by Steve White
“With respect, Admiral,” Modelo-Vo pointed out meekly, “there is another point of access to that warp line through Remiimagar.” He pointed. “There’s the warp-point to the X-2 cluster.”
Yoshikuni shook her head. “No, I think that’s an extremely unlikely avenue of arrival for the Kaituni. Firstly, that whole cluster is still beyond Unity Point Three, so how would the Kaituni get to it, given all their Dispersates touched down in or very near Orion space? Secondly, the most militarily capable race of the Star Union, the Crucians, have a considerable colony in that cluster, and from what we heard from the Telikans, the Crucians haven’t been attacked yet. So I very much doubt that this hypothetical Kaituni fleet emerged from X-2 into the warp line we’re looking at.” She stared at the map again. “No, something doesn’t add up.”
Wethermere nodded. “I quite agree, Admiral. And here’s another, but probably related mystery to add to the origins of the possible Kaituni fleet ahead of us.” He manipulated his control wand. Two timelines, superimposed on a single grid, supplanted the warpline diagram.
“What are we looking at, Commodore?” Yoshikuni asked, folding her hands.
“The red timeline is a pretty solid estimate of when the Bugs began their attack on the main world of Tevreelan, the third planet.”
“That’s an extraordinarily precise ‘estimate,’ Commodore. How did you get it? I thought you didn’t find any persons dirtside who were still capable of communicating reliably.”
“That is correct, Admiral. But we were fortunate enough to know that one of their primary space-habitats was actually in a geostationary orbit with a rotational rate of .8 rpm. We also had detailed mass data on it. That gives us an excellent starting point for the debris that was ejected from it when the station was disabled by a single, center-of-mass railgun projectile.”
Modelo-Vo was nodding approvingly. “And so once you located the leading edge of that debris cloud and measured its velocity, you had all the mathematical components necessary to calculate how long it had taken for it to travel from the point of impact to the point where you discovered it.”
“Correct, although we had to guess at the energy imparted by the impact of the rail gun projectile. But, given that the Bugs only use two types, we were able to narrow it down pretty quickly. So the Bugs attacked the Tevreelan system thirteen days ago.”
“And what is the other timeline?” Narrok asked.
“That, Admiral, is a timeline of the maturation cycle of a creeper, since we’ve now had samples of them under observation since we touched down to survey the aftermath on Telik.”
The gathered officers stared at the timeline. Glances were exchanged. “Commodore,” observed Modelo-Vo with what sounded like embarassed solicitude, “I think your chart is wrong.”
“Why is that, Commander?”
“Because, it shows that the creepers take twenty-two days—at a minimum—to reach the maturity state of those you found on Tevreelan.”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“But—but that would put them on Tevreelan almost ten days before the Bugs attacked it.”
“Again, that is correct.”
Yoshikuni saw it first. “Wait a minute. Are you telling us that the creepers were planted on the planet before the Bugs hit it?”
Ossian nodded. “Yes, Admiral, that is precisely what I’m telling you.”
Narrok had sat up straighter once again. “That changes many of our assumptions—and explains much of what we’ve seen since entering the Star Union. Particularly the ease with which the Omnivoracity devastated the main worlds in each system. This means that the infestation did not follow the bombardments: it preceded them, and its effects upon the local population and infrastructure probably degraded all their defenses and ability to organize evacuations.”
“So the Bugs sent advance units—possibly quite small and innocuous—to preseed the creepers,” Kiiraathra’ostakjo growled. “And their primary purpose was not to reduce the population, but to incapacitate it with the neurological disease they spread among each planetary population as they bred and grew.”
“And the bite-transferred pathogen responsible for that disease is proving to be most unusual,” Wethermere added. “Tevreelan Three is the first planet we’ve encountered in the Star Union that had any permanent human habitation at all. Namely, that’s the consulate to which we sent Magee, and which was established in a fairly small, remote city as a kind of xenocultural experiment in alternative diplomatic contact. So that gave us our first chance to see what the creepers’ disease does to an intelligent life-form. Before Tevreelan, we landed near major cities and so never got a look at how these creatures affected the local Telikans or Crucians, who had all died or fled into the country. Where we assumed the creepers had hunted them down and consumed them.” Wethermere brought up a collage of images, depicting the various humans who had been discovered in or around the consulate’s precincts. “But as you can see, we’re revising that theory in light of what we found here.”
Yoshikuni’s eyes were hard as they scanned across the pictures. “The rest of the survivors were all covered with creepers, like the pictures you’re showing?”
“No, only the persons who were still routinely ambulatory. After that, the creepers apparently drop off, gorged. They then enter into a reproductory hibernation, which we currently have under live observation in the fleet quarantine ship. We’ll have dissection studies to confirm the data we’ve been gathering before the day is out, but confidence is high that the creepers are not designed to kill their prey. Rather, they draw enough sustenance to breed. And while attached, they introduce a microorganism into the circulatory system of their victims that broadly interferes with the operation and production of neurohumors in most carbon-based biologies.”
Modelo-Vo narrowed his eyes at the images. “Leading to the lassitude, disorientation, aimlessness, and intermittent activity.”
“Yes. Infected humans fade to the point where they are just barely able to eat, drink, and eliminate before becoming utterly exhausted. The persons we found in the consulate reported that the Telikans were affected differently: seizures that completely wiped their short-term memories. We didn’t encounter any Telikans, but they were evidently wandering around the woods, lost, just trying to survive day to day.”
“What an odd disease,” Narrok mused.
“Unusual, yes, but maybe not exactly odd, Admiral,” Wethermere offered. And waited.
“Please, Commodore. Share your thoughts.”
“Yes, sir. There is one perspective from which this particularly malady and its aftermath—both in terms of the creepers and their victims—might be quite ruthlessly pragmatic. You will note that although the victims are rendered helpless, they are not destroyed. Also, the succeeding generations of creepers range further to attack animals and any communities that were spared during the Bugs’ orbital attacks.”
Kiiraathra’ostakjo reared back. “So you are suggesting that, both by breeding more creepers and allowing survivors to live—albeit barely—that the Bugs are creating food caches. And, unlike the first war we fought with them, they do not delay themselves, nor diminish their offensive force by tasking it with either occupation or…provisioning.”
“Precisely,” finished Ossian, shutting off the holoprojector and the ghastly images.
“Yes, but why?” asked Yoshikuni after a brief silence. “Why not stop and—feed—the way they did last time? Because a Kaituni fleet is behind them, pushing?”
“Possibly, Admiral,’” Wethermere allowed. “But I consider that unlikely.”
Narrok nodded. “Yes. This organism—this ‘creeper’ as you call it—is not something the Kaituni gave to the Arachnids. It is a pre-evolutionary form of the Arachnids themselves, is it not?” Seeing Wethermere’s nod, he continued. “So the only reasonable conclusion is that, before the Omnivoracity had awareness of the Kaituni, they had elected to weaponize this precursor organism. They may have been intending to do so at
the end of your first war with them; that may have been part of what Amunsit’s agents learned. But either way, it reflects a changed perspective on how the Omnivoracity means to wage war.”
Yoshikuni nodded. “They were too slow, last time. Every time they stopped, we had enough time to regroup, throw up defenses, start building for a counterattack. The survivors in their hidden system must have resolved to analyze their failures in the war with us, and if they did, they would naturally discern that their strategic pace was too slow. They had to get and stay inside our decision cycle in order to hit us with one staggering blow after another and so prevent us from ever having the time to recover and rethink our prosecution of the war.”
“So now they intend to carry through their assault in one long rush and then return to the conquered worlds, one after the other, to reap the bloody crops they have sown,” Kiiraathra’ostakjo spat.
“So it seems,” Wethermere commented.
“Your tone suggests some reservations with that conclusion—even though it is your own, Commodore.” Narrok’s three eyes were upon him, unblinking.
Ossian shrugged. “I do have reservations, Admiral. But not with the conclusion. I just—well, I think we’re still missing something. Call it a hunch, but when we zoom back and consider all the special strategies and force-shifting required to get the Bugs back in position to lay waste to the Star Union a second time, I’ve got to wonder: is it all worth it? Couldn’t this effort and these resources have been dedicated to a more crucial objective? Because while the Star Union is significant, it really could not have hoped to disrupt any of their other plans that we’ve seen up until this point.” Wethermere shook his head. “No, they—the Kaituni, and maybe, separately, the Bugs—are up to something else. I just wish I knew what it was.”
“Well,” announced Yoshikuni, standing abruptly, “we’re not going to figure it out sitting here. We’ve all secondary briefings to attend and ships to get to. Least Fang, do you need to meet with me and Admiral Narrok about your morale issues?”
“Admiral, since those issues are now generally known and must be addressed, I would prefer to put off a further briefing until I have formulated the necessary disciplinary action for my crews, and so report all items at once.”
“Excellent. Then everyone here is done. Except for you, Commodore. You’ve got some early lab results on a possible cure for the creeper virus, I believe?”
“That is correct, Admiral.” By the time he said it, he and Yoshikuni were the only two people left.
“Then let’s get out of this cavern of a room. We’ll work over dinner. My quarters?”
Wethermere smiled. “Suits me fine. Admiral.”
*
On the table in Miharu Yoshikuni’s reading room, the bio reports lay forgotten next to a pair of cold, untouched dinners.
Wethermere put a hand on the base of Yoshikuni’s spine. Curled up on the other half of the unfolded hand-crafted futon, she emitted a catlike sound that reminded him of the ones many Orions made just before they drifted off to sleep. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey what?” Miharu’s voice was unconvincingly brusque.
“Hey. We have to talk.”
She had rolled around to face him before he could blink. Her face was all at once severe and worried. “Talk about what?”
He smiled. “No, not ‘that talk.’” And they both knew the one he meant. As a commodore, Ossian just barely passed the propriety test governing fraternization between different ranks. She was flag rank; he was almost. Sort of. Commodores occupied a gray zone between flag and field ranks—and different boards of inquiry had expressed different opinions about their actual status across the history of both their navies.
She smiled back, through which he could detect a faint annoyance at herself for allowing herself to appear concerned. Iron Admiral Miharu Yoshikuni was a supremely confident commander but was less than comfortable when it came to navigating the slalom course of a relationship that necessarily altered between professional and private spheres. “Then what do you want to talk about?” she asked almost flippantly.
“Admiral, I wish to discuss our rules of engagement.”
She had evidently heard the intimate leer in his tone. She pressed herself closer to him. “Here’s my one rule of engagement, Commodore. No plan survives first contact with reality.”
“I’m serious, Miharu. I’m not sure you should be having me come to all the flag staff meetings.”
“Well, I am. Maybe you forgot you’re the ranking PSU officer in this fleet? And that you’re the CO of what is both our tactical recon and strategic intelligence element? And that you have commendations for innovative strategic and tactical thought as long as my legs?” Which she moved langorously. “So, yes, you keep coming to the meetings.”
“Then I think we have to watch our eye contact and—exchanges.”
“Ossian, do you really think anyone doesn’t know that we’re, well—an item?”
“No, but I don’t want that to impact morale.”
Miharu raised up on one elbow. “How would it impact morale?”
“You know how people can be: they may say otherwise to themselves and each other, but deep down, they assume that a personal relationship undermines objectivity, creates favoritism—if only subconsciously.”
She pulled back, surveyed Wethermere with surprisingly detached eyes. “Well, if they think that, they don’t know me.”
“No, some of them don’t—and that’s my point. This fleet, and its recent additions, don’t know you, Miharu. They don’t know that you’re more likely to be harder on a person with whom you have a personal relationship.”
“Commodore, are you suggesting that I’m guilty of overcompensating?”
“Admiral, such a thought never once crossed my mind.”
“No, it’s probably crossed it twenty times, knowing you.” She smiled.
A hell of a lot more than that, he thought. And smiled, too.
“So stop worrying about our rules of engagement, Commodore” she murmured. “I’ve got matters well in hand.” Her voice and eyes conspired to form a profound leer.
“As you say, Admiral, you have matters well in hand.”
“I’m glad you’ve noticed. Now stop calling me Admiral.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Junior Cluster Leader Jathruf-jem stared at the contact which had just appeared in his bridge’s holopod and considered his options.
“Do you wish to launch a courier drone, Cluster Leader?” his Second, Brem-sheef, sent anxiously.
Jathruf-jem returned a selnarmic wave of calm, with an invocation of (patience, reflection). Technically, he should launch a courier the moment he had any unexpected contacts whatsoever. As the rearguard element patrolling the crucial warp point access zone in the Bug 29 system, his would be the first warning of approaching danger.
Except it seemed impossible that this sensor contact could represent any danger. Firstly, the signal came from the opposite direction of the warp point over which he stood watch, the one into the system the humans had designated Bug 28. If, in fact, there were any enemies following them, they had to come from the system’s only other warp point: the one that led to Pajzomo, and which was located on the opposite side of this system. The sensor contact, had, by comparison, come from an oblique angle behind Jathruf-jem’s two ships and the warp point he guarded.
And then there was the matter of this sensor contact’s intermittent signaling. Its communications protocols were a match for the combination marker/selnarmic-relay buoys that the forward units had left behind in this very system, and which typically lay still and dark until signaled to awaken, usually to replace a similar unit that had been destroyed by enemy action.
But apparently this buoy was either malfunctioning or damaged and had started signaling without provocation. And worse still, it was active not merely on selnarmic channels—that would have been bad enough—but broadcast as well. If it went on signaling, it would call any intruder’
s attention to the region near the warp point into Bug 28. And that was unacceptable.
But otherwise, it hardly seemed a threat. And that put Jathruf-jem on the horns of a dilemma his commanders had never considered: if he followed his orders to the letter, he would send a selnarmic courier through the warp point into Bug 28, contrary indicators notwithstanding. And the moment the courier arrived there, every Kaituni unit available would begin to reconfigure into a formation to hold that warp point against all intruders. Meaning that whatever other operations they were undertaking would be immediately and completely ruined.
Jathruf-jem flexed his smaller tendrils in vexation. It would not matter if he explained that he had just been following orders. His fellow Destoshaz would deride him as wanting self-assurance and boldness, since he had summoned all their ships to repel—what? A single, malfunctioning buoy that couldn’t even move under its own power?
No, Jathruf-jem decided with a straightening snap of those same, smaller tendrils. To send the courier drone was not in keeping with the intent of his orders. It was merely a nervous—not to say slavish—compliance to the letter of them. “The courier is not needed in this circumstance, Brem-sheef.”
“But our orders—”
“Do not mean for us to spread panic and interrupt our pod-mates’ operations because we have come across a malfunctioning buoy.”
“Well—at least we must do something about the buoy itself. Its transmissions—”
(Agreement, accord, promptitude) “Yes, we must silence it. Dispatch the Degruz-pahr to investigate. Once they have completed their approach, they are to send an EVA team to examine the buoy for tampering, and, assuming it is deemed safe, take it aboard.”
“Group Leader, is it prudent to send our only other hull off-station merely to deal with a buoy?”
(Impatience, decisiveness) “Second, that buoy is no more than thirty light-seconds out from our patrol coordinates. This will be, at most, a brief change in our defensive posture and well within the operational latitude that has been entrusted to me.” I hope. “During this maneuver, we will more our own hull to a more central overwatch position to protect the warp point behind us.”