Theirs Not to Reason Why 5: Damnation (29 page)

“I send
this
Meddler to you to instruct you on exactly what to do to survive the coming storm.” Ia pushed the Choyan-shaped alien forward, releasing his wrist.
She
didn’t have this ability, and didn’t have the time to study it, but Belini was ready. The Feyori seated at the backup comm station teleported her fellow Meddler down to the planet, landing him right next to the Choyan leader’s throne.

The yellowish green Meddler stumbled a second time, then straightened, regaining his matter-based dignity. He wrinkled the muscles of his face in an odd way—clearly not used to Choyan physiology—and hissed in pain. A quick peek at the timestreams told Ia he had just tried to resist his new assignment. A second struggle, a second hiss . . . He broadcast telepathically, (
I do not like you, Prophet. You should never have been born.
)

Ia knew he had sent that to the Choyan leader as well as to her. Unfortunately, her own telepathy—and her xenopathy—were a bit too weak to bridge orbital distance, even with a direct line of sight to the Son of Cho. She spoke instead. “I do not care whether or not the Feyori likes me. Dunkun is bound to my will, and he will serve.
You
, Fshau, Son of Cho, have two choices before you. Which do you choose?”

He studied her a long moment. “What are the terms of surrender?”

“Unconditional. You will sever all ties immediately with the Salik; you will cease firing upon any and all Alliance ships, save only at my direct command, or by command relayed through my Meddler, there; and you will immediately recall every ship to defend your own worlds and colonies from future contamination, excepting only those that are within Salik atmospheres as we speak. You will encourage every Salik on your worlds to leave immediately. I know
exactly
where every last one of them is, and where they will be, should they try to move. If they are not evacuated, I will know, and will direct Alliance troops to invade, search, and destroy.

“As for every Choyan who is on a Salik world or a Salik vessel at this point in time . . . unfortunately, they will perish,” Ia told him, softening her tone only a little in compassion. A velvet glove to her underlying ceristeel. “They cannot be allowed to leave and rejoin your people. That would spread the plague. Everyone else can be salvaged if you implement the new Quarantine Extreme 99alpha protocol immediately. When the Quarantine period has ended six weeks from now, your people’s various actions in the Second Salik War will be reviewed by a combined Alliance military tribunal. However, your full cooperation right now will go a long way toward reducing any punishments or repayments the tribunals will impose upon the Choyan nation. This is why representatives from the militaries of all Alliance nations are here, to witness for themselves how well you choose to cooperate.”

“Hyperrift, General,” Private Ng called out from her seat at the navigation station. “347 by 27.”

A courier ship spat out of the not-quite-funnel-shaped hole down and to the right from Ia’s relative dead-ahead. It swerved abruptly, catching sight of the long needle that was the
Damnation
, the thousands of silvery Feyori-spheres, and the twoscore Alliance ships in a standoff against the Choyan Home Fleet. That instinctive course correction shifted the Salik ship on a near-collision course with the hydrobomb launched as soon as they had reached outer orbit.

“Aquinar,” Ia ordered her gunnery crewman. “Detonate when in range.”

“Aye, sir. Three . . . two . . .
boom
,” the private murmured. Light flashed in a bright double pulse from all the screens.

Ia squinted, prepared for it, then quickly checked the timestreams for lingering traces of the plague prion. “Well done, Private; no traces of the plague remain.”

The Son of Cho eyed her, baring his teeth once more. The incisors were sharp, meant for tearing meat into chunks so that the molars in back could grind it to paste. “That was a hydrobomb, General. That was excessive force.”

“Where this plague is concerned, there is no overkill,” Ia told him. “There is only fire, detonate, and reload. The cold vacuum of space will not destroy this burden, Son of Cho; only vaporization will end the threat against your people. Do you surrender?”

He regarded her a long moment more, then lifted his chin and his wrists. “‘. . . I release the burden of my rage, so my people will live.’
Cho Ya Va-Shien naho.
The Choyan Nation chooses to surrender. You know our legends well . . . and you know you xenopsychology, Prophet General, as I was warned.”

“I know which path through the many possibilities of the future will preserve the greatest number of lives, Son of Cho,” Ia corrected him. “That includes the many lives of the Choya nation. I am placing Royal Sector War Prince K’sennshin of the Solarican Empire in charge of directing the defense of your homeworld and outlying colonies. You will follow all of his instructions and directions as if they were my own, excepting only the corrections stated by your Feyori advisor,” she continued. “The Solarican capital ship
Niien Rra
will remain in orbit to coordinate your defenses, as will one each of the other nations, to act as observers. Be advised that any attack against an Alliance vessel will be a breach of contract with your nation and will result in the Son of Cho being removed from office . . . one way or another. Begin the immediate extraction to a safe location of everyone who cannot survive for the next six weeks on their own. You have 130
zvikmah
to comply.”

The Son of Cho narrowed his eyes, squinting a little, but lifted his chin. “We will comply. We would need more time, though.”

“Do what you can.” Ia quickly skimmed the timestreams. Mostly, the Choyans would comply. The Son of Cho had heard her reputation for accuracy . . . and for telling the truth. Not always all of it, but the truth nonetheless. “Thank you, Son of Cho. You will be remembered for your wisdom . . . and most of your people will reach the far shore if you and your people heed and follow the steps outlined in Quarantine Extreme Protocol 99alpha. No contact with anything Salik or Salik-tainted, including your own people; no exceptions.

“These exact same restrictions are in effect for the entire Alliance. Follow them, and we will do everything we can to save your people, Son of Cho. You have my Prophetic Stamp on that. Thank you for your cooperation; General Ia out.”

She tapped a control on her console, switching the view of the Son of Cho to a forward view of Cho Va near space, and started turning the
Damnation
away from the Choyan motherworld.

“Ng, plot a course for the Choyan colony on Sellvis IV. Look sharp, everyone; it’s only five minutes away by hyperwarp, so we’ll be there in under fifteen . . . and the next one after that is in one hour. Sorry, but we won’t be stopping for rest anytime soon.”

A chorus of, “Aye, sir,” met her words.

(
Belini, bring the bubble-troops on board,
) she ordered. (
No need to make them exhaust themselves in following us. Tell them to pack themselves into Decks 2, 3, 4, 19, 20, and 21 . . . and to leave our belongings alone. They can sup on the ship’s thermal and electrical energy on those decks, but that’s it.
)

(
Aye aye, Captain General, sir!
) Belini flicked her a mental flourish, the telepathic equivalent of an extra-fanciful salute.

Ia refrained from rolling her eyes. She had too much to do and too little time to get it all done.

JUNE 22, 2499 T.S.
CONFUCIUS
STATION
XKC-DELTA SYSTEM

Too many battles. Too many prophecies to oversee. Too many hours with not enough sleep. Too many emotions and not enough time to express them. Ia felt like an archaic pressure cooker. She could only hope there wasn’t a flaw or a crack within her. Once again, they faced the Shredou, the Greys, and once again, she was trying to get through their alien mind-set that their current course was suicidal.

Save for her ship’s main laser, the psis on board, and a pair of crystalsong broadcasting spheres still carried on board for emergency backup, the Alliance members in this system were hopelessly outclassed compared to the Greys and their technology. It was very much an uphill struggle. At least the triple threat of the
Damnation
’s presence did make their invasion fleet stop while it was still several hundred thousand klicks from the great wheel-shaped station, the hub and the heart of the mining efforts in this ore-and-gas-rich system. Stop, and listen. Cooperate . . . that was another matter.

“No,” Ia denied. Off-screen, her hand eased up the lid on the main gun control. Splaying her fingers on the palm reader, she let it accept her biometrics. “You will not take this system. This whole system is denied to you. The people in this system are denied to you. Humans are denied to you. Tlassians are denied to you. Solaricans are denied to you. K’Katta are denied to you. Chinsoiy are denied to you. Dlmvla are denied to you. Gatsugi are denied to you. Choyans are denied to you. You will go elsewhere. Leave now, before I lose my patience with you.”

The Choyans were not actually in this system. Their miners had long since withdrawn from the region back before the start of the Salik war, but they would return. Ia had put them firmly on the denial list for that reason. By the time another sentient, sufficiently advanced species was found, the Greys would no longer be a threat.

“We will not leave. You will not give us orders. You will not stop us. You cannot stop us,” the Grey equivalent of an admiral informed Ia. His—her?—dual-toned voice was flat, dissonant. “You will leave. If you do not leave, we will destroy you.”

“If you fire your precious new weapon,” Ia warned the Grey, checking the streams one last time, “you will puncture a hole in the universe.
When
you do that, you will cause the destruction of this universe. You go to war by your choice. You fire your weapons by your choice. You will carry the blame, and the shame. I will stop that. I will save you. You will owe me. You will do as I say, when I say, where I say.”

“You boast. You say you see. You know nothing,” the admiral retorted even as her thumb shifted. “We will destroy you.”

Sterling engines
thrummed
and
whumped
down the length of the ship. Her left secondary showed the Grey ships shifting into attack formation, just as she’d predicted. “
You
do not listen. But don’t worry. I will eventually find someone among your people who does. And then I will save the rest of you . . .”

Bright red lanced forward, a blip of a streak. Grey shielding was good, the materials tough, but very little in the universe could withstand the equivalent of a thermonuclear blast reduced to a column only twenty meters wide. Of course, the beam chewed up several hundred chunks of rock between her and them, but that only ensured the beam didn’t keep going past a handful more of asteroids beyond the lead invading ship.

“. . . From yourselves,” Ia finished in a mutter. “Al-Aboudwa, ping me the next ship.”

“I have the one to the upper left and the one to the lower right on the line, sir,” the unflappable private stated. He lifted his chin at his screen. “Which one you want?”

“Upper right. He or she doesn’t speak Terranglo, but they do have a translation program running.” As soon as the new alien appeared on her screen, Ia sighed. “Let’s try this again, gentlebeings. You will leave this system alone. You will not attack its people.” The timestreams soured, so she slipped her gloved hand up and to the left, shifting the ship slightly, and tapped the firing button with her right. “. . . Wrong answer, Shredou,” Ia stated, as energy crackled through the space where the
Damnation
had just been. “You will not attack this ship. You will not attack this system. I will continue to destroy you, ship by ship, until I get to the one who
will
listen.”

Once again, deep crimson flared briefly from every screen. Al-Aboudwa cleared his throat. “And . . . lower right is firmly online, sir.”

The third alien had a slightly different head shape, and the voice was a little deeper on its lower note, a little higher on the upper, more harmonious than the not-quite-tone-deaf voices of the other two. But still, there was no indication of gender, though she or he tipped their head, big black eyes regarding Ia steadily while the alien spoke. “I listen.”

“Good. Inform your superiors that this war between us is to be paused. You will not attack, you will not press, you will not invade. This war will not continue until the worlds infested with the Salik plague are destroyed. If you attack, if you press, if you invade . . . I will infect
your
worlds with the Salik plague. You will die in just three weeks instead of five hundred years from now, when your biology and your technology will fail the last of you. If you do not wish to die in three weeks, you will do as I say. No fighting. No captures. Nothing. Do you understand?”

“Understanding is not needed. Compliance is needed,” the Grey pointed out.

Impatient, Ia struggled to hide her irritation. Semantics was politics, and she hated dancing those steps. But she did know what would happen in the next twelve seconds, and carefully closed both lids on her console. “Do you comply?”

“We will comply. In this system,” the alien clarified. “Others will decide elsewhere.”

“Good. Carry this warning to them.
Dulshuwuuul sh-wie-ehh nn gnaa-k lluun znin ni-i-iven doon,
” she half sang, half stated, her voice pitched more or less low. Then repeated the phrase a little higher, her vocal cords shifting and modulating. “Run
that
through your translators and suck on it.”

The alien officer studied her in silence. Ia didn’t really grasp how the Greys thought, but she did know that “sucking” on something was an insult in Terranglo, whereas it was a cautionary bit of wisdom in their mind-set. Of course, the Greys knew more about Terran culture than the Terrans knew about theirs, but that was more because Terrans still used light-speed communications for many things. A sensitive scanner probe parked at the edge of a star system could gather quite a lot of information about the Second Human Empire.