Theirs Not to Reason Why 5: Damnation (6 page)

“Now, if you’ll kindly excuse me,
I
have to get myself in good enough shape to fight on the surface of my homeworld, and I have barely nine months in which to do so. Don’t forget to have engineering increase the gravitic pull under your machines when you’re working out. If nothing else, you’ll still need to reacclimate to Sanctuarian gravity when you accompany me to the surface. I’ve put in a writ for the field strength in your quarters to slowly increase while you’re awake, same as my own.”

Nodding, he stayed behind while she headed for the weight room. Ia hoped she had given him a lot to think about. At the very least, she had managed to avoid getting into a swordfight with him. He was good with a blade, better even than Helstead, who was Afaso-trained. But he didn’t have Ia’s battle-honed precognition on his side, and he didn’t have a monocrystalline, monofractally sharp sword to wield like she did.

Yet.

It was on her list of things to make, next time she went home, along with certain protections unique to Sanctuary that would keep the Greys off-world. The top one hundred Duella and Duello, the best of the Duelle, professional swordfighters, would eventually become the honor guard, the visible bodyguards for the rulers of the Fire Bird Throne. They would need armor and weapons appropriate to both their culture and the practical needs of close-quarters combat. It wouldn’t be quite like what the Societatis had, but it would be needed. Panoply and pageantry were just two more tools in the toolbox she had to give to her people, if augmented by the unique resources of her homeworld.

She hoped he would choose to serve the nascent Third Human Empire. It would make things easier for her. Or at least less tedious. Settling onto one of the machine benches, Ia rested for a moment, her expression carefully blank rather than tired. There were nine others using the facilities at the moment, and she didn’t want her crew to know how weary she was getting of all of this.

Fighting for survival and the success of a battle was in many ways easier than the grind of fighting for understanding and cooperation.
One of these days, it’d be nice to encounter a group of people who jump when I say jump and don’t stop to argue about how high.

Which part of that visit to Beautiful-Blue did you want to discuss? The part where my crew received their hard-won medals for surviving the disasters on Dabin, which they shouldn’t have had to do? The part where I had to accept and forward the Black Hearts for the five soldiers who died under my and Harper’s command? Or the part where I finally convinced half a dozen sentient races to . . .

Oh. That part. Truthfully, I would have gladly traded all of that to have had Svarson, Benjamin, Feldman, Franke, and Nabouleh still alive, and the whole mess on Dabin undone—and yes, meeting you was one of the better moments from our time on Dabin. You yourself have come far from our very first interview . . .

Yes, all of the other awards were gratifying in their own way.
Yes
, it was humbling to receive the Terran Medal of Honor, and I won’t ever forget it. But what happened
after
that awards ceremony on Beautiful-Blue is far more memorable for me. I’ve always been far more interested in the results of my efforts, in the good I can do, and not in anything glittery, meioa-e.

~Ia

AUGUST 22, 2498 T.S.
BEAUTIFUL-BLUE, SUGAI SYSTEM

Her ear still hurt. Despite her self-healing abilities, Ia felt the curve of her right ear throbbing as the tissues slowly knitted themselves whole around the newest hole on that side of her head. Not nearly as badly as losing her eye had hurt, but it was an annoyance all the same.

Of course, gaining the hole had been a singular honor. After gargling an antiseptic mouthwash, the Queen of the Solaricans herself had bitten the curve of Ia’s equally swabbed ear. She had needed to do so by Solarican custom, for only their queen could make the hole for the extra piercing that, linked by a special chain and post to the previous two, marked Ia as an official Royal Seer War Princess, and not merely a War Princess. It was a mouthful of a title, but it made Ia an equal in rank and command with Royal Sector War Prince K’sennshin. That was the meioa-o in charge of all the military forces for the Solarican colonies that were a part of the Alliance, and he had greeted her as an equal without equivocation the moment the chain-linked rings were in place.

Knowing in advance it was coming and not wanting to be outdone, Myang had ordered a new uniform for Ia, issued by hyperrelayed order to the
Damnation
as soon as the ship came into the Sugai System. That decision had no doubt been spurred by the realization through diplomatic channels that the Solarican Queen was “appropriating” the Prophet of a Thousand Years to be part of her people’s military structure . . . whether or not the Terrans approved of it. That meant Ia wore formal Dress Blacks; she couldn’t escape them now that she was a four-star member of the Command Staff. But the cuff-buttoned sleeves and boot-length slacks now bore four stripes down each side, dull green, muddy brown, misty blue, and pewter gray, by the Admiral-General’s orders.

The presence of all four colors implied that she was now firmly a part of all four Branches of the Space Force, and not just her own Cordon in the Space Force or her temporary placement over a single Division of the SF Army on Dabin. Even Admiral Genibes, her former superior, had only the blue stripe of the Navy and the gray stripe of the Special Forces decorating his Dress Blacks. But Myang had ordered Ia to consider the whole of the Space Force as under her purview, precognitively . . . though the canny woman had not yet given her the actual authority to
make
orders. Everything still had to be constructed as suggestions and sent to the appropriate Admirals and Generals for review.

All things considered, though, it was an encouraging sign. At this rate, Ia would get the authority to make those suggestions as outright commands. Eventually, with a high probability . . . but not as a certainty. Nothing was certain. Her shoulder, her briefly lost eye, Hollick-turned-N’keth, Ginger-Meddled-Mattox, herself nearly ruining everything through an urge to give a flippant reply . . . nothing was one hundred percent pure, surefire certain in her life.

Except maybe the boredom of speeches . . .

They were still going through the florid introductory speeches and political-posturing stages, things which Ia considered a waste of precious time. But she had to be here for this meeting, so the slowly fading pain in her ear was a semi-welcome distraction. Almost every single ruler or leader of the current Alliance nations, both secular and military, had been gathered into this room. Or set of rooms, technically. Not the Salik nor the Choya, of course, since they were the enemy, but the Terran Humans, the V’Dan Humans, the Gatsugi, K’Katta, Tlassians, Solaricans—overall Queen and local War Prince—and the two species that required their own chambers to exist.

The Chinsoiy leaders rested on tall, slanting, stool-like furnishings behind a thick-shielded window in a chamber designed to pulse the low-level radiations necessary for their silicon-based life without irradiating the others. They were strange, somewhat translucent beings, shaped something like a cross between a hominid and a pteranodon, with wings that bore hand-like fingers placed at the upper mid joint, ridged crests on their heads, and their opalescent bodies draped in tool belts but not clothing.

Jeweled rings decorated the trailing edges of their wing-flaps, and their hides were painted in ultraviolet markings that denoted rank and power. Little flashes of colored stripes could be seen when they moved into or out of the black-light lamps at the edge of the window, a courtesy to the non-Chinsoiy so that the other races could tell their Glorious—secular and legal—Leader from their Fearsome—a combination of religious and military—Leader. Comm-link devices, assisted by living interpreters watching and translating on both sides, ensured that they understood and had a chance to contribute if they could not manage to understand the discussions being held in Terranglo.

The Dlmvla did not have their highest-ranked Queen Nestor present, nor any of the other queens; they merely had their local ambassador and his attachés, the ones normally assigned to the Gatsugi Collective. Along with the Chinsoiy, the Dlmvla were not being openly or even covertly attacked by the Salik and Choya, but the leaders of the two races had been invited to attend. The Chinsoiy co-Leaders had come. The Dlmvlan had not.

Like the Chinsoiy, they were not located with the others in the main chamber. Instead, the members of that embassy were safely tucked into their own windowed chamber on the other side from the Chinsoiy because they were carbon-based methane breathers. Oxygen was as pleasant-smelling to them as methane was to the rest of the Alliance members, and just as dangerous in large quantities.

The Gatsugi had thoughtfully provided an entire suite of chambers for necessary resting, feeding, waste management, leisure, and the conducting of business for both their Chinsoiy and Dlmvlan guests. Where the Chinsoiy were pale and opalescent in a dim, bluish-lit room, the Dlmvla were scaled, dark, and iridescent in a reddish-lit room. With their huge, multifaceted eyes and partly chitinous bodies almost twice as big as any of the other races present, they lurked in their bowl-like chairs like rainbow-dusted, reddish lumps. The ambassador was the largest and highest-seated in the group, sipping from time to time on steamed essences from a hookah-like contraption at his side, his paler-hued assistants curled up in lower bowl chairs around him.

“. . . And bright/blue/firm greetings/introduction/welcome we/we now/finally give/state unto/for the esteemed/valorous/brilliant Terran General/Royal Seer War Princess Ia, who/she graces/joins/honors us/us/us . . .”

Ia carefully controlled the urge to roll her eyes. President Guw-shan Many-Arms-Many-Strengths was finally coming to the end of his florid, alien-style introductions, with the Terran Premiere, Admiral-General, and Ia herself as the very last in the room to be introduced.
Pity I can’t bet anyone on how many minutes it’ll take him to finish telling everyone I am here. They all know I’m a precog.

Two minutes, seventeen seconds, and one still-rather-itchy earlobe later, Ia stopped surreptitiously rubbing at the scabs flaking from her newest earring holes. She lowered her hand, shifting forward to rest her arms on the table which she, Admiral-General Myang, and Premiere Justinn Mandella occupied. She hadn’t seen the Premiere since he was still the Secondaire in his prior term, but there hadn’t been time for more than the exchange of Terran medals at the ceremony earlier and a brief murmured greeting at the start of this gathering.

There never is quite enough time for anything, anymore. Which means I’d better not waste what little I do have.
In the brief silence following President Guw-shan’s introductions, she seized the moment to speak.

“I thank you for such eloquent introductions, Meioa President, on all our behalf,” Ia stated without preamble. “But as much as protocol would have each faction taking turns to make opening statements of their own, I must beg your indulgence, all of you, to allow me to lead the first part of this meeting so that it is both quick and efficient.

“Time is a very precious commodity for me. I would rather spend as much of it on the needs of the war as wisely as I can right up front, and get things settled before it is time for me to bow out and leave the rest of you to handle those many other matters which only you can address, and of which I have no part.” She looked around the room at the assembled leaders, both political and military, including the two ambassadorial environment suites. “Are there any objections, or may I have your permissions to proceed?”

More than one brow lifted: Myang’s, as well as the Emperor of V’Dan. The military leader of the K’Katta—whose name nobody outside his own species could pronounce, so he had been introduced as “Chiswick” for short—curled up and in one of his forelegs, almost as if he were going to raise a hand had he been a Human. He relaxed it without speaking, however.

Ia looked over at her two leaders, seated to her left. Premiere Mandella gestured at her to take command. The Admiral-General sighed and sat back, her own hand twisting in a brief gesture that was half shrug, half permission as well.

“. . . Thank you. With the spread of Dabinian passion-moss spores across several oxygen-based planets, the Salik are effectively and efficiently being driven off-world and back into the stars, back to areas where they can control their atmospheric content. They are trying to rely more heavily upon their mechanical forces, but those are being contained by the efforts of the counter-programmers, particularly the code dancers of the Gatsugi forces,” Ia acknowledged, bowing slightly to the President of the Collective.

President Guw-shan preened a little, flexing both sets of shoulders back while his creamy not-hair strands fluffed up a little. He drew in a breath to speak but stopped himself when Ia held up her hand, middle and ring fingers folded down. The hand sign was Gatsugi, not Human, and mostly an approximation, as his species had three fingers and a thumb per hand, not four and a thumb. It acknowledged his urge to speak, conceded the contributions he would have made, and requested his silent patience.

For a species that had evolved with the need to be super-quiet at times in the face of aurally superior foes, the only way she could have been more eloquent without audible words was if she could have changed the golden tan hue of her skin. From the flush of brown-tinged blue that briefly mottled his skin, her gesture mollified him despite the way it irritated him to be cut off before he could speak.

“But we still have a long ways to go, meioas,” she cautioned. “There are still numerous Salik installations hidden in interstitial space. With the Salik forces being forced back into space, our own fleets are being worn down by the constant fighting. Ambassador Juljvm, Nestor-Adjunct,” she stated, addressing the Dlmvlan ambassador behind his comm-augmented window. “Your people have long remained neutral in this war. Your starships are numerous, intact, and whole—you have just as many vessels available for combat as the entire Alliance combined, and probably more, since you have no attrition from war. Is your government willing to break their neutrality at this point in time to join with the rest of us in destroying the Salik War Fleet?”

The Dlmvlan ambassador hesitated a long moment. His aides could be seen muttering words, even gesturing; the movements were alien, but it was obviously an argument, for the Nestor-Adjunct slashed one clawed limb outward, and the others subsided, sinking back into their nest-chairs. On the oxygen side of the glass, the others waited tensely for the outcome.

Finally, Ambassador Juljvm touched the comm controls attached to his bowl chair and spoke in Terranglo. “This the Queen Nestors refuse to do. Neutral at this time we remain, and will defend our sovereign selves alone.”

Subtle movements and soft sounds around the room spoke of several species’ versions of disappointment. Even of disgust, for Ia could hear a very faint, “
Shakk
,” from the woman to her immediate left. She, however, nodded, acknowledging the news without any signs of dismay. “That is the sovereign right of your leadership. One more question, Ambassador. How do
you
feel about our request, and your leaders’ orders?”

The Dlmvlan ambassador hissed and snapped his claw-tipped fingers against each other before speaking. “It would be . . . illogical politically to state my reactions exact, General Ee Ah,” he said. “I gift but with you my disgust.”

“I acknowledge your gift, and gift you in turn with my delighted acceptance for your government’s answer,” Ia returned calmly. The Nestor-Adjunct shifted in bemusement, but Ia continued smoothly. “Since the Dlmvlan forces at this time are choosing to obey their Queen Nestor Council, and thus shall continue to remain neutral in this conflict, you are dismissed for a short while, Ambassador. The others will contact you when I and my business are gone—I shall trust that the other races of the Alliance will continue to treat you and your people with respect, courtesy, and fair trade despite our deep disappointment that you could not join us openly in quelling the Salik menace. Thank you for attending. Please remain ready to return in a little while, when your counsel will be needed for various trade agreements.”