“And how do you know that?” Kwoort said, not to Gabriel but to Hanna. The translator did not convey nuance. Had he said it with suspicion?
Yes, answered the bell. There was uneasiness there, but she answered promptly.
“Kwoort Commander, we obtained much information about Soldiers from space. We have seen your holy texts and heard readings of them, and other texts besides. That’s how we developed our translators. I know there must be much information that we missed, too. Please—” The translator beeped. “Please” was not in its databank either. “I ask that you forgive—” Chirp. Hanna tried again. “I ask that you understand our ignorance. My companion only wants to know how old one must be to become a Holy Man. Are there many Holy Men?”
“Few survive long enough even to begin to change,” Kwoort said readily enough. “The change begins to appear at, perhaps, three or four hundred summers. Fulfillment of the promise requires as much time again, and in that time most of the remainder cease to survive. But always Abundant God puts forth his hand to protect the one he wishes to take to himself. There is always a Holy Man, as the enemy has always its Demon. But there is only one.”
Hanna was now very still. Gabriel wondered: Does she think he lies?
He evades. Talk to him, Gabriel. Go ahead!
He found his voice. “How do you recognize the advent of the change?” he asked.
Kwoort said, “How do you recognize it? Perhaps it is the same.”
Gabriel said promptly, “We perceive that the holy one is transformed in closeness to God, in attitude, in behavior, in faith. And the holy speak to God, and God speaks to the holy. And with you?”
“The change is slow,” Kwoort said. “Many traits of the mind are affected, one by one. But finally the Holy One hears the voice of Abundant God.”
“What does the voice say?” Gabriel said curiously.
“To increase and obey is the first commandment,” Kwoort said. “And secondly, Abundant God commands war. He commands death. What does your god command?”
“My god also speaks of obedience. But his command is to love,” Gabriel said.
Chirp.
There has to be something, Gabriel thought. There were words for “love” in every language, however strange the speakers’ bodily packaging appeared. But Kwoort said, “If you cannot tell me what your god commands, perhaps your god and mine do not have much to say to each other.”
“They must. I’m sure of that. You and I might not understand each other, at least not yet, but your god and mine might not need a translator. They might even be the same god.”
“Then tell me this. Do not-Soldiers increase in number by the will of your god? Do they go to him in death?”
Gabriel said cautiously, “They go to him in death, certainly. They rejoice (chirp) in his presence forever. And he cherishes (chirp) every life.”
Kwoort responded with a twist of one wrist. Gabriel wondered if that was a shrug. Kwoort said, “If your god has anything to do with translation, it seems he does not want us to talk about this.”
“Let’s return to the process, then,” Hanna said, “Are you becoming holy, host? You have a great many summers.”
“I am indeed in the process,” he said. “That will be my end, if I survive.”
The ears moved now, stiffening, and the shoulders, pushing forward. Some change in mood, Gabriel thought, but he could not possibly tell what it meant.
He is angry, said the bell. But not at us.
“And do you wish it to be the end?” Hanna said. “Do you not fear losing your sanity?”
“How do you know that will occur?”
Gabriel looked from Kwoort to Hanna. Her eyes were wide; he thought he felt a pulse of uneasiness from her, but maybe it was his own, because she answered steadily.
She said, “In the volume of data we are collecting there is reference to the insanity that accompanies holiness. I am beginning to know you, and it seems to me that sanity is not something you would willingly relinquish.”
Well, the second statement was probably true, Gabriel thought. But the first was an outright lie. There might be something in the texts, but he had read enough of Hanna’s reports to know her knowledge came straight from telepathic contact.
Kwoort stared at them with all four eyes, the alarm sounding again in that intelligent, experienced mind. Kwoort said, “I recall nothing about madness in the holy texts.”
“We drew certain conclusions from what is there,” Hanna said speciously.
Gabriel said quickly, hoping to distract Kwoort, “Would it be possible for me to meet with the Holy One?”
“I will arrange it,” Kwoort said, but he did not take his gaze from Hanna.
“I note your intention, host,” Hanna said courteously, but she said to Gabriel: We need to get out of here. Right now, I think.
It was a mistake. Gabriel was on telepathic overload. He turned to her sharply and said, “Why?”
Quiet!
Kwoort saw. He made a soft whistle of discovery.
“We go now,” Hanna said decisively. “Survive, host.”
She moved quickly to the pod, Gabriel following. Kwoort did not try to stop them. But he didn’t tell them to survive, either.
• • •
“He’s quick,” Hanna said on the return flight. No side trips this time; she let the pod follow its program, leaning back in her seat, looking exhausted. “And I’m not,” she added. “I didn’t learn what I wanted to learn, and what I learned I don’t like. And I slipped up again. He’s figuring it out. Oh, how I hate this cat-and-mouse!”
Alta had mice, stowaways in years of supply ships; Alta had therefore imported cats. The abbey had one, but as the kitchen brothers could not be prevented from spoiling it, it hunted without conviction. Gabriel understood, however, and he said slowly, making a connection, “What did you mean when you said hearing your name as they say it would be honest?”
“A reminder that Kwoort lies,” Hanna said. “And so do I. Should we be here if we need to lie?”
She was silent after that.
Chapter IX
I WILL PUT THIS DOWN carefully and hide it carefully and hide reminders also so that I will not forget where I put it. But no I will put it in the sack with maps that I carry always. Though I am not likely to forget what has happened. Though Tlorr would remember. Though what if she has begun to forget things too, she must have begun to forget!—she is as old as I, and we are both older already than Kwler when he forgot battles fought hours before and began to forget all his words, at least I do not forget words and Tlorr does not either, and Rowtt does not need both of us but I do not want to go, I do not want to leave Tlorr—
It was Tlorr’s idea, I must put that down, I told her I wondered about the not-Soldiers, how they knew things they could not know, how I wondered if they spoke in ways I could not hear and will they tell us how and can we use
I am too diffuse, it seems to me that my thoughts once were more clear more direct I would not accept a report from an officer that wavered so from the point
The point. I told Tlorr what I wondered. She said
See her mind is more direct it does not wander
She said Have any other not-Soldiers given evidence of this.
I said I do not know. I said no one has reported such a thing. The officers who escort the not-Soldiers only report where the not-Soldiers go and what they do. They report that the not-Soldiers do nothing that has not been approved. These are the things they were ordered to report. There is nothing else.
There would not be, she said, because those are the only things they are ordered to report.
I said the orders can be changed.
Then change them, she said, but first. First, ah, let us go to some of the places the not-Soldiers have gone.
I said I will send officers to those places.
No, she said, I mean I will go, and you. Maybe we will find out for ourselves.
Now, this is unheard of, that the Holy Man herself go into the warrens unless for namings and commendations. Kwler went, but only after he forgot words and duties and he would wander and become lost and Tlorr would send Soldiers to find him and so she became Holy Man. And sometimes I wonder if already I
I must be direct.
I said, Why do you want to do this.
She said, Maybe I am tired of praying and tired of maps and plans for the movements of others. I also want to move!
We did as she desired. We did not want to be recognized, I said to Tlorr that her image is seen many times each day by every Soldier in Rowtt, but she said no, it is the robes they see, and as for you it is not the face Soldiers see but the insignia of High Commander. So at my order Prookt Commander took uniforms from two commanders of the third rank for us to wear. He did not ask why we wanted them and he was not going to dismiss the unclothed commanders from their stations so they could return to their quarters and clothe themselves, either, but I ordered him to do that because their attention might wander if they were cold, and every Soldier in the commanders’ chamber must be alert at all times. I wonder what Prookt would have done if I had demanded his uniform, no, I know what he would have done, he would have given it and remained at his post.
Tlorr said We will go where the not-Soldiers went first and stayed longest. So that is what we did. She drove us herself, she said I have not done this for a long time! It is pleasant to an extreme degree! It is not as pleasant as mating and it was easy to do the will of Abundant God when mating was the reward and not so easy when transporting myself is the most pleasant experience I have to anticipate, but this will suffice.
Nothing will suffice for the end of mating. I wonder if I asked that Cutter if she would try to find out if there is a way to draw the facilitators even in age, and would it prevent the change, would there be no more Holy Men, would there even be High Commanders, and would it not fulfill the directive of Abundant God. I said this to Tlorr, she said Ask her but she will say no.
I said How do you know did you
This is not the point.
The crèche is distant, it is the most distant from the commanders’ center as Tlorr ordered at the first, indeed the female Haknt was placed at a great distance from the center also because if they had come with weapons we could have
But they did not.
We found a Warrior they spoke to, the point is what she said. They see into the mind and speak to it, she said, it is like talking but not like talking—I am certain now that Haknt does it and maybe the male who came with her could do it. And Tlorr and I are divided, Tlorr only wants Haknt to return but I am sure she will return anyway and I said besides there is this, other not-Soldiers are here, at this moment the male not-Soldier Arkt is near the commanders’ center, he is with the record-keeper Kwek, it would be easy to detain him and when his time comes to mate there will be no not-Soldier mates and we will tell him he will only be released to mate if he sees for us into the Demon’s mind.
But the Warrior also said the not-Soldier who spoke to her mind said Abundant God does not require these not-Soldiers to mate in his time but only when they choose but how could that be true? It cannot be true, but Tlorr says it might be true and keeping the male will serve no purpose and so we disagree but it cannot be true every creature in the world mates as Abundant God wills so how can it be true, I cannot stop thinking about it, what if it is true could they
• • •
If they were human, said Dema—true-human, she added—she would run from them as fast as she could.
“Why true-human?” Parker said. “You’re prejudiced against true-humans.”
“No.” Her look was exasperated. She did not like being accused of prejudice—and wouldn’t have cared if she did not, in fact, struggle with it. “They wouldn’t be normal. Normal true-humans look at each other’s faces, they look for affect, more than D’neerans do. What we’ve got here is almost universal flat affect—I mean, most of these beings show very little change in facial expression, and they don’t feel much emotion, either. It’s the same here in this—this school—as it was in the crèches. The oldest children here are different, but why? Why does it crop up at puberty and then disappear? It’s obvious they revert before long. There’s no depth. The animal species I know have more depth.”
He muttered, “The more I know about them the less I like them.”
Dema sighed. She said more cheerfully, “It’s not so bad. Look at it this way, Benj. At least they’re mammals.”
“They have litters.”
“They don’t self-clone, they don’t lay eggs, they don’t bear live young that strain plankton, all right?”
“Girrians are mammals. They don’t have litters.”
“Twins, usually, but—Girrians don’t do spaceflight, either. These are space-going mammals, Benj. Focus on that. They are,” said Dema, contradicting herself without shame, “just like us.”
They were conferring in one of the (gray concrete) rooms of a sub-complex they had been assured served education. In a huge (gray concrete) chamber next door, there was a fairly rhythmic tramp-tramp as tiny Soldiers practiced marching. Prez Mercado was there too, not saying much as usual, certainly staying out of this knotty conversation.
Parker said stiffly: “They are not like us. True, we have males. They have males. True, we have females. They have females. But we do not have any goddam facilitators! Whatever the hell they are! I want them to produce one!”
A group of small Soldiers, already in the ubiquitous loose coveralls, had strayed from the adjoining chamber. They watched to see if the not-Soldiers would do something interesting. Parker glared at them.
Dema liked Parker, which he pretended to think annoying. She laughed.
“The mechanics of mating aren’t on our agenda, Benj. That’s Cinnamon Padrick’s team. We’re on education now.”
Parker snorted. “I can just see Padrick’s face when somebody tells her facilitators are Abundant God’s little helpers—”
He stopped because his communicator—all their communicators—went off with a warning blast.
General order for immediate evacuation. Repeat, immediate evacuation. Prepare to return to Endeavor. Repeat, prepare to return—
Prez Mercado started switching systems offline. Dema called automatically, H’ana?
No immediate danger, but don’t waste any time.
Then Hanna was gone, too busy for more. Whatever it was, she was in the middle of it.
Chapter X
ARCH HARM HAD BEEN A historian in his other life. For him, the ancient question that went “Why are we here?” was not a philosophical one.
The first time he asked that question, in a small town on a D’neeran prairie, his father had responded with an image that combined the town of their previous residence with an image of Arch’s maternal grandmother, whom his father greatly disliked (though he still liked Arch’s mother). This was Arch’s first introduction to the reasons humans moved about as they did. He canvassed his agemates to find out why they were there, wondered who had first come to L’enka and started a town, and thus was launched on a path that only fascinated him more as time passed. Eventually, as a sideline, he studied the history of F’thal, was so interested that he became an expert at an early age, and took up the history of Girritt, such as it was, with equal enthusiasm. He had been an unsuccessful applicant to the Zeigan Project when Starr Jameson headed it, and Hanna, who had made that first contact, had chosen the project’s handful of direct contact personnel, all of them D’neerans. Arch had not been unqualified, but there were better candidates at the time (none of whom had wanted anything more to do with Contact after Zeig-Daru).
Arch was perfect for this mission, though. He was so immersed in his subject that eve
n though he knew Hanna well, his core perception of her was her role in history. And Hanna liked obsessive specialists. If they did not always see a larger picture, they did contribute to it immeasurably. It was Arch, therefore, who finally got to meet with a being Soldiers called a record-keeper, there being no broader word for “historian.”
Kwek Warrior might have been a prepossessing female of her species, but her species was not Arch’s. He only knew she was female because Hanna, informing him of the meeting, had used the pronoun “she.” Kwek was not in crèche mode, and the coveralls she wore did not hint at her numerous breasts. The rooms where they met were as utilitarian as all the rest of Soldiers’ spaces and dominated by a bank of equipment Arch guessed were computers and their peripherals, all looking rather scraped and dented, and so bulky that it was evident they were neither organic nor quantum-based. Faint noises hinted at the ever-present video screen pouring out war, speeches, and public assemblies, but someone, presumably Kwek, had shoved a tall gray cabinet in front of it, hiding it from view.
Arch almost missed Kwek’s greeting, because his attention was fixed on one unexpected feature in the room: one of the tall, tapering tumblers these people used stood on a counter, a few forlorn-looking blossoms sticking out of its mouth. It was the first hint of decoration anyone had seen on Battleground.
He became aware that he was expected to say something, and said hastily, “Sorry, I think the translator glitched. Would you repeat?”
“Very well. Guest, I am Kwek Warrior and I have three hundred and twenty summers.”
“Host, I am Arch, and I have forty summers. I am here to learn about your people’s past.”
Kwek said, “With which year do you wish to begin?”
Arch had decided to leave prehistory alone for now, so he said: “Your earliest written records, or maybe images of them, if you don’t have the artifacts here. Those would be clay tablets, perhaps, or carved stone.”
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