Aritch remained frozen, right hand raised. Then:
“McKie, you are revealed as a sneak. Only by spying on our most sacred rituals could you know this.”
“Did you think me some fearful, pliable dolt, client? I am a true Legum. A Legum does not have to sneak to learn the Law. When you admitted me to your Bar you opened every door.”
Slowly, muscles quivering, Aritch turned and spoke to the Wreave:
“Ceylang?”
She had difficulty speaking while her poison-tipped fighting mandibles remained extruded.
“Your command?”
“Observe this Human well. Study him. You will meet again.”
“I obey.”
“You may go, but remember my words.”
“I remember.”
McKie, knowing the death dance could not remain uncompleted, stopped her.
“Ceylang!”
Slowly, reluctantly, she looked at him.
“Do observe me well, Ceylang. I am what you hope to be. And I warn you: unless you shed your Wreave skin you will never be a Legum.” He nodded in dismissal. “Now, you may go.”
In a fluid swish of robes she obeyed, but her fighting mandibles remained out, their poison tips glittering. Somewhere in her triad’s quarters, McKie knew, there’d be a small feathered pet which would die presently with poison from its mistress burning through its veins. Then the death dance would be ended and she could retract her mandibles. But the hate would remain.
When the door had closed behind the red robe, McKie restored book and knife to the box, returned his attention to Aritch. Now, when McKie spoke, it was really Legum to client without any sophistry, and they both knew it.
“What would tempt the High Magister of the renowned Running Phylum to bring down the Arch of Civilization?”
McKie’s tone was conversational, between equals.
Aritch had trouble adjusting to the new status. His thoughts were obvious. If McKie had witnessed a Cleansing Ritual, McKie had to be accepted as a Gowachin. But McKie was not Gowachin. Yet he’d been accepted before the Gowachin Bar … and if he’d seen that most sacred ritual …
Presently, Aritch spoke.
“Where did you see the ritual?”
“It was performed by the Phylum which sheltered me on Tandaloor.”
“The Dry Heads?”
“Yes.”
“Did they know you witnessed?”
“They invited me.”
“How did you shed your skin?”
“They scraped me raw and preserved the scrapings.”
Aritch took some time digesting this. The Dry Heads had played their own secret game of Gowachin politics and now the secret was out He had to consider the implications. What had they hoped to gain? He said:
“You wear no tattoo.”
“I’ve never made formal application for Dry Heads membership.”
“Why?”
“My primary allegiance is to BuSab.”
“The Dry Heads know this?”
“They encourage it.”
“But what motivated them to …”
McKie smiled.
Aritch glanced at a veiled alcove at the far end of the sanctum, back to McKie. A likeness to the Frog God?
“It’d take more than that.”
McKie shrugged.
Aritch mused aloud:
“The Dry Heads supported Klodik in his crime when you …”
“Not crime.”
“I stand corrected. You won Klodik’s freedom. And after your victory the Dry Heads invited you to the Cleansing Ritual.”
“A Gowachin in BuSab cannot have divided allegiance.”
“But a Legum serves only the Law!”
“BuSab and Gowachin Law are not in conflict.”
“So the Dry Heads would have us believe.”
“Many Gowachin believe it.”
“But Klodik’s case was not a true test.”
Realization swept through McKie: Aritch regretted more than a lost bet. He’d put his money with his hopes. It was time then to redirect this conversation.
“I am your Legum.”
Aritch spoke with resignation.
“You are.”
“Your Legum wishes to hear of the Dosadi problem.”
“A thing is not a problem until it arouses sufficient concern.” Aritch glanced at the box in McKie’s lap. “We’re dealing with differences in values, changes in values.”
McKie did not believe for an instant this was the tenor of Gowachin defense, but Aritch’s words gave him pause. The Gowachin combined such an odd mixture of respect and disrespect for their Law and all government. At the root lay their unchanging rituals, but above that everything remained as fluid as the seas in which they’d evolved. Constant fluidity was the purpose behind their rituals. You never entered any exchange with Gowachin on a sure-footed basis. They did something different every time … religiously. It was their nature. All ground is temporary. Law is made to be changed. That was their catechism. To be a Legum is to learn where to place your feet.
“The Dry Heads did something different,” McKie said.
This plunged Aritch into gloom. His chest ventricles wheezed, indicating he’d speak from the stomach.
“The people of the ConSentiency come in so many different forms: Wreaves (a flickering glance doorward), Sobarips, Laclacs, Calebans, PanSpechi, Palenki, Chithers, Taprisiots, Humans, we of the Gowachin … so many. The unknowns between us defy counting.”
“As well count the drops of water in a sea.”
Aritch grunted, then:
“Some diseases cross the barriers between species.”
McKie stared at him. Was Dosadi a medical experiment station? Impossible! There would be no reason for secrecy then. Secrecy defeated the efforts to study a common problem and the Gowachin knew it.
“You are not studying Gowachin-Human diseases.”
“Some diseases attack the psyche and cannot be traced to any physical agent.”
McKie absorbed this. Although Gowachin definitions were difficult to understand, they permitted no aberrant behavior. Different behavior, yes; aberrant behavior, no. You could challenge the Law, not the ritual. They were compulsive in this regard. They slew the ritual deviant out of hand. It required enormous restraint on their part to deal with another species.
Aritch continued:
“Terrifying psychological abrasions occur when divergent species confront each other and are forced to adapt to new ways. We seek new knowledge in this arena of behavior.”
McKie nodded.
One of his Dry Head teachers had said it: “No matter how painful, life must adapt or die.”
It was a profound revelation about how Gowachin applied their insight to themselves. Law changed, but it changed on a foundation which could not be permitted the slightest change. “Else, how do we know where we are or where we have been?” But encounters with other species changed the foundation. Life adapted … willingly or by force.
McKie spoke with care.
“Psychological experiments with people who’ve not given their informed consent are still illegal … even among the Gowachin.”
Aritch would not accept this argument.
“The ConSentiency in all of its parts has accumulated a long history of scientific studies into behavioral and biomedical questions where people are the final test site.”
McKie said:
“And the first issue when you propose such an experiment is ‘How great is the known risk to the subjects?’”
“But, my dear Legum, informed consent implies that the experimenter knows all the risks and can describe them to his test subjects. I ask you: how can that be when the experiment goes beyond what you already know? How can you describe risks which you cannot anticipate?”
“You submit a proposal to many recognized experts in the field,” McKie said. “They weigh the proposed experiment against whatever value the new knowledge is expected to uncover.”
“A
hh, yes. We submit our proposal to fellow researchers, to people whose mission, whose very view of their own personal identity is controlled by the belief that they can improve the lot of all sentient beings. Tell me, Legum: do review boards composed of such people reject many experimental proposals?”
McKie saw the direction of the argument. He spoke with care.
“They don’t reject many proposals, that’s true. Still, you didn’t submit your Dosadi protocol to any outside review. Was that to keep it secret from your own people or from others?”
“We feared the fate of our proposal should it run the gauntlet of other species.”
“Did a Gowachin majority approve your project?”
“No. But we both know that having a majority set the experimental guidelines gives no guarantee against dangerous projects.”
“Dosadi has proved dangerous?”
Aritch remained silent for several deep breaths, then:
“It has proved dangerous.”
“To whom?”
“Everyone.”
It was an unexpected answer, adding a new dimension to Aritch’s behavior. McKie decided to back up and test the revelation. “This Dosadi project was approved by a minority among the Gowachin, a minority willing to accept a dangerous risk-benefit ratio.”
“You have a way of putting these matters, McKie, which presupposes a particular kind of guilt.”
“But a majority in the ConSentiency might agree with my description?”
“Should they ever learn of it.”
“I see. Then, in accepting a dangerous risk, what were the future benefits you expected?”
Aritch emitted a deep grunt.
“Legum, I assure you that we worked only with volunteers and they were limited to Humans and Gowachin.”
“You evade my question.”
“I merely defer an answer.”
“Then tell me, did you explain to your volunteers that they had a choice, that they could say ‘no’? Did you tell them they might be in danger?”
“We did not try to frighten them … no.”
“Was any one of you concerned about the free destiny of your volunteers?”
“Be careful how you judge us, McKie. There is a fundamental tension between science and freedom—no matter how science is viewed by its practitioners nor how freedom is sensed by those who believe they have it.”
McKie was reminded of a cynical Gowachin aphorism: To believe that you are free is more important than being free. He said:
“Your volunteers were lured into this project.”
“Some would see it that way.”
McKie reflected on this. He still did not know precisely what the Gowachin had done on Dosadi, but he was beginning to suspect it’d be something repulsive. He could not keep this fear from his voice.
“We return to the question of expected benefits.”
“Legum, we have long admired your species. You gave us one of our most trusted maxims: No species is to be trusted farther than it is bound by its own interests.”
“That’s no longer sufficient justification for …”
“We derive another rule from your maxim: It is wise to guide your actions in such a way that the interests of other species coincide with the interests of your species.”
McKie stared at the High Magister. Did this crafty old Gowachin seek a Human-Gowachin conspiracy to suppress evidence of what had been done on Dosadi? Would he dare such a gambit? Just how bad was this Dosadi fiasco?
To test the issue, McKie asked:
“What benefits did you expect? I insist.”
Aritch slumped. His chairdog accommodated to the new position. The High Magister favored McKie with a heavy-lidded stare for a long interval, then:
“You play this game better than we’d ever hoped.”
“With you, Law and Government are always a game. I come from another arena.”
“Your Bureau.”
“And I was trained as a Legum.”
“Are you my Legum?”
“The binding oath is binding on me. Have you no faith in …”
McKie broke off, overwhelmed by a sudden insight. Of course! The Gowachin had known for a long time that Dosadi would become a legal issue.
“Faith in what?” Aritch asked.
“Enough of these evasions!” McKie said. “You had your Dosadi problem in mind when you trained me. Now, you act as though you distrust your own plan.”
Aritch’s lips rippled.
“How strange. You’re more Gowachin than a Gowachin.”
“What benefits did you expect when you took this risk?”
Aritch’s fingers splayed, stretching the webs.
“We hoped for a quick conclusion and benefits to offset the natural animosities we knew would arise. But it’s now more than twenty of your generations, not twelve or fifteen, that we’ve grasped the firebrand. Benefits? Yes, there are some, but we dare not use them or free Dosadi from bondage lest we raise questions which we cannot answer without revealing our … source.”
“The benefits!” McKie said. “Your Legum insists.”
Aritch exhaled a shuddering breath through his ventricles.
“Only the Caleban who guards Dosadi knows its location and she is charged to give access without revealing that place. Dosadi is peopled by Humans and Gowachin. They live in a single city they call Chu. Some ninety million people live there, almost equally divided between the two species. Perhaps three times that number live outside Chu, on the Rim, but they’re outside the experiment. Chu is approximately eight hundred square kilometers.”
The population density shocked McKie. Millions per kilometer. He had difficulty visualizing it. Even allowing for a city’s vertical dimension … and burrowing … There’d be some, of course, whose power bought them space, but the others … Gods! Such a city would be crawling with people, no escaping the pressure of your fellows anywhere except on that unexplained Rim. McKie said as much to Aritch.
The High Magister confirmed this.
“The population density is very great in some areas. The people of Dosadi call these areas ‘Warrens’ for good reason.”
“But why? With an entire planet to live on …”
“Dosadi is poisonous to our forms of life. All of their food comes from carefully managed hydroponics factories in the heart of Chu. Food factories and the distribution are managed by warlords. Everything is under a quasi-military form of management. But life expectancy in the city is four times that outside.”
“You said the population outside the city was much larger than …”
“They breed like mad animals.”
“What possible benefits could you have expected from …”
“Under pressure, life reveals its basic elements.”
McKie considered what the High Magister had revealed. The picture of Dosadi was that of a seething mass. Warlords … He visualized walls, some people living and working in comparative richness of space while others … Gods! It was madness in a universe where some highly habitable planets held no more than a few thousand people. His voice brittle, McKie addressed himself to the High Magister.
“These basic elements, the benefits you sought … I wish to hear about them.”
Aritch hitched himself forward.
“We have discovered new ways of association, new devices of motivation, unsuspected drives which can impose themselves upon an entire population.”
“I require specific and explicit enumeration of these discoveries.”
“Presently, Legum … presently.”
Why did Aritch delay? Were the so-called benefits insignificant beside the repulsive horror of such an experiment? McKie ventured another tack.
“You say this planet is poisonous. Why not remove the inhabitants a few at a time, subject them to memory erasure if you must, and feed them out into the ConSentiency as new …”
“We dare not! First, the inhabitants have developed an immunity to erasure, a by-product of those poisons which
do get into their diet. Second, given what they have become on Dosadi … How can I explain this to you?”
“Why don’t the people just leave Dosadi? I presume you deny them jumpdoors, but rockets and other mechanical …”
“We will not permit them to leave. Our Caleban encloses Dosadi in what she calls a ‘tempokinetic barrier’ which our test subjects cannot penetrate.”
“Why?”
“We will destroy the entire planet and everything on it rather than loose this population upon the ConSentiency.”
“What are the people of Dosadi that you’d even contemplate such a thing?”
Aritch shuddered.
“We have created a monster.”
Every government is run by liars and nothing they say should be believed.
—Attributed to an ancient Human journalist
As she hurried across the roof of the adjoining parking spire at midafternoon of her final day as a Liaitor, Jedrik couldn’t clear her mind of the awareness that she was about to shed another mark of rank. Stacked in the building beneath her, each one suspended by its roof grapples on the conveyor track, were the vehicles of the power merchants and their minions. The machines varied from the giant jaigers heavy with armor and weapons and redundant engine systems, of the ruling few, down to the tiny black skitters assigned to such as herself. Ex-minion Jedrik knew she was about to take a final ride in the machine which had released her from the morning and evening crush on the underground walkways.
She had timed her departure with care. The ones who rode in the jaigers would not have reassigned her skitter and its driver. That driver, Havvy, required her special attentions in this last ride, this narrow time slot which she had set aside for dealing with him.
Jedrik sensed events rushing at their own terrible pace now. Just that morning she had loosed death, against fifty Humans. Now, the avalanche gathered power.
The parking spire’s roof pavement had been poorly repaired after the recent explosive destruction of three Rim guerrillas. Her feet adjusted to the rough paving as she hurried across the open area to the drop chute. At the chute, she paused and glanced westward through Chu’s enclosing cliffs. The sun, already nearing its late afternoon line on the cliffs, was a golden glow beyond the God Wall’s milky barrier. To her newly sensitized fears, that was not a sun but a malignant eye which peered down at her.