From somewhere, came the sounds of a band playing a stirring melody Van had not heard, but which he presumed was either the Scandyan anthem or a well-loved piece with ties to the revolution and Scandya. He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the dais.
The two servers had moved closer to the center of the dais, still carrying their trays with several drinks remaining on them. The server on the left end straightened, and, before moving to the next diplomat, glanced out across the lawn, if but for an instant.
Van followed the glance, seeing another server offering a tray to a couple beside a small fountain—the only pair in that entire section of the lawn. He swept the lawn, noting a fourth server well to the west, where there were but three people, who had to have been unable to truly see the lights because they were directly under them. The three were moving back toward the main area, glancing upward, but the server did not move.
But Van did, even before the positioning of the four truly registered. He wasn’t quite running, when he leapt onto the dais, moving toward the nearest server.
The man turned, took in Van’s uniform, and threw the entire tray at the Taran commander.
Van ducked and kept moving, ignoring the exclamations and curses.
The two Scandyan security guards stepped in front of the premier, and the other two on the ground vaulted onto the dais. Lines of light flashed from everywhere—that was the way it seemed to Van—and the server who had thrown the tray pitched forward across the dais. So did two of the premier’s guards.
More lines of light flashed around Van, and then a series of cracks from a slug-throwing rifle echoed across the lawn and the stunned diplomats. Several of the ambassadors had scrambled off the dais, and chairs were scattered everywhere.
Van kicked one out of the way as he saw the server on the other end take a shot, with blood welling across the arm of his white jacket. That didn’t stop the man, who staggered, then drew a pistol of some sort.
Another of the Scandyan guards went down, and Van lost sight of the premier, who had dropped behind the dais with a cover of Kelt security. But the single server kept moving toward Van. He was less than three meters away and turning the pistol toward Van.
Van bent and picked up one of the overturned chairs by its back, then charged.
Crack! The first shot missed. At least, Van didn’t feel it, and he rammed the chair into the server.
Crack!
Green light flared around Van, and it felt as though lines of fire were flaying him.
Black and green flared around him, and then he saw nothing.
After a time—how long he didn’t know—he looked up from where he lay on his back. There were people, medtechs, around him, but the sky was still dark.
A face swam into view—Commander Salucar’s face. She looked down at him.
Van tried to speak, but all that came out was a mumble.
Salucar looked down at him. “Who did it? How did you know? How?”
Van blinked, holding back the darkness by sheer force of will. “…too…many…scapegoats…”
The darkness rolled over him, submerging him, carrying away the rest of the words he might have said.
Chapter 23
Over the past three millennia, social scientists, historians, and ethicists have all debated the history, purpose, and reason for the development and subsequent failure of ethical systems in society after society. From these endless studies, several facts appear obvious, yet ignored.
First, the ancient Judeo-Christian concept of “original sin” as defined in basic prediaspora Catholic/Christian theology was and remains an extremely useful tool for social indoctrination, because(1) it provides a reason for evil while also allowing people to accept that evil is not the fault of the given individual; (2) supplies a rationale for why people need to be taught ethics and manners; and (3) still requires that people adhere to an acceptable moral code.
Second, genetic studies have since revealed that only a small minority of human beings have a strong genetic predilection toward either “morality” or “immorality.” This has historically posed a problem for any civil society based on purely secular rule because (1) society in the end is based on some form of self-restraint; and (2) the impetus to require self-discipline and to learn greater awareness of what is evil and unacceptable lacks the religious underpinnings present in a theocracy or a society with a strong theocratic presence. Likewise, history has also demonstrated most clearly that the majority of individuals are uncomfortable in accepting a moral code that is not based on the “revelation” of a divine being, because in matters of personal ethics, each believes his or her ethics are superior to any not of “divine” origin.
As transparently fallacious as this widely accepted personal belief may be, equally transparent and fallacious—and even more widely accepted—are the ethical and moral systems accepted as created by divinities—and merely revealed to the prophets of each deity for dissemination to the “faithful.” Throughout history, this has been a useful but transparent fiction because the “divine” origin of moral codes obviates the need for deciding between various human codes. Humans being humans, however, the conflict then escalates into a struggle over whose god or whose interpretation of god is superior, rather than focusing on the values of the codes themselves…
Values, Ethics, and Society
Exton Land
New Oisin, Tara
1117 S.E.
Chapter 24
Van wasn’t certain, but he thought he was being carried on a stasis stretcher to a flitter. Then the darkness came in over him like the blackness of
