‘I know,’ he said miserably.
‘Then here’s something you don’t know.’ She glanced around as if there were people in her home and drew a determined breath. ‘The G8 monitors might cut the link on me, but . . . Trappist 1 has gone.’
‘Gone? You mean the Chinese evacuated everyone, from every planet? That’s incredible.’
‘No, Horatio. Gone, as in fallen. The portal links failed last night, just after they detected wormholes opening. Resolution ships came through in force. The Olyix are back. It won’t be long now. Every settled world will go. Earth! Earth will fall. Probably in a few hours.’
‘Oh, shit.’
‘So tell me now what you can accomplish by staying. You have family here. Does that mean nothing to you?’
‘It means everything!’
‘Good. Then open the portal. I know it’s still working; the G8Turing runs checks on it every hour. Come through now. Right now.’
‘Every hour?’ he asked dumbly. Every hour for twenty-five years? Longer even than we were married.
‘Yes, Horatio,’ she said in a voice that finally gave her age away. ‘I’ve never given up hope.’
‘God, I don’t know what to say.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘All right,’ he said. And after two and a half decades it was so surprisingly easy. There wasn’t even any guilt.
‘You’ll come?’
‘Yeah. I’ve just got a couple of people I have to say goodbye to.’
Gwendoline’s lips lifted slyly. ‘You can bring her, if you want. Let’s face it, I haven’t been living in a nunnery for twenty-five years.’
‘Not that kind of goodbye,’ he said, just a little too quickly. ‘Give me a couple of hours.’
‘I’m going to call Loi. He’ll be here to welcome you.’
‘And Lacasta?’
‘Try and stop hir.’
FinalStrike Mission
Flight Year 15
It was Ellici who was standing over Dellian’s suspension chamber when his eyes opened. Her smile was indecently cheeky as her gaze lingered on fluid-beaded skin. He ignored it, and the arm she proffered, as he slowly clambered out. The spin gravity didn’t do his sensitive stomach any favours when he tried to stand. Spin gravity?
Icons and data tables expanded in his optik. ‘We’re not under deceleration?’ he asked in confusion. The last time he’d been awake was three years ago – the final duty tour before they were due to reach the neutron star. The data showed him they were point-nine of a lightyear out, which theoretically meant the fleet should have completed their survey of the neutron star.
Ellici offered him her arm again. ‘Wow, she really didn’t tell you, did she?’
‘Huh?’ Instinctively, he looked over at Yirella’s chamber. It was empty.
‘They used to call it plausible deniability back on old Earth,’ Ellici said.
He didn’t like repeating What the whole time; it made him sound totally dumb. But – ‘What?’
‘Yirella has caused quite a stir. Surprise! There’s going to be a big council about it tomorrow. Everyone wanted you to be part of it. Alexandre authorized getting you out of suspension.’
‘Oh, Saints, is she in trouble?’
‘Depends on your point of view.’
‘What’s she done?’
‘How long have you got?’
*
He made it to their quarters to find Yirella holding court with about twenty people, eight of them squad leaders. The remainder were omnia, wearing ship uniforms from across the fleet. Everyone looked grim.
She got to her feet and hugged him for a long time. It was only when he started swaying, about to fall, that she let go. He sat down fast on a couch, and everyone else filed out.
‘It’s all true,’ she said bleakly. ‘Every paranoid theory I ever had, and then some. It’s not just us backward binaries that are puppets; the whole omnia exodus was manipulated. I never thought this – being right, winning – would make me feel like crap.’
‘Saints. What did you find out? Wait: I just realized. Alexandre authorized me coming out of hibernation?’
‘Yeah. Sie’s acting captain at the moment, and has been for two days. A lot of people – crew and squads – are seriously pissed off with Kenelm right now.’
‘So sie has been steering us politically?’
‘Yes, it looks like it.’
‘But you don’t know for sure?’
‘Sie hasn’t been terribly forthcoming. Yet.’ She handed him a tall mug of beef broth and a plate of warm, thick-cut bread. ‘Eat that and listen, you have to be ready for tomorrow.’
*
The council was held in the Morgan’s sports arena, which was packed with seats. Dellian suspected that having people attend in person added to the feeling of involvement and therefore legitimacy. It wasn’t nearly big enough for everyone on the fleet, so ninety per cent of the participants had a virtual presence, with texture walls transforming the open space into an old-style amphitheatre with grass banks. Everyone on the fleet who wasn’t currently in a suspension chamber was accessing the gathering.
When they walked in, Dellian hardly noticed the churn of people hunting for vacant chairs. All he could focus on was Kenelm sitting at one side of the dais that had been set up at the far end of the arena. ‘So how old is sie?’ he asked Yirella.
‘I’m not sure. Maybe three thousand years?’
‘Saints alive!’
They eased past people and stepped up onto the dais. Yirella was given a seat between Napar and Illathan. The two captains greeted her amicably. The remaining fleet captains made up the front row of the virtual attendees, some obviously fresh out of hibernation.
Dellian went over and sat close to Cinrea, who had chosen the other side of the dais from Kenelm. It was strange seeing hir in a uniform that no longer had the captain’s insignia. As he settled in, Dellian noticed just how much animosity was being directed Kenelm’s way by the audience in the arena. At least no one is upset about what Yirella did. It still hurt that she’d not confided in him about her plan for the neutron star. He just couldn’t let go of the notion that it was because of the neurovirus that she no longer entirely trusted him.
Alexandre rose from hir chair in the middle of the dais and motioned for silence. ‘We’ve a lot to get through, and plenty to decide. I’d ask you not to make fast decisions. We can afford to take our time; it will be another year before we can match velocity with the neutron star. So . . . Kenelm, I think it’s appropriate for you to start. Would you like to tell us where you came from originally?’
Kenelm inclined hir head. ‘Thank you for the opportunity—’
‘Traitor,’ someone in the audience yelled.
Dellian thought it sounded a lot like Ovan’s voice.
‘No,’ Alexandre said, raising hir hand in warning. ‘I will not permit that kind of abuse. We have moved on past such intolerance. This council will listen respectfully to Kenelm and Yirella before deciding what our options are.’
‘I apologize for the impression my existence must be generating,’ Kenelm said. ‘But I assure you the purpose my colleagues and I uphold is purely to advance the human interest and help us survive the Olyix. I have never abdicated that responsibility. It is all I exist for.’
‘Can you tell us where you came from, please?’ Alexandre asked.
‘I was born on Kanima, two thousand six hundred years ago. I left on the generation starship Byessel, which founded Falkon. That was where our group was formed at the behest of Soćko and Emilja. They were already concerned by the drift away from original Utopial ideals and the ongoing lack of success by any Strike mission. We were all level-one citizens tasked with keeping the whole exodus project on track. I am proud of the part I have played in that.’
‘You manipulated us?’
‘We guided – admittedly with a disproportionate degree of influence due to our status. Because of that, our society has remained Utopial, which I bel
ieve to be a positive achievement. The Utopial ideal is the height of human culture, demonstrating compassion and inclusion for every individual.’
‘How many of you are in this group?’
‘I believe there were about a thousand of us on Falkon,’ Kenelm said. ‘After that, we divided at each generation world. Some would go on Strike missions; the rest would continue our undertaking through generation ships. By the time we reached Juloss, there were fewer than fifty of us. We did, of course, retain our level-one citizenship, which allowed us considerable influence.’
‘And on this mission?’ Cinrea asked.
‘Loneve and I were the last.’
‘So we are free of manipulation?’ Yirella said. ‘This council can make an independent choice?’
‘Of course. That has always been the way. If someone had put up a compelling suggestion to alter the Utopial exodus policies, then a vote in council would have been respected. Out of everyone agitating for change, I always suspected you could be the most effective, Yirella. I do admit, however, I never envisaged just how much you were prepared to risk to achieve your ambitions.’
‘Thank you. I think.’
‘Before any decision is made by this council, I would like to emphasize how concerned Emilja, Soćko and even Ainsley had become by the lack of any Signal. That is why all of us in the group agreed that, after the Factory, we would press our respective worlds to consider ending expansion by generation ship and instead follow the Neána option of establishing a secluded interstellar society – built on a Utopial foundation, of course.’
‘So you believe we should do nothing about the Olyix but hide from them?’ Alexandre asked.
‘No. It is more than that. Humans can live between stars; we can thrive there in a way we never do on a generation world. And, thanks to the Vayan ambush, we now understand just how powerful the Olyix are, how widespread. They are overwhelming, and they are hunting us.’
‘I thought that was the point of our exodus, to give humans time and resources until we are strong enough to challenge the Olyix.’
Kenelm shrugged. ‘The Strike concept was put together in a time of extreme crisis, when humans didn’t properly understand what we were facing. I don’t think even the Neána did; certainly Soćko was troubled by our failures. Ainsley and Emilja managed to get what passed for the human polity of those days to support the idea of postponed vengeance and rescue, then throw in a triumphant return to Earth as the grand finale. But with no Signal ever detected, Emilja came to the realization that using lures to send our finest directly into an unknown enemy stronghold was a supreme folly. However, by then, the concept had built a colossal psychological and political momentum, which kept growing with every millennium. One person – even someone as powerful as her – could not stop it with a single proposal. Politics at that time were volatile – especially after contact with the Katos, Angelis and Neána. So instead it was decided we should adopt a double-aspect approach. The warships built by the Factory, like Ainsley, were our last attempt to secure an advantage against the Olyix. They were intended to fight them here in this section of the galaxy and establish a safe zone for humans. It is far easier to destroy a wormhole terminus carried into our territory by an Olyix ship than to challenge the enclave itself.’
‘The Saints sacrificed themselves for us!’ Dellian yelled. It was out before he really knew he’d said it. He flushed hot from all the looks directed at him – and a few smirks, too – but he didn’t repent.
‘Four humans and a Neána,’ Kenelm said smoothly. ‘Their loss is regrettable, but utterly insignificant compared to the number of humans lost to the Olyix. Billions from Earth alone – and probably quadruple that number by now as the Olyix caught up with the expansion wavefront.’
‘So you were going to abandon the Strike?’
‘That was the second aspect. Our group members would point out to councils on planets and generation ships that the Strike concept was making no progress; we were no nearer to invading the enclave than we were when we abandoned Earth. There was no Saints’ Signal detected; the lures didn’t work; we had no idea where the enclave was. So the Neána option was to be presented as an idea whose time had finally come. The pressure we could maintain – for centuries, if necessary – would eventually result in a vote for its adoption. In cases like the Morgan, I could simply say that it had been included as an order if our lure was taking an unexpectedly long time to attract the Olyix.’
‘But we beat the Olyix at Vayan,’ Ovan said.
‘Ainsley beat the Olyix at Vayan,’ Kenelm replied. ‘I’m sorry, but the Strike mission is no longer valid. Nor, with all respect to Yirella, is FinalStrike. The enclave is forty thousand lightyears away. We now have a golden opportunity to establish ourselves safely between the stars. Let the Factory ships harass the Olyix forces and raid their sensor stations; a guerrilla-style campaign will deny them an effective presence here for millennia. And who knows what we may ultimately create if we end our migration, if we can consolidate everything we build?’
‘That’s what I’ve done,’ Yirella said forcefully.
‘No,’ Kenelm said. ‘You gave humans the ability to expand without any appreciation of the consequences. That is the precise opposite of everything I stand for. Are they even Utopial?’
‘Who knows?’ she replied with mock nonchalance. ‘If it really is the pinnacle of human cultural evolution, I’m sure they chose it.’
‘I propose to this council that the fleet should now commit to following the Neána option,’ Kenelm said. ‘The neutron star civilization has revealed themselves to every Olyix sensor station in the galaxy! It is a recklessness that will have catastrophic consequences unless they understand that they have to evacuate immediately. I would suggest we dispatch a single ship of volunteers from this fleet to the neutron star to warn them and fully explain the circumstances.’
Alexandre gave Yirella an almost comical look of expectation. ‘I cannot agree with the methods this clandestine group of level-one citizens has used, but Kenelm does make a valid point about how dangerous it would be to try and invade the enclave.’
‘Agreed,’ Yirella said sweetly.
Kenelm gave her a curious look.
‘Yirella,’ Alexandre said, ‘you have the floor.’
Dellian smiled encouragingly as she got to her feet, but she never saw it; she was facing the audience completely unfazed by them. He knew where that confidence came from: She was right. She was always right.
‘We were going to lose,’ she said simply. ‘That much was obvious to me after our disastrous Vayan lure was ambushed. Ainsley only just managed to take out the upgrade-Resolution ships. He said some of their weapons were a surprise even to him. Which, given he was made two thousand years ago, isn’t actually that much of a revelation. So consider what we were going to do next: lure the Olyix yet again, with almost the same level of weapons technology plus Ainsley. That was crazy stupid. Kenelm is quite right; we have no idea what waits for us at the enclave. But their numbers must be phenomenal. It would also be logical to assume their strongest weapons are reserved to defend it. If we are going to fly into this extreme danger, we need to be the best we can be.’
‘That did not give you the right to unilaterally remove the seedship limits,’ Kenelm said. ‘And I know you know that, because you did not even try to gain council approval. You simply went ahead and acted alone. You have endangered the whole human population that you illegally seeded at the neutron star.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Yirella said. ‘If you’re in a position to make the decision, then it’s your decision to make.’
Kenelm was so surprised by her blatant contempt that sie swayed back in hir seat.
‘And I wasn’t acting alone,’ she continued. ‘Ainsley agreed with me that we have to try and end this abhorrent deadlock. Our Strike mission was almost at the breaking point before the Olyix arrived at Vayan. Our ancestors were asking too much of us, and we were asking too much of ourse
lves. Now it’s different. The initial batch of humans that the seedships grew in biologic initiators were given basic thought routines, enabling them to function until they began to think for themselves and develop their own personality with all the awkward opinions and stubbornness that makes us what we are. They were supplied with all the information about the expansion, and the Strike mission. They know the Olyix are poised to ambush us at every lure and that they’re watching for generation starships at every star system with a planet we can terraform. The neutron star society is not at risk. They’re waiting for us. Ainsley has told them we are coming. They could have left, but the star’s rotational change is a huge indicator they haven’t. It’s been sixty years in real time since the seedships reached it. That’s long enough for them to determine their own destiny and build whatever they wanted.’
‘What did Ainsley tell them to do?’ Alexandre asked.
‘He gave them no advice,’ she said, then paused to smile shrewdly. ‘At least, that’s what he told me he was going to do. We planned to give them the facts – all the knowledge humans have amassed; dispassionate accounts of our history and the societies we’ve evolved for ourselves; everything we know about the Olyix. That way, they can choose for themselves how they will live. For that is what real freedom is. And we still don’t know what they decided, but it must be a high-functioning civilization. Certainly people who are in conflict and turmoil couldn’t maintain the kind of sustained effort it must have taken to change the rotation of the neutron star. That is no small undertaking – and is one that I believe vindicates my decision. I realized the neutron star was the greatest potential for advancement we had, and probably ever would have, because a neutron star is the one place humans have never been before; it is different from anywhere humans have tried to settle. Those circumstances were not a combination I could ignore. If anything exceptional was ever going to emerge, if we could change the way we think, it would be here. And if it worked, the inhabitants would decide where they would go – without our lingering ideology or the expectations of past generations weighing them down. It boils down to two options: they can wait for us to arrive and join us on the FinalStrike mission to the enclave, or they can withdraw into the gulf between stars to live as they wish.’
The Saints of Salvation [British Ed.] Page 21
