The Course of Empire(155)

"Summon Kinsey," Aille commanded. "I want him to explain this to me. I think it is time I added him to my service anyway."



Yaut hesitated, his posture suggested apprehensive-doubt. "He will be very difficult to train properly. From what I have seen of him, I think he is oblivious to wrem-fa."



"I will not use him for official occasions, then. Still, he is shrewd in his own manner."



Yaut did not argue the matter further. Shortly thereafter, he returned, more-or-less herding a rumpled-looking Kinsey into the room ahead of him. The human scholar still had the look of semi-dormancy in his eyes. But he became alert quickly, once he observed the events being shown in the holo tank.



His first words were meaningless to Aille. "Jesus H. Christ." Thereafter, his speech became more coherent, although he continued to pepper his words with that same peculiar phrase. Aille was only able to grasp a portion of what he was saying, in any event.



"—called 'demonstrations,' sir—also 'rallies'—and they're an ancient human custom—"



Here came some meaningless words involving the complicated history of something called "bill of rights" and "petition in redress of grievances."



"—though this isn't that kind of rally, sir, but what you'd call a 'demonstration in support'—that's obvious not only from the banners and placards but the nature of the speeches—"



Yaut was starting to look as if he were about to apply vigorous wrem-fa, whether or not the human scholar would respond to it. He was not, in some respects, the most patient of fraghta. Aille decided to forestall him.



"Scholar Kinsey! Most of your words are sheer gibberish to me. Simply explain one thing: what is the import of all this?"



"Oh." Kinsey rubbed his face with his hand, a peculiar gesture Aille has noted before on several humans. Tentatively, he thought it was the approximate human equivalent of singleminded-concentration. "Well, sir, the gist of it is that it looks as if the human race—most of them anyway—has adopted you as their new hero. And Pluthrak as its—the word we'd probably use is 'champion' or 'party of preference,' terms which have no direct Jao analogue so far as I know."



He pointed at one of the images in the holo tank. It was that of a young human male with a strange mask on his face, covering his eyes except for slits. "But it's mostly in support of you, personally. Humans like to personify abstractions."



Aille thought back to his first time on Terra, when Aguilera had tried to explain to him why humans would give gender to weapons. "Yes, I have seen that. But how does that young human's unusual head-covering—I see many others with the same—"



Understanding came to him, in a flash. He'd seen humans with those grotesque attempts to paint vai camiti on their faces, at the reception Oppuk had given him shortly after he arrived. For a moment, anger began to suffuse him—Yaut too, judging from the angle of his ears.



He restrained the anger, remembering Wrot. And softly repeated the old bauta's words aloud, as much for Yaut's benefit as his own. "Crude and coarse Wathnak may be, young Pluthrak, but I was taught even as a crecheling that to begin by assuming disrespect is a grave offense against association."



Yaut's whiskers quivered, but then his posture also reflected his ebbing indignation. "Yes. Here too, it seems."



Aille studied the images in the holo tank, giving particular attention to the human script on the multitude of banners and placards being carried in the demonstrations and rallies. Most of them were variations on the themes of "We Want Pluthrak"—that was clear enough—but there were also a number of inscriptions urging a long life upon Aille.



Bizarre, those were. A being lived as long as he or she did. Pure mysticism to think otherwise. What was important was to live with honor, and die well.



Still, he understood that the sentiment involved was favorable, however superstitiously worded. What disturbed him, however, were the large number of inscriptions which proffered great insult to Narvo. Some of them, he was quite sure, were outright curses.



"That must cease," he stated firmly. To one of the Jao techs: "I need to speak with Stockwell. The father, not the member of my service."



The techs were efficient. Very shortly, the image of the human administrator floated in the holo tanks. After Aille explained what he wanted, Stockwell's expression seemed dubious.



"I'll do what I can, sir, but I really don't control these demonstrations and rallies and marches. What you're seeing is pretty much a spontaneous outburst—all over the world, not just here in North America—in which twenty years of anger is erupting. Fortunately, most of it seems to have channeled into support for Pluthrak, and yourself. But the hatred for Oppuk, and all things Narvo, is by now bred into the bone on this planet."