“Kel Duncan,” he said, “the she’pan says that we are going home. We are going home.”
It did not register for a moment—came then with a dull distant apprehension. “You called Kesrith home,” Duncan said.
“And Nisren. Kel-truth. The she’pan knows. Duncan—” The eyes above the veil lost their impassivity. “Perhaps we are the last; perhaps there is nothing left; perhaps it will be too long a voyage. But we are going. And after this, I must forget; so must you. This is the she’pan’s word, because nothing human can stay with us, not on such a voyage. The she’pan says that you have given the People a great gift; and for this service, you may keep your name, human though it is; but nothing more. We have gone from the sun into the Dark; and in the Dark, we forget, the whole of what we have been and seen and known, and we return to our ancestors. This is what you have entered, Duncan. If ever you stand on the homeworld of the People, you will be mri. Is this understood? Is this what you want?”
A dus crowded them, warm and urgent with emotion. Duncan felt a numbness; sensed, almost, Niun’s anxiety. Violation of privacy, of self-control; he edged back and the dus shied off, then returned obstinately to its closeness. There was no lying to the dusei; none, eventually, to the mri. They would learn one day what humans meant to do to them, what he had aimed at their home: a second, deadlier gift. It was irony that they asked him to share it.
“It’s what I want,” he said, for he saw no other choice.
Niun frowned. “A mri,” he said, “could not have chosen what you have chosen.”
The distance that the drug lent was leaving, deserting him to cold reality. He heard what Niun said, and it, twisted strangely, forebodingly in his mind. He looked at Melein’s back, wondering whether she would now deign to notice him, since he had yielded to all their terms.
“Come,” said Niun, gesturing to the door. “You have given up the ship. You do not belong here now.”
“She cannot manage it,” he protested, dismayed to think of Melein, desert-bred, regul-trained setting hands on human-made machinery.
Niun’s entire body stiffened; the frown reappeared. “Come,” he said again. “Forget first how to question. You are only kel’en.”
It was mad. It was, for the moment, necessary; Melein’s ignorance could kill them, but she surely had sense enough to refrain from rashness. The ship could manage itself. It was a hazard less immediate than quarreling with Niun.
There were the dusei.
There was the plain fact that did he defeat the mri, he must kill him: and he had not broken with Stavros’ orders, cut himself off from Kesrith, to finish the reguls’ job for them. In time he could learn the mri enough to reason with them, wherever they were, mri world or regul.
He yielded, and with Niun, left the control center, the dusei in their wake. The door closed behind them, sealed: he heard the lock go into place.
Chapter Nine
Two warships, six rider-vessels.
Bai Hulagh Alagn-ni saw with satisfaction the difference that power made in the deportment of the humanfolk. They waited on the front steps of the Nom, two hands of human younglings to meet the caravan from the shuttle landing; and a number of regul younglings bringing four fright silver sleds. Hulagh spoke a curt instruction to his driver to draw up there, among the regul: some of the new personnel coming later in the caravan were skittish of humans yet, and Hulagh, despite his rank and the discomfort entailed, meant to be beforehand disembarking and wait upon the others. He himself had no fear of humans, and meant that none of the others should disgrace Alagn before them.
The car drew to a smooth halt. The hatch opened, admitting the familiar, acrid air of Kesrith: Hulagh snorted in distaste as it burned his nostrils—but it held a certain savor now, nonetheless.
He ignored the humans who peered at him in their curiosity; some reached out tentative hands to assist. His driver, Suth Horag-gi, urged them aside and with expert and efficient organization had the sled eased into position; carefully, carefully, Suth eased Hulagh’s great weight up to his atrophied legs and swiftly down again in the indoors sled, a smoothness and gentleness that Hulagh had come greatly to value. He had come more and more to prize this youngling of the tiny doch of Hulagh; its comportment had been faultless in the delicate days at the station. He did not, of course, express this to Suth: it would spoil the youngling, whom he meant to train to further responsibilities.
Attendant not only to the first elder of Alagn, but to the first elder of the prime doch of the prime three of the regul: Suth did not know the good fortune to come. Hulagh smiled to himself, a gesture the humans would hardly recognize, a tightening of the musculature of his lower eyelids, a relaxation of his nostrils despite the biting air.
His long, careful maneuvering had succeeded.
Eight ships had come, a quarter the strength of doch Alagn, and others were waiting. They had come to discover the fate of their elder, delayed on Kesrith among humans and mri and long over-due. Humans had not apparently expected Alagn to react in such strength—as it Alagn could reasonably have done otherwise. Stavros had apparently failed to understand how much Alagn had committed here, in the presence of a prototype ship that was entrusted them by the high assembly of regul docha—now lost, twisted metal in the ruined port: a pang of fear disturbed Hulagh’s satisfaction—but there was, in these anxious humans, the means to cover that loss and better the position of Alagn despite it.
It was evident in the faces of these human younglings, in the whole attitude of humans at the station, in communications with Stavros, that the humans did not want to fight. Hulagh had long believed that, and naturally applauded that common sense in the humans. On Kesrith, elders were committed, human ones and now three more regul, lesser eiders of Alagn, in the portion of the caravan that was now beginning to disembark; it did not make sense to fight. Hulagh earnestly displayed this attitude by committing the elders of his own doch, and believed that it was safe. The humans could have begun battle at the appearance of the warships, at the first intimation that they were carriers for riders; but the humans had instead settled to talk, despite that they might have won: humans were fierce fighters, as evidenced by the fact that they had been able to meet the mri—with the advantage of numbers, to be sure, but regul could not have withstood the mri, and Hulagh privately acknowledged that fact. No, the humans did not want further conflict. After those first anxious days, Hulagh began sincerely to rely on the directness of bar Stavros, who avowed humans wanted the peace not only continued, but expanded.
There were surely, contained within that truth, deeper truths beneficial to Stavros and his private interests: Stavros, with a wisdom regul could respect, if not love, did not commit himself to one ally, but pursued many attachments, probing them for advantage.
There was, notably, the matter of the mri, whom Stavros still found of interest, through the agency of the allegedly mad youngling Duncan: the very thought caused Hulagh’s skin to tighten. Mad, perhaps, but if the youngling were thus defective, then Stavros was mad to have reinstated him—and Hulagh did not believe that Stavros was mad.
A probe had gone out-system; the largest of the human warships had escorted the ship to the edge of the system, and returned home after a furious coded exchange with the ship and finally with Stavros. Hulagh regretted much that neither he nor his aides could understand that exchange, after which the warship and its rider had meekly returned to station, while the ship Hannibal had moved out to run escort for regul ships in their approach.
The ship with the mri aboard had left Kesrith immediately upon Stavros’ being informed that regul ships were due; Duncan, after briefing with Stavros, had been sent to that ship with his belongings, such as remained from his original transfer: a permanent stay, then, the last vestige of his occupancy removed from the Nom, although he had been virtually residing on the ship. When regul presence in the system had been announced, the probe had left the station: Hulagh had learned this from his fellow elders.
Duncan, supposedly on the station, was not available, not to his most urgent request for the youngling, and humans were evasive.
Duncan’s madness revolved around the mri, who were also—supposedly—at the station.
It was a regul kind of game. Hulagh’s hearts labored whenever he let himself dwell on the mri; doubtless the humans knew his anxiety. It only remained to find out the nature of the bargain Stavros wished to strike with Alagn—for it was surely equally clear to the humans that he now had resources with which to bargain. Hulagh trusted the humans as he had never been able to trust the mri: he trusted well a human like Stavros, who reckoned profit as regul did, in power, in territory, in resources of metals and biostuffs—and in the protection of what was his. Such persons as Stavros Hulagh found comfortingly close to his own mind; and therefore his sought an early conference.
The last of the elders disembarked. Hulagh eased his sled about, awaiting them, a term in the acrid air for which he would pay throughout the day, with a dry throat and stinging nasal passages. Three elders with their attendant younglings: Sharn and Karag and Hurn, the latter a male; Sharn, female, fourth eldest of the doch; Karag, a recently sexed male and prone to the instabilities that the Change brought on young adults: Sharn’s protégé, and probably current mate, Karag still had the smooth skin of a youngling and he had not yet acquired the bulk of Sharn or Hurn, certainly not Hulagh prosperous dignity, but he still rated the use of a sled—the last settled by the attendant younglings. Hulagh watched, patient as the younglings fussed about the three adults and brought them on their way through the cluster of humans.
Hulagh was no longer alone, sole elder on Kesrith, surrounded only by younglings of limited experience and strange docha. His own were with him now, Alagn-ni, and his ships sat up at station, constantly manned, able by reason of proximity to the human craft and the station to prove a greater threat than ever they could in combat. The humans had allowed this; and this was another reason that Hulagh felt confident of the peace. He smiled to himself and turned, aimed the sled up the slight incline, Suth walking beside him, the humans giving way to admit him. He entered the warm, filtered atmosphere of the Nom at the head of a procession that awed the local younglings who stood inside to see it, and thoroughly satisfied his long-aggrieved pride.
“Stavros,” he heard a human youngling inform Suth, observing regul protocol, “will see the bai immediately as requested.”
“To the reverence bai Stavros,” Hulagh intoned, when Suth had ceremoniously turned to him. “Now.”
* * *
The meeting was not, as all previous meetings had been, in Stavros’ small office, but in the formal conference hall; and Stavros had surrounded himself with uniformed younglings and a great deal of that immobility of countenance that in humans was evidence of a pricklish if not hostile mood. Hulagh, backed now by his three elders and an entourage of Alagn’s younglings, looked about him and smiled human-fashion, far from disturbed at the new balance of powers that had doubtless troubled the humans.
“May we,” Hulagh suggested at once, before seatings could become complicated, “dispense with superfluous younglings and speak in directness, reverence?”
Stavros turned his sled and directed: human younglings sorted themselves out by rank and some began to depart. Hulagh retained Suth, and each of the Alagn elders a personal attendant, the while the four humans who counted themselves adult arranged themselves in chairs surrounding Stavros’ sled. Hulagh stared curiously at one of the four, on whom no trace of gray showed . . . this coloring he had thought indicative of human maturity, since other colorations did not seem to have bearing: he remained mildly suspicious that Stavros breached protocol, seating this one in the inner circle, but in his expansive mood, he did not find himself inclined to object. Elder he might be: Hulagh had never learned accurately to determine seniority among these beings, who sexed in infancy and varied chaotically in appearance on their way to maturity, and after. He anticipated questions from his elders, and to his embarrassment, he did not know the answers.
There was, by the younglings, the interminable serving of soi: necessary, for the journey had taxed the energies of everyone; there were the introductions: Hulagh absorbed the names and stations of the so-named elder humans and responded with the names of his own elders, who still seemed dazed by the rapidly shifting flood of alien sights and by exhaustion. But in the introductions, Hulagh found reason for exception, and fluttered his nostrils in a sigh of impatience.
“Bai Stavros,” Hulagh said, “is there no representative from the bai of station?”
“It would be pointless,” said Stavros, using the communications screen of the sled, for Hulagh had addressed him in regul language, and so Stavros responded. “Policy is determined here. It is carried out there. Bai Hulagh, if your elders are fluent, may we use human speech?”
Characteristic of the humans, whose learning resided not in their persons, but in written records, considerable time on Kesrith had not served to give these fluency in the regul tongue. They forgot. It had amused Hulagh that meetings were often recorded on tape, lest the human forget what they had said and what had been told them: doubtless this one was likewise being recorded. After another fashion, it did not amuse him at all, to reckon that every promise, every statement made by these creatures, relied on such poor memories. To state an untruth was a terrible thing for a regul, for what was once said could not be unlearned; but doubtless humans could unlearn anything they pleased, and sometimes forget what the facts were.
“My elders are not yet fluent,” Hulagh said, and kept all trace of humor from his face as he added: “it will be instructive to them if you speak in human language; I will provide simultaneous translation my, screen.”
“Appreciated,” said Stavros aloud, “A pleasure to welcome your elders personally.”
“We are pleased to be welcome.” Hulagh set aside his empty cup and leaned back in the cushions, manipulating the keyboard to do as he had promised Stavros. “And we are pleased that our human friends were willing to interrupt their business to provide these welcoming courtesies. But true intent becomes obscured in much formality. We are not disputing docha, in need of such. You have not attacked; we have not attacked. We are pleased with the situation.”
Such directness seemed to disturb the attendant humans. Stavros himself smiled, a taut, wary smile. “Good,” he said. “We assure you again that we are most pleased with the prospect of wider dealings with doch Alagn and all regulkind.”
“We are likewise anxious for such agreement. The mri, however, the mri remain an item of concern.”
“They need not be.”
“Because they are no longer at Kesrith?”
Stavros’ brow lifted. It seemed a smile, perhaps; Hulagh watched the reaction carefully, decided otherwise. “We are working,” said Stavros carefully, “to be able to assure the regul that there is no possible danger from the mri.”
“I have inquired about the youngling Duncan,” said Hulagh. “He is not available. The mri are off Kesrith. A ship has left. All these circumstances—perhaps unrelated—still seem to assume a distressing importance.”
There was a long pause. Stavros’ mouth worked in an expression that Hulagh could not successfully read, no more than the other: perplexity, perhaps, or displeasure.
“We are,” said Stavros at last, “attempting to trace the extent of the mri. We have found a record which is pertinent Bai Hulagh, the extent of the record is entirely disquieting.”
Hulagh drew in air, held his breath a moment. Truth: he knew Stavros well enough to rely on it.
“Part of it,” Stavros said, “may lie within regul space, but only part.”
“Abandoned worlds,” Hulagh said. He had neglected to translate in his distress: he amended his omission, saw shock register on the faces of his other elders. “Nisren, Guragen—but it is true that they have ranged far. A mri record, is it so?”
“They do write,” said Stavros.
“Yes,�
� said Hulagh. “No literature, no art, no science, no commerce; but I have been in the old edun—there, on the slopes. I have seen myself what may have been writings. But I cannot provide you translation, not readily.”
“Numerical records, in great part. We have understood them well enough to be concerned. We are pursuing the question. It may prove of great concern to all regul. We are concerned about the size of what those records may show us. And about possible overlapping of our researches with regul territory. Marginal intrusion. Not troublesome to Alagn; but others—”
“Holn.”
“Yes,” said Stavros. “We are concerned about the path of that probe. Yet it had to be done.”
Breath fluttered from Hulagh’s nostrils; his hearts beat in disturbing rhythm. He was utterly aware of the frightened eyes of his elders upon him, reliant on his experience, for they had none to offer. He became agonizingly aware that he was faced with something that would have repercussions all the way to Mab, and there was no way to delay the issue or seek consultations.
Alagn had power to speak for the docha, had done so in negotiations with the humans before. Hulagh gathered himself, called for another drink of soi, and the other elders likewise took refreshment. He sipped at his, deep in thought, paused for a look at Sharn, whose counsel was welcome, if not informed; Sharn gave him a look that appreciated his perplexity, agreed with him. He was gratified in that. The other elders looked merely bewildered, and Karag did not well hide his distress.
“Bai Stavros,” Hulagh said at last, interrupting a quiet consultation among the humans, “your . . . intrusion could be somewhat dangerous in terms of relations with the docha. However, with Alagn support, such an expedition might be authorized from here. The record of which you speak, I understand, extends farther than regul territory.”
The Faded Sun Trilogy Omnibus Page 40
