FOURTH SYLLOGISM
FIRST PREMISE: The leadership of the Olduvailan rebels, watching their supplies and ammunition dwindle, realize that their position is militarily and politically untenable. Yet the morale of their troops is as high as on the first day, and they won’t hear a word about surrender, treaties, or concessions. They’ve conquered a new homeland, and they have no intention of relinquishing New Olduvaila.
SECOND PREMISE: The Cetians, feeling affronted, demand that the human race expel the intruders unconditionally from Urgh-Yhaly-Mhan… or exterminate them. But their military leaders would prefer to come to an agreement with the illegal occupiers. They feel that, in the name of peace, they could grant them a consolation prize—some other world, one not quite so heavenly as Canaan or (preferably) so close to Tau Ceti.
THIRD PREMISE: The governments of the other five races in the Galactic Community are prepared to do everything possible to bring the warring factions to an understanding.
CONCLUSION: The Most Correct Juhungan Hegemony assault ship Imperturbable Eviscerator of Unredeemed Suns (or something of the sort; translations from the Juhungan can never be exact) offers the use of its facilities to the two contending parties while they negotiate a treaty. In absolute secrecy.
FIFTH SYLLOGISM
FIRST PREMISE: Taking the Cetian side in the discussions is Coordinator Gardf-Mhaly’s honorable milk cousin, An-Mhaly, whose impossible love for a stonyhearted human (the author of these lines) has made her a romantic heroine among her people. Her one-time friendship with the current leader of New Olduvaila, who worked as an assistant for the same human, will, it is hoped, facilitate their negotiation of a just treaty that neither side will find too dishonorable.
SECOND PREMISE: Given Enti Kmusa’s paranoid fear that even the giant Juhungan warship isn’t safe from prying eyes and ears, the patient hydrogen breathers offer her and the Cetian one of their many secondary vehicles so that, while traveling an undisclosed route, they can have all the time and secrecy they desire to nail down the details of the pact.
THIRD PREMISE: The small exploration vessel in question is organic, like all Juhungan technology. Carbon-reinforced germanium foam. And it flies dangerously close to Brobdingnag.
CONCLUSION: When their vehicle is captured by the gigantic planet’s gravitational field, the Cetian negotiator and the leader of the illegal occupiers of New Olduvai/Canaan/Urgh-Yhaly-Mhan cannot prevent it from plummeting to the planet’s surface—where a laketon, attracted by the irresistibly delicious chemical composition of the Juhungan vehicle, promptly devours it.
SIXTH SYLLOGISM
FIRST PREMISE: Enti Kmusa and An-Mhaly must be freed as quickly and as secretly as possible so the conflict between Olduvailans and Cetians doesn’t flare up and drag on forever.
SECOND PREMISE: The laketon that “kidnapped” them is none other than the second largest of the 611 inhabiting the planet, after Tiny. Called Cosita, it is nearly two hundred kilometers wide. They have to be rescued right away, before the chemical contents of the digestive vacuole completely dissolve and assimilate the organic Juhungan ship—along with its two passengers.
THIRD PREMISE: Given its extremely thick cellular wall and its natural resistance to radiation and impacts, any weapon powerful enough to cause discernible damage to Cosita is just as likely to annihilate its precious “prisoners” in the process.
CONCLUSION: What they need is a miracle rescue. What they need is Jan Amos Sangan Dongo, a.k.a. the “Veterinarian to the Giants.” He’s said to be amazing, surprising, a genius (viewed objectively). If he can’t extract them from the laketon’s innards, nobody can. And besides—what a coincidence!—it turns out he’s well acquainted with the “kidnapping victims,” so they’ll trust him.
And if he succeeds… he’ll get paid a prize of… would ten million solaria be okay?
Or maybe, since I’m such a surprising, amazing genius, I should ask for a little more?
That, basically, was how my secret meeting went with the Head Honchos of Operation Negotiator Rescue.
End result of the interview?
They convinced me. Though I was already set to go before we started.
As a consequence, here I am, stuck in this ship and barely able to squirm, what with the hydraulic bucket seat, the g-force cushioning capsule, and all the extra equipment I stashed on board.
Lots of weight. As if it weren’t enough to be carrying a regulation complement of God-knows-how-many missiles, which the sarcastic Kurchatov insisted they didn’t have time to unload from the magazines. Typical top-brass bureaucrat brain… Or maybe he’s holding on to his trump card, the ability to destroy me by remote control if anything goes wrong?
Deal with the military and…
I’m starting to sound paranoid…
Which doesn’t mean they aren’t really out to get me, you know.
But in any case, I’ll have to dump all this ballast before returning to orbit or there won’t be room in the cabin for the pair I’m rescuing. Besides, the engines couldn’t take the added weight.
I insisted on using a human vehicle on my exotic mission, not a Juhungan ship. It’s more familiar—and all metal and glass, with nothing organic to whet a laketon’s appetite, not even if the bug is starving.
And they humored me.
I took command of this three-seater, with its military design and atmospheric aerodynamics (can’t divulge any more details; still top-secret) and christened it Beagle after the ship on which Darwin circumnavigated Earth back in his day, when he was still working on the theory of natural selection that would make him immortal.
I hope the little homage will bring me luck. I’ll need it, and how.
I’m hoping to show certain people a few things.
Show Enti Kmusa and An-Mhaly that I bear them no ill will. And that I always appreciated them…
Though, as I’ve finally realized, I was just too shy to make sexual advances.
Well, if I rescue them, maybe we’ll get a second chance.
I seriously need to rethink mixing business with pleasure…
My father, who has the most flexible morals ever, always says there’s nothing wrong with having strict principles, so long as they don’t lead you astray.
And since I’ve heard so many interesting things lately about how Cetians give incredible head…
I also want to show all the military types—really want to rub in their big fat faces (or the anatomical equivalent thereof, whether human, Cetian, or Juhungan)—that I can keep a secret, too, even if I am a civilian. And that calling myself the “Veterinarian to the Giants” is more than a cheap publicity slogan and empty bragging; it’s a title I earned the hard way, case after case.
I’m especially determined to make that fact crystal-clear to a certain contemptuous reformed alcoholic and former classmate of mine from Anima Mundi who’s now a puffed-up general in the Army of Earth and acting like he’d really love to see me fail…
I’ll never understand why some people find it so hard to recognize a drop of talent or ability in people they were once pretty close to. I imagine Jesus of Nazareth’s neighbors used to say dismissively, “Turn water into wine? Joe the carpenter’s kid? C’mon, you gotta be kidding! When that brat was little he played in the mud down at the creek in front of my house, just like all the others!”
As for Cosita, the second largest cell in the galaxy…
Truth be told, I hope it never finds out I exist.
I’m so modest, aren’t I?
Well, this job won’t be easy, but as Jack the Ripper would say, let’s take it one piece at a time.