"Terrans have asked me that before," Showm said. She frowned, evidently still having difficulty with it. "There doesn't seem to be a way of answering that is readily comprehended. What you would call leaders here are not so much 'appointed' as 'recognized.' The qualities have to be there already. Devising some process that declares someone to be suitable when in fact they're not would be pointless. Such a person would never be accepted."
"Well, let's take Calazar as a case in point," Mildred suggested. Calazar had spoken for the Thuriens in the dealings with the Jevlenese and seemed to have functioned in the capacity of a planetary ruler or figurehead. The Thurien word for his title seemed to bear out what Showm had said, the nearest translation being "father-found." Terran translators had played safe by opting for the neutral "Identified One" to describe his position. According to Christian, Calazar was due to come over to the Quelsang Institute some time in the next day or two to see the the Multiporter for himself and add his own personal welcome to the team from Earth. "How did he come to occupy the position that he has?" Mildred asked. "What kind of process put him there?"
"He was selected and trained from an early age. The process…?" Showm seemed at a loss. "How could I describe it? It embodies much tradition and experience that has come together over a long time. I suppose that the form of Terran government that comes closest would be a form of monarchy… but not hereditary or elective. The nearest word would probably be 'consensual.'"
This still wasn't getting to the core issues that Mildred wanted to probe. "What if others were able to organize enough supporters with the ability to place one of their own there regardless?" she said.
"You mean forcibly?"
"Yes."
Showm made a gesture of incomprehension. "Why would anyone want that? Should it please me to have the power to compel you to live your own life otherwise than as you would choose?"
"But when all have to live by the same decision, there have to be differences at times," Mildred persisted. "How do you resolve them?"
"You're thinking in terms of Terran militarism and commerce," Showm replied. "They are both systems for allying against threats and rivalries that arise from the competitiveness that Ganymeans don't have. Our enemies are ignorance, delusion, suffering, and the natural hardships that the universe throws against all of us. Why would we pit ourselves against each other? This is where the gap between our cultures becomes unbridgeable. You have to be Ganymean to understand. It isn't something that can be explained, and you then know. It's something that you grow up with; that you feel."
Mildred pushed the file drawer closed and gazed at the skyline of mountain peaks beyond the window. "Actually, I do think I know exactly what you mean." She sighed. "The people of Earth have been blundering around for thousands of years, perfecting systems for following the absolute worst kinds of individuals. They let themselves be made to hate each other and be turned into tools for serving the narrow interests of others, when they could be building a better future for all. From what Christian tells me, I think you know enough of our history to be aware of the consequences."
"Christian?"
"My cousin: Professor Danchekker."
"Ah, yes." Showm stared for several seconds with her deep, ovoid eyes. "I don't think I've heard a Terran be that frank before. Is it truly what you believe?"
The remark was so refreshing that Mildred was unable to contain a short laugh. Christian had described to her how Frenua Showm had been the least credulous among the Thuriens in the face of Jevlenese duplicity, and the most suspicious of all human declarations and motives thereafter. "Some of us Terrans are able to see reality as it is, and not as we're told it is, you know," she replied. "It's not a question of believing anything; it's seeing with your own eyes and common sense what is… Or until quite recent times, what was, anyway. It could be starting to change." She meant since the Jevlenese scheming that had gone on for centuries was exposed. "Victor thinks so. You've met him, of course."
"Hunt, the Englishman? Yes."
"But as for our parade of illustrious princes, conquerors, and shapers of society?" Mildred made a sad face. "The worst of the thieves and the scoundrels. None of their fortunes was ever amassed honestly. They all came from living off the backs of the real producers of anything, however else it might have been camouflaged. There's something defective about people who find satisfaction in that or admire it in others; they're not complete as human beings. But they're the ones who have always had the positions of power. Very rational materialists, no doubt, and highly capable when it comes to pursuing this goal of 'efficiency' that they seek in everything. But lacking in the emotional capacity and feeling for human values that a healthy and sane culture needs to be founded on."
Showm was warming to this echoing of her own feelings that she evidently hadn't expected to hear. "The organized violence that you call war is not only abhorrent but incomprehensible to us," she replied. "No person capable of experiencing empathy and compassion could be capable of ordering such things. And subordinating a life to obsessively accumulating possessions in place of cultivating the works that make life truly rewarding is mystifying indeed. Thuriens behaving in such a way would be regarded with concern and sympathy." She paused to eye Mildred searchingly for a moment. "But I'm not sure that our differences are attributable purely to our respective origins in the way you assume. Ours is also a far older culture."
"You think it might be a matter of the Thuriens being more mature as a race?" Mildred asked.
"Possibly. In part, anyway."
"They certainly show more of the characteristics that I'd describe as 'adult,'" Mildred agreed. "It makes so much of what we've seen on Earth appear as the antics of spiteful adolescents in comparison." She had made the same point to Christian on several occasions. Showm seemed surprised to hear this assessment coming from a Terran-impressed, even. Mildred paused, then went on, "Although it is true that Thurien progress came to a halt for a long time, isn't it?" She was referring to the period of stagnation that occurred following Thuriens' attainment of immortality after their migration to the Giants' Star, which they later abandoned.
"Even without that, we were a spacegoing race long before humans existed," Showm pointed out.
"Well, all right, yes, I suppose so…"
"And in those earlier times we went through a phase of what you would probably call hyperrational materialism, too. Before the migration from Minerva, our ancestors considered moving to Earth. They sent survey missions there and set up bases. But nothing in their experience had prepared them for the ferocious competition of life that they found there. They knew that they could never coexist with such a pattern. And so, they…" Showm's voice faltered. She was unable to finish the sentence.
"I know," Mildred said quietly, and nodded. "You don't have to explain. Christian told me about it." The early Ganymeans had embarked on a program to exterminate the higher forms of Terran life with the aim of clearing the territory for their own kind and forms of life compatible with it to move in. Parts of Earth subjected to the pilot experiments had remained deserts to the present day. But the experience had proved too traumatic and filled with unexpected consequences for the Ganymeans involved. So the notion of moving to Earth was forgotten, and the program to move the entire race to a new star system took shape in its place.
"It isn't something that Thuriens normally talk to Terrans about," Showm said. She appeared to be a little taken aback. "Because of uncertainty as to the possible reactions. I was prepared to tell you because you seem more understanding than many might be."
"It came from Victor," Mildred replied. "He learned the story from the Ganymeans of the Shapieron-before there was any contact with Thurien."
"Ah, yes… In that case, I see." Showm nodded. "And you don't hold it against us? I find that… curious."
Mildred smiled, at the same time snorting scornfully. "I don't think anyone from a species with a record like ours would be in any position to condemn the lapses of another,"
she replied. "Especially when you were able to learn so much from it-about yourselves and about the true consequences of one's actions. That's more than can be said for the geniuses who led Terrans by the millions from one slaughter to another through millennia, and learned nothing."
"You are wise," Showm commented. "You understand truth. So why don't Terrans allow people like you to lead?"
Mildred laughed delightedly. "We've been through that! I'd never be appointed. They don't want to hear what's true. They want to hear whatever justifies their prejudices."
"Like children who think they can change reality by wishing it so. On Thurien you would be listened to."
"Well then, there's your difference, Frenua."
A movement outside the window caught Mildred's eye. A bird had come out of a tree to swoop down over the stream tracing a rocky course along the valley floor. She watched it climb again until it was soaring against the sky. Behind it in the distance, incongruously, the long, slender shape of a bright yellow zeppelin with red markings was hanging above the mountains. "VISAR, what's that doing there?" Mildred demanded in astonishment.
"Oh, just an experiment I dreamed up to add in some variety. Would you rather I stuck strictly to authenticity?"
Victor had mentioned that one of the tasks VISAR had set itself was trying to plumb the subtleties of Terran humor, and it had taken to injecting peculiar effects into its creations in an effort to arrive at some understanding of what worked and what didn't. He had told VISAR to be sure to let him know if it ever figured the answers out, because as a human he'd like to know, too-which apparently hadn't done much to help the machine draft its game plan. But it was persevering. "No, it's okay," Mildred responded. "Now I'm curious to see what comes next." She thought for a second. "Although, thinking about it, you could put Lynx here. My office really isn't complete without her, you know." The cat promptly appeared, curled up asleep on the window sill.
"I've been developing a theory that a culture's picture of science reflects the level of maturity that it has reached," Showm said. "In the same kind of way as the worldview of an individual. Fairies and enchantment are the stuff of childhood."
"It's true of Thuriens, too?"
"Oh, yes. Materialism and pragmatism of the kind you talk about come with adolescence. We went through it long ago, and Earth is perhaps just beginning to emerge. It goes with the fixation on the shorter term and inability to see beyond self that are the prelude to maturity. But eventually the realization comes that the important things are not all the mysteries that the materialist sciences can explain, but the things that they can't."
"The Thuriens concern themselves with such things?" Now it was Mildred's turn to be surprised.
"The purpose of life and of mind," Showm said. "Where the quest for greater understanding becomes directed when physical knowledge alone proves inadequate."
"You don't think they are just accidental byproducts of physics, then, the way our scientists would have us believe?" That was another area in which Mildred had provoked her cousin's ire over the years, by steadfastly refusing to accept his pronouncements-although lately there had been signs that he might be having second thoughts about some things.
Showm made an expression coupled with an utterance that Mildred was unable to interpret. "No more than that VISAR is just an accidental byproduct of the configuration of optronics that supports it. Only a culture in its materialist phase could have conceived such an impossibility and believed it."
"Adolescence," Mildred said. "Having banished the fairies of childhood, it makes itself the lord of all that exists. Mindless matter is all that it can allow."
"Yes, exactly."
"So what exists beyond Thuriens and humans?"
"We don't know. The desire is to find out is our greatest motivation."
"Was that why the Thuriens gave up immortality?"
"Not exactly. But we realized later that it was a necessary thing to do in order to ask and understand the question."
There was a drawn-out silence. Mildred had the feeling of sharing a commonality of understanding with this alien that ran deeper than most she could remember. She was still reflecting on the strangeness of the situation, when Showm said, "Well, as I said earlier, I do have another pressing matter to take care of now. I'll leave you to experiment with your office at your leisure. But we must pursue our talk further, Mildred. It's not the kind of thing I'm used to discussing with Terrans. I live in the mountain region to the south of Thurios. You'll have to be my guest there next time-I mean in actuality, in person. But for now, I have to take my leave."
"Thank you. I'd like that," Mildred said. "Au revoir, then." And she was alone in her Bavarian office, staring out at the valley and the mountains, with the yellow-and-red zeppelin growing larger above. Lynx opened an eye, stretched, and yawned. Mildred was too filled with new thoughts to be in a mood for playing with the cat right now. VISAR seemed to pick up on it, and Lynx settled down again.
"I just think I ought to point out what an unusual honor it is to be invited in person to a Thurien's home," VISAR said. "And especially with someone like Frenua. You're the first Terran she has ever said that to. I just thought it was something you should be aware of. You've evidently made quite an impression."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bryom Calazar had a silver-gray crown flecked with white, extending down at the sides to bracket a pair of large, vertically elliptical, violet eyes. His protruding lower face with its blend of hues from mahogany to ebony always put Hunt in mind of ancient Egyptian depictions of Nubians. He arrived in the tower block next to the Multiporter building accompanied by Eesyan and a small retinue, clad in a short open coat over a tunic of embroidered green. It had never ceased to amaze Hunt that the effective head of at least an entire planetary administration-he wasn't sure how Calazar fitted in with the running of other Thurien-inhabited parts of the Galaxy-would travel as casually as a sightseeing tourist and show up with less fuss and ceremony than a regional manager back home visiting the local office. It seemed that Thuriens were as unimpressed by pomp and symbols of grandeur as they were by overassertiveness or attempts at intimidation. Reputation was what counted.
All of the Terran team were present to greet him, with the exception of Sandy, who had gone down with a Thurien bug or rebelled against something in the diet, and was holed up back at the Waldorf. There was also a heavy attendance of Thuriens, both from the project itself and other parts of the Institute, eager to pay their respects or simply to be part of the occasion. Hunt, Danchekker, and Duncan were old acquaintances of Calazar's from the time of the Jevlenese troubles and then afterward, when the first Thurien delegation came to Earth. Despite the demands for a word here, an introduction there, Calazar made a point of finding time to get to know Sonnebrandt and Chien better, to their unconcealed surprise and delight.
"This is unbelievable," Sonnebrandt said to Hunt when Calazar had moved on. "I've just talked to an interstellar overlord. He was interested in my fish and wanted to know if Berlin was like Geneva."
"Stick around. I said you'd be joining the right team… What fish?"
"I keep tropical fish."
"I didn't know that."
"You see. And he found out already!"
After the social preliminaries, Eesyan's scientists updated Calazar and his companions on the latest developments. Then it was time for the visitors to proceed to the adjacent part of the complex to see the Multiporter itself. Eesyan had arranged for some demonstrations of the machine in action. As the throng around the labs began thinning out, Hunt noticed that Danchekker was missing from the group assembling with Calazar to follow Eesyan across. "What's up?" Sonnebrandt asked, seeing the way Hunt was looking perplexedly around.
"We seem to have lost Chris." A mental nudge activated his avco. "Hey, Chris? It's Vic. Where are you? The party's moving on."
"What?… Oh." Danchekker came through on audio only, presumably not wanting to be distracted by visuals just now. "I'm in the off
ice." He and Hunt had opted to share office space adjoining the area that the Thuriens used; Thuriens seemed to prefer working communally to being isolated in individual cubbyholes. "I'll catch you up."
"Lost something?" Hunt inquired.
"Yes, as a matter of fact. Sandy made some notes that Eesyan will be needing later. I thought I'd brought them in, but I can't seem to lay my hand on them. Maybe I forgot to pick them up at the Waldorf. It's extremely annoying."
"I'll come back there and help you look."
"Really, there's no need."
"No problem. I've seen the show enough times before, anyway. I'll be there in two minutes." Hunt cleared down and looked back at Sonnebrandt. "He's in the office, looking for something. You carry on, Josef. I'll go back and give him a hand." He winked. "You know how it is with Chris. I'd hate it if he got lost trying to find his way over."
He found Danchekker rummaging around among piles of papers and boxes from Earth that had not yet been emptied. The working space was bright and spacious, with an attention to detail in the fittings that was not functional in any utilitarian sense and carried the surreal feel of an almost Victorian fondness for ornamentation that blended with the quasi-oriental decor of traceries and pointed arches. But it was a hard scientific working environment nonetheless. The walls were graphically active-in effect, complete floor-to-ceiling screens-that could be directed to display images, text, communications windows, lighting panels, or when nothing more demanding presented itself, background designs of whatever mood suited the moment. Just now, one of the larger mural areas was showing a scene from a world that had taken Danchekker's fancy in one of his "travels." It showed a stand of strange trees looking like ice-cream cones made out of broccoli, except that they stood two hundred feet high, their tops fashioned into nests for leathery, long-snouted flying creatures vaguely reminiscent of pterodactyls.
Things had been shifted around in the muddle of moving in, and a few sheets of notes could have been put anywhere. "One of the more exasperating characteristics of the female of the species," Danchekker grumbled. "Here we are on a planet who knows how many millennia in advance of our own, with universal access to a system capable of transferring any information instantly between star systems, and she resorts to handwriting notes. Is there any hope for our race, do you think?" Hunt noticed with amusement that Danchekker was searching inside a briefcase full of papers that he himself had brought from the Waldorf, but said nothing.
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