A Call to Arms by Alan Dean Foster
“If you agreed to provide that kind of noncombat assistance the benefits that would accrue to you would be substantial: the sharing of Weave technology, the blessings of intercultural exchange…”
“And a piece of your war,” Will said, interrupting. “I can’t imagine what we could do for you. Seems to me our technology is pretty primitive compared to yours.”
“In certain areas. Perhaps not in all. This remains to be determined.”
“We can’t build ships for you.”
“The Hivistahm and Yula and O’o’yan build ships. Your own contribution to the war effort can lie elsewhere.”
“Dammit,” said Will, raising his voice, “we don’t want to contribute to any war effort! Why can’t you just leave us alone?”
“We could do that.” Caldaq’s reply was solemn. “The Weave could ignore you. The Amplitur will not. They leave no intelligence alone. You are a part of their Purpose or you are opposed to it. Either you integrate into their greater society or you face the extinction that was the fate of the two exceptions I mentioned earlier.”
“What if we choose not to be integrated or eliminated?”
“You cannot resist the Amplitur alone. If they are allowed to land on your world they will put whatever they wish into your minds. Then their biorevisors will go to work on your genes.”
“You’re asking me to buy an argument that my own people have used on themselves for hundreds of years. All I know about these Amplitur is what you’re telling me. I have no way of verifying any of it.”
Caldaq saw he was not making adequate progress. “We must talk more. Tomorrow I would like to bring specialists aboard your craft, to examine it more thoroughly.”
“And me,” Will added.
“One can learn only so much from impersonal transmissions. Do you object?”
“I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to, could I?”
Caldaq contained his exasperation. “You are an individual sentient. We would not do anything against your will. You do not make an ally of someone by forcing them to do something they do not wish to do.”
Will sat there wondering how much truth there was to what this rat-faced alien had been telling him. It was simultaneously frightening, fascinating, and hard to accept. Worst of all perhaps was the knowledge that if he got out of this intact no one would believe what had happened to him. His would be one more UFO fairy tale. If he was lucky he might get a thousand bucks for it from one of the tabloids.
He wondered what their music was like. The thought perked him up. If he paid attention, this might provide the inspiration for an overture, or a symphonic suite. Maybe even another symphonic poem. Since he couldn’t run, he might as well open his mind and observe.
The tall alien insisted all they wanted was to talk and examine.
If it was vivisection they had in mind, why speak of coming back tomorrow? Why not simply take him now?
“What the hell, the orchestration is driving me nuts anyway, you bet. Come back in the morning and bring whomever you want. I look forward to meeting some more interesting shapes.”
“Thank you,” said Caldaq simply.
Will watched his visitors slip over the stern. There was no sign of the aquatic creature which had confronted him in the lagoon, but he did see a dark, streamlined shape advance to meet the hesitant swimmers. They disappeared within.
Once again he was alone in the cat’s cockpit.
A light Caribbean breeze cooled him and he tilted his head back to regard the universe, a tapestry of shattered magic.
The aliens had not warned him against contacting others. There was nothing to prevent him from using his radio to call other boats, the big cruise ship anchored off the Turneffe Islands, or the Belizean coast guard. Nothing to prevent him from raising sail and silently departing.
He wondered why the aliens had chosen him. Because he was alone? Would they try to stop him if he started the engines and headed for Belize City?
There was no inspiration to be had in Belize City.
A rare thing, inspiration. Impossible to buy, difficult to find. Why not go to bed and see what the morrow would bring? The world would look different in the light.
At first he feared that his boat had drifted onto the reef. Then his visitors began to emerge from an opening in its surface. He intended to ask Caldaq how they managed that trick but he didn’t have time. Moments later they were back on board, all of them talking at once.
The Wais translator was present, and Caldaq, and another Massood, but this time they had company: supple reptilian beings called Hivistahm with bright green skins, large eyes, sharp teeth, and an insatiable curiosity, and a couple of short, swarthy individuals whose faces were almost hidden behind thick black hair. They scattered through the catamaran, prying and poking, paying particular attention to anything electronic.
Closer inspection revealed that not all the reptilian visitors were of the same race. Besides the Hivistahm there were members of a still smaller species Caldaq identified as the O’o’yan.
Will’s translator struggled with the sounds. Rather than search on their own, the O’o’yan seemed to follow the Hivistahm everywhere, assisting instead of initiating examinations. They did not render such assistances to the two squat, hairy individuals.
Caldaq tried to divide his attention between the busy Hivistahm techs and the native who was watching them work. His communicator buzzed insistently.
It was Soliwik, communicating via shuttle relay. “Good to talk to you,” he said. “How is Jaruselka?”
“Busy, like the rest of us,” replied his Second. “She says to tell you that the affection you share does not require confirmation in the form of trite words or spatial communication.” A warm sensation spread through Caldaq.
“My captain, progress continues in the interpretation of the wealth of electronic transmissions emanating from this world. Seven new languages have been isolated.”
Another seven, Caldaq marveled. He was beyond astonishment.
“In light of continuing discoveries, those responsible for making translation programs are concentrating their efforts on what appear to be the most important ones.”
“Progress in other areas has been slowed by the contradictions which are present in all transmissions. Some are quite disturbing. The xenopsychs regularly work through the night shift. They do not wish to leap to unfounded conclusions but…” She broke off, which was not like Soliwik at all.
“But what?” Caldaq watched Hivistahm techs fiddle with their eyeshades as they conversed. His gaze lifted to the nearest island. The view set his legs to tingling in anticipation of a good run.
“Does your specimen have a native visual receiver on board his craft?”
“I believe so.” Caldaq eyed a corner of the central cabin. “Yes. I can see it from here. It is fairly primitive.”
“Never mind the technology. You should have him activate it so you can view some of the transmissions.”
“Which ones?”
“Any of them. I will not prejudice your reactions by telling you what the xenopsychs are saying. Every independent evaluation is valuable.”
They talked about the situation on the ship, which was stable, and that on the surface, which was in hopeful flux. Then Caldaq closed his communicator and belted it before he walked over to stare at the visual receiver.
“Television,” Will informed him. “Nice one, too.”
“Could you activate it? I would like to see how it operates.”
“Give me a minute to raise the dish.”
Caldaq watched as the native adjusted a boxy instrument atop the receiver. Through a fore port he could see a small circular antenna raise and align itself. Lights on the box and the receiver glowed.
“There we are. That’s Galaxy Six,” Will told him. “One of our satellites.” Caldaq gestured acknowledgment and then took a moment to explain the gesture. The native looked pleased.
One of the Hivistahm techs drifted over to join them. So
“What would you like to watch?” Will asked them. “Wait, I know. Let me find CNN.” He operated a remote-control device.
The screen went black; then an image appeared of another native. Caldaq noted with interest that the male’s skin was much darker than that of their host. The images alternated between the man, who was seated at a desk surrounded by other natives, and diverse scenes from around the planet.
Caldaq observed calmly until a sequence appeared that caused him to straighten involuntarily. “Wait, stop that, go back!”
The native was apologetic. “I can’t. I have no control over the broadcast. If you want we can record it for playback later.”
The shaken captain steadied himself, once again ducking to clear the ceiling. Avoiding the translator, he spoke haltingly to the Hivistahm in its own language.
“You saw it, too?”
“Truly I did,” the tech replied. “Most strange it was.”
“I, too, saw it clearly,” said the Wais. Her voice was pure and steady as ever, but her beak was clicking. A pair of bluest feathers fell to the deck as she ran nervous fingers through her chest. “The reality must be other than as it appears.”
Will’s gaze flicked from one alien to the other. “I know how you feel. Sometimes the news makes me uncomfortable, too.” He returned his attention to the remote device. “Let’s find a movie or something.”
He jumped through several films, from an old John Wayne on TBS to more contemporary offerings on Showtime and Cinemax. The reactions of his guests were instructive. They varied from calm and composed to visibly agitated and anxious.
“Anything in particular that intrigues you?” he finally asked, knowing that there was. When no reply was forthcoming he started to switch the receiver off. Caldaq had learned enough from watching him to realize what he intended and hurried to forestall him.
“No, we would like to observe some more. Put it back on ‘news.’ ”
Will obediently switched back to CNN, which was currently reporting on the troubles in Libya. After several minutes the Hivistahm turned and left.
Caldaq gestured at the screen. “This is not unusual?”
“What, the news? Or the movies? No, I’d say everything we’ve seen so far is fairly typical for a Tuesday morning. My reception isn’t as good as I’d like it to be, but that’s about as big a dish as you can put on a boat this size, you bet.”
“The subject matter is confusing.”
“I didn’t have any idea what you might want to see, so I just tried to run through as many channels as possible.”
“That was fine,” Caldaq assured him. “Thank you.” He understood now what Soliwik had meant.
He bellowed an order. Moments later they were joined by one of the two short creatures who had come aboard with the Hivistahm. It might have been more humanoid than any of the aliens, but Will couldn’t tell for certain because you couldn’t see much behind the body suit and the incredibly dense blanket of curly hair. It was the same height as the very different O’o’yan; barely three feet tall, but much stockier of build.
“What’s this?” he asked undiplomatically.
“One of my Seconds. T’var is a S’van. They are mammalian, like myself and I believe like you.” He turned back to his assistant. “Have a look at this, T’var, and see what you think of it. I am still forming my own opinions.” He stepped aside so T’var could see the screen clearly.
The S’van studied the colorful flat images. Will noted that he did not twist and fidget in the manner of the Massood, nor were his eyes in constant motion like those of the Hivistahm and O’o’yan. He stood without moving and stared at the screen as intently as a professional critic.
Half an hour passed before he looked away. “It’s all very strange.”
“Mild, compared to some of what we saw earlier,” the Wais informed him.
“My initial reaction,” said Caldaq, “is that if these transmissions are representative of the general population, then this species is beyond our comprehension.”
“Possibly he is attempting to deceive us with the abnormal,” the Wais suggested.
“There is no reason for him to do so,” the captain responded, “nor do I think he is that clever.”
“I agree.” Caldaq was gratified by T’var’s concurrence.
Will watched as they conversed without the use of the translator devices. “What’s going on? Something the matter?”
The Wais stared at him. “The violence. There is violence in almost everything we saw.”
“I know, but except for the news it was all fiction. You know… make-believe?” He was somewhat taken aback. “Is that what’s upset you? I don’t get it. First you tell me you’ve been fighting a war for a thousand years and now a little movie byplay has you all flustered. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“The quantity of the violence is surprising, but that is not what we find confusing.” The Wais preened uneasily. “We did not choose to have war; it was forced on us by the Amplitur. And the Massood and Chirinaldo do nearly all of the actual fighting. But even the fiercest among them would be appalled by what you have shown us.”
“Unless, of course,” it added hopefully in perfect English, “what we have witnessed just now is generated to serve some as yet unexplained philosophical purpose.”
“The news is the news. It’s reality, even if I don’t like most of it myself. As for the movies, they’re only intended as entertainment.” Will stared at the bird-thing. “It’s the violence that troubles you, but not the amount? What then?”
“The direction it often took,” the Wais explained. “In both the documentary and entertainment sequences Humans were shown killing other Humans.”
Will frowned. “So?”
“You fight among yourselves,” Caldaq said, speaking slowly to insure that the translator conveyed his response accurately.
“Yeah, we do that. We’re not proud of it.” He rested a hand on the humming TV. “I’m missing something here. You’ve been battling these Amplitur for hundreds of years. Why are you so upset to see that we do the same kind of thing?”
“You do not understand. It is conceivable that one species may come into conflict with another, but once it has achieved a certain minimal level of technology it is not possible for members of the same species to continue to war with each other. It is contraevolutionary.”
T’var spoke up. “Catastrophe theory proves that a species which fights among itself cannot long survive. It will quickly reduce its numbers below the level necessary to maintain a civilization. This is axiomatic.”
“All I can tell you,” said Will, “is that we’ve been fighting ourselves since the start of recorded history, and that unfortunately we’re still at it.”
“Impossible.” The Wais repeated the comment in a number of languages.
“I’m afraid it isn’t. We’re still here, though whether we’ve reached your ‘minimal level of technology’ I don’t know.” He stood there, the warm sun heating the interior of the cabin, regarding these representatives of a vast civilization unimaginably far away, and wondering why the hell they couldn’t see the obvious.
“You’re telling me that though you’ve been going at it with these Amplitur for hundreds of years, none of you has ever fought among yourselves?” In the subsequent silence he turned to Caldaq.
“You told me that the Massood are your organization’s principal warriors. Are you saying that even early on in the history of your kind you never fought one another?”
“On an individual basis, yes. In small extended family groups, yes. But as soon as the first tribes grew large and settled they began to cooperate. That is a fact of nature obvious to the most primitive peoples. Cooperation is the only way for any race to advance out of barbarism. It is impossible to achieve a reasonable level of technology if energy is dissipated in internecine warfare.” Caldaq wondered why he was having to spend so much time explaining the self-evide
“The notion of a civilized race warring among itself is inherently contradictory. It is as bizarre as your geology.”
“Oh. Now there’s something wrong with our geology?” Will hardly knew what to say. The situation demanded the presence of experts. But they weren’t and he was.
“A world is divided between land and water,” said T’var. “This is the accepted, the anticipated norm. Imagine our surprise when we began to examine your world and found its principal landmass broken into many pieces.”
“That’s because of something called plate tectonics.” Will strained to remember his college sciences. “I think the continents all used to be part of one big landmass, a long time ago, but internal forces drove it apart and set the pieces drifting.”
“Land is not ‘driven.’ ” T’var glanced at Caldaq, then back at the native. “Land remains where it’s formed. It doesn’t move around.”
“It does here,” declared Will confidently.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” T’var muttered in uneven Massood.
“Do you think,” Caldaq said abruptly, “that the unnatural hostility these people bear toward each other could in some way be related to their remarkable geology? The development of a multiplicity of languages suggests that their society has fractured. Might this not be the consequence of a fractured geology?”
“I know of no instance where the culture of a species has been heavily influenced by geologic forces. It’s not my area of expertise.” T’var found the notion unsettling. What might the effect be of a perpetually unstable world on the people maturing there? Would the society that eventually emerged somehow mirror that instability?
“It is no one’s area of expertise,” Caldaq pointed out. “There is no precedence for it. We must inform the staff on board ship. It will be interesting to see if the native’s explanation solves any of the topographic puzzles that have been bedeviling them.”
Will was speaking again. “So on your worlds you don’t have separate continents?” The translators struggled with the concepts.