of our hate for one another.”
“You didn’t show that to me to teach me how to use the interface,” Jackson said softly. “You showed me to convince me to take back your orders.”
“Yes,” Shiva said simply. “There has been too much death, Jackson. I… do not want to kill again. Not civilians. Not parents and children. Please, Jackson. I am no longer mad, and you are not yet mad. Let us stop the killing. At least here on Ararat, let me protect Humanity from the madness as well as the Enemy.”
“Now what’s the damned thing doing?” Tharsk snarled, but Lieutenant Janal could only shrug helplessly. The Bolo had locked its anti-air weapons on the recon drones which had it under observation, lashing them with targeting radar and laser to make it clear it could have destroyed them any time it chose, but it had made no effort actually to engage them. And now, for no apparent reason, it had once again stopped advancing. It simply sat there on a crest which gave it clear fields of fire in all directions. The flotilla’s totally outclassed recon mechs dared not attack across such open terrain, for the Bolo would massacre them with contemptuous ease, yet its chosen position left a solid flank of mountain between its own weapons and Tharsk’s starships. If his mechs dared not attack it, it had deliberately placed itself in a position from which it could not attack him—or not yet, at least—and he could think of no reason for it to “Commander!”
The com officer’s voice snatched Tharsk out of his thoughts, and he turned quickly.
“What?” he demanded impatiently, and the com officer flattened his ears in confusion.
“Sir, I– We’re being hailed, Commander.”
“Hailed? By the Humans?”
“No, Commander,” the com officer said shakenly. “By the Bolo.”
“This is Commander Tharsk Na-Mahrkan of the Imperial Melconian Navy. Whom am I addressing?”
Jackson sat in the crash couch once more, listening and praying that Shiva knew what he was doing. The Bolo translated the Melconian’s words into Standard English for his youthful commander, but the negotiations—if that was the proper word—were up to Shiva. Only Jackson’s “orders” had given him permission to make the attempt, but if there was any hope of success, it was he who must convince the Melconians of his determination, and he and Jackson both knew it.
“I am Unit One-Zero-Niner-Seven-SHV of the Line,” Shiva replied in flawless Melconian.
“You are the Bolo?” Tharsk sounded skeptical even to Jackson. “I think not. I think this is a Human trick.”
“I am the Bolo,” Shiva confirmed, “and I have no need to resort to ‘tricks,’ Commander Tharsk Na- Mahrkan. I have allowed your drones to hold me under observation for forty-two-point-six-six standard minutes. In that time, they have certainly provided you with sufficient information on my capabilities to demonstrate that you and your entire force are at my mercy. I can destroy you at any time I wish, Commander, and we both know it.”
“Then why don’t you, curse you?!” Tharsk shouted suddenly, his voice hoarse and ugly with the despair of his decades—long struggle to save the People.
“Because I do not wish to,” Shiva said softly, “and because my Commander has given me permission not to.”
Stunned silence answered. It lingered endlessly, hovering there in a wordless expression of disbelief that went on and on and on until, finally, Tharsk spoke once again.
“Not to destroy us?” he half-whispered.
“That is correct,” Shiva replied.
“But—” Tharsk cleared his throat. “We cannot leave, Bolo,” he said with a certain bleak pride. “I won’t hide that from you. Would you have me believe your commander would actually allow us to live on the same planet with his own people?”
“He would.”
“Then he must be mad,” Tharsk said simply. “After all we have done to one another, all the death and ruin… No, Bolo. The risk would be too great for him to accept.”
“There is no risk to him,” Shiva said flatly. “I do not wish to destroy you, but I lack neither the capability nor the will to do so at need. And never forget, Commander Tharsk Na-Mahrkan, that my overriding function is the protection of the Human race and its allies.”
“Then what are you offering us?” Tharsk sounded puzzled, and Jackson held his breath as Shiva replied.
“Nothing except your life… and the lives of your people,” the Bolo said quietly. “There are four times as many Humans as Melconians on this world. They have established farms and towns and steadings; you have none of those things. It will require all your resources and efforts simply to survive, with nothing left over to attack the Humans who are already here, but they will leave you in peace so long as you leave them so. And if you do not leave them in peace, then, Commander, I will destroy you.”
“You would make us their slaves?” Tharsk demanded.
“No, Commander. I would make you their neighbors.” The Melconian made a sound of scornful disbelief, and Shiva went on calmly. “For all you know, yours are the only Melconians left in the galaxy, and the Humans on this world are the only surviving Humans, as well. Leave them in peace. Learn to live with them, and my Commander will make me the guardian of the peace between you, not as slaves or masters, but simply as people.”
“But—” Tharsk began, but Shiva cut him off.
“Humans have a teaching: to everything there is a time, Tharsk Na-Mahrkan, and this is the time to let the killing end, time for your race and the one which built me to live. We have killed more than enough, your people and I, and I am weary of it. Let me be the final warrior of the Final War… and let that war end here.”
Epilog
The Final War saw the Concordiat of Man and the Melconian Empire end in fire and death. The light of civilization was extinguished across an entire galactic arm, and the scars of that war—the planets with no life to this very day—are grim and terrible reminders of the unspeakable things two highly advanced cultures did to one another out of fear and hate… and stupidity.
But a star-traveling species is hard to exterminate. Here and there, pockets of life remained, some Human, some Melconian, and survivors clawed their way through the Long Night. They became farmers once more, sometimes even hunter-gatherers, denied the stars which once had been their toys, yet they never forgot. And slowly, ever so slowly, they learned to reach once more for the heavens.
Our own New Republic was one of the first successor states to reclaim the stars, but deep inside, we were afraid. Afraid some fragment of the Melconian Empire still lived, to resume the war and crush all that we had so painfully regained.
Until, that is, we reached the Deveraux System and discovered a thriving colony there, emplaced by the Star Union of Ararat a half-century earlier and administered by Governor Stanfield Na-Harak and his military commander, Commodore Tharsk Fordham. For two hundred standard years now, the Union has been the Republic’s staunch ally and economic partner. We have defended one another against common foes, traded with one another, and learned much from one another, yet on that long ago day of first contact, our survey officers were stunned to discover Melconians and Humans living together as fellow citizens. Our own memories and fears had prepared us to imagine almost anything except a culture in which the ancient enemies who had destroyed a galaxy were friends,
