Bessany Weyman’s eyes grow wet again.
Chilaili stares at my speaker grill for eleven point nine seconds before speaking. “You would do this? For my clan?” The disbelief in her voice is, perhaps, not surprising.
“Yes, Chilaili. I would. If it is possible to do so without compromising my mission.”
A deep sigh escapes the tall alien huddled beside her human friend, then Chilaili begins to speak. “Our oldest teaching stories say the Ones Above came to this world long ago, but we have never known why. Perhaps they are curious about the worlds which circle the stars. Or perhaps they only wish to hold power over them, as each clan of the Tersae holds power over its home range and covets the territory of others. The Ones Above told us how we were fashioned, to instill proper reverence and obedience. I gave these things willingly, even joyfully, until the damage to our eggs and the violence in our males became too serious to ignore.
“The command to put our eggs into the blessing chambers, which were unknown in my mother’s childhood, came through the Oracle. My mother said the clan returned to the winter nest one season, just after I was hatched, to find the blessing chamber in its place, put there in our absence during the summer gathering season. The Oracle gave the command to put our eggs into it that winter.”
Bessany frowns. “Then they have to be somewhere in this star system, don’t they? To install equipment like that in every clan’s winter nest, they’ve got to have some kind of base of operations, even if it’s only infrequently manned.”
I ask, “Is the akule the only member of the clan allowed to listen to the Oracle?”
“That is the custom, yes. There are certain rituals only the akules know, rituals that allow them to operate the Oracle properly and safely.”
Bessany asks thoughtfully, “Do your creators use a language only the akule knows, or do the Ones Above speak the same language as the Tersae?”
Chilaili hesitates before answering. “Many seasons ago, when I was very young, I overheard the akule who tended the Oracle then. Zaltana was speaking with the Ones Above, from the holy chamber reserved for the Oracle, which is where akule lives. The Ones Above spoke the same words we do, much of the time, although there were things said which I did not recognize as any words I had ever heard before. Of course, I was very young. Not above five years out of the nest. But I remember it vividly.”
“Because you heard the voices of the Ones Above?”
“Yes, partly. To hear the voices of our creators . . . It was exciting. Frightening, as well, because it was taboo. And I remember because the akule was young and beautiful, very kind and sweet-natured. She had fallen deeply in love with the third son of an akule from the clan nearest our own. They had met while hunting in the area where the ranges of both clans overlapped. Zaltana was begging the Ones Above for permission to become life-mates with the male she loved so desperately. When they granted her request, I felt great joy, for it made her so happy. She had always been kind to me.”
“I wonder why they said yes,” Bessany wonders aloud, her voice tinged with bitterness. “If they knew she couldn’t produce children with him, then they knew your clan wouldn’t have an heir to the office of akule, which would be a critical loss for a clan.” She shakes her head, frowning. “God only knows what they were thinking. Or planning. It’s even possible,” she says grimly, “that they knew it didn’t matter. Either they genuinely don’t care whether one clan survives or dies, or they’re planning to end the experiment soon.”
I do not like either proposed scenario. The latter hypothesis is particularly disturbing in terms of potential time constraints, but my main thoughts tend in a different direction altogether. “Did you actually see this Oracle, Chilaili?”
“No. Not then. But when our clan leaves its winter nest, we always take the Oracle with us, so I have seen it many times since. It is the only gift of the Ones Above that the clan never travels without. The blessing chamber is too large to carry with us during the warm months and we would not need it during the summer, in any case. Winter is the time of mating and breeding, when we are safely sheltered belowground. But we always take the Oracle, for we never know when the Ones Above may wish to speak to us. Or when we may need to call them and plead for help or guidance.”
I conclude that if the Ones Above decide to destroy an entire clan for disobedience or some other reason and plan to use the neurotoxin to accomplish it, they have only two options: They must either wait until that clan returns to its winter nest or the clans must carry the neurotoxin receptacle with them.
The Oracles, treated with reverence and care, are clearly the receptacle of choice.
This would certainly explain the release of the neurotoxin at Rustenberg. A direct hit on a permanent, underground shelter would be almost guaranteed to rupture the containment vessel, if not by a direct hit, then by the fall of rock which would crush the casing and release whatever was inside. The more I ponder it, the more certain I become.
Bessany Weyman has seen it as well. “It’s in the Oracles, isn’t it?” she breathes aloud.
“I cannot imagine a more logical containment vessel.” I begin to wonder if there would be a way to neutralize this threat by sealing off any openings or release mechanisms in the Oracle’s casing. If this could be accomplished, it would allow the Tersae to act without fear of immediate retaliation. And the ability to act freely might be enough to persuade Icewing Clan, at least, to break off relations with the Ones Above and ally themselves with humanity. At the very least, it would stop the attacks against Seta Point and Eisenbrucke Station before any lives are lost on either side.
I ask Chilaili her opinion of this theory.
She considers carefully for fifty-eight point three full seconds of silence. “I don’t know if it would be enough,” she replies at last, with commendable honesty. “There are many Grandmothers on the Council who would gladly declare independence of the Ones Above. Their only desire is to safeguard our eggs from further tampering. But the males? They are accustomed to obeying the edicts of the Council, but we have never tried to order the males to do something that violates the orders of the Ones Above. I do not know if it would work.” Her voice registers deep distress.
This certainly complicates the issue, but I believe I see a way out. “Chilaili, would you be willing to teach me your language?”
The Tersae blinks, pupils dilating in a response I am learning to equate with surprise. “I will try, but Bessany Weyman was unable to reproduce many of the necessary sounds.” She glances apologetically down at her human friend.
Bessany smiles. “Bolos are not limited in the same way.”
Chilaili gives her eerie, head-bobbing nod. “If you wish, I will teach you.”
“May we begin now, please? Time may be very short. The storm front is nearly past, which means clear weather is nearly upon us.”
She does not ask why I wish to learn, which is just as well. I am not certain she will like what I have in mind. If, at the last moment, Chilaili balks, I will at least have gained a working knowledge of the enemy’s language. And if Chilaili does not balk, perhaps we will have gained a very great deal more, indeed.
Chapter Twenty-four
Dr. Alison Collingwood had been hard at work for ten straight hours when she confirmed it. Bleary eyed with exhaustion, suffering cricks and cramps in her neck and back, she straightened up with a soft groan and ran both hands through her hair, dragging the lank mess back from her face. It had taken the combined computing power of two Bolos, Bessany Weyman’s xeno-ecological genetic testing equipment, added to her own, blood and tissue samples from Chilaili and samples gathered by the Bolo at Rustenberg from Lieutenant Commander Lundquist and from the carcasses of dead birds which comprised the Tersae’s ancestral stock, plus samples of the neurotoxin put through tests she had requested Senator to conduct; but she finally had the answer.
Stumbling slightly over her own feet, she told her assistant, “Good work, Arnie. Fabulous work,” and emerged from the biochem lab where they’d been closeted for so long. When she stepped outside, Alison was surprised by the ominously clear daylight air. The sky was crystalline, the sunlight so bright it hurt, reflected in diamond-point sparkles off the snow. The Bolo, parked just outside the lab, greeted her at once.