by P. K. Lentz
The Baron stood and waved the muzzles of their blasters down. “Very well,” he conceded, sounding disappointed. “Since finding you, I have given much thought to what must be done. I have discussed it with my advisers. The decision is final, and I deeply hope that the wise among you will accept it and exert control over the rest. I would hate to have to treat you any differently than I have thus far.”
“Out with it, S’tan,” Ivar grated, reconsidering his future as a diplomat.
“I detest the thought of turning you over to the Pentarchy,” he said. “I do not wish to. But at the same time, I must minimize the risk to myself. The solution at which I have arrived is meant to appease the Jir while falling short of full cooperation.”
“Appease how?” Ivar prodded.
After a brief pause, whether reluctant or regretful, the Baron declared, “I will give the Jir five of you. You may choose which.”
Five
“Unless you wish for me to choose,” Baron S’tanovik finished.
Ivar growled deeply and fought an even deeper urge to leap over the table. It was likely for the best he didn’t have his ax in hand.
So much for diplomacy.
Tomiris and Leimya stood in silence, the former surely fighting an urge similar to Ivar’s. Judging by her recent history, Leimya might have been ready to put an arrow in the Baron had she been in possession of her bow.
The other two Scythians who were imprinted with Nexus translated the Baron’s plans for the rest, turning the diners’ quizzical silence into an angry tumult. Already alert, the Baron’s retainers tensed.
“Stand fast!” Ivar commanded the Dawn in their private tongue. “Now is not the time. We can’t win unarmed.”
“Baron!” Cinnea shouted over the commotion. “Are my brother and I to be included in this arrangement?”
“You may count as two of the five, if it is so chosen,” the Baron answered her. “The rest of your party I can conceal for a time. I have better hiding places than this one.”
“You’re not worried that the five you hand over will give away your lie?” Tomiris demanded.
“Indeed, it would be safer to turn over five corpses,” the Baron said. “I considered it. But in addition to having no desire to murder anyone, that may seem suspicious to the Jir, something I aim to avoid. If the five wish for the rest to remain safe, then they will keep silent. Trust that I—”
“Thank you for the food, Baron,” Ivar said, controlling his voice in his crowning—and surely final—performance as a diplomat. “If you’ll just put us wherever you plan to keep us for the time being, we can get on with making our choice.”
The request was swiftly granted, and the Dawn and two Eraínn were escorted to a large, rectangular room with bare walls. Blankets and cushions were piled high in one corner, containers of water in another.
The hatch was shut and locked behind them.
“Speak only Scythian,” Ivar said quickly in awareness that the Baron might be listening. “And not at all until I’ve had the first word.”
“We need our weapons!” Saulis said. “We’ll kill them all.”
“I said I’d have the first word!” Ivar scolded.
The twenty cast eyes on Ivar. Some faces showed determination, others fear or exhaustion.
“We have to choose five,” Ivar said sternly, and then paused to wave down murmurs of dissent. “I’m ruling out the Eraínn.” The two in question couldn’t have understood because Ivar spoke in Scythian. “We’ve lived this long because of them, and they’ve suffered enough for us. I’m also ruling out Leimya. If the Jir got her, they could use her as leverage over Arixa. As a pilot, Tomiris has skills you may need, so it can’t be her. And Andromache saved us, at least from the cave, so I think she should be also be spared.
“I will be one of the five,” he declared. “Anyone else who chooses to volunteer gets to name three others who will be spared. If that offer isn’t good enough to get us to five, I suggest the drawing of lots.”
“No!” Leimya blurted. “Ivar... you can’t.”
“Horse shit!” Saulis cried. “We killed a dozen lizards on the station. Time to kill more!”
Most of the Dawners expressed agreement.
“We have no weapons,” Ivar argued. “We’re underground in their base with who knows what lying between us and an exit. If we get out, the outside surface is barely survivable. We have no means of leaving it and no guarantees that Arixa will return before the moon kills us or our enemies do. It’s hopeless.”
“Then we fight and we die!” Saulis countered. “That’s better than surrender and better than another living grave.”
“If we fight, we all die. Certainly more than five, anyway. If you’re ready to give your life, Saulis, give it in a way that lets thirteen have a chance at life instead of none.”
“What makes you believe the thirteen will live, Ivar?”
The opposition came from an unexpected quarter. Leimya. Perhaps it should not have been so unexpected.
She went on: “There’s no guarantee this Baron can save anyone, assuming he truly intends to. We’d give lives for nothing.”
“She’s right,” someone piped up. “We have no reason to trust this thing.”
“I don’t trust him fully, either,” Ivar said. “But Baron S’tan could have killed us or had the Jir here waiting. Instead he helped us.”
“Now you’re an expert on how lizard-men think?” Saulis asked mockingly. “Maybe he’s playing with us.”
“I don’t think so,” Ivar said.
Leimya spoke up again, scathingly: “Arixa wouldn’t agree to this deal.”
Ivar sighed heavily in her direction, then said to all, “I don’t have Arixa’s gift for words. She wouldn’t even need words now because you wouldn’t be questioning her. Let me make things clearer for you rockheads. The Baron says he needs to hand five of us to the Jir alive. What happens after that is no concern of his. You want to die fighting? Five of us will, and if we manage to take some enemies with us, they’ll be the real enemy, not some lizards that healed us and gave us food.”
“You think the Jir’ll be fool enough to let us get at them?” Saulis asked.
“Our chances are no better or worse than they are here,” Ivar said. “Question is do we want our deaths to be pointless or do we want them to matter? Now, do I have any fucking volunteers?”
The response was not instantaneous, but after a few moments of pensive silence, Saulis himself became first to say, “I’m with you, Norther.”
A man named Gnorus was next, and seven more followed until nearly every Dawner present clamored to be one of those chosen to die.
Plin, the son of Matas, was no exception, but Ivar overheard Saulis say to the youth, “No, boy, not you. I’ve known your father twenty years. You get back to him.”
“Plin is out,” Ivar declared. “Saulis and Gnorus are in. If the other two can’t be decided, we’ll go to lots.”
“I’ll draw, too,” Leimya said. “You can’t rule me out. You can’t rule me at all.”
“That’s true, princess,” Ivar said. “But I won’t do that to Arixa. Plus, there are no bows where we’re going.”
“I’m stronger than most of these men.”
That much was true. Leimya was augmented, while all but two of the male Scythians present were not.
“I should go,” argued one of those two, a man named Thyrsus. “I can kill more Jir before they kill me.”
That was also true, but so was something else. Ivar pointed it out: “There’s not many augmented left. The Dawn needs you.”
“My life’s worth no more or less than theirs.”
Ivar conceded. He might not be the greatest of leaders, but he knew enough not to dispute a point like that in front of everyone.
“Tomiris,” Ivar said, “convince Leimya of why it can’t be her.” Then, to all, “Come, let’s draw lots and learn who the gods wish to be the lucky final two.”
The Baron had confiscated
their few possessions, temporarily if he was to be believed, leaving the Dawn without materials through which the gods could make known their will. They had no twigs or coins or stones and no knives with which to cut or inscribe them. What they wound up using instead were hairs plucked from Ivar’s own head.
Not without frustration, he managed to collect a fistful of carefully counted blond hairs, two of which were considerably shorter than the rest, and present them to the Dawn. Each man vying for the privilege of dying took an exposed end between thumb and forefinger and drew the hair out.
Not all got the chance to draw before the gods spoke and two short hairs were chosen. Attar, who was augmented, and Lykis, who was not, were to round out the final five.
Ivar strode over and pounded on the chamber’s locked entrance. When two armed Senekeen opened it, looking wary—wisely so, given what some of the Dawn had suggested—Ivar said, “Tell the Baron that we’ve chosen and I request audience with him.”
Acknowledging, the guards resealed the door.
As Ivar strode back into the room, Cinnea thrust herself into his path.
“Thank you.”
Earlier, while Ivar plucked hairs, Tomiris had quietly explained events to the two Eraínn in Nexus.
“It’s not for you, but you’re welcome,” Ivar said.
“A lot of people would have screwed us over.”
“A lot of people or a lot of primitives?”
“Either. We’re not in your...”
“Bunch?”
“Band, clan, tribe. Blood. Whatever. Giving us up would’ve been an easy out. No one would’ve objected.”
“A few, maybe.”
“Not enough. So... thank you.”
Ivar smiled. “Almost sounds like you don’t hate me.”
Cinnea’s face showed no trace of levity. “Oh, I do,” she said. “You still ruined my life.”
“I can see why you might think that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Ivar shrugged. “Lately I’ve found that what’s true one day isn’t the next. Maybe you’ll find you have a different view tomorrow.”
Cinnea scoffed. “If I don’t get a chance to say it later, goodbye... cac-for-brains.”
“Eraínn go brath,” Ivar replied.
She turned and walked away. From behind, Ivar let himself stare one last time at the fiery hair that had drawn his attention to her in the first place. Then he moved on.
The Dawn were claiming the blankets and pillows and water left for them and settling into their cell, or guest quarters, whichever it was. Leimya sat by Tomiris on the floor against one wall. The former glared at the floor with a hard expression that looked at home on her face in spite of its palace-bred softness. Ivar joined them, sitting so that Tomiris separated him from the Shath’s daughter.
“Disappointed you don’t get to be slaughtered?” he asked Leimya.
“Not exactly,” Tomiris answered for her when the other didn’t immediately speak.
“How can we not fight this?” Leimya asked bitterly. “How can we have fought so hard to get this far only to give in?”
“We’re not giving in,” Ivar said. “I made my argument. I wish you agreed with it, but you’re entitled to your own mind. It speaks well of you. Your sister would be proud.”
“Arixa would never choose this course. If she were here, this base would be ours by now.”
Ivar laughed. “Maybe so. Maybe not. I’ll tell you one thing Arixa wouldn’t do...”
He spoke quietly, and with the abandon of one who feels he is soon to die.
“Arixa would never make herself one of the five, like I am.”
“You’re calling her a coward?” Leimya asked in astonishment.
“Not at all. I’ve known her a long time. I know her better than anyone. She is far from a coward. What I mean is that the most important thing to Arixa is... Arixa. I’ve had glimpses of it over the years, but now that she has begun what she’s begun, it’s clearer. She values us. She’ll miss us when we’re gone. But she knows she’s the only one who’s irreplaceable. If she dies, no other will lift her banner. No other can.
“She’ll suffer. She might die. But if there’s a choice between letting some of the Dawn die or letting the Dawn itself die, she’ll sacrifice us. And that’s probably how it should be. She’s not just beating back Goth raiding parties anymore. This undertaking was so vital to her that she took us all from Earth without giving us any choice in the matter.”
Tomiris observed without rancor, “She did that because she knew. She knew most of us wouldn’t have come. She couldn’t allow that.”
“Correct,” Ivar said.
“You both speak ill of her?” Leimya accused with evident shock. “Did she leave us behind on Nemoora because she doesn’t care? Is that what you think?”
“No. She had no choice,” Tomiris said. “And she will return.”
“You don’t think so,” Leimya said accusingly to Ivar. He had said as much to Baron S’tan in front of her.
“I love Arixa,” Ivar said. “And she loves us, in her way. But her rebellion comes first now, and it has to. Without her, it ends. So no... I don’t think she’s coming for us. And she shouldn’t.”
“I’m her sister,” Leimya said.
“Maybe that will make a difference. If she comes, that will be why.”
“You’re her brother.”
Ivar chuckled. “Brothers and sisters shouldn’t—”
Tomiris dug an elbow into his side, shutting him up. He wasn’t sure exactly what her reason was, but he assumed it must be good enough, so he heeded her.
“Maybe she’ll come,” Ivar conceded. “I hope she does. I hope my death allows you to see her again. There’s no other reason.”
Leimya didn’t reply, and when Ivar looked over, he found her staring at the floor again with her hard expression, only now it looked as though its purpose was to fight back tears. Ivar did her the favor of removing himself so that if she lost that battle, it didn’t have to be in front of him.
Shortly after, Senekeen arrived to take Ivar to his audience with their host.
“Let me come with you,” Cinnea suggested. Ivar nodded, and they were escorted out.
Six
The two were brought to see Baron S’tan in the room where they had eaten. The table had been cleared, the cushions straightened and the floor tidied. The Baron sat at the table’s head with an elaborate cup in front of him. When the guests entered, his black tongue was extended into the cup, which sat at least a foot from his mouth.
The Baron saw them, and his tongue retracted into his mouth. “Welcome.” He bade them sit across the table from him. “It pleases me that we can continue to interact cordially.”
“You’re not our enemy, Baron,” Ivar said. He lowered himself onto a cushion.
“Clearly.”
“We’ve chosen our five. I will be among them.”
“You?” Their host showed Ivar how a lizard looked when it was genuinely surprised. “Will that not deprive your band of leadership?”
“They’ll be fine,” Ivar said. “Considering how many more of us there were when I took charge, they may be better off without me.”
“I greatly doubt it,” the Baron said. “A shame. I would try to talk you out of it, but I imagine the individual who makes such a choice is not easily persuaded to abandon it.”
“Correct, Baron. It was the simplest decision I’ve had to make. A relief, really.”
“I applaud you for taking such a reasoned view instead of resorting to violence. You truly are a leader by example. Your people will be worse off for losing you.”
“Baron, I hope I’m not making another error of judgment in telling you this, but there will be violence. Just not against you or your followers, who’ve done us no wrong.”
“The Pentarchy?” the Baron surmised. “Continue.”
“I understand your reasons for handing live prisoners to the Jir instead of corpses. But the five of us wh
o go do not intend to remain prisoners for long.”
“You’ll escape?”
“No, Baron, we’ll die. Fighting. I believe the best moment for this is immediately after our transfer. I request any aid you might be willing to offer.”
The Baron was silent a moment. “By telling me this, you impress me only more. However...”
“I don’t ask that you put yourself or your home in jeopardy, Baron,” Ivar said into the pause. “That would put my people at risk, which defeats the purpose of my death. You might say that what I ask you to do is nothing. Though... if you wished to leave something explosive laying around where I could find it and carry it onto the Jir ship,I wouldn’t decline.”
The Baron gave his reptile smile. “An action such as that would certainly expose me to reprisals. Nothing, on the other hand... might be a favor I can afford. I’ll consider it.”
“Honored Baron,” Cinnea said, her first time addressing him in the current encounter. “My brother and I wish to be returned to Nemoora. Might that favor be in your power?”
“It might be,” Baron S’tan said. “My agents give no indication of heavy Pentarchy presence on the station at present. Still, it might be wise to wait.”
“We would prefer to go as soon as possible.”
“Why Nemoora?” Ivar asked her. “We went to so much trouble getting out.”
“There’s nowhere else to go in Br’niss.”
“What will you do there?”
“Buy passage anywhere else.”
“Well... safe passage to you,” Ivar bid her.
“And you.”
“How charming,” the alien remarked. “If you two would enjoy private quarters, that is easily arranged.”
Cinnea said swiftly, “Not necessary, Baron.”
“I’d most definitely enjoy it,” Ivar answered for himself, and then added to Cinnea, “We could accept, just in case you change your mind. Time’s short.”
“Long or short, I’m not interested.”
Ivar shrugged off the expected defeat and addressed the Baron. “When will the Jir come for us?”
“I’ll set a location on the moon’s surface for the transfer. The time is up to them, but I imagine it will not be more than half a rotation from now.”