IGMS Issue 32 (12 page)

And what if I fall flat on my arse? What if you folks don't laugh? No pressure, obviously . . . but you might want to hear what happens if you don't laugh hard enough. It annoys my alternate selves, the senior comedians who don't want some mediocre jokester tarnishing our brand name. They don't care about Veronica; they have their own relationships. But they believe in quality control. If they decide I'm not up to scratch, first they send me a warning. I wake up with a clown's head in my bed. After that, if I keep doing gigs, they send a hit man. Someone comes up to me after a show, congratulates me, shakes my hand. Bzzz! He's got one of those comedy buzzers turned up to hyper-voltage, and he electrocutes me. Or I admire the flower in his buttonhole, and it squirts acid at me. Or he lures me into a dark corner, and drops an anvil on my head.

If that doesn't work, they send a whole squad, in one of those tiny cars with huge wheels. It's the clown car from the circus. And they all pile out of the car, dozens of them, an infinite number of them, all my alternate selves who think they can improve the clade by purging the weakest links. They storm the hall and shoot me down.

It gives a whole new meaning to "dying on stage."

Can you hear anything? Is that a car pulling up outside? Or maybe they're already here. I see some familiar faces in the audience . . . Oh please, no -- not the custard pies. Nooooooo!

Ah, never mind. What am I saying: that I think my alternate selves are coming to get me because I'm not funny enough? That's classic insecurity, that is. I'm so insecure, you could use me as a government database. Do I really think my own alts would kill me? They're me: is there a murderer in
my
heart?

Everyone has a dark side. All the times you had a nasty impulse and suppressed it -- every time you wanted to say something spiteful, but swallowed it -- there's a version of you who said that, who did that. He's your evil goatee-wearing double.

But if I worry about evil alts coming to get me, then I'm assuming that I'm the good guy. Like I said earlier, everyone thinks they're the authentic self. It's all relative, though. I'm sure there's another version of me, someone who does something important and worthwhile -- charity work while raising abandoned kittens -- who thinks I'm the shadow side. "Oh no, there's a version of me who does nothing but bray inanities to drunkards in seedy clubs!"

Perhaps the whole notion of competing with my own alts, and trying to be the best, is itself somewhat sinister . . .

Yeah, maybe I'm the dark self whose soul needs rescuing. Of course, I've already had that message. I'm sure we've all had it -- the alt who gets religion and wants to convert the whole clade. He knocks on your door and says, "Have you found Jesus?"

I don't want to find Jesus -- I want to find Veronica. I'm convinced that if I keep working hard and improving myself, then eventually I'll be worthy of her. And she'll find me.

I believe in love. Do you? Let's hear you! One, two, three, Aahhh . . .

Thanks for coming, folks. You've been a great audience, all of you -- even those who aren't me.

Are you out there, Veronica? Veronica, my love?

Well, maybe next time. I'm here all week.

Try the veal.

Continued from issue 31

Ardam watched the town from atop the ridge. There was not a two-leg to be seen outside of their rigid structures. The warm morning would turn into a blazing hot day. That they were not making use of prime working time was foolish, but then, maybe the heat did not affect their simple bodies so greatly.

All thirty children were lined up behind him. Each carried a pack or pushed a cart laden with food, seed and supplies. Kaliff's Family even offered up a share of their finest farming tools. She said they would make more during the breeding season; Ardam knew it would take more than one season to replace what she gave.

This was the first time he had acted without the Family's general approval. It saddened him not to have their faith. They stood back from him now, anxious ruffles wafting through the group as they watched their children prepare. Ardam had spoken with the young ones and told them what to do. It was a good generation; they would not react in fear. He would win the two-legs over with kindness. Ardam looked back. Beyond the Family stood rows of Nemek warriors lean and ready at his call. If kindness didn't work . . .

With a huff and a whistle, Ardam started the descent. The trail of children chittered in excitement. If they were truly training he would have insisted on silence, but they were too young for that. Besides, he was counting on them being children to win over the two-legs. It was best to let them act naturally.

When they were partway down the hill, the two-legs emerged from their structures. They spread out, forming a rough line across the front of the town, a little ways back from the tiled edge. It was not dissimilar to the line Ardam's Family had created a few days before; except he saw that only adults were present. Once again, Mayor Toumani Shaw stood out front, flanked by his two advisors.

Ardam did not hesitate in his approach. He stepped up to the Mayor and extended his hand. "Hello, my friend."

Toumani Shaw took his hand. Ardam noticed that the cloth around his arm was smaller and clean, and the swelling had diminished significantly. He was glad the Barter had not had lasting ill effects.

"Hello, my friend. What is all this?" He bared his teeth in that gesture that Ardam had figured out was something good and not the danger his gut told him it was.

The children fanned out but stayed behind Ardam, awaiting his signal. "I thought you should meet last year's seedlings. These are the strongest, the ones that survived. They were born here." He stopped before he made any accusations. Let the Mayor derive his own meaning.

"I feel like I am one step behind you, Ardam. First I come to you with my staff and you bring me your Family. Then I bring you my Family and you bring me your children."

"We also bring an offer of assistance." Ardam whistled and the children stepped forward. They approached the two-leg adults slowly. Those with packs extended them in their arms, and those with carts pushed forward. They spread out along the line, each choosing one subject to bestow their gift upon.

Ardam hadn't known the two-legs would come out like this but his instructions to get close to them were being carried out beautifully. The adult two legs did not recoil in fear like when he entered the meeting hall. They took the packages and even allowed exchanges of touch. A combination of two-leg murmurs and young Cranther chatter ran throughout the crowd.

Ardam continued. "You said that your resources would not allow you to move your town. We offer the supplies you need and will make guides available to help you find a new home."

The Mayor's mouth hung open but Ardam did not know what that meant. The fur-faced advisor spoke first.

"This is incredible."

Then the pale one. "We still can't leave. Do they expect us to live in straw huts? This is ridiculous."

There was no discipline amongst Toumani's advisors, but maybe none was expected.

Three of the children stepped forward, making their offerings to the Mayor and his advisors. Ardam marveled at the instincts children had. He couldn't have asked for better timing.

It was one of Kaliff's females that approached Toumani. She handed him a tied sack filled with ripe, yellow fenter fruit, which he took with one hand. Then, like Ardam had done, she extended her hand to him. It was then Ardam was sure her mother had instructed her. Now that he looked, the two that approached the advisors were from Kaliff's Family as well. Quiet support. Ardam would not forget this.

Toumani bent down and took the young one's hand. She pulled herself up, climbing his legs to his torso until he was gently forced into holding her in his arms.

"Whoa," Toumani said. "I didn't expect that." He bared his teeth and . . . laughed. The Barter was still teaching Ardam new words. He found that for the Mayor to laugh was a good thing. Ardam was proud that his Family had created such good contact.

The Mayor shook his head. "Ardam, you are both sneaky and honorable. I don't know many leaders that would make an offering such as you have."

The pale advisor accepted the package given him but would not touch its giver. Fur-face was kneeling and exchanging touches and sounds with the child who handed him a bag of seed.

"The memories of two hundred generations reside in this ground. Each generation requires the memories of the last in order to be born. This will be the last generation of my Family if you do not move."

Toumani's shoulders sagged. His mood suddenly reversed from the pleasantness of a moment before. "You make a powerful argument and I wish I could do as you ask. But even with your generous offerings, it is not enough. There is a geothermal source nearby that we use for power and the majority of my people see that as a necessity. My people cannot live as simply as your Family does."

The child in the Mayor's arms squirmed and wrapped several of her arms around his neck. His expression changed to one that Ardam didn't visually recognize but because of the Barter he could feel. Toumani's heart hurt. Ardam knew what it was like to have one or two of his hearts hurt from compassion, but the thought of the two-leg's only heart hurting seemed unbearable. He did not like what he had to say next.

"I am still unable to allow you to stay. I must make sure our seedlings are born. Please prepare to leave."

The pale one stepped forward and snarled in a way Ardam didn't think was possible for the two-legs. He was sure the meaning was not the same as the Cranther mating request it sounded like.

"Are you threatening us again? I told you we're here to stay." He pointed the black stick in the air and it squealed three times. Streaks of red light shot out of it and disappeared into the sky. Ardam didn't know exactly what it was, but it held power and menace. Then the word "blaster" came to him strong through the Barter. The Mayor responded immediately.

"Stand down, Captain!"

Ardam looked at the Mayor and before they could exchange words, he let out a loud, short screech that ended in a growl. In a matter of moments the two-legs were staring up at the ridge, their mouths agape. Ardam knew the sight of four-hundred armed Nemek warriors would have the necessary effect.

He whistled and the children drew away from the two-legs they had been interacting with. It only took a small huff for them to know to fall in behind him. Mayor Toumani Shaw stared at Ardam. He could feel the disbelief, and the fear. This was not the way Ardam wanted it.

"I make this promise to you, my friend. I will not harm any of your Family if you do not harm mine. If I do, you may take my fourth heart, because it will already be dead."

The Mayor recovered his presence. "I do not wish to fight you."

"Then we agree," Ardam looked at the pale advisor, "but not all who are with you seem to feel the same."

Toumani turned and grabbed the stick from his advisor so quickly the two-leg didn't have time to react. They exchanged a look that seemed to keep the pale one in his place. He turned back to Ardam.

"We will not harm your Family."

"Then you will move?" Ardam asked.

"We can't do that either."

Ardam chuffed heavily through his throat pouch. "Then we have accomplished nothing, except to show our weapons." He thought for a long moment, trying to figure out how to keep his options with the two-legs open. "When I return, it will still be in peace."

"In peace, you are always welcome, my friend."

Three days until the seedlings needed to be called forth. He would return in peace but not with wholly peaceful intent. If something did not change, the seedlings would have to wage their own war. How many of them would give up their lives to keep greater numbers on both sides from dying? Ardam hoped they had the strength to thrive. If he was wrong, this decision would condemn his Family to extinction.