Authors: Alan Dean Foster
By itself, the article was a mere annoyance. While happy that the human who had been bitten had survived, Pilwondepat was irritated that it was the AAnn who had received gratitude for the deed. Then he began to think. Probably, he decided, the only problem was that, isolated in his self-contained chamber on the edge of the escarpment, he had too much time to think. But . . .
Wasn’t it odd that a human should be bitten by a viperous indigene far from any human assistance, only to encounter AAnn working the same vicinity who just happened to have among their mineralogical gear a fully equipped portable lab for doing organic chemical synthesis that included among its research files sufficient data and material for calibrating human as well as AAnn biologenes? Was it more than odd, or did he need to turn the chamber’s humidifier up yet another notch?
Something else pricked at his mind. Resetting the viewer, he began searching for similar articles, or even dissimilar ones that might involve human-AAnn interactions. Anything so long as it smacked of oddness.
Gradually, as the night wore on and everyone else in the camp slowly slipped into deep, relaxing sleep, what he began to find were examples of something more than apparently unrelated oddities, the least of which smelled even stronger than the most odoriferous of his human associates.
And much more ominous.
7
It was a part of Daret she had never seen before, that no human had seen before, and it was spectacular. Accustomed to the crowded warrens of the capital hive, the last thing Anjou had expected to find was open space underground.
She felt as if she were walking in a park lifted from some elegant imperial past on Earth. To be sure, the scattered furnishings and artwork were utterly alien, and the botanical decor was unfamiliar; but the sense of luxury and good taste was apparent everywhere, even to a visiting human. Small waterfalls cascaded down slopes that had been sculpted from the raw rock out of which the high-domed chamber had been hollowed, their flow vanishing into the myriad conduits that were the lifeblood of the hive. The arching ceiling glowed with yellow-and-blue light supplied not by artificial lights but by hundreds of transplanted fungi. Mist swirled gracefully, only to be caught and borne away by concealed fans to be recycled through hidden ducts.
A small
myrk
peeped out from beneath spatulate, blue-veined leaves. Crouching, Fanielle extended a hand, and the palm-sized creature crept hesitantly over to her, ambulating on four legs nearly hidden by its dense coat of black-and-blue fur. It had the huge eyes and sensitive nostrils of an animal accustomed to living underground. As it sniffed cautiously of her open hand and then moved close so she could scratch it, she reflected that these were the kinds of furred creatures the thranx were used to dealing with: tiny, harmless, mewling things that had shared their hives and tunnels for millennia. It cooed delightedly and pressed up against her caressing fingertips.
In another part of the Arm, the tiny balls of fluff had stood up, shed most of their fur, and achieved a level of technology equal to that of any other space-traversing species. This was difficult for many thranx to accept. One shooed furry creatures out of the way, or paused to observe their strange behavior. One did not converse with or enter into treaties with them. One especially did not sign agreements that could be construed as even a partial surrendering of sovereignty.
Yet that was the ultimate end to which Anjou and those of like mind within the diplomatic corps strove. It was proving an uphill battle on both sides, against superstition, fear, prejudice, uncertainty, and inertia. She thought of Jeremy and imagined him waiting for her back in Azerick. Jeremy, with his quiet, confident smile and the way his face would light up at the news that another new kind of spore had been discovered. Jeremy, with his enveloping, comforting arms, and soft lips. Jeremy, with . . .
Jeremy was no more, and there was to be no more of him. She shuddered violently, uncontrollably, and angrily shoved the back of a hand against her moistening right eye.
“Are you feeling unwell,
crr!!kk
?”
Whirling, she found herself gazing into the face of the oldest thranx she had ever seen. Even the venerable female’s ovipositors had turned a dark purple. Her chitin was the color of raw amethyst, the glow of her great golden compound eyes was significantly dimmed, and her antennae hung forward in limp arcs. At least two trulegs gleamed more brightly than their counterparts, showing that they had undergone forced regeneration, and one truhand was purple composite, suggestive of injury so severe it could not be regrown and had been replaced with a prosthesis. But the voice, though muted, was strong, and the concern it reflected genuine.
“I’m all right, thanks.” Though she stood straighter, she still found herself at eye level with the sage. Most humans towered over the arthropods: not Fanielle. Whether they appreciated having a diplomat to deal with who came down to their level physically she did not know. Haflunormet had never commented on her height.
“You are the attaché who sought this appointment, are you not?” The valentine-shaped head cocked slightly to one side.
“I am Fanielle Anjou, yes. You are Eint Carwenduved?” A simple gesture on the part of the elderly thranx was confirmation enough. “I very badly want to talk to you about—”
The venerable eint interrupted, pointing with the artificial truhand. “Let us go and sit by the
prolerea
, and listen to the music of the waters singing. We can talk there.”
The thranx moved slowly and with deliberation, picking her steps as if each one might be her last. She did not appear to be that feeble, Anjou reflected. Ancient, to be sure, but still capable of flexibility and movement. The human hoped her host’s mind had the same capacity.
They paused at a little alcove close by one of the many small waterfalls. This one tumbled and tinkled over a succession of metal leaves, each droplet generating a musical tone. Looming above was a bush with a thick trunk that threw out great splays of bright pink-and-black flowers. The fragrance from so many blossoms reeking of cinnamon and honey was almost overpowering.
Reaching up, the eint plucked one and pressed it to her face. Anjou could see the multiple mouthparts working as the thranx devoured the center of the bloom. When it was half consumed, she extended the remainder to Anjou.
“I am told that your people can safely ingest this. Would you care to try it?”
Anjou did not, but diplomats are often called upon to extend themselves in peculiar ways on behalf of their profession. Accepting the remnant, she saw several centimeter-long structures protruding from its underside. Plucking one, she showed it to the thranx, who gestured encouragingly. Popping the alien pistil into her mouth, she bit down tentatively.
Flavor and a sugary sensation exploded across her suspicious taste buds. The pulp was so sweet it almost hurt her teeth. As she passed the blossom back, she needed no encouragement to finish what she had been given. It was superb.
“Very nutritious.” Finishing off the remaining pistils, the eint set the bloom casually aside. In a subterranean garden as immaculate and ornate as this, Anjou doubted the debris would remain unattended to for very long.
“About the proposed treaty details,” she began, the lingering sweetness still effervescing throughout the inside of her mouth, “have you had time to scrutinize the details?”
“
Sssllcci,
I have done little else these past major time-parts.” Reaching out with a longer foothand, the eint put four hard-shelled fingers against the human’s belly. “I cannot imagine what it must feel like to give live birth. I am told it is painful, and can well imagine it.”
“It’s not comfortable.” Anjou was not pleased by the rapid change of subject, but did not try to force the conversation. “In ancient times, I’m told it was often fatal.”
The eint gestured restrained disbelief. “Eggs are better. They do not kick. Now then, about this treaty of yours. It’s very substantial. Mere translation took a goodly amount of time.”
“A treaty is not a poem,” Anjou admitted. “Nothing must be left open to misinterpretation.”
“I assure you it was not. The entire series of documents was vetted most thoroughly.”
“I know that you are in a position to make real decisions.” Anjou leaned forward, trying to suppress her excitement. “That you can recommend directly to the Grand Council. What do you think of the proposals?”
The distinguished female caressed a blossom bud with tru- and foothand, bending the petals back ever so gently. “I love these flowers. I love the look of them, and the smell, and especially the taste.” Dimmed but far from dead eyes regarded the watching human. “If you bring the plant into your sleeping chamber, it fills it with perfume—but only for a few days. Then it withers and dies. I would hate to see the very good relationship that presently exists between our species perish from too much contiguity.”
Anjou was not put off. “That won’t happen.”
“Is that so?” The distinguished female set the barren bloom aside. “So in addition to giving birth to this document, you can also predict the future?”
“No, no, of course not. I’m just saying that safeguards will be put in place to ensure that we don’t intrude on each other. Close friends don’t have to live together under the same roof.”
Antennae bobbed and dipped. “That is what the council will say. I can tell you right now what the response will be if I propose your treaties for ratification. I don’t have to tell you, of course, but I rather like you, Fanielle Anjou. And not simply because you are eggfull.” A truhand reached out to stroke the woman’s forearm. The superannuated chitin was still smooth and cool to the touch.
“You obviously believe deeply in these proposals on a personal as well as a professional level.”
“I am not alone,” she responded. “There are many who believe as strongly in the interdependent future of our two species as do I.”
“And it is not to be denied that there are those in the hives who feel similarly, and who are not hesitant to express themselves in the strongest terms.” The matriarch’s essence filled the air, stronger even than the surrounding, lovingly tended flowers. “But they are not a majority. Nor are those who angrily oppose any contact with your kind beyond that which is absolutely necessary. The bulk of the Greater Hive remains undecided. The words in your proposal are reassuring, and well thought out, but they are not wholly convincing. Furthermore, they are only words.” Reaching back, she removed a small tube from the embroidered pack on her thorax and sniffed deeply of one end by holding it flush against first one set of breathing spicules, then the other.
“We have to start with words.” Anjou shifted her seat. “When we have agreed on certain words, then relevant deeds can be implemented. But treaties must come before action.” Am I getting through to this ancient? she wondered. What was the eint thinking? Unlike face-to-face negotiations with another human, there was no way to tell from simply looking at the eint what was going through her mind. The chitinous countenance was inflexible.
“You speak well for your proposals, you and those who side with you. As for myself, I belong to that great, surging, heaving mass of egg-layers and tenders that has not yet made up its mind.” A truhand wagged in Anjou’s direction, and she did not need a visual guide to interpret its significance. “Push us too hard, young female, and we will wall up our tunnels away from you. You will not be able to reach us.”
Anjou struggled to remain confident. It wasn’t easy; the eint was offering little in the way of encouragement. “Then as they are written, you disagree with the basic tenets of the covenants?”
“I did not say that.” Plucking a smaller, darker branch from the nearby foliage, the eint munched contentedly on azure petals. Her mouthparts made fastidious grinding noises as they masticated the succulent herbage. “What I think, what the majority of those I represent and those I deal with daily in council think, is that your kind and mine have a perfectly good relationship right now. There is no need to extend it further, except insofar as concerns the AAnn.”
Anjou watched something small and metallic flit through the surrounding undergrowth. “We have no quarrel with the AAnn. Therefore we can’t promise you any more assistance as regards them than what already exists. If they were to make some kind of serious frontal attack on a thranx world, that would be different. We would be bound, even in the absence of a formal military treaty, to render aid because of the help you gave us during the Pitarian War.”
“Would you, my dear?” Carwenduved studied the human closely, wishing she understood the meaning of those remarkable twists and contortions that flowed through the biped’s flexible epidermis. “There is no formal reciprocation. You are not obligated to assist us, just as we were not obligated to help you against the Pitar. There is no treaty, no pact that requires you to provide such military assistance. We helped you against the Pitar because we thought it was the right thing to do. In the event we are assaulted by the AAnn, will your people believe similarly?”
Diplomat though she was, it was too big a lie for Anjou to countenance. Besides, the eint probably knew in detail whereof she spoke. “I can’t answer that, Carwenduved. It would depend on the circumstances. I can tell you that humans have always stood up against injustice, no matter where it has occurred.”
“That is good to know. Is it so even among those of you who refer to us as ‘bugs,’ and would like to squash us underfoot like our tiny namesakes that occupy your worlds?”
“Shapeism is conspicuous among the thranx as well as among my people. It is a primitive animosity that will eventually die out.”
“As it must also among my kind.” The eint sighed, her b-thorax expanding and contracting sharply. “But for now, it exists, and must be dealt with.” She stirred on her bench. “Although I admit there are those on the council who would like to forge a tighter relationship with your kind, they are outnumbered by the many who believe that the present situation is perfectly satisfactory. They see no need to dig the two burrows closer together. You have your worlds; we have ours. While we can share the same environments, we have different preferences. We like hot, humid worlds with a higher oxygen content than yourselves. From our point of view, you like to live in dry, cold places where no thranx would be comfortable for very long, and where depending on the relevant extremes we need special equipment to survive. There is no direct competition. Therefore, there is no need to modify the formalities that presently exist between us. The galaxy is a big place, and our explorations and exploitations need never overlap.”
Anjou could not hide her disappointment. She had worked so hard to secure this meeting, and except for some casual, albeit friendly, chitchat, it was going nowhere. The eint was polite, but firm. “It could be so much more. The way our species worked together during the Pitarian War showed that.”
“More than what,
yrriik
? What more could we wish for than what we already have? Trade proceeds as trade always does, according to the benefits that accrue to those participating. There is mutual respect, and even a certain degree of sometimes grudging mutual admiration for each other’s unique qualities. There is even beginning to be appreciation on a deeper level, as witness occasional events like this intercultural fair on your new colony world of Pawn.”