Free The Light-years Beneath My Feet by Alan Dean Foster Page A

I’m sorry to say. I have been told that Braouk’s people do as well. Not Sque’s, I believe.”
    “Only occasionally on a personal level,” the K’eremu amended him helpfully. “When two individuals disagree excessively on a point of Melachian philosophy, for example, or concerning the worth of a new piece of siibalon vibrato. On such occasions, fighting usually commences with a vicious exchange of harsh language. On rare instances, blows may be thrown, perhaps even accompanied by a flung rock or two.”
    “That’s not war,” Walker muttered crossly. “That’s a domestic dispute.” He turned back to their hostess. “How long has this kind of episodic fighting been going on?” He trusted his implant to handle the translation of the relevant time frame.
    It did. Whatever else one thought about the Vilenjji, their technology was admirably reliable. “About nine thousand years,” Viyv-pym informed him without missing a beat. “Ever since Niyyuu become civilized.”
    “Not a contradiction, in war to engage, called civilization?” Braouk wondered aloud from the back of the transport.
    She turned and strained to meet his raised eyes. “On contrary, Niyyuu thoughtfully observe other sentient species and wonder how they maintain civilization
without
occasional internal warring.”
    Walker’s head began to throb as he tried to make sense of what he was being told. The Niyyuuan’s warped logic was occasioning him more pain than the occasional jolt in their ride. “You say sporadic warfare helps you to maintain your civilization, but that it’s nothing to worry about. There’s a clash of reasoning there I just don’t understand. I don’t understand it at all.”
    “You will,” she assured him confidently. “You not only do peformancing for Administrator Kinuvu-dih-vrojj and government, you also prepare food for Saluu-hir-lek and his staff.”
    He frowned. The first name he recognized, but this was the first time that the second one had been made known to him. “I signed on to cook for whoever you wish, but who is Saluu-hir-lek?”
    “Commanding general,” Abrid-lon called back to him from the front of the transport, “and lord high protector of the conjoined territories of Kojn-umm. Very pleasant person. You will like him.”
    Curioser and curioser. He was drowning in incomprehension. “I thought Kinuvu-dih-vrojj was the leader of Kojn-umm?”
    Viyv-pym exhaled softly in his direction. Her breath washed over him like essence of roses. “Kinuvu-dih-vrojj, she head of government. Saluu-hir-lek, he head of traditional military. One not superior to another. Just different work taxonomy. I procurer. You exotic food preparation demonstrator. You’s friends—they receive appropriate classifications in due time.” A long, willowy arm reached out toward him.
    “You tired, Marc. Long journeying from Seremathenn. Relax, not worry. Kojn-umm pleasant place. Ehbahr city and citizens enlightened, congenial. You will like it here.”
    Apprehensive and anxious, he slumped back in his seat. “I’m sure I will—unless you lose this war and are overrun by your enemies.”
    Her painted circlet of a mouth expanded in amusement as she coughed twice. “Perhaps lose. Have lost before. Is no realm that has not. Could not manage world society otherwise. But Kojn-umm not be ‘overrun,’ in sense you suggest. Cannot happen.”
    “Why not?” he asked straightforwardly, without wondering if the question might be viewed by his hosts as tactless.
    “Because would not be civilized thing to do. You think Niyyuu barbarians? Not as advanced as Sessrimathe, maybe, but plenty civilized and refined are my kind. You will see. Maybe even,” she finished considerately, “you like try you’s hand at fighting, too, someday.”
    Walker was quietly aghast. “I agreed to come here to create cuisine, not to kill!”
    She gestured placatingly. “Is your choice. Did not mean upset you. Is not necessary participate. Very much