He allowed himself to be led deeper into the ship, following a handful of Shakaleeshva who bore their deceased kindred shoulder-high. Several times he had to duck, and once he was forced to crawl the length of an especially low corridor, but eventually everyone gathered in a peculiar rectangular chamber which boasted enough head room to allow him to stand.
A gentle vibration jolted the floor and the room shifted, though he was unable to tell in which direction. When his surroundings eventually stopped trembling, one wall disappeared and admitted them to a truly enormous chamber. It was a good three stories high and reminded him immediately of the atrium in the Houston Neiman Marcus.
Multiple levels swarmed with busy Shakaleeshva. Images and motion scenarios drifted back and forth through the air like flocks of translucent birds. Several of the aliens rode tiny scooters that were nothing more than control poles protruding from fiat disks. Racing through the cavernous room at high speed, they somehow managed to avoid running into each other or anyone else. The chamber was bursting with activity and energy.
Off to his right was an image he at first took to be another, larger screen but soon saw was an actual port. Two stories high and nearly as wide, it offered a view of interplanetary space bounded on one side by the curve of the earth. The spectacular blues, whites, and browns of a distant Central America assailed his eyes. More than the little room had moved, he realized.
Geometric designs were integrated into the matrix of the floor. Whether they were purely decorative or performed unknown, functions he had no way of knowing. Leastwise, nothing happened when he stepped on them. Two Shakaleeshva seated atop a levitating mushroom brushed past him, arguing vociferously. As they approached, the Jed-bearers both rose slightly to execute a gesture of obvious deference.
All these genuflections suggested that his dead friend had been an individual of some importance among his kind. Furthermore, “the Enlightenment” was a term unlikely to be applied to a wanted criminal. He still couldn’t be certain of anything, however. The Culakhan had had other, less flattering names for the deceased.
His attention was drawn to the port. A pair of enormous elongated structures that could only be spaceships hove into view. Lights glistened on their flanks, which except for several whitened sections which resembled the inner surface of a brand-new bathtub appeared to be fashioned entirely of brushed stainless steel. Without any basis for comparison he could only guess at their size, but they struck him as being truly massive. They were utterly different from both the Culakhan cloud-craft and the cube-ship of the saucer visitants. He wondered if the vessel he was aboard was equally impressive in appearance.
The procession halted before a console of mirrored metal from which three comparatively large Shakaleeshva emerged. One particularly impressive individual stood nearly four feet tall, towering above his companions. Or perhaps it was a her, he mused. He was just starting to become aware of subtle physical differences among the species.
Crowding around Jed, they addressed him in low, respectful tones while he replied via the Culakhan’s artificial larynx. Ross Ed’s headband allowed him to follow portions of the conversation.
“So we have found you at last, Enlightenment.” The tallest one appeared to be drunk, but Ross soon realized there was a deliberate pattern to its oscillations. As others spoke they, too, swayed or twitched respectfully. Coordinated movement of the upper body with the three arms was graceful to behold.
“You have made things very difficult for us,” avowed another. “We feared that the Culakhan would find you before us.”
“They did,” Ross heard Jed reply. “Surely you didn’t think the electronics attached to my person were engineered by the primitive inhabitants of the world below. Nothing personal, Ross Ed.”
The Texan shrugged. “Hey, I’m getting used to it.”
One of the supplicants bent to more closely examine the relevant instrumentation. “Is it so. These appurtenances are surely of Culakhan manufacture.”
“How did you manage to escape them? Your condition is not conducive to flight.” It was impossible for Ross Ed to tell if the speaker was being facetious.
“By dint of a little inventiveness, and with the aid of my large aboriginal friend here.” Jed couldn’t point, but he didn’t have to.
The tall one trained two eyes on the human while keeping the other focused on Jed. “A clumsy, overgrown species. Only bipedal as well, indicative of unsophisticated neuromuscular development. Evolved from primates, I should say. Remarkable that it can stand upright without falling over.”
“All true,” Jed agreed, “but given those constraints, still not to be underestimated. More importantly, they have aesthetic potential, although they have far to go before their moral development evolves equivalently.”
“If you will permit me,” appealed another, “why? Why have you done what you’ve done?” It moved a little closer to the body by advancing first its middle leg and then the other two.
“Because it was something I felt was required. I suppo.se a more detailed explanation is in order.”
“To say the least,” agreed the tall one. “However, it will have to wait. The Culakhan have become aware of our presence. We barely had enough time to make a quick dive into the atmosphere with a landing craft and extract you. They are even now assembling a portion of their Third Grand Fleet for an all-out attack on our expeditionary force.”
“Uh, ’scuse me here a minute.” Turning as one, all eyes focused on the tall human. “Grand Fleet? Expeditionary force?”
Turning as one for a second time, all eyes proceeded to ignore him. Jed was speaking anew. “We must move away from the planet as rapidly as possible. It is not feasible to conduct a battle so near to an inhabited world. For all their fury and frustration, the Culakhan will be of like mind. They will not attack until the safety of the ignorant primitives and the inviolability of their planet is assured. In this, our respective Codes are alike.”
“We are already engaging the necessary system,” announced a technician from nearby.
Glancing up at the port, Ross Ed watched the moon whiz by. At that speed it didn’t look like much. He would have preferred a more leisurely encounter.
One of the attending Shakaleeshva pressed a finger to the side of its head. “The Culakhan Third Fleet has turned to pursue. Formal engagement will occur shortly.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Ross Ed interrupted, “could someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“Come closer, Ross Ed.” Jed could only beckon aurally. Ross moved nearer to his dead friend.
“What’s the point? You can’t see me any better.”
“No, but you can see me better, and I know how important visual contact is to you humans. Stand easy,” he instructed his suddenly edgy attendants. “He won’t fall on you.
“There’s going to be a fight, Ross Ed. Quite a big fight.”
“Over you?”
“Over me.”
“The Culakhan said you were a criminal.”
Muted murmurs of outrage came from the circle of officials and officers who had gathered close.
“Silence!” Jed roared (as much as the artificial larynx would let him roar). “The primitive knows only what the Culakhan have told him. As I’ve said before, Ross Ed, I’m not a criminal. It’s worse than that. I’m a writer.”
“A writer?”
“That’s the closest I can come to describing to you what it is I do, or rather, did. I craft aesthetic perceptions. Because of the specificity of its nature it’s nearer writing than your painting or sculpture, but still quite different. The best I can do by way of an explanation you are capable of comprehending is to say that I am a writer.
“I have designed and conceived … I have written a great deal. Some of it dealt with the Culakhan. Myself found it diverting, but they were less than amused. Outraged, in fact. Your equivalent of a price was put on my head. It all has to do with their rather rigid Codes of Conduct, to which you have already been exposed. It was requested that I be turned over to them for punishment. Naturally, my people refused. I am, or was, somewhat revered among them. Advanced technology can supplement but not replace artistic invention. You can lead a machine to water, but you can’t make it paint.”
“Who did you think your companion was?” wondered one of the attendants. “He was among the Twelve Systems and Twenty Worlds of the Shakaleeshva accounted the greatest of all artisans, oft proclaimed a living treasure.”
