The Others

by Jay Allan

  But when Akella suggested—gently and diplomatically—that the two sides attempt to negotiate a return of Colossus to Hegemony control, Barron had no doubt whatsoever how he felt.

  “I understand your point of view, Admiral, I truly do, and no doubt I would feel the very same way were I in your shoes.” Barron had been stunned at how charming Akella was, and how calm and reasoned. He’d come to see the Hegemony as brutal conquerors, and while he was still far from forgiveness for all that had happened, he was beginning to see the other side. Bits and pieces, at least. Certainly, the humans living coreward of the Rim had suffered vastly more in the Cataclysm, and as much as he bristled at the idea of another power conquering him ‘for his own good,’ he couldn’t help but understand to an extent what drove the Hegemony and its leaders.

  Still, Akella had devoted enormous amounts of her time to private discussions with him, as well as meetings between the two of them and Chronos. He acknowledged her devotion, but it told him something more, something unintended. Akella was trying to keep him away from the rest of the Council as much as possible. He believed the Hegemony’s Number One was a true believer, that her only concerns were saving humanity from a repeat of the disasters of the past. But Barron didn’t have the slightest doubt many of her colleagues, while playing lip service to such lofty ideals, were simply arrogant and defensive of their prerogatives as highly-ranked Masters.

  “You would very likely feel the same way…and I wonder how you would respond to a request by your, hopefully former, enemies to return the very superweapon they had deployed against you.”

  “I cannot say, Tyler. I will not insult your intelligence with answers drawn from the scripts of diplomacy. What I ask, I ask not because I consider it fair, nor because I am sure I would consent myself, but rather because it is so vitally important to defeat the Others. Though you may not yet fully believe me, that is as crucially important for your own people as for mine. Colossus is a great weapon, the manifestation of pre-fall imperial might. Since it was found, and my people restored it to functional status, it has served as the core of our defensive forces, waiting in silent watch for the Others to return.”

  “And yet, you detached it from that purpose and sent it to the Rim. To fight my people.” Barron had managed to check most of his resentment, but he could hear a bit of it slip out, resurgent in his words.

  “My people are loathe to admit their faults and errors, Tyler, and the Masters above all. I am no exception. The invasion of the Rim could not have occurred without my approval, so I bear the guilt for all that happened. Such action was our way, all we have known, and however many perished in the fighting, understand that orders of magnitude more would have—will—die if the Great Death returns, if we live now, not in a period of recovery as some would believe, but in a mere pause of a far longer decline. I do not make excuses, nor do I ask for pardon, but I beg you to consider that there is much your people do not know, of the galaxy and its history. Can you say, for all your love of independence and your defiant courage, that you are sure your people do not face a continuation of you Cataclysm? Does the Rim and its history over the past two centuries seem like a return to the Pax Imperia, to centuries, no millennia, of peace and prosperity? Your Confederation, barely one hundred years old, has fought, what, four wars with the Union? Your Palatian allies endured a century of enslavement, did they not? And, they used their independence to ensure they were never again conquered…by instead subjugating their neighbors. Indeed, for all the clear camaraderie your warriors exhibited in the recent fighting, my understanding is you yourself fought a bitter conflict with a Palatian vessel. The Rim is torn with strife and plagued by almost constant war. Can you really say to me, Tyler Barron, that your people, not just of the Confederation, but all the humans on the Rim, have truly evolved out of the dark age that followed the imperial fall, that your are not still in that decline, still sinking into barbarism and despair?”

  Akella’s words hit Barron like a club. She’d started by admitting her own people’s faults, and that had disarmed him, tamped down on his angry response. He felt the urge to answer her questions, to state with unwavering certainty that the Rim was indeed rising from the darkness and not descending back into it. But her arguments were cutting, and he had no replies, none that didn’t leave him full of doubts. He was the grandson of the Confederation’s great hero, an officer who had cut his teeth in one war, led his forces to victory in another desperate conflict…and lived to die in a third one. His father had been lost in battle as well, and his own career, as he looked back on it, seemed like nothing so much as a continuation of that trend. He could resent the Hegemony, rage against Akella for allowing her forces to invade his home, but he couldn’t question her intelligence…and now that he’d spent time with her, he couldn’t portray her any longer as a murderous monster bent on conquest. Things were indeed far more complex than he might have imagined, and whatever he felt about the Hegemony as an enemy, he had no difficulty imaging even worse adversaries out there. He retched at the idea of sending Confederation warriors to fight and die to save Hegemony worlds, but the cold shadow standing behind him whispered the same question to him again and again.

  If Akella’s people are destroyed, what will happen to the Rim?

  “It is too much, Akella. I can believe much of what you say, and yet the most recent enemy, and the one who inflicted the worst damage on my people, is still the Hegemony. We can talk of the Cataclysm, of civilization rising and falling, of terrifying enemies approaching. But the only incontrovertible fact I can draw upon is that little more than one year ago, your people were killing mine.” Barron’s words held a firmer line than his thoughts. He’d seen footage of the force Akella called the Others, and while he was well aware such things could be doctored and manufactured outright, his blood had still run cold while he’d watched. He couldn’t prove any of it was accurate, but he believed it was…and that made the walls close in on him. He couldn’t imagine sending the massed Confederation fleets past the Badlands to Hegemony space, to fight alongside their recent enemies. But the idea of simply waiting, of the Confederation leadership burying their heads in the sand, while this new enemy crushed the Hegemony, and then came for the Rim, was no less unthinkable.

  “I can apologize for the invasion if you wish, Tyler, though I would not wish to do so, as you are an intelligent man, and you would know it was not entirely sincere. I am sorry so many were killed, that so much suffering resulted, and I obviously regret the destruction of so much combat power on what turned out to be the eve of the Others’ return. But I will not disrespect you by claiming I do not believe your people would be better off as part of the Hegemony, that I am not convinced we all face an inexorable decline into a dark age thousands of years long if we cannot find away to avoid the mistakes of the past. I do not wish ill to your people, Tyler Barron, quite the contrary, though this may seem a difficult thing to comprehend from your point of view, as one who fought my warriors. As one who lost friends in the war.”

  Barron was struck again by Akella’s apparent reason and her calm assessments. Again, he didn’t agree with everything she said…but he wasn’t sure he quite disagreed either.

  Does it really matter? Even if she convinces you, can you get the Senate to consent to send the bulk of the fleet to Hegemony space…

  “Very well, Akella, you have convinced me of one thing. We must put bad feelings from the war aside, and the vast differences in our cultures and beliefs. Whatever happens with…the Others, as you call them…I would strive for a future of peace between our peoples. Yet, the Hegemony’s basic directive gives you no choice, does it?. If my people, if all the Rim, were to join in your fight, help you defeat the Others, what guarantee do we have that you would not immediately renew your efforts to subjugate us? Your initial reasons would remain, the crusade that has defined the Hegemony since its founding. I have no desire to become one of your Kriegeri warriors, Akella, and I believe I can speak for all of my comrades i
n that regard.”

  “There is no question in my mind, Tyler, no discernible doubt that you would achieve Master status if you submitted to the Test. Indeed, the Rim suffered far less than our own worlds in terms of genetic degradation during the Great Death. Many of your people would place very highly. It is possible, even, that a new Number One would emerge from one of your worlds. If that happened, you would see that I am no hypocrite, when I stepped aside and turned the Hegemony over to a Rimdweller.” She paused. “Excuse me for that tangent. To answer your question more directly, you would have my word, Tyler Barron. If your people aid us, there will be no renewed invasion of the Rim. The Hegemony will abandon its core directive with regard to the Rim. We will seek to remain allies with your people, not to absorb them into the Hegemony.”

  Barron almost scowled, but he didn’t. It seemed absurd that he would believe the leader of his recent, bitter enemies…but he realized he did believe her. Still, he knew it wasn’t enough. “I do not question your integrity, Akella. Yet, what assurance is there in your word? You can be replaced any year, any time the Test reveals one of your people with a higher rating than yours. And, of course, there are myriad other ways power could change hands. You may feel the Hegemony is above such things as coups and civil wars, but I cannot afford to make so casual an assumption. You are still asking me to convince my people to risk all in a battle they almost certainly will not see as their fight, to save an enemy who may very well turn around and attack them again. Unlike you, I am not the sole leader of my people, and I do not believe, however convinced I may be, that I can persuade them to such a course.”

  Akella sat quietly, her face impassive. Then she opened her mouth…but the words she’d intended never came out.

  The comm unit on the table buzzed. She nodded to Barron, and she tapped the unit. “I requested that I not be disturbed, Kiloron.”

  “Many pardons, Number One, but Megaron Ilius has returned. The Verification Force has engaged the enemy…and they were successful. They were able to score multiple hits on the Others’ ships. The Avia plan works, Number One.”

  Akella remained remarkably unemotional, considering the import of what she’d just heard. “Call the Council to assembly, Kiloron…by my command. In one hour.” She tapped the comm, closing the line. She sat for a moment, silent. Then she stood up. “I must go, Tyler. I must address the Council.”

  “I understand. I can wait for you here.”

  “No.”

  Barron turned, startled.

  “You will accompany me…if you are willing. I must convince you I am trustworthy, and keeping you from my peers, from the Council and the rest of the high command, will not achieve that goal. I ask only that you keep in mind that we, too, have difficulties among each other, even as I perceive considerable friction between you and your Senate. Many on the Council are recklessly proud. Many have lost their way. But by showing you all of this, I hope to convince you that I, at least, am true to my ideals, and to my word.”

  Barron nodded, all he could manage at first through the surprise that hit him. He’d wanted to hate Akella when he’d first arrived, but now he found that impossible. She was admirable, almost familiar, and he knew she would have fit in well with the group of his closest comrades.

  And yet, she is—was?—my enemy.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Confederation Intelligence Safe House

  Liberte City – Petrusca Ghetto

  Planet Montmirail, Ghassara IV

  Union Year 225 (321 AC)

  “How do you think I can possibly kill Villieneuve?” Sandrine Ciara was still stunned at the words that had come from Kerevsky’s mouth. They’d been discussing the subject for weeks now, and the shock was still as potent as it had been the first time. “How could I even get near him? And, if I was able to get close enough to make an attempt, how could I get away?” She paused. “Or, I guess my getting away is not a crucial element of the plan. Ridding you—and the Confederation—of Villieneuve would be a substantial service. Even in the desperate power struggle that would almost certainly follow his death, it’s hard to imagine anyone worse prevailing and taking control. A major change in policy is unlikely, but even stasis would be a victory of sorts for the Confederation. We both know Villieneuve will renew hostilities as soon as he believes he has a chance at victory.” Another brief silence. “I understand now how you expect me to repay my debt. Certainly, it is not unreasonable, not after all you’ve done for me. I’d be dead, or worse, if you hadn’t helped me, and likely face down in the gutter somewhere rather than striking back, taking my enemy with me.”

  “Sandrine, please…you know that is not what I mean.” A lie, or at least partly so. He had been conflicted, a war waging in his head between his feelings for Ciara and his duty as a Confederation Intelligence operative. He wasn’t quite able to acknowledge he was suggesting a tactic that was very likely to send Ciara to her death, but he was sure he couldn’t pass up any chance to get rid of Villieneuve. As long as the sociopathic ruler controlled the Union, another war was a virtual certainty. And the universe had become far more complex since the last Confederation-Union conflict. The Confederation could easily find itself facing both the Union and a renewed conflict with the Hegemony at the same time. Killing Villieneuve wouldn’t guarantee peace, but it would greatly increase the chances, at least for the foreseeable future. The Union dictator had a pathological hatred for the Confederation, blaming it for all his past failures. A sustainable peace between the two powers was impossible unless Villieneuve was…removed from the equation.

  Concern for Ciara wasn’t the only issue he was struggling with. His motivations were pure enough, to safeguard the Confederation, to protect it from future dangers. But he hadn’t been sent to Montmirail to orchestrate a coup. He’d already greatly exceeded his mandate, so far to no gain. If he could eliminate Villieneuve, he’d have something to show for straying so far from his orders. But could he really justify extending the magnitude of his…improvisations…to assassination with the argument that he’d failed so far, but another try might ultimately be worthwhile?

  He knew his concerns should have rested exclusively on that last issue, that sacrificing a Union asset to attain a desirable end should not hinder his choices. But could he really send his lover to her doom? Ciara had been a tool, and nothing more, or at least Kerevsky knew that was what she should have been. He could hear Gary Holsten’s words echoing in his head, shouting at him to keep all relationships with assets cold, impersonal. He’d failed in that, though part of him was still arguing that Ciara was nothing more than a tool, that the feelings he’d developed for her were simply facets of his deep cover and tradecraft.

  The question remained, could he pull himself back, act with coldblooded rationality? Or would he fail in his duty once again, and tie himself to someone who’d become, in every way and form, save her possible utility in an assassination plan, a liability?

  “You wished to seize power, did you not? Your coup may have failed, but with Villieneuve…out of the picture…you may yet have an opportunity to salvage parts of your plan.” He didn’t really believe she would escape even a successful assassination attempt, but it was all he had. And he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

  “We both know that will not happen, Alexander, my lover. We are realists, you and I, both veterans in our field of endeavor. Ask me to die for you, to repay you for saving me in the aftermath of the coup. But don’t lie to me. Don’t ask me to believe that I will survive the plan you are proposing. I will be fortunate enough to reach Villieneuve, to get a significant chance of killing him. But I know well, as I suspect you do, the realities of this plan. The First Citizen has always been quite adept at cultivating loyalty—or an effective facsimile—among his guards. To survive, I would not only have to get in unnoticed, I would have to get back out before anyone discovered the body. That is possible, perhaps, but far from likely.”

  She paused, Kerevsky standing silently, still wre
stling with his thoughts. Duty would win the fight for his soul, he knew, but he would never forgive himself for sending Ciara to her death.

  “I will do as you ask, Alexander. Not because I believe I can survive the attempt, or even succeed for that matter, and not because I owe you for saving my life.” She took a step toward him and extended her arm, her hand touching his cheek softly. “I will do it for you if you ask me to…but you have to ask.”

  Kerevsky felt an instant of satisfaction at the thought of removing Gaston Villieneuve from the equation. But the feel of Ciara’s soft hand on his face shook his resolve. He tried again to convince himself he wasn’t sending her to her death, with no more success than he’d achieved moments before.

  He looked at her, his eyes meeting hers. She was right in front of him, so close he could hear her breath. She was a killer, he knew, cold blooded, with a trail of victims behind her he didn’t dare to imagine. She was Sector Nine, and for all of his professional life, she had been an enemy. She deserved death, he suspected, as much as anyone did, and he imagined a whole crowd of ghostly faces, clamoring for him to send her to her well-deserved end. But even as he began to speak the words, the pain hit him. She was what she was, and he didn’t lie to himself, try to mold his knowledge of her into some kind of palatable lie. Deserving or not, evil or not, he had feelings for her. And he had to ignore them. He had to let her go…no, he had to send her. However much it hurt.