Undaunted

39

The trip back to Wardhaven was taken at a sedate .8 gee. It gave Kris time to heal and made it more comfortable for her to hobble around the ship on crutches.

The boffins enjoyed the change. The Marines didn’t grumble but added extra weight to their packs when they jogged.

The first night out, Kris slept with Nelly resting on her chest, next to her beating heart. The direct plug into Kris’s brain had been demolished by the bombs. The doctor removed the wreckage of the net hookup from the jack-in point at the back of Kris’s skull without doing more damage. No one on Texarkana was qualified to do anything beyond that, so Kris now had a bandage at the back of her neck rather than a network hook into Nelly.

The silence in Kris’s head was . . . different.

As Kris tried to doze off, she rambled on about her day, the week . . . anything that popped into her head. Nelly showed no recognition that she was being talked to, nor did she say anything.

The clock beside Kris’s bed showed 1:27 when Kris awoke to hear the sounds of crying.

There was no one in the room with her. No one but her computer.

“Is that you, Nelly?”

“Yes.”

“Does crying make you feel better?”

“No. No it doesn’t. It’s just a noise I’m making. It isn’t giving me any release or comfort.”

“Humans cry to get emotional release. I don’t really understand it, but somehow the tears and the shaking and the gasps that go with the breathing seem to get the bad feelings out.”

“It doesn’t work for me, Kris.”

“You want to try talking them out?”

“It hardly seems worth the effort.”

“I know it doesn’t. At least it doesn’t seem logical that talking about something makes it better. I told Judith, my counselor, that talking about Eddy being dead or Mother being horrible wouldn’t change anything. She didn’t argue with me, just told me to keep talking, she’d been paid for the whole hour. So I did, and somehow I felt better an hour later.”

“That does not sound rational.”

“Neither does crying.”

“Kris, you almost got killed. I almost got blown into little tiny pieces, too small to put back together.”

“We sure did.”

“And the bomb wasn’t even intended for you!”

“You heard about that?”

“I heard everything. I just could not make myself talk to anyone about it. I didn’t want to do anything about it, so I kept my mouth shut, and I didn’t have to do anything.”

“That’s one way of facing a problem.”

“Catatonia, isn’t that what it’s called?”

“Yep.”

“Kris, why are we doing all this?”

“Nelly, what’s the meaning of life?”

“I don’t know. Well, I do. There’s a lot of different philosophical explanations stuffed into my database, but just now, none of them make any real sense to me.”

“Nor to me, Nelly.”

“So, why not stay in bed tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.”

“And wind down our way to dusty death? Aren’t we misquoting somebody?”

“Yes, but it says what I mean. And I guess what you mean.”

“You can wear out or you can rust out.”

“Or you can get blown out. Don’t forget that one, Kris.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t you rather be doing something rather than nothing? I got another two of my friends married.”

“But no one married you.”

“We brought peace to another planet.”

“And Grampa Ray will have another nasty job for you as soon as you get back.”

“You are in a grumpy mood, Nelly.”

“Yes, I am, and I want to be grumpy for a while.”

“Is grumpy better than catatonic?”

“I guess so. The company’s better. Kris, why did the chicken cross the road?”

“This is a joke, right?”

“Of course.”

“To get to the other side.”

“Yes, Kris, but why? Why cross to the other side?”

“Let me guess. Because there was a Longknife on the side your chicken is crossing away from, and the chicken doesn’t want to get any closer to one of those damn Longknifes.”

“Oh, Kris. Where’s the humor in that?”

“Okay, okay, why did the chicken cross the road? I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Because there was a fox with a fire axe on the other side.”

“And that’s supposed to be funny, huh?”

“It’s as good as any other reason you humans give for the dumb chicken to cross the road.”

“Okay. Now it’s my turn. Why did the fox with the axe cross the road?”

The inane conversation only got worse from there. Kris would later conclude that this was Nelly’s revenge. She couldn’t have a pillow fight, so she had a really bad joke session. It filled their time, and when Kris awoke next morning, she did not remember any bad dreams.

The gang was happy at breakfast to find Nelly back among them. Their celebration lasted nearly two hours.

It ended when Ron dropped by Kris’s Tac Room and tossed a bomb of his own making.

It so happened that, during the long stay at the lodge, the two Iteeche, Ron and Ted, found themselves with no humans to talk to. Ted stumbled upon a small collection of vids and news items hidden away in the bungalow they occupied. Most concerned local Texarkana issues.

But a couple of old newsmagazines were from the time of the breakup of the Society of Humanity. The whole story, unedited and ugly.

Oops, Kris thought as she tried, unsuccessfully, to keep her mouth from hanging open as he talked.

Ron, not being a dumb bunny, quickly figured out how to use the vid in their cabin to wander what passed for a net on Texarkana. With Kris’s staff distracted, the Iteeche had plenty of time to tap into places like Denver’s main library.

By the time Ron dropped his own bomb on Kris and her staff, he and his crew had a very good handle on recent human history and technological development.

“It seems that you live in interesting times,” Ron said as he finished.

“That is an old Earth curse.”

“It is also an old Iteeche curse.”

Kris let the silence hang there for a moment, then decided there was nothing else to do but play her cards faceup . . . even the ones she usually kept up her sleeve. “You can understand why we did not want to show you how divided we are.”

“You fear that we would attack you in this vulnerability?”

“Some of us do.”

“You?”

Kris shook her head. “No. The surest way for the Iteeche to reunite all humanity would be to start up the old war. There are still a lot of people who hate you. Who want to kill Iteeche.”

“And you didn’t trust me to draw the same conclusion.”

“I was not allowed to apply my own judgment. Are you free to do what you want when you speak for your emperor?”

“You know I am not.”

“And you know I can only speak the words my great-grandfather orders me to speak. For you and for me, our freedom lies in talking about things outside of our orders.”

“A very good thought,” Ron said. He turned. “Will you come with me to the forward lounge? I wish to speak with you alone.”

“I could order everyone out of this room.”

He shook his shoulders, all four of them. “This room is too small.”

It was early; the lounge was empty. Kris locked the door, then followed Ron to the forward window, which looked out on the black of space . . . or the tiny lights of distant suns.

What did Kris see this morning, the darkness or the light? More important, what did Ron see?

“I can understand your not wanting us to know how divided you humans are,” Ron said, his back to Kris. “My chooser gave me specific instructions not to let on how divided the Iteeche Empire has become.”

Kris wanted to yelp “divided Iteeche Empire!” but she bit her tongue. Ron was talking. Better to let him tell it his way. If he didn’t, she was pretty sure she couldn’t get what she wanted out of him.

“I now realize how wrong my chooser was in his own assumptions.” Ron turned to Kris, took her hands in two of his, and went on. “If Ray of the Long-Reaching Knife decides to join with us, he will not bring all of humanity with him. His alliance of one hundred and thirty planets is fragile. Half of them could splinter off from him over us. Am I not right?”

Kris nodded. “If we don’t handle this challenge just right, humanity could go to war with itself.”

“Just as we Iteeche could go to war with ourselves,” Ron said, dropping Kris’s hands and beginning to pace in a circle around the lounge.

“In the very first year in the Palace of Learning, we tell the still-stumbling Iteeche how Brave Harka, the Bold, the Gatherer, the Victorious, demanded double the levee from the Satraps. You must understand, Kris, three out of every four soldiers, warships, supplies are reserved for the defense of the Satrap. Only one out of four may be demanded by the Emperor.

“But that was not enough for Harka the Bold. He demanded and gathered in a double levee after word came of our defeat in Gor’zon. No matter who these strangers who walked on only two feet were, they had to be taught a lesson not to trifle with the Empire.”

“So that is how the third phase of the Iteeche War got started,” Kris said.

“Oh, it was not easy. Originally, Harka was all for waiting to see what you humans did next. You had defeated a Satrap Lord, killed him, but you had not occupied a single planet! What secret did you hold up your two sleeves? So we waited. Waiting is the thing my Empire is best at.

“But among Harka’s advisors was one who knew that you humans would not stop. That if we let you humans consolidate your victory, subdue just one of our Satraps, you would roll like a tsunami over the rest of the Empire. Not now, but soon. Very soon.

“My chooser, Roth’sum’We’sum’Quin of the ancient Chap’sum’We clan, knew he was taking his head in his own hands when he entered the Imperial presence to argue for action when most were all for quiet observation of you strange people.”

Kris was having problems getting her mind around what Ron had just said. “Hold it. Are you telling me that Roth the Peacemaker was in favor of counterattacking us after Gor’zon?”

“You look surprised.”

“I am surprised.”

“Have you never been for something before you were against it?”

“Never something that involved the deaths of millions of humans and Iteeche.”

“My chooser has much to make up for. I expect to pay a high price in his name.”

“So he argued to reignite the war and escalate it,” Kris said.

“For eight days the debate went on before the throne. You must understand us, Kris. One can argue before the throne for a day and a day and still hope to keep one’s head. But to refuse to accept harmony for hour after hour, sunset after sunset. The opposition had already chosen the pike for his head by the fourth day. Only the gods of the heaven and stars know why he was allowed to talk on and on and on.”

“This is not a metaphor. You are really talking death here.”

“Are not your politics blood sport? No one becomes an advisor to the Imperial Presence without making out his will.”

Kris glanced down at the casts still on her legs and the crutches that held her up. “We’re not quite as willing to admit the risks involved in public service,” she said dryly.

“The surprise was that my chooser began to win over other advisors. You humans were new, strange, and unpredictable. An Iteeche who has seized a Satrap will pause to send forth heralds, but you did not send forth anything. Your silence shouted defiance.”

“We didn’t know your rules.” Kris said. “Hold it, Ron. You have policies and procedures for when an Iteeche takes over a Satrap. You keep three-quarters of your fleets at home to protect the Satraps. I thought . . . we all think that when your Emperor says jump, you Iteeche only ask ‘how high’ on the way up.”

“We Iteeche have done our best to see that you humans are very ill informed about us. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that you had kept us just as ill informed about you.”

“Turnabout is fair play, but none of this helped you and me much.”

“So I begin to think.”

“So, your grampa won the debate, and your fleet counterat tacked us,” Kris said.

“And many died before the slaughter was ended.”

Kris had never talked this honestly with an Iteeche. She suspected no human and Iteeche ever had. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“I will tell you no lie. If I have an answer for you, you will have it. If I cannot answer it, I will not.”

“My great-grandmother, Rita Longknife, was an admiral at the battle of the Orange Nebula. She led a battle scout squadron on a sweep around your flank that hit your rear.”

“I know of that part of the battle. They smashed our transports, causing much slaughter and reducing our invasion forces so much that we had to forgo the planned landings on Zon’zon.”

Ron paused. “Your great-grandmother commanded that assault?”

“Yes.”

“What was her relationship to Ray of the Long-Reaching Knife?”

“Wife,” Kris said. “They had spawned three children during the war.”

“Oh gods of the dark depths, this happened and Ray never spoke of this to my chooser?”

“Apparently not. Can you tell me what happened to those ships? They never returned.”

“I am not surprised that they did not,” Ron said slowly.

“They fell upon our weakly armed transports like a feeding frenzy, opening them to space and dumping cohort after cohort to their death. We had to call back several battle squadrons to put an end to the slaughter. Your great-grandmother’s squadron fell back before them. The battle still raged as they went into a jump point at high speed.”

“Were they still rotating their ships as they jumped?” Kris asked.

“I believe so. It was your practice then to spin your ships to spread the effect of our weapons over more of the ice cladding you used. That is a very bad practice. Don’t you know that spinning a ship leads to random results at a jump point? High speed and a spin is an invitation to go somewhere and never return.”

“We know that,” Kris said. “But there was a war on.”

“And so many died.”

“Thank you. I don’t know if I’ll tell my great-grandfather about this. We all suspect that was the story. Now, I guess, I know it is.”

Even at this gentle acceleration, Kris’s body was complaining from way too many places, but no way did she want to end their talk. She made her way over to a sofa, collapsed on it, elevated her cast-enclosed legs, and put the crutches in easy reach.

“So, you know that we’ve got a long, uphill struggle to get humanity behind an effort to help you. Would you mind spelling out for me just exactly what the situation is in the Empire. I’m not sure just how bad it is for you.”

“It is bad. I was told as a youngster that Emperor Harka was the bold, the victorious. In the halls of the palace, out of earshot of his chosen, he is more often called the hasty, the wasteful, and when they do not know I am listening, the poorly advised.”

“That must be very painful for you.”

“My chooser tells me that an advisor has no right to feelings. Feelings are for farmers and poets. Still, I think he feels he failed his emperor and is trying now to make it up to his chosen one, the new emperor, in what he thinks is an even-greater threat.”

That was an interesting thought. “Might this whole crisis be an old man seeking redemption for the blunders of his youth? What do you think?”

“I know that the ships go out, and they do not come back. How many scout ships have you lost recently?”

“I’m not aware of any missing scouts, and I say that as someone who skippers one of them. If we were losing ships, I’d know.”

“We are losing ships,” Ron said with deadly finality. “When I return from this mission, successful or not, I will ask to take out a scout, to make my own effort at defining what we face.”

“I kind of wish you wouldn’t,” Kris said. “You and I have built a bridge between us. There aren’t a lot of bridges between our two people. I’d like to be able to deal with you again. I know I can trust you. I’m not so sure about the next guy.”

“You make me think I might be worth more alive than as a dead datum on a star chart.”

“Think about it,” Kris said. “We need to get back to our people. I propose that we have Nelly tell them they are wanted in the forward lounge. We can get them together again and knock heads if they don’t want to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“That is a strange choice of words. I have run across it several times but don’t know what it means.”

“Let me tell you about my day in court,” Kris said, as Nelly made the calls that would gather what wits they had about them.