Extremis (48 page)

And, as she lay panting in the circle of her private
maatkah
ring—the only place she ever practiced old, forgotten moves that she had reclaimed from past memories—the sweet yet horrible memory washed over her again—

—Ankaht had returned unannounced to the primary observation laboratories, retrieving some human books out of a storage closet. She intended to have Jennifer explain the puzzling concerns of human thinkers such as Erasmus, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard,
’kaiKri,
Augustine, Emerson…

Ipshef and Orthezh, thinking themselves alone, were slightly indiscreet in that they had simply retracted the field of their
selnarm
rather than making it direct and exclusive—which had the side effect of making it less emotionally rich and expressive. Therefore, to limit the radius of a
selnarm
field, rather than create a tight pipeline, was the traditional choice of lovers, and so Ankaht had sensed their exchange as they prepared to resume their tasks with the humans.

“I am but
Ixturshaz
. Why would you want to have anything to do with me, anyway?” Orthezh wondered.

“Beloved,” Ipshef almost purred through her link, “do you not see that here, on New Ardu, the caste of one’s origin is of no import to our choice of life-partners? Indeed, in most regards, castes have ceased to matter.”

(Irony.) “Unless you are
Destoshaz
.”

Ipshef, who was
Selnarshaz
, thought, “Better to be nothing. Better even not to be
shaxzhu
.”

Orthezh was surprised. “But
shaxzhu
are our memories, are our culture, are the fingers that touch the mind of Illudor himself. They are—”

“They are not safe to associate with. Not anymore.”

“But that is nonsense.”

“Not to many of the
Destoshaz
. They want to fight a war to the last claw and grinder with the humans. The
shaxzhu
—such as Elder Ankaht—want to ask if it is necessary. But the
Destoshaz
are stronger—
much
stronger. Even stronger than her. Who do you think will win?”

“Who will
win
? Ipshef, we are all the Children of Illudor. We are linked in our
narmata
—”

“Are we?”

Orthezh, who was usually the dominant and outspoken of the two, stopped, too stunned to respond. “What do you mean? Of course we are of one
narmata
.”

(Sadness, dispassion, negation.) “Then what do you make of the
Destoshaz
who claim that the
shaxzhu
no longer touch the mind of Illudor? That their interest—or obsession—with understanding the humans indicates that they are putting the defense and survival of all the Children at risk? That, therefore, their
selnarm
, their
narmata
, is no longer that of the Children, but of their own collective perversity? And that therefore, our race’s
narmata
is no longer uniform and ubiquitous? Are not the
Destoshaz
at least right when they say that the unity of our
selnarm
has been compromised?”

“Perhaps, but it wasn’t the
shaxzhu
who’ve disrupted it!”

“I didn’t say it was. But if we put aside blame for a second, are they not right in at least this much: that our
selnarm
is truly ruptured? Are we not at a greater distance from each other than ever before?”

Orthezh was still for a long moment. “Yes. There is so much filtering, withholding. But that is because of
Destoshaz
censorship, accusation—”

“Feel this well, cherished Orthezh. You may share that opinion with me. But it is no longer safe to share it with others.”

“But—”

(Urgency. Love. Insistence.) “It is
not
safe to share with others. Do you understand, dear one?”

(Bewilderment, appreciation, fugue.) “I…understand, beloved Ipshef.”

“Good. Now let us return to our tasks.”

But they had never returned to their tasks. Ankaht had, only minutes later, returned to urge them to flee, and they had died, defending their love for each other—which was gone now. And they had also died defending their subjects: intelligent
zheteksh
, human artists who never had any chance to understand or avoid the Death-Vowed assassins that had been sent to eliminate them.

Indeed, they had been sent to eliminate the entirety of Ankaht’s human-research cluster. Ankaht had thought nothing, no threat or perfidy, could have aroused a greater passion from the center of her soul. The treachery—in both its scope and intent—was monstrous. But one thing had proven to be even more ghastly and paralyzing than that treachery.

In defending Jennifer’s life—and that of her infant—Ankaht had accepted a responsibility more onerous and horrifying than she had ever known before. For Ankaht to contemplate her own death merely stimulated misgivings for the social tragedy that might follow: without her work, this war would continue, possibly disastrously, and thus the path whereby Illudor and his Children would persevere was difficult to imagine. But to protect Jennifer had filled Ankaht with a desperate, primal terror, because if Ankaht had failed—failed her
friend
—that friend would not be reborn. When the being that was Jennifer Peitchkov was gone, there was no consolation of knowing that one day she would return: instead, she would plunge straight into the screaming chaos of
xenzhet-narmat’ai
, utterly and eternally irretrievable. And her infant…

Ankaht discovered she was shedding tears—for humans and Arduans shared that physiological anomaly—and watched them spatter down upon the fresh scabs creasing her arm. Jennifer had put her improbably finite existence on the line to save Ankaht, whereas Ankaht had placed one of her infinite lives on the line for Jennifer. In retrospect, the human’s gift was so much greater than Ankaht’s that they hardly warranted comparison. But both had risked discarnation at the hands of their own species to save the other. Lasting friendships—and alliances—had been built on far less than that.

The door’s
selnarm
repeater pulsed. “Yes?” Temret, her most junior researcher, entered. He was armed. “Yes, Temret?”

“Most Revered Elder, it is time for the Council.”

“Very well.” She rose. “You are armed.”

“I stand ready to guard my Cluster-Commander and our greatest Sleeper, Elder Ankaht.”

She sent (appreciation, ease). “I have no need of a bodyguard, Temret.”

But Temret, a most intellectually gifted Destoshaz who had not found an easy role within her cluster, was (resolute). “With respect Elder, you need a friend—a friend who is armed and willing to discarnate and be discarnated many times over to ensure your safety.”

Ankaht felt her amusement ebb and she sent (accord). “Perhaps you are right, my young Temret.” And, leaving the chamber, she thought,
perhaps you are very right indeed.

* * *

Torhok rose as Ankaht entered. “Ah, greetings, Elder. We trust you are recovering from your injuries?”

Ankaht did not seat herself. “Injuries, Senior Admiral, are what one might sustain in an accident. I am recovering from wounds inflicted during an assassination attempt.”

“So you have said.”

“And upon which I will say more, when you have finished your presentation.”

The cool reserve of her
selnarm
sent a ripple of alarm through the room: among her supporters and the moderates, this was not the gentle Ankaht they had come to know and cherish.

If Torhok noticed any of this mood change, he gave no indication of it. “So, to conclude, the losses inflicted by the
griarfeksh
were light. But it must be concluded that we were very fortunate. As I have outlined for you, their method of infiltration exploited our lack of knowledge of their systems. I am pleased to say that we have just recently initiated a dedicated military-intelligence unit, led by Group Commander and First Prime Mretlak, formerly fleet second under Narrok. We expect great things from that new analytical resource.”

But Ankaht felt the subtle disjuncture between the enthusiastic words and the disinterested support.
Of course, Torhok will be just as happy if the military-intelligence cluster doesn’t produce any useful results, because then we have only one choice: widespread suppression of the humans.

“In the meantime,” Torhok continued, “I have instructed the security-advisory cluster to cut all public services for Melantho. This will give the
griarfeksh
too many domestic worries to consider further offensive operations against us. It also provides an example to the other, larger cities of the planet, since we have issued an edict indicating that the same suspension of services will befall any city in which an act of rebellion occurs. Since we presume that the humans would attempt to employ what they call ‘plausibly deniable’ disasters against us, we have further announced that we are not concerned with evidence or protestations or explanations. So if an event affects us adversely on this planet, we will employ the same shutdown of all services in the human cities of the stricken area.”

Amunherh’peshef’s eyes widened. “So the humans are to be blamed for the damages inflicted by hurricanes and floods, as well?”

“Unless we can concretely assert, based on our own researches, that the
griarfeksh
had no conceivable means to generate such disasters, yes, they will be held accountable.”

“This is madness.”

“This is what their own perfidy has wrought. They attacked us even while setting fires that drew our emergency vehicles to the depopulated zone. They used our most charitable impulses to distract us from the treacherous strike they were launching. There were many among the security-advisory cluster who recommended a wholesale elimination of the population of Melantho, but more moderate voices—such as my own—prevailed.”

Oh, you source of boundless mercy,
though Ankaht. Aloud: “So, now we are considering genocide as an appropriate means of reprisal.”

“Not all of us, Elder. Clearly not you. But we would hardly expect otherwise, given your research cluster’s role in all this.”

Ah, here we go.
“And what role is that, Senior Admiral?”

“I wish we knew, Elder. Perhaps you could enlighten us yourself.”

“I would—if I had the faintest notion of what you are referring to.”

“I am referring to the many indications that your so-called human-research cluster has produced only one significant result thus far—it provided the one possible pathway for a
griarfeksh
strike team to bypass our precautions and strike into the very heart of Punt.”

“You say that as though you suspect that my cluster was somehow in collusion with the attacking humans, Senior Admiral.”

“Well, was it?” Torhok’s
selnarm
rippled with chilling (pleasantness).

“Of course it was!” roared Urkhot, as fiercely as a double-fanged
yihrt
suddenly released from its mating-season restraint pen. “She—the
shaxzhu
—has gone over to the
griarfeksh
. She is all but one of them. She is a traitor—a traitor!”

“Is that why you sent eight Annointed Death-Vowed—and sixteen lesser Unannointeds—to kill not only me, but all of my staff and all of the humans in our laboratories, esteemed
Holodah’kri
?”

No one had ever heard Ankaht use such vitriolic sarcasm before, nor accuse a Council member of conspiracy to commit murder or of abusing the privileges of not just one, but two offices: priest and councilor. The Council sat still, dumbstruck; eight of the twenty
befthelled,
all their eyes shut against the shock.

Urkhot had risen, but his
selnarm
had closed down. Ankaht doubted he would come after her here, in the Council chambers, but events and accusations had taken such a dire turn that she started a quick calculation of how many of those gathered might support her—physically—if
skeerba
were drawn.

Amunherh’peshef’s deep, layered
selnarm
descended on all the others, quashing them all beneath its bulk. “Last week’s events were most peculiar indeed,” he soothed. “However, accusations of treachery or murder will do us no good—certainly not before we have more facts before us. Senior Admiral, you have given us a most comprehensive assessment of the human plan of attack. I am less convinced that it was only made possible by inside help. It is significant that the humans constrained their attacks to areas that they had great familiarity with—which, indeed, they themselves had built and maintained for centuries. Their ability to swiftly locate the human subjects is not mysterious but plainly manifest in the historical record: the midwives and the infant-physician had adequate knowledge of the research cluster’s facility to report the necessary information to the human Resistance. And their choice of targets was logical: they wished to rescue their own kind.”

“There may have been yet another motivation, Esteemed Amunherh’peshef,” added Ankaht.

“And what is that?”

“I have had an opportunity to look at the records of the events made by our security and recording devices at the site of the attack. The leader of the humans is the mate of Jennifer Peitchkov.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because at the outset of our researches, we had to confirm his survival—and therefore, his identity—to secure her compliance. And because she has shown me his image in her mind.”

“So you say,” Torhok dismissed airily.

“So I can show you.” Ankaht boomed out the assertion through her
selnarm.
And in its wake, she gave them Jennifer—not all of Jennifer—but enough of what she had learned of the human so that the
selnarmic
nature of the facilitating link between them was beyond question.

Again, the Council sat in profound stillness. Urkhot made a disgusted sound not unlike an episode of indigestion.

“If you have achieved so much,” wondered Amunherh’peshef, “why did you not share it earlier, Elder Ankaht?”

“With respect, Honored First Councilor, you may recall that I tried to present my findings at an earlier Council meeting. That was declined by a slim majority of this body”—she stared around the table—“whose objection was that their caste-leader, Senior Admiral Torhok, should be present to inquire about, and possibly vote upon, any matters pertaining to such momentous evidence. Senior Admiral Torhok was returning from his visit to Admiral Narrok in the Ajax system, if I am not mistaken.”