Hero! (36 page)

It may be a bluff, of course, but it would be a very odd one. A rush of relief tells Vaun that he believes; his dread had lessened considerably. “Absorbed?” he demands.

“Swallowed them in singularities. It happened over the ocean, so the radiation flash did them no great harm, but it has probably knocked out planetary communications for a while.”

“You can’t turn a Q ship that fast!”

Q ships can accelerate instantly in a straight line, but to rotate a rock without breaking it up or making it spin is a brute of a job. Yet Vaun’s words create a hundred smiles.

Abbot says, “You think like a spacer, Brother Vaun. Let us hope we can teach you better habits! We turn the projectors instead. We shall gladly show you, later. But, please, will you tell us now of our late brother?”

It makes sense. In fact, it is glaringly obvious, and if Ultian Command has never thought of it, that must be because no one has ever bothered to consider a Q ship as a military craft. Again Vaun reflects that he is dealing with an organization of boys as smart and effective as…as Prior was.

So now he is a prisoner in an impregnable fortress. But if Ultian Command cannot damage the Q ship, then equally the Brotherhood can hardly conquer a planet. Standoff. Vaun’s outlook has suddenly changed dramatically. He scowls around at the sea of expectant Vaun-faces.

“He came very close,” he admits.

“Louder, please, Brother.”

“Prior almost succeeded. It was only some very bad luck that balked him.” Reluctantly Vaun begins to tell the story, and every time he hesitates Abbot shoots a penetrating question and drags out more details. An audience so attentive is hard to resist—soon he is telling it all. The brethren listen in solemn silence, except for some of the very young, who drift off to sleep or play quietly with their guardians’ hair, or ears, or lips.

All the while some part of him wonders how it would feel to strip off his uniform and just blend into this group. Shed the Patrol, shed his childhood, and just vanish into the Brotherhood, never exactly like a hive-reared unit, perhaps, but close enough, if they will accept him, as Raj and Dice accepted him. Not a black-haired freak, not a mudslug peon…

Valhal is an impossible prize now. And Maeve…Maeve never said good-bye. Besides, the things he did with the girl! The memory is sickening. Degrading animal behavior!

At last he stops and Abbot asks no more questions. Instead, he turns around slowly, holding out his free hand to invite comments, and no one speaks.

Vaun, too, looks around at all the somber faces. He feels strangely ashamed, and angry at himself for that shame. He feels misery at bringing such obvious misery to a group that…that he does not want to make miserable. A once-traitor may tell himself that he acts from conviction, but a twice-traitor cannot.

“Prior raped my mother!” he says defiantly. “He tried to conquer the planet.”

“His actions resulted in your existence, Brother,” Abbot says softly. “How can you condemn them? And he wanted to rescue the planet, not conquer it. I see we must justify our motives. Qualified?”

A Yellow not far to Vaun’s right says, “History,” as another voice says, “Political science,” and others, “Philosophy…Psychology…Defense…”

Abbot has Dice’s grin. “Your choice, Brother.”

“History.”

Yellow speaks, then. “Have you ever heard of
Homo erectus
, Brother Vaun?”

“No.”

“It was one of our predecessor species, back on Earth. It was more than animal, less than human. But when some members of
Homo erectus
evolved into modern humanity by natural selection, their type spread across the planet. Unimproved
erectus
died out everywhere. It is the way of the universe, the secret of life’s progress. The better must replace the inferior. It cannot help but do so.”

“Are you saying our ancestors killed this inferior species? I demand proof.”

“I can give you no proof, but I ask what else was capable of destroying
erectus
, who had prevailed for a million years and settled a world? Nor can I produce, here and now, proof of historical events, although we do have records available, if you will believe them. The Brotherhood did not originate on Avalon, Vaun, but our experience there repeats what has happened on other worlds. The randoms see
Homo factus
as a danger to them, and they will not tolerate us. Can you believe that?”

Toleration? Vaun recalls his childhood. He recalls Olmin’s attempts to bleach black hair to fair. He resists the interference. “But if we are superior, should we not be superior in tolerance and compassion? Can we not teach them the value of cooperation?” He senses anger and disagreement all around him, but only Yellow speaks.

“We have tried, many times. The wild stock never honor their commitments for long. Driven by fear, sooner or later they attack our hives. On Avalon alone, four hives have been wiped out that we know of—Xanacor, Monad, Wilth Hills, Gothin. We do not know what other tragedies may have occurred in the twenty-one years we have been traveling. Randoms lived in peace within at least two of those hives I listed, and they were hunted down and destroyed also, as traitors. Pogroms against minorities are a universal pattern of human history, on every world mankind has ever settled. The only difference with us is that the marauders do not have their usual opportunities to include rape among their customary abominations of mindless slaughter, torture, and child killing.”

Vaun thinks of Roker and Ultian Command, of their hatred and fear and what they did to Prior. He also remembers the crew of the shuttle—his crew, foully murdered. Neither side in this war will recognize the other as human.

Yellow has apparently finished; Abbot takes up the argument from the center of the floor. “Do you regard yourself as inferior to a random, Brother Vaun? You are superior to them in strength and wit and every talent. Do you have less right to life than one of them?”

“No.”

“They will not agree. Now answer me this: Had Prior arrived in your home village with a baby brother and asked that it be reared…Had he offered to pay for its food and upkeep and education…Would that child have been accepted and cherished as a random baby would be under the circumstances?” He pats the infant resting on his shoulder. As he turns to survey the audience, Vaun sees that the baby has been dribbling milk on Abbot’s shoulder, and for some reason ’that tiny detail hurts.

“What had my mother…foster mother…done to deserve what he did to her?” he shouts angrily.

“Nothing. What had Prior done to deserve what happened to him?”

“He had committed a cowardly, brutal attack on a helpless girl!”

“Was that his crime? Is mind bleeding the usual punishment for rape?”

Vaun does not reply. The Patrol’s usual reaction to a charge of rape would be a fast cover-up.

Abbot answers his own question. “No, his crime was that he sought the continuation of his race, which was not the random’s race, and that they will never permit. They deny your right to exist and perpetuate your genes, Brother.”

Still Vaun is silent.

“If two contest,” Abbot says grimly,” and one will never accept the other’s existence, then that other’s only choices are suicide or struggle. Which will you choose? Which will you have us choose?”

Vaun looks down at Pink on his lap, a cuddly, black-haired toddler. He can never father such a child. He can only work to support a hive that will manufacture more copies of himself, like this one. Seeing his attention, Pink smiles up at him trustfully.

“Or answer this, Brother,” Abbot persists. “If we seek peace, if we now contact the Patrol on Ult and request some unused corner of a desert somewhere to establish ourselves—and we are only a few hundred among many billion—what will their answer be?”

“They will accept eagerly, and then strike at you when you are least able to resist.”

Abbot waits a moment, and then says, “So the only compassion we can offer is to kill ourselves. Is that what you recommend?”

Silence.

He persists, as soft as silk and as sharp as steel. “Brother, they are not of our species! We do not interbreed.”

“That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Vaun says hoarsely. “That excuses everything! What was done to the girl and the spacers and everything! They’re just animals.”

“More than animals, but less than we.”

“And to them, we are only artifacts and therefore less than they!”

Abbot sighs. “Nobody picks his team in this game! He is born to it. Tell us now where your loyalty lies?”

Vaun’s eyes have filled with tears. Valhal…riches and fame…carnal pleasure with Maeve…Those ambitions seem tawdry and shameful now, when his brothers are in danger.

Pink reaches up in wonder to touch the tears on his cheeks.

“You expect me to believe that you will trust me, after what I have done? You cannot! I came here to kill you!”

“Then go ahead. Start with that babe on your lap.”

“Me!” White says, baring teeth and hooking his fingers into claws. “Tear me to shreds!”

“Good idea!” Black mutters, and cuffs his ear.

Abbot walks closer to Vaun. “You acted from ignorance, and we can cure ignorance. We already have, I think. No brother will ever knowingly act against his brethren, his hive. Certainly we shall trust you hereafter. Do you want to be trusted?”

So now Vaun knows the answer to Frisde’s question. He knows what the brethren tender. She offers fame and power and wealth, and they outbid her easily.

Love!

“Yes! Yes, please!”

His two neighbors smile at him, and the hands on his shoulders squeeze hard.

“We accept you gladly, Brother—but I do not think that is possible.” Again Abbot rotates slowly to survey his audience. He seems to find no comfort, and again addresses Vaun. “From what you have told us, we cannot hope to establish a hive on Ult.”

“Then you must go on!” Vaun says. “Go on to the frontier worlds! Or else go back to Avalon!” And he will go with his brethren…

Silence tells him that there is something wrong with his conclusions. The mood has changed. No one will meet his eyes now. One or two of the youngsters are whimpering, and the older boys whisper comfort and courage in their ears.

“Those options are not available to us,” Abbot says softly. “We risked everything on Prior and on secrecy. Both have failed us. The ship must be realigned and allowed to cool before it can undertake another voyage. Forgive me!—of course a spacer knows that. No, hear me out. We should find the same problems back at Avalon, anyway.”

“Bethyt is nearer—only two and a half elwies.”

“Seven transit years…still too far, and still the same problems.” The baby whimpers; Abbot moves it back to the crook of his arm and carefully offers it the bottle again before continuing.

“Let me tell you a story. The crew of the shuttle was murdered, all except you. Your attempts to pass as Prior were successful, and we accepted you. You watched from the bridge as we negated the Patrol’s attempts to destroy us. Believing you to be Prior, we did not guard you closely. Like all interstellar ships, this one carries a destruct device, for that is—”

“No!”

“Hear me out. Since ancient times, the Space Patrol has always insisted on that, in case of infestation by aliens. Unobserved, you were able to start the destruct sequence. You raced back to the pilot boat, disconnected—”

“No! No!”

“There is only one of us who may survive, Brother. Only one of us will be welcome back on Ult.”

“Then choose another!” Vaun shouts. He tries to rise, but strong hands hold him in place. “I will stay!”

“No other would be able to pass as you,” Abbot insists. “Qualified?”

“Bio,” says an identical voice somewhere. “You are correct, Abbot. They will have tagged him somehow. Strontium, for example. Small doses will replace calcium in the bones, and leave an unmistakable signature. There are so many possibilities that we should need days to test for them all, but they will know at once if we attempt a substitution. Mind bleeding takes too long anyway.”

“I won’t go!” Vaun yells. “I killed one of you, and wounded another! I cooperated in what they did to Prior. I betrayed Raj and Dice.
I will not betray you anymore!
”

Abbot strides forward to confront him like a reflection. “Listen! By going back you will not betray us, you will serve the Brotherhood!”

“What?”

The face so like his own smiles his own smile at him. “You have an opportunity none of the rest of us have. Do exactly what they want, Brother Vaun! Serve their purpose that you may ultimately serve ours…which is also yours. You go back, and we perish. We are only a few hundred units—the Brotherhood can replace us easily. But you will be established as loyal to the randoms, and be honored.
The Brotherhood will try again!
”

“What? When? How?”

“I have no idea. But it will never give up. Maybe not for centuries, but maybe in your lifetime. And the next time you will be trusted, and you will have a better chance to aid our cause.”

“I won’t! I can’t!”

Abbot turns to look around the silent, somber company. “Has anyone an alternative to propose?”

No one responds.

“Are we agreed?”

This time the response is a deep, sad rumble. “Agreed!”

“Surely you can save some?” Vaun whimpers. “Some might survive a pogrom. The ship might make it back to Avalon!”

“This way is better,” Abbot insists. “I have told you—we do not matter. You are truly on our side now?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Then this is your duty, Brother Vaun. If you feel you committed crimes against your brethren—and no one but you has said so—then this is your chance to redeem them. Perhaps it will be easier for you, but to any of us what I propose would be torture, a life alone, among wild stock. Blue…Black…take him back to the patrol boat, and then to the bridge, and lead him through the scenario. Go through it all twice or three times, if needs be, until he is sure of the story. Then see him on his way.”

A scramble of limbs and bodies, and Vaun finds himself on his feet, with a brother flanking him on either side.