by Eric Flint
Ben Stockwell sucked in a breath. "Jesus. Correct me if I'm wrong, Professor, but didn't the Indian Mutiny turn out really bad for the mutineers?"
"Yes and no. In the immediate sense, yes. The British crushed the rebellion, and did so ruthlessly. But it was the Mutiny that finally alerted the British Empire to the British East India Company's misrule of the subcontinent. Shortly thereafter and as a direct result, the East India Company was given the heave-ho and the British Empire started administering India directly. Less than a century later, India got its independence."
Stockwell stared at him. "I see."
Kinsey shook his head. "I don't think you do, Mr. President, not fully. I used that analogy just to focus our thinking, but the analogy only goes so far. There's a least one difference, and it's a big one—two differences, actually. The first is that this 'mutiny' is being led by a very prestigious Jao, not by the 'natives.' That will make quite a difference in the way the Jao look at it."
"What's the second difference?"
Kinsey gave him a solemn look. "The second difference is that—so far—there's been no equivalent of the Black Hole of Calcutta. Where, if you don't recall the history, the Indian rebels murdered a large number of Englishmen in India. Actually, that happened in many places, but the Black Hole of Calcutta was the single most notorious episode. Especially after the British seized on the incident and exaggerated the fatalities for propaganda purposes."
Stockwell sucked in another breath. "I see your point."
"I certainly hope you do, Mr. President. Aille krinnu ava Pluthrak has declared himself kroudh. That term is usually translated as 'outlaw.' But the connotations, in this situation, are actually quite different. The term 'outlaw,' for us, is associated with ruffians. For the Jao as well, to a degree, when kroudh status is imposed upon a Jao. But for a scion of a great kochan to do this, to declare himself a kroudh—to take what is, from a Jao viewpoint, such an extreme measure—is equivalent to Martin Luther nailing his theses on the door of the Church. It's almost never been done, in the history of the Jao. Only four times, that I know of. And every time it has happened, the kroudh's memory in Jao history resonates with our concept of 'noble martyr,' not Jesse James or Billy the Kid. Well . . . 'noble martyr' would be western civilization's take on it. The Japanese might think of it more along the lines of 'true samurai' or 'exemplar of the Bushido code.' In a number of ways, Jao culture is more akin to Japanese than to ours."
"What happened to them?"
"In three of the cases, the Naukra ruled against the kroudh—although, in two of those, they still implemented what the kroudh had demanded. But all three of them offered up their life, when the Naukra convened, and the offer was accepted. They died."
Stockwell took another deep breath. "The fourth case?"
"That's the most famous of the cases. Another Pluthrak, as it happens, a female by the name of Fouri. In her case, the Naukra ruled in her favor, and her demands were accepted."
"And what happened to her? Did she die, too?"
"No." Kinsey gazed at him solemnly. "But her kroudh status was not lifted. Pluthrak attempted to get it revoked, but the Naukra refused. Apparently at Narvo and Dano's insistence."
Caitlin felt her face grow pale. "Oh, Lord."
Her father gave her a sharp glance. "I don't think I quite understand."
"No, you don't, Dad. For a Jao, being a kroudh means . . . oh, what would be a human equivalent? Like being an Amish, shunned—except there's no outside world to go to. As if all humans were Amish. You will have no social interaction beyond what Jao consider casual ones. Most of all, you will never have the hope of returning to your kochan in order to join a marriage group. You will be lonely and celibate the rest of your life."
"Celibate, at least." Kinsey unclasped his hands and waved one of them. "Fouri krinnu ava Pluthrak was not lonely. Her entire service chose to declare themselves kroudh also, after the Naukra's refusal to lift her status, and spent the rest of their lives in her company. From what I can tell, although there's some misgivings about Fouri's behavior, there's none at all about her service. They are revered in Jao memory—the Great Service, they're usually called—much like the Japanese revere the so-called forty-seven loyal ronin."
"Why celibate, then? I would think that among her service . . ."
Kinsey shook his head. "The thing that's still the most mysterious about the Jao—to us, anyway—is their sexual habits. They obviously don't mate the way humans do, but the difference is deeper than simply a cultural one. That's clear to me. I have no idea exactly how it works, biologically, but the Jao simply don't get sexually aroused except in the context of a marriage-group, and marriage-groups are ultimately what the kochan do. It's not something that can be jury-rigged, so to speak. No kochan—or taif, at least—and there's no marriage-group. Don't ask me how it works, because I don't know. Somehow or other—the way their pheromones operate, who knows?—they just don't get sexually active except in a proper social context. Extramarital fornication and adultery are simply unknown among the Jao."
Stockwell gave Caitlin another sharp glance. "And what happened to the service of the other three? The ones who died?"
Kinsey's lips quirked. "Relax, Mr. President. The Jao do not have the custom of burying retainers with the dead emperor—nor the equivalent of suttee, where the widow is expected to hurl herself onto her husband's funeral pyre." He shrugged. "As near as I can determine, in fact, most of the services became highly prized individuals after the death of their patrons. The Jao place tremendous stock on loyalty, which they'd certainly demonstrated. In not one of the four instances, did any member of the personal services abandon their patron."
The relief in Ben Stockwell's slumping shoulders was obvious. Caitlin's too, truth be told.
"Enough of that," she said, a bit sharply. "If Dr. Kinsey's right—and everything I can sense tells me he is—your course is obvious. Uh, Dad."
Stockwell managed a grin of sorts. "Don't teach your grandmother—or your wily old father—how to suck eggs, youngster. Yeah, I'd say it was blindingly obvious. First, make sure there's no Black Hole of Calcutta. Second, do everything possible to insure that whenever the dust finally settles—assuming we survive the Ekhat—that Terra is a nice and peaceful and very well-run little planet. So that when the Naukra scrutinize us, Narvo can't claim that Pluthrak opened Pandora's box."
"Exactly," said Kinsey. "What we want is an Indian Mutiny that's really more along the lines of well-organized nonviolent resistance. Call it a sit-in on a planetary scale."
Stockwell winced. "Somehow, I can't imagine the Jao being all that patient with nonviolent protestors."
"Protestors, no. Not if they were led by humans. But led by Pluthrak . . . That's a different story, Mr. President. As long as we keep the peace, they're not going to use Bull Connor tactics—or the equivalent of the massacre at Amritsar—any more than humans would have turned fire hoses on . . . on . . . Hell, I don't know. Eleanor Roosevelt, maybe."
This time, Caitlin couldn't stifle the laugh. "Eleanor Roosevelt! God, don't let Aille hear that analogy."
Kinsey smiled. Stockwell did too, though more thinly.
"I've never met him," Caitlin's father said. "But he seems like a great man."
Caitlin shook her head. "Man, no. Not even close. Great, yes."
She rose. "I'll let the two of you figure out the details. I need to get back." She paused a moment. "I am proud to be in his service, Father. Very proud. And if the Naukra rules against him—assuming any of us are still alive—I will remain in his service, if he wants me. Kroudh or not."
* * *
On her way back to Aille's command center, Caitlin pondered all the implications of her last statement.
Sure, why not. What the hell, it's not as if I'd have to stay celibate. Speaking of which, it's time I settled that. And since my damned cloistered life has left me with all the aplomb and sophistication of a turtle when it comes to sex, I'd better just tackle it straight up.
At least I'll look like a simple fool instead of a fumbling idiot.
She decided that "flow" didn't require her immediate return to Aille's presence. Instead, calling up her exhaustion-fuzzy memory, she took a different corridor, looking for the chamber that had been turned into an impromptu military headquarters. She managed to find it fairly soon, even though she'd been muttering to herself the whole way and only dimly aware of the turns she was taking.
"Great, just great. I may be the only twenty-four-year-old virgin in America, outside of religious orders. I can't believe I'm doing this."
When she got to the chamber, she stuck her head in the entrance. Kralik was there, to her relief, discussing something with Hami.
"Ed, could I talk to you a moment?" She blurted it out immediately, only realizing then how nervous she was. Still more nervous, she fluttered her hands. "I mean, I don't want to interrupt you—"
He studied her for a moment, with a quizzical expression, then glanced at Hami. The Jao pleniary-superior assumed a posture which Caitlin thought was relaxed-patience. She wasn't sure. It wasn't a posture she'd seen any Narvo adopt often. If ever.
"There is time," Hami said. "Not much, but some."
A moment later, Kralik had her by the shoulder and gently eased her out of the chamber.
"Okay, Caitlin. What's up?"
* * *
She never remembered exactly what she babbled for the next few minutes. If she babbled at all. Kralik claimed afterward he had to pry it out of her, like a clam, but she thought his memory was suspect.
She'd never be able to prove it, though, because when she was finally done Kralik's smile was both cheerful and relaxed. Very cheerful, and even more relaxed—and it was the second of the two that she cherished the most.
"I'd be delighted, Caitlin Stockwell. Deeply honored, too. Yes, I understand you might be in Pluthrak service the rest of your life. I already knew that, actually. I find that I don't care, since this all assumes that we're both alive a few days from now, and if we are . . ."
He shrugged. "Who cares? After all, I'm in his service too—and, as it happens, I've seen the movie about the forty-seven loyal ronin. It was a good movie. I liked it."
It was a very masculine smile, too. At the moment, that didn't mean much to her. Not under the immediate circumstances, between exhaustion and a broken arm and an impending battle. But she knew it would—a lot—if they had a future.
"Do you have a preference in engagement rings?" he asked softly. His hand came up and caressed her cheek.
She swallowed, covering his hand with her own. "Nothing fancy, Ed." Her voice sounded squeaky, even to her. "Just . . ."
She couldn't say the last words. In a few days, Ed Kralik was going to be in a tank turret in the middle of the sun, fighting the galaxy's most insanely murderous species. Even if she survived, he probably wouldn't.
Just something to remember you by, if nothing else.
Chapter 35
Aille received a priority communication from Pluthrak that night. He had already surrendered to dormancy, but came fully aware when Yaut's shadowy form appeared beside his pile of dehabia. He brushed at his ears, shook out his whiskers, and stood. The situation's flow was even more urgent than it had felt earlier. He had fully expected contact from his kochan, though not so soon.
He followed the fraghta through the corridors of the palace, wondering if Tully would be successful in swaying the Resistance. Caitlin remained back in the quarters he'd appropriated, along with Willard Belk and Dr. Kinsey, all three utterly dormant at the moment with that peculiar unresponsiveness that made their species so vulnerable to nighttime attack.
The temporary signal staff, two female techs provided by Terniary-Adjunct Chul, awaited him uneasily. They did not turn around when he entered, but the lines of their shoulders betrayed misgiving. One glanced up from the familiar sinuous Pluthrak sigil in the holo tank, then assumed neutrality, struggling to express no further opinion of what Aille's progenitors most likely had to say about his latest actions. It was a difficult stance to achieve under the circumstances, he was certain.
The older tech was out of Binnat, by her vai camiti, and no doubt familiar with this world and its complicated politics, both Jao and Terran. Light from the main image tank flickered across her snout. "Subcommandant," she said, her ears precisely neither up, nor down, "shall we clear the facility?"
"That would be appropriate," he told her. "I will notify you once your presence is again required."
Ears back, she left, drawing the remaining tech with her. Yaut stood gazing up at the waiting tank. "You risk much by this course of action. Do you want me to compose a return message and plead on your behalf? I can verify the extreme speed at which decisions have been forced upon you."
Aille considered. But, despite the risks, he sensed the existence of possibility here, where there had been none before—a chance to be of use in a truly meaningful, even unique way. "No."
Yaut released the message from the buffer and stood back, his ears doubtful.
The sigil exploded into a shower of golden light, then solidified into venerated Meku himself, kochanau over all Pluthrak. His noble face with its impressive vai camiti gazed into the image tank as though he could see Aille. But this was a recorded message, transmitted through the framepoint via drone during the last solar cycle.
"Offspring," he said, "Narvo has lodged a complaint with the Naukra Krith Ludh—that you refuse appropriate orders and are now conducting independent and unsupported action instead. They are demanding that you be declared kroudh. And now we are given to understand—also by the Naukra—that you had earlier sent a message on your own behalf declaring yourself kroudh."
Meku had adopted a stance of admonishing-caution, modified with a thread of interest. "We have investigated the situation, as best we can from a distance, and feel that, though your stance may be correct, we cannot at present support insult at this level against Narvo. If you wish to persist, we will not contest the registration of your kroudh status, thus freeing you to do what you feel necessary." His eyes took up an odd glint . . . anticipation, perhaps?
"We did not send you to Terra to be cautious," he said, "but neither should you spend yourself unwisely. Some choices, however intriguing, can never be amended. Their final cost may be more than you wish to bear."
Admonishing-caution was now replaced, in that smooth and silky manner that was always Meku's style, with assessment-of-opportunity. "Be aware, also, that the Bond of Ebezon is already moving, without waiting for the Naukra to deliberate. A Harrier task force is on its way to Terra. Quite a large one, we believe. We are not certain, but we suspect the Bond has been seeking for some time to intervene in the Terran situation. If so, the possibilities are vast. Consult closely with your fraghta, of course, but also follow your own sense of things. This flow seems . . . very powerful."
The transmission ended. The tank dissolved into random flashes of golden light that darted like insects before flickering out.
"The choice lies before you, then," Yaut said, his body curiously in flux, now bereaved, now proud, now aggravated, as though the fraghta were too overwhelmed to know what precisely he felt. "The prudent path would be to accede to Oppuk, follow his orders and conduct the remainder of this operation as custom dictates. If you do so, I am almost certain the Naukra would remove your kroudh status. It seems clear enough—the Bond already intervening!—that many are unhappy with Narvo's conduct here."
Aille turned to him, skin once again prickling with anticipation. "I do not think—not really—that is what Meku wants. You heard him yourself: The possibilities are vast. Not only in terms of finally forcing association on Narvo, but, what may be even more important, in terms of the war with the Ekhat. What if we can stop them, using these new tactics? Think of the gain! To be able to save worlds, instead of simply revenging them."
"Duty—caution, at least—dictates that I advise you differently," Yaut said, slowly. "But in the end, you are ava, root kochan,
while I am only vau, subsidiary. It is not bred in me to abandon you, if you decide to go on."
"Send a message back," Aille said, "and route it to Oppuk as well. I accept kroudh status. What I do from this point forward no longer reflects on Pluthrak." He gazed at the empty tank. "I act for myself alone."
"And for this world," Yaut said, "though I doubt they will understand the honor you do them this day."
* * *
In that, at least, Yaut proved to be wrong.
Perhaps. It was hard to say. The manner in which Terrans expressed their appreciation of honor was most peculiar to the Jao way of looking at things.
After the signal techs returned, they suggested that Aille might want to see something else. Quickly, the two techs changed the settings for the holo tank to relay the images that were being transmitted on the human communications web. What Terrans called "television."
Aille and Yaut stared at the images. Gigantic masses of humans thronging in many cities—on no planet but Terra could such immense mobs be assembled—and engaging in the most bizarre rituals.
The Binnat tech explained. "President Stockwell sent out instructions and counsel some time ago to all human authorities and communications centers. The human comm web ever since has been spending all its time reporting on the current situation. Shortly thereafter, these assemblies began taking place."
"If you can call something like this an 'assembly,' " snorted the other tech. "I am reminded more of the swarms of fish on my home planet during spawning season."
"Summon Kinsey," Aille commanded. "I want him to explain this to me. I think it is time I added him to my service anyway."
Yaut hesitated, his posture suggested apprehensive-doubt. "He will be very difficult to train properly. From what I have seen of him, I think he is oblivious to wrem-fa."
"I will not use him for official occasions, then. Still, he is shrewd in his own manner."
Yaut did not argue the matter further. Shortly thereafter, he returned, more-or-less herding a rumpled-looking Kinsey into the room ahead of him. The human scholar still had the look of semi-dormancy in his eyes. But he became alert quickly, once he observed the events being shown in the holo tank.