Diuturnity's Dawn

by Alan Dean Foster

  Acquiring a transfer from Chitteranx to Daret was no problem, but the comings and goings of every human from Azerick and its vicinity was carefully monitored by the settlement’s transportation staff. Therefore she made no advance reservation, but instead appeared at the terminal hoping to secure a vacancy on the next air shuttle. There were usually a number of empty seats, and this morning was no exception. Unaccountably nervous during the tube journey from the settlement to the shuttleport, she did not relax until the aircraft was airborne and heading south toward the Hysingrausen Wall.

  She was no longer surprised by how comfortable she felt in Daret. From the shuttleport, one of eight enormous facilities that surrounded and served the thranx capital, to the low-ceilinged transport shells that carried travelers deep into the sprawling underground metropolis, to the tens of thousands of crowded corridors packed with locals, she was utterly relaxed. There was crime in Daret, for no civilized species seemed to have completely solved the problem of how to wholly eliminate or integrate an antisocial underclass, but it was far less than what one might expect to encounter in a human conurbation of similar size and density. And as a human, she was virtually immune from such limited threats as did exist. Not only would assaulting her possibly result in an interstellar incident, she carried nothing the average thranx castoff would want to steal.

  Since she was not in the capital on official business, there was no reason for her to revisit the burrow where the diplomatic service chambers were located. Instead, she took lodging in one of the two establishments within the city that specialized in catering to offworld travelers. Not only were individual quarters equipped with instrumentation for adjusting the proportion of nitrogen, oxygen, and trace gases within the sealed rooms, there were even provisions and facilities for methane breathers, and for those two sentient species who extracted their oxygen directly from liquid water. Light, temperature, and to a certain extent gravity could also be tailored to suit individual requirements.

  Best of all, more than half the rooms were located above ground, with views of the domesticated jungle that grew atop the subterranean megalopolis like wild green hair on a multileveled head. Her fluency in Low Thranx helped her to secure lodgings on the top floor, with a superb view to the west. Native avians and other rain forest dwellers occasionally appeared before her window, indifferent to the presence just below the surface of some thirty-five million industrious thranx.

  She spent the first day of her holiday enjoying the room and the services provided by the hotel, luxuriating in doing absolutely nothing, improving her language skills by monitoring the local tridee equivalent, and indulging in a positively hedonistic massage at the hands, or rather the tendrils, of an exceptionally cosmopolitan Nevonian masseur. Employing six sensitive tentacles, it somehow achieved the seemingly impossible task of relieving her of six months of accumulated tension. She’d heard stories of the legendary Nevonian nerve and muscle therapists, beings dedicated to mitigating the accrued stress of chaotic civilized galactic life, but this was the first time she had been able to experience their talents. Suffice to say that had she been a person of means, she would have hired the quasi-cephalopodian away from the hotel so it could attend to her on a daily basis.

  It was thus relaxed in body if not entirely in mind that, by sheer designed coincidence, while strolling through the rooftop garden and observation deck the following morning, she encountered none other than Haflunormet. After exchanging greetings that would have piqued the interest of no one—and were intended to do precisely that—she agreed to accompany him to a place of exceptional natural beauty located on the northern outskirts of the urban dominion.

  On the way there they intentionally confined their conversation to small talk; Anjou avowing as how she was doing as well as could be expected considering the unexpected passing of her fiancé, Haflunormet responding with the mundane details of the daily life of a minor thranx diplomat. She let him rest a truhand on her belly, which was only just beginning to show. This prompted him to observe that while the effort of passing objects through a pair of ovipositors was a strain on the thranx female, at least eggs did not move on the way out.

  When they arrived at the preserve, they took a circuitous path to the destination Haflunormet had chosen. Despite her anxieties, Anjou could not help but be enchanted by the silvered streams of the twin waterfalls that spilled into a turquoise pool below, like rivers of mercury gushing from a gigantic stone bottle. Built up over the millennia by the accumulation of red- and yellow-tinted limestone, the rills that dammed the turquoise pool sparkled with pockets of embedded calcite and selenite crystals.

  Swooping and diving at the twin cascades, the pools, and the small river these begat, hundreds of pecrikks, looking like faceless chameleons sporting the most marvelously stained butterfly wings, filled the heavy, humid air above the glistening water. A few other visitors, thranx all, lounged among the striking surroundings, boldly taking their ease above ground, away from the immense city whose farthest reaches extended even beneath the wholly natural preserve. It was doubtful that any of them had chosen to visit the place of exceptional beauty because the splash and crash of the twin cataracts conveniently combined to do an excellent job of masking their conversation.

  “Has he arrived?” Calm and at ease as she was, Anjou could restrain herself no longer.

  “Not yet.” With multiple lenses, Haflunormet studied every tree and bush, every lounging thranx and proximate creature. Espying nothing unnatural or out of place, he continued. “His ship is due to arrive tomorrow, or possibly the following day. I cannot check too often without incurring suspicion, or at least questions I would rather not have to answer.”

  Nodding, she bent slightly to study something like an animated ruby necklace that was munching on a spatulate leaf. “I’m eager to hear the latest news. It’s too bad we have to rely on couriers, but when you work for the government there’s no such thing as a private space-minus communication.”

  He gestured agreement mixed with understanding. “It’s always better to receive vital information in person, and far easier than trying to carry on a conversation between star systems. Not to mention infinitely less expensive.”

  “Do you anticipate any difficulty in arranging our meeting?”

  Haflunormet’s antennae had not stopped moving since they had arrived at the pool. No thranx went too close to the water, of course. While they could admire its beauty, they elected to keep well clear of its dangers. Had Anjou felt like a swim, she would have had the warm, crystalline lagoon all to herself, and would invariably have drawn an audience. Not only were the thranx prone to drowning because of the location of their breathing orifices, they swam like bricks.

  “Everything is already in place. I will notify you with an invitation to attend a musical performance that will give both time and place. You are familiar with the applicable code. I also have, of course, the necessary means for contacting your personal communicator directly, via closed transmission. If there are any changes, rest assured you will be informed of them the instant they are confirmed.” He touched one antenna to the skin of her right arm, bare below the short sleeve of her blouse. “At this point, I foresee no problems.” Executing the thranx gesture indicative of wry amusement, he simultaneously whistled softly through his spicules. “After all, we are all three of us ‘on vacation.’ “

  They wandered along the discreet path that bordered the turquoise pool, chatting for a while about personal matters, before retracing their steps to halt close by the base of the twin falls. Up close, the coupled cataracts were even more beautiful than they were from a distance. Their thundering roar would also serve to prevent anyone monitoring their stroll who happened to be equipped with sophisticated eavesdropping apparatus from picking up the threads of their conversation.

  “Events are clearly moving toward a climax, though one whose eventual outcome none can foresee.” With his superb natural peripheral vision, the thranx was able to keep a sweeping watch
on their surroundings. “I can tell you that there is pressure within the Grand Council to do something definitive soon.”

  Anjou kicked at the colored pebbles that lined the pathway. Though her specially designed tropical clothing was not burdensome, she wanted to strip off every hi-tech stitch and run splashing into the cool, inviting, pale blue pool. She wanted to sink beneath the surface and let the pristine waters wash over her, obscuring the alien world above and all the apprehension, strain, and tension that seemed to control every one of her waking thoughts these days. But she could not, of course.

  As far as the pressure was concerned, she had no one to blame but herself. She could have, she reflected, chosen a less stressful profession to enter. In fairness, when she had decided to enter the diplomatic service, she had never expected to find herself at the center of galactic politics, much less at a flash point where the profound interests of not one but three burgeoning civilizations were colliding. She had anticipated long days of shuffling information, attending dull meetings, and filling out boring forms. Certainly she had not foreseen her eventual membership on an “advisory” committee that was semilegal at best. If her participation was discovered, she would be searching for a new career soon enough. Haflunormet’s situation was no less ticklish than her own.

  “What is happening with the council?” she finally asked.

  “Reactionary elements are working to abrogate many details of existing treaties, and to prevent consideration of new ones. They are pushing to formalize a much more conventional relationship between my people and yours. No more reciprocal settlements. A limiting of cultural exchanges. A ban on the informal contacts that are being instituted between individual organizations.” He looked up at her. “There is talk of trying to halt any further expansion of Azerick, and the placing of a permanent ban on any more human outposts on any of the thranx worlds. All contact to be between formal diplomatic missions only, seelliik.”

  Her lips tightened. “That’s pretty much what the retrogressive fanatics among my kind are up to. Their first order of business is to shut down the hives in the Reserva Amazonia and the Congo.” She allowed herself a small smile. “The success of both settlements, particularly the way in which they are successfully integrating themselves into the local culture and economies, is driving some of these regressives a little crazy. It’s a beautiful thing to see—or at least, to hear about on the tridee.” Reaching out with cupped hands, she caught water from a warbling rivulet and brought it to her lips. A taste of thranx homeworld, she mused, quietly astonished at how rapidly she had come to feel at home in the hothouse, alien civilization of Hivehom.

  “They’re still in the minority,” she continued, “but like all radical minorities they’re very vocal. They make irresistible media copy, especially on slow news days, so their message is extensively disseminated and widely seen. They have powerful friends whom members of our organization keep watch on, and more sympathy in the Terran Congress than actual votes.” Splashing water on her face, she blinked and shook droplets from her fingers as she turned back to Haflunormet.

  “The Pitarian War did more to mute their influence than all the logical and reasoned argument that had gone before it. But good feelings fade, memories slip into the past, and there is always a new generation of ignorant innocents determined to overturn the carefully considered judgments of their wiser elders.”

  Haflunormet gestured a mix of sympathy and understanding. “So it is among any sentients with typical life spans.” He edged closer to her, mandibles in motion, unafraid of the water so long as there was solid ground underfoot. “There are rumors of great resolutions astirring. I have not been able to verify their nature. Presumably, they are among the details that our mutual friend is coming to speak to us about.”

  She nodded absently. “I hope so. I could use some good news.” Glancing down at her belly, she wondered how much longer she would be able to devote her full attention to such matters.

  Four blue-green, chitinous fingers, each roughly a third shorter than their human counterparts, rested lightly on her left forearm. Eyes composed of multiple golden mirrors stared up into her own.

  “Be of good hearts, Fanielle. Not for such as you and I the contentment of a quiet burrow. We each of us do as we must, because we serve a higher cause.”

  Reaching down, she placed the soft fingers of her right hand over his sleek, harder ones. “Who would have thought that the forging of friendship among sentients of like mind would entail so much personal anxiety?”

  Feathery antennae waved at her. “Not all are of like mind,” he reminded her somberly. “In our mutual racial immaturity, there still exist those who seemingly employ no mind at all.”

  They were quiet for a while then, each lost in thought, contemplating a future neither of them could have anticipated when they were young. Around them, a few other individuals and couples strolled, enjoying the peace and tranquility of the park, the additional moisture diffused into the already saturated air by the twin falls, and the free-roaming native fauna. Below their feet, an immense, vibrant metropolis pulsed and surged with the activities of tens of millions of intelligent beings, very few of whom were aware of the issues of great import that were being decided by a comparatively small number of their own kind and a comparable group of soft-skinned, fleshy, flexible-skinned mammalian bipeds from a planet whose modest star was but one of thousands visible in the night sky.

  “I am most concerned of all,” Haflunormet finally murmured after the long silence, “about the possibility of violence.”

  Anjou sighed heavily. “I also. I don’t know much about your radicals, but among my kind, both on Earth and at least two of her major colonies, there are known groups of hotheads who’ll do anything to prevent a deeper, more singular relationship from developing between a ‘blinded’ humankind and a race of ‘bugs.’ We both know the specific incidents that have already occurred.” Kneeling, she ran a hand through turquoise water, stirring memories of motherworld sky. “It’s the groups we don’t know about and therefore cannot keep track of that have me worried.”

  “It’s easier for us.” He crouched to join her, bending all four trulegs beneath him. “We are more organized than you, and so it is harder for splinter organizations to form. Nonconformist individuals, however, are another matter.”

  “If only they were all like Ryozenzuzex, or Desvendapur.”

  He whistled soft laughter. “You speak of exceptional thranx. I could as soon cite the intervention of noteworthy humans. Strange, is it not, how history imprints itself so similarly on different minds?”

  She put a comforting arm around his b-thorax. They stared at the rippling waters together. “ ‘Intelligence and sentience share the same shape, and ignorance is its own reward.’ “

  His head swiveled to regard her thoughtfully. “I had not heard it put quite that way before.”

  She shrugged. “I’m quoting one of the wild new religious orders. This particular one is fond of propounding a lot of irreverent maxims. You know the type: They try to explain life and the meaning of everything in one sentence or less. It’s almost frivolous, yet oddly engaging.” She straightened. “An intellectual diversion. A friend back at Azerick passed the information on to me. This lot seems to be the spiritual flavor-of-the-moment.”

  “They seem to be well scribed. I would not mind skimming a little more of their oratory myself. I could use some fresh entertainment. Do you think it will last?”

  “What, this ‘United Church’ bunch?” She replied with confidence and the knowledge that history was on her side. “They never do.”

  It was dark by the time she returned to her lodgings. Sealing the door behind her, she walked to the window and gazed out at the surrounding jungle. Transported directly to such a room without first transiting the city, no traveler eying the verdant panorama could imagine that a nonhuman megalopolis of tens of millions toiled and thrived beneath the surface. Like all other thranx hives, Daret never slept. Accustomed t
o and comfortable with life beneath the ground, day and night were discretional terms dictated only by classical thranx custom. As such, their internal biological clocks were far more flexible than those of humans, being unaffected by the presence or absence of daylight.

  Fanielle was not thranx, however. Tired as she was, she was tempted to go down with the sun. Contemplating the view, she considered opening the window to let in fresh air and the night sounds of the alien rain forest. As that would have meant trading the delightfully cool, drier atmosphere maintained by the room for the hot, muggy air outside, she decided against it.

  A bath, then, followed by perusal of her private notes, and a good night’s rest. The meeting with Haflunormet had gone well. If their mutual friend arrived in good order and on time tomorrow, she would have accomplished all she had come for. Then she could embark sincerely upon the aboveboard portion of her vacation.

  “Sso very green, thiss world. Jississt, I do find it sso.”

  She did not scream because her lungs were too busy sucking in her breath. By the time she had whirled and focused on her unexpected visitor, that instinctive urge had left her. Given her quarters’ special soundproofing attributes, characteristic of every individual room in the establishment, it was moot whether anyone would have heard her anyway.

  Baron Preed NNXV made no attempt to conceal himself. He had been standing by the entrance to the hygienic facilities. Engrossed in the view beyond the plasticine transparency, she had walked right past him.

  “I am ssorry.” He took a stride toward her. “Did I sstartle you?”

  She took an equivalent step back, acutely aware that if the tentative dance were to continue, she would be the one to eventually run out of maneuvering room. The AAnn was not between her and the door, nor did he give any indication of attempting to block her exit. But the reptiloids could move very fast. She decided to save the proverbial mad dash to safety for a last resort.