Above and beyond the undulating crest of the carefully maintained riparian habitat he could see tall buildings rising from the center of the capital city. The Niyyuu were fond of domes and other bulbous architectural oddities; a partiality that contrasted sharply and perhaps intentionally with their own svelte forms. Beyond the glistening, well-scrubbed towers of the city, which were modest in size compared to the structures he had seen on Seremathenn, a line of mountains stretched across the horizon. No snow capped the visible peaks, an absence that might have been due to latitude, season, altitude, or a combination thereof.
“See anything?”
Turning, he saw that George had come up behind him. The dog yawned mightily, shook from nose to tail, and stretched, his forelegs extending as far forward as possible.
“Urban structures,” Walker informed his height-challenged companion. “Parklike stream and vegetation just below us. In the distance, mountains—not too high, I think.”
“No sign of fighting, uninhibited internecine bloodletting, or rampaging cadres of naturally anorexic soldiers?”
Walker returned his attention to the babbling brook and outlying buildings. “There’s something in the creek that looks agitated, but that’s about it.”
“Good. I’m hungry. Let’s find something to eat.”
Walker waved a windowlike transparency back into place before turning away from the gap. Where was evidence of the ongoing war of which Viyv-pym had spoken? “Wait. I have to get dressed.”
“I don’t.” The dog trotted energetically through a portal that opened obediently in response to his curt bark. “Meet you in the common room, or dining room, or however the appropriate place for taking meals is designated here.”
It made no sense, Walker deliberated as he fumbled with his shirt while doing his best to follow his companion. If the countryside existed in a state of perpetual war, where were the signs of concern, the hints of resistance? The city had been well lit during their arrival the previous night. Was it possible to imagine a civilization that possessed starships but not aircraft? For that matter, bombs could be dropped from balloons, but there was nothing to indicate that the people of Kojn-umm feared any attack from the air. Could the confusion he was experiencing be due to a simple misunderstanding over what he had been told? But Viyv-pym had said clearly that it was “not real war without killing.” He decided to try to set his bemusement aside. Surely clarification would be forthcoming.
George was right about one thing. He was hungry, too. Maybe food would help to alleviate the headache he was beginning to develop. And he hadn’t even started work yet. Would he need to acquire defensive attire in addition to the appropriate utensils?
The dog located a common room that fronted on a small indoor garden. None of the plants were known to either of them. Within the garden, yellow vied with green as the dominant color. One particularly distinctive growth put forth a single flower that was as long as Walker’s arm. It smelled abominable.
The synthesizer that responded to their requests had been programmed to fulfill their needs, but the equipment, while far in advance of anything that had been developed on Earth, was no match for the sophisticated instrumentalities of the Sessrimathe. Biting into a disc of pale pink something, Walker’s face screwed into an expression that was a perfect visual representation of the taste.
“If this is an example of the local cuisine,” he observed when he had choked down enough of the substance to be able to talk again, “I can see why my services are so eagerly awaited here.”
“You’re too picky, Marc. You always are.” George dug with unreserved gusto into the plate of proteins as colorful as they were unidentifiable that the synthesizer had set before him.
That left Walker to contemplate an unpalatable choice between looming starvation and distasteful consumption. As he picked at his food, Sque arrived to join them. Scuttling into the room on half a dozen of her ten tendrils, bits of polished metal and colorful plastic jangling around her body, the dripping wet K’eremu left a trail of water behind her. Preferring to remain as damp as possible for as long as possible, she had not bothered to dry herself following her most recent immersion.
Though barely four feet tall when erected on all ten tendrils, she had no difficulty pulling herself up into the chair that was intended for much taller Niyyuu. In fact, she was arguably more comfortable on the alien piece of furniture than her human companion was. Designed to accommodate the far narrower Niyyuuan posterior, Walker’s chair would have made an uncomfortable perch for any human. Constant shifting in search of a more restful position failed to find one.
“Fortunately, I have already eaten. Thank you for asking,” she snapped brusquely before anyone could venture so much as a “Good morning.” As a sign of further disapproval, several bubbles emerged from the flexible pink tube that was her mouth and rose halfway to the ceiling before bursting.
By now completely used to her moods, Walker ignored her scorn as he picked unhappily at his own food. “I assumed that you had, Sque, or you would have been demanding it as you came in.” Slipping a slice of something like slivered eggplant into his mouth, he chewed slowly and experimentally. His palate was less than impressed, but his stomach did not rebel.
I would kill, he mused dejectedly, for a Polish dog. With mustard, and onions, and relish, and sauerkraut. At the thought, his mouth manufactured saliva in quantity sufficient to impress even Sque. As for barbeque, he dared not even visualize the concept. Instead, he made himself eat another slice of alien eggplant.
To take his mind off historical impossibilities like kielbasa, he engaged the K’eremu in conversation. “How did you sleep? While they’re not as stylish as those we had on Seremathenn, I thought my quarters were pretty comfortable.”
“I did not ask your opinion,” she replied tersely. Two tendrils pulled a conical container toward her and deftly upended a sample of the liquid contents into a smaller container from which she sipped daintily before continuing. “As you observe, these Niyyuu are not as advanced as our former hosts. Neither are they especially primitive. My rooms occupy a level lower than yours. This was done intentionally, I am told, so that I might have regular and unimpeded access to the nearby stream and its refreshing, cooling flow. Such forethought expended on the comfort of a higher being is to be commended. I rested adequately, thank you.”
“And how did you find breakfast, Snake-arms?”
As always, she ignored the dog’s insult as being beneath her. “Nourishment, though synthesized as expected, was tolerated by my system. It could not compare, of course, to victuals properly prepared.” Several slender limbs gestured in Walker’s direction. “As they might have been by the primitive but gastronomically talented amateur in our company, to give but one example.”
Walker nearly choked on his next mouthful. “Are you paying me a compliment, Sque?”
Silvery eyes looked away, toward the nearest transparency that provided an external view. “Truth compels. You may proffer appropriate obeisance at a later time. I do not wish to interrupt your intake of the dreadful molecular combinations you consider worthy of ingestion.”
Walker beamed. A compliment. Sque never gave compliments. The closest the K’eremu came to praising another being was to refrain from insulting it on a regular basis. Walker hardly knew how to respond.
Defying any sense of propriety, local or imported, George hopped up onto the table and began sniffing some of the other offerings. Walker managed to look pained.
“Come on, George. Really.”
“Really what?” The dog eyed him impassively. “Really get off the table, or really relax because if I had arms and hands I wouldn’t have to do this?” Settling on a chunk of something that smelled like meat even if it looked like cantaloupe, he picked it up in his teeth and returned to his chosen spot on the floor.
They remained like that, in mutual silence, for several minutes—man and dog eating, K’eremu contemplating their primitive activity—when a sudden thou
ght occurred to Walker. Looking up and around, he took in their immediate surroundings before venturing aloud to no one in particular, “Anyone seen Braouk this morning?”
“Not me.” George returned to his meat melon.
“I have not yet encountered the ungainly giant.” Pulling herself up onto the table, Sque took on the appearance of a kaleidoscopic calamari. Another place, another time, another set of onlookers, Walker knew, and she would be deemed dinner rather than diner. “Maybe he’s still resting in whatever warehouse-sized room our lanky hosts have made available for his use.”
As breakfast wore on without any sign of the melancholy Tuuqalian, however, Walker found himself beginning to worry. “We’d better go find him, make sure he’s okay.” He pushed back from the table and stood, glad to be free of the narrow, uncomfortable Niyyuuan chair.
“Worry about that wandering mountain?” George hopped up onto an empty chair to bring himself closer to eye level with his friend. “He worries everybody else, not the other way around.”
“I’d feel better knowing for sure that he’s okay.”
The dog snorted, considered relieving himself on one of the table supports, decided to hold off. Unlike another dog, their hosts would probably frown on such a response. “Might as well, I guess. Nothing else to do here yet anyway.”
They found the giant on the roof. In addition to a series of small domes whose function was not immediately apparent, there was a broad deck that had been landscaped with fully grown trees and shrubbery to blend perfectly with the preserved natural environment below. Though it rose to a height of only four or five stories above the ground, the edifice that had become their new home still loomed above the majority of government structures surrounding it. The deck offered a sweeping panorama of the city and the surrounding mountains.
Braouk was standing on the northwest side, careful not to put any weight against the delicate swirl of railing that in addition to being too low for him could never have supported his mass. In contrast, it was almost too high for Walker. Picking up George, he cradled the dog in his arms so his friend could also see clearly. As for Sque, her multiplicity of limbs allowed her to easily scamper up the nearest dome.
“Nice view,” George commented approvingly. “Handsome mountains. No mountains where you and I come from.”
“Is not mountains, that I stand studying, this direction.” The Tuuqalian raised a pair of powerful tentacles and pointed. “There. That outcropping or promontory, that rises just to the left of the main pass. Do you see?”
Walker strained. With his huge oculars mounted on the ends of flexible stalks, Braouk had the best distance vision of any of them. “I do see something. Some kind of building?”
“More than that.” This time the Tuuqalian pointed with all four tentacles, the tips touching to form a conical indicator. “Look again, harder.”
With a familiarity she would never have dared attempt back aboard the prison ship of the Vilenjji, Sque clambered up Braouk’s back, climbing him like a tree, until she stood atop the furry crest with one bulbous Tuuqalian eye raised on either side of her.
“I cannot see anything except these mountains. My eyesight has evolved for precision viewing, not for far-seeing.”
George had better luck. “I see smoke, and moving figures. Lots of moving figures. The structure itself is different from anything down here. Looks to be pretty big, and all sharp angles. No tapering towers, no graceful domes.”
“I believe it, to be a primitive fortress, without question.” As they drew closer together, the better to sharpen the Tuuqalian’s view, the muscular eyestalks threatened to squeeze Sque between them. “A castle, or redoubt, of primitive design. Even as we stand here watching, a battle is taking place before its gate and on its ramparts.”
“The war!” Now that Braouk had described the scene, Walker found that he was better able to discern individual elements of the distant vista. “Strange. You say that fighting is going on. But I don’t see any flashes of light, any explosions.”
“Me neither,” George added. As an indication of how seriously he took the situation, his tail was virtually motionless.
“That is because there are none,” the Tuuqalian informed them. “In keeping with the design and materials of the primitive structure that is under assault, the methods of combat being employed appear to be equally archaic. While it is difficult to tell for certain at such a distance, I think I perceive much tentacle-to-tentacle—excuse me, hand-to-hand—fighting.”
Sque gestured with several tendrils. “There is both absurdity and contradiction in what you say. Yet being unable to see clearly for myself, I am unable either to deny or confirm the validity of your observations. I declared upon our arrival here yesterday that there are ramifications to this Niyyuuan war that we do not understand. I confess I am now even more puzzled than I was originally.”
Turning, George nodded toward the far portal. “It’s time to get unpuzzled. Let’s ask her.”
Viyv-pym was striding toward them, her slender limbs seeming to float across the floor. She had exchanged her previous attire for a dual casing of gauzy material: half turquoise blue, the other shimmering gold. Here and there, fragments of what looked like frozen methane gave off small wisps of condensation. Twisted tightly around her, the fabric gave her the appearance of someone bound in an oversized strand of DNA. With her high, pointed ears; switching tails; and wide, luminous eyes, she was perfectly breathtaking, Walker decided.
“Yous rested well?” she inquired cheerfully in her familiar grating burr.
Never one to waste words, George raised a paw in the direction of the distant mountain pass. “There’s fighting going on up there, just outside your city, right now.”
The sparkling Niyyuuan gaze rose briefly. “Yes, at the fortress of Jalar-aad-biidh. Combined forces of Toroud-eed have invested it almost two ten-days now. Under strategy devised by gallant General Saluu-hir-lek our defenders continue hold them off. Is very exciting.”
“Exciting?” Once again, Walker found Viyv-pym’s reactions in sharp contrast to her appearance. “Aren’t your people, citizens of Kojn-umm, dying up there?”
“No doubt are some, yes.”
“Well, what is going to be done about it?”
“Take you meet you’s staff,” she informed him happily. “Begin plan first meal-skill demonstration for government personnel. Important yous make good impression. Very important for you and for me.” She eyed his companions. “Must make appearance all of one part. All participate, somehow. Sure you understand necessary justify bringing four not one all way to Niyu.”
“Showtime,” declared the ever-adaptable George.
“Amateur theatrics, no doubt.” Though clearly not pleased, having anticipated something of the sort, Sque kept the bulk of her objections to herself. “Hopefully there will be astronomers in attendance and we can make some contacts useful toward commencing the necessary preliminary studies for continuing on our homeward journey.”
Fortunately, their hostess had not overheard the K’eremu’s characteristically soft speech. Leaning down, Walker whispered urgently to Sque.
“We just got here. Try to be a little diplomatic, will you? Since we’re undoubtedly going to have to ask these people for help, it would be better not to start off by insulting their hospitality.”
“What hospitality? We are employees, not guests.” Steel-gray eyes looked away from him. “Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to comply. You speak sense.”
“Who, me?” Walker responded blithely.
“The universe is ever full of surprises.” The K’eremu scuttled off to one side, away from Viyv-pym.
Walker turned back to their patient hostess. “How can anyone be interested in aesthetic food preparation when there’s a war going on?”
“Most always a war going on,” she told him. “Has nothing to do with living normal life.”
“Has nothing to do with . . . ?” Sque was right, he thought. There was much here they did
not understand, and it was growing more confusing by the moment.
Viyv-pym turned and beckoned. “Come now, please. Meet staff, explain needs. Have some time prepare properly, but not excessive amount. You interested in course of the fighting, yes?” Both Walker and George nodded. The human wondered if she could perceive the confusion in his expression.
Whether their Niyyuu hostess was that perceptive or not, she removed from within the folds of her garb a rolled-up square of plastic. Unfurled, it sprang to light and to life. Running her fingers over one side, she brought forth image after image until the flexible screen finally settled on one. Satisfied, she passed it toward Walker.
He accepted it without hesitation. It weighed very little, and he was able to examine it without breaking stride. Next to him, George was bouncing up and down curiously, straining to see.
“Let me have a look too, Marc. What is it? Not cartoons, I bet.”
“No,” Walker responded soberly. Bending over, he lowered the viewer until it was level with his friend’s eyes. “See for yourself.”
The dog found himself gazing at a scene of relentless and deceptively ruthless Niyyuuan carnage. Clad in armor of varying thickness and elegant but alien design, dozens of Niyyuu were engaged in a brutal clash outside what appeared to be the gate of an ancient stone fortress. While the design differed significantly from its nearest human analog of medieval castles, certain similarities were perhaps inevitable. Projectiles were slung from battlements, though there was no evidence of bows and arrows being put to use. A spear was a spear, though the blueprint might be slightly different.
Edged weapons differed from those that might be wielded by a human in a similar situation. They tended more to the saber than the broadsword—understandable, given the slenderer build of the Niyyuuan. Shields reflected similarly lighter construction. Man and dog saw more than a few that appeared to be composed almost entirely of metal filigree. Or plastic. Despite the clarity and variety of available images, there was still a lot of picture-distorting movement. Speaking of pictures . . .
The Light-Years Beneath My Feet Page 7
