N ot only was it a clever ploy, an apprehensively admiring Walker had to admit, it gave evidence of the veneer, if not the spirit, of intelligent thought. But while he was striving not to panic as he sought wildly for a suitable rebuttal, it became evident that the K’eremu, neutral in the dispute though they might be, were not to be easily persuaded to support either side.
“We could accomplish the same thing by simply keeping them here on K’erem and preventing them from returning to their ships. Realizing the hopelessness of recovering these three alive, those vessels would eventually depart.” Alet focused silver-gray eyes on the much bigger Vilenjji. “Such a course of action, however, would do nothing to satisfy the claim you have made.”
Mehz spoke up beside her, the ambient light of the chamber gleaming brightly on his more reflective epidermis. “While not subject to the laws of this distant galactic civilization of which everyone speaks, and indifferent to them, I admit to being personally uncomfortable at the idea that one intelligent species might profit through the buying and selling of representatives of another.”
“Keep in mind,” Pret-Klob responded greasily, “that by many standards they do not qualify as intelligent. Certainly not by K’eremu standards.” He gestured with both arms. “Do they come here in ships of their own people? No. Do they exhibit advanced technology of their own design? No. Have they, since they have been on your world, demonstrated any special insight or ability that would lead you to countenance such higher sentience? I think not.” One sucker-lined arm flap stabbed suddenly in George’s direction. “As for that specimen, before it underwent an extensive internal adjustment by us, its intelligence was of such a low order it could neither think nor speak properly.”
Growling, head down, George started forward. “How about if I think I’ll speak about taking a bite out of—”
Whispering urgently, Walker grabbed the dog by the nape of his neck to hold him back. “Don’t do it, George. I’d like to take a bite out of him myself, but that’s just what he wants: to upset us enough to get proof of what he’s claiming.” Ignoring the Vilenjji, he turned his attention back to the watchful, contemplative threesome.
“I don’t pretend to lay claim to any special intelligence. I’m only a trader in basic commodities—and a chef. If I’m not as smart as the average K’eremu, I’m still intelligent enough to do those simple things, and do them well. Surely that qualifies as sufficient sentience.” Releasing his grip on George’s neck, he patted the still softly snarling dog on the head. “My friend here can’t cook, and he can’t arrange complex trades, but he can observe, and analyze, and comment intelligently on what he sees.” Jerking a thumb back over his shoulder, he concluded by observing, “And our large friend here is a composer of sagas and sonnets, whose people designed and built the four largest of the visiting vessels that are currently in orbit around your world. I think without a doubt, that even if our level of intelligence doesn’t approach that of the K’eremu, it’s enough to qualify each of us as intelligent.” He glowered at Pret-Klob, who was as usual unaffected by the glare. “Too intelligent by half to be returned to the tender mercies of a third party that intends to treat us as nothing more than a commodity.”
Distasteful as they found mutual proximity, the three K’eremu moved close together to consult. They said nothing Walker could overhear, but a prodigious volume of bubbles issued from the trio of nearly entwined speaking tubes. After several moments had passed, it was finally left to Alet to explain.
“Clearly, you are at least minimally intelligent.” Walker’s spirits rose. “By your own standards.” They promptly fell anew. “We are not sure that is adequate to allow us to render proper judgment in this matter.”
A stalemate? Walker reflected. What did that mean, if the K’eremu charged with dealing with this business could not come to a resolution? The stated ambiguity did nothing to reassure him.
Just when it seemed that the final determination might as easily go one way as the other, Sque stepped, or rather scuttled, forward. Walker glanced over at her in surprise, while George, for once, sensibly kept his mouth firmly closed.
“While the simple nature of the three primitives whose company I was compelled to share these past several years is undeniable, I believe they have demonstrated intelligence sufficient to warrant their continued existence as independent entities.”
Walker immediately looked to Pret-Klob. While obviously upset at Sque’s intercession on behalf of the remainder of his fugitive inventory, the Vilenjji wisely did not comment. Not with the current speaker having been among the former unwilling detainees held in captivity by his association.
“On what do you base that conclusion?” Alet asked her. Encouragingly, all three of the arbitrators appeared more than usually interested in what the fourth member of their number present had to say.
Sque was now gesturing with nearly every one of her appendages, executing a succession of complex gestures that were as much dance as exclamation. There was far too much for Walker or his friends to follow. But the combination of words and waves was having an effect on the trio who were to decide their fate.
“On their continued recognition of myself as the prevailing intelligence among them and, more critically, on the aid they rendered,” Sque declared in response to the question. Functioning with marvelous independence of one another, her gesticulating limbs individually pointed out Walker, George, and Braouk. “Without their assistance, primitive as it may have been, I would not be here now, faced with the need to confront you physically in a manner I am certain you find as unpleasant as do I. That effort on my behalf alone justifies their claim to retention of individual autonomy: the undeniable fact that they assisted a K’eremu.”
With that, she retreated from uncomfortable nearness to the three others of her kind. Walker badly wanted to add a comment of his own, but dared not. Instead, he knelt to let his right hand methodically stroke George’s back. Recognizing the import of the moment, the dog continued to remain silent. Behind them, Braouk withheld the saga stanza he had just completed, conscious of the fact that it would be better to wait for a more propitious moment in which to deliver himself of his latest lines.
A second consultation among the three K’eremu went on longer than its predecessor. At its conclusion, the trio gratefully separated. Mehz waved three appendages at them, one for each supplicant.
“In the absence of compelling evidence to the contrary, it has been decided that no better way exists to resolve this apparent dilemma than to rely on the word of that paragon of sentient evolution, another K’eremu.” Other limbs gestured in Sque’s direction. “We accept your reflection. Your primitive acquaintances are free to return to their waiting craft.”
Walker wanted to jump up and shout, to fling his clenched fist into the enclosed, perpetually damp air of the port. He restrained himself lest the reaction be thought overtly primal. Certainly it was impossible to envision a K’eremu reacting the same way in a similar situation. He settled instead for giving George a last firm pat on the head, straightening, and letting Braouk wrap the tip of one massive tentacle around his five human digits.
It was only by chance that he happened to notice the weapon gripped firmly in the suckers of Pret-Klob’s right arm flap.
“I and the other members of my association have not traveled this long and this far to be denied that which we seek. The inventory is coming with me.”
The oddly circular hand weapon, Walker noted without moving a muscle, was aimed at the lone male among the three watchful K’eremu. They did not appear overly concerned by the Vilenjji’s unexpected show of force. But then, a K’eremu never did. Feeling Braouk’s mass shift subtly behind him, he slowly raised a forestalling hand. His arm could not stop the Tuuqalian if he wanted to make a rush at the Vilenjji. A tank would be necessary. But the gesture was enough. Respecting Walker’s insight, Braouk held his ground.
“Interesting aggressive device,” Rehj commented thoughtfully, eying the weapon. “By way of contrast, our far more sophisticated equivalents are notably less injurious.”
None of the three K’eremu reached for a control, or made an unusual gesture, or took out a concealed device. None spoke a command or called for help. One moment, a large and very determined Vilenjji was standing nearby, his weapon trained on the trio. The next, Pret-Klob went stiff as purple pine, his body unmoving as a flash-frozen crab spat out by the quick-freezer of a Bering Sea trawler. Pulsing softly, a pale aura now enveloped his body, or perhaps emanated from it. Walker couldn’t tell.
There are devices active here that will restrain, he remember Sque warning him earlier. For once, their K’eremu companion had resorted to understatement.
“There is one other matter that should be attended to.” As if nothing untoward had happened, Alet advanced a few body lengths in Walker’s direction. “Now that you know the location of K’erem, if we allow you to depart, what guarantee do we have that we will not be troubled by your annoying presence again?”
“We promise.” Walker responded reflexively, just as he would have if he been in the midst of an important business meeting with any client. “We won’t come back. Honestly. Not that your world doesn’t have its undeniable charms,” he added hastily, the trader in him contriving the necessary tact, “but for us K’erem has always been just a way station, not a destination.”
“Just one more hydrant on the highway of life.” Fortunately, the K’eremu’s translators could not quite manage a seamless interpretation of the dog’s comment.
“It be same, with me and mine, forever,” Braouk hastened to assure the watchful trio.
“What better way to be rid of them,” Sque added conclusively, “than to send them on their way back to the homeworlds they seek?”
A voice issued from the partially immobilized Pret-Klob. “Only the association knows the location of the human and canine world. The Niyyuu do not know it, nor do the Iollth, or the Hyfft, or the Tuuqalia. It is so isolated and distant that none are aware of its location but us. It will not be divulged; not even for a price.” While the Vilenjji could move neither head nor eyes, Walker became convinced his former captor was staring directly at him, and him alone. “There is principle involved.”
Though Pret-Klob could not have known it, it was exactly the wrong thing to say. If only he had not said “only.” Because in doing so, he had unwittingly laid down a challenge to the K’eremu.
This time it was Mehz who stepped forward to confront the visitors—still maintaining a suitable distance, of course. “Sequi’aranaqua’na’senemu speaks sensibly. In the interests of ridding K’erem’s vicinity of you as quickly and expeditiously as possible, it will be recommended that our astronomical facilities be encouraged to cooperate with your own meager equivalents.” Silvery eyes glanced indifferently in the direction of the immobilized Vilenjji. “So many of the lesser species suffer from an appalling conviction of their own supremacy.”
George could not restrain himself. “A failing that fortunately escapes the K’eremu.”
“Yes,” agreed Mehz without a hint of irony. “I suspect you will all be on your way sooner than you think.”
Walker gestured at the powerless, silently fuming Pret-Klob. “What about him?”
Alet spoke up. “The unpleasant creature will be returned to its own orbiting vessel. Hopefully suitably chastened. Neither he nor any other from his craft will be permitted to return to the surface of K’erem. They have violated our generous hospitality.”
Walker wanted to say, “What hospitality?” He did not, and this time George held his peace. Possibly because Braouk had, as he had once done with Sque on his own world, thoughtfully wrapped the tapered end of a very large and very strong tentacle around the dog’s mouth.
Sque’s condescending brethren were as good as their supercilious word. Working in conjunction with, if not alongside, Sobj-oes and her team of Niyyuuan, Iollth, and Tuuqalian professionals, the K’eremu did indeed locate Earth.
Several of them.
As proof of intelligence could not be detected over such vast distances, the grudgingly helpful K’eremu had been reduced to searching for systems that matched Walker’s layman’s description. Only their astounding scientific resources and expertise allowed them to winnow down worlds abounding from thousands of potential stellar candidates, to hundreds, to—finally—four. By terrestrial standards the four lay unreachable distances apart. In the advanced ships of the Niyyuu, Iollth, and Tuuqalians, the prospective journey was not an unfeasible one.
As they made ready to depart from the vicinity of K’erem’s sun, a last surprise awaited the travelers. It arrived in the form of a communication that materialized within Walker and George’s living quarters, and took the form of the avatar of a certain very familiar K’eremu.
“A last farewell, Sque?” Walker faced the projection while George dozed on his pillow-bed nearby. “I know we didn’t have much time for leave-taking below.” He did not add that the K’eremu had neglected to see them off. While disappointed, he had not been surprised. If nothing else, her nonappearance was characteristically K’eremu. Now, it appeared, she might have had second thoughts, and had decided to project a formal goodbye before the orbiting ships headed outsystem.
“As usual, your perception is inaccurate.” The three-dimensional image hovered before him. “This communication represents nothing of the kind. I continue to accompany you, though of course I cannot be expected to tolerate your physical proximity any more than is minimally necessary.”
That brought George’s head up off his bed. “The squid’s coming with us?”
“Not with you specifically,” the projection replied, choosing to ignore the dog’s impertinence. “It has been decided that there is useful data to be acquired from accompanying you on your return. Just as the ungainly Tuuqalian Braouk has continued to accompany you to acquire material for his pitiable saga, so I and others of my kind have determined to do so in the everlasting pursuit of knowledge.” She abruptly vanished, to be replaced by a new image: of one of the sleek, breathtakingly beautiful ships of her kind. The substitution was brief, and she quickly returned.
“There are twenty of us on board,” she informed Walker and George, in reference to the newly arrived craft whose image they had just viewed. “The minimum necessary to supervise the operation of a long-range vessel. Also near the maximum number of K’eremu who can stand to be in one another’s company.”
“We’re glad to have you along,” Walker told her feelingly. “I was afraid I wasn’t going to get the chance to say a real goodbye.”
“Uneconomical frivolities,” she replied. “Sometimes to be favored, nonetheless. While we cannot of course greet one another in person while we are in transit between star systems, there will doubtless be opportunities to do so during those times when we are not.”
“Wonderful,” George groused from the vicinity of his pillow. “I do so miss the comforting caress of wet, slimy tentacles.”
As always, Sque did not react to the sarcasm inherent in the dog’s response, because to her it was only natural to take his words at face value.
The excitement Walker and George felt as the ships returned to normal space turned to disappointment when it became clear that the system they had entered was not home to Earth. The outer portion was home to the essential number of gas giants, their existence necessary so that their gravity might sweep up planetary dust and debris and allow the formation of habitable inner worlds. The third of these looked very much like Earth, even to the swathes of fleecy white clouds that streaked its very breathable oxynitro atmosphere. There were water oceans, and dry continents, and evidence of life. But it was not Earth. A quick scan revealed that it harbored no intelligence. At least, none that had developed so much as rudimentary electronic communications.
It was an empty, uninhabited paradise. News of its existence would cause a sensation on Earth, where any working astronomer would part with years of his or her life for the chance to be the herald of such a discovery. Instead, it was left to Walker and George to admire it, have Sobj-oes and her colleagues methodically note its coordinates, and watch via the communications system in their quarters as it receded behind them.
“Could have had a world to ourselves,” George commented as the blue and white image shrank in the view space that occupied the center of the room. “No one to tell you where to pee, no one to yell at you to stop barking.”
“No one to talk to,” Walker added. “I’m sure we’ll have better luck at the next star.”
How far had he come, he reflected. How much had he changed, that he could make a statement like that sound as casual and natural as if he was discussing the next stop on the commuter train that served the Big Windy’s suburbs.
But they did not have better luck. While the second system’s sun was a near twin of Sol, and the fourth world out was indeed habitable, it was not welcoming. Some unknown disaster or plague had reduced all life on its surface and in its roiling seas to a fraction of what it once must have been. Not even the K’eremu desired to risk encountering what unspeakable virulence might linger on the devastated surface. Their ship and every other departed without penetrating the unnamed world’s atmosphere, leaving it untouched, uncontacted, and unknown. Whatever terrible secret it harbored remained inviolate in the wake of their hasty departure.
Having been twice disillusioned, neither man nor dog expected much when the third system of the four identified by the K’eremu was reached. So it was with a mix of shock and delight that they reacted to the news that not only had electromagnetic means of communication been detected emanating from the third planet out from the sun, but that a portion of it matched perfectly the language employed by Walker and his canine friend. Allowed to sample it for himself, a misty-eyed Walker found himself listening to the evening news on the BBC. While not exactly the same language he and George spoke, it was more than close enough to provide the necessary confirmation.
They were home.
After so many years away, he found he did not know how to react. As the ships emerged into normal space somewhere in the vicinity of the orbit of Neptune, he retreated to quarters, leaving George to further query Sobj-oes and her team in their research facility elsewhere on the ship. As he was trying to decide how next to instruct Gerlla-hyn to proceed, indeed, trying to decide how to proceed himself, a Niyyuu announced himself at the portal.
“A moment of you time, human Marcus Walker. I am Qeld-wos. With me is also colleague Nabn-dix. We not formally met. Are members of much respected communicators public of Niyu.”
The Niyyuuan media, Walker realized. Ever present, ever alert for a new angle on the return of the peculiar aliens to their homeworlds, and occasionally irritating. Especially at this singular moment, when he wanted, when he needed, to be left alone to try to figure out what to do next. Which, he reflected, was probably precisely why they wanted to see him now. Oh well. It would be impolite to deny them a minute or two. He directed the portal to open.
Two had announced themselves. Three entered. The third was not a representative of the energetic Niyyuuan media. Walker’s eyes widened, and then he opened his mouth to shout in the direction of the room’s communicator.
A flash from the circular weapon clasped in the powerful suckers of the third visitor’s right arm flap knocked Walker to the floor. As the pair of obviously surprised Niyyuu turned in his direction, Pret-Klob fired at each of them in turn. The tall, slender forms crumpled. Perhaps they had received a stronger charge from the Vilenjji’s weapon. Or possibly Walker’s constitution was tougher. Regardless of the reason, while both human and Niyyuu lay stunned, only he remained conscious.
Advancing with the peculiar side-to-side lurching motion that was so distinctive of his kind, Pret-Klob entered farther into the room until he was standing almost directly over the recumbent human. Walker felt as if every part of his body had gone to sleep. The tingling sensation was intense. As he struggled to speak and to move arms and legs, he watched helplessly as the Vilenjji adjusted something on the side of his weapon.
Where was George? he found himself thinking frantically. Paralyzed, he could not call to the communicator for help. Slowly, he felt some feeling, some muscular control, returning. The pinprick, stabbing sensation of returning neurological normality was excruciating.
“Umg…unk…” He still couldn’t form words. Not quite. But soon…
“Soon” soon became irrelevant. The Vilenjji was not stupid. His very presence here, on board the Jhevn-bha, attested to that. It should not have been. But it was. As soon as he had regained sufficient control of his larynx and tongue, lips and lungs, Walker wondered at it aloud.
By way of response, the calm and composed Vilenjji pointed to the still unconscious bodies of the two Niyyuuan media representatives. “After the unmentionable K’eremu returned me to my own vessel, following my regrettably unsuccessful attempt to repossess property rightfully belonging to my association, I subsequently made contact with the pair who presently occupy the floor across from you. A proper entrepreneur is always alert to potentially useful contacts. Familiar as I was from the time I had been compelled to spend on Niyu with the characteristic excesses of their kind, I devised a procedure that, with luck, I believed might allow me to make contact with my absent inventory yet one more time.” The arm flap that held the circular weapon gestured absently. “As you can observe, that possibility has been fulfilled.”
Breathing hard, still unable to move his arms or legs, Walker looked up at his tormentor, his relentless pursuer, his primary abductor, and wished he had enough muscular control to spit.
“You bribed them,” he managed to whisper accusingly, in reference to the two inert Niyyuu.
“Not at all.” It was difficult to tell if the Vilenjji’s tone was reflecting as abstract a quality as pride. “They were traveling on a different vessel, one of their own kind. Less than fully versed in the details of the relationship between myself and wandering inventory, they proved amenable when my representatives suggested that there was an acquaintance of yours who very much wished to see and offer you congratulations before your final return to your world.
“Captivated by the visual and aural possibilities inherent in such a confrontation and knowing that I would be alone and isolated as the only one of my kind to participate in the further progress of this expedition, it was agreed that I could arrange to pay for transport and accommodation on their ship, and that when the opportunity presented itself, they would arrange for me to join them so that they could record the proposed meeting between us. After which, having no other choice, I would return with them to their vessel, thence to be reunited with my own people at some undetermined future date.” This time it was the unarmed limb that gestured.
“On board their vessel I kept largely to myself, both from choice and need. With Niyyuu, Iollth, Hyfft, and the occasional Tuuqalian mixing freely during the visits to previous systems, my presence went largely unremarked upon. Each group assumed the other had authorized it. The only risk was that knowledge of my presence might be conveyed to this particular vessel, and thence to you or to someone familiar with our less than genial mutual history.” Now there was no mistaking the conceit in his tone. “Thankfully, that did not occur.”
The tingling pain coursing through Walker’s body was diminishing, but was still prevalent enough to make him clench his teeth. “You’re right. You’re all alone here. Your association can’t help you. There’s no way you can—recover your wandering inventory. So—what do you want?”
An answer appeared in the form of the muzzle, or business end, of the Vilenjji’s circular weapon, as it inclined downward until it was pointing directly between Walker’s eyes. As much as it was possible for his muscles to freeze up again, they did so. He gaped at the purple-skinned, big-eyed alien.
“You’re going to kill me?”
“I am going to kill you,” Pret-Klob replied calmly.
Walker struggled for a response. His initial reaction was to say something dramatic, along the lines of “If you kill me, you’ll never get off the Jhevn-bha alive!” He did not say it because it was patently clear that Pret-Klob had already considered and accepted that inevitability. Walker realized he was neither going to reach or affect the Vilenjji that way. So instead, he retorted, “You’re going to destroy valuable stock? Without any possibility of recompense? That doesn’t sound like prudent Vilenjji business practice to me.”
“It is not. However, more than plain profit is at stake in this now. That is your fault. Your continued existence, and in particular your ability not only to successfully remove yourself and your companions from the association’s original vessel, but to somehow orchestrate a return here, to your home system, stands as an ongoing affront to every principle that the association and all related Vilenjji enterprises hold most dear. It is unnatural. It cannot be permitted to eventuate.” The muzzle of the weapon descended slightly toward Walker. Instinct told him to close his eyes. Experience and determination told him not to.
Pret-Klob was not finished. “Do you remember what I said to you when last we saw one another on board the ship of the interfering Sessrimathe? ‘Be assured that in the realness of time, the natural order of things will be restored.’”
“Yeah,” Walker mumbled softly. “I remember that. I also remember you saying ‘It’s only business.’”
The tendrils atop the Vilenjji’s tapering skull writhed forcefully as the huge eyes continued to focus unblinkingly on the human at its feet. “Only business. Part of that is to restore the natural order of things. That demands that an incontestably more primitive creature not be allowed to humiliate one demonstrably more superior.”
“What,” Walker told him, realizing he did not have much time left and thinking furiously, “if I could prove to you that I’m not your inferior, and that we’re equals? Would that satisfy you? Would that fit into your ‘natural order’ of things enough to satisfy you and preserve this principle you’re so concerned about that you’re ready to die for it?”
It seemed to him that the Vilenjji hesitated. “You cannot prove such an assertion. To do so would oblige me to admit that it was wrong to take you in the first place.”
“That’s what I’m thinking, too.” Making a supreme effort, Walker found that he could sit up. While he was once more fully in control of his faculties, he knew that to yell at the communicator for help would be futile: the fatalistic Vilenjji could kill him long before any help could arrive. All that was left to him by way of a defense was logic and reason.
It was time, he knew, to attempt to make the trade of his life.
“I can’t go home,” he said simply.
The Vilenjji stared at him, unblinking as ever. “Of course you cannot. I am going to kill you.”
“Even if you don’t kill me, even if you weren’t here, I can’t go home.”
The muzzle of the alien weapon wavered ever so slightly. “I do not understand. Do not take my noncomprehension as an admission of equality,” he added quickly.
“I won’t.” Walker found it was surprisingly easy to warm to his task. It was something he’d been ruminating on, had been forced to ponder, for a long, long time. “Finally, actually getting here makes me realize something that’s been nagging at me and troubling me for some time now. I’ve changed too much.” Finding he could once more control his arms, he made use of them to emphasize his conversion. “I can’t go home anymore.”
The Vilenjji stared at him.
“After everything that’s happened, after all I’ve been through, I just don’t think I can do it. I’m not a citizen of one world anymore. Not of any world. I’ve been exposed to too many wonders, seen too much, to go back to living on one small, out-of-the-way, backward world, however familiar. I thought that’s what I’ve wanted ever since my friends and I were rescued from your captivity by the Sessrimathe.” He shook his head in wonder at his own words. “The Sessrimathe. I’d like to see Seremathenn again. Spectacular place, wonderful people. And Niyu, and Hyff, and Tuuqalia. Maybe visit Ioll, and a dozen or so other worlds.” He met the Vilenjji’s much broader gaze challengingly. “I’d even be curious to see what Vilenj is like.
“But I can’t go back. Sure, I can long for a piece of chocolate cake, or a Sunday football game. And I probably will. But would I trade a visit to the mountains of Niyu or a performance of the silica-dancers of Seremathenn for them?” He shook his head. “Not anymore. I’ve changed too much. I’ve learned too much.” He smiled. Not for the effect it might have on the Vilenjji, but for himself. “I’ve learned how to cook. I can do things no chef back home can even imagine. I might even manage a reasonable facsimile of a chocolate cake. Or trade for one.” With difficulty, he struggled erect and met the Vilenjji’s alien gaze without blinking.
“I’ve become as much a civilized resident of this galaxy as the Niyyuu, or the Hyfft, or even the K’eremu. Or you, or any Vilenjji.” That said, with finality, he did close his eyes, and waited for the fatal shot.
Seconds passed. The seconds stretched into a minute, then two. A weight descended on his left shoulder and he flinched. But there was no pain, and none of the agonizing tingling that had coursed through him earlier. He opened his eyes.
Under-flaps splayed out to both sides, Pret-Klob had squatted down in front of him. The circular weapon had been put away. The weight Walker felt came from one wide arm flap resting on his shoulder. The last time he had felt such a weight, it had been dragging him forcibly out of his rented SUV beside Cawley Lake high in the Sierra Nevada of northern California. Whatever the Vilenjji had decided to do, he suspected that was a place he would never see again.
Because he had told the truth.
As much as he might want to see the lake, or revisit certain haunts and certain friends, he couldn’t go back to the life he had known on Earth. Or any life on Earth. For him, Earth had become—what was a suitable term?
Small. That was it. In a galaxy of wonderments, the majority of which he had yet to experience and could not even envisage, Earth was small.
He was aware that Pret-Klob continued to stare at him. “‘The natural order of things.’ It is not a fixed immutable. Everything can change. One who is adept at commerce learns to recognize such shifts. In abandoning your primitive world, you abandon your primitive self. I cannot countenance this change as being one applicable to every member of your species—but I must acknowledge that with which I am personally confronted.” Dragging itself heavily down Walker’s arm, the end of the powerful appendage attached itself to his hand. Suckers took hold—but not hurtfully.
“While I continue to remain tentative as to the specifics of this unexpected revelation, I am persuaded to acknowledge at least one of your kind as an equal. Or at least, a near equal. Therefore, I will not kill you, Marcus Walker.”
Walker managed to remain as composed as possible under the circumstances. “Much obliged.” It was another measure of how much he had changed that he was able to add, “No hard feelings. I understand when you say it was only business. I’m—I was, in business myself. I was a trader in commodities. You know—raw materials?”
Releasing the human’s hand, Pret-Klob glanced thoughtfully over at the pair of Niyyuuan media representatives. They were beginning to moan and stir, their brightly colored frills flexing spasmodically, their quadruple tails twitching reflexively. He had not intended to kill them, and he had not. Satisfied that they would recover fully, he turned his attention back to his graduated inventory.
“That is most interesting. Perhaps we might even do some business together ourselves one day. My association is always ready to learn from others.”
Walker squinted up at the Vilenjji. “Even from former assets?”
A thick appendage gestured meaningfully. “It is the substance of knowledge that matters, not its source. One seeks profit wherever and however one can find it.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself. You know, there was this one time I was offered three containership-loads of processed cocoa and I had to—”
He broke off. Pret-Klob was being polite. The Vilenjji would have no knowledge of or interest in cocoa, cocoa futures, or how the fluctuating political situation in Ivory Coast versus that in Venezuela might affect that particular market. If they were going to do anything together, a prospect that remained questionable, it would have to involve matters of mutual understanding. Could he somehow work his newly acquired culinary expertise into any such problematic equation?
“First thing: no trading in sentients,” he told the alien assertively. “Even if they’re not as intelligent as Vilenjji—or humans, or Tuuqalians, or K’eremu. Not only does it go against civilized galactic behavior, it’s not—nice.”
“I respect your self-elevated status,” Pret-Klob replied evenly, “but it is not for you to render judgment on the commercial traditions of another species.”
They sat and argued for some time. All the while Walker wondered at how far he had come, from being a captive of the Vilenjji to sitting peacefully across from one while discussing the nature and ethics of Vilenjji business.
Displaying the noteworthy resilience that defined their craft, as soon as they had recovered from the muted effects of Pret-Klob’s weapon, both Niyyuuan media representatives set aside their distress at having been deceived and mistreated by the Vilenjji in favor of recording the fascinating discussion taking place between it and the solitary human.
While they were not shocked, their feisty aplomb was not matched by that of the four-legged terrestrial who walked in on them. It was difficult to say which George found more shocking: the presence of their former captor Pret-Klob in his and Walker’s private quarters, or the fact that man and Vilenjji appeared to be engaged in nothing more confrontational than polite and animated conversation.
“Shouldn’t be any abducting of dogs, either,” Walker declared, adding a cryptic comment to the conversational brew into which his canine companion had just wandered.
Dazed, George entered farther into his quarters, sparing nary a glance for the two Niyyuuan media representatives who were busy recording everything within range of their pickups.
“Captivating reaction,” declared one.
“Very attractive, yes,” agreed the other as she adjusted the myriad devices that spotted her slender front like so many electronic boils. “It will be well received when played for audience back home.”
“What’s going on here?” Sidling up alongside his friend, George continued to keep a wary eye on the looming bulk of the Vilenjji. “What’s he doing here?”
Reaching down, Walker stroked the dog’s head and back, reassuring him. “Pret-Klob arranged to accompany us here in order to kill me. Probably you, too.” He returned his gaze to the big alien. “Instead, we had a chat, and we’ve come to an understanding. Nobody’s going to kill anybody, and his association will quit its claim to us. We might even end up doing some business together.” He winked at the bewildered dog.
“No kidnapping and abducting of close relations, though. Oh, and one other thing. I’m not going back to Earth.” His voice was steady now, confident. As assured as his words. “It’s not home anymore, and I’ve decided I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it. I want to see, and experience”—he took a deep breath, let it out slowly—“everything else. But I’m sure Gerlla-hyn can find a way to drop you off. Back in Chicago, or anywhere else you might prefer.”
Recovering his composure, George stared evenly up at his human. Then he stepped forward—and nipped him on the leg. Letting out a yelp of mixed pain and surprise (more the latter than the former), Marcus gaped at his companion. Pret-Klob looked on with quiet interest, while the two Niyyuuan media representatives could hardly contain their delight at the action they were recording.
“George, what…?”
“You stupid, stupid man. You stupefied hairless ape. Don’t you remember anything? Don’t you see anything?” He paused, then added, “Evidently not, because all you can do is sit there with your mouth open and nothing but seeohtwo coming out.” The dog began to pace in an agitated, tight circle. “How many times did I mention that on Earth I’d be a talking freak, or have to live an existence as an enforced mute? How many times did I point out that out here I’m just one alien among hundreds? That not going back would be by far the most sensible and rational end for me?”
Walker found his voice. “But every time we talked about returning, every time it was brought up, you were as steadfast about it as I was.”
The dog lunged forward again, and Walker jerked his leg back just in time. “There’s intelligence, and then there’s smarts. You may be intelligent, Marc.” He nodded in the direction of the interested Vilenjji. “Intelligent enough to satisfy our walking eggplant, here. But when it comes to smarts, you come up shorter than an addled Chihuahua.
“Of course I talked like I wanted to return home. I did that for you. I was supporting you. Because your need to do so was so obviously desperate. Because it was all you talked about. Because—you’re my friend, Marc.” The furry head dropped, then came up again. “Me—I don’t care if I ever see a cold, friendless, empty alley again. As far as I’m concerned, the whole mutt-catching, puppy-abusing, neuter-happy place can go to the dogs!” He glanced over at the delighted media representatives. “You get all that? Good! You can add that because of the changes I’ve undergone, because of the way I’ve changed, I know that I’d be better off on Niyu than on my homeworld—though Seremathenn would be better still. Dog-breath, I’d even prefer K’erem. At least the smells are interesting, and I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life being prodded and poked in the service of advancing ‘science.’”
It was quiet in the room, the ship silent around them, the hum of the Niyyu’s equipment barely audible.
“Well,” Walker finally murmured.
Standing up, George put his front paws in his friend’s lap and stared earnestly into his face. “I don’t have anything worthwhile to go back to, Marc. But what about you? Are you sure about this? Are you really sure?”
Walker smiled. “I’m sure, George.” He reached out to stroke the dog’s back, running his fingers down the dense fur. “I’ve hopped the train I want to be on. I got on board some time ago, I think. It just took a while to admit it to myself.” He shrugged meaningfully. “After persisting and fighting and struggling so long and so hard to get back here, it turns out there’s no here here for me anymore.”
By now at least partly convinced that their former Vilenjji tormentor really did no longer mean them any harm, the dog allowed himself to relax. “How you gonna keep ’em down on the farm once they’ve seen galactic civilization? I’m glad, Marc. More than glad. I’m happy. I can live out my life without having to hide my ability to talk. Or my intelligence.” His gaze narrowed as he eyed the watchful Vilenjji sharply. “You’re sure about this ‘understanding’ Marc says you and he have reached?”
The Vilenjji reached toward George, who flinched instinctively. But the gesture ended in a stroke, albeit one that was rough and sucker-lined. “I am not ready for, nor am I in a position to suggest wholesale changes in the structure and purpose of the association. But if better means of making a profit can be devised…” He left the thought hanging, along with a steady look at the human.
Walker found himself thinking back, all the way back to his original abduction that crazy night at his camp in the Sierras. This had all begun with a group of aliens who had abducted him with the intention of putting him up for sale. Of making use of him. For some time now, he had been making use of aliens. Sessrimathe and Niyyuu, Hyfft and Iollth, Tuuqalia and K’eremu and others; all had been caught up and put upon and cajoled in the service of him and his three friends. It was not unlike the ways and means he had employed to great success during his work with the Chicago Commodities Exchange.
He found that he was looking forward to the future with high expectations indeed. As to Earth, he would always have his memories to tide him over any unforeseen bouts of homesickness. Memories, and George. He would forgo visits to Starbucks for adventures in star systems. Instead of keeping tabs on football, he could watch the well-mannered, carefully structured internal wars of Niyu.
Niyu. There was someone there, as thoroughly and truly an alien as any he had yet encountered, whose acquaintance he very much wanted to renew. What would Viyv-pym-parr think if he returned? Of one thing he was certain: the rabid and active Niyyuuan media would have a field day with such a reunion, however biologically platonic.
Could there be anything more? In the spirit of scientific inquiry that had become one of his new motivations, he fully intended to find out.
But not right away. The Tuuqalians would want to go home, but the Iollth had pledged themselves to him—for a while, at least. As for the K’eremu, Sque had said that they had accompanied him in hopes of adding to their immense store of universal knowledge. As he was their nominal leader, the Niyyuu might go along with any decision he chose to render—for a while, at least. Especially if their avid and ever ambitious media had anything to say about it.
There was plenty of time yet before his extraordinary diversity of friends had to return to Niyu, and to their respective other homeworlds. Plenty of time for him to further cement relations with, and try to dissuade from the abduction and selling of sentients, the Vilenjji Pret-Klob. Time to travel, to explore, to see.
Rising, he turned and addressed the pair of contented (and now fully recovered) Niyyuu. “We’re not going on to my homeworld. My companion and I”—he indicated George, whose tail was metronoming briskly—“have decided that locating it was return enough. We’ll be going back to Niyu, I expect.”
All four of the female’s tails swayed back and forth in a vigorous visual expression of professional contentment. “That wonderful news to hear, Marcus Walker! The longer expedition journeys, the more opportunities we have for making fine and memorable recordings.”
Walker nodded encouragingly. “That’s what George and I were thinking. As official representatives of the Niyyuuan media, you two might as well be the ones to so inform Gerlla-hyn.” He grinned, as much to himself as for the benefit of aliens unfamiliar with the meaning behind the expression. “Tell the Commander-Captain that the fleet (the fleet! he thought wonderingly) will be taking the scenic route home.”
They did not quite comprehend his words, their own translators functioning shy of the comprehensiveness needed to fully interpret the human’s comment, but they would understand soon enough.
“Did you then have particular routing in mind?” the male inquired tentatively.
Walker considered. Untutored and undereducated in astronomy, he would have been forced to confess an ignorance of his own homeworld’s immediate galactic neighborhood. That there was much to experience in its vicinity he had no doubt. The galaxy, as he had already involuntarily seen, was replete with endless wonders. A tug at his leg made him look down. As he did so, George released the grip his jaws had taken on a pants’ leg.
“I don’t know about you, man, but as for myself, I’ve always had a serious urge to see the Dog Star.”
Walker smiled. Not too many years ago, and regardless of source, such a request would have been no more than a mild joke. Not, he reflected as he contemplated his astounding and astoundingly familiar starship surroundings and the three aliens who waited on his reply, anymore.
Nor for him and his small and inordinately loquacious furry friend, ever again.