for the others, can you not see that it is far from easy for me? Ambassador MacDougal’s proposal was of course unacceptable. As the Angel Ambassador pointed out to him, we hold you, Commander Mondrian, more to blame than Commander Brachis, since you initiated the project, but it would be preposterous to dismiss either of you, or relieve either of you of your duties. In any civilized society, it is the individual or group who creates a problem that must have responsibility for solving it. The cause must become the cure. The creation of the Morgan Constructs, and the subsequent escape of one of them, came from your actions and inactions. Livia Morgan, who made the Constructs, is d-dead. And therefore the seeking out and d-disposal of that escaped Morgan Construct must be in your hands. We recognize that humans follow codes of behavior quite different from the rest of the Stellar Group, but in this case there is n-nothing to d-discuss. We are . . . adamant. ”
There had been a shift in the Pipe-Rilla’s posture, and its voice reflected the change. It was too gabbling and jerky to be understood without translation, and Dominus lad cut in to provide computer support.
“Ambassador MacDougal has agreed,” went on the Pipe-Rilla. “B-beginning at once, there will be created a new group within the department of Human System Security. It will be of a form peculiar to human history . . . a military expedition . . . what your species knows as”—there was an infinitesimal pause, while Dominus selected and offered for Pipe-Rilla approval a variety of words—“as an Anabasis.”
“As a what ?” The grunted question from Brachis to Mondrian was nothing like a whisper. “What’s she mean?”
“Anabasis,” said Mondrian softly. “We need to review our translation boxes. I don’t know what she means, but I’ll bet that’s not it—the original Anabasis was a military expedition, one that turned into defeat and retreat. Not a good omen.”
The Pipe-Rilla took no notice of their exchange. She was in serious trouble of her own, limbs moving spastically and her narrow thorax fluttering. “The Anabasis,” she whistled, on a rising note. “It will be headed by Commander Mondrian, who has principal responsibility for the problem, assisted by Commander Brachis. Your t-task will be simple. You will s-select and t-train Pursuit Teams, to find the—location of—the Morgan Construct. You will follow it to—wherever it is hi—ding.” Now even Dominus could not help. The speech pattern of the Pipe-Rilla was becoming more and more disorganized as its voice rose past the range of human ears. It became a great, shivering whistle, matching the shake of the giant body. “Each pursuit team must contain one—trained— member of—each intelligent species. Tinker—Angel—Human—and . . . and Pipe-Rilla. ” The voice became a supersonic shriek. “The Pursuit Teams will find the Morgan Construct and—they will—destroy it. DESTROY IT!”
The Pipe-Rilla was gone. The link was broken, the Star Chamber atrium empty except for the huddled form of Dougal MacDougal.
Brachis turned to Esro Mondrian. “What in the name of living hell was all that about?”
Mondrian was rubbing his cheek and staring at the chromatic flicker of the dying Link connection. “I guess she couldn’t stand it. None of them can. No wonder they had to have a Closed Session, and a secret vote.”
“Couldn’t stand what ?” Brachis was scowling. It had just occurred to him that according to the Pipe-Rilla’s edict, he now reported to Mondrian. “You’re as bad as they are.”
“Come on, Brachis. You know the prime rule of the rest of the Stellar Group as well as I do. Intelligent life must be preserved. It’s not to be destroyed ever, for any reason.”
“Yeah. As stupid a damned rule as I ever heard.”
“Maybe. But that’s the way they think of it—true at the individual level, and even more true at the species