by Natalie Grey
“What is the matter?” Grisor asked him. He liked Qarwit. Always respectful, Qarwit did not behave as if the others were mere steps on his rise to power. It was rare to see him question any of Grisor’s decisions; what questions he asked were phrased respectfully, and never seemed designed to show off his intellect.
Unlike some Grisor could name.
“Excellency, I have concerns,” Qarwit said finally. He kept his voice neutral. “I have not mentioned this before because I know it is not in your nature to be careless.” He paused. “I am torn, you see, between my trust in your capabilities and what I see in Captain Jeltor.”
Grisor considered this but said nothing.
“I worry that the captain’s conversion is not complete,” Qarwit continued. He was vibrating with tension now, unsure whether Grisor’s silence was a good sign or a bad one. “He acted nobly and without hesitation to save you when the human attacked. I reviewed the holo logs. I hope that was not forbidden. I did clear it with—”
“I knew you had requested to see them.” Grisor had been curious, but with so many things to oversee, he had not worried about such a request from a trusted member of the Committee. “You did so to seek evidence for your suspicions?”
“To see if my worries were well-founded,” Qarwit said. “Jeltor’s actions favored you. At the beginning of the fight, he had no doubts at all about his loyalty. The scientists did a commendable job.”
Grisor felt a surge of annoyance. The scientists were long dead, and one of his personal guards had overseen Jeltor’s conversion. He had not shared news of the infiltrated laboratory with the rest of the Committee, however, fearing that it would make him look weak.
So he only nodded, pushing away a stab of worry. These ideas had been conceived decades ago, and years of work were now threatened because the Committee had become known earlier than expected. Huword’s death and the interference in Jeltor’s conversion were complications that could doom Grisor’s plans.
He could only hope now that they were not the first in a cascade of complications.
The Committee had to find a way to get the Jotun fleet to Kordinev before other species knew what was going on, and Jeltor was integral to that plan. They could not afford to be unable to use him.
No, Grisor reminded himself, what they could not afford would be to pin their plan on Jeltor and have him fail them. He should listen to Qarwit’s concerns and adjust accordingly.
“It is simply that he has seemed less than devoted in recent days,” Qarwit said. “When I reviewed the video and saw the human appealing to his past loyalties. I fear that those words have taken root in Jeltor’s mind, so we should be very cautious before trusting him with any more of our plan.”
Grisor nodded quietly and sighed. Qarwit was right to be worried, and he had chosen a private venue to air his worries rather than sowing seeds of doubt in the others. It had been well done; he could hardly fault Qarwit.
But to be so close, to have so little time to implement the plan, only to be held up by such a concern—
“Nothing ever stays done,” he stated bitterly. In dawning horror, he added, “What if all of those who have been converted are vulnerable?”
“They may be,” Qarwit replied after a moment.
Grisor gave him an annoyed look.
“It will change our plan,” Qarwit assured him, “but surely it will not stop us. We will simply need those who are converted to be subtle and stealthy. We will need to make sure they are regularly brought in to have their conversion strengthened, and we will need to expand as quickly as we can on any occupied planets.”
“Is that all?” Grisor asked bitterly.
“Better these problems,” Qarwit replied, “than the ones that come from whole species failing to acknowledge our place as their rightful leaders.”
Grisor had to admit that he had a point. “In most cases,” he said drily, “sentience was a mistake.”
“A test, perhaps,” Qarwit countered with a gleam of a smile. “For us, I mean. For the rest...we will simply guide them. Help them.”
Both of the Jotun males stared at one another for a moment, then Grisor laughed.
“You don’t care in the slightest about helping them.”
“Not at all,” Qarwit agreed. “But it makes it more palatable to the rest of our people, doesn’t it?”
Grisor sighed and nodded. “It does. It does. I wish they had more resolve.”
“The world is often not as we wish it to be,” Qarwit observed. “From the cold seas of Jotuna, we built our society. Perhaps from these trials, too, something greater will emerge.”
Grisor fluttered with pleasure. “You speak truly. Now, let us go speak with Jeltor. Together, you and I can determine if he is to be trusted with this new part of our plan.”
“Yes, Excellency.” Qarwit followed him out of the room and past the other two senators, who murmured vaguely in annoyance when Grisor left them behind.
Grisor did not care. They had demanded to see the new phases of the Committee’s plan but had not been helping with implementation. Qarwit, however, had been running many departments of their makeshift headquarters, and he was doing so with quiet efficiency.
He deserved to be here.
In the rooms beyond, they found Jeltor. He had been housed in what appeared to be a very light, airy set of chambers. There were multiple pools for him to sleep and relax in, and there was a great deal of light filtering through the windows.
The place was highly secure for all its comfort. Grisor had taken precautions, even though he had been sure of Jeltor’s conversion. The glass could not be broken except by extreme, repeated applications of force. Jeltor could not break out without the guards having ample time to get to him, nor could anyone break in easily.
“Jeltor,” he called heartily. “How are you today?”
“Stir-crazy,” Jeltor answered without preamble. “I want to be doing something, not...” He looked around. “Not being told to relax.”
“Ah, I do beg your pardon,” Grisor said. “Given the injuries the human inflicted, the doctors thought it best that you not be put under strain.”
Jeltor gave a little snort to show what he thought of this. “My suit repaired me quickly, and I did not need very much recovery time.”
“In truth,” Grisor admitted, “I felt guilty. I had not intended for you to be involved. Seeing such an ugly side to your friend—”
“He is not my friend,” Jeltor stated flatly. “He wishes to destroy the Committee. He would see us removed from our rightful place in the universe. He believes in petty freedoms above stability and order.”
Grisor nodded. He did not look at Qarwit as he went to sit, but he left a silence and hoped that Qarwit would know it was an opportunity.
Qarwit took the opening without hesitation. “It must have been a shock. He had previously been a good friend to you. You thought you could trust him.”
Jeltor laughed bitterly. “One can never trust Barnabas. He cares only for himself.”
“Not his petty freedoms?” Qarwit probed.
“Fighting for those petty freedoms makes him a hero,” Jeltor stated dismissively. “He likes being a hero. He wants everyone to worship him. He cannot understand fighting for one’s species.” He paced to the window. “It is because of him,” he said finally, “that I am here. Not because I needed to rest.” He swung around to look at them. “That’s it, isn’t it? You worry that because we once worked together, you cannot trust me.”
Grisor said nothing.
“How can I argue?” Jeltor asked quietly. “I attacked Biset. I fought against you all. I have no right to ask for your trust.”
“Do you want our trust?” Qarwit asked.
Jeltor had gone still, and his voice alone betrayed the depth of his feeling as he said, “I want to serve your purpose. For that, I need your trust, and yet I know it is a risk. Perhaps it will always be too much of a risk. If so, I will abide by that.”
Qarwit stared
at him for a long moment, then looked at Grisor. He gave a faint nod. He trusted Jeltor.
“Actually,” Grisor interjected, “we have a task for you.”
“A real task?”
“A real task. As you say, you were once Barnabas’ ally. We would be fools not to verify your new allegiance—but now we have. And you saved my life, Jeltor.” Grisor kept his voice level. It was true that Jeltor had saved him, and he did not like that memory. He had come closer to death than he’d bargained for.
Jeltor nodded. “I did what I had to, Excellency. Only what any of us would do to save you and your work.”
“I thank you, Jeltor. What I need now is for you to help us make new allies. I need you to get in contact with someone for me; someone who can help us achieve everything we have worked so hard for.”
Jeltor considered this. “Who?” he asked finally.
“Admiral Jeqwar,” Grisor told him. “She suspects that you are loyal to us, and winning her over will not be easy, but— What is it?”
Jeltor shook his head. “It is nothing. Go on.”
“Why don’t you come with us,” Qarwit suggested. “We will show you the plans.”
“You did what?” Barnabas gave an incredulous laugh. “You said the bots had all been destroyed!”
“I thought they had been,” Shinigami replied. “But I had programmed one of them to go to sleep directly after getting into the suit. The suit didn’t detect it, so it didn’t get zapped.”
“Until just now.”
“Well, yes. It powered up in stages, and when its location tracking turned on, the suit detected it and fried it.”
“What came online before that?”
“Audio.” Shinigami leaned against the wall carelessly, ankles crossed. For a moment, she looked almost evasive. “Then video, which was nothing because it was in the inside a freaking biosuit. Then basic diagnostics, and then a location ping. Honestly, I’m surprised we got as far as we did.”
“Did Jeltor notice?” Barnabas asked urgently.
“I would think so,” Shinigami said. “But I don’t think they would realize that we got the signal. The suit zapped it very quickly. If the bot hadn’t been made by us, it wouldn’t have managed to ping anyone quickly enough.”
“Are they still on Jotuna D?”
“Yes, but in another complex. Grisor must own more than one. I can lay in a course and get us there soon. We should be able to get in without the satellites knowing. I embedded a protocol in one of them to tell me when they were updated. They made some changes, all right, but nothing I can’t get around.”
“Shinigami, you’re a genius.” Barnabas gave her a grin. “Oh, and…did you hear anything interesting?”
Shinigami might be an AI, but she couldn’t lie worth a damn. She was so concerned about keeping her face blank that she forgot how guilty someone looked when they had no expression at all.
“Nope.” Her voice was clipped and strange.
Barnabas gave her a look. “Shinigami?”
She sighed. “Look. Jeltor is brainwashed right now, okay? I didn’t get any details on what they’re planning. Let’s just move past this, all right?”
“Shinigami.”
She gave him a worried look, but she must have realized he wasn’t going to bend because she gave another sigh and cued something up on the audio system.
“I did not need very much recovery time,” said Jeltor’s voice.
“In truth, I felt guilty.” Barnabas recognized Grisor’s snide tones. “I had not intended for you to be involved. Seeing such an ugly side to your friend—”
“He is not my friend,” Jeltor said flatly. “He wishes to destroy the Committee. He would see us removed from our rightful place in the universe. He believes in petty freedoms above stability and order.”
After a pause, a new voice said: “It must have been a shock. He had previously been a good friend to you. You thought you could trust him.”
“One can never trust Barnabas,” Jeltor replied. “He cares only for himself.”
“Not his petty freedoms?” the new voice asked.
“Fighting for those petty freedoms makes him a hero,” Jeltor said dismissively. “He likes being a hero. He wants everyone to worship him. He cannot understand fighting for one’s species.”
“That’s enough,” Barnabas said quietly. He swallowed as the audio was turned off. They were all looking at him—Gar, Tafa, Gilwar, Shinigami. They were looking at him with pity.
He knew the words weren’t real. They were a product of the brainwashing Jeltor had endured. Still, they cut to the heart of what he was. “He likes being a hero.”
“You said you’d laid in a course?” he asked Shinigami.
“Yes.” She made a small sound as if clearing her throat.
“Good. I’ll...” He saw the uselessness of making any excuse. They knew why he was going. He gave a brief nod, not meeting their eyes, and left.
“One can never trust Barnabas. He cares only for himself.” He could not escape the words now that they were in his head. Barnabas pressed his lips together, took a deep breath, and went to finish his preparations.
Chapter Five
In a little conference room on the other side of the complex from the main hub, Jeltor was pacing as he stared at the information on the screen.
“What do you think?” Grisor asked finally.
Jeltor said nothing for a long moment. This was a risky plan. The Committee was planning to lure Admiral Jeqwar in by having Jeltor offer to speak to one of her aides to prove his loyalty. When she got there, they would kidnap her and bring her here to be converted.
Every instinct told him that Admiral Jeqwar would be difficult to abduct and convert. She was famously strong-willed, and he had learned that the original scientists who’d developed the program were dead, with only partial notes left behind. This certainly wasn’t an ideal setup for a quick turnaround.
On the other hand, she was dangerous, since she knew what the Committee was up to and she had the support of her generals. Even if they did not convert her, they would rob the Navy of one of its greatest assets.
“She will know it’s a trap,” Jeltor mused slowly. “She’s not stupid. She’ll know that we’re trying to—”
“Help her,” Senator Qarwit emphasized. His voice was gentle, but there was an edge to it.
He was the one, Jeltor knew, who was doubting the conversion.
And he wasn’t wrong to do so. Barnabas’ words had haunted Jeltor. He had put himself in danger specifically for Jeltor. He had known where the laboratory was, and he had not just destroyed it but had gone inside to try to keep Jeltor safe.
It wasn’t that Jeltor felt any loyalty to Barnabas. No, that was gone—wasn’t it?—and in its place was the overwhelming rush of devotion that came over him when he thought of Grisor. It was the sweetest thing Jeltor had ever felt. It was intoxicating; he could not get enough of it.
But why would someone come to save him when he did not want to be saved? None of Barnabas’ actions suggested that he’d meant Jeltor harm. In fact, they suggested that Barnabas was risking significant harm to himself in order to…
Well, Jeltor didn’t know, that was the thing. He didn’t understand.
When he’d spat those words about Barnabas caring for petty freedoms over his own species, when he’d said that Barnabas wanted to be a hero, it had all been true—in a sense. But what did it mean to believe so much in little freedoms that he would come to “save” Jeltor at great cost to himself? What did it mean that he wanted to save aliens as well as his own kind?
Jeltor had seen heroism in many wars. Usually, those who wanted to be heroes turned and ran when they got their first taste of real battle. The fact that Barnabas hadn’t, that he had been willing to pick up a torch and walk into the darkness, said something about him that wasn’t all bad.
He didn’t want to be called a hero. He wanted to be a hero.
“Jeltor?” Grisor’s voice broke into his r
everie. “Did you hear the senator?”
Jeltor was annoyed but struggled not to show it. “Yes, Excellency.” It was easy to be polite to Grisor. He felt a rush of happiness when he did so. And so, because Grisor would want him to, he gave a respectful nod to Senator Qarwit. “My apologies, senator. It is not that I doubt what we do for Admiral Jeqwar, simply that I think we can all agree she will fight us. If she would simply come here of her own accord for conversion, you would not have made this plan.”
Qarwit relaxed slightly. “That is true.”
“What we need to do,” Jeltor continued, “is make her think she can win me back to her side.”
He felt a strange thrill at that idea. Was such a thing even possible? Since his conversion, he was not upset by what had happened. He understood that not long ago he had believed one thing, and now he believed another. They had needed to put him in a tank to make him understand the right way to think, because he had not understood on his own. He was ashamed of that.
He liked the way things were now. He felt happy whenever he thought of Senator Grisor. He felt happy when he did things that would please the senator. He remembered the time before as one of confusion and worry. He had worked willingly with aliens, which was clearly something that should not have happened.
Other species were not as good as the Jotuns. This was simply a fact.
Or was it? He was confused. He didn’t like being confused. He thought about Grisor and felt calmer at once.
“Are you all right, Jeltor?” Grisor asked quietly.
Grisor was paying attention to him. Jeltor felt a rush of giddiness.
“I don’t want to speak to her,” he replied. It seemed very true when he said it, but it was also a lie. For some reason, he did want to speak to her, even though he was afraid she might bring him back to the way things had been.
Even though he wasn’t sure “afraid” was the right word for how he was feeling.
Grisor and Qarwit exchanged looks.