“It is possible she may recover, bro-demmin” he said. “But I would not hold out hope for a woman her age — if she were younger there would be a chance. My apologies, bro-demmin Tegestu.”
He gazed at the Classanu levelly. “Do what you can, ilean surgeon,” he said, and then walked to the bed.
Her eyes flickered as he touched her hand. A drowsy smile came across her face, and she tried to speak. Her words came as dry whispers, and he leaned close in order to hear.
“Bro-demmin,” she said, her faint voice a twig dragging in the dust. “I hope we have done our duty.”
Tears sprang to his eyes. He clutched her hand. “You have given us the keys to Neda,” he said, speaking in her ear. “We have won the war. Aye, bro-demmin, you have done well.”
Grendis smiled; he felt her fingers squeeze his hand. And then she closed her eyes.
Somehow he knew that she would not open them again. He bent low to kiss her cheek, and let his heart crack.
CHAPTER 31
Bitter anger spinning in her mind, Fiona watched as Tegestu bent over the quietly breathing form. Grendis was dying, Fiona thought, in the style in which she lived; quietly and with fine dignity. Exhausted, her legs aching from the tension with which she’d stood, Fiona leaned against the doorframe and holstered her pistol. She could not kill Tegestu now. At this instant he did not seem a bloodthirsty, cunning warlord who had thrown her to his enemies: now he was an old grieving man, bent and without majesty; he was punishing himself for his treacheries, and there was no need for her to do it. She breathed a quiet sigh. You have your life, Tegestu, she thought. For her sake, not your own.
A soft-voiced Classanu entered, an elderly man who wore his fine armor and his Pranoth blazon proudly. “Caltias Campas is here, bro-demmin Tegestu,” he said. “He bears a message from the Abeissu Necias.”
Tegestu gave at first no sign that he had heard; but then he slowly straightened, turned to the Classanu, and gravely nodded. Campas, in dusty riding boots, entered. His eyes flicked left and right, halting at Fiona for a second; and then he stepped forward and bowed.
“I beg your pardon, bro-demmin, for this intrusion,” he said, speaking fluently in Gostu. “Necias asked me to tell you that most of the city is ours, and to give you his supreme thanks for seeing this way to victory.” He gave a nervous glance toward Fiona and then continued. “He asked me to assure you that our surgeons are looking after your wounded. He will be presenting our treaty between the Elva and your people to the ambassadors later this evening. He wonders if it will be possible for you to attend.”
Tegestu slowly shook his head. “I cannot come, ilean Campas. But I will send a representative.”
Campas bowed. “I understand. Please allow me to convey my sorrow, and the sorrow of Abeissu Necias.”
“I thank you, ilean Campas,” Tegestu said; and he turned away. The interview was at an end.
Campas bowed again, deeply, and withdrew. Fiona looked at the scene again, the old man bent over the dying woman, and then turned and followed the poet from the room. The curtain rustled shut behind her; he led her out of view of the guards and then turned to take her in his arms.
“Gods, I’m glad you’re safe!” he breathed. “Aiee, I almost went mad with fear for you!”
She leaned back to tear the mask from her face, breathing in his scent, the smell of exercise, dust, his body. Numbly, she shook her head.
“I was never in great danger,” she said. “Tegestu tried to warn me, that last minute before the gate... he put me on my guard.”
“I didn’t know what he’d done till this afternoon. Till the bridge came down and Necias sent in his troops.” He shivered. “Gods! What a plan!” He touched her neck, her cheek.
“He used me,” Fiona said, coldly accusing herself, her willing gullibility. “He used me, and his wife, and the others — but his plan hinged on manipulating me, and he knew just how to do it. And I let him.” She broke from his embrace and banged a wall with her fist; the material of her glove cushioned her blow, preventing the sharp knowledge of pain she desired to inflict on herself, punishment for her stupidity.
“I’m finished here,” she said bitterly. “I can’t be effective here if I let myself be used this way.”
“Your superiors,” Campas said, “they agreed, yes? They ordered you to Neda, didn’t they? Aren’t they as responsible as you — more so, even?”
“I was the one on the spot,” she said: “I could have refused.”
“How could you have known what was in Tegestu’s mind?” Campas demanded. “How could you have known he would sacrifice the hostages in such a way?” He looked at her unblinkingly. “You helped to end the war, however it was done,” he said. “With the Elva at peace, you can return to your mission. Bringing us your knowledge, Fiona, and helping us to grow.”
A savage laugh burst past Fiona’s lips. “Do you think that’s what we’re really here for, Campas?” she asked. “Simply to help you, out of our greater goodness?” She leaned close to him, feeling her cheeks taut in a devil’s relentless grin, reflecting the helpless anger roiling in her mind. “Shall I tell you what we’re really here for, Campas? You’ll be amused at the irony, I’m sure.” She spat out a cruel, mad laugh; he reached out a hand to touch her, to calm her, but she shrugged it away. “We’re recruiters, Campas!” she told him. Her voice was a painful sob. “We’re here to help you to our level, so we can enlist your children in the biggest interstellar war of all! That’s the sole reason we’re here, my friend, so that you can help us beat our enemies!”
His hand, still outstretched to comfort her, hesitated and then fell. His eyes were somber. “Best tell me all,” he said quietly... and, hating herself, her race, she did.
The long-ago catastrophe that had destroyed the Terrans hadn’t confined itself to human space: it had spread far beyond, a long wave of chaos and destruction. Far away, other beings, not human, nearer to the galactic core, had suffered from the Terrans’ mistake.
But, at some distance from the center of the disaster, the effects had been lessened; their recovery had been swift. Knowing the cause of the holocaust, computing its point of origin, they had decided to take precautions against a repetition of the racial catastrophe. Their precautions were sensible and direct.
For centuries now the descendants of the Terrans, at least those who had recovered enough to scan the skies for evidence of others of their kind, had been picking up the signals of the other interplanetary species. Not all the signals were coming from planets orbiting stars. The rest were coming from a vast fleet, hundreds of ships, coming to Terran space.
The signals had been decoded. They were military in nature. The aliens were coming to sterilize human space, to prevent the Terrans from triggering another holocaust.
But they were coming slowly, at sublight speed: it would be thousands of years before they would begin to touch on human space. There was time, if the project was gone about in the right way, for the humans to recover enough to resist the assault; and that meant mobilizing as many of the human survivors as possible.
The result was the mission of starships of Igara and their ambassadors to other planets, the attempt to raise the levels of human technology in order to bring every planet within an alliance against the alien race.
Campas wasn’t equipped to understand all of the truth, but Fiona told him what she could. “Don’t you see the irony, Campas?” she demanded. “Tegestu involved me in your war, and he found me willing enough; but what he did to me is only what my people are trying to do to your entire planet!” Campas frowned inwardly, absorbing her rapid words; she looked up at him with a cynical grin. “You remember when you came to my apartments, those months ago?” she asked. “You said you didn’t believe me when I told you about our disinterested, benevolent attempts to aid your people; you implied there was some less honorable motive.