Dirge

by Alan Dean Foster

  Among known intelligences with enough strength to affect the balance, that left the AAnn and the thranx. The insectoids were not only amenable to the pronouncement, but had from the start been quietly supportive of the human attack on the Dominion.

  The AAnn were more difficult to factor. Following intense lobbying by human diplomats, they agreed not to send any of their vessels into the Pitarian system until the military impasse there had been resolved in favor of one side or the other. Their understanding was marked by repeated thranx warnings to the effect that if the Pitar should succeed in seriously degrading humankind’s military capability, it would not be past the AAnn to take advantage of the situation. In such an event, probing AAnn attacks on one or more human colonies could reasonably be anticipated.

  The world council and the general staff separately advised the distressed thranx that even in the event of an unanticipated catastrophic human defeat in battle, sufficient forces had been held in reserve to ensure the safety of Earth and every one of its colonies. The thranx accepted this reassurance with a certain aplomb, but remained privately watchful and troubled. It was wonderful to observe the passionate confidence displayed by the humans, but confidence had never been of much use against the AAnn.

  With every species that could possibly be impacted having been contacted and dealt with, the general staff formally announced the imposition of the blockade. Safe and assured on their twin homeworlds, the Pitar were neither impressed nor intimidated. Tens of thousands of individuals on hundreds of ships actively supported by the populations of multiple worlds maintained and strengthened the stalemate.

  It was not a static standoff. From time to time specially designated components of the blockading human fleet would attempt to penetrate the seemingly immutable Pitarian defenses. Each time, utilizing newly conceived tactics and weaponry, their crews would set off full of faith and in high spirits. Each time they would return, thwarted and dispirited. And there were those terrible times when some did not return at all.

  Wars of attrition are not always won by the besiegers, no matter how resourceful and resolved. Having nowhere to go, no hidden retreat, no refuge held in reserve, the Pitar fought with incredible tenacity and determination. Though their ships would hurl themselves entire, crew and all, into an enemy attacking pattern in order to disrupt it and preserve possession of a seemingly minor, insignificant asteroid, they would not commit a single vessel to an attack. Their philosophy of war was wholly defensive, to protect the twin homeworlds at all cost but not to otherwise directly challenge an invader.

  The members of the armada’s commanding general staff were rotated along with enlisted personnel and low-ranking civilian affiliates, but they were united in their frustration. As one admiral put it, the blockade was war conducted entirely under cover of night, where night covered nothing. There could be no surprise attacks launched on an alerted, technologically sophisticated species. Instrumentation that never slept saw to that. Mind could only do so much before it was necessary for machine to take over. For a soldier it was hard to sustain the energy and alertness demanded of a fight with an enemy one could not see. Even the enemy’s worlds were no more than another bright couple of points of light in the galactic sky.

  Yet no one thought of giving up. Treetrunk could not be forgotten. Even so, despite the comparative recentness of the outrage, it was already starting to fade a little in the minds of a small but growing segment of the population. The media strove to maintain interest, but a blockade is not like a series of dramatic encounters in space. The battle for control of stasis did not play as well on the evening tridee as an invasion.

  Something had to be done. Something had to happen to change the unacceptable status quo, and both military and civilian strategists realized that in that regard sooner would be better than later. By now more than a year had passed since the Wellington and the rest of the armada had entered the system of the Pitarian Dominion to the cheers and vengeful shouts of the majority of humankind. Almost that much time had passed since there had been any perceptible change in that status. In the interim, the cheers had given way to grudging acceptance of the blockade, and the vengeful shouts to orchestrated growlings of support. The military was aware of the threat of germinating discontent, but there was nothing more they could do than what they were already doing.

  Others, however, had different ideas.

  19

  “Why should we help them any more than we already have? Why should the hives, cruk!ck, get involved?”

  “Yes,” another member of the circle agreed. “There is no compelling reason for putting thranx lives at risk.” Leaning back, the speaker raised all four hands in order to gesture simultaneously. “These humans do not even like us!”

  “I can just see,” still a third sarcastically declared, “these humans risking their own lives to aid us if the situation were reversed. Put them in a tunnel with only us facing danger, and they will turn and run the other way.”

  When the dissenters had had their say, the Tri-Eint Debreljinav activated the pickup before her and was respectfully conceded queen’s dominance. Since the advent of hormonal extracts that had enabled any thranx female to lay fertile eggs, the lineage of hereditary queendom had vanished from thranx civilization. Subsequent to the enforced abdication of procreative royalty, many heraldic vestiges of those primitive times had assumed highly formalized places in thranx culture. One such was the rotating speaking position of queen’s dominance.

  No member of the Grand Council was more respected than Debreljinav. Not many were older; few were as perceptive. Chosen leader of both the hive Jin and the clan Av, she had advanced to the exalted position of eint at an unusually early age, retaining the post while acquiring honor and prestige over the years. Now she could rise no higher, being one of those the great mass hive of thranx had chosen to govern not only Hivehom but the colony worlds as well.

  “It is clear what benefits accrue to us if we remain neutral, like the Quillp. But what might we lose by doing so, and what more might we gain by becoming actively involved?”

  An eint seated among the opposition responded without hesitation. “We lose nothing because we have nothing to gain.” Sympathetic stridulation by those of like mind momentarily filled the room with the din of a hundred improperly tuned violas.

  “Nothing?” a supporter of intervention argued. “We have cordial relations with the humans. Aiding them in their war would, if not make formal allies of them, leave them in our debt. When the next serious confrontation with the AAnn arises—and make no mistake, it will arise—we will be able to call upon these tumultuous mammals for assistance. Just the ability to do that will give even the most belligerent among the emperor’s court pause.”

  “Who says the AAnn fear the humans?” a voice shouted from the other side. “What makes you think the scaled people factor the mammals into their equations?”

  “Because while the AAnn may be malicious and rapacious, they are not stupid.” This time it was supportive stridulations that rose in volume from the other side of the table.

  The racing noise receded as Debreljinav prefigured her speech with an appropriate gesture. “Do the humans truly hate us so much that they would even refuse our help?”

  A representative of one of the technical classifications rose. He was not an eint and was present, along with a number of others, because he possessed the ability to contribute special insight into specific aspects of the debate.

  “Only a small number of xenophobes and fanatics among the bipeds actually hate us. Among the rest there are many who openly enjoy our company and are not afraid to say so.” Compound eyes swept the attentive chamber. “The vast majority of humans belong to neither grouping. This mass remains unsure of us and our motives.”

  “Ingrates!” a leader of the opposition bellowed. There was discord until the Tri-Eint Sevrepesut could restore order and return dominance to the patient female standing off to his left.

  Intimidated, the specialist
waited for Debreljinav’s gesture of encouragement to respond to the interruptive expletive. “Humans have short memories but—”

  “Fine candidates for allies in time of trouble!” another representative of the skeptical shouted.

  “But they are capable of grand kindnesses and gratitude. I believe that those who advocate intercession are correct. In so doing we would gain valuable allies against the AAnn, and against any others who might one day threaten the great hive.” Whistles of derision and rising stridulation threatened to drown him out, but this time the specialist would not be denied.

  “The AAnn Empire is strong and growing more powerful by the day! If we will not aid the humans in their just fight against the Pitar to make them our allies, then we must aid them so that the AAnn cannot. Or is that a possibility that the distinguished eints prefer not to ponder?”

  The reaction from supporters of intervention as well as those of the opposition showed that it was a notion that had not been much discussed. Everyone hoped that in an ideal cosmos the humans would ally themselves with the thranx against the AAnn. Few cared to contemplate the consequences should the aggressive, militaristically accomplished mammals choose to take the side of the predacious reptilians instead.

  “The humans would never support the AAnn in a disagreement with us.” The eint who ventured this observation did not sound very convincing even to herself.

  “Why not?” a supporter of intervention countered. “One of your own has just pointed out how much they dislike us.”

  “We must make them like us.” Debreljinav’s declaration carried the full force and weight of her considerable personality. “We cannot afford it to be otherwise.”

  “It will not be any easy task.” The Eint Jouteszimfeq was anything but encouraging as he looked around the circle. “I have tried to study everything there is to be known about the humans. Individually they are sound, but their mass psychology is unstable. Small, insignificant things can induce vast swings in their collective consciousness. Worse, these critical effectives can in themselves be meaningless and unsupported. But by the time realization sets in, the damage has already been done.” His antennae parted to sense the greatest possible number of his fellow debaters.

  “We must move actively to prevent this from happening. Although it does not sound in and of itself especially scientific, making the humans ‘like’ us should be among our very first priorities. Simultaneously, we must endeavor to deal with those thranx who have difficulty tolerating the sight, sound, and presence of humans.”

  “Don’t you mean the smell?” someone who wished not to be identified interjected. General whistling followed, eventually to be suppressed by Debreljinav’s four-armed gesturing.

  “I myself am rather more concerned with the eventual disposition of human muscle than their scent.” Respectful quiet again filled the chamber. “If we cannot induce the humans to become our allies, then we must strive to make them our friends. Since we can do nothing about our shape and ancestry, which is what appears to constitute the principal basis of human dislike for us, we must find other ways of convincing them that we are worthy of their trust.” Antennae spread and at the ready, she gazed around the chamber. “As a tri-eint among you, I am open to suggestions.”

  There were almost as many positive suggestions as there were opposing views. Unlike in ancient times, those in the minority did not suffer to have assorted limbs amputated as a consequence of losing an argument. In place of jaws and teeth and primitive weapons, only sharp words were employed. In many instances, these cut deeply enough.

  Field Marshal MacCunn was conversing with Admiral Yirghiz when a comtech interrupted them. Yirghiz accepted the missive, perused it briefly, and then passed it on to MacCunn. The field marshal’s face featured the protuberant, bony brows of a very early Cro-Magnon. It saddled him with an unfortunate countenance that was the source of many jokes among those within his command. Having risen from the ranks himself, he was delighted to so painlessly be of service to his troops.

  “What’s this about an alien task force entering Pitarian space?”

  Yirghiz rose as general quarters sounded. “I haven’t a clue, Hamish—but I have a feeling we’re about to find out. I only hope that it’s neutral, or if not, that it isn’t materializing in response to a coordinated effort with the Pitar.”

  The bandy-legged MacCunn had to employ a longer stride to keep pace with the lanky admiral. “That would imply some sort of offensive gesture on the part of the Pitar, something totally out of character for them.”

  “I concur.” Yirghiz nodded sharply. “Which doesn’t mean we can afford to take the possibility lightly. Hence the automatic call to general quarters.”

  Long before the two senior officers reached the bridge at the center of the Tamerlane, the great warship and the rest of the blockading fleet on this side of the Dominion’s sun were on full battle alert, ready to extend a polite, formal welcome to the as yet unrecognized newcomers, or to blow them out of the firmament, as the occasion demanded.

  MacCunn took up his position alongside the admiral. Yirghiz was barking orders before his backside contacted the contoured command chair. “Incoming—identification!”

  Captain Coulis was ready with a response. “Not ours. Not Pitar.” A generally subdued murmur of relief sighed its way around the bridge at this announcement. “Thranx.”

  Both senior officers frowned. Their confusion had plenty of company among the rest of the bridge complement. “What are the bugs doing here?” MacCunn wondered aloud. “And with a task force, albeit a small one.” He glanced in the captain’s direction. “It is a small one?”

  Coulis was studying a fully dimensional tridee replete with brightly hued embedded analyses. “One dreadnought. Not Wellington-class, taking into account that thranx design differs from ours. Nothing else appears to be bigger than destroyer-class. No cruisers, no smaller escorting craft.”

  “Odd configuration.” Yirghiz frowned. “Too weak to participate in a serious fight, much more impressive than is required for a social call.” He raised his voice as he again addressed Coulis. “Hail them, Captain, and find out what they’re doing here. They’re aware of the quarantine. See if you can find out what they want.”

  “Initial intership communications protocol is already being delimited, sir,” the captain replied. At the moment her eyes were as busy as her fingers.

  Answer and explanation arrived simultaneously mere moments later. Coulis swiveled around in her seat to address the two senior officers. Her expression effectively communicated her confusion.

  “The vessels are indeed thranx, gentlemen. They are carrying a representative of the Grand Council of the Great Hive.” Her gaze traveled from one senior officer to the other. “It wants to come aboard.”

  This was not the sort of decision either of the two men had expected to have to make when they had arisen at the start of the current shift. Yirghiz responded while MacCunn eloquently said nothing.

  “This is your ship, Captain. Not being a strategic judgment, the decision whether or not to receive visitors is entirely yours.”

  “I’m a starship captain,” Coulis replied. “This is a matter for diplomats.”

  Now MacCunn spoke up. “Not when a vessel is on combat station. No, it’s your call, Captain.”

  Coulis rubbed at an uncooperative eyebrow. “No ship of the armada has seen any action for several weeks now. The next tactics are still in the process of being schematized. I see no reason to refuse such a request from a neutral power.” She smiled laconically. “If it’s secrets of military technology the thranx are after there are far easier ways to steal them.”

  “I’ve never met a thranx. Walked around tridee holos, but never encountered one in the flesh.” Yirghiz was curious. “Let’s see what they want here.”

  MacCunn grunted softly. “To try and ascertain who’s winning, I would imagine. If that’s the case, they’ll need to use their imaginations.”

  Both men and every
one else on the Tamerlane and within the armada who obtained a good look at the thranx craft were suitably impressed. The KK-drive type vessels were sleek and well fitted out, their design and construction bespeaking a technology as advanced as anything humankind could devise. Nor just because the alien dreadnought massed almost as much as the Wellington or the Tamerlane could it be assumed that it was the most powerful ship in the thranx arsenal.

  Insisting that any formalities be kept to a minimum, the insectoid emissary transferred to one of the flagship’s locks via a small shuttle. There was some confusion resulting in a delay in the visitor being welcomed when it was discovered that he had a personal escort, but the matter was quickly resolved without rancor. As Coulis pointed out, it was natural to expect so high ranking an individual of any species to be accompanied by attendants. It was explained by the thranx that the emissary’s two escorts were necessary to look after her health and not her security, and those on board the flagship could well believe it as soon as that worthy was helped from the shuttle’s lock.

  The thranx was very old. One of her ovipositors had been surgically removed, the consequence of a disease that was not mentioned. The other double-curled egg-laying appendage had lost so much of its natural spring that it lay nearly flat against her back. Instead of the familiar smooth blue-green, her exoskeleton was a rich, deep purple, the chitin worn rough and pebbly in places. The golden compound eyes did not shine as brightly as did those of her solicitous escorts, but the antennae were ever-moving and alert. The characteristically soft thranx voice was strong, spilling words and clicks and whistles without vacillation.