Raising Caine - eARC (55 page)

Chapter Fifty-Three

The Third Silver Tower; BD +02 4076 Two (“Disparity”)

Wait: to
save
them? Damn, what’s
that
about?
“You have my full attention, Yiithrii’ah’aash.”

The Slaasriithi ambassador sat very straight. Riordan had the impression that he was preparing to strive for absolute precision and clarity in what he said, that he was possessed by a terrible need to impart this information
correctly
. “Long ago, my species lost something: the ability to defend itself against aggressors who were too large or fast or bold for us to ameliorate, and then constrain, with our various strategies of inducement.

“However, as your own people have begun to conjecture given the age of the ruins you found on Delta Pavonis Three, our people were in the stars before we lost that ability. Our races—yours and mine, certainly—were transplanted, much as we transplant biota to different worlds to achieve different ends. We have no concrete knowledge of that earlier epoch, or of what those ends were, but we conjecture that we were, in your vernacular, the preferred terraformers of that time.”

Caine discovered he was squinting. “And what was humanity’s function?”

“We can make even fewer conjectures about that, and those we have must wait for a later conversation. But be assured that it was not simply to be blood-drenched warriors such as the Ktor. What evidence we do have suggests that the Ktor were a later aberration. You might call them the flawed result of a weapons development program.”

Yiithrii’ah’aash’s neck seemed to sag. “Sadly, what you uncovered on Delta Pavonis Three suggests that the Ktor were used to eliminate the enemies of one side in the great conflagration which ended that distant arc of history. Specifically, we believe that the human ruins you discovered belonged to the Ktor, who had been sent to exterminate us. And almost did so. Indeed, given the devolved subtaxon you encountered, the Ktor so damaged our population that it was unable to remain fully polytaxic; it regressed to a much earlier, simpler state. That is why you observed no discrete taxae there.

“I see you are eager to ask questions about this war, what caused it, what followed. It is in the nature of the way you narrativize the past to ask such questions. I must disappoint you. I have no such information. I doubt any of my species do. But this much is manifestly evident: the Ktor did not exterminate all Slaasriithi, everywhere.” He gestured around him at the high ceilings of the Third Silver Tower. “I do not know when we devised the defense spores that almost killed you, Caine Riordan. It might have been during that war. It might have been later, as a means of making our remaining planets too difficult and costly to invade. But the spores do date from those days.

“Our historical record, such as it is, commences well after that war ended. We found ourselves alone in a silent universe. Never overly concerned with machinery, we did not find our loss of technological acumen terribly distressing. Rather, we pursued our efforts to build harmony between our polytaxon and the biota with which we shared the biosphere of what we call our homeworld. In time, of course, we re-expanded to other systems—by slower-than-light craft, at first—and often discovered worlds which still had vestiges of our earlier bioforming. There was much work, and much purpose, and we throve, although the pace of our ‘thriving’ is very different from humanity’s.

“Well before the Dornaani recontacted us, we had progressed to the point where our synergistic balances had become so refined, so stable, that there were no longer any new regions to explore quickly, no crises that needed swift address, no species that required prompt suppression. In short, we had achieved the harmony we had sought. All the notes in the symphony of our many biospheres were in tune and consonant with the leitmotif we had heard and now, had created.”

Riordan rested his chin in his hand. “Why do I suspect that there is a problem in this paradise?”

Yiithrii’ah’aash’s voice was rueful but also gently agreeable. “Because you are the liaison, Caine Riordan; because you see the stories of other beings not from the outside, but from the inside. We have many words for this trait and its subtle shadings and variations. In your language, the closest term is ‘empathy,’ but that only touches the surface of a far more complicated matrix of phenomena. But to return to the problem in this paradise:

“Because conflicts, crises, and exploration had become uncommon, my species found itself confronted with a problem it had never faced: the existence of a taxon which had outlived its function. We called the members of this taxon the indagatorae, which comes closest to your term ‘explorers.’ That taxon had descended from our earliest days; they were our scouts, guards, trail-blazers. They were unique among us in that they sought challenge and uncertainty, conditions that the other taxae wished to avoid. They preferred rootless solitude or small groups over fixed communities. Furthermore, for the indagatorae to have optimal chances of survival and success, they required a trait that was also unique to their taxae: a pronounced self-preservation instinct that prompted them to be more innovative and more decisive than any other taxon when faced with a crisis.”

Yiithrii’ah’aash’s neck waggled slightly; his limbs drooped somewhat: was it the onset of melancholy? “So here is the problem you foresaw in our paradise. In essence, the indagatorae had done their job too well. All Slaasriithi now dwelt in biospheres which held no threats, in which there were no undiscovered countries, and in which the only crises were natural disasters for which we had developed excellent contingency plans. The indagatorae’s innovation and boldness was no longer needful or pertinent, except in rare rescue operations.”

Riordan nodded. “But you still had a taxon with an accute self-preservation instinct and whose focus was as much, or more, upon the individual as upon the community.”

“Perceiving this problem, and what it portends, is why we hope you shall consent to be our liaison. As you no doubt conjecture, we reduced the indagatorae over time. It was not difficult. The demographic balance of our breeding is driven by chemistries more than cognitive determination, and the almost vanished need for the abilities of this taxon had already made it the smallest of our taxae. And, having had no contact with any other intelligent races for many millennia, we believed that the past wars had very possibly wiped out all the others. Meanwhile, the indagatorae were constantly disrupting our polytaxic harmonies, always pushing for faster solutions, deviations from protocols and norms, seeking challenges where the community sought tranquility.”

“And so they dwindled and were gone.”

“Just so. But recent events have swelled the number of voices which, as a few always had, caution that no species should willingly divest itself of any skills, that no state of existence is so permanent that once-useful traits may be said to have outlived their usefulness.”

“A point that no doubt became more pertinent at the last Convocation.”

Yiithrii’ah’aash emitted a weary hum. “We had noted the increasing Ktor aggressiveness for some time, but the events of the past two years exceeded our worst projections. Now, the wisdom of the most senior ratiocinatorae is that although the indagator did become a disruptive element of our polytaxon, it still had a purpose. And this purpose did not reside solely, or even primarily, in the utilitarian skills it possessed. Rather, the nature of the indagator itself was a reminder of what we are in toto: a harmony among all things, because all things do have their place. In the case of the indagatorae, the variables it introduced into our existence were, ultimately, more beneficial to the long-term health of our polytaxon than they were disruptive to its smaller, short-lived particularities. The indagatorae may problematize the overarching strategies whereby we hope to achieve a universal synergy among all biota, but they are also a reminder that surprise, serendipity, and chance are powers that ineluctably shape us—and require special management—over time.”

Riordan nodded. “So you are going to reintroduce the indagatorae.”

“That is our intent. But we need you in order to do it.”

Caine leaned back. “I don’t understand.”

“It has been at least ten millennia since the indagatorae walked amongst us. The genome for that taxae has been heavily compromised. It was repressed whenever it attempted to naturally re-express in our communities. What is left of its coding is inconsistent, incomplete: insufficient.”

“So you can’t reintroduce the indagator?”

“Not by ourselves, no.”

Caine shook his head. “I don’t understand. How can I help? What do you need?”

Yiithrii’ah’aash spoke slowly, carefully. “We must have access to the original genome, to a genecode which was not altered by our repeated and forceful suppression of the indagator.”

Caine frowned—and then understood. “The beings I met on Delta Pavonis Three, the devolved versions of your species: although they are regressed, they still carry that genome.”

“Precisely. Indeed, I suspect that their population is heavily shaped by the genecodes particular to the indagator taxon. It is unlikely any other taxon could survive in isolation for so long.”

Caine nodded. “And you need me to get permission to acquire a sample and—”

Yiithrii’ah’aash was buzzing softly but steadily. When Caine grew silent, Yiithrii’ah’aash said, “No. That would not be sufficient. We cannot know if every cell, or any cell, in one Pavonian’s body or blood would carry the entirety of the code we require. It may only reside in what you would call stem cells, or in the nuclei of other specialized cell types. And only our experts will be able to make that determination.”

Finally Caine understood what Yiithrii’ah’aash was asking of him. “You need me to take you to Delta Pavonis Three to meet, and abscond with, one or more Pavonians.”

“Not abscond,” Yiithrii’ah’aash insisted. “We would not compel compliance. But we will not need to. The mark they placed upon you tells me that. They will still recognize rapport spores; they will understand.”

“Okay,” Caine allowed, “but what if they
don’t
understand? As you said, Ambassador, the Pavonians may be ‘of’ you, but they are not Slaasriithi anymore. So the way I look at it, that makes them free agents. Even if it’s best that they cooperate with you, they’re under no obligation to do so. And I won’t support any attempts to coerce or compel their compliance.”

“And I will never ask you to, Caine Riordan, because we are in absolute accord on this point: the Pavonians must be free to choose their own path. However, the mark on you tells me that they will hear our call and will come with us.”

“All of them?”

“Only if they so wish. But eventually, I believe they all shall. However, I suspect that we will not be able to tarry to determine this during our first visit.”

Caine mentally checked how this scenario would impact the clockwork gears of humanity’s own political machinery. Yiithrii’ah’aash was right about not tarrying: Earth needed Slaasriithi technical assistance as quickly and as profoundly as the Slaasriithi needed the return of their indagatorae. But doing so promptly was going to involve a territorial violation, no way around it.

Trying to process a formal request for access was a non-starter. It would take months, maybe years, to be cleared by the fledgling Terran Republic’s inchoate and still-decentralized bureaucratic and diplomatic services. The up-side of the violation was that, once the deed was done, the resulting agreement might provide an easy way to send most or all of the Pavonians to a good home, leaving DeePeeThree wide open for unrestricted human settlement. That would make everyone happy—eventually. But in the meantime…

“Yiithrii’ah’aash, you are aware that if we do this, it will be without any official permission or knowledge. In short, I will be violating the laws of my own government.”

Yiithrii’ah’aash bobbed slowly. “I have examined the ramifications of what I ask. That is why I only ask it now, after you have seen us in our worlds: peaceful, productive, and woefully incapable of protecting ourselves. Or of being truly useful allies to you. To change that, we must reintroduce the indagator. And to accomplish that, we must act in stealth and in violation of your laws.” He rose slowly, stiffly; was it a formal gesture of some sort, perhaps a supplication? “I would not ask this of you if there was any other way for our need to be met, or if the consequences were not so great. For both our peoples. And so I ask: would you do us the honor of consenting to be our Liaison to humanity?”

Caine stared at the tubes running into his arms, many without the benefit of needles or other mechanical interfaces. What had made this mission—a deep contact—different from a first contact was that the strangest and most unexpected challenges were those that percolated within oneself, not in exchanges with the exosapients. In this case, the questions and consequences spawned by Yiithrii’ah’aash’s request were so immense, and so intertwined with humanity’s uncertain and rapidly unfolding future, that it was impossible to separate and dissect them all discretely. At some point, the person on the spot just had to go with their gut feelings and choose a path.

“I will be your Liaison,” Caine answered. He felt a little giddy, a little like he was trying to walk a tightrope at a very high altitude. “Now what?”

“Now,” Yiithrii’ah’aash answered slowly, “I believe we must converse with Ambassador Gaspard.”

* * *

Not quite two hours later, Gaspard stared after Yiithrii’ah’aash’s receding form, rubbing his chin meditatively.

“Well?” asked Riordan. “Will you support it?”

The ambassador quirked a smile. “Was my decision ever truly in doubt, Captain?”

“As far as I’m concerned, it still is. Nothing’s settled until you agree to the mission explicitly. And on the record.”

A single, short laugh escaped from Gaspard’s thin-lipped mouth. “You have become cautious of administrators and bureaucrats,
Monsieur
Riordan: good for you. So, yes: I explicitly and formally agree to the mission Yiithrii’ah’aash asks you to undertake to Delta Pavonis Three, and release the legation staff you require for that purpose. Of course, you understand that my approval is still but a legal fig leaf. I do not explicitly have the power to agree to a covert foreign entry into our space. Even permission to overtly receive their ship into one of our systems would require final confirmation and scheduling, although it is within my powers as a plenipotentiary ambassador to
agree
to it.”