by James White
“Dr. Prilicla,” the captain broke in. “The sector marshal rejects your suggestion and orders an immediate return of the medical team and casualties to Rhabwar. We can warn the Crextic to move clear before taking off, and hope they heed the warning. I’m sorry, Doctor. Start evacuating your casualties at once.”
“Friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla, “please ask the…” At that point one of his Educator tape donors, a straight-talking Kelgian, slipped suddenly to the forefront of his mind and he ended, “We’ve begun to make good progress here, so tell Sector Marshal Dermod to stay the hell out of my fur!”
“… You’ve said that your home world is poisoned and dying and that there aren’t many Trolanni left on it,” Irisik was saying. “Here there are many islands, particularly those close to the polar continents where high seas and treacherous currents make them dangerous for plant and animal cultivation but which you, with your greater knowledge and machines, could use. So why go to another and perhaps less suitable world when you would be welcomed here?
“You bear a closer physical resemblance to the Crextic than these others,” it went on, “so that even the most intellectually timid among us would have no difficulty in accepting you as strange but helpful neighbors. You Trolanni would be too few in numbers to threaten us and your knowledge is too valuable for us to waste it by hurting you.…”
“That,” said one of the Terragar casualties, using one of its obscure Earth-human sayings, “would be like killing the geese that lay golden eggs.”
Prilicla was well pleased at the way things were going, but it was a time to be tough and, to use another Earth-human expression, tell the Crextic a few home truths.
“… If you have an ethical problem with this,” Irisik continued, “as we would have if the positions were reversed, think of it as paying ground rent, or a simple exchange of knowledge for a peaceful and pleasant living space. In time we would learn fully to understand and trust each other, and in more time you could show us how to harvest the metals that you have said lie deep beneath our surface, and work them into machines which will enable the Crextic one day, as these others do, to walk the web between the stars.…”
“Doctor!” the captain’s voice broke in urgently. “Look at your ward repeater screen. All the Crextic vessels are launching their gliders and ground forces. Get your med team and casualties back to to Rhabwar. Now, Doctor.”
Prilicla looked at the repeater screen which showed spiders pouring out of the nearer ships and forming up on the beach while their gliders were moving in thermal-seeking circles above the hot sand as they strove for height. He felt sure, but not very sure, that the Crextic would wait until more force arrived and that an attack wasn’t imminent.
“Friend Fletcher,” he said, “if you’ve been listening you’ll know that we are making good progress…”
“Not to all of it,” the captain broke in. “We’re too busy here readying the ship for a hot blastoff. But everything said was and is being relayed to Vespasian. We’ve no time to retrieve the buildings and nonportable equipment, so just get your people out of there.”
“… and it would be a major crime to throw it away,” Prilicla continued, as if the other had not spoken. “Neither, I feel sure, would it favorably impress our Trolanni friends if we were to burn all the nearby Crextic ships and many hundreds of sailors just to save the lives of a few patients and medical staff.”
“So we are to be killed—” Irisik began, its anger and disappointment outweighing its personal fear. “You lied to us.”
“… You will now have realized, friend Fletcher, that the ward translator is on and our conversation is open,” he said, then continued briskly. “Naydrad, use the robots to help you move the Trolanni and Earth-human casualties to Rhabwar. Please link my translator to the ship’s external speaker system. The Crextic patients and I are going out and will try to talk some sense into their Krititkukik. Murchison, Danalta, set the other Crextic litters and restraints for remote control and quick release on my command, then assist Naydrad with the other patient transfers.”
“No, sir,” said Murchison, radiating feelings that were a strange combination of affection, respect, and downright mutiny. It glanced towards the shape-changer who twitched its upper body in assent, and added, “We are staying with you.”
“As will I,” said Keet.
He knew from the intensity of their emotional radiation that he could not make them change their minds. There were occasions, he thought gratefully, when insubordination had its place. It was obvious that the captain thought otherwise and was voicing its feelings without the usual verbal niceties.
“Are you losing your mind entirely, Doctor?” it said angrily. “And have you no control at all over your medical staff? Explain our situation to your spider patients, urge them to pass it on to their friends, and tell them that they will all die if they don’t move away fast. And don’t dare go outside. The meteorite shield has been withdrawn to support the launch system.…”
Prilicla turned down the volume on his headset and addressed the Crextics.
“We have no intention of eating or harming any of you,” he said while the irate voice of the captain muttered in the background, “and you have a choice. You are free to go with the other casualties to the safety of our ship. Or leave here now with me, to rejoin your friends and help me convince them that I am telling the truth. If we can’t do that, then we and many hundreds of them will be burned to death.
“The next attack is about to begin so there isn’t much time to stop it,” he went on as he took control of the spider pilot’s litter. “I am asking for an immediate meeting with your Krititkukik and will explain the situation to you as we move outside.…”
Although the preparations for the attack were continuing, the Krititkukik came out to meet them without hesitation. It was a responsible commander, Irisik insisted, who preferred to win a battle with the minimum possible butcher’s bill. But it was still at a distance when the pathologist drew his attention to a difference in its appearance. A tubular collar into which variously-colored twigs and vegetation had been woven was encircling its long, thin neck.
“It wasn’t wearing that when I met it on its ship,” said Murchison. “Is it an insignia of rank?”
“No,” said Irisik.
The spider’s emotional radiation was far from unpleasant but it was so intense, poignant, and deeply personal that it made Prilicla waver in flight. Similar feelings were reaching him from the approaching Krititkukik. Considering the intimate nature of those feelings, he did not expect Irisik to elaborate, but it did.
“It is the Collar of First Mating,” it said through a surge of emotion, “worn by the male as self-protection and as a compliment to his partner’s sexual ardor which could and might be aroused to the point where the female loses control and bites off her mate’s head. There have been no cases reported for many centuries, and now it is worn only twice. On the night of first mating as a promise of the life of loving to come, and when the life of one aged partner or the other is about to end in gratitude for the life and loving that has gone before.”
The effect of its words on the females Murchison and Keet, and on the male subject of the discussion, Krititkukik, forced Prilicla to drop to the sand before he was forced to make an undignified crash-landing. Again, as he had done in the ward, he allowed Irisik and Keet, with a little help from the recuperating glider pilot and the other two Crextic casualties, to make the conversation run while he monitored the emotional radiation of all concerned.
The Krititkukik was a highly intelligent being whose credence was not won easily, but when it was an equally intelligent and much-loved life-mate who was leading the attack on the basis of all its hard-held beliefs, the battle, although lengthy, was lost from the start.
Finally it said, “Suppose I believe you, Irisik, which is what I would like to do; the sailors of the other Krititkukikii assembled on and around this island may not. They want to kill the strangers, no matte
r what the cost, to keep more of them from coming and eating our people.…”
“You saw what happened to me when I crashed into their invisible shield,” the glider pilot broke in. “They don’t eat people, they make them well again. Look at what they did for me.”
“We made the same mistake at first,” Keet joined in, “when the strangers tried to help rescue us from our wrecked ship. But they healed my life-mate, who was in a much worse condition than your glider pilot, and now both of them will live. And we certainly don’t want to eat spiders. Irisik has invited the few of my species who are left to join you on your beautiful, unspoiled world, and in return we will teach you, in the years or the centuries to come, how to leave it and walk the star web that connects it to the other worlds, in peace and prosperity.…”
“Yes, yes,” said the Krititkukik, its level of resistance dropping but not quite to zero. “Irisik and you and the tall, soft, lumpy one who escaped from my ship have already told me all of this, many times. But it is like a story told to please young children, full of good things that are not real. And like children you have tried to frighten us with threats of a great fire when your ship lifts into the sky if we do not behave. Why should we believe you? You have helped a few of my people, including my life-mate, and promised great things for the future, and threatened much death and devastation now when your great ship with its invisible shields rises into the sky, but the strangers face no punishment for not telling us the truth and risk nothing and…”
“We risk our lives,” said Prilicla, breaking in gently. He indicated the disturbance in the sand that had shown the surface limits of the meteorite shield and went on, “We no longer have protection. You can kill us now and we could do nothing to stop you. But if you don’t call off your attack we will be burned to death with all of your people on this beach. Think about that, Krititkukik, and about the reasons we have given you for this risk we are taking, and believe what we say.”
Prilicla could feel the other’s growing uncertainty, but there was no indication of immediate hostile action being planned. He went on. “Why don’t you test the truth of what I’m saying with your weapon?”
“Doctor, this is madness!” Fletcher’s broke in. The other must have been shouting for its voice to sound so loud, considering the reduced gain on Prilicla’s headset. “I’m going to pull you in with tractor beams before you get everyone killed. I mean all of you, including the Crextic casualties—that way we can save a few of them though they probably won’t love us for it.…” Its tone, although still loud, softened a little. “… The transfer will be sudden, and will be very rough on you physically, Doctor, but you are, after all, heading back to the best hospital in the galaxy for treatment.…”
It broke off again as a more authoritative but quieter voice—too quiet for Prilicla to distinguish the individual words—broke in, then the captain went on. “Sir? But, but you can see that an attack is developing as we speak. I understand, sir. No action on my part unless expressly ordered by you.”
Prilicla didn’t ask for clarification because the situation around him was at too delicate a stage. He felt the sudden agitation of Keet and the medical-team members as the Krititkukik unlimbered its crossbow and loosed a single bolt, which flew through the intervening space unhindered until it clattered against the wall of the med station and fell onto the sand. The crossbow was replaced and it raised its speaking trumpet. First it spoke to the gliders circling above them, then to the sailors assembling on the beach. But this time their translators were online so that they could understand as well as hear everything it was saying.
All of the Crextic ground forces and gliders were being ordered to cease offensive actions and return without delay to their ships, with the exception of one aircraft which was instructed to gain altitude so that it could perform the signal aerobatic that would transmit the same message to the more distant ships and aircraft. The relief of the people all around bathed Prilicla in a bonfire glow of friendship and warmth, but again there was one exception.
“There is disagreement,” the Krititkukik said. “More than a quarter of the Crextic assembled here are little more than pirates, violent, unsubtle people with whom we normally would have no dealings. But they are influencing the others. In an effort to convince them of your good feelings for all of the Crextic, I told them that your ship was defenseless, but that if they attacked and forced it to leave, it would kill many hundreds of us as it went. The cloud-walkers’ signals are of necessity short, simple, and incapable of carrying closely reasoned arguments. This uncivilized element disbelieves me and they intend to press home their attack, very soon.”
With its words the bright, warm emotional cloud of pleasure and relief coming from the people surrounding him congealed suddenly into a dark, icy cloud of fear and angry disappointment. For the first time in his life, Prilicla could think of nothing that he could say that would help relieve their emotional distress. Even though it must have heard the Kritikukik’s words on Rhabwar’s aural sensors, friend Fletcher, too, was silent or at a loss for words.
But the silence was not complete. There was a faint growling sound, so deep that was felt in the bones as well as being heard through the ears, that seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. From the top of its shapeless body Danalta extruded an ear that resembled a fleshy dish-antenna, and shortly afterwards grew a hand with one upwardly-pointing digit. They followed its direction and looked up.
Vespasian was making a slow and increasingly thunderous approach.
The Monitor Corps’ Emperor-class battleships were unable to land on a planetary surface because of the complex antennae, weapon mounts, and other structural projections sprouting from a hull so vast that, even at an altitude of several miles it looked like another shining metal island, except this island was floating on its four ravening underjets. Looking tiny beside the vast capital ship, its escort of three cruisers traced wide, fiery circles around it, their thunder sounding falsetto by comparison.
Ponderously avoiding the spider ships in the area, Vespasian closed on the bay and dropped to less than one thousand meters’ altitude, its underjets exploding the surface of the sea into dazzling white clouds of steam that boiled upwards to almost obscure its vast underside and making it seem that it was riding on self-generated clouds.
For a few moments it hung there, the incredibly loud, hissing thunder making it impossible for anyone to hear themselves or anyone else speak. Then it withdrew, again avoiding the spider ships in the area as it began a rapid ascent spacewards, accompanied by its cruiser escorts. When the noise reduced to something less than deafening, a new voice sounded over Rhabwar’s external speakers.
It said, “Dr. Prilicla, Sector Marshal Dermod. I have found that a prior show of police force can often avert a riot by forcing the rioters to calm down and see sense. I am now returning my ships to orbit and withdrawing their sound pollution so as to give everyone down there a chance to talk together which, with your help and a little more of your creative insubordination, I’m sure they will.
“You have done very well, Dr. Prilicla,” it ended. “Very well indeed.”
CHAPTER 36
By the evening of the following day, the majority of the Crextic vessels had withdrawn from the island to return to their various homelands, the exceptions being the flagships of the Krititkukikii from every clan fleet, and their advisors. During the days and weeks that followed, many gliders were continually airborne, flying at the cold, upper limits of their operational capability as they signaled the results of the talks that were going on in what had been the medical station, to the other relay gliders farther afield.
There was plenty going on, although the negotiations between the Federation’s cultural-contact specialists from Descartes and the Crextic representatives—but strangely, not with the Trolanni, whom the spiders considered their new friends—as often as not, resembled nonviolent riots. But one of Sector Marshal Dermod’s cruisers kept station on the island, maintaini
ng a distance and altitude that would not inconvenience the signaling gliders.
Only once, when it seemed that the negotiations might degenerate into physical violence, did the sector marshal order it to make a low pass over the medical station, to remind anyone who might be thinking of using muscle instead of mind, where the real strength lay. Apart from the horrendous noise of its passage, no spider injuries were sustained, and the Monitor Corps negotiators pointedly ignored the incident, but thereafter the talking continued more peaceably.
For the ensuing three weeks Prilicla spent his every waking moment with them, including the times when he had to eat, a process which startled but did not disgust the spiders. When the cultural-contact specialists from Descartes expertly plied their tri-di projections to illustrate and explain in detail the organization and political ramifications of the Galactic Federation to the Crextic—the two Trolanni present had already seen most of it—the spiders’ feelings reflected in turn incredulity, wonder, fear, and distrust. By pinpointing the individual emotional radiation of the person concerned, he was able to subtly guide the contact specialist into a conversational area that the other found more reassuring.
Captain Fletcher was also content because a cargo shuttle, too small to do more than scorch an insignificant area of sand on the beach, was plying between the orbiting Vespasian and Rhabwar, carrying with the relays of cultural-contact specialists the fuel cells and organic and engineering consumables that would shortly result in a virtual refit and resupply of its beloved ambulance ship so that it could again take off with a pressor-beam assist and not burn up half the island as it left.
Then the day came when Prilicla knew that their work on the spider planet was complete, because the supply shuttle touched down with no supplies on board since it carried instead no less a personage than Sector Marshal Dermod.
