strength.
"You could start by teaching us to make superior ceramics," Orne said. As he spoke, a series of formative thoughts fled through his awareness -- the peace-keeping function of the marketplace, the deliberate despecialization of manufacture with one village making the head of the hoe and the next village making the handle, the psychological security of guilds and castes . . .
Almost as an afterthought, he said: "I hope you see things our way. We truly don't want to have to come down here and clean you out -- although now we see that we could. But it'd be profoundly disturbing to us if we had to blast your city and send you back into the jungle for places to bear your young."
Tanub wilted. "The city," he whispered. Presently, he said: "Send me to my people. I will discuss what I have learned with . . . our . . . council." He stared at Orne and there was respect in his manner. "You I-A's are too strong
. . . too strong. We did not suspect this."
Because the earliest Psi sensations came upon mankind from the unknown, primitive emotional associations with Psi were those of fear and the maya projection of false realities, of incubi and witches and warlocks and sabbats.
These associations are bred into us and our kind has a strong tendency to recapitulate the old mistakes.
-- HALMYRACH, ABBOD OF AMEL, Psi and Religion
In the wardroom of Stetson's scout cruiser, the lights were low, the chairs comfortable and close to a green-beige table set with crystalate glasses and a decanter of dark Hochar brandy.
Orne lifted his glass, sipped the liquor. He said: "For a while there I thought I'd never again be tasting anything as lovely as this."
Stetson poured a glass of the brandy for himself, said: "ComGo heard the whole thing over the monitor net. D'you know you've been breveted to senior fieldman?"
"They've recognized my sterling worth at last," Orne said. As he spoke, he found the bantering lightness of his own words disturbing. He tried to recapture an elusive memory -- something about primitive gardening, about tools . . .
A wolfish grin spread over Stetson's big features. "Senior fieldmen last about half as long as the juniors," he said. "Very high mortality."
"I might've known," Orne said. He took another sip of the brandy, his thoughts going to the fate of the Gienahns, of the Hamalites: military occupation. Call it I-A necessity, call it preventative surveillance -- it still spelled control-by-force.
Stetson flicked the switch of his cruiser's master recorder system, said:
"Let's get it on record."
"Where do you want me to start?"
"Who authorized you to offer the Gienahns limited membership in the Galactic Federation?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"But junior fieldmen do not originate such offers."
"ComGo objects?"
"ComGo was telling me to authorize it when you jumped the gun. They weren't on your net, were they?"
"No . . . no, they weren't."
"Tell me, Orne, how'd you tumble to where they'd hidden the Delphinus? We'd already made a quick scan of the moon and it didn't seem possible they'd try to hide it up there."
"It had to be there. Tanub's word for his people was Grazzi. Most sentients call themselves something meaning 'The People.' But in his tongue, that's Ocheero. There was no such word as Grazzi on our translation list. I started working on it. There had to be a conceptual superstructure here with direct relationship to the animal shape, to the animal characteristics -- just as there is with us. I felt that if I could get at the conceptual models for their communication, I had them. I was working under life-and-death pressure and, strangely, it was their lives and their deaths that concerned me."
"Yes, yes, get on with it," Stetson said.
"One step at a time," Orne chided. "But on solid ground. By that time, I knew quite a bit about the Gienahns. They had wild enemies in the jungle, creatures much like themselves who lived in what might be enviable freedom.
Grazzi. Grazzi. I
"You could start by teaching us to make superior ceramics," Orne said. As he spoke, a series of formative thoughts fled through his awareness -- the peace-keeping function of the marketplace, the deliberate despecialization of manufacture with one village making the head of the hoe and the next village making the handle, the psychological security of guilds and castes . . .
Almost as an afterthought, he said: "I hope you see things our way. We truly don't want to have to come down here and clean you out -- although now we see that we could. But it'd be profoundly disturbing to us if we had to blast your city and send you back into the jungle for places to bear your young."
Tanub wilted. "The city," he whispered. Presently, he said: "Send me to my people. I will discuss what I have learned with . . . our . . . council." He stared at Orne and there was respect in his manner. "You I-A's are too strong
. . . too strong. We did not suspect this."
Because the earliest Psi sensations came upon mankind from the unknown, primitive emotional associations with Psi were those of fear and the maya projection of false realities, of incubi and witches and warlocks and sabbats.
These associations are bred into us and our kind has a strong tendency to recapitulate the old mistakes.
-- HALMYRACH, ABBOD OF AMEL, Psi and Religion
In the wardroom of Stetson's scout cruiser, the lights were low, the chairs comfortable and close to a green-beige table set with crystalate glasses and a decanter of dark Hochar brandy.
Orne lifted his glass, sipped the liquor. He said: "For a while there I thought I'd never again be tasting anything as lovely as this."
Stetson poured a glass of the brandy for himself, said: "ComGo heard the whole thing over the monitor net. D'you know you've been breveted to senior fieldman?"
"They've recognized my sterling worth at last," Orne said. As he spoke, he found the bantering lightness of his own words disturbing. He tried to recapture an elusive memory -- something about primitive gardening, about tools . . .
A wolfish grin spread over Stetson's big features. "Senior fieldmen last about half as long as the juniors," he said. "Very high mortality."
"I might've known," Orne said. He took another sip of the brandy, his thoughts going to the fate of the Gienahns, of the Hamalites: military occupation. Call it I-A necessity, call it preventative surveillance -- it still spelled control-by-force.
Stetson flicked the switch of his cruiser's master recorder system, said:
"Let's get it on record."
"Where do you want me to start?"
"Who authorized you to offer the Gienahns limited membership in the Galactic Federation?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"But junior fieldmen do not originate such offers."
"ComGo objects?"
"ComGo was telling me to authorize it when you jumped the gun. They weren't on your net, were they?"
"No . . . no, they weren't."
"Tell me, Orne, how'd you tumble to where they'd hidden the Delphinus? We'd already made a quick scan of the moon and it didn't seem possible they'd try to hide it up there."
"It had to be there. Tanub's word for his people was Grazzi. Most sentients call themselves something meaning 'The People.' But in his tongue, that's Ocheero. There was no such word as Grazzi on our translation list. I started working on it. There had to be a conceptual superstructure here with direct relationship to the animal shape, to the animal characteristics -- just as there is with us. I felt that if I could get at the conceptual models for their communication, I had them. I was working under life-and-death pressure and, strangely, it was their lives and their deaths that concerned me."
"Yes, yes, get on with it," Stetson said.
"One step at a time," Orne chided. "But on solid ground. By that time, I knew quite a bit about the Gienahns. They had wild enemies in the jungle, creatures much like themselves who lived in what might be enviable freedom.
Grazzi. Grazzi. I
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