Chess With a Dragon

by David Gerrold

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  CHESS WITH A

  DRAGON

  David Gerrold

  BenBella Books, Inc.

  Dallas, Texas

  Copyright © 1987, 2014 by David Gerrold

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  BenBella Books, Inc.

  10300 N. Central Expressway

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  www.benbellabooks.com

  Send feedback to feedback@benbellabooks.com

  First e-book edition: January 2014

  ISBN 9781939529633

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:

  Gerrold, David, 1944–

  Chess with a dragon.

  (A Millennium book)

  “A Byron Preiss book.”

  Summary: Humanity tries to escape enslavement by intergalactic aliens.

  [1.Science fiction] I. Torres, Daniel, ill.

  II. Title. III. Series.

  PZ7.G312Ch 198 [Fic] 87-8202

  ISBN 0-8027-6688-9

  Distributed by Perseus Distribution

  perseusdistribution.com

  Cover design by Sarah Dombrowsky and Jenna Sampson

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  Significant discounts for bulk sales are available. Please contact Glenn Yeffeth at glenn@benbellabooks.com or 214-750-3628.

  Contents

  A Game of Nestlings

  The Smile and the Slime

  The Teeth of the Slug

  A Night to Dismember

  The Cold Earth

  An Offer of Employment

  A Quiet Objection

  Best of the Breed

  The Gang of Four

  No Small Reward

  A Small Promotion

  Chess with the Dragon

  A Glass of Bheer

  A Game of Rh/attes and Dragons

  The Librarian’s Nightmare

  The Cheese Stands Alone

  The Quiet Anger

  Unlocking The Ki!

  Another Glass Of Bheer

  The Slime and the Smile

  The Warm Lands

  The Clack of the Ki!Lakken

  The Last Card is Turned

  Endgame

  A Game of Nestlings

  K!rikkl polished its mandibles slowly while it considered the layout of the game board. There was much too much at stake and there were far too many unanswered questions. Perhaps it had been a mistake to accept this invitation.

  For instance, how many eggs were in the Dead Mother’s Egg Pouch—and what kind? K!rikkl knew there had to be at least three fat Xlygit larvae and a Knrkt; G!ligglix’s aggressive betting was proof enough of that; but if there weren’t any host-grubs, then the pouch was valueless. To K!rikkl, anyway. Complicating the matter was the fact that G!ligglix already claimed to have a whole family of host-grubs in its Nest; but as far as K!rikkl could tell, G!ligglix did not yet have a Knrkt. But then again, maybe G!ligglix didn’t want one. A Knrkt could be its own worst enemy.

  “!” said K!rikkl in quiet annoyance. This was not working out at all well.

  “??” questioned Hnaxx, turning a multi-faceted eye in K!rikkl’s direction.

  “A remark of annoyance, my dear host. You may perhaps be far too good a player for my skills. This game promises to last long into the night.”

  “Should the game last that long, my dear guest, it will be a grand testimony to your own skill.”

  “If we do not starve to death first,” agreed K!rikkl.

  G!ligglix giggled. “I think you overestimate all of our abilities. . . .”

  K!rikkl ignored the remark. G!ligglix was a fat, rude, grossly distended, gluttonous, ill-mannered, profiteering liar. G!ligglix was also quite rich—which was why K!rikkl had considered joining the game at all. Now, K!rikkl was beginning to discover just how G!ligglix had gotten so rich. As a result K!rikkl’s goals for the evening were beginning to shift. The young Ki!lakken had initially thought to play for brooding-advantage; now it seemed more cautious to simply play for quiet survival.

  K!rikkl clicked again and considered the possibilities.

  In order to complete its own Nest and close the Blue Cycle with a breeding, it would have needed to find host-grubs elsewhere on the playing field. That no longer seemed possible. All the host-grubs had either been eaten or claimed. Without grubs, K!rikkl’s only hope of survival to the Dawn Cycle would be through neutering—and that was always a bad idea.

  Hm. Perhaps it could barter a single grub from Hnaxx. Although it wasn’t an official rule, the way the game was generally played, the host was honor-bound to succor a needy guest—except all of Hnaxx’s grumbs had already been impregnated. And now, Hnaxx was studying K!rikkl’s discomfort with a wry amusement.

  That left only Hnaxx’s young broodling, Rrr. A very unlikely possibility, K!rikkl decided. Rrr was already too close to the honor of Gracing the Table. There was very little possibility of Rrr giving advantage to anyone else—at least not unless there was also significant gain to Rrr’s own nest.

  The question was—what was in Rrr’s nest?

  Hmm.

  No, that wouldn’t work. There was nothing to be gained by lending an advantage to Rrr. Besides, Rrr was young and tender. There was a lot of juice and protein in that exoskeleton. K!rikkl wasn’t the only Ki! Who’d noticed the plump tenderness of the youngest player. By unspoken agreement of the more experienced players, Rrr had already been selected as the guest of honor for the banquet later this evening.

  No. Definitely no. Rrr was not the solution to K!rikkl’s problem on the playing board. Indeed, if K!rikkl aided Rrr, it might very well find itself the target of the other layers’ enmity—and the cautious Ki! knew where that led. K!rikkl had no intention of taking Rrr’s place on the table of Hnaxx the Munificience.

  Hmm. And hmm again.

  K!rikkl arched its large green triangular head forward and made soft clicking noises in its throat. It bent itself low and gave a tremendous performance of studying the board, blinking and peering and tapping at the pieces with ferocious deliberation.

  Yes.

  There was no other way.

  K!rikkl made a decision.

  It sat back on its haunches and growled low in its throat. A sign of annoyance and frustration.

  “A cough perhaps?” inquired Hnaxx politely.

  “Yes, perhaps,” replied K!rikkl noncommittally. The whole thing st
ank of a trap. The seven other players—distant members of Hnaxx’s Nest—waited politely while K!rikkl polished its mandibles politely. Finally, with deliberate grace and elegance, K!rikkl withdrew a blue silk scarf from its sleeve and laid it across the game board.

  One of the other players made a sound of disgust with its hind rasps. Rrr backed away from the board in silent relief. G!ligglix clacked impatiently. “A suspension, K!rikkl?”

  “Unfortunately, dear G!liggl, one must attend to the needs of the physical world before one can achieve the spiritual.”

  K!rikkl inclined its head to each of the players in turn, “I invite you to refresh yourselves as well so that we need not be interrupted again.” The Ki! smiled and straightened itself and stepped back away from the low dais of the game field.

  As it stepped toward the door, K!rikkl clacked a warning syllable to the host-grub it used as a burden-beast; the pale pink creature gobbled back a nonsense syllable of its own from where it squatted in the corner. The thing was almost as fat and naked as a larva—and it was getting embarrassingly large as well. K!rikkl would have to plant eggs in the grub soon or someone might begin asking the wrong kind of questions.

  Keeping its features impassive, the Ki! moved with a quick, high-stepping gait; it bowed through the gossamer curtains of the pavilion and out into the night. The low building behind it glowed with muted blue warmth.

  The others complained, but they tossed their egg-pouches onto the table and followed. Protocol demanded that no Ki! stay unattended in the room with the board and the other players’ pouches. Throwing a silk therefore had only limited strategic value in the overall structure of the game. It worked against the other players’ balance much more than it worked against their positions. Nevertheless—an experienced player could take advantage of even the smallest possibilities. . . .

  K!rikkl was neither hungry nor thirsty; nor did its bowels need emptying. Nor did it need to lay an egg. K!rikkl did not need to polish its carapace, nor did it need to groom its foreclaws or even empty its parasite pouch—but there were other needs, much more important, so K!rikkl began to take care of all of its intimate physical functions anyway.

  The Ki! stepped haughtily across the carefully manicured lawn to the lush grove of dormant Fn-rr and began digging a trench for its excreta. K!rikkl dug slowly and patiently, scraping its hindclaws through the soft dark earth with the utmost of care. It was still several months until the Spring when the Fn-rr would begin walking and talking again. This far south, the Fn-rr spent almost as much of the year rooting themselves as they spent being ambulatory—but the Fn-rr were only dormant, not unconscious. They often remembered the events that occurred during their dream-time; many of the Ki! hoped that the care that they took in fertilizing the roots of the Fn-rr would be remembered and rewarded in the Summer.

  At least that was the justification for being so thorough and meticulous.

  K!rikkl filled the trench with a jet of oily fluid and then pushed the dirt gently and precisely back over it. Then it paused to polish its foreclaws carefully with a soft silken cloth before it turned back to its companions.

  K!rikkl knew that it couldn’t delay the procedure of the game for too long or that would truly arouse the questions of the others; but nonetheless it paused to sniff and chew a small bundle of herbs before turning back to the pavilion. It offered the herbs to the others, but they politely declined. K!rikkl waved its foreclaws in amusement and clacked its mandibles in gaudy appreciation. The sound echoed loudly across the lawn. “Well,” K!rikkl trilled loudly to Hnaxx and the others. “Shall we play?”

  The host-grub was still sitting in the corner; it paid no attention as the Ki! stepped back into the pavilion. It was grooming or playing with or examining the soft flesh of its body—probably looking for fleas. K!rikkl clacked at it; the creature looked up and gobbled back, then resumed its abstracted examination of itself. K!rikkl snicked in annoyance and then turned its attention back to the board, lifting the silk scarf and considering the possibilities again.

  K!rikkl waited until all the others had resumed their positions, then blinked and tapped and hesitated—and made the move it had already decided to make long before it threw the scarf, a move so deliberately neutral it suggested that K!rikkl had decided not to breed at all for the next six cycles of the game. K!rikkl glanced over at the grub in the corner. It was counting the toes of its left hind foot.

  Hmm.

  Perhaps there were breeding possibilities with Rrr, after all. Not just here in the game, but beyond its boundaries as well. If Rrr survived, K!rikkl might—just might—indenture the Ki! as a mate. But . . . if Rrr were to survive the evening, then who might take its place? Hnaxx? (Too bony. And besides, it was considered bad manners to eat the host, no matter how bad a player it was.) Lggn’nk? (Maybe. But Lggn’nk seemed greasy and unappetizing.) Dxxrt? (Possibly. But Dxxrt was too cautious a player to be trapped.) G!ligglix would be ideal, of course . . . all that juicy fat—

  The grub had ceased its examination of its foot and was now picking parasites out of the dark folds of its crotch.

  So! G!ligglix did have a Knrkt after all! That meant that its aggressive betting was only a bluff to encourage the other players to extend themselves too soon! What a marvelous trap G!ligglix was laying. If it succeeded, it could turn loose a very hungry Knrkt on the egg pouches of all of the other players and guarantee itself a permanent breeding advantage.

  K!rikkl kept its face impassive. If G!ligglix could be forced to keep its egg pouch sealed until the Knrkt awoke—and Knrkts always woke up hungry—G!ligglix could be eaten out of the game and onto the table before even the first generation was ambulatory! Hmm. And hmm again. What an absolutely delicious possibility. . . .

  But it would have to be very carefully managed. Either Rrr or Hnaxx would have to come into enough of a fortune to shift the balance of trading; the breeding negotiations could not be opened while there were still incomplete trades. If the close of barter could be delayed through three more rotations—no, that would be too obvious. Besides Hnaxx was already befortuned; it would have to be Rrr—but any advantage shifted to Rrr would have to be done anonymously. Perhaps on the next scramble—or better yet, the one after that; but it was going to be very tricky to arrange. An advantage should not be used to betray itself—especially not this advantage.

  This was going to require some study.

  If the other players ever found out just how thoroughly trained the fat pink host-grub really was, it would not be long thereafter that K!rikkl would be the guest of honor at a stinging. Or worse. K!rikkl might find itself hosting grubs of its own.

  K!rikkl rasped its hind legs together in a loud absent-minded whirr. G!ligglix looked up curiously; the others continued to study the markers on the inlaid board.

  “Your pardon, dear G!lig,” said K!rikkl, lowering its eyes shyly. “I was just considering a most interesting possibility.”

  G!ligglix’s reply was noncommittal.

  The Smile and the Slime

  The Liaison Officer was a slug.

  It floated in a glass tank, blowing frothy green bubbles as it spoke. The voice that came through the speakers was a wet, slobbery gurgle.

  Yake Singh Browne, Assistant Liaison Officer with the One Hundred and Thirteenth Interstellar Mission, listened politely to the soft whispering of the translator in his ear without expression. The Dhrooughleem were so painfully polite, it was depressing. There were at least sixty-three ritual courtesies to every Dhrooughleem transaction.

  Yake stood quietly with his hands at his sides, waiting for the Dhrooughleem to finish. The slug-thing in the tank was finally concluding the blessing of Browne’s genetic lineage, his parents, his egg-cluster-siblings, his mating-triad, his territorial governance, and the noble egg-clusters he had already—or perhaps would soon—sire upon his brothers in the pond. The translators weren’t sure. Or perhaps the concept was untranslatable because there was no human equivalent. In any case, it made for some fascin
ating daydreams.

  The Dhrooughleem Liaison finished its recitation and waited without expression for Yake’s response. Keeping his face carefully blank (a smile was considered an insult to a slug, the showing of one’s teeth implied that one was thinking of the other as a possible meal), Yake began to thank the Dhroo Liaison profusely. His thanks went on for several moments; it wasn’t exactly a formal part of the ritual, but it was an expected one.

  When Yake finally finished, the Dhrooughleem burbled something green. The translator whispered: “Unfortunately, as pleasant-garble as it is to acknowledge each other—garble-garble, tree-shrews taste terrible—occasionally we must pause to garble-garble our respective purposes as well.”

  Yake agreed. He turned around to the desk beside him and picked up a folder of documents. “You have been so helpful to us, Mn Dhrooughlorh, that I hesitate to ask new impositions of you, and yet—it seems that there is still much my people do not understand. There are many more subjects about which we would like to experience clarification. I have taken the trouble of preparing a list—”

  He held it out to the Liaison’s mechanical manipulators.

  The Dhrooughleem made no move to take the folder. “May I respectfully garble-garble a new subject, Mr. Browne?” it asked.

  Yake tried to hide his surprise. “I beg your pardon?” In eight hundred and twelve previous meetings with the Dhrooughleem, the subjects covered had been so meticulously according to ritual, the meetings could have been scripted in advance. This was a total break in protocol—

  “—must abase myself with a thousand salt water apologies for garbling the pattern of grace and [pneumatic gill-slits] and [soft red mud] which we have so carefully wrought together—”

  Yake struggled to keep his face impassive. He hoped that the monitors were getting all this. Indeed, they should already be ringing for the Ambassador.

  “—may I have your permission to garble a concern?”

  Yake felt uncomfortable. The translating circuits were having greater than usual difficulty with the Dhrooughleem inflections. Clearly, something was not right. “Yes, of course, Mn Dhrooughlorh,” he said. “Please continue to garble—I mean, share your circumstance.”