Assuming he could get out of his present situation alive, of course.
3
Naneci-tok acknowledged the deferential salutations of her fellow villagers as she made her way toward the High House. She walked with the special short stride that signified a person of rank. In the Days of Distant Memory, villagers would have lined up to link their long, strong arms together to form living chains for her to use in crossing open spaces between the trees. Like many traditions, this had been abandoned with the arrival of Commonwealth culture. With spun-strilk pathways linking homes, ceremonial buildings, shops, and stores, the Sakuntala no longer had to leap between trees or weave lianas or make bridges of their living bodies. Roaming might not be as much fun, but it was undeniably safer.
Off to her right, a Sakuntala spinner crew was busy putting the finishing touches on a wide porch surrounding a new food-and-services outlet. It was one of the few in the community that was owned by a Sakuntala family, as opposed to by the Deyzara. Or by Deyzara fronting for a Commonwealth enterprise or for other Sakuntala. Sadly she shifted the coils of her tongue from one cheek pouch to the other. The world was changing so fast, it was impossible to know what new marvel was going to manifest itself next. Or what to do about it.
As a Hata, or High Chief, she was the recipient of reverential salutations and hand signs from the inhabitants of Chanorii Town. A few tongues shot out and lingered respectfully before recoiling. If some seemed more indifferent than was usual, that was to be expected. On this day Chanorii was full of Hatas and Hata-nius, or mid-level chiefs. Not to mention the war chiefs known as Hata-yuiquerus.
They were there to discuss making a new kind of war on the Deyzara. That, she knew, was going to be the most difficult thing to decide next. She did not look forward to the coming debate. There was going to be much passionate disagreement. Voices were going to be raised. Tongues would be rudely extruded. These things always happened when the Sakuntala conferenced. But this conclave promised to be far more raucous than any she could remember having attended.
In addition to the respected Hatas who had been carefully considering the question for some time now, every Yuiqueru, or war chief, within a thousand keleqs had come to Chanorii. What was surprising was how many seemed to lean toward a maintaining of the status quo and the peace it engendered. This was not because the war chiefs possessed any special love for the Deyzara. On balance, they probably disliked the two-trunks even more than did the average Sakuntala. The problem was, and the reason an open expulsion of Deyzara was simply not decreed by the Council of Hatas, that it was not merely a question of Sakuntala versus introduced Deyzara. A third party was involved.
This strange, foreign, difficult-to-comprehend mass organization of alien beings who collectively called themselves the Commonwealth.
Fluva had not yet attained full Class V Commonwealth status—but it was on the verge. Many wonderful things had been promised when that moment arrived. Having seen what Commonwealth technology had already wrought on her home world, Naneci-tok could well believe it. The trouble was that in order for Fluva to be accorded the status of a full Class V world, certain social as well as technical accomplishments had to be realized. One of these was the absence of internecine warfare.
The Sakuntala had always fought among themselves. It was an old and well-established tradition. The Commonwealth authorities had no problem with that. Such intervillage or interclan combat was permitted under the laws that governed internal social compacts. But warring against other sentients for the sake of eliminating a different intelligent species fell under a different set of regulations altogether. It was uncivilized. It was anti-Commonwealth. It was not allowed.
Knowing this should weigh heavily on the Council's final decision. Going after the Deyzara on an organized basis might mean the end of Commonwealth assistance to Fluva. Over the past two hundred cycles, the Sakuntala had grown more than a little fond of the benefits of Commonwealth aid and technology. There were the wonderful tools, the varied and new forms of entertainment, introductions to new cultures, the promise of the opportunity to visit other worlds. New foods, new methods of processing them, new art, new music, all manner of small devices and inventions that made life easier and safer and healthier. Since the coming of the Commonwealth, the Sakuntala for the first time in their history had experienced significant reductions in a previously high rate of infant mortality. Respected elders now lived truly impressive life spans. As a Hata, she could look forward herself to the opportunity to actually enjoy her old age, instead of dying of heart rot or dermal asimatosis or sacral calcification as her ancestors had.
But in return for all these wonderful things, the Sakuntala were forced to put up with the Deyzara.
Not all Deyzara were bad, she knew. On an individual basis, many were actually somewhat agreeable to be around—except when they were eating, of course. Unfortunately, they continued to adhere to the customs not of Fluva but of their ancestral world of Tharce IV.
It would be a simple matter to blame the troubles on the humans of the Commonwealth. If they had not brought the first Deyzara to Fluva, there would be no Deyzaran problem. But it was not nearly so simple, she knew. Busy fighting among themselves, her own ancestors had welcomed both the Commonwealth and the goods and services it brought with it and the Deyzara. If the Sakuntala had stopped fighting among themselves and gone to work enthusiastically for the humans and their friends, it would not have been necessary to bring the Deyzara to work the gathering and plantations in the Viisiiviisii and the small shops and businesses in the towns. But the Sakuntala were more interested in fighting one another as each clan sought supremacy over its historical enemies. So the dilemma that existed today had multiple sponsors, Commonwealth and Sakuntala alike.
She knew that the possibility of solving the problem by repatriating the Deyzara to Tharce IV had been debated in secretive discussions among the humans and their allies. It had been dropped for several reasons. For one thing, it would be very expensive. More critically, the Deyzara in Taulau Town and Chanorii and elsewhere considered themselves Fluvans. Their great-grandparents had been born on Fluva. They knew nothing of Tharce IV. Furthermore, or so she had heard, though the inhabitants of that distant world made the right mouth noises about accepting refugees, they really did not want hundreds of thousands of strange immigrants dumped in their comfortable planetary lap. So it looked like the Deyzara were on Fluva to stay. Unless certain of the Hatas and Yuiquerus had their way.
Her tongue rambled aimlessly between cheek pouches. It was a bad business, this. Though the Sakuntala were accustomed to warfare, war always brought suffering. As for her personal feelings toward the Deyzara, she was ambivalent. She neither liked nor hated them, as so many of her fellows did.
If only the Deyzara had made a greater effort to blend in with the Sakuntala! To gain knowledge of the ways of mula, to participate in the various complex but learnable katola ceremonies. To mute their own gaudy tastes and incessant activity. True, it had made them successful in ways only a few Sakuntala were now starting to match. From the beginning, the Deyzara had grasped the intricacies of Commonwealth commerce, passed on to the first immigrants to Fluva by their Tharcian progenitors. These the Sakuntala were forced to learn from scratch. Many of her kind were making great progress in mastering such matters. The estimable Jemunu-jah, for example. But it took time—and the Deyzara had arrived already familiar with many of the intricacies.
It had to be admitted that a few of the Deyzara had made the transition. Without entirely abandoning their own ways, they had learned well those of the Sakuntala and willingly deferred to them as the original inhabitants of Fluva. But all too many Deyzara still remained isolated from their neighbors, keeping strictly to their own customs and dealing with those of the Sakuntala only when necessary. These Deyzara had no mula, none. One way or another, she knew, this would have to change.
When consulted about the situation, humans invariably reiterated that such adaptations took tim
e, citing from their own history of mutual convergence with the very different beings called the thranx. Naneci-tok had only seen thranx one time. There had been several of them, leaving the Visitor Greeting Center in Lokoriki Town. They had kept close together and avoided all but the main walkways. This was because, she later learned, while they loved the rain and the humidity, they were terrified of open water. Not only could they not swim, but they also had a distinct tendency to sink like stones. Since, like every other community in the Viisiiviisii, Lokoriki was built above the water, this rendered their visits to Fluva infrequent and unpalatable except in the brief time of the Dry, when the land lay exposed and naked to the air. Strange creatures, the thranx, though the humans seemed very fond of them. But then, though humans were closer in shape and appearance to the Sakuntala than the Deyzara, it had to be admitted that they also had some very peculiar tastes.
Chanorii was an ancient place. Compared to many other towns and villages that had adapted modern ways, designs, and materials, a large proportion of the buildings were still of traditional wood-and-vine construction. Not the High House she was walking toward, however. Of far more recent vintage, it had been built with advanced Commonwealth technology. The spun strilk that supported it (instead of the traditional woven lianas) was linked not only to surrounding trees but also to pylons of tough composites that had been sunk deep into the earth itself, far below the waterline. The best of such material did not rot in the perpetually rainy climate of Fluva and was impervious to the numerous fungi and small crawling things that would have eaten their way through comparable wooden posts in a matter of weeks. But even composites had to be checked from time to time and were subject to regular maintenance. For one thing, the active yananuca vines loved the support these strange new “trees” provided and would pull smaller or incompetently footed pylons down.
The structure itself was similar to those the humans erected for their own use, but entirely in keeping with ancient Sakuntala customs. Constructed of spun and sheet composite in the traditional form of a square, it had no openings on the shielded and armored lower level. In ancient times, this was designed to keep out predatory branch walkers like the nironve and slitherers like the bai-mou. For its part, the Viisiiviisii made no distinction between materials and methods. Maintenance teams were kept perpetually busy cutting away opportunistic lianas and leapers, aerial roots that reached down to the water, and spirocyte fungi that tried to penetrate buildings from below.
Hatas and their advisers and attendants entered through the single circular, easily defended opening in the roof, using ample built-in handholds to swing themselves over to the eskachi, or drying area. In the old days, a series of elaborate shaking gestures would be employed to politely shed the moisture one had accumulated on one's fur. Nowadays, a portable sensing evaporator imported from the thranx world of Evoria did the job faster and more efficiently. But not, she reflected as she walked toward her assigned place, occasionally entwining tongues with friends and acquaintances, half as gracefully.
The line of chairs suspended from the ceiling formed a circle around the central shaft. These days such seats hung from spun composite, not vines cut from the heart of the Viisiiviisii. The composite strands were stronger and lighter. What they lacked in warmth and weave they made up for by being impervious to decay. It was a trade-off that was hard to argue with.
Rain pouring through the entrance in the roof fell through the open center of the High House to spill out through a slightly larger hole in the floor. When the occasional rare shaft of sunshine pierced the clouds, the raindrops were illuminated from above, giving this central core of falling water the appearance of dripping diamonds. Traditionally at such moments, those not speaking would murmur a soft “Hauea!,” an old entreaty to the gods to make sure the rain did not stop. Because if the rain stopped, as it did seasonally for one small part of the year, it meant that, among other things, predators could walk freely along dry ground from tree to tree, seeking prey. That was not so important anymore, in these days of imported advanced weaponry, alarms, and protective barriers, but old fears died slowly, and hard.
She slipped regally into her seat and began the slow, steady rocking back and forth motion that indicated she was ready to participate in the forthcoming discussion. All around her, other Hatas were moving back and forth or side to side to their own personal, unheard rhythms. Skillfully synced, a mobile seat (swings, the humans called them straightforwardly, but without reverence) could convey almost as many meanings as words. Direction was as important as velocity. Her own uncomplicated motion indicated that she was ready to listen but not to speak. Not yet.
Molavil-isi was the last to arrive. An old and wizened Hata, he had come all the way from distant Hiokavaru. Before the advent of the Commonwealth, distance and dangers would have rendered such a journey impossible. Now, with the aid of a skimmer, it could be accomplished in a matter of days. Wonderful things, skimmers, Naneci-tok felt. Her ancestors would have been astonished to see her traveling freely above the treetops, without the aid of branches or walkways. All thanks to the arrival of the humans and thranx and their grand interstellar civilization. Unfortunately, along with skimmers and energy weapons and communicators they had brought the Deyzara. How to deal with the latter without losing the former was the great question this meeting had been organized to try to settle.
The Hata-tanasua served as shaman-advisers to multiple clans. Cherished by all who had enjoyed the good fortune to know him and to experience his wise ministrations, the sage Manarapi-vea formally convened the gathering by intoning the opening to the katola ritual. Holding the first carved bowl of katola at eye level, he kept his tongue twice wrapped around it as he paced deliberately around the central column of falling rain. Conversation quieted immediately. Seats grew still. The katola ceremony was among the most revered of Sakuntala customs. Also among the most anticipated, as good katola was treated by the Sakuntala much as fine wine was by the humans. That in sufficient doses it was also a powerful hallucinogen only served to enhance its appeal.
There would be none of that during the debate, she knew. The ceremony would be carried out in moderation. Everyone would need their wits about them. Indulgences such as agreeable hallucinations could come afterward, during the informal gatherings that were sure to follow.
Halting not far from her, Manarapi-vea inclined both ears and head slightly forward and offered the bowl. Naneci-tok was only mildly surprised. Though there were others present who were senior to her, this was her territory. Manarapi-vea was not only being polite; he was also being politically correct.
Making sure her tongue was tucked well off to one side in an empty cheek, she accepted the bowl in both hands, grasping it firmly with all twelve fingers. As the Hata-tanasua chanted the appropriate phrases, she took a single long swallow. Ceremonial, katola drinking might be—but it was also a fine treat. The tepid liquid slid readily down her throat. Even as she handed the bowl back, she felt her stomach start to grow numb. A distinctive tingling began in her toes and fingers. The woven strappings that covered her midsection and upper torso seemed suddenly looser than usual.
Around the circle Manarapi-vea went, circling the column of rain that continued to pour through the corresponding openings in ceiling and floor, offering katola to Hata, Yuiqueru, and Hata-niu alike. There were no Hata-naus present. The matters to be discussed were too important to allow the lowest-ranking chiefs a say in the outcome. Only when everyone had sipped of the venerable liquid made from the sap of the Oli'wiu did Manarapi-vea raise his voice. Everyone seated around the falling rain that drowned the land and gave life and protection to the Sakuntala from marauding predators joined the Hata-tanasua in reciting the ancient verses of understanding. It was said:
“We come here today to make a Talking. Today and here, we are all of one clan. Today and here, every Hata may say what they will, as they will, without fear of being slain by a neighbor.”
There was more. Naneci-tok knew it by heart
and recited it from memory, but her thoughts were already on the debate to come. One that without question was going to have a profound impact not only on the future of the Sakuntala but also on their present.
It was expected that Cecolou-tiu, as the eldest in attendance, would speak first. She did not disappoint. With the aid of the pair of Hata-nius flanking her, she eased out of her chair. Once erect, she stood without assistance. Her fur was almost entirely gray, with only the barest hints of the dark black and green pattern that had once identified its owner.
Gazing around the expectant circle, she had to squint hard through the column of rain to make out those chiefs sitting in chairs directly opposite her. But even aged, weak Sakuntala eyes were remarkably acute. When she finally spoke, her words rang out through the meeting room clear and strong.
“You all here know me. You know I not speak without first thinking. Not easy, thinking at my age. But this significant what we talk here today. Very important not make wrong decision. I think hard and harder about what to do about loutish, tawdry, thieving Deyzara. Must for sure do something.” A chorus of supportive murmurs arose from many of the assembled. “So believe when I say I think hardest that this talk of trying drive all Deyzara off Fluva is talk-making of idiot people.”
Drowning World Page 4
