“The Fn-rr would not be so despicable as to break an agreement, my Master—would they?”
“Would you take such a chance with the future of your species? Neither would I. And neither would any other Ki!Lakken.” The Egg-Master stroked Hnaxx’s forelimb gently. “Indeed, it has been my own fondest hope that the vermin would continue to molest the Fn-rr in such great numbers that they themselves might be pushed up to their threshold of failure. Have you yourself not entertained such fantasies?”
“I confess that I do sometimes fall prey to such delusions, Master. They are occasionally delightful.”
The Egg-Master clacked its mandibles in soft delight. “You share the ambition of your Nest. A commendable trait. “It is true that we have been on this world for only a very few generations; still we have done much that we can be proud of. We have established many fine plantations and we have watched the grubs well. We have indentured many trustworthy servants—and the ones who have not been trustworthy have not remained in our indenture for long . . . as you well know. You have cleaned up their indiscretions and we have picked the bones of their children.
“Hnaxx, we have captured many grubs; we have raised them and learned how to breed many more. We have buried long years learning how to teach them well. We have taught them to forage. We have taught them what to eat and what not to eat. We have shown them what grows back and what does not. We should be seeing the fruits of these labors, and yet . . . every season there are more and more of the Fn-rr awakening from the dreams and walking into Summer.”
“They see the future, my Master. They plant to meet the sun and the rain. They root in warm soil. They spread their seeds in too many places.”
“If only it were that simple, my child. They see the future, yes, and therein lies the seed of our failure. They see the unborn grubs. The visions trouble them. The more grubs they see, the more deaths they dream, the more they are troubled, then the more seeds they spread. We cannot breed the grubs as fast as they can spread their seeds. Now, despite the predations of the terrible vermin, they still spread into our swarming grounds. I begin to think—and I say this with only the greatest reluctance—that they do it deliberately.”
“They plot our extinction?!!”
“So it would seem.”
“I cannot imagine a species being so . . . so malevolent!”
“Perhaps they feel they no longer want to share their world with us. This was their world alone in the not too distant past. Perhaps they wish to return to that time of sole burden. Perhaps they feel we have not protected them well enough. . . . Whatever the case, we must consider new possibilities now. And you, dear Hnaxx, must be part of those possibilities.”
“Whatever I can do, my lord.”
“And so you shall. Here is a conundrum for you to consider. Tell me what you see in this circumstance.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“We have been approached by the Dhrooughleem again. They are concerned for us. They see our discomfort; they wish to offer aid. They have suggested that we might wish to increase our supply of these grubs—strictly as food and larval incubators, of course—but they suggest most politely that they might be in a position to supply some very large numbers of grubs in the near future.”
“That is an interesting conundrum,” remarked Hnaxx.
“Indeed, it is.” The Egg-Master’s eyes glittered with the reflections of many small lamps. “What do you see in it?”
“I see one possibility, my Lord. It is a possibility that can be seen only by one possessed of certain experience—but because I am the one with that experience, I do see this way.”
“Speak, Hnaxx.”
“It is this, my Master. K!rikkl’s grub was too well trained. It spoke. It demonstrated that it could reason. The thought that it suggests, my father, is that the grubs may be far more intelligent than ever we suspected. Perhaps even they may be a . . .” Hnaxx lowered its head ashamedly. “I apologize in advance for what I am about to suggest, my Father. It is shameful and degrading. But I must say it here in the hope that I am wrong, rather than risk someone else saying it in the Forum and being proven right.”
“Go on,” encouraged the Egg-Master.
“Yes, my Father. The thought occurs to me that the grubs may be the members of an intelligent species. Perhaps even they are members of a species that belongs to the InterChange. If such were so—and if such were to be discovered and made public—then we would be guilty of the most heinous crime of Involuntary Subjugation. Our people could be liable to a permanent indenture. We would lose our freedom and our world. Forgive me, my lord, but I must speak this possibility in the hopes that you will tell me that I am dreadfully mistaken.”
The Egg-Master did not contradict Hnaxx—and that was the most terrifying thing that Hnaxx had ever heard; the silence of the Father.
Hnaxx said simply, “Ai-eee. We are doomed then, are we not?”
The Egg-Master lowered its head. “It is a curious puzzle—but as the pieces fall into place, the puzzle becomes less puzzling. I wonder, who are these grubs we use for food and larval incubators?”
“Perhaps the Dhroo might know—?”
“Indeed, they must! But, Hnaxx? You are not so innocent as to think that the Dhroo are themselves so blameless in the matter? Indeed, it was the Dhroo who first suggested to our ancestors, that if we were unable to protect the Fn-rr then they might be unable to meet their obligations elsewhere, and if that situation came to pass then our people would inherit sole custody of this world. We believed the Dhroo then. Now we find that the Dhroo have outplayed our hand in this cycle of the game. Should we believe them again?”
“Never, my Master. We should pour salt on the Dhroo!”
“We will have to live long enough first. The Dhroo know what they have done to us. They know what is in our egg pouch, Hnaxx! Because they put it there! There is a hungry Knrkt sleeping in our nest and very soon it will awaken. It seems to me that it is only a matter of time before the terrible truth is known and we shall be punished for our cleverness.”
“My Father, let me be impudent.” Hnaxx raised up and looked directly into the Elder’s eyes. “Is it not still possible that we can complete this cycle without discovery? If we were somehow able to celebrate a conclusion, we would have nullified the trap, would we not? In such a case, we could only be acknowledged for our cleverness rather than be punished for our crime. Such is the way the game is played. I urge you, let me look for such a solution. Let me serve the Nest. Let me serve the World.”
The Egg-Master nodded thoughtfully, rasping its mandibles in agreement. “I had hoped you would be bold enough for such a duty, my child, my little one; but there is one way immediately in which such a responsibility could be granted—”
“My Lord?”
The old one was silent for a long moment. “Your Nest would have to carry a terrible burden on behalf of the Father of All Nests. Should you fail, it would mean the dissolution of your Nest and the deaths of all the Nestlings. Are you prepared to accept such a responsibility?”
“My Father, it would be only an honor. What is thy charge?”
“Should we fail to complete this cycle of the game, should this terrible secret become known, then your Nest—the whole of it and every member—shall have to step forward to claim the honor of gracing the table at the InterChange. Do you understand?”
Hnaxx bowed its head. “My Father, I understand completely. If there is a victory here, then it is a victory for all and I will have no claim on any part of it. If there is a failure though, it shall be my Nest’s failure and ours alone—and none of it may be laid upon the table of any other Ki!. My Master, I have already accepted this honor by virtue of being your child.”
The old one clacked its mandibles appreciatively and reached out to stroke Hnaxx’s fore claw. “You are a treasure, my pretty little one. Would you like to be mounted tonight?”
“Whatever pleases you, my Lord.”
A Small Promotion
/> Yake Singh Browne thought about it for as long as he could. Then decided it was best not to think about it at all.
He swallowed hard, thought about it for the thirty-third time, decided that there was no other way, gritted his teeth, and put in his application for an audience with an Oracle.
The T’ranian Oracle.
But he didn’t expect it to be approved.
The High Council of the InterChange was comprised of the representatives of the seventeen most successful—and oldest—species in the known galaxy. The Members of the High Council were called Oracles. They were charged with the responsibility of advising the various species of the InterChange in any way they felt appropriate.
Sometimes their advice could be extraordinarily valuable. And just as often, it could prove utterly worthless. Nevertheless, the price was the same regardless of the answers given: if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.
The most expensive Oracle of all was the T’ranian Oracle.
Also known as . . . The Dragon.
The Dragons were the oldest and most successful member species in InterChange history. The Dragons had personally retired over three hundred and twelve other species.
No, Yake did not expect the application to be approved.
There were species in the InterChange that no human being had ever had contact with. Over two thousand species were registered. (More than six thousand species were known, but many of those were fortunately unable to afford membership.) Humans had met (and exchanged greetings with) one hundred and thirteen alien races. Of those one hundred and thirteen, the sons and daughters of Terra had been able to open diplomatic negotiations with nine.
It was understandable, of course.
Human beings smelled bad. And tasted worse.
Of the plus two-thousand species in the InterChange, only a small minority were mammalian, and so far the statistical evidence suggested that the universe was indeed set up to generate intelligent mammalian life only as the very rare exception to the way things were supposed to work. Most of the alien races in the galaxy had evolved from the equivalent of insects, reptiles, dinosaurs, sea-dwellers, and occasionally plants—cabbages, to be exact. On most of the worlds of the galaxy, mammal-like creatures never got the chance to come down from the trees or out of their burrows. The greatest majority of species in the InterChange were reptilian, followed by the insect-evolved and the sea-dwellers. To most of those races, mammals were . . . food. Or incubators. Or just plain vermin.
Yake was just about certain that his petition would be rejected.
(“Guess what wants to join the InterChange! No, don’t bother, you’ll never guess. You’re not going to believe this, Fzour’sx. Mammals! No, I am not pulling your gzornty. I saw them myselves. Real mammals! Yes! And they’re just intelligent enough to understand the concept of intelligence! They claim that entitles them! Well, I know! But can you believe the presumption? No, no—wait, it gets better. The way, I hear it, Fzour’sx, there was this comet that smacked into their world, and the resulting nuclear winter killed off all the dinosaurs just when they had reached the threshold of sentience. Of course, it’d be a tragedy, if it weren’t so bizarre. It was an ecological vacuum; the mammals began to evolve like fruit flies—the nasty little egg-suckers grabbed all the good ecological niches for themselves and the reptiles never got the chance to regroup. I mean, talk about your ecological opportunists! What’s that? How do they taste? I don’t know yet. Gxammel is planning a festival, maybe we’ll find out then. I’m not so sure that I want to. The way I hear it, on their planet—the mammals feed on the birds!”)
Of course, there was no such thing as species prejudice. Not in the InterChange. It was just that . . . well, few races felt comfortable speaking to something that looked as if it belonged on a plate.
No human being had ever had an audience with a Dragon before. And Yake did not expect to be the first. And then . . . the Ambassador asked him to step into his office.
When Yake entered, the Old Man was holding a copy of the application. “This is going to be very expensive, Yake,” was the Ambassador’s only comment.
“Did you want me to withdraw the petition?”
The Ambassador shook his head. “No, it’s too late for that. We’ve already been charged the application fee. Even if we withdraw the petition, we still have to pay the fee.”
The Old Man turned to stare out the window at the steep wall of cliffs opposite. The InterChange world was carved with rugged canyons so deep you couldn’t see the bottoms. Below a certain depth, it was a world of perpetual night. Outside the window, the twilight canyons were was haloed in curtains of glittering light. “I assume it’s necessary, Yake, or you wouldn’t have put in the request. It’s just that. . . .” He trailed off thoughtfully.
“Sir?”
The Ambassador sighed. “It’s the cost. I can’t help thinking—wondering—how many human beings are going to have to work for how many years to pay for this application if you’re wrong. I can’t help wondering what kind of jobs they’ll have to do.” The Ambassador looked very unhappy. “You do know, of course, how we are viewed by the other races here, Yake . . .?”
“Yes sir.”
“I can’t begrudge you the effort, Yake. You have to do your job. But please—remember who has to pay the bill when it comes due.”
“Yes sir.”
“Now, then—” The Ambassador cleared his throat. “About your request—”
“Yes, sir?”
“It’s been refused.”
“Oh. Well. . . .” Yake wasn’t surprised.
“The T’ranian Oracle never speaks to anyone below the status of Ambassadorial Delegate.”
“Oh. Well . . . it seemed like a good idea at the time.” Yake sighed—well he’d expected the petition to be rejected, why was he so disappointed?!! He sighed again and turned to go. “Okay, we’ll go to Plan B.”
“Wait a minute, Yake.”
“Sir?”
The Ambassador turned around to face him. “Yake, I hope you’re right.”
“Sir?”
“About the Dragons. I signed your promotion papers two days ago and resubmitted the application. It was approved this morning.”
For a moment, Yake didn’t have the words to reply. “Uh—thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me, Yake. Just be right. Your appointment is in an hour and a half. You’ll just have time to get suited. I took the liberty of ordering a new uniform for you. Stripes, insignia, boots—everything. Wear it all. Even the sword.”
“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir.” Yake turned to go, then stopped. “Uh, sir—just one question. This promotion—it’s only for the purpose of speaking to the Oracle, right?”
“Of course not! It’s a full promotion. Full salary, all the perks. Even your own parking place. No matter what happens in your interview with the Oracle, you’ll keep your promotion.”
“Uh, thank you, sir. But, uh—if the request hadn’t been granted—?”
“Yake, don’t ask stupid questions. And don’t keep the Oracle waiting either. And oh, yes, in case I don’t get a chance to tell you later, congratulations.”
“In case you don’t get a—uh, right. Uh, thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me, Yake.”
“Sir?”
The Ambassador looked unhappy. “Go on, now. It’s late. You’d better get going.”
“Yes, sir!”
Chess with the Dragon
Never play chess with a Dragon.
Especially not if the Dragon is the size of a house and has teeth longer than your arm.
This was common wisdom. You did not need to be a member of the InterChange to understand why.
On the other hand (as they say), if you have nothing to lose . . . you can always lose your other hand.
Yake felt intimidated.
He approached as close as he dared—but even from this distance, the Dragon was . . . well, intimidating.
The Dragon was resting o
n a small hill; it looked bored. It was hard to tell. How do you read an expression that’s as wide as a billboard?
“Ahem. . . .” Yake began hesitantly.
The Dragon looked up.
Yake blanched.
The creature was black; so black it looked like a hole in the air. Its scales shone like polished metal, a shimmering ebony nightmare. Its eyes were as large as windows, and they were the brightest shade of searing red. They looked as if they were lit from within.
The Dragon’s mouth—Yake swallowed hard—its mouth was the door into deepest hell. The Dragon’s breath was so hot, Yake could feel it from here. It felt like a blast furnace! Only not as refreshing.
Yake took an involuntary step back; then realized how that must look and forced himself to take a step forward again. “I’m Yake Singh Browne. The Terran Delegate.”
“Yesss, you are,” said the Dragon.
“Yes, I am,” said Yake. (He looked at the sky. Oh, God, did I just say that? Lord, please don’t let me be too big a fool here today.)
“You have questions?” The Dragon asked drily. It turned one great blazing eye toward Yake.
“Many questions, yes.”
“Are they interesting questionsss . . .?”
“I suppose it depends on what you would call interesting.”
“Survival is often interesting—isss it not?”
Yake thought about it. Sometimes survival demanded all of your attention. By that definition—“Yes, survival is very interesting.”
“Yesss, but only when it’s your own. Then it’s interesting. When it is not your own survival that is being discussed, it is not a matter of interest at all, is it? So I will ask again. These questions that you intend to ask, are they questions that I will find interesting?”
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