by Tim C Taylor
Springer took a long look at the man from the future, who wore a blood-spattered woolen military greatcoat over t-shirt and jeans, and wondered whether she should alert the Marines standing guard outside.
His mood swings made the man difficult to read, but Springer had never seen him so devoid of humor. She decided it would be better if the guards outside continued to believe she was sleeping peacefully in the cot hastily installed in what, ironically, had been the Australian embassy building in another era.
That didn’t mean she was about to agree to Greyhart’s demands.
“I’ve already told Nhlappo no,” she said, sitting up in bed. “You get the same answer. I can’t leave Arun. Not after we found each other after spending most of our lives apart. We deserve this.”
“Do you?” Greyhart suddenly peered intently at something on the ceiling. “I suppose you do. I make it a policy not to comment on domestic politics or local morality. Such a messy business, both of them. McEwan’s necrosis is spreading fast. I know you Marines pride yourselves on your robustness, but even you have your limits, and he has pushed himself far beyond them.”
“Don’t beat about the bush, Greyhart. Speak plainly, and then leave.”
“McEwan is dying.”
“I know!”
“But do you really? It’s been a week since Tawfiq’s death and almost that since you saw McEwan. Tomorrow, when you meet with him in orbit, you will have to confront how rapidly he has declined since you last saw him. His deterioration will only accelerate.”
“Which is why I need him here with me,” said Springer. “If he hasn’t long to live, then I will nurse him through his dying days. I’ll do more than that. I’ll enjoy him, and he will find peace in an echo of the time we spent in Elstow long ago. When he departs this life, I’ll be there at his side holding his hand so he knows he is not alone. In his last moment, he will know that he is loved.”
“Admirable, Springer. I’m sure I would be in tears if I cared. Look, I need desperately to back off from this endless cycle of intervening in the affairs of your time period. Just to remain here is excruciating pain, and yet I cannot let go. McEwan has not delivered all the things I require of him. I need him as much as you – though admittedly for differing reasons. I can’t leave this to chance. I try not to dabble but sometimes I cheat to get my way. I have no choice. I must have your Arun.”
“Cheat?” The man squared his shoulders and looked straight at her. “Greyhart, are you saying you can keep him alive?”
“Oh, yes, of course I can. I can do better than that. I can cure his pain. Even regrow nerve endings. If he wishes, your existing technology can regrow new limbs or attach prosthetics. Or I could do it myself.”
“He doesn’t need to get out of his damned hover chair to be the most wonderful, capable… Oh, frakk you!”
Greyhart was the most patronizing veck in the galaxy, and every instinct made her want to tell him no. Whatever he wanted: no! But if she refused what first Nhlappo and now Greyhart were asking, she would lose Arun. And if she bought into this devil’s bargain with Greyhart, she would lose Arun anyway. What the hell was she thinking? This choice wasn’t hers to make.
Greyhart held up a finger. “Just one caveat. This is important, and I shall hold you to it. Whatever you choose to do or not to do as a result of this conversation, it is imperative that McEwan must never learn of what we said here. The truth would be devastating for him, and for countless others too. This cannot be his choice.”
“I’ll think it over.”
“You shall not! This window of opportunity is fast closing. I need your answer now.”
Springer thought again about the guards outside her room as she lifted Saraswati’s pendant from under the pillow. They couldn’t harm Greyhart, but they might be able to chase him away. “You can shove your high-pressure selling up your backside, Greyhart. I don’t believe you.”
“Your confidence in me is of no consequence.” He raised an eyebrow as she donned the pendant. “I desire only your actions. You must agree to Nhlappo’s plan and you must make it succeed. Only that way can McEwan be rewarded.”
“You’re wrong. Trust is important. How do I know you will heal him?”
“Logic. I need him fit and strong to carry out the further actions that I require of him. He is no use to me dead. But if he remains here with you, I have no reason to intervene and cure him.”
“No? How about a sense of decency? Is that by itself not a reason to intervene? Arun is a good man and he has suffered a great deal. Let compassion be your guide. Do something good without asking for something in return.”
“My every action affects the lives of countless trillions. My inaction likewise dooms trillions and sustains more. I cannot account for the life of a single individual. Whether you believe this or not, the opportunity we could exploit has almost moved beyond our reach. You must decide. There is no need to speak, because I will see the influence of your decision.”
How could she possibly decide? She didn’t know what Arun wanted and she definitely didn’t trust a word that came from Greyhart’s lips.
Greyhart took a deep breath. He sounded very satisfied as if the very air in this damp old building was hearty sustenance. “Very well,” he pronounced. “The decision is made.”
“No. No, it isn’t. I haven’t made up my mind.”
He eased into that patronizing smile of his. “You have. You just don’t know it yet.”
Frakk him! Saraswati, get those Marines in here!
“Remember,” said Greyhart, his finger pointed at her heart, “not a word.”
The Marines roared in, screaming curses at maximum speaker volume at whoever had dared to threaten their charge.
The shouts died away as they swept the empty room.
“Stand down,” she told them.
They brought their carbines to port arms.
“It was just a ghost. A spirit from the future.” She bit her lip and growled with frustration. “But it was real. We have enemies I do not know how to fight. Not yet.”
The sergeant of the guard saluted. “Springer, ma’am, I recommend posting two Marines in your room to keep watch as you sleep, and adding more to the corridor outside.”
She took strength from their reaction. Sergeant Kohn didn’t think she was making a fuss over a bad dream. He believed her and hadn’t hesitated in making what some would think a forward suggestion, because he took his duty to protect their Springer with the utmost seriousness.
When she’d revealed her identity to the galaxy, Springer hadn’t thought the Marines would care about her. About what she represented in the Legion’s relation to the White Knights – sure, that mattered a great deal – but she herself had only been a footnote in Arun’s history in the minds of most Legionaries.
Worse, she expected her former brother and sister Marines to call her a traitor for disobeying Arun’s orders and setting herself up as a new Tawfiq.
But that hadn’t been the way veterans such as Sergeant Kohn saw it. Already, some were addressing her as the Springer, as if her nickname was a formal title.
And the longer they had served, the more likely they were to treat her as a totem of a new beginning.
Which she could not be if Arun remained.
Damn Greyhart! He had wormed his idea into her brain.
And if Arun departed… would Marines like Sergeant Kohn turn on her?
Damn Greyhart for making her think these thoughts!
The Marines tensed, unsure whether she was under psychic attack, reliving trauma, or about to unleash a tongue lashing at the forwardness of Kohn’s suggestion.
She understood their uncertainty. It was the same she felt every night she was with Arun, watching over him as he screamed in his sleep.
“Good idea, Kohn. Post two guards with me every night until I say otherwise. What happens farther down the corridor I leave in the hands of the captain.”
“Roger that, Springer, ma’am.”
She nodded and shuff
led back under the blankets to sleep. Before her head hit the pillow, she knew she had made her decision. And with that release, she reached for the sleep she needed to keep herself fresh, because tomorrow was going to be the most difficult day of her life.
Under the watchful gaze of her Marines, she was asleep within moments.
— Chapter 55 —
Arun McEwan.
On board Holy Retribution
How were the Unbound to be fed? Who commanded the fleet if the inner planets needed to be defended from the New Order fleet still threatening from the outer system? Was it even theoretically possible for Sangurians to listen to reason, and if the only reason Xin and the Far Reach ships had come was to defeat Tawfiq, why were they still here?
It had been only eight days since the events in the Imperial Mall – or Liberty Mall as the local civilians were now calling it.
Arun had expected there would be interim details that needed agreeing, but they were now lurching from major issue to full-blown crisis, and on a heading for worse.
Already! Eight days!
Floating by the bulkhead outside the conference room, he watched as the last of the key players and their teams filed out, and was reminded of something Del-Marie had picked up from Bloehn. As the sole representative of the people of Earth – at least until a better arrangement was worked out – the old International Federation Defense Force sergeant said he felt like he was watching great powers carving up a conquered land.
The Earther stomped out the room, clumsy in his use of the charged pathway. Arun caught the eye of Del-Marie who had left in Bloehn’s company. His old friend floated over to join Arun.
“Still worried about what Bloehn said?”
Arun smiled at his former cadet dorm buddy but didn’t reply. With his elegant cream robes, and just a hint of white in his neat beard, Del looked the part of the experienced diplomat he was: body worn, but mind still sharp. Ambassador Del-Marie Sandure had kept out of the way during the Battle for Earth. Not anymore. This was his time.
“It’s a matter of presentation,” said Del. “We can fix this.”
“And Japan?”
The mask slipped; Del seemed to age decades. He’d survived on his own once, cut off behind enemy lines for years. At times like this it showed. “The recent trouble in Japan–”
“Trouble? The civil disobedience and riots – that’s what I would call trouble. The brutal way Aelingir suppressed it was something else again. All she’s achieved is to destroy lives and infrastructure and fan the flames of resentment.”
“You know Jotuns. We grew up with them, Arun. Remember? Aelingir possesses more empathy for humans than any Jotun I’ve ever known. She loves us almost as much as her own people. But as a race. She only values the individuals she knows personally. I sat down with Aelingir and spelled out the moral angle of killing hundreds of civilians, but she doesn’t get it. They’re just individuals she doesn’t know and they’re gumming the works. So she clears them away. She’s an alien for frakk’s sake. Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking your alien friends are humans just because you want them to be.”
“And you should stop making excuses for Aelingir. There can’t be another Japan.”
“You’re right on that last point. But I’m not excusing anyone, Arun. I’m pointing out the problem. And I’m talking to the solution. Earth is a human planet. It requires human governance. I know you want to retire, but Earth needs you.”
Arun looked away, back to the conference room where the last delegates were leaving. He couldn’t look Del in the face because he couldn’t do what he asked. Someone else had to lead the Legion now. If Arun tried, he’d crack like Indiya.
Springer floated out into the passageway with Xin alongside. Today was the first time Springer had left the planet since she’d taken charge of the Unbound and later took the surrender of all New Order personnel in the inner system.
An aura of civility dampened the enmity between the two women, but even so Arun imagined he could smell the ozone in the air from the charge building up between them.
Olfactory hallucination, said Barney. It’s a known side effect of the pain medication you’re taking.
“I’ll think over what you said,” Arun told his ambassador, who nodded and floated away.
It was Springer whom Arun had really been waiting for. They hadn’t spent any time together for over a week. Although she gave him a wave and a smile, they seemed forced. Arun’s heart soured further when she walked off to meet with Kreippil and Nhlappo, and it was Xin who floated over to his position at the bulkhead.
“Walk with me?” she said. “Well, float. I meant no offence. Sorry.”
Already, Springer was gesticulating passionately to Kreippil and Nhlappo. Barney tried to clean up the sound, but he couldn’t make out what they were discussing.
“Are you with us, Twinkle Eyes?”
“Factions. Alliances. Secrets.” Arun shook his head sadly. “Do we really have to go through all this again, Xin?”
He saw her looking at him with compassion in her eyes, and he remembered a time when much of the strength and the cunning that had kept the rickety alliance of the Human Legion together had come from this woman.
“You thought it would all be over with Tawfiq’s defeat,” she said. “It didn’t work that way when you beat the White Knight Emperor, and it doesn’t now. In our little part of the galaxy, we’ve broken the way the universe works, but it will reset into a newly hardened form soon. The responsibility is ours to make sure it forms in the way we choose. No one could fault you for leaving that fight to others.”
“Others like you, I suppose?”
“I’ve come too far to give up now. We’re alike, you and I, Arun. Always were. We cannot rest until we know that we’ve done our best.” She looked away. “Indiya was the same too. And, Arun… everyone in that conference could see how labored every movement you make has become. We could hear the rasp in your voice. I don’t want you to die, Arun. Nor does Grace. But if you keep pushing yourself, we’ll lose you. This isn’t something you can put off until it becomes convenient. You need medical attention. Today, Arun. You don’t have a tomorrow.”
Listen to her, insisted Barney. Every day I beg you to seek help. It’s like she says, one day soon, there won’t be a next day.
Arun ignored them both and glanced at the others. Kreippil had walked off to leave Springer and Nhlappo deep in conversation, with Del-Marie waiting a respectful distance away, presumably to discuss an issue with his former junior ambassador who now represented the most powerful fighting force on the Earth’s surface, the Unbound.
But it was Xin who had voiced the starkest truth. Barney had been telling him for days that the fight to defeat Tawfiq had kept his body together far longer than should be possible. But now she was gone, he was fading fast.
He couldn’t deny the truth. But the Legion was still divided, the Earth was a combustible mix, and from his poison-choked moon, the Emperor watched all through malevolent eyes. Arun couldn’t afford to die. There was still so much to fight for.
He hauled himself away, hand over hand, along the grips recessed in the bulkhead. Xin chose to follow him the same way, rather than use one of the charged walkways. They passed through a blast door and stopped on the far side.
“I need to understand,” she explained. “You faked Springer’s death, and you let me believe you had sacrificed her to the Cull. That’s why I left. That’s why your daughter grew up without her father, because you wouldn’t tell me. Why?”
“Tawfiq had infiltrated us. The Blood Virus was in Romulus, and who could tell how many other people?”
“But you should have told me. I was your wife. I still am. You should have told me.”
“Tawfiq would have heard from her spies. And even if she didn’t, she would have seen your opposition to the Cull moderate when you understood the Emperor and I were dancing around each other’s lies. I couldn’t afford for the Emperor to learn what I’d done so so
on.”
“Soon? We’re talking about the White Knights here, Arun. For them, a thousand years into the future is like next Tuesday for us. When the Emperor learns that your new Cull means nothing more than a respray in Wolf colors, it won’t just be a war between the Human Legion and the Empire, you will be in breach of treaty obligations, the one thing that can unite the Trans-Species Union against you. Even you can’t win a war against the entire galaxy.”
Arun made himself look Xin in the eye despite the shame smearing his heart. “I’m sorry. I know I can give you only words, but what we had between us was precious to the end and I shattered it. I did what I thought was my duty to my people, but I burned the one closest to me, and I am sorry, Xin.”
“You didn’t do your duty. You made the wrong decision. If only you’d talked to me first. And now the victim you saved has rewarded us by revealing herself to the Emperor. You and I will be dead before the retribution comes, but you’ve doomed us, Arun. Our entire race. All of our descendants will die because you broke a treaty obligation before the ink on it had even dried. You should have confided in me. You and Springer like to talk of noble sacrifice – how about asking her to go to the Emperor and put herself at his mercy?”
“Xin, I didn’t break a treaty. If I had, then Springer and I would be en route to the Emperor now. Pleading that if we surrender our lives that he might forgive our transgressions.”
Xin looked like she had swallowed a bee.
Even though he had wronged her, and despite the itching at his eyes that enticed him to curl into sleep and never wake, Arun couldn’t help grinning to see Xin so flummoxed. But then his face hardened. He knew Xin of old. She didn’t seem merely surprised but was realizing she had miscalculated. Her plans had gone off track.
What plans?
“Del hit it out the park with his treaty wording,” he said, studying Xin’s face for her reaction. “The Cull is all about transformation in pursuit of accelerated change. That’s the White Knight obsession it’s supposed to venerate. Change doesn’t have to mean death. Del’s wording is a masterclass in vagueness. Springer emerged from her Culling with a new body, new skin coating, new DNA, and a new name. If I say that’s a sufficient transformation to satisfy White Knight tradition, then that’s up to me. And if the Emperor finds out and says it isn’t, then that’s up to him. The wording of that clause is so infinitely malleable that no third-party will ever say it’s broken and go to war to save the Trans-Species Union from chaos.”