Diuturnity's Dawn (14 page)

“You’ve been quiet about it, anyway.”

“We don’t believe in trumpeting our accomplishments.”

Their visitor chuckled anew. “Believers in word-of-mouth, eh? Can’t say as I blame you. It’s the best advertising no matter what you’re selling.”

“We are not ‘selling’ anything,” Twikanrozex corrected him. The thranx was growing irritated with this self-assured human.

“Sure, sure.” The visitor spoke as if humoring a child. “That’s the baseline every religion has used since the beginning of time. Well, how do I join?”

Briann frowned. They had finally encountered someone for whom their training had not prepared them. “You mean, after all that cynicism you’re still interested in joining the Church?”

“Why not? I’m always in need of fresh amusement. In my work I have access to the latest stimsims, tridee plays, prose, you name it. So I’m highly cultured but easily bored. Your church will be a diversion, a lark, a fashionable fancy. My friends are very big on one-upmanship, but I don’t know a single one who can claim to have worshiped alongside a bug. Your pardon, sir or whatever—a thranx. When I’m bored again, I’ll move on to something else.” He spread his arms wide. “Meanwhile, your organization will have gained another new, albeit transient, neophyte.”

Recovering nicely, Briann extended a hand. Shaking it, the other man seemed to lose just a hint of his astonishing self-assurance. “You’re going to accept me in spite of my avowed lack of expectation?”

“The United Church turns no one down. There is room within for all,” Briann affirmed. “Even the incredulous.”

“Well, that’s mighty obliging of you! I look forward to reading your source materials, and to having a good laugh at their expense.”

Twikanrozex saw to it that the visitor’s communicator accepted the information transfer before congratulating him in turn. “If you gain a few days’ amusement from all that we have given you, that will be reward enough. An amused species is a contented species.”

“Glad to know that you bu—thranx have a sense of humor.”

“You will learn more about us from the Church materials,” Twikanrozex informed him. “The UC was formed by a human and a thranx working in concert. It is an entirely new idea in interspecies relations.”

“And one that neatly sidesteps the current controversies raging between our respective governments.” Exaggerating the gesture, the man put a finger to his lips. “You’re very clever, you people are, but it won’t make any difference in the end.”

“We think it will,” Briann replied. “Enjoy your literature.”

“So I will; so I will. It’ll give me something to wade through in space-plus, on the way back to New Paris.” With that he departed, tucking his communicator back into his shirt pocket.

“What do you make of our chances with that one?” Twikanrozex tracked the human’s progress across the strip of fairgrounds pavement, which looked and felt exactly like grass except that it was impervious to both footwear and the elements and needed neither light nor water to maintain its springiness and color.

“He’s intelligent.” Briann turned back to their display, wondering if he ought to switch the order of presentation to present a new field of images to first-time viewers who happened to be passing by. “But I have yet to meet the individual who was so smart they could keep from fooling themselves. If he reads, and doesn’t just delete the load you gave him, I think he very well might choose to partake. I’d much rather try to convince an intelligent cynic than a willing ignoramus.”

“Maxim forty-seven.” Twikanrozex shuffled around to the back of the display tower. “Let’s put the site selection first for a while. Looking at your equatorial lands helps to take the chill out of this air for me. Mentally, at least.”

“Sorry you’re cold. As soon as we’re done here, we’ll go spend some time in the Willow-Wane pavilion.”

“
Srr!rrt
—ah, for the feel of real air in my lungs! You’ll be all right there, Brother Briann?”

The human nodded. “I don’t mind sweating in the service of the Church—or for my friends.”

9

The more Pilwondepat thought about it in the days that followed, the more the affair nagged at him. Probably he was obsessing on nothing, haunted by matters of no real consequence, simply because he was personally irritated at what was happening on Comagrave. It detracted from his work, and he knew it. But he could not stop himself. He had always been afflicted with something of a suspicious nature, and as an exoarcheologist he was trained to draw substantiative conclusions from dozens, often hundreds, of miniscule, seemingly unrelated sources.

It wasn’t just the circumstance of the unfortunate human who had been bitten by a native arthropod only to be saved by the extraordinarily fortuitous proximity of an AAnn mineralogical sampling team. That was what had sparked his imagination, true, but reports of other incidents had been festering in his mind for many weeks now. Festering, until the occasion of the arthropod bite had caused all of it to burst forth in the full flower of anxiety.

Too many bad things were happening. Surely, Comagrave was a dangerous place, newly discovered and barely explored. Trouble was to be expected, even the occasional disaster, but there were no hostile native sentients to fear, no overwhelming profligacy of inimical life-forms. Either the humans who had come to study and explore were an exceedingly inept bunch, or else too many of them had been born in the hive of the unlucky. From personal experience, Pilwondepat knew the former to be untrue, and he did not believe in the latter.

Therefore, something else was going on.

He was circumspect in his investigation. It was not his province to ask personal questions of individuals from various camps and outposts, though he had the means to do so. Drawing together individual recollections of seemingly unrelated incidents might have enabled him to come to a conclusion more swiftly. But it would also have drawn attention to him. He did not fear such attention from the humans themselves. It was the presence of so many AAnn “observers” on the planet that induced him to keep a low profile.

While he could only exchange communications with the occasional human, there was nothing to prevent him from examining the contents of every unrestricted report that was being filed or sent offworld. These were available to all at the touch of the right button. Electronic translation supplemented his growing knowledge of Terranglo, enabling him to inspect the relevant correspondence as rapidly as any other potential reader. And the more he read, the more convinced he became of the correctness of his suppositions.

They were very clever. Not every catastrophe was on the order of the complete destruction of the thermal supply depot and research station. The multitude of incidents varied in degree between that and the bite that had nearly killed a single researcher. Some of the details were almost amusing in their resourcefulness. A case of food poisoning at one paleontological camp, for example, resulted in not a single fatality. But once again, it was the AAnn who were conveniently positioned to provide the fresh fruit that cured the humans’ digestive upsets. Studying the information, Pilwondepat stridulated involuntarily. Though they shared the omnivorous appetites of most intelligent species, AAnn appetites fell decidedly on the carnivorous side of the food spectrum. How convenient of them to have fresh fruit at their disposal! How implausible. And just the right sort of fruit to cure a digestive disorder within the human system, too.

An aircar carrying a quartet of avian researchers went down in a deep canyon. With human help already on the way, an AAnn craft in the vicinity arrived first to render assistance and effect the needed repairs. A lone prospector—half geologist, half entrepreneur—was found dead in the wildly eroded territory human cartographers had named the Bacunin Badlands. Cause of death: a bad fall. No AAnn available to recover the body, Pilwondepat read. He made a mental note to suggest that a larger, better equipped expedition explore the region. If the AAnn were responsible, as he was beginning to suspect they were in the majority of such unexplained incidences, it was because they wanted to prevent the humans, or in this case one solitary adventurer, from finding something. Pilwondepat was willing to bet a case of goldel
surr!onyy
from Trix that the Bacunin Badlands hid mineral deposits of some value.

Considered individually, the incidents he waded through would not have drawn more than passing commiserations from those who scrutinized them. Assessed together, they comprised a litany of AAnn involvement in human misery and misfortune on Comagrave that could hardly count as coincidence. But who could he lay his case before? The few other thranx on the planet were wholly immersed in their own activities. Sending his conclusions offworld might eventually bring a response, but without any hive authority on the human colony world, he would be left to implement any decision all by himself. And he was a scientist, not a soldier.

He was left to ponder who best among the human population to present with his findings. He knew none of the planetary authority personnel individually. Handing the information to a skeptical official might have any number of consequences, many of which could be bad. They might laugh at him or dismiss his allegations out of hand. Swamped by the difficulties of supervising the exploration and development of a complex new world, the authorities were likely to have little time to spare for the complaints of their own kind, much less for the wild inferences of a visiting alien. Worse yet, the AAnn might be monitoring, officially or otherwise, all such planetary transmissions. If he did not proceed with care and caution, he might well find himself the victim of still another of the inexplicable accidents that up to now had plagued only the resident humans.

Who could he talk to? Who could he converse with who would not treat him as a bug afflicted with paranoia? If it could not be an outsider, then it would have to be a colleague, and one with enough authority to make recommendations that would be listened to. His choices were very limited.

The following morning was bright and clear. The desiccating wind that perpetually scoured the crest of the escarpment was blissfully subdued, and there were even a few dark clouds marring the cerulean blue of the sky. His lungs sucked at the distant suggestions of humidity like a drowning man gasping for any hint of oxygen. Busy, energetic humans crawled over the excavation site, resembling more than they knew the terrestrial insects they professed to loathe.

He was pleased to find Cullen in his portable, prefab living chamber. Confronting him outside, where someone else might overhear, was best avoided. Not that Pilwondepat worried about the energetic bipeds who were laboring on the site, but there was always the possibility that anything said out in the open might get back to Riimadu. That was the one consequence Pilwondepat knew had to be avoided.

As soon as he descried his visitor, Cullen immediately shut off the chamber’s air-conditioning. No thranx could take more than a few minutes of the dry, refrigerated air without passing out. Setting aside the viewer and spheres he was working with, he greeted the insectoid with a nod.

“Morning, Pilwondepat. You look tired.”

“You’ve grown perceptive in my company.” Unable to use any of the furniture in the chamber, Pilwondepat sagged into a six-legged stance opposite the desk. Thus positioned, he could barely see over it. “Most humans would not have noticed.”

Putting his hands behind his head, Cullen leaned back in the chair. “I do occasionally look up instead of down.” He gestured past his guest. “Work’s going well. The clouds will cut the heat today.”

“I welcome the clouds for the moisture they contain, but lament the lowering of the temperature. As your kind are wont to say, in this place I am climatologically damned if it does and damned if it doesn’t.” Edging forward, he reached up to grasp the edge of the lightweight desk with both truhands. His blue-green exoskeleton gleamed in the filtered light that poured through the integrated skylight. “If something isn’t done, I think the human presence on Comagrave is damned as well.”

Blinking, Cullen sat forward. “I thought you seemed awfully preoccupied these past couple of weeks, but I couldn’t be sure.” Reaching up, he tugged playfully at the corners of his mouth with both index fingers. “Your people are the original poker faces.”

Pilwondepat gestured with a truhand. “I am not familiar with the reference.”

“It means someone can’t tell what you’re thinking just by looking at your expression.”

“Because we have no expressions, due to the inflexible nature of our countenances. Now I understand. A good joke. As I said before, you are perceptive. And correct. I have been very much preoccupied, to the detriment of my work here, I fear. But what I have learned is of far greater importance.”

Cullen checked the chamber’s climate control one more time to make certain the air-conditioning was off. “And what have you learned, my friend?”

Pilwondepat wished for a greater mastery of Terranglo: for the ability to speak smoothly as if burbling, for the talent to convey overtones of meaning without the use of moving limbs. “That the AAnn are working to actively eradicate the human presence on Vussussica, as they so indifferently call it.”

“Everyone knows they’d like to have this world.” Cullen was rocking gently back and forth in his chair. The silent floating support conformed to and tried to anticipate the twitching of his muscles. “It suits them perfectly. But it does just fine for us, too, and we were here first. As they have acknowledged—rather gracefully, some of my colleagues feel.”

“AAnn ‘grace’ is a cover for their natural cunning. They are very shrewd, are the AAnn. They want you off this world, and they mean to have it.” Pilwondepat was gesturing with all four hands now; he couldn’t help it. “They are not so foolish as to challenge you openly, or to attempt to take Comagrave by force. Though they could do so easily, ever since the war with the Pitar they have a healthy respect for human military power. Overrunning this world with ships and soldiers would only bring inevitable retribution down upon them.”

“Damn right it would.” Cullen had work to do, but the thranx’s energy was infectious, even if his message was nonsensical.

“So they work slowly, with great subtlety. Instead of attempting to throw you off this world, or negotiate you off, they are working hard to see to it that you choose to depart voluntarily. They don’t want you to surrender Comagrave to them. They hope to induce you to cede it gladly.” Reaching back into a thorax pouch, the exoarcheologist withdrew a small mollysphere.

“This is one of your storage devices. In the time I have spent among your kind, I have learned how to manipulate and make use of many such moderately ingenious devices. I used one of your own recording appliances instead of mine so that copies could be easily made, transshipped, or otherwise passed along.” He laid the molly on Karasi’s desk. “It contains exhaustive documentation of the kinds of incidents I have been examining.”

For the first time, Cullen’s curiosity surpassed his sense of courtesy. “What incidents?”

“Almost from the day humans claimed Comagrave and began to establish a presence here, there have been a disturbing number of fatal accidents and confrontations.”

Cullen was solemn, but not particularly impressed. “Exploration and development of a new world invariably entails sacrifices. And Comagrave is no New Paris or New Riviera—or Willow-Wane, for that matter. If not unreservedly hostile, the environment here can be difficult. So can the flora and fauna.”

Pilwondepat gestured impatiently, not even bothering to wonder if the human exoarcheologist understood any of the elaborate hand movements. “All that is true, but it does not explain the consistency of catastrophe you have been experiencing.” He indicated the molly. “I have taken the liberty of putting together several mathematical models based on my studies that I think your people will find interesting.”

“Why?” Cullen challenged him politely. “Because they’ll show that Comagrave is a little more dangerous than most? We know that already.”

Pilwondepat’s frustration continued to grow. By now, his antennae were bobbing and weaving wildly. “It’s not that! Far too many times, when misfortune has struck, the AAnn have been right there, either with assistance or advice.”

Cullen pursed his lips. “Some people might think that was good of them.”

“There is on Hivehom a class of scavengers who invariably materialize at the scene of a catastrophe, as if they can smell death. Unchallenged, they will immediately start to consume the dead. No one thinks that is especially good of them.” He thrust the tips of both antennae in the human’s direction. “The AAnn are too often present at the finish of assorted tragedies, like unsought punctuation at the end of a statement.” A chitinous blue-green finger nudged the molly. “Go on, Cullen. See for yourself. Nearly every ‘accident’ reported therein coincides with a concurrent episode of AAnn ‘helpfulness.’ “

“I’m still not sure what you’re trying to say,” the exoarcheologist replied softly.

The thranx sat back on four trulegs. “That almost without exception, whenever some tragedy has befallen your people on this world, AAnn have followed close, too close, behind. That in these matters they are being proactive and not reactive.”

Cullen’s attention was now fully engaged. “You’re trying to tell me that they’re not responding to these mishaps, but that they’re causing them?”

Taking no chances, Pilwondepat did not rely on strong gesticulations to convey his response. “That is exactly what I am saying.”

“But . . . why?”

“To convince you that Comagrave is not worth the grief it can cause you. To persuade your government, or at the very least your public opinion, that human interests in this part of the Arm would be better served by turning administration and development of this particular planet over to the Empire. And they will accomplish this, I fear, if your people are not enlightened as to what is taking place under their very olfactory organs, and do not become alert to the scaled ones’ calculating machinations.”

The chief scientist was silent for a long moment. Rising from his contemplation, he regarded the gleaming being who waited patiently on the other side of the desk.