Theirs Not to Reason Why 5: Damnation (7 page)

He tilted his head, with its leathery brown hide and multifaceted eyes. “We gift you with our thanks for accepting our sovereign needs, General.”

Touching the comm control, then another button, he closed the shutter on the observation window. As it slid down, the ambassador and his aides could be seen rising from their bowl chairs, their rust and brown hides gleaming with faint metallic hues to match the metallic threads woven through what passed for their clothes.

The Chinsoiy Glorious Leader activated her own comm . . . though the gender “female” didn’t have an exact analog in her species to what was more common among the carbon-based members. “Seem surprised you do not, General. His answer was this so well anticipated in you?”

“I have made allowances in my plans for the Dlmvla, Glorious Leader Zyx. Just as I have made allowances for all of you and your own possible responses up to a point. But only up to a point.” Rising from her chair at the table, she clasped her hands behind her back in a stance somewhere between Parade Rest and at Attention. “I have already gambled the lives of 4,179 Humans and fifteen Tlassians on what the Dlmvla will and will not do. They, however, are not your concern. They are mine, and mine alone, for the burdens you already bear in this war are more than enough for the rest of you to handle.

“I will deal with the Dlmvla later, when it is appropriate at the right point in time.
Your
concerns, I must deal with right now.” She glanced over at Myang and Mandella, and let the corner of her mouth twist up wryly on one side for a brief moment. “I would have asked to be here, and would have asked for these things even had I still been a mere Ship’s Captain . . . but with the faith of my superiors behind me, it is slightly easier to ask these things now. Easier, but not guaranteed, save by your choice.

“Premiere Mandella and Admiral-General Myang have made me a General of the Command Staff of the Terran Space Force. Queen Surshan has given me the rank of Royal War Seer Princess, and with it joint command of all Solarican forces within Alliance territory. His Eternity, Emperor Ki’en-qua of V’Dan, would grant me the same level of authority as a Grand General.

“I would like to ask the rest of you to give me equal authority over your own military forces at this time. Tlassian, Gatsugi, K’Katta, Chinsoiy . . . and to ask my fellow Terrans, the V’Dan, and the Solaricans to join with you to grant me the position of General of the Alliance Forces. As I said at the start of this meeting,” Ia said, filling the stunned silence with the calm reminder, “I don’t have a lot of time available, and I would far rather spend what little time I do have in useful action rather than in wasteful discussion.”

Chiswick chittered. His translator box spoke a moment later, converting his words into Terranglo. “What sort of useful actions would require such high authority to be given to a foreign Guardian? What are your end-goals for this level of power?”

“As it has always been, my end-goal is to save the greatest number of lives so that they may lead the best lives possible, long into the future. To do that, however, we must deal with the Salik in a very specific way—the Blockade, as you may have noticed,” Ia stated dryly, “did not work very well. It will not succeed a second time. Not even in the short term. I have spent the last eleven-plus years trying to find not just the best solution that will deal with them . . . but a better solution than the one I found when I was fifteen.”

She looked down at the table for a long moment, then looked up and around the room, meeting each set of eyes, or their equivalent in the case of the Chinsoiy.

“I have
not
found a better solution.

“There is only one path that leaves this Alliance—this whole galaxy—still alive, still functional, and prepared to face the ancient enemy of the Grey Ones. I’ll remind you that this is the enemy they
fled
because
they
could not fight that foe, with all their advanced technology. It is an enemy our descendants must be able to face and fight three hundred years from now. In order to ensure that the greatest number of people will still be around, and the
right
people are alive to face that implacable, unstoppable foe . . . the Salik must be dealt with in a very specific way.

“It will be a very unpleasant way, but I have found no other path that delivers the long-term objectives we must all keep in mind, for our great-grandchildren’s sake,” Ia stated grimly. She couldn’t give details—didn’t dare give details—but she could try to warn them. She had to try, at any rate.

“How great is thisss ‘unnpleasssant’?” the Tlassian Warchief asked her.

“I was given the military nickname of ‘Bloody Mary’ after my very first tour of combat eight years ago,” Ia stated. “I was given it because I ended that fight painted from helm to boot in both Salik and Choya blood. I have kept that name fresh and dripping in every encounter with our foes since that day.” She looked around the room again, meeting the mouse black eyes of the Gatsugi President, the crystalline orbs of the Chinsoiy, even the brown stare of the Admiral-General at her side. It was to Christine Myang that Ia spoke. “But . . . I have not
earned
that nickname, sir. Not yet.

“I have spent eleven years of my life looking for a better solution than what lies ahead. I have not found one that would avoid the coming bloodshed yet still saves all the rest of our lives. As a soldier and an officer, I
must
accept that there will be casualties in a war. That there will be deaths. My job is to minimize the number of lives lost where I can . . . but the Salik won’t stop trying to enslave and devour the rest of us. It is their nature, one which they fully embrace.” She lifted her gaze to the Tlassian Warchief, his brown-and-gold uniform blending with his green-and-gold skin. “If I am in charge, then I can maximize the number of lives saved for our side . . . and if
I
am in charge, then I alone will bear the blame for the lives lost on
both
sides, when I do earn my nickname in full.

“The Salik must die. In the right time. At the right place. In the right way . . . as a race.”

“You/You would/will lead/direct our peoples/troops/Alliance into full/full/massive combat/attacks against/on the Salik?” President Guw-shan asked her. “Without/Lacking the Dlmvla vessels/ships . . .”

Ia shook her head quickly, glad Myang had ordered her to leave her Dress cap behind. It would have been shaken free had it still been perched on her short-trimmed locks. “No. The actions of the Dlmvla are going to be what they
must
be, for all of us to survive. I have already calculated and even manipulated their efforts in this war, so we shall leave them to it. As for the Salik . . . we will have standard engagements up until the crisis point . . . and then we will engage in strictly defensive actions only. The Salik will be the authors of their own downfall.
If
everything goes right.”

“Hy do not underrrstand,” Queen Surshan stated, her Terranglo heavily accented. “How woullld dis earrn you de warr nnickname, if all we do is defennd?”

“I cannot tell you what is coming—
do not ask me to tell you
,” Ia added firmly, hearing the woman to her left inhale on an impending question. “Do not order me, for I will
not
say. There are only two people in this galaxy who know exactly what is coming. Myself, and one Feyori. I only told him because I needed
his
cooperation in order to set up a line of circumstances that have finally brought the Feyori to follow at my side.

“I knew precognitively I could trust him to keep his mouth shut, which he has. And I knew we would need the help of the Feyori to deal with what must be, where the Salik are concerned. For the rest of it . . . I cannot take the risk of even one-hundred-thousandth of one percent of a chance of the Salik finding out what will happen before it is too late for them.”

“But what is dis thinng we will defennd against?” the Solarican ruler asked.

“I cannot tell you, Your Majesty. I even went to the Salik homeworld to warn them against undertaking this war, that in doing so it would end with the death of their entire race . . . but I did not, could not, and will not tell them what is coming,” she added, pointing off to the side. “None of us can risk their even getting a
hint
of what will happen before it is too late. Because they will turn the tide of it against
us
, and drown us in the incoming waves.”

Even the Chinsoiy knew what a tide was, for all that their seas weren’t entirely made of water. But that didn’t stop their Fearsome Leader from asking over the comm, “. . . It is of a superweapon you speak? To have turned it against us? Your ship?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly, meioa; my ship will be part of the cleanup, but not the cause of the coming mess. And it is a type of superweapon, one which they themselves created at the end of the First Salik War, and which they lost track of in the intervening centuries. But it is not a weapon that
we
can wield. It is not
my
wielding of this weapon that will earn me my nickname. It is because I cannot and
will not
do anything to
stop
it from being wielded,” she warned them. “Not and still be able to save the rest of us.

“I have tried for eleven years to find some other way, juggled the possibilities and massaged the probabilities, trying to find
any
other way. But the only way for the rest of us to survive is to get the Salik out of the equation,” she amended quietly. Almost speaking the full truth. All she could do was hint . . . and see the dawning of understanding in the Human and alien faces around her for the things she could not openly say. “Out of compassion, I have looked. Out of frugality, I have looked. Out of
honor
, I have looked. I am sorry—more than any of you know—but there is no other way.

“Let
me
take the burden of this decision from you. Let
my
name be the one blackened and bloodied by what will have to happen,” she persuaded. “I accepted long ago what must be done and have continued to accept it even as I searched for better ways, only to find none. I have the will to carry it through with the least loss of lives for our own side . . . which is the only side I can save.” She met the multiple black orbs of the K’Katta Chief Guardian, the golden gaze of the local War Prince, K’sennshin, even the hazel gray eyes of Ki’en-qua.

He looked back at her steadily. Ki’en-qua’s question was not unexpected, given V’Dan culture. “Will you show at least
one
of us what you have foreseen? You cannot expect even me to believe you without some proof that this task is necessary—and I say that even with you already having proved beyond all doubt your powers and your identity to my people.”

“Yes. But not you, Eternity,” Ia told him. “No one would believe you if you said you trusted me because my existence is tied up too much in the Sh’nai faith of your people.” She glanced to her right, where the Solarican Queen sat, watching her. “Nor you, Queen Surshan. Your people have a . . . unique relationship with another interest group in this whole matter that would also compromise your neutrality.”

Surshan flicked her ears back but did not counter Ia’s veiled argument. The fact that the Solaricans had an understanding with the Feyori was not something openly known. Ia knew Surshan appreciated her tact in not mentioning it.

“Who, then?” Myang asked her. “Certainly not me, or
I’d
come under accusations of ‘undue influence.’”

“Your choice to elevate me to the rank of General was more than enough aid, sir. Actually . . . I would prefer to choose one of the Chinsoiy Leaders. Your minds are not at all like a Human’s,” Ia said, turning to look at the quasi female on the other side of the thick, protectively darkened glass. “If I can show you, and you can understand it well enough, then that will have the highest probability of satisfying most everyone else in the Alliance.”

“Enter you cannot my chambers,” the ambassador stated bluntly, “or die will you. This cannot be allowed.”

“Yes, and that is another reason why the rest
must
remain ignorant,” Ia countered calmly. “My abilities have grown strong enough that I don’t
have
to physically touch anyone anymore to show them what lies ahead in the fields of Time. If most of you remain clueless about what will happen next year, then there can be no accusations of undue influence from me and my abilities.

“I will have
no
accusations that I manipulated the leaders of the Alliance,” she added with some heat behind the words. That question would come up in the future, and she wanted it made clear to these same leaders that she would do nothing of the sort. “My task is merely to show you what no one else can yet see, to tell you the things you need to know, and to advise you on the exact steps needed to salvage a victory from the coming mess.

“But I cannot take those steps
for
you. Not without your permission. And I certainly cannot fight this whole war by myself,” she added in a dry aside. “You must act upon what your own common sense and your compassion for your fellow sentients insist that you do.”

“You spake of thrrree warrrs,” Queen Surshan said. “De Salik, annnd one I prrresume thrrree Terrannn hunndred yearrs into de future. What is dis seconnd warrr?”

“Four, if you count the coming war on my homeworld, but that one doesn’t concern the Alliance since it will happen beyond your reach. The one you speak of involves the Greys. They are coming back, and they will invade Terran space. And yes, I have strategies lined up for dealing with them, even in the face of our extremely inferior, inadequate technology. We
will
stop them if we do things in the right time, in the right way; you have my Prophetic Stamp on that,” Ia told them, forestalling any burgeoning sense of panic. “But first, we must continue to push the Salik forces off our many colonyworlds and push them back to their original territories. Then, a few of us—myself and my ship included—will face the Greys, show them certain things, and by doing so give ourselves some breathing room by making them pause for a little while. Then we will finish the Second Salik War and return our attention to the Grey problem.