Dinosaurs Page 2

  Then President Gram turned to Drill.

  “We cannot accept your statement, your Excellency,” she said. “Our people were attacked. They defended themselves, but were overcome.”

  “Our terraforming Ships are very good at what they do,” Drill said. “They are specialists. Our Shrikes, our Shrews, our Sharks— each is a master of its element. But they lack intelligence. They are not conscious entities, such as ourselves. They weren’t aware of your civilization at all. They only saw you as food.”

  “You’re claiming that you didn’t notice us?” demanded Secretary-General Vang. “They didn’t notice us as they were killing us?” He was shouting. President Gram’s ears went back.

  “Not as such, no,” Drill said.

  President Gram stood up. “I am afraid, your Excellency, your explanations are insufficient,” she said. “This conference must be postponed until we can reach a united conclusion concerning your remarkable attitude.”

  Drill was bewildered. “What did I say?” he asked.

  The other Shars stood. President Gram turned and walked briskly on her three legs toward the exit. The others followed.

  “Wait,” Drill said. “Don't go. Let me send for Frog. Up, Slab, up!”

  The Shars were gone by the time Slab had got Drill to his feet. The Ship told him they had found their own way to the airlock. Drill could think of nothing to do but order the airlock to let them out.

  “Why would I lie?” he asked. “Why would I lie to them?” Things were so very simple, really.

  He shifted his vast weight from one foot to the other and back again. Drill could not decide whether he had done anything wrong. He asked Memory what to do next, but Memory held no information to comfort him, only dry recitations of past negotiations. Annoyed at the lifeless monologue, Drill told Memory to be silent and began to walk restlessly through the corridors of his Ship. He could not decide where things had gone bad.

  Sensing his agitation, Lowbrain began to echo his distress. Mash, Lowbrain thought weakly. Food. Sex.

  Be silent, Drill commanded.

  Sex, sex, Lowbrain thought.

  Drill realized that Lowbrain was beginning to give him an erection. Acceding to the inevitable, he began moving toward Surrogate’s quarters.

  Surrogate lived in a dim, quiet room filled with the murmuring sound of its own heartbeat. It was a human subspecies, about the intelligence of Lowbrain, designed to comfort voyagers on long journeys through space, when carnal access to their own subspecies might necessarily be limited. Surrogate had a variety of sexual equipment designed for the accommodation of the various human subspecies and their sexes. It also had large mammaries that gave nutritious milk, and a rudimentary head capable of voicing simple thoughts.

  Tiny Mice, that kept Surrogate and the ship clean, scattered as Drill entered the room. Surrogate’s little head turned to him.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Surrogate said.

  “I am Drill.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Drill,” said Surrogate. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Drill began to nuzzle its breasts. One of Surrogate’s male parts began to erect. “I’m confused, Surrogate,” he said. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why are you confused, Drill?” asked Surrogate. It raised one of its arms and began to stroke Drill’s head. It wasn’t really having a conversation: Surrogate had only been programmed to make simple statements, or to analyze its partners’ speech and ask questions.

  “Things are going wrong,” Drill said. He began to suckle. The warm milk flowed down his throat.

  Surrogate’s male part had an orgasm. Mice jumped from hiding to clean up the mess.

  “Why are things going wrong?” asked Surrogate. “I’m sure everything will be all right.”

  Lowbrain had an orgasm, perceived by Drill as scattered, faraway bits of pleasure. Drill continued to suckle, feeling a heavy comfort beginning to radiate from Surrogate, from the gentle sound of its heartbeat, its huge, wholesome, brainless body.

  Everything will be all right, Drill decided.

  “Nice to see you again, Drill,” Surrogate said. “Drill, it’s nice to see you again.”

  *

  The vast crowds of Shars did not leave when night fell. Instead they stood beneath floating globes dispersing a cold reddish light that reflected eerily from pointed ears and muzzles. Some of them donned capes or skirts to help them keep warm. Drill, watching them on the video walls of the command center, was reminded of crowds standing in awe before some vast cataclysm.

  The Shars were not quiet. They stood in murmuring groups, but sometimes they began the crooning chants they had raised earlier, or suddenly broke out in a series of shrill yipping cries.

  President Gram spoke to them after she had left Ship. “The human has admitted his species’ attacks,” she said, “but has disclaimed responsibility. We shall urge him to adopt a more realistic position.”

  “Adopt a position,” Drill repeated, not understanding. “It is not a position. It is the truth. Why don’t they understand?”

  Opposite Minister-General Vang was more vehement. “We now have a far more complete idea of the humans’ attitude,” he said. “It is opposed to ours in every way. We shall not allow the murderous atrocities which the humans have committed upon five of our planets to be forgotten, or understood to be the result of some explicable lack of attention on the part of our species’ enemies.”

  “That one is obviously deranged,” thought Drill.

  He went to his sleeping quarters and ordered the Slab there to play him some relaxing music. Even with Slab’s murmurs and comforting hums, it took Drill some time before his agitation subsided.

  Diplomacy, he thought as slumber overtook him, was certainly a strange business.

  *

  In the morning the Shars were still there, chanting and crying, moving in their strange crowded patterns.

  Drill watched them on his video walls as he ate breakfast at the mash bins. “There is a communication from President Gram,” Memory announced. “She wishes to speak with you by radio.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Ambassador Drill.” She was using the flat tones again. A pity she was subject to such stress.

  “Good morning, President Gram,” Drill said. “I hope you spent a pleasant night.”

  “I must give you the results of our decision. We regret that we can see no way to continue the negotiations unless you, as a representative of your species, agree to admit responsibility for your people’s attacks on our planets.”

  “Admit responsibility?” Drill said. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Drill heard some odd, indistinct barking sounds that his translator declined to interpret for him. It sounded as if someone other than President Gram were on the other end of the radio link.

  “You admit responsibility?" President Gram’s amazement was clear even in translation.

  “Certainly. Does it make a difference?”

  President Gram declined to answer that question. Instead she proposed another meeting for that afternoon.

  “I will be ready at any time.”

  Memory recorded President Gram’s speech to her people, and Drill studied it before meeting the Shar party at the airlock. She made a great deal out of the fact that Drill had admitted humanity’s responsibility for the war. Her people leaped, yipped, chanted their responses as if possessed. Drill wondered why they were so excited.

  *

  Drill met the party at the airlock this time, linked with Memory and Lowbrain in Zen Synch so as not to accidentally step on the President or one of her party. He smiled and greeted each by name and led them toward the conference room.

  “I believe,” said Cup, “we may avoid fixture misunderstandings, if your Excellency would consent to inform us about your species. We have suffered some confusion in regard to your distinction between ‘conscious’ and ‘unconscious’ entities. Could you please explain the difference, as you
understand it?”

  “A pleasure, your Excellency,” Drill said. “Our species, unlike yours, is highly specialized. Once, eight million years ago, we were like you— a small, nonspecialized species type is very useful at a certain stage of evolution. But once a species reaches a certain complexity in its social and technological evolution, the need for specialists becomes too acute. Through both deliberate genetic manipulations and natural evolution, humanity turned away from a generalist species, toward highly specialized forms adapted to particular functions and environments. We understand this to be a natural function of species evolution.

  “In the course of our explorations into manipulating our species, we discovered that the most efficient way of coding large amounts of information was in our own cell structure — our DNA. For tasks requiring both large and small amounts of data, we arranged that, as much as possible, these would be performed by organic entities, human subspecies. Since many of these tasks were boring and repetitive, we reasoned that advanced consciousness, such as that which we both share, was not necessary. You have met several unconscious entities. Frog, for example, and the Slab on which I lie. Many parts of my Ship are also alive, though not conscious.”

  “That would explain the smell," one of the delegation murmured.

  “The terraforming Ships,” Drill went on, “which attacked your planets — these were also designed so as not to require a conscious operator.”

  The Shars squinted up at Drill with their little eyes. “But why?” Cup asked.

  “Terraforming is a dull process. It takes many years, often centuries. No conscious mind could possibly enjoy it.”

  “But your species would find itself at war without knowing it. If your explanation for the cause of this war is correct, you already have.”

  Drill shrugged massively. “This happens from time to time. Sometimes other species which have reached our stage of development have attacked us in the same way. When it does, we arrange a peace.”

  “You consider these attacks normal?” Opposite Minister-General Vang was the one who spoke.

  “These occasional encounters seem to be a natural result of species evolution,” Drill said.

  Vang turned to one of the Shars near him and spoke in several sharp barks. Drill heard a few words:

  “Billions lost... five planets... atrocities... natural result!”

  “I believe,” said President Gram, “that we are straying from the agenda.”

  Vang looked at her. “Yes, honorable President. Please forgive me.”

  “The matter of withdrawal,” said President Gram, “to recognized truce lines.”

  Species at this stage of their development tend to be territorial, Memory reminded Drill. Their political mentality is based around the concept of borders. The idea of a borderless community of species may be perceived as a threat.

  I’ll try and go easy on them, Drill said.

  “The Memories on our terraforming Ships will be adjusted to account for your species,” Drill said. “After the adjustment, your people will no longer be in danger.”

  “In our case, it will take the disengage order several months to reach all our forces.” President Gram said. “How long will the order take to reach your own Ships?”

  “A century or so.” The Shars stared. “Memories at our exploration basis in this area will be adjusted first, of course, and these will adjust the Memories of terraforming Ships as they come in for maintenance and supplies.”

  “We’ll be subject to attack for another hundred years?” Vang’s tone mixed incredulity and scorn.

  “Our terraforming Ships move more or less at random, and only come into base when they run out of supplies. We don’t know where they’ve been till they report back. Though they’re bound to encounter a few more of your planets, your species will still survive, enough to continue your species evolution. And during that time you’ll be searching for and occupying new planets on your own. You’ll probably come out of this with a net gain.”

  “Have you no respect for life?” Vang demanded. Drill considered his answer.

  “All individuals die, Opposite Minister-General,” he said. “That is a fact of nature which no species has been able to alter. Only species can survive. Individuals are easily replaceable. Though you will lose some planets and a large number of individuals, your species as a whole will survive and may even prosper. What more could a species or its delegated representatives desire?”

  Opposite Minister-General Vang was glaring at Drill, his ears pricked forward, lips drawn back from his teeth. He said nothing.

  “We desire a cease-fire that is a true cease-fire,” President Gram said. Her hands were clasping and unclasping rhythmically on the edge of her chair. “Not a slow, authorized extermination of our species. Your position has an unwholesome smell. I am afraid we must end these discussions until you alter it.”

  “Position? This is not a position, honorable President. It is truth.”

  “We have nothing further to say.”

  Unhappily, Drill followed the Shar delegation to the airlock. “I do not lie, honorable President,” he said, but Gram only turned away and silently left the human Ship. The Shars in their pale thousands received her.

  *

  The Shar broadcasts were not heartening. Opposite Minister General Vang was particularly vehement.

  Drill collected the highlights of the speeches as he speeded through Memory’s detailed remembrance.

  “Callous disregard... no common ground for communicatio... casual attitude toward atrocity... displays of obvious savagery... no respect for the individual ourselves... this stinks in the nose.”

  The Shars leaped and barked in response. There were strange bubbling high-pitched laughing sounds that Drill found unsettling.

  “We hope to find a formula for peace,” President Gram said. “We will confer with all the ministers in session.” That was all.

  That night, the Shars surrounding Ship moaned, moving slowly in a giant circle, their arms linked. The laughing sounds that followed Vang’s speech did not cease entirely. He did not understand why they did not all go home and sleep.

  Long, long, Memory said. No comfort there.

  *

  Early in the morning, before dawn, there was a communication from President Gram. “I would like to meet with you privately. Away from the recorders, the coalition partners.”

  “I would like nothing better," Drill said. He felt a small current of optimism begin to trickle into him.

  “Can I use an airlock other than the one we’ve been using up till now?”

  Drill gave President Gram instructions and met her in the other airlock. She was wearing a night cape with a hood. The Shars, circling and moaning, had paid her no attention.

  “Thank you for seeing me under these conditions,” she said, peering up at him from beneath the hood.

  Drill smiled. She shuddered.

  “I am pleased to be able to cooperate,” he said.

  Mash! Lowbrain demanded. It had been silent until Drill entered Zan Synch. Drill told it to be silent with a snarling vehemence that silenced it for the present.

  “This way, honorable President,” Drill said. He took her to his sleeping chamber— a small room, only fifty feet square. “Shall I send a Frog for one of your chairs?” he asked.

  “I will stand. Three legs seem to be more comfortable than two for standing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it possible, Ambassador Drill, that you could lower the intensity of the light here? I find it oppressive.”

  Drill felt foolish, knowing he should have thought of this himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I will give the orders at once. I wish you had told me earlier.” He smiled nervously as he dimmed the lights and arranged himself on his Slab.

  “Honorable Ambassador.” President Gram’s words seemed hesitant. “I wonder if it is possible... can you tell me the meaning of that facial gesture of yours, showing me your teeth?”

  “It
is called a smile. It is intended as a gesture of benevolent reassurance.”

  “Showing of the teeth is considered a threat here, honorable Ambassador. Some of us have considered this a sign that you wish to eat us.”

  Drill was astonished. “My goodness!” he said. “I don’t even eat meat! Just a kind of vegetable mash.”

  “I pointed out that your teeth seemed unsuitable for eating meat, but still it makes us uneasy. I was wondering...”

  “I will try to suppress the smile, yes. Eating meat! What an idea. Some of our military specialists, yes, and of course the Sharks and Shrikes and so on...” He told his Memory to enforce a strict ban against smiling in the presence of a Shar.

  Gram leaned back on her sturdy rear leg. Her cape parted, revealing her ribbons and badges of office, her four furry dugs. “I wanted to inform you of certain difficulties here, Ambassador Drill,” she said. “I am having difficulty holding together my coalition. Minister-General Vang’s faction is gaining strength. He is attempting to create a perception in the minds of Shars that you are untrustworthy and violent. Whether he believes this, or whether he is using this notion as a means of destabilizing the coalition, is hardly relevant— considering your species’ unprovoked attacks, it is not a difficult perception to reinforce. He is also trying to tell our people that the military is capable of dealing with your species.”

  Drill’s brain swam with Memory’s information on concepts such as “faction” and “coalition.” The meaning of the last sentence, however, was clear.

  “That is a foolish perception, honorable President,” he said.

  “His assurances on that score lack conviction.” Gram’s eyes were shiny. Her tone grew earnest. “You must give me something, ambassador. Something I can use to soothe the public mind. A way out of this dilemma. I tell you that it is impossible to expect us to sit idly by and accept the loss of an undefined number of planets over the next hundred years. I plead with you, ambassador. Give me something. Some way we can avoid attack. Otherwise...” She left the sentence incomplete.

  Mash, Lowbrain wailed. Drill ignored it. He moved into Zen Synch with Memory, racing through possible solutions. Sweat gathered on his forehead, pouring down his vast shoulders.