“Oh so?” Swinging his recorder around the front room of the inn, he made sure to keep the extensive damage to the back wall in frame. “All right, I’ll guess. Maybe somebody was jealous about the amount of aid these people were receiving. Maybe they thought they could steal whatever was really valuable and save themselves some hard work. Maybe a grudge developed between this colony and another.”
“None of those makes any sense.” She was bent over the remains of a middle-aged couple who had died in each other’s arms. “Even if one of them did, or if several of them did, all of them taken together with another half dozen added don’t serve to rationalize the annihilation of six hundred thousand people. Humans don’t do this sort of thing.”
Derwent laughed curtly. “Read your prehistory.”
“All right,” she conceded, “they don’t do it anymore. We haven’t turned on ourselves to this extent since the conclusion of the Second Dark Ages.”
“Then aliens are responsible.”
“Nothing is certain yet,” she reminded him. “No conclusions have been drawn. It’s too soon, and the evidence is still being assembled. We won’t be the ones to render the final judgment anyway. You know that. It will be decided back on Earth.” She fell to murmuring into her recorder.
Derwent had already finished upstairs. Four guests had been staying at the inn at the time of the attack. Besides the proprietor’s family there was also a second couple who had worked for the owners. The number of deceased jibed with the records a search team had accessed in the nearest town, except for a Sithwa Pirivi, age twenty, whose body had not yet been located. That meant nothing, he knew. The young woman might have been elsewhere at the time of the attack, visiting friends, shopping in town, or simply out hiking, and would have been killed there instead of in the vicinity of the inn where she worked. It was going to take time to fill in the blanks in the record of Treetrunk’s exterminated population. People traveled, both for reasons of work and recreation, and did not always perish where they lived.
The chore of recording and evaluating the tens of thousands of decomposing dead was a distressing and difficult task. Not everyone adjusted as efficiently or pragmatically as the team of Derwent and Hudson. As time wore on many had to be relieved, some only long enough to recover their equilibrium, others permanently. Throughout the appalling work the teams and their support groups persevered. The number of identified dead rose from the tens of thousands into the hundreds of thousands.
And still there were no answers. Working alongside their conscripted civilian counterparts, practitioners of military forensics struggled with the available evidence in an increasingly frustrating and futile attempt to try and identify the perpetrators of the atrocity. The executioners had left nothing behind, not even footprints. If they had utilized weapons firing explosive projectiles they had gathered up every shell casing, intact or fragmentary, so its origin could not be identified.
One aspect of the attack the researchers felt confident in propounding: It had taken the colonists completely by surprise. How else to explain the utter absence in surviving records of any reference to the invasion? If someone had jotted a report or warning down on a piece of paper, or whispered frantically into a personal recorder, there was no record of it. It was as if the population had stood blithely by while whoever was responsible for their brutal demise had proceeded methodically with their gruesome work. The pathology teams were specifically instructed to look for any such surviving testimony.
“You’d think there’d be a note somewhere.” Having finished his work at the inn, Derwent was wandering through the reception area while Hudson tidied up the last of her responsibilities. “A sketch drawn by some poor terrified kid, or a description buried in a coded file.”
“There isn’t an intact file left on the planet subsequent to the day of the final encounter.” Hudson rose from where she had been crouching. “Not only were these people surprised by their attackers, they were surprised repeatedly. It’s crazy. But I agree with you. No matter how much of a shock this attack was to the populace, someone ought to have left a recoverable message somewhere.” She looked up at him out of her colorless implants. “It wouldn’t take much. A couple of words. ‘Humans did this’ would be enough to get started on. Or ‘Thranx here, killing everybody.’ Or ‘Unknown aliens have landed.’ Anything, anything at all.”
Derwent nodded as he lowered his instrument and started outside. “Anything’s better than nothing. And right now, nothing is what we got. I don’t suppose you’ve heard any different from any of the other teams?” As he strode toward the skimmer, their military escort reluctantly bestirred themselves.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t seem to matter if you’re working out in the country, like us, or downtown in one of the bigger communities. It’s the same everywhere. All dead, and nothing to implicate the possible killers.” She hazarded a thin smile. “Somebody’ll find something somewhere. You don’t slaughter six hundred thousand people without leaving a few clues behind. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Better be soon.” Climbing into the skimmer, Derwent settled himself into his seat. Their next stop was a small vegetable farm located six kilometers northwest of the inn. He had no doubt what they would find there. “I hear that back on Earth and the colonies people are raging at their local government ministers. That’s not surprising. They want a face to attach to this enemy.”
“Revenge may be a primitive emotion, but it’s one that’s likely to always be with us.” Given her smaller frame, it required more of an effort on Hudson’s part to board the vehicle. As the soldiers began to pile in and take up their positions she strapped herself in next to Derwent, making sure first that her precious recorder was secured. “I’d like to personally eviscerate a few of whoever’s responsible for this myself.”
As the skimmer whined to life and began to lift he looked at her in surprise. “Seriously? You never struck me as the violent type.”
She glanced over at him, her petite features not far from his own. The optiplants glittered like herkimer diamonds. “I never saw two hundred dead children all huddled together in one place before, either.”
Derwent remembered the school, and his teeth clenched. Everyone had their limits. Despite his outwardly stoic demeanor he wanted to find something to hold responsible as badly as did everyone else. He wanted something to kill. Sure, he was first and foremost a professional, and he prided himself on his professional detachment.
But when it came down to it, no matter how hard he tried to affect an air of indifference and aloofness, he was only human.
9
The outrage and anger felt by the rest of humankind at the awful butchery that had taken place on Treetrunk were shared by every known sentient species. Ships of the thranx, the Pitar, the Quillp, and others were instructed as well as warned to be on the lookout for any unfamiliar or infrequently encountered species that might have the technological capability to perpetrate planetary genocide on the scale it had been committed on Argus V. This request from Earth was readily, even eagerly, complied with. In addition, the thranx and the Pitar of their own accord sent out ships whose mission was specifically to search for the home of an as yet unidentified and unknown race of maniacal aliens.
Nor did humans neglect to investigate possible motivations that might have arisen from within their own tortured racial history. Like any colony, Treetrunk had been settled by a heterogeneous broth of folk of every ethnic, religious, and social background. Nevertheless, the possibility that some powerful group, either from Earth itself or one of its distant colonies, held a grudge against a significant component of Treetrunk’s population could not be and was not ex officio ruled out. In the absence of explanation, no prospect, no matter how outrageous, was automatically discounted. Every theory was investigated, every suggestion taken, every lead acted upon.
But despite the remorseless and dedicated perseverance of both humans and their alien allies alike, nearly a year passed without so
much as a single hint or clue emerging as to the identity of the perpetrators of the carnage. Human exploration and development of Earth’s recognized sphere of influence were slowed as xenophobia and fear on Earth and its existing colonies gained sway over those who favored continued expansion. Few people were anxious to settle on new worlds knowing that the butchers of Treetrunk’s six hundred thousand were still out there—unpunished, unidentified, and unknown—ready to annihilate the next rush of humans rash enough to try and settle themselves on yet another empty, inviting world.
On Earth and elsewhere recriminations raged among a distraught and frustrated populace. How could such a catastrophe have been allowed to happen? Who had been negligent? In the absence of answers blame was readily placed elsewhere. Many who were innocent of oversight or neglect became inevitable scapegoats. There was finger-pointing in the media and in private, there were riots and accusations, while lawsuits and calumny raged aplenty. The only thing there was a dearth of was answers.
Inevitably, gradually, the rotating military and forensic teams that were assigned to investigate Treetrunk completed their work. As one contingent after another was withdrawn, that hospitable world with its ringing waterfalls, racing streams, and globe-girdling forests was abandoned to its indigenous life-forms. No possibility had been overlooked, not even the remote chance that some advanced native civilization had managed to keep in hiding while their planet was settled, only to emerge one day to murder every unwary, unprepared settler. The highest form of life on Argus V was an arboreal saurian with sloe eyes and an accusative yip. Although it displayed some rudimentary tool-using behavior, it could not cope with the larger, dull-witted carnivores that preyed upon it, much less wipe out so much as a handful of well-armed humans.
Reldmuurtinjak was a member of one of several thranx teams that had offered their services to help try to resolve the appalling riddle. Together with specialists from the Pitar and Quillp worlds, they, along with their human counterparts, poured over and through the scant available evidence, finding very little light in the unwholesome darkness that now shrouded the planet.
If anything, the exceedingly organized thranx were more frustrated than their human colleagues. Such things simply did not happen in a part of the galaxy where sentience and civilization held sway. Yes, death and dissention and violent disagreement were still present, but they could always be explained if not justified. In the absence of reason, there were still reasons.
Reldmuurtinjak was working in the ruins of one of Weald’s few surviving administrative buildings when he looked up long enough to observe the tall human advancing toward him. He had never met a human being prior to being assigned to this grim duty. Scrutinizing the barren devastation for clues was difficult enough for him: He could only imagine what it must have been like for the first human crews forced to deal with thousands of corpses lying amidst the destruction.
Like the rest of his kind he had heard a lot about the humans. Visuals had helped to put to rest some of the more outrageous tales that had been told about them. They did not tower over thranx; they were simply tall. Most could not bend their bodies into rubbery knots; they were merely flexible. And despite their ridiculous tailless longitudinal axis, they did not fall over. At least, not very often. While excitable and edgy, they could also relax and be pleasant. Personally, he found this last open to dispute. During his sojourn on Treetrunk, the researcher had not seen very many of them relax.
The one who now approached looked uneasy but not nervous. His name was Lee, and Reldmuurtinjak had struck up a causal, casual relationship with him as their respective groups labored side by side in search of answers in the ruins of Argus V’s capital city. Unusually intense even for a human, he spent more time in the company of the thranx than did any other of his colleagues. Reldmuurtinjak wondered at this. He was soon to find out the reason why.
Lee peered down at where the thranx was working in a slight depression in the floor. The space had somehow survived the collapse of the upper two floors. Lying within the shallow bowl was an intact desk together with contents. Typically, none of the desk’s linking electronics had survived the devastation, but there were always hopes of finding notes, scribblings, jottings that might shed some light on what had happened. Using a translating scanner, Reldmuurtinjak was examining these now, neatly filing each sheet of treated synthesized cellulose into one of three piles.
“Any luck?” the pale-haired human inquired rhetorically.
Reldmuurtinjak replied as expected. “There is much surviving information. Unfortunately, none of it is relevant to our inquiry.”
Nodding to indicate that he understood, the human turned sideways and slip-slid cautiously down into the dimple in the stelacrete floor. “Your people are very good at this kind of work. You never seem to get tired, or bored.”
Reldmuurtinjak struggled to reply in his recently acquired Terranglo, even as the lanky human sought to address him in Low Thranx. Their conversation was a melange of both, an uncertain brew of slippery human vowels and fricative thranx clicks and whistles. The ungainly but evolving interspecies patois had unofficially been dubbed Symbospeech, and the name had stuck. As yet, the results were far from justifying even so semigrandiose an appellation. But with each encounter between the species, the shared vernacular grew.
“We are accustomed to slow, methodical work.” Reldmuurtinjak did not look up from his labor. It was not necessary, since there were few human gestures critical to interpret. Aural conversation conveyed the majority of their communication. “We are glad to help.”
“You know, some of my coworkers—not myself, understand—have wondered about that. Of all the other intelligent species, you and the Pitar were the first to volunteer your assistance.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable, but Reldmuurtinjak had not dealt with enough humans for long enough to be able to interpret the extravagant range of human facial expressions. “There’s been talk—I haven’t participated in it myself—that maybe, and I hope you won’t be offended by this, that maybe a rogue element of your people might have had something to do with this.”
It took a moment for the import of the human’s words to sink in and for the thranx to review it in his mind to make certain that he had not heard incorrectly.
“‘With this’?” Putting down the four tools he was handling simultaneously, he now turned face and antennae up to the human. “I believe I understand the implications of what you are saying. I just do not want to.”
Lee raised both hands in a gesture unfamiliar to Reldmuurtinjak. “Hey, it’s not me! I don’t give any credence to it for a moment.” To emphasize his stance on the matter he concluded with a fairly fluent double click from the back of his throat. “I just think you ought to know what’s being said about you. Not about you personally, understand. About some hypothetical thranx who might have had a hypothetical part in the real tragedy.”
Utilizing the by-now common human gesture, the researcher nodded deliberately. “There is tragedy in what you say, but it has nothing to do with what happened to this world.” He turned slowly back to his work.
The human started to edge a little closer and then, uncertain, held his ground. “I don’t believe a word of it, of course. I mean, it doesn’t make any sense. What would the thranx, any thranx, have to gain by participating in such a bloodbath? Not new lands to settle. Your kind get chilled in Earth’s tropical regions. You’d be uncomfortable here on a midsummer’s afternoon, like today. Most of the year you’d just freeze.”
“Quite true,” Reldmuurtinjak agreed, trying to bundle his own cold-climate attire more tightly around his thorax. “We have no use for this world.”
“And we’ve had contact with each other for more than half a century now, with no major conflicts or disputes. Just the usual ranting and raving from xenophobes on both sides.” He went silent.
As the human appeared to be awaiting a response, Reldmuurtinjak supplied the one he thought the biped might be waiting to hear. “Those thranx who ar
e suspicious of and wish no contact with your kind inveigh against it because they are frightened of your unpredictability.”
Lee frowned uncertainly. “Not our proclivity to violence?”
“No. Recognizing that aggressiveness is not an uncommon characteristic among sentient species, we are not unsettled to find it among your kind. Our ancestors fought one another as ruthlessly as did yours. And we have been dealing with the feints and depredations of the far more belligerent AAnn for more than two hundred and fifty of your years. But the actions of the AAnn are more or less predictable. Those of your kind are not.” Now he looked up from his work. “At least, the formula for mutual understanding is still in the developmental stage.”
Kneeling down alongside the insectoid, Lee was caught up in a pervasive scent of gardenia. “Look, I want to apologize for my friends. You have to understand that every human, here and on all our worlds, is intensely frustrated at our inability to identify the people or peoples who were responsible for the horror that happened here.”
Glistening compound eyes considered the flexible, enigmatic alien face. Reldmuurtinjak could not decipher what might be hidden there, but he did detect the concern in the mammal’s voice. “We are frustrated too, but it does not lead us to make groundless accusations.”
An embarrassed Lee looked away. “It’s a human thing. In the absence of someone to blame, blame anyone. I’m afraid that’s not going to change until we find out what happened here.”
“Then relations between us are likely to be poisoned for some time.” The thranx’s voice was soft as always, the tone cool and uninflected. “Because my people have found nothing any more conclusive here than have yours.”
This time they were silent in tandem for a while before Lee spoke again. “It does strike some of us as peculiar that among the known sentient species capable of rendering assistance only the AAnn have declined to send research teams here to help with the search for leads.”
Dirge Page 13
