The Devil's Eye

THIRTY-SIX

Giambrey was the only professional diplomat among us. He was accustomed to waiting upon the pleasure of whoever was in power. And of course, to him, Kassel was a representative of that power. Alex also understood the need for patience. As, I assume, did Circe. But to me, he was still simply good old Kassel. So, just as we were preparing to enter our suites, I broke protocol and asked when we'd get to see the Chief Minister. "Time is critical," I added. The reader will have understood by now that actually speaking in the presence of an Ashiyyurean was not necessary, save to let other people follow the conversation. Nevertheless, those Mutes who understood how to communicate with us were aware that, even in a one-on-one, it was smart to let us actually give voice to our thoughts. "For humans," Selotta had told me once, "the voice is more significant than the brain. How could it be otherwise?" She'd shown her diplomatic side by observing that I was, of course, an exception. "We are quite aware of the urgency," Kassel said, in unusually formal language. "The Chief Minister has arranged for you to speak to the Secretary of Naval Affairs tomorrow morning." Giambrey seemed satisfied with the answer, though he glanced my way to signal me to stay out of it. Nothing further of consequence was discussed other than where and when we'd handle dinner. "It would be best," Kassel added, "if I come and collect everyone. You don't really need an escort. But it might save confusion."

The city was a collection of spires, spheres, pyramids, and polyhedrons laid out with artistic precision. I don't want to imply that it was by any means symmetrical, but rather an exercise in architectural harmony. A dominant tower in the north is set off by a pair of globes to the south. Pyramids are laid out in sets of two and three, the whole connected by a tapestry of illuminated polygons and skyways. We descended through a heavy rainstorm onto a landing pad, took an elevator down a few floors, and were ushered into a private dining room high over the city. Back home, allowing a delegation from a chief executive to dine with only a small-city mayor present, would have been a major insult. And I saw Giambrey's features harden as we sat down at the table that had been prepared for us, and nobody else showed up. "It's not as you think," said Kassel, softly. "We have no need of ceremony. No use for it, in fact." He put his menu on the table and tried to smile. "Our communication is more direct." He kept the voice box volume low. I caught a flicker of amusement in Circe's eyes. She leaned over, and whispered to me, "Just as well." "You're not big on ceremony either?" "Chase, with these people, you're up there doing a ceremony, and you don't have any clothes." Kassel bowed in her direction. "I believe, Doctor," he said, "it is one of your own who described the beginning of wisdom as knowing yourself." "Ceremonies celebrate achievement," she said. "But they also conceal things." Kassel did his smile. "Exactly," he said. He'd found a soul mate. He did a quick translation of the menu. This dish tastes somewhat like fried chicken. That is comparable to a steak salad. Avoid this group here, which your system will find indigestible. On the whole, the food was edible, and some of it actually had an agreeable flavor. It wasn't anything I'd serve to houseguests, but I don't think the Ashiyyur have bread or tomatoes or most of the other delicacies that form an integral part of the human diet. Kassel tried to apologize. "I understand they've known for two weeks that you were coming," he said. "Unfortunately, they turned it over to me at the last minute. There was no time-" "It's okay, Kassel," said Giambrey. "It's the company that matters." Kassel looked at me with a glint in his eyes. Giambrey had forgotten that his host knew exactly what he was thinking. It was an easy mistake to make.

Afterward, we retired to Giambrey's suite and turned on the omicron. "Let's see what's going on in the world," he said. In some aspects, it was not unlike Interworld, carrying newscasts and people-if that term works-discussing current events, and the arts and sciences. We got pictures of panel discussions, saw and heard a hurricane pounding a Mute city, watched what appeared to be a cruise ship putting to sea. One channel carried a swimming competition. Despite their appearance, Mutes love to swim. Undoubtedly because their early ancestors came out of the oceans. The panel discussions, of course, were silent. And the nonverbals that one normally sees in a debate among humans were all but absent. We found nothing like the comedies and dramas that had been staples of human entertainment all the way back to the classical age. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe because drama and comedy so often depend on misunderstanding or deliberate deception, or an inability to grasp someone else's intentions, the concept simply doesn't work among the Ashiyyur. How would you construct a mystery when every character is an open book? It was an odd experience. Pictures without narration. And especially the panels, where the only sound during the course of a thirty-minute debate might be the scraping of a chair. I tried to imagine sitting in a studio somewhere while an omicron broadcast my innermost thoughts to the world. My God, every mean, contemptible, cruel, lascivious notion I'd ever had would surface. "I've a question," said Circe. "Why is there a picture? If this is a mental exercise, why do they need accompanying pictures? Don't the people in the discussion have a picture in their heads of the blowpipe, or the politician, or whatever it is they're discussing?"

Kassel took a moment. "If you were on a panel talking about various solar types, and you wanted to discuss, say, Rigel, do you have a firm picture of it in your mind?" "I think so," she said. "Bad example. How about a clear image of how the quantum drive works?" "Nobody could manage that." "Or of a given natural preservative. Or a specific canyon with odd features. You can't get the details right. Something would always get left out. So they do the visuals." Ashiyyurean life provided sounds, of course. Engines starting. Water-falls. Rivers. The banging that accompanies the assembling of a scaffold. They have a passion for music, though most of it hurts my ears. But it all served to underscore the general silence of Ashiyyurean civilization. Crowds of Mutes moved through the pristine cities, carried out assorted construction projects, wandered through malls, sat in the stands at sporting events, courted and reproduced, and did it all, save for the background noise, in utter silence. "Not so," said Kassel, quietly, though I'd said nothing. "Noise, yes. There is relatively little of that. But if you define silence to include the absence of input, of incoming ideas and passions and hope. Of conversation with friends. Of exchange of everything in life that matters. Then no. Our lives are anything but silent."

In the morning a government skimmer arrived at the rooftop pad. Kassel joined us, and we all climbed in. The operator, a female, worked hard not to look appalled at her passengers. Kassel glanced in her direction, and she seemed to relax slightly. "She's had training in interspecies tolerance," he said. "Is that really what they call it?" asked Circe. "That's the terminology." His fangs appeared briefly in that Mute smile. "We have a few problems ourselves." All Ashiyyurean names, as used by humans, are more or less made up. They have names, of course. But since Mutes do not speak, we only know them in their written form, and written text, of course, does not translate into sound. Only God and the Mutes know the real name for Borkarat, though I could show you the symbolic representation for it. The Mute capital on that world, the place where we were at that moment, was New Volaria. It was, of course, a human name. At the time I had no idea where it had come from, though I've since learned the original Volaria was a barbarian capital on Regnus III during the Time of Troubles. I guess it says something about the way we perceived the Ashiyyur. Kassel pointed down at a large, silver obelisk. "That is our capitol. The-" He searched for a word. "The parliament is currently in session." "What can you tell us of the Secretary of Naval Affairs?" asked Alex. "He's reasonable. He does not like our current stance regarding the Confederacy, and is concerned that the threat could explode into all-out war. He's also not happy with the status quo, which drains resources. Unfortunately, he considers you, humans, the Confederates, to be extremely difficult to deal with. If you pressed him, he would argue that humans have not yet attained civilization. I wish I knew an easier way to say this. But he, like most of us, thinks of you as an inferior type, with an inherent bloodlust that, over fifteen thousand years of organized culture, you have been unable to shed." He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, but it's important you understand what you're dealing with." "Well, that's encouraging," said Giambrey, trying to hide his resentment. Kassel turned to him. "The negotiation will be unlike any you've engaged in before, Giambrey. The Secretary will know the minute you walk in the door that you wish him to stand down the fleet so that the Confederate Navy can go to the rescue of Salud Afar. If he has not already come to that conclusion." Giambrey cleared his throat. "It's not easy being a barbarian," he said. We drifted down onto a pad. "Kassel." Alex was straightening his jacket. "Will you be in the meeting?" "No. Unfortunately not. This business is far above my pay grade." "Do you have any advice for us?" "Keep in mind, everything is an open book. You cannot surprise him. You cannot hold anything back.

Take advantage of that. Let him see your feelings for the people trapped on Salud Afar. Let him see them as I have. Let him see your desperation. And your determination, if your world survives"-his gaze turned to Giambrey and Circe-"your determination to devote yourself to calming the more barbaric impulses of your species. To working toward a lasting peace. And I see I have hurt your feelings again." He looked at each of us in turn. Yes, I thought. Damned right. You guys don't exactly have a spotless record either, and you have less excuse than we do. "You're correct, Chase," he said. "I know. I wish it could be otherwise. Maybe one day we can all learn to be rational."

The pilot opened the hatch. Kassel glanced at her, and something passed between them. I wondered about it. How do you manage it? Or, maybe, Glad that's over. We were at ground level, looking up at a dome that rose about six stories, supporting a tower. The tower literally soared into the sky, narrowing eventually into a needle. A small entourage of robed officials came out through a set of doors and descended from a portico to greet us. The one who seemed to be in charge, a male, was the smallest of the group. Nevertheless he dwarfed Alex and Giambrey. He wore a voice box on his sleeve. "Giambrey DeVrio?" he asked, looking from one to the other. Giambrey stepped forward. The Mute bowed. "Welcome to the Silver Tower. I am Tio." He swept us all up in his gaze. "If you will please come with me." Tio took us back up across the portico and inside, into a broad passageway. I saw no guard posts. And it looked as if anyone could have walked in off the street. He signaled for Giambrey to follow him down the passageway. One of the officials who had come out with him took charge of the rest of us. He gave us a tour of the building, but cut it short when he realized nobody really cared where the Department of the Environment was located. "I've no way to know how long the meeting will last," he told Alex and me. "You are welcome to wait in the library, if you wish. And we have a cafeteria." He looked at us uncertainly. Kassel suggested we stay. "It makes you look serious about the mission." Our escort took us to a large private area, filled with portraits of robed Mutes, a few landscapes, and two or three interstellar warships. There were jacks that provided access to the vast Ashiyyurean literature. It also incorporated a substantial number of human titles, including two of Vicki Greene's novels. After about an hour, Giambrey returned. "How'd it go?" Alex asked. "Not sure," he said. "I made my pitch, told him how a cessation of hostilities would be to everyone's benefit. He says the Confederates can't be trusted. Big news there. But he thinks he has to keep poking them. Keep them off-balance. If they were to declare a unilateral cease-fire, he's concerned the Confederates will use the breathing space to organize their forces and launch a major strike." "I was under the impression," I said, "that we were at peace." Giambrey gave me a painful smile. "Not quite." "So how'd it end?" I asked. "There needs to be a mutual announcement. Both sides to say it's over and agree to talks." "And you told him-?" "We're working on it. Trying to arrange it." "Did he say," asked Alex, "how the Chief Minister feels?" "No. He says the Chief Minister has kept his feelings to himself." Alex frowned. "Kassel," he said, "that's not possible, is it?" "Sure it is. We can block others off but only for a limited time. More likely, he simply hasn't been in the same room with the Chief Minister lately." "More likely still," said Giambrey, "he just doesn't want to say."