Uplift - Brightness Reef Part 44

Should this be allowed? Are there ways they can be made to pay?

Confusion reigns.

If these pernicious messages were meant for each separate race-to sway it toward aggression-then why are we/i receiving all of them? Should the Rothen not have targeted each sept to hear one theme, alone?

Perhaps their machine is damaged, or weak.

Perhaps we are stronger than they thought.

Breaking free of the hoonish rhythm, we sense that two layers of bitter song remain. One is clearly meant for Earthlings. Reverence is its theme. Reverence and pride.

We are superior. Others specialize but we can do anything! Chosen and raised by mighty Rothen, it is proper that we be greatest, even as castaways on this slope of savages.

If taught their place, the others might learn roles of worthy service . . .

we/i recall a phrase. Direct empathic transmission-a technique used by Galactic science for the better part of half a billion years.

Knowing makes the manipart stream of voice seem more artificial, tinny, even self-satirical. Of course this message was to have been amplified somehow through our Holy Egg, at a time when we would be most receptive. Even so, it is hard to imagine such prattle winning many believers.

Did they actually think we would fall for this?

Another fact penetrates our attention: There is no layer for the wheeled ones! Why is that? Why are the g'Kek left out? Is it because of their apparent uselessness in a program of genocidal war?

Or because they were already extinct, out there among the stars?

One resonance remains. A drumbeat, like hammers pounding on stacks of stiff round tubes. A reverberation that howls in a manner this composite self finds eerily familiar.

Yet, in some ways it is the most alien of all.

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We shrivel back, dismayed. This egomania is far greater than any of the other broadcasts, even those aimed at urs and men! And yet-it is aimed at traek!

Do you see what is happening, my rings? Is this a taste of the proud willfulness that used to flow from coercive despot-toruses? Those tyrant psyches that once dominated our cognition rings? Overlord-collars that were abandoned on purpose by the traeki founders, when they fled to Jijo?

Is this is how resentment tasted to those haughty Jophur? (Yes, shudder at the name!) Mighty beings who still prowl the stars, in our image. Ring cousins whose waxy cores are ruled by monomaniacal ravings.

If so, why do these rantings mean so little to our mani-colored segments? Knowing them for what they are, why do they seem so ba.n.a.l? So uncompelling?

The demonstration ends. All the sc.r.a.ping emissions fade as power runs out of the alien device. No matter. We now know the purpose of this tangle of cables and b.a.l.l.s. To cast poison, amplified and lent credibility by pa.s.sage through the Egg.

All around the meadow, anger seethes at this blasphemy, at this puerile appeal to our basest animosities. Pa.s.sions that were obsolete even before the Egg appeared.

Is this how poorly you think of us, star-lords? That we might be fooled into doing your dirty work?

We perceive the crowd regathering, a muttering fuming throng, contemptuous of the bobbing hissing robots. Humans, urs, and others mix more freely now, sharing a heady kind of elation, as if we Six have pa.s.sed an awful test. Pa.s.sed it stronger and more unified than ever.

Is this the worst they can do to us?

That is a question i overhear several times.

Yes, my rings, it occurs to us that the Glade is but a small part of the Slope, and we present here make up only a fragment of the Commons.

Is this the worst they can do to us?

Alas, if only it were so.

Sara THE URUNTHAI LIKED TO TRAVEL FAST AND LIGHT, not burdening their donkeys any more than necessary. The Urunthai also believed in the Path of Redemption-they did not much approve of books.

The librarians never had a chance.

Still, the trio of gray-robed archivists protested desperately when they saw the late afternoon bonfire. Two humans and their chimp a.s.sistant tore frantically at their bonds, pleading, entreating, trying to throw themselves across the wax-sealed crates they had been escorting to safety.

The ropes saved their lives. Watching with arbalests c.o.c.ked, the painted Urunthai guards would not have flinched at shooting a clutch of pasty-skinned text-tenders.

"You like fire?" one warrior taunted in thickly accented Anglic. "Fire cleanses. It vurns away dross. It can do the sane thing with flesh. Hoo-nan flesh, vurns so nice."

The librarians were reduced to silent weeping as flames licked the wax, then split the wooden chests, tumbling cascades of volumes that fluttered like dying birds. Paper pages flared as brief meteors, yielding whatever ink-scribed wisdom they had preserved for centuries.

Sara was glad Lark and Nelo couldn't see this.

Many texts were copied, during the Great Printing or after. The loss may not be as had as it looks.

Yet how much longer would those duplicates endure this kind of age, filled with self-righteous sects and crusades, each convinced of their own lock on truth?

Even if the star-G.o.ds never wreck Biblos, or force the explosers to do it for them, fanatics like Jop and UrKachu will only grow more numerous and bold as the social fabric unravels.

As if to ill.u.s.trate the point, a squadron of Jop's comrades entered camp before sundown-a dozen hard-looking men equipped with bows and swords, who slaked their parched throats at the oasis without turning their backs on UrKachu's clansmen, but glanced with satisfaction at the pyre of dying books.

The two groups have a common goal. An end to literary "vanities." Replacing the current sages. Hewing closer to the dictates of the Scrolls.

Later, when we're all firmly on the Path, we can return to slaughtering and ambushing each other, deciding who's top predator on a sinking pyramid of redeemed animals.

The blaze collapsed, spewing sparks and curled paper sc.r.a.ps that seemed to swoop in whirling air currents. Standing next to Sara, the Stranger caught one in his hand and peered, as if trying to read what it once said. Perhaps he recognized something that was much like him, in a poignant way. Once eloquent, it had now lost the magic of speech.

The librarians weren't alone watching with horrified, soot-streaked faces. A young mated pair of hoonish pilgrims clutched each other, umbling a funeral dirge, as if a loved one's heart spine lay in the filthy coals. Several qheuens stared in apparent dismay, along with-lest we forget-a handful of sorrowful urrish traders.

The smoke-stench made her think of darkness. The kind that does not end with dawn.

"All right, everybody! Your attention, please. Here is the plan."

It was Jop, breaking the somber silence, approaching as part of a foursome, with UrKachu, Ulgor, and a grim, sunburned man whose rugged face and flinty hardness made him seem almost a different species from the soft, bookish librarians. Even the Urunthai treated this human with grudging deference. Painted warriors stepped quickly out of his way. Sara found him familiar somehow.

"We'll be leaving in two groups," Jop went on. "The larger will proceed to Salty Hoof Marsh. If any militia platoons hear o' this raid and care to give chase, that's the first place they'll look, so some of you may be 'rescued' in a week or so. That's fine by us.

"The smaller group's gonna go faster. Humans will ride, switchin' to fresh donkeys every half midura. Don't cause trouble or even think of sneakin' off in the dark. The Urunthai are expert trackers, and you won't get far. Any questions?"

When no one spoke, Jop shoved a finger at the Stranger. "You. Over there." He gestured where the biggest, strongest-looking beasts were tethered single file, beside the oasis pond. The Stranger hesitated, glancing at Sara.

"It's all right. She can go along. Can't have our hostage goin' sick on us, eh?" Jop turned to Sara. "I expect you'll be willin' to take care of him awhile longer."

"If I can take my bags. And Prify, of course."

The four leaders muttered among themselves. UrKachu hissed objections, but Ulgor sided with the humans, even if it meant sacrificing some of the booty robbed from the caravan merchants. Two donkeys had their trade goods dumped on the ground, to make room.

Another argument erupted when the Stranger straddled the animal he had been a.s.signed, with his feet almost dragging on both sides. He refused to surrender the dulcimer, keeping the instrument clutched under one arm. With ill temper, UrKachu snorted disgust but gave in.

From her own perch on a st.u.r.dy donkey, Sara watched the hard-faced man gesture toward Kurt the Exploser, sitting with his nephew, silently watching events unfold.

"And you, Lord Exploser," Jop told Kurt with a respectful bow, "I'm afraid there are questions my friends want to ask, and this is no place to persuade you to answer "em."

Ignoring the implied threat, the gray-bearded man from Tarek Town carried his satchel over to the donkey train, with Jomah close behind. When a pair of Urunthai reached for the valise, Kurt spoke in a soft, gravelly voice.

"The contents are . . . delicate."

They backed away. No one interfered as he chose a pack beast, dumped its load of plunder on the ground, and tied the valise in place.

Equal numbers of human radicals and Urunthai warriors made up the rest of the "fast group." The men looked almost as ungainly on their donkeys as the tall Stranger, and more uncomfortable. For many, it must be their first experience riding.

"You aren't coming?" Sara asked Jop.

"I've been away from my farm too long," he answered. "Also, there's unfinished business in Dolo. A certain dam needs tendin' to, the sooner the better."

Sara's head jerked, but it wasn't Jop's statement of destructive intent that made her blink suddenly. Rather, she had glimpsed something over his shoulder: a stream of bubbles, rising to the surface of the pond.

Blade. He's still underwater, listening to everything!

"Don't worry, la.s.s," Jop a.s.sured, misconstruing her briefly dazed look. "I'll make sure your dad gets out, before the cursed thing blows."

Before Sara could reply, UrKachu cut in.

"Now it is (well past) time to end delays and perform actions! Let us be off!"

One of her tails switched the lead donkey's rump, and the queue jostled forward.

Abruptly, Sara slid off her saddle and planted her feet, causing her mount to stutter in confusion, sending a ripple of jerks down the chain in both directions. One of the rough men tumbled to the ground, raising amused snorts from some Urunthai.

"No!" Sara said, with grim determination. "First I want to know where we are going."

Jop urged in a low voice, "Miss Sara, please. I don't even know myself-"

He cut off, glancing past her nervously as the flinty-eyed hunter approached.

"What seems to be the problem?" His deep voice seemed strangely cultured for his rough appearance. Sara met his steady gray eyes.

"I won't mount till you tell me where we're going."

The hunter lifted an eyebrow. "We could tie you aboard."

Sara laughed. "These little donkeys have enough trouble carrying a willing rider, let alone one who's throwing her weight around, trying to trip the poor beast. And if you truss me like a bag o' spuds, the bouncing will break my ribs."

"Perhaps we're willing to take that chance," he began-then frowned as the Stranger, Kurt, and Prity slid off their beasts as well, crossing their arms.

The warrior sighed. "What difference can it possibly make to you, knowing in advance?"

The more he spoke, the more familiar he sounded. Sara felt sure she had met him before!

"My ward needs medical attention. So far, we've held off infection with special unguents provided by our traeki pharmacist. Since you don't plan to bring ers chariot along with your 'fast group,' we had better ask Pzora for a supply to take with us."

The man nodded. "That can be arranged." He motioned for the Stranger to go join Pzora.

Unwrapping the rewq that had lately replaced his gauze bandages, the s.p.a.ceman exposed the gaping wound in the side of his head. On seeing it, several desert-men hissed and made superst.i.tious gestures against bad luck. While his symbiont joined Pzora's rewq in a tangled ball, exchanging enzymes, the Stranger made a flutter of rapid hand motions to the traeki-Sara thought she caught a brief s.n.a.t.c.h of song-before he bowed to present his injury for cleaning and treatment.

She spoke again.

"Furthermore, any stock Pzora provides will stay good for just a few days, so you better figure on taking us someplace with another expert pharmacist, or you may have a useless hostage on your hands. The star-G.o.ds won't pay much for a dead man, whether he's their friend or foe."

The renegade looked at her for a long, appraising moment, then turned to confer with UrKachu and Ulgor. When he returned, he wore a thin smile.

"It means a slight detour, but there is a town so equipped, not far from our destination. You were right to point this out. Next time, however, please consider simply voicing the problem, without starting out quite so confrontationally."

Sara stared at him, then burst out with a guffaw. It seemed to cut some of the tension when he joined with a booming chuckle-one that took Sara back to her earliest days as a student, underneath the overhanging fist-of-stone.

"Dedinger," she said, breathing the name without voice.

The smile was still thin, disdainfully bitter.

"I wondered if you'd recognize me. We labored in different departments, though I've followed your work since I was expelled from paradise."

"A paradise you sought to destroy, as I recall."

He shrugged. "I should have acted, without trying for consensus first. But collegial habits were hard to break., By the time I was ready, too many people knew my beliefs. I was watched night and day until the banishment."

"Aw, too bad. Is this your way of getting another chance?" She motioned toward the bonfire.

"Indeed. After years in the wilderness, ministering to a flock of the fallen-humans who have progressed furthest along the Path-I've learned enough-"

UrKachu's shrill whistle of impatience was not in any known language, yet its short-tempered insistence was plain. Again, Dedinger lifted an eyebrow.

"Shall we go, now?"

Sara weighed trying again to get him to name a destination, out loud. But Dedinger was insane, not stupid. Her insistence might rouse suspicions and maybe even give Blade away.

With an acquiescent shrug, she clambered back aboard the patient donkey. Watching with narrowed eyes, the Stranger remounted, too, followed by Kurt and Prity.

The remaining survivors of the ill-starred caravan seemed both pitying and relieved to be less important to the Urunthai. As the fast group rode out of the Oasis, heading south, the fading bonfire wafted bitter odors, along with dust and pungent animal smells.