“Schro!”
You asked us what we want, Daneel Guthlac. We want what you have. Offspring. A second chance. We are all that you see; three adult females moored on this barren island. We are old. Our sessile lifestyle gives us slow metabolisms and long lifespans, but we will most likely not live long enough to see you complete your work on the hyperdrive, and so our new dream to meet the other grogs of the universe will rest in our daughters.
“I don’t have that anymore.”
Give him time. We’re having a parallel conversation with him at the moment and we believe he can be reached. You have raised him well.
“You want us to clone you? You need to give us something for me to even begin to trust you. Free these people. Send them home now.”
Without another word the group of humans marched back to their waiting gravtruck. Dan couldn’t see them go, but he heard their boots tromping on sediment and then, after a moment, the whirl of the gravity motor.
“If I help you with this, what do we get in return?”
The easy, obvious answer is that with greater numbers we will be able to better protect this world from a kzin invasion force. The Patriarchy will never know this colony exists.
The more complex and interesting answer is that one day we hope kzinti and humans will participate in the reconstruction of our glorious thoughtscapes.
The image of a cathedral-like structure, made entirely of stained glass and coral, was superimposed on the hostile reality of the island within Dan’s mind, and he intimately understood that the torpid physical existence of the grogs was only a mere shadow of their rich and vibrant psychological lives.
And with that beautiful image crystallized in his mind, Dan passed out.
Daneel Guthlac awoke to a loud bang, like bone smashing into metal.
He sat in the passenger seat of his gravcar, connected to a portable autodoc. The interior of the car was pleasantly warm, but a dull, throbbing ache stabbed him in the shoulder. His son was in the driver’s seat. Disoriented, Dan looked out the window, but all he could see were heavy rain clouds coasting by. “What happened?”
“I returned with Fraaf’kur to Krazári. He’s got a great story about how we ambushed the Rejoiners, and after a heated battle where you, our trusty human mascot, were severely injured, we sent them packing before they could get started on their transmitter.”
It took Dan a while to process that and remember the events of the last few hours…days? “Why is it that I always end up severely injured when I try to save Sheathclaws?”
“Because humans are delicately built…Anyways, once there, I got your car and went back for you.”
“Thanks and-how do you even know how to fly this thing?”
“Autopilot.” He waved his paws in the air. “I just like moving the wheel. It makes me feel better.” His ears fluttered, but his demeanor was somewhat distant.
Then Dan realized that he couldn’t feel their psychic link any longer and he missed it terribly. It was like having a stranger sitting next to him with the voice and scent of his son. “Hey, are we okay?”
“No.” His son looked at him for a long second, then returned to his senseless driving. “Not yet, anyway. I understand what you did and why you did it, but it still feels shameful to be a copy of someone so disgusting.”
“Try having him burrowing in your head.”
They said nothing for a while. Dan heard that odd organic bang again.
“You know, I was thinking about what the grogs were saying, that there’s a feedback loop between us, you’ve got a little bit of Manslaughter’s telepath in your soul, and I’m, genetically, Manslaughter’s telepath with a little bit of you in mine. I think we need to live in our own heads for a while.”
“Fair enough.” Dan wanted to dig his fingers in that orange coat and give him a rough shake, but didn’t. “Where are we going now?”
“Back to Shrawl’ta. I also gathered the genetic samples of the three grogs. I’m thinking three exact clones and three produced by fusing the same sex gametes of two different ones. That should give us six baby female grogs in total. They said they’ll make sure the biotech people don’t ask too many questions.”
“That worries me. Who’s to stop them from subtly herding the unsuspecting people of Sheathclaws like cattle once we increase their numbers? We’re allied now, but what happens once our goals change, or conflict?”
“They won’t. Their reach will become greater and greater as their numbers increase, but they won’t control us because they value our minds, our ideas and concepts. They need us to be free to create in order to enjoy us. That said, they might steer someone particularly interesting to their island and immerse themselves in their mind for a while, but they’ve agreed to not let any visitors waste away. Ultimately, according to Fraaf’kur’s memories, the humans of the planet Down have learned to work with their local grogs, and we will as well.”
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
“I do. The grogs gave me the information I needed for this specific task. I’m going to finish the year at the crèche-actually looking forward to confronting the little sons of prreti that made my life so miserable-then I’m going back to the island with the cloned grog spawn.”
“By yourself?” This was too much for Dan; his head spun from the injuries and the pain killers.
“Yes, that is the arrangement I made with them. I will learn how to make the most of my ziirgrah without the need for the sthondat stimulant, and perhaps teach the little clones a thing or two about making a Name for oneself.”
This opened up a lingering wound. “Listen, Schro, about your Name-”
“Don’t worry about it, father. The grogs have given me a new kzinchao Name. I am now Trainer-of-Telepaths.”
“That’s a good Name.” Dan closed his eyes and said, “You know, I hoped I would get at least a year with my little kit, but you’ve matured into a fine kzintosh…You kzin grow up too damned fast.” He wanted to drift off to sleep. The autodoc was demanding he rest, but the banging outside the gravcar persisted. “What is that noise?”
“That’s the skull of the ketosaurus. After I got you on the autodoc, I went back and beheaded the beast.”
Dan half-opened his eyes and looked at his son, “I thought you said you didn’t need it?”
Trainer-of-Telepaths’ ears twitched roguishly. “I said I was a little bit human, but not so human that I would abandon such a spectacular and hard-earned trophy.”
Dan grabbed a handful of fur and gave him a shove. “There’s hope for you yet.”