Spy Station

by J. M. R. Gaines

  “It was not all a bed of flowers!” snapped Entara. “By the way, it’s fifty-nine young so far. Listen, I will tell you all something that I do not always share. You were right in a sense to call my marriage unfortunate. True, it was a source of high esteem for the Eyes of Alertness. True, my husband Tays’she was a superlative artist, still held in high regard by the severest judges of the Brotherhood. Within the household, things were not so wonderful. My daughter will probably not admit this publicly, but my mate was abrasive and inconsiderate. I confess to you that he took another female as First Wife and relegated me to Second, a great dishonor among us. At times, he also had plans…” She paused as she recalled how Tays’she had plotted with human mercenaries to do away with her and the first group of children. “To do things that were disadvantageous and even damaging to our offspring. It was my choice to stay with him after his mind was destroyed by his own maliciousness. I confess that I was tempted to leave Forlan with Klein and but for the sake of the growing bodies within me, I probably would have done it. For all you know,” she added with a knowing glance at Ayan’we, remembering that night she was prepared to commit suicide, “I might have contemplated even graver things that I will not mention here. For all this, I concede that Klein suffered more and I would have done anything to save him if I could.”

  “So it appears you have won,” said Fianni, turning to Ayan’we. “Sum up the victorious case for Klein.”

  “I’ll sum it up, all right,” shouted Ayan’we. “I’ll sum it up by saying that my mother actually prolonged Klein’s agony.”

  The audience gave a collective gasp, but Entara did not seem the least bit startled.

  “It was Entara who stopped Klein from dying before he confronted my father and saved the females of our planet. It was Entara who insisted that he leave Forlan to be in safety from the Brotherhood, when she could have enjoyed his adoration in the comfort of the mahäme. It was Entara who had me follow his traces to Song Pa. It was Entara who sent the Dissenter Trevor to rescue his broken body and send it to the clinic on Corlatis. It was Entara who sent her most trusted friend to help reassemble his face when she herself would easily have traded places with Doctor Ragatti, just to be able to touch that face once more. It was she who continued to show strength that amazed every woman on the planet, just in order to be worthy of him. Yes, clearly,” Ayan’we added with enforced irony, “This was the behavior of an inferior and a loser.”

  “It does not change the assessment of Klein himself,” pouted Fianni.

  “Then maybe this will,” asserted Ayan’we with a nearly contemptuous look at the Phiddian. “It was only in his later years that Klein also experienced the joy of parenthood.” The humans abruptly stared in consternation, unaware of this part of the story. “My mother was not the only companion of this man. Not all were of our kind. One human woman at least was also intimate with him and bore a child. Yes, I can see the representatives of the corporations would like to know more of this, but I will not tell you if this child still lives or where it might be. Only that having a child filled Klein with feelings that he could not have gotten from any companion that only serviced his body. Not like our bliss of birth but a more serene feeling, containing a mix of pride and empathy, longing and reassurance. I am told,” she said, turning to the human Ambassador, “That not all of his species experience this sense. It is too bad. It does prove that Klein and Entara grew together more as they got older, that they came to join and to share, instead of growing apart.”

  “Equality, equality, a tie,” yelled the Phiddians, as Fianni turned away in disgust. “A great outcome, a great court! Praise to Entara and Klein! Praise to Entara and Ayan’we! This shall be repeated to the Court of Courts!” Delegates of all species swarmed around the Forlani to congratulate them. There was much hand-clasping and offers of fruit tidbits and nectar. The Kael seemed overjoyed, even though it was not a story of unrequited love. The humans overcame their earlier shock at learning of Klein’s progeny and appeared as happy as anyone else. Fianni slunk away. The Coriolans and the Blastöo broke into a dance with each other. Entara cast a sidelong glance to see how the Garanians were reacting. They gave nods of assent and encouragement, but also gathered together to mumble to each other, their neck feathers fluffed with excitement. Tashto was the calmest of them. From an angle, he had carefully observed the proceedings of the Love Court, looking for any sign of weakness on the part of the Forlani. His failure to find any only stimulated his tracking instincts and made him long to know more of their ways so that he could pounce on the opportunity for an advantage. He was sure that he had acted so secretively, registering every impression without giving the appearance of even looking their way, that they could not appreciate him for the consummate spy he prided himself on being. He noticed that after a reasonable length of time to bask in the adulation of the Court’s audience, Entara and then Ayan’we both slipped away from the assembly, no doubt fatigued by the trial they had undergone.

  Isshel was also respectfully noting everything that happened to Entara and her daughter. The Ambassador fulfilled all his expectations in her clever handling of the tricky situation. Even more so did he admire the aplomb of Ayan’we in dealing with tensions far beyond one of her limited age. Isshel realized that either of his wives, both models of conventional Forlani behavior, would have been reduced to a stammering idiot in less than a minute if faced with the pressures Ayan’we had just had to endure. The young woman was not really the equal in physical attractiveness of either of his spouses, before or after mating, but there was something compelling about her that Isshel felt drawn to. Only his consciousness of protocol and the need to maintain male dignity for the Brotherhood’s sake prevented him from rushing after Entara and Ayan’we to try to find out more about their magnetic personalities.

  Isshel was pulled away from his musings by the approach of a couple of playful-looking Phiddians. Since the moment the conference had officially opened, Isshel had reserved several hours each day to strolling in the social gatherings in search of the kind of psychological information on the Phiddians that Ayan’we had asked of him. At first he found it awkward and demeaning to try to strike up conversations with the vapid hermaphrodites, but he soon developed an interest in the subtle variations of their sensuality and could now boast to himself of a certain expertise in dealing with them. The two had approached him at this moment were typical of their race. All Phiddians tended to paw him with their warm four-fingered hands, seeing if they could elicit some sexual response. For these encounters Isshel, who even on Forlan always covered his organs, unlike many Forlani males, took special care to wear an ankle-length skirt that was well-nigh impenetrable. His upper body, in keeping with the traditions of the Brotherhood, was never concealed by garments, but his fur-covered areas were much bushier than with females and the areas that bore no fur were so leathery and tough that he didn’t even notice when the Phiddians were touching him. The bolder Phiddian swished up to him with extended hand. “Jolatho!” it said with a smile.

  “Isshel of the Fourth Degree.”

  “And what does it mean to be of the Fourth Degree? Does it mean you have some special prowess we should know about?”

  “Only in artistic matters. There are seven degrees and most never reach the top two.”

  “So does being in the Fourth Degree mean you have a particularly privileged romantic life?”

  “I have two wives at this time if that is what you mean. No one below the Third Degree is approved for marriage.”

  “Don’t those poor sub-thirds just have to satisfy their urges at some point?” asked a second Phiddian playfully.

  “That has been known to happen, even for those above the Second, but it can have consequences, sometimes even loss of degree.”

  “I’ve heard you Forlani have a particularly hard maleness!” chuckled the third, trying to feel his groin through the thick skirt.

  “Sharp, as well. The wives lose a lot of blood at mating.”

&nb
sp; The Phiddian pair recoiled a bit in shock. “Ouch! How can they possibly stand it? We feel nothing but pleasure when we copulate.”

  “The females’ pleasure is in the birthing. But fortunately for them, their physical pain in mating is diminished by the mating sleep.”

  “Don’t tell me they sleep through it!”

  “Not total sleep, but a kind of insensitivity, almost a coma. Their upper heart actually slows down or stops. The lower heart, which is located where it can’t be damaged by mating, takes over at its own rate. The mating sleep can last many days. In the meantime, a mated wife is always tended by some of her sisters from the matriline. They can transfuse blood if need be. They have to feed her repeated small doses of a special kind of juice that aids their bodies in healing and helps bring about the hormonal changes of motherhood.”

  “What an ordeal!” declared the first Phiddian. “I wouldn’t have children at all if I had to do that. In fact, we usually hire someone to take care of infants right after birth, so we can get back to the fun part of life.”

  “Have you no matrilines or family units dedicated to family needs?”

  “What exactly to you mean by a matriline?”

  “It is a great clan of all females sharing the same motherly origin. The matriline provides security, nourishment, education, and support for all its sisters. Each matriline maintains several centers called mahämes that lodge, cure, and train their members. These sisters feel tremendously close and would give their very lives for each other. We males united by the Brotherhood respect our own virtues and duties, but we do not have anything resembling the emotional bond of the matrilines.”

  “How frightful!” exclaimed the companion Phiddian. “It all sounds so restrictive and regimented. Must be awful to be hemmed in by the same group of individuals all the time. We feel it’s much more convenient to commend the care of any babies who come along to a competent guardian who will look after everything for the price of a jewel or two, leaving us free to follow our fancy.”

  “To each his own,” commented Isshel. “By the way, that is a remarkable shade of blue you are wearing. How is it made?” He had found that he could always break the ice or change the subject by mentioning color to a Phiddian. They were for the most part unsophisticated in the finer points of abstract artistic theory that the Brotherhood encouraged, but they had an obsession with colors and texture. Synesthesia, the artistic interrelation of the senses, was one area that they could gab about forever.

  Scarcely an hour after the cordial end of the Love Court gathering, Erica peered over the shoulder of the technician who was analyzing the data she had brought from the assembly. He had just finished inputting the infrared and heart monitor secretly focused on Entara.

  “That’s one interesting purple lady,” he muttered as he considered Entara’s image in the scanner, “How can she have had all those kids with a boy’s pelvis?”

  “Because they don’t give birth through the pelvis like we do, blockhead!” exclaimed Erica. “Their brats are only as big as a chipmunk and they come out the front.”

  “Damn! How could a chipmunk develop a brain like that?”

  “Apparently their neurons can replicate. The whole thing grows amazingly fast.”

  “Well, I can tell you this. This individual must be as cool as a cucumber because she doesn’t break a sweat, change in temperature or skip a heartbeat at the toughest challenges. See?”

  “Either heart?”

  “Nope. Steady as an atomic chronometer.”

  The techie had geared up a simultaneous video next to his other instruments so they could coordinate any lapses with particular parts of the debate. Only there were no lapses. Erica could easily appreciate why the Forlani had sent this woman to represent them at the conference. Either Entara had no regrets or guilt or she had a remarkably stable personality, or both of the above.

  “What about the other one? She’s younger and she has to give away some reaction.”

  “Give me a second.” The techie changed the inputs and the video and started to run them in sync.

  “Wow. Like mother like daughter. How old you say she is?”

  “We think about 24 in Earth years, but like I said, they grow faster. It’s apples and oranges. What do you see?”

  “Damn little so far. Wait! There’s a blip!”

  “Rewind it so we can see exactly when it happens.”

  “Right… there!” he said, stopping the machines at the moment Ayan’we was alluding to her experience with emotional reactions.

  “Quick, see if there’s more.”

  “Checking…checking… oh, there’s another one. Same thing. Definitely a heat flush under that tricky purple skin. A slight rise in the rate in heart number one, as well. Just like the first time. We’ll see if there’s any more.” He ran through the rest of the video and then rechecked the whole thing again, but there was nothing but the two anomalies.

  “So what do you make of it?” prodded Erica.

  “You can see it as well as I can. A slight emotional reaction. Maybe that’s all they can manage. Her mother didn’t have a trace.”

  “I think the context may give us a clue,” pondered Erica. “Let’s see, the first time she was talking about emotions, maybe romantic emotions, presumably with the other sex, since they don’t seem to go for girl-on-girl. The second time had to do with Klein’s child or children. Good God, don’t you see? She’s in love, or at least starting to respond. She’s in love with Klein’s son!”

  “How do you know there is a son? She wouldn’t reveal anything about the kid.”

  “It’s got to be. That’s a crush. That’s a little bit of arousal the first time, and the second time is definitely linked to Klein. She would have been too young for Klein himself when he was involved in that mayhem on Forlan. They’re extremely strict about sex with minors in those matrimonials, or whatever they’re called. It was after that. She went to Klein’s funeral; we have strongly suggestive evidence of that. So somewhere in between she must have met Klein’s kid.”

  “Would he have been the right age? Without knowing more about who the human woman was and when the kid was conceived, it’s tough to say. I’ve heard space conceptions are extremely rare. Could it have taken place on another colony?”

  “Well, right now it doesn’t seem likely. We’ve got to find out more about any movements Klein might have had. Maybe it even happened on Earth before he was shipped up. I wish those friggin’ German records centers were cleared, but the decontamination’s only begun there.”

  “Even then, you may be out of luck,” added the techie pessimistically, “I heard some of those cities had big fires towards the end. I wouldn’t count on much surviving.”

  “I’ll put all available people on the question. But for now, I’m convinced. My gut tells me Ayan’we is in love with the son of Klein.”

  Ayan’we was dreaming. She walked into a dark room and flicked on the light switch. It didn’t work. Suddenly she felt cold metal at her throat. Sharp. It pressed into her skin and drew a tiny trickle of blood. Someone was holding her. She smelled a strange, sharp odor. Un-Forlani. She had smelled it before. It was human.

  “Who are you?” she rasped with difficulty, as the blade bit into her skin a bit more.

  “You know damn well who I am.”

  “Klein! But why…”

  “Why not? I’m a Mankiller, aren’t I? Don’t kill Forlani, not very often anyway,” he said with an icy chuckle.

  “I thought you cherished us. What could make you do this?”

  “You were going to kill me, weren’t you? That night when I was to meet with your mother. I needed her, needed to feel her again, and you would have used this knife on me.”

  “Please. Klein. I would not have done it.”

  “You little liar. You would have done it, all right. You would have rammed this right between my ribs. Into my bloody human heart. You would even have twisted it around a little, to open the wound. And since we have only
one heart, I would have died right away. And my greasy red blood would have dribbled down over your pretty purple fur and stained it forever.”

  “It was only to save my mother. She would have killed herself after giving herself to you.”

  “And you would kill for that.”

  “Yes. I admit it. I would have killed you no matter how much Mother cared for you.”

  “Damned right.” He drew the knife away from her skin and leaned forward to kiss the blood off her neck. “I would have done the same thing. I did the same thing. I killed your father and actually enjoyed it.”

  “He was planning to kill us all.”

  “Never got a chance, did he?” Klein guffawed. “Oh, he came close. But that doesn’t count in killing.”

  “You wouldn’t have killed me just now, would you?”

  His face became incredibly grim again and he snarled, “Do you think you can be so sure?” Then suddenly he smiled ironically and softly, “No, you’re right. I could no more kill you than I could kill Amanda, my daughter. No more than I could kill that bug Stumpy after he’d begun to talk to me. It’s OK, sweetie, you passed the test. You’ve done well and you will win in the end.”

  “Are you talking about this conference business? How can you say that? I’ve failed again and again. That Powl almost got away with stealing our codes. If it weren’t for my cluster… How can I protect all these people? I’m supposed to help Mother prevent a war from breaking out and I don’t have a clue where to begin. How can you be so stupid to say that I’m doing well?” she wailed.