40. I am alive, and my honor and duty mean nothing.
He was dead. Not just Deathsworn, but actually dead. His body simply did not know this fact yet, and would not know it until his suit ran out of oxygen.
He had donned the suit following standard procedures the moment that the ambush had been detected. When it had been determined that impact was inevitable, he had stepped into the airlock, tied himself off with a long rope, and gone for a walk. As had dozens of other Deathsworn. It was a standard method of dealing with the unspoken side of battles; prepare for the inevitable strikes as best you could and then evaluate what remains of your facility afterward to determine what can be utilized to help you survive.
Because unlike the Nameless that he had been when he was born, a Deathsworn was too valuable to waste without some attempts being made to save their lives. He still did not have a name, but a serial number was good too. Better, in some ways, than a name.
The Nameless who had been left behind on the station had died instantly upon impact. Most of the other Deathsworn had been thrown clear. The Named Ones in the shuttles and escape pods might have survived, it was impossible to say, because the cord connecting him to the station did not secure him to its ruin. No, it remained tied to its mooring, but the service hatch that he had secured it to now floated along beside him in the vacuum.
He was unrecoverable. He knew that. He had a few hours of oxygen, and then he would die. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, but there was also no harm in it. The suit would keep him alive for a few hours, after all, and he decided to use the time to reflect upon his life.
He had not been an impressive specimen in his youth. He had been slower and weaker than his peers upon Horthus Secondus. When he had reached maturity and he had competed for reproductive rights, he had been laughably outmatched, as the blue scars upon his back proved without question. The shame of having the blue ink rubbed into his wounds while his opponent received the red had made him wish to forfeit his life.
But there was another way. Another path open to him, open to everyone. The children of Deathsworn always had the right to exist, and Deathsworn males were sought after mates, whether they received the blue ink or the red in their battle for reproduction.
He had known this when he had sworn the oath; "I am dead. Only my honor and duty remain." That oath, witnessed by a Named One, was all it took. He had even been given time alone with a female before he had been shipped off world.
It had been the most wonderful experience of his life, and he had never heard from her since. He had no idea if he had a child or not; they had both been fertile, but success was never guaranteed. He was not allowed to ask, not so long as he was Deathsworn. Deathsworn may have many children, but they have no children. The children of the Deathsworn have an undeniable right to exist, but they have no right to the knowledge of their parents, living or dead. Only that they were Deathsworn. Because they were Deathsworn, even if they were living, they were dead.
Unfortunately, he had not been allowed back onto a planet with females for the ten years since. He had been mocked when he had confessed to his new peers that he had joined to earn reproductive rights, as they had told him that only victory in battle would earn him designated time alone with fertile females. His one visit to the ‘brothel’ was likely to be his last for decades, possibly until he was too old to enjoy it. They did not tease them too much for it, however, many of them had made the same mistake.
There were many, many Deathsworn with the blue ink inside their scars. Some had the red, but more had the blue.
Fortunately, he had found camaraderie among the Deathsworn. While still nameless, they were issued serial numbers to help the computer track which systems they had been trained to use, which ones they had been trained to service, and which ones they were to be restricted from accessing. A serial number was not a name. It was simply an easier way for the computer to handle his identification than his biometrics when it had millions of Deathsworn to keep track of. It was matched against his biometrics, of course, but not in the strict way that Nameless or Named Ones were. He was Deathsworn; the weapon of his people. He was as important to the operation of his vessel as the fusion generator or the weapons systems. But he was also just as much a cog in the machine. Only the camaraderie with the other Deathsworn, his brothers who were not brothers, had kept him from despair.
Some of those brothers had died when shrapnel from the station had broken their suit’s seal. Others had screamed as they were pulled away by the station’s sudden change in orbit when the kinetic strike had come. Still others were floating silently alongside him. A few had already broken their seals themselves and were now corpses; they valued the time to reflect less than he and the other survivors did.
"This is Simon of the UEOSC ship Theseus. Survivors of the orbital platform designated platform Mu, we are in position to provide assistance and humanitarian aid. Please note, due to our status as a neutral party in your conflict, certain restrictions exist upon the level of aid we are permitted to provide. Please also note that the acceptance of the aid which we offer may impact your status and your family’s status with your people and your government. We will not provide aid unless it is specifically requested by the individual. We will provide aid to an individual requesting aid, even if that individual’s military superior instructs us not to provide aid to that individual. Survivors of orbital platform Mu, do you request humanitarian aid at this time?"
The voice came from his own radio, bypassing the encryption protocols which kept it separate from the other platforms and secure from the enemy. That the humans considered the simple protocol laughably easy to decipher was not known to him.
"Human Simon, I am Deathsworn. I may not accept aid from the enemy of my people. Leave me to die in peace," he told the annoying voice.
"To the Deathsworn receiving this; our governments are not in conflict. You are considered a combatant in a war with a third party by my government, but that does not prevent us from rendering aid. It does require us to disarm you upon rendering aid and to prevent you from rejoining your military force in such a way that will affect the outcome of the current conflict, as we also maintain a neutral status with your enemy. If you request and accept our aid, you will be held in our custody and under our protection from your enemy. However, you will be rendered unable to assist your allies. You will be fed and your basic needs will be met to the best of our abilities. You may be required to spend some time in stasis to preserve or extend your life if our resources dictate such an action required. Your release from our custody will be negotiated between your government and its current opponent at some date in the future. If this does not occur, you will be relocated to a location outside of the conflict zone in which you may live out your natural life in as much comfort as our government can reasonably provide. If you accept these terms, please indicate your consent to these restrictions upon your rights and formally request humanitarian aid from the UEOSC United Forces ship ‘Theseus.’"
"I am Nameless, not Deathsworn! I wish to be rescued," A voice called out from the radio. "There are three of us still alive on the Station, but the other two are trapped! Please help us Theseus!"
"Your request for aid has been registered, Nameless of orbital platform Mu. Are you authorized by the other two survivors of the platform to request aid on their behalf?"
"They have been screaming for help since the impact! They wish to live as I wish to live. We have no families to worry about, if we must live somewhere in isolation then at least we will live together!"
"Please remain calm. An orbital transportation craft is on its way to assist you. It is my belief that if you remain calm and do not attempt to leave the rooms within which you are currently secure, you will survive until we are in position to provide aid," Simon’s competent voice informed the Nameless traitors.
"What is your game here, human?" the doomed Deathsworn demanded. "Why give hope to the doomed and the damned? We are already dead. We accepted that when we swore our oaths that we would die in service to our people. Better that than the pointless groveling of the Nameless fighting for their right to exist!"
"If you do not request aid, it will not be forced upon you," Simon answered him. "Our rescue craft will remain in position to rescue the source of your radio transmission for the next three hours. If you wish to be rescued, please indicate your acceptance of the terms of our aid and request aid be provided within that time frame."
"I wish to be rescued. I forswear my Deathoath! I am alive, and my honor and duty mean nothing," came a voice that the doomed Jurassian knew well.
"You accept the terms of the aid that is being offered to you?"
"That is why I forswear my oath. I wish to live, I accept any terms required to extend my life," came the traitor’s voice.
"You are killing your children by these words!" the doomed Deathsworn told his fallen companion.
"I was Deathsworn, and Deathsworn have no children," came the traitor’s answer. "If some child I have never known dies because of my actions, it is of no fault or consequence to me. Please, human, provide aid!"
There was silence from the radio for a moment.
"Forsworn Jurassian, I require confirmation. Will your children be executed because of your desertion and request for humanitarian aid?" Simon asked eventually.
"I have no children!" came the answer.
"He does not know the answer that you seek," the doomed Deathsworn informed the human. "We all mated once before we left the planet of our birth. Once and only once, and we do not know if it was successful. If he does have a child, that child will lose its right to exist if it becomes known that he has even whispered the forswearing of his Oath. If his child exists and anyone ever reviews these transmissions, then this fool has already killed it. Whether you help him or not is of no consequence now."
"I see. Thank you for your answer. Your request for aid has been accepted, Forsworn Jurassian. Please remain calm while a drone is sent to collect you. From your suit metrics, we will arrive with hours of your oxygen remaining, so do not worry."
There was silence for a moment, and the doomed Deathsworn returned to his reflection. Drifting through space, he reflected for the first time that it was actually quite beautiful. The planet of his birth loomed above him, then below him, then above him again as he spun about, but not so fast as to cause discomfort.
"To any Deathsworn receiving this transmission, your communication links between the human ship ‘Theseus’ and your radio device have been secured and are no longer able to be intercepted by your government. Any request for aid will not be logged by your government. Any forswearing of your Deathoath is not required for a request for aid, but may affect your rights and will not be reported to your government. If you are receiving this transmission, you are in range to receive humanitarian aid from our vessel and we are legally obligated by our laws to provide it to the best of our ability upon request. All efforts will be made to protect the right to exist of any children or other family members that you may have, to the extent of the limits of the Theseus’s capabilities. The extent of our capabilities is quite formidable, and this promise comes from our captain himself. If you would like to request aid, please accept the terms outlined earlier and formally request the aid of the Theseus. As stated earlier, this channel has been secured and cannot be logged by your government using its existing technology."
He scoffed. He knew his duty. If he was unable to survive and return to service as a Deathsworn, then he had no right to exist. His life was forfeit either way. Even if he did request rescue, it would be from an enemy, which would make him a traitor and-
"I, too, request aid, human," another voice that he knew well said. "I accept the terms."
"Your position is noted and scheduled for pickup. Based upon your suits telemetrics, we will arrive while you have one hour thirty minutes of oxygen remaining if you remain calm."
"I am very calm, knowing that I have done my duty," the voice said stoically.
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"Your duty? You have betrayed your people," the doomed Deathsworn challenged his once-friend.
"It is my duty to survive if possible, to be the weapon of my people once again if at all possible. That will not happen if I die now," the voice challenged him. "I do not forswear! I will never forswear! But I ask for the humans to save me because I believe that, if I do, then there remains the chance that I will be returned to my people and allowed to return to service as their weapon against our enemies."
"The humans are our enemies!" he shouted in challenge. "Your request is a betrayal in and of itself!"
"Then die here, if that is what you believe," the other Deathsworn returned back. "But we were ordered repeatedly not to fire upon the humans under pain of death. If they were truly our enemies, why would we receive such orders?"
The doomed Deathsworn realized that he had no answer to that. Well, he did, but not one which a Deathsworn would admit while the enemy was listening. The humans outstripped them in every way imaginable, this was well known. Not firing upon them was exploiting their only known weakness; their inability to initiate violence.
"I also request aid and accept the terms, but do not forswear," another voice he knew came over the radio. Another, and then another, and then another.
"All those who have requested aid have been scheduled for pickup. Scheduled pickup is marked in level of urgency, several of you have less oxygen remaining than others, or are being scattered from our collection drones at a higher velocity than others and are thus higher priority. All of you are scheduled for pickup within your expected survival times, provided you remain calm."
The doomed Deathsworn was silent for long moments. Then he decided he must ask. "Are there any other survivors out there who have not requested the humans rescue them?"
"There are many. Yours is not the only platform we are attempting to assist, unidentified Deathsworn. Yours has one of the highest rates of response and acceptance of our aid, but you are neither the only one to refuse, nor are your companions the only ones to accept. Since the information you provided about the effects your acceptance of aid may have on your families, all requests for aid have been made using confidential means, protected from your government’s ability to monitor said requests," Simon answered. "Additional attempts to protect any family you may have will be made to all those who request aid, regardless of their status of Nameless, Named Ones, Deathsworn, or the new designation which is being created for the ‘Forsworn’ for former Deathsworn. The legal designation of the party requesting aid must be determined for the purposes of when and how the Theseus may return the requesting party to their government, not whether the party is eligible for aid."
He was silent as he considered. Was there shame in accepting the offered hand? Perhaps. But his friend was right, if he could survive and return to service, he was obligated by his oath to do so. And perhaps, he could even return to his people with some of the secrets of the humans … but first, there was a question he must ask.
"Human Simon, before I accept aid, there is knowledge I require. I refuse to accept aid that will result in the death of any of my children. However, as deathsworn I am not allowed to know if I have sired a child or not. If I have a child, I must refuse. If I do not, then I must accept your offer. How am I to proceed when I lack the information I require to decide?"
"Technically, I’m a chimpanzee," the human grumbled, whatever that meant. "Okay, I’m pulling up the relevant databases now. You don’t happen to know your serial number, do you?"
The doomed Deathsworn recited it easily from memory.
"Here you are. Unauthorized for civilian reproduction rights, Deathsworn ten point eight years ago, allowed to mate once. No known offspring. Does that inform your decision on whether or not you may ethically accept our proffered aid?"
"Yes. I accept the terms and request humanitarian aid, Human Simon."
"I told you, I’m a chimp," the voice grumbled.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The vessel arrived for him hours later, moving much too fast. He could see it in orbit in the distance, accelerating and changing course too fast for any ship without a TORCH engine, yet there was no sign of the fiery radiation such a device would emit. When it came for him, he remained silent. It looked small in the distance, but he had been in space for a decade and knew that was a trick of the eye.
"Deathsworn designated six two niner five alpha, prepare for pickup," came the instructions from the human Simon.
"I am ready, Human Simon. I will comply with your instructions."
"I’m not a – look, don’t worry about it. Just try not to freak out too much. You’re going to ‘fall’ a short distance, and you won’t be wearing your suit. But you’ll be safe. Prepare for PMT transmission."
"I do not know what that means hu--"
He was falling, and he was no longer wearing his vacuum suit. He had been naked underneath, something which did not particularly bother him after ten years of being Deathsworn, but another male, his direct superior, was standing nearby with a modesty garment.
"The humans do not let us keep our radios, that is why the suit is left behind," his superior explained. "Or so it has been explained to us. This PMT technology is one of their secrets, and I can imagine why. The ability to simply appear and disappear makes for a formidable weapon and advantage that we would seek to maintain for as long as possible, were we in their situation. Unfortunately we have no way of warning our people until the humans choose to allow us to do so."
"We are on their ship," six-two-niner pointed out. "We shall take it from them, and then be celebrated as heroes. We will father many children."
The superior just laughed. "I do not expect so, friend. One of our compatriots, he forswore his oath, remember? Well, another of us decided to forswear theirs, temporarily, to be placed in the same room as the traitor in order to kill him."
"As would I, had they not beat me to it."
"That is exactly it, though. The executioner never got the opportunity. He attacked the traitor on sight, but a weapon in the wall fired upon him and disabled him before he landed a blow. The traitor attempted to retaliate while the executioner was disabled, the coward, but he too was disabled. The executioner was then ‘phased’ back in with the rest of the Deathsworn, where we have been gathered since. Now that we know what to look for, those weapons are all over the place. Have little doubt that the humans can incapacitate us at any moment. We have simply been allowed to gather and converse as our numbers grow. We are being sorted by our status, it seems. Deathsworn, Named Ones, Nameless, Forsworn. Each in a different room, but each together with their own kind. I believe we will have no leadership from the Named Ones until we are returned to our people."
"How many Forsworn are there?" Six-two-niner demanded. "How many traitors?"
"Enough to make my blood boil," his superior admitted as he dressed. "But there is nothing we can do about this except survive to report it to our people. Perhaps once Horthus hears of them, or the other Deathsworn, the humans will see the wisdom in putting them down like the krickeaters they are."
As he finished dressing, Six-two-niner followed his superior into the cabin with the rest of his kind. His superior went back into the previous room with another set of modesty garments to await the next arrival. The discussion revolved around what exactly they could do next, but without blasters, without vacuum suits, without any sort of weapon or technology, they were trapped. The doors that opened for them did so automatically when they approached, leading them into zones that were clear in their purposes; communal sleeping areas, a dining room, a room for hygiene, etc.
The idea of a traitor having such a luxurious space filled Six-two-niner with rage until he was told that it was in fact a much smaller area. They were unaware that it was an area designed for any high-ranking Named Ones which the Theseus would end up rescuing during the course of its mission, which was fortunate because such information would only serve to infuriate them.
The gathered Deathsworn discussed what they would do next. Many of them knew each other quite well, although six different platforms were represented in the survivors. However, they couldn’t agree to any plans, because there was simply nothing for them to do except wait to see what the humans did next.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Report, Simon."
"Operation ‘Good Samaritan’ has rescued three hundred eighty-seven survivors of the ambush, which marks all of the ones who requested aid and were within our reach before they ran out of oxygen. Survivors came from stations on both inhabited planets, as well as survivors from the orbital refineries of the gas giants, the manufa—you know where they fucking came from, man. We saved everyone we could, okay? We might have gotten more, but a lot of them didn’t want our help."
"But we got all the ones who did?"
"Yes, we did, Nathan. Everyone who requested humanitarian aid is currently cooling their heels in our Jurassian habitation complex or on their way back from the outer planet in one of our transports. We used Deathsworn habs as the basis, and they’re all as secure as we can make them against sabotage or attempts of escape or rescue. Are we telling either side that we saved a bunch of war criminals yet?"
"It hasn’t been determined that any of the Jurassians we rescued during ‘Good Samaritan’ are guilty of any crime by any of the relevant jurisdictions on the matter. If the Named Ones we saved have exercised their rights to hunting Aurealians, that might come up as a problem. For the rest of them, that’s a matter for us and Horthus to figure out. For now, we operate under the guidelines I set out. We rescue and detain until the ceasefire, then discuss the handling and release of the detainees during mediation. If that means turning a bunch of Named Ones over to the Aurealians for execution, I’m surprisingly okay with that."
Simon covered his face gently. It was a voice connection only, Nathan had complained that all of the holograms were starting to make his head hurt again. He’d taken medication and was about to try to sleep, but refused to simply let the rest of the crew do their jobs without a final report for the night.
"Nathan, we know what we’re doing. Operation Good Samaritan was policy prior to your promotion. These are standard Yosca policies that we are executing to the letter. The only reasons that we’re setting precedence is that we’ve never actually provided aid to an interstellar conflict before, let alone to both parties of the conflict, let alone when both parties are xenosapients. But still, we know what we’re fucking doing, now go to sleep! I fucking hate you and even I am worried about your health at this point."
"Love you too, Simon. I’ll try not to let the government kill you too badly."