Raising Caine - eARC (40 page)

Chapter Forty

Southern extents of the Third Silver Tower; BD +02 4076 Two (“Disparity”)

Akin to Riordan’s initial encounter with the regressed Slaasriithi on Delta Pavonis Three, the passage of time seemed impossibly dilatory. And when Veriden shifted impatiently, Riordan was gratified to see Gaspard make a savage gesture of cessation in her direction.

A faint movement stirred in the bush, well ahead of Caine.

“Something coming,” Macmillan muttered.

Riordan nodded. “Let it come. Lower your rifle. And stay where you are.” Caine was about to suggest that the Scotsman should also try to relax when a great wave of calm flowed through not just his mind, but his body—which Riordan reflexively resisted, much the same way he would shake off drowsiness when driving at night.

“It is not necessary that you use friendship spores on us,” he said calmly into the underbrush ahead.

The brush parted. A Slaasriithi of Yiithrii’ah’aash’s general physiology and size appeared. Its pelt was somewhat darker, it wore a backpack, and its finger-tendrils were festooned with numerous control rings akin to those the legation had seen used on the shift-carrier. “I believe you mean Amity spores,” said a pleasant but machine-generated voice from the Slaasriithi’s backpack, “although the meaning is similar. However, I did not project amity spores upon you. That would compromise your freedom of action and will.”

“Then what did you use?”

“A combination of relief and rapport spores.”

“Rapport sounds as though it might influence one’s will, as well,” Gaspard pointed out as Veriden and Macmillan drew closer.

“It does not. It maximizes”—the computer-generated voice uttered a set of meaningless twitters and squawks—“between species which otherwise lack a shared medium of communication. Such as our two species.”

“Yiithrii’ah’aash seems to understand us just fine without a magic box.” Veriden’s voice was sharp, cautious.

“Yiithrii’ah’aash? Is he the Prime Ratiocinator who directs the actions of the
Tidal-Drift
-”—more unintelligible squeaks and yowls from the backpack—“
to-Shore-of-Stars
?”

“Eh?” grunted Macmillan.

Caine understood. “Is that the name of Yiithrii’ah’aash’s shift-carrier?”

“Yes. I am not well informed in the matter of Yiithrii’ah’aash’s mission here or your identities, other than that you are humans who have been invited to travel on to our homeworld.”

“And that someone is trying to kill us all.”

“Yes. This also we have deduced.”

“Have
deduced
?” Veriden shouted. “What, wasn’t it obvious enough when ships are getting blown to pieces right over your heads?”

The Slaasriithi seemed to start backwards slightly. “Your tone is one of agitation. I am unsure what I have—”

“It has been a very trying time for us,” Caine interrupted. “Several of us who crashed in our shuttle were killed, several others wounded.”

The Slaasriithi’s tetrahedral head turned slightly, as if he might be considering Caine more closely. “You are not well, either.”

Caine waved off the concern. “It’s nothing. We have more immediate concerns. We are running out of both food and water. I am sorry to ask for help even before we have exchanged names and learned more of each other, but it is imperative that we see to the needs of our group.”

“The water in the river is safe for your species to drink—”

—which we would have discovered, out of desperation, in the next few days—

“—but the matter of food that is both palatable and nourishing will require the labor of several taxae. To initiate that process, I must coordinate with my partners. Will it alarm you if I bring them here to join us?”

“Not at all,” Gaspard jumped in eagerly. “We have hoped to meet you, to meet anyone. How fortunate that you have found us at last!”

“In actuality,” the Slaasriithi responded slowly, “we have been following your movements for three days now. I just arrived yesterday, however.”

“For three days—?” Gaspard blinked rapidly. “Then why did you not offer help? Why did we have to beat the bushes to discover you? This is most inconsiderate.”

The Slaasriithi reeled in its neck a bit. “We were instructed only to observe and, when feasible, report. But that has been difficult, due to the OverWatchling’s general elimination of broadcast signals.”

“OverWatchling?” Macmillan echoed.

“A planetary, uh, guardian?” Caine guessed. “But not actually part of a taxon?”

The Slaasriithi turned towards him. “Yes, it is as you say. It has been coordinating all activities.”

“Are there no ratiocinatorae on Disparity to temper this OverWatchling’s actions, then?” Gaspard pressed.

The Slaasriithi’s “head” hovered a bit more erect. “I am a ratiocinator, but even Seniors of my taxon rarely, if ever, challenge the instincts of an OverWatchling.”

Gaspard considered that. “May we know your name, ratiocinator?

“I am W’th’vaathi. Allow me to summon the others who speak for their taxae, here.”

“Please do.”

W’th’vaathi slid swiftly and noiselessly back into the brush.

Riordan turned to Macmillan. “Go back to the group, tell them what’s going on, and that they should sit tight. This is not, I repeat
not
, a threat scenario.”

Moments after Keith had left, the brush parted more widely; two other Slaasriithi were with W’th’vaathi, both wearing similar backpacks. One was slightly taller, but proportionally similar in build. The other was considerably smaller and had rings on its toe-analogs as well as its fingers. It was of lighter build, but had a proportionally longer neck. The sensor cluster capping it jerked to attention. “Humans,” a slightly different voice announced from its backpack. It was, from the tone, a self-confirmation, not an attempt to summon their attention. “I am Thnessfiirm. I have the honor of speaking for the cerdorae, here.”

Gaspard frowned in an apparent effort to focus his recollections. “Cerdorae,” the Ambassador mused. Then, turning to W’th’vaathi, “That taxon is the one that is machine- or device-focused in their activities, correct?”

“You might see it that way, yes.”

“And so he is that taxon’s local spokesman?”

“In a manner of speaking,” W’th’vaathi allowed, “but Thnessfiirm is not, to use your term, a spokes
man
. He is a she. As I am. Technically.”

“‘Technically’?” Dora’s tough-as-nails demeanor lapsed just long enough for her to sound completely baffled.

“Distinctions of gender, or sex, are mostly meaningless to us. We adopt the sexed pronoun appropriate to our last reproductive role, since any of us may perform any of the roles.”

Gaspard and Dora looked at Caine, who looked at both of them. “That’s, um, a new concept for us,” he confessed.

“We presumed that it might be. And the Slaasriithi to my right is Unsymaajh.”

The largest of the Slaasriithi bobbed. “I have the honor of speaking for all convectorae. The smallest and fleetest of my taxic family have been watching you for the past several days. You will appreciate, I hope, that, lacking any concrete information of what transpired in space, we had no way to be certain that you were the guests of Yiithrii’ah’aash, rather than those who attacked him. We are glad to learn that you are friends and that our paths may be joined, now.”

“So are we,” Riordan affirmed as Macmillan returned. “And speaking of joining our paths, we should resume our journey and get as far away from the wreckage of our shuttle as possible. And if that silver object at the north end of the valley is a construct of yours, it would be best to—”

“I regret interrupting.” W’th’vaathi had risen up again; her hip joints seemed tense. “However, you must abandon your current path. The Silver Tower you have seen is not the place that Yiithrii’ah’aash and the Disparity’s Prime Ratiocinator, T’suu’shvah, determined that you should be received and housed.”

Riordan paused. Was W’th’vaathi reluctant to continue on to this Silver Tower because that might attract hostile attention to it, or was she simply determined to follow the letter of the law? “W’th’vaathi, is our current path not the best one?”

W’th’vaathi’s pause was halting, puzzled. “We should not travel there because it is not where you are to be received.” W’th’vaathi said it slowly, as if she presumed that Riordan had not heard what she said the first time.

Okay, so W’th’vaathi just doesn’t like, or isn’t accustomed to, thinking outside the box
. “But there’s no reason we shouldn’t go there, then?”

W’th’vaathi paused again, but this time, as though she was having to consider an entirely new concept. “No. But it lacks adequate preparation.”

Gaspard leaned into that explanation. “Adequate preparation?”

“We have not sent appropriate provisions or furnishings, there. Nor have Yiithrii’ah’aash’s picked taxae spokespersons convened there. Also, is it not a likely site for the attackers to destroy, if they penetrate our defenses?”

“It might be,” Caine admitted. “But is it not fortified, or equipped with defenses of its own? Is it not a comparatively safe place?”

W’th’vaathi thought again, but more briefly. “It is, but we find that safety in such situations is better achieved by being difficult to find, rather than hard to destroy.”

“Normally, I would agree, W’th’vaathi. But I fear that there is no way that we can be made as difficult to find as you would be on your own.”

“Indeed? Why do you so conjecture?”

“Sensors will pick us out,” Macmillan asserted with confidence. “If the attackers come after us, their sensors would easily discriminate our thermals and outlines from yours. Our own arrays could manage that, and the enemy technology seems to be well ahead of ours.”

W’th’vaathi considered this new information carefully. “It seems, then, that we must go to the Silver Tower. It is one of three such places on Disparity, a place where our spokespersons convene and where we store artifactures.”

Veriden frowned at the strange word that had emerged from W’th’vaathi’s backpack. “‘Artifactures’? I think your translator needs a programming update.”

W’th’vaathi’s tendrils made a wavelike motion that Caine read as easy agreement. “It may be as you say. Our translating artif—no, I perceive now: our translators are what you would call ‘complex machines,’ not merely ‘tools.’ So: these translating
machines
were last updated before the most recent Convocation. I suspect they are deficient in many of the nuances of your various languages. Specifically, we label all non-living creations as ‘artifactures.’ This is a crude approximation of our actual term, which contains more embedded allusions than may be conveniently referenced during a conversation.”

“So, you store all your machines—and tools and gadgets—in the silver towers?” Dora seemed all at once surprised and doubtful.

“All those we deem complex. We keep unpowered tools and very simple machines, such as vises and gliders and winches, in our arboria, but nothing that would be efficacious in defense.”

Upon hearing the word “defense,” Caine nodded. “But the Silver Towers
are
equipped with defense technologies?”

“Some,” W’th’vaathi answered tentatively.

“Yes,” asserted Thnessfiirm. “They are mostly of a remote-operated nature. And the towers have reinforced subterranean layers. They provide shelter and are constructed so that occupants may withdraw from the structure without being observed.”

Well, the cerdorae certainly seem to be the go-to taxon for military needs.
Caine nodded. “Then the Silver Tower is precisely where we must go.”

W’th’vaathi’s long neck wobbled from side to side. Her tone was uncertain. “It is not in our nature to give visitors access to our complex machines. I have instructions to observe and to render aid. But bringing you to a Silver Tower that has not been adequately prepared—”

Or do you mean, “adequately sanitized?”

“—contravenes prior guidelines.”

“Can’t your Senior Ratiocinators be contacted to vouch for us, to confirm that it is safe to bring us to this closest Silver Tower?”

“We cannot contact them directly. The OverWatchling prevents all long range communication during any incident where invaders may be in or near orbit.”

“Then how the hell do you coordinate counterattacks, ambushes, supply disruption, jamming, observation?” Keith Macmillan’s voice was relatively calm, but his face was becoming a bright red.

Thnessfiirm seemed to have the best implicit sense of the humans’ frustrations with Slaasriithi defensive preparations and infrastructure. “You will understand that the circumstances occasioned by your arrival are unknown to us, except as mentioned in the chronicles of our distant past.”

“We do understand,” Riordan assured the smaller Slaasriithi, cutting a sharp look at Keith. “But those of us who are charged with ensuring the safety of our group find it worrying that we will not have access to er, complex machines with which to protect ourselves.”

“I comprehend their worry and share it,” W’th’vaathi asserted. “And I am decided: your party is other than we thought it to be. And it is not credible that you are attackers masquerading as victims. This was a possibility which my taxon’s Seniors warned me to guard against, but I am satisfied that you are not dissembling. We shall travel to the Third Silver Tower. On the way there, your need of food can be answered by the efforts of the convectorae. However,” she looked at Caine directly, “your illness is a more difficult matter. Did you spend any extended time sheltering under one of these trees?” She gestured to a cone tree.

“I did.”

“Was the olfactory experience not…aversive?”

“Yes, but the predators that had me ringed in were even more aversive.”

Riordan had the sense of a dire silence as the Slaasriithi looked at each other with unseen eyes. “We comprehend. We will make all haste. We shall invite these water-striders to summon others of their kind and we shall go downriver as swiftly as we may.”

“Um, we were expecting help from those complex machines you mentioned,” Veriden intruded brusquely.

W’th’vaathi’s tendril-fingers drooped. “I regret to say that the Third Silver Tower lacks many of the assets of our other two. It is equipped to receive and launch our cargo craft, but they are all hypervelocity ballistic systems. They are unable to land without special facilities. Besides, they would attract the attention of your attackers.”