by Tim C Taylor
“In many ways Flek is responsible for who we are. Why would we ever want to leave that behind?”
“So you view Flek as a positive thing.”
“Most certainly.”
For a moment Arun had nothing to say, as he tried to digest the implications.
“Our whole philosophy is built around the principle that you change or stagnate, and to stagnate is to die,” the Emperor said into the silence. “To change is to improve, and it’s that improvement that has driven us to become the dominant sentience in this sector of the galaxy. It’s a philosophy that we have extended to all our client races, making it a tenet of the empire, ensuring that every component race is the best they can possibly be, to serve us and so themselves in superior fashion.”
A dreadful suspicion had begun to form in Arun’s mind. “And how does this philosophy of change apply to humans?” he asked.
“Humans? When it comes to junior species, we leave the details to senior, more established client races; in your case that would be the Jotuns. It was for them to decide how best the principle of survival of the fittest should be built into your culture. They chose, naturally enough, to implement the same system their own species follows. I believe you call it the Cull.”
Arun was conscious of Del tensing beside him, though to his credit his face remained calm – Arun doubted he did as well himself.
“Naturally, whatever agreement we reach in the coming days,” the Emperor said, perhaps noting the two humans’ reactions despite their best efforts, “your continued adherence to the Cull is non-negotiable.”
“Perhaps, Your Elevance,” Del said, while Arun’s thoughts were still reeling, “we might find a different way of applying your noble principle, one that could replace the Cull while achieving the same result?”
“It is possible, I suppose,” the Emperor said, answering Del’s point but addressing Arun, “that an alternative system might be considered, but we would need convincing that any alternative would be as effective as the current method, and that will take time, generations even. For now, the Cull must remain. Ah…”
For a moment Arun had a sense that the Emperor was gazing through him rather than at him, which was just as well because if Arun had legs, he would be advancing on his Imperial master and punching him in his gilded frakking face.
Del had warned him of this. The Emperor would negotiate hard, the initial demands would be outrageous, and designed to unsettle the Legion negotiators as well as being opening gambits. The nightmare prospect of a continued Cull had been hotly debated throughout the Legion for decades. If the balance of power was more even, then Arun might have acceded to a modified form of Cull. But for all his regal posturing, the ruler of the Old Empire was negotiating from weakness.
The Emperor’s eyes focused again.
“General McEwan, I have excellent news. It seems we can draw this tour to an end and return to the Citadel to begin the serious business of negotiating. I am informed that several systems within what you undoubtedly consider to be your territory have thrown off the yoke of Legion conquest and returned to the beneficial fold of their true masters, the White Knights.”
So that was it. The ‘Tour’ had never been intended as an ingratiating gesture. Instead it had been a delaying tactic, buying Imperial forces a few precious days in which to retake Legion systems. Arun had begun to suspect as much, but that made the confirmation no less bitter. Precisely what Imperial forces was a matter of conjecture – the Emperor had approached him for aid on the basis that his own fleets were too scattered and weakened. The Emperor had clearly been holding out on him. He and Del needed to get information, needed to discover just how much damage had been done.
Evidently guessing the direction of his thoughts, the Emperor said, “It would seem your negotiating position is not as strong as you might have thought.”
“Perhaps not,” Arun said, “but then neither is yours.”
“Oh?”
Throughout the Legion’s history, Arun had always maintained one tenet. The Legion was loyal to the White Knights. The fact that the Knights were divided into different factions gave plenty of leeway, meaning that whatever he and his followers did could be viewed as loyal to some variety of White Knight, which gave all their actions to date a veneer of legality. That was important. He knew that without such justification the Legion would fracture, that some of the races would have been unwilling to pursue an illegal war.
“We know about the Night Hummers,” he said.
Until that moment he had harbored suspicions but hadn’t been certain. Now there could be no doubt. For a fleeting instant the Emperor’s face, which had always been such an unfathomable mask, displayed what Arun could only describe as dismay.
With growing confidence, he pushed home his advantage. “We know that the Hummers are White Knights too. Perhaps they are more deserving of our loyalty; perhaps they would be more fitting rulers of the Empire.”
— Chapter 46 —
Training Area 2 covered three frames of Holy Retribution’s Deck Seven. It was the largest enclosed space available to the Legion fleet orbiting Athena, and that made it the most appropriate location for a new body to consider the Emperor’s peace terms that had been hammered over the past few weeks as the balance of power seesawed between the Human Legion and the Emperor.
The Emperor had clearly been preparing for this moment for many years, secreting his forces around the most lightly defended worlds of the Human Autonomous Region. His claim to have conquered the Human worlds was premature in many cases. The light Imperial forces expecting easy demonstrations of their power, instead found themselves stung by zero-point defensive batteries that were heavy enough not only to repulse an invasion but also to defeat the traditional tactic of forcing a world to submit by threatening to throw rocks into its gravity well.
Nonetheless, several Legion systems were now back in the Emperor’s grip, and a dozen others were disrupted, their principal worlds blockaded and constantly harassed. It was a situation that could only worsen for the Legion. The New Empire faction was showing its strength again, and the Muryani Accord – the White Knights’ traditional enemy across the frontier – had abandoned an initial alliance with the New Empire and now seemed intent on burning its own route of conquest toward Olympus Ultra and Athena.
And then there were the Hardits. Arun had no idea what Tawfiq was up to, but the two of them had unfinished business.
Concentrating Legion forces in order to seize the White Knight homeworld had always been a gamble. To make that strategy worthwhile they had to emerge with a peace deal that could effectively end this civil war – or, at least, its first phase. Arun knew that. Unfortunately, the Emperor knew it too, and made frequent references to how the Legion had overextended itself.
Throughout each side’s attempt to adjust the balance of power in their favor, there had been one constant in the negotiations, a single issue that developed into the pivot that everything else had to balance upon: the Emperor’s insistence that the Cull must remain.
At first the Imperial negotiating position was a flat refusal to even discuss the issue. But then Del-Marie seized upon reports of fresh Muryani advances, combined them with the lie that Legion was negotiating with the Night Hummers to recognize them as the legitimate White Knight authority, and pushed the Emperor to negotiate a token lessening of the Cull’s severity, as Del put it. They all knew this was more than a token, and the Emperor gave his concessions added bite by placing a strict time limit upon them, after which the offer would be withdrawn. This was as good a deal as the Human Legion would ever win, and since the Emperor had mobilized his hidden forces, it was, frankly, better than Arun thought he would achieve.
And so Arun had hastily called for the creation of the Human Assembly, to consider the peace terms while they were still on offer. To house the Assembly, a spherical arrangement of seating, perches, and other forms of housing had been installed, directed inward at a speakers’ platform. A thousand in
dividuals filled those seats with their hopes, ambitions, and bitter memories, many of them not yet scabbed over. They were representatives of the regimental commanders and ship captains, but also some enlisted ranks, and the members of the Legion – such as Trog scribes – that had no analogue in human concepts of military hierarchy.
And yet, despite its diverse membership, there was a hierarchy to the Human Legion; individuals whom fate had chosen to inspire and lead. Those whom history would blame. The Legion Council had directed the war, and in the zero-g of the Assembly chamber they floated on or nearby the speakers’ platform.
With his chair docked to the speaking area hovering in the center of the Assembly, Arun felt the keen attention of history dissecting into his core, revealing his thoughts for posterity. And that was before he’d even spoken.
He pressed a button and an electronic tone cut through the hubbub, silencing it instantly.
“I am the commander of the Human Legion, and with me are your senior commanders of the Legion Council. The Human Legion is not a democracy. It does not operate by consensus, but ultimately the authority of the Council rests on an implied mandate. We represent the views of all of us here, and those throughout the system.”
Arun undocked his chair, and spun it around to catch all of the Assembly in his sight.
He flung out an arm expansively. “We must never forget that we represent civilians as well as military personnel in all of our worlds, whether liberated or not, and the future as well as the present. It is a heavy responsibility that we bear today, but this is the price of victory. We have been offered peace terms. Do we accept them or not? As commander, the decision is mine alone to make. However, if we are to accept the terms offered us by the Emperor, their impact will bind scores of worlds, and trillions of individuals over whom I have no direct authority, the vast majority of whom have yet to be birthed. It is for this reason that I want you to share your wisdom with me, that we may achieve a mandate through consensus. And if it proves impossible to achieve agreement, then the words you say in this Assembly may yet affect my decision.”
Arun shifted his position from one section to another of the Assembly. Wherever he rested his gaze, he saw only quiet attention, but the background noise was rising in intensity. Or was that his imagination?
“You have had two days to study the terms in detail,” he said. “I know that in the passageways, mess halls and private quarters throughout the fleet and amid the forces of occupation on the surface, you have already debated their merits with the same passion you showed in the war. Let that passion lend you wisdom and not rage. I will not tolerate violence in the Human Assembly, not even when we address the most contentious issue – the Cull. Do we meekly accept the ritualized slaughter of our people in perpetuity, albeit in the reduced numbers and more dignified fashion that I have won as a concession? Or do we break any pretense of loyalty to the Emperor and strike out on our own, condemning millions of hostages on worlds we have so recently lost to die immediately at the hands of Imperial forces, and likely invoke the extinction of every species associated with the Human Legion? Or can your collective wisdom reveal an alternate path?”
The growls, whistles and moans of the Assembly members were modest in isolation, but emanating simultaneously from a thousand voices, the chamber buzzed with menace.
“The Legion Council could not reach consensus,” said Arun, raising his voice cut through the noise. “Therefore each Councilor will now argue their case, before we throw open debate to the Assembly floor.”
——
“You will hear much today on the topic of the Cull,” said Indiya, “and rightly so. I shall let others speak on this, because I wish to emphasize another matter – the need to maintain unity.”
Arun admired the conviction in Indiya’s voice. The purple ringlets of her hair flared up in the zero-g, a beacon of her religious significance for those who put store in the idea of holy war. Where Arun had used the reaction jets of his chair to maneuver, Indiya propelled herself around the speakers’ platform, using nothing more than the merest brush of her fingertips. Indiya was a spacer through and through, and was not shy in emphasizing that point.
“The terms offered by the Emperor require us to administer the worlds of the HAR, the Human Autonomous Region, on behalf of the Imperial citadel. With or without the Cull, we are obliged to maintain economic production targets, send taxes and tithes, maintain law and order, provide scutage – personnel and materiel for the Imperial Armed Forces – swear regular fealty to our overlords, and more. We are granted autonomy to run the HAR, but always on behalf of the Empire. If we fail these obligations, then we lose our autonomy, to be ruled directly from the Imperial Citadel. We have bargained for the worlds we once ruled to be included in the HAR, and more besides that we must liberate from the control of the Emperor’s enemies. Not least amongst these are the Terran Worlds, including Earth. Here at Athena we have won a famous victory, but the war is not yet over, no matter what we choose. And if we allow our disagreements here today to disrupt or destroy our unity, then we shall be lost. There will never be a Human Autonomous Region during peacetime, and we shall be lucky if future generations were to endure the Cull as leniently as we once knew it. If unity is broken now, our descendants will suffer terrible punishments as a consequence of our lack of discipline. That is all.”
——
Admiral Kreippil circled the platform, using flicks of his long tail and twists of his body to provide propulsion and change direction. None of this was real, of course. The Admiral wore motors that mimicked the effect of swimming though water.
The Admiral had been one of the first to call for holy war, and had carried out his calling with the utmost conviction.
A cry came out from a bank of Littorane Marine commanders: “Death to the White Knights! To hell with the blasphemers!”
Arun suspected the original phrasing was a little hotter before his translator sanitized the Littorane words.
Kreippil was not amused. He swam through the air straight at the Littoranes who had called out, and stopped with a tail swipe that smacked into the offenders’ heads. One by one, Kreippil touched their snouts with his, and one by one the Marines bowed their heads in submission.
Kreippil spun back to the platform at the center of the Assembly, and spoke his heart.
“History teaches us that those who greatly displease the White Knights are exterminated, wiped from the community of sentient species. Condemned first to history, and then to be forgotten utterly. Those who commit lesser crimes in the eyes of our overlords suffer correspondingly lesser punishments. On my world – for an offence that was never explained – we refer to our mild rebuke as the Year of Sorrows. A generation of our children was exterminated. Our hearts thirsted for revenge, but to our shame we did nothing.”
Kreippil pointed with a forearm at Indiya, who was resting at the platform. “And then she came. The purple-haired warrior of prophecy. It was as if winter had turned in a moment to high summer. We remembered we had muscles and brains and spirit and honor. We remembered too how to fight. In the name of the Goddess, who had brought the purple one to us as a sign, we declared holy war upon the blasphemers that many of you call White Knights. It is not for nothing that this ship, the flagship of our great endeavor, is named Holy Retribution. And yet some will tell you today that we have no choice in this matter; that we must bow to the Emperor or face destruction.”
Boos and growls rose from the Assembly, silenced by angry flicks of the admiral’s tail.
“To those who say we must bow to the blasphemers, others will reply that we may disdain them with impunity because we do the will of the Goddess. We have license to do as we wish, secure in our divine protection. Neither my mind nor my soul doubts that we were obliged by the Goddess to wage this war, but should we take this peace offering from the Emperor or that one? The gods speak with absolute authority on all matters, but not with such precision as to answer our question today. Furthermore, to a
ssume that we have earned the protection of the Goddess is such hubris as to invite divine retribution upon our own selves. The gods do not owe debts to base mortals. We serve them, and not the other way around. Remember whom we serve. On my world the priests are called listeners, because they are blessed with the ability to hear the heartbeat of reality, and see beyond the mundane to glimpse the divine. I do not urge you to follow one course above the other. I ask instead that you become listeners today. Allow the divine spirit present here into your hearts, and listen to your convictions, so that you may channel the will of the Goddess.”
——
If Kreippil had defied Arun’s expectations with his philosophical plea, the next two speakers fulfilled Arun’s expectations to the letter. Pedro normally spoke for the Trogs, and represented by proxy the handful of Legion species who were the most distinct from the humanoids. Pedro had been unexpectedly evasive, and Lieutenant-General Mountain Root spoke instead on his behalf.
This crisis had been brewing for years, and in Arun’s imagination he had always assumed Xin would be by his side, and Pedro behind him.
Mountain Root made a curt statement of logic. The statistical likelihood was that far fewer individuals would die if they accepted the Cull, than if they rejected the Emperor’s terms. Emotion should play no part in this decision, because the Assembly spoke not for themselves but for the multitudes of others they represented. To seriously question the wisdom of accepting the terms offered was a foolishness his species did not entertain.
The Jotun commander, Aelingir, followed, and argued essentially the same as Mountain Root, though with more diplomacy, and evident regret.
Del-Marie was next up, his white beard lending him an error of sagacity, though the effect was probably limited to the humans in the Assembly.
“The Cull is a terrible scourge the White Knights lash across our backs. As a politician and diplomat, I can step back and coldly see that scourge for what it is. To the White Knights we are cattle, and they whip their beasts to herd us in the direction of their choosing. The scourge stings terribly, we fear the lash, but as populations, and as military and economic entities, the Cull does little damage except to our will.”
