The President was human this term, a giant of a man who looked the part with dark skin and snow-white hair. His equally gleaming white Councillor’s robes gave him a commanding presence even in so large a hall. His name was Marijido Varga. His one failing was his thin, reedy voice, but this didn’t matter in so great a chamber which spoke so many languages that all would be translated automatically by communications computers whose technicians tended to alter the voice to fit the position, anyway.
The opening ceremony was simple. Varga simply rose, hammered a symbolic gavel three times setting off a signal at each Councillor’s seat, then proclaimed:
“The Council is in session.” He paused a moment to allow late arrivals to settle down, then continued.
“This extraordinary session is called because of grave emergency. The Com, we believe all of us, is threatened by an external enemy who refuses all entreaty to peace and accommodation and whose only goal seems to be total physical and mental enslavement or extinction.”
He went on to tell about the Dreel and how they were detected.
“Since we became aware of this threat, which I must refer to as an invasion, the High Council Presidium has met and unanimously ordered the following measures: One, the development of detection devices so that we can tell friend from foe. Thanks to the wholehearted cooperation of our brothers the Chugach, this has been accomplished, although you’ll understand that it will take some time to manufacture such devices and distribute them in sufficient quantities to everyone. The resources of half a dozen races have been marshaled for this project. Two, a careful surveillance of frontier worlds beyond the Parkatin perimeter. The results showed extensive infiltration of those areas. At least one world, Madalin, had been entirely overrun. However, we did not locate their base, and we believe it to be a mother ship or ships. Good sense dictates that we assume the mother ship or ships to be accompanied by fighting craft of, say, at least fleet strength.”
That assessment caused a stir. Penetration of the Com by an enemy fleet of unknown capabilities and uncertain location was potentially disastrous.
“Three, we ordered research into ways we might protect ourselves. So far we have learned that the Dreel organism is operative only on organisms with a bloodstream within temperature limits of ten below to about eighty-five above zero.” The Milikud and several other races that either had no bloodstream or whose systems were outside the temperature limits seemed to relax a bit.
Varga didn’t let that last long. “We have intercepted signals from beyond our frontiers that indicate the Dreel destroy all races that they cannot take over and use. This information was confirmed, indirectly, by our almost pathologically confident prisoners. The Dreel are engaged in a drive to make the Universe a Dreel Universe—and no one knows just how long it’s been going on. They appear to find other forms of higher intelligence simply intolerable.”
Again the tremendous stir, although the audience already knew most of this. One does not make life-or-death decisions on one speech or report. What Varga had said thus far was mostly for the record. The President shuffled his papers and continued. His speech, of course, was not his own but had been drafted by his civil service assistants and approved by the entire Presidium.
“On protection: The Dreel is a form of virus, and vaccines for those races who need them have already been developed by our excellent Com labs and medical computers. However, it will be weeks before the vaccines can be produced in quantity, and months or longer before everyone can be innoculated. You must believe we are proceeding on this as fast as possible. In the meantime, we are, alas, dependent on the detectors, which are not a perfect solution. The Dreel maintain a body but kill the intellect. We can destroy the Dreel in a body, but doing so leaves just that—a body that is alive, but little better than a blade of grass, mindless and incapable of caring for itself. As a result, except for victims used in research or interrogation, we have ordered that any Dreel discovered are to be killed at once, disintegrated or destroyed by fire.”
There was general agreement to this though none of the delegates liked what they were hearing one bit.
“Finally we attempted contact and negotiation with them. We approached Madalin and called to them. The Dreel were aware we know of them, so we must assume their intelligence is at least as good as ours. I will now play an edited transcript of that discussion, if you will consult your viewers. It does not last very long. As our recording begins, the Com negotiator is hailing Madalin’s capital.”
Screens designed for the various races went on. “Markatin, this is Com Presidium ship Dworcas Bagby, “came a voice. “We wish to confer with your leadership.”
The screens, which had remained dark, suddenly lighted. The face was a stunner, that of a girl perhaps twelve or thirteen. She looked dirty, though, and her hair, worn in long braids, was matting from lack of attention. She was nude.
“I am Diri Smeel,” she responded in a child’s singsong. “I will speak with you.”
The speaker on the Bagby was obviously taken aback, and there was a long pause before the voice of the Council negotiator was heard again.
“I wish to speak to someone in command,” he said in an emotionless monotone, trying not to betray surprise or emotion.
“I am in command here,” the girl said. “You wish our terms. All Com fleet and police vessels in space are to be evacuated within five standard days. Local forces are to disarm and place themselves at the disposal of the Dreel commanders when they arrive at each spaceport. All interworld commerce is to cease when ships reach their destinations.”
A choking sound became audible as if the Com negotiator couldn’t believe his ears. Finally he managed to continue. “We did not come to surrender, we came to reach an accommodation.”
The girl appeared unfazed. “You have no alternative. We do not offer death, only peace and order. You will not die. We will simply enter your bodies and direct your thoughts and actions.”
“But that is the same as death,” the negotiator countered.
“It is not death,” the Dreel girl insisted. “It is proper: Higher orders domesticate lower orders in nature; the horse, the cow, the romba, the worzeil—all serve you. We are a higher order, and therefore you must serve us.” She stated it matter-of-factly, as if she’d been insisting that her sky was blue or people grew old.
“We seek only to live without conflict, but we cannot accept your view of us,” the negotiator told her.
The girl showed some surprise. “It is natural,” she insisted. “Order. You cannot struggle against the way things are. It would be like saying that minerals are vegetables or that space is filled with oxygen. It would be false to say such things. It is false to say that the higher should not own the lower. It is against nature.”
Full circle. “We do not accept your view,” the negotiator repeated. “We cannot allow you to conquer our worlds.”
Still more surprise. “It is not something one accepts. Not something one allows. It is. It will be. It has been for more than a billion years and will continue to be. We became a galaxy. Not a world, not a system, not a sector or quadrant. A galaxy. Then we set off, more than two thousand years ago, for this galaxy. We are now here.”