“The terms offered by the Emperor require us to administer the worlds of the HAR, the Human Autonomous Region, on behalf of the Imperial citadel. With or without the Cull, we are obliged to maintain economic production targets, send taxes and tithes, maintain law and order, provide scutage – personnel and materiel for the Imperial Armed Forces – swear regular fealty to our overlords, and more. We are granted autonomy to run the HAR, but always on behalf of the Empire. If we fail these obligations, then we lose our autonomy, to be ruled directly from the Imperial Citadel. We have bargained for the worlds we once ruled to be included in the HAR, and more besides that we must liberate from the control of the Emperor’s enemies. Not least amongst these are the Terran Worlds, including Earth. Here at Athena we have won a famous victory, but the war is not yet over, no matter what we choose. And if we allow our disagreements here today to disrupt or destroy our unity, then we shall be lost. There will never be a Human Autonomous Region during peacetime, and we shall be lucky if future generations were to endure the Cull as leniently as we once knew it. If unity is broken now, our descendants will suffer terrible punishments as a consequence of our lack of discipline. That is all.”
——
Admiral Kreippil circled the platform, using flicks of his long tail and twists of his body to provide propulsion and change direction. None of this was real, of course. The Admiral wore motors that mimicked the effect of swimming though water.
The Admiral had been one of the first to call for holy war, and had carried out his calling with the utmost conviction.
A cry came out from a bank of Littorane Marine commanders: “Death to the White Knights! To hell with the blasphemers!”
Arun suspected the original phrasing was a little hotter before his translator sanitized the Littorane words.
Kreippil was not amused. He swam through the air straight at the Littoranes who had called out, and stopped with a tail swipe that smacked into the offenders’ heads. One by one, Kreippil touched their snouts with his, and one by one the Marines bowed their heads in submission.
Kreippil spun back to the platform at the center of the Assembly, and spoke his heart.
“History teaches us that those who greatly displease the White Knights are exterminated, wiped from the community of sentient species. Condemned first to history, and then to be forgotten utterly. Those who commit lesser crimes in the eyes of our overlords suffer correspondingly lesser punishments. On my world – for an offence that was never explained – we refer to our mild rebuke as the Year of Sorrows. A generation of our children was exterminated. Our hearts thirsted for revenge, but to our shame we did nothing.”
Kreippil pointed with a forearm at Indiya, who was resting at the platform. “And then she came. The purple-haired warrior of prophecy. It was as if winter had turned in a moment to high summer. We remembered we had muscles and brains and spirit and honor. We remembered too how to fight. In the name of the Goddess, who had brought the purple one to us as a sign, we declared holy war upon the blasphemers that many of you call White Knights. It is not for nothing that this ship, the flagship of our great endeavor, is named Holy Retribution. And yet some will tell you today that we have no choice in this matter; that we must bow to the Emperor or face destruction.”
Boos and growls rose from the Assembly, silenced by angry flicks of the admiral’s tail.
“To those who say we must bow to the blasphemers, others will reply that we may disdain them with impunity because we do the will of the Goddess. We have license to do as we wish, secure in our divine protection. Neither my mind nor my soul doubts that we were obliged by the Goddess to wage this war, but should we take this peace offering from the Emperor or that one? The gods speak with absolute authority on all matters, but not with such precision as to answer our question today. Furthermore, to assume that we have earned the protection of the Goddess is such hubris as to invite divine retribution upon our own selves. The gods do not owe debts to base mortals. We serve them, and not the other way around. Remember whom we serve. On my world the priests are called listeners, because they are blessed with the ability to hear the heartbeat of reality, and see beyond the mundane to glimpse the divine. I do not urge you to follow one course above the other. I ask instead that you become listeners today. Allow the divine spirit present here into your hearts, and listen to your convictions, so that you may channel the will of the Goddess.”
——
If Kreippil had defied Arun’s expectations with his philosophical plea, the next two speakers fulfilled Arun’s expectations to the letter. Pedro normally spoke for the Trogs, and represented by proxy the handful of Legion species who were the most distinct from the humanoids. Pedro had been unexpectedly evasive, and Lieutenant-General Mountain Root spoke instead on his behalf.
This crisis had been brewing for years, and in Arun’s imagination he had always assumed Xin would be by his side, and Pedro behind him.
Mountain Root made a curt statement of logic. The statistical likelihood was that far fewer individuals would die if they accepted the Cull, than if they rejected the Emperor’s terms. Emotion should play no part in this decision, because the Assembly spoke not for themselves but for the multitudes of others they represented. To seriously question the wisdom of accepting the terms offered was a foolishness his species did not entertain.
The Jotun commander, Aelingir, followed, and argued essentially the same as Mountain Root, though with more diplomacy, and evident regret.
Del-Marie was next up, his white beard lending him an error of sagacity, though the effect was probably limited to the humans in the Assembly.
“The Cull is a terrible scourge the White Knights lash across our backs. As a politician and diplomat, I can step back and coldly see that scourge for what it is. To the White Knights we are cattle, and they whip their beasts to herd us in the direction of their choosing. The scourge stings terribly, we fear the lash, but as populations, and as military and economic entities, the Cull does little damage except to our will.”
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 gun 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.”
War Against the White Knights Page 29
