Ascending (15 page)

Or at least, that is what Havel claimed.

For myself, I did not think The Real deserved such drastic sacrifice. If pruning is the price of adulthood, is it not more courageous to remain a child? Of course one knows animals speak infrequently (and it is hard to believe ugly animals such as lizards will ever become engaging conversationalists); but it seems most high-handed to reject the possibility entirely. I tried to argue this point with the doctor, but because his brain had been pruned, he exhibited nothing but galling condescension toward my “naïve” views…which meant I was close to choking him when Festina entered the room.

This was indeed a welcome interruption. “Hello, hello!” I said in great happiness. I wondered if she would want to hug again, and if I would be so foolishly self-conscious as before, and if maybe
I
should start the hugging this time to prove I was not standoffish…and none of that happened, because I saw my friend’s face was grave.

“Uclod,” Festina said quietly, “our communications came back on-line: either the Shaddill have stopped jamming or we’re out of their range. Anyway,” she took a deep breath, “I received a message from my staff on New Earth—your Grandma Yulai has been killed.”

What Expendable Means

In a quiet voice, Uclod asked, “How?”

“Electrocuted by a faulty VR/brain connection. Several thousand volts to the cerebellum. Supposedly an accident.” Festina rolled her eyes in disgust. “And the rest of your family is missing. I hope to God it means they’ve gone into hiding; my people haven’t collected enough details to know if that’s what happened, or if somebody got them too…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry.”

Uclod appeared frozen. Lajoolie had moved in behind him as soon as Festina began speaking; the big woman’s arms wrapped around her husband, holding him tight. She seemed made of stone…but Uclod was made of ice.

“What is that phrase you Explorers say?” he asked Festina. “Uncle Oh-God told me once—when somebody dies in the line of duty. What is it?”

Festina pursed her lips. “We say,
That’s what ‘expendable’means.
Because the navy has always treated Explorers as expendable baggage.”

Uclod stared at her a moment, then shook his head. “No. I can’t say that. Not for my own grandmother.”

He turned around and buried his face against Lajoolie’s strong body.

The Utter Truth Of Death

Through all of this, I had not said a word. Indeed, I could not speak.

I did not know this Grandma Yulai personally, and the few things I had heard about her were bad. She was a criminal who dominated a family of other criminals.

And yet.

She was dead. She had
died
. She was no different now from the animal corpses one finds in the forest, the fresh ones covered with flies or the old ones as dried and withered as bread crusts.

Let me tell you a thing: my mother taught me death was holy, a blessing bestowed only on natural creatures. Rabbits and squirrels and fishes could die, but my own glass people could not. We were artificial beings; the Hallowed Ones refused to take us to the Place Beyond because we were not worthy of progressing to the life after life. Our species was cursed, spurned by death…or so my mother said.

It turned out my mother was wrong. My sister had died, died forever. Perhaps I had died for a short time too…though it does not count if someone brings you back.

But when I first met Festina, I got most angry with her when she claimed Earth humans could achieve death. I believed she was putting on airs, pretending to be holy herself. The ability to die seemed too wondrous and special to be true.

However, I did not feel that way anymore. Starbiter had died. Grandma Yulai had died. Even villains like Admiral York and the man who killed my sister had died. For the very first time—there in the infirmary, watching Uclod weep and Lajoolie comfort him—for the first time, I realized just how un-special Death was. How
common
. It was not the exception, it was the rule: a ubiquitous poison infesting the universe, and those of us from Melaquin were total simple-heads to think death was a blessed gift we had been denied.

Starbiter: disemboweled and smashed at high speed into the Shaddill ship. Grandma Yulai: her brain burned to smoke by some mysterious device. My sister: shot with invisible sound, churned up and blasted until her insides shattered, then buried to rot in the dirt.

What did that bode for anyone else?

Festina could die. Truly die. At any time. Perhaps as a noble sacrifice, perhaps as the foolish result of blind bad luck. The same for Uclod and Lajoolie. The same for me as well—the Pollisand had promised I was not immune to death, and had warned that a time of danger was imminent.

I could die.
Anyone
could die. The doctor, the cloud man, baby Starbiter, they were no more permanent than leaves on an autumn tree; one day their winter would come and then they would be trampled in the dirt.

How could these people stand it? Did they not know? Did they not
realize
? Why did they not scream and scream at the thought their lives would end?

But I did not scream either. The utter truth of death had taken my breath away.

Don’t Die Stupid

“Are you all right?”

Festina stood by my shoulder, her face filled with concern.

“I am not all right,” I whispered. “I am not all right at all.”

“What’s wrong?”

I steeled myself, then told her the truth. “Things die.”

“Yes.”

“
People
die.”

“Yes.”

“You and I, Festina—we could die.”

“We
will
die, Oar. Sooner or later. Maybe in the next second, maybe years from now; but we
will
die.”

I looked at her. Was this not a good time for my friend to offer an embrace, a comfort, a reassurance? Lajoolie had enfolded Uclod in her arms, but Festina was only watching me—as if she did not want to make the moment go away. As if she wished the thought of death to impress itself on my brain, deeply, deeply, deeply.

I fought back tears. “How can you stand it?” I asked. “Why do you not scream and scream?”

“Because screaming doesn’t do any good.
Nothing
does any good in the long run. Death will come.” Festina locked my gaze with her blazing green eyes. “But we have choices, Oar. There are some deaths we don’t need to accept. If a blood clot hits my brain right here, right now, there’s nothing I can do about it, so no regrets. But if I die from something I could have prevented if I’d just thought ahead…”

She shook her head fiercely. “We Explorers have a saying, Oar—
don’t die stupid
. It’s got a double meaning: don’t die because of your own stupidity, and don’t die in a
state
of stupidity. Learn things; learn everything you can. Keep your eyes open. Prepare, prepare, prepare. You’ll still die eventually, but by God, in the final second you can tell yourself you didn’t just throw the fight.”

“And yet,” I whispered, “one still dies.”

“Yes. One still dies.” She glanced at the weeping Uclod. “It seems you’ve just recognized your own mortality, Oar. Everyone does sooner or later…then most people immediately try to put it out of their minds. They go into denial, except when the grim truth strikes so close to home it can’t be ignored.” She turned back to me. “Don’t do that, Oar. Stay mindful of death. Stay constantly mindful.”

She held my gaze a moment, then lowered her eyes with shy chagrin. “Of course, some people say you should also stay mindful of life. I’m still working on that one. C’mere.”

Festina opened her arms to me and I finally, gratefully, slid into her embrace.

More Pressing Matters

We did not stay that way long. Behind my back, someone made the sound that humans call a Polite Cough…but I did not think it polite at all, for it caused Festina to release me. “Yes?” she asked.

I turned. Dr. Havel stood there in the company of the cloud man, Nimbus…who was now not shaped like a man but a featureless ball of mist. At the center of the ball lay the delicate silvery Starbiter; and do not ask me how a ball of mist can support a ball of baby for I do not know. Some mysteries are too pleasing to be questioned.

“Uhh,” said the doctor, all shamefaced, “sorry to interrupt you, Admiral, but uhh, ha-ha, Nimbus has been saying some things I think we should, uhh, discuss.”

“What sort of things?” Festina asked.

The doctor gestured for the cloud man to answer. “Well,” Nimbus said, particles of mist roiling within him, “I’m sure you realize Grandma Yulai won’t be the last. She’s only the first casualty in a much larger campaign to keep York’s exposé hushed up. If someone on the High Council was desperate enough to murder her—”

“Wait,” Havel interrupted. “Does it
have
to be someone on the High Council?” He turned to Festina with his big watery eyes…as if, ha-ha, the admiral would reassure him the universe was not truly cruel. “Maybe it was just someone misguided,” Havel suggested. “A lowly ensign perhaps, who thought killing this woman would make the admirals happy. That could be how it was, couldn’t it?”

“The council will try to make it look that way if this business ever gets out.” Festina curled her lip. “They’ll find some gung-ho hotshot who’ll confess to doing it unasked…and the admirals will howl with horror that anyone could believe they’d approve of such a deed. For all I know, maybe it
was
some lousy lieutenant who wanted to impress the High Council. But we have to assume the worst: one or more admirals have gone bug-fuck and they’re ready to out-and-out murder folks who pose a threat.” She gave a grim little smile. “I’m afraid I fall into the threat category. So does Oar. So does everyone on this ship.”

“But even if the admirals
are
on the warpath,” Havel said, “they can’t do anything, can they? They’re all on New Earth. They can’t send execution squads to murder us in space—the League would never allow killers to leave New Earth’s system.”

“The admirals don’t have to
send
killers. Every planet in the Technocracy has locals who don’t mind slitting throats for a price. And our beloved high admirals know who those people are. Wherever we dock, someone will be waiting for us.”

“Then we don’t dock,” Havel said. “We’re a navy star-ship, for heaven’s sake—we can survive in deep space for three full years. Even longer if we sneak into uninhabited star systems every so often and mine a few asteroids.”

“And in the meantime, we let the killers run free?” Festina scowled. “I wasn’t the only Explorer marooned on Melaquin—there were dozens of others, and they’re all at risk. Most are still serving in the fleet; the next time their ships dock, there’ll be assassins waiting in port. As soon as my fellow Explorers go on shore leave, they’ll get their throats sliced. Do you think I’ll sit back and let that happen?”

“Then let us confront the Admiralty,” I said. “Let us make them stop killing. Let us make them know how awful death is.”

Festina shook her head. “The admirals are all on New Earth, and it’s way too dangerous for us to go anywhere near there. I don’t just mean New Earth itself—just entering the system may be a risk. Entering
any
Technocracy system. The council could spread word that
Royal Hemlock
has turned renegade: non-sentient. Every navy ship might have orders to manufacture missiles and put us down.”

“Missiles?” Nimbus said. “You mean
bombs
? I thought the League of Peoples wouldn’t let ships carry lethal weapons.”

Festina gave the cloud man a weary smile. “The League won’t let us carry weapons from one star system to another…but they certainly
do
let us kill dangerous nonsentients. Sometimes it’s nigh on mandatory. How do you think we handle pirates or terrorists? Plenty of nasty folk arm their ships and cause trouble for passers-by. If killers like that leave their home star system, the League takes care of them; but if the bad guys stay in one place, hiding in a handy asteroid belt and popping out from time to time to hijack local shipping, our navy has to declare a police action. A squadron goes in, sets up a secure base, then manufactures warheads from standard ship supplies. The warheads attach to normal probe missiles, and voilà, you’re ready to shoot non-sentients. Once the enemy has been blown to smithereens, you dismantle your leftover warheads and go home with your pockets full of danger pay.”

Dr. Havel muttered under his breath, “If the League lets you.”

Festina nodded. “True. The biggest danger isn’t fighting a scruffy bunch of outlaws; it’s afterward, when you find out whether the League accepts your actions. The bad guys damned near always have innocent hostages aboard their ships, so the navy can’t just leap into an indiscriminate fire-fight. You try to negotiate, which seldom works, then you try blockading, then maybe a sneak attack to grab the enemy with your ship’s tractors…and nine times out of ten it still comes down to a shoot-out where you blast the bastards to bat-shit.

“Afterward, you ask yourself scary questions: did we really do our best to save sentient lives, or is the League going to hand us a death sentence when we reach deep space? Even worse, did we really clean up a nest of homicidal maniacs, or were those so-called terrorists actually high-minded dissenters against some corrupt local regime…and the fat-assed generalissimos fed our navy a pack of lies so we’d wipe out their squeaky clean opposition.” Festina shrugged. “You can never be sure. The only way to learn if you did the right thing is to head home; if the League doesn’t kill you, you’re a
bona fide
hero.”

“But even if the League doesn’t kill
you
,” Dr. Havel said, “they may kill the person next to you.” He dropped his gaze. “Admiral Ramos hasn’t mentioned what usually happens after our navy blows some ship from the sky. Even if you think you’ve pulled off a textbook operation, the League still executes a few people in your crew. Maybe those folks liked the killing too much—or maybe they didn’t do their best to encourage a peaceful surrender. Maybe the League are secretly sadists and they kill a couple crew members at random to keep everyone else nervous. You never know: God forbid the League should explain its actions. All you can say for sure is that the nice woman who always ate lunch with you, and the funny guy from engineering who had a new joke every day…they both got executed by the League and you’re still alive.”