Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  “What’s up, Commander? I know something is going on but no one has advised me as to what it is.”

  “I’ve called a meeting with the Arista representative,” De Vries said.

  “Without informing me?”

  “It didn’t involve the political side. Only military.”

  “You might not be the best judge of that, Commander De Vries. I wish you had consulted me. Why have you called this meeting?”

  “To review the situation with Mira Falken. This planet is becoming undefendable.”

  Havilland nodded grudgingly. He couldn’t have failed to notice that the Hothri fleet was now carrying out its bombing missions almost unopposed. “What are you going to propose?”

  De Vries thought before answering. He hadn’t wanted to involve Havilland in this. The man was sure to disapprove.

  “There’s only one thing we can do. Stage a breakout.”

  “You mean going off-planet with the League forces under your command?”

  “Yes, plus any ships the corporations will give me.”

  “The intention being, I suppose, a sudden attack upon the enemy?”

  “Something like that,” De Vries said.

  “What did you have in mind, specifically?”

  “I can’t discuss it with you, yet.”

  “And why not, may I ask?”

  “It is a military matter. You are a political officer. Your opinions on my course of action would not be useful.”

  Havilland scowled at this. “May I remind you, Commander, that military decisions flow from political situations, not the other way around?”

  “I’m well aware of that theory. But politics must give way to military necessity. We can’t defend this place much longer. The Hothri have greatly increased their bombing efficiency over the past year. We are increasingly outgunned, and some of the ships have been taking serious hits, despite being dug in. It won’t be much longer before the Hothri mount an all-out assault. When that happens, we all go down in flames.

  “That’s gloomy thinking, Commander.”

  “It’s realistic.”

  “Realism is not the only factor we have to consider.”

  “None of the others make any sense without it,” De Vries said. “I must go now. We’ll talk later.”

  “Just a minute!” Havilland said. “I have more questions to ask!”

  But De Vries had already gone.

  He took the elevator from his ship to ground level. The armored car was waiting to take him to the deep cavern where the government of Arista was trying to carry on the defence of the planet. The vehicle bounced along the cratered road, while overhead, in Arista’s dark skies, another battle was shaping up. All would be quiet for a while. Then suddenly, abruptly, one side or the other would open up. This time the skies were suddenly filled with a shower of small green flares from space. They were a new species of high-explosive bomb, traveling downward in eccentric orbits to fool the defensive gunners. Lights flashed and flared, then De Vries saw the sudden rush of net-webs, a hastily improvised but effective defense flung up to gather in the flare explosions. Meanwhile, other weapons had entered the fight. Heavy plasma cannons, boxcar bombs, Simple Simons. The ground shook as bombs penetrated the city shields, causing further wreckage. The air was humid and dark, and smelled of explosives and damp smoke. Arista had been a lovely planet. But now De Vries felt the sense of hellishness that comes to a place under continual attack. The sense of doom was closing in; an inexorable enemy was tightening its grip.

  The command car moved quickly over the road and descended into the cavern of Mmult. De Vries knew that this was one of the biggest cavern systems on the planet. It had been selected as the Command Bunker, a place relatively secure from the Hothri bombs and torpedoes. It was just starting to come under attack as the planet’s outer defences were stripped away day after day. De Vries followed the cavern until he came to a branching of the extensive tunneling system that characterized this level. Here were the big bronze doors that sealed off the Aristan living section. He went through them, and through a separate set of pressure locks, and then he was in the final retreat of the Aristan people. War had reduced them to an underground bunker on their own planet.

  De Vries was hurrying to his meeting with Mira Falken when a man ran out of a side corridor and seized his hand. “De Vries? I need to see you urgently.” It was Charles Guthrie, Commander of the Guthrie Free Corps. “A word with you, Commander?”

  “Please make it brief, Mr. Guthrie.”

  Charles Guthrie had been second in command of the Security Corps of the planet Thistle. When the planet was overwhelmed by the Hothri, the men of Guthrie’s ships who managed to escape the ensuing debacle elected Guthrie their commander. Like so many Free Corps people before them, Guthrie and his men were interested mainly in profits. Any patriotism they might have had burned out with the loss of their home world.

  Since the beginning of the war, various Free Corps had sprung up—collections of men and armed vessels who flew the flags of obscure human-occupied planets which were not engaged in the war, or recently, the remnants of space fleets from planets which had fallen to the Hothri. These men, who owned allegiance to no one, signed with various planetary fleets as auxiliaries. Since they were under independent command, they didn’t always obey the orders of the senior commanders. Sometimes they attacked the enemy with great courage, but often without orders. More often, they deemed caution the better part of valor and waited to see how a particular engagement would go before committing themselves. They were an annoyance to the regular commanders. But there was little choice. At this desperate time in the war, any armed vessels were welcomed. The Free Corps were not reliable, but they were better than nothing at all.

  Guthrie was a large man just going to flab. He had curly red hair, a big nose, beetling eyebrows.

  “What can I do for you?” De Vries asked.

  “Well,” Guthrie said, “I could beat around the bush, but I might as well get down to it. Commander, the position here is untenable. The handwriting is on the wall. This planet has had it.”

  “I don’t share your pessimism,” De Vries said, putting on an air of confidence he didn’t feel. “We’re just about holding our own. As the lines are driven in, our defense becomes stiffer. And help is sure to come soon.”

  Guthrie shook his head. “Save that talk for the Aristan nobles, Commander. The Hothri are getting closer and closer to breaking down the last shields defending our military installations. Another couple of weeks and they’ll have us at their mercy. And you know as well as I do what the mercy of a Hothri is like.”

  Secretly, De Vries agreed with him. But he couldn’t let it show. “Nonsense, Guthrie. We still have a few tricks up our sleeves.”

  “Like what?” Guthrie said. “Never mind, I don’t want to embarrass you. The situation is clear. We have no reinforcements from the League and none are due. We’ve had it. It’s time to pack it in, Commander.”

  “I don’t agree with your assessment,” De Vries said. “But why are you telling me all this?”

  “I’ve had a meeting with my senior commanders. They all agree that the risks here have become unacceptable.”

  “So what do you think we should do?” De Vries asked. “Surrender? You know what the Hothri do to humans they capture.”

  “I don’t know what you should do, Commander,” Guthrie said. “But I do know what I have to do. Me and my men are getting out of here.”

  “You have a contract with us!”

  “Our wages haven’t been paid for over six months!”

  “They will be! You have the council’s guarantee!”

  “Just now,” Guthrie said, “that guarantee isn’t worth diddly squat. I’m sorry, Commander, we’re leaving. I thought it only right to tell you. Some of the men just wanted to leave a note and blast off.”

  De Vries was furious, but he managed to choke down his rage. Guthrie’s departure would leave the northern sector dangerously undermanne
d.

  “How in hell,” De Vries asked, “do you expect to get your ships out past the Hothri guns?”

  “Once we’re out there, we’ll signal them that we’re going over to non-combatant status. They’ll let us through. They did it for the garrison of Kaneel.”

  Kaneel was a small planet that had capitulated to the aliens after its Free Corps defenders had gotten away. The Hothri hadn’t attacked the Free Corps ships.

  “They might not let you go this time,” De Vries said.

  Guthrie chuckled. “These accounts of the Hothri killing all humans are greatly exaggerated. They only kill the ones who oppose them. We’ll be all right, Commander. If you like, we can try to negotiate a favorable capitulation for you Aristans.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” Guthrie said. “No fleet under my command is going to surrender.”

  “Suit yourself,” Guthrie said. “My corps is ready for immediate departure. We’ll leave within the hour.” He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to De Vries. “Here’s our flight plan. Tell your people not to fire on us.”

  “Do what you have to do,” De Vries said. “And I’ll do what I have to do.”

  On his way to the main meeting room, De Vries’s mind was working furiously. Guthrie’s departure was a disaster. Was there some way he could turn it into a triumph? He had the feeling that he could, if only he could think of something . . .

  He pushed Guthrie’s flight plan into his pocket. His fingers closed over another scrap of paper. The coordinates for the Hothri planet!

  And then it came to him. Suddenly, a plan formed in his head. A risky plan. But they had no alternative. Doing nothing was even riskier. The question was, would the Aristans go for it?

  Before the disastrous war, the Aristans had prided themselves on their good management and careful ways. They had done wonders with their dark little planet—turning it into a garden world that produced food for populations much greater than its own modest five million. But all of that had been before the war, before the determined siege by the Hothri.

  The distant League had promised them assistance after the Hothri attacks became too much for the local militia. But all they received were a few dozen worn out ships. More reinforcements were promised later. The reinforcements never came. The humans on other worlds were badly pressed as Hothri victories mounted. Alone, Arista was doing the best it could, but at this point the war was going badly for humanity. Weak spots in the defenses had to be shored up. But try to explain that to a proud and independent people who had to stand by and watch their planet be bombed into rubble!

  Mira Falken was waiting for him in the council meeting room. She was a member of the old nobility that made a home on Arista and did so much to bring civilization to the planet during its first hectic decade. Nobility was not a prerequisite of high office on this planet, and Mira had given away any claims she had to noble status long ago. She was fiercely republican, utterly devoted to her planet’s cause. Highly intelligent, slender and arrow-straight despite her eighty-seven years, she was the unanimous choice among the Aristan leaders as their liaison with the League Navy.

  This was an office of some importance. Due to the demands of modern warfare, decisions affecting millions of people often had to be made rapidly, without any time for a plebiscite or council vote. The Aristans entrusted Mira with the power to make those decisions.

  She was of medium height, slender, gray-eyed. Her hair was brown, well speckled with gray. Longevity treatments made her appear no older than her late forties. She wore a belted one-piece silver-gray jumpsuit. Her only badge of office was a square silver plaque worn around her neck. It displayed the entwined lily and dagger emblem of high office on Arista.

  “I’d better give you the latest news,” De Vries said. “Charles Guthrie and his Free Corps won’t be with us any longer. They have decided our cause is hopeless, and they are departing within the hour.”

  Mira betrayed no emotion. “Indeed?”

  “This is a blow to us,” De Vries went on. “But it also presents us with a very great opportunity.”

  “An opportunity to do what, Commander?”

  De Vries said, “What I had in mind was a breakout of the fleet.”

  “You mean leave your dug-in positions?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But whatever for?”

  “The way things are going,” De Vries said, “and without outside help—which I do not expect—we can’t hold out more than a month, six weeks at the outside.”

  “I am aware of that, too, Commander. I think of very little else these days.”

  “We have to do something about it.”

  “Yes, of course. But what?”

  “I have recently received information,” De Vries said, “that will allow me to take my fleet through FTL space to the vicinity of the Hothri home world.”

  “There’s no way you could do that,” Falken said. “No human has ever been to the Hothri home world. Its destination is unknown. And it has been proven that you can’t trace a ship’s course when it’s in FTL mode.”

  “All of that is well known,” De Vries said. “But one of the scientists aboard my ship has come up with an ingenious solution. By notating and averaging the vectors of Hothri ships coming out of FTL space, he believes a course can be traced back to their home world.” He thought Corp. Adams would forgive him for passing him off as a scientist.

  “So you would abandon Arista, just as Guthrie did? Without your fleet, the Hothri would be here in a week.”

  “I’m not abandoning you,” De Vries said. “I’m trying to save your lives.”

  “How, Commander?”

  “You know it yourself. Even with my ships dug in on the ground, we can’t keep the Hothri out. You’ve seen for yourselves how our defenses are being staved in. There’s no relief force from the League. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. We have only one possibility. If I can bring my fleet to their home world, they’ll have to pull out of here in order to save their planet.”

  “You think they’d leave the home world unguarded?” Mira asked.

  “Yes, that’s precisely what I think. The size of the attacks they’re mounting against us and other League planets convinces me they’re throwing in everything they’ve got in hopes of a quick victory. Why should they guard their home world? No human has ever seen it. FTL can’t be traced. These are their safeguards. I think we’ll find no more than a light screen force at the home world.”

  “Commander, is your fleet large enough to reduce an entire world?”

  “It will be,” De Vries said, “when you give me permission to take about half of the Aristan militia.”

  Mira said, “that would give Arista about a week before they overwhelmed us.”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand the necessity of doing this. You’re asking us to give away our own forces in favor of your one last roll of the dice-all or nothing, win or lose.”

  “Those are the terms of the war we are engaged in.”

  “Well,” said Mira, “you make a good case. I will confer with my colleagues. Tomorrow I’ll tell you our decision.”

  “No,” De Vries said.

  “I beg your pardon, Commander?”

  “It must be made here and now.”

  “And why?”

  “In order to get my ships off this planet,” De Vries said, “I need a diversion.”

  “A diversion? But none is possible, unless you throw the militia at them.”

  “We’ll do that, but I need the militia to help me attack the Hothri world.”

  “What, then?”

  “Guthrie and his Free Corps are leaving about half an hour from now. We have their proposed route on file. I propose that within minutes after Guthrie lifts, when the attention of the Hothri will be riveted on him and the militia diversion, my fleet and the rest of the militia get away by a polar direction.”

  “You want to take off immediately?”

  “It is t
he only possible way.”

  Mira said, “It shall be as you say. But I shall go with you.”

  “Noble Falken,” De Vries began, “much as I would welcome you aboard in ordinary circumstances, our precedented situation . . .”

  He stopped when she raised one slender hand. “Don’t bother arguing,” she said. “You are only wasting the time you claimed was so valuable. If you will lead the way? . . .”

  De Vries knew when he was overmatched. Mira Falken was coming aboard.

  Everything had to be done with great haste. All ships on Arista had been at full alert battle stations around the clock as the battle for Arista came toward its climax. De Vries led Mira Falken aboard the Eindhoven and swung into action. The crew was well-drilled and used to leaping to full alert after months of relative inactivity. De Vries, at his console in the command section, swiftly flipped switches and touched light-sensitive panels, opening the communications system. He issued orders to the fleet and waited, drumming his fingers impatiently on the textured gray plastic of the console until the last of them had reported their readiness for immediate departure.

  “Noble Falken,” De Vries said, “Please take the acceleration couch over there and strap yourself in. We’re going to be piling on the G’s on this exit.”

  “Very well, Commander,” Mira said. “But one thought has been bothering me. What if the Hothri are alert to this possibility of your breaking out? What if Guthrie made an arrangement with them beforehand? It’s not impossible, is it?”

  “Not at all,” De Vries said. “That sort of thing has happened before. We just have to take our chances.”

  “I know that. But to lead the breakout in your own flagship . . . isn’t that inviting disaster? Shouldn’t one of the smaller ships clear the way?”

  “That’s not the optimum computation,” De Vries said. “I’ve worked this out before. If they have a full-sized battle group waiting for us, this fleet has had it anyway. If it’s only a light screen, my dreadnought is better equipped to break through than any other in my command.”