Without a Front

  “You were trying to destroy our temples?” Lanaril’s spine hit the back of her chair with a thump.

  “It’s one of the fastest ways to pacify primitives. That’s what they taught us. Take out their false gods and they’ll hear the truth more easily.” He looked around the table. “If your Fahla is a Seeder, then that explains everything. It explains how you could do what you did to us, and why nobody landed a hit on those temples and why you’re…you’re not primitives at all. And that’s got us thinking about the other worlds we invaded. What if they weren’t really primitives either? That would mean—” He stopped, unable to say it.

  “That your government lied to you,” Andira said. “And systematically trained you to murder without question.”

  He nodded miserably.

  “I never saw a Voloth diplomat until we began negotiating to return you. Your attack—both of your attacks—were entirely unprovoked. The first Voloth to die on this planet died after they had already killed two hundred and fifty-four innocent Alseans who didn’t even know you existed!”

  Rax cringed back at her sudden rise in volume, and she did not let up. “So let me assure you that yes, your government lied to you. And you lied to yourself, because I don’t believe you never asked any questions. Maybe you didn’t ask them out loud, but you asked them in your head.”

  His guilt said she was right. “I’m a hanger, we don’t—we can’t—”

  “Tell me something. In all your time in the military, did you ever once hear about a planet where the natives didn’t attack the diplomats?”

  He shook his head.

  “What a coincidence,” Yaserka said. “I guess they don’t teach hangers about the laws of probability. How extraordinary that the Voloth appear to be the only peaceful race in the galaxy, and yet—how many ‘pacification’ fleets do you have?”

  “Seven,” he mumbled. Then he lifted his head and said in a stronger voice, “Five and a half now. The Protectorate destroyed half of the Fifth and you destroyed the entire Third Fleet. The ships are still there, but it will be a long time before they can restock them.”

  Lanaril concentrated on what she was sensing from him. He seemed strangely satisfied at the idea of the Voloth fleets being whittled down.

  “Once you start asking questions, it’s hard to stop, isn’t it?” she asked.

  He turned to her, visibly relieved by her calmer tone. “Yes, it is.”

  “And then you begin to feel angry at the ones who lied to you.”

  Andira glanced at her, one eyebrow hitching up. “Is that why you don’t want to go back? The whole truth,” she added when Rax hesitated.

  “That’s…part of it. Some of us would still go back if we could. But we committed treason. We killed our own.”

  “But that wasn’t your fault,” Bylwytin said. “You were empathically forced.”

  He laughed, a shocking sound given the charged emotions in the room. “You don’t know our commanders. Telling them ‘the primitives made us do it’ won’t get us very far.”

  “What will the penalty be? Death?” Shantu had retrieved his chair and seemed much calmer.

  Rax shook his head. “No, worse. Lifetime slavery at hard labor. No chance of buying or working your way out. The only out is when they work you to death. And they will.”

  The room was silent as everyone digested this information.

  “Then I have to wonder why nineteen of you do want to go back,” Andira said.

  “Some of them are officers. They’re citizens; they won’t get put into the grinder like we would. The others are true believers. They follow the orders because they enjoy it. They’re the ones who tell the higher-ups when somebody asks a question and make people disappear. They want to go back because they have connections, and now they have inside information. They’ll find a way to get rewarded for it, just like the officers will. I know some of the ones you’re talking about. You don’t want them here.”

  “Why would we want the rest of you here?” Andira asked, though her tone was not unkind. “You’re asking a lot of us. What do you have to offer in return?”

  His hope blossomed on Lanaril’s senses. “Anything we can. We’ve already offered to teach you how to maintain and operate the pacifiers—”

  “But for a price,” Yaserka said. “You asked for access to the Alseans who turned you. That price was too high for us to pay.”

  “I know. We’ve talked about it, and it’s hard for the ones whose hearts got taken. But they’ve agreed to offer their service without conditions.”

  Andira and Shantu exchanged looks.

  “And we’ll tell you anything we can about our military structure, invasion strategies, weaponry…whatever any of us know. You’ve got some good engineers in that group, too. And a few scientists. I’m not much use that way; I’m just a producer’s son—but I’d gladly serve you as a soldier. So would many of us. There are some that don’t ever want to see the inside of a pacifier again, but they’re anxious to offer anything that might be of use.” He looked around, his hope rising as the High Council members remained silent. “Can we work out a deal?”

  “We can’t give you an answer now,” Andira said. “We’ll have to discuss it and then bring it before the full Council. I can only promise to give you an answer as soon as we have one.”

  Lanaril actually felt sorry for him as his anticipation crashed. She didn’t know why he would have expected an answer right away, but perhaps that was his experience in the Voloth military.

  “Well…thank you for hearing me out. I appreciate that you even listened to me.”

  Andira nodded. “Thank you for your honesty. But there’s one thing you need to take back to your people.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If we decide to grant political asylum, it will come with a non-negotiable condition. What I did to you—binding you to Alsea—will have to be done to all the others. They will all have to undergo another forced Sharing.”

  His jaw dropped as he stared at her. “I don’t…I, um…”

  “Non-negotiable,” she repeated. “Talk to your people. But you can tell them that it won’t hurt, and it won’t cause any additional damage. All it will do is ensure their loyalty. You’re already carrying that instruction; you know what it feels like. You’re the best person to tell them. Colonel Razine, please escort Rax back to his cell.”

  The chain rattled as the Guard lifted it up and stepped toward Rax.

  “Wait,” Andira said. “He’s to be considered a member of parley. Leave him unchained. And give him a reader card so he can record exactly who can offer what in terms of expertise or willingness to work. Rax, we may have more questions for you later.”

  To everyone’s surprise, he snapped erect, thumped both fists to his chest, and bowed his head. “Lancer Tal.”

  Andira’s eyes widened before she could control her expression. “Settle,” she said.

  He raised his head and nodded at her. “Thank you.” Turning smartly on his heel, he faced Colonel Razine. “I’m ready.”

  When the door closed behind them, everyone at the table let out a breath.

  “I’ll admit that was not what I was expecting,” Arabisar said.

  “Nor I,” said Eroles. “Was he telling the truth?”

  Andira, Shantu, Yaserka, and Lanaril nodded. “That man was terrified,” Lanaril said. “Though whether it was because he was facing us or because he doesn’t want to face his superiors, I’m not sure.”

  “Both, I think.” Yaserka pushed back his chair a handspan and relaxed his posture. “Imagine controlling an entire military organization through fear and lies. At some point you’d think it would have to fall apart.”

  “Fear, lies, and rewards,” Andira said. “Don’t forget the incentive to serve. It sounds like a powerful one.”

  “I wonder what percentage of Volo
th are citizens.” Parser refilled his cup of shannel. “If the hangers can’t own property, can they run a business? How exactly do they fit into the Voloth economy?”

  Yaserka held out a hand for the shannel pot. “I must confess I’d like to learn more about that. And that is something I never dreamed I’d say.”

  “I never dreamed I’d be in the same room with a Voloth and not want him chained to the wall,” Eroles said. “But I can see some value in his offer.”

  “So can I,” Yaserka agreed.

  Shantu made a sound of disbelief. “A few sniffles from a prisoner of war and you’re already soft? Have you forgotten what he was in the process of doing when Lancer Tal turned him? If he’d had his way, he would have blown up every building in this city.” He turned to Lanaril. “And your temple would have been the first thing he’d have targeted. You heard him.”

  “I did hear him. I also felt him. He’s a young man who has been taught to never ask any questions, and now he’s asking. He’s taking his first step on a spiritual journey. And that is more than I ever thought I’d see in a Voloth.”

  “Spiritual journey.” Shantu rolled his eyes. “He’s only willing to concede we might not be naked savages because he thinks Fahla is one of their Seeders.”

  “Maybe she is,” Lanaril said quietly.

  That left him flat-footed, and Andira spoke into the silence. “Lead Templar, I appreciate the time you took to be here today. There’s no need for you to stay for what I’m guessing will be a protracted discussion. But I asked you to attend because you have an input that the rest of us lack.”

  Lanaril folded her hands in front of her. “I’ll aid in any way I can.”

  “You’ve been counseling high empaths for war trauma. You know more about their fears and concerns than any of us. If we were to accept this offer, how do you think it would impact them?”

  The first thing that came to mind was yesterday’s suicide. Though she hadn’t known the woman personally—she had lived in Whitesun—Lanaril feared it was only a matter of time before someone she did know was found hanging from a tree. In her counsels, she encouraged veterans to take advantage of the mental healing clinics set up for them, but many told her that wasn’t enough. They needed more than help, they said; they needed assurance. An assurance that only a representative of Fahla could give. Every time she heard that, she remembered the first time Andira had come into her study, asking for the exact same thing.

  But it wasn’t really about assurance, was it? It was about forgiveness.

  She thought of the dead silence when Andira and Rax first laid eyes on each other. He had been terrified of her, and she had needed time to control her speech. Yet by the end, they seemed to have come to a tentative understanding. Perhaps it was simply the relief of replacing the unknown with the known.

  And perhaps understanding was the beginning of forgiveness.

  “I think,” Lanaril said slowly, “that if the mental healers made very careful choices and set up very controlled meetings, having these Voloth here could actually help our veterans heal.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Hiding

  The prisoners agreed to the terms of their asylum.

  The Council made its decision in record time, probably driven by the fact that the Voloth personnel ship left orbit two days after Rax Sestak made his plea. Commander Qualon waited only a hantick after receiving the nineteen soldiers who wanted to go back before sending a message to Ambassador Solvassen and vanishing from Alsean space. The ambassador was reluctant to share Qualon’s exact wording with the Council, but the media reported the gist as “They’re your problem now.” Speculation held that the Voloth government had lost interest in retrieving its remaining sane soldiers once it had learned that they were all hangers, and none of them would fight against Alsea again.

  It was difficult to vote for rejecting asylum when returning the prisoners wasn’t even an option.

  Lanaril heard that the Council had tried a last-ditch attempt to divert the issue elsewhere, asking Ambassador Solvassen if the Protectorate could take them—surely they had other Voloth refugees settled somewhere? But when Rax learned of the possibility, he said they would refuse to go. The empathic force that had turned them against their own people had also tied them to Alsea.

  Apparently, the Voloth commander’s last message was quite accurate. They really were Alsea’s problem now.

  As of today, Alsea was home to one hundred and fifty-three former Voloth soldiers who were asking to join their society—in addition to the two hundred and forty-four insane soldiers still being kept under sedation.

  Lanaril was watching the breaking news in her office when someone knocked at her door. She glanced at the clock and sighed; only ten ticks until her office hanticks were over. No doubt whoever it was would overstay that time by half a hantick.

  She opened the door and stared. “I thought you were in the Council chamber.”

  Andira brushed past her. “We’ve tabled the discussion for now. Tempers are too hot. And I needed a break.”

  It was unlike the cool and controlled Lancer Tal to admit that. Lanaril flipped the switch for the sign indicating that her office was now closed and shut her door.

  “Would you like a cup of shannel?” She headed for her dispenser.

  “Please.” Andira prowled around her office, picking up art pieces and putting them down again without really looking. She was staring out the window when Lanaril arrived with two cups of shannel and a plate of pastries.

  Andira murmured her thanks and sat down. Silently, she drank her shannel while the pastry sat forgotten in her other hand.

  Lanaril withstood it for three ticks before asking, “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “You’re here in the middle of the day, when you must have twenty things on your to-do list and half a dozen meetings scheduled. You came during my office time, which you normally do when you have business to discuss. But this clearly isn’t a business visit, so what’s wrong, Andira?”

  “Are you trying to counsel me? I’m not a damned battle veteran looking for absolution. I just needed a break.”

  Lanaril held out her hand.

  Andira looked at it for a long moment before sighing, putting down her pastry, and clasping their hands together.

  Everything Lanaril had deduced from her behavior was confirmed in the emotions that came through their physical touch, plus a good deal more that she hadn’t expected.

  “Is it Rax Sestak?” It had been a nineday since the High Council meeting, but she couldn’t get it out of her mind.

  Andira let go. “Him, and suicidal veterans, and people calling me a war criminal, and every caste fighting me on the matter printer technology, and two hundred and forty-four sedated Voloth that we can’t get rid of, and I don’t even know what else.” Her light blue eyes looked through Lanaril, as if she weren’t even in the room. “It’s…overwhelming. I spent my whole life training to be the Lancer, and until recently I thought it was enough. Now I feel as if I’m juggling six knives and there are people holding knives all around me, waiting to throw them in. And six is all I can handle.”

  “Six is about four more than I can handle,” Lanaril said.

  “I don’t believe that. You’re the Lead Templar of Blacksun.”

  “And I got here by knowing what I’m good at. I’m not good at spreading my attention. I do best when I can focus on a few things.”

  “Like seeing right through a Voloth soldier? That was very well done, by the way. I didn’t pick up on that. But you’re right, he’s angry at his government. He was glad we destroyed his fleet.”

  “And you think you should have seen it, don’t you? Give yourself a little room to breathe. You had just met one of the soldiers you turned. No one but you has ever faced that.”

  Andira glanced out the windo
w. “I wish I could have faced it in a slightly more private setting, without Shantu there looking for any weakness.”

  “I noticed that—I mean, that he looks for it. Not just in you, but in Parser, Yaserka, Rax of course…and himself most of all. Shantu seems to be a warrior right down to his boot soles.”

  A faint smile appeared. “Stereotyping, Lead Templar? We don’t all spend our every waking moment thinking in terms of strength and weakness.”

  “Perhaps not, but he does.”

  “That’s Shantu, not our caste. He follows a different interpretation of the Truth and the Path. Strength above all, and yes, defined rather narrowly. He’s an honorable man, but he also tends to see the world in terms of right or wrong, strong or weak, love or hate.”

  “And he hates the Voloth. Even when it’s a bound and terrified young man who is no longer a threat.”

  “I cannot blame him for that. And he’s certainly not alone in it. I have my moments.”

  “So do I. So does everyone.” Lanaril watched Andira sip her shannel and added, “If it helps, you didn’t show any weakness in that meeting. Your front was impeccable.”

  “It does help, thank you.” Andira set her cup down. “Rax…wasn’t what I expected.”

  “I don’t think he was what any of us expected. We expected a monster, because only monsters could do what they did.”

  “I didn’t want a name to go with that face,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want to know anything about him. And now I know that his parents are producers and his father lost a leg in an accident, and his mother was too smart to be taken in by their government. I know he closed his eyes to horrors because all he wanted out of life was to be a citizen, and he was too afraid to speak. I know his superiors beat the questions out of him and I did much worse than that, but he still saluted me.”

  Lanaril cursed silently when her vidcom chimed and Andira’s expression closed off. “Excuse me.” She rose from her chair to get whoever this was off her line immediately, but even then it would probably be too late to recover this rare moment of openness.