by Tim C Taylor
Shame!
Apologist!
Cold bastard!
“Curb your abuse. I said that was a cold view and it is the truth. Other than with brutal exceptions – such as the Year of Sorrows – while our populations continue with minor wounds, the hurt done to individuals is cruel beyond belief. Unforgivable. Unforgotten.”
Del-Marie stared at the Assembly area whence he had received the most abuse. “I do not forget.”
The Assembly went quiet.
“As a youth – a Marine cadet – I stood side-by-side with General McEwan as I took an SA-71 to execute an older cadet from my own battalion. The crime of the victim? They had been selected for the Cull.”
Many listened to this account in silence, but others began feverish whispering.
“I was fortunate. My carbine registered an empty ammo bulb, and so I returned to my place to observe the events that followed. General McEwan was not so lucky. He aimed his carbine at one of his own comrades, and pulled the trigger…”
Judging from the mix of gasps and stunned silence, Arun’s participation in the Cull wasn’t generally known. Where was Del going with this? The weapon Arun had fired was loaded with a blank round. He hadn’t killed anyone that day, but he had squeezed the trigger. He shuddered.
“Not a day passes that I do not see the faces of those young cadets lined up, knowing that for one in ten, their life was about to end. Shame grips my heart every time I think of that day. I watched, standing in formation, head high, and did nothing. If I had picked a carbine that was loaded, I have always known that I would have squeezed that trigger, and fired at my fellow cadet, because that is what our Jotun officers said we must do.”
Del nodded respectfully at Lieutenant-General Aelingir. “Jotuns are not known for lengthy and emotional justifications of their decisions.” A faint ripple of laughter echoed around the chamber. “But on the day of the Cull, even the Jotuns felt shamed into reminding us that they themselves are subject to the Cull, and in much the same way as their human charges. We were accessories to this crime, but the truly guilty ones were those who forced it upon us. The White Knights. But that is not an excuse. The shame will never leave me. I can never atone. Such is the scarring of those who survive the Cull.”
Silence greeted his words.
“We fear the scourge of the Cull. We turn from the whip, seeking to please our Masters because we fear its sting. I feared the Cull that day, and I fear it still. The general has negotiated a slight lessening of its sting, a measure of dignity in its delivery. Many of you will be angry that I can even voice such concepts. For such a thoroughly evil crime, what difference does a slight lessening make? I cannot be an apologist for institutionalized murder. What kind of freedom did so many die for in the war, if their sacrifice brought only a return of the Cull?
“I tell you this. Every time I hear those arguments, I think back to that day when I was seventeen. The Trans-Species Union survives through fear of mutual destruction. Every previous attempt at interstellar civilization going back for megayears has ended in failure. Until now. The rule of law is paramount, because it is the protection upon which every species depends. If a species or political entity grows too powerful, or loses reason, if it treats the law with contempt, then every other sentient in the Union would unite and wage war upon the offender until they are utterly destroyed, and their very memory erased. We of the Legion have willfully broken the law, thrown aside the treaties that our worlds signed long ago as the price for White Knight patronage. Those treaties still bind us. This war has been fought as one huge gamble, that at the moment of our greatest power, the Emperor would forgive our transgressions, and retrospectively legitimize our actions in law with a new treaty. This is our moment. We shall not get another. The alternative is to wage war upon the entire galaxy, a war we cannot win.
“My friends, if we reject the deal, we guarantee a repeat of that day when I was seventeen, but it won’t be my battalion lined up at the place of execution. If we reject this deal, then we condemn us all to death. Would our sacrifice be worth it? The greatest gesture of defiance in the face of tyranny ever known. Should we throw away the lives of our people as the cost of killing the White Knights on the moon below, and destroy their world forever?
“Yes! Yes, I say it is. To kill the White Knights is the only way I can atone for my part in the Cull. Let them burn!”
Pandemonium flared up around the chamber. Whatever their side in the debate, all there had expected Ambassador Sandure to support the treaty he had helped to negotiate. No one had expected this. Certainly not Arun.
“But wait…” said Del-Marie. “Who would be lined up at the place of execution? Not ourselves here. By the time of our ultimate defeat, most of us will be long dead. It is the future generations of our homeworlds who will die – our children’s children; the nests that would never be started, the cultural masterpieces that will never be, the flourishing of philosophy and science that will no longer come to pass. That is who we line up for the execution squads. The countless eggs that will never hatch, the worlds never colonized and brought to life, the stories untold, the very names of our species will be forgotten far too soon. There is not a world big enough to stage such an execution of the trillions upon trillions of lives that we condemn if we reject the Emperor’s terms.
“This is the best our generation can hope for. Despite the poison at its heart, the treaty is still a great victory. Let the Cull remain as a beacon of iniquity that will burn in the hearts of our descendants, until they rise up and finally extinguish it forever. But they cannot do this unless we first secure them this bridgehead. Do not consider these terms to be a lasting peace. Consider them instead a temporary armistice while we consolidate our considerable gains, and gather our strength to renew the fight for freedom.
“With a heavy heart, I recommend to you the deal General McEwan has struck.”
——
Lieutenant-General Graz’s eyes barely raised above his thick neck ridge as he rotated his dome-like head through 360 degrees, taking in the barely suppressed mob still humming in anger at Del-Marie’s speech.
This went on for several minutes before the general stretched his head high, elongating his neck in a way Arun had never seen. It looked as if Graz’s head were on tiptoes.
The Assembly calmed, to a degree.
“I am a Tallerman. We are born on a world of cruel winters, flayed by supersonic winds. Our winters can last longer than the natural lifespan of many here present, and to withstand them, we take root amongst the rocks of our world, becoming rocklike ourselves until the spring warms the ground, and the winds subside.
“Some say this makes us slow. Some say we are defensive, overly cautious. As many of you know, we have a saying. ‘Before stepping forward, first look behind’.”
Graz swiveled his head to look behind, though whether this was to emphasize his point or to attempt humor, Arun wasn’t sure.
“To look behind is not to be defensive, it is to be reflective. Our friend, Ambassador Sandure, compared the Cull to a scourge across our backs. Comrades, we of Tallerman know about scourges. What is Nature upon our world other than a whip that cuts far deeper than the Cull?”
Traitor!
“Oh, traitor am I? We can discuss your views later in private… Colonel Lorain. But first, explain yourself. Why call me traitor?”
“You are about to declare support for the Cull,” said the human Colonel Lorain, “to endorse McEwan’s deal.”
Graz rolled his eyes, a more literal motion than when performed by human. “You are a human, Colonel. A Child of Earth. You would not have made such an assumption if you were a Tallerman, because you would have first listened to my words, and then reflected on them before humiliating yourself with your precipitous and inaccurate conclusions. Let me make this clear. I do not endorse General McEwan’s deal.”
Uproar! The mood in the chamber grew ugly.
“I told you that I am a product of my homeworld. So long
as we support this great evil then we shall all of us be similarly shaped by the Cull, as Nature has shaped me. And as it is designed to do, the Cull shapes us as slaves. See how General McEwan shies away from freedom on the eve of victory, and gratefully accepts scraps from his master’s table. Truly, the general is shaped by the Cull. Despite his many fine qualities of leadership, in his heart he remains a slave. As the ambassador says, General McEwan participated in an execution, and he can never escape its memory.”
The mood in the chamber grew uglier.
“We have conquered this world. It is an economic, technological, and military prize. Let us make the White Knights our slaves.”
It took a moment for Graz’s words to sink in before cheers and shouts of approval rang out in the chamber.
“Let us take this world from them and make it the new capital of the Human Autonomous Region. From here on we will always be our own masters, or die free. The ambassador is correct. The galaxy will come after us, seeking to make us pay for our lawbreaking, and fearing that the Legion will be the rot that unbinds the Trans-Species Union and dooms us all to extinction.
“But we are not the same as those earlier failed civilizations. We have zero-point defenses to protect against the kinetic bombardments that destroyed the worlds of prehistory. And we have X-Boats, stealth ships, and many other innovations. We need many more, but in the hour of our greatest need we shall develop them, as we have done before. We cannot take on the entire galaxy and win, but we can give them such a bloodied nose that they will eventually back off, and seek a way to accommodate us.
“Comrades, the fight against the galaxy will be arduous. It will last a thousand years or more. We cannot be sure of victory, but it is a war we must fight. We cannot allow ourselves to be deflected and confused by the lies of the enemy in the Imperial Citadel. Let us be clear, to accept the general’s deal is to surrender, to condemn our peoples to slavery for all time.
“Think on this issue in the long term. Think on it like a Tallerman. I reject this deal. I say we fight on!”
Arun couldn’t deny the support for Graz’s words in the chamber. He felt the pull of them himself, but while many in the Assembly were fired up by the Tallerman’s words, Arun felt the chill of dismay.
Without Xin – still under arrest on Lance of Freedom – there was only one more speaker before Arun opened the debate to the floor. Arun quailed at the prospect, but the Littoranes had insisted that they hear from the Mouthpiece of the Gods, and despite his loathing of the species the planner portion of Arun’s brain said the Hummers still had a part to play in the story.
The Hummer’s appearance had been communicated beforehand to all present in the assembly. Even so, as the orange blob inside a life-support tank was propelled into the Assembly chamber by a pair of Littoranes, the sight drew gasps from its members.
“We see the future,” came the Hummer’s words through the speaker at the base of its tank. “Some say my race is blessed by the Goddess to speak on her behalf. We do not deny that possibility, although we have never claimed it. If you reject this agreement, we see no hope. In all the possible futures we can see in which the agreement does not hold, our peoples are wiped out within a thousand years. Many of you wish to punish the White Knights. Those on the world below us are at your mercy. Kill them! Feel the pleasure as you watch them die. As individuals, you may live out your lives in safety and luxury, basking in the memory of your opponents’ demise. But hurry, because you must live your lives quickly before the Trans-Species Union crushes us.
“But know this. Your descendants will surely die. Your people on your homeworlds and their descendants will also die. I know this for a fact, because I have seen it.”
An object flew out from the massed ranks of the Assembly, spinning lazily toward the Night Hummer’s tank.
A grenade!
“Do not be alarmed,” said Aelingir, who was the only one amongst the Legion Council in battle armor. “I detect no charge. It’s a dud.”
Arun felt useless, stuck in his chair, which was clamped to the speaking platform. Rather than scramble out in an undignified fashion, he waited for the incoming grenade. Just before it hit the Hummer’s life-support tank, Aelingir stretched out a hand and caught the grenade. She crushed it to powder in her powered fist.
“General, do you require assistance?” The query came via Barney from Major Exreag, who was waiting outside with his security detail of Littorane Marines.
“Negative,” Arun replied. “It’s just someone making a point. For now.”
A commotion was brewing in the sector of the Assembly from which the grenade had been thrown.
“Don’t listen to the Hummer,” called out a voice. “The Hummers are not who you think they are.”
“Quiet!” shouted someone near the first speaker.
A flood of argument erupted.
Ask the Hummer who it really is!
Remember your discipline!
Shame on you.
Arun sounded the tone, calling the Assembly to order, but it made no difference. Only when Admiral Kreippil swam to the rebellious segment of the Assembly did the voices silence.
“Let her speak,” said Kreippil, who had positioned his bulk in front of a Littorane Naval officer. “We brought this individual from my world. The being in the tank was and remains the Mouthpiece of the Gods. If there is criticism to be made, then I wish to hear it. And if I regard your words to be disrespectful, I will ensure you pay the price.”
Arun identified the Assembly Member as Captain Surasim, the Littorane commander of a missile destroyer. She didn’t bow her head in submission as Arun expected. Instead, she unstrapped herself from her perch and advanced a short distance into the interior of the chamber before pointing her tail tip at the Hummer.
“That creature – which you call the Mouthpiece of the Gods and many here refer to as a Night Hummer – I prefer to call it a White Knight. The Night Hummers are a faction of White Knights. They may live now in the gas giant Euphrates, but their ancestors came from Athena. They’re using us as pawns in their political games, so they can emerge from behind the shadows and claim the Imperial Citadel for their own.”
Kreippil shoved Captain Surasim back toward her perch. She shouted hurriedly: “Isn’t that so, General McEwan?”
Damn! How had Surasim learned about this? Or was this guesswork, fishing for a reaction from Arun, just as he had done with the Emperor?
A deathly silence stifled the Assembly as every member watched Arun’s reaction. He had to reply, and it had to be the truth. Or, at least, his version of the truth.
“I do not know for sure,” he said, which was just about accurate. The Emperor had neither confirmed nor denied Arun’s assertion about the origins of the Night Hummers. “But I have suspicions that match your own.”
Furious arguments broke out, rapidly escalating to kicks and punches. Major Exreag’s Littorane Marines, suited up for battle, streamed inside the chamber, forming a protective perimeter around the speakers, just in time to stare down an angry mob of human Marine officers who had been headed for Arun.
“Heed the words of Admiral Indiya,” Arun shouted. “Whatever our course of action, we must be unified in its pursuit. If we splinter now, then everything we have fought for will be lost.”
His words did nothing to calm the enraged Assembly. The Littorane Marines kept its members from harming one another, but that was not the same as keeping order.
“I call a recess for ninety minutes,” said Arun. “You will all leave in peace, and reflect upon your responsibilities to those you represent before returning.”
— Chapter 47 —
Arun wanted to pace.
Never had being stuck inside this chair frustrated him as much as now.
Even if his legs were restored, they still wouldn’t be able to pace up and down the stores compartment that had been reserved for Arun’s private use, conveniently close to the Assembly Chamber. There was no gravity, and the pseudo-walk
ing allowed by charged boots was not the same as pacing.
Knowing this was no help at all: he wanted to pace.
The first session of the Human Assembly had nearly ended in violence. Everyone was looking to him for a solution, and he had sixty minutes in which to find one. If he didn’t, then it didn’t take Tremayne’s visions of the future to see that the Human Legion would be dashed upon the rocks of the Cull. Just as that veck in the Imperial Citadel was probably hoping.
The organic planning computer wrapped around his mind had gotten him out of holes in the past, but the cogs would not turn this time. If they did, it would only be to tell him to accept the Cull, an answer that his planner mind had given consistently for years now.
A chime from the hatch announced that someone wished to see him.
Indiya, he supposed, who meant well but they had discussed the Cull to death over the last two days, and every time he saw Indiya, his heart asked why it was not Xin who stood beside him to face the universe and its intractable dilemmas together.
He sighed and instructed Barney to open the hatch.
But it wasn’t Indiya. Arun felt a little flutter in his heart when he saw Tremayne float through. What was that he was feeling? Hope… sorrow… anger? All of them in one powerful bundle, he supposed.
“Arun, may I speak with you?”
To talk with this woman… no good could possibly come of that. He didn’t know what he felt about her, other than that she was supremely distracting. And this was the worst moment in his life to be distracted.
“Don’t shut me out,” she said. “For the sake of our friendship, for what we once meant to each other, hear me know.”
He’d vaguely acknowledged her presence, but now for the first time he looked at her properly, and was struck by how old she had grown. The scars and burn marks on her face had been softened by proximity to the features touched not by combat injuries but by age. Her eyes had dimmed somewhat, but retained their distinctive violet hue. Arun could see beyond the superficial detail of eye pigmentation and recognize the passionate spirit that still burned behind those eyes. The young Springer had burned with optimism and verve – it was how she won her name – and despite all the Arun and others had done to stifle her, she still had her special belief that she knew how to make a difference.
