They decided to take a look at one final derelict city that appeared less overgrown than most of the others from the air. And that’s where they found the last of the Rakoans. Besides their height – some of the adults were almost three meters tall – the most outstanding feature of the otherwise humanoid mammals was their thick, horny epidermal layer which was constantly flaking off. They had three fingers and an opposing thumb, wide-set eyes, and a shapeless nose that drooped over a lipless mouth equipped with short, flat, block-like teeth – a sure sign of a vegetarian.
And they were dying.
Not from disease, but from a birth rate that produced one healthy child for every twenty-three adults of the previous generation. The result was a very steep geometric regression in the planet’s population – from an estimated five billion to roughly thirty thousand, most of them gathered in this single city.
That was one complication for the Fairleigh team. Then the Tarks arrived, claiming they had discovered the planet previously and were only now getting around to mining it. That was a transparent lie. The Tarks had long ago pirated the process for synthesizing Leason crystals and would have immediately begun stripping Rako of its natural deposits – with or without native permission – if they had been the first there.
The Federation stepped in then. It reminded the Tarkan Empire of the expansion treaty it had signed with the Fed nearly two standard centuries before. One of the major articles of the treaty outlined the accepted procedures for dealing with worlds inhabited by intelligent creatures. Since Rako fell into this class, the question of who discovered it first was irrelevant. The Empire and Fairleigh Tubes would have to make competing offers for a trade contract with the Rakoans, with the strong proviso that consent from the Rakoans be informed consent.
The Federation made it clear to the Tarks that it was quite willing to enter into armed conflict to protect the interests of Fairleigh and the Rakoans. Fairleigh, in turn, was advised to abide strictly by the conventions or Fed protection would be withdrawn from the company – not only on Rako, but throughout Occupied Space.
So the Terrans, the Tarks, and the leader of the Rakoan remnant got down to dealing. And that’s where the third complication arose.
The Rakoans wanted more than money and technology in return for their crystals. They wanted a future for their race.
“I suppose you’re well on your way to a solution by now, eh, Doc?” Tella said, fully aware that the answer would be negative.
He sipped a cup of hot tea as he sat across a table from Avery Chornock, the head of the research team on Rako. Chornock had disliked him on sight, and Tella sensed this. But he chose to ignore it, preferring to play the part of the brash, young, bonus-hungry company trouble shooter to the hilt. For that’s how Chornock had labeled and pigeonholed him after reading his authorization from the Fairleigh home office.
“We’re nowhere near a solution, Mr. Company Man,” the lank, aging scientist rumbled. “And under present conditions, it’s highly unlikely we’ll ever get near one.”
“What more could you want? You’ve got a full research team of your own choice here; you’ve got a subspace link to the Derby University computer, which is packed with every available scrap of information on human and non-human reproduction; and you’ve got an open-ended budget for any hardware you should need.”
“Not enough!”
Tella considered this. If Dr. Avery Chornock, the number-one expert on alien embryology and reproduction in the Federation, was at an impasse, what could he contribute?
“What more do you need?”
“I need to be back in my lab at Derby U. investigating live Rakoan subjects. We’ve done all the cadaver work we need and I’ve exhausted the possibilities of field work on live subjects. I need to get a few males and females back to my lab for definitive studies and then I might – I said, might, mind you – be able to come up with something.”
“None of the Rakoans will volunteer, I take it?”
Chornock nodded. “That is correct.”
“Maybe they’re scared of you.”
“No. These people aren’t scared of much. It’s got something to do with their religion.” He made a disgusted noise. “They’ll all be extinct in a few generations and all because of some imbecilic superstition!”
One of the lab technicians stuck his head through the door. His expression was anxious.
“Vim is here.”
Chornock twisted abruptly in his seat. “Are you trying to be funny or something?”
“Of course not!” the technician replied in an offended tone.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Send him in.”
The head disappeared and a Tarkan male entered a few seconds later. Tella had seen holos of them before, and had seen them on the vid, but this was the first time he had ever viewed a Tark in the flesh. There was quite a difference: the doglike face with its short snout and sharp yellow incisors was the same, as were the stubby-fingered hands, the barrel chest and the short, dark, bristly fur; but no vid recording or holo had ever managed to convey the sheer brute strength that seemed to ripple under the creature’s exterior… nor the pungent odor that surrounded it like a cloud. It stood close to two meters tall and weighed 100 kilos easily.
A second Tark entered and stayed slightly behind and to the right of the first.
“Please have a seat, Dr. Vim,” Chornock said, rising.
The Tark to the rear made some growling noises and the first Tark replied in kind. Then the second Tark spoke to Chornock in oddly guttural, but grammatically perfect Instel.
“No time, I’m afraid. I’ve been recalled.”
“Oh no! This is terrible! Why?”
Again, the growling exchange between the two aliens. It was now obvious to Tella that the first Tark was Vim and that he didn’t speak the Terran interstellar language. The translator turned back to Chornock.
“Too expensive, it seems. My superiors have interpreted our lack of progress as a sign that this race is doomed. They have decided to wait until its final members die off. Then there will be no need to make arrangements to pay these primitives for the crystals.”
“Do you agree?”
“I do not see much hope for a solution under these conditions,” the translator said after another exchange. He paused while Vim said some more, then continued. “Before I leave, may I say that it has been a privilege to share the same soil with you. I would have much desired to work at your side in this matter, but that was forbidden, as you know. I look forward to seeing more translations of your excellent papers. Good-by.”
With that, the pair of aliens turned and left.
Chornock sat in silence for a few long moments. “A decent fellow, Vim. I know he’s deeply disappointed.”
“Didn’t show it,” Tella remarked.
“Tarks cannot afford to show displeasure with their superiors’ decisions; from what I understand, such behavior tends to shorten their lifespan – if you catch my drift. But he’s disappointed. The Rakoans pose quite a challenge. We could clone out new ones, of course, but their leader says that’s an unacceptable solution. He wants true, natural biological reproduction reestablished on a scale that will ensure the future of the race. I can’t blame him, but I’m afraid I can’t help him either.”
“They’re sterile?” Tella asked. Chornock had lost some of his hostility as he talked about the Rakoans; he was almost likable.
“Sterility would be much easier to deal with. No, there are plenty of active gametes in both sexes – they just won’t combine as they should. But I’m sure Vim’s also disappointed about leaving the bassa behind.”
“What’s that?”
“A very fascinating grain rust with curious antibiotic activity: when an extract of the rust is ingested in sufficient quantity, it irreversibly incorporates itself into the metabolic pathways of any and all the bacteria in the body within one standard day.”
“So?”
“So, when the extract is withdrawn,
the bacteria die. The patient must be immediately reinoculated with his own enteric organisms, but the Rakoans seem to have the technique perfected. There doesn’t seem to be any evidence of resistance, either.”
“What about host metabolic pathways? Don’t they get changed?”
“Apparently not – probably because the nucleoproteins of a larger animal don’t replicate at anywhere near the rate of a bacterium’s, so there just isn’t time for the rust extract to insinuate itself into the metabolism. But I suppose if one made a steady diet of the rust…” He let the thought trail off.
Tella used this opportunity to make his exit. He rose. “Well, time for me to get to work.”
“And just what kind of work might that be, Mr. Company Man?” Chornock asked, his surliness coming to the fore again.
“Convincing these aliens to send a few volunteers back to Derby with you, for one thing. Who can take me to them?”
“I’ll let Sergeant Prather take you over – just to make sure you don’t try anything foolish. You’ll probably find him in the courtyard behind this building.”
PRATHER WAS RUNNING his daily check on the a-g combat unit that stood in a sheltered corner of the courtyard. It towered a full four meters in height. Once inside, a seasoned trooper could clear a forest, level a city, or hide at the bottom of a lake for a month. Prather was the Federation Defense Force representative on Rako. A cruiserful of troopers waited in orbit. Just in case.
The sergeant was preoccupied and ignored Tella’s request for a tour around the city. But Tella knew how to break through the soldier’s barrier of military professionalism.
“Doesn’t look like they’ve changed the unit much since I was in the Force.”
Prather’s glossy shaved head snapped up. “You were in the Force? When?” Tella was suddenly a real person to Prather.
“Eight standards ago. Infantry, like you. Used to be pretty damn good in one of these things.”
“Howcum you’re out?”
Tella shrugged. “Didn’t get along too well with the brass. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” Prather agreed with a nod. “They get to some people more than others. But you say you used to operate a unit like this?”
“Almost like it; this must be a newer model.”
Tella stepped back and looked at the combat suit. It was squatter than the one he’d trained in, and looked lighter. Except for the prominent Federation star-in-the-ohm insignia, the unit’s surface was a dull black from the anti-gravity plates in the feet to the observation dome on the shoulders, but only because it wasn’t activated. In action it could assume any color scheme for instant camouflage.
“It’s the latest. Easy maintenance, for which I’m glad at the moment. With the Tarks calling it quits on the research, there’s no telling what they might try.”
“You don’t really think they’d try anything against Chornock and his crew, do you?”
“They wouldn’t dare. They know we’re fully armed up there,” he said, jerking a thumb at the sky, “and they know I’m down here with my unit. We made sure they knew about that – although we were careful to hide the unit from the natives; they might not understand that this monstrosity is here for their protection. What I do worry about is the Tarks trying some sneaky way of wiping out the Rakoans so they won’t have to wait for them to die of natural causes.”
Tella was at once sickened and amazed at the simple, direct logic of such a solution. And if the Tarks were only one half as ruthless as their reputation, ways and means had no doubt long been formulated to bring about such an end.
“Well, I’m sorry, Sergeant,” Tella said, turning away, “but I’ve got to get over to the Rakoan section of the city. And if you won’t take me, I’ll just have to find my own way.”
“Now just wait a minute there… Andy, isn’t it?” Tella nodded. “My first name’s Bentham – Ben – and I don’t see why I can’t take a few minutes out to show an ex-trooper around the city. Let me get this lubricant off my hands and we’ll be on our way.”
TELLA WAS GETTING his first good look at the city. The Rakoans obviously had a thing for spires – every building he saw tapered to a graceful point. And there was a strange quality to the streets in the way they twisted and turned and interconnected around the buildings; almost as if the buildings had been set down wherever the constructor’s fancy indicated, and the roads put in later as a sort of afterthought. The small, open flitter did not have to make many turns before Tella was hopelessly lost.
“You know where you’re going, Ben?”
“Sure. I make the trip every day to keep an eye on the natives and make sure the Tarks aren’t up to anything. You’ll know we’re there when we get there.”
Tella puzzled over that last remark until they rounded the corner of the next building. There in a clearing stood a building without a spire. It was a low dome, remarkably crude in comparison to the other architecture of the city, and around it stood a circle of Rakoans, male and female, shoulder to shoulder.
“What’s going on?”
“That’s the temple of Vashtu, the ancient god of Rako. At any time of the day or night you can find five hundred and twelve natives standing around it as a guard. Why that particular number?” he asked, anticipating Tella. “If you remember that the Rakoans have four digits on each hand, it’s no surprise that their number system has a root of eight.”
Prather let the flitter glide toward an ungainly old Rakoan who was strolling toward the temple carrying a long wooden staff.
“That’s Mintab, the leader of what’s left of the natives. If you want to talk to someone, it might as well be him. He’s the mouthpiece; his people make all their decisions as a group. And don’t try to pull anything over on him – he’s a sly old bird.”
Mintab spotted the flitter and stood waiting as Prather grounded it; he joined the two humans as they debarked. It was an unholy trio standing there beside the vehicle: the tall, shaggy-skinned, floppy-nosed Rakoan, the short, dark, stocky Tella, and the glossy-scalped Prather.
The trooper introduced Tella as the-man-who-wants-to-buy-the-rocks. Although he addressed Mintab in the Rakoan tongue, Tella’s crash encephalo-augmented course in the language during the trip out allowed him to understand what was being said. Speaking Rakoan, however, was a different matter – there were too many nasal intonations that were impossible to reproduce without practice – but he could manage to make himself understood if he kept it short and chose his words carefully.
“The furry ones have left,” Mintab said, turning his gaze on Tella. “When will your people remove your doctor?”
“Soon,” Tella replied in halting Rakoan. “No answer here. Must take some people away for answer.”
“I have tried to convince my people of this but they will not listen.” He glanced over to the encircled dome. “Don’t judge us too harshly. Our manner of living was not always so primitive. Our dead cities tell you that. We once flew through the air and talked across the oceans. But there are no longer enough of us to maintain that level of technology. As our numbers collapsed, so did our means of production, and thereafter we ran out of precision parts. We are now reduced to this.”
“But why won’t your people cooperate?”
Mintab started for the dome. “Come. You will see.”
The circle of Rakoans parted for the trio as Mintab led them into the crude structure.
“You are entering the temple of Vashtu, Giver of Light and God to us, his chosen race,” he said. “Before you is his shrine.”
In the center of the gloomy temple stood a huge statue; a good seven or eight meters in height, it was hand-carved out of a jadelike stone and showed one creature standing over the slumped form of another.
“It looks…old,” Tella remarked lamely. The lighting, the postures, and the sheer size of the work gave it an eerie power.
“It is ancient. We do not know when it was carved, but throughout our recorded history it has been the focus for my race’s r
eligion… now more than ever. It depicts Vashtu triumphant over the fallen M’lorna, God of Evil and Darkness.”
Tella moved closer. Vashtu was Rakoanoid with a sunburst for a face; he held a staff with a huge scarlet gem affixed to the end. The creature at his feet was indistinct, however.
“I can’t see M’lorna.”
Mintab motioned him toward the doorway where the light was slightly better. A carving on the wall showed a biped creature with a huge single eye where the head should be, and pincerlike hands. Its body was covered with alternating green and yellow stripes.
“That is M’lorna.”
“But I still…do not understand… why your people will not help us help them.”
“It was in this very place,” Mintab said, “that Vashtu defeated M’lorna in the days when our world was new. But M’lorna was proud and swore that he would return and destroy the temple of Vashtu. The great Vashtu gave my people the mission of defending the temple when M’lorna returns.
“Generations ago, when our cities teemed with healthy millions, we forgot Vashtu and turned our minds and hearts to other matters. We left the temple unguarded. And for this dereliction, Vashtu has allowed our numbers to decrease. Soon there will not be enough of us to adequately guard the temple. And then M’lorna will come and destroy the temple at his leisure. When that happens, we will have failed Vashtu and he will cast our spirits adrift among the stars.”
“But…” Tella searched for the phrasing and couldn’t find it. But Mintab seemed to know what he wanted to say.
“None will leave the planet. A race that was once ruled by reason is again enslaved to superstition: They fear the day of the Dark One is near and feel they must be here. I have tried to tell them that Vashtu will understand that they left Rako for the good of the race, so that it might go on protecting the temple. But they insist it will be taken as a sign of further desertion of our sacred trust.” The alien paused; then, “I would leave myself but I am beyond the age when I would be of use.”
F Paul Wilson - LaNague 02 Page 17
