Zoe's Tale

by John Scalzi

  “I’m asking people I don’t know to sacrifice themselves for people I do,” I said.

  “That’s why you’re asking them to volunteer,” Gau said. “But it seems to me the reason they’re volunteering is for you.”

  I nodded and looked out at the bay, and imagined the fight that was coming.

  “I have a proposition for you,” the Consu said to me.

  The two of us sat in the operations room of the cargo bay, ten meters above the floor of the bay. On the floor were two groups of beings. In the first group were the one hundred Obin who had volunteered to fight for me. In the other group were the one hundred Consu criminals, who would be forced to fight the Obin for a chance to regain their honor. The Consu looked scary big next to the Obin. The contest would be modified hand-to-hand combat: The Obin were allowed a combat knife, while the Consu, with their slashing arms, would fight bare-handed, if you called being able to wield two razor-sharp limbs attached to your own body “bare-handed.”

  I was getting very nervous about the Obin’s chances.

  “A proposition,” the Consu repeated.

  I glanced over at the Consu, who in himself nearly filled the operations room. He’d been there when I had come up; I wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten himself through the door. The two of us were there with Hickory and Dock and General Gau, who had taken it upon himself to act as the official arbiter for the contest.

  Dickory was on the floor. Getting ready to fight.

  “Are you interested in hearing it?” the Consu asked.

  “We’re about to start,” I said.

  “It’s about the contest,” the Consu said. “I have a way that you can get what you want without having the contest at all.”

  I closed my eyes. “Tell me,” I said.

  “I will help you keep your colony safe by providing you a piece of our technology,” the Consu said. “A machine that produces an energy field that robs projectiles of their momentum. A sapper field. It makes your bullets fall out of the air and sucks the power from missiles before they strike their targets. If you are clever your colony can use it to defeat those who attack it. This is what I am allowed and prepared to give to you.”

  “And what do you want in return?” I asked.

  “A simple demonstration,” the Consu said. It unfolded and pointed toward the Obin on the floor. “A demand from you was enough to cause hundreds of Obin to willingly sacrifice themselves for the mere purpose of getting my attention. This power you have interests me. I want to see it. Tell this one hundred to sacrifice themselves here and now, and I will give you what you need in order to save your colony.”

  “I can’t do that,” I said.

  “It is not an issue of whether it is possible,” the Consu said. It leaned its bulk over and then addressed Dock. “Would the Obin here kill themselves if this human asked it?”

  “Without doubt,” Dock said.

  “They would not hesitate,” the Consu said.

  “No,” Dock said.

  The Consu turned back to me. “Then all you need to do is give the order.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Don’t be stupid, human,” the Consu said. “You have been assured by me that I will assist you. You have been assured by this Obin that your pets here will gladly sacrifice themselves for your benefit, without delay or complaint. You will be assured of helping your family and friends survive imminent attack. And you have done it before. You thought nothing of sending hundred to their death to speak to me. It should not be a difficult decision now.”

  He waved again toward the floor. “Tell me honestly, human. Look at your pets, and then look at the Consu. Do you think your pets will be the ones left standing when this is over? Do you want to risk the safety of your friends and family on them?

  “I offer you an alternative. It carries no risk. It costs you nothing but your assent. Your pets will not object. They will be happy to do this for you. Simply say that you require this of them. That you demand it of them. And if it makes you feel any better, you can tell them to turn off their consciousness before they kill themselves. Then they will not fear their sacrifice. They will simply do it. They will do it for you. They will do it for what you are to them.”

  I considered what the Consu had said.

  I turned to Dock. “You have no doubt that those Obin would do this for me,” I said.

  “There is no doubt,” Dock said. “They are there to fight at your request, Zoë. They know they may die. They have already accepted that possibility, just as the Obin who sacrificed themselves to bring you this Consu knew what was required of them.”

  “And what about you,” I said to Hickory. “Your friend and partner is down there, Hickory. For ten years, at least, you’ve spent your life with Dickory. What do you say?”

  Hickory’s trembling was so slight that I almost doubted that I saw it. “Dickory will do as you ask, Zoë,” Hickory said. “You should know this already.” It turned away after that.

  I looked at General Gau. “I have no advice to offer you,” he said. “But I am very interested to find out what you choose.”

  I closed my eyes and I thought of my family. Of John and Jane. Of Savitri, who traveled to a new world with us. I thought of Gretchen and Magdy and the future they could have together. I thought of Enzo and his family and everything that was taken from them. I thought of Roanoke, my home.

  And I knew what I had to do.

  I opened my eyes.

  “The choice is obvious,” the Consu said.

  I looked at the Consu and nodded. “I think you’re right,” I said. “And I think I need to go down and tell them.”

  I walked to the door of the operations room. As I did, General Gau lightly took my arm.

  “Think about what you’re doing, Zoë,” Gau said. “Your choice here matters.”

  I looked up at the general. “I know it does,” I said. “And it’s my choice to make.”

  The general let go of my arm. “Do what you have to do,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I think I will.”

  I left the room and for the next minute tried very hard not to fall down the stairs as I walked down them. I’m happy to say I succeeded. But it was a close thing.

  I walked toward the group of Obin, who were milling about, some doing exercises, some talking quietly to another or to a small group. As I got closer I tried to locate Dickory and could not. There were too many Obin, and Dickory wasn’t somewhere I could easily see him.

  Eventually the Obin noticed I was walking to them. They quieted and equally quietly formed ranks.

  I stood there in front of them for a few seconds, trying to see each of the Obin for itself, and not just one of a hundred. I opened my mouth to speak. Nothing would come. My mouth was so dry I could not make words. I closed my mouth, swallowed a couple of times, and tried again.

  “You know who I am,” I said. “I’m pretty sure about that. I only know one of you personally, and I’m sorry about that. I wish I could have known each of you, before you were asked…before I asked…”

  I stopped. I was saying stupid things. It wasn’t what I wanted to do. Not now.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m going to tell you some things, and I can’t promise it’s going to make any kind of sense. But I need to say them to you before…” I gestured at the cargo bay. “Before all of this.”

  The Obin all looked at me, whether politely or patiently, I can’t say.

  “You know why you’re here,” I said. “You’re here to fight those Consu over there because I want to try to protect my family and friends on Roanoke. You were told that if you could beat the Consu, I would get the help I needed. But something’s changed.”

  I pointed up to the operations room. “There’s a Consu up there,” I said, “who tells me that he’ll give me what I need to save Roanoke without having to have you fight, and risk losing. All I have to do is tell you to take those knives you were going to use on those Consu, and use them on yourse
lves. All I have to do is to tell you to kill yourselves. Everyone tells me you’ll do it, because of what I am to you.

  “And they’re right. I’m pretty sure about that, too. I’m certain that if I asked all of you to kill yourselves, you would do it. Because I am your Zoë. Because you’ve seen me all your lives in the recordings that Hickory and Dickory have made. Because I’m standing here in front of you now, asking you to do it.

  “I know you would do this for me. You would.”

  I stopped for a minute, tried to focus.

  And then I faced something I’d spent a long time avoiding.

  My own past.

  I raised my head again and looked directly at the Obin.

  “When I was five, I lived on a space station. Covell. I lived there with my father. One day while he was away from the station for a few days on business, the station was attacked. First by the Rraey. They attacked, and they came in and they rounded up all the people who lived on the station, and they began to kill us. I remember…”

  I closed my eyes again.

  “I remember husbands being taken from their wives and then shot in the halls where everyone could hear,” I said. “I remember parents begging the Rraey to spare their children. I remember being pushed behind a stranger when the woman who was watching me, the mother of a friend, was taken away. She tried to push away her daughter, too, but she held on to her mother and they were both taken away. If the Rraey had continued much longer, eventually they would have found me and killed me too.”

  I opened my eyes. “But then the Obin attacked the station, to take it from the Rraey, who weren’t prepared for another fight. And when they cleared the station of the Rraey, they took those of us humans who were left and put us in a common area. I remember being there, with no one looking after me. My father was gone. My friend and her mother were dead. I was alone.

  “The space station was a science station, so the Obin looked through the research and they found my father’s work. His work on consciousness. And they wanted him to work for them. So they came back to us in the common area and they called out my father’s name. But he wasn’t on the station. They called his name again and I answered. I said I was his daughter and that he would come for me soon.

  “I remember the Obin talking among themselves then, and then telling me to come away. And I remember saying no, because I didn’t want to leave the other humans. And I remember what one of the Obin said to me then. It said, ‘You must come with us. You have been chosen, and you will be safe.’

  “And I remembered everything that had just happened. And I think even at five years old some part of me knew what would happen to the rest of the people at Covell. And here was the Obin, telling me I would be safe. Because I had been chosen. And I remember taking the Obin’s hand, being led away and looking back at the humans who were left. And then they were gone. I never saw them again.

  “But I lived,” I said. “Not because of who I was; I was just this little girl. But because of what I was: the daughter of the man who could give you consciousness. It was the first time that what I was mattered more than who I was. But it wasn’t the last.”

  I looked up at the operations room, trying to see if those in there were listening to me, and wondering what they were thinking. Wondering what Hickory was thinking. And General Gau. I turned back to the Obin.

  “What I am still matters more than who I am,” I said. “It matters more right now. Right this minute. Because of what I am, hundreds of you died to bring just one Consu to see me. Because of what I am, if I ask you to take those knives and plunge them into your bodies, you will do it. Because of what I am. Because of what I have been to you.”

  I shook my head and looked down at the ground. “All my life I have accepted that what I am matters,” I said. “That I had to work with it. Make accommodations for it. Sometimes I thought I could manipulate it, although I just found out the price for that belief. Sometimes I would even fight against it. But never once did I think that I could leave what I was behind. Because I remembered what it got me. How it saved me. I never even thought of giving it up.”

  I pointed up at the operations room. “There is a Consu in that operations room who wants me to kill you all, just to show him that I can. He wants me to do it to make a point to me, too—that when it comes down to it, I’m willing to sacrifice all of you to get what I want. Because when it comes down to it, you don’t matter. You’re just something I can use, a means to an end, a tool for another purpose. He wants me to kill you to rub my face in the fact I don’t care.

  “And he’s right.”

  I looked into the faces of the Obin. “I don’t know any of you, except for one,” I said. “I won’t remember what any of you look like in a few days, no matter what happens here. On the other hand all the people I love and care for I can see as soon as I close my eyes. Their faces are so clear to me. Like they are here with me. Because they are. I carry them inside me. Like you carry those you care for inside of you.

  “The Consu is right that it would be easy to ask you to sacrifice yourselves for me. To tell you to do it so I can save my family and my friends. He’s right because I know you would do it without a second thought. You would be happy to do it because it would make me happy—because what I am matters to you. He knows that knowing this will make me feel less guilty for asking you.

  “And he’s right again. He’s right about me. I admit it. And I’m sorry.”

  I stopped again, and took another moment to pull myself together. I wiped my face.

  This was going to be the hard part.

  “The Consu is right,” I said. “But he doesn’t know the one thing about me that matters right now. And that it is that I am tired of being what I am. I am tired of having been chosen. I don’t want to be the one you sacrifice yourself for, because of whose daughter I am or because you accept that I can make demands of you. I don’t want that from you. And I don’t want you to die for me.

  “So forget it. Forget all of this. I release you of your obligation to me. Of any obligation to me. Thank you for volunteering, but you shouldn’t have to fight for me. I shouldn’t have asked.

  “You have already done so much for me. You have brought me here so I could deliver a message to General Gau. He’s told me about the plans against Roanoke. It should be enough for us to defend ourselves. I can’t ask you for anything else. I certainly can’t ask you to fight these Consu and possibly die. I want you to live instead.

  “I am done being what I am. From now on I’m just who I am. And who I am is Zoë. Just Zoë. Someone who has no claim on you. Who doesn’t require or demand anything from you. And who wants you to be able to make your own choices, not have them made for you. Especially not by me.

  “And that’s all I have to say.”

  The Obin stood in front of me, silently, and after a minute I realized that I didn’t really know why I was expecting a response. And then for a crazy moment I wondered if they actually even understood me. Hickory and Dickory spoke my language, and I just assumed all the other Obin would, too. That was a pretty arrogant assumption, I realized.

  So I sort of nodded and turned to go, back up to the operations room, where God only knew what I was going to say to that Consu.

  And then I heard singing.

  A single voice, from somewhere in the middle of the pack of Obin. It took up the first words of “Delhi Morning.” And though that was the part I always sang, I had no trouble recognizing the voice.

  It was Dickory.

  I turned and faced the Obin just as a second voice took up the counterpoint, and then another voice came in, and another and another, and soon all one hundred of the Obin were singing, creating a version of the song that was so unlike any I had heard before, so magnificent, that all I could do was stand there and soak in it, let it wash around me, and let it move through me.

  It was one of those moments that you just can’t describe. So I won’t try anymore.

  But I can say I was impressed.
These Obin would have known of “Delhi Morning” for only a few weeks. For them to not only know the song but to perform it flawlessly was nothing short of amazing.

  I had to get these guys for the next hootenanny.

  When it was done, all I could do was put my hands to my face and say “Thank you” to the Obin. And then Dickory came through the ranks to stand in front of me.

  “Hey, you,” I said to Dickory.

  “Zoë Boutin-Perry,” said Dickory. “I am Dickory.”

  I almost said, I know that, but Dickory kept speaking.

  “I have known you since you were a child,” it said. “I have watched you grow and learn and experience life, and through you have learned to experience life myself. I have always known what you are. I tell you truthfully that it is who you are that has mattered to me, and always has.

  “It is to you, Zoë Boutin-Perry, that I offer to fight for your family and for Roanoke. I do this not because you have demanded it or required it but because I care for you, and always have. You would honor me if you would accept my assistance.” Dickory bowed, which was a very interesting thing on an Obin.

  Here was irony: This was the most I had heard Dickory say, ever, and I couldn’t think of anything to say in return.

  So I just said, “Thank you, Dickory. I accept.” Dickory bowed again and returned to ranks.

  Another Obin stepped forward and stood before me. “I am Strike,” it said. “We have not met before. I have watched you grow through all that Hickory and Dickory have shared with all Obin. I too have always known what you are. What I have learned from you, however, comes from who you are. It is an honor to have met you. It will be an honor to fight for you, your family, and for Roanoke. I offer my assistance to you, Zoë Boutin-Perry, freely and without reservation.” Strike bowed.

  “Thank you, Strike,” I said. “I accept.” And then I impulsively hugged Strike. It actually squeaked in surprise. We unhugged, Strike bowed again, and then returned to ranks just as another Obin came forward.

  And another. And another.

  It took a long time to hear each greeting and offer of assistance, and to accept each offer. I can honestly say there was never time better spent. When it was done I stood in front of one hundred Obin again—this time, each a friend. And I bowed my head to them and wished them well, and told them I would see them after.