Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [6]
So the intruding AAnn were tolerated, the least of their specious claims accepted. Such are the workings of broad-scale diplomacy, in which assorted small murders are ingenuously subsumed into what professional diplomats euphemistically refer to as the “overall picture.” In its inert and hypocritical shadow, the pain of those who have lost friends and relations is conveniently overlooked.
Revenge was not a prominent passion among the thranx, but there were more than a few feelings of loss and betrayal among the survivors of Paszex. Among these were what remained of the family Ven. Comprising a sizable portion of the settlement’s population, they had nearly been wiped out in the first assault. The survivors struggled to carry on the family name, but ever thereafter not many were to be found who could boast of the patronymic Ven among the hive Da and the clan Pur. Acutely conscious of their loss and their responsibility to keep the family line from dying out, these few became more insular than was normal among their kind. Their offspring were inevitably inculcated in these same aberrant traits, and in turn passed them on to the next generation.
To one in particular.
It had been a long day, and the members of the Grand Council had retired, as was their custom, to the hot, steamy quiet of the contemplation burrow deep beneath the council chamber, there to relax and relieve the stress of governance. Solitude was not sought, and conversation turned to more pleasant, less weighty matters.
Except among two. Though aged by any standard, they were among the youngest members of the council. Together they discussed two recent events of import that appeared to have no connection. It was in fact a connection they were drawing.
“The AAnn grow bolder than usual.”
“Yes,” declared the male. “A terrible shame about Paszex.” As he spoke he inhaled perfumed steam from the herbal wrap that covered half his breathing spicules. “Nothing to be done about it. You cannot bring back the dead, nor can one in good conscience vote to embark on an all-out war in memory of the already deceased.”
“The AAnn always count upon us to be reasonable and logical in such matters. May their scales rot and their eggs shrivel.”
“Sirri!!ch, why not? We always are. But you are right. The incursion onto Willow-Wane was unprecedented for its size. But we can do nothing about it.”
“I know,” agreed the senior female. Her ovipositors lay flat against the back of her abdomen, no longer capable of laying eggs. “I am concerned about preventing a recurrence elsewhere in the future. We must strengthen ourselves.”
The male tri-eint gestured second-degree ambivalence. “What more can we do than what we have done? The AAnn dare not make a blatant attack. They know it would invite an overwhelming response.”
“Today that is true. Tomorrow…” Her antennae fluttered significantly. “Every day the AAnn work to strengthen and enlarge their forces. What is needed is something to keep them off guard, to divert them.” Amid the steam, her gleaming compound eyes glittered softly. “Something perhaps not as predictable as the thranx.”
The male was intrigued. He shifted his position on the resting bench. “You are not hypothesizing. You have something specific in mind.”
“You know of the alien outpost on the high plateau?”
“The bipeds? The hu’mans?”
“Humans,” she replied, correcting his pronunciation. Human words had no bite and were difficult to enunciate. Their speech was soft, like