War Against the White Knights (37 page)

And so Arun had hastily called for the creation of the Human Assembly, to consider the peace terms while they were still on offer. To house the Assembly, a spherical arrangement of seating, perches, and other forms of housing had been installed, directed inward at a speakers’ platform. A thousand individuals filled those seats with their hopes, ambitions, and bitter memories, many of them not yet scabbed over. They were representatives of the regimental commanders and ship captains, but also some enlisted ranks, and the members of the Legion – such as Trog scribes – that had no analogue in human concepts of military hierarchy.

And yet, despite its diverse membership, there was a hierarchy to the Human Legion; individuals whom fate had chosen to inspire and lead. Those whom history would blame. The Legion Council had directed the war, and in the zero-g of the Assembly chamber they floated on or nearby the speakers’ platform.

With his chair docked to the speaking area hovering in the center of the Assembly, Arun felt the keen attention of history dissecting into his core, revealing his thoughts for posterity. And that was before he’d even spoken.

He pressed a button and an electronic tone cut through the hubbub, silencing it instantly.

“I am the commander of the Human Legion, and with me are your senior commanders of the Legion Council. The Human Legion is not a democracy. It does not operate by consensus, but ultimately the authority of the Council rests on an implied mandate. We represent the views of all of us here, and those throughout the system.”

Arun undocked his chair, and spun it around to catch all of the Assembly in his sight.

He flung out an arm expansively. “We must never forget that we represent civilians as well as military personnel in all of our worlds, whether liberated or not, and the future as well as the present. It is a heavy responsibility that we bear today, but this is the price of victory. We have been offered peace terms. Do we accept them or not? As commander, the decision is mine alone to make. However, if we are to accept the terms offered us by the Emperor, their impact will bind scores of worlds, and trillions of individuals over whom I have no direct authority, the vast majority of whom have yet to be birthed. It is for this reason that I want you to share your wisdom with me, that we may achieve a mandate through consensus. And if it proves impossible to achieve agreement, then the words you say in this Assembly may yet affect my decision.”

Arun shifted his position from one section to another of the Assembly. Wherever he rested his gaze, he saw only quiet attention, but the background noise was rising in intensity. Or was that his imagination?

“You have had two days to study the terms in detail,” he said. “I know that in the passageways, mess halls and private quarters throughout the fleet and amid the forces of occupation on the surface, you have already debated their merits with the same passion you showed in the war. Let that passion lend you wisdom and not rage. I will not tolerate violence in the Human Assembly, not even when we address the most contentious issue – the Cull. Do we meekly accept the ritualized slaughter of our people in perpetuity, albeit in the reduced numbers and more dignified fashion that I have won as a concession? Or do we break any pretense of loyalty to the Emperor and strike out on our own, condemning millions of hostages on worlds we have so recently lost to die immediately at the hands of Imperial forces, and likely invoke the extinction of every species associated with the Human Legion? Or can your collective wisdom reveal an alternate path?”

The growls, whistles and moans of the Assembly members were modest in isolation, but emanating simultaneously from a thousand voices, the chamber buzzed with menace.

“The Legion Council could not reach consensus,” said Arun, raising his voice cut through the noise. “Therefore each Councilor will now argue their case, before we throw open debate to the Assembly floor.”

——

“You will hear much today on the topic of the Cull,” said Indiya, “and rightly so. I shall let others speak on this, because I wish to emphasize another matter – the need to maintain unity.”

Arun admired the conviction in Indiya’s voice. The purple ringlets of her hair flared up in the zero-g, a beacon of her religious significance for those who put store in the idea of holy war. Where Arun had used the reaction jets of his chair to maneuver, Indiya propelled herself around the speakers’ platform, using nothing more than the merest brush of her fingertips. Indiya was a spacer through and through, and was not shy in emphasizing that point.

“The terms offered by the Emperor require us to administer the worlds of the HAR, the Human Autonomous Region, on behalf of the Imperial citadel. With or without the Cull, we are obliged to maintain economic production targets, send taxes and tithes, maintain law and order, provide scutage – personnel and materiel for the Imperial Armed Forces – swear regular fealty to our overlords, and more. We are granted autonomy to run the HAR, but always on behalf of the Empire. If we fail these obligations, then we lose our autonomy, to be ruled directly from the Imperial Citadel. We have bargained for the worlds we once ruled to be included in the HAR, and more besides that we must liberate from the control of the Emperor’s enemies. Not least amongst these are the Terran Worlds, including Earth. Here at Athena we have won a famous victory, but the war is not yet over, no matter what we choose. And if we allow our disagreements here today to disrupt or destroy our unity, then we shall be lost. There will never be a Human Autonomous Region during peacetime, and we shall be lucky if future generations were to endure the Cull as leniently as we once knew it. If unity is broken now, our descendants will suffer terrible punishments as a consequence of our lack of discipline. That is all.”

——

Admiral Kreippil circled the platform, using flicks of his long tail and twists of his body to provide propulsion and change direction. None of this was real, of course. The Admiral wore motors that mimicked the effect of swimming though water.

The Admiral had been one of the first to call for holy war, and had carried out his calling with the utmost conviction.

A cry came out from a bank of Littorane Marine commanders: “Death to the White Knights! To hell with the blasphemers!”

Arun suspected the original phrasing was a little hotter before his translator sanitized the Littorane words.

Kreippil was not amused. He swam through the air straight at the Littoranes who had called out, and stopped with a tail swipe that smacked into the offenders’ heads. One by one, Kreippil touched their snouts with his, and one by one the Marines bowed their heads in submission.

Kreippil spun back to the platform at the center of the Assembly, and spoke his heart.

“History teaches us that those who greatly displease the White Knights are exterminated, wiped from the community of sentient species. Condemned first to history, and then to be forgotten utterly. Those who commit lesser crimes in the eyes of our overlords suffer correspondingly lesser punishments. On my world – for an offence that was never explained – we refer to our
mild rebuke
as the Year of Sorrows. A generation of our children was exterminated. Our hearts thirsted for revenge, but to our shame we did nothing.”

Kreippil pointed with a forearm at Indiya, who was resting at the platform. “And then
she
came. The purple-haired warrior of prophecy. It was as if winter had turned in a moment to high summer. We remembered we had muscles and brains and spirit and honor. We remembered too how to fight. In the name of the Goddess, who had brought the purple one to us as a sign, we declared holy war upon the blasphemers that many of you call White Knights. It is not for nothing that this ship, the flagship of our great endeavor, is named
Holy Retribution
. And yet some will tell you today that we have no choice in this matter; that we must bow to the Emperor or face destruction.”

Boos and growls rose from the Assembly, silenced by angry flicks of the admiral’s tail.

“To those who say we must bow to the blasphemers, others will reply that we may disdain them with impunity because we do the will of the Goddess. We have license to do as we wish, secure in our divine protection. Neither my mind nor my soul doubts that we were obliged by the Goddess to wage this war, but should we take
this
peace offering from the Emperor or
that
one? The gods speak with absolute authority on all matters, but not with such precision as to answer our question today. Furthermore, to assume that we have
earned
the protection of the Goddess is such hubris as to invite divine retribution upon our own selves. The gods do not owe debts to base mortals. We serve them, and not the other way around. Remember whom we serve. On my world the priests are called
listeners
, because they are blessed with the ability to hear the heartbeat of reality, and see beyond the mundane to glimpse the divine. I do not urge you to follow one course above the other. I ask instead that you become listeners today. Allow the divine spirit present here into your hearts, and listen to your convictions, so that you may channel the will of the Goddess.”

——

If Kreippil had defied Arun’s expectations with his philosophical plea, the next two speakers fulfilled Arun’s expectations to the letter. Pedro normally spoke for the Trogs, and represented by proxy the handful of Legion species who were the most distinct from the humanoids. Pedro had been unexpectedly evasive, and Lieutenant-General Mountain Root spoke instead on his behalf.

This crisis had been brewing for years, and in Arun’s imagination he had always assumed Xin would be by his side, and Pedro behind him.

Mountain Root made a curt statement of logic. The statistical likelihood was that far fewer individuals would die if they accepted the Cull, than if they rejected the Emperor’s terms. Emotion should play no part in this decision, because the Assembly spoke not for themselves but for the multitudes of others they represented. To seriously question the wisdom of accepting the terms offered was a foolishness his species did not entertain.

The Jotun commander, Aelingir, followed, and argued essentially the same as Mountain Root, though with more diplomacy, and evident regret.

Del-Marie was next up, his white beard lending him an error of sagacity, though the effect was probably limited to the humans in the Assembly.

“The Cull is a terrible scourge the White Knights lash across our backs. As a politician and diplomat, I can step back and coldly see that scourge for what it is. To the White Knights we are cattle, and they whip their beasts to herd us in the direction of their choosing. The scourge stings terribly, we fear the lash, but as populations, and as military and economic entities, the Cull does little damage except to our will.”

Shame!

Apologist!

Cold bastard!

“Curb your abuse. I said that was a cold view and it is the truth. Other than with brutal exceptions – such as the Year of Sorrows – while our populations continue with minor wounds, the hurt done to individuals is cruel beyond belief. Unforgivable. Unforgotten.”

Del-Marie stared at the Assembly area whence he had received the most abuse. “I do not forget.”

The Assembly went quiet.

“As a youth – a Marine cadet – I stood side-by-side with General McEwan as I took an SA-71 to execute an older cadet from my own battalion. The crime of the victim? They had been selected for the Cull.”

Many listened to this account in silence, but others began feverish whispering.

“I was fortunate. My carbine registered an empty ammo bulb, and so I returned to my place to observe the events that followed. General McEwan was not so lucky. He aimed his carbine at one of his own comrades, and pulled the trigger…”

Judging from the mix of gasps and stunned silence, Arun’s participation in the Cull wasn’t generally known. Where was Del going with this? The gun Arun had fired was loaded with a blank round. He hadn’t killed anyone that day, but he
had
squeezed the trigger. He shuddered.

“Not a day passes that I do not see the faces of those young cadets lined up, knowing that for one in ten, their life was about to end. Shame grips my heart every time I think of that day. I watched, standing in formation, head high, and did nothing. If I had picked a carbine that was loaded, I have always known that I would have squeezed that trigger, and fired at my fellow cadet, because that is what our Jotun officers said we must do.”

Del nodded respectfully at Lieutenant-General Aelingir. “Jotuns are not known for lengthy and emotional justifications of their decisions.” A faint ripple of laughter echoed around the chamber. “But on the day of the Cull, even the Jotuns felt shamed into reminding us that they themselves are subject to the Cull, and in much the same way as their human charges. We were accessories to this crime, but the truly guilty ones were those who forced it upon us. The White Knights. But that is not an excuse. The shame will never leave me. I can never atone. Such is the scarring of those who survive the Cull.”

Silence greeted his words.

“We fear the scourge of the Cull. We turn from the whip, seeking to please our Masters because we fear its sting. I feared the Cull that day, and I fear it still. The general has negotiated a slight lessening of its sting, a measure of dignity in its delivery. Many of you will be angry that I can even voice such concepts. For such a thoroughly evil crime, what difference does a slight lessening make? I cannot be an apologist for institutionalized murder. What kind of freedom did so many die for in the war, if their sacrifice brought only a return of the Cull?

“I tell you this. Every time I hear those arguments, I think back to that day when I was seventeen. The Trans-Species Union survives through fear of mutual destruction. Every previous attempt at interstellar civilization going back for megayears has ended in failure. Until now. The rule of law is paramount, because it is the protection upon which every species depends. If a species or political entity grows too powerful, or loses reason, if it treats the law with contempt, then every other sentient in the Union would unite and wage war upon the offender until they are utterly destroyed, and their very memory erased. We of the Legion have willfully broken the law, thrown aside the treaties that our worlds signed long ago as the price for White Knight patronage. Those treaties still bind us. This war has been fought as one huge gamble, that at the moment of our greatest power, the Emperor would forgive our transgressions, and retrospectively legitimize our actions in law with a new treaty. This is our moment. We shall not get another. The alternative is to wage war upon the entire galaxy, a war we cannot win.