Strange Music

by Alan Dean Foster

  Slowly, shakily, the Tralltag struggled to a sitting position. While the three fingers of his right hand rubbed his chest where the pistol shot had struck, those of his left hand shifted toward the hilt of his scabbarded hook-sword.

  “Kill you still, I could, with means less fancy, but as effective.”

  “Kill you quicker I might, without spilling your blood,” Vashon replied imperturbably. “Or if Fate should roll otherwise, later for certain would arrive, the Hobak’s fury, his vengeance at my death riding a yecrong’s fins.” He smiled, though the expression was lost on the Tralltag. While the Larian face was capable of some expression, the underlying musculature was stiffer and not as flexible as that of a human.

  “Asked you plainly for guarantee, that with Commonwealth weaponry you have strong backup; real protection that is more than rumor, more than legend.”

  Zkerig gathered himself as he rose and regarded the shorter human. “Less than so intimate would I have preferred the endorsement, yet I cannot fault the revelation. I do not deny that I covet the device; laud its efficiency and admire its silence. That is the truth, of what you have shown me: would that it had been, considerably less painful.” Dark, penetrating eyes stared. “So it seems I must accommodate the owner, along with his weapon, if I am to have both, available for support. Such is the ruling of my employer, Felelagh na Broon, praise be his boldness, in his absence regretted.”

  Confidently turning his back on the Tralltag, Vashon walked over to his hammock and took a seat. While not designed for a human, when adequately mattressed with a plethora of stuffed pillows, the free-swinging bed permitted excellent sleeping.

  “With reassurance now given, hopefully only necessary once, is there anything else that brings you here this evening, this night, that is heavy with moonless blessings?”

  “We should away.” Zkerig winced as he rubbed anew at his chest where the neural pulse had struck. “But being difficult is the Firstborn interminably, causing difficulties is she for my troops. Noise unabating is she frothing, things that would cast, many eyes about our dealings, and would cause, a whole priory of prayers to fail.”

  Vashon sighed as he rose from the hammock. “Unsurprised am I by this news, for characteristic of her it clearly rings. I will speak with her, I will go have a talking, the better to ensure, that her silence ensues.”

  The Tralltag gestured at the neuronic pistol. “Rather than talking, perhaps better at convincing, would be a demonstration, involving sensitive parts.” His expression turned unpleasant. “Another demonstration, another showing, this time one I can witness, instead of experiencing.”

  Vashon disagreed. “Tend yourself to your tasks appointed, and do not think to interfere; in mine are orders from the Hobak na Broon, from mine will come the responses necessary.”

  Zkerig ground his teeth: a common Larian expression of anger. Given that his species’ orthodonture was modest in dimension but impressive in sharpness, it was an imposing demonstration. It was also one of the Tralltag’s most common responses, and Vashon ignored it.

  —

  As soon as the two of them entered the cabin where she was being held, the Firstborn of Borusegahm Leeth rose from the raised woven pad where she had been reclining and, spitting derogatory octaves, charged the both of them. Strands of iridescent red-gold fur flared out like a fan behind her neck. Only Larian females developed such furry shields. Evolved to indicate a readiness to mate, they could also be used to express anger. At certain times of the year on Largess, this led to frequent misunderstandings between the genders.

  While her vocal cords and neck shield were under no restraint, the same was not true for the rest of her body. The chain that linked her right foot to one of the ship’s sturdy vertical support timbers snapped taut with her fingers barely a hand’s width from Vashon’s face. For several minutes he stood impassively as she clawed impotently at the air that separated them. Then he offered a wide smile. Though his human teeth were nowhere near as impressive as those flashed by the Larians, their broad exposure carried the same meaning.

  “Calming yourself is much suggested, seeing as how we are about to depart, the land that is your home, to which you are so clearly attached. Making yourself sick, will do you no good, will accomplish nothing, leads only to disquiet, and bad digestion.”

  Still straining to reach him, she trilled a few more choice epithets before finally conceding to reality and retreating to stand with her back against the hull’s interior. Slightly convex black eyes glared furiously. She looked, Vashon thought not without admiration, like a rabid doe. Except for all those teeth, of course.

  “Why was it necessary to kill Areval, my servant? Offered you no harm, did she, poor and devoted, now still and dead.”

  “Tried to raise the alarm, did the screamer.” Zkerig showed the Firstborn the same glint of teeth he had recently presented to Vashon. “Terminated such nonsense did I from necessity, with efficiency and with speed, all according to the order of my…temporary superior.” He did not need to identify Vashon.

  “No reason to worry then, piss-drinker,” she growled. “Parasites are force-beholden, acting without rhyme or reason, only following that which their simple minds, can barely comprehend.” With great dignity and restraining her rage, she turned to Vashon. “Know I not enough of humans, unfamiliar still am I with details of your physiology. Yet be assured that when the time comes, I will find out enough to know how and best, to make of your genitals a salad garnish, well finished so that you will have to eat it.”

  “Threats I have, received aplenty, in a life, you will not end,” he replied matter-of-factly, quite pleased with the tune he had improvised.

  She looked away. “I see no purpose in your reasoning, and no reason in your purpose.”

  “Then pleased I will, now the time take to explain, sufficient to clarify, your uncertainty lingering.

  “Fear the Leeths’ association with my kind, fear the intimacy they perceive, fear the assistance of advanced technology to be had, do the clans of the Northlands. Fear they any connection closer, with the Commonwealth from which I come, or with its weapons, or wider communications. Most vociferous of all, of these who object, is my employer: Hobak of Minord, Felelagh na Broon the grand, the powerful, master of all the lands and islands he surveys.” Behind the human, Zkerig made a rude sound that caused his single flexible nostril to vibrate. The vibrato traveled down the length of the semiflexible fur-covered breathing tube that ran all the way from between his eyes and down the length of his snout to wriggle free for several centimeters past the upper jaw. Vashon ignored the unmusical comment.

  “To ensure their harmlessness, if not their fealty, does Minord now request your presence. For a time as yet undetermined, for a period to be established, in lieu of treaties as yet unwritten, security to ensure for a length unspecified. Safe and sheltered will you be kept, treated appropriately as befits your station: a guest to be cherished like any treasure.”

  She spat at him. Noting the puffing of her cheeks, which, unlike a human’s, gave away her intention, Vashon was able to dodge the glob of expectorant.

  “Heard of this Hobak I have, in political discussions, because though far from the Leeth, Minord is still well known. Say businessfolk of his dealings, that he is clever: sharp and perceptive, but not wise.” Her dark gaze shifted to Zkerig. “Say they also he cannot speak properly, dull and morbid is his singing.”

  “Shameful to criticize what one has not heard,” replied the Tralltag. “A speech impediment that is his from birth; a sad affliction not of his making, more to be pitied than to draw laughter.”

  “As opposed to his looks, which they say match his speaking? Match his nature, born of spit and of slime?”

  Zkerig’s fur rippled from his muscular shoulders down the length of his arms: the Larian equivalent of a shrug. “Speech and appearance count for nothing, recede to insignificance when matched against intellect. Quicker than all his enemies is the Hobak, quicker and faster of th
ought and of mind.” He glanced at Vashon. “Quick enough to do what no other could; dare to hire an offworlder, to do his bidding, to be his vassal.”

  “I’m not a vassal.” Vashon was quick to correct. Loyal and tough though he might be, Zkerig had a way of getting under his skin. At the look of disgust and bemusement on Preedir’s face, Vashon restated his response in better singspeech. “Not a vassal am I but a free agent, engaged for an honest retainer, as any Larian would be.”

  Lowering her voice, Preedir ah nisa Leeh, Firstborn of Borusegahm Leeth, for the first time since they had entered her quarters spoke without rancor. “So great a falsehood have I never heard. So vast a misconception has never been spread. Friends to all are the alien Commonwealth peoples. Equal treatment do they disburse. No special favors to Borusegahm are forthcoming; the same would be given to the Northlanders as freely. In the eyes of the offworlders all Larian are equal, no favoritism does this Commonwealth display. No grounds for this animosity exist in reality, as a mother to its offspring I tell you this true.”

  She was staring at Zkerig as she singspoke. When she had concluded, he simply looked away. With the exception of its weapons, his disinterest in anything having to do with the Commonwealth was palpable. So she refocused her attention on the human.

  “You who are from far-off places, from the stars now come to Largess. You who walk well but cannot swim fast, yet who can singspeak surprisingly clear. You know what I say to be the truth, that I do not lie, that I do not perjure. Why can you not convey this honestly to your ‘employer,’ to this Felelagh na Broon of whom you speak so well?”

  Vashon had no fur to ripple, so he shrugged his shoulders. “Hard to fathom are the politics, are the workings of any system. Be it human or be it thranx, be it AAnn or Larian known.”

  Her short ears twitched forward in concert with a downward curl of her breathing proboscis; a gesture of resigned sadness. “True then is it, one more thing I have heard, about your kind, in casual talking, in offhand speaking. That not so different from us are some of you, despite the promises by good folk made. That available for purchase is your person, inside and out, all in total, the full sum. That for sale is your honor, the size of a lymick dying in the sun.”

  This time Vashon did not show his teeth. But he gritted them.

  To the surprise of both human and his prisoner, Zkerig spoke up.

  “I concur with your analysis, even more than you can know,” declared the Tralltag melodiously. “Who can trust the word of offworlders, most of whom cannot even speak? Most of whom do not Lari understand. Who can know their motivations, their true desires, their ultimate leanings? Know I well they cannot be trusted, to do other than what they think best. Go they this way, that way, any way, like the tides of the two moons colluding.” He looked over at Vashon. “So yes, I know they are not so different, in many ways easy to understand. Like a Tralltag some can be trusted, if paid enough to secure their allegiance.”

  She followed up immediately, staring hard at Zkerig. “My family will pay you, upon your demand, thrice that of Minord, three times what your mumbler Hobak offers you now, for my freedom.”

  His fur rippled not just down Zkerig’s arms but across his face; its iridescence caught the light in the dim cabin.

  “A fine Tralltag would I be, to trust my life to a breeder’s word. To balance fidelity on the cusp of promise, with no assurance save what you say. Know I you not except in confinement, a place that breeds songs of desperation. Safer, I think, to keep the agreement, already struck in iron with my superior.”

  Vashon chipped in. “More than words and more than promises, prefers Felelagh na Broon a deeper security. More than riches is a body, one of lineage responsible, for continuity unending. Such is a Firstborn like yourself, especially a breeder, who would continue a line.”

  Ever since he and Zkerig had entered the cabin, Vashon noted, she had been tugging surreptitiously at the metal anklet attached to the chain that bound her to the wall. His admiration for their captive was genuine. She was cunning, resourceful, fearless, and, by Larian standards, sleekly attractive. No wonder Felelagh na Broon had selected her to be his principal bargaining chip with the clans of the Borusegahm Leeth. If it were up to him, he would have had her crippled: to ensure against any possible escape, no matter how unlikely. Cut the requisite tendons in her legs. Zkerig would have done worse. Both human and Larian forbore from doing so because inflicting such injuries would have reduced her value as a hostage.

  “Come for me will my family, come for me will the heads of all the nearby Leeth,” she sputtered as her captors turned to leave. “Come they will at the heads of columns armored, guns and cannon blazing! Then will die the blooms of Minord youth, slain and bleeding all for nothing, at the behest of a mad Hobak, he who garbles the simplest speaking!”

  “Let them come, your columns armored.” Within his song Zkerig managed to invoke a notable smirking. “Drown they will in Minord’s sounds, both of water and of weeping. In the waters cold and sweeping, will the blood of Borusegahm run.”

  She was silent for a moment. When she sang again, her upper lip curled and her canines flashed prominently. “And what if the mumbler’s fears come to fruition, rendered real by his own actions? What if Borusegahm seeking, pleading, gets the offworld help he dreads? Then will come to Minord angry, offworlders bearing guns of light. Flying, diving, at cannons laughing, disintegrating Minord’s might!”

  With a sigh and a shake of his head, Vashon eyed her pityingly. “Understand this truth I tell you, Firstborn of Borusegahm Leeth. No Commonwealth soldiers will come to aid you, no advanced weapons will they employ. Such would be against their own laws, such would violate their own principles, even to the highest levels. Let you swim in your own problems, they will, despite any individual feelings. The Leeth can beg, the Leeth can implore, the Leeth will never acquire such help. So sayeth the regulations, a portion of which I could quote, but will paraphrase: ‘advanced technology, especially weaponry, cannot be used, imported, or otherwise exposed to the inhabitants of a Class IVb world.’ ”

  “What if there are some like yourself, but unlike you wholly moral,” she shot back, “who decide among the Commonwealth to interfere; to disregard such laws and levers, the better to help those in need?”

  “There might be several, there might be many,” he conceded, “but I have been here quite some time. And having lived here, I can tell you, there is only one who might do that. Who might be brave, or foolish, or determined enough, such regulations to ignore. To decide despite the rules, to go his own way, his own life to improve, and that of his friends, just incidentally. To improve most quickly, despite the dangers: that one offworlder, you know is—me.”

  She tugged on the chain one last time, then slumped back onto the resting mat, defeated in argument as well as physically. The fight had at least temporarily gone out of her. Her tone now, just above a lullaby, was no longer defiant but exhausted.

  “Do what you will then, to set back the cause of unification, to keep all Largess, stalled in time. Prevent us joining the star-swept unity, from which you yourself benefit so much.” Unclouded, glistening eyes stared across at Vashon. “Sad you are, gun-heavy example, of a line of your kind I am ashamed to know. Sad it is you can see no farther, than lining your pocket, than watching your money grow. Small is your mind, constricted your vision, like a warang with blindness, like a constipated cub.”

  Zkerig let out a sound that was a cross between a sneer and a bark. “These ‘small minds’ have got you imprisoned, carried off from your ‘protected’ house. These small hands can wring your neck, if trouble you decide to propound. ‘Sad’ is it, you try to tell us? Sad I reply is your fantasy. Of ‘unified’ clans and one-world speaking, the better to beg crumbs from the offworlders’ feet.” He stood straight on both hind legs and tail.

  “Better I say to hew to tradition, better to fight for clan and hearth. Better to keep to ways ancient and proven, than to grovel before hairless visito
rs. No matter how powerful their weapons, no matter how fast their machines, if it means sacrificing, the Larian heart.”

  She tried once more, singspeaking directly to Vashon. “You who come from so far distant; from the lights in the sky, from worlds I cannot imagine, from places strange and different: care you nothing for my kind’s future? Nothing for the cubs unborn, nothing for the blood as yet unspilled? Nothing for my world’s future; hoping, wishing, desperate to advance?”

  “Nope and no, no and nope, and never happening,” he sang, before turning to exit the cabin through the heavy wooden door that still stood open behind him.

  4

  ■ ■ ■

  The spaceport was located to the north of Borusegahm Leeth. Despite the low-rise sprawl of the extended Larian conurbation, there had been no problem finding ample room for living quarters, storage, official Commonwealth buildings, the rudimentary Customs & Immigration facilities, representatives of assorted trading houses, and more. The local Hobak and his council were delighted to lease land to the congenial offworlders, as long as it was otherwise not being utilized. Relations continued to improve even though despite many requests the strangely overgarbed visitors resolutely refused to disburse any of their advanced technology. While demonstrations of individual devices, carefully controlled and supervised, occurred at regular prearranged intervals, trading for them was out of the question.