The Course of Empire(85)
He looked at Aguilera. The older human was stalwart, he thought, and not given to pointless resentments. "Is this true, what he says?
Aguilera glanced at Tully, his lips twisted in what Aille thought was a human way of indicating sourness. But, after a moment, he nodded.
"Pretty much, sir. Tully's exaggerating, like he always does. Nath's always been straight with us. A couple of the other supervisors. Chul krinnu ava Monat. A number of the guards on the base in Pascagoula, too. But . . . yes. That's usually how it is. When a human deals with most Jao, it's always risky to tell them what they don't want to hear."
Aille and Yaut stared at each other. The fraghta's ears were now flat with indignation-at-others, rather than direct-anger.
"Sixty seconds until we lift," came a male voice over the intercom. A warning rumble of engines vibrated through the walls. "Please be sure seat harnesses are locked and all personal items have been stowed for the duration of the flight."
Aille and Yaut took their seats, in front of Tully and Aguilera. The Subcommandant stared out the window.
"You were right."
Yaut grunted. "Not right enough. This is much worse than I thought. The humans even have an expression for it, like they do for so many madnesses. They call it 'killing the messenger.' "
Aille swiveled his head to look at him. "Explain."
"It means exactly what it says. Apparently it is human custom—often enough, at least—to punish the one who conveys unpleasant information. Sometimes even put them down for it."
The transport began lifting from the ground. Gazing down at the land, as it receded, Aille could think of nothing but a vast, pustulent disease. Even the few traces of water seemed like nothing more than open sores.
"Narvo has gone native here," Yaut said softly. "I could see it in many of the lowest, but now I see it in the highest also."
Aille began to nod, until he realized what he was about to do. Adopting a human custom as well, going native himself.
But then, after considering the matter, he allowed the nod to proceed. And, to his great relief—and satisfaction—saw Yaut return it with one of his own.
For this, a fraghta could always be trusted. Aille was not violating custom, but following it. So spoke the wisdom of Pluthrak. Association was never to be feared, so long as it was done well and properly.
Narvo had not done so. Narvo had failed in its duty—as miserably, Aille now thought, as any kochan ever had. And, worse yet, had compounded the error by trying to conceal it, leaving error to fester unseen.
The result was inevitable. Association was happening, naturally, as it always did. But it was a disease, here, not a source of strength. Human failings, adopted by their conquerors while they thrust aside everything else. Like shoots, springing up everywhere. The revenge of a race that had been beaten—beaten and beaten again—but never conquered.
How could they be? Association was the only true conquest. That, too, had been one of the earliest lessons Aille could remember. He could still remember the expression on Brem's face when he first spoke that truth to the attentive crechelings.
It had immediately been so blindingly obvious to Aille, even as a crecheling. Had he not already, by then, risen to preeminence among his clutch-kin? By exceeding them, to be sure—but never by pushing them aside, much less driving them under. He rose with them, never against them. Helping them up, as he rose, so that they would support him.
How could it have happened? he wondered.
* * *
By the end of the flight, he thought he knew. Narvo was a blessing to the Jao, in so many ways. The mightiest of the kochan, always the fiercest in battle, always the strongest in victory, always the most stalwart in defeat.
Pluthrak appreciated that, and was regretful that Narvo had always refused their many approaches. But Pluthrak was Pluthrak because it never forgot that strength had its own dangers.
When the aircraft landed, Aille arose. "Subtle as a Pluthrak," he murmured, as much to himself as Yaut.
"Yes," said the fraghta. "There will be no association until Narvo is brought down here. That is now clear. The battle must be joined."
* * *
Aille began the battle, in the small way immediately available.
He stopped Tully and Aguilera with a gesture, as they rose to precede him.
"I will punish you for disrespect, dishonor, or disloyalty. For speaking truth as you see it, never."
The humans stared at him. Aguilera nodded at once. Tully, after a moment, looked aside.
Two victories, then. Small ones, to be sure. Victories, still.
Chapter 19
Caitlin found the Oregon coast refreshing after the stultifying heat of Oklahoma in August. She stood on the edge of a cliff and gazed down at the white-capped waves whipping themselves to froth on the black rocks below. At her feet, a rickety wooden stairway zigzagged down to the postage-stamp of a beach. The wind battered her face with cool spray and tousled her cropped hair.