“Tied up with what?” Horus asked.
“I’m not sure, but he sounded a bit harassed. I think—” Hector grinned impishly “—it’s got something to do with Cohanna.”
“Oh, Maker! What’s she been up to now?”
“Don’t know. Come on, I’ve got transport waiting.”
“Damn it, ’Hanna!” Colin paced back and forth before the utilitarian desk from which he ran the Imperium, tugging on his nose in a gesture his subordinates knew only too well. “I’ve told you and told you you can’t just go chasing off after any wild hare that takes your fancy!”
“But, Colin—” Cohanna began.
“Don’t ‘But, Colin’ me! Did I or did I not tell you to check your next genetic experiment with me before you started on it?”
“Well, of course you did. And I did clear it with you,” Baroness Cohanna, Imperial Minister of Bio-Sciences added virtuously.
“You what?” Colin wheeled on her in disbelief.
“I said I cleared it with you. I sat right here in this office with Brashieel and told you what I was going to do.”
“You—!” Colin turned to the saurian-looking, long-snouted, quarter-horse-sized centauroid resting comfortably on his folded legs in the middle of the rug, who returned his gaze with mild, double-lidded eyes. “Brashieel, do you remember her saying anything about this?”
“Yes,” Brashieel replied calmly through the small black box mounted on one strap of his body harness. His vocal apparatus was poorly suited to human speech, but he’d learned to use his neural feed-driven vocoder’s deep bass to express emotion as well as words.
Colin drew a deep breath, then perched on his desk and folded his arms. Brashieel seldom made mistakes, and Cohanna’s triumphant expression made Colin unhappily certain she had mentioned it. Or something about it.
“All right,” he sighed, “what, exactly, did she say?”
Brashieel closed his inner eyelids in concentration, and Colin waited patiently. The alien’s mere presence was enough to give some members of humanity screaming fits, which Colin understood even if he rejected their attitude. To be sure, Brashieel was an Achuultani. Worse, he was the sole survivor of the fleet which had come within hours of destroying the planet Earth. He was also, however, the being who’d emerged as the natural leader of the prisoners of war Colin had captured after defeating the incursion, and most of those prisoners—not all, but most—were even more committed to the ultimate defeat of the rest of the Achuultani than humanity was.
For seventy-eight million years, the people of the Nest of Aku’Ultan had quartered the galaxy, destroying every sentient species they encountered. Of all their potential victims, only humanity had survived—not just once, but three times, earning it the Achuultani appellation of “the Demon Nest-Killers”—but Brashieel and his fellows knew something the rest of their race did not. They knew their entire species was enslaved by a self-aware computer which used their unending murder of races who meant them no ill to sustain the “state of war” its programming required to maintain its tyranny.
Not all humans were ready to accept their sincerity, which was why Colin had turned the planet Narhan over to those who had applied for Imperial citizenship. Narhan had avoided the bio-weapon for a simple reason; no one had lived on it, since its 2.67 gravity field produced a sea-level atmosphere lethal to unenhanced humans. Its air was a bit dense even for Achuultani lungs, and it was inconveniently placed—it was far enough from Birhat that travelers by mat-trans had to stage through Earth to reach the capital planet—but its settlers had fallen under the spell of its rugged beauty as they set about carving out their new Nest of Narhan as loyal subjects of their human overlord on a world beyond the reach of hysterical xenophobes.
“Cohanna had reported on progress with the genetic engineering to recreate Narhani females,” Brashieel said at last. The rogue computer had eliminated all sexual reproduction by eliminating all Achuultani females. Every Achuultani was male, either a clone or an embryo fertilized in vitro. “Thereafter, she turned to discussion of her suggestion to increase our life spans to something approaching those of humans.”
Colin nodded. Achuultani—Narhani, he corrected himself—were bigger and far stronger than humans. They also matured much more rapidly, but their normal span was little more than fifty years. Bio-enhancement, which all adult Narhani who’d taken the oath of loyalty had received as quickly as Cohanna got a grip on their alien physiology, stretched that to almost three hundred years, but that remained much shorter than for enhanced humans.
Extending Narhani lives was a challenge, but unlike humans, Narhani had no prejudice against bioengineering. They regarded it as a fact of life, given their own origins and the cloned children Jiltanith’s Terra-born sister Isis had managed to produce over the last few years, and the possibility of recreating females of their species simply strengthened that attitude.
“We discussed the practical aspects,” Brashieel continued, “and I mentioned Tinker Bell.”
“I know you did, but surely I never okayed this.”
“I regret that I must disagree,” Brashieel said, and Colin frowned.
Hector MacMahan’s big, happy half-lab, half-rottweiler bitch Tinker Bell had fallen in love with the Narhani. It amused Colin, given the way the dogs in every bad science-fiction movie ever made hated the “alien menace” on sight, but it was more than amusing to the Narhani. The Nest of Aku’Ultan had nothing remotely like her—indeed, one of the most alien things about the nest was the absence of any form of pet—and they found her fascinating. Almost every Narhani had speedily acquired a dog of his own, but they, like any other Terrestrial animal, would have been unable to survive on Narhan, and the Narhani were fiercely devoted to their four-footed friends.
“Look, I know I authorized limited bio-enhancement so you could take the dogs with you, but I never contemplated anything like this.”
“I cannot, of course, know what was in your mind, but the point was raised.” Colin clenched his teeth. The Narhani were as intelligent as humans but less imaginative and far more literal-minded. “Cohanna pointed out that genetic engineering would permit her to produce dogs who required no enhancement, and you agreed. She then reminded you of Dahak’s success in communicating with Tinker Bell and suggested the capability for meaningful exchanges might also be enhanced.”
Colin opened his mouth, then shut it with a snap as his own memory replayed the conversation. She had mentioned it, and he’d agreed. But, damn it, she should have known what he meant!
He closed his eyes and counted to five hundred. Dahak had insisted for years that Tinker Bell’s barks, growls, and yips were more value-laden than humans believed, and he’d persisted with an analysis of her sounds until he proved his point. Dogs were no mental giants. Their cognitive functions were severely limited, and their ability to manipulate symbols was virtually nonexistent, but they had lots more to say than mankind had guessed.
“All right,” he said finally, opening his eyes and glowering at Cohanna, who returned his gaze innocently. “All right. I admit the point came up, but you never told me you had anything like this in mind.”
“Only because I thought it was self-evident,” she said, and Colin bit off an acid response. He sometimes toyed with the notion that the millennia Cohanna had spent in stasis had affected her mind, but he’d known Terra-born humans just like her. She was brilliant and intensely curious, and little things like political realities, wars, and nearby supernovas were totally unimportant compared to her current project—whatever it might be.
“Look,” he tried again, “I’ve got several million Terra-born who find simple biotechnics scary, ’Hanna.” Her nose wrinkled with contempt for such benighted ignorance, and he sighed. “All right, so they’re wrong. But that doesn’t change the way they feel, and if that upsets them, how are they going to react to your fooling with the natural order of evolution?”