“When I fed you that formula, the one that disabled the pleasure centers in your brain…that was the closest that your species could experience to rape, wasn’t it? Because when we were together, I did things to you that I never could to any human woman, things that would’ve gotten me convicted for sex felonies back on Earth ten times over. You never minded those, in fact you acted like you enjoyed them, yet the moment your pleasure centers went dead, you started to look at me like I was some kind of monster. Is that how much constant sexual stimulation means to you Phiddians?”
“Yes!” Fianni hissed, with fists clenched. “Does it matter to you how much you can ruin the lives of others through your schemes for personal betterment?”
“Thinking it over, I’d have to say…no. I mean, I do have an interest in case if I have to deal with more Phiddians later on, it’s good to know what makes your species tick and all. But in terms of you specifically Fianni, and what happens in your life…your only value to me is as an asset on this station. If, and only if, you serve me loyally, will I give you what you want. So take a good long look at this bomb, because it’s the only way you’ll ever feel ‘alive’ again.”
Anthony opened the briefcase on his desk. Inside was an ugly, misshapen, vaguely cylindrical thing with bits of metal jutting out and a softly flashing light on the bottom end. It was small enough for even the less muscular Phiddian to easily clutch in one hand.
“Be very careful with that bomb,” Anthony said. It’s filled with delicate censors and highly combustible chemicals, so you should only ever press one button on it: the small, yellow flashing light you see on the top. Once you press that, you’ll have about 10 minutes to get out of the blast zone. Don’t worry about the size, it’s small enough to slip unobtrusively into the great hall, and powerful enough to blow the hell out of the whole place and anyone who tries to approach to disarm it. You just peel off that patch and use the adhesive to put it right up against the Blynthian tubes. Don't even bother to try to conceal it. Much less effort than what you’ve already pulled off for me.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Why should I believe this is the last mission you have for me?”
“Because we may not have much time left before the conference ends. Something's afoot among the opposition that may give them an opening for peace instead of war. I've already set another operation in motion and all I need is a little interval to pull it off. Then it won't really matter what happens to the rest. This final task is the only thing I have left to plan within the amount of time I have left here. Speaking of that…don’t start overthinking things and trying to get any sort of personal revenge on anyone behind my back. That might over-complicate things to the point that we may not be able to cover up this operation any more. Then you might find yourself dead without ever tasting that sweet pleasure again in your life. I know you wouldn’t want that.”
“No,” Fianni said, barely able to control swelling rage and disgust, “I would not. But I don’t trust that this will be my last mission as long as you have any sort of leverage over me. When will I get the antidote, anyway? Give me a time and place now.”
“Six bells station time outside the Passion Gem Lounge. I'll give you the vial and you can take it inside to a private room and use it.” Anthony smirked and added, “You are learning things about us humans, aren’t you? You’ve already got it down that you should never quite trust us. Anything else?”
“Nothing that I’d like to say aloud. Nothing that I’d say if I wasn’t worried about further punishment from you.” Or betrayal, curse it! If I could I would stick to you like glue until I get that vial. Oh, how I wish the other four were still available now to tail him.
“Damn straight. Be sure to keep it that way if you want even the faint hope of me restoring you to what you used to be.”
Fianni could only focus the rage inward, as the mind stewed in hatred of all the enemies on the station. Anthony…Ayan’we…that other robot, Torghh…and especially, Entara, the blasted diplomat who was so important in orchestrating the talks. How could there be any satisfaction in this situation, unable to feel sexual pleasure indefinitely, suffering at the whims of a hated man? A certain sadistic, violent corner of the Phiddian's mind had steadily taken control since Anthony’s tampering. It began to focus on Entara, and a plan that could not only ruin the conference, but perhaps undermine Anthony’s position as well. How could Anthony possibly keep this operation secret if Entara were to be assassinated? Finally some personal leverage, a measure of control. No, not yet. First the bomb, then the antidote, then the revenge. I want it all.
At last the moment agreed upon for Trevor's meeting with the Song Pai had arrived. Entara made a little nod to each of the members of the cephalopod delegation and began, “I have asked this audience to present to you the human Trevor, who has information so important to these proceedings that it cannot be postponed.”
The chief delegate eyed Trevor. “We recognize this human. He has sojourned on Song Pa. Though he is not indentured, we have tolerated him for two reasons. First, he seems relatively unafraid of death. Also, he has provided us with useful information on other humans. But he is useless to us now.”
Entara responded immediately, “I hope to show that he is useful, now more than ever. In fact, what he knows is so connected to our mission at this Varess conference that the knowledge cannot wait.”
“How can he help us with this upcoming war? This human, we know, does not believe in war. His people are scratchers of the soil, nourishers of leafy things, cleaners of beasts. Of strategies, he is ignorant. He will never feel the battle lust. He has no slashing claw, no wish to bathe in blood.” The delegate turned directly to Trevor and advanced until he was nearly touching him. “What do you dare to tell us, human, of how we should fight, when we have chased your braver individuals from more than one system?”
“What I have to say,” Trevor calmly replied, “concerns things that all may not hear. I will talk of the Carrion Age, and the Time Before Tides.”
An agitation stirred in the Song Pai delegation, a waving of tentacles, exchanges of worried looks. The chief delegate blinked each of his eyes in sequence, turned off his translator, and addressed his followers in what to Forlani and human ears were merely strings of bubbles and castanet-like clicks of the beak.
This ground-scratcher will speak of things that none but the Many-scarred are normally permitted to hear. On Song Pa, none of you could attend. Remember, though, that the rules of our mission require changes for expediency. So it will be the duty of some unworthies to behave far beyond their station. This is my command. No discussion. I will require two witnesses, Mmm and Yii. And three recorders, Polp, Vrr, and Kl. All else depart. It will be too essential to be left to the memory of any one person who could be targeted. If any of us dies, the others must pass on the information to authorities. All who survive will appear before the Many-scarred. Now swear by the Flow of Generation.
The five who had remained behind when the others left repeated in chorus what the chief delegate had sworn. They tried to appear resolute, in attention at attack stance, but somewhere inside they all quivered with anxiety. All Song Pai lived in awe of the Many-scarred, those who had flung themselves time and again into horrible onslaughts but had by some miracle always survived and bore the marks to show it. They could only be selected by others of their kind. Once they were, they enjoyed a perpetual privilege of spawning as long as they wished, but otherwise they withdrew from everyday life. They lurked together in dark places at the bottom of reefs where no one was permitted to join them. Sometimes a group would go up on the land to taboo places and everyone gave them a wide berth of privacy. They alone were the repositories of secrets, beyond any responsibility but that which they created themselves. The witnesses and recorders were poised and ready. The chief delegate switched his translator back on and spoke first to Entara.
“You realize what this request means?”
“Of course. I am the guarantor of this earthli
ng’s speech. I will feel your claw if he speaks wrongly.”
“Now,” said the delegate to Trevor, “say what you have to say.”
“I have studied and gathered data in many places on Song Pa and on other worlds, some of which you have never visited. You know that my research concerns the idea of the Spiritual Substrate.”
“Yes,” responded the delegate impatiently, “but you should have learned that those theories are of no interest to us.”
“True,” said Trevor, “but those inquiries brought to my attention the Ancient Ones, the Groundlings of Song Pa and their fascination with angelic beings.”
The delegate gave a bob of recognition, as Trevor went on, “I must explain for Entara’s understanding, since her life is forfeit to my testimony, that these angelic beings are supposed to be completely immaterial creatures, spiritual entities unbound by physical laws of the universe, half-gods, if you will – not omnipotent, but apparently unlimited in the use of the powers they do possess.”
“Incredible as is seems, I take your knowledge for true,” Entara murmured, uncomfortable as any Forlani with concepts that delve beyond the physical world.
The delegate asked Trevor, “What do you know of the Ancient Groundlings, those awkward ones who tottered on their land limbs?”
“Those Ancient Ones left your ancestors alone in the seas. They cared little for the salty waters, which irritated their bodies. They ate only plants and cared nothing for those that grew in the oceans. Once they had learned to get from one land mass to another through the air, they abandoned the depths to your kind and the other sea creatures, looking only upward. They were clever, those Groundlings, and very united in purpose. It took them little time to soar above the surface of Song Pa and visit the other planets of your system, then systems beyond.”
The cephalopod leader concurred, “Clever they were, and united in purpose, but their thinking was also fickle and senseless. Their purpose in the Path of Generation was to leave things behind for us to employ more skillfully in the quest for honor.”
“Yes, for I have discovered that their united purpose turned to a goal your species has never aimed at – they wanted to transcend material to become angelic beings.”
The word caused a stir among the Song Pai, who twitched their tentacles in a way Entara had never seen before. Intuition told her it was an unfamiliar sense of awe the cephalopods normally concealed from others and also from each other. Trevor had crossed over into the realm of the sacred that was dangerous territory.
The human went on. “Many learned people on other worlds, who have made it their business to know you, have discovered something of the history of the Ancient Groundlings and their search for transcendent perfection. They know you judge this to be a grave error, not only in practical terms, but in spiritual ones, as well.”
“True.”
“The learned people also found out that the Song Pai consider this error to be due not only to the Groundlings themselves, but to the influence of others they encountered in space. Others who encouraged and misled the Groundlings out of jealousy and hatred. That these evil others were the Blynthians.”
“We have never conversed of this openly beyond our seas.”
“I realize that. And what I have to reveal to you is that for all this time, you have been wrong.”
Tentacles waved and an uproar broke out, until the Head Delegate clashed his own claw hooks together with such a smack that it quieted the Song Pai.
The Delegate spoke now with added gravity and menace. “From this point on, human, if you speak without truth or proof, your life is forfeit. Do you realize this?”
“Respectfully, I do. I assure you that I am just as prepared to die as you are.”
The Song Pai changed color and Entara inferred this was a move from outright hostility to guarded admiration. Fearlessness could never be entirely negative to them.
“What is an angelic being, Delegate? It is more than a creature of goodness, a creature of innocence, a creature with regard for the sacred, even a creature accomplishing the divine mission of providing for the advancement and generation of the species. It is a creature that has reached beyond all that is material, all that is physical, one that has passed into an existence that is purely spiritual, without the need for all the machines and technologies that were their legacy for you. Do you not admit, Wise One, that the Groundlings sought to dematerialize themselves completely? That they sought to leave their bodies behind to achieve an immortal and ethereal existence? One that would never end?”
Slushy murmurs once again spread among the cephalopods. The Head Delegate reassured and quieted them with a swerving movement of his body. “You have indeed gone far in discovering that which is only entrusted to the most experienced, the most worthy in our seas. So why do you blaspheme by saying we are wrong to blame the treachery of the Blynthians? For they must have known that the transcendence sought by the Groundlings could only be temporary and illusory.”
“Yes, Wise One. Truly the Groundlings found a way, through their cleverness, to project their intelligence away from their bodies, leaving them in dormancy. It involved altering their genes and abandoning the path of generation. They were willing to make that sacrifice in their quest to become immortal. How they must have reveled in their new consciousness, free from any material! When they extended this wonderful privilege to everyone on the planet, it must have felt like paradise, and they must have exalted for a time. Too long. Because they were shocked to find out it was one thing to leave physical existence and another to come back. Because organic intelligence ultimately must be reconnected with the organic body or it will dissipate and dissolve. How they must have suffered in those final instants as they sought to return to the physical, before their intelligence winked out of existence, leaving barely a trace. Nothing was left but a race of cadavers, carrion to the scavengers of Song Pa.”
“And how much the perfidious Blynthians must have rejoiced to see their rivals destroyed,” loudly added the Delegate. “How their unholy laughter must have filled the cosmos.”
“Only lamentations, Delegate. For what you do not know yet is that the Blynthians actually did speak to the Groundlings about transcendence, but it was to warn them, rather than to encourage them.”
“What! Heed what lies you tell, human, for they will be your last.” Already the Delegate was brandishing his own claw hooks to strike.
“You mentioned truth and proof.”
Trevor's objection stopped the tentacles in mid-motion. “How can you prove such a wild suggestion?”
“As I said before, Wise One, learned scholars on other worlds knew of what was transpiring even as it happened. In my pilgrimage, I have found recorded testimony in four places, and one of them is on Song Pa itself, so you can easily check it. The other three are on worlds where archive keepers are prepared right now to attest to what I state. I will give you their coordinates and you can verify it yourself. You will see that the revelations of forgotten documents will at last allow you to be able to fully comprehend inscriptions on Song Pa that your elders have long debated.”
There was a reverent pause among the Song Pai as the message sank in. “This could change everything,” the Delegate slowly admitted.
“The evil ones you sought to punish in just warfare have become the would-be benefactors of your Ancient Ones. If only the Groundlings has listened. I am sure your race will not repeat their mistakes.”
The Delegate turned to Entara and said, “Honorable ally, please lead the courageous human to a safe and hospitable place. We people of the sea have much to discuss and investigate.
8
A yan'we had been dozing and dreaming of eating Earth fruit with her friend Amanda Pedersen-Klein when her multi-sensorial alarm activated, buzzing, vibrating, flashing a strobe, and emitting an acrid odor, so that a Forlani could not avoid being roused immediately by a multiple assault indicating danger. She hopped up and saw that the location indicator showed the great con
ference hall. She motioned to Leli and Pulanate, who had approached when they heard and smelled her warning, to follow her and the three of them sped down the corridors of the station. When they reached the hall, they saw that other security forces had begun to assemble: some Blastöo, Ramatoulaye and a few Phiddians, a Thil. They clustered around a team of Robotic Guild guardians who seemed to be in charge of the scene. Ayan'we spotted at once the cause for concern – a layer of some suspicious substance had been applied around the base of the Blynthian tubes and various unfamiliar devices that were stuck into it.
The Guild commander KC moved over to her. “I have just been explaining that an explosive mining material, Uk-12, has been used to make a bomb at the base of the tubes. We discovered it during a patrol a short while ago and found no other bombs in the hall.”
“And those things are detonators, I suppose?” queried Ayan'we, pointing at the objects protruding from the gooey Uk-12.
Ramatoulaye stepped up and answered before the robot could. “I recognize them. Unfortunately. They are an advanced model just put into service in our military.”
Ayan'we was puzzled. “Haven't you taken steps to disarm the devices?”
Ramatoulaye shook her head. “Impossible. This monstrosity contains secondary anti-personnel measures that will kill anything that approaches, organic or mechanical.”
It figured. The Phiddians were heldby other species to be miserable soldiers, but perhaps because of that, they excelled at designing all manner of traps that could remotely destroy the enemies they were unable to defeat in person.
“That was our conclusion, too,” added KC. “My guardians have cordoned off the area scanned by the detonators and it covers that half of the hall. We have no experience with this technology and are communicating with Guild bases to get ideas about how to approach and disarm. Frankly, we have no answers yet.” “It all seems overly contrived and elaborate,” mused Ayan'we. “Why not just blow up the tubes before leaving?”
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