Dark Matters_ Ghost Dance (Book 2) - Christie Golden [17]
"You are very kind," she said. "And I'm grateful for it."
"Tell me more about your people, your planet." He wasn't making polite chitchat. He really wanted to know. He was fascinated by her... by her strange cellular structure, of course. Harry wanted to know everything.
"We've met many different races, too," said Khala as they walked down a corridor. "We do a great deal of trade today with off-worlders. 'We' meaning the Alilann, of course."
'Tell me about the Alilann and the Culilann. Are they another species on your planet?"
Her pert little nose wrinkled. "They might just as well be. They're more 'alien' to me than you are. Completely incomprehensible. But no, sadly, they're just a different caste."
"You have a caste system?" The thought disturbed Harry. He'd been raised to think that anyone could do anything he or she set mind and heart to. Even
the distinction humans had once drawn between male and female capabilities, which had embarrassingly persisted into recent history, had at last been put to rest. He couldn't imagine living in a caste system, where you were born to a certain role no matter what your innermost longings might be. He was careful not to let his distress show in his voice.
"Oh, yes," she said. "It evolved hundreds of years ago and it's worked very well for both our people. They keep to themselves and their ways, and we do likewise. We are the Alilann. In the old, archaic speech, it means 'seekers of things unmade.' The others are the Culilann, which means 'seekers of things of the world.' "
"That doesn't sound like it would give rise to conflict," said Harry.
"Millennia ago, we were all like the Culilann," said Khala. "We were a primitive people, living in buildings made of wood and stone, eating food we grew, killing animals for their flesh and hides. This was so long ago, there aren't even records, save for paintings on stones. We didn't even have a written language. The stone pictures tell us that another race came from, we realize now, another planet. They preyed upon us and devastated what little there was of civilization. Worse than that, they brought some kind of disease with them. We were nearly wiped out. Only those who fled from the Strangers, as we call them, survived."
"What happened then?" asked Harry, engrossed.
"The survivors were of two minds. Some thought they had displeased their gods, the Grafters, in some way and that to atone they needed to devote them-
selves totally toward an agrarian life. Others were angry, and wanted to be able to defend themselves should this ever happen again. The two drifted apart. My people, the Alilann, devoted themselves to civilizing our people. We created defenses, weapons, cures for diseases, the ability to create our own food without being dependent upon anyone or anything." She spoke with a great deal of pride. "We developed into the highly technological race we are now."
"And the Culilann?" asked Harry.
"They haven't changed in centuries," she sniffed. "Worshipping their Crafters, digging in the dirt for meager food, living in hovels that leak when it rains. They don't design, they make. With their hands. They paint and sculpt and shape clay and fashion something they call 'instruments' that they make noises with. Wasteful activities. If we'd all gone that route, we'd have been exterminated the next time another race decided we were worth troubling with. The Culilann owe their very existence to the Alilann!"
Despite her anger, Harry had to acknowledge that Khala had a point. True, it was one thing to grow tomatoes in your backyard as a pleasant and tasty diversion to supplement your food supply. It was another thing to stubbornly depend on the fickleness of the seasons for your continued existence. Any type of doctor in that society would probably rely on chants