But they did. All that was required was the Grand Gathering; all three Higher Races were linked to all of them. Josef was in fact more pragmatic a choice than an essential one, although his knowledge of the Qaamil hive was important to the way they ultimately drew the Engineer out. But, symbolically as well, in a very small way a Mycohl was truly present.
<The child! I still carry Josefs child! Sorry, Chin.>
The captain shrugged it off. <It is of no consequence. Yes, I see the pulsing of another life within you still, even in this form. We represent the dawning of a new Higher Race here, yet within these forms we are still Terran. I wonder what we do now?>
And again the answer came. Anything you want. The experience had purified them, even elevated them, eaten away the blackness within them and replaced it with something else, something from beyond and above, from those inside The Ship itself. Jimmy might have called them saints, even angels of the Lord. But they were “human” still.
No one not of their kind would see them this way, not on this plane, except perhaps the highest of the Higher Races such as the Princes, or Higher Races in mind-links, and perhaps some others called “psychic” or with hints of talents not fully defined or explored might see or sense it, but to all others they would seem quite ordinary, just mere Terrans, although seeming nulls. What had been subtracted from them had been inner corruption; what had been added was on a plane those early battlers for the hearts and souls of Terrans on the part of The Ship had hoped to develop, and whose planted seeds they now had justified. Some, too, may sense the purity inside them, but most, as always, wouldn’t even notice.
And those few who could see beyond the surface they could purify, one at a time, if they felt that those others were candidates for it, and would prove their worthiness. The right ones would shine as well; the wrong ones would be destroyed by the process. It was something that called for much wisdom and patience, for the responsibility was great.
Modra had feared that the child growing within her would be harmed, but now she realized that it had been a part of the process, although still far too undeveloped to be aware of the fact. Still too much a part of her to be an independent organism, it had been cleansed with her, and would be the firstborn of a newer and higher race.
<We can be whoever and whatever we want to be,> Krisha said, amazed at the realization. <Captain—by sheer will I am complete again. The genetic code is obvious and easy to adjust. Modra need not bear your children. We can have our own.>
Gun Roh Chin stared at her, dumbfounded and at a loss for words for the first time in his life.
She reached over and squeezed his hand. <But first we have a greater responsibility. There are millions of Quintara out there, including three more princes. They must be hunted down, stopped, so that the horrible holocaust that occurred last time is limited this time. Then it will be time to establish a fourth realm, a Terran realm, whose green will link the galaxy. We have a lot of work yet to do, and we must also meet with the other races and again fragment the knowledge, so that while the Quintara are being hunted down no one else can repeat this deliberately.>
Modra sighed. <Well, maybe, but I’ve got another priority here, a more personal one. And a few other personal priorities. I think I will visit Jimmy’s world. He has a large family there and they must be desolate since he ran out. They must be told, his Church must be told, how he died, and why, and for what.>
Gun Roh Chin thought about it. <Perhaps it is for the best. We shall be the fighters, the hunters of demons, the trainers of a new and very different Inquisition. It is what we were trained for. It is what we do best. You—you shall be the ambassador, the diplomat and link between the Higher Races. We’re new, the first of our kind, and not yet systematized and stratified nor forgotten half the powers we have. We also have some built-in advantages thanks to our ancestral home being an early battleground. We were given more potential than all three of the others—if we deserved it and earned it. Then go to the Exchange. Pick out a planet—a pretty one, green, with fresh seas and warm breezes, out along the frontier. Those whom we choose will go there. Then, no matter what happens in the eternal battles to come, no matter our own eventual fates, there will be one place safe, one wise, one with the knowledge of good and evil. One tiny speck among the vast stars that will be eternally green. It is a big job, and a big responsibility, we three mere Terran reprobates have been handed, but I’m just egotistical enough to think that maybe those who ultimately chose us chose well and that we can pull it off. >
<The three of us cannot hope to cure the evils that we know,> Krisha agreed, <any more than we three alone could defeat the remaining Quintara. But so long as there is someplace for us to grow and learn and expand what we now represent, we three can at least give eternal hope.>
Modra smiled. <I’ll find the place and keep it secure,> she promised them. <And, as Jimmy would say, the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it!>
Gun Roh Chin sighed and looked once more at the stars. < We must not make the mistake that they made—the Angels and the Guardians as well as the Mycohl. When they finished the last battle they thought themselves the new masters of the galaxy. They set about to reign and rule at their own whims and created societies in their own images and imposed them on all comers, and in so doing they proved their unworthiness for the real job, which is why we have been handed it, and became, at their cores, indistinguishable from the Quintara except by degree.>
He raised his hand and swept it across the starry sky.
<We’re not the new gods,> he continued after a moment. <We’re the new janitors.>