Barsk (28 page)

“Is that how you've kept the outer colonies under control? You've had teams of psychic operatives scrying for you for three generations?”

“In part. But because Barsk was the only other place to have used precognition in this way, we've also always kept an eye turned toward your world. This aspect of the committee is rather clandestine, it's operation known in detail to only a small subset of senators, and for years now they have begrudged the expense, calling it a waste of time and resources. Barsk has continued on along the same course as always, quiet and calm. Recently though, that began to change. First one, and then another, and then several more of our precognitivists began reporting visions involving Barsk. They saw a change, a fast approaching critical juncture. They told us that it would involve the refinement of koph, a drug unlike any other of your pharmaceuticals. Not restorative, nor preventative, nor recreational. No, koph's sole purpose is as the means to allow some individuals to become Speakers. In time, every single one of those assets reported that everything would change soon, and all because of koph.”

“What about it? We've had koph only slightly longer than we've had the Compact. What's changed?”

Bish stepped closer, arms wide, palms open, and beamed at Jorl with his politician's smile. “Not what, who. A new player in this vast game. My precognitivists brought me a name, the person they saw who could change everything. Tell me, Jorl, have you ever heard of someone called Arlo?”

A muffled sound from the far side of the room broke the senator's focus. Even before he could turn toward the source, Druz had shifted enough to point one arm toward the room's closet and fired a device from up her sleeve. Three steel talons darted across the room to embed themselves in the closet door and yank it open as the Sloth pulled back on their attached cables. A small figure tumbled out and crashed to the floor headfirst. A young Fant, white-fleshed and even more hideous than the larger, gray-skinned versions.

Bish stepped back, mind racing to assess the potential threat, even as Jorl jumped to his feet and gave a name to the creature with a voice of disbelief.

“Pizlo?”

 

TWENTY-SEVEN

BLIND ENDGAME BEGINNING

“
I
TAKE
it you know this child?” said Bish.

He'd tilted a horn in the direction of the Brady but otherwise kept his attention on the pair of Fant. The Sloth rose and started slowly across the room, the trio of cables withdrawing back up her sleeve with every step.

Jorl had left his seat to kneel alongside Pizlo, confusion warring with fear in his mind. How had the child come to be hiding in the closet, let alone here on this station? But questions could wait; he ran hands and trunk over Pizlo, checking the boy for injuries beyond the usual collection of scrapes and bruises that defined his daily life. He paused to puzzle over the circles drawn on his chest long enough to confirm they were only ink and nothing more. His growing relief evaporated when he noticed the arm fitted in a makeshift sling. Real fear took its place as he discovered the ruins of the boy's hands. Strips of white flesh hung from his palms. Somehow he'd torn through multiple layers of skin leaving behind weeping wounds. Hands and fingers had swollen to immobility, little more than fleshy blocks at the ends of his wrists. Even without the complications of likely infection, Jorl wondered if Pizlo could be saved the use of his hands at all.

“He needs medical attention!”

“Then he'll have it, of course.” The senator sounded so much like his grandfather, a blend of decisive surety and familial kindness. Jorl doubted the sincerity but would worry about the cost later. All that mattered in this moment was helping Pizlo.

“Jorl, we're up in the sky! And I saw Telko, and that was after I saw Pemma.” Pizlo's voice seemed breathy and his eyes didn't quite track.

“Hush now, it'll be fine. You've hit your head.” Pizlo flailed a useless hand at the circles on his chest. “I have to fill in another of them.” His eyes gave up their attempt to focus and his head lolled to one side.

“Allow me,” said the Sloth, suddenly beside him, her voice deeper than he'd expected. From her sleeve, she drew a small tube which she snapped open, pouring the contents into her hand. “It's an anesthetic salve that will help with the pain until we can get him to the infirmary.”

Jorl's trunk whipped left and right in negation. “He doesn't need it. He can't feel pain. Use that time to get him treatment sooner, please.”

“No pain?” repeated the Sloth, even as she slid her arms underneath Pizlo and began to rise. “I've never heard of such a thing.”

“No, he's abnor … his physiology is atypical. I don't know if ordinary healing methods will be effective or do more harm—”

“Have no fear,” said Druz. “Our infirmary is part of a larger, working lab with very discriminating diagnostic gear. I will proceed with caution.” She moved toward the exit with the boy in her arms. Bish stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“The major's telepath should have reached the station before us. Have one of the guards find her and escort her to this room.”

“Of course, sir.”

Pizlo stirred. “Jorl … the moon … it told me you'll see Arlo soon. Say hello for me, 'kay?”

The door opened and closed and Jorl was alone in the room with the Yak.

“He seems to know the name. And from his remark, dazed as he obviously was, he believes you know the name, too. That seems too unlikely a thing to be mere coincidence, don't you think? And more, what is the boy doing in this place at all?”

“Pizlo,” said Jorl. “His name is Pizlo.”

“I see. And who is Pizlo?”

The Fant shook his head, trying to make sense of events. “He's … he's Arlo's son.”

“Indeed?” The sound of avarice had replaced the senator's kindly tone. “You and young Pizlo clearly know one another, which begs the question: what is Arlo to you?”

Jorl was still on his knees. He looked up at Bish, the events of the past day cascading through his mind. The Dying wandering the yard, the Lutr who had protected him from an Ailuros, the Matriarch summoning him and asking about Arlo, Krasnoi slaughtering the Dying before his eyes, the Brady executing the major at the senator's command, and now Pizlo here on the station high above the world. One improbable event after another. What wouldn't he give to trade it all away?

“Arlo is my best friend,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

“I see. Then perhaps we can expect your friend to also make a surprise appearance and come for his son?”

He fanned himself with his ears but made no move to stand up. If anything, he wanted to sink into the floor, through the station, and tumble back down to the world below, but even that bargain was denied him. “I wouldn't hold my breath. He's been dead for close to two years now.”

The Bos stood over him, saying nothing. Jorl didn't care anymore. This wasn't how history was made. None of the events he'd studied at the academy had been so predetermined. None of the principals he'd Spoken to had been such helpless pawns. Was there anything he had done, any decision he'd made in his entire life, that hadn't been preordained, just another step that ultimately led him down the path the Matriarch had foreseen centuries before? And was Bish any better? Or the Yak's grandfather for that matter? Despite commissioning his own team of precognitivists, here he was at the same moment that Margda had seen. Was all of the universe a fixed game, if one only knew where and how to look?

The door opened. Someone entered from the hallway, but Jorl didn't look up.

“Senator? A pleasure to meet you at long last.”

Jorl recognized the voice. The Lutr who had spoken with him back in the yard. Krasnoi had sent her away before killing the Dying, before Bish had arrived.

“I've read your reports; fruitless but thorough. You're a very talented young woman.” Jorl could hear the grandfatherly smile in his voice. “I have one final need of your abilities. The Fant and I are about to have a very serious chat. Monitor him. I need to know that he understands and believes what I tell him. None of us have the luxury of allowing him anything less than total clarity.”

Hands gripped him under each arm and hauled Jorl to his feet. The senator carried him back to the sleeping platform and dropped him there. Behind the Bos, Jorl could see the Lutr watching him, her eyes bright.

“Here's the thing,” said Bish, still speaking in his politician's tone of voice. “My experts have told me to expect a new type of koph, but none of them can tell me what comes next. They did tell me that if we investigated koph, it would serve as a means to the unknown end we sought. That's what the Urs-major's operation was for and, regrettably why a closer eye wasn't kept on him. It was never about whether or not he would succeed, only that some part of our actions in pursuing an answer would lead us to where we needed to be. And so we've come up on what they call a
choice point,
and it involves the new drug all of this has been pointing to. What's not clear is who gets to do the choosing. Maybe it will be me, but maybe it will be you, Jorl. If it's me, I'll choose what serves the greater good of the Alliance. But if it's you, well, I don't know that I can rely upon you to make the right choice. And I can't abide that kind of uncertainty.”

“What are you saying?”

“The Alliance is dependent upon your world for a great many drugs besides koph. But if most of them vanished tomorrow, we'd all manage. It might prove difficult, but also bearable. There are other materials manufactured on other planets that could serve. And we did just fine prior to the discovery of koph; back before we gave Barsk to the Fant. Losing the advantages of Speaking would be unfortunate, but not a true hardship in the grand scheme of things. Certainly it would be superior to some of the scenarios my precognitivists have envisioned. Are you following what I'm saying, Jorl?”

He nodded, his trunk falling to his lap, arms limp at his sides. “You're prepared to give up koph.”

“Not simply give it up, that would never do. For example, blockading your planet would just make the stuff more valuable to radical elements, create a black market, invite offworld smugglers with no regard for your Compact. No, I'm talking about ending its production entirely.”

“You want the Fant to pledge to stop making it? Even for our own use?”

“If it's being made, then the enhanced version my team has foreseen would likely still come to pass, and never mind the absurdity of expecting me to trust any member of your race with such a promise.”

“Then—”

“I'm talking about ending your world, Jorl. Destroying every one of your island forests where the drug is grown and refined. I'm talking about taking the life of every person on Barsk to ensure that not so much as a single pellet of koph ever rises up to this station again.”

The Otter gasped even as Jorl trumpeted his disbelief. “That's impossible! No matter how strong your bigotry toward Eleph and Lox, the senate would never sanction the extermination of an entire race!”

“Quite correct. But I haven't shared the insights of my precognitivists with them, and I don't have the time to do so now, let alone try to convince them of the seriousness before us. Fortunately, I don't have to. You've served in the Patrol. How many vessels do you imagine I would need to raze your archipelagos? I'm a senior senator, Jorl, do you have any idea how many ship captains I've gathered to my side? Even if I sent them illegal orders, they'd only take the time to contact me personally for confirmation. Then they'd carry them out, on my say so. I have only to give the word.”

“But you haven't done that.”

“No, I haven't. Not yet. But understand, this is a zero-sum game. There can be only a single winner here, and if it's not to be the Alliance, then I will ensure there is no game at all, even if I have to overturn the game board and smash every piece. I share your grief over the Urs-major's slaughter of your people. Such a thing should be unthinkable. Learn from it. Understand that in our current situation, the wrong outcome would mean the end of your entire race. I know you don't want that, no sane individual could, so I'm inviting you to embrace the alternative. Accept the larger compromise and help the Alliance to win.”

Jorl hesitated. Nothing could justify Krasnoi's crime, but was it possible to retrieve some good from it? “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Your dead friend, Arlo, is the key. That much is abundantly clear. And here you are, his best friend, and a Speaker, too. Summon him. Explain the reality of the situation to him. I have a fully equipped lab aboard my ship and this station's warehouses have every possible substance Barsk has to offer available at your request. Persuade your friend to give me the new drug that has all my precognitivists in such a panic, and perhaps we can avoid the need to destroy your world and your people.”

“You don't understand. Arlo's a pragmatist, always was. He killed himself to prevent his secret from getting out. He won't necessarily believe or be swayed by abstract threats.”

“Then offer him a real one,” said Bish, and the grandfatherly façade fell away. “I have his son. And while you say the boy does not feel pain, I'm sure that Druz is so intrigued by your statement that she wants nothing more than to test it to the fullest extent of her abilities. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps she would be able to peel away his skin, break each and every one of his bones, wrench his tusks from his face, tear off his ears and trunk, cut out his eyes and tongue, and he'll not feel any of it. But whether or not I allow her to test such a hypothesis rests with you and Arlo.”

The Bos's speed leaping from rational explanation to deadly threat did not surprise Jorl. Outrageous as it was, it still paled alongside the searing memory of the Dying's execution. He was nearly numb to Bish's threats, and wished he could disconnect entirely. Was this a bluff? The Brady had struck him as compassionate, but then, too, she'd swiftly killed Krasnoi. Bluff or not, the ease with which the senator imagined each detail was more cruelty than Jorl could subject Arlo to. “I won't summon him. I won't ask him to make such a choice again.”