Arun took a while to scan the faces, ashamed that he wasn’t sure how many had survived this far into the campaign. He saw Caccamo, and Narciso looking too serious for such a young face, and Stok Laskosk, the heavy weapons specialist who had played such a vital role in the Beowulf Mutiny, and the First Tranquility Campaign. He hadn’t talked to Stopcock for years, but would Stok be prepared to speak to him after the treaty he’d just signed up to?
Arun stared into his own features. He’d been so naive then, so full of hope. In some ways he had succeeded far beyond his teenage ambitions, but to his heart, those victories felt like the bitterest of defeats.
A number appeared over the image of each cadet, and Captain Surasim’s role became clear to the Assembly. She would be the randomizing factor. She could see none of the faces, nor the numbers. Had she any idea that she was about to determine who would be offered up to the Cull?
Complying with the instructions Arun gave her, the hooded Littorane captain shuffled the grid. The faces stayed in their places, but the numbers were reallocated through the grid each time.
She called for the grid to be randomized five times in quick succession before she paused.
Who would be picked? The evil of the Cull forced its way into Arun’s mind. He could not help but speculate on how he would feel if one person died or another. One of those faces would be selected. One would be sacrificed. One out of seventy-two. He had fought in many battles with higher casualty rates, but the coldness of the Cull had a sour brutality all of its own that made it almost unbearable.
He couldn’t even decide whether he wished to be the one who was sacrificed. In so many ways, he hoped to be picked, but that was a coward’s way out of facing the consequences of his decisions.
The prisoner hood had no need to block out sound, because the chamber fell utterly silent when Captain Surasim stopped calling for the digits to shuffle, and licked her lips nervously.
She gave the number of the one who would be ended. “Eight.”
Springer. She had picked the face of Springer. And Tremayne would pay the price.
Arun bit down on his feelings and spoke in a clear voice: “The execution chamber has already been prepared on Lance of Freedom. Ninety minutes from now, Deputy Ambassador Tremayne will be put to death in accordance with the Cull.”
The chamber erupted in anger. A section of Exreag’s Marines stifled the violence with their own controlled brutality, while another bundled Arun out of the Assembly.
His mind was so blurred he barely registered any of this.
— CHAPTER 49 —
Outwardly, General Arun McEwan appeared calm and professional. He made sure of that much, though it took every ounce of his will to maintain the façade, because inside he was seething. The worst part was that he didn’t really know who or what he felt most angry at: himself, Xin, the Emperor, or the whole wretched situation. Perhaps all of the above in equal measure, though it was Xin his thoughts kept returning to.
Why couldn’t she just trust him? Didn’t she understand that negotiations were all about give and take, that compromises had to be made by both sides or no one would ever agree on anything?
He felt disgusted with himself for even thinking such thoughts, and revolted by the evil of the Cull that even now was working its insidious poison inside his thoughts and corrupting the love he and Xin felt for each other.
Consider the facts, he told himself. Xin had made clear for years that she would never accept the Cull. They had discussed this many times. It was he, General Arun McEwan, who had prevaricated, sacrificing his principles for the greater good. Though his head was so confused by the Cull’s poison that his moral compass was spinning wildly. Xin had stuck with him through all, despite his hedging. Xin who had placed her trust in him that he would do the right thing when the moment came.
It was Xin who had been the constant one.
Under the circumstances, the concessions he had managed to get out of the Emperor amounted to a victory, and the gamble Tremayne had offered him was a triumph. If not for his inspired deduction regarding the true nature of the Night Hummers – a truth the White Knights had gone to great lengths to hide, that members of their own race were spread throughout their empire – things would have gone much worse. He wished Xin could have been proud of him, congratulating him on his insight and thrilled by his success… Instead she was furious with him, claiming that he had betrayed both her and the Legion as a whole. Because of the Cull, because of the very thing he was currently overseeing.
In front of him stood a group of Marines – a pitiably small group of Marines. These were the very heart of the Legion: all that remained of his intake and the year above, the survivors from the host of men and women who had trained beside him on Tranquility, from Detroit and from Beta City. There were three score, give or take; all that had made it this far, other than the handful of others scattered across the systems the Legion had taken. His gaze slipped from face to face, attributing names: Schimschak, Binning – who had acquired a nasty scar down the left side of his face since the last time Arun saw him – Caccamo, Shirazi, Abramovski, and Laskosk.
Arun took a deep breath, suddenly feeling the weight of years and the gulf that now stood between him and these, his fellow Marines.
One face was missing. The silver lining to there being so few Marines who had outlasted everything the New Empire, the Old Empire, the Hardits and everyone else could throw at them, so few survivors from the only Human cadets who had ever avoided facing the Cull – was that only one of their number would be required to do so now. The White Knights weren’t daft. Their ‘Cull’ had never claimed a significant number – roughly 1% as a rule. Why deplete your fighting force any more than necessary?
One of their number had already been chosen: Phaedra Tremayne. Springer; his oldest friend, the person he had relied on throughout his early years and who would always be more than just a friend, if never the person in his life she might have wished to be.
Springer stood behind him now, he knew that. He could feel her presence even while he resisted the temptation to glance over his shoulder and look at her.
Behind Springer stood an honor guard of Wolves, and this was an honor, as well as necessary for the full implementation of Arun’s intentions. None of the Marines here today had done anything to merit facing the Cull. Quite the opposite. They were heroes, every one of them. They had fought their way across space, from Tranquility to Athena, acquitting themselves with distinction. These were the veterans of the war, and their reward was to gather here to witness one of their fellows condemned to death, facing execution at the hands of their own side in order to cement a future for those who survived. The Cull was barbaric; bad enough to see it levied on untried cadets, but this…
These were the very points Xin had made to Arun, and he couldn’t refute them, couldn’t deny that she was right, but there was more to it than that. The wider picture – that was what he had to consider: the circumstances that made it unavoidable that the Cull must be seen to be enacted no matter how abhorrent it might be. He had no choice. Surely Xin could see that.
The truth was that he missed her; missed her presence, her touch, her support… her love. That was what he felt most angry at. He resolved to go to her as soon as this was over, to try again, and to keep trying until she understood.
Why couldn’t she trust him?
Why hadn’t he trusted her with the truth?
The honor guard was ready. The condemned was ready. The audience was ready. That just left him. Tearing his attention away from his own woes, Arun set about doing his duty, addressing the brave men and women who stood before him, finding as he did so that he could no longer meet their gaze.
“Marines. Know that what we do here today will cement our victory. From this day forward, humankind and our allies will stand tall, as respected and revered as any member of the Empire. The battle has been hard and brutal, and we have all been called upon to make sacrifices.” Tremayne more than mo
st. “But all that is now behind us and our aims have been achieved. The White Knights recognize and value us and the Human Legion will govern its own autonomous region of space. Freedom has been won!”
The words sounded hollow even to his own ears given the circumstances, and the half-hearted repetition he received in response suggested he wasn’t alone in that.
Nonetheless, he turned and addressed the commander of the honor guard. “Proceed, Sergeant.”
The guard consisted of some of the most extreme examples of Wolves that Arun had yet encountered. The gnarly growths and overlapping layers of mutated skin resembled an odd mix of plate armor and rocky outcroppings. Facial features were distorted as much as everything else and Arun had trouble recognizing any of the party.
“Sir!” the sergeant replied.
The guard formed up around Tremayne, who hadn’t attempted to make eye contact with Arun at any point, and now it was too late. There would be no opportunity for goodbyes. She was obscured by the hulking forms of the Wolves, as the party marched the short distance to the waiting gas chamber.
This was the moment when proceedings became private, according to the concessions Arun had won in the Treaty of Athena. All transmissions ceased. Initially the Emperor had demanded that the whole procedure should be monitored, particularly the execution, but Arun had refused, insisting that the recipient of the Cull be allowed at least that much dignity. The condemned would walk into the chamber, and would disappear from this existence, never be seen again. Eventually, the Emperor had agreed that would be enough.
The other concession had been the means of execution. Traditionally, those selected for the Cull faced a firing squad, but Arun would not ask any Marine to do that under these circumstances. On this, the Emperor had given ground readily. He didn’t care how the Cull was achieved, just so long as it was.
The sergeant had reached the grey door to the grey windowless block that formed the gas chamber. Opening it, he moved to one side, allowing Tremayne to step through. She entered without once looking round, though by now Arun was staring at the back of her head and willing her to do so. The honor guard formed a wall along the front of the gas chamber as the sergeant closed the door and stepped in front of it, completing the wall.
Arun’s gaze was riveted to the single light above the door, which, as he watched, turned from green to red. The seconds stretched and Arun realized he was holding his breath.
Then the light turned green again. Springer had gone long ago. Now Tremayne was gone too.
— CHAPTER 50 —
Arun saluted the Marines outside Xin’s quarters on Lance of Freedom, wishing he could swap places with them. He laughed bitterly. The Marines would have their own issues in their lives, but he doubted any had problems as enormous as his. And right now his main problem was Xin.
He hesitated, chimed the hatch entry as a courtesy, and then jetted his chair inside.
She had been brushing her hair before his interruption. Made up, and with her clothes set to her lieutenant-general’s dress uniform, she looked the epitome of human martial virtue: strong, handsome, resourceful, and inspirational. Haloed in charisma, she radiated the aura of someone who made things happen.
He guessed she had anticipated his arrival, and that her pristine appearance was for his benefit, because normally she reset her clothes to civilian mode the instant she stepped into her quarters. As she liked to put it: what was the point of having private quarters if you dressed as if you were on parade?
She returned to brushing her immaculate hair. “If you wish to apologize, Arun, you can do it to yourself someplace else. I don’t wish to hear you speak.”
Arun said nothing. In truth, he did not know what to say. His anger at Xin had burned itself out, leaving only cold ashes. There was nothing he could say except the truth, and that was too dangerous to even suggest.
Xin bounded into action. Leaving her hairbrush floating in midair, she propelled herself across the bed to land with her feet on the deck in front of Arun’s chair. She stood, looming over him like a drill sergeant glaring her disapproval at his unsatisfactory conduct.
He couldn’t look her in the eye.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
“What’s that? Trust you? You’re so lacking in conviction that you can’t even say the words properly. Speak up!”
She bent her knees and floated herself down to be level with him. She grabbed him, digging her fingers into the side of his head.
For a moment, he thought she was going to head-butt him, but what she did was worse.
Xin advanced her forehead to touch his, and held them together, transmitting the shaking motion of her body. Her shakes escalated into racking convulsions as crying claimed her.
“I did trust you,” she sobbed.
He joined her sobs, his stream of tears mingling with hers, filling the gap between their faces with a salty pool of shared woe.
A yawning gap opened up in his heart, a hole he did not dare to peer into because he knew he would see only oblivion there.
No, not like this. This is not an ending. I won’t let her go!
He pulled away from Xin, and tried to stare at her, but the bulb of tears concealed her face. He smacked the blob away, trying not to see significance in the way their mingled tears dissipated, its unity erupting into a spray of droplets that would never recombine. It can’t end like this.
Emerging from behind the veil of tears, Xin looked at him expectantly. She seemed like a little girl, lost and bewildered – scared too – wishing her parent would scoop her into his arms and kiss her. Tell her everything would be all right.
And he could still do that. He wanted more than anything to tell her that despite all the horrors she had witnessed today, things were not as bad as they appeared. But… if he told his secret, then the very act of doing so would jeopardize the hope she so badly needed. He couldn’t risk making matters every bit as bad as they appeared on the surface.
He nearly asked her again to trust him, but his opportunity had gone, and anything he said now would be too dangerous. If a single word escaped the barrier of his lips, he would break down and confess all. Even if the cabin were secure from eavesdropping, Xin would be one more person to burden with the greatest of all secrets, one more point of potential failure in the ultimate high-stakes gamble.
He watched her features as the last bastions of hope ebbed away, to be replaced by coldness unbound.
Arun swallowed hard. With nothing left to say, he turned his chair around and left Xin behind.
——
Arun fled Xin’s cabin in a trail of tears. He wandered along deserted passageways, emptied by his security detail, who operated just out of his sight but guarded his safety and his solitude with ruthless efficiency.
Barney tried to distract him with trivia about equipment malfunctions, but Arun’s brain had no space for such details, and so he unstuck the flap of false skin behind his ear and removed his personal AI. He drifted along the passageways alone.
The Lance of Freedom had been his home for decades, but it was easy to forget the vastness of her interior. How long he lost himself in the labyrinthine emptiness he did not know. He had had counters and timers and all manner of augmentations implanted in his mind since he was a baby. Even now – if he allowed himself to look – he could play back the key events on that night under Antilles when he and Xin had first pledged to face the galaxy together, and he could recount the timeline of that story in millisecond detail. But his torturing at the hands of the Hardits had broken his inner timers, along with so much of a body that was now mostly reduced to replacement parts. He had asked not to have his timers repaired because he sought solitude so often now.
Arun came back to himself. Maybe it was his body’s insistence that, even in his blackest despair, he still needed to quench the thirst which sprang at him like a beast, impossible to ignore. Sneaking up behind his thirst, he was hit with the realization that a fragile seedling of hope had grown in the w
ilderness of his heart, nourished by the same sense of absolute loss that had consumed him these past hours. The most intense pangs of loss were not for the Xin he had known, but the loss of his future with her. And his family to be.
During this war, all of his hopes and ambitions and pleasures had been deferred. Everything he had done had been in the expectation that there would come a time when he would no longer lead an army, would no longer war on the galaxy, and that time would be his ultimate reward: a time to be shared with Xin.
Frakk it! He deserved happiness. But his parting with her had been so final. He had no way back to her. In securing the peace, he had lost his prize. He’d spent his future.
And without his family around him, there was no future worth a damn. And that, in its perverse way, was what rekindled his hope. No matter the risk, he had to trust Xin. He had to be with her.
He sped back to Xin’s quarters, pushing his chair to its maximum velocity, careering off the turns in the passageways to send jolts of pain along his still-healing body. But he didn’t care, because the critical wound was to his heart, and that wound he knew how to heal.
Just one word. That’s all it would take.
One word, and a last draw from Xin’s deep well of trust.
One word: ‘Wolves’.
War Against the White Knights Page 31
