Authors: Alan Dean Foster
The official response was as revealing as it was gratifying. So much of successful diplomacy was not about knowing how to do something, or when, but how to step just ever so slightly outside the boundaries of traditional, formal negotiation without falling into the pit of cultural transgression.
Within thirty-two hours, she received acknowledgment of her long-sought-after appointment.
2
The Bwyl were furious. They had been ever since the revelation of the presence on Willow-Wane of the covert human outpost there, with its clandestine attempts to bring humans and thranx closer together, had been divulged to an unknowing hive public more than eighty years earlier. It was bad enough, from the standpoint of the Bwyl, that humans and the thranx had cooperated in a war against the Pitar that was no hive’s business. The disclosure that the soft-bodied, bipedal mammals had been allowed to establish what amounted to a de facto colony on a developed thranx world amounted to cultural sacrilege. The purity of the Great Hive had been defiled.
Worse still, the vast majority of thranx had reacted indecisively at best, indifferently at worst, to the announcement. Now that the war against the Pitar lay nearly in the receding past, where humans were concerned the average burrower seemed to hold little in the way of strong opinion. So long as the humans posed no overt threat to the Great Hive and did not ally themselves with the bellicose AAnn, the typical worker was content to ignore them. And if the respective life tunnels of the two species happened to intersect now and then, why, it would only be polite to pause and allow those traveling crosswise to pass without confrontation.
It was all very bewildering to the Bwyl. What about the sanctity of the hive? Where was traditional deference to poetic purity? Bad enough to allow these red-blood-pumping creatures access outside the usual restricted diplomatic missions. To allow ordinary citizens to mix with them at will, without proper safeguards or preliminary acculturation, was to invite cultural degradation and worse. What was a newly metamorphosed adolescent to think when confronted with sophisticated sentients who wore their skeletons on the
inside
and peered at the universe out of single-lensed eyes?
It was not to be tolerated. But the Bwyl, though a multihive fellowship, were few in number. They could not influence the councils proportionately. They did have many who were sympathetic to their aims, but who were afraid to express their beliefs openly. The Bwyl base of support was large, but diffuse.
It did not matter. They could wait no longer. Already, there was talk at significant hive levels of formalizing a much closer alliance with the humans. True, such talk had been rampant since the end of the Humanx-Pitar War. Lately, though, it had taken on a certain urgency. Important eints who believed they could make use of the humans as a bulwark against the adventurism of the AAnn had been pressing for more than talk. Regrettably, they found sympathetic hearing organs among traitorous members of the lower councils. Now dialogue threatened to become action, and action, decision. For the sake of the Great Hive, this had to be prevented.
Which was why the Bwyl had called the meeting on Willow-Wane. Its members were not alone in their stand. There were two other interhival societies that had on more than one occasion expressed similar sentiments. Representatives of the S!k and the Arba had arrived on Willow-Wane only days before to participate in the critical discussion.
Now the twineight gathered on the shore of the River Niivuodd, chattering amiably among themselves. To passersby they looked for all the world like a group of taskmates out for a day’s relaxation. They carried food and drink and humming amusements, and talked of inconsequentialities. But their intentions were far more serious than an afternoon’s casual distraction. They had not joined together beneath Willow-Wane’s searing sun for purposes of frolic.
When all had assembled by the river’s shore and settled themselves in a half circle facing the water and one another, and when assurance came from posted sentries that no patrollers, first class or otherwise, were lingering in the vicinity, Tunborelarba of the Arba waved all four hands for quiet and proceeded to open the solemn convocation with a pugnacious, if not downright martial, paean to the virtues of the Great Hive. His fine words and whistles encompassed them all, from outworld visitors to their resolute Willow-Wane hosts.
Then Beskodnebwyl of the Bwyl rose on his four trulegs and declaimed what all of them were thinking. Overhead, a flock of silver
taiax
flew past, dipping and looping to snap in unison at the smaller arthropods that filled the steamy afternoon air. Their sedate
ke-uk
,
chitt-chitt
,
ke-uk-uk
did not interrupt the flow of the charismatic speaker’s words.
“We are gathered here because we agree that anything deeper than the traditional, polite, formal relations that exist between sentients of different species is an abomination that is not to be tolerated.” Attentive antennae and glittering compound eyes were focused in his direction. Near the back, the ovipositors of a young female S!k as fanatical as she was attractive contracted in response to the forcefulness of the Bwyl’s words.
“There are those among the hives of several of the burrowed worlds who believe that a stronger relationship can be forged with these humans. These fools dwell in the nursery of delusion. The bipeds are too different—not only in appearance, but in culture, actions, psychohistory, and every other standard that is used to take the measure of another species. Our alliance with them for the duration of the latter part of the Pitarian War was superficial and designed to achieve maximum diplomatic benefit in a limited period of time.”
“Principally to forestall the designs of the AAnn,” an Abra could not refrain from pointing out.
Beskodnebwyl did not upbraid his impassioned listener for the discourteous interruption. All were allies in this place: supporters of a similar philosophy. He had no intention of alienating a collaborator over a point of etiquette.
“That is so. Yet despite what appears to us to be the obvious, there are among our own kind those who are sufficiently deluded to desire to place the security and sanctity of the Great Hive itself at risk. They intend to do this by forging ties with these humans of a nature so intimate I can scarcely bring myself to contemplate it. You will understand my feelings when you receive the detailed reports that will be provided to all of you at the close of this gathering. All I can say without going into further particulars is that there are varieties and types of corruption not even new larvae can dream of.”
“They must be blind!” someone chirruped above a chorus of lesser clicking.
For a second time, Beskodnebwyl deferred his right to criticize an outburst. “There are all kinds of blindness, many of which have nothing to do with the sense of sight. It is these we must correct, even at the risk of carrying out bitter antisocial behavior. The very ancestral integrity of the Great Hive is at stake.” Reaching back into a thorax pouch, he withdrew a compact projector and spurred it to life. Immediately, a semitransparent globe appeared before the body of thranx assembled by the river. It was a representation of an attractive world even the most galographically sophisticated among them did not recognize.
“The planet Dawn, as the humans have named it. A fetching place, by all description. Newly settled and growing rapidly. There is also, in this subversive spirit of specious cooperation that presently exists between our respective species, a sizable burrow located beneath the swamps and savannas of the minor southern continent.”
“What has this to do with us and our avowed purpose?” a female S!k inquired reasonably.
Manipulating the projector, Beskodnebwyl increased the magnification substantially, until they found themselves eying one of the distorted, sprawling aboveground conurbations that had become more and more familiar recently in the information media. Frivolously tall, slim edifices, not only unaesthetic but impractical, thrust absurdly all the way up into the weather. Extensive agricultural facilities bumped up against a surprising amount of undeveloped green space. Free-standing bodies of water were spotted with fishing craft. Clearly visible were all the mysterious accouterments of a characteristic aboveground human hive.
“There is to be a fair held on Dawn, to be situated not far outside the capital city of Aurora.” Beskodnebwyl continued to manipulate the details of the holo as he explained. “A cultural fair, exhibiting the best and newest of human music and arts.”
“Is that not a contradiction in terms?” someone ventured. Amused whistling spilled from the assembled to drift across the river.
“Obviously, not to humans, it isn’t,” Beskodnebwyl observed when the laughter had died down. “This gathering will also present contributions from the local thranx of the southern continent.” He leaned forward, stretching his b-thorax, his antennae quivering with barely concealed passion. “It is to be a wholly cross-cultural, cross-species event—the first of its kind on Dawn. In addition to presentations by the locals, a number of important artists from nearby settled worlds, both human and thranx, are also to participate. For so young a colony, it promises to be a most prestigious and important convocation, a watershed in the settlement’s evolution.” He drew himself back, pausing and gesturing for emphasis.
“We of the Bwyl also intend that it shall be so, and in a manner that will leave a deep and lasting impression on perceptive sentients everywhere. We hope that you of the S!k and the Abra will join us in making our own presentation at this fair.”
“Which will consist of?” The senior Abra present waved an antenna inquiringly.
Beskodnebwyl did not hesitate, nor did his tone change. “We hope to disrupt the fair, and in doing so push the course of human-thranx relations back onto a proper level, by killing as many of the participants as possible. Operating under the guise of the ancient Protectors, we hope to make our case so irresistibly to all citizens of the Greater Hive that they will have no choice but to see the correctness of our doctrine.” He indicated first-degree confidence.
“The humans will respond immediately to our actions, of course. Once word of our involvement and efforts is disseminated, they will enter the fair and kill us as quickly as they can. With luck, some of us will escape to carry on the necessary work. Those of us who do not will be recycled knowing that they gave their essence to preserve the Great Hive, much as our ancestors did in the course of thousands of ancient battles. This cause is nobler than any of those, because it is carried out on behalf of the entire Great Hive itself.” He switched deliberately to the rougher but more straightforward Low Thranx.
“Males and females of the S!k and the Abra: Will you join with your hive mates the Bwyl in this great and noble undertaking?”
Animated discussion followed, lively but by no means uniform. Clearly, there remained among the disputants considerable difference of opinion. Having chosen directness over diplomacy, Beskodnebwyl had no leeway for hesitation. Nor had he intended to leave any.
“How would you intend to do this thing?” Velhurmeabra of the Abra was clearly taken aback by the proposal and not afraid to say so. “Will the humans have in place no precautions against such an eventuality, no guards?”
“Why should they?” Beskodnebwyl replied expansively. “It is a cultural fair, not a military caucus. As to the actual methods to be employed in the carrying out of our intentions, we have already spent much time refining our options.”
“What about introducing into the atmosphere of the gathering a powerful cyanotoxin?” one of the more enthusiastic S!k proposed.
“For the same reason that we cannot spread a lethal hemolument.” This time the images generated by Beskodnebwyl’s hand-held projector were more detailed, full of charts and sketches that floated in midair before the assemblage. “Human blood binds oxygen through the use of iron, not the usual copper. I am assured that given enough time and resources, suitable poisons could be engineered for use against them. We have neither. By the same token, biological agents that would devastate us are just as likely to pass harmlessly through their systems. For example, the
gin!gas
wasting disease for which no cure has yet been discovered degrades chitin. I am told that malignant as it is, it might at most cause the hair and fingernails of some humans to fall out. That is hardly the bold statement we wish to make.”
“Then what do you propose to do?” Uhlenfirs!k of the S!k asked, then waited quietly.
Beskodnebwyl underlined his response with deliberate movements of antennae and truhands. Behind him, an aquatic
hermot
splashed in the river, pursuing a school of hard-shelled
couvine
, predator and prey alike oblivious to the convocation on the nearby bank vigorously contemplating mass murder.
“Explosives have the advantage of not discriminating between species. Volunteers have already been chosen. They will infiltrate this detestable fair and wreak such havoc as cannot be imagined. The fact that individuals will be free to do their work independent of any central control ensures that even if one or more are detected and forced to abort their mission, the others will be able to proceed unimpaired. Additionally, every operative will enter adequately armed for their personal defense.”
The nominal leaders of the S!k and the Abra conferred, supported by their most able aides. When they were through, Velhurmeabra of the Abra faced his expectant counterparts across the semicircle.
“While we of the Abra and the S!k feel much as you do with regard to this too rapid and too intimate mixing of species, we have decided not to participate in your plans to disrupt the cultural fair on the world of Dawn. While we are not entirely opposed to the use of violent means of dissuasion, indiscriminate bombing of so large a gathering will inevitably slay or injure numerous artists as well as ordinary visitors.”
One of the S!k spoke up. “The killing of an artist is an abomination unto itself. The stifling of any fount of creativity, however modest, diminishes us all.”
Beskodnebwyl gestured understanding. He had expected this line of objection. “Humans feel otherwise. They make no such sharp distinctions between, say, composers of music and purifiers of water. It is further proof of their degraded culture.”
“But you cannot guarantee,” Velhurmeabra continued inexorably, “that only human artists will die.”