James Wittenbach - Worlds Apart 03

by Bodicea

  Vulpeculus VII, but the prefix sequence is all wrong. It’s on a standard communication frequency.” Her wrinkled fingers worked across the comm panel. “Lieutenant, I believe it is originating from the alien fleet.”

  Matthew left her mind. “Show it to me.”

  Coronado appeared (not that Eliza Jane knew it was Coronado). She had dressed for the occasion, in something that almost looked like a formal uniform in white silk and spun gold.

  Eight other Aurelians stood beside her, similarly appareled. She wore a large, inviting smile, and oozed good cheer.

  “This message is addressed to Executive Commander Goneril Lear. The Aurelian Body extends greetings to you, with all good wishes for your continued health and well-being.”

  “We could not but feel, upon your departure, that we had failed to convey the full measure of our peaceful intentions and hospitality to you. We understand the uncertainty you must be feeling, your doubt about the goodness of our intentions. I want to offer you my personal assurance, we have absolutely no intention of acting violently against the people of Bodicéa, nor any intention of subjugating them under our rule.

  “We are convinced that further contacts will help build an atmosphere of trust between our people. We bid you to return to our world ship, where I will present you with a proposition that will ensure a permanent peace between all of our peoples.

  “I sincerely hope you appreciate the gift we are offering you. I hope to see you very soon.” She clasped her hands together and raised them, her voice turned almost pleading. “Let’s not give up on peace, the future is too important.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Commander Keeler was reviewing the latest reconnaissance report on the Aurelian fleet.

  They had taken up position near the sixth planet, just outside its orbital margin, spreading out in a great crescent over ninety million kilometers from tip-to-tip. The image projected in the war room made him think of little iron filings, surrounding a small metal sphere like a ball bearing.

  The World-Ship had moved into position at the rear of the formation near the center.

  However, prior to taking this position, it had circled the sixth planet at an orbit of 19 million kilometers for six hours, and had fired approximately 14,000 projectiles at its surface. Target practice? The reconnaissance probes weren’t sure. The projectiles disappeared into the crust.

  No detonations were detected, and little dust was kicked up on the rocky surface.

  10 225 Vulpeculus Six was called Kevil by the Bodicéans. It was a chunk of solid iron and nickel 2,200 kilometers in diameter, pocked with a few craters.

  What are they up to? He wondered. What are they up to?

  “Pegasus is in the prime launch position,” Specialist Kyle McCormick reported at his station on PC-1. “Aves Winnie, you have a forty-five second optimal launch window, and a two minute nominal launch window.”

  Captain Wang’s voice came back. “Winnie will launch in fifteen seconds.”

  “Acknowledged, Flight Control, Winnie is yours.” Commander Keeler looked over Specialist McCormick’s shoulder. Hovering to the left of him, one display showed Winnie secured on the launch rails. Another display hung in the air on his right, showing a schematic view of the Aves with all systems green except for a large purple pod in the upper cargo bay they had been instructed not to ask about. A third display showed the course of Winnie projected to the margin of the sixth planet.

  “Message for you, incoming, Commander,” said the other Specialist McCormick, twin brother of the first.

  “I’ll take it, audio only.” Keeler activated the comm unit on the collar of his command jacket. “Keeler here.”

  “Hoy, boss.” There was a note of mocking irony in the way Queequeg called him boss that Keeler never quite cared for.

  “Hoy, Queequeg. Can you confirm the passenger is secured on-board Winnie?”

  “Transfer is complete. Package and passenger on-board.”

  “Automated systems.”

  If Keeler had not failed to talk Queequeg into traveling with Winnie, to make sure the mission succeeded, his stomach would not be tossing so much now, at least not so hard. There were risks attached to what they were doing, of that, the cat had been unequivocal. He had been just as intractable in his refusal to leave Pegasus, precisely because some of those risks meant Winnie might not return. Instead, the cat had assured him the automated systems would do the job.

  “All clear. Keeler out. Godspeed, Winnie. ”

  The launch count dropped from ten to zero. Winnie fired down the rails and shot from the forepart of the ship at an almost ludicrous speed. Keeler hoped his kitty-cat was right.

  Lear had succeeded in convincing the Inner Circle to entertain (the exact word) a tactical presentation of Lt. Cmdr. Miller accompanied by the able Bridget Armatrading. Tamarind also came along, but only to observe. Miller noticed, with some amusement, that the pacifistic Bodicéa n women stared in a kind of fascinated horror at the warrior in their midst. He had learned that the preponderance of Bodicéa n literature equated warriors with monsters and demons. They didn’t seem afraid of Tamarind so much as intrigued, perhaps even aroused.

  “The Security Circle has not convened in over a century.” Solay intoned at the beginning of the meeting. She had assured Lear that only those members of the circle who were most skeptical of the Aurelians’ good intentions would be present. “However, our charter remains in effect. We have the capability to mobilize planetary resources to ensure the safety of our people, if we feel a sufficiently grave threat exists.”

  “You may not feel a threat at present,” Solay continued. “However, our ability to defend our planet, perhaps … and I emphasize perhaps … with the assistance of these people, may be necessary to preserve Bodicéa on our own terms. In the spirit of our foremothers, to preserve everything they have bequeathed to us, we owe them an audience. Consider their presentation carefully, and consider the lives of your daughters and grand-daughters, and the world they will inherit.”

  Miller let Armatrading present the outline of his plans while he studied the Bodicéans’

  reactions. The effect with the two-dimensional projectors used by the Bodicéa ns was considerably less impressive than the full sensory engagement displays he was accustomed to, and he had a tough room to begin with. The women were polite however, and did not raise objections until almost four minutes into the presentation, as Armatrading presented a schematic of one of the Orbital Defense Stations.

  “Orbital Battle Stations,” said one woman, older than she would have like to admit, in a tremulous voice. “Just the thought of having deadly weapons hanging over our heads… over our children’s heads. It is contrary to everything I was raised to believe in.”

  “The only purpose of this weapon … ” said Armatrading, in a tone that tried to be both patient and firm, but came off as patronizing. “… is to defend this planet against incoming hostile ships, missiles, warheads, and other forms of ballistic attack.”

  “What about the debris?” said another woman. “Wouldn’t it rain down on our cities and destroy us?”

  Armatrading was about to explain how unlikely this was, statistically speaking, as well as describing the relative difference in the amount of damage between a piece of debris and the thermonuclear warheads and other weapons used on Medea, but another woman spoke before she could continue.

  “The very minute we place ‘death stars’ in orbit around our planet, the enemy has already destroyed us. Two thousand years of pacifism will have ended.” Her tone was anguished, and she seemed on the verge of hysterical tears.

  “Perhaps, it would be better if we just signed the treaty, and offered our unconditional surrender,” said one woman, one of the older members. “If we don’t give them a reason to fight us, then, no one would have to die.”

  “If we resorted to arming ourselves, we would be no better than those who come to conquer us,” a stout, hatchet faced woman pronounced. “The moment we aband
on our principles of pacifism, our way of life is lost.”

  Somebody already said that, Miller thought. He stifled a yawn, instinctively knowing that the

  ‘committee instinct’ had taken hold, and wondered how much time would pass before anything new or useful was said.

  “Do you have any alternatives to putting war machines in the skies above our planet?” asked another woman. The tone of her voice was sincere, at least.

  Armatrading continued brightly. “We could also help you construct shields for your population centers. Unfortunately, they would take several months to build, and years before all of your cities could be protected.” She advanced the slide.

  “Live under alien rule, or live inside a military camp, a fortress,” hatchet-face said bitterly.

  “Which would be worse?”

  “Even if the cities are protected, the countryside and our wilderness areas would be vulnerable,” someone else observed.

  “The shields themselves might damage the environment,” another woman put in. “We can not save ourselves at the expense of the environment. It goes against our principles.”

  “Again, we are forced to choose between our Pacifist Tradition, and possible annihilation,” a woman said, her voice full of sorrow.

  If these were the women in charge of Planetary Defense, Miller wondered, what did the Justice Circle do all day, sit around debating ways not to arrest criminals?

  “I think we should look to the Middle Way,” another woman said. Her face was pudgy, but not uncomely. Her hair fell in rivulets of red and gold curls and her head lolled slightly when she talked. “Just because they take over our world doesn’t mean they control our hearts and minds. We can mount a passive resistance against them, and preserve both our culture and our pacifism.”

  “Yes, yes, a middle way,” a thoughtful, bookish-looking woman said. “Do you recall learning in school of the Matriards of New Livonia, and how they protected their province against the Marauders of Kevvish.”

  “That was a work of fiction,” Solay said darkly.

  One of the other women became suddenly animated. “I loved that book. That’s a very good idea. We could plant giant thorn-trees around all of our cities, the way the Matriards did. I can have a dozen copies brought from the central library, and we can study their techniques.” She did not use the same tone as Miller would have in offering the suggestion.

  Another woman remembered. “At night, they built bonfires from dried Lylah leaves.

  Breathing in the smoke from burning Lylah produces euphoria, lethargy and confusion. The wind blew the smoke over the camp of the marauders, causing them to fall asleep. They sent out spies and took their weapons from them. When they could not fight, they were forced to go home.”

  “We could line the roads to every city with ryejack weed,” a young woman suggested. She was normally a part of the Circle of Agriculture, where debate over the best means of eliminating ryejack from the crop areas had been raging for decades.

  Armatrading turned to Miller, and offered by way of explanation. “Ryejack is a kind of plant. When a creature passes near, it shoots out clouds of pollen. It is extremely allergenic. It makes your eyes burn. Your lungs begin to itch so fiercely you want to tear your chest open to get at them.”

  “That seems … excessively cruel,” said one older woman.

  Not as cruel as what the Aurelians have in mind, Miller kept to himself.

  Pudgy face made her assertion again. “We can mount a passive resistance. Let them take our cities. We will ignore them, and go on about our lives. We will refuse to serve them. We will refuse to share food with them, or carry out their orders. We will remain pacifist, and still refuse to submit to their rule. Civil disobedience is the third way.”

  “The resin of the Brugg Tree can be boiled into a liqud adhesive. If we spread it in front of the enemy…”

  “I object to the term ‘enemy,’” said hatchet-face, raising her finger.

  “… in front of our antagonists. Their feet would become stuck in the resin. They would be trapped, and unable to march on us.”

  Pudgy face looked extremely concerned at this. “We would need an awful lot of resin. I don’t know that we could produce enough from our forests without causing ecological damage.”

  “”The spores of miuli produce euphoria and hallucinations,” added the bookish woman, whose eyes were hidden behind circles of glass that made her look like some wise bird. “If we could gather enough spores, and release them in the air toward the enemy…”

  “…antagonists!”

  Lt. Cmdr. Miller was about to launch into a fierce explanation of the effects of orbital thermonuclear weapons on resins and hallucinegenic spores, when Tamarind touched his shoulder. Miller turned, and the warrior-monk shook his head slightly.

  Goneril Lear came alone, back to the sphere, the world-ship of the Aurelians. As it loomed closer and closer and finally swallowed the Aves that had conveyed her, she could not help but wonder How could we ever defeat such a thing? Deep inside, she knew, but that would only be a last resort, and she did not know if she could give the command.

  Some naked humans met her at the dock and escorted her into a grand hall were water cascaded down the walls and collected in stone pools. Coronado was soaking in a pool of hot, aromatic water in a great hall lined with flowers. Flower petals floated in the pool and wafted around in the air. A quintet of attendants, naked and female, tended to her. Their skin was a medley of tan and brown hues. When Coronado stood, they poured cool water on her from golden pitchers and offered her fruit from golden trays. It was like looking at an idyllist’s tableau, Lear thought, the kind of art the first colonists on her world had created to distract them from their bleak world.

  “Join me,” said Coronado. Her voice echoed and sang in the chamber. Lear could not tell if it was meant as a command or an invitation. A man and a woman appeared at her side, smiling. She gathered they were here to take her clothes.

  “There is no need for modesty here,” Coronado continued. “There is no shame among Aurelians. We accept what we are, as should you.”

  Awkwardly, Lear removed her boots, her jacket, and the rest of her uniform until she stood naked. The artificial sunlight warmed her. The flooring felt soft and giving beneath her feet. She walked toward the pool and dipped a foot into the water. It was very hot indeed.

  “Cooler,” Coronado commanded, and her attendants began emptying pitchers into the pool. Lear sat on the edge, immersed only up to her knees.

  Coronado turned in her direction, but seemed to have some difficulty focusing on her, as though Lear were some insect skipping in and out of her field of view. “The Hanged Man has devoted many hours contemplating this … our situation; your ship, my fleet, both arriving at this same small planet at the same time. If you had come a few years before, you would have known nothing of us. If you came a few years later, you would find Bodicéa in the midst of integration into the Aurelian Union.”

  “How many worlds are in your union?” Lear asked.

  “Many. We have been in space far longer than you. We are in many ways superior, and yet … ”

  “Yet?”

  Coronado smiled elegantly. “And yet you are well-met. We like you Executive Commander.”

  “We?”

  “The Echelon. We have seen you and Commander Keeler together and we are amazed that it is he who commands your ship and not you. How did that come to be?”

  “It is no mystery. He was selected by the Odyssey Project to command Pegasus, and I was selected to be Executive Officer.”

  “By what criteria was he given authority over you. You are clearly his superior in intellect and temperament. Are your cultures rigidly patriarchal? Do you have some kind of caste arrangement? How is it he has command?”

  “Commander Keeler was quite accomplished on his world. His family has a prominent role in his planet’s history.”

  “An aristocracy!” Coronado growled.

  “Commande
r Keeler is eminently capable of commanding Pegasus. “

  “And you are more capable. If the commander died, would you have command?”

  An image came into her mind, and Lear knew what Coronado suggested had already been arranged. “I would, that is true. Why do you ask?”

  “Because you are a woman of intellect and temperament. We could work with you, but we are very … concerned, yes, very concerned that he could do something reckless, or intemperate, that would echo throughout the ages as a moment when an opportunity for peace and cooperation was cast aside in favor of fear and prejudice.”

  “I share Commander Keeler’s reservations about your intentions.”

  “On what basis?”

  “We know you were at Medea,” Lear said tartly. “You may deceive the Bodicéa ns, but we have seen your work first-hand. We found a body in the ruins there, one of your …, what do call them, ‘Swords.’”

  Coronado managed to look almost convincingly troubled. “Aurelians are the height of human advancement and enlightenment. We try to bring our enlightenment to other worlds.

  As you have surely seen, not all worlds are ready to give up their superstitions, their foundless loyalty to the old ways they have known. Some worlds would prefer to destroy themselves, rather than become a part of the Aurelian Body. It only takes a few extremist fanatics, armed with weapons of mass destruction, to destroy a world.”

  “Were you at Medea?” Lear tried hard to peer into Coronado’s mind. The answer was ambiguous, she was, and yet she was not.

  “I am merely raising a hypothetical. If that planet Medea suffered such a cruel fate, my heart mourns for it. We did not reach them in time, show them the way of perfect peace.

  Please try the wine.”

  A gesture brought one of the human servants to Lear’s elbow, bearing a large glass. Lear tried the wine, except that it did not taste like wine. It was like someone had figured out a way to bottle moonlight as it dappled on a crystal lake.