David Brin - Infinity's Shore

Who, me, lady? Don’t you know I fought the whole battle and saved everybody’s skins, all by myself?

After his experience with telepathic mulc spiders, Dwer did not dismiss the possibility that it was more than imagination. The noor showed no reaction when he tried mind speaking, but that proved nothing.

Gillian had also tried various techniques to make the noor talk — first asking Alvin to smother the creature with umble songs, then keeping Mudfoot away from the young hoon, locking it instead in this dim office for miduras, with only the ancient mummy for company. The Niss Machine had badgered the noor in a high-pitched dialect of GalSeven, frequently using the phrase dear cousin.

“Danel Ozawa tried talkin’ to it, too,” Dwer told Gillian.

“Oh? And did that seem strange to you?”

He nodded. “There are folktales about talking noor … and other critters, too. But I never expected it from a sage.”

She slapped the desktop.

“I think I get it.”

Gillian stood up and began pacing — a simple act that she performed with a hunter’s grace, reminding him of the prowl of a she-ligger.

“We call the species tytlal, and where I come from, they talk a blue streak. They are cousins of the Niss Machine, after a fashion, since the Niss was made by our allies, the Tymbrimi.”

“The Tymb … I think I heard of ’em. Aren’t they the first race Earth contacted, when our ships went out—”

Gillian nodded. “And a lucky break that turned out to be. Oh, there are plenty of honorable races and clans in the Five Galaxies. Don’t let the present crisis make you think they’re all evil, or religious fanatics. It’s just that most of the moderate alliances have conservative mind-sets. They ponder caution first, and act only after long deliberation. Too long to help us, I’m afraid.

“But not the Tymbrimi. They are brave and loyal friends. Also, according to many of the great clans and Institutes, the Tymbrimi are considered quite mad.”

Dwer sat up, both intrigued and confused. “Mad?”

Gillian laughed. “I guess a lot of humans would agree. A legend illustrates the point. It’s said that one day the Great Power of the Universe, in exasperation over some Tymbrimi antic, cried out, ‘These creatures must be the most outrageous beings imaginable!’

“Now, Tymbrimi like nothing better than a challenge. So they took the Great Power’s statement as a dare. When they won official patron status, with license to uplift new species, they traded away two perfectly normal client races for the rights to one presapient line that no one else could do anything with.”

“The noor,” Dwer guessed. Then he corrected himself.

“The tytlal.”

“The very same. Creatures whose chief delight comes from thwarting, surprising, or befuddling others, making the Tymbrimi seem staid by comparison. Which brings us to our quandary. How did they get to Jijo, and why don’t they speak?”

“Our Jijo chimpanzees don’t speak either, though your Niss-thing showed me moving pictures of them talking on Earth.”

“Hmm. But that’s easily explained. Chims were still not very good at it when the Tabernacle left, bringing your ancestors here. It would be easy to suppress the talent at that point, in order to let humans pretend …”

Gillian snapped her fingers. “Of course.” For a moment, her smile reminded Dwer of Sara, when his sister had been working on some abstract problem and abruptly saw the light.

“Within a few years of making contact with Galactic civilization, the leaders of Earth knew we had entered an incredibly dire phase. At best, we might barely hang on while learning the complex rules of an ancient and dangerous culture. At worst—” She shrugged. “It naturally seemed prudent to set up an insurance policy. To plant a seed where humanity might be safe, in case the worst happened.”

Her expression briefly clouded, and Dwer did not need fey sensitivity to understand. Out there, beyond Izmunuti, the worst was happening, and now it seemed the fleeing Streaker had exposed the “seed,” as well.

That’s what Danel was talking about, when he said, “Humans did not come to Jijo to tread the Path of Redemption.” He meant we were a survival stash … like the poor g’Kek.

“When humans brought chimps with them, they naturally downplayed pans intelligence. In case the colony were ever found, chims might miss punishment. Perhaps they could even blend into the forest and survive in Jijo’s wilderness, unnoticed by the judges of the great Institutes.”

Gillian whirled to look at Mudfoot. “And that must be what the Tymbrimi did, as well! They, too, must have snuck down to Jijo. Only, unlike glavers and the other six races, they planted no colony of their own. Instead, they deposited a secret cache … of tytlal.”

“And like we did with chimps, they took away their speech.” Dwer shook his head. “But then …” He pointed to Mudfoot.

Gillian’s eyebrows briefly pursed. “A hidden race within the race? Fully sapient tytlal, hiding among the others? Why not? After all, your own sages kept secrets from the rest of you. If Danel Ozawa tried speaking to Mudfoot, it means someone must have already known about the tytlal, even in those early days, and kept the confidence all this time.”

Absently, she reached out to stroke the noor’s sleek fur. Mudfoot rolled over, presenting his belly.

“What is the key?” she asked the creature. “Some code word? Something like a Tymbrimi empathy glyph? Why did you talk to the Niss once, then clam up?”

And why did you follow me across mountains and deserts? Dwer added, silently, enthralled by the mystery tale, although the complexity combined with his ever-present claustrophobia to foster a growing headache.

“Excuse me,” he said, breaking into Gillian’s ruminations. “But can we go back to the thing I came here about? I know the problems you’re wrestling with are bigger and more important than mine, and I’d help you if I could. But I can’t see any way to change your star-god troubles with my bow and arrows.

“I’m not asking you to risk your ship, and I’m sorry about being a pest.… But if there’s any way you could just let me … well … try to swim ashore, I really do have things I’ve got to do.”

That was when the tytlal rolled back onto his feet, wearing a look of evident surprise on his narrow face. Spines that normally lay hidden in the fur behind his ears now stood in stiff bristles. Moreover, Dwer felt sure he glimpsed something take shape briefly, in the air above Mudfoot. A ghostly wisp, less than vapor, which seemed to speak of its own accord.

So do I it said, evidently responding to Dwer’s statement.

Things to do.

Dwer rubbed his eyes and would gladly have dismissed the brief specter as another imagining … another product of the pummeling his nervous system had gone through.

Only Gillian must have noted the same event. She blinked a few times, pointed at the now-worried expression on Mudfoot’s face … and burst out laughing.

Dwer stared at her, then found himself breaking up, as well. Till that moment, he had not yet decided about the beautiful Earthwoman. But anyone who could set Mudfoot back like that must be all right.

Rety

AS THE GUARD ESCORTED HER TO THE CAPTIVES’ cell, she eyed several air-circulation grates. Schematics showed the system to be equipped with many safety valves, and the ducts were much too small for prisoners to squeeze through.

But not for a little urrish male, armed with borrowed laser cutters.

Rety’s plan was chancy, and she hated sending her “husband” into the maze of air pipes. But yee seemed confident that he would not get lost.

“this maze no worse than stinky passages under the grass plain,”he had sniffed while examining a holographic chart. “it easier than dodging through root tunnels where urrish grubs and males must scurry, when we have no sweet wife pouch to lie in.” yee curled his long neck in a shrug, “don’t you worry, wife! yee take tools to locked-up men. we do this neat!”