David Brin: The Uplift War

Within lay a single, luxuriant feather, colored iridescent red along its entire length except at the very tip.

“Lies! Deceptions! An obvious hoax!” the admiral cried, and knocked the box and its contents out of the startled messengers’ arms.

The stoop-colonel stared as the feather drifted in eddies from the air circulators before fluttering down to the deck. It felt like sacrilege to leave it lying there, and yet the stoop-colonel dared not move to pick it up.

How could the commander ignore this? How could he refuse to accept the rich, blue shades spreading now at the roots of his own down? “The Molt can reverse again,” the Suzerain of Beam and Talon cried out. “It can happen if we win victory at arms!”

Only now what he proposed would not be victory, it would be slaughter.

“The Earthlings are gathering, clustering, coming together upon a single hillmount,” one of the aides reported. “They offer, display, present us with a single, simple target!”

The stoop-colonel sighed. It did not take a priest to tell what this meant. The Earthlings, realizing that there would be no fair fight, had come together to make their demise simple. Since their lives were already forfeit, there was only one possible reason.

They do it in order to protect the frail ecosystem of this world. The purpose of their lease-grant was, after all, to save Garth. In their very helplessness the stoop-colonel saw and tasted bitter defeat. They had forced the Gubru to choose flatly between power and honor.

The crimson feather had the stoop-colonel captivated, its colors ‹loing things to its very blood. “I shall prepare my Talon Soldiers to go down and meet the Terrans,” the stoop-colonel suggested, hopefully. “We shall drop down, advance, attack in equal numbers, lightly armed, without robots.”

“No! You must not, will not, shall not! I have carefully assigned roles for all my forces. I need, require them all when we deal with the Thennanin! There shall be no wasteful squandering.

“Now, heed me! At this moment, this instant, the Earth-lings below shall feel, bear, sustain my righteous vengeance!” the Suzerain of Beam and Talon cried out. “I command that the locks be removed from the weapons of mass destruction. We shall sear this valley, and the next, and the next, until all life in these mountains—”

The order was never finished. The stoop-colonel of Talon Soldiers blinked once, then dropped its saber pistol to the deck. The clatter was followed by a double thump as first the head and then the body of the former military commander tumbled as well.

The stoop-colonel shuddered. Lying there, the body clearly showed those iridescent shades of royalty. The admiral’s blood mixed with the blue princely plumage and spread across the deck to join, at last, with the single crimson feather of his queen.

The stoop-colonel told its stunned subordinates, “Inform, tell, transmit to the Suzerain of Propriety that I have placed myself under arrest, pending the outcome, result, determination of my fate.

“Refer to Their Majesties what it is that must be done.”

For a long, uncertain time — completely on inertia — the task force continued toward the hilltop where the Earthlings had gathered, waiting. Nobody spoke. On the command dais there was hardly any movement at all.

When the report arrived itwas like confirmation of what they had known for some time. A pall of mourning had already settled over the Gubru administration compound. Now the former Suzerain of Propriety and the former Suzerain of Cost and Caution crooned together a sad dirge of loss.

Such great hopes, such fine prospects they had had on setting out for this place, this planet, this forlorn speck in empty space. The Roost Masters had so carefully planned the right oven, the correct crucible, and just the right ingredients — three of the best, three fine products of genetic manipulation, their very finest.

We were sent to bring home a consensus, the new queen thought. And that consensus has come.

It is ashes. We were wrong to think this was the time to strive for greatness.

Oh, many factors had brought this about. If only the first candidate of Cost and Caution had not died… If only they had not been fooled twice by the trickster Tymbrimi and his “Garthlings.” … If only the Earthlings had not proven so wolfishly clever at capitalizing on every weakness — this last maneuver for instance, forcing Gubru soldiery to choose between dishonor and regicide…

But there are no accidents, she knew. They could not have taken advantage if we had not shown flaws.

That was the consensus they would report to the Roost Masters. That there were weaknesses, failures, mistakes which this doomed expedition had tested and brought to light.

It would be valuable information.

Let that console me for my sterile, infertile eggs, she thought, as she comforted her sole remaining partner and lover.

To the messengers she gave one brief command.

“Convey to the stoop-colonel our pardon, our amnesty, our forgiveness. And have the task force recalled to base.”

Soon the deadly cruisers had turned about and were headed homeward, leaving the mountains and the valley to those who seemed to want them so badly.

The chims stared in amazement as Death seemed to change its mind. Lydia McCue blinked up at the retreating cruisers and shook her head. “You knew,” she said as she turned to look at Athaclena. Again she accused. “You knew!”

Athaclena smiled. Her tendrils traced faint, sad imprints in the air.

“Let us just say that I thought there was a possibility,” she said at last. “Had I been wrong, this would still have been the honorable thing to do.

“I am very glad, however, to find out that I was right.”

“Goodall, how I hate ceremonies!”

The remark brought a jab in his ribs. “Quit fidgeting, Fiben. The whole world is watching!”

He sighed and made an effort to sit up straight. Fiben could not help remembering Simon Levin and the last time they had stood parade together, just a short distance from here. Some things never change, he thought. Now it was Gailet nagging him to try to look dignified.

Why did everyone who loved him also incessantly try to correct his posture? He muttered. “If they wanted clients who looked elegant, they’d have uplif—”

The words cut short in an “oof!” of exhaled breath. Gailet’s elbows were sure a lot sharper than Simon’s had been. Fiben’s nostrils flared and he chuffed irritably, but he kept quiet. So prim in her well-cut new uniform, she might be glad to be here, but had anyone asked him if he wanted a damn medal? No, of course not. .Nobody ever asked him.

At last the triple-cursed Thennanin admiral finished his droning, boring homily on virtue and tradition, garnering scattered applause. Even Gailet seemed relieved as the hulking Galactic returned to his seat. Alas, so many others also seemed to want to make speeches.

The mayor of Port Helenia, back from internment on the islands, praised the doughty urban insurrectionists and proposed that his chim deputy ought to take over City Hall more often. That got him hearty applause… and probably a few more chim votes, come next election, Fiben thought cynically.

Cough*Quinn’3, the Uplift Institute Examiner, summarized the agreement recently signed by Kautt on behalf of the Thennanin, and for Earthclan by the legendary Admiral Alvarez, under which the fallow species formerly called gorillas would henceforth enter upon the long adventure of sapiency. The new Galactic citizens — already widely known as “The Client Race That Chose” — would be given leasehold on the Mountains of Mulun for fifty thousand years. Now they were, in truth, “Garthlings.”