Uplift - The Uplift War Part 60

The Examiner turned away to hear a report from her staff. When she came back the entire hillside was hushed. Suspense held them all riveted until she bowed to Fiben.

"Precedent is, indeed, interpretable in favor of your request. Shall I ask your comrades to indicate their choice by hand? Or by secret ballot?"

"Right!" came an Anglic whisper. The young human who had accompanied Uthacalthing grinned and gave Fiben a thumbs-up sign. Fortunately, none of the Gajactics were looking that way to witness the impertinence.

Fiben forced a serious expression and bowed again. "Oh, a hand vote will do nicely, your honor. Thank you."

Gailet was more bemused than anything as the election was held. She tried hard to decline her own nomination, but the same captation, the same implacable force that had kept her from speaking earlier made her unable to withdraw her name. She was chosen unanimously.

The contest for male representative was straightforward as well. Fiben faced Irongrip, looking calmly up into the tall Probationer's fierce eyes. Gailet found that the best she could make herself do was abstain, causing several of the others to look at her in surprise.

Nevertheless, she almost sobbed with relief when the poll came in nine to three ... in favor of Fiben Bolger. When he finally approached, Gailet sagged into his arms and sobbed.

"There. There," he said. And it wasn't so much the cliche as the sound of his voice that comforted her. "I told you I'd come back, didn't I?"

She sniffed and rubbed away tears as she nodded. One cliche deserved another. She touched his cheek, and her voice was only slightly sardonic as she said, "My hero."

The other chims-all except the outnumbered Probies -- gathered around, pressing close in a jubilant ma.s.s. For the first time it began to look as if the ceremony just might turn into a celebration after all.

They formed ranks, two by two, behind Fiben and Gailet, and started forth along the final path toward the pinnacle where, quite soon, there would be a physical link from this world to s.p.a.ces far, far away.

That was when a shrill whistle echoed over the small plateau. A new hover car landed in front of the chims, blocking their path. "Oh, no," Fiben groaned. For he instantly recognized the barge carrying the three Suzerains of the Gubru invasion force.

The Suzerain of Propriety looked dejected. It drooped on its perch, unable to lift its head even to look down at them. The other two rulers, however, hopped nimbly onto the ground and tersely addressed the Examiner.

"We, as well, wish to present, offer, bring forward ... a precedent!"

91 Fiben How easily is defeat s.n.a.t.c.hed from the jaws of victory?

Fiben wondered about that as he stripped out of his formal robe and allowed two of the chims to rub oil into his shoulders. He stretched and tried to hope that he would remember enough from his old wrestling days to make a difference.

I'm too old for this, he thought. And it's been a long, hard day.

The Gubru hadn't been kidding when they gleefully announced that they had found an out. Gailet tried to explain it to him while he got ready. As usual, it all seemed to have to do with an abstraction, "As I see it, Fiben, the Galactics don't reject the idea of evolution itself, just evolution of intelligence. They believe in something like what we used to call "Darwinism" for creatures all the way up to pre-sentients. What's more, it's a.s.sumed that nature is wise in the way she forces every species to demonstrate its fitness in the wild."

Fiben sighed. "Please get to the point, Gailet. Just tell me why I have to go face to face against that momzer. Isn't trial-by-combat pretty silly, even by Eatee standards?"

She shook her head. For a little while she had seemed to suffer from speechlock. But that had disappeared as her mind slipped into the familiar pedantic mode.

"No, it isn't. Not if you look at it carefully. You see, one of the risks a patron race runs in uplifting a new client species all the way to starfaring intelligence is that by meddling too much it may deprive the client of its essence, of the very fitness that made it a candidate for Uplift in the first place."

"You mean-"

"I mean that the Gubru can accuse humans of doing this to chims, and the only way to disprove it is by showing that we can still be pa.s.sionate, and tough, and physically strong."

"But I thought all those tests-"

Gailet shook her head. "They showed that everyone on this plateau meets the criteria for Stage Three. Even" -- Gailet grimaced as she seemed to have to fight for the words -- "even those Probies are superior, at least in most of the ways Inst.i.tute regulations test for. They're only deficient by our own, quaint, Earth standards."

"Such as decency and body odor. Yeah. But I still don't get-"

"Fiben, the Inst.i.tute really doesn't care who actually steps into the shunt, not once we've pa.s.sed all its tests. If the Gubru want our male race-representative to prove he's better by one more criterion-that of 'fitness'-well it's precedented all right. In fact, it's been done more often than voting."

Across the small clearing, Irongrip flexed and grinned back at Fiben, backed up by his two confederates. Weasel and Steelbar joked with the powerful Probationer chief, laughing confidently over this sudden swerve in their favor.

Now it was Fiben's turn to shake his head and mutter lowly. "Goodall, what a way to run a galaxy. Maybe Pratha-chulthorn was right after all."

"What was that, Fiben?"

"Nothin'," he said as he saw the referee, a Pila Inst.i.tute official, approach the center of the ring. Fiben turned to meet Gailet's eyes. "Just tell me you'll marry me if I win."

"But-" She blinked, then nodded. Gailet seemed about to say something else, but that look came over her again, as if she simply could not find the phrases. She shivered, and in a strange, distant voice she managed to choke out five words.

"Kill-him-for-me, Fiben."

It was not feral bloodl.u.s.t, that look in her eyes, but something much deeper. Desperation.

Fiben nodded- He suffered no illusions over what Irongrip intended for him.

The referee called them forward. There would be no weapons. There would be no rules. Underground the rumbling had turned into a hard, angry growl, and the zone of "nons.p.a.ce overhead flickered at the edges, as if with deadly lightning.

It began with a slow circling as Fiben and his opponent faced each other warily, sidestepping a complete circuit of the arena. Nine of the other chims stood on the upslope side, alongside Uthacalthing and Kault and Robert Oneagle. Opposite them, the Gubru and Irongrip's two compatriots watched. The various Galactic observers and officials of the Uplift Inst.i.tute took up the intervening arcs.

Weasel and Steelbar made fist signs to their leader and bared their teeth. "Go get 'im, Fiben," one of the other chims urged. All of the ornate ritual, all of the arcane and ancient tradition and science had come to this, then. This was the way Mother Nature finally got to cast the tie-breaking vote.

"Be-gin!" The Pila referee's sudden shout struck Fiben's ears as an ultrasonic squeal an instant before the vodor boomed.

Irongrip was quick. He charged straight ahead, and Fiben almost decided too late that the maneuver was a feint. He started to dodge to the left, and at barely the last moment changed directions, striking out with his trailing foot.

The blow did not finish in the satisfying crunch he'd hoped for, but Irongrip did cry out and reel away, holding his ribs. Unfortunately, Fiben was thrown off balance and could not follow up his brief opportunity. In seconds it was gone as Irongrip moved forward again, more warily this time, with murder written in his eyes.

Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed, Fiben thought as they resumed circling.

Actually, today had begun when he awoke in the notch of a tree, a few miles outside the walls of Port Helenia, where plate ivy parachutes festooned the stripped branches of a winter-barren orchard. . . .

Irongrip jabbed, then punched out with a hard right. Fiben ducked under his opponent's arm and riposted with a backhand blow. It was blocked, and the bones of their forearms made a loud crack as they met.

. . . The Talon Soldiers had shown grudging courtesy, so he rode Tycho hard until he arrived at the old prison. . . .

A fist whistled past Fiben's ear like a cannonball. Fiben stepped inside the outstretched arm and swiveled to plant his elbow into his enemy's exposed stomach.

. . . Staring at the abandoned room, he had known that there was very little time left. Tycho had galloped through the deserted streets, a flower dangling from his mouth. . . .

The jab wasn't hard enough. Worse, he was too slow to duck aside as Irongrip's arm folded fast to come around to cross his throat.

. . . and the docks had been filled with chims-they lined the wharves, the buildings, the streets, staring. . . .

A crushing constriction threatened to cut off his breath. Fiben crouched, dropping his right foot backward between his opponent's legs. He tensed in one direction until Irongrip counterbalanced, then Fiben whirled and threw his weight the other way while he kicked out. Irongrip's right leg slipped out from under him, and his own straining overbalance threw Fiben up and over. The Probationer's incredible grasp held for an astonishing instant, tearing loose only along with shreds of Fiben's flesh.

... He traded his horse for a boat, and headed across the bay, toward the barrier buoys. . . .

Blood streamed from Fiben's torn throat. The gash had missed his jugular vein by half an inch. He backed away when he saw how quickly Irongrip found his feet again. It was downright intimidating how fast the chen could move.

. . . He fought a mental battle with the buoys, earning -- through reason-the right to pa.s.s through. . . .

Irongrip bared his teeth, spread his long arms, and let out a blood-curdling shriek. The sight and sound seemed to pierce Fiben like a memory of battles fought long, long before chims ever flew starships, when intimidation had been half of any victory.

"You can do it, Fiben!" Robert Oneagle cried, countering Irongrip's threat magic. "Come on, guy! Do it for Simon."

s.h.i.t, Fiben thought. Typical human trick, guilt-tripping me!

Still, he managed to wipe away the momentary wave of doubt and grinned back at his enemy. "Sure, you can scream, but can you do this?"

Fiben thumbed his nose. Then he had to dive aside quickly as Irongrip charged. This time both of them landed clear blows that sounded like beaten drums. Both chims staggered to opposite ends of the arena before managing to turn around again, panting hard and baring their teeth.

. . . The beach had been littered, and the trail up the bluffs was long and hard. But that turned out to be only the beginning. The surprised Inst.i.tute officials had already started disa.s.sembling their machines when he suddenly appeared, forcing them to remain and test just one more. They a.s.sumed it would not take long to send him home again. . . .

The next time they came together, Fiben endured several hard blows to the side of his face in order to step inside and throw his opponent to the ground. It wasn't the most elegant example of jiu-jitsu. Forcing it, he felt a sudden tearing sensation in his leg.

For an instant, Irongrip was rolling, helpless. But when Fiben tried to pounce his leg nearly collapsed.

The Probationer was on his feet again in an instant. Fiben tried not to show a limp, but something must have betrayed him, for this time Irongrip charged his right side, and when Fiben tried to backpedal, the left leg gave way.

. . . grueling tests, hostile stares, the tension of wondering if he would ever make it in time....

As he fell backward, he kicked out, but all that earned him was a grip that seized his ankle like a roller-press. Fiben scrambled for leverage, but his fingers clawed in the loose soil. He tried to slip aside as his opponent hauled him back and then fell upon him.

. . . And he had gone through all of that just to arrive here? Yeah. All in all, it had been one h.e.l.l of a day. . . .

There are certain tricks a wrestler can try against a stronger opponent in a much heavier weight cla.s.s. Some of these came back to Fiben as he struggled to get free. Had he been a little less close to utter exhaustion, one or two of them might even have worked.

As it was, he managed to reach a point of quasi-equilibrium. He attained a small advantage of leverage which just counterbalanced Irongrip's horrendous strength. Their bodies strained and tugged as hands clutched, probing for the smallest opening. Their faces were pressed near the ground and close enough together to smell each other's hot breath.

The crowd had been silent for some time. No more shouts of encouragement came, from one side or the other. As he and his enemy rocked gradually back and forth in a deadly serious battle of deceptive slowness, Fiben found himself with a clear view of the downward slope of the Ceremonial Mound. With a small corner of his awareness, he realized that the crowd was gone now. Where there had been a dense gathering of multiformed Galactics, now there was only an empty stretch of trampled gra.s.s.

The remnants could be seen hurrying downhill and eastward, shouting and gesticulating excitedly in a variety of tongues. Fiben caught a glimpse of the arachnoid Serentini, the Grand Examiner, standing amid a cl.u.s.ter of her aides, paying no attention any longer to the two chims' fight. Even the Pila referee had turned away to face some growing tumult downslope.

This, after talking as if the fate of everything in the Universe depended upon a battle to the death between two chims? That same detached part of Fiben felt insulted.

Curiosity betrayed him, even here and now. He wondered. What in th' ivorld are they up to?

Lifting his eyes even an inch in an attempt to see was enough to do it. He missed by milliseconds an opening Irongrip created as the Probationer shifted his weight slightly. Then, as Fiben followed through too late, Irongrip took advantage in a sudden slip and hold. He began applying pressure.

"Fiben!" It was Gailet's voice, thick with emotion. So he knew that at least somebody was still paying attention, if only to watch his final humiliation and end.

Fiben fought hard. He used tricks dragged up out of the well of memory. But the best of them required strength he no longer had. Slowly he was forced back.

Irongrip grinned as he managed to lay his forearm against Fiben's windpipe. Suddenly breath came in hard, high whistles. Air was very dear, and his struggles took on new desperation.

Irongrip held on just as urgently. His bared canines reflected bitter highlights as he panted in an open-mouthed grin over Fiben.

Then the glints faded as something occulted the lights, casting a dark shadow over both of them. Irongrip blinked, and all at once seemed to notice that something bulky had appeared next to Fiben's head. A hairy black foot. The attached brown leg was short, as stout as a tree trunk, and led upwards to a mountain of fur. . . .

For Fiben the world, which had started to spin and go dim, came slowly back into focus as the pressure on his airpipe eased somewhat. He sucked air through the constricted pa.s.sage and tried to look to see why he was still alive.

The first thing he saw was a pair of mild brown eyes, which stared back in friendly openness from a jet black .face set at the top of a hill of muscle.

The mountain also had a smile. With an arm the length of a small chimpanzee, the creature reached out and touched Fiben, curiously. Irongrip shuddered and rocked back in amazement, or maybe fear. When the creature's hand closed on Irongrip's arm, it only squeezed hard enough to test the chim's strength.

Obviously, there was no comparison. The big male gorilla chuffed, satisfied. It actually seemed to laugh.

Then, using one knuckle to help it walk, it turned and rejoined the dark band that was even then trooping past the' amazed rank of chims. Gailet stared in disbelief, and Utha-calthing's wide eyes blinked rapidly at the sight.

Robert Oneagle seemed to be talking to himself, and the Gubru gabbled and squawked.

But it was Kault who was the focus of the gorillas' attention for a long moment. Four females and three males cl.u.s.tered around the big Thennanin, reaching up to touch him. He responded by speaking to them, slowly, joyfully.

Fiben refused to make the same mistake twice. What gorillas were doing here, here atop the Ceremonial Mound the Gubru invaders had built, was beyond his ability to guess, and he wasn't even about to try. His concentration returned just a split instant sooner than his opponent's. When Irongrip looked back down, the Probie's eyes betrayed instantaneous dismay as he recognized the looming shape of Fiben's fist.

The small plateau was a cacophony, a mad scene devoid of any vestige of order. The boundaries of the combat arena did not seem to matter anymore as Fiben and his enemy rolled about under the legs of chims and gorillas and Gubru and whatever else could walk or bounce or slither about. Hardly anybody seemed to be paying them any attention, and Fiben did not really care. All that mattered to him was that he had a promise that he had to keep.

He pummeled Irongrip, not allowing him to regain balance until the chen roared and in desperation threw Fiben off like an old cloak. As he landed in a painful jolt, Fiben caught a glimpse of motion behind him and turned his head to see the Probationer called Weasel lifting his leg, preparing to strike down with his foot. But the blow missed as the Probie was grabbed up by an affectionate gorilla, who lifted him into a crushing embrace.

Irongrip's other comrade was held back by Robert Oneagle-or, rather, held up. The male chim might have vastly greater strength than most humans, but it did him no good suspended in midair. Robert raised Steelbar high overhead, like Hercules subduing Anteus. The young man nodded to Fiben.

"Watch out, old son."

Fiben rolled aside as Irongrip hit the ground where he had lain, sending dust plumes flying. Without delay Fiben leaped onto his opponent's back and slipped into a half-Nelson hold.

The world spun as he seemed to ride a bucking bronco. Fiben tasted blood, and the dust seemed to fill his lungs with clogging, searing pain. His tired arms throbbed and threatened to cramp. But when he heard his enemy's labored breathing he knew he could stand it for a little while longer.

Down, down Irongrip's head went. Fiben got his feet around the chim and kicked the other's legs out from under him.

The Probationer's solar plexus landed on Fiben's heel. And while a flash of pain probably meant several of Fiben's toes were broken, there was also no mistaking the whistling squeak as Irongrip's diaphragm momentarily spasmed, stopping all flow of air.

Somewhere he found the energy. In a whirl he had his foe turned over. Gripping in a tight scissors lock, he brought his forearm around and applied the same illegal-but-who-cares strangulation hold that had earlier been used on him.

Bone ground against gristle. The ground beneath them seemed to throb and the sky rumbled and growled. Alien feet shuffled on all sides, and there was the incessant squawking and chatter of a dozen jabbering tongues. Still, Fiben listened only for the breath that did not flow through his enemy's throat . . . and felt only for the throbbing pulse he so desperately had to silence. . . .

That was when something seemed to explode inside his skull.

It was as if something had broken open within him, spilling what seemed a brilliant light outward from his cortex. Dazzled, Fiben first thought a Probationer or a Gubru must-have struck him a blow to the head from behind. But the luminance was not the sort coming from a concussion. It hurt, but not in that way.

Fiben concentrated on first priorities-holding tightly to his steadily weakening opponent. But he could not ignore this strange occurrence. His mind sought something to compare it to, but there was no correct metaphor. The soundless outburst felt somehow simultaneously alien and eerily familiar.

All at once Fiben remembered a blue light which danced in hilarity as it fired infuriating bolts at his feet. He remembered a "stink bomb" that had sent a pompous, furry little diplomat scurrying off in abandoned dignity. He remembered stories told at night by the general. The connections made him suspect . . .

All around the plateau, Galactics had ceased their multi-tongued babble and stared upslope. Fiben would have to lift his head a bit to see what so captivated them. Before he did so, however, he made certain of his foe. When Irongrip managed to drag in a few thin, desperate breaths, Fiben restored just enough pressure to keep the big chen balanced on the edge of consciousness. That accomplished, he raised his eyes.