“Conservative species find it strange, and this tendency of humans and chims will seem particularly bizarre to avian beings, which tend to lack even a semblance of a sense of humor.”
She had smiled.
“We will get them used to this type of behavior, until they grow to expect those strange Earthling clients always running toward trouble… just to watch.
“They will learn not to fear you, but they should… speaking as one monkey to another.”
Fiben had known what she meant, that Tymbrimi were like humans and chims in this way. Her confidence had filled him, as well — until he saw her frown suddenly -and speak to herself, quickly and softly, apparently forgetting that he understood Galactic Seven.
“Monkeys… one monkey to another… Sumbaturalli! Must I constantly think in metaphors?”
It had perplexed Fiben. Fortunately, he did not have to understand Athaclena, only know that she could ask anything she wanted of him and he would jump.
After a while more maintenance workers arrived in ground vehicles, this time including a number of chims wearing uniforms of the City Gas Department. By the time they entered the chancery, the Gubru bureaucrats on the lawn had settled into the shade just outside, chirping irritably at the still potent stench.
Fiben didn’t blame them. The wind had shifted his way. His nose wrinkled in disgust.
Well, that’s that. We cost them an afternoon’s work, and maybe we learned something. Time to go home and assess the results.
He didn’t look forward to the meeting with Gailet Jones. For a pretty and bright chimmie, she had a tendency to get awfully officious. And she obviously bore some grudge against him — as if he had gunned her down with a stunner and carried her off in a sack!
Ah well. Tonight he would be off, back into the mountains with Tycho, carrying a report for the general. Fiben had been born a city boy, but he had come to prefer the kind of birds they had out in the country to the sort infesting town of late.
He turned around, grabbed the tree trunk with both arms, and started lowering himself. That was when, suddenly, something that felt like a big flat hand slammed hard against his back, knocking all the breath out of him.
Fiben clawed at the trunk. His head rang and tears filled his eyes. He managed just barely to keep his grip on the rough bark as branches whipped and leaves blew away in a sudden wave of palpable sound. He held on while the entire tree rocked, as if it were trying to buck him off!
His ears popped as the overpressure wave passed. The rip of rushing air dropped to a mere roar. The tree swayed in slowly diminishing arcs. Finally — still gripping the bark tightly — he gathered the nerve to turn around and look.
A towering column of smoke filled the center of the Embassy lawn where the chancery used to be. Flames licked at shattered walls, and streaks of soot showed where superheated gas had blasted in all directions.
Fiben blinked.
“Hot chicken in a biscuit!” he muttered, not ashamed at all of the first thing to come to mind. There was enough fried bird out there to feed half of Port Helenia. Some of the meat was pretty rare, of course. Some of it still moved.
His mouth was bone dry, but he smacked his lips nonetheless.
“Barbecue sauce,” he sighed. “All this, an’ not a truck-load of barbecue sauce to be seen.”
He clambered back onto the branch amid the torn leaves. Fiben checked his watch. It took almost a minute for sirens to begin wailing again. Another for the floater to take off, wavering as it fought the surging convection of superheated air from the fire.
He looked to see what the chims at the perimeter fence had done. Through the spreading cloud of smoke, Fiben saw that the crowd had not fled. If anything, it had grown. Chims boiled out of nearby buildings to watch. There were hoots and shrieks, a sea of excited brown eyes.
He grunted in satisfaction. That was fine, so long as nobody made any threatening moves.
Then he noticed something else. With an electric thrill he saw that the watch disks were down! All along the barrier fence, the guardian buoys had fallen to the ground.
“Bugger all!” he murmured. “The dumb clucks are saving money on smart robotics. The defense mechs were all remotes!”
When the chancery blew up — for whatever ungodly reason it had chosen to do so — it must have taken out the central controller with it! If somebody just had the presence of mind to grab up some of those buoys…
He saw Max, a hundred meters to his left, scurry over to one of the toppled disks and prod it with a stick.
Good man, Fiben thought, and then dropped it from his mind. He stood up and leaned against the tree trunk while tossing off his sandals. He flexed his legs, testing the support. Here goes nothiri, he sighed.
Fiben took off at full tilt, running along the narrow branch. At the last moment he rode the bucking tip like a springboard and leaped off into the air.
The fence was set back a way from the stream. One of Fiben’s toes brushed the wire at the top as he sailed over. He landed in an awkward rollout on the lawn beyond.
“Oof,” he complained. Fortunately, he hadn’t banged his still-tender ankle. But his ribs hurt, and as he panted sucked in a lungful of smoke from the spreading fire. Coughing, he pulled a handkerchief from his coveralls and wrapped it over his nose as he ran toward the devastation.
Dead invaders lay strewn across the once pristine lawn. He leapt over a sprawled, Kwackoo corpse — four-legged and soot-covered — and ducked through a roiling finger of smoke. He barely evaded collision with a living Gubru. The creature fled squawking.
The invader bureaucrats were completely disorganized, flapping and running about in total chaos. Their noise was overwhelming.
Slamming sonic booms announced the return of soldiery, overhead. Fiben suppressed a fit of coughing and blessed the smoke. No one overhead would spot him, and the Gubru down here were in no condition to notice much. He hopped over singed avians. The stench from the fire kept even his most atavistic appetites at bay.
In fact, he was afraid he might be sick.
It was touch and go as he ran past the burning chancery. The building was completely in flames. The hair on his right arm curled from the heat.
He burst upon a knot of avians huddling in the shadow of a neighboring structure. They had been gathered in a moaning cluster around one particular corpse, a remnant whose once-bright plumage was now stained and ruined. When Fiben appeared so suddenly the Gubru scattered, chirping in dismay.
Am I lost? There was smoke everywhere. He swiveled about, casting for a sign of the right direction.
There! Fiben spied a tiny blue glow through the black haze. He set off at a run, though his lungs already felt afire. The worst of the noise and heat fell behind him as he dashed through the small copse of trees lining the top of the bluff.
Misjudging the distance, he almost stumbled, sliding to a sudden halt before the Tymbrimi Diplomatic Cache. Panting, he bent over to catch his breath.
In a moment he realized that it was just as well he’d stopped when he had. Suddenly the blue globe at the cairn’s peak seemed less friendly. It pulsed at him, throbbing volubly.
So far Fiben had acted in a series of flash decisions. The explosion had been an unexpected opportunity. It had to be taken advantage of.
All right, here I am. Now what? The blue globe might be original Tymbrimi equipment, but it also might have been set there by the invader.
Behind him sirens wailed and floaters began arriving in a continuous, fluttering whine. Smoke swirled about him, whipped by the chaotic comings and goings of great machines. Fiben hoped Gailet’s observers on the roofs of the buildings nearby were taking all this down. If he knew his own people, most of them would be staring slack-jawed or capering in excitement. Still, they might learn a lot from this afternoon’s serendipity.