We spent two days going through the material. A substantial portion of it was correspondence originated by and sent to Walford Candles. It was on crystals; on some of the old spools and cylinders and fibres of various types that you don’t see anymore; in lightpad memory systems; and on paper. "It’s going to create a problem," said Chase. "We won’t be able to read most of this stuff. Where would you find a reader that would accept this?" She held up a cube, turning it in the light. "I’m not even sure whether it’s a data storage unit at all."
"The University will have the equipment," I said, directing the comment to the young man, who nodded vigorously.
"We have adapted readers for most systems," he agreed.
In all honesty, I have to confess that it was difficult to get through those letters. As Candles’s reputation grew, his correspondence was no longer limited only to his band of friends. Parrini had found communications from both the Sims, from most of the people whose names live in the histories of the period, from statesmen and the men who fought the war, from weapons manufacturers and social reformers, from theologians and victims. There was even a description of a graduation of Khaja Luan at which Tarien Sim was a featured speaker. Under normal circumstances, he would have had the podium to himself, except that the Ashiyyurean ambassador also showed up to state his case. The alien’s interpreter was Leisha Tanner!
"The woman," commented Chase, "really liked to ride tigers."
The event was described by Candles to a forgotten correspondent. It was dated a few weeks before the fall of the City on the Crag: If a passion for ceremony signifies anything, Candles comments, our two cultures may be more alike than we wish to admit. Both formalize passages of various types, births and deaths and whatnot; sporting events; public displays of the arts; assorted political functions; and the ultimate ceremonial war.
So, despite everything, the robed and hooded figure of the Ambassador, folded onto a bench well apart from the dignitaries on the parade stand, did not look entirely out of place. It sat quietly, its robe folded in a manner that suggested its forelimbs were placed on its lap. No face was visible within the hood. Even on that bright sunlit afternoon, I had the sense of gazing down a dark tunnel.
Leisha, who knows about such things, had informed me that this is an extremely trying experience for the Ambassador. Other than that it may well be in some physical danger, since the massive security forces surrounding the gathering can not really protect it from a determined assassin, it apparently also suffers from some sort of psychological oppression, induced by the presence of people in large numbers. I suppose I’d feel the same way if I thought they all wanted me dead.
There was a substantial amount of official talk about academic accomplishment and bright futures. And I wondered at the self-control of the Ambassador, stiff and erect among us.
I felt uncomfortable in its presence. In fact, if I aim to be honest, I must admit I did not like the creature very much, and would have been pleased to have it gone. I don’t know why that should be. It has nothing to do with the war, I don’t think. I suspect that we will never feel entirely comfortable when faced with intelligence housed in an exotic physical configuration. I wonder whether this isn’t the real basis for our reaction to the aliens, rather than the sense of mental intrusion to which it is usually ascribed?
The University asked Leisha to act as interpreter. That meant reading the alien’s speech. Everybody she knew advised her strongly not to do it, and a few people made it clear that she was behaving in a treasonable fashion, and that, if she persisted, they would see that she paid a price. Sometimes we forget who the enemy is.
I’d like to tell you that the friendship of those who threatened her in this way would not have been worth keeping. But unfortunately this is not so. Cantor was among the group. And Lyn Quen. And a young man whom I believe Leisha loved.
No matter. When the time came, she was up there beside the Ambassador, looking as cool and lovely as I’ve ever seen her. She’s a hell of a woman, Connie. I wish I were younger.
Tarien Sim was there too, of course, resplendent among the notables. He has become a person of such incredible political dimension that one cannot but expect to be disappointed by his physical appearance. And yet—there is a sense of greatness about him that one can see and feel. Shafts of sunlight catch his eye, if you know what I mean.
His scheduled address was the reason for the Ambassador’s appearance, actually. The Ashiyyur wanted equal time. But I knew it was a mistake. The contrast between Tarien, who is a father figure with a bright red beard and a voice that inspires revolution; and the silent, ominous, stick figure, could hardly have been greater.
There were more than four hundred graduates, counting those receiving advanced degrees. They sat in rows across Morien Field, where students have been listening to commencement oratory for almost four centuries. Behind them, a crowd of spectators—far larger than any I’ve seen during all the years I’ve been attending these things—overflowed the seating areas, and spilled into the athletic fields beyond. The press was out in force. And there was an army of security people, the University’s own reinforced by city police and several dozen unmistakable narrow-eyed agents of one kind and another.
It was a restless afternoon. Everyone was looking for something to happen, anxious to see it when it did, but maybe a little scared to get caught in it.
The student speakers said the things that students always say at such times, and their remarks gathered polite applause. Then President Hendrik rose to introduce Sim. I understand there was something of a pushing match between the University and the government over the order of speakers. Hendrik wanted to give the final word to Sim, which would be his way of demonstrating publicly that he no more approved of the presence of the Ambassador than did the rest of the mob. But the government had insisted that the alien dignitary receive that honor.
The crowd stirred expectantly while Hendrik praised Sim’s courage and abilities in these perilous times, and so on. Then they roared their applause when he rose and took his place at the podium. He shook hands with a couple of VIPs, pointedly not looking at the Ambassador. He stilled the clamor with a casual wave of his right hand, and surveyed his audience. "Graduations," he said, foregoing the customary preliminary greetings, "are about the future.
"It would be tempting to speak of the accomplishments of the recent past. About the first serious efforts to abolish war, to unite the human family, to ensure security and a measure of prosperity for everyone. After all, these have been our goals for a long time, and they have proved more elusive than those who first proclaimed them would have believed." Leisha sat motionless beside the Ambassador. Her features were strained, her limbs rigid. Her hands were closed in tight fists.
I wasn’t alone in noticing. Others seemed fascinated by her presence at the Ambassador’s side, as though there were something vaguely obscene in it. And I found it difficult myself to put to rest a similar notion. Please don’t quote me or I’ll deny it.
"Unfortunately," Tarien continued, "there’s still much to do. More than my generation can hope to accomplish.
"Rather, it will be for you to succeed finally, to recognize that there can be no safety for any, until all are safe; no peace until those who would make war understand that there is no profit to be had—" Well I could quote or paraphrase all of it, Connie. He was that good. If anybody can unite these bickering worlds into a Confederacy, he can. He spoke of remote places and courage and duty and the ships that carry ideals between the stars.