Chapter Six

2163 AD
૨૧૨૫ MA

The Emperor’s Chartered Shuttle Priyontæ orbited a moon of the first planet of Gliese 785, and Lennox McClure looked down on the corpse of a world.

It was jarring to see. The fact that the Insectoids existed was not news, nor the fact that the Empire had been defending Earth from them. But that was all esoteric – like banging sticks together to keep bears away when there was no evidence of an actual bear. It was easy to question just how serious the threat was – and if it had been overstated to keep Earth in line.

Seeing Sperikos had eliminated any doubt of that. Its shattered moon, the thin, dusty haze that had replaced its atmosphere, the charred ground – and that had been done not by the Insectoids, but the Sperikans, in a desperate, last-gasp move, knowing that it was that or surrender.

They were so terrified of being taken by the Insectoids that they had given up their lives, their families’ lives, their very world, just to prevent it. And three thousand years later, the world below was still dead.

Well, not completely.

“A little bit of O₂,” Ted was saying. “Could be microbial life.”

“Possible,” Ansol said. “We’ve seen some slight evidence of that in the last century. Likely that something survived – maybe in the deep ocean, the part that didn’t boil off, or deep underground.”

“Nothing complex, though,” Tig added, holding their course steady. “Nothing more than bacteria. There was a human reserve there, you know.”

“I didn’t,” Ted said, looking out on it forlornly.

“Kumari,” Eyrn said, with a sigh. “Records indicate it was in many ways more advanced than Avalon. Avalon was originally set up on a bit of a whim by the Tarsuss family. Kumari was done with more care. My birth parents had been involved in its initial founding.”

“Social control?”

“None to speak of, Ambassador Dourit,” Eyrn said. “Unlike Avalon, the idea behind Kumari was to let humans sort things out for themselves. Titans and humans interacted occasionally, but it was as close to a pure refuge as existed in the Empire.” Eyrn shook her head. “It was one of the first places to fall to the Insectoids, according to the transmission logs. And the place that they discovered humans were…um….”

“…delicious. Yeah, can’t help it,” Ted said. “We’re well-marbled, corn-fed. Can’t beat us for taste. And unlike you, we’re snack-sized.”

“Basically how the Insectoids see you. Although there are more than a few records of them butchering Titans; from my understanding, they like our taste quite as much, they just find you to be more convenient.”

“Lucky us,” Lennox said. “So they’ve tried to take Earth since this?”

“Several times. Only once with a full-scale strike force, though, during the Second Insectoid War. I believe they were testing to see if we would respond in kind, if we were serious about responding. It cost us several ships, but it cost them a hive ship and well over a million soldiers; they haven’t done more than probe since.”

“But they would,” Lennox said. “If you weren’t there.”

“Something Sen. Tarsuss once told me,” Eyrn said, somberly, “is that the Insectoids always begin bargaining sessions by asking for Earth, though they know they are highly unlikely to get it. They see you as a great food source, and Earth and the Sol System as a tactically significant staging area. It would cut off Azatlia immediately. After that, aside from the colony on Vakor and a couple fortifications, there’s nothing between them and Avalon. This is a lightly-settled part of the province. If they could establish a foothold on Earth, they would be able to threaten Avalon, and potentially Vorsha.”

“So you’re not just defending Earth out of the goodness of your hearts.”

Eyrn smiled. “Yes and no. Earth is militarily important because we’ve made it so. Titan Station is not a heavily-armed station, but it is a significant asset, and it can become quite a formidable asset if we have reason to believe it needs to be. We keep a capital ship in the system constantly as a deterrent. Taking out the Sol Earth System would remove our primary staging area for defense against the Insectoids, it’s true. But we could have put our military base on Tau Ceti or Azatlia. We chose this system,” Eyrn said, “because of Earth, and because of humanity. We wanted to protect you from them. Even though we didn’t view you as we should have, we viewed you as important, as worth protecting.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry. But why? If you just view us as pets….”

“For exactly the same reason we view you as pets. It is a noble, if sometimes misguided drive in Titans. We see your size and assume you are weak and fragile and must be defended, not just from the Insectoids, but from yourselves. We are, as Ted noted, overprotective. And not just of humans. I’ll give you an example – how many humans have died as a part of the space program?”

“Not sure. Dozens,” Lennox said. “There were the space shuttle disasters and that one Soyuz one back near the start, and the astronauts who died training for the Apollo mission, the space debris hit on the Indian orbiter back in the mid-twenty first century, the Mars habitat that depressurized….”

“Exactly. Dozens. You pushed forward, knowing the risks, and people died, but humans were willing to take those risks in order to learn, to grow, to see what lies over the far horizon. Do you know how many Titans died in space programs before the development of warp drive?”

“Obviously not.”

“Zero,” Eyrn said. “None. Not a single Titan died in spaceflight before the development of warp drive. We were careful. At times, perhaps, too careful. We weren’t going to risk our astronauts without failsafes built on top of failsafes. We shot up forty-seven test rockets before we dared put a Titan on one. We landed four test landers on Selana before we tried it with a Titan. You sent Armstrong and Aldrin to land on the Moon, and they knew full well they might not make it back – and Armstrong burned up so much fuel on the landing that they almost didn’t. We never would have taken that risk. You would.”

“And yet,” Lennox said, “the people here died rather than surrender.”

“Yes,” Eyrn said. “They died to protect the rest of the Empire. We will risk our lives, but rarely just to find out something new. It is the main difference between Titans and humans – you will gladly take a foolish chance if it could yield a massive payout. We won’t. But we will be much more careful, much more sure of ourselves before we leap – and much more willing to tell others not to, until the time is right. And we will sacrifice ourselves for others willingly. You will too – but you will exhaust every option first. We are careful. And so we won’t wait until it’s desperate.”

“Neither is wrong,” Dourit said. “Neither is right. We’re different – and not that different. Many Titans will take risks, and many humans will sacrifice early. Individually, there’s overlap, but as species, it tends to play out as she said. ”

“They could complement each other well,” Lennox mused. “I mean, let’s be honest, sometimes we need a friend to tell us to knock it off, and think before we, I don’t know, try to make nanoweapons or something stupid.”

“And sometimes we need a friend to tell us that for God’s sake, we need to stop worrying and just do it already. There are many of us who see Earth as a potentially formidable ally, who could help us take the next step.”

“The converse is true, I’m sure,” Lennox said.

“We need to get over our bigotry. And you…well, you need to not fear us. Which means we need to not be frightening. You need to know that we can be an ally, too. That is why we’ve asked for time – because we want to be able to truly work with you as partners. And once the laws have changed, we can, and we will.”

“I understand that,” Lennox said. “I really do. I understand exactly why you’ve been circumspect. And I don’t blame you. But what if Earth doesn’t want to join the Empire?”

“Who said anything about joining the Empire? I’m not saying it’s a ridiculous idea, but it’s a long way off, and if it ever happens – if – it would be Earth’s free decision, and the Empire’s. If, say, the Tusola asked to join the Empire tomorrow, I imagine we would probably admit them. But…well, there was a time in our history when we imposed Imperial possession through military force. Those times are in the past, and Emperor willing, will never come again.”

“Good. That’s important,” Lennox said. He looked down for a moment, then back up. “Ambassador, I do understand why you’ve been hesitant to share this. I really do.”

“Do you agree?”

Lennox sighed, and looked out at Sperikos. “Honestly, I…I need to think. I will give you my answer before we land on Earth.”

“I appreciate your consideration,” Eyrn said. “Captain Martínez, we’re ready to break orbit.”

“Aye, Ambassador. Ladies and gentlemen, stand by to depart.”

* * *

“So that should be it, Admiral – and tell Capt. Martínez that it took some sweet talking of Navarchos Bass to get him clearance that close to the military restriction area.”

“You didn’t have to do that, we can vector around.”

“Oh, I didn’t sweet talk him, the Ambassador did. Navarchos Bass just wanted me to make sure that Ted got harangued.”

“Well, that’s hardly enough.” Xú said, shaking her head. “Tell Navarchos Bass that we still owe him, as I’ll pip Ted for fun. And again, if it’s a difficulty….”

“It isn’t, Admiral. The course sends the Alcubierre a good fifteen Terran light years outside the hard perimeter, civilian ships get waivers to skirt that close all the time. Given your ship’s top speed, I feel pretty certain one of the dozen Imperial ships in the sector could intercept you if you were intent on giving the Empire trouble.”

“Exactly the reason we won’t. Anyhow, we’ll see you when the Gyfjon puts in with resupply next month; and just so you know…offer’s still open, Sergeant.”

Izzy sighed. “I appreciate that, Admiral. I really do. But…my home’s out here. And even if you just gave me the rank…well, it wouldn’t change anything. I’d still be doing the job I’m doing.”

“Well, hopefully the Empire realizes what an asset you are, Sgt. Ibanez.”

“Lauryna does, and Navarchos Bass does…and that’s enough.”

“Titan Station does too, Sergeant. Give my best to Capt. Gwenn.”

“Yes, Admiral. And wish Capt. Bobrova luck on the run to Barnard’s Star.”

“I will do that. Titan Station out.”

“Comms, Ibanez, we’re clear,” Izzy said.

“Affirm. Closing channel, Sergeant.”

Izzy leaned back in her chair, and ran a hand through her gray hair. She was tired, which was to be expected, she supposed. She had taken on a good deal of responsibility, serving as military liaison between the Empire and Earth. It made sense; she knew both groups inside and out, and was able to translate fluently between Earth’s military jargon and Imperial military jargon. It wasn’t as if she’d been goofing off over the past hundred years, but this was more official responsibility than she’d ever had.

She wasn’t getting any younger.

The door opened, and the captain of the ISS Gyfjon walked into the room. “Hey, Iz,” she said, pausing to sit down and take her boots off. “I swear, we’re going to have to post another ship in Sol Earth System. Two interdictions today – idiots heading out to see Earth now that ‘there isn’t an Earth restriction zone,’ and don’t bother telling them that there is, and it’s now an actual border, they don’t believe you. Like we’re just going to let moronic joyriders land in Asia somewhere.” Lauryna sighed. “I guess technically we had three, but the Priyontæ actually had clearance. Anyhow, everything set for the Alcubierre?”

“Just sending the Navarchos an update, but yup, they’re all set,” Izzy said. She paused, as she finished sending the message, and looked down for a minute. “Red?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I’m being stubborn?”

Lauryna laughed. “Definitely.”

Izzy spun her chair, and rolled her eyes at her partner, who was walking over to the desk upon which Izzy was perched. “You didn’t even ask what I was being stubborn about.”

“It’s you, you’re stubborn as a seltam, which is why I love you. But what are you being stubborn about?”

“Well…Admiral Xú offered me a commission again.”

“Ah. Well…I mean, would you have to….”

“No, she basically said the JTSA would allow me to stay out here, keep doing what I’m doing, but that…that’s not what I’m worried about. Not really. It’s…I’m old, Lauryna.”

Lauryna looked down at her partner, and shook her head, slightly. “You’re not even twenty. Still a kid.”

“I’m serious,” Izzy said. “I’m…what I’m worried…what…Lauryna, do you think I should have been life-extended?”

Lauryna Gwenn had once ordered her ship to ride the explosion of a warp core out of harm’s way, making the decision in a split-second, not hesitating a bit. She was nothing if not quick on her feet, and even in a crisis, she knew to keep moving forward.

But at this statement, Lauryna Gwenn froze, as if she’d come upon a baby bird, and knew that any movement could startle it into fleeing.

“I think,” Lauryna finally said, “that’s a decision only you can make.”

“It is, but I didn’t ask that, I asked if you thought I should have.”

“Iz,” Lauryna said, “you know how well I took it when you nearly died. If I could give you every moment of life I have left, I’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”

Izzy smiled, and shook her head. “And leave me without you? You wouldn’t dare. I….”

“Look,” Lauryna said, “I know, after what I put you through…I just…I know you don’t want to….”

Izzy shook her head again. “It…Red, do you think I didn’t get life extension because of you putting me in stasis? No, no. Well, kind of…but not because of you. I…Red, I don’t want to outlive you.”

Lauryna bit her tongue at the obvious reply, which was that there was unfortunately little chance of that; instead, she said, “Well, I don’t want to outlive you, you know.”

“I know, but Red, if I die, you’ll go on captaining, probably end up Navarchos Imperii someday, maybe find someone to take my place after twenty, thirty years of mourning. But…you’ll live your life, same as ever. If you die…it’s not just that I’d miss you more than I’d miss air, but when people were saying their good-byes…I ‘m not sure if they’d let your pet even come to the service.”

“My pet? Wh—oh, right,” Lauryna said. “And they damn well better, my will gives you everything, and everyone on this ship knows how good you are.”

“Doesn’t matter. New captain comes in, and I’ll go out. And that’s fine, as far as it goes, but…but I always used to worry that somehow, I’d end up in the HOS if you died, or if you finally got tired of me. I couldn’t…I didn’t want to face that. And if I got life extension….”

Izzy trailed off, and Lauryna finished her sentence. “If you got life extension, you’d risk becoming a pet. Gorram, and of course you would. I always thought….”

Lauryna took a deep breath, because she didn’t want to say this, but she loved Izzy far too much to put herself first. “Izzy…of course you aren’t being stubborn,” Lauryna said. “I can’t…I understand. I would try….”

“You’d try, but it would only be a try. However,” Izzy said, “it was before First Contact that I made that decision. It seems to me…well, I’m a Sergeant in the United States Army, and a liaison working with the JTSA…It occurs to me that now, now if something happened…there’d be more people than you coming to look for me.”

“There always would have been,” Lauryna said, wiping a tear away. “You think Navarchos Bass would let you get taken in by the HOS? Or Sen. Tarsuss? Hells, you’d have people standing in line, Iz.”

“I wouldn’t have you,” Izzy said, “and that would be…that would be awful. And I don’t want to face what you had to, you know. I’m not sure I could handle losing you. Not just because of the pet thing. I love you, Lauryna, love you so much.”

Lauryna reached out and stroked Izzy gently. “I love you too, Iz.”

“But my fear of this…I blew it. Because I’m not gonna live much longer, and I ended up losing time with you because I didn’t change my mind fast enough.”

Lauryna shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m old. Too old for it to have much effect. It extends life – what life you have left. But if I’ve only got a few years….”

“Then you’d have a few more. Maybe a lot more – there aren’t many people your age who’ve gotten the treatment, and the results are all over the place. Geoff Geen thinks that adding another round of telomerease therapy might be enough to make the difference – there’s an increased long-term cancer risk with that, of course, but….”

“Red,” Izzy said, with a slight smirk, “how long have you been researching this?”

“Since you woke up from cryosleep,” Lauryna said. “And Izzy…if it doesn’t work…well, it doesn’t work. But you didn’t wait too long. You waited until you could do this as a person, and Iz…I’m glad you did.”

Izzy got up, and walked over to Lauryna, and hugged her partner’s thumb. “I haven’t decided to go through with it, mind you.”

“I know,” Lauryna said. “But just the other day, you said you wished you were just a bit younger…a few things you wanted to try, but didn’t think you were up to. If this works….”

Izzy looked up, and grinned. “You have a dirty mind, Lauryna Gwenn.”

“Was your idea, as I recall,” Lauryna said, and she leaned down and kissed Izzy, gently – but firm enough to leave no question of what was next on the agenda for the evening.

* * *

Lennox stared at the approaching planet – he’d never thought he would get the chance to do this, and there was part of him that just wanted to enjoy the moment. But he had an obligation, and he had to fulfil it wisely.

It looked very small and fragile from up here. And though he would soon be standing on it, he knew it was no less fragile from ground level. Staying quiet, burying the story – that would save a lot of heartache, a lot of unrest, a lot of anger. For now, anyhow. It would be easier for the people of Earth if he did just that – and when the story finally did break, he would not be responsible for the chaos that would ensue.

After all, if he published, he couldn’t know what would happen after that. He could guess, but Earth was a planet of ten billion people, and if the wrong people said the wrong thing at the wrong time, this had the potential to shatter alliances and shatter spirits. It had the potential to derail a potential alliance that could benefit all parties – but Earth more than any of them. And if that happened, it had the potential to leave Earth without defense from predators he did not want to imagine.

Writing this story was reckless and dangerous and potentially calamitous. No responsible person would do it. But Lennox McClure was not a responsible person.

He was a journalist.

“Ambassador,” Lennox said, finally, “I appreciate everything you have done, honestly and truly. But after careful consideration…I believe that I will be going forward with this story.”

“You can’t!” Tig cried, but Eyrn held up a hand.

“Mr. McClure, may I ask why?” Eyrn said, evenly.

“Ambassador, you’ve said, more than once, that you’re protective of humans. I believe that’s what motivated this. And while I will need to interview some leaders from Earth…I suspect that’s what motivated them as well. A desire to protect us from fear and despair.

“But Ambassador…we are people. We have a right to know the truth. It may not be pleasant or good, but it is the truth, and if we are to make an informed decision about you, and Avalon, and the humans in the Empire, then we must make it will all the information available to us.”

“There is a risk,” Eyrn said. “You know it. Ambassador Dourit….”

“Ambassador Dourit certainly made me think,” Lennox said. “But you are not our Gods. You are not coming to tell us that all that we have ever been told is a lie. You are people. Powerful people, who have been mistreating less powerful ones. Well, that’s been happening at least since the Neanderthals were driven to extinction, and probably before. Is what you’re doing worse than slavery? Or the Holocaust? Or the Mande purge? Or the Bangladesh riots of 2109? Probably not. Is it worse than Apartheid, or Jim Crow? Yes, it is. I think that any long-term alliance will need to grapple with this, and any long-term alliance is most certainly predicated on you ending this practice.”

“That’s part of why we’ve been waiting to tell you,” Eyrn said.

“I know. But it’s not going to be better if you wait. Instead, it’s going to seem like you were lying all along, and you’re only telling the truth now that it’s over. Like me going to Ronnie and telling her I used to cheat on her, but that’s done now, so hey, fresh start? No, no. We need to know the truth, and not just once the problem is solved. You…you were probably on Earth for Apartheid, weren’t you?”

“I was,” Eyrn said. “It was barbaric. And, as you noted, less barbaric than what we’re doing to humans.”

“Exactly. But I know my history – my great-grandfather was South African. Eventually, they fixed it, and the rest of the world….”

“Once Apartheid was done, they moved forward,” Eyrn said. “And the world was willing to work with them.”

“Precisely. You are doing the wrong thing, but there are signs that you are trying to end the worst of it. And if you can – then that is far more reassuring then if we just suddenly find out about it. I promised I would tell the full story, and I will – and the full story is about Dr. Neutha and Ambassador Dourit, and yes, Titans like the Azatlian government, and you, Ambassador. And Decanus Belfsec. And I’m sure many others that I have yet to meet, but will, in time. Because while I have enough for the start of the story, telling the whole story will involve meetings that you haven’t set up, interviews with people you don’t know.”

“I doubt we’re going to shuttle you anywhere else in the Empire, Mr. Lennox. This was a one-time trip.”

“I know,” Lennox said, “but I have a feeling that I can work with Ambassador Dourit; the Avalonians have their own starship, right?”

“Flying on the Zeno’s Paradox isn’t free,” Dourit said, giving him the slightest of smiles.

“Buzzfeed will spring for it. Ambassador…I have just the start of the story. I want to tell quite a bit more. All of it. But I can’t wait to start, not forever, and I have enough to tell the start of it. Enough to give the people of Earth some understanding of the good and the bad of your people. Of course,” Lennox said, “you could always drop me out the airlock here.”

“No,” Eyrn said, shaking her head. “The Empire has a free press, and even if we didn’t…well, I grew up an American. You’ll be returned to Earth safely – a car will take you to Las Vegas, and you can fly to New York from there.”

“I’m from Toronto.”

“I know. But the Secretary-General is in New York, and he wants to sit down for an on-camera interview with you, if you’re going ahead. He asks for one week to allow the governments of Earth to prepare – and he guarantees he won’t break the news.”

Lennox smiled. “You thought I’d run with this, didn’t you.”

“I didn’t know for sure. But honestly…I think someone was going to eventually. I’m not sure it’s a good idea…but I do feel that you will do your best, Mr. McClure.”

“Do you know anyone named ‘D.T.,’ Ambassador?”

“Who’s that, your tipster?”

“Yes,” Lennox said. “Thought there was a chance it was you.”

“No, no. But I do think they chose wisely when they chose you to tip off. Ted, how long until landing?”

“We begin descent in ten minutes, Ambassador.”

“Very good,” Eyrn said. “Enjoy the rest of the flight, Mr. McClure, and God, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“That makes two of us, Ambassador Bass. That makes two of us.”