A Call to Arms

by Alan Dean Foster

  It did not matter. Before long they would start quitting, demanding to return with their gold to the world of their birth, to live out their lives in peace and harmony far from inexplicable alien altercations. Wait until they began refusing combat, he told himself. Until they started acting like the obstreperous polyglot bunch they were. The aliens would rapidly grow tired of Human eccentricities, as they would of Earth.

  That they could recruit the poor no longer surprised him, but he was startled by the number of middle-class and wealthy individuals who agreed to participate. These were the people who came to this part of the world to fish or dive or sit on the white sands of Ambergris Cay. People who had no need of gold. Yet in fancy hotel bars and on the beaches they listened. Despite their money, their lives must be empty indeed, Will reflected.

  Not everyone was ready to go. Even when confronted with alien technology and the aliens themselves there were some who still thought it all a trick, a complex promotion for a film or television show. When they realized it was quite real, some panicked and wanted out.

  While the people of the Weave did not have the Amplitur ability to influence minds, they did possess a command of chemistry which enabled them to synthesize a drug that induced aselective amnesia. Reluctant recruits could be returned to their hotels or jobs dazed and confused but otherwise unharmed, and unable to reveal what they had seen. Their memories would be hazy and jumbled, full of colorful images of strange shapes and sand and clear water lush with bright tropicals. They would remember spending time in an attractive place of indefinite location. Lingering unease would vanish in the press to return to jobs, or farming, or vacation.

  Uncertainties of a different kind continued to plague Third-of-Study as recruiting proceeded hand in hand with research. For the most part he kept quiet and did his job. He knew his was an overly cautious nature, a fact which his colleagues had remarked on more than once. Undoubtedly it had restrained his advancement.

  Besides, the Hivistahm were not questioners. Argument and debate were usually left to the irrepressible S’van or temperamental Massood. Even the diminutive O’o’yan tended to participate in debate more often than the Hivistahm, who had not successfully settled thirty-five worlds by favoring dissension.

  To avoid derision Third-of-Study preferred to voice his concerns during communal prayer sessions, sitting in the holy circle with his back to his fellows, all of them facing outward while looking inward. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke.

  “Truly you worry needlessly,” said a colleague. “Does not the performance of the second group of Human trainees only confirm that of the first?”

  Third-of-Study had no reply. He had seen the same reports as everyone else.

  Another technician continued. “Already these creatures have helped several significant victories to achieve, not only on Vasarih but on Sh’haroon as well. They have done everything asked of them and more. Indeed, restraining them is perhaps the most difficult task their Massood commanders have had to face so far.”

  “Truly astonishing,” another admitted. “The more casualties they sustain, the more they wish to fight, which contradicts logic.”

  “In the face of which,” murmured a senior researcher from the opposite side of the circle as she contemplated the shifting images on the encircling wall and compared them to those within her mind, “you persist in envisioning problems which Massood Technical has already branded inapplicable at best, frivolous at worst. How often do you have to be reminded that the need to defeat the Amplitur overrides even substantiated concerns?”

  Third-of-Study persisted. “I worry that on a species we do not sufficiently understand we are relying.”

  “More important to be able to make use of them than understand them.”

  “Truly,” whispered a technician, “will follow understanding as research and contact deepen.”

  “What matters to me,” said the senior researcher present, in her ethereal elder voice, “is that the enlistment of individuals of this species in our cause means that fewer Hivistahm into combat need be pressed, or O’o’yan, or Lepar or Yula. Someday our discovery here may even ease the heavy burden borne so long by our beloved friends the Massood.”

  “I do not argue that represent these Humans a paradox, but it is a paradox of unending usefulness to the Weave.”

  Silence in the chamber as each Hivistahm considered itself in relation to the universe beyond.

  “A race that wears civilization like fair-weather clothing could to the Weave itself eventually present a threat.” There, Third-of-Study thought. I have finally stated it without qualifications.

  A technician riposted tiredly. “Again to remind you: hundreds of years of effort have been spent confronting the Amplitur. Once that threat removed has been there will be ample time and resources available for dealing with lesser problems. Unless of course you mean to suggest that this uncivilized species a greater threat to the Weave presents than the Amplitur?”

  The deliberate silence that ensued allowed the sarcasm to linger in the air.

  “We know these creatures hardly at all.” Third-of-Study was angry now but, being Hivistahm, did not show it. “They with Weave forces integrate quickly. Some Massood commanders are already important battlefield decisions allowing them to make. They even empathize with the Chirinaldo.”

  “Glad of that I am,” said a technician. “If they can with the Chirinaldo interact, it means we do not have to.”

  Third-of-Study continued. “Some fight only for material recompense. Uncivilized that is.”

  “Also immaterial it is.” The senior researcher shifted slightly in her crouch. “Truly it matters not what motivates the Humans to fight, only that they do.”

  “They are not for Weave membership ready.”

  “In that you are not disputed.” She allowed her drifting thoughts to caress an image of pure effulgence. It warmed and relaxed her. “I would no more wish to see a Human visitation group on my homeworld placed than you on yours would. Though unconventional, our present arrangement ideal is because it allows us to make use of these creatures while the awkward question of actual membership and concurrent social interaction avoiding.”

  Third-of-Study nearly committed the unpardonable sin of looking at the speaker but caught himself just in time. “Then you do with my thesis agree, at least in part.”

  “Not at all. Our course of action here by abnormal local conditions is dictated. We improvise out of necessity, not choice.”

  “But as you say, you are not displeased by it.” When no reply was forthcoming, Third-of-Study continued.

  “Assuming continues to expand their commitment, what will happen when the Humans discover that being denied the membership in the Weave they are that is automatically extended to all other civilizations?”

  “You assume they will want membership, given the depth of contradiction we have observed thus far in their racial psyche that is not inevitable. They may content be in the conflict to assist while remaining outside the pale of Weave civilization. In such an instance I believe the Council would remonstrate with them but not, I think, too strenuously.”

  “That,” said Third-of-Study tersely, “suggests a deliberate attempt a primitive people to delude.”

  “Do you as close friends and companions want them or are you fearful of them? Which is it to be? With yourself you argue, Third-of-Study. I prescribe less work and additional meditation.” She rose, stretching.

  The prayer session was at an end.

  There was one individual at the base who wholly shared Third-of-Study’s concerns, though for different reasons. The two walked together down a corridor the next day, each occasionally checking to make certain his translator unit was functioning properly.

  “They have decided,” said Third-of-Study, “not to offer your people membership in the Weave.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Will Dulac replied, “but does that mean they’re not going to expand their efforts here beyond this one base?�
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  “Truly that is so.”

  “Then if we’re excluded from your civilization, the Amplitur shouldn’t be able to find us.”

  Third-of-Study rubbed at the bony ridge above his left eye. “We will of course try to keep the location of your world secret from our enemies, but we do that with every world. It is difficult from the Amplitur to hide things. Since field troops have no inkling of your world’s location give it away they cannot. It is inevitable, however, that some of your own people will eventually be captured and interrogated by the Amplitur. At that time learn about you they will.”

  “I thought you said they couldn’t read minds?”

  “They cannot. However, they might, for example, make the mental suggestion that it would be useful for you your extremities to immerse in a caustic solution. You would find your own body disobeying you. This they would do regretfully, with genuine sorrow, but would do nonetheless. Few such episodes required are to convince a prisoner to cooperate.” They turned a bend in the corridor. A couple of O’o’yan scurried past, glancing briefly at the towering Human.

  “You do have general ignorance in your favor. Few of the individuals recruited thus far display even the most rudimentary knowledge of astronomy and none whatsoever of the mechanics in celestial navigation involved. Of your world’s spatial relationship to the Weave they know nothing. Even if any of them wanted to they could not for the Amplitur your world locate.”

  “How are your studies coming?”

  “General research proceeds normally.”

  “Not that. Your own studies. You, personally. I know you’ve been saying to any of your kind who would listen that we’re too potentially destabilizing to be trusted.”

  The Hivistahm’s teeth clicked together several times in rapid succession, a sure sign he was startled. “You are not supposed to know of such things.”

  Will grinned. “I have more freedom here than most of your colleagues and everyone’s eager to talk to me. It aids their research. I also have this.” He tapped the translator hanging from his neck and indicated the matching plug in his ear. “I listen, I hear things.”

  Third-of-Study craned his neck to regard the Human. “My theories do not you trouble?”

  “Shoo, we’re on the same side, you bet. You think we’re dangerous, I think we’re on our way to becoming harmless. You want us left alone, I badly want you to leave. Maybe we can help each other out.”

  “I see.” Third-of-Study relaxed. “How do you feel events will progress?”

  “According to what I’ve been saying all along, natch. Your people don’t know our history, our psychology. Your military techs see only the short-term help a few Human soldiers can give them. The people they’re recruiting are either dirt-poor, bored, or iconoclasts. They might be useful for a little while but soon the novelty of what they’re doing is going to wear thin. Then they’ll want to come home. When that happens they’ll say to hell with your silly antediluvian conflict. They’ll have had it with war and bloodshed.”

  “Your military personnel, people like Caldaq and Soliwik, won’t know how to handle that lack of commitment. That’s when they and their superiors will decide that unreliable Earth isn’t worth the effort. You’ll abandon us and we’ll be able to get on with our efforts at making peace among ourselves.”

  “What about the returnees?”

  “Any who talk or try to sell the story of their experience will be treated as nuts. They can’t prove anything anyway. In a few years they’ll be forgotten. Life will go on as before, without outside interference.” He stopped. “Tell me something, Third-of-Study. I’m Human. I’m a composer, an artist. I’ve spent a lot of time among your people. All I want is for you to go away and leave me and my kind in peace. You want exactly the same thing. But there’s something I want to know.”

  “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

  Third-of-Study reached out to gently clasp the incredibly soft, flexible Human hand. “Truly I am not,” he lied.

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eventually Will sailed back to New Orleans. After so long in backwater Belize, life in the bustling, steamy, cosmopolitan city hit him like an ice-cold rag. He visited friends and colleagues, attended the triumphal symphony premiere of Arcadia, promised the anxious director that yes, another major work was forthcoming, made the acquaintance of a discreet and eager dealer in precious metals, and paid the anticipated pile of overdue bills. There were CDs to buy, films to catch up on, books to acquire. He dated but made no promises. It was flattering to be desired, but for a little while longer yet, he told more than one disappointed paramour, he had other priorities to attend to.

  Many months later he tied up his affairs, restocked the cat, and fled the delta with his autopilot locked on a southerly heading.

  It was impossible to imagine, he thought as he steered carefully back into the lagoon of Lighthouse Reef, that anyone was living there—much less hundreds of aliens and Human beings working together below the tranquil surface.

  He made contact with a Lepar sent to check out the intruder and soon found himself strolling the familiar corridors of the base. Caldaq was genuinely pleased to see him again. The Hivistahm, O’o’yan, Wais, and the rest were more formal, more restrained in their greetings. Third-of-Study was the exception. He was as demonstrative as it was possible for a Hivistahm to be with one not of its own kind.

  Attitudes, he explained, had not changed. Will was disappointed but not really surprised. It was too soon for boredom and dissension to have set in among the first recruits, he explained. Give them another year. Then things would begin to happen.

  He was curious to see how their integration, though doomed to inevitable failure, was proceeding, much as one might approach a heavyweight boxing match with a mixture of fascination and abhorrence. The idea of paying to see two grown men, usually poor, usually black, beating themselves to bloody pulps for the delectation of the masses filled him with disgust, yet there was something about such contests that gripped people and made them reluctant to look away. In the same way, he needed to see how his fellow misguided Humans were doing in the service of the Weave.

  Though Humans were being sent to several worlds it was on Vasarih where they were actively committed, Vasarih where they were seeing real combat. Will had been told it was not an important place. Despite the rhetoric of those doing the recruiting it was clear that the officers of the Weave were far from confident of their new soldiers.

  Caldaq perfectly exemplified his superiors’ uncertainty. While preliminary results and hopeful tests seemed to point toward Human effectiveness in battle, Will Dulac was ever present to energetically contradict every new finding by pointing out the flaws in S’van reasoning, by demonstrating what peace-loving Humans could accomplish in the arts, in music, in literature and drama.

  Humanity was a mirror for the captain’s ambivalence. There was no questioning the epic qualities of Human literature, for example, yet much of it turned on violent acts. Yet did not Massood storytelling utilize conflict as motivation and plot device? Will argued after studying numerous examples. Indeed it did, Caldaq had to admit.

  What he could not get across to the Human Will was that the Massood did not enjoy fighting. It fell to them as members of the Weave because alone among Weave races they were capable of it. As for the Chirinaldo, one could never be certain what the massive heliox-breathers were thinking, except that their easygoing society was anything but combative in nature.

  In contrast to the cultures of both Massood and Chirinaldo was the still unconfirmed possibility that many Humans derived positive enjoyment from combat. At his most persuasive, Will Dulac could not dislodge this option from the Commander’s mind. So radical, so alien was the notion that the xenopsychs assigned to study the phenomenon went so far as to postulate the existence of two separate Human species differentiated only by a genetic proclivity for violence yet to be isolated.

  Humankind was the embodiment of contrast
ing attitudes. At once peace-loving and warlike, civilized and barbaric, it confronted the Weave with an entirely new kind of intelligence the parameters of which the Hivistahm and S’van were struggling to define. It did not help that Humanity had spent much of its own existence trying and failing to accomplish the same goal.

  “I keep trying to tell you,” Will said, “that only a few aberrant individuals enjoy fighting. Most people despise war.”

  “Perhaps that is because heretofore they have only had their own kind to fight,” Caldaq responded. “For the first time in your history that is no longer the case.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Are you so sure of your own kind? It is claimed that any being which enjoys combat is by definition not only uncivilized but unintelligent. Yet your people are demonstrably intelligent.”

  “I know you find us confusing. We find ourselves confusing. Not long ago it was an admirable thing to be a soldier, to wear a uniform and die in battle.”

  Caldaq’s nose twitched. “How can one be admired for volunteering for personal extinction?”

  “Hey, I said it was history. My life is music.”

  “Which I would enjoy listening to.” Caldaq was eager to change the subject. “I know you have been working hard on your latest composition.”

  “It’s not ready yet. I’m still searching for a few basic themes for the last movement. When it’s finished you’ll be the first to hear the complete work, I promise.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Caldaq watched the Human depart, wondering anew at the variation in size among individuals. Some stood taller than the Massood while others were as short as the average Hivistahm. Among the Weave only the Lepar exhibited as extreme a variation in adult stature. Another bizarre byproduct of Human evolution, he mused.

  Absurd to think there might be any kind of biologic relationship between the soft-voiced amphibians and the loquacious land-dwelling Humans. But then, to whom were the inhabitants of this peculiar world most nearly related? The Massood? The S’van? Or perhaps some species not represented at the base?