David Brin - The Uplift War

“Worst of all, they have cheated.”

Robert gaped. The image panned back to show platoons of chims — bearing a motley assortment of weapons — trooping forth from the forest out into the open, accompanied by a few fierce-eyed humans. The one speaking into the camera was Lydia McCue, Robert’s human lover. But Athaclena stood next to her, and in his alien consort’s eyes he saw and knew who had written the words.

And he knew, without any doubt, whose idea this was.

“We demand, therefore, that they send forth their best soldiers, armed as we are armed, to meet our champions out in the open, in the Valley of the Sind…”

“Uthacalthing,” he said, hoarsely. Then again, louder. “Uthacalthing!”

The noise suppressors had been developed by a hundred million generations of librarians. But in all that time there had been only a few wolfling races. For just an instant the vast chamber echoed before dampers shut down the impolite vibrations and imposed hushed quiet once again.

There was nothing, however, to be done about running in the halls.

“Recombinant Rats!” Fiben cried upon hearing the beginnings of the declaration. They watched a portable holo set up on the slopes of the Ceremonial Mound.

Gailet gestured for silence. “Be quiet, Fiben. Let me hear the rest of it.”

But the meaning of the message had been obvious from the first few sentences. Columns of irregulars, wearing makeshift uniforms of homespun cloth, marched steadily across open, winter-barren fields. Two squads of horse cavalry skirted the ragged army’s perimeter, like escapees from some pre-Contact flatmovie. The marching chims grinned nervously and watched the skies, fondling their captured or mountain-made weapons. But there was no mistaking their attitude of grim resolve.

As the cameras panned back, Fiben did a quick count. “That’s everybody,” he said in awe. “I mean, allowing for recent casualties, it’s everybody who’s had any training or would be any good at all in a fight. It’s all or nothing.” He shook his head. “Clip my blue card if I can figure what she hopes to accomplish.”

Gailet glanced up at him. “Some blue card,” she sniffed. “And I’d have to say she knows exactly what she’s doing, Fiben.”

“But the city rebels were slaughtered out on the Sind.”

She shook her head. “That was then. We didn’t know the score. We hadn’t achieved any respect or status. Anyway, there weren’t any witnesses.

“But the mountain forces have won victories. They’ve been acknowledged. And now the Five Galaxies are watching.”

Gailet frowned. “Oh, Athaclena knows what she’s doing. I just didn’t know things were this desperate.”

They sat quietly for a moment longer, watching the insurgents advance slowly across orchards and winter-barren fields. Then Fiben let out another exclamation. “What?” Gailet asked. She looked where he pointed in the tank, and it was her turn to hiss in surprise.

There, carrying a saber rifle along with the other chim soldiers, strode someone they both knew. Sylvie did not seem uncomfortable with her weapon. In fact, she appeared an island of almost zenlike calm in the sea of nervous neo-chimpanzees.

Who would’ve figured it? Gailet thought. Who would’ve thought that about her?

They watched together. There was little else they could do.

“This must be handled with delicacy, care, rectitude!” the Suzerain of Propriety proclaimed. “If necessary, we must meet them one on one.”

“But the expense!” wailed the Suzerain of Cost and Caution. “The losses to be expected!”

Gently, the high priest bent over from her perch and crooned to her junior.

“Consensus, consensus… Share with me a vision of harmony and wisdom. Our clan has lost much here, and stands in dire jeopardy of losing far more. But we have not yet forfeited the one thing that will maintain us even at night, even in darkness — our nobility. Our honor.”

Together, they began to sway. A melody rose, one with a single lyric. , ,

“Zoooon. …”

Now if only their strong third were here! Coalescence seemed so near. A message had been sent to the Suzerain of Beam and Talon urging that he return to them, join them, become one with them at last.

How, she wondered. How could he resist knowing, concluding, realizing at last that it is his fate to be my male? Can an individual be so obstinate?

The three of us can yet be happy!

But a messenger arrived with news that brought despair. The battle cruises in the bay had lifted off and was heading inland with its escorts. The Suzerain of Beam and Talon had decided to act. No consensus would restrain him.

The high priest mourned.

We could have been happy.

“Well, this may be our answer,” Lydia commented resignedly.

Athaclena looked up from the awkward, unfamiliar task of controlling a horse. Mostly, she let her beast simply follow the others. Fortunately, it was a gentle creature who responded well to her coronal singing.

She peered in the direction pointed out by Lydia McCue, where scattered clouds and haze partially obscured the western horizon. Already many of the chims were gesturing that way. Then Athaclena also saw the glint of flying craft. And she kenned the approaching forces. Confusion… determination… fanaticism… regret… loathing … a turmoil of alien-tinged feelings bombarded her from the ships. But one thing was clear above all.

The Gubru were coming with vast and overwhelming strength.

The distant dots took shape. “I believe you are right, Lydia,” Athaclena told her friend. “It seems we have our answer.”

The woman Marine swallowed. “Shall I order a dispersal? Maybe a few of us can get away.” She sounded doubtful.

Athaclena shook her head. A sad glyph formed. “No. We must play this out. Call all units together. Have the cavalry bring everyone to yonder hilltop.”

“Any particular reason we should make things easy for them?”

Above Athaclena’s waving tendrils the glyph refused to become one of despair. “Yes,” she answered. “There is a reason. The best reason in all the world.”

The stoop-colonel of Talon Soldiers watched the ragged army of insurgents on a holo-screen and listened as its high commander screamed in delight.

“They shall burn, shall smoke, shall curl into cinders under our fire!”

The stoop-colonel felt miserable. This was intemperate language, bereft of proper consideration of consequences. The stoop-colonel knew, deep within, that even the most brilliant military plans would eventually come to nothing if they did not take into account such matters as cost, caution, and propriety. Balance was the essence of consensus, the foundation of survival.

And yet the Earthlings’ challenge had been honorable! It might be ignored. Or even met with a decent excess of force. But what the leader of the military now planned was unpleasant, his methods extreme.

The stoop-colonel noted that it had already come to think of the Suzerain of Beam and Talon as “he.” The Suzerain of Beam and Talon was a brilliant leader who had inspired his followers, but now, as a prince, he seemed blind to the truth.

To even think of the commander in this critical way caused the stoop-colonel physical pain. The conflict was deep and visceral. .

The doors to the main lift opened and out onto the command dais stepped a trio of white-plumed messengers — a priest, a bureaucrat, and one of the officers who had deserted to the other Suzerains. They strode toward the admiral and proffered a box crafted of richly inlaid wood. Shivering, the Suzerain of Beam and Talon ordered it opened.