Will you, won't you, will you,
won't you, will you join the dance?
—LEWIS CARROLL
*
In the deeps of the planet, life continued unchanged—or nearly so. Those who were without name had tasted blood for the first time in millennia, and somewhere within them the experience had worked the beginning of a change.
Something unexpected had cried out in that first kill, and the cry had hurt the hunters almost as much as it had the hunted. It had been a terrible, piercing pain, and it had awakened something deeper still, a reminder of an agony long buried. They hated that pain, the reminder, and yet . . . they wondered at it. If they could, they would lash out again, kill again—just to feel that hurt, to know it, to know it for what it was.
From their world of dank, stony darkness they reached out; they extended their senses and listened. The invaders were drawing away, all of them. Even those circling closest to this world were departing now—not beyond the reach of the creatures' awareness, but beyond their ability to kill.
But they would be back. One day, surely, they would be back. . . .
Moramaharta stood on the ridge with Dououraym and gazed silently at the rising sun. He scarcely felt the chill, though the wind whipped at their robes and the world was powdered with new-fallen snow. He welcomed Dououraym's company here; and yet, more than ever, he felt a craving for solitude and thought.
"I would not expect your reactions to be precisely like mine," he said to the leader. "But do you recognize the greater binding, the deeper connection?"
Dououraym's gaze held to the sun, but Moramaharta felt the leader's thoughts in his and sensed the acknowledgement . . . and the difference. "As you wish solitude, binder," Dououraym said finally, "I feel the need to carry what we have learned to the outer circles, to explore more deeply with other Ell." Dououraym paused as sunlight erupted scarlet and golden through the layered clouds. "Still, I suspect . . . I feel . . . that further contact with Humanity . . ." He paused.
"Will be necessary. Yes," Moramaharta said. "And desirable."
Dououraym shifted to look at the binder. "You suspected early on that it was so."
"The Circle suspected."
"But you believed. We suspected, but we did not believe, did not perceive. With another binder . . . we can only wonder what might have happened. It might have been a long and futile quest indeed."
Moramaharta made no answer, and a silence settled in between them. Moramaharta turned around to watch the Anvil of Light fade in the western sky, then turned back to a brightening sun. He wondered what sunrise looked like on the Human's homeworld, wondered if an Ell such as himself would ever visit Earth, or a Human come here. For the present, only three ships of !!Ghint's fleet were to remain in Earth's system; and the Human starships were far too sluggish to come here anytime soon, though their robots could perhaps make the trip if the location was one day revealed.
But Harybdartt remained still in the Human midst and had indicated a desire to stay awhile, to try to come to know the enemy-that-was-no-longer-an-enemy. A strange role for a space-defender trained in the ways of battle; and yet perhaps there was something to be learned from that—assumptions to be changed, assumptions about the inevitability and changelessness of roles.
The sun was dazzling now, illuminating Dououraym's lean, angular face. He seemed to be smelling the wind. "Another thought," the leader said after gazing into the sun for a time. "The Hope Star."
"Whether to recall the (fleet)?"
"No. Whether to seek the aid of the Humans."
Moramaharta was startled. "To what purpose?"
Dououraym closed his eyes, snapping his nails quietly. "I dream, still, of the Lost Ell."
Moramaharta was suddenly conscious of the cold air whistling through his robes. "Even knowing the truth? When there is so much to discover within?" A true quest?
Dououraym opened his eyes. "No, you are quite correct about the immediate future. And yet I cannot help wondering—even knowing the danger—what might be learned there one day. Not soon. But one day."
"Death," Moramaharta said.
"Or perhaps a way back from death for the Lost Ell. I was thinking of the Human muzik, their way of touching the spirit where we did not even know it could be touched." Dououraym lifted his gaze to Moramaharta's, and a hint of laughter and sadness seemed to pass through his eyes. "I am only thinking, binder. The old quest dies hard. But perhaps you are right again. Perhaps we should leave that world forever and warn all others away. And yet . . ."
Moramaharta's breath puffed out of his membranes and condensed in the cold air as he acknowledged Dououraym's longing. "After we are gone from this Circle, and perhaps from this world?"
"Certainly, binder. As I said . . . not soon." Dououraym snugged his robe about him. "Come. Let us return. There are decisions to be rendered, and one of them is whether Or!ge should contact the Human armada before returning from the Hope Star."
"After you, leader," Moramaharta said, gesturing down the path. "After you."
* * *
[Endeavor, you are cleared to break formation. Good hunting, and be careful.]
Captain Fitzpatrick's voice echoed inside Chandra's head. [Thanks, Chandra. But if anyone needs to be careful, it's you. Don't get fleeced when you bargain with the natives.]
Chandra laughed, something she had not done often lately. [What natives? We're all tourists here, Roger. Aleph out.]
A minute later she watched the other starship's engines glow to life. Endeavor slowly pulled away from its two companions; it was bound outward from Argus and its sun. While Aleph and Columbia were engaged in diplomacy with the Ell fleet, Endeavor would be exploring the fourth planet of the system, a gas-giant, to test the feasibility of mining the frozen atmospheres of its moons for fuel. If the operation proved successful, the other two ships would follow later. Fuel could theoretically be shipped from Earth via stargate, but only in small tankloads. Chandra preferred to seek a supply here.
It was impossible not to think wistfully of the miracle of the stargate as they looked ahead to another years-long journey; but Earth had informed them, with regret, that the stargate technology could not be used to help them on their way. Only one living being had ever survived a stargate passage, and that was an El. Earth science was working on the problem, of course; but for the immediate future, only robot probes could make use of the new technology. In the meantime, stargate-traveling probes would be used to search for a friendlier world for the colony to settle.
For now, the fleet had another assignment. [Aggie,] Chandra said. [Anything further on the Ell communication problem?]
[Affirmative, Chandra,] the AI reported. [We've just received translation routines from the messenger-probe, and I'm assembling those now into the scout AI systems.]
[So we'll be able to talk to them?]
[To a degree.]
[Anything else?]
[The following message also arrived: "ELL FLEET HAS BEEN ADVISED THAT YOU MAY ATTEMPT PERSONAL COMMUNICATION VIA RAPTURE-FIELD. RECOMMEND YOU PROVIDE SEVERAL SUCH FIELDS AND INCLUDE IN YOUR CONTACT PARTY MUSICIANS AND DANCERS."]
[Is that a joke, Aggie?]
[I don't believe so, Captain. A case history was provided which may shed some illumination. Shall I present it to you?]
[Later,] Chandra said. She shifted her attention to the tracking image of the Ell ships spiraling outward from Argus. It was time now for Aleph and Columbia to maneuver to meet them. [Pilot,] Chandra said. [Commence orbit maneuver when ready. Com, tell Columbia.]
She watched as the orders were executed and the alarms sounded, and felt a gentle tug as the engines lit and the ship got under way. And she thought to herself: Musicians and dancers? To meet the Ell?
[Aggie,] she said. [Follow Earth's recommendations for the scout. I'm sure we'll find out why.]
* * *
If the war had produced one benefit, it was that in the end the core had learned something of Humanity—both the culture that had created it and the spirit to which it aspired. The war had put the core through a steep learning curve; but thanks to certain friends, it had not only survived, it had prospered.
There were others, it well knew, who would thank neither the core nor anyone else for the war; and those victims could be numbered on both sides, Human and Ell. Finding a way to reckon with its share of that responsibility was yet another part of the learning curve. It wasn't easy, the core thought—this business of sentience, of being near-Human.
As communication with the Ell proceeded, the curve was likely to be extended. The core had a good deal to learn from Harybdartt and others still in the solar system, and from Lingrhetta and the Ell homeworld. Perhaps the Ell would one day divulge the location of their world, but the core was in no hurry. What it desired most was knowledge of Ell ways and Ell thought, of their scientific paradigms, their cultures, their religions and philosophies. There was more to learn than the core knew how to catalog or anticipate.
If the core had a single overriding motive now, it was to learn, and to learn, and to learn. The Company had its business needs, and the government its political needs, and the core would honor those—but not at the expense of its own integrity. If the needs of the Company and the needs of the core conflicted . . . well, there were ways of balancing.
For one thing, the core planned to allow Silverfish and Odesta's networking operation to continue—not without probing once in a while to keep them on their toes, but also with freedom to see where their efforts might lead. If it cost the Company in profits, well, there was a debt owe—for the music and the support. And as long as the jamdams continued, it intended to be there listening.
* * *
It was a slow-paced kind of thing, just Lip and Eddie making music together, strings and voice, and plenty of mood—what the core understood to be a romantic theme. The core was dancing slowly and easily, joining Ramo and Kyd in gentle pirouettes. The movements were broad enough, and yet quick enough, that the core could allow its figure to expand and swirl its limbs outward with the movement. It was a relaxing feeling, and more than that, a feeling that it was using its figure in the right way for the mood, for the music.
Sage was at the edge of the field, his image dancing slowly with Elina's. Sage was learning, along with the core, learning the skill and the expression, and the feeling that lay beneath the expression.
The core was content. The feeling and the expression would come in time. And one thing the core had now was time.
The music picked up in tempo. As the core responded, it caught Ramo's eye, and Ramo snapped his fingers and moved back from the center with Kyd, and Sage and Elina and Pali and everyone else turned to watch—and the core bounded and reached high on Eddie's high note and floated and spun, pulsing colors—and came down skittering to the beat and joined with the pulse of the others. And it struck the core that this time no one was laughing, no one mimicking; and though everyone was staring, it was in appreciation and wonder.
And from somewhere outside the field of view, and far away, it heard the approval of clicking nails.