Пол Андерсон - Orbit 1

Godwin was halfway out of his chair, wanting to see that map, wanting even more to see what the aliens had offered as their map, and needing to exchange conjectures that might really be going somewhere. . anywhere… with somebody. Anybody.

Agnes opened one eye. “Sit, stupid,” she hissed. “You must not make a sudden move, not right here at the parley center. A little hubble-bubble at the back of the hall on either side is allowed, but you saw what happened before when you jumped up.”

Godwin sat down, deflated. And yet, suddenly, all of the Leloc were on their feet, and pure delight was in the air. The smell this time was like new-mown grass. The leader was making rapid gestures with his tiny hands. He uttered a sound, and all his fellows sat down again, but the leader remained standing.

Tawmison and two Earthly kangaroos, together with a stranger dressed in entertainer’s purple, strode forward triumphantly from the lock.

“I would have been quicker,” Tawmison murmured, when he was close to Godwin. “But we thought we’d best set the copter down far enough from the ship so that these creatures wouldn’t shoot at Harms’ peace offering.” Seeing that further explanation was necessary, he added, “These two boxer kangaroos are Harms’ evidence of good faith, for the parley. I upped his timetable a little, but he’s on the way. Whatever your message was, it scared him witless. Justifying himself; these are Exhibit A.”

Boxer? What was that? And — peace offering? How —?

Godwin waited nervously for the invisible abacus board in the Leloc’s head to click off its tally, so that negotiations could begin. But nothing happened. Then he realized that it was neither two nor four that had entered the hall, but a balanced two and two, from the Leloc standpoint. He paced to the Leloc leader, and initiated proceedings with the careful caution and courtesy that characterized the Leloc as they did himself. He crossed wrists and gestured like a master of ceremonies toward the new arrivals.

Immediately the Leloc leader began to deliver a speech. It was patently a welcome speech, as much sung as spoken, and wound up with what could only have been a question. The smell of delight became so overwhelming throughout the hall that Godwin wondered for one moment if he was about to weep from sheer pleasure.

The two animals on the leather thong had been shuffling their enormous hind feet a little bit, and staring vacantly at the speaker. Nervously, at the conclusion of the Leloc oration, the larger newcomer bent its head and began to dab at its wrists. A murmur swept the alien side of the room.

The scent of new-mown grass abruptly soured into spoiled, fermenting hay. The murmur became louder, and it reminded him of something. He had it: the sounds of disapproval and dismay older sisters make when the baby does something improper in public.

Then there was an ominous stretch of time that was absolutely empty. The new arrivals were offering nothing — the licking of the wrists had stopped — and the distressed sound from the alien side had died away. As for the smell, either it was diminishing or his nose was temporarily paralyzed. The leader spoke no further; he was simply waiting, with an intensity that Godwin could feel all through his body. Waiting for what? An answer, he supposed — but what could the new arrivals say? The tension continued to build, and Godwin felt the cold sweat standing on his forehead.

Suddenly the trainer broke the silence. “All right- y,” he cried, and slipped the thong free. “I guess you’re waiting for the show to begin. Give ‘em room now. They’re just a little clumsy, in close quarters.” He was putting bulky gloves such as Godwin had never seen on the inadequate-seeming little hands.

In the absolute silence, the two liberated animals went into their act. They slapped their tails on the floor; each went into a crouch, and they began to shuffle about in a close circle, each one now and then taking a punch at the other, pummeling with the forepaws and feinting at slashing with their claws.

“Oh,” moaned Agnes, “no! No, no no! If we were in their position. . and the aliens brought in two drooling morons — human but morons — and had them put on a degenerate Punch and Judy show for us — wouldn’t we be..?”

Wystan looked at the Leloc side of the hall. Every alien tail was straight up in the air and quivering wildly. Their little hands were laid alongside their muzzles, covering their eyes, and they were making a keening sound, still very soft, but getting louder and more menacing every second.

The Leloc leader crouched, almost imperceptibly. His tail hit the floor once, like a thunderclap, and he sprang forward. In one leap he was on top of the boxing kangaroos. With a single murderous flailing motion of his tail he laid the mountebank animals flat on the resilient floor. At this a cry went up from the assembled Leloc that made Godwin’s hair stand on end. Even his bare forehead prickled reminiscently.

Sour hay metamorphosed into hydrogen sulfide.

“Tawmison!” he shouted. “Get those creatures out of here again before they’re murdered.”

The draftsman leaped to obey, but even at this moment, he was Tawmison the irrepressible, avid reader of tapes on the Golden Past. “Hey,” he said delightedly, “they ‘bombed out’!” He reached for the thong, adding, “That’s rotten eggs the Leloc are throwing!”

The animal trainer left incontinently with his gloved clowns, after one horrified glance at the aroused and enraged alien audience.

The Leloc leader, tail dragging so it almost touched the floor, had returned to his accustomed place, and was again essaying speech. In English. Godwin, Agnes, and Mager listened intently to the explosive sounds that were slowly adding up to “Buh. . bub. bomb. Bomb better.”

“He did it, he did it — his first words!” shouted the little civ. He was capering, but immediately turned serious. “He means it would have been better to bomb them than to have shown them these creatures.”

The large muzzle swung to follow Mager’s movements and, in a tone of infinite sadness, the Leloc said, “Esssss. Using tails.”

“Yes,” breathed Mager. Questioningly, almost to himself, he added, “But you used yours, too.” And more loudly, “Hey — look at those brutes!”

Wystan looked past the leader. He saw nothing but tails, a battery of great fleshy paddles, and they were slowly advancing. He began to tick, inside, and went rigid. Mob reaction. Panic multiplies itself. To lessen the alien numbers, lighten your load. . Balance.

“Every Liaison man and woman out of the hall, orderly but fast,” he shouted. “Except Agnes, Mager, you and you and you.” He swept the immediate circle of top experts with his stabbing forefinger. “Everybody else out!”

Most of them had never known real fear before in their whole lives, but the Liaison people streamed in unquestioning obedience to the lock.

Like magic, the Leloc advance stopped. Within seconds, as the aliens perceived what was happening, the threatening tails dropped out of sight. Within minutes more, all but twelve of the space travelers had picked up their sitz-baths, drained them into that marvelously resilient (and apparently also thirsty) floor, and departed.

Twelve? There were only ten humans, huddled in the center of the hall. At the end of his resources, he looked to Agnes.

“Perfect,” she said. “Oh, Wystan, I’m proud of you. What? Those two are only gathering up the chairs they issued us. See?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “But while they’re still with us— haul two of our people back here fast.”

“What a chess player,” Mager said, as the order was shouted out of the lock. “Forced exchange and check.”