Extremis (29 page)

“And what did he come to get?”

“To get me to promise that we would move against Ajax more swiftly. And he wished to use this visit to continue to deride and resist any growing opinion here in the Fleets that the humans might actually be intelligent. And lastly, to remove you from my staff and replace you with a creature of his own persuasion who will watch me once you are gone. Of course, along the way, he and Urkhot were determined to decline several of our requests—just to reaffirm their dominance. And so we had to put forth requests which we knew they would deny.”

“Such as?” asked Mretlak, half stunned as Narrok peeled back the unseen layers of interpersonal strategy that had allowed him to anticipate and then orchestrate the briefing.

Narrok shrugged. “Such as a more casualty-sensitive attack doctrine, or permission to construct forts to hold all our warp points. Of course, Torhok—through his logistical officer—was going to refuse that: it would have reduced the resources dedicated to our offensive power.

“So. then what have we gained?”

“Well, there’s the support and funding for my special offensive projects—”

“So you think Torhok will actually honor a commitment to build such large hulls?”

“Of course—because he sees it as facilitating the
offensive
operations that are the centerpiece of his vision of conquest. So, since we calmly accepted his rejection of our request to build forts, and then showed an equal willingness to sink that funding into an offensive alternative, Torhok decided to reward our humility and right-thinking by approving our alternate request for the comparatively paltry resources needed to build and seed more defensive mines. Which, quite frankly, are now more essential to our defense than warp forts.”

“You feel the mines will serve us better than the forts?”

“No, but we no longer have enough crews to man the forts, and they take too long to build.”

“Admiral, until today, I was under the mistaken impression that the majority of one’s strategic skill has to be exercised against one’s foes. I now begin to suspect that an equal measure is required in dealing with one’s allies.”

“An equal measure—or more, depending on your allies, Mretlak. And with that last piece of advice, I think you must be on your way.”

Mretlak lowered all three of his eyes in a formal gesture of respect generally reserved for parents or beloved mentors. “I would ask one further clarification.”

“Of course.”

Mretlak struggled to keep his
selnarm
unruffled, for the topic he intended to raise could easily be misconstrued as containing an undertone of criticism. “Admiral, I noticed that as we prepared for, and then during, the briefing, you insisted that we call the enemy ‘humans,’ rather than
griarfeksh
. I wondered, given whom we were meeting with, was this wise.”

Narrok nodded and sent a pulse that complimented Mretlak on his (shrewdness, perspicacity). “For me, yes, it was wise—or at least necessary, for I must continually push back against the myopic
Destoshaz’ai
-as-
sulhaji
propagandizing. Had you been making the presentation alone, on your own authority, then no, it would
not
have been prudent. So, in the presence of others, it is still usually advisable that we continue to label the humans as
griarfeksh
.”

“But is it not safer, then, to continue to so label them even when one is alone? Lest one create a private habit of thought and terminology that might slip out in a public setting?”

Narrok fluttered approving tentacles. “Your foresight and caution serve you well, Fleet Second. And there is wisdom in your pursuit of consistency. But there is a danger in it, and it is this: if you label an adversary as an animal, you will come to think of that adversary as an animal. And if you think of an adversary as an animal, you will expect him to have the limited perspicacity of an animal. In this war, such arrogance could be our downfall. In private, we should acknowledge the full danger of our foe—and perhaps we can remind ourselves of that danger by referring to him with his given name, not dismissing him as some noxious carrion beast of our homeworld.”

“Perhaps. But could it not also be seen as, as—?”

“As what?”

“As heresy?

“Possibly so, possibly not. I can only say: be prudent, be careful, but do not allow yourself to underestimate these humans. They are quite dangerous—and resourceful.”

“Admiral, do
you
think they are genuinely sentient?”

Narrok looked at him for a long time. “Remember, Mretlak, be careful in your new duties.” And with a kind, wavelike ripple of the raised tentacles of both clusters, Narrok turned his attention back to the inventory reports, signaling that their time was over.

As he left, Mretlak wished that Narrok had answered his question about human sentience.

Five minutes later, as he was boarding the shuttle that would take him to Torhok’s flagship, and ultimately, back to New Ardu, Mretlak realized that Narrok had indeed answered his question about human sentience.

He felt a chill pass up his clusters and into his arms as he realized what that answer was.

* * *

Urkhot finished outlining the final phase of instituting the Revised Provenance Doctrines. “And as you will see, Senior Admiral, even the last phase of relaxed restrictions should still serve to promote a natural consensus among the
Anaht’doh Kainat
regarding the inherent bestiality of humans.”

“Very good,” sent Torhok, while he thought:
You are becoming a costly ally, Urkhot. Two days ago, you all but emotionally deliquesced in front of Narrok. That is not acceptable. You are a blade that needs to be rehoned.
“You have done excellent work in a short time,
Holodah’kri
, but what will you do when the next challenge to our authority arises?”

Urkhot stopped: (panic). “What next challenge?”

“Oh, I have no knowledge of the next counter that our political opponents will attempt, but they have been presenting one impediment after another. Do you expect it will stop?”

Urkhot’s central eye quivered. “It must stop. I will not countenance any more of it.”

Torhok shrugged. (Sympathy, resignation.) “But then what is to be done? How can Illudor’s will be expressed so certainly that the voices of nonbelievers will be stilled?”

“I do not know—but those voices must be stilled. Beyond reasonable uncertainty and curiosity, habitual challenges to the wisdom and the will of Illudor are primers for those who would defy him, are encouragements to infidels and heretics.”

Torhok (acceded). “So earlier
holodah’kri
have written. But they lived in simpler times, without the difficulties of a people separated from their roots by centuries of interstellar travel and confronted with a species of insane marauders that can mimic intelligence so convincingly that almost a third of our population are ready to consider them sentient. And those earlier
holodah’kri
did not have contentious Elders, such as we do—Sleepers who claim unto themselves the authority of having walked and breathed on our lost homeworld.”

Urkhot took up the complaint as a rant. “And they did not have to suffer such authority to be embodied in a
shaxzhu
. For she”—and the image of Ankaht roiled out of Urkhot’s
selnarm
like bloody pus from an inflamed boil—“she is the source of so many of these problems. Her infernal insistence that we should seek evidence of personhood in these two-eyed
griarfeksh
drains our strength of purpose, our unity, when we need it most.”

“Yes,” agreed Torhok, “and with her ready access to past-life memories, her profound
shaxzhutok
which reaches back to the very foundations of our race, it is almost as if she has accrued to herself the credence accorded to our priests, our
’kri
.” Torhok paused a beat. “Indeed, perhaps she has already usurped the power and place of our
holodah’kri
.” And Torhok waited.

Urkhot’s central eye tremored with passion—and then, suddenly, became very still. “Which would of course be heresy of the worst kind.”

“Most assuredly so. Perhaps it could even be perceived as treason. For just as surely as Ankaht has arrogated unto herself the authority of the priests, she now has the Council of Twenty tangled in knots of uncertainty over how best to proceed in the case of the humans. She strives to learn how to talk to the vermin. Whereas I have orders to cleanse them from the space in which we must live. And this is not just the Council’s mandate, but Illudor’s will. He sent us forth when he willed Sekamahnt’s death-burst. And thus, by extrapolation, sweeping away the
griarfeksh
here is certainly a deed made necessary by His act, and is therefore in accord with His will. Yet the
shaxzhu
would have me delay or desist in that war while she discovers if she can ‘communicate’ with these furry, two-eyed monsters. And she, like Narrok, would have me fret and count how many
Destoshaz
souls become discarnate in the process. Why should this concern her? Unless, of course, she secretly doubts that we
are
reborn.”

“Which would be another heresy—and would also indicate her madness,” blurted Urkhot. “For how can one claim past-life memories
and
simultaneously doubt the permanence of our souls? Clearly, she is a danger to us—to
all
of us.”

“Your wisdom brings us to that sad but inescapable truth,
Holodah’kri
.” And again, Torhok waited—but this time had no doubt of what would follow.

Urkhot opened his
selnarmic
link a bit wider, and Torhok detected a cold, fell resolve that he had never felt before in the priest: the
holodah’kri
’s conversion to a ruthless pragmatist was now as complete as his new purpose. “Senior Admiral, I fear we are perched on the horns of a dilemma.”

“In what way,
Holodah’kri
?”

“Our race is in danger—danger from within, Senior Admiral. Yet we have no way to bring this threat into the light for all to view clearly. The clarity of vision—and mission—of the
Anaht’doh Kainat
has been blurred, largely as a consequence of their good nature and open-mindedness. And now, we must save them.”

“It seems so. But how,
Holodah’kri
?”

Urkhot’s tentacles rippled restively. “The methods are not yet clear to me, Admiral. But suffice it to say that steps must be taken. Steps that are quiet, but decisive.” He shook himself, as if out of a trance. “But for now, Senior Admiral, let us speak no more of this. Plans of action will present themselves to both of us, surely.”

“Surely,” echoed Torhok, who congratulated himself on having crafted so deadly a weapon as the
holodah’kri
and in so short an exchange—and without any trace of blame upon himself. For, after all, it had all been Urkhot’s words and ideas that had effected his own conversion—and if pressed to reveal it, the priest’s own
selnarm
would show no less. Torhok had merely known the right questions to ask, the right buttons to press.

Urkhot imaged (Narrok), considered and weighed (competence, expendability, triage) in the balance. “It is a shame that Narrok has become so increasingly—obstructive. He had been most cooperative and polite, but ever since that fleet second of his joined his staff after the Battle of Charlotte—”

Torhok (concurred) and added: “Yes, this Mretlak is probably a bad influence. Despite his lesser rank, he is quite clever—and manipulative.”

“A pity he cannot be more usefully employed at greater range from Admiral Narrok.”

“But he can, and will be,
Holodah’kri
. As of today, Mretlak is no longer fleet second to Narrok. He is returning with us to take up new duties sorting through the intelligence archives on Bellerophon. I suspect he will actually be useful to us there—and at the worst, he will be removed from Narrok and consigned to a harmless post among stacks of human data. And in Mretlak’s place, I have assigned Narrok a new fleet second who is far more theologically resolute.”

“An excellent redistribution of resources, Senior Admiral Torhok.”

Whose reaction to the praise was a genuinely diffident shrug. “I am
Destoshaz
,” he commented. As if that answered the matter entirely on its own.

10

Two True Women

The first wrote, Wine is the strongest.
The second wrote, The king is strongest.
The third wrote, Women are strongest:
but above all things Truth beareth away the victory.
—Apocrypha (Bible)

RFNS
Zephrain
, Second Fleet, Astria System

The VIPs from Zephrain looked slightly dazed when they emerged from the shuttle into the hangar bay of Second Fleet’s flagship, the supermonitor named after their homeworld.

As well they might
, thought Ian Trevayne with a trace of smugness. He had carefully specified the course their ship was to follow after emerging from the warp point into the Astria system. It had taken them past what had amounted to a grand review of the awesome assemblage of naval power the allied powers had poured into this system.

Some had argued against it. Cyrus Waldeck, in particular, had worried that showing them such an incalculable tonnage of concentrated, summated, and distilled death might lead them to demand, in the immemorial way of politicians, why the war couldn’t be brought to a triumphant conclusion in time for the next election—ignoring little details like the possession of comparable capabilities by an enemy who had the advantage of position. But Trevayne had remained serene. He knew there were two members of this junket who could be relied upon to gently explain the facts of life to the others.

So it was that the visitors had peered out through their ship’s viewports at a succession of titanic supermonitors of the Rim Federation Navy, and also of the Pan-Sentient Union Navy of which it was not necessarily a part (but not necessarily
not
, either). Then serried ranks of fleet carriers and assault carriers, notably the sleekly deadly ones of the PSUN’s Ophiuchi allies. Then the dizzyingly innumerable swarms of lesser supporting ships, down to the light cruisers.