And what of the strangers who enter her life? Uthacalthing asked the glimmering figure of his long-dead wife, whose shape seemed to hover before him, beyond his closed eyelids.
“Husband, what of them? They, too, will shape her. And she them. But our own time ebbs.”
Her face was so clear.… This was a dream such as humans were known to have, but which was rarer among Tymbrimi. It was visual, and meaning was conveyed in words rather than glyphs. A flux of emotion made his fingertips tremble.
Mathicluanna’s eyes separated, and her smile reminded him of that day in the capital when their coronae had first touched … stopping him, stunned and still in the middle of a crowded street. Half-blinded by a glyph without any name, he had hunted the trace of her down alleyways, across bridges, and past dark cafes, seeking with growing desperation until, at last, he found her waiting for him on a bench not twelve sistaars from where he had first sensed her.
“You see?” she asked in the dream voice of that long ago girl. “We are shaped. We change. But what we once were, that, too, remains always.”
Uthacalthing stirred. His wife’s image rippled, then vanished in wavelets of rolling light. Syullf-tha was the glyph that hovered in the space where she had been … standing for the joy of a puzzle not yet solved.
He sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
For some reason Uthacalthing thought that the bright daylight might disperse the glyph. But syullf-tha was more than a mere dream by now. Without any volition on his part, it rose and moved slowly away from Uthacalthing toward his companion, the big Thennanin.
Kault sat with his back to Uthacalthing, still absorbed in his studies, completely unaware as syullf-tha transformed … changed subtly into syulff-kuonn. It settled slowly over Kault’s ridge crest, descended, settled in, and disappeared. Uthacalthing stared, amazed, as Kault grunted and looked up. The Thennanin’s breath-slits wheezed as he put down his instruments and turned to face Uthacalthing.
“There is something very strange here, colleague. Something I am at a loss to explain.”
Uthacalthing moistened his lips before answering. “Do tell me what concerns you, esteemed ambassador.”
Kault’s voice was a low rumble. “There appears to be a creature … one that has been foraging in these berry patches not long ago. I have seen traces of its eating for some days now, Uthacalthing. It is large … very large for a creature of Garth.”
Uthacalthing was still getting used to the idea that syulff-kuonn had penetrated where so many subtler and more powerful glyphs had failed. “Indeed? Is this of significance?”
Kault paused, as if uncertain whether to say more. The Thennanin finally sighed. “My friend, it is most odd. But I must tell you that there should be no animal, since the Bururalli Holocaust, able to reach so high into these bushes. And its manner of foraging is quite extraordinary.”
“Extraordinary in what way?”
Kault’s crest inflated in short puffs, indicating confusion. “I ask that you do not laugh at me, colleague.”
“Laugh at you? Never!” Uthacalthing lied.
“Then I shall tell you. By now I am convinced that this creature has hands, Uthacalthing. I am sure of it.”
“Hm,” Uthacalthing commented noncommittally.
The Thennanin’s voice dropped even lower. “There is a mystery here, colleague. There is something very odd going on here on Garth.”
Uthacalthing suppressed his corona. He extinguished all facial expression. Now he understood why it had been syulff-kuonn—the glyph of anticipation of a practical joke fulfilled—that penetrated where none had succeeded before.
The joke was on me!
Uthacalthing looked beyond the fringe of their sunshade, where the bright afternoon had begun to color from an overcast spilling over the mountains.
Out there in the bush his confederate had been laying “clues” for weeks, ever since the Tymbrimi yacht came down where Uthacalthing had intended it to, at the edge of the marshlands far southeast of the mountains. Little Jo-Jo—the throwback chim who could not even speak except with his hands—moved just ahead of Uthacalthing, naked as an animal, laying tantalizing footprints, chipping stone tools to leave in their path, maintaining tenuous contact with Uthacalthing through the blue Warder Globe.
It had all been part of a convoluted plan to lead the Thennanin inexorably to the conclusion that pre-sentient life existed on Garth, but Kault had seen none of the clues! None of the specially contrived hints!
No, what Kault had finally noticed was Jo-Jo himself … the traces the little chim left as he foraged and lived off the land!
Uthacalthing realized that syulff-kuonn was exactly right. The joke on himself was rich, indeed.
He thought he could almost hear Mathicluanna’s voice once again. “You never know …” she seemed to say.
“Amazing,” he told the Thennanin. “That is simply amazing.”
61
Athaclena
Every now and then she worried that she was getting too used to the changes. The rearranged nerve endings, the redistributed fatty tissues, the funny protrusion of her now-so-humanoid nose—these were things now so accustomed that she sometimes wondered if she would ever be able to return to standard Tymbrimi morphology.
The thought frightened Athaclena.
Until now there had been good reasons for maintaining these humaniform alterations. While she was leading an army of half-uplifted wolfling clients, looking more like a human female had been more than good politics. It had been a sort of bond between her and the chims and gorillas.
And with Robert, she remembered.
Athaclena wondered. Would the two of them ever again experiment, as they once had, with the half-forbidden sweetness of interspecies dalliance? Right now it seemed so very unlikely. Their consortship was reduced to a pair of signatures on a piece of tree bark, a useful bit of politics. Nothing else was the same as before.
She looked down. In the murky water before her, Athaclena saw her own reflection, “Neither fish nor fowl,” she whispered in Anglic, not remembering where she had read or heard the phrase, but knowing its metaphorical meaning. Any young Tymbrimi male who saw her in her present form would surely break down laughing. And as for Robert, well, less than a month ago she had felt very close to him. His growing attraction toward her—the raw, wolfling hunger of it—had flattered and pleased her in a daring sort of way.
Now, though, he is among his own kind again. And I am alone.
Athaclena shook her head and resolved to drive out such thoughts. She picked up a flask and scattered her reflection by pouring a quarter liter of pale liquid into the pool. Plumes of mud stirred near the bank, obscuring the fine web of tendrils that laced through the pond from overhanging vines.
This was the last of a chain of small basins, a few kilometers from the caves. As Athaclena worked she concentrated and kept careful notes, for she knew she was no trained scientist and would have to make up for that with meticulousness. Still, her simple experiments had already begun to bear promising results. If her assistants returned from the next valley in time with the data she had sent for, she might have something of importance to show Major Prathachulthorn.
I may look like a freak, but I am still Tymbrimi! I shall prove my usefulness, even if the Earthmen do not think of me as a warrior.
So intense was her concentration, so quiet the still forest, that sudden words were like thunderclaps.
“So this is where you are, Clennie! I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Athaclena spun about, almost spilling a vial of umber-colored fluid. The vines all around her suddenly felt like a net woven just to catch her. Her pulse pounded for the fraction of a second it took to recognize Robert, looking down at her from the arching root of a giant near-oak.
He wore moccassins, a soft leather jerkin, and hose. The bow and quiver across his back made him look like the hero of one of those old-time wolfling romances Athaclena’s mother used to read to her when
she was a child. It took longer to regain her composure than she would have preferred.
“Robert. You startled me.”
He blushed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”
That wasn’t strictly true, she knew. Robert’s psi shield was better than before, and he obviously was proud of being able to approach undetected. A simple but clear version of kiniwullun flickered like a pixie over Robert’s head. If she squinted, she might almost imagine a young Tymbrimi male standing there.…
Athaclena shuddered. She had already decided she could not afford this. “Come and sit down, Robert. Tell me what you have been doing.”
Holding onto a nearby vine, he swung lightly onto the leaf-strewn loam and stepped over to where her experiment case lay open beside the dark pool. Robert slipped off his bow and quiver and sat down, cross-legged.
“I’ve been looking around for some way to be useful.” He shrugged. “Prathachulthorn’s finished pumping me for information. Now he wants me to serve as sort of a glorified chim morale officer.” His voice rose a quarter octave as he mimicked the Terragens Marine’s South Asian accent. “We must keep the little fellows’ chins up, Oneagle. Make them feel they’re important to the Resistance!”
Athaclena nodded, understanding Robert’s unspoken meaning. In spite of the partisans’ past successes, Prathachulthorn obviously considered the chims superfluous—at best useful in diversions or as grunt soldiery. Liaison to childlike clients would seem an appropriate cubbyhole to assign the undertrained, presumably spoiled young son of the Planetary Coordinator.
“I thought Prathachulthorn liked your idea of using digestion bacteria against the Gubru,” Athaclena said.
Robert sniffed. He picked up a twig and twirled it deftly from finger to finger. “Oh, he admitted it was intriguing that the gorillas’ gut critters dissolved Gubru armor. He agreed to assign Benjamin and some of the chim techs to my project.”
Athaclena tried to trace the murky pattern of his feelings. “Did not Lieutenant McCue help you persuade him?”
Robert looked away at the mention of the young Earthling woman. His shield went up at the same time, confirming some of Athaclena’s suspicions.
“Lydia helped, yeah. But Prathachulthorn says it’d be next to impossible to deliver enough bacteria to important Gubru installations before they detect it and neutralize it. I still get the impression Prathachulthorn thinks it a side issue, maybe slightly useful to his main plan.”
“Do you have any idea what he has in mind?”
“He smiles and says he’s going to bloody the birds’ beaks. There’s been intelligence of some major facility the Gubru are building, south of Port Helenia, and that may make a good target. But he won’t go into any more detail than that. After all, strategy and tactics are for professionals, don’t y’know.”
“Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about Prathachulthorn. I brought something to show you.” Robert shrugged out of his pack and reached inside to pull out an object wrapped in cloth. He unfolded the coverings. “Look familiar at all?”
At first sight it appeared to be a pile of wrinkled rags with knotted strings hanging off the edges. On closer examination, the thing on Robert’s lap reminded Athaclena of a shriveled fungus of some sort. Robert grabbed the largest knot, where most of the thin fibers came together in a clump, and extended the strings until the filmy fabric unfolded entirely in the gentle breeze.
“It … it looks familiar, Robert. I would say it was a small parachute, but it is obviously natural … as if it came from some sort of plant.” She shook her head.
“Pretty close. Try to think back a few months, Clennie, to a certain rather traumatic day … one I don’t think either of us will ever forget.”
His words were opaque, but flickerings of empathy drew her memories forth. “This?” Athaclena fingered the soft, almost translucent material. “This is from the plate ivy?”
“That’s right.” Robert nodded. “In springtime the upper layers are glossy, rubbery, and so stiff you can flip them and ride them as sleds—”
“If you are coordinated,” Athaclena teased.
“Um, yeah. But by the time autumn rolls around, the upper plates have withered back until they’re like this.” He waved the floppy, parachute-like plate by its fibrous shrouds, catching the wind. “In a few more weeks they’ll be even lighter.”
Athaclena shook her head. “I recall you explained the reason. It is for propagation, is it not?”
“Correct. This little spore pod here”—he opened his hand to show a small capsule where the lines met—“gets carried aloft by the parachute into the late autumn winds. The sky fills with the things, making air travel hazardous for some time. They cause a real mess down in the city.
“Fortunately, I guess, the ancient creatures that used to pollinate the plate ivy went extinct during the Bururalli fiasco, and nearly all of the pods are sterile. If they weren’t, I guess half the Sind would be covered with plate ivy by now. Whatever used to eat it is long dead as well.”
“Fascinating.” Athaclena followed a tremor in Robert’s aura. “You have plans for these things, do you not?”
He folded the spore carrier away again. “Yeah. An idea at least. Though I don’t imagine Prathachulthorn will listen to me. He’s got me too well categorized, thanks to my mother.”
Of course Megan Oneagle was partly responsible for the Earthling officer’s assessment and dismissal of her son. How can a mother so misunderstand her own child? Athaclena wondered. Humans might have come a long way since their dark centuries, but she still pitied the k’chu-non, the poor wolflings. They still had much to learn about themselves.
“Prathachulthorn might not listen to you directly, Robert. But Lieutenant McCue has his respect. She will certainly hear you out and convey your idea to the major.”
Robert shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Why not?” Athaclena asked. “This young Earthwoman likes you, I can tell. In fact, I was quite certain I detected in her aura—”
“You shouldn’t do that, Clennie,” Robert snapped. “You shouldn’t nose around in people’s feelings that way. It’s … it’s none of your business.”
She looked down. “Perhaps you are right. But you are my friend and consort, Robert. When you are tense and frustrated, it is bad for both of us, no?”
“I guess so.” He did not meet her gaze.
“Are you sexually attracted to this Lydia McCue, then?” Athaclena asked. “Do you feel affection for her?”
“I don’t see why you have to ask—”
“Because I cannot kenn you, Robert!” Athaclena interrupted, partly out of irritation. “You are no longer open to me. If you are having such feelings you should share them with me! Perhaps I can help you.”
Now he looked at her, his face flushed. “Help me?”
“Of course. You are my consort and friend. If you desire this woman of your own species, should I not be your collaborator? Should I not help you achieve happiness?”
Robert only blinked. But in his tight shield Athaclena now found cracks. She felt her tendrils wafting over her ears, tracing the edges of those loose places, forming a delicate new glyph. “Were you feeling guilty over these feelings, Robert? Did you think they were somehow being disloyal to me?” Athaclena laughed. “But interspecies consorts may have lovers and spouses of their own race. You knew that!
“So what would you have of me, Robert? I certainly cannot give you children! If I could, can you imagine what mongrels they would be?”
This time Robert smiled. He looked away. In the space between them her glyph took stronger form.
“And as for recreational sex, you know that I am not equipped to leave you anything but frustrated, you overendowed/underendowed, wrong-shaped ape-man! Why should I not take joy in it, if you find one with whom you might share such things?”
“It’s … it’s not as easy as that, Clennie. I …”
She held up a hand and smiled, at once beseeching him to be quiet a
nd to let go. “I am here, Robert,” she said, softly.
The young man’s confusion was like an uncertain quantum potential, hesitating between two states. His eyes darted as he glanced upward and tried to focus on the nonthing she had made. Then he remembered what he had learned and looked away again, allowing kenning to open him to the glyph, her gift.
La’thsthoon hovered and danced, beckoning to him. Robert exhaled. His eyes opened in surprise as his own aura unlocked without his conscious will. Uncurling like a flower. Something—a twin to la’thsthoon—emerged, resonating, amplifying against Athaclena’s corona.
Two wisps of nothing, one human, one Tymbrimi, touched, darted apart playfully, and came together again.
“Do not fear that you will lose what you have with me, Robert,” Athaclena whispered. “After all, will any human lover be able to do this with you?”
At that, he smiled. They shared laughter. Overhead, mirrored la’thsthoon manifested intimacy performed in pairs.
Only later, after Robert had departed again, did Athaclena loosen the deep shield she had locked around her own innermost feelings. Only when he was gone did she let herself acknowledge her envy.
He goes to her now.
What Athaclena had done was right, by any standard she knew. She had done the proper thing.
And yet, it was so unfair!
I am a freak. I was one before I ever came to this planet. Now I am not even anything recognizable any longer.
Robert might have an Earthly lover, but in that area Athaclena was all alone. She could seek no such solace with one of her own kind.
To touch me, to hold me, to mingle his tendrils and his body with mine, to make me feel aflame …
With some surprise, Athaclena noticed that this was the first time she had ever felt this thing … this longing to be with a man of her own race—not a friend, or classmate, but a lover—perhaps a mate.
Mathicluanna and Uthacalthing had told her it would happen someday—that every girl has her own pace. Now, however, the feeling was only bitter. It enhanced her loneliness. A part of her blamed Robert for the limitations of his species. If only he could have changed his body, as well. If only he could have met her halfway!