A Covenant of Justice

by David Gerrold

  “Courageously, your species—you humans and your uplifted companions, the dogs, the apes, and the others—your species volunteered to make up the difference in the bloodfall. You gave us your partnership so that we could fight the predators together. You shared our victories. You still do.”

  The men looked unconvinced, and Lady Zillabar knew automatically what they thought. She answered it without their having to ask. “That we have not seen a predator in centuries, doesn’t mean that we have vanquished them. Perhaps they still swarm across the distant Milky Way, breeding and spreading and smothering all the worlds they encounter. Perhaps one day, they will again leap across the years toward the beckoning Cluster. Do we dare relax our defenses? Do we dare become complacent? I think not. The Phaestor still stand watch against the predators, and those who benefit from our labors must pay us for our service. The transaction has no shame; we ask only life for life.

  “We ask only your continued partnership.”

  Partnership

  William Three-Dollar bowed politely. The tall, red-skinned man had an angular grace that rivaled that of the Vampires themselves. He said, “My Lady, with no disrespect, your version of history differs significantly from mine. Perhaps the error lies with your perspective. Perhaps it lies with mine. Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in-between, and perhaps indeed, the truth exists in neither of our respective tellings. Nevertheless, it seems to me that your version of history contains a measure of self-serving inaccuracy that allows you to continue this fiction that we humans exist in partnership and that we should enjoy this relationship. In point of fact, we most emphatically do not.”

  Zillabar looked momentarily confused, but she recovered quickly and waved Three-Dollar’s words away with one bejeweled hand. “Look out there. See the storms that sweep across Burihatin? You swim like a balloon-fish in the current. You have no idea of the forces that move you. You have no idea what lies beyond your ability to perceive. Your language doesn’t even have the distinctions which would allow me to explain. You can’t hear what I say, you can only hear what your perceptions allow you to hear.”

  Behind Three-Dollar, Sawyer and Lee exchanged a wary glance. Three-Dollar inclined his head curiously, as if listening to something else, then bowed politely. “Enlighten us, then. Show us what we do not understand.”

  Zillabar thought about standing up to face the impudent man, decided not to; she still felt the delicious warmth of Finn Markham’s blood coursing through her veins; she didn’t want to spoil the moment. She stretched out comfortably across the couch.

  “I’ll tell you part of what you don’t know,” she said. “We have found the taste of human blood and human flesh to have an invigorating effect upon our palates. Humans provide a very sweet addition to our diets, much more delicious than our original bioform prey. Humans breed faster and taste better. Many vampires prefer the taste of humans, and correspondingly we feel much less pressure to restore and maintain our bioform herds as before. We would rather lessen the number of humans first. We do not enjoy your competition for resources.

  “The matter of your sentience does not carry the same importance to us as it does to you; because from our vantage point, you really do not have anywhere near as much sentience as you think you do. You have just enough rationality to understand the concept, but certainly not enough to achieve it.

  “We plan to have a Phaestor governor on every Regency world before the beginning of the next cycle. All of the lesser species will soon serve our needs, and we will complete the process of restructuring the Dominion. Despite the untimely death of Lord Drydel—an event in which your participation will not go unpunished—our plans will go forward. I will lay many eggs—more than any other queen in history. And you humans will play an important part in that drama as well.

  “Our experiments have proven that Phaestor boys grow faster and healthier when hatched in human hosts. So your species will provide another service to the Phaestoric Dominion. You will not only feed us, you will help us breed, and all the while you will help us reduce your numbers.

  “From your feeble perspective, of course, this must appear as a terrible violation of your desperate urge to survive; but, when viewed from the larger frame of reference that we Vampires enjoy, when viewed from the greater historical perspective, this moment represents an extraordinary threshold of evolutionary opportunity. We approach critical mass. When it occurs, then . . . in one great leap, we shall cast off the past and reinvent the ruling intelligence of the Palethetic Cluster. Your feeble sentience will enhance that process, expressing itself ultimately in the joyous recognition of a self-designed, self-created godhood of Phaestoric consciousness. Gods need worshippers.

  “The participation of humanity in this transformation of sentience exists as an evolutionary privilege never before granted to any intelligent species. I sometimes wonder how any intelligent creature would not eagerly wish to have such a partnership with the future. And equally, I sometimes wonder why you poor, pitiful things continue to demonstrate so much resistance to the inevitable course of life. As much as I try to understand the workings of your lesser minds, I remain appalled at the paucity of your imaginations, at your inability to accept that another species has earned its right to rule over you.”

  As if exhausted by this speech, the Lady sank back on her couch, again succumbing to the intoxicating glow of Finn’s fresh blood. She had not realized how much she had needed this draught; she felt its effects much more profoundly than she expected. Perhaps the treatment in his blood had ripened much faster than she realized, or perhaps she had deprived herself too long of her own sweet red dreams. No matter. She would enjoy this one to the utmost. It would take a while before her ship could slip into orbit around Burihatin-14, and she had nothing better to do anyway. She felt woozy.

  She lifted one hand to dismiss William Three-Dollar and the others, but before she could complete the gesture, the tall man began speaking to her. Both his words and his tone carried an ominous sense of danger. But she couldn’t see how this pitiful man could possibly harm her. She listened in amusement as he began. “What you describe, Lady Zillabar, represents the most heinous violation of the Regency Charter since the original founders first drafted that sacred document. You have described a Vampire plan for racial war.”

  Zillabar struggled to sit up. “Ho!” she grunted. “Other races have abused the Vampires for centuries—this represents justice. We see it as a fair retribution.”

  Lee-1169 snorted then. “What else can we expect from a Vampire? You can’t tell the difference between justice and revenge.”

  Zillabar shook her head. “You foolish man. In our language, we distinguish no difference between the two concepts. Why should we?”

  William Three-Dollar answered her. “If the Vampires have truly chosen to discard the charter and pursue this course, then the Regency truly has collapsed. The Gathering of TimeBinders represents the Cluster’s only hope for true justice.”

  Zillabar laughed. “You pitiful little men. You think your demonstrations of bravado will make a difference? All of you will feed the holy transformation. I will mate and lay my eggs, and your veins will provide the wine of celebration.” She tried to stagger to her feet, she wobbled as if drunk—she flushed with confusion, and a look of sudden understanding appeared on her face.

  “What have you done?” she gasped. One delicate hand leapt upward, clutched at her throat. “You’ve tried to poison me—” She staggered to her feet. She had to support herself by holding onto the armrest of her couch. She tried to scream. “Guards—” but her voice came out as a pitiful croak.

  She stumbled then, collapsing forward into Three-Dollar’s waiting arms. Behind him, Lee-1169 shouted, “Seize the moment!” He and Sawyer leapt. Three-Dollar turned Zillabar sideways in his grasp, pulled the dagger from her belt, and held it up to her throat, touching the silvery tip of the blade to the soft hollow at the root of her neck.

  Lee grabbed the end of one of the hanging drap
eries framing the double doors of the main access, pulling it across and through the golden handles, tying it securely. Tuan pushed a couch in front of the servants’ access door. Sawyer leapt sideways just in time to meet the Elite Guard of Vampires. A secret panel had slid open and a squad of pale boys in shining black armor came pouring through the opening.

  Confrontation

  Sawyer knew the truth of these children—selected for decoration more than for skill; he whirled on one leg, drop-kicking the first one into the room. He heard the fragile bones cracking as he slammed against the wall. Lee-1169 pulled the second one down with a vicious chop to the neck. Tuan scooped up a needle-gun that rattled across the floor and shot the third guard in the chest, the fourth one in the face. The fifth guard ducked to one side, looking for an opening. The sixth guard stumbled into the crossfire and fell to the floor, writhing with a double set of wounds. By then, Lee had a needle-gun too, and the two of them dashed back to flank Three-Dollar and Zillabar just in time before six Dragon Guards came bursting through the double doors like an avalanche of hardened flesh. Sawyer still scrambled for a weapon of his own.

  The hulking lizards stopped when they saw the tableau before them: one knife held to Zillabar’s throat. Two needle-guns held to her lolling head. She babbled incoherently. Against the walls, the insect attendants twittered and fluttered uncomfortably. Without orders, they wouldn’t—couldn’t—act. Sawyer rolled a fallen guard over; he plucked the gun out of the dead Vampire’s hand.

  The Dragons stumbled to an uncertain halt. They hesitated.

  Three-Dollar said, “If you shoot, she dies. Do you want that stain on your honor? Drop your weapons.”

  Still, they hesitated—

  “Drop them or she dies!” Three-Dollar ordered.

  Two more Dragons pounded into the room, colliding into the others. The Dragon Lord came in after them, pushing to the front. Sawyer recognized him instantly, so did the others. He straightened up abruptly, bringing his weapon around to bear, already wondering if the smartbeam of the needle-gun had enough power to stop or even injure the great lizard. Maybe they could stun him. But what about the others?

  Three-Dollar held the knife to the Lady’s throat, tilting her head upward with it. “Tell your men to drop their weapons or she dies.”

  Nothing about the Dragon Lord’s demeanor betrayed his uncertainty, but he stood frozen in dismay. He had never even conceived of such an impossible situation as the one confronting him now. He stood like a rock while his brain raced.

  As if to underline his point, Three-Dollar pressed the knife hard against Zillabar’s unconscious throat. A single drop of red blood glistened for an instant, then rolled delicately down across her icy skin, leaving a dark angry stain.

  The Dragon Lord hung his head in recognition. He gestured to his troops. “Put down your weapons. The safety of the Lady takes absolute precedence. The Dragons looked to him for confirmation. “Do it!” he roared suddenly. At least, now he had a target for his anger. At least, he could control his troops. The Dragons pointed their rifles to the ceiling, switched off the arming circuits, and locked the safeties in place. They dropped their heavy weapons to the floor with a loud clatter.

  “Kick them over here,” Three-Dollar ordered. “All of them.”

  The Dragon Lord nodded to Captain Lax-Varney—the soon-to-die failure, Captain Lax-Varney. The smaller Dragon saw no escape. He began reluctantly pushing all of the heavy rifles out toward the center of the room with his foot.

  Sawyer shoved his needle-gun into his belt and stepped cautiously forward; he scooped up one of the cannons, grunting at its weight. “Holy shit. This thing could probably poke a hole in a small moon!” He pointed it at the guards. “Take off your armor now.” He unlocked the safety on the weapon. It made a terrifyingly loud click. He punched the arming circuit. The weapon emitted a high-pitched whistle as it charged itself anew.

  “If you fire that in here,” cautioned the Dragon Lord, “you’ll risk punching a hole in the hull of the ship.”

  “I doubt that,” said Sawyer, “or you wouldn’t have issued these weapons to your troops. Dragons do not have a reputation for either caution or intelligence. Take off your armor, all of you.”

  “A Dragon never takes off its armor,” said the Dragon Lord, “and certainly not in front of a human.”

  “I wonder what the other Vampires will say when they hear that your refusal caused the death of Lady Zillabar.” Sawyer fired a single precise shot. The sound of it crackled in the air like an explosion. And when the other Dragons looked around, Captain Lax-Varney tottered on his feet, a smoking hole sizzling in the exact center of his chest. Lax-Varney collapsed to his knees clutching himself in pain, then laboriously struggled erect again. “No problem,” he said, waving off help. “No problem. He has scorched my armor, nothing more.” And then he collapsed again to the floor, this time to remain motionless. He looked dead. None of the other Dragons paid him any heed. They had already discarded him. Perhaps his death would satisfy the needs of honor. But probably not. The rest of them would probably have to die as well.

  Sawyer reset the targeting on the weapon. “I’ll fire the next shot at full power. At this range, who knows what effect that’ll produce? I admit to considerable curiosity.”

  “You can’t succeed, you know,” advised the Dragon Lord.

  “I have died five times over, m’Lord,” Sawyer responded with a courteous nod. “At this point in life, my only interest lies in seeing how many others I can take with me the next time the opportunity arises. I should dearly like to have you accompany me to hell. Not every human arrives with a Dragon escort.” He gestured with the rifle. “The armor, now.”

  “Never.”

  “Then you’ll have the Lady’s death-stain on your name!”

  “Then I’ll go down in history as the greatest Dragon of all.” The Dragon Lord spread his legs wide apart. Still keeping his gaze focused on Sawyer, he hung his head low. His huge jaws parted and a terrifying rumble came issuing from deep in his throat. The sound had a terrifying edge, menacing and guttural. The Dragon Lord’s eyes had taken on a quality of madness.

  Sawyer had heard stories about the Dragon roar of madness, he’d never actually heard it until now: the Dragon’s death-warning. A Dragon would take the posture and let himself succumb to his emotions. He would stand and roar and build up his rage until it consumed him fully. When a Dragon did this, he became invulnerable to fear, to pain, to wounds of all kinds. When the rage finally overpowered him, he would attack and keep attacking until he destroyed the target of his rage or it destroyed him.

  Breakout

  Sawyer knew he had to act quickly. He had to dissuade the death-rage before it erupted into a blind killing frenzy. He’d already seen an ordinary Dragon in action; he had no desire to witness at first hand the furies of the Dragon Lord. He cried, “Dishonor! Dishonor! Death-rage now will dishonor your name, your family, the Dragons, the office of Dragon Lord! Death-rage will dishonor all dragons everywhere. Death-rage brings dishonor now!” He glanced back to the others.

  “You shouldn’t have asked him to take off his armor,” Tuan said.

  “Now you tell me.” Sawyer turned back to the Dragon Lord. He didn’t know if the giant beast had understood him or not. He didn’t even know if the creature had heard his words over his own roaring.

  He checked the charge on the rifle. Yes, he could bring the monster down if he had to. But if the Dragon Lord erupted in a berserk fury, so would his troops, and Sawyer knew he couldn’t stop them all if they charged.

  Without thinking about it, he slapped the controls of the gun, setting the beam for wide-angle, emergency discharge. He fired—

  —the blast resounded throughout the entire ship. The defocused beam of the weapon leapt out, spreading a crackling blue nimbus across the entire arc of fire. The Dragons reeled as the smart-energy sought out its targets: their electronics, their augments, their nervous systems. They staggered under the impact, se
veral of them collapsed to the floor. The Dragon Lord blinked, disconcerted, his death-rage interrupted, possibly broken.

  —and still the spray of fire continued! Sawyer reeled under the strain of the weapon’s fury. He had no idea that the Dragons charged their weapons so high. They must have some kind of ultra-powered fuel cell that even he didn’t know about. He should have suspected it by the effectiveness of his first shot. One by one, the Dragons tottered and fell. It sounded like a forest collapsing around them. The crackling energy flickered over their bodies, hungrily drawn to the electrical fields in their armor, their nervous systems, their brains. It would not stop until it had discharged itself into those targets. The Dragons twitched where they lay.

  —and then, finally, the weapon fell silent. Exhausted, depleted. Sawyer had pumped its entire reservoir of energy into the hapless Dragon Guard.

  “Did you kill them?”

  “Maybe. I don’t think so. Dragons don’t die easy.” Sawyer threw the cannon aside and grabbed two more. One he slung over his shoulder, the other he hefted. He scrambled for an ammo belt. Tuan and Lee shoved their needle-guns into their shirts and did likewise, each one grabbing one weapon to use and a spare to carry. The rebellion had learned to gather weapons wherever they could, and old habits died hard.

  Three-Dollar dumped Zillabar into Finn’s lap, tying her in place with her own red diplomatic sash. He grabbed a cannon-rifle of his own and hung another one on the back of the wheelchair, plus several belts of extra charges. Then he pointed his weapon at those still remaining, set his beam on wide and fired. Despite their armoring, the weapons couldn’t withstand the assault. They melted into slag. Sawyer’s ears began to hurt from all the noise.