“Felca is Goda Prime,” he said. “It is not a planet. It is a weapon. Sedkethrans are designed to operate that weapon.”
“No! We do not wage war. We are healers—”
“Chosen by the ancient Chaimu to populate Felca, to take care of the survivors of a goda attack.”
“No!” She tried without success to break free of his grip. “We are our own selves. We have our own origin. We are not—”
“Why aren’t emotions permitted?”
“Emotions interfere with healing—”
“How can they? Is not the emotion of caring important to one who is ill? Love? Tenderness? Do they not help? Of course they do.”
“You are not permitted to heal. You do not know.”
“Nevertheless I have helped others. As I tried to help the suprin.”
She arched against the limited space of their shelter, trying to get free. “Forbidden!”
“Why? Because I don’t have the healer’s shields to prevent me from merging too well with my patient? From learning too much about what it means to live? To think? To feel?”
“Promadi! Evil! You should be destroyed!”
“Then why didn’t you let the Colonids destroy me?” he asked, pulling her back as she attempted to throw herself out into the rain. “I have broken every code held sacred on Felca. Why save me? Is it because deep inside you know I am right, Ellisne? Is it because somewhere beneath the iron bars of your training there remains something honest within you that wants to face the truth as it is and not as it has been told?”
“No!”
“I think there is.” He drew a deep breath and winced, but she felt nothing cross their touch. He was now shielding himself completely from her. “I must experience all emotions. I must find out what it means to be whole. I shared the ending with Utdi, and it was not just the passing of the Superior Life into a new vessel—”
She gasped, shaking with horror. “Surely—”
“It was also the sharing of race memories, back to the days of the ancients who created the Held. I now know what manner of creatures they were just as I know what their descendents have become. I have taken a step.”
She closed her eyes, shaking her head. He was too strong. He could not be controlled. “On Felca we are taught that there is a point we may not cross. We are not free to sacrifice ourselves for others. That is wasteful.”
“Of course.” He released her wrist and leaned back, rubbing his chest. “I sacrificed my atrox to save Utdi.”
The sadness in his voice made her think that at last she had found the weak point in his logic.
“Yes,” she said at once. “You have condemned yourself to this dimension for the rest of your existence, and to what purpose? To save the suprin’s life? But that life was not saved. Therefore, your sacrifice was wasted. You achieved nothing. You lost a great deal. The Writings are correct, as always.”
“They are false!” He sat up. “I lost much, yes. But I gained more. I gained all that Utdi knows and was. I came that much closer to becoming what is real. And I was named suprin, not Tregher.”
“No!” Again shock numbed her. “It is not permitted! You follow falsehood down a dangerous path, promadi. You will find at its end terrible things—”
“I already see them,” he replied softly. “Many variations spreading out before me.”
An odd note in his voice caught her attention. He sat rigidly, staring past her at the rain with his hand suspended in midair.
Puzzled, she caught his hand, her mind reaching for his, and saw with horror that he was in multiple timestreams. There was the Chaimu army chanting out their war songs, hundreds of thousands of them standing on a broad plain beneath a fringe-world sun. Their hoarse voices rose in unison, creating a terrifying sound that swelled and rumbled across the earth. There was a sense of falling through a void of dense blackness, surrounded only by unfamiliar frets of chromium and glastel, then sudden flashes of color against the blackness of space as a cluster ship separated into a hundred swift wedges, all hurtling toward a Colonid battlecruiser as insects swarm toward the face of an immense bulox. There was the opulent glitter of the Held throne room, with the sun striking down through the ocular window in the ceiling, splashing the people assembled with blood-colored light. The promadi, seated upon the throne in Chaimu robes, the shameful scar on his face crossed through, beckoned to her and Magstrus Olbin, bent and translucent with age. Together they walked forward, and within the wide folds of her sleeve she held the dagger that would kill the promadi…
“No!”
She jerked back from his mind, panting for breath. “No! It isn’t true! I could never kill! I will not become what you are, not even to stop you! I won’t—”
“Ellisne. Gently. Hush.” His hands caught her clenched ones and he held her tightly in his arms until she calmed enough to be ashamed of her blind panic.
“You’re tricking me. You can’t really see multiple timestreams. You can’t really see the future. I will never use a dagger to kill someone.”
“I hope not, Ellisne,” he said, giving her no comfort at all. “But none of us can ever say what we will or won’t do. Circumstances change. Or have you forgotten that yesterday you demanded that Arkist Davn kill me?”
She felt lost, sucked this way and that by tides of confusion. She longed for Felca and its calm order. She longed for the dull complexity of her studies. She wished she had never been sent here. Dealing with the promadi was a test, and she feared she was failing it. Brock’s hands gripping her arms seemed to tell her of the blood upon them, reminding her of the countless lives he had taken in his determination to live in a way he was not created for. For the first time in her life, she knew fear for herself. Would he kill her?
“I think it has to do with the skial in the suprin’s bloodstream, combined with the strain on my atrox,” he was saying. “It is happening less often.”
She frowned. “What else do you tamper with? You see alternate futures. Do you see the past as well? Do you dare alter—”
“I’m not a fool!” he retorted. “Time is too complicated a grid for anyone to dabble with alternatives.”
“But the temptation is there.”
“One more reason for my destruction, I suppose.” He released her. “Will you tell Olbin immediately? He will probably replace you with an avenging magstrus.”
Relief shot through her. He did not intend to kill her. And in its place immediately came anger. He did not think her a sufficient threat. He considered her a mere student, not strong enough to be a danger to him.
“Why should he?” she retorted. “Olbin sent me because he knew I could do what was necessary to deal with this situation.”
“By now Olbin should know that simple arguments will not deter me.”
She wanted to cry out in despair and did not know how. “But why? Why, if you want to make the Sedkethrans evolve into what you think you are becoming, do you want to destroy Felca? You will kill millions of people—”
“I must stop the Colonids,” he said grimly. “I think the rain is easing up.”
She gripped his sleeve to keep him from ducking out. “Why must you? One master is as good as another—”
“There! You admit it!” he cried, turning on her fiercely. “We are the Held’s creatures, put on Felca to unleash Goda Prime at the suprin’s command.”
“The suprin is dead. The Held is defeated,” she said wearily, tired of this circular discussion and its impasses. “There will never be such a command given now if you will have done.”
“Of course,” he said as though surprised. “I should have realized that long ago. The magstrusi want the Colonids to win. They want the Held to be destroyed.”
“Stop separating yourself from us,” she said in exasperation. “You are Sedkethran too. Surely you understand that this is a logical solution to an ancient problem.”
“No, I do not understand.” He ducked out from under the shelter as the rain slowed to a light drizzle and t
hen stopped altogether. He stood in the street, staring at her as she followed more slowly. Her limbs were stiff and tired. Her sodden clothes clung uncomfortably to her body.
“The Held gave us freedom,” Brock said. “Freedom to twist reality into lies of Forbiddens and Disciplines. Freedom to change and grow if we chose. As I have chosen. The Colonids will take away that freedom.”
“Why should they harm us? We are permitted to travel through the Imish Collective, giving assistance as it is needed. We are among the few alien species they trust.”
“They trust no one,” he said harshly. “And it is time you saw that. You are a means to an end, Ellisne. They will use you to stop me and then they will dispose of you.”
“Individual outcome does not matter—”
“Then think about Felca! When they find out the Sedkethrans won’t join in their ways, when they find out the Sedkethrans will not swear allegiance to their bloodstained banners, when they find out the Sedkethrans expect to be left alone to meditate and contemplate and travel as freely as they did under the Held, they will close an iron fist around Felca and crush it.”
“You are speaking from fear. You do not know these things.” She stared up at him. “Or are you seeing another timestream?”
“No, Ellisne,” he said quietly. “I am speaking from years of fighting them. I am speaking from years of watching the casualties pile up, of seeing their treacheries undermining treaty attempts, of seeing the vids of Mabruk exploding just because they wanted to be sure there would be no future generations of Chaimu to rise up against them. There will be no more Chaimu children because of them, Ellisne. Specifically because of Colonel Falmah-Al, whom you admire. It was her idea to destroy Mabruk and its irreplacable genetic banks.”
“I have told you they are an immature civilization. They tend to fear things they do not understand. But in time—”
“In time, they will go on destroying things they do not understand. The Chaimu were tolerant of differences. Do not expect the same from the Colonids.”
“They call themselves Imish.”
“Yes. And do you know who Im was?”
“An ancient leader.”
“The man who would not accept Chaimu authority over human. The man who led the humans in so many futile, bloodbath wars the Chaimu isolated them out of mercy to save the human race from extinction. Far, far back in the dimmest times of human history before they knew anything about the rest of the galaxy, they conducted such wars against each other. They called those wars jihad. Holy wars. An impossible contradiction in logic, don’t you agree?”
She frowned uneasily. How could Brock raise so many confusing questions within her?
“But they have evolved, promadi. That was thousands of years ago. They have changed.”
“Have they?” He started to walk away.
She darted in front of him. “Where are you going?”
“Where would you have me go?” he asked. “Back to the Colonid headquarters and turn myself in? Why, then, did you jeopardize your own standing with them by making that spectacular rescue?”
It was true. They would not trust her again. She had failed.
“I must find Rho,” he said when she remained silent. “If he is still alive, I will need his help. We have to contact Esmir Eondal if possible and find out how much of Heldfleet has survived.”
He stepped around her and started up the street, then stopped and glanced back. “I don’t advise you to go back to Falmah-Al. She’ll kill you.”
Ellisne made an effort to compose herself. “I must return to Felca. I have failed.”
“Then your best chance of getting there is to come with me,” he said drily.
It was true. If he was determined to destroy her home, then she might as well be there to die with the others. A Sedkethran could not live alone. She wondered when he would realize that.
He walked on, and after a moment she followed him slowly, her head bowed in humiliation. Her hand clenched inside her sleeve, and she imagined what the hilt of a dagger must feel like. Perhaps it was best to let him go to Felca. Perhaps it was best to let the magstrusi deal with him. They would stop him. She was not sure anyone else could.
8
Rho was waiting for them near the base of an immense statue of Suprin Prime, twelve meters tall, hewn from stone and metal with an artistic skill no longer to be found in the Held. In sunlight the intricate armor would be gleaming with bronze luster; the weapons on the wide belt flashing; the uplifted hand in the heavy gauntlet spearing the sky. But tonight in the darkness the statue was only a tall, shapeless mass seen dimly in the light of the double moons breaking now and then through cloud cover. The statue was located in a public park in the central section of Impryn. The Marupish bordered the park on its east side. Emptied office buildings stood like sentinels on the west. There was a constant whisper of foliage swayed by the breeze coming off the river and the faint gurgle of rainwater sluicing along park walks into drains. Normally the city would be alive, luxuriating in the intrigue of the darkness. Lights would be shining from apartments, reflecting back and forth at each other across the river. Exquisite barges would be sailing upon the water, tiny floating islands of pleasure where the wail of music for the dancing dalmas and the gruff chatter interspersed with booming Chaimu laughter would echo across the rippling waves. There would probably be a parade—since Impryn was the city of a thousand cultures, there was always a holiday to celebrate—with whistling Slathese acrobats leading the way along the broad avenues into the park. There would be flame throwers and dancing youths in costumes that glittered in the torch light. Officials in masks would scatter baubles of money or food to the gawking populace. And the Gwilwans, resplendent with purple throats and green-scaled backs, their long claws gilded for the occasion, would roar and shake their crests at each other, laughing madly while they strained against the leashes of their keepers. Or the park itself would be ablaze with light, the leaves of the clipped shrubberies shimmering with waterdrops like cascades of diamonds. There might be a Meir festival going on, with a stately ritual performed here at the base of Suprin Prime while crowds swayed, hypnotized from the mantras and colorful clouds of hallucinogenic smoke. Young honorables, momentarily freed from the shackles of watchful tutors and bodyguards, would be cavorting along the winding paths with their friends, merrily drunk or grappling with the creatures of pleasure purchased for the evening. Along the wide Tis Avenue bordering the park, exclusive shops would be open at the foot of the office buildings, displaying priceless wares from every corner of the galaxy to tempt sophisticated appetites. Visitors from other worlds would stroll by, sighing among the crowds of warriors on leave and junior embassy officials released from duty. Patrolmen and monitors would be scanning the wealthy crowds with unobtrusive efficiency, ever on the watch for pickpockets and con artists dressed in glitter and false smiles.
But tonight there was none of that, only silence as an empire bowed in defeat and shame. Darkness shrouded the glitter. No lights shone. There was no incense on the air, no costly perfumes, but only the stench of decay from the river and the lingering smoke of fire and bombings. Now and then a patrol sled rumbled overhead, following the rubble-strewn streets, spotlights spearing down sporadically in search of trouble.
Brock did not like meeting here. It was too open, too near Colonid headquarters. There were too many patrols about. Yet by now he was sure those searching for him were busy scanning the outlying districts where slums jumbled against each other and the streets were layered thickly like warrens. He was probably safer here. But he still did not like it.
The scuff of a footstep caught his attention. He focused in that direction.
“Rho?”
“Merc sic!” came the answer. A thin wiry figure oddly thick at the back emerged from the shadows. “Ch’n tic st, nmen ’at k. Dire-lord, I feared you gone forever. I feared the voice in my thoughts was a dream. But I came, and it is you!”
Rho grinned, baring his poisonous fang
s with a delighted hiss, and slapped Brock on the arms in his enthusiasm.
“Yes, it is I,” said Brock, thankful to have one man’s simple loyalty to depend on. “I was afraid you’d be dead by now.”
“No, I am hard to kill. I am house-boy now. I clean rooms. Work hard. Assignment.” Rho’s long forefinger tapped the tag fastened to the front of his coveralls. His leathery wings, no longer discreetly concealed under a loose tunic, extended in a broad stretch before he furled them again. “We were given a choice. We could all go with Suprin Tregher to the western exile camps or we could be assigned positions here among the Colonids.”
Brock nodded. “How many elected to go with Tregher?”
“Most all. Sic, it is hard to know with accuracy. Some are still hiding in the slums, but they will be found easily now.” Again Rho tapped the tag he wore. “Centralization of all inhabitants. No tag means death.” Rho shrugged and stared past Brock at Ellisne, who stood a few paces away in silence. “Healer? Change sides again, or trick?”
Brock did not bother to look at her, but he sensed her restlessness at Rho’s pointed question. He wished he could be sure of her. “She got me away from their interrogation machine. Beyond that…’’ He made the Chaimu hand signal of uncertainty.
Rho whistled the Slathese equivalent of a nod, but his eyes narrowed on Ellisne once again.
Brock stared north in the direction of Heldfleet Central, which was located just beyond the edge of the city. It had been one of the first targets to be bombed, but he wondered if the underground backup equipment had been damaged.
“Rho, I need access to a transmitter. I have to contact Eondal. Whatever vestige of the fleet remains, I need to coordinate with them. I also need a ship.”
“Ah,” said Rho, whistling. “This I have thought about too. To join Heldfleet—”
“No, I have another purpose.”
“Galactic destruction,” said Ellisne sharply, startling Brock into turning to face her.
“Not quite,” he said, tired of dealing with her. She was as blind as her teachers. He had thought he sensed an opening within her, a willingness to listen objectively that he could reach, but he had been wrong. “The Colonids think they have defeated us, Rho, but they’re still afraid.”
The Goda War Page 9