Date point: 16y8m1w AV
Planet Rauwryhr, the Rauwryhr Republic
Scrythcra, Rauwryhr ambassador to the Dominion Security Council
Rauwryhr tradition symbolically put important things higher up. Leaders and visionaries flew higher, saw further… and stayed there. Climbing up the trees from the bottom was hard work after all.
For this occasion, and these leaders and visionaries, the Republic had chosen the highest and most symbolically important location possible: the canopy. Dappled green-and-white leaves sprawled away in all directions under the perfect open sky, pierced here and there by the silver needles of starports and transit hubs.
And on a wide platform built intricately of lightweight high-strength alloys and decorated with polished stone tiles and other such heavy luxuries, under the warm sun and the open blue, the leaders of the most militarily significant species in the Dominion were gathering.
The Deathworlders drew the most attention. All of them were conspicuous in their exceedingly competent physicality. Many were Human, some of which were small, a few were enormous, all were gifted with compact and dense bodies that variously shook the platform with every step.
There were also Gao, mostly lighter-footed and less conspicuous than the Humans, with a few brutes sprinkled within that competed with the largest Humans for sheer strength.
There were even a pair of Ten’Gewek: Yan Given-Man, Chief of the Lodge, and his niece known only by her title: The Singer. As Scrythcra understood it, her role was complex: a spiritual-philosophical guide to her uncle, a keeper of her people’s oral history, and a physician of sorts.
Primitive they may have been, but that only enhanced their Deathworlder presence; The Singer was as imposing as any Human Scrythcra had ever met, and only one other being present could stand beside her uncle as an equal.
They mostly kept counsel with the great leaders of the Deathworld nations and glanced warily at the sky whenever a security air shuttle passed nearby.
Handily surpassing them all was one hulking charismatic exemplar: Daar, the unacknowledged, de-facto leader of the Deathworld species. The treetop platform, sturdy enough to serve as a landing pad though it was, still thumped like a drum under the Great Father’s enormous mass. He spent most of the social morning leading Yan and the Singer around to the attendees and making introductions. The others paid close, if discreet attention; when the most powerful being in the galaxy, one who was arguably its most dangerous predator as well, wanted someone to meet his good and trusted friend…
He was nothing but civilized, polite friendliness to everyone. Nonetheless, all but Yan paid him deference, and some representatives of minor powers did so to the point of near terror. Even the great Human leaders, proud and capable all, gave the Great Father his due respect.
His clear and obvious fondness for the American President was a major topic of discussion during the morning social before the official start of business.
Not that it was much of a social. The Kwmbwrw Grandmatriarchs—conspicuously lacking Henenwgwyr among their number—huddled together and conspired, as did the assorted Vzk’tk and Rrrtk heads of state, the gaggle of Corti Deans, and the representatives of all the other minor species.
There was, however, an island of stillness in the middle of it all: a Guvnurag, thin and recovering. Furfeg, now elevated to President of the Guvnurag Confederacy by simple line of succession. He’d been eightieth, before the Hunter attack on their homeworld and the en-masse biodroning of his species’ entire population.
This had prompted an outpouring of sympathy from the Gaoian camp. And of course, the Gao had gone through something similar themselves: if anybody could genuinely sympathize, it was them.
The rest… faced the prospect. Scrythcra’s government had conducted quite an early investigation into Human claims about the dangers of neural interfacing cybernetics, and the Republic’s leadership had been methodically and slowly quarantined and cleansed… a process that had only become overt after the Battle of Gao and the Guvnurag invasion.
Everyone present today was clean of implants.
There were two notable moments during the social mingling and small-talk, the first of which happened quite early in the day when Scrythcra was introduced to the Ten’Gewek.
It was hard to know what to say to such people. The psychological profile on Ten’Gewek that he’d read upon learning of their attendance suggested that their culture placed a premium on physical brute strength. Rauwryhr, being among the Dominion’s more fragile species thanks to their lightweight bones, were apparently at a disadvantage there.
At least, until the Singer asked a question.
“I heard you can fly?” she asked.
“Here on this world, yes,” Scrythcra said. “Should I demonstrate?”
“I would love to see it!” the Singer replied eagerly. Yan was more impassive, but even he bobbed his head and issued a soft hoot which Scrythcra took for badly-restrained interest.
So he demonstrated. There was a nice updraft off the forest canopy, and he rode it to some distance above the platform before spiralling down again. An easy and gentle glide from his perspective, but the Ten’Gewek pair seemed thoroughly impressed before Daar guided them away to meet other delegates.
Their Human guide and minder, an enormous and solid specimen with plenty of shaggy hair and darker skin then most of the rest, smiled and shook Scrythcra’s hand with care.
“You impressed them,” he said. “Neither of them impress easily.”
“I thought they weren’t much impressed by weaker species?” Scrythcra inquired.
“Flight is a strength they don’t have…” The Human glanced over his shoulder as the Great Father introduced the Ten’Gewek to First Director Shanl. “…I should follow them. Thank you, Your Excellency.”
And with that, he was gone. Scrythcra spent the remainder of the morning feeling quite accomplished.
The second incident came later, and was much more consequential. Scrythcra didn’t catch the conversation between the Great Father and Furfeg, which had begun with the enormous Gaoian approaching with as cautious and non-threatening a prowl as he could manage: not, therefore, a particularly reassuring gesture to most present. They exchanged words and Furfeg’s chromataphores flashed many colors, which seemed to strongly fascinate the Great Father. There was a pause, the Great Father duck-nodded, rose to his hind legs…
…And gave Furfeg a hug.
Exactly what was said between them wasn’t clear, and Scrythcra heard much speculation for the rest of the morning as he mingled and talked with the delegates. Furfeg didn’t say, and Daar teased infuriatingly rather than answering.
Scrythcra could appreciate discretion. He didn’t pry.
Instead, when the time came, he called the delegates to order.
Today was the culmination of months of meetings between the Dominion species’ military thinkers, not to mention fraught negotiations with some of the Security Council members. Over the time the Symposium had been going on there had been practical demonstrations of technology, philosophical discussions, presentations and history lessons…
…All in preparation for today. The moment that the Gao and Humans revealed their big plans, and invited the other species to join in.
The delegates spread out around the platform, and an experienced political eye could see the underlying loyalties and affiliations in where they chose to coalesce. The Humans and Gao were side by side, as close as old friends. The Ten’Gewek sat with them, and then on either side of the Deathworlder trio were the Guvnurag and Corti.
An interesting statement from the Corti, that. The Directorate’s delegates, especially First Director Shanl, were experts at conveying much while saying little, and their choice of floor space must have been calculated to a very fine degree indeed.
The rest of the circle was more sparse. The Kwmbwrw remained aloof and sat opposite the Deathworld representatives. The Domain picked a diplomatic spot halfway between both, and the Locayl and Independents did the same on the opposite side.
It was all a subtle dance, and none of the species were blind to it. But the dance ended when two of the Gaoians stepped forward to begin the first presentation: Champion Thurrsto, and Champion Fiin.
Both were large and powerfully-bodied males of such stature that they fit comfortably in the company of their fellow Deathworlders. Both were possessed of an easy, assured grace that commanded instant respect and attention, as befitted the leadership of the two most capable military Clans of the Gao.
And they were not, apparently, interested in diplomatic preamble. There had been enough of that already.
Thurrsto launched into the presentation without even a note of welcome or an acknowledgement of the situation. “We begin by framing the obstacles in front of us,” he began. “The first component of a solution, after all, is understanding. And understanding the twin enemies we face is going to be crucial as we move forward.”
Unlike his colleague, Champion Fiin preferred to remain on four-paw. He never quite stopped moving as he spoke, either, creating a prowling impression that contrasted with Thurrsto’s upright stillness. “We have learned over many years that our two great enemies are two aspects of the same problem. The Hunters are, in fact, the discarded corporeal husks of the dataforms–” A grumble from the Great Father off in the corner made Fiin chitter resignedly. “–sapient malware that threaten our peoples’ freedom and existence.”
“A brief review of ancient history is probably the best place to start, therefore.” Thurrsto continued. “From what we can gather, the civilization known as the Igraens were among the first to evolve in this galaxy, sharing it with only a few others. Exactly how many is long-forgotten, but we know of one for certain: the V’Straki.”
“We’ve heard some fanciful stories about the V’Straki,” Fiin continued. “Including that they in fact evolved on Earth, homeworld of our Human friends. If so, they somehow managed to achieve advanced spaceflight without leaving any trace of their advanced industrial age in that planet’s well-studied geological record, but the details don’t truly matter. What matters is that the Igraens and the V’Straki were bitter enemies, and their conflict raged without regard for any other species. Each was so concerned with destroying the other that every other concern was secondary. And in the end… the Igraens won.”
“Their victory wasn’t complete, however,” Thurrsto took over. “Igraens were dependent on a dietary supplement native to their homeworld. Without it, they quickly descended into violent, mindless cannibalistic madness, and the V’Straki successfully eradicated the crop, most likely with some kind of tailored bioweapon. Again, the exact detail doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Igraens were left with a choice: descend into insanity and go extinct, or upload their mind-states to a digital format and persist in that form, no longer corporeal but arguably still themselves.”
“But the insane corporeal Igraens did not die off,” Fiin resumed his part in the back-and-forth. “A minority retained enough intelligence and insight to survive. In time, this intelligence was selected for and they evolved a twisted kind of sapience very different to what had once been. Eventually they became intelligent enough to understand the ruins of the civilization around them, to learn from it, to build, and to strike out to the stars in search of prey. Thus began the Hunters, and they have tormented spacefaring life forms ever since.”
“As for the—with My Father’s indulgence—the dataforms,” Thurrsto said, “They found that a version of their corporeal deficiency came with them. What had once been a dietary need became something else. A need for something they can hardly define to this day, but which they know as ‘Substrate.’ Its exact nature remains a little… arcane… but they derive it from living, material life forms such as us. But to get it, they require access to our brains. And over the long millions of years – nearly a third of a galactic rotation – the most effective method they found was to cultivate a thriving market for neural cybernetics.”
“This market needed protecting,” Fiin said. “They needed their own designs and technology to dominate, otherwise inevitably somebody would have invented a version that wasn’t vulnerable to their machinations and that didn’t provide the needed Substrate. So they brutally suppressed all innovation in the field, bought patents, engineered the law and the private sector alike across every incarnation of the galactic community going back far beyond the limits of our historical record.”
Thurrsto sighed, and padded back to the center of the floor. “However, this ran the risk of lulling the Substrate too far into complacency. They observed that a motivational threat was required. To that end, we suspect they aided the Hunters in their climb back to the stars…and from time to time, engineered Contingency species. The most recent such species…was the Gao.”
He looked over at the Great Father. “We do not know the degree to which we were tampered with. We know it was extensive, and that every aspect of our existence has been touched by their interference. We know that at some point, our planet was a rich class-eleven world and trending steadily higher. It is now…well, it flowers because of our industry. Only now, across deep geologic time, as Gao has begun to reclaim its former richness, do we begin to understand just how much was taken from us. We are as we are because we were designed to be, encouraged to be. Bred to be. How much of that was our will, we will never know.”
Daar rumbled from his seat at the high table. “But we ended it, on our terms. We ain’t nobody’s Janissaries.”
Thurrsto duck-nodded, then returned his focus to everyone else. “…There was another threat to their schemes, however. It’s an oversimplification, perhaps, to artificially separate the galaxy’s species into Deathworlders and not, but the fact remains that where many species thrive on stability, others thrive on the opposite. Put aside the strict rules of classification: a Deathworlder is a being who hails from a dynamic, dangerous, and fundamentally unpredictable world. Such people simply could not be relied upon to comply with the Hierarchy’s cybernetic monopoly…. Which left, in the Igraen’s estimation, only one option. Extermination.”
“We don’t even know how many species they destroyed,” Fiin said. He hung his head sadly. “But at a minimum… thousands. Tens of thousands, most likely. Tens of thousands of our fellow sophont species, trillions of individuals, all mercilessly eradicated because they might pose a potential future danger to the Igraen Hegemony. That, esteemed attendees, is the kind of ruthlessness we are up against.”
“It is the fate that was reserved for Humanity. We’ve since learned their final plan before they triggered the War for Gao, before My Father became a hindrance to their machinations…was to trigger an interstellar war between our peoples.”
The pair let a gentle susurrus of whispered comments swell and die around them before Thurrsto moved the history forward.
“So. That is where we are now. The Hierarchy lurking in the background, plucking the strings of our economy and the very neurons of our brains, and the Hunters at large in a vast and untamed swathe of uncharted space. Both know that things are about to change for them. And both, if pressed, will gladly wipe us all out and cultivate a new set of civilizations if given the chance. They have done it before.”
“Let’s review a few facts about Hunter space,” Fiin said. He finally turned to the holoprojector behind him and summoned a graphic: a map of the galaxy.
Scrythcra was always struck by how small the Dominion seemed, when he saw it on the map like this. Though the Interspecies Dominion claimed rather grandiosely to be the arbiter of galactic law and the mediator for every sapient species in the galaxy, in reality it was a thin band—presented in this case in yellow—that stretched maybe a third of the way around quite a narrow corridor of the galactic disk, perhaps two-thirds of the way out from the core.
Even so, in real terms that was an immense volume encompassing uncountable millions of stars, trillions of sophonts, an economy so immense and complex that nobody could begin to fathom it, and the richest known field of temperate worlds in the whole galaxy. Turnwise from Dominion space, the number of temperate worlds dwindled sharply. Counter-turnwise… well, the farthest-flung backwater of the whole Dominion was Earth, sitting alone and forgotten amidst the barren Border Stars.
There were two other hues on the map: A tiny green smudge that was the Celzi Alliance, once the Dominion’s most bitter enemy, now merely an irksome and unreasonable neighbor…
…And Hunter Space. A blue tumor whose sprawling tendrils reached out to lick the entire Dominion from the Coreward Marches at the edge of Kwmbwrw space all the way down to the largely uninhabited Far Reaches.
Fiin considered the map for a moment, then returned his gaze to the attendees. “…We don’t know exactly how big Hunter space is,” he said. “It’s never been adequately mapped or explored, as every attempt to do so has been intercepted. We do however have intelligence recovered from the Hunters’ own navigation charts.”
“At the cost, it must be said, of many brave and talented lives,” Fiin added. “Nevertheless, what matters is that we can put approximate limits on the boundaries of Hunter space, and an estimate on how many temperate worlds fall within those boundaries, all of which we presume to be claimed and used for slave farming.”
He swept his paw, and a constellation of little points of light filled the Hunter volume on the map. “…One hundred and six of them.”
Dismay swept around the chamber like a light breeze on leaves, causing much movement but still leaving everything where it had been. One hundred and six? The Vzk’tk Domain, by far the Dominion’s largest and most sprawling member state, encompassed twelve. The Kwmbwrw, in second place, had a mere ten.
Everyone else had six or fewer.
“I should point out that despite that number, the Hunters themselves prefer an exclusively spaceborne existence. Nevertheless, they have the resources to control and contain those planets and keep their slave population suppressed,” Thurrsto finished.
Fiin raised his voice as the dismay got a little louder. Not shouting or anything, just making himself heard. “Please, delegates! We’re not here to alarm you. We’re presenting raw facts here, which need putting in their proper context.” He paused long enough for the rising noise to settle, then duck-nodded. “A hundred and six planets is a lot, but we shouldn’t make the mistake of overestimating our foe; that’s often just as dangerous as underestimating them would be.”
“It’s difficult to translate their… uh… lifestyle into our terms,” Thurrsto agreed. “But if the planet ‘Hell’ is fairly average by their standards, we can expect each of these worlds to bear about a hundred million slaves. Considering the average Hunter’s nutritional requirements, that puts an upper limit on the population all those planets can support.”
“Those estimates would set the Hunter population at a little fewer than five and a half billion individuals,” Fiin said. “It could be less, or It could be more. It could be much more. Nevertheless, My Father’s Grand Army has, as of this morning, one billion, eleven million and seven-hundred thousand trained and experienced soldiers. They are well-drilled in the logistics and teamwork of dealing with unspeakable horrors and—go ahead?”
He had been (politely) interrupted by Ak’kk’brr, Grand Admiral of the Vzk’tk Domain, who raised his larger left hand to draw the Champion’s attention.
“Nobody disputes the competence and tenacity of Gaoian soldiers, Champion Fiin of Clan Stoneback” he said, diplomatically. “But you are still describing a five-to-one numbers deficit. How exactly do you propose we attack a power that much larger?”
“That question isn’t ours to answer, Grand Admiral,” Fiin replied. “But I can promise you that it will be, in due course.”
“Setting that question aside for a moment, the final issue to consider regarding the Hunters is the logistical and rehabilitation challenge posed by the slave populations of those planets, some of whom may even be hitherto-uncontacted species,” Thurrsto took over smoothly. “If our estimates are accurate, then the total slave population is more than ten billion individuals alive at any given time, and that population can be expected to explode without the Hunters. The question of how to deal with them will be a long-term and ongoing one.”
“That’s the Hunters. The Hierarchy pose a different set of challenges,” Fiin said. He waved his hand at the holoprojector, and the galactic map reappeared, dotted with a constellation of glowing zones like dried fruit in a cookie. “All software requires hardware, and they are no different. There are a number of communications relays dotted around the galaxy, though we have estimates on the upper and lower bounds, as well as mildly contradictory testimony from interrogated Igraens as to how many there are which fell inside those bounds.”
“We also know roughly where they are likely to be,” Thurrsto added. “Though I should point out that each of the highlighted volumes in this slide is hundreds of light years across and contains hundreds of thousands or even millions of stars. Work is ongoing to narrow down their locations. The one relay we have so far found was scouted extensively, tapped for a prolonged period to extract useful intelligence, and finally destroyed by orbital bombardment. The instantaneous effect of that last step was the liberation of the Guvnurag population on… uh…” He paused and gave the long alien word a fair attempt. “…Ugun-duvur-onag-thureg-nubur-thuruv. ”
For a brief moment, Fiin’s professional facade slipped and he gave his fellow Champion an amused look and flick of the ear. Thurrsto shot him a return look that clearly said ‘don’t laugh’ in any language, and the Stoneback Champion returned to his half of the briefing. “The work of identifying and demolishing these relays is going to take a while, But we expect that each such victory will be a painful loss for the Hierarchy. Their resistance will no doubt be fierce, and ruthless.”
“There’s also the implanted civilian population to consider,” he continued. “On Gao, the biodrone uprising was ferocious, and the necessary measures to put it down were extreme. It will be necessary to take appropriate steps to mitigate, contain or prevent such uprisings as the Hierarchy grow increasingly desperate.”
“Again, the question of how to resolve that issue is not for us to answer,” Thurrsto said. “Ambassador Sir Patrick Knight, Human representative to the Dominion Security Council, will discuss the philosophy behind the general strategic approach, and finally My Father will explain the details alongside General Gregory Kolbeinn, Supreme Allied Commander of Extrasolar Defence. Before we step aside for them, are there any questions?”
Scrythcra turned around and joined a brief huddle alongside Yrwcrohyr and their advisors.
“Do we have any?” Yrwcrohyr asked.
“What could we possibly ask at this point? What they are proposing is near-certain doom. Let them fall all the way down before we think about climbing down after them.”
“And yet, they’re still alive. Both of them, Gao and Humans alike. And the Ten’Gewek,” Scrythcra pointed out. “If the doom you speak of was so certain, I don’t think that would be so.”
“We were promised an explanation of how they intend to take on those odds,” another advisor agreed. “I say we hear it before we decide the situation is hopeless.”
“Agreed,” Yrwcrohyr said, and that settled it. They returned their attention to the waiting Gao, and indicated that the Rauwryhr contingent had nothing to ask at this time.
The Corti requested a few clarifications concerning the estimated number of Igraen relays, and the Kwmbwrw had a question regarding fleet deployment which Fiin politely explained was not within his authority to answer. Most seemed to have reached the same conclusion as the Rauwryhr had: that they would continue to listen before asking questions.
With that, the pair of Gaoian Champions withdrew to sit behind the Great Father, and Ambassador Knight stepped forward.
Knight had once explained the concept of Knighthoods to Scrythcra, noting that in his case he held the honor of being a knight, in addition to being a Knight. He’d laughed, and then had to explain the joke and the family naming conventions of his native culture.
As Scrythcra understood it, the title referred to highly prized and skilled warriors from the days before Humankind had invented steam power and explosives. Knight had described men wearing full suits of intricately beaten steel, armed with the finest weapons and riding astride a powerful war beast.
It was hard to compare that mental image with the tall and rather elderly Human who nevertheless bore himself upright and with dignity as he moved to the middle of the platform to take up his own chapter of the briefing. But there was something there. Scrythcra had worked with his Human counterpart for some time, and respected him greatly.
He was quite sure that Ambassador Knight would command similar respect from the other delegates, soon.
“So,” the old man said amiably. “The question I’m here to answer was already astutely raised by the Grand Admiral of the Domain—please forgive me if I don’t try to pronounce your name, Grand Admiral, I’m afraid the closest I can manage would be, er… obscurely unflattering—But how do we propose to attack a power that large?”
He turned to the holoemitter. “The answer is that we don’t. Have you ever studied how predators choose their prey? We do not contest with our enemy at their point of maximum strength. Instead…” he waved his hand, summoning the first animated slide. “We identify areas of weakness and strike at them, deftly and without mercy. With each weakness we exploit we create new weaknesses to strike at, and all of this is with a clear objective in mind: to starve them.”
The slide was a little complex for Scrythcra to make sense of at first, but it was that last comment which finally prompted understanding to blossom. The intricate three-dimensional inverted tree Knight had chosen to indicate was a summary of the dense and sprawling material needs demanded by even a modest military. Each extremity was a resource, each higher node a place where those resources came together to produce something necessary.
Knight spoke as though reciting an old adage. “For want of a nail…” he said, and one of the tree’s minor extremities flashed and went dark. “…A shoe was lost. For want of a shoe…” the darkness crept upwards and inwards, as the higher functions which drew from that resource were denied. “…A rider was lost. For want of the rider, the battle was lost… And for want of a battle…”
The creeping starvation reached the tree’s core, and the entire thing went dark.
Knight swept the room with a level, confident gaze. “This is how all wars are won,” he said, firmly. “Any action not directly devoted to this process is wasted action. Fleets can clash, armies can brawl in the mud, heroes can die by the thousand and megatons of munitions can be expended, but unless this happens, it is all… to quote a great poet, ‘It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.’
He dismissed the hologram and stood primly where it had been, with his hands loose at his sides
“We propose to teach you how to think like predators. Often, a predator is outnumbered and outmuscled by his prey. His true strength lies in his cunning and wits, and the careful application thereof.”
Scrythcra glanced across at the lumpen stone-age figure of Yan Given-Man, who was nodding in undisguised agreement. His people, Scrythcra was certain, had never fought a war on any kind of real scale in all their history… and yet it was clear that Knight was sharing knowledge that was already intimately familiar to the Ten’Gewek.
Knight saw Scrythcra’s head turn, followed his gaze, and smiled. “…Yes. It is no accident we have among us the great chieftain of a fierce, yet undeveloped people. There are few anywhere who could convey the lesson better than he.”
Yan nodded, and at Knight’s prompting stood up.
“Every day I visit, I see things I know are not magic only because your people long ago tamed the power of the gods. The world, the sky, the power that runs unseen behind it all… you teach me impossible things! Time bends like water ripples, and the world moves around it! Light and heat and fire and the earth, all the same, deep down! And you all can bend space and time to your whim, split the sky and tear the world apart whenever you wish… That is terror. That is strength! And yet I fear no one here but the Great Father. I respect him because he is the only man here who could Take me before the gods, as a hunter takes his meat. The rest of you…I say without disrespect, cower before me and him. You should not! You should stand strong! Why let us win before the fist has been raised or the knife drawn? Because I am bigger than you? My arm is stronger? That doesn’t matter!
“When I hunt… A werne is a mighty beast. A good bull has blades of bone on his face that can break even a steel knife and hooves that could crush my guts with a lucky stomp. I must be careful! I respect my prey, because my prey does not want to die, and it has the strength to fight back, and will kill me if it can. These Hunters and Hierarchy, they are dangerous too… but you do not respect them. You fear them. Not the same thing.”
“Not the same thing at all,” Knight agreed. Yan nodded to him, and resumed his seat.
“Please understand,” Knight said once he had the floor to himself again, “that I am not making any accusation here. We are dealing with a blameless reality of evolutionary psychology: That many of the beings in this room have instincts which served their well in their deep ancestral past, but which are no good for the present crisis. That is, I think, a surmountable obstacle with education and training. Goodness knows, I needed plenty of both myself when I was a young man.” He smiled tightly, and there were some variations on quiet mirth from around the room: a bass chitter from Daar, a brief trill from Yan, and some chuckles from the humans.
It wasn’t a humorous sound.
“Are there any questions before I step aside for the Great Father and General Kolbeinn?” Knight asked.
Scrythcra turned to Twrythruc, the fatalistic advisor from before. “Still think it’s hopeless?”
“Pretty-sounding aphorisms, and no detail on tactics. I am not convinced by magical thinking.”
“What was magical about that? It seemed logical enough to me. A tree dies when the roots rot.”
“And that’s a pretty aphorism from you, too,” Twrythruc grumbled. “Where is the detail?”
“We aren’t here to discuss detail. We are here to discuss grand strategy and our course. Besides: the Deathworlders are going to do this, with or without us. If they should fail, the backlash… might well end our civilization.”
“And if they fail with our assistance, then it certainly will!”
“But if they succeed with our assistance—and I dare to say that success is more likely if we do assist them than if not—then we will have taken a hand in our own future and left a safer tomorrow for our children,” Scrythcra insisted. “If we aren’t even interested in that, then what are we for?”
Yrwcrohyr simply remained quiet, though Scrythcra fancied he detected the faintest agreeable twitch of her left ear in response to his words.
Nevertheless, part of Twrythruc’s objection was put to Ambassador Knight by the Locayl delegate, Chief Secretary Oryus.
“A grand vision,” he said, “but lacking in detail. Do you have a finer-grained vision for the war effort?”
“The Great Father and General Kolbeinn do,” Knight replied. “My intent was simply to explain the underlying logic behind the details. If that is your most burning question, then I think the most appropriate thing to do now would be to hand over to them. Shall I?”
There were nods and equivalent gestures of encouragement from around the platform, so Knight bobbed his head in a gesture of respect and returned to the ranks of the Human delegation. A slightly younger, broader, meatier man in a uniform so dark blue it was almost black, decorated in gold and many colored patches traded a respectful nod and strode out onto the platform alongside Daar.
The Great Father wore no accoutrements. His fur was exquisitely groomed and brushed to a sleek sheen, but other than that he needed no decoration or badges of rank, and his energy quite unconsciously shook the room just from the simple act of standing. There was just something instinctive about him: Humans were intense and intimidating enough, but they at least didn’t have actual fangs and claws. They weren’t heavy enough to make the whole deck resonate like a giant drum with each step. Their danger was potential. His was immediate.
Despite what Yan Given-Man had said, the gathered non-Deathworld delegates couldn’t help but be instinctively afraid of Daar… and he knew it.
“See, that there is what my friends were a’talkin’ ‘bout. Y’all jus’ recoiled from me. I can see th’ alarm in Furfeg’s chromatophores an’ I can smell it in err’one. Th’ first thing we gotta teach ‘ya is ‘ta control that instinct, even if it’s to my personal advantage ‘ya don’t. I can’t have allies scared o’ me just ‘cuz I’m the most strongest. At this level o’ the game, that don’t matter none. An’ ‘ya gotta figger that out. Wars ain’t generally won by who’s got the most biggest muscles or the most hugest fleets.”
Kolbeinn nodded solemnly. “They are won by whoever has the most effective use of their logistics, and the strongest will to victory.”
“Yup! An’ to that end, war strategies’re ultimately pretty simple, ‘least at th’ highest levels. ‘Ya maximize ‘yer logistical ability ‘ta project force, an’ you minimize ‘yer enemy’s ability ‘ta do the same. All ‘yer tactics need ‘ta focus on that first.”
“First, frustrate an enemy’s ability to fight. But just as importantly, if you can, also destroy their will to fight.”
“War is a contest o’ wills. How much pain an’ sufferin’ can ‘yer enemy take ‘fore they decide it ain’t worth it? An’ how much opportunity are ‘ya givin’ ‘em ta’ let up? Cept, that part here is a problem, ‘cuz Hunters are as anti-Civilized as anythin’ thinkin’ can be. An’ that means…”
“We can only strike at their will to fight by threatening their capacity to exist in the first place.”
“Ayup. So this ain’t gonna be a quick war.”
“But it can be done,” Kolbeinn said. He summoned his presentation on the holoemitter: a not-to-scale model of a solar system with a temperate world. “As was said earlier, we intend to starve them out. We propose to do this by encasing each of their systems in a set of system shields, like so…”
The temperate planet pulsed, and was encased in a translucent blue web. Simultaneously, a far larger bubble encapsulated the entire star system. The view pulled in, and the bubble around the planet turned out to be double-walled.
“Pairs of system defence fields, one facing outwards and one facing inwards, with enough of a gap between them for a halo of jump beacons, and sufficient room to safely jump in ships and stations,” Kolbeinn explained. “With this arrangement, Hunters outside the shield can’t access the planet, and any that were trapped on the planet when the shield went up can’t attack the outer shield and destroy it. Instant orbital superiority.”
A series of flashes – twelve or so – sparkled across the planet. “We use that superiority to destroy any Hunter ground installations, terminate any trapped Hunters, and prevent the construction of groundside jump arrays. The job at this point is only half done, however.”
“Next, the Farthrow generator,” the Great Father rumbled. “Ain’t no such thing as a secure system now ‘less you control who gets ‘ta jump in an’ out.”
Korbeinn nodded. “Farthrows mean absolute control over the lines of communication. Once the generator is in place and operational, the system has been secured. Every slave on its surface is now safe, and any Hunters stuck down there can be isolated and exterminated in whatever manner is most appropriate.”
“Th’other pair o’ shields are there ‘fer two reasons,” Daar added, and pulled the presentation out to the lonely shields at the system’s edge. “Same arrangement, one ‘ta stop the greasy fucks from gettin’ in, one so’s they can’t shoot their way out. With this an’ the Farthrow, we cut off any industrial base in that system, stop ‘em from escapin’ an’ regroupin’, an’ make it so they can’t rally troops or coalesce anywhere. It ain’t enough ‘ta protect th’ slaves. We gotta pin the Hunters to th’ floor an’ rip their throats out.”
Despite himself and what the deathworlders had all said so far, Scrythcra found it impossible to completely suppress the nervous shiver that ran through him when the Great Father bared his fangs in a gratuitous display of righteous malice.
Even Kolbeinn gave him a sidelong glance, though the Human’s reaction was understated. He cleared his throat and opened a new slide, which looked like nothing more than a bullet list of needed items.
“So. Logistics,” he said. “At an estimated hundred and six planets, four shields per system comes out to four hundred and twenty-four units. That’s not a lot, but the hundred and six Farthrow generators? Those are a big deal. Just one is an enormous investment of time on even the largest and most advanced nanofactories.”
“My people…we’re not in a position ‘ta crank out Farthrows on that kinda scale,” Daar said. “Humankind ain’t, neither.”
“Nor us,” Yan added, with surprising dry wit that drew mirthful vocalizations from literally everyone present except for the Corti.
Daar looked back at Yan, who was baring his enormous fangs in what Scrythcra’s translator suggested was a friendly gesture. The Great Father chittered and shook his head. “Makes a sweet knife, though…anyhoo. I can supply well-trained soldiers an’ spaceborne operators only the Humans can stand side by side with. They can provide amazing trainers ‘fer basically any military of any ability. Together, we’ve got the finest warships in the galaxy, proud martial histories, an’ some tricks up our sleeves that’d just leave ‘ya awestruck.”
“We’re prepared and ready to be the tip of the spear in fighting the Hunters,” Kolbeinn said. “But we need a sturdy spear shaft behind us. That’s what we’re asking you to be. As for the Hierarchy…”
He flipped through onto the next slide. “Starving them will pose some slightly different obstacles. The first step obviously is to sanitize the neurocybernetics market. This is, however, going to come at a massive economic cost. Neurocybernetics are heavily integrated across many layers of the Dominion’s economy, and in some fields are actually necessary for certain kinds of workers to do their jobs.”
“Obviously, y’ain’t gonna wanna take the path my kind were forced down,” added the Great Father. “Doin’ it properly means ‘yer gonna need ‘ta secure critical personnel quickly, an’ that won’t be easy.”
“Fortunately, great strides have already been made in that direction, as evidenced by this very conference,” Kolbeinn said. “You have all successfully purged your leadership of neurocybernetics. Cleansing the layers below that, however, is going to require careful planning and preparation.”
“An’ it’s gotta be done carefully. The Hierarchy decided ‘ta burn my species, as a warnin’ t’anyone watchin’ about the cost o’ turnin’ down their ‘gifts.’”
“Specific proposals on that score will by necessity have to be on a case-by-case basis. There are too many variables for us to reasonably go into the details of each species’ emancipation and inoculation today,” Kolbeinn said.
“I make this pledge, though: if’n ‘ya need help with the plannin’ an’ mebbe some help executin’ on ‘yer mission, the Gao stand ready ‘ta help.”
“The Allied nations likewise stand ready to offer training and advice. Indeed, that will be the primary focus of our war effort in the early stages of the conflict,” Kolbeinn said. “It isn’t good enough to just describe the philosophy after all—the actual practical details of its implementation need to be taught to the people who’ll be doing the hard work. Fortunately, we have a lot of experience with that.”
“True words, those,” the Great Father rumbled. “Humans trained th’ Grand Army of the Gao; ain’t nobody else coulda. Balls, they taught me things I din’t know I din’t know! Me and my people owe ‘em everythin’ an’ we can pay it forward wit’ y’all, if ‘ya want it.”
“So there, in short, is our proposed plan of action,” Kolbeinn acknowledged the praise with a slow nod of his head. “We train your forces and equip them to fight this war as it must be fought. With our aid, your homelands will be better-defended, your peoples will be liberated from the sleeping threat in their midst, and your frontier colonists will be able to live without fear. In return, the Dominion’s economic and industrial base will supply us with the resources we need to not merely bring our mutual enemies to heel, but end them.”
Daar duck-nodded, and his amber eyes swept the whole platform with a challenge. “Th’ only question left is… are you with us?” he asked.
There was conversation among the various delegates for some time. Twrythruc, the dismissive advisor, was no longer so dismissive. He hardly seemed enthusiastic, but he did not venture a strong objection. Among the Rauwryhr, at least, the decision seemed straightforward. There would be politicking and votes in the Senate and Chamber of Representation of course, but Yrwcrohyr had already been empowered by both and by the Republic’s constitution to be here and make the choice today, and Scrythcra was fairly sure he knew what she would decide.
So, as he waited, he listened carefully. And as far as his sensitive ears could tell, the alien chattering around him mostly boiled down to ‘yes, that all seems like a solid plan’ and similar sentiments. He suppressed the urge to fidget.
It fell to him to bring the meeting back to order, as the host species’ ambassador to the Security Council. But when he stood up to do that, rather than the usual fractious and reluctant process of restoring focus that he might usually see…
…this time, everyone fell silent and looked. For once, it seemed, the species of the Dominion were thinking alike.
He tidied up his gliding membrane as he stepped to the middle, and turned to look at them all. The Deathworlders were looking… oddly wary.
They truly do need the rest of us, he realized.
“…Delegates. The time has come to commit to a course of action,” he announced. “The Allied species have presented their thinking, their plan, their rationale and their requests. We now know what is needed, what it will cost, and what the stakes are. All that remains is to determine what we will do. Will we join them in their war against the Hunters and Hierarchy? Or will we stand aside passively? I direct the question first to the esteemed Yrwcrohyr, President of the Rauwryhr Republic.”
Yrwcrohyr rose to her feet. “We will join the fight,” she declared, simply.
“President Furfeg, of the Guvnuragnaguvendrugun Confederated Worlds?”
Furfeg lurched to his feet. Vibrant resolve shone down his whole body. “The Herds of my people are with the Deathworlders,” he announced.
“First Director Shanl of the Corti Directorate?”
Shanl nodded curtly. “On behalf of the Directorate, I pledge the support of the Corti people.”
“The Grandmatriarchs of the Kwmbwrw Great Houses?”
One of the wisened old diplomats stood up on her hindlimbs, rearing to her full and impressive teetering height. “Our people have been preyed upon for long enough,” she said, fiercely. “We are with them.”
“Ak’kk’brr, Grand Admiral of the Vzk’tk Domain?”
The Admiral bowed his head in a long, slow nod. “The Gao and Humans came to my people’s aid, and shed their blood defending our citizens. We decided to repay our debt long before this council was even called.”
“Oryus, Chief Secretary of the Locayl Unified Nations?”
Oryus gave the simplest answer yet. He stood, and spread all four of his arms in a Locayl bow. “We’re with you,” he said.
“Yan Given-Man, Chief of the Lodge, on behalf of the many tribes of the Ten’Gewek of Akyawentuo?”
Yan sprang upright with such force that the whole deck shivered. “We live because of them! We will fight by them for as long as they will have us!” he barked.
“Skirnhiv, on behalf of the Associate Species of the Dominion?”
The Mjrnhrm chosen to represent the Dominion’s minor and less powerful members tilted his head and fluttered his vestigial wing casings with a sharp buzz. “…I am still awaiting instruction,” he declared. “I must abstain.”
There was dismay, a few outbursts of anger or disappointment from those at the edges of the room: Scrythcra simply recorded the abstention with a nod, and turned toward the Humans.
“I understand there are two major factions on Earth to consult,” he said. “Would the High Commissioner of the Global Representative Assembly please vote?”
Human internal politics were sadly a bit of a closed book, from Scrythcrur’s perspective. As he understood it, their homeworld was divided into more than two hundred sovereign territories, each with their own legal codes, agendas, beliefs, ethics…
Speaking on behalf of most of them was Ping Guozhi, a neat man in neat clothes who had remained utterly silent throughout the proceedings. When he rose to his feet, he cast an inscrutable glance at the five other Human leaders, then turned to Scrythcra.
“In consultation with the United Nations Security Council, and in line with the Global Representative Assembly’s mandate to protect the interests of our member states above and beyond the Earth’s atmosphere,” he said, formally, “I am instructed that the GRA member states will offer whatever support and aid they can to the Allied nations if they should choose to support this war.”
“And the Allied nations?” Scrythcra asked.
There was a brief and apparently ceremonial exchange between the Prime Ministers of Britain, Australia, Canada, Folctha and New Zealand, and President Sartori of the United States. It was all too complex and arcane for Scythcrur to truly follow: There was something about a Commonwealth of Nations, His Majesty King George, and formal permissions. Whatever it all meant, Sartori listened solemnly, thanked them quietly, then turned to the assembled species.
“On behalf of the United States of America, and with the permission of my counterparts, I renew the dedication and support of the Allied nations to the war effort against the Hunters and the Hierarchy,” he declared firmly.
That left only one.
“And… Daar. Great Father of the Gao?”
Daar duck-nodded slowly and gratefully to the Humans, then reared up on two-paw to complete the cycle. There was no doubt about what he’d say, of course: The only question was how he’d say it.
He spared a glance toward Skirnhiv, then turned back to Scrythcra and a slow, vicious pant-grin spread across his face to put every last one of his wicked teeth on display.
“…We accept,” he said.