The Suzerain danced a dance of anger and frustration. It muttered short, sharp imprecations.

Curse the devil-trickster Tymbrimi! In retrospect, the very idea of "Garthlings"-native pre-sentients that survived the Holocaust of the Bururalli-was absurd. And yet the trail of false evidence had been so startlingly plausible, so striking in its implied opportunity!

The Suzerain of Propriety had begun this expedition in a lead position. Its place in the eventual Molt had seemed a.s.sured after the untimely demise of the first Suzerain of Cost and Caution.

But all that changed when no Garthlings were found -- when it became clear just how thoroughly Propriety had been tricked. Failure to find evidence of human misuse of Garth or their clients meant that the Suzerain still had not yet set foot upon the soil of this planet. That, in turn, had r.e.t.a.r.ded the development of completion hormones. All of these factors were setbacks, throwing the Molt into serious doubt.

Then, insurrection among the neo-chimpanzees helped bring the military to the fore. Now the Suzerain of Beam and Talon was rapidly growing preeminent, unstoppable.

The coming Molt filled the Suzerain of Propriety with foreboding. Such events were supposed to be triumphant, transcendent, even for the losers. Moltings were times of renewal and s.e.xual fulfillment for the race. They were also supposed to represent crystallization of policy-consensus on correct action.

This time, however, there was little or no consensus. Something was very wrong, indeed, about this molting.

The only thing all three Suzerains were in agreement about was that the hypers.p.a.ce shunt must be used for some sort of Uplift ceremony. To do otherwise would be suicidal at this point. But beyond that they parted company. Their incessant arguing had begun affecting the entire expedition. The more religious Talon Soldiers had taken to bickering with their comrades. Bureaucrats who were retired soldiers sided with their former comrades over logistical expenditures, or turned sullen when their chief overruled them. Even among the priesthood there were frequent arguments where there should already be unanimity.

The priest had just recently discovered what factionalism could do. The divisiveness had gone all the way to the point of betrayal! Why else had one of its two race-leader chimpanzees been stolen?

Now the Suzerain of Cost and Caution was insisting on a role in choosing the new male. No doubt the bureaucrat was responsible for the "escape" of the Fiben Bolger chimp in the first place! Such a promising creature it had been! By now it no doubt had been converted to vapor and ashes.

There would be no way to pin this on either of the rival Suzerains, of course.

A Kwackoo servitor approached and knelt, proffering a data cube in its beak. Given a.s.sent, it popped the record into a player unit.

The room dimmed and the Suzerain of Propriety watched a camera's-eye view of driving rain and darkness. It shivered involuntarily, disliking the ugly, dank dinginess of a wolfling town.

The view panned over a muddy patch in a dark alley . . . a broken shack made of wire and wood, where Terran birds had been kept as pets ... a pile of soggy clothing beside a padlocked factory . . . footprints leading to a churned up field of mud beside a bent and battered fence . . . more footprints leading off into the dim wilderness. . . .

The implications were apparent to the Suzerain before the investigators' report reached its conclusion.

The male neo-chimpanzee had perceived the trap set for it! It appeared to have made good its escape!

The Suzerain danced upon its perch, a series of mincing steps of ancient lineage.

"The harm, damage, setback to our program is severe.

But it is not, may not be irreparable!"

At a gesture its Kwackoo followers hurried forward. The Suzerain's first command was straightforward. - "We must increase, improve, enhance our commitment, our incentives.

Inform the female that we agree, accept, acquiesce to her request.

"She may go to the Library."

The servitor bowed, and the other Kwackoo crooned. "Zoooon!"

69 Government in Exile The holo-tank cleared as the interstellar message ran to its end. When the lights came on, the Council members looked at each other in puzzlement. "What. . . what does it mean?" Colonel Maiven asked.

"I'm not sure," said Commander Kylie. "But it's clear the Gubru are up to something."

Refuge Administrator Mu Chen drummed her fingers on the table. "They appeared to be officials from the Uplift Inst.i.tute. It seems to mean the invaders are planning some sort of Uplift ceremony, and have invited witnesses."

That much is obvious, Megan thought. "Do you think this has anything to do with that mysterious construction south of Port Helenia?" she asked. The site had been a topic of much discussion lately.

Colonel Maiven nodded. "I had been reluctant to admit the possibility before, but now I'd have to say so."

The chim member spoke. "Why would they want to hold an Uplift ceremony for the Kwackoo here on Garth? It doesn't make sense. Would that improve their claim on our leasehold?"

"I doubt it," Megan said. "Maybe . . . maybe it isn't for the Kwackoo at all."

"But then for who?"

Megan shrugged. Kylie commented. "The Uplift Inst.i.tute officials appear to be in the dark as well."

There was a long silence. Then Kylie broke it again.

"How significant do you think it is that the spokesman was human?"

Megan smiled. "Obviously it was meant as a dig at the Gubru. That man might have been no more than a junior clerk trainee at the local Uplift Inst.i.tute branch. Putting him out in front of Pila and Z'Tang and Serentini means Earth isn't finished yet. And certain powers want to point that out to the Gubru."

"Hm. Pila. They're tough customers, and members of the Soro clan. Having a human spokesman might be an insult to the Gubru, but it's no guarantee Earth is okay."

Megan understood what Kylie meant. If the Soro now dominated Earths.p.a.ce, there were rough times ahead.

Again, another long silence. Then Colonel Maiven spoke.

"They mentioned a hypers.p.a.ce shunt. Those are expensive. The Gubru must set great store by this ceremony thing."

Indeed, Megan thought, knowing that a motion had been put before the Council. And this time she realized that it would be hard to justify holding to Uthacalthing's advice.

"You are suggesting a target, colonel?"

"I sure am, madam coordinator." Maiven sat up and met her eyes. "I think this is the opportunity we've been waiting for."

There were nods of agreement up and down the table. They are voting out of boredom, and frustration, and sheer cabin fever, Megan knew. And yet, is this not a golden chance, to be seized or lost forever?

"We cannot attack once the emissaries from the Uplift Inst.i.tute have arrived," she emphasized, and saw that everybody understood how important that was. "However, I agree that there may be a window of opportunity during which a strike could be made."

Consensus was obvious. In a corner of her mind, Megan felt there really ought to be more discussion. But she, too, was near filled to bursting with impatience.

"We shall cut new orders to Major Prathachulthorn then. He shall receive carte blanche, subject only to, the condition that any attack be completed by November first. Is it agreed?"

A simple raising of hands. Commander Kylie hesitated, then joined in to make it unanimous.

We are committed, Megan thought. And she wondered if h.e.l.l reserved a special place for mothers who send their own sons into battle.

70 Robert She didn't have to go away, did she? I mean she herself said it was all right.

Robert rubbed his stubbled chin. He thought about taking a shower and shaving. Major Prathachulthorn would be calling a meeting sometime after it reached full light, and the commander liked to see his officers well groomed.

What I really should be doing is sleeping, Robert knew. They had just finished a whole series of night exercises. It would be wise to catch up on his rest.

And yet, after a couple of hours of fitful slumber he had found himself too nervous, too full of restless energy to stay in bed any longer. He had risen and gone to his small desk, setting up the datawell so its light would not disturb the chamber's other occupant. For some time he read through Major Prathachulthorn's detailed order of battle.

It was ingenious, professional. The various options appeared to offer a number of efficient" ways to use limited forces to strike the enemy, and strike Rim hard. All that remained was choosing the right target. There were several choices available, any of which ought to do.

Still, something about the entire edifice struck Robert as wrong. The doc.u.ment did not increase his confidence, as he had hoped it would. In the s.p.a.ce over his head Robert almost imagined something taking form-something faintly akin to the dark clouds that had shrouded the mountains in storms so recently-a symbolic manifestation of his unease.

Across the little chamber a form moved under the blankets. One slender arm lay exposed, and a smooth length of calf and thigh.

Robert concentrated and erased the nonthing that he had been forming with his simple aura-power. It had begun affecting Lydia's dreams, and it wouldn't be fair to inflict his own turmoil upon her. For all of their recent physical intimacy, they were still in many ways strangers.

Robert reminded himself that there were some positive aspects to the last few days. The battle plan, for instance, showed that Prathachulthorn was at last taking some of his ideas seriously. And spending time with Lydia had brought more than physical pleasure. Robert had not realized how much he missed the simple touch of his own kind. Humans might be able to withstand isolation better than chims-who could fall into deep depression if they lacked a grooming partner for very long. But mel and fern humans, too, had their apelike needs.

Still, Robert's thoughts kept drifting. Even during his most pa.s.sionate moments with Lydia, he kept thinking of somebody else.

Did she really have to leave? Logically there was no reason to have to go to Mount Fossey. The gorillas were already well cared for.

Of course, the gorillas might have been just an excuse. An excuse to escape the disapproving aura of Major Prathachulthorn. An excuse to avoid the sparking discharges from human pa.s.sion.

Athaclena might be correct that there was nothing wrong with Robert seeking his own kind. But logic was not everything. She had feelings, too. Young and alone, she could be hurt even by what she knew to be right.

"d.a.m.n!" Robert muttered. Prathachulthorn's words and graphs were a blur. "d.a.m.n, I miss her."

There was a commotion outside, beyond the flap of cloth that sectioned off this chamber from the rest of the caves. Robert looked at his watch. It was still only four a.m. He stood up and gathered his trousers. Any unplanned excitement at this hour was likely to be bad news. Just because the enemy had been quiet for a month did not mean it had to stay that way. Perhaps the Gubru had gotten wind of their plans and were striking preemptively!

There was the slap of unshod feet upon stone. "Capt'n Oneagle?" a voice said from just beyond the cloth. Robert strode over and pulled it aside. A winded chim messenger breathed heavily. "What's happening?" Robert asked.

"Urn, sir, you'd better come quick."

"All right. Let me get my weapons."

The chim shook her head. "It's not fighting, sir. It's . . . it's some chims just arrivin' from Port Helenia."

Robert frowned. New recruits from town had been arriving in small groups all along. What was all the excitement about this time? He heard Lydia stir as the talking disturbed her sleep. "Fine," he told the chimmie. "We'll interview them a little later-"

She interrupted. "Sir! It's Fiben! Fiben Bolger, sir. He's come back."

Robert blinked. "What?"

There was movement behind him. "Rob?" a feminine voice spoke. "What is-"

Robert whooped. His shout reverberated in the closed s.p.a.ces. He hugged and kissed the surprised chimmie, then caught up Lydia and tossed her lightly into the air.

"What . . . ?" she started to ask, then stopped, for she found herself addressing only the empty s.p.a.ce where he had been.

Actually, there was little need to hurry. Fiben and his escorts were still some distance away. By the time their horses could be seen, puffing up the trail from the north, Lydia had dressed and joined Robert up on the escarpment. There dawn's gray light was just driving out the last wan stars.

"Everybody's up," Lydia commented. "They even roused the major. Chims are dashing all over the place, jabbering in excitement. This must be some chen we're waiting for."

"Fiben?" Robert laughed. He blew into his hands. "Yeah, you might say old Fiben's unusual."

"I gathered as much." She shaded her eyes against the glow to the east and watched the mounted party pa.s.s a switchback climbing the narrow trail. "Is he the one in the bandages?"

"Hm?" Robert squinted. Lydia's eyesight had been bio-organically enhanced during her Marine training. He was envious. "It wouldn't surprise me. Fiben's always getting banged up, one way or another. Claims he hates it. Says it's all due to'innate clumsiness and a universe that has it in for him, but I've always suspected it was an affinity for trouble. Never known a chim who went to such lengths just to get a story to tell."

In a minute he could make out the features of his friend. He shouted and raised his hand. Fiben grinned and waved back, although his left arm was immobilized in a sling. Next to him, on a pale mare, rode a chimmie Robert did not recognize.

A messenger arrived from the cave entrance and saluted. "Sers, the major requests that you an' Lieutenant Bolger come down just as soon's he's here."

Robert nodded. "Please tell Major Prathachulthorn we'll be right there."

As the horses climbed the last switchback, Lydia slipped her hand into his, and Robert felt a sudden wave of both gladness and guilt. He squeezed back and tried not to let his ambivalence show.

Fiben's alive! he thought. I must get word to Athaclena. I'm'sure she'll be thrilled.

Major Prathachulthorn had a nervous habit of tugging at one ear or the other. While listening to reports from his subordinates, he would shift in his chair, occasionally leaning over to mumble into his datawell, retrieving some quick dollop of information. At such times he might seem distracted, but if the speaker stopped talking, or even slowed down, the major would snap his fingers, impatiently. Apparently, Prathachulthorn had a quick mind and was able to juggle several tasks at once. However, these behaviors were very hard on some of the chims, often making them nervous and tongue-tied. That, in turn, did not improve the major's opinion of the irregulars that had only recently been under Robert's and Athaclena's command.

In Fiben's case, though, this was no problem. As long as he was kept supplied with orange juice, he kept on with his story. Even Prathachulthorn, who usually interrupted reports with frequent questions, probing mercilessly for details, sat silently through the tale of the disastrous valley insurrection, Fiben's subsequent capture, the interviews and tests by the followers of the Suzerain of Propriety, and the theories of Dr. Gailet Jones.

. Now and then Robert glanced at the chimmie Fiben had brought with him from Port Helenia. Sylvie sat to one side, between the chims Benjamin and Elsie, her posture erect and her expression composed. Occasionally, when asked to verify or elaborate on something, she answered in a quiet voice. Otherwise, her gaze remained on Fiben constantly.

Fiben carefully described the political situation among the Gubru, as he understood it. When he came to the evening of the escape, he told of the trap that had been laid by the "Suzerain of Cost and Caution," and concluded simply by saying, "So we decided, Sylvie and I, that we'd better exit Port Helenia by a different route than by sea." He shrugged. "We got out through a gap in the fence and finally made it to a rebel outpost. So here we are."

Right! Robert thought sardonically. Of course Fiben had left out any mention of his injuries and exactly how he escaped. He would no doubt fill in the details in his written report to the major, but anyone else would have to bribe them out of him.

Robert saw Fiben glance his way and wink. I'd bet this is at least a five-beer tale, Robert thought.

Prathachulthorn leaned forward. "You say that you actually saw this hypers.p.a.ce shunt? You know exactly where it is located?"

"I was trained as a scout, major. I know where it is. I'll include a map, and a sketch of the facility, in my written report."

Prathachulthorn nodded. "If I had not already had other reports of this thing I'd never have credited this story. As it is though, I am forced to believe you. You say this facility is expensive, even by Gubru standards?"

"Yessir. That's what Gailet and I came to believe. Think about it. Humans have only been able to throw one Uplift ceremony for each of their clients in all the years since Contact, and both had to be held on Tymbrim. That's why other clients Me the Kwackoo can get away with snubbing us.

"Part of the reason has been political obstruction by antagonistic clans like the Gubru and the Soro, who've been able to drag out Terran applications for status. But another reason is because we're so frightfully poor, by Galactic standards."

Fiben had been learning things, obviously. Robert realized part of it must have been picked up from this Gailet Jones person. With his heightened empathy sense, he picked up faint tremors from his friend whenever her name came up.

Robert glanced at Sylvie. Hmm. Life seems to have grown complicated for Fiben.

That reminded Robert of his own situation, of course. Fiben isn't the only one, he thought. All his life he had wanted to learn to be more sensitive, to better understand others and his own feelings. Now he had his wish, and he hated it.

"By Darwin, Goodall, and Greenpeace!" Prathachulthorn pounded the table. "Mr. Bolger, you bring your news at a most opportune time!" He turned to address Lydia and Robert. "Do you know what this means, gentlemen?"

"Um," Robert began.

"A target, sir," Lydia answered succinctly.