Genesis

by Lawrence P White

  “What about our manned missions?”

  “The potential for concern is there. I am not unduly worried yet, but that might change. So far, we have simply delayed success, caused a few glitches here and there. We will continue in this manner, causing delay. If your people reach a breakthrough, they will experience failures that send them back to the drawing boards.”

  “Why don’t you help instead? We’re good fighters. Maybe we can help you.”

  “You are terrible fighters,” Ollie scoffed. “You will not be capable of assisting us until you can see beyond your puny national interests and act in a coordinated fashion as one entity.” He paused to see how Greg would respond to his outburst. When Greg nodded, he lifted an eyebrow and peered hard at Greg.

  “I sense the thrust of your efforts here, Greg. I’m warning you that attempts to bring either the An’Atee or Earth into this conflict will only cause the annihilation of your two species. This Fourth Race, should they discover you, and they will if you expand your borders, will devour you. Literally. They are blood-sucking horrors without conscience. What have the An’Atee told you about them?”

  “The An’Atee learned about the existence of this Fourth Race through me. It was not particularly difficult for someone from Earth to discern that the Harbok were on a war footing. Since learning of this Fourth Race, the An’Atee have managed to study one of the Harbok worlds that succumbed. I have pictures, nothing else.”

  “Are they crazy?” Ollie exploded. He looked away from Greg while he caught his breath, then leaned toward Greg and asked as softly as a Harbok could, “What if they’re discovered?”

  “The explorers would not have returned to Ariall in that case. I think you know what that means.”

  Ollie stared at him for a long time without speaking. When he did speak, he said thoughtfully, “Perhaps we have erred. A little more information would have made such a mission unnecessary and would have gone a long way toward cementing the ultimatum we gave you.”

  “Ah, the ultimatum. I was there, Ollie. I’ve studied every word of that ultimatum. Not only is it unfair, it’s provocative.”

  “You were there? So was I,” Ollie beamed. “A successful mission, was it not?” he added proudly.

  “Did it go the way you anticipated?” Greg asked carefully, his curiosity piqued.

  “Not at all. The An’Atee reaction was completely off-scale. The admiral’s planning staff was fired after that mission, reassigned to even less-desirable posts than I now hold, so far off were their predictions. He had to ‘wing it’ as your saying goes. But the result was acceptable. At least I thought it was. The An’Atee seem to be holding to the agreement. Now you tell me they’re exploring again?”

  “Actually, they’re not. Why do you think they’re pulling up stakes here on Earth? And I wouldn’t exactly call it an agreement, Ollie,” Greg stated dryly, but his face had unconsciously lit up with a grin.

  “You seem pleased. Why?”

  “Let’s just say that your planners might have been reading the An’Atee just right. They just hadn’t planned on a wild card.”

  Ollie’s gaze narrowed, the permanent creases on his leathery brow pulling together in a frown. “I sense something here,” he mumbled to himself, though his mumbling resembled a growl more than a whisper. “You say you were there?” he added with suspicion.

  “I was there. I darn near got killed,” he added, running his hands across his healed ribs in memory.

  “Where exactly were you?”

  “In what the An’Atee call ‘Government Center.’ I was in the command center.”

  “Well!” Ollie grinned widely. “Perhaps it was I who nearly killed you. I was assigned the communications room.”

  Greg rolled his eyes as an unexpected chuckle escaped his lips. “You blew me to hell and gone, Ollie,” he laughed tensely. “It’s a small world.”

  “You mean I missed?” Ollie asked in alarm.

  “No, you were dead on. You blew me thirty feet through the air, after first going through an observation window. The communications room no longer existed.”

  Ollie’s grin widened. “Thank you!” he responded jovially, his chest swelling. “It is a small world! But what were you doing there, and what is this wild card you mentioned?”

  “A state secret, Ollie. But your planners were dead on target. They were fired wrongly.”

  Ollie considered Greg’s words, his eyes narrowing again as he looked deeply into Greg’s eyes. “Exactly who are you, Greg Hamilton?”

  “I’m just the man you see. But who knows, maybe this conversation will one day become a small piece of history.”

  “Do not set your sights so high. This meeting will never be what you hope it will be.” He paused to consider, his eyes lifting to the ceiling in thought, then he returned a sharp look to Greg. “I can see where you might have helped the An’Atee, and in so doing you helped us.” Ollie leaned forward to emphasize his next words. “Listen carefully to me. If you want to continue helping, advise them to stick with the ultimatum. It’s the right thing for them. They risk extermination if they do not.”

  “I hear you, Ollie. And after seeing this Fourth Race, I am even more afraid than I was for all of us. Counsel me. Hear me out and tell me where I’m wrong, because I made the same promise to all three races—the Harbok, the An’Atee, and Earth.”

  “Earth knows about this?” Ollie gasped.

  “Calm down, Ollie. I’m from Earth. I made the promise to myself,” he lied. “Can you set your prejudice against the An’Atee aside for a moment?”

  “No. They are weak.”

  “Agreed. By your standards and mine, they will never mount a successful offensive. In fact, they will never even mount a successful defense.”

  “What more need be said?”

  “Lots more needs to be said,” Greg countered. “You said Earthmen are terrible warriors because they cannot see beyond their own national borders. I accuse you Harbok of the same thing. You are losing the war, at least you’re not winning it, and you might yet lose. Agreed?”

  “We are great warriors, Greg. I do not agree.”

  “But you are not winning the war.”

  “We are working on it.”

  “But, Ollie, one of the things that makes a warrior great is that he manages all his resources. You are not doing that.”

  “We’re doing the best we can. Great minds have planned our strategies. Protecting the An’Atee and Earth only drains resources. Are you saying we should stop protecting them?”

  “Please, no! But let’s examine this inability of the An’Atee to fight. You say it’s a weakness, and it is. Not only do you and I agree, they agree. They know that on their own they will succumb to this Fourth Race.”

  “They do?” Ollie asked with lifted eyebrows.

  “Yes, they do, completely and without reservation. Ollie, I hesitate to say this to you of all people, but the An’Atee have become what the Harbok could have become had you not been embroiled in a war for two thousand years. You said you don’t know what it would be like to live without war. Nor do the people of Earth. The An’Atee do, or at least they did. They cherish life, all forms of life, and they reached that plateau precisely because they have not known war. I know this is contrary to your beliefs, but it is not contrary to the beliefs you might hold if your civilization had not been embroiled in war for two thousand years.”

  “Greg, the An’Atee are weak. They need protection.”

  “Ollie, the An’Atee know that the Harbok are protecting them, trying to teach them to fight.”

  “They do?” he replied again, astounded.

  “This conversation is just between us, right?” Greg reminded Ollie.

  “It is, but I’m beginning to think it should not be. I have become privy to information my people do not have. I have a duty, you know.”

  “And I respect that duty. Bear with me for a while. Your argument that the An’Atee are poor fighters is accepted by everyone, including t
hemselves, okay?”

  “Continue.”

  “The lady inside the house, Arlynn, would be the first to admit this to you, face to face.”

  “You made your point. What of it?”

  “What of it? I’ll tell you what of it. On the one hand we have these Harbok who, admittedly, are tremendous warriors, right?”

  “I detect an undertone here, Greg.”

  “You’d better detect an undertone, Ollie, because if you were such great warriors, you wouldn’t be squandering your resources.”

  “We live on nice worlds, but we also live on horrible worlds, stripping them of their resources in an effort to build more ships. We constantly seek better worlds for growing crops. We fight the battles. We make love to create more workers, more warriors, we even protect the weak. What more would you ask of us, Greg?”

  He answered softly, “I’m asking you to manage your resources. You are wasting the greatest resource you have available to you in this war against the Fourth Race.”

  ”Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I heard you. Now hear me. The An’Atee are terrible warriors. But take that out of the discussion for a moment, because Ollie, that’s not the only way to measure a people. It may be your way, but your way is, by your own admittance, skewed as a result of two thousand years of constant warfare. The An’Atee are incredibly smart. They want to help, and they are willing to commit enormous resources to the war effort. What if they provided you with a thousand new ships, or a hundred thousand new ships built to your specifications? What if they provided you with genetically enhanced crops that you could grow with one-tenth the number of farmers, and what if they provided transportation for these crops, weapons, and everything else you need transported. Wouldn’t that free up many, many more of your people to man your ships and be great warriors?”

  “It’s not fair, Greg. We do all the fighting while they get the easy part.”

  “Is the goal to win the war or to be heroes who die trying?” Greg stated bluntly.

  Ollie covered his face with his hands, probably wishing Greg would disappear. Greg waited patiently, something he had learned during his time with the An’Atee.

  Ollie lowered his hands and reached for his glass of wine, holding the glass up to the light and delicately swirling the contents before sipping a cup or so. “Ah, it’s nice to sit here and speculate, is it not?” he said looking up to the light again as he swirled the glass. “If only the real world were so simple.”

  Greg left his glass on the table. “How so, Ollie?”

  Ollie turned his gaze back to Greg and set his glass down with finality. “We’ve come full circle. I grant you superior marks for your argument—the An’Atee now have a different flavor in my mind. Who knows, I might even be able to appreciate them someday . . . ” He stopped talking until Greg looked directly into his eyes before completing his thought. “ . . . if the Oort don’t get them first.” He took another sip of his wine. “Good wine, is it not?” he added with a sorrowful shrug.

  “Do not shrug me off, Ollie,” Greg warned.

  “There is more to you than meets the eye, Greg Hamilton. I like you. I’m glad I met Nancy and Jim, and now you. This conversation will continue someday, perhaps, but it is only between us. Nothing has changed. The An’Atee are weak, they need protection from this Fourth Race, so does Earth, and you and I will press on with our jobs. What exactly is your job, anyway?”

  “Put the wine down, Ollie,” Greg demanded. “Too much is at stake here.”

  “I repeat—the An’Atee are weak, they need protection, and nothing has changed.”

  “What if the An’Atee were willing to risk everything, Ollie? What if the An’Atee, knowing they cannot defend themselves, offered to help you. What then?”

  “They are weak. Even if they had something worthwhile to offer, they will not make the offer.”

  “Ollie, hear me. Pay attention to my words. I make the offer to you on their behalf.”

  “Prove it.”

  “If I prove it, will you work with me? Will you help me convince your people, your leaders?”

  “It will not happen. Even if it did, who am I to convince the Lor? He doesn’t even know I exist.”

  “He knows someone commands the contingent here on Earth. The question is not who you are, but who I am, Ollie. I need access to your King.”

  “Just who are you, Greg Hamilton, that you seek access to Lor Tas’val in your own name?” Ollie asked again, aghast.

  Greg guessed that Tas’val was Ollie’s king. Without belaboring he point, which would detract from the point he was trying to make, he demanded, “Answer the question. If I bring proof to you of the An’Atee’s value, will you help me?”

  Ollie paused, deep in thought, before asking, “Do you wonder why I, a man from an advanced civilization, walk around with a stick for a leg?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. Surely you have prosthetics.”

  Nodding, Ollie said, “Let me tell you a story, Greg.” Ollie looked up to the ceiling for a time, then he brought his gaze back to Greg, though his thoughts were clearly directed inward. “Not too long ago, I had two legs. In fact, it was right after our mission to Ariall during which we delivered our ultimatum to the An’Atee. I was home on leave. To everyone’s surprise, this Fourth Race as you call them, the Oort as they are known in my language, attacked my world. It was a huge jump, measured in light-years from their recent conquests. Contrary to standard military wisdom, they bypassed known strongholds within our realm to attack my world. They used their customary tactics. Once through our protective net, and we had little to slow them down, their attack was destined to succeed. We have never stopped an attack once it reached that stage.

  “Know this, Greg: a single Oort ship is all it takes to savage a world. The Oort seeded my world. There is no other way to describe the process. They dropped millions of their own who, with various means, found ways of attaching themselves to our bodies.

  “Once attached, they become parasites, eating away at our bodies and taking control of our minds, using us for anything they desire until we die. These parasites destroy the person’s mind, leaving behind a functioning body that responds only to their commands.”

  Greg felt bile rising in his throat. “You make our future sound hopeless.”

  “Warriors never admit defeat, Greg. We can’t. But between you and me, I confess that yes, I hold no hope for our futures. These creatures are unbeatable. The more of them we kill, the more of them they produce.”

  He paused with a look of anguish on his leathery face, then said, “My family fell prey to these demons. Once the Oort seed a world, the parasites expand from area to area until they cover the whole planet. They’re fast, and there are too many to stop. Despite my best effort, I watched in horror as first my six-year-old daughter fell, followed shortly thereafter by my wife. My crew rescued me, but not until after I had used my blaster on another Oort. It happened to be attaching itself to my leg at the time. I then used the blaster on my wife and child who were beyond rescue.”

  Ollie refocused his gaze on Greg, a look that was filled with infinite sorrow. Neither of them spoke. Greg watched silently as the look in Ollie’s eyes went from sorrow to anger, then to belligerence. “My stick of a leg is a constant reminder to me that I must do whatever it takes to fight the Oort.”

  Greg stepped down from his high chair and walked around the table, then he reached up and placed both of his hands on Ollie’s shoulders. He squeezed hard, saying, “I’m so, so sorry, Ollie.”

  Ollie shrugged Greg’s hands off. He turned and looked hard into Greg’s eyes, asking, “Are the An’Atee prepared to risk everything, as I have? As we Harbok have? Will they risk enslavement? Will they risk getting their minds sucked dry by these parasites? Will they risk this horror just to assuage their desire to do the right thing? That is what will happen if the Oort discover Ariall. I promise you that.”

  “Their minds get sucked dry?” Greg asked in horror. He made
his way back to his chair and climbed up. When he focused on Ollie again, he said, “On the world we studied that had been taken over by the Oort, the Harbok seemed productive.”

  “The bodies are more productive than before the attack. The Oort force that productivity. Did you see any entertainment? Any laughing or playing? Any outdoor competitions?”

  “Well . . . no.”

  “The only minds at home in the Harbok bodies you saw are the Oort. The captives we’ve studied always die when we remove the Oort. We’ve never figured out why the Oort are so determined to wipe us out, but they pursue us with single-minded intensity.”

  He paused for a moment, then added, “Do the An’Atee know what horror they’re inviting? Will their perfect society condone your quick allegiance to the Harbok in their name? Bring me proof that they do, and I will reconsider. Without proof, I will never accept them on any terms, let alone equal terms. I say this in memory of my family. I have paid dearly for my beliefs.”

  Greg sat numbly for a time, unable to think of anything but the horror Ollie described. When he came to his senses, Ollie was looking at him over the rim of his wine glass. His eyes brimmed as he slowly twirled the wine in the glass.

  “I didn’t know, Ollie. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, now you do, Mr. Greg Hamilton. Will you condemn the An’Atee to this fate so readily?”

  “I can’t answer that. It’s their choice, not mine. Do I have your permission to tell them about what you just described?”

  “By all means. I’m way out of bounds, but they should know. We had good reason for giving them the ultimatum, and we have good reason for persisting in our present course.”

  “Yet you have not given them their due. They are a very, very bright people, Ollie. I’m really torn. They can provide enormous help to you, but as you say, in doing so, are they willing to invite this horror upon themselves? Equally important to me, Ollie, is this: is it fair to keep Earth ignorant while this menace threatens?”

  “We chose the roll of protector, Greg. We’ve been doing it for a long time, and it’s working. Do you want to upset the apple cart, as your saying goes?”