The Leaves of October Part 18

The remainder is but an echo on the wind, a dream: Mayhap, one day, I will follow....

Joy crests, and for just an instant I glimpse a song whose perfection I have never begun to imagine.

Farewell, little pilgrim. Thank you for this lesson.

The dog mourns for a time, but eventually I am able to turn its mind away from its loss, and it goes off to find another master.

Later in the eternal afternoon, I call a work crew and instruct them to erect a monument. There is no need to carve a name upon it.

The Eldest knows . . .

INTERLUDE 6.

An old proverb in the Scattered Worlds said, "See Nephestal before you die- for until then, you have not truly lived."

It wasn't quite that easy. Nephestal's planetary defenses were legendary. Any of the nonhuman Free Peoples could visit the planet without trouble...but politeness dictated that any Human tourist should have some kind of official sponsor.

Kev, of course, had a ready-made sponsor: his friend Dar, now a full-fledged member of the brotherhood of Galactic Riders. Dar had been urging Kev to come to Nephestal since he got his piloting license; only now, after six years of advanced schooling on Credix, Escen and Sedante, did he feel prepared to accept the invitation.

Kev wasn't disappointed. Dar actually had to drag him away from the Museum of Worlds in order eat.

"Are other races treated this well?" Kev's temporary apartment in the Visitors' Quarter was s.p.a.cious and full-featured; the meal was spectacular and the strawberry pie a delight.

"Yes," Dar answered. "The Llala-pili are in charge of cuisine on Nephestal, and they don't believe in doing things halfway. The food-synth for Humans comes from Haussner's Ramatiad restaurant on New Sardinia."

In the end, Kev spent three tendays on Nephestal. Just before he left, Dar gave him a hug and said, "I've registered you with the defense network- from now on you're welcome here whether or not I'm around. Don't wait for an invitation."

"I won't. Thanks, Dar. It's been good seeing you."

"You too. Take care." They kissed, then Kev boarded his s.h.i.+p, a regular shuttle from the ancient Aveth.e.l.lan world Nantilla.

In five days he was back on Amny, filled with stories of all the things he'd seen.

He was happy to see the family again. Mama Tiponya seemed shorter and fatter than ever; Mama Cho was much less intimidating than he remembered her. Even Great-Grandma Aponi came out of her room to see him; her eyes sparkled as she talked about her own volunteer work on Nephestal over a century ago.

Kev helped Mama Cho argue with the farm machinery and Father Nnamdi with the robot cleaning staff, just like old times- but there was a difference. At twenty-two standard years (thirty-six short Amny years) he was no longer a kid, and the family didn't treat him like one. Father Alekos made it clear that Kev was welcome to stay as long as he wanted, as a guest or a junior member of the family.

"Thank you, sir. I think I'm going to go to Deletia to help with the First Empire dig. When that's over, maybe I'll have a little better idea what I want to do."

"Nevertheless, you always have a home here. Remember that."

"I'll remember."

He had one task to take care of before departing. In the bright summer late-afternoon, he mounted the old ladder and climbed up to his treehouse.

On Nephestal he had stood within a forest of Hlutr, listening to their soundless, profound music- it was even more delightful to him than the melody of the famous Singing Stones. Now, sitting within the branches of the treehouse tree, he tried to recall that music.

I bring you greetings, he tried to sing, from your fellow Hlutr on Nephestal.

He didn't know if the message got through; there was no reply but the swish of leaves. Finally, with a sigh he turned to go...and once again the old music blossomed within his mind.

Smiling, Kev settled to the platform and fell into dream....

PART SEVEN: Amba.s.sador.

The throne chamber here on Terra-Prime is thrice the height of a mature Hlut and the length and breadth of a small forest. It was built that large as a gesture of respect, that a Hlutr amba.s.sador might grow comfortably here. Yet in all that vast s.p.a.ce, still I have no trouble hearing Emperor Demattar's bellow: "d.a.m.n it, they're at it again!"

I broke soil on Amny, ten thousand human years and thirteen kilopa.r.s.ecs distant. I am the third Hlut from that world to be uprooted and taken to a Human capital. The first was my brother, the Traveler; the second was my sister, who followed in his wake as Hlutr amba.s.sador to New York. And now I stand on this brand new world in the fourth century of the Second Terran Empire, intermediary between my folk and the children of vanished Terra.

I have worked with each of the seventeen Emperors, from Rowena I to Demattar t'Kalis the First- and the bl.u.s.tery, quick-tempered present wearer of the Tortile Crown is by far my favorite yet. He does his people proud; and unwittingly, he does Humans proud as well.

The Metrinaire are as old a race as Humans, though perhaps a bit less advanced in culture and technology. Their first s.p.a.ceflights came twenty-five centuries after their distant cousins of Earth had left their own world, and it wasn't until two centuries later that the Metrinaire discovered the tachyon drive.

It is rare in the history of the Scattered Worlds that two animal races have coincided so well, and many of the Council of the Free Peoples predicted serious rivalry when the two met. Indeed there were skirmishes, but for the most part Metrinaire and Human became fast friends. During the long Winter of Humanity, when the fortunes of Mankind were at the lowest, the co-operative Metrinal Union retained its culture and its optimism.

Now, nearly seventy times seventy years later, the Second Terran Empire rules thirty thousand worlds and twenty-five trillion sapient beings: and it is a Metrinaire, not a Human, who stands at the axis of that great Galactic state.

These children have done well for themselves, indeed.

Yet not all Humans are pleased.

Emperor Demattar and I are alone in the throne chamber, so I a.s.sume his outburst is meant for me. I am not as skilled as the Elders, so a watchful Human computer translates my First Language color-changes into Imperial speech: "Who is at what, your Majesty?"

"Those madmen in Fulmeni. Look." He gestures with the leftmost of his three arms and a holographic image occurs, a dozen times life-size and horrifying in its reality.

Twice seventy Metrinaire and Humans stand together, some holding tightly to others, some defiantly alone. All wear prominent green crescents: the symbol of the Metrinal Union.

A cold voice says, "Tried and convicted of high treason against the most sacred Empire, your lives are forfeit. May the G.o.ds forgive you." Then, as one, the poor wretches lurch and fall like a whole forest struck down at once by bolts from the sky.

"Thus," says the voice, "is the fate of all traitors."

Demattar gestures, and the hologram fades to nothing.

"Well?" He demands.

"I felt their deaths on the waves of the Inner Voice, this morning. I thought nothing of it. Certainly I was not aware that they were executed."

"Executed? Murdered! For no crime other than being Metrinaire, or Human friends of Metrinaire. For speaking with a Metrinaire accent, for having grown up on worlds of the Metrinal Union. For being different, in a way that offends the sensibilities of the so-called 'patriots' of Fulmeni." With a disgusted wave, the Emperor turns toward the throne. "Patriots who want only to see my dynasty toppled and my people destroyed."

"All wear the green crescent?"

He nods. "The proud symbol of our civilization for over five millennia- now become a mark of d.a.m.nation."

Demattar snarls. "I don't know how you put up with us at all." He settles on the throne, which has been altered to fit the large hips and three legs of the Metrinaire. "No other race has problems like this Party for Purity."

"Your folk and the Humans have come far, friend. Some of my brothers and sisters have argued that both your races are hopeless, but I know better." I wait a moment, but it is never safe to remain silent very long around Demattar. So before he can start another rage, I say, "Why can you not simply outlaw this Party for Purity? You are Sovereign of Fulmeni."

"Yes, and Credixian Imperator, Duke of Geled, Hegemon of Escen and the whole endless list. I have outlawed the Puritists. But they have the sympathy of the population, and they act under cover." He sighs deeply. "For all their talk of punis.h.i.+ng traitors, they hate my folk and they want my dynasty off the throne."

Demattar touches the throne, and the haunting music of his people fills the chamber. "I suppose this makes Imperials seem like barbarians to you."

"Hate is an emotion known to us, Demattar. We have seen it destroy other races. At least some among you deny its power."

"My advisors want me to take military action. Admiral Altamira and Navii Imperiale stand ready for the mission; but I don't want a bloodbath. I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll start the first war in three and a half centuries."

"Your enemies would only use a war to hasten your downfall, your Majesty. Yours is not a position I envy you, friend."

Demattar nods. "Summon the Cabinet," he says. In only a few moments, it is done: from hidden doorways, the Imperial Cabinet converges.

Metrinaire may rule the Empire; but there are only a hundred billion of them to twenty-four trillion Humans, so it is not surprising that the Children of Terra overwhelm the Cabinet. Counting myself, the Emperor has nine trusted advisors- five are Human. The Consort, of course, is a Metrinaire; I am a Hlut; Nulli Secundus is the Imperial computer. And Santa Vina represents the Aakad da'Estra, whose true race and form is known only to the Elders, the Wise Ones of the Free Peoples, and the Elder G.o.ds.

Nine stand in the chamber with Demattar and I, for Prince Calinteb attends this session as well.

"What do you wish, my Lord?" Nilapta k'Marish, Imperial Consort, is a poet and philosopher such as her folk have only rarely produced; it argues well for Demattar that he never makes a major decision without her advice.

"The Puritists have gone too far. Something must be done."

Tsheila Altamira bows, the braid on her uniform glinting in the sun. "Give me the word, Majesty, and we shall sweep over Fulmeni and avenge the folk who have so unfairly died."

"No, Admiral. That is not the way. Paal?"

Paal Larmant turns unseeing eyes toward the Emperor. He is the Grand Primate's Legate, yet he is also a Prelate of Circe Mater and quite adept in the practice of Lorecanism. His mind sings with the peculiar song of kedankat, the Human Forever Dream by which a mind is cast adrift in time. "Your Highness, the Church is doing what it can. These beasts...these who call themselves the Party of Purity...do not heed my ministers."

"Chen of Chen?"

"Demattar, the Puritists have sympathizers in Konfederum Galacta. Many have their own reasons for seeing your dynasty toppled. I cannot promise you much support."

"What you have given me so far is enough, old friend." He raises his eyes to the cloaked figure who sits pa.s.sive beneath my trunk. "Santa Vina, can you not offer me any aid? These madmen are set on destroying all Metrinaire and their sympathizers. On the thousand planets of Fulmeni, millions are marked with the green crescent. All those millions are subject to instant arrest, torture, even death. Yet my hands are tied politically."

"Would that I could help, Emperor. Short of overwhelming force, or mind control, the Aakad da'Estra can do nothing for you."

"Nulli Secundus?"

The great computer's voice whispers like gentle breeze through the chamber. "I have dispatched agents to infiltrate the Puritist ranks. They are more extensive than I dreamed. And they gain converts daily. To destroy their sympathizers is to destroy one-third of Fulmeni's people."

"And when they're strong enough, they'll kill all my people." With desperation singing in his mental song, Demattar turns to me. "Amba.s.sador, once again we must plead for Hlutr aid. You are on all our worlds. You can calm the minds that sing of hatred, and bring peace to this suffering land."

Brothers and sisters, would that I could give him what he wants. These Little Ones have come so far, both Human and Metrinaire- the clear notes of true enlightenment sing in their minds, and I do not wish to see them fail now.

But I cannot.

"Demattar, the Elders have spoken. This is not the Death, when your folk have no hope but Hlutr intervention. This is not the Long Winter, when Hlutr song helped keep your spirits alive. This is the time of the Second Terran Empire, when you Little Ones are at the height of your greatness."

"But you've changed Humans and my people. You've spent eight thousand years changing us. You have the power...."

"We give you the opportunity; in eight thousand years we have but watched you change yourselves, and encouraged you when we could." I s.h.i.+ver, for the will of the Elders is cold. "I said before that we have watched races destroy themselves with hatred such as breeds in Fulmeni- and with great sadness, we would watch you destroy yourselves, if that is your way. Then we would mourn you forever."

Santa Vina laughs. "Bleak comfort from the Hlutr." In her mind she sings to me alone, Yet you are right. They must do it for themselves. Otherwise they will not grow.

Bleak comfort, I answer her.

Nilapta lowers her head. "My Lord and my love, there is but one way to stop this bloodshed."

"Which is?"

"Resign. Give the Puritists what they want: a Human Emperor to rule over Humans alone. Our people can withdraw to our own planets."

Before Demattar can answer, Chen of Chen speaks. "No, my Queen. Not only would the Puritists win, but they would take your action as a mandate to keep killing Metrinaire and their friends. Soon, none would be safe. You and your family would be the first targets, and everyone in this room would follow quickly."

"Wait." Paal Larmant stands, his eyes clearing as he emerges from kedankat. "I have six hundred thousand Alphitates and ministers in Fulmeni. Tsheila, how many Naval officers?"

She blinks. "Eighty thousand on regular duty."

"Nulli Secundus, how many Civil Service Competents presently in Fulmeni?"

"Sixty-two thousand four hundred nineteen."

Paal nods at the others. "Chen of Chen?"

"Perhaps thirty thousand in the Zone owe allegiance to House Chen."

"Between us, then, we command the loyalties of nearly eight hundred thousand in Fulmeni, and billions throughout the Empire." Paal glances at a newly-arrived servbot, which produces for him a sc.r.a.p of green velvet. "Suppose all those billions wear this?" Two folds, and then Legate Paal Larmant wears the green crescent which is the sign of the Metrinal Union. "Suppose the Grand Primate of the Church dons it, and the Supreme Admiral, and half the n.o.ble Families in Konfederum Galacta?"

Prince Calinteb laughs. "Within a tenday the whole Empire would be wearing the crescent. It would lose its menace."

His Majesty nods. "And the Puritists will become objects of laughter."

"Their organization will lose its strength, its converts then Nulli Secundus' agents would be able to track down the leaders and eliminate them, one by one."

Demattar looks up into my leaves. "Well, Amba.s.sador, what do you think of our solution?"

I let him feel the waves of joy that sing within me. "You may not solve the problem...but you will keep it from destroying you until time solves it for you. Demattar t'Kalis, you may be remembered as the greatest Emperor of them all."

I doubt that, says Santa Vina.

I, too. Greater ones will surely come. But Demattar has done his job well, and now at least Humans and Metrinaire have a future again.

Aye. Whatever they make of it....