This Day All Gods Die

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  “If I have to,” he promised quietly, “I’ll reduce the whole damn tree to kindling.”

  Koina replied with a smile of her own—a smooth, bland, professional expression, immaculate and meaningless. “You’re kind to warn me.” She kept her voice low. “May I ask you a question?”

  Fane let her see his teeth. “Of course.”

  “I’m curious. How old are you?”

  He closed his mouth. His eyes widened slightly, as if she’d suggested an insult. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Her smile brightened. “Nothing at all. As I say, it’s mere curiosity. I was wondering whether CEO Fasner has shared any of his medical longevity with you.”

  She meant, How long do you think he’ll keep you alive? What do you really think you’re worth to him?

  The FEA appeared to understand her. He met her gaze without blinking. “As it happens, Director Hannish, I’m in exceptionally good health.”

  “I’m so glad.” Behind her professional mask, she was secretly pleased—and relieved—that she could still hold her own despite her fear. “There’s already too much death in the air.”

  She didn’t think he would heed her own warning. But his scowl showed that he’d heard it.

  While she’d been speaking to Cleatus, President Len had at last made his way to the dais and picked up his ceremonial mace—what Hashi called his “cudgel.” Now he began to bang it on the podium.

  “Order, please.” He hefted the mace as if he might need it to ward off blows. “This is an emergency session of the Governing Council for Earth and Space. Come to order, please.”

  The tense exchanges of the Members and their aides were stilled almost immediately. Worry throbbed across the silence.

  “You all know why we’re here.” Len sounded weary to the point of exhaustion; reluctant; beaten. His stance behind the podium seemed oddly vulnerable. Neither his personality nor his experience fitted him to lead the Council in a time of war. “You’ve been listening to the downlink. But if you’re as scared as I am”—he sighed—“you may find the whole crisis a little confusing. Just to get us started, I’ll ask UMCPPR Director Koina Hannish to explain it. She may know something we don’t.”

  He turned to Koina, gestured her toward the podium. “Director Hannish?”

  She stood so that she could see faces better; but she didn’t leave her place; didn’t waste time trying to dissociate herself from Cleatus Fane. She hadn’t expected Abrim to call on her. Nevertheless she was ready—at least for this.

  “Thank you, Mr. President. For the moment I have nothing to tell you that you haven’t already heard. In the interest of clarity, however, I’ll summarize the situation.

  “Because of the incursion of an Amnion warship into our space, Warden Dios has invoked the War Powers provisions of the UMCP charter. The alien vessel is a Behemoth-class defensive named Calm Horizons. As you’ve heard, she out-powers and outguns any of our ships. Only the recently commissioned battlewagon Sledgehammer comes close. More to the point, however, is the fact that she’s armed with super-light proton cannon.

  “That cannon is aimed at us.

  “Director Dios has ordered a cordon of our ships to close around Calm Horizons. Already it’s strong enough to ensure that the Amnioni dies if she fires on us. Soon it’ll be strong enough to contain the damage we may suffer.”

  “What does that mean, Director Hannish?” Sen Abdullah interrupted rudely. He strove to convey command; but his voice had an unpleasant whine which made him sound petulant.

  “In twelve hours,” Koina answered firmly, “Sledgehammer will come into range. Then our cordon will have enough firepower to protect everything except Suka Bator and UMCPHQ.

  “Unfortunately”—she permitted herself a small shrug—“unlike matter cannon, a super-light proton beam isn’t hindered or weakened by atmosphere.” And atmosphere was the island’s only defense. “Calm Horizons can hit Suka Bator directly and often. She simply cannot be killed quickly enough to save us.

  “For that reason,” she finished as if she were offering her audience hope, “and because we have no way of knowing whether the Amnioni will hold fire for twelve more hours, Director Dios has gone aboard Calm Horizons alone in an attempt to negotiate for our survival.”

  At once questions burst at her from the clenched gathering.

  “What does he think that will accomplish?”

  “What does he have to negotiate with?”

  “Why hasn’t that ship opened fire yet?”

  The Members were too alarmed to wait for Abrim to recognize them. And he seemed to lack the will to insist on order.

  “Why aren’t you already shooting at her?”

  The last demand came from Sigurd Carsin. Koina answered it first because it led naturally to the others.

  “Director Dios held fire because Calm Horizons did.”

  This was her job: she’d taken an oath to field questions like this. And it was easier than other things she’d sworn to do; duties she hadn’t tackled yet.

  “It has been obvious from the first,” she explained, “that the Amnioni threatens Suka Bator. As soon as anyone starts shooting, all of us here are dead. But Calm Horizons hasn’t fired. Clearly there’s something she wants—and she wants it more than she wants to damage us.

  “For all we know, she’s here to defect. Or to prevent a defection.” Koina suggested those unlikely possibilities in the hope that they might distract some of the dread around her. “We have many reasons to think the Amnion fear a war.

  “Director Dios has gone to Calm Horizons to find out what the Amnion do want. And, if he can, to discuss ways of satisfying them without compromising our safety in human space, or bringing down unimaginable destruction on our planet—and ourselves.”

  Again Sen Abdullah disdained the courtesy of Waiting for. Len to call on him. “Does your Director Dios think he has the right to make those kinds of decisions?”

  Koina fixed her PR smile tightly in place. “Senior Member Abdullah, you have a terminal. If you wish, you can consult the exact wording of the War Powers provisions. Or you can trust me when I say that Director Dios is doing his sworn duty. Under conditions of war, the UMCP—and the UMCP alone—is responsible for the safety of human space and the survival of humankind.”

  At last the President made an attempt to regain control of the proceedings. “Calm down, Sen, please,” he said pleadingly. “We’re all familiar with your opposition to Director Dios. I promise—you’ll get your chance to speak.” For reasons Koina didn’t understand, Abrim turned a quick glance in Maxim’s direction. “In fact, I’ll recognize you first. When I’m done.

  “Until then, please don’t waste our time finding fault with the UMCP director’s mission aboard Calm Horizons. As Director Hannish says, he’s gone there to keep us alive. No matter what you think of him, you can’t believe he means to harm us with this. No one has ever accused Warden Dios of treason.”

  “Until now,” Abdullah muttered darkly. Instead of continuing, however, he resumed his seat and closed his mouth.

  Len sighed his relief, then nodded to Koina. “Thank you, Director Hannish. I’m sure we’ll have more questions later. For now you’ve summarized the situation admirably.”

  Dismissed, she sat down. Now that she was done, she noticed that her knees were trembling. Nervous sweat ran like skinworms across her ribs and down her spine. Involuntarily she looked over at Cleatus to gauge his reaction.

  He met her gaze and smiled approval.

  At that moment, under the bale of his approbation, Koina Hannish reached a final decision about the meaning of her life. When she realized that her account of events had pleased the Dragon’s chief servant, she became sure of herself: who she was; what she meant to do.

  As she returned his smile, some of her fear slipped from her, and her knees stopped trembling.

  President Len still held his mace, but didn’t swing it. “Members,” he said to the gathering, “let’s begin.�
� A small tremor weakened his voice at first; but it faded as he went along. “Director Hannish has outlined the immediate crisis. It’s time for us to do the work we were elected for.”

  Koina had the impression that he was delivering a speech he’d memorized. Perhaps he feared he wouldn’t be able to hold his thoughts together otherwise.

  “To begin, we must distinguish between the immediate crisis and the general emergency. The immediate crisis is legally, effectively, in Director Dios’ hands. He will deal with Calm Horizons to the best of his abilities. In similar fashion, his station, UMCPHQ, has been covering the planet with preparations for disaster. Earlier we were restricted from leaving this island. You know why. Now there’s nowhere we could go in time to save ourselves.

  “Apart from keeping us alive, however, there’s much that can be done, and is being done, for the people we represent. Population centers are being evacuated. Underground installations of all kinds—geothermal tapping stations, storage facilities and repositories, shielded police and military centers, deep-rock research establishments—have become bunkers. Food and water are being gathered against the aftermath of an attack. Secure communication and distribution networks are being activated. Much of the planet’s weaponry has been directed into space.

  “All this is necessary and admirable. I take it as evidence of Director Dios’ good faith—and foresight.”

  Again the President turned an unexplained look toward Special Counsel Igensard. As he did so, an abrupt movement brought Sixten Vertigus into view behind Maxim. At last the old Senior Member was awake and listening.

  “Nevertheless,” Len continued, “it’s also desperately inadequate. For too long, we’ve believed that if we fought a war it would be”—he gestured toward the ceiling with his mace—“elsewhere. Somewhere out among the stars. Not here. We’ve planned and built and provisioned for a war somewhere else.

  “In that sense, we aren’t ready for the immediate crisis. And there’s nothing UMCPHQ can do to compensate for it.”

  Abrim paused. When he resumed, his voice held a note of coercion, as if he were forcing himself to make assertions which discomfited him; assertions which would produce contention rather than consensus.

  “However, our unreadiness is part of what I call the general emergency. The general emergency concerns the policies, the institutions, and, yes, the personnel which have brought about the immediate crisis. If the immediate crisis is in Director Dios’ hands—as it must be—then the general emergency is in ours. If we aren’t ready for a local war, the responsibility is ours. And if any person, decision, or organization has called down Calm Horizons on our heads, we are again responsible.

  “Those are the issues this session must consider,” Len finished tightly. “I propose to keep you all here until we do consider them.”

  As she listened Koina was momentarily bemused. She hadn’t expected so much lucidity from Abrim. Behind his congenital fear of conflict, he apparently had a good mind. He may even have had a sense of honor. His statement was the opposite of Sen Abdullah’s accusative demands. If a simple majority of the Council could be brought to see the situation as clearly as Abrim did, there was hope: hope of avoiding panic, if nothing else; perhaps hope for one or two intelligent decisions as well.

  Unfortunately Len had promised to let Abdullah speak first.

  Before the President could go on, however, Cleatus interjected, “Mr. President, if I may—?”

  Abrim turned to face Fane and Koina. His eyes were moist with strain and worry. If he’d allowed it, his weak chin might have trembled. Preparing and delivering a lucid opening statement must have been costly for him.

  “Of course, Mr. Fane. We welcome comments from the UMC.” He nodded at Koina. “Or the UMCP.”

  The FEA rose smoothly to his feet. At once everyone in the room shifted to stare at him, some avid for any reprieve the Dragon might devise, others in mistrust or disapproval. Koina herself stared, trying to gauge the depth of his game.

  As he spoke, complex intentions disguised each other in his tone. She thought she heard concern, scorn, humor, reassurance, threats; but she wasn’t sure of any of them. His stiff beard surrounded his mouth with an impenetrable tangle.

  “Mr. President, your summation of the responsibilities of the Council is especially apt. Some of you may be aware that apart from UMCPHQ, the UMC Home Office is the only armed station orbiting Earth. And let me say, by the way, that if they’re needed those arms will surely be used in our defense. The point I wish to make, however, is that HO is armed because Holt Fasner—no one else—sets policy for the UMC. I mean no disrespect when I say that he has always taken the dangers of dealing with the Amnion more seriously than the Council.”

  Koina allowed herself to cock an eyebrow. Under other circumstances she might have asked, Our defense? Who do you mean? Those of us here against Calm Horizons? All humankind? Or do you mean just the UMC?

  “I’m sure what you say is true, Mr. Fane,” Sixten remarked unexpectedly. He didn’t stand; ignored dozens of heads craning to peer at him. His voice was high and thin with age, but he managed to make himself heard clearly. “Are you quite sure that arming HO is consistent with the terms of the UMC charter?”

  At once President Len intervened to deflect the challenge; the insult. “Captain Vertigus, please. I must have order, I recognized Mr. Fane out of courtesy to an interested guest. If you wish to be recognized, I can only assure you that your turn will come. Any Member who wishes to speak will be heard. But this is an emergency session of the Governing Council for Earth and Space, and it will be conducted in good order.”

  “Order.” Sixten flapped his hands dismissively. “Rules. I’m too old for all this, Abrim. By the time you get around to me, I may be dead. You ask him. Ask Mr. Fane if the UMC charter provides for an armed station.”

  Exasperation hunched Abrim’s shoulders. “Captain Vertigus—”

  “I’ll answer, Mr. President,” Cleatus offered without hesitation. “Maybe then we can go on.” He brandished his whiskers to suggest perplexity. “Although why anyone would object to HO’s guns at a time like this is beyond me.”

  Koina could think of a reason. She had no difficulty grasping Sixten’s point. An armed station could defy the law; defy the Council. But she didn’t say anything. The time hadn’t come for her to speak.

  The President sighed. “Perhaps you’re right, Mr. Fane. If you’re willing, please go ahead.”

  Fane bowed from the waist. “Thank you, Mr. President.” Then he pointed his smile at Sixten.

  “Captain Vertigus, the UMC charter neither provides for nor disallows an armed Home Office. You can look it up if you want to. I’ll happily refer you to the relevant subsections.”

  “Don’t bother,” Sixten muttered.

  The FEA shrugged, “In the absence of an explicit restriction,” he concluded, “we have cannon–and shields–because CEO Fasner decided we should.”

  “Are you satisfied, Captain?” Len made no attempt to conceal his vexation.

  “Satisfied?” Sixten’s voice cracked; perhaps deliberately. “Of course not. But I’ll shut up anyway. Maybe you’ll be kind enough to wake me when it’s my turn.”

  With another bow, Cleatus seated himself.

  On impulse Koina leaned toward him and whispered, “I take it you think the government should be turned over to CEO Fasner?” She kept her voice too low to be overheard.

  Fane’s eyes flashed. “We’re staring down the guns of an Amnion defensive because your director screwed up,” he replied softly. “But he won’t face the problem—or the consequences. He refuses to talk to his boss. Instead he’s aboard Calm Horizons making decisions for the whole human race. Who knows what he’s giving away to keep us alive—or cover up his mistakes? And there’s nothing the Council can do about it. He can hide behind those War Powers provisions until we all dry up and wither away.

  “Don’t you think it’s time someone with a few brains and a sense of responsibility too
k charge?”

  Koina met his gaze and smiled like sugar. “Personally, Mr. Fane, I would vote for you.”

  As soon as she saw his disconcerted frown, she turned her attention back to the dais and President Len. There were times, she thought, when being a woman—and being what others called beautiful—gave her a significant advantage. Which was fine, as far as it went; but she needed more.

  She needed leverage. Without it the things she’d been ordered to say might give Holt Fasner just the excuse he was waiting for; an excuse to take direct control of the UMCP.

  Then he would be the only effective power in human space.

  Nothing has changed. Go ahead.

  Fervently she prayed that Warden had taken steps to prevent such a disaster.

  President Len had made his opening statement. Apparently he had no more to say. “If we’re quite done with interruptions,” he announced now, “it’s time to address the issues of this session. I’m not going to limit the discussion in any way, except to preserve order. I hope, however, that you’ll restrict yourselves to the subjects I’ve outlined. If you don’t, I’ll accept motions from the floor to cut you off.

  “To begin, I recognize the Senior Member of the Eastern Union, Sen Abdullah.”

  Carefully Abrim set his mace down on the podium as if he were disavowing responsibility. Then he retreated to a seat at the back of the dais.

  At once Abdullah surged to his feet. “Mr. President,” he half-shouted. “Members!” He may have been trying to camouflage his habitual whine with volume. “I was not the first to use the word ‘treason’ in this room, but I can promise you I won’t be the last. It must be said now, and it must be said often. Treason! Warden Dios has committed treason against the GCES, treason against the planet Earth, treason against all humankind.

  “By the rules of order, I yield the floor to Special Counsel Maxim Igensard.”

  Len steepled one hand over his eyes. Slowly he nodded.