Theirs Not to Reason Why 5: Damnation (9 page)

“It is a form of energy, and it is a state of being,”
she murmured, grateful the Chinsoiy were a race that understood and appreciated music. Analogy was the only way she could put into words what they had both seen.
“These moments, these jostlings for dominance and existence, are metal strings, strung on a frame and mounted on a wall. I am merely a pick sent to pluck them . . . but I am a pick that can peer into the composer’s mind and strive to change the melody before each note is written down and played in the great concert we call existence, in the hopes of bringing forth a greater song with a far better harmony. This is what I strive to do. This is what I have always tried to do.”

Fearsome Leader bowed slightly to her.
“I have seen. I as well strive for harmony. The Salik are discord, of too much strength, not enough give. Breaking of glass leads to shattering of vital fluids. Silence, if unfortunate, is better the choice . . . even if must be the whole section of instruments removed.”

“It
is
a most unfortunate necessity, since even they have produced some beautiful notes from time to time,”
Ia murmured wryly.
“But they refuse to play in concordance with the rest of us.”

Kzul flexed an arm, rippling his membrane-wing.
“Without losing its pleasure, one cannot play forever the same song. They will not change their notes. We must change our notes and song. It is . . . regretted their instrument must be gone.”

“Yes. But necessary,”
Ia agreed.
“I return you now to your body, Fearsome Kzul. Breathe steadily when you return, and do not rise quickly. Let the energy of the radiations revive you.”

He bowed again, his skin gleaming opalescent in the light of the rising temporal sun. Ia lowered her aching arm and opened her eyes in reality, and found she had to squint to see past the darkened, protective glass. Stretching his limbs, the alien slowly shifted. It took him half a minute, but he rose from his lounger. Stepping up to the observation window, he braced his long-fingered hands against the pane, pressing against it even as his wing tips stretched out a little, the flaps falling in graceful folds to either side. His voice came through the speaker, flavored with a metallic hint of the greater echoing of the timeplains.

“I have
seen
. This is something must we do, not should we do, to regain the harmony of peace. Name I now as Highest Flight Leader Ia, second to me. I have seen how she directs only where must things be. No wasted radiance. No abuses. All is honorable. Her words are now as commands to our forces. So I say, Fearsome Leader Kzul sh’Kul Vzang’
snEE’EE
,” he half clicked, half whistled at the end.

His co-Leader, Glorious Leader Zyx, tilted her head. “What was seen, Fearsome Kzul?”

Stepping closer, he pressed both of his limbs against the thick safety pane, flattening the somewhat rubbery flesh of his keel. He stared at the others though, and not at his fellow Chinsoiy. “Battle. Destruction. Death. Word you Humans use.
Hope.
It is worth diving for, this
hope
.”

“When you have time to order your thoughts on your experience, Fearsome,” Ia suggested in the thoughtful quiet following his words, “I suggest you write them down, parse them into the trade tongue, and share them with the others. But keep silent on what will happen to the Salik for now.” She glanced to her side at Myang and Mandella. “You will
all
get whatever prophetic orders I can pass along, regardless of my rank among you, but if I have an
official
rank, then my directives will be passed along much more swiftly and will be heeded without bureaucratic hassle.”

“Rrrrank you have, powerrr you have, Rrroyal War Seerrr Prrrinncess,” Queen Surshan dismissed, flicking one velvet gray ear as a Human version would have flipped her hand. “Do nnnot pull in de
whole
fleet, but . . . some, you may.”

Curling her fingers into claws, Ia inverted one over the other in front of her chest and bowed in the formal style of a Solarican Seer-psychic.

“I would not leave any of your worlds defenseless without solid, desperate reason, Majesty,” Ia demurred. “With luck, trust, and obedience, I will not ever have to ask such a sacrifice of your people.” Straightening, she looked at the others. At Emperor Ki’en-qua, at the Gatsugi President, at the K’Katta and the Tlassian leaders. “With my superiors’ permission, I will accept and not abuse these levels of authority among the Solaricans, Terrans, and Chinsoiy.”

“You have it among the V’Dan as well, General. You have not guided us wrong, fettered though you have been so far,” Ki’en-qua stated. “I have already drawn up the orders that place you as Grand General of the War among the V’Dan—not just an equal to my High Command, but their overall leader, in anticipation of this very request.”

He glanced to the gray-haired man seated at his side. Ia hadn’t seen Grand General Ibeni-Zif since formally revealing her existence to him and the other representatives of the First Human Empire, over two years ago. Ibeni-Zif bowed his head, acceding to his emperor’s stated wishes.

“As the High One herself once wrote, ‘
Iantha’nn sud-dha
.’ As the Prophet wills it . . . and more importantly, as my Emperor wills it. I am no follower of the Sh’nai,” he admitted dryly, “but I do concede you are the Prophet and have the knowledge to lead us safely out of this war. I thank you for sharing it, and for being willing to help all of us, not just your fellow Terrans.”

Ia bowed her head to both men in thanks.

“The Granndmasssster of the Affffasso hasz never sssteered uss wronng, regardinng you,” the Tlassian warlord stated. He flexed his neck muscles for a moment, partially flaring his hood. Folding his hands together over his chest, he bowed from his seat. “I will accssept Gennneral Ia asss my equal, inn the trussst she will nnnot abuse such privilegesss.”

“Sschah nakh,”
Ia thanked him in his native tongue, fingers interlaced as she bowed in return.

“Ssthienn nakh,”
he returned politely. He didn’t have to consult with his secular coleader; the crestless Tlassian technically was here simply to provide support—literal in terms of supplies and citizens—to the efforts of the warrior caste, which were in charge during any discussion involving a war. In this case, he even spoke for the crested priest caste, who had remained on their motherworld to ensure that at least one leader was still available to their race at all times.

“General/Warleader Ia is/is/is honorable/valiant/resourceful/knowledged,” Guw-shan stated even as Ia straightened. “We/We do/will not/not/not object/hesitate to give/giving her/the General equal/coleadership with/alongside our military/warleaders.”

That gave her the Terrans, V’Dan, Chinsoiy, Solaricans, Tlassians, and the Gatsugi. Technically the Feyori as well, though they hadn’t been invited to this event. Ia turned to face the K’Katta faction. It was not Chiswick who spoke, however, but rather the political leader, Pr’tr’k’ktrik, Pritter for the ease of Terranglo-speakers. Lighter in color than the male, and larger, she raised herself off her bench-seat, then stepped up onto it. Curling her forelegs together, claw tips interlacing in a deliberately Human-like gesture equal to clasped hands, she made her statements in a chittering-backed voice-over through her translator.

“We have studied the history, culture, and ways of the Humans, both V’Dan and Terran. We have found you to be violent, bloody, dangerous, and more than willing to slaughter your own kind over the course of your history. You have also stood ready to slaughter all other sentients . . . according to your entertainments. You even make
games
,” the female translator-voice drawled, programmed to put meaning-based inflections into its efforts, “out of your deep-seated need to fight, slaughter, and compete.”

“We acknowledge this,” Premiere Mandella stated calmly. Not quite stiffly, but with a definite touch of wariness for the topic. Across from him, the V’Dan Emperor dipped his head in silent, wry acknowledgment as well. Mandella made a passable Gatsugi hand gesture for ironic agreement. “There are similar troubles in all sentient species to one degree or another. Life itself is a struggle to survive.”

Pritter made a close approximation of the same gesture with one of her spare forelimbs, curling and splaying her finger-like claw tips. “Truth. Yet you have also shown great depths of compassion and aid for your own kind, and for those who are not your own kind. Even for non-sentientkind. You make pets out of the creatures you would otherwise eat . . . and you continue to eat their kin. You are, as a species, illogical and insane. We are the embodiment of your species-deep fears and nightmares,” her translator box offered in its neutral-female voice over her quiet chitterings, “yet the vast majority of you have overcome the, ah . . .
willies
, I believe is the term?”

Mandella chuckled softly, relaxing a little. “Yes. An archaic term, but very apt. Meeting such a polite and caring race as yours has helped many of us overcome such fears—”

“—Yes, Premiere,” Pritter interrupted, raising a third foreleg in another Human-based gesture, this time for quiet and patience. Ia noted with detached amusement that the alien had one of her claws pulled in, similar to the Gatsugi gesture she herself had used. Pritter continued. “We know the long-standing histories between our kinds. The Salik are not nearly so complex to understand as the Humans . . . but for all your deep-bleeding history, you are not nearly so dangerous as they.

“We have studied the efforts of General Ia. Our spies among the Terrans have uncovered interesting truths in her early days in the military.” The K’Katta paused while Mandella blinked and looked at Myang, but neither the Admiral-General nor Ia were moved by that admission.
Every
race in the Alliance spied on the others, both in military and civilian matters. It was simply good sense. What Pritter had to say next was not commonly known to the leaders around them, however. “In every instance, when asked how she felt for the Salik, this Human has said she feels pity. That hers is Human-based pity . . . but it is suspected, Salik-based as well.”

“Purely Human,” Ia confessed, knowing the K’Katta was looking at her with at least two of those dark eyes. “But I needed the Salik to believe it came from their own perspective of the term.”

“Yes, you hunt with xenopsychology in your mind,” Pritter stated, rapping the underside of her abdomen with a foot-claw, the cultural equivalent of a Human tapping her skull. “So I must ask this question. Given that it sounds as if you are talking not just containment of the Salik nation, but of their destruction . . . are you talking about xenocide? Of deliberately crushing them, all of them, egg to grave, and removing them completely from this galaxy?”

Ia sucked in a breath at the blunt question. She knew how the baring of her teeth would be interpreted by the Solaricans and the Tlassians, but grimaced anyway. “Technically . . .
technically
, it will be assisted suicide, meioa. As awful as they are toward others, as bloodthirsty and flesh-hungry as they are as a species . . . I would rather have given them the chance to live if they could have changed their minds about attacking and devouring the rest of us. If they
would
have changed their minds.”

“
That
is why you went to Sallha,” President Pritter stated. It was not a question.

Ia answered it as if it were one, anyway. “Yes. Every life is precious. Every life should be given a chance to live, to try to find happiness, fulfillment, and purpose . . . but that does
not
mean finding happiness, fulfillment, and purpose in slaughtering others, because those lives have just as much a right to live. One of our Human religions has a saying, ‘So long as it harms no one, do whatever you will.’ It is a wise saying and applies even to oneself. But when those actions harm others, then that overwhelming freedom must be curtailed. Mostly, we try to curtail it in wise laws . . . but sometimes we must curtail it in strong actions.

“The good of the many outweighs the good of the few, whether it is a scale of one to five, or a hundred to a million . . . or two hundred billion versus several septillion lives.
If
the Salik could fight against their instincts and successfully change their ways, then I would be working to save them,” Ia pledged. “But they will not. My being elevated to the rank of General was a far higher probability than their changing their ways . . . and I can tell you freely I did
not
expect to stand here before you as anything other than a Ship’s Captain, today, to ask for a temporary elevation in rank.”

“I’m glad I can still surprise you,” Myang muttered. “And it still
might
be temporary if you step too far out of line.”

Ia ignored it, keeping her gaze on the alien politician. “As I am driven by the compassion of my conscience, meioa, I still had to try. But the Salik will not change.”

“I am ssurrrprised advannncsed as fffar as thhey did,” the Solarican Queen muttered, heavily ringed ears flicking briefly backwards. “Sssentient they are. Ssophffontic, dey are nnnot. De actions of artifishul intelligence machines vould be more logical, even on a rrrampage.”

“Yes. That is our regretful conclusion as well,” Pritter said. Unclasping her forelegs, she planted them on the padded stool serving as her perch. “Promise me, Prophet, that you will do your best to save as many lives as you can while directing this war.”

“I already have.” At the upward curl of the K’Katta’s forelegs, Ia spread her hands. “I am here, after all . . . and I will ask nothing of your people that I am not prepared to do, or give, or be, myself. Up to and including my own death, if need be.”

“Absolutely
not
,” Myang protested, scowling at Ia.

“Not on your life. We
need
you,” Mandella added sternly.

“No, sirs. You need my
prophecies
,” Ia corrected the Terran Premiere. “All else is negotiable.”

“I absolutely
forbid
you to undertake any action which will end in your death,” Myang ordered, pushing to her feet.