He was big, 210 centimeters in length and thick of body. His skin was glabrous, deep blue on the back, paler greenish blue on the stomach, opalescent on the gillcovers. In shape he suggested a cross between dolphin, seal, and man. But the flukes, and the two flippers near his middle, were marvels of musculature with some prehensile capability. A fleshy dorsal fin grew above. Not far behind the head were two short, strong arms; except for vestigial webs, the hands were startlingly humanlike. The head was big and golden of eyes, blunt of snout, with quivering cilia flanking a mouth that had lips.
Abrams, Hauksberg, and Flandry entered. (“You come too,” the commander had said to the ensign. “You’re in this thing ass deep.”) The four marines on guard presented arms. The technicians straightened from their instruments.
“At ease,” Abrams said. “Freely translated: get the hell back to work. How’s she coming, Leong?”
“Encouraging, sir,” the scientific chief answered. “Computation from neurological and encéphalographie data shows he can definitely stand at least a half-intensity hypnoprobing without high probability of permanent lesion. We expect to have apparatus modified for underwater use in another couple of days.”
Hauksberg went to the tank. The swimmer moved toward him. Look met look; those were beautiful eyes in there. Hauksberg was flushing as he turned about. “Do you mean to torture that bein’?” he demanded.
“A light hypnoprobing isn’t painful, my lord,” Abrams said.
“You know what I mean. Psychological torture. ’Specially when he’s in the hands of utter aliens. Ever occur to you to talk with him?”
“That’s easy? My lord, the Kursovikians have tried for centuries. Our only advantages over them are that we have a developed theory of linguistics, and vocalizers to reproduce his kind of sounds more accurately. From the Tigeries and xenological records we have a trifle of his language. But only a trifle. The early expeditions investigated this race more thoroughly in the Kimraig area, where the Merseians are now, no doubt for just that reason. The cultural patterns of Charlie here are completely unknown to us. And he hasn’t been exactly cooperative.”
“Would you be, in his place?”
“Hope not. But my lord, we’re in a hurry too. His people may be planning a massive operation, like against settlements in the Chain. Or he may up and die on us. We think he has an adequate diet and such, but how can we be certain?” Hauksberg scowled. “You’ll destroy any chance of gettin’ his cooperation, let alone his trust.”
“For negotiation purposes? So what have we lost? But we won’t necessarily alienate him forever. We don’t know his psyche. He may well figure ruthlessness is in the day’s work. God knows Tigeries in small boats get short shrift from any Seatrolls they meet. And—” The great blue shape glided off to the end of the tank—“he looks pretty, but he is no kin of you or me or the landfolk.”
“He thinks. He feels.”
“Thinks and feels what? I don’t know. I do know he isn’t even a fish. He’s homeothermic; his females give live birth and nurse their young. Under high atmospheric pressure, there’s enough oxygen dissolved in water to support an active metabolism and a good brain. That must be why intelligence evolved in the seas: biological competition like you hardly ever find in the seas of Terra-type planets. But the environment is almost as strange to us as Jupiter.”
“The Merseians get along with his kind.”
“Uh-huh. They took time to learn everything we haven’t. We’ve tried to xenologize ourselves, in regions the conflict hasn’t reached so far, but the Merseians have always found out and arranged trouble.”
“Found out how?” Hauksberg pounced. “By spies?”
“No, surveillance. ’Bout all that either side has available. If we could somehow get access to their undersea information—” Abrams snapped his mouth shut and pulled out a cigar.
Hauksberg eased. He smiled. “Please don’t take me wrong, Commander. Assure you I’m not some weepin’ idealist. You can’t make an omelet, et cet’ra. I merely object to breakin’ every egg in sight. Rather messy, that.” He paused. “Won’t bother you more today. But I want a full report on this project to date, and regular bulletins. I don’t forbid hypnoprobin’ categorically, but I will not allow any form of torture. And I’ll be back.” He couldn’t quite suppress a moue of distaste. “No, no, thanks awf’lly but you needn’t escort me out. Good day, gentlemen.”
The door closed on his elegance. Abrams went into a conference with Leong. They talked low. The hum, click, buzz of machines filled the room, which was cold. Flandry stood staring at the captive he had taken. “A millo for ’em,” Abrams said.
Flandry started. The older man had joined him on cat feet. “Sir?”
“Your thoughts. What’re you turning over in your mind, besides the fair d’Io?”
Flandry blushed. “I was wondering, sir. Hau—milord was right. You are pushing ahead terribly fast, aren’t you?”
“Got to.”
“No,” said Flandry earnestly. “Pardon, sir, but we could use divers and subs and probes to scout the Zletovar. Charlie here has more value in the long run, for study. I’ve read what I could find about the Seatrolls. They are an unknown quantity. You need a lot more information before you can be sure that any given kind of questioning will show results.”
Beneath lowered bushy brows, behind a tobacco cloud, Abrams regarded him. “Telling me my business?” His tone was mild.
“No, sir. Certainly not. I—I’ve gotten plenty of respect for you.” The idea flamed. “Sir! You do have more information than you admit! A pipeline to—”
“Shut up.” The voice stayed quiet, but Flandry gulped and snapped to an automatic brace. “Keep shut up. Understand?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Abrams glanced at his team. None of them had noticed.
“Son,”
he murmured, “you surprise me. You really do. You’re wasted among those flyboys. Ever considered transferring to the spyboys?”
Flandry bit his lip.
“All right,” Abrams said. “Tell uncle. Why don’t you like the idea?”
“It—I mean—No, sir, I’m not suited.”
“You look bundled to the ears to me. Give me a break. Talk honest. I don’t mind being called a son of a bitch. I’ve got my birth certificate.”
“Well—” Flandry rallied his courage. “This is a dirty business, sir.”
“Hm. You mean for instance right here? Charlie?”
“Yes, sir. I … well, I sort of got sent to the Academy. Everybody took for granted I’d go. So did I. I was pretty young.”
Abrams’ mouth twitched upward.
“I’ve … started to wonder, though,” Flandry stumbled. “Things I heard at the party … uh, Donna d’Io said—You know, sir, I wasn’t scared in that sea action, and afterward it seemed like a grand, glorious victory. But now I—I’ve begun remembering the dead. One Tigery took a whole day to die. And Charlie, he doesn’t so much as know what’s going to happen to him!”
Abrams smoked a while. “All beings are brothers, eh?” he said.
“No, sir, not exactly, but—”
“Not exactly? You know better’n that. They aren’t! Not even all men are. Never have been. Sure, war is degrading. But there are worse degradations. Sure, peace is wonderful. But you can’t always have peace, except in death, and you most definitely can’t have a peace that isn’t founded on hard common interest, that doesn’t pay off for everybody concerned. Sure, the Empire is sick. But she’s ours. She’s all we’ve got. Son, the height of irresponsibility is to spread your love and loyalty so thin that you haven’t got enough left for the few beings and the few institutions which rate it from you.”