The End of All Things #2: This Hollow Union Read online

  “At that rate they should topple us at about the same time as the heat death of the universe,” I said.

  “It’s not the physical damage. It’s persisting despite the obvious strength of the Conclave.”

  “And attacking Earth Station?” I said. “How does that relate to the Conclave?”

  “The Colonial Union has denied the attack. Who else should Earth think could orchestrate it?”

  “But you don’t want the humans in the Conclave in any event.”

  “Neither do I want Earth reconciled with the Colonial Union, offering it soldiers and colonists again.”

  “In which case I’m not sure why you would oppose Earth’s admission into the Conclave,” I said. “That would shut the door to the Colonial Union using it as a recruiting station.”

  “And frustrate the Colonial Union even further, making them more dangerous,” Hado said. “And aside from that, how would we ever be able to trust any humans? If one group of humans were at war with us and the other our ally, how many of our so-called allies would feel obliged, by species solidarity, to act against our interests?”

  “So we are damned if we admit the humans, and damned if we don’t.”

  “There is a third option,” Hado said.

  I stiffened at this. “You know the general’s opinion on preemptive war, Representative Hado,” I said. “And on genocide.”

  “Please, Councilor,” Hado said. “I am suggesting neither, obviously. I am suggesting, however, that war with the humans is inevitable. Sooner or later they will attack, out of opportunism or out of fear.” He pointed to the data module. “The information here makes that much clear. And when they do, if the general does not have a response, then I fear what happens next for the Conclave.”

  “The Conclave is robust,” I said.

  “Again, it’s not the physical damage to the Conclave I worry about. The Conclave exists because its members are confident in its leader. The general spared the humans once when he could have crushed them. If he does it twice, there comes the legitimate question of why, and for what purpose. And whether his judgment can be relied upon any further.”

  “And if the answer is ‘no,’ then I suppose you have an idea of who might take his place,” I said. “To restore this ‘confidence.’”

  “You misunderstand me, Councilor,” Hado said. “You always have. You think I have ambitions beyond my station. I assure you I do not. I never have. What I want is what you want, and what the general wants: the Conclave, whole and secure. He has the power to keep it that way. He has the power to destroy it. It all depends on how he deals with the humans. All of them.”

  Hado stood, bowed, took a final niti from his bowl, and left.

  * * *

  “He thinks this is going to be the thing that destroys the Conclave,” Vnac Oi said, holding the data module Unli Hado had given me. I had traveled to its office, in part to get a change of scenery and in part because as the Conclave’s head of intelligence, its office was substantially more secure than my own.

  “I think it’s more the thing Hado plans to use to try to oust Tarsem,” I said.

  “It took some nerve to drop it on your desk,” Oi said. “He might as well have put a sign up over his head announcing his plans.”

  “Plausible deniability,” I said. “It can never be said he was not the first to alert us to this information and the dangers within. He’s being the perfect example of a helpful and faithful officer of the Conclave.”

  Oi gave a whistle of derision. “The Gods should protect us from such faithfulness,” it said.

  I pointed to the data module. “What do we know about this?”

  “We know Hado wasn’t lying about how he got it,” Oi said. “This information has showed up at several dozen Conclave worlds already and more reports are coming in. The data is consistent across the various planets. It even showed up here.”

  “How?”

  “Diplomatic courier skip drone. Credentials forged, which we determined right away, but we examined the data anyway. Same data as in every other packet we’ve been offered.”

  “Any idea where it came from?”

  “No,” Oi said. “The skip drone is Faniu manufacture. They make hundreds of thousands of them a year. The drone’s navigational cache was clear, no skip history on it. The data itself was unencrypted and in standard Conclave format.”

  “Have you looked at it?”

  “There’s too much to just look at. Reading it manually would take more time than we’d want. We’ve got computers doing semantic and data analysis on it to get the important information and trends. That will still take several sur.”

  “I mean did you look at it,” I said.

  “Of course,” Oi said. “There was a document that came with it highlighting particular bits of information whoever sent it thought might be relevant to us. I skimmed.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Officially or personally?”

  “Both.”

  “Officially, anonymous information that shows up randomly at one’s door should be treated as suspicious until proven otherwise. That said, the documents we’ve done spot analysis on conform strongly to the Colonial Union’s data formatting and known activity. If it’s fake, it’s very cleverly done, at least superficially.”

  “And personally?”

  “You know we have sources in the Colonial Union, yes?” Oi said. “Ones I don’t go out of my way to let either you or the general know too much about?”

  “Of course.”

  “As soon as this started popping up I sent a query to one of them about this alleged whistleblower, this Undersecretary Ocampo. Just before you got here I got a ping back. He exists, or at least did exist. He went missing several of their months ago. He would have had access to this information. So personally I think it’s very possible this is legitimate.”

  “Hado seemed to be under the impression that the Colonial Union had found this Ocampo.”

  “I have no information on that, and I’d be curious to know how he does,” Oi said.

  “It might be a rumor.”

  “This would be the time for rumors about this information,” Oi agreed. “Do you want me to look into it?”

  Before I could answer my handheld buzzed out the sequence that told me Umman was trying to reach me for a critical purpose. I answered. “Yes?”

  “Your manicurist called and wishes to inquire about your next appointment,” Umman said.

  “I’m in Oi’s office, Umman,” I said, glancing over at Oi, whose expression was studiously neutral. “And you can be sure it already knows about my ‘manicurist.’”

  “I’ll just send the message over, then,” Umman said.

  “Thank you.” I terminated the call and waited for the message.

  “Thank you for not being offended that I know your business,” Oi said.

  “Thank you for not pretending to be offended that I would suggest you know my business,” I said.

  The message arrived. “And what does Colonel Rigney of the Colonial Union have to say?” Oi asked.

  “He says, ‘By this time you’ve probably seen the data alleging to be from our Department of State Undersecretary Ocampo,’” I read. “‘Some of it is true. Much of it is not. What is not is of concern to both the Colonial Union and the Conclave. We are sending an envoy to treat with the Conclave on this to reach an amicable resolution before things escalate. She is Ambassador Ode Abumwe, known to you, and will be in possession of information to clarify or refute what you have in your possession. I ask, with the basis of our previous association as proof of earnest intent, that you see her and hear what she has to say.’ And then there’s data on Ambassador Abumwe’s intended arrival time and position.”

  “The Colonial Union’s coming here without presence,” Oi said. “That’s interesting.”

  “They want to indicate their openness,” I said.

  “That’s one interpretation,” Oi said. “Another is that they don’
t think they have time to do their usual sneaking about before this blows up in their faces. And another will be that this is simply a move in a long-term game to maneuver us to where they can strike us most effectively.”

  “That’s not been my experience of Colonel Rigney or Ambassador Abumwe.”

  “Which doesn’t matter much because officially you haven’t had any experience with either Rigney or Abumwe, have you?” Oi said, and raised tendrils to pause my reply. “It’s not about what you or I think, Hafte. It’s about how Unli Hado and those around him will interpret the Colonial Union’s move here.”

  “You think we shouldn’t meet with them.”

  “I don’t have an opinion one way or another,” Oi said, lying diplomatically. “That’s not my job. But I do suggest that you talk with the general about it and find out what he and you want to do. And that you do it sooner than later. ‘Immediately,’ would be my suggestion.”

  “I have another meeting first,” I said.

  * * *

  “You know that the nations of Earth would never condone or participate in any action that would bring about the destruction of the Conclave,” said Regan Byrne, the envoy to the Conclave from the United Nations, a diplomatic corporation that was not actually the government of the Earth, but which pretended to be for situations like this.

  I nodded, minutely, to avoid hitting my head on Byrne’s ceiling. Byrne’s offices were former storage units that had been hastily cleared out when it was decided that it would be beneficial to have an Earth presence of some sort at the Conclave headquarters. These storage units were amply tall for most Conclave species, but then, again, Lalans were tall and I was taller than most.

  I stood because there was nowhere for me to sit; Byrne usually came to visit me, not the other way around, and her office did not have a stool that would accommodate me. Byrne had the grace to look embarrassed by this fact.

  “I assure you that no one in the Conclave has suggested that this new information has cast the Earth in a suspicious light,” I said, choosing not to mention that Unli Hado, in point of fact, had accused the planet of being full of traitors and spies. “What I am interested in knowing, prior to my meeting with General Gau, is whether the Earth has received this information, and what their response has been to it.”

  “I was about to call Umman when he called me to set up this meeting,” Byrne said. “I received a skip drone from the UN this morning with the information, to give to you in case you did not already have it, and the denial of involvement that I just offered you. Done up much more formally, of course. I will have all of it sent to your office.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I have been also told to tell you that we’re sending a formal diplomatic party to brief the Conclave on the Earth’s definitive response to this new information. They will be here in less than a week. The diplomatic party is under the aegis of the UN but will consist of representatives of several Earth governments. That information is also in the data packet I am sending along.”

  “Yes, fine,” I said. This meant that we were about to be in the rather awkward position of having diplomatic representatives from both the Earth and the Colonial Union at the Conclave’s headquarters at the same time. This would have to be managed. I frowned.

  “Everything all right, Councilor Sorvalh?” Byrne asked.

  “Of course,” I said, and smiled. Byrne offered up a weak smile in return. I remembered that my smile looked rather ghastly to humans, in no small part because it was offered by a creature who was close to twice their height. “This will all be of great use to me when I meet with the general.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Byrne said.

  “And how are you, Regan?” I asked. “I’m afraid I don’t see you or other members of your mission as often as I would like.”

  “We’re good,” Byrne said, and I was aware that I was once again being lied to diplomatically. “I think most of the staff are still getting our bearings and learning the map of the station. It’s very large. Larger than some cities back on Earth.”

  “Yes it is,” I said. The headquarters of the Conclave was a space station carved into a large asteroid and was one of the largest engineered objects ever made, not counting some of the more impressive bits made by the Consu, a race so technologically advanced above the rest of the species in this area of space that they should not be included in an estimation, simply out of politeness to everyone else.

  “It would have to be,” I continued. “We have to house representatives from four hundred worlds, all their staff, and many of their families, plus a great number of the Conclave’s own government workers and their families, plus all the support workers and their families. It adds up.”

  “Is your family here, Councilor Sorvalh?”

  I smiled, more gently this time. “Lalans don’t quite have the family structure that humans and many other species do. We are more communally oriented, is the best way to put it. But there is a strong Lalan community here. It’s very comforting.”

  “It’s good to hear,” Byrne said. “I miss my family and other humans. It’s lovely here, but sometimes you just miss home.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said to her.

  * * *

  “If the Conclave must end, at least this is a pretty place for it to begin,” General Tarsem Gau, leader of the Conclave, said to me, standing next to where I sat in the Lalan community park. The park, one of the first created on the Conclave’s asteroid, was large enough for all three hundred of the Lalans stationed at Conclave headquarters to meet, relax, deposit eggs, and monitor the hatched young as they grew.

  Tarsem spotted some of the Lalan young, playing on a rock on the far side of the park’s small lake. “Any of yours?” he asked. Jokingly, because he knew I was too old for further egg-laying.

  But I answered him seriously. “One or both of them might be Umman’s,” I said. “He and one of the diplomats were in phase not too long ago and she laid her eggs here. Those young are just about the right size to be theirs.”

  There was a sudden squawk as an older youth emerged from behind the rock, wrapped its jaws around one of the two youth sunning themselves, and began to bite down. The trapped youth began to struggle; the other one scuttled away. We watched as the younger youth fought to survive, and lost. After a moment the larger youth stole away, younger youth still in its jaws, to eat it in privacy.

  Tarsem turned to me. “That still always amazes me,” he said.

  “That our young prey on each other?” I asked.

  “That it doesn’t bother you that they do,” he said. “Not just you. You or any Lalan adult. You understand that most intelligent species are fiercely protective of their young.”

  “As are we,” I replied. “After a certain point. After their brains develop and their consciousness emerges. Before then they are simply animals, and there are so many of them.”

  “Did you feel that way when they were your own?”

  “I didn’t know which were mine at the age of that unfortunate youth,” I said. “We lay our eggs in common, you know. We go to our local common ground, to the laying house. I’d lay my eggs into a receiving basket and take the basket to the house supervisor. The supervisor would put them in the room set up for the eggs the house received that day. Thirty or forty women would lay eggs at a house each day. Ten to fifty eggs each. Fifteen of our days to hatch and then another five days before the outside door to the room was opened to let the surviving young out into the park. We didn’t see the eggs again once we left them. Even if we went back the day the outside door was opened, we wouldn’t know which of the survivors were our own.”

  “But I’ve met your children.”

  “You met them after they grew into consciousness,” I said. “Once you’re an adult, you’re allowed to take a genetic test to learn who your parents are, provided they had consented to be placed in the database. The two you met are the ones who decided to find out. I may have had others who survived but th
ey either didn’t take the test or chose not to contact me. Not everyone asks to know. I didn’t.”

  “It’s so—”

  “Alien?” Tarsem nodded. I laughed. “Well, Tarsem, I am an alien to you. And you to me. And all of us to each other. And yet, here we are, friends. As we have been for most of our lives now.”

  “The conscious parts of it, anyway.”

  I motioned back to the rock, where the youth who had run away had returned. “You think the way we cull our young is cruel.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Tarsem said.

  “Of course you wouldn’t say it,” I said. “You wouldn’t say it because you’re diplomatic. But it doesn’t mean you don’t think it.”

  “All right,” Tarsem admitted. “It does seem cruel.”

  “That’s because it is,” I said, turning again to Tarsem. “Terrible and cruel, and the fact that adult Lalans can just watch it happen and not weep in agony over it means that we might be terrible and cruel as well. But we know a story that other people don’t.”

  “What’s the story?”

  “The story is that not too long ago in Lalan history, a philosopher named Loomt Both convinced most of Lalah that how we culled our young was wrong and immoral. He and his followers convinced us to protect all of our young, to allow them all to grow into sentience, and to reap the benefits of the knowledge and progress so many new thinking individuals would give us. I imagine you think you know where this is going.”

  “Overpopulation, famine, and death, I would guess,” Tarsem said.

  “And you would be wrong, because those are obvious things, to be planned for and dealt with,” I said. “We did have a massive population boom, but we’d also developed spaceflight. It’s one reason why Both suggested we stop culling our youth. We populated colony worlds quickly and grew an empire of twenty worlds almost overnight. Both’s strategy gave us a foothold into the universe and for a time he was revered as the greatest Lalan.”

  Tarsem smiled at me. “If this is meant to be a cautionary tale, you’re doing a bad job of it, Hafte,” he said.

  “It’s not done yet,” I said. “What Both missed—what we all missed—was the fact that our pre-conscious life is not wasted. How we survive our culling leaves its traces in our brains. In point of fact, in a very real sense, it gives us wisdom. Gives us restraint. Gives us mercy and empathy for each other and for other intelligent species. Imagine, if you will, Tarsem, billions of my people, emerging into consciousness without wisdom. Without restraint. Without mercy and empathy. Imagine the worlds they would make. Imagine what they would do to others.”