Dirge (4 page)

Through the world and off-world media humankind was treated to daily updates on the activities of the aliens. A craze for all things Pitarian swept the globe and spread rapidly to the colonies. Clothing, attitudes, gestures, words, phrases, hair colors—a host of Pitar imitations and imitators made their presence felt culturally. As for scientific advances the Pitar apparently had little to offer that was not already known to their hosts, though they were eager, in their formal and restrained fashion, to learn from humankind.

It would be fair to say that while humans became obsessed with their new acquaintances, the progress of interspecies relations with other intelligences suffered. The thranx in particular were neglected. Perhaps it was understandable that xenologists and specialists found it hard to find the time or enthusiasm to study chest-high bug-eyed antennae-waving insectoids when they could examine in detail physically perfect mammalian males and females instead. Similar sentiments were manifest among the general public.

While tens of thousands of requests for Pitarian attendance at innumerable social occasions poured into contact headquarters on Bali, not one asked for a date with a thranx—not even to talk. It was left to the professionals to maintain the minimum necessary contacts and to assuage hurt insectoid feelings.

Unfortunately, in order to know how to do that properly, considerable further human-thranx interaction was necessary. It was not immediately forthcoming.

3

H
athvupredek stood among the carefully tended jungle plants that thrived in the rich soil that overlay the subterranean, unseen colony and reflected on the alien world around her. She did not fear being seen. Ever since the premature but fortunately conciliatory revelation of the colony’s existence some twenty human years previous, it had been possible for those dwelling in the hive below to walk freely on the surface of the world its dominant species egocentrically called Earth—within carefully prescribed parameters, of course. The councilor availed herself of the chance at every opportunity.

It was not Hivehom or Willow-Wane, but it was a beautiful world whose densest and least-disturbed tropical regions were reasonably close in general feel and appearance to that of home. Her ovipositors twitched as she settled herself down on a bench disguised to look like a fallen log, all six legs straddling the supportive cylinder.

In the undergrowth on her left a small, stealthy presence made itself known via a pungency that dominated everything in its vicinity. Her antennae dipped in its direction as she smelled the margay before she saw it. The secretive jungle cat dipped its head, eyes wide, as it took the measure of something too large and alien to eat. Like a puff of mottled yellow smoke, it evaporated into the surrounding verdure.

She did not turn as the organic crackle of crunching leaves and other forest detritus grew louder behind her. The voice was familiar, as was the gently brooding tone. A recent visitor to the colony, Adjami was a world representative from northern Africa. Fascinated by the thranx, he had chosen to linger beyond his designated time frame. In that time, he and the thranx senior councilor had struck up a more than professional acquaintance.

Eschewing ceremony, he sat down beside her, crossing his legs and heedless of the plant matter beneath that might stain his cool-suit. The heat did not trouble him, but he was thankful for the thermosensitive attire that relieved some of the onerous burden of the constant humidity.

They remained that way for some time: resting, soaking in the unspoken pleasure of one another’s company, contemplating the surrounding undisturbed rain forest. Then Hathvupredek gestured and clicked a greeting with her mandibles and turned to look down at her companion of the moment. She did not have to hesitate or search for words or sounds, having reason to be proud of her fluency in Terranglo.

“What news for the hive from Bali?”

Reaching up, Adjami stroked his neatly trimmed black beard. His reply was peppered with clicks and whistles acquired from intense study of High Thranx. Many humans in the diplomatic service now utilized such thranx vocalizations, certain sounds providing efficacious shortcuts to specific phrases and intentions. Uncharted and largely unnoticed, a joint manner of speaking was evolving between the two species, or at least among those individuals whose work placed them in close contact with one another. A human diplomat whose hobby was linguistics had even proposed a name for it: Symbospeech. Begun as a game, a diversion, it was maturing into something much more significant. For the most part, the general population of both species remained unaware of its existence.

Especially since the advent of the Pitar.

“The proposed commerce treaty is still under discussion, with the usual adherents champing at the bit and the predictable opponents raining their suspicion on the slightest proposal.” He flicked an inch-long ant off his left boot. Gnashing its jaws furiously, it landed in the leaves with an audible
plunk
before righting itself and scrambling away. “Two more cultural exchanges have been agreed upon, and there is finally some progress on the question of allowing the colony here to expand.” That was the delicate matter that had brought him to the Reserva Amazonia in the first place.

“These individual humans who object to the details of the commerce treaty,” she asked, “why are they so angry at us? Such exchanges can only benefit both our respective economies.”

“As you know, the colonies are more enthusiastic.” His sarcastic bent, never very far below the surface of his personality, singed the remembrance. “Swap all the painters and sculptors, poets and musicians you want and no one will say much against it. But when money is involved, tempers emerge and blood pressure rises.”

“Our blood pressure does not fluctuate as wildly as yours,” Hathvupredek murmured. “It can’t, or we would blow up.”

“Some of us do.” Adjami sighed. “Politics can be such a disagreeable business. There are so many times when I wish I had followed my heart and studied archeology instead.”

“I can sympathize. Myself, I wanted to be a
pin!!ster
.”

He blinked uncertainly. “That is a term I am not familiar with.”

“Someone who grows edible plants in an aesthetic manner. It combines your functions of farmer and sculptor. Easier to nurture a covenant with vegetables than with people. Plants do not argue.”

Adjami grunted. “The ones in my homeland do. They grow reluctantly if at all. The ground there is obstinate.” Reaching down, he dug through the leaf litter to raise up a fistful of dirt. “Not like here, where a little spit will bring forth all kinds of surprising growth.”

“Perhaps we should expectorate more on behalf of mutual relations.” Hathvupredek was not one to miss the opportunity to prod.

Adjami did not miss the gentle nudge. “I am impatient as well. Formalities should be moving along much faster. So they would be, if not for this recent distraction.”

He did not need to elaborate. Ever since the discovery and subsequent arrival on Earth of the representatives of the species that called itself the Pitar, the expansion of human-thranx relations had been placed on a slow track. The government was devoting the majority of its attention in off-world matters to the new visitors, as its constituents demanded. Relations with the thranx were cast by the wayside, contact delegated to lower-ranking functionaries such as Adjami. Who wanted to meet with bugs when they could sit across the negotiating table from the shimmering, incredibly glamorous Slyl-Wett and her handsome corepresentative Coub-Baku?

Too polite to raise a ruckus, too stratified in their conduct to insist that the humans pay more attention to the development of relations, the thranx ground their mandibles in silence and tried to content themselves with what progress continued to be made. And there was progress, albeit at a glacial pace. Alliances and affiliations that the thranx felt should have been formalized in months now looked set to take years, perhaps decades. There was nothing they could do about it. They were trapped by the admiration humankind felt for the Pitar. Cause trouble, make noise, demand the attention and respect they deserved, and they would only be giving ammunition to their xenophobic enemies within the human community. Naturally patient, their limits were being tested.

They had no choice—not if they wanted relations to continue to progress and improve. Meanwhile, influential thranx who felt humankind wasn’t worth the time and trouble were agitating the Grand Council on Hivehom to break off all attempts at multiplying and enhancing relations in favor of maintaining only the loosest and most formal of associations. Who needed the humans, anyway? Yes, they were a numerous and powerful expanding species, but space was vast and there were others, like the Quillp, who were not so easily distracted.

Against this background of measured indifference from the human government and active opposition from the malcontents of both species, concerned individuals like Hathvupredek and Adjami struggled to sustain and strengthen the tenuous bonds between the two intelligences.

“Tell me.” Adjami was rubbing a recently fallen leaf between his fingers, wondering what wondrous esoteric pharmaceuticals it might contain. “What do your people think about the Pitar? Officially they’ve been very reticent on the subject, but I’ve spent enough time in the company of your kind to recognize that more is being discussed in private than is being said openly.” He smiled, showing a number of ceramic teeth. “Though short the requisite number of limbs, I have managed to acquire a small vocabulary of gestures.”

She whistled softly, matching his amusement. “I have seen you watching. Many humans watch but do not see. Many see but do not learn. Many learn but easily forget.” Truhands flashed. “There is no general consensus on the Pitar. The Grand Council continues to receive and absorb information. As you well know, this new intelligence is reluctant to disclose much about themselves. This invariably makes some of us suspicious.”

Adjami looked away. Atop a dead tree, an oropendula was warbling. “It’s said they are shy.”

“Who says this?” Her tone was sharper than she intended; while more controlled than any human, neither were the thranx devoid of emotion. To calm herself, she recited one of the fifty-five mantras of Desvendapur. “Not the Pitar. To them their reticence to discuss and deal with many subjects is normal. It is the human media who have branded them bashful.” Antennae coiled. “Humans evidently find such racial coyness becoming. My people are of a different mind.”

“You said some of you find their ongoing restraint suspicious.” Adjami gazed curiously into unfathomable, golden, compound eyes. “In what way?”

As would any thranx caught out by a direct question, Hathvupredek first considered what was known and then what was suspected before replying.

“We realize that despite appearances, the Pitar are not you. We are hardly experts in the analysis of mammalian behavior, much of which we regard as impulsive and indicative of an intelligence that occasionally veers into the retrograde. It is not even that we suspect the Pitar of hiding something.”

“What could they hide?” Adjami added. “They immediately provided us with the coordinates for their twin homeworlds, which have subsequently been verified. I know of at least two KK-drive ships that have already made passing visits to both. They encountered nothing untoward at either stop, and were greeted in the same cordial, curious, restrained manner that the Pitar have demonstrated during their stay on Earth. There was no ambush, no indication of enormous fleets of armed vessels lying in wait or hiding to avoid discovery. It must be accepted that the Pitar are simply a reticent folk.”

“So are the thranx.” Despite the human’s persuasive reasoning, the councilor knew that her superiors were far from ready to concede the Pitar’s benevolence. “It is not that we are distrustful or even especially suspicious. We are simply more cautious in our dealings with other species.” She shifted her position on the log bench. “This is not only a racial characteristic. Some of it certainly arises from our delicate dance of disharmony with the AAnn that has been ongoing now for more than three hundred and fifty of your years.”

Adjami could not resist a dig. “We’ve been dealing with the AAnn for less than a hundred years and we’ve managed to get along. Sure, there have been occasional misunderstandings and minor confrontations, but we’ve always managed to smooth things over.”

“The AAnn are spontaneous. In that they are far more like you than us. But when it suits their needs and aims they can also show patience. They are like a recurring virus that will not go away.” All four hands gestured simultaneously. “We desire only to make certain that in the Pitar you have not encountered a species that is even more patient than the AAnn.”

“A nicely diplomatic oblique damnation.” Bending forward, Adjami picked up a long, thin leaf and chewed experimentally on the stem. It had a slight minty flavor characteristic of many of the alkaloid-laden plants that grew in the vicinity of the colony. “We’re being careful.”

“No you are not.” Hathvupredek’s atypical bluntness caught the visiting diplomat by surprise. “You are overcome by these Pitar, who so nearly resemble physically idealized visions of yourselves. You are dazzled. We are more analytical, more systematic in our appraisal of other intelligences.”

Adjami spoke around the stem of the leaf that protruded from between his teeth. “So you’re saying we’re being naïve.”

The councilor’s ovipositors flattened slightly, the lowermost curl pressing against the back of her abdomen. “We think you are too welcoming. An engaging trait, but a dangerous one.”

Adjami laughed gently. “We’re not as ingenuous as you seem to believe. Sure, we’ve received the Pitar readily, even enthusiastically. But that doesn’t mean they’ve been given the run of the planet or the colonies, or that the appropriate agencies aren’t keeping an eye on them.”

“We hope so.” Hathvupredek’s antennae abruptly snapped forward. “What is that?”

Adjami allowed his gaze to be led by the councilor’s. “I don’t see anything.”

“Neither do I,” his companion of the morning admitted, “but I smell it. Humans, coming this way. Many of them.”

Scanning the trees, Adjami found himself unable to suppress a smile. “You’re sure they’re not Pitar?”

Hathvupredek missed the sarcasm. Or perhaps the councilor simply chose to overlook it. “Your bodily odors differ significantly. That of humans is much…stronger.”

“Yes,” Adjami confessed a bit reluctantly. “The variance has been noted.” He continued to gaze into the forest. “I wonder what a large group is doing here? I’d think that researchers interested in the Reserva’s wildlife would avoid the colony site, now that they know it’s here.”

“They do.” Compound eyes and weaving antennae continued to take the measure of whatever was approaching. “As you are aware, visitation to the colony is strictly monitored and is restricted to accredited representatives of your governmental and scientific agencies. Random tourism is neither permitted nor encouraged.”

Detecting a rising rustle of leaf litter being crushed underfoot, Adjami rose from his cross-legged seat. “Then I wonder who these could be?”

Man and thranx found out together when the band of perhaps thirty men and women emerged from the trees. The grim, focused expression on each camouflage-painted face was not encouraging, nor was the especially wild-eyed look worn by more than one. Their jungle clothing was in keeping with their obvious desire to blend into the rain forest background. While unsettling, none of this alarmed Adjami. The weapons they carried did.