9
The Greatest Violence
Opinions founded on prejudice are always sustained with the greatest violence.
—Jeffrey
Arduan SDH Shem’pter’ai, Expeditionary Fleet of the Anaht’doh Kainat, Achilles System
Narrok felt the door-boosted selnarm pulse that announced a visitor to his quarters. He willed the door open and sent, “Hello, Mretlak. Are you ready for the briefing?”
Mretlak entered slowly, thoughtfully. “I am, Admiral.”
“Then why do I shotan that your selnarm is disturbed and uncertain? This is not the fashion in which you typically radiate readiness, Fleet Second.”
(Rue.) “That is so, Admiral. I admit (discomfiture).”
(Reassurance.) “Over what, Mretlak?”
“Over the agenda of this meeting with Holodah’kri Urkhot and Senior Admiral Torhok.”
“What bothers you about it, in particular?”
“What bothers me is the lack of particulars, Admiral. I have read the agenda. It seems like an outline for a—a conversation. I expected there to be more—pressing—reasons for them to have traveled all the way out here for this meeting.”
“Oh, there is most assuredly a more pressing reason. They wish to press me—and Second Admiral Sarhan—to move with greater alacrity.”
“Perhaps they will facilitate that by summoning fifty new dockyards into existence, so that we will have a sufficient advantage in numbers to break through the human defenses in Ajax.”
“Yes—that would be helpful. But I am becoming just as concerned with the casualties among our brothers and sisters.”
“So, is that what you are hoping to achieve in this discussion with the Councilors, Admiral? Increased operational sensitivity to the casualties we sustain?”
(Resignation.) “No, Mretlak. Not yet. For now, I just want to have the permission to use all the weapons at our disposal—including those of human origin.”
“The humans left behind—weapons—that we can use against them, Admiral?”
(Bemusement.) “No, Mretlak. I speak of information, human information, which we must start using immediately.”
Mretlak spent a moment (reconsidering, reassessing). “So this ‘briefing’ isn’t really a briefing at all. It is a political maatkah match.”
“The briefing itself is what Torhok and Urkhot told the Council of Twenty they were coming to hear. But in reality, they are here to pressure us to attack sooner than we should, as well as to assess how dangerous I have become to their plans, and what role, if any, you might also play in their grand game.”
“Me?” (Surprise.) “Grand game?”
“Mretlak, Urkhot and Torhok fight against the Pre-Dispersal traditions of our culture at least as much as they fight against the humans. They distrust, and therefore have been attempting to diminish the role and presence of, the shaxzhu. They have also almost eliminated the importance of the other castes, and they attempt to argue that as Destoshaz, we have little need of shaxzhutok—the memories of our prior lives—thereby making the shaxzhu increasingly extraneous.”
“But Admiral, you and I…as Destoshaz ourselves, should we not presume that there is some value and wisdom in their opinions?”
“Some, Mretlak, but there is much intentional misrepresentation, as well.”
“So you feel, then, that they are simply liars?”
“Firstly, there is nothing simple about either Urkhot or Torhok. Secondly, I suspect they earnestly believe the majority of what I hold to be their misperceptions. But in their attempt to serve what they believe is the unvarnished Truth of Illudor, they have reasoned that deceit may often be necessary. It is often the way of the overly zealous—their zeal greases the slide downward into greater exaggerations, greater misrepresentations, greater lies…all undertaken to promote the Truth and the Greater Good.”
“And so they unmake what they seek to preserve by adopting methods which are its antithesis.”
“That is well and concisely formulated, Mretlak. I cannot say how far Torhok has traveled down this slide, but Urkhot has almost vanished from sight into the depths of his own beliefs. In consequence, the more contradictions that arise between those beliefs and the mounting evidence that humans are sentient beings, then the more desperate—and extreme—we must expect Urkhot’s convictions to become.”
“You describe the evolution of a fanatic, Admiral.”
“I enumerate the diagnostic characteristics of obsession, Fleet Second. If they are evinced by Urkhot, and if he frames them in theological terms and concepts, then perhaps fanaticism is an apt term. I, however, am ultimately concerned with how we must interact with him, not with any particular label for his behavior.”
“That is a most politic response, Admiral.”
“That is a most shrewd observation, Fleet Second. Come, let us go to our meeting. I shall explain how it will unfold as we walk together.”
* * *
The door closed behind the exiting Second Admiral Sarhan, and Mretlak reflected that so far the meeting with Urkhot and Torhok had unfolded just as Narrok had predicted. There were the initial niceties, the insincere congratulations from Torhok on advancing all the way through to Achilles, and Narrok’s muted gratitude for that praise. Sarhan had led off with an update: the humans had been completing their withdrawal from Suwa by the time the two Arduan fleets arrived there and were gone by the time Narrok’s and Sarhan’s fleets had linked up. After some desultory harrying and delaying actions in Achilles, the humans had ceded that system as well. But when Sarhan made a few initial attempts to probe Ajax, his forces fetched up short. No probes returned to report, and, given the dozens he sent through the warp point, this was a definitive sign that the humans had elected to make the Ajax system a hardpoint. It certainly looked like a reasonable place to do so, Sarhan concluded, but the logic of such a speculation depended upon a datum that he was not officially allowed to accept: the human star charts of this segment of the warp-point pathways. If the human charts in their possession were accurate, however, then Ajax was a choke point that controlled access to both the comparatively industrial Odysseus cluster and a long chain of systems that lay along this arm of what the griarfeksh labeled “the Further Rim.”
Urkhot had simply commented that, indeed, the human data could not be trusted, and therefore, speculation that this was a logical place for the humans to establish a stronger defensive line was indeed unwarranted. Sarhan acceded without comment—and then mentioned that he had urgent business back aboard his flagship. Receiving permission to leave, he had departed to attend that urgent business. What he did not add was that this business primarily involved preventing himself from throttling Urkhot with both clusters. Sarhan had little patience for the holodah’kri and had asked Narrok to structure the meeting so that he could excuse himself promptly: if not, he feared his true sentiments would bleed into his selnarm and thereby create greater problems for the Fleet. Narrok had gladly acceded to Sarhan’s request to make an early departure.
And so now it was just Mretlak and Narrok, sitting across the table from Urkhot and Torhok. And as Urkhot sent forth his selnarm toward Mretlak in what was more a probe than an invitation to discourse, the young Fleet Second reflected that this meeting was beginning to resemble a perverse reversal of the duels that were recorded in the annals of Pre-Enlightenment Ardu. There, rival leaders at an impasse often met to decide policy by personal combat; here, although the real combatants were Narrok and Torhok, they were sending their junior proxies into the maatkah ring, while they themselves retained a politic distance from the well-concealed war of words and insinuations.
Urkhot’s probe rose and coalesced into a question. “Fleet Second Mretlak, I am told that you have prepared an intelligence report upon the griarfeksh?”
“Yes, Holodah’kri.”
“Interesting. Why did you and the admiral conclude that the extensive records on Bellerophon have not provided us with a definitive understanding of the background and intents of our foe? This project of yours seems a strange way for a warrior to spend time, Fleet Second—compiling studies on other species. Are you perhaps a shaxzhu in disguise Mretlak?”
The jest elicited a ripple of general mirth that was in fact unanimous agreement to ignore the veiled remonstration, and even more veiled threat, of calling a Destoshaz a shaxzhu. Mretlak elected to pretend he had noticed none of the implications. “Honored Holodah’kri, we felt it wise to compare what we have now found on other worlds—and human-fleet wreckage—with the materials found on Bellerophon. There was, after all, some considerable concern that much of what the humans left on Bellerophon was disinformation.”
Urkhot was (surprised, pleased). “This is well reasoned, Fleet Second. And what have you found, out here?”
“Firstly, that the other races depicted in human news and entertainment narratives are not fabrications, but actual species.”
“Interesting. Then where are they?”
“For the most part, they dwell in comparatively remote regions of space, Holodah’kri, and the species do not share worlds very frequently. However, after the Second Battle of Raiden, we discovered that some of the remains of enemy fighters were of radically different design. We took several of these on board our ships for analysis and discovered that these craft belonged to the species that the humans mislabel the Orions.”
“Interesting. But if this is true”—and Mretlak felt a faint undertone of anxiety in Urkhot’s selnarm—“then it is significant only if these Orions possess selnarm and an awareness of Illudor. Do they?”
“Holodah’kri, there is no such evidence. Although we had no live Orions to examine, their ships are devoid of selnarmic repeaters or receivers. And given the speed of action in a fighter, it is hard to imagine that they would willingly eschew the advantages gained by direct selnarmic command of the craft’s key operating systems.”
“So these are simply griarfeksh with much more fur and much larger teeth. Tell me: among the other races that reputedly exist, are there any signs or reports of selnarm?”
“No, not as such.”
“What does that mean?”
“Holodah’kri, the race that the humans have labeled the Bugs employed some form of communication which, like selnarm, is not subject to many of the laws and constraints of Myrtakian space. However, it was clearly not selnarm. Its manifestation was limited to the system in which the sender was located, and its transmission was not instantaneous.”
“And what of the creatures called the Gorm, the heavy hexapeds? Is there not evidence that they have sensitivities which are non-Myrtakian in nature?”
“Yes, Holodah’kri, but the Gorm mental exchanges are simply vague impressions, mostly emotional in nature—much as our newborns project—and these transmissions are extremely short-ranged, typically constrained to a few kilometers.”
“However, it seems the closest phenomenon to selnarm is to be found in these Gorm.”
“Perhaps, Holodah’kri, but that is not the parallel the human media have been drawing. We have discovered on each human world we have conquered that we are being compared to the Bugs, which were—reputedly—a ravening hive intelligence that—again reputedly—ate the humans’ live infants and children with great avidity.”
“So our deeds and our nature are being distorted and vilified through the human leadership’s propaganda?”
(Agreement. Faint irony.) “Yes, Holodah’kri. They have decided that we are not truly intelligent beings, nor individuals, but dangerous monsters. At least in terms of the opinion they hold of their current adversary, they seem much like us.”
“Our view is the correct one, Fleet Second.”
“I did not claim nor imply that it is not, Holodah’kri: I simply observe that their categorization of us matches our categorization of them.”
Urkhot clearly did not feel this to be an appropriately compliant answer, but Mretlak could also sense that the priest could find no fault with what Mretlak had said, and so the Holodah’kri moved on. “So, among these many races, the humans are dominant?”
“They are the most widely established, Holodah’kri. This is true largely because—”
“—because they are warlike?”
“More because they are curious and acquisitive.”
“Tell me, Mretlak, is ‘acquisitive’ simply a longer word for ‘greedy’?”
“With respect, Holodah’kri, greed and acquisitiveness are not interchangeable motivations in all, or even most, humans. Many simply wish to—well, build things: structures, communities, institutions. They take a great joy in the act of making, and most then wish to exert some lasting ownership over what they’ve built.”
“As did the zifrik colonies of our homeworld. Even those pestilential insects had a great—and aggressive—pride of ownership for their hives and other constructs.”
As do we, ourselves, Mretlak thought, carefully keeping that reflection separate from the flow of his selnarm. “However, our analysis suggests that the primary behavioral variable that drives humanity’s expansion is their thirst for the novel. Humans revel in experiencing new places, new ideas, new challenges.”
(Boredom.) “Fascinating. I now understand—in detail—why the griarfeksh are the duplicitous, violent vermin I knew them to be before you commenced your briefing.”
“Yes, Holodah’kri, but this review does serve another purpose.”
“And what is that?”
“It provides important new data in the attempt to resolve the matter of determining where, and how much, variance exists between the true nature of our griarfeksh adversaries and their self-representations, which we have suspected was largely disinformation.”
(Wariness.) “And how does this new data resolve this matter?”
“Holodah’kri, in analyzing the human naval wrecks and the archives of the planets we’ve conquered, we are discovering an extraordinary uniformity of both objective data and of cultural history—all of which makes it increasingly implausible that the humans are engaging in an intricate campaign of disinformation. Not only would the scope of such an effort be unthinkably vast, but all evidence of the organizations and orders which effected these supposed revisions of human history must also have been flawlessly purged from all recent records—another most unlikely occurrence.”
“Well, the absence of such evidence is hardly surprising. The government’s own agents would certainly have removed it.”
Mretlak kept to the point. “But still, does such a speedy yet expansive conspiracy seem plausible? It would have to retroactively deny truths which living humans have known for years, or decades.”
“Indeed. That any species could be so easily brainwashed is certainly proof of their weak cognitive capacities. And even so, it is nonetheless an astounding feat of propaganda, isn’t it? It seems to defy belief—yet what is the alternative?” (Watchfulness. Zealotry. Monomania.)
Mretlak knew he was now on the horns of an impossible dilemma. Either he had to concur with Urkhot that the humans had actually succeeded in mounting such an impossibly sweeping and successful conspiracy of disinformation. Or he had to challenge that view, which in turn meant he was proposing nothing less than heresy: that the human self-representation was fundamentally accurate.
And that would only spawn even more distressing inquiries. For if the humans’ self-representations were true, then it raised the further issue of their personhood: whether, in fact, creatures without selnarm could be truly sentient. Better to presume that humans were simply a savage pack of clever animals, an ultimate challenge that Illudor had posed to test the worthiness of his own Children. Urkhot’s wide, quivering central eye told Mretlak that his interlocutor-become-inquisitor was already committed to this belief with a mania that could not even be fully expressed through selnarm. The Holodah’kri’s conviction was not merely monomaniacal: it had slipped over into something approaching madness.
Mretlak quickly turned to the military section of his briefing. “I am pleased to report that with our increasing numbers of heavy superdreadnoughts and their Desai drives, we are quickly reducing the advantages the humans have enjoyed in both tactical and strategic mobility. In large measure, this allowed us to keep our losses lower in Beaumont and particularly Raiden—” And Mretlak felt a strong, hot surge of passion rise up in Torhok’s selnarm. The specific form of passion was suppressed, but Mretlak could guess: the prior, disastrous attempt to take Raiden by frontal attacks—led by the now discarnate Admiral Lankha—had been Torhok’s brainchild.
Mretlak hurried on. “Unfortunately, we are still lagging far behind the humans in fighter technology.”
Urkhot was (puzzled). “And yet we have made such advances in the drives of our larger ships. What causes this discrepancy?”
Mretlak interlaced his lesser tentacles. “Most of our gains have come through increased efficiencies made possible by the greater scale of the drives in the larger craft. However, the humans are exploiting other technological approaches to achieve their superior performance in the smaller drives. Consequently, although the fighter is a weapon whose tactical significance is swiftly diminishing, it can still be quite dangerous in certain situations. Particularly illustrative of this is the Battle of Beaumont, where the humans deployed their fighters within the Desai limit.”
“It was a cowardly ambush,” asserted Urkhot.
Narrok intruded. “It was also a shrewd tactic that capitalized upon our now-predictable doctrine of pursuing all engagement relentlessly and all our objectives directly.”
Torhok did not respond. Indeed, he could not do so without also critiquing the source of that tactical doctrine—himself—and the person who had insisted on following it at Beaumont: Urkhot. Mretlak sought to find some oil to pour upon the troubled waters: “Happily, the improved drives of our new SDH class actually provide that class of ship with slightly better speed than their human analogs.”
(Relief, triumph) from Urkhot. “Well, this is welcome news. And tell us: what innovation of ours has allowed us to so quickly improve upon the flawed human version of the Desai drive, Mretlak?”
Again, Mretlak found himself mid-stride in a potential misstep, because there was no way to furnish Urkhot with the answer he evidently expected—and wanted—to hear. “Esteemed Holodah’kri, our improvement simply arose from being able to compare our system to theirs, and then combining the best features of both. So by partially—copying—the humans, we came up with a better drive.”
(Anger. Manic pride. Denial denial denial.) “Are you now claiming that the humans are our technological superiors?”
Careful now. “It is clear enough that our technological strengths are quite different. After all, we had never encountered what they call the Desai drive. But they have never managed to create a sustained power source so vast and useful as the one at the core of our pinhole drive.”
(Relief.) “Yes. Quite true. We are fortunate enough to enjoy the technological edge—and aptitudes—that really matter the most.” (Satisfaction. Suspicion.)
Mretlak elected not to comment on Urkhot’s dubious assertion. “However, in the smaller drives, particularly those of the human ‘strike fighters,’ the wreckage we’ve examined suggests that their tuners are more advanced, and that they use instrumentation and third generation quantum computing that we do not have. And do not yet fully understand.”
(Disbelief.) “Is not our computing superior?”
“We, of course, have selnarm interfaces. Our computers do not merely obey our instructions—they become extensions of our selves, and their responsiveness is absolute.”
“So, what is this quantum computing and how is it that we do not have it also?”
“We do not have it because we have not long been students in the needs of space war, Holodah’kri. You might say that our peaceful nature has imposed a temporary disadvantage upon us.” Mretlak used Urkhot’s recession into (mollification) to explain. “Because our selnarm is instantaneous across all distances, our ability to share information is faster than the processes that occur within our computers, which are constrained to the speed of light. However, in select human systems—some of those governing the fighters’ tuners and point-defense fire systems, for instance—the basis of transmission is in non-Myrtakian space. It exploits certain principles of what the humans call quantum entanglement. This gives the humans a profound edge in terms of how fast some of their automated systems may respond.”
“I see—but how did our peacefulness keep us from discovering this innovation on our own?”
“With respect, Holodah’kri, what need would we have had for such speed? We needed to escape the supernova of Sekamahnt and so perfected the pinhole drive, and the many systems and sciences required for our long journey and eventual resettlement. We had not known true war for many centuries. In contrast, the humans stumbled upon and utilized warp points, thereby coming into contact and conflict with other species. They have been driven and defined by an endless round of savage wars. And war rewards alacrity as does nothing else, so they necessarily turned their attention to reaction times, to exploiting aspects of non-Myrtakian space that were of no utility to us.”
Urkhot added a capstone to Mretlak’s analysis. “Happily, the advantages the humans have enjoyed thus far they shall soon lose. We shall catch and surpass them in all their sciences and technological endeavors. But they can never match our greatest advantage. The knowledge that we are eternal, and thus fear no death. Indeed, as Illudor teaches us, destolfi montu shilkiene.”
Having watched the casualty lists grow ever longer in the Fleet, Mretlak had come to wonder if, as Urkhot had cited, “Discarnation is but a little thing.” However, Mretlak had no permissible reply, and so was relieved when Narrok asked the question he could not. “Is it, Holodah’kri? Is discarnation always a ‘little’ thing?”
(Wariness.) “What do you mean, Admiral Narrok?”
“I mean that we Anaht’doh Kainat are already much diminished since arriving here in human space. We can ill-afford further campaigns that buy us few gains at the expense of many discarnations of our well-trained fellow Wanderers. We shall not see their replacement for many a year.”
Urkhot sent a wave of confident (dismissal). “Illudor would not allow all these discarnations unless they were part of a greater plan. Perhaps it is his will to reduce the number of our bodies, so as to diminish the burden upon this first generation of settlers: fewer mouths to feed, fewer children to teach.”
Narrok sent (assent), then “Even if that is true, I wonder if you would indulge my curiosity on a relevant theological point?”
(Wariness.) “Of course.”
“Is not Illudor weakened even as we are weakened?”
“Your question suggests that, in part, Illudor’s strength is dependent upon us, or can only be measured through our actions. Tell me, Admiral: Do you then also believe that Illudor can commit suicide?”
Narrok avoided Urkhot’s attempt to bait him into overt heresy and proceeded with (caution, purposiveness). “Whether Illudor may end his own existence or not is moot. We are taught that he will not. But we are also taught that, as Illudor is the universe, so his destruction would mean the destruction of all things.”
“Destruction is a separate matter. You speculated that Illudor might be ‘weakened even as we are weakened.’ Do you not thereby imply that Illudor might not be a supreme being?”
“My question implied nothing. Rather, it invokes simple mathematics. Why do we struggle to preserve the race? To ensure that we are not all destroyed, and thus, neither is the manifestation of Illudor in this universe.”
“The youngest of us knows this.”
“Very well. So if our population were to be reduced to zero, we, Illudor, and the universe would be at an end. Is this not so?”
“You know it to be.”
“Then I put it to you that having two Arduans left alive is a far riskier state of existence than having two thousand. Or twenty million. And so I say further that we have sustained so many casualties already in this war, that I simply wonder at what point we must be concerned with maintaining a safety margin to ensure the continuation of our race.”
“This concern has not escaped my notice, but at any rate, it is not your concern, Admiral.”
“Nor, I suppose, is the single greatest cause of those losses, Holodah’kri?”
“You mean the cause is something other than weakness in our fleet leadership?” And as he said it, Urkhot tucked his selnarm back in: obviously he had meant to insult Narrok, but only remembered afterward that it was the late Admiral Lankha—as Torhok’s proxy—who had suffered crippling losses, and with no gain to show for them. Torhok’s selnarm rippled, seethed, but did not project into the exchange.
Narrok’s response was oddly affable. “Oh, the actions of the Fleet leadership have indeed caused the losses, Holodah’kri, but the actions in question were imposed upon us.”
“Imposed upon you by what?”
“Not by what, but by whom—for I speak of your own extrapolations of the Will of Illudor, Holodah’kri.”
“My extrapolations of the Will of Illudor? How can my theological insights restrain you in your role as admiral, Narrok? I have not the authority to dictate strategy or tactics to you.”
“Not directly, Honored Holodah’kri, but as we enter each new system, we are compelled—as a consequence of your dicta—to disregard the positions of the other warp points as they appear on the human astrographic charts. And in almost every case to date, we ultimately discover that the warp points were precisely where the human data claimed them to be.”
“Which you confirm at your leisure, do you not?
“At our leisure? With respect, we do eventually confirm them, but not at our leisure. Upon entering a system, we lack our enemy’s surety of where the most strategically imperative regions of that system are situated. Consequently, every plan the humans make starts with a perfect knowledge of the coming battlefield. However, as long as we are prohibited from giving their star charts even a provisional credence, we emerge blind. Because Admiral Lankha was not allowed to accept the plotting of the human charts, she chased after an apparent warp point that was a trap—and which decimated her entire fleet. In Suwa, the humans escaped unscathed because—again—we had to ignore the human data on the system and were duped into interdicting a decoy warp point—as they disappeared through the actual one. In just such ways, they routinely outmaneuver and elude us.”
Urkhot gave the selnarm equivalent of a shrug. “Illudor compels us to grow by walking in dark and unknown places. And so it is with the griarfeksh data. Every one of their purported facts are potential lies, and so we are unable to rely upon any of their information.”
Narrok sent (calm, acceptance). “Yes, I see your point, Holodah’kri. All their facts are fruits of the same poisoned tree. Which is why I must therefore propose that we immediately dismount all the Desai drives currently in service with the Fleet and cease using the warp-point network altogether.”
Urkhot physically flinched. “What? Narrok, are you going mad?”
“No. I am being consistent. Warp-point maps, Desai drives, quantum computers: it makes no difference. If some of what we have gleaned from human archives must be treated as the fruit of a poisoned tree, then all of it must be. Ultimately, won’t the theological inconsistency—or caprice—of tolerating some human data and not others prove to be more dangerous to the Children of Illudor? For when the questions begin—when we are called upon to explain why Illudor wills that we must ignore some human ‘facts’ yet embrace others—how will we answer? Will not the distinctions seem arbitrary? Will they not seem to be the result of pragmatic decisions made by us, rather than as reflections of Illudor’s perfect—and perfectly consistent—will? And how will we then undo the damage that has been done to our faith? I readily acknowledge that the human technology we have incorporated has become critical to our survival. However, since—as you have already assured me—Illudor would not commit suicide, and since any losses are therefore acceptable, is it not better that we foreswear these tainted technologies as quickly as possible? The Desai drive and quantum computing and fighter improvements—yes, even the discovery and use of warp points themselves: it seems that we had best renounce them all before the inconsistency they represent becomes so great that it spawns a schism within our unified embrace of the will of Illudor. For surely, that is more dangerous to us than the paltry efforts of the puny griarfeksh fleets—is it not, Holodah’kri?”
Urkhot’s selnarm had not merely retracted but had seemingly coiled around itself—leaving Mretlak with a strong impression of the prenatal curl of Firstlings nestled in their mother’s birth-sac. Torhok’s selnarm remained shut but seemed to quiver in rage; Mretlak could not tell if the source of that fury was Narrok or the suddenly enfeebled Urkhot. And Narrok’s selnarm was like the surface of a high mountain lake, unrippled by wind: it was calm, serene—and completely reflective, revealing nothing of what lay beneath.
When it became obvious that Urkhot dared not open his selnarm, Torhok groomed his own and opened a tight, well-defined aperture. “Admiral Narrok, your insight is worthy of a ’kri.”
“I am flattered, Senior Admiral—but why do you say this?”
“Because you have arrived at the very conclusion that Urkhot and his own advisors had determined just a week ago.” It was all the purest flixit droppings, and everyone in the room knew it, but none dared make such an observation. “In fact,” Torhok continued, “you have perceptively anticipated the precise doctrinal change that Urkhot was laboring to complete even as we traveled here. He is no doubt flustered by necessarily having to defend an old view because he has not finished crafting the articulation of the new view.”
“Of course. And the new view is—what?”
“As your reasoning suggests: that we provisionally accept the provenance of those human data which had heretofore been rejected. So, then, let us be practical. If the old constraints—specifically, those prohibiting reliance upon griarfeksh maps and other data—were removed now, would you be able to accelerate your timetable for the assault on Ajax?”
“Unquestionably, Senior Admiral. It vastly simplifies our planning.”
“Then you may disregard the old data prohibitions from this moment forward. This is somewhat earlier than Urkhot had anticipated, but once we return to New Ardu, the new doctrines will be announced. Although not all at once, you understand. Such changes take time.”
“Of course, Senior Admiral.”
“Very well. The further matters of resource allocation can be arranged through my staff, Admiral Narrok. I believe we are done here. Come, Urkhot. You must complete the articulation of the new doctrine with greater alacrity, now.”
Only when the door closed behind the inscrutable admiral and his befuddled priest-lackey, did Mretlak breathe again—and in so doing, realized that he had not done so for almost half a minute.
* * *
Two days later, and after what seemed to be a week’s worth of logistical wrangling between Narrok’s and Torhok’s staff proxies, Mretlak stood before Narrok’s quarters, wondering how he should tell his commander the latest news—when the door opened unbidden.
(Congeniality, paternal fondness.) “Come in, Mretlak. Your selnarm is like a nervous flixit warbling on my doorstep.”
Mretlak was too surprised to demur or even comment; he entered. And found Narrok poring over projected fleet inventories of consumables—which the admiral put aside as he raised his eyes to meet Mretlak’s. “So, I understand congratulations are in order.”
(Shock.) “I am—that is, I do not wish—Admiral, how do you know?”
“About your transfer back to Bellerophon? Oh, I was told about it. And I approved it.”
(Surprise, hurt.) “You approved—?”
(Reassurance, fondness.) “Mretlak, you misunderstand. I approved it—after the requisite period and degree of resistance—because it was inevitable. In you, I had too great an ally and helpmate. Torhok and Urkhot were sure to discern this. So they were sure to remove you.”
Mretlak sat and radiated (glumness). “Perhaps I should not have been part of the briefing then, Admiral.”
“No, that was necessary also. They were going to realize I had a singularly gifted helper here, and they were going to determine the identity of that person, no matter what. By putting you in the briefing, I let them know that I had my eye on you, trusted you, would no doubt follow your progress even at a distance.”
Mretlak brightened. “And so that is why they have assigned me to analyze the historical records of the humans, for purposes of ‘gathering speciate intelligence of military value.’ ”
“Precisely. Given your accomplishments, this will seem a wise and natural reassignment when announced to the Council of Twenty. Of course, Torhok and Urkhot intend to bury you in a pointless and endless task. They have no interest in the nature and background of our adversary. However, we made an issue of it in the briefing—and so, we were the ones who opened the doors of inquiry that ‘necessitated’ your reassignment. All very tidy.”
“And, I fear, effective.”
“Hmm. Perhaps not so effective as they think. You are not alone in your ‘pointless assignment,’ Mretlak. As I understand it, the Elder Councilor and shaxzhu, Ankaht, is conducting similar researches. Torhok has underestimated her—and the importance of her research. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find points of mutual interest and enlightenment with the Elder.”
“She is outspoken against the Destoshaz resurgence, Admiral.”
“She is outspoken regarding its bigoted propaganda, Mretlak. Those are not the same things. My advice is to meet her with an open mind—then judge.”
“This is always wise, Admiral. I am guided by your words.”
“As I have been indebted to your tirelessness and perspicacity, good Mretlak. More than I can expect from your replacement, Esh’hid.”
“She is not capable, Admiral?”
“She is not a creature of her own will, Fleet Second. She is a devotee of Urkhot’s caste-and-race destiny rhetoric.”
“She is a spy?”
Narrok shrugged. “She is also eager for the glory of victory. When we attack Ajax, I will make sure that she has the opportunity to pursue that goal—by allowing her to command the first wave.”
(Surprise.) “You wish her discarnated, Admiral?”
Narrok answered with another shrug. “I wish her off my bridge, and if possible, off my command staff. I hope she finds her duties at the front line diverting rather than discarnating—but that, after all, shall be as Illudor wills it.” (Amusement, irony.) “Now, to business, Mretlak. When you arrive at Bellerophon, your official task is to reinitiate something we Arduans have not needed for centuries: an intelligence service. It will be your job to become expert in their tactics of subterfuge and misdirection. In short, we need you to be able to tell us how the humans think when they embark upon war-making, Fleet Second.
“But while you are doing this, you will also have an excellent opportunity—and cover—for continuing to examine the humans’ records of their own past, their own nature, their own proclivities and beliefs. And since Urkhot and his ilk have made the human war of genocide against the Bugs the cornerstone of their argument that the humans are neither sentient nor sane, you must endeavor to determine whether the humans might have been justified in their level of aggression. As you do so, take particular care to forensically establish the provenance of older evidence: make sure that you can physically authenticate the date of all documents, printouts, et cetera. If they can be proven genuine, that would utterly refute any assertions that the humans have attempted to rehistoricize their past.”
(Dread.) “Admiral, if Senior Admiral Torhok keeps close track of my activities, and discerns what I am doing, I—well, I fear that I may be even less safe than your new Fleet Second.”
(Reassurance.) “You are in no danger. Torhok has too much to occupy him to keep track of you once he has consigned you to what he considers a fool’s errand. Besides, Torhok leaves here pleased, and unsuspicious, because he got what he came to get.”
“And what did he come to get?”
“To get me to promise that we would move against Ajax more swiftly. And he wished to use this visit to continue to deride and resist any growing opinion here in the Fleets that the humans might actually be intelligent. And lastly, to remove you from my staff and replace you with a creature of his own persuasion who will watch me once you are gone. Of course, along the way, he and Urkhot were determined to decline several of our requests—just to reaffirm their dominance. And so we had to put forth requests which we knew they would deny.”
“Such as?” asked Mretlak, half stunned as Narrok peeled back the unseen layers of interpersonal strategy that had allowed him to anticipate and then orchestrate the briefing.
Narrok shrugged. “Such as a more casualty-sensitive attack doctrine, or permission to construct forts to hold all our warp points. Of course, Torhok—through his logistical officer—was going to refuse that: it would have reduced the resources dedicated to our offensive power.
“So. then what have we gained?”
“Well, there’s the support and funding for my special offensive projects—”
“So you think Torhok will actually honor a commitment to build such large hulls?”
“Of course—because he sees it as facilitating the offensive operations that are the centerpiece of his vision of conquest. So, since we calmly accepted his rejection of our request to build forts, and then showed an equal willingness to sink that funding into an offensive alternative, Torhok decided to reward our humility and right-thinking by approving our alternate request for the comparatively paltry resources needed to build and seed more defensive mines. Which, quite frankly, are now more essential to our defense than warp forts.”
“You feel the mines will serve us better than the forts?”
“No, but we no longer have enough crews to man the forts, and they take too long to build.”
“Admiral, until today, I was under the mistaken impression that the majority of one’s strategic skill has to be exercised against one’s foes. I now begin to suspect that an equal measure is required in dealing with one’s allies.”
“An equal measure—or more, depending on your allies, Mretlak. And with that last piece of advice, I think you must be on your way.”
Mretlak lowered all three of his eyes in a formal gesture of respect generally reserved for parents or beloved mentors. “I would ask one further clarification.”
“Of course.”
Mretlak struggled to keep his selnarm unruffled, for the topic he intended to raise could easily be misconstrued as containing an undertone of criticism. “Admiral, I noticed that as we prepared for, and then during, the briefing, you insisted that we call the enemy ‘humans,’ rather than griarfeksh. I wondered, given whom we were meeting with, was this wise.”
Narrok nodded and sent a pulse that complimented Mretlak on his (shrewdness, perspicacity). “For me, yes, it was wise—or at least necessary, for I must continually push back against the myopic Destoshaz’ai-as-sulhaji propagandizing. Had you been making the presentation alone, on your own authority, then no, it would not have been prudent. So, in the presence of others, it is still usually advisable that we continue to label the humans as griarfeksh.”
“But is it not safer, then, to continue to so label them even when one is alone? Lest one create a private habit of thought and terminology that might slip out in a public setting?”
Narrok fluttered approving tentacles. “Your foresight and caution serve you well, Fleet Second. And there is wisdom in your pursuit of consistency. But there is a danger in it, and it is this: if you label an adversary as an animal, you will come to think of that adversary as an animal. And if you think of an adversary as an animal, you will expect him to have the limited perspicacity of an animal. In this war, such arrogance could be our downfall. In private, we should acknowledge the full danger of our foe—and perhaps we can remind ourselves of that danger by referring to him with his given name, not dismissing him as some noxious carrion beast of our homeworld.”
“Perhaps. But could it not also be seen as, as—?”
“As what?”
“As heresy?
“Possibly so, possibly not. I can only say: be prudent, be careful, but do not allow yourself to underestimate these humans. They are quite dangerous—and resourceful.”
“Admiral, do you think they are genuinely sentient?”
Narrok looked at him for a long time. “Remember, Mretlak, be careful in your new duties.” And with a kind, wavelike ripple of the raised tentacles of both clusters, Narrok turned his attention back to the inventory reports, signaling that their time was over.
As he left, Mretlak wished that Narrok had answered his question about human sentience.
Five minutes later, as he was boarding the shuttle that would take him to Torhok’s flagship, and ultimately, back to New Ardu, Mretlak realized that Narrok had indeed answered his question about human sentience.
He felt a chill pass up his clusters and into his arms as he realized what that answer was.
* * *
Urkhot finished outlining the final phase of instituting the Revised Provenance Doctrines. “And as you will see, Senior Admiral, even the last phase of relaxed restrictions should still serve to promote a natural consensus among the Anaht’doh Kainat regarding the inherent bestiality of humans.”
“Very good,” sent Torhok, while he thought: You are becoming a costly ally, Urkhot. Two days ago, you all but emotionally deliquesced in front of Narrok. That is not acceptable. You are a blade that needs to be rehoned. “You have done excellent work in a short time, Holodah’kri, but what will you do when the next challenge to our authority arises?”
Urkhot stopped: (panic). “What next challenge?”
“Oh, I have no knowledge of the next counter that our political opponents will attempt, but they have been presenting one impediment after another. Do you expect it will stop?”
Urkhot’s central eye quivered. “It must stop. I will not countenance any more of it.”
Torhok shrugged. (Sympathy, resignation.) “But then what is to be done? How can Illudor’s will be expressed so certainly that the voices of nonbelievers will be stilled?”
“I do not know—but those voices must be stilled. Beyond reasonable uncertainty and curiosity, habitual challenges to the wisdom and the will of Illudor are primers for those who would defy him, are encouragements to infidels and heretics.”
Torhok (acceded). “So earlier holodah’kri have written. But they lived in simpler times, without the difficulties of a people separated from their roots by centuries of interstellar travel and confronted with a species of insane marauders that can mimic intelligence so convincingly that almost a third of our population are ready to consider them sentient. And those earlier holodah’kri did not have contentious Elders, such as we do—Sleepers who claim unto themselves the authority of having walked and breathed on our lost homeworld.”
Urkhot took up the complaint as a rant. “And they did not have to suffer such authority to be embodied in a shaxzhu. For she”—and the image of Ankaht roiled out of Urkhot’s selnarm like bloody pus from an inflamed boil—“she is the source of so many of these problems. Her infernal insistence that we should seek evidence of personhood in these two-eyed griarfeksh drains our strength of purpose, our unity, when we need it most.”
“Yes,” agreed Torhok, “and with her ready access to past-life memories, her profound shaxzhutok which reaches back to the very foundations of our race, it is almost as if she has accrued to herself the credence accorded to our priests, our ’kri.” Torhok paused a beat. “Indeed, perhaps she has already usurped the power and place of our holodah’kri.” And Torhok waited.
Urkhot’s central eye tremored with passion—and then, suddenly, became very still. “Which would of course be heresy of the worst kind.”
“Most assuredly so. Perhaps it could even be perceived as treason. For just as surely as Ankaht has arrogated unto herself the authority of the priests, she now has the Council of Twenty tangled in knots of uncertainty over how best to proceed in the case of the humans. She strives to learn how to talk to the vermin. Whereas I have orders to cleanse them from the space in which we must live. And this is not just the Council’s mandate, but Illudor’s will. He sent us forth when he willed Sekamahnt’s death-burst. And thus, by extrapolation, sweeping away the griarfeksh here is certainly a deed made necessary by His act, and is therefore in accord with His will. Yet the shaxzhu would have me delay or desist in that war while she discovers if she can ‘communicate’ with these furry, two-eyed monsters. And she, like Narrok, would have me fret and count how many Destoshaz souls become discarnate in the process. Why should this concern her? Unless, of course, she secretly doubts that we are reborn.”
“Which would be another heresy—and would also indicate her madness,” blurted Urkhot. “For how can one claim past-life memories and simultaneously doubt the permanence of our souls? Clearly, she is a danger to us—to all of us.”
“Your wisdom brings us to that sad but inescapable truth, Holodah’kri.” And again, Torhok waited—but this time had no doubt of what would follow.
Urkhot opened his selnarmic link a bit wider, and Torhok detected a cold, fell resolve that he had never felt before in the priest: the holodah’kri’s conversion to a ruthless pragmatist was now as complete as his new purpose. “Senior Admiral, I fear we are perched on the horns of a dilemma.”
“In what way, Holodah’kri?”
“Our race is in danger—danger from within, Senior Admiral. Yet we have no way to bring this threat into the light for all to view clearly. The clarity of vision—and mission—of the Anaht’doh Kainat has been blurred, largely as a consequence of their good nature and open-mindedness. And now, we must save them.”
“It seems so. But how, Holodah’kri?”
Urkhot’s tentacles rippled restively. “The methods are not yet clear to me, Admiral. But suffice it to say that steps must be taken. Steps that are quiet, but decisive.” He shook himself, as if out of a trance. “But for now, Senior Admiral, let us speak no more of this. Plans of action will present themselves to both of us, surely.”
“Surely,” echoed Torhok, who congratulated himself on having crafted so deadly a weapon as the holodah’kri and in so short an exchange—and without any trace of blame upon himself. For, after all, it had all been Urkhot’s words and ideas that had effected his own conversion—and if pressed to reveal it, the priest’s own selnarm would show no less. Torhok had merely known the right questions to ask, the right buttons to press.
Urkhot imaged (Narrok), considered and weighed (competence, expendability, triage) in the balance. “It is a shame that Narrok has become so increasingly—obstructive. He had been most cooperative and polite, but ever since that fleet second of his joined his staff after the Battle of Charlotte—”
Torhok (concurred) and added: “Yes, this Mretlak is probably a bad influence. Despite his lesser rank, he is quite clever—and manipulative.”
“A pity he cannot be more usefully employed at greater range from Admiral Narrok.”
“But he can, and will be, Holodah’kri. As of today, Mretlak is no longer fleet second to Narrok. He is returning with us to take up new duties sorting through the intelligence archives on Bellerophon. I suspect he will actually be useful to us there—and at the worst, he will be removed from Narrok and consigned to a harmless post among stacks of human data. And in Mretlak’s place, I have assigned Narrok a new fleet second who is far more theologically resolute.”
“An excellent redistribution of resources, Senior Admiral Torhok.”
Whose reaction to the praise was a genuinely diffident shrug. “I am Destoshaz,” he commented. As if that answered the matter entirely on its own.