Rogue Powers (14 page)

"And yours, First Advice. Nothing can be hidden at this point, I know my condition as well as you. You need treat me with the dignity due wisdom only a little while longer. But I still have time for talk. Come, let us be found in the garden."

"As your Guidance is pleased," M'etallis said. The garden was surrounded by a low wall. They would be unseen there—and that was just as well; D'eltipa's appearance was not suited to being seen in public. M'etallis was surprised to find herself concerned that the Guidance not be humiliated. She twitched her tail, and realized she still had feelings for her old teacher. She felt a sudden twinge of guilt that she had driven D'eltipa to the extremity of accepting Division. But the change must come. New thoughts must lead Nihilism, and D'eltipa of all Nihilists must accept that each person choose her own mind's way out of the world. But it was sad that things had reached such a crossroads.

M'etallis could not admit it herself, but she was unnerved to find principle, and tenderness, and regret at unfortunate necessity, still in her soul. She had sought power so long, she had almost convinced herself that power was all she cared for. Perhaps one day it would be. She would be by no means the first being seduced away from a goal by the means of achieving it.

The older Nihilist led the way into the garden. It was a lovely spring day, a good day to enjoy with time so short. "So, M’etallis, soon you shall be called by a different name. Are you practiced, so you will answer when someone calls for D'etallis?"

M'etallis chose not to respond to such needling. "Not as such, but I have trust that my new name will be familiar to me."

"Yes, you are practiced, then. And you have been ready for a long time, as well. But you are not called here for teasing, but for schooling, and warning. This has been said before, but hear it again: Change is like any tool; not good, or bad, but only a thing which can be suited to many purposes. Use it, but wisely. I fear you will not."

"Guidance. Let us not have platitudes or wasted time and words. You left with me, years ago, when I ended my sojourn at your side, the knowledge that the curse of our people was in knowing their late. All other living things, plant and animal, wild-evolved or guided and bred by us down a path of our choosing, did not know of their doom. Even the animals whose life cycle parallels our own do not

experience the loss we do. Only our kind, the Z'ensam, have ever known the pride of having a full name—and so only our kind are haunted by the fear of losing it—"

"Gallop on, say it. I know my fate. Losing it to be Divided out from thought and knowledge. But you have taken that teaching to extremes, leaving it perverted. I had only the goal of aiding those who so wished a chance to pass from life painlessly, with mind intact, still bearing a full name.
But each must choose for herself.
You would have us
all
swept away. Can you not seen the paradox you find drawn around yourself? You have used the power of your own mind to reach the conclusion that sentience— the power of mind—is an abomination! You seek the extinction of your own people."

"1 seek the perfection of nature," M'etallis said primly. "All life is beautiful. Death is ugly. Therefore the
knowledge
of death is ugly. And, that knowledge of our own doom is ours alone. The heritage of all other living things is to grow and live and prosper and multiply—until death, unknown, unseen, unlooked for, takes one life to replace it with another. A flower, a bug, a cartbeast, have no realization that they will die, and so for them the ugliness of death does not exist. The heritage of all the Z'ensam is a grim and terrible choice: an early death, or to let the cycle of life debase us—" M'etallis drew up short. "Guidance, pardon. The heat of my feeling, I did not recall your circumstance. ..."

"I find relief that you can still feel embarrassment. There is kindness still in your soul. But it only strengthens my question: You seek the
power
to do so, but would you use it—would you truly wipe out your own kind?"

"What is the better alternative? We are trapped. We might go on and on, yes—but to what end? What goal? That the unborn generations can grow to find the ugliness of death or division to snatch at them? I would have the melancholy of the Z'ensam over and done, not drawn out over the endless generations. And, Guidance, I must add a further point. It is not my own kind I would wipe out. It

is
mind
that perverts nature and life with the knowledge of death and the end of things. It is
mind
I would wipe out: mind wherever it is, wherever it comes from, doing so by any means possible. And you call me cruel, cynical, jaded already, so this next will seem in character. It will require power to wipe out the Z'ensam, but we cannot gain power by killing those we would have power over. A grand paradox. But now we are presented with a far easier, far more palatable way to kill our way into great power."

D'eltipa looked at her successor in stunned silence. There was a dull, rumbling roar from the meadow. Both of them turned to watch the human's lander rise into the perfect spring sky.

Captain Lewis Romero was a dangerous man with an idea, the way an unskilled pilot was dangerous with a spacecraft. The pilot had no idea what his ship could do, and Romero hadn't thought his idea out past the end of his nose.

He was also ambitious.
Ariadne
station was a busy place these days—new battle fleets were forming and training, and they made much use of the station's communications and supply capabilities.
Ariadne
was also charged with supplying the contact base on Outpost and handling the scientists ever-growing demand for communications and information. Romero's command was doing useful work, his people were accomplishing things—but it wasn't enough. Romero had finally come to the realization that he had been deliberately stuck in a backwater post, and that the Outposters were more than just of interest to the scientists: They were a golden opportunity for career advancement. He had been a good little sailor long enough. None of the excitement going past was doing him any good, and it was time to change all that.

That was why he had come down to Outpost. Ostensibly, it was a courtesy call, a chance for Romero to see after the supply situation, make sure that all was going well, a chance to listen for complaints or suggestions. All that would do as an excuse. Romero had to admit to himself that Gustav seemed to have things well in hand. The camp was in excellent condition, clean, well laid-out, and the enlisted men, officers, and civilians all seemed quite satisfied with the physical conditions they worked under. Romero strolled the camp, watching humans and Outposters working together. He had never seen a native in the flesh before; they seemed quite surprisingly large. Romero was upset to see everything working smoothly, good progress being made everywhere. Damn! He should
never
have let Gustav take command of the contact base—though with Gustav's Intelligence background and the shortage of personnel, there had been very few other choices, and there was no way Romero could have relinquished his command of
Ariadne
to do take the job himself. More galling still was the way Romero's job on
Ariadne
was suddenly so much more difficult with Gustav gone. Officially, Gustav was still the station's executive officer, on detached duty, so Romero couldn't put in for a replacement XO. The personnel shortage again. But there was so much
work
to do with Gustav gone! Damn his luck for being handed a prize like First Contact!
He'd
be promoted, he'd be in the history books, and Romero would be stuck on
Ariadne
for twenty years!

Romero needed to talk directly with the Outposters to get his plan started. He needed
all
the credit. If Gustav got his nose into it, no one would ever notice Romero at all. So Romero had fussed and fumed and waited until the computerized auto-translators were ready. He had been one of the main sources of pressure for getting them done—though he had been very backroom about it all, very careful to see to it that no one realized
he
was eager. He had never personally urged the techs to finish fast, but had gotten others to do that for him. If the Outposters were the biological geniuses everyone claimed, Romero knew he was a made man.

But how to get in touch with the Outposter leaders?

Romero had worried over that point for endless hours, and had never come up with anything better that stopping the first native he saw and handing out that centuries-old saw, "Take me to your leader."

Which is exactly what he did with the next 'Poster that went past, and the black box of the auto-translator blatted and hooted out his meaning in O-l. As luck would have it, the 'Poster was C'astille, the native most used to humans and their ways. If humans had had almost no luck figuring out the Outposter social structure, the Outposters had had just as little success understanding human rules for living. But both sides had tried, and Lucy Calder had explained military ranks and insignia as best she could, even using a wall chart to show which was higher and lower. The insignia this human had painted on her pressure suit denoted a higher rank than any a Z'ensam had ever seen. Perhaps
this
one should be addressed in the senior mode. C'astille decided to play it safe and use the D' prefix. And she was new here: The auto-translator had barely made sense of the human's words. It took a while for the halfwalkers to understand the limitations of the device they had built themselves. Only after she had considered all that did she think on the actual request the human had made. Certainly if this was a human Guidance, come at last, M'etallis—no, D'etallis now that Eltipa has divided and no longer had a full name—D'etallis would want to see her. C'astille decided she had best cooperate.

"Our Primary Guidance, D'etallis, would be honored," she said. She spoke in careful Australian-accented English, startling Romero. "I feel certain that she would wish to know you. May I have knowledge of your name?"

"Romero. Captain Lewis Romero," he said nervously.

"Honored D'Romero," C'astille said, "you shall soon be with D'etallis. The Talking House is unused at present. If you would accept waiting there, I would bring D'etallis, and thus both sides could talk in comfort."

"That would be good."

"Then D'etallis shall soon be there. The two of you shall

sense each other soon." With that, C’astille turned and walked away.

Romero's heart hammered in his chest. It shouldn't have been that easy, but he wasn't going to argue. The first hurdle was cleared. Maybe his idea would actually work.

The two sides misunderstood each other, and this worked to their mutual advantage. Romero was being furtive, hiding his intent from his subordinates, trying to get around the rules, doing something far beyond his authority. He was surprised that the Outposter had accepted him at face value, instantly. For her part, C’astille was delighted to be approached by a senior human eager to get right down to talking. The Z'ensam had been impatiently waiting for something of substance from their visitors. Chains of command, orders from above, the inertia imposed by a large organization, the delays of distance; these seemed inexplicable excuses, stalling. Finally, it seemed, the humans had sent someone who could do more than hold language lessons. C’astille felt D'Romero was the first human she had met who
wasn't
being furtive (besides Lucy M'Calder, whom she trusted even if she didn't understand her status). Finally, someone in charge was here. Maybe this D'Romero wouldn't wait for orders from above—a concept the Z'ensam were just barely beginning to understand— before he
did
anything. Leader to leader, directly, immediately, that was the way the Z'ensam did things.

D'etallis was as eager as C’astille.
Now
maybe they would get somewhere. She hurried to the Talking House, and found this D'Romero in the boxy transparent room that held the human air, folded up in their strange way into that support thing they called a chair. D'Romero saw her and stood up.

"D'Romero. I am D'etallis, Primary Guidance of this Group. Your presence is sensed."

"And yours as well." That much etiquette he had learned, anyway. "I come to ask questions, and perhaps to offer trade."

"Good. There are items you make that we would have."

"All—yes. Let me see if I can explain. I have put several things on the table on your side of the pressure wall." Romero pointed to the table. There was a League pressure suit, a section of plastic bulkhead cut from the
Venera,
some samples of League electronic equipment, a few other things.

D'etallis turned and looked. "I sense them."

"Good. Now then. Here is my question. I am told that your people are very wise in the life-sciences. That you can cause living things to breed and grow as you desire."

"Certainly."

***start here***

"Very good. Now then. Can your scientists create living things that can eat any or all of those materials, live on them, breed and grow very quickly?"