by John Grant
Of course, she thought. We'd be too heavy for them to lift.
A couple of the Spindrifters stayed on foot to escort Pinocchio and Strauss-Giolitto across the floor of the hangar; the remainder of the aliens, Polyaggle included, flew towards a diamond-shaped opening in the far wall. Under the green lights the butterfly wings of the Spindrifters took on even more enchanting tones. One kept expecting those many fluttering wingtips to collide, but somehow they never seemed to.
Strauss-Giolitto, barefoot, trod in a puddle of thick, gelatinous oil. It was an experience she decided not to repeat. Clutching Pinocchio's arm to stop herself from slipping on her oily foot, she picked her course carefully as they followed the two Spindrifters. Here and there they had to step over the thick cables or make a detour round some larger piece of seeming detritus. It was obvious that no one ever walked on the floor in here unless they were carrying something heavy: the Spindrifters flew across the hangar whenever they could. We're walking through their garbage tip, thought Strauss-Giolitto.
Several minutes later they were in a chamber some twenty meters long and high and perhaps half that wide. Around its walls were numerous cylindrical objects at whose nature Strauss-Giolitto couldn't guess. On the rounded top of each of the cylinders was another of the very simple control boards like the one she had seen Polyaggle use on the slidecraft.
"What are those things?" she subvocalized.
PUTERS, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free. AMONG THE MOST ADVANCED IN THE WONDERVALE. IN FACT, THEY'RE SO FAR AHEAD OF ANYTHING YOU'VE COME ACROSS THAT PERHAPS "PUTER" IS THE WRONG WORD. THAT'S WHY THEY LOOK SO SIMPLE.
Their escort had left them at the door, flying off down the broad, high corridor to go about other things. In the center of the chamber stood Polyaggle and a couple of other female Spindrifters whom Polyaggle quickly introduced as Nerita and Feefaar. At first Strauss-Giolitto assumed these individuals must be top-ranking officers in the military of the Associated Villages, but it soon emerged that they were the Associated Villages military. With the aid of their machines they could, together or singly, mount Spindrift's defenses—which Strauss-Giolitto began to infer were a lot less meager than Polyaggle had implied. In the event of the enemy's battling their way through them to the ground, as many Spindrifters as could manage it would take refuge in this vast bunker, which she gathered stretched for kilometers underground; the rest of the species would be doomed.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a swiftly moving glimmer of not-quite-light. There was another Image in the chamber.
She let Pinocchio do most of the talking. She felt she had very little to contribute.
"We will give you what we can," Nerita was saying. "What we cannot give you is any weaponry information which, if you made use of it, might by its very nature allow the slightest possibility of the Autarch's forces tracing it back here to Spindrift. Most but not all of his lieutenants are as stupid as he is himself, but some are capable of the most intelligent ratiocinations. Every weapons system has its own signature, and that signature might give a clue to the Autarchy as to where you had gained the system's theoretical underpinning."
"That is perfectly understood," said Pinocchio.
"Not by me," subvocalized Strauss-Giolitto.
WHAT HE'S SAYING IS THAT IF YOU HUMANS SUDDENLY START DEPLOYING SOME VARIANT OF AN IDENTIFIABLE ANCIENT SPINDRIFTER WEAPON, SOMEONE IN THE AUTARCHY MIGHT PUT TWO AND TWO TOGETHER AND TORCH THIS PLANET ON PRINCIPLE.
"But there are other ways in which we might assist you," said Nerita. "For a start we can give you the co-ordinates of the stellar systems of the other ancient species in The Wondervale. They may be able to offer you different information. Some of them might even dare to give you technological data which would help you in your struggle."
"Is it likely?" said Pinocchio. Strauss-Giolitto envied the way that he seemed so perfectly nonchalant in these surroundings. She herself was all too aware that they were in the stronghold of aliens about whom they knew virtually nothing, and that there were millions of tons of ice and metal above them.
"Not very," said Feefaar. "But certainly they will give you information which is both unknown to us and likely to aid you."
"What sort of information?"
Nerita spoke again. "Our communications with those other species are sporadic and rare, but we know that some of them are more restless under the tyranny than we are. Remaining neutral is harder work than you might think, even for a species like ourselves, who think in timescales of billions rather than millions of years."
"No," said Strauss-Giolitto, speaking for the first time. "I know exactly what you mean. Injustice is difficult to stomach. So is guilt."
The Spindrifters looked at her silently.
"You must feel guilty about all the sentient beings who are dying because the Autarchy persists," she went on, floundering for words, becoming swiftly embarrassed.
"No," said Feefaar. "Why should we?"
"Because . . . well, because . . ."
"What is more important," said Feefaar, "is that, the longer the Autarchy and its inevitable successors continue their bloody rule, the more likely it is that our species will be destroyed."
The Spindrifters turned their attention back to Pinocchio and Strauss-Giolitto let the conversation drift away from her. You don't even know how these people think, she told herself, so how can you start guessing at their morals and priorities? Just because they're roughly the same shape as you and they seem to be talking in Argot—not to mention that you find all three of them fascinatingly desirable—you can't assume that they're like you in the slightest. What emotions do they have? You can't even imagine what their emotions might be like. Get to grips with this.
She looked around her. The warmth that Pinocchio had given her aboard the slidecraft had all ebbed away by now, and she realized that she was once more very chilly under her thin robe. Her head was beginning to throb from the cold. Aside from the rows of Spindrifter puters along the walls, the chamber was featureless. Green light—fortunately not as lurid as that in the hangar—came from somewhere. The walls seemed to be grey. There was no decoration at all on them. No art of any kind, she thought. Perhaps the Spindrifters are their art.
Pinocchio tapped her on the shoulder.
"I want to consult briefly with you," he said very quietly. The three Spindrifters had turned politely away. Although who knows how sensitive their hearing is? thought Strauss-Giolitto. Maybe this place is bugged up to the eyeballs anyway.
"With me? I'm no expert in any of this."
"The Spindrifters are prepared to feed into my puter all the information that they're prepared to give us. I think, from what they tell me, that I have the capacity to handle this amount of data—although I shall ask you to monitor the process in case I run the risk of crashing."
"What's so confidential about this that we have to be whispering?" she said.
Pinocchio shook his head. "That is not what I want to talk about. In exchange, I propose to permit them to download my puter into theirs beforehand." He looked hesitant. "It's a pity the Main Computer is dead. These people—they know so much more than we do that it's impossible for me to determine whether or not there's any information we might have that could be of use to them."
"There's bound to be," she said, glancing across to where the three Spindrifters huddled in the far corner. They, too, were talking in low tones. They seemed to be arguing—at one point Feefaar fluttered a meter or two into the air, speaking rapidly. "We've undergone a completely different cultural evolution," she continued, "and we've done it in isolation in a galaxy who knows how remote from The Wondervale. There's certain to be stuff that we've come up with that they don't know."
"This is my feeling also," said the bot. "But I do not think that I can go through with this enterprise without specifically asking for human permission. Ideally I should ask Strider, but she's not here. I'm reluctant to delay my offer until I've had a chance to speak with her, because already one of the Spindrifter
s is dubious about the wisdom of helping us at all. We may not be allowed to send a second deputation down here."
"Feefaar," she said.
"Precisely."
She wondered why Pinocchio was telling her this, then whispered: "Oh."
"You're the only human being here whose permission I can ask," said Pinocchio.
"What makes you think you aren't a human being, bot?" she said after a long, thoughtful pause. She touched him on the arm. "I'm a teacher from City 22—a few years ago I was showing infants how to access databases and fine-tune their neural implants. I'm not qualified to make decisions like this. You are. Do what you think you should." She punched him on the shoulder and tried to disguise the fact that it felt as if she'd broken a couple of knuckles. "Strider sent you as her ambassador. So go ahead and ambassad."
I COULD HOOK UP WITH NIGHTMIRROR TO ASK STRIDER IF SHE APPROVES THIS COURSE OF ACTION, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free.
"No," Strauss-Giolitto said. "This is Pinocchio's deal. Strider delegated the decisions here to him."
"Are you sure?" said Pinocchio.
"Yes."
"You realize you've just answered the question you said you weren't competent to answer?"
Strauss-Giolitto supposed she had, in a way, but this was no time to be chopping around with logical niceties. "Do what you think is best," she said quietly. "Only, do you think you could give me some more of your heat? I'm freezing to death in here."
His arm around her waist, Pinocchio put his proposition to the Spindrifters. They retreated for a few further moments to their corner to discuss it, and now Polyaggle and Nerita very obviously prevailed over the skeptical Feefaar. The argument didn't last long.
"We accept your offer," said Polyaggle with seeming formality, facing the two offworlders. "And we will give you the data that has already been discussed." She paused as Feefaar said something to her with quiet intensity, but then Polyaggle raised her wings angrily at her. "There's something else we might be able to do for you. If we could have access to your Main Computer . . ."
"The Main Computer is dead," said Pinocchio. "I took out of it everything that I could. That wasn't very much, but it's all in the files I'm offering to download into your machines."
"There's no such thing as a truly dead computer!" exclaimed Feefaar. "Why do you try to deceive us this way?"
LET ME HANDLE THIS, said Ten Per Cent Extra Free.
"Can our Image speak with your Image?" said Pinocchio. "Or would you prefer to speak to our Image direct? Let him explain."
"Let him talk to me," said Feefaar in a tone which Ten Per Cent Extra Free translated as contempt.
There was a brief silence. Feefaar stood with her eyes closed. At last she opened them.
"I understand now," she said. "I hadn't appreciated quite how primitive your technology is. If the Images have failed to drain the last out of your Main Computer, then perhaps much of it really is dead."
"As Pinocchio said," Strauss-Giolitto interposed tartly.
"As indeed your friend did say," agreed Feefaar with a shimmer of her wings. She touched her claws together in a gesture which Strauss-Giolitto this time interpreted as a signal of apology. "But we are better even than the Images at such matters."
THIS IS TRUE, Ten Per Cent Extra Free confirmed.
"It is probable that we can gain yet more data than you"—Feefaar indicated Pinocchio—"were able to immediately after your Main Computer's death. We would like to send one of us back with you to the Santa Maria to investigate."
Pinocchio looked at Strauss-Giolitto as if to ask her what he should do. She nodded to him that the decision was his.
"This seems permissible," he said. "There is room for an extra person in our shuttle."
"Then let us proceed with what we have to do here," said Nerita. "Afterwards Polyaggle will accompany you to your starship."
"There is one other thing of which you should be aware," added Feefaar. "If you are fortunate, Polyaggle may dredge enough information out of your Main Computer to be able to deduce a route back to your own stellar system."
"To Mars?"
"If that is what your home world is called, yes."
#
Among many species it would have been regarded as an inappropriate moment for a conversation, but the Antracvhans were not coy. The Autarch was in the process of both copulating with and gashing to death one of his less favorite concubines; in the midst of the former he had begun to suspect that she was faking her enjoyment of his efforts—hence the latter. The floor shook. She was taking a long time to die—Antracvhans are a tough species, and can sustain considerable physiological damage before the injuries become fatal—so the Autarch saw no good reason to discontinue his ponderous pleasure, even when he was informed that Kaantalech wished to holo with him.
Kaantalech watched with interest for a few moments before speaking.
"My officers have tracked down the Humans, Stars' Elect," she said. "Their protoplasm is so different from ours that it virtually glows on our screens. The delay has been because we have had to search all the quadrants." Had the Autarch been of her species he would have known that her mouth was brimming with glee. Luckily he wasn't, or he might have started wondering just what it was that was making her so gleeful. The successful search done by her aides had made her realize quite how potentially powerful she was.
"Where are they?" he said, not looking up. More gore splattered the walls. The concubine's slow brain began to realize that the process was hurting more than usual, and she let out a squeal of discomfort.
"They're on one of the moons of Spindrift," said Kaantalech. She could hardly believe what was going on. She knew that the females in Nalla's entourage were bred for stupidity—because an even remotely clever concubine is a dangerous concubine—but this particular specimen appeared to be no more than living meat. Kaantalech wondered if the Autarch's paranoia had increased to such a peak that he was having massive brain surgery performed on his females before they were allowed to approach him. If so, it couldn't be long before the same injunction started applying to courtiers, and then lieutenants . . . Kaantalech was glad she could communicate with the Autarch by holo, rather than having to go to Qitanefermeartha in person.
"Never heard of the place," grunted the Autarch.
"It's well off all the trade routes," said Kaantalech, "and it has little to offer us. We investigated it several times for natural resources or slaves, but there were hardly any of either."
"Why did the Humans go there?"
It was an unusually intelligent question from the Autarch, and it was one that Kaantalech cursed herself for not having thought through beforehand.
"Perhaps because of the planet's very remoteness and mediocrity," she said. That must be it.
"I distrust remote, mediocre planets," said the Autarch. This was true enough. He distrusted all planets. "Maybe they had some other reason for going there."
"I can't imagine why they . . ."
"I wasn't asking for an opinion. Torch it. Torch the Humans as well—we've done without their technology for thousands of years, so what makes you think we need it now?"
There was no point in arguing with the Autarch when he was in this kind of mood.
"Yes, Stars' Elect," said Kaantalech humbly, and prepared to disconnect holo contact.
The full force of the pain of what was being inflicted on her was now reaching the concubine's brain, and she was screaming in a most pleasing fashion. Kaantalech wished she could continue watching for a while, but she knew that she had been dismissed.
Regretfully, she disconnected.
#
Strauss-Giolitto was annoyed with herself about it, but she had experienced a certain vindictive delight while Polyaggle was going through the Santa Maria's decontamination systems. It didn't matter that she was having to undergo the same procedure herself—there seemed to be so little of her left to decontaminate—and it didn't matter that the humans' decontamination was significantly less rig
orous and therefore significantly less humiliating than the Spindrifters' had been: Strauss-Giolitto still felt a poignant sense of revenge at the thought of Polyaggle's discomfort.
Which was very petty of her—hence her annoyance.
She was even more annoyed when the Spindrifter emerged from decontamination seemingly quite unperturbed.
Strider was waiting for the alien alongside Strauss-Giolitto and Pinocchio, who had cleared decontamination much more quickly.
God, but it was good to be back in a jumpsuit again—although her baldness still felt bizarre. She kept catching herself twitching her head to flick her hair out of her eyes and then realizing there wasn't any hair there to flick. Back on Mars she'd have had a medbot give her a quick transplant; the medbots on board the Santa Maria weren't designed for cosmetic repairs.
The first meeting between Strider and Polyaggle was interesting to watch. Because Pinocchio's synthetic skin was pale and because Strauss-Giolitto had been born that way, Polyaggle—whose reactions Strauss-Giolitto was beginning to be able crudely to interpret—was obviously startled to find herself being greeted by a black human being. Color variations among the Spindrifters were largely confined to the wings, Strauss-Giolitto had noticed: the bristles that covered their bodies differed little from one individual to another. Polyaggle clearly thought at first that Strider was of some different species—and was deeply suspicious, because Pinocchio had told the Spindrifters that, aside from the Images, there was only one sentient species on the Santa Maria. When Lan Yi appeared a moment afterwards, apologizing for his lateness as if he were attending an office discussion rather than encountering a delegate from an alien species for the first time, Polyaggle's confusion grew.
And then at last the Spindrifter cottoned on.
Strider extended a hand. "You're welcome," she said. "Touching hands is a form of greeting among our kind."
Somewhat timorously, it seemed, Polyaggle put out a claw and tapped Strider's fingertips lightly. Of course, she would still be worried about contagion. Presumably she would have preferred to remain suited up, but by now her suit was ashes.