At first glance, a pre-spaceflight human would have thought he was looking at a parliament of centaurs.
But only at first glance. The Tangrian race, for all its horizontal four-legged barrel and upright two-armed torso, bore only the vaguest resemblance to horses or men or any other Terran-derived life-form. The head was especially alien, with its skull-protecting bony carapace, its flat apelike nose, and the tiny eyes evolved under a type-F sun. And the short, thick body fur came in a remarkably vivid set of colors—words like "auburn" and "mahogany" and "henna" came to mind, although there were shades to which a human couldn't have put a name, almost all of them with some kind of reddish glint.
The "parliament" part came closer, for this was the hall of the arnharanaks or "high rulers," where the anaks of all the hordes met on the neutral (there was no Tangrian concept which answered to "sacred") soil of the ancestral homeworld. And since form follows function, a human would have found it appropriate-looking for such a role, and impressive in a massive, crude way, with concentric circles of raised levels accommodating the hobbyhorse-like frames that served the Tangri for chairs, from which the assembled anaks could look down at a circular ring.
The local notions of parliamentary procedure, however, would have been less familiar. . . .
The great chamber was designed to minimize strife. There were no weapons allowed except natural ones, and each anak—who knew he was the equal of every other—was isolated one from the next by decorative bars. A human would have been struck by the resemblance to ancient starting gates for horses. But the design didn't stop their version of debate.
At the moment it looked as though New Horde Daroga anak, Hrufely, by name, was taking the worst of the fight in the middle of the ring of places. Fyctucz, anak of the centuries-established Sirhogan Horde, slammed a forearm into Hrufely's face and broke out a tooth.
"Enough!" The Dominant One—the "speaker," in human terms—surged up, forelimbs braced as if he were personally prepared to make them stop, his alpha posture stopping them in their tracks. The two in the center of the ring pulled apart, both breathing hard and streaked with blood. "The winner is Fyctucz, who gains face for himself and for the Sirhogan Horde. Return to your places before calm is enforced."
Fyctucz, apparently calm again, spat to clear his mouth of pinkish foam and walked around Hrufely who stood rooted trying to catch his breath, sides heaving. They were of a height but who would have thought that a Sirhogan could stand against the beefier, heavier Daroga, even for a single breath? He shook his head and backed to his place as the servants came in to clean up. They were all youngest warriors, all without a single fight scar yet—and of course they all belonged to the Tangri race. In the center of their power, the Tangri declined to let any beasts into earshot. It was a manifestation of racial paranoia that served them well and was the frustration of those who thought to spy.
It was the refreshing finish to an afternoon of conflict resolution, using proper Horde rules rather than that endless talking and then sneaking that the beasts did. The human parliaments ran on what the Tangri considered rat's rules of order, despicable and underhanded.
"Fyctucz carries the day and we will not consider allying with beasts." The Dominant One's mouth worked as he spat out the ugly word allying. "Neither will we attack them in their war. We will study the new beasts in the field and once they and the human beasts have fought themselves to exhaustion will strike at the wounded groups." He leaned forward and showed his impressive set of pointed teeth before quoting Viztarz the Sage. "A predator who insists on preying on the healthy is a dead predator. Fellow anaks, do I make myself clear?"
There was a hasty wave of momentarily raised chins—exposing the throat to the alpha in submission before the anaks made their way out of the chamber, a jostle of dominance once they were out from under the eye of the Dominant One.
As the last of them departed, the Dominant One gave a sigh of relief he would never have permitted himself in the presence of the arnharanaks. He was Ultraz, anak of the Todenfaz, a horde of immemorial antiquity which, in partnership with the Delanden Horde, had pioneered the first ventures off the surface of this planet, more than seven hundred years ago as humans measured time. He was also getting old—too old to retain his position as primus inter pares much longer. He had no intention of making the common—and invariably fatal—mistake of lingering on just a little too long. But before he stepped down, he intended to arrange for the anaks made the right decision in spite of themselves.
He heard a rustle of movement behind him, and the deep rumble of Tangrian amusement. "That was a good tactic, arranging behind the scenes for Fyctucz to take up the challenge."
"I knew he was an accomplished fighter," said Ultraz offhandedly.
"You also knew that for a Sirhogan to defeat a Daroga would impress them with its unexpectedness, and put an end to any further argument."
Ultraz did his best to conceal his gratification at having his craftiness recognized. The various hordes viewed each other in stereotypes—such as the ones that held Sirhogans to be overcivilized weaklings, and Darogas to be mighty (if not unduly bright) warriors. This wasn't the first time Ultraz had always found these stereotypes helpful in manipulating the arnharanaks. One just had to know how to make use of them.
The male behind him was a perfect example. Scyryx belonged to the Korvak Horde, so everyone knew he must be treacherous, underhanded, and as close to effeminate as one Tangrian could call another male of the species without provoking an instant fight to the death. So Ultraz couldn't admit publicly how closely he was allied with him, and how heavily he relied on his advice.
"I had to use whatever means I could, Scyryx," he said. "These fools had to be herded into doing the sensible thing, as usual. Left to themselves, they might even have done as those Daroga dung-brains wanted and attack the newly arrived beasts in the rear."
"There was never any real danger of that course being adopted. Everyone could see we would have had to fight our way through the force of the Rim Humans that are stranded in the Bellerophon Arm. And besides, the Darogas aren't exactly esteemed as strategists!"
Ultraz grunted in agreement. "True. But some were leaning toward the idea of an alliance of convenience with the Rim humans, as the Hurulix proposed. They always think they're so clever!" (Ultraz wasn't altogether immune to stereotypes himself.) "Couldn't they see this would involve allowing the fleets of the Rim and its allies passage through our Confederation?"
Scyryx gave another laugh-rumble. "Of course they could—and they were drooling at the thought of ambushing those fleets! But even they could guess how the humans would react to that. And they recalled that the Republic humans are among those allies." The Tangri seldom bothered to differentiate among individual members of prey species. But one human whose name they knew very well was Li Han. "Anyway, I don't think that ever really had a chance of winning acceptance either. The idea of even seeming to ally with prey—! No. It's too unnatural. The only bad idea that ever had a real chance of being adopted was the Hragha proposal of pretending to ally ourselves with these new beasts."
"Yes. Typical of the Hragha, of course. They've been stalking the Humans—especially those of the Rim and the Federation, or whatever confusing name it goes by nowadays—ever since they got their snouts bloodied about a hundred and eighty years ago. But some of the anaks were impressed by what we've learned about these newcomers. They don't seem to act like prey at all."
"What they act like doesn't matter." Ultraz made a dismissive gesture and pronounced the fundamental truism of Tangrian logic. "They aren't us, so therefore they're prey animals. Anyway, it was a practical impossibility. The Humans haven't been able to establish communication with them . . . and we must concede the Humans a certain talent for that sort of thing. So how could we have hoped to negotiate with them?" Ultraz gave his head a toss which actually was somewhat horselike—the only possible justification for "Horse Heads," the Human pejorative for the Tangri. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. The right decision got made, and all it took was one combat. Come, let us go to Confederation Fleet Command headquarters. The arnhahorrax is waiting."
They departed the chamber and crossed the wide plaza under the ultramarine dusk-light of the F-class sun. In the distance, wide plains stretched away into the encroaching darkness. Those plains were typical of the homeworld, a dry planet whose landlocked seas covered less than half its surface. The lands that were not outright desert supported only the hardy but struggling vegetation known as khunillatis, varied by carnivorous plants like zikkilatti and osamhhoru. All the plant life, whatever its other disparities, was nutrient-poor.
And that, Ultraz reflected in a mood of introspection that was almost as rare for him as it was for a typical Tangrian, had probably determined the race's history.
He had studied the humans and the other prey species that possessed some psychological process functionally equivalent to intelligence—a uniquely Tangrian attribute by definition. Most of his colleagues saw no reason to look beyond those races' military capabilities (which made them dangerous, as a stampeding herd can be dangerous) and political structures (which offered potential weaknesses to exploit). But Ultraz had delved into their histories. And in all cases, the settled agriculturalists (the zemlixi, he thought, with the mental sneer that was inseparable from the word) had become dominant, giving birth to the scientific and industrial revolutions, while the nomadic societies had gradually withered and died out in the face of ever-more-superior numbers and technology.
Here, though, the future had belonged to the nomads. As far as most of Ultraz's fellows were concerned, this was both result and confirmation of the race's uniqueness as the sole possessor of true sentience. Privately, Ultraz sometimes wondered. Agriculture—which, for a race of pure carnivores, could only mean growing crops to feed to meat animals—had been inherently inefficient, and had come less naturally to a race with a psychological need for space and a level of personal mobility most other tool users could achieve only with the aid of riding animals. So the alherratogonfaloxis, or "hordes," had imposed their pattern, and taken the traditions of raid and pillage to the stars.
Ultraz shook the musings from his mind as he and Scyryx reached the massive fortresslike building that was their destination, and passed through layers of security. They finally emerged into a large hexagonal chamber whose walls were lined with the most advanced communications and data-retrieval equipment. But the room was dominated by a circular table at its center, surrounding a holographic display of what Ultraz instantly recognized as the Bellerophon Arm and the adjacent Tangrian systems, the color-coded icons of the star systems connected by strings of light representing warp lines. Standing respectfully back from the table were staffers whose drab harnesses and certain subtle ethnic indicia evoked the thought zemlixi, with all the connotations of contempt it brought with it. The males who counted reclined at the table. They rose as Ultraz entered and made the submission gesture.
"Greetings, Dominant One," greeted the one who counted most of all: Heruvycx, the arnhahorrax, commander of the Confederation Fleet Command and thus outranking any horde's horrax, or war leader. He had been born into the Hragha Horde. But he was in it rather than of it, for the CFC had become a kind of superhorde for its career officers, superseding the old loyalties—to the disgust of the traditionalists. Heruvycxs' Hragha birth was ironic, for that horde's insistence on a divided command structure, instead of accepting CFC direction in its venture against the Humans, had resulted in the fiasco that had discredited those very traditionalists and enabled the great Lorvycx to realize his dream and establish a unified fleet. Nowadays, whenever a plan failed and the degrading necessity arose for explanations to the prey animals, the fleet sheltered behind the "New Hordes" that existed largely for the purpose of providing such excuses. Skeptic though he was, Ultraz had to admit that the gullibility of Human politicians was a strong argument that the species wasn't truly sentient.
"Greetings, arnhahorrax," Ultraz replied as he settled onto the framework of honor that had been left vacant. Scyryx remained standing a couple of steps back from the table, even though these CFC males were far less stereotype-ridden than most. "The decision has been reached, and the advocates of the alternative plans have been humbled. We will therefore proceed along the lines previously worked out by your staff."
"Thank you, Dominant One." Heruvycx's voice held the relief common to all consummate military professionals who have to worry about the meddling of highly placed amateurs. He gestured at the holo display. "In anticipation of the decision of the arnharanaks, we have prepared a more detailed operational plan."
Ultraz gave a gesture of assent. The display flashed with light along the warp line that led from the Tangrian worlds to the Rim Human system of Tisiphone. (Tangrian intelligence was excellent within its rather narrow scope, and they were well aware of the names bestowed by the prey animals on their worlds.)
"This, Dominant One, is our most logical line of attack. Given the fact that the Rim Humans have doubtless rushed all the forces they have available in the Arm toward the Bellerophon system, Tisiphone should be unprotected save by its fixed defenses. Thus we could secure all he open points of the Arm. Furthermore, we may be able to make even further gains, advancing down the arm from Tisiphone."
"They would doubtless reinforce the next system—uh, Treadway—after our seizure of Tisiphone."
"To the extent they are able, Dominant One. But note that we have yet another warp connection to Treadway, through a lightly picketed starless warp nexus. Our ability to attack Treadway through two warp points would complicate their tactical problems. And in all of this, never forget our most important—and unrepeatable—advantage: the Rim Humans won't know it's happening, since these newly arrived prey animals have cut off the Arm from all communication with the rest of the Rim by seizing Bellerophon."
Scyryx spoke up. "Of course, if the Humans win, we could face some awkward consequences after the war."
Heruvycx brushed the point aside contemptuously. "At worst, we can always blame it on the 'New Hordes.' " A rumble of self-satisfied amusement ran around the table. Ultraz automatically joined in it, but with the mental reservation that they shouldn't rely on the Humans being the simpletons they seemed. Beasts were inherently unpredictable.
"And at best," Heruvycx went on, "by that time we would be in such a strong position in Treadway and beyond that the Humans wouldn't think it worth yet another war to get the Arm back. And, of course, if the newly arrived beasts end up retaining Bellerophon, the Humans will never know."
Ultraz considered. It seemed to hold up, even if Heruvycx sounded a little too much like a male overly inclined to see the bright side of his own theories. "Very well. So be it. But," he continued with the authority-reasserting look he had spent decades cultivating, "we will proceed cautiously. We will make no overt move until the newly arrived beasts seek to expand up the Arm from Bellerophon, drawing the undivided attention of the stranded Rim Human forces. Only then will we strike—and when we do, we will strike simultaneously at Tisiphone and the starless warp nexus that gives access to Treadway, thus laying the groundwork for our next advance. At the same time, we will inform the Rim and its allies—who will, of course, be unaware that any of this is happening—that we are declaring our neutrality in their war with the newcomers, and closing our borders to all combatants. This will preserve them in their state of ignorance. Is all of this clear?"
Heruvycx and the others made the abbreviated version of the submission gesture that indicated deference to superior wisdom.