She returned to the cockpit and peered about, wondering if she would recognize something significant even if it lay right in front of her.
Come on. You’re a Terragens citizen with most of a college education. And you spent months working for the Gubru.
Concentrating, she recognized the flight controls, and — from symbols obviously pertaining to missiles — the weapons console. Another display, still lit by the craft’s draining batteries, showed a relief territory map, with multiple sigils and designations written in Galactic Three.
Could this be what they’re using to find us? she wondered.
A dial, just below the display, used words she knew in the enemy’s language. “Band Selector,” the label said. Experimentally, she touched it.
A window opened in the lower left corner of the display. More arcane writing spilled forth, much too complex for her. But above the text there now whirled a complex design that an adult of any civilized society would recognize as a chemical diagram.
Sylvie was no chemist, but she had had a basic education, and something about the molecule depicted there looked oddly familiar to her. She concentrated and tried to sound out the indentifier, the word just below the diagram. The GalThree syllabary came back to her.
“Hee… Heem… Hee Moog…”
Sylvie felt her skin suddenly course with goose bumps. She traced the line of her lips with her tongue and then whispered a single word.
“Hemoglobin.”
97
Galatics
“Biological warfare!” The Suzerain of Beam and Talon hopped about the bridge of the cruising battleship on which it held court and pointed at the Kwackoo technician who had brought the news. “This corrosion, this decay, this blight on armor and machinery, it was created by design?”
The technician bowed. “Yes. There are several agents — bacteria, prions, molds. When we saw the pattern counter-measures were instituted at once. It will take time to treat all affected surfaces with organisms engineered against theirs, but success will eventually reduce this to a mere nuisance.”
Eventually, the admiral thought bitterly. “How were these agents delivered?”
The Kwackoo pulled from its pouch a filmy clump of clothlike material, bound by slender strands. “When these things began blowing in from the mountains, we consulted Library records and questioned the locals. Irritating infestations occur regularly on this continental coast with the onset of winter, so we ignored them.
“However, it now appears the mountain insurgents have found a way to infect these airborne spore carriers with biological entities destructive to our equipment. By the time we were aware, the dispersal was nearly universal. The plot was most) ingenious.”
The military commander paced. “How bad, how severe, how catastrophic is the damage?”
Again, a deep bow. “One third of our planet-side transport is affected. Two of the spaceport defense batteries will be out of commission for ten planetary days.”
“Ten days!”
“As you know, we are no longer receiving spares from the homeworld.”
The admiral did not need to be reminded. Already most routes to Gimelhai had been interdicted by the approaching alien armadas, now patiently clearing mines away from the fringes of Garth system.
And if that weren’t enough, the two other Suzerains were now united in opposing the military. There was nothing they could do to prevent the coming battles if the admiral’s party chose to fight, but they could withhold both religious and bureaucratic support. The effects of that were already showing.
The pressures had built until a steady, throbbing pain seemed to pulse within the admiral’s head. “They will pay!” the Suzerain shrieked. Curse the limitations of priests and egg counters!
The Suzerain of Beam and Talon recalled with fond longing the grand fleets it had led into this system. But long ago most of those ships had been pulled away by the Roost Masters to meet other desperate needs, and probably quite a few of them were already smoking ruins or vapor, out on the contentious Galactic marches.
In order to avoid such thoughts the admiral contemplated instead the noose now tightening around the shrinking mountain strongholds of the insurgents. Soon that worry, at least, would be over forever.
And then, well, let the Uplift Institute enforce the neutrality of its sacred Ceremonial Mound in the midst of a -itched planet-space battle! Under such circumstances, mis-. ijt-s were known to fall astray: — such as into civilian towns, or even neutral ground.
Too bad! There would be commiseration, of course. Such a pity. But those were the fortunes of war!
98
Uthacalthing
No longer did he have to hold secret the yearnings in his heart, or keep contained his deep-stored reservoir of feelings. It did not matter if alien detectors pinpointed his psychic emanations, for they surely would know where to find him, when the time came.
At dawn, while the east grew gray with the cloud-shrouded sun, Uthacalthing walked along the dew-covered slopes and reached out with everything he had.
The miracle of some days back had burst the chrysalis of his soul. Where he thought only winter would forever reign, now bright shoots burst forth. To both humans and Tymbrimi, love was considered the greatest power. But there was, indeed, something to be said for irony, as well.
I live, and kenn the world as beautiful.
He poured all of his craft into a glyph which floated, delicate and light, above his wafting tendrils. To be brought to this place, so near where his schemes began… and to witness how all his jests had been turned around upon himself, giving him all he had wanted, but in such amazing ways…
Dawn brought color to the world. It was a winter land-and seascape of barren orchards and tarp-covered ships. The waters of the bay wore lines of wind-flecked foam. And yet, the sun gave warmth.
He thought of the Universe, so strange, often bizarre, and so filled with danger and tragedy.
But also surprise.
Surprise .,. . the blessing that tells one that this is real — he spread his arms to encompass it all — that even the most imaginative of us could not have made all of this up within his own mind.
He did not set the glyph free. It cast loose as if of its own accord and rose unaffected by the morning winds, to drift wherever chance might take it.
Later came long consultations with the Grand Examiner, with Kault and Cordwainer Appelbe. They all sought his advice. He tried not to disappoint them.
Around noon Robert Oneagle drew him aside and brought up again the idea of escape. The young human wanted to break out of their confinement on the Ceremonial Mound and head off with Fiben to cause the Gubru grief. They all knew of the fighting in the mountains, and Robert wanted to help Athaclena in any way possible.
Uthacalthing sympathized. “But you underestimate yourself in thinking you could ever do this, my son,” he told the young man.
Robert blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that the Gubru military are now well aware of how dangerous you and Fiben are. And perhaps through some small efforts of my own they include me on their list. Why do you think they maintain such patrols, when they must have other pressing needs?”
He motioned at the craft which cruised just beyond the perimeter of Institute territory. No doubt even the coolant lines leading to the power stations were watched by expensive drones of deadly sophistication. Robert had suggested using handmade gliders, but the enemy was surely wise even to that wolfling trick by now. They had had expensive lessons.