Galactics of many shapes and colors milled in small groups that merged and separated in an elegant pavane of diplomacy. Courteous bows and flattenings and tentacle wavings conveyed complex nuances of status and protocol. A knowledgeable observer might tell a great deal from such subtleties — .and there were many knowledgeable observers present on this day.
Informal exchanges abounded as well. Here a squat, bearlike Pila conversed in clipped, ultrasonic tones with a gangling Linten gardener. A little upslope, three Jophur ring-priests keened in harmonious complaint to an official from the War Institute over some alleged violation out among the starlanes.
It was often said that much more practical diplomacy was accomplished at these Uplift Ceremonies than at formal negotiation conferences. More than one new alliance might be made today, and more than one broken.
Only a few of the Galactic visitors spared more than passing attention to those being honored here today — a caravan of small, brown forms which had taken the entire morning to labor halfway up the mound, circling it four times along the way.
By now nearly a third of the neo-chimpanzee candidates had failed one test or another. Those rejected were already trooping back down the sloping path, in downcast ones and twos.
The remaining forty or so continued their ascent, symbolically reiterating the process of Uplift that had brought their race to this stage in its history, but ignored, for the most part, by the bright crowds on the slopes.
Not all of the observers were inattentive, of course. Near the pinnacle, the Commissioners from the Galactic Uplift Institute paid close attention to the results relayed up by each test station. And nearby, from beneath their own pavilion, a party of the neo-chimpanzees’ human patrons watched, glumly.
Looking somewhat lost and helpless, they had been brought out from Cilmar Island only this morning — a few mayors, professors, and a member of the local Uplift Board. The delegation had put forward a procedural protest over the irregular way the ceremony had come about. But when pressed, none of the humans actually claimed a right to cancel it altogether. The possible consequences were potentially just too drastic.
Besides, what if this were the real thing? Earth had been agitating to be allowed to hold just such a ceremony for neo-chimpanzees for two hundred years.
The human observers definitely looked unhappy. For they had no idea what to do, and few of the grand Galactic envoys present even deigned to acknowledge them amid the flurry of informal diplomacy.
On the opposite side of the Evaluators’ pavilion sat the elegant Sponsors’ Tent. Many Gubru and Kwackoo stood just outside, nervously hopping from time to time, watching every detail with unblinking, critical eyes.
Until moments ago, the Gubru Triumvirate had been visible also, two of them strutting about with their Molt colorings already starting to show and the third still obsti-
nately perched upon its pedestal.
Then one of them received a message, and all three disappeared into the tent for an urgent parlay. That had been some time ago. They still had not emerged.
The Suzerain of Cost and Caution fluttered and spat as it let the message drop to the floor.
“I protest! I protest this interference! This interference and intolerable betrayal!”
The Suzerain of Propriety stared down from its perch, totally at a loss. The Suzerain of Cost and Caution had proved to be a crafty opponent, but never had it been purposely obtuse. Obviously something had happened to upset it terribly.
Crouching Kwackoo servitors hurriedly plucked up the message pellet it had dropped, duplicated the capsule, and brought copies to the other two Gubru lords. When the Suzerain of Propriety viewed the data, it could scarcely believe what it saw.
It was a solitary neo-chimpanzee, climbing the lower slopes of the towering Ceremonial Mound, passing rapidly through the automatic first-stage screens and gradually beginning to close the wide gap separating it from the official party, higher on the hillside.
The neo-chimp moved with an erect determination, a clearness of purpose that could be read in its very posture. Those of its con-specifics who had already failed — and who were spiraling slowly down the long trail again — first stared, then grinned and reached out to touch the newcomer’s robe as he passed. They offered words of encouragement.
“This was not, cannot have been rehearsed!” the Suzerain of Beam and Talon hissed. The military commander cried out, “It is an interloper, and I shall have it burned down!”
“You should not, must not, shall not!” the Suzerain of Propriety squawked back in anger. “There has not yet been a coalescence! No complete molting! You do not yet have a queen’s wisdom!
“Ceremonies are run, governed, ruled by traditions of honor! All members of a client race may approach and be tried, tested, evaluated!”
The third Gubru lord snapped its beak open and shut in agitation. Finally, the Suzerain of Cost and Caution fluffed its ragged feathers and agreed. “We would be charged reparations. The Institute officials might leave, depart, lay sanctions… The cost …” It turned away in a downy huff. “Let it proceed, then. For now. Alone, solitary, in isolation it can do no harm.”
But the Suzerain of Propriety was not so sure. Once, it had set great store in this particular client. When it seemed to have been stolen, the Suzerain of Propriety suffered a serious setback.
Now, however^ it realized the truth. The neo-chimp male had not been stolen and eliminated by its rivals, the other Suzerains. Instead, the chimp had actually escaped!
And now it was back, alone. How? And what did it hope to accomplish? Without guidance, without the aid of a group, how far did it think it could go?
At first, on seeing the creature, the Suzerain of Propriety had felt joyful amazement — an unusual sensation for a Gubru. Now its emotion was something even more uncomfortable … a worry that this was only the beginning of surprise.
87
Fiben
So far so good. He made it around the first circuit in what had to be record speed.
Oh, a few times they asked him some questions. What was his earliest memory? Did he enjoy his profession? Was he satisfied with the physical form of this generation of neo-chimpanzee, or might it be improved somehow? Would a prehensile tail be a convenient aid in tool use, for instance?
Gailet would have been proud of the way he remained polite, even then. Or at least he hoped she’d be proud of him.
Of course the Galactic officials had his entire record — genetic, scholastic, military — and were able to access it the moment he passed a group of startled Talon Soldiers on the bayside bluffs and strode through the outer barriers to meet his first test.
When a tall, treelike Kanten asked him about the note he had left, that night when he “escaped” from imprisonment, it was clear that the Institute was capable of subpoenaing the invaders’ records as well. He answered truthfully that Gailet had worded the document but that he had understood its purpose and concurred.
The Kanten’s foliage tinkled in the chiming of tiny, silvery bells. The semi-vegetable Galactic sounded pleased and amused as it shuffled aside to let him pass.
The intermittent wind helped keep Fiben cool as long as he was on the eastward slopes, but the westward side faced the afternoon sun and was sheltered from the breeze. The effort of maintaining his rapid pace made him feel as if he were wearing a thick coat, even though a chim’s sparse covering of body hair was technically not fur at all.
The parklike hill was neatly landscaped, and the trail paved with a soft, resilient surface. Nevertheless, through his toes he sensed a faint trembling, as if the entire artificial mountain were throbbing in harmonies far, far below the level of hearing. Fiben, who had seen the massive power plants before they were buried, knew that it was not his imagination.