The Course of Empire(118)

It was an invitation, only, since it could be nothing else. Alongside his many bars of service, Wrot had the mark of retirement carved on his cheek also—the bauta, as it was called. The term derived from bau, and indicated a life completed to the satisfaction of both kochan and Naukra.



For Jao, the status and the cheek mark was voluntary. Most chose never to take it, even when so entitled—Yaut had not, for instance, though he certainly could—because it removed all automatic associations, even kochan. An individual who chose the bauta thereby chose to spend what remained of his life however he wished. Great freedom, yes, because no one could any longer command him. But also, for most Jao, a life too lonely and dissociated to be enjoyable.



Wrot glanced aside at Kralik, who was bleeding from the small wound he'd received earlier with almost Jao stoicism. "I heard you have taken more than one human into your service," he said.



Was that disapproval canting those bedraggled ears? "I have," Aille said. "How else am I to understand this world and make myself of use?"



"Quite right," Wrot said, "and very sensible for one of your youth. More sensible than that arrogant imbecile Narvo sent here to be Governor, for a certainty. It would be an honor to serve Pluthrak."



"Welcome to my service, then," Aille said, his angles set in respectful-welcome. "You do me and Pluthrak honor."



Which was true, of course. Rarely did a bauta accept personal service. But Aille made a mental note not to use Wrot for delicate negotiations. Whatever the old bauta's skills and abilities—which must be great, or Yaut would not be looking so pleased—tact was clearly not one of them.

* * *



"You enjoy the company of humans?" Aille asked



"Oh, yes," Wrot replied. "Not that they don't often aggravate me. But they are a more clever people than we, and I enjoy cleverness. And at my age—especially being Hemm, which humans would call 'stick-in-the-muds'—and having spent a life on campaign, I find my current existence on Terra endlessly interesting. Humans have more ways to divert and entertain themselves than you can imagine, and I enjoy many of them. They have a saying for that too, of course. I think they have a saying for everything. 'How are you going to keep them down on the farm, once they've been to Gay Paree'?"



The saying meant absolutely nothing to Aille, but it seemed to amuse the veteran.



"Surely you cannot spend all your time engaged in human diversions?"



"Of course not. Most of them are sheer silliness. What they call team sports, I can understand—I actually enjoy 'football,' although they won't let me play—but why would anyone not insane choose to climb a rock cliff? And most of what they call 'music' and 'art' is awful stuff. Sheer cacophony, painful to the ears, or witless daubs of pigments scattered across a surface to no conceivable purpose. Mind you, many humans share my opinion also."



His ears flattened with amusement. "No, I mainly occupy myself by teaching. And studying."



"Teaching?" Aille was puzzled. Retired members of a kochan were often used as instructors, of course, the best of them elevated to fraghta. But, in the nature of things, a bauta had no further obligations to their kochan. "Teach who? And what?"



For a moment, there was a trace of abashed-awkwardness in Wrot's posture. "I teach humans. There is an institute of instruction in Portland—what humans call a 'university.' Since they have no proper kochan, humans substitute these institutes for the purpose of educating their most promising crechelings. This one is small, but very old and prestigious. They call it 'Reed College.' Not long after I set up residence in Portland, some of their elders approached me—very diffidently, ha!—and asked me if I would be willing to instruct their crechelings in our language."



Aille and Yaut stared at each other, both dumbfounded. Aille himself, namth camiti of great Pluthrak, had only invited Wrot to join his personal service with considerable diffidence. That a kochan-less gaggle of humans would have the audacity to so approach a bauta . . .



Wrot stroked the bauta on his cheek. "Crude and coarse Hemm may be, young Pluthrak, but I was taught even as a crecheling that to begin by assuming disrespect is a grave offense against association."



Aille had been taught the same thing. But he realized now, more fully than he ever had before, the difference between formal instruction and body-learning. This old bauta was wise with wrem-fa, because he had not wasted his life.



"Instruct me," he murmured.



Wrot was still stroking the mark. "They intended no offense, nor disrespect. By their customs, it was an honor. I took it so, and was intrigued by the idea. So, I accepted—and have not regretted doing so, since. Human crechelings can be quite charming, some of them, and all of them are at least interesting from time to time. They are even more adept than Jao crechelings at getting themselves into complicated little troubles. What humans call 'a pickle.' "