A Call to Arms

  Will was nodding to himself. “I appreciate the confidence you’re showing me. But that doesn’t tell me what the S’van believe.”

  “Persistent as well as perceptive.” Will didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or criticism. “I will not speak for other S’van, but as for myself I tend to agree with Third-of-Study. Your unpredictability renders you unreliable in a combat situation. Whether that makes you useless is another matter.”

  “Why not come,” Will said abruptly, “and see for yourself what we’re like, instead of asking me the same questions over and over and relying solely on television broadcasts? Come to the mainland with me.”

  Unpredictable, yes, T’var thought. “I?”

  “Why not? Let me show some of you what our everyday life is really like. Television dotes on and magnifies the violence in our society. It doesn’t show the joy we take in just living, the love we have for the world that surrounds us. You can’t feel that, can’t experience it from broadcasts.” He straightened and stretched.

  “This is something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I can’t take Caldaq. Even if I could rig some kind of disguise for him, the Massood are just too big and conspicuous. The O’o’yan and Hivistahm are too lizardlike in appearance. A Wais would be able to converse with anyone we encountered, but their body shape is impossible. Whereas a S’van just might be able to bring off an impersonation. You wouldn’t draw much attention, being…”

  “Short,” T’var finished for him. “I do not consider myself short. The description applies only when compared to a Massood or a Human. We do not think of it in the pejorative, as you seem to.”

  “I could shave you some,” Will said thoughtfully, “although it’s probably not necessary. Not here. And the hair is something of a disguise in itself. With the right clothes you’d look a lot like a short Human. You might be noticed, even remarked upon, but not followed.”

  “You realize that the local climate is not to our liking,” T’var reminded him.

  “Who else could I take? A Lepar?”

  “Your idea has merit, despite the risk.”

  “We can go ashore in the dinghy,” Will told him, planning. “At night. Nobody’ll spare us a second glance. You’ll have a chance to experience Humanity in person instead of relying on broadcasts and me.”

  “I am an administrator, not an observer. Such an expedition should include trained observers.”

  “I don’t think that would work. You, maybe one other, but no more. Two midgets walking with a man will attract some comment. Half a dozen would draw a crowd.”

  “Very well. Despite the potential discomfort I will come, together with a companion. If I can convince the captain.”

  Will toyed idly with the wheel. The cat’s twin rudders creaked slightly. “From what I’ve seen the S’van can convince anyone of anything.”

  “Ah, if that were only true.” T’var ran thick fingers through his beard, stroking the black ringlets. “Then we would convince the Amplitur to leave us alone, there would be no war, and we could depart and leave you to the peace that you insist you are working toward.”

  When presented with the notion Caldaq was understandably reluctant, but as Will surmised T’var eventually succeeded in persuading him of its value.

  The two S’van would trail Will and try not to draw attention to themselves. Special shoes were fabricated which added inches to their height without impairing their mobility. Loose, floppy hats covered the dense hair while adding to the illusion of greater stature.

  When all was ready Will inspected his charges and pronounced himself satisfied. Imitation reefwalkers covered alien feet, while gloves masked their hands.

  “This is Belize,” he told them. “People wash up here from all over. One of the first things they learn is to mind their own business. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble.”

  The rechargeable electric motor powered the dinghy inshore beneath a sliver of silver moon like a pared fingernail. Will tied up at a commercial wharf, there being no marina facilities in Belize City. This was not a favored anchorage of the yachting set.

  They did indeed attract some stares on the busy wharf front, but no questions. The drunks did not panhandle them, and the dopers shied clear. Further inland they encountered people interested only in each other: couples strolling arm in arm, young people laughing and dancing, tourists watching Miami at Pittsburgh via pirated satellite signal.

  Children sought diversion in muddy streets while dogs yapped at indifferent alley cats of adamantine expression. Music blared from crowded bars. There were no guns in evidence, a fact of Belize which Will was counting on to impress his companions and contradict much of what they had seen on the evening news broadcasts.

  It would have been harder to make his point in Mexico, or Guatemala, but here there was a pervasive feeling that life however poverty-stricken was at least decent and might improve. He could see that T’var and E’wit were impressed by what they were seeing, E’wit’s fingers busied with his concealed instruments as he recorded and noted everything they saw for in-depth study back at the base.

  Their path eventually brought them back to the waterfront. Will pointed out two couples seated on separate benches. They ignored everything as they cuddled, staring out to sea.

  “What are they doing?” E’wit kept his recorder humming.

  “Just being together.” Will’s chest hurt. There were women in his own life, and he’d been spending a lot of time alone on the catamaran or in the company of aliens. “They might be married, or just friends. Humans need each other’s company.”

  “Not so much unlike us,” murmured T’var. He turned to his left. “What is that?”

  Will stared in the same direction, along the narrow roadway that separated buildings from the seawall. “Music. Let’s go see.”

  A crowd had gathered to listen to a local band serenade the tourists staying in a waterfront hotel. The three men calypsoed harmoniously, one singing while his companions hammered on steel drums slung from their necks. Tourists and locals alike clapped appreciatively after each song. The security guard stationed at the hotel door grinned and tapped his left foot in time to the music.

  Despite his circumstances, a part of Will listened and absorbed, filing away the rhythms for possible future use. Music had been his personal salvation. Perhaps it would contribute to that of the Human race as well.

  They stayed till the band left and the crowd dispersed. Only when the sun threatened to put in an appearance did they return to the dinghy for the long ride back out to the reef.

  Will was trying hard to expand upon a melody derived from an O’o’yan seduction theme when the tiny communicator the visitors had installed in the cat buzzed for attention. Irritated by the interruption, he put instrumentation and the creative process on hold while he answered. He recognized T’var’s uncertain English.

  “Interesting news, Will Dulac. Our ship has returned.”

  “I’m happy for you.” The ship was overdue, Will knew, and there were those among the aliens who had begun to worry. Interception by a hostile vessel in Underspace was a practical impossibility, but accidents were not.

  As for himself, he had settled into a daily regimen he was in no hurry to see disturbed. As the visitors felt increasingly secure in their base they had less need of him. This allowed more time for composition. He’d long since finished Arcadia and faxed it home. Response from fellow faculty members had been enthusiastic. More importantly, the conductor of the symphony had read the score and scheduled it for performance in the fall season. His success was assured.

  When informed that he was hard at work on a new project, the tone poem Othervisions, the head of the department insisted he extend his sabbatical for as long as was necessary. After all, the creative process was a fragile thing, and having a published composer on the faculty was a coup for any southern University. Did he require a stipend? No, Will had assured him. His own resources were sufficient.

  M
ore than sufficient, thanks to the visitors and their ability to accrete twenty-four-karat gold straws out of seawater. Not only was he living better than ever, he’d been able to equip the cat with the kind of equipment he’d only dreamed of when he’d bought her. Satnav and twin sonic drives, full scuba gear, everything he’d ever wanted. All in return for answering a few questions each day.

  Now that comfortable routine was about to come to an end. The ship had returned, bringing to those who had been left behind fresh supplies, news, familiar faces, and just possibly, some answers.

  He stepped outside, into the familiar damp heat, and stretched. Daylight enough remaining for a swim, he slipped on his fins, mask, and snorkel, made certain the translator was secure in his ear, and climbed down the portable steps into the water. A school of yellowjacks darted over, looking for a handout. He waved at them and they scattered lazily, unafraid.

  Several minutes later he became aware he was not alone, and swam over to watch the Lepar at work.

  It noted his presence immediately but did not acknowledge it. He had been told that while the Lepar were willing to talk they preferred to keep to themselves. Their vocabulary was limited. This was generally not a problem since they rarely had anything to say.

  This one kept eying him as he floated above the base, outlined by the evening sun, breathing through his snorkel and watching. Finally it stopped and with a flick of its hind legs and tail shot upward to join him, the wide-mouthed face breaking the water next to his. Will pushed his mask back on his forehead, wiped saltwater from his eyes.

  “You’re not Vatoloi, are you? I know a Lepar named Vatoloi.”

  “No. Vatoloi is a supervisor. I am Otheleea.” The translator made English of the impenetrable gurgle.

  “What do you do, Otheleea?” Will kicked his fins, treading water.

  “Fix things. Mostly underwater. No other people can work in water and air.”

  “We can. Maybe I can give you a hand.”

  “I have heard that you swim well. But you are an air-breather only.” The Lepar’s tiny black eyes nickered.

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t work underwater.”

  Otheleea reached out to finger Will’s snorkel. “You are carrying no air supply, and this is not a rebreathing device.”

  “No, just a tube. But I can hold my breath. Please. I’d like to try and help.”

  “If you injure yourself blame will come to me.”

  “Nonsense. It’ll be my own responsibility. And I’m not going to injure myself.”

  “A Massood could not do this.”

  Will smiled. “I’m not Massood.”

  The Lepar regarded him, its expression unreadable. “No, you are not,” it finally declared before sinking beneath the surface.

  Will pulled down his mask, cleared it, then arched his back and straightened his legs, doing a porpoise dive straight down. He couldn’t use his translator while holding his breath, but the Lepar’s gestures were easy enough to understand. He was able to assist a little in between trips to the surface for air, holding tools and in one instance helping to support a large piece of plastic glass that Otheleea was welding in place.

  When the work was done they surfaced simultaneously. The Lepar stared.

  “You were right. You did help. No other sentient could have done even that much.”

  “We just like to swim, that’s all.”

  “It did not trouble you to work with me?”

  “No. I enjoyed it. Needed the exercise. Composing is a pretty sedentary activity.”

  “You helped not because you had to but because you wanted to.”

  “That’s right, I—hey!” All Will saw was a flash of flattened tail and webbed feet as the Lepar vanished beneath the surface. He ducked in time to catch a glimpse of the torpedolike shape disappearing around a corallike corner of the base.

  He shrugged mentally and headed back to the cat. T’var was right: the Lepar were hard to figure.

  He brought out a set of clean clothes, wanting to look his best for whoever stepped off the shuttle that was due down later that night. In many ways he would be sorry to see the base shut down and its inhabitants gone, now that their tests had doubtless shown them what unsuitable allies Humans would make. He’d made friends among the visitors: Caldaq and T’var and others. He’d even managed to establish a casual relationship with several of the perpetually grumbling Hivistahm.

  Life would go on. He had his music, the Massood and the S’van and the rest had their war. He would immortalize their visit to the best of his abilities, and perhaps someday in the far future when the war had ended their descendants would return to this world, startled to find themselves hailed by music imbued with themes taken from their own past and reworked for Human instruments. That would be the finest memorial of their brief stay on Earth anyone could ask for.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Caldaq could not stop pacing. His nose was twitching so rapidly, Will thought as he watched the Commander, it must surely snap off the end of his snout. Pointed ears flicked rapidly, like tiny hirsute semaphores.

  T’var stood nearby, scanning the night sky along with Chief-of-Study, another Hivistahm Will did not recognize, an O’o’yan attendant, and the ever-present Wais. A Lepar technician waited patiently in the base submersible just offshore.

  After a while T’var strode over to stand next to Will, and the two of them studied the stars together. “There’s something you must know,” the S’van said through his translator. “It involves what occurred on the world Vasarih a number of months ago.”

  Nearly a year had passed, Will reflected, since Caldaq’s ship had departed the solar system. It did not seem so very long. They had learned a great deal in that time, with Will assisting them in their work as best he could. Yes, he would be sad to see them go. His had been an experience unlike any other save perhaps that of the ten Humans now returning. He had been informed that all ten were coming back. Whatever tests and examinations the Weave had subjected them to could not have been very harsh.

  “Vasarih is a contested world,” T’var was saying. “Your fellow Humans participated in that conflict.”

  “What?” Will’s contemplation of the Caribbean sky was shattered.

  “They accepted training and used it.”

  Will stared down at the S’van. “How could your people do something like that? How could you put a bunch of unprofessional strangers, kids and old people, into a combat situation? I know the whole purpose of this was to test Human fighting potential, but…”

  “Apparently,” T’var said calmly, “when the situation was explained to them they all volunteered to help. No one was ‘forced.’ Do you still understand us so little?”

  “Volunteered?” Will was taken aback. “All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  It was instructive to observe the Human’s reaction. T’var knew well where Will Dulac stood on the matter of his people’s cooperation with the Weave. He was sympathetic. The S’van would have liked nothing better than to have been left out of the war effort, to continue their own lives in peace. But if the Amplitur were going to be pushed back, everyone was going to have to assist in the pushing, including the less than enthusiastic. That included the S’van. Did it also include Humankind? That had yet to be determined.

  The masked shuttle was revealed when it had drawn near enough to occlude a number of stars. It settled gently into the shallow water of the lagoon alongside the submerged base and Will’s dimly lit catamaran. Light appeared in its flank above an extruded ramp. Figures began to emerge, walking toward the little island on which the greeting party waited anxiously.

  Caldaq stopped pacing and waited at the base of the ramp. It was difficult to discern individuals in the dim moonlight, but at least two were Massood. One was Jaruselka.

  Their intense reunion was marked by intriguing digital and verbal byplay, but Will hardly noticed. Likewise he paid no attention to the greetings exchanged by Chief-of-Stu
dy’s companion and one of the Hivistahm from the ship. Any other time he would have watched raptly, making mental notes and seeking sources of inspiration. Not now.

  His attention was on the column of Humans who stepped off the ramp onto the dry white sand of the beach. All were similarly clad. It took him a moment to realize that their clothing was a modification of what the Massood normally wore: a dark brown jumpsuit sort of arrangement crossed with bright slashes of yellow.

  Leading them was the young trio from New England. Trio because Tamy Markowitz carried a child in her arms. Will stared as she carefully placed the swathed infant on the sand. As her husband knelt next to her he noticed the staring musician.

  “Dulac, wasn’t it? William Dulac?”

  “Dulac, yeah, that’s right.”

  Ken Woods looked down at his son. “This is Robert. Beautiful, isn’t he? First Human being born off the planet.” He grinned. “If we’d known Tamy was pregnant we might not have gone. Turns out it didn’t matter. The Hivistahm technicians studying us were ecstatic. We got better care than we would’ve had at Mt. Sinai General.”

  Tamy Markowitz had found a periwinkle in the sand and was pressing it into the child’s palm. Tiny fingers curled around the shell.

  “Yes, darling, you’re home. This is your home, this is Earth.”

  Will watched them coo over the infant a while longer before turning his attention to the others, who had gathered in a group nearby.

  The change in the teenage brothers he’d recruited from the slums of Belize City was astonishing. Not only were they a year older, they had definitely matured in other ways, their physiques had filled out with muscle. Gone was the hesitancy and fear he remembered. Their movements were assured, confident. As he stared they broke away from the rest and headed up the beach, accompanied by a slightly older man. Recognizing one of the Australian students, Will began searching for his companion.

  He found her standing, not by herself, but close to the dark fisherman. When they saw Will approaching the man extended a hand and smiled electrically. There was none of the sullen anger Will recalled so well.