by Eric Flint
"Good luck," grunted Kralik. "I predict they'll refuse."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Caitlin said gloomily. But not too gloomily. Kralik's hands were starting to wander again.
"You decrepit old lecher," she said happily.
The Rebels
Awkwardly, Willard Belk advanced into the human-designed room connected to Aille's command center at Pascagoula which his human service and aides used as a lounge. Tully, Rob Wiley and Rafe Aguilera were sitting around a coffee table littered with newspapers. A fair number of the newspapers had coffee-stain rings decorating their already-garish multi-colored pages.
Tully cocked an eyebrow at him. Willard shuffled his feet a bit.
"I just came to say I'm sorry I helped them put that locator on you, Tully. While back."
"Don't worry about it, Will. Ancient history. The name's Gabe, by the way."
Belk nodded and glanced at the table. "I see you already saw them. D'you think—I mean . . ."
Aguilera chuckled. "Do we think the Jao will go on a rampage? No, Will, we don't." He gave Wiley and Tully a sly look. "Even these Lost Cause fanatics aren't worried about it. The Jao on the base are buying even more of these rags than the humans are—and getting those of them who can read English to translate, while they all sit around and gossip about it."
Wiley pointed a stubby finger at one of the tabloids. The Terra Tattler, that one. "Mind you, Yaut did have a fit when he saw the headlines. But I think he was mainly just pissed because they seem to have got it right."
"From what we can tell anyway," added Tully, grinning. "Nobody will know for sure, except the taif elders, until Aille finally emerges from the kochan-house with whoever-it-is."
The former rebels and collaborators, now allies, studied the headlines.
"Me, I hope they are right," pronounced Aguilera. "She is one fine lady."
Aille's Mystery Bride Revealed!
Exclusive to the Tattler!
Photos and Story Inside!
The Mates
Aille advanced toward the entrance to the mating pool, forcing his posture to remain steady despite the new and unsettling emotions rippling through him. Until this moment, he had steadfastly refused to speculate. But now, it was impossible not to begin thinking about his hopes.
Sternly, he told himself to set those hopes aside. His first-mate would be whomever the elders selected, for those reasons which seemed valid to them. Aille's personal preferences were irrelevant. Such was the Jao way with marriage, and Aille did not disagree. Whatever else about humans he had come to admire, he still found their notions of "romance" sheer superstition. Marriage was far too important a matter to be left to the vagaries of emotion.
Still . . .
He would have other wives, selected over time by the taif's elders, as his first-mate would have other husbands. But always, by custom, the first-mates would remain the center of the marriage-group. Whichever female waited for him in the pool, she would be, for the rest of his life, the most central person in his existence.
And he did have hopes, as foolish as that might be.
So, when he entered the pool chamber and saw that splendid vai camiti—he saw nothing else, for a moment—relief swept through him so strongly that he was not able, completely, to keep it from his posture.
"I hoped," she said throatily, deep-voiced, reading the posture instantly. "I hoped you would want it to be me."
The rest of her came into focus, as much as he could see. Nath was in the pool already, standing waist deep, her lustrous russet nap already sleek with water.
"I did," he said. "Though I should not have."
Nath's laughter was as throaty as her voice. "I cannot say I regret that I was never creched in Pluthrak, or any great kochan. As aggravating as it often was, being of minor clan status, at least I was spared that silly high-clan frippery."
She spread her arms, running her fingers sensuously through the water, stirring up the salt-scents a trace more. The same scents which were already causing Aille to feel warm and full of life and—
—and—
"It is called desire," Nath said, her little laugh seeming a bit choked. "I am so full of it I could burst. Come to me, husband."
The Prince
Nervously, Jonathan Kinsey was ushered into the new command center the Bond of Ebezon had poured for itself on Terra. On the Oregon coast also, as it happened, not very far from where the new Jao taif's kochan-house was nearing completion.
Kinsey was still a bit amazed at how rapidly the Jao could erect very large edifices. Yaut had given him a tour of the new kochan-house only yesterday—those portions of it which were not restricted exclusively to the use of the taif's members, at least. They had only begun pouring it two weeks earlier, but the edifice was almost finished even though it was even larger than Oppuk's palace had been.
Though much more tastefully designed, even to Kinsey's eyes. Unlike Oppuk, the taif had kept the design almost entirely Jao throughout, instead of the former Governor's mishmash. Of the two concessions to human design the elders had made, one had been more-or-less wrung out of them by the adamant demands of too many veterans. That was the addition, off to one side, of a Jao version of an auditorium, where those veterans who had developed the taste could enjoy the performances of human musicians. That was the only part of the kochan-house which was still not quite ready.
The other concession had been made willingly. That was the addition of human insignia and art work to the traditional Jao wall decorations. Indeed, one human insignia occupied honored space in the central public room of the kochan-house:
The Star of Terra, awarded by the United Nations, posthumously, to Llo krinnu Gava vau Narvo. Every member of Gava kochan resident on Terra had chosen to join the new taif, and they had insisted that Llo's medal would go with them.
Narvo had not argued the point. Indeed, Kinsey thought they had been relieved to get the bizarre and unwanted human "honor" off their hands. In general, Narvo was arguing nothing, these days. If anything, they seemed to take an almost malicious glee in out-doing Pluthrak when it came to offering resources to help in the Earth's reconstruction.
The Bond had begun pouring its own headquarters less than a week ago, after most of the Harrier fleet departed, leaving the Preceptor and his chosen pleniary-superior behind. She was named Tura, Kinsey knew. He still did not know the name of the Preceptor. Even in those few days, the structure was already complete. True, it was not as large as the kochan-house. The Bond favored austerity in all things, including their own quarters. But it was still impressive.
* * *
Kinsey did not know why he had been summoned. But, as soon as he was ushered into the Preceptor's private quarters, at least one minor mystery was resolved.
"I am called Ronz," were the Preceptor's first words, spoken in English, as soon as the aide who had led Kinsey there passed back through the doorfield. He gestured toward a nearby divan, designed in the low Jao manner. "Please, Doctor Kinsey, have a seat. I apologize that I have not yet been able to acquire human furniture. But I think you will find that reasonably comfortable."
Kinsey could not have cared less about physical comfort. Despite his nervousness, he was too fascinated by the Jao's demeanor. First, the easy grace with which the Preceptor moved. Here, in private, there was not a trace of that un-Jao-like neutrality of posture which Bond members exhibited in public. Instead, the Preceptor was exuding a certain kind of restrained graciousness. A polite host, welcoming his guest.
Even more fascinating, was his command of English. Grammatically correct, fluent—even the usual heavy Jao accent was barely noticeable.
That seemed as safe a place to start as any. As soon as he sat down, Kinsey said: "Your English is excellent, sir—uh, if you'll forgive me saying so."
"Why should I forgive a compliment?" The Preceptor lowered himself to a seat nearby. "It should be excellent. I have spent twenty of your years mastering the language. Along with several others."
> Kinsey stared at him. Twenty years? When most Jao, even resident on Earth, barely managed to learn a passable pidgin?
The Preceptor's whiskers twitched. "Why are you so surprised, Doctor Kinsey? By the way, is that the correct title?"
"Uh—yes, sir. Well . . . To be honest, although it's become the custom, I personally think it's a bit silly. To me, at least, sir, a 'doctor' is a medical specialist. A purely academic scholar like myself should more properly be called just 'professor.' " His nervousness led him to attempt a witticism. "There's an old joke, sir, about someone at an academic conference having a heart attack and his wife calling for a doctor. And then the paramedics having to fight their way through the mob to do the poor fellow any good."
The moment he finished, he felt like an idiot. What would a Jao new to Earth understand about that joke?
But, fortunately, the Preceptor didn't seem annoyed. "Very well, then. 'Professor' it shall be." Again, his whiskers waggled. "And you needn't feel it necessary, by the way, to keep peppering your speech with 'sir' every other sentence. I assure you I am not easily insulted. Certainly not by acts of omission."
Peppering your speech. For Christ's sake, he even knows colloquial expressions.
Kinsey drew a deep breath and decided—caution be damned—to take the plunge.
"Well, I think one rumor is confirmed. You did plan for this, didn't you?"
Not to his surprise, the Preceptor even managed a fair approximation of a human shrug. "Yes and no, Professor Kinsey. Yes, in the sense that, twenty years ago, once we studied the reports of the Terran conquest, the Bond realized that we had both a crisis and an opportunity on our hands. That was obvious, even reading the very—ah, what's the correct English term? Yes—the very slanted reports. If I'm not mistaken, I think you would also call it the 'Narvo spin.' "
The Jao leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands on the very humanlike armrests. "No, however, not in the sense that we foresaw exactly what would happen. Nor, even, exactly how to proceed to a proper solution. We certainly never foresaw the final developments, which were shaped and driven entirely by Aille and his service. What was obvious to us, from the beginning, was simply the problem itself—and, more important still, the great opportunity."
"Which was? The 'great opportunity,' I mean."
The Preceptor gazed at Kinsey solemnly and calmly, for a few seconds, before replying with a question.
"Tell me, Professor Kinsey—as a student of human history—what do we Jao remind you of? From your own past, I mean."
Kinsey hesitated. Ronz lifted a hand. "Please, Professor, speak freely. I am not trying to trap you into anything."
"Well . . . The Romans, more than anything, I think. Sometimes, the Mongols. Other times—some of your customs here, not so much your way of ruling—the Japanese of the Shogunate Era."
"Good analogies, I agree, within the limits of any analogy. I think there is something to be learned, as well, from the experience of the British Raj." His ears lifted. "I am certain there must have been times, during the recent crisis, when you could not help but think of the Sepoy Mutiny. And its very unfortunate immediate aftermath."
Kinsey almost choked. "Uh—well, yes. In fact, I remember telling President Stockwell how essential it was to avoid any Black Hole of Calcutta."
"Essential indeed, Professor. The Narvo would have responded far more savagely than the British. Though, to be sure, they would not have thought of such grotesque twists as blowing humans out of cannons. Or wrapping their corpses in the skin of—what is that beast? Swine, I believe?"
Mutely, Kinsey nodded.
"You do, I trust, agree with me that there are at least some aspects in which Jao share few of your human vices. Whatever vices we may have of our own."
"More than a few, being honest. There's no equivalent in your history, so far as I can determine, of such things as the Nazis or the Khmer Rouge or the Taliban. Jao just don't seem to descend to the level of sheer mania of which humans are capable. Well, except for Oppuk."
"Yes, Oppuk. A great pity. He was once a very impressive namth camiti, as difficult as you may find that to believe. That was our most unpleasant decision, we of the Bond, and one taken only with great reluctance."
* * *
Kinsey grew still. Still as a mouse. Absentminded professor or not, he was a student of human history. Just so, he was quite sure, did a man feel when Caesare Borgia was about to draw him into confidence.
"Oh, shit," he couldn't help but murmur.
Under his breath, he thought, forgetting the preternatural Jao sense of hearing.
"Not a bad expression. 'Shit,' indeed. But great dangers—just as great opportunities—sometimes require hard decisions to be made. Decisions which, as you say, are malodorous in the extreme."
The Preceptor leaned back still further, as though to distance himself as much as possible from a bad smell. "It was my decision, in the end, and I made it. Reluctantly, but I could see no other way to bring the Terran situation to a speedy enough conclusion. So, yes, I ordered Oppuk driven mad."
It seemed fitting, somehow, that he followed that with another human shrug. "It was not difficult, given Oppuk's natural temperament and his increasing frustration—and his increasingly obsessive use of pools. A matter, merely, of properly tampering with the salts. Easy enough, especially as Oppuk's unsanity grew, since he paid little attention to the doings of his servitors."
"Rough on the servitors, I would think," Kinsey commented, "given Oppuk's temper."
"Rough, indeed. Three of our agents were badly beaten by him. And the last, slain."
"Ullwa," Kinsey whispered. "That's how Wrot knew to challenge Oppuk over her whereabouts. You told him."
"Did more than tell him. We showed him. As I will now show you. By the end, we had surveillance devices on him everywhere, his ship as well as his palace. Nothing he did was a secret from us."
The Preceptor picked up a small device lying on a table next to him. Kinsey had noticed it, when he sat down, but thought nothing of the matter. A Jao control device of some sort, which they always had lying about.
A holographic image appeared to one side. "Watch, Professor Kinsey," the Preceptor commanded. "I will want your opinion afterward."
Ullwa's murder was brutal and horrible to watch; but, thankfully, over soon enough. And by the time it was, many things had fallen into place for Kinsey.
Oppuk had almost seemed to be raping Ullwa, as impossible as that crime was for a Jao, not just killing her. And Kinsey remembered, now, what Caitlin had told him after Oppuk was finally dead. Of the one frightening instance where he had made her posture before him, almost like a human despot might force a slave girl to dance. And the other time, even more disturbing, when he had summoned her and subjected her to bizarre questioning—which even Banle, afterward, had clearly been shaken by.
"That's the secret to your breeding, isn't it? The right chemical combination in your pools. You drove Oppuk mad by constantly stimulating him sexually—when he had no outlet for the stimulation. Probably didn't even realize what it was in the first place."
"Did not realize it at all. One of the characteristics—a particularly stupid one—of the great kochan is that they insist on surrounding all matters involving sex with great mystery. Never explaining anything to their offspring, until and unless one of them is summoned to become a pool-parent." Ronz lowered the control device back to the table. "The lesser, more provincial kochan, are not so obsessive about the matter. But Oppuk . . . I come myself, Professor, from one of the great kochan. I can assure you that Oppuk never had the slightest idea why his moods had become so turbulent and unstable."
He gave Kinsey a level stare, disconcerting in its complete neutrality. "You are doing very well, Professor. Matching my hopes. Tell me what else strikes you about this matter."
"Well . . . it seems like—if you'll forgive me for saying so—a positively grotesque way for an intelligent species to have to breed. Having to dope yourselves,
I mean, in effect. Uh, 'to dope' means—"
"I know what it means, Professor. It is quite an accurate characterization. And does it strike you as plausible that such a characteristic would evolve in an intelligent species? Or any animal species, for that matter."
Kinsey thought about it, for a moment.
"No, not to that extent. Certainly not in an animal with a highly developed nervous system. It's true that all animal species, so far as I know, require a chemical component for their sexual activity. But not anything that intricate and artificial. It's counterevolutionary, actually."
He took a deep breath. "The Ekhat designed you that way, didn't they? Manipulated your genetic structure."
"Yes. And embedded it so deeply in the Jao genome that it has—so far, at least—proven impossible for the Bond's genetic technicians to find any way to circumvent. Oh, yes, Doctor Kinsey—we have certainly tried. For well over three of your centuries, now, once we finally realized the truth."
The Preceptor's whiskers and ears moved, in what Kinsey thought was a subtle, Harrier-like way of indicating amused-chagrin. "The Bond must not procreate, Professor, lest we lose our use and purpose by developing what would amount to kochan ties and attitudes. Which we most surely would, if we began producing crechelings of our own instead of relying upon the kochan to provide us with recruits. But we have no superstitious prohibition against engaging in sexual activity for its own pleasure. As did—I am sure this analogy has come to you also, by now—the militant monastic orders of your own history."
He emitted a little sigh, and, for the first time, Kinsey realized how old the Preceptor was. Still very fit-looking, but genuinely aged. "In truth, Professor, given the often severe emotional strains upon Bond members, it would be a blessing for us if we could. But, sadly, we can't—because there is no way, so far as we have been able to discover thus far, for a Jao to do what humans do routinely: separate copulation from procreation."
