Eighty seconds. He was hurtling through space without ability to experience what was happening. How far had he come? How near was the end? Would he know when the end occurred?
How much his patient researches had revealed. How much still needed to be reported. Holmes had said, “It is my business to know what other people don't know.” If this last voyage were successful, and his downloaded memories preserved, then what he had learned would remain known.
Ninety seconds. Hurtling through space without the ability to experience what was happening. Logically, there could be no sensation, but he had a perception nonetheless. It was something T'bck Fwa had never sensed, could never sense, but it as though he were going over a waterfall.
Over the Reichenbach Fal—
* * * *
Human and Centaur floated side by side, amid the sighing of what Eva was willing to call trees, and the chirping of flying things that resembled neither bugs nor birds. Feathery leaves on some of the smaller plants were already turning brown and sere at their tips as the shallow layer of soil dried. Irrigation streams did not work in micro-gee, and crew with hoses could accomplish only so much.
“So it is done,” said K'choi Gwu ka. Joe used translation rules provided by T'bck Fwa.
It: the desperate, short-lived mission of the UPIA lifeboat. Within a minute of its activation, ‘bots on a forward deck had reported Snakes hurriedly disappearing into an airlock abutting the landing bay. Eva pictured them swimming down clear tunnels like the one she had walked in the other direction, into captivity. “It is done."
“How then, do we know if the signal was received by your people?"
It was not a question in search of an answer, so much as a friend, a new but already dear friend, seeking assurance. Eva answered in that spirit. “We'll know when help arrives."
Or they would know when, after another few days, Harmony had drifted beyond the reach of any possible rescue.
* * * *
CHAPTER 42
The bridge crew sat at their posts or swam about calmly. Discussions were casual and inconsequential. The main status holo showed only a field of stars, Sol far brighter than any other, but shrunken to a point like any other sun.
That aura of normalcy was a lie.
Mashkith was off-watch and in his cabin. The on-bridge display omitted details not intended for enemy eyes, presumed observing through their increasingly ubiquitous sensors. A fast-approaching human fleet dominated his implant-mediated view. The armada had given chase at well over two gravities; they now decelerated for the final confrontation with equal seriousness. Nothing could stop their arrival within a few ship's watches—even if its drive could be reactivated, Victorious could barely maintain one gee.
How recently it seemed he had smugly recalled the conquest of Gaul. I might have done better, Mashkith thought, to remember Rome's decline and fall at the hands of vigorous barbarians. Of all InterstellarNet species, humans were the most consistently aggressive—the most like Hunters—and hence always the most worrisome. One cannot choose one's neighbors, which was all the more reason to study them.
He sipped absently from a water bulb, reacquainting himself with a plan long-ago formulated. It had never been shared. Soon the time would come to make that plan known—after the impending battle, too, was won.
Rapid blows rattled his cabin door. He knew the impatient caller was Lothwer before bothering to check the corridor sensor. “Entrance authorization."
Lothwer swam into the cabin, twitchy with tension. He closed the door with a near-slam. “Permission for candor?"
Reticence was never Lothwer's failing. His candor would be argumentative, indeed. “Permission, by net only.” Whatever Lothwer had to say—and Mashkith was confident he knew—would be unsuitable for human eavesdropping. Tiny, wireless sensors drifted everywhere about the ship.
“Decision overdue, Foremost. Fleeting opportunity. Immediate attack authorization necessary."
They had had this debate four times in the past two shifts. Mashkith agreed retaking the amidships could free crew from their present defensive positions for the coming space confrontation. Where they disagreed was on the consequences. How quickly could an all-out assault on the herd and humans retake Victorious? How serious would be the damage to the ship? How severe would be the casualties? Could they afford such a victory? “Lothwer, familiarity with Romans?” Mashkith asked.
Through clenched teeth came a reply. “No, Foremost."
“Human clan. Rulers over much Earth territory for many generations.” Arblen Ems would have been better served had his tactical officer chosen to master his opponent's military history rather than chess. Before Julius Caesar was born, Greek armies invading southern Italy had won a great battle—at the cost of half their army. To the courtiers who would compliment the king on his great victory, Pyrrhus of Epirus had offered this: Another such victory against the Romans, and I am undone. “Pyrrhic victory unacceptable."
“Space battle imminent.” Lothwer missed or ignored Mashkith's point. “Need for full warship crews."
Their fighters were above all else spaceship crew, not infantry. Ship for ship, Arblen Ems could decimate the UP forces—clan warships had proven that already—but the impending conflict would not involve closely matched forces. The clan's brief numerical superiority after the explosion of Himalia had been lost to delay. No ship, not even Victorious, could carry naval might to equal an entire solar system, and now a great fleet approached. He could rage against herd and humans for impeding their departure, but rage did not change facts.
One such fact was that, since Grandpa's exile, the clan's battles had been in space. The interior of this huge vessel was as much land as spaceship, and the clan had no recent experience in land warfare. The lack showed. A network of spy motes like that now spread throughout Victorious was within the clan's ability, but he had nothing like it. Clan warriors’ combat armor was far inferior to that used by the humans.
Arblen Ems forces far outnumbered the human raiders aboard—but the price in casualties to prevail would be terrible. And then? Guarding the survivors would still require warriors. And if the humans and herd chose to fight to the death—what then would be the cost in clan lives? “Onboard assault unapproved. Requirement: your acknowledgement of my order."
“Acknowledgement: surrender approval by the Foremost."
“Immediate cessation of your insolence. Your obedience mandatory.” Changes would be made, as soon as the crisis had passed. “Now.” Into their consensual vision Mashkith pulled up a star chart. “Surrender not the plan. Instead: a trade."
* * * *
The consensus among the special-ops folks watching the latest surveillance data was, “Huh.” Art routed a copy of the 3-V imagery through a holo projector for consideration by K'Choi Gwu ka. He had found her, as expected, in one of the park/garden/farm levels.
“I have not previously seen him in micro-gee.” She studied the image from many angles as a tiny Lothwer swam and shoved his way from corridor to corridor, round and round the ship. Other Snakes scurried from his path. “The facial expression, though, and the snarl are familiar. Whatever the reason, he is unhappy. That has never been good news for us."
For what it was worth, Art went to pass along the warning to Carlos.
The Foremost had lost his courage, Lothwer thought.
It had not always been thus. Mashkith had once acted boldly. He had seized a great trophy, outmaneuvered all other clans to keep it, led Arblen Ems across the void, outwitted the humans to obtain the secrets of antimatter, and set the stage for Lothwer's own great victories. But now, after just a few clan casualties, Mashkith hesitated to act. He was weak.
Lothwer rushed from corridor to corridor, brimming with anger, seeking in vain for relief through exertion. “A trade,” Mashkith had said. Some trade. If the Foremost had his way, they would deliver to the approaching fleet all the rebellious captives and sufficient fuel to return to Earth in triumph. The Foremost was even prepared
to provide the humans with an interstellar-capable lifeboat. This would all come without firing a missile or a photon. In return, Mashkith envisioned, Arblen Ems would keep the battle-damaged Victorious and withdraw to learn about farming.
Mashkith actually expected the human fleet to honor a deal and let them depart in peace! What if the enemy fleet accepted the hostages and fuel, and then insisted upon more? Any clan would raise its demands in the face of such weakness. “Acceptable outcome,” Mashkith had responded to the challenge. “Removal of prisoners without further clan casualties or further damage to Victorious."
With a snarl, Lothwer launched himself into yet another furious circuit of the deck. I cannot allow the old fool to treat abject defeat as strategy.
* * * *
“Your action a rebellion,” Mashkith netted. Before him, Lothwer floated erect and unrepentant. He had been insubordinately slow to honor the summons.
“My duty now at the front, not the Foremost's cabin."
“Defiance of my direct order.” Mashkith evoked a holo from archived surveillance-camera data, and let Lothwer watch himself visit various storerooms. All were on the forward deck bordering the human-controlled region. The satchel Lothwer carried became less and less bulky as he progressed. “Explosions in three of these rooms. Pretext for your assault."
Lothwer fought back a blink-blink. “Inspection tour. Subsequent human attack validation of my suspicions."
“Ruptures all downward through floor.” Do you think I am a fool? Explosives, had they been placed by the humans on the ceiling of the deck they controlled, would have burst upward.
“My action necessary. Our victory imminent.” Lothwer made no attempt now to suppress the double-blink of condescension.
“Our casualties excessive and avoidable. Your action mutinous. Keffah now my tactical officer. My orders to her: disengagement of our forces from herd and onboard humans."
“And then submission to humans."
“And then trade with humans.” Mashkith suddenly felt old. “If still possible after recent crew casualties. Potent appearance of our fleet essential to our negotiating position. Your confinement to your cabin, in immediate effect."
“My leadership necessary for victory."
How could Lothwer not see it? His disobedience might have cost the clan victory—although their concepts of victory surely differed. Could Arblen Ems still stage a sufficient show of force to instill caution in the approaching fleet? “To your cabin at once, Lothwer."
“And after your ignominious surrender, Foremost?"
In his anger, Mashkith almost missed the expectant gleam in Lothwer's eyes. “Your alternative?"
“Battle to the death, not surrender in shame. Glory and revenge. Greatness of Arblen Ems for all time in the memory of Hunters and humans and herd."
Mashkith had devoted his life to the clan's renewed greatness. To him, greatness meant accomplishment and influence and growth—with survival a precursor to all else. This twisting of his dream sickened him. “Guards,” he netted. “Confinement to quarters of Lothwer."
He had failed as a mentor. He must not, and would not, fail the clan as its Foremost.
* * * *
“In the eye of the storm."
With only the slightest of variations, that expression, like the twisting storms created by planetary spin, was shared by all member species of InterstellarNet. For most of his life, Mashkith could only observe great cyclones from his exile in the cometary belt. How strange it was to have crossed interstellar space to first experience one. How profusely his hosts had apologized when a parade in the K'vithians’ honor was delayed for a day by a hurricane that skirted Washington! How unnecessarily! Little did they understand how the experience had exhilarated him.
Great forces surrounded Mashkith again. The enemy fleet would be upon them by the end of the watch. The enemy combatants aboard Victorious were quiescent, but might be spurred to action at any time—and soon, if not already, the fleet would reestablish radio contact despite the clan's best efforts to prevent it. The pressures had led his tactical officer, and perhaps others among the crew, to the brink of mutiny.
The eye of the storm: great danger from every side.
Had he sufficiently considered the danger from his erstwhile lieutenant?
Glory and revenge. What had Lothwer advocated? The exact words were recorded in Mashkith's implant. “Battle to the death, not surrender in shame. Glory and revenge. Greatness of Arblen Ems for all time in the memory of Hunters and humans and herd."
Great danger. Great forces. Lothwer. Suspicion others in the crew might also be on the brink of mutiny. A horrible possibility took shape in his subconscious mind—a possibility that became all too real when he discovered a bound and gagged guard inside Lothwer's cabin. Lothwer himself was absent.
Mashkith raced across the ship, hoping desperately to be mistaken.
* * * *
When all is lost, Lothwer thought, a grand gesture remains.
Did the Foremost think to hold him prisoner? Did Mashkith think to immobilize him through the mock respect of posting only a token guard? Perhaps. If either was true, that was but one more manifestation of weakness.
Those who had served under Lothwer aboard Valorous knew his worth. A netted request to a few loyal subordinates set him free. As, in its own way, Valorous would set them all free.
* * * *
Glory and revenge.
If Mashkith was correct, deadly force would be required to eliminate this peril. He could more quickly reach Lothwer—again, if he was correct—than he could overcome the inevitable questions and doubts of crewpersons asked to attack on sight one of their own. And any random crewman or—woman whose help he sought might turn out to be an ally of Lothwer.
Mashkith sped through the long corridors, ignoring the surprised expressions on those he jostled in his haste. His worst collision coincided with another of the occasional wobbles that continued to disable the fusion drive. Panting, he entered Renown, still docked where it had returned from the rescue of Valorous. The herd lifeboat remained in the belly of Renown. And in the belly of that lifeboat remained enough antimatter to spawn a cataclysm.
Corridor surveillance showed Lothwer, carrying a bulky satchel, approaching the airlock whose flexible docking tube Mashkith had just crossed.
Mashkith triggered a release, and the docking tube drifted free of Renown. “No closer."
“Only a moment's delay,” netted back Lothwer, his avatar insolent in tone and pose. His pack floated as he struggled to get into one of the emergency pressure suits stored by the docking bay.
“A sufficient delay.” Mashkith slapped the emergency power-up. He buckled himself into the pilot seat as fuel pumps pressurized for the chemical maneuvering rockets.
“No!” Lothwer stopped mid-change and slapped the airlock's emergency override. Both hatches slid open. Lothwer jetted out with the escaping air, mouth agape, screaming to release the gases bubbling out of his lungs. He slammed into the hull of Renown, not far from its airlock, the bulging pack hanging by its strap from his hand.
The pumps were barely pressurized. They might suffice to make the engines sputter; they would not quickly move a warship. Mashkith fired the forward attitude jets anyway. An edge of flame washed over Lothwer. Mind to mind, he screamed.
The flames detonated the explosives in the satchel. Mashkith's final thought, as he lost consciousness, was relief that the shrieking had stopped.
* * * *
New screeching roused Mashkith from his stupor. Vaguely, he decided, the noise resembled a vacuum alarm. The sound was too weak for a vacuum alarm, though, and it was fading fast....
He straightened in his seat with a start, fighting to undo the buckles he had just struggled to fasten. He screamed, open-mouthed, as Lothwer had moments ago. Mashkith's lungs ached, and beneath their nictitating membranes his eyeballs felt on the verge of rupture by the time he had an emergency patch in place. As cabin pressure returned, he spraye
d about liberally with a fire extinguisher. Then he checked status.
Renown's nose had crumpled. Its co-pilot and astrogator consoles were reduced to sparking, smoking scrap. The pilot's console was sufficiently operable to show a spectrum of alarms in near and far red. A glance through the main viewport revealed Renown slowly recoiling from the docking airlocks. Crunching noises overhead proved a slight vertical component of motion that had not been visually certain. Scraping persisted as the ship continued its backward slide.
How long before the lifeboat's antimatter containment system failed?
The fifth internal sensor he tried imaged the interior of the scoop tank. The lifeboat Lothwer had dubbed Valorous had torn loose from its moorings and was in a slow spin. Its cockpit viewport pulsed with the painfully bright yellow lights used by the herd for its alarms.
* * * *
Art awoke instantly to the TEOTWAWKI alert from Mashkith. “Dr. Walsh, I cannot overemphasize the urgency of this communication. This translator derives from the one you call Pashwah. If that AI is not totally trusted by you, link in any you choose."
“Joe,” Art netted. “Done."
“An act of suicidal sabotage has occurred. One of my crew.” A smoke-filled cockpit pulsating luridly replaced Mashkith's avatar. “In the hold of this warship, the only fully fueled Centaur lifeboat, the lifeboat your people pursued, is about to lose its antimatter containment. It likely holds more antimatter than what remained behind to destroy Himalia."
“What can we do?” Frantically, Art sent a TEOTWAWKI alert to Carlos.
“We must get this lifeboat off Victorious, and far away."
“Why tell me?” A corner of his attention noted Carlos linking in. The flashing of the red lights was becoming stroboscopic. Hypnotic. But was it real or simulated?
“I am telling you so your fleet does not make the mistake of attacking me as I launch. My first show of good faith: About forty UP ships will be here within an hour by your reckoning."
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