First Salik War 2: The V'Dan

by Jean Johnson

  As soon as it ended, and the crying ex-lieutenant had been strapped onto a gurney and floated off, Jackie accompanied the Empress and her Elite Guards out of the North Embassy Wing and over to the Imperial Wing. Not to visit any private parlors, but because she was going to stand with them on the Imperial Tier of the Inner Court—it was raining too hard outside to bother with a public trial in the Plazas—while Countess Nanu’oc was dealt with under V’Dan law.

  Caning Brad had been judged far more lenient and suitable for his accidental manslaughter than letting him be tried under Imperial law, where even accidental manslaughter ran the risk of the death penalty when it came to the ruling bloodline. Shi’ol . . . deserved what she was about to get, one way or another. Jackie had an idea about that “other.”

  The waiting area was more pleasant than all the fancifully carved and gilded furniture should have suggested. Not that Jackie’s stomach could handle any of the food laid out buffet-style on one of the tables, though she did drink a little juice. Seeing her former crewmate screaming and writhing against his bonds with each hard, precise stroke had spoiled her appetite.

  As far as discipline measures went . . . from the pallid faces of her fellow Terrans, it was going to be a very strong incentive to keep their soldiers in line, enough officers or not. Jackie made a mental note to suggest strongly to the Command Staff that they ensured the regulations insisting on required viewings of corporal punishment have those viewings take place during Basic Training. That way, Terran soldiers would start out knowing exactly what would happen to them. She suspected that, had Brad known in advance, he would have been able to better resist Shi’ol’s temptations leading him down the path of his prejudices to hatred’s own hell.

  Finally, a servant entered and announced that Master of Ceremonies was ready to begin. Coached on where to sit—between Hana’ka and Li’eth, once again at his father’s insistence they not be parted—and where to stand, Jackie joined the queue of red-and-gold-clad bodies. She herself was a sober raven among the scarlet cardinals and gilded parakeets of the Imperial Family. A foreigner in their midst.

  As one of the persons who had been directly harmed alongside the Imperial Prince, she had a right to co-preside over the sentencing. It was one of the few cases in V’Dan caste-segregated culture where someone of even the Fifth Tier could have the right to stand on the Imperial Tier without somehow managing to marry into it or becoming a Consort Imperial.

  To get there, they had to file through the temple-like room with the actual sarcophagus-thing in it. The doorway to the Plazas was sealed shut against the rain, a heavy blast-door arrangement, but the interior was still well lit by that pool of crystal-focused light. Jackie had been instructed not to touch the giant stone block and not to break formation, but while the line of people did not move at a shuffle, she did have enough time to stare at the lettering carved into its ageworn surface.

  Terranglo letters.

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the first line read. That line was the same as the images Rosa had brought back from her visit to the most holy site on all of V’Dan, the Necropolis of Dawn, legendary entry point of the d’aspra of the original V’Dan refugees escaping from the Before World of Earth to this world.

  The Necropolis of Dawn was a vast set of canyons in a semiarid landscape. Most of those valleys had had their waters rerouted because the ravines were filled with niches stuffed with the bones of anyone and everyone who thought they should have their ancestor’s remains carted to the sacred place. But the one point that irrefutably pointed to the legends of the Immortal High One coming from the future had been the exact same lettering carved into the vast archway that V’Dan legend said was the site of the portal between the two worlds, allowing those refugees to literally step from one world to the other somehow.

  Jackie didn’t know if that meant the Immortal had used Grey technology or something else. She did know, because Rosa had showed her several pictures of the Arch of Dawn, that this sarcophagus had a line the archway did not.

  The first of my lives, the last if I must.

  (Legend has it there are bones inside, and that they are those of the body of the Immortal’s first beloved, from the dawn of time itself. Or at least from roughly five thousand years before the d’aspra,) Li’eth murmured in her mind. (Mostly, the inscription—which is written in V’Dan as well, though it does not rhyme in our tongue—was believed to be a ritual the Immortal would undergo every two years to prove her immortality to her followers, by literally stabbing herself in the heart with a knife and dropping dead, only to somehow burst back to life a few moments later.)

  Jackie nodded mentally since she did not want to confuse the somber quality of the moment physically. The Inner Court was crowded, with people on their feet as well as occupying every bench, padded stool, and seat. Even the Terran communications robots had been allowed to attend, so that the Terran government could witness Shi’ol’s sentencing.

  Standing long enough for everyone to be introduced, Jackie sat when Hana’ka gave the little hand signal that said they were allowed to sit, and listened to the opening rituals and protocols of the trial. Like the modern Terran version, the trial was succinct and to the point and not bogged down in procedural chicanery. Accusations were made and evidence presented. Witnesses were brought forth to make brief statements.

  The accused was questioned and attempted to plead she had not meant to endanger any lives. The V’Dan chief prosecutor pointed out how their version of the Laws of Robotics—robots were not allowed by their programming to harm sentient lives through any action, nor to harm those lives through inaction if they could help it—had been deliberately circumvented. Shi’ol tried to protest that she hadn’t thought the robots would shred clothing without those laws being broken, and the prosecutor stated that tests had proved that model of robot was quite capable of doing that while under the coding of those laws.

  When she tried to protest again, Eternal Empress Hana’ka cut in. “Enough. You lie, and you lie again and again in my Court. You deliberately acted to harm an ally of the Empire in wartime. That is treason. Whether or not you meant His Imperial Highness to be a secondary target is immaterial. You attacked his holy partner, and that makes Grand High Ambassador Jacaranda Maq’Enzie a member of the Imperial Tier.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jackie noticed Vi’alla stiffening in her seat on the far side of her mother. Her fingers clenching on the armrests, she sat like a displeased statue. Li’eth’s eldest sister did not like her mother claiming Jackie had the protection of her caste level.

  Too bad. You’re not in charge. Yet. That was a headache for a later moment.

  “The attack on a member of the Imperial Tier was deliberate, even if the Grand High Ambassador is not of the Blood. The damage done by those robots is irrefutable. The evidence linking Shi’ol Nanuoc, 373rd Countess S’Arrocan, to all of these crimes is undeniable. The only thing left is to sentence her. V’Daania, how do you vote?”

  “Death,” Balei’in stated from his seat to the far right. “The Book of the Immortal states that one should not permit a sinjit to make its nest in even the most remote corner of the grounds of the Temple of Eternity. Never mind within its actual walls.”

  Jackie almost laughed inappropriately, for in that exact same moment, she had spotted the face of a certain Dr. To-mi Kuna’mi. She clenched her fingers around her own carved and gilded armrests, stomach muscles tensing against that urge, to keep her expression calm.

  “Death,” Te-los declared flatly from his position on the far left. “Her schemes injured my son and nearly killed his future wife.”

  “Death,” the next-eldest sister, Mah’nami, said. She spoke from her seat between her youngest brother and their eldest sister. “The evidence adds up flawlessly. Her intentions are clear.”

  “Death,” Li’eth stated grimly. “She served under me as one of my officers. She betrayed the trust impli
cit in that.”

  “Death,” Vi’alla said. “She has shamed the blood of her ancestors.”

  It was her turn to pronounce judgment. “I have a different punishment in mind. A far more cruel one.”

  That made every member of the family V’Daania twist and crane in their seats to look at Jackie. Empress Hana’ka blinked and frowned, but said, “Go on.”

  “Her actions are undeniable. Countess Shi’ol Nanu’oc deliberately sabotaged the safety programming of those robots so that they would destroy any source of the DNA they were ordered to seek out and rend. Not just the evidence shed onto my clothing, my carpets, my bedding, but my own body. But it is her motive I speak of punishing, not her actions,” Jackie explained. “Death is too gentle. Too swift. It teaches her nothing.

  “I’ll admit even we Terrans admit that death as a punishment for certain crimes can serve a purpose. It is like cutting out a cancerous growth when that cancer resists treatment,” she continued. “No matter how far medicine progresses, sometimes all you can do is remove an infected or excessively injured limb to save the rest of the patient. But in this case, Shi’ol would get off far too easily if her life was ended now.

  “The Psi League trains its telepaths, its mind-speakers, in all manner of techniques,” Jackie explained. “One of those is something we call a mind-block. It is the act of a highly skilled telepath deliberately going into someone’s head and altering how their thought processes work. It is not done lightly, but my government has agreed that this situation does warrant its legal use. As the person most directly harmed by her deliberate, murderous attacks, as her intended target . . . I advocate the right to go into Shi’ol Nanu’oc’s mind and remove her ability to see the jungen marks, of which she is so proud. Including her own.”

  Her words stirred a rustle of murmurs and whispers and questions throughout the Court. Vi’alla found her voice first. “. . . What kind of punishment is that?”

  “One which even you could learn from, Your Highness. Shi’ol has consistently considered herself superior because of her spots,” Jackie explained, looking past Vi’alla to her frowning mother. “She—and most V’Dan—have consistently considered we Terrans to be inferior because of our lack thereof. Including some very insulting remarks made by not only one of the medical professionals called in to tend my wounds in the aftermath of Shi’ol’s deliberately plotted attack, but made by some of the Elite Guards who were supposed to be guarding us in the highest of respect.

  “We Terrans will no longer put up with any disrespect over the matter of our lack of jungen,” Jackie asserted, leaning forward in her seat to pin the whole audience with her glare. “My government has therefore authorized me to lay the following ultimatum upon the negotiation table: We demand the right to place mind-blocks upon any V’Dan from this point forward who continues to insult our sovereign and separate citizens as though we were markless V’Dan juveniles instead of treating us with the respect of the Terran adults we are.”

  “How dare you make that demand!” Vi’alla snapped. “Who do you think you are?”

  “Premiere Callan?” Jackie called out.

  The screens on the tops of the robot towers shifted from a view of the sea of faces lining the Council Hall, to a close-up of Augustus Callan in his long white sleeveless robe and a somber black suit. Black like the one Jackie wore.

  “Grand High Ambassador Jacaranda MacKenzie is correct,” he stated in flawless V’Dan. Apparently he had been practicing it, perhaps with the aid of Ambassador Ah’nan. “Despite the gracious efforts of the Eternal Empress to see for herself how damaging that consistent disrespect has been, and despite her many commands that our people be given the respect we are due . . . the people of the V’Dan Empire do not take the people of the Terran United Planets seriously.

  “You desperately want our toys to help you win your war,” he added grimly, “but you refuse to ‘play nicely’ with us. We have not once asked to be exalted above any V’Dan citizen. We have simply asked to be treated as your equals. Yet you have not bothered as a nation. Our kindness, compassion, and generosity can only extend so far in the face of such repeated insults, discrimination, and blatant disrespect.

  “If mere words cannot imprint this problem upon your minds and make you watch your ways and your words, if polite requests and even the most royal of commands cannot get you to treat us as your equals, with the full respect due any sort of ally regardless of their appearance . . . then the only resort we have left is to insist that every person—aliens as well as V’Dan—who wishes to benefit from our technologies be subjected to a mind-block,” Callan stated firmly. “This mind-block will remove the subject’s awareness of the very jungen marks that are causing your blatant, repeated, ongoing prejudices against those of us who—rightfully and naturally—have none.”

  This time, it was Hana’ka who clenched her fingers on the armrests of her throne. Whatever it was made from, it looked like a sort of giant, reddish-pink, hollowed-out pearl grown in the shape of a slightly overgrown, somewhat egg-shaped chair. Enough generations had clutched those armrests, wearing the nacreous material into the grooves cupping her fingers when she gripped it.

  “. . . And if we demand other options?” Her Eternal Majesty finally asked.

  Callan’s reply fell flatly from the tri-part screens and speakers. “This is not a discussion, Eternity. It is not open to negotiation. If you want access to our technology, you and your people, and the entirety of the Alliance, will comply with our right to demand mind-blocks be placed upon anyone who attempts to interact in repeatedly disrespectful ways with our sovereign citizens. If you agree, those who refuse to comply will have only two choices. Compliance or incarceration. At your expense.

  “If your nation refuses to accept and comply with our ultimatum, we will give you exactly what you deserve for your ongoing, free-willed disrespect. Nothing,” he stated coldly, his deep voice echoing the word against the hard stone walls and vaulted ceiling of the Inner Court. “Make up your mind, Empress. Our patience is at an end.”

  “You say this will affect the citizens of the other races,” Hana’ka stated. She pointed into the First Tier audience at the aliens seated in the foremost rows. “The Solaricans, the Tlassians, and the rest. I cannot make a unilateral decision for their sovereign governments!”

  “According to the Charter of the Alliance itself, as researched by my predecessor, Honorable Assistant Ambassador Rosa McCrary,” Callan countered, “in cases where a ruling will affect all member states of the Alliance, the head of a particular state government may elect to make that ruling in the name of all member states, provided the ruling benefits all member citizens equally in whatever manner their citizens will be affected. You do have that right and that power . . . and whatever your answer is, it will affect the Alliance as a whole. Either positively, or advers—”

  Sirens blared, loudly enough that most everyone clamped body parts over their auditory organs. They cut off after only a few seconds and were followed by a firm, neutral, female voice announcing. “This is an Emergency Evacuation Alert. Incoming enemy attack. This is an Emergency Evactuation Alert. All personnel will evacuate to the emergency shelters immediately.”

  Hidden strips of lights exploded into life, pulsing in shades of green and white toward doorways on either side of the Inner Court. The Terran tri-part screens flashed, and a markless face from on board what could only be one of the Embassy ships filled the screens. “Ambassador! Dozens of Salik missiles are headed straight for the Winter Palace!”

  Startled screams accompanied a rush of hundreds of bodies bolting for those halls. Jackie snapped her gaze up at the ceiling, at the single layer of ceiling between her and those missiles, thinking hard and fast.

  “Everyone, evacuate!” Hana’ka snapped, even as the Elite raced to grab her family and hustle them away. “Get the defense grids online!”

  Jackie whipped around to fac
e her. Somewhere outside, the shields snapped on, humming and crackling loudly enough to penetrate the stone ceiling and walls of the Inner Court. But it wouldn’t be enough, she was dead certain of that. “Kill the positioning signals!”

  “—What?”

  “The global positioning signals! Kill them,” Jackie ordered. “I can save this city, but not if those missiles have your own positioning system still active!”

  “You heard the Ambassador!” Hana’ka yelled at her generals, who quickly grabbed for their personal comm units. “Get that system down!”

  “Li’eth, Balei’in, Te-los! I need you—I need every psychic and priest, now!” Jackie hollered, projecting her voice through the hall. Her voice, and her thoughts. (To-mi, I need you! Your people need you!)

  The markless, ageless woman was coming back from the corridor most people had taken in their escape route. She came dragging two priest-robed, protesting bodies by their arms. A few more trailed uncertainly, fearfully in her wake. (On our way.)

  Heracles bounded up the steps, already grasping what Jackie had in mind. (I’ll go OOB to get the exact visuals ready—I have a very broad range, and an ability to view two or three places at once, so be prepared for a little bit of disorientation,) he broadcast to everyone still in the hall. Even the Elite Guards gasped and fumbled midway through hustling the Empress out of the ancient throne room. (Jackie, remember to shove the illusion past that temple-thing behind you! Everyone else, get your assets up here and concentrate on giving your power to the Ambassador!)

  “Te-los!” Hana’ka called out, struggling against the Guards. Both her husband and her two sons were ignoring the Guards’ attempts to get them to leave—Li’eth was in fact holding them off telekinetically.