The Eternal Enemy (21 page)

“You see, Triand died when he wanted to die, or so he believed.”

“What are you talking about?” Straka asked. “If he was killed in battle, how could he have died when he wanted to die? Unless he never wanted to live through the battle in the first place.”

“That's close to the truth, but not quite there. Look at it this way: He was at least fifty percent pure Haber, and probably closer to eighty or ninety percent—the exact proportion makes little difference. Ever since his birth, Triand believed he was immortal. He knew it on a biological level. And like all Habers, he
was
immortal. If nothing external happened, he could have lived forever.”

“Forever,” Straka muttered absently.

“But they don't live forever,” Markos said. “They can, but they don't. They don't
want
to, and they don't have to. Just knowing they
can
is enough. They eventually commit suicide by meditating their way down to the point where they've used all their stored food. Taking in additional food is taboo. But that's what passes for their religion. They also have an intellectual, philosophical approach to immortality. They understand that immortality is the most important aspect of life. It's what brings everything else into focus for them. Without it they fear they would live millennia unable to appreciate the things they appreciate most.”

Straka swayed in the chair and she felt herself slipping. “Markos …”

Markos reached down and grabbed Straka by the shoulders to steady her. He let his hands reach down and penetrate Straka's shoulders, doing some probing and fixing.

Some of Straka's strength returned in a rush, a flush of well-being.

“Better?” Markos asked.

Straka nodded. “A little. Go on and finish.”

“This religious attitude was a part of Triand, and I'm afraid it's a part of all the other mutated children. It seems to go with the genetic territory. No sane creature, or sane by Terran standards, would throw himself into battle the way Triand did. He lacked caution, guile, and the one thing I've yet to see in this Haber race or in any mutation.”

“What?”

“A killer instinct. They lack the ability to perceive cruelty. To them this war is some kind of game they have to play. They move to the right, the enemy moves too. So they use maneuver three. But if that maneuver doesn't work, what do they do then? They try other things, such as trying to understand the rules of the game, and by the time they're approaching some level of dealing with rules, they're dead. They lack an understanding of conflict.”

“They just need better training.”

“Don't think I didn't already think of and try that. There's just no way those things can be trained. The potential isn't there.”

Straka nodded. She felt herself falling toward the floor again and felt Markos catch her before she hit. She closed her eyes for a moment and when she reopened them, found herself lying on the floor. The ceiling sparkled with bits of brilliant color. Or was that Markos's eyes?

She could feel Markos's hand on her chest, could feel the glittering eyes calming her. Some of her pain and exhaustion disappeared. She tried to sit up, but Markos put his other hand on her chest, preventing her rising.

“Stay where you are a little longer. Let your body heal a little.”

“Right,” Straka said weakly. “Continue talking, though. I can listen better now.”

“Fine. Do you see where the problem is?”

“I see some of it. Your children don't have a refined survival instinct.”

Markos thought for a moment. “Interesting. Do you think that's it?”

“Well, it's part of it, anyway.”

“Yes. It would have to be. Good, Cathy. Very good. Will you help us?”

She was feeling better. Her head was clear, and her stomach wasn't knotted in pain. She could concentrate on something other than food and water. “Sure I'll help. You said you'd give me the
Paladin
back?”

“Yes.”

“And you'll save the crew?”

“Yes.”

But it made no sense, and Straka knew it. There had to be something Markos wasn't telling her. Why would he let them aboard their own ship? He had to know they would set out for Earth immediately after gaining their freedom. Markos couldn't think that Straka would feel that indebted or obligated just because he'd saved them from a death he himself had planned.

“What's the catch?” Straka asked.

“Are you feeling better now? Try to sit up,” Markos said.

Straka found she could sit up easily and her hips didn't bother her as much. Her head throbbed and spun for a moment, and then the pain vanished. “I feel pretty good,” she said, amazed at the sudden change.

“Don't get carried away,” Markos warned. “The well-being is temporary.”

“Oh. What do I have to do to make it permanent?”

“Permanent. Now there's an alien concept,” Markos said in a liquid, bubbly voice.

“I'm not laughing.”

“So I see,” Markos said.

Straka tried to stand. She pushed herself up and was able to maintain her balance. She tried a few steps, found that with some pain she could walk, then returned to the chair where she'd been sitting. Markos returned to his chair.

“All right. I understand why you need us—”

“Want. Not need.”

“Fine, then. I understand why you want us to help. You said you were willing to hire me and the crew. What are you willing to pay?”

“I've already made my offer. You get the
Paladin
, I'll supply any extra ships if you want them, and you and your crew are returned to health.”

Straka smiled, nodding her head once. “That sounds very good, for openers. But let's talk price.”

“What price? A reward? Precious metals? Jewels? Sure. Why not? You can have all you want. But I know that as soon as you get aboard that ship, you and your crew will be long gone. You'll run right back to Terra and take your chances there, right? So why talk about money yet? I'll have to have some assurance from you that you'll fight and not run.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Like a railroad track,” Markos said. “I'll have to explain something about the Hydrans. We're not fighting for the fun of it. We're fighting for our lives. They're planet stealers. They're a textbook case of expansionists. I don't know why, but they're spreading throughout this entire sector of space. They swallow and destroy everything in their path. And their assaults are so deceptively simple—it all starts with just one small ship.

“They're spreading out like a sound wave,” Markos said. “And Sol, as well as other stars, is in their path. Which means that sooner or later, they'll get around to Terra. Unless we stop them now. Before they're unstoppable.”

“I have only your word to go on, Markos. Do you have any proof?”.

“None that you would be able to understand or see yet,” he said, motioning toward the wall filled with crystals.

“Well, if you're right, if what you say is true, Terra could be in trouble.”

“Then you'll help?”

“I didn't say I would. I just said that Terra could be in trouble, and that's too bad for Humanity.”

“Loyal to the end, eh, Straka? Well, that really doesn't surprise me. If you can steal their one and only f-t-l ship and use it for personal ends, I should have known you wouldn't know the meaning of loyalty.”

Straka froze, her system struck by a sudden release of emotion, her pent-up anger and frustration finally finding a release. She leaned forward in her chair and looked at Markos's grotesque face. “Don't talk to me about loyalty, Markos.” She spat the words, almost choking on them, through her long-unreleased feelings. “I remember when you were a human being. A human who betrayed his ship, his crewmates, his captain, his whole race.”

Straka knew she was pushing Markos, perhaps a little too far, but there had been no need for him to question her loyalty. Straka felt justified in returning the favor. She watched Markos's eyes glow and subside.

“I am not the same person I was then,” he said. “Let's leave it at that.”

“Fine,” Straka said. “I'm not either. I've got a sense of loyalty and a sense of responsibility. It just so happens it doesn't apply to Terra.”

“Well, you should think of this. If you run back to Terra, you may eventually have to face the Hydrans there. If NASA 2 lets you live that long.”

“Let's stop dancing, Markos. We seem to have hit the unanswerable problem. Nothing you've offered so far would be ample payment to ensure our loyalty. You've appealed to my sense of justice, to my feelings of guilt, to my natural desire to protect my home planet. But it's not good enough, Markos. It's not even close.”

She didn't want to push him too far, but Straka knew that they had yet to reach the kernel of the real offer. She might lose everything by pressing forward, demanding more, but it was a chance she would have to take. Negotiating from the weakest position imaginable made it far more important to get everything possible.

“I don't know what else to say, Cathy.” Markos looked across to the old Haber and flashed something through his eyes. The Haber flashed something back, and then Markos turned to Straka. “Of course, there is one last thing.”

She'd hoped so. “What is it?”

“Immortality.”

Straka wasn't sure she'd heard that properly. “What was that you said?”

“Immortality.”

Straka's heart raced, pounded against her weakened ribs. She couldn't believe it. Markos had the answer.

“That's what I thought you said. Markos, you just hired yourself a Terran. I can't speak for the rest of the crew, but once I explain, I'm sure they'll agree.”

“Perhaps they will,” Markos said, “but there are some conditions you should know about first.”

“What?”

“I won't exactly be hiring Terrans. In order to make you immortal, I'll have to change you—like the way the Habers changed me.”

“What?”

“That's the deal. It's the only thing we've said that really makes sense. To be immortal, you'll have to be changed.”

“Changed? Changed into what?”

“A different creature than what you are now. Something more than what you are in most ways, less in some other ways.”

“What ways?” Straka asked, panic creeping into her voice.

“The details are unimportant. Your present physical form is incompatible with immortality. It's unable to provide the necessary genetic and chemical base. Your basic physical makeup will have to be altered. I'll have to change what you are. It's that simple.”

“Nothing's that simple! I don't want to be changed. Not like you. The only thing I want to change about me is my mind. I reject your offer.”

“Then have a good life, Cathy. And enjoy it while you can. You've chosen to die as surely as you're sitting there, trembling.”

Straka buried her face in her hands. Her stomach was tight, and she felt an emptiness in her lungs. Her whole body was collapsing, losing strength, caving in on itself. She looked up to Markos, avoiding the mockery of his facial features, and was entranced by those pulsing eyes.

“I don't want to die!”

The Old One flashed red.

17

Straka sat on the deck of the silent ship watching Markos's eyes glow softly with throbs of untapped power, waiting for him to say something. When Straka had calmed down enough to accept that she could never be immortal until her form was changed, she'd started asking Markos questions. But Markos had remained silent, had deliberately not gone into the details, letting her think the worst.

Straka had told Markos that she was willing to accept the necessary physical alterations right then and there. Deep inside, Straka was anything but sure—her commitment was for the moment, and she told herself she would back out if things got too threatening.

Markos had touched her with his hands, suffusing her body with well-being as he had done earlier. But as they walked through the bizarre city to the waiting wedge ship, Straka knew it was too late to back out. She knew she was only fooling herself into believing there was an alternative.

What kind of an alternative was death?

They had boarded the ship, sat on the deck facing each other, waiting in silence for the bay door to close. Markos's breathing had shifted, dropped to a few short breaths per minute.

Straka stared at Markos's body. A chill ran down her spine and she shivered at the thought of looking like that. Was that the price of immortality? she wondered. To look and sound like a freak, a monstrous, chaotic mosaic—bits and pieces of alien creatures?

Her mind would remain unchanged—Markos had said nothing about altering her personality. He'd only talked about physical change. He'd said that the Habers needed Terrans to fight, mercenaries who thought with human minds. She would still be that thing that was Cathy Straka inside, where it counted. But there was no telling what she'd be like on the outside.

The bay door closed and Markos stirred.

“I'm ready to answer some questions now,” Markos said in his liquid voice.

To be like that … “Just how changed am I going to be?”

“Enough so that you won't look human. You'll be something between human and Haber. As your genetic structure is altered, I'll change your phenotype to accommodate the necessary adaptations. But what difference does this make? You either want to die or you don't. I'm offering you the chance to live until you choose to stop living. If you want that, you must be willing to make certain sacrifices. It's that simple.”

“Nothing is that simple.”

“At least you have a choice, Straka. The Habers gave me none.”

Straka's stomach turned. “I'm sorry for you.”