Divergence hu-1

by Charles Sheffield

  Nenda snorted. “What do you want to do, go and explain arithmetic to Speaker-Between and say it’s not fair? By the time he shows up again we could all be dead.”

  “Nenda’s right, E.C.” Rebka took over again. “It doesn’t matter how we got into the position we’re in, or how little we like it. We have to accept it and work out how we’ll survive. If we sit here and wait for the Zardalu to come back, that takes us nowhere. They’ll find out we didn’t reach any deal with Speaker-Between for them, and they’ll blame us.”

  “But what can we do?” Darya felt she was not getting her urgency across to Rebka. He was as cool and thoughtful as if they were having a round-table discussion of landing permits on Opal. “The Zardalu could be here any minute.”

  “Could, and probably will.” Rebka glanced around, assessing each member of the group. “So let’s find out what we’ve got between us, information and possessions.”

  “Right!” Nenda said. “Then we better do a little reconnoiter, see where they are and what they’re doing. I’ve had experience in that, and so has At. Tally can tell us where to find ’em.”

  “But they’re so big, and so strong…” Darya found it hard to say what she was really thinking, that the thought of the Zardalu gave her the shivers. And she did not like the look in Nenda’s eyes, either, an odd blend of pleasure and anger.

  “What can observing them do?” she continued. “It won’t make them weaker, or us stronger.”

  “Wrong.” Nenda glared at her. “Information is strength, sweetheart. We take a peek at ’em. Then we come back here, pool all we’ve got and all we know. And then we hit ’em, quick. Zardalu, here we come! I’ll bet that’s the last thing they’re expecting.”

  It was the last thing that Darya was expecting, too. Pool what? They didn’t have a thing — not even information. The Zardalu held all the cards: strength, numbers, ruthlessness, hostages.

  But looking at the determination on the faces of Hans Rebka and Louis Nenda, Darya did not think her views were going to count for much.

  CHAPTER 24

  “Have you ever seen a human birth — a normal one, I mean, not in a tank or with an animal surrogate?” Birdie Kelly was speaking in a whisper.

  Julius Graves avoided a spoken answer altogether, relying on his head shake being visible even in the low-level light.

  “Well, I have,” Birdie went on softly. “A dozen times, back on Opal. And let me tell you, it’s a terrific effort for the mother, even when everything goes fine. You see it once, it makes you glad you’re male. The women get pleasure out of it later, you see it on their faces when they hold their baby. But that don’t make it less painful, or less hard work. But these critters…” He shook his head.

  The two men were sitting in a corner of the room. J’merlia was a few meters away with Kallik. Occasionally they whistled and clicked gently to each other, but most of Kallik’s attention was on the Zardalu.

  The fourteen massive bodies lay sprawled between them and the only entrance. Now and again a great lidded eye would turn and blink toward Graves and Kelly; otherwise the land-cephalopods seemed scarcely aware of human presence. Certainly they were not worried that any of the group might escape.

  The Zardalu talked to each other in their own language, which to Birdie sounded just like the speech Kallik used. Steven Graves had assured him that was an illusion. The Zardalu vocal chords merely produced a range of frequencies and vocal fricatives similar to a Hymenopt’s; or, just as likely, the Hymenopt’s had many centuries earlier been trained to speak so that their masters would understand.

  But it was not their speech that held Birdie Kelly’s attention. As they spoke, or ate, or simply lay and rested, the Zardalu were giving birth. They performed the act quickly, easily, and casually.

  Birdie and Julius Graves had watched the whole process, while Steven Graves recorded it in his capacious memory, against the time — the unlikely time, Birdie thought — when he would be able to add it to the central data banks of the Fourth Alliance. Steven had also noted his opinion that the Zardalu had evolved in and preferred a low illumination level. He based that on the fact that they had sought out the least well lit chamber they could find that contained a food supply.

  Steven had not tried to check his ideas against Kallik’s spotty flashes of race memory of the Zardalu. She was unreliable. The others had all seen her when the giant land-cephalopods had first appeared. What she had done then, and was doing now, went well beyond cooperation for possible future gain. At the first sight of the ancient masters Kallik had dropped flat and groveled on her belly, unwilling to look up with any of her ring of black eyes.

  The Zardalu accepted her servitude as natural. The injury to her leg had been done to confirm Holder’s dominance when Kallik was lying helpless, not because she was resisting. Like Louis Nenda, the Zardalu must know that the loss of a limb was not a major trauma to a Hymenopt.

  As Graves and Kelly watched, another four Zardalu were giving birth. The first sign was a rhythmic pulse in one of the swollen locations on the necklace of pouches. That was followed, in less than five minutes, by the appearance from that pouch of a rounded cone, like the tip of a shell. It was pale blue in color and quickly swelled to protrude six inches from the opening of the pouch.

  At first Birdie had thought that cone-tip to be the head of the newborn. He realized his mistake when the pointed tip began to bulge farther and split open. From it emerged a smooth, rounded egg shape of pale apricot. That surprised Birdie more than he was ready to admit. He had grown to expect everything about the Zardalu, from eyes to torso to tentacle tips, to be some shade of blue.

  The egg shape was the cerebral sac of a live infant, born head first. It arrived as a miniature version of the parent, except for its rudimentary tentacles. It wriggled completely free of the pouch in a couple more minutes, took a first, rippling breath, then slithered down the adult’s body to a haven under the canopy of tentacles. Birdie caught a last glimpse of pale orange, then saw nothing for another few minutes. But soon the beak and mouth appeared from between the bases of two of the parent’s tentacles. There was a faint whistling sound. Fragments of food selected from the containers in the center of the chamber were fed in by the parent to the complaining offspring.

  From the reaction of the young Zardalu, that was not what they wanted. Within another few minutes they were pushing farther out, biting hungrily with their sharp-edged beaks at the parent’s flesh.

  And meanwhile, a second pouch on the necklace was steadily beginning to swell…

  “I’m afraid they won’t settle for that for very long,” Graves said. “It’s meat they want.”

  “Kallik said that they can survive on other food — if they have to.” Birdie hoped he sounded more optimistic than he felt.

  Graves nodded. “But they don’t see any reason why they should. We have to change that, if we can.” He began to ease his way quietly over to Kallik. The site of the Hymenopt’s lost limb had already sealed, and the bud of new growth was peeping through.

  “We’ve been waiting for over five hours now,” Graves said as soon as he was close enough for her to hear his whisper. “How long before they do something new?”

  As he spoke, Graves saw Birdie Kelly’s reproachful look. For the past few hours there had been unspoken agreement that they would not rely on the Hymenopt for anything. Graves shrugged in reply. What other options did they have? They could not understand the Zardalu, even if their captors were willing to talk to them.

  Kallik whistled softly to J’merlia, then said. “I do not know. They are not discussing their plans in my hearing. However, I see new signs of impatience. There are already more young ones than mature Zardalu, and they are under pressure to find a more suitable habitat. They wish to leave this place.”

  “Will they permit you to ask them a question, or transmit a suggestion?”

  “It would not be appropriate for a slave to do so.”

  “But suppose that a human were to ord
er you to do it?”

  Kallik stared up at Julius Graves with bright, inscrutable eyes. “If the Zardalu were told that the human concerned was my former master, they might understand if I were to ask a question on his behalf. Or—” She paused.

  “Yes?”

  “Or they might be violently enraged, thinking that I offer less than total obedience to them. They might choose to kill me, as a being of divided loyalty.”

  Julius Graves shook his head. “Then let’s forget it.”

  “However,” Kallik went on, “I do not think that is the most probable outcome. They know that I am their only avenue of communication with you, and with the other humans. They will not want to lose that channel. What is your message?”

  “I would like to propose that I be used as an emissary to Captain Rebka and the others. Tell the Zardalu that I can explain the need for rapid action by the other group, and I can point out to them why the Zardalu must leave this place as soon as possible. I would like you to emphasize that my role in human affairs has always been that of an intermediary between species. Ask them if I may serve in that role now.”

  Kallik held another brief, whistling conversation with J’merlia. “Wait here,” she said at last. “I will try.” She crawled away toward the tight cluster of Zardalu, keeping her stubby body always close to the floor and her yellow sting fully sheathed.

  “And I thought one traitor was bad enough,” Birdie Kelly said softly, as soon as Kallik was out of earshot. “You’re worse than she is. At least she was raised to be a slave.”

  “You know me better than that, Commissioner. Or you ought to. I’ve spent my life working on interspecies problems. That’s what this is, you know. I can’t just sit back now and watch.”

  “So you want to sell out to them, be another slave.”

  “Of course I don’t. But at the moment we’re just bargaining chips as far as the Zardalu are concerned. That’s not good enough. We have to establish some form of direct communication with them. They need to think of us as people — reasoning, intelligent beings, the same as they are.”

  “Them, think of us that way. Fat chance! What makes you think they respond to reason?”

  Graves nodded to where a group of midnight-blue bodies had moved to cluster around Kallik. “Improbable, perhaps. But look over there. Maybe it is working.”

  One of the forms had towered up onto its powerful tentacles and was moving toward them, followed by the little Hymenopt.

  In front of J’merlia it stopped and bent down to stare at him with cool, pale-blue eyes, each as big as the Lo’tfian’s head. Then it turned to offer the same inspection of Graves and Birdie Kelly.

  A soft fluting and a series of clicks came from the cruel, sky-blue beak. Finally the Zardalu rose to its full height and stalked away across the chamber, back to its companions.

  “Well?” Graves asked. “What did it say to us? Did they agree?”

  Kallik was shaking her head. “With all respect, I think that perhaps it was a mistake to rouse them by asking your question. They say that I am quite adequate to provide all the communication that is needed with humans, and that if necessary J’merlia can communicate with his master, the Cecropian Atvar H’sial. Further, they say that the other group will be permitted just one more hour, to hold a meeting with the beings who control this place and arrange for the Zardalu to leave for a destination of their own choosing. If nothing is done in that time, actions will be taken.”

  Birdie Kelly glared at Graves. “I told you. A washout! So why did that thing even bother to come over here? What did it say to us, Kallik?”

  “Not one word to you, I fear. But certainly words about you. It told me that a decision had been made. In one hour, the Zardalu will again contact the other group. If at that time no satisfactory arrangement has been made for the Zardalu to leave this place, another hostage will be sacrificed.” The Hymenopt gazed at Birdie with dark, unblinking eyes. “With great regrets, Commissioner, the decision was made that you should be that sacrifice.”

  Birdie stared at Kallik, unable to speak. It was Julius Graves who jumped to his feet. “You go right back there, and tell them we’ll all fight them to the death, before we let something like that happen.” Graves’s radiation-scarred face became pale with rage. “Commissioner Kelly is as valuable as any of us! He has as many talents as I do! We won’t let them think of any of us as expendable.”

  “With respect, Councilor Graves.” Kallik’s ring of eyes had turned away to avoid Birdie completely. “The issue was not talents, or who is expendable. You and the commissioner appear to have been judged equal in that regard.”

  “So what the devil was it?”

  Kallik’s eyes moved to Julius Graves, still avoiding Birdie. “It was something much simpler, Councilor. The Zardalu young are growing and becoming more demanding.

  “You are very thin. Commissioner Kelly is undeniably better fleshed.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Birdie Kelly had never thought of himself as a hero. Quite the opposite. When other men went looking for trouble, Birdie was already looking for cover.

  But this time it was different. He was the target, and there was no cover. He had to do something.

  Birdie’s minor shift toward bravery began as a horrified inspection of the Zardalu, particularly their hungry young. They seemed to be forever peeking out from under the protective umbrellas of tentacles, begging for food. They light-orange beaks were small, only half an inch across, but there was no doubt about their sharpness. They cut easily through any food fragment, even the hardest shells or rinds, and they made the adult Zardalu jump when the infants, dissatisfied with what was offered to them, nicked the tough flesh at the base of their parents’ bodies.

  After the first morbid fascination of that sight wore off, Birdie shuffled quietly over to Julius Graves. “Councilor, what are we going to do? You heard Kallik — another hour and we’re done for. Me first, then all of us.”

  Graves was nodding, the great bald head furrowed with worry. “I know, I know. We won’t let them take you, Commissioner. They’ll have to fight all of us before that happens. But what can we do? They refuse to listen to me, or allow me to act as an intermediary with the others. If only they would sit down, and talk…”

  Talk was not what Birdie had in mind. In his experience, people who wanted to sit down and talk were the ones who were going to lose the argument. What he would have preferred was more along the lines of a nice 88-gauge automatic cannon.

  He nodded and crawled back to his place. Julius Graves was full of talk, but he was not going to do one damned thing. Certainly he would not be able to stop the Zardalu from using Birdie as baby-chow any time they felt like it.

  Birdie stared again at their captors. His inspection moved from a horrified stare at the young ones to a general survey of all the land-cephalopods.

  They certainly had that look of invulnerability. But he knew it was an illusion. Eleven thousand years earlier, species who had been trained from birth to believe in Zardalu superiority had risen to fight their tyrant masters — and won. They had exterminated the Zardalu, except for these last few remaining specimens.

  There had to be some chink in the armor, some flaw that had been exploited at the time of the Great Rising…

  It was certainly not easy to see one. Birdie had watched earlier, when two of the Zardalu picked up empty food containers and squeezed them to form rough clubs. Now he wandered over to a food container himself, and put all his weight on it. It did not budge a millimeter. Birdie sat down again with a new respect for the power of those three-meter ropy tentacles. They could pulverize him without putting one of their nonexistent hairs out of place.

  So. They were as strong as they looked.

  How well did they see and hear? None of the Zardalu was turned his way at the moment. Birdie drummed lightly on the side of the empty food box with his fingertips, producing a light pa-pa-pa-pam. No result. A few harder blows with the flat of his hand produced no reactio
n from the Zardalu.

  Birdie stood up, slowly and quietly, went across to the side of the chamber, and began to edge his way around it. The Zardalu were close to the single exit, but on one side there was space for a human to slide along the wall without coming within tentacle range of any of them.

  Birdie sidled along until he was no more than a few paces from the nearest Zardalu. He soon reached a point where he could see out of the chamber. The exit led to an open corridor. One mad dash would take him out there and on his way through the unknown interior. He rose onto the balls of his feet. At that very moment the biggest one, the one identified as Holder, fluted a few liquid sounds to where Graves, Kallik, and J’merlia were lying.

  “With respect, Commissioner Kelly,” Kallik called. “The Zardalu do not want you in your present location. You are commanded to return at once to join the rest of us. And when you do so, the Zardalu order you to refrain from hammering on the food containers. The noise creates unrest in the young.”

  Birdie nodded. The scariest thing of all was that the Zardalu did not bother to threaten him with consequences if he did not obey. They knew he knew. He was turning to inch his way back along the same smooth gray wall when he caught sight of movement in the outside corridor. He forced himself to keep turning, resisting the urge to stop and stare. His split-second glance had not been enough to identify the individual person. But it was a person, and not a Zardalu, Cecropian, or other alien. Someone human was out there, crouched low in the angle of the corridor, peeping out now and again to observe what was going on inside the chamber. And far behind, almost indistinguishable from the darker shadows, Birdie thought he had caught a glimpse of another, less familiar form.

  Birdie slid steadily back along the wall and returned to sit by Julius Graves. A few minutes earlier he had been convinced that the Zardalu were hard of hearing; now he was not so sure. For all he knew they could hear the slightest whisper. And even if they could not, certainly Kallik could, and the traitorous Hymenopt would tell the Zardalu anything that she heard.