Extremis (70 page)

And this has fueled our own war-making here, just as surely as any of the examples I have found in the annals of human history,
Ankaht thought,
for we are both—Arduan and human alike—now
in extremis
. Two years ago, the humans were suddenly confronted with invaders who are intractable, inscrutable, unstoppable. They are invaders who care little of death, who take no interest in communicating, who believe that—being the Children of Illudor—they do what they must in accordance with divine will. The humans—rightly—believe themselves to be
in extremis.

And us? We, no less than the humans, find ourselves
in extremis.
We are refugees from our blasted world, lost in the dark and thrown upon these strange shores like castaways upon an island. And—with no way to leave, and no home to return to—we discover these islands are inhabited by wild, Pre-Enlightenment savages. Without benefit of
selnarm
or
narmata
, they live in contentious chaos. Without knowledge of Illudor or the surety of rebirth, they roil about in a desperate terror of death, even as they spend their lives trying to eject us from the islands they infest.

Except that they are not a savage infestation, any more than we are soulless invaders. But if we do not learn to communicate, truly communicate, our desperate fears—our respective states of being
in extremis
—then we may well be each others’ annihilators.

Ankaht sat back upon her flexible legs and hung her head.
Jennifer, Jennifer; you and I. We could have stopped this. But now—

A gentle wisp of
selnarm
probed at Ankaht. It was Temret. “Eldest, it is time. The Council is convening.”

Ankaht arose, found an attenuating tickling sensation spreading down one check, lifted her cluster—and found that she had been crying. Again.

“Are you ready, Eldest?”

“I must be, Temret. Let us go.”

* * *

“And so this concludes my integrated findings on the humans. We now have built enough dual-purpose vocoders that you may all assess my conclusions for yourself. Lacking our capabilities of
shaxzhutok
and the communal data pool of
selnarm
, the humans have committed much more of their collective experience to the written word than we ever felt necessary. And some of their creative forms—for instance, their ‘poetry’ and its emphasis on meter and rhyme—may seem particularly odd, until you recall that, relying upon speech in the place of
selnarm
, they have developed various rhetorical forms and mannerisms that are entirely dependent upon sound.”

“This is quite remarkable—and quite odd. Tell me, was there a reason you did not report this—and all their philosophical overlaps with our own beliefs—earlier?”

A delicate question—and made more so since it was being asked by one of the two
Destoshaz
who remained on the Council. The rest, following Torhok’s lead, had openly declared a political moratorium regarding their participation in, or recognition of any dicta from, the Council of Twenty. “Councilor Hetfeln, some of these data come from studies that we have only recently completed. However, to be frank, I have often attempted to present key portions of this data to this Council. But my research cluster’s work was always suppressed as premature, prejudicial, nonessential, or—according to the accusations of the late
Holodah’kri
Urkhot—intentionally pernicious to the welfare of our Race.”

Hetfeln inclined his head slightly. Among Arduans, the physicalization of his response made it extremely profound. “I do recall this. And you are kind in your obliquity, Eldest.”

Ankaht radiated (fellowship, appreciation). “Your receptivity does us all honor and shows us all the path back to balance, to
assed’ai
.”

Tefnut ha sheri tapped two claws on the table in alternation; it was a contemplative metronome that also called for attention. “Yes, the path to balance. The conditions of the humans has made me reflect upon something I have not thought of in many years. When one becomes an initiate
kri
, he or she is taught that our impulse to join our
selnarms
together in
narmata
is simply an expression of our impulse toward unity in Illudor. The metaphor they teach acolytes—
hwa’kri
s—on that first day is that the multitudes of us are akin to billions of molecules of glass, but cast together in a perfect sphere. The sphere is both Illudor and
narmata
, and the true perception of all three is the attainment of
holodah
. Because, in that perfect sphere—the most perfect of geometric shapes—all is held in perpetual, crystalline, pellucid balance.”

Hetfeln suppressed (incredulity). “And this reminds you of the
humans
?”

Tefnut ha sheri waved a tentacle that seemed to call for patience and also beckoned to follow him into deeper reflection. “Yes, in a way. For the humans seem to have the same instincts, the same desires, for oneness that we do—but their lack of
narmata
leaves them all separate and innately out of balance. It is as if the glass globe of the human community had been shattered at the outset and ever since—as distaff and disparate parts—they are all trying to find their way back to reconstruct and rejoin that whole. Consider what Eldest Ankaht put before us about their beliefs. The Taoists find and express a human analog of our principle of
assed’ai
. The Hindus discover and focus upon reincarnation and the special sight which they envision as a property of a third eye that is actually latent in the human body as the pineal gland. The Western philosophers struggle with the necessity of reconciling the universe’s cyclic processes into its linear relationships and vice versa, in an attempt to create a concept of the whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. These are all attempts to bridge the gaps of isolation, of separation, which is the consequence of their lack of
selnarm
and
narmata
.” Tefnut ha sheri shifted listlessly in his seat, as though very tired. “It both encourages and discourages me.”

“What encourages you about this, Revered
Holodah’kri’at
?”

“That the humans are, in so many of the traits and impulses that matter, so very like us.”

“So, then what discourages you?”

“That the humans are, in so many of the traits and impulses that matter, so very like us.”

Hetfeln blinked. “I do not understand.”

Ankaht let her feelings of (accord, insight) rush out as she experienced them. “Revered
Holodah’kri’at
, you fear that our way is made more difficult by this similarity between our races?”

“Difficult in ways even you have not yet foreseen, Eldest Sleeper. But for now, we must use the human translators to attempt to forge more and better communicative links between ourselves and the humans inhabitants of New Ardu.”

Ankaht sent (rue). “I fear that the translators we possess now are not sufficient for the task you would set them.”

“Are their powers of pseudo-
selnarm
too weak?”

“That, too, but there is also the matter of their reception in the human community. They have been our mouthpieces, whereby we explain our methods of enforcement, dictate our expectations, and convey our threats. Naturally, the rest of the humans are now innately suspicious of them, believing that they are in fact our puppets—and thus will not speak with them. Our best hope to establish true contact with the local humans—for so many reasons—was Jennifer Peitchkov. But she is gone.”

Treknat, her fellow
shaxzhu
, queried: “Can we not at least use the others to initiate some feelings of trust and amicability between ourselves and the Resistance?”

“Establishing an atmosphere of cordiality—or at least, mutually assured safety—should not be too difficult. The question is: How do we know if we are being understood once we have entered the thornier
areas of negotiation and specific agreements? We must know that they understand us, and that we understand them—precisely. We need to be able to create and enact detailed agreements with specific conditions and timetables, and a clear understanding of each others’ intents. Without this degree of communicative surety, it may well be more dangerous to initiate a peace process than not.”

Tefnut ha sheri tapped his claw a single time. “And the intransigence of the
Destoshaz
radicals has now made it impossible to even promise the humans a cease-fire. The warrior caste is becoming increasingly autonomous regarding their security missions. It seems as though they are actively provoking conflict with human communities.”

Hetfeln (agreed). “It saddens me to concur, but I must. Almost all of my caste-siblings remain both distrustful of, and disgusted by, the humans.”

Amunherh’peshef turned to Narrok, who had arrived only minutes before the meeting started. “Senior Admiral Narrok, are you finding that this problem is still prevalent in the fleet?”

“It is still present, but decreasing, First Councilor. In the Expeditionary Fleet, we had the occasion to encounter humans under a variety of different circumstances. We experienced both their cleverness of mind and greatness of heart on many occasions. It was therefore somewhat easier to wean that fleet away from radical opinions once Admiral Torhock was no longer there to reinforce them.”

Amunherh’peshef sent out a brisk wave of (practicality, punctuality). “Senior Admiral Narrok must return to his fleet, but has returned to brief us on the latest intelligence reports regarding the new human technologies we have observed, and our altered strategic situation.”

Narrok stood. “First matters. The newly expanded military-intelligence cluster under Intelligence Prime and Cluster-Commander Mretlak has recruited our leading physicists to
investigate the
device the humans have used to expand several warp points, and its principles of operation.

“According to analysis of the human signals, they designate these devices as warp-point generators, which
also seem capable of making a smaller warp point more capacious. Unfortunately, this achievement is so very much at the forefront of human warp-point science and technology that we can find no theoretical clues as to how they have achieved this effect.

“However, we have made strides in other areas, including improvements to our fighters. We assess that two of our fighters are now roughly a match for any one fielded by the humans. We have adapted some of the SDS-production pathways so as to create modular warp-point forts, albeit very small ones.

“But these are not truly innovations. They are simply evolutions and adaptations of extant designs. We no longer have the time or luxury to develop new ships or weapons. That opportunity is now irretrievably lost. It probably slipped through our tentacles about five months ago.”

The
narmata
of the room was quiet, somber, almost grim. Ankaht could feel that although they appreciated Narrok’s candor and deference, they were unaccustomed to such frank and dire portents.

Tefnut ha sheri was the first to break the stillness. “Then what does this bode for the Children of Illudor, Senior Admiral Narrok?”

“Simply put, we stand a reasonable chance of holding any system in which I have been able to construct a good number of SDSs. So, with enough time, we should be able to create nearly impregnable defenses.”

“However, with your recent victory in the Charlotte system, we are secure. For now.”

Narrok delayed sending a response. “We are secure in the Charlotte system, First Councilor.”

Amunherh’peshef sat more erect. “Share your fears with us, Senior Admiral.”

“I fear our vulnerability in Polo, and beyond that, BR-02.”

“But these systems are both protected by warp points that the largest of the human ships cannot traverse.”

“This is true. But it is also true that we do not yet have SDSs in those systems, and, as I said, a density of those ships is the key to successful system defense. We are, I fear, in a race with the humans. Can we can build SDSs faster than they can recover to mount an attack?”

“So, do you suggest that we abandon Polo and concentrate all our new defense assets in BR-02?”

Ankaht sensed the hesitation in Narrok: he was clearly of two minds on the matter. “Collecting all our defenses in BR-02 is a prudent, but final, step. There is no defensible warp point to fall back upon if we are driven from that system. Obversely, if we manage to retain control of Polo,
then we continue to possess two assault pathways into the key system of Demeter. Should fortune favor us, that position will allow us
resume offensive operations far earlier, and with a far better prospect of success.”

Ankaht felt the dutiful but unenthusiastic undertone with which Narrok ended his review of their strategic situation. She kept her sending modest, almost gentle. “But you do not favor this alternative, Senior Admiral?”

“Eldest Sleeper, I would like to suggest a third alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that we seek ways to extricate both ourselves and our foes from our current, mutual condition of having no choice but to fight. In short, so long as we are both—to adopt your usage, Elder—entities
in extremis
, it will be difficult for either of us to consider alternatives other than victory or death.”

Tefnut ha sheri leaned back from the table. “It is refreshing to hear such a perspective from an admiral on the Council. Your hope for an easing of tensions may be beyond our power to make manifest, but it is worthwhile to consider it—and it is always important to wish for a life that is not simply endless war.”

Hetfeln shifted uncomfortably. “I concur, Revered
Holodah’kri’at
, but I must remind you that it matters very little to the radical
Destoshaz
what we think laudable or not, anymore. Senior Cluster-Commander Iakkut, a reactionary who was a close friend—and
maatkah
partner—of Torhok’s has now become a powerful voice among the
Destoshaz’ai
-as-
sulhaji
faction. Even with Torhok and Urkhot gone, the religious and race fanaticism they engendered and amplified continues to escalate—in large part because they are now martyrs to the cause.”