“Yes, Ms. Poparov, we are. What is your point?”
“That is my point. Are we qualified to do this job—to make these decisions?”
The Ambassador nodded politely while he considered her question. At last he looked across the table at her and responded in a quiet tone of voice.
“Whether we’re qualified or not is irrelevant. The responsibility is still ours. I grant you that none of us here sought out or even desired this responsibility; most of us thought we were merely signing on for diplomatic research; but the circumstances have changed dramatically in the past few days. So have our jobs. Now, we have only one decision to make. Are we going to accept the responsibility that’s been thrust upon us or shirk it? If we choose not to accept the responsibility, we must still accept the consequences of that choice.”
“I do not dispute that,” said Madja. “Idiot I am not. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics does not send fools to the front. I know that the choice must be made here, if for no other reason that there simply is not time to send back home for a decision. The issue I am raising, Mr. Ambassador is this one: how can we justify this discussion at all? How can we give any seriousness to these proposals? They are all unacceptable because of the context that acceptance of any of them would create.”
She paused, as if waiting for applause.
There was none.
Madja Poparov brushed her hair back off her forehead and continued. “The trouble with you capitalists is that you are too damned pragmatic. We are sitting here and calmly discussing a set of possibilities that reduce human beings to the status of draft animals—or worse!
“We are talking about selling our brothers and sisters—Our comrades in the human adventure!—into slavery as food or guinea pigs or hosts for parasitical life forms! And zoo animals, no less!
“The best of these offers that Mr. Kasahara has read to us is the one that at least gives us the dignity of a common farm laborer—and even that one is unacceptable because it says that human beings have not the wit to do anything more than follow someone else’s instructions. I say that we cannot consider seriously any course of action that would establish that human beings are anything less than a noble species. This is the real issue. We must let them know that we deserve nothing less than the highest respect! Or—” Madja looked grim and unhappy, “—we shall be condemning ourselves and our children to a future of slavery and despair for untold generations to come.”
This time there was applause.
But only from Yake.
He clapped loudly in the silence—and his applause was clearly intended as a sarcastic response to the melodramatic style of Madja’s presentation.
Everybody else just looked uncomfortable.
Madja glared down the table at Yake. “You think this is funny, Mr. Yake Singh Browne?”
“The situation, no. The speech, maybe.”
“You do not like what I said?”
Yake shrugged. “I question whether such speeches make much of a difference in the long run.”
“The difference is whether we live as a free people or as slaves! Is that not difference enough?”
Yake shrugged again. “I won’t argue the question. I do find it . . . amusing that the distinction should be coming from you, Ms. Poparov. That is, from a representative of the Soviet Union.”
Madja frowned at Yake.
Madja Poparov’s frown was a formidable expression.
Indeed, Madja Poparov’s frown had been known to wither a rose bush at thirty meters.
She now turned the full force of it on Yake Singh Browne, a smug, self-satisfied, hot-blooded young parasite of the imperialistic ruling class of the degenerate societies of the western hemisphere—
Yake returned her stare, nonplussed.
The Old Man cleared his throat then; he allowed himself a drink of water, then cleared his throat again. He looked down the table at the two of them. “Yake—did you want to address the issue here? Ms. Poparov raised the issue of contextual repositioning inherent in the offers . . .?”
Yake regretted having to tear his eyes away from Madja. Actually, she had very nice eyes. But—reluctantly, he turned to the head of the table and said, “Well, yes sir, I did—”
Everyone at the table turned to face him. Yake could understand their curiosity. He too wondered what he was about to say. “It seems to me that Madja here—pardon, I mean, Ms. Poparov—has raised a very critical point. Um. One that is worthy of considerable . . . uh, consideration.” Yake realized he was about to start sounding stupid. He caught himself and began again, “What I mean is—I think Madja is right.”
The Ambassador did not look pleased with that response. Clearly he had been hoping for a different sort of rebuttal.
Yake continued quickly, “If I were going to take the usual pragmatic view of the situation, I might say that we should choose the least unacceptable of these possibilities and make the best of a terrible situation. I could remind Ms. Poparov that we are a mammalian species and that as it has turned out in the grand scheme of things, mammalian intelligence is not a common occurrence, but only the occasional fluke of evolution that occurs when some disaster interrupts the natural trend to intelligence in reptilian and insect species. On our own world, a comet smacked into the planet 65 million years ago and the resulting nuclear winter killed off the dinosaurs. There’s a lot of evidence to suggest that Hadrosaurs were just reaching the threshold of sentience. Who knows what they could have become? But primitive mammalian species, like the Therapsids, evolved to fill the dinosaurs’ ecological niches way too quickly and the dinosaurs never got the chance to reestablish themselves. To most of the species in the InterChange, we’re the descendants of ecological interlopers—uh, we’re Darwinian carpetbaggers.
“The membership of this InterChange is proof enough of that: two thousand and seventeen species, and only twelve of them are identifiably mammalian in nature—the rest are reptilian or insectoid or otherwise unclassifiable.
“We may not like it,” Yake said, “but the evolutionary patterns have been documented and confirmed by our own computers. As life climbs toward intelligence, the reptilian and insect species have the advantage—and on most of the worlds, that’s who gets there first. The mammals never get a chance; we stay in our trees and our burrows while the thunder-lizards conquer the sky. We are tree shrews, we are rats, we are spider-monkeys with delusions of grandeur.” He looked to Madja Poparov regretfully, “It’s difficult for me to listen seriously to talk about ‘our comrades in the human adventure’ when all of the evidence suggests that at best, we are little more than accidents of evolution.”
Madja Poparov sniffed. She looked like she wanted to reply, but Yake cut her off with a raised finger—
“If talking snakes and slugs and spiders are shocking and offensive to us, then consider what we must look like to them. We are egg-suckers and parasites and disease-spreaders, standing up on our hind legs and demanding a place at their banquet table; and they—despite their own charter—are horrified by us. They are as horrified as we would be if spirochetes and crab lice demanded representation at the United Council.
“The politest comparison I could make—” and here Yake spread his own brown hands before him, “—and I apologize for saying it, but it is still true—is that mammals, human beings in particular, are the ‘niggers’ of the galaxy.” He bowed to the woman on his east and added with elaborate politeness, “Or perhaps if Ms. Poparov did not understand that, I could say that we are the Ukrainians here in this cosmic Politburo—only it’s even worse than that analogy suggests. There is no chance of respect for us here—and very likely, not even for what we can bring to the membership of this body, because this body is not prepared to see us or deal with us as equals.
“That is what I would say if I were going to be pragmatic.”
Yake hesitated for effect; he looked around the room, meeting all of their eyes deliberately—even the Ambassador’s. He held up one forefinger to note that h
e had one more point to make, the most significant point of all. “But if I were going to be truly pragmatic, I would look again at these choices before us and I would ask myself what problems will we be creating for ourselves if we accept any of these circumstances? What would be the consequences?
“The first thought that occurred to me was that we would be letting others determine the future of our species, not ourselves. It would be very difficult for human beings to maintain our sense of direction, our sense of responsibility under such disempowering circumstances—and for that reason, I was considering voicing my own objections. I say ‘considering’ because my arguments were based on the intangible considerations of how we might ‘feel’ about these options; and, I admit it, I was thinking that our feelings in the matter might be the kind of illogical factor which throws the whole equation off. While I was sitting here pondering that dilemma, Madja spoke up and I saw that she had gone straight to the beating heart of the matter.”
Yake looked to Madja now. “It really doesn’t matter what I feel, or what any of us feel about these offers. If we accept any of these options, we will be saying to the rest of the membership of the InterChange that we are not worthy of respect, because we too see ourselves as nothing better than food or guinea pigs or zoo animals. I never thought I would say this, but I think Madja is right. All of these options are unacceptable, because in the long run, they will damage us much more than they can possibly help us in the short term.”
Yake sat down again.
Madja Poparov looked surprised.
Madja Poparov looked very surprised.
Yake was very pleased with himself.
The Old Man himself was wearing a thoughtful expression. He did not look happy; but neither did he look angry. Merely . . . thoughtful.
At last he cleared his throat and said, “Thank you, Yake. You’ve raised several points that I think all of us need to keep in mind. Yes. The situation is a complex one. Um. What you and Ms. Poparov have pointed out is quite true. From a philosophical point of view, the solutions before us are indeed very difficult ones. Unfortunately, they’re the only solutions available to us. Hm. Let me suggest something here. Suppose you and Madja Poparov and—how about Anne Larson too? And Nori as well—constitute yourselves as an ad hoc committee to explore what, if any, acceptable alternatives may be available to us, while the regular staff continues to evaluate the options we’ve discussed today. Yes, I think that will work. All right. Any comments?” There were none.
Yake and Madja exchanged unhappy glances, but neither voiced an objection. Anne Larson looked stricken. Even Nori Kasahara looked unhappier than usual.
The Ambassador added then, “I’ve ordered the kitchen to stay open all night. Full meal service until two ayem, then sandwiches and coffee until breakfast. The staff secretaries are already letting your wives and husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends and others, know that you will be working late. We will reconvene at ten hundred hours tomorrow. Any questions? None? Good. Thank you all.”
Best of the Breed
As the great red sun rose into the sky, it turned the day into a bright pink bath of light. All across the valleys, the Fn-rr were turning their broad leaves to its warming rays. Soon, they would be walking again.
It was not a pleasant thought.
K!rikkl realized that too many of the Fn-rr had survived the dream-time. Despite the ever increasing ravages of the brain-eating vermin, most of the orchards on the southern continent had still come through the winter relatively unscathed by the parasites—and more than half of the new crop of Fn-rr had survived. This meant much more pressure on the Ki! very soon. There would be many more pavilions built, and that meant far fewer swarming grounds. Already, many Ki! lived their entire lives without ever having the opportunity to swarm.
It could be a bad time for the Ki! on this world, K!rikkl thought; it would be well to be allied with the Trrrl-t nest.
“You were considering something?” Hnaxx asked, coming up to join K!rikkl on the high branch.
“Ahh, just some idle musings about the possibilities for the future.”
“Yes, the view from here is quite lovely.” Hnaxx looked out over the valley. “The Fn-rr are such beautiful beings. It is too bad that they are ravaged so by these vermin. It is quite to our benefit—and theirs—that we can make such good use of the terrible grubs.”
“Quite,” agreed K!rikkl. “But it is too bad that they were even on this world in the first place.”
“Agreement on that as well,” nodded Hnaxx. “Let me ask you something. Don’t you find it odd that creatures as ugly and distasteful as these vermin can occupy so much of our attention?”
“Odd, no. Unfortunate, yes. It is a well-known fact that intelligent beings tend to focus too much on their own diseases and dysfunctions. It is one of the primary curses of sentience.”
“Ahh, you are a wit as well,” rattled Hnaxx gaily. “That is a skill that will be much appreciated at the table.” The older Ki! put a claw on K!rikkl’s forelimb. “But, let me be impatient now—as long as we are discussing such an unfortunate subject, let us carry it to its conclusion and be done with it once and for all. You were going to instruct me on the training of the grubs.”
“A pitiful discussion really. There is not that much to tell.”
“I am interested in it nonetheless.”
“The creatures are disappointingly simple,” said K!rikkl. “Really, they are not much good for anything. They taste too gamey to be good food and they are inefficient larval incubators; it takes too long for one to grow large enough to hold more than a few eggs. They die too easy during implantation and give off fearful stenches when they decompose.”
“Yes, that is well known to all of us, dear K!rikkl,” chided Hnaxx. “But you promised to tell us things we did not know.”
“Truly, my Lord. I just wanted to point out what a useless species these grubs may be, even for the most common purposes we use them for. Despite their prevalence on this world, they are really quite an affront to nature as we know it. The skin is too thin, it punctures too easily; the flesh is too warm, and too soft for good eating; they are not much more than warm bags of salt and ichor.” K!rikkl lowered its voice and added, “Indeed, there is even a theory among some breeders that a Ki! hatched in the body of one of these grubs has been insufficiently nourished during its larval stage and may perhaps be mentally deficient.”
“I was hatched in one of these grubs,” remarked Hnaxx dryly.
“Ah, well . . . then that theory is clearly disproven. I am truly glad to know that. I will stop the spread of this pernicious rumor wherever I hear it.”
“It is of no importance,” replied Hnaxx. “It is well known that the Trrrl-t Nest hatches all of its larva in specially selected grubs. That should be proof enough of the falsity of such malicious gossip.”
K!rikkl hesitated as it considered the portent of Hnaxx’s words. Had it stepped in something sticky here? Probably? Was the situation irreversibly damaged? Possibly. But perhaps not. K!rikkl hoped not. Indeed, K!rikkl could only proceed as if it had not committed an irretrievable offense. It polished its fore claws politely and continued, “The point is, my Lord, that despite all of the many purposes to which we put these animals, these creatures are overrated in their usefulness.”
Hnaxx nodded its agreement. “This is well known to many Ki! The grubs are vermin. Oh, they are occasionally useful as pack animals and you can see many of them on the road pulling lorries. I must admit that they are at least wonderful for the disposal of garbage, and the youngsters delight in riding them for sport; they are also quite suited for heavy labor and even for the simplest of routine chores—but aside from these few minimal purposes, it would be a blessing for all of us if they were to be exterminated completely. There are far more useful creatures available to us for all of these tasks, and certainly, the Fn-rr would have no objection to the extinction of a life form that has been known to prey on the Drecmers of Winter.”
“Certainly not.”
“Well, there you have it,” said Hnaxx. “That is why it was so clever of you to train one. They are so useless that no one would suspect.”
K!rikkl nodded in modest acceptance of the compliment. “I did nothing that could not have been done by any careful and persevering Ki!. I must confess though that these creatures can be quite tiresome. Training one is no task for a Ki! with an impatient disposition.”
“I can well imagine, dear K!rikkl—but please elucidate.”
K!rikkl barked a command to its grub; it came scuttling across the floor and sat up before him. “A simple command, do you see? I make a specific sound and it performs a simple action. It looks too easy, but I tell you that it truly takes a great deal of time and patience to train one, and one cannot depend that the training will take. Beyond a certain size, the males are too hard to control and the females think of nothing but rutting. The creatures have great hormonal difficulties. It is amazing to me that they survive at all. Do you know that the female can only bear one young at a time? It crawls out of the belly completely helpless and must be cared for completely while it grows toward usefulness. During much of this time, the female is useless for further breeding. I truly do not understand why these creatures are not already extinct.”
“Nor can I,” said Hnaxx blandly. “But, please, K!rikkl, tell me how you trained it?”
“Of course, my Lord. In principle it is quite easy. A simple system of reward and punishment. I tie a rope to its neck. I rattle, ‘Come,’ and pull the rope until it comes. Then I give it a tender root to chew. Soon it learns that if it wants a tender root it should come when I say, ‘Come.’ After that, the rest is details.”
“It is that simple?” Hnaxx seemed astonished.
“Truly. All of the training is based on the same principle. If I hold up the game marker for a Knrkt and make it touch its toes, very soon it learns to touch its toes whenever it sees a Knrkt marker. Later, I train it to wait until I rattle my mandibles in annoyance. Then it touches its toes if it has seen a Knrkt marker only on my command. The rest of you think I am only grumbling in disgust—the grub tells me what it has seen and you think it is a distasteful creature. Poor G!ligglix never had a chance.”
Chess With a Dragon Page 5
