“Because I wasn’t truly madhouse insane,” Gau said.
“Oh, no, General. You were,” orenThen said. “Entirely and completely. But you were also right. And I remember thinking to myself, what if this mad general actually pulls it off? I tried to imagine it—our part of space, at peace. And I couldn’t. It was like a white wall of stone in front of me, keeping me from seeing it. And that’s when I knew I would fight for the Conclave. I couldn’t see the peace it would bring. I couldn’t even imagine it. All I knew was that I wanted it. And I knew that if anyone could bring it into being, it would be this mad general. I believed it.” OrenThen let go of the general’s hands. “It’s so long ago now,” he said.
“My old friend,” Gau said.
“Old friend,” orenThen agreed. “Old indeed. And now I must go. I’m glad to have seen you again, Tarsem. I truly am. These are not the circumstances I would have chosen, of course.”
“Of course,” Gau said.
“But isn’t that the way of things. Life surprises.” OrenThen turned again to go.
“How will I know when you’ve reached a decision?” Gau asked.
“You’ll know,” orenThen said, not looking back.
“How?” Gau asked.
“You’ll hear it,” orenThen said, and turned his head back to the general. “That much, I can promise.” Then he turned back and walked to his transport, and with his escort drove away.
Gau’s lieutenant approached him. “What did he mean when he said you’ll hear his answer, General?” he asked.
“They chant,” Gau said, and pointed toward the colony, still under spotlight. “Their highest art form is a ritualized chant. It’s how they celebrate, and mourn, and pray. Chan was letting me know that when he’s done talking with his colonists, they would chant their answer to me.”
“Are we going to hear it from here?” the lieutenant asked.
Gau smiled. “You wouldn’t be asking that if you’d ever heard a Whaidi chant, Lieutenant.”
Gau waited the long night, listening, his vigil occasionally interrupted by the lieutenant or one of the other soldiers offering him a hot drink to keep him alert. It wasn’t until the colony’s sun rose out of the eastern sky that Gau heard what he was listening for.
“What is that?” the lieutenant asked.
“Quiet,” Gau said, and waved his annoyance. The lieutenant backed off. “They’ve begun their chanting,” Gau said a moment later. “Right now they’re chanting a welcome to the morning.”
“What does it mean?” the lieutenant asked.
“It means they’re welcoming the morning,” Gau said. “It’s ritual, Lieutenant. They do it every day.”
The morning prayer rose and fell in volume and intensity, continuing on for what seemed to the general a maddeningly long time. And then it came to a ragged, hesitant ending; Gau, who had been pacing through the latter parts of the morning prayer, stopped stock-still.
From the colony came a new chant, in a new rhythm, growing progressively louder. Gau listened to it for several long moments and then slumped, as if suddenly tired.
The lieutenant was at his side almost instantly. Gau waved him off. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“What are they chanting now, General?” the lieutenant asked.
“Their anthem,” Gau said. “Their national anthem.” He stood up. “They’re saying that they won’t leave. They’re saying they would rather die as Whaidi than live under the Conclave. Every man, woman and child in that colony.”
“They’re crazy,” the lieutenant said.
“They’re patriots, Lieutenant,” Gau said, turning to the officer. “And they’ve chosen what they believe in. Don’t be disrespectful of that choice.”
“Sorry, General,” the lieutenant said. “I just don’t understand the choice.”
“I do,” Gau said. “I just hoped it would be different. Bring me a communicator.” The lieutenant hustled off. Gau turned his attention to the colony, listening to its members chanting their defiance.
“You always were stubborn, old friend,” Gau said.
The lieutenant returned with a communicator. Gau took it, keyed in his encrypted code and opened it to a common channel. “This is General Tarsem Gau,” he said. “All ships recalibrate beam weapons and prepare to fire on my mark.” The spotlights, still visible in the morning light, disappeared as the ships’ weapons crews recalibrated their beams.
The chanting stopped.
Gau nearly dropped his communicator. He stood, mouth agape, staring at the colony. He walked slowly toward the edge of the bluff, whispering something softly. The lieutenant, standing nearby, strained to hear.
General Tarsem Gau was praying.
The moment held, suspended in the air. And then the colonists took up their anthem once more.
General Gau stood on the edge of the bluff overlooking a river, now silent, eyes closed. He listened to the anthem for what seemed like forever.
He raised his communicator.
“Fire,” he said.
NINE