A Thousand Words For Stranger (10th Anniversary Edition) (51 page)

BROTHERS BOUND

by Julie E. Czerneda

Author’s Note:
I wrote this story in 2002, shortly after finishing the third Trade Pact title,
To Trade the Stars.
I knew I’d be putting the Trade Pact and the Clan aside for the next few years, though I’d be back. In the meantime, I wanted to lay the foundation for what was to come. How? By exploring a time not just before the Clan, but before Humans were particularly important, before the Trade Pact itself. Thus, in “Brothers Bound” you will encounter the Hoveny Concentrix for the first time, but not, dare I say, the last.

At the same time, I was interested in showing how the role of Humans within the Trade Pact might have evolved, why we could be so very good at being in the middle of alien squabbles. I’m rather proud of us, as you’ll discover.

BROTHERS BOUND

Operating manuals called it the Biointerface, shortened in use to bio’face. Those enamored of the tech called it words like loyalty, devotion, and love.

The matter of names was of some importance to those who wrote grant proposals and promoted the spread of Humans through the ranks of the First.

What anyone else called this inconvenience didn’t matter at all to First Triad newcomer, Sai Vasilo Aris.

“Hey, Vasi! You can’t bring it with you,” Baoltor yelled again, too loudly. Interested heads turned. There wasn’t much to do at the staging area, and any disturbance had its merit as entertainment. Baoltor seemed oblivious to Vasi’s embarrassment or, more likely, failed to read the emotion. Dains weren’t the most empathic of species. Instead, he continued: “I’m not sitting in the same transport with that stinking thing all the way to Crilliton—”

“Shut up, Baoltor, and make room,” Vasi ordered calmly, though he agreed heartily and would have left the beast in the field barracks had it been within his power. His hand signal, no more than a lift of two fingertips, sent the canid leaping from the muddy street into the side door of the transport, filthy paws scrambling for purchase.

The curses that followed were varied and creative, but brief. Their Triad—Vasi, Ebbet, and Medya, now splashing up to join him—outranked any of the others already crammed inside. Professor Emeritus Y Ebbet, of the 114th Siring by Raken, was on sabbatical from his duties as Chair of Concentrix Studies at the University of South Amilt, on the Queeb world for “Useful Non-breeding Citizens.” His work on Aeande XII had gained widespread recognition in its first field season, so much so that any Triad he formed led all subsequent research here. And no right-minded Queeb in a position of power, even an academic like Ebbet, would tolerate public disrespect of his allies— by anyone else. Vasi was sadly familiar with the quick scorn able to drip from that forked tongue, given how he seemed to fail almost every one of Ebbet’s high expectations.

When Ebbet’s Triad had lost its Finder in an early spring flood, the being fatally stubborn about retrieving artifacts from a supposedly dry streambed, Vasi had been pulled from his training to replace her. He’d have refused, if he’d thought it would do any good. To be un-proved in the field, then dropped in as Senior Finder over all the teams on a project? Of course, Triads were professionals. His skills were undeniable, if untested. These and other platitudes from his instructors failed to console him. Vasi knew too well what they wouldn’t say. Those professionals would pounce on any weakness as an excuse to send him packing.

It only got worse. On arrival, Vasi found he was the only Tidik insystem. From the moment the tug parked his transport in Aeande’s Shipcity, he’d been surrounded by beings incapable of understanding the most basic signals of courtesy, let alone any higher level concepts. Every interaction was confined to the shallow meanings of Comspeak, that bastard tongue of traders and merchants.

Why him at all? Vasi could still taste the bitterness of that ultimate insult, delivered within the first hour of his landing on this world. His skills hadn’t mattered. Ebbet’s Finder had been a Human, bio’faced with one of their beasts. The beast had survived its partner’s misjudgment, and Ebbet valued the animal’s abilities so highly he’d insisted he must have another such pairing. No Human was available fast enough to suit him—but a Tidik Finder-in-training, with sufficiently similar neural physiology, was.

As easily fly without wings as refuse. It was accept the implant and be bound to the creature, or be sent from Aeande XII in disgrace. Vasi had had no choice. Not if he wanted to ever be part of a Triad. Not if he ever wanted his chance to solve the puzzle of the Hoveny Concentrix—the single greatest mystery in explored space.

The Triads were First research teams, made up of individuals possessing the necessary skills of Analyst, Recorder, and Finder, drawn from three presumably complementary species. The diversity was deliberate. There had been too many paths taken by the myriad cultures that had formed the Hoveny Concentrix—let alone the unknown biological constraints of its mysterious members—to make any one present-day species the optimum researcher. The greater the diversity in a research team, the First administrators reasoned, the more likely it would contain some being capable of understanding whatever they found.

There was also the expectation that working in such teams would promote greater understanding of one another and so foster peace. None of the species loosely allied in this quadrant of space were technically at war—at this moment. Few, however, could claim closer association than limited trading agreements or the sharing of derogatory jokes aimed at the newcomer Humans. That might have remained the state of things, but for a mutual fascination concerning the vast civilization that had preceded them all, leaving puzzling ruins throughout their systems. The First formed almost unnoticed, an ongoing research collaboration conducted with deceptive informality by academics of all species, the name an acknowledgment of a level of cooperation that had never been managed before.

To date, the only concrete result of that cooperation was that no member of a Triad had actually killed another. Insulted, misunderstood, proposed inappropriate physical union, and found ways to brawl, yes. Still, Triads worked, and well. They were, after all, researchers with a purpose: to find out why the powerful Concentrix had failed, eons before those now studying them had done more than mark scent and howl.

Which was something the canid appeared to be doing now. Vasi sighed, grabbing the doorframe of the transport and heaving himself inside as the multispecies cursing renewed almost as loudly as those throbbing, mournful cries. Perhaps the animal was disturbed to have been shoved to the very back.

The instant his eyes met those brown ones, the howling stopped. Vasi felt an unwelcome flood of happiness. It wasn’t his. The canid was somehow programmed to respond this way to him, the bio’face freely passing its simple emotional reflexes into his mind. Too freely.

Damn dog,
Vasi thought again, turning his back on his personal curse. The only empty seats were the last two, near the beast. Ignoring those, he walked up the side aisle to the frontmost seat behind the driver and stood waiting. The Tolian occupying the spot beside Ebbet dropped his crest and, with a sidelong look from his emerald eyes, rose and moved aside. Ebbet made an approving noise in his throat as Vasi joined him. They both obligingly slid closer to the sidewall so Medya, who’d followed Vasi, could squeeze in with them. Being a typical Brill, she didn’t so much share the seat as prop some of her ample haunch along its edge.

Being a typical Brill, she was laughing. “You didn’t tell us you’d taught it to sing, Sai Vasilo,” their Triad’s Recorder observed. “And so quickly, too.”

“I didn’t tell you it could pass noxious fumes out of two orifices at once, either,” Vasi replied, his voice even as always. A Tidik trait, the inability to inflect speech with emotion. The slender plates on either side of his neck vibrated with frustration.

Oblivious, Ebbet blinked all six eyes in what seemed random order and chuckled. “That much we all know. Especially after it eats raw omio roots. You didn’t mind my little addition to its supper, did you, Vasi? I thought you’d enjoy getting to know your new partner’s spectacular talent for yourself.”

Vasi didn’t bother to respond. Queeb humor was infamous; they had great difficulty comprehending why other species weren’t as amused by bodily functions or disparaging remarks about ancestry. They had even more difficulty with the concept of reverence for the dearly departed. Such interspecies insensitivity was one reason so many Queebs worked in waste management or became archaeologists. It also explained the common saying: Never tell a Queeb where your family was buried.

The transport lurched forward, obedient to a schedule that had little leeway for latecomers and a driver likely resentful of both muddy feet and alien beasts. She appeared to be taking out such resentment on her passengers. Vasi braced himself, noticing the others did as well. Still, there were sounds, several which could be of laughter; the four Triads presently on Aeande XII were comprised of nine different species, so it wasn’t always easy to tell. They shared a reason to be happy, if not common ways to express it. Vasi himself eagerly anticipated a night away from slogging up mountains and digging through mud barely thawed from winter. The gleeful bedlam in the transport grew louder as the vehicle swayed into the first switchback leading down to Crilliton.

Gleeful except for a sudden yip. Vasi winced as the bio’face transferred the flash of pain. Without intending to, he was on his feet immediately, pushing his way over Medya’s soft, leathery thighs, his extended nails digging into the nearest seatback for support. Standing and trying to move down the aisle was like trying to slope the mountainsides of home, only without the help of skis. The transport hit a pothole and abruptly lurched to one side. As Vasi hung on to avoid landing on Baoltor’s lap, the Dain scowling a warning, he smiled to himself. Perhaps more like sloping on the heels of true spring, when the hills sprouted rocks to threaten all four knee joints.

The canid seemed equally experienced at bracing itself. It had backed against the last, still vacant seat, the front pair of its four legs splayed out to provide the most stable possible platform. The setting sun peered through the clouds and into the mud-streaked windows, beams darting here and there as the transport leaned from side to side. The light revealed the long, pink tongue hanging from the creature’s gaping mouth. A streak of bright red lay amid the foam along one edge.

The wounded tongue seemed of no concern. More accurately, the pain of having bitten itself was smothered under waves of joy through the bio’face as the beast noticed Vasi’s approach. It lost all sense, crouching to sway its thin body in an uncontrolled spasm of greeting, its tail banging against the seat. Having thus lost any stability, the next turn of the transport to follow the hairpin of the road sent the beast flying down the aisle.

Vasi grunted as the creature slammed into his lower abdomen, suddenly compressing a few body parts not meant to be so abused. As he gasped and licked tears from his lips, the beast leaped up again, apparently viewing this contact as welcome.

The creature was more practiced at the bio’face than Vasi, but he’d learned enough to force
disapproval
from his mind into its, particularly when he felt this motivated. The happy squirming slowed and stopped, the beast dropping to the floor and doing its utmost to lie on its back submissively, even as the transport swerved madly around the next bend. Vasi had to reach down and grab it so it didn’t roll back into the seat support and harm itself. He might be a member of a First Triad—but this beast was more important than he was. Everyone, starting with Professor Emeritus Y Ebbet, of the 114
^th
Siring by Raken, had left that in no doubt whatsoever.

The handling wasn’t affectionate, but the creature responded as though he’d caressed it, ropelike tail banging against his boots. Vasi did his utmost to ignore the emotions rippling across the bio’face.

He turned and, grabbing seats for purchase, began pulling himself forward again, only to halt in dismay as Ebbet’s face appeared over Medya’s lap. The Queeb’s voice was unfortunately loud: “Finder Durgin held it on her lap, during rides like this. Protected it from the bumps. Shouldn’t you, Sai Vasilo?”

Vasi froze in dismay. The beast was dripping with mud and smelled worse than usual. He was wearing the only fine clothes he’d brought to Aeande XII, in hopes of finding some attractive being interested in mutual stimulation at the bar—or at least a dance or two.

Judging by the laughter in the transport, those were hopes he should abandon now.

 
“I concur with Finder Vasilo. We should go here today.” Medya’s ivory-tipped finger dimpled the surface of the image displayed on the map table. “Our records of the uppermost area are incomplete.”

Ebbet considered this thoughtfully, tilting his head as though the angle made some additional information available only to a Queeb’s multiple eyes. Vasi would have taken it for affectation in anyone else, but he had nothing but respect for the scholar, Queeb or not. Well, respect and an ongoing sense of humiliation. How could he possibly contribute to this fine Triad, except as the keeper of that beast?

He might be smarting over last night, which had been every bit as demeaning an experience as he’d feared— including a regrettable incident involving a bodily function—but Vasi couldn’t help but be excited by the red-stained area under Medya’s fingertip. It was high-risk. The slope indicated challenged any he’d seen on his home world, but the potential . . . he leaned closer, sure he wasn’t imagining a curved outline, a suggestion of something buried, possibly a structure more elaborate and intact than any found thus far. Looking for such clues was his job, as was getting them there safely. Vasi found it hard to keep the flaps under his chin still. “The forecasters are calling for gusty winds out of the north-east, Professor,” he made himself say. “Clouds are already forming on the peaks. I’d be remiss not to warn of the potential for a sudden snowfall.”