her services. And you have a part in this as well—do not dissemble! I can detect your influence, and much to my surprise, I find it generally beneficial.”
Han answered, neutrally, “That sounds wonderful.”
“Now, Han, you and I,” Hatha said, waving Liszendir off, “have an area to explore. Have you thought of some way you might be of service to us, while you have been waiting?” Liszendir left the room through a door to the rear.
“Well, in fact, something has been on my mind, since we came to your camp, here. I think, if I may speak freely, that your defense system could stand some improvement, otherwise when your
conquest starts, you’re going to be wide open. Those meteors may be fine against a planetary population but against armed ships who can see you before you see them . . . Do you see? I’d like to see your ship, your equipment how your people operate it. Perhaps I can suggest some ideas. You are going to have to keep your hindside covered.” He thought if what he suspected was true, that that small action would change little.
“There is warrior’s wisdom in what you say. I, too, have thought on this, since you brought it up yesterday. So then. Matters shall proceed! We will go to the ship!”
“Now?”
“On the very instant. Come along. We will gather some rations along the way.”
Hatha turned and barked an order to a subordinate who apparently had been waiting just behind the main door. There were sounds of departure, and only minutes later, returning. The functionary reappeared, saluted, and left. Hatha montioned to Han, and marched off through the door. Han followed and outside, saw Hatha disappearing into one of the shuttle from the warship. He caught up with him, the door closed, and with no preliminaries, Hatha activated the shuttle, and began flying a course towards the warship.
They arrived in a reception bay similar to the one through which Han remembered himself and Liszendir marching. How long ago had that been? It seemed like a very long time, but he could not scale it to any time frame with which he was familiar. Six months? A year? It was much like before, but this time they began to follow the maze of corridors, upwards, and the surroundings began to take on a more operational look. Finally, they arrived at a large room with a low ceiling, curiously low, which had the distinctive aspect of a command center. It was almost completely filled with panels and light displays, now mostly deactivated. A few screens, apparently cathode-ray and not micro vision, were mounted on some panels. There was only a handful of people in the room. These were all seated before—Han could not believe his eyes—what appeared to be radar scopes. It looked crude.
The operation came to attention as Hatha entered the room. Commanded, they explained their equipment and duties, and as they became more involved in so doing, warmed up, and spoke freely, and with considerable pride. Han paid close attention to them as they discussed their detection system, of which they were knowledgeable, at least in how it worked. They thought it was the best in the universe. Han thought otherwise, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Range-azimuth radar scopes, coupled through receivers and amplifiers directly to steerable mechanical antennas mounted atop the warship. Incredible! It was like a class in ancient history, with a neolithic farmer explaining how a broken branch could be used as a plow. Yes, the women went in front. They could pull, but steering was a finer art.
After a time, Han was able to understand enough of their system to make some suggestions for some slight improvements, which would not, considering their equipment limitations, materially increase their capabilities, but it would seem to. He also busied himself jotting down some notes for a set of operating instructions, since the operators were, for all their pride, manifestly too ignorant to make them for themselves. Han also agreed to train additional triads, who would be required either for use or backup duties, when the new system was implemented.
“Now,” he said. “How about communications? Delegation of authority? Identification? Rules of engagement?” The answers he got stupefied him. They had electrical communications within the ship, but outside, on the plains, they used couriers and heliographs, whose light source could be supplanted with lanterns when the light level was low. These last used a complex, highly redundant code which the Warriors considered a paragon of secrecy. Han suggested some improvements, but for the present, no really radical changes. A simplified code. Better heliographs with a narrower beam. And a powered light line direct from the ship to Hatha’s tent complex. And yes, a duty officer with some authority.
To Han’s surprise, Hatha readily agreed, vastly impressed and not at all discomfited by Han’s suggestions and evaluations, which Han himself thought were all rather overly obvious. As they toured the rest of the command room, Han found another piece of the puzzle he was working on. They had only simple detection; nothing that could even be called modern, by the remotest stretch of the imagination. And the command room had the same air of hasty improvisation and newness as the part he had seen earlier. That was interesting indeed. When the ship was rebuilt, whoever did the work left out—was it on purpose?—the very thing they could have used right here on their own planet. But he kept those speculations to himself. And he was not quite up to pressing too closely into origins, not unless he had some further sign from Hatha. He pronounced himself satisfied with his tour, and began outlining projects which Hatha would need to oversee or at least approve.
Hatha appeared to be both astounded and grateful. As they returned to the shuttle, he fairly bubbled with enthusiasm.
“Ah, yes, cooperation and progress! My boy, if all took your attitude we would be spared the onerous and time-consuming tasks of bombardment, siege, reduction. You are a very storehouse of valuables, which you volunteer. Rewards and honor! I hope we will see more of this. As you see, things are in need of improvement. True, work has been done, but it always seemed, somehow, unfinished, do you know? I am no technician, I do not know these things personally, but I have always felt that somehow, some quality was . . . not right.”
“I thought you were going to sell me.”
“That was a hasty remark engendered by the events on Chalcedon. Actually, aside from your knowledge, you have no great value in particular. No offense intended, but you are too close to the wild stock to be of any value to those who make a specialty of refining pure strains. Our domestic varieties are highly refined.”
Han thought ruefully that here, in Hatha’s remarks, was part of the reason why they were going downhill steadily on Dawn. The ler were devolving on Dawn, and the humans, whatever they were after an unknown number of years of selective domestication, were, if Han knew anything about slaves, probably glad enough to get the next meal. Hatha interrupted his train of thought.
“Understand, I am no breeder myself. I consider it all a waste of time, to labor over an essentially alien species while one’s own seems to get nowhere, no matter what we do. And matters have not improved with the ship, either.”
“How long has this domestication been going on?”
“Since the first, when the humans were captured. At first, with the raids on Chalcedon, we thought the new blood would build up the stock types we had; but most knowledgeable breeders now hold that the new acquisitions will only lead to new types. When they got the captives back here, they were definitely different, compared with the old types, even where there was a superficial resemblance. And of course, none of them have been as flexible as you.”
Han bit his tongue again. More flexible, indeed! A batch of farmers and small tradesmen and children, sifted for their physical characteristics; they would be both ignorant and terrified. How could they be expected to know anything about spaceships, and even if they had, who could have been expected to volunteer anything? But something else was apparent here, something that measured how far down the ler on Dawn had gone: they would not have made the mistake of thinking the new captives looked like the old if they had retained the eidetic memory which was characteristic of mainstream ler. Indeed, it was one of the main reasons why ler navigators flew space manually—they could compare two views of the sky from different points and make up a mental stereo image in their minds. Given two positions in space, the ler pilot “saw” space in three dimensions in a plane at right angles to the line of movement. But neither Hatha nor any of the Warriors, apparently, realized this. Nor did Hatha realize how much he had given Han. The Warriors could be outwitted.
“Well, I promised you reward, and reward you shall have, if you will.” A calculating gleam came into Hatha’s eyes. “I will set aside some quarters for you, a place to work, and assign a clerk or two. But, best of all, you may, at my expense, select a female of your choice.
You see! Already you rise in status! I grant you choices even many of us do not have.”
“How shall I exercise this choice? I have seen few humans, the old people, in this camp.”
“There will be no problem at all. Because you have not seen the klesh does not mean that they do not exist. Ah, humans. If you lived in a cave, you would deny that stars existed. But more seriously, during normal times, there would be few, at least so that you could see them. But it happens that now, this season, we hold a winter exhibition of our art—our only art form, by the way. Would you say sub-racial types, or breeds? Or perhaps tribes. But at any rate, come along! Exert choice! Be discriminatory!”
Han entered the shuttle with Hatha. He suddenly felt uneasy, apprehensive; he did not think that he really wanted to see the product of several thousand years of forced breeding. What would klesh look like? Would the Warriors have aimed for beauty or function? And, more importantly, in whose terms? Han expected to see, at least in part, freaks, mutants, deformities, teratological amazements. But he went. They flew to an area north of the ship, quite far from Hatha’s own place. Night was already falling in the short day cycle of the winter of Dawn; below, as they flew, Han could see a large complex, partly by its shape, partly by scattered lights around it. It seemed rather better lit than most of the camp. Hatha waxed proud.