Raising Caine - eARC (54 page)

Gaspard eventually noticed that his references to the “wondrous deliverance” Riordan had effected for the legation did not seem to cheer the recipient of those panegyrics. But when the ambassador inquired if something was amiss, Caine deflected the inquiry, citing exhaustion. During his command of insurgents in Indonesia, Riordan had learned not to share regrets and remorse except with select persons, in private places, and after some time had passed. And Etienne Gaspard was never going to be such a person, despite how well he had ultimately risen to the challenges of their disastrous journey.

Riordan’s reveries ended abruptly when Yiithrii’ah’aash shifted in his framed stool. “You are uncharacteristically silent, Caine Riordan. Do your require more rest? Should I return later?”

“No, no. I was just…thinking. I had not been informed that you were coming today, although Ambassador Gaspard informed me that you shifted in-system three days after our engagement with the—with our enemies.”

“With the Ktor,” Yiithrii’ah’aash corrected.

Caine was silent, considered: Yiithrii’ah’aash’s identification of the Ktor as their attackers—and as humans—was not a probe, not a conjecture to elicit either confirmation or denial. It was uttered as a statement of fact. So it didn’t seem as though that extremely classified piece of information was so classified anymore. Indeed, maybe it never had been for the Slaasriithi. “How long have you known? About the Ktor, I mean.”

“‘Know’ is too strong a word. We suspected, some of us strongly. We Slaasriithi were not alone in this. We intuit that similar suspicions reside in the Dornaani Collective, particularly amongst the Custodians.”

“Then why has the issue not been raised?”

“The Accord is an organization that rightly connects the assurance of privacy to the assurance of peace. Races that presume no rights to impede upon each other tend to be able to coexist.”

“But if it turns out that one of them is a liar, that same coexistence can splinter in a second. With grave consequences.”

Yiithrii’ah’aash’s sensor cluster inclined slightly. “This is also true. As some of us have pointed out. However, over time, many Slaasriithi who suspected the true identity of the Ktor became hopeful that they had been mistaken, or that the Ktor had changed. It is difficult to imagine how so warlike and aggressive a subspecies could endure for so long without evolving into a less self-destructive social organism. But perhaps the more powerful inclination against seeking direct evidence of their biology arose from our own societies’ desire for tranquility. The question of Ktoran identity was a very unnerving topic, and full of dire consequences if it was revealed that they had misrepresented their nature. As has now occurred, here on Disparity. However, we did not foresee that the confirmation would take such a brutal shape, or how quickly it would follow the conclusion of the recent war. Yet perhaps this has been, as your idiom has it, a blessing in disguise.”

Riordan nodded. “But your suspicions of the true identity of the Ktor were hardly something you could ever fully forget.”

“Why do you say so, Caine Riordan?”

“Because, during the journey with W’th’vaathi, we had a conversation which indicated that your defense spores were tailor-made to work upon human biochemistry. That, in turn, suggests that we were among your most dangerous enemies in the distant past.

“But Earth wasn’t launching attacks against other species twenty millennia ago; it was still busy inventing fire. So the human threat which prompted you to devise these spores must have come from elsewhere. And then, when you joined the Dornaani in their Accord, there was already one other member race. A race that was both reclusive and secretive, but also aggressive, and for which no prior record existed: the Ktor. So you had to wonder: ‘is the Ktor claim that they are ammonia-based worms inside big metal tanks just a masquerade?’”

Yiithrii’ah’aash’s tone puzzled Riordan; the Slaasriithi inflections did not resemble those of humans, and this was one he had not heard before. “This is indeed what some of us wondered.”

Riordan sighed. “And now two humans have continued that fine tradition of treachery and aggression. Danysh sabotaged your ship and almost killed you along with us. Macmillan enabled a raid against the surface of a world that is, in interstellar terms, right next door to your home system. I’m half expecting you to tell me that our visit to Beta Aquilae, and this whole diplomatic envoy, has been called off after what my species has done to yours. Again.”

Yiithrii’ah’aash raised a tendril. “You misperceive. Our only concern is with your compromised subspecies, the Ktor.”

Caine frowned. “Compromised?”

Yiithrii’ah’aash’s tendrils waved, one following the other slowly. “The Ktor are not natural, not entirely.”

“In what way? And how can you tell?”

“Many of our biota can ‘taste’ other genecodes, particularly the difference between those which arise from mechanistic genetic alteration, and those which arise from natural evolution or inducement. The latter leaves no genetic detritus, to put the matter crudely. However, the former process—mechanistic alteration—restructures genes through externally forced or crudely imposed addition, removal, or modification of target codes.” Yiithrii’ah’aash may have read Riordan’s frown as incomprehension. “Let us put it this way: natural processes change genetics the way a hand smooths a clay pot on a turning wheel. Mechanistic processes are the blows of hammers, the cuts of knives, the gnawings of nanytes. Many of our biota can, for lack of a better description, smell or taste the ragged code left by these artificial processes.”

Riordan suppressed a host of questions that this revelation stimulated about the Ktor, as well as about the genetic research opportunities that might arise through a partnership with the Slaasriithi. “I’m glad that you distinguish between us and the Ktor, Yiithrii’ah’aash, but the fact remains that two of
my
people brought war and death to Disparity. And the Ktor were using our clones and our equipment.”

Yiithrii’ah’aash oscillated his neck lazily: the equivalent of a shrug. “These statements are true, but they are also unimportant.” Perhaps perceiving the surprised expression on Riordan’s face, Yiithrii’ah’aash held up several didactic tendrils. “If I were to take a dead branch from the forest, and slay my clutch-sibling with it, may I then blame the forest for committing the murder? The forest only provided the object I used. The hand and the will that wielded it show us the culprit. The same holds true of what transpired on Disparity: it was not your doing. The Ktor were the hand and the will behind the treachery and the murder. They simply found the weak and the vulnerable among you and corrupted them to use as their tools.”

“Then isn’t human corruptibility at least partly to blame?”

Yiithrii’ah’aash’s neck wobbled diffidently once again. “Any social creature that is not part of a polytaxon is ultimately corruptible. The survival imperative of disparate individuals is particularly accute and so the values of self-preservation and selfhood may overpower any instinct toward communal preservation and group identity. Conversely, the inevitable outcome of our polytaxic evolution is that the group is more important than the individual; this makes the Slaasriithi unique among the races of the Accord. On the other hand, while human individualism is not unique, its extraordinary intensity also makes your species the most readily corruptible.”

Riordan was tempted to shake his head in dismay. “Then why not presume that we will eventually become just like the Ktor?”

“Because although the countervailing communal impulses of altruism and empathy may not be as strong in your society as in ours, those impulses nonetheless remain intact and uncompromised. However, this balance between egoism and altruism was disrupted by whatever mechanistic modification was used to alter your genecode into that of the Ktor. Possibly this disruption was an unintended artifact of the modification. It is no less likely that it was one of the explicit objectives of the process. However, undamaged, that dynamic tension between love of self and love of others is the guarantor of your social equilibrium.”

Caine leaned back. “I confess I never associated these issues with ‘love.’”

“Indeed? No other word or concept in your species is so powerful, so universal, and yet so variform. Its ends and objects are neither simple nor consistent. Yet your dogged embrace of what you love is ultimately the source of the greatest power, the greatest virtue, of your species.”

“And what is this virtue?”

“It is compounded of two traits. Because your evolution emphasized the importance and survival of the individual, you make new decisions and take new actions with extraordinary rapidity and autonomy. But because your reflex to love transcends self-interest, so do your suvival instincts and imperatives. Were this not so, how could you have saved your legation? You and your group, far away from the counsel of the rest of your species, innately employed a mix of individual and collective actions to respond quickly and innovatively to great dangers and obstacles.”

“The Ktor did the same.”

“True. But if both history and current implications are reliable, their sole motivation was self-interest. They are like viruses; they are self-interested and self-perpetuating engines unencumbered by extraneous concerns, least of all love. You are perpetually active engines as well, but it is in your nature to turn that power to many purposes. And in the record we have of your recent centuries, of the wars you have fought and the social changes you have wrought, we see the unremitting influence of the dynamic equilibrium—and struggle—between self-interest and altruism.” Yiithrii’ah’aash leaned forward. “You are not the Ktor. We know this. Possibly better than you do.”

Riordan inclined his head. “You are very generous in your opinion of us.”

“It is not generosity to understand the characteristics of a species. Perhaps, in the future, if you wish to alter your own innate proclivities to further distance yourself from the possibility of becoming similar to the Ktor, we may be able to help. We would certainly be able to reduce the possibility that you might inadvertently propagate the expression of negative traits within your genecode. Conversely, we could probably assist you in any attempt to amplify the positive traits.”

Caine kept himself from shuddering.
Social conditioning on the genetic level, courtesy of the Slaasriithi? No thank you.

Yiithrii’ah’aash had not noticed Riordan’s reaction, but kept speaking. “And insofar as an apology is concerned, if either of us owes one to the other, it is we, the Slaasriithi, who must apologize to your legation.”

Riordan waved away Yiithrii’ah’aash’s concern. “We did not accept your invitation on the presumption that there would be no hazards on the journey. You protected us as well as you could—”

“That is not what prompts my apology, although our failure to ensure your safety also warrants one.”

Caine’s hand stopped in mid-wave. “Go on.”

“We told you that the only way to know us was to visit our worlds, that in experiencing how we spread biota, and with what results, you would come to understand us.”

Riordan frowned. “And you have done just that. What you have shown us has imparted far more insight than anything we could have received from reading files and data packets.”

“Yes. But there was another reason for our insistence upon that method of acculturation, one we could not initially reveal.”

Caine felt a cool chill on his back, a sensation he’d come to associate with those moments in first contact when, invariably, a crucial and often dangerous new wrinkle insinuates itself into the budding relationship. “And what is this reason?”

“We wanted to watch you.”

“Well, that only stands to reason. You wouldn’t want to allow just any bunch of—”

“You misperceive, Caine Riordan. We wanted to watch
you
. I mean the singular pronoun.”

Caine stopped. “Oh.” Then: “Why?”

“Because our contact with your people is not just motivated by our desire to open normal diplomatic relations. We have another crucial objective, and we needed to be certain—beyond any doubt—that when the time came to reveal it, that we could do so to an individual who had demonstrated powerful affinity with our species, without the benefit of any of our pheromones or spores. When we learned of your travels on Delta Pavonis Three, it raised our interest and hopes. When I met you briefly at Sigma Draconis, it confirmed much, not only because of the easy amity of our discourse, but because of the mark you bear. It meant that you had been touched by, and Affined to, a lost branch of our family tree, a fallen branch. But now, also a crucial branch. This was the other reason we were eager to mount this mission so quickly; not only did we fear the machinations of the Ktor—”

Well, you certainly called
that
correctly
.

“—we also realized that, with you, we had a fleeting opportunity to reveal our needs to the liaison we sought. And we were aware that it might be years, or longer, before so promising a candidate as yourself arose again.” Yiithrii’ah’aash seemed to become distracted. “Besides, time is short. Which is quite ironic: our current urgency arises not from the events of this moment, but from those of past, and largely forgotten, epochs.”

Riordan held up a pausing hand. “Forgotten by you, perhaps. But for us, that past is a blank. So if you want my help, you’ll have to explain
how
events from those lost epochs are creating urgent problems now.”

“I took the liberty of disturbing your rest, Caine Riordan, so that I might unfold that paradox,” Yiithrii’ah’aash answered. “Because until you know its origins, you cannot fully comprehend why we wish you to be our primary liaison. Nor can you fully understand why we exhorted your legation come to meet us.” He paused. “Or rather, to save us.”