by David Adams
“You’re very smart. I get that.”
“Yes,” Rowe said. “Between my genius and your ability to inject me with things, we make a great team.”
Saeed looked away. “I’m just concerned—”
“You’re concerned for me. I get it.” Rowe shook her head then brushed her hair out of her eyes. Stupid hair. She would not miss it. “Well… listen to this. I played a lot of D&D as a college kid. Right? In one game I ran, the party raided a goblin encampment. They killed them all, because goblins are always evil. But I added a twist: hidden amongst the bodies was a goblin child. Alive. One who was heavily messed up, having just witnessed the murder of her parents by the party. It survived because its parents had given it a ring of regeneration. That meant it was almost invulnerable. Chop off a hand; it grows a new one. The party picked her up as spoils of war and sold her to the local noble lord. Since her meat grew back, the guy’s butcher could keep cutting bits out of her for soup, flay her skin over and over again to make goblin-skin leather armour, and any time they or their dogs got hungry, well… goblin meat, fresh off the bone. Sure, the girl still felt pain, she still suffered, but goblins are always evil, so it’s okay.”
“In this analogy, are you an evil goblin who deserves to be sold to a butcher and flayed alive?”
“No, worse. I’m an engineer. It’s in my nature to experiment. To explore, personally, the limits of technology. If it can be built, it should be built. Because I’m awesome. And if someone less awesome than me tries, and fucks it up, then probably no one will try again. And this is just too fucking wicked sick to pass up.” She grinned eagerly. “Plus, you know, immortality.”
“Immortality or death.”
She considered then finally rolled her shoulders. “Isn’t that the bet we all make?”
“We all die. But not today. Not in ten minutes. Not even in ten years. Summer, you’re still very young…”
“I don’t fear death,” she said.
“Then you will die brave.”
“If,” Rowe said, waggling a finger.
He wouldn’t do it. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t. But then, suddenly, Rowe felt the prick of the needle against the back of her head. Then, with a brief flash of light that seemed to come from within her head instead of some other, external place, everything went away. And it was replaced by something much bigger, exciting, and terrifying.
Dining Area
Primary Detention Centre
Minimum Security
New Evarel
Liao had asked for dinner, but when she saw the huge table—nearly twenty metres long and absolutely brimming with exotic dishes—she couldn’t help but suspect that some part of her request had been misunderstood.
The smell of the food was rich and intoxicating, especially after months of the green slime served at Zar’krun. She recognised absolutely none of it: strips of meat arranged in a spiral and bathed in a golden fluid alongside fruits, nuts, and leafy salads laid out on metal trays and dozens of tiny cakes, each topped with a strange blue square fruit. There were bowls of jellies, blocks of baked goods topped with bright-orange sprinkles, glasses and vials full of multi-coloured liquids, some of which glowed. The centrepiece was a whole fish on a rotating spike, spinning slowly over a burning flame, which smelt divine. It wasn’t dinner. It was a feast.
[”The accommodations here,”] Kest said, holding the door open behind her, [”are better than at Zar’krun.”]
There was no way she could refute that. The only thing out of place was the guards, or lack thereof. The only Toralii in the room was Kest.
One by one, the rest of the prisoners filed into the room. O’Hill sported a nasty new scar across the side of his face. Shaba looked none the worse for wear after her little jaunt in space. Foley was there, too, his body swathed in bright-green bandages marked with red splotches.
Although almost half their number had gotten out on the Igniter, four of the marines, including Foley, had been captured. All said and done, their merry band was down to merely nineteen. The crew of the Warsong had given their lives for a failed rescue attempt. She had no idea how best to mourn them. That was a problem for the future.
Everyone took their seats, with Foley and the rest of the marines jostling for what they, seemingly arbitrarily, decided were the best places. O’Hill sat next to her on one side, and Kest sat down on the other. A second or two after everyone got settled, a half-meter section of the table lifted out, forming a raised platform.
“Food,” Foley said, from the other side of O’Hill, shovelling two handfuls of steaming meat onto his section of the table. “Fuck’n eat up, boys.” Almost as though remembering, he looked at her. “Uhh, with your permission, ma’am.”
“Please,” Liao said. “Eat.”
Nobody needed to be asked twice. A brief scramble ensued as everyone snatched up handfuls of food. The closest thing to her was a tray full of fruit. She picked up a pair of blue melon-looking things and put them on her plate. The only one who didn’t eat was O’Hill. His head was bowed in prayer.
She wasn’t religious—not even a little bit—but she had to commend his dedication. The food was mouth-wateringly delicious, but O’Hill still waited and asked God if it was okay before he too tucked in.
“I didn’t know you were a Christian,” Liao said, touching the melon experimentally. It felt soft, like a cantaloupe with no hard rind, so she broke a bit off with her fingers. It was a lighter blue on the inside.
“All my life,” O’Hill said, examining her curiously. “You sound surprised. You know most Americans are religious, right?”
“I’m not,” Foley said.
O’Hill laughed. “Hey, that’s fine, buddy. As long as you’re not a Democrat, I think we’ll be okay.”
Foley seemed amused at that. “Oh boy, a red-voting Christ botherer. Yeah, this is going to be swell. Typical Army.”
“A jarhead voting Democrat.” O’Hill stuffed a large hunk of meat into his mouth. “Marines. My Arse Rides In Navy Equipment Sir.”
Everyone was all smiles, but things could turn ugly soon. Liao nibbled on the fruit. “Politics, branch of service, and religion? Maybe that’s the Toralii plan—get us in here, too fat to move and too busy fighting amongst ourselves to try and escape. I should sit between you two.”
Kest was listening in. He leaned over the table, sticking his fingers into a square of jelly and bringing it to his mouth. [“What is a Republican?”]
Both O’Hill and Foley started talking at once, each slightly too loud, as though trying to out-do the other. Liao put up her hand.
“O’Hill and Foley are Americans. Americans employ a system of government called democracy. The idea that the people choose their leaders, every four years or so. Democrats and Republicans are two of the potential choices.”
[“That seems… inefficient.”]
“It’s not without its advantages,” Liao said. “They have a new influx of leadership which is neither too quick to prevent any medium-term planning, but also too slow to make chaos.”]
[“Spoken diplomatically. Does China use a similar system?”]
She smiled. “No. Democracy is not culturally compatible with traditional Chinese philosophy; one of the primary motivations of which is to preserve social harmony.” She pointed to O’Hill and Foley in turn. “Which is why I’d rather these two don’t discuss it. We tend to look unfavourably upon anyone who attempts to deliberately widen the cracks in our nation’s fabric. We know they are there; why bother exploiting them? The election process that takes place in modern liberal democracy functions in direct opposition to this goal. During election campaigns, on both sides, the optics of a nation are focused on the most highly charged emotional and political issues rather than pragmatic matters of governance. Everyone only wants to talk about controversial issues. Things like abortion, gay marriage, military engagements in foreign nations, and universal health care are at the forefront of basically every campaign. Each political party is trying to c
onvince the people, based almost entirely on rhetoric and emotion, that they are most capable of handling these issues; people vote based on their emotions and rarely, in truth, make practical, level-headed decisions about who to elect. Not facts.”
Kest listened intently, nodding occasionally. [“Toralii think the same. At least, the Telvan Toralii. We do not choose our leaders by voting; they are determined by completion of Leadership Schools. We train them from birth and acknowledge that the most experienced, most qualified should lead.”]
“Who chooses which children get to go to Leadership School?” Liao asked.
[“A specially built computer does so. It selects candidates based on genetic markers carried by famous and successful leaders, along with whatever personality traits it can determine at that age.”]
She blinked. “A computer chooses your leaders? Based on their DNA?”
[“It is a system which works well for us. It is not perfect, nor is the system of the Toralii Alliance. Theirs is a most simple system: the strongest rule. The greatest generals, warriors, strategists… everything is based on merit. Perhaps too strictly, one might say.”]
Rule by the sword was the oldest system known to man. “Sometimes that works, but victories do not always make one popular. Winston Churchill lost the 1945 election just two months after winning the war. Sometimes you succeed, and people hate you for it.”
[“Their system is not perfect, nor ours, but… neither is your system of elections.”]
“It’s not my system,” Liao said.
[“A valid point, well made.”] Kest bowed his head in apology. [“How does China choose?”]
She paused to consider her answer. Because we won the civil war, didn’t seem to have the… right ring to it. “Another motivation in Chinese culture is to benefit the common good, which includes self-sacrifice when necessary, and working to better others. Democracy, by its very nature, is based upon the self-interest of each voter. Regardless of how they ultimately vote, consciously or subconsciously, everyone chooses an official that benefits them and promotes their interests. Whoever wins typically ends up serving the interests of their constituents, because if they do not, they will not be re-elected. By comparison, the people of China typically accept, more or less, that the collective good of the people as a whole is under-represented in a democracy, which instead reflects majoritarianism.”
[“That doesn’t answer the question,”] Kest said. He was a better listener than Liao gave him credit for.
“Because,” said Liao, flatly, “our government won the civil war.”
[“Government by force of arms. I see.”]
O’Hill wiped his mouth. “We Americans, on the other hand, simply believe that the people deserve to choose who that person is. Americans suffered under the boot-heel of the British until, finally, they had enough. We did not want to trade a king for a king, so we implemented a system where the people elect representatives who speak for them. While those representatives do serve those who elected them, there are so many that, ultimately, each meeting of Congress is dealing with our country in miniature. We are a people who are free.”
Kest considered this, tapping his chin with a claw. [“How will your species govern themselves in the future?”]
Liao did not have a good answer for that. “We… haven’t sorted out the details yet. Our people function, currently, under military rule, but that should change. Must change. Eventually. I think everyone here on this table agrees with that.”
A round of nods travelled around the table.
Kest shifted on his seat, folding his tail into lap. [“Well, I hope you succeed.”]
Liao smiled a half smile, a fairly large chunk of her appetite evaporating. The discussion took it out of her. “Thank you.”
They all ate. Liao had to maintain the dignified posture of an officer, as did Shaba, and O’Hill managed to control himself, but the enlisted personnel and warrant officers ate with gusto.
“You guys eat like this all the time?” Shaba asked, for about the tenth time. “Holy shit.”
“Like I said,” Foley said, both hands on his gut. “Not a bit. They fed us crap, green sludge, but now… New Evarel rocks.”
Liao, however, found her eyes being drawn to O’Hill. “You didn’t eat much.”
O’Hill folded his hands behind his head. “Aye, ma’am.”
She found the terseness in his voice difficult to place. “You didn’t like it?”
“Loved it, ma’am,” O’Hill said. “The meat at least. What I had of it. Best meal I’ve ever eaten.”
“Christian rules against gluttony, I assume?”
“That,” O’Hill said, “but mostly, more pragmatic concerns. Captain, not all Hindus bathed in the river Ganges because, before the Toralii boiled it away, it used to be really polluted. Religion doesn’t make me crazy. I know when I’m walking into a trap.”
Liao was grateful Kest was politely pretending he wasn’t overhearing. “Trap?”
“Nothing’s free.” O’Hill swept a hand across the dining hall. “The kitty-cats either think you gave them something or that you’re about to. The fleet tried to bust us out. Before they did, they were burning us, feeding us green shit. Captain… you don’t give a dog treats when it shits on the carpet.”
Kest touched his ear momentarily, listening to something Liao couldn’t hear. Then he stood up and slowly made his way over to Liao. [“Captain Liao, may I have a word in private?”]
CHAPTER VIII
The Great Filter
*****
New Evarel Detention Centre
KEST, WALKING FASTER THAN NORMAL and with purpose, led her out of the dining room full of delicious food and overfed Humans. He took her far into the complex, onto a gravity lift that ascended enough levels that her ears popped.
As much as she wanted to stay with the rest of her people, Liao wasn’t really in a position to decline the… request. She and Kest stood in silence as the gravity lift rose. Up and up and up and up.
Eventually, the silence became uncomfortable. “Where are we going?” she asked, cupping her prosthetic hand in her fleshy one.
[“To the communications room.”] His tone was terse, angry, even, and O’Hill’s comments might certainly have had something to do with it. [“Level eighty-nine. The very top floor.”]
“O’Hill is just being cautious. You shouldn’t take what he says—”
[“His comments do not concern me.”]
Taken at face value, Kest’s mood had nothing to do with his comments and everything to do with the communication he had received. Which was the cause? It didn’t matter. Soon she would find out.
The gravity lift slowed and stopped. The doors opened. A holographic display took up the three other walls of the room, lit up to reveal the inky void of space. The air had a distinct chill.
Kest marched inside, walking right up to the middle of the room. [“In,”] he said over his shoulder.
“Kest, talk to me.” Liao stepped into the room. The screens reacted to her presence; the display shimmered, and wherever she looked, the resolution decreased. Censored. She was looking at classified information. “What’s wrong? What’s all this about?”
[“It is the will of my superiors,”] Kest said, bitterness creeping into every word, [“that I show you something.”] He turned to the walls. [“Machine. On my authority, remove the excising from this display for all lifeforms in this room.”]
Suddenly the image became much clearer. The stars came into focus, and to her left was the Milky Way, a band of sparkling that stretched across the darkness. Kest jabbed a finger at a blue ball at the centre of the screen, seemingly the focal area.
“What’s that?”
[“This world is 116, Subsection 194, Planet 5. A simple watery planet, much like your own. An aquatic species live on this world. We have studied them, learnt their languages. Their technology level approaches voidwarp levels; we have detected the characteristic radiation that indicates they are close to de
veloping what you would term jump drive.”]
Liao’s spine tingled. The Toralii only took interest in a species, and their technology, when they created voidwarp. Then… they sent a message.
“Don’t,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “You don’t have to do this. There are other ways—”
[“Closer.”]
The walls flickered, and the image of the blue planet disappeared, replaced by an enhanced one. A huge floating pyramid, kilometres wide, was a dot on the unending oceans. It swarmed with creatures similar to octopodes, with bulbous heads and many tentacles. Their faces were turned upwards, looking at their ship.
[“We are low enough in orbit that they have seen us. They bombard us with radio transmissions, flashes of coloured light. They are trying to signal us.”]
Then their technology in some areas exceeded Humans’. Her species had not seen the Toralii until they’d fired.
The faces. So many faces. The weird, alien creatures shared minimal resemblance to Humans, but even she could see the fear on their faces. “You do not have to destroy them.”
Kest tapped his fingers against his thigh. [“I do, and I can explain why. Captain, I have read many files recovered from your species, as part of my training with the Archeological and Xenological Society. There was one that struck me as interesting. An article on the Fermi Paradox.”]
“I don’t know what that is.”
No doubt amused by lecturing her on her own people, Kest smiled slightly. [“It is an interesting exercise in knowledge. Your species understands that space is vast. Almost unimaginably so. Do you remember the Earth trees we discussed, Captain Liao? Of how numerous were the stars in the sky? Well, the Fermi Paradox asks a simple question. If there are so many stars, and those stars have planets, and those planets might support life… where is everyone? Where is the life?