“Oh, they’re defeated, all right. I’m just not so sure they’re beaten.”
“I thought my mastery of your language was complete. Apparently this is not the case. Be so good as to explain, Nevan.”
“My position allows me access to a great deal of information. On the face of it, the war’s definitely over. The Amplitur and their allies continue to turn over weapons for disassembly. Plants that have manufactured such materials for centuries are being rapidly converted to peacetime pursuits. Hivistahm technicians have begun work on techniques for undoing the extensive genetic manipulation the Amplitur have performed on races like the Mazvec. Weave inspection teams have even been allowed on their homeworlds.”
“What of their great and grand Purpose?”
“They continue to propagate it, but only verbally. They say they’ve sworn off using their singular mental abilities to forcibly manipulate others.”
“It would not matter,” she murmured. “Such things can be checked, and the Amplitur know that. Besides which they never lie.” She considered the translucent blue sky outside the building.
“Among my kind there’s an ancient saying to the effect that there’s a first time for everything. Which is another way of saying that there are a lot of us who don’t trust them.”
“But Humans don’t trust anyone,” she reminded him. “Including each other. Given your perverse history it cannot be any other way. Which is why I have always been so concerned with what your people do. The task of monitoring the machinations of the Amplitur I leave to others. It is Humankind which worries me. Now that the war is ended, more than ever.
“The question is and actually has always been: Can your people overcome hundreds of years of persuasion on the part of the Weave and thousands of years of unbalanced social evolution on your own to develop a truly civilized society?”
“And not incidentally disprove your theories,” he muttered. “To think that the first contact, William Dulac, believed we weren’t naturally combative enough to be of help in the war!”
“Yet he eventually became a soldier himself,” she reminded him.
“Sort of. The Weave has seen to it that most of the Will Dulacs have been bred out of Humankind. Now all of us, Human and non-Human alike, have to find a way to deal with the consequences.” He rose and began pacing the small room, activity that any other Wais would have found intimidating in its power and aimlessness. The historian Lalelelang was not affected. She’d seen it plenty of times before.
He halted and leaned against her wallviewer. “My friends and I have been talking, postulating some hypotheses of our own. More than anything else, the Amplitur have been known for their patience. They think in terms of hundreds of years, not decades. What if they arrived at your theory independently?”
“What do you mean?”
“Suppose they saw that they couldn’t beat the Weave. They must have realized they were losing badly even before the assault on their homeworlds was mounted. What if they planned their surrender as one last surprise?”
“In that event I should say that they succeeded.”
“Maybe there’s more to it than that. Let’s say they decided they couldn’t beat us, meaning a Human-led battle force. So they chose to preserve their worlds, their base of power, and themselves. To retire and exercise that endless patience of theirs, and wait. In the hope that eventually we’d do their work for them?”
“You?” She was silent for a long time, eyes half-closed, upper and lower beak separated by a breathing gap of minimal politeness. “I see. You think they will do nothing in the belief that your kind will eventually destroy the Weave for them?”
“That would be too obvious, and what’s obvious to me and my friends has to be at least as obvious to the Hivistahm, for example. I think the S’van could take the steps necessary to prevent a Human-Weave conflict from growing to dangerous proportions.
“No, I think that what the Amplitur may be hoping for is for the Weave to continue to shun Humankind socially, shutting us off as much as possible from the main flow of galactic civilization. If that happens, my kind will once again be forced to turn inward. The result will be that the peoples of the Weave will be safe, but that we Humans will revert to fighting amongst ourselves, as we did before the Weave made contact with us.
“The result will be peace for the Weave for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. But eventually we’ll weaken ourselves to the point where we can no longer be a factor in any interstellar conflict. That’s when the Amplitur, ever patient, will renew their drive for dominance through the Purpose.”
She considered. “Does that matter, if the ability of the Amplitur to wage war has been removed?”
“Of course. If Humankind destroys itself, it means that if the Weave and the Amplitur eventually resume their conflict, it will be on an even basis. Because now that the war is over the peoples of the Weave are going to revert to wholly ‘civilized’ behavior. Your own people won’t let you contribute to a standing military force when there’s no longer a demonstrable need for one. The Massood are already demobilizing with a vengeance.
“It’ll start all over again. Long after you and I are dust there’ll be another great war, only next time there won’t be a world of congenital warriors waiting out there for the Weave to call on to help it out. And except for my kind, when it comes to warfare the Amplitur are better motivators than the S’van or the Hivistahm, or even the Massood.”
She made a gesture of acknowledgment. “Then there is only one solution: Humankind must be brought into the mainstream of Weave development. Your aggression must be routed into other channels. While remaining true to yourselves, you must also somehow become civilized.” She bobbed and dipped eloquently. “Most of my colleagues would consider that an impossibility.”
“I’m not so sure I don’t agree with them,” Straat-ien confessed unhappily. “It means undoing not only the conditioning of the past several hundred years but all of that from the previous several thousand, when Earth was an isolated backwater. We’re talking about psychological adjustment on a colossal scale.”
“Nothing less than species therapy,” Lalelelang agreed.
“I do know one thing. We can’t do it without outside help. Without the assistance of the Wais, and the S’van, and all the rest. If out of dislike and fear you shun and ignore us, there’s a good chance we will destroy ourselves. When that happens and you have to deal with the Amplitur again, we poor, dumb, homicidal Humans won’t be there to bail you out. That’s what I think the squids are counting on. I think that’s what was behind their abrupt surrender.”
She was not sanguine. “To convince Wais, for example, to become involved in Human affairs will be very difficult. I can think of only a few who might be willing, not to mention mentally and emotionally capable, to try.”
“That’s a start,” Straat-ien said encouragingly.
“A modest network to begin with, organized along academic lines.” She was warming to the idea now. “Dedicated to furthering Human-Weave understanding. It is a possibility.” She eyed him evenly. “There will be resistance. Perhaps even active discouragement.”
“That’s where the Core can be of help.” He stopped his pacing. “I’m told that the Amplitur have a love of games. Of all those that they’ve ever embarked upon, this is probably their most complex and far-reaching. Certainly the stakes have never been higher.
“We have one great advantage. I don’t think they’re expecting anyone to recognize their early moves, much less anticipate them. We have you and your early work, Lalelelang, to thank for that.”
“If we pursue this, we shall do so ignorant of its eventual outcome,” she reminded him. “As you say, we will become dust.”
He was nodding vigorously, energized now. It was a wonderful and frightening thing to see. “I know. But if we’re successful it’ll mean that our many-times-removed offspring will be able to look the Amplitur in their oh-so-inscrutable eyes and grin knowingly.”
&
nbsp; It was an image she found highly distasteful. “Speak for your own offspring, Nevan Straat-ien.”
XVI
A slim, wiry man was the general; tall and gangly as a scarecrow, rough as recycled metal. From his considerable Human height he gazed condescendingly down at the clumsy, slow-moving being before him. It could advance but gingerly on its four squat legs. The ropy tentacles that extended outward from either side of the peculiar, four-sided mouth were not strong enough to raise the soft-bodied creature’s own forebody off the floor, not even once. Though he knew the truth was otherwise, it was impossible to watch the thing’s progress without interpreting its painful approach as an act of supplication.
The general took a bite of the enhanced chocolate wafer he held and regarded his visitor. “Excuse me if I stare. I’ve never seen an Amplitur before. In the flesh.”
“Straight-go-Wise is pleased to satisfy your curiosity.” A tentacle gestured delicately. “I am in charge of dismantling the military infrastructure on this world.” Fascinated, he watched the Human eat.
“Thanks to you the Crigolit seem to be as efficient in defeat as they were in war. You’ve been very helpful.”
“We hew to our word.” The translator bungled the initial translation and the general had to wait for its second effort. Meanwhile the Amplitur admired the clean lines of the biped’s uniform, stark beneath the floridly expressive face. “We are doing all we can to cooperate.”
“I know. I couldn’t have asked for better cooperation.” The general leaned back in his seat. “You know, I never understood why you started this war in the first place. It’s one thing to try and promulgate a philosophy, quite another to fight a war over it.”
“I sometimes wonder myself. Remember that this all began many, many hundreds of years ago.” The Amplitur was as relaxed as it could be in the presence of a Human. “Perhaps you yourself may on occasion have wondered what might result if all intelligence could be brought together to focus on a single matter?”
“Never happen,” the general declared curtly. “So I never wondered about it. Intelligence is too diverse. By that reckoning it’s something of a miracle that the Weave stuck together long enough to defeat you. But I don’t have to tell you that. You know now that you were wrong in your original assumptions.”
A tentacle fluttered. “Perhaps our error lay not in our assumptions but in our methodology.”
“Oh?” The general’s eyes narrowed. Owing to his manner of speech, he sometimes sounded shallow, but he had a sharp, inquisitive mind. “Then you haven’t entirely given up on your ‘Purpose’?”
“When we surrendered we agreed to war no longer against the Weave, and to forgo trying to forcefully convince others of our beliefs. Nothing was said about abandoning them ourselves, or not providing information to those who seek it voluntarily.”
“That’s interesting.” The Human stared boredly at the ceiling.
The Amplitur regarded him out of great, golden eyes. “You seem preoccupied.”
The general lowered his gaze. “A little. Like most of my friends, I’ve spent my whole life in the Service. This may be my last active assignment. I’m too young for formal retirement and I don’t know what I’m going to do next. Is it like that with you?”
“Rarely. We usually know what we are going to do next.”
“Well, you’re lucky. I have a cousin who owns a plant that manufactures shoes. He’s invited me to come in with him.”
“I have heard that for Humans choosing the direction of one’s life can be an ordeal. We have no such problems. I am sure you will be content in your choice. Fortunately, there will soon no longer be any need anywhere for large military forces. Peace and tranquillity will everywhere reign. There will be no more fighting. A good thing.”
“Yes, a good thing,” the general echoed in lackluster fashion.
The Amplitur felt a surge of hope, which, of course, it strove to dampen. There was little reason for concern, since it was doubtful the Human could properly interpret the flush of bright yellow that appeared in several places on the puffy body, but Straight-go-Wise believed in caution.
By now it was clear that the Human was inclined to continue the conversation. Straight was equally eager to satisfy the biped’s curiosity.
The Board was polite. Being Wais they could not be otherwise. But they were more polite than usual. It was a bad sign.
Restraining her impatience, she’d followed accepted procedures and had eventually been granted an audience. Because of her exalted scholarly status, the five senior academicians listened sympathetically to her application, but despite her best efforts they refused to countenance anything she had to say.
“Even if what you tell us is true,” commented Grand Aumemenaht, “what can we do about it? Throughout the Great War the Wais were never more than peripherally associated with actual conflict. It should be the same in peacetime.” Trills and whistles of concurrence emanated from her colleagues.
“Rightly true.” The senior seated next to her preened his feathers as he spoke. Though elderly, he was still capable of mating.
Lalelelang’s crest erected. “I am telling you that if we do not deal with this problem now, then we will have to deal with it after it has spread. Even to us.”
“What you hypothesize cannot spread to the Wais.” Grand Prewowalong sang confidence from between two exquisitely mounted sprays of fresh flowers. Behind the Board the elegant spirals of Famed Hotutidad’s purple, green, and gold oil-suspension mural flowed in unceasingly pleasing patterns.
“We must at least make minimal preparations,” Lalelelang insisted.
“For what?” Grand Aumemenaht extended both wings and stretched, the quills quivering emphatically. “We cannot alarm the government on the basis of a theory. You have no proof of anything. Only suppositions.”
“The proof is there for anyone not afraid to look.” She was careful not to phrase her rejoinder in the form of an accusation, which would have been discourteous. “Exchangeable media is available to anyone with the resources to access. I am not making this up. The Humans are already beginning to fight among themselves. How long before it severely diminishes them, or spreads to involve other members of the Weave?
“Don’t you see? The Amplitur hope to achieve through peace what they could not in war.”
“The Amplitur,” declared Grand Nauvenlileng, “hope to achieve contentment. This laudable goal they approach with admirable and measured determination. Throughout the millennium we have fought each other, they have never been known to lie. What matters what the Humans do to themselves? If, as you claim it might, their internal dissension should spread to involve other peoples, the Weave will deal with it at that time. Until then they are, as Humans always are, better left alone.”
“If the Amplitur can adapt to peace, so can the Humans,” Grand Prewowalong added.
“The Amplitur are civilized,” she argued.
“As always, scholar Lalelelang, your theories are interesting but hardly conclusive.” Grand Aumemenaht spoke affectionately. “You are a valuable asset to the university. Do not let yourself drift into iconoclasm and destroy what you have accomplished. How many other experts in your field concur with your findings?”
Her beak clicked. “There are no other experts in my field. Not at the level at which I am currently working.”
“Precisely my point. You are a lone voice, one mated to worry. Return to your research, Exalted Scholar Lalelelang, and do not poison your life with concern for the future course of Human events. The victorious Weave has everything under control.”
“Humans under control. A quaint idea,” she murmured, but under her breath.
“Their confusion is understandable.” Grand Nauvenlileng spoke with the quiet ardor of one who believes his qualifications impregnable. “Such occasional internal flare-ups are to be expected. They will burn bright but brief, only to fade as Humans settle into the kind of mature civilization that has heretofore been denied them. Just as
the Weave encouraged them to become great warriors, so we will help them to appreciate the benefits of permanent peace.”
“It will not be easy,” agreed Grand Aumemenaht, “but everyone is convinced it can be done.”
“That might have been possible if it had been implemented when contact was first made,” Lalelelang argued, “but not now. Not anymore. We’ve encouraged their natural attributes for too long.”
“They will find their niche within the grander orbit of Weave civilization, as have all species.”
“If the, Weave holds together. It was created for a specific purpose: to fight the Amplitur. Now that there is no reason to do so, will we retain close contact with the Massood? Will the Massood who privately despise the S’van continue to treat with them?”
“If naught else, inertia will preserve the Weave,” said Grand Partouceceht. “A thousand years of association is not so easily dissolved.”
Aumemenaht made a show of checking her official chronometer. “We have granted you more time than was scheduled. We have listened to your concerns; to your observations and theories. It is to be regretted, but others also have demands on our time.” It was a formal dismissal.
“If we do not make a start at dealing with this problem now, in a shorter while than you can imagine there won’t be any time to do so!”
At this extraordinary breach of courtesy several of the senior academicians regarded her with shock. Grand Nauvenlileng looked dazed.
Aumemenaht retained her composure. It was left to her to respond, which she did with as much equanimity as she could muster.
“It might strike some that you have been too long in the field, Exalted Scholar Lalelelang, and that you have through no fault of your own acquired certain aspects, certain overtones of a culture that is less than Wais. This is not unprecedented. It is known that you have suffered.
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