The New Springtime

by Robert Silverberg

  Siglondan herself admitted to some vestigial guilt over the removal of the chariot. In a rare moment of openness she said to Nortekku, as they stood together by the shore watching the dinghy return, “I can’t help feeling that this is hurting them. That chariot is practically all that they have left to remember their ancestors by. We haven’t ever excavated a site that still has living descendants of the ancients on it before. But Kanibond Graysz thinks it’s such an important object that we simply have to take it. It’s not as though it’s their only one.”

  It was the first sign Nortekku had seen of any compassion for the Sea-Lords in her, or of the slightest disagreement on a policy issue between Siglondan and her mate. Kanibond Graysz seemed all greed, all ice. Siglondan, at least, had revealed some flickerings of conscience just now.

  He said, feeling some elusive need to reassure her, “Well, if they just don’t care about anything, if they even regret that they’re alive at all—”

  It was the wrong thing to say. The Bornigrayan woman shot him a peculiar look. “That wild fantasy of Thalarne’s, eh? That they want to die? That they’re a bitter people who think their gods have forgotten them? That they’re looking for a way to get us to put them out of their misery? You believe it too, do you?”

  “I don’t know what I believe. I have no evidence to work with.”

  “Neither does she.”

  “So you think she’s wrong?”

  “Of course I do. Kanibond Graysz and I have had conversations with them, you know.”

  “But everything gets filtered through the Hjjks, and who knows what distortions the things that they’re saying pick up along the way?”

  She shrugged. “This isn’t a matter of translation. This is a matter of understanding the realities that are right here around us. The notion Thalarne is trying to put forth is crazy, Nortekku, completely crazy. The Sea-Lords have given us no indication whatever of a death wish. If she tries to propose such an idea publicly, we’ll oppose her at every step.” He could feel Siglondan drawing back, closing down. The openness of a few moments before was gone now. Her voice had taken on a cold, formal intonation. She was angry and defensive. “Has your—sister—told you that she not only believes they want to die, she’s willing to help them achieve it?”

  “She told me that we mustn’t even consider it.”

  “Well, she is considering it, regardless of anything she might have told you. I know that she is. But even if her theory about them is right, and there’s no reason to think that it is, we couldn’t possibly allow any such thing to happen. You understand that, I hope. These beings are infinitely precious. They’re the last few of their kind, so far as we know, the only survivors of a great ancient culture. We have to protect their lives at all cost. We’re preservers of the past, Nortekku, not destroyers.” And with a barren little smile she moved on toward her tent.

  He stood looking after her, bewildered. He had no idea where he stood in any of this. After hearing Siglondan’s scornful dismissal, Thalarne’s theory did indeed seem wild, fantastic, almost frightening in its arbitrary assumptions. And yet, when you studied a Sea-Lord’s eyes, when you saw that terrible look that could only be an expression of intolerable grief and rage and longing and despair, it didn’t seem all that arbitrary. But as for enabling the Sea-Lords to die, as an act of compassion, if that was what Thalarne was advocating—and she had denied that, had she not?—the concept was too absurd even to consider. To kill the very creatures they had come here to find—no—no—

  As he struggled with these matters Nortekku became aware of figures moving up the beach toward him—a couple of Sea-Lords, females, by the size of them, and one of the Hjjks trailing along a few paces behind. Automatically he turned to go. Even less than ever, now, did he want to be in any sort of proximity to a Sea-Lord.

  But before he could take more than a few steps the bigger of the two Sea-Lords, moving with surprising swiftness, closed the distance between them in a few long sliding strides. One of its flippers shot out and grabbed his arm. The webbed fingers tightened around his wrist. Grunting, barking, it pulled him roughly toward it, swinging him around so that they stood face to face.

  He was too amazed even to feel afraid. For a moment he was conscious only of the fishy reek of the creature, and of the great shining bristles that jutted from its muzzle, and—yes—of its huge glistening eyes, close to his own, staring at him with a frightful intensity. There was no way he could break its grip. The Sea-Lord was as big as he was, and much stronger. He leaned away as far as he could, holding himself rigid, averting his head. A further series of low barking grunts came from it.

  “Tell it to let go of me,” Nortekku said to the Hjjk, who was standing by in utter unconcern.

  “It will release you when it is ready to release you,” said the Hjjk in that dispassionate Hjjk way of theirs. “First it will finish what it is saying.”

  Saying? Yes. Nortekku observed now that those grunts had a structured rhythm to them, the balance and even the audible punctuation of what must surely be a language. It was indeed trying to say something to him. But what?

  “I can’t understand you,” Nortekku told the Sea-Lord futilely. “Let me go! Let go!” And, to the Hjjk: “What’s it saying, then?”

  The Hjjk replied, evasively, in the clickings and chitterings of its own tongue, which Nortekku had never mastered. He glared at the insect-man’s great beaked face. “No,” he said. “Tell it so I can understand.”

  “What it is is the usual thing,” said the Hjjk, after a moment. “It is asking for your help.”

  “My—help?” Nortekku said, and a monstrous realization began to dawn in him. “What kind of help?”

  The Sea-Lord was finished with its oration, now. It loosed its hold on Nortekku’s wrist and stepped back, watching him expectantly. Nortekku turned once more to the Hjjk.

  “What kind of help?” he demanded again.

  Once again the Hjjk answered him, maddeningly, in Hjjk.

  Nortekku snatched up a driftwood log that was lying near his right foot and brandished it under the Hjjk’s jutting beak. “Tell it the right way, or by all the gods, I’ll pull you apart and feed your fragments to the fishes!”

  The Hjjk showed no sign of alarm. Crossing its uppermost arms across its thorax in what might have been a gesture of self-protection, but which had more of an aura of unconcern, it said blandly, “It would like to end its life. It wishes that you would teach it how to die. This is the thing that they always are saying, you know.”

  Yes. Yes, of course. Teach it how to die. Precisely what he had not wanted to hear, precisely what he would prefer not to face. Precisely what Thalarne had already guessed. It is the thing that they are always saying.

  Thalarne did not seem surprised at all, when he told her of his encounter with the Sea-Lord. It was as if she had been expecting vindication of this kind to come at any moment.

  “It had to be, Nortekku. I felt it from my first glimpse of them.” Wonderingly she said, “It wants us to teach it how to die! Which means they can’t achieve it on their own—they probably don’t even have the concept of suicide. So they’ve been asking and asking, ever since we got here. And of course those two have been suppressing it. The Sea-Lords are their big asset, their key to fame and fortune and scientific glory. They’d never permit anything to happen to them.”

  “And you would?”

  “No. You know I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. It isn’t possible to take a responsibility like that into one’s own hands.”

  He nodded. He wished he could hear more conviction in her voice.

  She went on, “What I would do, what I will do—is file a report with the Institute about all this when I get back. And with the government of Yissou, and I suppose with the Presidium of Dawinno also. And let them decide what to do about the Sea-Lords.”

  “You know that Kanibond Graysz and Siglondan will file a dissenting report.”

  “Let them. The powers that be can hire their own Hjjk in
terpreters and send their own expedition out here and find out themselves what the Sea-Lords do or don’t want. The decision’s not up to us. But how good it is, Nortekku, that you discovered what you did. I was sure of it, but I had no proof. And now—”

  “Proof? All you have, Thalarne, is the word of a Hjjk that that’s what the Sea-Lord was saying.”

  “It’s a step toward understanding what’s happening here,” she said. “A very important one. And why would a Hjjk invent anything so fantastic? The Hjjks aren’t famous for their great imaginations. I don’t think they tell a lot of lies, either. Neither one of them would have volunteered a word about this on its own, but when you asked for a translation—”

  “It gave me one. Yes. And an accurate one, I suppose. They’re too indifferent to want to tell lies, aren’t they?”

  It wishes that you would teach it how to die.

  No. No. No. No.

  He and Thalarne agreed to say nothing more about any of this, neither to each other nor, certainly, to the Bornigrayans, until they had returned to their home continent. Siglondan had made it quite clear where she and her mate stood on the subject of Thalarne’s Sea-Lord theory. There was nothing to gain but trouble by debating it with them now.

  Later in the week, as it became clear that the visit was winding down, Nortekku heard the sound of hammering coming from the ship as it sat at anchor off shore. The ship’s carpenters must be doing some remodeling on board. Then came Kanibond Graysz’s announcement that the ship would leave the next morning: the only thing that remained, he said, was to round up the Sea-Lord specimens that they were taking back, and put them on board the—

  “What did you say?” Thalarne asked incredulously.

  “To round up the Sea-Lord specimens,” the Bornigrayan said again. And then, in a droning, official tone: “Our charter empowers us to bring up to four Sea-Lords back with us to Bornigrayal, where they will be placed in a congenial environmental situation so that they can undergo careful study in the most sympathetic surroundings possible.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Thalarne said. Her whole body had gone taut. “You’re going to take prisoners? Intelligent autonomous beings are going to be collected by you and brought home and turned into zoological exhibits?”

  “That is in our charter. It was the understanding from the beginning. I can show you the authorization we have—the signatures of such important figures as Prince Samnibolon of Dawinno, and Prince Til-Menimat—”

  “No,” Thalarne said. “This can’t be.”

  “And of your own husband, lady, Prince Hamiruld of Yissou—”

  “Hamiruld doesn’t have the rank of prince,” said Thalarne, absurdly, in the faintest of voices. She looked stunned. Turning from the Bornigrayan as if he had uttered some vile obscenity, she hurried off up the beach toward the tents. Nortekku went running after her. He caught up with her just outside the tent.

  “Thalarne—”

  Panting, wild-eyed, she whirled to face him. “Did you hear that? This is outrageous! We can’t let them do it, Nortekku!”

  “We can’t?”

  “We could make a case out for killing the Sea-Lords, if that’s what they genuinely want. But to put them on display in a zoo? Coddled, peered at, imprisoned? Their lives will be even more nightmarish than they already are.”

  “I agree. This is very ugly.”

  “Worse than ugly: criminal. We won’t allow it.”

  “And just how will we stop it, then?”

  “Why—why—” She paused only briefly. “We’ll explain to the captain and his men that what these two want to do is illegal, that he and his whole crew will be making themselves accessories to a crime—”

  “They’ll laugh in our faces, Thalarne. Their pay comes from Kanibond Graysz, not from us. The captain takes his orders from Kanibond Graysz.”

  “Then we’ll prevent the ship from setting out if it has any Sea-Lords aboard.”

  “How?” Nortekku asked again.

  “We’ll figure something out. Damage the engine, or something. We can’t let this happen. We can’t.”

  “If we make any sort of trouble,” Nortekku said quietly, “they’ll simply throw us overboard. Or at best put us in irons and keep us chained up until the ship has docked at Bornigrayal. Believe me, Thalarne: there’s isn’t any way we can stop this. None. None. None.”

  He made her see it, finally, though it took some time. He got her to see, also, that he was as horrified by Kanibond Graysz’ scheme as she was, that he was in no way condoning it when he said they must simply abide by what was going to occur. There were just the two of them against a whole crew of burly Bornigrayan sailors who weren’t going to collect their pay until they had fulfilled their obligations under their contract with their employers. And it struck him as far from implausible that he and Thalarne would be dumped into the middle of the ocean if they made themselves sufficiently obstreperous. Kanibond Graysz could tell any sort of story he pleased. The woman fell overboard during rough weather, he could say, and the man jumped in to rescue her, and then—they were surrounded by flesh-eating fish—there was nothing we could do to save them—nothing—

  It was a shameful affair, hideous, morally repugnant. But it couldn’t be halted. He and Thalarne would have to stand by and watch it happen, which in effect turned them into accomplices. He had never felt so powerless in his life.

  This is Hamiruld’s revenge, he thought.

  Helpless once more, he watched stonily as Kanibond Graysz pointed out four of the Sea-Lords on the beach, two males, two females, to the crewmen of the ship. Eight or ten of the crewmen, wielding electric prods, surrounded one of the female Sea-Lords and hustled her into the water and aboard the dinghy. Nortekku expected her to resist, to fling the crewmen away from her as though they were discarded dolls—even the females, smaller than the males, were powerfully muscular creatures—but, no, the prods never were needed, there was no resistance at all, not even when the Bornigrayans produced a thick rope and swiftly wrapped it about her upper flippers to prevent her from escaping. She remained quiescent as they heaved her into the dinghy, as they rowed back to the ship, as they pulled her up on deck. It went the same way with the other three. Neither the other female nor the two males, huge and brawny though they were, gave any indication of being aware of what was taking place.

  It is true, then, about their wanting to die, Nortekku realized. Life is already over for them; nothing remains but the actual moment of termination. What happens to them between now and then is of no concern to them whatever.

  Still, it had been sickening to watch the capture. The Sea-Lords might not care, but he did, and, of course, Thalarne, who was so strongly affected by it that it was several days before she came up far enough from her depression even to feel like speaking.

  By then they were well out to sea. The continental coast behind them dwindled to the most imperceptible line and then vanished altogether. The course was a straight westerly one: they would not be going back to Sempinore, either to reprovision or to drop off the two Hjjk guides, but would, rather, leave the Inland Sea as soon as possible and head right across the Eastern Ocean to Bornigrayal with their booty.

  Nortekku knew now what the hammering aboard the ship had been. They had converted the two storage holds at the ship’s stern into one large tank for the Sea-Lords. Some kind of siphon arrangement brought fresh ocean water up into the tank each day. Thus the four captives would have access to the environment in which they preferred to spend most of their time. At mid-morning each day they were brought out for exercise on the desk—a solemn ritual in which they flapped up and back for half an hour or so—and then they lay basking until it was time for them to return to their cabins. The ropes with which they had been pinioned had been removed. It would have been simple enough for them to leap over the rail and make their way back to their home at the edge of the southern continent; but either they believed that they were already too far from home to be able to accomplish the journe
y, or, what was more probable, their being prisoners here aboard the ship was of no consequence to them. All four seemed to be living in some private world. They paid no attention to their captors. Mostly they were silent; occasionally they spoke with one another in their language of grunts and barks, but once, when Thalarne asked one of the Hjjks for a translation, the Hjjk merely stared at her as though her own language were unintelligible to it.

  The westward crossing was far easier than the eastward voyage had been. Spring had come to the ocean, now, and the air was nearly as warm as it was when they were in the region of the Inland Sea. There were no storms, only occasional gentle showers. An easy wind came from behind them, helping them along.

  Nortekku and Thalarne were standing on the deck as the ship docked at Bornigrayal Harbor. Suddenly she caught her breath as though in shock, and grasped his wrist tightly with both her hands. He turned to her, amazed.

  “Look! Look! Down there, Nortekku!”

  He glanced down, toward the quay, where the deckhands were tying up the ship.

  Hamiruld was standing there.

  Thalarne could barely speak. Only choked monosyllables came from her. “How—why—”

  “Easy, Thalarne. Easy.”

  Struggling to regain her self-control, she said, “But what’s he doing here? What does he want? He should be back in Yissou. He’s got no business being here!”

  Nortekku, feeling shaken also by the presence of Thalarne’s mate here, so far from their home, stared toward the slight, wiry figure of Hamiruld and was appalled to see him cheerily smiling and waving at them. The loving husband showing up at the pier to welcome his wife and a friend of hers as they returned from a little trip, yes. How sweet of him.

  This is very bad, Nortekku thought.

  As calmly as he could he said, “He’s come to claim you back, I suppose. Someone must have told him I flew out to Bornigrayal after you. Khardakhor, perhaps. Or even Prince Vuldimin.” Could that be, he wondered? Would he have cared that much? A more reasonable possibility presented itself. “Or perhaps he’s just here to represent the syndicate. I suspect they’d want to check up on our two Bornigrayan friends, and make sure that when the ship is unloaded they don’t go walking off with any Sea-Lord finds that don’t belong to them.”