“Then how can you talk of gaining merit by fighting?”
“Like a storm or rockfall, a declared enemy is an agent of nature. As an enemy it removes itself from the considerations of civilization.”
Etienne was enjoying his wife’s discomfiture enormously. “But your enemy is only acting in what he considers a civilized manner.”
“He must be judged by civilized standards.”
“You mean, by Tsla standards.”
“Naturally. You do not think that we would adopt the standards of the Mai?” He sounded politely outraged. “A truly civilized people instinctively know what constitutes civilized behavior.”
“Sounds like expediency to me.”
“Not at all. Our moral standards are not nearly so flexible.”
“Then you feel remorse when you kill an enemy?”
“Naturally. An enemy is one who has freely abjured his soul. How else could we feel but sorry for him?”
“That wouldn’t, however, have prevented you from killing every Mai in Hochac who opposed you?”
“No, it would not. By opposing us in the recovery of your property they would have demonstrated disregard for civilized behavior, thus removing themselves from consideration by those who adhere to such behavior. I see no contradiction in this.”
“No contradiction at all.” He glanced at his wife. Lyra’s note-taker was running and she didn’t look up at Tyl. “Just wanted the point clarified.”
“I thought,” Lyra said quietly, “that the Tsla considered it sinful to kill.”
“To kill any civilized person, yes, a terrible sin. But there is no moral restraint against defending oneself from the hostility of an uncivilized person any more than it is sinful to raise a roof to keep out the rain.”
“All perfectly clear,” Etienne agreed. He was content. It was clear that his initial worries about the safety of the Tsla were unfounded. For all their vaunted pacifism they were quite capable of taking care of themselves should the need arise. Killing a civilized person is a sin. Anyone who assaults me is uncivilized. Very neat.
Neat enough to quash Lyra’s romanticized notions of Tsla society. Her beloved mystics were no more or less bloodthirsty than any other primitive folk. Well, that wasn’t quite fair. But it was evident they could slaughter with a clear conscience so long as their victims fell below civilized standards. When you set those standards yourself it gave you considerable flexibility in establishing a defense.
Lyra continued to press Tyl for information, hoping to bolster her fading thesis of Tsla nobility. Etienne left to check the autopilot and then to see what the other Tsla and Homat were up to. He also wanted to tell the porters that, in his eyes at least, they’d acquired a great deal of merit for what they’d done in Hochac.
They were more than three thousand kilometers north northwest of Steamer Station and the distant Skatandah Delta. Cloud cover was increasing daily though it brought little relief from the heat and humidity. The Barshajagad was beginning to narrow sharply, towering walls shortening the daylight on the river. Both sides of the canyon could be seen now though the edge of the Guntali Plateau was still faint with distance. But for the first time it felt like they were sailing up a canyon.
Ahead lay another major tributary of the Skar, the river Gaja. Beyond this confluence, according to Tyl, the Barshajagad’s walls drew toward one another with breathtaking suddenness, closing in to seal off the place where river devils were born, the Topapasirut. Beyond the Topapasirut lay lands unknown even to the wise men of Turput.
One thing Etienne no longer had to concern himself about was Lyra’s tendency to adopt Tsla habits. After Tyl’s breakfast explanation of adaptable battlefield philosophy he never again saw her in Tsla cape and toga.
They reached the place where the Gaja flowed thick and muddy into the clear Skar. The Tsla records were accurate. It was immensely wide and tinged a pale rust in color. The Gaja was another Amazon, just another tributary. He felt no amazement. Tslamaina had already exhausted his store of geological superlatives.
Beyond the Gaja the Skar narrowed rapidly. As it did so the current intensified. Submerged mountains and hills began to produce some white water, the first they’d encountered in their long journey Upriver. The cloud cover was thick overhead and. Etienne saw why that section of the river had not been accurately mapped by the single orbiting satellite.
Seven thousand meters overhead, the edge of the Guntali glistened with ice and snow. The rim was now a mere two hundred and fifty kilometers distant to east or west, descending toward the bottom of the canyon in a series of steps and escarpments. Through the telescope Etienne examined one sheer wall some four thousand meters high.
One day they were cruising slowly so that Etienne could check the standard subsurface water samples. Lyra sat at the controls while Etienne was working in the lab astern. Several Tsla were watching the logging procedure with interest while Homat lay half asleep on his mat on the rear deck. Suddenly the boat tipped wildly, almost knocking Etienne from his feet. Something had bumped the right side of the hull.
“What the hell was that?” Etienne yelled forward.
“I don’t know. Something hit us from below.”
“What’s with the scanner?”
“Nothing. It didn’t come from Upriver.”
He did some fast thinking. Whatever had nudged them un-gently hadn’t shown up on the scanner. Therefore it hadn’t slipped down toward them. Therefore it must have come up behind them.
Therefore it sure as hell wasn’t a rock.
Homat was shouting hysterically from astern and Etienne and the Tsla piled out through the rear door into the hot, damp air. Even as he emerged Etienne caught himself wishing for his pistol.
Not that it would have done him any good. He was staring at a slowly rising cliff black as polished obsidian. Within the cliff was a cavern, filled with acres of dripping blue-black streamers like baleen, only thicker and more widely spaced.
“Lacoti!” Homat was blubbering in fear. Etienne immediately understood how they’d missed the creature on the scanner, since it was programed only to acknowledge submerged objects which might be dangerous to the boat. The device would blithely ignore anything organic flattened out along the river bottom. The current provided food for the Lacoti, which doubtless rested contentedly in the mud of the Skar, mouth agape to receive whatever nourishment the river chose to provide.
Unless something disturbed it, of course.
If the Lacoti had eyes, they were hidden somewhere back of that vast cavernous maw. It was moving toward them, a fact that he perceived right away. He shouted toward the intercom, unafraid but having no wish for a closer view of Lacoti gut. It might be a slow swimmer but it might also be capable of a last second burst of speed. “Lyra, there’s something back here that’s about half the size of a starship. Move us out of here.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do? I can see it on the rear screen!” Her voice was frantic. “We’ve got a short or something. I can’t get any speed up.”
“Oh hell,” he muttered. “Tyl?”
The Tsla wore a fatalistic expression. “We are not river dwellers and have no experience of such creatures. We can pray.”
Etienne let out a curse and dove into the cabin. Behind him the towering gullet was drawing slowly nearer. Part of the problem stemmed from the fact that it was sucking in water at an enormous rate, creating a suction the hydrofoil was hard put to counter. If they didn’t lift up on foils and make some speed they were going to go down the Lacoti’s throat like a cork in a sewer. He had no idea what had prodded it out of its bottom lair. Maybe the hydrofoil’s engine produced a discomfiting vibration. No time now for study.
