“Thank you, Queen Mother,” said Raincloud.
“Bhera, please.” Bhera sipped from her cup. Long seconds passed; from outside the curtain came deep shouts of laughter, mingling with the tones of the musical bells. “Now my dear, I’d like you to tell me all you’ve discussed with my son. I want to make sure he didn’t miss any important point.”
This put Raincloud in an awkward position. At no time had Zheron or anyone else said a word about the Queen Mother’s role in negotiations. “The Imperator was thoroughly attentive, I’m certain.”
“Yes, but you and I know that men have little ways of ‘forgetfulness’ about certain kinds of important points—especially those regarding women. Did he ask you what we need to do to liberate our women? Well, did he?”
“The subject arose,” Raincloud said carefully. “We discussed the need for a democratic constitution.”
“A democracy!” Bhera exclaimed. “For those—that gaggle of geese?” she added, pointing in the direction the ladies had departed. “They wouldn’t know what to do with a democracy if you put one in their laps. Yes, democracy, eventually; but how to get there in one piece?” She tilted her head to one side. “You come from a free world, a frontier world not unlike our own. You are a free female. What do you think? What would be the most important first step we could take toward freedom?”
Just about any step would be an improvement, Raincloud thought. “Get rid of your masks,” she proposed. “That would be a big step forward.”
“Do you think so?” For a moment Bhera considered. Then she let her own mask fall to one side.
The face was that of the old “grandmother” Raincloud had seen in Tulle’s preserve. Of course, there was a human look in her, too, in the eyes, and the nose projected forward a bit. But she had at least as much Homo gorilla in her as Homo sapiens.
“I thought as much,” Bhera said, astutely reading Raincloud’s response. “You see, in our present condition, there are distinct advantages to the mask. A strong spirit may bear herself such that others forget her looks. Don’t think I’m the only one, either. Many a sim daughter escapes bondage behind the mask. My departed lord had curious taste in women—and the mask helped him indulge that taste.” She replaced the mask. “Ah well, it’s a puzzle. As the Fool used to say, we all must find our own liberation; no one can do it for us.” Then she pointed an accusing finger. “Besides, you Elysians aren’t quite so liberated yourselves. You experiment on unborn gorillas—and even sims! Isn’t it so?”
A sticky point, all right. “I’m not prepared to discuss that. You’ll have to ask the Subguardian—”
“Not prepared, indeed.” Bhera’s voice was thick with disgust.
“You must remember, Lady Bhera, that Elysians bear no children of their own. They depend on artificial reproduction, and the technology requires research for maintenance.”
“Elysians bear no children of their own,” she repeated, stressing every syllable. “Nor nurse them, I suppose.” She leaned her face closer, as if to get a better look at Raincloud. “You’re not just the only man among them—you’re their only woman, as well.”
While Raincloud digested this pronouncement, Bhera sat back again and seemed to remember something. “Of course, you’re not Elysian. Why are you here?”
For a moment Raincloud hesitated, tempted to tell her own reason. “It’s my job,” she answered safely. “I’m an interpreter.”
“Clearly,” Bhera replied. “But why yourself? Why a Bronze Skyan, not an Elysian, on such a delicate mission?”
“Knowledge of Urulan is rather scarce in the Fold,” Raincloud pointed out, “since your world’s been closed off. I had rare qualifications; I’m one of a handful of people in the Fold to have studied with an Urulite native.”
“Really. How did you manage that?”
She hesitated. What could it matter, years after his death? “He taught at Founders University. He was an émigré.” Actually, she realized, Bhera might appreciate the truth. “He was an escaped slave; a sim.”
Bhera shuddered and drew closer. “Who was he?” she demanded, her voice suddenly intense. “What was his name?”
“He had no clan; he was called simply Rhun.”
“Rhun! Not Rhun the Fool! It can’t be so.”
“Why yes, so he called himself,” said Raincloud wonderingly. “You knew him?”
“He taught my son.” Her son, the future Imperator. “Rhun was the Imperial Pedagogue; he supervised the teaching of all the Palace children. He took a special liking to Rhaghlan, and gave him extra lessons. He put in a good word for him with the Imperial father, who gave the boy extra guards and retainers. In the long run, I believe it saved his life.”
Raincloud’s head was spinning to take this all in. Old Rhun had tutored the Imperial children; and he never breathed a word, all those years.
“He called himself ‘Fool’ for safety, I believe, to let the lords think he was a harmless old scholar. But he knew what he was about. He escaped when Rhaghlan was twelve.” Bhera slowly shook her head. “All those years we never knew what became of him…But you. You say you studied with him.”
“I studied language and philosophy.”
“Where is he now?”
“He died of heart failure, three years ago.” Actually four, now. It still seemed like yesterday, the morning she had walked into his office and found him there, slumped over his desk. Beneath him lay The Web, open to the middle of Part Three. Raincloud was convinced he had done that on purpose, when the pains came on and he knew his time was near.
Bhera was silent for some minutes. “A great loss. But you studied with him, too,” she added reflectively. She glanced at the child, now asleep breathing noisily in Raincloud’s arms. “A pity you’re spoken for. You would have made a good second queen.”
The black-haired image of Rhaghlan came to mind, intelligent and virile. She thought, he would have made a good second consort.
WHEN RAINCLOUD AT LAST ARRIVED AT THE GUEST house, Verid and Lem were engaged in heated debate, under electronic protection. She hoped Urulite listening technique was as primitive as Verid supposed. “It can’t be,” Lem was saying. “They must be cloaked somehow. There can’t be no missiles at all.”
“I tell you, that’s it,” Verid insisted. “You can’t hide the gravity anomalies around white hole generators—there’s just no way.”
“No way that you know of,” Lem insisted. “The Valans might have the know-how. Maybe they sold it to the Urulites, back when they were friends.”
“Three centuries back? Be serious.”
Raincloud put in, “What about the radionuclear traces we detected?”
Lem gave her an impatient look. “Of course, Urulan does have short-range nuclear warheads. Those do plenty of damage locally. But if they haven’t got missiles able to jump the Fold—why they’re no strategic threat at all.”
“That’s just my point,” Verid emphasized. “Intentionally or not, the Valans have overstated their intelligence data.”
“And we believed it. What fools we’ve been.”
There was a short silence.
“It sounds like good news to me,” suggested Raincloud.
“The sim stuff is bad news,” said Lem. “If these Urulites really all turn out to be part sim—by Helix, how could this be?”
“It makes sense, when you think of it,” Verid explained. “You start out with a slave, a halfbreed perhaps. The most valuable slave offspring on the market would be those with more human character, probably sired by their master. After a couple of generations, they might pass for human—especially if they’re female, behind a mask all the time. The clever ones buy their freedom, or else they run off, and there you are.”
Lem shook his head. “We can’t possibly let them donate germ cells. Sim genes in our shons—what a scandal.”
Raincloud winced. “You’d better watch yourself.”
“She’s right,” said Verid coldly. “We all had better watch what we say�
��very carefully.”
Chapter 13
THE SUN ROSE THE NEXT MORNING, A DEEP YELLOW SUN. A broad sweep of cloud hovered below the Imperial City, while in the distance the tips of other needle rocks poked above the cloud like islands. One could see for many kilometers, the sky as clear as Shora’s, something Raincloud never quite got used to.
By midmorning Lord Dhesra had summoned them to the Palace for the real negotiations to start. They met in a conference room illuminated by two enormous chandeliers, in which a number of dead light fixtures had not been replaced. Raincloud wondered how Verid would manage without a holostage recessed in the table. The finely crafted wood showed years’ worth of dents and scratches. In the back corner, a section of the room was separated by a screen depicting scenes of the god Azhragh planting the people-seeds.
“This is our position,” began Rhaghlan. “We Urulites believe that our world was created at the center of the universe; that our Imperium was founded for the purpose of spreading the will of the gods throughout the inhabited worlds. On that basis, we are considering the request of your people to visit our realm and receive enlightenment.”
The Imperator spoke rapidly, in a harsh tone. Raincloud had to concentrate on her translating, but even so she could tell that his approach would offer Verid little comfort. Valedon had to give up all claim to several disputed jump stations, and Elysium had to forsake their alleged plan to terraform Urulan; the Fold must sign a universal agreement to ban all forms of genetic engineering; and a huge package of development aid must be granted right away, to enable Urulan to raise its living standard to a level comparable with the richer worlds of the Fold. He went on in this vein for more than two hours, interrupted only by occasional notes passed from behind the decorated screen.
By the time he concluded, the noonday sun was well overhead, bringing welcome warmth into the room. Raincloud was getting hoarse despite frequent sips of water. After all, the two leaders got to rest their voices in turn, but there was no respite for the interpreter.
Verid then launched into a rebuttal of the Imperator’s view. Somewhat to Raincloud’s surprise, she did not try to ease into the disagreements with the subtlety that generally characterized her Sharer conferences, but simply struck back directly, point by point. It was Urulan after all who had initiated contact, and whose society most needed help from outside. Valan border disputes must be negotiated directly, or with assistance from the Fold council. Any notions about terraforming a human-inhabited world were specious, forbidden by the Free Fold. Genetic engineering was a fact of modern life, the very standard of living to which Urulan aspired. In fact, Elysium would insist upon donation of germ cells for its gene bank. Finally, development aid would be contingent upon Urulite disarmament and initiation of democratic reform.
At that point, Verid started in on the Elysian list of demands: make reparations for the two Valan freighters, and other vessels pirated over the last century; cease genocidal repression of rebel provinces; return all prisoners and hostages; and allow the Free Fold Humane Commission to investigate charges of slavery, bestial cross-breeding, and abuse of women. It was basically Flors’s old line, reasonable enough in its own right, but well outside Urulan’s worldview. With such a tack from both sides, and only one more full day left, Raincloud could scarcely see how they would get anywhere.
Rhaghlan must have agreed, for he used the occasion of one of his notes from behind the screen to interrupt Verid’s line. “The roast lamb is getting cold,” he pointed out. “We’ll offend the Spirit of Mirhiah if we delay our dinner any longer.”
The sumptuous midafternoon meal was extremely welcome, although it left Raincloud feeling sleepy. She missed a phrase or two from Rhaghlan, which he corrected in perfect Elysian. Either the good dinner, or the chance to show off his education, seemed to put the Imperator in a better mood. “We must have your Prime Guardian to visit us soon,” he announced suddenly, as if it were a new idea. “Don’t you agree, Zheron?”
“An excellent plan, my lord,” Zheron replied. “Let’s issue a formal invitation right away. And let’s open diplomatic relations between our two worlds.”
These of course were the two main objectives of their mission. It occurred to Raincloud that the morning’s exchange was simply the verbal equivalent of her duel the previous day. Perhaps the Elysians could play this game after all.
“Let me explain something,” Rhaghlan added as they returned to the conference table. “The age of provincial warfare on Urulan is past. Of course, my Imperial father in his great wisdom had to take certain actions which caused pain among the people. What else could he do but apply the ultimate weapon to those inhuman creatures who plundered the cities and violated the women? But now the gods have made possible new ways. We have helped the provinces grow together.”
This statement was all the more remarkable, given that the Imperium had never officially admitted its use of nuclear warheads.
“Your approach is encouraging,” Verid admitted. “I hope it applies to more distant neighbors as well. Incidentally, where are all the long-range missiles you permitted us to count?”
At that Rhaghlan shrugged elaborately, and Zheron grinned. “What you have counted, we have,” Rhaghlan replied. “Isn’t that so, Grand Vizier?”
Zheron nodded. “When the Valans first accused us,” he told Verid, “I assured your previous Subguardian that we had no such capability. He refused to believe me. So then I thought, maybe it’s better to have missiles. Maybe then other worlds will take us more seriously.”
It was good news, all right, but the Elysians were not smiling. Who would look worse fools, after all, the Valans or they?
“On the whole,” Zheron added philosophically, “imaginary missiles may be preferable to real ones. Their maintenance costs less, and less honor is lost to give them up.”
RAINCLOUD RETURNED TO THE GUEST HOUSE TO FIND her baby fussing interminably. The diapers had run out and an octopod was sent back to the ship for more. But Iras took everything in stride. “You know, Zheron’s staff arranged for some prominent merchants to meet me,” she said. “I see remarkable opportunities. Those valleys are full of untapped resources, especially minerals.”
“Loans already? You know what happens to government loans,” Raincloud warned her.
“Oh, no; I’m talking small business loans. Start with the entrepreneurs, you know.”
The next morning, Zheron came to the guesthouse to draft a joint announcement of the Elysian visit, an invitation to their Prime, and a plan to resume relations. This session was all business, fine points of wording in two languages. Raincloud was completely in her element; she might almost have forgotten she was on Urulan instead of back in Founders City, drafting trade agreements.
Afterward Zheron was in high spirits, almost light-headed with elation. It was a great moment for him, Raincloud knew; after two centuries of isolation, to preside over the reopening of his world. He clapped Verid on the arm so hard she nearly fell over. “Now we’ll entertain you right!” he announced. “This afternoon, we tour the city. I will show you our most renowned antiquities.”
Raincloud could hardly resist this invitation to see the monuments she knew only from books, even though it was Blueskywind’s nap time. So she bundled up the child in her leather pouch, well fed and dry; she might last a couple of hours, with luck.
Verid and Lem had a quick conference about security. The octopods would keep them safe enough in daylight, they thought. As the Elysians left their guesthouse, Zheron’s soldiers fanned ahead to avoid trouble; Dhesra brought up the rear. The streets were full of traffic, mostly market people on foot or on llamas. The men wore coarse shirts and breeches with coats of llama skin, while the women wore their ubiquitous hooded robes of black or brown, their white masks bobbing before their faces. The women hurried to bargain for figs or fresh chickens from stalls giving off rich odors of spices and tea. Children gaped at the foreign Elysians with their eight-limbed escorts; the adults seemed more wary
of the soldiers.
Elsewhere, beggars leaned out of alleys, some of them with huge keloid scars that distorted their faces and arms. There were buildings boarded up and others burned-out, their charred rafters exposed and vacant. A sign posted hours of electricity for different sections of the city; it appeared that fuel was rationed. Urulan had no orbital solar generators to microwave power down to the planet.
The roads were not laid out straight, but seemed to spiral down and outward from the top of the needle rock where the Palace stood gleaming like an ever present moon. A sudden turn brought them to the foot of a delicate blue bridge that arched like a taut bow across a chasm in the needle rock.
Zheron flung out his arm, pointing across the bridge. “Look there—the oldest temple of Azhragh.” There stood a spiral turret several stories high. Raincloud’s heart pounded at the sight of it, the heart of so many legends.
They started up the bridge slowly, the soldiers ahead and behind. In the chasm below, a mountain stream rushed between sheer walls of rock, thundering over little waterfalls.
Iras held tightly to the rail, but she leaned over curiously for a better look. “There’s a lot of power in that water,” she told Raincloud. “What these folks need is a good hydroelectric project.”
Raincloud gave her a look of disgust. “You know what happens to water projects.” L’li had squandered billions of credits through waste and corruption in projects like the dam of the River of Babies.
“The Temple of Azhragh,” Zheron was repeating. “There dwells the Great Lord who carved out the universe in a single day.”
Iras looked up from the rail and regarded the temple thoughtfully. The rushing of water covered her voice. “Raincloud,” she asked quietly, “why do they believe in gods and such things? Their ancestors got here in spaceships.”
Elysians could be surprisingly naive. “The settlement of Urulan is ten times older than Elysium,” Raincloud reminded her. “When the first settlers arrived here, light-years away from Torr, they could have lost spaceflight in a generation. That’s all it takes for science to enter the realm of legend.” This answer would satisfy Iras. The real answer was that every world had its gods, and all of them created the universe. But Raincloud would never try to explain that to an Elysian.
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