The Light-years Beneath My Feet (8 page)

Turning, George nodded toward the far portal. “It’s time to get unpuzzled. Let’s ask her.”

Viyv-pym was striding toward them, her slender limbs seeming to float across the floor. She had exchanged her previous attire for a dual casing of gauzy material: half turquoise blue, the other shimmering gold. Here and there, fragments of what looked like frozen methane gave off small wisps of condensation. Twisted tightly around her, the fabric gave her the appearance of someone bound in an oversized strand of DNA. With her high, pointed ears; switching tails; and wide, luminous eyes, she was perfectly breathtaking, Walker decided.

“Yous rested well?” she inquired cheerfully in her familiar grating burr.

Never one to waste words, George raised a paw in the direction of the distant mountain pass. “There’s fighting going on up there, just outside your city, right now.”

The sparkling Niyyuuan gaze rose briefly. “Yes, at the fortress of Jalar-aad-biidh. Combined forces of Toroud-eed have invested it almost two ten-days now. Under strategy devised by gallant General Saluu-hir-lek our defenders continue hold them off. Is very exciting.”

“Exciting?” Once again, Walker found Viyv-pym’s reactions in sharp contrast to her appearance. “Aren’t your people, citizens of Kojn-umm, dying up there?”

“No doubt are some, yes.”

“Well, what is going to be done about it?”

“Take you meet you’s staff,” she informed him happily. “Begin plan first meal-skill demonstration for government personnel. Important yous make good impression. Very important for you and for me.” She eyed his companions. “Must make appearance all of one part. All participate, somehow. Sure you understand necessary justify bringing four not one all way to Niyu.”

“Showtime,” declared the ever-adaptable George.

“Amateur theatrics, no doubt.” Though clearly not pleased, having anticipated something of the sort, Sque kept the bulk of her objections to herself. “Hopefully there will be astronomers in attendance and we can make some contacts useful toward commencing the necessary preliminary studies for continuing on our homeward journey.”

Fortunately, their hostess had not overheard the K’eremu’s characteristically soft speech. Leaning down, Walker whispered urgently to Sque.

“We just got here. Try to be a little diplomatic, will you? Since we’re undoubtedly going to have to ask these people for help, it would be better not to start off by insulting their hospitality.”

“What hospitality? We are employees, not guests.” Steel-gray eyes looked away from him. “Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to comply. You speak sense.”

“Who, me?” Walker responded blithely.

“The universe is ever full of surprises.” The K’eremu scuttled off to one side, away from Viyv-pym.

Walker turned back to their patient hostess. “How can anyone be interested in aesthetic food preparation when there’s a war going on?”

“Most always a war going on,” she told him. “Has nothing to do with living normal life.”

“Has nothing to do with         .         .         .         ?” Sque was right, he thought. There was much here they did not understand, and it was growing more confusing by the moment.

Viyv-pym turned and beckoned. “Come now, please. Meet staff, explain needs. Have some time prepare properly, but not excessive amount. You interested in course of the fighting, yes?” Both Walker and George nodded. The human wondered if she could perceive the confusion in his expression.

Whether their Niyyuu hostess was that perceptive or not, she removed from within the folds of her garb a rolled-up square of plastic. Unfurled, it sprang to light and to life. Running her fingers over one side, she brought forth image after image until the flexible screen finally settled on one. Satisfied, she passed it toward Walker.

He accepted it without hesitation. It weighed very little, and he was able to examine it without breaking stride. Next to him, George was bouncing up and down curiously, straining to see.

“Let me have a look too, Marc. What is it? Not cartoons, I bet.”

“No,” Walker responded soberly. Bending over, he lowered the viewer until it was level with his friend’s eyes. “See for yourself.”

The dog found himself gazing at a scene of relentless and deceptively ruthless Niyyuuan carnage. Clad in armor of varying thickness and elegant but alien design, dozens of Niyyuu were engaged in a brutal clash outside what appeared to be the gate of an ancient stone fortress. While the design differed significantly from its nearest human analog of medieval castles, certain similarities were perhaps inevitable. Projectiles were slung from battlements, though there was no evidence of bows and arrows being put to use. A spear was a spear, though the blueprint might be slightly different.

Edged weapons differed from those that might be wielded by a human in a similar situation. They tended more to the saber than the broadsword—understandable, given the slenderer build of the Niyyuuan. Shields reflected similarly lighter construction. Man and dog saw more than a few that appeared to be composed almost entirely of metal filigree. Or plastic. Despite the clarity and variety of available images, there was still a lot of picture-distorting movement. Speaking of pictures         .         .         .

“I’m afraid I don’t get any of this.” At once fascinated and horrified, Walker spoke without taking his eyes from the roll-up screen. “How are these images being broadcast?”

“I not technically educated myself in physics of broadcast apparatus,” Viyv-pym told him. “Can obtain for you if you like expert in such matters to—”

“No, no,” he said, hastily interrupting her. “I mean, some of these images are being sent from right in the middle of the fighting. Isn’t that dangerous for the broadcast operator?”

“‘Operator’?” She eyed him quizzically. “Images are relayed by advanced instrumentation that operate under all conditions.” As she grasped the deeper implications of his question, her ears quivered. “Operators on battlefield are clearly identified. No soldier of any realm dare harm media representative! Accidentally might happen, but that only possible way.”

Her sincere shock at the possibility that a live image relayer might be injured in the course of reporting on the conflict did not square with the very real carnage he and George were witnessing on the screen. It appeared that the skirmish was dying down. Fighters on both sides were retreating—the soldiers of Kojn-umm falling back to the fortress, their attackers withdrawing to some unseen bivouac. Both sides took their wounded with them. The rocky slope they abandoned was littered with bodies. Clearly visible were many body parts that had been forcefully divorced from their owners, and a copious amount of blood.

Peering around Walker, Viyv-pym stole a glance at the flexible screen. “Today’s fight most substantial. I believe is standoff. For nows, anyway. If fortress can hold several days longer, I think Toroudians will go home. Kojn-umm will move up in preferential trade rankings.”

Walker gaped at her. “Trade rankings?” He shook the screen, which flexed easily but did not sacrifice its image. “This hack-and-slash mayhem is about trade rankings?” While he was not exactly sure as to the significance of a Niyyuuan trade ranking, it did not sound like the sort of thing people ought to be dying over.

She indicated in the affirmative, her golden pupils expanding and contracting. “Saluu-hir-lek is fine leader. Sure he pursue dispute to conclusion that favors Kojn-umm.”

“Just suppose the military situation is a stalemate, for now,” Walker hypothesized. “But what if this enemy, these Toroud-eed, try a flanking movement or something? What if they attack the city itself?”

She inhaled so sharply and drew away from him so abruptly that for a moment he thought she had tripped over some unseen crevice. The Vilenjji implant conveyed her disgust at his words in no uncertain, and highly unflattering, terms. When she realized that his bewilderment, as well as that of his three companions, was genuine, she did her best to try to explain.

“Yous know still so little of Niyyuu society. So I try quick explain yous. Toroud-eed soldiers not never attack anything but Kojn-umm soldiers and recognized, long-established, traditional military targets. What you suggest is not conceivable.”

“Just for the sake of argument,” George put in, “what if they did?”

As she peered down at him, her tails were entwining in a clear sign of agitation. “Aside from fact such action unthinkable and unprecedented, every other realm on Niyu would gang up on them and raze entire territory of Toroud-eed to bare soil. Committing violence against a nonmilitary target would violate every law of civilized Niyyuuan behavior. General population, civilian population, is never involved in traditional fightings.” A soft sighing escaped her round mouth as she resumed walking. Today that orifice was edged in paint the color of sliced limes and granite.

“Was different in primitive times, of course. As Niyyuu become civilized, organize into many thousands small warring states. Resultant general chaos retards development of progressive society. Each state ruled by warlord, military chieftain. People gradually come to recognize problem. Even warlords recognize problem—but not want give up individual privileges, respect, power.

“Decision made between Sixth and Seventh Interregnums to divide functions of state. Civilian peoples form administrations, governments, to deal with everyday livings. Warlords retain small armies to settle differences. But civilian governments never interfere in fightings, and warlord armies never touch civilians. So civilization grows and prospers, but many disputings still settled by combat. Today’s armies entirely whole composed of honored volunteers.” She straightened proudly. “I tell you before, I earlier participate in such myself.”

Walker tried to picture the poised, lissome Viyv-pym tricked out in full body armor, slim bloody sword dangling from one two-fingered hand, jewel-like lightweight helmet steady upon her head. Somewhat to his surprise, it was not difficult to make the imaginary leap. He hurriedly pushed the image out of his mind.

Sque was less forbearing. “This local tradition of constrained violence is nothing more than another take on typical primitive means of avoiding the use of reason.”

George was more openly forgiving as he addressed himself to Viyv-pym. “So what you’re saying is that the general population isn’t involved in these recurring fights at all. That these traditional warlord groups act as proxies for societal disputes while the general population goes merrily about its everyday business, blissfully free of any need to participate in actual combat.” The dog eyed her intently. “But what happens when one side’s army wins? What happens if you lose?”

“Then dispute that provoke it is considered settled,” she told him, as if explaining the obvious to a child.

George still wasn’t satisfied. “The victorious army doesn’t come marching in? There’s no sacking and pillaging and burning?”

Having dealt with previous outrageous statements, this time she was better prepared to respond to more of the same. “I tell you second time: warriors not think of attack civilians, and civilians not think of not supporting warriors. Besides being inviolable custom, is civic and moral duty of all concerned.”

Sort of the antipode of Tibetan Buddhism, Walker found himself supposing. In that distant mountain land, people believed themselves obligated to provide food and drink for wandering priests so that the latter could properly perform their duties. Meanwhile, the priests prayed for the people. The lamas didn’t try to tell the local electric company how to supply power, and the officials of the local utilities stayed out of the lamaseries. It was all very civilized.

Except that in the Niyyuuan version people died.

“Everyone respect results, of traditional ongoing killing, without argument?” Instead of bending to clear a low archway, Braouk contracted his four treelike walking tentacles and lowered himself by a foot.

“Argument is settled by winning of fight,” Viyv-pym told him. “After fighting over, no argument left. Anyone with personal feelings about subject matter of dispute is always given place in army. Ample room then for letting deep feelings be known.”

A wonderful way for society’s disgruntled to blow off steam, Walker realized. Pick up a sword or spear and hack away at your frustrations.

As they entered one of the building’s internal transports and were conveyed swiftly and silently to another linked structure, the juxtaposition of the advanced method of getting from one part of the government complex to another with what he continued to see on the roll-up visual prompted a question of a different sort. He hoped Viyv-pym’s translator was capable of handling the same terms and referents as his own.

“I saw plenty of swords and spears, knives and slings, and in the background a few larger devices that looked like catapults and other primitive war machines.” He indicated the high-speed, climate-controlled, virtually vibrationless capsule that was presently carrying all of them, including Braouk, in comparative comfort. “Your people have vessels capable of interstellar travel, complex translation devices that function even between species, machines that can synthesize many varieties of food from basic nutritional components, and communications equipment like this.” He held up the flexible receiver. “But I didn’t see one gun of any size, shape, or style in use during that battle. No explosives of any kind, nothing.”

Behind him, Sque commented on his query with a rude bubbling noise. He ignored the K’eremu’s snide remark, a typical reference to his manifest stupidity. Maybe the explanation
was
obvious—but it wasn’t to him. At least George had nothing to say. The dog’s attentiveness showed that he was as interested in the answer as was his bipedal companion.

“When original concord forged by all warring realms,” Viyv-pym explained patiently, “it decided then and there to freeze means of disputation at technological level existing at time of final accord. Has not changed ever since. Permissible weaponry still same as that used during mid Seventh Interregnum.”

Walker persisted. “But what’s to keep someone on the verge of having their head cut off from pulling out a pistol, just that one time, and blowing their assailant away?”