Van Chu shrugged. “A great deal. A little. Nothing at all. When you are dealing with the previously unknown it all amounts to the same thing.”
“I’m not one for philosophy, Doc. What do you know?” the dragon shot back impatiently.
Van Chu sighed. “Well, they are an entirely new form of intelligent life. You might call them an intelligent virus. They’re rather amazing under the microscope. Come on over here.”
They walked through to a research cubicle, and Van Chu made a few adjustments. The large screen in front of them flickered into life.
“That’s the enemy, Marquoz,” Van Chu said softly. “That’s the Dreel.”
The screen showed a honeycomb-like structure.
“Looks like every virus I’ve ever seen or been laid up with,” the dragon commented.
“There is some resemblance,” Van Chu admitted, “but look at them under closer magnification.” He made a few adjustments on his console and the view closed in, blowing up to where they could just see one of the comb-like structures. “Notice the striations, the pattern of construction of the stalk?”
Marquoz just nodded.
Van Chu shifted the view to the next distinct entity. “You see? A different pattern. If I blow them up and compare them all the way to the atomic level, it will show that no two of them are exactly alike in a given organism. At least we believe so.”
“You mean those things smaller than cells are all individuals?”
“No, not individuals like you or me. I believe it’s a collective organism somehow intricately interconnected in a host, even if not physically attached. The collective acts as a single organism, not as a group. We believe that each individual viruslike organism contains some specific information. There are key members and subordinate ones, together they make up the sum total of what the Dreel in each host knows, and limit its capabilities. We suspect that if an individual Dreel needs information on a particular thing it doesn’t have to look it up, merely inject or simply meet up with another Dreel who has that specific information.”
Marquoz was fascinated. “You mean one knows all the math, another all the physics, and so forth?”
“Vastly oversimplified, I think, but you have the general idea,” Van Chu replied. “Think of each Dreel organism as a book. Put a number of them together, each having specific bits of information and you have the knowledge a specialist would have in the field. Put a lot of those together—design your own, in fact —and you have a library. When all of the basics are added for full functioning, then somehow a librarian —a consciousness—simply appears. Then they breed themselves new units as necessary.”
“Pretty nice. No education, no being born or growing up, just meet a host, duplicate the basics, get in, and there you are,” the dragon noted. “Must eliminate a lot of hang-ups.”
Van Chu chuckled. “I suppose. It’s very different from anything we have ever seen. One wonders how they could have evolved, let alone progressed to a high enough state to be invading other areas of space.”
“They wouldn’t have to,” Marquoz noted. “All they’d need would be, say, for one of our ships to land and get bit by a local animal. From what you say, within a few days they’d be the crew.”
The scientist nodded agreement. “Yes, exactly. That fellow you captured over there—he is a Dreel. He is also Har Bateen, with a personal history going back to the day of his birth, and, most importantly, he knows that history. He knows everything Har Bateen ever knew. That’s the most frightening thing. Were you not able to smell them out, there would be absolutely no way to tell them from the original. None.”
“Tried talking to them?” the Chugach asked. “We had ’em so tightly wrapped on the way here that was impossible. We had no idea what we were dealing with, just that it had something to do with mixing blood. We couldn’t afford to take chances.”
“Oh, yes, we’ve talked to them. I can play the tapes if you like—or you can use the intercom and talk to them.”
“Just a digest. I’m due back upstairs, remember. They’ll have discovered that I’m missing by now and have an alarm out all over the place.”
“How’d you manage it?”
Marquoz gave a throaty chuckle. “One advantage to being a strange alien organism. They don’t know much about how or where I go to the bathroom, so they take my word for it.”
Van Chu cleared his throat. “I see. Well, all I can tell you is that for quite a while they all insisted that they were ordinary humans and that they protested all the foul treatment. Bateen even claimed he thought the Gypsy was going to rob him and so just defended himself.”
“Good story,” the dragon admitted. “But no go.”
The scientist shrugged. “He—they all—could talk their way out of anywhere but here. They didn’t change their tune until we took the blood samples—remotely, of course—and started running the tests. Only then did Bateen admit—no, he proclaimed—himself a Dreel, as he called them. He’s incredibly arrogant. We’re just so many animals to him; all we’re good for is being hosts for the Dreel. He claims that they aren’t even from this galaxy, and that they have been at this takeover bit so long that nobody can remember when it didn’t happen. Holy mission stuff, as fanatical as this Fellowship business at the spaceports.”
Marquoz sighed. “I hope he’s just bluffing. I don’t like the implications.”
Van Chu looked down at him worriedly. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if I can smell ’em out other races probably can, too. A fair percentage, anyway, if they’re inter-galactic. That brings up the point that what they can’t take by stealth they take by force—and an inter-galactic flight is beyond any technology of ours I ever heard of.”
The scientist looked a little frightened now. “You mean a war? A real interstellar war?”
“To the death,” Marquoz agreed, “with the other side holding the cards. I think we’d better shut these folks down, if we can, as quickly as possible—and then make a deal if we can, which I doubt. When you make those detectors of yours, which you will, the Dreel will know their cover is blown, know we’re onto them. I think we better know what we’re up against fast.”
The Chugach turned to go, but Van Chu called after him. “Ah . . . Marquoz?”
The dragon stopped and his large head turned slightly, fixing a single reptilian eye on the scientist. “Yeah?”
“How’d you happen to stumble onto all this? I know, you smelled them out—but how’d you, the one person able to smell that stink, happen to be on that particular backwater planet, in just the right place, to smell it?”
“It’s simple,” Marquoz responded dryly, heading for the door. “I’m an accident-prone.”
Kwangsi, the Council Chambers of the Com
they were there, all the councillors of the Community of Worlds except those indisposed by accident or illness. Still, counting the human and nonhu-man worlds, it represented 2160 planets and 2144 Councillors were there, an unprecedented number.
A Council meeting was always impressive: there were the representatives of all the human worlds except those on the frontier too little developed for self-government, also the huge centauroid forms of the Rhone worlds, almost as numerous as mankind’s; the dozen or so Kafski in a special amphibious section for comfort’s sake, their starfish-like bodies undulating with tension, also the Tarak who resembled great beavers, the Milikud, forms who seemed like tiny whirlwinds; and all the others, even the one lone representative of the Chugach. They all knew why they were there; they just didn’t like it.
The President was human this term, a giant of a man who looked the part with dark skin and snow-white hair. His equally gleaming white Councillor’s robes gave him a commanding presence even in so large a hall. His name was Marijido Varga. His one failing was his thin, reedy voice, but this didn’t matter in so great a chamber which spoke so many languages that all would be translated automatically by communications computers whose technicians tended to alter the voice to fit the position, anyway.
The opening ceremony was simple. Varga simply rose, hammered a symbolic gavel three times setting off a signal at each Councillor’s seat, then proclaimed:
“The Council is in session.” He paused a moment to allow late arrivals to settle down, then continued.
“This extraordinary session is called because of grave emergency. The Com, we believe all of us, is threatened by an external enemy who refuses all entreaty to peace and accommodation and whose only goal seems to be total physical and mental enslavement or extinction.”
He went on to tell about the Dreel and how they were detected.
“Since we became aware of this threat, which I must refer to as an invasion, the High Council Presidium has met and unanimously ordered the following measures: One, the development of detection devices so that we can tell friend from foe. Thanks to the wholehearted cooperation of our brothers the Chugach, this has been accomplished, although you’ll understand that it will take some time to manufacture such devices and distribute them in sufficient quantities to everyone. The resources of half a dozen races have been marshaled for this project. Two, a careful surveillance of frontier worlds beyond the Parkatin perimeter. The results showed extensive infiltration of those areas. At least one world, Madalin, had been entirely overrun. However, we did not locate their base, and we believe it to be a mother ship or ships. Good sense dictates that we assume the mother ship or ships to be accompanied by fighting craft of, say, at least fleet strength.”
That assessment caused a stir. Penetration of the Com by an enemy fleet of unknown capabilities and uncertain location was potentially disastrous.
“Three, we ordered research into ways we might protect ourselves. So far we have learned that the Dreel organism is operative only on organisms with a bloodstream within temperature limits of ten below to about eighty-five above zero.” The Milikud and several other races that either had no bloodstream or whose systems were outside the temperature limits seemed to relax a bit.
Varga didn’t let that last long. “We have intercepted signals from beyond our frontiers that indicate the Dreel destroy all races that they cannot take over and use. This information was confirmed, indirectly, by our almost pathologically confident prisoners. The Dreel are engaged in a drive to make the Universe a Dreel Universe—and no one knows just how long it’s been going on. They appear to find other forms of higher intelligence simply intolerable.”
Again the tremendous stir, although the audience already knew most of this. One does not make life-or-death decisions on one speech or report. What Varga had said thus far was mostly for the record. The President shuffled his papers and continued. His speech, of course, was not his own but had been drafted by his civil service assistants and approved by the entire Presidium.
“On protection: The Dreel is a form of virus, and vaccines for those races who need them have already been developed by our excellent Com labs and medical computers. However, it will be weeks before the vaccines can be produced in quantity, and months or longer before everyone can be innoculated. You must believe we are proceeding on this as fast as possible. In the meantime, we are, alas, dependent on the detectors, which are not a perfect solution. The Dreel maintain a body but kill the intellect. We can destroy the Dreel in a body, but doing so leaves just that—a body that is alive, but little better than a blade of grass, mindless and incapable of caring for itself. As a result, except for victims used in research or interrogation, we have ordered that any Dreel discovered are to be killed at once, disintegrated or destroyed by fire.”
There was general agreement to this though none of the delegates liked what they were hearing one bit.
“Finally we attempted contact and negotiation with them. We approached Madalin and called to them. The Dreel were aware we know of them, so we must assume their intelligence is at least as good as ours. I will now play an edited transcript of that discussion, if you will consult your viewers. It does not last very long. As our recording begins, the Com negotiator is hailing Madalin’s capital.”
Screens designed for the various races went on. “Markatin, this is Com Presidium ship Dworcas Bagby,” came a voice. “We wish to confer with your leadership.”
The screens, which had remained dark, suddenly lighted. The face was a stunner, that of a girl perhaps twelve or thirteen. She looked dirty, though, and her hair, worn in long braids, was matting from lack of attention. She was nude.
“I am Diri Smeel,” she responded in a child’s singsong. “I will speak with you.”
The speaker on the Bagby was obviously taken aback, and there was a long pause before the voice of the Council negotiator was heard again.
“I wish to speak to someone in command,” he said in an emotionless monotone, trying not to betray surprise or emotion.
“I am in command here,” the girl said. “You wish our terms. All Com fleet and police vessels in space are to be evacuated within five standard days. Local forces are to disarm and place themselves at the disposal of the Dreel commanders when they arrive at each spaceport. All interworld commerce is to cease when ships reach their destinations.”
A choking sound became audible as if the Com negotiator couldn’t believe his ears. Finally he managed to continue. “We did not come to surrender, we came to reach an accommodation.”
The girl appeared unfazed. “You have no alternative. We do not offer death, only peace and order. You will not die. We will simply enter your bodies and direct your thoughts and actions.”
“But that is the same as death,” the negotiator countered.
“It is not death,” the Dreel girl insisted. “It is proper: Higher orders domesticate lower orders in nature; the horse, the cow, the romba, the worzeil— all serve you. We are a higher order, and therefore you must serve us.” She stated it matter-of-factly, as if she’d been insisting that her sky was blue or people grew old.
“We seek only to live without conflict, but we cannot accept your view of us,” the negotiator told her.
The girl showed some surprise. “It is natural,” she insisted. “Order. You cannot struggle against the way things are. It would be like saying that minerals are vegetables or that space is filled with oxygen. It would be false to say such things. It is false to say that the higher should not own the lower. It is against nature.”
Full circle. “We do not accept your view,” the negotiator repeated. “We cannot allow you to conquer our worlds.”
Still more surprise. “It is not something one accepts. Not something one allows. It is. It will be. It has been for more than a billion years and will continue to be. We became a galaxy. Not a world, not a system, not a sector or quadrant. A galaxy. Then we set off, more than two thousand years ago, for this galaxy. We are now here.”
“Then we must fight.”
She was undisturbed. “The mule may kick but he will still plow. We have attempted a peaceful and methodical domestication. We will not argue, however. Often animals must be trained to do what is proper and right for their masters. If you will not do so now, this discussion is pointless.”
The negotiator had had just about enough. “What will happen,” he snapped back, “when the Dreel meet a higher race?”
She looked puzzled, not comprehending the question. “That is not possible,” she replied—and tuned them out.
“At almost the same point,” President Varga told them, “the Presidium ship and its attendant naval escorts were attacked by ships of the Dreel. Fourteen ships were in the Com party, thirteen were as heavily armed as anything now in service. What you heard was recorded here, by our message relay. None of the ships has been heard from again.”
Varga paused to let that sink in. That information had not been made public. Pandemonium took over the hall, and Varga needed several minutes to regain control. Finally he said, “Councillors, the Com was established by my race over a thousand years ago after a period of interplanetary war that was fought over ideologies now long dead. The awesome weapons that had exterminated life on nine worlds, including the world of my race’s origin, were sealed. The Com Police, established to monitor future threats to interplanetary peace, was composed of people prepared to apply whatever tools were necessary to prevent such conflicts. Properly supervised, the Com Police interfere not at all with a planet’s internal affairs, but they guarantee that planets shall harm only themselves, not others. Similar systems were established by the Rhone, the Tarak, the Milikud, and the Botesh, and these were integrated into a single structure when we merged. In fact, our races merged for the same reason that the Com system was established: not to influence one another but to keep harm from one another. The weapons were not, however, destroyed for no one knew what crises might arise—and, of course, the threat of their use has deterred many a would-be conqueror. Only a majority vote of all the members of this Council can unseal those weapons; only such a vote can direct the Com Police, who are trained in their use, to apply them. I think we must take that vote and I, speaking for myself and for the Presidium, must report to you a vote of twenty-six to five for so doing.”