The Faded Sun Trilogy (96 page)

The regul left a musty scent behind them. They had gotten it cleared out of the ship and it was back again. Koch had not begun by hating it, but it produced now a tautness in his gut, memories of tense encounters and regul smiles.

He slid a glance to Degas as the door closed, pushed away the cooling cup of soi, the taste of which he associated with the smell. Degas offered nothing, discreetly blank. He looked at Averson.

“Advice,” he said.

“My advice.” Averson wiped at his mouth and felt after some object in his pocket, patted it as if to be sure it was there. “I have given it, sir.”

“Your opinion on what you just heard.”

Averson moistened his lips. “The maneuverings of their ship . . . this forward and back, forward and back, the eluding of watch: this is what I said . . . bluff. They have a word for it, somewhere between status and assertion. They are here to assert themselves after their crisis.”

“Or they’re screening some operation. They’re very anxious to have us move.”

“Assertion. Ask more than you can get; provoke and study the reaction.”

“That can get men killed down there, doctor. Or worse.”

“This is a new doch, this Horag. A new power. A totally new entity in control. They’re distressed by this silence on our part; they lost an elder here, and that confounded all bargains, because that elder was replaced by a
different doch entirely. They deal only in memory; and the murder of an elder . . . they remember vividly. They need some current reaction from us, some approach, some substance against which they can plan policy. Remember that they can’t imagine, sir. And we don’t know what Horag remembers.”

“What difference?” Koch asked impatiently. “They were all on one ship.”

A lot of difference, sir. A great deal of knowledge was lost with Sharn. This youngling comes out of a different pool of knowledge. His entire reality is different.

“I leave that to the psych lads. My question is what specifically will he do? What is he likely to do in the matter with
Flower
?”

Averson’s hands were visibly trembling. He extracted a bottle of pills from his pocket . . . Koch stared at the performance critically; jump-stress, maybe. There were younger men in that condition among them.

“You have to give them data to convince them of cooperation,” Averson said. “But no, sir, they haven’t gone down there because your threat is believed. They believe the line you’ve drawn.” Averson tucked the pill into his mouth, put the bottle away, an annoyingly meticulous process with shaking hands. “If they fear too much they could also leave this star. Break down the whole treaty arrangement by going back to home space and reporting a human-mri alliance. Fact is, we don’t know that mri and humans are the only sapient life regul are in contact with. We don’t know that any exist. We don’t know anything about what lies inside or the other side of regul space. And we know this one direction, where all the worlds but this one are dead; and we need to get back, sir. If no one gets back—who’ll tell it?”

Koch leaned chin on his locked hands and frowned. There were things not spread to Averson’s level . . . that
Saber
might not be the sole mission; that Kesrith would send out another, and another . . . desperate to have an answer. The way to the mri homeworld was the mri’s secret, and humanity’s, and regul . . . when
Shirug
reached home . . . their secret too. And if a human marker were not in place broadcasting peace to ships which came . . . human ships would move in with force. It might take time; second missions might go world by world, years upon years in searching dead worlds: they had followed mri, quick and desperate. But come they would, if humans feared enough, if men and equipment sufficed to hurl out here.

“Dr. Averson, . . . I appreciate your effort. I’d appreciate a written analysis of the transcript for our files. Things have a way of coming clear when they’re written. If you would do that.”

“Yes, sir,” Averson replied. He looked much calmer, looked left at Degas as if to learn whether this was dismissal.

“Good day, doctor,” Koch said, waited patiently as Averson made his awkward and slow retreat, with backward glances as though he would gladly have stayed.

“Opinion,” Koch said to Degas.

Degas locked his hands across his belly, relaxed in his chair. “Cautious credence. I share your apprehensions about the bai; but there is merit in their position and in their offers.”

“I reckon they’ve read the scan also. They know those cities are live again; that’s what’s brought them running. The question is whether they know about Galey.”

“Possibly. Possibly not,” Degas said. “Our strong warning has had some effect, I believe.”

“On
Flower
’s safety, yes. We still haven’t accounted for their own operation, and the only possible motive their mission can have is provocation.”

“Observation.”

“Possibly.”

“They aren’t physically capable of getting into the sites. Chances are they suspect some operation like Galey’s. We might calm them by feeding them Galey’s reports openly; but I doubt they would put much weight on them.”

“Because their decision is already firm.”

Degas frowned; by his face he wanted to say something, finally gestured and did so. “Sir, I would suggest that we’re also operating under subconscious bias.”

“Meaning?”

“The regul are repulsive, aren’t they? No one likes them; the crew shies from them. It’s an emotional reaction, I’m afraid. There’s nothing lovely about them. But the fact is, the regul are nonviolent. They are safe neighbors. Of
course the mri are appealing; humans find their absolutisms attractive. They have instincts that almost overlap our own . . . or seem to; they’re handsome to human eyes. But they’re dangerous, sir; the most cold-blooded killers ever let loose. Incompatible with all other life. We learned that over forty bloody years. Regul don’t look noble; they aren’t, by our rules; they’ll cheat, given the chance . . . but in terms of property, not weapons. They would be good neighbors. We
can
understand them. Their instincts overlap ours too; and we don’t like to look at that. Not nearly so attractive as the mri. But the end result of regul civilization is trade and commerce spread over all their territories. And we’ve had a first-hand look at the result of mri civilization too . . . the dead worlds.”

Koch made a face. It was truth, though something in it was sour in his belly. “But it’s rather like what Duncan said, isn’t it, Del—that we shape ourselves by what we do here. We become . . . what we do here.”

Degas’s face went flat and cold. He shook his head. “If we kill here, . . . we stop them. We stop them flat. It’s our doing; it doesn’t go any farther than that. We have to take the responsibility.”

“And
we
become the killers we kill to stop, eh? Paradox, isn’t it? We can sneak out of here regul-fashion and let the regul become the killers; or do our own killing, and how will regul look on us then, a species that looks like the mri, that could do what the mri did? Another paradox. What’s the human answer to this situation?”

“Side with the peaceful side,” Degas said too quickly, like a man with his mind long made up. “Blow this place.”

Koch sat and stared at him, thinking that the connection of those two ideas was not half so mad as might be. Not here. Not with mri.

“Pull up Galey’s mission,” Degas urged him. “And
Flower
too. You can’t entirely stop the regul from prodding about down there. Regul do that, keep pushing a situation. Humans can deal with that. Mri . . .”

“You’re still taking for granted mri control those weapons.”

“I don’t believe the possibility ought to be excluded on the basis of Galey’s report. There’s still only one answer when it comes down to who we want for neighbors. And preserving the mri is—”

Degas did not finish that. Koch sat back. “I propose you this, Del: regul are good traders. If we do what they don’t like, they’ll still come back and bargain again. We can do what we want here . . . and they’ll have to negotiate
from that point, not a point of their choosing.”

Degas seemed to consider, slowly and at length. “Possibly. If there are no alternatives for them. Or if they don’t reach some instinctual limit as a result of something we do . . . like a mri alliance.”

“They’re likely to hire more mercenaries. Humans, maybe; a lot of our people are trained for war, Del; a lot are rootless, and some are hungry. Does that make regul such safe neighbors?”

A second and deeper frown from Degas. “I figure that’s more trouble for the regul than they want; they don’t take to human ways easily, not at depth. The mri never let the regul know them; and maybe that’s how they tolerated each other so long. We may be more open than the regul like. But that doesn’t change my advice. We can’t stay here forever. Can’t. I recommend we take the responsibility and get the ugly business over with.”

“No.”

“Then land a force if those cities are dead and you trust this report. Go in on foot and wipe out these deserted cities, destroy their automations and their power sources. Propose that to the regul for a compromise.”

“Reckoning—”

“That if the regul are right, the mri will resist with everything they have; we’ll throw it back at them doubled, and be done with this. And if they’re wrong and those sites aren’t used, then what harm would the destruction of power sources do . . . to declined and nomadic people? Let the mri exist. That’s the humane solution you asked. One the regul could accept; it’s reasonable; one we could accept; it’s moral. Give the mri what they need to live; let them live out their natural decline. Charity is well enough at that point.”

Koch considered it, rocked back and forth, weighed the possibilities. It began to make sense. It was, by all they knew, something that the regul could accept. He considered it further, staring at Degas’s tense and earnest face. “You wouldn’t have discussed that with Averson?”

“No. But I’m sure he could give you some sort of analysis of regul reaction, before putting it to them.”

“
Flower
might accept it Might.”

“Possibly,” Degas said, his eyes glittering.

“I want Averson’s opinion on it put it to him, as from yourself. Have it written up and on my desk as soon as
possible.”

“Sir,” Degas said with uncharacteristic zeal.

*   *   *

To be back in the safety of
Shirug
 . . . Suth breathed a sigh of profound relief as he eased his sled free of the shuttle’s confines, entered the landing bay. His youngling attendants puffed about in their own concerns, the securing of the ship. Suth locked into the nearest rail connection and punched the code of his own office.

Automation locked in, high priority. The sled shot into motion, whisking round the turns and through dark interstices of sled-passages, out into brief bright glimpses of foot corridors. Freight sleds went by with shock air, dead-stopped at intersections as, in his case, even other adult-sleds must stop. Sunk in his cushions he accepted the accelerations, his two hearts compensating for the shifting stresses. His blunt fingers punched in a summons, and he received acknowledgment that his staff was on its way.

They were already in his offices when he braked at the door, disengaged, and trundled through the anteroom and into his own territory. Morkhug’s youngling proffered him soi. He drank gratefully, having suffered depletion of his strength in this shifting about.

“Report,” he asked of his three mates, who waited on him.

“The two shuttles have dropped,” Nagn announced with evident satisfaction.

“Observed by any?”

“Questionable, reverence; they are at least down intact.”

Suth settled black, cup in hand, vastly relieved. “Flexibility,” he pronounced with a hiss. “My own operations were not without success. They are stalling, these humans. They have been set off balance by our demands, and they are talking.”

“The supplies with the shuttles,” said Morkhug, “will extend the life of the younglings onworld by ten days. We are considering the feasibility of recovery. We cannot afford to lose the machinery if we remain here and protract this situation.”

Suth drank and reflected on the matter. In eight days, panic would begin to set in among the younglings onworld, water for the humidifiers running short; and food . . . in increasing anxiety they would eat. They had oversupplied food in relation to water: better shortage of anything but food; the presence of it would satisfy them toward the terminal stages if no provision could be made to rescue them. Fear of hunger brought madness, irrational action. It was necessary that that reaction be staved off as long as possible.

Expendables: the younglings downworld knew it as these present here did. It was the eternal hope of younglings that efficiency would win favor and spare one from dying . . . the deep-rooted desire to feed and placate the governing elders, to be constantly reassured about one’s status. Recipient of such attentions’ and no longer bound by them, Suth settled into remote consideration of alternatives.

Deal with humans and thereby win access to supply food to the mission?

Koch’s reasoning nagged at him, blind, humanish obstinacy.

Regarding forgetting . . . .
We use it with many meanings, bai Suth.

Precise forgetting?

The deliberate expunging of data?

One could alter one’s reality and all time to come. Was this linked future-memory and imagination?

Suth shuddered.

*   *   *

“Food,” Melek breathed anxiously, tearing at the wrappings of the supply packets; its fingers were all but numb: the cold crept in everywhere, despite the wrappings with which they swathed themselves, and the biodome which, with its flooring and translucent walls, attempted to provide them some measure of moving space in their base. Four shuttles clustered about the dome, dimly visible in the dawning, where basin haze made the daybreak the hue of milk, where the shadow of a seamount drifted disembodied and lavender above the haze. All of them avoided that exterior view whenever possible; the flatnesses, they were not so bad; but the barren sand, the eternal emptiness, the color of the earth, the alienness of it . . . these were terrible. The regular thudding of the compressor
measured their existence within the air-supported dome. The air was supposed to be heated, but the nights, the dreadful nights, when the sun sank and vanished in mid-sky . . . brought chill; and fearsome writhings disturbed the floor of the biodome, the life of Kutath, seeking moisture, seeking warmth; they wore footgear when they must go out to the ships, hastened, shuddering at the slithering whips and cables which attempted to impede them and to invade their suits and their doorways.