"And they were cold," Hulann said sickly. "Showed very few emotions, never laughed "
"Was bred out of them. The less emotional they were, the better job they could be counted on to perform."
"The war-" Hulann said.
When he did not finish, Leo said: "Yeah?"
"We thought the spacers We never considered that they might not be typical of your race. We met hundreds. Thousands of them. They were all alike. We could not know."
"What are you saying?" Leo asked curiously.
"The war was a mistake. We were fighting Hunters. Your spacers are the equivalent of our Hunters. And we destroyed all of you because we thought your Hunters- your spacers were typical of all of you "
Master Hunter Peneton sat in the control chair of the Shaper, three hundred and sixty-one electrodes attached to his body, snaking away from every part of him, disappearing into the vast machinery of the micro-surgical machine. His fingers danced across three hundred and sixty-one controls on the board before him.
He shaped.
He changed.
In the steamy, sealed plastiglass module beyond the foot-thick quartz wall, a tiny foetus was buoyed on a cushion of forces that would be forever beyond his understanding, even when he was grown into a full creature. For this foetus was destined only to be a Hunter. Not a Master Hunter.
That was something else again. There was a special program of genetic juggling, a program of the highest complexities, to be used in the creation of Master Hunters. It was used only once every Century. There were never more than five Master Hunters at any one moment.
Peneton was a Master Hunter.
He shaped.
He changed
In a storage tank in Atlanta: rats
In the morning light, the Great Lakes conversion crater's light looked more yellow than green. Along the southeast rim, the first team of naoli anti-bacterial warfare technicians deployed their equipment and began to introduce the proper anti-toxin to eliminate the hungry, microbes. By nightfall, the warmth and the heat arid the lovely emerald radiance of conversion would be gone
Chapter Fourteen
Ahead was only desert, a vast stretch of yellow-white sand broken through with patches of redder dirt. Now and then, a volcanic plug arose to break the monotony, great columns of stone, freaks of the land-forming process. There was a sparse scattering of vegetation, none of it particularly healthy looking. It was not a place to be. Hulann stopped the shuttle on the crest of the ridge, looked down the highway that crossed the endless spanse of desolation.
"It'll make good beater surface for the shuttle, even if we get off the road," Leo said.
Hulann said nothing, merely stared ahead at what they must cover. The last eight hours had brought a lot of soul-searching. He had turned the facts over and over in his mind, and still he did not cease to be amazed, intrigued, and horrified by them. The awful, bloody war, had been totally unnecessary. But who would have guessed any race would have been breeding spacemen like naoli bred Hunters? Did this lessen the naoli guilt? Did this make their acts of genocide somehow more justified-or, at least, reasonable? Could they be held responsible for such a whim of Fate? Surely not. Yet
Even if one considered "the trick of Fate, the war did not become acceptable. Instead, it became morbidly amusing. Two giant races, both able to travel between stars with relative ease, waging total, blows-to-the-end combat over a simple misunderstanding. The entire affair became a cosmic comedy. And such awe-inspiring death counts should never be fodder for humor.
"What are you thinking?" the boy asked.
Hulann turned from the desert and looked at the human. So much had transpired between their races- with so little meaning. He looked back out the windscreen; it was easier to meet the glare of the desert than the soft, patient eyes of the child.
"We should tell them," Hulann said.
"'Your people?"
"Yes. They should know about this. It changes everything so much. They wouldn't kill you once they knew. And they wouldn't wash and restructure me or hang me or whatever. They couldn't. Oh, some of them will want to. But the evidence does not permit it. If any humans are still alive, we must do whatever we can to help them."
"We aren't going to the Haven?"
Hulann considered it. "We could. But it would serve no purpose. It would solve nothing. Our only chance is to let the others know what I've found. Oh, they'll get it on their own sooner or later. There are archaeological teams sifting the ruins of every city not ruined. There are anthropologists piecing your culture together. Others will find that the spacers were a different breed. But it may take months-even years. And in that time, the few remnants of your race may be found and killed. And then knowing about the spacers will do no good at all."
"I guess," Leo agreed.
"Then I'll call the Hunter off."
"You can do that?"
"I can try."
"I'll go for a walk," the boy said. "My legs need stretching." He opened the door, stepped onto the road, slammed the door behind. He walked off to the left, stooped to examine a small, purple-flowered cactus.
A moment later, Hulann opened his contact with the Phasersystem.
He sensed the channel of minds.
"Docanil," he said with his mind. "Docanil the Hunter."
There was silence. Then:
Hulann
He shuddered at the coldness of the thoughts.
"We will not run any longer," he said to the distant Hunter. "If you will listen to us, we will not run,"
Listen, Hulann?
"To what I have discovered. I-"
Am I to understand you are surrendering yourselves to me?
"More or less, Docanil. But that is not what is important. You must listen to what I have discovered about the humans-"
I wish you would run. If you are begging mercy, you are not being realistic.
"You will not want to kill us when you hear what I have to say."
On the contrary. Nothing you say can influence a Hunter, Hulann. A Hunter cannot be made to sympathize. And a Hunter cannot be deceived. There is no sense in what you plan.
"Listen and you will not kill-"
I will kill on sight, Hulann. I will dispose of you at once. It is my prerogative as a Hunter.
Docanil the Hunter had only been humiliated once in his life. Having little emotional range, a Hunter clings to and nourishes whatever deep feelings arise in him. Even if those feelings are humiliation, anger, and hatred
I know where you are Hulann. 1 will be there soon.
"Please-"
I am coming, Hulann.
Hulann spread the area of his broadcast, boosted it so that it was something that could not escape the notice of any naoli on the Second Division system. He said: "I have discovered something vital about the humans. It is something which makes the war senseless. You must listen. The humans-"
But before he could continue, the psychological conditioning dreams began
He was standing on a dark plain. There were no boundaries to either side, nor any ahead or behind him. He was the highest point for a thousand miles. He stood upon a cushion of vines that tangled in upon one another, concealing the real floor of the land.
We are in an unknown place, the conditioning chanter whispered. This is not the home of naoli
He realized, for the first time, that there were animals in the spaces between the vines, hiding beneath the surface. He could hear them rustling, scampering about. He thought they must have long claws and sharp teeth, small red eyes, poisonous venom. Though he did not see any evidence to support this conception and did not know why he imagined them as beasts.
Because they are beasts, the chanter said.