The Renegade

by P. M. Johnson

  “The Grenn have a great gift no other species can claim,” replied Beth. “Only you can hear Songs of the Stars and the Making Songs. Only you perceive the melodies of the planets and other great celestial bodies. But is it not possible that, though you hear the notes, you misunderstand their meaning?”

  Beth’s question caused Skogg to rumble a deep note of irritation. His interpretation of the Making Songs was not open to challenge, especially by one without the ability to hear them.

  “Listen closely, Humani,” said the old Grenn. “Everything in the universe, from a gently fluttering borboletura to the booming of Permidian devouring a star, exudes vibrations. Together these vibrations, these notes, feed into songs. They flow throughout existence, telling those with the gift to hear the stories of what is, was, and will be.”

  “I have heard such a song,” said Beth. “Beautiful notes as solar winds passed through the upper reaches of a planet’s magnetic shield.”

  “Yes,” said Skogg, “a form of the Planet Song. Each one is different. Each one tells its story. But there are many other songs telling many other stories. Other species can, with the aid of technology, discern an approximation of the songs, but they cannot hear them in their pure form. Only the Grenn have this ability. Only the Grenn can understand their meaning. And only the Grenn know of the doom that approaches.”

  Beth looked at Agrom, who was slowly shaking his head.

  “Though you have excluded me from the songs, I remember them well,” said Agrom as he drew has open palm toward his breast. “I know there are many eddies, pools, and currents. You are wrong to think it all flows to one place. There may be a great precipice of doom ahead, but other channels could go around to still waters beyond.”

  “There are no other channels!” roared Skogg, his open palm zig-zagging then closing in a fist. “I permit you to be here because you are the son of my niece, but I will not tolerate insolence!”

  “Elder Skogg,” said Beth, seeking to reduce tensions and open the conversation to others present. “Members of the Grennafalum, Agrom and I have come here to ask the Grenn to reenter the fight. A battle will soon be fought on the planet Agurru. You know of this place for long ago the Grenn stabilized its core in order to construct large generators there which now power a network of khâls connecting many of the Trade Federation’s inner planets.”

  “That was long ago, indeed,” said Skogg. “We were thralls to the Alamani in those times. We did their bidding. We no longer serve any master.”

  “That is true. Now you are free to choose your own path,” replied Beth. “There are reports that the Sahiradin fleet has appeared at the farthest reaches of Agurru’s system. Those ships are making their way toward the planet. Their fleet is massive. The army within the ships’ hulls is beyond counting. And though the fortifications protecting the generators on Agurru are strong, they would be much stronger if the Grenn stood behind them. The great battle of this war is upon us, honored Elders. Its outcome will determine the victor. Earth is committed to the fight and is sending as many troops as possible. Will the Grenn do the same? Will the Grenn commit themselves to this one final fight? Will you stand shoulder to shoulder with the warriors of the Alliance?”

  Skogg grunted in disapproval. “I am not unaware of what happens on your distant planet, Consul Styles. You overstate the Humani’s commitment. There is much dissention among your leaders.”

  “We are committed to the fight, Elder Skogg,” said Beth sternly. “You can count on us.”

  “I also know the planet Agurru,” said Skogg, ignoring Style’s point. “Its defenses are strong, but they are not strong enough to withstand the Sahiradin. None are. You are new to this war, Humani, but you must understand that the Alliance has always placed too much faith in fortresses and guns. Hiding behind them is symbolic of the fear that grips all Lycians’ hearts. As for the Sahiradin fleet, if it is approaching Agurru from such a great distance, the defenders have much time to prepare. That tells me it is a trick, a feint designed to focus the Alliance’s attention on Agurru while the Sahiradin attack someplace else.”

  “Perhaps, but they do so without Khadiem and her Kaiytáva,” said Agrom. He swept his large hand across the air in front of him. “She and the Kisch are still at odds. This is a great opportunity to smash their forces and end this war.”

  “Your information is old, nephew,” sneered Agrom. “The Kisch has relented and Khadiem will soon sit on the throne under the Sacred Mountain. The Sahiradin are unifying again under one ruler, and a fierce ruler at that.”

  “This changes nothing,” said Beth, though the news of Khadiem’s impending rise to the throne sent a jolt of fear through her. All the more reason to get the Grenn back in the fight, she thought. “And as for other systems which may be at risk, each one is well protected with drones and local defense forces. Even if Khadiem sends Havoc using the Apollo Stone, there’s little she can do. Agurru is our chance to strike a decisive blow against the Sahiradin, one that will fling them back under their mountain for ten generations or more.”

  “Oh, ho, ho!” laughed Skogg, mockingly. “Ten generations, eh? That must seem to be a very long time for a Humani, deaf as you are to the universe’s mysteries, but it is merely a few notes in the Making Songs.”

  “Elder Skogg,” said Woldmeer, annoyed by his levity, “You have stated your opposition to rejoining the Alliance. Let others have their say.”

  “And what do others have to say? Hmm?” he looked around at the other Elders. Several nodded their heads and gestured with their hands, signs of their agreement with Skogg’s position. Others hung their heads and looked away. He turned his eyes to Woldmeer, a satisfied look on his face.

  Woldmeer held Skogg’s gaze for a few moments then addressed the Grennafalum. “As Elder Skogg said, we have heard the Making Songs and yes, many contain troubling, discordant notes. We love all of the universe’s music. It’s continuous motion and undulating energy reveals the beauty and uniqueness of all things. Sadly, only the Grenn can detect the music, and this has made us prideful, even foolish.”

  Seeing Skogg’s disapproving frown, she said, “It is true, Elder Skogg. We conceal our vanity by declaring that we alone are the champions of nature and protectors of its balanced tension. But this is the source of our conceit. We are not unlike other Lycians and their own beliefs in their innate superiority.”

  “Your words drift this way and that like a lazy, winding river,” growled Skogg. “Speak plainly, Woldmeer. Out with it!”

  She looked once more at the other Elders, whose faces were all turned toward her. “Part of our arrogance is rooted in our reluctance to interfere with the normal processes of nature. We no longer assist other species in modifying the environments of their home worlds or colonies. We no longer force unsettled worlds to undergo the radical transformations necessary to support new Lycian settlements. We Grenn have decided such transformations do too much injury to the life forms on those worlds, simple as they may be, and we refuse to favor Lycians over indigenous life. This resonates with our most treasured principles and aligns our spirits with the Songs that only we can hear.”

  Skogg shifted on his stone bench and rumbled impatiently, but Woldmeer would not be distracted.

  “However, as strong as these principles are, we take them too far when we fail to resist the Sahiradin hordes. Yes, war injures our spirits, but you take these injuries much too far, uncle.”

  Skogg began to speak but Woldmeer raised her voice to cut him off.

  “Just like the fish, bird, and tree, we are creatures of the universe, a product of its infinite mysteries. And just like those animals and plants, we also have a right to defend ourselves against attack. We are empowered to protect the threads that lead to future generations of Grenn, though you say there will be none. Like my son, Agrom, I reject your interpretation of the Songs. I hear the same notes as you, and I see the coming darkness, the ending of our age, but just as there is much that we can see, there is much more tha
t is hidden from us. I still have hope for a peaceful future and so should we all.”

  “The Songs have never been wrong,” replied Skogg. “Never.”

  “That does not mean they are complete,” insisted Woldmeer. “You say we were once thralls to the Alamani. Are we now thralls to the Songs? Do we not have free will? Can we not add our own notes to influence the Songs?”

  “Do you hear this madness?” asked Skogg of the other Elders. “We cannot change the Songs! Our own notes are nothing. They are mere drops in a vast sea.”

  “Resistance to aggression is deeply woven into the universe’s balance, Skogg,” countered Woldmeer, her voice rising with long-suppressed passion. “The Songs are filled with phrases and notes declaring the righteousness of such struggles.”

  “War destroys our spirits, Woldmeer!” shouted Skogg. “The Grenn may struggle to survive against the natural forces on the planets we call home, but that does not include murder in any form. War is murder. It scars our spirits.”

  “It does, Skogg,” admitted Woldmeer. “But those scars are a beautiful testimony to our resilience.”

  Skogg sliced the air with his hand. “We have heard enough of your madness, Woldmeer! This audience is at an end.” Looking at Beth, he said, “Consul Styles, go now so the Grennafalum may decide how to respond to your request for assistance.”

  “No,” said Woldmeer. She stood and walked over to stand next to her son, Agrom. “Let all see who among us has the will to fight for ourselves and our future.”

  “No, Woldmeer. They must go.”

  “There are no more words to be said, Skogg. I insist that they stay and watch.”

  Skogg rumbled an angry note then shouted, “You task my patience, Woldmeer! You task me!” Looking at the other Elders, Skogg said, “The daughter of my brother, who fell to a Sahiradin blade, insists that we decide now. Very well. Who favors rejoining the Alliance and sending our young to be slaughtered on Agurru?”

  “How dare you state the question so!” said Woldmeer. Looking at the other Elders, she said, “Who favors standing alongside our fellow Lycians and new Humani allies to defeat the Sahiradin menace so future generations may live in peace?”

  With an angry grunt, Skogg stood and walked toward a stone bowl in the center of the dais. In his hands were flat stones, one white and the other black. He raised his hand above the bowl and dropped the black stone into it then returned to his seat. After a few moment’s consideration, four Elders added their own black stones. Woldmeer scowled upon seeing the stones in the bowl then stepped forward and angrily threw a white one in. Only one other Elder, an older female, followed her example.

  “There!” said Skogg in a voice that was both angry and triumphant. “We have decided. There will be no Grenn army on Agurru. Let the madness of war fall on the heads of others.”

  Later, as Woldmeer guided her son and Beth from the Song Hall, she said, “I regret we were unable to sway the Grennafalum. Skogg’s influence is great, and he has long believed this war to be unwinnable. Ever since my father, Burogg, died in the war, Skogg has been working against our continued support. One by one, he convinced other Elders to side with him until he was emboldened to withdraw from the Alliance completely. I had thought that, perhaps, some of the others might be swayed by your request, but as you saw, they dare not defy Skogg.

  “Maybe you can continue to talk to the other Elders,” suggested Beth. “We can try again.”

  Woldmeer shook her head. “No. The Grennafalum had already voted to formally withdraw from the Alliance. It was put to a second vote only because the Humani had joined the fight. The decision is final. All hope for Grenn assistance is dead.”

  They reached the large doors to the courtyard and watched as rain came down in great sheets. The treetops rolled in great circles as powerful swirling winds drove dark clouds across the sky. Lightning flashed, thunder boomed.

  Skogg appeared and joined the group where they stood. “You are no doubt disheartened by our decision, Consul Styles,” he said, though his voice lacked sympathy. “I invite you to stay in the Song Hall, at least until the storm passes.”

  Beth looked at Agrom, whose features were stoic, defiant. Then she looked at Skogg, who stood triumphantly with his hands clenched into fists and resting on his hips.

  “No thank you,” she said. “We’re not afraid to face the storm.”

  She nodded appreciatively toward Woldmeer then she and Agrom walked down the stone steps and into the wind and the rain.

  Chapter 23

  Tin is soft and pliable,

  And copper easy to shape.

  Each has value when taken alone,

  But neither king from pauper will make.

  Put them together, add fire, air, and hot coal,

  See now, emerging from white flames, Bronze, hard Bronze,

  Metal of gods, artist’s dream, taker of souls.

  - Anonymous. “Hard Bronze”.

  “You look beautiful as always,” said Cap as he slipped his left arm around Lena’s waist. “Tell me what your heart desires and I will give it to you. Anything.”

  They had left the noisy club, having celebrated Cap’s discharge from the nearby hospital, and were walking down a broad avenue in the heart of Liberty. Behind them was Union Square where floodlights pointed skyward, illuminating the soaring obelisk of The People in Victory, a memorial to the victims of the Nine Tyrants constructed during the early days following Malcom Weller’s rise to power. It was one of many such monuments built to mark a break with the Tyrants and to fill people’s hearts with a new sense of achievement and optimism.

  Lena looked at Cap and smiled. She smoothed her long auburn hair and gathered it over her shoulder. Kissing him first on the cheek, she said, “Anything my heart desires? Hmm…that’s a tough question. Do I only get one thing or can I ask for as many as I like?”

  “One wish. Don’t get greedy.”

  Lena looked down the street and observed the clusters of people walking here and there. The storefronts were dark and the restaurants and clubs were closing down. For all of their promises of better things to come, the Septemberists still contended with the same fuel and power supply issues that had plagued the Guardians and the PRA. To their credit, they lifted the restrictions after the Guardians fled. Yet, it soon became apparent that production could not meet demand and many of the old gasoline and electricity conservation rules were brought back. Still, curfews had been removed and internal travel visas abolished. People were much freer to go where they wanted, when they wanted. Of course, with no way to get around except by infrequent and unreliable public transportation, most people still sought entertainment close to home.

  “Okay, just one thing,” said Lena. “You probably expect me to say peace or protection from the Sahiradin threat, but I wouldn’t wish for that. It’s not practical, and wishing for peace just sets you up for the next tyrant to weasel or bully his way into power. Conflict is the normal condition of the human spirit.”

  “Maybe,” said Cap, “but there are peaceful ways of resolving conflict.”

  Lena looked at him and smiled. “When the rules are fair and enforced without bias, yes. But tell me if we’ve ever seen that? After the Impact we had the Tyranny of the Nine, then we had Malcom Weller and the Guardians. Now we’ve got the Septemberists. They all have a dream of how things should be and try to jam it down everybody’s throat.”

  “I’m surprised hear that coming from you,” said Cap. “Do you really think that’s what Attika’s doing?”

  Lena shrugged. “When I first knew her, she was idealistic but also life loving and inspiring. I got caught up in her dreams for a better world. She’s changed, though. I don’t think I would have helped the Attika of today. After her capture and the operation that left her so horribly disfigured, she became hard-hearted. She didn’t care about anything except the success of the revolution and the end of Harken’s rule. I loved and admired Attika before Linsky got his hands on her, but that person’s
gone, replaced by someone I no longer recognize.”

  “I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to recruit you into her inner circle,” said Cap. “You’d be one hell of an asset to her.”

  “Who’s saying she hasn’t?” said Lena, challenging Cap’s assumption with a smile.

  “Nobody,” responded Cap, stumbling over his words. “Not me, that’s for sure.”

  Lena poked him playfully in the ribs. “Better not.” Then she grew more serious. “I wasn’t interested. I’ve had enough of secrets, and intrigue. Give me a straight forward fight any day. That’s what I admire about you.”

  “You admire me?” said Cap in a surprised tone. Lena’s intelligence and skill with a blade had won her the admiration of many, so it seemed strange that she would admire him.

  “Sure. You’re simple and straight forward. People know who you are and where you stand.”

  “Am I being insulted?” he asked playfully, his forehead pulled into furrows. “It kinda feels like I’m being insulted.”

  “Not at all,” she responded as she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You know the difference between what’s right and wrong. And for all your bravado, you always end up choosing to do what’s right. That’s a rare thing these days.”

  “It still feels a little bit like an insult,” said Cap as he watched a street car trundle by. It was rusting at the seams and had only a handful of passengers on board.

  “I’m being serious, Cap. Remember when Tamara captured us and we were walking up those stone steps cut into the cliff? I lost my footing and you leaped forward and kept me from falling.”

  “That was good old fashioned lust. I saw a chance to jump on you and I took it.”

  Lena smiled and raised a hand to her chin. “All right, how about when Logan needed you to take out Buford Dam and flood the surrounding area to block the Southern Union’s army’s advance. You risked your life and your career in order to help Logan and Longmire.”