Starbridge (19 page)

Slowly, reluctantly, it seemed to Rob, the Simiu contingent returned the greeting. It was a moment before Rhrrrkkeet' spoke. "Honored CaptainLamont," the First Ambassador began. "It is unfortunate that we must now converse upon distasteful topics, but there is no remedy for it."

"I understand," Raoul said. "I want you to know that we deeply regret what happened."

The Simiu envoy nodded. "We also regret. But 'regret' is useless unless it provides incentive to reparation and the restoration of honor. Both our peoples have been dishonored by the ill-considered actions of our subordinates."

"Uh, yes," Raoul agreed. "How is Honored Khrekk' doing?"

The F.A. looked distinctly uncomfortable. "There is no honor to attach to Khrekk's name until suitable reparations can be decided upon and enacted."

"You mean, Khrekk' has dishonored himself?" Raoul asked. "Then he
is
alive?"

Rhrrrkkeet' nodded. "Naturally, he has dishonored himself! The aggression display and property damage performed by Khrekk' was utterly forbidden--an act of utmost thoughtlessness. As to his physical body, it is completely recovered from the effects of your"--she glanced away and seemed almost ready to gag-- "your . . . weapon."

Raoul glanced over at Rob, who was closest to him. He turned off his voder.

"What now?" he whispered.

"Leave the subject of Khrekk' alone. It's obviously a sore spot," Rob said.

"We need to find out what these 'reparations' are that she mentioned."

"How should I phrase that?"

The doctor thought for a moment. "Say that you hope that both our peoples may regain our mutual honor, so we may continue to grow in friendship for each other."

Raoul turned his voder back on and voiced the suggested sentiments. As he spoke, Rob thought he detected a gleam of

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satisfaction growing in the F.A.'s eyes. The Simiu leader nodded enthusiastically. "Then you will be willing to work with us to erase these stains on our mutual honor?"

"Yes," said Raoul, without hesitation.

Rhrrrkkeet's crest stood straight up. "I knew we could depend upon your honor! Do you prefer to select champions, or will those whose honor must be cleansed engage for themselves? I must tell you that Khrekk' aspires to personally restore the honor of his clan and sept, as well as his own, so he requested me to urge against the choosing of honor-vessels."

Raoul blinked as the torrent of words raced across his screen. "Uh, oh ..." he whispered to the doctor, "Does it sound to you like she's talking about what I think she's talking about? Trial by combat, or something?"

Rob's heart sank. "It certainly sounds like it."

Frowning, Raoul said, "Please explain to me the method by which you are proposing this honor-cleansing, Honored Rhrrrkkeet'."

The Simiu said slowly, "Despite the serious nature of this trespass, despite the fact that a ... weapon . . . was employed, I do not feel honor will be best served by a death-meeting. I believe instead that a strength-meeting will suffice, ending at first blooding. We will arrange an Arena-of-Honor here, aboard the station, since the quarantine our health officials have decreed for your people still holds."

Lamont's glance at the doctor was bleak. "If I understand you," he began,

"you are saying that the one among your people that Simon Viorst injured--

Khrekk'--wishes to engage in physical combat with one of my people, in order to regain his honor. Is that stating it correctly?"

"Yes, that is correct. Khrekk' wishes most to engage SimonViorst, so he will have the greatest chance to regain his honor."

"Well, in the first place, we do not settle our problems by combat, Honored Rhrrrkkeet'," Raoul said. "And in the second, Simon Viorst is a sick man. He was not responsible for his actions that day."

The First Ambassador's crest flattened. "He was not injured. I saw him, and there was no mark upon him!" Her nostrils flared with indignation. "How can you say that he was not responsible? Did he not hold the dishonorable instrument in his hand? Did he not discharge it at my people?"

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Raoul turned off his voder. "She's really pissed," he murmured. "Sounds like we've broken one of their most sacred taboos by simply having guns on our persons."

I
warned you about that,
Rob thought, but he held his tongue, remembering that Raoul hadn't voiced a single word of blame to him, for failing to correctly evaluate Simon's mental condition. He spoke up. "Honored Rhrrrkkeet', may I speak?"

She inclined her head, graciously. "Do so, Honored Healer- Gable."

"In the first place, I would like to explain that Simon Viorst's illness is not a sickness of the body, it is an illness of the mind. Such illnesses make the victim not responsible for his or her own actions. They are fully as debilitating as any physical wounding or sickness."

Rhrrrkkeet' considered his words. "We have seen cases of such nonrationality before, in our own people," she said, finally, "but only when the center-of-thinking is physically damaged. I have never heard of the sort of intangible illness you speak of. It must be peculiar to your people." She paused. "Is it caused by a microbial agent?"

"We still don't know everything about the causes of mental illness," Rob temporized, "but if you are worrying about whether such diseases are communicable, and might possibly infect your people, the answer to that is

'no.' "

"I see. Well, then, an honor-vessel will have to be chosen for the combat."

"Absolutely not," Raoul said. "My people don't settle problems in that manner."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "Then how do you settle them, Honored CaptainLamont?"

"We apologize. We say we're sorry. In this case, Simon is incapable of speaking for himself, so we are speaking for him."

"Words!" she said, her muzzle wrinkling with scorn. "Only words? What reparation can they make?"

"One of my people is dead," Raoul said tightly. "I am not risking another just to appease your concept of honor! Surely you must be able to see that we are not your physical equals! None of my people could hope to match yours in physical combat--not unless he or she were armed."

She drew herself up. "Are you speaking of that. . . weapon? A thing such as the one that wounded Khrekk'?" She continued

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without waiting for Lamont's answer. "Perhaps honor is served differently on your world. But we cannot countenance the use of a weapon! Such a transgression would stain our Arena forever!"

"You have no weapons at all?" Rob asked, finding that hard to visualize.

Rhrrrkkeet's crest lifted proudly. "We"--the symbol for the Simiu name for their species flashed across his screen--"need no 'weapons.' We have no such instruments, beyond the stun rays used--rarely--to control crowds during natural disasters. We
are
weapons--the only weapons needed or permitted in the Arena-of-Honor.''

Rob visualized the fighting fangs of the males, and the strength of the aliens'

thick-nailed hands and feet, and knew that an unarmed human would last only seconds against an adult Simiu.

He had a sudden impulse just to get up and leave.
There's not going to be
any way out of this mess. It only keeps getting worse . . . what the hell are we
going to do?

The F.A. had evidently been thinking, too, because she said, "You speak the truth about the physical inequities between our species. It may be possible to persuade Khrekk' that his honor can be restored by a mere ritual-hence meeting."

"What's 'ritual hence'?" Raoul asked.

"I will show you," Rhrrrkkeet' said. "I will direct the images to appear upon your screens."

Mahree tugged on her uncle's sleeve. "I think you should say 'yes,' Uncle Raoul!" she whispered. Her uncle gave her a look that reduced her to silence. All those present in the room turned to look up at the big computer screen in the galley.

It filled with the image of two Simiu, both big, powerful males, approaching each other in a large outdoor enclosure. Each of them squatted down on his haunches, crests rigid with anticipation, teeth bared in the ritual threat-display. Each of them then made a formal speech to the assembled Simiu who watched from the tiered stands. The whole thing reminded Rob eerily of
Spartacus,
one of his favorite historical films.

Without warning, both Simiu leaped, their movements blurringly fast. They grappled, then rolled over and over, snarling, like a cross between humans wrestling and cats fighting. Then, suddenly, as if by a prearranged signal, the fighters' powerful jaws opened, and they fastened their teeth in the thick fur at each other's throats--

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"That's
enough,"
Raoul said, in a deadly quiet voice. "Turn it off, please."

The First Ambassador stopped the holo-vid. "That is a ritual- hence engagement," she said. "As you can see, there is no danger to the participants."

"I don't see anything of the damn kind!" Raoul growled. "No way will I permit one of my people to walk into your Arena and face something like that!"

"Uncle Raoul,
please!"
Mahree broke in, jumping up. Hastily, she made the greeting gesture to the F.A. "Tell her yes, please! I'm volunteering to be the honor-vessel! Dhurrrkk' can be the other. He'd never hurt me ... don't you see? It's all stylized, like--like a combat in a ballet!"

Raoul turned to look at his niece. Rob could not see his expression, but whatever she saw on his face made Mahree shrink into herself. "No," said Lamont quietly. "Doc, escort her to her quarters, please."

"Come on, Mahree," Rob said, taking the girl's arm and tugging her toward the door.

As they reached it, he heard the F.A. speak again, and checked his voder for the translation. "Honored CaptainLamont, due to your dependence on weapons for fighting, your people have already lost much honor in the eyes of mine. This refusal, I believe, will complete the disintegration of their respect for humans. Will you not reconsider?"

Rob looked back, only to see Raoul shake his head, his face stern and implacable. "I will not."

Rhrrrkkeet' sat back on her haunches, in the most formal of Simiu stances.

"Then, CaptainLamont"--Rob noticed that she had dropped the "Honored"--"I fear we have no more to say to each other."

Rob started down the corridor, towing Mahree behind him, though she resisted and he knew his grip must be hurting her. "Rob, stop!" she pleaded.

"I can fix this, I know I can! I won't be in any danger, honestly!"

At the doorway to her cabin, he turned to face her, so angry that he had to restrain himself from shaking her. "Shut up, you little idiot! Do you honestly think I'd let you do anything like that, even if Raoul would? My God, Mahree, they bit each other's
throats,
didn't you see that?"

"Yes!" she shouted back, "but I could wear something thick 122

around my neck so that Dhurrrkk' could give me the ritual bite, and not hurt me. They don't break the skin!"

"So you say," Rob snapped. "Mahree, I'd walk into that damned Arena myself before I'd let you do it--Raoul is right. The entire notion is barbaric!"

"They think
we're
the barbarians," she cried passionately. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. "Because we use weapons, don't you see?

Nobody's right and nobody's wrong, we're both just
different.
We have no right to judge each other!"

"Well, if the only thing that will satisfy the Simiu is ripping up one of us for public edification, then I think we have every damned right to refuse. We've bent over backward to apologize, and we're the ones who lost one of our people!"

"You
don't understand!" she whispered. A tear broke free and coursed down her face. "The way they look at it, the
Simiu
are bending over backward to accommodate
us!"

"You're right," he said tightly. "I
don't
understand. I'm not a goddamned barbarian, and if understanding means I have to start thinking like one, you can just forget it!" He paused, breathing hard, then, seeing how she was crying, his expression softened. "Mahree ... kiddo, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you. Why don't you go lie down? I'll get you something to help you relax. You're overwrought."

"And
you,"
she spat furiously, her voice breaking despite all her efforts, "are an
asshole,
Rob Gable! You go to
hell!"

Mahree stormed into her cabin. Rob stood in the corridor, hearing the lock activate with a final-sounding
click.

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Dear Diary:

Things are awful. I miss Jerry so much . . . and now the situation with the Simiu has gone from bad to worse. I thought I'd die of frustration when Rhrrrkkeet' suggested a ritual-hence meeting and Uncle Raoul wouldn't even listen. He's acting like a closed-minded idiot . . . and so is Rob!

I can't understand why everyone is being so stubborn. We're in danger of losing this entire First Contact, and nobody seems to care! Uncle Raoul thinks Simiu are barbarians because they solve problems by unarmed combat, and Rhrrrkkeet' thinks humans are barbarians because we use weapons . . .

I don't see any way out of this mess ... it just keeps getting worse. I feel desperate, watching everything crumble around me. I've been having terrible nightmares.

If only I didn't have that honor-bond with Dhurrrkk', so I could tell what I know! Presuming, of course, that Uncle Raoul would listen to me--which he wouldn't, judging by the way he behaved today . . .

Shit!

What's going to happen? What should I do?

"Captain," Yoki said urgently, "the First Ambassador has returned. She's alone, sir, and she's asking to see you."

Raoul raised his eyebrows as he glanced at his officers. "Well, show her in.

Maybe she'll have something to say that will help us make our decision."

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The moment Rhrrrkkeet' entered the Captain's small conference room, Rob was alerted by her drooping crest, her downcast eyes. He recalled that their liaison was nearly forty-five Simiu years old--elderly, as her people reckoned age. Today, for the first time, she
looked
old as she dispiritedly made the greeting gesture.