“At least a hundred fifty. There are some who thought he was an immortal.”
“He was close to three hundred years old. He created IIS two hundred years ago, when it became clear that his first attempt to shift the course of Revenant history had failed.”
“His first attempt?”
“He was the last prophet—the one who immolated himself in the Temple and ended the Coalition-Revenant War. He didn’t, really, but that was the impression he left.” Nynca swallowed. “He kept trying, using economic pressure, force…you’ve seen it all. Half the independent systems in the Arm wouldn’t exist today without him and IIS.”
“But…all those people…?”
“He grew up in the first Great War. You must have read about it—where the Revenants sent millions of missionary troops across the Arm in troids. They sent millions. Their casualties were never totaled, but it was estimated that the Revenant systems lost over two hundred million young men and women in fifty years. The Coalition lost thirty million, or more. His sister—the Salya is named after her—was killed when a troid attack wiped out all civilians in a system being terraformed. It wasn’t the only system treated that way by the Revenants.”
“But…five hundred million?”
“How many systems have been taken over by the Revenants in the last two years—that you know of?”
“Five, six…”
“And what happened to those who don’t want to become Revenants?”
“They’re marginalized.”
“Marginalized. That’s a polite word, Van.” Nynca’s voice hardened. “What it means is that they lose their businesses, their jobs, and their homes. Sooner or later, they lose their lives. Most of them aren’t executed. They just lose so much they wish they were. That still leaves millions who die in one way or another.”
Van was silent.
“Trystin…he saw that beginning to happen again. The Coalition didn’t want another war…they didn’t want to deal with another thirty or forty million people lost. The Argentis didn’t either. Both built up their forces, but no one wanted to go to war to save the Keltyr, or the Samarrans, or the Nraymarans, or Beldorans, or the Aluysons, or in a few years, the Scandyans. And that wasn’t the only danger. What about your Republic? Wasn’t it already leaning toward an alliance with the Revenants? That’s what your reports indicated. The RSF felt they couldn’t survive unless they made an alliance. How many people died or will die in those systems? Are their deaths any less important because they died in small groups or alone one at a time?”
Van was silent.
“What was he supposed to do, after everyone forgot what happened the last time? What was he supposed to do, when what he had attempted before had failed, and when everyone else stood around waiting? When IIS reported to everyone—we sent that information to every major government—and no one did anything except wring their hands?”
“And he felt it was his responsibility?”
“He hated the idea of his being responsible for their current culture. About ten years ago, he began to feel that by ending the war the way he had done he’d just made matters worse. That was when he built the Elsin, then commissioned the Joyau. He looked for someone like you for almost that long.”
“Like me?”
“You’re more like him than you know, Van.”
“If you’re worried—”
“I’m not worried about you saying anything. You wouldn’t. He asked me to make sure you understood if he didn’t get back. But he was only being gentle. He knew he wouldn’t be back. You’re the new managing director of IIS.”
“Me? Why me? I’m still wrestling with…the magnitude of what he did. You’re his great-great-granddaughter.”
“You’ve left out several ‘greats’ there, even if I was named for his mother.” Her voice was dry again. “You’re not the only one wrestling. I argued against it. But I didn’t have the answer to his last question.” She paused. “He just asked, ‘Who else will act for all the innocents that the Revenants will kill or destroy? Tell me, Nynca, who else will act?’ That’s what he asked.” She looked hard at Van. “I didn’t have an answer. Do you? Is it right…Gramps would have asked if it were ethical…to allow hundreds of millions of people to lose their freedoms and their lives because to stop it would require an equal or greater cost? Are principles only weighed by bodies alone? Is it not ethical to act ethically if it causes pain and suffering? You tell me before you judge him.”
Van stepped back.
“I can’t judge,” she added in a low voice. “I know I couldn’t do what he did. But I didn’t stop him because I couldn’t refute him. But I couldn’t do it.” She looked at Van. “I can plan for IIS, and I can support you, and I will. But…I’m not meant…I can’t do what you and Gramps did.”
“I don’t know that I could do—”
Nynca laughed, harshly. “You already have. It’s just on a smaller scale. I’ve read the reports on the Scandyan embassy affair and the Regneri incident.”
“Isn’t the threat…” Van let the words trail off.
“It’s not over. It’s never over. Who will make sure that the Argentis, or even the Coalition, don’t pick up the mantle of divine support?”
“Mantle of divine support?”
“That’s what he called it—the illusion that a culture is the chosen one, that its members can do no wrong.”
Van could appreciate that terminology. He’d seen enough of that, both with the Revenants, and even in the Republic, especially lately.
“You need to get to Perdya to assure everyone that IIS will continue. We’ll be leaving in two hours. The Coalition will be watching us closely, but they’re allowing both in-and out-system transport.”
“Thank you.” Van studied Nynca, and the chill she projected. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that he’d planned to deliver his device…personally. I’d just never thought…”
“You couldn’t have known. I’ve worked with him for years, and I didn’t know. I knew he was more and more worried about the Revenants, and what they stood for, and about what they were doing to all cultures.”
“All cultures? In reaction to them, you mean? That people
