her bloodstream. “So, what, your missionaries are walking up and down that beach giving everyone long spiels about clocks?”
“One need not comprehend the true form of the Divine Architect to act according to his will. We know that barbarians must crawl before they walk. Heuristics will do for the unenlightened.”
“You mean easy moral rules for people who are too dumb to understand why they matter.”
“If you must be vulgar about it. I am confident that in time, at least some of the Nikara will gain true enlightenment. In a few generations, some of you may even be fit to join the Gray Company. But heuristics must first be developed for the lesser peoples—”
“Lesser peoples,” Rin echoed. “What are lesser peoples?”
“You, of course,” Petra said, utterly straight-faced, as if this were a simple matter of fact. “It’s no fault of your own. The Nikara haven’t evolved to our level yet. This is simple science; the proof is in your physiognomy. Look.”
She pulled a stack of books onto the table and flipped them open for Rin to see.
Drawings of Nikara people covered every page. They were heavily annotated. Rin couldn’t decipher the scrawling, flat Hesperian script, but several phrases popped out.
See eye fold—indicates lazy character.
Sallow skin. Malnutrition?
On the last page, Rin saw a heavily annotated drawing of herself that must have been done by Petra. Rin was glad that Petra’s handwriting was far too small for her to decipher. She didn’t want to read any conclusions about herself.
“Since your eyes are smaller, you see within a smaller periphery than we do.” Petra pointed to the diagrams as she explained. “Your skin has a yellowish tint that indicates malnutrition or an unbalanced diet. Now see your skull shapes. Your brains, which we know to be an indicator of your rational capacity, are by nature smaller.”
Rin looked at her in disbelief. “You think you’re just naturally smarter than me?”
“I don’t think that,” Petra said. “I know it. The proof is all well-documented. The Nikara are a particularly herdlike nation. You listen well, but independent thought is difficult for you. You reach scientific conclusions centuries after we discover them.” Petra shut the book. “But worry not. In time, all civilizations will become perfect in the eyes of the Maker. That is the Gray Company’s task.”
“You think we’re stupid,” Rin said, almost to herself. She had the ridiculous urge to laugh. Did the Hesperians really take themselves this seriously? They thought this was science? “You think we’re all inferior to you.”
“Look at those people on the beach,” Petra said. “Look at your country, squabbling over the refuse of wars you’ve been fighting for centuries. Do they look evolved to you?”
“And what, your own wars just happen to be civilized? Millions of you died, didn’t they?”
“They died because we were fighting the forces of Chaos. Our wars are not internal. They are crusaders’ battles. But look back to your own history, and tell me that any of your internal wars were fought for anything other than naked greed, ambition, or sheer cruelty.”
Rin didn’t know whether it was the laudanum, or whether Petra was truly correct, but she hated that she didn’t have an answer.
In the morning, the remaining men of Radan were walked at sword point to the town square and instructed to cast their votes by throwing tiles into burlap bags. They could pick from two tile colors: white for yes and black for no.
“What happens if they vote against?” Rin asked Nezha.
“They’ll die,” he said. “Well, most of them. If they fight.”
“Don’t you think that kind of misses the point?”
Nezha shrugged. “Everyone joins the Republic by their own free choice. We’re just, well, tipping the scales a little bit.”
The voting took place one man at a time and lasted just over an hour. Rather than counting the tiles, Jinzha dumped the bags out onto the ground so that everyone could see the colors. By an overwhelming majority, the village of Radan had elected to join the Republic.
“Good decision,” he said. “Welcome to the future.”
He ordered a single skimmer to remain behind with its crew to enforce martial law and collect a monthly grain tax until the war’s end. The fleet would confiscate a seventh of the township’s food stores, leaving just enough to tide Radan over through the winter.
Nezha looked both pleased and relieved as they departed on the Murui. “That’s what you get when the people decide.”
Kitay shook his head. “No, that’s what you get when you’ve killed all the brave men and let