The taller of the two Probationers looked up in surprise. Something about the zipsuited chen suddenly struck Fiben as eerily familiar, although he was certain he had never met him before. “What, are you kidding?” The guard glanced up at rumbling cumulonimbus clouds. A cold front was moving in, and rain could not be far off.
“Yeah,” Fiben grinned. “I’m kidding. Actually, it’s too sunny for my tastes.”
The guard gave Fiben a sour look and stepped aside. The gate squeaked open, and Fiben slipped out onto a back street lined by ivy-decked walls. Neither he nor Gailet had ever seen any of their neighbors. Presumably local chims kept a low profile around Irongrip’s crew and the watchful alien robots.
He whistled as he walked toward the bay, trying to ignore the hovering watch globe following just a meter above and behind him. The first time he had been allowed out this way, Fiben avoided the populated areas of Port Helenia, sticking to back alleys and the now almost abandoned industrial zone. Nowadays he still kept away from the main shopping and business areas, where crowds would gather and stare, but he no longer felt he had to avoid people completely.
— Early on he had seen other chims accompanied by watch globes. At first he thought they were prisoners like himself. Chens and chimmies in work clothes stepped aside and gave the guarded chims wide berth, as they did him.
Then he noticed the differences. Those other escorted chims wore fine clothes and walked with a haughty bearing. Their watch globes’ eye facets and weaponry faced outward, rather than upon the ones they guarded. Quislings, Fiben realized. He was pleased to see the faces many chim citizens cast at these high-level collaborators when their backs were turned — looks of sullen, ill-concealed disdain.
After that, in his quarters, he had stenciled the proud letters P-R-I-S-O-N-E-R on the back of his parka. From then on, the stares that followed him were less cold. They were curious, perhaps even respectful.
The globe was not programmed to let him speak to people. Once, when a chimmie dropped a folded piece of paper in his path, Fiben tested the machine’s tolerance by bending over to pick it up …
He awoke sometime later in the globe’s grasp, on his way back to prison. It was several days before he was allowed out again.
No matter. It had been worth it. Word of the episode spread. Now, chens and chimmies nodded as he passed storefronts and long ration lines. Some even signed little messages of encouragement in hand talk.
They haven’t twisted us, Fiben thought proudly. A few traitors hardly mattered. What counted was the behavior of a people, as a whole. Fiben.remembered reading how, during the most horrible of Earth’s old, pre-Contact world wars, the citizens of the little nation of Denmark resisted every effort of the Nazi conquerors to dehumanize them. Instead they behaved with startling unity and decency. It was a story well worth emulating.
We’ll hold out, he replied in sign language. Terra remembers, and will come for us.
He clung to the hope, no matter how hard it became. As he learned the subtleties of Galactic law from Gailet, he came to realize that even if peace broke out all across the spiral arms, it might not be enough to eject the invaders. There were tricks a clan as ancient as the Gubru knew, ways to invalidate a weaker clan’s lease on a planet like Garth. It was apparent one faction of the avian enemy wanted to end Earth’s tenancy here and take it over for themselves.
Fiben knew that the Suzerain of Propriety had searched in vain for evidence the Earthlings were mishandling the ecological recovery on Garth. Now, after the way the occupation forces had bollixed decades of hard work, they dared not raise that issue.
The Suzerain had also spent months hunting for elusive “Garthlings.” If the mysterious pre-sentients had proven real, a claim on them would have justified every dime spent here. Finally, they saw through Uthacalthing’s practical joke, but that did not end their efforts.
All along, ever since the invasion, the Gubru had tried to find fault with the way neo-chimpanzees were being uplifted. And just because they seemed to have accepted the status of advanced chims like Gailet, that did not mean they had given up completely.
There was this business of the damned Ceremony of Acceptance — whose implications still escaped Fiben no matter how hard Gailet tried to make them clear to him.
He hardly noticed the chims on the streets as his feet kicked windblown leaves and snatches of Gailet’s explanations came back to him.
“… client species pass through phases, each marked by ceremonies sanctioned by the Galactic Uplift Institute… These ceremonies are expensive, and can be blocked by political maneuvering… For the Gubru to offer to pay for and support a ceremony for the clients ofwolfling humans is more than unprecedented… And the Suzerain also offers to commit all its folk to a new policy ending hostilities with Earth…
“… Of course, there is a catch…”
Oh, Fiben could well imagine there would be a catch!
He shook his head, as if to drive all the words out of it. There was something unnatural about Gailet. Uplift was all very well and good, and she might be a peerless example of neo-chimpdom, but it just wasn’t natural to think and talk so much without giving the brain some off-time to air out!
He came at last to a place by the docks where fishing boats lay tied up against the coming storm. Seabirds chirped and dove, trying to catch a last meal in the time remaining before the water became too choppy. One of them ventured too close to Fiben and was rewarded with a warning shock from “Rover,” the watch robot. The bird — no more a biological cousin to the avian invaders than Fiben was — squawked in anger and took off toward the west.
Fiben took a seat on the end of the pier. From his pocket he removed half a sandwich he had put there earlier in the day. He munched quietly, watching the clouds and the water. For the moment, at least, he was able to stop thinking, stop worrying. And no words echoed in his head.
Right then all it would have taken to make him happy would have been a banana and a beer, and freedom.
An hour or so later, “Rover” began buzzing insistently. The watch robot maneuvered to a position interposing itself between him and the water, bobbing insistently.
With a sign Fiben got up and dusted himself off. He walked back along the dock and soon was headed past drifts of leaves toward his urban prison. Very few chims were still about on the windy streets.
The guard with the oddly familiar face frowned at him when Fiben arrived at the gate, but there was no delay passing him through. It’s always been easier gettiri into jail than gettin’ out, Fiben thought.
Sylvie was still on duty at her desk. “Did you have a nice walk, Fiben?”
“Hm. You ought to come along sometime. We could stop at the Park and I’d show you my Cheetah imitation.” He gave her an amiable wink.
“I’ve already seen it, remember? Pretty unimpressive, as I recall.” But Sylvie’s tone did not match her banter. She seemed tense. “Go on in, Fiben. I’ll put Rover away.”
“Yeah, well.” The door hissed open. “Good night, Sylvie.”
Gailet was seated on a plush throw rug in front of the weather wall — now tuned to show a scene of steamy savannah heat. She looked up from the book on her lap and took off her reading glasses. “Hello. Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Sorry about earlier. I guess I just had a bad case of cabin fever. I’ll knuckle down and get back to work now.”
“No need. We’re done for today.” She patted the rug. “Why don’t you come over and give me back a scratch? Then I’ll reciprocate.”
Fiben did not have to be asked twice. One thing he had to grant Gailet, she was a truly fine grooming partner. He shrugged out of his parka and came over to sit behind her. She laid one hand idly on his knee while he began combing his fingers through her hair. Soon her eyes were closed. Her. breath came in soft, low sighs.