"Ah-but you underestimate two-year-olds," Hayes waggled a warning finger at him.
"All I had to do was find the proper age-specific behavior pattern and figure out how to adapt it."
Banning blinked. "You"ve lost me."
"Oh, come on, Tom, you"ve seen it yourself. What does a kid JUNIOR"s age do when you make him eat something he doesn"t like? He pushes it around with his teeth and the tip of his tongue, trying like the devil to swallow it without letting any of it touch the sides of his mouth."
Banning"s eyes went wide. "Are you saying...?"
"That"s right," Hayes nodded. "I tied JUNIOR into the test chamber... and then programmed him to hate the taste of plasma."
Banning looked at the printout. "When the n.o.bel committee phones you," he said, "I want dibs on half the prize money."
"You got it."
The Art of War
You know how it ended, of course. Or at least you know the official version of how it ended, which isn"t quite the same. I imagine all the parties involved would have preferred to completely bury that first incident; I know for my part that I was instructed in no uncertain terms to keep quiet about what I knew.
But you can"t completely hush up a debacle that cost sixty-three men their lives.
Especially not when one of them was a Supreme Convocant of the United Ethnos of Humanity.
So you know more or less how it ended. It"s time you learned how it began.
It began with my eighteenth birthday, and my parents" desire to do something really special for my nineteenth year. The Year of YouthJourneying, we called it on New Ararat: a brief interval between the end of Inst.i.tute and the beginning of life as adults. Most of my friends were going the traditional routes: taking career-sample apprenticeships, joining volunteer groups, doing YouthJourney tours around New Ararat, or-for the more adventuresome-signing aboard starfreighters to travel the whole sector.
My parents outdid them all. Somehow, I still don"t know how, they w.a.n.gled me a one-year appointment as aide to Magnell Sutherlan, Convocant from New Ararat to the Supreme Convocation of the UnEthHu. My friends were all kelly green with envy; naturally, I milked it shamelessly for all it was worth.
It didn"t take long for the shine to wear off, though. Zurich was crowded and noisy, with a crime rate probably a thousand times that of our whole district back home. The Convocation Complex itself was huge, practically impossible not to get lost in, and populated by some of the most snidely condescending people I"d ever met. And Convocant Sutherlan, far from being a respected, sharp-edged lawmaker the way the newspages always portrayed him, was old, tired, and completely detached from what was going on. Just treading water, really, until this final term was over and he could go home.
It was not exactly an atmosphere that bred enthusiasm. As a result, whenever there was travel to be done-whether secure doc.u.ment delivery, repre-meetings, or personal errands-I was always the first of Sutherlan"s aide corps to volunteer.
A fair percentage of those first few months were spent crisscrossing Earth in a suborbital or hopping between various planets of the UnEthHu in one or another of Sutherlan"s official half-wings.
And so it was that, four months into my tenure, I found myself two hundred pa.r.s.ecs from Earth on the Kailth world of Quibsh.
Everyone in the UnEthHu knows where Quibsh is now, of course, but back then even most professional politicians had never heard of the place. No real surprise; Quibsh was a fairly useless border world, with an unimpressive list of resources and an outer crust that was a staggering collection of tectonic instabilities.
The Kailth had put a couple of minor military outposts there to watch over a population of a few million hardy colonists, about half of whom resided in a single city in one of the more fertile valleys. The Kailth and UnEthHu had made contact about ten years previously, but with the Dynad"s main attention focused on the ongoing Pindorshi trade disputes, we hadn"t given the Kailth much more than pa.s.sing notice.
The diplomatic corps had installed a one-man consulate in the main Quibsh city, where I was supposed to pick up some research doc.u.ments Convocant Sutherlan had ordered as a favor to a const.i.tuent. The pilotcomp landed the half-wing behind the consulate-it had its own drop beacon-and I presented my ID and request to the consular agent, a wrinkled man named Clave Verst who, like Sutherlan, seemed to be marking time until retirement. He got me the doc.u.ments, and I was preparing to head back to the half-wing when I took a second look at the request form and noticed a hand-written note asking me to also bring back a case of Kailth mixed cooking brandies. There wasn"t a single sh.e.l.l of the stuff to be had in the consulate, the nearest potables dealer was a kilometer away, and Verst made it abundantly clear he wasn"t about to waste his own time on such a frivolous errand. So, armed with a fistful of detailed instructions and a stomachful of queasiness, I headed out alone.
The spider-web maze of streets was surprisingly crowded-I thought more than once that the entire population must have decided to go out walking or driving that afternoon-but I"d b.u.mped shoulders with other species before and it wasn"t as bad as I"d been afraid it would be. For a small fraction of the pedestrians I seemed to be a minor curiosity; for the rest, I was something to be ignored completely.
I had just turned what I hoped was the last corner when I spotted Tawni.
She was probably the last thing I would have expected to see out there among all those lizard-skinned, b.u.mblebee-faced Kailth. A human woman, of medium height and slender build, with an exotically cut cascade of black hair that at the moment was obscuring most of her face as she leaned into the open engine compartment of what looked like an ancient Pemberkif Scroller. The vehicle was parked beside the curb, or else had summarily died there. On all sides, completely oblivious to her plight, streams of Kailth shuffled past, breaking around her like a river around a rock.
Protocol probably dictated that I call back to the consulate, report the situation, and then continue on with my errand while Verst handled it. But she was a human, and in trouble, and I was an aide to a UnEthHu Convocant. More importantly, I was nineteen, and what I could see of her looked pretty attractive. Working my way through the traffic, I headed over.
I got through the last rivulet of pedestrians and stepped to her side.
"Having some trouble?" I asked inanely.
She looked up, giving me my first look at a face that more than met my expectations: young and beautiful, in a dark and distinctly exotic way, though at the moment she was almost at the point of tears from the frustration of her situation. A delicate line-scar or tattoo, I couldn"t tell which-arched almost invisibly from the bridge of her nose over her right eyebrow, curving around her cheekbone and past the corner of her lip to disappear into the dimple at the point of her chin. From one of the frontier Ridgeline worlds, I guessed, where humanity"s races had been mixed in unusual combinations and body ornamentation could get a little bizarre.
And where, I belatedly remembered, Anglish was not always the language of choice. For a second she just gazed up at me, her face not seeming to register my question; and I was trying to figure out a Plan B when my words suddenly seemed to click. "Yes," she said. Her accent was soft and delicate and as exotic as the rest of her. "Can you help me?"
"I can try," I said, peering into the engine compartment. It was a Scroller, all right, though from the looks of it whoever had traded it to her had gotten the better end of the deal. I was just reaching in to check the motivor cables when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the pedestrian stream falter and looked up to see what was going on.
Rounding another corner, heading across the intersection, were a pair of Kailth warriors.
I"d seen pictures of Kailth warriors at the Convocation Complex, vids secretly taken by SkyForce Intelligence at the Chompre and TyTiernian pacifications near the edges of the Kailthaermil Empire. We hadn"t tangled with them yet ourselves, but there was a widespread feeling in the Complex back rooms that it was just a matter of time before we did. The Kailth controlled a lot of territory, with a fair number of non-Kailth under their control, and that almost always spelled trouble.
Besides which-the more cynical argument went-the Pindorshi situation wouldn"t last forever, and wars and conflicts were too politically useful for politicians to stay away from them for long.
Watching the SkyForce reports in the safety of a Zurich screening room, I had hoped those cynics were wrong. Standing there in the middle of a Quibsh street, I desperately hoped they were wrong. On telephoto vids, Kailth warriors were impressive; up close and personal, they were d.a.m.n near terrifying. Armored up to their headcrests in full combat suits, walking in lockstep, they were straight out of a xenophobic newspage docu-diatribe. Or straight out of h.e.l.l.
The two warriors spotted me at roughly the same time I spotted them, and in perfect unison they shifted direction toward us. Instinctively, I moved closer to the girl-some chivalric idea about sticking together, I suppose-and I threw her a quick glance to see how she was handling this.
And paused for a longer look. She was gazing at the warriors, but the look on her face wasn"t the knee-shaking trepidation I was feeling. She was smiling, the tension lines in her face already starting to smooth out.
It was a look of relief. Maybe even adoration.
"You," one of the Kailth said in pa.s.sable Anglish. "Human male. What are you doing?"
My tongue tangled momentarily over my teeth. "I-she"s having trouble with her Scroller," I managed. "I stopped to help."
He held out his right hand. "Identify."
I fumbled out my ID folder and handed it over, wondering nervously whether a UnEthHu Convocation ID would be an a.s.set or a liability here. My eyes drifted to the lumpy black weapon strapped to his left side, not much bigger than the5mm slugkicker pistol I used to plink targets with when I was a kid. At its highest setting, this particular sidearm could allegedly drop a two-story brick building with a single shot.
The warrior studied the ID for what seemed like an inordinately long time.
Then, closing it, he handed it back and turned his insectine gaze on the woman.
"Does he bother you, Citizen-Three?" he demanded.
"Not at all, Warrior-Citizen-One," she said, bowing her head. "It is as he said: he paused to help me."
I stared at her, suddenly almost oblivious to the warriors. Citizen-Three?
"Do you wish our a.s.sistance?" the warrior continued.
The girl looked at me. "No," she said. "I will be fine. Thank you for your concern."
The warrior threw one more long look at me. Then, in lockstep once more, the
two.
of them pa.s.sed us by and disappeared down another street.
I looked at the girl, my stomach churning. "He called you Citizen-Three," I said. "Citizen-Three of what?"
"Of the Kailthaermil Empire," she said, as if it was obvious. "I and my people are third-citizens." She reached up and touched the tattoo line on her face.
"Your people," I said, dimly realizing I was starting to blither like an idiot.
But I couldn"t help it. "But you"re human. Aren"t you?"
"Yes," she said. "My people were saved from invaders by the Kailthaermil many years ago. For that we will forever be grateful to them."
I frowned harder... and then, with a sudden jolt, I got it.
She and her people were verlorens.
"Would you be willing," I asked carefully, "to take me to your people?"
For the first time a shadow of uncertainty seemed to cross her face. But then the shadow pa.s.sed, and she smiled. "Of course," she said.
"Thank you." I cleared my throat. "By the way, my name"s Stane Markand."
"Stane Markand," she repeated, bowing her head as she had toward the Kailth warriors. "I am Tawnikakalina."
"Tawnikakalina," I said. It didn"t sound nearly as melodious as when she said it. But with any luck, I figured I might just have a chance to practice.
We spent the next half hour kluge-rigging the Scroller back to health, then nursing it over to the consulate. There I had it loaded aboard my half-wing, informing the pilotcomp and Consular Agent Verst that I"d be making one more stop on Quibsh and postponing my departure from the planet for a day or two.
The pilotcomp, programmed with flexibility in mind, took the change in plans in stride. Verst obviously couldn"t have cared less.
It was about two hundred kilometers to where Tawni"s people had been settled in a scattering of small villages beneath a line of squat volcanoes. We put down on a section of lava flow near Tawni"s village, and by the time we had the Scroller rolled out, a small mob of her people had gathered around the half-wing to see what was going on. She explained the situation to them in a few musical sentences, and with a dozen enthusiastic young men pushing the Scroller ahead of them, we all went down to her village.
I don"t know how widespread the term verloren ever became around the UnEthHu.
It was mostly an academic word, borrowed from the Old German word for lost, that was used to describe the phenomenon of Earth-born human beings or their relics discovered dozens or even hundreds of pa.r.s.ecs away from Earth with no apparent way for them to have gotten there. Genetic and linguistic studies were inconclusive, but they suggested that the original ancestors of the groups had left Earth some six to ten thousand years earlier. Whether the colonies had been deliberately planted by some unknown starfaring race, or whether the verlorens were the equivalent of white rats discarded after an experiment, no one knew.
There were thirty-one known archaeological digs that showed evidence of a long-past human presence, another dozen or so scatterings of primitive humans at Iron Age level or below, and three genuinely thriving verloren societies.
With Tawni"s people, I"d apparently discovered a fourth.
"Our history on Sagtt"a goes back to the Great Rain of Fire," she explained as she showed me around her village. "Our ancestors sought refuge from the fire inside a strange mountain. When they came out, the land and the stars had changed."
I nodded. Two of the other verloren cultures also had a Rain of Fire in their histories. "That must be when you were taken from Earth."
"Yes, though it was many generations before we realized what had actually happened," Tawni said. "Not until after the first invasion."
"The Kailth?"
She shook her head, her hair shimmering in the sunlight with the movement.
"No, the invaders were called the Orraci Matai," she said. "Large creatures with many fish-like fins. They occupied Sagtt"a for four generations before they were overthrown by the Xa, who ruled us for thirty years before they were in turn overthrown by the Phashiskar. They stayed three generations before they were conquered by the Baal"ariai, in a terrible battle that killed a quarter of our people."
It was an old, old pattern: innocent people caught in a trade route or strategic power position, being fought over by every ambitious empire-builder who came along. "So the Kailth are just the latest batch of conquerors?"
"The Kailthaermil are not conquerors," she said. "They are liberators. They forced the Aoeemme from Sagtt"a, but then pulled their own warriors back to orbiting stations and proclaimed that our people were once again free to rule ourselves."
"Ah." Another old pattern, though one that was far less frequently seen: conquerors who were smart enough to allow local self-rule in exchange for cooperation and the payment of tribute. It was more efficient than trying to run everything directly, and you could always go in and stomp them if they tried pushing their autonomy too far. "This was in exchange for certain rules of conduct from your society?"
"All societies have rules of conduct," she pointed out.
"Of course," I said. "How much tribute do you pay each year?"
She stopped and frowned up at me. "Why do you persist in thinking ill of the Kailthaermil?" she asked. "Have they done ill to you?"
"Well, no, not exactly," I had to admit. "Actually, we don"t know all that much about them yet. But we know they"ve conquered a large number of other races and peoples, and we"ve seen enough conquerors to know how they usually behave."
"But you do not know the Kailthaermil," she insisted. "They do not demand our lives or our property. Only some of our artwork. And for this they give us safety."
Aha, I thought, there it is. Artwork. "What artwork?" I asked.
She pointed toward a squat volcano with a wide crater. "I will show you.
Come."
I was not, to say the least, thrilled at the prospect of climbing into a volcano crater, particularly one that was smoldering restlessly with sulfur and the occasional burst of steam from some vent or other. Tawni"s people obviously felt differently: there were already five others moving briskly around the crater at various tasks as we entered through a gap in the side of the cone.
"This is our curing chamber," Tawni said at my side. "Over there-" she pointed to a rough shelf along one side of the wall-"are our calices."
I stared at them, forgetting the sulfur corroding my lungs, forgetting even that I was standing inside a volcano. The calices were that riveting. Roughly spherical in shape, about twenty centimeters across each, they were composed of intricate twistings of brilliant gold metal fibers interwoven with equally slender twistings of some richly dark-red material. There were eight of them lined up on the shelf, with the kind of small variations that said they were individually handmade.
"Come," Tawni said softly, taking my arm. "Come and see."
We walked across the uneven rock to the shelf. Up close, I could see that the dark red strands were some kind of wood or plant fiber, not quite as flexible as the metal wires but with a stiffness that introduced a textural counterpoint into the design. At the very center of the woven threads was some kind of crystalline core that reflected the gold and red that swirled around it, as well as adding a pale blue-white to the color scheme.