“You’re just a soldier,” Randa sneered. “How could you be expected to understand anything except killing people?”
That’s what the Old Ones thought of me at first, I said to myself. But then they trusted me, they helped me.
Delos gave me a worried look. “Uh, if you really want to catch up on the history of the war, you can use one of our readers.” He gestured to the video systems in the far corner of the room.
“Yes, why don’t you do that,” said one of the other women. “We need to discuss how we can use your information, what our next steps will be.”
I could see that they wanted to talk among themselves without me. And I was burning with curiosity to learn how and why this seemingly endless war had begun. So I went to the video reader and sat in the contoured chair before its screen.
“I’ll show you how to run it.” I looked up, surprised. It was Randa.
“I can operate it,” I said. “Soldiers aren’t complete idiots.”
“Oh.” Her face reddened. “All right.” She turned on her heel and fled back to the others, who were sitting themselves around the long table.
I turned on the machine and softly spoke my request to its computer. The screen glowed briefly.
And instead of the history tape I wanted, Aten appeared standing before me where the machine had been. He wore a golden tunic and formfitting tights with calf-length boots. And a frown. The golden aura of his presence enveloped me like a warm mist. I knew that he had brought me out of the continuum into a bubble of suspended space-time where he could interrogate me fully while the men and women across the room neither saw nor heard us.
“The Old Ones made contact with you, Orion.”
I nodded solemnly.
“And they refuse to help us?”
“They refuse to become involved in our war in any way. Only after we stop the fighting will they even consider further contact with us.”
“I had hoped for more.”
“They were quite firm about it.”
“There must be a way to convince them to help us! There must be.”
“Perhaps you should try to contact them yourself,” I suggested.
His frown deepened. “I have. We all have. The only one they responded to was you.”
I must have smiled. “I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be,” the Golden One snapped. “They saw you as a helpless victim of our cruelty. They took pity on you, Orion, nothing more.”
“I disagree. When they first contacted me, in a dream I had, they were repelled. They saw only a warrior, a killer, a soldier who made war on other intelligent creatures. Later they saw that there is more to me than a killing machine. That’s why they chose to speak to me.”
“Remember, Orion, that I put those additional emotions into you.”
“No you didn’t. Not deliberately, at any rate. You built me to carry out your will, and for me to be able to do that I had to be able to think and act for myself. I’ve learned much about the world, Golden One. Much about the Creators and myself—and my fellow humans.”
“Really?” Aten crossed his arms over his chest.
“Really. I’m more than your tool. I’m an individual. How many times have you berated me for not following your orders?”
“Stubbornness is not godliness, Orion. Only we Creators have full freedom of action. You obey me, whether you think so or not.”
“You have full freedom of action?” I actually laughed at him. “Then why this desperate war? Why this need for help from the Old Ones?”
“That involves forces that your mind could never understand,” he said. “I didn’t build such capabilities into you.”
“You didn’t have to. I’m learning them on my own. The Old Ones speak to me and not to you. I am learning and growing.”
“And someday you will challenge me,” Aten mocked. “You sound like a frog planning vengeance on an elephant.”
I decided it was foolish to carry on this vein. Changing the subject, I asked, “How did this war start? What is the reason for the fighting?”
“It was inevitable. As the human race expanded into the stars they met other intelligent species. Xenophobia is a basic emotion among all intelligences.”