Old Complications

by Vincent Cleaver

  (Harvest Moon is Earthbound)

  "I did what I could, where I could, when I could. Others gave more than I. Others gave…everything." I have never been free, Old Complications thought, to give everything. Until now.

  "How could you part with them? A legacy older than the Gara?"

  "For good cause, and because they were mine. To dispose of as I saw fit," Old Complications growled. "They have always been mine."

  "Great one... how old are you?"

  "Older than my teeth and younger than my grin." It was a popular Gara saying, and Parl yipped. He and Henry almost missed what the Ranger muttered next.

  "It sometimes seems as if I have always been a Hunter."

  ***

  After dinner, their host somewhat subdued, the human and the hunter had been left alone in the suite the Den had provided. Henry had settled down with the big feline alien, to watch the fire dance merrily in the big fireplace, and let a few minutes pass.

  "What did you mean, earlier, with that bit about Company Man?"

  "I know what sort of work you do. Not very different from what I do, you know."

  Henry thought about that, for a bit. "In that case, exactly who are your opposition, these Autocrat's Immortals'?"

  "They do seem to fit the bill, an evil empire fit for an epic bit of Space Opera, do they not? But no, my enemy, my adversary, is an individual, not any one of the atavistic powers you will have read about. I have built the Conservancy up to oppose him and his, but not to fight him with tooth and claw, or starship and blaster."

  "The more I know, the less I understand," Henry muttered. He sighed, wishing that he had just taken the out. Wishing he was back where he belonged, on Earth. Damn curiosity!

  "Okay, let's go back to the beginning..."

  Old Complications merely smiled.

  "Yeah, let me rephrase that. Back to where you picked me up, before the fire got me. I know why I was there- What were you up to?"

  "Recovering one missing researcher, a Grey Scout named Atl'tarsht. He was the guest of the United States Government, having been fished out of Lake Michigan after something went very wrong with his observation post, his 'blind', if you will." The big cat alien rumbled, obviously unhappy. "I still don't know how that came to be, but Earth has turned out to be a very dangerous place for Galactics."

  "A bad neighborhood, I get that." Henry nodded. "I might know something about missing aliens, although, when I got on the scene, there was no alien, and two dead operatives. I'm going to ask you this for the record, so don't get upset. Did you kill them?"

  "No. I am almost certain you know who did, though."

  "Yeah, well, I had to ask. I had been told that the 'Blue Book' people were being watched. I guess somebody got greedy, or saw an opportunity, which means the same thing."

  "Your Opposition. Sergei Lermontov, and 'hired local talent.'"

  Henry was surprised to realize that he didn't care that the alien had read confidential files. "That's right out of Jack Landsmans' report. I take it that that Blue Book, and The Company have no more secrets?"

  "That would not be entirely true. You can be a paranoid lot, when it comes to keeping secrets. But some things have to be shared between people working together. In my experience, secrets, when kept, sometimes can be as useless as they can be useful."

  "Ah, that was a little too clever, old tiger pal of mine."

  "Use them, or loose them. If Atl'tarsht had been moved to a secure location, I would have still been able to find him, but, as it was, the Soviet agent and his people took a chance. And then covered up kidnapping and murder with arson, and another, attempted, murder."

  "Of Jackies' little boy," Henry said, softly. "Me."

  "Harry Alvin Smith, but yes, you. Also known as Special Agent Henry Simpson."

  "The Bureau would have a fit, not that some of my fellow agents would be so surprised..." Henry/Harry shrugged. So, what happened?"

  "Atl'tarsht is going home, as we speak, and Lermontov and his talent had to explain themselves to the local police. It was very strange, the way they fell down, repeatedly, and hurt themselves, plus the way their small aircraft exploded on the runway of that little airfield. And, if they foolishly mentioned little grey men, they probably were not believed. Especially if they said something about a tiger with eight legs."

  "Pleased with yourself?'

  "Moderately. I do not particularly like murderers. I am a Hunter." Old Complications narrowed his eyes. "Yes?"

  "There's a contradiction in that, you know."

  "No, there is not."

  Harry thought about all this for a little while. The coals of the fire collapsed in a shower of sparks and he took a deep breath, sighed.

  "So, what was this little conversation all about, just now?" he asked.

  "A job interview."

  ***

  The Tersid reporter represented three galactic syndicates, one of which was for the Markov Imperium, and the other two were a financial news clearing house and a travel and extreme sports service based on the Trike homeworld. That put it ahead of the pack, when the Hunter returned his comm and scheduled an interview for mid-morning the next day. Old Complications was swimming when it arrived, early, and the strange alien that was traveling with the Hunter kept it company for a little while. How amusing, to be the interviewer, interviewed.

  "I am Kunzi jih-Motern, a Tersid of the seeker caste. We entertain, teach, explore, that sort of thing. The Seekers derive from the hunter caste, which split into the warriors, police, spacefarers and such like avocations. I have contracts with several galactic organizations, in addition to the Guild of seekers."

  "So, you were born to be a journalist?" Harry shook his head.

  "I was born a Tersid. The Guild bought me, and raised me into the caste. Tersids have been manipulating nymphs into the desired adult form since before we rose to sapience. Or sentience, for that matter."

  "Bought you? Your species buys and sells children?"

  "Do not be shocked, and understand, it is our way. Adult Trikes adopt immature Trikes into their groupings (The translation software they were using got hung up on 'sororities' versus 'fraternities' ) and Oddities nurture young of their kind. Sometimes young of other species, too. The fact that most species raise the young of their body in families, doesn't mean that it's the only way new adults can be brought into your society. The dominant culture in the Markov Imperium practice contract pairings, where the child is the property of the dams' or the sires' clan, and the Greys, a remnant species, do not reproduce sexually, instead cloning themselves via some sort of plant or tree. Well, I have heard that they mix up the odd transgenic clone, if you will."

  "The more I know…" the human began, and OC finished with him, "The less I understand."

  The Hunter displayed an alarming set of teeth, and Kunzi settled deeper into its' shell, then rallied, chirped, and greeted him in the manner of his species.

  (I'm not sure if there's a rule against this, but I need to shift POV and describe the Tersid through Harry's eyes ("Sorry pal, I needed to hack your eyes..."))

  "Sweet gentle winds attend your journey, Great One! How was your swim? This 'Hu-man'," stressing the strange word, "has been asking about my kind, and I have not yet gotten around to asking about his. Perhaps I might interview him, afterwards? Is that acceptable, Harry of the Humans?"

  ***

  The annoying journalist had asked his questions and departed, after extracting a promised interview with Harry, and they sat by the pool in a companionable silence. Later, after lunch, the Hunter had promised to tell tales to the houseful of rug-rats, in this case rug-kits, Harry amended himself. He'd like to sit in on that, discretely.

  "I have a favor to ask, Human," Old Complications rumbled. He had been sunning himself, sprawled on his back, but now he rolled on his belly and stared gravely at the man.

  Harry scowled. "Kitty-cat saves my life, shows me wonders, and then he gets around
to the price..."

  "You can always say no." Harry had the distinct impression that the alien was laughing at him, then it turned serious again, like sunshine followed by overcast. "Your life is a gift, freely given. I was privileged to save it and your potential-"

  "For good or for evil?" Harry interrupted. God, he was getting tired of that word! These aliens worshiped an altar named potential. Didn't they ever live in the moment? "Stuff it. Tell me want you want."

  "I want you to watch over a world for me."

  "A whole world, just one man?" Harry realized that he was embarrassed, and deeply moved.

  "You'll have help. A few hundred humans, the native sapients, and... one, other, species, in vanishingly small quantities. I want you to watch over them, specifically. Your own kind, too, and the natives, but that seems to be going very well. Much better that one would have expected."

  "What species?"

  "Hunter."

  "Good God." Harry sat there, stunned, then looked around.

  "This spot is secure, proof even against their domestic, ah, precautions."

  "Why would he spy on you?" Harry asked, and then felt like an idiot.

  "Den Orrik is worth- well, the conversion is specious, because there is no currency exchange for, call them 'credits', and the dollar. But they own tens of millions of tons worth of starships. They are also a major supporter of the Conservancy, so, arguably, they have some right to know what I'm up to. I wouldn't mind, but it's too dangerous. For them."

  "So why did you come here, if it's so dangerous?"

  "It would have been rude, and out of character. I'm managing the risk," Old Complications added, somewhat defensively.

  "Yeah... In spy school, we learned about using and protecting 'assets.'"

  Old Complications said nothing to this.

  "Tell me about the favor. Specifics, no dancing around."

  "Well then, specifically, this remnant population of Hunter is unknown to the Wider Galaxy because they went into hiding from the Hunters, themselves."

  "Hell, what'd they do, decide they didn't want to be Hunters anymore?" Harry chuckled, then saw he'd scored a hit. "Is that it?"

  "It has to do with the Atavistic Movement. The star faring species have made various accommodations with space travel, and the Atavists argued that they, collectively, had gotten away from their true natures."

  "Some sort of back to nature fetish?"

  "Not quite. It varied, by species. The Markov turned their federated worlds into an empire, based on the culture which first united their home world, an Autocrat chosen from among eight candidates, in turn chosen from their clans or noble houses. The upshot was that the existing Galactic Peace, a voluntary web of interconnected mutual aid societies, foundations and institutes, was destroyed. All that remains, That Which Remains, is the Conservancy."

  "And the renegade Hunters?"

  OC smiled. "'Why do the hunters need to return to their hunting grounds, that have never left them?! The Tester of Worlds seeks his prey where he will, and it is not our purpose to adapt the Testing, but adapt to the Test!'"

  "So, a religious schism?'

  "Nothing so grand as that. About three dozen fanatics found a quiet place and reshaped themselves and their offspring, and disappeared in to the sea of the second moon of a small gas-giant, known only to the Survey. Some of the Scouts were sympathetic, and they brought in the Rangers and certain members of the Directorate of Transportation. This was a hundred years ago."

  "What about the Humans?"

  "Ah. They were abducted by renegades in the Conservancy, about fifty sailors from the Brazilian Navy and about sixty soldiers and technicians from the Soviet Army. They were freed, and somehow made it to the moon I an speaking of-"

  "Somehow? You're not telling me everything." They sat in silence by the pool, for a little while. "Whatever."

  "The fusion of Russian and Brazilian culture has worked out surprisingly well. They have good relations with the native sapients, but do not know that there is a third sapient species on their world."

  ***

  Parl was not happy to be summoned, by a quorum of his peers (His peers! he ranted, in his mind, damning them all to second-rate status, in his mind), and he took his time, passing through the garden and the pool, smiling at the sight of dozens of kits, children, cousins, friends and employees' children, gathered around the Hunter, rapt.

  "Reshoo was a force leader in the Shining Host, that is, he was father and mother to a dozen soldiers, of various ages and maturities. It was he that made sure they did not neglect their weapons and gear because they were too tired, or ready to give in to despair. He did his best to keep them alive, but from time to time he would lose one, and that was hard. But he kept them together, and fighting the demons, until one day..."

  He'd have to ask the children, later, for a recap. The eaves-dropping gear around Old Complications did not work properly, no big surprise, but perhaps his guest would relent and allow this to be recorded? He could not come out and ask such a thing, of course, which was too bad.

  The air vehicle that took him to the meeting was a new one, and he made a nuisance of himself with his driver, checking out the features. It was fast and comfortable, the variable surfaces and ducted fans shifting in subtle ways that were also beautiful, and so, he almost forgot the reason for the trip.

  They landed on a pad high in the eastern tower of the old GTU complex, which now had many vacancies. Den Orrik could, conceivably, lease some of the space, or buy it outright, but the oligarchy which ran the League of Free Stars had made a bid to take the place over. Parl hoped they didn't decide to tear the place down, if they did. It was a classic piece of architecture, built shortly after the resettlement, and from a time when the institutions of the Galactic Peace had been resurgent.

  He joined 'his peers', in a meeting already in progress, a corner room with a good views of the ocean to the northwest, and the lower slopes of the coastal mountains, to the north. The sun was setting early, at this time of year and latitude, and the city was already lit up like a bright and shiny toy, and the boats on the water left streaks of bioluminescence. He turned away from peace and beauty, to discord and ugly, petty, rivalries. He was honest enough, with himself, to admit to his part in this state of affairs.

  Greetings were exchanged, and Parl was not surprised to see that the head of Public Safety was reporting to these heads of 'The Several Dens,' the RalEnid, of Gara and OjGara, 'Mother' and 'New Mother', respectively.

  "Well met, Commissioner Jeda Fark. My apologies for being late."

  "Well met, indeed, Den Leader Orrik Parl. I have news you will need, although you may not appreciate it, or me."

  "You have always served our interests impartially and well, Commissioner. I have every confidence in you." Parl was mildly surprised to realize that he meant every word of the seemingly empty formula. Fark, at least, took his words as Parl meant them, and nodded.

  "Be that ever so, Den Leader. This concerns your den-guest, and truly, I wish I didn't have to intrude on internal Den matters. But it has become apparent that the Markov Imperium is moving assets, deniable assets, around. It is certain that they will make an attempt of Old Complications' life. I am ashamed to admit that I cannot guarantee his safety, or yours, not without expelling the entire Markov Consulate, several thousand Markov and Client-species residents, and so on."

  ***

  That evening Parl was not at dinner, and Harry wondered what the Gara had been up to. The other adults of Den Orrik had spoken around it, and Harry got the distinct impression that it was off limits, so he left it be, and found himself discussing music and baseball. He'd described a baseball bat, ball and glove, and he was interested in whether a junior member of the household would be able to 'fabricate' reasonable fascimiles of them.

  A few hours later, while Harry was reading a translated account of the OjGara Spacelift, yet another junior member of what he was starting to refer to
as 'The Firm', knocked on his door and asked if he would join OC and Den Leader Parl in the Public Room.

  Harry found two very agitated aliens. The Den leader was pacing, and the the Hunter was extremely still, with the notable exception of his tail, which whipped first one way, and came to a complete stop, then, after a couple of heart beats, back the other way, and stopped, to repeat four or five times before OC caught Harry looking. In English, very low, the Hunter muttered, "I haven't been this angry since they took me off the transport for Hunterhome. At blaster-point!"

  Parl eyed him, then turned to Harry, speaking in English for his benefit. "There are certain universal obligations, of a host, to his guests. I find myself forced to ask you to leave, and violate-"

  ("You two both need to park your egos outside, for the duration.") Harry was very pleased with himself. It was his first sentence in Ilshani, or at least the modern, trade version used here and in the Conservancy.

  The smiles on either face were not friendly. Harry could see OC's teeth, of course. The Gara were also carnivores, and didn't show their teeth for humor, either, any more than the defunct race of Hunters had. Did, he corrected himself.

  It was a long tense moment, broken by Parl yipping, and then OC chuckled, probably a mannerism he'd learned from his human strays.

  "So what are we about to do, here?" Harry asked.

  Parl walked towards them. "The Markov are coming for Old Complications. You too, Human, but only as an afterthought. To be thorough, as only the Markov are thorough. It will all be very discreet," and Parl yipped, "for a given value of discreet. As only the Markov define discreet, really. But, short of a heavy mechanized force to defend the Den, and I did ask for the several dens to lend me one such, they will succeed. And they would come anyway."

  "I can appreciate being really annoyed at this old schemer, but what is the point? I'd wait for a better, quieter, opportunity, myself."

  "Power, and the demonstration of power, or bloody-minded vengeance. Take your pick. Of all the Elder Species, only the Hunters were ever in position to stop the Markov Imperium, and they tried. Tried and failed." OC settled into himself, seeming to deflate. "The Tester of Worlds set us a test, which we failed, totally."