Trial by Fire

Epilogue Custodian shift vessel Olsloov, twenty AU above the ecliptic of Sigma Draconis

The voice of Vruthvur, Senior Coordinator of the Custodians, burbled through the humid, comforting darkness of the ship’s most private Communitarium. “Alnduul, members of this council have expressed some concern in regard to your management of the assistance we provided the humans in the recent war. More than one observer feels that your success owes as much to luck as it does to logic and methodical planning.”

Alnduul settled deeper into his couch. “I must remind you of the rules of contact and engagement imposed upon us Custodians at the start of this operation. Until the war commenced, we were prohibited from making direct contact with anyone but Downing, once Corcoran’s decease was confirmed. This severely limited our ability to influence or even be aware of, human strategic decisions.”

“Do you feel we should have made more open contact, exerted more direct control?”

“These two variables are quite different. More open contact? Yes—but with the Earth Confederation as a whole. Conversely, exertion of more direct control was not a practicable option and, if detected, would have played into the Ktor hands.”

Vruthvur’s voice remained patient, serene. “Why so?”

“Because if the humans had learned that we were manipulating their governments from within, they would have rejected us as allies. Sooner or later, they would have aligned themselves with the Ktor. Moreover, I am of the opinion that more direct control would have hindered rather than helped the humans’ prosecution of the war. Long before hostilities commenced, Corcoran’s strategy of losing the first battles in order to later be in a position to win the war was well underway.”

The Coordinator’s voice was slow. “I do not understand what you mean by this phrase, nor how Corcoran’s strategy impacted our planning.”

“Venerable Vruthvur, as you may recall, Nolan Corcoran came to our attention during incident 2083B—the ‘impending asteroid collision’ crisis that the humans refer to as the Doomsday Rock.”

“I do recall this.”

“Then you may also recall that, by the time he had come to our attention, and we were able to situate proximal surveillance and security assets, that he had already begun to set plans in motion for humanity’s accelerated move toward the stars.”

“My recollection is unimpaired, Alnduul. What do you adduce based on this preamble?”

“We presume to guide events, Vruthvur. But Corcoran moved too decisively, and was too strong a mind, for that customary approach to be practicable. He crafted a set of subtle, interlocking plans without any input—active or passive, direct or indirect—from us. And it is well that we were too late to succumb to the temptation of attempting such influence. It would have ruined his extraordinarily bold and insightful plans.”

“So you imply that Corcoran—and through him, the humans—were truly in charge of the situation?”

“I do not imply this. I state it unequivocally.”

A new voice intruded: Menrelm, whose pointed inquiries often produced more irritation than enlightenment. “How can this be? The humans had not yet even attained interstellar capability at that point.”

“True, but after the asteroid crisis, some of their leaders now had evidence of its attainability, because they had discovered the impending collision had been engineered by interstellar intruders. Corcoran’s consequent strategic deductions were not merely inspired, but proleptic. He reasoned that if Earth had already been the target of an attack, it would be again. He further reasoned that once a proper First Contact occurred, a second attack on Earth would follow soon after, since a new target is best attacked when it is small, weak, or disoriented. He further conjectured—correctly—that Earth, having been watched, would face opponents who would not merely have technological advantages. They would also enjoy advance intelligence on humankind, its capabilities, forces, deployments.”

“He could hardly conclude otherwise,” Menrelm commented, “given what he found on the asteroid.”

“Precisely. Consequently, it was central to Corcoran’s strategic planning to presume defeat as an inevitable outcome of the initial engagements, and so he orchestrated a strategy to fit that inevitability.”

“You are saying he wanted Earth’s forces to be defeated?”

“No. He simply started from the reasonable presumption that they inevitably would be defeated. His strategy was based on that presumption.”

“In what way?” Vruthvur’s tone suggested both surprise and interest.

“To apparently lose the initial engagements, giving the enemy the victories that were the reasonable, expected outcomes. However, he crafted a cunning set of deceptions, so that, even while these victories took place and opened a path to the human homeworld—a situation so dire and desperate that his enemies could hardly suspect it as a ploy—he had conserved the majority of Earth’s best forces, which, upon a signal, returned to catch the invaders embroiled in the difficult task of occupying and controlling the humans’ home system. It was a bold stratagem.”

“It could have led to disaster, had any of its elements failed significantly.”

“I believe he knew this, Menrelm. I believe he also was absolutely convinced—and correctly so—that any attempt at standard meeting engagements between Earth’s fleets and those of a more advanced enemy would be no less disastrous. The humans would have spent their best equipment, personnel, and most of their reserves without profit. Consequently, Corcoran was not reckless or overconfident. He chose an unconventional and risky plan that might work, over a conventional campaign that was certain to fail.”

“And you felt it wise for us to follow his lead?” asked Menrelm, with the faintest hint of incredulity.

“I felt it was unavoidable. He had already secured a web of influence and alliance that used international rivalry as the impetus to expand more rapidly into space and attain interstellar capability, as well as to fuel the modest arms race that produced over ninety-five percent of the space defense assets that Earth has now. Our external influence, at its best and most direct, could not have achieved one-tenth of what Corcoran’s own initiatives accomplished, all of which were informed by his ‘lose the first battles’ strategy. If we were going to follow Corcoran’s lead—and we had little choice, unless we wished to fight Earth’s battles for it—then we were also committed to following his plan. It was too intricate and nuanced to survive any attempts at modification.”

“Even once he died?”

“Particularly then. With Corcoran gone, the plan was moving forward under its own inertia, with occasional assistance from Downing. To redirect their efforts at that point would have required direct and very obvious intrusion by us.”

“Well,” asserted Vruthvur, “it is fortuitous that Corcoran’s plan survived him. And now that this war is behind us, we must call a new Convocation as swiftly as practicable.”

“Why?” asked Alnduul.

“Firstly, to censure the Arat Kur and the Ktor. Secondly to issue a stern warning to the Hkh’Rkh that without properly altered behavior, they may have permanently forfeited the offer of membership they received. And lastly, we must induct the humans into the Accord as quickly as possible. Only once they have been offered and have accepted membership can we extend full protection and, also, control their tendencies to—”

“My apologies for interrupting, learned Vruthvur, but I think you may project in error if you presume that the humans will be as swift or grateful in their acceptance of an offer of membership now as they were at the first Convocation.”

The Communitarium was still for a moment. “Explicate and illuminate, Alnduul,” Vruthvur invited.

“Again, with apologies, I must remind this group of its decision to reject the human request for direct protection after the collapse of the Convocation. And you may remember why I counseled that we grant their request: because if they felt abandoned, and that they could not depend on us, they would not be so cooperative later on.”

“Then it must be emphasized that we did save them.”

“Did we? Our participation turned a hard and uncertain fight into a devastating rout of their invaders.”

Menrelm sounded overtly impatient. “For which they should be grateful.”

“Yes, and they are. But their gratitude is conditional and limited, now—just as our willingness to help was conditional and limited.”

“And this portends what, Alnduul?”

“None may speak the future with certainty, Coordinator Vruthvur, but I speculate that, in the wake of this war, and living with the terror of their own possible extinction hanging unrelieved over their heads for several months, they will not now trust us as the guarantors of their safety.”

“Do you fear they will return here later, to exterminate the Arat Kur?”

“No. That would not be their way. The human psyche and their political ethos could have excused or at least rationalized an act of infuriated, unthinking xenocide by a fleet at great remove from its violated homeworld, uncertain of its security, and with time running out. But to return and conduct xenocide in cold blood, having to fight every step of the way? This they will not do, for matters both ethical and practical.”

“Then what are your misgivings, Alnduul?”

“I do not fear that they will preemptively attack others, but rather, will aggressively strengthen themselves. And they are in an extraordinary position to achieve this. They now have access to the most advanced Arat Kur technology. The humans will speedily copy and improve it, far faster than the Arat Kur, whose cultural predisposition is to slow, steady expansion and change.”

“This means that, at least in military applications, they will soon rival the Slaasriithi as well.”

“So I fear, Vruthvur. And there is more. The humans will realize, if they do not already, that it may be in their interest not to be members of the Accord, just yet.”

“What?” Menrelm almost exclaimed, “You speak as if they are deranged beings.”

“Not deranged: primal. And when we left them to fend for themselves against two foes, one of which was their technological superior, we caused a full reversion to primal reflex and thought. They will see this moment as a singular opportunity and will seize the freedom of action that is their right until their membership process is completed.”

“And what can they do that we cannot stop?”

“There is nothing that we cannot stop, Menrelm, but there is much that I suspect we would not stop, as a matter of choice.”

“Such as?” Vruthvur mused.

“Such as this: what if the humans were to expand beyond their pathways of allowed expansion? Not invading any other race’s systems, just expanding farther into the unclaimed and unreserved extents. What would you do?”

“I would tell them they must desist and return.”

“And if they politely pointed out that, while they prize their friendship with the Dornaani and are grateful to the Custodians, they are not yet members of the Accord, and therefore are not subject to its strictures? Then what would you do? Fire upon their ships? Inter their settlers?”

Menrelm’s mouth became straight and brittle. “You are right. We would do nothing.”

“And they know this already. They can read the political spoor left by this war clearly enough: the Arat Kur are now cowed and powerless. The Hkh’Rkh are safely trapped in a small cluster of systems by the limitations of their shift range. The Slaasriithi are passive and would be unwilling to even join our remonstrations. And we Dornaani? The humans have already begun to discern that we must rely upon them as the only energetic allies with whom we may counteract the machinations of the Ktor. We cannot afford to take aggressive or harsh actions against Earth, both because we have no legal right, and because it is contrary to our interests both as Dornaani and as the Custodians of the Accord.”

Vruthvur spoke softly. “They will run riot in the near systems. They will rush outward, to consume as many unclaimed systems as they can before we can call the next Convocation and put the matter of their membership to a final vote.”

Alnduul inclined his head. “This they will do. This we caused when we refused to provide protection for them after having been the ones to bring them to their first, and disastrous, Convocation. We erred, and we did not compensate them for being the victims of our error.”

“There was wisdom in our actions, though,” Menrelm insisted doggedly.

Alnduul’s mouth twisted slightly. “The humans also have wisdom, which we might have heeded when we hastily chose to leave them to their own devices. They have a saying: ‘err in haste, repent at leisure.’” Alnduul’s mouth straightened again. “I suspect we shall now spend several long years repenting our hasty action, standing by as the humans take advantage of this moment.”

“Is there nothing we can do, then?” asked Vruthvur.

Alnduul shrugged. “We can watch. And, maybe, learn.” He stood and raised his arms. “Enlightenment unto you.”