"Join me now," she said to the ministers. "Fight them! Better to die with the truth in our hearts than live with a lie on our tongues!"
Realizing that the situation was about to fly out of control, Swift looked to J'Tull. He expected a silent acknowledgement that they were about to be embroiled in a struggle…but instead, she looked away.
When he followed her gaze, he saw that things were indeed about to change…but not in the way that had seemed inevitable a second ago.
At the sight of the familiar figures crossing the chamber, Swift felt rejuvenated.
Before the regent could spur the ministers into action, he clapped a hand onto her red-furred shoulder. "Wait!" he said as she spun around to face him. "You want the truth? Here it comes."
As Mariko Nakamura wove her way through the surrounding Mazeesh, followed by Altis, Uvo, Oric, and Giza, Swift wondered if she indeed bore the truth he needed. From looking at her, he couldn't tell if her mission had been successful; the gag covering her mouth prevented her from even flashing him a smile.
But he supposed that if she hadn't accomplished her task, she wouldn't have left the underground garden so soon.
"Glad you could make it," he said with a grin as she drew up beside him.
Mariko typed on her multiterpreter's keyboard. "I came by teleporter," said the device's synthesized voice. "They beamed up Zeke, too. He's in surgery."
"Thank you," said Swift, relieved at the news…and then he turned back to the Vox. "Guess what," he said. "Your people have historical records after all."
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Regent Ieria.
"Your records are kept in the form of scent signals in a secret garden," said Swift. "A garden tended by lexicons."
"I've never heard of it," said the regent.
"It exists, all right," said Swift. "For centuries, the lexicons have stored your history there…and now Mariko has tapped into it." He glanced at Mariko, and she gave him a quick nod of confirmation. "She has brought back the story of the first coming of the Mazeesh, as told and recorded by the Vox people themselves."
"Not possible," said the regent. "The spoken word is our only record of the past."
"As masters of the spoken word, we lexicons recognized it was not enough," said Oric. "We started the garden to document our own persecution, to ensure that it would not be forgotten or revised."
"What do these supposed records say?" said a dark-furred minister.
"We'll let you hear for yourselves," said Swift.
"We also have samples of the original scent signals," Mariko said through her multiterpreter, typing in text that was converted to a synthesized male voice. "With your advanced sense of smell, you'll be able to translate them yourselves once you understand the coding."
Impressed with her thoroughness, Swift smiled and nodded at her. "We'll simultaneously translate for the Mazeesh," he said, "so everyone's on the same page."
The regent waved a hand dismissively. "We don't need to hear these records," she said. "We already know what happened."
"Then what can it hurt?" said Swift. "Unless you're in a hurry to sacrifice your lives and finalize the destruction of your planet."
Regent Ieria glared at him. "This is a trick," she said coldly.
"Not yet," said Swift, "but if we manage to pull this one off, it'll be better than pulling a rabbit out of a hat."
*****
Chapter Thirty-Seven
As the Vox leaders listened to the translated account of the first coming of the Mazeesh, Swift noted that their reactions followed a pattern.
At first, every one of them seemed skeptical and impatient…but as the story progressed, they listened with increasing interest. When the account diverged from their accepted view of history, they grew irritated and muttered to one another; further on, when the tale implicated their species as the true authors of the incident's atrocities, annoyance turned to disbelief and outrage.
But after a while, as the extent of the Vox's crimes was recounted in gruesome detail, they settled into a pensive silence. Some of the ministers looked around at the floating Mazeesh with a combination of fear and regret; others hung their heads and stared at the floor.
Except for the regent. Ieria stood stiffly throughout the playback, the expression on her face a rigid scowl of disgust. If the account affected her in any way other than inspiring revulsion, she showed none of it.
Her resistance would make things difficult, but at least the other ministers seemed to be swayed. By the time Mariko's recording had ended, every leader but Ieria looked as uncomfortable as a reprimanded cadet.
At Swift's urging, Mariko described the technique she'd used to decode the information…but no one asked questions. She offered to let the Vox test the scent samples she'd brought, but no one took her up on it.
Everyone seemed to accept the truth of what they'd heard…except Ieria.
"How ridiculous," she said. "What a sham."
"We've presented you with proof," said Swift, "documented by your own people. I think it speaks for itself."
"You can make that device say whatever you want it to," said the regent.
"But we didn't," said Swift. "You're welcome to go to the garden and examine the original records yourself."
"Anyone could have created those records. We only know when they were created and by whom because the records themselves tell us these things."
"As honored lexicons, Giza and I vouch for the authenticity of the records," said Oric.
Regent Ieria snorted derisively. "As revised, discarded lexicons," she said, "your word is meaningless."
At that moment, the Mazeesh spokesperson caught Swift's attention, floating toward him with a fresh message on the underside of its wings. Raising the Mazeesh-attuned multiterpreter, he scanned the new text with the video pickup.
"Your ship is free to go," read the translation. "You and your people may leave. You have presented the facts fairly, and we are satisfied that you are not complicit in the Vox's crimes."
"Thank you," said Swift, "but we would like to stay. We want to help you resolve this crisis."
The Mazeesh read his words on the wall, then generated a response. "Unnecessary. There is no crisis."
"We would like to help the Vox make amends for their past mistakes," said Swift. "And we would like to help the Mazeesh find an alternative to genocide."
"The Vox are a disease," said the Mazeesh. "Your own findings confirm the atrocities they have committed."
"The Vox are a sentient species," said Swift, "and not one of them who participated in those acts is alive today."
"It must never happen again," said the Mazeesh, "to our species or any other."
"Agreed," said Swift, "but isn't that exactly what will happen if you eradicate the Vox? Isn't the genocide of billions of beings a far greater crime than what they've done…or worse?"
For a long moment, the Mazeesh did not reply. As it hovered there, wings gently undulating, Swift wondered what was going through its mind…if it was leaning toward mercy or cruelty.
Finally, new symbols appeared on its wings. "They must be punished."
"Why not benefit from that punishment," said Swift, "instead of putting the deaths of billions of sentient beings on your conscience?"
The symbols on the Mazeesh's wings shifted. "What do you have in mind?"
Swift stared at the text on the display of the multiterpreter, elated at the breakthrough with the Mazeesh…and uncertain of what his reply should be. Talking his way through the defenses of the Vox and Mazeesh had taken so much effort that he hadn't yet conceived a proposal for compromise.
Somehow, he had to satisfy the Mazeesh's thirst for justice while preserving the existence of the Vox. He had to find something that the Mazeesh needed and the Vox could provide…ideally, something that could lead to a favorable arrangement for both sides.
Unfortunately, he knew little about the Vox's resources and capabilities…and even less about the Mazeesh.
The side that seemed to have the most to offer, in fact, was the Mazeesh…the side that required compensation. If the Mazeesh had superior technology and were more advanced across the board, what could the Vox possibly offer them to stave off extinction?
Swift fought to come up with something, but a plan eluded him. He looked at the Vox, looked at the Mazeesh, and tried to imagine what could possibly bring such disparate species together.
Then, it hit him.
He meant to raise the multiterpreter programmed to process the Mazeesh language, but for an instant, he could not remember which of the two it was. He lifted both devices, one in each hand, and checked the display screens; the one in his right hand featured Mazeesh symbols.
At that moment, he had an idea.
Raising both multiterpreters, he spoke to the Vox and Mazeesh at the same time. "I propose that the Vox work off their debt," he said.
"How gracious of you," snarled Regent Ieria.
Symbols flowed onto the Mazeesh's wings and became words on the multiterpreter's display. "What kind of work?"
"The Mazeesh have no spoken language," said Swift. "This can be a disadvantage in trade and exploration."
"You dare call us disadvantaged?" said the Mazeesh.
"Not at all," said Swift. "Speech is the primary means of communication for most species that we have encountered. Lack of communication can lead to misunderstandings…which can lead to conflict and tragedy.
"Perhaps you can limit these undesirable outcomes," said Swift, "by employing communications specialists on your ships…say, the members of a multilingual,
speech-focused species."
"You're joking!" said the red-furred regent.
The Mazeesh's wings rippled, displaying an array of new symbols. "You suggest we carry murderers on our ships," read the multiterpreter's translation, "and let them speak for us?"
Swift smiled at Lyra, Altis and Uvo. "I have met Vox, such as these young ones," he said, "who are as intelligent, trustworthy, and compassionate as any being you'll meet.
"And what about the lexicons?" said Swift, turning to Oric and Giza. "These linguists not only preserved the secrets their ancestors tried to expunge, but bravely helped bring them to light.
"I think you'll be surprised at how many qualified, good-hearted individuals you'll find on this world," said Swift. "Reason enough not to destroy the species."
A long moment passed before new text appeared on the wings of the Mazeesh. "They have no experience with written language," read the translation. "They will not be able to read our words and translate them into speech."
"The Vox are able to carry on three separate conversations in three different languages at once," said Swift. "I think they'll learn."
There was another pause before the next Mazeesh message. "This isn't enough," said the manta-like being. "There must be admission of guilt. There must be penitence for the suffering they've caused."
"Once you've taught them to read and write," said Swift, "work with them to develop historical records. Ensure that the true story of your people's first coming is available to everyone and never forgotten.
"When all Vox know the truth, there will be plenty of penitence."
"What is to prevent what happened before from happening again?" said the Mazeesh.
"Awareness of the truth," said Swift. "Regret. And you setting an example by extending mercy to those who hurt you instead of continuing the cycle of violence."
Again, the Mazeesh hovered in place for a moment without answering, its unreadable stare providing Swift no clue to its intent. Reviewing the preceding exchange in his mind proved no more illuminating; though Swift had said his piece as persuasively as he could, he had no idea whether he'd won over the Mazeesh.
At last, the creature flashed another message on its wings. "I must consult with my brothers," it said…and then it turned from Swift to face the rest of the assembled Mazeesh. The creatures crowded toward their spokesperson, all of them reared back and presenting messages of their own on the undersides of their spread wings – the equivalent of a spirited group discussion. Swift respected the privacy of their deliberations and didn't scan the text with the multiterpreter.
He almost didn't need a multiterpreter to get the gist of Regent Ieria's next comments, however. As the Mazeesh conferred, she took the opportunity to put her two cents in, using a tone that was unmistakably unfriendly.
"Negotiate all you want," she told Swift. "We'll never give in to these monsters."
"Is that in the best interests of your people?" he said. "Do you think they'd agree that extinction is preferable to cooperation?"
"I speak for all of them," said the regent.
"Do you?" said Swift…and then he stepped around her, bringing himself face to face with the gathering of ministers. "What about you?" he said to them. "You also speak for your people. Do you agree that they would vote for destruction?"
The ministers stood silently, some meeting his gaze…others looking away. None of them shared the regent's hostile, unyielding body language.
"If the Mazeesh accept my proposal," said Swift, "you won't be asked to sacrifice much. If anything, you'll come out ahead. You'll have a written language, access to deep space, access to advanced technology…and if things work out, in the long run, you may end up with some pretty powerful allies.
"What do you think your people would want? All that…or the end of the world?"
Ieria threw herself between Swift and the ministers. "Promises, promises!" she said. "Why would they promise rewards to a species they believe slaughtered their ancestors?
"To get us to surrender quietly! Care to guess how many promises they'll keep after we put down our weapons and get on our knees?"
"Do you really think they care if you surrender?" said Swift. "With the fleet they've got in orbit, they can wipe your planet clean without working up a sweat.
"I'm telling you, if they agree to this deal, they'll honor it. If they don't exterminate you now, when there's nothing stopping them, they won't go back on their promise and do it later."
"They'll never let us live," said Ieria. "They'll need to cover up the truth of what they did to our people…and if by some miracle they really do believe that ridiculous story of theirs, they'll be too afraid of what we might do to them."
"They believe it, all right," said Swift, "but they might be willing to give you a second chance. Why not take it, if your only other option is total annihilation?"
"Because we are the injured party here!" shouted Ieria, shoving her snout in his face. "We are the ones who should receive apologies and reparations!"
"That's a lie," Swift said evenly. "It's time to let go of it."
"The truth doesn't become a lie overnight!" said the regent, rage spilling out of her in a torrent. "It doesn't die on the say-so of strangers! And it never dies at gunpoint!"
Ieria was so uncomfortably close that Swift felt off balance and had the urge to take a step back…but he held his ground. "All right then," he said. "Hold on to your beliefs if you must…but don't let them get in the way of saving your people."
"It's too late for my people."
"You have the power to save them," said Swift. "If you don't use that power, you will be responsible for the destruction of your species…a far greater crime than any that the Vox have been accused of committing in the past. You will dishonor the very truth that you claim to value above all else. You will become as great a monster as any in your history."
"It won't be on my head!" said Ieria. "The same monsters that nearly drove us to extinction three hundred years ago will finish the job!"
"You're sure that's what the people would want?" said Swift. "None of them would choose to live?"
"It doesn't matter! I speak for everyone, living and dead!"
Just then, as the regent's feverish indignation reached new heights, she was interrupted by a clawed finger tapping on her shoulder. Whirling around, she found herself facing a blonde-furred minister with br
own markings.
"Spoke," said the minister.
"Excuse me?" said the regent.
"You spoke for everyone," said the blonde minister. "Past tense."
"What are you talking about?" said the regent.
"You're not fit to lead," said the minister. "We just had a bloodless coup."
"Not…fit?" said the regent, grinding out each word from between clenched teeth.
"The people would choose life," said the minister. "Unanimously."
Ieria snarled and bared her fangs. Swift was sure it would only be a matter of time until she leaped at the minister. "You can't do this," she hissed.
The other ministers stepped forward, presenting a unified front. "Actually, we deserve a thank you," said one with jet-black fur. "Or would you rather we didn't pick a bloodless coup?"
"Traitors!" said Ieria. "Opportunists!"
"Somebody get a gag on her," said the jet-black Vox. "She's about to break some obscenity taboos."
Ieria howled and lunged at the ministers, but several of them grabbed hold of her and wrestled her to the ground. She writhed under their weight, fighting to throw them off, but she was outnumbered.
She was still struggling when the Mazeesh spokesperson glided over to the group. The creature had an array of symbols on its wings, and Swift scanned them into the multiterpreter.
To say the least, he was pleased with the translation.
"Ministers," he said to the Vox leaders. "The Mazeesh agree to the compromise that we discussed. Would you like some time to talk it over?"
"Unnecessary," said the blonde-furred minister. "We are unanimous."
"We accept," said jet-black. "It's a generous offer."
"It's more than we deserve," said the blonde. "But don't tell them I said that."
"I wouldn't dream of it," said Swift, and then he raised the Mazeesh-attuned multiterpreter.
"The Vox accept your terms," he said into the multiterpreter's audio pickup. "With gratitude and humility."
Swelling with pride and relief, he watched the Mazeesh translation flicker onto the Ministry wall, the giant symbols lending his statement the air of a grand proclamation. Seeing them up there, writ large, brought home the fact that he and his crew had succeeded against seemingly insurmountable odds.
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