Irongrip met Fiben’s gaze for a long moment before letting go of Gailet. “A hundred years ago,” he went on, “I would’ve been somethin’ special. They would’ve forgiven, ignored, my own little ‘quirks and drawbacks.’ They’d have given me a white card, for my cunning and my strength.
“Time is what decides it, my good little chen and chimmie. It’s all what generation you’re born in.”
He stood up straight. “Or is it?” Irongrip smiled. “Maybe it also depends on who your patrons are, hm? If the standards change, if the target image of the ideal future Pans sapiens changes, well …” He spread his hands, letting the implication sink in.
Gailet was the first to find her voice.
“You… actually… expect… th’ Gubru …”
Irongrip shrugged. “Time’s are achangin’, my darlings. I may yet have more grandkids than either of you.”
Fiben found the key to drive out the incapacitating anger and unlock his own voice. He laughed. He guffawed. “Yeah?” he asked, grinning. “Well, first you’ll haveta fix your other problem, boyo. How’re you going to pass on your genes if you can’t even get it up to—”
This time it was Irongrip’s unshod foot that lashed out. Fiben was more prepared and rolled aside to take the kick at an angle. But more blows followed in a dull rain.
There were no more words, though, and a quick glance told Fiben that it was Irongrip’s turn to be tongue-tied. Low sounds emerged as his mouth opened and closed, flecked with foam. Finally, in frustration, the tall chim gave up kicking at Fiben. He swiveled and stomped out.
The chimmie with the keys watched him go. She stood by the door, looking uncertain what to do.
Fiben grunted as he rolled over onto his back.
“Uh.” He winced as he felt his ribs. None seemed to be broken. “At least Simon Legree wasn’t able to perform a proper exit line. I half expected him to say: ‘I’ll be back, just you wait!’ or somethin’ equally original.”
Gailet shook her head. “What do you gain by baiting him?”
He shrugged. “I got my reasons.”
Gingerly, he backed against the wall. The chimmie in the billowing zipsuit was watching him, but when their eyes met she quickly blinked and turned to leave, closing the door behind her.
Fiben lifted his head and inhaled deeply, through his nose, several times.
“Now what are you doing?” Gailet asked.
He shook his head. “Nothin. Just passin’ the time.”
When he looked again, Gailet had turned her back to him again. She seemed to be crying.
Small surprise, Fiben thought. It probably wasn’t as much fun for her, being a prisoner, as it had been leading a rebellion. For all the two of them knew, the Resistance was washed up, finished, kaput. And there wasn’t any reason to believe things had gone any better in the mountains. Athaclena and Robert and Benjamin might be dead or captured by now. Port Helenia was still ruled by birds and quislings.
“Don’t worry,” he said, trying to cheer her up. “You know what they say about the truest test of sapiency? You mean you haven’t heard of it? Why it’s just comin’ through when the chimps are down!”
Gailet wiped her eyes and turned her head to look at him. “Oh, shut up,” she said.
Okay, so it’s an old joke, Fiben admitted to himself. But it was worth a try .
Still, she motioned for him to turn around. “Come on. It’s your turn. Maybe…” She smiled weakly, as if uncertain whether or not to try a joke of her own. “Maybe I can find something to snack on, too.”
Fiben grinned. He shuffled about and stretched his chains until his back was as close to her as possible, not minding how it strained his various hurts. He felt her hands working to unknot his tangled, furry thatch and rolled his eyes upward.
“Ah, aahh,” he sighed.
A different jailer brought them their noon meal, a thin soup accompanied by two slices of bread. This male Probie possessed none of Irongrip’s fluency. In fact, he seemed to have trouble with even the simplest phrases and snarled when Fiben tried to draw him out. His left cheek twitched intermittently in a nervous tic, and Gailet whispered to Fiben that the feral glint in the chim’s eyes made her nervous.
Fiben tried to distract her. “Tell me about Earth,” he asked. “What’s it like?”
Gailet used a bread crust to sop up the last of her soup. “What’s to tell? Everybody knows about Earth.”
“Yeah. From video and from GoThere cube books, sure. But not from personal experience. You went as a child with your parents, didn’t you? That’s where you got your doctorate?”
She nodded. “University of Djakarta. ”
“And then what?”
Her gaze was distant. “Then I applied for a position at the Terragens Center for Galactic Studies, in La Paz.”
Fiben knew of the place. Many of Earth’s diplomats, emissaries, and agents took training there, learning how the ancient cultures of the Five Galaxies thought and acted. It was crucial if the leaders were to plan a way for the three races of Earth to make their way in a dangerous universe. Much of the fate of the wolfling clan depended on the graduates of the CGS.
“I’m impressed you even applied,” he said, meaning it. “Did they … I mean, did you pass?”
She nodded. “I … it was close. I qualified. Barely. If I’d scored just a little better, they said there’d have been no question.”
Obviously, the memory was painful. She seemed undecided, as if tempted to change the subject. Gailet shook her head. “Then I was told that they’d prefer it if I returned to Garth instead. I should take up a teaching position, they said. They made it plain I’d be more useful here.”
“They? Who’s this ‘they’ you’re talking about?”
Gailet nervously picked at the fur on the back of her arm. She noticed what she was doing and made both hands lay still on her lap. “The Uplift Board,” she said quietly.
“But… but what do they have to say about assigning teaching positions, or influencing career choices for that matter?”
She looked at him. “They have a lot to say, Fiben, if they think neo-chimp or neo-dolphin genetic progress is at stake. They can keep you from becoming a spacer, for instance, out of fear your precious plasm might get irradiated. Or they can prevent you from entering chemistry as a profession, out of fear of unpredicted mutations.”
She picked up a piece of straw and twirled it slowly. “Oh, we have a lot more rights than other young client races. I know that, I keep reminding myself.”
“But they decided your genes were needed on Garth,” Fiben guessed in low voice.
She nodded. “There’s a point system. If I’d really scored well on the CGS exam it would’ve been okay. A few chims do get in.
“But I was at the margin. Instead they presented me with that damned white card — like it was some sort of consolation prize, or maybe a wafer for some sacrament — and they sent me back to my native planet, back to poor old Garth.
“It seems my raison d’etre is the babies I’ll have. Everything else is incidental.”
She laughed, somewhat bitterly. “Hell, I’ve been breaking the law for months now, risking my life and womb in this rebellion. Even if we’d have won — fat chance — I could get a big fat medal from the TAASF, maybe even ticker tape parades, and it wouldn’t matter. When all the hooplah died down I’d still be thrown into prison by the Uplift Board!”
“Oh, Goodall,” Fiben sighed, sagging back against the cool stones. “But you haven’t, I mean you haven’t yet—”
“Haven t procreated yet? Good observation. One of the few advantages of being a female with a white card is that I can choose anyone blue or higher for the father, and pick my own timing, so long as I have three or more offspring before I’m thirty. I don’t even have to raise them myself!” Again came the sharp, bitter laugh. “Hell, half of the chim marriage groups on Garth would shave themselves bald for the right to adopt one of my kids.”