Nor Crystal Tears by Alan Dean Foster
“Ah,” he muttered at last. “Here we are. Index.” He touched controls and the little scanner set in the wall began to run through its enormous volume of information on alien contacts in which the military had been involved. In addition to the AAnn, there was material on the Astvet and Mu’atahl, two semi-intelligent nonspace-going races. The bulk of information dealt with nonsentient species with an emphasis on the carnivorous and belligerent types that the military was most likely to confront. But nothing touched on the mysterious rumor they’d come a-tracking.
A click sounded as the three sections of the door slid apart. The soldier who’d offered to help Ryo walked into the room.
“You’re not supposed to be doing that,” he told Wuu reproachfully.
“Sorry.” Wuu made a gesture of polite indifference as he shut down the index scanner. “You can understand our anxiety to learn all we can after coming all this way. Unfortunately, the information we’re seeking doesn’t seem to be in here.” He gestured at the quiescent scanner.
The door sealed behind the soldier as he scuttled over. “See,” he said to Ryo, “perhaps I can assist you after all. I’m very good with the files.”
His eagerness to help, the friendliness that seemed genuine, led Ryo to exchange a gesture with Wuu that literally meant, “Why not?” They’d reached a dead end, their burrow search seemed blocked with granite.
When they put the query to him he responded with a reaction they’d already encountered: laughter. Not as loud or hysterical as some, but laughter still.
“I’m sorry. You must excuse my discourtesy,” he told them, “but what you say is nonsense. Fascinating how rumors acquire a life of their own.”
“Isn’t it?” Wuu agreed resignedly. “And yet, rumor is the seed from which the flower of truth often blossoms, nurtured by hope and persistence.”
“That’s true.” The soldier’s attitude suddenly shifted. “I think I’ve heard that parable before.”
“Really?” Wuu looked pleased.
“Yes. A colonial poet is the author. One of the better known outworld wordweavers. Quuzelansem.”
“Wuuzelansem,” Ryo said, gesturing toward his companion. “This is he.”
For an instant the soldier was stunned. Wuu executed a gesture of modest affirmation.
“It is I, and my pleasure it is to meet a reader/listener.”
“I am an avid follower of your work, sir, and that of Ciccikalk’s Ulweilber and Trequececex as well—It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“Tut! Small honor, when our inquiries are met with laughter and scorn.”
“Now, what then did you honestly expect, sir?” the soldier said unapologetically. “A question like that, a query so absurd as to—to—” He broke off abruptly. Neither of the two visitors was laughing with him. Without a word he turned, checked to make certain the door was sealed, then returned to confront them.
When he spoke again it was softly, his whistles barely audible. Then he chose a chip from the wall files, seemingly at random, inserted it into the projector and set it to playing. The actual material he ignored, pausing at the control cube only long enough to set the volume moderately high—just loud enough to mask their conversation, low enough not to attract attention.
“Wuuzelansem, I know your three books and hear that you’re working on a fourth epic.”
“As indeed I am, and a shadow play as well.” It was then that Wuu had his small inspiration. “Would you like to hear something of the work in progress?”
“Would the eriat worm like to grow in a manure pile?” The overwhelmed soldier settled himself back into a saddle.
Wuu then gave a bravura solo performance from his new shadow play, executing all six parts and all six shadows as well, including that of a crippled larva. Ryo watched with as much delight as the soldier while the poet perfectly mimed the limbless larva with its blank, hungry stare and then shifted without a gesture break into the part of a hundred-year-old hivemother.
When all was done, it was everything the two spectators could do not to whistle their applause. Wuu stood before them, panting heavily.
“Something of an exertion.” His sides were heaving. “It’s difficult enough to write theater without having to be the theater as well. But one performs where one must, in the presence of demand, just as one takes inspiration when it is offered. I hope it was enjoyed.”
The soldier left his saddle. His gestures, which until now had been acclamatory, turned suddenly furtive. He leaned close, the projector continuing to declaim nearby.
“Inspiration? I will give you some inspiration, Eint-Master. Inspiration of the darkest kind. Can you write blind poetry, as full of threats and nightmare and fear as the surface of a moon? Oh, I’ll give you inspiration, yes!”
“Can it be that the stories are true, then?” blurted Ryo, unable after all this time to believe.
“No, the stories are not true, but the rumors are. As true as rumors can be. Understand, I am only a liaison, not even a subofficer. I’m far too low in the castes to know; merely one of second rank. To reach the truth you would have to meet with an officer of the fifteenth rank, and even then I am not so sure he would know.”
“So high,” Wuu murmured. Only one rank lay above the fifteenth in Thranx military hierarchy, and that was Burrow Marshal level.
“What of the substance of these rumors, then, if not of truth?” Ryo pressed their sympathetic friend.
“The substance is the stuff of nightmare. As the smoke says, one of our ships was prowling out the Arm along the galactic plane and higher.” His whistles were short and sharp, the clicks brief and nervous. “It found something. Nobody seems to know precisely what. Many who know just the rumors are convinced it’s part of a complicated exercise to prepare us in case such a find should someday actually take place.
“It’s a hereditary fear, of course, this anticipation that some immensely powerful, malignant alien race is lying in wait for us Out There. It stems from our ancestral terror of the ancient surface world. Now all Hivehom is our burrow and other worlds as well, but the immensity of the night pit is a greater and more threatening surface than any we’ve ever faced.
“For all their boasting and tooth-gnashing, the AAnn have the same fear. Some horrible alien something awaits Out There—the terror that encircles a burrow dug by un-Thranx hands. The Throle that waited in hidden lair for our primitive ancestors.
“But if the rumors are true, that wandering ship found a horror that’s grounded in reality, not our racial subconscious …”
Ryo decided not to mention his knowledge of Brohwelporvot. Loquacious the fellow had so far been, and Ryo did not want to close down this wondrous source of information by letting the soldier know that the military secret, or rumor, or whatever, had been partially breached elsewhere.
“… and whatever they found,” he was concluding, “is rumored to be horrible beyond imagining.”
“Intelligent?” Wuu asked.
“As I say, I don’t even know that anything was actually found, only that rumor says it is some form of frightful life. Intelligent or not, I’ve no idea. There is intelligence, and then there is alien intelligence.
“The joint-shaking stuff comes not from those in a position to know about shape, which after all can only take so many forms, but from those whose specialties involve mental characteristics. Some rumors say the creatures are racially homicidal. That they have an inherent and inbred desire to kill anything and everything that comes their way, including even their own kind.”
“Cannibalistic,” Wuu muttered. “Like our ancestors.”
“It’s worse than that,” the soldier said grimly. “Our ancestors at least slew out of purpose. Apparently these things kill because of abstracts.”
“They don’t sound properly sentient to me,” the poet confessed. “Though I must say I know certain bureaucrats who might fit the same description.”
“It is not a description—only rumors. And it’s no joking matter.”
“You simply haven’t heard the stories that have trickled down. Even among the bravest and most foolhardy of the highest ranks—those who are for mounting an attack on the AAnn home world—even they are absolutely terrified by the prospect the discovery of these creatures opens up. Which may, I remind you again, be nothing more than a clever training exercise conjured up to test the entire military caste.”
“If that’s the case they seem to be doing a lot of work to keep the test from affecting most of its intended subjects,” Ryo said.
“But that’s part of it, don’t you see?” the soldier said earnestly. “The uncertainty adds to the effect. Besides, the rumors are only to test the military. If the information reached the public, the test would be ruined because its source would have to be disclosed to prevent panic among the general populace.”
“Sounds like the ‘test’ might be a rumor planted to cover the real rumors.” Wuu sounded intrigued. “The web is complicated.”
“Whatever it is, truth or rumor, I want no part of it, as you seem to. If they’re trying to find out who’s brave or curious enough to come forth and challenge the rumors in person, they’ll have to find someone besides me.”
As he listened to the soldier drone on, for some reason Ryo found himself thinking of Fal. So very far away now, she was. His thoughts turned to his clanmates, always so supportive and proud of him. He thought of his life assignment. It wasn’t so dull compared to most. Sometimes it had been downright exciting, even when he had spent most of his time deliberating in an office chamber instead of working in the field.
Aren’t there enough challenges in life, he found himself wondering, without trying to ferret out the darker secrets of the universe, without trying to probe regions best left to those appointed to search them?
What am I doing here? came the sudden thought. He looked around the study chamber, feeling the whole ancient weight of Hivehom, of endless Daret and its secretive and bustling military establishment. What was he doing in that chamber, a simple colonial agricultural specialist, a glorified fungus tender who followed in the path of those who’d tended growths in damp tunnels before the coming of reason? Perhaps …
Unexpectedly, the soldier emphasized a whistle, a proper name: Sed-Clee. It meant nothing to Ryo, but the force the soldier had put into the whistle and the terror embodied in his movements when he’d said it were enough to shock Ryo from his momentary uncertainty.
Something was happening here on Hivehom. Something of vast and threatening import. It drew him onward while at the same time that damnably persistent part of his brain which had tormented him since birth pushed him from behind. He plunged recklessly, hungrily onward. “What is Sed-Clee?”
“Nothing,” the soldier replied solemnly.
“Nothing?” Wuu said.
“Nothing. A great deal of nothing, I think.”
“Now you’re not only being contradictory, young fellow,” the impatient poet muttered, “you’re being absurd.”
“Not at all, sir,” was the respectful reply. “When researching, one occasionally comes across irrelevant but interesting information in the files; ‘This information destined for Sed-Clee.’ ‘That report returned from Sed-Clee.’ But never any details, any exposition. Don’t you see? Entirely too much nothing comes and goes from what is cataloged as a tiny military outpost. The volume is far larger than a post of such size should warrant, and the information is directed to and dispatched from some of the most esoteric burrows of the military. This one, for example.
“When specifics are absent, an efficient researcher can sometimes glean information from inference. Rumors constantly emerge about the place. The one you study is not the first.
“There is more. I’ve never encountered a soldier who’s actually been there. I’ve been unable to find anyone who knows of anyone who knows anyone who’s ever been there.”
“Secret military burial chamber,” Ryo suggested.
“Not so secret. After all, the existence of Sed-Clee is known,” the soldier went on. “It’s just that it’s so obscured. There’s so much formal indifference surrounding the place, not to mention deliberately casual obfuscation, that it makes one wonder if something of real importance is studied there.”
“You just called it a place,” Ryo pointed out.
“Statistics characterize it somewhat. The hive of Sed-Clee itself is small. Twenty thousand citizens or so supporting a few small industries and a military base, reportedly of modest size. Its exact size is classified above my level. Certainly the known information doesn’t point to the installation’s being responsible for anything remarkable.”
“Yet you believe it may have something to do with the rumors we are tracking?” Wuu asked.
“Pardon if I seem simplistic, sir, but there is nowhere else these rumors can be ascribed to, so it seems to be the logical place to seek out. However, a number of other frightening things about Sed-Clee are well known and have nothing to do with rumor.
“I am not able nor personally interested in going there. If the rumors are no more than rumors then it would be a waste of time. If they are true then I especially do not want to go there.
“But since you two are interested, and because of the admiration I hold for your work, Eint-Master, and the honor you’ve done me in performing here this day, I have told you all that I know. There is nothing more—save that I will show you what is known to be intimidating about Sed-Clee.”
They returned to the outer chamber. Under cover of innocuous conversation designed to allay the interest of the soldier’s two associates, they proceeded to study his personal desk monitor.
Touches of the keyboard generated a map of Hivehom’s northernmost continent. This map was then enlarged and the resolution steadily increased until they found themselves looking at a map of a corner of that continent.
Near its polar crest lay a region of cold where water sometimes never became a liquid, where a Thranx could survive only with environmental protection barely a step simpler than that required for survival in space.
Slightly to the south of the tiny permanent ice cap, just below the thin line of tundra that marked the end of the treeline, lay a tiny hive: Sed-Clee. The military installation it supported was not revealed until the soldier touched several additional keys, whereupon a bright red dot emerged to the north of the hive.
A true destination, at last! Ryo stared at the map, at the source of rumor. “There must be some transportation if it’s an integrated, formalized hive.”
Other keys were touched. A network of green threads appeared on the map. Only one, so thin it was almost invisible, ran from the northern city of Ghew—through six smaller hives scattered across vast undeveloped plains—to Sed-Clee.
“If I had a secret I wanted to hide, I’d be hard pressed to find a more isolated place,” Wuu declared.
The soldier glanced up at him and gestured with his antennae for them to keep their whistles down. The other two operatives were staring curiously at them.
“Yes,” the soldier said a little too loudly. “Now, if you’re interested in other worlds on the periphery of our current sphere of exploration …” The other soldiers returned to their respective tasks.
“I’d agree that this hive,” their friend went on more quietly, “is about as isolated as you can get and still be on Hivehom.” He scrambled the map and shut down the monitor. When he returned his attention to them his manner was entirely professional.
“I wish you luck and good hunting in your research, gentlesirs.” He turned to gaze appreciatively up at Wuu. “And special thanks to you, sir, for your kindnesses.”
“A trifle, my estimable young friend.”
They made their own way out.
There was no doubt now where their hunt was going to take them, Ryo mused, but there was a city stop Wuu insisted on making first.
Though they would have no reason to go outsid
Despite the diversity to be found in the immense hive they still had difficulty locating a firm that sold as exotic an item as cold-climate attire. It took several days.
The purveyor who provided the clothing asked no questions. However perverse, hobbies were the business of none but their adherents. So she simply accepted credit from Wuu and did not inquire what the two oddly matched strangers intended to do with their bizarre purchases.
They checked out of their hotel and took an internal transport to the northernmost main module terminus. From there they traveled for more than an hour in line with hundreds of similar modules, until they reached the outskirts of the metropolis.
Soon they had been switched and were accelerating with perhaps fifty other modules in a train heading due north. At regular intervals modules split off from front or back of the column. Forty, thirty, then twenty-two, according to Ryo’s count, were traveling steadily north-northwest.
Some time earlier the transport train had emerged from subterranean concourses to travel on repulsion rails above the surface. The character of the landscape had begun to change. In place of the valley of the Moregeeon and its towering forests of ventilation pipes and air intakes, patches of steamy jungle alternated with cultivated fields and stack clumps marking the location of underground manufacturing facilities.
Hives were scattered more widely as they entered the second day of travel. They had already passed the good-sized cities of Fashmet and Pwelfree and hives were farther apart. Most of the modules they had departed Daret in concert with had split off, but they periodically acquired others and, on balance, the train had shrunken by only half a dozen.
Wuu’s considerable resources enabled them to have the luxury of a private long-travel unit, about a third the size of a normal eight-passenger module, with two sleeping lounges and extensive hygienic facilities. The comparatively lush method of travel was something of a risk to their carefully cultivated anonymity, but one that Ryo was glad they’d decided to chance. It was a long way to Sed-Clee.