Dirge

by Alan Dean Foster

  “It was hidden,” Herringale explained. “And only recently recovered.”

  The Pitar shifted his position in the cradling chair. “I had been given to understand that your people had scoured the surface of Argus Five and continue to do so without finding anything remotely like what you have just forced me to watch.”

  “That is so. However, this recording was not found on Treetrunk. It lay buried and unnoticed on Treetrunk One, the smaller of that martyred world’s two moons. A refugee who fled during the invasion concealed it there. He is the same person who made the recording.”

  Ambassador Suin was repeatedly making the Pitarian gesture that signified negativity. “No one escaped the destruction. Your own people say so.” He shifted his legs preparatory to rising. “I do not like this game, and I have important work to supervise.”

  “Oh, please.” Herringale leaned forward sharply. “Humor me a moment longer. This really is very important.”

  Impatient and reluctant, the ambassador retained his seat. “I disagree, but very well. A few moments more, and then I really must go.”

  “Yes. Just a few moments. Does the name Alwyn Mallory mean anything to you?”

  The Pitar’s expression rippled. “No. Is this person attached to the diplomatic mission here?”

  “Hardly. He’s not even attached to the government. One of your people on the other side of the planet, a diplomatic attaché named Dmis, has met him.”

  “I do not know that name, either. I am not expected to know the names of everyone assigned to duty on your world, any more than you would be required to identify everyone working in the diplomatic arm of your government.”

  Herringale nodded. “Maybe you should contact and converse with Dmis. He met Mr. Mallory, so he knows that he is a real person. We also know that Mr. Mallory is a real person—an unusually independent and resourceful one. Among other things, Alwyn Mallory is an ex–starship engineer. As a hobby, he obtained and restored a ship’s lifeboat of antiquated design. It was adequate to convey him to the far side of the moon in question, together with a copy he had made of this remote media broadcast. To ensure its safety, he buried the recording on the moon. It has only recently been recovered.”

  “A very disturbing story.” Suin pressed outer edges of his hands together in the formal Pitarian manner. Like all his kind he was an extraordinarily handsome individual, tall and regal. Granted unlimited access to the skills of Earth’s finest cosmetic surgeons, Herringale knew he could never look half so imposing.

  “The recording has been authenticated. Among the methods employed to do this was the extensive excavation of the specific locales imaged in the tridee. Everything matches up, from the ruined buildings to the traces of blood found in the city of Weald’s central square.” He found that he was compelled to take a swallow of cold water. “I am told that such traces are extensive. Having viewed the recording several times previously, even as a nonexpert I can understand this.”

  “I am leaving now.” The ambassador moved to rise. Herringale rose with him. The Pitar towered over the soft-bodied, middle-aged diplomat.

  “We have many questions.” Herringale’s voice was as calm as when he had first greeted the alien. “Foremost among these is the desire to know the reason behind the careful evisceration of so many females and the concurrent careful preservation of their reproductive organs. I admit that I am personally interested. I have two daughters of approximately the same age as the young women who are shown in the recording being disemboweled while still alive.” Without realizing what he was doing, he reached out to pluck at the ambassador’s sleeve. “Please, won’t you explain? I’m really, really curious.”

  Suin stared down at him. “I intend to register a formal protest with my government. To waste my time with such nonsense is bad enough, but to subject me to additional slander borders on wanton malice.”

  “Go ahead and register,” Herringale told him. Something was rising within the career diplomat, and he fought hard to suppress it. Professional self-control was a major reason, after all, why he had been chosen for this morning’s work. “It is possible your complaint will arrive before my government’s formal declaration of war.”

  The ambassador finally showed some emotion, though it was as subdued as all such Pitarian reactions. “What kind of joke are you making? You can’t mean that your people would begin a war based on a single recording purportedly made by a lone human?”

  “The recording has been validated. Mr. Mallory’s reminiscences have been validated. The decision of the world council was unanimous. The colonies have been informed, and their respective individual councils wholeheartedly concur. In effect, the war has already begun. It will be interesting to observe the consequences. There are those pundits who insist that interstellar war is an oxymoron. We are about to find out.” Despite efforts to control himself, his tone darkened somewhat. “Your people are about to find out.”

  “Is there no stopping this travesty?”

  Herringale gazed up at the much taller alien. He found that he was not intimidated. “Beginning at six o’clock tonight, Greenwich mean time, the recording made by Mr. Mallory will be broadcast across the planet and on all the colonies. It will be flanked by detailed information explaining the nature of the recording and how it came to be. The program will be followed by the official announcement of mobilization. Reservists are already reporting to their positions and their ships. I have been asked to conclude this meeting, Ambassador Suin, by informing you that you and your entire staff are under arrest, and heretofore should regard yourselves as prisoners of war.” This time it was the sallow-faced human who smiled.

  “You cannot reciprocate, of course, since you have never allowed us to establish a formal mission on either of the Twin Worlds. In the light of what we now know, such puzzling decisions on your part strike us as ever more suspicious.”

  “Are there to be no ends to these insults?” Suin drew himself up to his full, impressive height. “By your own laws, my staff and I have diplomatic immunity.”

  “I’m sorry, but after viewing that recording there is little inclination among any of my people, be they members of the diplomatic corps or the local janitorial staff or the general populace, to grant any kind of immunity to any Pitar. In fact, I can honestly say that if the privilege were bestowed upon me, I would take great pleasure in cutting you into smaller and smaller pieces of raw meat right here in this room, even at the risk of permanently staining a very expensive and historically important floor covering.”

  Suin was striding toward the doorway. “I refuse to stand here and be subjected to continued insult and innuendo.”

  “You don’t have to,” Herringale called after him. “You can keep going and be subject to continued insult and innuendo later.”

  Herringale was not quite finished with the ambassador. Confronted beyond the doorway by a quartet of heavily armed and armored security personnel, the Pitar surprised them by drawing a weapon of unknown type from a hidden compartment within his left pants leg. It must have been a well-shielded compartment in order for the diplomat to have successfully blinded the security scanners that monitored all comings and goings to the inner chancellery. There was no need for a diplomat to carry a weapon, Herringale mused as he ducked down behind one of the chairs, unless the possessor had something to fear—or was particularly paranoid.

  They never found out in Suin’s case because, after wounding two of the guards, the Pitarian ambassador died in a blaze of gunfire as he attempted to flee the building. An offer to remand the remainder of his colleagues into protective custody was declined with disdain. Following the general broadcast of the Mallory record, as it came to be known, a mob stormed the building housing the Pitarian embassy in Zurich. Defending themselves, the Pitar killed several dozen people before the military could intervene. The aliens perished to the last.

  Similar confrontations took place wherever Pitar could be found, from the supposedly inviolate compound on Bali to more iso
lated urban facilities in Brisbane, Delhi, and Lala. Within twenty-four hours of the worldwide broadcast of the unexpurgated recording, not a Pitar was left alive on Earth.

  At the time, there were two Pitarian vessels in orbit. In attempting to flee, one was blown apart while the other managed to escape. It being impossible to track a ship in space-plus, the pursuing humans terminated the chase halfway between the moon and distant Mars.

  All the while, warships and supply vessels were in the process of assembling—not only in the vicinity of Earth, but around its far-flung colonies as well. From Proycon to Centaurus, from New Riviera to Mantis, ships and personnel gathered. There was no singing of patriotic songs, no mass rallies of fervid supporters. It was all business, serious business, and was organized and conducted accordingly.

  Some hoped that the Pitar would admit their crime and capitulate, following which suitable punishment and penalization could be decided upon. Others prayed that the aliens would resist. As the Twin Worlds of the Dominion did not lie that far from either the galactic plane or the expanding human sphere of influence, an answer to these questions was expected soon.

  Once they had been informed of Pitarian responsibility for the Treetrunk atrocity, outrage was general among every other civilized species. It did not translate into action, however. The quarrel was between humankind and Pitar, and it would be left to those two civilizations to settle the matter. The Quillp, the Unop-Patha, and everyone else expressed their regret and sorrow and then stood back to see which species would prevail. In this regard the AAnn proffered their condolences as fervently as anyone else, while quietly hoping that both powerful space-going races would permanently and severely incapacitate one another in the coming conflict.

  Among the thranx the reaction was one of subdued fury. Arising as they did from an ancient line that had succeeded partly by venerating a single egg-laying queen, they were especially sensitive to any violation of the reproductive system. What the Pitar had done to and with human females sent a ripple of rage through every hive. Even as the humans methodically assembled a vast force to attack the Twin Worlds, vexatious debate seethed among the thranx on how best to respond to the unimaginable barbarity.

  “It does not involve us.”

  Sprawled atop a convenient log, Wirmbatusek regarded the lake. It was a small body of water surrounded by dense tropical forest, a refuge high in the mountains of Lombok. Nearby, Asperveden was waltzing with a birdwing butterfly, letting it flutter from one truhand to another. Perhaps the huge, iridescent green ornithop recognized a distant alien cousin. More likely it just found the thranx’s chitinous digits a convenient place to rest.

  “Of course it involves us.”

  Raising a truhand, Asperveden examined the exquisite creature. Compound eye met compound eye. Beautiful, the attaché mused. What the butterfly felt was not recorded. Eventually it tired of the game and flew off, soaring up into the tall vine-draped hardwoods, a pair of thin emerald slabs throwing back the sun.

  Wirmbatusek turned his head and antennae in the direction of his friend and coworker. “Keeping a constant watch on the AAnn is enough to worry about. Why would the Grand Council choose to weaken our own defenses to support a massive effort to punish a race that has done nothing to us?”

  Exhibiting uncharacteristic daring, Asperveden walked forward until all four trulegs were in the water. Astonished at his own boldness, he stood and watched as the tepid, algae-stained green liquid swirled gently around his limbs. Where he was standing the lake was perhaps ten centimeters deep.

  Wirmbatusek’s antennae twitched nervously. “Are you insane? Get out of there! Suppose the soil is soft and you begin to sink? Don’t expect me to pull you out.”

  The slightly smaller thranx gestured for his companion to be calm. “Have no fear. The surface underfoot is firm and unyielding. These Pitar have violated every accepted norm of civilized behavior.”

  “No one disputes that.” Wirmbatusek watched a line of ants marching along the base of the log. To a single ant, the insectoid thranx might well have been a vision of God. “No one disagrees with the humans’ urge to seek revenge. We would doubtless react similarly, albeit less noisily, if the barbarity had been visited upon us. But it was not. What happened on Argus Five does not concern us.”

  “Why not? Because only mammals died? Because only human females were dishonored?”

  “It is too facile to say that we should help the humans.” Sliding off the log, Wirmbatusek settled himself on his trulegs. Using all four hands he daintily picked bits of bark and other debris from his gleaming blue-green exoskeleton and the thorax pouch that hung from his second major body segment. “First, they have not asked us, or any other species, for assistance. Next, it is not incumbent on the thranx to aid them because there is no treaty or agreement between our two races particularizing any such action. There are no reasons for us to become involved and many why we should keep our distance. For one thing, like so much else about them the martial capability of these Pitar is unknown. We could end up having allied ourselves with the losing side.” He flicked a fallen leaf from his abdomen.

  “I would not bet against the humans in a war.” Finally starting to grow uneasy at the feel of water lapping around his legs, Asperveden carefully backed out of the shallows.

  “Nor would I, but neither would I choose to gamble with the neutrality that preserves our civilization unscathed. War is not a lark, and gambling on it not entertainment.”

  One foot at a time, Asperveden shook water from his impermeable chitin. “The estimable Desvendapur would have much to say about this situation.”

  “No doubt, if he was living. I wish I could have seen him perform. To my knowledge none of his poetry dealt with war, despite the gravity of his clan and family history.” The larger thranx followed a pair of hornbills as they glided across the lake. “What makes you think the humans would accept our help even if it were to be offered? A great many of them despise us and cannot even stand to be in our presence. Those of us here and at the Amazon hive are isolated from such individual conflicts.”

  “I realize that our relations are still developing.” Feeling the first pangs of morning hunger, Asperveden began to remove food from his own pouch. “I am not naïve. Much work remains to be done to bring our two peoples together to the point where trust is accepted instead of debated, and genuine friendship is not an isolated occurrence.” Biting into a starch loaf with all four opposing jaws, he chewed reflectively. “This conflict would be a perfect opportunity to do just that.”

  Approaching his friend, Wirmbatusek waited to be offered food, withholding his own offering until the smaller thranx made the appropriate gesture. “More than strategic concerns are involved in this. As many thranx are suspicious of the humans as they are of us. It is hard enough to arrange for meetings, for cultural exchanges, for agreements on minor matters. An alliance that includes provisions for mutual defense lies far in the future.”

  “It need not require a formal association.” Asperveden executed the appropriate hand gestures, following which his friend responded in kind. They exchanged food. “The arrangement could be temporary, and understood as such by both sides. Assistance in time of and solely for the duration of conflict, superseding all current agreements, after which the previous status is resumed.”

  Wirmbatusek considered. “I am envisioning several fully armed hive warships emerging from space-plus at safe distance beyond the orbit of this world’s moon. I am envisioning the human reaction. I am not sanguine about what I am seeing.”

  “Hive ships need not enter this system. A mutual rendezvous point elsewhere could be agreed upon.” Asperveden refused to acknowledge the impossibility of his hypothetical proposal. “The humans would be grateful. It would advance our relationship and improve our mutual prospects immeasurably.”

  Swallowing, Wirmbatusek began to hunt in his pouch for the spiral-spouted drink bottle. “If we are victorious. If the Pitar should win, we would have acquired their
enmity for nothing.”

  “Not true,” Asperveden argued. “We would still have gained the gratitude of the humans.”

  “Would we?” Slipping the decorated drinking tube between his jaws, the larger worker began to sip sugary, nutritious liquid. “You ascribe to humans a quality of gratefulness I have yet to see demonstrated.” He passed the bottle over. “First I would like to see one invite me into its home without an expression of disgust on its face. Then I might consider rendering it some assistance. If we remain neutral we are detached in the eyes of Pitar and human alike. We risk nothing. That is what the Quillp, and the Unop-Patha, and even the AAnn are doing. Why should we do any differently?”

  Asperveden contemplated the tranquil lake, the intriguingly different indigenous wildlife, the warm, clear, morning air, and felt himself troubled. “I do not know. Perhaps because we are better than they?”

  Wirmbatusek chose to comment via a sequence of circumspect clicks. “Anything else?”

  “Nothing that could be construed as conclusive. Only that, unlike many who count themselves true progeny of the First Queen, I happen to like humans.”

  “So do I,” Wirmbatusek confessed freely. “But that does not mean I am ready to march out of the hive to sacrifice limb and life alongside them.”

  18

  The armada was unlike anything that humankind, or for that matter any of the other species that happened to dwell in that same portion of the Arm, had seen before. Less what was necessary to protect and defend Earth and its other colonies, every armed vessel propelled by a KK-drive was assigned a position and time to rendezvous on the outskirts of the Dominion. It was believed that the Pitar would meet them there, somewhere in the vicinity of their system’s twelfth and outermost world. It was also conceded that Pitarian vessels ranging far and wide would at least make an attempt to assault one or more of the human populated worlds, if only to divert attention from their own.