I must speak to Chilaili.
When Bessany Weyman and the Tersae emerge from the biochem lab, I ask Chilaili to return to my portside aft cargo hold, which is more than spacious enough for the tall Tersae to find a comfortable seat. It will provide a sheltered, private place to talk. My commander's diminutive sister-in-law, however, glares up at my war hull, her scowl fiercely protective. "I won't let you imprison her."
"You are welcome to join the conversation," I seek to reassure her. "Indeed, I would welcome your insights, Dr. Weyman. There is much I am trying to understand."
This appears to mollify her. She nods and gestures Chilaili ahead of her. They climb into the cargo bin, which is fully climate controlled, since I often transport perishable items and delicate equipment needed by beleaguered civilian populations.
"I am going to close the hatch partway, to keep the heat inside," I explain, moving the hatch cover until it lacks but three point zero one inches from being closed. Heat builds satisfactorily as I turn up the fans which warm the cargo bin. The Tersae has tilted her head sideways and back, peering upward at the grillwork of the cargo-hold speaker. I cannot read the emotion which passes across the Tersae's face. A simian may pull back its lips in the same fashion humans do when they smile, but among simians, this expression does not indicate friendliness.
"The humans created you?" she asks.
"Yes, that is correct."
I do not expect the question she asks. With a brief glance at Bessany Weyman, as though apologizing in advance, she startles both of us. "Do you fear them?"
"No, Chilaili. I wish only to protect my makers. It is my mission, my purpose. It is why I was created."
"It would be good," Chilaili says in a low voice, "to know why you had been created."
The simple truth in her words is devastating. Do all biological life-forms feel this unutterably lonely confusion?
"All my life," Chilaili says softly, "I have wondered if I have a soul. I am a created thing. Alive, but artificial. If I understand the teachings of the Ones Above, as they have come down through my Grandmothers, only the Ones Above who created us possess souls. Yet I see evidence—strong evidence—that this is not true." Chilaili turns her head to peer down at her human friend. "If your kind have no souls, then there is no such thing as a soul and the ones who created me are nothing more than howling beasts."
Bessany's eyes grow wet.
The Tersae whispers, "I need to believe that there is at least some tiny piece of me that is worth more than the flesh and blood and bone they created."
Bessany's fingers are unsteady as she places a trembling hand on her friend's arm. "As you trusted me enough to come through this blizzard with your warning, Chilaili, trust me on this. You do have a soul. A very beautiful one."
A large, taloned hand comes to rest on Bessany's. "You are distressed. I did not mean this."
I hesitate, uncertain whether this is the proper time to broach my concern, but can see no gain in further delay. I harbor an intense desire to help this child of the enemy—and Chilaili's status as the only source of information we have about her unknown creators is only part of the reason for it.
"I am concerned about the future of the Tersae," I say carefully. "It is possible my commander could persuade his superiors to spare the clans' total destruction, if we could find a way to persuade the Tersae to defy the Ones Above by halting this war. Can you tell me anything, Chilaili, that might help us accomplish this?"
The Tersae stares up at my grillwork speaker. So does Bessany Weyman, whose expression evinces considerable astonishment. This is not surprising, considering my own purpose as an engine of war. I attempt to explain. "If I can find a way to halt this war and protect human lives, minimizing the need for future military intervention here, while at the same time protecting the Tersae from destruction, I will have accomplished far more than winning a few battle honors while protecting a few saganium mines."
Bessany Weyman's eyes grow wet again.
Chilaili stares at my speaker grill for eleven point nine seconds before speaking. "You would do this? For my clan?" The disbelief in her voice is, perhaps, not surprising.
"Yes, Chilaili. I would. If it is possible to do so without compromising my mission."
A deep sigh escapes the tall alien huddled beside her human friend, then Chilaili begins to speak. "Our oldest teaching stories say the Ones Above came to this world long ago, but we have never known why. Perhaps they are curious about the worlds which circle the stars. Or perhaps they only wish to hold power over them, as each clan of the Tersae holds power over its home range and covets the territory of others. The Ones Above told us how we were fashioned, to instill proper reverence and obedience. I gave these things willingly, even joyfully, until the damage to our eggs and the violence in our males became too serious to ignore.
"The command to put our eggs into the blessing chambers, which were unknown in my mother's childhood, came through the Oracle. My mother said the clan returned to the winter nest one season, just after I was hatched, to find the blessing chamber in its place, put there in our absence during the summer gathering season. The Oracle gave the command to put our eggs into it that winter."
Bessany frowns. "Then they have to be somewhere in this star system, don't they? To install equipment like that in every clan's winter nest, they've got to have some kind of base of operations, even if it's only infrequently manned."
I ask, "Is the akule the only member of the clan allowed to listen to the Oracle?"
"That is the custom, yes. There are certain rituals only the akules know, rituals that allow them to operate the Oracle properly and safely."
Bessany asks thoughtfully, "Do your creators use a language only the akule knows, or do the Ones Above speak the same language as the Tersae?"
Chilaili hesitates before answering. "Many seasons ago, when I was very young, I overheard the akule who tended the Oracle then. Zaltana was speaking with the Ones Above, from the holy chamber reserved for the Oracle, which is where akule lives. The Ones Above spoke the same words we do, much of the time, although there were things said which I did not recognize as any words I had ever heard before. Of course, I was very young. Not above five years out of the nest. But I remember it vividly."
"Because you heard the voices of the Ones Above?"
"Yes, partly. To hear the voices of our creators . . . It was exciting. Frightening, as well, because it was taboo. And I remember because the akule was young and beautiful, very kind and sweet-natured. She had fallen deeply in love with the third son of an akule from the clan nearest our own. They had met while hunting in the area where the ranges of both clans overlapped. Zaltana was begging the Ones Above for permission to become life-mates with the male she loved so desperately. When they granted her request, I felt great joy, for it made her so happy. She had always been kind to me."
"I wonder why they said yes," Bessany wonders aloud, her voice tinged with bitterness. "If they knew she couldn't produce children with him, then they knew your clan wouldn't have an heir to the office of akule, which would be a critical loss for a clan." She shakes her head, frowning. "God only knows what they were thinking. Or planning. It's even possible," she says grimly, "that they knew it didn't matter. Either they genuinely don't care whether one clan survives or dies, or they're planning to end the experiment soon."
I do not like either proposed scenario. The latter hypothesis is particularly disturbing in terms of potential time constraints, but my main thoughts tend in a different direction altogether. "Did you actually see this Oracle, Chilaili?"
"No. Not then. But when our clan leaves its winter nest, we always take the Oracle with us, so I have seen it many times since. It is the only gift of the Ones Above that the clan never travels without. The blessing chamber is too large to carry with us during the warm months and we would not need it during the summer, in any case. Winter is the time of mating and breeding, when we are safely sheltered belowground. But we always take the Oracle, for we never know when the Ones Above may wish to speak to us. Or when we may need to call them and plead for help or guidance."
I conclude that if the Ones Above decide to destroy an entire clan for disobedience or some other reason and plan to use the neurotoxin to accomplish it, they have only two options: They must either wait until that clan returns to its winter nest or the clans must carry the neurotoxin receptacle with them.
The Oracles, treated with reverence and care, are clearly the receptacle of choice.
This would certainly explain the release of the neurotoxin at Rustenberg. A direct hit on a permanent, underground shelter would be almost guaranteed to rupture the containment vessel, if not by a direct hit, then by the fall of rock which would crush the casing and release whatever was inside. The more I ponder it, the more certain I become.
Bessany Weyman has seen it as well. "It's in the Oracles, isn't it?" she breathes aloud.
"I cannot imagine a more logical containment vessel." I begin to wonder if there would be a way to neutralize this threat by sealing off any openings or release mechanisms in the Oracle's casing. If this could be accomplished, it would allow the Tersae to act without fear of immediate retaliation. And the ability to act freely might be enough to persuade Icewing Clan, at least, to break off relations with the Ones Above and ally themselves with humanity. At the very least, it would stop the attacks against Seta Point and Eisenbrucke Station before any lives are lost on either side.
I ask Chilaili her opinion of this theory.
She considers carefully for fifty-eight point three full seconds of silence. "I don't know if it would be enough," she replies at last, with commendable honesty. "There are many Grandmothers on the Council who would gladly declare independence of the Ones Above. Their only desire is to safeguard our eggs from further tampering. But the males? They are accustomed to obeying the edicts of the Council, but we have never tried to order the males to do something that violates the orders of the Ones Above. I do not know if it would work." Her voice registers deep distress.
This certainly complicates the issue, but I believe I see a way out. "Chilaili, would you be willing to teach me your language?"
The Tersae blinks, pupils dilating in a response I am learning to equate with surprise. "I will try, but Bessany Weyman was unable to reproduce many of the necessary sounds." She glances apologetically down at her human friend.
Bessany smiles. "Bolos are not limited in the same way."
Chilaili gives her eerie, head-bobbing nod. "If you wish, I will teach you."
"May we begin now, please? Time may be very short. The storm front is nearly past, which means clear weather is nearly upon us."
She does not ask why I wish to learn, which is just as well. I am not certain she will like what I have in mind. If, at the last moment, Chilaili balks, I will at least have gained a working knowledge of the enemy's language. And if Chilaili does not balk, perhaps we will have gained a very great deal more, indeed.