Extremis (38 page)

“You refer to the friction between the
shaxzhu
and the
Destoshaz
.” Mretlak’s
selnarm
had suddenly become tense, constrained where it had been fluid.

Ankaht understood: this caste-friction was the source of his restlessness and reluctance. A
Destoshaz
himself, he probably felt that by forging an alliance with Ankaht—foremost
shaxzhu
, Sleeper, Elder, despised as a
griarfeksh
apologist—he was engaging in something akin to caste-treachery. Ankaht proceeded cautiously with (sympathy, acknowledgment). “That has been the most unfortunate—and pronounced—of the diminished relationships within our community, but not the only one. Consider how the other caste specialties have almost all been wiped away. For instance, one of the groups that was very important to intelligence and research in the past was the
Ixturshaz
.”

Mretlak was (bemused, receptive). “A propitious reference. One of my newest cluster members is an
Ixturshaz
himself. He had been serving with an Enforcer-Group.”

“Really? And he was released from the group without complaint?”

“Elder, he was the group’s only survivor. His Enforcer-Group is the one that went to the house you were speaking about with Senior Admiral Torhok.”

Ankaht did not get truly shocked very often: she was truly shocked now. She was cautious, proceeding: “Cluster-Leader, I do not mean to question your judgment—but is such a recruiting choice wise? Can this
Ixturshaz
possibly be objective?”

“I believe so. However, he is most certainly motivated to undertake his duties—and completely impervious to the
Destoshaz’ai
-as-
sulhaji
rubbish that is mesmerizing an increasing number of my caste-mates. And he is very clever. If he has no love of humans—well, I could see how that would be an impediment in your research efforts, Elder. But not in mine.”

And Ankaht thought:
Well and fairly answered. Not reassuring, but sensible and sane. These days, who can hope for more than that?
“I am glad you will have an
Ixturshaz
on your staff. I could even wish there was a place for a
shaxzhu
.”

“As do I, Elder, but there are so few of you—and all so closely watched—that I fear it would bring exactly the sort of scrutiny I hope to avoid.”

“Sad, but true. So, no
shaxzhu
in your cluster. Well, that is probably prudent.”

But Mretlak’s
selnarm
seemed to shift then, as if Ankaht’s easy acceptance of his demurral made her easier for him to trust. His sending was obliquely tinctured with (acceptance, cooperation). “However, Elder, it would be most helpful if I…or perhaps others of my staff…were to know that some specific
shaxzhu
were especially receptive to our inquiries, or requests for unofficial assistance.”

And Ankaht allowed a smile into her
selnarm
. “I think that can be arranged.”
You will do well at this game, Mretlak. Narrok chose you well.
She moved away from the topic;
early alliances are delicate, not to be hammered at: “Have you thought, Mretlak, why the humans seem to have such an advantage over us in this area—in military intelligence?”

“A long, unbroken history of its necessity and use would seem to strike me as the reason, Elder.”

“Oh, that explains their expertise—but I suspect they have an innate advantage.”

“Oh, why?”

“Because, not having castes, they have remained generalists. Now, in many enterprises, that has been to their detriment. For instance, they cannot so readily accomplish highly specialized tasks, and so they have never been able to organize ship production as quickly and efficiently as the Children of Illudor.

“But their generalist nature arguably makes them superior in any task that is inherently interdisciplinary—particularly when the matrix of needed skills is such that, if we tried it, we would have to cross caste lines to find an adequate diversity of aptitudes and training. And this unfortunate phenomenon has only grown worse since we left Ardu. Diversity of castes has steadily decreased among the ship-born, even as conformity
within
each caste has increased.”

“I have seen this worrying truth myself, Elder. Happily, my project is off to an excellent start, in part because of our caste mix, I suspect. Lentsul—my
Ixturshaz
research prime—is extremely thorough.”

“And upon what project has he been exercising his thoroughness?

“Ascertaining the provenance of human records that date from, and purport to depict or report, what they call the Bug War.”

Ankaht sat more erect. “Indeed? And what have you found?”

“We are still some weeks away from processing all the evidence, but the trend is irrefutably clear.”

“Which is?”

Mretlak flexed and then withdrew his claws in a gesture of decisive negation. “It cannot be a hoax. The artifacts are genuine, as is proven by the subtle but consistent chemical residues they contain, and which match each other and the atmosphere of Bellerophon as it was at the time of the Bug War, or shortly thereafter.”

Ankaht was amazed—not by the findings, which she had already presumed—but by the independent validation and close ally which it promised. “And, by extrapolation, what do you therefore conclude about the human conduct of that war?”

“That their representations of it are fundamentally consistent with what they actually experienced. They were desperate, fighting for their lives—even as we are now. Which must be terribly traumatic for creatures who suspect that they do not reincarnate. But Elder, I have been struggling with one aspect of that belief of theirs—their lack of reincarnation—which seems counterinstinctual.”

“Which is?”

“If they so fear and hate discarnation—no, death—then why do they celebrate the horror of war? Why do they torture themselves and cheer at scenes of combat? Why do they wish to broadcast images of these terrible losses?”

“Perhaps because…” And Ankaht struggled at the edge of an understanding that required her to embrace a reality at once so alien and so lonely and hope-stripping that she could not breathe as she entered its outer peripheries. “Perhaps because it is the only way their deeds and their identities endure.”

“I do not understand.”

Ankaht found herself recalling nuances of Jennifer’s thoughts as she explored her hypothesis. “Let us presume that their assessment of themselves is not in error, but correct: that, like all living things, they perish, but—unlike the Children of Illudor—they cannot be reincarnated.”

“Making them
zheteksh
—animals.”

“But what if they are
not
zheteksh
? We have always conflated personhood—being truly sentient—with the surety of reincarnation. But what if that is not the standard, not the norm of most intelligent species? What if, rather, it is the exception?”

“The exception? But Elder, how could this be possible?”

“I do not know—but is it any more reasonable to assert that species which create art and satire and starships are
animals
? Consider the other species the humans have encountered, one of which—the Orions—we have met in combat as their allies. All of these species have much the same fear of death as the humans. And all have elaborate celebrations for both marking one’s demise and remembering those who died before. Consider the human graveyards, and their desperate clinging to anything touched by, or associated with, the deceased.”

Mretlak recoiled in both body and
selnarm
. “If their fears are accurate, then they…they…”

Ankaht nodded. “They live in perpetual fear of a permanent and all-consuming darkness that not only
can
approach and swallow them—it
must
.”

Mretlak stood. His
selnarm
signaled a need to return to his researches.“Eldest, if this should prove to be true, then the humans are unthinkably brave—and may prove very difficult to conquer. Very difficult indeed.”

Ankaht closed her eyes. “So, if
conquest
is not a viable answer, perhaps we must change the question we are asking.”

“That is subtly put. Any less subtle might make it sound treasonous.”

“Of which I am well aware, Mretlak. This meeting has been a genuine pleasure.”

He reciprocated the (amity, appreciation). “It will be the first of many, if you will permit them.”

“I would be happy to work with you again.” And then, as Mretlak left, Ankaht added to herself:
Yes,
desperately
happy to work with you, Mretlak. For at last I just might have an ally.

* * *

Lentsul remained intent on the trainee’s screen. She, Emz’hem, was a
Destoshaz—
tall, golden—but not at all like his discarnated Heshfet. Emz’hem was anything but provocative, and her
selnarm
pulsed with little passion. However, she was a reasonably intelligent
Destoshaz
and had the best record of any Enforcer for dealing peaceably and effectively with humans—both in their dwellings and as prisoners. For that reason, and her modest cognitive gifts, Cluster-Leader Mretlak had recruited her to the military-intelligence cluster, and assigned her directly to Lentsul for training in counterinsurgency intelligence.

For the fourth time, Emz’hem tried to graphically cross-index human production data, inventory records, and pre-war commercial distribution patterns—and failed. “Junior Group Leader,” she apologized, “my efforts are unsuccessful.”

Lentsul involuntarily succumbed to the tentacular flex-and-droop reflex that was the Arduan equivalent of an annoyed shrug. “Then try again—using a new method.” He turned away, resisted the impulse to solve the problem himself. Because if he did that, then Emz’hem would learn nothing and they would not have the necessary personnel to staff a military-intelligence cluster.

Military-intelligence operations had not always been so trying, Lentsul reflected. He had been searching through old records of counterinsurgency operations conducted by the Enlightenment-era city-states of Ardu. Even those scant records drove home the disheartening comparisons with great clarity: there were so many aptitudes and paradigms his predecessors had been able to employ in situations such as this. They had understood covert operations, guerrilla war, and how a freewheeling market economy was the perfect blind for a clandestine resistance movement.

But then, Ardu had learned that bright Sekamahnt—the benign central eye of the night sky—had suddenly become a baleful gaze of impending doom. Nations had folded together into massive industrial and research engines in the unexceptioned push to discover and to build the means to leave their doomed, beloved world. During their journey into the great dark between the stars—where only curtains of faint, nebular
vrel
and
crivan
shimmered to remind them of the light they had known when living on a planet’s surface—so many souls had returned as
Destoshaz
. Perhaps that was because the simpler, direct, and active nature of that warrior caste was more suited to the demands of the journey. Or perhaps Illudor had willed that his most forgetful children be born to steer the ships, because if too many minds were able to fully experience the
shaxzhutok
of a storehouse of planetary memories—of light-dappled ocean swells and musky, tall ferns—the entire Race might have sunk down past wistful melancholy and drowned in suicidal solipsism.

Lentsul turned back to study the screen and was happy to discover, that, in his prolonged silence, Emz’hem had made yet another attempt. Now the figures stood in useful comparison to each other. At last they might start getting somewhere on the search. “Excellent work, Emz’hem. Now let us find the serial number of the toy in question.”

She complied, but her
selnarm
(obtruded). “Why are we searching for the source of this toy, Junior Cluster-Commander?”

“Because this toy”—he pointed to the image of the blue-red-gold truck that had charged the hopper at the end of the convoy attack—“was not used as a toy. As you see here, it was used to close on, and seemingly attack, the hopper.”

“Was it armed?”

“Interestingly, no. But in retrospect, why did it need to be? The humans just wanted to scare the hopper’s operator into extracting it—probably so the
griarfeksh
could exfiltrate their control-and-overwatch point undetected. And since every other toy car they used had been rigged with a bomb—”

“—our operator had no choice but to presume that this, too, was so armed.”

“Precisely. And that is why one of the Enforcer sleds destroyed it. But they did not completely vaporize it”—he held up a scorched piece of the vehicle’s undercarriage triumphantly—“and so we were able to determine the toy’s identification number. And if it was purchased recently—”

“Yes, it was. Here is the record.”

“Ah. Excellent work.”
And long overdue, but I will leave that out of my
selnarm
.
“Now, has Cluster-Commander Mretlak secured our clearance for full access to monitor all the human computer activity?”

“He did, just before he went to his meeting with Councilor Ankaht. We now have full access to the human systems—at least, to those systems of which we are aware.”

“But the data is certain? You are sure that toy in question was purchased? Not declared lost or missing?”

“No, Junior Commander, it was purchased. But this is odd—the price at which this toy was sold is but one-fifth of that which the same merchant charged for a similar unit sold only two days earlier.”

Ah. The clue I was seeking. And also an excellent opportunity to test my trainee’s perspicacity.
“So, what do you conclude from that fact?”

Emz’hem’s central eye narrowed; the other two fluttered. “I am unsure, Junior Leader. Perhaps the
griarfeksh
bomber, knowing he intended to destroy the vehicle, purchased one with some defect that was inconsequential to his intents? And the defect resulted in a lowered price?”

Lentsul closed his main eye: there was much work to do before the trusting souls of his own race understood the devious courses that covert operations followed. “Or perhaps the merchant understood the purposes for which the bomber was purchasing the unit.”