Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 37

"So just where are you supposed to take me?"

TO THE CITADEL.

I wasn't expecting that; it takes a moment to digest. "Why?"

I don't really expect it to answer but it surprises me by doing so. TO COMPLETE YOUR MISSION.

"What mission?"

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE CITADEL . . . HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN? I AM.

SUPPLIED WITH DRUGS TO STIMULATE RECALL IF-.

"No." I can't believe this. Part of me observes the s.h.i.+p pulling into an orbit that must parallel Zhene's; the other part wonders if I'm dreaming. What would any Braxana stand to gain from this? "Your programmer would let me destroy the Citadel?" I ask, incredulous.

THE HALL OF THE KAIM'ERI, it responds, NOT THE CENTRAL COMPUTER SYSTEM. THE CITADEL ROTATES, AND YOU WILL STRIKE WHEN THE.

HALL IS BEFORE YOU, SO THAT THE COMPUTER FACILITIES WILL.

REMAIN UNDAMAGED. HOWEVER, AS YOU COULD NOT POSSIBLY HAVE.

HAD INFORMATION REGARDING THE CITADEL'S PERIOD OF ROTATION,.

INVESTIGATORS WILL CONCLUDE THAT MERE CHANCE FAVORED THE.

CENTRAL SYSTEM.

I am astounded. "What's the point?"

IT WILL BE DEMONSTRATED THAT YOU ARE, AND ALWAYS WERE, A.

DANGER TO THE HOLDING. THAT BECAUSE YOU WERE PERMITTED TO.

REMAIN UNBOUND ON ZHENE, THE HOLDING WAS PLACED IN PERIL.

THE MAN RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR CONTINUED EXISTENCE WILL BEAR.

THE WEIGHT OF THAT JUDGMENT, AND WILL COME UNDER SEVERE PO-.

LITICAL CENSURE.

"Sechaveh," I breathe, understanding.

THE KAIM'ERI RECOMMENDED THAT YOU BE DISPOSED OF AFTER.

YOUR INTERROGATION. SECHAVEH CONVINCED THEM TO LET YOU LIVE,.

IN ORDER THAT HE MIGHT INDULGE HIS MISOGYNY UNDER THE GUISE.

OF EXPERIMENTAL RESEARCH. HE GUARANTEED THAT YOU WOULD.

REMAIN HARMLESS.

I began to smile. "And when I strike at the Citadel-"

HIS JUDGMENT WILL BE QUESTIONED, AS WILL HIS PRIORITIES.

IMMEDIATE RESULTS: POLITICAL EMBARRa.s.sMENT AND LOSS OF.

UPPER-CLa.s.s SUPPORT. A FORMAL HEARING REGARDING A MAN.

WHOSE SELF-INDULGENCE THREATENED THE SAFETY OF THE.

HOLDING. A CHANGE IN POLICY REGARDING PLEASURES SUCH AS HE.

PRACTICES. EVENTUAL RESULTS: A CHANGE IN CULTURAL FOCUS,.

SUBTLE BUT-MY PROGRAMMER BELIEVES-NECESSARY.

Now the golden Citadel is visible beyond the gleaming planet's edge. We are coming closer, and gaining speed rapidly. "The forcefields will stop us," I challenge tensely.

I HAVE BEEN GIVEN AN APPROACH CODE FOR DOCKING, USED BY THE.

HOUSE OF SECHAVEH. AFTER OUR DESCTRUCTION IT WILL BE a.s.sUMED.

YOU DISCOVERED THE CODE YOURSELF.

Hasha, it could work!

The satellite rises higher and higher above the planet's edge, visible to us now as we approach it. It is egg-shaped, the narrow end pointing downward, with a docking ring about its center. It's not quite like the Citadel of my dreams, but it's similar enough.

And this time I will not fail.

We're accelerating now and I fall backward as the force of it slams into my chest. Starcraft such as this have minimal capacity for compensation.

Nevertheless I accept the pain, even welcome it, as a sign of my victory. No, I will not do what I came to do ... but I will strike back at the man whom I've come to hate more than anything. It is a Braxin death.

"How did your programmer know I would choose this s.h.i.+p?" I demand.

THERE ARE TREMENDOUS DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE BRAXIN AND.

AZEAN AESTHETIC SENSES, AND ALSO BETWEEN MILITARY AND.

CIVILIAN. SUBTLE ELEMENTS IN s.h.i.+PSh.e.l.l DESIGN GUARANTEED.

THAT THIS VESSEL WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE, ALTHOUGH YOU WOULD.

NOT BE CONSCIOUSLY AWARE OF THE REASONING BEHIND IT.

"I did indeed underestimate someone," I whisper.

The Citadel looms larger and larger before us. I can see tiny s.h.i.+ps now, dancing around its outer ring. My blood is pounding in my veins, whether from the force of our forward thrust or my own exhiliration, I cannot say. Images rush before me-s.n.a.t.c.hes of my life, so soon to be ended. And Zatar. I try not to think of him in that Braxin way which makes my blood run even faster, try to limit myself to enmity . . . but it is impossible. Apparently I have lived among the Braxins long enough to become tainted by their abominable culture. Yet I cannot regret having such feelings, for were they not the first step toward my mnemonic recovery?

Fortunate coincidence, that I ran headlong into the only Braxana who was part of my former life, and that he displayed an interest in me which forced me to question my present circ.u.mstances- Coincidence?

Faster than my vision can take it in, the golden satellite fills the screen, rotating so that the Hall will face us when we strike. A glow envelops us and then lets us pa.s.s through; the computer has gained access to the great Braxin seat of power.

We are past the ring now, and past the spokes that connect it to the Citadel proper. Alarm lights spurt across the golden surface, but they're too late! In triumph I lean forward, into our progress-the world is turning gold before me- "Who programmed you?" I demand. I know what the answer will be.

THE HOUSE OF ZATAR.

Impact.

Viton: Nothing frustrates the true warrior more than political necessity.

Nineteen.

"Director, the Quezyan Councillor is here."

Torzha pushed aside her starcharts. "Send him in, please." With a touch to her desk's heat-sensitive surface she banished her starmaps, and their colorful displays faded from the air before her. A few quick movements sufficed to straighten up those items which remained, leaving the center of the desk uncluttered. By the time the Quezyan entered, the room was neat and the Director was standing.

"Welcome, Councillor." She performed an approximation of the Quezyan greeting-gesture and indicated the cus.h.i.+ons which she had laid out at the far end of the room. The Heir Designate of the House of Non-Humans bent his serpentine body in graceful greeting and then warbled the trill which was his people's greeting call. He understood Azean, which was good; her understanding of Quezyan was less than perfect. She had been studying it since the Heir- Designate's appointment, but that had only been a short time ago, and the Councillor's native tongue was distressingly complicated. Since the Quezyan palate was incompatible with human language and vice versa, they would each speak their own language. Mechanical translation, among diplomats, was a last unpleasant resort.

"Will you be comfortable?" she asked him. One end of her office was a well- appointed conference chamber, whose furnis.h.i.+ngs had been hurriedly adapted to suit the Quezyan's needs. Spreading his gliding wings in acceptance, the Coun- cillor chose an acceptable cus.h.i.+on and curled himself upon its center, until a length of neck lifted his golden head to the height of a seated man. When he was clearly content, Torzha took a chair and sat opposite him. A touch to a nearby console brought up forcewalls of a soothing beige, guaranteeing them privacy.

"May I offer you thrrr?" she asked.

The Quezyan stretched his gliding wings. "I would be pleased to accept."

She took up a ceramic bowl from a nearby table and placed it before him. Its aromatic contents, called the Water of Welcoming, quickly filled the room with scent.

He breathed in its vapors and then asked, "May I share this with you?"

She brought the bowl up to her face and inhaled the sweet, spicy odor. Quezyan tradition claimed that this particular combination of scents would imbue a creature with the Spirit of Reason. Although it did not affect Torzha as it did the Councillor, the mutual offering was an important part of Quezyan diplomacy.

Setting the bowl aside-hoping that she hadn't neglected some fine point of Quezyan etiquette-Torzha a.s.sumed a human approximation of the Welcoming Posture and asked him, "How can I serve you?"

"May I speak?"

"Your counsel is welcome."

"I address you in military capacity, and as a Councillor of the House of Humans.''

She frowned. "The latter t.i.tle's honorary. If you want to speak to that body, you would be better off addressing its Crown directly."

"The time for that may yet come. I ask, are we private?"

"I had intended to record, Councillor. If you object. . . ."

"Forgive me. I rephrase: Are we confidential?"

She nodded solemnly. "Of course. I guarantee it."

He lifted a line of feathers, indicating satisfaction. "I recall the High- Councillor's illness."

"Yes; I mourn her suffering. Is she recovering well?"

"The T-san is far aged; even recovery won't bring youth again. She has decided to retire, and will set me on her throne in life. You perceive? In confidence, Director."

"I perceive," she answered. Indeed she did; the Heir-Designate's a.s.sumption of Crown duties would mean a drastic change in non-human policy, a change Torzha hadn't expected to have to deal with for years to come. The Quezyan was a notorious Pacifist, and rumor had it the House would follow his lead. The thought of having one fifth of the government pitted against the War was something that had already provided the Director with many nightmares. But she managed admirable control as she responded, "In confidence. I thank you for telling me. Is this what brings you here?"

"Concern is what brings me here. Concern for us, for you and me and the humans who rule; concern for the Empire. May I speak openly?"

She nodded. "I welcome your honesty."

"We in the House of Non-Humans are disturbed by what we perceive to be a new att.i.tude regarding the Braxin-Azean conflict, the so-called Great War. Much debate has been devoted to this issue inside the House, and a few of the human Councillors have been approached-informally-on the matter. Concern grows, and the High Councillor cautions patience, but now her term ends and I am made acting Crown. It is my judgment to approach you in confidence and speak to you of these things. Is this acceptable? We can wait until the debate is made public, if you prefer, and go through the proper channels at that time-but I fear the damage that might be done to our sense of unity in the meantime. I desire that we cooperate. You perceive?"

She did, barely. The Quezyan language was hard to follow, but she was recording the meeting in order to review it later; the fine points of his speech could be studied at that time. "Your visit is welcome," she a.s.sured him. "I would rather address such problems now than let them build to weaken the Empire.

Speak openly, I encourage you. I listen." And she adopted (as well as she could) the Quezyan Receptive Posture.

"Our concern is this. We perceive the Empire to be an ent.i.ty of peaceful intent.

Is this not plainly stated in the Articles of Founding, in the Declaration of Purpose? Is not the very structure of Imperial government based upon the a.s.sumption that peace is the ideal state?"

Standard Pacifist argument; Torzha had heard it before. She countered it with her standard response. "Unhappily, circ.u.mstances dictate our action."

"Do they? We wonder, Director."

She had studied his background, and so was not surprised by his sentiments.

Quezaii was a peaceful world, located in a part of the Empire that rarely knew trouble. To the Heir-designate, and to most of his non-human colleagues, the War with Braxi was an abstract thing that lacked the power to inspire either fear or respect. A human affair, which had been prolonged indefinitely due to human obstinacy. "Azea is more than willing to pursue peace, Councillor. The problem is that our enemy neither values peace nor keeps to its agreements. Treaty after treaty is broken, and each time innocent men and women are made to suffer."

"Innocent humans, Director. Who choose to live in the shadow of war, and should be prepared to suffer the consequences.We do not settle in the War Border; therefore we do not require your protection. I contend that humanity thrives on conflict. Insofar as this concerns your own species, it's no interest of mine. But insofar as it affects the balance of our government, I must demand redress."

"There are over a thousand habitable planets inside the Border," Torzha answered, keeping her voice carefully even. "Rich planets, with resources that cry out for attention. Some of these haven't been in the line of battle for generations.

Why shouldn't humans settle there? They know the risk; they take their chances.

No one wants war, Councillor."

"Indeed? Then why was Braxi's last offer of peace refused?"