The morning brought Maria with an analysis from Darson, the Dragon expert. Cormac read it over a breakfast of spiced eggs, honey fish and two pots of tea.
Darson's conclusion was that Dragon, in human terms, was insane. After reading it, Cormac dressed in his shabby survival suit and placed in his rucksack the single device he might need. On his way out he consigned the report to the waste disposal. Shortly he was sliding above redland, red under a bloody sky.
'What is your opinion of Darson?'
'He's a pompous old fart,' Maria replied, and Cormac liked her for that.
'He believes Dragon is psychotic,' he said.
'I am not qualified to judge,' she replied.
Expressionlessly Cormac watched pink sleet slide off the frictionless screen of the AGC. 'You are qualified to have an opinion.'
Maria hesitated before replying. Cormac glanced at her and could see her discomfort. She was, he knew, trying to decide how to influence him and what opinion it would be best to own. He repressed a smile. She was in a difficult position. Instructions had preceded him: no unnecessary contact, straight to Dragon, the crux. He could see that she was unnerved.
'The dialogue with Dragon is deceptively human… Darson seems to find it difficult to accept the alien.'
Cormac chuckled. The AGC dipped as Maria glanced at him. Unable to find any way of applying leverage, she had answered with the truth. He nodded to himself and looked ahead as she slowed the AGC and began to power it down. Before them lay the Junkyard: the tangible result of people's flouting of Dragon's rule of no machinery larger than a man within a two-kilometre radius. Many people had died here. Maria put the
AGC on hover. Cormac tapped the com on his belt as the door slid open.
'I'll contact you when I want picking up,' he said and left her.
After reaching the line of smashed AGCs and hover scooters that marked the two-kilometre boundary, Cormac shouldered his rucksack and climbed a rusting hulk. Even through the snow the four spheres were visible, standing like vast storage tanks on a plain of broken rock. After a moment he clambered down the other side of the boundary, peeking in the wrecked AGC at its occupants, whom no one had bothered to retrieve. As his feet touched the ground, the ground itself moved.
Pseudopods.
He stood very still and waited, the taste of salt turning acrid in his mouth. Five metres to one side of him the ground rippled and a thing like a metre-wide cobra exploded into the air. Cormac dropped to avoid a flying rock, then rolled, looked up. It arched above him, a single crystalline blue eye where a cobra's mouth should have been. The ground tilted and another explosion followed. Then another. Cormac put his rucksack over his head as explosion followed explosion and he was pelted with shards of rock. Then it ceased, and he stood in the silence.
Arrayed and curved like the ribs of an immense snake's skeleton, the pseudopods had become his honour guard. He walked down the spine.
In the face of total disaster, defiance is the only recourse… crazy street-lamps they have here.
Cormac allowed his mind to wander; random-access on subject:
Monitor: Insentient autochthon of the planet Aster Colora. It has the appearance of a Terran monitor lizard, but is a kilometre long and weighs an estimated 4.5 million tonnes. It is a silicon-based lifeform with an alien physiognomy…
Dragon… Monitor… What connection?
Why does Dragon want an ambassador?
Questions.
Answers?
Damn!
The two kilometres unrolled and eventually Cormac came before the curving edifice of tegulate flesh within an amphitheatre of pseudopods. He noted, to one side, a piece of machinery that could have been the comlink for Dragon/human dialogue: the one exception to its rule about machines. It was scrapped. He looked up at the pink-and-red-stippled sky, half cut by the cloud-tangled flesh mountain, and he waited.
'Ambassador.'
The voice came from the undershadows of the sphere, resonant but conversational.
'Ian Cormac… yes.'
'Names. All things can be named.'
As of skis on granular snow, a hissing issued from the undershadows. Cormac saw a swirl of movement, then a monstrous head shot towards him, propelled by a ribbed snake body. He stumbled back, fell. It rose above him; a pterosaur head with sapphire eyes.
'Are you afraid?'
Cormac choked back his immediate reply and said, 'Should I be?' His tone betrayed nothing of what he felt.
The head lunged at him, then jerked to a halt two metres above him. It smelt of cloves. Milky saliva dripped on him.
'Answer my question.'
'Yes, I am afraid. Does that surprise you?'
'No.'
The head moved up and away. Cormac stood and brushed himself off.
'I fail to see the purpose of that litde scene,' he said.
'You represent your race,' Dragon replied, 'and you can die.'
More than personal, then. Cormac did not react to the implications, but steadily returned the stare of those sapphire eyes.
'Why did you send for an ambassador.'
'Ah… you are human then?'
'Of course.'
'You do represent your race?'
'Such is my position, though I cannot speak for every individual in it.' He emphasized individual - why? He did not know; it had almost been instinctive. The Dragon head swayed, then twitched, shaking off an accumulation of snow.
'Running round the inside of your skull is a net of mycorhizal fibre optics connected to etched-atom processors, silicon synaptic interfaces and an underspace transmitter. Evolution is a wonderful thing,' it said.
That gave Cormac pause. Smoothly he said, 'They are the tools of my trade. I am human. I am a member of the races of homo sapiens, meaning "wise man", and a wise man will use what tools he can to make his tasks easier.'
'I am glad you are sure of your integrity.'
The head swayed to one side, then looked back. The tegulate skin of Dragon's body bulged and quivered as if it were taking a breath. There was a liquid groaning, then skin and flesh parted like that of a rotten fruit. Unable to hide his reaction Cormac retched at the stench that wafted from the pink vagina of a cave that appeared before him. There were more liquid sounds driven by deep rhythmic pulses. Cormac watched in fascination as a jet of steaming amniot ejected the foetal ball of a manthing wrapped in a caul. The caul burst open, spilling more of the Dragon's juices. Dracoman; Cormac named it instandy.
'A trifle dramatic,' he managed.
The manthing continued to moVe. It stood, showing no sign of imbalance. Again that sound: something else born; a flattened ellipse. The manthing picked it up and stripped away its caul. Legs dropped down from underneath it. Cormac could hardly believe he was seeing a table. The man approached and placed the table between them.
'To be human is to be mortal,' said Dragon. 'Do you play chess?'
'Yes, I…'
Movement from the table: a bulging, bubbling, like sprouting mushrooms and a Dragon chess set grew from its surface.
'Your move.'
For a moment Cormac could think of nothing else to say or do. He reached down and took hold of a pawn.
The tiling writhed in his hand, bit him. He yelled and dropped it. On the board it slithered forwards to a tegulate square.
'There is always a price for power,' said Dragon.
Cormac swore, then waited for his opponent's move, his confusion growing. What the hell was this? Some sort of megalomaniacal game or a test?