Hellfire (THEIRS NOT TO REASON WHY)

by Jean Johnson

  Roughly one-third of the men and women nodded somberly in understanding. One-third looked a little confused, and the remaining third looked disturbed. That included their ship’s doctor, Jesselle Mishka, who frowned in distaste at Ia.

  “I can corroborate this,” Lieutenant Rico stated, surprising her a little. She hadn’t figured he would speak up. At her nod of permission, he filled in a few more details for the skeptical members of the crew. “I have studied their culture as well as their language, to better understand how and why they communicate. For the first five years of a Salik’s life, they do not learn how to read, write, or interact socially beyond their immediate family-pack, which consists of their mother and their siblings.

  “Instead, within two months of emerging from their egg-sacs, they learn how to hunt live prey, starting first with small, fish-like creatures whose only defenses are that they spawn in great numbers and can swim fast en masse, on up through to large, non-sentient livestock that are bred to fight back,” the lieutenant said. “By the time their brains have developed enough for higher cognitive learning, they are natural killers. Attempts by Alliance social services to ‘reeducate’ Salik spawnlings have failed, because this five-year hunting requirement is hardwired into their biology and their neurology. They are not Human.”

  Ever since his trip into the timestreams with her, Oslo Rico had given up his resistance to her leadership. Ia dipped her head in acknowledgment of his help. “The lieutenant is correct. In the eyes of softhearted civilians who are not trained in xenobiology or xenopsychology…we will be seen as going up against their own children. We will be seen as slaughtering their younglings, whether it’s Human, Gatsugi, Tlassian, K’kattan, Choyan or Solarican, Dlmvlan or Chinsoiy. But these are not our children.

  “As for the legality of our coming strike against a crèche station designed to raise and train Salik children…they are located well outside the Salik Interdicted Zone, the only place where the Salik are permitted to establish colonies. By law, they are explicitly forbidden to establish and occupy any locations other than the openly listed ones, which means these hidden crèche stations are completely valid targets, the exact same as those comm hubs were…which did have small crèche-ponds of children on board.”

  Her confession stirred the crew in waves of discomfort. Ia let that sink in, then continued.

  “The only difference between this next target and the previous ones is the scale. A few hundred at most, versus the tens of thousands of tadpoles we’ll be going after. This crèche station, the first of many, is specifically designed to rear and train Salik younglings to be competent engineers, mechanics, scientists, and warriors. They are staffed by Salik broodmothers culled from the top-serving members of the underground Salik war effort…and while their graduating ceremonies do remove the bottom five students per class, they practice those skills beforehand on captured sentients.”

  “I can corroborate that,” Helstead spoke up.

  That, Ia had expected. She nodded at the former Corps officer to continue.

  “Intelligence reports from pirate operations have included numerous cases of extremely unscrupulous sentients among the members of the criminal undergalaxy selling their prisoners for large sums of tangible assets,” the lieutenant commander shared, glancing at her fellow officers. She looked out at the men and women seated in the riser seats. “Rare gems, precious metals, and other nontraceable commodities have ensured that, while extremely risky if caught, the food-slave trade has remained quite profitable over the years.

  “While it’s true that in the Interdicted Zone, it’s the death penalty for any pirate caught trading in living sentients to the enemy,” she admitted, “the profits have made that risk worthwhile to many. Every few years, the Knifemen Corps keeps taking out the worst of the slave traders, but more just keep popping back up like weeds.”

  “I myself was sold by a group of pirates to the Salik for my weight, kilo for kilo, in platinum originally mined on the legitimate Salik colonyworld of Ss’nuc III,” Ia admitted in an aside. “But we’re digressing. There is a purpose to this meeting beyond informing you of the distasteful yet necessary chore we are about to pursue. I made myself a promise back when I first planned for this crew. If I had the time to spare, and could spare it before a particular engagement, I would give you an opportunity to step into the timestreams with me and see for yourselves just how necessary this particular fight will be.

  “I offer you this opportunity now. I have half an hour I can spare from my other obligations and duties,” Ia stated, moving around the table to the front of it. “If you wish to see for yourself just what we’re up against, you may choose to do so. This offer is open to my fellow officers as well as to the noncoms and enlisted. If you have any doubts or discomforts at the idea of undergoing this, you may consult with Lieutenant Rico, who has already accompanied me on a previous visit to the timestreams.”

  A hand rose, hesitant at first, then higher. The owner was Private First Class Harley Floathawg, distinct not only for his self-picked name, but for the burgundy blotches of jungen mottling his skin. Half-V’Dan and half-Terran, he was one of less than a million or so Humans of the billions occupying the known galaxy to still get the colorful skin pigmentation. Ia had not selected him based on his appearance or unusual name, however; she had selected him because he was one of the best hovertech mechanics available for her crew, without being needed far more elsewhere.

  “Yes, Private Floathawg, you have a question?” Ia asked.

  “Captain, yes, sir,” he stated, rising from his seat. Tall and lean, he overshadowed his shorter, mousy teammate, Private Second Class Mara Sunrise, who stayed in her seat, looking bored with the proceedings. Both of them were supposed to be on the current watch, but neither had a task at the moment that was absolutely necessary to keep monitored during this hour. “What exactly are these timestreams?”

  “My gifts act in a visual way…though visualization might be a better word for it,” Ia told him. “Since my abilities came to full strength at the age of fifteen, this visualization starts out as a giant prairie crisscrossed by streams. Each stream represents a single person’s life. Where the stream splits, a choice has been made, and each new part of the stream indicates what will happen if each choice is followed.

  “From the banks of that stream, I can see images inside the waters of snippets of time from that particular person’s life. If I go upstream, I go into that person’s past. If I go downstream, I go into their future. And if I were to step into those waters, I would be living that person’s life at the moment in time where I entered, as if it was a point-of-view hologram, with sight, sound, touch, taste, smell…and even some access to their uppermost surface thoughts, but with zero interaction with the actual person,” Ia said. “In that regard, it is more like a standard, noninteractive vidshow broadcast than anything else.

  “Now, I can change the visualization images,” she added, as Harley’s fellow crewmates glanced uneasily at each other. “I’ve used graphs, grids, plus other metaphors such as tapestries and so forth, but it always starts out as the timeplains, and I myself always start out in my own life-stream…as does anyone who comes with me. I have also learned to lift that person out of their own waters quickly upon entry so they don’t metaphorically drown from trying to process too much doubled-up information at once.”

  Another hand rose. Ia pointed at its owner, Private Second Class Nadja Theam, a clairvoyant and fellow psi, and a very good electronics programmer and engineer. Floathawg sat down, his question answered, and Theam stood in his place. “Sir, I’ve been given to understand you’re both a precognitive and an electrokinetic. In fact, word is among the crew, you can program literally with a thought. Why don’t you just show us these timestream images by using the monitors in here, while you’re searching for them wherever it is they exist?”

  “I wish I could do that, Private Theam,” Ia allowed. She shook her head. “Unfortunately, while my years of effort at discipli
ning my electrokinetic gift make it possible for me to transcribe simple things like written orders, programming code, and the like, it isn’t the electrokinesis that’s the problem. My precognition is too powerful. The handful of times where I have tried directly to record the images that I see inside my mind when I’m standing in the timestreams themselves, I have fried every datapad and workstation console I have touched…just as I have destroyed every KI monitor within range of my abilities, which is why we don’t have any on board this ship.

  “I can skim the timeplains from this side and pull through what I need, but it is always throttled down and filtered,” she explained. “In short, you can fill a cup of water successfully from the sink tap, when that tap is fed by the waters of a dam far upstream, but you cannot expect to fill it nearly as safely by dropping the sluice gates of that dam while you’re standing on its spillway. Any other questions?”

  PFC Belle Underwood had one. She stood as well, her stance At Attention, but her tone hesitant. “Um…will it hurt, sir? Going onto the timeplains or whatever?”

  “Only if you let go of my hand, or say the word ‘time’ repeatedly while we are there.” Her reply earned Ia several chuckles. “Laugh all you want, meioas; I am serious. For those who don’t want to experience the timestreams but are still doubtful or curious about the necessity of the coming attack, I have carefully considered all of the choice-possibilities in this and other endeavors, and have concluded that attacking these crèches—repugnant as that is to our Human sensibilities—will save far more lives down the road than it will cost. Every action I undertake, past, present, and future, is designed with that goal firmly in mind.

  “Now, if you are curious, please feel free to move forward and line up. If you do not wish to have your temporal questions answered at this time—and yes, Corporal Johnson, you may ask to see other events, though I may or may not comply at my precognitive prerogative—then you may remain in your seats or consider yourselves dismissed.

  “Those of you on duty who are watching this meeting will have to hold your questions for the next temporal opportunity. Those who stay here in the boardroom but do not participate will have the opportunity to chat with those who do take a dip in the timestreams today,” Ia concluded. “You are now free to move as you will, meioas. Thank you for your attention.”

  A few got up and left. A few more hesitated, then moved to the front of the hall. Doctor Mishka spoke up before any of them reached Ia.

  “Why didn’t you offer us this opportunity any earlier, Captain?” Mishka asked her. The blonde woman remained in her seat at the table, her expression skeptical. “Why now? And why not have all of us take a stroll through these timestreams with you?”

  “Because—ironic as my adult life is—I believe in free will, Doctor,” Ia replied, twisting slightly to look at the older woman. “Those who follow me onto the timeplains tend to see things that shift their perception of the universe. Not through anything I myself do to them but simply because once you have seen something, it cannot be unseen. Every experience changes us, and if the experience is a powerful one, it has the potential to change us in equally powerful ways. Sometimes I have to take people into the streams with me so that they can see the consequences of actions, whether it’s theirs, mine, or others’…but I prefer it when it’s their own idea.

  “This is also why I prefer not to be touched,” Ia added, looking at the others approaching her. “My gifts can and will trigger on their own, particularly when I am startled, or my guard is down. And like most psychic abilities, they are strongest when transferred via physical contact. I prefer to do that under controlled circumstances, and only when that person’s foreknowledge will not harm the actions that must take place—if any of you change your minds at the last second, meioas, I will not take offense. If you haven’t, we’ll do this one at a time.”

  “I want to know what your end-goal is, sir.” Private Kimberly Kim, lead team member of 1st Platoon B Gamma and full-mech specialist, halted in front of Ia. Shorter than her captain, she looked up at Ia with the level gaze of a woman who considered herself an equal. “Why you’re doing whatever it is you’re doing, and why you’ve involved the rest of us in it. I know you already said you’re in this to prevent bad stuff from happening down the road, but that’s what I want to see for myself.”

  “You see that, and if you have a single scrap of compassion within you for the other beings in this universe, it’ll change you forever, Private,” Ia warned her. She lifted her hand, offering it palm up to the other woman. “But if you do want to see it, I’ll show it to you.”

  “Sir, yes, sir.” Kim stated, and gripped Ia’s fingers.

  Sighing, Ia complied, taking the shorter woman into her gifts. Between one breath and the next, she pulled the two of them out of their life-streams and onto the banks. Waiting just enough for Kim to get her bearings, she accelerated them downstream, into the desert waiting for their descendants, and the one trickle of a chance at stopping that lifeless desiccation.

  “This is what will happen to all life in the Milky Way Galaxy. Starting three centuries from now, an invasion force will start stripping every planet and every star for raw materials. It will take them less than two centuries to do it…and this chain of events is the one chance we—ourselves and our descendants—will have at stopping them.”

  CHAPTER 9

  …But most scholars will insist the war took off with a vengeance on the third of March, Terran Standard, the day before my twenty-fourth birthday. On the Terran side of things, the first defensive shots were actually fired by a group of civilians on the edge of the system, then the rest of the military engaged. The Damned were somewhere else entirely.

  ~Ia

  MARCH 3, 2496 T.S.

  NEARSPACE, BEAUTIFUL-BLUE

  GATSUGI MOTHERWORLD, SUGAI SYSTEM

  The Gatsugi that appeared on Ia’s main screen was four-armed, mouse-eyed, blue-green-skinned, and boasted butter yellow tufts on his head, strands which were more akin to the long, individual barbs on a peacock-feather shaft than anything resembling Human hair. He smiled by curving up the edges of his small mouth—a gesture Gatsugi and Humans had in common—and said, “Greetings/Salutations/Hello. You have reached/contacted/I am the Sugai Insystem Comptroller. How may I help/assist/aid you?”

  “Greetings/Hello, Comptroller,” Ia returned politely. “This is/I am Captain Ia of the Terran Space Force requesting/asking/seeking permission to enter Gatsugi homespace/territory/system-heart.”

  The alien’s race had evolved on a world with predators sporting extremely sensitive hearing, though poor vision, and had developed multiple methods of communication. They talked more than they gestured or colorchanged now, but the layers of meaning had merely morphed into multiple-word use. Some sentients found it annoying; Ia thought it was elegant. Not something she’d use herself every day, but elegant in its own way.

  The Comptroller dipped his head. “What is the name/identity, need/purpose for visiting, and location/point of entry for your ship/vessel, Captain Ee-ah?”

  “The TUPSF Hellfire is a new/experimental Harasser-Class warship,” Ia stated, pronouncing the acronym tup-siff. “We are approaching/entering Sugai System from your vector 117 by 3. We request/request/request that you clear/evacuate Beautiful-Blue nearspace sectors 1008, 908, 807 through 809, and 705 through 712 of all vessels within the next ten klitak Gatsugi Standard, and request/request/request you prepare to elevate/accelerate all system defenses/warnings from Peach to Sanguine in ten klitak. Our purpose/intent/reason for entering/arriving is to assist/aid/help in defending/protecting your system/sovereignty from inbound/advancing enemies/enemies/enemies in less than fifteen klitak.”

  Most of the time, Gatsugi conversations circled around a subject, approaching it from multiple angles. Sometimes, they repeated a particular word for emphasis. Hearing that emphasis, the Comptroller widened his mouse black eyes, skin flushing from blue-green to a reddish peach in just a few seconds. “What/What/What ene
mies?”

  “Salik,” Ia stated. The name needed no emphasis. “You have just over fourteen klitak to the Second Salik War, Comptroller, and the Terran government has sent/allowed me to help/assist in the protection/defense of your Motherworld. Do we/Does this ship/military force have/receive your permission/clearance to enter/approach Beautiful-Blue nearspace and assist/defend your Motherworld/heart?”

  “Is this true/true/true?” the Comptroller asked, flushing a skeptical shade of muddy orange.

  “I do not lie to you, meioa,” Ia stated flatly. “If you do/will not believe me, cooperating/accepting my request/warning anyway/regardless will not/will not cause/create inconvenience/trouble for more than twenty klitak. Just/please clear/evacuate sectors 1008, 908, 807–809 and 705–712 immediately/now, and do not use lightwave communications/channels. They are parked/sitting/watching at system’s edge/farspace right/for now, watching/scanning/spying on you.”

  The Comptroller wasted a klitak in thought, somewhat longer than a Terran Standard minute. Finally, his lower arms moved, touching controls below the edge of the vid pickups for their comm link. “We will comply/trust you/the Terrans. Clearing/Evacuating the indicated/listed sectors/spaces now. What is your estimated time/moment of insystem/nearspace arrival/appearance?

  “Fourteen klikat from…now.” Ia stated, checking the timestreams. Speaking with the politeness of using Gatsugi thought patterns was starting to give her a headache.

  The Comptroller flushed reddish peach. “Your arrival/entry will be after/following the Salik. Why/Why/Why not before?”