“I have much data that was initially relayed from Yiithrii’ah’aash’s ship, the Tidal-Drift-Instaurator-to-Shore-of-Stars. There is no record of any human passenger bearing such a mark.”
“I cannot account for that discrepancy,” Mriif’vaal sent wearily. “It may be that Yiithrii’ah’aash did not wish to call attention to this factor in our communications. It may be that he was unaware of just how old, or just how powerful, this marking was upon Caine Riordan. Conceivably, it did not fully express itself until the human was fully in our environment. That would not be uncommon; many marks sleep until touched by microbiota they recognize and only demonstrate their full intensity when fully awakened thereby. It could have been so here on Disparity.”
The OverWatchling did not respond for a long time; Mriif’vaal estimated it to be a delay of ten minutes. “What may be done? Given this new data, I would have agreed to many of your initial suggestions for action, or for release of assets, which I refused. But the past is past and may not be changed.”
“True.” Mriif’vaal took his time, allowed his body to replenish its pheromones and spore sacs to make his next message particularly clear and forceful. “But you may still change the future, may change the unfortunate course of events that has resulted from the recent past you now regret.”
“I do not understand.”
Mriif’vaal felt the OverWatchling’s growing willingness to alter protocols and precedents, and so, proceeded carefully, like a tracker attempting not to startle skittish game. “There are other old marks, spores, and antidotes. They are resident in your awareness. You may summon the Emitters to produce them. And they are precisely what Caine Riordan needs to survive, for he is dying not from the wounds inflicted by his own kind, but from our own defensive spores. Which, as we communicated to you before, could have been suspended. But that was not done.”
“To do so would have deviated from protocol.” This time, the OverWatching’s reply was evasive, less resolute.
“Clearly,” Mriif’vaal agreed. “But we must weigh that deviation against other concerns. I shall enumerate these concerns. If we allow this human to die when it is known that we may preserve his life, how will this particular group of humans Affine with us? Indeed, given their nonpolytaxic origins and perceptions of life and death, why should they? These beings fought to survive and indirectly defend the sovereignty of our planet. How will we explain to them and the rest of their species that Caine Riordan, an ancient-marked envoy, must be allowed to die — and not from wounds inflicted in the battle, but because of our unwillingness to correct an ailment caused by our own spores? If you would salvage this situation, if you would preserve the chance of an alliance between our races, then you must cure him.” Mriif’vaal realized as he released the last fervent wash of pheromones that he might have pushed too hard.
The OverWatchling’s reply was not brusque, but it was more firm than the prior ones. “What you ask is without precedent. The antidote to which you refer, the prime theriac, has not been used in millennia and there are many injunctions against doing so.”
Carefully now. “Those injunctions arose from vastly different exigencies than the ones which face us now. They pertain to wars fought in the distant past, wars in which our antagonists were not true humans, but, rather, a malign subspecies derived from them. But these humans, the ones who were invited to Disparity, are the originals of their breed. Their genecode predates that of the self-warped subspecies that tormented us, and which recent intelligence suggests is one and the same as the exosapients who have masqueraded as the Ktor.” Mriif’vaal paused, let the OverWatchling process these concepts. Then he circled back to the key assertion. “If the Slaasriithi polytaxon would be Affined to these natural humans of Earth, we must preserve the life of this being whom we ourselves have unwittingly brought to the edge of death. If we do not bear the responsibility of action to undo such a mistake, why would his kind believe or trust us in any other particular?”
The OverWatchling was slow in responding. Clearly, the arguments were wearing upon its inclination to remain in compliance with normative protocols. “I still do not perceive the urgency you presume to reside in the life of this single being. Is it not his fate, even desire, to devote his existence — including the surrender of it — to the welfare of his taxon?”
“No. That is not how humans have evolved, either biologically or socially. Because they are not polytaxic, their priorities are radically different. The importance we put upon the collective, they put upon the individual.”
“And we wish to ally with such creatures?”
“Most urgently, I believe.”
“I require confirmation of that assertion.”
“If Yiithrii’ah’aash were here to provide it, I would never have contacted you myself. Consequently, your request for confirmation is, with apologies, illogical.” Not to say specious.
The answer was very long in coming. “That is true.” As Mriif’vaal waited, it felt as though the world breathed in and out deeply. Then: “Your counsel is prudent. I shall comply.”
* * *
Caine started awake, started again when he discovered Yiithrii’ah’aash’s sensor cluster focused on him, only a meter away. It drew back. “I did not mean to frighten you, Caine Riordan. My apologies.”
“I wasn’t frightened. Not exactly.” Caine was suddenly and acutely conscious of still being in shorts and a tee shirt, the only recuperation clothing he had. Upon recovering consciousness two days ago, he had awakened to find himself lying stark naked in a strange amalgam of a bed, a couch, and an oversized sponge that smelled vaguely like citrus and bergamot. The Slaasriithi had been startled by his attempt to cover himself. His sudden, urgent motions without (for them) ready explanation led them to conclude he might be having a seizure of some sort. When Riordan groggily asked them for a hospital gown, much buzzing and sibilant speech ensued. After thirty minutes, they brought him an otherwise featureless black slate, which, when activated, displayed any number of gowns: wedding, formal, debutante ball. The attempt to find clothing had gone downhill from there, largely because the Slaasriithi, being unconcerned with personal coverings of any kind and quite unfamiliar with human sociology, presumed that all Earth garb was fundamentally a form of signification. To them, the concept of “modesty” was as foreign as the term “nudity” was redundant.
Yiithrii’ah’aash’s sensor cluster regarded him steadily. “I am most gratified and glad that your health returns to you. And to those of your fellows who were wounded.”
Caine nodded; Gaspard, the only human the Slaasriithi had permitted to see Riordan so far, had summarized the aftermath of the battle at the river. Eid had indeed fled to safety. Salunke had been knocked senseless when the explosion of a rifle grenade had blown down a rotting tree which fell upon her. Prior health concerns were also resolving: the wounds inflicted upon Hirano by the pirhannows were healing nicely, and it was speculated that she would not lose her eye. Hwang’s internal injuries had not been so severe that they were beyond the ability of his own body to heal.
But Trent Howarth was dead. No one knew what had happened, but the speed of his exit from Puller was reasonably suspected of having compromised his HALO rig. Qwara and Xue had been buried and Riordan himself had been excavated from beneath the bulk of the slain water-strider that had, it seemed, sacrificed itself to conceal him from the Ktor and the clones. The loss of Macmillan was not mentioned. Caine suspected that many simply wrote him off as one of the enemy dead. Riordan was of the opinion that he, too, was a fallen fellow-traveler; the only difference was that he had been a casualty from the time he had left Earth, his soul torn asunder when forced to choose between his daughter’s life and the fate of his planet. Caine wondered if he himself would have fared any better against that most terrible weapon of alclass="underline" one’s own greatest loves turned against each other.