by Steve White
On the control panel before Hunis’bern, a vrel-colored light flashed an alert: an object to inspect in the holopod. She turned to search it, sending a selnarm request for all available data on the contact and requiring that the reply beent as a broad wave so that Jrersh’atr would receive the content also.
In the holo pod, at the middle range of detection, a faint lavender object appeared, emerging from the outer asteroid belt. The data stream from the sensors matched what the faint detection implied: a small object or ship, already at a range of approximately thirty-five light-seconds. Her drive field emissions were intermittent, which suggested damage, as did her speed: she was barely making two percent cee, even when her drives were functioning.
“Is it one of their ships—from the Omnivoracity, I mean?” Jrersh-atr’s send was very controlled, anxious. She could hardly blame him: the Omnivoracity—as the Arachnids reportedly referred to themselves in their internal communiqués—were particularly daunting zhetteksh. Although there was a rude pseudo-selnarmic link between each creature and the core of the hive-mind that drove them, they were truly the most alien creatures that Hunis’bern had ever heard of, or imagined. By comparison, the humans were veritable evolutionary cousins—
“Well, is it the Arachnids?” Jrersh-atr pressed.
“No,” Hunis’bern sent with a subcurrent of exasperation. “You can read the sensors as well I can, so do so. That is clearly one of our drive signatures, right down to the smallest emission metric. Although it’s a little unusual to detect out here, on its own.”
“What do you mean?”
“See the low cycle rate? And the close match between total power output and the drive’s consumption of it? That’s a civilian ship: they don’t have the extra energy output to supply weapons, shields, sensors, and reserve power all at once. Judging from the approximate mass readings and that energy output, I’d wager the ship is freighter or some other bulk-hauler. And a little dated, too.” But that was hardly surprising: nonmilitary craft had received scant attention during the hurried movement to war footing that had seized all the Dispersates over the past five years. New classes of military ships, upgrades to the existing ones, as well as to all their support systems and vessels, had consumed the time and resources of the fleets before their arrival in human space. Purely civilian craft had been left unaltered; some had even been cannibalized to provide needed parts for military hulls.
Jrersh-atr scanned his comms board. “There is no communication from them, not even selnarm.”
“No, I see that. And it is strange. Although, on second thought, there will not have been a Selnarshaz assigned to so small and inconsequential a hull. They might not be able to reach us yet—particularly if their selnarm repeater-boosters were either cannibalized or insufficiently maintained.”
“True. So do we move to assist?”
Hunis’bern stroked one side of her long, sleek neck with two small tendrils. “If there were any other ships on station, we would clearly be authorized to do so. But if we do not remain in readiness near the warp point, we cannot follow our primary orders: to ensure that if anything approaches, we may transit to Franos and make report.”
“We could send one of our courier drones to tell the destroyers that we have had to leave the warp point to assist a ship.”
“No,” Hunis’bern answered, “that we may not do. Were you not paying attention during the briefing? Any object other than us which comes through the warp point into Franos automatically signifies that the fleet’s rear has been compromised.”
“What? By one ship?”
Hunis’bern managed to keep the selnarmic pulse of (idiot!) out of her reply. “Of course not, because that is not the logic behind the communications and operations protocols. They serve one crucial purpose: to ensure that any transit other than our own functions as an alarm. The transit is the message. That is the beauty, the elegance, of the arrangement.”
“Yes, well, while we are debating the finer points of our picket and courier work, that ship is having more problems. Look.”
And sure enough, the ship had slowed to a half-a-percent light speed crawl—well, stumble. It seemed that its drive field was merely an occasional flutter now. Hunis’bern checked the distance: still at thirty light-seconds and barely closing at all. And since a ship equipped with a reactionless drive had no actual velocity, if her drives ceased to function altogether, she would be stranded. Since the ship had not accumulated momentum, it would not coast closer. Which only complicated the situation even further: part of Hunis’bern’s orders were to keep the warp point clear of unauthorized objects or sensor contacts. Any anomalous signals could draw increased attention to the spot, and any non-Kaituni attention was unwanted attention.
“So what do we do?” Jrersh-atr pestered. “And look: now it’s dead in space.”
Hunis’bern now switched the two small tendrils against her neck in irritation. This situation had not been foreseen, and so two of her orders had come into profound, mutually exclusive conflict. On the one hand, she had standing orders to provide assistance to all disabled Kaituni craft; on the other hand, her actual mission here was to remain within a few dozen kilometers of the warp point that led into Franos.
Typical Destoshaz inefficiency, she thought bitterly, so ready to give orders and act, but without the patience to ensure that those orders are all in operational conformity with each other, that there are no contradictions or oversights. As little as five years ago, the Destoshaz had still included Ixturshaz analysts and procedural auditors in planning, to make sure that such errors did not occur. But that was before the Destoshaz-as-sulhaji movement began concentrating strategic power and responsibility solely in the Destoshaz caste, began diminishing the roles, and even denigrating the worthiness, of the other castes…
“Hunis’bern, we must make a decision!”
No, I must make a decision since you are incapable of doing so or of offering useful counsel to those who must. You are a cheerful fellow, Jrersh-atr, and it is pleasant enough to stand a lonely post with you, but you are no help in this situation.
She stared at the motionless freighter, then decided, “Jrersh-atr, bring our engines up to one-quarter. No signals—not yet. If we do this at all, we must do it quietly. That is even more important than doing it quickly, if any Orions happen to be lurking nearby.” Or there are any Omnivoracity stragglers, she added: they are at least as dangerous. “Lay in a course for the freighter and engage autopilot to execute.”
“You will not guide the ship yourself, Hunis’bern?”
“I am too busy watching our sensors, Jrersh-atr. If we must turn quickly and head through the warp point, I want to perceive that need and act upon it with all possible speed.”
Jrersh-atr sent (understanding, compliance) and engaged the autopilot. There was no perceptible motion since the drive was reactionless and the starfield was changing too slowly to impart any sense of progress.
“ETA?”
“Fifteen minutes. At what point do you wish me to activate the comms array for—?”
Several selnarm alerts battered at Hunis-bern’s consciousness with sudden urgency. Sensors indicated an object behind them—apparently materializing out of the emptiness of space; an active targeting array had come alive and locked on to them; an energy spike from the ship off the stern signified a beam weapon discharge; Ssershaz engine technicians were requesting instructions; the computer recommended immediate reconfiguration of shield to guard the rear—
Hunis-bern’s ship lurched forward violently, throwing her from her pod. Klaxons—both audial and selnarmic—signaled both that the ship had been hit, and severely damaged. The hurried inquiries of her Ssershaz techs were replaced by death pulses which disappeared almost instantly. The drive and the bridge lights had cut out along with the shields.
“Ill’s blood!” blasphemed Jrersh-atr. “What has happened? Have we—?”
“We are under attack—and helpless,” Hunis-bern sent back with (calm,
coherence, focus) as the emergency lights faded in, bathing the bridge in dim red. “Launch courier drone immediately.”
“Trying. Shifting over to battery power; engines are off-line.”
And then there was a new send, from a powerful selnarmic source, one that seemed somehow very clear and collected and yet quaint—even nurturing. Hunis-bern had never known the touch of such selnarm in her Spartan, duty-bound existence of sacrifice and isolation among the stars, but she had imagined it, secretly longed for it—
“Sister,” it said.
And she knew she was being touched by one of the Infidels, one of the Deceivers of the First Dispersate. Although she had never wanted anything so much as to return the touch of that kind selnarm, she leaned away from it and gave the mental orders to the computer’s receivers to self-destruct—
“That will be difficult, sister,” the selnarm soothed, “since your engines and powerplants have been destroyed by a force beam. The type of ship you are in has no means to destroy itself except for self-induced containment failure of the powerplant.”
“I shall discarnate myself.”
“I trust you shall not.”
“And why is that?”
“Because if that was truly your reflex, you would not have bothered to inform me of your intent. You are trying to convince yourself. But before you make your decision, let me show you what it was to dwell on Ardu, and what it is to dwell among those of Illudor’s children who have not forsaken his voice.”
The selnarm which had touched hers opened wide. It was as if she stood upon a promontory from which mists were receding, revealing a dreamscape cornucopia of emotions and relationships and possibilities and acceptance such as she had never imagined.
Not even in her wildest, most secret, and most fervent dreams.
*
Ankaht entered the conference room and found herself under the unblinking scrutiny of half a dozen pairs of small, beady alien eyes.
“How long do we have?” Miharu Yoshikuni asked sharply.
Ankaht, not accustomed nor receptive to such a peremptory tone without even the scant courtesy of a title, simply stared at the human admiral for a long moment. She was glad—petty, petty!—that the honest answer was also one that was sure to rankle the human: “I have no way of knowing—” She let two seconds pass before finishing with, “—Admiral.”
Yoshinkuni’s brow lowered. But when she spoke, her voice was polite, albeit grudgingly so. “Councilor Ankaht, I do not understand. This ship—a light escort and reconnaissance craft, if I recognize the type—was standing picket duty at the Unity warp point into Franos. It was clearly tasked to carry word of approaching units back through that warp point. But in the event that something happened to it—as is the case now—how long before another Kaituni unit was due to check in on them?”
Ankaht inclined her head in a crude human nod. “I understood the substance of your question the first time, Admiral. But my answer remains: I cannot tell you, because the commanding officer of the ship does not know the answer, herself.”
“What?” exclaimed Yoshikuni’s Fleet Tactical officer, Rudi Modesta-Vo. “That’s crazy!”
Wethermere raised an eyebrow at the reputed wunderkind’s unprofessional outburst. Yoshikuni cut her eyes at the fellow. The hatchet-faced Bellerophon native leaned back carefully.
Yoshikuni turned to look at Ankaht again. “It is, however, most irregular.”
“I concur, Admiral. However, since the last two Kaituni destroyers departed the Mymzher system just before we sprung our trap, I suspect it will be at least days or weeks before the main van thinks to recontact this element of its rearguard.”
“That is not merely unconventional; it is incompetent,” Kiiraathra’ostakjo declared.
“It is particular to the modus operandi of the Kaituni, Least Fang,” Ankaht replied. “It is difficult to know where to commence my description of the conditions that lead to these answers, so let me start with a frank statement that will put all subsequent comments in context. The Kaituni are utterly and myopically fixated upon the fusion—in their minds—of xenocide and Destoshaz-as-sulhaji, even unto the marginalization of the other castes that are within the populations of their own Dispersates.”
“You mean, they are killing their own people?” asked Rudi incredulously.
“Not as such, Commander, although they have done so before. Almost all the Shaxzhu on the later Dispersates were killed, usually without being roused from cold-sleep. It seems that a few may have been retained, but remain safely slumbering rather than challenging the autocratic dominion of the Kaituni. The other castes are not being exterminated—exactly—but they have been in decline, even as the Destoshaz increase in equal and opposite measure. And the other castes’ contributions to—and worthiness to be part of—the great xenocidal quest of the Destoshaz’at and his warrior cult are derogated more with each passing day, it seems. That is why this ship, commanded by an Ixturshaz, Hunis-bern, was not given any assurances of recontact from the squadron which has just completed passing through the warp point to Franos. They have been left behind, without any orders or means of securing provisions, like abandoned pets or livestock. Their one job is to stand watch and raise an alarm if needed. No thought has been given to their needs—at all.”
Yoshikuni looked around the table, as if to see if the others were as stunned as she was. “They are virtually daring the crew of that ship to mutiny, or at least abandon their post long enough to find provisions.”
“Unquestionably, that is what would have happened. But the Kaituni are not ‘daring’ them to do it; they just don’t care. And you must understand, from the Kaituni viewpoint, this is actually quite prudent.”
“It’s prudent to abandon a unit that is therefore sure to go off station, desert, or die in place?”
“Of course it is, Admiral, if you bear in mind the differences between us. Firstly, we do not die forever, but merely discarnate. We conceive of combat losses—even to logistics oversights—as annoyances, not horrific events. Secondly, once regressed Destoshaz have joined battle, the will reflexively streamline all their operations to achieve their immediate military objectives. And clearly, rear area security is a minor objective. I suspect that, in their viewpoint, the longer they receive no word from this picket post, the less they care about it.”
“Why?”
“Because, as we have seen elsewhere, the Kaituni are not interested in controlling the star systems of their enemies, only in neutralizing them. And then they move on, leaving nothing behind. You may have observed this in the last war.” She turned toward Narrok.
Who closed his eyes and opened them slowly. “It is as the Eldest Sleeper says. Our first admiral, Torhok, was so fixated upon only attacking that this monomania arguably contributed more to our final defeat than anything else. He was unwilling to leave garrisons or occupation forces behind except in the cases of crucial worlds or warp-points. Even so, those were always token forces, incapable of mounting an effective defense or even a significant delaying action. And in that war, he had even more reason to do so than the Kaituni have here.”
Yoshikuni studied the tall, golden Destoshaz. “How is this war different, Admiral?”
“I do not know if it is different everywhere, Admiral Yoshikuni, but here in Orion space, the Kaituni have decided not to hold on to anything. They travel back and forth to different destinations, yes, but it is not, in any tactical sense, a war of maneuver.”
Wethermere leaned forward. “I notice you put extra emphasis on the word ‘tactical’ when talking about a war of maneuver. Are you implying that what we’re seeing might be a war of maneuver on a strategic level?”
“It is a possibility,” Narrok allowed.
“It is a certainty,” Ankaht corrected. Again, all eyes turned toward her. “The commander of the ship confirms what our sensors recorded three weeks ago: that an immense non-Kaituni fleet moved through the Mymzher system to transit Unity Warp Point Three into Franos.
And she confirms that, as our covert sensors seemed to indicate, it was an Arachnid fleet, albeit with ships much more advanced than those which faced yours two centuries ago.”
Because the fleet’s technical intelligence experts had analyzed those onerous sensor recordings almost weeks ago, the news did not come as a complete shock. But still, all of the humans seemed to get a bit more pale.
“And what the hell is that about?” Yoshikuni wondered aloud. “The Bugs? Here? And now?”
“It is about strategic maneuver, Admiral. You see, it is not coincidence that the Bugs—they call themselves the Omnivoracity, evidently—have appeared at the same time as the Kaituni. Rather, freeing the Bugs was apparently a major objective in the Kaituni strategy of conquest.”
“Freeing the bugs?” Modelo-Vo exclaimed, his voice cracking on the first syllable. “How the hell did they even know the bugs still existed? Let alone what they call themselves!”
“Fortunately, we have the answers to those questions. As well as a resolution to the investigation that Commodore Wethermere and I were tasked to undertake years ago regarding Kaituni activity in the systems around Pesthouse and the Home Hive Three. Because the answers to both mysteries are one in the same.
“Firstly, I must stress that we were very lucky to capture the picket ship we did. Having expected the Arachnids to move through Unity Warp Point Three, the Kaituni evidently dispatched a minor fleet element—the one to which the recently departed destroyers belonged—to follow it.”