Part 4 (1/2)
”Have it your own way. I don't see any cure from your latest brainstorm of appealing to aliens, Lieutenant.”
Saburo clenches his fists, but says nothing.
The woman dismisses him with a wave. ”Here we have gathered in one room, the greatest expert databases in the Imperium and beyond. The Universities of Skapton, Prakis and Credix itself are tied into our network. We have the wisdom of the ancients, in the form of the programs they left us. This convention has brought together the greatest resources of medicine in recorded history ”
”And you'll still be running your simulations and consulting the ancients when the last of you drops dead from the Plague!” Saburo takes the arm of my operative, draws her toward the door. ”Come on, I should have known better than to stop here.”
As the door slams shut behind us, the Human doctors begin again their comparison of the results of mindless computer programs.
No wonder they are dying.
On the way to Eironea, we pa.s.s wars.h.i.+ps Saburo tries to explain to me why Humans have been killing one another, but I cannot comprehend. We Hlutr are all one tribe, since the time of the Great Schism more than a billion years ago...we do not fight among ourselves for territory, nor do we seek vain power. The Hlutr are united in the songs we sing and the Universal Song of which all are part; even when we disagree (as some of you, my brothers and sisters, disagree with me about helping the Humans), we do so without rancor, malice or violence.
And what need have the Hlutr to fight with the other orders? When they menace us, they are dealt with; otherwise, the Hlutr conquer as they have always conquered, in the slow yet inexorable fas.h.i.+on of the plant kingdom. Why should we fight?
”Your wars.h.i.+ps sit idle, Saburo. Why do they not fight?” For though s.h.i.+ps from both sides challenge us as we pa.s.s, there is no hostility along a border that stretches for a kilopa.r.s.ec in every direction.
He manipulates his keyboard, stares into a small screen, then shrugs. ”The Death. They've declared a truce for the duration.”
”Yours are a strange folk, Saburo.”
Now he does a thing which convinces me that none of the Wise will ever understand Humans, a thing that makes me withdraw for a time to my quiet grove and the fresh dew of a misty Amny dawn.
He laughs.
In due time we come to Eironea, and reluctantly I return from Amny. Your attention is on me now, brothers and sisters, and on this strange journey which has become my mission. Some of you sing of our obligation to save the Humans; others sing that we must maintain the precious Hlutr detachment that has served us since the far-off days of the Pylistroph, when Life was but a dream in the Scattered Worlds.
And others...others breathe a different opinion, born of smothering hatred and cold revenge. These Hlutr rejoice at the Death, and would have us hurry it along so that Humans can be wiped out once and for all.
Have you forgotten, brethren, that once the Hlutr swore to aid Mankind in his quest for maturity, his fulfillment of his potential? Saburo may succeed, despite us- Humanity may survive the Death without Hlutr aid. Will you then have us slay the survivors, cast this people out from the Universal Song? Would you have the Hlutr forsworn before the stars and the sacred melodies?
What the Hlutr do, we shall do in full agreement. Nay, my brothers and sisters: for now, Man will make his own destiny, and the Hlutr...the Hlutr will watch.
Our s.h.i.+p enters normal s.p.a.ce, and we drop toward verdant Eironea. The Hlutr of this world, who live mainly in rich, wet tropical forests, sing me welcome and concern in the Inner Voice. Theirs is a song tinged with despair; the Death has come to Eironea, and Humans have died: seventy times itself four times and more of them. Ten times that many are near death, and their despondency shakes the planet. These Hlutr are fond of their Humans; they cry sadness to the unfeeling stars at the pa.s.sing of their Little Ones.
We land on an untenanted field near one of their great cities, as the sun climbs slowly toward zenith and shadows pool beneath buildings. A drawn Human face appears on the wall: the commander of our s.h.i.+p.
”We're down, sir. If it's all the same to you...er...the crew has voted to remain s.h.i.+pboard. Your cabin connects directly to the main airlock; we'd appreciate it if you'd....”
Saburo raises a quivering hand. ”I understand, Commander. Rest a.s.sured that we'll remain in our sealed area of the s.h.i.+p.”
”Very good, sir.” The face disappears.
With a heavy sigh, Saburo stands. ”Come with me,” he says.
”What is our destination?”
”The Library.” His tread his heavy, his body stooped like a tree that has seen too many harsh winters.
I can do nothing but follow.
There in the empty streets of the city s.h.i.+au s.h.i.+ on the planet Eironea, Saburo tells me what the Humans have done. Let me share this with you, brethren, for it is a marvelous thing.
Like the Daamin, the Kreen and the happy children of grand Aveth.e.l.l, Humans gathered together in one place all their knowledge of the Universal Song. This was in the days of their great Empire, fifteen hundred years ago. Once, every Human world, settlement or stars.h.i.+p in the Galaxy could access this knowledge; today, only a few outposts remain in contact with the central Library. Eironea is one of them. Here, in the care of a devoted priesthood, the machinery is available to all who need it. Through the political upheavals of nearly seventy Human generations, Eironea has remained free, unconquered and neutral, guarding its precious treasure.
The network of transit capsules is not working, and no autotaxis answer Saburo's summons, so our s.h.i.+p gives birth to a small vehicle and we travel in this metal sh.e.l.l. Humans watch us as we pa.s.s, hidden in their buildings or behind directional signs and structural members; the few whom we catch in the open scurry for cover as soon as they see us.
The Temple of Knowledge soars above us as we disembark; Saburo secures the small vehicle and leads me into the large structure. Works of Human art line the walls and fill display cases, but our footsteps echo in empty halls and when Saburo makes his way to a row of waiting computer terminals, their screens remain dark.
I sense another Human presence behind us, and turn to see a pale, emaciated woman dressed in a tattered frock. Her long hair is the black of s.p.a.ce, and her eyes hold Springtime green.
”If you're here to consult the Grand Library,” she says in a thin voice, ”I'm sorry, but you won't have any success.”
”The machinery doesn't work?” Saburo asks.
”It works fine. There's no one at the other end to answer.” She spreads her arms, a sapling opening to the sun. ”The Library staff was. .h.i.t hard by the Death; we last heard from them months ago.” Her lips form a weak smile. ”Come to my quarters, I'll give you some tea. We might as well be comfortable.” She introduces herself as we follow. ”I am Yee Bair. And you?”
”Doctor Alex Saburo. My companion is the Teacher. Do...did you work here?”
”At the Temple? Goodness, no. I was a frequent customer.” She pauses to cough. ”After the Death hit and the priests either died or moved away, I figured, why not move in? It's a lot nicer than my two-room flat, and I have plenty of time for my work.”
Something sings in her, just the briefest flash of an incomplete melody in the Inner Voice. ”Your work?” I ask.
”I'm an artist.” She pauses before a closed door, presses her palm against it and it slides open. ”Here, look.”
Yee Bair makes pictures with light- raw, vibrant pictures that distort reality as seen through Human eyes. Some of her works are tame, gentle scenes of towers, s.p.a.ceports and lounging Human beings. Others feature scenes of the Death, and they breathe with the fear, anguish and defiance that radiate from Human worlds in these terrible times.
”You're a genius,” Saburo says.
In spite of myself, I nod. ”You give form and definition to a bit of the Universal Song. Your work ranks with the greatest of your people.”
”These were early attempts,” she says, pointing out the tame visions. ”Before....” she does not finish, but busies herself with the tea.
This is the mystery, brothers and sisters, that we have faced before and will face again in a thousand different races. We, whose only artform is the substance of the Universal Song itself- we cannot capture its essence in the way that these Little Ones, these animals, can. We who are masters of creation are also its prisoners; we cannot step beyond it to create things that cannot be, to see things that cannot exist. We who never know the fullness of despair that these creatures feel, will also never know the urge that pushes them beyond despair's limits. The ecstacy and the pain of a Hlut in the final death-blast, imposing the will of our folk on the malleable genetics of reality- this is the closest we poor Hlutr can approach the emotion that Yee Bair feels whenever she picks up her light-wand.
Should the Hlutr cry then for Humans, as they face the terror of the Death- or should Humans cry for us?
Human pain rips across the Universal Song, and for a moment my Human brain aches with that plaintive cry. Somewhere, nearer than ever, a Human child is crying as none has ever cried before. Soon, no Hlut will be able to ignore that cry.
Saburo gives a noiseless whistle of awe, and my attention is drawn to Yee Bair's current work.
She has given form to this child's cry that echoes from star to star.
It is a scene almost as the Hlutr might see it, a million colors overlaid one atop the other, a jagged slice of vision that oozes with raw pain. Human eyes and brain must study the picture to see what it represents, but I know even as I glance at it. A Human boy-child wails, surrounded by the dead bodies of seven times seventy Human adults. Behind him, dimly seen, are the figures of other races who watch the Human tragedy: the wise Daamin, the sad sons of Metrin, the compa.s.sionate Iaranori who even now struggle to bring relief where they can...and the Hlutr, proud and tall in our distant sympathy. And beyond us, even the cold unfeeling stars rain tears of light on the child. The picture brings tears to my borrowed Human eyes, as they cry it represents could not.
The stars....
I touch Yee Bair's arm. ”These are the stars of Eironea's sky, no?”
”Yes.” Of course they are. How could one who is so attuned to the waves of the Inner Voice, avoid hearing that call of agonized loneliness? And hearing it, how could she not know from whence it came?