Extremis (79 page)

Narrok complied. “I will be blunt. We are losing the war. This statement is true on both the tactical and strategic levels, and in both the short- and long-term projections.

“The arrival of the new Allied Fleet immediately changed our strategic picture from secure to severe, and the improvements made to our forces may prove to be too little, too late to change that. Also, the Allied Fleet now recovers its losses more quickly than we do. After its defeat at Charlotte, it rebuilt more swiftly than we believed possible. It also showed up with three new innovations at, or just before, Polo: the superdevastator category of ship, the Kasugawa generator concealed within an SMT hull, and the double-firing energy-torpedo battery. If the humans can use these technologies to breach our secure perimeter at either Charlotte or BR-02, our strategic position becomes almost hopeless. We lack the combat power to retake either system, and the humans would then have a direct line of warp points to New Ardu.”

Amunherh’peshef’s
selnarm
burst like a bomb. “But surely New Ardu itself is secure!”

“For now, yes. But
the humans are not shackled to an admiral whose imperative is ‘always advance.’ Rather, they will first methodically drive us from every system. They will then have four warp points leading here into New Ardu and
will eventually batter us down as we divide our forces between the warp points. The endgame of such a contest is inevitable: our extinction.”

Tefnut ha sheri tapped two claws on the table to refocus the stunned Council. “Senior Admiral Narrok, would that your news were as welcome as your candor. There is one thing you have not told us yet.”

“And what is that, Revered
Holodah’kri’at
?”

“What we might do.”

Narrok stood as straight as he could. “I see two options.”

The Council’s collective
narmata
quailed before the turbulence that they could feel churning behind their senior admiral’s
selnarm
. Ankaht’s own
selnarm
—clear and fearless—broke through that morass to touch his own. “Tell us, Admiral.”

“Both the alternatives I suggest are extreme choices. The first alternative is to fall back upon both our and the humans’ weapon of last recourse: biological agents. Intelligence Overseer Mretlak has identified several humanocidal viruses that could be produced fairly quickly. If we elect to pursue this course of action, we recommend a sleeper virus—one which lays dormant for weeks, even months. In order to spread it, we would strike back through to human systems wherever we might—particularly out from Suwa up the left side of the Bellerophon Arm. Not only would the human relief units and the local population become carriers, but the naval crews debarking for recreation or cargo exchange would carry it back up into the Fleet. After a few months, the disease would become manifest and destroy them, and we would then be able to reestablish our defensive perimeter.”

“Assuming we, too, are not victims of this virus.” Tefnut ha sheri clicked a single claw lightly on the tabletop. “Many such organisms seem to be indiscriminate.”

Narrok nodded at Tefnut ha sheri. “This is why the humans, their many allies, and even their most vicious enemies have never employed such weapons.”

Amunherh’peshef had recovered enough to resume control of the meeting. “And the second alternative, Admiral?”

Narrok steadied himself. “Make peace. Humans are not faithless
griarfeksh
. Nor, of course, are they flawless ’
kaiKri
—‘saints,’ in the human tongue. They can become mindless in their pursuit of retribution…and we have given them many reasons to exact it from us. But they are also capable of great leaps of faith: faith in what is right, and in the better qualities of others—even in their adversaries.”

Amunherh’peshef was very still as he asked, “And what would we hope to gain by negotiation from a position of weakness, Senior Admiral?”

Narrok sent (rue). “Thankfully, that is in the province of politicians, First Councilor, and I am but a military professional.”

“Yes, Senior Admiral, but you are also a member of this Council, and having long fought against the humans, you may have a better understanding of them.”

Narrok was (dubious). “A better understanding of them, First Councilor? No. If that is what you seek, then here in this room are both Elder Ankaht and Overseer Mretlak, at your disposal. However, I understand my own caste well enough, and this I must tell you. The closer we come to defeat, the more desperate the radical
Destoshaz
will grow. And, among those
Destoshaz
who have lost faith in this body, their first order of business will be to remove the Council with maximum speed and finality.”

“So, you are saying that our precautions here today”—Amunherh’peshef gestured to the austere chamber in which they were meeting—“are prudent?”

“Prudent. But also insufficient. First Councilor, I suspect the radicals are long past attempting to bomb or assassinate this Council. You have made it too difficult, and it is altogether too predictable. They will seek other methods with which to bring about your dissolution. They will seek a weakness you do not even realize you have, and will strike you there—hard and fast.” Narrok sat, glad to be done.

Ankaht rose. “I, too, have something to say that will be difficult for us to hear. Particularly for our
Destoshaz
brothers and sisters.” She glanced at Narrok, who cycled all three of his eyelids, once, slowly: among acquaintances and friends, it was a wordless assurance of patient and willing acquiescence. He felt Ankaht’s quick but intense send of (gratitude, apology, purpose) like a quick clasp of reassuring tentacles between siblings. “This theory is not mine alone. Several weeks ago, Overseer Mretlak and the senior experts of my research cluster approached me—independently—with almost identical causal explanations for the many social problems with which we are now faced.”

“Proceed,” sent Amunherh’peshef with (weariness, encouragement).

Ankaht bowed her thanks. “From the first generations of the Dispersal of Sekamahnt, it became obvious that the demographics of our birthing clusters were changing. The number—and ratio—of Younglings whose only conceivable casting was for the
Destoshaz
increased sharply.

“But as an Elder—as one who walked upon the surface of Ardu and then slept the long centuries until these past few years—I must tell you that the caste changes have not merely been in terms of numbers.
The few
Destoshaz
I knew as a Youngling—for that caste was by then almost a rarity on Ardu—were reminiscent of Narrok, or Mretlak. They were persons capable not only of great focus and decisive action, but also of discernment and sagacity. Among the human authors I have read, the ancient war-philosopher Sun Tzu captured the essence of this ancient
Destoshaz
archetype when he wrote, ‘To fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.’ ”

Ankaht looked around the room. “Why, when we have more
Destoshaz
than in any recent epoch, do we have so few of this kind of wise warrior? The more I pondered on this, the more I explored back past the recent millennia through my
shaxzhutok
, and in those past lives, I believe I found an answer.

“It is my hypothesis that the membership of today’s
Destoshaz
caste does not merely recall the
quantities
associated with its Pre-Enlightenment demographics, but recalls its behavioral
qualities
, as well. Their rapid reflex toward violent resolution of conflicts, their impetuous embrace of physical peril, their predilection for hero worship, their dismissive attitude toward
shaxzhutok
and past lives: these were the tendencies that the Pre-Enlightenment
Destoshaz
had to overcome in order to share in our
communal
narmata.
Many of us have noticed what we have haltingly called the current ‘atavistic’ tendency of the radical
Desotashaz
to reject these harmonizing elements of Arduan society. But it is now my group’s hypothesis that this signifies a deeper, more physiological change: a reversion to an earlier evolutionary form.”

Tefnut ha sheri started. “But is this possible, Elder? After all, there is nothing genetic that determines one’s casting as a
Destoshaz
.”

“Revered
Holodah’kri’at
, that very presumption was why we dismissed this hypothesis at first. But lately, our investigation of human science has revealed that our understanding of genetics remains somewhat rudimentary. And the reason for this is obvious: we simply euthanized the unfit and congratulated ourselves that, with the coming of the Enlightenment, we had achieved an evolutionary zenith.

“But the humans pursued genetics far more assiduously than we did. After all, for them it was their only hope for significantly expanding their finite lifetimes. And in so doing, they happened upon a set of genetic relationships which are not mappable in the simplistic one-to-one correspondences that assign a given trait to a given gene. No, they pressed onward into what became the key to all their greatest genetic accomplishments: epigenetics—where less obvious traits are expressed, or marginally amplified, by subtle variations in the genetic structures around them.”

“The structural pattern of the codes, rather than the codes themselves, induce traits,” supplied Mretlak smoothly, orienting the few Councilors whose
selnarm
still registered (perplexity).

Ankaht gestured toward Mretlak. “It was indeed Mretlak who first brought this element of human genetic science to my attention. I then began to wonder if an analogous feature might be present in our own genetic makeup.”

Amunherh’peshef seemed filled with (anxiety) as he asked, “And is it?”

Ankaht let two minor tentacles from each cluster droop to underscore her (uncertainty). “We do not have a reliable methodology to determine this yet, and due to the drains of the war, we will not soon rectify this. However, we long ago observed on Ardu that, in other species, environmental crises can spark reversions—particularly if an older form of the species is more suited to the new, adverse conditions.”

“But,” objected Amunherh’peshef, “among our homeworld’s species, a profound reversion required a proportionately sustained crisis. That is not the case here, Elder. We have been at war for less than three years.”

Ankaht sent (accord) and added, “Yes, but our current state of crisis dates not from our arrival on Bellerophon, but from the First Dispersal of Sekamahnt. For centuries now, the sole survivors of our race have been hermetically sealed in controlled environments, fleeing through the harsh medium of interstellar space. And what transpired in the society that was compelled to endure this trauma? The emphasis upon
shaxzhutok
waned, and intensive technical training increased. The mix of castes came to resemble those of the Pre-Enlightenment, and among the
Destoshaz
there was a continually intensifying trend back toward the tall physiotype of our species.”

Tefnut ha sheri drummed all his claws on the tabletop in a slow, even cascade. “Elder, this hypothesis has much to commend it, but is it not also possible that the
Destoshaz
resurgence is more a matter of what the humans call ‘natural selection,’ that the
Destoshaz
were simply the caste most likely to survive and thrive amidst the challenges of our long, harsh journey between the stars?”

“Perhaps, Revered
Holodah’kri’at
, but consider this: among all the castes and skill-groups, only the incidence of s
haxzhu
has declined to Pre-Enlightenment levels. Which is quite strange, since that group’s particularly strong gift for experiencing
shaxzhutok,
while genetically determined, is also a random mutation rather than an inherited trait.”

Amunherh’peshef sent puzzlement. “What do you feel this signifies?”

“First Councilor, it suggests that it is not just the
Destoshaz
that are in regression. It is the whole of the Children of Illudor. After all, in the Pre-Enlightenment,
shaxzhu
were by far the rarest of all groups—and they have become so once again.”

“And now you reconceive those ancient changes—to both
Destoshaz
and
shaxzhu
—as evolutionary consequences of the social change wrought by the Enlightenment, rather than acts of divine grace?”

Ankaht bowed slightly. “I think we must consider the possibility, at the very least.”

Amunherh’peshef sat back, his
selnarm
settling. “If this hypothesis is true—what then? How should it factor into our deliberations…if at all?”

Mretlak’s ever-subtle
selnarm
uncoiled into the main current of the Council’s
narmata
. He had been brought in to fill one of the chairs left vacant by the departure of the radicals. “At the very least, this hypothesis gives us a clearer understanding of why the
Destoshaz’ai-
as
-sulhaji
movement has worked like a magnet, attracting the most regressed of my caste like iron filings. This also compels us to accept that a large cohort of my caste-mates are being driven by perceptions, emotions, and reactions that are simply not akin to ours.”

Tefnut ha sheri signaled (realization, accord, sorrow). “Meaning, therefore, that we may need to despair of ever reclaiming them to the Body of Illudor.”

“Very probably. It also means that, reciprocally, they have long since abandoned any thought of rehabilitating us, or this Council. Indeed, they may be operating in accordance with the more ferocious principles of the Pre-Enlightenment
Destoshaz
caste, whose methods were often quite brutal.”

“So, you feel they will begin to massacre us?”

“I fear for us less than I fear for the humans.”

“Why?”

“Because if the radicals can provoke the humans into such a fury that they would prefer certain death to continued occupation, the
Destoshaz
will have created the unremitting and genocidal war they want. In such a polarized conflict, we would have no choice but to side with the radical
Destoshaz
.”