The Candle of Distant Earth (14 page)

The rendering of the Commitment was no small matter. Having been conquered, Ki-ru-vad knew that he and his kind had no choice in the matter. But one could hope for a respectable recipient. Ki-ru-vad studied the human intently. Appearance-wise, the creature was certainly an improvement over the inoffensive Hyfft. While not as tall as the Niyyuu who had done the actual fighting against his kind, the nearly hairless biped was considerably broader and presumably more muscular. Its eyes bespoke a certain intelligence, though less so than the slick-skinned decapod that spread out across the floor behind it. Most promising of all was the tentacled monster that loomed impressively over every other sentient in the room.

But it was the biped that the Hyfft and a Niyyuuan officer had urged forward.

“Wait a minute,” Walker protested. What was happening here? “What's going on? What's this all about?” His questions ceased when Ki-ru-vad raised his right side and took a heavy, ceremonial step toward him.

The top of the defeated alien's slim skull came up to the level of the human's chest. Extending its short arms, the Illoth turned them bony side down in a gesture that meant nothing to Walker. One massive foot slid forward, to slide atop the commodities trader's right foot. At that, each of the three members of his caste who accompanied him raised a right foot and placed it behind their neck, balancing easily on their other broad foot. Walker's translator received the alien's words as Niyyuuan speech and efficiently translated them into English.

“Know, all present, that we of the dominion caste, and those of all the lower castes aboard the Five, do thus offer fealty to the architect of our defeat.”

Walker swallowed hard. “Excuse me?”

Wide, powerful feet returned to the floor. Ki-ru-vad slipped his own off of Walker's. The alien's foot had not pressed down hard, but neither did it exhibit the disgustingly gracile touch of the Hyfft, either.

“We are yours,” the Iollth repeated more succinctly. “All castes, all ships. This is the might of the Commitment. So it has been since the beginnings of Iollth civilization. So it will be until the last of my people breathe their last.”

“No. Oh no.” Backing up, Walker waved both hands, palms outward, at the alien. Ki-ru-vad strove mightily to grasp the meaning of the energetic but incomprehensible gesture. “We don't want that.
I
don't want that. There's been some mistake.”

Next to him, an amused George was slowly shaking his head from side to side. “You make a decent cook, Marc, but a lousy pack leader.” He grinned, showing white teeth. “I guess the Niyyuu don't want the responsibility, either. Gerlla-hyn and his staff must have fingered you once again as the titular leader of the expedition. Carrying that logic to its conclusion, I guess that makes you the ultimate ‘architect' of the defeat of the Iollth.”

A glance at the small group of Niyyuuan officers confirmed the dog's assessment. Dazed, Walker turned to his other companions. “I can't do this. I can't be expected to do this. I'm already in over my head with the Niyyuu. Braouk, maybe if you…?”

With a shifting of his lower limbs, the huge Tuuqalian turned his dorsal side on the human—though both eyes, on the ends of their stalks, continued to gaze back at him.

“Not for me, the command of others, for fighting. I am a gentle singer of songs, reciter of sagas, lover of the open plains profound. Better for you, manipulator of clever schemes, to lead.”

Desperately, Walker tried another approach. “Listen to me, you puerile purveyor of punk poetry! You're the toughest fighter among us, worth more on the battlefield than any fifty humans
or
Niyyuu. I've seen what you can do, everyone has, and it makes you the master of throwing more than words around! It's your chance to use your true natural abilities, to direct others, to—”

Pivoting on four massive lower tentacles, the Tuuqalian thrust both eyestalks toward Walker so sharply that the human nearly stumbled backward. Even George flinched.

“Not this time, will you incite me, with taunting. We are not now on board the Vilenjji ship, surrounded by captors I was delighted to dismember.” A huge tentacle wagged knowingly at Walker. “I am on to you, cunning human.” Strong enough to rip off one of Walker's arms, or his head, a second upper tentacle reached toward him—to allow the sensitive tip to stroke the tense commodities trader's right shoulder and drag lightly across his chest.

“You are my friend, Marcus Walker. We have been, through very much together, we two. But in your anxiety you forget that my size and strength does not make me stupid.” Withdrawing, the tentacle joined the other on Braouk's right side to wave in the direction of the patiently waiting Iollth.

“These have pledged themselves to you, according to their own custom. Such traditions are no less legitimate than those of my own people. Or those of the Niyyuu, who have done the same.” One eye dipped so close that Walker could study his own reflection in the perfectly spherical ocular. “Our objective here, for all of us, is home-going. If that means that you must show the way for Iollth as well as for Niyyuu, it must be so. Accept this new burden with the grace and skill of which I know you are capable, Marcus Walker.” The eye retracted. “And maybe later, you can make dinner, for all.”

Rebuffed by the Tuuqalian, a troubled Walker turned to the K'eremu. Raising several tentacles of her own, Sque forestalled him. From the center of her body, her pinkish speaking tube danced as she spoke.

“I anticipate what you are about to say, friend Marc. That as your intellectual and moral superior, I should be the one to assume this obligation. That, there being no comparison between your level of native intelligence and mine, I should be the one to assume the onus of command of these rapacious but conciliatory folk. That given your inborn obtuseness and ignorance, I should—”

He interrupted dryly. “Granting for a moment the validity of the never-ending comparisons between your species abilities and mine, Sque—how about it?”

Silvery eyes regarded him unblinkingly. “I wouldn't think of challenging you for command, Marc. You are clearly the one best suited to stand in the line of fire and—wait, allow me to rephrase. You are the designated nominal commander of our expedition. It's only right and proper that you ultimately give direction to these simple folk as well as to our humble friends the Niyyuu.” A tentacle wiped meaningfully at one eye. “As ever, I shall be available to offer constructive advice, should you have the sagacity to seek it.”

As a last hope, Walker turned to George. Except that George was no longer lingering in the vicinity of his feet. The dog had wandered off and was conversing with the astronomer Ussakk. Seeing Walker staring at him, George raised one paw and waved cheerily.

Ki-ru-vad took a step forward—which, given the size of Iollth feet, constituted no small advance. “You
must
do this thing, Marcus Walker. It has been true throughout the modern history of the Iollth that those who are strong enough to defeat us inevitably lead the defeated on to greater glory and triumph.”

“That'd be you, I reckon,” observed George, who had trotted back to rejoin his companion. “Or you could offer to lead them to the food synthesizers, though I expect when Ki-ru-vad here speaks of ‘greater glory,' he's thinking of something on a somewhat more meaningful scale.” Walker glared down at the dog, then turned back to the expectant Iollth officer.

“What if I say no? What if I simply refuse? Won't you go on as you have before—taking your new treaty with the Hyfft into account, of course?”

A small hand executed a gesture Walker could not interpret. The eyes of the Iollth had turned, of all things, limpid.

Surely, an aghast Walker told himself, this leader of murdering invaders, this representative of a species of raiding, killing sentients, was not going to stand before him and cry?

Ki-ru-vad did not. But his reply was undeniably impassioned. “You and your allies have beaten us. We cannot return thus to Ioll. The shame would require that we step, one by one, every member of every caste, naked into the space through which we traveled. Some new victory, however modest, must first accrue to us before we can go home.” Though the squat, powerful form straightened, the head of the Iollth still reached no higher than Walker's neck.

“You have to understand, Marcus Walker, that this is how it has always been for the Iollth. You are not of any caste, so your defeat of us carries with it no permanent stain. It is only the weight of the downfall we must remove. This can only be done by replacing loss with triumph, and this must be initiated by the conquerors themselves.”

“You again,” George reminded his friend helpfully.

“I'm not a conqueror,” a frustrated Walker protested firmly. “I'm a cook. And a commodities trader.”

“A trader!” The revelation (though Walker felt it to be more of a confession) seemed to please Ki-ru-vad. “Then you must understand what is at stake here, and how it must be resolved. Defeat
must
be replaced by triumph. You are not in the forefront: you are in the middle. A trader true. An honest broker of downfall and resolution.” One foot rose up toward him. Sensing that some sort of response was in order and not knowing what else to do, Walker reached down and grabbed the foot. The material of the slipper-like covering was sandpapery rough. The alien sustained the one-foot-in-the-air pose seemingly without effort.

“You accept.”

“No, wait,” Walker began again. But Ki-ru-vad had already lowered his right foot.

“It is done. The Commitment has been bestowed.” While Walker sought urgently for a way to object further, the Iollth was already speaking into his communicator. Next to him, his three companions had raised their own right feet and were showing the fabric-clad soles to Walker and his friends. A salute, a gesture of fealty, a sign of acquiescence—he had no way of knowing the deeper meaning of the dramatic podal gesture. In fact, he was increasingly certain of only one thing.

He was stuck with it.

Feeling a demand for attention at his left leg, he gazed morosely down at where George was pawing his knee. “Congratulations, Marc.”

The trader-chef-conqueror sighed heavily. “What am I going to do? I can't even call in to a radio talk show for ideas.”

“Don't panic. You've got us.” The dog nodded in the direction of the meditating Braouk and the quietly satisfied Sque. “You've got me. We helped you deal with the Niyyuu. We'll help you deal with these turnip-shaped assassins as well.” His ears drooped slightly. “I'm not sure any of this will help us get any closer to home, but I am sure of one thing.”

Kneeling, an unhappy but increasingly resigned Walker began stroking George's head, front to back. It was debatable whether the action made the dog or himself feel better. “Nice to know somebody's sure of something. What is it?”

Turning his head, but no so far that it moved out from beneath Walker's massaging hand, the dog indicated the gathering of alien beings that surrounded them: resourceful Hyfft, war-loving Niyyuu, ferocious Iollth.

“Wherever we go from here, we're a lot less likely to be picked on.”

Sharing similar martial philosophies, if not predatory behavior, the Niyyuu accepted the presence of the five Iollth ships far more readily than Walker had their overall command. Of course, it was Gerlla-hyn and his staff who were actually in charge of the practicalities of integrating the Iollth force and coordinating their movements with their own. Walker's “command” was a useful fiction. As interaction and exchange increased, the Iollth became aware that the human was at once more and less than he seemed. But if the Niyyuu, whose skill and tactics had actually defeated them, were willing to accept the strangely hesitant biped as their ostensible leader, the Iollth were more than willing to go along.

The Niyyuuan ship that had become home to Walker and his friends was once more speeding through the interstellar realm by means he still could not fathom. Or rather, the fleet was. Did eight ships constitute a fleet? What would the enlightened Sessrimathe have thought had they been able to see the four oddly-paired former abductees now? For that matter, he mused, what would his friends and coworkers back home think?

Don't get carried away, now,
he warned himself.
You're only the “nominal” leader of this escalating force. Gerlla-hyn is really the leader of the Niyyuu, and Ki-ru-vad's caste is in charge of his people. You're no more than a figurehead.

A figurehead who was listened to, however.

He wasn't worried about losing perspective. To dominate, to rule, one had to want to do so. He wanted exactly the opposite. This invented command had been forced on him. He'd only taken it on, twice now, to mollify others, to satisfy their cultural needs.

After all, as Sobj-oes had explained it to him once she and the rest of the Niyyuu had been informed of the turn events had taken, the Iollth were a space-going species just like the Niyyuu, or the Sessrimathe, or many others. They had traditions deserving of respect, even if the manner in which their traditions were sometimes executed were to be deplored.