Into the New Millennium: Trailblazing Tales From Analog Science Fiction and Fact, 2000 - 2010 (63 page)

"Strangely?" Parker sounds surprised. "How so?"

How can I explain what I don't understand? Hada's Cold words are perfect! Her motion too enspirits Aurrel, so why this revulsion? Why this urge to scream pretender, wretch, when she brings everything I have desired? I came here wary of deception, yet never imagined
this!

"Bow-bow," Hada says. "Par-parker, if you did not have the language problem solved, you should not have requested my services."

Instantly, Parker tenses for Rank dispute.

But why? He never fought Rank with the last Human councilor, even while sending him away! Now he and Hada stand confronting, each as alien as the other. I can't stand to watch them. My ears pull back; my feet try to move, pace, run.

Parker backs from his aggression. "Rulii," he murmurs. "Are you all right?"

To answer would weaken me before a dominator. I walk away fast, fight the urge to drop to fours on uneven ground patched here and there with old snow. Night wind rakes claws through my fur; Hada's Cold words torment me. What is it—the wind, the stink, her alien appearance, her odd sweet smell that gives me such horror to hear her speak? Or is it my own agitated imagining?

"Hark! Rulii!" Parker's urgent voice, Warm like a brother at my ear. "Have we offended you? Tell me how to amend."

I want to snap at him, but stop myself, recognizing molri-aggression. My blood poison has confused me; perhaps I'm wrong about
Officer
Hada, and should accept her obvious skill—but somehow I cannot. "Parker, I'm sorry. I cannot bring honored Hada before Majesty."

"Why is this?"

"Majesty will not accept her. She is—" Warm? Vile? Presumptuous? What?

"Rulii, what is she?"

Too nervous, I can't think! Hunger sinks teeth in me; when I look at Parker, shameful pup-urges tempt me to lick his chin. My skin begins to fear the wind.

"So sorry," I say, "she's not ready."

"Please," Parker says. "Rulii, please tell me why."

"She is
not ready!
" I leap to fours, and run. Humans surpass in walking, but not running, so Parker won't catch me; yet fast as wind I could never outrun myself. Escaping the stink, I let anger drive my footsteps back to the ice-locker, to the source of my failure. The sight of molri dizzies me. How this poison-bark mocks! Keeping me Councilor in La-larrai, allowing me to pursue this
spaceport
—yet bringing me down just when my quarry is in sight?

Fury clenches my fists around the sticks; I race to my confronting-room before need can stop me, and dash them into the fire.

Now my folly turns teeth and bites. Why, why did I burn it all?

Need-sickness has defeated my soldier's will. My mouth gapes dry while my skin pulls tight, every scar stretched—and twice my illness has forced me to plead away from Cold Council. Though warmer breezes have spared me public shiver-shame, they haven't brought me the molri scent I weep for.

In such condition, I haven't dared face Hada to hear her Cold words again—and Parker has sent no word to confirm or deny his suspicions of her. I had hoped my sickly silence would gain each of us time to seek answers, but tonight I learn it has only baited Majesty's curiosity. He demands that I bring Hada for audience at dinner tomorrow.

I drag my feet downslope toward Parker's house. The shadow of the old city wall seeps nearer amidst Cold houses of stone and iron, inexorable as the disaster reaching toward me. All around, muddled sunset breezes taunt of spring-wake, but as I pass through the enclosed arch into Westrun district, the urgent scent of Majesty's favor in my mane makes me feel ill.

At Parker's house, a fat-lamp glimmers above the door. I gather myself and enter.

His is a strange confronting-room: the hearth empty; the floor strewn with red-tasseled cloth cushions that would be ruined in a fight; the mottled stones and beams warmed by sourceless light; and only a single lacquered leatherwork on the wall, one I gave him from my own collection. The slots of his inner door will admit my scent, and Majesty's, to the den rooms, but what nose there could recognize them?

Someone does stand guard, though—Parker opens the inner door. His den rooms exhale moist air smelling of steamed grain and leaves: a manger smell, except no person would ever
cook
for his urrgai, or even a house-kept ogollo! A baffling smell, singular to this house in all Aurru.

"Parker," I say, sinking to haunches. "Suffer me to tread your territory?"

"Rulii!" Parker smiles to see me, yet his body shows more anxious than ever. "Please, come in, will you take meat?"

My stomach rolls. "Thank: no meat, only words."

"We'll come to you, then," he says. "Make welcome."

Now
Officer
Hada emerges from within. Less sweetness in her scent today, but she is draped with a long embroidered flag that entirely hides her legs.

Ah, this female—no muzzle, now no legs? I feel faint!

"Hint-hint," Hada says. "Please, Councilor, sit down."

My mane-hackles bristle; with or without molri, her Cold words anguish me. I sink to haunches among the tasseled cushions, rest my hands on my knees while my head weighs like stone. Of what use Majesty's interest, if Hada fails before him? Without this
spaceport
, the best chance for my people is lost—oh, I will die! How could I bear to run longer?

"Forgive our many mistakes in this hunt," says Parker. "You run swiftly, while we stumble at your hind haunch, but we mean no insult. Why do you say that Hada is not ready for audience with Majesty Gur-gurne?"

If he signals to me of her intent, I can't detect it. "I lay you no blame, Parker. Honored Hada, your Cold words are masterful—I cannot understand the instinct that moves me against them. Were I Majesty, I should long since have granted land for your
spaceport
. It shall be a wonder, and a prize for many." I must tell them their audience is already won, but I can't say the words.

"Councilor," says Hada. With the tang of tension rising from her, and the narrowing of her hidden-lid eyes, I think she mistrusts me. "Hint-hint: perhaps Majesty Gur-gurne desires more than this. More silver we may provide; engines; tools for mining which spare much labor. We can grant such to Au-aurru, if we achieve the audience we seek."

She baits greed with me. At once Parker straightens indignantly—I speak before he can offer Rank dispute. "Your offers chill me to awe, honored Hada, but you misunderstand the trap in which we now stand. Just tonight, Majesty has asked to see you."

"Tonight?" Hada mimes attentive ears with her cupped hands. "Bow-bow: happy news. I see no trap."

"No trap Majesty himself has laid. But if we insult him twice over we end our hunt hungry, no matter what the price." I bend to the cushions, lower my chin to my hands in apology for what must be said. "Honored Hada, to me your Cold words sound as the pretender's yap; how, then, should they sway my impatient Majesty? I scent failure imminent, though I know not the cause. I do not wish Majesty to brand Humans a Barbarian Race."

"Barbarian Race!" Suddenly Hada's pose speaks of outrage, and Cold disdain. She turns away from me. "Par-parker, bow-bow: I will not stand responsible for this! Bite-bite: the fault must be in the Cold words you have sent me to learn."

Were Parker one of my own people, I should see his hackles rise. "Hada," he says, "you grasp language too simply. Do you think I run deaf and blind here for seven years, to instruct you astray? Think which is your own territory, and which mine."

Territory?
But this seems another dispute of Rank! Both their bodies claim Cold dominance though Parker doesn't change his Warm words. I have never seen Humans grapple—will they now?

No: Hada chatters sharply in her own language, a sound of bone flutes rattling on stone. Parker's face and body tell me he understands, but he chooses his own tongue to growl back. Then Hada turns to me. Her black eyes glitter rage, like the cornered gharralli.

"Host Councilor, Bow-bow: you have long honored Par-parker, taking him as your huntmate, but our pursuit is larger. I would prefer to meet Majesty Gur-gurne without you."

I shake my head. "What?"

"Hada, think," says Parker. "Only a member of the Cold Council can sponsor audience."

"Bow-bow: then I should withdraw, Par-parker, and you begin again. I think another sponsor may advance us without Ru-rulii's objections."

Parker protests. "Begin
again?
Do you know how hard it was for me to find Rulii, when our research group remains under cover of wilderness, unable to establish public presence?"

"Bow-bow," Hada frowns. "You will not distract me into advancing your private aims, Par-parker. My concern is for
Systems
goals here."

"And what might those goals be? Polishing your own reputation, perhaps?"

This is beyond endurance! "Parker!" I cry. "Honored Hada, listen. There is no other in all Aurru to aid you as I do. Leave me, and your
spaceport
fails."

Hada snaps her head around to face me. "Ru-rulii, bow-bow: then say
why
it is you want us for yourself so badly. You hide your true motive from us."

Wauuunn! My true motive flouts Rank, first tenet of natural order! What will they do if I reveal the secret I have so carefully guarded?

"Honored Hada," I say, "the other Councilors are heavy-furred. As dominators they already control all tribute, and they will not nose your bait of silver or engines. But for my Lowland people who now have nothing? Despised for Shiverers, our goods and animals taken without recompense? Your
spaceport
is a promise such as I have never seen! How should I not give my last breath for your success?"

Hada's eyes fix on me. The dominator who depends on Rank will resent interdependence; she will despise me for my presumption. I try not to belly abject on the cushions before her.

"Bite-bite," she says. "I think you lie, if you deny you want riches for yourself. You have
personal
reasons to need them."

Not the attack I expected! I shake my mane. "What?"

"Hada," Parker warns softly. "Majesty Gur-gurne personally granted Rulii's place at Council for heroism. He has never dishonored our goals in any way. I have given you information concerning the race division between the long-furred and downy-furred Aurrel Clans; this only confirms that Rulii will support us fully. Should he not bear concern for our success?"

Her spine is a knife. "Bite-bite," she says. "His problem—"

But Parker interrupts her in his own language, pleading with body and face. In his shallow gurgles I recognize the word,
friend
.

I tense. Does he make public claim of intimacy with me? But though insolent, this word
friend
is obviously powerful, for it softens Hada's pose.

"Hark-hark," Hada says. "Please excuse me, Councilor; we will speak again." She departs through Parker's inner door, her strange flag undulating with the movements of her hidden feet.

Parker looks at me; I look at him. His mix of familiar and strange may be difficult, but still I prefer him to Hada—I
know
him. This flat brown face, the short curled mane and soft fingers, they are all
Parker
. His voice is the only one in La-larrai to speak kindly to me.

I could weep.

I did not fight my last battle on the field: I grappled sweat-teeth-and-claw to drive away Barruna, the last littermate who nudged for passage through my inner door. Where molri dominates can be only loneliness—but I have been very lonely.

"Rulii," Parker says. "I want to explain something to you."

I keep cautious eyes on him. "Your word,
friend?
"

"No, the work of
Officer
Jasmine Hada. Hada roves star territories. She works six months to learn what might take others six years, arrives, speaks, departs. She has great skill, but she doesn't solve problems; only deftly uses the solution provided to her. Since her arrival I've detected no deception, only support for our
spaceport
project. But seeing her Cold words fail, she fears that her next hunt will be delayed."

I shift my seat. "What you describe seems no hunt, Parker. Only the scavenger doesn't expect to find its meat still struggling."

Parker's eyes widen, white rims around deep brown. "Scavenger!" A contained laugh gurgles, then dies in his chest. "Rulii, you've helped me in my own research without objection, but I hope I haven't made myself scavenger in your eyes."

"Certainly not, Parker." I close my eyes, turn ears to him, so that I may feel him closer. "I don't mock when I name you huntmate."

"You are kind, Rulii."

"And you are Warm, Parker. No insult, but from my Lowland heart."

He remains silent a moment. "I wonder," he says. "Hada believes you treat us differently from your own Aurrel people, that you judge us lower for our foreign appearance—and this is a thing that Humans don't like."

"I would never. To treat you thus would be to give you up already for Barbarians. I strive to face Humans in thoughtful respect: Hada as my dominator, you as—" I am moved to confess, "You, as my brother."

"Rulii—your
brother? Waauw
." This sounds almost a lament, but soon I realize it must be one of his own words. He sits quiet, and though my contentment would be lost if he came nearer, I wish him beside me. "Rulii," he says. "I know you're ill. If you can name me brother, will you permit me to help you?"

Fear seeps into my thickened blood. I stare at the stone wall—if I look at him, I might panic. "A malady of the season, no more. It will pass."

Parker sighs. "My
scientists
," he says. "They have looked into your blood."

"
Into it
?" My sinews tense, stabbing pain.