Theirs Not to Reason Why 4: Hardship (35 page)

Leaning back against the foot of her chaplain’s bunk, Ia sighed and looked up at the underside of her own narrow bed. She had been given the equivalent of a private cabin, albeit one shared with her chaplain, but quarters on board the
T’Chu-chen Vizeth
were tight, carrying as it was a full complement of ground and ship forces, plus the members of her Company. The surviving members, that was. The others in her crew were bunking in rotating sleeping shifts.

She didn’t want to talk about it but knew that the Department of Innovations and the Command Staff were expecting her to remain stable, which
required
talking about it . . .
Except there is a loophole in that loop.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bennie lowered her chin, giving Ia a stern look. “As your psychologist, Ia . . .”

“I am still quite Human, Bennie, and it is a
very
Human reaction to want to dig in one’s mental and emotional heels and
not
want to talk about a difficult subject. A whole shipload of difficult subjects,” she added sardonically. “A ship that blew up in my face
after
I blew up the real one.”

“Mm. Anger,” Bennie observed, sipping at her caf’. “I know you already went through the shock phase, and the denial . . . although from what Jesselle says, your denial actually took place before the camp was attacked and routed.”

Ia pointed a finger at her friend. “I already did all of that, Bennie. All the way through bargaining and acceptance, too. I may have done it out of order, but it’s all done and over with.”

“But there’s still anger in there,” her friend and counselor observed.

That made her roll her eyes. “Of
course
there is. They shouldn’t have had to die!”

“Your crew members?” Bennie prodded. “Is that what you’re most upset about?”

“
All
of them. Soldiers. Civilians.
All
of them.” Ia slashed her free hand outward, indicating the whole universe. Or at least Dabin. “All those lives lost, because Mattox refused to accept any other battle plans than his own, refused to see that he couldn’t plan his way out of a paper bag, and refused to accept that his
mind
had been compromised. Ginger and Teshwun, for screwing everything up. For hiding the truth of Time itself from me—
me
—and warping Mattox so that he caused the deaths of all those lives. For
their
causing the loss of all those lives.”

Bennie accepted that, mulling it over in silence for a bit. After half a minute, she asked shrewdly, “What about your eye?”

“Immaterial.” Ia didn’t pretend this time not to know where the conversation was going. “Whether I had lost it until it could be vat-grown and replaced on this ship or could—and did—replace it myself, my own suffering is immaterial. In fact, I’m more upset I don’t know how to fix everyone
else’s
injuries in a similar, Feyori-based way.”

“So why not learn?” the redhead offered, tipping up her mug to drain it. She caught Ia’s level stare when she lowered the emptied cup. “Ah, right. Your lack of
time
for such things.”

“I still have far too many prophecies to readjust thanks to the mess on Dabin. Enough that it’ll take me three solid months to get caught up on fixing everything so that the final outcome is still the same, but that doesn’t include all the stuff I’ll actually have to do over the next three months. And don’t say I’ll have the time for it here on this ship. This is my opportunity to give the V’Dan the majority of my prophecies for
them
, many of which will also have to be adjusted. What happened on Dabin, all the rifts and ripples and rumplings in the fabric of the timestreams, those won’t stay on Dabin alone. I can make allowances for all those hardships, but it still takes time to fix everything.

“Thankfully, since we’re almost done, I’ll have eighteen minutes to compose a few of them before we’ll both have to change into Dress Grays for our first formal dinner in the V’Dan version of an officers’ mess,” she added.

“Almost done? What makes you think we’re ‘almost done,’ here?” Bennie challenged her, raising one auburn brow.

“Because it’s going to conclude with the same answer I’ve given myself since I turned fifteen, the same answer I’ve always given you. If it’s something I cannot change—and I cannot change any of what happened—then I am not going to burden my soul with worrying over it, regretting it, or even thinking about it,” Ia stated. “Which means not
talking
about it. Talking just gets me angry that it happened in the first place, and gets me mad that I cannot do anything to change it anymore. Neither of which are productive emotions. In fact, they’re big time-wasters, and Time is a very precious commodity.”

She drained her own cup and uncurled from the older woman’s bunk. Holding out her hand, she accepted the other mug from her chaplain and carried them to the caf’ dispenser in the corner, where the machinery would clean and store the mugs for later use.

“It’s not a healthy thing to do,” Bennie warned her. “Repressing and denying your emotions, I mean.”

“No, but as I said, it’s a very
Human
way of dealing with something I cannot change. At least, not any more than I’ve already tried.”

Technically, her words weren’t entirely true. Technically, she could order a couple Feyori to go back in time to try to stop her younger self from damaging the timelines, from accidentally exposing and being counterfactioned by Miklinn, so on and so forth. But that way meant demanding the sacrifice of at least one of the Feyori’s lives. Killing Teshwun
had
been a case of her being a vindictive, territorial bitch, and she still could and would kill any that stepped out of line by trying to counterfaction her efforts, but the rest of them didn’t deserve to die simply because she ordered them to die. The rest had every right to live . . . and as she
could
still set things up for the salvation of the galaxy, that drastic an option just wasn’t an option.

But she couldn’t
explain
that to Bennie. Not when this whole conversation was going into her personnel file as an official counseling-session report.

Reaching into her storage locker, she pulled out one of her new workpads and a handful of datachips, both crafted in the V’Dan style. Information-storage technology changed from decade to decade in the modern era, but these were prophecies for the very near future. They didn’t need to be transcribed onto long-lasting, acid-free, archive-quality paper. They just needed to be transcribed into current V’Dan technology for the ease of their recipients.

JULY 27, 2498 T.S.

“Congratulations on your promotion, General Ia,” Emperor Ki’en-qua allowed, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgment of the new rank. “I see you have finally gained the
practical
authority you need.”

There was an eight-second lag delay, four seconds coming and going, but only because the
T’Chu-chen Vizeth
was now quite far from the V’Dan homeworld. Unlike her previous ship, this vessel was a capital ship, more than large enough to carry its own dedicated, vacuum-sealed hyperrelay hub deep within the mass of the ship, permitting them a direct link to the Imperial Palace.

“Thank you, Eternity,” Ia returned politely, using the proper honorific for the V’Dan Emperor. She bowed her head a little deeper in return, keeping her eyes on the red-clad figure on the other side of the commscreen. “I’ll confess that it wasn’t a very high probability on my list. At most, I had figured to earn two stars’ worth by the end of the Second Salik War, and most probably less than that. I could have done my job well enough under those conditions, but I am grateful for the rank I have been given—I am the Prophet, yes, but even I can be blindsided by a rare possibility. Thankfully, a positive one this time.”

“Indeed. A reminder that you are still mostly Human, and thus liable to fail . . . which most of the Sh’nai faith has overlooked even though it’s written at least three times in the High Book,” Ki’en-qua allowed.

Ia nodded. “The good news is that I have been instructed by Admiral-General Christine Myang, with the Terran Premiere’s permission, to lend my full advice to the V’Dan High Command and the Imperial Forces, both the Fleet and the Army. Contingent that I send a copy of everything I give to your people to the Terrans as well. That’s also the bad news,” she added with a touch of regret. “The semigood news buried in the bad news is that they mostly want that information for archival and post-battle-analysis purposes. The uncomfortable-for-me news is that they want to make sure I’m not giving your people
more
information than I’m giving the Terrans.”

The Shield of Thirty-Seven Worlds was not a stupid man. He shook his head wryly. “The only reason why you’d have to give us more information on what to do is if we were doing so poorly that we
needed
that information—and I’ll trust you to keep
that
quote to yourself, General. It was not said as an insult on the ineffectiveness of the Terran military, never mind my own. Indeed, the results you engineered on Dabin, giving your lowest organizational levels free rein to do as
they
saw fit, speaks volumes to the contrary.”

“I would not be so tactless if I could help it, Emperor Ki’en-qua,” Ia replied smoothly. Her one act of tactlessness, where Miklinn had been concerned, was more than enough warning against fumbling a second time.

“One would hope. As for your orders, we would not object to some of our due prophecies being shared with our Terran kin,” Ki’en-qua added, using the plural “we” that meant he spoke for his High Command as well as himself and his Empire. “But I must insist as the Emperor that all precognitive missives that deal with
sensitive
V’Dan information be restricted to V’Dan eyes only. We may both be Human Empires, but we are not the same.”

“I regret I do not have the authority to guarantee such an arrangement, though I of course would honor it in a heartbeat if my orders allowed,” she returned politely, if dryly. “But if Your Eternal Majesty would care to bend your hyperrelays into diplomatic channels, and confer with the Terran Premiere about your perfectly valid concerns, then perhaps the Commander in Chief of the Terran Space Force would allow what the Admiral-General has not. Until such time, I’m afraid my orders must stand as they have been given to me, and I will carry them out as instructed. I am merely a soldier, not a seasoned diplomat.”

Unspoken was the understanding that a copy of this conversation was already being recorded for the Terran military to peruse. Ki’en-qua didn’t blame her for it, thankfully. He was a rare leader, one who honestly cared for the betterment of his citizens, yet one who understood the need for political maneuverings and certain expediencies. Ia had long ago felt a deep gratitude that she wouldn’t have to work around him and the V’Dan government he presided over to get her many tasks done within his jurisdiction. That was a trouble for a different generation to deal with. As it was, she still had to work around the demands of Terran politics, Dlmvlan, K’Kattan . . .

“The Terrans may not know yet what a rare gem they have in you, meioa, though I suspect your Admiral-General has finally begun to notice a glimmer or two of it,” the V’Dan Emperor stated. “If I could, I would give you the rank of a Grand General in my own High Command. That is, presuming you could manage to direct the V’Dan battlegrounds as well as you have directed the Terran ones.”

This was the single most important moment in her conversation with him, though the rest of it was important enough to tread carefully. She had to appear as though she were still firmly collared by the Terran leash despite her huge jump in rank and authority. A quick check of the timestreams showed her an even, calm delivery would spark the right idea in his mind.

“If I had that kind of permission from my superiors, I gladly would, Eternity, and I would strive my best not to abuse such faith and trust. I would give an equal level of precognitive service to each of the other members of the Alliance as well,” she added carefully, with neither too much nor too little emphasis on her words. “I may have
carte blanche
regarding my work within the Terran military, but only within it, and there are limits.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he returned dryly.

Ia didn’t want to think about how well things were going. Such hubris would lead to more carelessness on her part. She still had the horror of losing a certain Private N’Keth to Friendly Fire on her mind despite the intervening time, and the trouble it had taken to patch that break in the temporal universe of What Should Have Happened. She had also needed to take her chief medical officer aside and apologize in private for ignoring Jesselle’s advice on what was wrong on Dabin. Ki’en-qua continued, recapturing her attention.

“As it is, what you can share is already far more than we would have without your very timely aid, General,” the Emperor of V’Dan was saying. “We are grateful as a nation that you are so willing to share them with non-Terrans.”

“The abilities I possess as the Prophet of a Thousand Years should serve the needs of the many. Not just the needs of a few, however important they may be,” she stated aloud. “If you can convince my superiors, I will serve the needs of other governments such as your own as surely as I serve the needs of mine. Our fates are all bound together in this particular fight; we should help each other as much as possible. Just as the fate of the people of Dabin required efforts from both the Terrans and the timely assistance of the V’Dan to thwart our common foe, it will continue to require all our efforts until the threat is gone. But I will also not go against the expressed orders of my superiors, the Admiral-General and the Premiere of the Terran United Planets Council.”

Emperor Ki’en-qua dipped his head slightly. “We will take your words and thoughts under advisement, General Ia,” he replied diplomatically. “In the meantime, I have advised Admiral V’Chech to give you and your soldiers all the assistance they reasonably may. I understand you will be in transit for another seven days before reaching your destination. It is the honor of V’Dan to carry the Prophet of a Thousand Years and the savior of our Joint Colonyworld of Dabin to her next destination. You may ask him for anything reasonable that you or your crew may require.”