The Course of Empire by Eric Flint
Not Caitlin herself or Kinsey, of course. Neither of them was strong enough. Nor Kralik. He was a soldier, in the end, not a warrior. And, besides, his personal ties with Caitlin would probably make him too angry to do the deed properly.
The choice was obvious. And Yaut found himself wondering, for a moment, if in some strange way Aille had sensed it, that very first day on Terra. Green eyes which had been willing to challenge Jao, as if they were Jao themselves.
"Tully!" he called out.
Tully came forward, moving in that easy, slender-but-strong manner which Yaut now knew humans would call "pantherish."
"May I be of use, fraghta?" he asked. He even managed—would wonders never cease?—to assume a reasonable rendition of readiness-to-serve.
"Take this creature's life." Yaut flipped the dagger, now holding it by the blade and extending the hilt toward Tully.
"My pleasure," Tully growled, taking the dagger and another step to bring him over Oppuk.
"It must be done well," Yaut murmured. "One blow, quick and clean, killing him instantly." He placed a finger over the exposed joint where the blade needed to penetrate.
Oppuk shuddered slightly at the touch. The former Governor was strong enough that he might still be conscious. Yaut hoped he was. Let the beast know that a human was about to put him down.
Tully eyed the target, nodded. Then, to Yaut's surprise, shifted his grip on the dagger to bring the blade below his palm instead of above it.
Yaut felt an instant's concern. That was the overhand grip of a novice blade-fighter.
But his worries were moot. Tully knew what he was doing. In a motion more swift than any Jao could have managed, Tully reared his body high and then coiled down like a striking serpent, driving the blade hilt-deep into Oppuk's neck.
The massive body jerked, once, and Yaut let it fall. Oppuk was dead before he finished sprawling ungainly on the sand.
Yaut stared at the blade. Then, reached out his hand and gave the hilt a tentative little jiggle.
As he suspected. He would need both hands—and all the muscles in his back—to draw the blade out. Even then, he'd have to pry it back and forth before easing enough of the pressure of the neck bones. Yaut was not sure he could have driven it in as deeply himself.
He did so, not disguising the effort it took. And then, done, let his hard green gaze sweep over the assembled Naukra.
They seemed shaken, as well they might be—all except the veteran soldiers who, here and there, were among the selected representatives. Those simply looked satisfied.
As well they might. In Tully's murderous, lightning-quick deathstroke, the Naukra had finally gotten a glimpse of the frightening truth that had lurked on Terra for twenty of its orbital cycles. Which the veteran soldiers understood, and so few of their superiors ever had. Yaut knew that, to the Naukra representatives new to the planet, as once to him, humans looked silly at first glance. Almost like misshapen crechelings, with their ridiculously little ears and their too-widely-spaced eyes, and their flat faces.
They would seem so, no longer. They would think of Tully now, when they thought of humans. And understand better, hopefully, what they truly faced.
"It was well done, Tully," he said softly. "Very well. You are a credit to yourself and your service."
Tully grinned, thinly, somehow managing to combine that human expression with a grateful-to-be-of-service stance that was . . .
Truly pitiful.
Yaut sighed. Tully's training, he now realized, would never be complete. But he also thought that was perhaps the secret to the creature, his way of being of use—which Aille had recognized, however dimly, from the very beginning.
* * *
Kralik was the first human at her side. He straightened Caitlin's neck with careful hands, probing the bruised flesh for damage, trying to tell if she was concussed or if vertebrae had been damaged by the blow—or if she just had a badly bruised cheek.
Her voice was a harsh rattle. "M'okay, Ed. So—important! Must make them listen!"
"No, it's all right." He cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently. "Oppuk can't hurt you anymore. It's all right, sweetheart. He's dead. The stinking bastard is fucking dead."
The short Preceptor dressed in the Bond's black harness and trousers came up and gazed down at her with cryptic black eyes. His manner was calm, as though nothing untoward had occurred here. "Do you still wish to speak?"
"Yes. I do. Help me up, Ed."
Caitlin rose to her feet, Kralik assisting. She was shaken and bruised and a trickle of red ran from the corner of her mouth. She dabbed at it with the back of one hand. Oppuk's blow had been stunningly powerful, even though only the heavy fingers had struck her.
"There is a third way, I think." Her voice was fainter than she wanted, so she did her best to speak more loudly. "One that I believe would create new association and honor all concerned. Human as well as Jao—and avoid insult to any kochan."
Silence fell over the assemblage as she straightened, desperately trying to push aside the dazed feeling. She was still too fuzzy-headed to be able to develop any elaborate logical preface, she realized. That would have been hard, in any event, since she was more-or-less thinking on her feet to begin with.
Best to just come to the point.
She closed her eyes, swayed, then forced them open again. "I ask you not to grant oudh status on this world to either Narvo or Pluthrak."
She turned first to Narvo, and managed a reasonable rendition of honorable-recognition. "Narvo because, through no fault of its own, that kochan has come to be indelibly associated among humans—at least for the moment—with Oppuk's unsane rule. They would simply be faced with suppressing endless rebellions on Terra, which would be of no use to anyone."
The elderly female who led the Narvo delegation stared back at her; for a Jao, wide-eyed. Then, almost but not quite managing to conceal her surprise, returned the posture with the same.
Caitlin's head was starting to clear, thankfully. She'd spoken those words from sheer instinct, but they'd been the right ones. Even though, judging by the angry tension in his stance, Ed thought she was letting the Narvo bastards off the hook.
Which she was, of course. That had to done, if anything else was to happen. Whether the Narvo deserved to be suspended on a meathook or not was a trivial issue. Narvo kochan was simply too powerful, too necessary to the Jao—and humans, for that matter—in the life-and-death struggle against the Ekhat to be openly humiliated. It was going to be difficult enough for Caitlin to persuade the Naukra to implement the proposal she was about to advance. Impossible, if Narvo was openly opposed.
Besides, Caitlin's words—the Narvo elder's almost immediate acceptance made this quite clear—had, ironically, now made Narvo something of a human . . .
Not "ally," certainly. But, if nothing else, they'd be the last, in the future, to criticize Aille for taking humans into his service.
Caitlin had to choke down an hysterical little laugh. Since it was a human member of his service who salvaged their precious honor from near-disaster.
She turned, moving more easily, and bestowed the same posture of honorable-recognition upon Dau krinnu ava Pluthrak.
"Nor do I think Pluthrak should be given oudh here, though that would certainly meet the approval of most humans. In the short time since he had been here, Subcommandant Aille has done as much to repair the Jao reputation as Governor Oppuk did to damage it in twenty years."
There was a little stir in the Naukra, at that. Caitlin wasn't surprised. The Jao were not accustomed to caring, one way or the other, what might or might not be "popular" with their conquered species. Conquerors were conquerors, subjects were subjects, and there's an end to it.
But, although she'd been too dazed to see much of it, Caitlin had only to glance at Oppuk's corpse and his human executioner, still standing beside it, to know that even the most crusty-minded Jao in the assembly understood now that humans had to be dealt with . . .
Gin
Leaving Tully aside, by now I'm sure they've all heard the story of the Narvo veterans' defiance of their own elders. Probably heard the same from their own veterans, for that matter, if they've been listening at all since they got here.
"What is the problem, then?" asked the Preceptor. "Pluthrak would seem the obvious choice."
"Too obvious, that is the problem. As popular as the choice might be, for humans, too many Jao kochan would be suspicious that this crisis was created by Pluthrak in the first place in order to displace Narvo here."
There was another stir in the crowd, and not a little one. Caitlin had just stated, aloud, what many of them suspected to be the truth.
That was not surprising either, of course—since it was the truth. Close enough, anyway. Caitlin was sure of that much. She was also sure that Aille had been an innocent party to the affair—the "dupe," insofar as that word could possibly be applied to his very-effective self. And she was pretty sure, though not positive, that Pluthrak's ambitions had actually been more subtle. Not so much focused on gaining oudh over Terra, in itself, but forcing Narvo to make concessions elsewhere. That was the subtle and indirect way that Pluthrak operated, she'd come to understand.
But, from the viewpoint of the Naukra crowd, the distinction hardly mattered. It was just as essential, for Caitlin's purpose, to remove Pluthrak from becoming, in a different way than Narvo, another obstacle to proper association.
Fortunately, the Pluthrak elder representing his kochan at the Naukra was quick-thinking and as subtle as Pluthrak's reputation. Without even the moment's hesitation of Narvo, he was returning her posture of honorable-recognition.
"It is true, what she says." Dau krinnu ava Pluthrak's posture then shifted to something Caitlin didn't quite recognize, but tentatively categorized as the Jao equivalent of butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth. "Thought to be true, rather, since there is actually no truth in it. But suspicion is a reality in its own terms, and must be dealt with correctly. I agree that to give oudh over Terra to Pluthrak would create—or reinforce—existing tensions which are already unfortunate."
The collective posture of the crowd visibly eased. This was, suddenly and unexpectedly, going quite well. The worst immediate danger, a sharp and open clash between Narvo and Pluthrak, had now been averted. Caitlin could practically see them all rubbing their hands, like so many human horse-traders about to get down to serious dickering.
And that needs to be headed off at the pass, before it even gets started. Brace yourself, girl. Here comes the hardest part. Well . . . the second-to-hardest.
As if on cue, the Preceptor spoke again. As always, his stance impossible to read.
"You wish to suggest another kochan altogether then? Perhaps Jak or Hij or Dano?"
"No, not another kochan. I think the Naukra should grant status to Terra as a taif. Two taifs, rather, one human and one Jao—and both affiliated directly to the Bond of Ebezon."
Finish it. The hardest part. Sorry, boss, but sometimes the road forward requires a stab in the back.
She forced herself to turn and gaze directly at Aille, standing not far away. "And I think you should not remove Aille's status as kroudh. His affiliation with Pluthrak must be severed forever. Not to punish him, but to free him. So that he can be adopted, if he and they so choose, by the new Jao taif to be formed on Terra. That alone would give the new taifs the stature they need, among Jao and humans both, while dishonoring no one."
Chapter 44
Wrot immediately stepped forward. "It is a superb proposal. Hemm supports it completely. So will all of Wathnak, I am sure." He reached up and stroked the bauta on his cheek. "Indeed, I will give up my bauta and seek adoption into this new taif myself."
He gave Aille a benign gaze. "This one is so impulsive he will need sage elders to advise him. Of course, he will have to release me from his service first. Unseemly, otherwise. How could anyone possibly be sure I was selecting his mates for their valuable qualities instead of"—he waggled ears and whiskers simultaneously, conveying a comically-exaggerated version of suspected-impropriety—"those petty matters of comeliness which matter so much to callow youngsters."
Most of the Naukra's members were elders themselves, familiar, as Aille was not, with the secretive workings of kochan-parents. Wrot's amusement was shared, for a moment, by many of them.
Aille himself had been too surprised by Caitlin's proposal to think clearly, much less appreciate the humor involved in Wrot's jest. He was still trying to grapple with the idea of being severed forever from Pluthrak, even though that outcome had been at least half-expected. He was in no position to start thinking about the needs of a newly formed taif. Any taif, much less one as peculiar as this would be.
Him? At his young age? Already a kochan-parent?
Absurd.
He pushed that personal matter aside, to concentrate on the proposal as a whole. It was . . .
Intriguing. That much, for a certainty. Aille could immediately see a multitude of problems, but he could also see an even greater multitude of possibilities.
His intrigue, Nikau immediately made clear, was not shared by the Narvo elder. Her posture, in fact, bordered on indignant-disbelief.
"It is a ridiculous idea!" she exclaimed. Then, catching herself, shifted quickly to a stance of skeptical-consideration.
"A new Jao taif . . . perhaps." She gave Aille a glance. Then, a much longer and considering look at Dau krinnu ava Pluthrak.
"Narvo would not object to that," she said abruptly, "as a way to avoid unnecessary humiliation of Pluthrak as well as Narvo. Whereas we would object—strongly—were Pluthrak to demand the removal of its scion's kroudh status and his return to Pluthrak. Narvo alone will not pay the price for resolving this crisis." Her eyes began to move toward Oppuk's corpse, but shied away. For a moment, even her fierce figure held a hint of grief. "The one we lost here was once namth camiti, whatever he became. Let Pluthrak balance that loss with one of its own."
Aille had already seen that advantage himself. So, obviously, had Dau—and Yaut, for that matter, judging from his stance. To restore Aille to Pluthrak at this point would be to place all blame upon Narvo. On Oppuk, at least. But even cast out and his life given, Oppuk still reflected on his kochan of origin. Whereas retaining kroudh status for Aille would satisfy Narvo that his personal rebellion was being adequately punished. No self-stated kroudh in Jao history had ever had that status removed by the Naukra, after all, for precisely that reason. It would have been too great an insult to the kochan who had been his or her opponents.
On the other hand, if a new and low-status taif chose to adopt him . . .
Who would care? Officially, at least, such would be beneath the notice of a great kochan. Taifs, after all, were often given to impulsive actions and behavior. Such foolishness reflected on no one, not even the kochan which had agreed to take them into affiliation. It was the very function of taif status, after all, to allow a kochan-in-formation the time to learn from its mistakes. Much as crechelings were not held to the same standards as adults.
Nikau continued, more forcefully. "But the idea of a human taif is simply ridiculous. Taif—kochan—these are Jao things. They would fit humans as well as—as—"
Unwillingly, her eyes were drawn to Oppuk's corpse.
"Did you not yourself," Wrot demanded, following her own obvious thoughts, "demand that a human take Oppuk's life? And was there any ground for complaint, after, at the manner in which he did so?"
"It was barbarous, the way he struck," she protested.
Wrot shrugged. "As barbarous as this human gesture? This awkward heaving of the shoulders which is their way of expressing acceptance-of-reality?"
Actually, Aille knew—Wrot knew even better—a human shrug could express a multitude of things. Their body language was crude as well as unformalized, as poorly shaped as any crecheling's. But this was not the time to dwell on that.
Nor did Wrot do so. "What does it matter, truly? If the strike was barb
He pointed at Tully. "Learn to think, all of you. Unless we leave Terra altogether—which no one now proposes, not even humans—we will have to learn to—to—"
He broke off, groping for the words. Then, barked a laugh. "Ha! Human postures are pathetic, I admit, for all but a few like Caitlin Stockwell. But their sayings contain endless wisdom. Here is one, which they apply to marriage—the males to the females, and in reverse: 'you can't live with them, and you can't live without them.' "
All the Jao in the crowd, for a moment, looked almost what humans would call "cross-eyed," trying to follow the jagged logic. But there was something . . .
Wrot barked another laugh. "Yes, intriguing, is it not? So hard to make sense of it, but there's always something . . ."
His posture, though reflecting more than a trace of amusement, settled into benign-acceptance. In the blunt Wathnak version, to be sure. But, given the moment, Aille thought that bluntness was perhaps appropriate.
"Learn to live with it," the old bauta stated. "Caitlin Stockwell's proposal is indeed peculiar—even barbarous, if you will—but it will work. And nothing else will, of that I can assure you."
Now, Wrot pointed to Kralik. "That human is the commander of the Terran jinau. I assure you—and if you don't want to accept my words alone, ask any veteran of Terran service—you do not want him in rebellion. In his own way, and a much larger way, he will be as frightening as Tully."
He stepped back, almost but not quite merging into the crowd. "I have spoken enough. As humans say, 'you can lead a horse to water—a horse being a useful but dumb beast—but you can't make him drink.' So with a Naukra."
The statement verged on insult, but not even the Narvo representatives seemed inclined to take it so. They, perhaps, less than any.
Suddenly, decisively, Nikau krinnu vau Narvo spoke again. "Narvo removes itself from this discussion. We have stated our reservations, but we will not object if the Bond chooses to accept."